#but now that he knows better he has a way of making even the 'unsexy' aspects of sex a normal thing and kinda fun in a way?

[pretty-toru]

What would aftercare with satoru look like? Would he urge his partner to go pee before they fall into deep sleep or is he the type to flop down and fall into deep sleep right away haha

When Satoru learns that you're supposed to pee after, he'll make it a habit to remind you because the thought of you in bed recovering from a sex-induced UTI isn't something he wants to think about. Especially when he reads up on the symptoms and horrible experiences that people go through, he'll definitely worry about your health and it's unsettling knowing that you could potentially get an infection so he'll carry you if you're too tired to go yourself.

Satoru will actually join you in the bathroom to clean himself up too, though he thinks the best cleanup after sex is a mutual shower if you both have the energy. Followed by some cuddling and making sure you're warm and that you're gently loved by him 一 mostly tender kisses, I love yous, and light touching and softly talking.

#ask answered #[💌 — anon] #gojo x reader #gojo smut #you know I actually think he didn’t know that peeing after was a thing until you enlighten him #he wanted to bask in the afterglow and be present with each other and getting up was the last thing on his mind #but now that he knows better he has a way of making even the 'unsexy' aspects of sex a normal thing and kinda fun in a way?

[oiveyzmir]

Living with Eddie is… well, it’s an experience.

It’s not a bad thing, not in the slightest. There’s nothing Steve loves more than the fact he gets to fall asleep next to the love of his life, wake up to his soft little snores, and go about their lives together. There’s a soft kind of domesticity to it Steve wouldn’t give for the world.

He loves their routine so much he’s even willing to move past the little things Eddie does that make him lose his mind, like the way he never washes the sink properly after doing the dishes or how he constantly leaves the cabinet doors open. He can even move past how Eddie will come home from a late night shift at the bar when it’s raining and forget to take his shoes off, leaving a muddy trail of footsteps anywhere he goes. Hell, Steve’s even willing to excuse Eddie’s phases.

Wayne had warned him about those when they first moved in together three years ago. “It’s just that he gets easily excited about things,” he reasoned then. “Which doesn’t make it any less annoying.”

Steve didn’t get what it meant then.

He surely gets what it means now.

He found something- a bout of inspiration- and hyperfixated on it until moving on to the next. There was this one time Eddie got really into gardening and bought 11 different herb seedlings, only for them to wilt and die three weeks later when he got into water coloring, then moved on to filmography, then to operas.

He had that month once where he’d developed a sudden interest in learning to play the violin (It’s for a song, Stevie, did you ever listen to Skyclad?), so he stayed up until 5 AM to play something that resembled music (but was closer to being nothing but) with the instrument he burrowed from Robin’s then girlfriend. That month was so close to being a breaking point for Steve, but he loves Eddie too much to do anything about it. He honestly believes that if he managed to live through Eddie’s Violin Month he can live through anything.

He lived through Eddie’s sewing phase, his novel-writing phase and his (honest-to-god awful) baking phase, and survived to tell the tale.

Nothing had prepared him for Eddie’s current phase, though.

It seemed harmless at first. It was even kind of adorable, really; the way Eddie’s eyes glinted with excitement when he sat Steve down to watch him do a cute little card trick, the way he laughed triumphantly when it was, in fact, Steve’s card.

It got less cute when Eddie got himself cuffed to their bedpost for hours in the most unsexy way Steve could imagine, refused Steve’s offer to let him out and making him feed him since his hands were, well, preoccupied.

It also wasn’t cute when Eddie stabbed himself with a pencil in attempt to make it disappear.

But it’s plain rude now, when Steve’s trying to get a little nap after a terrible day at the school where he’s started teaching. Eddie knows he’s sleeping, Steve made sure to call him on his way home and let him know he had a bad day and that he’ll be spending as much of it as he can sleeping it off. He trusted Eddie enough to keep it down that he didn’t bother to close their bedroom door properly, and he had also kinda hoped Eddie would see it as the invitation it was for him to cuddle up to Steve and make his awful day just a bit better.

Yet here Eddie is, an hour or so after he got back home, seemingly running into every single piece of furniture they own.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbles, and Steve has to give him credit for at least trying to be quiet. “Come back here.”

Steve sleepily opens one eye at that. There shouldn’t be anyone out there but Eddie, right? He listens intently to hear someone else speaking, but he can’t hear anything but the quiet thump of someone hitting their kitchen table and Eddie’s frustrated grunting.

“Please, babydoll. Come back to me.”

And now Steve’s interest is really piqued.

Steve opens his other eye and sits up. He debates heading out there and seeing whatever happens out there himself, but decides to let it all play out just a little bit longer. It’s not like he believes Eddie is capable of cheating on him; he knows Eddie loves him too much to make him go through something like that, and he also isn’t dumb enough to do so when he knows Steve is sleeping in the other room.

He listens as Eddie makes some quiet tsk noises with the tip of his tongue. “C’mon, princess,” he whispers, not loud enough to wake Steve up, but definitely loud enough that Steve hears now that he’s really listening. “No, no, don’t go there, Steve’s sleeping, fuck.”

Steve lies back down quickly when he hears the door creak a bit wider to pretend being asleep, covering himself up to his eyes with their blanket. He can hear something’s small feet tapping on their bedroom tiles before hearing Eddie’s steps, and is he tiptoeing?

Even when he’s almost panicked about whatever it is Eddie had brought home, Steve can’t help but have a fond smile spread across his face. There is love in this, so immense and great, and Steve can be nothing but grateful and madly in love as well.

The tiny feet keep running around and Steve can vaguely imagine what it is- a kitten, or maybe a puppy, but relatively tiny ones at that. The tapping sound comes to a short stop then starts off again.

Eddie sighs, relieved, and it sounds like he crouches down. “Come on, come on,” he whispers. “There you go, good girl.”

The sound of tapping feet stops and Eddie gives the thing a kiss. “Don’t ever make me go through this again, babylove.” He mutters accusingly. “How can I trust you in battle if you pull this kind of shit on me?”

Eddie turns to go. Steve can imagine the kitten cuddling itself in Eddie’s arms. Knowing Eddie, the kitten’s probably black, maybe missing an eye or an ear, whichever makes it harder to adopt for regular people. Eddie’s not a regular person, though. The mental image he created is so endearing to him that he can’t help but loudly yawn. “Baby?” He says, trying to make his voice sound as sleepy as he can, even though he’s been wide awake for a while now. Eddie stops and turns around.

The room is dark, but even in the darkness Steve can see that whatever it is Eddie’s holding is both white and obviously not a cat.

“Hey, Stevie, did I wake you up?” He whispers, his tone apologetic, like a kid found out with his hand in the near-empty cookie jar.

“What’s that?” Steve asks back instead of answering.

Steve turns his bedside light on, and after the initial shock of light momentarily blinding him he can clearly see it; a white bunny being cradled in Eddie’s arms.

“She’s my assistant,” Eddie explains, as if it explains anything, “her name is Jessica. Get it? Jessica Rabbit?”

“Your assistant.”

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly.

“For the…”

“Magic tricks?”

“Oh.”

“I’ll take care of her, though,” Eddie sits down on the edge of the bed, Jessica sitting in his lap, “take her out on walks and feed her and everything. You wouldn’t even notice she’s here.”

Steve sits up and motions for Eddie to hand him the bunny, which he dutifully does. Her fur is so soft, probably the softest thing Steve had ever felt. “That’s not how you take care of a bunny,” Steve says as he rubs his hands gently through her fur, “she isn’t a dog.”

“How do you take care of a bunny then? ‘Cause I bought, like, a bunch of carrots.”

Steve laughs. “Oh god, I love you.”

“That means we’re keeping her, right?” Eddie takes his shoes off- Steve pointedly does not think about how their living room might look like- and cuddles up in bed next to Steve. He looks up at him so hopefully Steve is flooded with warmth and love, so flooded he can’t even remember what annoyed him so much at work today.

Steve kisses his forehead, then his nose, then softly his lips. “Sure. One condition, though.”

“What is it?”

“Can you teach me the pulling her out of a hat trick?”

Eddie grins wide. “Of-fucking-course.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #the kind of shit I write to avoid my bb fic #speaking of thank you bb author chat for indulging my bullshit #tal writes

[eddiemunsonbignaturals]

just a pinch

summer ends way too fast; you and Eddie surprise each other.

includes smut, as in 18+ 6k words somehow lmao? most of it fluff  best friends to lovers, and it gets a little gross in an arguably unsexy but very intimate way. you're not supposed to put anyone's mouth on your new piercing until at least two weeks out don't be dumb listen to your piercer

content: boob fondling, dry humping, jean nutting, some mild threats of violence, mentions of piercings but not piercing play to my understanding

reader is described as fat, dark skinned, and referred to gender neutrally, mostly (tough guy, man, angel, sweetheart).

comments (yes, even short ones,) reblogs all v much appreciated, take care :*

So, the heatwave had been a fake-out. 

You had both expected more swim-days. Just a few more sweaty, sticky nights— sat too close and tangled together sharing a bowl of Moose Tracks by moonlight, in as little fabric as you could manage and with as much ice as one freezer bucket could hold.

But alas, the fall sneaks in one cloudy morning and makes you regret ever even thinking the word “winter.” 

You’re shivering as you shock awake and roll clumsily to the nightstand. Reaching blind for the blaring landline, your hand cringes away from too-cold plastic, and you groan long and low in mourning— it's definitely over.  While you were asleep, Summer had packed up her bag and ducked off in the dark before you could send her off properly. Goodbye, dog days.

Hello, caller. You know it’s Eddie before you pick up; he knows it's you before you speak.

“Can you believe this? Shit fuckin’ sucks,” he croaks, right off the bat and into the receiver.

“And blows—“ you sigh back, punching one satin-covered pillow and your headscarf off the bed. “We couldn’t even get, a like, temperate couple of days? It had to go straight to freeze-my-dick-off immediately?”

“ha! Please. The end is nigh, sweetheart. You know it better than I,” he almost sings. His sleepy lilt catches on the pet name, and that gravelly morning timbre gees up your morning wood like nothing else can. You kiss your teeth, honestly annoyed at how he affects you this early, and when Ed’s answering chuckle rumbles through your ears and down your jaw, it's like you can feel his breath through the phone. 

God, he sounds good. You hum into a long sigh as he talks. It warms you, everywhere, hearing his voice first thing, and if your non-phone hand drags down your chest and reaches lower to rearrange the pillow between your legs, he doesn’t need to know.

You hear Eddie fidget, as he does, and he switches the phone to his other ear. Then, there’s the rattle of the earrings against plastic– a few chunky hoops he got at your suggestion, and one with your first initial that he definitely plucked off of your desk, though he had lazily denied it. You feel a smile fight its way to your face, suddenly giddy about him, about his call. 

A snapshot of him talking himself awake is as clear in your head as the grey in the sky: a grumpy Munson, emerging from the mess of gifted homemade blankets and ancient, flat pillows. Just a pair of doe eyes, framed by a cluster of chocolate curls and a scowl. Picture-perfect.

You’ve been nursing this damn crush forever, and with the effort of punching it off the bed and out of sight with that headscarf, you’re long past exhaustion. But, in the safety of your chilly room, and with the comfort of his voice in your ear, maybe you’ve enough strength for now to entertain a butterfly, or ten.

You had worn his ring to bed— a little bat hugging your ring finger the way it had been hugging his before you’d snatched it off as payment for a dare gone unfulfilled–and you’re twirling it now, like some lovesick sap. You’re written all over each other, and you’ve been itching to do something about it. But, that’s not the issue right now.

Right now,

“I know, life is over, the globe is warming, there are only a few summers left, et cetera. We’ll still have fun.”

(the dare? you had challenged him to snatch some Hawkins PD pig or another’s goofy little ranger hat as he had passed the two of you on the street. Eddie had suggested maybe he couldn’t float past an arrest on boyish charm this deep into his twenties, and acquiesced without a word when you had held out your hand for his own. 

You’d pretended not to notice the blush creeping up his neck; he had let you hold his hand a bit longer than necessary. It had been an even trade, as always.)

Across the line, Eddie’s still snickering at you, voice fathoms deep– all crackly– when he speaks again. 

“Hold on to your dick, angel, I'm pretty sure there’s options. Like, uh, maybe clothes? Clothes usually work for me.”

“Don’t get cute! I'm fat, you clown, I sweat-- I don’t need clothes. And, I belong in the water, Munson. Its beyond fun, its—“

He cuts you off completely, ignores your scoff, and finishes for you.

“—fulfilling, healing, its what and where you were in every past life, the brain sludge is already building back up as we speak, and ‘I’ll die, I'll just about fuckin’ die, Munson,’ once it drops below 40, I know, stop bitching,” he laughs. His tone? Pure fond; your stomach somersaults. 

You hear the smile widen when he goes on to remind you, “but I guess it's fall now. IE, your favourite.”

“Say ‘bitch’ to me again, I’ll shave your peanut head.”

He takes it back, giggling something about his favourite tough guy, but you know he’s got you there. You definitely are bitching, and—

Halloween month, cider season, big soft sweater weather, rain? It is the best, but it's never too early to argue. 

“You’ll love it, angel.”

You give up, melting again at his affection verbalized. You’re humming assent as he keeps the ball rolling, asking what you’d like to do today instead of going for a swim. Come over and take turns reading the new discount novel he found? Start that mead recipe you made last year? Drive over to Stobin’s—see who can sneak in and scare the shit out of them first? 

All great ideas, you assure him, but you decided long ago that the End of Swim also marked the beginning of piercing season. Your safety moratorium on body mods of all kinds has been lifted, now that you can’t dip your fresh wounds into scummy lake water. 

You've been planning a particular pair for some time. You also decided that it would be a surprise. Your Eddie is observant, dialed in, and sure, maybe you like to play the odd game here and there. He notices you, and you notice right back.  How long, do you think, will it take for him to note a new set of nipple piercings if you don’t warn him first? You figure it’s time to test it.

So, you break his heart a little, and decline to hang out today after all. You’ll see him on your next day off, you promise, and make plans for “four days hence, Munson, quit bitching. I just remembered something else I need to do,” before hanging up on his protests and pulling on your first pair of sweats in 4 months. 

ID, water bottle, and a sweet breakfast in tow, you head for the best (note: only) tat shop you know, braced and ready for a world of pain, going boldly into the cold.

—---------

And there had been almost no pain, at first. You had yelped girlishly before the first needle went in, then felt embarrassed about how easy and quick it had been. Before you had even realized, it was over, and you grinned big at the unique beads framing each pert, dark nipple. You loved them. You loved the piercings, and more than ever, loved your tits. Couldn’t wait to go home and check them out from every angle, actually. 

Then, a malicious towel snag, a careless door-jamb bump, and a hateful sweater-thread later, you were fearing for your life. Over the last few days, you had taken to crouching around them a bit, arms wrapped loose around your stomach as a reminder and for protection. Your nipples were insanely sensitive, now more than ever, and you had never understood ‘til now how often you simply walked through and into things instead of just around.  

But, they were calming down, and with each prescribed saltwater soak you breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of visible irritation. The standard piercing boogers notwithstanding, they looked hot, you felt hot, but found yourself nervous for the big reveal. You thought you would hide them well, your mission made easier by the cool weather and baggier shirts it allowed. 

You’re in his room now. Eddie’s ideas had been good, but you had both decided on the usual– you, rocking up to his trailer and spending the day with him throwing food and trading theories, hours whiled away in artistic pursuits and cat-naps, never too far from one another. It’s been a good day– you’re doing such a good job with the piercings, you forget to hide how entranced you are by Eddie's hands. 

“Aren’t you hot?” 

You count the veins and tendons as they flip pencils and drum against whatever surface they encounter, try to guess how long he can go before he bites that right pinky nail too short again, wonder if he’s running hot today. He��s tactile, your Eddie, but you’re sitting on the floor, legs sprawled, and yeah, a little too warm in the hoodie you came in as he lounges on the bed– too far for his idle touches to distract you into admitting anything. 

You love those hands. You want to taste them one day. He’s looking at you.

Fuck, wait, he’s looking, and you haven’t answered him. You cut your eyes away, to the floor, to your nails, like an idiot. That wasn’t at all suspicious, sure. You’re reasonably sure Eddie hadn’t noticed the piercings themselves yet until, as you snack and he chats again about his sketch, he suddenly drops the pink eraser you’ve been watching his square fingers systematically tear apart.

“N...Noooooo.” He takes in your belated answer and eyes you for a second, then starts talking again. You tug your hands gingerly into the hoodie you’re in and slide the thing over your unwrapped cloud of hair without snagging anything, then toss it away, wiping the light sheen of sweat you realize is cooling on your nose.

 Fuck, here we go. You hadn’t considered you’d have to hide in conversation, just that you had to keep him from seeing. You try to keep your cool, but answer too quickly. This wouldn’t last long.

“Have you been eating weird shit again?” Eddie asks, cutting himself off from explaining the lore of his latest campaign villain. He’s sitting up more since you last looked at him– leaning back on one elbow as the other arm drapes comfy across his belly– and watching you fidget in that weird posture you’ve adopted since the piercings. 

“Eat– We–, me? Weird? What’s– What?” Nailed it. Smooth, like butter. Too player. You thank God or Dolly or whoever’s watching that your blush isn’t visible, because you can already feel your face heating up.

He stares, eyes squinted. You watch your plate, then look back at his lovely hands, fingers pale and impatient, thr-r-r-rumming in sequence against his now-closed notebook.

“What’s with the air-head act? And why are you clutching your tummy and moving like you fell down the stairs?” Okay, that one’s easy.

“Cramps.” Your reply is stiff, but reflexive. The pink in his fingertips as he drums is entrancing. Maybe you’ve saved it– you think you sound sure. He’s silent for beat, and you pick up a cracker and look out the window. Maybe you’re a genius. The fuck’s he gonna do? Argue?

“Hm. Bullshit?” You look up to challenge that, and catch him peering behind you to the stuffed possum you had gifted him when his favourite, real, live, wild possum friend stopped her brief shuffle through the fire pit behind his trailer one drizzly day. 

(Eddie had called it the best week of his life, then declared that he’d never love again.)

After another beat, as if the scruffy thing has read the room and confirmed its answer, Eddie nods once, curls bouncing, then swings his neck dramatically back to you to assert, “bullshit.” 

It's panic creeping up your throat now, because he’s going to see you,  see them, this isn’t– well– it is– but you didn’t think it through, and you aren’t a good enough liar to dodge the impending question. You hem for another moment, hands hovering over your torso, and he looks between them and your face before snapping his bulk upright so fast that the bits of pink littering his lap and thin muscle shirt fly up in the flurry.

“What’re you hiding?”

A frown tugs your lips down before you can stop it. You watch Eddie toss the notebook and, with a loud thump, collapse off the bed boneless into your nest of blankets and towards you like a mad slinky before you can finish saying, “nothing! I’m not– hiding–, wait a second!” 

In that second, Eddie has slithered the 4 feet between him and you, kind of flinging himself on top, landing more gently than you expected in a straddle and pinning your now-closed thighs under his seat before you can wiggle back and away in time. 

“Did you get a tattoo without me? You fucking did, didn’t you?” He might be verging on genuinely hurt, by the sound of it. You’d promised after he’d started his stick-n-poke journey that he’d be your first, (tattooer, that is), once he got some training together. Had swore to him–

“Le’me see– what, is it that shitty? Who the hell did you go to? You can’t be–”

“Ow, Eddie, stop!” Your screeching protest belies real pain this time, curling in on yourself and to the side as much as possible. He bumped a piercing in the shuffle, the pain expected but still shocking, and he backs off a bit and coos in sympathy, all his next words coming out in a frantic rush.

“Fuck, oh no, I’m sorry. I’msosorry, Sweetheart? Are you okay?”

You’ve crossed your arms in front of you, breathing deep through the stinging. As it subsides, he ducks his head to meet your eyeline, his paint-stained palms up, promising no contact. He’s still straddling you, most of his weight on his heels. Still locking you under him, where its very warm.

If you looked down and saw your heart itself beating its way out of your chest, you wouldn’t be shocked. You’re almost choking on it, and plotting how to get him off you without knocking the new piercings again. Its enough to spin your head, to think you’ve been found out this soon, that the bravado in your spirit has fled so quickly at the reality, not just the idea, the real life prospect of showing Munson your tits. 

But it's thrilling, him on top of you. It's always thrilling, a dream fulfilling itself, isn't it? Even if the context is off. This isn't the first time a bout of “weird” from one of you or the other has ended up in a fact-finding mission– sometimes wrestling match, or pillow fight, or wild, short chase through the woods. 

But every time he gets this close, it's like the path between your head brain to the other brain is cleared– heat is flooding the thin cotton that separates you from his well-worn denim faster than ever. He has to get up, right now. You have to keep him there forever. 

You relax as the sting subsides, uncurling and groaning a bit as those strong, clever hands fall to bracket your head on either side. Eddie leans down, sounding the creak of floor beneath you,  and scowls, bathing you in his radiating heat. Studying you, taking in your full lips pressed into a thin, nervous line, your brows turned up where they’d meet, betraying distress. 

“What is going on in there, man?" He's really worried now. When did you start keeping secrets?

“It’s…not a tattoo?” You purse your lips and scrunch your nose, and the sweet smile that flows like syrup across his face seems involuntary.

“Then what else– huh?” Eddie is trying to keep eye contact, but the wheels are turning, and his lovely smile drops. He glances at your arms crossed over your chest, and his jaw falls open, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“Not a tattoo. Not ‘a’ anything, actually. Two things.”

“No, you didn’t. No way, not a chance.” Eddie seizes your wrists and ignores your protests, pinning each arm by your ears where his once were, and tries to x-ray inspect you through your shirt. It's dark, but not thick enough to weather this kind of scrutiny. Those telltale bumps are right there in front of him, the middle of each trio hardening as he inspects. So, you give up trying to argue, and shrug, suppressing a smile. 

“With— wha?” Eddie’s looney-tunes double-take makes you hoot a laugh as he swings his head and bouncy curls up and down, looking at you, glancing back at your chest, and up again as he processes what he’s hearing. What the fuck is he hearing? 

Your eyes stay low but your brows arch together as you scoff at him, dork. “You’re really telling me you hadn’t seen them?”

“I’ve– not–wha– I’m sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean–”

But, you had been talking shit. He couldn’t have seen anything in the dark shirt you had been wearing all day unless he’d been staring when you weren’t looking– had he been staring at your tits anyway?

 Did he do that often? Your jaw doesn’t drop so much as glide mischievously open. Surprise dawns and Eddie realizes he has, in fact, given himself away too quickly. Coolest dudes in Hawkins, you two.

He changes tack, slapping the floor by your head, still a little shocked.

“You got your nipples pierced? I don’t believe that. I don’t believe you! You’re full of shit.” His voice is almost petulant in its disbelief, high and tinny.

Your eyeroll is audible, “I mean. I can prove it, Munson.” 

“When?” He gasps, indignant, and slaps the floor with the other hand. 

“You barely have your ears pierced-“ he exaggerates. “Who the hell did ‘em? Was it a guy? You let some guy–”

“Please, some professional? Can you be serious?”

“You can’t take the pain, angel, not without my moral support, there’s no way. You’d have been whining about them being sore all fuckin’ week if you’d gotten your—“ 

He looks at your tits again, jaw slack, but in his shifting sends them undulating with the movement. His whole body goes still, except to inhale very slowly.

You’ve maybe never been this self conscious in your life, but his distraction emboldens you.  

“The idea was ‘surprise’, not ‘ambush’. But,” you drawl, smirking as you twist a wrist easily out of his now slack grip and push yourself up onto your elbows. 

“Do you—well.” Your eyes falter when your voice does. You want to offer proof. You’re not that bold yet, but you’re working up to it. 

He gives you room to sit up completely, hovering over your calves, back almost on his haunches. His heat leeches into your legs, swells in your chest and behind your eyes.

You want to touch him, like you always do. Eddie's deep brown eyes are wider, his mouth slack. His breathing is a little harder too, and you wonder for a second— do you want to un-ring this bell while there’s time?

“No,” he answers. “I mean, yeah, I—“ He rolls his plush lips into his mouth and then parts them, trying to work out how to ask. It’s not a dare anymore, and you feel a shyness completely unfamiliar, laid out in front of your best friend in the world. 

You wilt a little; Eddie finds his courage.

He swallows, and you watch his throat work while he figures out what to say, maybe as nervous as you are.

“Can I see?” He sounds hopeful, gentle, but to soothe you or himself, you can’t tell.

You dont quite answer with, “I’ll have you know, they didn’t hurt. At all, actually. It was...cold. Uncomfy, totally, but not painful— just a bit of a pinch? The last week has been worse than the actual needles were.” 

Eddie seems to realize he’s really staring, and cuts his eyes to the left, almost shy, and he seems to wipe sweat from his palms down the length of his strong thighs.

Your own hands pick at the hem of your shirt, and his gaze is split between your mouth and chest. Then, he shifts his weight, leans back like he’s about to give you space, when you reach for his warm, toned tricep, his skin shifting over muscle as he fidgets, and you’re ready to tell him the rest of the story. You can’t bear to miss his warmth on top of you, you realize. Now or never, you think. 

“I…” you croak, “I thought of you.”

 You hear him choke, like actually choke on his spit, then watch him shake his head like he’s rattling himself out of a haze. Eddie’s locked in on your eyes, searching for even the hint of a joke as you lift the shirt up just your stomach, exposing all the graceful cresting hills of your soft middle to his hungry gaze.

“When I picked them out, I mean.”

“Youf, you– fuc– You did this for me?” He sounds so absolutely incredulous, and breathless, all bravado bled out, or rushing to his reddening cheeks. It's like Eddie opened the next Discworld and found a dedication in his name, like the heavens have opened above him. For him? For him?

“Not for you, you clown, of course not. But like, maybe I wondered which ones you’d say I should get. And maybe... I thought you’d appreciate my pick.” Your crooked smile feels small, and you feel like offering something more substantial. 

So, you do.

“Appreciate..? I. Oh, god, Jesus, I.” You had been lifting your shirt so casually as you spoke, palms sliding up across your skin and dragging cotton with them, a caress so careless it seemed incidental. But you avoid hitting the new bars through each hardening nip, chills putting a mild tremble in your hands that he first catches, and is then distracted from. You watch Eddie’s short-circuit for a bit, feel his thighs tense around yours. You decide then that boldness is the only path forward. 

At the last rounding, you let them hem of the shirt catch on the underside of your bust, and just before its dangerous, lift them up by the hem and then drop them a bit, so they bounce for him, putting on a little show, posture straighter than before in presentation.

You’ve killed him. His plush lips try and fail to form a word, any word, as he lets out another shakey breath and leans back in to you by centimeters.  

“Eddie?” you prompt at his silence, voice quieter now. He’s still a little wide-eyed when he gasps out,

“What. Appreciate? Fuck, you’re beautiful. So, so beautiful. Jesus Christ, I never thought— Are those bats?” He’s moon-eyed and gaping like a dry fish, and you’re too keyed up to even tease him about it. You didn't just think of him, you conspired to match with him, to carry a little bit of him with you.

You know he wants to see you, more than just the piercings, and that teasing smirk is a distant memory, much like your patience. 

“So you hate them, huh?” He’s shocked into laughing before you can finish the question, restoring the quiet to something like normal as he raises his ringed hands to frame the low curve of your breasts. But he takes them in only with his eyes, flitting back and forth between them.

“They look, so so good, so good, god. The color you picked, even,” a warm gold that picks up the warmth in the soft creamy brown of your skin, “it glows, like, perfect. Gold’s your color, Sweetheart. It's all your color.” 

Bravado is fickle. You order him through barely parted lips, like you didn’t mean to say it out loud, then almost slur the hasty backtrack, “touch them. If-you-want, I-mean, if-you—.” 

In Eddie’s mind’s eye, gold falls from the sky; from his mouth tumbles a bewildered, “'If i want?' Are you insane?” 

As he reaches, you nod and sit up a bit straighter, feel heat rise in your cheeks, and take his confession with a crooked smile.

“I dreamt this.”

Here’s you, insufferably coy through a giggle: “Yeah? How’d it go?”

 His own knowing smirk is back, and you shiver, wanting fathoms deep as Eddie's hot hands envelope the heavy mounds of your breasts from below, cupped in the way he had threatened before you granted permission. Eddie seems to weigh them as he holds you, committing to memory how the plush fat of them sits in his palms, how they pebble across with gooseflesh at his very gentle fondling. 

You’re so soft, and warm, and he’s touching you; his mind splits in two. Some of him prays to any god for escalation, the rest could die happy right here.

On contact, you sigh together. Heavy, whispering things— you were both holding your breath— and inhale together, too. Your eyes flutter closed at the the drag of each body-warm ring as they poke into you. His calluses are almost sharp against you where they glide, some of the time ghosting over your skin, but mostly kneading you warmer.

It's your soft little hum of pleasure, how you arch, helpless, into his touch— the indiscreet rub of your knees together, and your thighs into his seat, the way you fight the smile back— these bring him back to himself,  and he checks your face again, watching the small smile grow as your eyes flick up to his. 

“Different,” Eddie intones, low and slow. “We’re out of order.”

You’re watching his pretty mouth again while he feigns serious, but as he moves just one hand to the floor behind you and leans in close, warm Cheez-It-breath tickling your face, setting alight every nerve that wasn’t already screaming for deeper contact. You meet his penetrating gaze and gasp at the pleasure-pain of that ringed thumb finally, finally, swiping up along one pert nipple. 

It's a shocked moan, not a gasp, that opens your mouth as he collides with it, timed perfectly with the upward jolt of your hips into his hardening cock. It's Eddie’s turn to gasp— his rushes out hot and quick, as if from a gut-punch. 

He's fighting for his life trying to steady his voice, act casual. “Usually, I get my mouth on your first.”

With that, he closes the gap again, but this time pulls away with a wet smack, a kiss so brief you’re compelled to chase him and get your licks in.

“Then, my hands,” he says, as he closes his fingers around as much of you as he can grasp with each hand to squeeze. Its at once electrifying and comforting, leaning into him and running from the cold. You want him pressed against you completely, but he's focused on the pillows of supple skin and heat in his hands.

“Promise,” he chokes, “ahhh, promise to tell me if it hurts, angel?”

“Eddie, touch me— I promise— touch me,” you positively beg, and your Eddie, egged on by your fingers now pulling deliciously at the hair on his sensitive nape, recovers fast. He’s on you before he can take his next breath in, and bites down around your bottom lip, pushing you with him gently as he leans forward, mashing your noses together.  

And you kiss Eddie back, hard, sucking his trembling lip between yours and earning yourself a groan that sends a lovely buzz through your jaw where you meet. That fucking noise, and his hand still on you, now not as gentle, sending little shocks of pleasure as he swipes gently along the outer dark ring crowning your nipple. The skin there is tightening, growing impossibly sensitive, and each brush and nudge shocks you between your clamped thighs, makes your body rock a little, sending kinetic energy across you that has him enthralled. So much evidence of his effect on you, the movement anchors him to reality.

"Good?"

"Really good, Eddie, yeah." You squirm under him as he massages one side, then both, then rests his forehead against yours to gaze down, intent on his project. 

“You feel good too, angel,” Eddie groans again, enjoying himself in earnest, crowding you gently together, then letting each breast roll in his hands, rough digits brushing in tandem against beads so taut it almost hurts, so intense its almost too much, but you need more.

“You know what’ll feel even better?” You ask him in a pant, breathless and focused– you need him between your legs too, and desperately, so you nudge one of his, asking to widen so you can rearrange. Eddie obliges, planting one solid knee right against your aching core and letting you fall back, propped up on both elbows. 

Neither of you wastes a second. This kiss is a hot, wet collision of sighs and spit, grinding sloppily into each other through just too many layers of sweet, stiff friction, whining into each other’s open mouths. 

While you nearly lift your hips off the floor, chasing the worn denim between your legs, tension in your lower gut building faster than it ever has alone, Eddie rides your linen-covered thigh just above your bent knee, murmuring between love-bites to your chin, the chubby apple of your grinning cheek, then the crook of your neck, where he finds and then latches onto a spot that makes you seize under his weight, clamping your thighs around the one at the very center of your focus. 

You clasp a hand at the back of his head again, scratching a bit at his neck and forcing a long shaky sigh out of his mouth as the rhythm of his swirling hips grows rough, devolves into a stuttering staccatto race to the finish, and he’s talking himself through it into your shoulder as you barrel him down.

Ed's heaving whines are gorgeous, ragged, as he sighs into your neck about how good you feel under him. He can’t finish a sentence as he groans into your shoulder, all about how good you smell, how he can’t believe you did this for him, how badly he wants to taste them. 

“Taste? I,” you cut yourself off with a near-panicked whine when his leg slinks heavily down, the relief of his wet but still straining crotch-tent another brief sliding kiss against your now soaking cunt, and you resist seizing him by the scalp, to keep him up with you, but only just. You’re both so close; he’s stalling?

No, tasting.

Through your horny fog, your mind starts to process his goal. Eddie works his body down yours urgently, never really breaking contact, and as he slips away all you can do is watch him watch you.

In a thrall, as he draws a scalding trail of open-mouth kisses down the heaving swell of your exposed breasts. The wet kisses cool fast in the chilly air of his room, and it feels so good you don’t care how needy your sighs sound, how obscene and high your breaths echo in your own ears. Then he pauses in his descent to admire you again, breaking eye contact for a few awe-struck moments, dropping a chaste peck just left of the left nip, then resting his forehead on your sternum. When he fully squishes your tits into his cheeks it makes you laugh out loud, and you feel his smile and then chuckle against your stomach.

He seems to paise there for a few moments, content to nuzzle, and your high whine-sigh takes even you off guard. Eddie looks up at the sound but stops himself saying whatevers on his mind. Instead, he double-takes between your mouth and chest once, and again, then and finally asks, “sweetheart?”

He’s got that look like he’s up to something, and you can’t say you mind it. 

Eddie drags his lovely nose across the wide valley between your bust, your shoulders cave a bit with the shiver, and he continues, “can I?”

Taste. Yes, “please, Eddie, yeah,” and he closes his hot mouth over one hard bead, swirling that devilish tongue around and over, knocking it roughly enough to pull a harsh hiss from between your clamped teeth. Your hands are both in his hair again, and in a little pain you pull at his sensitive scalp and feel the buzz of his moaning around you, closing the little pleasure circuit between you.

You feel every wet swipe of tongue like a brand, on your sensitive chest and melting, shocks of heat driving down in your sex, chasing the pressure and pushing your body into his chest where he lays against you. 

One of his hot hands mimics his mouth’s rhythm on the other tit, and the lewd sounds of his deep moans around you are only matched by the obscene slick of his hand finding the soaked core of you under his torso, his fingers tingling over the used cotton.

You nod assent before he can even ask, catching his eyes as he pulls away from your chest to check on you. He finds your open pant, you low lidded attention on only him, and smiles. Then, he grinds his own hips into your leg where he straddles it, lower than before, moaning again around your mound and sucking this time, a new kind of pressure that pulls the neediest cries from you yet. His fingers finally breach your underwear from the side, and the calloused contact jolts you to the precipice, climax just within reach now that your clit has direct, emphatic attention. 

His tongue swirls faster, and Eddie matches that pace with his slick fingers between your cunt lips, circling the trigger and nudging just the top of your gasping hole, pace quickening, just what you're begging him for. Your free leg hitches around his back and pulls him into you, then you clamp up and pull hard at the hair in your grasp, gasping his name over and over as you come shaking, curling around his head, pussy drooling on his rings and wrist, hips frantic in their desperate chase for friction. 

Eddie’s not far behind, rhythm incomprehensible as he’s distracted by his own big finish. He bites down almost too hard around your breast and fucks down onto your trapped leg, groans buzzing through you as he drools and sputters and comes a warm wet mess into the washed-out black. 

The grey light is blinding, you can’t open your eyes at first. But you start to collect yourself when you feel him pull off, sliding his hand slowly out of your panties. You open your eyes to him watching you again, eyes half closed, to him catching his breath, and with no regard for the mess on his hand he gathers your collar in his fist and hauls you forward for another kiss, other hand tucked in the soft folds of your waist, grasping, clutching, pulling you in.

“Ouch.” You say, with no heat at all. 

As he scoffs, Eddie slinks back down again to kiss it better, another gentle peck just to the side of the most sensitive bud of your breast where he sucked and nibbled hard enough to bruise. Just a pinch, indeed.

“Aw, I’m sorry, angel,” he promises, only a little sarcastic, and finally rounds his mouth around your right nipple, which he had neglected until now. 

Then, you hear the slightest crunch. Like crumbs rubbing together.

Eddie smacks his lips a couple times, tasting, considering.

"Salty," he says. No way.

Oh, god, no. No fucking way. He still licking you clean but you freeze, then he does, but Eddie, knowing exactly what he just set you up for, loses it. He buries the cackle in your tummy as it dawns on you, and you do some quick math– you last showered this morning, which means you last soaked your piercing this morning, maybe 10 hours ago.

Eddie crawls back up your body as you wail, “ohhh, my God, Munson, why would you—? I cannot–” and lands eye-level, with you spent and boneless on your back, him in a table-top pose, arms propped by your shoulders. 

He hadn't been neglecting your other side, he had been saving it.

10 hours. More than enough time for new “crusties” to form, so more than enough time to build your own nightmare from natural scratch. And he didn’t hesitate, or mention it at all, that your piercings were clearly crusted over as part of the usual healing process, he just sucked them off anyway like they were in the way.

“You– absolute– freak! Eddie what the fuck! Did you fucking eat it? Are you insane?”

“What? I helped! And it’s probably, like, I don’t know, nutritious somehow. Protein?” He shrugs, smirking in the face of your horror, your embarrassment. You hadn’t thought to look at your own tits when the idea of his eyes on you had been more than enough to deal with.

You punctuate every few words with sharp shoves, which barely register as nudges to him from your angle, still under him, fighting his weight and gravity itself. Little by little, he sinks against them, and you tire yourself out before his chest traps your arms between the two of you.

“You– sicko, I didn’t– give you permission– to snack on me.”

“You even said ‘please,’ sweet heart, no take backs. I believe they’re my boogers now.” His smile is just content now, mischief subsumed by all the love in his eyes. You were in his mouth; now you’re on your way through his system. He thinks its romantic.

He ate it. Like a weird pet left unattended too long, he saw something new and simply put his mouth on it. Your-- friend? hardly, you think-- Eddie Munson just ate the new piercing boogers off you, straight from the source as he came in his jeans. You don’t even know what to do, so bewildered you shove his shoulders and chest as rough as he’ll allow before he seizes your wrists and pins you again, only this time, your tits are still out. 

“Without full knowledge, that’s twisted– you’re sick.” Your smile betrays you. What a weirdo, sure, but who else would full-send like that? You can’t think of anyone you’ve dated– anyone you’ve let touch you– that has ever been so close, and you haven’t even seen his cock yet. 

God, what a freak– your freak, you think with a thrill.

“Yeah yeah, heard it before."

Its quiet for a bit as you stare at each other, smiles crooked and soft.

"Well. Cat’s out of the bag?”

“Seems that way.” So, there's your "what are we" convo' all sorted.

“Good. So you know— " Eddie ducks his head to tap his nose against yours, then pulls back again to hover a little closer than before, "clothes are no longer an option.”

“What. The hell are you saying.”

“I'm saying,” he whispers, suddenly against your ear, dragging out each syllable, and slides his thumb and it's cool bat ring now poking out of a soft fist across your collarbone and up your shoulder, just to see you shiver again, just to watch you shake.

“hu-.. what, Munson, spit it out!” Now, you grab him by both wrists, and the quick movement brings his eyes to your tits again, gold titanium winking in the gray light. The soft wave of your body warms his core. He's half-hard already just watching you move.

“Too late, ha.” You groan, still grossed out, and anticipating this, he groans with you, mocking. You feel it through your own chest, feel it down your pinned leg.

Then, Eddie’s voice is soft too, at once dreamy and deadly serious, when he says, “You,” drops a kiss on one shoulder, “were so, so right,” and another on the other, “you won't need clothes ever again.” 

—--------------—

Its only days later, your next day off, when your favorite metalhead greets you at your front door. You don’t even have time to say hello before he’s flashing you; Eddie yanks his shirt up, fast as he can, to show off two glinting barbells, twin gold angel wings framing each nipple, still red and a little swollen from the piercing.

He beams at you, proud of the shock written all over your face, and before you can recover, cradles your face with one ringed hand and swoops in to plant one on your open mouth, grinning all the while. 

#eddie munson x black reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #mine #every thirsty nasty stupid tag ive ever posted or texted my friends that got me kicked from the GC will become a fic one day cos like what #is the point of this otherwise #this has been edited a little cos the second i post i reread it again and find bits i meant ti switch around #eddie munson x plus size reader

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Fuckenstein

Guillermo del Toro: submitted for the approval of the midnight society, I call this the tale of Frankenstein del Toro: but what if Frankenstein was hot Stephen King: do you mean the doctor or the monster King: because, technically, the monster is frankenstein’s monster and del Toro: I know what I said, steve

Del Toro: in this retelling, the doctor is played by Oscar isaacs del Toro: and the monster is played by Andrew Garfield Barker: do they fuck Poe: clive Barker: no really Barker: I think in this situation Barker: this is a good question King: yeah actually he has a point

Mary Shelley: sup fuckers del Toro: I was just talking about my Frankenstein adaptation with Oscar isaacs and Andrew Garfield Shelley: do they fuck? Barker: see? That’s what I was asking!

Del Toro: “do they fuck” del Toro: what a question! del Toro: would I, Guillermo del toro, cinema’s most notorious monster fucker, make a film where monsters fuck! del Toro: it’s like none of you even saw the shape of water King: oh what happens in that? del Toro: del Toro: they fuck King: wait do they really King: on screen? del Toro: hardcore X-rated swim bladder action

Bram Stoker: oh GREAT now you’re gonna ruin Frankenstein! Stoker: it’s bad enough that they made Dracula horny Stoker: now they’re gonna back Frankenstein horny! Stoker: so gross Stoker: bleh! Stoker: why do you guys always have to make everything so sexual Stoker: it was better when Frankenstein was a big green thing with, like, the weird head Stoker: man, there was NO way yo could get horny looking at that Stoker: so totally good and unsexy Stoker: now that’s the way to do it Mary Shelley: shut up

Mary Shelley: so they fuck right del Toro: of course they fuck Shelley: I got a great scene for ya Guillermo Shelley: what if they fuck on the monster’s mother’s grave del Toro: del Toro: um the monster doesn’t really Shelly: [flipping switchblade] who’s writing this story, nerd?

#midnight pals #midnight society #the midnight society #guillermo del toro #mary shelley #bram stoker #stephen king #clive barker #edgar allan poe

[fizzingwizard]

Randomly visited reddit and saw this:

My first thought: it's an incel pretending to be a woman, because what modern woman thinks she's spoiled milk a 30??? (Aside from also trashing her girl friends - girl, get better friends!) But their profile doesn't seem weird in any way, so, I guess there are some people out there who really somehow believe youth ends at 29. Even some who have aged past it.

It's not even true that all 30 year olds are less beautiful than they were at 20. People age in different ways at at different rates: yeah, your likelihood of getting wrinkles and gray hairs is only ever going to go up. But some people don't have their style figured out in their twenties - some people turn thirty and freaking bloom. And you can't call that a late bloomer. 40 isn't a late bloomer either! 20 is nice but it's not the heaven on earth it's cracked up to be, and 30 is just getting started.

Idk about the rest of you but you know those posts about how embarrassing it is to look back on 14? Yeah, related to those when I was 20. Now I've passed the big 3-0, and guess what - I think 20 year old me was so silly lol. So insecure, so afraid to make mistakes, so resistant to change. I enjoyed my twenties, but my early thirties have so far been way better: I'm more confident, less self-involved, and I find happiness so much more easily than I did back when I thought everything I did had to matter So Damn Much. And if you think that doesn't relate to being attractive: confidence is 90% of it. Just walk up and smile. A confident, happy person always attracts others even if they're just average-looking.

Also for people who like men, don't forget: men in their 30s usually aren't quite the energizer bunnies they were in their 20s when it comes to ~sexy times~ The 20-year-old stud who insisted he could go for a roll multiple times a day, every day, is probably much less gung ho at 30. And also more forward-thinking, and less amaaaaazed by omg boobies!!! When you're young, half the excitement is just how new everything is. It gets less intense, thank goodness. (But it's still hot!)

This post just totally rubbed me the wrong way. It read as a still young woman anxiously wringing her hands in apology for having the audacity to be single at... 30?? And apparently not trusting women to have good advice about dating at 30 (so no point in me responding to her, lol), but perfectly comfortable kissing up to incel mindsets such as "women past 25 should accept that they're sloppy seconds" etc. "Value as a partner" do you have intrinsic worth as a human being?? Yes??? Then your value does NOT degrade. Yeah, you might have gray hair, the horror, so unsexy (I've had very visible grays since I was 23 and been dyeing since 26 lmao). Doesn't mean you're less hot than some 20 year old who doesn't know what she's doing. Doesn't mean it'll be at all hard to find a partner who will love you warts and all. Do you have this same expectation of men? Are you gonna start dating a 30 year old dude and then complain that he gets tired more quickly than a 20 year old would?? Is he less sexy just because he doesn't party all night and drink twice his weight without effect? Overrated overrated overrated!

My parents divorced in their 60s. My mom's got a new boyfriend who takes her dancing under the full moon. They're living their best lives way past their so-called "prime" and no, that is not rare - it's just a choice. If you view yourself as having some expiration date, you're not gonna do anything to improve your happiness once you're past it. Don't let incels or misogyny or whatever convince you your perfectly wholesome milk has gone bad, because that is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

ETA: Well, while I was working this got 150 notes, and although that's barely a drop in the bucket, it's still a lot more than my rants usually get (about 2 lol). So I just want to clarify a couple things so I stop getting comments about them.

This post was from the askmen subreddit. I left that out, feeling "reddit" was context enough, but I guess the implications may not have been obvious, especially to tumblr users who don't also use reddit. Askmen isn't a horrible place (a number of the responders pointed out why they prefer older women to younger ones), but many of its members have a pretty incel-adjacent vibe. Plus there are a number of women (real or not) who post there, many of whom have a similar brown-nosey "unlike those radical feminists, I'm a woman who knows her place" attitude.

It's fine to suggest the OP may have internalized misogyny from being abused - but it's not a given, as nothing in the post is a definite indication of abuse by itself. Big kudos for the compassion - just keep in mind that my response was about general attitudes towards dating post-twenties and not about abuse victims.

To the person who thinks a relationship of six years makes a difference somehow?: You seem to have interpreted my post as an attack on people who feel insecure about returning to dating after a breakup. But I think it's clearly nothing to do with that. Of course it is natural to have anxieties about being single after so long, but nowhere in this post was that denied or mocked. Whether you've been together one year or six, this post would always be weird - those natural anxieties don't make misogynistic mindsets about decrepit 30-year-old women any less gross. If you had decided to write a reaction to the OP's post, perhaps you would have chosen to center it on the effects of coming off a long term relationship, and I'm sure it'd be insightful. However, I am not you, and I chose to react to the attitudes around aging in relationships reflected in the post.

#rant

[blorbologist]

Pikelan with the "gestures that gets me on my knees" prompts? If you want a specific one of the bunch, maybe the "you want that, love? I want cuddles tho'", but any of them are fine :]

[Of course! Set in TLOVM, because Makin' My Way happened over the course of a few days - surely some stuff happened over that time, right? Didn't get to smoochies tho, sorry the vibes were not quite that.]

It’s… wait, he needs to count. 

Okay, it’s three days into their trek down the mountain. Scanlan’s feet hurt bad and his back hurts worse, because Pike was stabbed and like hell he’s letting her haul Grog’s scrawny ass around. Even puny like this, he’s still a goliath.

Unfortunately, without those big muscles, there isn’t really much warmth to be found when they dare not light a fire. Like tonight, when they spied some bandits parked on the road they finally found. Maybe they’ll just - dunno - use the river to make more progress tomorrow. 

Man. He’d really kill for Trinket right now. Bear stank, but at least he had one good use. 

Grog passed out within, probably, a few minutes of scarfing down what Pike was able to fish from the river. So it’s just the gnomes, now, against the dark, against the cold.

And - and maybe Scanlan’s a little delirious from hunger, because Grog ate half his serving before he could get to it, and it really should be repeated that it’s been a long fucking few days - 

But? Pike might be coming on to him?

He’d usually cut out the might, because let’s be real, Scanlan Shorthalt is irresistable, and when he is resistible a wink and a song usually get the girls and gents to change their tune. Pike is a whole other beast, though - beyond the fact she could squash him like a bug (wow), she plays him like a fiddle, somehow, and he gets tongue-tied in a decidedly unsexy way. So he really doesn’t blame her for not taking him seriously. Honestly!

So he really has no fucking clue why her hand is on his thigh, and she’s laughing at what he’s singing and listening to what he’s saying, and not the other way around. 

He’s had cause to thank the gods (the Everlight specifically, lately. No reason.) for his darkvision before. Lots of good cause, really, from sneaking out before dawn to - well. 

Scanlan’s pretty sure he mouths a prayer, because this can’t be real. She can’t be real, white hair blue with shadow and gold with moonlight and subtly the richest thing he’s ever seen. 

How are her eyes so fucking pretty? They’re grey. His are grey. No one writes ballads about grey eyes. He’d fix that, right now, except he can’t string words together in his head. He’s still talking, though, but no clue what he’s actually saying. 

Better shut up. He does. With a gulp. 

“C’mon, Scanlan,” Pike prompts. From beneath her lashes - fuck’s sake, that’s sinful. That has to be sinful, looking like that. And he knows sin. 

(He’s not a man his mother would be proud of.) 

Apparently he’s gone catatonic, because Pike nudges him. “The rest of the story? The boat, and the fleece? What happens next?”

He has no fucking clue. Scanlan swallows. “I - let’s head to bed,” he says. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” Pike replies, not looking the least bit tired. “Let’s.”

And she doesn’t move.

Or she does, but it’s not away, to curl up under one of Grog’s arms, as far from his armpit and as close to his body heat as she can manage. 

It’s into him. 

Silver is too weak a word, platinum to cheap, for what he sees in her eyes. 

“Scanlan,” she says.

He gulps. Really appropriate comedic timing. “Yeah?”

“What happens next?”

Maybe, now - just maybe - he can… they can… scratch that might? He’s reading this right - right?

So he gives it a shot: he leans in.

Pike rests her forehead against his and his stupid little heart might give out there. 

And then.

She fucking.

Winks. 

“You want me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Scanlan sputters. “I - Pike - you -”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” She grins, cheeky little - “It’s a good look on you.”

He reads something he shouldn’t, then. That earnest devotion she has in prayer, and how she shutters herself off from talking about it too much around their party of godless friends. And Vax, now, especially, and whatever the fuck he has going on. A fire blazing, banked low.

Yeah. He gets scared. 

“It’s late,” he repeats. And, because he can’t resist trying his shitty luck: “we might need to cuddle for warmth, though.”

Pike snuggles into his side. He definitely feels warmer, already. And she looks at him a little coyly, and he doesn’t need a fire anymore. “Can I be the big spoon?”

He feigns indignity. Which is, let’s be clear, really fucking hard around the huge grin he has.

Mildly spicy prompt game! Ft. ships I want to write more of <3

#critical role #tlovm #the legend of vox machina #scanlan shorthalt #pike trickfoot #pikelan #tlovm spoilers #critical role fic #cr fanfic #ask game #prompt game #my writing

[engie-ivy]

(@wolfstarmicrofic No Angst, just a (maybe funny) Fluffy Wolfstar Get-Together! That I somehow managed to incorporate an olive into😂)

7th: Olive

Sirius can't go out with Dearborn because Mary is having a party. Remus just has to inform Mary about this.

You Should Tell Him

“So I asked my mother, ‘which one is it?’ I asked, ‘do you want to punish me, or do you want me to stay away from the annual family dinner?’ I told her she was being quite contradictory, and it’s either one or the other.”

“Sirius, you didn’t!” Remus laughs, and takes a sip from the cappuccino he got on his and Sirius’ daily coffee run before their last class of the day.

“I sure did!” Sirius exclaims. “So what do you thing she did? Well, she-”

“Hi there. I was hoping to run into you.”

Sirius stops walking as Caradoc Dearborn approaches them. Caradoc Dearborn, who’s looking like he’s on his way to the gym, though Caradoc Dearborn always looks like he’s on his way to the gym. He looks like the kind of guy works out every day, Remus thinks sourly.

“Oh, hey Dear.” Sirius gives Dearborn a small wave. “You know that on a day packed with classes, you’ll most likely find me where the coffee is!”

Dearborn laughs. “That I do, B.”

“B?” Remus only realises he said it out loud when Dearborn turns to look at him.

“Yeah, I figured if Sirius calls me by an abbreviated version of my last name, I should do the same for him, and there’s just something so unsexy about Bla, don’t you think?” Dearborn turns back to Sirius with a sly smile. “And anything unsexy is definitely not fitting for Sirius.”

“As opposed to the immense sex appeal of the letter B,” Remus mutters, but he’s not sure if Dearborn even hears.

“So, B,” Dearborn says. “I wanted to ask you out for a drink tonight.”

“Oh!” Sirius looks surprised, though Remus can’t understand how he didn’t know Dearborn is into him. Sirius briefly glances at Remus, who does his very best to look uninterested as he takes another sip from his drink. Sirius looks back at Dearborn. “Uhm, yeah, I suppose I-”

Remus has no idea what on earth possessed him, but before he can think better of it, he says “Mary is having a party tonight.”

Sirius blinks at him in confusion. “A party at Mary’s? Tonight?”

“Yeah,” Remus says, surprised himself at how convincing he sounds. “Did you forgot to put it in your calendar again?”

Sirius frowns and scratches his head. “I guess I must’ve.

“In any case,” Remus says. “You can’t make tonight, Mary is expecting you.”

Sirius gives Dearborn an apologetic smile. “You heard it. I’m sorry, Dear. Another time, okay?”

“Sure,” Dearborn mutters, throwing Remus an annoyed look.

Remus just smiles innocently at him, feeling very pleased with himself, until he remembers he now has to convince Mary to throw a very last-minute party.

Crackling music is playing from Mary’s laptop in the corner. On the kitchen table are a few old bottles of beer found at the back of the fridge, a couple of half-empty bottles of wine, half a loaf of bread to tear off a piece and dip in a jar of mayonnaise, and a jar of olives with some tooth picks.

Besides Remus and Sirius, Mary and her roommates Lily and Marlene are there, though none of them seems entirely pleased with that themselves. Peter, who luckily let himself get dragged out of the house to a party he knew nothing about without asking too many questions, and James, who’s always excited to go to Lily’s and is probably the only one who doesn’t seem disappointed as he’s happily dipping his bread in mayonnaise, are there. Amelia and Edgar are there, though they don’t seem to know why themselves, and the Prewett twins are there, as they always seem to manifest themselves out of thin air whenever someone mentions the word ‘party’.

“Mary!” Remus hisses. “This party is terrible!”

Mary gives him a deadly glare. “Gee, I wonder why,” she says through gritted teeth. “One would almost think I had to throw it together in an hour!” She turns on her heels and stalks off to yell at Peter for using his fingers instead of a tooth pick to pick an olive out of the jar.

A very groggy-looking Lily walks up to Remus. She’s wearing pyjama bottoms and has got her hair up in a messy bun. “I asked Mary what possessed her to keep us away from our beds for this,” she says, placing her hands on her hips. “And she told me to take it up with you. So, Remus, what the hell?!”

“Caradoc Dearborn wanted to take Sirius out tonight,” Remus says sourly.

Lily blinks at him in confusion, then understanding dawns on her face and she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Remus John Lupin,” she says slowly. “Are you telling me that the reason we’re all missing out on our vital sleep is because you don’t want Caradoc Dearborn to get into Sirius Black’s pants?”

“What else could I have done?”

“What else could you have done?” Lily asks. “What else could you have done?! You could’ve just told him you don’t want him to go out with Dearborn because you’re absolutely mad about him yourself, like you should’ve done bloody months ago!”

Remus goes pale, and Lily sighs deeply. “He’s standing right behind me, isn’t he?” She turns around to indeed find Sirius standing there, wide-eyed, frozen in place, his hand tightly gripping his beer bottle. Lily shakes her head. “You know, maybe tomorrow I’ll feel guilty about this, but right now, I’m just too damned tired to even care,” she says, before walking away.

Remus wishes the ground would swallow him up whole.

After a very awkward moment, Sirius scrapes his throat to undoubtedly have a very awkward conversation. “She does have a point, you know. It would’ve been better to tell me rather than making poor Mary go into the books as the person who threw the worst party in the history of college.”

“Yes, thank you,” Remus replies. “In hindsight, I can indeed see I made some unfortunate decisions.”

“Would’ve been more effective too.” Sirius is looking down at his beer bottle, playing with a loose corner of it’s label. “I mean, if I had known you’re interested in me like that, I wouldn’t have told Caradoc ‘some other time’.”

“What...” Remus scrapes his throat as his mouth has suddenly gone completely dry. “What would you have told him?”

Sirius looks up at Remus. “I hope I would’ve told him I’m not interested in having drinks with him ever as I’m already dating this amazing guy whom, for the record, I’m also absolutely mad about.”

“Yeah, that... that’s...” Remus swallows. “You should tell him that.” He takes a step forward closer to Sirius. “Next time you see him, you should tell him that.”

Sirius smiles and arches an eyebrow. “Should I?”

Remus leans in so that his next words are almost whispered against Sirius’ lips. “Yes, you should.”

#my tumblr writing #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #wolfstar college au

[bumbleklee]

focus

masterlist | 1k prompt masterlist | family series

prompt: childe is your calculus tutor. that’s it. right? 

pairings: childe x gn!reader (no specific anatomy) 

warnings: NSFW [MINORS DNI], grinding/dry humping, making out, college!au, 1.5k words

Childe has pretty lips. 

Like, really pretty. And you shouldn’t be focusing on things like that but you do – way too much. You focus on everything about Childe, like how blue his eyes are and how he’s got two lip piercings that are totally symmetrical from one another. You focus on how soft his hair is and how badly you want to run your fingers through it. He doesn’t use any product so you would be able to rake your fingertips through every curl easily. You focus on Childe’s ring-covered fingers and calloused palms and trimmed nails. 

You’re so busy focusing on Childe that you don’t focus on your calculus homework. 

“Pay attention,” Childe says. 

“I am,” You lie. 

“What’s the derivative of tan?” 

“Something.” 

He laughs and you start to focus on the sound. You wouldn’t mind hearing it again. It passes through your ears like your favorite song and you hum against the inside of your cheek. Childe is good at math. And he’s good at English. And history. And psychology. He’s good at everything and you’re starting to wonder if he’s actually gifted or if it’s just confidence wrapped up in a charismatic smile. 

“It’s secant squared,” He says. Childe reaches over to write something down on your paper and repeats, “Pay attention.” 

Studying ends eventually. You won’t focus on your homework and Childe knows. He invites you back to his place and you shouldn’t go, you should stay and study, but you go anyway. He lives in an apartment with three other roommates but none of them are home so you raid their pantries and eat stale potato chips and half-frozen pizza bagels on the floor in the living room. 

Childe is older, and cooler, and probably knows exactly what’s doing. In fact, sometimes you think this is what Childe does everytime and you just happened to be his next victim. Not that you’re complaining.

“You know Amber? The girl that sits in front of us in calc? She asked me out,” Childe says casually. 

“Oh,” You say, “Okay?” 

“Do ya think I should go?” 

“What?” 

Childe rolls onto the ground and balances his plate of pizza bagels on his stomach. “You can’t do math and now you can’t speak English?” He adds, “I think she’s annoying. But what do you think?” 

You want to ask him why it matters what you think. Instead you say, “I think she’s nice.” 

He clicks his tongue, “Yeah.” 

For a minute, you don’t add anything else. Why would Childe ask you for your opinion on his love-life? He was your tutor, barely your friend, and surely your words held nothing (right?). You cross your arms and think about Childe’s and now you’re focusing on his strong biceps that stretch his thin t-shirts taut. You don’t tell him this but his arms would look better around you than Amber. 

“Do you want to go to my room?” 

For the second time, you ask, “What?” 

The lights are off in his bedroom and neither of you flicker them on. When Childe crawls onto his bed, you’re right beside him. “How did you get accepted to this university?” He asks, shifting his body so his hip-bone is jutting against yours. His arm slips around your waist and your stomach clenches. “You’re going to fail out before you can even graduate.” 

“You talk so poorly for someone who's supposed to be helping me,” You counter.

He smiles, “Sorry.”

You can feel his breath against your cheek. “You’re annoying,” You say. “You and Amber would be perfect together.” 

Childe snickers and his arm tightens around your waist, “Too bad I'm not into her.” He looks uncertain. It’s different from his usual demeanor. He’s being uncool. But he tries to brush it off when he hooks his ankle around yours and moves his face forward. 

You feel hot, understandably, and you wonder if your hands are clammy and your cheeks are dark. Either way, it’s terribly unsexy and you still don’t know what Childe is up to. (Not that you’re trying to be sexy – you’re supposed to be studying). 

“Is something wrong?” Childe licks his lips. His tongue pokes out between his lips and runs over his symmetrical lip piercings. They tug at the flesh and give with a pull and now they’re shiny. “Do you want to kiss me?” 

His voice is quiet. And gentle. And everything you didn’t expect from your calm and collected calculus tutor. When you don’t answer, Childe unhooks his body from yours and rolls away. 

He drags a hand down the side of his face and laughs, “I’ve gone soft.” He waits a moment and then turns to look at you, his eyes glazed with curiosity, “You gonna give me an answer?” 

You blink. “What?” Slips from your mouth again. Today, seemingly, it’s your favorite word. 

Childe shrugs, “No?” 

“No,” You say, “I mean…not no…but…” 

He sits up and looks like he’s going to slide off the bed. “It’s cool,” He says slyly. But it’s not cool and you grab his shoulders, pushing him back onto the bed. He’s even closer than he was before, somehow, and your thigh presses against his crotch. Childe watches you intently. He’s waiting for you to say something, do something, but you can only stare in silence. A shaky hand reaches up to cup your chin, “Tell me you want me to kiss you.” 

You hear your own voice before you can register, then you’re speaking, “Kiss me.” 

Childe leans in and his lips press against yours. For a moment, it’s awkward. You remind yourself that he was your tutor, barely your friend, and maybe you shouldn’t be doing this. Maybe you should be downstairs in the lounge studying for your calculus test. But then Childe’s hand moves to the small of your back and pulls you in and you decide that maybe it doesn’t matter. He’s a good kisser and maybe you want to kiss him more, maybe you want to kiss him harder. 

And maybe you press your thigh against the growing tent in Childe’s pants just to hear what else can come out of his pretty lips. 

“You…” He pulls back to take a deep breath and his eyes are dark, “Looks like there’s something you’re finally good at – this.” 

Childe doesn’t waste any time kissing you again and you learn how utterly needy he is. He pushes you back and rolls on top of you. His tongue is in your mouth and his hips rock against yours frantically and you feel like you’re drowning. You want to touch his body, focus on every inch of unexplored skin, and make this feeling last forever. 

His name slips from your lips in a shaky whisper and every time Childe rolls his hips against yours, your stomach clenches. If he doesn’t stop, you’re going to explode. 

But he doesn’t stop and you groan when it hits you. Your body shudders, your skin hot and tingly to the touch, and Childe buries his face in the crook of your neck. He grinds his body down particularly hard and his hips suddenly stall. An agonizingly perfect moan escapes his mouth and you swear it sounds like euphoria. 

He lays on top of you for a moment before rolling to the side and staring at your breathless face. His fingers ghost against your chin, turning your head to look at him with a delicate pull. He suggests cautiously. “Can I…?” 

“Mhm.” 

Childe reaches down to unbutton your jeans. His fingers brush against your heat accidentally but once your pants are scattered somewhere, his touches are purposeful and it makes you shiver. He kisses you again, this time slower, and breathes against your lips. 

“I don’t want to be your calculus tutor,” Childe says quietly. You stare in confusion so he adds, “I don’t want to be just your calculus tutor.” 

“You want to be my English tutor, too?” You joke. 

Childe cracks a smile before his expression goes serious, “I want to be your boyfriend who helps you with calculus. If that’s…” 

You smile to yourself. It’s unnerving to see Childe so capable of doubting himself. And you shouldn’t be focusing on things like that but you kind of like it – like that Childe was so phlegmatic and level-headed until you came around and didn’t know what the derivative of tan was. You hug an arm around his middle. 

“We’ll get to do this more often,” He adds, as if he’s trying to convince you. 

Your face heats up again in arousal and awe and the blatant curiosity of what it would be like to explore your calculus tutor in that way. What would Childe feel like? What would he taste like? What sounds would he make?  

But this goes beyond sex and both of you know that. For a moment, you mind wanders to think about holding Childe’s hand around campus. 

“You’re bad at giving people answers.” 

“Sorry,” You say. “I want you to be my boyfriend who helps me with calculus, too.” 

“Okay. Cool. Me too. I already said that.” 

You kiss him again and decide that you’re definitely addicted to the feeling. But you don’t mind because Childe has pretty lips. 

a/n: bumbleklee comeback LOL!!! spread the word!!! reblogs, comments and likes are hugely appreciated and i hope you guys like this short :) 

a/n a/n: THIS IS ALSO DEDICATED TO MAL HEHE @rqnvindr​

#childe x reader #childe x gn!reader #genshin spicy #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x gn reader #childe #genshin childe #childe x you #tartaglia x reader #genshin x you #genshin self insert #gender neutral reader

[midnightdevotion]

More than Him

Part 2 to more than this!!

Warnings: fluff and the reader is starting to notice feelings!! SLOW BURN

a/n: so sorry for the wait but my dumbass has like 7 fics going so it can get hard to juggle. LOVE YOU

You were never one to just sit down and be hurt, so you decided to do whatever it is you wanted. Anything you'd ever wanted to try, You were going to do it. No more fear or holding back.

That's how you found yourself on Monday night sitting outside of a pole dancing class. You'd been crying more than you'd like to admit, and it was a hard day at work with no distractions but you made it through and here you are getting ready to pole dance.

You felt a bit crazy, but in a way you wanted to do anything and everything that would change you as a person. Change you into a person he never would be able to touch.

It made you sick to your stomach to think about how you two had been intimate while he was just lying to you, using you. Shaking it off, you head inside the studio. It's smaller than you imagine, just one studio with 8 poles.

You take a pole in the back and start stretching, trying to focus on the instructor. The first hour flies by, and you actually have fun. Focused on learning how to do things on the pole. It pinches your skin and leaves your muscles shaking.

The second hour hits a bit harder though. This half is more about turning what you've learned into a dance. A sexy dance. Any other time you would be all for it, feeling sexy and learning the choreography but after being cut open and left feeling used and unsexy its more challenging than you thought.

You feel so unsexy, like an imposter in the middle of a pole class. Like you don't belong here and you feel like crying and screaming at the same time.

By the time the class lets out you are drained, physically and emotionally. Ready to just curl up in bed and try and forget everything.

You feel so angry and so fucking sad at the same time. It's not fair really, you tried to be a good partner and you know his lack of being a decent human isn't on you, but your pisses that the pain is. He gets to be a piece of shit and you have to feel the pain.

The whole drive home you are swirling in thoughts of sad hatred. Tears falling down your cheeks, disgusted that he got to hurt you like this. When you pull back into your drive way, you don't even notice Ice's car.

You make it inside to see Tom sitting on your couch, blankets and snacks all ready to go with your favorite Chinese food - cream cheese wantons included. You send him a pathetic smile as he gets off the couch. No words needed as he wraps his arms around you. Holding you firmly against his muscled chest.

___

Thats the general outline of how your entire week goes. You buy a new bed and bed set and tear down the old one to build the new one. Slamming your finger in part of the frame at one point and bleeding.

You burn everything he left at your place, and delete every photo you two had together. You feel slightly relieved. You didn't even realize how unhappy you were until you were out of it, and now yeah your dealing with the feelings of insecurity and being used and betrayed but you feel hopeful that things will be better without him.

By the time Friday rolls around you've done everything you could think of. Axe throwing, pole classes, calling a therapist, doing a campfire to burn his shit, erasing him from your life completely. it still stings, but it stings less and that fact has you gripping onto the future like no other.

So when Tom invites you to the beach Saturday you jump at the chance. You always love seeing Tom and you did not want to be at home all day on a Saturday. The way your overthinking mind would torture you if you didn't have anything to do, you would've agreed to do anything.

Hence why you are up at 8 am on a Saturday morning. Damn those Navy boys for waking up so god damn early. You deem the early morning worth it as soon as you see Tom on the beach. He grins at you when he sees you and you don't spare a second to think about why that makes your heart jump.

He's chosen a spot right by the water and the volley ball court, and you know Tom well enough to know that he intends to play today.

"You chose a fantastic day to join us little one, we are going up against our rivals, should be a good match" Slider grins down at you. You hadn't known that when you said yes but you grin figuring it'll be a good distraction anyways.

"You're gonna win for me right guys" Tom give you a smirk at that.

"darling I will always win for you"

You give them both a wish of good luck and maybe you rest a kiss on Toms cheek but what you really don't know what to do with is the pounding in your chest when he smiles at you. Or the way your mouth goes dry when he takes off his shirt to play.

You've always known Tom was good looking, I mean c'mon you have eyes. You'd even had a little crush on him for a while, but he never made an indication he was interested and you wanted him in your life so you'd decided to box him in as a friend. It seems now though the box might be breaking open. A little pissed off at that notion, because now is so not the fucking time to complicate things with tom.

You're broken out of your confused feelings when a woman with a little toddler sits down next to you.

"Hi I'm Carole and this is Bradley" the shy little boy gives a wave and you can't help but grin. Sending him a wave back you laugh when he ducks behind his mother. You introduce yourself to the short haired blonde and entering a friendly conversation.

"so which one of these guys is yours?" she asks and you find yourself stuttering and blushing.

"o-oh I'm not- we're not... I'm just friends with Tom- I mean Iceman" and you point out the blond diving for the volleyball. Carole just giggles at your response.

"well from the way he looks at you, you might want to reconsider that friendship. That one is my husband" You almost thank god that she changed topic at the last second, pointing out the mustached man on the other team.

"you guys make a very cute family" You grin at how Bradley is now playing with toy fighter planes.

"so will you and Tom" and any hope you had of her dropping the subject had flown out the window faster than their damn jets go.

"no no really we are just friends-"

"Oh so you're saying if that man stood before you and confessed to being totally irrevocably in love with you, you'd say no?"

"well I don't- I just got out of a relationship" the words came tumbling out of your mouth at a rate so fast it was obvious you wouldn't say no. That you were just trying to stop the picture of tom looking at you with love as he confessed his love for you.

You'd always been a day dreamer, but it only seems to bite you in the ass. The way your heart sped up when Carole said that, when she hinted that he looks at you in a way that friends don't. It all had you speechless and well Hopeful. The logic part of your brain says you need to stop, you've been single a week! You need to take time, according to every website you've clicked on it takes at least four months to move on from someone.

"Huh" was Carole's response

"what does that Huh mean?" you quirk a brow at her.

"I just didn't hear a no is all" you find your cheeks flushing at that. She's right, you didn't say no. You made an excuse because you've always been a timeline kind of person. You graduated college in 4 years, make extra payments on your home loan to pay it off in 20 years instead of 30. You want to date someone for at least 2 years before getting engaged, be engaged for 2 more years and then get married. You think back to all your goals and there is always a timeline, maybe you need to stop thinking about how much time there should be before something happens and just let things happen.

You glance up to see Ice's blue eyes staring right back at you, he mouths 'you ok' and you find yourself sending him a grin and a nod. You are okay, and it's really because of him. You still need time though, not because some website, but because you are still healing. Plus you aren't even sure he does have feelings for you. You need a stable heart before you can risk rejection all over again.

The game ends and you aren't even sure if anyone was keeping score, seeing as the game went way longer than most volleyball games that consist of 25 points and 3 rounds. It isn't long before a very sweaty Tom is standing over you.

Next thing you know he's pulling you up and untying your swimsuit coverup for you. The action has butterflies exploding in your stomach and you think back to what Carole said and hope to god he can't see the blush on your cheeks. He pushes it off your shoulders and you let it fall to the floor. His eyes remain respectful and he grins.

"ready to get in the water now?" You can't help the way his grin is contagious and find yourself really smiling before nodding. If you spent a little bit more time thinking about it, you'd realize that he's the only one whose been able to genuinely make you feel complete all week.

You two spend the next few hours splashing around and swimming, at one point you even offer to watch Bradley so Carole and who you now know as Nick can get in the water. Your heart clenches watching play with Bradley beside you. Your thoughts echoing the words Carole said earlier...'so will you and Tom".

You can't help but think of little blond haired blue eyed babies that would be Tom's. You swallow hard, trying to stomp down the feeling of wishing those same kids will have your nose and laugh. A perfect mix of the two of you.

By the end of the day you are exhausted, who knew a day at the beach would have you mentally exhausted. Though while your mind was running a mile a minute you were glad it was on something other than your ex.

Instead it was on the man sitting next to you, drinking a beer and laughing at whatever dumb thing slider said. His arm keeps brushing yours and you feel crazy, are you overthinking everything or are these hints?

What you didn't know is that Tom is thinking the same things you were. He's picture kids with your hair and his eyes and the way they'd have your smile and his stubborness. The way he wants you to come to the beach with him every weekend, and how badly he wants to wrap his arm around you right now.

He has to go about this the right way though, he can't scare you off. You just got out of something and Tom knew you better than anyone else. He knew you needed time, to come to terms, to grieve, to be at peace, before you could just give things with him a go. He could be patient, he's waited for you this long whats a couple more months?

He is a man that goes for the things he wants and he isn't afraid of a little waiting if it means hitting the lottery. You are his lottery, the one he wants to wake up with every morning, and when he can't sleep he just wants to be able to pull you closer.

Carole the little wingwoman she was, reported back that he definitely had a chance and if her words were anything to go by, a big chance too. It causes him to grin a little wider the rest of the day, and maybe he sits closer to you than normal just to feel you brush against him.

So when you rest your head on his shoulder as the sunsets on the beach, he would do anything to freeze this moment. To live here where it's just you, him, and the waves. No chaos, no stress just you two at peace.

Taglist:

@alanadetigy 

@luckyladycreator2 

@multiplefandomsmess 

@tkmarvel-divergentbish

@ohh-to-be-a-frog

@roosterschanelslut

@americaarse

@malindacath

@atarmychick007 

@trikigirl271

@lustfulseonghwa

@smoothdogsgirl

@nessrin

#iceman kazansky #top gun #top gun maverick #iceman #tom iceman kazansky #iceman x reader #tom kazansky x reader #tom kazansky #top gun fanfic #topgun #top gun 1986

[boreal-sea]

Hellraiser 1 live blogging

Summary: That was fucking fun. Amazing special effects, fun plot, characters I liked, and just all around absolutely deserving of its place as a horror classic.

that seems like a sweaty way to solve a box

Oh this is a fun place, look, a face!

So this guy has a brother he hasn't seen in ages.

Julia doesn't like the house. Rocky marriage, too. This weird house isn't gonna help lol. Ew, buggies. I do appreciate older movies using real bugs. Larry! Come look! A terrifying... mattress?

Frank is the brother I guess.

Then who is phone?

Kirstie has found a room, a room better than a creepy house.

Oh no, scary sex party photos. He was kinda handsome tho. Are you stealing that photo, Julia? Naughty.

Hey mover dude, stop leering.

Hello again Kirstie. Hello, ominous bridge. Hello, ominous bushes and trees. Hello ominous farmhouse.

"This is a big house" I've seen like 3 rooms so far.

"Her mother's dead". Lol. I'd heard that line before.

Julia, you got the hots for the broooo. I would also be kinda seduced by brother frank out in the rain.

Julia isn't concerned with you, Kirstie, she has an old photo to make out with. And to stand ominously at the top of the stairs with.

Now for ze attic. And erotic memories. Nice. I think? She seems into it, sort of? Kinda hard to tell, but modern-day her is totally into the - oh ok, yeah, she was totally into it.

Oh that nail is gonna be involved and I can't watch lol. *looks away*

Did she orgasm from that memory?

Ew that's a lot of blood. Bro why didn't you get a towel?

House: "slurp"

Ahh, the tell tale heart.

See, these effects are great. I really do believe this floor is bubbling with demonic energy and resurrecting a disgusting man. Fuck this sequence is awesome. Yeah I can watch this, but not a guy getting stabbed by a nail. Don't ask, I can't explain it either. That fucking rocked.

And dinner party, complete with laughter that sounds like it's coming from a studio audience. Also, you WILL get drunk, no leaving allowed! Except Julia, she's allowed.

Mmm whispers. Welcome back to the attic.

Kinda hard not to look at you bro. This makeup is awesome, and I love his dialogue? It's so casual, but also coming from a horrible flesh zombie, it's great. "Help me, will ya?" He needs more blood.

Ominous lurking, Julia. Love the lighting.

Kirstie, awkwardly: "Gnight." lol

Hello creepy fisherman dude. No idea if he's a fisherman but he looks like one. Ah, smack talking Julia. She IS fucking weird.

Of course he sleep talks. And Julia plots, and thinks about sex.

Frank's makeup is so fucking good. Thank you, 80's movie, for lighting your characters.

Oooh this is a cool effect. What's going on here? Oh, it's Kirstie dreaming. You know I give her credit for immediately calling. Too bad he's gonna die immediately after the phone call. Right? (no)

Hey Frank, you're not allowed to think about Kirstie, you already have a lady. Am I judging a dead zombie man? Yes.

Oh, so is Julia gonna grab a random stranger dude? And not kill her husband? Sorry, random dude. Come on Julia, think up an excuse like, "let's not fuck right in front of the door, idiot". I mean, he's sleazy, but probably doesn't deserve murder. He is dumb though. Julia isn't very good at this fake seductress thing, but it IS her first time. I think I would've stabbed him by now though. LOL whitie tighties. So unsexy. Woooo murdered. In his undies, how undignified.

I do love Julia's earrings, those kick ass. Tortoiseshell stars, fuck yeah. Very 80's.

You did a bad job cleaning yourself up Julia.

Mmm crunchy yum yums.

Ew he's even squishier. So slimy. Ew, no Frank, I don't wanna touch you either.

"Come to daddy" is going to make me laugh forever now.

I wonder how much porn there is of half-alive Frank.

Julia needs to dispose of a body, just give her a sec! Larry, you're kinda dumb.

Julia, you didn't really think you'd get away with murdering just one guy did you? I imagine salty skin on bare... muscle? would be very painful.

Oof, customer service. Yeah, you know, a complaining Karen and Dude Eating the Crickets sounds about right for customer service.

Welcome home, victim #2. "I like to be careful" - murdered. lol. Julia is a lot more chill about it this time, also she's becoming sexier! You know I will say she was very quickly on board with this whole murder thing. Hm Frank, you're still looking a little slimy, do you think you should be wearing clothes yet?

Ok so the cenobites introduced you to BDSM.

Julia is bored by boxing. "I've seen worse" LMAO. Also Larry, shouldn't this stuff make YOU sick? You're the guy who hates blood. Oh Larry, don't be a hero. "Guess I gotta seduce my own husband to keep him from going to the attic". Does she care a little for Larry? I think she probably doesn't want him to die, at the very least.

lmao how did Larry not see those rats?

Whoah Frank just slippin by there. Ooo he's gonna do a murder. Can Larry not hear her say no?? I'm so confused. Oh no, he was just ignoring her. Turd.

Marriage talk with your kiddo. It sure is "way beyond" you buddy.

Ah, marriage talk with the zombie.

Oh no, Kirstie is gonna get the wrong idea. Sorry kiddo, your step mom isn't cheating on your dad! Well ok, yes, she is - but not with that particular dude. Actually, the worse crime here is she's a big ol murderer. Oh wait is Kirstie actually witnessing the murder a little? I can't tell. She seems very concerned though.

I appreciate Larry wants to keep Julia from seeing the worst of the murdering. I also appreciate the crunchy noises.

I love that the whole house just constantly creaks for no reason. Nooo don't go in the attic. Eeeew icky touchy uncle Frank.

I don't know if she's necessarily smart for stealing the box, but she was smart to use it to get away.

Why is the nurse watching the "flowers opening" channel? This doctor is being so fucking weird lol. "Yeah you were found wandering, passing out, covered in blood but uh, we're gonna treat you like a criminal."

ooh, the box likes to pretend it's pretty, pink sparkles! Seems like the box can pretty much solve itself, don't know why Frank was all sweaty about it.

Hm, maybe don't go in there, this isn't a children's 80's movie. That is not a hallway to a fun adventure.

Hi two-headed fishface cenobite.

Oh fucking cool, the tiles glowing like that!

OH that's the chatterer, right? I know folks have named them all.

And it's our guy, "Lead Cenobite" - I mean Pinhead!

I love them all. They're so great. <3

Oh, is Julia gonna show Frank to Larry? Are we to guess he was murdered off screen? Does Frank have skin now? Oh nope, he's just ... wait. No. That's Frank wearing Larry, isn't it?

Why do you need to see a body so badly, Kirstie? I mean, he's gonna be skinless either way. Guess it'd be hard to tell lol. Of course, Kirstie is upset because this means the cenobites are gonna eat her.

All kinds of chaos happening now. At least Kirstie figured it out. Aww you broke Frank's new skin.

"Well, so much for the cat and mouse shit" - that got a real laugh out of me. *snort*

Oops Frank, you killed Julia a bit. Don't seem to broken up about it, but he's more into Kirstie.

There's still cenobites in the attic. I like to imagine they're just up there, twidding their thumbs like "... Is she coming back?"

I always think it's fun when you have a character wearing the face of another character because it means the other actor is playing the part now, and some folks do a REALLY good job at this.

Hey now cenobites, that's not playing fair. She's sort of trying to help you, remember? Maybe that was just a reminder "bring him to us and we'll take care of him for you". I think she's trying to draw him in? To where the cenobites are.

My friends are back!

"This isn't for your eyes" Kirstie slowly slips away like "yeah ok good I'll fuck off now for sure bye". She keeps watching though. Not sure why, I guess so we the audience can see?

Ooh, the house is bleeding, nice. Oh, Julia grabbed the box or the box grabbed her, not sure which.

Aw, Pinhead just wants to show you things.

Ah, so you CAN unsolve the box and it blasts them all back to hell. Also the house is collapsing because sure. Steve is like "no questions, just run".

Ok, the ending fight with the fishface was a little silly. "Oh, can't get a grip on the box, would you just - I can't get it! Gotta grab the box!"

That burned down fast.

Kristie, it's a metal box. Why do you think it's gonna burn? Oh hey it's bug eating dude. I feel like he was one of them the whole time. Oh yeah he was. A skeletal dragon???

And now it's back home apparently.

The end!

#hellraiser #liveblogging #horror movies

[emotionaldepravity]

My full thoughts on the Shibuya Incident

Initially I was kind of hyped. With someone as powerful as Gojo, he had to have something done to him for the story to continue. It literally would be impossible to have high stakes if every fight was "we are waiting patiently for Satoru's big cock to get here so we can jerk him off right now!!!" Its great for narrative tension. Combined with the deaths in the first section/ season one of the anime, it really was good. I love that he got jar Douman'd. (A little meme for NA FGO players to enjoy.)

I fell in love with Geto so the fake Geto stuff is sad, but he is so hot. Geto is literally one of the hottest characters in the verse. I don't care that he isn't really Geto. I'm still down bad for him. Him being Choso's dad and Yuji's mom doesn't even bother me. I know it should. Everything about this man should bother me, but I don't think he knows what is wrong with him. He is cooking with the stove off and no oil in the pan, but that's okay. I'll just cook dinner instead. I'll fix him. Maybe... though for real? He is just a good overall "I'm here for chaos" villain. His plan is nonsensical, but DAMN he is PLANNING! Everything has gone right for him! Even better than he hoped sometimes!!! That's hot. You can't tell me that isn't so sexy. He is so fucked up. I need him biblically. Not sure I want to be experimented on, but with that face? I'd probably say yes.

THE DEATHS............................................ I can't think of a single one that was worth it. Mahito was the only person I wanted to die by arc's end, and it wasn't brutal enough for me to be satisfied.

Rip Hanami and Jogo. Best married couple. Dagon, our little creature, rip. You eating all those people were adorable, you did nothing wrong.

NANAMI 😭 NOBARA 😭 GETO'S DAUGHTERS 😭

At least they can be dead together .....😭

WHY DIDN'T MEI MEI DIE!!!!!!!!!??????? I HATE HER!!!!!! Literally the arc would have been better if she died. I'm not kidding.

Thank goodness Maki didn't die. I just... ahhhh.

The principal dying....................... pointless and stupid. Literally didn't know him and then he died. This felt like Gege wanted to kill off someone else and just did a lottery.

Toji gets a "best dad award!" We love him. 💕

CHOSO IS THE BEST CHARACTER IN THE FRANCHISE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NOTHING IS BETTER THAN A GUY WHO LOVES HIS BROTHERS AND MOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I NEED THIS MAN!!!!!!!!! I NEED HIM NOW AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

I'd do anything for Choso.

Miwa and Mechamaru (I don't know what his real name is sorry.) ........... honestly nothing hurts worse than that subway scene. I wish they could have been together. It just... I get it but I hate the themes of JJK. I might hate the story too at this point. I just am on the train to see the trainwreak.

Sukuna somehow takes sexy evil and makes it unsexy and boring. I want to like him, but gosh its so hard to. He is really... boring... Just like how it took me a while to realize I was being tsundere for Gojo, I just haven't decided how I feel about him. Like okay him blowing away that many people is hot but he made Yuji cry......I'm just kidding I just feel like he has yet to have any qualities I see as redeeming or interesting, and his psyche isn't as bizarre and confusing as fake Geto so I don't want to put him in an observation chamber and study him. I need some information about him. I have no attachment. I think Hidden Inventory made me like Gojo so if we get anything about Sukuna's past I'll feel some way about him.

#jjk spoilers #manga of course #ahhh i respect the grind but i hate it #the story makes me so sad #and since it lacks hope im pretty sure its just going to become more depressing and soul crushing #not a single event has occurred for the better #thank goodness for fanfics

[alesyira]

ShinDeku Day 27: awkward

First Post | Prev | Next

He blinks awake sometime in the middle of the night. Hitoshi’s hand rests lightly over his heart, his nose buried in his hair as he sleeps on, undisturbed.

He shifts his foot beneath the sheets to ease an ache in his ankle, then flexes the hand that's resting above his head. His lips twitch into a smile when he feels Hitoshi's hair against his knuckles. It’s impossible to resist lazily drifting his fingers along the tips of those weightless gossamer strands.

Dim light from the streetlamps outside trickles in through the edge of the curtain, barely illuminating the room's interior. It's just enough for Izuku to drink in the details of his skin. He sleepily admires the sparkles of fine violet hairs along his arm, the pale marks from old scars, the dips and swells from relaxed muscles. Everything about his boyfriend is so damned enthralling.

Hitoshi’s fingertips twitch against his skin. His breathing is still relaxed. 

Izuku wonders if he’s dreaming. 

Hitoshi shifts closer in his sleep, the leg slotted between his thighs pressing firmly against his groin. 

Izuku sucks in a quiet breath as his eyes widen.

That feels way too nice. 

Hitoshi’s asleep, and he knows his boyfriend doesn’t get nearly enough rest. Izuku thinks he’s been resting better when they’re together based on how much improvement he can see in the shadows beneath his eyes, but he can’t—he won’t—interrupt a good night of rest just because he can't control horny thoughts for a few hours. 

He breathes out a slow sigh of exasperation, feeling unbelievably awkward. He has two obvious choices, either just somehow ignore the —oh no he shifted again and that felt amazing— ignore the spicy ideas quickly taking root in his brain, scrunch his eyes shut, and think unsexy thoughts until he can fall asleep again, ...or somehow shift away without disturbing Hitoshi’s sleep. His boyfriend moves his leg again and makes up Izuku's mind for him. He needs space now.

His escape does not go according to plan.

“Don’t go,” Hitoshi mumbles in his sleep, rolling closer to catch him under a heavy arm and leg. 

Izuku is now well and truly stuck.

He stills, hoping he hasn’t accidentally woken him. 

No further movements. 

Even breaths. 

Izuku exhales out a soft sigh of relief now that there isn’t anything pressed anywhere that’s overly sensitive. 

He marginally relaxes.

Yawns.

The cat purrs somewhere near his head. Hitoshi’s warm breath fans his shoulder. The limbs draped over him feel kind of like a weighted blanket, and he hugs Hitoshi’s arm to his chest. His eyes feel a little dry.

Maybe he’ll close them for just a moment. 

First Post | Prev | Next

#bnha #bnha fanfiction #mha #mha fanfiction #midoriya izuku #izuku midoriya #shinsou hitoshi #hitoshi shinsou #shindeku #shinzuku #the cute guy next door AU #shindeku month 2023 #shindeku month

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24HighSchoolStudents #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental education #environmental justice #environmental protection #environmental health #high school students #high school #youth #youth of america #school

[unproduciblesmackdown]

it’s also like Well Fine if the only plan for winston has always been & will continue to be [he’s a funny little guy] like yeah, he is, & that Is kind of fun in its own right sure, & obviously if they never do anything else with him then that’s what you have to take lol, and one can fill in blanks & interpret & hc things however, this that & the other thing is happening just out of frame, there’s so much that sure isn’t outright contradicted by canon b/c canon material for him is so fleeting & limited lol....but really it’s like. i mean just reflecting on how rian unlike winston was planned as a more Serious character to have more Prominence & it’s like good lord lmfao, i think winston is getting the better deal in this case even by having no character material or subplots. and of course even with better executed characters & threads, there’s a tradeoff with increased focus / material that affects or is affected by bigger plotlines more directly, since this is the show of having problems & eternal conflicts & clocking in at the sunk cost factory, any given character would be better off if they weren’t on it, so vibing tertiarily has it’s upsides lol, he's mostly hanging out, & if anyone was gonna defend him from the general insulting & rian being specifically dedicated to giving him shit, it’d presumably come at some additional cost since nobody’s been moved to try to improve such things for him just b/c they felt like it. also, really, society if there was actual material of rian & winston being friends normally, it was so promising lol & needlessly limiting that they Aren’t, as if like if rian did think he was fun & wasn’t out for his blood every day any moment, that nobody else would be pwning & insulting him, though ig nobody else is around him that much and taylor just doesn’t talk to him save for one scene one ep per season, & Someone’s got to do it....instead rian can have one connection and it’s a whatevership with taylor for the moment, are they friends? who can say. taylor could have a second employee, or personal something, or friend, but they have less potential material too for its being forbidden w/winston as this non character, or one too unserious and unsexy for the privilege of such material lol. yet for some reason they sure did posit in s6 that winston and rian are some kind of duo, except it’s so dominated by this bully/target dynamic lol and so little is glimpsed of friendlier moments b/w them that then are overridden by a return to the bullying that it’s like, i know friendship in billions is off the shits but if they’re supposed to be amicable beyond unilateral amicability from winston, i don’t know what you’re trying to show me here. however the fact that they have, maybe probably inadvertently as usual, shown us this incredibly An Autistic Character of all time, good god. and he is a funny little guy and i’ve carried him around since the fateful [all season three appearances] discovery day. and we’re kind of back to that zone in terms of limited expectations for his further material that we nevertheless know will exist lol after kind of gearing up like well i’m sure with all this recurring and the way other recurring tertiary funny little guys can be handled on this show and that now the actor isn’t busy w/a broadway show & look you introduced a friend and they immediately grab on to each other, it’s Winston Character Time i’m sure....and they were like haha what? and anyways. as a series of complaints, this has in actuality been like shaking Professional Appreciator thoughts out & stringing disjointed comments together into this post like pearls. tl;dr winston is a gem, who else is just like this. if nothing else, the particular Environment that is billions the series & the way it operates sure makes for an enriching execution of [woops, unknowingly writing an autistic person] lol, he can’t actually be too zany b/c the show isn’t overly solemn but has its limits and there’s already some other guys filling this niche of like being kinda more out there cartoony and weird, and he can’t be like, the ah. archetypical “this guy is so Impersonable but gosh darn it he’s a genius so you just gotta put up with him very much being an asshole on purpose” which is more serious (and prominent)........anyways: when you’re a quantnoisseur. literally me

#and i speak for myself very deliberately lol like. in a ''i don't know you'' way abt anyone else out there perceiving winston #people invited onto the council / into the philosophy symposium will include like twitter randos who crop up about it lmfao #like hell yeah 70 yr old lady who also loves winston or rando guy who mentions that's one of your favorite characters. right on #winston billions #just kind of shaking the mental backpack out here with a bunch of scattered Things I Am Saying #builds up over time & then some arbitrary day / night comes along and i feel like meanderingly typing a lot of things #kind of the odds n ends of remarks out here with a vague gesture at ''ffs at The Writing and yet we have fun; winston's fun regardless'' #and of course shoutout to when a character is prominent and the material is engaging: the way this is the taylor mason series actually #that's what's good babey....wynnstannery just happening to be the particular angle i cover / my full time job lol #ofc i appreciate taylor mason but i realize i don't have the Thee Appreciation of Their professional full time appreciator lol #nor the expertise lol billions my fave show? haven't seen it exactly #it's called the destined niche alignments through which you can cover more ground via teamwork making that dream work? obv...

[deerblossoms]

it is august and i’m 20 and i think this is the emptiest i’ve felt in years. it’s crazy because objectively my life is SO much better than it once was. i should be ecstatic every day and i don’t think i care really. i got on wellbutrin and was taking that with the lexapro until they ran out and then when i went to refill them they only gave me the wellbutrin. apparently my lexapro prescription was cancelled? i haven’t had the motivation to message my provider and honestly haven’t even had the motivation to take my meds at all. probably has something to do with the emptiness! but i dread it because now that i’m not consistently on wellbutrin, whenever i take one i seem to get suicidal and have a little freakout. could be coincidence but i’m not enjoying it! my life’s had so many ups and downs over the past few months. jo and i broke up, not mutually on their part but it had to be done. i’ve thought about it so many times and i don’t think there’s anything that could’ve been done differently. i think the turning point was december when we hooked up for the first time and after that we were just fated for this. anyway, it would have happened eventually. frankly if it hadn’t, i don’t think i’d know as much about myself as i do now but i hate that jo ended up being my fucking guinea pig for self discovery. besides, what i discovered is that i really am an ass. commitment issues, not very ethical in my non-monogamy, deeply avoidant, anger issues up the wazoo, completely non-communicative, etc. kayla and i are still seeing each other and have at least talked about WHY we’re not going to call it dating. and we’re not going to call it dating! largely because i’m a complete dick who it would be unwise to officially commit to.

i hooked up with my friend recently and then got later propositioned for a threesome by said person with our mutual friend. not exactly the life i expected for myself if i’m being honest! not like i’m mad about it. everyone thinks i’m crazy sexy these days and i would be a liar if i said it wasn’t going slightly to my head. but to be honest i don’t really think that’s a bad thing i’ve felt unsexy and unattractive my whole life! i deserve to feel like the shit.

i’ve been missing margarita lately which just sucks if i’m being honest because they have too much self-respect to actually talk to me. so we can’t even be friends. which is my fault! i screwed it up and there’s no way around that. but i miss them. i’ve started cooking a little more often recently but still only my one pasta recipe. and i realized i hadn’t drawn for like 8 months so now i’m trying to get back into it. i wish so deeply i could make myself do the things i want to do. i want to paint and sketch at home and go to life drawing classes and pottery classes and take photos and make collages and make videos of things and get back into editing and learn about fashion history and clothing and learn how to sew and live a life i’m proud of and instead i’m just the most bored person ever. i practically live at the bar by my job. i’m there more than my seasoned alcoholic friend who introduced me to the place in the first place. and i’ve made some of my best friends through this and i’m not going to act like that’s not the reason i go. i go to see them! but i think i also go to avoid going home because i’m afraid if i go home i’ll do nothing and feel like shit. and so i might as well do nothing in good company and feel like my time was spent well even if it was spent at the same bar every time. i’ll be there tonight without a SHADOW of a doubt.

in positive news it turns out that HR cut my hourly by $3 about 4 months ago and i only found out last month. have been really stressed and mad for a while about it! and when i brought it up to my boss the other day not only did he profusely apologize and tell me he’d get it fixed immediately and include a few weeks minimum of retropay, he also told me he’s going to give me a $1 raise on top of my initial rate. which is SO EXCITING!!!! AND AND AND lainey’s getting married in november in copenhagen and i’m invited!!! duh. the only stressful part is getting my passport and for some reason i’ve been putting it off for like 3 months which means now i am like. super super down to the wire and i’ll definitely have to pay the extra $60 to get it expedited. which is……fine! now that i have my RAISE.

i’ve been missing my parents a little more recently. i can’t say that i know why. i’m not really missing them but i’m missing who i wish they were for me. or wishing they were the best parts of themselves, i guess. i miss drawing with my mom and goofing around and watching tv and eating snacks and going to cafes and i wish that i could go hiking with her now that there’s less tension and i have an appreciation for it. and i miss hanging out with my dad and listening to music together and taking trips and i miss when i was little and we would dance in the kitchen together and it hurts so much that i don’t get that anymore. i barely got it to begin with past like, 9. we would get along so well if they wouldn’t take one look at me and hate me. and it’s not fair because i love my parents and i can’t stand them anyway. and there is a part of me that can never forgive them for the years of abuse they inflicted on me. especially because they’re never going to understand the toll they took on me! everything’s so bittersweet these days and when it’s not it’s usually just bitter. but most of it’s bittersweet. and i guess this is a depressive episode but it just feels so boring. it’s just one big all-consuming hole inside me. sometimes i think i’d be happier in washington and then i remember how i’m actually just bored everywhere. honestly i’ll be happier once i get my license and passport because then i’ll be able to drive upstate to the apple orchards and the waterfalls and the cute little towns and the ren faire and then to canada and see everything beautiful.

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Good Morning Showers

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x reader (cishet woman, no y/n, no kids, established relationship)

Tags/warnings: PiV sex with no mentioned protection (they're fine, though), some basic dirty talk.

Summary: Morning sex in a cold bedroom with the rain beating on the window, is there anything better?

Words: 2,419

Notes: This goes together with Good Night Showers but it's not necessarily the same couple. Also, this one turned a lot spicier than I intended, so if you're looking for something as cozy and nice as Good Night Showers, you're not gonna find it here, I'm afraid.

Frankie awakes to the sound of rain on the roof. It’s mid-October and the bedroom is chilly, even to him, and he doesn’t freeze easily. But it’s warm and cozy underneath the covers, and that’s where he remains. It’s dark, but when he turns his head to the side, he can see the outline of the woman sleeping next to him.

You.

It amazes him every morning that you’re here. The smell of your apartment has quickly become familiar to him, and the rooms have become home, but the fact that you are here, with him, is something he can’t quite grasp yet. At least not first thing in the morning, when his inner military clock has decided it’s time to wake up but his body is nowhere near ready to give up sleep.

Lazy Sunday mornings with you are his favorites. To be able to stay in bed with you, kiss you out of sleep and then slide into you while you’re soft and compliant, to move inside you and hear your gasping breaths… Frankie grunts to himself when his boxers start to tent. Dammit. You’re not going to be happy about being woken up this early, not even for sex. He immediately feels bad for thinking about sex first thing, but in the next moment he decides that there’s no shame in wanting you. As he looks at your sleeping form, his eyes grow accustomed to the half-light, and he begins to discern your eyebrows, lashes, the ridge of your nose, and your lips.

You sleep late in the mornings. Something Frankie learned even before he moved in with you was that your morning temper is not to be trifled with. He knows that it’s better to let you sleep as late as you want to, and then wake you slowly with caresses

and coffee.

Christ, he wants you. But it’s too early, he can’t wake you up just yet, you’d have this balls for breakfast, and not in a good way.

Carefully, he turns onto his back and contemplates a silent hand job to take care of his uncomfortable boner, but decides against it. He would feel weird doing it with you unconscious next to him. And if you woke up, he’d feel even more weird. Wrong. Unleashed. No, it’s better to last it out, think unsexy thoughts.

One hand resting on his belly, those unsexy thoughts come quickly in the form of self-doubt when his fingers sink into soft flesh. He’s not as slender as he used to be. Time and civilian life has softened him, made his stomach press against and slightly over his belt buckle, filled out his thighs. He’s had to go up one size in jeans, rendering his still pathetically small ass a flat little pancake hidden behind baggy denim. He has a double chin, particularly when he’s laughing. He tries not to think about it. He loves laughing together with you, adores your smile, lives for your laughter. He can’t let his aging body get in the way of that. And you love him, no matter what he looks like, he knows you do.

Fuck.

He’s thinking about you again. How happy you make him. How hard you make him. He turns his head to look at you once more. The love he feels for you is… undiluted and incredibly strong, almost addictive. The need to be physical with you is almost tangible at times. He has to touch you, all the time. You are his world. You are everything. Even now, especially now, when you’re snuffling like a little pig, no doubt because the cold air of the bedroom has made you congested, you are everything to him.

The rain increases in strength, and with that, a gush of wind comes in through the open window, making you shift. You arm reaches over to his side of the bed in search of him, and it makes his heart joyously skip a beat. Finding his arm, you lie still for a moment before drawing a deep, stuttering breath, and slowly opening your eyes.

”Morning,” he whispers, and is rewarded with a thin smile.

”Whattimeissit…?” Your voice is raspy and you do sound congested.

”Way too early. Go back to sleep, querida.”

You murmur something about cold and scoot closer, pressing your face against his shoulder. Your body feels cool against his. You get cold easily and love to burrow against him, but during the night you usually emigrate to the other side of the bed, the covers retaining enough of the warmth of both your bodies to make you too warm to be comfortable. But the wind definitely picked up during the night and you’re both feeling it now.

Frankie extends his hand and draws one finger down your cheek, taking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You stay quiet and still for a moment and he thinks you’ve gone back to sleep, but then you sigh and put your hand on the softest part of his stomach. A wide grin spreads across his face and he’s filled with warmth. It’s like you know.

Your hand slides south and lands on his erection. Frankie tenses up for one breath before relaxing again, his cock twitching into your hand.

”Mmmm,” you mumble, like you found and tasted a delicious treat. A shiver runs through you and Frankie misinterprets it.

“I’ll close the window.”

He moves towards the edge of the bed but you grab his stiff dick through his boxers.

“No!”

He groans; your grip is on the verge of painful.

“Sorry,” you whisper throatily before you cough and let go. Frankie slips out of bed and closes the window, his skin rising in goosebumps before quickly returning to the warmth of the bed, where he collects you in his arms.

“You didn’t catch a cold overnight, did you?” he asks you softly when you sniffle again.

“Naah…”

“Warm me up,” you murmur before reclaiming his lips.

You pass your open palm over him, firmly but carefully. Frankie sighs and lowers his lips to yours: they’re a little cold and dry but surprisingly demanding, considering the early hour. You roll half on top of him, your other hand reaching up to his neck, fingers playing lazily with the short hairs at the back of his neck. Small shivers of

pleasure run down his spine to his pelvis. His dick twitches again under your palm and he sighs into the kiss.

“Oh, baby…”

God, he loves you. He loves your tits pressing up against his chest. He loves how one of your thighs press down on his cock, freeing up your hand to slide up his chest and pinch a nipple into stiffness before settling on his shoulder to hold onto him. He loves your sleepy kisses.

And sleepy is what you are. Despite your growing desire, you could still easily let yourself be pulled back into dreamland. The covers have slipped down your shoulder slightly, your skin knotting and its fine hairs rising. Frankie resettles the covers before gently pushing you off of him.

“Lemme cover you, querida.”

You lie down on your back next to him and he rolls over you. Lowering his face to your neck, he starts to trail soft-yet-scratchy kisses along your skin, down to your shoulder, before diving under the covers to suck a nipple into his mouth. You arch your back, humming low when jolts of pleasure run through your body. Frankie spends quite some time teasing your tits with hands and lips before you grow tired of waiting.

“Need you, Frankie,” you moan, threading your fingers through his bed hair before taking a firm hold and pulling him up for a kiss. Once you have his lips against yours, you release his hair and move to tug down your panties and his shorts.

“Don’t you want me to go down on you first…?” His voice is all sweet seduction and it makes your pussy clench, but no, that’s not what you want now. Frankie’s penchant for eating pussy is one of the many great things about him, but there are times when you just want him in you.

This is definitely one of them.

“I need your cock,” you specify for him in a whispered gasp, and he presses his lips to yours before helping you tear off your panties. He lowers himself over you, settling between your spread thighs, and skims his hand over your throbbing pussy.

“You wet enough for me, my love?” he murmurs into your ear as he dips one finger into you. It’s not just sexy talk: he’s a big guy and if you’re not lubricated enough, it’s going to hurt you and be uncomfortable to him.

“Come to me, baby,” you moan as he rubs his finger to your spot, your hips moving against his finger, wanting to filled up by something thicker.

“God…” Frankie quickly replaces his digit with the head of his cock. With a quick, deep thrust that shoves you up a few inches and makes you cry out, he buries himself to the hilt.

“Fuck! Oh God, oh Frankie, that’s so fucking big…!” You wrap your arms around him and pull him down to you, on top of you. The sensation of being speared by him runs up your spine to the back of you head and soaks your brain in pleasure.

“So full,” you whimper against his shoulder as he bucks into you forcefully a couple of times, “so – full – of – your cock, baby!”

You’re wide awake now, and your skin feels like it’s on fire when Frankie sucks a bruise on your breast while coming to a slow, almost lazy rhythm in and out of you. The initial shock of him splitting you open subsides into a sense of comfortable fulfillment, of him belonging inside you, no matter how deep the reach or how wide the stretch.

“You take me so well, baby,” he groans before snagging a piece of skin on your neck between his teeth and sucking. “So wet and ready for me as soon as you wake up. So tight and warm.”

It is getting plenty warm underneath the covers now, and you welcome it. The contrast between the cool air of the room and the heating coziness in bed is the perfect setting for morning sex, with the rain still beating against the window. You run your hands up his waist, over his shoulders, and bury your fingers in his tousled hair, enjoying the feel of every inch of him, not just the impressive ones filling you with each leisurely roll of his narrow hips. Frankie lifts his head from next to yours and seeks your lips for a slow, soft kiss in which your moans can safely drown.

“Frankie,” you beg him, “go faster, please.” You sneak one hand down between the two of you to rub your clit, and your pussy squeezes hard at the heightened pleasure. Frankie groans and stops, forehead to yours.

“So fucking tight when you do that, baby…” He draws a deep breath before repositioning himself, now propped up on his elbows, his knees spread wider apart, your legs sliding up and around his hips. With a couple of rough thrusts, he knocks the breath out of you, before he starts to fuck you at a faster pace.

“Like this?” he gasps against your jaw. “Like it when I fuck you like this?”

“Yeah,” you manage, “’s good, so good…!” You rub your clit furiously, chasing your release, getting nearer each time Frankie’s hips connect with yours. You bring your free hand behind his head and pull him in for a breathless, clumsy kiss when the first waves of the orgasm start to lap at your shores, making you tremble.

“Good girl,” Frankie encourages you, his teeth clenched, “cum on my cock, baby, just like that.”

He ducks down to suck your nipple into his mouth as you let yourself go in wave after extraordinary wave of bliss, your voice louder than the heavy rain outside, your hand staying stubbornly on your throbbing clit. When you finally grow oversensitive, you whine Frankie’s name and put your hands on him, neither pushing him away nor pulling him to you, uncertain yourself about what you need.

Frankie’s not uncertain, however. He pulls out and nuzzles your neck, gasping for breath.

“That felt so good, baby, you were squeezing me so tightly,” he praises you with small kisses on your neck. “Now turn around so I can fuck your wet little pussy from behind.”

Too exhausted and simultaneously riled up, you roll over. Frankie rearranges himself, his stiff, sticky cock resting against your ass before he finds you between your soft thighs, and slowly slides in. You exhale audibly, easily taking all of him, welcoming him back into you with a teasing squeeze of your slick walls.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he murmurs, and drapes himself over your back to keep you warm. For a moment, he holds you softly, kissing your shoulder, shallow, hot breath burning your skin.

Then he starts to fuck you into the mattress, fast and deep. You’re completely trapped underneath him, and as he wraps one arm around your shoulder and the other around your head, he has the leverage to fuck you even harder.

“Fuck that pussy,” you moan into the pillow, “thassit, baby, fuck your cum deep into my tight pussy!”

Frankie growls, teeth sinking into your shoulder, and speeds up, before his balls tighten and he spurts thick ropes of cum into your core while gasping your name.

“Fuck… baby… your dirty mouth will be the death of me…”

You squeeze his quivering cock inside you and move your hips against his, prolonging his orgasm, until he moans and slips out, only to slide down onto the mattress right next to you. You turn your head so that you can look at him in the dark of the bedroom.

“Okay?” he asks you, still breathless.

“Warm and satisfied,” you promise with a weakened giggle. Frankie barks out a laugh as well and passes one hand through his damp hair.

“Yeah. I should grab a shower.”

“Later.” You extend your neck so that you can kiss his sweaty forehead. “Rest now. It’s still early, and still cold outside of bed.”

“That it is,” he murmurs. “Love you, querida.”

“Love you, too.”

It only takes the rain a couple of minutes to lull both of you back to sleep.

#my fic #triple frontier fanfic #francisco catfish morales #francisco frankie morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader

[sirthisisa-wendys]

hello wendy! wanted to say that king if sorrow got me hooked. you write ran so well ✨ if you're up for it can you do part 2 for king of sorrow afsgs are they gonna get counseling or are they gonna get divorced 😭 thank you sm! 🌷

I got it requested twice

WRITING IT NOW BECAUSE ISSA MERGENCY

King of Sorrow (Part 2): Ran Haitani x Fem!Reader

wc: 1k

tw: NSFW

masterlist

song recommendation:

Trust.

"I don't trust you."

Shame.

"How could you do this to me?"

Sorrow.

"I can't... I can't look at you right now."

Revenge.

"He never fucked you like this, did he?"

Your face is pressed into the pillows, and Ran's hand is smushed against your cheek.

You deserve this.

You deserve every second of this.

"Fucking bitch."

It stings. It really, really stings to hear Ran call you a bitch. He'd never been so crude before. He'd never been so quick to push you against the dresser and strip you of your clothes - tearing the thin fabric of your nightgown as he littered hickies over your delicate skin. Rough hands accompanied the rough kisses, and you lost yourself in the way Ran degraded you, every word eating away at your soul.

"Did his cock fill your pussy like this?"

You want to cry and tell Ran you're sorry - make him feel better with your words somehow - but you lay there, dumbly staring at the wall while you feel every nerve light up in your body, bringing you to a climax you didn't expect. You don't even cry out; you just shiver and shake, breathing through your clenched teeth.

"Didn't think so." Ran pulls out of you, still hard, and gathers his clothes from the floor where he discarded them without a care in the world.

"Where are you going?" you rasp, still ass-up on the bed and clutching the bedsheets.

"Back to Rindou's house. I just needed to grab a few pairs of clothes." Ran tucks his still hard cock into his pants and grabs his duffel bag, slinging it over his shoulder and leaving you a wet, tangled mess.

_____________________________________________________________

"Mr. Haitani, this isn't helping your relationship." You look over to Ran, his face covered by his hand. "You need to be mature about what's happening here."

Ran's hand is shaking, and you wonder if you just reached out to touch him--

"I'm still angry." The words are like daggers to your sore heart.

"And I think that has been made very clear with the actions you've taken over the past few weeks." The unspoken number of times Ran came over to "get something" and ended up fucking you senseless hung between you two like a desolate reminder of the mistakes you both made. The number of days since an accident? Zero. Zilch. Null.

"Do you still love y/n, Ran?"

"Yes." The whispered word is pained, and you hear the strain in Ran's voice. He doesn't want to admit it, but he did. And there's nothing you can do to change that. "When I think of her with another man, I can't control myself. I get so--" Ran shakes his head. "I get so possessive."

"Why be possessive with something that's already yours?" The counselor shifts in his seat, tilting his head to the side. "Ran, I want you and y/n to try something. Intimacy." Ran stiffens. "Now before you say 'no', listen. I want you to touch her without seducing her. Touch her and notice things, nothing sexual. Y/n, I need you to do the same. Keep your self-control. Try this until you feel the anger subside. And if you can't relax, then you should consider separating and maybe a divorce."

_____________________________________________________________

Ran's fingers start with your hair.

He's always loved your curls, wrapping them around his finger while you slept, or running them through with your deep conditioner as you sat and watched him work in the mirror.

God, he misses wash days.

You let him touch you without roughness or hickies or bruises or exaggerated gestures that make you feel small, and for a second, you remember the Ran that used to be your husband.

"I miss seeing your smile," you whisper as his fingers ghost across your lips.

"I miss watching your face in the mornings as you sleep." You press a kiss to his fingers, hesitating when you remember the "no sexual touch" rule.

"I miss feeling you in the bed beside me at night." Ran slides his fingers down to your clavicle, then down the exposed parts of your stomach underneath the robe.

"I miss dreaming about having kids." You bite your lip, holding back a sharp inhale.

"I miss packing your lunch."

Your hands run through his hair and then to his ears, the pierced lobes resting between your thumbs and forefingers.

"I miss eating that lunch." You chuckle, smoothing your thumbs down his jawline. "I miss your snoring."

"I miss yours."

Your hands are wrapped up in Ran's shirt, loosing his tie and climbing into his lap.

"I know he said--" Ran whispers, running his nose across your neck and pressing a quick kiss to your neck.

"We shouldn't--" he huffs.

"Ran, I can't take this," you whisper, but Ran pulls back anyways, eyes fluttering back open.

"I can't either, but..." Ran pries your hands away from his shirt and tie. "We shouldn't get too caught up in the sex. I don't want to ignore the fact that we are seriously in trouble. Do we need to sit across from each other without touching and just--"

"No," you plead, grasping his shirt again. "Don't let me go." Ran presses the gentlest kiss to your forehead, lacing his arms around you as you burst into tears, burying your face into his chest. "I'm sorry, Ran," you croak. "I'm so sorry..."

_____________________________________________________________

Ran prefers to see you in the bed he bought at night.

He looks away from the computer screen, taking off his glasses and gazing at your sleeping form in the king-size behemoth behind him.

In society's eyes, you were absolutely unsexy as you slept: hair tangled around your face, mouth open, soft snores rumbling in your throat. But Ran had dreamt of this moment for months.

He wanted to look back and see you in the bed, utterly unguarded, trusting him to protect and take care of you.

You didn't need anyone else.

No other man but him.

He rises from his chair and walks over to you, depositing a small kiss on your forehead. You stir a little, grunting and quirking your brows, but otherwise still deep in sleep.

"I love you."

Ran doesn't climb into the bed until the early morning, and his eyes drift shut as the sunlight peeks over the apartments and buildings in the distance, feeling his trust mending ever so slowly as you're nestled in between the bed and his right arm.

#ran haitani smut #ran haitani x reader #ran haitani #tokyorev smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #THERE #I gave you something that filled the ANGST-SIZED HOLE I left earlier #❤️

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24Leaders #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental justice #environment protection #environmental health #Youtube