#whatever i'm not trimming that down

[takashi0]

What do you think about Jenny Nicholson's video about brony fandom? I wouldn't say it's outright bad but the part about "dark side of brony fandom" that I've recently watched rubbed me the wrong way in some places, like how she said that guys were homophobic because they didn't want to be seen as gay because of watching a show about colorful ponies. One of the guys said something like "you can't catch the gay by watching the show", and she showed this bit as proof for homophobia, isn't THINKING that a show can make you gay alone is homophobic? Or how she talked about "sexualizing fictional children"? All that stuff. This part of the video I don't really like...

I'm not watching that shit for the sake of my blood pressure.

All I'm going to say is that I'd like to remind you that Bronydom was at its peak in the early new tens, right before LGBT acceptance became as Mainstream as it is now (for better *and* for worse).

So like gee I dunno maybe there's a fucking REASON so many of us were so defensive that we weren't gay or sissies for liking the show.

And that reason being that before a certain pink cunt started a harassment campaign whose aftershock still echoes today with the same Parasitic RadFem Rhetoric that's infected virtually all nerd spaces today, the big group who insisted that we were all secretly pedophiles and bad people for the horrible crime of liking a cartoon pony show were Meatheaded Frat Douches whose egos were threatened by our lack of discomfort liking a girl's cartoon.

Man I love it when Self-righteous Lefties accuse you of being a bigot over something that you yourself are victimized by, don't you? It's the best! I totally don't feel bitter by years upon years of hearing the same moralizing bullshit over from people who CLAIM to be on my side, no not at all!

I love how normalized it is for Leftwingers to look at the natural defensive response people have in the face of being bullied and declare that you're a bad person for not liking being disrespected and told that you're something you factually aren't over something so ultimately trivial! It's so wonderful how these fucking people fundamentally just do not understand how being human works and will happily side with people they claim to hate if it means they have an excuse to dunk on other people they don't like or don't bow to their whims! I love it!

I especially love how people are STILL wringing their hands over pony porn while they flick their bean to smut from every single thing else THEY enjoy and refuse to leave us the fuck alone~! And that people care more about cartoon horses who DON'T EXIST than actual people who they're harassing and doxxing and otherwise being a raging cunt to~! It's so much fun~!! Definitely doesn't make me fucking enraged at all~!!!

[soothifying-sounds-asmr]

I was accepted to a paid video editing internship and a lot of the work is very reminiscent of what I used to do here. It makes me so happy to know that my silly little Tumblr blog gave me good practice :3 I hope everyone is doing well <3 Tell me what you're going to be for Halloween!

[ehlnofay]

working on my long project again. pray for me

[wildgirllz]

I'm not sure if you are familiar with the "mating press" position, but the little horny voice inside my head says that Tommy would absolutely love it. Just imagine reader having her legs on his shoulders while he pins her down to the bed because he needed to let off steam. Of course, this is completely consensual! Reader is willingly helping her husband out like the sweet housewife she is <3 Would you be up to write something like that? Sorry for being so disgustingly horny about him... (⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠)

Omg i love this request!! HAPPY 1K MY BEAUTIES!!!

Mating press with Tommy <3

Warnings: unprotected sex, SIZE KINK OML (I'm sorry I couldn't help myself) pnv, afab reader, he cums inside because he's a loving husband, overall just porn with a little plot

It was a sunny day, the warm Texan breeze on your shoulders as you washed dishes from breakfast. A hefty pile of dishes, Tommy was not a small man to feed. As the warm water eroded the bacon grease from your castiron, you heard some stomping from the yard. You smile, you can imagine how he was looking at that very moment; his mask covering half of his sweaty face, hair stuck to his forehead, shoulders wide and casting a big shadow over whatever he was blocking. His tall frame was delicious, his arms, his hands that held the majority of your torso already made you hot on the back of your neck.

Lost in a trance of your thoughts, you feel the warm water over your hands' sudden absence. You don't need to turn your head to identify the reason. You can already hear his little huffs behind his mask and his big meaty hands pawing at your hips.

“I missed you, Tommy.” You turn and raise your arms to place your hands on his broad chest. His fingers fidget with the red trim of your sundress, one of his favorites. “You like my dress honey? I like this one too, I wear it to ensure you stay grateful for this pretty little wife you got.” You giggle and cover his hands with your own, but only manage to shade a finger or two. 

“I made you pie again Tommy, peach crumble! It's right on the counter. Lemme cut you a slice.” You smile warmly before turning to walk to the countertop to your right, but you don't manage. Tommys' hands are glued to your hips, keeping you grounded like a statue on the floor. “You don't want pie, baby?” You ask, sweetly of course. You knew Tommy wasn’t focused on your pie right now, you knew from the second you heard his feet shuffling outside that he had some steam he needed to release, and you’d be damned before you said you didn't want him to take it out on you.

You look up at his lust-filled eyes and reach to untie his sweaty mask. You didn't like that he always felt he had to cover himself up, but you understood it brought more comfort to his everyday life. As the mask fell, you could hear his shaky breaths practically calling for you. You got up on your tiptoes and pursed your lips, so he reciprocated, bending his head downward and capturing you in a warm, desperate kiss.

His hands on your hips lifted your body off of the ground, unconsciously, making your face line up with his. You wrap your legs around his waist, not making it all the way, but you were stable as his hands moved down to cup your ass. You whimper into his mouth, grinding your little hips against his big tummy, and running your fingers through his messy hair.

He lets out a single huff before turning on his heels and taking you to the bedroom. After storming through the doorway, he tosses your body onto your’ neatly made bed and begins to undress. You take his cue and do the same, unzipping your flowy dress and slipping off your white panties. Leaning back in your bed, you take in Tommys' body, how the veins in his hands bulge as he unbuttons his shirt, and how tight his pants look on his thick thighs.

Once he's fully bare, he slowly stalks around the bed, looking you up and down like a piece of meat he’s longing to devour. Suddenly, he yanks you down by the ankles, making you lay flat on the bed. He pushes himself to his knees at the end of the bed, settled between your now parted legs. He shuffles forward a bit, then pulls you by the knees until your legs wrap around his hips. 

He bends forward, towering over your frame. He takes your legs and pulls your feet over each one of his shoulders. Your thighs are pressed to your stomach as he settles an arm on both sides of your head. His hair falls around your face, and you reach up to kiss his pretty pink lips. You feel his girth slipping over your slit, and you reach your hand down to press his throbbing cock to your little bud. He groans at the touch of your hand and you begin to rock your hips back and forth, covering his length with your slick.

Not long after, he begins to rock his hips against yours in tandem. His forehead touches yours and you can feel his warm breaths covering your face. On one of his slower thrusts, the tip of his cock caught on the rim of your hole, making you take a sharp breath in. Tommy looks at you to make sure you’re okay, then slowly slides his fat member into you without warning.

“Tommy! Jesus, baby slow down.” You whimper out. The intrusion makes your lips quiver and hands grip the sheets, so he takes your arms in one of his hands and moves them to wrap around his neck, immediately latching onto his hair. As he settles his hefty body on top of yours, his tummy pressing down tightly on yours, he pushes even further forward, trying to get as deep as possible.

Your moans turn into choked-out groans as he slowly pounds into you. Your toes curling and heels digging into his damp back. He lets out deep groans and uses his hand to wipe hair from your face. He cups your cheek and kisses you, a distraction from the ache of your stretched hole, struggling to accept his large cock. 

His thrusts pick up in pace, and he buries his face into your neck. His hands slide down to grip your hips, and he maneuvers your body to slam down on his cock in time with his thrusts. In a state of complete cock-drunk bliss, you struggle to let out a whine as you feel your peak approaching. Rolling your eyes back, you grip his hair between your fingers and give it a little tug, before feeling the warmth of your orgasm explode through your body in ripples of pleasure.

Your back arches and your legs shake, the feeling of your pussy clenching over his length makes him whimper, and his thrusts become fast and shallow. You whine at the feeling of him abusing your overstimulated warmth, and Tommy leans down to bury his face in your breasts and grips your hips almost bruisingly in his hands, quickly reaching his orgasm himself. 

He wraps his arms around your back and pulls you as close to him as possible before letting out one more deep thrust and filling you to the brim with his seed. He groans and flips over on his back, taking you with him. You lay over his body, feeling his cock softening inside you as his spend drips out. You both catch your breath and relax, his hands rubbing gently over your back. 

You close your eyes and let the cool air of night take you both to sleep.

feel free to leave requests! (get FILTHY.) <3

[jazziejax]

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐤 ‘𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐃𝐚𝐰𝐧

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Cowboy!Terry Richmond x Black!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - They had always had this lingering tension between them. But not it seems that whatever feelings were there have now boiled over and at the Sweet Tooth Saloon, things get a little hot.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - 18+!, MINORS DNI, Heavy tension, sensual dancing, explicit smut, oral (f!receiving), soft!Terry, mild dominance, tender aftercare, implied feelings

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - since yall only like me when I write about Aaron Pierre 🙄 I’m not good at wiring smut and I don’t even like doing it but this is something to hold yall over in case I drop off the fave if the earth soon. I have Finals next week :( UNEDITED, sorry for any spelling errors and grammar mistakes. There probably many because my laptop over heated…also, I can’t write a short fic to save my life.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭- 9,567+

The small bell above the door jingled as the large man stepped into the beauty salon, ducking slightly to avoid the low-hanging dried herbs strung up near the entrance. The scent of lavender and bergamot mixed with the faintest trace of hot iron and other chemicals, the kind used to curl or straighten a lady’s hair.

He had never set foot in a place like this before. Not because he didn’t believe in looking presentable—he just never trusted another person with a razor near his throat. And, to be honest, he didn't mind looking rough sometimes, but he was starting to become a little self-conscious whenever a woman looked at him for too long. Especially her. But the dust of the road clung to him, so his beard and his hair had grown past the point of comfort as he and his comrades spent more time than they thought in Sugar Cane Creek. Everything needed a trim. At least, the mirror at the bar last night told him as much, and Jim had made a comment about him “starting to look like a wild man”.

Terry didn’t care much what people thought, but he cared about feeling like himself.

A woman stood behind the counter, fingers-deep in a bowl of soapy water, scrubbing a comb. The early morning light that poured through the shop window was caught in her dark hair, making it shine like polished mahogany. She looked up, recognizing him instantly—because who in Sugar Cane Creek didn’t know who he rode with? But she didn’t stiffen or frown like some folk did when they saw a man from the Nat Love Gang.

Instead, she wiped her hands on a cloth, tilted her head, and smiled just enough to let him know she wasn’t afraid.

“Well, well." She mused, setting her rag aside. “Never thought I’d see the day you walked in here.” She said, a soft grin on her face. Her voice was as rich and smooth as honey fresh from the comb.

Terry removed his hat with a sigh, brushing a hand over his curls that had gotten a little thick on top of his head. “I think I'm in need of a trim.”

She raised a brow. “Hair or beard?”

“Both.”

Her gaze flickered over him, lingering on the rough edges of his beard. “I’ll say. Starting to look real close to a mountain man.” She quipped. Terry, however, didn’t smile, but something in his dark eyes did shift, a flicker of amusement that only she would catch. They had always danced around one another. Something they had been doing for a while now—exchanging looks in town while Terry earned his keep over at Cotton's and she began to start her work day at The Blush and Brush Parlor, brushing shoulders when they shared time at The Sweet Tooth Saloon. He was a quiet man, but she liked that about him. A man who didn’t talk just to fill space.

Her eyes flickered over his face, then lower to where his suede, dark brown, coat stretched broad across his shoulders. “Take your coat off." She said, already gathering her scissors. “You might be here a while.”

Terry hesitated, looking down at the shorter woman with a tired look. "Don't talk about me like I'm some sort of ruffian, now." He said, his voice deep and his country drawl thick. The brown skinned woman gave him a faux pout with a small laugh. "Oh, I'm sorry, bright eyes, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Now take a seat and let’s get you looking decent again, okay?" She grinned, playing coy with him. Terry didn't flinch at the name, but a small twitch was his lip was noticeable to her before he then shrugged out of his coat and laid it over the empty chair not far from him. He then sat down in the chair she stood in front of, allowing the woman to drape a sheet over his front, tying it at the back of his neck with nimble fingers before combing through his hair. She was gentle, but precise—no wasted movements, no hesitation.

"You know how to do men's hair?" He asked.

"Yup." She said. “Been cutting my daddy’s since I was eight. Used to say I was better than any barber in town.” He could hear the smile in her tone at the thought, though it veered off into something a little sad.

Terry hummed, the closest he’d come to laughter anyways, but he could also tell that the subject was a little sensitive to her. He let her work, let the soft snip of the scissors fill the quiet. Every so often, he felt the barest brush of her fingertips against his skin. He could also feel her large chest brush against the back of his neck every now and then, causing him to look up into the mirror in front of him, watching the woman work. He wasn’t a man who flinched easy, but something about that gentle touch made him tense in a way he couldn’t explain.

The shop was quiet except for the snip of her scissors. She worked with practiced ease, combing through his hair, trimming away the weight. Every so often, her fingers brushed the nape of his neck, light and deliberate. She felt the way he tensed, barely noticeable, but there.

“Relax, cowboy." She teased. “I ain’t gon' hurt you.” She said softly.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, settling into the chair.

She then suddenly grabbed the side of his head, straightening his head and looking at him though the mirror. He wasn't quite sure what she was doing, but he didn't question it as he watched her intensely though the mirror.

“Alright." She murmured after a while. “That’s the hair. Now the tricky part.”

She brush the excess hair from him before she turned to the washbasin, dipping a cloth into warm water before wringing it out. He expected her to hand it to him, but instead, she pressed it against his face herself. She held his head steady with her other hand, gripping his chin. And he couldn't help but wonder if she did the same procedures with all her clients, because even though his hair looked better than before, the way she was touching felt oddly intimate. The heat from her touch as well as the warm cloth sank into his skin, soothing the roughness of travel and the dry air. He hadn’t realized how much he needed that.

She worked carefully, rubbing a mixture of soap and oil into his beard before picking up the straight razor. She tested the blade against her thumb. She hummed before moving over to the leather strap against the wall to give it a quick sharpen. She tested it again, obviously to her liking since she walked back over and tipped his chin up with two fingers.

“You ever had a woman shave you before?” She asked, looking up from inspecting his unruly beard to lock eyes with his bright ones. It was a simple question, calling for a simple answer, but their gazes were intense. Terry shook his head, just barely, caught in her big eyes and soft touch as he licked his lips.

His response, or lack there of, caused her to grin. “Good. Means you’ll keep still.” She said, only leaning in briefly as she joked with him, but her sudden contact made allowed him to catch a whiff of sweet scent like, something like Ambrosia.

“Lean back,” She instructed, her foot hovering over the pump that allowed the chair to recline. Terry hesitated, blinking at her. It's not that he didn't trust her, he'd known her for quite some time now. He trusted her hands in his hair, but a blade near his throat? That was different. He never trusted anyone that much, not even his closest comrades. It's the reason why all his self-cut's were a little choppy. Something that wouldn't have mattered if he was still up to his outlaw duties and on the road. But now he was spending his time in saloon's and around beauties they didn't offer at home.

She caught the shift in his posture, her smirk turning knowing. “You scared?” She questioned.

Terry met her gaze, his own steady. “No.”

“Then sit still.” She said before she pushed down on the pump under the chair, allowing it to recline. And that he did, opening his growing facial hair to her, ample room left in case of his worst fear. But he had no reason to fear her and her intentions, because her blade was steady. Her hands were sure, and he trusted her, even though he had no reason to.

The razor glided slow, careful. She kept her grip steady, the blade sharp and sure as it skimmed along his jaw. The heat of the late afternoon pressed into the shop, thick and lazy, but it wasn’t what made her skin prickle. It wasn’t what sent that slow, creeping flush up her neck, settling warm in her cheeks.

No, that was him. It was his eyes that were watching her.

They were unblinking, steady, tracking her every move like a man who had nowhere else to be. He was always like this—silent, still, and always looking—but something about it felt different now. Maybe because they were closer than usual. Maybe because she could feel the heat radiating off him, could see the slow rise and fall of his chest under the weight of her touch.

She set her jaw, trying not to let on just how much she felt him. The every move he made under her touch.

Instead, she focused.

“Bet you’re the kind of man who don’t like feeling vulnerable." She murmured, trying to make small talk with staring man.

Terry’s eyes stayed on her. “You talk too much.” He said, quirking a brow at her. She chuckled, dragging the blade along his jawline. “Maybe. But you don’t talk enough, so it evens out.”

Her hand shifted, fingers pressing just beneath his chin as she tilted his head for a better angle. He was warm beneath her touch, his pulse steady, but she felt it jump when her nails scraped lightly against his throat. She tilted his chin just slightly, her fingers light under his jaw, and dragged the blade down his throat in a slow, deliberate motion. He let her, not moving, not even swallowing, though she could see the tight pull of his muscles beneath his skin, right at the peek of his shirt.

She shouldn’t be looking there, but how could she not? This hunk of a man was lying below her, almost open and willing as he gazed up her with a soft look in his eyes. The air between them was thick, something unspoken curling at the edges. Her grip on the razor tightened just a little as she worked, and his gaze burned hotter for it.

“You always watch this hard?” She asked finally, keeping her tone light as she wiped the hair she cut on a rag after shaking it off in the water basin and then wiping it away. She glanced up some, catching sight of his lips—pink, full, and slightly parted—tipped up at the corner. “Always.” That single word, rough and low, sent something straight to her stomach.

She swallowed as she continued working, trying her best to focus, steadying herself. She wasn’t about to let him get the better of her, no matter how much heat curled between them. But she also took her time finishing the shave, enjoying the rare sight of the outlaw that is Terry Richmond—silent, still, and at her mercy.

“You’re awful quiet for a man with so much to say in his eyes." She murmured, brushing away the lingering shaving foam with the pad of her thumb. Her hand lingered a second too long, caught in the shape of his jaw. Terry still didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just watched her.

“Didn’t know I needed to talk." He said, and she could’ve sworn she saw his blue eyes flicker to a sea green as the light hit them. The warmth in her cheeks…and else where, deepened. She pulled back, making quick work of the last stroke of hair she had to eliminate, but her hands weren’t as steady as before.

And he knew that.

By the time she was done, the shop felt too small, too warm, too much. She grabbed the cloth and wiped his face cleaning, looking at her finished product around his mouth. Her eyes met his briefly as she took in the goatee she set him up with, a small smile beginning to grace his feature as his eyes bounced across her face. She cleared her throat softly, wiping an imaginary spot of lather from his jaw and leaned back to admire her work. “There. You clean up nice, cowboy.” She said with a grin.

She turned, quickly wiping the blade clean, setting it aside, and moving a few steps away to compose herself as she gathered the material she sat out in front of the mirror.

But then she felt him stand up from the chair, taking the cape off. She felt the shift in the air when he got close—just behind her. Close enough that she could feel the heat of him at her back. She glanced up, watching as he inspected his face in the mirror from behind her. He rubbed his large hands across his face, taking in his fresh look. He only did that for a few seconds before his gazed dropped to the round woman below him. He her her eyes in the mirror, nothing but an exchange between their eyes. She was the only to look away first, cleaning the station.

Terry sat the hair cape he had in his hands in the chair, looking as himself one last time before he hummed in content. He place his hand on her shoulder, large over her breakers that was far from small. “Good job.” He said, voice low near her ear. He then stepped away, his hand dragging down and across the back of her waist as he moved over to shoulder on his coat. She froze at the feeling of him touching her, and then gulped at his fingers tracking off her body. She looked up, looking herself in the eye and blinking, making sure this was all real, before looking in the mirror to watch him put the coat over his large frame.

Terry ran a hand over his chin, feeling the smoothness. He met her gaze, something unspoken passing between them.

“How much?” He asked after putting on his hat, straightening his clothing, and she tried not to get distract by the way he grabbed his belt, using it to adjust his pants. She turns, tiring her head at him as she gave him a noticeable once over. “Hmm.” She stated with a hum, placing her hands on her hips as she stepped closer. “Well, if you were any other customer, I’d charge five cent. But for you, Terry Richmond, I’ll charge you three.” She smiled.

Terry’s lips twitched, his expression unreadable as he glanced off into the distance out side of the parlor’s windows. He adjusted his belt, the large buckle dinging softly while the leather shifted under his grip. His eyes, sharp and knowing, flicked back to her.

“Three cents, huh?” His voice was smooth, lazy, but there was an edge to it—like he was turning something over in his mind. “Mighty generous of you. Can’t help but to think I’m special.” He quipped, though his tone never really wavered from his deep baritone and his serious manner.

She lifted a brow, arms still crossed as she tilted her head at him. “Well, I’m feelin’ kind.” She smiled, playing along to the game she knew she started, all for the hell of it.

That little smirk of his deepened. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, closing some of the space she’d put between them. She felt it immediately—his warmth, his presence. It was impossible not to.

“You always this kind? Or only to me?” His voice had dropped, rough and low, like gravel dipped in honey.

Her pulse skipped. She held his gaze, not backing down, but he knew what he was doing. He knew the way his voice curled around her, the way his eyes made her skin prickle. Her breath caught, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she kept her expression even, playful, letting her smile linger as she tilted her chin up at him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She murmured, voice smooth as satin. “Mr. Special.” She finished, a certain glint in her eye as she tilted her chin just slightly—like she wasn’t the least bit affected. Like she wasn’t keenly aware of just how close he was now.

Terry huffed a quiet chuckle, but there was something else in his eyes—something sharp, knowing. His gaze flickered down, just briefly at the Lowe part of her face, before settling back on hers. His presence was suffocating in the best way, heavy and warm, filling up the little space between them.

“I would.” He admitted, voice slow and deliberate, like he was testing the weight of the words. “Got a feelin’ the answer might keep me up at night.” He said, crossing his arms.

She let out a soft laugh, looking away from his heavy stare as she shook her head. The heat curling in her stomach was unmistakable. He was good—too good. And she didn’t now how’s long she last in this little game they always played before she pounced on him.

“Don’t go losin’ sleep over me, Richmond.” She teased, even as her pulse thrummed in her ears. She breezed past him, making sure her side brushed against his as she moving over to the small counter on the left side of the door. His eyes trailed down her figure once her back was to him, taking in her round and voluptuous curves from behind. “Wouldn’t wanna be the cause of your troubles.” She finished as she turned to look at him from behind the counter. She leaned her weight in the counter, her hand clasped together with her forearms resting on cold wood. She watched as Terry stood there for a moment, the look in his eye darker than before as he stated at her. He then blinked before moving, not taking his eyes from her with his pace slow and deliberate before he stood on the other side of the counter, looking down at the woman.

Terry tilted his head slightly, studying her like he was seeing something no one else had the sense to look for.

“Too late for that.” He said. The words were quiet, but they landed heavy between them, sending a shiver straight down her spine. Before she could find something clever to throw back at him after gulping, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a silver dollar, and placed it on the counter in front of her hands. His fingers brushed hers, Cushing him to glance down at the small touch.

He then looked back up, his blue eyes staring into her brown ones. “That oughta cover the next few visits.” He said, voice even, but there was that flicker of something else in his eyes again—something smug, something dangerous.

She laughed, shaking her head. “That’s too much.”

Terry simply shook his head, glancing away from her. “Nah.”

She narrowed her gaze at him, lips parting slightly, but he was already shrugging into his coat, the weight of his scent—tobacco and something deep, something him—lingering in the air. “And here I thought you didn’t like to talk.” She mused, watching him, arms placed on the counter as she thought over all their silent but pleasant times together in the Saloon while the rest of the gang chatted.

Terry confined to gaze at her, his eyes taking across her face. “I don’t.” He said, his smirk lazy, knowing. He paused, casting her a slow, lingering glance—one that made her stomach twist up in knots. He then turned to the door, but before pausing and casting one last glance over his shoulder. His gaze swept over her—slow, deliberate, enough to make the air feel thick with something unspoken. Then, after a beat—“But you make it worth it, Mrs.Special.” Then he tipped his hat and walked out.

And then, just like that, he was gone, leaving her standing there, staring after him, her heart racing, her face burning hotter than a summer’s day in Cane Creek, her fingers gripping the counter a little tighter than before and the lingering ghost of his eyes still burning against her skin.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

The Sweet Tooth Saloon was alive tonight—thick with the scent of whiskey, tobacco, and the heat of too many bodies pressed close together. Laughter and conversation swirled beneath the hum of string instruments, boots tapping against the wooden floor. The music was thick, rolling through the air like smoke, wrapping around every body packed into the space. Heat clung to the walls, thick with whiskey, sweat, and the deep, throaty hum of anticipation.

But all of it quieted—just a little—when she stepped onto the stage. Her deep red dress hugging her curves, sinching in her waist and pushing up her breast.

The pianist struck a slow, rolling tune, and a hush fell over the crowd like a held breath. She let them wait, dragging her fingertips along the microphone stand, tilting her head slightly as she took in the sea of faces before her. Then, just when the tension thickened, she let her voice pour out, smooth and rich like warm molasses.

The song was sultry, the kind that curled its way around a man’s spine and made him lean in just a little closer, made him think about things he shouldn’t in a room full of people. And Lord, did they lean in. The entire saloon was hanging onto her voice, watching the way she swayed, the way her fingers trailed down her own arm, the way she made every lyric sound like a promise whispered against bare skin.

Men leaned closer, their drinks forgotten, their gazes fixed on the woman commanding the stage. Her voice was rich, full of promise, of something dark and sweet.

But there was only one pair of eyes she felt, steady and unwavering through the thick haze of smoke and lantern light. In the very back, where the light barely reached, where the smoke curled the thickest—she saw him.

Terry Richmond.

He was leaning against the bar, broad and still, his hat tilted low but not enough to hide the way his bright eyes. He was half-shrouded in shadow, his bright blue gaze cutting through the dim like a knife. He wasn’t drinking, wasn’t talking—just watching.

Her heart skipped a little.

Heat licked up her spine at the intensity of it, but she didn’t let it shake her. She didn’t falter under his gaze. Instead, she let it fuel her, let it shape the way she sang, the way her lips curved around the lyrics, the way she dragged her fingers over the curve of her own waist. If he wanted to look, she was gonna give him something worth looking at.

She kept singing, dragging out the final note, letting it settle over the room like the last flicker of a candle before it goes out. By the time the last note left her lips, the saloon erupted in cheers, men whistling, clapping, stomping their boots against the floor. She gave a slow, knowing smile, dipping into a slight bow before stepping down from the stage.

She didn’t make a show of looking for him, but she knew exactly where she was going.

The moment she reached the bar, a whiskey was already waiting for her—on the house, as always. She took a slow sip, letting the burn settle deep before finally turning, finally meeting his gaze up close. The bar was crowded, but somehow, the space next to Terry was clear. He didn’t look at her right away, just lifted a hand slightly to catch the bartender’s attention. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He just looked at her, that same unreadable expression on his face.

“Whiskey?” He asked, voice low, smooth like dark molasses as he gave a small gesture to the glass she already downed. She leaned against the counter, close enough that the edge of her skirt brushed his leg. “You know me too well.” She grinned, already feeling the buzz that the alcohol as giving her. At that, Terry slid a silver coin across the counter, and within seconds, a glass was in front of her. She looked away from him as she took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in her chest. She could feel him watching her, but he didn’t speak. Didn’t have to. That was the thing about Terry—he could say more in a look than most men could in a thousand words.

“You always stare this hard, Richmond?” She asked, looking over at him with a tilt of her head once she had enough of the hard liquor, her voice still thick with the remnants of the song. His lips quirked, just barely, his eyes drifting over her figure. “Only when I like what I see.”

Her stomach flipped at his words, but she kept her expression even, playful. “That so?” She asked, a smirk in her lip and quirk of her brow. “That’s so.” He repeated in confirmation, then kicking his lips. Terry then leaned in just a fraction, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, close enough that she caught the scent of tobacco and cedarwood clinging to his coat.

“So much so.” He murmured, “That I might just have to get my hands on it.” Her breath caught, pulse quickening, but before she could say something sharp, something smart—before she could even decide if she wanted to—Terry’s head tilted slightly, his gaze flickering to the dance floor.

A new song had started.

Something slow. Something meant to be felt more than heard. She barely had time to set her glass down before Terry’s hand slid to her waist.

Without another word, without giving her the chance to refuse, his other hand reached for hers, his grip warm and sure as he led her away from the bar. Her breath hitched. Her heart pounded as she let him pull her into him, his palm settling low against her back. He didn’t ask. Didn’t say a damn word. Just pulled her onto the dance floor.

If he wanted to play with fire, she was more than happy to let him burn.

The moment they stepped into the space, bodies made room for them. Not out of fear, not tonight, but out of knowing. Because everyone in Sugar Cane Creek had eyes. And at that moment, everyone had seen the way Terry Richmond looked at her. The way she looked back.

The tension wrapped around them thick as smoke, curling in the air, pressing against their skin.

Terry moved slow, deliberate, his hand firm at the small of her back, the other clasping hers as he pulled her close—closer than what was proper, closer than what was wise. She let him, her breath shuddering as she settled into him, the warmth of his body seeping into hers. The saloon blurred around them, the lights dim, the chatter distant. None of it mattered. Not when his blue eyes were locked onto hers, not when she could feel the slow drag of his thumb against the back of her hand.

“You dance?” She murmured, her voice teasing, her lips dangerously close to his jaw. She felt him take in a breath with her chest against hers, and if she paused attention, she could’ve sworn she felt the way his heart was beating. “Only when I got reason to.” He answered, his voice a low rumble against her skin. “You given me plenty.” He said, his lips close to her ear as they danced.

She swallowed that his tone so close, heat curling in her belly. “Is that so?”

His fingers flexed against her back, pulling her that last inch closer. His breath, warm and slow, ghosted over her cheek. “Mmhmm.” He hummed with a lick of his lips, the sound causing his body to rumble against hers. She exhaled softly, turning her head just enough that their noses brushed, just enough that if either of them leaned in—just a little—they’d be past the point of no return.

The music swelled, the rhythm thick and slow, wrapping around them like a promise. The way they moved now—close, slow, like something dangerous just beneath the surface—only confirmed what they both had long suspected.

His hand was firm against the small of her back, his other clasping hers as he led her through the steps. It wasn’t a fast dance, nothing rowdy or wild, but it was just as electric. Every turn, every shift, had them pressing together. His breath skimmed the shell of her ear when he leaned in, his grip tightening just enough to let her feel the strength in his arms.

“You always hold a woman this close when you dance?” She whispered, looking up at him through her lashes. Terry’s lips barely curved, his smirk lazy, knowing. “Only when I don’t plan on lettin’ go.” He said, his eyes inspecting every crevice her face had to offer. He didn’t know if he’d bee be this close to her again, and he was taking advantage of the blessing he had to hold her in this way, and gaze at her face as he did.

Her breath hitched.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them blinked.

Lord, the way he watched her. He looked at her as if she was the only thing in the room. Like he was memorizing her in real time. She met his gaze, bold as ever, and let her fingers trail slow up his shoulder, tracing the line of his coat until her nails met the hot skin of his neck. A muscle in his jaw ticked at that. His grip on her waist flexed. They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

And then, just when she thought he might tip his head and close the space, just when she thought she might lose her damn mind waiting for it—

He pulled her into the next step of the dance, smooth as silk, a satisfied glint in those blue eyes of his. He was teasing her. Daring her.

If he wanted a game, she was more than happy to play.

“Oh, is that how you want to play?” She asked, feigning innocence while her pulse quickened with anticipation.

Terry’s smirk returned, a challenge wrapped in his expression. “You started it, darlin’.” He replied, stepping into her space that was no longer available due to him, their bodies flush against one another. The heat radiating from him was intoxicating, lulling her in despite the playful facade they each wore. He controlled their movements with a firm yet gentle lead, the world around them fading as she lost herself in the intensity of his gaze and the cadence of their bodies moving in sync.

She narrowed her eyes, but her smirk was knowing. Two could play that game. She let her body press just a little closer, her curves molding against the hard lines of him, her breath a warm whisper against his cheek. He swallowed, his fingers tightening against her waist, a sharp inhale the only sign of restraint.

She felt it, that slip of control, and it sent something hot through her veins. "Careful, cowboy." She murmured, voice all honey and silk. "You might not want to let go, but I ain't so sure you can handle holdin’ on."

His eyes then darkened. His grip flexed, strong fingers digging into the curve of her waist, keeping her against him like he had no intention of letting her go. Not now. Not ever. Now, Terry didn’t scare easy. Didn’t flinch and didn’t fold to many.

But her?

She was dangerous in a way he wasn’t prepared for. Her voice, all thick honey and slow-drawn silk, wrapped around him, testing, teasing, tempting as it spilling through his ear and ran though his veins like it was his blood. Keeping his heart pumping. He could feel the shape of her, soft and warm against the hard planes of his body, the sway of their dance turning into something far more dangerous, far more intimate.

He leaned in, just enough that his lips brushed the shell of her ear. “You think I can’t handle you?” He asked, his hands drifting lower as he practically engulfed her in his body. She let out a breathy little laugh, conveniently covering the way she took in a sudden breath at his touch, one that made his pulse jump, made his restraint strain at the edges. "Wouldn’t be the first man to try and fail, cowboy.” She whispered to him, her fingers brushing against the nape of his neck, feeling the freshly shaved haircut he had gotten only hours prior.

Terry exhaled through his nose, amused, darkly so.

She was pushing him, daring him. And he welcomed the challenge. So he let his hand slide lower, fingers grazing the base of her spine, just above the curve of her ass, applying the slightest pressure that had her breath catching. She was quick, though. Slipping her arms around his shoulders, she placed her hand on the back of his head, nails scratching ever so lightly. That same muscle in his jaw ticked again.

Her smirk widened.

That was it.

The last frayed thread of his patience snapped.

Without warning, Terry spun her, pressing her back against his front, effectively caging her in. The movement had her chest rising, her lips parting, and damn if that wasn’t the prettiest sight he’d ever seen as he looked down at her. His voice dropped, a low murmur only for her.

"Darlin'..." His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down the side of her neck, lingering at the base of her throat. He could feel her pulse hammering beneath his touch while his other hand rested low on her waist in the front, easing down to a place unimaginable in front of folks. “You’re playin’ with fire." He muttered.

She tilted her chin up, leaning her head back against his chest, gaze smoldering. "Good thing I ain't afraid to burn.” She whispered. And that was all he needed. He quickly spun her around and his mouth was on hers, rough and consuming, his kiss leaving no room for question, no space for anything but him—his hands, his body, the heat of him pressing against every part of her.

She met him with equal fervor, fingers fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, gasping into his mouth when he pressed himself fully against her. The saloon around them might as well have disappeared.

Nothing else existed in that moment. Just him and just her. That and the fire threatening to consume them both.

One moment, they were moving with the rhythm of the music, spinning slow in the dim glow of the saloon lights. The next, he was leading her off the floor, through the press of bodies, past the thick haze of cigar smoke and whiskey-scented air. The second the cool night air hit her skin, she was backed against the wooden frame of the saloon’s outer wall, the rough grain pressing into her spine, his body caging her in.

There was no more teasing, just as there was no more space between them. She barely had time to breathe before his lips found hers again. Slow, at first, like he was still savoring, still memorizing, but the second she sighed against his mouth, the second her fingers slid into his hair and pulled, something broke between them. The kiss turned hungry and deep.

Like he’d been starving for this—for her—for longer than he cared to admit.

She gasped when he gripped her thigh, hitching it up against his hip, pressing her flush against him, making her feel a bulge she that didn't know was his belt buckle, the crease of his jeans or his manhood. Heat coiled between them, urgent and burning, his mouth trailing from her lips to her jaw, down the curve of her neck. She tilted her head, giving him more, losing herself to the feel of him—the weight of his body, the heat of his breath, the quiet growl he let slip when she dragged her nails down his back. "Oh, Terry," She breathed, and damn if he didn’t shudder at the sound of it.

He lifted his head, his forehead pressing against hers, their breath mingling, their bodies still tangled together in the shadows. "I ain’t lettin’ go," He murmured, voice rough, edged with something dangerous. "Not tonight."

She grinned, breathless, running her fingers down the side of his face, feeling the slight roughness of his freshly shaven jaw. "Good." She said before grabbing him by the collar and pulling him to place her lips against her. The kiss lasted for mere seconds, a mash of panting breaths and slick tongues before Terry pulled away. He didn’t say a word before he took her hand, his fingers wrapping firm around hers, rough and warm. He didn’t have to. The look in his eyes, the quiet pull of his grip, said enough.

She followed him back through the saloon, past the clinking glasses and low murmur of conversation, past the haze of cigar smoke still hanging thick in the air. The wooden stairs creaked under their steps as he led her up, slow and steady, his thumb tracing slow circles against her palm like he was trying to keep himself anchored. Or like he was memorizing her touch.

She should’ve felt nervous. Should’ve felt some sense of hesitation as they moved further away from the music, from the people, from any excuse to slow this down.

But she didn’t. All she could focus on was him.

The broad stretch of his shoulders. The slow, deliberate pace of his steps. The way he glanced back at her over his shoulder, his blue eyes dark with something unreadable, something that made her stomach dip and heat coil between her ribs.

They reached his door.

And for a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He just stood there, facing the wood, his breath slow and measured like he was giving himself a second to think—to decide if this was a line he was ready to cross. Then, without a word, he pushed it open. The second they were inside, it changed.

The tension that had been simmering, stretching between them in the dance, in the way he watched her, in every unspoken moment leading up to this—it snapped.

She barely had time to take in the room before she was against the door, her back pressed against the worn wood, her breath stolen by the press of his body. Terry’s lips crashed against hers, no hesitation now, no teasing restraint. He kissed her like he’d been holding back for too damn long, like he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance again, and she felt it all. The hunger. The need. The slow, deep pull of something dangerously close to devotion.

She gasped when his hands—big, warm, calloused from work—spanned her waist, dragging her closer, molding her to him like he needed to feel every inch of her against him. His hands tacked down, bending slightly to gather the bunch of her skirt. He hiked it up, catching a feel of her warm thighs that molded under his grip. The feeling of her hands caused her to moan in his mouth, her hands moving over him feverishly as she was filled heat she was giving her. He didn’t hold back, moving his hands up for the back of her legs and gracing over the smooth skin of her ass. He tightened his grip, needing it and causing her to gasp into his mouth. He took his as an option to slip his tongue deeper, almost sucking on hers while he moved his hands to begin to untie the strings of her corset.

She didn’t hold back either. Her fingers found the buttons of his vest, fumbling with them, her hands eager and desperate to feel the heat of his skin. His breath hitched against her mouth when she dragged the fabric from his shoulders, then she felt the quiet rumble of a chuckle against her lips when she yanked his shirt free and ragged her hands down his ribbed abdomen, impatience getting the best of her.

"So eager.” He murmured against her lips, voice low and teasing.

She narrowed her eyes, nipping softly at his bottom lip with her teeth, her nails grazing down his chest, feeling the sharp inhale he took at the touch. "So are you." She purred.

And he didn’t argue. He didn’t need to.

Instead, he reached back down, cupped her though just under her ass, and lifted her, carrying her further into the room like she weighed nothing at all. She barely had time to register the shift before she felt the softness of the mattress beneath her, his weight pressing her down, his mouth trailing slow, lingering kisses down the column of her throat. His touch was slow and sensual, his hands finding any place to rub and caress. Like he was still memorizing, like he was savoring.

But the moment she whispered his name—breathy and wanting—something shifted again. His slow, deliberate control had snapped.

And neither of them held back anymore.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulled him closer as if she was trying to meld them into one. Terry's breath caught as his bulge hit her core, his hands gripped her tighter, holding her as if he were afraid she might slip away. The world outside faded -no clinking glasses, no murmurs, just the vibrant thud of their hearts battling for attention in the silence between their kisses. Their mouths slid together with a hunger that left her breathless. Every kiss deepened the fire sparking between them, waves of adrenaline crashing over her as she tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him even closer as he dipped down to claim her throat once more. He kissed his way down, worshipping her skin with heated touches and soft bites, igniting every nerve ending in her body.

"Tell me what you want.” He murmured against her collarbone, his breath hot against the cool air of the room. “Come on, tell me baby. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” He breathed out. There was something dangerously tender in his rough but needy words, as if he genuinely wanted to know-not just in the heat of the moment, but in that space where everything was laid bare.

She didn't hesitate. "You. All of you. Right here, right now, baby. Give it to me." It was a wild and brisk admission, and a thrill shot through her at the honesty in her voice. She could feel Terry's pulse quicken at her words, a primal urge coursing through him. He raised his head, looking directly into her eyes, and in that moment, she understood. This was more than a fleeting encounter. This was a collision of desires that had been simmering for far too long.

With a sharp intake of breath, he dove back into her mouth, a feverish kiss that stole her thoughts and drowned her in pleasure. She felt the weight of him press into her, his body a delicious contradiction of strength and softness. He paused for the briefest moment to catch her gaze, the heat in his eyes burning deeper than before, and she sensed the shift—not just in the proximity of their bodies, but in the intensity of everything that hung between them.

"Are you sure?" He rasped, pulling back just enough for her to see the uncertainty mingled with desire in his eyes. She could sense it— the weight of the moment, the gravity of their choices. "Absolutely.” She replied, her heart racing with certainty. She reached for him again, pulling him closer, and felt a grin split his face as he dove into her once more, taking her breath and leaving nothing but a breathless gasp in its wake.

Their clothes were off in an instant.

Once her corset was off and the full expanse of her skin was showing, he sucked a nipple into his mouth, his tongue trace the outline of her areola to his heart's content before pulling away to show the other the same attention. He listened to her sigh and smiled. "I love the way you sound." He said before grumbling out her name.

"Yeah?" She sighed, eyes closed as she took in the feeling of his tongue as he licked up her sternum. "I love the way you say my name." She breathed.

"Yeah?" Terry releated as his hands drifted lower in her body. “ I love your body. Your perfect." He paused to place a kiss on her stomach. “Perfect.” Another kiss, this time below her belly button. “Perfect, body.” He finished, his warm breath blowing on her core. His hands moved from her waist, deriding lower to ease her legs apart as he took in the sigh before him. He audibly moaned at the sight, practically drooling as he looked at her. “So fucking pretty.” He whispered. He wanted to taste all she had to offer. Before she could sink in, She placed her hand on his head, pushing his head back. “Wait.” She said.

Terry looked up at her, his large blue eyes dark and blown with lust. “What is it baby?” He asked, licking his lips as his eyes trailed over her form laid out before him. Her eyes sifted away from his stare, biting at her bottom lip before she spoke. “I…I’ve never had a fella go down there before.” She said softly.

Terry’s smirk faded, his expression shifting into something softer, something reverent. He rested his hands on her hips, his thumbs stroking slow and reassuring circles against her skin, before he placed his head on her bender knee. “Ever?” He asked. His voice was quiet, almost disbelieving, but there was no judgment—just understanding, just care. And something a little more that neither of them knew.

She shook her head, eyes darting away, almost shy. “Ain’t never been with a man who wanted to.” She shrugged a bit, still biting at her lower lip.

Terry exhaled sharply, his brows pulling together for the briefest moment, like the thought alone frustrated him. He cupped the side of her thigh, grounding her, making sure she felt him, felt the sincerity in his touch.

“Well.” He said, voice warm and steady, “You got one now.”

Her eyes flickered back to his, searching, cautious. But all she found was certainty. His lips brushed against her skin, his breath warm as he murmured, “You just tell me what feels good, darlin’. I got you. I just want you to play back. You ain’t gotta worry no more.” He said, his voice going back into the deep ruble that set her ablaze. And the way he said it—so sure, so gentle—made something deep in her chest tighten. Because she believed him.

So that’s what she did, ladies back against the pillows and open her legs further, barring it all and offering it to him. And Terry took it with life, gratitude, as well as pure lust. Like a magnet, Terry's fingers found their way to her slick lips as he gathered wetness before dragging his skilled digits around her clit. Her breath audibly hitched from the contact, making him chuckle before he pressed his lips against her plump thigh, squeezing with the other hand. Slow circles, maddeningly slow and gentle enough to feel like nothing at all had her willing to agree to just about anything to get off.

He then lunged forward with hunger, letting his tongue do all the talking, slithering inside of her warm walls as his nose nudged her clit. She tensed up with every nudge, let out small pants at the unfamiliar yet raviging feeling that washed over her. He glanced down, watching as he freely put his face in her center. He made it messy enough to admire when he pulled his mouth off of her, her pussy glistening like he just doused her in oil.

"Ohh, look at you, baby.” The grumble that came deep from within his throat as he watched her cute clenched around nothing as she continued to whine from the loss of contact from above. And his green eyes on her most intimate parts made it so hard not to get hot and bothered even with him not doing anything. Her poor nub was jumping with excitement as he used his large fingers to spread her lips open. “Look who’s happy to see me." He said as he took in a sharp breath, feeling her slick coating his fingers, the sound of her wetness loud within the room. “You happy to see me, hun? Huh?“ He questioned, looking up at her.

She moan and nodded eagerly, bringing her hand to cover her mouth at the stimulation he was giving her down under. Terry smiled at that, sharp teeth flashing from under his lips. He tried to keep his eyes on hers, looking into her large orbs that were filled with pleasure and a slight sheen of tears at his touch, but her pussy that just kept sucking his fingers in had him in a trance as his sick standing at attention in his underwear. “Tell me you’re happy I’m down here. Making you feel so good.” He demanded. His tone didn’t leave anymore for defiance, which she took as she angered him. “I’m so happy you’re here, Terry. You feel so good, baby.” She whined out as best as she could, breaths short and rocked her hips into his fingers.

"Mmm, yeah, I know.” Terry grinned. “When the last time sometime touched you, huh?" He asked, but this time he got no response watching as she began to reach her high and feeling her clench around his finger. Tweeting pulled his hand back at that, causing the woman to whine at the loss of contact. “Tell me, hun, and we can continue.” He said.

"I-I don't remember.” She said, and she was telling the truth, she truly couldn't. It had to be nothing worth remembering, especially in comparison to what he was making her feel now.

"Well, I’m gon’ make sure you remember this, hear" He then bent down to deliver a bite to her plush thigh, almost as if he was warning her for what's to come before he dove his face back into her heat, slurping at her hard and soaked clit. Her belly was doing summersaults, she could barely contain her volume at the feeling of his long and warm muscle working a magic she’s never felt before. But her sounds were the last of his worries, they were actually only fuel to his already burning fire.

As he ate, he made noise. He moaned, grunted, groaned in her, letting he know and feel that he was having just as much fun as she was.

Her legs had began to shake the longer he was down there, her hands gripping onto the white sheets of the inn bed since that was all she had to hold on to after he practically ripped her’s and his clothes off beforehand.

"Yes! Yes, oh, yes! I'm so close, Terry baby.” She struggled to keep her eyes on him even with his staring back up at her over her pudge, his eyes low lidded and dark. They beckoned her to stay, to not go levee the edge just yet, but her pleasure had came rolling through like a monsoon and wiped all the thoughts from her brain. She was a shaking, blubbering mess under his weight as he continued to lick and eat at her juices. He moved his mouth away from her pussy only to replace it with his hand, rubbing her clit in tight circles as he subconsciously moved her hips.

"Just feel it, baby. Let it happen.” He cooed in that sexy country drawl. She tried to fight against his hand, her thighs subconsciously closing around his wrist. But he smacked his large hand into her juicy thighs and kept at it with his other hand until he felt like he was done. "Be still and met it happen, baby." He cooed, enticing another moan from the woman. She felt like she was literally about to float up into the heavens, her back arching up off of the couch just to get away from the overstimulation.

"Okay! Oh, Fuck!" She screamed. “Yes, Terry!” He moved his hand to allow her to go through the motions, watching as she twitched until that special feeling left her center. "Good job, baby.” He said, pressing a soft kiss on her thighs. “Good job, my pretty girl." Another kiss from him was placed beside her opened mouth as heavy breathing left as he moved up her body.

As the tremors faded from her body, she lay there, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, her skin flushed and glowing in the dim lights of the room. Her limbs felt weightless, boneless, as if she’d melted right into the bed.

Terry was still there, right where he had been, his hands firm on her thighs, holding her steady like he wasn’t quite ready to let go. He pressed slow, lingering kisses to the inside of her knee, then another, trailing up, as if savoring the aftermath.

When she finally opened her eyes, she found him watching her, his expression unreadable at first—like he was memorizing her in this moment, like he was trying to etch the sight of her pleasure into his bones. A slow, lazy smirk then tugged at his lips. “Ain’t never seen somethin’ so damn pretty.” His voice was rough, thick with satisfaction, but there was something else there too. Something deeper.

She let out a breathless laugh, her fingers finding their way into his hair, rubbing lightly. “You sure know how to make a girl feel special, cowboy.” She smirked. Terry hummed with chortle, leaning into her touch, his hands sliding up to rest at her waist as he crawled up beside her. “Ain’t about makin’ you feel special.” He murmured against her skin, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “You already are.”

Her breath hitched, her heart fluttering in her chest at the way he said it—so simple, so certain. She turned her head to look at him, finding those piercing blue eyes already on her, unwavering. And for a moment, neither of them spoke. There was no need to.

Instead, she reached for him, guiding his face to hers, and kissed him slow—letting him feel exactly how much she believed him. She slowly came back to herself with her lips attached to his, still basking in the warmth of his touch. She let her fingers trail down his chest, her nails scraping lightly over the fabric of his briefs. She could feel the way his breath hitched, bus bulge rubbing against her. The tension still coiled tight in his body despite the easy way he lay beside her.

A slow smirk pulled at her lips as she traced top of his boxers, slipping her hand into them with practiced ease. “Reckon I should return the favor.” She murmured, her voice soft, teasing.

But before she could go any further, Terry’s hand caught hers—not rough, not forceful, just firm enough to stop her in place. She looked up, brows furrowing in confusion, but the look in his eyes made her pause. “Ain’t about that.” He said quietly, his voice still thick, still warm, but full of something deeper. He squeezed her fingers, rubbing slow circles into the back of her hand. “You just came down from somethin’ real intense, darlin’. I just wanna hold you right now.”

She blinked at him, caught off guard by his words, by the tenderness in them. “Terry, I—”

“I know.” He gave her a small, lazy smile, shifting so he could pull her closer against him. “We got time for all that. Just… let me have this. Let me have you right here in this exact moment. We might not ever get it again.”

And the way he said it, like holding her in his arms was just as much of a pleasure as anything else, sent something warm through her chest. The way he already planned for this to be something more made her body flutter in a way only he can make happen. She sighed, settling against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest. “That’s my good girl.” He said before placing a kiss on her warm skin.

And with that, they stayed there, tangled up in each other, letting the night stretch out slow and easy.

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[yurinaa-world]

Can you do amphoreus male characters found that reader is secretly working at a maid cafe?

#3–"𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓘𝓼 𝓜𝔂 𝓒𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓭, 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻!"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Mydei, Phainon, & Anaxa x Gender-Neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Seeing your work at a maid cafe was not what he was expecting

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, Might seem like it's female reader, No pronouns though but it's just maid outfit, Spelling Mistakes

💫Part one: 💫"𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒹, 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇!" (with Sampo, Jing Yuan, Aventurine & Gepard) and 💫Part two: 💫2–"𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓘𝓼 𝓜𝔂 𝓒𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓭, 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻!" (with Heng, Argenti, Veritas Ratio, & Boothill)

💫𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈: Sorry if this isn't good I'm going through writer's block

💫𝒜𝓃𝒶𝓍𝒶 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒸𝒽𝑜𝓁𝒶𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝒜𝓂𝓅𝒽𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓈"

Miniskirt Maid—A short, flared dress with a snug bodice, puffed sleeves, and a lace-trimmed apron. The miniskirt adds a playful touch, paired with thigh-high stockings and dainty bows. A frilly headpiece and delicate gloves complete the charming, flirtatious look.

“That skirt is quite short on you.”

“You think I don’t know that, Master?” You cross your arms with an annoyed expression—that mean girl persona suits you well (but that might be a way for you to hide your Severe embarrassment of the situation—just saying whatever you can, pretending like it’s no big deal. 

Anaxa can see it now. The appeal of this place and why his students rave about this, even if it seems like a waste of time. The reason that attracted him was you, watching that annoyed expression that plagued your face while you stared down at him. (he can see why people enjoy getting sass back .)

Also, he could now imagine you as a maid with a short skirt because of the sight he’s been blessed with. 

"Who said it bothers me?" Anaxa’s voice is a low hum, smooth as shadow, but there’s an edge beneath it—like a blade sheathed in velvet. 

His gaze doesn’t waver from yours, and for a moment, the smirk on his lips feels less like amusement and more like a challenge. You don’t back down. "Your tone does," you counter, leaning over his desk just enough to remind him of the skirt’s length. 

"Or are you going to pretend you’re above petty distractions, Master?" The honorific drips with sarcasm, and his fingers twitch against the armrest of his chair. 

"Distractions?" He tilts his head, the glow of the overhead lights catching the silver in his hair. "You flatter yourself."

You flash him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “You’re the one staring. I dislike liars, master.”

“Then you must dislike yourself.”

💫𝑀𝓎𝒹𝑒𝒾 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒞𝓇𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒦𝓇𝑒𝓂𝓃𝑜𝓈"

Swimsuit Maid—A sleek, form-fitting swimsuit. A ruffled apron-like trim wraps around the waist, paired with delicate lace accents and a matching choker. Detached sleeves or gloves add a touch of elegance, while a frilled headpiece completes the playful yet refined look.

The crown prince of Kremnos, finding himself in a maid cafe based around the already well-known overflowing bath in Okhema, has the same idea—guests enjoying themselves with a nice bath, with pretty servers for every guest to enjoy (staring at) their servers.

He can’t help but enjoy that luxury, mostly because it’s you.

"You there," he called, his voice smooth but commanding, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as you turned toward him. "I believe my drink needs refreshing." It was a flimsy excuse, and you both knew it. 

His goblet was still nearly full, the honeyed wine barely touched. But you obliged anyway, stepping closer with that practiced, effortless charm that had drawn his attention. 

On the other hand, you felt so embarrassed, looking at him continuously to see what he was doing and gauge his reactions.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for his goblet, the bath heat making your cheeks flush even more than they already were. The Mydei’s gaze was heavy, unwavering—like he could see right through your practiced smile, straight to the nervous flutter in your chest.

You pretended to focus on refilling his wine, but your eyes kept flickering back to him, stealing glances beneath your lashes. Then, just as you were about to pull away, his hand closed gently around your wrist—not tight enough to trap you, but enough to make your breath catch.

"You keep looking at me like I’m going to vanish," he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over your pulse point. "Do I make you nervous?"

“No, Master, not at all.” You feel yourself physically cringing at that title, his hand take off the cup from your own.

The prince's grip loosened, but his smirk remained. "Good answer," he said, swirling his untouched wine before setting it aside.

He leaned back, still watching you, the ghost of that smirk never quite leaving.

"Then stop looking, like I’ll eat you alive."

💫𝒫𝒽𝒶𝒾𝓃𝑜𝓃 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑜 𝑜𝒻 𝒜𝓂𝓅𝒽𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓈"

French Maid—A classic black dress with a fitted bodice, puffed sleeves, and a short, flared skirt. A crisp white apron ties at the waist, complemented by lace-trimmed cuffs and a matching headpiece. Sheer stockings and sleek black heels.

Your face was quite red. It was utterly humiliating, the way phainon was staring at you with such an excited look that you had to try your best to stay in character. He seemed very eager. 

as if he couldn’t wait to see what you’d do next. His eyes sparkled with warmth, his lips curving into an innocent, delighted smile.

"You’re doing so well!" he encouraged, his voice soft and sincere. He clasped his hands together, leaning forward just slightly—not to provoke you, but because he couldn’t contain his enthusiasm. "Ah, but your face is all red… Are you okay?"

The concern in his voice was so genuine, so unbearably kind, that it only made your blush deepen. You ducked your head slightly, fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve.

" Just… a little warm, dont worry about me, master, I hope you can cool me down," you mumbled, though the way your voice wavered gave you away entirely, which didn't help that you had to keep with the French maid persona you were given.

Phainon’s breath caught—your whispered plea, the way you leaned into his touch, the way you called him master—it sent a shiver down his spine. He feels bad, he’s the hero of Amphoreus, yet, here he is, watching you wear such a cute maid dress for your job and call him names—he should get photos, it’s a must.

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[demonic0angel]

Danny ends up in Gotham with no memories of his past or ghost powers. In an attempt for more power a rouge observant weakened Clockwork with liquefied blood blossoms, sent multiple rouge ghosts through the portal to occupy the rest of team Phantom before stabbing Danny in the back with an electrified blade coated in liquefied blood blossoms as well. This forced Danny into human form as his core cracked, leading to him having amnesia.

Danny ends up working at a low rent hair salon after the owner finds him in an alley behind the shop and patches him up. He's also staying in the apartment above the salon. He doesn't get the danger when a robber tries to rob the store. Danny sits the robber down and gives him a hair cut and listens to his woes, and treats him like a normal person. He encourages him to do better.

This keeps happening and goes from petty criminals to some of the rouges. The bats are kinda freaking out when they find out that Harley and Ivy opened a therapy office and flower shop and that the Riddler opened a one hundred percent safe and legal escape room business. Tim gets sent to investigate the salon and becomes fast friends with Danny.

"So, what type of haircut are you looking for?" The boy asked, as he draped a sheet over Tim.

Tim hummed and then said in a very serious tone, "Low taper fade."

He got smacked at the back of the head for that.

"Don't you start!" The boy said, though he was laughing.

Tim pouted. "Ow!" It didn't really hurt, but he'd take whatever he could in order to make this nameless boy open up.

The boy gasped. "Oh no! I'm sorry— I was just joking! Does it hurt a lot?" He ran his hands through Tim's hair, rubbing at his scalp. The sudden touch made Tim jump before he relaxed at the massage.

Tim shook his head and said, "No, no, it's fine."

The boy leaned down to look at his face and then sighed. "Do you really want a low taper fade?"

Tim snickered. "Nah, just a trim, please."

The boy laughed. "Sure! I was worried I had to shave you bald."

Tim gasped in mock horror as the boy laughed again. They chatted some more, trading stories and making jokes until Tim finally asked, “Hey, I heard that this place gets a lot of visits from villains? Is that true?”

The boy blinked. “Villains?”

“Yeah. I heard that Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy was here. And the Riddler. And Mr. Freeze. Is it true?” He asked, trying to sound eager.

The boy chuckled. “I’m not too sure? Sometimes, people come in here and threaten to rob the store and I try to calm them down. I’m not really sure if they’re villains, I’m new.”

Tim blinked.

“… you’re new? To Gotham?” Huh. He hadn’t expected that from someone who had supposedly been able to talk down Gotham City villains.

There were a strange amount of newcomers coming to Gotham lately. Batman and the others had been hearing rumors of a red haired woman tearing up the underworld in search of something and had apparently even made contact with Red Hood.

The boy was oblivious to his thoughts and only nodded, trimming more hair. “Yeah. The owner of the salon found me after I was on the streets and then patched me up. So I’m working here to help him out.”

Tim nodded slowly.

“Say, what’s your name again?” Tim brought out his hand. “I’m Alvin. Alvin Draper.”

The boy blinked again and then smiled. He shook Tim’s hand and turned him back around to take off the protective sheet. “Daniel,” he said. “Daniel Nightingale.”

[lymtw]

Lazy Days

Lazy days with Toji where you're sitting between his legs, just basking in his presence. You're laid back against his chest, scrolling through your socials, while he attempts to focus on whatever is playing on the TV screen. His arms are wrapped around your waist, securely, and his chin rests on your shoulder as he watches the movie you put on.

It's practically background noise for you because you're not paying attention, but when you're the one not focused, Toji takes the hit for it too because you constantly interrupt him by showing him videos of food with the promise of making it for him someday. You're also feeding him your broken humor in the form of memes, and though he doesn't find the actual images you show him funny, he cracks up at the way you laugh so hard that you squirm uncontrollably against him in your fit of laughter. He rolls his eyes with a sly smirk on his face at your giggles in the aftermath of your laughter, but still, he can't help but wonder how he got you.

You settle against him again, allowing him to keep watching the movie in peace, only now he sees no point in it. He's lost on the plot, and it's not as interesting without you going 'You like tomatoes, right? Or... at least tomato sauce, right?' or something food related every three minutes. His hands are moving now, his arms still around your lower stomach. You pay no mind to it because he's probably doing it mindlessly.

You're no stranger to him placing his hands on you while completing other tasks. You see his nonchalant front as he makes his way towards you but as soon as he rounds the corner, you can feel the wolfish grin radiating as he comes up behind you. He's there for a mug, but he'll do extra to show you that he's there behind you. He'll grab your hips and pull you back until your ass is against his crotch. Sometimes you resist the pull to mess with him, but he always manages to pull your body into his, a bite to your shoulder following as "punishment" for rejecting him.

For the strangest reason, his advances shook you this time. One hand felt up your bare outter thigh, following the expanse of it until he couldn't reach anymore. Then he went to the underside of it, squeezing the flesh a couple times. Your heart was pounding, but you stayed focused on your phone, or attempted to once his other hand started teasing the knot of the bow tied above your waistband.

He slowly unraveled the knot, allowing the elastic band of your shorts to loosen and give his hand more space. You think he's watching the movie, but really, he's watching you react through his peripheral vision. His hand travels further down your shorts, his middle finger ghosting your slit through your underwear. The touch is barely there, but it has your stomach doing cartwheels. He sighs, his fingers going back up to the lace trimming of your underwear. The sound just barely reached your ears, but it had a lasting effect as he continued to let his hands roam your lower body. He puts his fingers through the left leg hole of your underwear, the digits snapping the elastic against your hip.

You found another video to show him, but you saved it instead to show him later. You don't know exactly what is running through his mind, but it's completely welcome if it involves him continuing to touch you this way.

His fingers drag back down to your slit, this time applying more pressure. You twitch against him, earning that sly grin that appears when he knows he's working you up. You try to ground yourself and keep it together a little longer by putting your leg up, only for Toji to push it back down onto the couch.

"What's wrong, mama?" He mumbles into your shoulder. "Getting real fidgety outta nowhere."

"I'm okay," you assure, turning to give him a kind smile.

He takes it up a notch, allowing his hand to go under your sweater. He uses the privilege he has on your body so adeptly that even his hand placements are enough to force heat to run through you. The feeling of his hand grazing your skin fuels the fire that is kindled within you. He lets his blunt nails drag along the left side of your waist, slowly merging toward your midriff and upwards, before reaching the bottom of your bra. It's no restriction to him, he can just go under it.

He hums, feeling the blood rush down to his dick at the feeling of your warm breast in his hand. It only takes one brush of his finger to make your nipple quickly harden, a feeling that makes you feel like you're buzzing with electricity.

Toji is so well versed in your anatomy, it kind of embarrasses you sometimes that he doesn't have to try so hard to soften you up. He did so well at memorizing your body that he doesn't really have to look anymore to know that his touch is affecting you. That is not to be mistaken for him not wanting to watch his effects take a toll on you, because he would gladly watch you submissively fall apart for hours.

Your stomach tenses as he combines both forms of stimulation, a muffled moan coming from you as fall back on Toji's chest, your sleeve over your mouth.

He laughs at the way your eyes flutter shut, your brows pinching when he doesn't let up even after you waved your white flag. You know better than to think he'd let you walk away without making you cum on his fingers at least once.

"Why are you muting yourself, ma?" He breathes against your ear. "Don't you know it gets me hard when you whine and moan for me?"

You sigh, your phone shaking in your grip. "O-Okay, Toji. Won't do it again," you say in the most delicate tone. You turn your phone screen off and give your undivided attention to Toji and his torturous touch.

"Right. You wanna cum, don't you?"

"Mhm," you mumble, setting your hands down on his thighs.

"Oh, you can do better than that. Tell me you want to cum." His lips find the side of your neck, nudging the material of your sweater aside so that he can ghost the slope that leads to your shoulder. The urge to bite the exposed skin is almost unbearable.

Your hips roll slightly against his crotch, earning a slight groan from him. His cock is rock hard, but he's gonna get you off first since he was the one who got you all riled up in the first place. "Please make me cum, Toji. Please? Pretty please?"

Your words go straight to his dick. You've always been so well mannered—so good at begging for what you want. Being Toji's lover turned you even more politely submissive. Does this mean you deserve to cum quickly every time? Not in Toji's reality because he loves to see the feral look in your bleary eyes when he leaves you hanging.

He chuckles, quickening the movements of the hand teasing your drooling pussy. "Taught you how to beg real good, huh? Who knows what the bratty side of you would bring out of me."

"F-Fuck, fuck Toji," you inhale, exhaling shakily as his hands pause to switch positions.

"I could tame that side of you, too," he says in a taunting tone, as if daring you to rebel against him someday. "I'd get you in this exact position, even if you wanna be a stuck up little princess." His right hand snakes up your sweater, repeating the same process as before of exploring your skin before getting to your breast.

"Mm-mm, no," you whine, squirming in his hold. "'M only good for you, T-Toji."

"Yeah? I'll hold you accountable if it turns out otherwise," he murmurs into your shoulder, his voice like drizzling honey in contrast to the threat. He can feel you gushing even more, his fingers collecting more slick with every up and down of his fingers. "Fuck, you considering it now?"

"N-No I wouldn't... Toji, I wouldn't." Your hands squeeze his thighs, refraining from using your nails.

"Then why'd your cunt start drooling even more when I told you what would happen?"

"Toji..." you whine, your cheeks burning up.

He chuckles, "S'all good, ma. I got you."

"T-Toji, I- Can I cum? Please, please, Toji?"

"Already? I just started, princess. Can you hold it?" He asks, slowing his strokes.

"I don't t-think so... 'm sorry, please..."

He sighs, no trace of disappointment in the sound, rather pride for turning you into a sloppy mess in such a short span of time.

"You'll have to make it up to me. Didn't last very long, you know?" He rolls your nipple between his fingers, amused by the way your body vibrates at the overwhelming stimulation.

"Mhm... yes, Toji. Whatever you want."

He can't hold back the wicked grin that forms at your thoughtless, pleading words for mercy.

"'Kay, mama. Make it worth it."

His fingers make direct contact with your pussy for the first time since he started playing with you. His thumb focused on your clit, while his middle and index finger tease your entrance. His lips go for your neck again, planting wet kisses on the warm skin. He's so overwhelming in every aspect when he makes you cum. You're entirely suffocated by him and you love it.

You don't last another five seconds before completely falling apart on Toji, crying out his name followed by a barrage of moans. Your back arched and your legs came up to assist you in squeezing the life out of Toji's hand. Had he not braced you with the one arm he had up your sweater, you would have completely slid down his body and laid there curled up in the aftershocks of your orgasm.

"Up, mama. Stay up," he instructs. His hand goes flat on your chest, pressing you against him to keep you as steady as possible as you writhe in soul crushing pleasure.

Eventually, you go limp, laying your legs flat on the couch again. Toji chuckles, sadistically, at the broken down husk that remains of you. He attempts to bring you back to life by prodding at your overstimulated cunt and you react the way he expected, pushing at his arm to stop it.

He pulls his hands out of their designated areas, wiping your cum off on his sweatpants. "Hey," he calls, poking your forehead when he notices you dozed off.

"Mm..." you hum, in response. You roll your eyes open with a lazy grin etched on your face, an expression that added pressure to the brick in Toji's pants.

"Let's go to the bed. Fucking is not gonna be comfortable here." He traces your jaw with his fingers.

"I can't walk," you mumble, exaggerating to get him to carry you.

"Oh, you poor baby," he mocks. "That won't be a lie once i'm done with you."

You use every ounce of effort to push yourself forward to try and crawl away from him, but he pulls you back by the arm and secures you in his hold again. You giggle as he wraps your legs around his waist.

"Trynna pull a fast one on me?" He chuckles. "Well, aren't you precious?" He pushes off the couch using his foot to boost his momentum, a groan leaving him as he adjusts to standing after sitting for so long.

You surrender yourself to him willingly. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, getting drunk off his scent, and watch as the light that illuminates the living room disappears out of sight when you reach the bedroom.

[mixsethaddams]

For the Love Confessions prompt as part of @stmarchmm Stranger Things March Mating Madness

Steve was never anyone's first choice, was the thing.

Throughout his whole life he was always the after thought, the second phone call. Even his name, Steve, wasn't his parents' favourite. They had to go with their back up name after a neighbour gave birth three days before his mom and used the name Marley before she got a chance to.

Once he started dating, it was more of the same. Omegas would get him to ask them out, make him pay for meal and the movie, and then once they were done doing whatever they got up to in the back seat of his car, they'd gush about how they had the confidence after all of that to go after the alpha that they really wanted.

He was used to it now, he supposed, being used as practice. He didn't mind much once he made his peace with it. It was nice to get out of the house and go some place that wasn't work a few times a week. And he got to listen to rumours about the other alphas of Hawkins while he was at it, which admittedly he loved.

It didn't make sense to him when Eddie Munson shuffled into Family Video one sunny Saturday afternoon and asked about his plans for the night. 'Great,' Eddie had said when Steve said he had none. 'Well, not great, but uh, maybe we can do something?'

Steve ran through the rolodex of local gossip he'd picked up recently. He hadn't heard anything about an alpha having their eye on Eddie, or vice versa. And given the depth of some of the stuff the omegas around here knew about, it would be hard to hide any sniff of a crush on the town Freak.

It didn't make sense when Eddie insisted on going dutch for their bill in the diner, and paying for his own movie ticket. In fact, at the end of the night when Steve was used to going on auto-pilot and feeling someone up on their front doorstep, he was totally baffled when Eddie blushed and asked if they could do it again next week.

'You… want to see me again?' he asked, feeling a crease between his eyebrows. 'Why?'

Eddie snorted. 'Way to tell me you didn't have a good time, Harrington,'

'I did!' Steve saiad quickly. 'I just, I guess I'm not used to second dates,'

Eddie smiled and lightly punched Steve's shoulder. 'Pick me up next Saturday, same time,'.

Steve watched him climb the steps into his trailer, half expecting him to turn around and say Gotcha! I actually have a date with someone else!

But the door clicked close with a finally parting glance and grin from Eddie and Steve, of course, drove straight to Robin's house.

'It doesn't add up,' Steve said through her window. She was on curfew, and he had to climb across windowsills from the garage to get to her room. 'Everybody knows I'm the practice alpha, what does he want from me?'

'Sounds like he wants a second date,' said Robin, focused on trimming her own bangs.

'But why though?' Steve mused. 'He didn't even want me to kiss him, it was weird'

'Did you try?'

'Yeah, leaned in and everything,' Steve sighed. 'But he moved so I got his cheek,'

'Romantic,' said Robin. 'Maybe he likes you,'

'No omegas like me, Rob,' Steve said flatly. 'I'm not that guy,'

So it just didn't make sense that they were six weeks down the line now and Eddie was still asking Steve to pick him up for dinner and a movie every Saturday. They met for lunch at least once a week. They sat next to each other when everyone hung out. They held hands. Eddie even let Steve kiss him after their third date. Steve liked the kissing.

Steve liked everything, if he was honest. He liked the consistency of the same person calling him at the end of every day to say goodnight, he liked being a part of 'Steve and Eddie'. He liked Eddie. In fact, he really liked Eddie. Maybe even more than that. The idea that Eddie would eventually be through with Steve, practice run over, made his heart hurt.

They were napping together on a summer evening. They were in their boxers on top of the sheets, Eddie's heat was coming up so he was feeling the warmth in the air more than usual. Steve couldn't sleep even though they'd spent the whole day swimming at the quarry. He should be exhausted. But he couldn't tear his eyes away from Eddie's face.

They had yet to cross the line of sleeping together, so it was the first time Steve saw Eddie at rest like this. Eddie looked beautiful in the spot orange light that filtered through the thin curtains. The slope of his nose, the gentle pout of his lips, Steve's drank in the sight of him like water. Even the small swell of his chest, swollen because of an upcoming heat, was perfectly placed and proportioned.

It was the time of day where the birds were singing their last songs and the neighbours had already finished their noisy returns from work. The only sound Steve could hear was the slow breathing of the omega laid out before him, blankets piled around them in a makeshift its-too-damn-hot nest. He didn't even want to breath himself for fear of disturbing him.

'Stop staring at me I look gross,' Eddie mumbled, turning his head into the pillow.

'No you don't,' Steve protested, hoping he didn't look like a serial killer watching someone sleep.

'Mmm, heat next week, my skin looks like shit, pimple, see?' Eddie tapped on his jaw to a small red bump.

Steve hadn't even noticed it, or if he did he didn't care.

'That's not gross,' he said softly.

'Whatever you say,' Eddie yawned, stretching before shuffling himself closer to Steve, burying his face in Steve's chest. 'You'll be the one stuck staring at it until it's over,'

'I, what?' Steve asked. 'What do you mean?'

'My heat,' Eddie mumbled. 'You'll have a front row seat to all my gross zits,'

Steve felt his heartrate pick up. Eddie wanted him to be part of his heat? That was kind of a commitment, maybe he didn't know? Steve would tell him, and Eddie would laugh and say oh man, my mistake, you're right!

'That's, uh, that's kind of a lot,' he said, preparing himself to laugh along with the obvious mistake.

Eddie pulled back quickly, wide awake now. 'You don't want to be there?' He looked hurt.

'No! I mean, yes!' Steve stuttered. 'But, you know what that means, right? It's kind of a couple thing, and, we're, I dunno,'

Eddie sat up and flung his legs over the edge of the bed, reaching down to grab his socks from the floor.

'Me neither, apparently,' Eddie said quickly. 'And here I thought—'

Steve grabbed one of Eddie's wrists. 'You thought what?'

'I thought maybe were fucking were a couple, Steve,' Eddie hissed, trying to bat his arms away.

'You like me?' Steve asked.

'You're kidding me?' Eddie shot back, staring at him in disbelief. 'How could you not know that I liked you? We make out like six times a day!'

'No one likes me,' Steve said quietly. 'No one ever picks me,'

Eddie softened, dropping the sock that was in his hands and scooting back onto the bed. 'Do you remember our second date?'

Of course Steve remembered, how could he forget? He was so surprised that Eddie actually opened the door of the trailer when he knocked that he couldn't speak for thirty minutes. He nodded.

'How about our third?' Eddie asked. That was the date they kissed on. It was the first kiss in years that Steve had really wanted. It felt like it lasted for hours, and he was disappointed that it couldn't last forever.

'And our fourth, fifth, sixth…' Eddie said, retaking his place in Steve's arms. 'All of them?'

Steve nodded again. He could tell Eddie every detail of every single date or hangout they'd had if he asked.

'I don't ever want another first date again,' said Eddie. 'Or third, or fourth, or fifth, or sixth,' He added with a laugh. 'I only want to be with you. I just didn't know I needed to spell it out for you,'

And Steve all of a sudden felt incredibly stupid. Because of god damn course they were a couple. Right up to the awkward meet-the-family weeknight dinners that they'd both sat through and giggled about in the car afterwards.

'Sorry,' he said. 'I just didn't think you wanted that with me, no one ever does,'

'Do you want it with me?' Eddie asked earnestly.

Steve kissed him softly in response. 'That's all I want,'

'Good,' Eddie said, rubbing his face in Steve's chest hair. 'Can I go back to sleep now that you're done scaring me to death?'

Steve smiled against the top of Eddies head, rubbing his back lightly.

Steve listened as Eddie's breathing evened out again. The birds had returned to their trees by now.

He still didn't sleep. His mind was racing. Thoughts of a future were bouncing around his head like never before, with Eddie right in the middle of all of them.

Steve breathed in Eddie's lavender and cold milk smell as deep as he could. His heat might not wait a full week before coming, if the intensity of his scent lately was anything to go by.

'I love you,' Steve breathed against his hair. He smiled to himself his eyes sliding closed. It felt so right to say it out loud, finally being able to name the feeling that was built up behind his rib cage.He revelled in the secrecy of speaking to someone lost to sleep, not having to worry about being caught showing his cards too early.

'I love you too,' Eddie whispered back.

[rosenclaws]

Can you please write insecure!oldman!Logan? He is embarrased and sad because he can’t do things he could with you when he was younger, you can’t have sex easily and he can’t run and stuff, you can do whatever you want with the idea 💗🫶🫶

Warnings: MINORS DNI, Smut, blow job, showering together, insecure Logan, angry Logan, mentions of blood.

wc: 1.5k

a/n: Yes sorry this took so long I had a lot of valentines stuff + just my daily life going on lmao. This is a little shorter because I'm not really feeling my smut writing rn idk why but I hope you enjoy it anyways.

Logan had always been a strong man. Always. Emotionally and Physically. In his prime he had super human abilities, his strength, his speed, his agility. He was an absolute monster on the battle field. Nothing and no one could stop him and boy did they try. He was the Wolverine, the X-Man. And now...now he's just a shell.

Logan traces his jaw as he roughly drags the razor along the side of his face. He grunts as he nicks himself again, his hand shakes as he tries to cut trim away the scruff but he just can't get his hand to steady. In a fit of frustration he slams the razor down onto the countertop. Crushing the poor appliance to pieces.

"Logan!?" He hears you call from the bedroom. Your voice drenched in worry.

"I'm fine!" He yells back.

The last thing he wants is for you to come wandering in the bathroom while he's like this. Bitter and angry. The man in the mirror is a far cry from the man he once was. His once dark hair was now old and greying. A rough beard had grown on his face, half due to laziness making him look much older. Wrinkles are everywhere, proving to anyone that looked at him that he was just an old man.

Under his shirt were scars and bruises. He never used to scar. His body was fit, he was muscled and for lack of a better term. Absolutely ripped. Sure he still has his muscles but his chest was littered with bullet scars and ugly tearing from the fights he's tried so desperately to shield you from.

You say you love him, he wants to believe it. But how could someone like you ever truly love a man like Logan. A man who has shed a river of blood and killed more than he can even remember. How does the world decide that now, after everything, he gets to come home to a sweet thing like you. A big smile and a warm heart waiting for him at the end of the day.

How could you want a man who can barely keep up with you. You're younger than him. To be fair pretty much everyone is younger than Logan. But physically, you go for runs in the morning, you dance around the living room, you're just so full of energy. A bright star in the sea of darkness and Logan, well he is the darkness. He's sore and tired and angry. The world does not shine for him anymore.

He can't go out with you, treat you the way you deserve to be treated. He can't take you dancing or go on a walk in the park. All he does is come home and sit on the couch. His joints creaking as it takes all his effort to even get comfortable. He sees you watch those romance movies with a longing in your eyes. It's a cold bitter pill for Logan to swallow but the truth is, he's just too worn down for you. You deserve more than what he can give you.

He looks around, its a small bathroom. It's a small house. He took every extra penny he could get in order to buy this little cabin. It took weeks to renovate it too. But Logan wanted to give you a place to life, to be safe. Maybe he can leave the house to you. He's so deep in his own head that he doesn't hear the door open. He jumps when he feels your hands on his chest.

"Logan what's wrong?" Your voice is soft as you gently cup his face, pulling him from whatever spiral he was sending himself through.

"Nothing. I need to shower." He grunts out, tilting his head to get out of your grip. You frown as he sheds his shirt and turns on the shower. You admire his back as he starts to unbuckle his pants.

"Can I join you?" You ask sweetly as you grab the bottom of your shirt and lift it up.

Logan turns around to deny you but the moment he lays eyes on you any words fail. You smirk as you slowly undress yourself, Logan watching you the whole time. You slip past him and stand under the hot water, letting it run down your body. You hold your hand out to Logan as to silently say, come join me. Logan kicks his pants off and joins you under the water. Groaning as the hot water hits his aching muscles.

"What happened?" Your brows furrow as you see the blood drip down his chin.

"Nicked myself with a razor." He mumbles, his eyes closing as you start to rub your hands on his shoulders.

"That's okay, it happens." You cup your hand to let some water pool and then use it to clean his face.

"You're too sweet on an old man like me baby." He whispers, his insecurities coming to light as he feels a sense of guilt coming over him. Guilt that you're even here with him in the shower, helping an old man like him wash his body.

"Oh hush you idiot." You lather body wash in your hands and start to wash his arms and chest.

"I'm serious baby, just look at me." He gestures lamely to himself. One of his hands coming to cup your chin.

"I can't keep up with the guys your age. I can't..." He sighs, his rough hands grab your waist and gently push you against the wall.

"I can't please you the way someone like you should be pleased." He admits. It's embarrassing to say but he knows it's true.

Maybe in another life, had you had met when he was younger things would be different. But he can't fuck the way he used to. 20 Years ago he could pick you up like nothing and tear you apart like it was nothing. But now, now he has to go slow and he can only last a round, maybe two.

"Shut up," You press your finger to his lips and he rolls his eyes.

"My turn to talk." Logan watches as you slowly sink to your knees.

"You think I don't know you're old? You wear dollar store reading glasses and say your knees hurt when it rains." He opens his mouth to complain but you shut him up by grabbing his cock in your hands. Your soapy warm hands are like heaven.

"I'm not some stupid kid Logan," He's acting like he's the big bad wolf who's hiding some terrible secret from you. You love Logan, all parts of him and you'll be dammed if you let him get in his own head and destroy the life you have now.

"I can make my own decisions and right now, I want to suck my boyfriends cock." Logan grabs your hair and tilts your head up so he can look at you. Lust blown wide in his eyes as you hold his heavy cock in your hands.

"You're gonna kill me one day you know that?" He groans as you stick your tongue out and lick the tip of it. A devilish tint in your eyes.

"What a way to go huh?" You tease as you take him as far into your mouth as you can, hell bent on sucking away any insecurities still floating in Logan's brain.

It's messy and hot and Logan feels like he's going to burst much sooner than he wants but he can't fucking help it. I mean fuck a hot thing like you has your warm mouth wrapped around his dick, how could he not fall apart. He places his hand on the back of your head and shoves you down until you choke.

You love when he gets rougher, he says he can't but his dominance shows in other ways, like the hold he has on your hair and the messy thrust of his hips. You moan around him and he slams his hand against the shower wall, accidently cracking the tile. Not strong my ass. It doesn't take long for him to come down your throat.

You drink it up with ease, wiping your lips as he pulls his softening cock out of your mouth. He pulls you up easily and gently pushes you against the wall, his lips on your neck biting and sucking anywhere he can get.

"Fuck baby," He groans as one of his hands slips down in between your legs.

"You can't get rid of me that easy old man." You groan as you wrap your arms around his neck.

"Yeah yeah," He lifts you up, ignoring the pain in his back as he carries you out of the shower and to the bedroom.

"Logan! We're soaking wet." You whine as he tosses you onto the bed, crawling up until he's slotted perfectly between your legs.

"I know." He says with a smirk.

"Feel better now?" You ask as he puts his arms under your thighs.

You were always good at keeping his bad thoughts at bay. Another night he might be pulled back in to his thoughts, but for now he'll just thank the universe for bringing you to him.

"Yeah I am baby, But I'm about to feel even better."

[pseudowho]

Thinking about...

...long-term 'too comfortable' relationships with the JJK guys, when all the weird/gross/silly things creep in.

Pinning Gojo Satoru against a wall, having spotted an enormous pimple on his chin that you just have to get: "there's nothing wrong with m-- how dare you-- ow ow ow get off me--" "don't be such a melt, Satoru, keep still, that absolutely cannot stay on your face--"

Sitting on the toilet and chatting with Nanami Kento while he showers, and he wordlessly hands you a fresh toilet roll from the cabinet while he brushes his teeth; "thank you Kento" "mmmmmhm" and you continue chatting while you pee, leaving the bathroom door open. You forget to get off the toilet, so he brings you your tea there, while you continue to tell him about your day.

Laughing at Geto Suguru as he steps out of the bathroom after a bit of manscaping; "no no no-- go and get your razor, you're all patchy" "ah shit, really?" "yeah, you look like you've got a really bad gardener" "at least I try to trim the hedges..."

Plucking Fushiguro Toji's back hairs out one at a time; "OW-- dammit woman, stop doin' it like you hate me--" "--look, if you keep getting hairier, I'll just wax you instead, you're such a bear--" "--alright alright, I'll get your little witchy chin hair after--" "hey!"

Calling out to Okkotsu Yuuta while you're stuck on the toilet, blood over your hands and panties; "hey, Yuuta! Can you grab me some new underwear, and a pad?" "Sure!" Yuuta shuffles back to you, unfazed, as you hand him your bloodied panties to put in the laundry basket, "that bad, huh? You got enough stuff to last you?" "actually, I might need you to run to the shops..."

Creeping up behind Zenin Maki while she washes her bras in the sink, dropping a few of your own ones in, pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek; "hey, hey, I'm not your washer woman" "yeah you are, such a beautiful washer woman" "psh...you're doing them next time"

Takuma Ino smiling as you curl on the sofa beside him in slummy old pyjamas full of holes (an ancient t-shirt of his, joggers you've had for at least ten years...), and you let out a fart; "sorry, sorry..." "don't be, I know you can do better than that" and Takuma lets one rip himself, sighing with relief.

Dropping your toothbrush down the toilet at Higuruma Hiromi's house; "ah, shit!" "oh, damn...just use mine" "eurgh, I'm not doing that!" "darling, be reasonable, I eat your pussy, we share much more--" "that's different--" "well by all means then, my love, enjoy your toilet toothbrush..."

Catching Todo Aoi taking a swig of milk out of the carton; "get a glass, jesus!" "whatever babe, it's just me and you here" "that is disgusting, unsanitary" "oh? I'll show you disgusting and unsanitary...c'mere"

When Kugisaki Nobara steps out of the bedroom, wearing your panties; "hey, they're my favourite!" "well they're my favourite too..." "yeah, on me! Get them off-- get back here--" and you dart after her, Nobara laughing as you try to pull your underwear off her, "help, help, I'm being assaulted!"

Catching Itadori Yuuji giving himself a scratch and sniff; "you absolute goblin-- go wash your hands!" Yuuji darts after you, laughing, his hand outstretched as you screech, ducking and running past him; "what, this hand? Come back baby! Where you goin'?"

Telling Fushiguro Megumi every single time you need to poop; "pause the movie! Gotta go poop," and he absolutely returns the favour, sitting on the toilet while you're taking a bath , "I'd wait...but I can't" "alright alright, just don't stink the place out" "I don't make promises I can't keep"

[senseiofbullshit]

Did someone ask for nasty Jean Kirstein headcannons? No? Okay. Well here you go anyway.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, fem reader, not spell checked because I'm lazy

You’re usually ‘babe’ or ‘queen’ when he’s messing around, but when he wants something or y’all are intimate, you’re ‘baby’.

“Baby.” “Jean, don’t start with me right now.” “Whaaat? I didn’t even say anything!”

Beautiful happy trail that grows in evenly. 

He tries to keep himself pretty well groomed and trimmed.

He likes hair on his partner. He doesn't mind if it's bald, but something about you being in your natural state makes his mouth water. If you're very bushy, he'll pretend to get a weed whacker/hedge trimmer. Or pretend he's using a machete to cut through the jungle. Or put his face right in it and ask how you think he'd look with a beard. He will make Tarzan noises. He will rain dance. “In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps toniiiiight!” It will still get ate though.

When he was younger and immature, he had the 'I don't like hair in my food' phase, but as he became a man, he got into his 'girl, I'm a grown man and I don't care about hair' phase.

Jean is a grower and a shower. His friends call him horse face but that’s not all that’s like a horse (ahaha). He’s very tall and his cock is proportionate to his size. He tucks it down a leg. You see him on soft and you’re like ‘that’s not that bad’ and then he gets hard and you quickly change your tune to ‘where is that going’? In you, duh. What makes him daunting is that he’s long and wide. He’s got girth on his side. He always warms you up. It’s why he isn’t very partial to quickies. He's scared of hurting you and he knows he requires prep to take. He’s a quick learner so pleasing you and learning what you like comes pretty quickly to him. 

He’s also done some “research” on how to please women. Whatever he doesn’t know from experience, he’s “researched”. 

Taps it on your tongue and on your pussy before sliding home

He can be pretty kinky, but he prefers the basics. He doesn’t get tired of missionary or any of its variations. There’s just something so intimate, so right about being tender and passionate with you.

He considers sex quality time so it doesn’t really matter how he has you, as long as he has you. He prefers to see your face and give a lethal dose of eye contact while he’s in it. He wants you to look into his eyes while he makes you cum. 

Loves when you sit on his face while he touches himself. He won’t let himself cum until you do. He still wants to cum together even when he’s not inside you. Kinda romantic ain’t it?

Presses his hand down on your abdomen when you're close. Really pushes that crazy button. 

He will fuck you deep and slow and maintain eye contact the entire time. 

If you’re in a close missionary position, wind your hand through his locks and give it a nice pull. He’ll moannnn for you. 

He's not afraid to moan or whine.

His absolute favorite thing is when you’re in missionary and he’s hovering so close that your noses are swiping against each other with every thrust, he's propped up on one elbow with your fingers intertwined. He knows you’re about to cum so he presses a hand on your abdomen and is chanting and whining for you to cum for him.

“Yeah, baby? You gonna cum for me? Yeah? I want you to cum for me. I want you to cum for me, baby. You look so beautiful when you cum. I love you. Cum for me, baby. S’good when you cum for me.”

“Cum, baby. Cum. I know you want to cum all over me. Mhm. Mhm. That's it.”

Congrats on the baby lol

If it’s been a while, he’ll be a two pump chump. Sorry to break the news. He’ll slide in and then groan and tell you not to move before he’s pulling back out. He’ll go down on you in the meantime. 

“Fuck, baby. You already have me about to cum,” he’ll say with a chuckle as he pulls out and kisses his way down south.

Eats pussy like he’s making love to you with his mouth. Eats pussy like it’s his job. Eats pussy like it's the last time. Y’all remember that one video of the donut eating contest and the dude was passionately eating his donut? That was Jean. He was having flashbacks. Here to see what I'm talking about.

Jean shudders during that first lick and moans the entire time. He does that thing where his eyes roll back and flutter closed before you looks up at you through a half lidded gaze while moaning.

My neck, My Back by Khia was written about him

“Thank you for the meal!” And pretends to have a fork and knife in has hands.

After he’s done, pretends he’s dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “Compliments to the chef.”

“10 out of 10. No notes.”

I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. He starts tweaking and crashing out if it's been too long. 

“Baby, I’m losing hearing in my right eye. Queen, please.”

“Let me just get a little taste before you go to work. What? Just a taste. Only a taste, I promise. I promise you won’t be late for work. It’ll be quick.” 

Don’t fall for it because he’s 100% lying and you will be late for work.

“You would deny a starving man? You’re so cruel.”

“Oh, your ear hurts? I think sitting on my face would fix that. What? What do you mean it won’t? Try it and see.”

“I think you riding me right now would solve 95% of the world’s problems.”

"This is it. This is the end. I can see the light. Goodbye cruel world.” As he dramatically falls on the ground pretending he’s dead.

He could be on his deathbed and he'd ask you to put it in his face lol

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Happy 3k celebration. This is my first request, but I have been reading your content for some time, and I have really enjoyed it

Can I have neuvillette with the the whole alphabet I need more of my subby dragon boy

Again, happy 3k, and thank you in advance

Author's Note: Aw, thank you! I'm so glad you've stuck around for so long! One Neuvillette comin' at ya 💙 (neuvi has 2 cocks btw!!)

For our 3000 follower celebration! (CLOSED NOW)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Through heavy breaths, Neuvillette will let you know just how good you were. He can be quite descriptive with his praise too, usually enough to fluster you, even though it's his legs that feel like jelly.

He likes to rest his head on your chest, or your shoulder/crook of your neck if he's able to. Neuvillette is sore after sex, so a nice warm bath followed by cuddling with you is appreciated 👍

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He has… never thought about his own body much. And it's not like people are staring at him disrespectfully (not often, anyhow-) but I do think he would find his hands sort of attractive?

For you, he adores every part of you~ (definitely doesn't fantasize about your strong arms picking him up to rail him… heh 🥴)

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

Oh, the joys of dragon cum. Neuvillette has extra liquidy cum, and he usually shoots A LOT at once, from both cocks. Dragon semen has a unique smell and taste to it as well; it's extremely alluring to most humans, so it acts as an aphrodisiac to you AND to his own species. Even if his cum is just splattered across his chest or pooled on whatever is under him, Neuvillette and you become even hornier after his first orgasm~

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Hm… I have a feeling that Neuvillette would secretly love footjobs.

HEAR ME OUT– You, sitting in his chair in his office, a smirk on your lips while you rub his pretty cocks with your foot. Neuvi, naked from the waist down, coat off and shirt unbuttoned, disheveled and blushing profusely while you jerk him off with your feet. The humiliation is what truly makes this enjoyable — but he's not going to admit that.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

This sweet, innocent man… he has no clue what to expect. It's not like Neuvillette has ever had a partner prior to you, and he certainly has no time to screw around with anyone, nor did he have a desire to. You're his first for everything, and you'll need to gently guide him through the joys of sex. He does pick things up quickly, so you only need to explain something once and Neuvillette will get the hang of it.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. May include a visual)

He's not picky, whatever gets your cock to reach that special spot inside of him is perfect for him.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Not goofy at all. Not intentionally, at least. Sometimes he says something so cute that it makes you laugh, but it's not on purpose 😅

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Yes, the carpet definitely matches the drapes — meaning that he has blue streaks in his thin, white pubic hair. And I'd say his pubic hair is naturally more neat and tidy than most people's. He doesn't really have to trim it for it to look groomed.

In general, I don't think Neuvillette would have a lot of body hair. What he has instead are patches of scales, tinted blues and purples.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

Extremely so — it's impossible to have sex without some form of intimacy with Neuvillette. He gets quite clingy too, thanks to his draconic origins, so his hands are always searching for you, his body is always turning towards yours like a flower does to the sun.

Wrapping your arms around Neuvillette is something he really likes, as well as kissing you while you fuck him deeply. The more passion, the better!

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Neuvillette did not have a clue what masturbation was before you explained it to him. It's not something he would do often, but occasionally he does get that itch, and if you're not available to help him, then he might take care of it himself. Though he would greatly prefer if you helped him instead ;(

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Breeding & overstimulation (if that's considered a kink). He's rather vanilla when it comes to kinks and sex in general.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Nestled in a pile of blankets, or in a large bathtub/in water somewhere. <- preferably away from the public eye; someone spoting the Iudex getting his hole stretched is not on Neuvillette's agenda…

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

There's not a whole lot that won't turn him on. Being in your presence will automatically draw out his clingy nature, and if you continue to stick around, possibly tease him a bit, wrap him in your embrace, then Neuvi's pants will become a bit too tight…

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything involving blood.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

I think he would enjoy receiving much more. Don't get me wrong, Neuvillette is happy to suck your cock if you ask nicely and reward him with praise and headpats! But your mouth kissing and sucking on both of his dicks drives him wild! 😳

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

I'd say he prefers a more sensual pace. Quick thrusts are good too, but not every single time you have sex. Neuvillette values slow and steady.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

No. Nope. Quickies will not be a thing between you two. Neuvi will either have proper, intimate sex, or he'll wait and make you wait.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Not often, and it entirely depends on what you want to try. Again, Neuvi sticks to vanilla-ish sex and rather tame kinks, and I don't think he would be comfortable with certain kinks or risky locations.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

Obviously, since he isn't human, he has inhuman stamina. If you're able to fuck him throughout the entire night, past sunrise, he can handle that no problem. Neuvillette can also have multiple orgasms with ease, and, in fact, he normally does whenever you have sex.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

I think he would use toys, but only ones that you get him. Maybe a vibrator? I can picture him being into something like that.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Very mild, very rare teasing. Neuvillette doesn't normally tease, but once every blue moon he might want to tease… he likes the way you fuck into him a bit rougher when he does ;)

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Noisy, but not super loud. He moans, whines, whimpers (a lot). His hole and cocks make more noise than his mouth sometimes too, with all of the bodily fluids that they produce 😵‍💫

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

MATING SEASON!! DRAGON HEATS!! BREEDING KINK GO BRR!!!!

Uh, yeah, anyway- Neuvillette has a heat cycle and becomes quite insatiable during mating season. This is when he builds a nest of sorts and burrows into whatever he makes it out of. Very stereotypical heat behavior here: rutting into whatever his nest is made out of, humping blankets or your clothes, nuzzling far more frequently, nipping at your skin during sex, more stamina than usual and a desire for you to not pull out. That kind of thing.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

TWO DRAGON DICKS!!!! 📢🗣️🐉

His dicks aren't massive, not compared to his body size anyway, but they're not small either. His anatomy does not resemble human anatomy either, btw. I picture his cocks being slightly blueish? Perhaps different shades, a gradient, if you will. I don't have a concrete image of his genitals, they're just vaguely dragonish.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

A little on the high side, if I'm being honest. Dragons and their libidos can be a lot to handle… it's easy for Neuvillette's draconic instincts to kick in and turn him into a dripping mess when he was perfectly fine moments ago.

Z = ZZZ (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

This entirely depends on how intense the sex was, whether or not it's mating season, and various other factors.

Intense sex, marathon mating sex, longer sessions = falling asleep quickly

Less intense sex, not mating season or in heat, shorter sessions = staying awake afterwards

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Hi! This is a (kinda nsfw) request for the Moon Knight Boys or only Steven, whichever you’re comfortable with!

So, reader is usually loosely trimmed or has fully grown hair „down there”. One day she decides to surprise her vigilante boyfriends and shaves everything off or maybe leaves a cute little heart on top?? Either way I’d love to know how they’d react.

(I myself am female but please write for which gender you’re most comfortable with)

~Cherry Bomb Anon 💖💖💖

Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, I realise now that I misread this!

Anyway, it's now Marc and Steven with the shaved heart.

Glue It Back On

Steven Grant x Marc Spector x gn!Reader • Rating: mature pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Warnings: This is just Marc and Steven having a conversation really, I'm so sorry, swearing, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 851

“They’re gonna hate it, they’re gonna hate it. Fuck.”

“Shit.” 

“Fuck.”

“Shit,” Steven chews his bottom lip, “what if we shave it all off?” 

“All of it?”  Marc answers from the bathroom mirror. 

Steven nods. “All of it, like,” he motions with his hands. “Gone.”

“Bald?” 

“No, not bald Marc, it wouldn’t be bald, our, our-”

“Our balls would be bald.” 

“I was thinking more like, we just shave the top… bit?” 

“And nothing else?” Marc frowns in thought. “Wouldn’t that look-”

“Weird, yeah.” Steven sighs defeatedly. “It would. Like we just stopped halfway, and if we do it like a really neat line that will look like, ‘woah, too much effort here’, and if we don’t it’ll look a mess.” 

Marc nods. “Look, I know this isn’t helpful, but I don’t want to shave it all off. Because, one,” he holds up his forefinger. “I think it’ll look weird, you know like in porn, hairless balls just make me think of turkey wattles.” 

Steven pauses. “Wattles?” 

“Like the turkey red neck flappy thing.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know that it was called that.” He nods a little, then shakes his head, trying to stay focused. “You think shaved balls look like that?” 

“Kinda.”

“Kinda?” He says, unimpressed.

“Yeah, look, I’m not the vegan who gets freaked out by certain types of mushrooms-”

“We’ve been over this, I heard Michael say in the break room that mushrooms on pizza looked like slugs, and I can’t unsee it, it’s not fair to-”

Marc holds up his hands. “I’m sorry, okay, sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that all up again like that.” 

Steven nods. 

“They just look weird to me.” 

Steven’s lip twitches in a smile and Marc braces himself for whatever is about to come. “Is that what you say to yourself to justify only watching lesbian porn?” 

“Don’t.”

“Is it?” Steven grins. 

“I don’t just watch lesiban porn.” 

Steven scoffs. “Firstly, you do. Second, what’s wrong with watching lesbian porn?” 

Marc gives him a glare. “You’re the one that brought this up!”

Steven grins, enjoying seeing Marc squirm a little. “I did. So, why do you only watch lesibian porn?” 

“Fuck off.” 

Steven chuckles. “Spoil sport.” 

“You’re a bully.” Marc smiles. 

“What was your second point anyway?” 

“What?” 

“You’re second point? First was our balls would look like a turkey if we shave them, what was the other?” 

“Oh, I think it’ll itch like hell when the hair starts to grow back if we use the razor.” 

Steven nods, thinking. “Yeah, I bet you’re right on that one.” He sighs again, his shoulders slumping. “But what are we gonna do?” 

“We could glue it back on?” Marc says, only half joking.

“Marc.” He gives him the disappointed teacher voice. “We are not glueing hair back onto our.. Our… area.” 

“Area?” 

“You’re worried about it itching growing back, what the fuck do you think it’s gonna feel like with glue?” 

“Area? Steven, are we fucking three?” 

Steven puts his hands on his hips. “Is that what you’re focusing on right now?” 

“Well, yeah? Area?” 

“What would you call it then? Hmm?” 

Marc opens his mouth and then pauses.

“See, see?” Steven gestures at Marc, “What the fuck is it?”

“It’s the bit above the dick.” 

“Yeah, but what is that called? Like the actual name?” 

Marc thinks and then frowns. “Steven, I don’t fucking know, why is this important?”

“You made it important.” Steven grabs his phone from the side.

“What are you doing?” Marc sighs.

“I’m looking it up.”

“Steven.” 

“I want to know.” 

“Steven.” 

“All I can think of is pubic mound, but is that like, the word for everyone?” 

Marc shakes his head slightly as he pulls a face. “For everyone? What do you mean?”

“Like for all genders.”

“Oh…” Marc thinks again. “Maybe…” He leans forward as if he could see Steven’s phone from his angle. 

“See? You’re interested now.” 

He nods. “Yeah.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Don’t get too excited about it.” He huffs.

Steven rolls his eyes, and then quickly reads. “Okay, it is the pubic mound for everyone.” 

“Okay.” 

“We’ve learnt something.” 

“Doesn’t really help with our current situation, does it?” 

Steven puts his phone down and rubs his eyes, “Ugggghhhh, what if we just say, ‘Love, I tried to shave a heart into my pubic hair because I thought it would be funny and sweet and now I’m like what the fuck have I done?’” 

You knock on the bathroom door and both Steven and Marc jump at the same time. 

“Erm,” Steven scrambles with the towel around his waist before he opens the door with a flourish. “I-”

“I got back about ten minutes ago.” You give him a soft smile. “I’ve been listening to your side of the conversion, with rapt attention.” You tease playfully. 

Steven closes his eyes and chuckles bashfully. 

“If it’s any help,” you give his cheek a quick kiss. “I think the heart sounds lovely.” 

“Show them!”

Steven rolls his eyes, turning his head to pull a face at Marc’s reflection. “You wanted to glue it back on a second ago.” 

Thank you for reading!

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[futureperfectchanges]

H-Otter Whisky: Part 2 - The Studs

"Haven't these guys heard of a razer?" Hunter said to his friend Ian as they made their way to the bar at Infernos nightclub. "Or at least a trimmer?"

"It is bear night." Ian replied as they passed the dance floor, his eyes watching a bear and otter grinding up together whilst their hands explored each other's bodies.

"Sure, but if you had that much body hair why would you want to go around topless? They should be told to keep their shirts on and leave the showing off to studs like us!" Hunter ran his hand across his pecs and felt the traces of stubble that he had on his own chest. "I've not shaved for a week and already I'm getting embarrassed."

As they came to the bar Ian didn't say anything as he knew there was no point arguing, but he actually thought the stubble looked good on Hunter and went well with the neatly trimmed facial hair he had.

"What can I get you guys?" the bartender asked.

"Two beers please" Ian replied

"And a couple of shots of tequila." Hunter added, before leaning over to Ian and deliberately saying loud enough to be heard by those around them: "We need to have something strong to take our minds off the hairy freaks in this club!"

The bartender paused as he heard Hunter's comment and could practically feel the tension around the bar rise up. His first instinct was to ask the customer to apologise and leave, but then thought that there might be another way to deal with the situation.

"You know if you want something strong then I have a bottle of whisky that is particularly powerful. Plus I'm sure it will take your mind off anyone else's body hair."

"Hey, if it is stronger than the tequila then lets go for it." Hunter responded. "In fact make mine a double!"

The bartender picked up the bottle of H-Otter whisky and poured out the shots. As the two customers downed their drinks he could already see the first hairs appearing on their chests.

Hunter felt the whisky burning as it went down his throat. He turned to Ian and was about to ask what he thought of the whisky when he noticed a shadow forming on his friends chest.

Ian had never been able to grow more than a few hairs in the centre of his pecs, so Hunter was shocked to see hairs spurting out across Ian's chest. The hairs then rushed in a thick line down to his stomach where they spread out again covering his six pack. Hunter wasn't sure if it was the due to the new coating of hair, but Ian's six pack started to seem less defined and his arms and chest also appeared smaller, but nothing prepared Hunter for the facial hair that burst out from Ian's face. Ian had always gone completely clean shaven, but within moments he had grown a full dense beard.

"Definitely strong." Ian said as he confidently slammed his shot glass down on the bar.

"Ian, what, er, I mean look at your body, you're covered in hair!" Hunter stuttered to his friend.

Ian looked down and wondered what Hunter was talking about as he had always had a hairy chest. "Looks fine to me, still not quite as much hair as you though."

Now it was Hunter's turn to be confused. "I've never had nearly that much hair on my chest." Hunter said before looking down at his own body. He froze in shock as he saw the hairs running up his stomach and the forest covering his pecs. "This can't be real."

Hunter kept staring at his stomach as he ran a hand through the hair in the hope it wasn't real. He tried to see how much of his body was now covered in hair but something was stopping him seeing the top of his chest. He moved his hand up to grab whatever was in the way when he realised he was holding the end of a beard.

Hunter used both of his hands to feel the huge beard he had grown. He was surprised by how soft it was, but still panicking about what was happening. "This isn't right, we have to shave."

"Shave?" Ian replied. "You've been growing that beard for over a year, why the sudden thought about shaving?"

Hunter kept stroking his beard as he found doing so was giving him a calm feeling. "Something is wrong about this hair."

"What's wrong?" Ian said starting to get worried himself.

Hunter was getting confused, he knew he had been panicking about something, but now couldn't quite remember what it was. "Something about my beard I think."

"Stop screwing around, you know you have the most impressive beard in the club."

Ian's compliment helped Hunter to relax. "I think I was worried someone had cut it or something. Can you imagine me without a beard, I'd look like a child!" Hunter took a couple of deep breaths before adding: "Okay, panic over, what were we talking about?"

The bartender chose that moment to bring over their beers before saying to the guys: "You were saying something about hairy freaks?"

"Oh yeah!" Hunter exclaimed. "That's us. We were the first guys at our school to get body hair, and the other kids called us that as an insult. We knew they were just jealous though, so we took the name on for ourselves."

Hunter and Ian picked up their beers before Hunter added: "So cheers to being a proud hairy freak."

[eveninglakehomeworld]

hi friends and lovers, I've gathered a small collection of dialogues from Zevran in DA:O regarding Antiva & the Crows.

I got this together mostly for myself, but thought I'd share in case anyone who is maybe looking to flesh out their new Crow OC, write fanfic involving Crow characters, or is looking for a refresher on early Crow lore would like something to reference. I trimmed down dialogues a bit, so mostly just information relevant to the Crows, Antiva in general, and Zevran's own attitudes about being an assassin are present.

this post has dialogues from Zev's recruitment event and a couple of early game camp conversations. because it's only a handful of dialogues, this is, ostensibly, part 1 of several. I plan to post more as I progress through my replay of origins. enjoy! <3

Recruitment

Warden: "What are the Antivan Crows?"

Leliana: I can tell you that. They are an order of assassins out of Antiva. Very powerful, and renowned for always getting the job done... so to speak. Someone went to great expense to hire this man.

Zevran: Quite right. I'm surprised you haven't heard much of the Crows out here. Back where I come from, we're rather infamous.

Warden: "You came all the way from Antiva?"

Zevran: Not precisely. I was in the neighborhood when the offer came. The Crows get around, you see.

[After being asked if he's loyal to Loghain]

Zevran: Beyond that, no, I'm not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service.

Warden: "And now that you've failed that service?"

Zevran: Well, that's between Loghain and the Crows. And between the Crows and myself.

Warden: "When were you to see him next?"

Zevran: I wasn't. If I had succeeded, I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the results... if he didn't already know. If I had failed, I would be dead. Or I should be, at least, as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain then.

Warden: "How much were you paid?"

Zevran: I wasn't paid anything. The Crows, however, were paid quite handsomely. Or so I understand. Which does make me about as poor as a chantry mouse, come to think of it. Being an Antivan Crow isn't for the ambitious, to be perfectly honest.

Warden: "Then why are you one?"

Zevran: Well, aside from a distinct lack of ambition, I suppose it's because I wasn't give much of a choice. The Crows bought me young. I was a bargain, too, or so I'm led to believe. But don't let my sad story influence you. The Crows aren't so bad. They keep one well supplied: Wine, women, men. Whatever you happen to fancy. Though, the whole severance package is garbage, let me tell you. If you were considering joining, I'd really think twice about it.

Warden: "Aren't you at least loyal to your employers?"

Zevran: Loyalty is an interesting concept. If you wish, and you're done interrogating me, we can discuss it further.

Warden: "I'm listening. Make it quick."

Zevran: Well, here's the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will. Thing is, I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead.

Warden: "And what's to stop you from finishing the job later?"

Zevran: To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. I think I've paid my worth back to them, plus tenfold. The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can't touch. Even if I did kill you now, they might kill me just on the principle of failing the first time. Honestly, I'd rather take my chances with you.

Warden: "Won't they come after you?"

Zevran: Possibly. I happen to know their wily ways, however. I can protect myself, as well as you. Not that you seem to need much help. And if not, well, it's not as if I had many alternatives to start with, is it?

Warden: "Why would I want your service?"

Zevran: Why? Because I am skilled at many things, from fighting to stealth and picking locks. I could also warn you should the Antivan Crows attempt something more... sophisticated... now that my attempts have failed.

A few early game camp conversations

Conversation 1 Warden: "What does it take to become an assassin?"

Zevran: Well, the Crows would have you believe that it is an involved process that takes years of training, the sort that tests both your resolve and your endurance. Survive that process and maybe, just maybe, you're good enough to start being considered one of them. But quite frankly the truth is that all it requires is a desire to kill people for a living. It's surprising how well one can do in such a field.

Warden: "It doesn't take any special skill?"

Zevran: I don't know about that. It's simply a slightly different skill set from your average killer, as I see it. An assassin simply specializes in striking from stealth... and in maximizing that first attack to be as lethal as possible. Debilitating your foe, either by poison or by crippling their limbs, makes any follow-up combat you need to engage in that much simpler.

Warden: "That sounds like it could be useful."

Zevran: See? Getting paid for the act is beside the point. An assassin is more a tactical choice than a lifestyle. Of course, the Crows like to pretend that their abilities are trade secrets, shrouded in shadows and wrapped in a blanket of mystery. So let's just keep this between you and me, shall we, hmm?

Conversation 2 Warden: "Why did you want to leave the Crows, exactly?"

Zevran: Well, now, I imagine that's a very fair question. Being an assassin, after all, is a living, at least as far as such things go. I was simply never given the opportunity to choose another way. So if that choice presents itself, why should I not seize upon it?

Warden: "You didn't choose the Crows?"

Zevran: Mm? To be truthful, I didn't even know the Crows existed when I joined them. I was but a boy of seven when I was purchased. For three sovereigns, I'm told. Which is a good price, considering I was all ribs and bone and didn't know the pommel of a dagger from the pointy end. The Crows buy all their assassins that way. Buy them young, raise them to know nothing else but murder. And if you do poorly in your training, you die.

Warden: "That sounds awful."

Zevran: "Oh, I don't know about that. The Crows who are actually good enough to survive come to enjoy some of the benefits. In Antiva, being a Crow gets you respect. It gets you wealth. It gets you women... and men, or whatever it is you might fancy. But that does mean doing what is expected of you, always. And it means being expendable. It's a cage, if a gilded cage. Pretty, but confining. [note: I transcribed the first line of the last section as it was written in the subtitles because it seemed to make more sense in context, but when Zevran speaks it aloud he actually says "That does not mean doing what is expected of you." presumably an editing error, but can't be 100% positive which is the intended message.]

[After being asked what he thinks his future might hold]

Zevran: As for what I'll do in the future... presuming that there is one... I truly can't imagine. It might be interesting to go into business for myself, for a change. Far away from Antiva, of course. For now, naturally, I go where you go.

Warden: "Won't the Crows eventually find you?"

Zevran: [laughs] Eventually can be a very, very long time if one plays one's cards right. Come, now. Enough chit-chat. Talking about the Crows summons them, you know. Any Antivan fishwife could tell you so.

Conversation 3 Warden: "Do you actually enjoy being an assassin?"

Zevran: And why not? There are many things to enjoy about being a Crow in Antiva. You are respected. You are feared. The authorities go out of their way to overlook your trespasses. Even the rewards are nothing to turn your nose up at. As for the killing part, well... some people simply need assassinating. Or do you disagree?

Warden: "You've never killed an innocent?"

Zevran: Now there's an interesting word, "innocent." How many men do you know who can claim to truly be innocent? But if you're talking generalities, such as children and relatives and bystanders and such... never on purpose, but it happens. It's unfortunate, but death comes to us all. If not me, then some wasting disease. Or a fall down the stairs. Or at the hands of a darkspawn. It's all relative in the end.

Warden: "I suppose that's true."

Zevran: "Death happens," as we like to say. And when I get paid for it, death happens more often. As far as enjoying the act of killing itself, why not? There is a certain artistry to the deed, the pleasure of sinking your blade into their flesh and knowing that their life is in your hands.

Warden: "I know what you mean."

Zevran: There are many things I did not enjoy about being a Crow, of course. Having no choice, being treated as an expendable commodity, the rules... oh, so many rules! But, simply being an assassin? I like it just fine. I will continue to do it, if I can, even if I am not a Crow. Honestly, could you picture me doing something else?

Conversation 4 [note: I trimmed this one down a lot bc it's just one of the ones where he tells you about a job and there's not a lot to be gleaned about Antiva, how the Crows operate, etc] [In response to being asked, "The Crows were willing to anger the Circle of Magi?"]

Zevran: In Antiva, nobody is too important to escape the reach of the Crows. They have killed kings and queens. That's simply how it is.

[After elaborating on how he fumbled an assassination attempt and the mark died accidentally, instead of by his hand]

Zevran: Then I found out she had told the driver to take her to Genellan instead. She has planned to lose me in the provinces. I would have looked very foolish to the Crows. As it was, my master was very impressed that I had done such a fine job of making it look like an accident. The Circle of Magi was unaware of foul play, and everyone was happier all around.

Conversation 5 Warden: "Tell me a little about Antiva."

Zevran: Oh? You wish to know about Antiva, do you? The only way to truly appreciate it would be to go there. It is a warm place, not cold and harsh like this Ferelden. In Antiva it rains often, but the flowers are always in bloom... or so the saying goes.

Warden: "Don't you want to go back?"

Zevran: [sighs] It is not really a matter of wanting to go back. I cannot go. At least not yet. I hail from the glorious Antiva City, home to the royal palace. It is a glittering gem amidst the sand, my Antiva City. Do you come from someplace comparable?

Warden: "I'm not from any glittering gem, no."

Zevran: No? That is too bad. If you were, then surely you would spend as much time boasting about it as I do! Hmm. You know what is most odd? We speak of my homeland, and for all its wine and its dark-haired beauties and the lillo flutes of the minstrels... I miss the leather the most.

Warden: "Is that some kind of euphemism?"

Zevran: [laughs] It may as well be! But not this once, no. I mean the smell. For years I lived in a tiny apartment near Antiva City's leather-making district, in a building where the Crows stored their youngest recruits. Packed in like crates. I grew accustomed to the stench, even though the humans complained of it constantly. To this day the smell of fresh leather is what reminds me most of home more than anything else.

Warden: "That's a little bizarre. There's leather everywhere."

Zevran: Ah, but it's not Antivan leather, is it? I do not know what the Antivan tanners do that is different, but ther is no leather more supple nor more fragrant.

Warden: "You sound like you've been away from home forever."

Zevran: Oh, not so long, I know. It is my first time away from Antiva, however, and the thought of never returning makes me think of it constantly. Before I left, I was tempted to spend what little coin I possessed on leather boots I spotted in a store window. Finest Antivan leather, perfect craftsmanship—ah, but I was a fool to leave them. I thought, "Ah, Zevran, you can buy them when you return as a reward from a job well done." More the fool I, no?

Warden: "Your home is still there, Zevran."

Zevran: True, and it's a comforting thought. One simply never knows what is to come next.

Now, if it is all the same to you, I would prefer not to speak more of Antiva. It makes me wistful and hungry for a proper meal.

Bonus banter snippet because I found it amusing:

Morrigan: You assassin types have a death wish, I see.

Zevran: [laughs] Only the really good ones.