#this one was a bear to write

[herefortarlos]

Hello!

I love seeing your excitement around the fandom and a special thanks for all the support you give me in the tags! I was what made you start watching lone star? What made you keep watching lone star? What’s your favorite part of fandom?

Awwww, hello, Jen!! Haha, I am very happy to know that you enjoy my fangirling and hopefully don't find it annoying 😆.

So what clued me into 911 Lone Star, was seeing random clips from the show when I would be bored and scroll through FB and Instragram's videos section. The scenes that I remember the best are of course the racist neighbor and "Sure ma'am but I am a homosexual." And Paul's, "but I am trans, though." And then the corn silo scene and Marjan popping up and having lost her hijab, and everyone gathering around to protect her modesty. I loved knowing there was a show out there that had, from the brief bits I saw, canon gay, trans and Muslim characters!! Then I bought Hulu in late 2022, specifically to watch the movie Julie and Julia, then I watched all of Modern Family. And then I was like, well, I still have this service for the end of the month, and I saw Lone Star was on it and I have not looked back 😂 I wish Hulu kept track of it, because I don't know how I consumed 3 seasons of Lone Star so quickly while also working.

Tarlos and TK, then later Carlos, when we finally got more of him in season 2, were big reasons I kept watching. I also genuinely like all of the characters! I did not think I would love Judd as much as I did, big, stereotypical Texas man, but is not like you thought at all! Owen and TK's relationship is one of my favorite things too, such a loving father-son relationship, without the toxic masculinity is so refreshing! Getting Tommy in season 2 was such a big improvement too!!

I could go on and on about the characters, but another huge reason I fell in love with the show was because it actually had a trans black man, played by a trans male actor, a gay Latino man, played by a gay actor, and of course the fandom didn't find out about Ronen until 2021, but I learned watching in 2022, was a gay man, played by a bisexual actor!! Representation matters and as a queer person, I was so happy to see a show actually put in the effort to try and cast accordingly!! Even now, when I try to get friends to watch the show, I always start by gushing about tarlos, of course, and then secondly talk about the casting!

Finally, my FAVORITE part of the fandom has to be all of our amazingly talented writers and the stories they provide to keep Tarlos alive, interesting and relevant, especially during longer than expected hiatuses. I have been reading fanfic for various fandoms since 2012? And I appreciate all the work and effort writers put in to provide us fans with more content, without expecting anything in return, so the least I can do is comment on fics and reblog works here with my unhinged tags 😂

Also, I really appreciate how active the fandom is on Tumblr and I loveee saving and liking posts, specifically based on different people's tags 😆 As my name suggests, I made a new Tumblr for Tarlos in January 2023 I believe, so very recent. The last time I was on Tumblr was 2019, after it quickly declined in popularity, and all the previous artists and writers I followed left for Twitter. The fact that I fell in love with a show and couple enough to seek out a community for it definitely says a lot about it! When I fall in love with characters or a couple, I will hyper fixate on them for a minimum of 2 years, and hopefully this obsession lasts longer because of this active fandom and the fact that Lone Star is still ongoing and providing new material, as soon as these dumb companies decide to actually pay their workers a decent living wage anyway.

Phew, time to go find some lunch 😂 Thank you for the ask, Jen, and if you ever need a beta I'm your girl ❤️ But regardless, you can definitely expect me to reblog and express my love for the next fic you tease! I am not going to survive when Meet you After Dark drops!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Not beating the allegations.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[quadrantadvisor]

Thinking about DP x DC Jason Todd being a revenant again. Here's my scenario. Jason gets called that by some ghost. He's like "what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" He's heard the term before but he doesn't know any actual lore. He googles it. He scrolls past the Leonardo DiCaprio bear movie. He opens the wiki. Sees the words "animated corpse" and gets a chill diwn his spine. He starts reading the first section.

He closes Wikipedia.

That night he has a nightmare that his family buried him, again, this time with precautions. He wakes up in his own grave, full of stones, too heavy to move, to scream.

[why-is-it-always-autumn]

It's good and cool to give your characters a single simple, straightforward, non-urgent, super-achievable goal that shouldn't really cost anything or hurt anyone, make that the driving factor for most of their decisions, and then have the Plot do everything in its power to stop them.

[ghostbsuter]

Damian had recently taken to feed the very strange green wispy animal.

The strangest thing of this? Damian was pretty sure, despite the changes in race, it was always the same one.

Dick, who had seen the exchange from his window after sleeping over, got his phone and called beast boy in a panic.

[markscherz]

Bad Newts: Amphibians are in Serious Trouble

My colleagues and I have just had a paper published in Nature, based on our efforts to assess almost all amphibian species for the IUCN Red Lists. The major takeaway messages:

It is a bad time to be an amphibian

Two fifths of all amphibians are threatened with extinction.

Salamanders are the most threatened group; three fifths of all salamanders are threatened with extinction!

Climate change is a major driver of amphibian declines globally

Habitat loss, especially due to agriculture, is a problem for the vast majority of amphibians

Chytrid pandemics have caused and continue to cause catastrophic declines of both salamanders and frogs

Protected areas and careful management are working as strategies! They are actively improving the outlook of some species

As many as 222 amphibian species may have gone extinct in recent times; of those, 185 are suspected extinct but not yet confirmed.

Our paper is Open Access, you can read it here!

Photo of Atelopus hoogmoedi by Jaime Culebras, used with permission

[mipexch]

comic about v2 and the goal they'll never fully reach alongside a dissatisfying conclusion. intimate rivalry and all (alternative ending comic. V1 dies instead of V2 during 4-4. V2 is narrating. V1 is dead.)

[tusks-and-claws]

I’m Not What You Need (But I Am)

Miguel O’Hara x female reader

Summary:  “When you sit there/acting like you know me/acting like you only brought me here to get below me”

You have a concern to bring to Miguel, but when he hears what you really think of him, he doesn’t let you off so easily

Tags/warnings: smut (18+), oneshot, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, kind of missionary idk what to call it, dominant Miguel, brat taming, orgasm denial, dirty talk, choking, sort of strangers to lovers, maybe a little bit of a hatefuck if you squint, reader is a Spider person, def a bit out of character

Wordcount: 3.5k

Find on Ao3 here :3

"Why are you coming to me with such trivial annoyances?" Miguel O'Hara asked you from the platform of his lab, at least ten feet above you. He was tapping on various screens, not giving you eye contact. It felt purposeful, pointed. 

"I'm sorry, I thought you wanted to know when fights broke out. Keeping the peace and all that." You felt yourself growing warm, anxiety fluttering in your stomach. 

"What I want," he said, his tone growing short. "Is for people to sort out their own bullshit, so I can worry about what's important. Which, if you haven't noticed, is much bigger than you and I and some stupid fight in the lobby."

As soon as he said it, you knew he was right. But he was still being an asshole. You were only trying to help.

You put your hands up in defense. "I just thought you'd wanna know." Then whispered under your breath "douchebag," as you turned to walk away.

But your progress was halted by something tugging at your wrist. You looked down to see what it was, and closed your eyes, quietly cursing yourself. Neon red webbing. 

"You wanna run that by me again?" Miguel asked. 

You swallowed a lump in your throat. "Nothing, it was nothing. I'll just leave." 

You tried to pull free, but he was reeling you in, like a helpless fish on a hook. "Oh, no," he said, sounding somewhat amused. "No, I heard you. 'Douchebag,' eh? Not very creative. But…" he paused when you were closer, close enough that he could look directly down at you. "I want to hear you say it again. Face to face, this time."

You frowned. "How can we be 'face to face' when you're so high above me?"

He wagged a finger at you. "You've got a point there." In a sudden flash of tingling, your Spider sense triggered. But Miguel was too fast, he'd been doing this for far longer than you had. In an instant, you were wrapped in neon red and being hoisted upward onto the platform. He planted you right in front of him, putting his hands on his hips and leaning down so his eyes were level with yours. "Happy?"

You huffed. Why was he like this? A self-satisfied grin played at the edges of his plush lips as he scrutinized you with bloodshot eyes. Finally registering how close he was, and how huge he was, you started turning red. He could throw you around like you weighed nothing, couldn't he? He had just lifted you up here with hardly any effort. You'd never thought about another Spider like this. Sure, you were all strong, but there was something in Miguel's upper body that you couldn't free from your thoughts, something in those massive shoulders, something-

"Well?" He asked, breaking your trance. "I don't have all day."

You met his eyes. They looked so tired. You didn't want to insult him anymore. You wanted to leave and pretend like the thoughts you had about him never existed. 

But you knew what he needed to hear. 

"Douchebag," you repeated. 

He smiled, and it was humorless. "It's nice to know that this is what people think of me. That I did this for all of us, and everyone in our worlds. And the word that comes to mind when people talk to me is…?" He raised an eyebrow prompting you. 

"...Douchebag."

"That's right!" He pointed a finger at you. "I don't ask for much. I ask for people to listen and respect the operation. And that means respecting my time, too, eh? No more coming right to me with petty fights that people can solve on their own." 

You just stared back up at him, hardly registering his words. Respect time, no more fights, whatever. His hair looked so soft. 

"Got it?" He asked, starting to sound frustrated again. 

You nodded.

"I need to hear you say it."

"G-got it." 

"Good." He patted your shoulder. What an odd gesture. It was very nearly caring. "Let's get you out of here." He flexed his hand, talons coming free. He quickly swiped at the webbing he had wrapped you in, the strands snapping and falling to the floor in shreds.

Your heart was hammering in your chest. His brow furrowed. "Listen, I know I'm scary, but I'm just doing my job."

You shook your head. "I'm- I'm not scared."

"Are you not? Dios mio, I can hear your blood pumping." 

His heightened senses were going to be your death sentence. The longer he stood staring at you, the worse your thoughts became. But you couldn't bring yourself to move away from his attention. You crossed your arms, trying to make yourself small so he would stop looking at you. 

He raised an eyebrow. "What, do you wanna be friends or something?"

No, you thought, I want us to be something different. 

Despite your best efforts, you blurted out, "no, in all honesty, I've never really liked you that much." Why did you say that? What was wrong with you? 

He cocked his head, his eyes widening, processing what you just said. He started to nod. "Oh, wow. Great. Thank you so much. What a productive conversation. And you're still here because…?"

"Because you getting the last word in is infuriating to me." You couldn't stop yourself. You knew this was bad, but you couldn't stop.

"How do you think I feel? You came here for the sole purpose of bothering me and now you won't leave me the shock alone." He pointed at you again, forefinger lightly jabbing your collarbone. "You. Can. Leave. This is my lab, you little brat." He spoke the words through gritted teeth, and you could just barely see his elongated canines, gleaming and sharp in the light of the lab's computer screens. 

Oh no.

You stood there, just blinking at him. You've never seen someone so annoyed looking so attractive at the same time. It wasn't fucking fair.

He suddenly started, the anger from his face vanishing, confusion taking its place. "Oh yeah?" He asked, his voice taking on a mocking tone. "That's why your heart is pounding?"

Fuck.

"What, uh… what do you-"

"Don't play dumb with me.” He placed a gloved finger under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. “I can smell that you're turned on. Is that why you came here to bother me? So you could gawk at me? And maybe I'd fuck you if you were lucky."

You backed up, nearly slipping off the edge of the raised platform. Miguel reached out and caught your hand, pulling you in close to him. Unconsciously, you splayed your hands on his chest to steady yourself. His body was so warm and inviting, and you were drawn into it like a little planet circling a blazing sun. 

What was happening, what were you doing?

"Is that what you thought?" He asked, seeming to echo the questions you asked yourself, his voice growing more quiet as he looked down at you.

You quickly raised your hands away from him, closing them into loose fists and crossing your arms again. "No," you said, truthfully. 

"But you're thinking it now." He nodded. "Aren't you?"

After a pause, you nodded too.

"I really need to hear you say it." He probed.

"I'm…. I'm thinking about it now."

"Oh, are you? Thinking about what?"

You swore under your breath, doing a poor job of hiding a scowl. You should've known he wasn't going to make it easy for you. 

"Thinking about you fucking me." You grimaced after admitting it, waiting for him to mock you and disown you. 

He smiled. "That's funny. I thought I was a douchebag." 

"Fuck you, man!" You threw your arms up into the air, turning around and preparing to hop down from the platform. 

“No no no, come on, now,” he said, grasping your wrist with a large, warm hand. His grip was surprisingly gentle. “Why don’t you give me a chance to change your mind?”

You looked him in the eyes, and there was a small spark there. You sighed, unable to deny the reaction your body had to him. You wanted him. And he was offering himself to you. What reality was this where that was even possible? Not ten minutes ago, you were hardly closer than strangers. “Okay,” you said, offering him a small grin. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“Oh, I won’t.” In another swift movement, he swept you up into his arms and laid you down on your back on the lab floor. He was above you, arms on either side of your head, boxing you in. You could hardly see anything past those vast shoulders. You swallowed. He raised one hand to your head, petting your hair. “Look at that. You really are so pretty. Couldn’t help thinking it even when you were pissing me off earlier.”

You furrowed your brow. “I thought you wanted to change my mind, asshole, is this-”

He cut you off as his hand lowered, skating down your side and brushing against your breast before traveling even further. You exhaled shakily, trying to prepare yourself for this. Miguel O'Hara was touching you. Miguel O'Hara was going to fuck you. 

When he reached the curvature of your hips, he fondly squeezed, humming to himself. "Soft… so soft. You wouldn't want an asshole like me to eat you out, would you?"

Your brain short-circuited at how blatant he was. "No, I- I would, I really fucking would, Miguel."

"Oh, are we on a first name basis, now?" He hooked a clawed finger into the fabric of your suit, ripping a huge gash into it so he could access you. That… that was your good suit. You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to keep yourself from quipping back at him as he scooted downward, wrapping his arms around your thighs and lining himself up with your pussy. You threw your head back in anticipation, screwing your eyes shut. How was this real? How was-

You gasped as his tongue made gentle contact with your sex, slowly and carefully licking a long swipe from your opening to your clit, like he was savoring the first taste of you. 

"You taste even better than you smell, amor." 

Fuck, he was savoring you. You trembled beneath him, your hands tentatively reaching down to tangle with his hair. And it was even softer than you thought it would be. 

"That's it," he encouraged. "Hang onto me." 

You listened, your grip on his hair tightening. As if that were his cue, he brought his tongue back to your aching pussy, lapping at the wetness that was all but dripping from you. Your body immediately felt too hot on the metal floor, and you were convinced that you were beginning to melt under the warmth of his tongue. The almost-penetration was sending you spiraling; he was giving you nothing that you needed while somehow simultaneously answering your every secret desire. You needed that mouth on your clit. Your greedy, aroused body needed more, more. You had him all to yourself and he was teasing you. It wasn't fair. 

You whimpered as you gripped soft locks of his hair, waiting for him to take the plunge. Waiting…. And waiting. But he just kept lapping contentedly at your entrance, just barely dipping his tongue inside. The feeling was pleasant but infuriating. What was he trying to do? Did he want you to beg for it?

Oh.

…He couldn't be serious. 

But that was the only conclusion you could reach. After all, he'd been asking to hear you say things this entire encounter, prompting you to be vocal. All you had to do was swallow your pride. 

"M-Miguel…?" You asked, your voice quiet.

He stopped, picking his head up slightly, looking at you from under his thick brows. "Mm? What is it?"

"Please, um… please…." Your voice caught in your throat. Why was this so difficult?

"Oh, you're begging me now? What could you possibly be begging for… Isn't this what you wanted?"

You narrowed your eyes as he held your gaze with that lackadaisical expression. 

"Please," you started, feeling humiliated. "Please suck on my clit."

"Good girl. All you had to do was ask." In no time at all, his mouth was back on you. He zeroed in on your clit, taking the sensitive bundle of nerves into the wet warmth of his mouth, sucking on it just as you needed. The feeling was so intense and you couldn't suppress any of the noises that escaped you. And the noises he made didn't help in the slightest. He was humming as he worked your clit, the gentle vibrations of his voice adding to the overstimulation. He stopped for a moment to instead use his tongue, and the pointed attention was delicious.

"How are you feeling, amor?" He asked without fully pulling away from you, his voice slightly lisping from the contact. 

"Good," you gasped, feeling like you were getting close to the edge. "So, so good. Please keep going."

"Tell me when you're going to cum."

"Yes, yes I will." 

He continued his efforts, mercilessly devouring you, a cacophony of wet sounds rising to meet your ears. You could feel your orgasm building, your body singing. He was playing you like an instrument. That warm, pulsating feeling was building deep inside your core, threatening to burst apart with every second. 

Your grip on his hair tightened. "Miguel, I'm- I'm gonna-" 

Your back started arching and you closed your eyes as… nothing happened. He pulled his head away from you. You opened your eyes to see him looking at you from between your legs, one of his eyebrows raised. 

"Wha- what?" 

He smirked. "Oh, this? It's nothing... It's just that douchebags usually don't care about making women cum."

Your jaw dropped open. This again? You gritted your teeth, your clit swollen and thrumming with your pulse. You needed release. 

"I'm sorry." You said, your voice desperate. 

He raised his eyebrows, amused. "Oh, wow, that was fast." His tone was so matter-of-fact.

"I'm sorry for calling you a douchebag and an asshole, I was wrong about you. Please let me cum." You spat the words out so quickly that you hardly registered what you were saying. 

"How could I say no to that?" He returned to you, gripping your thighs more firmly than he had before, shamelessly moaning into you as you started to curl up off the hard metal floor. Your orgasm was so close, it was right within your grasp. Your breath started going ragged as you held onto him for dear life. In a white hot burst of pleasure, you came, swearing loudly as Miguel drank up every bit of you, letting you ride your orgasm out on his skillful tongue. He slowed down right as you did, matching your pace perfectly until you were a heaving mess on the floor in front of him.

"My turn, now," his voice came through the fog, it sounded distant. But you could feel strong arms lifting you up and all but dropping you onto your back on one of the lab's computer consoles, its screen turning off in response. He dismissed a section of his high tech suit, his manhood coming free. You couldn't help but gawk at him. His body was unreal. From the small window he created, you could see hard lines of muscle carved into golden skin. Your head started spinning again. 

He began pumping his hard cock as he looked down at you, spreading your legs further open with his free hand. "See how easy it is to get what you want when you aren't being a brat?" The way his muscles flexed through his tight suit while he worked himself was maddening. You wanted- no, you needed him to fuck you. You needed him inside you. 

You nodded your head, answering his question. 

"So, tell me what you want." 

"I want you to fuck me," you answered, still panting from your orgasm. "I want to feel you so badly. Please, Miguel."

"You're a fast learner," he purred, bringing his cock to your folds and lubricating himself on the mess you two had made. He slid over your slick entrance, his head touching your aching clit as he moved up and down. "I'll fuck this pretty cunt for you, since you asked so nicely." 

He positioned himself at your entrance and slowly pushed himself inside of you, inch by thick inch. You moaned, the feeling of finally being full was luscious, he was pressing at your walls from all angles. At last, when he was in up to the hilt, he stayed there for a moment while his large hands found your waist. 

"My God, look at you. You took all of me, and so shocking well. You," he exhaled, seemingly taking a second to compose himself. "You feel so good." 

"Thank you," you whispered, breathless. He was praising you. It was… nice to hear. Stubbornness be damned.

He chuckled to himself. "Please and thank you? You really do learn fast. You've earned this, amor." And with that, he pulled himself out of you, slamming back in with a hard slap. Over and over, he fucked you with the entire length of his cock, hitting spots inside of you that you weren't sure even existed. "Lemme hear you, I wanna hear it all."

You obeyed. "O-oh my God, Miguel, fuck. It's… it's so good. Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you."

Thanking him fueled his fire; his grip on your waist tightening, red eyes sparkling wildly. "Good girl, that's it… watching my cock disappear inside of you… it's making me crazy. You like getting fucked by someone you hated before all this? You wanna get filled up by someone you don't even like?"

"Yes, please." Your back arched into him, the pressure from his unwavering thrusts overwhelming you. The feeling was impossibly perfect, your body tingling from your head to your toes. He really did fit inside of you so well.  

"You'll get it, baby. Keep being good for me, you'll get it." 

As he continued, his hands roamed your body. Groping at your breasts, resting on the soft slope of your stomach. You grabbed one of his traveling hands, a rogue feeling overtaking you as you brought it up to your throat. 

His eyes widened in disbelief. “Y-yeah? You want me to choke you?” He sounded excited.

“P-please,” you huffed, grabbing onto his forearm.

“Holy shit, you’re something else.” He began applying gentle pressure to your airway as he kept fucking you. It was the perfect amount of constriction; suppressing your breath intake just enough for your head to feel pleasantly airy. He was good at that, why was he so good at that?

Between the way he was pounding you and the way he was choking you, your muscles started to bear down on him.

"Yes, yes, squeeze that cock. Good girl. You’re gonna get what you want.” 

You clenched down on him, your orgasm rocking you to your core as he fucked you through it. It hit you in giant waves, crashing over you and pulling you into the undertow. You felt completely drunk on it. The warmth of it was everywhere in your body, all the way up to your fingertips. Your head swam, your eyes rolling back into your head. Miguel swore to himself, his tempo becoming more irregular. He released your throat, hands flying down to grip the console. You thought you could hear it cracking. 

“God, you’re tight. I’m gonna fill you up.”

“Yes,” you rasped, your body shaking. 

He growled as he came inside of you, bearing his fangs in clenched teeth once more, and you could feel his cock twitch followed by the heat of his seed as it stuffed you full. He lingered over you, his eyes looking frenzied as his gaze flicked over your face, his chest heaving with every recovering breath. 

You released a deep sigh, smiling tenderly at him. “Thank you, Miguel.”

“You, uh,” he started awkwardly, running his hands through his hair. He still hadn’t even pulled out of you yet. “You earned it,” he repeated. 

He took a short, unsure step back, as he pulled his length free from you. You could feel his cum leaking from you upon his release. There was so much of it. 

He held his hand out to you to help you up, and you grasped it, smiling again as you got to your feet. 

“I’ll clean this mess up, but you.…” He scanned your frame. “...I’ve got a pair of pants on one of the lab chairs down there.” He pointed toward a particularly cluttered section of his space. “Bringing them back would be a much better excuse to see me than a fight in the lobby.”

[murdrdocs]

inspired by richie saying pussy; MDNI 18+ w/ RICHIE JERIMOVICH

"stop thinking about pussy,” is what richie tells one of the faks. you forgot which one. they’ve been around the bear so much lately, one after the other, multiplying day by day, that you can barely even remember the first fak you met.

but that’s not the problem. the problem is richie’s hypocrisy.

he’s telling the faks—neil and … tommy?—to focus on the task at hand. and richie’s focused, now he is. but you know he often finds himself in ted’s (that has to be his name) position.

you’ve seen it. he spaces out but not in the way that he does when he gets upset. it’s different. his eyes lifting up instead of casting down. his gaze blurry, unfocused, but so direct, like he’s seeing something play out just off in the distance.

you didn’t know what at first. it could’ve been anyone guess what had richie’s lips pulling up at the corners before he disrupted the gesture by flicking his tongue over his lips. but you only know now because he told you once.

when he was sliding in real good, slow and deliberate, and he was just talking to you, mouth running a mile a minute like he had no control over it.

“been fuckin’ thinking about this pussy all day.” the admission came so easily from him. he said pussy so smoothly, even though the word has a certain vulgarity to it.

he kept going, picking up the speed of his hips and doing the same with his words. “cousin was yelling my ear off all day, asking me where my head was.” he nodded down at your cunt, blue eyes staring intently at where you were sucking him in. you could feel it happening, you didn't even need to look to confirm it.

“my heads been here, all fucking day. look at that, the way you—fuck, such a natural, sweetheart. so good, you’re so good all the time. got me fuckin’ mesmerized. gonna be thinking about this for the next week, at least.”

so yeah, richie’s a hypocrite. because he’s getting upset at ted for thinking about pussy all day when you know he’s done the same. you still catch him doing the same and when you slap his shoulder and hit him with a harder, firmer, “chef”, he only snaps out of his daze to smirk down at you. and that singular look communicates everything you need to know.

[psychotic-nonsense]

"I'm sorry."

It's the first thing Steve says after everything.

After getting Vecna Cursed. After nearly dying. After a hallucination of Eddie saved him. After running through a looped forest. After finding sanctuary in Steve's memory of that Starcourt bathroom. After Eddie reveals himself as Eddie.

It's the only thing he can think of. It's not big enough to fit everything, but it's the only thing that fits in his mouth.

"Don't be."

Maybe that's the only thing Eddie can think of too. The only thing Eddie can bear to say.

Because don't be can't stop Steve's eyes from watering when he sees the vest in his closet. Don't be can't stop Steve's feet from dragging him to the cemetery every evening to clean Eddie's graffiti-covered tombstone. Don't be can't stop Steve from sitting beside Wayne and listening to him talk about the Eddie he remembers. Don't be can't stop Eddie's body from showing up in Steve's dreams, nor Eddie's corpse from his nightmares. Don't be couldn't keep the pain away enough, didn't stop Vecna from latching onto it while Steve was walking alone in the woods.

Don't be isn't enough for what Steve wants to hear. But even stuck here waiting, hoping, for someone to get Steve out, there just isn't enough time.

"I miss you."

"...Why?"

Eddie says it back so quickly, so quietly, like it's just unfathomable to him. Maybe it is, considering their last memories. But their eyes meet and he looks just as sad, just as longing, as Steve.

"You were my friend."

Steve can't help but say it like that. Like they were friends for years instead of days. Like Eddie was that important to him in their final moments. Like his heart really aches for Eddie every second of the apocalypse.

Can't help but say it like he means it.

"I wish we could've had more time..."

Steve's voice cracks a little there as he turns away, hiding. It's all he wants. It's all Vecna used to entice him with. It's all that's keeping him going, to finally fulfill the last request Eddie made. It's all he has left to feel close to Eddie.

The Eddie that's sitting right next to him, silent, his sight weighing on Steve's skin. Conscious and aware and the real Eddie. Trapped in Vecna's head as a backup power source, yet who still risked everything to come save Steve. Who Steve will never see again because killing Vecna means killing Eddie for good, and his heart doesn't want it, is begging for another solution...

But for once, his broken head overpowers his shattered heart.

"Maybe we did."

Eddie takes Steve's hand. Meets Steve's surprised look with his own small smile of hope. They're both suddenly tearing up, eyes glistening with life in this gray stall.

"Maybe in another world, we got a second first chance. A first second chance. Maybe even a third, or fourth. Maybe in a different life, we had everything we wanted. Because you, Steve Harrington, are too good for me to be doomed to meet just once."

And for a moment, Steve sees it. Feels it. Versions of them connected through the universe.

Little kids playing in the lake. One with bruised skin and shaved hair, loud but unfathomably lonely. One with a bruised heart and soft eyes, timid but stubbornly hopeful.

A rockstar with glittering chains, center stage in the spotlight. A set of eyes in the crowd or behind the curtain, watching only him.

A werewolf and a vampire, two cryptids of horror, meeting in the dead of a full moon night to feel safe with the only other one who understands.

A future where they won, where the only death was the one that mattered. A process of healing and learning, coming home to a family every single day.

A world without pain, without their hell, where two high schoolers found freedom from their shackles and company in each other. Hiding away together in the dark corners of the town.

Steve even sees other versions of them. Versions that he knows were originally never supposed to meet, yet forces so much greater than them pulled them together.

A metalhead drug dealer, constantly getting into trouble with one nail-bat-weilding cop.

A criminal's fugitive nature leading him to a rugged trailer park, and the dangerous owner within one such home.

An eccentric king in an old coliseum, always choosing one particular warrior as his champion.

A young programmer being pulled away from his work by sobs above his apartment, running upstairs to check on the law student that recently moved in.

Two actors, finding an easy friendship in the months of filming one season of a show that would change their lives.

In that moment, Steve's overwhelmed by the closeness he suddenly feels with the soul beside him. Falling into tears, he pulls Eddie into a tight hug, holding him so so close to convey everything he can't say. Feeling Eddie hold him back, hearing everything Eddie can't say in return.

Familiar music comes on outside the stall. Robin's voice calls out to him, telling him to come home.

And when he does leave, Steve hopes that someone out there will understand that he never can. Because here in Eddie's arms is the only place that will ever truly feel like home.

"Thank you... for everything, Eddie."

Thank you, Steve. For everything and more..."

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

- List of AUs, in order, after, "Versions of them connected through the universe": Childhood Friends / Rockstar!Eddie / Werewolf!Steve & Vampire!Eddie / Eddie Survives / No Upside Down & High School

- List of Multiverse Steddie AUs, in order, after, "...yet forces so much greater than them pulled them together": Eddie x Gator / Baron x Michael / Geta x Sean / Keys x Eric / Quinn and Keery

[smuddee-papabear]

Thinking of a dragon that's hoard is entirely made up of knights who came to slay him and were all fucked out of their minds instead. (male dragon X male reader)

Just imagine you're a knight sent to slay a dragon who has killed an unholy amount of your fellow knights. You're not feeling too great about your chances but you weren't given a choice by your king, who just wants the beast's horns mounted above his throne.

You found the cave easily, even getting in was a breeze, but instead of piles of jewels and other fineries you see a good chunk of half or fully naked men lounging casually.

You're almost too shocked to notice the unmistakable feeling of something looming behind you. But notice it you do.

Whirling around isn't an option. A large clawed hand curls around your torso as a single claw slips your helmet off. Hot breath hits your newly exposed neck.

"Hello little knight. Did the king send me another treasure for my hoard?"

The men in the cave turn at the voice, and with heavy shock you realize that you recognize several of them. A blonde man lounging nude next to a natural pool was the very knight sent out before you.

His knowing smile does nothing to ease your confusion.

The dragon lets out a low growl as he turns you around. "Look at me little one."

You brace your sword for an attack but the creature stuns all action from you. His emerald scales seem to glitter in the dappled light, massive curled horns framing the sharp face lowered to stare back at you. There's an elegant grace to his poised musculature; powerful but sleek.

His body is long and slender. It's nothing like the stocky build you were expecting to encounter. Lost in awe you almost miss the sound of your sword clattering upon the stones.

His amber eyes crinkle as if in amusement. There's an animalistic playfulness in them that holds you hostage. "Quite a lovely little trinket you are. Come, we'll get those awful chunks of metal from your body so I may see you properly."

Before you can object you're scooped up in those massive claws and taken to a smaller pocket in the cave out of view to the others. You were back to complete confusion.

Dragons were supposed to like treasure, gold and jewels and silver, not knights.

Your armor is removed with a delicate and practiced air. This was most definitely not the first time the dragon unclothed a human knight.

Stripped bare you suddenly feel self conscious. The way the dragon's gaze trails every curve, every scar and blemish, causes a fire to burn across your skin.

A low rumble fills the cavern. "Yes, you will make a fine addition to my hoard."

Movement draws your eyes to the dragon's lower legs. A spear tipped cock was unsheathing, already dripping to the stones. It was small for his size but still massive compared to yourself.

Was he expecting you to take that? You figured it would end up splitting you in two. Again before you can protest you are firmly pressed into the fur lined bed.

His long tongue trails down, the warmth giving you goosebumps as it travels over your sternum to your belly and even lower. A whine slips from your lips as your own cock hardens in response. The dragon lets out a rumble.

Something slides to your ass. For a moment you panic, thinking it to be the dragon's cock already, and twist to see. It's not his penis.

You realize it's a claw, worn down to a dull point for safety. As your entrance is teased you fight against you own thoughts. You shouldn't enjoy this! You should be slaying the beast!

But you can't deny the warm weight that settles in your lower stomach, the barely contained whimpers. Many knights have lovers but you chose not to. You wanted to be fully dedicated to your training. Unfortunately that didn't mean that you didn't feel the urges, it just meant you never acted on them before.

And now you are so desperate to feel it that your orders are slipping from your mind.

Your dragon licks and teases until you're shaking. Once you're a begging mess he pulls his claw back and positions his cock. You moan as it goes in.

It's so large it burns but not in a way that makes you want to stop. In, in in, until he bottoms out. You never thought you'd feel this full. Your dragon waits until your muscles ease to start a steady pace.

His rumbles combine with your groans. You scramble to grab ahold of him, finding his forearms, and arch your back. New sensations wipe the last of your concerns from your mind.

"Ple-please-!" Your breathy whisper causes your dragon to shudder. From the side of your vision you see his pupils blow out.

No longer gentle, you dragon's eyes roll up as his hips buck the thick penis into your hole over and over. The calm pace turns into a fever pitch. You squirm from the overwhelming pleasure rolling over you in thundering waves.

You feel a climax building and with a breathy gasp white ropes shoot out onto your dragon's scales and your own belly. That only encourages him more.

He takes quite a few more minutes, amazing minutes, to cum himself. A roar shakes the cavern.

Your dragon doesn't collapse on you so much as lays down but his weight still bears down strong. Both of you are breathing hard.

"The claiming process is long, trinket. I need to be sure it properly sticks." Your chest heaves in anticipation. A few hours, the rest of the day, you weren't sure how long long was but you find yourself too cock drunk to care. The dragon's tongue laps your chest again.

In the end, "long" is a three day haze of pleasure and climaxes. Being sent to slay the dragon, you decide, was the best thing to happen to you.

[fleuraimer]

boxer!carmy and his girl’s first time ❤️

sorry for the wait nonnie :((

wc: 3.3k (still no explanation 🤝)

cw: smut. minors dni. 17+. kinda dubcon (consent is never explicitly given but rather heavily implied). unprotected p in v (wrap it). fingering (f receiving). oral (m&f receiving). messy, like disgusting lots of spitting&fluids. spanking&mild slapping. manhandling. creampie. kinda mean!carm but just like rough dom!carm idk. lmk if i missed anything pls!!

The second the back door to the limousine is slammed shut, Carmen shoots for Y/N. He grapples at any part of her he can as she actively scrambles as far from him as their confined space would allow.

He smirks to himself as his large paw finally fits to her delicate ankle; he doesn’t know what led him to believe she’d give it up without making him work for it, just a little bit, if not like a peasant appeasing his deity.

He prefers a game of cat and mouse, anyway.

She yelps and flops onto her tummy, cheek to the leather bench-seat, when he yanks her back into his kneeling figure.

“Where’re y’runnin’ off to, Cub?” He grunts into the heady atmosphere, not loud but certainly not soft, an inflection that cultivates something burning and nasty in her being, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, buzzing.

They both distantly acknowledge the sound of the partition being raised.

“There’s nowhere t’hide,” he mutters, his large palms gripping at her hips, raising her sprawled lower half into his hard, straining stiffy, ass perked and melded around his pelvis with her cheek still pressed to the scaly leather. His left hand settles on the swell of her pretty ass as his right slides up to the dip in her back, pressing, pushing down so her sternum’s glued to the butt off the seat just like her cute little face, arched pretty and presenting for him. He issues another stinging spank to her sweet ass with his left hand, mumbles beneath his breath, “Not from me, Baby,” as he forces her back into her perfect arch when she chirps from the impact, form hunching and jerking. They shudder against each other as her stuttering hips roll back into him, stiff bulge smearing over her messy, cotton-covered pussy.

His eager fingers scrunch the hem of her baby pink sweater dress up the backs of her thighs, bunched just at the slope of her curved back, dimples on display. He runs his palms up her quivering tummy to her heaving chest and drags those tiny, teasing triangle cups down, her soft breasts spilling over the knitted fabric. They idly come back down and slip through the flimsy strings connecting her fucking flimsier panties together, playing, tugging so the damp gusset stretches taut over her leaking cunt, cutting into her aching pearl.

He watches the elastic snap back into the supple fat of her ass with a satisfied hum.

When he moves her soaking garment to the side, he’s not expecting the strings of slick, bowing between her neglected pussy and confining panties, arousal webbed across her flesh. Curious, Carm slides his calloused thumb through the swamp of slick pooling at her sticky lips, catching in her hole, sinking. He meets little resistance in his endeavors.

“Look at tha’, Cub,” he croons, petting through her mess, “Swallowin’ me right up…” His free fingers smear into her puffy clit while his thumb continues to delve through her, head dizzying with every compression of her pulsing pussy. “Think y’could take m’cock, jus’ like this?”

She shivers against him, “Fuck, Bear—”

“Hmm?” he drones, focused on the curl and claw of her fingers against the leather seats. He pulls his thumb from her opening, wipes her essence on the imprinted palm prints scorching her ass, and fits his middle and ring finger inside instead. He watches her choke on her spit, shriveled, hiccoughed breaths emitted as drool froths in the corner of her gaping mouth. He smirks, predatory—bear-ish. “Think y’could, Cub?”

She nods her head against the seat, fervent, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmmm,” she whines into the leather.

He tuts softly at her desperation, offers her another spank that echoes in the stagnant air.

“Don’ be greedy, Cub,” he utters, which is, honestly, just ridiculous to say as he gropes and squeezes and smacks up any part of her he so pleases (not as if she has much room to speak, seeing as she literally drooling for it). His hands run up her sides, slithering between the stretchy fabric of her dress so it scrunches up beneath her chin, chest fitting to her back as he forces her to lift that pretty, hollow head so he can strip her down to her underwear. He kisses just behind the shell of her ear and whispers, “I’ll give y’what y’need, Baby.”

Delivers, too. Slips back down her back and slides his burly arms between her spread legs to wrap around her waist and tug her where she needs—his pretty, busted mouth.

He taps his tongue on her clit to hear her whine, suckles light and notches his bumpy nose in her dripping hole.

“Oh, my fuckin—”

He licks up, laves over her button and her hole and farther—up—to her rosebud, fingers dug into her red ass, spreading, like cake on a platter. Rolls his tongue back down to suck on her pearl, firm, weltering between his lips, and fuck his nose, gentle but present, in her soft opening.

“Carm— Carmy, you—” Cuts herself off with huffy gasps and groans, shakes against his pretty, beat up face when he brings his arm from between her legs to spank her—no firmer or meaner than before, yet no less jarring, stinging—and slips it right back through to wrap around her waist and spread her back open for him.

“Wha’s m’name, Cub?” he slurs into her pussy.

“Bear!”

“S’it, Baby, s’a good girl,” he mumbles, smeared across her modesty—sealed at the alter, an orison to his deity.

Carmy eats her messy; it’s not as if she wasn’t leaky before, he just… uses it to his advantage. Takes her arousal—saccharine and heady—and mixes it with his spit so much that webs between her cunt and his face like her slick had to her panties.

If he wipes it up, it’s halfhearted—for the benefit of rubbing a piece of both himself and her into her flesh, soothing her very essence and his liquid greed into the irritated skin of her ass, shimmering when street light seeps through the car windows and catches on his mark.

Otherwise, he lets it drip and fall and stir together so he’s sliding through it, tongue slipping up and down—up and down, up and down—to her sticky hole and clit, up—up—to her teased asshole to slobber and kiss and suckle and make her wriggle and writhe, shivering, shoving herself back into him, his mouth, his tongue; his zeal and the pleasure it affronts her with

(something walking the line of respect and humiliation, tipping—side-to-side, up and down, all around—between a purification and a violation—dizzying to the head and blurring to the eyes; fuzzy to the senses).

“Pleasepleaseplease,” she prays under her shortened breath, hand reaching back to press to Carmy’s curls and let her fingers slot through the swirling tendrils so she can tug him into her, pushing his head back down, urging his lips to return to her slick pearl. “G’na come, please,” she chirps, scratchy in her throat, unused.

He grunts against her—vocals racking through her body—and fits his mouth over her sweet clit again, nosedived in her pussy.

“Shit!” she cries, skittish. “Please, fucking— Ah!”

He draws back with a noisy pop that could make her scream (curl up in a ball and cry and wail and fucking throw up because what the fuck is his issue?).

“Anybody ev’r made y’squirt b’fore, Cub?” he mumbles, nonchalant but not

(so, that’s his issue).

The sound of him slurping up her dripping slick—not a drop gone to waste—muffles her meek reply of, “Mm-hmm, Bear,” head shaking as she nuzzles into the bend of her elbow.

“No?” He tsks. “S’a shame, but I ain’t complainin’; Get t’break y’in.”

He pulls his arms from between her legs to grip her shaky thighs and fix her positioning, her presentation—ass up, face down—sloppy where it was once prestige. Takes two thick ringed fingers and stuffs them up her fluttering, pliant pussy. Slips right inside, so he forces a third without pause, and starts fucking them into her.

His motions are simultaneously precise and fluid. He knows where to stroke and how to stroke it, which ways work best to achieve the desired reaction. The calloused pads of his fingers pet firmly at the soft spot inside her the makes her toes curl beside his legs, the thick of his fingers stretching her sucking, gummy walls around him, blooming, petals unfurling—flower blossoming—for him.

It’s incessant, the brew of arousal at the base of her belly. Bubbling over the surface. Pressing, pushing—

“Fuck! Car— Bear, coming! M’coming, don’t stop, M’— Hmm, don’t fucking stop, Bear!”

She does come—gushes over his three thick fingers and spates when he slips them free and pinches and presses and pats at her tacky clit, firm beneath his plucking finger-pads, puffy and stiff with scorn, discount, oversensitive with anticipation.

“Jesus Christ, Cub,” Carm growls, a bully with his offering of pleasure, selfish. Keeps petting and petting and petting at her button, keeps her coming, shaking, squirting in his open, eager palm. “S’a good fuckin’ girl, Baby—look at that fuckin’ cream. Keep comin’ f’me, Sweetheart.”

He doesn't let up until she's twitching so much she might melt right off the seat and into a puddle on the limo floor. Carmy chuckles, a dark rumble from somewhere buried in his belly, and grips her hunched shoulders, yanking her behind into his front.

"Need a break, Cub?" He asks, sympathetic, condensation coating his lilt, and she's nodding before he can finish speaking. He soothes a kiss into the skin just beside the hinge of her jaw, strictly supple, and moves them together so he's sitting up right in the leather seat (he slips slightly, on all that mess and drool his cub left behind, and he huffs a small laugh because of it).

He flips her to face him with the objective of getting her chest to chest, sat pretty in his straining lap, but when he draws he nearer she pushes at his chest and drops down to the floor, sat pretty on her knees for him.

For someone so incoherent—sluggish in speech, jumbled and only sometimes discernible—she makes damn quick work of the button and zipper of his dress pants, yanking those and his briefs down together in a carnal, oddly endearing display of need, or want or something—deeper; something bigger than words or speaking or thoughts, but feeling, vivid, in sense, in meaning, in something difficult to describe—but it doesn't matter much to Carmy because she's taking his stiff cock in her soft, small hands, warm and contradicting the cool of her rings, and lifting the ruddy, weeping tip to her glossy lips, shimmer and spit-slicked.

She spits on his fat head, and doesn't bother hiding her pleased smile at the resulting groan she's awarded. Her sly, pink tongue peeks out and licks, chaste, around her squeezing fingers, jerking, twisting, working his cock with a mixture of his pre and her spit.

"Shiit," he moans when she settles him between her sticky, glittery lips, still tonguing at his tip even as he stretches her sweet mouth (Carmy wasn't particularly long, average, but not lengthy. His width was an entirely different question, though. The girth of his cock was enough that it makes even his hand seem conventionally sized).

He works his rough fingers through her hair as she sinks lower, steady, calculated, on his cock, soft suction, gentle, pulsing with wet heat. She stops halfway, sucks in her cheeks and pulls back a little but then drops right back down, lower—sinking—until her nose is nestled in his sparse happy trail and he can feel the contraction of her tight little throat around his fat head.

"S'good, Cub," he gasps lowly, chest heaving, pressing wisps of hair, dry and drenched, from her face. He brings one hand down to the base of her neck, thumb rubbing softly, soothing, that urges her down when she lifts. "Nuh," he grunts, hips jerking when she chokes around him. Her small paws skim over his thighs and grip at his sides for leverage, but she doesn't fight it.

Relaxes into it, on the contrary. Arches that back and closes her watering eyes and feels the flutters of her stuffed throat instead of trying to stop them.

"'Atta girl," he grumbles, leaning over her to play with her perked ass—gripping, wiggling, spanking—and then trail his fingers down to her hollow cunt. He stuffs with three fingers, swift.

She mewls around his thick cock, gags and taps his side twice so he'll let up. Does so easily, eagerly, almost, a palm fit to her jaw that tugs her up, up, up to his bitten, busted lips. She's huffy, heaving and stuttering breaths through hiccoughs and whimpers, but she takes his kiss like she craves it. Opens her mouth and let him lick into each corner and crevice, suckles and bites on his cut in the corner of his bottom lip until metallic coats her tastebuds. She lulls, and he keeps her up for him, lips locked and tongues tied, uncoordinated and sloppy but good—sating.

He shoves her back down when a hefty drip of drool hangs between their chins, reaching for his forgotten cock. She takes him down to the root immediately, this time, strokes her tongue across the girth of his cock, running up and down the protruding veins before she pulling back, slurping up the mess she's made to spit it back onto him and do it over again.

And again, and again—again

(Stay, Cub, he coos, nose tucked to his belly, gagging—messy girl, he chastises, but doesn't soften—thumb and forefinger of his right hand pinching her nose and his left at the base of her neck, thumb soothing).

He rips her back up when she tries to take one of his full balls between her sloppy, saccharine lips because if she had he would've busted all over her pretty, ruined face. She whines and protests against his wrangling, but he's far too firm—big and strong and capable—tuts away her greed with a few stinging, lingering pats to her cheek.

"What'd I say, Cub?" he mumbles, scrutinizing, two fingers shoved down her eager throat to satiate her. And yet, he still looks at her for an answer like she's in any position to speak. "Hmm?" he presses, and pats her cheek rosy red, prodding and smearing spit over the irate hue.

"Don't be greedy," she repeats his prior instruction, just quick and clear enough for him to make it out before three fingers are pushing past her lips again.

"S'right," he nods, tilts his head up to press a delicate kiss to her sweaty forehead, paw fit to her flushed cheek. "Lucky y'so pretty—don't be greedy, Cub; G'na listen this time?"

She swallows, bobs her dizzy head up and down and inches foreward in search of his mouth, sighing something soft and darling from the pit of her belly as their tongues touch, silken, velveteen laving and savoring.

He pulls her back by a fist to her scalp before they can get too carried away, twists her around so her back is facing him and pushes her down until her arms shoot out to catch her against the seats lining the opposite side of the limo. He grasps her supple hips and drags her back, leaking pussy slotted to his hot, throbbing cock—moves his right hand over to the small of her back and presses, urges her back into the perfect presentation.

He works his cock through her slick—not necessary, with the way he's soaked in her spit, dripping and webby—clinging—to her flesh, the seam of her full thighs and puffy pussy—his fat tip bumping the head of her clit with every pass.

"Fuck—fuck, Bear—please, put it inside, put it— please—"

He sinks in before she can swallow her fervid tongue, dives through her wet, gummy walls, pushes into her to the hilt, stretched, filled to the brim, cockhead smearing at her cervix. They moan together as he fits himself to her, balls squeezed tight against her sticky clit. His fingers dig into the full of her bruising ass, marked up and cherry red, finger-pads milling craters into her flesh as he shifts back, drags himself out so he can cram himself right back in, exacting—forces his cock out to the tip through her vice grip and stretches his way back inside.

"Oh!" she mewls, head bowing between her bunched shoulders. "Fuck, you're— fucking— y'big; s'big, Bear," she stutters, trips over her leaden tongue, shakes and gasps when he finds a steady pace, sating, to fuck his cock into her; bullying his desire—desperation, greed—into her very being. Her fingers claw at the leather seat, grappling fruitlessly, as he pulls out and strokes back in, contracting over the present grooves and ridges, thick veins, of his swelled cock.

"Look at this little pussy, fuckin' swallowin' m'cock," he mutters, awestruck. He offers her bouncing ass a sharp spank, bearish and blunt, that ripens the imprints formerly singed into her skin. "Bring it back f'me, Baby; work this ass f'my cock."

Her obligation to his request is clumsy, feverish, but what she lacks in fluidity she makes up for in vigor. Swivels her hips up so his cock is only kept snug by the head, and rolls them back down, slow, cherished, veiny girth disappearing inch by delicious inch into her muggy cunt.

"Fuck, Cub!" he moans, debauched, and cants his hips up to meet her half way—uses his hold on her swirling hips to tug her on him how they both need, press in farther, and farther still.

Her right hand slips from the leather and slides down, over her heaving chest and full belly—ignores the obtrusive bulge in her stomach—to her mound, lower, where she finds her tender clit to tweak and twist and knead beneath her fingertips, rubbed to mingled discomfort and gratification.

"Y'playin' with m'pussy, Sweetheart?" he grunts, daunting, but gives no other form of admonishment, doubles down, if anything, on the power and level of leisure to his thrusts. She cries brokenly into the crook of her elbow, pinches harder at her clit, shrivels into his strokes.

"G'na make m'come," she whimpers, feather soft and watery at the base of her throat, head heavy and fuzzy and shaking, enamored and terrified, a heady culmination of sensations.

And Carm's been fending off his impending orgasm for far too long, enough for the ache in his belly to fester into something much keener—more earnest—so: "Go 'head, Cub; come on m'cock so I can fill you up," he coos, fucking her harder, faster, deeper (chasmic, impossible but tangible and maddening). "Give it t'me, Sweetheart; C'mon, Baby, gim'me that sweet fuckin' come—"

Y/N flutters around him, arousal flowing from her cunt in waves, pushed—pressed out from the pressure and stretch of his girth inside her. Her lips part in a silent scream, pooling and brimming with spit, spilling over her plump lips and hanging, dripping, to the carpeted floors.

"Good—shit—good fuckin' girl, t's...S'fuckin' tight, Cub, fuck."

He spills into her, strokes faltering before he gives her one last, sure thrust up to lock him to her, balls taut and pulsing against her slick pearl. They grind into each other as they ride out the tail ends' of their satisfaction, dripping between their slopped, joined parts.

"Fuck," Carm huffs, sagging into her as she does to him, slumping against the butt of the leather seat behind. "All right, Cub?"

"Hmm," she hums in agreement, head lulling back to settle on the bulk of his shoulder and press her nose into the hinge of his jaw, inhaling.

He turns to smack a kiss onto her temple, across her sweat-slicked forehead, eying her tenderly through stumbled breaths. "Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"S'good," he sighs, and sinks into his position—seated on the floor of his limousine after bludgeoning his challenger in his pay-per-view match, stealing his girl—pretty in pink—and fucking her into the carpet and leather. He leans his head back and shuts his heavy eyes, cock still stuffed up her cunt, their essence leaking from her twitching hole and around his softening cock.

It was a good night.

——

a/n: i don't wanna talk abt it...

edit: the way y'all saw a third of the story repeated n js didn't lmk.

loosely edited/proofread!!

[ambeauty]

Was it scary when you met your culinary idol and he stared at you like he’d found his? Was it scary when he told you that you are everything else? Was it scary how much he trusted you with everything so quickly? Was it scary when he confided in you for the first time about his brother? Was it scary when he defended you stabbing his cousin? Was it scary when he turned out to be exactly who you didn’t want him to be but different? Was it scary when he apologized to you first? Was it scary when you accepted his offer to share a dream? Was it scary when you didn’t shirk off the way his hands always seem to find their way on you? Was it scary when his focus left you? Was it scary when he asked you how you were feeling? Was it scary when he promised not to let your fail? Was it scary when he gifted you custom chef whites? Was it scary when he asked you to keep his brother’s final words at your expo station? Was it scary when he screamed out for you during the soft opening of your restaurant? Was it scary when he said he was never going to let it happen again? Was it scary when he offered you a third share of his restaurant in an official contract? Was it scary when his mental health started deteriorating in front of you but you still wanted to take care of him? Was it scary when you got an offer for something more perfect and didn’t immediately run away? Was it scary when you tried to find the words to tell him what you were really feeling and couldn't? Was it scary when he demanded you take your place at his side amongst some of the best chefs in the world? Was it scary when you realized maybe you can't leave him because there's too much love shared between you?

Sydney’s never going to grow if she doesn’t learn how to get over her fears. Her fear of failure and her fear of losing the people that she loves. Loving somebody is a truly scary thing but at some point we’ve got to stop running away if what we want and who we need has been right there.

[kentocalls]

laios touden | seven modern!au, established relationship. swf. you're doing your nails and laios is being laios. please get this man out of my head. (pet name : baby)

he stops in his footsteps as he realizes he's been incessantly speaking on the topic of why a highspeed rail would enable real solutions to transit problems without your usual hum or uh huh. you are the most patient listener and he feels tremendously alone in the hallway.

where have you drifted off to?

laios finds himself poking his head through every available doorway. kitchen? spotless, he gets lost in reimagined the meal held hours prior before being reminded, once again, he isn't close to you.

the bathroom is empty, smells vaguely of a grape handwash (purple you claim) he's come to associate with you.

he pads, room to room, so laser focused on finding your bright beaming smile he almost crashes into you, sitting on the ground, concentrating.

nail clippings lay a napkin, he's careful not to accidentally kick it as he ensnares you in a hug. legs caging your form as he stuffs his nose into your collarbone. "careful" you huff, nail paint bottle and brush barely escaping your skin. "baby, ten minutes please."

he groans, squeezes you tighter. mumbling nothings into your neck, his nose tickling, a giggle escapes. "not a baby."

"ooh, okay, my big strong baby." he pulls back to quip about nicknames and what how would you feel about being called his baby. his. baby. he catches himself blushing. oh, he gets it now.

you turn back to your task at hand. painting the delicate color on your finger tips slowly. going slowly means you'll stay inside your nail lines and won't need to shower to wash off the excess nail paint. laios, precious thing, continues to make himself known. "whatcha doing?"

"being fancy." a smile on your lips, laios tries to hold the nail paint bottle for you, ever so ready to help. "nu uh, i still need this." he pouts, arms encasing your waist, making your task infinitely harder.

he watches the gentle strokes of the brush as it lays a pretty color on your nails. admittingly, he hasn't considered the effort it takes, how delicately your hands move. laios wonders if you'd let him paint one, he thinks he would do a good job. but you're too efficient and quick. poking at his hand to hand him the bottle, "can you put this back in the rack please?"

you have a small collection of nail paints, all organized in a neat tray. laios eyes the open spot for the bottle before asking, "can you paint mine too?"

the palm of your hand feels cold as you attempt a comforting gesture, turning as much as you can, fingers still wide, trying to keep them protected from accidental touch. "of course, i just need to dry these a bit more." your lips form an o and you blow so gently, hand moving in opposite direction of your lips and laios feels hot all over.

you're murmuring about this being the time you won't bite your nails. the color is pretty, isn't it? you'll be good and not get nervous and chew on it. but laios is is still looping how close you are, how tenderly you're treating your hands, his hands. how careful your body is draped over him.

you're pouting as you examine his hands. he's not careful, you've known this, but his hands are pretty. strong, calloused in odd places. your touch is so tender, laios feels his ears burn at the close examination. your thumb runs over each of his nails, feeling for a jagged edge, filer ready in your other hand.

he watches your face with a soft smile, you're being so attentive. he twitches not expecting the coolness of the nail pain, you coo at him, aslk "too cold, baby?" in a manner too sweet, trails after the hand that was on his cheek. and you're back to finish his other fingers.

explaining he has to sit still for ten minutes. he only chuckles in response, he can sit like, with you so close, forever. you undermine how content he feels right now. you bring a hand up to inspect the color, blowing lightly at the wet color.

"you have such nice nail beds." you sigh, voice soft and dreamy. laios is wants to kiss you so badly, you wouldn't be upset right? he doesn't need his hands to kiss you. he shuffles closer but a hand to his chest stops him. "be good for me, sit still."

he's frowning. what's a kiss? but you lean in close, so close and all do that voice he's so weak to, honey laced and serious "laios? be good yeah? sit still."

right right right, he can be good. he can be absolutely good. the best. the bestest damn good ever! sits up straighter, determined, you giggle and shuffle out of the cocoon of his body. surprised how easily he gave in.

his eyes rake over you. he's going to kiss you so hard after these ten minutes. he waves his hands in the hair, blows on them to dry faster. gosh! he feels so helpless as he sits on the ground, hands up as if he's done something wrong, robbed a bank or pushed a child but when he's the victim here! how dare you leave without kissing him, steal all the warmth!

he tries to count the seconds in his head, converts them to minutes and is all but near five hundred and fifty five seconds before he hears a clash from the kitchen. oh no, oh no did he leave the jam jar on the top shelf again? you know better than to tip-toe to grab at it. he's on his feet and moving, breath held tight when he's greeted with a "laios touden!"

he forgets how to speak, you look so pretty. standing in the green kitchen, wooden spatula in one hand, the other on your hip, brows furrowed at the tall man. oh, you're mad-mad at him, and it's probably his fault he's sure, but all of your attention is on him, finally.

greedily he gets closer, stupidly he reaches out as you swat a hand away. the spatula points to the right, perfectly timed meow and your fingers look so pretty gripping that spatula. laios will kiss each one happily--

"we aren't allowed to take another one in." the black cat now brushes against laios leg, supporting the blond as he pulls you close to him. your resolve to stay mad faltering. "my baby," he emphasis, lips getting pouty "winter was waiting for me on a train boxset. it was a sign from the universe, i couldn't say no."

but you can, after you escape the warmth of his hold, why is he so tall and strong. his hold is firm and resolute, "no, no, no i'm not listening this time. we already have three, laios!"

"you know how i feel about odd numbers." you do, of course you do.

"and you prefer prime numbers, three is good laios. including us that's five inhabitants, another perfect prime number. winter would make six. it's an even number but not a prime number. we already have the per- " the black cat brushes against you, you look down at the beautiful abyss of darkness "no."

you jump at another clash, laios' arms instantly tighten around you but he doesn't seem perplexed. he's trying to distract you with kisses and warm touches. that noise? that came from the bathroom this time didn't it?

your eyes scan the room, melon, cantaloupe and honey look back at you with lazy ease. only winter seems adamant about staying near you and invading your space, meowing, begging for pets and kisses.

if that accounts for all the cats you can see…laios starts to pepper you with kisses. "baby, my baby, listen, you know what my favorite number is? and what's also prime? seven is--" a tortoise cat zips into the kitchen and immediacy back out to the bathroom.

is it bad he finds the way you yell his full name kinda hot?

[ladespeinada]

The Bear, S2E9, Omelette // If Beale Street Could Talk, James Baldwin

[semperama]

Ohhhh 42 for buddie, please? 👀

“Is this okay?”

----

It’s all going great, right up until Buck realizes he’s crying.

“Hey,” Eddie says, his hand on the side of Buck’s face, thumb brushing through the wetness on his cheek. “Hey, hey, what is it?”

He’s stopped moving, and Buck hates that. Buck arches his back, wants to press his skin to Eddie’s, wants to get him closer and deeper, until he has no more thoughts in his own head. “Please,” he says. He digs his fingers into Eddie’s hips. “Please.”

“Is this okay?” Eddie asked a few minutes ago, one of his arms sliding under Buck’s shoulders, so close they were almost nose to nose, close enough Buck could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. They’ve never done it like this before. It’s always been hands and mouths, one memorable time where Eddie let Buck climb into his lap and roll his hips until they came shuddering and gasping together. They haven’t talked about it, except right before the first time, when Eddie asked, “What’s it like?” and Buck said, “I don’t know how to describe it,” and Eddie said, “You could show me.”

That was weeks ago, and Buck has been—fine, mostly. As long as he doesn’t think about it. As long as he doesn’t acknowledge that he’s being Buck 1.0 again, seven years of character growth down the drain. Whenever it starts to ache too badly, he gets his hands on Eddie and pretends. Because they’re friends and partners and—Buck doesn’t have words for the rest, but they can fuck, too, why not? Buck can suck on his tongue and suck on his cock and suck bruises into his thighs that will still be there once Buck is back home in his own bed, curled up, hugging a pillow, unable to sleep.

But then Eddie had the nerve to ask, “Is this okay?” and now Buck is crying.

“Buck,” Eddie says, but Buck squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head.

“No, no, I’m fine.” He pulls on Eddie’s waist like he can make him move that way, like Eddie isn’t rigid as steel when he wants to be. “Keep going.”

“You’re crying.”

Eddie withdraws from him completely, and that’s—Buck sobs, can’t help it, the sound high and shuddering. He tries to twitch away from Eddie’s fingers on his face, but Eddie persists, pulling and petting until Buck flutters his eyes open and looks at him again.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, but it’s clear he knows he didn’t. He’s a firefighter and a medic; he knows when someone’s physically injured. And he knows Buck better than anyone. Just like Buck knows him.

“No,” Buck says. He runs his hand up Eddie’s arm, soft skin and the flexed curve of his bicep, and wonders how he’ll be able to live not touching him like this anymore. “I told you I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” Eddie uses his palm this time, swiping away moisture that’s leaked down toward his jaw. “Tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

“Nothing. Nothing.” Because Eddie is perfect, of course he is, and here Buck is ruining his first time, his chance to experiment. Ruining his confidence for the next guy who’ll be in this bed, after Buck. After— “You’re perfect, Eddie, I swear.” He pushes this time, pushes at Eddie’s shoulder, but it’s just as ineffective as before. “Let’s—can we—”

“Buck,” Eddie says. He props his elbows alongside Buck’s shoulders, takes his face in his hands. The expression on his face is devastating, concern bleeding into anguish. “Did you not want…?”

“No,” Buck says. “No, it’s not that. I want too much. I want…” He doesn’t even know how to say it, so he just says, “Eddie,” low and pleading.

He expects Eddie to roll away, the warm weight pinning Buck to the bed disappearing, cold rushing in. He expects to hear that this was a mistake, that Buck wrecked this because he couldn’t be content with what he had.

But Eddie doesn’t move. Instead, his fingers slip up into Buck’s hair, and the corner of his mouth lifts, his gaze going soft and molten. “We’re idiots, I think,” he says, then brushes his lips across Buck’s jaw where he surely tastes like salt. “You could never want too much.” He kisses Buck’s mouth, speaks the next words right against his lips. “Want to give you everything.”

Buck’s breath hitches on another sob. “Eddie,” he says desperately, and this time when he pulls at Eddie’s hips, it works. Eddie reaches between them, lines himself up, and slides back inside, back where he belongs. Buck wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck, his legs hooked around his waist to keep him close, get him deeper, keep him there. That he could actually get to have this seems impossible. Impossible that Eddie could want what he wants.

“I love you,” Eddie says. He rocks his hips, just slightly, making Buck cry out. “God, I love you.”

It’s almost too much to take. Buck tries to get Eddie closer, wants to touch him everywhere, opens his mouth for Eddie’s tongue and digs his fingers into Eddie’s shoulder and breathes deep, feels his and Eddie’s chests expand together. Eddie can barely move, but it’s good, perfect, just holding him inside like this. Buck never wants it to end.

“Buck,” Eddie says, and this time he’s the one pleading, but Buck murmurs, “Wait,” and, “Like this,” and, “Is this okay?”

Eddie drops his head to Buck’s shoulder and groans, but he pushes in deep and goes still, just like Buck asked. “Anything,” he says. “Anything you want.”

“I love you,” Buck sighs, and he holds on tight.