#tussle in the tent

[photozoi]

Suddenly, a BatZuki appears and takes on Fava Bean! Mung is caught by surprise (and relieved he is not the target, for once.)

Wait!? Has BatZuki defeated the Fabulous Fava? Fava is down, is she out?

Fava- "Mung! You did not save me! You let the BatZuki eat my hed!"

Mung- "Aughhhh!"

BatZuki- "My work here is done..."

Later......

Mung- "Zuki, you gotta stop this Bat stuff! We are getting tired from the punctures. I'm taking your Bat stuff so you haz to stop!"

"You can take my Batwings and my Bad shirt, but I am Bad to the Bone and still your Feerciest Nightmare!" A defiant Zuki plots her revenge, and the return of her T-shirt.

Three Bean Salad, Fava, Mung and Adzuki, Silken Windhounds, 3 months.

[foldingfittedsheets]

At this point in our relationship my betrothed is well versed in my compulsive need to help animals. It wasn’t part of their upbringing but it was a huge part of mine. So now whether it’s lost dogs or injured birds they know that for me it’s not a matter of convenience, it’s just the only possible option.

My most notable rescue took place during one of the least opportune times. We were watching a friends boxer puppy, Bella. The dog was dumber than a box of rocks and I took deep offense that at six months old she still didn’t know her own name. My betrothed and I were working with her on that as well as leash manners, so we walked her frequently.

On our way home from a walk I looked across the street and saw a cat. My betrothed didn’t need to ask, it was simply a given that faced with a cat I’d go say hello, so they waited with Bella as I crossed the road.

As I approached the cat several things caught my attention. The first was that he wasn’t wearing a collar. The second was that his coat was greasy and disheveled- this was not a cat that was thriving if he didn’t have energy to groom. The third thing was that he was way too skinny, with bones jutting out from his shabby coat.

The fourth thing I noticed was that this cat was a purebred Bengal.

Now, I understand that it’s suspect to identify cats as bengals. Many people see tabbies and call them bengals. But as a teenager I became obsessed with these cats and went on a hyper obsessive deep dive. I spent hours reading about them, looking at pictures, and dreaming about Bengal cats.

The cat in front of me had unmistakable rosettes, the narrow frame, piercing eyes, and from a very rough estimation probably cost thousands of dollars. There was no world in which he should be wandering my neighborhood with no collar and his ribs jutting out.

Which all led me to one conclusion. He was lost.

The second I realized that it was over. It wasn’t a matter of thinking the situation through it was a simple conclusion: he was lost so I would help him by any means necessary.

This sweet cat showed he was friendly and trotted right over to greet me. I pet him and tentatively went for a lift. He did not care for that. Suddenly we were tussling, and it was instantly clear to me that he was going to stay lost if I couldn’t restrain him, so we pitted all our wiles against each other and at one point I had him agonizingly by just a toe but I refused to let go and finally I had him in my arms, one hand scruffing him and the other supporting his weight.

That’s when I noticed a couple things. There was blood dripping down my elbow. Across the street Bella was going crazy barking and pulling toward me and the cat. And my betrothed was giving me an agonized look.

Without a word they started power walking Bella back to our house. I followed at a slower pace, keeping my grip on this poor lost cat.

It was a warm summer afternoon and several neighbors were out chatting. They saw the circus parade of my betrothed dragging a yelping puppy and me following holding a screaming cat.

Oh yeah. So I forgot to mention. Bengals are not normal cats. They’re bred back with a wild cat and their vocalizations are on a completely different level. The cat in my arms wasn’t meowing or yowling. Instead he was making one long continuous eldritch wailing, oscillating in rage and distress.

My neighbors saw this, me, stonefaced carrying a cat who was casting evil spells with his voice, blood dripping down my arm, while a puppy frantically fought my betrothed to reach us, and they laughed.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more offended that no one offered any assistance, but it was fine. I knew I could count on my betrothed. I slowed my steps slightly again when I saw my betrothed round our corner. I knew they would kennel the puppy and bring a cat crate for me.

Sure enough, I rounded the corner and they had our door open, crate at the ready. I popped the Bengal into the carrier and we shut him into the bathroom.

Then I looked at my shaking, bloody hand. He’s scraped his back claws up me and it wasn’t deep but I was bleeding heavily. Then I looked at my betrothed and started to cry.

They held me while I had a panic attack and helped me thoroughly peroxide my cuts.

“That was so brave, weren’t you scared to grab him?” they asked me.

Truly, no. I think to be brave or scared you need to actually conceptualize what you’re doing and I hadn’t. I saw a cat that needed help, and then there wasn’t options, I just acted.

They asked what my plan was and I didn’t have one. Where would we put him, in a home with three other cats and a puppy? I don’t know. I just grabbed him.

We ended up calling a friend who’s special interest is dog rescue. She brought her chip reader and a huge dog crate we could keep him in overnight with a disposable little box, food, and water.

He’d been summoning demons behind the bathroom door the whole time, making sounds previously confined to various netherworlds but she bravely uncaged him to read if he had a chip. No, to my surprise. It also turned out he was a love machine despite the ghastly sounds.

We loved on him and gave him small portions of food every fifteen minutes so he didn’t eat himself sick.

The next day we brought him to the local pet rescue, after I called ahead to warn them I was bringing in a Bengal. The lady had a very blasé attitude about this claim, clearly used to people claiming every lost tabby was a rare cat breed.

When she pulled him out of the crate she exclaimed, “Oh my god, it is a Bengal!”

“That’s what I promised. One whole ass Bengal.”

We said our goodbyes to the sweet man, and the posted him on the website as a found pet. He was picked up by his family two days later. I’ll never know how he escaped but I’m certain his family was so grateful to have him returned.

[xoluvx]

this is what makes us girls; b.eilish

[▸] this is what makes us girls by lana del rey smut

It was obvious. It was obvious from the beginning you were destined to be best friends. When you walked through the door, your eyes locked with hers. Those tantalizing blue eyes; lids slightly hooded like she was disinterested in everything and everyone. Everyone...

Except you.

When she saw you, she sat a little taller. The pamphlet in her hand cascaded on the bed. The corners of her lips curled as her hand came up to give you a small wave. There was something about the way her eyes shone in the sparkling rays of sun that snuck in through the curtains... like a scene in a movie. Everything moved in slow motion.

Naturally, you dropped your bag to the floor. With your lips parted, you choked a small 'hey'.

Your new roommate.

And that's when the beginning of the end begun.

You quickly became partners in crime. You sat on her lap while doing her eyeliner. You picked out outfits and determined which were too slutty. You danced in the overwhelming heat of bodies that bumped into one another. You drank questionable red liquid out of red plastic cups. You held her jaw forcing her to chug. You ran and held hands giggling out of breath as the cops raided parties. You laughed and fell into each other so naturally. You whispered in the dead of night about crushes and girls that reeked of desperation.

You were inseparable.

Not only did she dance by your side at every party, she sat next to you at every house meeting. She slept in your bed, even though hers was only a few feet away. She rubbed your back until your eyelids fluttered closed. She caressed your face when she thought you were asleep. She looked at you like you were the only twinkling star in the sky because for her, you were. She'd felt it that first day she laid eyes on you.

It'd all been so easy. Uncomplicated. There was never a time in the day you weren't together. Never a time in the day you weren't touching. Her hand on your lower back, your hand on the nape of her neck. Whispering in each other's ears. Laughing at inside jokes.

Lips brushing tentatively one drunken night after stumbling into your room. You both stripped your clothes too tired to take off your makeup or shower. Nothing unusual. Except when you tripped and she held your waist, her fingers dug into your skin and your heart flipped. Trying to giggle past the feeling, the sparks were too powerful as you straightened yourself still numb from the alcohol. When you searched her face, your eyes spoke silently in agreement.

When she kissed you, it was like a million little stars sparkling on your tongue. She tasted sweet like candy. Tongues dyed red from the mysterious concoction of the night. They tussled messily as you hummed and cupped her face. Her fingers dug into your waist pushing you towards your bed; movements so natural. Bodies fitting perfectly as she hovered over you. Thigh nuzzled between your legs.

"Is this okay?" she whispered softly, her breath warm on your face as her hand ran down your thigh leaving a trail of fire. It led to the back of your knee where she stopped and waited for your approval. You nodded pulling her face down. She hooked her arm under your leg grinding on your body as you moaned in her mouth. You swayed your hips matching her movements haphazardly. Lips touching but not kissing; just longing to feel closer. Noses brushing and clashing as her moans mixed with yours.

The overwhelming friction between your bodies was suffocating. You choked on your saliva. Your eyelids fluttered from the tightness growing in your core as your clothed pussies rubbed and touched in ways you hadn't imagined. As hands roamed bodies and lips brushed intimately spilling your deepest darkest desires on her tongue each time you moaned her name.

The nights she spent in your bed held so much meaning for her. There was meaning in her caresses, in the snuggling and silent whispers in the dead of night. To the laughs and silly remarks.

"What a loser," she snorted snuggling into your duvet. You didn't laugh. You stared at the ceiling while holding your breath too scared to make a sound; to disrupt the natural order of things.

"Wait-" she raised her head, eyes searching for your face. It was dimly lit by the moonlight shining through the open curtains.

"You-" she cleared her throat looking at you questionably. You were still avoiding her gaze. You felt flushed and out of breath. How could you explain to her that you didn't think he was a loser? How did you tell her that you'd been secretly texting him? Unbeknownst to your best friend...your partner in crime. The person you slept next to every night as if it held no meaning.

"You like him?" There was a frightening softness to her voice as she sat up. Her previously pin straight hair was messy, eyeliner smeared. You'd both been too drunk to walk straight, let alone shower and get ready for bed. Without hesitation your clothes had been stripped and you'd slipped into bed like so many nights before. The scent of lingering alcohol and fading perfume mixed with the proximity of your bodies as you sighed and covered your face with your blanket.

You were too much of a coward to look at her. To see the hurt on her face and how hard she was trying to mask it. To flip things into a bad decision and not a life altering event.

"He doesn't deserve you, you know?" She muttered softly before aggressively pushing the covers off her body. The action stung and you flinched shutting your eyes under the blanket. The breeze coming through the window was harsh on your bare thighs. The silence deafening as she laid on her own bed. Bed that'd remained untouched for so many nights.

When you glanced in her direction, her back was facing you. The outline of her body prominent in the shadows of the moonlight. You inhaled, blinking away your tears as you turned to face the wall. Wall decorated with memories that were coming down like ashes on your shivering body.

The nights that followed were cold. She was cold.

You hardly saw her anymore. Her bed laid empty and not because she was in yours, but because she was never home. You were wondering if she'd been a figment of your imagination. If you'd made her up as some coping mechanism.

Except everyone noticed the shift too. Everyone noticed her absence. She arrived late to meetings and events. So much so one of your sisters told you they were considering probation if she didn't get her shit together. You harbored that thought nightly. She wouldn't be your roommate anymore and maybe that was for the best. You were tired of hoping she'd show up every night. Hoping you could catch a glimpse of her or recite the speech you rehearsed in your head every night you felt her absence.

So when you stumbled into your room right past midnight, and she hauntingly sat on her bed, your heart caught in your throat. All the air was knocked out of your lungs and it felt like you'd forgotten how to breath. The pain was so overwhelming you lashed out.

"What are you doing here?" you snarled through your tears. Mascara stained your cheeks in a cruel turn of events. The one night you weren't hoping for her return was the night she sat on her bed like the first day you met.

"This is my room?" she replied dryly only glancing at you momentarily. Enough to see you crumbling. She shifted her gaze back to the laptop, her face glowing in the fluorescent light. Bottom lip tucked under her teeth as she scrolled mindlessly.

"Fuck you," you sobbed struggling to breath as you turned your back to her. You pulled on your covers, screaming in frustation when it caught on your foot as you tried climbing into bed.

How dare she? How dare she talk to you like that when she abandoned you? No explanation. No chance for you to reason. Just one stupid night talking about one stupid boy had ruined everything. You hated to admit that she was right, but she was. He hadn't been worth it.

"He was an asshole, wasn't he?" she whispered biting on her thumb watching you curiously. You hyperventilated, gasping for air, feeling the words sink to the pit of your stomach because she was right. She'd been right.

He didn't deserve you, but maybe she did.

Turning, you watched her through your blurry vision. Shoulders slumped and defeated.

"You were right," you choked before sniffling and wiping your nose. The tears ugly again. Your chest felt tight, like you couldn't breathe. Your vision was hazy tracing her body as she closed her laptop and slid off the bed. When she reached yours, she lifted the covers and laid next to you engulfing you in a protective embrace as you broke down in her arms.

The familiar feeling washed over you; so warm and fuzzy. The memories of nights spent with her hands on your waist, brushing under your shirt crashed onto you like a tidal wave. Overwhelming and powerful. She held you with purpose unlike so many others. It all made sense. Why'd she'd shut you out. For her it wasn't just nights spent in your bed. It was so much more.

Your arms broke free of their entrapment, hands cupping her face. You batted your tear-clumped lashes as your eyes focused on her lips. So plump and inviting. They parted and you dove forward capturing them with yours. She groaned and gripped your waist tighter, pulling you closer as your fingers dug gently into her cheeks.

The kiss was desperate and messy. Tongues pressing together. Touching for the sake of touching. Hands roaming. Wanting to feel and memorize every intimate corner of your bodies. Her fingers curled around the bottom of your hoodie and you moaned lifting your arms allowing her to remove it. She peeled every layer of clothing until you were naked under her body.

You bared your body and soul on that bed. Offering it to her. Surrendering to your desires.

Your eyes followed her hands. They tugged at the bottom of her shirt, lifting it over her head. Breasts bare and breaking free. Skin so milky, glistening in the fairy lights. Her thumbs hooked in the waistband of her sweats as she pulled them off in a swift movement. Her naked frame danced in your irises as your chest filled with butterflies.

Swallowing, you reached out for her.

Your fingers locked as she nuzzled herself between your legs. She brought her body down. Skin touching. Eyes locked. Lips parted. Hearts on fire.

When she kissed you, you melted completely giving into her touch. She squeezed your hands and you lifted your hips wanting to feel her press down on your body. When she brushed your lips, your fingers unlocked and her hand slithered between your bodies. You hummed in delight when her finger ran between your folds.

"Billie," you whispered in her ear desperate for her touch. Desperate to be hers. Only hers.

Billie groaned and buried her head in your neck as her finger found your clit. The sweetest sounds fell from your lips and on her shoulder as your wet mouth pressed on her skin. Her finger rotated on your sensitive bud as you swayed your hips. Your legs shaking.

She wrapped her arm around your head. Fingers digging into your scalp as she kissed you like it was the last time. She filled you with passion as her finger slid inside your entrance. She muffled your moans with her mouth, swallowing them whole as she tore you open.

It was glorious and wonderful and sweet and hot and tight and it burned in all the right places. You clenched around her digits as you shut your eyes feeling the warmth spread throughout your body. You wrapped your legs around her waist lifting your hips to match her movements. She pulled you down on her hand, still holding your head. Her lips were so messy on your cheek as your whimpers fueled her desire.

You thought it couldn't get better than this, but then she kissed your lips and your neck and her tongue ran down your body leaving a trail of embers that led to your throbbing core. When her tongue ran between your folds you swore you saw the milky way flash behind your lids.

There was so much you wanted to say. So much you wanted to shout, but all that came out were cries and sobs and whimpers as you buried your hand in her hair. Her silky strands left small cuts in your fingers. Reminders of the night she marked you as her own.

Giving you a taste of real life.

[ellecdc]

Baby…my love…my obsession. While you’re working hockey!marauders I would die for enforcer!sirius black. Even just a little blurb 😌😌😌

I will never say no to a hockey au, I won't lie.

hockey player!Sirius Black x team medic!reader who is not at all pleased with Sirius' theatrics /sarcasm [859 words]

CW: gn!reader, hockey fight, swearing, blood, flirting/banter

Sirius was on his feet before Krum even hit the ice, and he was shouting (and cursing) by the time Krum looked towards the referee as if saying ‘did you not see that?’ as he fixed his goalie mask and reached for the stick that was knocked clean out of his hands.

“Fucking interference! That was interference!” 

“I know Black, I saw it too.” Coach grumbled from behind him; sounding far calmer than his most violent defenceman though he was staring daggers at the linesman currently skating away from his goalie that was just slammed into in his own crease. 

“Let me out.” Sirius barked as he kept his eye on the player - number seven - who dared to touch his goalie. “Come on! Let me out!” 

“Wait your turn, Black.” Coach barked back as the play continued. 

Fenwick raised his glove requesting to switch as Dearborn followed him toward the bench. 

“Alright, Black & Potter, you’re on.”

Sirius had hardly waited for Fenwick to make it to the bench before he was clearing the boards, hearing James’ skates seconds behind him as they moved towards the play.

Sirius hardly spared the puck a second glance as he made it to the other end of the rink, dropped his gloves and launched himself at the fucker who had checked his goalie moments before. 

He had the bastard's jersey tight in his fist as he swung his other into the side of his face. He’d landed one good punch before the Slytherin player clued into what was happening and then it was fair game. 

Sirius could hear the whistle of the referees as other players paired off with one another to keep them from joining the tussle. It was a riot of noise from the crowd as bells and horns sounded and fans banged on the glass lining the boards as Sirius and his opponent focused both on staying upright in their skates and knocking the other over simultaneously. 

Sirius’ helmet fell off with an elbow to his mouth that left his eyes watering, but he quickly had number seven in a headlock as the player fell back, Sirius landing on top of him and landing one more hit before the refs were pulling them off of each other. 

Sirius got two minutes for roughing, but so did number seven, so he felt it was rather worth it as he used one of the gatorade branded towels to clean the blood from his lips in the penalty box. 

His fight seemed to inspire a goal from his team, so he then felt it was very much worth it when the two minutes were up and he left the box to go back to the bench.

“Did ya like my fight, doc?” He asked you breathlessly as if he hadn’t just been sitting in a glorified time-out for the last 120 seconds; his wide, beaming smile only serving to further split his lip as his teeth started to taste like iron.

“For fucks sake, Black.” You muttered as you pulled out an alcohol wipe and dabbed at the cut on his lip; Sirius couldn’t even find it in him to wince at the sting of the alcohol when you were cradling his jaw with your free hand as though you were handling a baby bird; gentle, tentative, loving.

Maybe he was making that last one up, but he felt emboldened by the ghost of a smirk gracing your lips. 

“Always making more work for you, eh doc?” Remus teased from behind you; you rolled your eyes but didn’t bother gracing Remus with an answer as you leaned behind you to grab something.

“Maybe I just wanted you to kiss it better, yeah?” He asked when you turned back towards him. You seemed startled at first; not in a negative way, but rather like you hadn’t expected Sirius Black to be loudly and brazenly flirting with you. You schooled your expression quickly, however, when you narrowed your eyes at him playfully and slapped an ice pack in his glove-free hand.

“Ice it, Black.” You ordered.

“Good idea, gorgeous.” Sirius agreed as he did what was told, turning back towards the game. “Wanna make sure my lips are perfect for our first kiss.”

“Wait, don’t ice it! Some people pay big money for lips like that, Black!” Wood called from further down the bench. 

Sirius pretended to consider it as he squinted his eyes at you, watching as you worked particularly hard to not return his gaze. “No, no. If I ice it now, I’ll be in tip top shape for kissing after the game.” 

“You’re unbelievable.” You muttered as you watched Caradoc nearly toss a Slytherin player onto the Gryffindor bench, your tongue in your cheek as you tried not to smile at Sirius. 

“Thank you!” He accepted readily as the whistle blew - the lines were about to change.

“Try not to get into any more scraps, yeah?” You called to Sirius as he dropped the ice pack into your awaiting hand and lunged over the bench.

“For you, doc?” Sirius volleyed with a cheeky smirk as he skated backwards toward the face off. “Anything.”

[cupcakeinat0r]

<3 Valentine’s Breakfast w/ DadBod!Miguel <3

[NSFW]

With the sun rays flowing in through the curtains, your eyes flutter open, your blurred vision focusing in on the gorgeous man lying on top of you. This is usually how it is. You start the night laying on his hairy and soft chest, but after tossing and turning through the night, you two never failed to end up in this position. It sort of just happens. You believe it’s Miguel’s need to protect you in every sense of the word, so he just absentmindedly engulfs you in his sleep.

Miguel was a big man. In every way. It was sort of hard to breathe when he was on you like this.

But that was more than ok. In fact, you thrived on the feeling of all his body weight on yours, his face snuggled deep into the crook of your neck and his Herculean arms wrapped around you, not too tight, but just enough so that you weren’t going anywhere. And yes, his snoring was loud, but you learned to love it, it becoming the music to your ears on mornings like this.

It only takes you a few seconds for it to click.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

You smile to yourself, excited about all things you have planned for Miguel. But first… to figure out how the hell you were gonna get Gigantor off of you.

Unable to move, your head isolated, you look around for ideas. With your free hand, you reach for the blanket, slowly pulling it off of him in hopes he’ll move off of you to wrap himself in it again. Your idea succeeds, and he frees you just enough for you to sneak off the bed.

In the most cautious way humanely possible, you sneak out of the room (not before you softly kiss his forehead) and into the kitchen. You weren’t too worried, though. Miguel didn’t get to sleep in a lot like this due to his work, but when he did, not even a geographical disaster could wake him. You were safe.

You start listing in your head all the things you remembered you wanted to make him.

Your hands were ace in the kitchen. Everything you made, Miguel loved. One of his favorite parts of the day was coming home after a long day of work and into the arms of his cute sweet little housewife, a plate of delicious warm food already ready for him on the table. It’s kinda funny; it’s you he blames for his weight gain, but you always reply with how much you absolutely love him that way, accompanied by a kiss and a playful smack to his juicy butt (which has also gotten larger, props to you).

You slave away in the kitchen, making sure everything was perfect, even down to exacting the edges of your heart-shaped pancakes, which matched the heart-shaped strawberry slices.

You go to check on the sleeping giant. He’s still knocked out thankfully, except he’s on his back now, hugging a pillow (thinking it’s you no doubt). Aw.

You notice that the blanket wasn’t on him anymore, which allowed you a beautiful view.

His dark wavy hair sprinkled with hints of gray tussled from his sleep. His 5 o'clock shadow framing his perfect, dark, plump lips. His thick neck, chest and arms, peppered with dark hair as well, resting beautifully. His soft midsection, rising and falling with each dad snore. Near his happy trail was a prominent tent, the print of his huge cock tightening his briefs. You bit your bottom lip at his morning wood. God, this man was too perfect for his own good. You could feel yourself salivate as you remind yourself of all the other things you had to get to like decorations or lighting the candles or the rose petals…

It doesn’t take much for you to give into your urges. He won’t miss the candles or any decorations anyways…

He’ll appreciate what you’re about to do way more.

You silently climb onto the foot of the bed, your face dangerously close to the bulge. You give it a small caress, your hands gently molding around the shaft on top of the fabric of his boxers. You look up when you evoke a barely audible groan from Miguel, who’s still asleep.

You apply just a little more pressure in your next caress, this time making his dick twitch and his hips faintly buck up into your hand, his instinctive neediness signaling you to proceed with your lustful endeavor.

You then lift the band of his boxers, his completely hardened cock immediately springing up. You have to literally suck in your lips to muffle a moan.

Your eyes drink in his perfectly shaped bush at the end of his delicious happy trail, the pumped veins going up his shaft, the singular drop of pre-cum already running down, and finally his fat tip. He was perfect.

You use the juice already there as lubricant, slowly stroking his dick, the other hand on his thick, hairy thigh for support.

You start to feel Miguel‘s thighs contract and hips slightly bucking up some more, little grunts escaping his lips. His arms tense up as well, his muscles clenching around the poor pillow.

His small, slow thrusts drove you crazy, not able to wait any longer to put your mouth to use. You test the waters by giving his tip soft licks, swirling your tongue on it in lazy, annoyingly slow circles.

This grants you a few quiet hums from him, his belly and round pecs rising and falling faster, his body telling you to keep going for him.

Faint ‘Ffuuuckkk’s and ‘Mmm’s were sighed in his sleep, brows furrowed, lips in a pout; signs that you were doing amazing.

You then take him in completely, hollowing out your mouth for him as much as you possibly can, because as mentioned before, this man is big.

You bob your head slowly a few times. It’s when you pull him out with a pop! and start treating it like your own popsicle does his eyes finally slowly open, his lips curling when he looks down at his now very cock drunk girlfriend with a satisfied smirk. His chuckle is low and silk-like, his morning voice making your cunt clench around nothing.

“Well,” his breathing remains labored, his jaw hanging open, “Good morning to you too, Mamita… Mmfuck.”

He says as you maintain eye contact, your lips wrapped around his long and thick member, tongue tracing along a vein. You pull away with a wet smack before saying, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Daddy”, in the most sing song tone of voice.

Miguel tuts at your adorable yet seductive response, “ay, beba, so thoughtful n’ good to me…do that again...” he pleads.

“Like this, Daddy?” You ask, lapping your tongue over his tip just the way he likes it.

“Oh-oh fuck… si, just like that, mamita, así, goood girllll.” his head falls back against the headboard for a moment to sigh before looking back down at you again, seeing his balls in your mouth as your thumb works on his sensitive tip almost making him instantly burst.

You know he’s getting close when he starts panting, propping himself on his elbows and reaching a hand out to your scalp (it practically covers your entire head), gently applying pressure now that he’s in your mouth again. “Aw shit…. I’m close, mama, almost there… fuck, takin’ my fat cock so well, princesa…” He mutters apologies and thank you’s as he relentlessly rams into your mouth, his bush managing to meet the tip of your nose almost every time. He growls as he starts greedily thrusting his hips, face fucking his release into you.

You take your sweet time pulling him out of lips, making sure to get every single drop, your eyes on his the entire time. Once he’s out of your mouth, he sees you swallow, “Open,” and you do as he asks, “diablo, mami, eres tan sucia.” You begin to sit up, wiping your mouth, “Only for you, baby… C'mon, there’s some things in the kitchen for yo-“

“Oye, whoa whoa whoa,” He grabs your hand as you’re about to leave the bed and pulls you toward himself, “I didn’t say we were finished, did I?”

You fall into the bed again, Miguel guiding your hips onto his lap as he sloppily makes out with you, his tongue practically down your throat. “I’m not done with you yet, nena,” he mumbles against your lips.

He lays back down on the bed, “C’mere. Sientate.” He brings his hands up to his face motioning for you to sit on your throne.

You wince, now realizing you forgot that you had meant to shave last night.

“Babe, noooo wait... I haven’t shaved…”

Miguel furrows his brows, a confused scowl on his face.

“Mama. Look me in the face and tell me if I look like I care.” You begin to smile seeing how Miguel was starting to look genuinely mad at you for saying such a ridiculous thing.

“Now, I said sientate. I’m hungry.” He says sternly.

“You sureee? You really don't have to-”

“I don’t like repeating myself.” He commands. This man wasn’t playing any games. He was starving.

Your smile widens at his insistence. Your boyfriend was a real man.

Placing your hands on his hairy, thick body for support, you scoot your way up to his face, Miguel’s grin getting wider as your wet cunt comes into full view.

“So perfect for me, fuck,” His voice is sweet and tender now, planting a few equally tender kisses on your inner thighs, making sure to show them some love before you squeeze his head between them like a melon. “Te amo mucho, you know that, mama? Wanna make you feel good, beba.”

“Mhm,” You nod, biting your lip as the breath of his voice tickles your womanhood.

If Miguel could, he would just live in between your thighs just like this for all of eternity. His absolute favorite place in the whole world. “N' when I tell you to sit on my face, yo nunca quiero ir ese porqueria, understood?”

His stern tone made both your heart and pussy flutter. “Yessir.”

Your hands use the edge of the headboard as support, tentatively hovering your hips over his face as he showers your inner thighs with loving pecks and nibbles, the smack of his lips making your pussy clench again.

One of his big hands steadies your hips with a tight grip, the other moving your panties aside to reveal your unshaven lips.

“Prettiest pussy ever…. y todo es mio. Fuck, you’re so wet, mamita, did I do that?” He speaks mockingly.

You sigh when his lips kiss your clit, his tongue following shortly after by flicking it a couple times. You hear him grunt beneath you after having to lift his head off the bed to reach your hole.

"Baby, sit down. All of your body weight." He's short with his words. It sounds more like an order than a request.

"But Miguel-"

He breathes out, "You're really testing my patience, mama." And with that, his massive hands wrap firmly around your waist and pull you down, a yelp falling from your mouth as he feasts on your sensitive pussy.

Miguel is the definition of a munch. His head movement adds to the stimulation, moving it up and down, side to side; any effort to submerge his face deeper into your folds. His nose, the perfect size and shape that brushes against your clit while he simultaneously slurps and tongue fucks your cunt. The vibrations of his ‘Mmmph’s, the scruff of his face rubbing against your inner thighs, and softly pressing your clit between his tongue and front teeth were the cherry on top.

Your sounds are pornographic as he eats you out. When you're unable to sit up straight anymore due to the immense pleasure, you lean back, hands landing behind you on his soft pecs, pushing into them in an effort to get some kind of break, but Miguel wasn't having it. Plus, he was way stronger than you. There was no escaping him. A small part of you wondered how he was going so long without coming up for air, but you quickly answer your own question when you remember that your man loves to eat, and when he does, he’s like a starved man. Each time you pushed, his grasp only got stronger, but as much as you pushed, you truthfully didn't want him to stop. Ever.

"B-baby, baby… I- I- c-can't," you cry, unable to speak without stopping mid-sentence to let out a whine, "I'm so close, Daddy, don't stop, please, don't stop, don't stop!" You became a broken record, all sense leaving your body. The only thing on your mind was Miguel's mouth ravishing your weeping cunt. You sat forward again, now tugging on his hair, making him hum further and fueling his hunger. "Mmmph fuck! I won't mama, I won't, don't worry... I'll give you whatever you want," You began to literally ride his face, desperately chasing your climax with his hands slapping against your ass. Miguel was in heaven with this view, bucking his own hips into the air from how perfect you looked like this.

“Mmm… such a dirty fuckin’ girl you are,” smack, “wakin' me up like this… ay, que ricoooo, sabe tan dulce,” smack, “puta madre, Puedo vivir de este coño y nada más…” both his voice, an octave lower, and the wet, sucking sounds of his mouth helped uncoil the knot in your stomach, bursting on his handsome face.

Your hips stutter and your jaw falls open when you cum, Miguel drinking in your juices as if he’s been stranded on the Sahara for weeks. You could’ve split his skull into two, that’s how hard you pressed your thighs together, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Miguel finally lets you go, allowing you to sit on his chest now, both of you catching your breaths. He smirks back up at you, and you roll your eyes, blushing. "awww, mi princesita gets all shy when I make her cum, eh?"

"Leave me aloooneeee." With Miguel’s big hands as support and guidance, he rolls over, so he’s still in between your legs, but you’re now the bottom, and him the top. With your legs now around his waist, He chuckles at you and goes to kiss your flushed cheeks.

Then he goes in for a sweet, romantic kiss on the lips. You feel safe and taken care of while feeling his body weight on you again, his soft tummy against yours and his big muscly arms wrapped securely around you. You can feel his cock twitch against your overstimulated cunt, completely soaked from his second climax from simply eating you out, no doubt. He moves any hair on your face aside, caressing your cheek when he does.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, princesita. Have I told you how much I love you?” He coos, pure adoration in his eyes.

You manage a soft, tired smile, “Every day. I love you, too.” you chuckle, “Oh! I made you breakfast! You must be hungry, baby…” you say, as you start getting up.

He gently stops you, and you lay back down.

“I am… but not for food.”

Safe to say the feast you prepared was cold by the time y’all got to the kitchen<3

Hope u liked it <3 It's a bit longer but I've been thinking alottttt about this tee hee!!!

This is a culmination of my thots and the thots of some of my hot moots, so Tysm @mybvalentine @gltzpzy for the ideas <3

Happy Valentine’s season, my loves!!! Wishing everyone not only a day but a whole new year of love. Not just romantic love, but also the love of your friends, family, and above all, the love for yourself <3

Speak to yourself kindly, treat your heart nicely, and consume all the chocolate!!!! You deserve ittt!!!

P.s. n if u don’t have a Valentine’s, I’ll happily be urs 🤭 MWAH!

- Cupcake xoxo

Want more DadBod!Miguel ? Here’s my master list, bae!!

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

I had an idea about the dragon that popped up in the show a couple times, the one that Kara had to fight.

What if he wasn't an alien? What if he was just old... very old. A creature who has been waiting a very, very long time.

He and Kara tussle again after the finale, and this time Lena, with her long hair left loose in soft waves, calls out to her friend in concern from the ground.

"Kara!"

At the sound of her voice, the beast stops in mid air. Its head turns towards Lena, and then he swoops down with focused intent. Kara's eyes go wide. "Lena!"

But the creature halts just shy of Lena, settling on the ground in front of her, so close that Lena can feel its warm breath on her face as he stares deep into her eyes. In its gaze Lena sees intelligence, but no malice. If anything, its eyes seem... mournful.

Tentatively, Lena reaches out and places her palm on its scaled snout. Something deep within her tugs at the contact, and she closes her eyes to let the dragon's warm, even breaths caress her skin. In that moment, memories come swirling back to her... memories of life lived long ago. One wrought with hardships, betrayal, and loss-- but marked with kindness, love, and empathy.

Lena opens her eyes and smiles in wondrous recognition.

"Aithusa," she murmurs. She gives the scales next to her hand a soft kiss, and hears a rumble of affection in return. "Look how you've grown."

[whoyacallinyellow]

never again

John Marston x F! reader

Spoilers: RDR2 ch1 Content: 18+ mdni, NFSW, m/f smut, drunk sex, praise, pervert warning, canon typical events / violence, possible unintentional spelling mistakes, grammar errors I couldn’t be bothered to fix. Type: second pov / (wc - 1442) / pc: me

Summary: a night of drinking never goes unpunished

You stirred awake to a shadow looming in the tent. The soft clanking of metal, and clicking of spurs from unsteady steps made your breath hitch. Now propped up on your elbows, your heavy eyes managed to follow the man fumbling in the darkness. 

Through your delirium, incoherent murmurs must have escaped you which warranted a response. 

“jus’ me, hush.”

John’s whisper, soft like butter, melted your body back onto the bedroll. It only took three words from the man to bring you the security he offered, in more ways than one. 

“s’alright.” 

John reassured through a strain, knowing he startled you all too often— whether it was a late night drinking, or a guard shift.

Your shared tent was tucked behind the medicine wagon, close enough for John to keep an eye on you, but far enough for some privacy the man so desperately requested. 

Soon enough his body was united with yours, a welcoming embrace of tobacco and whiskey that never failed to blanket you with comfort during the night. 

His chest vibrated against your back as he hummed, rejoicing in the mutual comfort that he brought you. John’s hand ran down your side, calloused palms snagging on the fabric as he worked against it. Your torso trembled, anticipating his every action as he was soon consumed by a different high. His lack of rationalization from the whiskey radiated off him with a feverish heat that pulsed over you. 

“c’mon sweetheart.”

The vague and needy words dissipated as quickly as they formed. Your eyes met his, a certain sadness sunk within his dull blue wells, glossed and masked over with the liquid dopamine he poured every night. 

Turning to his embrace, your hands weaved through his shirt, both unclasping the buttons and beckoning him. An offer John gladly took as you positioned yourself for his body on top of yours. 

With one arm propping himself over you, and the other tussling at his waist. His rehearsed movements in the dark had to be second nature by now.  

The wind rippled through the fabric of the tent, momentarily welcoming in the moonlight. Allowing you to catch a glimpse of the man over you, the blue beams kissing the raw scars on his cheek. 

There was no doubt John got off easy, 

The wolves could have taken much more from him, but managed to be more forgiving than any BlackWater lawman could have been. 

You let out an impatient protest as his hands continued to fumble, temporarily appeasing you with his lips. 

His stubble dragging across your collarbone made you shutter. John’s kisses were usually coated in whiskey, only to leave you with a different high than the one he chased earlier. 

“you’ve been eyeballin’ me all day, missy.”

He remarked against your skin, a slight drawl presenting itself as he freed your torso from your shirt. 

You felt your cheeks heat up, both from his words, and your naked state. Despite John knowing your body just damn well as his own, everytime managed to feel like the first.  

John always caught your eyes on him. Sweat beading down his forehead as he worked an axe effortlessly, it was almost as if the man was beautifully built for manual labor. You were infatuated with the way his biceps would flex while his toned muscles peeked through the shirt that clung to him with every move. He would eventually meet your indiscreet gaze with amusement, knowing very well he would be all over you at night's arrival. 

Your eyes would simply linger a moment longer, despite being caught red handed. He couldn't help but to admire your boldness, a confidence hidden within you not needing to be boasted about for validation. 

“Someone’s gonna hear—“ 

You cooed, your worries being thrown away by the hungry lips and hands that carassessed your breasts.  

John grumbled, not bothered to remove his attention from your neck. Throughout his buzzed state, his hands became coordinated, grasping at and invading every part of your bare skin available to him. 

How sweet he thought you were, a blank canvas only for him cast upon. A small gasp escaped your lips as you felt a small nibble on your neck. His excitement demonstrated through the smile plastered against your skin, along with a hard spot pressing against your leg. 

“keep those little lips quiet, now.” 

John commanded with a whisper, his rough fingertips ghosting their way across your waist to free you from your restricting garments. 

His drunken staggering alone was enough to wake the others, but the man always blamed you for being too noisy.

Perhaps it was his own pride, cocky words he could not help but to boast— he reckoned it ain’t his fault he’s so good in the sheets. Hell, he can’t help how he makes you feel. 

“such a good girl for me, ain’t ya?”

John murmured through a soft moan, just the thought of you made him ache, his body begging for the release you so willingly gave him.

His pants were finally kicked down and bunching up just below his knees. Before words could be spoken they were interrupted by John’s fingertips that raised to his lips, a dollop of spit being dispersed onto them. 

A brash groan left his lips and graced your rosy cheeks while his hand stroked up the shaft of his cock— either unneeded preparation, or a ritual of his, you couldn’t tell. 

Your torso knotted and quivered  against him, impatience consuming your every move. Quiet moans escaped you as the head of his cock met your slick entrance, always proving his preparation irrelevant. 

“Jesus, woman— this worked up over me?” 

The man beamed with a husky chuckle, not realizing the volume of his voice until your palm smacked his chest. 

More of a tease at your dismay, John couldn’t help but to always comment on it. Your wetness was a mere reminder he always took pride in. 

His smug smile eventually twisted into a bitten lip as he eased himself into you, the lack of self control overrunning any wit to him he had left.  

“that’s it,” 

John praised gently, his jaw going lax as his length slipped further in you. A rugged hand clasped over your mouth as his hips began to thrust. His half-lidded eyes eventually meeting yours. 

Your eyes held so much trust for him, trust he was never sure how he earned in the first place. How he wished he could hear the moans of his name, but instead focused on the shared pleasure you gave him. With your walls contracting and fluctuating around him, he thought it was nearly too much to handle.  

“Marston! It's your shift!” 

A nasally demand rang from outside the tent.

Through your ecstasy, you had no recollection of any steps approaching, and neither did John— god only knows how long the pervert was loitering outside the thin canvas. 

“Christ!” 

The shriek of horror that left John’s lips, you could have sworn he saw a ghost. Springing up at your feet, his pants were yanked up and manhood tucked away while you scrambled for cover. 

John stormed out with a stumble, so many feelings of wrong and right flooding through and past him like the wind. 

“Goddamnit— Williamson—“ 

He sputtered in disbelief, arms gesturing violently towards the man’s mug. 

“If I didn’ know any better, I reckon you’d like hearin’ my woman.” 

John barked at the man, the shock in his tone long erased by bitterness. 

You hid in your palms, the embarrassment burning through your cheeks, and the airborn tension that managed to leak into the tent. 

The silence John created was painful, if it wasn’t obvious enough already, the entire camp was now aware of you two. 

The pause was eventually broken with a nasty hawk and spit, along with curses that ran off of John’s tongue. His pleasant night with you was quickly turning into a sober guard shift. 

John trudged back through the tent flaps in defeat, retrieving his discarded gun belt at your feet with a frown plastered on his face, gently illuminated by the lantern he now held. 

“never again in camp.” 

The man scowled to himself, the risk of waking the others was long gone— if he had to be miserable, so did everyone else trying to sleep. 

With John’s attention circling back to you, another kiss, just as needy as before, was placed on your lips, lingering for a moment before meeting his impending doom. 

His boots were haphazardly pulled on with a struggle. You repeated his words, a small grin crept upon you in his state of frustration. 

“never again.” 

~

[hijackalx]

PRICE OF WIT +18

(tumblr vers.)

SUMMARY: Astarion can be so mean sometimes, but he swears he can make it up to you.

WORD COUNT: 1788

UNDER THE CUT: F!Reader, dom!astarion, VERY sub reader, make-up sex (kinda?), YALL ARE TOXIC AF TOGETHER, mean!astarion, possessive!astarion, praise, choking, biting, sadism and masochism, small mention of gale being a pervert lol

A/N: reworked this to be in second person, and also edited it since the AO3 version did not get that kind of love 💀 some lines/paragraphs have been changed. also this was originally written with act I/act II astarion in mind but i guess it works for ascended astarion too.

"NO! LET ME GO!"

Intelligent with a silver tongue to boot, Astarion can work his way through and into almost any circumstances he desires.

"I HATE YOU!"

A quick way out of a sticky situation? Got it. A smooth approach into a pleasurable one? No doubt. The world is his for the taking.

"I HATE YOU!"

Except for when it's not.

Sometimes his mouth moves faster than his brain. He occasionally says something a little too harsh, a little too cold— ice cold, and it doesn't matter how much or how little he means it, it still hurts.

Wit has a price, it seems.

You claw and shriek in his grasp. You didn't get far before he managed to wrap his arms around you and stop you from disappearing to who knows where. He winces as your fingernails dig into the skin of his forearms. He succeeds in grabbing your wrists and folding them against your body, trapping you against his chest.

"You're acting like a child!" He shouts through an exhausted growl as you continue to resist his hold.

He knows what he said was wrong— it was a snarky slip of the tongue. But you stormed off before he could apologize, so who's really the problem here?

The fire glows and crackles in the crisp night air, accompanied by Gale and Karlach, whose meals have been so rudely interrupted by your shrill screams. Although, they watch the tussle unfazed. This wouldn't be the first time you and him have had a peace-disrupting argument.

"They're the most immature people I've ever met," Karlach takes a bite of her turkey leg, her tone more irritated than anything. "No good for each other, those two."

Gale watches how you kick up dust and dirt just outside of Astarion's tent. He'd only heard pieces of what led to this as you spoke behind the fabric; some kind of complaint by Astarion that has clearly been taken to heart. Sighing, he meets Karlach's eyes, their shared gaze molding into apprehensive weariness.

"Well," he mutters into a lamb chop, "looks like we're in for another sleepless night."

"I love you, I love you, I love you—" your softly whimpered phrase is the only sound to be heard after the camp has settled in their bedrolls for the night.

All Astarion had to do was guide you back into his tent and successfully lay you down. After that, you were more willing to hear him out.

Your bodies are bathed in the gentle lantern light, your back pressed firmly to his bedding and your legs wrapped around his waist. He intertwines your fingers as he steadies your hands above your head. Soft, white locks tickle your cheek as he nuzzles into your neck, his teeth teasing at the skin every so often.

His pace is rhythmical but rough, his hips flush between your legs as he aims for your cervix— his favorite spot. He loves the way you writhe and try to push him away while pleading for more. The way your heels press into his back, how your voice breaks while you call out for him.

"I've got you, sweetheart," his exhales are hot against your skin.

His hand slips down to pinch your side after hearing you stifle a moan, a quick but effective reprimand. You squeak at how he cruelly twists the flesh, your abdomen tensing.

"Don't hold back," he scolds, and you catch how his brows lower in the corner of your eye. Your modesty has offended him.

You screw your eyes shut, mustering up the ability to speak clearly. "T-they'll hear," you blurt out. It's only fair to be considerate to your fellow party members— or at least try to.

Your response makes him laugh, and this time you're the one scrunching your brows. You don't understand what's so amusing until he says, "You wouldn't want to deprive Gale of his own pleasures, would you?"

You go entirely rigid, your face dropping slightly at how sure he sounds.

Questionably, he sits up to examine you, immediately noticing your change in expression. "What?" He asks. "Don't tell me you didn't know?"

Eyes wide and cheeks flushed a deep red, you stare up at him speechlessly. What he's implying is that... gale has been... touching himself while you and him are together?

How perverse.

He coos, squeezing your cheek and giving it a shake. "You're so cute." His condescending tone doesn't make you want to smack him in the face, strangely enough. In fact, you think you might like it judging by the way your stomach turns.

You take a moment to recover from the thought of your private acts not being so private. Noticing this, he balances his hands on the ground beside you, then pulls out before fully sheathing himself again with a fast, hard thrust. Your body jolts like it's been injured, and you can't hold back your yelp. His features are nothing short of devilish upon hearing the sound.

Sometimes he likes to be mean— but sometimes you like to let him.

"I quite like... the idea... actually," he says through breaths while he fucks you, his half-lidded gaze watching how your tits bounce. Leaning down, he begins to leave a trail of bite marks over your chest, each one he soothes with a gentle kiss as if to say 'sorry'. "Imagining Gale all alone—" another bite, another kiss. "—Wishing he were half as lucky as me."

He groans as your hands twitch and grip at his hair. Your back arches off the ground, and he runs a slightly calloused palm over the newly exposed area, tracing the curve of your body.

"Astarion," you say so weakly, so needy. He can't help letting a moan slip at how his name sounds coming from your mouth.

You're close, he can feel it. It's the way you tremble, the way you can't get close enough to him— wanting him deeper, harder, more, more— You're a greedy little thing, but he adores it. He adores you. How couldn't he give you anything and everything you want?

He sits up, his lustful stare heavy and thick as he peers down his nose at you.

You lift your chin as his hand wraps around your neck, allowing him all the access he wants. He begins to squeeze, your smaller fingers prying at his grip.

"You're mine," he watches intently as you squirm under his unwavering stare, his face still and emotionless. "Say it to me."

"I'm yours," you say readily, feeling your heart skip a beat when the corners of his mouth almost split into a proud grin.

"Tell me you won't try to run away again." His hold tightens.

"I-I won't. I won't leave you," you choke out. That's what you told him last time and the time before that. Just as your head begins to feel light and your eyelids heavy, your body buzzes and jerks with an orgasm.

He releases you so he can watch your full reaction; how you writhe and reach for him, how the hands scraping at his chest plead to close the distance between your bodies.

Tears slip down the corners of your eyes— maybe from pleasure, maybe not. He could hold you, but something inside tells him no. It's almost as if to serve as punishment for trying to run off.

Believe him, he doesn't want to punish his baby. But sometimes it's necessary.

Once your high dies down and you're left a heaving, exhausted mess, he grabs one of your limp hands and leaves a kiss on each fingertip. "Ooh," his thumb rubs your palm. "That was a good one."

You know very well that you're not finished. Luckily, he's kind enough to get you off first, even when he's upset with you. He's considerate where it counts, of course.

Or maybe he loves how much he can undo you with a second orgasm.

He caresses your face while you catch your breath. You lean into his touch, almost petting yourself. His undead palm is cold yet gentle, and you somehow find comfort in it. Your eyelids flutter closed.

"You're doing so good for me," he praises softly, his tone no louder than a murmur. "You can go a bit longer, can't you?"

He speaks tenderly and sweet, making your pulse beat even faster. "For me, darling?" He asks as if it's even a question— as if he doesn't know the answer.

Your body aches, worn and tired, yet you nod with eagerness. Anything, you think in your euphoric, fucked-out daze, anything for you.

There are times when you can't stand him, when he's the worst person in the world— but those only emphasize the times when he's the only person in the world; times when he makes you feel warm and loved, and so, so good.

Like when he nears his own orgasm and wraps his arms around you so tight, so close. He holds you like you're the dearest thing he's ever had, your skin pressed together like you're afraid to part.

And he fucks you so good you'll forget the nasty things he says and does, if only until the next time. For now, the way his breaths shake and his muscles contract in yearning— in need, is distracting enough.

"Fuck—" a word you'll rarely, if ever, hear him say. Too vulgar for his tastes, except for when he loses his ability to keep his composure. "Fuck," he hisses again as he thrusts into you, almost hard enough to lift your hips from the ground.

Before you know it, his teeth are sinking deep into the flesh of your neck. You gasp loudly, tangling your fingers in his curls. He stifles his moans by lapping up the crimson leaking from your puncture wounds, finishing inside you simultaneously.

Between the sounds of him reaching his climax and the bite, it's enough to push you over the edge a second time. Extra sensitive, your body reacts more violently than before. Your nails claw and tear at his back, leaving scratches through the maze of scars. The newly raised lines disfigure the old, tiny pools of blood rising to the top— a gentle reminder of your presence compared to his preferred methods.

"That's it, there you go," he pulls away breathlessly, making sure to use slow, flat sweeps of his tongue to clean up the mess he's made. The smeared red on your neck is licked away into a mere stain.

Your bodies finally ease into stillness. Exhausted, he rests his weight on top of you. His face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, eyes shut as you hold him.

Your lips press softly to his shoulder, your head lying against his. The heavy exhales between you alternate, your chests rising and falling deeply until they progress into something more controlled.

Though out of each other's lines of sight, you share the same troubled expression, your brows furrowed and lips pulled into frowns.

There's a long, silent moment of recuperation before he mutters into your ear,

“I love you."

[ectologia]

do you have a lil drabble on the brain abt hawks being a lil obsessed w his coworker?

TOP-DOG

KEIGO TAKAMI + FEMALE READER

WARNING: DUBCON/NONCON, WORK-PLACE ABUSE, POWER IMBALANCE, FORCED BREEDING

Oh, I like this one.

Seems very plausible indeed.

Being The No. 2 Pro-Hero Hawks’s personal assistant.

He’ll have you following him everywhere, trailing behind like a little puppy with your little clipboard as he pads about his agency on the phone. Cleaning up his swiftly moulting feathers, plucking the flitting red bristled-brushes from the air and floor after every step.

He’ll turn on his heel to take a subtle glance at your rear, every time you bend down to scoop up one of his floating feathers, rolling a drooling tongue over the grooves of his teeth once he catches that leaky mound of pretty PA pussy hiding under your slitted pencil skirt.

He likes his coffee with lots of cream and lots of sugar. Is it weird to kiss your boss good morning? No, baby. Of course not, now come ‘ere and give your favourite hero a little peck.

He’ll have you placing a nice, wet, sloppy kiss against his stubbled jaw while he sips his coffee, tapping a foot triumphantly as he palms the tent in his cargos with the other hand.

He’s smug, sleazing a cocky grin when he catches you off guard and quickly snaps his head to the side, mashing his lips against yours for a little split-second smooch.

“What’s wrong, chickadee? I’m just showing my favourite assistant how much I appreciate all her hard-work.”

He’ll mouth witty comments and make faces at you during meetings, chuckling behind his palm once he sees your frigid expression unfold beneath his charm.

While you giggle away at his constant innuendos, he’ll have his phone shuttering frantically beneath the table, snapping photo after photo of that tiny wet breeding-slot in between your knees.

You’re such a good little personal assistant for him, he’ll reward you with a gentle massage, kneading and rolling the balls of your shoulders as you attempt to concentrate on the 20 manila folders piled sky-high on-top of your desk.

“Oh, hun.” He’s humming, spidering the thick leather of his gloves down the apex of your ribs until he’s pressing against the small of your back. “You’re so tight here. You must be exhausted, huh?”

“Is your favourite boss working you too hard lately?” His thumb swipes lazily over the two subtle dips just above your waistband.

You’re shaking your head in a panicked frenzy, adjusting the sliding papers that threaten to topple off of your desk. “Uhm.. No, sir..”

“Good girl.” A flat palm comes to tussle your hair about as he strokes you like a prized pet.

After a while, he’ll decide he wants to make things even more personal with you.

You find a grand bouquet of blood-red roses on your desk, tied with a dainty pink ribbon. The man himself, standing stoic and proud with a sun-swallowing grin etched along his handsome features as he takes the plunge and asks you to finally be his.

You’re frowning because you don’t know what to say.

He’s smiling because he knows you can’t say no.

Because now he’s gonna’ take you, face-down, pussy-up on his desk and there’s not a fucking thing you can do about it.

Because he’s your boss, and if he says he wants to pump his babies into your tight little womb and blow your belly up with his chicks, you’re gonna fucking take it.

Hard.

[movidita]

18+ mdni

Being on a bed would be so much better than your position now. Hell even being on a desk, or inside, with walls, would be better.

But instead you were planted on top of Rick’s jacket. The jacket that he had worn whilst taking so many lives. Although it was better than where you previously were- bare body shoved up against the bark of a tree. You were sure that you had a few red marks down your back.

Your hair was knotted, no doubt when you stood up there would be a few leaves matted in.

It was dark- so dark that it was dangerous. Just being out here at all was dangerous. It didn’t help that the sound of skin slapping together would attract walkers. Or the moans you could not stop from slipping out. Rick’s relentless pounding into you was not doing much in your favour.

His grip so harsh around your waist as he pressed kisses down your chest. Watching your face screw up when he hit that spot.

“Shit!” You moaned, a hand immediately clamping down on your mouth. You were in the middle of the woods after all, walkers were everywhere.

“Gotta be quiet.” His palm is immediately replaced with his mouth, your tongues fighting against one and other.

Rick’s now free hand traveled down your body, down to your clit and giving it a quick pinch.

You yelped into his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck and tugging him even closer.

Pulling away momentarily, catching your breaths.

This wasn’t what you expected when he dragged you out of your tent and into the forest, laying his jacket out for you like it was a picnic blanket.

“Rick. . .” You whisper, his cock hitting so deep inside that your eyes rolled back and your mouth parted. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He smirks against your mouth, “Come for me, go on, baby.”

The snapping of a twig caught both of your attention- turning your heads in sync towards the noise.

“Shit.” He cursed. Standing to his full height, leaving you panting on the ground. Tucking his dick into his boxers and pulling his jeans up. Unsheathing his knife, killing the walker.

You sigh knowing your moment was ruined and you wouldn’t get to cum after all of the effort it took to sneak away from everyone.

Rick turns back to you, a smile on his face as he looks down at your naked figure, breathless on the floor, on top of his jacket.

“Sorry, sweetheart. We should get back.” Finding your clothes scattered across the forest floor and helping you into them.

Your hair all tussled when you stand, slipping your underwear and pants back on as he hands you your shirt.

He leads you back to camp, pressing a kiss to the back of your head. “Next time.”

You frown, although he can’t see it. He said that last time, the time you got interrupted in the closet, the storage unit, even the time in the car.

[matchesarelit]

Imagine If You Will… (Trinkets, Spencer Agnew x gn!Reader)

Being in love with one Spencer Agnew was tortuous for all the reasons it was undeniable, he was kind and thoughtful to a fault. So how do you bury feelings like these? Badly and in a way more painful than you realize.

Smosh Masterlist

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Happy ending, primary school insults, heartache, Unrequited requited feelings.

Wc: ~2.8k

Permitting your legs to give out you flopped down onto the tiny couch, dramatically shielding your eyes from the harsh fluorescent lights. You released an exaggerated sigh to announce your entrance and two feet away, Spencer eagerly watched your performance, shaking his head at your regular antics a giddy smile danced across his lips accompanied by a giggled greeting.

Often growing tired of the plain nature of your own workspace, you often ventured to the gamer zone, as you called it, whenever you found yourself in need of a break. The variety of figures and art littered around the makeshift room was comforting, this was in part due to the presence of the man just a few steps away and his interests. Many hours worth of breaks were spent listening to explanations of his collections, his ramblings were comforting and the spark present in his eyes while Spencer spoke put a warmth in your chest. Looking at the man beside you as you did now, however, was something you had tried to avoid every time, and every time, you failed within seconds.

Peeking tentatively through a small gap, you studied every minute detail of his presence, hoping, begging your mind to commit it to memory. Dark curls sprawling in every which way caught the light like a halo. Inked sketches stretching out from beneath his sleeves coated him in his personality. Gleaming gemstones are trapped behind his wire frames yet still sparkle like stars in the countryside.

Although a supremely comfortable couch, for an office space at least, your favorite position to sit in his presence was nestled into his side at his desk. That placement however was not as comfortable as it seemed as it meant you were sitting on an old desk chair made of plastic that dug into every ounce of flesh it touched. Spencer's warmth was worth it nonetheless, the trance he put you in allowed your mind to drift; more often than not to a scene of the two of you curled up together lips moving in sync as your hands tussled through his hair. You'd fallen for him hard and fast over your first year at smosh, now six years later you still needed to wrestle your wandering mind away from such thoughts almost every time the two of you were alone. Over the years you had caught yourself fantasizing of spending your life with Spencer in all sorts of ways, all of which only managed to twist the knife in your gut, your own mind reminding you of the life you could never have.

You hadn't dwelled on these feelings for the whole time you'd worked together, Selena and Rock were a godsend as they pushed you into blind dates and nights out in an attempt to give you a reprieve. To their credit you'd been in a couple of relationships, one lasted just months but the other continued for a year and a half before he called it off in a cacophony of insecurity and accusations. Although Spencer and you had no history of romance, your status as best friends and hard-to-hide admiration for the man had wrought a bout of concerns from both of them and while they weren't entirely wrong the accusations had wrought an unshakable cloud that eventually tore both relationships apart.

In the aftermath of your breakups both Rock and Selena had held you as you cried, terrified you would have to choose between finding love and having Spencer in your life. As weeks turned into months, they grew more astute in their advice, urging you to end the suffering of not knowing, "If you told him how you feel you could make the decision, I know the thought that it might come to losing him is painful, but you can't continue this way. It's paralyzing you and hurting you in the long run."

It was a conversation the three of you had had time and time again throughout the years, it often left all of you in tears; you were terrified of losing him, and they were heartbroken witnessing your pain over and over.

Craning your neck from the arm of the couch you admired the back of his head; he'd recently let his hair grow out and your attention was continually grabbed by the way his curls bounced at his smallest of movements. At this moment however, a small blurry pink blob obstructed your view, shifting your attention to the small figure on the side table you noted a small piglet sitting atop a toilet while reading a newspaper.

An absurd snort left your nose as you brought it up closer to inspect it, the sound pulling Spencer's attention to you and the focus of your giggles. What was strange about the little pig was that he had been placed inches from where you lay your head in a place where no one who worked in the department could see from their desks, the toy was also angled to face you. Soon enough, as you moved to return the figure to its place Spencer spoke up, "I knew you'd think Chaddius was hilarious. That's his name by the way; Chaddius."

"I like it, it's very dignified and it suits him well."

"I-uh, I got him in a gatcha a few months back and found him again over the weekend and thought you would get a kick out of it, so I thought I'd put it there for you."

"Y-you put him here, for me? Spencer I-" mouth agape you looked back and forth between the small figure and the man above you.

"Well, you're in here all the time, and you said you struggle to have Knick knacks on your desk as you either get distracted or they get in your way so I thought I could brighten up the little breaks you spend in here." The awkwardness of his rambling passed you by as you sat dazed by the sentiment. You wasted no time in thanking him but finding it difficult to stop yourself you continued. "I love him. I do, but you should know I come here because it makes me so happy to hang out with you, being here is plenty bright for me, so you don't need to worry about me, okay?" he turned back to his computer a short "ok" leaving his lips before being followed by a whisper too quiet for you to hear.

The rest of your time there was spent in an uncommon silence before you left with a wave. Stopping by the bathroom on the way back to your department, you glared at yourself in the mirror before murmuring mockingly, "PlEnTy BrIgHt FoR mE... dOnT wOrRy AbOuT mE." Christ why couldn't you just leave it at thank you, he was being so kind and you felt the need to stop him. You knew his kindness came from friendship and your mind was already twisting it into something more and that felt wrong.

Are you really his friend? You clearly have ulterior motives that's for sure, but being completely honest if you saw him marry another girl, sure your heart would break but every other part of you would be ecstatic at his happiness. Does that make it better? or just more pathetic?

Jeez, this line of thinking was only ever going to hurt. Putting on your most aggressive metal music selection on your headphones, you sat at your desk and started to work, trying absolutely anything to stop your mind from returning to him for the rest of the day.

At the end of your workday, you moved to leave, Gluing your eyes to your phone screen you kept your head down as you speed walked past the game desks and out of the building.

Over the weekend, despite your inner conflict, you had settled on spending your breaks at your desk, perusing Instagram and Reddit threads. That only lasted about 5 minutes.

A Slack message lit up the corner of your monitor; "You okay?". This was unexpected, you always thought you were a nuisance, up till your last visit at least, that you were more of a bother than he let on, you never expected him to notice your absence let alone worry enough to ask you about it. Typing out a quick excuse a cringe of guilt twitching your face and closing your eyes as you hit send; "Yeah I'm okay, just chatting with Tommy and Rock, probably won't make it over today." You even hazarded a glace in the two men's direction where you had seen them earlier talking by the window. Feeling a slight discomfort at the lie you went to join them, hoping the conversation was one you didn't have to put a lot of thought into.

The rest of your days were spent in solitude, finding yourself dissatisfied with the company of anyone but Spencer you quietly slouched deeper and deeper into your chair as the hours passed you by.

Until the day of the third hide and seek.

At this point it had been over two months since you stopped visiting the scruffy gamer in his zone. You'd felt withdrawals for a while and had caught yourself walking almost all the way there more than a few times. Movement on the other side of the office tore your attention from Kiana as she announced filming was about to start, little above a blur as he scurried from his desk. Your eyes however lingered on the space. More specifically on the end table by the couch. The top of the dilapidated wood piece was consumed by dozens of figures. Some alongside Chaddius, animals atop a latrine. Some birds perched in various precarious yoga poses. All of varying sizes and colours yet all sharing one. notable. trait. Every single character was turned to face the couch. Your couch.

There were over 50 little dudes.

Well beyond fifty work days since you kept yourself at your desk.

More than five-zero days that that curly-haired gremlin king must have gently placed a new figure there.

Just.

For.

You.

To leave them lonely and purposely collecting dust. Just for you to leave him hangin. To leave him clearly missing your presence. But wait. I hear you say,Surely if he was missing you this much he would have reached ou-. He did though Didn't he? You were the one who left. You were the one who lied. You were the one who avoided him like the plague.

A hand jostling your shoulder broke your spiraling thoughts Tommy was eyeing you suspiciously from your side not stopping as he passed you. "Come on, there's thirty seconds." calling back as he strolled backwards towards the kitchen he continued. "And you're right by the way; what you were thinking. Silly plan my guy."

Leaning forward into a hurried scamper you rushed to find somewhere to hide, your clever spot and disguise long forgotten and much too far away. A hand shot out from the nearby cupboard pulling you to stumble inside. Following the hand, and connected arm up you met Spencer's pouting gaze. Mind still a haze the yelled countdown drowned out by the thumping of blood through your ears, you turned on the spot to leave the small space.

You never took a step, hand on the knob, feet refusing to budge. Casting a glance down you noted the boots that covered your own, the toes of his shoes pinned our own to the floor. The sight would be comical if he didn't look as defeated as he did, a new glistening shine visible in his eyes despite the darkness.

"Please. Don't."

"Spencer I-"

"You're avoiding me. Why?" his voice was harsh but that dissappeared quickly as he shuddered, dragging a forceful hand down his face, his features warped and spread the wetness that had quickly begun to pour down his cheeks. "You never come by on your breaks. You barely look at me in meetings and all but flee when I try to talk to you. Please just tell me what I did. I'll understand. I just need to know. please. I miss you."

"Spencer I- I- haven-"

"Yes, you have been. At first I understood you might be busy but week after week you never said a word to me. I noticed, Everyone noticed."

"He's right we all noticed"

Your jaw hung open as your eyes scanned the darkness, "Who-"

"God, now tell the truth! or feel my fur-" The voice fell into silence as voices were heard outside.

Taking a moment in the silence as the man in front of you was, for the moment, distracted by the game, you collected your thoughts before beginning in a whisper; "You're right, but you know that. I just couldn't let myself do it anymore. Every moment around you was torture, every kind act was a punch in the chest. It was getting worse and worse and I couldn't keep letting it happen. I hated it all."

Allowing yourself a breath you lifted your eyes from your shoes, and the sliver of light illuminating your shoes from under the door, to his eyes. A hurried gasp darted into your chest at the tears streaming down his skin, gathering to drench the neckline of his tee, you stuttered incoherently, frantic to calm his distress.

"That's not what they meant. Give them a moment." The voice, seemingly coming from above, soothed Spencer in a hushed coo before morphing into harshly spat mutterings directed at yourself. "Jesus Christ, tell him plainly you maniac."

"I'm in love with you." If your voice before was a whisper, this was the fluttering of butterfly wings in a thunderstorm, yet your tone remained even. "I've loved you for years now, I knew it was useless; you are so perfect you have this glow of joy and beauty that never leaves and I could never compare. I tried to stop loving you this way, I wanted to be the friend you thought I was. But every kindness was twisted into something more and my mind ran rampant. I felt-I feel disgusted by myself, You have always been nothing but an amazing friend and instead of treasuring what we had I couldn't help but dream of more."

"There we go"

"Yo-" He was interrupted by a sudden light that blinded the pair of you. His grip on you tightened at the shock, only softening as the new voice sounded through the space and your eyes began to adjust.

"Gotcha! Final ten and nine you guys" Arasha, the seeker, had found you yet as you resigned to leave the space at your loss you found the man inches away from you still, a shocked expression stained his cheeks until it didn't. Suddenly he was animatedly talking to the cast member about being upset at being found so fast and vowing that next time he'd win.

Prying your feet out from under his own you turned on your heel all but running from the space feeling more crowded than you ever thought possible. The hand that had encircled your arm fell to his side as you left him there, but he was not far behind as he jogged to catch up with you.

You burst through the door of the bathroom, stumbling to brace yourself against the sink chest heaving with harsh sobs as your cheeks were flush with tears. Hatred saturated your expression as you glared into the mirror, You cursed yourself for all that had happened over the last twenty minutes. Over the last two months. And over the last seven years.

Then the door flew open. Then there he was looking into your eyes. And How on earth could you blame yourself, not only did he look amazing even in the worst of situations, but here he was checking on you despite your-

No,

Stop that,

Stop thinking.

Listen to him his lips are moving,

He's talking,

dumbass.

"I can't believe we could have worked this out so much sooner. Seriously you think way too highly of me, There is no world where I buy 62 Gatcha toys and give them all unique names just for a friend, Not that you aren't a friend. I Just- Funnily enough, I felt the same way, thought I was tainting our friendship with my pining, But I also think it just makes what we have deeper, we know each other so well and care so much."

"Wait, what ar-"

"JESUS FUCK!" The voice from moments before was joined in a sort of chorus from the other side of the door.

the door opened crashing against the wall, a large group, presumably those already found, led by Jeremy, stood with a mixture of exasperated and laughing composures studying the pair of you over the threshold.

Jeremy alone continued; "Y/N You love Spencer in a-" The group behind him turned their backs arms stretching around themselves as they erupted in kissy noises. Jeremy mimicked those same noises as he continued, "In a mwehmwemme way and Spencer you love Y/N, also in a mewmwemwe way. Now kiss!" He stepped back and let the door swing shut with a slam, leaving the two of you more or less alone.

"Look, I'm sure they're just a bit carried awa-"

Your rationalization was interrupted by his lips against yours, the tension had boiled into an overflowing need. His silken lips left your own almost immediately as he wound his arms around your shoulders holding you tight into his chest. Wrapping your own around his chest your hands fisted his shirt as his did yours. All space between you was gone as you pulled each other impossibly closer, sitting in the silence you held back tears unable to shake the lingering stress and fear. Head buried in the nape of his neck you failed to remain silent for long, yearning to hear the words come from him, desperate for confirmation to quiet your racing mind, "Does this mea-"

"I love you, with everything I have, please never doubt that."

[crayonboxcolors607]

in honor of Part 1 getting 100 likes and like 15 reblogs! (a lot for tiny stupid me lol) i decided to suck it up and write another part bc ppl have asked for it

IF YOU HAVEN'T READ PART ONE, PLEASE DO SO!

After Robin found out, things were a bit better for Steve. The two of them practiced their signs during slow shifts at the Family Video. Robin showed him a new sign every day and helped him improve his lip reading. It benefited his daily life too. Gone were the days when he had to walk all the way across the store to talk to Robin, now the two of them could have conversations from opposite sides of the store, their hands flying fast as they spoke.

Robin was a fucking godsend, bullying Keith into giving Steve more time off in case of migraines and providing excuses when he couldn't drive the kids around. She begged Steve to wear his hearing aids, eventually telling him that if he played his cards right he could cover them up with his hair, which ultimately convinced him. She'd helped him find a new hairstyle that almost eliminated them completely, clapping her hands excitedly as the shock on his face was evident when he turned them on and could differentiate sounds again.

Of course, there were still things that were hard, even with the hearing aids. Steve needed to be directly facing someone in order to have a basic understanding of what they were saying, and there couldn't be anything obstructing their mouth. This proved especially difficult when Steve interacted with the younger Party members, although they continued to chalk it up to Steve's usual airheadedness. For once, he was grateful to be stereotyped as a dumb jock.

One random day in October, however, things began to change.

Dustin had somehow roped Steve into driving him, Mike, and Lucas to some fancy-ass comic store in Indianapolis, claiming that "the one in Hawkins is not nearly comprehensive enough, Steve". He'd rolled his eyes and responded with what they referred to as his "Mom Pose", his hands on his hips and his eyebrow cocked as he stared at them judgementally. Eventually, though, he'd relented, letting them fight over who got shotgun and who had to sit in the back.

Somehow, although he himself didn't quite seem to know how, Lucas managed to snag the front seat. He'd slid in quietly as Dustin and Mike threw themselves into the backseat, yelling obnoxiously about unfairness and favoritism. Steve refrained from pointing out that he'd had no part in the tussle for shotgun, instead allowing it to play out.

He and Lucas had been engaging in conversation about sports when Lucas had quietly mentioned that he was thinking of trying out for the school's basketball team, tentatively asking Steve if they could meet up the next weekend so he could give him some pointers. Steve had agreed without even thinking, but he began to panic once he got home later that afternoon. How was he supposed to go over skills in basketball when he couldn't even hear out of his left ear?

But in typical Steve fashion, he procrastinated until the last minute, eventually deciding that he simply wouldn't wear the hearing aids. He'd be fine for one basketball practice, right?

And so, Steve drove to the basketball courts that Saturday, removing his hearing aids as he arrived, and thus reintroducing a fuzzy ringing in his ears that he hadn't experienced in a long time. It felt alien, but he shook his head around a bit and started to shoot baskets. He'd forgotten how good sports made him feel, and was pleasantly surprised at the adrenaline that began pumping through his veins. In fact, his new lack of hearing made it easier for him to practice, as it allowed him to tune out the rest of the world and focus solely on himself and his own fluid motions.

This did prove to be a slight problem, however, as he didn't hear Lucas dropping his stuff on the bench, nor did he notice him walking up to Steve. So the tapping on his shoulder startled him far more than it should have.

"Jesus Sinclair!" Steve exclaimed. "You scared the shit outta me, man!" Lucas seemed confused at Steve's reaction, and he silently reminded himself that none of the kids knew about his hearing.

"Uhh, sorry Steve," Lucas said slowly. "Are um, are you okay?" The concern on his face melted Steve's heart just a little bit.

"I'm fine buddy," he reassured the young teen. "Was just in my own world a bit, you know, focusing and stuff." His explanation seemed to comfort Lucas enough, and he grinned.

"You ready to get started?" he asked, tossing the younger boy the ball. Lucas caught it with a practiced ease and began dribbling, feinting left and right. Steve dropped down into his defensive position, mirroring Lucas's every movement, tracking his feet to predict which direction he would go next.

He felt himself slipping back into that headspace that he loved so much, the one that drew him into sports in the first place. Because he didn’t need to think about it, the strategies were always in his brain. He just needed to rely on muscle memory, all his former skills coming back to him as he and Lucas scrimmaged.

They played for about thirty minutes before taking a quick break to grab water and snacks, both of them struggling to catch their breath. Lucas opened his Gatorade™ and said something Steve, causing him to look over in surprise as he struggled to figure out what the younger boy was saying.

"Pardon?" he said, pretending he just hadn't been paying attention. Lucas repeated himself, or at least Steve had to assume that he did, because again, he couldn't understand a single word that left the younger boy's mouth.

There was a heavy feeling in his stomach as he debated asking Lucas to repeat himself a third time.

Someone tapped his leg, pulling him out of his own spiraling headspace. Steve looked up, feeling even worse as he registered the fear on Lucas' face.

"Steve," Lucas began slowly, seeming struggling with what to say next. "Can you, uh, can you not hear me?"

Of course, that sentence Steve was able to comprehend.

With a heavy sigh, he shook his head.

"Not really," he replied, looking anywhere but at Lucas. "My hearing started to go after Billy smashed my head with a plate. And it got worse after Starcourt." He looked up then, a grim smile on his face. "Turns out multiple concussions aren't exactly good for a person."

Lucas' eyes widened at the confession. "So, are you deaf?" he asked. Or at least, Steve assumed that's what he said.

"Partially," Steve replied. "I can't hear at all out of my left ear, that's where I got the most damage. My right ear can function, but not normally. I mostly rely on reading lips and context clues."

"Oh my god," Lucas said slowly, the gears visibly turning in his head. "Oh my god! W-we kept teasing you! We kept calling you stupid a-and laughing at you! You couldn't even hear us! And you-" The boy suddenly slumped over and placed his head in his hands. He said something, Steve was sure of it, but it was additionally muffled by him covering his face.

"Uh, Lucas, buddy," Steve said hesitantly. "I can't understand you if I can't see your face." Lucas looked up at him then, tears pooling in his eyes.

"It's my fault," he said. Steve felt his mouth drop open in shock, and began to protest, but Lucas stopped him.

"Billy was coming after me," he insisted, talking clearer so Steve could understand. "He was attacking me! You stepped in and tried to defend me -- now you're deaf and it's all my fault!"

Steve felt his heart drop.

He'd been so scared to tell anyone because he was worried they wouldn't view him the same way as before, that he hadn't even considered how the kids might feel if they knew he was like this because of his attempts to protect them.

"Oh Lucas," Steve said softly, gathering the crying teen into his arms. "It's not your fault. There isn't a world where I wouldn't have done the same. You're my kid. I'm always gonna protect you. That's just how it works." He felt Lucas try to push away, to protest, but he just held him tighter. "You and your little gaggle of idiots are worth everything. I'd go deaf a thousand times if it meant keeping you all safe."

With a sniffle, Lucas detached himself from the older boy.

"Really?" he said, eyes shiny with tears.

"Of course," Steve responded, without missing a beat. He gave the younger boy a final squeeze, before wiping away the few tears that had escaped while he and Lucas were talking. "I'd better get you home anyway. Your mom will have my head on a stick if you miss dinner." He kept his hand on Lucas' back as he wiped his tears and sniffed a final time.

"Okay," he said. "But you're staying for dinner."

HOLY SHIT I FINALLY FINISHED! ONLY TOOK ME 9 MONTHS LOL

okay okay so i did talk about the older members of the party finding out next as well as dustin but i just had to make a liar out of myself bc when i started writing this my brain was just like "but what if we did a wholesome reveal with Lucas instead??" and now here we are and i regret nothing

except the lack of sleep. i regret that a lot.

also, i am not an athlete. i am a depressed and introverted high school theater kid who has never played basketball in my entire life bc i am a measly 5ft 1in (roughly 155cm). so dont come at me if the sportsball lingo is incorrect bc i have no fucking clue what im doing.

also THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND ALL THE LIKES AND REBLOGS ON MY LAST POST!!

[jetskisonyourmoat]

An old interview from 2007 ☺️

[credit to Twitter user who took photos of the interview]

Transcript:

Coldplay in scarves and woolly mittens. The Libertines as Dickensian street urchins, and REM's Michael Stipe as um, Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer. The NME Christmas cover has an illustrious tradition of rock stars arsing around in their best dressing up clobber for a day Some need gentle coaxing, some need a raft of costume. based ideas sent over by our art team before theyll commit. Others, like this year's Christmas cover stars Arctic Monkeys, have planned the concept and hired the outfits even before our tentative email request has had time to settle in their manager's inbox. "We want to be evil elves," came the return message moments later. "Not naughty elves, not mischievous elves. EVIL ELVES.” Which is why, one Wednesday afternoon in late November, we find ourselves at a north London photo studio strapping dynamite sticks to reindeers, impaling others with giant shards of metal, hiding a bomb in a snowman's hat and handing Arctic Monkeys bassist Nick O'Malley a mallet and then standing back as he sends carefully wrapped gifts shattering across the room. Of course, there were the annual set of complications in trying to co-ordinate a photoshoot of this magnitude: Alex Turner requesting the ‘smacked-up elf’ look from the make up artist, but looking more like a cherubic waif with every ring of dark eyeshadow applied, Nick shunning the hired-in pixie boots in favour of his own toe-curling pointers ("from Prada, thank you very much") and a minor tussle over which band member was going to get their ears stuck on first. That and the endless flutes of champagne threatening to sabotage the interview scheduled for straight after the shoot (“I feel very light headed and unsteady on my feet, NME," says Alex, wobbling).

Eventually we manage to steer them to a corner of the room where a Dictaphone awaits. By this time Nick, Matt Helders and Jamie Cook's costumes are on coat hangers and they're back in civvies. Only Alex has opted to stay as an elf, at least as long as the interview lasts. It's a heated hour that will see them debate the big topics of the year, consider their own personal highlights (Nick. "Glastonbury. NME: And your defining Glasto 2007 moment? Nick "Er, headlining the fucker") and lowlights (Mike Reid RIP). Before all that though, there's the small matter of destroying Christmas 2007 for everyone. Your favourite worst nightmare before the festive season is about to be unleashed.

NME: Hello, Nice costumes.

Alex Turner: "Thanks. You might say we dress up too much, But really, what is too much? It's good to escape your own face for an hour.

Matt Helders: "It's easier to hide behind a costume, isn't it? I felt in good spirits up there though - I’m not sure I was really feeling evil enough.

So what's Arctic Monkeys squad of evil elves manifesto for ruining Christmas?

Jamie Cook: "Go out on Christmas Eve.

Alex: "I heard a terrible story about a friend who went out on Christmas Eve once. This lad got hammered and, you know when you're hungover and, like, your thoughts and your mouth aren't connected properly? Well, he was eating his Christmas dinner and his nan were wittering on as your nan does, and he thought to himself. Oh, shut up Nan, you cunt. Then he looked up and everyone was looking at him and his dad went. I think you'd better just take your dinner upstairs and eat in your bedroom. He’d said it out loud (The table collapses in laughter).

Matt: "His nan was a cunt, though."

Alex: "So there's a way to wreck Christmas - call your nan a cunt. Actually. you should leave that out cos my nan buys NME more than my mum. My nan files her NMEs!

Matt: "So our real answer would be... I dunno, burn everyone's house down.

Alex: "Or, you know those Santa’s that come on a truck to estates and all the kids come to see them? Maybe you could hijack one of them as another Santa then rip your beard off

Matt: "....and punch the kids. Or the dad. There's nothing worse than beating kids dads up in front of the kids!"

Alex: "(Nodding) Nothing worse.

Moving on. What does a traditional Christmas entail round at Alex Turner, the only child's, house?

Alex: "Quality Street. That's the only tradition around mine. Other than that, just looking at the phone thinking. Can I ring them (points at other Monkeys) on Christmas Day or is that out of order?'

Matt: "Yeah. it is. (Holding hands up to each ear to mimick a two-way phone conversation between Alex and himself 'Do you wanna come round?' 'Al, it's Christmas Day. My nan's here.' 'Yeah. but I'm just sat here at home...' "

Alex: "We've been discussing how there's nothing to do on Christmas Day and maybe having some kind of party this year. Fancy dress, obviously. We were talking about having some sort of Ultimate Warrior party."

Matt: "Wrestlers weren't it?"

Alex: "Ah yes, wrestlers."

What are you doing for New Year's Eve?

Matt: "Last year was crap. I DJed in Sheffield at midnight. The first song everyone in that room heard going into 2007 was 'Boom! Shake The Room, which was a good feeling"

Alex: "That's something to be proud of. This year we've got nothing planned. We all go out together though; we were at that club."

Matt: "It rarely works, New Year's Eve. It's always such a fucking build-up."

Alex: Everyone's like, '(Whining voice) What are we doing now?' And then it fucking snows, doesn't it?"

Um, not where I'm from...

Alex: "It always snows round where we are"

Jamie: "It's not snow, it's sleet."

Alex: "I remember walking home last year in it and no taxis stopping for us."

Jamie: "Yeah, 'Im not taking you to High Green, mate."

Nick O'Malley: "I booked a hotel last year in Sheffield city centre and just stayed there."

Alex: 'Maybe well stay in this year. See Jools' Hootenanny and that."

What New Year's resolutions are you going to make?

Alex: "I want to learn how to cook food. I want to do a good curry."

Nick: "I want to get to a level of fitness synonymous with that of a boxer - just so I don't get out of breath walking up the stairs"

Jamie: "I want to grow a beard. I’m not shaving after today."

Alex: "Otherwise I'm allowed to punch him in the nose."

Matt: "I want to learn to do a back somersault and a front somersault."

Jamie: "Oh, and be able to dive into shallow water from a height and not hurt yourself."

Alex: "Yeah, flips, juggling. unicycling. I think were all always looking for improvement in our overall balance."

The coming year dealt with, it's time to turn the clock back and get Arctic Monkeys' take on the headlines that shook 2007. For this, Alex takes a more noticeably back-seat role in the conversation especially when the spectre of political allegiance rears its head and he actually goes completely mute. According to his press officer afterwards, having seen Arctic Monkeys branded Gordon Brown's favourite new band before he became Prime Minister, Alex is reluctant to say anything that any of the political parties could use to their advantage. From here on in then, Nick'n'Matt take over from Aln'Matt as the comedy double act. Meanwhile, Jamie will reserve his sole contribution to the conversation for an animated outburst about social networking sites in the workplace.

This Christmas marks the one-year anniversary of James Brown's death. Did he mean much to Arctic Monkeys?

Nick: "Yeah, we were big fans of James Brown."

Alex: "The first ever gig we did, we walked onstage to 'The Payback. And at college I had a pair of jeans I'd written on in red marker ‘I've got soul and I'm super bad!

Jamie: "He did as well."

Nick: "It was one of those things when you heard, you didn't want to believe it. A bit like Steve Irwin."

Alex: "Or Mike Reid. (Genuinely moved) Mike Reid, that really hit me that."

Nick: 'I don't think there was a big enough fuss about that as there should have been."

Matt: "I tell you when Ill be dead upset- and I don't really want to say it cos he's not dead yet, but I might as well get it all out -and that's when Bruce Forsyth dies."

Alex: "(Gravely) Ah, Forsyth."

Matt: "Cos I know I'm going to see it.. all being well my end."

Nick: "Touch wood."

Alex: "Cover the holes!"

Nick: "(To NME] Do you know where that expression comes from?"

Alex: "Apparently there's these little people who live in the wood. Like these little fairies that bring things that you say to life. So you cover the holes so they can't get out... Yeah, Mike Reid. I remember reading about that in the airport.

Then there was the Celebrity Big Brother race row early in the year. Did you watch any of it?

Nick: "We made a point of watching that. We wanted to watch where what's-her-name got kicked out. That said it all, and they didn't have any crowd there"

Alex: "Oh, Jade."

Jamie: "I thought Jade Goody and the one that was getting abused by her.

Matt: "Shilpa Shetty."

Jamie: "That's right. I thought they both played it bad."

Alex: "Jo from S Club 7 can fuck off I’d send her to jail Why? I just don’t like her; I think she came across horrible."

Nick: (Changing tact) “I texted one of those numbers to find out about touch wood (Reaches for beeping phone and starts reading) Touch wood is said to come from a mid-18th century story in which children being chased who touched wood were said, to be immune from being caught"

Matt: "I don't believe that. This has been wrong once before and thats when texted, to ask who's headlining Glastonbury and it said Eric Clapton. (Pumping chest out defiantly) It weren't - it were us!"

Of course the biggest music story of the first half of the year was Keith Richard revealing he'd snorted his father…

Jamie: "(Laughing) His ashes weren’t it?

Yep. What's the weirdest thing you've ever snorted?

Matt: "An eraser. That's not true actually I've witnessed it but never done it I wish I had. I didn't live enough at school”

What did you think of Keith's revelations?

Matt: "I think it was shortly after he said we were shit. He said something like the ["Load of cunts. load of cunts. Posers, rubbish was how Keef actually described the Monkeys, alongside Bloc Party and The Libertines in the same NME interview.

Keith said he didn't like The Libertines who reformed for one night only in April, with Carl Barât joining Pete Doherty onstage at London's Hackney Empire. Did you care?

Alex: "Yeah, I was interested in that. It was a 'should've been there moment, I imagine.”

Matt: "I’d have liked to have seen that.”

Nick: "They're one of the bands that a very young us were really into."

Would you like them to get back together permanently?

Alex: "(With just enough sarcasm) The greatest hits album were enough for me”

Jamie: "They didn't sling it out though did they? It was the label."

Nick: "I read something where Pete was saying he didn't even know it had come out.”

What about the new Babyshambles album? Were you fans of that?

Nick: "I’ve only heard a few songs, but the were good tracks."

Alex: "I liked it and I liked him on Friday Night With Jonathan Ross.”

Nick: "He seemed like a nice gentleman"

Alex: "I met him once. I was at this party in this club this time last year when we were recording, and someone who I’d never met said Oi! Come here and led me through this door and there was a studio and in this studio he was stood there with his top off."

Nick: "Topless?!"

Alex: "It were surreal. For a start there's a studio in a club, then there’s Pete Doherty and then he's got his top off he’s taller than you’d think.”

Matt: "I remember meeting him, as a fan actually, at a Strokes gig at Alexandra Palace I had my picture took with him and that’s when I realised he were tall."

In May, offices and schools across the UK began blocking students from using Facebook.

Alex: "I’ve never even been on Facebook"

Jamie: "(Antagonised) You know what? That’s fair enough if they should be workin’ or learning, not making take friends"

Matt: "What's the difference between…”

Jamie: "(Raising voice) No, but fair enough! You're fucking working!"

Matt: "Um, what's the difference between Facebook and MySpace?”

Please tell me one of the Arctic Monkeys knows what Facebook or MySpace are...

Alex: "I've never looked on them."

Jamie: "I haven't."

Matt: “I know what MySpace looks like, cos other people have shown me theirs, but none of us have actually got one.”

Are there any sites you do frequent?

Matt: "I don't mind The Hype Machine. I go on to search for remixes before they get heard properly."

Nick: "I got really into Wikipedia at one point. I read loads of things about joe Meek and Shack"

Alex: "He’ll read all these facts then casually throw them into conversation the next day."

Matt: "Askjolene.com is the biggest adult search engine in the world.. Just throwing that in there"

Gordon Brown - a big fan of yours, apparently - took over from Tony Blair this summer as Britain's 51st Prime Minister. How's he done so far?

Nick: "I've not really noticed any changes."

Matt: "It's neutral for me."

Who will you be voting for next time?

Matt: "I need to start evaluating, reading all their manifestos."

Nick: "I’ll Wikipedia them all and make a decision that way.”

The UK smoking ban kicked in on July 1. Has it bothered you?

Matt: "Nick's the only one of us that smokes."

Nick: "Oi, my mum reads this!"

Matt: "(Back-tracking hastily) Like I said, Nick doesn't even smoke."

Nick: "I agree with it, even though 1 do smoke. I think it's a good thing."

Alex: "You get weird smells now, I reckon."

Matt: "We were reading about that place where they give out free deodorant because you smell people more now in bars."

Nick: "It's a good way to meet new people outside I've found. And it someone's getting on your nerves you can just say. 'Right, Im going outside for a cigarette."

Alex: "I think it will become less strict in a few years. 'Cos like in New York they've had it a bit longer and they turn a blind eye to it some places there now.”

In August we had another music legend pass away; Tony Wilson.

Alex: "That were a right shock. I'm not a huge fan of the Manchester music scene. but enough for his death to mean a lot."

Nick: "I always imagine him as Alan Partridge, y know! Well, Steve Coogan in 24 Hour Party People. That's where I first got to know of Tony Wilson."

Alex: "(Looking glum) What happened in September, NME?"

You can have the Diana death inquest or Klaxons winning the Mercury Prize.

Alex: "Klaxons winning the Mercury Prize."

Matt: "You could say Klaxons winning the Mercury Prize if you want, or you could say us losing the Mercury Prize"

How did you feel about that?

Matt: "It were alright. It were a bit of a dent on my life."

Nick: "Well done, Klaxons. I wanted Dizzee Rascal to win it."

Matt: "'Yeah, Maths + English'"

Nick: "I thought it was Winehouse's though."

Alex: "But then I think Klaxons' album is more of an album than Amy Winehouse's album. Like, Amy Winehouse's album had some good tunes an' that. But I think as a thing, you can't really argue with Klaxons."

What did you think about Radiohead shocking the music industry with the way they released In Rainbows' this autumn?

Alex: "We heard Radiohead's riveting radio broadcast on the way home last night."

Matt: "I nearly fell asleep at the wheel!"

Alex: "I were nudging him! 'Keep your eyes on the road!"

Nick: "I think it was quite a clever idea for them. I think it works well for them cos their fans are the type of fans who’d probably really be into that concept."

Is it something you'd ever do?

Alex: "Nah."

Matt: "That'll be memorable 'cos they'd gone out of their way to do something different, but I don't think we need to. Obviously they don't need to either. They can afford to do stuff like that."

Alex: "They've done it now. You only need to do an experiment like that once. I don't feel like it was designed to change anything"

Matt: "They said themselves, 'It's not a template' See! I was listening last night."

Then at the end of the year, Led Zeppelin finally played their long-awaited reunion show in London. Did you apply for tickets?

Matt: "Nope. I would have gone if late Led Zep drummer] John Bonham was still alive."

Nick: "Oh, Matt."

Matt: "I'm not that bothered by them. It's not that big a deal."

Jamie: "Nah, it really is! (Laughing) Thats why a lot of people are going."

Nick: "I had a phase of being a big Zep fan. I remember I had a perlod of about six months thinking they were the bee's bollocks."

Which brings us right up to the end of the year. What great truths have Arctic Monkeys learned in 2007?

Nick: "We learned that we're really into finding out where expressions came from. So we learned where 'fill your boots' came from - it's where old, er-”

Matt: "Cavaliers."

Nick: "Yes, Cavaliers!"

Matt: "They'd get their place at the bar and once they were there they wouldn't want to lose it, so they'd piss straight into their boots so they could carry on drinking. They had big boots on, like. That's it. There's our great truths.”

Or are they? Can we trust anything that comes out of the mouths of Satan's Little Helpers? Perhaps it's all just an evil plot to make us urinate on our own footwear this Christmas. Or go on festive arson rampages. Or cause expletive-induced coronaries in the elderly. Whatever, Arctic Monkeys certainly wish you all a very scary a Christmas.

[frostbitemutt]

some general yandere javier escuella hcs pleaseee

First request, nice.

Yandere! Javier Escuella hcs

!WARNINGS!: Gender Netrual darling, Yandere trope, forced relationship, possessive behavior, obssesive behavior and thoughts, murder, violence, stalking, kidnapping, manipulation

Main Traits

:|Possessive/Protective/Manipulative/Smothering|

✹ Mr.Esculla, previously a notorious bounty hunter, revolutionary, fleeing from his home country why? For killing a high ranking government official over a woman. Now an outlaw roaming America, wanted dead or alive in both countries. That's who you've unintentionally caught the attention of.

✹ I'm going to assume baseline here that you're part of the gang. Dosen't matter too much if you joined before or after him, he'll latch on either way. Over time, you'll naturally get to know each other, it's kinda hard not to. From minimal interactions, to a well formed friendship. I don't see his obsession coming about if you two have only had a couple chats

✹ As stated above, when his obsession sets in, it expresses itself through him displaying more possessive, protective, manipulative, and smothering behavior. Along with a few others. Those are simply the most blatant ones.

✹ His possessiveness shines through when you're out and about. Interacting with other folk. People that aren't him. Javier? Oh, no, he don't like that. Harsh glares at townsfolk who stand a bit too close, a swift death to drunken bastards who leer at you, and long drawn out deaths to any potential crushes or lovers you got.

✹ In a sick way he thinks he's protecting you. Keeping you distant from certain camp members like Micah, Arthur, maybe even John. Especially as the chapters go on. The drunkard he drowned? He would have tried to attack you. Stalking? No, no, no. You have it wrong. He's making sure you're safe. You don't know what's good for you.

✹ All just another way to manipulate you into falling for him. Trying to coax you into seeing him as more than a buddy. You trust him don't you? You'd believe him over the others right? He's done so much for you. He'd never mean you any harm. He just wants what's best for you. Some other members of the gang.. they don't care as much as he does. So just stick with him alright?

✹ He's big on smothering you with his attention. Purring out complements to see how you react, akward attempts at flirting, giving you fancy pocket watches he found, offering to upgrade your weapons for you, and getting you new clothes. Then if you allow it, he'll lean into you, pull you into half hugs, a resting hand on your shoulder, or full hugs that linger for a bit too long. It's very obvious to any bystander that he's smitten.

✹ Of course he'll stalk you, like a lot of yanderes do. He'll sit near your tent, watching you sleep, maybe even steal a thing or two. Not limited to clothes, hair, and jewelry. If you're a real heavy sleeper he'll just sit right beside you. Prodding and poking at you oh so gently, enough to where you won't stir. Itching for some kind of contact.

✹ Let's say now hypothetically you attempt to run, leave the gang, or just cut contact with him in general. Once again the reason dosent matter too much, could be you found out his behavior, you wanna leave outlaw life behind, or you sided with Arthur and John during that final showdown.

✹ That? Running from him? That's not gonna go over too well. He isn't one for letting go. He's almost insulted really. After all he's done for you? The loyalty he's shown you? Yeah, no. You're staying with him. Wether you want to oe not.

✹ His bounty hunting experience really shows, tracking you down by any means, shoe prints in the dirt, horse hoof prints, questioning around town, and just suspecting where you'd go. Inevitably he finds you. After a short tussle, or none at all if he sneaks up on you, you're being tied and tossed onto the back of his horse.

✹ Now, generally he dosen't hurt you. He tries his best not to be too harsh with his handling of you. He dosen't like seeing you hurt. If you got a dollar for each time he's gone ballistic at an odriscoll or cop that managed to get in a hit on you during a shootout, it would be enough to go to Tahiti.

✹ The one exception is here, you trying to part from him. He'll cause you injury if it means halting your plans. Nothing too severe. Of course. He isn't trying to kill you here. That'd kinda ruin the whole thing.

✹ You can complain all you want, shout at him, cry. His mind is set after you've tried to run. Don't worry though. It'll be just you two now! Off to start a new life together in Mexico. No more Arthur. No more Dutch. No more gang. No more Pinkertons. Just you and him.

[fanboyzuko]

hehehe a snippet from todays writing

:3

A knock on a pole of her tent pulled Ty Lee out of her musings. One of her fellow contortionists stuck her head into the tent with a playful smile. “Lucky month for you, Ty Lee! Friends come by, and now there’s finally some sandbenders to do business, like you’ve been waiting for!”

Ty Lee popped up to her feet and shrieked, “Really?!”

Her troupe mate's laughter followed her as she raced out of her tent and to the edge of camp. There were a few boat-like contraptions that had to be sand sailers and a group of people dressed head-to-toe to protect themselves from sandy wind and the harsh sun. 

“Hi!” Ty Lee cheered, interrupting Mr. Shumuzu’s conversation with one of the sandbenders. “Are any of you Sarnai?”

The man with Mr. Shumuzu turned to her with a frown, a question on his lips when a hand shot out from the back of the group. “That’s me!” Someone shouted, but the hand was shoved back down. There was a bit of a tussle, then someone with a vibrant turquoise aura pushed their way out of the people trying to block them and pushed their head wrap back to reveal a wide smile and a head of wild, wind-tousled hair.

“How do you know me?” They asked, kicking back at the older boy trying to drag them away. “Wait- Wait- Let me guess. Look at all that pink. Know me by name? You gotta be one of Hui’s friends from home, right? The one he sent the necklace to?”

“Yes! I take it everywhere with me!” Ty Lee pulled the necklace out from inside her shirt with a proud smile. “I’m so excited to finally meet you. I’m Ty Lee!”

The man with Mr. Shumuzu sighed, but waved them off with a hint of a smile. “Alright, go make your introductions elsewhere while I finish speaking with Mr. Shumuzu. I believe we might be staying longer than initially planned, if that’s alright with you, sir.”

Mr. Shumuzu was the absolutely best and easily agreed, “Of course, Mr. Sha-Mo. Ty Lee has been beside herself with anticipation for the day sandbenders happen to come by. How fortunate the very one she’s been hoping to meet is the first to visit.”

Sarnai’s smile was blinding as they shot their brother a rude gesture, then dragged Ty Lee away from the group, already chattering a mile a minute just like Zuko said they would. 

[chattahoochiecoochie]

Audience

Summary: A girlfriend wakes up in bed with her boyfriend(s), and an audience.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Exhibitionism / Excessive Roughness / Voyeurism

A/N: For starters, I strictly watch college football so this whole AFC nonsense is beyond my understanding. If it doesn’t involve an SEC school, I’m not watching. Second off, y’all don’t even want to know how long I sat at my desk looking like a lunatic trying to figure out the physical bit of it all. Madness. If you hate it, I’m innocent. If you love it, I’m gods gift to you. Anyways, find the rest here.

It’s warm when you wake up, a mix of sunlight and body heat radiating over the bed. Sam is already awake on your left, sitting with a water glass in one hand and his phone in the other. With a leg tangled between yours and a hand on your stomach, Joe is on your right, still snoring faintly, the tiniest little sound bleeding out as his chest rises and falls.  

Slipping out of his reach, you curl against Sam’s waist, burying your head against his thigh—taking the covers with you to shield yourself from the sun that’s slipping through a gap in the curtains. For half a second, you miss your own bed and the fact that you wake up to windows facing the west most days.

A heavy breath passes through your nose, and you can feel Sam shift beside you. If he’s noticed you’re awake, he doesn’t say anything outright. There’s a shuffle above you, the sound of glass meeting wood as he sets his water down on the nightstand. Soon after, there's a rustle of bed sheets and then a hand on the back of your skull, fingers tangled in your hair. You sigh subconsciously at the sensation, forgetting the thought of your own bed entirely. The attention that's paid to you in this one is worth being woken up by the sun. Smiling softly against his waist, you nuzzle your nose into his boxers.

“Baby?” His voice is low and tentative, sending a warm tingle down your spine. You move against him, letting the duvet slip down from where you’ve been holding it.

The movement answers for you, and slowly but surely, his hand falls from your head as he slides his calloused palm beneath your shirt and over your skin until he lands on the spot between your shoulder blades. Clipped nails scrap against your spine, short up and down motions until you shiver beneath his hand.

With heavy eyes and an arm keeping the pillowy cotton of the comforter at bay, you peek up at him, blinking slowly through the sunlight. He’s looking at you, phone forgotten in his lap. Blue eyes red-rimmed, face slack and tired. It makes you wonder how long he’s been up. It's not unusual for him to be up before you and Joe, often falling victim to his internal clock. But he deserved to sleep in today—with last night’s game and subsequent win—they both deserved a day or two in bed if they wanted it.

You smile softly at him, releasing the comforter altogether in favor of clinging to him. Winding an arm around his waist, you find the other side of his boxers and let yourself play with the band while he waits for you to get your bearings. He’s gentle with you in the mornings, they both are—whether you wake up in their bed or your own—keen on the way you take forever to come to.

“Morning, babygirl.” It’s raspy, said in the same low voice as before. You’re slow to respond, smiling softly at him as the words fall over you.

“Morning, champ.”

His mouth quirks at the nickname, lips curling into an easy smile as he draws his hand upwards, dragging on your spine to reach the base of your neck, tussling your hair until he’s caught in it.

“You sleep okay? Last night was a lot.” He’s earnest, eyes searching your face for an answer before you can even think to give one. The truth is, it’s the best night sleep you’ve had in a while.

Exhausted by the game and the revolving door of tweaked knees, you’d been unprepared for the whirlwind that came after the win. In an instant, they’d gone from third and goal to six points up, with the AFC north championship secured for a second year running. It was madness. The aftermath on the field, the cigars in the locker room amongst a swarm of press personnel. The partying afterward downtown, with fans on every corner.

By the time the three of you stumbled out of an Uber at nearly three in the morning, you could hardly keep your head up or your eyes open. You can pick out flashes of it—them giggling and screaming up the driveway, sudden hushed tones when you’d gotten through the door and into the dark. Someone had carried you up the stairs to bed. Someone else had undone your shoes and gotten you out of your dress. It was a blur, and the sheets had been so warm and so sweet—you’d been gone the moment your head hit the pillow.

You don’t tell him this, instead smiling to yourself as the image of him in the end zone, staring up at the scoreboard, crosses your mind. “I’m good. It was good.” You say, fingers playing across his abdomen. “I’m really proud of you.”

“Yeah?” He’s smirking softly at you, never one to shy away from praise. His success matters to him, and he’s eager to know if it matters to someone else, to you.

You watch with a tired smile as he slides down into the bed next to you, rolling onto his side to face you, smirk permanent on his lips when he’s finally at eye level. His brow is raised, daring you to praise him again. You do.

“Very. You are,” You pause momentarily, pretending to think hard about your next words. “The best defensive back I know.”

“So you know a lot then?” He plays at curiosity, feigning jealousy. You shrug at him, trying to seem playfully nonchalant.

“A few.”

“They’re not like,” He glances down at the mattress for a moment before looking up at you through his lashes, letting them flutter for dramatic effect. The effort makes you giggle. “Two-time AFC North champions, though, are they?”

“Well, lets see, there's Jeff, Trey, Joseph—”

“Okay, let me ask you this then.” He wiggles next to you, putting an arm over your waist as he gets even closer. “You’re not doing all this with any of them, right?”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“You know, waking up in their bed, in their jersey, looking all pretty with your hair a mess.”

You grin at him and shake your head quickly, blushing. “Nope. That’s all you.” You look down at your chest for a second, chin tucked as you inspect the jersey you’re wearing. Glancing back up at him, you smirk. “I think this is Joey’s though, if that matters.”

“I’ll get over it.” His mouth is over yours, the stubble on his chin scratching your skin as he kisses you. He’s softer than usual, dulled by the night before. The hand on your waist is steady, slipping slowly until he’s cupping your face and pressing you into your pillow, tongue sliding on your lip. You let him in, relaxed by his touch.

For a moment, you stay there, underneath him, feeling hazy. He’s easy on you, all smiles and playful bites. Smirking against him, you feel your jaw slacken when his teeth hit yours. He smiles at the contact, grinning against you. Nipping gently at you, his hand leaves your face, pulling what's left of the comforter off of you.

You shiver at the sudden change in temperature, clinging to him as he takes its place over your body. Leg draped over your thighs, he kisses you deeper, sighing when you make a sound under him. He’s sweeter this morning than he often is, gentle as his tongue sweeps over yours. Sweeter still when his hand ghosts over your chest, skimming your breast before landing on your hip, holding you steady when you writhe beneath him.

Arms around his neck, you roll into him, whimpering when your hip meets the heat growing between his legs. It’s searing, pouring off of him in slow, steady waves. You’re so close to him, but if you could just—

You stop short as the mattress dips on the other side of you. Sam goes still on you, watching closely from the corner of his eye as Joe squirms beneath the sheets beside you, shifting closer to you until an arm finds its way around your waist and he pulls his weight to your back, fingers splayed to clutch you tightly.

“Joey?” Asks Sam, peering over you with a brow quirked.

“Morning.” The blond has his face buried in your jersey, drawing shallow breaths against the fabric. He’s warm, the sleepy kind that’s soft and almost damp. He’s hardly awake, it seems, still heavy and rigid on the bed beside you.

“There’s the big guy. How you feeling, buddy?” Sam’s attention fractures and you move against him impatiently, mind clouded by the nerves that had just begun to wind in your stomach.

“That’s king in the north, to you.” You can feel him smile against you as he moves behind you, slipping the jersey off your shoulder to leave a kiss in its place.

“Woke up with an ego, huh?” The words are half lost when he kisses you again. Finally. Forehead against you, the tip of his nose brushing yours as he nuzzles against you, there’s a soft smirk playing on his lips when you peck at him, a whine in your throat.

“Something like that. Y’all in the middle of something, or?” Joe leans over your shoulder, resting his chin on your collarbone as Sam nips at your lips, taunting you every time you buck up against his weight.

“Sort of.” It's playful, Sam’s tone. Gentle and teasing, but guilt strikes you anyways, splitting the warmth between your legs like a knife when you glance back to see Joe looking curious.

It’s never been one without the other—ever. Your brow knits in sudden panic. “Did—we can—”

“—Go ahead, then. I’ll watch.” He says it plainly, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. He’ll watch.

Sam looks at you, a familiar glint in his blue eyes. “What’d you say, baby? You wanna give Joey a show?” Your lips part, an answer catching on your tongue. Yes, you want to say, but all you can manage is some sort of nervous squeak.

Understanding you in a way that only they can, the grin on Sam’s face stretches wide. Arm around you, he rolls onto his back, pulling you onto his bare chest. The tired sweetness from before is forgotten, replaced by all the aggression you know he’s capable of.

He’s heavy on you, everywhere all at once. Nails dig into the skin of your thigh before dragging deep scratches up your hip. Hand under your jersey, he’s got his palm on your breast, pressure mounting as he works his fingers over your flesh. It’s blinding—the swell of nerves that flash down your spine with every touch. You fumble next to him, knees weak and hands uncertain as you grasp at him.

He’s enormous compared to you and impossible to grasp at. Going for his waist, where you know you can at least hold the band of his boxers, you miss, skimming his front instead. You groan, lips parted as he kisses you hard—forcing the air out of your lungs as his hand finds your throat.

“Slower Sammy, let her catch up.” Behind you, Joe speaks up, gentle as ever. You’re suddenly aware of him once more, registering the dip in the mattress as he adjusts himself. On you, Sam’s slow to the take, grunting incoherently before finding some of the patience that comes so easily to Joe.

You gasp as his hand relaxes on your neck. Reaching again for the band of his boxers, and with more focus than before, you find the elastic, letting your fingers slip over it to touch the curve of his adonis belt. Sam makes a sound, bucking his hips into your hand. There’s a whine on his tongue when he kisses you next, lips pouting on yours. Hand over yours he pushes your fingers down, holding them over the fabric.

“Tell her what you want.” As if he has to. You can feel him in your hand, heavy and hard and waiting. Needing.

“Touch me.” His voice is raw, husky. You tremble against him, shaking hands tugging at the checkered cotton until he’s bare in your hand. Cradling your head, he’s light underneath you, watching through dark eyes as you touch him.

He shudders, twitching in your hand as his hips buck involuntarily. You glance up at him, blushing when you find his jaw slack, head dropped against the wall. Slowly, you feel him out, dragging your nails up his shaft, delighted when he trembles again. He’s in a plain state of agony, straining to trust you, to be patient.

“Like this?” Brushing your thumb across the head, you look back at Joe. Curious eyes finding his, you let your brow quirk, feigning innocence. He nods at you, mouth set in a tight line. Just like that.

Wrapping your fingers around him, you gently stroke him again before bringing your hand to your mouth. The sound you make is indecent, dribbling as you spit into your palm. Seconds later, you’re reaching for him again only to find his hand in your place, pulling hard.

Putting your hand under his, you do your best to follow his pace, stroking with him until his hand falls to the mattress, limp as he lets you take over. “That’s it. Don’t forget the rest of him, either, pretty girl.”

Beside you, Joe’s flat on his back, head turned to watch you as he rubs a palm over the front of his briefs. His eyes are heavy, voice thick when he speaks. He’s watching you alright, and liking it too.

You follow his instructions, looking over your shoulder at him as you let your nails drag over Sam’s balls, drawing out a loud groan when you roll them between your fingers. You forget them only a second later, pulling your fist back up his shaft as his body rotates into you. Brows knit together, you keep stroking, lip pulled between your teeth as you split your focus between the two of them.

“Baby…” Picking his head up, Sam looks down at your hand, patience waning. “Please.”

“Don’t be mean to him. Go on and use that pretty little mouth.” You glance back at him, shivering as a pulse runs down your legs. Put your mouth on him. Give Joey a show.

Shimmying down the mattress, you’ve got your eyes on Joe when your lips find Sam, tongue sliding over the tip to taste the fluid leaking from it. He’s warm and salty on your lips when you put your mouth over him. The weight of him, the feeling of their eyes on you—you’re drooling in an instant.

“Look at him.” Joe nods towards Sam, rubbing himself steady over his briefs as a stain starts to pool on the fabric. “Look at her Sammy, being so good.”

You can see him above you through your lashes, right hand clutching at his chest, left hand searching for something to hold. He’s got his eyes open, jaw slack. You fight a smirk, hollowing your cheeks instead before taking him deeper. He’s too big and too thick to take for so long, but you try anyway, gagging and drooling as you lose your breath.

“That’s a good girl. Go slow. In through your nose.” Joe’s steady beside you when you glance sideways at him. He’s nodding, baby blue eyes looking eagerly at you. “Hold her head, Sam.”

Moments later, his fingers are in your hair, gripping you tight as he holds you on himself, forcing you down further. He’s deep, pushing past what you can take, and you can feel tears pricking at your eyes. It’s so much at once—too much—and then he’s giving you slack, watching closely through heavy eyes as you cough and gag when his hips relax.

The motion repeats over and over again. Too deep, for too long, and then a second to yourself until tears are running down your face. You’re rubbing your thighs together, watching Joey with panicked eyes as he mouths off more instructions to Sammy. You can hear him, see him, but it’s too much to focus on him as you struggle to breathe.

“Touch.” You catch him saying. Touch what? “Touch him.”

You do, weak hand at the base of his shaft, fingers dragging over his balls as he bucks up into your mouth. His hand is tight in your hair, hips sharp as he thrusts himself into your mouth, meeting the back of your throat with a groan.

“Fuck, Joey. I can’t—” The hand on you goes limp, falling to the mattress as he spills into your mouth, pooling on your tongue until you can do little else but swallow and drool. It’s warm, familiar, and the finality of it makes you sigh heavily as you collapse onto his lap.

It’s quiet for a moment, save for Sam’s racing heartbeat and your own shaky breath. Joe’s somewhere close, looming next to you when you finally summon the strength to open your eyes. Your lips are tacky, and you swallow hard before licking at them, a shallow mewl slipping out when you taste what’s left behind.

Leaning up next to you, Joe’s reaching for you, wiping the drool from your chin with his thumb before bringing it to his lips. He sucks it off with a playful moan, trademark spark in his eyes. “You’re all tuckered out, huh?”

You mumble something that sounds like a yes, struggling to keep your eyes open, and he laughs softly, stroking your chin once more. “Sammy, what about you, big guy?”

“I’m good. I’m good. Where’s she at?” He’s breathing heavily, gasping in between sentences. A heavy hand swats your head, fingers grabbing at nothing before finding a bit of tangled hair to grasp at. He tugs at it, pulling gently at you like some sort of overgrown child. “Give her here.”

“You sure?”

“Please.” Lifting you with delicate hands, Joe helps you crawl up Sam’s lap until you’re resting on his abdomen, fingers playing across his ribs as you settle into him. He’s warm, damp with a faint sheen of sweat. Breathing deep, you press your nose against him. It’s musky, an indistinct powdery smell drowned out by something vaguely acidic. You’ll never be over it, the scent of them lingering on your skin, on the sheets, on the clothes they let you borrow.

A memory of the night before flashes through your mind—Joey’s slipping his jersey over your head in the locker room, grinning at you. You can still smell the nylon, the scent of sweat and pinewood that stayed on your mind all night long, standing in his place when he wasn’t at your side. You can smell it now, just barely there, if you focus hard enough.  

You look up at the blond in question, eyes softening when you find his face. There's stubble on his chin and bags under his eyes, yet somehow he’s just as handsome as ever. Smiling, you reach for him, searching for a bit of skin to touch, for something to hold on to.

“I’m right here.” He says, taking your hand as he makes space for himself beside the two of you, head falling onto Sam’s shoulder. “I’m right here, pretty girl.”

A/N: I think its safe to say my niche is funny dialogue, but hey if you don’t get out of your depth you’ll never learn. That being said, it’s back to brocedes for now.