#this ..... got away from me

[msmoiraine]

imagine that you move back in with your dad after your first attempt at being an entrepreneur blows up and then you have the chance to work with this guy who's literally the best in your field and you manage to actually become colleagues. then imagine that you get really close as friends and start building the foundation blocks of something really really great and you're literally falling in love but then you have a huge fight where he falls into old patterns that you specifically were working on getting away from together so you draw a hard boundary line. imagine that he wins you back by proposing to you and presents you with the concept of building your dream house together. imagine you accept because its actually all you've ever wanted to do with the best person you could have hoped to do it with. imagine that while you start building your dream house your fiance then cheats on you with a family friend from highschool and he even consults her on YOUR dream house and takes her suggestions on it. imagine you ultimately forgive him for it because you know, or you want to believe anyway, that his heart was in the right place and he broke it off and rededicated himself to your dream house and your future together. imagine that now that you've gotten past that and are setting up the finished house to really make it your home, you have to put up with all your fiances bullshit thinking that he just needs time to readjust and reset and its just the adrenaline and stress coming off the construction. now imagine that after all it took to build your dream house together, for your future TOGETHER, as you find out that you can't actually afford your damn mortgage, your fiance wants to leave. imagine he's been telling you he loves you this whole time, a thousand different ways, and he's STILL saying he LOVES YOU, but he's going to leave you, not until the mortgage is paid off and the whole house is yours, but he's still going to leave and you'll have your dream house alone. imagine all of that and you had to learn to get along with his asshole friends and family, and your dad just had a heart attack, and his side bitch is really nice. happened to my good friend sydney adamu.

[hey-sacramento]

truly, i wish more people understood this and that this is how i approach it. so many people act like shipping rpf is the equivalent of being a freak but i'm literally just living. i'm not delusional (most of us aren't)

it's so clear that, whatever form it takes, ian and anthony love each other. deadass no cap or whatever else. they have been friends for 25+ years. they still make each other laugh. they became new people. they grew up. they grew apart. and then they came back together.

the thing about childhood friends is, you don't really pick them. they're your schoolmates. they're there. when you're 12 and a boy and your interests are so narrow because your world is so small, it's so so so easy to be "best friends".

ian and anthony's story snatched me by the hair because it's such the ultimate comeback story. it's two men of a certain age who literally grew up together in the public eye, who rose to heights of a new kind of fame no one had ever seen before, who founded this crazy empire that then almost burned up. that left them both bitter and resentful and angry. who went from self proclaimed "living in each other's pockets" to not speaking for years.

anthony was the one who created smosh, but ian was the one who carried it. it's just so crazy to think about it. about how ian has admitted he didn't feel like he did as much as anthony, especially in the early days because anthony could code and edit and he couldn't. but then ian was the one who took the burden and carried it, flailing, for six years. who kept their creation alive. (and in that rise from the ashes of defy media, i think that's when ian finally accepted and made peace that yes, smosh was his too. was theirs. wasn't just a project that his ex-best friend created that ian lucked into. i think accepting that was vital to him growing and changing into the person he needed to be to accept anthony back)

and then they came back together and realized that even though they were such different people now, even though they didn't have those same narrow threads that bound them at twelve (video games and memes and being stuck in the suburbs) they still had something. they still could make each other laugh.

ian and anthony rebuilt their friendship and their company from the ashes of what destroyed them. they chose each other this time. it wasn't circumstance that brought them together, it was choice.

and isn't that love? choosing this person, over and over and over? and no longer just because they're there, because you own a company together, because everyone is relying on you, no. choosing them because you want to.

they have so much love for each other, and i couldn't give a fuck less whether that's romantic or platonic or anything in between; their story is one of the greatest true love stories and it bewitches me.

I'm not sure if they are dating or not but it sure seems like they are at a point where they could just easily like adults accept their feelings and embrace a relationship however one thing I'm sure of is that they're definitely in love with each other.

That is what is beautiful about them is that the love is so truly there. Even if it never tilts realistically to romance it is just so clear and lovely that Ian and Anthony can and do love each other.

Their story from childhood best friends to losing each other, to now, is beautiful and the fact that they can openly express that love and affection for one another is wonderful!!!

[bi-writes]

what you want you cannot find. so you let someone else find it for you. (18+, dark!simon x curvy!fem!reader, arranged marriage)

you don't really know what you were thinking when you answered the ad. it is many things, maybe, why you chose to apply. why you were grateful to be chosen.

the loneliness, it aches. you cannot find yourself in anyone else, you cannot find the thing that should move you and hold you. you cannot find what it is that should ignite what is asleep, the thing nestled between your ribs that feels like it beats to a rhythm that you cannot hear.

the bitterness, too. there is something sour that you taste. there is acid under your tongue, something rotten between your teeth, and you wish for anything that you would stop tasting it because it reminds you of how alone you are, how alone you'll remain, the inevitable thing that you wish you weren't but that you unfortunately are.

it is the thing you cannot die for because there isn't anything to die for. you live, and you breathe, and you exist, but there isn't anything there. this is nothing that makes you want to gnaw on your own flesh, there is no life you would take in sake of another, there is no purpose to your existence except the hope that perhaps there is still time to have what you want more than anything.

but you don't know what you want. you don't know because everything that you thought you wanted, you do not want any longer. you never feel anything with other men. they are beneath you. they maim what they shouldn't. they complain about things that they can fix. they stare at a problem head-on, with the solution at their back, and they chase their tails. they do not know their right from their left. you hate them. but you want it. you want something. you want one of them, but you don't know which, so maybe if you don't choose, you will find what it is that you don't know you're looking for.

you're alone in the room. they gave you a bouquet of white roses. you hold them nervously between clammy palms. you wear a silk white dress that skims the floor, fabric falling soft over the curve of your waist and gentle along the swell of your cleavage. your hair is loose, and there is a short veil over your head, covering your face.

you stare at your handler. he's dressed in his military fatigues, tactical vest still strapped with the Union Jack across his chest. he has introduced himself as captain john price, and he is the one who arranged for your arrival. he is the one who told you to wear white, and he is the one who gave you the roses.

captain john price is rugged. captain john price is kind. and captain john price is not what you want. you are grateful that you are not yet disappointed with your match.

the door opens behind you. you straighten your posture that extra inch when you hear his heavy gait. there is a pause as the door shuts behind him, and you see his captain nod to a figure that you cannot see. his boots hit the floor low, and you swallow when the sunlight that comes through the window is blocked entirely by the size of him as he stands at your side.

the vows are short. you say your i do first, soft voice that hits his ears in a way that makes him nearly purr. when it is his turn to say i do, your eyes sparkle. he speaks in such a low voice, a Manchester accent that makes your toes curl in the white kitten heels that you wear. a drawl that you can feel in your chest, an accent that ticks a corner of your brain you did not know was there.

"you may kiss your bride."

you turn away from the captain. you tilt your head to look up at him, and you let out a soft breath when you realize the sheer breadth of this man.

he is barely a man. he must be something else. he is dressed all in black, and he wears all of his gear. his tactical vest is stocked well, magazines tucked into their pockets, a grenade dangling from one strap, a handgun tucked into its holster on his chest and around his thick thigh. his belt is heavy with more, knives in sheathes, devices in their places. even without all of the weight, you know the size of him won't shrink.

you cannot see his face. he covers it with a mask, one that resembles the front face of a skull. it is dirty. you aren't certain if it is blood or soot or dirt. maybe it is all of that and more. you cannot see his eyes through the veil either, but they are dark, and they are intense.

you keep your eyes fixed on his as he lifts your veil. the delicate fabric settles over your head, and you see him without obstruction.

there he is.

it is like seeing a man for the first time. it is like being in the presence of the dream you've always had and could never remember.

he tilts his head to the side, curious. he is seeing your face for the first time, too. soft eyes. glossy lips. the curve of your mouth. the untouched skin of your cheeks, the unmarred flesh that you wear. he follows the line of your throat to the peek of your tits dressed in silk. you are a present wrapped in luxury. hand delivered goods, of the finest quality.

his bride. his wife. something he will have forever. he does not know if he has ever been able to say that about anything else. he's never had anything except for his life. nothing except for himself has ever belonged to him, but even now, not even his life is his own, it belongs to someone far away, someone in an office somewhere, who moves the chess pieces of his world around, where he cannot do anything but follow.

you stand on your toes to get closer to him. he thinks for just a second you will ask him to remove his mask, but you don't. you cant your head, and you kiss him over the mask, sticky gloss leaving a light imprint on the fabric. you settle back onto your heels, and your breath hitches when one of his gloved hands comes to settle at the dip of your waist.

"she's all mine now, eh, cap'n?"

you blink, your eyes still on his. you don't move, and you don't say anything. you wonder, if you could see his face, if he would smile.

"all yours, simon."

you let him drag you closer, shuffling on your feet until your hips press against his. your back arches gently as he uses both hands, gripping you around the middle and feeling the soft flesh underneath your silk dress. he is a rabid dog, his next meal at his fingertips. she is his, and he wants to take her home. if his captain was not standing at his back, he knows he would take you on this very floor.

she is mine. she is mine. she is mine.

he has studied your picture. he has memorized your name. he has been waiting for you. he is too awkward to leave base. he is too quiet to attract birds, birds that matter, birds that sing. he is too ravenous to be anything but permanent, he isn't capable of the mundane, of casual. it is everything or nothing at all, and at the sound of permanence, he foamed at the mouth.

at the thought of something to keep, he was blinded. when beasts lose control, they call their keeper, and he had none. this change could be good. this change would do him well. when he ignores the order of a commanding officer, he will bend to yours, because he is bound, wrapped, tied to you with something invisible that weaves between his bones.

you do not know what you were before, but you know what you are now.

you follow after him. he turns to leave, and you let him lead. your heels click as you walk, and when it is hard for you to keep up, you reach for his hand. he grunts when you do, but he doesn't push you away. you hold wilting roses in one hand, and you clutch him in the other. recruits and privates stop to salute or step out of your way, and they stare when they see a trailing angel behind their lieutenant, a pretty girl in a pretty white dress with a veil fluttering against the breeze as you try and keep up with your husband's long strides.

the door he stops in front of is plain and unmarked. he fits a key into the lock, turning it and opening it, and he invites you over a threshold that no one else has ever stepped over. you stand on the other side, holding the roses to your chest. he turns when you don't follow him inside. you get a glimpse of him as a whole, the man that he is, big and menacing and taken. you wonder if he will wear his ring under his glove or if he will put it on the chain that holds his dog tags.

"is this where you live?" you ask. you stay on the other side, looking in, a little timid as you stand there.

he nods, silent. he crosses his arms over his chest, and you admire the bulge of them, the paint of skeleton bones along the fingers of his gloves. you look him up and down before smiling a little.

"is this where i will live, too?"

he shakes his head, a no.

"can't have a thing like y'here," he murmurs. "boys'll eat y'up."

you tilt your head to the side.

"i find that hard to believe," you quip. "do people often eat what's yours, lieutenant?"

he snarls, narrowing his eyes. "no one takes wot's mine."

"then what are you so afraid of?"

"that 'f y'r 'ere, i won't get any fuckin' work done."

you break out into a big smile, pearly white teeth flashing, and he clicks his tongue at your reaction. he reaches up and lifts his mask, pushing it up until it rests over his nose. his nose is crooked from being broken so many times. his face is scarred, as if someone took a blade and carved out the skin and muscle. a deep one stretches from somewhere under the mask to his lip, where it looks as if the skin was haphazardly stitched back together. another long jagged grey streak comes over the line of his cheek down his jaw, as if someone tried to peel his face off.

he grins. it's ugly and unsettling, as if he sees prey that he knows he will catch. your own smile does not fade. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you want to taste him. beast, bear, killing machine, the boogeyman, a ghost that haunts, you do not know exactly what he is, but you know, immediately, that he is what you have been searching for.

you do not know him. you do not love him yet, but you will. you are sure of this. you are sure that he is missing piece. he will fill the spaces that you have always felt hollow. he will scratch a place in your head that has always itched. there is something in his eyes, you're not exactly sure what it is, but you can't wait to discover it. you can't wait to explore, to indulge, to lick the salt of his skin and know that everything he is has been waiting for something like you.

you did not choose him, but he chose you, and now you see it clearly. you see this thing, and you know the truth of what's been hiding from you all your life. the curtain has been taken down. the veil is off. the walls are invisible.

"come 'ere," he says lowly. "won't ask so nicely next time."

you drop the flowers onto the floor, crossing the doorway. you kick the door shut, hearing it click, and he comes closer, until you can feel his breath fanning your nose.

"will you love me?" you ask, wringing your hands together nervously. "do you think maybe...do you think maybe that's possible?"

he licks over his teeth, humming. he leans down, knocking your chin up, and your breath hitches when he licks up the side of your jaw, taking in a whiff of your perfume and the sweetness of his bride.

"what a stupid word," he mutters, biting at the curve of your bottom lip. "meaningless. love. bloody hell."

"w-what...what?"

"a meaningless fuckin' word for the things i would do for ya," he continues. "the things i would kill. the heads i would step on. the sorry fucks i would get rid of...just to see y'smile."

your eyes flutter. yes, yes, yes--the unconditional devotion. the terrifyingly beautiful reality of through sickness and in health, until death do us part.

"is it really that easy, simon?" you ask. his gloved hands slip over your throat, sliding low and skimming the silk of your dress before he cups both sides of your ass and squeezes, drawing you closer until you are uncomfortably pressed up against him. his gear digs into your softness, sharp edges cutting into you, but you ignore it as he begins to draw up the skirt of your dress. "is it really that easy to say you'll do all of that for me? isn't it...it's wrong, isn't it? to do those things for me?"

he laughs. humorless, condescending. as if that is the stupidest thing you could have ever said.

"'s olright, swee'eart. gonna take all those ideas outta y'r pretty lil' head."

you relax when you feel his gloved hand under the hem of your white lace panties. your eyes shut, and you reach forward and grip his vest for stability.

"christ..." he hisses. "y'r soaked..."

you are. you have been since you first laid eyes on him, on everything he is. you know why you are here, and he knows why he is here, and that is because there were two people so desperate to find one another, that they let someone else choose. the gods, fate, whatever they want to be called.

matched by design, together by choice.

you lean forward and kiss beside his lips, and you whine when his big fingers slide between your folds, soft on your clit before he fits two fingers inside of you. his gloves are warm, and you wet them easily.

"wot a good girl," he breathes. "knew y'were the right one."

"y-you did?"

"could see it in y'r eyes, dove. could see wot y'needed. could see it plain as fuckin' day. dyin' inside, just like me, aye?"

you shake your head.

"n-not anymore...not anymore..." you gasp, and he tsks as he steps backward, the weight of him heavy as he takes a seat on his perfectly made bed, bringing you with him. you fall into his lap, unafraid to because you know someone of his size can carry you easily, and he hums as you spread your thighs apart. you straddle him, pressed up against the gun holstered to his chest, and you moan softly against his scarred face as he fucks you open with three unforgiving fingers.

"not anymore," he echos, baring his teeth as he pumps his hand. the squelch of it is filthy, but it isn't enough. he wants you to soak his arm, his thighs, his bed, let the slick of you stain him from the outside in. "not anymore. not as my wife."

you scramble. you rip the veil out of your hair, untie the corset of your dress. there's a naked angel in his lap, perky tits and soft figure, giving way to the gorgeous place you keep hidden by white, wet lace. the place that is his, the place that belongs to him, a pretty pussy that will keep him satiated until he breathes no longer.

after he tears apart his enemy, he will have you. after he tastes the blood he desires to see run, he will have you. the adrenaline, the fire, the shout of every order and the sound of their cries, it won't exist anymore in this place, he knows it.

"y'll never want for anythin'," he mutters. "y'll never be lonely. always get wot y'want...wot y'need...wot y'deserve..."

you reach up and cup his cheeks gently, pressing your mouth to his as you ride his fingers eagerly. you want him, you want this, you want all of it, even if it isn't what's right. but something brought you here, right into his arms, and this is what you deserve.

he's not even human, you don't think. he must be something else. with how good he makes you feel, with the sheer precision that he rocks his fingers into you, the way he smiles, he must be made of only something synthetic, something not organic.

you feel so small underneath him. he tosses you onto the bed, your head hitting the pillow gently. you giggle, and his grin widens. he has a warm pink tongue, and it's between his teeth, and you giggle again when he moves his head from side to side, staring down at you. he's studying you. you assume he has seen photos of you, but this is his first time seeing his bride for all that she is. soft, pretty, unscathed by war. at least on the outside--but on the inside, you are not as you seem.

there's a parasite in you. something that slithers behind your eyes and settles in that corner of your brain that only he can touch. he knows that feeling well. he feels it every time he is in the field, and he feels it now, with you. he chases this tick when he works. it knocks his senses just right, makes him feel good and big, like the reaper that he really is. he can be this with a rifle in his hand, and he can be this without it, with the weight of his wife in his hands.

you smile, biting your lip, and you spread your legs for him. his eyes fall between your thighs, and he chuckles. he brings his gloved hand up to his mouth, the one that smells like you, and you watch as he slips it inside, sucking on it for a moment before he uses his teeth to take both gloves off.

he bends, still in all his military glory, and he sticks his tongue out, licking a fat stripe up the seam of your cunt, using one thumb to pull the puffy lip apart and suckle on your clit for just a moment.

you gasp, arching your back, and he stands to his full height again, laughing.

"oh, y'taste sweet," he purrs. "y'taste good. hard t'believe i'll have this cunny for m'whole fuckin' life."

"believe it, baby," you coo, and he sighs. he nods his head, reaching low, gripping himself through his cargo pants and squeezing his cock. you follow his movements, watching him pay special attention to the tip of him, running his finger over where you guess the slit is as he watches you squirm. "why are you so far away, simon? don't you want me?"

he laughs again, smiling wide, and he nods.

"course i want ya, swee'eart. who wouldn't want ya, huh? who wouldn't want this?"

you meet his eyes. the question is a sound one, but it never mattered that you were wanted, what mattered is that you never wanted. not really. not until now.

you watch him as he reaches for his zipper. he undoes it easily, unbuttoning his pants and shoving them low. they won't go very low, thanks to the holsters around his thighs, but it's enough that you watch his cock stand at attention, the red tip of him leaking down the sides, making the bulging vein on the underside of him shine.

you whine a little, and he growls happily, watching as you cup the swell of your tits and squeeze them in anticipation. perfect, perfect, perfect girl, practically a mail-order bride that checks every single fucking box.

he grips you by the thighs, yanking you to the edge of the bed. you whimper when he slides the tip through your folds, letting it catch at the entrance before smirking down at you.

"'s big," you hiccup, and he tsks, shaking his head.

"y'can take it, swee'eart," he murmurs. "y'r a riley now, luvvie. y'know what tha' means?" you shake your head, your eyes a little watery, and he smooths a hand up your sternum, gripping you around the throat gently. "gonna find out...gonna find out how well a riley takes wot they're given."

"simon--"

"'s alright, luv, we'll start nice, yeah?" he breathes. you grip onto his forearms when he feeds you his cock, slowly, and your back bows at a sharp angle as you squeeze him for everything he is. "fuckin' hell...yeah, just the tip, yeah? oh, good girl..."

good girl, yeah...i'm a good girl--

you cry out, digging your nails into him when he mutters fuck it and bottoms out. his palm flattens just under your belly button, a choked groan leaving him as he presses down, a rush of something fucking glorious running down his spine. it's a high--he's so fucking high, as if he is popping fucking pills.

"feel me here, yeah?" he drags his hips back, smoothing a hand further up your stomach until he paws one of your tits, squeezing it firmly. you nod, sliding your hands up his arms, fisting the fabric of his mask at the base of his neck. you feel him everywhere, you feel him in your chest, running down your spine, you feel him in your mouth and in your head, and it feels so good, it feels so so so so good.

"yes--yes!" you gasp. fuck, he's huge, he's putting a shadow over you. you're naked, bare underneath him, and his gear rocks with every thrust, and it's filthy because you wonder if he worked, you wonder if he didn't even change before he went to marry his perfectly-picked bride, you wonder if he got off the tarmac not even an hour after killing his target to go and take what is his.

how long ago was it that he last fired his weapon? the gun on his chest, did he use it before he saw you?

i bet he did. i bet he used it. i bet he smoked the cigarette that i smell on him, and i bet he came here, and then he married me, and now he's all mine, and he's fucking me six ways to fucking sunday--

you think you're drooling. your lips are wet, and with every smack of his hips against yours, you feel a little more trickle down the side of your face. you're moaning, gripping his neck, pulling him further down on top of you. you want him all around you, you want him inside, you want him to come every day wearing this terrifying fucking uniform and to fuck you so stupid, you forget everything except for the name he has given you.

you want to know nothing except for his name. simon. riley. simon. riley.

you want to know nothing except for what you are. his wife. his wife. his wife.

it's so hard to remember to breathe. his hands grip you tight around the hips, and he's losing momentum, hissing, letting out choked groans as he brands the shape of his cock into you. he never wants you to forget what he feels like--he never wants you to know anything except for him, for the rest of your life.

"simon--" you whine, and he smirks, reaching up to hold your face in one big hand, keeping you still as you chase the grind of his pelvis against your puffy clit. "simon--!"

"tha'sit, luvvie...yeah..." he nods, "look at me--look at me," he leans down, a big weight over you, suffocating you, "good girl, yeah..." he clicks his tongue, "cum f'me, swee'eart. cum f'y'r husband, yeah?"

you lean up, chasing after him, gripping onto the sides of his face as you kiss him hard. it is the first time you really kiss him. slotting your mouth over his, slipping your tongue into his mouth, the sting of your wedding ring cooling his warm face as you taste him for the very first time.

it is gone. the bitterness that you always taste, the acid and the sourness and everything that always is so unpleasant under your tongue, it is gone when you have him. he takes it out of your mouth completely, and you chase after this just as you chase after the harsh grind of your clit against his pelvis.

he is carrying you. you're lifting, coming over some kind of sweet, exhilarating euphoria, and you're blinded by it, by the feeling, by him. you want more, more, you want it all, and he said you could have anything you want, that you'll never need anything ever again, he said, he said, he said--!

he laughs when you come. he swallows your moans, hisses when you soak his pants. you are the prettiest thing he could ever hope for, the personification of the things he does not deserve and could never have, and it is selfish that he has taken you this way, but he does not fucking care.

the things we cannot have are the sweetest, the most desirable. and simon is nothing if he isn't a thief.

he is nothing if he doesn't just take what he wants. he likes to think that perhaps he adopts the "ask for forgiveness, and not for permission" philosophy, but he does not ask for forgiveness. and he has never asked for permission.

"please--simon--" you gasp, looking up at him. your eyes are wet, and a few tears wet his hand around your face. "please--inside me, please..."

"'s olright, luv--" he grunts, pumping faster, his pretty little wife just begging for him, for more, and how could he say no to that? "easy, baby...i'll give it t'ya, don't worry, fuck--" he hisses, "lieutenant's wife gets woteva she wants..."

"please--inside--" you choke. "simon, inside, i-i want it inside--"

fuck, that is all he needed. he nestles deep, pressing his hips to yours, and you kiss him once more when you go blind again. a second high, when he stuffs you full. just as you should be. just as you always should be.

"yeah, fuck--" he breathes. "tha' wot y'wanted, yeah? nice and full, good girl..." he licks his lips, standing up straight, and just when you think he is pulling out, he yanks you back towards him, cum leaking down your thighs as you cry out from being so sensitive.

"simon!" you gasp, giggling, and he grins, patting your ass gently before pulling out. you let your knees fall onto the cot, swallowing hard as you watch him tuck himself back into his pants and zip them up. he brings the mask back down, and you watch as he slips his gloves back on. "hmm..."

he tilts his head to the side, sighing as he watches you settle there. something warm settles in his stomach, something satisfied.

"like havin' y'in my bed," he says lowly. "look nice there."

you smile, and he holds out one hand, beckoning you to sit up. you do, slowly, a little shaky as you try and compose yourself, and he leans down and kisses you through the mask. you close your eyes, humming, leaning into his touch.

"so i can stay?" you ask, and he chuckles.

"mmm...y'r so cute, luvvie..." he rumbles. "a doll, yeah? can't say no to ya."

you look down at the ring on your finger, a solid gold band complete with a precious diamond. you will have to get used to this--you are his wife, you can ask things of him, and you don't think he'll say no.

you look up at him when he tosses something at you. an army green shirt of his, and you slip it on, letting the fabric fall, and you lay back down in his cot as he moves around his room. you lay in comfortable silence, watching as the thing that calls himself your husband looks for files on his desk, adjusts the gun strapped to his thigh, shuffles his boots across the linoleum. you are mesmerized by what he is, and you haven't known him even a day.

you don't believe this is your vision askew. the honeymoon phase. the sugary sweet moments in time at the beginning where nothing is wrong, where all is well. simon riley is a practical man. he does not lie. he does not do things he does not want to do, and he does not say things he does not want to say. he is not in the business of comfort and ease, that much is clear to you.

simon riley is practical and resourceful. you think maybe he counts his words. that he doesn't say more than he has to. waste his energy on things that don't require it.

his wife. i'm his wife. his wife.

"why..." you swallow. "why...why did you pick me?"

he pauses as he stands in front of a locker. when he opens it, you see shelves of personal weapons stashed away, handguns of different sizes and shapes, knives of differing steel, toys that with a small push of a finger could destroy whatever building they went off inside. you don't flinch, don't blink, don't feel fear. you don't know why, but you just don't. you don't think it's possible.

he doesn't look at you as he surveys what lines the walls of it.

"just knew y'were the one f'me, swee'eart," he mutters. he shuts the locker, and the lock clicks. he comes closer, twirling a small blade between his fingers, and you don't cower away when he flicks it towards you, holding your chin up with the sharp tip of it. he hums appreciatively at this. "in all honesty, had no idea really until i saw ya, 'f you'd be mine."

he bends down, leans close, and you follow the curve of the blade with your head, keeping your eyes on his. there is no timidness in your gaze, and for that, he beams under the mask. perfection in one woman.

"and what would you have done if i wasn't the one?"

he shrugs.

"would've killed ya, luv."

"just like that?"

"just like tha'."

the tip of his blade drags, sliding up the length of your throat, along the line of your jaw. your lips part as he traces your mouth with it, and you tilt your head to the side as you trace the edge of it with your tongue. he leans forward more, pressing his forehead to yours, and you can see where the eye-black around his eyes fades into his pale skin under the balaclava. you see yourself in those eyes. the you that you have been waiting for. the you that you have missed for your entire life. the you that has been hiding, too scared to come out, too afraid of what might be said if someone saw the real you.

she had not been hiding. just lying dormant, in someone else, waiting for you to come home.

you smile, big, and simon presses his mouth to yours again through the mask, kissing you there, growling from deep in his chest, a purr that only emanates the contentment and the relief he feels because he has found that thing to live for. it is so easy to die. it is so easy to give oneself for what they believe. it is not hard to give the best of yourself away, he knows that.

what he has never been able to do is find something that will keep him alive. he has only ever lived because he found dying pathetic. he found it cowardly. but the alternative had been just as unforgiving, just as unfulfilling. but not this. not you.

you will make it difficult to die. you will make death a challenge. and when he eyes that smile, this one that you give only to him, he is happy to be given this new objective.

"but don't worry y'r pretty head about all tha', luv."

you give him those eyes, and he drinks it all in, all that you are. finally, finally, finally--

"until death do we part, yeah?"

NEXT

[plethorawrites]

Jason Todd has a praise kink. End of discussion.

But the funny part is, he doesn't realize it until you actually do it. It's so strange to him, hearing you compliment him. No one had ever done that before. At least not in the same way.

Sure, he'd get a compliment here and there for not letting some rogue get away or making a good shot. But you, straddling his abs while he lays in bed, calling him exquisite...?

It's like his brain malfunctions for a second, confused and wondering if you said it by accident or as a joke. But you didn't. Your compliments kept flowing, all night. Not the basic, generic ones either. You'd never be so redundant as to reduce him to surface value remarks that everyone else could make.

You'd tell him eyes were like emeralds, say if you were to die he'd be the one to revive you, never let him forget that he looks like he was sculpted like a Greek God. His brain was fuzzy, his lips pulling into an embarrassingly large smile that he didn't even care about because it just felt so good to hear someone appreciate him.

He was sure you could tell and he'd deny it until the end of time, but there was something so pleasant about having the person he loved most in the world hold him in the same esteem as he held you.

He was you'd ever need to live, not sunlight or water or air. He felt better than air in your lungs, more thirst quenching than any cup of water, warmer than the rays the sun could provide on the hottest day of summer.

And you told him so.

His ego grew, he'd admit. He loved hearing your words, your praise. It gave him goosebumps and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. And he'd never really be able to properly express just how much deep, unfathomable sincerity he had your words. He suppressed his desire for commitment and emotional attachment for so long, he almost convinced himself he didn't need it or want.

But he did.

He needed it so damn badly. He wanted it and craved it. Especially from you.

[lvrsfilm]

contrary to popular belief, Simon Riley does not do casual.

Nothing about him is casual. Nothing about his dedication to his work and his team, the bullets he would disperse and receive for them. Nothing about his routine, the way he shines his boots or folds his uniforms every week like clockwork. He is a cut and dry man, or at least he tries to be.

You, on the other hand, are the opposite of him in so many ways that at a glance people would assume you're the kind of person he hates. (He wishes that was the case, it'd make his life simpler). You bounce around base like a lit firecracker, your fuse sizzling quietly even during missions, never burning out. You never seem to tire, even after the particularly hard ones that leave him mute and holed up in his quarters for hours every day after.

You are casual. Coming to his room whenever you feel like it, knocking in a way that lets him know it's you and no one else. Bringing him tea, or bourbon, the occasional meal if you can convince him. He doesn't see how you can think it's casual. Slipping off your boots, leaving them half laced at his door.

Slipping into his bed. Laying next to him in silence, just so he isn't alone. Bandaging any cuts that aren't severe enough to warrant him going to medical. The soft skin of your hands making practiced movements over his scarred skin that only you've seen. He is not a casual man. And you don't seem to have figured that out yet.

No other man on base interested in you would even entertain the thought of pursuing you, for fear of Simon somehow hearing their thoughts and stringing them up by their necks to show the others what happens if they touch what's his. Everyone else can see the way he looks at you, the way he lets you in.

Everyone except you, apparently.

You don't ask why he lets you in, and he doesn't ask why you keep coming back.

He doesn’t know how to tell you that you’re the first person to make him feel human in a long time. That every soft knock on his door chips away at the walls he’s built, cement crumbling under your touch, a feeling akin to warm liquid gold seeping through the cracks, running over his scar tissue. Like he's a victim of Midas. Exposing him to something he thought he’d buried years ago. You remind him what it’s like to be vulnerable, to crave something more than routine and mission reports.

And it terrifies him.

Because Simon Riley does not do messy, either.

But you? You’re a storm. Chaotic and unpredictable, rushing into his life like you’ve always belonged there. He doesn’t know what to do with you, how to keep you at arm’s length without losing the warmth you bring into his otherwise cold existence. So he lets you in, over and over, even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.

Tonight is no different.

The knock comes—a rhythm so familiar now that it’s practically a lullaby. He already knows it’s you before he opens the door. You’re standing there, as casual as ever in civvies, with that cheeky grin that makes his chest tighten in ways he refuses to name.

“Thought you could use some company,” you say, holding up a thermos of tea like a peace offering.

He steps aside, wordlessly, because what else is he supposed to do? Tell you to leave? Pretend he doesn’t want you here? He’s not that good a liar, not around you.

You slip past him, kicking off your boots, leaving them next to the doorway as always, and make yourself at home like you belong here. Like you belong with him. And maybe you do.

He watches as you set the thermos on his desk and plop onto his bed, laying on your back and stretching like a cat, looking at him expectantly. It’s a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes. An invitation. A promise.

He lays down, careful to leave just enough space between you to keep the illusion of distance. But then you lean into him, shoulder brushing his arm, and the illusion shatters. His resolve crumbles.

“You came straight here when we got back,” you say softly, tilting your head to look at him. “skipped dinner, I saved a plate for you from the mess.”

It’s such a simple statement, but it cuts through him like a blade.

He turns his head slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours. He looks at you like you're a puzzle he can't solve. Like he needs to figure put your angle, figure out why you're treating him so softly. For a second, the air between you feels impossibly fragile, as if even breathing too hard might shatter it.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says, his voice low, almost gruff, like the admission costs him something.

You tilt your head at him, your lips curving into a soft, knowing smile. “Do what?”

He exhales sharply, as though frustrated, though it’s unclear if it’s with you or himself. “This… whatever it is you’re doing. Looking out for me. Bringing me tea. Sitting here. I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know,” you reply simply, your tone disarming in its honesty. “I do it because I want to.”

The words hang in the air between you, unassuming yet weighty, like they’re daring him to refute them. He doesn’t, because he can’t. You've made up your mind. There’s a stubbornness in your voice that he knows too well—one that he’s realized he has no defense against.

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters after a moment, turning his gaze toward the ceiling. “It’s a waste.”

Your smile falters, just slightly, but it doesn’t vanish. “You’re not a waste.”

He flinches at that, so subtly you might have missed it if you weren’t so attuned to him. His fingers twitch on the mattress, his eyebrows furrowing beneath the mask. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t argue, but his silence says enough. You press your lips together, chewing the bottom corner slightly as you debate whether to push further. You decide to anyway, because that’s what you do.

You grin, a mischievous glint in your eyes, and he knows you’re about to say something cheeky. But instead, you surprise him again by reaching over to touch his hand—just a fleeting brush of your fingers, so brief he almost convinces himself it didn’t happen.

He closes his eyes, his jaw tightening, but he doesn’t pull away. That’s something, you think.

You turn onto your side, facing him fully now, your fingers brushing against the back of his hand. He doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch this time, so you let your touch linger—gentle, steady, unassuming.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you add quietly, almost as if it’s a promise.

When he finally opens his eyes again, there’s something raw and unguarded in his gaze, something that makes your chest ache. He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t thank you, doesn’t argue—but the way his fingers curl ever so slightly against yours feels like an answer.

[razielim]

i love you-i mean-this, i love this

god i hope adolin is SO annoying about azish jazz and totally unable to stop bc this has been his life for the last ten years. a self-aware hipster with total diarrhea of the mouth about all the azish things he loves now. yes on some level he wants to shut up about shakshuka bc he's so happy to be with his family again and wants to fit in like nothing happened, but you don't understand. nothing else hits the spot anymore. have you tried this dish?

noura's been teaching him math. he understands navani and rushu when they're discussing fabrial capacitors now

renarin is better than ever at reading and writing, yay! he's had ten years to openly practice! :)c meanwhile, adolin can barely sit through a page of reading unless it's military history/theory, but is scribing jazz matrices at the bar while arguing about Light pressure valves with a passing ardent. renarin is scared. he's the normal one now

adolin learned to write with his left hand ONLY bc he didn't like the thought of his sword hand cramping up before an armed conflict

his clothes all incorporate azish patterns now, if only on a single sleeve or a back panel or lapel. he designs the patterns to represent not only his rank and house name but also his favorite jazz ensemble, using color-coding as math puns. his pun skills are widely admired in azimir, you wouldn't understand

each cosmere planet can have one anglophone swear. as a treat. nalthis canonically gets shit. yolen can have fuck. scadrial can have cunt. roshar... half these people could not handle a properly rude swear like fuck. they can have bitch.

[chaos-bringer-13]

Vlad, Dan and Dani move across dimensions to Gotham because of some bad stuff happening in their own dimension. Vlad has a lot of his money with him in cash, and they quickly get themselves fake id's as father and his two children. Vlad's plan is to keep low profile, wait it out and then return. Dan and Dani don't care about Vlad's plan.

Vlad is shady, Dan and Dani are causing shenanigans, and a bunch of coincidences leads to people believing that they're some sort of mafia family.

Some idiots try to rob Dani and she blurts out "Do you know who my dad is?". Dan emerges from the shadows, sends Dani off and makes extremely specific and detailed threats of slow and painful death to the would-be robbers. He finishes the speech by adding that they would be wishing for him to do all of that if his and Dani's father found out about the robbery.

Then Dan accidentally recruits a group of goons by beating up their boss and feeling kinda responsible for the henchmen.

Then Dani steals the talons.

Dan has a fight over territory with one of the smaller rogues.

Dani steals Scarecrow's chemicals.

All the while they keep convincing people that this is all a part of some bigger plan of Masters family. First it's just a misunderstanding, then they keep doing it to annoy Vlad. Some people think that Masters is just a surname, some think that Master is a rogue's name. After a while everyone knows that there's an up-and-coming crime family.

Vlad is entirely oblivious. He doesn't know shit. He ends up making a small organisation (restaurant? car repair shop?) to hire people who keep coming to him. He's not sure why his children tell all these people that he can help but they are in trouble, so he helps. And then helps again, and again. All the places he opens look like crime fronts.

Vlad is still unaware that he's a mob boss.

Maybe at some point Dan and Dani think that Vlad figured this out (because its obvious) but doesn't say anything because the police has bugged their house or because he wants plausible deniability.

Obviously all of this ends with the Bats deciding to confront Masters. It's also the perfect moment for Danny to enter.

Here, have a shitty meme showing the moment.

Danny: I left you here fOR ONE MONTH

Vlad: It's not my fault!

Danny: I figured. Dani, if I give you a candy, will you tell me what the hell you've done?

Dani: What kind of candy?

Danny, handing out a Yellow Lantern ring: A Ring Pop.

Dani, snatching it: We accidentally started a mob family :D

[padmestrilogy]

i’m not into “who’s the most powerful jedi” “who’s the best duelist” stuff but if i was, mace windu would be my man. who the fuck defeats palpatine. in a 1v1 . every other time someone has to fight palpatine in this saga they’re like “noooo i’ll turn to dark side there must be another way 😔😔” mace just does it. he beat the shit out of that old man what the fuck

[kingdontruther]

listen. i LOVE the idea of Langdon pining after Mel for the longest time, thinking he doesn’t deserve. HOWEVER. i personally feel like that wouldn’t happen until much, much later. I think he would be in denial until the very last moment. lemme tell you, that man is an expert at repressing his feelings. he’s actually the final boss of repressed feelings.

his marriage failing? nah, he just needs to get the kids a puppy (he really deserves the death penalty for that one).

his pill addiction for which he’s jeopardizing his patient’s medical care and his career and relationships? nah, he’s just treating his back pain! he’s a doctor, knows what he’s doing & all that.

I honestly feel like he would repress his feelings for mel sooooo hard he convinces himself of like the wildest fucking stuff.

like yeah sure driving your mentee to & from work everyday is normal. (it’s a massive detour from his apartment. wtf)

being disappointed when you’re not working the same shift? it’s just bc mel is competent and that makes his job easier.

missing her when he’s at home, after a 12h shift from hell where they worked together attached by the hip all day? yeah, he’s just a little lonely after his divorce and she’s his friend. nothing to worry about.

langdon examining himself thinking he’s having a heart attack when he sees her with her hair down for the first time.

she tells him she’s going on a date on her day off and he can admit: he’s jealous. the same way single ppl are jealous of their married friends.

so what if he dreams of her? they spent a lot of time together. that makes sense his brain would do that. or something.

MEANWHILE Mel knows.

like she knows as clear as day that he has a crush on her. and at first she doesn’t mind it. it’s not like anything would happen. They don’t cross boundaries.

he has a lot to deal with and so does she. it’s nice to know that this attractive ass doctor likes her like that. until she gets to know him and they become friends.

she thinks this thing they have will fizzle out after a few months, or a few years but it doesn’t.

and now they’re in a place where it’s better. they’re both more settled and he’s been in recovery for a while and has a good co-parenting relationship with abby and everything is going well for their career.

except she’s getting frustrated now. this whole will they won’t they thing was cute the first year or two but now she’s getting impatient.

She makes it her goal to flirt with him and she loves seeing him flustered. But he just WON’T TAKE A FUCKING HINT. So maybe she just has to take matters into her own hands

[no-onemournsthelesbians]

Headcanon that after Elphaba’s “death” and subsequent return Glinda has a terrible habit of saying “it’s okay” to everything out of the mindset that she doesn’t deserve to be upset, because she’s always had it easy compared to everyone else and nothing really bad ever happened to her. Right?

Her fiancé points a gun at her, runs off with the woman she loves and subsequently dies not long after? It’s okay, he did what she couldn’t. She has to watch the love of her life “die” in front of her? It’s okay, she doesn’t get to be upset, she came up with the lie. She has to rule an entire country, a broken one at that, by herself for five years? It’s okay, she promised Elphie.

She finally gets to see Elphaba again and deal with the fact that she’s been “dead” for five years and didn’t think she could tell Glinda the truth about her plan? It’s okay, Glinda wouldn’t have told someone like her, either.

It takes awhile after Glinda starts this for Elphaba to realize what she’s doing and feel the immediate need to put a stop to it. It’s after she wakes up from a bad nightmare about losing Elphie, after she’s done vomiting and shaking, that she says “it’s okay” that Elphaba has had enough.

“Glinda, it’s not okay!”

“But it is!”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve always had it easy! I don’t get to be upset!”

It reveals a lot. Elphaba knows that Glinda’s right about the first part, and that she often let it go to her head. But so much has happened since then. They aren’t little girls anymore and Glinda is different. She took that comment to heart (perhaps a little too seriously). She’s suffered and doesn’t feel like she’s allowed to, that she’s finally getting what she’s deserved and therefore it has to be okay.

Elphaba hugs her but she also wants to slap her because oh my god it’s not normal for people to be sad all the time, Glinda.

[palaceoftheprophets]

I am really enjoying the new Murderbot show because it feels like a “two cakes” situation. I get to have my version of Murderbot and the PresAux crew from the books, and I get to see these familiar but new (and sometimes expanded!) interpretations onscreen. I don’t need a direct 1-to-1 lift from the books; that’s why I have the books in the first place.

Also in every nervous, wide-eyed stare or awkward barely-suppressed expression I think “oh yeah, maybe it doesn’t look how I pictured, but that’s absolutely my good buddy SecUnit.” (On the other hand, I love that my favorite humans Mensah and Ratthi do look and feel almost exactly how I pictured them.) Plus! A character I didn’t care about that much—sorry Gurathin fans—having hints at more backstory to flesh him out further? I’m suddenly intrigued by a guy it took me six books to warm up to.

Idk, the books are short and told from an extremely unreliable narrator (bless it); I’m happy to have what is basically a shiny new, long-form fanfic to expand the story and characters we only get glimpses of otherwise.

Anyway, this is only two episodes in, but I think about the Vampire Chronicles and Watchmen when it comes to good and bad adaptations of the same source material. Queen of the Damned did not care about the source material and was a mess for it; Watchmen ‘09 cared too much about being faithful to it to the point where there was no reason for it to exist and had nothing new to say. And then later, both got well-written adaptations that used the source material as a starting point to explore untroddened, interesting territory (IWTV and Watchmen TV series).

Where Murderbot will fall we won’t know until the whole season is done, but I think right now it’s in the middle, and that’s perfectly fine for me.

[muttoncon]

so there’s this new EMT. his name is tim, he’s 27, and — in frank’s opinion — fucking weird. nobody else seems to think so, he’s asked a few of the nurses how they feel about him and he always gets a “he seems nice” or “he’s good at his job” (or “why do you care?”). it gets on frank’s nerves. nobody ever seems to see what he sees. especially mel.

tim is just always… hovering. how the fuck he seems to always be around the corner, talking to mel, without getting fired is a mystery. his coworkers don’t seem to care. they just let him buzz around the ED like an annoying fly. a fly that never leaves mel the hell alone. what crazier is that mel let’s him do it. she’s obviously busy, she’s an R2, but she still takes the time to laugh at his (probably shitty) jokes. there’s other doctors he could talk to. like whitaker. but no. tim has to talk to mel.

frank thinks he’s been doing a good job about keeping his mouth shut about it. he knows he’s highly opinionated and that mel can figure out that tim isn’t the kind of guy she needs to be hanging out with, but he can’t help it when she bring him up in the car on their way to work.

they’d been discussing where they’d like to get dinner after their shift, when mel mentions a new thai place.

“tim told me about it! he said it’s really good and that he thinks i’d like it.”

and how the fuck would tim know that? franks thinks, and then mistakenly says out loud. this opens up the floodgates and frank can’t stop himself from voicing all the reasons why he thinks tim is just not right. it lasts all the way until he’s parked and it’s only then that frank turns to look at mel, who’s been quiet the whole time.

he finds her sitting tensely, hands clenched in her lap, glaring down at her shoes. it’s only then that frank thinks he might’ve fucked up a little bit. because mel just unbuckles her seatbelt, opens the car door, picks up her bag, and leaves frank scrambling to catch up with her. he’s panting by the time he gets to her in the locker room.

“mel, what’s wrong? look i know he’s nice to you-“

he’s cut off by her slamming her locker door. it attracts a few stares from other people dropping off their things or packing up. now she’s glaring at him (he hates that he still finds her so pretty even when it looks like she wants to bust his teeth in).

“i’m not an idiot, frank. don’t talk to me like i’m naive, like you have any right to tell me who i can and can’t talk to.”

and then she’s gone. he’s left leaning against his locker feeling faintly ill and before regret can wash over him, his male brain kicks into gear, telling him: “she’s just overreacting. by the end of the day, she’ll realize you’re right.”

hours go by and frank is starting to get antsy. mel has glued herself to robby and santos’ hips, the two people he actively avoids. she won’t look at him, if he starts walking towards her, she suddenly has a patient she needs to check on. everyone’s thrown off by it and for some reason, they all decide that it’s frank’s fault. so now everyone is a little peeved at him.

when there’s finally a lull, he plans on seeking mel out again but is stopped by collins’ hand on his shoulder.

“join me for a break?”

the grip she has on him tells him that he doesn’t really have a choice.

she leads him to the ambulance bay, not exactly a secret location, but it’s away from prying eyes. he can already feel sweat beading at his forehead when heather stands in front on him, arms crossed, looking at him like how abby looks at the kids when they do some stupid shit.

“care to explain how mel — sweet mel that didn’t even get mad at that patient that groped her — has been in such a bad mood that she actually snapped at robby? and then had to go to the bathroom to cry because she felt so bad?”

so maybe frank fucked up a little bit. heather patiently listens as he explains the morning, his (completely normal and justified) opinion on tim, and how mel reacted to the whole thing. when he’s finished, heather sighs and uncrosses her arms.

“frank, you’re jealous. you don’t like that another man is showing mel attention and she might like that attention.“

shit.

he hadn’t considered that.

everything sort of hits him like a freight train after that. heather, damn her, just smirks and pats him on the arm before leaving him to stew. he doesn’t get very far before his pager beeps and he doesn’t get a real moment to think until his shift ends. frank only sees the top of mel’s head during end of shift debrief and doesn’t catch her in the locker room. as he walks to his car he considers calling her when he sees her sitting on the trunk, leaning back onto her hands and looking up at the sky.

the flickering light pole shouldn’t make her look so beautiful.

his shoe crunching an errant rock has her looking at him as he walks to stand in front of her. she’s still very obviously not happy with him, but now she just looks sad. he doesn’t know what to say so he just stares at her until she gets the hint that he’s too much of a pussy to start the conversation.

“do you really think tim is weird because he’s been flirting with me? that it’s weird for a man to be interested in me? is that how you think of me? i’m a grown woman, frank. i’ve had sex, i’ve gotten drunk, i can swear, i can rent a car. men can be attracted to me.”

he drops his backpack onto the ground and anxiously puts his hands in his hair, blowing air out of his mouth before he finally steels himself enough to respond.

“i know. i know you’re an adult. you’re one of — if not the — smartest people i know. i just— i—“ she’s looking into his eyes, his damned soul, with those beautiful round eyes and he feels his composure start to fizzle away, “i got jealous. i don’t like when he talks to you because then i don’t get to. he’s better than me and i hate that. i hate that he’s got the fucking balls that i don’t to actually show you that he’s interested. i want him gone so you just pay attention to me.”

and if he didn’t feel like a douchebag before, he does now. mel is just gaping at him and frank starts to get scared when he sees her eyes start to water. hopping off the trunk, he stands absolutely still as she softly grabs the hands in his hair and holds them between the two of them.

“i’m always paying attention to you. i liked having someone flirt with me, but i didn’t flirt back. i didn’t want to. not when it wasn’t you.”

one of them moved first, he's not sure who, but they meet in the middle. mel on her toes and frank bending down. their kiss is soft and sweet, delicate. frank wants more, but mel's lips are quivering a little so he moves back instead. he sees a small tear roll down her cheek but shes smiling. she sees the fear in his eyes and starts to giggle.

"today has been so stressful and now im so happy. i'm crying because i'm so relieved! i'm also so tired, can we get takeout?"

frank agrees. he's tired too, the stress of mel being mad at him washed out of him with their kiss and now all he wants to do is cuddle with her on the couch. so that's what they do. they get in the car, hold hands the whole time, only breaking apart when they get to frank's apartment and then joining again on the couch.

frank is asleep by the time heather texts him a simple "you're welcome"

[waves-against-a-cliff]

Kink negations and make it sexy

Free use and somnophilia with Ghost would go so hard. Imagine this:

Getting home from a day at work, normally you're exhausted. Absolutely ready to collapse into the bed with your boyfriend and sleep until your alarm goes off. But sometimes you aren't worn out.

Sometimes you feel like you're bouncing off the walls with energy.

After he kept being woken up by you playing with yourself (you didn't want to bother him, he works so hard and gets very little sleep out in the field) he sits you down to talk.

"You don't have ta keep usin' your toys sweetheart," he says and chuckles when he sees the confused look on your face. "When you're all pent up," his big hands come to rest on your hips and pull you into his lap, your thighs spread wide to accommodate his own, "you can just use me."

You gnawed on your bottom lip, one part of you wanted to accept immediately. Being able to fuck your super hot boyfriend instead of using your fingers or vibrator? Hell yeah. But the other part of you spoke logic.

You knew some of his past. Of how he endured SA and your heart squeezed a little at the thought that he trusts you this much. While you kept mulling his offer over his hands crept under your shirt and he pulled you out of your head when his fingers brushed over your nipples.

You jerked back a little and looked up into his brown eyes. "Simon-"

"What is it? Do you not want it?" He asked as he squeezed and massaged your tits within his hands, pinching and rolling your nipples in between his fingers.

"I-" a breathy moan escapes and you squeeze your thighs around his own, "this isn't fair," you complain. He just hummed and looked at you with anticipation while a whine clawed up your throat from his awful teasing. "What if-" another whine, "how am I supposed to know if you don't want it?" You managed to eek out.

He paused for just a moment and rolled your nipples absentmindedly as your hips jerked against your own will. "You know how I sometimes sleep without pants on?" He asked and one of his hands wandered away from your sore nipple and down into your pants. His fingers circled over your clothes clit and he had a spark of humor in his eyes when your hips rolled to meet his movements.

You nodded and mumbled out a "Yeah."

"If I don't want it then I'll wear my pants to bed," he pushed your wet panties to the side and dipped his fingers low to gather your slick onto them before he moved them back up to circle your clit with more lube. "Okay?"

You nodded, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you bucked your hips against his fingers as the warmth that had begun to build within your lower abdomen started to spread to all of your limbs.

Your orgasm was not violent, it was gently and softly pulled forward and over you, like being tucked in after a long day. A series of shaky moans and your entire body going ridged from the pleasure that gently rolled in like a calm tide all while he whispered praise into your ear and mumbled it into the skin of your neck as he littered kisses.

A couple nights later you come home, energy still buzzed within your veins and you hardly even thought about your boyfriends offer until you wandered into the bedroom. You had stripped while walking towards the comfort of your bed with the plan of getting off with your fingers again until you saw his pale ass. Then you recalled all that he had said and negotiated.

With a shaky hand you turned him over onto his back, grateful for how he seemed to absolutely die whenever he slept at home with you. Sure enough, he was absolutely naked and his dick was already hard like it had been waiting for you.

You licked your lips and slipped your panties off, testing just how wet you were with your fingers. You weren't surprised to feel that slick had begun at just the sight of Simon. It really was unfair how he got your body Pavlov'd to react.

You swung your hips over his and settled down. His cock nestled between the folds of your cunt as began to grind against his hardened length. You bit down on your bottom lip to keep quiet as the tip of his cock kissed your clit over and over again, sending sparks up your spine.

You rolled your hips until you were sure your own slick coated his cock and you were on the precipice of an orgasm from just humping against his cock like an animal in heat. You sat up on your knees as your hand wrapped around his cock and lined yourself up with him.

When you felt the tip notch against the entrance to your weeping pussy you shuddered a little. You looked down at your still sleeping boyfriend, Simon completely unaware his body was being used for this.

You couldn't deny the thrill it gave you.

Taking Simon's cock was always, always, a challenge. No amount of prep seemed to remove the stretch completely and you hadn't even done anything to stretch yourself out for him.

You bit down on your lower lip harder as you sank slowly, oh so slowly, onto his cock. Each inch was a bit of a challenge as you rolled your hips and lifted yourself up and lowered yourself back down to ease onto it.

Heat prickled up your spine when you finally sat flush against his hips, your chest heaved from the effort and the burn of the stretch.

You rolled your hips, testing the waters, and couldn't hold back the soft moan that left your lips. You kept watching his face as his brows pinched together as you rolled your hips a second time and then a third until you found a rhythm that made pleasure claw at your insides.

Each movement shoved you closer to the edge, faster than you would have with just your fingers.

Still you kept your eyes locked onto his face, even while you let out soft moans and clenched around his cock. It wasn't until your orgasm slammed into you with full force, when your pussy began to pulse around his cock, did he finally wake up.

And god he could have sworn he was in heaven. He woke up to sight of your face mid orgasm and the feeling of you cumming around his cock. His hands immediately found your hips on instinct and he bucked up.

You squealed and landed against his chest, your hands on his pecs as he bucked up into you. "Such a pretty girl," he muttered. At the same time his tongue felt so heavy from sleep but loose from his pleasure. "Wakin' me up in the best way," he murmured as your moans filled the room, punched out with each thrust of his hips.

"Simon," you moaned and his stomach clenched at just how fucked out you sounded.

"Yeah tha's right, moan my name baby," he encouraged as he picked up the pace, selfishly seeking his own orgasm.

You repeated his name like a mantra, your nails dug into his pecs as he spilled inside you with a groan. He pushed himself to the verge of painful overstimulation as he kept fucking his cock into you even while his cum dripped out.

For a moment you both laid there breathless and in the afterglow of your own orgasms. Then a smile spread across your face and you looked up at Simon who wore a similar expression. "Thank you," you whispered while he dragged his hands up and down your naked form slowly in a soothing fashion.

[munsonmuses]

Sugar Crash

Pairing: Erik Campbell x GN! Reader

Synopsis: I don't actually know! I felt motivated, and I cranked out something I genuinely like! And if you like it? Let me know!

Themes: bakeries, fluff, tipsy Erik, Erik has a Jacob's ladder, smut that's oddly domestic, mild sadism, an establishing friendship, no gender specific descriptions, awkwardness, summer parties, CANON DIVERGENCE

Word Count: 7.7k

Your eyes carefully scanned over the magazine in front of you, snapping your gum as quietly as one could do so, eyes trailing over models far too airbrushed and far too cinched, damn you photoshop. Sighing out your nose as you flicked the magazine shut at the sound of the bell above the door jingle. Pulling your lips into an impossibly tight customer service smile that didn't quite reach your eyes and looking up.

"Welcome to The Sugar Shack, your sweet tooth is our specialty…" it came out more monotonous than intended, looking over the very sweet girl you recognized as Julia, who your vaguely recognized from high school, and who'd usually come in with her mother, and two men trailing beside her as you hummed lightly.

"Hiiii," Julia started as she carefully moved her sunglasses into a makeshift headband, carefully looking over the menu and straight past you as you turned your attention to her company, smiling lightly at the sweeter looking of the two as he waved nervously.

"If you have any allergies or dietary concerns, let me know. We do peanut, dairy and gluten free. We don't do flour free or sugar free, or else we'd just be The Shack and that makes us sound like a whole different establishment~" it left in a mildly singsong manner as her other companion grinned lightly.

"The Shack is somewhere I feel I'd spend most of my Saturday nights," he snorted as your grin tightened, it didn't feel as funny coming from him. He just had a look about him, though you were working on your assumptive tendencies, not fair to judge. Though your inner scolding was thrown off by Julia smacking him lightly on the chest.

"Erik, behave yourself," she chastised as he winced lightly. "Sorry about him, he thinks he's funny. Do you guys do large orders? Say like…twenty four cupcakes and a sheet cake for like…twenty people?" She asked, talking with her hands as her wristlet jingled and you nodded.

You put your finger up in a 'wait a minute' manner before going under the counter to grab the binder full of sizes, designs, and price estimates. Setting it down carefully as you flipped through it quietly to larger sheet cakes.

"We can do custom designs, and we can do pictures too. Cake printing, it's the future," it sounded apathetic, and you could tell they noticed. That was terrible customer service. "Sorry it's, just a real tough day…" you explained yourself as Julia waved it off. "We all have tough days, clearly it isn't personal," she insisted softly as you exhaled through your nose, relaxing the tension in your shoulders as you nodded.

"Weeee, need something for a birthday party? This one's birthday party~" she poked Erik repeatedly on the shoulder as he batted her hand away. "Mostly just family, a couple friends of ours too…so I feel like…a full sheet would be great?" Julia insisted as you nodded to yourself.

"Okay perfect…anything I should avoid for starters?" You flipped open your desktop notepad as the blonde raised his hand. "Hi, im Bobby! Well, im Robert but everybody calls me Bobby. Uhhh, peanuts will, kill meeee, so just, make sure the cake isn't, contaminated." he insisted as you wrote 'NO PEANUT! WILL DIE!' in bold letters, underlining it three times as he snorted lightly.

Your attention turned to the soon-to-be birthday boy, who you'd learned was named Erik earlier. His eyes widening a bit as you pointed a pen at him and grinned lightly. "Tell me, the vibe you're going for, or the image you want. I will make, literally anything…as long as it's not completely not safe for work…" you laid out the guidelines as he leaned forward, matching your energy.

"I am, so glad to hear you can make my dreams come true~ I'm the happiest boy in the whole wide world~" he batted his lashes, resting his chin on his fists as you snorted lightly. "I'm a tattoo artist, and a piercer…and I want a pinup cake. She doesn't need to be, nude or nothin', but I know what I want. She's gotta be cool, she can't be cutesy or dainty…have a take no shit look to'er." He insisted as you wrote down whatever words tumbled out of his mouth. "Okay so, what colors are we wanting?" You probed as he chewed on his lower lip. "Black, red…silver…" he listed the last one as more of a question, running it by you as you nodded. "I can most definitely- DON'T!-"

You reacted quickly to the movement in your peripherals, catching Bobby reaching for the free samples as his hand shot back to his side. "Shit! I'm sorry! Is, are those display cookies? Or- it says free, take one. Am I not supposed too? I'm sorry-" he assured as you shook your head and Erik pulled him back.

"Didn't even check for peanuts, numbnuts! Would've died in this pastel hellhole-" Erik scolded as the realization dawned on Bobby. Looking at his feet sheepishly as your hand pushed through your hair anxiously.

"You're fine, hun…just don't wanna kill you, can you imagine the paperwork?" You joked lightly as you moved away from the counter and carefully approached the pastry case, finding a fresh iced lemon cookie and putting it into a napkin before bringing it to Bobby. "You can't have one of those, but you can have one of these…" you assured as he took it with a quiet 'thank you'.

"So…sorry um, do you know what you, want…on your cupcakes? I could print the same design just smaller for them." You offered as Erik kept glancing at his brother but nodded. "Yeah that's…that'll be good, I did, draw up the design I want so, is there a way I can send that to you?" He questioned as you nodded lightly.

"Yeah, here's my number, text it to me with any modifications you want…" you wrote it down before sighing in mild agitation, nothing to do with them at all, just, hating being where you were. You loved your job, you hated the surroundings. Erik wasn't wrong, to call it a pastel hellhole. It was a stark mint color, sprinkles painted everywhere a person could reach, horrendous peppermint decals everywhere, and the colorful, yet devoid of personality little busts of dogs and other animals you could find at a generic home goods store littered across the shelves, the cherry on top being the LED neon signs with generic sayings like 'a little sweet treat' and 'you're so bad!'.

"This is so fucking good…can I buy another one? Please? Or like…like twelve?" Bobby spoke through a mouthful of cookie as you laughed lightly, brows furrowed, but gladly obliged as you packaged twelve cookies to go in the painfully nauseating pistachio green to go box. You didn't hate pastels, you didn't hate sweets, you just hated how it was so in your face in every direction here.

"Who made these?" Bobby asked as you laughed. "I do. I'm the baker, and the cashier, and the delivery driver, and the janitorial staff." You explained as he smiled bigger. "Wow, so you like, own this place?"

The laugh that left you wasn't voluntary, snorting harshly and shaking your head. "Harper Shetland owns the place, she comes in an hour a day, bitches about how hard her job is, then leaves. I'm here open to close, six days a week~" you punctuated the sentence with an eye roll. Julia snapping her fingers while pointing at you as she laughed.

"AP Lit! You were in my AP Lit class! Harper was in that too, what a jerk." She recollected as you nodded. "Try being employed by her…" you murmured as Julia shook her head. "You're too nice, I would've quit forever ago."

You nodded at her statement, you should have! But you were passionate about baking. You were passionate about being a small business staple in your community.

"Isn't she that girl who comes in to get those teeny little tattoos that say shit like 'power' and lineart of like a sunflower? Has the weirdly cryptic instagram?" Erik butted in as you nodded. "She, I'm not gonna degrade her tattoo choices. It's her body. The only reason it's an issue is that she gets them because her sister has them and they're constantly competing." You confessed, as if it were some dirty, well kept secret, rather than small town gossip.

Erik laughed softly as he carefully looked you over and hummed to himself. "You are, real apathetic for someone wearing lavender…" he commented as you rolled your eyes. "Yeah, yeah…real funny," though your smile showed it did amuse you. "Anyways, when do you need this cake by? And the cupcakes?" You asked as Julia carefully bit her lip. "Saturday? Like…four days from now? I'm willing to pay extra! And we need it delivered?" She insisted as you nodded softly.

"I can do it but there's a rush fee…that I'm willing to waive," you started, trying to keep their attention. "In exchange for you guys watching the door so I can run to the bathroom and eat my lunch," you insisted as Julia nodded carefully. "Yeah! Yeah we can do that! Do we need to sell anything?" She insisted as you shook your head. "Just watch the door and tell them I'll be right with them." You insisted as you ran off, leaving the siblings together

"They're really nice," Bobby insisted as he worked on polishing off a third cookie, carefully wiping the icing off his face with the back of his wrist as Julia nodded. "So nice, I think they were on student council in high school, wicked smart, also in the like, culinary class? I liked them then, like them now." She insisted, glancing at Erik who was just staring at the spot where you had previously stood.

"Hellooooo, earth to KiKi. C'mon…you okay?" She insisted as he nodded lightly. "Yeah! Yeah I'm…I'm good just, thinking," he insisted, but he didn't know how to vocalize what was going on in his brain. He'd come across you a few times on tinder, seen you at HighDive, which was a local bar, and now here. It was a small town, yeah, but it was like you perpetually caught his attention. He wasn't sure how to deal with that, he hadn't dated seriously in a while, and hookups had lost their thrill, and you just constantly seemed to be around.

He wasn't sure when you came back, trapped in his own thought about you before being jostled by Bobby, his eyes focusing on the huge peanut butter fudge brownie you held out in front of him. "Earth to emooo…you in there?" You probed as he snorted but took the brownie, he didn't even remember ordering a brownie. Turning to look at Julia who was housing a strawberry cheesecake cookie. "Sorry uh, yes I'm here…not emo either but uhh, how much do we,"

"They're free, they said they liked us enough for free shit," Julia insisted as she tapped her phone on the card reader for the cake and cupcakes, waving bye as she led the pack out of there, Erik glancing back at you as you called out you'd see them Saturday with desserts as promised. Watching them go before prepping for closing, four days till Saturday.

-

It was a Tuesday night, and you as usual, had no real plans, scrolling mindlessly on your phone before getting a text from Cooper, a longtime friend, and a really bad influence.

'Heyyyyy :)'

'Yeah?'

'You busy? Like genuinely busy?'

'No, what's up?'

'Can you come with me somewhere? I have a piercing appointment at Stick It Out, need moral support.'

'Yeah, okay sure'

You carefully got yourself off the couch, pulling on a generic zip up and some dolphin shorts, shucking off your house slippers for some actual outdoor shoes and texting Cooper that you'd meet him at the piercing shop. Making sure you'd grabbed your phone, keys and wallet before fully heading out.

It was a crisp October day, and the shop downtown wasn't more than a fifteen minute walk, so you'd opted for that rather than taking your car and fighting for parking…even though it was 8pm on a Tuesday and nobody went out, you just liked walking!

You stared up at the large sign for Stick It Out, the neons flickering and the glass a bit foggy from the warm sun casting against the glass cooled by the air conditioning. Carefully stepping inside as the bell above the door jingled, frowning at how dark it was inside. Was it because of an acquired ambiance, or was it to hide the shoddy work done, but either way it was a little unsettling.

"Are you stalking me? Or something?" It came from behind you, startling you enough to yelp as you whipped around to face whoever it was, Eric carefully looking you over as you shook your head. "Good lord no, my buddy just, has an appointment, and im meeting him here for moral…support." You elaborated as Eric puttered his lips, rolling his eyes a bit harsher than anticipated. "His names, uh, Cooper…" you murmured as Erik nodded softly.

"Yeah, he's uh, a regular flake. This is his last appointment, and if he's not here on time, blacklist." He accentuated his statement by swiping his pen across the legal pad in front of him. Stark black lines as you snorted lightly, carefully watching him before taking a seat on the cracked pleather couch.

"If he's not here on time, what're you gonna do?" You questioned as Erik carefully wiped down the glass countertops of the piercing case and glancing up at you as he hummed to himself. "If he doesn't come in, then i get to close up shop and head on home." He insisted as you carefully looked over the set on the walls, vintage flash, American traditional, foam heads with piercings and drawn on tattoos and faces.

"What if um…you had a walk in?" You questioned as he quirked a brow, looking you over before rounding the counter. Lightly grabbing your face as he sighed lightly to himself. "We could do a septum, you've got the anatomy…" he felt the middle of your nose before humming. "Or studs right here," he tapped the sides of your nose as he laughed. "Stick your tongue out…" he insisted as you furrowed your brows, slowly sticking your tongue out.

He gripped your tongue carefully, gloved index finger running over the underside before shaking his head. "Nope, not gonna work out…" he insisted calmly. "And I don't think your first piercing should be anything surface…or your chest, or anything lower." He advised gently. "Professionals opinion."

You carefully grabbed his wrist, his eyes coming back to your face as his cheeks flushed pink. "Shit sorry, uhhh…" he let go of your tongue as you rolled it over the roof of your mouth and pursed your lips, your throat felt tight. "If you want anything, and he doesn't show up, I can most definitely squeeze you in." He assured. "A squeeze for a squeeze."

Your ears felt hot. "Excuse me?"

"My cake? You're squeezing us in to have it by Saturday…don't tell me you've already forgotten." He whined as you laughed lightly.

"It just, your words sounded suggestive, i was just startled. Thought you were flirting with me, and i feel like flirting with clients must be against the rules?"

"Not if they're cute clients."

"You think I'm cute?"

For the first time since you'd met him, it seemed like you'd thrown him off.

"No, yes? It's…okay, you're pretty, yes. But I'm, it's just a general statement." He insisted as you laughed lightly to yourself. "You think you're charming-"

"I know I'm charming."

"Mhm, I'm sure you think you know a lot,"

"Mhm, yeah, uhhhh, where's your lil friend?" He was changing the subject, clearly thrown off as he slowly licked his lower lip in mild agitation.

"Should beeee…not tonight," you frowned as you checked your phone and sighed in frustration to yourself. "Says something came up, boyfriend needs him…"

"I think he's just a pussy." Erik insisted as you scoffed, defensive about your friend and his troubles. "He's always flaking, the latest appointment in the day, and he never shows." Erik explained as you sighed in frustration, you could sympathize as someone who provided a service. "Think about it, someone keeps ordering forty cupcakes, they keep ordering, you prep and get ready and they never pick it up. You've already turned away other orders and everything, and then you're out of luck on everything. Ingredients, time, packaging." He tried to relate as you nodded, drumming your fingers on your knees lightly.

"Sooo…does that mean you can like…pierce my face?" You questioned as Erik groaned loudly, hands on his head as he spun on his heel to look at you. "Sure, if it means I didn't waste all my time on prep? Yeah…" he insisted, clearly still irritated by the fact he was led in another circle by Cooper.

"Alright, fill these out…and i will get your jewelry prepped." He insisted calmly as he slid the clipboard over and carefully tossed you a pen.

"If you're not up for it, you don't have to pierce me." You assured as you filled out all of the required information and Erik shook his head, carefully glancing back at you. "It's not your fault, I'm just an asshole," he assured as he grinned, tongue poking between his teeth as he carefully turned back to wiping the chair.

"Then, yeah I do want you to pierce my septum." You insisted as Eric grinned to himself carefully, delicately thrumming his fingers over the back of the chair and glanced back at you. "Okay then, take a seat…" he insisted softly as you nodded, walking over eagerly and taking a seat in the raised chair, the pleather sticking to the undersides of your legs and your forearms, the scent of iodine and a scented candle somewhere caused you to wince a bit.

"Okay…gonna be a slight pressure~" he got the pliers aligned in your nose as you winced at the clamping, his eyes flicking from the tip of your nose to your eyes as he tutted lightly. "C'mon you got it…deep breath, there you go…it's gonna feel like a pinch okay? You've got it."

"Okay…" you insisted, now your assuredness was dwindling as you felt the cold and sharp tip of the needle push, gritting your teeth lightly and feeling your leg raise as you whimpered. "Fuck fuck fuck-" your eyes watered a bit, though it wasn't full crying. "Shhhh, almost done…you got it, sweets," he was gentle as he spoke, threading the jewelry through and twisting the ball end onto it. Gently using a q-tip to dab away the blood.

"There you go…real cute." He pat your thigh, moving beside you as he held a mirror up, grinning over your shoulder and watching as you looked yourself over. "Looks good, glad to take your virginity~" he teased as you playfully smacked his shoulder. "You are so gross!" You laughed as you moved to stand, Erik striding over to the register as you followed quietly.

"That, is gonna run youuu…nothing. Since you're being such a good sport about my birthday," he insisted as you rolled your eyes, shoving a twenty into the tip jar. "I'll see you Saturday, Erik."

"Likewise…"

-

Saturday felt like it had practically skipped every other day in the week, you'd worked so hard on perfecting the damn cupcakes that you fell behind on actual work, not that anyone would actually notice. Nobody ever came in, and you felt like you were throwing away more and more each day.

You carefully double checked the address before rolling up the driveway, sandwiched between cars much more expensive than your little sedan and made sure to balance the baked goods as best as you could. Slamming the door shut with your foot and heading into the backyard, since a sign let you know the party was going on back there.

Everyone looked, so textbook. Like the mannequins of a family in an Old Navy, but significantly less unsettling, and Erik stood out with an adorably silver party hat and littered in black amongst a sea of J.Crew and Kohls catalogue clothing.

"There you are! Shit, did i give you the wrong time?" Julia ran over to you, your body turning to protect the cake and cupcakes. "No no, i was just running late…still had to close at the bakery and I'm so sorry," you insisted as she waved it off. "You're totally fine…you busy?" She prompted as you shook your head. "Cool, then you're staying." She insisted, and you tried to come to with an excuse, really. But her family was already coming over, welcoming you with open arms. It would be unsettling if it wasn't how everyone acted in this idiotically kind town.

You were sat by the fire pit, watching as Charlie and Stefani worked on s'mores, arguing over the logistics of the perfect marshmallow burnt-ness. Your smile felt impossibly natural, and it only brightened as a very tipsy, but not quite drunk Erik made his way over to you. Charlie and Stefani taking it as their cue to leave as you frowned lightly, watching them wish their goodbyes as they left with Marty. Turning your attention back to Erik as you sighed softly to yourself.

"Heyyyy~ how's that septum holding up?" He prompted as he dropped onto the chair next to you, offering you a beer which you took without complaint. "It's really good, more compliments than i expected to get." You confessed as his hand clapped your shoulder, shaking you lightly as he nodded his head. "You look real cute, but not totally hardcore you know?" He insisted as you quirked an eyebrow up at him. "And what would make me hardcore, Erik?" You questioned softly as you leaned forward. His eyes flicking from your eyes to your lips as you sighed lightly.

"Couple of tattoos maybe…" he insisted. "But you gotta let me do em…I don't trust anyone else not to fuck you up,"

"Fuck me up?"

"Yeah…fuck you up, you're uh…you're the perfect canvas, and you're sweet, pretty…someone could mess it up. Make it hurt when it doesn't have too, i can make it as gentle or as rough as you need…" he was definitely using more liquid courage than he knew what to do with. It was clearly a deliberate euphemism now.

You swallowed the swig of beer that was warming in your mouth as you slowly looked Erik over. "Listen, I'm tipsy yeah, but i know what I'm saying. I told Jules to ask you to stay, I gave you a free piercing because i thought you were cute, I thought about coming into the bakery like six times over the past four days but kept backing out. I am…crazy about you, I cannot get you out of my fucking head, and I'm not saying you gotta say anything i just…i needed to tell you before i drove myself insane, okay? I just…it's okay, if you're not ready but I'd be stupider than I already am not to say anything…you have my number." He whispered, the crackling of the fire the perfect backdrop to his soft whispers as you frowned deeply to yourself.

You carefully pushed your hair back, you needed time to think, and you knew that. This was, strong, but honest, transparent, truthful. He was interested more than you knew, and you wouldn't deny you felt the same damn things.

You turned your head, noticing his family had all entirely retired inside. Carefully looking back over at Erik before leaning in a little bit. Testing the waters as he moved forwards to meet you halfway. Your breath fanning over one another's lips, your eyes flicking frantically from his and back down as you shuddered lightly. Your noses bumping lightly before you cried out in mild pain, your septum snagging his as you recoiled.

"Fuck! I'm sorry, sweets."

"No no it's…I should go, it's late."

"Sweets, I'm- fuck I'm so sorry."

"It's, Erik really I should, go…" you turned on your heel, heading out of the back gate as you heard Erik following, hopping into your car and wincing as you struggled to get the engine to turn over. Looking up at Erik in the glow of your headlights as the engine sputtered to life. Reversing out of the driveway, and possibly from one of the best things that could've happened to you.

-

Days turned into weeks, and you thought about texting Erik. Hovering over that little blue arrow and swiping out of your messages. Becoming friends with Julia, who encouraged you to try, reach out to Erik. Weeks became months, you quit the stupid Sugar Shack and opened up your own little place on seventh street, with a business loan. You couldn't quit thinking about Erik, baking cookies the size of softballs and struggling to swallow the fact that you ran. You always ran. You were so good at running. You shot down a guy before you even got to chance what could've been.

"Stace, I'm uh…I am gonna go get lunch, ill be back in an hour," you told the young girl working the counter as she nodded eagerly, working with her little team to box up cookies for the farmers market on Saturday. It was nice, being able to own something and wholeheartedly care about the team that made it.

You made your way a couple of doors down, stopping inside a small sandwich shop, 'Subs'A'Plenty, carefully ordering off the little kiosk and going to wait patiently for it by the pickup counter. You idly scrolled through your Instagram before feeling a pair of eyes on you, carefully glancing over in the direction and coming eye to eye with Erik who was practically boring holes into you.

You slowly raised a hand to wave at him, and he did so back, albeit a bit surprised as he carefully walked over and you swallowed the lump in your throat. You could argue it was the tail end of a post Christmas cold.

"Hey…"

"Hi, Erik."

"Listen I'm so-"

"I'm sorry."

His eyes widened as his brows furrowed, slowly digesting your apology as you continued.

"I should've texted you, and I should've said something, anything. It wasn't fair to you, it wasn't cool. I was flirting too, and I choked up, and…and I messed things up. It's not your fault, I got scared. I ran." You insisted as you slowly wrung out your fingers.

"You could make it up to me…we could start over?" Erik insisted as you slowly swallowed your doubts and fears, your innate need to run from something possibly dependable. A flaky job, and a flaky friend, and now you had…better friends, you had a better job, you made a way for yourself. So why couldn't you have this?

"Okay…it's nice to meet you, total stranger, at this sandwich place, and wow you're really cute! We should go on a date!"

"Wow, total completely unknown stranger, I'm Erik! It's great to meet you, yeah we totally should go on a date. How about my place for a movie?" He smiled wide as you nodded. "I'm off at eight, I'll be there at eight thirty."

-

You had closed your shop a little early, to find some clothes that were, casual enough for movie night, but didn't suggest you were staying the night either. Coming on too strong was…well it wasn't your style. So you settled on some joggers and a sweater from a local coffee shop, made sure you didn't smell anymore like icing and flour than you could have, and made your way to the Campbell family home.

This time, you had the luxury of using the front door, carefully knocking as Brenda let you in, making small talk with you as you followed her into the kitchen. "You, are going to have so much fun. I am so glad you two reconnected…we kept heading into Sugar Shack to see you but you were never in!"

"Oh! I opened my own…place, actually!" You insisted as you smiled wide, carefully reaching for the glass of wine she offered you as you sipped it lightly.

"That's great to know! I'm so excited that now we know where to find you! I'll make sure to stop by…" she insisted as you smiled. "I told Julia to tell you all but, I guess some things just get lost in translation." You insisted, though you had told Julia not to tell Erik, and Brenda likely would have shared with him so you understood.

"Anyways, let me get out of your hair, enjoy your date…" she insisted, though it was clear there was more she wanted to share. "I'm…I'm very glad you're here. Erik has been just, in pieces, and Jules told me you also…kind of…were experiencing your own grief over the situation. I think you both, deserve each other. A nice thing." She insisted as you laughed lightly. "I'm gonna have to agree, we do deserve nice things."

"I am, so thrilled to hear that sweetheart…maybe I'll see you around the house more?" She questioned as you laughed lightly. "Hopefully,"

She smiled, glancing a bit past you before nodding to take her leave, causing you to turn around to face Erik in a pair of black sweats and a graphic tee for a band you didn't know. Or maybe you did? The metal font made it hard to tell. Smiling at him as he carefully walked over, hand guiding itself across your waist before pouring himself a glass of wine.

"Soooo, we have a couple of options, for our little date. I already took snacks, and stuff…toooo my room? It's the attic-…picked it as a teenager and decided not to move back down, but uhhh…options! Yeah, sooo, there's Scream~ there's uhhh, Sleepaway Camp which is, crazy old school~ and then there's Grave Encounters, but only the second one, I can't find my copy of the first one." He listed as you nodded along, sipping your wine.

"Grave Encounters two, sounds really good. I've seen the first one, so I'm thrilled there's a sequel," you insisted softly as he carefully took your hand, leading you down the hall, up the stairs, and quietly up into the attic as you grinned lightly to yourself.

It was a good setup, a little living room, an actual separated bedroom, and a small bathroom. These people really loved their kids, zero questions. You carefully got situated on the couch as Erik setup the movie, grinning wide at you as he made his way over to you.

"Soooo, how was work?" He pried as he carefully moved to sit beside you, pulling your legs into his lap as he grinned lightly to himself, earning a laugh as you watched the movie as best as you could.

"Good, own my own place now…uhhh, oh I made these huge, I mean huge, peanut butter chocolate mousse pies? They're massive, Erik…but they sell so well~" you cooed as he massaged your calves lightly, listening quietly as you gently adjusted to watch the movie better.

"Sounds like I'm gonna have to stop by, without Bobby so I don't kill him, huh?" He questioned as you grinned lightly, carefully running your fingertips over your own thighs.

"Wouldn't recommend giving it to him unless you were planning to kill him…"

"I'd only kill Bobby if it was for a good reason,"

"Oh yeah, I bet."

"You are, painfully sarcastic." You commented as he leaned towards you, gently pulling you closer by your ankles so your legs hung over the edge of the couch, halfway in his lap as you scoffed lightly. This was comfortable. Fast, but comfortable.

You rolled your eyes as you sat up, flipping so your head was in his lap, his fingers lazily running through your hair, nails taking across your scalp as you hummed lightly.

"You look like the main guy in this movie…Alex?"

"Do not."

"Do so~" you pressed a light kiss to his clothed thigh as he looked back down at you.

"I really don't~"

"But you doooo. He's got your eyes. No tattoos or good piercings, but he's got your eyes." You insisted as he carefully pulled your chin to look up at him, looks like the movie was gonna be background noise.

"You know what else he doesn't have?"

"I have a feeling you're gonna tell me." You moved to sit up to keep talking, all these angles and adjustments were getting uncomfortable.

"He doesn't have, a very cute baker, with a beautifully healed septum, kissing up on his thighs." He murmured as you rolled your eyes lightly.

"I kissed your thigh once, only once…" you insisted as you carefully pressed a kiss to his cheek, his eyes moving down your face back to your lips.

You smiled lightly, carefully moving to hold the sides of his face, letting your breath fan over one another's faces once more. Humming to yourself as you carefully scanned his eyes for any hesitance, only eager patience within them. Slowly moving forward to kiss him.

He tasted like menthol and tobacco, his facial hair grazed your skin. Your eyes fluttering shut as he moved to hold your waist. His wanting hands pulling you closer as you hummed contentedly to yourself. Months is waiting were paying off, and it was paying off in dividends.

He nipped at your lower lip, pierced tongue making its way past your teeth as you moaned lightly. Hands darting through his hair and nails across his scalp as he tugged at the loose material of your top.

"Can I…" he pulled away for air, for permission, easing your shirt over your head as you laughed lightly to yourself and slowly easing your top off as he shuddered lightly.

"Whoa, okay you are…way more into me than I realized~" you laughed as your fingertips grazed her his clothed cock, it twitching at your featherlight touches as you grinned lightly.

"Are you kidding? I'm fucking crazy about you…" he murmured as you carefully slid off the couch, on your knees between his legs as he made a show of looking up at the sky, clutching his hands together, and mouthing a 'thank you' up at nothing in particular as you snorted lightly.

"You are so goddamn dramatic…" you insisted as you carefully pressed gentle kisses along the clothed shaft, even through his sweats and boxers, it seemed to be affecting him immensely. Whining softly and biting down on his lower lip as you rolled your eyes.

"Wait, wait wait wait…shit-" he pulled your head up as you whined in agitation, and at the incredible ache in your scalp. "How…okay, how rough on like, a scale of one to ten?" He prompted as you hummed in thought, slowly running your hands over the tops of his thighs. "Let's just, see what comes naturally, and I will tell you if anything makes me uncomfortable?" You offered as he grinned, kissing the top of your head as you hummed softly. "There you go, sweets…wanna make me happy?"

"The happiest boy in the whole wide world!~" you teased, mimicking one of your first interactions as he laughed lightly to himself. "You are so fucking annoying-"

"Can we stop giggling so I can suck your dick, please?" She questioned as he grinned to himself and carefully raised his hips to work his sweats down.

Erik was…big, not huge, nothing unrealistic, but he was big, and decently thick. A beautiful Prince Albert and the starting rungs of a Jacob's ladder decorating his tip and shaft. Your eyes raking over him as he pulled you up by your hair to look at him.

"I want you to sit on your hands, there you go sweets…now open, open wide…" he insisted as you carefully obliged, tongue past your lower lip a bit as you let him hold the sides of your head and ease himself into your mouth.

A thing you'd quickly learn, was that Erik was a bit of a sadist. Moving quick enough to make you gag a bit, but slow enough not to injure you. Groaning softly as you felt your lips lightly stretch around him. Moaning softly as he eased inch by inch into your wanting mouth. His eyes narrowed in on the way your lashes fluttered, the slow exhales out your nose as he hummed contentedly to himself. "Relax, you got it…" he murmured, easing himself fully into your mouth as you whined softly.

The semi cool metal of his piercings pressed into your tongue, gently grazing the back of your throat as he ran a hand down your back lightly, bending over so his torso kept you pressed into him. "See? Told you you've got it." He laughed lightly, listening to the huff you pressed out your nose before moving to sit back down, mostly wanting to watch.

You bobbed your head slowly, mindful of his piercings as they dragged against the soft top of your tongue, the roof of your mouth. Whining lightly as it took a little more effort than anticipated to move smoothly. His hips rutting lightly as he mumbled under his breath. Slowly taking hold of the sides of your head as he moved you at a pace that better suited his needs.

"Look how pretty you are, sweets. Don't gotta do any of the work, lemme handle it. Fucking that pretty mouth of yours, like you were made for me-" his words were breathy, desperate. Clearly in control but, letting himself melt into the pleasure. "God you're real pretty, you know that?" He laughed lightly, knowing you couldn't respond to all his questions. Your drool collecting in a sweet ring at his base as he hummed, picking up his phone beside him as he pushed your head fully to the base, a soft gag leaving you but nothing that was uncomfortable.

"Look at me…there you go." He carefully took a couple of pictures, your eyes half lidded, hair tousled, nothing but adoration and lust in your eyes as he pay your cheek firmly. "God, I'd really love to keep you like this all night, believe me I would…but I really wanna fuck you." He insisted firmly as you went to lift your head, earning a firm grip to the back of your neck, keeping you in place.

"Aht…that doesn't mean I'm done." He chastised as he pouted condescendingly. "Just relax, you can't be that desperate for me ti fuck you~" he laughed as he held the sides of your head again, moving you a bit faster as breathy moans spilled past his lips, thighs tensing as he panted lightly. "Don't swallow till I fucking tell you, kay?"

You could barely focus, that heat in your stomach was impossible to ignore, feeling yourself clench around nothing, the quaking in your thighs. God you wanted Erik so fucking bad. You needed him to fuck you stupid. Life was stressful, it was nice not to think, let him do all of that for you. Whining softly as you gripped the undersides of your thighs, obedience was key in a moment like this.

Erik hissed a curse through clenched teeth as he pulled back halfway, your eyes widening a bit as you felt him cum on your tongue, eyes flicking back up to him as a bit spilled past the corners of your lips. Erik panting softly as he pet your hair back and slowly pulled himself all the way out.

"Stick your tongue out…that's it." He held your jaw as he took another picture, humming contentedly as you waited patiently for the all clear. His ringed hand patting your cheek as you took it as the cue to swallow.

"If you post those-" you started as he gripped your jaw a bit tighter, leaning down so you were inches from each other. "As if I'd let anybody else see you like this," he placed a chaste kiss to your glossed lips before moving back to pat the couch.

"C'mon sweets…face down, hips up." He insisted as you carefully obliged his request, whining to yourself as you positioned yourself on the well loved couch. Knees sinking into the cushions as your chin rested on the arm of the couch and you sighed softly to yourself.

Erik's hands gripped at the waistband of both of your bottom layers, pulling them off in quick succession as you bit your lip, waiting patiently as Erik laughed lightly to himself. Pressing light kisses to the backs of your thighs, along the curve of your ass, relaxing at the treatment before yelping harshly as he bit your left cheek a bit harder than you'd expect, granted, you didn't expect him to bite your ass. His votes trailed down the backs of your thighs as she whimpered loudly.

"Erik-…" you whined, writhing in anticipation, and the ache of bite marks littered across your skin as you whimpered desperately to yourself. Erik pressing soft kisses along his trail of bites as he rubbed your hips lightly. "Relax…just having fun with you…" he insisted as you glared lightly over your shoulder.

"Erik I swear to god, are you going to fuck me or not-mnhhh-" you were cut off by him already easing the tip of himself into you, the Prince Albert slowly dragging against your walls, the rings of the Jacob's ladder following suit as your eyes rolled and lips curled into a tight 'o' as he laughed lightly.

"Jesus Christ, no patience with you, is there." He laughed as you panted softly, eyes lightly stinging at the stretch, but wasn't the ache just incredible. "Ffffuck…Erik you gotta warn me-" you were cut off again by him rutting his hips, the head of his cock scraping that sweet spot that made your thighs quiver and knees buckle as you whined.

"Shhh, less talking, more moaning." He insisted as your brows furrowed. "You are so corny…"

"Yet I'm inside you, so just relax and take it like you've been begging for, please?" He insisted as you laughed softly to yourself, it littered with breathy moans as he hummed to himself.

He let you adjust fully as he bottomed out, busying himself with kisses along your shoulders and the back of your neck, massaging your hips, nails raking down the sensitive skin of your sides as you shuddered and whined up at him.

"You got it sweets…" he assured, pressing one last kiss before pulling back and rolling his hips in one fluid motion, so filling it felt like it punched the air out of your lungs as you groaned desperately. Gripping at the cushions as he laughed lightly, panting softly as he repeated his movements, setting a steady rhythm.

"I am fucking, crazy about you. I haven't quit fucking thinking about you…how bad I want you, how pretty those eyes of yours are, how sweet you are, how you take care of everyone…anyone ever take care of you sweets?"

You couldn't get words out, your brain felt entirely decorative at this point as you moaned through grit teeth, shaking your head at him as he laughed lightly. "Didn't think so, so that's my job. Fuck you stupid, don't have to stress out about anything if you can't think about it." You assured as he hummed softly to himself. "Gonna make you feel like nothing matters, all that does matter? Is letting me fuck you, okay?" He ran it by you, earning a swift nod as you panted loudly to yourself.

His free hand slid down your spine, coming up over your left shoulder as he took light hold of the sides of your neck, lightly choking you as he thrusted. Panting softly as he laughed to himself. "See? Look how much easier that is, moaning and taking my cock…" he murmured as he squeezed a bit, an action that caused you to tighten around him and a strangled moan to leave you as he laughed lightly.

"You're a fucking freak, okay…good to know…" he insisted as he let go and pressed your fave into the arm of the couch, encouraging you to bite down on the fabric as he bottomed out and held himself firmly in place, no longer relenting to you.

"If you want it, work for it…" he insisted as you whined loudly to yourself, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing, you loved setting the pace! You just wished it wasn't depriving you of his hips slamming against your ass at a speed you wouldn't be able to replicate without leverage.

You whined as you rolled your hips back, whimpering loudly as you muffled your own moans, Erik groaning desperately as he carefully bucked his hips whenever he knew it would catch you off guard. One of your hands sliding down your tummy to take care of yourself as you sped up, Erik laughing softly at your desperation, though you kept punching the air out of his lungs each time you'd bottom out on his cock and clench, slowly dragging yourself up the rungs of the ladder as he whimpered desperately.

You felt that familiar warmth in your chest, the tightening of your core, the way your thighs quivered as Erik started sloppily thrusting to meet you in the middle. Clearly reaching his ending point as you panted softly. "Fuck fuck fuck, don't stop-" you whined as Erik laughed lightly, rutting into you as he tried to keep himself from cumming before you. "Whatever you need, sweets."

You arched your back lightly as you cried out, nails digging into the plush cushions as you felt yourself tighten up, lashes fluttering as you rode out your orgasm. Arms shaking and chest heaving, Erik fucking you through it before he bottomed out, hips flexing and cock twitching as he pumped you full. Hands rubbing over your sides as he kissed along your shoulders and neck.

He grinned lightly as he carefully pulled away and eased himself out of you, earning a displeased whine from you that he shut up with a kiss, laughing against your lips as your brows furrowed.

"Good movie."

"Great movie…"

"Stay the night?"

"Erik? I'll stay forever if you want…"

[whineandcheese24]

thinking about a universe where Buck never went to the basketball game, or at least never body-checked Eddie. Buck still has this weird feeling, but he goes home and he tries not to think about it, and he goes to work and he tries not to think about it, and Eddie tells him about the drinks he and Tommy grabbed after the game and he tries not to think too much about the twist in his gut or the shiver down his spine. but then he gets a call from Tommy asking if he was serious about those flying lessons, and Buck says yes before he even processes the question because all he hears is that he'll get to spend time with Tommy without anyone else there. he doesn't quite understand why but he knows that's what wants. So he and Tommy meet up at the hangar for a lesson, and one lesson turns into two turns into four turns into drinks after shifts and Tommy's karaoke bar trivia. And he and Tommy are friends now but that fluttery feeling in his stomach never quite goes away. One day Tommy offers to show him some muay thai moves and Buck doesn't think anything of it until Tommy is shirtless and sweaty and Buck loses focus long enough for Tommy to end up on top of him and Buck's face is burning up in a way he knows is from more than the workout but he doesn't know why. Buck goes home after that hot and bothered and really confused and maybe he just needs to start dating again. It has been a while since he and Natalia broke up, but he scrolls through a dating app for a half hour, and none of the women that show up are appealing so he goes to sleep unsatisfied, mind drifting to hard muscles and big arms and a crinkly smile that he doesn't remember in the morning. This goes on for a little while, where he hangs out with Tommy, and his stomach flutters in a way he can't explain. Until one day after flying lessons, Tommy comes up to his apartment, and Buck hands him a beer, and the two of them are sitting next to each other at the kitchen island just talking about life and work and flying, and the whole time Buck is hanging on Tommy's every word, looking directly in his eyes, ever so slightly tilting his head, moving his arm closer, scooting forward in his chair, and he doesn't even realize what he's doing except Tommy's voice is low and gravelly, and Buck's face is heating up again, and it's getting hard to keep looking at him so he goes to get another beer, and when he comes back Tommy is standing. And he's just a hair taller than Buck, but it's enough to make his breath catch in his throat. In this universe, when Tommy leans in, his fingers guiding Buck's chin up to his lips, he's slow and deliberate. In this universe, Buck kisses him back harder and hungrier, because even though he still wasn't sure what it was Tommy was making him feel, he can't say he's surprised this is where they ended up. In this universe, Tommy takes weeks to kiss him, but it's longer and hotter and doesn't just stop at a peck.

[cranberrymoons]

cant stop thinking about buck and eddie going hiking and buck has like a backpack a fanny pack and another bag all for things they might need and eddie is trudging along and sometimes buck runs ahead and comes back to check on him and is super pushy about water and snack breaks whenever he sees eddie even slightly winded

eddie meanwhile is going out without bothering to bring his water because it's just a few miles and carrying things is annoying. buck is making his disapproval of this decision very clear but he secretly (it's not a secret) loooves that this means he has another task to execute, which is carrying eddie's water bottle in his backpack for him. and yes he is essentially lapping eddie on the trail, not because eddie is going slow but because buck keeps seeing offshoots and taking them. and sometimes he'll disappear for 6 minutes and come back like Eddie omg come on let's take this loop there's a really sick outlook just through these trees, it's so easy to get to omg. and they get there and it's this like insane rock scrabble where you have to squeeze yourself through this little gap and shimmy under a tree branch and rock climb a little (but only jussssst a little Eddie I swear come on it's totally worth it). and they get there and :) it is worth it. and buck is smiling so big like 😁 and he's sweaty and out of breath and his tail is wagging about it and eddie's like okay. what's in your bag. we can take a snack break here if you want. and buck whips out like a full picnic that he packed. and eddie's water bottle that he said he didn't want. and a blanket for them to sit on. yay