#with pastel pink on occasion

[where-the-wind-travels]

MIA ♡ the girl ever <3 [casual + formal outfit, i imagine she wears sth similar to this but a bit more lacey/princessy because that's just how mia is to the ball]

[gamebunny-advance]

Random Question

[valkariel]

Cotton Candy Caress

Pinks and blues! The skirt has silver trim on the undyed version only, so I tried to stay in the pastel tones. The casting astral gloves have a silver swirly detail that complements the silver trim of the top. It’s lower resolution though unfortunately, so it doesn’t show as sharply.

Head: Darbar Hat of Casting - lotus pink Body: Hypostatic Cloak of Casting - lotus pink Hands: Astral Silk Dress Gloves of Casting - sky blue Legs: Faerie Tale Princess's Long Skirt - default Feet: Darbar Thighboots of Casting - sky blue

Earring: Darbar Earrings of Casting Neck: The Emperor's New Necklace Wrists: The Emperor's New Bracelet Right Ring: The Emperor's New Ring Left Ring: The Emperor's New Ring

Main Hand: Foil of Divine Light Off Hand: --

Fashion Accessory: -- Minion: -- Location: Old Sharlayan - Scholar's Harbor

Shader: Neneko Kawaii

[gutsby]

Homemade

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: While your dad’s watching a movie downstairs, you and his best friend decide to make one of your own.

Warnings: 18+. Sneaky sex tape fun with dbf!Joel ;-) Unprotected p-in-v. Age gap. Daddy kink. Facefucking. Joel being the world’s worst cameraman. Shower sex. Overstimulation via adjustable shower head. Dirty talk. Screaming ‘daddy’ too loud, and your father shows up.

Translations: In Chile, pico is slang for penis. Joel’s is big.

Part of the Waiting Game series

“If this ever ends up on PornHub, I’ll kill you, Miller.”

Joel knew you meant it, too.

The only reason you’d agreed to make this dumb little ‘home video’ at all was because you were headed back to college tomorrow and wouldn’t see him again until May. Doing long distance was tough, but doing long distance while simultaneously trying to keep a risqué, torrid, and totally-not-age-appropriate love affair with your father’s best friend under wraps was infinitely more difficult. This was the safest way to keep desire alive in the meantime.

Immortalized on a Sony CCD-TR70—because neither one of you trusted iCloud to keep a sex tape secret.

It had also been the only video camera you could find in the closet before your dad had plopped down on the couch just outside your room and announced he would be watching Oppenheimer for the third time. You’d had to scurry off fast before he could invite you to join him.

“I’ll be damned—this thing’s gotta be as old as I am,” Joel mused as he stood at the foot of the bed, camcorder pointed at your semi-nude form.

“I didn’t know they had cameras back in the Stone Age.”

Your smirk didn't flinch, even when Joel flipped you off.

You were lying on your side, head propped up on one hand while the other picked at a few loose strings from the comforter. The lacy, pastel pink bustier holding your tits in place was currently making breathing feel like a chore, and your skin was on fire from the warmth of the room, but you tried not to show it. Joel twisted a dial.

“Alright, now...flash ‘em for daddy,” he grinned as soon as the lens focused in where he wanted: your cleavage.

You rolled your eyes.

“A little closer, please,” you said, patting the space in front of you.

Joel didn’t need to be told twice. With one hand still cradling the camera, he clambered over the bed so fast he nearly tripped and took a nosedive in the headboard. You had to cover your mouth to contain a shriek of laughter—and terror—as his frame barreled into yours.

“JOEL!”

Fortunately, your cameraman was quick to recollect himself, planting a knee on either side of your chest once he’d knocked you onto your back. Then, from above, he angled the grey-black hunk of metal just a foot away:

“Anything you’d like to say to the folks watching at home, ma’am?” Joel inquired, suddenly assuming all the poise and matter-of-fact elocution of a news reporter.

You stuck your tongue out at the camera and blew the wettest, fattest raspberry you could muster in response.

Joel hummed, zoomed in on your lips, and nodded.

“Fascinating,” he said, pretending to make sense of the fart noise you’d just made with your mouth, “Have you ever given thought to maybe...sucking cock on camera?”

The swiftness with which he was able to dodge your kick was remarkable. He swayed the camera just out of reach before you could shove it away and say, ‘Joel, quit being GROSS’ and he promptly replied, ‘Ain’t that the whole point of a sex tape, sweet pea? Bein’ a little bit gross?’ And you playfully tried to kick him again, only this time, he caught your foot and yanked you closer to him. He turned the camcorder back to your face and grinned.

“That’s my little pornstar,” he murmured with affection. Then, zooming in again, this time to find your panty line, “Riiiiight there.”

You knew giving Joel Miller recording privileges for an occasion as momentous as this was a bad idea. At the rate you were going now, you’d be seeing the sunrise through the window before you ever got a glimpse of his dick. You needed to take matters into your own hands.

Literally.

You crawled on all fours to get to Joel across the bed.

The man, kneeling with the camera pointed in your direction, looked up to cock a brow at you.

“Sweetheart, hey, can ya do that one more—”

“Hush,” you muttered, closing in on his crotch. 

Your head was lowered so you could undo the front of his jeans. Because of this, your back was arched, and your ass was pointed up just the slightest bit. For a second, Joel seemed torn between tilting the lens to your lower half or your face, which was inching ever closer to the bulge in his trousers. In time, he landed on the latter.

He swallowed. That sight never got old—and seeing it displayed on the camcorder’s semi-grainy screen only made it that much hotter. Joel shifted on his knees while you worked him out of his boxers, watching the nimble movements of your fingers as you wrestled the fabric.

“Wanna—” Glancing to the side of the bed, “—maybe—”

“Yup.”

Both of you liked it better on the floor: you on your knees in front of Joel, chin tilted up to see his reactions as you sucked him off. You loved to sink between his legs and then see and feel nothing but him, brain going blank the moment his cock filled your mouth. Joel slid a pillow under your knees before widening his stance some.

“Is it on?” Your hand was wrapped firmly around the base of his cock and your lips were hovering an inch from the tip. You resisted the urge to lick the precum off just yet.

“Darlin’, it’s been on ever since you stepped outta the bathroom in that— that—” Joel seemed to be searching for a word when the head of his cock was enveloped in a kiss. You dragged your tongue across the slit of him and collected the hot, salty beads with a muffled moan.

Then you pulled off.

“Teddy,” you said, reminding him of the name for that pretty little tulle and lace getup you currently had on.

“Teddy,” Joel echoed, his mind a million miles away from any lingerie jargon at the moment. He held the camera tighter as you took him back into your mouth and sank deeper on his cock. He struggled to keep it steady.

It was strange, watching Joel and the rounded glass of the lens as you did this dirty thing that was only meant to be shared between you and him. Knowing it would be recorded, saved for future viewing, displayed on some dimly lit screen in Joel’s bedroom maybe one, twice, or more likely than not, several dozen times over the next three months. You wondered how you might look from this new point of view; though, you weren’t so sure you needed to know what sight Joel was made privy to while you sucked and hollowed your cheeks around his cock.

As it turned out, that uncertainty wasn’t meant to last you very long, because Joel flipped the camera’s screen around two seconds later. Some sepia-tinted, pixelated rendition of your face, framed by the date and time and a bright red flashing dot beside the word ‘REC’ were the first to greet you. You flinched back just a little.

“Joel,” you said, almost bashful, “Flip it back.”

Joel just grinned. Then he laced his fingers through your hair and tugged you closer to him, thumb stroking over your scalp, “C’mon, darlin’, don’t ya wanna see how goddamn pretty ya look on your knees for me?”

You didn’t think you looked pretty at all. In fact, you reckoned your features looked something more like an alien utility funnel than a real, human face as you tilted your chin inward and seemed to be nothing but eyes and a hollowed-out expression, but you let Joel guide you back onto him all the same. You heard a low rumble of pleasure take shape in his chest as your lips slid over his shaft. Your gaze remained glued to the screen as you did.

Wet with saliva and a few faint traces of precum, you continued to bob your head up and down. Joel’s groans grew louder, and your drive to take him further and further surged as well. By the time his hand was tightening into a white-knuckled fist in your hair, you’d nearly taken him all the way to the back of your throat, and your nose was no more than an inch from the soft tufts of hair on his belly. Joel let out a shuttering breath.

“Fuck me,” he heaved. You might’ve smiled if your lips weren’t otherwise occupied. Then he clenched his hand even harder and murmured, “Can you— can I, please—”

Again, you didn’t need him to finish the rest of the question to know what he wanted. You moved your head back just slightly to nod, a low, ‘Mhmm’ reverberating down the length of his dick as you gave him permission. Joel swallowed and set the camera aside immediately.

He placed it on the nightstand, perfectly level with your head, to the side. Then he rotated the device just a bit, took one glance at the screen, and shortly returned to where you were watching him with wide, glossy eyes.

“Ready?” he asked. His right hand now joined the left at the back of your head, but not before thumbing a quick touch over your cheek to get a feel for your approval.

You hummed once more. You watched Joel’s hips move forward, hands secure around your scalp all the while, and you felt a gentle nudge at the back of your throat. Then another. You couldn’t help the impulse to gag, but thankfully, it was short-lived. Joel peered down at you, eyes searching yours for any plea to stop or slow down, but he found nothing. He sheathed himself deeper until your lips were brushing the base of his dick. He groaned.

“That’s a good…fuckin’ girl,” he managed, voice strained, “Takin’ my cock so deep.”

He shifted his hips to move an inch or two out, then slid his cock forward again, bumping that spot at the top of your throat. This time, you were better adjusted to take him and felt your muscles expand and contract around him without activating your gag reflex. Your eyes stayed trained on his face while he dragged his cock back again.

“My pretty girl and her—” Joel stabbed back into you, somehow tender in the way he did it, “—pretty fuckin’ mouth…Sweet thing likes gettin’ facefucked, does she?”

With the increased pace of his thrusts and the grip he had on the sides of your head, you couldn’t quite answer, but Joel could tell from the glint in your eye that you loved when he manhandled and fucked your throat like this. Watched the light sear gently behind those irises as you swallowed every inch of his cock, back and forth, and let your brain break down to little more than a happy, mindless mush. Joel was always keen to oblige you on that front—aroused to no end at the sight of all your thoughts being fucked straight out of your head—and within the next few thrusts, his gut was giving a familiar clench. He pulled halfway out of your mouth, paused, felt the pinch again, then withdrew from your lips fully.

“Get on the bed.”

You straightened back up and made it over to the mattress, quickly. Before you could assume the position you’d been hoping to take on all fours, you felt yourself flipped on your back. Joel yanked your hips to the edge of the bed and kneeled down between your legs. Hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties and had them shuffled down your thighs and past your ankles in no time at all. Then, when he lowered his lips to your wet, aching core, you pressed a touch to the crown of his head.

“Joel, wait,” you said. All of a sudden your chest felt tight.

In spite of the fact that your airways were open and completely free from any obstruction—namely, Joel’s big ol’ pico—you still found it difficult to inhale. Some murky, amorphous sense of anxiety weighed over your chest.

When your hand didn’t move from his head and instead pushed him further, Joel furrowed his brows, perplexed.

“What’s’a matter, darlin’?”

You shook your head, more to yourself than to him.

“I haven’t…just— haven’t washed down there today…o-or shaved,” you stammered, “Don’t want you to taste it.”

That was largely a lie. You’d bathed, shaved, and prepared for this just fine, but really were more concerned about the novel optics that loomed overhead. Being filmed in such a singularly vulnerable state without knowing how to act. You were fine when the attention was focused on Joel and his pleasure, but something about having your every whimper and moan laid bare before you on film felt daunting. Unnerving, in a way.

Joel frowned while rubbing your thigh. His brow pinched inward again, as if he were considering something.

Then he moved across your body, and your muscles eased with relief at the thought that he’d just let it go and get to fucking you exactly how you wanted. You reached for him, ready to wrap your legs around his waist, when a yelp clawed out of your throat. You found that you didn’t get to touch his chest, or his cheeks, or his big, broad, beefy shoulders, as you were promptly thrown over the latter of the three body parts and lifted when Joel stood up from the bed. He started carrying you across the room, heedless of the startled, ‘What the FUCK, Miller?’ you’d cried the second he took one step.

Hardwood floors transformed to tile before your eyes, and shortly, you realized you were being brought into your bathroom.

You heard the squeak of some metal knob being turned, then a brief sputter, then a spray of water raining down on your shower floor. You were still being held hostage over Joel’s shoulder, try as you might to bite at his lower back or smack his ass in an attempt to break loose.

He set you down a second later, seemingly unfazed.

“Get in.” He nodded toward the shower.

Before you had a chance to respond, he left. You stood back in disbelief—refusing to go into the shower and let Joel have his win—but just as you opened your mouth to call out and tell him as much, his form slipped back in through the door. Naked, now, and wielding that stupid, goddamned camcorder with a devious glint in his eye.

“Will you—” You held out a defensive hand in front of you, cheeks already heating, “—stop with that?!”

Secretly, the corners of your lips were fighting a smile as Joel drew closer with the camera held up to your face.

“There she is, folks,” he announced, as though speaking to a crowd, or else reading off of a script from the world’s most cheesy porno, “My dirty, dirty girl says she needs a shower—don’t ya, sweet pea?”

It sounded so ridiculous and dumb that neither one of you could keep from laughing. Even as you lifted your middle finger in response, Joel grinned and smacked your ass. Steadied the camera out in front, nudged you closer to the shower, and watched you somewhat begrudgingly obey his orders. Once you’d stripped what little remained on your body, you stepped into the tub.

Add to ‘ridiculous and dumb’ just wildly unsexy as well—who the hell needed a soapy interlude to a sex tape?

Joel Miller, apparently. He constricted his grip on the camera and followed you in, tongue already skimming the backs of his teeth in anticipation. You turned away to step under the shower’s stream, and he wasted no time getting a shot of your derrière. You leaned forward and sighed.

The water worked wonders to get your muscles to loosen some, but still, you were nervous. You could clean up now, stall a little longer, maybe even offer to give Joel head again—but what if he really wanted to eat you out on camera? You couldn’t put off the conversation forever.

Or another minute, it seemed.

You let out a shriek when you felt Joel’s fingers sneak up between your thighs. You hardly knew what he was doing, just folding limply when he spun you around to press your back against the shower wall. Your eyes widened to see him descending your body once more.

“I lied,” Joel said, smirk painted clear across his features, “You’re not dirty—I just wanted to eat your pussy in the shower ‘s’all.”

Chivalry was evidently alive and well in Austin, Texas.

No truer words could have been spoken, and yet, you felt wildly uncomfortable the second Joel’s head dipped between your legs and that big, dumb, handsome face started licking stripes up your sensitive core. You cast a glance to the side and saw the camcorder perched on the sink—just through the open slit in the shower curtain, you could see it pointed directly at you.

You shivered and started to push Joel away.

“Can we maybe just—”

“Sweetie?!”

Joel’s lips tore out of your cunt quicker than a sneeze through a screen door. His eyes were wide.

“Y-Yeah, dad?” you squeaked, tone almost fearful.

“Everything okay in here? I heard ya scream,” your dad returned shortly.

You could only imagine the expression of confusion and distress painting his every lineament in that moment. Probably just barely sticking his head through the crack in the door and blinking anxiously through the steam.

Your dad was caring like that.

He just never knew the right times to show up.

No, there were very few times where you would’ve liked to see him less—apart from that one time you’d sucked Joel’s dick under the table at your dad’s birthday dinner. Your heart was thudding a wild, erratic beat in your chest, and you could only imagine how Joel was feeling. Probably seeing visions of a Size 11 boot being shoved up his ass if his friend happened to slide the shower curtain to the side and see him nose-deep in his daughter’s box.

That would be bad. So very, very bad and probably ten times worse than when Tommy had caught you blowing his brother at the aforementioned birthday party. You just couldn’t seem to catch a break these days.

You sucked in a breath and answered anyway.

“I thought I saw a spider.”

“Really?” You could already sense the embittered tinge to your dad’s voice, harking back to the war he’d once declared on all wolf spiders in the home, “Want me to kill it?”

The next thing you heard was two boots thud on the bathroom floor outside the shower, and you could’ve sworn you saw Joel’s whole soul leap from his body. He shot a frantic look around him, spotted a window above, and seemed to wonder for half a second if he might be able to shimmy his 188-pound frame through a space that probably wasn’t big enough to fit a fat raccoon. He slumped his weight against the shower wall and winced.

“No! I— It wasn’t even a spider. Just a…roach.”

Shortly, Joel’s eyes widened even more and met yours, as if to ask, ‘Why the FUCK would you say that?’

“A roach?!” your dad cried simultaneously.

Apparently, you’d forgotten that any derivative of the word ‘cockroach’ was like a sleeper agent activation phrase for middle-aged fathers who wanted to keep their homes free of all household pests. The look on Joel’s haggard, world-weary face communicated as much to you, and for a second, you remembered that he, too, was built the same way as any other semi-old dude you knew.

Just bigger and beefier and…harder below the belt than you would’ve expected most men around his age to be.

You quickly chided yourself for ogling Joel’s dick at a time like this and replied to your father, shrill, “No!”

Then, slightly more composed, “No, no— I already took it out with some hairspray and told it to fuck off to hell.”

An attempt at humor was the last leg you had to stand on. Fortunately, it worked.

Outside the shower, your dad chuckled, and his footsteps started to shuffle off toward the door.

“Ah. Atta girl,” he beamed, ever the advocate for brutal cockroach killings, “If you see another, just holler, okay?”

“Okay.”

You heard the sound of the bathroom door closing, and you almost fell to the floor. Joel probably would’ve been facedown just as well—fear seeping out of his body along with every last ounce of willpower to stand—had he not made a dive for you as soon as your dad had left.

The force of his push sent you straight into the wall, legs forced to wrap around his waist as he buried his face in your neck.

“Thank fuck,” he breathed.

“You’re welcome,” you murmured, swiping the water out of your eyes with a grimace.

Then, just as you were about to request that Joel lower you back down to the floor and out of the shower’s spray, you felt a nudge between your legs. Luckily not a tongue this time—just Joel, or the tip of his leaking cock. The man below you grinned, and for the first time in a long time, you felt a wash of relief. Could it be?

“I’ll still eat you out if y’want,” he started, though speaking with a little less conviction this time around, “But after all that I, uh—kinda jus’ wanna fuck ya stupid.”

Well thank fuck for fake spiders and cockroaches, too; you’d just averted a dreaded tonguefuck, thanks to that detour.

You’d worry about your pornstar moans and on-camera charisma another time—now you could just sit back and let Joel do all the work while he took you against the wall.

Really, there was no need to concern yourself with anything at all from that point forward. Once you’d given Joel the green light, he was sinking you onto his cock with a grunt and making sure you felt nothing but him. His hands found your hips and held you firmly in place as he rutted into you from below, your own fingers latching onto his shoulders for some much-needed support. Both of you knew that you needed to be extra quiet now—seeing how sound seemed to carry in that tight, tiled space—so Joel snagged your lips in his for a kiss.

He was practically panting in your mouth by the time you started meeting his thrusts. His fingertips slid some and must’ve seared ten perfect crescents into the flesh of your ass as he fucked you into the wall.

“Look so pretty like this,” he whispered in between kisses and short, shallow breaths. His cock parted your insides with an excruciating welt of pleasure, and he hardly even seemed to realize it, “Look so damn pretty takin’ cock.”

Then, lips kicking up in a smile when it seemed he’d remembered something, he added, “Can’t wait to play this tape back home and watch us fuck all over again.”

Again. Again. And again. Shit, you could just see it now.

Your eyes traversed the compact shower space once more to find the video camera—still perched, still live, still perfectly implacable and silent atop the sink as it recorded your every grunt, groan, and shuddering moan. You were nearly as curious to know what Joel’s bare ass looked like rutting into you like this as you were to hear yourself getting railed against the shower wall. Maybe you’d beat this fear of secondhand embarrassment after all.

Maybe.

Joel’s teeth snagged your bottom lip and bit it, lightly.

“Every chance I get, you can bet I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout this…sweet pussy while you’re away,” he said, voice low and occasionally punctured by a groan, “Say one more thing f’me and I’ll…cum every time I watch this part.”

The kinks at the corners of his lips were endearing. You would’ve liked to supply them with just about anything they could’ve wanted, so when they leaned into your ear and murmured just what it was they needed to hear, you only hesitated a second.

Or maybe two or three, because, well…it was risky.

Moaning ‘daddy’ out loud at a time like this? It might get Joel off quick, but it might send your real dad running even faster. You weren’t crazy about the thought of anything that might draw the man’s attention again.

Joel seemed a little less risk-averse than you, notwithstanding the window-leaping fear he’d felt when your dad had rushed in before. Leave it to a criminally horny man to have the memory of a goldfish, though.

At present, Joel was blinking and gawking a bit like one, too, waiting for you to enunciate that one magic word.

You couldn’t deny he made a damn cute desperate sex fiend when he wanted to be. And you needed to cum.

You figured you could cut a deal with him just this once.

“Alright,” you mumbled against the top of his stubbled lip, “Make me cum and I’ll say anything you want, Miller.”

You weren’t sure if it was a chuckle or a strangled moan that jumped up in his throat when Joel squeezed your sides tighter. All you knew was that he was lowering you to the floor in the next instant, spinning you around, and walking you forward, swiftly and with purpose, toward the opposite end of the shower. Right where the crack in the curtain made you most visible to the camcorder.

Joel’s hand snaked around your front and gently eased between your legs. Then, pressing his chest to your back and nudging you to bend just slightly at the waist, he tipped your bodies closer to the camera’s line of vision and stilled. From the LED screen, you could see the ghost of a smile crossing his lips as he shifted his head beside your own. Next, they were kissing across your shoulder, your neck, that sensitive spot behind your ear, and finally the shell of it, brown eyes trained on the camera lens as he murmured to you, “Stay real still.”

You didn’t know if you could. But you tried. And you damn near cried when his fingers started working circles over your clit. Your body was raised on tip-toes, and your hand was bracing the wall as Joel fucked you from behind and made a mess of your wet, writhing body. In no more than three or four strokes, your fears of looking or sounding stupid on camera trickled away with all the rest of the silent, sizzling liquids circling the drain below. Your cheek pressed against Joel’s rougher one, and with the push of each new thrust, you came more unraveled.

When Joel’s hand closed over the front of your throat, you didn’t flinch. Didn’t move—couldn’t move, as the man was holding you still in such a taut, rigid grip.

“What do we say when we get fucked this nice, baby?” Joel whispered in your ear, words almost entirely masked by the sounds from the shower. You still heard it, though.

“T-Thank you,” you stuttered, cockdrunk and faint.

“Thank you, what?”

Your eyes were fluttering closed, but you could feel the smug expression just over your shoulder. You clenched around him and felt him snap his hips ahead even harder.

“Thank you, daddy,” you whimpered.

“Say it again.”

“Thank you, daddy!” you whined, still scared to be too loud.

Joel wasn’t scared. His hand ascended the column of your neck to pinch your chin between his fingers, jerking your head to the right.

To the crack in the curtain. To the camera.

You could’ve cried with how fast he was fucking you now. You opened your eyes and cast a pathetic look to the recorder. Joel made sure you maintained that gaze, too.

“Who’s makin’ ya feel this good?” he seethed, shaking your whole frame with the breakneck pace of his hips.

“You, daddy.”

“Who’s fuckin’ this sweet cunt like no one ever has?”

“You, daddy.”

Joel seemed sated and somehow not fully satisfied at all. Like he was pleased to see you falling apart for him like this, but needed to hear more. Feel more.

He withdrew from you, and you nearly collapsed with the absence of his arms holding you straight.

You pressed a shaky palm to the wall and almost moaned for him to get his ass back over here, you weren’t done, when Joel returned in a second. To your relief, his muscly arms found their way around your front once more, and his clock plunged back inside you, too—only this time, you sensed you were missing something else.

Water.

It wasn’t on your back anymore.

It was fanning between your legs.

Blasting the full force of its stream toward your most sensitive parts as Joel held the shower head up between your thighs. You would’ve jumped back and screamed were it not for his hand clamping tight over your mouth before you could, his lips grazing over your ear again.

“Try it one more time.”

You released a hoarse, muffled squeal into his palm when he lifted the stainless steel to your clit and started rolling his hips. The strokes themselves were relatively gentle, but paired with the ruthless spate of the water, your eyes were nearly rolling to the back of your head at the pulse.

You couldn’t breathe, much less speak. Joel hummed almost apologetically into your hair but didn’t seem sorry at all as he lowered his hand back down to your throat and squeezed. He continued rocking his hips into yours.

“You’ve said it dozens of times before—what’s’a matter?”

Joel Miller knew what the fuck was the matter. He just liked to see you desperate, fucked-out, and teetering on the brink of going feral before he let you reach your peak.

“D-D-D—”

Damn, you sounded stupid.

“D-D-Do you wanna cum? Is that it?” Joel said, mocking your struggle to articulate words as he fucked you.

In spite of your normal no-bullshit attitude toward him, you weren’t in quite the right frame of mind to be talking back to him. You just nodded and moaned, movements constricted by the grip of his fingers on your neck.

“Use those big girl words for me, honey. I know ya can.”

Again, you parted your lips and started to speak, but the oscillation of the water, the brush of his cock, the patently deprecating lilt in Joel’s string of praises, made it nearly impossible. You ended up sputtering again,

“D-D-ah-fuuuckfuckfuck.”

“That ain’t the word I’m looking for.”

But, just as you ventured to say it once more, he cut in,

“Here. Lemme help ya find it.”

Before you could blink, Joel was pistoning his hips against your ass like he had before, only this time, he held the shower head stationary between your legs as you seized and nearly fell to the floor with the force of all the pleasure coursing through you. Your body seemed to act of its own accord, head dropping to Joel’s shoulder and stomach giving an alarmingly fitful pinch as an orgasm tore through you. You couldn’t control how it came or where it went—or how your tongue jumped up and cried,

“Daddy!”

Joel nodded, fucking you through each violent spasm with all the composure and aplomb of a seasoned pro. While your eyes cycled back in the throes of delirium, he held firm and didn’t slow his hips—or the shower head.

You probably could’ve torn a hole through a cinder block if you’d happened to have one between your teeth just then. That was how fervid and merciless the aftershocks of your climax were pulsing through you, exacerbated to the nth degree by the continuity of Joel’s movements. You managed to grab the forearm that was holding the metal nozzle and plead a wild, slightly stifled, “JOEL!”

In truth, you didn’t really want him to stop. It felt too good. You could tell that Joel sensed this, too, because in the instant after that, his lips were sponging kisses to your shoulder, cock working steadily between your walls.

“One more, sweet pea.”

“Joel—”

“And say it louder this time.”

Were you in your right mind, you probably would’ve chided him for being so reckless and stupid about it all. How the fuck could he expect you to scream out loud when your dad was lounging right outside of your room? Did he really think the drone of Cillian Murphy’s smooth, American-ized tone would mask your unbridled moans? Honestly, you couldn’t be sure—and more importantly, you couldn’t be stopped to consider for much longer. With one last trembling vibration from the shower head and a thrust from Joel, you were cumming all over again.

Squeezing his arm, sinking into his sturdy frame, clenching over his cock in what felt like a hundred convulsions, and casting caution aside, you screamed:

“DADDY!”

You might’ve blacked out for a second or two.

Even a minute, as it was, because the next intelligible thing that reached your ears was the thunder of footfalls. And the thrum of Joel’s own hammering heart as he yanked you into his chest and stilled frozen inside you.

The door swung open on its hinges so hard it hit the wall.

“What is it, sweetie?!” your dad yelped.

“I—”

“Are you hurt?”

Just fucked raw by your best friend and shaking, Pops.

You sucked in a breath when Joel nudged your head with his nose and slowly pulled the shower curtain closed to move you out of view of the camera. But it was still there.

Your dad was still there.

The shower walls seemed to be closing in on you, but somehow, you managed, “No, dad, I’m fine! Just…coulda sworn I saw another spider in here, but it was nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

Your dad sounded unconvinced, pacing closer. You could’ve screamed, but Joel was likely holding you too tight to make any such sounds possible in that moment. The two of you recoiled, still stuck chest-to-back, away from the edge of the plastic shower liner when a boot thudded just outside the crack between curtain and wall.

You swallowed. Joel squeezed. Neither of you breathed.

“If it’s another roach, I gotta call the extermin—”

“No! No, it wasn’t a roach. I’m just seein’ things, I think.”

That didn’t seem to make your father feel any better, because he didn’t retreat like he had before. A tense moment fell over the compact, fog-infested room, like the man was chewing away at some thought in his head.

Then he sighed.

“Alright.”

Blissful footsteps away from the shower. You smiled.

Unfortunately, the grin was destined to be short-lived, because in the next instant, you heard boots screech to a halt on the tile. Pivoted, then paused where they stood.

Another gut-wrenching dozen seconds passed, and for one short, chilling moment, you could’ve sworn you felt your father’s gaze sear through the curtain and see you.

But he didn’t see you. Or Joel. Or anyone.

Instead, his gaze was fixed someplace else.

Suddenly, his voice rose above all the awful noises of clamor and panic in your brain, and broke out, loudly,

“What’s my camera doin’ in here?”

[hellotailor]

Apologies if you've already done a post on this and I've just missed it, but can I ask for your take on the pyjamas worn by the cast of interview with vampire? I mean technically they're not a 100% necessary item, but just from a quick look there seems to be a lot of variety and they do change over the series

ok, i’m delighted by the specificity of this question, and it turns out that i have a VERY extensive answer.

there’s a lot of sleepwear in IWTV due to the volume of bedroom/coffin scenes, and like any other outfit, these costumes are shaped by characterization and historical period. for instance claudia initially wears a long, modest, frilly nightgown - an old-fashioned style that plays into her girlish doll wardrobe purchased by louis and lestat. however her sleepwear matures over the years, including a trendy lace nightdress with bloomers in the 1920s (note the rectangular silhouette), and a pink padded jacket/pastel robe outfit in 1940s paris. she's following contemporary trends while charting a visible trajectory from child to adult.

when i wrote about the Théâtre des Vampires coven costumes, i noted that while their wardrobes share certain themes (ie. monochrome patterns and stripes), they each have specific personal tastes. that holds true for sleepwear. in the S2 finale we see the coven going to bed in their coffins, with Eglee in a gorgeous (maybe 1940s?) robe, Celeste in a striped pajama suit reflecting her 1920s-30s cabaret style, and Armand in a plain grey set of prison jammies because he's Suffering.

of course, the star pajama outfits all belong to Louis and Lestat, playing into their wealthy domestic aesthetic in S1. they receive multiple bedroom/coffin scenes, and Lestat's gold Leyendecker robe is obviously iconic.

touching on the historical side of things for a moment, pajamas (as in a matching buttondown top and loose pants) were popularized in the western world in the 19th century, as a repurposed south asian import - kind of like how banyans became trendy among the upper classes in 18th century england. this was when loungewear started to catch on as a concept, both in terms of dressing gowns and smoking jackets (which you could wear while socializing at home) and actual pajamas, which became unisex in the 1920s.

back in his human life in the 18th century, Lestat probably slept naked or wore a shapeless white nightgown (and possibly a nightcap, the sexiest of garments). but in New Orleans he adopts Louis' lifestyle, which involves a luxurious wardrobe of fashionable menswear. they're both into shopping and looking good, and i think they enjoy the ritual of getting dressed together each night.

(i also have a personal theory that Lestat may prefer to sleep fully clothed because his formative traumatic memory involves waking up naked in the dark. after all, he doesn't need pajamas to stay warm, and he doesn't have a recent habit of wearing them in his human life like Louis does. then again, maybe he just enjoys having a new outfit for every occasion!)

in Dubai, we only get one scene (iirc) with Louis and Armand in their pajamas, lying in bed wearing outfits that tie into the striped prison bar imagery of their bedroom. Armand is in warmer brown tones (like his Paris wardrobe) while Louis is in black and grey, like the rest of his Dubai outfits. i'd also note that this is the one place where they're genuine in private, meaning that they aren't putting on a show for Daniel. so this is potentially Armand's most relaxed costume in the present day.

the fact that they're wearing this kind of old-school sleepwear feels very appropriate for their whole deal, imo. in the 21st century, a lot of people just sleep in boxers and t-shirts or whatever. there's a slightly 20th century vibe to wearing a full set of buttondown pajamas, and Armand's outfit reads as more stylish (and possibly more wealthy) than your average millennial guy. which makes sense! they're old men.

i think we can assume that every single thing in their Dubai home is ferociously expensive, even when it doesn't need to be. considering the way Louis gives himself a modern makeover in the finale, i do wonder if he'll switch over to sleeping in t-shirts etc next season, or if he'll stick with variations of the same sleepwear he wore during his mortal life.

p.s. all of my iwtv design posts are available on this tag!

[oikasugayama]

You can't escape from chuuya 😜 the same as with dazai with the reader with a short skirt nsfw I wanted the most chuuye😠

fiiiiine, fine. Have Chuuya smut that's twice as long as the Dazai one ;)

MDNI, NSFW, fem!reader in a short skirt, 5k of filthy dirty nasty smutttt, name calling, brat taming, spanking, daddy (only once), fingering, cum eating, blow job, all sorts of shit ok. MDNI MDNI MDNI

You’re always professionally dressed at work. Members of the Port Mafia are paid handsomely, so you can all afford to dress to the nines, even for a simple day in the office or a dangerous tryst out in enemy territory. Like many of your coworkers, you prefer a polished, businessy look when conducting Port Mafia business. You have a closet full of perfectly tailored pantsuits, mostly in black though you do keep a few fun colors should you get the chance to wear them. 

On your days off, however, you’re more or less unrecognizable to your coworkers thanks to the difference in your business style and your personal style. You’re not just fond of bright and pastel colors, you’re obsessed with them. The girlier, prettier, and gaudier a piece of clothing is, the more you love it. You’re inspired by Harajuku, and pastel goth styles, as well as some frilly vintage vibes now and again. You even have a small collection of colorful wigs you like to wear out sometimes when an outfit calls for just the right one. 

One of your favorite outfits includes a black tube top, a cropped pastel pink cardigan that hangs off one shoulder, a black and pink plaid mini skirt over some fashionably ripped fishnet tights and a chunky pair of black platform boots. You like to accessorize of course, and typically go for a pastel pink dog collar choker with a heart pendant, chains hanging across your waist and down one side of your skirt, dangly earrings, and several rings. Depending on your mood, your makeup is either very sharp and black, or very soft and pink, and if you choose to wear a wig, its color is the opposite of the makeup you chose.

On the day you accidentally run into several of your coworkers in a bar, you’re in a pink wig with black eyeliner so sharp it could cut a man. 

You’re not surprised that they don’t recognize you. At work you have very plain, naturally colored hair, typically smoothed back into a bun, much like Higuchi and Gin do. In a plain black suit, it’s hard to show off your style. Besides, you wouldn’t want any of your fun clothes getting ruined in the line of duty. And it’s not like, on the rare occasion you hang out with your coworkers, that you’ve had time to go home and change. Typically if you go anywhere with them that isn’t for work, it’s just to lunch in the middle of the day, or to a bar at the end of a shift. They’ve never known you to look anything except professional.

This leads you to want to have a little fun with them all, to see how close you can get and what you can start saying before one of them catches on that it’s you.

You walk past the group a few times on the way to the bar or to the table you’re perched at. They don’t say anything about you at first, and they’re not talking about anything important from what you hear. On your third trip past, however, you do catch one of them mentioning you, and you use your ability-- which allows you to focus your hearing on anything you so choose within a certain radius-- to eavesdrop from across the loud room.

“--same chick has walked by like 5 times already,” Tachihara says.

“Are you sure?” Gin asks.

“Why does it matter? We’re in public,” Higuchi says. “People are going to walk by.”

“I know it’s definitely her because, I mean, look at her. Of course I noticed her.”

You pretend like you don’t notice when several curious heads turn your way.

“God, she’s hot,” Chuuya says, whistling under his breath. “Fucking Christ, those thighs.”

“Hey, I saw her first,” Tachihara says, while the others roll their eyes and tell the two to quiet down.

“I’d offer to share, but if I get a piece of that ass, it’s fucking mine.”

“Jesus Christ, Chuuya, you’ve had too much to drink already.”

“We’ve been here 20 minutes, I’ve barely had one glass!” he says defensively.

“Why don’t you ask her to dance if you’re so interested?” Akutagawa asks, disinterested but amused at the notion of Chuuya making a fool of himself.

“Nah,” he says, waving his hand at his group. “A hot piece of ass like that you’ve gotta chase a little. I’ve gotta buy her a drink, maybe, then ask her to dance later, then lay on the charm.”

“You’re a real ladies man, Chuuya,” Tachihara says sarcastically.

The conversation gradually turns to something else. You let it drift away since your focus isn’t exactly on them anymore, it’s suddenly on the pulsing desire burning in your crotch. “Holy shit,” you think. “Chuuya wants to fuck me so bad he’s making stupid ass plans for it.” Honestly, he could hit it any day of the week if he’d just ask, but he’s never seemed too interested in you at work. “This is what does it for him, I guess,” you think, downing the rest of your drink. You then decide to grab his attention again by stretching a little, arching your back and raising your arms over your head to make your cropped cardigan and your tube top expose a bit of your belly. It’s not a lot, but for someone already desperate to see more of you, it works.

“Fucking hell,” Chuuya mutters under his breath, eyes on you. You make eye contact with him and wink, and when he smirks instead of looking away, you run your hand up your thigh, pulling your short skirt up even higher. His eyebrows raise, giving you a look like “oh yeah?” and you smile. 

“His move,” you think, using your other hand to twirl your empty glass around a little bit. Chuuya excuses himself from the group and goes to the bar quickly.

You’ve got him hook, line, and sinker.

It’s then that the worst thing happens. Higuchi’s phone rings, then Gin’s, and Tachihara’s, and Akutagawa’s, and Chuuya’s, and yours. It’s an emergency alert from the PM. You’re all being called in, and you need to be there fast. You’re only a couple of blocks from the office. All of your coworkers will be there in less than 10 minutes. You don’t have time to go home and change. You have to go right now.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you hiss under your breath, getting up and rushing for the door before the others do. Maybe if you get out ahead of them they won’t notice you--

“God dammit,” Chuuya groans. “I was just about to get her a fuckin’ drink.”

“She’s running out, too,” Higuchi points out.

“It’s weird that she’s going in the same direction as us, right?” Tachihara asks, unsure.

“There are a lot of other things out this way, dumbass,” Chuuya says.

Then you take a left, and the group takes a left. They get closer, and you try to walk faster.

Then you take a right, and they take a right. Then you approach the PM headquarter building.

“What the fuck?” Chuuya asks, rushing forward to try to stop you at the door, but you rush inside as soon as the door opens a crack.

“Hey!” Tachihara calls, rushing in after you. You hit the button to call an elevator, but realize the only available one is several floors away. You’re cornered. The jig is up.

Fuck.

“Heeeey,” you say, slowly turning around to greet the group as they gather. “Any of you know what the emergency is? I’m wondering if it’s about the Detective Agency’s involvement in our failed gun import. I was just telling Akutagawa-san yesterday that I had a feeling they’d end up losing the guns to some other organization stealing them before the Detectives could decide whether to turn us in over it.”

“Oh my god,” Higuchi gasps.

“It’s [Y/N],” Gin says.

“What?!” Chuuya and Tachihara both say, and Akutagawa is the only one to stay focused.

“It likely is exactly that,” he says. “Your foresight is spot on as usual.”

“What’s with this outfit?!” Higuchi asks, feeling your cardigan and grabbing the hem of your skirt. “It’s so short! Why are you dressed like this? You were at the same bar as us!”

“This is how I dress on my days off,” you answer honestly, shrugging. The elevator doors finally open and you all start to file in. “And yes, I’m well aware we were at the same bar,” you say, glancing at Chuuya as he shuffles past you. His cheeks blaze and his eyes lock onto the ground, refusing to meet your gaze.

So that’s how it is.

The emergency meeting goes on for two tense hours. It’s exactly what you and Akutagawa thought it would be about, and your group, as well as other Mafia and specifically Black Lizard leaders and members discuss action plans, potential repercussions, and viable reconnaissance missions. When Mori finally announces that you all deserve a break and that you’re meet again in an hour, you’re the first to get up and leave the room, feeling embarrassed to be in a work situation in your fun outfit.

Several footsteps follow you into the hallway, but they all patter off in different directions after a turn here, a turn there.

Only one set of steps follows you into the stairwell. It’s quiet, with very light steps, but you know it’s there thanks to your impeccable hearing.

The same footsteps follow you down two floors, three, four, five…

You feel like you’re being chased, but you think you know exactly who it is, and so the chase is more exciting than it is scary.

You finally get to the floor that your office is on and leave the stairwell. You walk quickly to your office, go in but leave the door cracked, and to test your theory that you’re being followed, you “accidentally” drop your phone after walking a few feet inside. You slowly bend over, letting your short skirt rise up over the curve of your ass, completely exposing your fishnet-covered ass and black thong to anyone who may be standing at the door. You grab your phone slowly, give a cheeky shake of your butt, then stand back up.

Your office door clicks closed behind you, and the lock engages loudly.

“That show for me?” Chuuya asks. You turn to find him leaning against your door. A quick glance down shows you that he’s already at least half-hard in his pants.

“Who else?” you ask softly, leaning against the edge of the desk. It’s cold on your mostly bare ass, but you act cool, crossing one ankle over the other. Your legs look long and sexy stretched out in front of you, and you can tell that Chuuya thinks so too because he can’t stop looking at them.

“It’s a shame we were called away,” you say to break the tension. “I was looking forward to that drink.”

“Were you?” he asks, slowly walking toward you. His hands are deep in his pockets like usual, always acting calm and cool. The look in his eye is different than normal, though. It’s hungry. “Nice to know.”

“You know, you’re not as forward as I thought you’d be,” you admit, leaning back on your hands. You’re on full display for him now. “I half expected you to be all over me as soon as you closed that door.”

“Tell me to leave,” he says, finally standing toe to toe with you. “Tell me to get the fuck out otherwise I will be all over you.”

“Why would I tell you to get the fuck out when I could tell you to come the fuck on already?”

Chuuya makes a noise between a moan and a growl and leaps forward, standing so both of his legs are over yours. He grabs your face with both of his hands and pulls you in for a hot, hard kiss. It’s all tongue and nipping at each other’s lips and hot panting into each other’s mouths.

Your hands shamelessly roam his body once you’ve sat up to meet him. You push his jackets back off of his shoulders so it falls onto the ground. You feel his muscular back and shoulders and arms. You slide your hands lower, feeling his sides and hips. You start messing with his belt by the time he even realizes he can touch you back.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he pants, yanking at your cardigan so you take it off. “Honestly good that you don’t fucking dress like this at work,” he says, yanking your tube top down too so your breasts are exposed. “I’d be fucking you every time I fucking see you.” He gropes your tits, squeezing them and massaging them in his hands. He tweaks your perked nipples, rolling them between his fingers, making them hard and sensitive. 

“Chuuya,” you whine, “why don’t you suck on them if you like them so much?” He looks up at you and smirks, temporarily grabbing you by the hips to push you further back on your desk so you can lay down comfortably. Once you’re flat he climbs on top, knees on either side of your hips, and leans down to your chest. He licks wet stripes across your tit, teasing your nipple with his tongue. He kisses open-mouthed around your boob, refusing to give you what you really want until you finally whine and shift under him, then he sucks your nipple into his mouth and keeps steady pressure on it for several seconds until finally releasing it with a wet smacking sound. He gives the other breast a similar treatment, teasing and sucking and licking. You reach a hand up into his hair, gently moaning his name while you card your fingers through.

He starts grinding his hard-on against your lower belly, just above your crotch given the way that he’s kneeled over you. You whimper and push your hips up, trying to meet him as he grinds. He’s thoroughly attached to your breasts, playing with one nipple while sucking on the other, trading, kissing, sucking hickies onto them. He works a stream of moans and pants and whines from you, getting you to moan his name several times, which makes him grind down onto you harder.

Finally, his hand leaves your chest and trails down your body, his slightly calloused fingers feeling rough on your soft skin. Chuuya flips your short skirt up, wasting no time in cupping your still-clothed cunt and stroking his fingers over it.

“God damn, you’re wet already,” he says, shifting so his face is against your neck.

“You’re fucking hot,” you admit, tugging on his hair. He bites not-so-gently, leaving an instant red and purple hickey on a very obvious spot. His fingers slowly spread, coming together again almost squeezing your pussy lips together. He does it again after you moan in his ear, adding more pressure to tease you with, and again, but this time his fingers dip under your panties and bunch the fabric up together. He pulls it up, several inches higher than your body, making the fabric squeeze in between your lips, leaving it pressing against your clit.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, chuckling when you grind up against his hand and your own panties, seeking stimulation. “That why you’re letting me touch your cunt? ‘Cause you think I’m hot?”

“Yeah,” you whine, still grinding upward. It’s working, your movements are giving you little shocks of pleasure as the damp fabric drags across your clit and also teases your pussy somewhat. “I’d let you fuck me too.” Your voice is breathy and unsteady, and Chuuya can tell just from the sound of it that you’re getting really worked up.

“I don’t know, doll,” he says, hovering over you by one hand pressed against the desk beside your head. “I kind of like the view watching you fuck yourself on my hand.”

“It’s not really ‘on your hand’ without your fingers in me.” You could swear that his eyes light up.

“What was that?” He teases you again, drifting his fingers over the extremely sensitive skin of your pussy. “Did you say something--” he dips a finger past your lips just enough to hook around your panties and pull them back, pushing them to the side-- “about my fingers?”

“Fucking tease,” you huff, reaching down to grab his hand, but he becomes an immovable force when you try to push his hand further down. “Oh and that stupid fucking ability of yours.” He laughs at that and tsks at you.

“You’ve got a dirty fuckin’ mouth,” he says. “Maybe you need something good in there to clean it out.” He gets off the desk and unbuckles his belt, unzips his pants, and kicks them to the floor. You sit up to see him in just his black underwear and white t-shirt, palming himself through the fabric. “C’mere and suck this dick.”

You obey, getting onto the ground with shaky thighs. He’d gotten you more worked up than you realized, and knowing yourself, sucking his dick is not going to calm you down, it’s going to get you closer to the edge.

You pull his boxers down and he steps out of them. His cock is thick and longer than your fist when you close it around his shaft. You give him a few pumps, spreading some pre-cum down his length, before leaning forward with an open mouth to take him in greedily. You start bobbing your head immediately, trying to take as much of him as possible. He stretches your mouth more than anyone else ever has, and you have a feeling your jaw is gonna get sore if you do this for too long.

Chuuya grabs fistfulls of your hair and uses it to guide you back and forth, setting a quicker pace than you already were. He works up to fucking your mouth, using your head like a sex toy. His tip bounces off the back of your throat multiple times, and you have to focus really hard on not gagging. You get messy, letting spit and drool fall out of the corners of your mouth. Tears also spring up in your eyes from him fucking your throat, but you don’t even try to stop them from falling. Your eyeliner is waterproof, but your mascara isn’t, so some black streaks may fall down your cheeks, but you don’t care. You honestly kind of want to see the fucked out look on your face when this is all over.

“You’re too good at this,” Chuuya moans. “Fucking cockslut, aren’t you? Gonna be my slut now, huh? Gonna let me fuck your throat some more, right? Whenever I want?”

You hum around him but can’t exactly nod given his cock in your mouth. He gets it though, and he also moans when you hum as the vibrations go straight into his sensitive tip when it touches the back of your mouth.

“Gonna cum in your mouth,” he grunts, “gonna make you eat it all.”

You try to shake your head, pushing back on his thighs, whining.

“No?” he asks, slowing down and stopping. “Why not, doll?” He lets you back up, finally letting go of your hair.

“That’s a waste,” you croak out, then clear your throat and try to make the fucked-out sound go away. “If you don’t bend me over my desk and fuck me until I scream I’m never fucking touching you again.”

“Oh, fuck yeah!” he says excitedly, reaching down for your arms. He picks you up effortlessly thanks to his ability, and for some reason that really does it for you. You moan just from that touch, feeling your pussy throb. Then he turns you around, pushes you down onto your desk, and smacks your ass hard. You yelp and then moan as he rubs the sting out.

“Where do you want me to cum? On your back?”

“In my cunt, dumbass.”

“Geez, you’re a fucking bitch, you know that?” he hisses, squeezing one hand around the base of his cock while the other swings and spanks you again. “And it’s so fucking hot.” He spanks you again. He refuses to tell you he felt his orgasm building from you telling him to cum inside, though his brain is being overrun by that thought now.

He flips your skirt up and rubs his hands on your ass, squeezing your cheeks and gently smacking them to make them jiggle.

“Are you having fun?” you ask him, earning another hard spank, which you moan loudly in response to, a fun smirk on your face. “I kinda like that,” you coo, wiggling your hips back toward him. “Spank me again, Chuuya-san. I’ve been very, very bad.” 

He spanks you hard and you yelp, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “Oh, fuck,” you moan softly, torn between pleasure and pain. “You’re an asshole.” He spanks you again on the other cheek. “Will you fuck me already, asshole?”

“I would if you’d stop being a bitch.”

“Maybe you’ve gotta fuck the bitch out of me,” you say, trying to look at him over your shoulder. “You’ll never know until you try.”

“Amen,” he says flippantly, pulling your panties to the side again to make sure they’re still out of his way. He rubs his fingers over your wet pussy, dipping between the folds but never into your vagina. He spreads your wetness all over your folds, as if it wasn’t there already, but then he huffs and you hear a slight ripping.

“What was that?” you ask, turning to him.

“Stupid fucking lines are in my way.”

“Lines? My fishnets? You did not just rip my tights, you fucking douche.”

“So what if I did?” he asks, stroking himself with your wet.

“Are you serious? You fucking a-- ohhh, fuck!” You try to insult him again but get cut off by his thick cock skewering you in one swift movement. You’re so wet and ready that he slides straight in, your walls stretching to fit around his girth.

“Fuuuuuck,” he moans, throwing his head back as he bottoms out. “Your bitch pussy is the best shit I’ve ever felt, I swear to god,” he says, grabbing both sides of your hips as he withdraws and then snaps his hips forward again. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“Oh, shit, Chuuyaaa,” you whine, voice going high and strained. “You’re so big, what the fuck? What the-- fuuuck,” you moan as he sets a pace, hips snapping forward every second, filling the room with wet fucking sounds and the smack of his heavy balls against your thighs.

“I’ve gotta fuckin’ see you,” he says after only a minute, backing out of you. You grunt and groan, glaring at him over your shoulder until he once again grabs you with that ability of his and moves you around like you weigh nothing. He has you on your side, one leg hanging off the desk, the other hooked over his shoulder, and then he teases your pussy with the head of his cock, dragging it back and forth, up and down your lips, pushing in only near your clit, not near your hole.

“Chuuya, please,” you sigh, reaching down toward where your bodies meet, but he grabs your hand and pins it to the desk. “Please fuck me, don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?” he asks cheekily, moving his hips as if thrusting, only letting his cock rub between your pussy lips.

“Don’t tease me,” you pant, trying to squirm your hips. “Put your cock back in me, now.”

“Now?” he asks, playing dumb.

“Now,” you insist. He rubs his tip against your clit.

“What about now?”

“Stop teasing me!”

“You know, that’s no way to ask for a favor,” he says. “Maybe I’ll just walk away. Then what would you do? Fuck yourself on your fingers?”

“I’ll find Akutagwa,” you huff, trying to loosen your hand from his grasp. He barks out a laugh, whole body shaking for a moment.

“Akutagawa?! He wouldn’t know what to do with a pussy like this, babe,” he smirks, finally moving his tip back toward your hole. “You really don’t think he could fuck you like I can, right?”

“What if I do?” You try to keep sounding tough, but the brat is being teased out of you, and you really, really want to be fucked dumb on his cock right now. “Maybe-- ahhh--” Chuuya enters you slowly, smirking down at you and the way your eyes roll back before fluttering closed. 

“Maybe what?” Chuuya asks, bottoming out.

“Maybe-- Akutagawa--” you stutter as Chuuya pulls back and snaps his hips forward again, spearing your g-spot as if he was locked on target.

“Akutagawa?” he asks, trying to lead you on as he slowly builds his pace. You try to babble something out, but as he starts properly fucking you, leaning over you and holding your leg up so he can press you into the desk, you just can’t think of anything except for Chuuya.

“Chuuya-- Chuuya-- Oh, fuck, right there-- Ohh, Chuuya!”

The sound alone is enough to make someone blush, your wet pussy gushing around him every time he goes balls deep, his body pressing against yours, getting wet and precum and sweat all over each other's crotches. You both get lost in it, moaning and swearing and giving stupid empath threats to each other.

“You better make me cum,” you say to him, and he responds “You better stop being such a bitch when I make this pussy squirt.”

He starts palming your tits again when he gets close, panting and fucking you as quickly as he can.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. You sure I can bust inside?” he manages to ask through his panting.

“Yes,” you moan, “oh fuck yeah. Cum in this pussy, daddy.”

“Daddy?!” he asks, and that’s what does it. You caught him so off guard that his whole body jerks and he hunches over you, cumming a big, hot load into your cunt. His face is burning red, and some sweat drips down his forehead. His eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth dropped open, a tiny bit of drool about to sneak out the corner of his mouth. “Fucking bitch,” he says, but it’s so high pitched and tense that it makes you laugh. Your pussy involuntarily contracts when you laugh, and your whole body slightly jiggles under him, and it makes him yelp and moan again, long and drawn out. “God damn,” he whines, pulling back as if he’s going to back out now.

“Hey, hey, hey,” you say, trying to stop him by the leg that’s thrown over his shoulder. “You didn’t make me cum yet. You’re not done here, Chuuya.”

“I’m not but my dick is,” he says, still kind of whiny. “I think you just sucked me dry, I really fucking think you did.” You can’t help but to laugh a little more as he lowers your leg and rolls you onto your back. “It’s only polite--” he says, dropping to his knees “--that I return the favor.” In a flash his tongue is on your pussy, lapping up his cum as it spills out of you. He swallows it without comment, and keeps lapping at your pussy, dipping his tongue into your hole while it’s still nice and open from his cock. You run your hand through his hair again, making sure he can’t pull back too far. You want his whole face in your cunt and you aren’t letting up on this. 

His fingers join his mouth, taking over for his tongue in prodding at your hole. They slip inside, twisting together at the same time as they pull in and out. He teases your g-spot every time this way, and the side of his fingers on your sensitive walls feels so so good. You start moaning his name when his tongue swirls around your clit, working relentless circles on it. He intersperses little sucks on it, and once he even dips his nose down and uses it to rub your clit since it’s a bit firmer than his tongue. He eats you out like an absolute fucking champ, shaking his head and blowing out to give you slight vibrating sensations, suckling to give you quick peaks of stimulation, and flicking his tongue back and forth and rolling it in circles to build your orgasm up higher and higher and higher until finally.

“Oh god, Chuuya-- I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-- oohhhh Chuuya!!” Your back arches up, your fists close tightly in his hair, and you force his face into your pussy as you cum on his mouth and his fingers, rolling your hips to meet his touches. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, just keeps letting you use him as your orgasm rolls and rolls and finally starts to patter out. Only when you let go of his hair does he sit upright, pull his fingers out of you, and suck your cum off of his fingers.

“You’re a lot of fun, you know that?” he asks, standing up, stretching his somewhat sore muscles.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you sigh happily. Your whole body feels weightless and blissful and you aren’t ready to get up yet, even as Chuuya starts getting dressed.

“You dress like this often?”

“Every day off,” you say, finally having enough energy to at least pull your tube top back up to cover your breasts.

“Good. You should come see me again then.”

“You came to see me. And yes, you should come see me again.” You sit up, tilting your head and smiling mischievously at him.

“Guess I didn’t fuck the brat out of you yet,” he mumbles, reaching up to grab your jaw in his hand. “Next time then.”

“I’d love to see you try.”

[enemiestolovershoe]

New Beginnings Part 2

Matt Sturniolo x preg!reader

Summary: Matt and Reader welcome their Newborn

Word Count: 5,2k

Warnings: use of y/n, detailed birth, labor, crying, not proofread

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

25 Weeks

It had been a crazy few weeks for you and Matt. The baby was growing fast, and your belly had popped, making everything feel more real. You and Matt had been excited and nervous about everything that was coming your way, but now there was something even bigger on your minds: finding out the gender.

At the 25-week appointment, you were lying on the examination bed, your belly round and visible beneath the thin layer of gel that the ultrasound technician had just applied. You glanced at Matt, who was sitting beside you, holding your hand tightly as the ultrasound machine hummed to life.

"You guys ready for this?" The tech smiled, clearly enjoying the moment as she moved the wand across your belly. The screen lit up with the image of your baby and every time you saw it, your heart skipped a beat. The tiny human you and Matt had created together—it was beyond overwhelming.

"Honestly?" Matt chuckled nervously, squeezing your hand. "I don't know if I’m ever going to be ready for this."

You laughed softly, your eyes glued to the screen. "We’ll figure it out. We’ve got Nick and Chris for extra hands, right?"

"Extra hands?" Matt raised his eyebrows, smiling. "More like extra chaos. Especially Nick."

The tech chuckled at your exchange, her focus on the screen. "Well, it looks like your little one is doing great. Everything looks good...and I can definitely see the gender. Do you want to know?"

Your heart leaped into your throat. You and Matt had already decided to wait for a reveal, thanks to Nick's insistence on planning something big. Still, the temptation was real, especially when the tech said she could see it right there on the screen.

You met Matt's gaze. He gave you a small smile and a nod. "We’re sticking with the plan, right?"

"Yeah," you agreed, your voice shaking a little with excitement. "Can you write it down for us? Nick’s got this whole thing planned."

The tech smiled again. "Sure thing. I love a good reveal party."

As she printed off the image and scribbled the gender onto a piece of paper, you and Matt exchanged looks of pure excitement. It was hard to believe that the answer to this huge question was just a slip of paper away.

When the appointment wrapped up, the tech handed you the sealed envelope. The paper inside seemed to hold more weight than you expected, as though knowing the secret inside made it feel heavier.

"Good luck resisting the urge to peek," she joked.

Matt laughed, holding up his hands in surrender as he took the envelope from you. "I swear, no peeking. This is all for Nick now."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

28 Weeks

Three weeks later, Nick had pulled off a full-blown event for the gender reveal. You weren't even surprised. If you were expecting anyone to go all out, it would be Nick Sturniolo. He had rented a picturesque little villa for the occasion, and you and Matt arrived to find it completely decked out in every shade of pink and blue you could imagine.

There were pastel balloons arching over the entrance, blue and pink ribbons tied around every chair, and even tables full of finger foods—mini sandwiches, cupcakes, and a gorgeous pasta buffet that had clearly been arranged with care.

"Nick," you breathed as you stepped out of the car, looking around in amazement. "This is insane."

Matt looked equally surprised, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. "He actually did it."

Before you could say more, Nick came running up, arms outstretched, a huge grin on his face. "You guys like it?!" he asked excitedly, giving both you and Matt huge hugs.

"Are you serious?" Matt said, laughing. "This looks incredible."

"Not to mention the food," you added, eyeing the table. You hadn’t even made it inside yet, but you could see how much effort Nick had put into the whole thing. "Nick, you outdid yourself."

Chris appeared beside him, balancing a plate of pasta in one hand, and garlic bread in the other. "Yeah, props to him. This is probably the best food I’ve had in a while."

Nick beamed with pride. "I told you it was going to be epic. Now, are you guys ready to find out what you’re having?!"

You and Matt exchanged a nervous glance. You had been counting down to this moment for weeks, but now that it was here, it felt surreal. It wasn’t just a hypothetical anymore—soon, you’d know whether you were having a little boy or a little girl.

"I’m ready," you said, nodding firmly, though the nerves were buzzing in your chest.

"Ready as I’ll ever be," Matt agreed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

As you walked into the villa, Nick led you toward the backyard, where a large crowd had gathered. Your families were there, along with all of the triplets' friends—people you recognized from their YouTube videos. There was even a large "Team Boy" vs. "Team Girl" station set up, where people could grab badges and make their guesses.

"I'm team girl all the way," Matt announced as he pinned a pink badge to his shirt.

Chris snorted. "Nah, it’s a boy. Gotta keep the Sturniolo boy streak alive."

“I‘m also team girl“ you chuckled.

Matt chuckled, shaking his head. "We’ll see. Either way, this little one is going to be spoiled."

A few minutes later, Nick called everyone’s attention to the backyard, where two large smoke canons were set up on either side of a huge arch of balloons. Pink and blue balloons filled the sky, drifting lazily in the warm breeze, adding to the excitement of the moment.

Nick grabbed a microphone, grinning from ear to ear. "Alright, everyone! It’s time for the big moment! We’ve got Matt and y/n here, ready to find out if they’re having a boy or a girl! Who’s ready?!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. Matt stood beside you, his arm wrapped around your waist, and you leaned into him for support. This was it.

Nick handed you and Matt each a smoke cannon, and you felt the cool metal in your hands, your fingers trembling slightly. The anticipation was almost too much.

"Okay, on the count of three, they’re gonna pull the triggers," Nick announced. "Everyone ready?"

You took a deep breath, your hands shaking with nerves and excitement. Matt squeezed your hand, his excitement clear in his eyes. "You got this," he whispered.

"Three…" Nick started, the crowd joining in. "Two… one!"

You and Matt pulled the triggers simultaneously, and for a moment, the world went quiet as pink smoke exploded into the air. You stared in shock as the cloud of pink engulfed the backyard.

"It’s a girl!" someone shouted.

Matt turned to you, his eyes wide, and a huge smile spread across his face. "It’s a girl. We’re having a girl!"

Your heart swelled as tears sprung to your eyes. "We’re having a girl," you repeated, your voice barely a whisper as you wrapped your arms around Matt’s neck.

He hugged you tightly, his hands gently cradling your back as you cried into his shoulder. You could feel his excitement and joy radiating through the embrace, and it made your heart feel like it could burst. You were going to have a daughter.

Before long, Chris and Nick rushed over, joining the hug. "Oh my God, I’m gonna have a niece!" Chris shouted, practically bouncing with excitement.

Nick grinned, pulling you into a bear hug. "This is going to be awesome!"

You laughed through the tears, overwhelmed by the love and happiness surrounding you. "I can’t believe it," you said, shaking your head as you wiped your eyes. "A little girl."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

35 Weeks

As the weeks went by and your belly grew even bigger, the time had finally come to work on the nursery. You and Matt had been planning it for weeks—scouring Pinterest boards, bookmarking every cute piece of furniture and decor that caught your eye. Now, at 35 weeks, you were ready to put it all together.

Well, almost ready. The triplets had insisted on helping, so you had a feeling you’d be doing more supervising than actual decorating.

Chris and Nick arrived early that Saturday, armed with coffee and donuts. You were already in the nursery, sitting in the rocking chair you’d picked out, rubbing your belly absentmindedly. You were definitely feeling the weight of pregnancy now—your back ached, your feet were swollen, and even sitting for too long made you feel uncomfortable. But the excitement of seeing the nursery come together kept you going.

Matt was already unpacking the last of the furniture boxes when Chris and Nick strolled in.

"Alright, what’s the game plan?" Nick asked, setting the donuts down on the floor before taking a look around. "You guys got a vision?"

"Yeah, we do," Matt said, holding up his phone. "She’s been saving Pinterest ideas for weeks."

You laughed, leaning back in the chair. "I’d do it myself, but…" You motioned to your belly, which was now large and very much in the way of most things. "I’m not exactly mobile these days."

Chris grinned. "Don’t worry. We’ve got this."

And with that, the triplets got to work. Matt and Chris assembled the crib while Nick hung up the shelves and artwork you’d picked out. You watched from your rocking chair, smiling as the room slowly came together. It was everything you’d imagined—soft pinks, creams, and gold accents, with delicate floral prints and stuffed animals in every corner.

"You guys are seriously amazing," you said, your heart swelling with gratitude.

Matt turned to you, wiping sweat from his brow. "We’d do anything for you—and for her."

Nick smirked as he finished hanging the last shelf. "This little girl is going to be the most spoiled baby in the world."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

41 Weeks

Now at 41 weeks, you were officially past your due date, and to say you were getting impatient would be an understatement. Your baby girl was stubborn, just like her dad, and no matter what you tried, labor just wasn’t starting.

One evening, you were sitting in the living room with Matt, Chris, and Nick, discussing all the things you’d tried to get things moving. Spicy food, walking, bouncing on a yoga ball—you’d done it all.

"I even tried that whole pineapple thing," you sighed, leaning back against the couch cushions. "Nothing."

”Maybe you should try sex”, Nick blankly said.

”Nick, when I said we tried everything, I mean everything”, you‘re getting frustrated.

Chris chuckled. "Well, at least the cookies are a good backup plan. I mean, if labor doesn’t start, at least we’ll have snacks."

Nick laughed, giving you a wink. "I read somewhere that cookies actually have magic powers. Maybe these will do the trick."

You rolled your eyes, standing up and waddling toward the kitchen. "I’ll believe it when I see it."

As you reached for the ingredients, you felt a sudden, sharp cramp in your abdomen. You paused, frowning, and then—

Your water broke.

You stared down in shock as the liquid pooled around your feet. For a moment, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. Then, finally, you managed to say the words that would change everything.

"Uh, guys? My water just broke."

The room went silent.

And then all hell broke loose.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Labor

All four of you stood frozen, staring at the small puddle on the floor.

Nick, naturally the first to speak, broke the silence. "Are you sure you didn’t just piss yourself?" His voice was light, but the shock was clear on his face.

You shot him a look, shaking your head. "No, Nick. I’m pretty sure this is happening."

Matt’s eyes widened as the realization hit him. "Okay. Okay. Oh my god, it's happening! Chris, grab the hospital bag!" His voice was shaky, panic starting to take over. "Nick, call the hospital, tell them we’re on our way!"

Chris, already ahead of the game, was moving before Matt even finished the sentence. "On it!" He darted to the hallway, where the hospital bag had been packed and sitting for weeks. "Got it!" he shouted, slinging it over his shoulder and heading for the door.

Nick pulled out his phone, already dialing. "Okay, okay! I’m calling!" he said, pacing a little. "Man, this is really happening. Holy crap."

Matt turned to you, immediately switching to his softer, more concerned tone. "Come on, babe. Let’s get you changed real quick," he said, leading you carefully toward the bedroom, his hand supporting your back. "We don’t want you showing up at the hospital soaked."

You nodded, feeling the rush of emotions hit you—excitement, nervousness, fear. "Yeah, not exactly how I want to make an entrance," you joked, though your voice trembled.

Once in the bedroom, Matt gently helped you out of your wet clothes, his hands shaky but careful as he eased you into some fresh leggings and one of his hoodies. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly, his eyes full of concern, trying his best to stay calm for your sake.

You took a deep breath, focusing on staying composed. "A little scared. But I’m ready." You placed a hand on your belly, feeling the baby’s movements. "I can’t believe we’re actually about to meet her."

Matt kissed your forehead, his hand resting on your belly alongside yours. "You’re incredible, you know that? We’re gonna be okay. I’m right here."

Back in the living room, Nick was still pacing, phone pressed to his ear. "Yeah, we’re heading there now... yep, water broke... we’ll be there soon," he said, hanging up. He turned to you and Matt, wide-eyed but grinning. "Alright, hospital’s ready. Let’s go!"

Chris stood by the door, holding the hospital bag like he was guarding something precious. "Got the bag. Car’s ready. Let’s do this!"

You walked carefully back into the living room, Matt’s arm around your waist. Another contraction hit, sharper this time, and you gripped Matt’s arm, exhaling slowly through the pain. "Okay, okay... these are definitely getting stronger."

Nick, naturally, had his phone out again, recording the moment. "Alright, this is it, guys! We’re officially on baby watch. Y/N’s contractions are coming in hot, and Matt’s holding it together... kinda."

Matt shot him a glare, though there was a small smile tugging at his lips. "Nick, do you have to film everything?"

"Yes," Nick replied, unbothered. "The people need to see this."

You laughed, despite the pain. "It’s fine, Matt. Let him film. At least it’ll give him something to do instead of making stupid jokes."

"See? Y/N’s cool with it," Nick said triumphantly, zooming the camera in on Matt’s stressed face.

Chris opened the door, gesturing for everyone to hurry. "Alright, let’s move, people. Baby’s not gonna wait forever."

Matt guided you toward the car, his grip on your arm steady but his face full of barely-contained panic. He helped you into the passenger seat as carefully as possible, glancing nervously at you the whole time. "You good?"

You nodded, smiling up at him. "I’m fine, Matt. Let’s just get to the hospital."

Once Matt was in the driver’s seat, he started the car a little too aggressively, the engine roaring to life as he sped out of the driveway.

"Matt, slow down!" you exclaimed, gripping the door handle as he took a turn a little too fast.

"Sorry!" Matt said, clearly frazzled. "I just... I don’t know! I want to get you there as fast as possible."

Nick, sitting in the backseat with Chris, was still filming. "And here we go, folks. Matt’s driving like he’s in a Fast & Furious movie, but don’t worry—I’ve got the whole thing on camera." He panned the phone toward you. "Y/N, any last words before this baby arrives?"

You shot him an amused look. "My only thought is, if Matt doesn’t calm down, we might not make it to the hospital."

Matt groaned, though he slowed the car slightly. "I’m calm, I’m calm," he muttered, gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.

Chris leaned forward, resting his chin on the seat in front of him. "Matt, man, we’ve got time. No need to speed. Also, anyone want to place bets on how long the labor’s gonna be?"

"Chris," Matt snapped, his voice tight, "now is not the time."

As Matt turned onto the main road, the streetlights whizzed by in a blur, their dim glow casting flickers of light over your face. You were gripping the door handle tightly, your other hand still squeezing Matt’s. The contractions had picked up, each one more intense than the last, and you could feel the pressure building with every passing moment.

Nick, in the backseat, still had his phone out, filming despite the tense atmosphere. "Alright, Y/N’s in full-on labor now," he narrated softly, trying to keep the tone light but clearly nervous himself. "Matt’s driving like his life depends on it. Chris, how you feelin'?"

Chris, sitting next to him, shot Nick a glance. "Me? Why are you asking me? I’m not the one about to have a baby."

Nick shrugged. "Just trying to document the vibe, man."

You groaned as another contraction hit, sharper this time. Your breathing quickened as you leaned forward in the seat, trying to brace yourself against the pain. "Matt..." you whimpered, squeezing his hand hard.

Matt glanced over at you, his face pale and full of worry. "I know, babe, I know. We’re almost there, I swear." His voice was shaky, and you could see how hard he was trying to keep it together for you.

"Keep breathing, Y/N," Chris chimed in from the back, his usual laid-back tone gone. "In and out, just like the birthing classes."

You managed a nod, following his advice, focusing on your breath. But when the next wave of pain hit, it was stronger, and you couldn’t help but let out a sharp cry.

Matt panicked, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Oh my God, are you okay? Should I go faster? I don’t know what to do!"

"Don’t speed," Chris said quickly, leaning forward to look at the road. "We don’t need a car accident on top of everything."

Nick, still filming, chuckled nervously. "Yeah, maybe keep it at a reasonable pace, bro."

You managed to laugh through the pain, though it was shaky. "I’m fine... just get me there."

As Matt pulled into the hospital parking lot, he practically skidded to a stop, parking crookedly in his rush to get out of the car. He ran around to your side, opening the door for you, his hands shaking as he helped you out.

"You’re doing so good," Matt said, his voice softer now, more grounded as he wrapped his arm around your waist, helping you walk. "We’re almost there, I promise."

Nick kept the camera rolling, filming as the nurses rushed over with a wheelchair the moment you entered the lobby. "Alright, we’re officially at the hospital," Nick narrated into the camera. "It’s happening. The baby is coming."

Chris grabbed the hospital bag as Matt helped you into the wheelchair, the pain making it harder to focus on anything but getting to the delivery room. The nurses were quick, guiding you down the hall while Matt walked beside you, holding your hand the entire time.

Nick and Chris stayed back in the waiting area, Nick lowering his camera for a moment as they both sat down. "Well, I guess this is where we wait," Chris said, leaning back in his chair.

Nick nodded, glancing at the doors you had just disappeared behind. "I can’t believe it’s actually happening. We‘re gonna be uncles."

Chris grinned. "Uncle Chris has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?"

Nick picked up his camera again, aiming it at Chris. "Guess we’ll just have to sit tight and wait for the good news."

Inside the delivery room, the atmosphere was tense, but it had a sense of anticipation. The bright lights shone down on you as the nurses helped you get situated on the bed, Matt standing right beside you, gripping your hand like his life depended on it.

The nurse, adjusting her gloves, smiled down at you with a calm and experienced expression. "Alright, Y/N, you’re doing great. We’re at 9 centimeters now, so we’re almost there. It’s going to be intense, but you’re strong, and we’re right here."

You squeezed Matt’s hand tightly as another contraction hit, the pain spreading through your body like fire. It was overwhelming, and all you could do was close your eyes, trying to breathe through it. "Oh my God... Matt..." you whimpered, your voice strained.

"I’m here, babe," Matt said, his voice full of panic but also so much love. His thumb stroked the back of your hand, though his hand was shaking. "You’re doing amazing. Just keep breathing, okay? You’ve got this."

The contraction passed, leaving you breathless, and you took a moment to relax before the next wave came. "I don’t know if I can do this," you whispered, the pain and exhaustion taking over. "It hurts so much."

Matt knelt beside you, his forehead touching yours, his eyes filled with nothing but admiration and concern. "You’re the strongest person I know, Y/N. I swear, you’re doing incredible. She’s almost here, just a little more. I’m right here with you."

The doctor entered the room, checking your progress, and nodded. "Alright, Y/N, it’s time. You’re fully dilated, and we’re going to need you to push with the next contraction."

Your heart raced as you nodded, trying to prepare yourself mentally for what was coming. You had read about this, learned about it in birthing classes, but nothing could prepare you for the actual moment.

Another contraction hit, this one even more intense, and the doctor’s voice cut through the pain. "Alright, Y/N, big push, let’s go!"

You gritted your teeth, grabbing onto Matt’s hand like it was a lifeline, and pushed with everything you had. The pressure was unbearable, and you let out a scream, your body trembling with the effort.

"You’re doing so good, babe!" Matt’s voice was shaky, his eyes wide as he watched. "Just keep going, you’re so close."

The nurse beside you smiled, her voice encouraging. "That’s it, Y/N! You’re doing great. Keep pushing."

You gasped for air as the contraction faded, your body collapsing back against the bed for a brief moment of relief. But before you could catch your breath, another contraction surged through you, and the doctor was right there again.

"Alright, Y/N, here comes another one! Big push again, you’re almost there!"

The pain was all-encompassing, but you pushed through it, literally, gripping Matt’s hand and bearing down with everything you had. "I can’t..." you cried out, feeling like you were at your limit.

"You can!" Matt said quickly, his voice almost desperate. "You’ve come this far, just one more, baby. Please, you’ve got this."

"One more push, Y/N," the doctor echoed, her voice steady and reassuring. "You’re almost there, I can see the head!"

That gave you the final bit of strength you needed. You let out a deep breath and bore down one last time, pushing through the pain and exhaustion, feeling the pressure change as your baby started to emerge.

And then... it happened. A sharp cry filled the room.

You collapsed back against the bed, tears streaming down your face as you heard her — your baby girl — crying for the first time. The doctor held her up, and Matt’s breath hitched in his throat, his eyes wide and filled with tears. "She’s... she’s here," he whispered, his voice breaking.

The doctor gently laid her on your chest, and the world seemed to stop. She was perfect. Tiny, red-faced, still crying, her little body covered in vernix, but she was perfect. You wrapped your arms around her, feeling her warmth against you, and the tears flowed freely down your cheeks. "Hi, baby," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "Hi, Mavis."

Matt leaned down beside you, his hand trembling as he touched her tiny head. "She’s... she’s so beautiful," he breathed, his eyes glistening with tears. "You did it, Y/N. You brought her here."

The nurse smiled warmly, giving you both a moment to bond with her before gently speaking up. "Matt, would you like to cut the umbilical cord?"

Matt’s eyes widened, but he nodded quickly, standing up a little too fast in his nervous excitement. "Yeah, yes! Of course." He took the small pair of scissors the nurse handed him and, with shaking hands, cut the cord, his face filled with awe as he completed the task. "Wow," he whispered, as if the weight of the moment had just fully hit him.

You smiled up at him through your tears. "You’re officially a dad now."

Matt laughed, wiping his face quickly before leaning down to kiss you softly on the forehead. "And you’re officially a mom. You’re amazing, Y/N."

As you both looked down at Mavis, she was still nestled against you, her little body calming as she snuggled into your skin. The room was filled with a peaceful quiet now, the chaos of the birth replaced by the soft coos of your newborn daughter.

In the Waiting Room

Out in the waiting area, Nick was pacing nervously, his camera trained on Chris, who sat bouncing his leg anxiously. "Alright, it’s been like... hours, and we haven’t heard anything yet," Nick narrated into the camera. "This is intense."

Chris nodded, leaning back in his chair.

After what felt like forever, Matt finally came out, his face tired but beaming with the biggest smile they’d ever seen. He didn’t say a word at first, just motioned them over with his hands.

Nick immediately started filming, the camera shaky as he rushed over to Matt. "Well? Well?"

Matt grinned, his eyes red with tears. "Mavis Rose is here."

Chris let out a whoop, pulling Matt into a tight hug. "Congrats, bro! You did it!"

Nick lowered the camera for a second, wiping his eyes before raising it back up. "I’m not crying, you’re crying," he muttered, his voice thick with emotion.

"Do you want to meet her?" Matt asked, smiling so wide it looked like his face might split in two.

"Uh, duh!" Chris said, standing up quickly. "We’ve been waiting for hours!"

Inside the room, you were still holding Mavis, her tiny body curled against you as she slept peacefully. Matt led Chris and Nick inside, and the moment they saw her, both of them froze.

Nick was the first to break the silence, his camera still rolling. "Oh my God," he whispered, zooming in on Mavis’s tiny face. "She’s... so tiny."

Chris leaned over to get a closer look, his face softening in a way you hadn’t seen before. "I’m Uncle Chris now," he said, grinning proudly. "Damn, she’s beautiful."

You laughed softly, still exhausted but full of happiness. "Yeah, she really is."

Nick lowered the camera just enough to lean in and gently touch her tiny hand. "Uncle Nick’s here baby girl," he said softly, his voice full of emotion. "Welcome to the world."

Matt sat beside you on the bed, wrapping an arm around you as you both looked down at Mavis, surrounded by family. You knew in that moment that everything was perfect

Matt, who had been quietly watching, grinned at Nick and Chris, the pride in his eyes evident. "Want to hold her?" Matt asked softly, glancing between the two of them.

Chris’s eyes widened, and he took a small step back. "Wait, me? Are you sure? I don’t want to drop her or something. I’ve never held a newborn before."

You smiled and gestured for him to come closer. "You’ll be fine, Chris. Just be careful with her head."

"Alright, alright, but if she starts crying, you’re taking her back immediately," Chris said, moving in slowly like he was handling fragile glass. Nick held his camera steady, capturing every moment. Matt gently helped Chris cradle Mavis into his arms, adjusting her head in the crook of Chris's elbow.

Chris looked down at her, his face unreadable for a second, until a soft smile spread across it. "Holy crap... she’s even tinier up close," he murmured. "She’s... she’s perfect."

Nick smirked from behind the camera. "Who would've thought Chris would turn into a softy."

"Shut up, Nick," Chris muttered, but he didn't take his eyes off Mavis, completely mesmerized.

Nick grinned. "Alright, my turn. Pass her over, big guy."

Carefully, Chris handed Mavis to Nick, who adjusted her gently in his arms. The change in Nick was immediate — the goofy, sarcastic vibe was gone, and for a moment, he was completely quiet. "Whoa," he whispered, his eyes wide. "She’s so light... and warm." He glanced up at you and Matt. "I can't believe you guys made her. Like... she's real."

You and Matt exchanged a look, both of you smiling through your tears. "Yeah, she's real," you said softly, brushing a hand over Mavis's tiny head. "And she’s going to be so spoiled by all of you."

Nick laughed quietly, glancing down at Mavis with a fond smile. "Oh, you better believe it. I’m gonna be the coolest uncle."

Matt chuckled. "We might have to fight Chris on that one."

Chris crossed his arms, pretending to look offended. "I’m definitely the favorite already. Just wait."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, I’ve already got some outfits in mind for her. Pink Vans. A little leather jacket. She’s going to be the most stylish baby out there."

Matt grinned, leaning against the bed, his arm still wrapped around you. "That actually sounds pretty cool. As long as she’s comfy."

You laughed softly, the exhaustion from the labor hitting you in waves but the love surrounding you making it all worth it. "You’re all going to spoil her rotten."

Nick handed Mavis back to you carefully, and you cradled her close, feeling her tiny body settle against yours. Her little breaths were soft, her tiny fist gripping onto your shirt like she never wanted to let go.

Matt leaned over and kissed your forehead, his voice soft and filled with awe. "You did it, Y/N. She’s finally here. Our little girl."

Chris and Nick, still hovering nearby, shared a look. "We should give them a little time alone," Chris said, nudging Nick with his elbow.

Nick nodded, though his eyes lingered on Mavis for a moment longer. "Yeah, you’re right. We’ll be in the waiting room if you need us. Just... let us know when you’re ready for some more uncle time."

You smiled at them as they quietly left the room, leaving you and Matt alone with your daughter.

As you looked down at Mavis, tears welled in your eyes once more. It was overwhelming — the love you felt for this tiny human, the warmth of Matt beside you, and the family you had both created.

Your little girl was finally here.

[sanakimohara]

can u do emo han Jisung x hello kitty person reader if it's okay??? (make Jisung Dom cuz, never seen someone make him🤷)

“SWEET N’ SOUR” H. J. Pt. 1

Pen has returned to paper. Hope this fulfills your wish, my love…

WARNINGS: [ MDNI ] + [ NSFW ] + [SMUT ] + [ ORAL ] + [ NO PLOT ] + [ DUB CON / VIOLENCE ….ig?… ] + [ SLIGHT BREATH DEPRIVATION ] + [HUMILIATION / DEGRADATION ]

Jisung is slightly perplexed by how soft you are for him from the start. You're gentle, always curious, and slightly touched in the head. He can't tell if you mean to come off so nostalgic and innocent, second-guessing his assumptions about you anytime; a semi-violent threat towards another person trying to gain his attention leaves your cherry-glossed lips. You can be all giggly, obsessed with your stuffed animals, and snuggled all under him in one moment. Then, the next, you're glaring stubbornly, subtly clinging to him when someone you don't particularly care for is near or snapping back at him when he touches a nerve. It gives the poor man whiplash, but it fills his head with a particular strain of serotonin no one but you can produce.

Jisung is anything but frightened by your love for softer colors and little trinkets. He could tell you had a minor addiction to “cute” things early on, rather fond of seeing you bounce up and down on your tip toes when a new Sanrio item caught your attention and quickly getting used to purchasing it without you having to ask. Almost every little thing he bought for you furthered the addiction he had to see you all dolled up and content with adorable trinkets. There were times when a subtle perversion entered his mind. On more than a few occasions, he’d bought you things solely because his cock hardened seeing you so excited to have them. Other times, his selfish desire to see you walking around in nothing but the new Hello Kitty panties and matching cropped sweater drove him to order another box of pastel-colored items.

Jisung often doesn’t know how to handle himself when you simultaneously act so stubbornly and sweetly to him. You’re asking him to be mean to you more often than not, and he gives in without hesitation. “You can’t tell me what to do!” You huff loudly, upset that he’s walked into your room and shut your laptop, completely interrupting your binge-watching session. He smiles, snatching it from your tight grip before kneeling at the foot of your bed to be at eye level. You glare, moving to scoot away from him and get your computer back. It's not every day your favorite anime puts out a new season, and his intruding isn’t deterring you from watching the whole thing in one night. Or so you think…

Jisung has other plans for you both. You don’t have the chance to slide back from him, held in place by his right hand, which you initially thought was intended to caress your cheek but was instead fisted in your hair at the back of your head. He pulls roughly once, forcing your head to follow his grip as you yelp and claw at the pink duvet underneath you. “Thought I told you to start going to bed at a decent time, kitten. Why lie and say you were asleep when I called you earlier?” He tugs again, not ashamed to smile as tears well up in your pretty doe eyes, begging to slide down your face when you wince slightly from the pain he causes. “It was just for tonight, I swear! I…I just wanted to see it..” You squirm more, embarrassed that he caught you in a lie and frightened by the dead stare he’s been giving you. “Not a good enough answer, sweetheart. Why’d you lie..?”

Jisung is a liar, a convenient one in his own right, and you always fall for it. No matter how often you tell him the truth, he taunts you for a better excuse, feeling so much more authoritative in the confines of your cozy bedroom. In that little world between you both, he is, in fact, your villain, dark and cunning in the glow of soft fairy lights hanging from pastel-pink walls. Rough and demented with your gentler presence. You don’t mind being stiffly handled by him, putting up a small fight when he stands to flip you over on your back. He gives you a chance to win when you do struggle. His hand remains tangled in your hair, pulling the soft locks until your head lazily hangs off the edge of the bed and not letting go even when you reach to try pushing him away. “Jisung- ah! Mngh-“Your begging is reduced to a timid whimper as his free hand whips across your face. The oddly swift strike makes your body shiver, and a cold spark runs down your spine as he stares at you. “You had your chance to speak. Useless as it is, I think it’s pretty cute that you have so much to say. Why don't we fix that, hm?…” Your hands tremble as he grasps them in his free one, pushing them down to rest together on your lower stomach. The pit of your abdomen flips itself, feeling his touch tighten on you, amping up in frequency when he smirks at the sight of your new pastel pink panties hugging your hips and covering your soft mound.

Jisung is tempted to slip his hand past the thin fabric, wanting to feel your warm folds in his palm, craving to spread the slickness he knows is pooling between your legs all over his fingers. He takes a breath, reigning in the desire and focusing on what to do about your oh-so-snappy mouth. He has more than a few ideas visibly running through his mind, and they are all broadly humiliating to you. You keep your mouth shut, your heart thundering, and your body running hotter with each passing second. When Jisung stops talking, everyone is at an unease. Especially you. It only meant he was plotting to do something strangely frightful. Sadistic even.

“Open” is the first word he utters after a long, silent moment. His hand in your hair disappears for a split second, a familiar sound of a zipper being undone and a shift of clothing rearranging before his hold on your hair returns. Through the tears in your eyes, you get a view of the tip of his cock, swelling with pre cum, stiff and fully erect with purpose. You gulp, lashes lowering as drool pools in your mouth. It takes only one look at his cock to make you dumbfounded with lust. It's an automatic reaction he’s trained into you for months and one you sincerely enjoy. Not a single thought runs through your mind seeing his cum drizzle down the length of his cock, the creamy substance reminding you of sweet cream and urging you to obey his singular command for a good taste of it. “Mkay..” you mumble, in a daze as your lips part, and slipping deeper into it when he slowly sinks his cock in the warm wet cavern inch by inch with ease. Jisung watches intently as you take him in with a soft gasp, gagging slightly when his tip brushes the back of your throat. “See? You just wanted something good to suck on, kitten… feels good to be useful, doesn’t it?” He groans loudly, smiling wildly as you swallow him whole, accepting his cock with sloppy slurps and trying your best to breathe while he fucks your face at a set pace. You jolt and shift as he uses you relentlessly, spitting up a mix of saliva and his arousal with every other thrust he gives, but not once tapping out in hopes of him being lenient with you. Jisung refuses, mouth falling open to let out convoluted moans and pleased grunts of praise. “Take it deeper, sweetheart.. oh fuck, just like that..”

Jisung trees carefully with your newfound talent, proud to see you helplessly deep-throating his cock, enjoying the tightness of your throat whenever you gag reactively. He watches the imprint of his cock mold your throat, involuntarily twitching when he glimpses the blush on your cheeks and the way your eyes slot in the back of your head. You can’t bring yourself to beg for air, dizzy from the force of his thrusts and in love with the taste of him. Your body relaxes, your core blooms with need, and your head rapidly empties of thoughts. Jisung’s skin glistens with sweat, barely visible from his shirt, trickling down his temple the closer he gets to his high. The hand in your hair loosens, gently gripping the nape of your neck as he snaps his hips into your face faster, chasing his climax with a grave groan rattling his chest. “Gonna cum…”

Jisung takes a glance at your trembling legs, peering down between them to see your cum leaking past the Hello Kitty patterned underwear. Your hips raised for a sense of friction, desperate to have your cunt touched, “Someone’s ready to be stuffed full… gettin’ desperate so soon is pathetic, but you can’t help it, can you?…” “Mmm ngh-“ You choke, eyes sliding shut completely as he thrusts into your mouth one last time, keeping his cock deep in your throat until the last drop of cum slides down it. You swallow once, a lewd gulping noise hitting his ears and sending a shiver up his spine. Your chest heaves with air when he slowly pulls away, thick strings of cum and saliva connecting your glossed lips with the tip of his cock. “Well done,” he mumbles, breathless and trying to catch it quicker than you.

Jisung succeeds, moving faster than you, quickly slipping onto the bed before dragging you to lay under him. Your stomach flips when he touches your bare skin, tracing the dip of your hips, carefully avoiding your clothed cunt until you whine loudly and trap his hand between your thighs. You glare at him, wanting your way now but too spent to voice it properly. He smiles, a gummy, cute expression that doesn’t match the harsh way his hands pry your legs apart. “You’re being a real pain today..” he mutters in one breath, enjoying your defiance to a point, “Maybe I shouldn’t fuck you at all. I think you’ll learn to be a little nicer…”

You gulp, eyes softening immediately, “I’ll good…I promise.” A sultry gasp flies from your lips, brought on by Jisung’s hands groping the fat of your thighs, spreading them for a better view of the space between them. He ignores your promise, eyeing the glistening patch of wetness seeping through the soft fabric of your underwear. You watch him stare, face burning with sparks of shame running through you, turning into rivets of pleasure when he rubs his thumb over clit gently for a moment. The tight circles he makes on the sensitive nerves have your back arching and your hands raised to grip his forearms. Jisung chuckles lowly, glancing up to glimpse the look on your face, and he’s far from disappointed seeing the lost look in your eyes. “Didn’t I just buy these for you, lil one? I could’ve sworn..” he pauses, watching your mouth fall open with a high-pitched wail, brows furrowing in slight disbelief as his thumb migrates down to your entrance, pushing into it through the fabric. It’s an odd feeling, being finger fucked with your panties, but he makes it somewhat intoxicating. The thought of ruining something he recently gifted you made your head spin with embarrassment, but you couldn’t help but enjoy it.

“…you promised not to ruin them. Now, look at you, making a mess of yourself, doing exactly the opposite.” Jisung switched to fucking you with his index and pointer fingers, smirking when you tightened down on them and involuntarily soaked through the pink cotton completely. “Did…didn’t mean to…” you ramble while whining, writhing underneath him to keep from instinctively locking his hand between your legs again. He helps you settle down, absentmindedly pressing his free hand down on your left thigh, effectively keeping you open for him. “Little liar,” he muses into your ear, biting it gently as his fingers curl inside to hit a particular spot in your warm walls. Your eyes slide shut, listening to the sound of rushed breathing, wet fabric being forced into your cunt filling the room.

Y'all, I feel a new hyper fixation coming on…ive already made another tumblr account for it...

[ BONUS CONTENT +]

You know, moaning his name might be the answer to all of your problems…;) Credits to creator 🖤

[silenzahra]

🌜 Super Mario Odyssey: post-ending headcanons 🌛

Today marks seven years since the release of my FAVORITE 3D Mario game:

🌜 Super Mario Odyssey 🌛

This game really means EVERYTHING to me, so I wanted to make a little something to commemorate this date. I have to admit I didn't have any ideas at first, but then I remembered what @pepperycar commented on this post... and was suddenly inspired 🤭 Thank you so much, my friend! I owe you this one 💖

So, here I bring you a few ideas that I had on what could have happened after the end of Super Mario Odyssey. There will be Mareach, brotherly love, and SPOILERS, so if you haven't finished this game yet: beware!! ⚠

(And please go play it because it's AWESOME.)

@vulpixfairy1985 @bberetd @megamagimugi @peaches2217 @keakruiser

@itsavee4117 @roscolate @smokszyvverstar @wahooitsamee @kelbreyworshipper I thought perhaps you might be interested, so I hope it's okay that I tag you 🥰 Of course, no worries if you're not! Feel free to ignore this post and please forgive me for bothering you 😅

Also, I took a bit of inspo from this adorable post that I remember reblogging from my old account. Please have a look if you haven't yet because it's absolutely CUTE 🥹

Without further ado... Let's-a go! ❤️

👑 Peach's wardrobe 👑

Princess Peach has a large and varied wardrobe. So far, Mario only remembers seeing her wearing her signature pink dresses, her favorite. She has several that are very similar to each other, with only a few small differences between them, such as puffed sleeves that her summer dress does not have, or an older design in which almost the entire skirt is a darker shade of pink. Peach always appears before him and his subjects wearing one of these outfits as pink is her favorite color, and one that, in Mario's opinion, suits her very well.

Recently, however, Mario has found that his beloved princess has a wide variety of outfits and has decided to start wearing them to visit the various kingdoms that Bowser has taken her to during her kidnapping, now that she finally has the freedom to choose where, when, and with whom to go.

And Mario loves to dress to match her.

The first time they did it, Mario ran into Peach and her friend Tiara almost by accident as she, as brave as ever, explored the lonely Forgotten Isle in an outfit worthy of Indiana Jones himself. Shorts, a backpack on her back, boots prepared for the earthy soil of the place... and her hair in a bun that was hidden under her explorer's cap.

Mario didn't take half a second to run back to his Odyssey ship and put on his own explorer's outfit to join her and continue exploring the island together.

When he met her in New Donk City, Peach was wearing one of Mario's favorite outfits of all the ones he had seen her in so far: a long pink flying skirt that, unlike her dresses, left her feet exposed; a gorgeous white blouse with a scarf around her neck, in a pastel pink shade that matched her pristine skin; and a wide hat over her abundant blonde hair. She looked beautiful and very comfortable, and the best part: she loved the black suit with matching fedora that Mario put on to go with Peach’s outfit. She told him he looked very elegant, and Mario thought his smile would overflow on both sides of his face since his cheeks hurt so much.

To him, on the other hand, the one who looked tremendously stylish and graceful was Peach when he met her in Bonneton. Her attire was dark, composed of a grayish coat, black stockings and gloves of the same color, which she combined with a beret that adorned her long hair. Mario kept watching her for a while, unable to help it, and he did the same thing when he met her in Shiveria, since the black and gold of her figure stood out among so much blinding white.

On that occasion, Mario felt that he’d never measure up to her with his orange, quilted coat, as opposed to Bonneton, where he was able to look at least a bit elegant with his black tuxedo, his red bow tie and a top hat that gave him the look of a magician. Or, at least, that's what she told him, while letting out a giggle that made Mario think of the softest and sweetest crystal bells.

Another one of his favorite outfits for the princess was her farmer attire, which was the one she chose to wear to visit the Luncheon Kingdom. Mario wasn’t surprised to find her picking turnips to help the locals prepare their famous soup, as it wasn’t the first time he’d seen her pulling vegetables from the ground. When she saw him dressed in his chef's outfit, she immediately applauded him and prepared to hand over the vegetables to him, thus naming him the official in charge of preparing the delicious best dish of the kingdom.

As for the last three outfits the princess has worn, Mario is unable to choose, as all three have provoked various sensations in him that made him wish he could stare at her forever, without having any other worries or mission to carry out. The Yukata with the fire flower pattern was, without a shadow of a doubt, one of them, a beautiful and lovely vision that gave him back some vitality and joy when he ran into Peach in Bowser's Kingdom. He, as bold as brass, put on his samurai outfit, ready to defend her from any evil, and she, always so demure, covered her face with her hand-held fan to hide a soft giggle. Still, watching her hair pulled back in a ponytail and the Boo-shaped buckle adorning her head, Mario knew he’d never measure up to her.

And he felt the same way when, while strolling along Bubblaine Beach and enjoying the coolness of the water with his doggy friend, he found her there, wearing that pretty white sarong adorned with pink power moons, the sunglasses on her blonde head... and that bikini that exposed more porcelain skin than Mario had ever seen. He felt completely ridiculous in his red swimsuit with white polka dots and wanted to sink to the depths of the crystal-clear waters of the kingdom just to prevent her from seeing him like that.

However, that couldn't overcome how stupid and embarrassed Mario felt when, just after rescuing her from Bowser's clutches, he got caught up in an absurd competition with the king of the Koopas to try to get Peach to agree to marry him. They may have both been wearing the perfect outfits, Peach in her beautiful white dress that made her look like an angel and him in his tuxedo of the same color and matching hat.

But Mario realized too late that this was not the right moment.

Still, he is content to have had the opportunity, albeit brief, to stand next to Peach while they both wore what would possibly be their wedding outfits. Mario knows that this will never happen again, that it’ll never come true, because the idea of trying to propose again wouldn’t even cross his mind. It took him a long time to forgive himself for his huge blunder, even though it took Peach only a few minutes to do so, and he’d never be able to be at peace with himself if he bothered her again.

Peach's friendship is very precious to Mario. He loves to meet her on his travels and share a few moments with her, full of fun and trust, which he wishes he could extend in time forever. In addition, on more than one occasion, Peach has asked him to accompany her to Lake Lemonade to make a new dress, and sometimes she has also invited Toad and Luigi. The people there are experts in haute couture, and Mario is always spellbound as he watches Peach pose for the seamstresses, who, in a matter of minutes, are able to create a new dress for her, each one more beautiful than the last.

And, on each occasion, Peach always turns on herself so that the dress can be appreciated in all its splendor, making her look more dazzling than a star and more radiant than the sun itself.

🎈 Balloon Brothers🎈

Shortly after he saved Peach, Mario made two decisions when he continued to travel the kingdoms on his Odyssey ship. The first one was to adopt his loyal doggy friend, the clever Shiba that has helped him find so many power moons during his adventure. He named her Hattie, as she adores wearing a hat on her head no matter where they travel to, and also because her favorite game is chasing after Mario's cap and bring it back to him.

And the second one, as soon as he ran into Luigi for the first time, was that he'd always play Balloon World with him.

Every world he travels to, whatever his purpose or the mission that takes him there, Mario always has time for his little brother and loves to play Balloon World with him. He adores seeing his sibling so cheerful and excited, and the way he claps and cheers him on always causes Mario’s unstoppable energy to soar and his heart to melt with tenderness.

In Fossil Falls, Luigi was so scared of the T-Rex that organizing the game for Mario served as a distraction and a way for him to release some stress, something Mario was extremely relieved about. In Forgotten Isle, the same bird that had captured Cappy was threatening to pop the balloons that kept Luigi in the air and that were an essential part of his outfit as the game organizer, which only motivated Mario to chase the darned bird with the help of his loyal Hattie, until, at last, and to the relief of both brothers and Cappy, he managed to scare it away.

However, as soon as Mario ran into Luigi in the Snow Kingdom, shivering with cold in his shirtsleeves, but still smiling at his brother and inviting him to play while hugging himself, Mario did not hesitate for a moment: he hurried to get rid of his orange coat and, ignoring Luigi's faint protests, threw it over his twin, taking care not to accidentally pop his balloons. Despite his initial reluctance, Luigi couldn't help but close his eyes as he snuggled into the garment, trying to get warm, and Mario, his heart shrinking, hugged him with all his might as he gently rubbed his arms and back. Luigi cuddled up to him and Mario stroked his hair gently, his mind flooded with memories of when they were both little and Luigi would run to hide in his bed because he thought there was a monster under his bed. Sighing as he held his sibling in his arms, trying to shield him from the cold and icy drafts, Mario didn't agree to play until after he had taken Luigi inside his ship to wrap him in a blanket and offer him a hot drink to warm up inside.

Nevertheless, the opposite thing happened in Tostarena: Luigi, always determined to stay true to his original outfit as the game's creator, was too warm for the scorching desert heat. Before playing Balloon World, Mario decided that his little brother needed a change to feel more comfortable. So he grabbed him by the hand and pulled him into the shop. Luigi had to bend down so that his balloons could go in with him, and Mario immediately tried to convince him to, like him, put on a typical costume of the land, poncho and wide hat included, to feel comfier while they played there. His twin resisted a little, always wanting to maintain the elegance a game show host should always display, but when Mario assured him that he could keep his green bow tie, Luigi finally gave in. And, seeing them both in matching outfits, Mario also managed to convince his brother to play Balloon World together, to which Luigi agreed only after gifting him one of his balloons for Mario to wear on his wrist.

And they've done it many more times since then: in Peronza Plaza, in Bonneton, in New Donk City... even on the Moon! Also, whenever they play in the Mushroom Kingdom, the Toads join them and Luigi ends up giving them as many balloons as possible so they can have fun playing on their own, being the kind-hearted person he is.

Of course, Mario is well aware that his sibling knows the locations of the balloons, being the organizer of Balloon World, but he equally enjoys touring the various worlds with his little brother by the hand, dragging him along while Luigi floats after him and simply lets himself go. Mario’s heart sings for joy with every laugh that escapes his twin’s throat, especially when Hattie also joins the fun and runs with them in search for the balloon, only to pop it as soon as they do. Mario also loves the way Luigi guides him, or often misleads him, to make his search for the balloon easier or more complicated. Mario likes to be challenged by the game and Luigi knows it, so he appreciates it when his brother tries to trick him to divert him from his initial goal. This lengthens the game, as well as the time the brothers spend together, thus increasing the fun.

However, when it's time to say goodbye, Mario can read in his brother's face that he’s just as reluctant to part with him as Mario himself. His complicated missions through the kingdoms and, also, the longing to be reunited with Peach and spend some time with her as well have caused Mario to have to leave his brother's side without really wanting to, his soul screaming in the depths of his being that he should not do so, that he should turn back and return to Luigi's side.

When the same thing happens to him in the Moon Kingdom, Mario finally stops before entering his ship and turns on his heels. He sees Luigi raise his head, confused to see him turn around, and the surprise on his face only grows when Mario starts running towards him, although a little slower than he’d like due to the moon's gravity. A smile breaks out on Mario's face as he speeds up as fast as he can, and he stretches out his arms as he approaches his little brother. Luigi barely has time to open his arms as well before Mario pounces on him.

Luigi's gasp causes Mario to burst out laughing as he spins around with his brother in his arms, holding him tightly. It takes him a few seconds to realize that both of them are now floating in the air, propelled not only by Luigi's balloons, but also by the lack of gravity prevailing on the moon. His sibling clings to him as he laughs shyly, and Mario pulls away from him a second before his feet touch down again.

Holding Luigi's hands tightly and energetically, Mario offers him to board his Odyssey ship and accompany him on his travels, so that they can continue playing Balloon World together as his adventure progresses. And, perhaps, Luigi could also help him during their missions, just like in the old days, when they visited faraway realms, such as Pi’illo Island or the Beanbean Kingdom, and even became partners in time.

As he speaks, Mario is very aware that his eyes are shining, full of excitement. His whole face must be, in fact, as euphoria bubbles up inside him like a river of unstoppable lava. He’s unable to keep completely still, so he inadvertently shakes his hands and, with them, those of his brother, as he explains his idea to him. And his enthusiasm undoubtedly rubs off on his twin, as Mario can read in Luigi's blue eyes, identical to his own, which are filling with a special glow that can only mean he shares Mario's eagerness.

And so it was that the brothers began to travel together.

✨ The Golden Trio ✨

In some of their first trips together, when the brothers are about to play Balloon World, Peach meets them and becomes a spectator of their games. Luigi welcomes her with open arms and quickly explains to her what Mario has to do, and while his brother is searching, Luigi reveals in whispers to the princess where the balloon his twin is looking for is hidden.

Although, at first, Mario is a little embarrassed that Peach is going to watch him while he searches, he quickly decides that he must do everything he can to impress her, so he puts more effort into finding the balloon quickly and on his own, despite Hattie's attempts to help him. Whenever he succeeds, Luigi praises him enthusiastically and gives him a big hug, which Mario reciprocates joyfully and heartily. Peach, after applauding him a little more demurely, leans over to place a kiss on his nose, causing Mario's whole face to light up until it looks redder than his shirt. This always happens under the watchful eye of Luigi, who doesn't miss the chance to give his sibling a playful nudge while trying to silence his giggles, causing Mario's blush to increase.

However, the third time Peach meets the brothers, Luigi has the idea of inviting her to participate in the game, which he eagerly puts to her. Both she and Mario are delighted, and Luigi immediately rearranges the game so that Mario and Peach can play in competition against each other.

Of course, respect and friendship prevail in the game. Mario continues to play as usual, but Peach often beats him, as she’s quick and smart, and he can only admire her more and more every time this happens. In fact, he’d say that he enjoys the occasions when the princess beats him the most, as he loves to see her so happy and enjoying herself when playing with him. Needless to say, even though Luigi is a most enthusiastic audience, Mario is the one who always applauds Peach the most, which makes her blush, something that doesn't happen to her when she thanks Luigi's compliments.

When the game is preparing to take place for the fifth time since Mario and Peach started playing together, Mario can't help but notice the way his brother is wringing his hands and fiddling with his fingers as he watches them. The game is about to begin, but he can't take his eyes off Luigi. He can read his face like an open book, something that has happened practically since they were born... and he doesn't like what he sees.

It's not that Luigi is sad. He's happy to be with them and eager to see them play Balloon World again. He's ready to cheer them both on and shower them with praise, as always, for, after all, his little brother is one of the sweetest and gentlest people he knows.

However, Mario can see in his gestures, in the way he bites his lower lip, in the way he fiddles with his own hands, in the way his eyes sparkle, that Luigi misses being able to join the game despite knowing the location of the balloons beforehand.

So even though Luigi gives the start command just a second later, Mario doesn't move.

And it pleases him greatly to realize that Peach, next to him, hasn't moved either.

When he turns his face towards her, Peach does the same. Mario barely needs a few seconds to realize that the princess, always as perceptive and as concerned about Luigi as he is, almost as if she were some sort of big sister to him, has also noticed the longing that shines in his little brother's eyes.

The two hold each other's gaze for a moment before smiling determinedly and giving one another a mutual nod. In unison, the two turn to Luigi, who looks from one to the other, his face the spitting image of bewilderment. As he and Peach start walking towards the game organizer, Mario can't help but let out a laugh in anticipation of what's about to happen, and he hears Peach let out a small giggle next to him that only makes his heart swell.

Decisively, they both hold Luigi, each with one hand, and Mario puts his other arm around Luigi's shoulders while Peach wraps her free arm around the younger plumber’s back. Luigi doesn't understand anything, but he doesn't resist, since, of course, he trusts them completely. Peach and Mario start walking while dragging him along, and the princess proclaims that, by royal order, Luigi must play Balloon World with them. This finally gets Luigi to relax and even laugh, and Mario feels his little brother squeeze his hand as he and the princess laugh together.

For a moment, Mario simply watches them. His heart fills with joy whenever he sees them getting along so well. He loves that Luigi has found in Peach a friend he can trust and be himself with, and he loves that the princess, in each of their interactions, shows that she truly cares about Luigi's well-being and wants only the best for him.

And he just loves them both so much that his heart could burst.

He couldn’t live without either of them.

When the game concludes, shortly before the brothers return to the Odyssey ship, Mario summons the courage to offer Peach to join them. That way, the three of them could travel together, keep each other company and help one another in their adventures, and they’ll always have the chance to play Balloon World together.

As he speaks, however, it occurs to Mario that perhaps he should have consulted Luigi before inviting Peach, so he throws a sidelong glance at his brother to try to apologize to him without words.

But Luigi, ever so sweet and kind, ever the man with the purest heart, is nodding eagerly as he hears his brother speak, and as soon as Mario concludes, Luigi turns to Peach and takes her hands while expressing how much he’d love for her to join them. Mario can't and won't hold back the look of intense love and adoration he gives his twin as he talks to the princess. Who, of course, gladly accepts.

Thus, Mario, Luigi and Peach, accompanied by the inseparable and always loyal Hattie, Cappy and Tiara, embark on the Odyssey to a new world. And, as they travel, the three of them look out the window, Mario and Luigi with their hands on the glass and looking at the clouds with excitement, and the princess, with a hand resting on the shoulder of each of the brothers as she joins in their excitement at the sight they are contemplating.

Their adventure has only just begun.

[delzinrowe]

WORD COUNT: ~1.4K WARNINGS: Mentions of alcohol, idk. F!Reader

Bartender!Takuma Ino has been rotting my brain so here's a little something.

Bartender!Takuma, who is one of three bartenders in a local pub. He’s known for his mixing skills and his moves, constantly getting the highest tips due to his level of wit, skill and his handsome face.

Bartender!Takuma who always has a keen eye for guests and listens attentively when he notices someone with worries. He has a special drink for each occasion that he gives a concerned guest. For a broken heart he has a soft pastel blue coloured sweet cocktail meant to heal. For financial trouble he has a clear drink with green syrup that brings fortune. For family struggles he has a pink cocktail, supposed to lift all the worries and help rekindle.

Bartender!Takuma who gets in trouble with his boss for giving out those cocktails for free (one per guest though) but always gets off the hook cause he brings the most business into the pub and is well liked by all locals.

Bartender!Takuma whose eyes are immediately on you when he sees you walk in. He doesn’t say a word about it but he notices the tear stains on your cheeks, the chapped lips from biting them nervously, the unfocused gaze in your eyes. He’s immediately in front of you when you sit down at the bar, ready to take your order.

Bartender!Takuma who mixes you a special and unique sweet cocktail after you tell him you don’t have the mind to choose from a long list of drinks. He serves you the cocktail with a reassuring smile.

Bartender!Takuma who is known as the one to always make a show but tonight he didn’t perform a single move because all his attention is on you. He keeps coming back to you and asks you if everything is okay, but he never comes across as pressuring or pushing.

Bartender!Takuma who doesn’t give you advice because he knows advice from someone else might come from a good place but mostly falls on deaf ears until the person actually learns the lesson on their own, so he settles for listening to you instead.

Bartender!Takuma whose shift ended half an hour ago, yet he still stands behind the bar, talking to you about mindless stuff until you cheer up a little more because he can’t leave without seeing you smile.

Bartender!Takuma who asks if he should call you a taxi or bring you home himself when you tell him it’s time to go but he knows you’ve had a few drinks. You reassure him that your friend will pick you up and you won’t drive yourself, which has him visibly relieved.

Bartender!Takuma who watches you leave with the sour taste of regret in his mouth that he didn’t ask you for your number or at least gave you his. But he knows it would be unprofessional, and despite everything you (and other locals) share with the bartenders you’re still all just paying customers.

Bartender!Takuma who leaves that day with the least tips he ever got because most of his attention was on you but he really doesn’t care about that because as long as he made you smile it was all worth it.

Bartender!Takuma who spends his shifts during the next few days watching the door almost obsessively in hopes to see you walk in again but he’s disappointed every time it’s someone else. He’s waiting to see you again.

Bartender!Takuma who always gives up on seeing you again and tries to forget you by doing his job extra well, performing different bartending moves and throwing bottles and glasses in the air, effortlessly catching them all and putting on a show for all the guests. He’s so immersed in the show that he only notices the wave of new customers when he approaches them from behind the bar.

Bartender!Takuma who is absolutely elated and immediately has a bright smile on his face when he realizes you are among the wave of customers. He does his best to cater to everyone’s wishes but his attention is still mostly on you as he asks you about stuff related to your first night in the bar. It makes you blush that he remembers even small details.

Bartender!Takuma who doesn’t seem to notice the glances your friends give you whenever he performs a trick just for you. He still performs for other guests too but it’s obvious that he’s putting much more effort into the moves he makes for you.

Bartender!Takuma who slowly but surely gets to know you more, your full name and zodiac, as you tell him happily, your profession, your worries, your hobbies, your likes and dislikes. He’s happy you’re talking to him so much and he’s opening up to you just the same.

Bartender!Takuma who once again forgot to ask you for your number when you leave but it’s okay because he has the strong impression that you’ll visit the pub again, and he hopes it’s because of him.

Bartender!Takuma who is smiling like a little kid on Christmas when he sees you again because he was right that you’d come back. His two colleagues are happy you’re back too because if they had to listen to him talk about you any more they would have punched him.

Bartender!Takuma who builds a solid friendship with you over the course of weeks. You don’t know it but his colleagues tell him when you come in on his days off and how your happy smile always falters when they tell you he’s not working. His heart always skips a beat when he thinks about it

Bartender!Takuma who gladly caters to all your wishes in everything cocktail-wise and always knows which moves to make to get you to laugh. Everytime he succeeds his heart makes a little jump.

Bartender!Takuma who gets urged by his colleagues to finally make a move and ask you out because now that you frequent the pub they have seen many guys looking at you. He gets visibly upset when they tell him that men have bought you drinks on his day off.

Bartender!Takuma who is immediately irritated when a guy on the other side of the bar buys you a drink and tells him to give you a message. But it’s his job, so he has to do it. Instead of making the drink and giving it to you right away however, he asks you if you want to accept it.

Bartender!Takuma who smiles a little too happily when you ask him if it’s impolite to reject the drink from the guy. He reassures you that it’s not impolite and takes care of the guy, in a more or less polite manner because he’d like to keep his job.

Bartender!Takuma who scowls the immediate moment a stranger approaches you and asks if they can buy you a drink. It’s different when someone is standing right next to you, so he knows you’re likely to accept just so you don’t anger the stranger. He takes the stranger's order, internally rolling his eyes at the bitter drink he ordered for you because he knows you don’t like bitter cocktails.

Bartender!Takuma who nonetheless mixes the drink and even performs some of his skilled moves to get you to look at him. When he serves the drink he accidentally spills it, making sure it stains the stranger’s pants. Of course he apologizes, but only you know that it’s a half assed apology that he doesn’t mean

Bartender!Takuma who swears the entire pub can hear his heart leaping when you thank him for saving you with his little stunt. It’s the first time he’s actually blushing and you think it makes him look even more handsome.

Bartender!Takuma who finally has the guts to ask you if you want to go out with him after weeks of pining for you. He’s not as smooth when he asks you, almost a little clumsy with his words but unbeknownst to him you think it makes him seem even cuter.

Bartender!Takuma who can’t hide his relieved and happy smile when you agree on a date. He’s so happy he completely forgets to ask for your number or when you have time. When you leave he wants to kick himself because how can he take you out on a date if he doesn’t even have your number.

Bartender!Takuma who almost breaks out in a happy dance when one of his colleagues hands him the napkin you purposely left behind with your number on it. He’s so happy he seems to be floating and beaming, brighter than the sun itself. All because he’s soon taking you out on the best date you ever had.

[askgravityfallsed]

THE YEAR IS 2019… WELCOME TO GRAVITY FALLS: ETERNAL DEVOTION AU Return To The Falls RP Edition

Related accounts set in 2012: @formerquestionmarkmp, @dippers-guide-to-the-strange, @pocketsfullofglitter, @queenplatinumpaz2012.

CHARACTER INFORMATION:

Mason “Dipper” Marth Pines:

Age: 19 years old

Pronouns: He/They

Identity: Bisexual, Non-Binary

Fiancé: Paz Southeast

Online College Student

Stoner

Well known ghost hunter in the area

Mabel David Pines:

Age: 19 years old

Pronouns: She/It/Pink/Meow/Oink

Identity: Cis, Aroace

Shroom addict (Don’t tell mom!)

Sells knitted sweaters and scarves, as well as Kandy bracelets, on Etsy

Pastel Goth/Scene mixture… I don't know either man.

Stanley Caryn McGucket-Pines:

Age: 67 years old

Pronouns: He/Him

Identity: Cis Bisexual

Husband: Fiddleford McGucket-Pines

Usually out sailing with Ford and Fidds

Kept his mullet in honor of his nieces old nickname

Owns five “#1 Dad” Mugs. Four from Soos, one from his niece.

Stanford Filbrick Pines:

Age: 67 years old

Pronouns: He/It (Only uses it due to Bills effect on him)

Identity: Cis Gay

Space Divorced TM both Fidds and Bill on separate occasions

Formerly brainwashed by Bill- barely resisting getting back together with him

Can not handle The Lust TM

Paz Elliot Southeast:

Age: 19 years old

Pronouns: He/Him

Identity: Bisexual Transgender

Fiancé: Mason Pines

Only recently found out he was trans- binds and cut his hair, but that’s about it

Steals Dippers clothes a lot. They’re his now actually.

Will never, ever admit to being the bottom of the relationship even if they’ve been together six years and it’s obvious as fuck.

Working for Greasys Diner

Jesus “Soos” Ramírez:

Age: 29 years old

Pronouns: He/Him

Identity: Cishet

Wife: Melody Ramírez

Stan is his dad figure, duh

Melody and him have a son named Diego

Cried like a baby the first time the twins referred to him as their uncle

Wendy Blerble Corduroy:

Age: 22 years old

Pronouns: She/He

Identity: Cis Bisexual Lesbian

Dippers weed dealer. Why are you shocked

Barely looks any different than she looked at age fifteen… except she ties her shirt into a crop top to show off her stomach tattoo of an axe.

Hottest lesbo on the block, according to nobody but her friend group

Robert “Robbie” Stacy Valentino:

Age: 23 years old

Age During Death: 15 years old

Pronouns: He/Him

Identity: Cis, Bi-curious (will not admit this)

Somehow befriended Paz. Neither know how nor want to admit it, but they have movie nights where they do each others nails and makeup and cry to metal music.

Zombie. Walking corpse even. Yep, we’re leaning into THAT old theory.

Still beefing with Dipper for literally no reason. Even Dipper doesn’t hate him at this point he just likes annoying him. They’re like brothers honestly.

Gideon Charles Gleeful:

Age: 17 years old

Pronouns: She/Her

Identity: Trans lesbian

Ex-Ciphertology child cultist

Despite this she still cries over the fact that Bill finds her annoying

She can’t really find anything to do with herself anymore since weirdmaggedon and highschool so she’s really fucking bitter.

Fiddleford Hadron McGucket-Pines:

Age: 69 years old (haha funny number)

Pronouns: He/Him

Identity: Cis Gay

Husband: Stanley McGucket Pines

Him and Emma May were actually beards- still occasionally in contact.

Was forced into a polyamorous marriage with Bill and Ford- eventually divorced them for MANY reasons

Seriously this guys got some BAD C-PTSD to be honest

Martha Winona Pines:

Age: 38 years old

Pronouns: She/Her

Identity: Cis Aromantic Bisexual

Ex-Husband: David Patterson

Has even WORSE C-PTSD from being Bills former puppet for like seven ish years

Literally so fucking grumpy about his return but NOBODY will let her murder him so she’s decided on verbal assault

Loves her kids soooooo so much

Calls Stan “Uncle Mullet”

William “Bill” Lu Cipher:

Age: ??????????????????? centuries old.

Pronouns: He/They/It- anything masculine or gender neutral

Identity: What a boring concept

Former triangle, now human for redemption- can only reincarnate if fully reformed, though he will never fully be forgiven for what he’s done, so he’s stuck this way til this body dies.

Can’t use his powers anymore- not even floating, which he hates a LOT

Misses Ford soooooo much…. Fucking loser.

BOUNDARIES:

13+ interactions only

Currently Gideon is still a minor, and I’m only a teenager, so please keep the NSFW to a minimum. Suggestive is fine, though.

DNI inc3st/p3do proshippers, p3do/m4p, transph0bic, hom0phobic, or r4cist people. You are not welcome here.

Please be respectful to me, the mod. You can be mean to characters, not to me. I do not appreciate hostility

Here and Here are the Casting Call links for the Eternal Devotion podcasts, please consider helping out with voice acting or even writing!

[blissfullyecho]

How to Look Like an Heiress: Channeling a Gossip Girl Aesthetic for 2025

There’s something utterly captivating about the effortlessly chic heiress lifestyle. Think Gossip Girl, where the Upper East Side girls never look anything less than perfectly polished, always with a cool, calm air of sophistication. But looking like an heiress isn't just about wearing designer labels—it's about cultivating an entire lifestyle that exudes elegance, confidence, and, yes, a bit of mystery.

If you’ve ever wanted to channel that "heiress" vibe—graceful, high-class, and yes, just a little bit untouchable—this post is for you. Whether you’re dreaming of your own Upper East Side moment or simply want to embody the refined, effortless style of your favorite heiresses, here’s your guide to creating a Gossip Girl-inspired look and aura that screams luxury, sophistication, and timeless elegance.

Step 1: Curate Your Wardrobe Like a True Heiress

The first step to achieving that heiress aesthetic? A wardrobe that reflects both opulence and sophistication. The key is to focus on timeless pieces that exude refinement, without being too “in-your-face” or flashy. Think understated luxury—clothing that speaks volumes without needing to shout.

Key Wardrobe Pieces:

Tailored Blazers and Coats: Channel Blair Waldorf with fitted, structured blazers and luxurious coats. Whether it's a classic trench coat or a long wool coat, make sure it’s perfectly tailored for that "moneyed" look.

Silk and Cashmere: Opt for silk blouses, cashmere sweaters, and other soft, high-quality fabrics. These textures feel luxurious and immediately elevate your style.

The Little Black Dress: A black dress that fits you like a glove will never fail you. Whether for a cocktail party or a lunch date, it's an essential piece that whispers sophistication.

Pencil Skirts and High-Waisted Pants: These styles emphasize an elegant silhouette, giving you that polished, chic appearance that an heiress is known for.

Statement Accessories: Think oversized sunglasses (think Blair Waldorf) and pearls or gold jewelry for a touch of luxury. A vintage Chanel bag or sleek leather tote will add that final polish.

Action Steps:

Invest in a few high-quality, timeless pieces that are versatile and can be worn season after season.

Keep your wardrobe neutral with pops of color like soft pastels, rich jewel tones, and occasional bold statements like red lips or a patterned scarf.

Step 2: Perfect Your Hair and Makeup: Polished, Not Overdone

An heiress never looks too done up, yet her look is always immaculate. Think glossy, sleek hair and makeup that enhances natural beauty, rather than masks it. It’s about subtlety and refinement.

Key Hair Looks:

Sleek, Polished Waves: Soft, defined waves that bounce with volume and shine. Think Blair Waldorf's iconic headband-and-hair combination—hair should always look well-maintained but not overly styled.

Perfectly Groomed Updos: For special occasions, a chic chignon or a low, soft bun creates a polished look. These hairstyles exude sophistication and show that you know how to command attention without trying too hard.

Natural Shine: Make sure your hair has a healthy shine, whether through regular trims, deep conditioning treatments, or products that add gloss.

Key Makeup Looks:

Flawless Complexion: A soft, glowing foundation and concealer for a fresh-faced, porcelain look. Think Blair's perfect, yet natural base.

Subtle, Soft Eyes: Opt for neutral tones on the eyes—think soft browns, taupes, or light golds for a natural, bright-eyed effect. A little eyeliner and voluminous mascara go a long way.

The Perfect Lip: A soft pink or a bold red lip is the classic heiress go-to. A bold lip like Blair's signature red can be a powerful statement without being overdone.

Action Steps:

Keep makeup simple but elegant—think less about trends, and more about classic beauty.

Always make sure your hair is well-groomed, whether it’s in a sleek ponytail or soft waves.

Step 3: Cultivate a Rich Social Life and an Air of Mystery

Looking like an heiress isn’t just about what you wear—it’s about how you carry yourself and the world you move through. Heiresses tend to have a sophisticated social calendar, attending exclusive events and cultivating an air of mystique. You don’t have to be a socialite to create this aura, but you can certainly curate your lifestyle to project elegance and charm.

Social Tips:

Attend High-End Events: Whether it’s a charity gala, a rooftop cocktail party, or a private art gallery opening, make it a point to attend upscale events that align with your image. It’s about being seen at the right places, looking effortless and always poised.

Keep Some Things Private: Heiresses are often mysterious—they don’t reveal every detail of their lives. Keep some of your personal world behind closed doors, and be selective about what you share. Cultivate an aura of exclusivity and intrigue.

Engage in Intellectual Conversations: Being an heiress isn’t just about fashion—it’s also about being well-rounded and cultured. Cultivate interests in the arts, literature, or current events. This will help elevate your social presence and make you someone worth knowing.

Action Steps:

Be selective about the events and people you engage with, always aiming for environments that reflect sophistication.

Maintain a bit of mystery about your personal life. Cultivate intrigue by keeping certain details private or only sharing them with a select few.

Step 4: Develop Confidence with Class

True heiresses—like Serena van der Woodsen or Blair Waldorf—radiate confidence, but it’s never brash or overly showy. They hold themselves with poise, charm, and grace. When you move through the world with confidence, elegance follows naturally.

Confidence Tips:

Master the Art of Conversation: Heiresses are poised and graceful in conversations. Always listen attentively, make eye contact, and speak with clarity and confidence. Avoid interrupting and focus on being an active participant in every conversation.

Carry Yourself with Grace: Stand tall, walk with purpose, and move through spaces as though you belong there. Confidence is not loud; it’s quiet, unshakable, and comfortable in one’s own skin.

Be Mindful of Your Etiquette: Know the rules of etiquette—whether it’s how to set a table, proper dining manners, or how to address different social settings. A woman who knows these unspoken rules always carries herself with grace.

Action Steps:

Stand tall and move with intention—confidence is key.

Be mindful of your body language and posture. Walk and sit with poise.

Step 5: Invest in Quality, Not Quantity

When you look at a true heiress, you’ll notice she has a wardrobe full of timeless, high-quality pieces—not a closet full of trendy items. It’s not about having a lot, but about having the right items that will last for years to come.

Investment Pieces:

Luxury Accessories: Think leather handbags, silk scarves, or a classic watch. These pieces are subtle status symbols and instantly elevate any outfit.

Quality Shoes: Opt for investment shoes in neutral tones—think pointed-toe pumps, classic flats, or heeled boots. They should be well-crafted and versatile enough to pair with any look.

Vintage Pieces: Vintage pieces from high-end brands add a unique, sophisticated flair to your wardrobe. Look for items that tell a story, whether it’s a vintage Chanel jacket or a classic diamond necklace.

Action Steps:

Focus on building a timeless, well-edited wardrobe with high-quality pieces.

Invest in items that hold their value and can be worn for years to come.

Step 6: Master the Art of Subtle Luxury

Finally, remember that luxury isn’t about showing off—it’s about feeling luxurious without shouting it from the rooftops. Heiresses know that the most exquisite things are often the most understated. Think luxurious but subtle: a well-cut suit, a glass of champagne, an evening of quiet reflection in an upscale restaurant.

Action Steps:

Focus on the details—an heirloom bracelet, a fine bottle of wine, a luxurious piece of furniture—all these little elements combine to create an overall feeling of richness and sophistication.

Cultivate an aura of effortless luxury. Whether it's through your surroundings, your mindset, or your wardrobe, everything should feel meticulously curated.

Conclusion: Live Like an Heiress, Own Your Elegance

Looking like an heiress isn’t about having billions in the bank. It’s about adopting a mindset, a lifestyle, and an aesthetic that exude sophistication, grace, and confidence. By curating your wardrobe, perfecting your grooming routine, attending the right events, and embodying timeless elegance, you’ll start to embody the chic heiress vibe that makes everyone turn their heads.

Remember, it’s all about confidence, quality over quantity, and moving through the world with the grace of someone who knows their worth.

[valkariel]

A Midsummer Night’s Masquerade

Companion glamour to A Midsummer Night’s Dawn.

Head: Hypostatic Visor of Casting - iris purple Body: Mheg Deaca Robe - ice blue Hands: Koppranickel Armlets of Casting - colibri pink Legs: Thavnairian Tights - default Feet: Isle Shepherd's Sandals - colibri pink

Earring: The Emperor's New Earrings Neck: The Emperor's New Necklace Wrists: The Emperor's New Bracelet Right Ring: Omicron Ring of Casting Left Ring: Omicron Ring of Casting

Main Hand: Horse Chestnut Rod - ice blue Off Hand: --

Fashion Accessory: -- Minion: -- Location: Faeberry Atelier

Shader: Faeberry Studio

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — NANAMI x FEM READER

Gojo sets you up with your future husband in the middle of English class.

wc — 700

tags — Gojo’s annoying ass, stay at home husband Nanami, title from manga of the same name 

“Honey, I’m home,” you call. 

Immediately, Nanami comes to the door clad in his pastel yellow apron with little ducks. It matches his hair and complements his pink dish gloves perfectly. 

“I’d hug you but I’m a little dirty at the moment,” he says. 

“Who cares?” You wrap your arms around him to his spluttered protests. 

When he falls suspiciously silent, you look up to see what’s wrong. You follow his soft gaze to the ring on your finger, your arms still looped around his neck. 

“You know I hate owing Gojo anything, but I really am grateful for this one,” he says, leaning down to kiss your cheek. 

It is thanks to Gojo that you got married, after all. 

In high school, Gojo Satoru was a menace who loves meddling in your love life. He treated you like a little sister, which meant he was also comfortable doing whatever he wanted to you without consequence. 

You should’ve known better than to trust him, but he piques your interest when he asks, “Hey, you know Nanami from our econ class?”

“I do not dream of labor Nanami?” You ask. 

“All jobs are shitty, this is just slightly less shitty Nanami?” Chimes in Yuki across the table.

“Even when I’m asleep the only thing I think about is money Nanami?” From your side, even Utahime is interested in the conversation, a rarer occasion than a eclipse. 

“That’s the one!” Gojo beckons you closer. Of course, you stay right where you are, because you don’t trust him. He crooks his fingers at you again, coaxing, “Come on, come on. Don’t you trust me?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Fine, have it your way,” he says, rolling his eyes. Then, at a volume completely unnecessary and loud enough for everyone within a five mile radius to hear, he all but yells, “You would like Nanami! I’m setting you two up.” 

You would slap him, but he’s faster, catching your arm like he anticipated the blow. He probably did. 

“Gojo, what the fuck?!” You hiss. 

“Shhh, I’m doing you a favor! My two most boring friends, one ambitious, one indolent - you two are a match made in heaven.” 

You squint at him. “Isn’t Nanami the top of our class? He works harder than anyone else, I don’t know what you’re saying.” 

“Okay, but it’s not because he wants to. He hates working, he just wants to live comfortably. You see where I’m going with this?” 

You really, really don’t. 

“God, do I have to spell everything out for you? I really am a blessing to you poor-“ 

“Gojo.” 

“Fine, whatever! Let’s do the math. You want to become a CEO or something, I wasn’t really paying attention when you told me about it. Nanami wants to be a live in housewife who’s only job is to cook, clean, and love his partner. One plus one equals two, he can be your housewife.” 

“I can be what now?” You refuse to turn around, like if you can’t see him, he’ll go away eventually.  He must’ve been summoned by Gojo’s annoyingly loud volume. 

Gojo has no such shame. “Perfect, I don’t even have to go looking for you! I’ll leave you two to it. Use protection or actually don’t, so you can give me godchildren!” 

He dodges your attempt at murder for the second time and skips off, humming to himself. You’re never speaking to him again, you resolve. Nanami’s presence looms at your back, stiff and uncomfortable. How do you break the ice? 

“You…don’t have to be a househusband,” you offer. That is not the way you wanted to start your introduction, but for some reason your mouth won’t stop moving no matter how much you beg yourself to shut up. “We can be double income, if you want, but I’m sure I can make enough for both of us.” 

You’re silently begging the ground to just swallow you up to escape your earthly torment when he laughs. It’s a pretty thing, not like bells or wind chimes as the books describe, but beautiful nonetheless. 

He smiles down on you as he says, “I’m okay being a househusband if you’ll have me.” 

[merakiui]

hi hi!! Thank you so much for doing this event!! TwT can I get sweet lollipops (abo friends with benefits to eventually lovers!!) with candy hearts (accidental knotting/pregnancy?) for our lovely alpha Floyd?

I hope I got that right! 💜

floyd leech x (gender neutral) reader cw: nsfw, abo/omegaverse, knotting, friends with benefits, omega!reader, alpha!floyd, heats note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

i. “this is just a one-time thing, okay?”

Celebrations at the Mostro Lounge are always extravagant events, luring in crowds so large the premises might resemble that of an overpacked sardine tin if it weren’t for Azul’s careful foresight. To avoid any unsavory issues, tonight’s celebration—a birthday party for a staff member—is strictly limited to Octavinelle residents and those working tonight’s shift, save for the exception that the birthday celebrant was permitted to invite friends from other dorms. 

The lounge reflects this upbeat occasion, decorated in banners and streamers, confetti, and seashell-shaped light strands—all in pastel purples, blues, yellows, and pinks, colors resembling the shiny, waterlogged treasures found deep within the Coral Sea. There’s a buffet table that’s situated in the center of the room with snacks and desserts of all kinds, piled humorously high on silver platters that have not yet fallen over due to some special enchantment. Partygoers are scattered all throughout the lounge, some filling plates for themselves and others chatting around booths and in front of the massive aquarium, its aquatic illumination casting everything in cerulean hues. 

You stand behind the bar drying and arranging crystal champagne flutes, a task so monotonous you’re lucky to listen in on nearby conversations to keep your brain perfectly sane. There are plenty of cloying smells that fill the lounge like helium inside a balloon, far more distracting than the scents of pastries and fruity, fizzy beverages. Your nose wrinkles at the distinctness of every alpha, omega, and beta in this room, some so robust you can practically taste them as they fog your brain with an unshakable haze. 

Standing beside you, Azul works to mix and pour drinks, keeping up with each order in timely, flawless fashion. The clinking of glass and metal shakers brings you back to the present. 

“You seem to be wearing quite the pensive look. A Madol for your thoughts?” Azul remarks without looking from the floor laid out before the both of you, his eyes scanning each and every partygoer, tallying them within his mind like they’re prey he’s preparing to net in one fell swoop. 

You swallow a thick, awkward laugh, shaking your head to rid yourself of the cotton that’s been stuffed into your ears. Even the music spilling out of the speakers in loud, wild notes—courtesy of the birthday playlist assembled by the birthday boy and his friends—is muffled beyond comprehension, coming to you in a distant echo. You rub your shoe against the hardwood floor; it’s got a heartbeat, but that could just be because of the pounding music. 

“(Name)?”

“Right. Thoughts. Madol. Yes,” you say with great haste, smacking your lips in a way that makes you look as if you’ve just tasted the air. And you are, technically, with every inhale and exhale. Amongst the many pheromones tinging the room, the ones that radiate from the alphas smell the most enticing. You blink through a sudden, all-consuming dizzy spell, head spinning. “I’m not thinking...about anything.” 

Azul peers at you from his peripheral. “If you feel unwell, you’re welcome to take your break. I can handle things from here.”

“I’ll be fine...” You wipe sweat from your brow and tug at your collar. “Are you hot? It feels really hot in here.”

His brows knit together for a mere moment before a knowing glint flashes in his perceptive blues. It dawns on you, when he takes the glass from your trembling hands and sets it on the counter, that you are not as fine as you were a few moments ago. And both of you seem to have arrived at the same reason for why that might be.

“From one omega to another,” he murmurs, yet his voice sounds much clearer in this moment, “I suggest you take the rest of the night off before it catches up to you.”

You debate the suggestion, which is actually more of an order veiled within soft syllables, and you’re ready to insist you can power through it when your knees almost give out altogether when a particularly strong smell hits you. You slam your hands down upon the counter to keep your balance. 

“This better not come out of my pay,” you mutter through grit teeth. 

Azul barks out a laugh. “Why, I would never! We’re of the same sub-gender, after all. Naturally, we have to look out for one another.”

You try to roll your eyes, but it only makes you dizzier. You’ve done your best to ignore it so far, but now it’s impossible to not feel the slick that’s dampening your undergarments and rolling down your thighs in thick rivulets. 

“Shall I send a beta to accompany you on your way back?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Azul looks like he wants to argue you on that, but instead he turns away to resume his current task. “Then I wish you a pleasant evening. Be safe.”

Pleasant, you think with bitter resentment. As if any of this is ever pleasant.

Luckily, the booming music and the absurd amount of scents within the lounge all but drowns yours out, allowing you to slip through the exit to follow the path that leads to Octavinelle's shadowed halls. The sprawling ocean looks much darker through the glass, as if it’s simply a liquid outer space or an endless abyss. Either one sounds equally terrifying. You stop your stagger-walk to lean against the cool surface, hoping to regain your sense of awareness. Shutting your eyes only makes you even more tipsy, so you press your forehead to the glass and exhale slowly. 

It takes a moment for the world to stop tilting, but once it does you peel yourself away from the glass and continue to stumble onwards. In hindsight, you shouldn’t have decided to test fate when your calendar detailed your approaching heat, but that’s the least of your worries now. Not much can be done when it’s already upon you. Although you really wish it would have chosen to inconvenience you tomorrow when you weren’t set to work at the lounge. 

The music is but a mere hum now, so distant it almost isn’t there, but you immediately forget about it when your shoe catches on something at the end of the hall, which sends you tumbling forwards. You land on frigid, unforgiving tiles with a harsh smack, and though the pain trickles through you it isn’t enough to distract you from the soothing scent of fresh rainfall. You blink through tears, forcing yourself to sit up, and find yourself staring into the face of Floyd Leech.

And he’s staring right back.

“F-Floyd? Didn’t you...” You inhale a deep breath, a poor move on your part because his smell encapsulates you entirely, and it almost knocks you over. “Kitchen shift... Azul put you on...food duty or...something.”

“Didn’t feel like it,” he mutters, looking bored and irritated all at once, as if your sudden arrival has disturbed his brooding in the dark. “Whatcha doin’ here? Thought you had a shift.”

You open your mouth to respond, but even that is too much for you; and so you slap your hands over your mouth, fixing him with a weak glare. Floyd’s never known just how strong his scent is, but you’ve always been able to differentiate it from the other staff members’ scents at the lounge because of how unmistakably Floyd it is. Unlike Jade, who dutifully wears scent blockers, Floyd could care less about the precautions most take to avoid any scent-related problems from cropping up. Sometimes you wish he was more like Jade, but then Jade never has any notable scent about him and that unnerves you more than the overwhelming nature of Floyd’s.

Floyd flashes his sharp teeth at you in a mocking grin. “Shrimpy looks so funny. Smells funny, too.”

You intend to put more vitriol into your glare, but his playful chuckle has you suppressing a needy, little whine. Your knuckles grow sore from how forcefully you’re clamping your hands over your mouth. If you don’t get back to Ramshackle soon, you’ll be a mess of sweat, pheromones, and slick and then that might draw unwanted attention. You attempt to stand, only to fail miserably when you sway on unsteady feet, and so you lower yourself onto your knees, glancing at Floyd’s colorful sneakers. 

A breath shudders through you. The smell of rain and morning dew hangs heavy like cigarette smoke in the air. You can’t believe you’re about to verbalize your innermost desires, if they weren’t already blindingly apparent, but you can’t hold back any longer.

“Can you—” you swallow your inhibitions, far past the point of shame— “Can you help me?”

Floyd follows the length of his outstretched legs to look at you hunched over in front of him, your hands placed firmly on the floor to keep yourself from falling over. 

His mismatched eyes hold mischief, but his face is neutral when he replies with: “Mmh... I guess. What do ya want help with?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” you snap, and he tilts his head at you like you’re a bewildering curiosity. His acquiescence is all you really needed to hear, though, because you’re already shedding your uniform suit jacket in a breathless hurry. “Please don’t get smart right now. I just need—” You’re not sure what you need specifically, but you do know you need relief. And he’s the only alpha within reach. “I just need you to help.”

“Okaaay,” he drawls lazily, waiting there with his back against the glass. His figure is framed in the bright luminescence from the jellyfish swarming in the great depths beyond, and you crawl over his long legs and into his lap. He peers at you, amusement twinkling in his gaze. “Shrimpy’s so funny tonight!”

You admire him through the lenses unique to a heat. It’s more akin to a drunken stupor—the kind of phenomenon that makes strangers look ten times more appealing than they normally do if you’re sober—and every rugged, dangerous edge that composes Floyd suddenly seems so perfect and safe. Your fingers curl into the lapels of his jacket, and you yank him towards you, your lips mere centimeters from his. There’s no indication that he feels the same spark as you, but in this moment there doesn’t need to be any life-changing sparks. As long as he’s agreed to help you, you’ll take his assistance and nothing more.  

“Floyd.”

“Shrimpy.”

“Can you...” You wiggle your hips, impatiently fumbling to shrug out of the straps of your high-waisted suspender trousers. You’re not very successful in this endeavor, so you give up with a frustrated huff. “Please touch me. D-Down there...”

“Sure thing,” he says with a nonchalance that’s frighteningly alarming.

You were certain that an omega in heat made it difficult for most alphas to focus, let alone properly function, when there were so many tempting smells and sounds coming from them. But then Floyd isn’t like most alphas. Floyd is uniquely Floyd in every possible way. He doesn’t conform to the typical standards applied to other alphas. But it does sting a little to think that, with how undoubtedly cloying your pheromones must be, he isn’t affected in the slightest. He’s not even hard, which feels like a chip in your omega pride, but you’re too frantic with lust to dwell on it. 

Floyd's rough hands grab your waist and he lifts you up slightly, pressing you flush against his chest so that he can yank your trousers down for easier access. The fabric bunches halfway at your knees, but that hardly matters in the moment. You’re certain the wet spot would have been noticeable if it weren’t for the dim lighting in the hall, and you’re secretly grateful for the lack of brightness.

“T-This is just a one-time thing, okay?”

“Whatever you say.”

You’re not sure why he sounds so disinterested, but you don’t care enough to ask. And when he slides your soaked underwear to the side so that he can thrust two slender fingers up inside your dripping hole, you slump against him, gripping his shoulders like he’s the only one who can keep you afloat amidst the turbulent sea you’ve found yourself in. With your face buried in the crook of his neck, where his scent glands are so close and produce the headiest scent you’ve ever come to know, you cum with a strangled, gasping cry, slick clinging to your thighs in translucent, stringy ribbons. Floyd doesn’t say anything, continuing to curl his fingers inside tight, wet, gummy walls, which leaves you shuddering and sobbing with ecstasy. 

You lick at his neck, pressing lingering kisses to every available inch, breathing in his scent as if it’s your oxygen. Your teeth prick the surface of his skin, but before you can bite down he’s grabbing your chin with his free hand and smashing his mouth against yours in a sloppy, aggressive kiss. Your teeth click against his, and his tongue flicks past your lips, searching for yours. You meet him halfway, kissing back as fervently as you roll your hips against his hand, taking a third and a fourth finger in one thrust. He’s worked you open with delightful movements, scissoring you as roughly as he kisses, and when you break away to gulp down mouthfuls of air Floyd licks his lips clean of saliva—your saliva.

You’re not sure if it was possible for you to get wetter, but you do and you reach your second—or perhaps it’s your third—climax with a squeal.

“You can put it in. Please put it in,” you mumble, mind fuzzy with one single thought: If you aren’t fucked sore and senseless right now, you might never recover from this heat. “Please, Flo... Floyd, put it in...” You palm at his crotch, satisfied that there’s now a stiffness straining against his trousers, and you reach up to slide his suit jacket off his broad shoulders. “I need it. I’ll cover your shifts for a week—no, two weeks—three weeks! Anything you want—just need you inside me...”

Floyd hums his consideration. “Don’t wanna,” he eventually says, cutting off your whiny protests with another expert curl of his fingers. “S’too much work.”

That seems to sober you a little, and though your entire body is flushed with warmth there’s an odd coldness that seeps through. You lose track of how many times you cum, but at some point you must have slipped into unconsciousness from the exhaustion of it all. When you wake, the sun’s just barely peeking over the horizon, and you’re lying in your work clothes in your room at Ramshackle Dorm. You feel and smell so filthy, covered in slick and sweat that has dried sticky on your skin, but the worst of your heat has abated for now. You know this isn’t the last of it—that there’s more to come in the next few days and that you’ll just feel so foggy-headed until the true instinctual lust hits and you’re leaking through your undergarments like a broken faucet. 

Groggily, you sit up, rubbing the crust from your eyes, only to flop back down. 

Bath can wait, you think, yawning. It’s way too early for that.

You feel something bunched underneath you, and for a moment you think it’s Floyd. Though you’re not sure why he immediately pops into your mind, you’re given your answer when you pull the suit jacket out from beneath you. It smells pleasantly of a rainy morning, musky and earthy, a pleasant petrichor that could only belong to Floyd.

ii. “you smell like shrimpy. ain’t that good enough?”

Floyd is an elusive force. He appears and disappears whenever he feels like it—almost like a playful poltergeist haunting a house. If he wants you to find him, you’ll find him. Today, it’s not Floyd you find when you venture through the courtyard in search of him, but rather Jade. You suppose he’s better than no one, and if you look at him from the wrong angle he becomes Floyd. So this is the best you can do in this moment. Perhaps it’s convenient you don’t have to face Floyd because you haven’t even rehearsed what you’ll say to him—if you even want to say anything to him about that night.

“I’d like to return Floyd’s jacket,” you tell him in your best professional tone, offering it to him alongside a packaged pastry.

Jade gazes at your outstretched hands. “The pastry as well?”

“Please don’t be a smart-ass.”

He hides his sharp smile behind a gloved fist. “Is there a reason you’re in possession of Floyd’s jacket?” As if to be even more irritating than he already is, he adds, “And Floyd’s pastry?”

You avoid his stare, distracting yourself with the sight of your scuffed shoes. “N-No reason in particular...”

But Jade is not the type to drop a subject he’s found interest in, which leaves him thoroughly invested in this not-so-mysterious mystery. “No reason at all?” he presses, brows raising. “If I recall, Floyd’s been left without a jacket for a week. This is merely speculation—take it with a grain of salt—but you must have been indisposed for a few days to deal with...‘personal matters,’ as Azul had called it, hence why we didn’t see you at the lounge. Is it correct to assume you may have been burdened with a certain biological inconvenience?”

“Not true! He lent it to me. Yeah, lent it to me. That’s all there is to it.”

“And the pastry?”

“Oh my—Jade, please just take your brother’s jacket. You’re killing me here.”

“On the contrary, I haven’t yet twisted the knife deep enough.”

You groan, deflating before him like a boneless fish. “You already know why I have his jacket. Don’t make this difficult.”

He chuckles; you don’t see what’s so hilarious about this situation. “Well, I was made aware of specific details, yes. What was it you had told Floyd? Ah, right. You would cover his shifts for three weeks if he—”

“Ahaa, Shrimpy, there you are!” Before you can listen to the rest of what was going to be a highly flustering sentence, Floyd crashes into you from behind, wrapping his arms around you, while you nearly topple over from the impact. Thankfully, he steadies you with strong arms. “I was lookin’ all over for you!”

“What a coincidence. So was I.” You squirm in his grasp, holding his jacket and the pastry up for his viewing pleasure. “For you.”

“So that’s where it was! Thanks, Shrimpy! Didja take good care of it for me?”

You stare at him. Did he seriously forget where his own jacket was?

“I don’t know what flavors you like, but I got this custard bread for you.”

“Huh? What for? It’s not my birthday.” The arm curled around your waist tightens its crushing grip, persuading you to admit your reasoning before he squeezes and your guts spill out through cracked bone. “It’s not even a holiday. What gives?”

“It’s for your help that night. A thank you from me to you.”

He snatches both from you, draping his jacket over his shoulder, and inspects the packaging. “Hey, this looks yummy. Thanks, Shrimpy!” He digs something out of his pocket, takes your hand, spreads your fingers, and drops it in your palm. “I also got a little somethin’ for ya.”

It’s a golden canine tooth, most likely one that came from a beastman. There’s still some blood and gum sticking to it.

“Um. Thanks?” You choke down the urge to shiver.

Floyd giggles, looking quite satisfied with himself.

Jade stares at it, unsurprised. “May I ask where you acquired this tooth?”

Floyd shrugs, releasing you from his smothering hug. “Asked some guy where Shrimpy was and he kept dodgin’ the question. Had to pull the answer right from his mouth.”

“I see.” 

You stuff the tooth into your pocket, wiping your palm against the fabric of your blazer, and grin awkwardly. “I appreciate the...gift.”

You’ve never traded a pastry for a tooth before. But, hey, there are firsts for everything, right?

“You like it?! I can get more for Shrimpy! Which ones do you like best? Gold? Silver?”

“No, that’s okay. One is enough.”

One is too much, actually...

Floyd hums his contentment, the scent of rain rolling off of him in happy waves. You inhale as subtly as you can. He smells good—perhaps much better now that you’ve toed the line of intimacy with him—however emotionless it may have been—and have had an entire week to familiarize yourself with his scent. It settles your frazzled nerves, allowing you a small fraction of confidence...that immediately shrivels when you recall how he’d called your scent funny.

“Do I...” You shrug your anxieties off, forcing the question out from the confines of your dry throat. “Do I smell bad?”

Floyd looks through you rather than at you. “Never said that.”

“You didn’t say I smelled good either.” You cross your arms over your chest. “For the record, I think you smell good.”

That prompts a tiny laugh from Jade. “As riveting as your human courting techniques are, I’m afraid I must be on my way. I wish you a pleasant afternoon, (Name). Floyd, I’ll see you at dinner.”

“‘Kaaay.”

You’ve never been more glad to see him and his troublesome smirk go, and you curse him six ways from Sunday with each step he takes, until it’s just you and Floyd standing in the center of the sparsely populated courtyard. 

Floyd unwraps the pastry without much decorum, taking an obnoxious chomp from it while he waits for you. Crumbs stick to his face and gather on his uniform like sugar snowfall. 

“So I do smell bad.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Shrimpy,” he says around a mouthful of pastry. “You smell like Shrimpy. Ain’t that good enough?”

What in the world does ‘shrimpy’ even smell like? 

You tilt your head back and forth, unsure of what to truly say. “I... Floyd, your scent really helped me. Like, a lot. And I know you probably don’t think it did, but your jacket made things way more tolerable than they usually are.”

He’s licking his fingers clean now, nodding along to what you’re saying with bright, eager eyes. 

You steel yourself with it’s now or never. “My budget has been low lately, so I haven’t been able to afford suppressants for the next few months. And between attending classes, working at the lounge, and keeping Ramshackle in good shape, I can’t lose a week’s time because of my heats. So... So what I’m trying to say—what I’m trying to get at here... I guess what I really want—can we make this not a one-time thing, but a monthly thing instead? If you helped me, you could cut my heats down to just two or three days. I can buy you more pastries if you want, or I can cover your shifts. Please just help me out again. I’ll do anything.”

It feels useless and pathetic to beg, especially since you know how mercurial he can be, so sometimes it’s as though you’re speaking to an immovable wall. In fact, you might have better luck going to Azul or Jade if you really wanted—

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” He grins. “Why not? Sounds fun.”

“So it doesn’t sound like ‘too much work’?”

“Nah. Shrimpy’s fun.” He crumples the empty packaging and stuffs it in his pocket. “And fun things aren’t work.”

“All right... If you say so.”

You aren’t going to push it any further, lest you risk annoying him and losing this chance. 

iii. “most importantly, we’re just friends and nothing more.”

It’s raining today. Normally, watching gloomy weather unfold fosters unrest within you. But this time Floyd’s with you, lying sprawled in a cramped alcove in the library, all lanky limbs outstretched, while you flip through a textbook in search of anything that might give you more insight into how to cure heats or, at the very least, halt them in a way that doesn’t require expensive medicines. Floyd’s scrolling on his phone, a lollipop between his lips. He’d caught your scent on the wind and had gravitated towards it, and you’d smelled him the minute he stepped into the hallway to follow you into the library. You let him accompany you because there’s no shaking Floyd once he’s made up his mind.

With the lack of sunlight, the lighting in the library is dimmer than usual. It’s peacefully comfortable despite the rain-spattered windowpanes and the cloudy sky beyond ancient, dusty confines. You peer at Floyd from where you sit. He’s looking through an online shoe catalogue.

“Do you like shoes?”

“They’re cool,” he replies without missing a beat. “And the surface’s got lotsa cool designs and styles.”

Briefly, you glance at your worn pair in hopes that looking long enough will give you an idea for what to say next. It doesn’t work as intended, but Floyd doesn’t seem keen to continue chatting with you, his attention focused squarely on his phone screen. You return to the task at hand, skimming a few chapters on alpha and omega biology, information on betas, and even an in-depth analysis on heat and rut nuances. Nothing tells you of the panacea needed to rid yourself of your heats.

Defeated, you shut the textbook with a sigh. Floyd’s looking at you now, his phone swiftly pocketed. You slump in your seat. He smiles lopsidedly when he knows you’re watching him.

“All good?”

You nod, but your words contradict that. “I can’t find a cure for heats and it’s a little frustrating.”

“Why do you wanna cure ‘em? You got me for that, don’tcha?”

“Yeah. But… Actually, since you’re here, can we go over a few rules? My next heat isn’t scheduled until next month, but I’d like to set some boundaries before we do anything.”

Floyd pulls the lollipop stick from his mouth and twists it into a knot. “Lay ‘em on me.”

You nod, push the textbook away from you, and scoot your chair closer to the alcove. “You can’t bite.” You point at your neck. “Anywhere else is fine, but here is off limits.”

Floyd mirrors your actions, tapping the area where his glands reside with a hum. “I won’t bite.” His smile says otherwise, but you take him for his word.

“And no knotting.”

“No knotting.”

“No breeding either.”

“No breeding.”

“And… And no kissing.”

“No kissing. Gotcha.”

“You’re being surprisingly agreeable about this.”

Floyd shrugs. “It’s what Shrimpy wants.”

“Right. Okay. Well.” You wring your hands together. “Most importantly, we’re just friends and nothing more.”

“Just friends,” he parrots. “Nothing more.”

“Cool.” You nod to yourself, but it does nothing to dispel the awkwardness. “Awesome. Cool...”

Floyd pops up from the alcove seat like a reanimated corpse springing from a grave. He grabs your hand and tugs you up from your chair, all boisterous energy and laughter despite the vicious shushes you receive from nearby students. 

“Let’s go swimming!”

You have no idea where this came from, but you allow yourself to be tugged from the library, abandoning the pile of textbooks you’d been perusing for nearly an hour. And though your spirits had been dampened considerably by the information, or rather lack thereof, you seem to forget about it while you watch Floyd splash freely around in the Octavinelle pool, swimming laps with such smooth precision. You dip your bare feet in the chilled water, entertaining him with a game of fetch, tossing a diving ring each time he brings it back to you.

And within no time your frown has lifted into a genuine smile.

Later, during your shift, Jade brushes past you. “Floyd has been in such a pleasant mood today,” he remarks, nodding towards his brother, who’s currently balancing trays as he happily skips from table to table, a whistle in his voice. “I wonder if something exciting has happened. Do share. I so dislike being left out of the loop.”

Knowing Jade and his affinity for omniscience, you suspect he’s already within the loop. And it’s not as if you could lie to him; he’d find out eventually when Floyd starts smelling more like you and you start smelling more like Floyd. So it’s best to be honest about it, even if it is a little uncomfortable admitting such a thing to Jade.

“Floyd’s going to help me with my heats.”

“Is that so? How kind of him. You have my most sincerest blessings.” Jade holds a hand over his heart. “Take good care of Floyd now. He can be rather sensitive, though he doesn’t seem it.”

“We’re not getting married, Jade.”

He smiles innocently. Your gazes are drawn to Floyd as he approaches with empty trays. He catches your eye and grins broadly, waving in a manner so ecstatic you’d think he’s just meeting you again for the first time in years.

“I wouldn’t be so certain about a hypothetical that has yet to be proven.”

“Then, hypothetically, I marry into the Leech family. What then?”

“I believe that would make us in-laws, no?”

“Right. And, hypothetically, my dear in-law goes missing and is never found again because he can’t keep his annoying mouth shut. What then?”

“You would have quite the crime on your hands. I don’t think the sea would show you much mercy.”

Floyd’s hands clap down upon your shoulders at that moment. “Whatcha talkin’ about?”

Jade’s grin sharpens into something predatory when he looks at Floyd, who’s resting his chin on top of your head. “We were merely discussing how we might dispose of the other should (Name) marry into the family.”

“Ooh! Shrimpy’s marryin’ Jade, huh?”

You and Jade answer in unison, though your responses are very contrasting.

“That can be arranged.”

“Absolutely not!”

Floyd pinches your cheek, cooing playfully. “I wouldn’t mind it. That means I’d get to see Shrimpy all the time.”

“Although, as honored as I am to consider a future with (Name), I believe Floyd would be a much better fit for you.”

“Huh? Why me?” Floyd looks at you more closely, inspecting you with narrowed eyes, and then he barks out a high laugh. “No way, Jade. You hafta like someone if you wanna marry ‘em.”

You twist out of Floyd’s arms. “And we all have to work if we don’t want Azul on our cases!” With a huff, you snatch the trays from under Floyd’s arm and stomp off towards the kitchen, listening to the twins’ laughter as you go.

iv. “shrimpy’s rule: no knotting.”

In the days leading up to your heat, Floyd is a leech, not just in surname but in the literal sense. He’s almost always hanging around you. From working the same hours at the lounge to accompanying you to and from classes to meeting you at Ramshackle first thing in the morning, he is your shadow. It almost feels like he’s attached to you by some invisible thread and can only go so far before he’s drawn back in by way of magnetic force. You thought it was weird, but then Floyd has always been weird and so this sort of behavior isn’t uncharacteristic. Rather, it makes perfect sense for him to stick to you like a barnacle. Why, you might ask? The simple answer is that he’s found entertainment in you and isn’t going to give up until he grows bored. 

But the complex answer comes to you days before your scheduled heat, when Ace had none-too-subtly pointed out that you smell. He didn’t say you smelled funny, which had been a little soothing, but even Deuce had echoed his sentiment. You didn’t smell like yourself, they had told you. So you asked what you smelled like and without missing a beat they replied: “Like rain.”

You had laughed and then paused to consider what felt like an absurdity and then laughed again. Floyd isn’t your alpha and you’re not his omega. There shouldn’t be any reason for him to scent you. You shrug off Ace’s teasing and Deuce’s genuine curiosity in favor of focusing on your lunch. Lunch, you’ve decided, is much tastier than whatever confusion you were previously feasting on. 

Unlike last month’s heat, you’re ready for this one. You wake and attend classes as you normally would, only feeling the faintest itch of what’s to come, but by your final class you’re woozy, struggling to stay centered while the lecture goes in one ear and out the other in a string of mushed syllables. You’re not completely gone when you shuffle out of class, ignoring the whispers that are thrown around, and you only truly perk up when a familiar smell hits you head-on. 

Floyd leans against the wall, a casual smile pulling his lips apart. “My dorm or yours?”

“Yours,” you blurt, only to shake your head hastily. “No... No, not yours. Mine is better.”

He giggles and tilts his head at you. “Okaaay!”

Floyd hardly has any time to shut the door and drop your belongings on the sofa before you’re grabbing at him, clinging like a koala, and he gathers you in his arms and covers the distance to your bedroom. You’re quickly losing yourself to instinctual lust, shedding your articles of clothing as easily as you whimper his name. Floyd’s grinning as he follows your example, his eyes tracking your every movement. You flop onto your bed after you’ve discarded your rumpled uniform, skin hot and sticky with sweat and slick. Floyd’s pheromones fill the room at once, and you reach for him when he crawls on top of you, caging you between sturdy, muscled arms.

“Shrimpy smells funny again.”

“Knock it off, will you?” you spit, but the irritation doesn’t last long when you get another whiff of him and you throw your head back with an impatient sigh. “I don’t smell funny... Ace and Deuce didn’t think I smelled funny.”

“Yeah?” he prompts, palming your drenched hole, sliding two fingers past rings of wet muscle.

You shift underneath him, hissing out a breathy moan through grit teeth. “They said...” Another gasp. “They said I smelled like—” Your hands grip the sheets when he adds a third finger, lazily working you open with dexterous digits. “Like ra—aah—rain.”

“Musta been rainin’ that day.”

“N-No, you were... Your smell. You smell like—mmh. Like the rain.”

You don’t miss his tongue as it darts out to wet his lips. The lewd squelching of his fingers pumping in and out of you permeates the air, replacing any words he might have wanted to say. You shut your eyes with a blissful hum. Perhaps if you weren’t already so deep in your heat you might be able to sift through your thoughts with more coherence. But then, if you weren’t so deep in your heat, you wouldn’t be in this position in the first place, and so you probably wouldn’t get this far with your curiosity.

“Were you... Hah... Were you scenting me? I couldn’t tell because...”

Because your scent’s already so familiar.

Floyd doesn’t answer, but he does withdraw his hand and you whine low in your throat. Your displeasure is short-lived, though, for rough hands spread your thighs next, and before you know it he’s between your legs, licking a stripe up your slick-coated entrance. By instinct, you attempt to shut your legs, wanting to lock him there forever, but his hands keep you spread wide for him, and so you rest your ankles upon his shoulders while he continues to lick and nip, his razored teeth just barely scraping skin. 

Suddenly, pressing him for answers doesn’t seem like your main priority when a long, thick tongue pushes its way into you at the next moment. He hums his enjoyment, and the vibrations ripple through you like waves in a pond. It’s much better than anything you could have accomplished with just your fingers alone, and you can’t stop the noisy mewls that fall freely from your lips, breathy and pitched in a way that foretells approaching orgasm. With the way his fingertips burrow into the pudge of your thighs to the way his tongue sloppily works in and out of you, the warmth in your stomach builds to an insurmountable level, and it isn’t long until you’re tipping over the edge. You dig your fingers into teal locks, pressing him firmly against your crotch, and cum with a strangled shout. 

Floyd withdraws, his face glistening with your slick, and you shudder at both the sight of him and the faint ache of emptiness. He swipes a stray droplet from his cheek and samples it with a slow lick. You almost cum again, heat kindling within you once more. 

“Ahaaa,” he exhales giddily, pupils blown so wide they eclipse his irises. “Shrimpy’s like a fountain today!”

You lessen your grip on his hair, chest heaving as you come down from your high, and tug him back onto the bed, hurrying to swap the positions before he can grab hold of you. You fumble with his still-hardening dick, coating your fingers with your slick and attempting to pump it with awkward, inexperienced strokes. Floyd supports himself on his elbows, eyeing you as you lean down to take the head of his cock in your mouth. 

He hisses out a laugh. “Shrimpy’s not very good at this, huh?”

You want to snap at him, but all you can manage is a disgruntled scoff. You’ve entertained scenes like this in your dreams, in which you were skilled in all areas of sex, but now that you’re actually leaning over him, giving it your best effort to fit half of him in your mouth, you realize your dreams painted an ideal version of you that is not applicable to the real-world you. And that dents your pride a little. At least you can blame your sloppiness on your heat, which has you rushing through the motions in your impatience. Miraculously, your mouth manages to work some magic because his cock stiffens completely, curving up at an angle that you’re certain will hit the deepest spots within you. 

You pull off of him with a wet pop and he giggles, reaching to pinch your cheek. Swatting at his hand, you crawl over him, straddling him, and brace your hands upon his chest. Floyd watches you, his arms folded behind his head, as he lies back and allows you to do the work. Your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, holding it steady while you align the soft, fleshy head with your hole. For a tense minute, you stare at the way the tip’s kissing your slit, oozing pre-cum. Had you been less omega-brained, you might have fretted over whether something so big would even fit, but right now all you need is to be completely filled to the brim. 

Floyd unfolds his arms and rests his hands on your hips, seeming both amused and endeared to witness the emotions that shift on your face. Your eyes flick to his mismatched ones. 

“Please...” You shiver, your hands closing around his larger ones. “Please, Floyd...”

You think that might have tempted him, for you’re hit with a stronger wave of his pheromones, but the thought is knocked out of your head when he lowers you onto his cock in a way that is uncharacteristically gentle. Your nails dig into his hands as slick, gummy walls swallow inch after thick inch. He’s concentrating on the way you stretch around him, groaning through clenched teeth, and he’s not even halfway in when you cum with a desperate wail. Floyd smirks up at you and, with his nails poking your hips, slams you down in one swift motion, spearing you entirely on his cock. You cry out your relief in delighted gasps.

“I-It’s inside...” you mumble, awestruck, as you press a hand to your stomach in an attempt to feel him. “It really—haah... Really fit...”

“‘Course it did,” he says pridefully. “I knew Shrimpy could do it.”

“Shrimpy only did it because of how wet—ah!” You nearly collapse when he thrusts up suddenly, the tip of his cock hitting a sensitive spot that sends pleasurable shockwaves rattling through you. You fix him with a weak scowl, but he isn’t looking at you. He’s looking at your hand intertwined with his while the other remains on your waist, keeping you steady. You loosen your grip for a moment before curling your fingers with a confidence only fostered by your heat. “C-Can I hold it?”

“S’not goin’ anywhere.”

You stick your tongue out at him and he laughs; and soon you’re starting to smile. 

Swallowing your own heat-drunk giggles, you lift your hips slowly and ease back down onto him, shuddering at the way he fills you so completely. You do this a few more times while Floyd gleefully observes, and it isn’t long before you’re settling into a satisfying pace. He guides you up and down, watching you come undone with each steady roll of your hips. You’re a mess above him, fucking yourself silly while he meets you halfway with an occasional rough thrust, and you hold his hand so tightly you think you might tear it from his wrist. Floyd’s groans and grunts are music to your ears, spurring you onwards in your endeavors. You’re certain it’s just a byproduct of the heat, but he looks so enchanting beneath you, squeezing your hip and then reaching up to twist one of your perky nipples between his fingertips. 

“Feels good?”

“So good,” you pant, breaths hot and wet. You’re overcome with the urge to pull him up and into your arms so that you can be even closer, but you’re too focused on feeling him deeper and so you never act on the temptation. “R-Really—mmph! Really good!”

He traces patterns into your stomach, giggling breathlessly. “I can tell. Shrimpy’s squeezin’ me soooo much.”

Neither of you seem to realize the base of his cock has swelled a considerable amount, but it’s brought to your attention the next time you slam your hips down and you’re stopped by his knot. You peer at it with lidded, glassy eyes and your omega instincts flare wildly, all messy bundles of nerves fraying at the idea that that could be inside you—that it should be inside you—locking you and Floyd together. You raise your hips, inches sliding out of you gradually, and you prepare yourself to take him—knot and all—when Floyd’s hand breaks from out of your hold to grab your waist, stopping your swift descent.

“Nuh-uh,” he chides, and you growl at him, almost animalistic with anger. “Shrimpy’s rule: No knotting.”

“This is—aah... Mmh... This is different. A t-trial run. This time...doesn’t count.”

“Hee hee. Shrimpy’s gonna regret it later.”

You squirm in his hold, begging him to keep moving through whimpers and whines, and he complies with a playful whistle. 

“Please. Just once. Just once and then—”

“Mm, nope,” he says, popping the ‘P.’ 

“Floooyd...”

“Shrimpyyy.”

You sigh a sad, little sound that has Floyd’s eyes softening. His knuckle pets your cheek, oddly fond. 

“S’just the heat talking,” he reminds you, and you lean into his warm, welcoming hand. “See? Shrimpy’s just followin’ instincts.”

He slides you off of him and your hole clenches uselessly around nothing. Within seconds, he’s flipped you so that you’re lying on your back and he’s above you. His teeth flash at you, sharp and bright, wild and untamed. You sandwich his face between your palms, adoring the way nasally laughter ripples through him. You’re glad he isn’t a mirror because if he was he might reflect an expression you don’t wish to confront at this very moment. 

Floyd’s positioned himself and in one speedy thrust that nearly knocks the air from your lungs he slots himself inside, only this time you feel the overwhelming stretch of his knot as it fills you entirely, and you howl with ecstasy, linking your arms around his neck to bring him closer to your throat. Floyd moans lowly, resting his arm above your head and biting into the muscle so hard thin ribbons of blood streak from the punctures. Your chest is heaving, heart pounding out an erratic, heat-driven rhythm, and you cum around his thick knot with a strangled sob, tears running down your cheeks. 

Within just a few more tight thrusts, Floyd’s emptied his creamy load inside, and you don’t have the sobriety to consider the weight of broken rules—rules that you had specifically put in place. You listen to his soft pants as he pulls away from his arm, saliva and blood stringing from his lips, and he licks it away with a swipe of his tongue. When he attempts to slide out, your face twists in discomfort.

“Hurts...” 

“Aw. I’m sorry, Shrimpy,” he coos, adjusting your position so that he’s lying on his back and you’re resting on top of his chest, his knot still buried within you. His hand rests upon the small of your back, and he gives you a pleased, toothy grin. “Feel better now?”

“A little. Thank you,” you whisper, laying your head over his heart while the extremities of your heat ebb away, satisfied now that you’ve been properly filled and knotted by an alpha. His heart beats a steady thrum: buh-bum, buh-bum, buh-bum. The sweet scent of rain encases the both of you, easing you into a sleepy spell. You peer at the bite mark on his forearm and frown. “You bit yourself?”

“Didn’t wanna bite your neck.”

“Oh.” Your eyes flick to his, but he’s avoiding your stare, his cheeks tinged the faintest pink while he gazes at the ceiling. It’s a rare sight to see the Floyd Leech flustered and withdrawn; you wonder what’s the cause of this sudden shift in character. “You could’ve bitten anywhere else. I...wouldn’t have minded.”

“Didn’t wanna hurt you.”

“Oh.”

He’s looking at you now, the color on his cheeks fading, and a bashful smile plays at his lips. “Didn’t mean to break your rule.”

You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, petting him gently. “It’s fine. We’ll figure it out once we’re unstuck.”

His chest rumbles with laughter. “Whatcha wanna talk about ‘til then?”

“Um... Well, what’s a good stuck-together conversation topic?”

Floyd hums thoughtfully. “You like shiny stuff?”

You blink at him. “Yeah. Why?”

“Just askin,’” he says, but his eyes flash with mischief. He leans in until his nose is touching yours. “Cuz I like shiny stuff, and Shrimpy’s glowin’ right now.”

Your face warms considerably and you push him away with an embarrassed groan. His giggles are muffled in your palm. “Not when we’re stuck together...”

v. “rather, ‘honey rain’ has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

You’re in the process of discussing spring weather with Azul when Floyd rushes up to you, takes your hand, gently spreads your fingers open as if they’re petals, and drops something onto your palm. You expect another tooth or a stone or a crumpled flower—all items he’s been gifting you at random over the course of a few months; what you don’t expect is an eel keychain. Perhaps you should have, though. You’ve learned to expect the unexpected with Floyd.

“What’s this?”

“For you!”

“An eel...for me?”

He nods and holds up a shrimp keychain. Your face warms when the implication becomes clear.

“It’s cute. Thanks. I’ll keep it safe.”

Floyd beams at you and presses his lips to your cheek in a fleeting smooch. Just as quick as he had come, he’s retreating, skipping off in delight, his laughter echoing down the halls while he ignores your flustered shout. You know he wants you to pursue him, but you’re too embarrassed to give chase. Instead, you scrub at your cheek with a huff. He’s always kissing your cheeks and sometimes even your lips. You enjoy it too much to remind him of all the rules the both of you have since broken. They mean nothing now. 

“You certainly smell pleased,” Azul remarks with a sly smirk.

“It’s better than smelling funny.”

“Floyd still hasn’t told you what you smell like?”

“No! And it’s really annoying!” You peer at the tiny plush eel in your hands, its beady eyes and stitched smile taunting you. “It’s always ‘Shrimpy smells funny’ and never ‘Shrimpy smells like something that isn’t funny.’”

“I can assure you your scent is not at all humorous. It’s actually quite pleasant.”

“Are you just saying that to be nice, or are you saying that to be nice?”

Azul shakes his head in amusement. “Can’t I compliment a fellow omega and, most importantly, a friend?”

“Can’t you admit the truth?”

“Details, details.” He waves the dig away dismissively. “It’s no wonder Floyd fancies you so. He adores sweet things.”

“Oh, do I smell sweet then? Like candy? Or maybe like a pastry?”

“You smell like floral honey.”

“Huh. That’s...definitely not a funny scent.”

“Not at all. Rather, ‘honey rain’ has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

You wonder if you should object. You wonder if you should try to claim that you and Floyd are still friends despite the evolution of your arrangement. Neither of you have admitted it, but it’s obvious you’ve stepped over the boundary of ‘just friends’ and have entered new territory—territory that’s so very akin to lovers.

But you only smile covertly. “Yeah, it does,” you mumble, tracing your finger over the eel’s tilted head. “It really does.”

[bloodibambiidoll]

Sugar and Spice: Part 1

(E.M. x Fem!Reader x S.H.) Part 2 Series Masterlist.

Summary: Steve has massive crush on you, Eddie’s childhood bestfriend who just came home from collage. The only problem is you despised him in highschool and he’s pretty sure Eddie’s in love with you.

Warnings: Eventual smut, pining, love triangle, no upside down, eventual steddie x reader, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, fluff, no use of Y/N so definitely a billion pet names. There’s not really any for this chapter, it’s mostly setting the scene for the rest of the story. Mentions of sex and some swearing. I will add additional warnings each chapter! But still my work is always 18+MNDI

A/N: Okay I found this in my docs and I was reading over it and got inspired to keep writing it. I’ve had this idea in my head for a long time about a Reader who has a kind of like pastel goth type of aesthetic. Like she plays D&D and loves horror but also really loves chick flicks and pink. She listens to Black Sabbath but then will turn around and listen to Blondie in the same 10 minutes. Collects Care Bears but has read every Anne Rice book. I feel like both Eddie and Steve would lose their minds over that. There will be no physical descriptions of reader besides the outfits she wears, which will be things like big chunky goth boots and fuzzy pink sweaters. Ngl it’s kinda self indulgent of me but I hope there’s others who can relate to her.🤭 divider I used is by: @firefly-graphics

Steve wasn’t obsessed with you, at least he tried to convince himself that was the case. He hadn’t seen you since you graduated and moved to the city. But ever since you’ve been back it’s like he sees you everywhere. You come into his work sometimes and rent horror movies, or on rare occasions you rent something totally cute and left-field like The Little Mermaid. You wore outfits that were somehow the hottest and cutest thing he’s ever seen at once, his favorite he’s ever seen you in was this short little black skirt and a pink button up cardigan that you replaced the buttons with little skulls all brought together by the big platform boots you’re usually wearing. That contrast just made him more infatuated with you. You were like sugar and spice wrapped up in one really beautiful girl.

But there were TWO major problems, one being that you hated him In highschool. He was an arrogant asshole who thought he was better than everyone, could do whatever he wanted and looked down on the kind of people you hung around. You were pretty quiet but outspoken and opinionated when you wanted to be, kept close to the few friends you had and always had your head in some kind of horror or vampire book that Steve would definitely not understand but would’ve totally listened to you talk about all day just to hear you talk about something you loved. He always thought you were pretty, even in highschool when you used to dress a lot more reserved. Mostly ripped jeans, the occasional Care Bears tee, and shirts of bands he didn’t know. He even asked you out once Junior year before he got with Nancy and you laughed in his face and said “yeah fucking right Harrington, good one” But now? You’re always wearing those little mini skirts, low cut tank tops, and ripped up fishnets. Steve literally feels like he can’t think around you.

Which brings him to problem number two…Eddie. You and Eddie are bestfriends and have been since middle school, he’s part of the reason you never liked Steve because of the way he and his friends treated Eddie. Even though Steve was never directly mean to YOU, his friends were and that was enough. But Steve and Eddie had a recently developed… acquaintanceship due to their mutual friendship with Dustin. It took some time and convincing but once they got past their preconceived notions of each other they were able to be civil. Eddie being in the group meant when you came back naturally you were integrated in as well. Which means Steve has seen you in an actual social setting multiple times now.

You think that would be great, right? Wrong. Eddie was constantly touching you. Holding your hand, putting his arms around your waist, you sitting IN HIS LAP. It drove Steve fucking crazy, especially because he knows that Eddie loves you and he feels just a little bad about it because he had actually started to really like Eddie and maybe even began to see him as a friend. But seeing him all over you drove him insane and made him have a bad taste in his mouth every time he heard his name. He was pretty sure you loved Eddie. The way you looked at him and the gentle way you handled him and spoke to him like he wasn’t the resident metalhead drug dealer but a giant teddy bear that needed to be hugged and cared for.

Steve would’ve given up in an instant if you said you were Eddie’s girl, but you always said you guys were bestfriends despite the fact that Eddie definitely called you his girl on multiple occasions to the entire group. You definitely had feelings for him. He could see it but there was also something keeping you from making it official and that gave Steve hope. Especially once you warmed up to him and started sitting on HIS lap sometimes. You would just come and plop down across his knees looking at him all sweet like it was the most casual thing and you didn’t just make his brain short circuit. You started calling him cute little pet names and kissing his cheek every time you saw him.

Again, these things would all be fantastic IF you didn’t do all the same things and more with Eddie. Every time you sat on Eddie’s lap he literally wanted to rip you off of him and kiss you right in front of Eddie’s smug face. He was always smirking at Steve over your shoulder because he knew Steve liked you. He confronted him about it last week when they were at the arcade with Dustin and Mike.

“So. You like her don’t you?” Eddie just asked him out of the blue. Steve looked at him with a confused look on his face not really registering what he meant at first “Huh? Like who?”

“Don’t play dumb man, you know who I’m talking about” Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes

“Why would you think she would ever like you back? You treated us like shit in highschool and just because she’s more confident and can stand to be in the same room as you, now you want her? Fuck that. She deserves better than that, she is so much more than how she looks.”

Steve was kind of taken back at first, knowing he wasn’t exactly wrong “You don’t think I know that Munson? I don’t just like her because she’s hot. She also has this confidence and energy about her that’s just really attractive. She’s fucking funny and not afraid to be herself. She’s got that whole sugar and spice thing going on where she’s so sweet and gentle one second and the next she’s cussing like a sailor going off on these cute little tangents. I thought we established I’m not the guy I was in highschool anymore. I’m not some player trying to go through women. I like her.” he kind of didn’t mean to say ALL of that but it just kept coming out once he started talking about you he couldn’t help it.

“Okay I get it, you actually like her. Either way she’s never going to go for you, you aren’t even her type.” He grabbed the sleeve of Steve’s bright blue crew neck “I’ve never seen her be into a pretty boy like you, she likes dudes who look like they’re part of the lost boys clan or the dudes she sees on MTV.”

Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes “Sooo, you then? If you love her so much then why aren’t you with her?” Eddie flushed and his face fell slightly “because man, she’s the most important person in my life. Imagine if we got together for real and then we broke up? Things wouldn’t be the same between us, I might lose her entirely”

“When you say ‘for real’ what does that mean?” Steve asked him, hoping it didn’t mean what he thought it meant.

“I mean we do a lot of couple things, we go on bestfriend dates, we are super affectionate with each other, we fuck sometimes, but both of us are scared if we decided to be together for real it would ruin it” Eddie shrugged like he didn’t just metaphorically punch Steve in the chest with that information.

“So what? Are you guys exclusive or what? Because if you’re not, I’m going to ask her out.” Steve just shrugged trying to play it off.

“Dude. Are you seriously going to ask out my girl after what I just said!?”

“Yeah, DUDE. You just said she wasn’t yours so is she or isn’t she?”

“Now that I finally have you around without Eddie I can ask the question I’ve been dying to ask, what’s the deal with you two? Are you like, together?” Robin suddenly asked you out of the blue.

Her and Nancy finally convinced you to have a girls day with them. You went and got mani pedis and picked up lunch so you could eat it back at Nancy and Jonathan’s apartment while you watched some movies Robin got from work.

“I mean… Technically? No. You could say we are like bestfriends with benefits I guess? We have kind of been fooling around off and on since sophomore year of highschool when we lost our virginity to each other.”

“And you’re… okay with that?”

“Yeah Robin, I’m okay with it. We decided a long time ago that us being together for real wasn't really an option. Imagine if we broke up? I couldn’t handle losing him.” You bit your lip, just the thought of losing Eddie made you anxious.

Now you had Nancy curious “So have you ever been with anyone else? Or are you guys like exclusive friends with benefits? Because if you’ve only ever been with him I’d say you’re pretty much together anyways.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve had hookups and flings, so has Eddie. I had a few guys I went on a couple dates with when I was gone at school but I’ve never had an actual relationship really. Neither has he.”

“So you’re telling us, you’ve been fucking on and off and on for almost EIGHT YEARS, never had a real relationship, and yet you guys still aren’t actually together? Don’t you think that’s maybe the reason neither of you have ever had a relationship? You’re stuck on each other?” Nancy, always the voice of reason.

“I absolutely know that’s why, I compare every guy to Eddie and no one has measured up. He treats me like a princess, why would I want a boyfriend who treats me anything less than that?” You shrugged and took another bite of your egg roll.

“Okay but what about when you do find that person? Or he does? What then? Things will change either way.” Robin questioned. She had her own reasons for bringing this all up in the first place. She knew Steve liked you, and he made her promise not to mettle but just asking if you were single isn’t meddling, right?

“I don’t know Robin, we’ve never talked about it. We will cross that bridge when the time comes.” You hoped they would let it go after that. It’s not that you necessarily didn’t want to talk about your relationship with Eddie, it’s just whenever anyone brings up that it probably has an eventual expiration date you feel like your whole world is crashing down.

“So there’s really no one you’ve ever thought you really really liked?” Okay, maybe she was reaching meddling territory now.

“Nope. Never. Can we just watch dirty dancing now?”

You didn’t feel like elaborating more than that, especially since recently there was someone you’d started to like. It was confusing and very much against your will but you had started to develop a small crush on Steve. You tried really hard to give him the cold shoulder when you first got back, you spent years with feelings of animosity towards him but if even Eddie could give him another chance you figured you could too. Then of course he had to be just so sweet, and such a gentleman, always telling you that you looked pretty and he smelled so good. It honestly made you want to punch him in the face. Or kiss him. Or both.

Robin narrowed her eyes at you but decided to drop it for now, even though she could tell there was definitely something you weren’t telling them with how quickly you decided to change the subject.

“Yeah okay, let’s watch the movie. But I’m not letting this go forever.”

“I didn’t even think for a second that you would.” You laughed and pressed play on the VHS.

Your love life wasn’t brought up anymore after that but that didn’t keep you from thinking about it. What would happen if Eddie got a girlfriend? You and him were never exclusive but the thought of him actually loving someone made you feel sick. Did he feel the same way? You hoped he did. Does that mean you want things with him to be exclusive? You’d never really allowed yourself to have those thoughts but now you were starting to wonder.

Then there was Steve, who just added to your confusion. Something about him just drew you to him, even back in highschool when you felt nothing but negative feelings toward him it was like he was everywhere you looked. Maybe you always had a small crush on him but would’ve never in a million years admitted it to yourself back then. It’s not like you would’ve ever had a chance, he treated everyone like you like dirt under his shoe. He never bullied you directly but him picking on your friends was enough to tell you how he probably felt about you too. Then you remember that one time Junior year when he asked you out, did he actually mean it? The thought that he might like you made your insides heat up and you felt like one of those girls you used to make fun of in highschool for swooning over him.

Robin could practically see the gears turning in your head, it was very obvious you weren’t watching the movie at all and she knew she told Steve she wouldn’t involve herself but she just had this feeling…

“You like Steve don’t you?” Robin’s voice snapped you out of your cycle of spiraling thoughts and you whipped your head around to look at her.

“What!?”