#am i allowed to just crash and burn out for a year or something without any concuqeneces

[shippingmyworld]

My brother's advice any time I vent to him about my job: "Become a streamer."

[ssahotchnerr]

Could you write something where someone compliments Hotch for "babysitting" and "helping out" when hes out with his kids and he gets all 😑😑 do you mean parenting my children?

standard parenting

omg LOL cw; dad!aaron, reader is referred to as mom, a ton of domestic fluff, very light suggestiveness (hehe reader and aaron are soo in love <3) wc; 1.2k

"Jack." Aaron moved forward, spotting his son as he climbed up a curved ladder, at the ready if he were to suddenly slip. "Careful."

"I am." He took the last, big step, his hands gripping the supporting bars and landing on the platform safely. "I've done this two times already Dad."

"Help your sister down the slide, okay? I'll meet the two of you at the bottom."

"Okay." He confirmed, beelining down a rattly bridge in the direction of Ellie.

It was approximately 3 pm on a Tuesday, the park filled with the afternoon rush of children freshly out of school. A doctor's appointment had brought Aaron out of the BAU early, and after picking up Jack from school, Ellie from preschool, he figured there was no better way to burn off energy than the playground.

Hopefully it allowed for a quiet, relaxing night at home, with both kids in bed at a decent time.

Aaron stood at the bottom of the slide, peering upwards and squinting - he had regretfully left his sunglasses in the car. Ellie stood at the top, looking a bit lost once her turn was next, the slide intimidatingly large for a newly four-year-old.

"Jack's coming, honey."

It took some convincing; Aaron reassuring her he was right there, there to catch her if she overshot into the mulch. Jack would be right behind her. Further hesitation on her end: Do you want Jack to go first? No. Are you sure you want to go down? Yes.

Finally down came Ellie, giggling profusely and not paying a mind to the static the slide caused (Aaron mentally winced at the sound). Jack followed soon after.

"See, there you go." Aaron praised, hands moving to his hips.

"Again, please please please." Ellie whined gently, looking up at Aaron with her identically adjacent brown eyes. It was something she was beginning to master, the puppy dog look that could cause him to cave within seconds.

He was in for it.

"Sure pumpkin." Aaron grinned down at his little piggy-tail headed daughter. "Just a few more times though, Mom's waiting at home."

"C'mon Ellie. I'll race you." Jack suggested, kicking up dirt as he bolted off without waiting for a distinct answer. She ran after him, as fast as her small legs could carry her.

Aaron called out after him, "The stairs, Jack."

"I know!"

"Cute kids."

A mother - Aaron inferred - commented, falling alongside him. Aaron's eyes continued to track the two of them, ensuring they remained together and stayed far away from any arched ladders. They dashed up the stairs, into the depths of the play structure.

Aaron offered her a friendly smile in return, "Thank you."

"It's nice to see someone so attentive for a change." She huffed, notably an impressed breath. "Most babysitters just sit on the bench on their cell phone."

Aaron's expression dropped; a mix of confusion and dumbfound, his smile gradually fading. The only thing going through his mind: I'm sorry, what?

"Well, I'm not like most babysitters." He frowned, pressing his lips together and eyebrows drawing into a line.

"Good for you." She commended, not taking the hint. A child called out to her, causing her to move forward. "See ya."

She left, but scowl on his face stayed.

It hadn't put him in a bad mood, but rather, a dulled mood. The inference could've been an honest mistake, it most likely was, but it settled funny within him.

Only at Ellie's, 'Daddy look!' did his face brighten up. For them.

-

"Hi Momma!" Ellie bounded into the kitchen, nearly crashing into you and smiling from ear to ear. "We're home!"

Jack added to her status report, voices intertwining. "Dad took us to the park!"

"It looks like you two had fun." You grinned, using the pad of your thumb to swipe away an unblended bout of sunscreen on the side of Jack's nose. You also took note of his grass stained sweats, and the dirt scuff on Ellie's knees.

"We did! Jackers helped me down the slide and Daddy pushed me on the swings-"

"No one pushed me on the swings." Aaron commented, his hand finding the small of your back momentarily as he brushed past.

"That's 'cause you're big." Ellie made a face at her father.

"Can we go again on Saturday?" Jack asked, "I wanna bring my soccer ball."

"We'll have to see what we're up to, bud," Aaron answered, also fetching him a cup of cold water. The car ride consisted of Jack stating how thirsty he was, and how he refused to drink the lukewarm water his bottle held. "But I don't see why not."

Meanwhile, Ellie plopped herself onto the floor, pulling off her shoes and dumping the remnants of lingering mulch onto the floor.

"Hey hey hey let's not do that." You said, your nose scrunching lightly too; the normal kid-stink that followed after an afternoon spent in the sun. "And baths, both of you. Go on, I'll be there in a second."

Ellie's voice carried as she ventured up, something along the lines of bringing her mermaid Barbie in the tub with her. You ruffled Jack's hair gently as he passed, pressing a kiss to his sweaty head.

"You know what someone said to me today?" Aaron asked, turning towards the sink to wash his hands.

"Aren't you forgetting something first?"

He stopped, a knowing smile forming on his face. "How dare I."

Aaron moved forward, hands finding your waist to pull you near, placing his lips onto yours for a few seconds. Albeit how short it was, you savored it; coming home after a long, long day.

Satisfied, "Enlighten me."

He paused to actually wash his hands, flicking the water droplets off once he finished. You tossed him the hand towel that happened to be nearby.

"Someone mistook me for a babysitter."

"What?" You snorted out a laugh.

"Left me speechless." He exasperatedly rolled his eyes, wiping his hands and throwing the towel back onto the counter. "Can you believe that?"

"Well, you know how some people can be." You shrugged. Your statement wasn't much help, but what could you do.

"Oblivious?"

"What prompted it?"

"Standard parenting. I was simply keeping a close eye. The slide made Ellie nervous, Jack was being a bit adventurous today, and the playground itself was a nightmare. Everyone had the same idea I did, it was packed."

You hummed in response, dumping the neglected water from Jack and Ellie's water bottles out. Aaron continued to ramble on.

"And she saw the two of them. Jack - he resembles Haley a bit more, sure. But Ellie?"

"Your twin."

"Exactly." Aaron scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Babysitter. How in the world does that title come to mind before Dad?"

He shook his head as his eyes found the ceiling; utter disbelief.

"You know," you raised an eyebrow, regaining his focus, "you're hot when you're fired up."

"Am I?" Aaron smirked, pulling you in again just as he did before, arm winding behind your back.

"Mom!"

A whine drifted from upstairs, Aaron pulled away from your lips with a comically heavy, defeated sigh.

You shoved him at the chest playfully, grabbing a laugh from him, heading upstairs.

"She, huh." You teased, "Are you sure it wasn't some strategically formed ploy in hopes you were unmarried? Wouldn't be the first time."

He trudged up the stairs behind you, a chuckle shaking through his chest. "I doubt it. She seemed genuine."

"And you would know." You quipped, ends of your mouth turned upwards.

"With my profiling expertise?" He bantered back, playfully patting your behind as you reached the second level. "I'd hope so."

[reveryfics]

Middle Of The Night

Pairings: Loki x Male reader

Summary: it's been five years since Loki disappeared, only to return in the middle of the night. You don't believe this is reality, so he proves it to you.

A/n: This was requested over on wattpad. Requests open

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the storm raging within him. Five years. Five agonizing years since Loki had vanished without a trace. No goodbye, no note, not even a whisper of an explanation. Just gone. Poof. Like a puff of smoke in the wind, leaving behind a gaping hole in his life.

Every night was a cruel reminder of his absence. The empty space beside him in the bed, the cold sheets mocking the warmth of Loki's body pressed against his own. The silence that had replaced the murmur of Loki's voice, the playful banter, the shared dreams whispered in the darkness.

He'd tried to move on, to rebuild his life, to find a rhythm that didn't constantly revolve around the gaping wound of Loki's disappearance. He'd succeeded, to a degree. Work, friends, even a tentative foray back into dating – all distractions, all desperate attempts to outrun the phantom pain that lingered.

But some nights, like tonight, the memories would come crashing down, a tidal wave of grief threatening to drown him. The scent of rain, the rumble of thunder, the flickering of lightning – all triggers, all cruel reminders of the night Loki had vanished.

He tossed and turned, the sheets damp with sweat and tears. Sleep was a distant memory, replaced by a suffocating blanket of despair. Thor, his dearest friend, had tried to help, his gruff words of comfort a balm to his aching soul. But even Thor's presence couldn't always chase away the shadows that clung to him.

Tonight, the shadows had won. He wept silently, the sobs racking his body, the pain a constant, suffocating presence. Just when he thought he couldn't bear it any longer, a voice, soft as a whisper, broke through the darkness.

"Oh, how I hate it when you cry," it murmured.

He froze, his breath catching in his throat. It couldn't be…

The bedside lamp flickered on, casting long, dancing shadows across the room. And there he was. Loki. His Loki.

He looked different, his hair shorter, his face etched with lines he hadn't noticed before, a hint of sadness in his eyes. But it was him.

"Loki?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Loki smiled, a ghost of his old mischievous grin. "Hello, my love."

He wanted to believe it, to reach out and touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin, the steady beat of his heart. But a flicker of doubt, cold and insidious, crept into his mind.

"It's… it's just a dream," he stammered, his voice trembling. "Or a hallucination. I've been… I've been so lonely."

Loki stepped closer, his gaze intense. "I assure you, my love," he said, his voice low and husky, "I am very real."

And then, he was there, hovering over him, his body warm against his own.

"Allow me to prove it," Loki murmured, his lips brushing against his ear.

Panic clawed at him. This couldn't be right. This couldn't be real. But the yearning, the desperate, aching need to believe, overwhelmed him.

He closed his eyes, surrendering to the illusion, the desperate hope that this wasn't just a cruel twist of fate, a final, agonizing blow.

And then, the kiss.

It felt real. Too real.

Loki's lips, tasted of rain and something faintly metallic, a scent that always seemed to cling to him. His hands, strong and sure, gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer, closer, until there was no space between them.

A low groan escaped his lips, a sound born of both pain and pleasure. He reached up, his fingers tangling in Loki's hair, pulling him down for a deeper kiss, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin, the solidity of his presence.

Loki tasted of him, of the years they'd spent together, of shared laughter and whispered secrets, of nights like this, filled with a passion that burned hotter than any star.

His hands moved, exploring the contours of Loki's body, tracing the lines of his muscles, the curve of his hips. He felt Loki shiver beneath his touch, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

"You," Loki breathed against his lips, his voice a husky whisper, "you have no idea how much I've missed this."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching Loki's face, desperate for confirmation. The intensity in Loki's gaze, the raw hunger that burned in his eyes, answered his unspoken question.

He kissed him again, this time with a fierce possessiveness, a desperate need to claim him, to mark him as his own. Loki responded with an equal fervor, his hands roaming over his body, exploring every inch of him with a touch that both thrilled and terrified him.

He pushed him back against the pillows, his body hovering over Loki's, the sheets a tangle around their limbs. He felt Loki's breath quicken, his body trembling beneath him.

"Loki," he whispered, his voice hoarse, "I've missed you so much."

"More than you know," Loki replied, his voice a low growl.

He lowered himself, his body fitting perfectly against Loki's, the years of intimacy, the unspoken language of their bodies, guiding him. He felt Loki arch into him, a sound of pure pleasure escaping his lips.

The world seemed to fade away, replaced by the intense, primal sensation of their bodies merging, of their souls connecting. He lost himself in the sensation, the raw, animalistic pleasure of it all.

He moved within him, slow and deliberate at first, then with a growing urgency, mirroring the storm raging outside. Loki's hands tightened on his back, digging into his flesh, urging him on.

He cried out, a sound of pure ecstasy, as he reached his peak, the world exploding in a shower of sensation. Loki followed him closely, his body convulsing beneath him, a low moan echoing in the room.

They lay together, breathless, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts pounding in unison. For a long moment, they simply held each other, the silence broken only by the rhythmic drumming of the rain against the window.

"I thought I'd lost you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Loki tightened his arms around him, burying his face in his neck. "I never meant to leave you," he murmured. "Circumstances… they were… complicated."

He traced lazy circles on Loki's back, his fingers lingering on the scars that marred his skin, a testament to the battles they had fought together.

"I don't care about the reasons," he said, his voice husky. "I just want you here, with me."

Loki looked up at him, his eyes filled with a love so intense it took his breath away. "And I will be," he promised. "Always."

He pulled Loki closer, burying his face in his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, the sound of his breath against his skin. This was real. He knew it now, with a certainty that defied logic.

The rain continued to fall, but the storm within him had finally subsided, replaced by a sense of peace, of contentment, he hadn't felt in years. He had Loki back, and that was all that mattered.

As he drifted off to sleep, Loki's arms wrapped tightly around him, he knew that this was just the beginning. They had years to make up for, years to rediscover the love they had almost lost. And he, for one, intended to savor every single moment.

[betterinvienna]

too far off | aki hayakawa x reader

synposis: in a world without you, aki is haunted by your absence though it is never truly silent

[ 455 words — angst — warnings: self harm ]

author's note:

hiya ... this is my first fic like ever & i haven't even touched the angst topic. i just love csm. i wrote this in a day and didn't proofread any of it so don't b 2 brutal in the cmnts </3 thank u for reading - and maybe request something - i love writing off of prompts ^__^

She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s gone. She’s dead.

It’s been a year – maybe a little over it – but it’s 4 AM, and Hayakawa Aki remembers you. Every bit, follicle, scar, curve, and pore, like you were yesterday. Running a hand over his face to quiet his incessant thoughts, he, unfortunately, drifts off to sleep, the sick feeling – dread – in the pit of his stomach festering like an ugly wound. Like all of the other nights, he dreams the same dream, nightmares the same nightmare. He doesn’t need an explanation for it. After a certain point, he began to lose the hope that it isn’t just a meaningless hell.

It’s the one where he’s awfully lucid, standing in the middle of the ocean, and you’re just arm’s length away from his shivering body. But no matter how far he reaches, which angle he contorts his body, how loud he yells your name, he can’t touch you. This time, he doesn’t attempt any of his desperate antics and watches you quietly as the transparent waves crash against you and your head cranes around – but never enough “around” to make its way behind you, to see who awaits you. Who awaited you. God. Why not pick someone else to torment?

Unfortunately, you never do. 

Aki drags himself out of bed and into the kitchen he shares with his subordinates, choosing to ignore the spaghetti-stained plates in the sink and the sticky spills on the counter as he grabs a mug and shuffles his way to the tap. She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead. For the past 12 months, 52 weeks, 365 days, 8,760 hours — it’s been a constant loop. She’s dead. She’s gone. She’s dead. She – he gulps down his water, a bit too much of it, and it pushes against his throat and burns him as hard liquor would. To Aki, that hurt is good. An all too welcome distraction. If he digs his nails into his forearm a little more, scratches the side of his head with a bit more fervor, maybe you’ll knock on his door with that pretty smile of yours again.

But you don’t. You won’t, and never will again.

The coppery taste of blood fills his mouth only after he relaxes his jaw and relents the attack against his tongue, allowing a caring glance to the eerily silent door of Power and Denji’s room before stepping out into the balcony to light a cigarette. You hated cigarettes, he knows – but you’re not here to tell him off for the action anymore, so he flips lid on the shiny black lighter and sets the ceramic mug aside to grab one from his back pocket. 

After all, you’re gone, aren’t you?

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

You and Me

AN: I felt compelled to write something based on the best song off of ATE so, here we are. Also, purple haired Changbin had a vicious hold on me so.

Synopsis: Changbin isn't what you're used to. He's uncomplicated. Fun. Casual. However, maybe that's what you need.

General tags and warnings: Seo Changbin x Fem! Reader, situationship/casual dating, one mention of past alcohol consumption, barely there angst and mentions of a breakup and not much plot.

Smut tags and warnings: While there isn't explicit powerplay, Reader does take charge and Changbin is more on the submissive side, petnames, dirty talk, oral sex (f. receiving), nipple and breast play (f. receiving), Reader is very into Changbin's body (she's just like me fr), strength kink, arm kink of sorts, piv sex without a condom and creampie.

Word count: 3k.

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

“Hey!” he yells, shooting you a nasty scowl that only makes you laugh before turning his attention back to his needlessly massive television, “You totally cheated!” 

Things with Changbin are simple. Easy. Freeing. 

“It's not my fault you suck at Mario Kart, Bin,” you respond through laughter that causes your cheeks and stomach to start hurting. Your amusement only grows as you watch him still lose to you even though you're playing while laughing at him and his horrible gaming skills. 

You're not sure why he insists on playing when you both know how trash at it he is. 

“I swear you cheated,” he mumbles under his breath, though it's loud and clear enough for you to hear. You playfully bump your shoulder against his, “How would I even cheat in this game?” you bite back a giggle when you notice his scowl deepen from the corner of your eye, “I just think someone is a sore loser and can't handle getting their ass kicked,” you sing-song. 

“I am not a sore loser,” he argues, fingers mashing the buttons of his controller as his eyes focus on Bowser inching closer to fifth place with every button he all but smashes. “You're just a dirty, lying cheater,” he grumbles, his lips forming a thin line as his attention briefly shoots to your choice of Peach comfortably in second place. 

You elect not to give into his accusations. Simply letting your actions speak for themselves and smirking when you cross the finish line in first place. Again. Changbin crosses his arms and refuses to look at you for a few moments and you try your hardest not to laugh at the pout on his face and the way his purple bangs shadow his eyes. 

“Changbin,” you start, the struggle to hold back your laughter evident to even your own ears. 

“One more game.” 

The corners of your lips tick up without your consent, “Changbin, we've already played five rounds and I won four of them,” you respond. 

“Just one more. I know I can win,” he argues desperately. You don't think you've ever seen anyone take Mario Kart this seriously. His ego must be terribly bruised right now. 

“We had a deal, Binnie,” you remind him, your smile widening, “A deal that was actually over two, whole rounds ago.” 

“Fine,” he sighs dramatically in resignation and this time you do let the giggles bubble out of you. You can't remember the last time you allowed yourself to just…have fun before meeting the man next to you after one too many glasses of wine and swiping on Tinder. 

Minho had been incessantly nagging you to put yourself out there after things crashed and burned with your ex-boyfriend of five years. Saying that you were wrecked after he broke up with you last year would be putting it kindly. You're honestly not sure how you survived that but, a stubborn man who is arguably more cat than human and who loves you more than he'll ever admit likely had something to do with it. 

‘The best way to get over someone is to get under someone new. Or, on top of them. Whatever works for you.’ His advice was pretty horrible but, after spending these handful of months with Changbin, you can't say it totally sucked. 

You're startled out of your thoughts by a firm hand on your thigh, plush lips kissing along your jaw. You're not sure exactly when he moved but, you aren't complaining. Placing your controller down and letting your fingers run along his purple locks. 

“I really like this colour,” you say a little breathlessly, letting him push you down onto his couch and make himself comfortable between your thighs. You've found that it's incredibly easy to get in the mood when it comes to Changbin. A few kisses and groping at his massive arms and you're ready to go.  

He laughs softly against your neck, eager hands shoving your shirt up and exposing your breasts to the cool air of his apartment, “I've noticed. If I was a more insecure man, I think you cumming extra hard the first time you fucked me after I dyed it would hurt my feelings,” he muses against your skin, his warm breath combined with the way his firm hands gently knead your tits causing your mind to grow hazy and your clit to buzz to life. 

“I mean, it's still you that made me cum so, there's no real reason to feel insecure anyway,” you respond with a snort, arching into him when his soft lips press firmer kisses along your collarbone. Usually endearing eyes becoming heavier with desire with every second his mouth and his hands remain on your more than willing body. “True but, a lesser man would,” he replies, sounding increasingly more uninterested in this conversation and instead focusing on your hardened nipples and spanning as much of his hands as he can along your waist. 

You can't say you blame him. The fog creeping into your mind worsens when his warm mouth eventually takes the plunge and envelopes one of the nipples he's been sneaking glances at since you showed up braless hours ago. The determination to make sure you're enjoying yourself is one of your favourite parts of Changbin, as selfish as that may be. He's purposeful, even in moments where his passion overrides the rational side of his brain. His fingers experimenting with how to caux the most visceral reactions from you, his mouth testing to see how soft or hard you like it. Even all these months later, his curiosity and desire to see just how much and in how many ways he can make you feel good makes your head spin. 

The light drag of his teeth along your nipple causes your entire body to jolt. Your pussy clenching around nothing when his heavy gaze finds your lidded one through the wisps of his purple hair. God, it looks so fucking good on him. The memory of you two fucking each other close to unconsciousness the first day you saw him sporting it is a fond one and, makes for phenomenal spank bank material when he's too busy to let you bounce on his cock or fold you in half. Not one to be outdone, however, your hands drift from where they'd been clingy to his ridiculously hot shoulders (seriously, you never knew shoulders could be this attractive) to palm his biceps greedily. Changbin knows what his arms do to you. He knows just how stupid they make you and, you're 99% sure he wore this shirt that clings to him like a second layer of skin for that reason. 

It's so incredibly easy to lose yourself in the ministrations of his mouth and his hand and his delectable body. To lose yourself in him. Goosebumps rise in his wake as one of his hands hurriedly moves down your overheated body until it reaches the waistband of your tiny shorts. He isn't the only one who's picked up on a weakness or four during the months you've been frequenting each others’ beds. You learned fairly quickly that Changbin is obsessed with your ass and thighs and, will attach himself to them whenever you give him the chance. It's done wonders for your confidence.  

You'd pout at him for freeing your nipple from his mouth if he wasn't speeding his way down your body in record time. Every place he presses a wet, hurried kiss into burns and you know you don't really have any ground to complain because anticipation simmers in your veins when he helps you get rid of your shorts and discard them unceremoniously onto his floor. His eagerness might be your favourite characteristic of his, actually. He really acts like if he doesn't get his mouth on your pussy, he'll simply perish. Evidenced by the way his hungry gaze locks onto your dripping folds and he makes himself comfortable on his stomach. If your clit throbs at the sight of his arms flexing as they grip your spread thighs, that's between you and yourself. 

“You know, you never have to win a bet in order for me to eat you out,” he says, voice hoarse and heavy, the faintest hints of his breath hitting your bare pussy prompting your thighs to quiver. Glancing down at him, it takes a herculean amount of effort not to just grip him by his roots and shove him into you but, you persist, “I know,” you breathe, your fingers lacing themselves in his hair and toying with it, “but, it feels even better when you do it after I've won one of our little bets,” you finish with lopsided smile that you're certain is dripping with smugness. 

The whimper that escapes his plush lips is almost as satisfying as finally feeling him touch you. Changbin is excited and messy when he eats you out. He does it without abandon and without much build up. His fingers are determined to leave themselves imprinted into your thighs with how harshly he's holding onto you. His display of strength fueling you to tighten your grip in his hair and tilt your hips until there's virtually nowhere for him to go. Not that he'd want to go anywhere else based on the way he lavishes your clit with licks and his spit. The vibrations from his groans adds to the tension building in your entire body, shuddering moans of his name and an array of colourful curse words spilling from your lips. 

Your grip on his hair grows harsher when he sucks on your clit, albeit gently. If the pain is too much for him, he doesn't show you any indication of that. If anything, his mouth is even more determined and he drags you closer to him. You've always wondered in the back of your mind if just watching how strong he is would be enough to make you cum. You should really test that hypothesis one day. If nothing else, it would breed interesting results. 

His tongue presses into your clit in time with one of his sucks, forcing you to focus your attention back on the very hot man smearing your wetness on his face while the character selection screen watches on. His eyes haven't left you once. The lust in them is palpable and, your stomach twists pleasantly with the knowledge that he wants you just as much as you always want him. Even as your hold of his beautiful hair grows more frantic and harsh. Even as he uses his strength to hold you down so that he can make out with your pussy to his heart's content. Even when your own eyes flutter shut and the waves grow increasingly higher. His eyes never stop watching you. 

You're almost certain that and a hard press of his tongue are eventually what do you in. 

Changbin is never one to quit. He keeps kissing and lapping at you even through your oragsm, although not nearly as intensely as he was a minute ago. The buzz you feel to the very tips of your fingers is prolonged every time his soft lips press themselves into you and he loudly moans into your dripping folds. It's only when you weakly pull at his strands and tiredly call his name that he finally relents. Leaving your clit with a final kiss that makes you giggle. He truly loves to do the most. 

“Come here,” you gently command and he follows willingly. You kiss him lazily. Your tongue in search of every bit of your taste on his. Hands leisurely feeling as much of his firm torso and plump ass as they can. You smile into him when he jumps as your hands make their way under his too-tight shirt. Still, he lets you peel him out of it. Only separating from your mouth briefly so he can toss it somewhere to be forgotten about until after the two of you have exhausted each other. 

The sight of his bare chest causes your slick walls to clamp down painfully around nothing. The outline of his thick cock through the sweats low on his hips makes you realise, rather viscerally, just how empty you are and how much you'd very much like to be filled. Now. 

“What are you–” 

His question dies on his tongue when you successfully maneuver yourself onto all fours. His quiet ‘fuck’ brings a smile to your face. It's always fun using his weaknesses against him. 

“You look shit, you look so hot like this,” he practically whines, shuffling behind you in record time. Based on the rustling of his sweats and the lack of clothing joining the mess on his floor, you assume he just haphazardly tugged them down enough to free his cock. The image causing saliva to pool in your mouth and more of your wetness to trickle down your sticky, inner thighs. 

“That's very sweet of you to say, baby,” you coo, shooting him a look over your shoulder that prompts his cock to jump. Cute. “Now are you just going to stare at my ass or are you planning to actually fuck me?” You ask with a saccharine edge to your tone, swaying your hips for good measure. 

You bite down on your bottom lip to stop yourself from smiling too hard at his overeagerness. He shuffles closer to you in record time, placing a warm, firm hand on your hip while the other guides his fat tip to your pulsing hole. Whatever amusement you were feeling quickly dissipates when he starts to push into you. His hand shaking with every inch of himself he sinks into you. The stretch is always so fucking good with Changbin. Despite who knows how many times you've let him split you open, the first few strokes always take a bit of adjusting. 

“How are you always so tight?” He gasps out when his thighs finally meet the backs of yours. Both of his hands grabbing your hips fiercely in an attempt to ground himself as he shallowly thrusts into you. “And so fucking wet,” he groans, his entire body vibrating with the effort it takes not to cum immediately. You've learned that Changbin's stamina is simultaneously impressive and terrible. Terrible in that it honestly doesn't take all that much to make him cum. And impressive in that it only takes a few minutes until he's hard and ready to go again. It adds to the myriad of reasons he's so fun to fuck. 

“I'll tell you when you tell me how your cock always fills me ah, Binnie,” you mewl in response, your lashes fluttering when he picks up his pace and starts to stretch you out properly. His only response is a guttural moan and snap of his hips that forces you forward onto his couch's armrest. The smile on your face must look delirious with how fantastic he's making you feel, down to the very tips of your toes. You love when he gets desperate. Your walls sporadically clamping down on him with every ramble he mutters into the skin of your back and the sweaty, hard hold he maintains of you. 

“Fuck,” he gasps when you intentionally tighten around him and push your ass back onto him, “You're so–I'm–I'm close,” he heaves into your skin. His sweat drenched hair tickling your skin and his arms flexing around you with the effort it takes for him not to just cum into your perfect pussy. The constant twitching of his cock inside you is delicious and you feel like a woman possessed. 

“But Binnie,” you whine with a pout for good measure, batting your eyes at him over your shoulder, “It was just getting so good. You know I love when you fuck me with this fat cock of yours,” you emphasise your point by pressing back against him. A cocktail of desire and delight sitting in the pit of your stomach watching the way his entire body shudders and said fat cock twitches non-stop. 

“Don't you want to make me cum on it, bunny?” 

And just like he snaps within an instant. 

Your moans are swallowed by the fabric of his couch, fingers clawing into the material as the obscene noises of his skin slapping against your and his cock bullying your pussy echo through his living room. But your favourite part is always the sounds. His deep moans intertwined with his fucked out whimpers always make you throb in the best, most lust-induced way possible. The haziness clouding your brain makes it difficult to catch everything he imprints into your skin but, what does hit your ears is more than enough to send one of your hands between your thighs and draw frenzied circles into your swollen clit. 

He crumbles first with a broken, slurred moan of your name. His arms keeping you pressed to his hot, sweaty chest as his cock unloads rope after rope of cum into your more than ready pussy. The whines and jolts of his hips, pushing his release as deeply as he can into you, are what spark your own toe-curling orgasm. Well, that and a little help from your more-than-likely-pruney fingers. His grip on you tightens as your walls milk him for whatever he has left. You wouldn't be shocked if his hold on you was the only thing keeping you from completely floating up into the clouds. 

For a moment, your respective, laboured breaths are the only sounds in his living room (besides the long forgotten Mario Kart, obviously). Changbin, to no one's surprise, recovers first and pulls out of you as gently as he can. You always hate this part. Still, you cringe a little when he does. He's still for a second after that and you feel a smile splitting your face in half. 

“I can feel you staring,” you mutter, turning your head to look at him. There's no hint of shame to be found on his face and it just makes you smile harder. 

“Well obviously,” he responds with a huff, “I have a very hot woman on my couch who just let me cum inside of her. Of course I'm going to stare,” he says as though you asked him the most basic question he's ever heard. 

“You're so unserious,” you snort. 

“That's why you like me so much,” he retorts with an incredibly cheesy eyebrow wiggle. 

Well, he's not wrong. 

Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Do not repost, edit, copy and/or translate my work. I do not give you my permission to do so, nor will you ever receive it.

Stray Kids Masterlist | Ko-Fi

[munsonsmixtapes]

Omg I have a Boone request if you’re taking any! reader is a new team member and has a crush on him but he’s so standoffish towards her cuz he also has a crush but he just like shuts down around her. Maybe she ends up confessing cuz she wants to get it over with and it ends w smut where he’s a little more subby 👀 also if you can add something where he like helps her into the truck or just does something w his arms in general 😂 I’ve been obsessing over his arms since the rocket scene 💀

I am absolutely taking Boone requests! Let's give him the respect he deserves!

sub!Boone x dom!fem!reader

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) hurt/comfort

You were nothing but excited when you had gotten the DM from Tyler. He had seen your videos on YouTube. He loved your work and approach to storm chasing that he knew he had to ask you to join the team. Everyone had been excited for your arrival. Well, everyone except Boone.

Well, not at first. At first, he had actually been super on board, looking forward to someone new. But then you showed up on the scene in your short shorts and the man was done for. You were smart and pretty? That was definitely a lethal combination.

And then you reached your hand out for him to shake and it was soft and warm and he immediately wondered what it would have felt in other places. It was as if you were trying to kill him with the bright smile on your face as you introduced yourself. His knees were weak and he didn't like how he was so close to swooning.

And the thing about Boone was that he was not a fan of love. Well, for other people, it was great, but for him? Forget it. He had been burned once and that was enough to swear off romance altogether. He would sleep with countless people, but immediately put it to a stop as soon as feelings were involved.

So, he did the only thing he knew how. He choked his feelings down and began treating you like you were gum on the bottom of his shoe. You'd try to speak to him and he'd just turn the radio up louder or just flat out ignore you. And he felt like a dick for it. You were just being friendly and he completely shut you down.

And what made it worse was when you watched him laugh and joke around with the others, only further proving that he didn't like you even though everyone tried to convince you that it wasn't true. Boone was really just a teddy bear and you were wondering if maybe you had just caught him on a bad day.

But the fact was, Boone just didn't like you. Had even convinced himself of that, in fact. He didn't like how Tyler let you take over without asking for anyone else's approval. You hadn't even been there a year and you were already allowed to take the reigns? Hell, not even Boone was allowed to do that and he was Tyler's right hand for gods sake.

And the worst part of all was when you took his spot in the truck, the front seat now occupied by your ass that he couldn't stop staring at. And it was even worse when your perfume would linger on the interior, that sweet, smoky smell that wrapped around him like a blanket. It was intoxicating and he could just imagine pulling you to him, burying his face into your neck and having a whiff for himself.

"You should tell him," Tyler whispered as you found yourself staring at Boone who had been at the gas pump for the last few minutes. Watching him and the way his arms would flex as he worked made your brain short circuit.

You wanted them to wrap around you tightly as his lips crashed to yours, the thing quick and sloppy, taking his time with you as you were pliant under his touch. You wanted to feel his mustache scrape against your upper lip, making the skin red from how roughly it was moving against it.

"Tell him what?" You asked, finally pulling your gaze from the man to look at your friend who was next to you, leaning against the truck.

"That you like him," Tyler replied in a tone that supposed to make the whole thing obvious. You just laughed in response. You did not like Boone. If anything, you just wanted to fuck him to get him out of your head.

"I don't like him."

"Right, then why were you staring at him like you wanted to climb him like a tree?"

"If anyone needs to admit their feelings, it's you. When are you going to tell Kate?" You looked over your shoulder at the girl who was laughing with Javi and Tyler paused, completely caught off guard by your question.

"This-this isn't about me," he stuttered. "This is about you and Boone and your obvious feeling for each other." You laughed again, wondering where the hell he was getting that from. Boone had made it very obvious that he didn't like you so you didn't know why Tyler kept insisting that it was true.

"Okay, one, I don't see how this is any of your business, and two, I don't like him and he certainly doesn't like me. So let's drop it, okay?" You were now getting frustrated, though you didn't know why. Well, maybe you did know and just didn't want to admit it.

The truth was, you had been crushing on Boone from the very beginning and had honestly thought you had been subtle until Tyler had called you out. Because it was embarrassing admitting that you liked someone who so obviously hated you. You didn't know why, but you actually kind of found it to be attractive.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, y/n," Tyler winked as he nudged your shoulder and opened the passenger side door for you and helped you into the seat just in time for Boone to see.

He finished up with the gas then hurried to get in the truck before it drove off. He was forced to sit in the middle between Lily and Javi. And by some stroke of luck, he looked up just in time to see you pulling down the visor to look in the mirror. You then pulled some lip gloss from your purse, catching Boone’s gaze in the reflection. You made eye contact with him as you swiped the gloss over your lips so slowly, torturing him as his mind was reeling with places where he wanted to leave marks with the brown color.

His mouth went dry, the simple action driving him crazy. You had only done it to see if Tyler was right and now you had the man right where you wanted him, not missing how he had rested his hands in his laps, desperate to cover his cock that was threatening to tent in his pants.

As you tried to sleep that night, all you could think about was Boone. You always tried to push him out of your thoughts, but this time, you let him stay, living absolutely rent free there. Your thoughts were nothing but filthy as you imagined the two of you between the sheets of your bed, in every position possible. And the sounds…the sounds. They were enough to make you orgasm right there. They sounded so real and vivid and all you could hear was your name being uttered through moans and gasps as you took exactly what you wanted from him.

The next morning was rough as you hadn’t gotten any sleep. You had spent most of the night either with your hand down your underwear or staring at Boone’s phone number, trying to get yourself to text him and ask him to come over. You eventually settled for pleasuring yourself and found that even though it had satisfied you, that it was nothing like the real thing.

You watched a truck pull into your driveway and your eyebrows furrowed as Boone got out of the driver’s seat before leaning against the door, looking like he would have rather been anywhere but there. You were really going to have to talk to Tyler since you knew that Boone being your ride had to have been his doing.

You took your sweet time putting on your shoes before fleeing the house, making sure to lock the door before heading over to the truck. The ride hadn’t even started yet and you were already dreading it. Why couldn’t Tyler just leave it alone? Why was he trying so hard to prove that you and Boone had feelings for each other?

Boon was quick to move to your side of the truck and he opened the door for you before holding his hand out for you to take. You just blinked at him, staring down at his hand completely dumbfounded.

“I want to help,” he said, his tone sugary sweet which was not what you were used to hearing. In fact, you were sure that was the most he had ever said to you in the months that you had been working together.

“Oh,” you replied, eyes wide as you slowly put your hand in his before he helped you into the truck, trying to not stare at his arm as it flexed, but you couldn’t help yourself. It was so easy to get distracted by him.

You were so distracted by his muscles that you hadn’t been aware that he was staring at your ass and the way your shorts were hugging it. If he had any more confidence, he would have given it a squeeze, wanting to hear your little yelp as he did so. He wanted to stick his hand into your back pockets as he kissed you senseless, cupping your ass as you pushed him against the side of the truck.

“Thank you,” you smiled at him and he almost didn’t hear you, letting his dirty thoughts get in the way.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled back and once you were in the seat, he closed the door and rounded the front of the truck, muttering to himself about how much of an idiot he was. If he hadn’t been so stuck on treating you like shit, maybe the two of you would have been together. But of course he had gone and fucked up any chance of that.

Boone climbed into the driver’s seat and put the keys in the ignition before putting the truck in reverse, his hand landing on the back of your head rest as he did so. He then brought it to sit on the center console and you stared at it for a second, trying to figure out if you wanted to hold it or have it wrapped around your throat.

You then turned to look at him as he hummed along the song that was playing softly through the speakers, letting his free hand tap to the beat on the center console. Maybe Tyler was right. Maybe you did like Boone and were just pushing your feelings down so you didn’t have to deal with being rejected.

Considering that the man was consuming your every thought, there was no way that you didn’t like him. In fact, you were beginning to think that you were falling in love with him despite his hatred towards you. And why couldn’t you get the hint? He didn’t like you.

“You have a pretty smile,” you told him before you really thought about what you were saying. And you felt your cheeks heat as you looked down at your hands that were sitting in your lap. You were now embarrassed that you had spoken at all, let alone complimented him.

“I what?” He asked. Boone had heard you just fine, but wanted you to say it again just to make sure that his ears weren’t playing a cruel trick on him.

“I said that you had a pretty smile,” you repeated, your voice louder, more confident, and Boone felt his own cheeks blush at your compliment. “It’s no wonder you don’t do it often because I feel like I would do blind from how bright it is.��

“Jesus, y/n, you’re making me blush,” he replied, his tone nothing but humorous, but he wasn’t joking. His cheeks were warm and he was hoping that you couldn’t see the pink color that was tinting his skin.

“Aww, I really am,” you teased as you reached over and pinched the cheek that was closest to you, causing him to blush even more. He was getting really embarrassed and almost wanted to ask you to stop, but he loved the way your skin felt against his.

You pulled your hand away sooner than he would have liked and silence fell between you again. Good. He was beginning to think that you were getting a little too chummy with him. He didn’t want to be your friend. As much as he convinced himself he wanted to be nothing to you, he had to eventually come to terms with the fact that he wanted to be your boyfriend.

He wanted to be your boyfriend so fucking bad that it hurt. But of course, he had to go and fuck that all up for himself. And you were too nice, still treating him with respect even though it was obvious that he was hurting you. He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve you. He thought the whole thing would have been easier if you would have just given him the same energy back. Then maybe it wouldn’t have been so easy for him to fall in love with you. With your laugh, with the way that you would always bring everyone coffee you had bought on the way to Tyler’s house where you all usually met before a storm chase.

Because deep down, Boone was his own worst enemy and didn’t think he deserved to be happy. He had convinced himself that he was the reason why he had been cheated on. He hadn’t been there for her, hadn’t been as good in bed as the other guy. But really, Carly was the problem. She was the one who screwed everything up. Had pulled the “it’s not you, it’s me” after Boone had caught her in their shared bed with the guy she had told him not to worry about. Apparently he had every right to worry.

And then there you were, all sweet and perfect, and he was telling himself that he couldn’t have you. That he didn’t deserve you because of a mistake that his ex girlfriend had made. And he’d tell himself that he wasn’t ready, that the wound was still fresh, but the truth was that it had been closed for quite some time, the pain no longer there, the blood all cleaned up. So what was his excuse? He didn’t have one, not really.

The truck rolled to stop at a red light as thunder rumbled in the distance. You rolled down the window and stuck your head out to see the once white clouds were now gray. There was a flash of lightning and you quickly pulled your head back into the truck as you felt a droplet of rain hit your cheek. Then, in the blink of an eye, it began to downpour, the rain pattering against the truck.

Boone pressed on the gas, going a little faster than he probably should have. He’d never admit it, but he hated driving through rain. It was something that scared him as it was always unpredictable and hard to see. Especially now with it coming down in sheets to the point where he couldn’t see at all.

So not only was it complete torture to be in a vehicle alone with you when you looked so,,,perfect, but now he was having trouble doing the thing that was taking his mind off of you. Now he just wanted to get to where Tyler had told him they were meeting just to get away from the torture.

And as if it couldn’t have gotten any worse, the truck stopped again in the middle of the road. Boone was panicking as he turned the key only to hear the engine stutter as he tried over and over.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath as he rested his forehead on the steering wheel. He then turned to you, hating the look of pity that you were giving him. He didn’t need it since he had been pitying himself for years.

“Maybe we can get someone to give you a jump?”

“Nah, I’ll just get a tow. Needs a new battery anyway,” he replied as he got out of the truck, rounding the front to your side to help you out.

So that’s how you ended up at the motel down the road after watching Boone’s truck roll away attached to the back of a tow truck. And of course, because the universe just loved to laugh at you, the room that you were using for the night only had one bed.

You both stood at the edge, staring down at the mattress, the rain water that had soaked through your clothes surely dripping down onto it. You turned to Boone to see that he was already looking at you, a small smile on his lips.

“Guess one of us will have to take the floor,” he said and you shook your head.

“Don’t be silly,” you replied as you removed your shoes before collapsing onto the bed. “We’ll just share it. And I’ll even put a couple pillows between us if that makes you feel better.”

“Sure,” he replied as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“But can I be honest?” You asked, sitting up, looking him directly in the eyes.

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, suddenly scared to hear what you had to say.

“I don’t want a divider,” you told him as you stood to your feet. “I’m so fucking cold and I just want you to hold me and kiss me I know I look like an idiot for being in love with someone who doesn’t reciprocate my feelings.”

“Are you kidding?” He asked with a laugh and you stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Why would I kid about that?”

“I don’t know, I just-you-and-you like me?”

“Yes, I thought it was obvious!”

“Well, obviously not. I mean, I like you too. And I-wow, you like me.” This was the most you had ever heard him speak and you honestly thought it was cute that you got him babbling.

“Will you just shut up and come over here?” You asked and he slowly stepped over to you as you wrapped your arms around his waist. “Kiss me,” you commanded and watched his cheeks blush, his eyes widening.

You watched his gaze shift to your lips then back up to your eyes, filled with desire. Boone then wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you in, slowly inching his mouth towards yours. His lips slotted between yours and you were quick to respond, your movements slow at first, but you were getting eager, hungry, trying to make up for months of want.

His hand moved to cup the back of your head as he tried to keep up with you, not expecting it all to go so quickly. But he wasn’t going to stop you, just letting you take what you wanted as he was pliant underneath your touch.

You pressed one more kiss to his lips before motioning for him to turn around. He was about to argue, but you gave him a pointed look and he just knew not to argue with you.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, holding his hands up and turning around to face the door. You turned your back to him and peeled off your shirt and jeans, tired of the way they were sticking to you.

“Okay, you can turn around,” you told him once you were in only your bra and panties, and as soon as he was facing you, his mouth fell open, not expecting you to be in full-on lingerie.

“Fuck,” he rasped, then quickly cleared his throat. “I mean, you look-fuck.”

“That’s a compliment, I hope,” you replied, batting your eyelashes.

“It is,” he nodded, feeling he needed some water to wet his very dry throat. You had looked even better than he had imagined. So pretty that he couldn’t look away.

“Now it’s your turn,” you replied and his eyes widened. Boone wasn’t insecure about his body in the slightest, but thinking about you being the one to see it did make him a little nervous.

“My turn?” He asked and you nodded, biting down on your bottom lip, making his thoughts even more impure.

“Yeah, I’m undressed so it’s only right for you to be. That is, if you want to. I wouldn’t want to make you do something you don’t want to.” But as soon as the words left your mouth, Boone was taking off his shirt, followed by his jeans so he was just left with his underwear where you could clearly see a boner tenting.

His eyes were dark and you were sure that if you had given him permission, he would have taken you right there. And you would have let him. In fact, you were so close to begging him to, or maybe you would have preferred him to be the one to do the begging.

He looked unsure of what to do, suddenly seeming shy so you knew you needed to help him out. You knew about his reputation so you didn’t know why he was so shy around you. You weren’t that intimidating, were you?

You grabbed hold of his hands and pulled him close, your arms wrapping around his neck while his found your waist. You slowly inched your face towards his before slotting your lips together again, this kiss much more soft and gentle.

And in that moment, Boone decided that he could have kissed you for hours, already addicted to the feeling of your lips against his. The way your lip gloss tasted, that fake cherry flavor that normally tasted medicinal, but there, it tasted heavenly and he couldn’t get enough.

Your hands found their way into his hair and he felt like he was going to cream in his pants just from the small tug you gave it as your tongue flicked into his mouth once again. If he hadn’t been able to literally feel your nails digging into his scalp, he would have convinced himself that he was dreaming.

“This is everything I could have dreamed up,” you murmured against his lips and he couldn’t have agreed more. “But I was wondering if you wanted to take it to the next level.”

You pulled away and Boone just nodded furiously, not being able to hide his excitement.

“Gonna need a yes or no.”

“Yes!” He replied, a little too enthusiastically then cleared his throat. “Yes,” he nodded, his tone much more calm and you just laughed in response. He really was cute and felt honored that he was so excited to sleep with you, because from what you had heard, he had sworn off anything of that sort. You supposed now that you were going to have to make it that much more worthwhile.

“Okay, but I think you’re going to have to beg. I just don’t feel like you want it enough.”

“I can beg,” he nodded furiously. “I’m a good begger.”

“Go on, then.”

“Please, y/n,” he whined. “I mean, look at how much I need you,” he pointed to his rock hard cock then dropped to his knees, his hands still holding onto your hips. He buried his face into your stomach and you decided that he wasn’t lying, he really was a good begger.

“I don’t know,” you replied. “I don’t think you want it enough.”

You felt his lips against your stomach and began to laugh as he peppered it with kisses between whispered sweet nothings. God, he was good.

“Please,” he begged, resting his chin on the spot right above your belly button as he looked up at you with pleading eyes. “I promise I’ll be a good boy.”

That line seemed to have done something for you because you were quick to help him to his feet before pushing him down onto the mattress, watching a wide grin spread on his face.

“Boxers off,” you commanded and he was quick to listen, pulling them off as quickly as he could as you pulled a condom from your purse. He put it on while you took off your underwear before climbing on top of him.

“Wow, look at you, honey, you’re already leaking and we haven’t done anything yet,” you teased and watched his cheeks turn red. “All that just from kissing? I must be better than I thought.”

“I-I’m a little out of practice,” he replied, feeling his cheeks getting even more warm.

“We don’t have to do this, Boone,” you reached up to twirl some of his hair around your finger and with you sitting on top of him like that, looking like an absolute dream, he could have sworn that he had died and gone to heaven.

“I want you to feel comfortable.”

“I do,” he smiled. “Actually, you’re the only person who I want to do this with. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Well, let me know if I do something you don’t like or just want to stop.” Boone appreciated how accommodating you were about the whole thing, being nothing but gentle with your words. He just wished that other people had reacted the same instead of just laughing in his face.

“I will,” he nodded. “Now please go ahead and do it. I’m dying here.”

You slowly placed yourself onto his cock and took no time to ride him, your hands finding his shoulders as your movements were slow, wanting to be soft and gentle at first to figure out what he liked before you went in the way you wanted to.

But clearly Boone had enjoyed it as his eyes shut tight, multiple moans falling from his lips as you rode him. His hands moved to your hips, digging into the skin as he bucked against you, feeling the need to move with you. And that seemed to work because a moan fell from your own lips and Boone swore that he was going to come just from hearing it.

“More,” he begged. “Faster.” You did as he commanded and moved faster, watching him come undone underneath you as his fingers dug even more into your skin, his hips bucking against yours even harder.

“Are you sure you’re out of practice?” You asked. “Because you’re doing great. I mean, look at you. Already look like you’re going to come, Jesus.”

“I-I think I’m close.”

Your movements got harder and faster and Boone felt an orgasm building already, feeling kind of embarrassed that he hadn’t lasted very long. But the sounds came out before he could stop them, louder than he had ever been and he was wondering why he hadn’t been on the bottom very often.

“That’s it,” you cooed. “Let it out, baby.” You continued to ride him at the same pace, trying to see how many times you could get him to orgasm in one round.

“Got some more in you? We can stop if you want.”

“Don’t. Stop,” he replied in between breaths and that seemed to be enough for you. You picked up your pace, going the fastest and hardest that you could, watching his back arch underneath you as he orgasmed again and again, looking like an absolute mess with the sweat rolling down his body and his hair that looked beyond repair.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “So fucking good.” His hips bucked against yours again and again as you fucked him hard and fast, trying his best to keep up with you.

The answer was four. And each time seemed to be more intense than the last, practical screams escaping his lips and you really hoped the other guests could hear him and know that you had fucked him good. And you had.

And after you had gone all night, you spent the morning in each other’s arms, bare skin to bare skin as you both got the best sleep of your lives, deciding that you were both looking forward to doing that often, deciding that you had to share a bed every night after admitting your feelings to each other. If either of you had anything to say about it, you’d be together forever.

[4-the-l0ve-0f-art]

“A Walk In The Rain”

Neuvillette x Reader multi chapter fic

Word count: 1.5k

Genre: Isekai, Romance, Slow burn

Rating: General [subject to change in future chapters]

Trigger Warnings: none

Ao3 Link

Neuvillette has always used the court as a means to understand human emotions better. What human joy and sorrow looked like to him was what ripples caused by raindrops in an ocean were to humanity. An eye catching, yet small part of the world, in the grand scheme of things.

In all the years he has upheld his role given to him by Egeria, he had only navigated a small part of humanity and his way to study them was limited to performances held at the Opera Epiclese. He felt it was necessary to distance himself from human interactions as much as possible in order to give a fair and impartial judgment in court. And he had managed to successfully do so. So far, at least.

That is until you came crashing into his life. You carved a path into his centuries old heart in the most subtle way, in a way no one had done before. You lodged yourself deep into his mind, his soul, his very being without even meaning to do so. Neuvillette, who was only starting to realize this however, could not understand how this had happened. And so, his mind wandered off on its own to the beginning of it all.

Allow me to tell you a story. Your story.

It is time for you to take the stage.

Chapter 1

You wake up to the sound of deafening silence. No alarm clocks, no mechanical buzzing of the ceiling fan or air conditioner. The world looks like a blurry mix of blue and white as you try to focus your eyes on the ceiling. Your head felt heavy and your surroundings seemed to spin as you slowly sat up. You felt a small headache starting to form as you looked around the dully lit room, spotting an oil lamp on a small table beside the bed you were sitting on.

The first thing you noticed once you were fully awake was that the blue was in fact the color of the blanket you were in, and the white was the walls of the room. The second thing, that you noticed, was the increasing sense of urgency in you as you realized this wasn’t your room. This place was completely empty aside from the bed and table, and the paint on the walls was covered in dirty stains and chipping off at random places.

Where the hell am I?

Trying to make sense of your current situation, you thought of what you were doing before you fell asleep.

Wait..I fell asleep?

The last thing you could remember doing was closing Genshin and heading to bed in the comfort of your own room. Not wherever the hell you were right now.

You looked around in confusion. What is this place?

There was a doorway in one corner of the room from which a set of stairs leading up were visible. There doesn’t seem to be any other way out of this room. There’s not even a single window here. Am I underground?

How long were you even asleep? How the hell did you get transported to a different place entirely while you were sleeping? Please tell me I’m dreaming.

You pinch your cheek, feeling it sting. Definitely not dreaming. Shit.

You started to spiral as the reality of the situation hit you. Were you kidnapped? Was this some kind of test?? Were you in the afterlife, if that was even a thing? Did you die? Wait, no.. Maybe you lost your memory from some kind of injury. Holy crap. But, then again, you felt just fine. Aside from the headache, of course.

Removing the blanket on top, you realized you were still in the clothes you wore to bed. Without any window or clock, it was difficult to make out the exact time, but it felt like not much time had passed since you had fallen asleep. You decided to get up.

Suddenly, you felt something solid brush your hand under the blanket and froze. Strange. You felt around and grabbed the object, bringing it up to your face. My phone?! Wait, was this here the whole time? You felt some relief wash over you. You could contact someone or check your location now.

Wait, it’s switched off.

You turn it on, waiting for it to restart. As the screen flashes and the lock screen appears, You see the time and date and freeze.

1st May, 2024. 12:57 AM.

That was the exact time you went to bed. The exact time that flashed on the screen before you decided to sleep. Huh.. weird.

You unlocked your phone and saw the “no signal” symbols flash on the top right corner of the screen. Maybe it’s because I'm underground..? Hopefully.

10 minutes later, you had gone through most of your essential apps, and there seemed to be nothing which you could use to contact anyone or check your location or something. And most strange of all, your phone seemed to be frozen in time. The same date and time kept flashing on the screen and the battery bar didn’t seem to budge no matter how long you kept it switched on. You were starting to get the creeps. You had to get out of this room and figure things out on your own. I don’t have any other option right now..

You got out of bed and instantly felt your muscles aching slightly, as if you had been laying down in the same position for too long. Stretching a little, you picked up your phone and decided to go up the stairway. Sitting around and doing nothing would only make you more nervous.

You started climbing up the stairway. The walls and stairs seemed to be made out of dark gray stone, from what you could make out in the dark. There were candles lighting up the stairs every few steps and the path seemed to go on for a while. The space between the walls was oddly narrow, and you kept on climbing up for a minute or so until you reached the end. At first, It seemed like a dead end. You couldn’t see much because of the dark, and started feeling around the walls. The ceiling seemed to be ridiculously low, almost touching your head, and then you felt it. A door latch.

There seemed to be a trapdoor in the ceiling right above you.

Okay.. should i be worried about what’s on the other side of the door?.. I don't want to do this.

What if someone, or something, was waiting for you on the other side of the door? The thought instilled a sense of fear in you. I would rather not find out..

Is it too late to turn back now? Maybe I should have just waited in the room, if only I was more patient. Maybe this is all just a bad dream. i’ll wake up any moment now and–

You took in a deep breath, willing your thoughts to stop. I can’t afford to overthink right now. You were already scared out of your mind at this point.

In one swift movement, you unlocked the latch. Now you just had to open it. You took a moment to steady your breathing, your heart pounding in your chest. Then, you opened the door. It swayed outward.

Suddenly, You were greeted by a light breeze hitting your face and a beautiful night sky. Twinkling stars and moonlight and all. And the air smelled fresh. Something you could never experience back home, because of all the pollution.

Well, that’s.. Unexpectedly enchanting.

Phone safely tucked away in your trouser’s pocket, you grabbed the edges of the opening above you and hoisted yourself up using the nooks in the stone wall for some support. The low ceiling made sense now. You managed to successfully crawl out and away from the door, feeling dust and a somewhat smooth texture under your hands.

You looked up and almost got jumpscared by the sight in front of you- A statue surrounded by a light blue glimmer. You stood up, dusting off your hands, craning your neck up to take in the whole sight. At the top of the statue was a beautiful woman in a flowy dress, pointing a wand of some sort up at the sky. A grand building was situated right next to it, a short set of stairs leading up to golden double doors towering high above you.

You looked around. A bridge of some sort with what looked like an elevator at its end was leading to the space you were in. Shrubs and trees decorated the area in an organized manner. The strange sense of familiarity was nagging at you, and it felt like you had the answer right at the back of your mind.

Then, you noticed the man and poodle in an unmistakable uniform. The uniform of the…Maison Gardiennage? Wait, what..?

Then it hit you.

You were in Fontaine. Right at the entrance of the Palais Mermonia.

You were in the world of Teyvat.

[bloody-bee-tea]

Summer of Doom 2025 Day 11 - What happens if I...?

This is a continuation of my ‘A home is more than just a house’ series and the series can be found here on AO3. This plays roughly a year or so after Erasermic found Hitoshi so he's eleven now.

Hitoshi wrings his hands in front of his body. He really needs to talk to someone but Shouta and Hizashi can't be it and he doesn't know how to ask them to call Aunt Nemuri.

Except that he does know—he just has to ask. They are not going to be mad or disappointed, Hitoshi learned that already. He learned to trust them like that and in all honesty, he is just stalling because he doesn't know what to say to Aunt Nemuri either.

But the question has been burning at the back of his head for days now and he's going insane if he doesn't talk to someone soon so he really has to do this.

Taking one fortifying breath Hitoshi steps out into the living-room and then, when neither Shouta nor Hizashi look up from what they are doing, he steps closer to Hizashi until he can tap his shoulder.

"Mh? What is it, kiddo?" Hizashi asks, finishing something on the PC and then turning towards Hitoshi.

Hitoshi feels so warm under that gaze that for a moment he forgets all about what he wanted to ask, but then the desire to call Hizashi something other than just his name burns inside of him and he scrambles to ask his question instead of blurting out something he's terrified of.

"I need to talk to Aunt Nemuri," Hitoshi says and he doesn't feel bad for it because Shouta and Hizashi have always told him that it's totally okay if he doesn't want to talk to them about something, he's always more than welcome to talk to whoever he feels most comfortable with.

And for this, that is Aunt Nemuri.

"Okay," Hizashi slowly says. "On the phone or—"

"In person," Hitoshi decidedly says because he doesn't think he could sort out his thoughts over phone.

"Now?"

"As soon as possible, please," he gives back because he knows Aunt Nemuri is busy most of the time and it would be rude to demand she drop her work or something but it really needs to be soon.

Or Hitoshi will simply burst out with it and he thinks that would be worse than anything.

"Sure," Hizashi gives back and gets out his phone, dialling a number without looking. "Hey Nem," he greets when she picks up. "The kiddo wants to talk to you. In person and at your earliest convenience."

There's an answer Hitoshi can't make out on the other end but then Hizashi's eyes narrow in suspicion and he glares off into the distance.

"I don't believe a word you say," Hizashi finally says. "You were about to crash our place, be honest."

He listens again before he lets out a sigh.

"You're no mind-reader and you cannot see the future, you hag," he fondly says and Hitoshi bounces on the balls of his feet. "Yeah, yeah, see you soon," Hizashi says and then hangs up before he reaches out to ruffle Hitoshi's hair. "Apparently she missed you and coincidentally is on her way here already. Without calling ahead. Shouta, we have to revoke key privileges."

"No chance in hell," Shouta drily replies, without even stopping to mark the test in front of him. "If we do, she'll either go crazy on the doorbell or she'll simply break in and we don't want either of that."

"Damn, you're right," Hizashi mutters and then glances at Hitoshi. "No swear words," he reminds him and Hitoshi giggles because it sure as hell wasn't him who used one right now.

"I know," he still says and then wrings his hands again. "She's on her way?"

"Yeah. You seem mighty nervous," Hizashi observes and it's not a question, not a demand to explain himself and yet Hitoshi freezes up for a moment before he remembers himself.

"I am but I'm not talking to you about that," he decidedly says because he can, because they allow that and Hizashi hums under his breath.

"Alright, kiddo, as long as no one is getting hurt."

"No one is getting hurt," Hitoshi dutifully says because he thinks the way his stomach twists with nerves hardly counts here.

"Fine, fine. You wanna stay here until she shows up?" he then offers and pats the place next to him on the couch.

Shouta looks over as well, no longer grading for a moment, and Hitoshi knows that he tends to hide himself away and overthink things, thinking no one ever notices but in this moment it's more than obvious that both Hizashi and Shouta do notice and even more clearly, they worry.

Hitoshi knows he's already worried them with saying that there is something he can't talk to them about and he doesn't want to make it worse, so he sits and then leans against Hizashi's side.

Shouta watches them for a moment longer before he goes back to his grading and Hizashi slings an arm around him before he goes back to his work at the PC and they sit like that until the front door opens.

"Hello, sprout, your favourite aunt is here!" Nemuri yells out and Hizashi rolls his eyes.

"You're his only aunt," he calls back and Nemuri makes a noise in the hallway before she sticks her head into the living-room.

"Eh, I see your overprotective guardians are here as well. Hello, I guess," she grumbles and Hitoshi grins at her before he untangles himself from Hizashi.

"Aunt Nemuri, I have to talk to you," he says and takes her hand to drag her off to his bedroom, suddenly anxious to give voice to his thoughts.

"Aww, sprout, I told you to call me Auntie Nem," Nemuri whines out but follows him without hesitation and soon enough they are hidden away in Hitoshi's room.

Hitoshi lets go of her hand, so he can wring his own in front of his body better because now that they are alone and it's time to say it, the words suddenly die in his throat.

"Sprout, are you okay?" Nemuri asks as she sits down on his bed and Hitoshi nods before he thinks better of it and simply shrugs. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I just—what happens if I—I really want to—" Hitoshi says, completely tripping over his own words and thoughts and wishes and Nemuri holds up her hands.

"Alright, stop. Take a deep breath, sprout, and then try again, okay?"

Hitoshi desperately sucks in a breath and then again and again until he feels more centered and Nemuri gives him an encouraging smile.

"There you go, that's better, huh? Now try again."

"I don't want to call them Hizashi and Shouta anymore," Hitoshi rushes out, desperate to get that out there instead of keeping it trapped inside of him for a moment longer and Nemuri blinks at him.

"What else would you call them?" Nemuri asks and Hitoshi throws his hands up in the air.

"No child calls their parents by their names!" he blurts out and then slaps a hand over his mouth when understanding dawns on Nemuri's face.

"Aww, sprout, that's so sweet!" She takes a moment to gather him up in a hug and then settles him on her lap, even though he's way too big for that by now but it’s not as if he’s going to just walk away now that he’s settled.

"What did you call your parents?" she then asks and Hitoshi is glad he's sitting like that because this way he doesn't have to look at her.

"I don't remember from before but—after I got my quirk it was all just mother and father," he mutters out and melts into her when she pats his side.

"Mh, while I do think it would be hilarious to see Shouta's face when you call him mother, I'd say those two options are out. What would you want to call them? You've thought about it, right?"

"Yeah," Hitoshi admits. "I'd call them papa and dad," he mumbles into her shirt and Nemuri squeezes him.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," she softly tells him but Hitoshi's shakes his head because there are so many things that could go wrong, so many ways they could throw those words back at him and he didn't lose at least three nights of sleep over this to not tell her everything.

"It doesn't," he glumly says. "What if that is the thing that pushes them over the edge and—"

"They are not going to give you back, sprout," she interrupts him. "You do know that the adoption process is already way underway, right?"

"Yeah, but they are doing that for my benefit, because I'm so needy and insecure. What if me calling them that reminds them that they don't really want to adopt me?"

"It's not needy or insecure to need to know your place with them, and no offense, sprout, but this is really not only about you."

"What do you mean?" Hitoshi mutters because he can't see how it would be about anything else.

"I know it seems unlikely, especially with Shouta—lovable grump that he is—but they always wanted kids."

It does seem unlikely, Hitoshi thinks, especially considering that they don't already have one if they wanted one so bad and so Hitoshi looks up at her, his question surely on his face.

"Shouta doesn't really seem the type, I know, but as soon as he and Hizashi got together, that's changed. It was always their plan to have kids; they just never got around to it somehow."

"But with me they kind of have to now, don't they?" Hitoshi mutters because he knows this is his fault.

He is still unsure of their place with them—not about them, because he knows they love him, but he's terrified that one day CPS will come knocking at their door and take him away again.

And when they adopt him, CPS can no longer do that, which he said as much when they asked him about adoption, so now they kind of have to because he made them feel bad.

"Sprout, there is no legal reason for them to adopt you. I don't know if they ever properly explained but they have fostering rights over you and as long as nothing dramatic happens there is no reason for you to ever go back in the system. And by dramatic I mean one of them hitting you or you saying that you don't want to stay with them. They got their rights in a courtroom while utterly decimating your previous foster family and CPS and I promise you, no one is looking for a repeat of that. In all honesty they are using the legal adoption as an excuse to finally be able to call you their son."

Hitoshi stares up at her with wide eyes and so he gets a good look at how she rolls her eyes.

"Not that they aren't already doing that."

"What?" Hitoshi breathes out because this can't be, right?

They haven't ever called him their son where he can hear.

"They started really early with that, actually. To them, you have always been their son. The first time they told me about you they didn't call you 'the kid' or 'the child' or even just Hitoshi. They said 'our son is home now'. There was never any doubt that that's what you are. You are their son."

"They never called me that," Hitoshi mutters and he doesn't know why there's an ache inside of his chest all of a sudden but he thinks he would like it if they did call him that.

"I would guess they are scared of freaking you out, of coming on way too strong, way too soon. They come off as so mature and composed but let me tell you a little secret, sprout. They are just as scared of messing this up as you are."

"They are?"

"They are, I promise you. They are scared of doing too much or too little, of not making you feel welcome enough for you to want to stay or of completely overwhelming you."

Hitoshi can't help the tears that suddenly spill over because Hizashi and Shouta have done everything right.

"I want to stay with them forever," he gets out and Nemuri smiles kindly at him as she wipes his tears away.

"Then tell them that. And call them papa and dad, too, even though it doesn't matter what you call them."

"It doesn't?"

"No, sprout, it doesn't. I think they are both going to freak out when you do—and I mean that in a good way—and there will be tears, I can promise you that, but they don't need that. You told them you love them, right?"

"They told you about that?" Hitoshi mutters, suddenly embarrassed and so he ducks his head, but Nemuri isn't having it and makes him look at her again.

"They did. They were over the moon and they called me as soon as they could and told me. I know you think of them as all stoic and cool, especially Shouta, but I can assure you that there were tears involved, they were so happy. I think Hizashi got so excited that Shouta had to erase his quirk several times during that call. So they know you love them and that's all that matters."

"But I should tell them I want to stay," Hitoshi says with a frown and Nemuri sighs.

"These feelings are not rational, sprout. They know you love them. They still think they are not doing enough for you, or the wrong things. They know CPS placed you with them, but they don't know if that is still something you want. All of these emotions are confusing, not just for you. Here's a little secret," Nemuri whispers and leans in close. "Adults are just as overwhelmed by their emotions as children. They just learn to hide it better and maybe they can deal a little bitter with it in the long-run, but emotions are still as scary as they are when you're a child. You're in the same boat, I promise you that."

Hitoshi takes a moment to digest that because it seems completely ludicrous to him that Shouta and Hizashi could have similar worries to him, but Nemuri has always told him the truth.

"Okay, I'll tell them I want to stay with them."

"You do that."

"And—I can call them what I want? I don't have to call them papa and dad?"

"You can call them whatever feels right. If they don't end up liking what you call them, then they are going to tell you, I promise you. But there is no way they aren't going to love whatever you'll call them as long as you are comfortable."

"Okay," Hitoshi breathes out, suddenly feeling so much lighter than before but then a thought hits him.

Nemuri just said that adults learned to hide their emotions better and that thought really makes him panic.

"They are going to pretend that it doesn't mean much," he gets out, his hand tightly holding on to Nemuri. "I'm going to call them—that and they are going to pretend that it doesn't matter to them."

Nemuri hums but in the end she nods and Hitoshi's stomach sinks.

"Yeah, most likely. They are afraid of freaking you out if they freak out."

"But I—I think I might want them to freak out over this," Hitoshi slowly says and then nods when it feels right. "Yeah. So I know that it's okay."

"You want me to tell them that, sprout?"

"I mean—I don't want to raise expectations because I still don't know if I can do it or even when, but—could you? I think if they freak out it might make it feel more real. As if they want it, too."

"I promise you, they want it. But no problems, I'll tell them. Anything else you want to talk about?"

"No. Thank you, Auntie Nem," Hitoshi says, watching her closely for her reaction and for a second he feels bad when he spots tears in her eyes but then she hugs him close and lets out a watery laugh.

"I'm freaking out about this, too, just so you know," she tells him and Hitoshi laughs.

"So I'm doing it right," he then says and Nemuri laughs, too.

"You really are. Thanks, sprout."

Hitoshi wants to squirm, because he doesn't think this warrants any thanks on her part, but maybe this whole name calling thing goes in all directions and it means a lot to her, too.

It's always somehow been easy to call her Aunt Nemuri, but Auntie Nem is something Hitoshi never dared to say before, feeling as if he's overstepping on several accounts but clearly he was wrong about that.

He hugs her really tight for a moment and then gets off her lap, hoping she'll take the hint, too, because he's almost vibrating with nervous energy now and it will only dissipate when she tells them to freak out for this.

Without actually telling them what it is, he hopes, but before he can asks, Nemuri ruffles his hair again and then marches back into the living-room.

"Alright, boys listen up!" She says and claps her hands together as she fully steps into the room.

Hitoshi is peeking out from his door, unwilling to follow after her, because he can hear them just fine and he doesn't quite feel ready for the looks he's probably going to get, yet, so right here is just fine.

"Oh no, is it something bad?" Hizashi immediately asks and Hitoshi almost feels bad for staying hidden like this, for making them worry like this, but he trusts Nemuri.

"No. It's just—something big is going to happen eventually, something meaningful and you'll want to freak out over it but you'll try your best to act as if nothing happened and as if everything is normal but I'm telling you right now: that's not what the sprout wants. He wants you to freak out and treat it as the big thing it is because he's scared he's overstepping and he needs that reassurance from you."

"How big of a thing are we talking here?" Shouta asks and Hitoshi can just picture him leaning forward, giving Nemuri his full attention.

It makes him feel warm inside, to know he knows them enough to know these things about them.

"In the grand scheme of things? Tiny. In the emotional impact sense? Absolutely huge."

"Is it going to be a good freak out?" Hizashi asks, his voice full of doubt and worry and Hitoshi hears Nemuri pat his cheek.

"Yes. It's going to be the best possible freak out. And as soon as you are done crying about it and there's no more quirk use in this house, I want you to call me and tell me that I'm the best aunt ever."

"We're not going to cry," Shouta says, the frown so very obvious in his voice and Hitoshi ducks his head because what if they are not even going to freak out like he imagined?

What if it really doesn't mean anything to them?

"Oh, you are so totally going to cry and it will be good and fine and exactly what the sprout needs," Nemuri says and there is absolutely no doubt in her voice, so Hitoshi forces himself to relax.

If she says they are going to cry over this then they will, Hitoshi has to trust that.

"Now, don't haunt him over this, it might still take a little while or even a long while, just remember that when something happens that will make you want to cry, just do. That's all. Oh no, before I forget," she adds and then her voice goes so quiet that Hitoshi can no longer hear her.

"Okay," Shouta finally says and then in a flurry of goodbyes Nemuri is gone before Hitoshi even knows what's going on.

He debates staying in his room for a while longer, but he finds that he wants to be out with them right now, so he ventures into the living-room on silent feet.

Hizashi and Shouta seem to be deep in thought, both curled up on the couch and Hitoshi hesitates in the doorway, suddenly unsure of his welcome.

"Hey, kiddo," Hizashi breathes out when he spots him and Shouta immediately makes space for him.

"Care to join us?" he asks, the offer more than clear and Hitoshi scrambles over to sit down between them.

"Everything alright?" Hizashi asks as Shouta closes the space between them and with Hitoshi safely caged in on both sides, by the people he wants to call his parents, there is only one possible answer.

"Yes."

[rebelwrites]

Thirteen: The Man That Raised Me

Charles Leclerc x Nova Teller (OC)

Till The Wheels Fall Off Masterlist

Warnings: drug use, abandoning, neglect

Small town meets the fast lane. What happens when two souls meet? Will it end in happiness or will they both crash and burn?

As always reblogs and feedback is highly appreciated ❤️ if you want tagging in future parts let me know ❤️

There was a calmness in the air as both me and Charles laid soaking up the sun, I knew I would have to deal with the giant elephant in the room. I needed to come clean to him about my past. I didn’t make a habit of telling anyone my life story, but there was something different about Charles that made me want to tell him every traumatic detail. He made me feel safe and if we were going to see where this thing between us was going he deserved to know the truth.

Propping myself up on my elbow I took a deep breath, “I need to explain something,” I whispered, keeping my focus on the sight of the waves crashing against the rocks on a distant beach. “I saw the confusion on your face when I mentioned changing my last name back to Haynes,” I had spent years blocking out my early years, keeping them under lock and key but now it was time to face the fear of opening up to someone.

“You don’t have to tell me if it is too painful,” he said softly, moving so he was now sitting in front of me, his hands resting on my knees.

“I want you to know,” I mumbled, moving my gaze so I was now looking at him, “JT isn’t my biological dad, he adopted me when I was five, it is something I am eternally grateful for. He is the man that raised me, even though I’m not a Teller by blood he treated me like his own.”

Charles stayed silent as I slowly eased myself into telling him about my past, the feeling of his hand on my knee provided me with the comfort I needed to feel safe.

“Jax wasn’t keen on the idea of having a little sister at first, especially one that was only three months younger than him. But, he quickly got over that, the bond we formed only grew stronger as the years went by. I swear the two of us caused Pops to start turning gray in his late twenties,” I said with a small laugh, Pops always used to call me and Jax his troublemakers but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Letting out a shaky breath I reached for my bag, fumbling inside until I found the packet of cigarettes, pulling one out of the box I placed it between my lips whilst I fished around for my lighter. I couldn’t help but pause moments before I lit the cigarette, did I really need this right now or was I using this as a crutch.

A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I moved the smoke away. I had been trying to quit for months but I just couldn’t seem to break the habit even if I had managed to cut down on them. Placing the cigarette back in the box I refused to turn to smoking in this situation. Feeling Charles’ arms wrap around me, I focused on the sound of his heartbeat to steady my nerves allowing him to become my bad habit.

Although there was nothing bad about becoming addicted to this man.

“My biological parents were,” I said pausing, ignoring the churning in my stomach, “are drug addicts, I was born addicted to heroin to the point I was only given six months to live,” tears were streaming down my cheeks, I had overcome a lot of obstacles in my life but without JT I sure as hell wouldn’t be here right now.

“Oh sunshine,” Charles whispered, his voice cracking as he spoke.

“JT saved my life, I was only five but can remember the day so clearly.”

The icy wind caused JT’s cheeks to burn, but that didn’t matter to him right now, all that mattered was the young girl that needed his help. Since the day Nova was born he promised to keep an eye out for her, protecting her when and where he could, to always be her guardian angel. He had gotten wind that Jenny and Darren were out on another one of their benders leaving their defenseless little girl home alone.

Tonight was the night he would save her from the living hell she was in without a care for any consequences. Pulling his thick coat tighter around his body, he fought his way through the snowy garden, carefully watching where he was treading because he knew the state the garden had been left in.

These people didn’t care about anything or anyone, all they cared about was scoring their next hit.

John thought when Nova was born things would change, hoping the moment they saw their new born baby strung out on heroin, they would turn their life around but they never did. He was honestly surprised how Nova made it past her 1st birthday, especially when she was only given a life expectancy of six months. In his heart he knew she was a fighter and she was going to be a fierce female, he just needed to get her out of this situation first, providing her with a safe home to be able to be a normal child.

Reaching the back door of the property, he quickly tried the handle first not being shocked that it had been left unlocked. He knew Nova’s situation wasn’t good but he had never stepped foot in this house, not through lack of trying though, every time he tried he was quickly escorted off the property by a strung out Darren.

The moment he entered the kitchen he felt his stomach tighten, the bile rising in his throat as the smell hit him first. He couldn’t even begin to describe the stench that filled the house but it was making him feel nauseous. Pulling his hoodie over his mouth and nose he reached out flipping the lightswitch only to be greeted with no power whatsoever.

“Nova, my sweet little angel are you in here?” John called out, trying not to startle the young girl if she was about.

“JT,” a weak voice called out from the darkness.

“I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he responded, pushing his hand into his pocket, fumbling to get his phone. He needed some sort of light to be able to guide himself through the bomb site of a house. He could hear his heart shatter as he shone the light around the kitchen. Every surface was covered in empty beer cans, vodka bottles, along with used needles and other drug paraphernalia.

Moving his phone so it was now shining at the floor, he carefully maneuvered his way through the room, making note of where there were dirty needles scattered on the floor. This poor girl had been through hell and she was only five years old, only two months younger than his son.

“Nova, I promise you everything is going to be okay,” he whispered, as he reached the girl, seeing her in nothing but a ripped onesie that was covered in stains, “nothing bad is ever going to happen to you now.” Tears filled his eyes as he crouched down, he quickly unzipped his coat before wrapping his arms around Nova scooping her off the floor, holding her close to his chest, his main concern was with how cold she was, automatically he pulled his coat around her, hoping the heat from his body would help slow her shivering down, “let's get you home, little one.”

Tears were freely rolling down my cheeks, I would never forget the day my life changed forever. The steady sound of Charles’ heartbeat provided the strength I needed in the moment.

“He is my guardian angel,” I whispered, letting my fingers dance across Charles’ skin, “even before he pulled me from that house he was always looking out for me. The deadbeats that were my so-called parents always brought me down, they always made comments about my body and how I looked,” my voice was weak as I spoke. I felt like I was opening up old painful wounds, I felt so vulnerable right now, “they always said the reason there was no food in the house was because I ate it, because I was a greedy child.”

Taking a deep breath, I roughly wiped my eyes with the back of my hands, pushing myself to my feet letting my fingers tangle in my hair, “I never realised I wasn’t supposed to be so fucking hungry all of the time!” I screamed into the sky, tugging at my roots.

“Oh Sunshine,” Charles whispered, rocking me gently in his arms, “you were only a child.”

“They were my fucking parents, Char. The people who were meant to protect, nurture and love me. I thought they were helping me. When in actual fact they were spending the money for groceries on their next score,” it was only now I realized I still had a lot of pent up anger bottled up inside of me.

Charles pushed himself to his feet, instantly wrapping his arms around me moving me back onto the sun lounger. His hands moved on to the sides of my face, softly wiping my tear stained cheeks.

We both stayed silent for a moment, I focused on the feeling of Charles’ gentle touch. Taking a deep breath I decided I wasn’t wasting any more tears on them, they didn’t deserve it.

“JT cared though,” I said with a small smile, “he would always make sure he picked me up from preschool along with Jax, taking me back to the clubhouse. He always made sure I got a decent meal, a warm bath and provided me with a loving safe environment,” taking another deep breath, I felt the weight being lifted off my shoulders, coming clean to the man in front of me made me see clearly for the first time in a while.

JT had put his own life on the line to save me, yet I couldn’t take the time to listen to what he wanted to do regarding his health.

Me and Jax needed additional help.

“The day after he pulled me from the shit hole he went straight down to the court house, petitioning for adoption,” I smiled, knowing that even though he wasn’t my father by blood he would forever be my Pops, the man that made me the woman I was today. “I will always remember the day he officially became my Pops, you know legally,” I said with a slight chuckle in my tone, “the moment we got back from the courthouse he had Happy set up his tattoo equipment and he got mine and Jax’s name etched permanently over his heart.”

Charles stayed quiet, more than likely processing all the information I had told him but I didn’t need or want his apologies for the world failing me.

All I needed was him.

The fact he hadn’t cut the trip short and bolted said everything to me, “that man means everything to me, so to see him suffering like this is fucking killing me,” I mumbled, fiddling with the bracelets on Charles’ wrist.

“Let me help you, Sunshine,” he hummed, blinking back tears himself, “if you need money, you’ve got it. If you need extra support, I can arrange it.”

My heart practically exploded at his kindness, we had only known each other for a little over a week and he was offering to do whatever he could to make not only my life easier but Jax’s as well. Resting my hand over his heart I let my eyes flutter closed, “I appreciate the gesture Charles but I can’t accept your money,” I whispered, hoping he wouldn’t get offended that I was turning him down. “Me and Jax will be fine, we always figure things out.”

“Babygirl, you shouldn’t have to struggle,” he said softly, taking my hand in his, “you have got to be one of the strongest women I have ever known, the things you’ve been through makes me want to kill everyone who has wronged you. You shouldn’t have to just manage, let me help you,” he whispered, pausing for a second, “please.”

Taking a deep breath I knew this wasn’t going to be something I could sweep under the carpet, the look on Charles face was genuine, he really wanted to help, “I will think about it okay.”

He flashed me a smile but it wasn’t hopeful, already knowing my biggest downfall was my pride. He had seen me practically run myself into the ground, rather than asking for any form of help. I wasn’t going to let my dark past hang over our heads for the rest of the day, especially when Charles had rented out a yacht for us.

@withmyteeth @chibsytelford @stillbreathin @danzer8705 @keyweegirlie @celestialams @dragon-of-winterfell @ohthemisssery @a-distantdreamer @sgkophie @angywritesstuff @enchantedbytomandhenry @scribbuluswrites @dangerouspursepeachbear @buendiabebeta @ferrarifwendvale @theplobnrgone @charlesleclercje @queenslife @panicforspec @justme2042 @liv67 @derpinathebrave @clcspeonies @pleasantducktimetravel @raaaaabzzz @mehrmonga @sbgal @fangirl-lb @pitconfirmbutton @oslokij @tall-tanned-tattoo @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @pumpkin-spice-hate @talicat713 @band--psycho @little-diable @i-love-scott-mccall @fourthwallhateclub @theysayitscrazy @rosieposie0624 @choochoo284 @meteora-fc @beeroses @darklydeliciousdesires @the-jer-bear @extraneousred @youflickedtooharddamnit @babypink224221

[esta-elavaris]

2024 has not been my best writing year – not by a long shot. I’ve been pretty open about that, and not just because I’m very grateful for how patient everybody has been with me due to that fact, especially my longer term readers who were here when I was averaging five chapters of Catch the Wind per month, on top of whatever other fics I was writing at the time. This has been the first year this decade that I haven’t religiously tacked my word counts each and every single day, but honestly? I kind of needed that. No, I definitely needed that – and I’m actually very proud of myself for not punishing myself for it, either.

My best fic output years have, categorically, been the years where I was dealing with the worst crap in my personal life. Fiction was an escape from that, and it was a sorely needed escape. This year, thank god, I just haven’t needed that in the same way. When I moved to Scotland and my life became somewhat stable once again, I did try to dive right into a Milwordy attempt – where the goal is to write one million words over the course of a year, averaging out into roughly 85,000 words per month. I hit the halfway point before I crashed and burned. I hadn’t recovered half as much as I thought I had from everything I’d just been through, and I wasn’t doing too well at acknowledging that what I needed was to slow down for a little bit, rather than diving into the next thing and cursing myself 24/7 for not having yet taken the traditional publishing sphere by storm.

So, I slowed down this year. In the beginning, it wasn’t even much of a conscious choice. At the end of last year I followed up 31 days of 31 one shots by trying to do NaNoWriMo immediately after (and organisation I no longer support in any way, shape, or form), and by the time December drew to a close I was utterly wiped out. I was forced to slow down because I literally could not do anything but that, and then somewhere along the way I managed to embrace it, and I’m so glad I did. I spent this year learning to crochet – finally a new creative outlet that I really enjoy, without having any pressure on myself to achieve amazing things within it – enjoying myself, focusing on myself and my own personal growth, and just actually living my life now that it’s no longer something that just has to be tuned out rather than enjoyed.

Buuuut...now I’m ready to get back into my old ways. Because I do miss my old ways, and there was a time when I was that way because of enjoyment, rather than solely escapism, and I’m ready to get back into that. I miss constantly updating stories, I miss staying up until six or seven in the morning, having already binge-written five thousand words because I just cannot put down whatever I’m working on until it’s finished because I’m that engrossed. I miss it all. But I won’t get back into it without some concerted effort...and allowing my old competitive streak (solely against myself and whatever my word count was yesterday) to dictate my word count for the day. I miss the sense of accomplishment that comes with it, I miss how happy I know it makes my readers, I miss it all – and I love that I am ready to get back into it from a place of enthusiasm, rather than worrying that I have something to prove.

Which bring me to my goal. I do still have Milwordy gnawing at the back of my mind, it’s the one challenge beyond finishing the novel that has completely evaded me so far, but even i know it would be dumb to try to get into that immediately following my lowest ever output year. That means that the goal for 2025 is to have twelve consecutive 50k word months – it’ll take a little effort compared to what I’ve been doing lately, but it’s also completely doable. It’s the perfect happy medium, primarily because it leaves plenty of time for me to enjoy other things, too. Whether I’ll then follow that into a second MIlwordy attempt come 2026 is impossible to say, because I don’t know what my life will look like by then, but we’ll see! I’m also going into it with a brand new set of tech that’ll help me with that, considering that ‘til now I’ve been using tech with completely shot battery life that’s more of a chore to use than anything.

I’ll be documenting the whole process on here, because I do sporadically get asks from people who want to know more about how I approach writing (which is insanely flattering, by the way), but also because it’ll keep me accountable and it’ll keep my mind on the goal if I’m consciously discussing it.

I already have some posts planned discussing the more technical aspects – the tech I use, why and when I use it, different tricks I use to get words on the page each day, along with word count tracking and mining for inspiration, overcoming creative ruts, all that good stuff, which will be peppered in amongst monthly wrap-ups, and it’ll all be done on this blog, using the tag ‘esta’s 2025 600k’, organised in this post right here.

Aaaaand...it’ll be starting a little sooner than I anticipated, because I realised last night that if I stand a chance at managing this next year, December will have to be a warm-up month so that I don’t immediately hate my life come January. I won’t be as strict about hitting 50k in December – I do really want to, but I also want to hit a good happy medium of getting my writing habit back, without ending completely burnt out for the proper first month. Especially because my additional rule is this –

No words can carry over at the end of each month.

I have to write a minimum of fifty thousand words, every single month. That is the point. If I write 70k in January, that does not mean I start February with 20k already done. That’s cheating, and that’s not the point of this. Additional words are a great bonus and I won’t avoid writing them if I get really into whatever I’m working on – if I end 2025 with more than 600k words, great, but the priority is a consistent 50k every single month.

So, keep an eye out if you want to see updates, follow me on IG if you want to see more frequent stuff over there, ready yourselves for more consistent fic updates (finally), and get ready to witness plenty of existential crises as I tackle finally getting this fucking novel finished. I’m so excited for it – I’m so ready for it! Writing always feels like coming home to me, and I’m delighted that I can now approach going back to my old ways from a place of excitement, rather than pressure. 

[anikabooker]

WASTELAND;

TWs ⸻ body horror, blood, mental anguish, hallucinations, pain.

She was burning up; sweating and shivering pressed against the cold wall. There was a silver tray with food at her feet. She’d rather die of hunger than eat whatever that psychotic bitch had prepared for her. The longer she looked at it the more it seemed like something she chewed up, spat out and put back on a plate. Her bare foot kicked the tray, sending it flying and crashing against the metal door. She'd survived on pieces of bread she kept by her mattress, whenever they brought her some.

She didn’t know night from day. Didn’t really care for it, either. It was the same hell — over and over again. Like being stuck in an endless nightmare. No matter how much she pinched herself, she couldn’t wake up.

How long was this going on for? Had it been a month already? Judging by that wound on her arm, it’s been more than a couple of weeks, because the flesh had begun to fester, some kind of white goo was oozing out and the skin felt hot to the touch. The pain was getting worse. She was suddenly grateful to live in the dark. Without light she wouldn’t be able to see the red worms and their little, white heads moving in and out of the necrotic tissue. She wouldn’t be able to watch how the infection would eventually (if it hasn't already) spread to her arm, swallowing it whole, destroying it nerve by nerve, eating away the memories of holding a paint brush, wielding a weapon, caressing her mothers face for the last time. She couldn't remember what any of that felt like.

The memory of his touch would decompress. Fall away like dead skin.

Sweat rolled down her forehead, heavy lids struggling to remain open as eyes tried to focus on what seemed to be a reappearing shadow — coming in and out of view like it was still choosing who to morph into — what agonizing combination of features would torment her most. She had dreamt of her father, and how scared he must be for her. How they only now had reunited, only to be pulled apart once more. She had dreamed of Valka, and how she'd let her down. Foolish, stupid, downright idiotic. Is that what you've been taught, Anika? All you've known is death. Least you could've taken from her was how to avoid it. There was a dream in which her sisters died over and over again, and each time it was by her hands. And another one where there was water — so much of it. She was swimming at the Carson beach where the water was clear and cold. Just as she remembered it, all those years ago. She dreamed while she slept. But she was awake now, wasn't she? A phantom was coming together slowly with shadowy limbs and lungs that breathed life. A face with washed up blue eyes, and a voice too familiar not to recall the lips it belonged to.

‘You don’t look so great.‘ Reid said, and even as a shadowy thing, his gaze was slowly dismantling her. Perhaps because the memory of his stare still lingered in the back of her mind. ‘Fuck you.‘ ‘You almost did.‘ ‘Fuck you.‘ she spat back louder. ‘Why am I here, Anika?‘ ‘To kill me, I hope.‘

He paused, then clicked his tongue in the most irksome manner. ‘Can’t. I’m not real.‘ Then she watched him evaporate into dark smoke. Mercy was too big a favor to ask from a ghost. Yet a silent plea lingered on her tongue. Put me out of my misery— He'd kill her quicker than those worms would. He'd kill her before any of her other misdeeds would catch up to her. Perhaps that was some fucked up form of divine justice; the woman who took all, had nothing to herself, and the moment she found something it was bound to kill her.

She blinked slowly, in and out of awareness. Blood soaking the bandages making her nose wrinkle at the stench. Her head lulling to the side. Then she saw him again — so close, she almost flexed the fingers she thought she still had to touch him. He brought out a cold hand to brush the moisture from her face — a ghostly kind of touch that she allowed to linger, mostly because her body was fucking unresponsive. Blood loss has made her hallucinate before, but never like this. ‘You can't die in here. It's pathetic, even for you.‘

Tongue wet her parched, chapped lips. ‘What the fuck do you care?‘ The laugh that followed was low and hollow, filling her up with dread. He opened his mouth, closed it, the edge of a smirk was fighting its way across his lips — like he was a shapeshifting thing. Tearing itself between who he was and who she wanted to turn him into. ‘You fucking mute or something now?‘ she groaned. ‘Came here to torture me, then go on—‘ ‘You're doing all that on your own.‘ ‘Shut up.‘ she winced. ‘Drink the water.‘ ‘Don't tell me what to fucking do.‘ Her voice was raw, tearing up her dry throat. She'd slam her head against the wall repeatedly until her skull had cracked, if it meant she didn't have to listen to him anymore. If it meant he'd seep out of her head the way blood would out of the wound. Yet, she barely had the strength to keep her eyes open.

Shadows danced across the walls. They melted into him. Molded into different kinds of shapes, people, beings — tall, small, large or slim. Stop. Sweat soaked through her clothes. Her face white as snow. She could feel herself fading, like the last feeble flickers of light at the end of a dark corridor.

‘Don't die, Anika.‘

[titanicfreija]

last solstice bit

Targe

Zavala considered the cottage and fireplace within, but decided against it. Instead, he built the fire just out of sight of the graves. Something felt rude about being too close.

The comms pinged at him, and he allowed the link. "I asked for privacy," he said, hoping it was someone that didn't know. If they did, he would have to be firm, and he wasn't in the mood.

Caiatl's voice carried a note of apology when she said, "I know." More solidly, she said, "I would ask to join you."

The Commander considered it.

"I understand the telling of stories of past heroics to be part of this tradition," she said. "I would like to hear yours about your Targe."

The loss of his Light, she treated as a disability to work with, and he had. She had been treading delicately around the loss of his Ghost because she knew she could not understand.

So to hear the request surprised him until he remembered last year. It rarely came up, but the way she talked about Ghosts and Guardians changed since she befriended the one. 'Your Targe'. He was sure she'd similarly call him Targe's, were he alive.

"You may," he sighed.

"Thank you."

He waited for a while, sure she was still there. "Caiatl."

"Zavala."

"Thank you."

She didn't respond immediately, and eventually managed, "It is my honor to celebrate your belated Ghost with you."

~

"I considered asking to meet your Targe. I am sorry I did not." The giant woman sat on the massive rock nearby as Zavala constructed the small pyre.

"I considered offering an introduction," Zavala replied. "I am also sorry I didn't. You would have liked him." A smile stole the corner of his mouth. "You would team up to chide me for worrying, or avoiding paperwork. He would side against me often. Always into the right course of action, as much as he could determine it to be."

He glanced back to see Caiatl sitting at half-attention, helmet still on. Respecting the ritual.

To his surprise, he heard more feet touch down nearby, and he looked to see Ikora. "Caiatl had the manners to ask for an invitation," he teased.

"Are you asking me to leave?" she replied, placing a hand on his shoulder before she ventured into the trees to gather her own firewood. "I also want to celebrate Targe."

The bittersweet joy stung his heart and stole the corners of his lips. "I thank you," he said honestly.

Fire felt different without the Light. Zavala had always been a Striker, and yet the distance never felt so long. It took a few moments of white smoke to eventually take, the environment being wet even without rain. He didn't realize his memory of this place was so gray; possibly aged, possibly clouded by pain. The dead grass and twigs stubbornly singed and ashed without a flame, until Zavala worried he would have to ask for help.

Finally, the pyre took true light, orange flame flickering as it grew.

He turned back to the stone hosting his audience, surprised to see Saladin appearing close by and stepping forth with a bundle of sticks and herbs tied together. They briefly exchanged a glance and a nod. Zavala almost missed him passing another to Caiatl, who didn't know the tradition yet.

He didn't have a speech prepared. He didn't expect an audience. He didn't know why not; why he would think he would be the only one with stories of Targe, or that Saladin wouldn't come to pay respects. It felt silly now, and disrespectful of everything Targe did that wasn't resurrecting him. He could hear his memory of Safiya telling so many of Targe's advocacy and appeals. Those were certainly some of his heroic moments to share.

He watched the fire burn for a minute as he collected thoughts. He would begin at the beginning, he supposed....

"I remember meeting Targe. He found me in a crashed ship, and told me that I was destined for greatness...."

[fr-martin-gospel-reflections]

23rd March - ‘It may bear fruit next year’, Reflection on the readings for Third Sunday of Lent (Luke 13:1-9)

Third Sunday of Lent

We know from our own experience that life can be fragile. We are healthy one day and the next day we fall seriously ill. A loved one who seemed well dies suddenly. A plane crashes, a building collapses, and lives are lost with no warning. As we get older, our life becomes more fragile, but even young lives can be very fragile. Sometimes people can lose their lives suddenly because of the violence done to them by others. At the beginning of today’s gospel reading, people report such an incident to Jesus. Pilgrims from Galilee to Jerusalem were brutally put to death by the Roman governor Pontius Pilate. Jesus has his own story to tell of the fragility of life, reporting on a tower that suddenly fell down at Siloam, just beyond the walls of Jerusalem, killing eighteen people.

Reflecting on these two incidents, Jesus rejects any suggestion that those who died from these disasters were greater sinners than anyone else. There was a train of thought at the time that personal suffering was the result of personal sin. That outlook was reflected in a question that Jesus’ disciples once asked him. Coming across a man who was blind from birth, they asked, ‘Who sinned, this man or his parents?’ Jesus dismissed the question, saying, ‘Neither this man nor his parents sinned’. Even today people of faith can sometimes be of the view that personal suffering is a sign of personal sin. When something bad happens to them, they might ask ‘What did I do to deserve this?’ Jesus wouldn’t hesitate to answer, ‘Nothing!’ Of course, there can be a link between sin and suffering in people’s personal lives. If I do something that is seriously wrong, with harmful consequences for others, it will often rebound on me; I will suffer for it in some way. However, Jesus dismisses any simplistic link between suffering and sin.

Jesus does draw a lesson from those two incidents of the fragility of life. Because life is fragile and we can never be sure which day is our final day on earth, every day, according to Jesus, we need to repent. What does Jesus mean by ‘repent’? To repent literally means to have a change of mind or heart; it is a turning around. We need to keep turning more fully towards the Lord who is always turned towards us. We need to keep seeking the Lord who is always seeking us. In that sense, repentance is not so much finding the Lord but allowing him to find us. The Lord is always seeking us out, calling out to us to turn towards him, and hoping we will respond. Very often his call will come to us in the midst of our daily lives. In today’s first reading Moses was going about his daily chores as a shepherd, guiding his flock to pasture, when the Lord called out to him. The Lord’s presence took the form of a bush that was blazing without being burned up. Moses heard God say to him that he was standing on holy ground. So much of our day to day lives can be holy ground. Whenever we hear the call of the Lord and respond to it in the course of our day we are standing on holy ground. Whenever we turn towards the Lord who is always turned towards us and try to answer his call, we are standing on holy ground. The Lord’s call will always move us out towards others in loving service. God had a very definite task for Moses. He was to go as God’s messenger to God’s suffering people. The Lord’s call will often take that form for us too. In turning towards the Lord and listening to his call, we will often find ourselves moved to go as the Lord’s messenger to those who are suffering in some way. Whenever people journeys in loving service with the suffering and the vulnerable, there holy ground is to be found, even if there is devastation all around.

When Moses asked God for his name, God replied, ‘I am who I am’. God’s name is an assurance of his presence. God is always in the present moment, in the here and now, seeking us out, calling out to us, hoping we will let ourselves be found by him. The parable that Jesus speaks in the gospel reading suggests that God’s presence in the here and now is a faithful and patient presence. When a fig tree failed to give fruit for three years in a row, the vineyard owner wanted to cut it down. However, the gardener was a more patient and hopeful man. He felt that if he was given one more year to invest time and energy in that tree, he would get it to bear fruit eventually. There is an image there of Jesus’ ministry and of his way of relating to us today. The Lord is not in the business of cutting us down. We may have been slow in the past to turn towards him and answer his call, to live lives that bear the fruit of his Spirit, the fruit of loving kindness. Yet, the Lord continues to invest in us, because he always looks upon us with hopeful eyes and that gives us hope too. In the Lord’s eyes, a fruitless past need not mean a barren future

[yourghastlycloseness]

feel kind of seen in the video on BPD i was watching: https://youtu.be/6TS4d-zqRFA?feature=shared

i’ve been thinking about my emotional turbulence and lack of emotional regulation. the smallest things make me want to die. i just lose my shit all the time. one cup gets stuck inside another and i burn myself with hot water and hit myself in the face because how stupid must i be to allow something like that to happen? but im high functioning and i set the cup outside in hot water so that it expands and fill the cup inside with iced water so that it contracts and i manage to separate the two cups in the end. im high functioning but the cracks are there. people who see it can feel something’s off. i lose it at objects and at strangers. i try to exercise more control with the people in my life such that talking to people makes me feel like dying because whatever they’re getting isn’t who i am at all. i hate all my friends. i see the good in them. i’d rather be without them. but then what if i die of loneliness? fuck that, if there’s one thing i can take, it’s loneliness. i set up “tests” to see how much people want me in their lives. when they pass, i think they’re lying. when they fail, i think, good riddance. i don’t give a shit what anyone says but then one day im at the grocery store and i catch sight of my awful appearance in the mirror and i think about what that one friend said 20 years ago and how i’m probably the most incompetent person alive and i would shoot myself there and then

the point is i think the doctor misdiagnosed me a few years back with bipolar II. i had suggested to him that what i have is likely BPD, but he insisted that it was a mild bipolar (he did acknowledge that it was possible i had both) and proceeded to prescribe me a whole chunk of meds, some of them in the photo below. another one prescribed me 6 months worth of lexapro and an appointment just as much later bcos i had been in high spirits when i saw him and said i probably recovered—that’s just me talking out of my ass on a “good” day—the next day i crashed and burned and wanted to die again

im sick of the ups and downs. it’s exhausting

another therapist i had said a diagnosis. but im here watching all this content and while im by no means qualified to self-diagnose, i do think putting a name to what you have (accurately) makes it seem like there’s hope, things can be resolved

if you ever see those demonic possession horror movies, the first thing the priest does is to name the demon or whatever, and from there, they’re able to strategise the exorcism. in those scenes where the exorcism doesn’t go well, it’s usually revealed that the priest or the exorcist named the wrong demon. naming something correctly is so impt

with the ppl who don’t have mental illness, i think they just want me to “get over it”. with the ppl who understand that mental illness might be a thing, they think just going to a doctor or a therapist magically cures everything. to the mental health professional, i’m just another woman in my 20s crying for help, seeking validation, and riding the waves of the mental health awareness movement. yknow, just being trendy ✨

i don’t want to live anymore because every single fucking thing hurts. nobody cares about me. nobody chooses me. someone talked about watching an animal get killed and then eating it and i just couldn’t stop crying. yet i would probably stab a stranger on the streets with no regrets. it’s not even that i want to kill or hurt someone: i just need confirmation that the world i’m living in is real. maybe get beat up and murdered in prison or executed by law, whatever. put an end to this. i dont know what i feel anymore all i know is that i have no energy for any of it and if i feel anything it’s just false joy, then pain and anger

[chiefdirector]

Watching | Tony Dinozzo | NCIS

“Just get it over with already.”

Tony watched you say from the video feed on the MTAC projector screen. You were clearly bruised and beaten but he still had hope that you would survive. It was fruitless, he knew that, but he still hoped, nonetheless.

“I know what you want,” you continued, the fire in your eyes still burning strong, “And you won’t get it. Not from me, and certainly not from them. I’d say you could give up up, but you won’t. Your type never does.”

The kidnapper lunged into the camera’s view, allowing Tony to see his face for the first time.

“My type?”

You just laughed. You had seen hundreds like him, and you had thought you’d see hundred more. Before joining NCIS you had been in the FBI, but your boss had insisted you liaison on a case with Gibbs. Jethro was extra smug when he convinced you to join his team; he wishes he didn’t now. “Obsessive, psychotic, predictable. You won’t to kill me, like you did to Corporal Jones, because you need me. I can’t be leverage if I’m dead.”

“You’re not leverage.”

“Then what am I?”

“A dead woman.” He said, moving from the chair and back from the camera’s view.

Tony watched, and watched, and watched. There was nothing else for him to do. Gibbs had told him to stay behind, he was far too involved to think rationally. Gibbs and Ziva would bring her home, he had too. Tony had been a womaniser, never to settle down and set his roots but then he met her and his universe shifted. He had become everything he wasn’t for her, and without her he would be less than the man he was before. The speakers sounded out another crash, then a gunshot, before the screens went blank, leaving Tony alone in the dark, unforgiving room.

——

The hospital room was cold, the radiator had busted a few nights ago but the maintenance team hadn’t gotten around to fixing it yet. Tony had brought extra blankets from home to keep her warm; he knew how much she hated the hospital issued ones were. He layered them onto her to regulate her body temperature, but he only thing colder than the room was her.

The doctor had said it was normal but Tony had seen corpses with more warmth.

The coolness of her skin made him evermore thankful though, he knew how easily she could’ve ended up on Ducky’s table, just another name in the obituaries. But she wasn’t; she was here with him, and she wouldn’t leave him.

Tony watched her as she moved in her sleep, and for the first time in many years, he no longer wished for anything else than what he had in that moment. He had spent his life longing for something more, something greater. But there wasn't anything greater than the love he held for her.

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee?

[rhysand-vs-fenrys-vs-writing]

Gently, Slowly (Part 1)

Summary: Elain and Lucien are reunited after a year of civil war within Prythian. Lucien brings Elain back to Day to marry her in secret, and do something very sinful in the High Temple.

** Happiest of Birthdays to my dear @moononastring!! The Queen of Elucien, and generally just a really awesome human!

Part 1 || Part 2

For my fanfic library, visit @rhysand-vs-fenrys-vs-writing.

To read on Archive of Our Own, click here.

Gently, Slowly (Part 1)

It was late evening when Elain finally returned to her cottage on the outskirts of Velaris. The cottage was clean and warm, and more importantly away from her two lovely- but very much happily mated- sisters. 

Elain looked to the south and imagined she could see all the way to Day, to the place where her Lucien was. Where he had been for months now, and wondered how long it might be before she saw him again.

But then Elain turned back to her door, and in the setting sun saw a male with untamed crimson hair, rich amber skin, and a shining green eye. Just one- for the other was gold. A souvenir of tragedy that he wore with pride.

Elain’s legs trembled as she saw her mate for the first time in so long. His breath caught in his throat, and before she had a chance to run to him, he was running for her as well.

Elain and Lucien crashed into one another. Without conscious decision Elain’s hands pulled Lucien’s face down to draw him into a kiss. Lucien obeyed, his own arms snaking around Elain to hold her in a fierce and strong embrace.

Being held in Lucien’s arms- it was something so simple once upon a time, and yet Elain’s heart had ached for it. Her eyes burned and her lips began to tremble. The sound that escaped her mouth was not a joyous one, but a sob.

In a moment Lucien had drawn his face back, though his arms still held Elain tight.

“My lady, I’m so sorry I took so long to return,” he whispered, “please don’t cry.” 

One year. It had been one year since Elain last held Lucien. In that year Beron had attacked the human lands and taken Lucien as his prisoner. Helion was forced to reveal that Lucien is his son, and the heir to the High Lord of Day. If nothing else, that bought some time for Rhys and Feyre’s forces to draw Beron out, allowing Eris’ men to strike, finally killing his father.

And then Lucien was whisked away to Day, installed at the High Lord’s heir. He had to recover from whatever Beron had done to him, and find his new place in this world that had been ripped out from under his feet.

One year, and he’d finally come home to Elain.

One hand remained holding Elain while the other came to gently wipe away the tears that spilled over. He pressed his palm against Elain’s cheek and the other she leaned into his touch, her breathing still ragged.

“I’m crying because I am happy,” Elain said. “Lucien, please never go away again.”

“I promise I will always be by your side,” Lucien said immediately.

Fresh tears dripped from Elain’s eyes. After a moment’s thought, Lucien dipped his chin and brushed his lips against Elain’s skin. Delicately, he kissed away the moisture, then gently touched his lips to her eyelids.

When Elain closed her eyes and tipped her face up, Lucien once again claimed her lips. This kiss was not the desperate crash from moments before. It was soft and filled with every bit of warmth and love he held in his soul. 

Some instinct had Elain parting her lips to grant Lucien more access. She wanted to taste and touch and smell him. To bathe in that fiery scent she’d missed for so long. Every aching and empty moment of the past year could be cleansed from her heart by such a kiss, if only she could have more.

Elain sucked at Lucien’s lips and felt him smile against her mouth. She deepened the kiss. A tongue slipped into Elain’s mouth to stroke her a moment before retreating. The feeling of it was so nice and unexpected that Elain’s toes curled in her shoes.

“My lady?” Lucien pulled back a moment as they both struggled for breath. His eyes were burning in a way that sent a pulse through Elain’s body. 

“Huh?” her eyes opened slowly. Lucien was gazing at her, his lips swollen red as Elain’s must also be, and a single eyebrow crooked. Elain felt that she’d been caught doing something, but she had no idea what.

Until Lucien’s eye flickered down. Elain looked and saw where her hands-

She squeaked in embarrassment and quickly withdrew the hands that had gone from holding on to Lucien’s face to holding his hips tight. “N-no, I didn’t mean- it’s not-” she felt herself flushing scarlet and tried to step away, but Lucien yielded her not an inch.

“If my lady would like to touch something, she is welcome to,” Lucien leaned in to whisper the words into Elain’s ear.

Shivers wracked her body, and she felt another pulse shoot through her. Heat was building beneath her skin and she felt something stirring.

“Touch what? What would I touch…” Elain’s cheeks burned. She looked away and licked her suddenly dry lips.

Lucien only grinned, “If my lady would like me to touch something, that is welcome too.”

Elain’s face grew redder in the glow of the setting sun. She trembled slightly before forcing herself to speak, “Actually it isn’t- such things- my upbringing demanded purity… but in the past y-year I- it isn’t that I haven’t- haven’t considered- but such things- not that I don’t- but-”

Lucien chuckled, “Forgive me lady, but I don’t think I can understand the language you’re speaking.”

Elain pushed against Lucien’s chest and this time was released from his embrace. She stood there looking side to side, flapping her arms with nervous energy as she tried to work up the courage to speak. 

As he had so many times tonight, Lucien saved Elain from herself once more, “If I can guess your meaning, can I claim a prize?”

As if he could understand anything Elain had been trying to say. Still, she nodded and quickly buried her face in her hands.

“My lady’s upbringing requires purity, so you do not engage in any… improper thoughts?” 

The reddening of Elain’s ears was answer enough, but she still nodded her head a few times. She wouldn’t even crack her fingers enough to peer at Lucien.

“Well then my lady is in luck, because all I have are improper thoughts.” He grinned. “So you do not mind being improper, but you’re too shy to show it? Or too shy to say something about it?”

Another hidden nod.

Lucien began to pace and made a show of considering his words, even going so far as to stroke an invisible beard. “Then my is not comfortable saying that she wishes to do impure things to me, and wishes for me to do such things to her as well?”

Elain crumpled, folding until her face was buried in her knees.

“Did I earn my prize?”

Still folded into a ball, Elain nodded her head. Truth be told, Lucien only guessed half. But when she thought of saying the rest, Elain really wanted to hide under a rock forever.

“But as someone who loves and respects you, how could I even think of harming your purity? To do such a thing to my mate… how would I live with myself?”

The heat that had been building in Elain’s face abruptly vanished. Ice replaced it, a very different kind of embarrassment and humiliation. Were she not still hiding, Lucien would have seen the mad blush replaced with skin of purest white. The ball that was Elain tightened.

Lucien had only just returned to her, how could she have screwed this up so badly?

“I think I have an idea,” Lucien continued, undisturbed. He crouched by his mate and forced his hand between her arms to tip Elain’s face up towards his. His strength was crushing, and Elain could not resist as her chin was tipped upwards. Elain was cold and clammy, but Lucien only smiled in that dark and dangerous way. “A way to defile you without committing a sin.”

Power crackled in the air. Elain felt the world whip around her as Lucien winnowed them somewhere else. She opened her eyes and peered up, then sagged in Lucien’s arms.

The temple was massive. Bigger than any single place she had ever seen. Bigger than the throne room of the Hewn City, bigger than the ballrooms other High Lords held their parties in. 

The setting sun made the white marble pillars glow as they rose to a jeweled, mosaic ceiling far above. Red and gold silk were draped throughout the space, the traditional celebratory colors of Day. There was not a surface that was not covered with rich cloth- as though the temple had been prepared for the most elaborate of weddings.

“You look lovely even covered in mud and sweat from working in your gardens, but if I might suggest-” Lucien nudged Elain and pointed to a screened off portion of the temple where a truly breathtaking set of red-gold robes hung. 

Elain wasn’t sure she would even be able to wear a dress so ornate and expensive if she were a High Lady. Her heart stuttered at the exquisite detailing on the clothes and the sheer cost such fabric would have fetched. Just the hem would have been enough to feed their family for the entire ten years they lived in poverty.

“L-Lucien, what is all this?” Elain trembled as he took it all in. As if the meaning wasn’t obvious enough.

“Doing improper things to a lovely maiden is a sin. But as your husband-” he leaned in to whisper that word in Elain’s ear, “-it would only be fulfilling my duties... with pleasure.”

Lucien had certainly guessed then what Elain was too nervous to ask about. He played his game and had his fun, but at the end of it all he’d been planning a wedding from the start. Elain’s heart had belonged to Lucien for a long time, but if she was going to abandon her strict upbringing and surrender the last shred of purity she had- well, it may sound silly but the thought of a wedding reassured her. 

“We can have another with the whole world watching,” Lucien put his hands on Elain’s shoulders and she felt a warm magic ripple through her body. Things shifted and moved and when she looked down she was wearing an intricate series of red-gold robes, the fabric overlapping and twisting with golden clasps. “But I thought this would be a nice secret. A way to endure the months wedding planning takes among the High Lords.”

He wasn’t wrong.

When Nesta and Cassian formally married, it took six months to get the date worked out and set with everyone. It was a brutal, political affair that almost drove the two insane, even though they were already mated.

And Cassian was- with the deepest respect Elain had in her heart for him- a general. Lucien was heir to the High Lord of Day. She couldn’t imagine how long it would take to marry him, and with her entire being she wanted to be with him now. Not just physically, she wanted to be bonded to him in a way that meant something to her once as a human. Not just the mating of the fae.

“I want this,” Elain looked up at Lucien. “I want you.”

Those words brought a tear to his remaining eye. 

“What is the traditional ceremony in the human lands?” Lucien led Elain up towards the altar. As he stepped out from behind her she realized his clothes had changed to, into a male version of the layered robes.

“Our wrists are bound with a golden cord,” Elain said. There was a flash of light and the rope appeared. Elain helped Lucien wrap it around their joined hands. “And then we bow to our guests.”

They did so, moving to bow to the empty temple.

“And then to a shrine representing our ancestors,” Elain led Lucien back towards the altar, which they bowed to in place of the usual array of candles. Humans had no gods, and so for a wedding they acknowledged those who had come before.

“And then to one another.” It was more difficult to complete this with their wrists bound together, but they made do.

“And then we are declared wed, and there is feasting and dancing, and at night-” the thin light was nearly out as the sun set behind a distant  mountain.

The ceremony was simple, and in many ways it probably didn’t count, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was standing here with Lucien. They would do another wedding one day, with all the chaos and aggravation her sister had been subjected to. But right now, this was what Elain wanted.

Just this.

The rope dissolved into thousands of specks of glittering light that Lucien sent up into the rafters of the temple as the light faded. Glittering chandeliers flickered to life, casting them in a soft glow.

“And then it is time to worship my wife upon the wedding altar?”

“Ye- what?”

Lucien wrapped his arms around Elain’s legs and lifted her over his shoulder.

There was a squeak of surprise and protest as Elain was hoisted like a sack of potatoes, laid across the altar, and Lucien was upon her once again. 

It was an embarrassing position to be kissed in. Elain was laying mostly on the altar, but at an angle that meant her legs draped on either side of one corner. Lucien hovered above her, and the placement of his knees meant that his pelvis pressed against Elain’s.

Each had many layers of clothing on, so it wasn’t like she could feel anything in particular- but the position was dangerously intimate. 

Lucien’s tongue traced Elain’s lips and she parted for her… husband. He was her husband now. Married.. It felt strange. What was embarrassing about the position they were in? What was ‘dangerously intimate’? 

Not only were they married, wasn’t this kind of thing part of the ceremony too? Consummating the marriage was important after all.

So, Elain reasoned, not only should kissing Lucien so intimately not be embarrassing, it was actually expected of her at this point! She would be failing in her duty if she was not in such a position!

The reasoning was flawed and old-fashioned, but there was nothing genuine in it. Elain needed to find a way to push herself forward and give herself permission. Her mother demanded purity and abstinence, never in her life had she even touched herself in an impure way and now she was laying across a altar with a man’s hips pressed against her and that same man devouring her lips and tongue in increasingly fierceful ways.

Elain wanted Lucien badly, her whole body pulsed with need, but she had to find a way to overcome years of trained behavior in an instant. So she used the consummation as an excuse. A pure way to be impure.

Lucien’s lips tightened against Elain’s own as he smiled. He felt Elain’s body relax beneath his, and Elain’s hands slowly came to hold Lucien’s hips.

As Elain parted her mouth further for a deeper kiss, Lucien abruptly moved away. His mouth went instead to the neck. The brush of his hot tongue against the skin made Elain’s blood ignite and she let out a soft gasp, then an undignified groan.

“Lucien,” Elain’s hips lifted of their own accord to increase the pressure of Lucien’s pelvis against hers. Between her legs was an aching hunger she wasn’t entirely familiar with.

“Lucien,” Elain’s voice came out breathless and slightly nasal. It was more of a lover’s gasp than an attempt at speech. “Lucien, we should go to a bedroom… now,” she felt her hips rock shamelessly against Lucien’s pelvis in time with the tongue that was teasing the sensitive curve of her neck.

“Why would we go anywhere?” Lucien was cruel, and dipped his own hips into Elain’s. 

The pressure sent a wave of fire through Elain’s blood and she couldn’t help but moan when those lips touched her skin again.

Through her gasping, Elain’s fists tightened around the fabric of Lucien’s robes, using it subconsciously to pull him against her body even as she said, “Not- no appropriate for- a temple.”

A chuckle, and the mouth moved from her neck to gently nip and suck at her earlobe. Lucien whispered, “What isn’t appropriate? I intend to worship my mate as thoroughly-” he drove his hips against Elain’s, “ -and completely- ” another push, “-as possible. Temples are meant for worship, aren’t they?”

Elain’s burning mind decided Lucien’s words were very logical and therefore must be accurate. Besides, no fae god had tried to kill them yet.

She stopped protesting and brazenly lifted her tingling legs to wrap around Lucien’s hips. When Lucien next pressed against her and licked along the curve of her ear, he ground himself against Elain and did not let up. Instead, he increased the pressure and pushed Elain further onto the altar, until she was laying across it fully, Lucien on top of her.

Lucien reached back and pressed on Elain’s legs, forcing them off of him and back down to the altar. At first Elain expected him to pull back and say something, but instead those long, tan fingers grasped the outermost layer of her gown and opened it across the altar.

Elain’s arms were pulled away next and pinned on either side of her head. Lucien held her in place as his mouth returned to Elain’s and their tongues met once more. This time it was Lucien who groaned into Elain, the sound igniting another wave of burning need.

One hand was released, and Lucien held the end of the sleeve delicately as Elain pulled her hand out of the sleeve of the outer robe. Only when she’d lifted it back in place to take hold of Lucien once more was the other hand released and the outermost layer abandoned.

Frankly speaking, Lucien had seen Elain in fewer clothes than this. The traditional wedding robes of Day were expansive and had many layers. But he still leaned away from his lady and stared down at her with heavy eyes. Desire made them glassy, the gaze slightly unfocused as Lucien and Elain both panted. The outer robe was laying neatly open across the altar, but to remove the layers beneath, a series of golden belts had to be pulled away.

To reach down and touch them now would put his hands close to a dangerous place.

But… the belts had to go. They both wanted them gone with the same intense desire.

Lucien had given himself permission to kiss and bite, yet his hands trembled slightly as he stared down at Elain now. Elain was steady as she slid her arms down and began undoing the ties and clasps. Lucien rose on his knees slightly, giving Elain room to arch her back when she needed to reach a piece at the rear. The angle drove her against Lucien. There were still just as many layers of clothes between them, but Elain might have raised herself further than was necessary. Might have lingered a few seconds after she undid the stubborn tie.

But now the robes were of a different cut. The outermost draped over her, the layers beneath crossed one another and meant that it was too hard for Lucien to remain on top of Elain and peel them open to neatly hang over the sides of the altar. 

So the heir to the High Lord of Day slid off her and forced himself to stand to the side.

He began a slow circle of the altar. Elain remained laying in place, and Lucien kept a finger on her skin at all times. Stroking her cheek, placing her arms back on either side of her head, running a finger along the side of her boot. His burning gaze always fixated on Elain.

After the loop was complete, he undid the ties on the first layer of robes. As he circled, he opened one side, pausing long enough to tug it lightly and ease the wrinkles. Then he would circle to the next. At the head of the altar he once again stopped and pinched the outermost layer of the sleeves. Elain obediently pulled her arms free and placed them back exactly where they belonged. 

The next loop he removed Elain’s second layer of robes- had he ever seen Elain in so little? Elain’s mind couldn’t recall if Lucien snuck a peek as he covered her after her ordeal with the Cauldron.

All she could think about was how light her body felt without Lucien’s on top of it. Too light. Too cold. Her breathing was heavy and as the layers slipped away her scent became more and more obvious.

The second layer was gone. All that remained was the innermost layer. A wrapped top and long, flowing skirts that hid the… situation below. The moisture building in her folds.

Lucien had been off of Elain’s body for too long. Under the heir of Day’s gaze, her passion had stepped aside enough for nerves to take their place.

As Lucien’s gaze burned Elain’s skin, and anxiety was freezing her bones. She’d never been looked at for the sake of looking. Had never felt the weight of a gaze on her body with so little covering it.

One inner robe. Lucien was still in his full wedding robes, and Elain wore less than those prostitutes hanging out of the brothel windows to cajole the men wandering below.

Her hands began to tremble. Elain clenched them into fists and looked away from Lucien.

Lucien marked the movement, but said nothing. He slowly moved to one side of the altar. Elain shivered as he reached out and untied the stays on the top half of her innermost robe. She was trembling as Lucien circled the altar and pulled the far side.

Silk brushed against Elain’s skin and she closed her eyes tight. It took genuine effort to stop herself from rolling away from Lucien or grabbing as many of the layers beneath her as she could and wrap herself up to escape. She had no idea where the dress she’d wore in that morning was, but surely it wouldn’t be the first time someone fled a temple while dressed for a wedding.

What kept Elain on the altar was the thought of how awful she would feel if she did make his escape. How would she explain it to Lucien after? Lucien waited for her for years. He went through so much suffering alone in the mortal realm, all for her sake. To make her feel less burdened by his presence.

Elain had waited for him only one year, when he was first installed in Day, and it was the most wretchedly alone she had ever felt. Beron had launched a war against Helion for the humiliation, while Eris hid their mother somewhere safe.

Every night she would lie awake, sure that Lucien was about to come through the door. Every morning before she opened her eyes she prayed that there would be a red clad man beside her. Every meal she prepared she made enough for two. But that war raged, and Lucien couldn’t come.

“My lady,” Lucien said gently beside her. Elain turned her face away quickly, but Lucien’s finger traced the tear that had escaped the corner of her eye. He must have climbed on the altar, because the next thing Elain felt were his warm lips kissing away the tears trapped in her eyelashes. “My lady, why are you crying?”

Elain’s voice came out in more of a whimper than she hoped, “I just… I just really missed you.” She opened her eyes and drank in the wild beauty of Lucien’s face. A fist closed around her heart and more tears dripped down the sides of her face. “This last year… I really missed you… every single moment.”

“I missed you too,” Lucien said. 

Hands slid beneath Elain’s head and Lucien’s body pressed down on her. There was nothing sensual in the touch, just a man holding his wife as if to protect her from the world. Elain buried her face in the crook of Lucien’s neck.

“How did you survive all those years?” Elain had wondered it every day.

There was a pause before Lucien said, “It was hard. It never stopped hurting… but whenever you smile… I would wait a thousand years just to see that just once.”

Tears still dripping from the corners of her eyes, Elain managed a smile for Lucien. She reached up to trace the lines of Lucien’s face with the tips of her fingers. His cheekbones, the angle of his jaw, his nose, his lips- Elain’s chuckle as Lucien snapped and lightly caught a finger with his teeth was half-laugh, half-whimper. 

But when Elain laughed, so did Lucien.

“I’ve never… been like this before,” Elain forced herself to say such cringe-inducing words. It seemed to ease some of the tightness in her chest.

“Well, I have,” Lucien whispered as if conspiring. “I’ve had a long time to think about it… and read about it… and dream about it… and practice a bit.” The last part was said softly against Elain’s ear and punctuated by a slight roll of the hips. “I hope my lady will not be disappointed. I promise it will be fun.”

Elain was still embarrassed enough by her own words. Her face turned bright red at Lucien’s frank speech. Elain’s heart didn’t want to be sad. Not on her wedding night. Not after Lucien finally returned to her. She wanted to be happy and to kiss and… and whatever came next.

She wasn’t afraid of the act itself- Lucien would never harm her. She wasn’t afraid of judgment- Lucien had seen Elain’s worst moments and still loved her wholeheartedly. She wasn’t afraid of being deemed unworthy in any way by Lucien.

So if she wasn’t afraid… what was she afraid of?

Elain’s head became dizzy trying to understand it all. In the end she decided not to understand. As she had so many times before, she simply chose to trust in Lucien. Trust her… her husband. The word was so strange in her mind, marriage became such an alien concept after she became fae… But it brought a smile to her lips at long last.

“Husband,” she tried saying it out loud.

Lucien smiled in response and dipped his face to kiss Elain’s lips, “Wife.”

Elain was nervous and unsure of everything, but she knew how it made her feel to kiss Lucien. So she wrapped her arms around Lucien’s shoulders and pulled him down. Lucien resisted just a little- rather than smother Elain as requested he kept the kiss light and gentle.

When Elain parted her lips in invitation, Lucien ignored her. Elain wanted to lose herself in that hot dizziness that swept her mind and worries both away. Lucien had dreamed of this for a long time- as he’d said- and he wasn’t going to go quick and fast. Not when he knew the slower path would be the most fun for his new bride.

Lucien sucked at Elain’s lips, lightly tugging at them with his teeth. He grinned when Elain’s breathing became more labored. The dizziness was building in her mind, easing her fears. 

Then the hand on Elain’s cheek vanished. The front of Elain’s shift moved, exposing half her chest. When the hand settled on her ribs, Elain sucked in a hard breath.

She stiffened as a bolt of raw electricity shot through her. That touch- it wasn’t like Elain’s skin had never been touched. But not in intimacy, not by someone she cared so much for, and certainly not as her lips were kissed until they were bright red.

A ragged breath escaped from Lucien as he felt the soft skin beneath his fingers flutter. His hands were slightly cold, but there was enough force in that touch that Elain wasn’t ticklish. In fact, she gasped and one arm left Lucien’s neck to cover the hand against her side. Lucien hesitated somewhat, but chuckled against Elain’s lips as his hand was not pushed away, but held down firmly in place.

Then, at last, Lucien kissed Elain as deeply as he desired.

A broad lick of his tongue up the column of Elain’s throat made the lady arch her back and gasp for breath. As she did, her oxygen was stolen away by Lucien’s mouth. Lucien pressed against Elain hard as the dizzying wave crashed over them both.

Elain’s legs lifted and- without conscious decision to do so- wrapped around Lucien’s hips. One ankle crossed the other as Elain locked herself in place. As air became too precious a commodity, Lucien released her mouth and latched onto her neck, licking and sucking with such animalistic ferocity that Elain couldn’t stop the whimpering groan that escaped her mouth.

She was on fire beneath Lucien. All Elain could think about was the hand on her side, the epicenter of the wondrous agony that was burning through her flesh. She held Lucien’s hand in place, but she wanted to feel that electricity across her entire body.

Lucien didn’t silence himself. He moaned against Elain’s neck, the sound adding to the her frenzy even more. There were too many layers of silk between the pair. Lucien’s robes were as heavy and rich as the ones Elain had worn. It wasn’t fair, not when only a hand and lips touched Elain directly.

Elain forced herself to release Lucien and grab onto the neck of his robes. She began to tug at them roughly. It was sloppy, especially considering the care Lucien made to gently remove Elain’s, but she was desperate.

Lucien’s grip on her side tightened almost painfully, enough so that Elain’s mind came back to her body. She was gasping as she realized just how tightly her legs were wrapped around Lucien. How her back was arched against his chest. The damp stain that appeared between her own legs as the silk undergarments became smeared with her moisture.

But this time Elain didn’t want to stop. She tugged again at Lucien’s robes. A red flush covered her cheeks, chest, and arms, but she didn’t care. 

Elain managed to push the outer robe over one of Lucien’s shoulders, staring up at him as if in challenge. Lucien withdrew and slid off the altar. Elain’s eyes burned as she slid her arms free from the top. Until only the wrap around her hips- a thin layer of silk- covered her body.

She couldn’t stop the arm that crossed her chest to hide her nipples. Lucien marked that too, as always.

“I want to-”

“We have our own customs here,” Lucien grinned. His skin began to glow and the robes- those expensive and exquisite silk robes began to burn. The silk smoked and shriveled as red flames spread from the shoulders down, slowly consuming everything. Gold charms and chains from different parts of the robes melted and dripped down to the floor.

Elain almost forgot that Lucien had fire in his blood. As his shoulders were slowly exposed there was no hint of the burned silk upon them. No soot or ash, no charred skin. Lucien was the living flame that burned through his clothing.

His chest was exposed first. Elain licked her lips as broad muscles gleamed in the firelight. Her fingers itched to touch them- to feel the hardness of his abdomen. Elain swallowed hard imagining how it would feel to press against such a chest.

The fire continued to burn. Lucien’s shoulders pushed back and he stood just a little bit straighter for Elain’s inspection as the fire drifted lower…. Lower.

Elain still had shoes, foot covers, and those thin pants on. Lucien-

He burned away every last scrap.

Elain gasped a bit as a certain part of Lucien was exposed. Genuine effort went into not looking away or hiding her face. Lucien felt no shame in Elain’s gaze. His smile grew predatory as he noted that his lady was staring at the hardening length between his legs.

“Does my lady approve?” Lucien said after a long pause. Smug and confident.

“L-Lucien, don’t say stuff like that…” Elain brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear quickly. 

Lucien returned to the altar. He pulled Elain’s shoes off, then her foot covers. He crawled onto the altar, his toned muscles shifting. Elain’s eyes were locked on the member that hung down. She jumped as it touched the side of her thigh through her pants.

Elain was still propped up on her elbows. Lucien stopped nose-to-nose with her and stared at his wife’s eyes while he undid the ties on either side of Elain’s hips that held the pants on and tugged the fabric lightly.

Another gasp from Elain as cool air brushed against her shaved mound. Lucien wasn’t as neat with this final layer as he’d been with the others. He opened the fabric and pushed it out of the way, exposing Elain wholly.

Part 1 || Part 2