#which means lowered inhibitions!

[minister-of-silly-walks]

OGGIE BEFRIENDED SOME GEISTERS????? When did this happen? How did this happen? Good lord I’m overdue for a reread

[amplexadversary]

Those old negative-pressure ventilators (like the famous/infamous Iron Lung) are pretty fascinating in a number of ways.

We favor positive pressure, pumping air into the lungs, via intubation in extreme cases, but that approach has a lot of drawbacks. The emergence of covid increased demand, especially for the kind of extended use that can lead to lung damage. I wonder how fast we could have moved out new negative pressure ventilators (wikipedia page linked to one kind) if we had better public health funding (both in general and not having been fucking gutted right before we ended up needing it.)

The negative pressure machines make it harder to examine a patient, but the relative expense (including training of medical personnel), non-invasive method (and lack of associated side effects, discomfort, and distress), and general quality of life seem like they would have been good to have earlier on (hell, modern technology arguably removes some of the restriction problems that older models had; theoretically you could wire a keyboard or a video game controller in there that could be used to operate a computer, tv, e-reader, and whatnot, which would probably improve prognoses from just the psychological condition of being not in pain and not bored.)

Not a lot of old ventilators like that are still in functional condition, and people who genuinely have needed them indefinitely eventually started having trouble sourcing parts to keep the things working. They do restrict movement but as an alternative to intubation in cases extreme enough to need it, they still seem by far the more comfortable option. Since positive pressure ventilators are so resource-intensive and invasive, I wonder if keeping both kinds around and transferring people to a newer model of negative pressure chamber if extended use is needed would be the ideal protocol. Covid is still a problem even though we're largely ignoring it, we could probably still use a respectable reserve of negative pressure chambers for all their benefits.

[hard-core-super-star]

push me on the counter, call me princess [W.Maximoff; N.Romanoff]

pairing: dom!wanda maximoff x sub!reader x dom!natasha romanoff

summary: you and wanda develop a connection you definitely shouldn't have with someone in a relationship. unbeknowst to you, it's all part of their plan.

warnings: PURE SMUT, MINORS DO NO INTERACT -> mentions of cheating! [no actual cheating, though! wandanat have an agreement, R doesn't know about it until things get spicy]; mommy + daddy kink; nipple play; impact play; wanda using her powers to hold R down; fingering [R receiving]; oral [Nat receiving]; twinges of humiliation; degradation + praise; nat's a little mean but we love her for it; use of the term 'slut'; probably more but i forgot

wordcount: 3.3k

a/n: so...i'm technically not doing anything official for kinktober this year because school is kicking my butt already BUT i have a few ideas for some very filthy smut fics so i'll be posting them this month. i haven't written for wandanat in a minute so i hope i did them justice. please let me know your thoughts, i hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

It was supposed to be a one time thing.

That's what you told Wanda when she pushed you against the farthest wall in some dingy, badly-lit, New York bar.

The two of you had come back from a long, draining, mission and, instead of staying at the Compound and actually resting, you decided to go out and get drunk to let off some steam. The mission had technically been a success, but it had also been a pain in the ass...and in the shoulder, thanks to the knife wound you'd received.

So, yeah, maybe going out wasn't the best idea in the first place.

In your defense, it was borderline impossible to say no to the witch. Mainly because she was very convincing when she wanted to be, but also because of your massive, and borderline ridiculous, crush on her.

To make matters worse, Wanda was pissed off at Natasha for...something and you ended up taking the place of a supportive partner.

It would have been fine had the drinks in your system not made your inhibitions lower significantly, which rendered you helpless against the green-eyed woman of your dreams. Then again, it's not like you were particularly against that idea in the first place.

Maybe that made you a horrible person.

Maybe that made Wanda a monster.

But how could she be one when she whispered the sweetest words in your ear while taking you over the edge and destroying you in the most pleasurable of ways? How could there be anything wrong about her soft caresses and gentle smiles?

A part of you knows the answer. It's wrong because the witch's heart isn't yours. Or worse, because someone else's heart belongs to the witch.

Because for all their problems and arguments, Wanda and Natasha love each other. At the very least, they tolerate each other enough to stay together.

And you don't fit into their relationship.

You shouldn't.

But Wanda isn't a person you can just ignore.

She makes that perfectly clear no less than a week after your little "mistake".

You're in the kitchen at the Compound, eating some leftovers and scrolling through your phone to keep yourself occupied, when Wanda walks in. You don't need to look at her to know she's pissed off. Her energy is way too heavy to mean anything else.

"Hey, Wands," you say, barely looking up from your phone out of fear of falling under her spell once more.

She walks over to you, leaning against the counter and silently watching you for a second. Her silence honestly scares you, but you don't question her yet. You know better than that.

"You've been avoiding me," she says, her voice soft yet not gentle. "Why is that?"

A shiver runs down your spine at the question. 

You know you can't lie to her, she's a freaking mind reader, but you can't exactly tell her the truth. You've both been trying to ignore it since the morning you woke up tangled together in her bed.

A bed she shares with someone who isn't you.

"I've been busy," you reply with a shrug. "Kate's been forcing me to train every day."

Clearly, that's the wrong answer, considering the tilt of her head.

Yup. You're fucked now.

"Is that so? I didn't realize you two were such good...friends."

Wanda pushes herself off the counter, taking slow, calculated, steps until she's standing behind you. If you weren't so focused on keeping your voice steady, you might have been able to guess what her plan in.

"Well, we both love annoying Clint and making Yelena mad."

She hums in response as her arms wrap themselves around you, pulling you back until you're firmly pressed against her. 

The action almost makes you fall off your stool. You somehow stay put, though, even as every fiber of your being tells you to leave. The harsh truth is that you don't want to leave.

You want her so badly that the consequences don't seem to matter.

Nothing matters but her.

Which is exactly what she wants.

"You should be careful with the little archer," she says, her hands not so subtly caressing your sides. "You know she's just going to use you then throw you away when she's bored."

The irony in her words isn't lost on you.

You open your mouth to let her know that when her hands move up and brush against your chest. It takes all your willpower to stop yourself from gasping.

"Wanda," you hiss. "We're in the middle of the kitchen."

"Relax, detka," she whispers into your ear, your body instantly obeying her words. "You know I won't let anyone see."

"Do I?" you reply. "Because it seems exactly like something you'd enjoy."

The witch chuckles despite herself. "That's true but you're not the only trying to keep things a secret."

You know her words should make you feel worse about this whole thing but right now, they only serve to turn you on. As messed up as it is, there's something exciting about the situation. 

About how much Wanda wants you.

So, even though you know you should push her away, you lean back against her, allowing her hands to explore your body however she wishes.

Your obedience (if you can even call it that) is instantly rewarded by the other woman. Her hands sneak their way under your shirt, her fingers drawing teasing shapes on your warm skin as she makes the journey upward.

"You're such a good girl for me, baby," she mumbles almost absent-mindedly. "Letting me use you like this. Letting me play with you whenever I want."

A part of you wants to put up a fight. To show her you have a bigger backbone than she realizes. That you're able to switch the tables on her whenever you want.

Unfortunately, that part of you goes quiet the second her fingers find your nipples. "Look at you, all ready for me, huh?"

"Shut up," you mumble as your cheeks heat up.

Your words of defiance earn you a sharp pinch to your already sensitive nipples. "Watch your mouth, sweetheart."

It's impossible to stop your back from arching as the leftover sting rushes through your system. You'd learned the hard way that Wanda could either be the sweetest or the most unforgivable lover. In a way, it made being with her all the more exciting...and unpredictable.

Then again, you can't pretend you don't like it. If you didn't, you would have never gotten mixed up with her in the first place.

"Sorry," you whisper, not sounding particularly sincere.

If Wanda notices, she doesn't point it out and instead goes right back to playing with your chest, squeezing and pinching your nipples as she pleases.

Her actions only serve to make you more and more desperate for her. It's almost embarrassing how good she is at reading you. At knowing exactly what buttons to push to turn you into a shaking, pleading mess.

A part of you knows it's thanks to her powers that she can read your desires so well, but you ignore the thought for now. You could beat yourself up over all this later, right now, you had a very important task ahead of you.

"You're eager today," she teases, her eyes zeroing in on the slight movement of your hips. "Did you miss me that much?"

You're not sure why you're in such a defiant mood today but your mouth moves way faster than your thoughts. "Yeah, Kate was too busy today."

You don't see the scarlet that begins to overtake her eyes since you have your back to her. You miss the warning signs until she uses her magic to bend you over the counter, keeping your hands behind your back.

"You're going to regret talking to me like that," she says, holding you down easily thanks to her magic.

It's obvious you should apologize and yet you remain as composed as you possibly can given the situation. As stupid as it is, you're still mad at her for putting you in this situation.

Out of the two of you, she was the one who was in the wrong. She was the one fucking up her relationship just because she was upset with her girlfriend. And she had the audacity to pull you down with her.

To make you like it.

You couldn't place all the blame on her and yet you did it anyway. As if that would somehow fix the entire situation.

Her hand comes down on your ass before you can make your predicament worse. The sudden sensation makes you jump, the leftover sting taking over your mind.

"Wanda." Your attempt to sound mad falls completely flat since your voice is far too breathless for it to be convincing.

She spanks you again. Once. Twice. Each time striking both harder and faster.

"Try again, detka," she tells you, her voice unforgiving. "And then maybe, I'll go easy on you."

She won't.

You know she won't. But the idea that she could is more than tantalizing enough.

Although, then again, it wasn't like you didn't enjoy calling her by her beloved title.

"Mommy," you whisper, your voice sounding way too loud in the empty kitchen.

You don't need to be looking at her to see the proud grin that takes over her features.

This is the real reason why she wants you. Why she likes being with you. Because she doesn't need to fight you to get you to submit to her every whim.

"Good girl." Wanda's hands toy with the waistband of your pants. "Tell me what you want."

You allow the silence to drag on for a second longer than necessary. You both know you won't deny her, you can't, but that doesn't mean you can't keep her guessing. 

Maybe then she'll grow tired of you and stop using you so carelessly.

"Want you to touch me...please, mommy."

You half expect her to drag the moment out until you can't hold yourself back from begging for more. For her.

She doesn't, though, because unbeknownst to you, she's playing a different kind of game with you today.

Wanda uses her powers to undress you, barely giving you a second to register just how vulnerable she's leaving you. You know no one will walk in on you two, she promised you that much, but that doesn't make it any less scary...and thrilling.

"Look at you," she coos, her fingers spreading your slick folds. "So wet and I've barely even touched you. Such a needy thing, aren't you, sweetheart?"

It's embarrassing how hard your walls clench around pure air from the mere tone of her voice. It's that intoxicating mix between degrading and sweet that you want everything she's willing to give you.

"Yes, mommy," you whimper.

"Oh, I know," she says, pushing the tip of her index finger into your tight cunt. "She's such a good girl, isn't she?"

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but her powers hold you down and stop you from turning to look at her. Your question is answered before you can even ask it, though, as a certain pair of black boots make their way into your field of vision.

"I'm not sure." The sound of Natasha's voice sends a shiver down her spine. "She looks like a desperate slut to me."

Wanda stops you from answering, thanks to her powers. "Oh, come on, Nat, don't be mean. Look how eager she is to be played with."

The redhead rolls her eyes. "That just proves my point."

The witch laughs, taking the moment to sink her finger deeper into your pussy, relishing the wet sounds that fill the kitchen. You're more than a little humiliated, but there's nothing you can do to stop it. Worse, there's nothing you can do to deny how wet the situation is making you.

How desperate you are for more.

Wanda knows. Of course, she knows. It's partly because of her powers and partly because she knows your body far too well. And because she knows you so well, she gives you a chance to call the whole thing off before it even truly starts.

"What's your color, y/n?"

It would be so easy to say "red" and stop everything. You know there would be zero judgement. That despite whatever agreement they've come to, they'd both take a step back and make sure you were okay.

And yet...you can't seem to form the word.

Because, as much as you don't want to admit it...you want this.

"Green..." you whisper.

Wanda leans in, taking your mind off of Natasha's eyes on you, and peppers soft kisses across your back. The softness of her lips is a stark contrast to her previous demeanor and it helps calm down your speeding nerves.

The Russian steps forward, her hand cupping your face and gently tilting it backward until your eyes meet. "You want this, don't you, darling?"

You don't want to admit it but you can't bring yourself to lie to her. "Yes...I want this."

The sharpness in her eyes fades away slightly. There's still an edge of annoyance in her features but she looks almost as turned on as you feel. "Good girl."

Your walls clench around Wanda's finger and she chuckles before starting to move in and out of your tight heat. "I think she likes you, Nat."

"Shut up."

Wanda adds another finger into the mix, expertly stretching you out and drawing out a long moan from your parted lips. "That's it, just give in, sweetheart. Doesn't it feel better when you stop thinking so much?"

It's startling how right she is.

She doesn't wait for an answer this time, though, she simply speeds up her movements, curling her fingers in the way that drives you crazy. The pleasure slowly overwhelms your mind, removing all other thoughts until all you can focus on is how good it all feels. How much you like submitting to them like this.

"Mommy..." You whine, watching the way Natasha's eyes darken in response to your sounds. "Please...need more."

"Aw, are two fingers not enough for you, baby?" The fake pity in her tone turns you on more than it should. "Does your greedy pussy need more?"

You nod desperately, ignoring the humiliation that lingers in your every move.

All that earns you is another laugh from Wanda and an eye roll from Natasha.

The redhead steps back from you, causing you to whimper, before her hands move to her belt. Her eyes remain on yours as she starts removing her garments, slowly revealing the red strap-on resting between her legs.

Your lips part almost instantly once you catch sight of the full size of it and just how incredibly dominant it makes Natasha look. You shouldn't be surprised considering what everyone, including Wanda, always say about her. Then again, seeing is believing.

"So fucking eager, aren't you?" You know the Russian is technically making fun of you, but you can't help feeling a bit proud of yourself for the grin on her face.

She steps forward, her hands coming up to tangle in your hair and guide you forward. There's something weirdly soft about her movements, about the way she takes her time with you. Maybe, just maybe, she likes you more than she's let on.

You wrap your lips around the head of the dildo, your eyes glued to Natasha's face. You can see the flecks of pleasure spreading across her features, the way she clenches her jaw to stop herself from vocalizing it. It's like you're stuck in a far too arousing competition with her. Each of you trying your damn harderst to break the other.

Unfortunately for you, you also have Wanda working behind you, her fingers restlessly pumping in and out of your soaked entrance. She knows exactly how to wind you up. 

Exactly how to keep you on your toes yet wanting more.

Natasha guides you further down her cock, working the length deeper into your mouth. "You look so much better like this, malyshka."

"I told you," Wanda pipes up, choosing that exact moment to work another finger into your tight heat. "You just wanted to be a party pooper."

"Keep talking like that and you'll be next, Maximoff."

"You're no fun."

You've never heard Wanda like this. So pouty and borderline bratty. It's a stark contrast to the dominant woman you've grown so attached to. To the one that turns your brain to putty with just a few words.

"Don't get any ideas, sweetheart. Mommy's still in charge here."

You moan in response, the sound muffled by the dildo currently stuffing your mouth.

"If you're Mommy," Natasha says, starting to thrust into your mouth. "Does that make me Daddy?"

You try to voice your approval for the title but neither of the women pay attention to you. They just keep talking like you're not even there, like all you are is a toy for them to play with.

"I thought you didn't like being called that."

The redhead shrugs in response. "I don't but now I'm curious."

"I think our good girl would like it."

You wait for Natasha to complain and say something about how you aren't theirs. Maybe make fun of you again for even thinking they'd ever entertain that idea.

She doesn't, though.

All she does is double her efforts as she keeps thrusting into your mouth. 

The kitchen fills with the sounds of your pleasure as they both play with your needy holes.

You feel yourself growing closer and closer to the edge, the coil in your stomach getting tighter with each one of their well-timed thrusts. You're completely at their mercy and you love every second of their never-ending show of dominance.

Of control over you.

Wanda's movements speed up and you do your best to ask for permission to cum, knowing all too well the consequences that would await you if you forgot. It's practically impossible to speak, though, considering the way Natasha is still thrusting into your mouth, her hips grinding against the base of the dildo each time she slips the length back inside.

"I know, baby," the witch reassures you. "You want to cum so bad, don't you?"

All she gets is a muffled whine in response, your body jerking forward when her thumb teases your swollen clit.

"Go ahead, darling," Natasha speaks up, her voice practically a low growl. "Cum all over Mommy's fingers for me."

You're not used to receiving such a command from the redhead and yet your body reacts immediatly to her tone. Your whole body seems to come alive as you fall over the edge, Wanda's fingers never ceasing in their movements. She expertly draws out your pleasure until you're left shaking and panting. 

The ringing in your ears doesn't allow you to hear the string of moans that leave Natasha's mouth as she watches the scene. The sight of you coming undone so violently causes her to fall apart, her fingers tightening in your hair until you're sputtering for air.

Thankfully, Wanda knows your limits well.

No words are exchanged as she uses her magic on you again. You're barely coherent, your mind still too muddled by pure pleasure and the cotton-filled haze of submission.

She gently sets you down on the couch, wiping down your soaked skin with a wet cloth, making sure to look you over in case their rough movements bruised you up.

"You okay, darling?" The witch asks as she settles down next to you.

You nod in response, shifting a little until your head rests in her lap. "Yeah...just tired."

"You should get some rest, detka. We have a lot to talk about."

Her words make you laugh. "That's an understament, Wands."

"Whatever." She moves her hand down to run her fingers through your hair, gently scratching your scalp as sleep overcomes you.

There's a lot you don't understand, a lot you really figure out, but you feel safe with the knowledge that you haven't ruined anything. That you're not an intruder in their relationship. If anything, you're a welcome addition.

[infictionalwonderland]

how about another bucky fic but instead the reader is all drunk and acting lovey dovey with him accidentally revealing her feelings towards him :)

Bucky sat, practically motionless on the kitchen stool—brooding the the sheer silence. His brood session was unfortunately disrupted as the door the kitchen slammed open with a harsh thud, he startled, back straightening and eyes narrowing as he stealthily grabbed a knife from the mantle and snuck up from his seat.

He slammed the presence into the counter mercilessly, wielding the knife, only to be met by the sound of your inhibited giggles and the scent of your perfume.

Bucky released you in an insist, stepping back from you immediately and lowering the knife.

“Nooo. Stay.” You whined out drunkenly, a glazed over look in your pretty eyes, hands reaching for him with a deep (adorable) pout on your lips. “Come back please.”

“I—Y/N—“ He furrowed his brow nervously as his heart beat stuttered, “you’re drunk?”

“What, no!” You exclaimed, waving your hand about flippantly and making a face at his face, attempting a causal pose against the kitchen counter, resting your head on your hand. “I—“ You hiccuped, “have never, ev—er, been drunk a day in my life.” You nodded, seriously.

He stared at you, eyebrows raised, a faint amused smirk threatening to curl up his lips.

Your seriousness was broken as you giggled, twirling yourself in circles. Bucky watched with secret fondness, stepping closer to you in case he had to save you from a fall, which he did.

As his arm caught your waist to steady, you all but melted against him, humming contentedly.

His eyes widened slightly at the noises of happiness escaping you, taken back, he allowed his arms to loosen around you.

“No!” You snapped softly, pulling his arms back tightly around your waist. “Mhmm—I—I like when you touch me. And—just when you look at really. It’s nice to—be noticed be you.” Your slurred, swaying side to side casually and holding his arms around your waist.

Bucky almost fell over.

“Wha—“

“You’ve got really nice eyes.” You admitted, unashamed. “I—i like looking at them, i—f-feel happy looking at all of you,” you giggled, “these especially.” Your hands reached up and squeezed his biceps to further your point.

“I—“

“Nat says that means I have a crush on you,” You face turned into a pouty-angry-sad look that he couldn’t see but heard through your tone, “but—I don’t want to, because you didn’t crush on me back—“ you almost whined.

“Bu—“

“A—and that’s okay, I can think you’re really pretty and strong and brave and k—kind to myself.” You slurred, sounding pleased with your logic as you lifted his hands up and kissed the backs of them (again, Bucky almost fell onto his arse), before settling them at your hips and spinning to face him, entwining your arms around his neck and cuddling into his chest with a content hum.

“Y—“

“And—I—“

“Y/N.” Bucky finally cut you off, softly but pointedly. He squeezed at your hips, pulling you back slightly so you could make eye contact. “You’re going to regret saying all this tomorrow, and I don’t want you regretting even more so how bout some quiet doll, for your sake.”

You blinked twice at him before humming in acceptance, burying your face back into his chest.

“And—I’m probably gonna regret admitting this too—“ He brought out, hesitantly and quietly as he squeezed you again, “but I really do crush on you back doll.”

You snored softly against his chest.

Bucky smiled down at you fondly.

(He’d tell you again tomorrow)

[beetlesandstarss]

“Oh, hey,” Steve's voice picks up. “I have a voicemail from you.”

Eddie slams his head against the door. “Please don’t listen to it.”

“What? Why not?”

“Steve,” Eddie pleads. "I'm serious."

“Whoops, my finger slipped.”

And the voicemail starts playing.

“Heeeeeeey. What’s up, Stevie? Steve. Steve Harrington. What is up. Sooo…” past-him hiccups, a giggle bursting free. “I’m drunk as fuck, man— and, uh, my inhibitions are lower. Lowered. Low. Which means I can talk to you, ‘cause sober me’s a total coward. Like, charged as a wuss and arrested on the spot. And, uh… I suck. ‘Cause I’m so fucked up over you, man.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut against the sudden burn in his eyes.

read Call Me When You Get This here!

[antimonyandthyme]

for anon who talked about carlos gnawing hoodies

“And he was red,” Oscar continued, almost red in the face himself with all the effort he was making. “He had speckled paws. Did you know that virtually all Australian cattle dogs have a white marking of some sort on their forehead?”

Carlos was starting to take pity on Oscar. “I do not know that, no.”

It was a concession, a peace offering. Carlos could count on one hand the number of times he’d admitted to anyone, I do not know. Oscar only looked more panicked, which was not the intended reaction.

“He would nip, as cattle dogs tend to do, you know? Whenever I got close, he’d nip at my heels like he was trying to herd me. It never hurt because he had excellent bite inhibition, he never broke skin. He was gentle. But he got into so much trouble, because strangers always thought he was going for them.” Oscar stopped rambling abruptly, and stared at some spot on the ground. “They nearly had him put down, once.”

Carlos fingered the collar of Oscar’s hoodie, very slightly damp from where he just had it in between his teeth. The orange could never be averse to him, not like the red, now. And it always smelled so unobtrusive, because Oscar did not believe in Febreeze. It was warm, warmer than the ones he owned.

There was no point in trying to hide in Oscar’s clothes, and he fought the useless itch to hedgehog his way back into the couch. This was a lot of words for Oscar. Carlos turned them over and over in his head until a comparison crystallized, with edges sharp enough to cut him clean.

“It’s a bad habit, I know,” Carlos said, confident he did not sound too wounded.

“No,” Oscar said with such vehemence that Carlos nearly flinched. “That’s not what I meant, no.”

They met each other’s eyes, and that seemed to spur Oscar into action. He launched himself up, clambered over the innocent throw pillow situated equidistant between them. As clumsy as Carlos had ever seen him. Or as Oscar had ever allowed Carlos to see him. Carlos felt like he was floundering two steps behind as Oscar grabbed his shoulders with an urgency he didn’t understand.

“I don’t know why I said all that,” Oscar said, shaking Carlos a little. “Ignore it, ignore it please. I was being stupid.”

“Okay,” Carlos said. His hands found Oscar’s wrists, soothing even though he did not yet know what for.

“No, not okay,” Oscar said. “That was mean.”

“I know you weren’t trying to be,” Carlos said. It was a fair deduction, with how distressed Oscar was looking. “And anyway,” he shrugged. “It is a bad habit.”

“I like you doing that,” Oscar said, stubborn. On a good day he could give Carlos a run for his money. “Better my clothes than your skin.”

Ah. Carlos’s chest contracted weakly. “Another bad habit,” he said quietly.

Oscar squeezed his shoulders tighter. “Almost as bad as drying clothes in an oven.”

“There is nothing as bad as that,” Carlos said. “You are comparing a habit with a crime, Oscar.”

Oscar huffed, meeting Carlos’s shaky smile with his own. Practicing unfurling in Oscar’s presence was getting easier by the day. Soon it’d be no effort at all.

“I like you in my clothes,” Oscar mumbled. So he was practicing too. “I like you wearing them and I like you warm in them and I like you—”

“Biting them?” Carlos suggested.

“Shut up. I don’t know why. My brain to mouth filter doesn’t work with you.”

“So you decided to compare me to a dog,” Carlos said. It made sense in some way. Oscar’s thought-processes could get as convoluted as Carlos’s. “That had to be put down.”

Oscar glanced at him, almost fearful, before he realized Carlos could barely hide his teasing grin.

“Stop,” thwack, Oscar thumped at Carlos’s chest, “making,” thwack, “me,” thwack, “feel,” thwack, “bad.”

Carlous couldn’t stop the cackle escaping him, earning him another thwack.

“And he didn’t get put down, okay? He’s doing fine.”

“Is he,” Carlos asked of the wayward dog.

Oscar stilled, and then, very deliberately, lowered himself fully into Carlos’s lap. The heat from Oscar’s hoodie and the heat from Oscar’s body, flush against his, and the heat from looking up at Oscar from this angle, was making it very hard to concentrate. There were only so many allegories he could conjure up before he started thinking himself in dizzying circles.

Oscar trailed the knuckle of his index finger down Carlos’s cheek, slowly enough that Carlos could measure the space between one heartbeat and the next. A nudge against his lips, and Carlos parted his mouth obediently. Oscar inserted his finger like it belonged there, key into a lock. The first knuckle, then the second, past the yielding gate of Carlos’s bared teeth.

Nothing touched. Carlos’s throat fluttered in anticipation, made some embarrassing, pleading noise. Encouragement, direction, anything. Please, please. Oscar waited him out, patient.

For Carlos to close his teeth, secure them around Oscar’s knuckle. Press down, intent clearer than any imprint he could ever leave. The pressure there but not too much. He held Oscar’s finger between his teeth, knowing full well he could hurt, knowing full well he could never. He held it there for as long as Oscar wanted, until he lost track of the time.

“Easy,” Oscar said, stroking Carlos’s burning cheek, and Carlos let go on command.

Around Oscar’s knuckle weaved a red mark that sat perfectly like a ring. Oscar stared at it as if he were trying to commit the indent to memory. Carlos’s breath eased from a rattle to a hum, his brain thankfully wiped clean of metaphors.

“Think he is,” Oscar said, flexing his fingers experimentally. His other hand still on Carlos's cheek, an anchor. “Yeah.”

[usedtobecooler]

live now, think later | steve harrington x afab!reader

a/n: thank you so much in advance to everybody who takes the time to read, reblog and comment on this fic. it's the first thing i've published in close to three months and i'm honestly a little nervous, i hope i've come back with a big enough bang! title is taken from think later by tate mcrae, and a massive thank you to @trashmouth-richie for making my header+dividers for me. 7.8k words.

summary: upon your arrival in hawkins to visit your old friend, eddie munson, his first idea is to drag you down to family video — where you ‘unintentionally’ meet steve harrington. a well timed deal, a fake friend date and a few drinks later, you find yourself in steve’s downtown apartment with lowered inhibitions.

warnings: sexual content 18+ minors dni, piv sex, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, bratting, spit kink, biting, hair pulling, very poor use of the pull out method. alcohol consumption, mentions of drug dealing and public heavy petting. no use of y/n and very minimal description of reader. eddie munson being eddie munson.

Eddie is all but dragging you into Family Video by your hand, the harsh metal of his rings digging into the webbing of your fingers as he pulls you in through the door.

Eddie Munson was easily the most excitable person you’d ever met in your life, and his sudden enthusiasm to get you into the video store is going to land you in the emergency room, because if he tugs you any harder your shoulder will detach from the socket. 

The buzzer above your head rings violently in an attempt to alert the staff that somebody has come in, and a mop of beautifully styled hair attached to an equally beautiful man comes into view as you edge closer to the rental counter.

"Hey, Stevie," Eddie grins, loud and unabashed, "you got that new one with Meg Ryan in it? Heard she cums at a dinner table and lady luck over here is desperate to see it." 

He's sniggering as you pull away from him and smack at his arm hard enough that he lets out an indignant yelp. Your face is burning hot with embarrassment as the boy's eyes dart back and forth between you both, confusion etched on his face.

He - Stevie, apparently - raises an eyebrow at you both, taking in the disheveled and most likely chaotic scene in front of him, "You mean 'When Harry Met Sally'?"

"Majorly concerning you know what movie it is from the description of 'Meg Ryan cums at a dinner table'," you quip, mouth running away from you before you can even stop it. Your face somehow burns even hotter, Steve crossing his arms over his chest with a small smirk.

He's in a preppy little striped polo shirt under his green embroidered work vest, and god his arms are bulging. His skin is tanned golden, a product of the heat of an Indiana summer, freckles and beauty marks prominent on his face, trailing down his neck and dipping below the collar. 

You stare for a beat too long. Taking in the man in front of you, who looks very sure of himself. 

Eddie knows you all too well, Steve is absolutely your type, which makes your first encounter all the more mortifying. 

"It's my job to know all the new releases, honey." Steve's smile grows smug, and it's breathtaking how attractive you find it, "You're both shit out of luck, it's been on rent all week. Romantic night in, is it?" 

Eddie scoffs from beside you, and it takes everything in you to not be offended by how quickly the noise escapes him, "Yeah, she wishes. She's not my type at all, Harrington. Annoying, clingy, pisses too lo-"

"God, shut the fuck up," you're mortified, covering your face with your hands, "I've been in town less than a day, are you trying to get me ousted?"

Steve looks all too amused by the encounter, struggling to hold back a chuckle. His pretty eyes never leave you as he speaks, "Munson's deflecting, I already know you rejected him and he's taking it like a dagger to the heart." 

Eddie points an accusatory finger, "Take it back, fucker. I've never been turned down in my life." 

Steve quirks a brow at him, then turns his attention back to you. You squirm under his strong gaze, "Is that true, doll? I feel like he's lying." 

"I'm not getting involved in this dick swinging contest," you hold your hands up, trying in vain to ignore the silly little pet name that really does it for you, backing away from the counter slightly, "what are we even here for, Eddie?"

"I was just making sure me and Stevie here were still on for drinks tonight." Eddie glances at Steve, who looks as confused as you feel, “You wanna join us?"

You shoot him an incredulous look, "This feels like a set up."

Eddie smirks, "Why's that? Can't three pals all go out for a drink together? I want my two best friends to get to know each other."

You narrow your eyes playfully, glancing at Steve who seems to have gotten with the program, all signs of confusion gone from his face, "I'm not sure I trust you." You huff, turning to Steve and nodding back at Eddie, "What if he's just setting us up so he can bail and I'm stuck with you all alone, Stevie?"

Eddie feigns offense, "Now why would I do that? Besides, even if I did, you're a big girl. I'm sure you could bully Steve into leaving you alone."

You smirk back at him, "Fine. But if you and Steve start getting all lovey-dovey, I'm bailing and leaving you to pay the tab."

Steve barks out a laugh, "Don’t worry about me, I can behave myself. Same can’t be said for Munson, he takes one look at the Harrington ass and loses all inhibitions.” 

“It is beautifully round.” Eddie admits in defeat, hand clinging to his own flat ass, a ridiculously deep frown etched onto his features.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face and stays firmly put as you exit the video store, every nerve in your body buzzing when Steve winks in your direction when you depart.

The black lace bodysuit you wear clings to your curves nicely, the nip of your waist accentuated by your mom jeans. Eddie had even wolf whistled when he saw you, which was his nerdy way of saying you looked really fucking good.

As you pull up to the strip, Eddie slows down to a stop outside what looks like a dive bar, "I'm gonna drop you off here and go 'round back to park up the van, 'kay sweetheart? Steve's already in there."

Your eyes narrow, "I don't trust you, Munson. This feels like a set up."

Eddie holds his hands up, "It's not, I promise. I just need to go park the van and-" he trails off, sighs and rolls his eyes, "I have to go make a deal super quick. Don't want you there for that, this guy is sketchy."

You huff out a sigh, understanding him completely, Eddie really was a good guy who wouldn't put you in harms way. He knew leaving you with Steve momentarily was safer than taking you with him to a deal, and you trusted his judgment. 

"Okay," you agree eventually, making to hop out of the van, "but I swear, Eddie, if you don't come back, I'm gonna be pissed. You'd better be dead." 

Eddie holds up his hand in a scouts honor as if he was ever in the scouts in he first place, and you roll your eyes as you shove the creaky van door open and jump out.

"I'll be back soon, kiss Steve for me, will you?" Eddie jokes, grinning maniacally.

You stick up the finger and slam the door shut deliberately, making the walk around the side of the van before he can say anything in return.

As you make your way inside the bar, your mind races. Nerves and excitement are almost getting the best of you. Steve was just so cute, Eddie knew exactly what he was doing by introducing you both. 

The place is surprisingly cosy, pool tables dimly lit by orange colored lights. It’s reminiscent of a bar from back home, all hard wood and walls covered in various pieces of movie and alcohol paraphernalia. There are people scattered here and there, in booths and at the bandits, playing games of darts and billiards.

Steve's sat at the bar on an old vintage barstool, side on to you. He's dressed in a tight black t-shirt, washed out Levi jeans clung to his muscular legs and a pair of Adidas trainers with green stripes on his feet. He looked relaxed, floppy hair falling into his eyes. 

You were a goner already. 

As you approach the bar, Steve must sense your presence, as he looks up with a grin, "Hey! Where's Eddie?"

"Parking up the van," you smile, taking the stool next to him and jumping up onto it, trying to ignore the way your tits bounce very obviously with the motion, "I wouldn't bother ordering him a drink yet, though. He's, uh, occupied."

Steve's mouth opens in an understanding 'ah'. It was no secret how Eddie made money, and you were sure Steve had to be used to this by now.

The bartender comes over and you order some fancy cocktail on the menu that consists of Coke, dark rum and cherry liqueur. It comes with a Maraschino cherry on top, and you can't hide the excitement on your face as you take your first sip.

Steve watches you with an amused grin, "You look like you're enjoying that drink."

"Oh, I absolutely am," you reply all too quickly, "a day of Eddie's shenanigans are enough to warrant a good drink." 

Steve leans in closer to you, his eyes flickering over your body none too subtly, the charm ramping up with every sip of his Bud, "I think we’ve spoken far too much about Eddie for now. Tell me a little about yourself, honey."

Honey. There's that damn nickname again, enough to make you melt in a puddle off your barstool. There was no denying that Harrington knew what he was doing.

You shrug, going for nonchalant as you lock eyes, "Nothing to tell, really. I work in a little coffee shop during the day, and at night I guess I'm still trying to figure things out."

Steve nods in understanding, "What kind of things?"

You take another sip of your drink, relishing in the way it buzzes through your body, "Where I fit in the world, I guess. What I wanna do with my life in the long term. I’ve been in a rut for a while."

"I get that. Working in a video store in my mid twenties wasn’t really the plan set out for me, either." Steve responds with a furrowed brow, brutally honest, "Has Eddie told you much about me?" 

You consider, "Not really. Just that you're a ladies man and you’re forever swiping the ‘hottest babes in Hawkins’ out from under him, but you know Eddie, he's a bit. Theatrical." 

Steve chuckles, a flush on his freckled cheeks, as he leans in closer to you, "Between you and me, he's not wrong. Just haven't found the one to settle down with yet." 

At the close proximity, you can really take in Steve. He's all tanned skin covered in gorgeous beauty marks, a strong neck with prominent veins, muscular arms but clearly on the softer side like he didn't take it too serious. He was like a Greek statue, his nose like it was carved from the same stone. 

You flush, taking another - albeit larger - sip of your drink, swirling the ice in the glass, "So, do you pick up all the chicks in Family Video?" 

Steve smirks, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "You recommend a chick flick to a girl and it's like a moth to a flame." 

You do laugh at that, rolling your eyes fondly and nudging his shoulder with your own, "That's how you knew what movie Eddie meant! Romcoms are your strong suit for flirting purposes?" 

Steve's hazel eyes run over your face softly, his soft, pink lips jutted out slightly, "Would it have worked on you, if Eddie wasn't there?" 

Your breath catches in your throat, caught off guard by Steve's question, if only momentarily. "Yeah, I think so. Y'know, if it was actually the movie I was looking for and not an excuse for Eddie to mortify me." 

Steve grins, big and wide at that. Your faces are so close together that if he leaned forward just a smidge more you could rub noses. At this distance, you find yourself being drawn into his orbit, nudging closer to him subconsciously.

"Guess Eddie's bailed on us, huh?" Steve chuckles, moving back a bit and looking at the clock above the bar, the time ticking past an hour with no sign of Eddie coming back, "Or maybe it was his plan all along?"

"He's a schemer." You hum, watching curiously as Steve flags down the bartender and orders you both another drink. You try not to panic about the lack of cash in your back pocket, hoping the drinks weren't too expensive.

As your conversation dies down, your eyes are drawn back to his neck. It's covered in an array of moles and freckles, and you find yourself becoming almost mesmerized by it as he swigs from his beer bottle.

His neck is strong and muscular, tendons protruding as he gulps down the warm beer. The dusting of week old stubble adds to the masculinity of it all. It's a beautiful feature, one that you can't help but stare at with hazy eyes, and the markings scattered across his skin just make it more attractive.

Without even realizing it, your hand lifts, drawn to the smooth skin on the right hand side. You trace your fingertips along a particular set of the moles, shaped like carved out fang bites, feeling the texture against the pads of your fingers.

Steve looks at you, his darkened eyes filled with curiosity and something else entirely. You can't help but blush as you realize what you've been doing, only to find your fingers continue to roam across the skin anyway.

"Is my neck really that fascinating?" He teases, a slight chuckle falling from his lips.

You laugh lightly, trying to play it cool as your fingertips slip from the stubble roughened skin, dancing across the open collar of his shirt playfully before falling back to your glass, "Maybe it's just a bit distracting."

Steve smirks, that look in his eyes causing your heart to rabbit in your chest, "You know, I could get used to having your hands on me."

The huskiness in his voice catches you off guard, and you subtly clench your thighs together, aware of the fluttering in your gut as he leans in closer. 

You roll your eyes playfully, trying to cover your blush by raising your cocktail glass to your lips, "You're such a flirt." 

Steve only shifts closer at that, his shoulder bumping yours gently, "And what if I am?" He asks, lips so close to your ear that you can feel his hot breath dampen the skin, "You're the one with your hands all over me, honey." 

Your breath catches in your throat, a hot spike of heady need and want coursing through your body. It's a momentary slip, one that Steve no doubt catches immediately, "I never said I wasn't enjoying it."

Your voice is barely above a whisper, Steve's close proximity somehow narrowing further as his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, "Trust me, honey. I know you're enjoying it, you've had those pretty thighs of yours clamped together for a moment now. Gotta relieve that ache, huh?"

You shiver visibly, goosebumps rising across your neck and down your arms, jolts of electricity coursing through your body. As if Steve can sense it, he lets his own - unfairly, painfully large, veiny - hand run over your thigh, just above the knee. He traces the curve of your thigh through your jeans, barely touching but it's enough to make you ache for more.

Two seconds or five minutes later, who knows, he pulls away from your ear. You gawk, unsubtle, as he takes a long sip of his drink as if nothing ever happened. He smacks his lips together, those hazel eyes landing on yours again, a playful smile on his lips, "Where were we again?" 

You try to play it cool, but your body is reacting to Steve, still reeling from the feeling of his touch all over you, "Uh. Um," you start, making yourself busy by tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "we were talking about our favorite movies, I think?"

Steve's face kind of screws up into a fake 'ah-hah!' as you blindly (and wrongly) fill in the blanks for him, seemingly completely unfazed by what just happened, "Right! You said your favorite of all time was Dirty Dancing, right?"

He’s making it up right before your eyes, playing along.  And it’s painfully unfortunate that he’s right without even trying, guessing your favorite movie right out the gate. It makes your brain go a little fuzzy. 

You take a deep breath, trying to focus on the conversation at hand. Even as Steve's own godforsaken hand continues to rest casually on your leg, his thumb running circles over your inner thigh, just above the knee, "Yeah, absolutely. Patrick Swayze, he's just swoonworthy."

You say it so casually, as if Steve himself didn't look like Swayze. More James Dalton than Johnny Castle, though. The hair, the tight black shirt, the jeans hugged perfectly to the swell of his ass and the curve of his muscular thighs. You had a type, clearly.

"Don't tell anyone, but Roadhouse is my favorite movie of all time." Steve grins, as if reading your thoughts from across the way, "Patrick Swayze, huh? Your type buff guys with a soft side?" 

"I would've thought me sticking around on this ‘date’ with you was enough of a giveaway on that front." You giggle, finally finding the courage to tip the last of your drink to your lips, swallowing it down in one fluid motion. You feel Steve's fingers dig into the meat of your leg, feel his eyes on you as you pretend not to notice.

You know you should move his hand away, but you can't bring yourself to do it. The feeling of his touch more intoxicating than the rum-filled drink you'd found yourself nursing, the hot feeling in your gut growing and growing the higher Steve's hand goes.  

"And here I was, thinking it was just my natural charm keeping you stuck in that seat." Steve says with a chuckle, running circles around your inner thigh like it's not making your insides squirm.

You roll your eyes, unable to hide your tipsy smile. There's just something about Steve, something so naturally charming that draws you in - he's confident without it being too much, and the way a stormy look swarms in his hazel eyes doesn't help with the physical pull you feel towards him.

The more he touches you, the more he looks at you, the more distracted you are by him. The alcohol coursing through your veins does nothing but amplify the warmth spreading through your body at his heavy petting.

He's beautiful, and you're blissfully comfortable in his presence, comfortable enough that the lull in conversation isn't even awkward. You look at each other through heavy lids, find yourself smacking your glossed lips together prettily, leaning your chin on your palm, elbow on the bar.

Finally, you speak, "So, do you always put these moves on your customers like this? Or am I special?" You drawl, teasing.

Steve leans in, his hand skating higher up your thigh, so close to the warm heat between your legs that you squirm a little, "Only the ones who make the moves first. You started this, remember?" 

Your heart rate kicks up a little more, and for a moment you forget where you are. All you can think about is Steve's wandering hand, the bedroom eyes he's giving you like he wants to devour you in public. You want nothing more than for him to pull you in for a kiss, to lose your inhibition and get lost in the heat of the moment. 

Somebody across the room begins hollering, crashing you back to reality, and it's a sobering reminder that there are dozens of people in this bar, who can see exactly what's happening right now. You clear your throat, shuffling back on your barstool a little, regretfully.

Steve's face falls, the flirty smirk gone in an instant, his hand dropping back down to your knee. You want to throw a tantrum like a little kid, tell him that it's not him, that you want it. Want whatever he's offering, just not here.

"We should maybe call it a night?" You offer, nodding towards the door, "I've probably gotta catch the bus back home, I know it leaves soon, so..."

You trail off and Steve nods, the disappointed look still on his face but a charming smirk gracing it once again, "Of course, I'll walk you over to the stop." 

Steve pays the tab like it's nothing, throwing bills and a nice tip on the bar for the guy who served you. As you leave the bar and walk out into the cool night air, it hits you fast just how much the drinks have gone to your head. 

"Hey, you okay?" Steve asks gently, a strong arm snaking around your waist. "My apartment isn't far from here, we can walk back there and sober up a bit? I can drive you home in a few hours." 

If it weren't for the fact you knew Steve, Eddie knew Steve, and he was known for being a decent guy despite his reputation, you'd have shot it down in a heartbeat. But, the opportunity to be in his presence a little longer was something you didn't want to give up.

And, honestly, you didn’t know which bus would get you back anywhere close to the trailer park, not knowing Hawkins from Adam. This was easily the safest option. 

You look up at him, snuggling into him on instinct, "Are you sure? I don't mind catching the bus, Steve. I'm a big girl, I can look after myself."

Steve beams at that, teeth shining as he looks down at you, his eyes fixed on yours, "You might be able to, but I wanna look after you tonight. And besides, I don't think either of us are ready for this to be over yet."

You hide your small laugh into his shoulder, unable to ignore the strong smell of cedarwood and bergamot wafting from his shirt, intoxicating in its own right. The giddy feeling that erupts in you is almost juvenile.

You walk down the streets quietly, taking in the pretty sunset that dims the strip in pretty pinks and oranges. There's a comfortable tension between you both, like you're both attempting to play it cool but the attraction is too strong to stop you from pulling into each other. He never once takes his hand off your waist, and that's a revelation all on its own.

Finally, you reach Steve's apartment, a cozy little bottom floor space. It's minimalistic, like a typical guy's apartment, but it feels homely. Smells like fresh laundry and the same aftershave you'd been smelling the entire walk over. 

Steve looks regretful as he untangles himself from you, throwing his keys down on a table at the front door, "Take a seat, honey. I'll go get you something to drink." 

It's all open planned, the entryway leading straight into the living room, where a simple leather sofa and matching lazy boy sit. You throw yourself down ungracefully on the sofa, tucking yourself into the corner with a leg pulled up under your opposite thigh. 

There's two pictures on a sideboard, one of Steve and Eddie with two women you don't recognize at what looked like an outdoor gig, amongst a crowd of concertgoers. Another with the Hellfire kids, who you wouldn't know if it weren't for Eddie. The lack of family pictures are telling, though you don't dwell on it.

"Lemonade okay?" Steve asks, a pitcher in hand and a few small cups in the other, "I mean, I do have whiskey and beer if you wanna keep the party going?" 

"Lemonade's great." Your voice is fond, unable to keep the smile off your face as Steve sets them down on the coffee table in front of you, looking so domestic it makes you ache.

Your eyes trail over the broad expanse of his back, his strong shoulders in that same tight tee, the way his moles and freckles even continue past the neckline. You wonder if he's covered completely, that same dull throb between your legs returning even as you sober up.

"Stop staring, you'll give me a complex." Steve drawls, not turning to look at you as he pours the cool lemonade into the glasses. You flush warm, averting your eyes. 

He throws himself down onto the sofa right next to you, body also tilted so that you're facing each other, though your legs touch, burning hot through layers of starchy denim.

"I'm sure plenty of girls have been caught staring at you over the years, Harrington." You counter eventually, mouth dry.

"None that looked quite as hungry for it as you do right now." Steve quips, that same flirty smirk on his lips as he hands you your drink, "I didn't say I didn't like it, though." 

Heat creeps up your neck, the need to take a drink intensifying. You do just that, sipping from the glass in your hand. 

Steve's a real handful, and the longer you spend in his presence, the less you know how to handle it. Your body reacting and taking over for your brain, any playful retorts dying in your throat.

"So," Steve starts, no doubt sensing your awkwardness, "tell me. How did you meet Eddie?" 

You pause for a moment, caught off guard by the question, "How did I meet Eddie?" You laugh a little, flippant, "Before he came to Hawkins to live with Wayne, he lived in my town. He came home last Christmas break and we met at a friend's party."

Steve raises an eyebrow, "A friend's party?"

You smile. "It's not a crazy story, just a guy we both knew at different times. We just clicked I guess, we have similar interests and he just has this way of making you feel comfortable and safe. I can see why you're friends, you're so alike in that way."

It's Steve’s turn to blush, a flush of pink spreading over his nose and cheeks cutely, "What a compliment. That's cool though, so you didn't know each other before he moved?" 

You shake your head, "Nah, he's a little older so we missed each other. But, our friend - Carter, told me this hilarious story about how he got kicked out of middle school that I've got to tell you..." 

You trail off, telling the story that Steve genuinely laughs at, this booming, goofy thing that is just so goddamn endearing. 

Steve listens intently, like he's genuinely interested. His gaze locked on yours, like he's trying to memorize every single thing you're saying. You don't miss his fond looks as you talk with your hands, gesturing wildly as you tell the story. 

And then, without warning, he leans in with a strong hand on the side of your neck, fingertips sliding into your hair. 

He gives you enough time to pull back, a moment to say no that you choose not to take. His lips brush yours, soft and tender at first until you're melting into his touch, deepening the kiss with a surge of your body. 

His hand almost engulfs your neck, thumb running gently over your trachea as your chest rolls into his, desperate to get closer. The light smacking sounds of wet lips making you light headed, your hand coming out to tug at the material of Steve's shirt to steady yourself.

Steve's tongue slithers out to swipe your bottom lip and you're a goner, climbing ungracefully into his lap, knocking him back against the sofa. He lets out a startled huff, both hands coming out to bracket your waist when you allow him entry into your mouth. 

It's raw, messy and a little bit gross. Steve tastes like beer and a tang of the lemonade he'd been sipping, a hint of something else under there, a heady cinnamon. It's intoxicating, more than the drinks you'd nursed in the bar, and you find your hips rolling down into his on instinct, desperate to show him how much you wanted him.

He grunts, hands rocking you and helping you along. He's not hard yet, not at all, but the way he's moving your body is clear enough that he's into it as your tongues slip back and forth. He pulls back a little, the kiss becoming light and you let him guide you.

"Sorry, I just," Steve looks up at you with wild eyes, hair fanned out around his face where he lies back against the sofa, "I couldn't help it. You're so kissable, y'know that?"

“Don’t say sorry,” you scold playfully, smirking down at him, “you have my permission to do what you want. Anything you want.”

His hand wanders over your breast teasingly, light touches that you can barely feel through the layers of bra and shirt over your taut nipple, enough to have you arching into the touch in a silent plea for more.

Steve chuckles, deep and mischievous, clearly enjoying how your body melts under the simplest of grazes. It’s clear as day that he doesn’t give one singular fuck as to how desperate you are, pleased and satisfied taking his time with you.

Your hands entangle in his thick chestnut hair, tugging roughly at the root until Steve is moaning, hand faltering to skate down your stomach. Landing on the button of your jeans, but not moving. 

“Steve.” You groan, impatient, “Don’t frustrate me or I’ll do it myself. Please?”

Steve tsk’s, his pearly whites gleaming in the low light as he smirks at your desperation, “You don’t like it slow?” 

You roll your eyes, tugging his hair again, using it as reins to grind down into him, the heat of your cunt enough to have him grunting quietly. “Slow is boring. Slow means careful. I don’t want you to be careful with me, Steve. Show me how desperate you can be, show me how desperate you are for me.” 

Steve’s eyes flash so dark they’re near black, the sweetness still lurking vanishing in an instant. He gives you one last squeeze to your ass before he’s using both hands to practically rip the button of your jeans, fingers slipping into the tight denim and beneath the satin of your panties. 

“I’ll show you, you impatient brat,” he grunts, fingertips sliding between your folds and his eyes roll back at the feeling, “like fucking velvet, honey. You’re so wet, how long you been like this for me?”

“Somewhere between entering the bar and you touching my thigh.” You breathe, crying out when his pointer and middle finger slide into you at once, a blissful stretch that takes your goddamn breath away. 

“So easy for it.” Steve coos, and it would be offensive if it weren’t for the way he looks at you with honey swirled irises, soft at the edges despite the bite of his words. 

The hand not preoccupied with your cunt grips for your throat, thumb pressing into your pulse point as Steve surges forward to capture your lips once again. It’s rough, intimate, the graze of Steve’s stubble rubbing your chin raw as he bullies his tongue into your mouth. 

Your brain short circuits, his tongue reducing you to a bumbling, sobbing mess as you grind down into his palm, clit catching and rubbing against the dry skin in the most painfully beautiful way. 

The air is thick with sexual tension, thicker than the strands of hair you pull and tug at, thicker than the outline of his cock that you can feel digging into the fat of your inner thigh. 

“That’s it,” Steve mumbles against your lips, the pads of his fingertips rubbing against that little bump on your frontal wall that has your hips jumping forward of their own accord, “don’t hold back, honey. Let me hear you fall apart for me.”

It’s domineering. He’s fully in control and you’re letting him as you rut against the palm of his hand, sweat coating your brow as you fuck your hips against him, desperate to reach the edge. 

The plushness of his lips kiss down your jaw, to your throat where he latches on and sucks his mark into your skin. Sure to be a beautiful purple bloom in the morning, a temporary reminder that he was there. You want to beg for more. 

So you do. 

“Mark me like I’m yours.” You cry, whimper, even. Your body runs hot, goosebumps erupting on your skin as your impending orgasm starts to build. 

You swear you feel the smirk against your flushed throat. Steve latches onto you again, this time lower down, wider. You pull his hair, sighing contentedly as he suckles, nibbles at your tender flesh to produce yet another mark. 

His hips jump up against yours, a momentary slip that makes you want to plead for his cock, your brain so fuzzy with the need to rut and fuck that you’re about to give up the orgasm you’re so close to getting. 

“You’re clenching so tight around my fingers, baby,” Steve moans, kissing soothingly over the thumping ache of a bruise he’s left on your neck, “you gonna cum for me?” 

The white hot flashes of want and hunger you feel prickle up your back only intensify with his words, the end in sight as you ride against the palm of his hand feverishly, your clit sliding beautifully over the flesh. 

Your orgasm rips through you like a fucking knife to the stomach, your fingers gripping and pulling Steve’s hair so tightly that his head snaps back with the sheer force. You sob wetly, riding his fingers with jerky hips as he fucks you through it, eyes bleary but focused enough to see the hungry way he looks at you falling apart for him, soaking your panties and his fingers in the process. 

“You needed that one, huh?” Steve coos, mocking you lightheartedly as his fingers deftly slip from inside of you. You try your best to ignore the way it makes you feel empty. 

You nod dumbly after a moment, the whooshing in your ears beginning to fade out. You collapse into his chest with a small, contented sigh.

It takes only a mere few seconds for you to get with the program once more, kissing tenderly at Steve’s mole flecked neck, burying in to nip with your teeth hesitantly. Your hips move like they have a mind of their own, grinding down into the incredibly prominent bulge that rests hard against his zipper.

He grunts, hips thrusting up into yours as you move in some sort of slow, aching rhythm. His wide hands practically engulf your waist, fingertips digging into soft, supple flesh to help you rock your tired body against his own. 

It feels so fucking good, your body reacting to his in a way that was genuinely concerning, the primal need to fuck and have him inside of you taking over any kind of inhibition you previously had. He feels big, thick and hot nestled between your folds through two layers of rough denim, and the desperation ramps up.

You whine, pathetic into his salty, sweat damp skin, “Need more. Need you inside me, Steve.”

Steve groans like he’s in pain, hips jerking up involuntarily like they have a mind of their own, knocking you both out of the rhythm, “You sound so pretty when you beg. I’ll take care of you, honey. Knock you dumb just like you need.”

The sound you make is so pathetic that you instantly bury your face tighter into his skin, fingernails biting at the back of his neck. Steve’s hands are under your ass in a second, gripping to your thighs as he flips you onto your back on the sofa, muscular thighs spreading your legs impossibly wide as he buries between them.

“You need these off.” He grunts, pulling at the baggy denim of your jeans with rough fingers. You barely have the coherency to lift your ass up to help him wriggle you out of the offending material, body practically limp after the bone melting orgasm he just gave you with practiced ease.

“This too?” He asks gently, reaching for your top. You nod, lifting yourself up so he can slip it over your head, leaving you in only your bra and panties. 

You don’t wait for him to ask before you’re unclasping your bra, pulling that off so that your tits are bared too. They look great, your best feature if you did say so yourself, so it wasn’t exactly a difficult decision to make. 

He marvels at you for a second too long, taking in the sight of your body laid out below him, and those stormy eyes of his look deeper yet again – he looks hungry. Instead of it making you self conscious, it only spurs you on.

You wrap your legs around his torso, thick thighs pulling him in until he’s losing his balance and having to lean one arm out against the arm of the sofa to brace himself over you. The gold of his chain dangles close to your mouth, cooling the plumpness of your bottom lip with every gentle sway. 

“Down, girl,” Steve scolds, though that cocky smirk still graces his features and makes him look so painfully hot it makes your pussy flutter, “I gotta go get a condom.” 

You scoff, rolling your eyes, “And risk ruining the moment? You’re clean, right?”

Steve nods, that cock-sure confidence faltering for a second, “Are you?”

You nod, biting at your bottom lip, “Haven’t done this for a while, big boy. You think you have the restraint to pull out in time?” 

Steve shudders visibly at your question, a heady whimper escaping his lips, “I can try my best, but no promises, honey. I felt how tight and soaked you were around my fingers, if you feel too good I’m not responsible for the consequences.”

You let out a shaky laugh, though it cuts off into a moan when Steve lifts himself up and away from your body for long enough to stretch his arms behind his neck, pulling his shirt off from the back of his head with one fluid movement. 

He’s a marvel. The moles and beauty marks extend the entire way down his torso, even below his belt line, arms sculpted beautifully and his tummy muscular yet still soft. He’s everything, your belly flutters looking at this fucking perfect man sat between your spread thighs like some sort of Greek marble statue.

“Holy. Wow.” Your mouth is dry, your hands having a mind of their own yet again – just like in the bar – and coming out to touch and squeeze the flesh of his torso. Steve smirks, like he knows what you’re so hung up about, arching into your touch. 

He allows you the seconds of indulgence before it’s back to business, his fingers making light work of his belt and jeans as he regrettably departs his space between your naked legs to push the material down his legs and away from your bodies. 

His dick is so heavy that even though it’s fully hard, it doesn’t slap against his tummy, hanging slightly forward with its own weight. He’s big. Alarmingly big. And did you mention thick? Really thick.

God. He was going to be a stretch.

Steve grins sheepishly, settling back between your legs hesitantly. He makes to speak, but you stop him in his tracks; 

“You’ve not gotta be gentle,” you reassure, reminding him of your words before he dipped his hands into your panties just minutes ago, “fuck me like you mean it.”

Steve groans, burying his face into your neck as he lines himself up with your cunt and pushes in with one fluid motion. It knocks the breath out of the both of you for a moment, and you whimper pitifully at the gorgeous, burning ache of him stretching you out to fit him perfectly. 

“Holy shit,” He breathes, panting into your neck, “so fucking tight for me, honey.” 

You preen at Steve’s words, arching into his torso and somehow pushing him in even deeper. He had no idea just how much it stroked your ego to hear those words, no idea that it turned your insides into goo to know you were doing so good for him before it even started.

He rolls his hips into yours, the wet heat of your cunt gripping him, and you pant like an animal in heat when the subtle movement causes the coarse hair nestled in his mons to catch onto your sensitive clit. 

Your hips wriggle a little after a moment, a sign to let him know it’s okay to move, and Steve takes that subtle movement and runs with it — pulling out only to slam back in again, knocking your body up the couch.

It’s maddening. Your body runs hot with want and desperation, insides molding to the shape of his – quite frankly, annoyingly big - dick with each thrust, driving you absolutely insane in the process. The cut head rubs against that damn spot each time, and you know he’s going to tip you over for a second time all too soon.

“Fuck.” You cry, hands coming up to bury in his mane of hair once again and tug him down, “Fucking — how does it feel to be Gods favorite?”

Steve grins, mischievous and lust bitten around the edges as he sinks into your cunt with a quickening pace, “Stroke my ego baby, I love it.”

“Don’t get cocky, Stevie. Or I’ll just shut my mouth.”

The grin turns salacious, a large hand coming out to wrap along the expanse of your throat, just resting and not pushing, thumb caressing the side of your neck soothingly, “Don’t you wanna be good for me, honey? Or are you bratting so that I’ll give you what you really crave?” 

You whimper involuntarily, and that's all the confirmation Steve needs to really drive into you. Your back arches so that your torsos flush together, and he snakes a hand beneath the curve to grip onto your waist from below. 

“Oh my God!” You moan, body jolting at the change of angle. You’re turned into a babbling mess, fingernails digging into each of Steve’s biceps as he fucks you deep, rough enough to leave a mind numbing sting that you swear you feel in your damn throat. 

He’s looking at you with this wild expression, eyes wide like he’s drinking you in, watching each emotion he evokes from you with his body, “That’s it, taking me so fucking good. You like being fucked like a whore, honey?”

You nod, knocked dumb, mouth hung open like a pliant slut, a constant steady stream of whines and shuddering gasps falling from parted lips with each deep slide of his cock inside of you.

“You trust me?” He whispers, lips hovering just mere centimeters from your own, and you nod again, going cross eyed. 

A drop of saliva hangs from Steve’s pursed lips, sliding down into your open mouth and onto your tongue. You cry out, pathetic and desperate as you swallow down the spit like it’s cool water on a hot summers day. 

Steve shudders against you, hips slamming into you as his thrusts become erratic. You pray his apartment is somewhat soundproof, for all you can hear is the wet slap of skin on skin mixed with dirty moaning and pitiful cries.

“You’re perfect,” Steve mutters, sloppily kissing your lips before moving back to your jaw, worrying the flesh between his teeth like he can’t help it, “a fucking dream, honey. See how you’re ruining me?” 

You don’t get a chance to reply before he’s dropping your body back onto the sofa, his thumb swiping over your clit in a desperate attempt to get you there before he does.

It’s all too much. Your body runs hot, static surging up your back, hot in your gut as he works you over. You have to clench your eyes shut, painfully aware of his sculpted body gleaming with sweat, the swivel of his hips as his cock buries deep into you. 

Your second orgasm hits you just as hard as your first, your legs shaking and cunt clenching sporadically as it washes over you like a fiery inferno, gasps and wet cries of Steve’s name and other incoherent nonsense spewing from your lips. 

“Oh shit, holy fuck, baby you feel so – so good, god I’m gonna cum,” Steve shallowly fucks into you, jerky and desperate, “where do you want me to– fuck!” 

You open your eyes within enough time to see Steve pull out of you, sloppily tugging at his cock two, three times before he’s spilling all over your stomach. Hot spurts of it cover you from your belly button the whole way to your chest, and you swear you’ve never seen a man cum so much in your damn life.

It’s so hot. Being branded by ropes of cooling semen, sparking over finger bitten skin and bruises made by warm and heavy lips. 

There’s a long second afterwards, where Steve sags heavily against the couch as his dick softens, both of you panting and trying to catch a breath. 

“I’ll be right back,” Steve’s voice shocks you out of the contented post-orgasm haze, his hand squeezing your inner thigh gently as he gets up from where he’s perched, off in search of what you don’t know.

He reappears with a wet washcloth, and it’s all very domesticated as he wipes you down gently with the cool towel, fingers gentle against your sore skin in a stark contrast to just moments earlier.

You’re both completely naked still. This should be strange, but it doesn’t feel that way. Steve makes you feel painfully at ease and that’s something your orgasm fogged brain can’t comprehend or bear to think about right now.

“This might be a bit presumptuous, but,” Steve hums, inspecting your body to make sure he’s cleaned you down good enough for his liking, smirking as you squirm under his gaze, “do you wanna stay the night? It’s really late and, uh, well I don’t wanna kick you out after that. It was a bit intense.”

Your eyes are bleary. Fuck. He’s going to ruin you for anybody else.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Your voice is soft, quiet as you rise from the soiled sofa to sit up properly, “You’ll need to call Eddie, let him know I’m okay.”

“I think he knows you’re all good,” Steve grins sheepishly, helping you to your feet and tugging you close as soon as you’re up, “I might’ve called him when I was in the kitchen earlier, let him know you were here to sober up.” 

You roll your eyes with a small smile, leaning into him with a heavy sigh, “You better have a comfy bed.”

“The comfiest.” Steve confirms, dragging you gently towards the door, “I also have a really big shower, and really good water pressure, so…” 

“Oh my God, I’m never leaving.” You mumble into his chest, giggling playfully when he lifts you up ever so slightly with his muscular arms and knocks the bedroom door shut behind you. 

part 2?

[erwinsvow]

part two of this

you’re still wondering how you ended up like this—rafe’s arm around your shoulder, a cup of water in your hand because he’d decided for you that you’d had enough alcohol tonight, standing in a big circle with his friends. you knew bits and pieces about rafe, some comments your now ex-boyfriend would make in passing—always bad things—and the fact that he was a regular at these parties for more than one reason. but standing next to rafe, with him acting like you belong to him, was something you could have never expected. 

his friends look at you a little curiously, but they’re still nice. rafe stares down anyone who he catches looking at your low hemline or exposed chest. he’s making his rounds to sell yayo, and you accompany him, still just tipsy enough to have lowered your inhibitions and not catch on to the mean way some of the girls look at you.

“wha’s yayo?” you question, looking up at rafe again, like you’ve been doing all night. he’s undeniably handsome, but it seems even more so when he’s being so nice to you like this.

“nothin’ you need to know about, kid,” is all he says in response, guiding your water cup to your mouth again and tipping it back a little so you drink. a little bit spills down the side of your mouth and he wipes it away with his thumb. 

“can i try some?” he laughs, handing over another tiny bag to a boy with a handshake and pocketing the money, and then guides you away, so it’s just the two of you.

“not yet.” you let out a whine—it must be fun if everyone at the bonfire is chasing him around for some.

“why not?”

“‘cause cheap beer is too much for you. now stop askin’ and help me find this stupid boyfriend of yours.”

“ex-boyfriend,” you correct, immediately. rafe looks pleased when you say that, making you smile even wider, if not a little dopey.

“excuse me, that’s right. ex-boyfriend. where's he at?” 

you don’t actually care about finding him anymore—you’re having a lot of fun with rafe like this. but you get into your head a little bit, thinking rafe is only doing this to make him jealous, and then he’ll leave to spend time with some other girl. you hold on a little tighter to his arm, looking up with another pout.

“maybe this way,” you say, guiding him in the exact opposite direction of where your ex was last. “maybe those people want the yayo. they seem friendly.” rafe laughs again, which makes you beam. he does sell to the partygoers you pointed out to him, they open the little baggie and start snorting right infront of him—and you. you watch intently, and when they ask rafe if he wants a bump, he refuses.

“not today. gotta stay sharp for my girl.” 

you’re starting to think you don’t need any drugs, if something as simple as rafe calling you his girl makes you feel so deliriously happy. you’re buzzing from your own personal high until you hear a voice call your name, and you don’t turn until rafe does, the arm around your shoulder gravitating down to your waist, holding on tightly. 

the beer and rafe and everything else in the air still has you pretty hazy—you don’t hear anything other than your ex asking you what the hell you’re doing, and rafe answering for you. it doesn’t take long for him to notice the little baggies of white powder on the table behind you two, the possessive way rafe keeps his hands on you, and the fact that rafe looks as angry as anyone’s ever seen him, before they break out in punches and curse words. 

you’re drunk enough to want to help rafe, but one of his friends holds you back, tells you to leave it and that rafe will win anyways. you watch him throw punches at your ex but the second he takes a punch, you can’t watch anymore. 

rafe does win, in the end. your ex gets dragged away by his friends, and you’re sure there’s red everywhere. when rafe finds you again, he spits out some blood and wipes his mouth. you stare at him afraid and unsure, thinking that you’re the last person he wants to see now, the one that got him into a fist-fight. you bite your cheek, playing with your hands and staring down at your shoes again, until rafe comes up and guides you to his truck. the parking lot is clearing out, and you sit in his passenger seat fiddling with the hem of your dress while he drives you back home. 

you don’t speak until he parks infront of your house.

“i-i’m so sorry, rafe, really. i didn’t want that to happen. i’m really sorry.” everything feels more clear in his car, moonlight piercing through and shining on the two of you. it was stupid to do any of that—stupid to get rafe involved and stupider still to get him hurt.

“why’re you sorry? i threw the first punch.”

“you did?”

“you didn’t see?” he questions, and you want to hide your face in your hands.

“no, i-uh, i couldn’t watch, your friend took me away. uhm, kelce.” he laughs, to your surprise.

“don’t lose any sleep over it, kid. didn’t like the way he was talkin’ about you.”

“really?” you ask, and you hate how hopeful your voice sounds. you like that he cares, you hope he really does care.

“yeah.” you can’t hold it back any longer, leaning towards him and giving him a big kiss on his cheek. 

“thank you rafe,” you say quietly, biting your lip, hoping you didn’t misunderstand him.

“yeah, kid, whatever. get inside.” he leans over you to open the passenger side door for you, before returning to his position and staring at you from his seat. just as you start to move, he grabs your wrist, making you turn to look. “y’not gonna like what happens if i ever see you with him again. got it?”

you look at him like a deer caught in headlights, eyes big and wide, lips parted. you nod.

“got it.”

“good night, kid.”

[tumblemumbler]

Can’t stop thinking today about that scene where Scully plays with Mulder’s tie, her little flirtations that we hadn’t gotten to see before (though Mulder is flirting freely from day 1). Thinking about how in Three of a Kind the drug that lowers her inhibitions shows us (imo) that Scully knows how hot she is, that she could get all the guys if she flirts a little. Which means for 6 fucking seasons she’s just holding back on Mulder.

Did she have a line ready after that little bbq sauce moment? You fucking bet. Did she have a comeback for him after his little “I’m suddenly very turned on right now” after her WWII plane identification? Hell yeah she does. When he asks if his boyish agility is turning her on? Ohhh abso-fucking-lutely.

But she holds it in. As all the hot professional women did at that time. Can you imagine, after they finally start sleeping together, what that was like for Mulder? He’s already in love with her and then it turns out she’s a total flirt just like him? Amazing.

[deeppenguinstudent]

I don't care. I will ALWAYS defend Thea muldani. You guys talk about the age range between Kevin and Thea, which is so dumb because Kevin was 18 and Thea was 21. That is basically Jerejean's age range (22 and 19), which is 3 YEARS. And I don't see anyone talking about Jeanne's age range? (19 and 24).

To the people saying that got mad that she said, "Are you sure ur not up to ur old tricks again?" literally just what? Please, please read her wiki because the reason she said that was because she thought tetsuji was the one who beat him up, NOT riko.

She was the ONLY one so far that even questioned riko's authority and acknowledged he was a bastard (somewhat). She's not fucking blinded by the Nest. She's JUST Exy obsessed like Kevin!!

Also let's talk about this?

The rumours had gotten so bad that both the master and Kevin also believed Riko's words? How the hell was Thea supposed to know anything? She was a victim as well and it just annoys me so much when people use this to just completely stain her character and make her a huge bitch. She's literally a dark skinned woman. Even tetsuji told her that she has to work twice as hard because people wouldn't take her seriously. If she even had an inkling of an idea knowing what they did to him, she would fuck them up

Also the reason why no one batted their eyes was because the Ravens fucking eachother is completely normal. It's some sort of screwed up thing that's been going on for generations, even before Riko and Kevin had joined Evermore.

To the people who say Thea does not care about Jean I will literally chew your lungs BECAUSE HAVE WE BEEN READING THE SAME BOOK.

Do you guys not realise how close Jean and Thea truly were? Thea and Kevin were the only two that Jean actually had a good relationship with in the Nest. Just look at the text!! Thea is one of Jean's weaknesses because he trusts her so much, and we know that Jean always blurts out shit he's not supposed to when he's beside people he really trusts (Neil, Jeremy, Kevin)

Her little parisian duckling! He literally followed her everywhere 🙁🙁 Gosh they mean so much to me. (Also, the reference to Elodie's duck dress and Thea's way of calling him?)

Last bit. I just find their relationship is just watered down SOOOO much because people hate Thea for unconventional reasons. You can dislike her character for sure, but I feel like a lot of people have so many misconceptions about her so I just wanted to clear it up!!

Please Nora give us more Thea and Jean in TSC2 😔😔😔

Edit: Sexual grooming is the action or behavior used to establish an emotional connection with a minor under the age of consent and sometimes the child's family to lower the child's inhibitions with the objective of sexual abuse. This is the definition of grooming btw and it's confirmed that Thea dated two other people when Kevin was a minor and didn't think of him like that until he was a freshman in college ie 18 years old?? It's completely different because she wasn't even pursuing him at all??

[yukidragon]

Sunny Day Jack - Drunk Headcanons

First ramble of the new year. Whoo! I was considering what would be fitting, then I wound up thinking about all the drinking that happens at New Years’ parties and figured, why not go with some drunken headcanons?

Content warning: this post contains talk of drinking, negative experiences with drinking, being drunk, and maybe some smut as well.

Talking about drunk headcanons also gives me the excuse to break out the drunk Jack art drawn by the ever awesome Sauce, since it’s very relevant. Credit as always goes to them for their amazing work and for being cool with me using their art in my rambles about the awesome characters they’ve created.

Isn’t Jack such a cute drunk? Funny how he’s only drunk when MC is though… possibly. After all, pictures like these don’t technically count as canon unless they’re in the game or on one of the official Sunny Day Jack pages, which you can find conveniently listed here.

Speaking of, why not consider supporting the SnaccPop Studios Patreon? If you sign up, you’ll get to see all sorts of exclusive pieces of art and sneak peeks at the lore, as well as amazing audio dramas. It’s well worth joining, in my humble opinion. Just remember to please not share anything privately posted on the patreon. Reposting paid content only hurts the team.

Anyway, back to the topic of drunk Jack, and specifically the teaser art by Sauce that may or may not be canon still.

I’ve talked about this picture before, particularly what it suggests for Jack’s powers, how it probably means he can be influenced by MC’s hormones, and how much he might be affected by MC’s state of being and vice-versa. To summarize, I believe that Jack and MC can sense how the other is feeling, both physically and emotionally, but it’s not quite as strong as the other is experiencing it, and it can be blocked out or minimized. I’ve alluded to it in Sunshine in Hell, as well as some of my short stories, especially the one where Alice is in a lot of pain.

So, as this picture suggests, if MC gets drunk, Jack does too. It makes me wonder though if he broke character and drank alcohol, he could be the one to get both of them drunk instead? The possibilities of these implications, canon to the game or not, are quite intriguing.

Of course, we can’t talk about drunk headcanons without considering what kind of drunk Jack and the rest of the crew might be. As they say, drunk words are sober thoughts, and alcohol does lower inhibitions…

Naturally, it’s kind of dangerous for a yandere character to be drunk. Self-control would be lessened, if not thrown out the window entirely if he’s totally hammered. I think Jack would be a clingy sort of drunk, hanging off his sunshine, shamelessly needing their warmth and reassurance that they love him and need him just as badly. He’s also a possessive and protective drunk, not wanting anyone else near MC. He’d probably insist on carrying them around everywhere even while he’s stumbling, though it’d take one near fall for him to decide that sitting with them in his lap is the better option. He needs to keep them safe, keep them close.

If you think Jack can be clingy normally, he is like glue when drunk, or at least I think so. Even if he was dutifully staying home like MC wanted them, once the drinks hit him through their connection, he’s got to be with them, no matter where they are. Suddenly there’s a clown in the club or party checking to see if they’re okay and wanting to take them home, hanging off them like a big warm blanket while trying to convince them to go and keep them safe from anyone that might take advantage of them.

Once agreeing to leave, Jack would probably forget about any implications or issues that might arise from carrying MC in a crowd of people. Hopefully no one is sober enough to film anything that might complicate things when he’s whisking MC away off into the night. He’s certainly not in any state to really consider consequences.

Well, maybe if they’re lucky any such videos would be assumed to be hoaxes. There’s certainly no shortage of fake “ghost” videos online. Maybe Shaun could use it to promote an upcoming movie…

Of course, if the relationship between MC and Jack is rocky, his desperation is cranked up while drunk. He needs them so, so badly.

Worse, if MC is getting physical with someone else, showing them love instead of him… Jack might not be able to hold back his yandere impulses to make sure that no one steals his sunshine away. He’d certainly have a lot of work to do once sober to convince his sunshine that he was just protecting them from being taken advantage of while drunk, especially if things escalated to outright violence. The level of intoxication, and the intensity of the moment would likely decide how far things might spiral.

Of course, you know me and how much of a sucker I am for my OTP being happy, so let’s swing back around to the fluffier extreme. If MC and Jack are in a relationship, that’s when Jack is drunkenly telling them how much he loves them, and that they should just go home together. There’s not even a token resistance to hold back his true feelings for them. He’s already got them whisked up in his arms, kissing and murmuring sweet words of love. MC is going to have a pretty hard time talking Jack into letting them stay, especially when they’d be more drunk than he is.

Naturally, the type of drunk MC becomes would affect things. Since there are way too many variables there, let’s use that as a segue to how my MC Alice is like when drunk. She’s not the biggest fan of alcohol, disliking beer, and only drinking sweet flavored mixed drinks socially before the breakup with Ian. Even then, it was rare that she got drunk at all.

After the breakup, the idea of drinking scares Alice, especially to the point of being drunk. She almost died after all. As such, the only way she’s getting sloshed in the present day is if she’s unaware that what she’s consuming has alcohol in it until it’s too late.

It’s kind of a shame, as Alice is a giggly, affectionate drunk. She stops caring about people around them and just wants to cling to her partner, giggling between kisses, occasionally gnawing on them or licking them playfully and saying silly things. Ian got quite embarrassed by how overly affectionate she was the few times she got tipsy when they were out with friends, though he certainly enjoyed the attention.

Needless to say, when Alice got drunk after finding out Ian cheated, she was anything but giggly or affectionate. Though the less said about that the better for now. Let’s keep this to fun headcanons, shall we?

Alice is also affectionate to her friends when drunk, telling them that she loves them, giving big hugs and saying what she loves about them. It was very hard on Shaun’s heart the one time he was around when Alice was drunk. She glomped onto him and told him she loved him soooooooooooo much while giggling happily~!

Of course, it was cut into by Ian crying because he was also drunk and thus more sensitive to things, so Alice went over to reassure him that she loved him mostest of all. It was a hard night for Shaun to be the sober driver.

Jack would sadly not get to experience this side of Alice. At least, not under normal circumstances. Knowing she doesn’t drink and isn’t comfortable even drinking a little bit, the moment he felt her get drunk, his protective instincts would kick into overdrive. What if someone spiked her drink? What if they had awful intentions? Even if he found out it was an innocent mistake, probably even a mixup, he would still be very concerned about her.

Well… until Alice latches onto Jack, squeezing him tight in a big hug as she tells him that she loves him. Oh how his heart would feel ready to burst, especially if they’re not together yet at the time. He longed to hear those words from her for so long… it’s just a shame that she’s saying them while drunk. Still, you better believe that his tipsy butt is going to tell her he loves her too. That would send Alice into a fit of happy giggles as she snuggles into his chest, since, let’s face it, her guilty impulses are on full display and his chest has always felt so nice and soft to cuddle.

Jack would be struggling to hold himself back and retain some sense of sobriety, to not ruin things, but it’s so hard when Alice is being so affectionate with him. Yet, he worries that her love for him isn’t the same as the love he feels for her. This is especially true if she was hugging and loving on other friends when he showed up.

Of course, even while drunk, Alice wouldn’t be open to physical contact with just anybody, only those she trusts. Being touched by someone she doesn’t know/trust would result in her fleeing to her nearest trusted friend/loved one to hide behind them, maybe even insisting they protect herrrr, and telling the person who tried to touch her to go away! Shoo! Shoo!

Naturally, if Alice was drunk while she and Jack were a couple, it would be a very strange sight for anyone else there to see her cuddling up to thin air, kissing, licking, gnawing, etc. It’d be even more outrageous to see her scooped up into the air! Hopefully Shaun isn’t there to see it and have his heart broken further. Though if he was around while Alice was drunk, and he was still sober, he would be getting her to drink water and getting her out of there since he knows she doesn’t want to drink alcohol anymore. So he’d be stepping in to help her out until Jack swooped in to steal Alice away from him… again.

Speaking of Shaun, he strikes me as a giggly drunk as well. Though he turns it more into a performance. He’s talking about stories he knows to anyone who will listen. Or anyone who is not listening, since he’d be drunk off his butt. I’m talking grand gestures, booming voice, passion thrown into it as he cries over touching moments in a movie he saw, or what he was directing. Oh, his actors killed it in the beach scene! He’ll tell you all about it, then get interrupted by a different thought halfway through the story, probably something he thinks will be a good idea for another film that he has to scribble onto a napkin. Of course, it becomes a weird scrawl that’s barely legible and makes no sense, but it was certainly exciting to him in the moment!

Of course, Shaun enjoys a good buzz. It makes him want to purr, so it’s a good tell for when he’s getting tipsy. He’s very responsible when he’s the designated sober person, but when he’s ready to cut loose, he’s a tomcat ready to play!

While Shaun is a more bubbly and fun drunk, I think that Ian is the opposite. When he has a nice buzz, he feels pretty good, but when it goes too far and he starts getting drunk… that’s when everything goes downhill. This cropped picture drawn by Sauce makes me think that when Ian gets drunk, that’s when his guilt and self-loathing hits him hard.

Poor guy needs therapy. Also, if you want to see the full picture, which is very NSFW, check it out over on Sauce’s twitter. While you’re there, send them some love for all their amazing art and characters!

I think Ian needs constant reassurance while drunk, especially from his partner. He clings to MC and feels lonely even if they’re a foot away from him. He cries at the drop of a hat, even for silly things like how tragic that is that snakes don’t have legs. Why don't they have legs? It's unfair! He’s going to be needing help not to get dehydrated from all the crying and the alcohol, and his hangover the next day is a bitch.

Needless to say, when Ian and Alice were drunk together, it was a very mushy scene. Ian would be down on himself, then Alice would smoosh his cheeks and tell him to listen to her because he is a prince. Prince Charming! No one else is better. That’d get the waterworks going, and he’d cling to her, crying. She would then start kissing his tears away.

I figure this too also happened when Shaun was around because I’m very mean with the guy and his unrequited crush. Sorry, Shaun, but it’s just too much fun teasing you, haha. Don’t worry though, he’s going to find his own happy ending in Sunshine in Hell with a partner or two who love him more than anything else in the world. Eventually.

On that note, let’s move on to the final love interest, Nick. Nick strikes me as someone who is very smooth when tipsy, but an absolute mess when sloshed. The filter is gone. He’s got opinions, and by God is he going to give them, even if they don’t really make sense. He especially has strong opinions about bad BDSM. That popular book series they made a movie about called, what was it again, 500 shades of fucked up or something? That is not BDSM. That’s abuse pretending to be BDSM. Do you have any idea what that mess has done to the BDSM community and how many people have done stupid things because of it? And don’t get him started on what an awful idea it is to tie someone up with rope from a hardware store of all places!

I see Nick as the type to start recording himself once his inhibitions are dropped. The people need to know! His thoughts have to get out there! His followers need to know the truth! This is why he makes sure that he has to put in several passwords before he can actually upload anything. He learned his lesson that he can’t trust drunk Nick with his socials the hard way. The fans are still making memes and using clips out of context from that embarrassing old video. At least he bounced back from it by joking about it even if inside he’s still dying of mortification.

Speaking of a drunk with complaints, I had the image of Barry really unloading all his grievances when he’s drunk. Fortunately, he knows better than to get sloshed with any of his employees, but if he did, they’d have a hard time escaping from him insisting that he knows what’s wrong with the service industry and customers and how the hell did his latest marketing gimmick fail?! Can’t they see how cute the new mascot is? He paid way too much to the graphic designer! Do you know what artists charge nowadays? It’s highway robbery!

Since we’re going into employees of Yogurtopia, why don’t I touch real quick on the other people on staff who I expanded upon a little in my earliest headcanon posts? Things have changed since then of course, such as the boss having an actual name now. Needless to say, I’m not going with what I came up with for that post, but let’s do a little rapid fire mode with the rest of the employees I want to use for Sunshine in Hell.

Carol is a flirty drunk, which is a big problem if she’s actually in a committed relationship at the time and the person she’s flirting with isn’t her partner. Though I’m sure she’d give her partner permission ahead of time to have sloppy drunken makeouts and sex with her.

Liz isn’t really a drinker so much as a stoner. Though if drunk they would be doodling on napkins and finding the ceiling tiles fascinating.

Susan is underage and isn’t much for breaking the rules, so it’ll be a few years yet before she’d have to worry about how she’d be as a drunk.

I know I haven’t touched on these characters a lot, but I figured why not expand on them when I can, even in small ways. If nothing else, it should make it easier for me to come up with more ideas of what parts they could play in the bigger picture of Sunshine in Hell.

Speaking of my OCs, why don’t I touch on the rest of the King family while I’m at it?

Mama Lycoris enjoys herself a nice glass of wine with good company, most notably her husband, whose name is still undecided. (I’ve narrowed it down to Eden, Seb, Luan, Yuri, or Heliotrope. Picking character names is hard sometimes.) It’s rare for her to get drunk, but when she does, she seeks out her husband, even if she just lost track of him for being out of sight. She’s the type to do the meme where she’s crying while texting them that she misses them while he was just in the bathroom. Once she finds them, she’s crawling in his lap telling them how much she loves him~

Papa King usually is the sober one at a party, embarrassed by his wife loving on them when she’s tipsy. Sometimes Lycoris pretends to be tipsy just to get him flustered. They do occasionally have a glass for a special occasion, like toasting at his anniversary or a special holiday. When drunk, they’re a sleepy sort of drunk, pretty out of it and just off in his own little happy world. They haven’t yet been drunk before though, or even gotten tipsy, as he drinks very responsibly.

Barbie isn’t one for drinking, even socially. Though that’s probably not surprising considering she’s not a very social person. If she did get drunk though, she’d be a mean drunk, eyeballing anyone who looks at her funny and ready to jump into any excuse to fight. It’s probably a good thing she doesn’t drink!

Though, I suppose if Barbie was drunk around Bo, she’ll probably let her dom side out more, ordering him around and getting a bit rough with him. Good thing Bo is a big strong alpha and can’t get drunk due to being an AI, so he’ll be able to take care of his puppy even when she’s gone a bit feral due to alcohol.

Coraline also doesn’t drink, but that’s because she can’t due to medical reasons. It interferes with her prescription medications, so it’s probably best if she sticks with non-alcoholic beverages. If she did get drunk, however, she would probably be similar to her father, being off in her own little world, looking at things as if they were fascinating. She would probably be very keenly interested in holding Elias’ head and examining his neck stump up close, which I’m sure her poor groom wouldn’t quite be comfortable with. He would have to make sure to redirect her focus elsewhere until she sobered up.

Of course, I can’t just end things there. I haven’t gushed nearly enough about Jack and Alice having some drunk shenanigans in a more specific sort of scenario. It might turn into some writing, or it might not, but it’s my post, and I can ramble on longer about my OTP if I want to.

As I said earlier, Jack would be very concerned upon noticing that he’s starting to get tipsy. At first he would probably be confused as to how lightheaded he is, until he realizes that it’s because of his sunshine’s influence. The immediate order of business after that is to find Alice and check to see if she’s okay. With lower inhibitions, it would be hard for him not to worry that someone spiked her drink or something.

While someone spiking Alice’s drink would make for some interesting drama, and a target for Jack to go yandere on for taking advantage of his sunshine… I think I’ll stick with something more innocent for this post and say that there was a mixup with her drink or Alice was unaware something someone brought at the party’s potluck had a high alcohol content until it was too late.

Though if y’all want me to chase that darker and more dramatic plot bunny of Alice getting her drink spiked by some unscrupulous character, and Jack has to save her, do let me know~ ;3

Back to the lighter scenario. While it is intriguing to imagine how torn Jack would be if Alice is loving on him while they’re not together, and she means tells him she loves him in a clearly platonic way, which wrenches his heart… At the moment, I’m more drawn to how much of a cock block it’d be for him if Alice was getting frisky with her affection and turning Jack on, forcing him to hold back his urges and stay responsible even though what he wants to do is take her and fill her with his love until her legs are too wobbly to allow her to stand anymore. He might be tipsy too, but she’s outright drunk, and he’s not going to take advantage of his sunshine in an inebriated state!

Of course, Jack’s first order of business is to get Alice home. It doesn’t matter if they’re in the middle of a party full of people, he’s carrying his sunshine home. Alice doesn’t protest being scooped up by her boyfriend, just giggling in delight before peppering his cheek and neck with kisses now that she’s in range. She also makes sure to tell Jack how she just loves him so, so, so, so, soooooo much~!

Jack does try to be discreet in getting Alice away from the party. He might be pretty tipsy, and his steps a little unsteady, but he needs to protect his sunshine. He needs to take care of her, be responsible. It’s what he’s there for after all.

It’s just a little hard for Jack to focus on walking straight when Alice keeps nipping at his skin. Her giggling tickles his ear too, and it’s hard for him not to melt when she tells him she loves him and that he tastes so sweet.

Having a hardon would also make it difficult for Jack to focus on walking straight. Poor guy. Alice doesn’t think about what she’s doing as she keeps kissing, licking, and nibbling on him, her hands wandering and squeezing his chest despite him trying to gently redirect her attention. He needs her to stop, since he can’t focus, but at the same time he really wants her to continue.

The first order of business once they get back home is to make sure Alice sobers up with some water and food. By the time they’re home, Jack feels like he’s going to go crazy. Like her drunkenness affected him, his horniness affects her, and those playful affections become more lusty as her inhibitions are lowered and the idea of teasing Jack and making him feel good becomes more and more appealing. Eventually it gets to the point that she’s being much more blatant in her teasing, such as tracing his nipples through his shirt with her fingers. Maybe even copping a feel lower down when they’re at the apartment and teasing him about the bulge in his pants.

Needless to say, Jack would be having a very hard time holding himself back. It’d almost be a relief when Alice abruptly nods off due to the alcohol. Of course, he’d have to give himself some real relief, imagining what it would’ve been like if she had sobered up so they could continue. All the while, he’s also swearing to himself that in the morning - provided Alice wasn’t in pain from a hangover - he was going to pay her back for all the love and affection she showed him tonight in spades.

The next morning, Alice is indeed hungover, though not quite as bad as she would’ve been if Jack didn’t have her eat and drink something last night. Of course, Jack is kind and cheerful, endlessly gentle and supportive of her, giving her some painkillers and making her a nice, mild breakfast. She remembers what she did last night and is too embarrassed to talk about it, just thanking Jack for helping her get home.

Though past the embarrassment, fear would slowly build as Alice woke up more and it sunk in how easy it was for her to accidentally get drunk at the party. It was so easy for her to lose control… for something to happen… Jack picks up on her worries right away and reassures her that he’ll always be there to take care of her and keep her safe. He’ll always protect her and make sure nothing bad happens to her. He made sure she got home safely last night, after all.

Jack won’t ever let Alice suffer through anything as awful as the night Ian broke her heart ever again.

Some reassurance and cuddles goes a long way, and Alice is able to let go of her fear and embarrassment to just appreciate how much Jack cares for her and takes care of her, even when the unexpected happens. She melts into his soft and reassuring kisses that soon turn hot and steamy. Suddenly the breakfast dishes are off the table, and she’s the one getting eaten by her very pent up boyfriend.

You better believe that Jack planned to feed Alice then do the deed with her as soon as possible. The moment she shows that she’s receptive to his affection, he starts enacting all the naughty fantasies that he had while giving himself relief the night before, making sure that Alice is the one being driven crazy this time. He won’t rest until she’s begging for him to make love to her. Repeatedly.

Needless to say, if Alice has work that day, she’s missing it. Jack would’ve turned her phone off after sending a text that she’s sick, just in case. There’s no way Jack is letting Barry cockblock him again. Not after he spent a night getting blueballed by a too sexy sunshine that was too drunk to make love to.

Fortunately, in the light of day and fully sober enough to consent, Jack gets to enjoy every inch of Alice, as well as a nice memory of just how fun and affectionate she gets when her inhibitions are lowered. He also has a goal to strive for, to encourage his sunshine to feel freer with him like that when they’re both fully sober so that they can enjoy every second of their lovemaking.

Well, I think that’s a good place to wrap up these drunken headcanons for now. I hope you enjoyed the silliness. It seemed like a good way to start off the year, and it certainly would be a fun start of the new year for these two!

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur

[withacapitalp]

375 words: Eddie asks for Robin's blessing to ask Steve out :)

SAM This is everything I needed tonight and I am cacklinggggg. I hope you love this AND I JUST READ IT AND YOU SAID ASKING STEVE OUT WELL THIS IS TO PROPOSE SORRY FAM

“Eddie, why am I actually here?” Robin asked as they sat across from each other on the couch, each holding a mostly empty liquor glass. She was blinking more slowly than usual, and there was a warm fire deep in her bones that was happily spreading, making her mind hazy and her inhibitions slip away, “I mean you brought me to all our old bars, and you got me drunk, and now you’re just sitting here silent. Since when are you of all people quiet?” 

Truly, Robin could only think of one reason why Eddie would need to get her alone acting this weird, and she had no idea how she would react to that. 

“Robin, you’re the most important person in Steve’s life.” Eddie declared, clearly giving an already prepared speech, “No matter what, you are his person and he is yours. I know that and I respect it, which is why I’m asking for your blessing-” 

“Nope!” 

Oh. 

Apparently that was how she was going to react to this.

Robin slammed the rest of her drink, putting the glass down heavily on the coffee table and sitting up on her knees. She grabbed Eddie’s biceps, holding them tight and making sure that he was looking at her when she spoke. 

“He has been planning this proposal for six months, Munson, and I refuse to let you ruin that for him!” She almost shouted, cringing at her volume before lowering her voice, “And I know it’s stupid to tell you, and I know that probably ruins it too, but you can’t do it, Eddie, you just can’t.”

“Steve’s going to propose?” Eddie said in a hushed tone, his eyes shining as his lips curled up into a wide grin that overtook his whole face. 

Robin let him go and Eddie fell back against the couch cushions, burying his face in his hair and wiggling his whole body as he happily hummed. 

“Promise to let him do it when he’s ready?” Robin asked, holding out her pinkie. Eddie immediately shot his hand out, linking their pinkies and dragging Robin into a big squishy hug. 

“I do,” Eddie replied, both of them knowing he would be saying the same thing to their soulmate before too long. 

like this one? Send me an ask

[fandomfluffandfuck]

You know what I would loove to read from you? Pussy Steve (or pussy Bucky? 👀) and virginity/Innocence kink. Just pure smut of shy, inexperienced kitten getting their cunt pounded properly for the first time and cumming stupid. 🫶🏼

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

First, you probably would be interested in this previous fic rec I did for an ask

Second, I can't not think of this part of one of my evanstan drabbles that hinted at virginity kink because...

It's good. It's hot. It's, it's-- It reminds him, suddenly, guttingly, of whispered rumors of dirty, bad men told in private. Words pressed into ears, raising goosebumps, hidden behind cupped hands. Gossip that drips down your spine and pools inside you, wrong but... helplessly intriguing at the same time. Intoxicating. A fly caught in a honey trap. He feels like a dirty, bad man taking--thieving--some poor lady's worn panties and smothering himself in them, burying his face in the tiny, pretty, white-cotton underpants and fantasizing about her body, not her clothes. Picturing, filthily, how sweet and sensitive she'd be. How she'd moan and squeal and take it in a tight fit, pinned down. And as horrifyingly arousing as the nasty, vile comparison is--appealing only with his inhibitions lowered to the fucking ground, stupidly turned on and horny, not in his right state of mind--he can't quit. And, further, he makes it worse. He makes the comparison all the more real as he tilts his head to the head, thrashing side to side for a helpless, breathless moment before settling and pressing his blushing, burning face into Sebastian's pillow. He shamelessly inhales a chestful of his scent and leans that much more into it. He doesn't just rut against Sebastian's shirt as if it's a pillow conveniently held between his legs then. No. It's even more crude. Worse. He wraps Sebastian's worn shirt around his cock and defiles it.

Yeah 🥴🥴

And third... here's pussy Buck losing his virginity (which, again, like in that linked ask for recs, isn't real and doesn't mean shit):

When Bucky imagined losing his virginity, it was primarily a passing idea in the deep private space of his horny, lonely high school brain. But, he was a realist, even back then--and, not to mention, gay--so it wasn't the fantasy of white sheets, red rose petals, and fragrant candles to ward off the total darkness of having the lights off with a long-term boyfriend, ideally supposedly even good-Christian husband. He didn't imagine it slow and good, he imagined it fast and bad.

And he imagined it that way because he imagined it, again and again, with his crush, one of the jocks on the football team he pinned stupidly after who, really, seemed to be a jerk to all the girls he made out with at lame, underage drinking parties that cops would look the other way about 'cause their kid was amongst 'em and then, somehow, he would forget about who that Friday night girl was by Monday. But... he was just so fucking guh.

That jock, just a fucking pretty man who looked so good rolling around in the field, muddy and streaked with grass stains and sweat, pulling up the bottom of his jersey to wipe the drool across his chin from his mouthguard, flashing a strip of taut abs and the faintest trail of hair leading south where Bucky wanted to get. Shamefully, even if he didn't think it would be good. He just wanted.

But.

It didn't happen in high school. Which was probably a good thing, considering how progressive his town was.

It didn't happen in freshman year of college, either, even though Bucky's fantasies took on a whole new life, especially the summer before arriving, thinking about how he was surrounded by so many different men in his dorms and would be showering with them and--

It turns out, college dorms are fucking gross.

So. Not there.

And, slowly, as he slogged through college, Bucky stopped imagining it. It would happen when it would happen, there was no point rushing it or torturing himself by imagining it at every turn. Just enjoy the ride, he told himself, don't get impatient. He kissed boys men, made out, cuddled, and did some over-the-clothes shit in cars and shitty college apartments, but, it just didn't progress all the way.

So, all in all, Bucky is fucking blindsided when it does happen. He hasn't really sat down and thought about losing his virginity in... a long time. He especially hasn't imagined it happening with a hot, older PhD student. But. It does. It happens with Steve Rogers, a PhD student when Bucky's a term or two away from getting his Bachelor's. And, most shockingly, it's good--

"Ahh, ohmygod, aH-!" Bucky moans underneath the man on top of him, sweaty and heavy and pressing him bodily into the mattress, which is a good thing because if he didn't, Bucky thinks he could float away. He didn't think it would feel so good the first time. He thought it would hurt or that, best case scenario, it would be fine, but not good or great because he doesn't know what he likes and he assumed he would be with someone his own age who was also unsure and fumbling and inexperienced, therefore, innocently bad.

He didn't--shit, a wave of heat crashes through Bucky, sticky and intense as Steve keeps going despite his embarrassing sounds of pleasure--he didn't think he would want to slap a hand over his own mouth during his first time because, fuck, it was embarrassing enough when he had to red-faced explain to Steve that he's never done this before, he's 23, it means nothing that he hasn't, but... just looking at Steve? Steve fucks. And, now, he's more embarrassed because he can't stop making sounds.

Breathy, shocked, hot noises that curl out of his gaped-open lips like mewling moans as he has his cunt fucked loose for the very first time. He feels loose. Loose lips, moaning, loose joints, neck limp, and losing timing.

He's so fucked because, yes, literally, Steve's cock is inside him, it's heavier and hotter and thicker in his pussy than he would've ever thought to imagine, but he's also fucked because this feels so good. He gets it. He gets why no one can shut the fuck up about sex. He understands. He's not going to shut up about it. Even as embarrassing as his reaction to it is, he's never going to go without this again.

God.

It feels like a revelation.

It is a revelation.

He wants to do this forever.

This is the only thing that matters to him now.

Sex.

Every time Steve thrusts forward inside him, he gets in so deep. The pressure and friction are so good. The slide is wet but tight. Bucky is so much more sensitive inside than he ever realized.

Jesus Christ, it's laughable now to think that Bucky didn't think he liked penetration that much just an hour ago. An ill-informed opinion based on how it felt when he was touching himself. Having Steve touch him is so entirely different. Bucky almost always just stayed on the outside of his body, playing with his achingly sensitive clit and tracing the folds of his inner and outer lips when it got too much to keep rubbing his clit or to gather up the wetness that would leak out of him for easier circles around his achy, pulsing clit. Whenever he tried to finger himself in earnest, searching to find his own g-spot according to Cosmo's top ten salacious tips for better sex, he just ended up with a crick in his wrist, was frustrated by the fact that it didn't feel that great when he thought it ought to, or being unsure if he was even doing it right in the first place. He didn't know that--

"Oh, ohh," Bucky's eyes roll back in his skull despite all his effort to focus on Steve on top of him. He's muscle, just, everywhere. How he has time for school and living at the gym and charming the pants off Bucky, Bucky does not understand. How else can he be built like a Greek god if he's not always at the gym? He's so fucking handsome, pale and blushing, strong and muscular, nice but dirty. He's everything Bucky never dared to think about, thinking men like Steve were so out of his league.

Steve is here, though, Steve is making him helplessly moan and whine on his cock as he fucks him within an inch of his life in his bed. One of his hands is planted next to Bucky's fanned-out hair restlessly curling across the pillows as he thrashes his head side to side and his other hand is on Bucky's body, tracing the line of his throat, toying with his nipples, finding his hips and squeezing, pawing at his clit to leave his toes curling and using his fingers to slide down, down, down his wet slit and trace where his cock is splitting him open, leaking around the intrusion of him.

He's so big.

Bucky doesn't know how it fits in him.

He doesn't know how big Steve really is, he's got nothing to compare him to, but he just knows that it feels like it's in more than his pussy--Steve's filling his belly and fucking into his throat. That's why Bucky can't breathe. That's fucking it. He's so chokingly full.

And Bucky is having the fucking time of his life.

Choking, sputtering, and writhing as Steve goes at him, buried within him and showing him what he's never known before. Their chests heaving and hitting together, colliding perfectly.

Steve is fucking him so good, his hips rolling smoothly, just hard and deep and fast enough. It's perfectly good, making Bucky really fucking feel every inch of him, clenching, trembling around him in a daze of arousal. Eyes rolled back. Feeling like he can't do anything but take it.

Take it.

Steve's cock is plunging expertly into his wet, squelching cunt, moving to the rhythm of a thudding, window-shaking, whole-body-rattling house-music-style song that Bucky can't hear but shamelessly revels in anyway; Steve's hands caressing his body like he's precious, touching him everywhere and making him sweat like crazy, feeling so much, and filled to overflowing with heated desire; Steve's lips on his, colliding hard and swallowing his sounds down, then smearing hungry kisses across his face to his jaw to bite and suck at his neck, the thin, delicate skin there so much more alive then Bucky ever knew it could be, crackling with want; Steve's hot, honey-dripping words meeting Bucky's sounds of pleasure in the scant few inches on thick, humid air between them, so charged that it's hard to take any oxygen into his lungs, barely breathable, too, too much--

Steve chuckles, amused and pleasantly teasing as he tells Bucky, "you can touch me, too, sweetheart."

He's been doing that all night, coaxing him into participating in his first time more and more. It's active. He's taking but he's also giving. Bucky loves it.

Bucky fucking loves sex.

And, really, Bucky had not realized his hands were just shaking in limp, unsure fists by his sides until Steve's words finally process in his mushy brain. He blinks open his eyes, fighting against the sticky, too-thick lust poured over him, weighing him down, making him slow. Dumber. And for a long moment, the best he can do is arch his back. It feels so rauchy, but he's possessed. Bending. Breaking. His head is dropped completely back against the pillows. His neck couldn't hold the weight of his head if his life depended on it. He... he... he feels like he's moving through molasses, trying to lift his arms and touch Steve.

It's nearly impossible. Bucky is spread so thin, melted into Steve's mattress like a thin layer of marmalade on hot toast.

He's never going to recover.

He gets about halfway into holding his arms up, muscles trembling weakly before Steve takes pity on him and uses his sure, knowledgable grip to loop his arms around his neck. Bucky moans, feeling how feverish and sweat-soaked Steve is--it's not just him. Steve's in it, too. He's here with him. And Bucky uses all of his wimpy strength to push his quivering fingers into the short hairs at the base of Steve's skull, cupping his head and staring foggily into his ravenous eyes. He looks ready to swallow Bucky. Something inside Bucky adores it, preening and pushing his chest forward, feeling big and bold and wanted. Desired, even. It's hot as fuck. Bucky wants to feel like this forever.

"Yeah," Steve rewards him with a groaning word of agreement and a lewd kiss, tonguing him, no, fucking his mouth with his tongue as his cock just fucking keeps at it, grinding, digging, carving into him.

Bucky can't breathe, he can only gasp.

"Yeah, that's it, baby," Steve encourages, "why don't you hold onto me, hmm? I know it feels good--"

Bucky whines. It does. It feels good. It's so good he could cry.

"--and I know 's a lot, so just hold on and touch me a little while I fuck you, yeah? Don't worry about anything else, jus' right here, touch me, lemme in, c'mon, babyy."

Bucky nods uselessly, letting his hands slide down Steve's body, openly adoring and admiring his unreal body, squeezing the meat of his hugely broad shoulders and following his fingers with his eyes, nearly going cross-eyed when--

Oh.

His vision is fucking filled with the overwhelming, gut-punchingly hot vision of Steve's chest. Bucky felt up his chest when they were making out just before this, he knows he has big, tight, high pecs. Part of his unreal, gym-sculpted physique. He didn't--he doesn't know--how was he supposed to know that his pecs would jiggle when he's fucking into him?

"Go on, h-honey," Steve kisses his temple, just a little sloppy as he moans against his skin, "touch 'em," he urges him on, "grab my tits."

Bucky does. He doesn't need fucking brain cells to follow those tempting directions. He just does. He wants to bite Steve's tits and, fuck, he's never had such an aggressive, intense urge before but it doesn't matter. He has no ability to process it. He just feels it.

He wants to bite.

Further--because that's not it, of course, that can't be it--Bucky fucking holds on for dear life, he wraps an arm around Steve's muscular fucking back and lifts himself forward an inch, maybe not even that, clinging to him, shoving his face against Steve's neck, feeling his pulse thunder through him, and smashing his hand tight against Steve's pecs--his tits--and his own heaving chest.

Just that little bit changes the angle, and suddenly, a squeal is ripped out of Bucky.

He has no choice but to cling tighter, curling his legs around the formidable line of Steve's body, needing him even closer, deeper, tighter, more, shoving them together tip to tail. Christ. His body couldn't be hungrier. He needs. He--

He accidentally shoves his clit tight to Steve's pelvis changing the angle, making the hot, hard line of Steve's body rub harshly against his clit with every thrust into his soaking pussy.

"OH!" Bucky's mouth drops open wide, hardly muffled against the junction between Steve's neck and shoulder. His hold, arms and legs wrapped around Steve's body, is like if he were drowning in shark infested waters and someone threw him a life preserver. It's frantic.

Fervent.

Steve doesn't even have to touch him between his legs anymore. His cock can do all the work. And he's free to plaster the huge, heavy hand, not holding himself up against the small of Bucky's back and keep him there. Keep him tight. Keep him close. Keep, keep--

Keep thrusting.

Bucky is fucking losing it. No. He's lost it. Already.

He's squealing, he's hyperventilating, and he's crying. He's crying not because it's so beautiful and emotional like he might've once assumed losing his virginity would be, hell no, it is beautifully filthy with every wet sound of Steve's cock fucking into him and every cry of pleasure from them both, but, instead, tears are prickling his eyes, hot and pressurized behind his squeezed shut eyelids, because it's so fucking good.

He's crying and he's tipping over the edge with Steve inside him and against him and overwhelming him and he's cumming so hard that he can feel it in his teeth.

It's official: Bucky's imagination doesn't hold a candle to reality.

[possiblylando]

An Analysis on the meaning of each Moonscorched Contestant in Termina.

It comes with the territory; Discussions of Sexual Content Additionally, Spoilers for Termina. CHAUGNAR; Abella

Chaugnar is one of the more unusual moonscorched forms as unlike other Moonscorched forms it doesn't seem to share much with Abella herself. Chaugnar takes the form of a Large Masculine humanoid with a Mutilated Earless Elephant head. It's skin seems almost scaley in portions, Like it's been callused. The lower half of Chaugnar is the most obvious parallel in the design. Abella lives a more masculine life for the 1940s. Due to be a mechanic she's in much better shape than many other contestants. Notably being the only Female Contestant able to use two handed weapons without issue. I've not encountered anything suggesting Abella to be insecure about her masculinity; which is a bit odd for a Moonscorched form as they tend to embody the traits the original contestant was most insecure about. Chaugnar as a name originates from H.P. Lovecraft Mythos, From a creature of the same name. However it's been confirmed the name Chaugnar is a reference in name alone due to having a similar appearance to Chaugnar from Lovecraft Mythos. So the question stands, Why does Chaugnar have an Elephant's head? Looking at Elephants from a spiritual sense they tend to represent Luck and Prosperity. Which would take on an inverted meaning as Abella is one of the first Contestants to become Moonscorched. Additionally I've seen the theory that Chaugnar's Elephant Head is due to Abella being fused with another version of the Woodsman's "Parasite" which jumps her in Tunnel 7. However Abella still becomes Chaugnar if she's in your party at the Tower or the player waits until Day 4. This could be so that she doesn't have two Moonscorched forms. Depending on how you look at it this could prove or disprove the theory.

Lore - It can't be the Parasite because Abella becomes Chaugnar when she isn't caught by one.

Development - It could be the Parasite because making an entirely new Moonscorched form just for the Tower would take a lot of extra time for an unnecessary feature.

THE GENTLEMAN (THE MAYOR); Henyrk

The Gentleman is one of the more straight forward Moonscorched forms. But also one of the more interesting ones. The Gentleman takes the form of a Large Guard-Esq creature which an unusual head. It's face is twisted to the point you're unable to make out it's expression at any given moment. Additionally it's eyes are so warped it's not clear if they're eyes of secondary mouths replacing them. Put simply the Gentleman is an exaugurated version of Henyrk who's lost a majority of his inhibitions. Unlike Abella it's much more clear why Henyrk Moonscorches so early on in the competition. Henyrk is prone to Paranoia and Panic as seen in the mayor's mansion on Morning 1. The Gentleman retains most of Henyrk's sensibilities but seems unattached to Henyrk's memories. This is a twisted form of how Henyrk views himself. Notably I don't believe the Gentleman to be a bad person. Unlike many other Moonscorched forms he retains an ability to reason and control himself. He won't attack the player unless they directly insult his cooking, One of the only things Henyrk seemed to value himself on. Notably it seems the Gentleman went through several phases in development which are still leftover in the game. Under certain circumstances Marina can be found in the Mayor's mansion having been kidnapped by him. Given what I've previously said about the Gentleman I doubt he would've done anything Sexually Predatory to her as Henyrk doesn't seem like the kind of person who would do something like that. However the same can not be said for the Gentleman's original appearance.

This version of the Gentleman is much more defined demonic appearance, His face showing visible malice and anger. Additionally he can be seen with a Stinger, Similar to the guards in the first game. Clearly this initial design was meant to evoke the Guards. However unlike the Guards who are animalistic, The Gentleman is cruelly aware of his disgusting deeds. I have no doubt this version of the Gentleman would have been a Sexual Predator. Given his design was changed to remove the more crass "implications" (Less Implications more outright statements), Its logical to assume the final version of the Gentleman wouldn't be as disgusting as the original. DYSMORPHIA; Samarie

Dysmorphia takes the form of a tall black feminine creature. Her torso is notably rounded. The flesh around Her face is flayed and pulled back by a metal ring behind her head evoking the imagry of a Halo. Dysmorphia is one of the more interesting Moonscorched forms as she acts less like a monster and more like an awoken form of Samarie. She shares many of the same emotional issues and insecurities as Samarie. Dysmorphia as a name is incredibly straight forward as it refers directly to Samarie's feelings of hatred towards herself. As a recap, Samarie was apart of the Experiments in the 9th circle to contact the old gods. Her time there was torturous and awakened her ability to read minds. She feels ostracized from society and is always afraid of her imitate death due to what happened to her. Notably if she survives Termina she seems to be able to continue living just fine as she's seen to still be stalking Marina. While not explicitly stated it's possible Samarie as a form of Body Dysmorphia. Dysmorphia has a rounder stomach and torso in comparison to Samarie's stick thin body. It's hard to say if this is intentional or not due to Samarie's lack of- really anything in the game. Samarie and Dysmorphia by extension are torn between their self hatred and their need to be able to live as their true selves. As seen in their battle dialog. Player: “You were just a regular person a moment ago...” Dysmorphia: “What is that supposed to mean!? Why must everyone be regular!? Regular this! Regular that! Be normal! YOU CALL ME REGULAR!?” You managed to infuriate Dysmorphia with your persuasion efforts. (+Furious)

She's so blindsided by anyone showing any sort of kindness to her that it's enough to make her question everything she's been doing and planning for, For assumably years. Dysmorphia: “I did all this for her... I had it all ready... But then you come along...AND RUINED IT ALL!” Player: [PERSUADE] “Let's just talk this through. No harm done yet...” Dysmorphia: “Talk!? TALK!? Why would you want to talk to me!? Just look at me!” Player: “What's so weird about wanting to talk?” Dysmorphia: “...” Dysmorphia is clearly hesitating... “This is just a trick, isn't it...? You don't care about me...” (+Hesitation) I'll talk about it more in detail when I get to the Mastermind but it's also seen with Dysmorphia. Moonscorching seems less like complete monsterfication and more like an Evolution/Awakening. It's quite literally stated by Dysmorphia. Player: “What do you mean 'radiating'?”

Dysmorphia: “Like a moth! I'm finally close to bloom! A hairy moth in the night!” MONSTER; Caligura

The Monster is the most straight forward Moonscorched form. It takes the form of a giant bulbus and warty combination of a Vagina and a Ball sack. This is because Caligura is a bastard. He is a ball sack before he's moonscorched and he's a ball sack after he's moonscorched. Gaining a Vagina mouth represents his lust after women. There is not much depth present in Caligura's moonscorched form. It maintains a portion of Caligura's consciousness but not much. It's only real communication ability is insults and telling the player to choke on it's balls. Semi Unrelated to Monster; One theory I've heard is that Caligura is Samarie's Bio-Dad due to how similar they look. They look even more similar when you look at Beta Caligura in comparison to Samarie.

It's interesting enough to mention due to Monster's otherwise lack of subtly. WEEPING SCOPE; Levi

The Weeping Scope takes on a tall and semi-thin masculine form with an elongated torso. It's head has been replaced with the fleshy barrel of a tank cannon. The remains of Levi's clothes can be seen fused to it's upper torso with a notable lack of visible gentiles despite the lack of clothes. The Weeping Scope represents Levi's worst possible ending. Unlikely others like Dysmorphia and Gentleman who act as evolved forms of their contestants, Weeping Scope is Levi regressed back to his trauma and unable to escape from it. It seems to act entirely on instinct until it has a realization of what it's become. He's been turned into a weapon which can't do anything except kill. Once the player encounters the Scope for the first time it'll fire on them before fleeing. Once it flees it will hide in the Orphanage and become passive to the player unless they directly attack it. Levi is clearly still present within the Scope and still wants to be able to move on from his Trauma but is unable to escape it as he keeps getting dragged back into it. The Scope goes to the Orphanage as despite it being a location Levi was implied to have been abused in, It's the only familiar place he knows in Prehevil. Levi will never be able to fully escape the terrible circumstances of his upbringing as they'll always hang over him. -Second Reading- There's also another possible reading of the Weeping Scope which I'll mention. In this interpretation the Scope acts as an inverted version of the Cocoon. Both forms see the Contestants lose their heads in place of their most notable mutation and lose control over themselves to that mutation. The Cocoon is controlled by the Cocoon, And the Scope is controlled by it's gun. Additionally the reason no gentiles are visible on the Scope is because it doesn't have a dick, It has a Vagina which is hidden by it's pubic hair. Both the Scope and the Cocoon reveal the biggest insecurities of their contestants, Being their birth gender. This reading would make Levi trans. I think it's a valid reading even though it isn't the one I personally ascribe to. The main points against it can be handwaved. That main problem being, Levi was a Child Soldier long before women were allowed to fight in a war. Transphobia exists in the Fear and Hunger universe so it's unlikely they would let it slide. However it's also possible that they didn't care about gender in the slightest so long as they could use a gun and kill the enemy. POCKET CAT; Daan

We all know and [HAVE EMOTIONS PERTAINING TO] Pocket Cat. He's unusual because not only is he special he probably isn't a moonscorched form. He possesses Daan no matter what, The moon's radiation just speeds up the processes. Daan has without question the most cruel backstory in the series. It's almost a guarantee that his life was tampered with by outside forces. To put it simply, Daan was groomed into becoming Pocket Cat. Daan's blank soul definitely makes it easier (A blank soul may even be a requirement for possession) for him to become possessed by Pocket Cat. It's hard to say for certain how Possession works in Funger given we only really see it happen once. In lue of any deeper analysis on the meaning of Daan becoming Pocket Cat, I'd like to bring up something you may not know about. The Pocket Cat Room. If you bring a Joy Mask to the Man under the lamp post you're able to gain access to the Pocket Cat Room. The Pocket Cat Room will change depending on if Daan has been possessed or not. Here are the rooms pre and post possession.

It requires contest of both to fully make sense. In the original room it's been filled up with toys and bags. These are obvious metaphors for Pocket Cat's crimes. Every time we see him with a bag there's a child inside. Each of these bags likely hides a body inside. The way this is presented, Each time a new Pocket Cat is created the slate is wiped clean as they've yet to commit any atrocities. Meaning Pocket Cat as an entity is able to escape any sort of "Karmic Punishment" is the best term I can think to describe it. As seen in Daan's room the outlines of the Sun and Star and still present as he has yet to fully delve into Rher Worship. The body seen within Daan's room likely represent the Baron and Elise. The empty chalk outline could represent how the Baron was able to get up and become Needles. Or it could represent how Elise was daan's only concern in that moment as aside from the blood and police tape the room is blank. If we were encounter another Pocket Cat room in the future while Daan is still pocket cat (Probably won't happen), We'd likely see this room become morphed to fit the original being filled up with more sacks and toys and Pocket Cat's influence becomes deeper. THE MECHANICAL DANCE; Olivia

The Mechanical Dance is a weird one as it's both straight forward and mysterious at the same time. The Mechanical Dance takes the form of a Large metal pyramid with fan slots on it's sides. Attached at the top is a feminine torso in a suit with pauldrons of some sort and long stick arms. The face is completely blank aside from it's eyes. The entirety of the Dance seems to be made out of Metal. The most obvious part is that the Dance has lost it's legs entirely only being able to move via it's pyramid base. Representing Olivia being bound to a wheelchair due to her weak legs. That however is where the most obvious aspects end. Her being apart of the Dance makes some degree of sense as it could be reasons as Olivia wanting to be able to do something she can't usually do. It's hard (but not impossible) to Dance in a wheelchair. It seems the Dance's mannequin like appearance is there to draw attention away from the Humanoid aspects of it and draw attention to the Pyramid. This represents Olivia's fears/insecurities of being unable to escape the shadow of both Relia and her disability. So the Dance itself is secondary to it's mode of transport. Overall, One of the weirdest Moonscorched forms. GIANT; Marcoh

The Giant is another of the more straight forward Moonscorched forms. It takes the form of a large hulking creature with a strange warped black torso covered in eyes and teeth. It's head is comparable to that of a barnacle's tongue. Marcoh's personality is nearly completely absent from the Giant as it's only able to say "GUILTY!". It represents Marcoh's bad ending in which he becomes a brutish monster unable to think and which only acts in Violence. it's singular dialog line suggest the Giant believes everything it's doing is for the great good. However it's hard to say for sure. VALKYRIE; Karin

The Valkyrie is a peak moonscorch as it perfect encompasses Karin as a character and her flaws. The Valkyrie which opposite to it's name takes the form of a large Harpie with thick blonde hair. The bases of it's wings are protected by pauldrons and it's face is covered by a metal blindfold/helmet. It carries a group of Bellend on it's back. there has been a bit of debate as to what the creatures of her back are but they're clearly Bellend.

The Valkyrie's name represents Karin's own opinion of herself. In her mind she's a purveyor of truth and justice, Exposing the evils of the world and making sure those who suffer at it's hand never suffer in vein. Yet in reality her actions have acted to further ostracize the downtrodden by exposing the worst parts of their lives to the world. She's figuratively and literally blinded to the truth as she believes he's carrying lost warriors on her back to save them from death. In reality she's just bringing more Bellend to Prehevil so they can wreck havoc. From a Metaphor Standpoint, My favorite Moonscorched by far. Miro was cooking flames with Valkyrie. JUDGEMENT; Tanaka

Judgement is unusual as it just seems like Tanaka fell through a window. Judgement is another Moonscorched form which acts an awoken form of the initial contestant. Tanaka as much as he's meme'd as the guy who dies first, Is actually a very strong person. As seen in his growth throughout the festival.

If you fight needles after Tanaka is decapitated, Needles is notably damaged. He didn't go down without a fight even this early on. Judgement is Tanaka's logical end point should he never go through his growth. Judgement represents Tanaka breaking the metaphorical Glass ceiling as seen with all the glass in his attacks and the move called "Glass ceiling". It's rather blatant. Judgement still retains Tanaka's memories as seen when you present him with the Crossword puzzle. Player: (Player has Crosswords puzzle) “That sounds familiar. Did you fill this Crosswords puzzle?” Judgement: “What of it? Back when I first arrived here, I lacked the ambition and determination. I would waste my time on this planet on the most useless of things.” Judgement has become obsessed with the Grind. Money makes the world go round and Judgement wants the sun to rise each day so he can continue to grind. COCOON; Marina

The Cocoon is Marina's body which has been bent over backwards and forced to crab walk. It's grown a second pair of arms which it uses to aid in it's mobility. A second head has grown in place of her dick which is connected by a Leash to a large Cocoon made of twisted flesh that has replaced Marina's head. The Cocoon represents Marina's traumas and fears. The Cocoon exposes her biggest secret to the world and makes it one of the only things people are able to see about her. You're only really able to see the Head, The Limbs. And the Cocoon. It's hard to tell if the Cocoon controls the body now, Or if the new head control it. Either way it represents Marina being unable to escape being lead around by her birth gender and the baggage that comes with it. I've heard the theory that the Cocoon contains Domek's corpse due to Marina being found in the church on the final day after his death. Even in death he has an inescapable control over her. The Cocoon is up there with the Valkyrie when it comes to the insight and metaphor it can give us into their respective contestants. MASTERMIND; O'saa

I've saved the Mastermind for last for a reason. The Mastermind without doubt is the single most unusual Moonscorched form in the game. It takes the form of O'saa with a Fungal looking growth replacing his head. a disembodied eyeball floats above it's right hand. SO WHAT THE FUCK? The mastermind more than any other moonscorch proves that moonscorching itself acts as a form of evolution. O'saa has not changed outside his appearance and now inability to speak. The Mastermind will not hunt the player down, They have to engage in battle with it. O'saa does not topple over in pain when he becomes Moonscorched like the other contestants, He sits down and meditates. Alright are you ready for my crackpot theory? Moonscorching is a form of divine enlightenment akin to the throne of ascension in mah'abre. this might sound crazy as you're probably thinking they're nothing like the New Gods we see. However I assure you, They're quite similar. New Gods aren't actually Gods in the literal sense. They're humans who have gained incredible power through the throne. However we see through the new god forms of the first game's protagonist this doesn't automatically come with a new cool form. Take Ragnavldr for example, His New God form is horrific.

He's been hunched over and swallowed by his fur clothes which have begun to take over his entire body. It's much less gruesome than some of the Moonscorched form. But thats because everyone who can ascend in the Dungeon has gone there of their own volition. They're prepared to ascend. Aside from Samarie and O'saa, None of the contestants are at all prepared to enter a form of divine ascension. So their bodies are warped and twisted. They don't have what it takes to ascend to the next form of humanity like the New Gods. It's very possible that the Mastermind and Dysmorphia are incomplete forms of ascension which had yet to fully manifest their true selves. We fight them both soon after they moonscorch so they've had no time to grow accustomed to the green hue. Look at the normal Moonscorched people, None of them have the drive to become true Moonscorched beings like the contestants. While it's probably just for gameplay balance, Notice how we can only absorb souls from the Contestants? Their souls aren't strong enough to ascend via the green hue. Samarie and O'saa have the Radiant and Enlightened souls respectively. We know one's soul matters when it comes to moonscorching because Pocket Cat is able to possess Daan due to his Blank Soul. Rher is the trickster moon god, He doesn't want humans to ascend to godhood. However have you noticed how Rher's servants only try to stop the Girl from Ascending? True Humans can not ascend to godhood via the throne. Only Hybrid Humans can ascend to true godhood. The Girl is born of Le'Garde and Nilvan. A New god and a Human. Alll-Mer is the same. He was the son of a New god and a Human. So what if the Presence of an Old God is enough to impart a form of Divinity onto those receptive to it? The Old Gods we see in Funger 1 are only present for a single boss battle and are only traces. Yet Rher's traces are present for the entire game.

[wave2tyun]

collide | ☆

pairing: beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: no actual plot, suggestive, established relationship, fluff?? kind of??? i mean, it's romantic

summary: "spending the night as two, no need to say anything, just lean on me and close your eyes"

warnings: none!<3

word count: 0.8k

a/n: this was inspired by their "invitation" cover which they performed at the weverse con festival (lives were changed). so, you can listen to that to get the vibe<3 some words from the lyrics have made their way into this one way or another (especially in the dialogue). enjoy :D

⊹ credit to @/creambeom313 on twitter for the beomgyu pic!!

☆ = repost from my old blog!!

stumbling together into his bed, beomgyu pulled you in his lap, head resting against the bed frame as he exhaled, allowing the adrenaline running through his veins to dissipate a bit, just enough so that he wouldn’t find himself going too fast.

“i’ve been waiting for this” he quietly confessed, pressing his forehead against yours.

tonight, you were all his.

and tonight, he wanted to take his time with you.

he wished for nothing more but to feel your heartbeats drumming together in a steady cadence, reveling in your touch.

you placed your hands on his cheeks, taking in all his features: thick, dark brown brows that were lifted up ever so slightly as he gazed at you, eyes the color of burnt umber, lips full and scarlet, like ripe cherries, inviting you in.  

both lamps in the room were left on, providing just enough light for him to see your face and body, to observe your reactions clearly, while still maintaining a level of intimacy.

“close your eyes” he whispered, grazing his fingertip along your jawline before cupping your chin. and you obliged, eyelids fluttering shut allowing him to give in and lock his lips onto yours. multiple soft pecks followed right after the other, each time lasting one beat longer, sweet and tentative, yet not lacking emotion.

“lean into my touch” beomgyu continued to guide you, biting your lower lip before soothing the pain with a brush of his tongue, silently indicating that you should open your mouth for him to deepen the kiss. you were pressed up against one another, reddened cheeks, fidgeting with the strands of his hair and him gently tugging at your clothes as he kissed you slowly, fingers sometimes trailing underneath the material to touch the bare skin, to trace every outline.

he disconnected his lips from yours, trailing from your jaw to your chest while pulling down on your shirt for better access, stirring passion in its wake.

“here?” he pressed his lips right above your collarbone “-or perhaps here?” he went further up, leaving more kisses along your neck, then nibbling on the spot between the corner of your jaw and your ear “right in this spot, does it make you feel good?”

your nod wasn’t enough of an answer, beomgyu wanted to hear the words falling from your tongue, to figure out your risque desires. you were supposed to free yourself from any leftover inhibitions, how else could he fulfill your cravings if not by directly listening to you?

“tell me, how do you like it more?” he voiced out, patient tone sweet as honey.

“like this” you wrapped your hand behind his neck, guiding him back to the sensitive place he had last touched.

beomgyu complied immediately, a light smirk tugging at his lips- your answer came as no surprise to him, he felt the way your breath hitched as he caressed that spot earlier, digging your nails slightly in his forearm. while he continued his loving trail along your neck, grazing the skin with his teeth, you could feel the cool fabric of his red satin shirt against your heated skin, which, albeit providing you with a faint sense of reality, you couldn’t endure anymore. it was turning into a barrier you could no longer withstand.

the desire to feel him closer, it couldn’t be satiated.

seeing him hesitate to undress you, you took off your blouse, which beomgyu took as a sign that he should follow your actions, but you stopped his hands the moment they reached the top of his button-up.

“let me do it”

with each button that came undone, you pressed kisses along the way, taking in the citrus scent of his perfume that still lingered on his chest and torso, tossing the material to the side as soon as you were done with it.

beomgyu explored the newly uncovered areas of your body with his lips, tracing down every surface and each crevice, there was nothing left that hadn’t been adored by him, explored with wonder and delight. he caressed your thighs, with his hands and with his mouth, humming whenever you voiced out your delight. then, he came back up, leaving another path of kisses along the sides of your waist and through the valley of your breasts, ending it with a kiss to your lips.

he paused for a moment to catch his breath, both of your chests heaving while you gazed straight into each other’s eyes. as your lover stood before you, you found him even more breathtaking than before, long lashes adoring his half-lidded eyes, the gentle curve of his nose, lips still wet from your previous kiss, outright irresistible.

“i don’t want you to stop” you spoke quietly, caressing his cheek.

beomgyu smiled softly at your words. he intertwined your fingers, leaning closer before responding.

“i’m all yours, just lead me on to your desire”

taglist: @huekalover3000

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Bad Idea, Right? - Part 10

Eris x Reader/Azriel’s daughter - Angst - Fluff

The final chapter is here! Thank you to everyone who has read this series. There will be an epilogue coming soon as well.

Part 9 Series Masterlist

Warnings: Language, sexual references, restraint and use of dagger (not as dark as it sounds, no pain involved), referenced alcohol/drunkenness, smitten Eris is sexy as hell

“You.” Y/N pointed a finger into Eris’ chest, her shadows whirling violently into a vortex surrounding her. She stepped closer, digging the finger further into his chest. “Are. Insufferable.”

Eris only smirked and honestly- he wasn’t sure if it made him a pathetic male but he didn’t know whether to feel sad, aroused, or enamored. He suspected he was somewhere in the middle of all three.

That vicious little scowl. Those delicate hands he knew the feeling of so well, how her fingers spent so many nights tracing along every indention of his body, as if it were an extension of her own. There was a thrill that came with knowing they were just as capable of violence. Perhaps he should have been afraid, he so often forgot just how she so quickly raised in the rankings of the Night Court - and it wasn’t because of who her father was. No, she’d earned it all on her own merit.

It made her all the more enticing.

“What?” She withdrew her finger, crossing her arms and cocking her head in a predatory manner. Gods, she was delicious.

He was a lech and desperately needed to sober up before this conversation was to be had.

Eris ran his fingers through his hair, tussling his auburn locks in a way that, though he was too disheveled to notice, had his mate’s pulse thrumming with desire.

Stumbling slightly, Eris held up a single finger in front of her, with a request of, “Please hold.” as if that would stave off the impending shitstorm she was about to throw at him.

To his surprise, one her eyebrow only flicked upward with amusement as she took a stride backward, gesturing with a wave. “It’s not like I have anywhere to be, Eris. By all means.”

Fumbling to the corner kitchenette in his apartment, Eris reached for a tonic on the top shelf, extending one to Y/N in silent offering, to which she bitterly remarked, “If anything, I need more alcohol to get through this, not a sobering tonic.”

Eris understood, truly he did, but he also was not about to discuss this with her under the influence of alcohol. His feelings for her were not fleeting, they did not come from lowered inhibitions, they did not even come from their bond, they came from his heart. And oh no, he wasn’t about to let her hear him pour his heart out just for his lovely mate to feign that she couldn’t remember due to however many bottles of wine she and Layla had consumed earlier in the evening - if the vineyard aroma pouring from her every breath was any inclination to her state of sobriety.

Leaving his arm extended, Eris gave the tonic a little shake. Y/N let out a flustered sigh, swiping the tonic from him and throwing it back like a shot of liquor.

“Good girl.” He smirked.

“Don’t start with me.” She spoke coldly, that scowl again returning to her lovely face.

That glare. Those narrowed golden-flecked eyes, the purse of her plush lips. Gods, she really did it for him and she had no idea. He didn’t know if he’d ever get enough of it. For every mask of irreverence he’d ever been forced to wear, she dropped hers for him. Sure, she’d placed hers in specific circumstances but this - this prickly, headstrong, determined female didn’t try to win him with flattery or simpering, least of all faux niceties.

No, any glimpse of feeling he caught from her, that was real. It was all her. It always had been. And tonight, the mask he’d so long worn to protect her from him, or he from her, at this point he wasn’t sure which it was - tonight the mask would drop. The truth of their bond was out, there was no more holding back, no more distancing, no more skirting around webs of half-truths. She wanted all of him? He’d give it all.

Eris raised a groomed eyebrow back in his mate’s direction. “Are you going to scowl at me all night or would you like to work things out?”

He beamed internally at the sight of those rolling eyes, her hand placed on a cocked out hip as she let out a huff of annoyance. “As I said, insufferable.”

He only gave a wry smirk in return, stoking the fire within his own mate further.

“Stop smirking at me, Eris. This isn’t amusing.”

Eris took a step toward her, leaning down to only centimeters from her face, grin widening, his voice turning low, seductive. “Come on, little Shadowsinger. Wipe this smirk off my face.”

With that shadows flew at him with all their force, hauling him off his feet and back into a chair at the small dining table fifteen feet away.

Shock crossed his features, smirk faltering momentarily at the sheer force.

He’d been restrained by her shadows many times before but had never seen their full potential. Testing the bonds binding his wrists behind the back of the chair and the ones tying his ankles to the legs of it he realized just how truly stuck he was.

And he wasn’t quite sure whether to be aroused or nervous.

He was somewhere between the two.

She sauntered toward him, hips swishing with each movement, heels clacking on the floor with each slow step. That skin tight dress only amplifying the sway of her curves. Stopping half way toward him, she spirited a dagger from the pocket realm - a dagger he’d gifted her during one of their escapades.

He’d told her it was just laying around and he had no use for it - but truly he’d had the piece forged for her with protective enchantments that would alert him should she ever be in a situation she couldn’t get herself out of.

Death by his own mate, at the tip of the dagger he’d given her. If it brought her a few steps closer to him, it didn’t seem like such a bad way to go.

Though he knew she would never bring him harm.

The click of her heels on the floor continued as she closed the remaining distance, leaning in. Eris’ heart raced at the pure submission of his position, pupils dilated.

Aroused it was. How could he be nervous with her this close. Yes, it was definitely arousal.

She leaned in, her warm breath caressing the shell of his ear. “Where’s that smirk now, High Lord?”

A thrill rushed through him. “Do you like it, little Shadowsinger? Having the High Lord of Autumn completely at your will? I’ll burn the world for you, should you only ask.”

She pulled back, wildfire sparking in her eyes for a moment. He didn’t miss the shift in her scent. She inhaled, eyes fluttering shut, that gleam in her eyes banking.

“What I want, Eris Vanserra, is the truth.” She stepped forward, the tip of her dagger dragging down his chest, lower, dancing a little too closely for comfort to his favorite appendage before skirting around the area and down his thigh.

Giving a faux pout, she crooned, “I’d hate to ruin this fancy get up of yours, I know how you love your finery.”

Eris swallowed, “I do.” His gaze met hers with utter sincerity, allowing her to see the truth in his amber eyes. “And you’re the finest I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

She waived his words off. “You love me?”

Eris didn’t balk. “I’m not sure there’s a word to describe what I feel for you, Y/N, but love is a good place to start.”

A slight whimper left her at the admission. She’d heard him say it in that moment she winnowed away from the gallery earlier that night but this, the look in those eyes, the intention in his tone. She knew he meant it.

Eris started at the quick withdrawal of her shadows unpinning him to the chair. He remained seated waiting for her next movement. He didn’t need the force of her shadows to be completely at her will.

And so he waited, heart rate elevating slightly in anticipation. She dropped the dagger, straddling his lap, Eris nearly coming undone by the feel of her warmth against him. Gently resting a palm to the defined edge of his jaw and tilting his face toward hers, she whispered, “tell me everything.”

Eris stood, resting his hands beneath her thighs, keeping her pressed close to him. Bringing her to a chaise in the seating area, he seated himself, positioning her bridal style in his arms. She didn’t fight, remaining pliant in his arms, she looked to him and he nearly fell apart at the look in her eyes. Uncertainty lay there, but something more, a look he’d given her so many times when she was sound asleep, safe in his bed.

Adoration.

He would not squander this opportunity to share his feelings, to give her the answers she had asked him repeatedly for.

He tucked her head into his shoulder, one hand wrapped around her thigh, his thumb running up and down the exposed flesh beneath her slightly hitched gown.

The crook of his other arm cradled her neck as he ran soothing strokes through her raven-black hair.

And so he began, he told her of the night he’d found her, how he’d been mesmerized by the way she held her own against the two lecherous brutes who’d corralled her into the back alley of that bar in his court, how the bond snapped for him then.

He told her of the night he’d naturally gravitated toward her at a court function, the first time he’d seen her since the night they’d slept together, how fear struck him but it was too late to divert away from her without drawing further attention. Not because he didn’t want her, but because he needed her so fucking badly that he couldn’t risk any attendees discovering his weakness, discovering her.

She already had a target on her back as the niece of the High Lord of the Night Court, the daughter of the Spymaster, but as the mate of another High Lord, she’d all but have a target saying “kidnap me for leverage” on her back.

And then he sighed, a bit of self-loathing lacing his tone. “I have never claimed to be a good male, Y/N. I am selfish and I covet things of value, and you, you’re a fucking treasure. You are everything. I couldn’t stay away. I hoped the hook-up’s would be enough but I only craved you more. I need you to understand, I am centuries older than you. I have lived life, I have been with countless females and males-“ He didn’t miss the slight tense of her body at the mention of his past affairs. “I have traveled, I’ve seen the worst life has to offer, I’ve seen the beauty of life, I have experienced it all and I can confidently say that you are the best this life has to offer.”

He let out another sigh, “But you, you deserve more than to be tied down at this age - and Y/N, if we were mated, if we sealed the bond, I couldn’t share you. I told you I’m selfish. And if you’re mine, you’re mine alone. There will be no others.”

Chill bumps rose on her thighs at the admission. Silence settled between them momentarily before she looked up into his eyes with her brow furrowed. “What about your bargain with Uncle Rhys?”

He only let out a bitter laugh. “I gave him the information of the bond, and the promise of a favor that he could call in at a later time - so long as it was mutually beneficial to our courts - in exchange for his silence until you recognized the bond or I told you of it.”

“And this,” he briefly removed his palm from her thigh, motioning at the apartment, “was mutually decided between us, a safer haven for you and I to escape to than for you to constantly be sneaking off to my court. I wanted to be able to come to you too.”

She hummed at the answer, processing. She pressed her face against his shoulder, muffling her words, a rare show of vulnerability from his vivacious mate.

Eris gave an amused smirk. “What was that?”

He felt the heat of her breath as she let out a sigh. “How do you know you love me? That it’s not just the mating bond?”

“Y/N, look at your mother and my brother. Well, perhaps don’t think on that for too long. Mates, mates who are happily married to others. If I recall correctly, your own High Lord’s parents were mated and unhappy.”

He cupped her jaw, forcing her gaze to meet his.

“You. I love every bit of you. You may be from the Night Court but I’ve witnessed the fire that burns within you, flaring hotter and brighter than that of any in my court. I wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you regardless of the fact that the bond snapped right after.

I look at you and I see a female who can hold her own, who doesn’t balk from brutes who feel they are entitled to her, a female who is fearless and passionate. A female who somehow manages to wear her heart on her sleeve, while guarding it ferociously. A female who can be both vulnerable and vicious.

You are more than I could have ever asked for, more than I’ve dreamed of, more than I deserve. And if you ever decide to be mine, Y/N, then your heart is mine forever. Mine already belongs to you. Until then, I will wait forever if that’s what it takes. The world is yours, this life is yours to live as you please, and I will cherish you unconditionally whether you’re with me, conquering continents, or warming the bed of someone else.”

Eris felt ease at the relief of letting it all out - though it was both terrifying and thrilling. He sat in silence, letting her absorb everything he’d said. He wanted to speak these words for so long and now she knew everything. Whatever happened next was her choice.

To his surprise, after she contemplated all that he’d laid out for her, she let out a scoff. “You say I can warm someone else’s bed like you haven’t ruined all others for me. You fuck with fire in your veins and I’m the moth to your flame.”

Huffing a small laugh, Eris pressed a kiss to her hair. “I can’t say I’m disappointed to hear that.”

She let out a small, contented sigh. “I think, I’d like for us to try courting. Truly courting, no masks. No lies. Just you and me.”

Eris’ heart swelled at the response. A guilt that had risen in him quelling. He still worried that she’d feel pressure to accept the bond after his admission, so the aspect of courting - well, he’d be the best damn courtier in all of Prythian for his little Shadowsinger.

“I’d like that too.” He whispered into her hair.

They remained in companionable silence for the next couple of hours, Y/N falling asleep in his arms - that little snore he adored so much reminding him just how safe and unguarded she felt around him. They had all the time in the world.

Eventually he nodded off only to be awoken by her stirring, “Come on, Eris, let’s go to the bed and sleep. You’re too old to sleep comfortably in this position.”

Letting out a gasp of mock offense and scooping her up, Eris carried her to the bed. The earliest signs of dawn shining in the window.

He watched as she drifted back to sleep, fighting sleep himself as he had a task to attend to this morning. Her shadows roused to which he only shushed them, whispering of his plan, seemingly settling them.

—————————

Y/N

I jolt awake to find my shadows at rest and no Eris in sight. My heart drops slightly at that. After coaxing my shadows for a moment, they whisper of my mate’s whereabouts.

Slightly puzzled, I sift through Eris’ armoire, throwing a cream colored sweater of his on over my dress, put on my heels, and wander into the street beyond the wards, winnowing to him.

I find Eris crouched down in my mother’s garden. I watch quietly, surprised that he hasn’t noticed my presence as he spirits a bag from the pocket realm. A bag, I realize, from the toy shop he’d visited while we strolled through Velaris the previous evening.

He pulls out a few pieces of doll furniture, whispering quietly. A bit of motion catches my eye and a flicker of light.

My heart races as the warm, glowing light flickers in my direction. Eris looks over his shoulder to find me, giving a genuine smile. Gods, that’s a genuine smile that I could get used to.

He tilts his head in a “come here” gesture.

I walk towards him and can’t believe my eyes. A fire sprite has found her way to my little sister’s Sprite garden.

“Hello!” Her sweet, tiny voice greets me. “I hope you don’t mind me taking a rest here. I’ve been dying to visit the city of starlight that I’ve heard whispers of from my sisters in the woods.”

“The High Lord of Autumn,” She gestures to Eris, “spoke to the High Lord and Lady of Night, granting me a visit and spoke of the perfect place to visit.”

I look to Eris in awe but before words can escape my mouth a squeal of excitement sounds out behind me as my little sister rushes out in her night gown. “Azalea, it’s so early!”

“You’re not exactly quiet.” She retorts.

I laugh to myself because we were indeed quiet and she just has an exceptional aptitude for being nosey, but I keep it to myself.

“Oh!!!” The fire sprite squeals. Floating to Azalea. “Look at you! And your wings! They’re lovely.”

Azalea beams at that, the biggest, brightest smile I’ve seen in my life shining from her sweet face.

To my complete and utter joy, Azalea rushes to Eris who is still squatted down arranging the doll furniture he’d purchased, flinging her arms around his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She squeals, her little wings fluttering. She lets go of his neck, bringing out the biggest moon eyes she can muster with a little pout.

Oh she’s good. I muse to myself at her show of guilt.

“I’m sorry for what I said at the gallery. I don’t like when my sister is sad.”

Eris only smiles. “I don’t like it either, Azalea. I made a bad decision. You weren’t wrong.”

She looks to me, and I give her a smile. So she asks “Did you guys make out?”

I slap my palm to my face. “Up, Azalea.” Eris tries to stifle his amusement. “It’s make up. And yes, we made up.”

She grins. Satisfied with his response and returning to the sprite. Eris stands, placing an arm around my shoulders, guiding me down the garden path and leaving Azalea to pepper the little sprite with her incessant questioning. I look back against the house to see my father and mother standing. My mother in a robe and smiling sweetly at us as she’s tucked under my fathers arm. He says nothing, pointedly trying to ignore that I’m wearing last night’s outfit with a sweater thrown over it.

Ironically, this is the most wholesome walk of shame I’ve ever done. Father only flicks his gaze to my overjoyed little sister, to me, and back to Eris, raising a steaming cup of tea to his mouth and giving a nod of approval.

With that, Eris walks me to the edge of the wards, prepared to winnow to his place. We should go back and sleep but now that I’m no longer fighting the fire raging between us, I have filthy little plans for my High Lord that have nothing to do with rest and everything to do with the bed - among other surfaces.

I look to Eris, my mate, taking in the handsome planes of his face, his gorgeous jawline, the freckles splattered across his face, the coppery red of his hair warmly illuminated by the light of dawn.

My heart is full. We will take some time to truly enjoy the courting process and I cannot wait. I’ve never had the pleasure of truly dating someone given my family and their intimidating presence but Eris isn’t afraid. He understands me. He loves me.

I turn to him, raising myself to press a kiss to his cheek, catching his amber gaze.

“I love you, Eris Vanserra.”

———————————

A/n: Thank you to everyone who has read this series! This is the final part of the main storyline and there will be an epilogue chapter published soon as well. Stay tuned as I’ve left it open for a potential spin-off series/second act of this story or some bonus chapters at the least. If I do this, I will continue tagging those who have been tagged in the main storyline. Just shoot me a message if you want removed from tags for any bonus chapters or the potential spin-off series. 🥰

ACOTAR list: @lilah-asteria

Eris list: @angiedsv

Series tags: @b0xerdancer @myheartfollower @ang-taylorsversion @acotarobsessed @uniquecolorwizard @justasillylittlegoofyguy @thelov3lybookworm @starryhiraeth @5moremin @azrielsmate3 @coolepowersthings @isa1b2h3 @inloveallthetime @julesofvolterra @deeshag @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @courtofbatboydreams @yourmumsdumptruck @nebarious @glitterypirateduck @mybestfriendmademe @acourtof-wingspan @paleidiot @anae-naea-zacheria @fandomarchiveilyd @bloodicka @12358