#Bee is such a delight to write

[yuukirita]

Look what chapters out- number seven. We get some more happy busy Bee. And STEVE is BACK.

[x-i-l-verify]

Linked Universe Daemon AU Headcanons

WORLDBUILDING NOTE 1: The concept of daemons is borrowed from the His Dark Materials series. A daemon is a person’s soul manifested outside of their body in a tangible, physical form, which permanently settles into the form of the animal that most resembles them in character as the individual matures. Person and daemon are not separate beings, but two halves of one mental coin, which means that they each know everything the other does, thinks, and senses. Daemons are almost always the opposite gender of their person and have a distinct personality than the person to a certain degree, as person and daemon represent different aspects of the same whole. Touching someone’s daemon without their permission is taboo, considered a violation tantamount to rape in most cultures.

WORLDBUILDING NOTE 2: All Links have the same name for their daemon: Ellanharai (composed of the Old German elements ellan “courage” and heri “army”). However, because all the Links are their own person, their daemon’s form settles on something different with each incarnation. Just as the Links in the Chain go by different titles to differentiate them all, so, too, do their daemons. Links tend to settle early (12-13 years), as they generally know who they are and what they want from a young age.

WORLDBUILDING NOTE 3: The Dark World/Twili crystal magic combines someone and their daemon into one physical body. This new body has the form of the daemon but the gender of the person with size alterations or different markings/coloration and is controlled by the person, with the daemon part of their mind taking a backseat. For example, Legend is larger as a rabbit than his daemon usually is, and of course, her natural color is not bright pink. The lingering effects of this transformation only physically affect the person side of the person/daemon pair once they are returned to normal. 

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SKY + PSALM (RED-CROWNED CRANE)

Red-crowned cranes are renowned for their lasting and affectionate pair bonds, having come to represent longevity and devotion in many cultures; they are cooperative and low-aggression birds, quite tolerant and relaxed around other animals, and only really become territorial and protective over their nesting sites and chicks.

Psalm is impatient, mischievous, and fierce. Sky is more easygoing, considerate, and gentle.

Sky and Psalm are very outwardly affectionate with each other, and both can often be found napping together in a patch of sunlight, Psalm resting her head in Sky’s lap or draping a wing over him. As the physically tallest daemon of the bunch, Psalm delights in teasing fawning over her smaller daemon sisters, especially the younger ones. She will often sit on someone and happily brood, and while some may outwardly protest, everyone secretly enjoys it.

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FOUR + RHYME (ITALIAN HEBRAN HONEYBEE)

Four's daemon is an industrious, adaptable, cooperative, sociable species of honeybee, known for being assertive but not aggressive insects; they have a high threshold for what they consider threats, and will communicate using pheromones, body language, and vocalizations to make themselves as clearly understood as possible, but they will not hesitate to defend themselves if something is deemed a threat.

Four is empathetic, observant, passionate, and composed. Rhyme is the emotional, pragmatic, impulsive, competitive part of his personality.

Rhyme is usually kept in a protective case Four wears around his neck to prevent any harm from coming to her either in battle or out of it, due to her diminutive size, but he will happily let her out to stretch her wings when around people he trusts. While she is too small to outright cuddle with her sisters, Rhyme loves perching on their heads or burrowing into feathers or fur when it’s chilly, and she’s surprisingly expressive with her body language, though one might have to squint to see it.

When Four splits into his Colors, Rhyme also splits. Which means instead of one being in two bodies, they’re now one being in eight bodies. As in LU canon, none of the Colors is their own individual in this AU, merely a fraction of a larger whole. In turn, each iteration of Rhyme is an alternate part of each of the Colors, with Four’s soul fragmenting into smaller and smaller individual pieces the deeper you go down.

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TIME + MELODY (SPANISH FARON MASTIFF)

While menacing in appearance due to their sheer size and bulk, Spanish mastiffs are actually known for being protective, affectionate, quiet dogs, with a long history of guarding livestock; they are patient, easygoing, and surprisingly playful, good with children and tolerant of other animals, though their strong wills and stubbornness make them a challenge to handle for first-time dog owners.

Time is authoritative, jaded, and stoic, while Melody embodies his nurturing, hopeful, mischievous side.

Melody can often be found at Time’s side with one of his hands resting on her head or back. As the largest daemon in the group paired with the tallest person, they make for quite the intimidating pair and are downright deadly in battle together. Outside of battle, though, Melody becomes a big teddy bear, utterly content to let her daughters sisters use her as a pillow or mode of transportation, quietly communicating all the warm care and tenderness Time is sometimes too awkward to openly express. She is the one who introduced the musical motif the other Ellanharais also adopted when coming up with nicknames for themselves.

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TWILIGHT + ARIA (GRAY WOLF)

Twilight’s daemon is a social, cooperative, dedicated apex predator, who routinely work together to raise their young, defend their territories, and chase down their prey over vast distances; they are not overly aggressive and prefer to avoid conflict whenever they can, using body language, sent marking, and howling to diffuse tense situations and prevent costly fights between packs or individuals.

Twilight is focused, cautious, and opinionated. Aria is his easygoing, empathetic, people-pleasing side.

Aria instantly adopts most of the younger daemons in the group and dotes on them as much as they’ll allow. However, she turns into a big, besotted puppy whenever Time and Melody come into the picture and becomes adorably bashful around Malon’s pigeon daemon Rosamu. She is often found at Twilights right side, guarding his flank and watching his back while he focuses his attention on what’s in front of him. She also loves scritches and belly rubs and has nearly smothered Twilight more than once by sprawling on top of him too heavily while they sleep. While their initial transformation into Wolfie was traumatic and scarring at first, they have both grown to enjoy the occasional opportunity to truly travel, fight, and exist as one.

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WILD + TRILL (WEDGE-TAILED EAGLE)

Wild’s daemon is a loyal, resourceful, resilient species of raptor that is often found alone or in monogamous pairs, but will freely cooperate together with groups of up to 15 other eagles to take down larger prey; they are straightforward and communicative with their vocalizations and displays and also surprisingly playful, wrestling or playing food games with each other.

Trill is Wild’s dutiful, reserved, focused side, while Wild is the impulsive, playful, lackadaisical side.

Trill is rather choosy with and to whom she shows open affection. She can be very standoffish, preferring to let Wild do the talking for both of them, but once she trusts someone, she will often become very chatty and physically affectionate. It is common to see her riding around or napping on Aria's back, but she has begun opening up more to the others as well.

Because Wild lost all his memories in the Shrine of Resurrection, Trill had become unsettled when they finally woke up, taking the most basic shape a daemon can take, normally only seen with very young children: a small, floating, glowing ball of golden Dust. As they regained their memories during Wild’s quest and discovered more about themselves, Trill began taking on some of their old favored forms before eventually resettling for good as her original settled form, the wedge-tailed eagle. Despite physically being the same, though, there’s still that distance between who they are now and who they used to be, most evident in how their personalities have seemed to switch; Wild used to be more serious, focused, and responsible, and Trill used to embody the impulsivity, rowdiness, and wanderlust he kept tightly tamped down for the sake of duty and appearances. Both of them are still coming to terms with how much they have changed.

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LEGEND + LYRIC (EUROPEAN HYLIAN RABBIT)

Legend's daemon settled as a hardy, wary, sociable, territorial species of rabbit, able to survive and thrive in almost any environment; they are a keystone prey species, a vital part of almost any ecosystem they find themselves in, who must stay ever vigilant and rely on their speed, wits, and determination to stay alive.

Legend is blunt, private, and practical, while Lyric is the sensitive, sociable, sentimental side of him.

Legend has… a complicated relationship with his daemon’s form. He initially hides her away from the rest of the Chain out of paranoia and insecurity, keeping her in his pack at all times. What would Hyrule they think of the renowned Hero of Legend having a defenseless, soft little rabbit as a daemon? They would lose all respect for him, or worse, be disappointed. It isn’t until after the Twili crystal incident, and Twilight and Sky find out about Lyric’s form, that he starts to come out of his shell.

After the ice has been broken, Lyric leaps at the chance to interact with the other deamons more. She goads Aria or even Melody into games of chase, can finally properly pounce on Warriors’ daemon the next time she teases her, curls up into a little fuzzy ball with Hyrule’s daemon to nap, leaps up on Trill or Psalm or Wind’s daemon’s backs and coax them into giving her a ride, and holds Rhyme in her little paws to gloat that she finally knows a daemon smaller than her (Rhyme is not amused). She is the one who came up with the name for their group of daemons, which is a chorus, just like a group of Links is a chain.

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HYRULE + CADENCE (YELLOW-BELLIED GLIDER)

Hyrule’s daemon is a small, nocturnal glider species that is selectively social, close-bonding, and expressive, utilizing a number of chirps, whirrs, whistles, and growls to keep away intruders and keep tabs on each other; yellow-bellied gliders are incredibly active, hard-working creatures, spending up to 90% of their time awake foraging, and they can travel up to 2 kilometers in just 4 hours through a combination of climbing and gliding.

Hyrule is independent, wary, and agreeable. Cadence represents his dependent, connected, feisty side.

Cadence is generally quite a skittish daemon, who can normally be found clinging wide-eyed to Hyrule’s back, shoulders, chest, or arms, or hidden inside his tunic or pack. She has not interacted closely with many other daemons in her time (fairies do not have daemons), so she is still getting used to the physical affection the others offer. She does not dislike it; it is simply a lot. But she is gradually learning to love being nuzzled, cuddled, and carried, and she greatly enjoys riding around on the other larger daemons.

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WIND + SHANTY (MILITARY MACAW)

Wind settled just a couple months before the events of Linked Universe as a resourceful, gregarious, deeply loyal species of macaw; like all macaws, they can be quite loud, communicative, and expressive, and they have generally been described as having friendly, confident, playful dispositions, albeit with the occasional temperamental mood swing.

Shanty is Wind's meticulous, perceptive, down-to-earth side, while Wind is reckless, curious, and carefree.

As is befitting for a parrot daemon, Shanty spends much of her time perched on Wind’s shoulders or arms, though she does love being held and cuddled, too. She is still getting used to her settled form, and sometimes forgets she cannot shift like she once did, leading to some hilarious mishaps when she faceplanted on the ground trying to turn into a hermit crab, or one memorable instance where she nearly drowned while trying to become a yellowtail snapper. She gets very starry-eyed over the other demons and thinks all of them are the coolest for different reasons. She desperately wants to impress them and prove she’s just as badass as they are, so she can sometimes chafe under their well-meaning coddling.

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WARRIORS + BALLAD (RED FOX)

Warriors’ daemon settled as the confident, dependable, independent red fox, the most widespread and successful carnivore in the world, found in just about every available habitat, from jungle to tundra; despite being mainly solitary, these animals have a complex social hierarchy and can be seen in a wide variety of group settings, with vixens sometimes coming together during the breeding season to help raise each other’s cubs, and their mates bringing them food and also helping parent the new cubs.

Warriors is shrewd, charming, and diplomatic, while Ballad is more brash, cheeky, and candid.

Ballad, while generally friendly and warm with the other daemons (especially the younger ones), is also strangely skittish around them. She is fine initiating touch or curling up for a nice nap around or with someone else, but if touched unexpectedly, she tends to either bristle, growl, and retreat behind Warriors, or go very still and quiet. She shies away from any human hands except Warriors' (and even then there are days he doesn't touch her directly). They bring to mind other hands. Slim, small, elegant, painted hands that hurt, that took, that tainted- ...It’s fine. She’s fine. They’re fine. Everything’s fine.

---

Resources:

Red-crowned crane analysis: https://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=24990

Italian honeybee analysis: https://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=23882

Tibetan mastiff analysis: https://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=24552

Spanish mastiff information: https://dogtime.com/dog-breeds/spanish-mastiff

Gray wolf analysis: https://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=23828

Wedge tailed eagle analysis: https://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=26686

European rabbit analysis: https://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=23718

Yellow bellied glider analysis: https://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=24968

Military macaw analysis: https://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=26591

Red fox analysis: https://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=24946

Art belongs to @/linkeduniverse

[thebusylilbee]

ive had "I'm just Ken" stuck in my head ever since I watched Barbie last saturday smh

[cressidagrey]

Built to Last

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Part of the The mysterious Mrs. Piastri Series.

Summary:   Oscar and Felicity have their own Wedding Anniversary Traditions. 

Warnings and Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

Oscar didn’t mean to mention it.

They were halfway through a post-sim debrief, leaning against the wall outside the engineering bay, sipping coffee. The conversation was harmless, easy: weather, schedules…

And then, somewhere between a yawn and checking his calendar, Oscar said it.

“Anniversary’s next week.”

Lando blinked over the rim of his cup. “Wait. Anniversary anniversary?”

Oscar glanced sideways, frowning faintly. “Yeah. Wedding.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Then Lando made a sound like a cat being startled from a nap and nearly dropped his coffee. “Mate. What are you doing? Where are you taking her? What’s the plan? I’ll babysit. Have you booked something? Have you bought her a present? Is it diamonds? It should be diamonds.”

Oscar blinked. “It’s… not diamonds.”

Lando looked personally betrayed. Like Oscar had just declared that love was fake and Santa wasn’t real.

“You’re telling me you’ve been married for five years and you don’t do an anniversary anniversary?”

Oscar shifted his weight, eyebrows pinching together. “We usually just… make grilled cheese. Sit on the porch. If Bee’s asleep, we drink wine. If she’s not, we share juice boxes. Maybe pick out a piece of furniture. Something we actually need.”

Lando stared. “That’s it?”

Oscar shrugged. “We like it.”

“But—” Lando flailed, gesturing with his coffee like it was a wand summoning romance. “But this is the one day a yearwhen you go big. You know, romantic dinner, private jet, maybe one of those poems that makes people cry.”

“I’m not writing Fliss a poem.”

“Why not?!”

“Because I’d die of secondhand embarrassment before she even finished reading it. And she’d probably edit it for rhythm and meter and grammar.”

“She’d annotate your love poem,” Lando breathed, delighted. “God, I love her.”

Oscar smirked into his cup. “Same.”

Lando narrowed his eyes. “Okay, but still—you’re telling me you’ve never done a surprise trip? Champagne on a boat? A room full of candles? A necklace in a soufflé?”

“That’s a choking hazard.”

“You’re impossible.”

Oscar sipped his coffee and shrugged again, but this time, the movement wasn’t quite so casual.

Because the truth was… he hadn’t really thought about it.

Not in the way Lando meant.

He and Felicity didn’t do fireworks. Their entire relationship had been built on low murmurs and steady hands, not fanfare and spectacle. Their romance was forged in the back corners of university labs and packed lunches, in checking engine oil and falling asleep on the couch after Bee finally stopped crying at 3 am. It wasn’t showy. It wasn’t curated. It was real. Grounded.

But now, with Lando’s eyes boring into him like Oscar had committed a federal crime against romance, he felt a small, unsettling prickle of doubt crawl up the back of his neck.

Maybe he should’ve planned something. Maybe grilled cheese wasn’t enough. Maybe Felicity deserved diamonds and candlelit dinners and Instagram-worthy anniversaries with rose petals and skyline views.

He’d never once heard her complain. Never once seen disappointment flicker in her eyes when they swapped fancy reservations for couch blankets or museum dates for garden centre runs.

But still.

He took another sip of his coffee, slower this time.

“Maybe I’ll… think about it,” he muttered.

***

Later that evening, Oscar padded barefoot into the kitchen.

The house smelled like vanilla and sugar and the faint, familiar undertone of something gently burning in the oven. Warm light spilt across the tiled floor. Felicity was elbow-deep in flour at the counter, sleeves rolled to her elbows, curls falling loose from the bun on top of her head. Beside her, Bee stood on her wooden step stool, tongue poked out in concentration as she whacked cookie cutters into rolled dough with the determination of a tiny construction foreman.

There was flour on the floor. On the counter. In Bee’s eyebrows. One of the cats had paw prints across the hallway that suggested he had also tried to help. It looked like domestic chaos and safety, and home.

Oscar leaned against the doorframe and took a moment to watch them — Bee holding up a wonky star shape like she’d just forged the moon, Felicity smiling as she adjusted the dough thickness with an old wooden rolling pin they’d found at a flea market on holiday.

He cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft, a little scratchy with nerves. “Do you… wanna do something for the anniversary this year? Like. A thing.”

Felicity glanced up.

She didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him — really looked — eyes narrowing slightly in amusement.

And then she laughed.

Not unkindly. Never that. It was the sort of laugh that curled through the room like sunshine, golden and affectionate and just the tiniest bit smug. The kind that said she already knew where this was going. That maybe Lando had texted her before Oscar even made it home.

“You want to do a thing?” she asked, brushing a flour-smudged curl off her forehead with the back of her wrist.

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, the way he always did when he felt a bit uncertain. “I mean… not like a jet to Paris kind of thing. Unless you want to. But just… I don’t know. Something special?”

She grinned — full teeth, eyes soft. Wiped her hands on a tea towel and stepped away from the counter.

“Oz, we got married at a registry office and ate Pret sandwiches on a bench outside. You think I’m holding out for a rooftop dinner now?”

Oscar shifted his weight. “I just thought… maybe you wanted something a bit more… grand?”

She snorted.

Actually snorted. Then, full-body laughed, leaning back against the counter, shoulders shaking.

Bee looked up, startled. “Mama snorted.”

“I did,” Felicity said, brushing her knuckles against her nose. “Because your papa is being very sweet.”

She turned back to Oscar, eyes still crinkled at the corners. “What brought this on?”

He sighed, defeated. “Lando.”

“Ah.” Her mouth twitched. “Lando said. Of course.”

“He asked if I’d bought you diamonds,” Oscar muttered, stepping fully into the kitchen now. “Or planned a surprise trip. Or hidden a necklace in a soufflé.”

Felicity’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “A soufflé?”

“I know.”

“He does realise you don’t like soufflés, right?”

Oscar chuckled. “I told him that was a choking hazard.”

Felicity laughed again, and then reached across the counter to take his hand. Her fingers were cool from the dough, her touch familiar and grounding. The weight of it settled something in Oscar’s chest.

“We went to Pret after our wedding,” she said.

Oscar nodded. “In our wedding clothes. On a bench outside.”

“I got egg mayo on my dress.”

Bee, still diligently cutting stars, looked up and said solemnly, “I like egg mayo.”

Oscar squeezed Felicity’s hand. “Your mama’s the only person I know who would pick a sandwich over a three-course meal.”

“And your Papa married me anyway,” Felicity said, proudly.

“I got the better end of the deal.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately. “Don’t get sentimental, Tin Man.”

He hesitated. “But still… five years is a big. And I don’t want you to think I don’t care. Just because we don’t do all that—” he gestured vaguely toward the ceiling “—sparkler-and-chandelier stuff.”

“I don’t need sparkles,” she said gently. “We already have our tradition.”

Oscar blinked.

“Every year,” she said, “we pick something for the house. Something that matches the traditional anniversary theme.”

“Right,” Oscar said, memory clicking into place. “Year one — paper — we got Bee’s sonogram framed.”

“Two was cotton — the new sheets,” Felicity added. “Three, leather — that vintage armchair from Brighton. Four was fruit — we planted the lemon tree. Which is still alive, by the way.”

Oscar grinned. “So this year…?”

“Wood,” Felicity said, brightly. “I was thinking maybe a hutch for the dining room? Something low enough for Bee to use, too. Or we could go to that reclaimed timber place you like. Get something together. As a family.”

She paused, then added slyly, “Unless you’d rather get me a life-sized mahogany sculpture of your face.”

Oscar made a face. “God, no.”

Felicity kissed him then. Quick, warm, and sweet — flour and sugar clinging to her cheek. The smell of dough in her hair.

“Let’s do what we always do,” she said. “Grilled cheese sandwiches. Something for the house. And maybe a dance in the kitchen when Bee’s asleep.”

Oscar leaned his forehead against hers.

“You’re not disappointed?”

Felicity looked up at him, so sure, so steady. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I don’t need a yacht. I need a hutch and a sandwich and you.”

Oscar swallowed.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I really want that hutch.”

Bee looked up from the counter and asked innocently, “What’s a hutch?”

And Felicity grinned. “It’s where we put the cookies, baby.”

***

Five years.

Oscar still couldn’t quite believe it.

Not in the dramatic, we made it through storms and fire kind of way. Not even in the dazed, champagne-toast-and-fireworks sense people always talked about when anniversaries came up in interviews.

It was quieter than that. Softer. It was the realisation that love could be an accumulation instead of a crescendo.

It was the gentle clink of plates in the morning and Bee’s feet swinging rhythmically against the chair legs. It was the scent of coffee lingering in the air and the warmth of Felicity’s hand on his back as she passed behind him in the kitchen. It was the smear of strawberry jam Bee had left on the counter. The playlist Felicity always put on when she was in a good mood. The socks Oscar was wearing—his, but mismatched, because Bee had picked them out for him while giggling.

Five years married. Eight together. One life—stitched together out of early morning moments and late night compromises. Out of burnt toast and half-written text messages and late returns from races.

“Extra sharp cheddar and caramelised onion chutney,” Felicity announced, flipping one of the sandwiches in the pan with decisive grace. Her hair was still damp from the shower, curling slightly at the nape of her neck. “Don’t let it be said I don’t put in effort.”

Oscar, perched sideways on one of the stools by the kitchen island, raised his hands in mock surrender. “You know I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

“Lando texted me to make sure I remembered,” she deadpanned. “Apparently, this is now a cultural event.”

Bee, seated at the dining table with her plush frog and a mini sandwich cut into stars, beamed up at both of them. “I love anniversary grilled cheese.”

“You love any grilled cheese,” Felicity said without looking up.

“I love love grilled cheese,” Bee insisted, her voice full of confidence and cheese-induced delight, legs swinging beneath the table like a metronome of joy.

Oscar laughed quietly. “That’s a bold statement.”

Bee pointed at her sandwich with all the solemnity of a toddler philosopher. “It’s warm and gooey and special. Like Mama and Papa.”

That stopped him for a second.

Felicity glanced over and raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Do not cry over grilled cheese, Oz.”

“I’m not crying,” Oscar said, already reaching for a napkin. “There’s just… steam in my eyes.”

They ate slowly, comfortably—Felicity curled up in her usual spot with her plate on her knees, Oscar dipping the corners of his sandwich into his tomato soup, Bee talking non-stop about a worm she found in the garden yesterday. The kitchen was golden with afternoon sun. No candles, no tablecloth, no grand declarations—just the three of them, a shared meal, and the faint crackle of an old playlist Felicity had made back when they still lived in Enstone, back when money was tight and futures uncertain and grilled cheese had been dinner out of necessity, not tradition.

But tradition it had become.

In the afternoon, they piled into the car and drove out to a secondhand furniture barn two towns over.

It wasn’t glamorous, but then again, neither were they. They liked it that way. Felicity had found the place during a parts run last year—one of those half-accidental discoveries she stored away in her head for a later date. She liked it because the floors creaked and the man who ran it gave out peppermints in mismatched jars. Bee liked it because there was a sleepy orange cat who rotated between different armchairs like royalty, completely unfazed by toddlers.

Oscar liked it because Felicity would wander through the aisles like she was in a gallery, fingertips brushing along the edges of furniture like she could read their stories. He’d catch her eyeing a carved drawer or a joint that needed sanding, and he could see the math running behind her eyes. Not just the dimensions, but the future. Where it would fit. What colour she'd repaint it. How many memories it could hold.

They spent nearly two hours there.

Bee trailed after them like a tiny contractor with a tape measure, periodically declaring, “This is too big for our dining room!” or “Mama, this one has a secret drawer!” or “That’s a no, Papa. That cabinet is too wobbly.”

Felicity laughed the whole time. Oscar kept a mental list of her maybes and a running total in his head of what they could fit in the car if they sacrificed the front seat.

Eventually, they found it.

Or rather, Felicity did.

It was tucked in the back corner of the barn, half-covered by a faded quilt and surrounded by old brass lamps and a sagging chaise lounge. An old oak hutch—solid, heavy, a little battered, its wood rich with age. The panels on the doors were intricately carved with vines and flowers, and the handles were brass, worn down by decades of use into something soft and warm to the touch.

Felicity ran her hand across the top of it slowly, reverently.

“It’s not perfect,” she murmured, inspecting a scuff at the corner and one drawer that stuck a little.

Oscar stood beside her and smiled. “Neither are we.”

She looked up, and her eyes were suddenly full—quiet and luminous, filled with all the years behind them and everything still ahead.

Bee tugged gently at her sleeve. “Can we put the fancy teapot in it?”

“I think we should,” Felicity said, brushing Bee’s curls back behind her ear. “Front and centre.”

Oscar crouched to test the hinges, and Bee knelt beside him like an assistant, watching his every move with deep concentration.

They left with the receipt, three complimentary peppermints, and the hutch wedged somewhat impossibly into the back of their car.

The ride home was full of Bee humming show tunes, Felicity tracing patterns on Oscar’s thigh with her fingertip, and the slight creak of the old hutch every time they hit a bump.

***

That night, after Bee had fallen asleep in a tangle of books and tired limbs — curled half off her bed with a plush frog tucked under one arm and a paper crown from that afternoon still slightly askew on her head — Oscar padded quietly into the kitchen, barefoot and already half-ready for bed.

The house had gone still in that soft, late-evening way he loved most. The kind of quiet that settled around the bones of a place when the day had been good, full. Like the whole house had exhaled.

And there she was.

Felicity was sitting at the dining table in one of his old sweatshirts, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, legs curled beneath her in that way that always made him wonder how she didn’t cramp up. A mug of tea steamed faintly in her hands, forgotten for the moment. Her gaze was fixed across the room.

On the hutch.

The old new hutch, as Bee had christened it. Sanded that afternoon by Felicity’s hand, already partially filled with mismatched mugs and the “fancy teapot” Bee had insisted deserved its own shelf. A tiny post-it note was stuck to one corner: oil the hinges – squeaky! in Felicity’s loopy handwriting.

Oscar stood in the doorway for a second, watching her. The light above the table was warm, casting gold across her cheekbones and glinting off the wedding band and engagement ring she wore on a chain around her neck…joined by a tiny bee pendant — not because she didn’t like wearing it on her hand, but because grease from her work tended to cake into the setting, and she hated scrubbing it clean.

“Happy five years,” she said softly, without turning. Just sensing him there, like she always did. She held the mug out in his direction without looking.

He crossed the room and took it from her hands, fingers brushing hers. “Best anniversary yet.”

“We say that every year.”

“And every year it’s true.”

Oscar didn’t sit. Instead, he stepped in closer, between her knees where she sat at the table, and leaned down until their foreheads touched. Her breath ghosted against his jaw, warm and familiar.

“Thank you,” he murmured, eyes closed. “For not wanting soufflé or champagne on rooftops.”

Felicity smiled. “Thank you for grilled cheese and dusty furniture.”

He laughed — low, fond. “Think we’ll last another five?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just shifted her hand and pressed it flat to his chest, right over his heart, like she could feel the rhythm of him and anchor herself to it. Her thumb brushed the soft cotton of his t-shirt once, twice.

“We’re built to last,” she said.

It wasn’t a declaration. It wasn’t said with smug certainty. It was just quiet, confident truth — the same tone she used when she taught Bee how to braid her hair or fix a loose kitchen drawer. Sure. Steady. Real.

Oscar let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

They didn’t need candlelit hotels. They didn’t need fireworks or diamond earrings or handwritten poetry folded into napkins.

They had grilled cheese sandwiches and secondhand oak hutches. They had playlists from Enstone and shared garden shears and a lemon tree in the yard that Bee watered with a plastic watering can shaped like a dinosaur. They had 3 a.m. wake-ups and tiny shoes by the door and two coffee mugs chipped on the same side.

They had this.

In the quiet house, with the scent of melted cheese still lingering in the corners, and the distant sound of Bee’s voice talking softly in her sleep about castles and worms and the cat from the furniture barn, Oscar rested his head against Felicity’s.

And he realized — maybe more fully than ever before — that this was what a life well-built looked like.

No grand blueprint. No parade. Just the slow layering of love and time.

One sandwich. One piece of furniture. One quiet, extraordinary year at a time.

***

Group Chat: Piastri Fam ❤️

Hattie: happy anniversary to my brother who got married in secret and then called mum like “soooooo I have a wife now” 😌👏

Edie: still iconic behavior. like, historical. will be studying it for generations.

Mae: it’s the fact that he called mumlike. not even a “hey fam, big news!” just. CALLED. MUM.

Nicole: Yes, well. I still remember exactly where I was. Laundry basket in one hand. Phone in the other. My eldest child says, “Hey Mum, just got married.” Like he was telling me the weather.

Like he was updating me on tyre pressures.

Chris: I just want it on record that I found out from your MOTHER.

She said, “Well, he’s gone and done it.”

I thought you’d joined a cult.

Nicole: Christopher.

Oscar: Okay, first of all, I texted first and THEN called. Let’s not rewrite history. I’m a responsible man.

Hattie: “responsible man” my ass you were 18 and married sandwich in one hand

Mae: THEY ATE PRET FOR THEIR WEDDING DINNER. I WILL NEVER BE OVER IT.

Nicole:I still sigh about it, just so you know. All that money I saved for a wedding dress… and you went with a Pret a Manger sandwich

Oscar:It was a really good sandwich.

Chris:Can’t believe my son’s wedding meal was a £3.75 meal deal

Edie: felicity said “I don’t want a fuss” and oscar said “I too hate fuss” and now they have been married for 5 years. 

Nicole: You could’ve called us.  One phone call, Oscar. One. You could have let me buy a dress or at least cry into a cupcake.

Chris: You say that like it wasn’t the most Oscar move possible.

Mae: Honestly. Five years later and he’s still the same: Emotionally repressed. Surprisingly sentimental. Mildly chaotic.

Edie:  And he somehow landed a tiny genius mechanic wife who could take all of us in a fight.

Oscar:  I am right here.

Hattie: Happy anniversary, Osc 💕 Give Felicity a kiss from us. And tell her we love her more than we love you.

Mae: Seconded.

Nicole:Happy Anniversary, darlings 💛 Still not over the phone call but we’re so proud of you both. And Bee, obviously. You made something wonderful.

[thejukeboxzero]

@colorlessjay god bless lunch breaks for giving me the chance to write more of these shenanigans, enjoy

__________

“Dean, look.”

Dean looks down at Jack, who’s been dutifully trailing him around Sam’s ridiculously sized university campus for the better part of an hour, bee-themed bag bouncing on his back.

Jack waits until he’s sure Dean is looking then jumps up and down, the soles of his sneakers lighting up as they hit the sidewalk. When he’s done he looks up at Dean with a proud grin, like he knows he’s the coolest kid on the playground.

“I’m jealous.” Dean manages to respond before looking around the wide outdoor common space, “You sure you don’t know where your dad works?”

Dean had originally intended to just return Jack to the curb he accidentally kidnapped him from, but after waiting around for a few minutes he realized that Jack’s dad had probably already run off searching for the elementary schooler and that he should try and track the guy down, maybe apologize for the heart attack that comes with losing your kid.

“He works here.” Jack answers with a nod, “He teaches big kids about stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

Jack shrugs, now distracted by a potato bug crawling its way in front of him.

“Really helpful, kid…” Dean mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face. They’ve had this conversation maybe a dozen times and the answers always remain the same.

He’s tried calling Sam, hoping he’d at least be able to show Dean where he can return this kid, maybe a front office or security booth? But the little shit hasn’t been answering, probably too busy shoving his nose in pre-law books to even realize he was supposed to be outside an hour and a half ago.

“Dean, Dean-” Jack's tugging on his coat now and Dean, ever so slightly, regrets telling Jack his name, “Dean-” 

“What’s up?”

“Where does your daddy work?”

‘Hell, hopefully’ Dean thinks, unable to stop the way the venomous thought snakes into his mind, “He’s uh- He doesn't work anymore.”

“Where do you work?”

“I work at a place called ‘The Roadhouse’.” He tries to be as vague as possible, not wanting to be the one who explains the concept of a bar to Jack.

Jack frowns and cocks his head to the side suspiciously, a weird little habit he keeps doing, “Roads don’t have houses.”

The child's words sound accusatory and Dean finds himself needing to defend himself, “Yeah well… This one does. We keep it at work as a pet.”

He expects Jack to call him a liar, or to cock his head more like the change in angle will help him interpret Dean’s words, but instead he just gasps and smiles widely, “You have a pet!? Wow! We don’t have any pets, I really want one though!”

Dean clutches the handle of Jack's bag and begins to lead him away, towards the north end of the campus where he’s like 10% sure Sam should be, “What kind of pet do you want?”

“A snake!”

The kid just keeps getting weirder.

“A snake huh, that’s…” He doesn't want to insult Jack but snakes are just plain creepy.

Jack doesn't seem to notice Dean's distaste, too busy peering back over his shoulder, probably still trying to look at that bug.

He gasps in delight, “Dean!”

Dean doesn't stop, he can’t, he needs to get this kid to someone so he can go grab Sam, go home, and sleep until he becomes one with his memory foam mattress.

“Yeah, kid?”

Jack grins widely at him, “I see my Dad!”

“Where?” Dean whips around, tightening his grip on Jack, ready to run after whoever Jack points at and give him back his kid.

It's weird though, at first he only sees Sam, standing stock still about ten yards away, his face a mixture of mortification and pure horror.

Then Dean's jaw lights up with a crack of pain, his vision going white for a moment, and he’s suddenly on his back, sprawled out on the sidewalk with a metallic taste in his mouth.

A furious face appears above him, electric blue eyes glaring down with murderous intent, and Dean feels what he’s pretty sure is a knee pressed painfully into his sternum, pinning him to the ground as he wheezes, trying to regain the wind that has been knocked out of him.

“Hi, Daddy!” Jack's delighted voice is barely audible over the ringing in Dean's ears.

“So you’re his Pops-” Dean grumbles to the furious man above him, turning to the side and spitting out a glob of blood, “Awesome.”

_____

<<First│<-Prev│Next ->

[ribbonskiss]

THE LEANOVER -> OP81

Part 1 of 2. Read Part 2 here.

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

Summary: You come home on uni break to find your brother’s best friend, Oscar, is visiting. You both fall back into old habits, but some things are not the same.

Tags: brother’s best friend, friends to lovers, slow burn? kinda?, fluff, suggestive content (18+), very gentle reading tbh

A/N: Here it is finally, the highly requested full length version of the drabble I posted. Sadly I’ve reached my limit of dividers for this one and have to split it into two parts :( Very funny that it took off so much because it was honestly just a warm up for writing 😭 Anyway, I hope it was worth the wait, enjoy <3

“You’ve gotten soft, kiddo.”

He leans against the doorframe, that same mischievous smile on his face as he watches you do the dishes.

“Well,” you say, rinsing a cup over the running faucet, “Some of us have to.”

Oscar quirks up an eyebrow, arms folding over his chest. “Really? Fascinating. I had no idea.”

“And some things never change, I see,” you chuckle.

It’s December, and you’re home for the first time since moving away for university. It’s been an eventful year, one that’s brought about many successes, mistakes and surprises. Your mother marvels at how much you’ve grown; you’ve ditched the old frumpy haircut, started slouching less and finally found the perfect shade of lipstick. Your father is just glad you’ve managed to achieve a pretty impressive grade average.

When Oscar arrived, he caused so much commotion you had to stumble down the stairs to see what all the fuss is about. His presence was a surprise, but a welcome one. He was always your mum’s favourite—you remember the day he set off two years ago to pursue Formula One full-time. She cried as if he was her own kid. (Your brother stayed in Melbourne, so it’s dubious whether or not she would’ve cried harder if he moved away. For what it’s worth, when you went off to ANU yourself, she cried about the same amount.) Always a charmer, he came bearing big bags of gifts for everyone, and your family gathered around him like bees to honey.

He pulled your brother in for a hug. They’re too close to just settle for a dap-up after another year apart. “Looking good, mate,” your brother chuckled. “Look at this guy. Dapper, eh?”

“Says you, man, look at yourself,” Oscar laughed, throwing his head back in delight before patting him roughly on the back. “Fucking hell, you finally filled your beard in.”

From a distance, you smiled, watching as they started to roughhouse, laughing as they wrestled and wrung one another. Eventually your brother released him from his headlock, throwing him out of his grip, and Oscar ruffled his hair back into place before turning and spotting you, standing at the staircase.

He smiled at you fondly. You’d forgotten how nice it feels to be the recipient of it. He’d forgotten how he can recognise what every expression you make means.

You’ve grown a lot. Maybe not physically, but definitely mentally. He never had a problem with you before, far from it, but he likes this new you a lot—more graceful, tactful, a skilled conversationalist eager to help out whenever. Not to mention he didn’t even realise you could grow even more beautiful. Well, you’ve managed it somehow.

Now dinner is over and he’s still standing there, watching as you shut the dishwasher close. “Just can’t be fucked,” you sigh with relief. “Too many fuckin’ dishes.”

He comes closer, ruffles your hair with a hand while the other wraps around your waist, pulling you to him. The action is familiar, but the feeling that arises in you from it is not. “Well, you used to just not do them at all, so,” he reminds you. “This is a big improvement, Tiny.”

You flush. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“I remember everything,” Oscar smiles at you. “Why would I forget anything?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “it’s normal to forget the little things.”

But his smile never falters. “They’re not little to me.”

“Well fuck, you’ve put me in a difficult position.”

The two boys you’ve known your whole life stand in front of you in the living room, where you’re sitting on the couch, legs sprawled over its full length, reading your book. Your brother sighs. “I just wish you’d told me beforehand, like, I know you wanted it to be a surprise but,” he continues. “If you told me you were coming, I wouldn’t have booked the trip—”

Oscar shakes his head. “Nah, don’t sweat it, come on,” he says. “It’s fine. Either way I’m back home, I can catch up with some guys from school, and your folks are lovely to me.”

Your brother starts up again, but Oscar puts his hands up. “Mate, really, it’s fine. I’ll be right on my own.”

“Say swear?”

“On my life,” he nods. “You just enjoy Bali with your missus.”

Your brother looks at him for a moment, shakes his head and smiles. He nudges him on the shoulder. “Don’t let her do anything stupid.”

“What, that little thing?” Oscar smiles, turning to look over where you sit on the couch. “She’ll be right. I got her.”

They talk for a little longer before one of them bids the other goodnight, retreating into his room. Oscar stays, looks at you for a moment as you pretend to not notice, eyes scanning over the pages of your book like your life depends on not looking back at him. He runs his fingers through his hair, lets out a breath before he comes closer.

“Looks like it’ll just be you and me this holiday season, Tiny.” No one calls you that except Oscar. He stands in front of you, towering over your sitting figure. You can’t find the bravery to look up at him, but you just know he’s smiling again.

You flip to the next page. “Where’s your family?”

“Off to the Alps,” he shrugs. “But I’ve just been last year with a few guys.”

“How convenient,” you comment, earning a chuckle from him. Oscar nods his head, smiling still, unashamed.

“Very convenient.”

“Good morning, sleepy.”

You stand in the kitchen, rubbing your eyes with the sleeves of your jumper where the counter is. He brushes past you to the coffee machine, and you feel his warmth close by for a split second. “Don’t do that,” he tuts at you, chuckling at your sleepy state. “It’s bad for your eyes.”

“Is he awake yet?” you ask, and your voice is still hushed, soft from slumber.

“No,” he says. “But I’m making coffee anyway. He’s a bit of a cunt in the morning.”

You suddenly remember that he’s sleeping on the spare mattress, very inelegantly smack dab in the middle of the floor in your brother’s room. You can’t help but snicker. “You know him too well. You’re like an old married couple,” you tease him. “Aren’t you too old to be doing sleepovers still?”

“Aren’t you too old to be reading your porny little novels on a Friday evening?” he retorts. You feel yourself flush almost immediately, the blood rushing to your cheeks as embarrassment overwhelms you, knowing you’ve been caught. Oscar glances over at you from where he stands, pouring out cold milk while the espresso shots continue to drip into his mug, and he chuckles.

“I’m right, no?” he continues. “You’re all grown up now, Tiny. My question is, why stay in? Why read about fucking a soccer player when you could just, you know, actually do it?”

You glare at him, but the sight of him this early in the morning with his soft sleepy smile and tousled bedhead hair makes you falter a little. “That’s not even a book I own.”

“I know that,” Oscar nods, holding the little pitcher to the steam wand, gently frothing the cold milk inside. “But I have seen one on your desk. Think it was about another sport, actually.”

Then the frothing stops, and he pours the milk foam into the mug slowly, carefully. He snickers. “It was about racing, wasn’t it?”

Your cheeks grow hot, hotter than you thought was possible, and your eyes drop immediately to the ground at his words. It amuses him to no end. He hands you the mug; it’s a latte, with a cute little heart on top of it. Now he’s just being cruel.

You take a sip of the searing hot coffee immediately just to avoid having to speak about this topic any further. “This tastes like shit.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and grins. “You’re welcome, love.”

“Can you even speak to me this way?”

“What way?” Oscar says, cocking up an eyebrow again. “You’re a big girl now. What, you can read about sex but you can’t talk about it—”

“Keep your voice down,” you whisper-yell, shushing him in a panicked tone, but he can barely take you seriously, chest rumbling with soft laughter.

“Alright,” he nods. “If it’ll please you, Tiny, I’ll do it.”

Then he leaves the kitchen, retreats into your brother’s room and starts yelling at him to wake up. You’re left on your own to figure out why he put so much emphasis on the word please.

“You’re leaving?”

Alright, now it’s getting fucking ridiculous. You’re sat in the back of your dad’s car after sending your brother and his girlfriend off to the airport, absolutely flabbergasted by what your parents have just said.

“You’re leaving me alone for two weeks,” you continue. “Since when? How long has this been in the works? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“God, no, it’s not like that,” your mum sighs, turning to you from where she sits in the passenger’s seat. “They invited us to their beach house in the Central Coast a month ago. We said no because we knew you were coming but, with Oscar here now… Why not?”

“We just thought it would be nice to have some time to ourselves,” your father continues, eyes still on the road. “With our friends. And you’re on break for ages! We’ll only be gone for two weeks.”

“You’re an adult now,” your mother smiles hesitantly. “And with Oscar… Well, I honestly trust him more than your own brother to take good care of you.”

Oscar is touched, but you’re less than satisfied by all this still. “I’m sorry, honey,” your mum starts again, but you shake your head.

“No, no, I get it, it’s fine,” you say, waving off her concerns. “I just wish I had a heads up, but I get it.”

Looking out the window now, you feel Oscar place a comforting hand on your shoulder, his touch soft and warm, wordlessly assuring you things will be okay. He means well, but it worsens your worries. Your stomach feels strange. Now you can’t escape how you feel.

You look out the window, waiting for the bread slices in the toaster to pop out. In the back garden, Oscar is dutifully watering the plants blooming around the wooden benches and table where your parents like to host barbecues. (It’s one of the many tasks listed in the list of chores your mum left the two of you.) He takes careful steps, acutely aware of the blossoming flowers near his feet, and slips his gloves off where the shelf with all the necessary gear is.

He calls out to you, nudging the watering can with his foot to where it should be. “Smells good in there.”

“Almost done now,” you call out back to him, turning back to the kitchen counter where two dishes are lined with omelettes and chorizo sausages. When the slices pop out, you smear smashed avocado all over one side of them. When he finally comes through the back door, you’re finishing the already-salted avocado toast off by grinding up some pepper. Oscar stands behind you, watching as you do it.

“Looks amazing, too,” he chuckles. “Or maybe I’m just real hungry.”

“I think you’re just real hungry,” you say. “What took you so long?”

He shrugs, taking both plates from the counter to the dinner table. “Your dad’s tool shelf is weird as fuck.”

You don’t question it; he’s probably right, your dad is weird as fuck in general, so you just take knives and forks to the table. “Dig in,” you tell him, placing a fork down where he’s sat. He turns his head to look up at you, smiling.

“Thank you,” he says, softly, and Oscar’s looking at you with genuine delight. You turn away. Your chest is tightening. You go to sit where he’s put the other dish, and he watches as you take a small bite of your toast.

“So,” he starts up again. “They’re all gone. It’s just the two of us. Should we throw a rager?”

You chuckle at his words, and he beams, eager to make you laugh. “Yeah,” he nods, smiling gently again. “Wasn’t feeling like it either.”

“We don’t really have to do anything today,” you say, chewing on your food. “We’ve still got a whole two weeks ahead of us.”

“That’s true,” Oscar hums. “Well…”

You look up from your plate, giving him a curious look. “Well?”

“Well,” he continues, “I just haven’t had a chance to say—well, I’ve just wanted to say… It’s nice to see you again. You’ve grown a lot. You look good. Really good.”

You must be bright brick red in the face now. “Thank you,” you mumble back, and when you both finish your food he helps you load the dishes into the dishwasher before vacuuming the living room, ticking off another thing on the list.

“Tiny, I’m sure you look amazing,” he says from the other side of the door. “Can you please come out now?”

You look at yourself in the mirror, huffing. “No.”

Oscar frowns to himself. “Well, can I at least come in?”

“No!” you exclaim, the thought of him seeing all the clothes tossed onto your bed embarrassing you too much to even consider opening the door.

“You’re not naked in there, are you—”

“Oh my god, Osc, no.”

“We’ll miss the whole thing at this point, we’re late as is,” he tries to reason with you. “Please, Tiny, I could help you.”

“Yeah, because you’re so fashionable. I can’t just throw a linen shirt and beige shorts on like you do.”

You hear him snicker from outside. “Mee-ow. Touché.”

Sighing, you come closer to your door. “Just,” you say. “Don’t be cruel, okay?”

Oscar leans his head against the door. “Of course,” he mutters quickly. “I mean, obviously. Yeah.”

With another big huff, you unlock the door, and his eyes widen at the sight of you in a dress, soft blush pink silk hugging to your curves all the way down to your ankles. The thin straps leave little to the imagination, your collarbones and shoulders exposed to the sunlight filtering through your curtains. Oscar wonders how soft your skin must be, supple arms smoothing over your waist.

“I don’t know if I feel good in this,” you say, and his eyes dart back to your face, wincing in worry. “I don’t know if I necessarily have the body—”

“You look fantastic.”

You turn around to face him. He’s standing behind you, a little flushed as his eyes rake over your figure again. “You look great, I mean,” Oscar says. “Just… bring a cardigan.”

You chuckle. “It’s the middle of summer—”

“It could get cold at night.”

There’s a bite in his voice that makes you shiver, especially as you turn back around to face your mirror and he comes closer, towering over you.

“Who knows how long we’ll be out for.”

The Christmas market stays open until late. It doesn’t get dark by the evening hours in the summer, so you never slip on the cardigan. Instead, Oscar insists on having his arm around your shoulders the entire time, leading to more than one stall owner mistaking you for a couple. The commotion makes you blush every time.

“What are you so embarrassed about?” he chuckles. The two of you meander through the paths of the market, barely taking note of any of the stalls at this point. “People used to mistake us for a couple all the time in school.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Nuh uh,” you retort. “They thought we were siblings.”

Oscar gags. “What? Christ, no.”

“Exactly,” you chuckle. “Or they thought we were cousins.”

He looks at you, cocks his head to the side curiously. “Well, what’d you tell them?”

You shrug honestly. “I don’t know. I told them you’re my Oscar,” you say, and your answer makes him laugh softly.

“And what exactly does that mean?” He prods.

“Well, there’s no other way to put it.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “We’re not friends?”

Well, I hope not, you think. “You’re my brother’s friend,” you say. “And I think even he detests you sometimes.”

Now you’re approaching where the crowds are down the street. As you slip through the mass of people, the heat starts to rise even more in temperature, making his skin stick to yours in the humidity as he holds you close still.

“But we’re close,” you nod. “Not friends, not family. Just… My Oscar.”

He chuckles. “Your Oscar?”

“Ha-ha,” you roll your eyes, though the heat starts to get to your cheeks now. “Yes. My Oscar.”

Well, he likes the sound of that. It’s very intimate, he thinks. And he definitely likes that. “You know,” you continue as you finally escape the crowd, walking down the street and away from the market now. “They never stopped asking me.”

“Asking what?”

“About whether or not you were single,” you giggle.

Oscar sighs dramatically, halting to a stop as he shakes his head in great disappointment, making you laugh even harder. As the years went by, Oscar’s racing aspirations became more and more apparent to the student population, propelling him to celebrity status at school. It’s funny; the more lenient his schooling arrangements became, the less he showed up at school, and rumours started spreading, making him a sort of mythical figure that would drive girls wild whenever he did show up to class.

“You know I always fucking hated that,” he grumbles to you, eyes narrowing. “Fuckin’ hate how they treated you—I mean, you’re not my guard dog, you’re a human being.”

“It’s not that serious,” you snicker. “Schoolgirls are schoolgirls. You were a heartthrob, you know?”

Oscar lets out a hesitant chuckle. “Not by choice. I didn’t have time for girls,” he says, turning the corner towards the train station. “Well. Maybe just the one.”

“Oh?” you laugh. “How did I not know about this? Who was it?”

He smiles, turns to look at your curious face, and ruffles your hair like he always does. “The tiniest girl I’ve ever known.”

But you’re not that girl anymore. Later that night he knocks on your own door just before bedtime; you tell him to come in, and when he does, you’re standing in front of your mirror, clipping your hair back. In the sweltering heat of Australian December, your choice of pajamas is a camisole that wraps loosely around your bare chest, the shape of which is too apparent for him to not flush, and heather grey shorts that are dangerously short. It is now that Oscar realises that the tiny little girl he used to play wrestle with as a child really is, as he had told you before, all grown up now. When you turn around, smiling so sweetly and innocently and wishing him a good night’s sleep, he dryly swallows and silently nods, closing the door when you wave goodbye. If he didn’t leave right that minute he would’ve put his hands all over you, feeling that soft skin he’s been wondering about all day.

It’s not that that girl you were or the boy in him has vanished. But now you have both come to a situation where a certain passion shows its naked face, and that girl and that boy can now see the true spirit of the relationship they share, and it was there all along. Oscar sleeps scarcely that night, stirring in your brother’s bed in a cold sweat as his mind replays the images of your figure standing in front of your mirror, blissfully unaware of how gorgeous you have always been in his eyes. The ultimate standard of the perfect girl in his mind. What a pleasant affliction this is, a small price to pay for his heart to blossom.

He ignores the tent in his boxers and shuts his eyes. Your brother’s going to kill him.

Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Questions? Leave them all in my askbox, and sorry for any mistakes/typos!

[inexplicifics]

AO3 went down for maintenance in the middle of my AWAU reread and I am clamouring for an opportunity to read your writing, any snippets from AWAU or CAW for this poor soul? The witcher books are great, but just not the vibe right now, y’know? Sorry for the silly ask, I do have patience, it just ran away and I’m still searching for it back😬🥲

It's always a bad day when AO3 goes down!

Have a bit from an AWAU fic that may never go anywhere, in which Kiyan of the Cats makes a friend:

Kiyan meets the Bear in the woods north of Kaer Morhen. Kiyan is looking for trouble, because he’s going to jitter out of his skin if he spends one more minute inside Kaer Morhen. He’s up a tree, arguing with a crow about something - he’s not sure what, but the crow keeps cawing back at him when he caws at it, which is hilarious - when he hears someone else approaching.

He and the crow both go quiet, and Kiyan peers down through the branches to see a big blond fellow in a deep red tunic instead of armor padding near-silently between the trees, head tilted in the way all Witchers do when they’re listening closely for something.

Kiyan grins. Stalking a fellow Witcher ought to be entertaining enough to keep him occupied for a while. He ghosts along the branches, shadowing the other Witcher from above. He can’t tell what the other Witcher is trying to find. The big fellow definitely isn’t wandering aimlessly - he’ll stop and listen hard occasionally, then alter his course a little, and he sniffs the air sometimes, too. But Kiyan knows there aren’t any big predators around here - everything has cleared out due to the presence of so many Witchers - and he can’t hear or smell any deer close by, either.

Finally the other Witcher slows, looks straight up at Kiyan, and whistles, Come here.

Kiyan grins and drops down out of his tree. “Hah, you got me! How long have you known I was following you? What are you tracking? Can I help?”

The other Witcher - a Bear by the medallion, burly as his School tends to be, grins at Kiyan and signs, Quiet. Come.

Kiyan ostentatiously claps a hand over his mouth and slinks in the Bear’s wake as they round a small copse of trees. The Bear tilts his head, listening, then smiles and points up. Kiyan follows the gesture to see a little stream of bees going in and out of a hole in the tree about thirty feet up.

“Oooh,” Kiyan whispers. “Honey?”

The Bear waggles a hand as if to say, Sort of, and toes his boots off. Kiyan watches in delight as the Bear goes up the tree with shocking agility for such a big man; after a moment Kiyan picks a nearby tree and scrambles to keep pace, ending up perched on a branch near enough to see what the Bear is doing.

Once the Bear gets close enough to the bees’ nest, he signs Axii. As far as Kiyan can tell, nothing changes - but the bees don’t seem to notice the Bear’s presence the way they would an actual bear, or anything else approaching their hive. The Bear gets right up next to it and peers in, and the bees just detour around him like he’s a rock or a branch.

Kiyan’s never seen someone Axii a beehive before. It’s a lot smarter than just bulling through the stings!

The Bear reaches into the hive and draws his hand out not dripping with honey, but cupped around something small. He tucks the small thing - a single bee? - into a little wooden box with many holes in its sides, and then climbs nimbly back down the tree with the box cradled in one hand.

The bees follow him in a stream; he ignores them as he puts his boots back on and heads towards the keep.

“How the hell,” Kiyan asks delightedly, scrambling down his own tree and falling into step beside the Bear. “How did you do that? Is that still Axii?”

The Bear holds up the little box; there’s a bee inside it, seemingly unworried about having been captured. “Queen,” he says, the first word Kiyan’s heard him speak.

“Queen? Oh! A queen bee! I thought that was a figure of speech -” Kiyan leans closer to examine the caged bee, which is slightly larger than most bees usually are. “Hello, little queen, you’re in charge of a whole hive, huh? And all your warriors are following you, just like we follow Geralt around, with their little swords ready to defend you. You’re taking her to a new hive, yeah?” he asks, bouncing back up and grinning at the Bear.

The Bear nods.

“And then we get more honey,” Kiyan enthuses. “That’s awesome!”

The Bear nods again.

Kiyan cocks his head, regarding the much larger Witcher thoughtfully. “You don’t talk much, do you.”

The Bear shakes his head.

Kiyan hesitates. “D’you…want me to leave you be?” The Bear doesn’t smell irritated, but if he likes the quiet…

The Bear shakes his head again.

Kiyan lights up, bouncing a bit on the balls of his feet. “Great! Thanks! Ooh, how many more beehives do you think there are in the forest? Could we collect them all? Or would that be too many bees - that might be too many bees - oh, does that Axii trick work on wasps? We could get the Cranes to make wasp-nest bombs! I betcha selkiemores wouldn’t like getting mouthfuls of wasps. A wasp stung me on my nose once! It got all big and red and it hurt like fucking hell. I wonder if a selkiemore would just puff up like a bagpipe -”

[infiniteimaginings]

Could you write some angsty Anthony bridgerton x wife reader. Maybe he took his anger out on her cus he was stressed or something.💋😭😫🩷

A Loving Marriage (Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Anthony had married you, he adored you during your courtship. He showed his affections through floral arrangements, joyous laughter, your dance card always had his name first. When he married you though, some things changed. He would be warm, but it slowly dimmed. He was always in his office, he never spoke to you, why does he do so? Pronouns: You/Yours, She/Her Warnings: Angst Word Count: 4.0k A/N: I love angst, I love it! I looked at this request three times, midnight struck, and I turned into a writing goblin.

It had been a nice day, you had finally drawn your husband, Anthony Bridgerton, out of the house to have a delightful picnic with you. The two of you were discussing anything but pressing matters, laughing, eating the small sandwiches, drinking the sweet but tart lemonade. Occasionally your fingers would touch, a burst of energy escaping into your bodies until your fingers interlocked, accepting the warmth with open arms.

The sun was shining brightly, the clouds perfect white and fluffed into shapes the two of you pointed out and playfully teased each other for. The slight tilt of his head when you spoke of a cloud being shaped as one thing, his squinted eyes and scrunched nose were all that mattered to you. The way the sun kissed his skin and a few freckles had come to light, it was so beautiful to you, he was so beautiful.

When Anthony turned his gaze to you from the heavily brightened sky, the corners of his eyes crinkled with the smile he gave you. His toothy grin was matched with him asking, “What is it?” You paid no mind to the question, simply smiling at your husband, your heart warming as you stared at him in adoration. You shook your head, “I just love you.” You told him, the comment making him smile wide, his teeth showing in his grin. The day was beautiful, and neither of you could deny that fact. To make the day even more beautiful, flowers were spread around your blanket on the ground, showing proof of spring.

You began to ramble a bit about the newest items you saw in the shop, Anthony just listening with loving eyes. A bee had hummed and buzzed as it circled around your head, when Anthony noticed he straightened up, his eyes widening a bit in fear. He went to move the dreadful creature from you but the bee had found its attention with him instead, buzzing around his head. Anthony had fallen still, horrified.

Anthony had just returned from shooting with his father, Edmund Bridgerton. The elder man had clasped his shoulder, telling him that in due time he will be able to show someone his best. He gave him a truthfully meaningful message about having to show someone your worst before you can show them your best, but the message didn’t stay in Anthonys head very long.

The elder had noticed a group of vibrant purple Hyacinths within their gardens, his wife's favorite flower. He decided to pick the flowers with a hum, expressing how Anthonys mother would love them. The younger boy laughed and began to pick a few himself, his father standing up, swatting a very persistent bee, Anthony shaking his head playfully. He expressed how his younger sister would be quite jealous until he noticed his father had not responded.

”Father?” Anthony spoke, turning to Edmund, the man was touching his neck. “The bloody thing stung me.” He told his son, moving his hand a bit with a twitch of his mouth. A bee sting didn’t mean much, so Anthony nodded and continued to pick a few flowers until his father began to gasp for breaths. Anthony stood, walking to Edmund, “Father, what is it?” He asked, and that question would be repeated a multitude of times with no verbal response.

Edmund Bridgerton had turned to his son, a bright red patch on his neck where the bee stung him, his face extremely pale, his eyes almost black as he struggled to breathe. Anthony watched his father struggle for air and collapse into his arms. He couldn’t even hear when he yelled for someone to help, he didn’t even hear when his pregnant mother, Violet Bridgerton, had come running down the small hill after seeing them through the open door in the back of their home.

Everything happened so fast and all Anthony could process was his father reaching up to cup his mothers cheek one last time, before his hand fell and the light left his eyes. Edmund Bridgerton died that day, Violet Bridgerton became a widow that day, he and his siblings lost their father that day.

Anthony was abruptly snapped out of his thoughts when you swatted the bee away mindlessly. You hummed with a breathless chuckle, “You know it’s spring when the bees are out.” you spoke, looking in the basket for another small snack, unaware of the daze Anthony had just been in. He blinked a bit, looking around as he deeply inhaled, trying not to ruin your nice moment. He clapped his hands to his knees, “Well then.” He began, “I think I have some paperwork to attend to.” He told you, standing up and brushing himself off. You looked up rather quickly from your spot on the blanket, “Can’t it wait? We were having such a nice time.” You said, pouting ever so slightly.

He shook his head, leaning down to you, pressing his lips to yours in a short kiss. “Unfortunately it can not, enjoy the rest of the picnic.” He spoke hastily, walking back into the home, leaving you alone to watch the sky.

Days had passed, Anthony had not joined you again for a picnic, nor had he joined you for any sort of meal after that day. You didn’t understand why he felt the need to lock himself in his office, what was so interesting about paperwork he could tend to at any time? You were worried for him, you knew the footmen in the household brought him food, you just weren’t sure if he ate any of it.

With that, you decided to pay your husband a visit. You dismissed the footman at the door and simply knocked, a muffled ‘Come in’ came from the other side of the door. You gently opened it, smiling sweetly at Anthony who looked up at you, expressionless. You closed the door behind you, observing your surroundings and your husband who sat behind a desk, papers piling it. He looked like he hadn’t slept, if he had then he looked like her hadn’t slept well.

You walked to him, slow steps, the heels of your shoes sounding muffled as they clicked upon the polished floors. “You’ve locked yourself away.” You told him, standing in front of his desk, fingers twiddling in front of you. Anthony kept his eyes on you, quill pen in hands, plenty of papers around that needed signatures. He cleared his throat, “Well, some matter can not be left.” He told you simply, head looking back down to his work.

You walked around the desk, hands smoothing along his shoulders, he tensed more than relaxed. “You need a break.” You hummed to him, gently pressing your hands into the blades of his shoulders. Anthony leaned his head back into the chair, sighing, “I’m sorry my love, I just have so much work to do.” He told you with closed eyes, his mouth in a frown. Your expression mirrored his and you turned his chair a bit, taking his hands in yours. “We should go to town, go for a walk.” You suggested, “Maybe we could pick some flowers and visit your family.” You continued on, hands holding his slightly larger ones in yours.

You saying that seemed to invoke some sort of reaction from your husband, he removed his hands from you, “No.” He spoke harshly, turning back to the papers. You huffed, trying to get him to look at you, he wouldn’t budge. “Why do you refuse to spend time with me? Is your paperwork that important?” You pressed on, standing at his side, pure disbelief on your face.

Anthony put his clenched fists on the desk, “Yes, it is!” He spoke loudly, not looking at you. “You are interrupting very pressing matters, so go.” He told you, head turning to you ever so slightly, one hand raised to point to the door.

The outburst had shocked you, you stood there with a hand to your chest, a frown on your face, tears threatening to prick your eyes. “Anthony I merely hoped…” You began, trying to find the words, instead you found yourself stumbling over them. Anthony shook his head, hand to his temple as he looked back down to the papers, “I care not for your wishes, leave!” HeYou stood up straight, swallowing harshly with a small sniffle. You bowed your head to him, “Of course Mr. Bridgerton.”You spoke, walking out the room, hands clasped together and head held high as you left him alone to his work.

Anthony had not come to the bedroom that night and you had not visited his office for the rest of the day. Neither of you had come down for dinner, eating respectively in separate rooms.

The next day, mid afternoon, you walked into the office area with a tea tray. Typically, a maid would bring it in for you, but you had seemed to reject the idea and believed you were perfectly capable of doing it yourself. Anthony had heard the sound of the door opening, no knock, no announcement. He looked up and saw you setting the tea tray on the low table in front of the seats in the office. The tray had two teacups and saucers, a teapot with freshly brewed tea, a sugar bowl, a milk jug, and a strainer. All of which were porcelain with multicolored, delicately painted flowers and the Bridgerton name along the side.

Anthony sighed deeply, he didn’t look irritated, he just looked tired. “ Did I not tell you to leave me be?” He asked since you had not greeted him. You didn’t look at him as you prepared your cup of tea, “That is such a way to speak to your wife Mr. Bridgerton.” You spoke sarcastically, stirring in your sugar and taking a small sip to see if it were to your tastes. A warm smile formed on your face after you drank the warm liquid, sitting comfortably in the chair a little ways across from Anthony's desk, a table in the way of you being directly in front of his desk.

Anthony clasped his hands together, elbows on the desk, “What are you doing?” He asked, lips pursed. You placed your cup on the saucer, “If you truly believe I will let you sit in this office and rot,” You spoke, finally looking at him, “you are gravely mistaken.” You told him, expressionless. Anthony tilted his head to the side, he didn’t believe he was ‘rotting’ in the office space, but he couldn’t speak since you beat him to it. “I shall remain here and tend to you until you see fit to conduct yourself as a gentleman.” You stated, hands in your lap, straightening your posture, “Or to put sourly,” You began, “an adult.”

“Do not treat me like a child.” Anthony told you, hands dropping back to the desk, no movement towards the quills.

“Then do not act like one.”

“What has prompted this?”

You pretend to think for a moment, pulling up your hand to count, “Your blatant disregard for your wife in your own home,” You spoke as you put up a finger, “your refusal to acknowledge her presence or engage with her” you continued, putting another finger up, “or even talk to her.” You finished, putting up the last finger, slightly glaring at him.

There was silence from Anthony as he bit the inside of his cheek, twitching his nose. Due to the silence, you continued to speak, “I vowed to cherish and support you through all, but I will not endure your silence.” You explained, shaking your head a bit with your words. Anthony sighed, moving a few papers out of his way, “You are aware that traditionally wives do not-”

“You did not marry me due to my traditional nature.”

There was more silence from your husband until he ran a hand through his hair. “You will not leave until I discuss ill with you?” He asked, seeming to be contemplating the idea that he just spoke into existence. You nodded, “Precisely.”

“Very well, let’s discuss ills.”

The Bridgerton man stood from his desk and strode to sit next to you. You gestured to the tea and he shook his head, leaning forward, clasping his hands. His leg shook and tapped the floor as he struggled to find the words, “My fathers death left my mother heartbroken, she never remarried.” He spoke suddenly. The words confused you a bit, was that why he had been so closed off? You turned to him fully, crossing your leg over the other, “Your mothers strength,” You began, taking a breath, “is commendable.” You commented, the Brdigerton in front of you chose not to look at you but he nodded. “She said her love for your father was true and her devotion for your father lies strong.” You continued on, thinking about the older woman and how powerful she was for standing strong for her children. “She does not need to marry if she does not wish to.” You completed your thought at his words about his mother.

Anthony put his hands on his knees, straightening himself. He sucked his teeth, “I understand that,” He told you, “but you do not understand how she flinches when they refer to her as Dowager.” He continued on.

At parties they would announce Violet Bridgerton as Dowager VIscountess Bridgerton, and they have for the many years since Edmund Bridgerton had passed.

“My mother remains a widow.” Anthony continued, voice slightly cracking when he thought about the way his mothers hand would tighten around his arm when someone greeted her as ‘Dowager’.

You nodded in understanding, no matter how strong Violet was, it still hurt. You just didn’t process why that caused him to pull from you. “Nevertheless, I am not,” You told him, the words causing him to look put his face in his hands, “hence my lack of understanding of your coldness and sudden refusal to be with me.” You spoke, staring right at him, hands in your lap picking at your nails.

“What if you find yourself a widow?” Anthony asked suddenly, now fully turned to you.

“Pardon me?” You asked blankly, brows furrowed, lips slightly parted.

“What if you find yourself to be a widow?” He repeated, slightly differently.

“If you suspect you may act recklessly, you must inform me at once." You told him cautiously, hand moving towards him, but he pulled back. "My father's passing was but a consequence of being outdoors.” He stated blankly, eyes staring forward, distantly. He never talked about his father's death, it wasn’t a topic he was very open about. “He committed no recklessness, yet the heavens saw fit to claim him.” Anthony's hands were beginning to shake before he clenched them into fists, “A virtuous man, struck down."

“Anthony-”

“What if I do not live a graciously long life?” He asked, head snapping to you, “What if I meet my end, just as young as my father?” He asked another question that you had no answer to other than, “Anthony you will live a long life-”

He stood abruptly, face red, eyes watering, “How could you possibly know that!” He yelled at you, “You do not!” He continued to yell, face such an angry red it almost scared you. He didn’t seem angry though, his eyes were filled with fear, he was scared. You did not expect him to yell or be so emotional, it hurt you deep in your heart to see him look so terrified about what could happen.

Anthony began to pace, hands in his hair and desperately pulling at his collar. “I didn’t even wish to marry,” He told you, seemingly muttering to himself. “I feared leaving my wife alone, especially if we were to have children.” He continued, not gazing at you at all.

You stood, slowly walking to him, “Yet, here you continue to stand,” You said, “alive,and wed.” You reminded him, concern flowing through you as he paced.

He stopped walking, looking at the wedding ring on his finger. “My mother was left with eight children to raise alone.” He mumbled, having to clear his throat from how low he was speaking. “I, the eldest, lost my father when I was eighteen left to carry his title and responsibility.” He spoke to you, reminding himself of all the information he didn’t know when he was eighteen and how he had to figure it all out, how he had to be the man of the house at such a young age. “I do not wish for you and our future child to endure the same fate.”

You were quiet, “Then why did you marry me?” You whispered, your expression was slightly crinkled but you were listening. Anthony had turned to you, a soft but sad expression on his face. He gently held your hands, looking into your eyes. “My affection for you was undeniable.” He confessed, cupping one of your cheeks with his large hand, a bit of sweat dripping down his forehead from being so worked up. “It was so difficult to be inexplicably in love with you and watch for you to have other suitors.” He continued, drawing a breath, “I was drawn to you, as a moth to flame.”

You licked your lips, “Yet, you still harbor fears of leaving me-”

“The responsibility of children and a title you cannot shed unless you remarry.” He interrupted you, thumbs rubbing at your cheeks. He looked at you desperately, desperate for you to understand how he was feeling, but you could not. “Which I have no intention to do.” You retorted to his comment, he is the only man you believe you’ll ever love and nothing will change that.

Anthony nodded, dropping his hands from your face. He remembered how he wasn’t there for his mother, for his family sometimes. “I acknowledge that I was a challenge to deal with for my mother.” He spoke, and you were aware of such things. He had admitted these feats to you during your courtship, during small corners of vulnerability. “I just do not wish for you to face similar struggles alone.” He finished his thought, ultimately refusing to meet your gaze as he found the bookcases to be far more interesting.

You shook your head, “She did not endure it alone.” You stated matter-of-factly. Anthony looked up, eyes blinking in confusion, “What?” He asked you, so you continued. “Your mother, she had you, she had Benedict, Colin, Daphne. All of her children were her solace and support.” You expressed to him, reminding him of all of his siblings. They all had each other, they were all her shoulder to cry on just as she was theirs.

Anthony sighed for the thousandth time within that conversation, “We were not easy children.” He told you. Eloise didn’t wish to marry, he had been such a terrible man of the house in the beginning, Benedict did not wish for the responsibility, Colin rushed into things too quickly, Daphne had so much going on when she was named the diamond of the season, his younger siblings couldn’t even fathom the world they were in.

“No child ever is.” You told him simply, holding his hand gently. This time, he did not pull away.

You smiled at him, kissing his cheek gently and pulling back to look him into his eyes. “Now,” You started, letting out the puff of air that was compressing your chest the entire conversation. “I’d prefer if we do not speak the subject of your demise as if it were to greet us at dawn.” You told him, the comment causing him to chuckle a bit, holding your hand a little tighter. “You will come down for dinner and we will enjoy a meal together.” You told him and he nodded, “I will be down in a moment, I shall see the papers are put away first.” He spoke, looking around to all the papers scattered on his desk and some even on the floor.

You left him to the papers and asked your maid to get dinner started, the woman asking if there were any preferences you wanted. The door had closed and Anthony was soon left alone.

Once the door had closed Anthony had begun to gasp for breath, unbuttoning the top of his shirt for air. His chest began to have as he leaned against the door, tears filling his eyes. He furiously wiped at them, trying so hard to push them back but he couldn’t stop them when a choked sob left his lips. His hands were shaking when they reached his face to wipe at his eyes hurriedly. The topic of conversation was difficult, you were so sure that the two of you would grow old together with your children, that you would not have to worry about being a widow, but Anthony was not so sure.

Everyday he saw a little bit of his father in himself and it terrified him. Such a good man was taken from the world by something as simple as a bee and it scared Anthony of everything around him. Sure, before he was not scared of death, even going as far as to call for a duel where he was prepared to die for his sister's honor. But now, he had you, and he did not wish to leave you.

Anthony shakily clasped his hands in a prayer, praying for all the time in the world to be with you. Praying for more time than his father had, praying for a chance. He muttered small prayers, “Please, I just wish to be with her, I will never ask for anything else.” He cried out quietly, eyes closed, tears pouring from his eyes. “I just want time, time with her, please.” He begged quietly, his prayers in reflection to how lonely he saw his mother was. She had so many children but he knew that his mother wished for his father to be there to help her everyday.

A knock had sounded at the door, the noise caused Anthony to stand quickly and rush to the other side of the room with documents, back to the door. He cleared his throat, sniffling one last time, “Enter.” He spoke, the door opening.

“Lord Bridgerton, dinner is served.” A footman had announced, standing in the doorway.

Anthony put the documents away, wiping his tears without the man noticing. “I shall be there in just a moment's time.” He told the man, putting some documents into the drawers. The man nodded and closed the door, going to inform you of the comment.

The door closed once more and Anthony felt his legs were so weak that he had almost collapsed into the furniture. One of his hands gripped the edge of the drawer, the other clawing at his chest. He felt as if every time he took a breath his chest would tighten, he felt nauseous, dizzy. The room was spinning and his vision was blurry from his tears. It almost seemed as if he were dying, but he was not, everything felt like so much but nothing was happening.

It all felt like too much.

He tried to take a few more deep breaths, the pain ceasing and his vision returning back to normal. He slowly exhaled, blinking and wiping his tears. He clenched his jaw as he stood up straight, muttering some words of ‘man of the house’, ‘loving husband’, ‘time’. He couldn't connect the words even if he tried, all he knew was that he was going to dinner.

All he knew was that his father's words rang in his head, but he kept shaking them from his mind. “You cannot show someone your best without allowing them to see your worst.” If only his father had told him how difficult it was to show someone your worst. How frightening it was to show true vulnerability, to find the words to explain feelings you don’t even understand fully yourself.

[frost-queen]

Tempting fate // part 5 (Reader!Featherington x Colin Bridgerton)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown, @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @bubblybrianna97 , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampthing07 , @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury ,  @imagines-by-her ,  @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @iixchloee, @cherrysxuya , @dutifullyannoyingfox , @wolf-phoenix-lover, @mellowdreamlandpost-blog ,

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Summary: With a little help of Anthony, Colin tries to have a moment to speak with you. Rather taking the flee, you leave him no chance of conversating with you. Will Colin get his chance to speak with you or will you forever ignore him. [ part 1 & part 2 & part 3 & part 4 & part 6 & part 7 & part 8 & part 9 & part 10]

A fast feather scraped over parchment, filling the silence in the waiting room. Penelope hunched over her parchment as the feather wrote down her exact thoughts. You entered the waiting room, seeing her write so lost in her thoughts. An annoyance grew over you. – “Writing about me again for your latest sheet?” – you said out loud, wandering around the armchair closer to her. Penelope glanced to the side, pausing her writing briefly before continuing.

“It is a letter.” – she responded after some silence. – “One to your adoring readers?” – you teased moving closer to the window. Moving the curtain a bit aside to peek outside. – “Perhaps you can ask your adoring readers for their opinion on me? I’m sure they would be delighted to follow in your delusions.” – you spoke with a mocking undertone. It made Penelope lay her feather down.

“I thought you didn’t wished to speak to me ever again.” – she replied bitsy, making you briefly look over your shoulder to her. – “I am.” – you spoke. – “You are the just the only breathing thing in this house at the moment.” – you left the window moving more to the centre of the room. Penelope swallowed a bit, glancing your way.

You went around the armchair, making your way for the door with your head up high. – “You shouldn’t give me ideas.” – you heard your sister call out to you as you were heading out. Not liking the taunting in her tone, you went back inside, picked up the nearest pillow and threw it at her. The pillow hit her and the ink bottle. It fell over, spilling her parchment and a bit of her dress.

Penelope gasped loud, jumping up at the sudden wetness on her dress. – “Do not provoke me sister!” – you said in a cold tone, throwing a glare at her. Penelope looked in shock at you for having spilled ink on her dress. You turned on your heel, heading out once more. In the hallway, you walked through the house, making your way to the garden. Setting foot in the sun, you took in a deep breath.

Glancing over your shoulder, you lowered your gaze. Feeling like there was no one to trust. Not your own sister nor Colin with his false promises. You headed for the large tree where the swing was strapped to. You carefully sat down. Balancing on your feet to move the swing a bit. Lost in thoughts, you stared down, fidgeting with your fingers on your lap.

Breathing out loud, you looked away, finding yourself pathetic. A shadow of yourself sitting on the swing. For a moment, just for a moment, you thought you’d be his. That you found someone to love you unconditionally. Colin had always been a good friend of your sisters. Colin and you weren’t that close to begin with. It wasn’t like you could get to know him that well since your sister had a way of claiming him.

Ever since you were little. So it was shocking to know that Colin was interested in you, or at least even for a little while. Perhaps that kiss meant nothing to him, but it meant everything to you. The first time a boy showed such affection towards you. Colin must have kissed plenty of girls, that it had little meaning by now. To you it felt like he had stolen something from you.

Stolen something he couldn’t return. Touching your lips, you recalled the feeling it left on your lips. Strangely enlightening. Bringing your fingers down, you tore your gaze away, feeling foolish. Wanting to forget about stupid Penelope and stupid Colin, you grabbed the cord firmly.

Setting your feet off as the swing got in motion. Kicking your feet back and forth to create the friction. Up, up, up you went. Higher and higher till you could reach the clouds. The wind blowing through your hair untangling it as it had a mind of its own now. Blissfully you smiled, forgetting about your worries for a moment.

Leaning back, you watched the skies make you feel dizzy. The light making you squint your eyes as you let the swinging die out. Pulling yourself back up when you were closer to the ground. A summer’s sadness on your face as the swing slowed down. Staring lost in front of you. With a huff you got up, having enough of it. You weren’t going to let anyone humiliate you ever again.

Not your sister not Colin, not again. The hell with Penelope. The hell with Colin Bridgerton for he would never loose his boyish act. Seeing his true colours clearly in a shade of green. You looked curiously up hearing your name from afar. Prudence stood in the entrance leading outside. – “Coming!” – you called out, lingering for but a moment before going inside.

Phillipa was fanning vigorously in the carriage. Mama slapped her hand on her hand to stop her hurricane of fanning. Phillipa gave mama a sheepish smile, followed by a nervous swallow. Mama moved a bit closer to the centre of the carriage, placing her hand on Phillipa and yours knees that were in reach. – “Now girls it is not too late for us to shine.” – she said to pep herself up. – “We’ll attract nice men and turn this tide.” – she patted your knee with a trusting smile.

Prudence who sat beside you across from Phillipa took your hand, giving it a soft squeeze. – “We’ll find you a good husband.” – she whispered to you. Penelope let an amusing chuckle slip. Making everyone stare at her. – “Something funnily Penelope?” – mama questioned with a quizzable brow. Penelope cleared her throat.

“No mama.” – she answered. The rest of the carriage ride was in silence. Till you rode up to the event. A springs festival. Tents stationed around. Flowers used as decoration to celebrate its bright colours. The footman opened the door helping mama out first. Then Phillipa and Penelope. Prudence and you as last.

By one of the tents you immediately recognized the Bridgerton brothers. It made you turn around, hoping they hadn’t noticed you. There was one thing you wanted to avoid at any cost. Colin Bridgerton. – “Come girls.” – Mama said pulling Phillipa with her. Penelope and Prudence followed as you rather wanted to disappear. So you headed the other direction than them.

Walking around groups of gathering people to find a way around. Having squeezed yourself between two groups who stood with their backs at each other, you let out a soft gasp. Coming face to face with Eloise Bridgerton. – “Y/n!” – she let out with wide eyes. – “Eloise.” – you replied nervously. – “Penelope is that way.” – you informed her, going round her to not engage any further.

You quickened up your step, hastening away from her. Freezing you saw Kate with two glasses in her hand. Probably one for her husband as well. Moving your hand against your cheek, you bowed your head for her not to notice you. Avoiding these Bridgerton’s seemed harder as they seemed to turn up at every corner.

Colin stood by the tent with Anthony and Benedict. Anthony nudged him in the side. Motioning with his head in the direction of the Featheringtons. Colin got on the tip of his toes, staring at them. Anthony kept gesturing with his head for him to make a move. Colin set his feet back down, shaking his head with pulled up shoulders. Benedict stared at the display. – “Why do I get the feeling I am missing something.” – he let out, feeling excluded for whatever it was they shared.

Anthony kept bugging him to do something. – “She is not there.” – Colin shout-whispered to him. – “Then find her!” – Anthony spoke back giving him a push. – “I am definitely missing something.” – Benedict answered looking over at Francesca who sat down with a book. Francesca pulled her shoulders up, forming a thin line of her lips.

Colin exhaled deep getting in motion. – “What am I missing?” – Benedict asked Anthony. Anthony rolled with his eyes taking his leave. – “An…Anthony!” – Benedict called out going after him for answers. Francesca shut her book, getting up. Kate arrived at the tent, looking confused around for everyone had taken their leave.

You were still walking around, staying close to large groups so you wouldn’t stand out. You even had lost track of where your family was. You started to look around for escape’s if you indeed did encounter Colin Bridgerton to your dislikes. You moved through a group, eyes widening when you came nose to nose with Francesca Bridgerton. – “Colin is looking for you.” – she said with a shy smile. – “Must I encounter every Bridgerton?” – you mumbled under your breath, taking your leave.

Francesca blinked confused feeling too shy to call out your name and draw any attention towards her. Your unfortunate encounter with her led to spotting Colin through the crowd. He turned at the exact same time, you saw him, making him notice you. – “Y/n.” – he called out making his way over. You turned round, pushing some people aside to make your escape. Colin furrowed his brows, going in pursuit. You started to run faster, no way wanting to be near with him. Some heads turned your way at you taking a run for it.

Leaving the festive for the woods. Panting loud, you ran till you jumped aside, hiding behind a tree trunk. You heard twigs snap underneath shoes as it made you cover up your mouth. – “Y/n? Y/n? Where are you?” – it was Colin calling out to you. You tried to remain still not wanting him to find you. – “Y/n I… I want to talk about our last encounter.” – he let out looking around for you.

He waited for an answer but you never gave one. There was another pair of footsteps, this time coming from the front. Your eyes widened when a brown bearded man came to a stop. Staring right back at you. Slowly questioning what you were doing. Seeing an opportunity you whispered to him, to help you. You walked up to the man, taking him by his arm as you walked out in the open. 

Colin coming to a stop as he saw you appear around a man’s arm. – “Y/n?” – Colin said in disbelieve. – “Can’t speak now Colin, can’t you see a woman is in company.” – you replied walking past him with the lord. Putting on a smile to show Colin you didn’t need him and his false promises. The lord seemed to play along, laying his hand on yours around his arm. Starting to talk about nature as you listened half.

Colin turned to your departure with shock in his eyes. – “Y/n.” – he squeaked out too stunned that you were walking with another lord. Nearing the festive once more, you thanked him for helping you out. – “It was my pleasure Miss Featherington.” – he said with a bow, leaning down to kiss your hand. – “If you ever need saving again, simply call upon me.” – he continued after having kissed your hand.

You curtsied to him, taking your leave to return to your family content. – “Where have you been?” – mama questioned blinking surprised. You hummed soft, ignoring her question to come and join Prudence. Colin returned to his brothers with a sweat. Anthony stopped him by his shoulder.

“You are sweating dear brother.” – he pointed out. – “I…I… she was with another gentleman.” – he called out. – “Who was?” – Benedict asked curiously coming in sight, holding a pastry. Anthony inhaled deep, bringing Colin closer to him. – “It is not too late brother.” – patting his brother on the chest.

---------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[beekeeperspicnic]

Can't believe this blog has existed THIS long, and I've somehow never shared this Sherlock Holmes fanfic by PG Wodehouse. As far as I know it predates Conan Doyle publishing any stories which mention Holmes retiring to keep bees, which presents the delightful possibility that ACD discussed his future plans for Holmes with his young friend Plum, whose first reaction was to go off and write (and publish) a cute parody of it.

The Adventure of the Missing Bee

Sherlock Holmes is to retire from public life after Christmas, and take to bee-farming in the country.

"It is a little hard, my dear Watson," said Holmes, stretching his long form on the sofa, and injecting another half-pint of morphia with the little jewelled syringe which the Prince of Piedmont had insisted on presenting to him as a reward for discovering who had stolen his nice new rattle; "it is just a little hard that an exhausted, overworked private detective, coming down to the country in search of peace and quiet, should be confronted in the first week by a problem so weird, so sinister, that for the moment it seems incapable of solution."

"You refer—?" I said.

"To the singular adventure of the missing bee, as anybody but an ex-army surgeon equipped with a brain of dough would have known without my telling him."

I readily forgave him his irritability, for the loss of his bee had had a terrible effect on his nerves. It was a black business. Immediately after arriving at our cottage, Holmes had purchased from the Army and Navy Stores a fine bee. It was docile, busy, and intelligent, and soon made itself quite a pet with us. Our consternation may, therefore, be imagined when, on going to take it out for its morning run, we found the hive empty. The bee had disappeared, collar and all. A glance at its bed showed that it had not been slept in that night. On the floor of the hive was a portion of the insect's steel chain, snapped. Everything pointed to sinister violence.

Holmes' first move had been to send me into the house while he examined the ground near the hive for footsteps. His search produced no result. Except for the small, neat tracks of the bee, the ground bore no marks. The mystery seemed one of those which are destined to remain unsolved through eternity.

But Holmes was ever a man of action.

"Watson," he said to me, about a week after the incident, "the plot thickens. What does the fact that a Frenchman has taken rooms at Farmer Scroggins' suggest to you?"

"That Farmer Scroggins is anxious to learn French," I hazarded.

"Idiot!" said Holmes, scornfully. "You've got a mind like a railway bun. No. If you wish to know the true significance of that Frenchman's visit, I will tell you. But, in the first place, can you name any eminent Frenchman who is interested in bees?"

I could answer that.

"Maeterlinck," I replied. "Only he is a Belgian."

"It is immaterial. You are quite right. M. Maeterlinck was the man I had in my mind. With him bees are a craze. Watson, that Frenchman is M. Maeterlinck's agent. He and Farmer Scroggins have conspired, and stolen that bee."

"Holmes!" I said, horrified. "But M. Maeterlinck is a man of the most rigid honesty."

"Nobody, my dear Watson, is entirely honest. He may seem so, because he never meets with just that temptation which would break through his honesty. I once knew a bishop who could not keep himself from stealing pins. Every man has his price. M. Maeterlinck's is bees. Pass the morphia."

"But Farmer Scroggins!" I protested. "A bluff, hearty English yeoman of the best type."

"May not his heartiness be all bluff?" said Holmes, keenly. "You may take it from me that there is literally nothing that that man would stick at. Murder? I have seen him kill a wasp with a spade, and he looked as if he enjoyed it. Arson? He has a fire in his kitchen every day. You have only to look at the knuckle of the third finger of his left hand to see him as he is. If he is an honest man, why does he wear a made-up tie on Sundays? If he is an upright man, why does he stoop when he digs potatoes? No, Watson, nothing that you can say can convince me that Farmer Scroggins has not a black heart. The visit of this Frenchman—who, as you can see in an instant if you look at his left shoulder-blade, has not only deserted his wife and a large family, but is at this very moment carrying on a clandestine correspondence with an American widow, who lives in Kalamazoo, Mich. — convinces me that I have arrived at the true solution of the mystery. I have written a short note to Farmer Scroggins, requesting him to send back the bee and explaining that all is discovered. And that," he broke off, "is, if I mistake not, his knock. Come in."

The door opened. There was a scuffling in the passage, and in bounded our missing bee, frisking with delight. Our housekeeper followed, bearing a letter. Holmes opened it.

"Listen to this, Watson," said Holmes, in a voice of triumph.

"'Mr. Giles Scroggins sends his compliments to Mr. Sherlock Holmes, an' it's quite true, I did steal that there bee, though how Mr. Holmes found out, Mr. G. Scroggins bean't able to understand. I am flying the country as requested. Please find enclosed 1 (one) bee, and kindly acknowledge receipt to 'Your obedient servant, 'G. Scroggins.

'Enclosure.'?"

"Holmes," I whispered, awe-struck, "you are one of the most remarkable men I ever met."

He smiled, lit his hookah, seized his violin, and to the slow music of that instrument turned once more to the examination of his test tubes.

Three days later we saw the following announcement in the papers: "M. Maeterlinck, the distinguished Belgian essayist, wishes it to be known that he has given up collecting bees, and has taken instead to picture postcards."

[igotanidea]

The talk : Dick Grayson X reader ( with Bruce Wayne)

A/n : it's a snippet, I might consider writing it fully

Warning: suggestive but not explicit

Summary: it's time for the bees and bird talk with Dick

***

Bruce walking in on a young adult! Dick and his girlfriend y/n getting cosy between the sheets.

Obviously, as a normally functioning adult and a father, even if just a foster one, the batman takes it upon himself to have a talk about bees and birds with his favourite son.

He got it all planned out, schemed, thought out to avoid surprises and misunderstandings.

He actually had the contingency plans from A to Z drafted for a while, only hoping that those would never come to use.

Unfortunately, seeing y/n, with her blouse undone, hair a mess and Dick's hands (and apparently more) on her, forces Bruce to retreat to hide the blush creeping on. The last piece of his dignity is gone and he is pretty sure there's no good way to recover from such a failure.

He had reached the ultimate botttom.

"Hey B, you good?" Hours later Dick found him in the batcave, engrossed in some feigned, quickly fixed work. It was too easy to figure he would hide there to avoid seeing or - god forbid - hear anything.

"Hm."

"You wanted to talk to me about something, didn't you?" He grinned, delighting in a way Bruce seemed to develop an eye twich.

"Hm".

"Great. I got some time before I get back to y/n, so?"

"Get back?" Bruce turned to face his son and immediately regretted it. He seriously wished to erase the sight of lipstick and love bites on his neck.

"Something wrong?" Once more dick flashed a smile, trying to force a reaction out of Bruce.

"hm."

"we're being safe"

"Amazing"

"and she's okay with it"

"Great"

"And I've studied female anatomy so I know a thing or two about --"

Oh dear lord...

"Dick." Bruce was an inch from having a spasm. How ironic it would turn out to be if gotham lost its protector because of certain golden boy growing up.

"hey did you know that --"

"Get out, Dick."

"But I thought you wanted to--"

"I said get out"

"-talk?"

"I believe you got it all wrong. It was Alfred. Yes. Alfred wanted to talk to you. Not me."

"You sure about it B? You want me to talk to Alfred about -"

"yes. Absolutely. Now go. I'm sure time is of essence"

"it is. Though Alfred took some time off, thanks to your generosity, Bruce. So I'll go, sure, but I've already got so many questions that I don't want to search online and--"

"Dick?" Y/n voice sounded dangerously close to the batcave entrance "Where are you? I'm gonna have to go soon and I need a proper goodbye --"

"coming!!!" Dick yelled rushing off the room " great talk, Bruce. We'll continue it later."

Dick left and Bruce was finally able to let out a groan. The masterplanner forgot to acknowledge the fact that sweet kids tend to turn into feral, hormonal young adults and require actual upbringing.

***

"you're so mean to him, you know that?" Y/m muttered, once again with his lips on hers

"mean? Who, me? Ouch! You're hurting my heart here princess."

"you are. He could easily be a DILF, yet is alone and you're tormenting him."

"but if you saw the look on his face --"

"you're only proving my point of you being mean".

"I'm sure he'll get some, some day--"

"but still- mmm!"

"I remind you that you enabled the plan baby.... Played quite an important part in it." Dick started kissing her a little harder, not even trying to hide where he was heading. "Wonder why that is..."

"cause you're also a -- ohh!"

"you were saying?" He smirked, looking up at her.

"-prick"

"Am I?" His hands moved where she liked it "what else?"

"liar..." She gasped. While it was true he didn't tell her why he invited her over and that his father was in, his movements were serving as a pretty good apology.

Even if knowing Dick it was obviously also a way to boost his ego and prove his point and complete his twisted and deranged plan.

"you know what, I've already had one talk, I don't really need another.... Rather keep my lips occupied with something else --"

***

Bruce came out of the batcave only after making sure it was safe.

Mentally cursing himself for having not one, but four boys under his care.

Which meant that this - whatever it was-- was about to happen again.

[cyberrose2001]

Self-Humiliation

RB Chase x GN!Human Reader

Based on Rescue Bots Season 3 Episode 23 A little fic I thought of in the shower after binging some rescue bots. Trying to get myself out of a writing rut, so apologies if it isn't up to par, but I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Mild Dub-Con, Masturbation, Sex Toy Usage, Third Person POV

Word Count: 971

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

Click.

Click.

Click.

Oh, how humiliating this is.

It hadn't bothered Chase that he was confined to a wheelchair, nor the fact that he was injured. The police bot had sustained plenty worse before.

What bothered him was how helpless he felt. Chase tried cutting into the coms with the team on the ground, inputting suggestions, but had been quickly dismissed by the Chief to perform surveillance on the town. Chase felt a tiny bit deflated, though, in truth, he was rather grateful and enthusiastic that he could still play a crucial role for the team. Sitting alone in the control centre, constantly flicking through surveillance cameras around the island and calling the Chief if he saw something slightly unusual.

Chase still wasn't sure what constituted 'usual' regarding humans. So, he kept flicking through video feeds, a twinge of excitement at the thought of the knowledge he could gather. His optics were fixed even on the screen's in-between static. With current rescue scenes, the view of the main street, and the bank, he had the whole island at his fingertips. He was determined to do his job with the utmost pride and diligence.

As he ran the feed further and further, he saw live feeds of residential homes peering into the open windows, strangely enough. Surely this was a violation of some kind, Chase thought. It was Griffin Rock, though; anything can happen. Even if it called for cameras in every nook and cranny, pointed at the unsuspecting humans going about their unusual hobbies. He makes a mental note to ask about this... violation of privacy later.

There was Mrs Neederlander, a man playing a rather interesting instrument, and a couple enjoying an outside meal, which he believes is called a... 'bee bee queue'? Fascinating.

However, when he clicks on the remote to the next feed, his optics whir into pinpoints, and his digit freezes above the 'next' button.

The live feed focuses on a window, barely concealed by the thin curtain; it may as well not be there. It shows a silhouette of a human, a hand between their thighs, thrusting an unusually shaped phallic object into them.

"Oh my-" Chase covers his intake in shock. This was unprecedented. He leans closer to the screen, unsure if his optics are playing tricks on him.

No, this human was certainly pleasuring themselves.

He's heard of it before; there are police codes for public acts similar to this. But technically, this wasn't in public. This was a human unknowingly being spied on in their own home, so the thought of passing this off to the Chief quickly fizzled out.

"Ohh, fuck-"

Oh dear, Chase thinks to himself, there's audio. He really shouldn't be watching this. Every fibre of this being urges him to click 'next', to pretend he never saw anything. An emergency could unfold on the next surveillance feed, and he'd be none the wiser.

But Primus, does this human sound delightful.

A small pulse behind his panels, and Chase stiffens. Despite wanting nothing else than to continue his work, his body has a different opinion on the matter. His optics remain fixed on the human's tight hole, swallowing the inadequately sized toy; his spike would do much better work on making you scream. He bites the tip of his digits in agonising thought, fighting with his inner turmoil. It's wrong. It's so wrong to even have that passing thought.

But no one is around. Chase did a whole sweep of the base. No one to walk in on him shamelessly touching himself to a complete stranger. Let alone a human.

But, he wanted knowledge. So, knowledge he will get.

Chase quickly digs his digit into the seam of his panels, and the pressure releases with a hiss. His spike falls into his servo perfectly, standing shamelessly tall and erect instantly. His face heats up in disgrace, not believing he would ever consider doing this. Still, he lounges back, somewhat relaxing into his wheelchair, and refocuses on the human.

He watches intently, stroking up and down in time with the toy. Chase had never thought of it, but he wondered how that little human would feel wrapped around his spike. The thought sends a jolt through his spine, and he strokes faster.

"You- You little devil-" Chase moans softly as the pleasurable sensation blooms in the pits of his tanks, "Turning a bot like me into a filthy animal." He re-adjusts himself in the chair so he can spread his thighs more, a shameful display if anyone were to walk into the room right now. But he keeps stroking, pumping himself to the thought of plunging his spike into the little human. That tight, slick hole dripping all over it. Now his mind wanders again, wondering what it would be like, what you would smell like, taste like.

Chase never thought he could feel such envy like this, watching greedily as they collect dribbles of cum with a fingertip only to wrap a soft tongue around it.

It's all too much for his processor to handle; the sight of the human pleasingly sucking their finger, the toy still pressed deep inside that fleshy valve. Chase arches into his wheelchair, gripping the armrest with the same intensity as his spike and overloads. He fucks into his servo aimlessly, moaning and tossing his helm around with every erupting throb of his spike. Transfluid messily coats his digits and paints his thighs.

The police bot vents heavily and slumps back, groaning softly. His optics flicker open, not realising that he had squeezed them shut, and he looks back at the screen. The human was gone; only a tiny wet patch remained of you on the sheets.

Chase looks down at his lap, a bubble of shame creeping through his frame.

"Oh, Primus, how humiliating."

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hey lovely me again. I’m in desperate need of some more Kirishima Smut. I don’t think I’ve every read angry/hate sex with Kirishima so I am requesting that🤍

I’m Just Possessive By Nature, Baby (Kirishima x F!Reader) [REQUEST FILL] 

Pairing: Jealous BF!Kirishima Ejirou x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Kirishima isn't the type to lose his cool, but seeing his friends dance with you during a nightclub romp is enough to make him lose all control. And when he finally reaches his breaking point, he will show you who the fuck you belong to so you NEVER forget.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS DNI); GF!Reader; Angry/Jealous S*x; Dubcon (at first); Against The Wall; Foreplay; Spanking; Choking; Marking/Biting; Degradation/Praise; MDom!Kiri x fsub!Reader; Ownership; Pet-Names (Sweetie, Mama, Babygirl, Baby); Mating Press; Doggystyle; Cunnilingus; Kiri Is A Munch; Edge Play; Mutual O; Aftercare

Writer's Note: Thank you so very much for waiting so patiently, Anon!! I hope you enjoy this one! I love writing mean Kiri lol. -Jazz

************

Kirishima has never been the type to let others anger him. Everything flows like water off his back. 

He has always prided himself on being able to keep his cool and keep a bright, shark-toothed smile on his face. Besides, it has never been easy for him to get angry. Pissed, sure! Irritated, definitely. But angry? Nah….until now, that is. 

Kiri is practically seeing red when he watches you dance in between Sero and Denki who are more than delighted at having you sandwiched between them. Bakugou is busy playing designated driver with his Coke at the bar next to Kiri, the only one of Kiri’s guy friends that aren’t all up on you like bees on honey. 

Mina and Jirou are on the floor too in their nightclub best, Mina in her pretty pink mini dress harassing a blushing Jirou in her leather pants and red crop top for photos. Kiri may be biased, but you are by far the most vibrant and eye-catching in your bright, tight bodysuit paired hip-hugging, ass-squeezing jeans and kitten heels and freshly-manicured nails….nails that are currently gliding down Sero’s bare arm. 

You look like you’re having so much fun dancing with the mullet-haired pro and Denki, the blonde with the black lightning bolt streak in his hair standing behind you that you lean the back of your head against when you laugh. You are smiling. Giggling. Moving those hips as if either one of the two are your man. 

He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the way Denki slides his hand up your arm or the way Sero is smiling down at you. It doesn’t help that both of them have piercings which you are 100% into. You had confessed to Kiri when you started dating that other than his muscles, flowing, long red hair, and sweetheart personality, you fell head over heels for the tattooed sleeves and piercings: one eyebrow, two gages, a tongue ring, and snakebites (the same as Bakugou). 

‘Stop,’ Kiri tells himself as he sits at the bar, nursing the same fruity cocktail (he LOVES his fruity drinks) he has been holding onto since he got here an hour before.

He wanted to be at least a little bit sober for you in case you needed it. You just love to throw back your shots infused with all kinds of fruit and gourmet flavors, like chocolate and strawberry cheesecake. And he loves watching you. The sexiest thing to him is watching you have fun and let your hair down. 

But not with other men. And definitely not with his friends. He knows he is being stupid. He knows he is just being a jealous boyfriend drunk with anger. But dammit, if it doesn’t grind his gears and make him want to punch a hole in the wall watching you twirl your little hips with Sero and smile your sweet, beautiful smile at Denki. And they’re both pervs! 

‘Stop!’ he tells himself again, squeezing his eyes shut to avoid watching the scene any longer.

“Stop what?” Bakugou grumbles. Kiri opens his eyes, seeing his friend narrowing his vermillion eyes at him. “Huh?” he dumbly asks. 

Bakugou’s eyes narrow even more under the strobe lights, and Kiri never thought that was physically possible. “Da fuck you mean ‘huh’?” he grunts. “Either you said ‘stop’ to me or you’re talkin’ to yourself. In that case, you need to lay off the booze.” 

Kiri’s cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. “Sorry, bro. I’m just…lost in thought, is all.” He sips his drink, letting the taste of watermelon calm and distract him. “Uh-huh,” Bakugou replies, watching him with a knowing look. “Your girl is gettin’ real comfortable on the floor, y’know. You might wanna beat some ass.” 

Kiri rolls his eyes at his hot-headed friend, always ready to fight. “C’mon, Bakugou, Y/N is fine!” Bakugou looks at him as if that should be damn well obvious. “Yeah, I know,” he huffs. “And so is my girl. Why the fuck you think I keep Uraraka at home?” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Kiri sighs. “I meant she’s fine with Sero and Denki. They’re our friends and her friends too!” Even to his own ears he sounds like he is trying to persuade himself over Bakugou. “They know not to–” 

Your cute little squeal of laughter cuts him off and grabs his attention. “Denki, stop!” you howl as the blonde twirls you around on the floor, his arms locked around your waist. While they aren’t on your ass or anything, just seeing your smile and your tits pushed against his friend’s chest is enough to make Kiri see red. 

And he is. The entire nightclub looks like it is coated in a red light as Kiri’s anger boils over like a pot put on high heat. He is seething, so much so that he unknowingly grips his plastic cup until the thing bursts in his hand, shocking onlookers. Bakugou just sits there, a small, placating smirk on his face as he sips on his Coke. But his next few words are less than placating: “Still think they know they’re friends, shitty hair?” he asks. 

Kiri can’t even answer him. He is too busy watching Denki place you down on the floor on your cute little heels and hold your cute little hand and snap a picture with cute little you. You! His beautiful, wonderful, adorable girlfriend! He can’t take it. He can’t have it. He snaps his head towards the bartender and, as kindly as he can despite his simmering anger, asks for a shot of rum. The bartender grabs one immediately and Kiri downs it like it’s water, welcoming the strong taste and burn in his throat. With the liquid courage in him, he tosses his cup aside and storms onto the dance floor. 

He is used to people moving out of the way for him, less because of his status and more because of his gigantic build. Kiri stands at 6’3 with a build dedicated to years of pro-hero training, a lean diet, and hours in his private gym. He doesn’t play around with his body, mostly because he doesn’t play around with you. He needs to protect you from any harm, even if that might be his friends in his head. 

People stare, wide-eyed and ogling, as he storms onto the dancefloor, shoulders back and face stone cold. When he finally makes it over to you, you are completely oblivious to him standing behind you while you laugh with Sero over something oh-so funny. Meanwhile, his friends are happy to see him, oblivious to the fact that their friend is about to crash the fuck out. “Ayyye, it’s Red Riot!” Mina announces, drunk and bubbly. 

“What brings ya over to us losers, bud?” Denki asks, clapping a hand on Kiri’s back. He resists the urge to rip it off. 

Only Jirou knows that something is off, cocking her head to the side to regard the red-headed pro. “Uh…you okay, man?” she asks, concerned. Finally, you turn around after giggling with Sero, your eyes wide with joy and your hair slightly sweated out from your dancing. “Baby!” you shout. “I–” 

He doesn’t give you a chance to finish your sentence. Swiftly, he takes your hand and slugs you over his shoulder, your heels dangling from his chest. “Kiri, w-what are you doing?!” you squeal. “Wait a minute! Put me down!” You begin beating at his back muscles with your purse, trying and failing to make him do as you tell him. 

“Oh, shit!” Denki guffaws as the others watch in awe as Kiri carries you away, among the ogling eyes and cameras flashing. “He about to fuck the shit outta her! Don’t come back here, dude! We’ll talk tomorrow!” Kiri flips off his friend, not even turning back around to say goodbye to his crew. The only thing he is eyeing right now is the empty hallway leading towards the bathrooms and a second exit. 

He mumbles out “excuse me”s and “sorry”s as he forces his way through the crowded club, the music pounding in his ears and making his brain vibrate. Not to mention how your ass feels in his palm. He can feel the blood rushing to his head and his cock, making it hard to think straight.

He can just imagine forcing you to turn around with your hands against the wall and pressing himself up against your ass, his hard cock chubbing against his joggers. He is so glad he picked them over jeans because the throbbing, pulsing, nine ½ inch appendance is starting to ache.

He doesn’t stop moving until he’s got you in the hallway that is luckily empty. Fuck the cameras. He doesn’t care who sees you. 

Finally, he lowers you down onto your feet and gently holds you against the wall. “There you go,” he whispers. “Right where you belong.” His eyes drift down to your cleave where a gold necklace with a double R pendant hangs from it. The same as the anklet he bought you. RR for Red Riot. How could any man miss that? 

“K-Kiri,” you pant, shock evident in your pretty eyes framed by thick lashes. You place your hands on his broad shoulders, making his entire body grow aflame. “What are you doing?” His eyes flick from your pretty eyes to your juicy, soft-looking lips coated in sparkly pink lipgloss. 

“Remindin’ you who the fuck you belong to,” he softly growls before his lips are covering yours. 

You make a small noise of surprise as his mouth envelops yours, bringing you into a hot, possessive kiss where his hand is gripping your neck and his other hand is sliding across your ass. Instinctively, your smaller body presses against his, desperate to be close to him and helpless to his muscles or cologne. He wore your favorite–the kind that reminds you of the beach. He knows he drives you crazy. 

“Mmm,” you softly moan as the kiss grows sloppier, your tongues swirling together. You always loved wet kisses and so does Kiri. He can’t get enough of your tongue sliding against his or the way you melt against him when you feel the cold metal of his tongue ring.

He pulls away, causing a line of saliva to follow in his wake from his bottom lip to yours, and begins covering your neck in kisses and love bites. Each small pinch and graze of his teeth emits gasps and moans out of you, causing you to press your pelvis against his. 

 “Oh, Kiri,” you softly moan. Your head lulls back against the wall and your eyes flutter shut. 

The redheaded pro damn near busts his nut right there at the sound of his name escaping your pretty lips. “Yes, mama,” he coos into your ear. “Say my name. Only your man’s name.” He wedges his knee between your thighs and begins grinding himself against your crotch, gliding his knee against your pussy. “You belong to me,” he moans. “Only me.” 

“Eji, baby,” you softly whine so sweetly in his ear. “W-What is this about? Anyone can see us!” 

He pulls away, growing harder at the sight of anticipation in your eyes. “Fuckin’ let ‘em,” he growls. “Everybody needs to see who you’re with. Who you’re in love with.” 

He sees a twinge of worry in your gaze now, probably seeing the anger flashing in his crimson eyes. “Kiri,” you say again, worry and arousal dripping in your voice. You look as if you don’t know whether to be scared or horny from this. Kiri decides to pump the brakes and eases up on masturbating you with his knee, but doesn’t take it away just yet. 

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” he sighs. “I’ve never acted like this before with you, I know, but somethin’s got a hold on me…and I know it’s you.” He squeezes your arms as he holds you firmly against the wall, not enough to hurt you but enough to make you see how fucking pent up he is. “I didn’t like seein’ you dance with our friends like that. They were way too close.” 

You scowl at him in confusion, your cute little brows scrunching together. “Sero and Denki?” you incredulously ask. “But, baby, they’re just our–” 

He stops you by pressing his lips against yours again, leading you into another open-mouthed, sloppy kiss that riles the both of you up. “I know, I know,” he murmurs in between kisses. “But I couldn’t fuckin’ help myself. I needed to get you all to myself tonight, boo. You understand, don’t you?” 

His hand then travels up the front of your top to grope one of your breasts, his breath coming out in ragged gasps when he feels the soft globe and your hard nipple between his fingers. As he does this, he continues to kiss your neck and behind your ear, finding whatever empty spot he can to litter in kisses and markings. Your back arches, pushing yourself farther into his touch. “Oh!” you gasp. “K-Kiri, wait, the bathroom–” 

He pauses, looking at you. “What?” he asks, grinning at you. “You want me to fuck you in a club bathroom? Damn, baby, I didn’t realize you were this slutty!” A soft whimper escapes your mouth at the degrading word, your brows drawn together and your lips pressed into a sexy little pout that makes Kiri want to tear your clothes off and stretch you out right here. “Aw, is my poor baby just feenin’ for some dick, hm?” he teasingly asks, a coo in his voice that makes you melt and your pussy quiver. 

You don’t answer, but you don’t have to. He can see it in the change in your breathing–it is ragged and fast, your breasts rapidly rising and falling. He presses his hand against your cheek, shivering in delight when you press your face into his touch. His pretty baby. So needy for his touch. “I’m feenin’ for you too, babe,” he desperately sighs. “So much…but not enough to fuck you dumb in a dirty stall.” 

As much as he would love for these horndogs here to hear his girl screaming for him. The idea turns him on more than he is willing to admit. He gives you a peck on the lips before he takes your hand in his, protective and possessive. “C’mon, I’m takin’ you home with me.” 

For Kiri, home is his beautiful upscale condo that he shares with Bakugou on the other side of Musutafu. When his roommate isn’t there, he usually has you come over and fucks your pretty brains out of your skull for as long as Bakugou is out of the house. Even when the guy is home, the sex still occurs though slow, gentle, and quiet to avoid waking the sleeping beast aka Bakugou Katsuki. 

But not tonight. Tonight, there will be no slow, gentle, and quiet sex…unless you ask for it. Kiri will do whatever you wish. He relishes your pleasure and finds great pride in it. 

But God, if he doesn’t want to put your ass into the mattress and make the bed shake as you scream to the heavens that you’re about to cum over and over and over again. He longs to cover your neck and tits in teeth marks that his friends can’t help but notice. He wants to fill you up with his spunk and make you walk around with it inside of you the next day staining your panties. Anything to make you see that you are his only. 

By the time he gets you back to his place and in the bedroom, he is like a tea kettle, hot and steaming for you. He carries you bridal-style into his bedroom, still kissing you as he rushes over to the bed. The anticipation and need rose on the car ride home, Kiri’s hand on your thigh while the other was on the steering wheel. You would kiss and suck on his fingers, making it a point to roll your tongue against each one. 

‘Oh, man,’ he thought at the wheel as his cock throbbed. ‘You’re gonna get it later, babygirl.’ 

And now “later” has come, so now, he can do whatever deviant thought he has in his head to you. He lowers you down onto your feet and wastes no time getting you out of your clothes. You do the same to him, your fingers working fast to rid him of everything. Pants come down, shirts come off, and socks are peeled off to be left on the floor, discarded. The only thing you keep on is your jewelry, your heels, and your very wet lace panties. 

Kiri shivers and groans in delight as your hands glide across his body, relishing and indulging in his muscles, tattoos, and scars from villain fights and missions. The way your eyes grow big and your nipples become tighter should all be evidence of your arousal for him. Your love for only him. But it isn’t enough for Kiri. He gives your ass a hard smack, loving the way his hand recoils against your cheeks. 

“Get your fine ass on that bed and get your face in that pillow,” he orders. “Your man needs to teach you a lesson.” He watches your eyes grow soft and hooded, realizing his game. Gone now is your sweet, golden retriever boyfriend. Someone else has stepped in his place…and you love it.

“Yes, Daddy,” you softly reply, which means you’re DEFINITELY into this too. 

“Such a little perv, ain’t you?” he chuckles, loving that you love him like this. So demanding and aggressive.

He usually isn’t the type, but he is sure you’ve been wanting it from the way you get on the bed with the quickness. He groans when you bend over, mooning him with your perfect, soft ass. Seeing your gold anklet with his hero initials dangling from the little chain only makes him harder. 

“Look at this ass!” he growls. He takes a handful, jiggling it for himself. Nobody would know what the fuck to do with you. Only he knows how to make his baby feel good and needed. “Want me to show you how I do things, baby?” He thoughtfully strokes your ass, teasingly snatching the strap to your panties back against your skin. 

The tiny moan that leaves your lips is enough to make him cum. “Please,” you beg, your cheek pressed into the mattress. “Please show me, Kiri.” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. For the next thirty minutes, his business lies between your pussy and your ass, massaging the soft globes as he sloppily eats your cunt. Saliva drips from his lips and down his chin, coating the space on the sheets between your thighs now littered in wet rings from his kisses and love bites. Kiri knows he is a munch and has no problems with letting you know. He pries your asscheeks apart as he greedily eats you out, his tongue caressing your slit before sliding up to the needy button of your pretty clit. 

You are a writhing, moaning mess, tossing your ass back into his face to push your pussy deeper into his mouth. “Oh, my God, Kiri, fuck!” Your voice bounces along the bedroom walls, mingling with the lewd sound of Kiri’s wet, sloppy pussy-eating. Your man is absolutely sprung on you, your sweet perfume and sounds making him dizzy with need. 

“Mmm-hmm,” he hums into your pussy. “Does that feel good, mama?”

You whimper pitifully in reply, desperately fisting the sheets. He dives back in to enjoy you, pushing his tongue inside of the tight, wet, quivering hole of your cunt, enjoying the loud moan of desperation you give as his tongue piercing passes across each sensitive part of your cunt.

‘Bet Sero couldn’t make her sound like this,’ he thinks. ‘Bet Denki would pass out havin’ an ass like this in his face.’ 

SPANK! 

He can’t stop from giving you another harsh, open-palmed smack across your ass, the sharp sound recoating off of the walls. “Ah!” you gasp out. Your body lurches, shocked by the assault. He gives you a toothy grin, glad that you can’t see him too well. He is having waaaay too much fun seeing you look so helpless. “Sorry, babe, was that too hard?” he tuts. “I’m just wonderin’ if I can give this pretty ass a handprint.” 

SPANK! SPANK!

“Oh, fuck, Eji!” you practically scream. You are gripping the sheets so tight that your knuckles have gone pale. You shiver and shake, your entire body speaking to him, including your pussy. Your beautiful pussy that has gotten so wet and sloppy for him, so much so that he sinks a finger in. He grows at the feeling of your walls squeezing around his digit, no doubt wanting to keep him there longer. “Fuck, you’re so wet back here, baby. I guess you really like this.” 

He begins to stroke your pussy with his finger, aiming upward while he goes back to playing with your clit with his tongue. “Don’t you, baby?” he growls into your pussy. “Don’t you love it when Daddy’s rough with you?” 

“O-Oh, fuck yes!” you moan out. “I love it, Daddy! I love it, I fucking love it!” He realizes that you will say anything at this point because of how good you feel. All because of him. He cannot stop the cocky grin that spreads across his face, making his pussy-eating quite difficult. 

“Tell me you love me,” he demands, moving his fingers faster and faster, gliding them up against the underside of your clit. “Tell me you’re mine. Say you’re my fuckin’ slut, baby, say it to me.” 

He licks you faster, keeping the same pressure that you like. Anything to get you there. “I’m your fuckin’ slut!” you wail, harsh pants leaving your mouth. “I’ll always be yours, Daddy, I promise! O-O-Oh, my God, I’m gonna cum!” 

There it is. That’s what he wanted to hear. With one hand occupied, he takes the other and begins stroking his cock, in desperate need of relief as your sweet voice caresses his eardrums. “Go ahead, mama: cum for me. Give it to me.” And you do. With a loud moan of his name that makes him fuck his fist a little faster (but not enough to cum), you explode all over his tongue and finger, leaving him sticky and craving more. 

He gives you some time to recuperate, waiting for your moans to die down into soft sighs. Slowly, he drags his finger out of you and sucks your cum off of his digit before he begins stroking your backside, gentle and soft. “Still good, baby?” he murmurs, peering down at you. “Words.” You lazily pick your head up, your eyes glazed and your makeup staining the sheets. “Yes, Daddy,” you whisper. “I’m good.” 

You give him a slow smile that nearly makes him bust. It’s a smile that may be tired, but satisfied and in need of more. Kiri leans over to put his lips at your ear, toying with your earlobe with his teeth. “Then tell me how you want me to fuck you tonight,” he raspily whispers, causing you to shudder in delight. “Do you want it nice and gentle? Or hard and rough? You get to choose.” 

He can practically see the gears in your head turning and he can’t help but laugh at you, his little princess. Finally, you pick your head up fully to boldly stare him dead in his face. “Hard and rough, please,” you bashfully whisper. “Please, Kiri…be rough with me.” 

At that moment, an animal jumps into Kiri’s bones. Something that is feral, horny, and wanton. After giving you a fierce kiss that steals the air from your lungs, he drags you up to the bed and forces your hands on the headboard while he hikes your ass up for him. All fours. One of his favorite positions with you. “Tap the headboard twice if you need me to slow down or stop, got me?” 

He is firm and assertive, needing you to understand that your pleasure comes before his. You nod your head, telling him that you understand and will not forget. He would hope so because when he starts fucking you rough, hard, and fast, he leaves no room for air.

He grips your hips so hard that he is sure he’ll leave bruises that will appear in the morning. As he does, he drills his hard cock into the wet walls of your pussy, pounding you into the creaking, shaking bed with the force of his fucking. 

You’re not quiet about it either. You can’t be quiet. Each stroke of his dick drags a new moan, gasp, whine, and grunt out of you as you desperately cling to the headboard, keeping your arch as best as you possibly can. “Oh, Kiri…ah, shit!....harder! Please…oh, fuck, baby!…fuck me harder!” 

Kiri slows for a bit, his eyes widening down at you. “Harder, huh?” he chuckles. “Like this, you freaky little bitch?”

He slams a hand on the headboard above your head and grips the railing as he plunges himself deeper into the heavenly, velvety walls of your pussy, damn near putting his cock in your stomach. He fucks you so hard that sweat begins to drip from his face and neck, trailing down the hard pecs of his chest and his toned stomach. “Is this hard enough for you, mama?” he pants. “Is this how you want it?” 

Poor you is too deep into it to do anything but scream. “Yes, yes, yes!” you shout in between rough, hard thrusts. “You make me feel so good, Kiri!” You remind him so much of a bunny the way you bounce on his cock, your ass jiggling and your tits swaying as he drills himself into you, just enough to make you understand. 

Understand that you’re his…but it isn’t enough. 

He slips his cock out of you momentarily just to flip you onto your back without losing a breath. Your wide eyes drink him in as he sinks his cock back into you, your mouth falling agape at the new feeling that the new position provides. Kiri then hooks your legs over his and mounts you, putting you into mating press. “I wanna see your pretty face,” he whispers. “Wanna watch you cum all over this dick and be my good fuckin’ bitch.” 

And then he goes right back to fucking you dumb, knocking all sense out of your brain as his cock strokes your insides and pounds you into the mattress beneath you. You don’t care about your hair or your makeup. Fuck your sticky lipgloss and your ruined mascara coating your cheeks. Kiri happens to think that you look your sexiest just like this: fucked out and in bliss all for him. 

You grip his shoulders, sinking your nails into him as your eyes flutter shut, your face etched in pleasure, especially when your hand glides down to play with your clit. Your pussy grips him tighter than a vice, spilling all over his shaft down to his balls slapping against your asscrack. Just the idea that you’re getting this excited and this wet over possessive, obsessive, jealous, angry him makes him want to fuck you even harder. 

Kiri only grows more feral at the sight of you splayed out before him, the double R in between your jiggling tits as you take his cock. He bends down so his nose brushes against yours, each moan and gasp shared between you. “You’re my girl,” he growls. “My baby. My fuckin’ woman. All mine.” And he wants everyone to know it. 

He takes his hand off of the headboard and pins your thighs up, bending your knees so he can mount you more, sinking himself deeper into your pussy until he can’t bottom out anymore inside of you. “I’m gonna make you cum just for me…just for me.” He needs it. Needs it like one needs air and to sleep. He needs to see you cum all over HIS cock. 

Your pretty eyes peel open for him, and though dazed and glazed from the constant fucking and the alcohol earlier, you stare at nothing but him. “K-Kiri,” you whine. “Kiss me. Please.” 

Unable to control himself any longer, Kiri truly lets go once he has his lips on yours. He drills you faster and harder, slamming your pussy down onto his cock with enough vigor to take him closer and closer to the edge of bliss with you. He can feel his balls tightening just as your pussy begins to quiver around his cock, signaling your end is near.

“Cum with me,” he pleads through hot kisses shared with you. “Please, baby, cum with me. I-I can’t…oh, fuck!” 

His orgasm hits him like a tidal wave, overwhelming and drowning him in a sea of pure bliss that is almost too good that it’s painful. A long, loud, guttural moan of release leaves his lips as he drains his balls inside of you, filling you to the brim with his cum.

You cum just as quickly, sweet groans escaping you as your pussy quivers and pulses around him, your body tensing against his. He can feel your cum mixing with his sliding down his balls, making everything very wet and sticky. 

It is perfect. Absolutely perfect. 

When your orgasm highs finally die down, Kiri gives you a slow, romantic kiss and tugs at your bottom lip, giving you just a bit more roughness to stretch out the high. Finally, he leans up to admire you beneath him, your skin glowing and your skin marked in hickies from his teeth. 

Slowly, he begins to slip out of you, taking it inch by inch. “Easy, mama,” he softly pants. “Easy now.” 

You whimper at the loss, even as his cum begins to leak out of you and slip down your thighs. Kiri feels his cock twitch at the sight, but ignores the urge to fuck you stupid again. He needs to clean you up first. “You okay, darlin’?” he asks, noticing your fluttering lashes and ragged breaths.

You weakly moan and try to lift yourself up, but he gently pushes you back down. “Uh-uh, don’t move. Let me get a few things.” 

Quickly, he gets up on his wobbly legs and moves to the bedroom. He grabs the baby wipes and lavender oil that he often uses for his sore muscles after workouts and brings them to the bed. You are still lying there, spent and exhausted, cum coating your thighs and aching pussy. He kneels in front of you and takes a baby wipe, gently pecking your foot where your anklet is. “Legs up, mama,” he coos. 

You do as told, slowly lifting your legs and allowing your boyfriend to gently dab the cum away from your skin. He takes extra care of you, paying attention to the way your body moves and responds to him.

Once he is done cleaning you up, he takes a squirt of oil and rubs it between his big hands, warming up the slick oil before he begins massaging your sore muscles. You watch him through grateful, hooded eyes, falling deeper in love with him as he falls deeper in love with you, watching you melt into the mattress.  

“What got into you tonight?” you finally ask, giggling softly. 

He briefly pauses to stare at you, his expression serious and his heart hammering in his chest. “You,” he replies, deadass. “And a little jealousy. Call me crazy, but I just didn’t like seein’ Sero and Denki all over you like that, friends or not. I’m sorry I lost my temper.” 

Now the guilt has begun to creep in. Quickly, you ease his mind trying to jinx him by laying a hand on his thigh. “Don’t be. I liked it…a lot.” As if the way you came for him wasn’t evident enough. Kiri sheepishly smiles at you, back to his old, wonderful, sweet self. “Yeah?” 

You nod and press a gentle kiss to his knuckles. “Yeah,” you giggle. “Maybe I should dance with other guys more often.” 

Kiri rolls his eyes as you begin to laugh, squealing when he gives your ass a smack. “Don’t play with me,” he mutters. “Now flip over unless you want me to fuck you again.”

THE END.

[alexanderlightweight]

Anything in not all who wander are lost (the teleporting soulmates one) or back in may of 2023 you had an au where alec met ragnor first that never got titled and that au was a straight up banger that has haunted me to this day would be 10/10 chefs kiss delightful as to whether its sfw or nsfw thats dealers choice and i hope youre having a great wednesday :)

it has been so long since i've worked on this verse but i'm happy to go back! i just went with the first prompt because i do love that verse but yes! i need to go look and see if i've named that yet (i love when some of the more obscure fics get mentioned or prompted). i might have but my brain is a bit holey. last part here

i'm having a wednesday with a lot of prompts and writing and while the comptuer didn't work for a couple hours its working now and thats what matters!! so it's very nice ty! i hope you're having a good onee too! Nightshade has decided that he will let me write as long as i pause every time he comes over for kisses or a snoot boop. i hope you enjoy!

<3 lumine

not all who wander are lost

Alec processes things slowly through the fog of his mind.

He has a soulmate.

He does.

A male soulmate even.

Someone who won’t crush his heart and soul to be with.

Does that matter?

When Alec can’t do anything to protect himself, let alone his soulmate?

There are words exchanged.

Alec doesn’t remember them.

There’s hands warm and firm and steady on him but he can’t remember the feel once gone.

There’s questions he answers, but Alec isn’t sure what was said by either of them.

There’s a portal, at the end.  Something ominous and looming and Alec welcomes it like the embrace of sleep he begs for every dawn.

—

Alexander is fragile.

Perhaps not in body, but he’s at the breaking point of his life.

Magnus can tell.

This is where he’s reforged.  When his will is broken and remade to what the Clave demands and Magnus will not let them remake Alexander into their image.

This is his soulmate.

Alexander is his.

By law and claim and the call of a soul echoing the yearning of his own.

The dissociation is strong.

Alexander seems more instinct than thought and he’s drowning in his own mind.

Magnus summons everything he can — allowed to because he’s inside the wards and was summoned by a magic more ancient than even the alarm systems of the Institute.

Then he asks what Alexander wants.

There isn’t much.

It doesn’t seem like his boy is used to wanting things.

Except there are a few things that even in this state, Alexander seems capable of remembering.

Obviously his siblings aren’t something Magnus is interested in retrieving, but knowing they exist is helpful.  However Magnus doesn’t think they’ll do much if any good, considering Alexander is hiding from them while panicking.  They’re either too young and immature to help, or are a part of the problem as well.

Magnus won’t pass judgment so swiftly, that’s not his priority.  His only priority is to get Alexander out of here and behind Magnus’ wards, where he can bond Alexander properly and ensure that legally, Magnus has every right to swiftly take Alexander away.

And refuse to return him.

—

Magnus doesn’t take Alexander to the loft.

No, that’s far too common of a place for Magnus to be found, even just by other downworlders.

Instead he takes Alexander to a small but comfortable cottage in the Welsh countryside.  A property bequeathed to Magnus by Ragnor — during one of his many excursions playing dead — and while Ragnor always teased gentle that it would be perfect for a soulmate bond to take place.  Magnus never actually dreamed that it would be a reality.

The garden is lush and green and the sun’s glare harsh but the heat faded before it reaches.  Cool breezes rustling the plants and bees and dragonflies and butterflies of magical properties — because all things mundane, creatures and beings — are kept out.

It’s an oasis for all things magical and Alexander breathes easier, even if the dark emptiness of his eyes remains.

Magnus portals them to the walkway, the luggage and Alexander’s things already inside.  It’s because he wants Alexander to see where they’ll be staying. 

To give him information without overloading him with words he hears but doesn't comprehend.

Alexander pauses as the walk up the path, his fingers lingering on the polished bone of the fence and his fingers gently — hesitantly — brushing against the soft petals of a luridly pink bloom.

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to.

Magnus still feels the rage swelling in his heart, untamed and smoldering yet being held in reserve for a better time.

Alexander is young.

He’s far too young for the kind of despair and pointless exhaustion that weighs him down.

The world is trying to break him — his own people are succeeding at ruining him — and Magnus will not let that continue.

Magnus protects what is his.

To the point of destroying his own self to do so.

In protecting Alexander, Magnus will also be protecting himself and for the first time that doesn’t feel like a weakness to admit.

Alexander is worth the protection and Magnus has a soulmate,  which means he also is worthy.

Regardless of how his father feels or what poison Camille spat or what seductive whispers of him being unlovable that she whispered into his ear.

AN:

Magnus does not tie the selfworth of others to soulmates. That’s reserved for himself. A special little trauma leftover from his mother and father. So like. Cheers to that. 

Like Magnus is incredibly powerful and intelligent but lets not forget how much trauma he’s gone through or how he’s had to dig himself free out of depression and spirals with every bad relationship that tried to knock him down (romantic, parental, familiar, friendship I’m not just talking romance).

Alec is drowning in his brain.  He’ll wake up in a few hours or days and be like ‘okay no, I want to be your soulmate. I do. But I can’t just abandon my responsibilities to play house in a cottage with you!’

Magnus entirely unbothered and not insulted because this is tame compared to what he’s prepared for: why not?

Alec: what?

Magnus: why can’t you? Are you so irreplaceable that someone can’t fill your shoes?

Alec: well no. It was made very clear to me that I am replaceable and if I don’t do better, someone will take over for me.

Magnus: so why is that a problem?

Alec: but I’m supposed to uphold the ligthwood name?

Magnus: oh… you’re a lightwood? Well I don’t mind. One can’t chose their parents and I doubt you wanted yours to be genocidal terrorists.

Alec: … are you. Wait. Are, you saying my parents were int he circle? (he can read behind the political lines. It’s innuendos he’s still working on)

Magnus: oh, you didn’t know? You’re not upholding the lightwood legacy darling, you’re rebuilding what your parents broke and the clave doesn’t trust them to fix.

Alec: … wait so all of this? Is because someone else fucked up. Not because I did?

Magnus not realizing the extent of Alec’s trauma being hinged on his parents and being a good lightwood heir etc: I mean, your parents even killed the last leaders of the NYI. I’m surprised they weren’t mobbed by the hunters who survived the attacks when they came back to lead what they destroyed.

Alec: …. So all those hunters who hated me for no reason and who I was never good enough for… that’s not because I was lacking or they could secretely tell I was gay?  It’s because of my parents?

Magnus: yes? …. Darling. Alexander. Sweetheart I am very new to this. Are nephilim supposed to start glowing like that? Alexander your runes look like they’re on fire what is goingon?

Alec: I think I just magically disowned myself.

Magnus: oh. So you’re in the market for a new last name? I happen to have a very nice one. Picked it myself.

Alec: …. Okay. Sure.

Magnus: I cannot beleive this worked and darluing…. Wait why are you crying? Shit. Alcohol? No. That creates bad habits. Sex? No that creates bad precedent… HOW TO STOP SHADOWHUNTER FROM CRYING??

Cat: … kill or comfort? I don’t know. This is a stupid question can shadowhunters even cry?

Ragnor: they can but mostly out of rage or disgust.

Magnus: no this is like, panicked sad crying. Quick. OPTIONS

Magnus: BESIDES ALCOHOL OR SEX

Ragnor and Cat: … neither of those were options we would send but now we’re curious

Ragnor: wait. Magnus. You’re at the cottage? You’ve found your soulmate then! How wondrous… oh dear. A shadowhunter then? Cat and I will create a carepackage but you’re on your own for the tears. Maybe give them a knife? Shadowhunters like sharp things

Cat: DO NOT GIVE THEM A KNIFE!!! NO WEAPONS

Ragnor: no you’re right. Unhelpful. A demon? Is it too bright? Do shadowhunters even like light?

Magnus: both of you are utterly unhelpful. I’ll text you later.

[thealteredaltar]

Hellenic Deities: Aphrodite

🌹 Goddess of love, beauty, sex/desire, fertility and war

🌹 Symbols: Roses, myrtle, the ocean, seashells, pearls, the beach, apples, mirror, honey

🌹 Sacred animals: Swans, bees, doves

🌹 Colors: Pink and red

🌹 Crystals: Rose quartz, aquamarine, aragonite

🌹 Most Important Myths:

-Birth from Uranus’ severed genitals and the sea foam

-Arranged marriage to Hephaestus

-The exposure of her affair with Ares

-Judgment of Paris

-Death of Adonis

-Seduction of Anchises

🌹 “Don’t take the myths literally” understanding:

Aphrodite is not envious, petty or vindictive. She is an incredibly loving, warm being. She does not envy anyone because she doesn’t need to. She’s Aphrodite! Comparing someone to her, beauty-wise, will not anger her. But, she wants you to see your own beauty through her, instead of trying to make hers rub off on you. She does insist on great respect and has a fierce side that should not be underestimated. Yet, she is absolutely delightful.

It is also not exactly that she was horribly “unfaithful” to her husband. She was forced into a loveless marriage and then actually found love. She just found it elsewhere and was shamed for it. That story is less about infidelity and more about how you can’t force love that isn’t working and have to follow your heart, even if that has consequences

🌹 Devotional acts: Self-care of any kind (skincare, salon trip, spa day), a long hot bath (with bath salts/essential oils/bath bombs, etc), shopping, putting a nice outfit together, doing your makeup, writing romantic poetry or love songs, writing yourself a love letter, watching a romantic movie, sexual pleasure (either alone or with a partner), buying yourself flowers (especially roses) or chocolates, doing self-love affirmations in the mirror

🌹 Assistance and Support:

-Obviously, Aphrodite is a huge help in romantic matters. But, it may not be the help that you are expecting. If you are yearning for or with someone who isn’t good for you, she is notorious for imploding or ending such situations. She will wake you up to what is really going on. Aphrodite wants you to actually be happy in love, not to invest in or stick to what you think will make you happy but really isn’t. Yes, she can also help you manifest the right person. You just need to do the inner work and healing required to align with that kind of relationship.

-She also is well-known for helping people when it comes to self-love and self-esteem, especially those who are more feminine. She will push you to improve your body image, feel more confident in your skin, see your beauty and attractiveness, and, above all, to know your worth

This is the only way I have found she can be a bit strict or “tough love”. As you build a bond with her, she will not tolerate you being down on yourself or accepting less than you deserve. But, this comes from a place of affection and love

-Aphrodite can also improve your relationship with sex. She encourages sex positivity, teaching you to fully embrace your pleasure, rid yourself of shame, and feel comfortable in your sensuality

-She also can teach you the power and the value of femininity. If you are a more feminine individual, she will encourage you to embrace that and own it, regardless of society’s negative ideas about femininity. If you’re more masculine, she will get you to do the same, to accept your feminine side without fear

-She can be called on when doing glamour magic, love magic, sex magic, and even earth magic, as she is a fertility goddess

🌹 Additional Note

-It is best to work with her on Friday, as this is the day she rules. You can and should, of course, work with her any day but this will be the most “charged” day in terms of energy

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

My menstrual cycle is acting up and making my brain focus on weird things. So let's talk about...

Interspecies sex!

One of the fun things you get to explore when writing a fantasy story with a lot of non-human people, especially if they're also from different evolutionary roots and not related at all.

Like what does it even mean for a primate to be sexually attracted to an amphibian? How does that happen? How do all these different people species view sexuality? How do they feel about interspecies intercourse? It's a fascinating subject!

Especially if you're like me, asexual and autistic with a special interest in fantasy biology and culture and a detached scientific fascination for the concept of sex through the lens of fiction.

No images in this post. Just a hasty ramble, no time for new art, and frankly the rogue censorbots on tumblr are already marking perfectly normal images as potentially mature, so I don't need them jumping on me right now lol. But I'm still putting this post under a cut.

I have been writing many different relationship dynamics in my own project, including some interspecies relationships and a lot of queer characters.

Some of my people species are, by nature, somewhat asexual. Whether it's a seasonal thing or a full time thing.

Drow: the majority of drow, aside from the "males", are asexual by default! Those who become matriarchs may suddenly find themselves experiencing sexual attraction for the first time during their secondary puberty, which can be confusing and overwhelming, but they may also remain asexual and simply participate in sex because the duty of a matriarch is to bear children.

Quetzalin: for about half the year, all adult quetzalin are functionally asexual due to a natural hormone change. But during courting season, the majority of adult quetzalin do feel sexual attraction, and they feel it quite strongly! The flip from no sexual attraction and a low libido to high sexual attraction and a high libido can be overwhelming, so the qurtxalin have actually developed some fairly well advanced hormone treatments to make it easier.

Goblins: similar to quetzalin, goblins only feel sexual attraction for part of the year, but for them it's a rather spontaneous short-term burst of both attraction and libido that leads to a big group orgy at the nursery ponds, driving them to lay and fertilize thousands of eggs.

Pixies: since they are basically giant bees, the majority of pixies do not feel sexual attraction at all, ever. Sexual desire really only shows up in the hive mothers and their short-lived mates.

So with all these people who experience such a lack of attraction and/or a lack of libido, you might expect them to avoid sex, especially outside their own species groups. Perhaps you expect them to be a little more open to interspecies sex only when they're in a seasonal libido wave.

And yet, the least likely group, pixies, show an odd fascination for sex with people of other species. What could draw a sapient bee towards sex? They find it entertaining. They like to watch, and they like the way other people react to being touched. And much to their own surprise and delight, there are vertebrate people who will gladly have sex with pixies! There are all sorts of people; elves, orcs, even goblins, who think the idea of letting pixies crawl on their naked bodies is very sexy. It helps that pixies can vibrate their abdomens and that they're roughly the size of an elf's penis.

Goblins and quetzalin outside of their own courting/mating seasons may not feel attraction or a clear libido, but that doesn't stop them from having sex with people of other species all year round if they want it. And they both have bodies that are covered in unique textures; feathers on the quetzalin and mucus on the goblins. Even if the goblin mucus can carry toxins, depending on their diet, it's usually only going to create a tingling numb feeling, which some potential sex partners might find even more arousing.

And while the average cavern drow are almost invariably asexual, a lot of them will curiously explore sex while spending a few years living outside as young adults.

And the far more allosexual minstrel drow have been participating in interspecies sex and running diverse sex work establishments for hundreds of years.

Given the presence of real life humans who have the hots for increasing bizarre non human fictional characters and monstrous creatures, I'm sure I don't have to explain why it's possible for people to find themselves attracted to partners outside their own species, or why they might find sex with other people species to be enjoyable. The differences between their species may very well be the traits that draw them to each other and make the sex more fun and exciting.

Whether it is inherently kinky or not is up to the individual I suppose! But when the pixies organize mutual research exchanges with vertebrate people and ask for volunteers to let the pixies study vertebrate sexual pleasure, I'm sure they have to account for sample bias as the people who sign up are very likely to be into a variety of kinks and therefore have different tolerances and may show different reactions compared to someone who doesn't get involved in kink.

And then of course, on the flip side of all this, it must be considered that historically, and frankly even contemporarily, there have been and always will be people who view interspecies sex with a sour look on their face. It could be the product of bigotry, more often than not. Certainly if there are actual cultural and legal taboos agaisnt it, that can be attributed to interspecies bigotry.

But it's also possible that some people's sexuality simply does not extend to those outside their own species group. It may even be that interspecies attraction is considered more queer than simply being gay or attracted to multiple genders.

I think I'm running out of things to say.

Well! That's my incoherent ramble then! Brought to u by my brain on menstrual hormones and a silly thought train about pixies conducting sex studies.

Hope u enjoyed it. Have a nice day!