#something tiny while i write and drag myself out of bed

[monarchberrysblog]

𝑼𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍

part one — nasty dog 🐕

An inspired baby daddy au from @yougavemeyourheartyouknow as I wanted to add my own spin to it!

🥏 summary: you and miguel meet for the first time…

🥏 content warning: suggestive content ahead! miguel is a little perv. (ooc miguel), poor dog training tips (I've never owned a pet, period, so don't take my word for it.) and slow ahh, character introduction, and lastly, cheesy rom-com layout.

🥏 word count: +2.0k words (I might have over done it....)

🥏 author’s notes: ive been so excited to post this! I hope you all enjoy and thank you for taking the time to read as well 💙 I do apologize for not posting as it has been a difficult time for a lot of people including myself other than that, thank you for reading 🥹

🛝 not proofread! 🛝

As the minutes passed, the little puppy unleashed an unrelenting chorus of barks and yaps, desperately seeking attention from its indifferent owner. With each eager yap, it yearned to escape the confines of the cramped apartment studio, dreaming of the wide-open spaces of Central Park.

The tiny puppy dashed energetically across the glossy laminated floor, its pink leash dangling playfully from its mouth. As it eagerly pranced about, it suddenly skidded to a halt, only to miscalculate its stop and bump gently into the corner of a nearby side table.

The impact drew a soft whine from the floppy-eared pup, adding a touch of vulnerability to its spirited spunk. With determination shining in its bright eyes, the little dog shook off the moment, its fur ruffling, and then set off at full speed toward a specific bedroom, its tiny paws pattering in excited rhythm.

The thought of stretching its tiny legs amidst the soft grass was nothing more than a distant hope, an innocent wish for freedom that seemed far too extravagant to fulfill. A fulfill that is a need than a want.

The puppy sneaks in between the open crevice between the door and the doorframe. Its little nails scrape against the wooden floor and stop at the bedside. The puppy drops the leash on the floor before confidently yapping its little barks to its owner.

The puppy whines in defeat before its dark eyes lock on the throw blanket, and a little idea forms. With a big bite, the puppy bites on the fabric and plays a round of tug-of-war against the blanket. The little idea finally works, as its owner wakes up and tugs the blanket back towards them.

“Bella, por favor!” You groan, firmly grasping the blanket and tug. The puppy, Bella, growls and yanks.

Despite the satin pink ribbons decorating her ears to give her an innocent look, the puppy was far from it. She growled lowly from her chest cavity, yanking on the lilac blanket.

“Let go!” You strain through gritted teeth but get a harsh bark from the puppy, causing you to drop the blanket quickly.

Bella yips and rolls around the blanket, losing her small figure in the fuzzy material. You sit on your bed now, looking at the hyperactive puppy rolling around your laminated floors like a piglet in a mud hole. You blow a heavy exhale, effectively blowing a strand of hair away from your face.

“The chick at the shelter wasn't kidding…” You exhale and rub your eyes. The tiny puppy continues to roll about before she stops as if she remembers why she wanted to raise chaos into the morning. She fetches her leash, wagging her tail.

You groan and nod. “Only for fifteen minutes. To pee and poop.” You drag yourself out of bed, taking your blankets down with you.

She does a victory lap around you as you muster the courage to step out of your apartment. “Give me a minute, Bella…”

“Hey, just to let you know, this pupper is active.” The young woman warns, mindlessly chewing on her gum while holding her clipboard. Her sharp eyeliner slices into your ego as she continues with the uncomfortable blank stare while mindlessly writing something on the adoption papers. “Yeah, don't worry.” You dismiss before sticking a testing finger into the cage. The cocker spaniel puppy eagerly licks your pointer finger before barking and running laps around her keddle.

“No, I'm for real. She lives to cause chaos.” The young woman shrugs and tugs at the sleeves of her sweater.

You dismiss her warnings with a shrug before standing up straight and nod. “I’ll take…”

“Bella.” The young woman finishes your sentence before handing you an pen and the clipboard with the adoption forms.

“Yes. Bella.”

“Congratulations, you adopted a friend.” She monotonously announces and hands you a package. “Puppy pads. You'll thank me.” She huffs, grabbing the clipboard and writing a couple things down on your documents.

And here you are. In Central Park in your Hello Kitty pajama bottoms with a loose sweatshirt that is too stretched out. Your hands rest on your hips while looking down at your puppy. She only looks up at you with small whimpers filling the space. “Did you pee or poop?” You exhales, putting your hands down in defeat. Bella only whines out a sound of distaste, tilting her head to the side.

“Isn't this what you wanted? You won't go on the puppy pads.” You question the tiny canine as if it could understand your words. She continued to look up at you with big eyes while whining.

“What could you possibly want?” You groan, covering your face in defeat. “You haven't pooped since yesterday!”

Through the crevices of your fingers, you look at Bella and see her back on her paws, her little tail wagging. A glint of mischief is in her eyes. “Don’t think about it” you mouth before her little legs bolt off. “Bella!” You exclaim and chase the small puppy immediately after. “Come back here!”

Bella races ahead, her excited barks shattering the tranquility of Central Park as she bounds through the autumn landscape. With each leap, she sends a cascade of crunchy, raked leaves spiraling into the air, creating a chaotic whirlwind around her. "Bella! No!" You shout, your voice mingling with the rustling leafage as you sprint after her, heart pounding against your ribs.

Her marathon comes to a close as Bella runs down a gentle slope in the park, captivated by the enticing aroma of sweet bananas wafting through the air. The puppy halts abruptly, her ears perked and her nose twitching with excitement as she nudges her damp, button-like nose against the young man's calf, eagerly pleading for a taste of the delicious snack he had at hand. The royal blue cap contrasted the grey sweatpants and sneakers he had on, making him stick out like a sore thumb, but it was enough to pinpoint where he was at the bottom of the steep hill.

“Hey, little one,” he chuckles, a warm smile spreading. He crouches down, extending his hand toward the playful pup. Bella's tail, wagging furiously, responds enthusiastically. She licks his fingers clean from the banana residue and lets out cheerful yaps before darting around him in joyful circles.

“Bella!” You shout, shuffling down the steep slope towards your pup and man. “You are in so much trouble, missy—” You exhale. Your words are immediately muted as you barrel into the man at full speed.

Almost out of a cartoon, you roll down and crash land on each other, leaving your puppy and personal belongings behind. Bella yaps before the sound is muffled, still trailing behind you and the stranger down to the flat land.

“I am so sorry…” You stumble about, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It's okay, nena.” He groans and props himself up on his elbows. “You okay?” He exhales. His trembling hands cups your cheek, brushing away any strands of baby hair away from your face. His touch is light, tracing your soft skin and brow. “I’m fine,” You pause and swallow dryly reducing the patchy spot in your throat. “Where’s Bella?”

The puppy's yaps filled the personal bubble between you as she jumped, her collars ringing from her name tag and leash.

“Does that answer your question?” he chuckles, his touch still gentle. But in all seriousness, no problems breathing or dizziness?” His tone is even and mellow, decompressing the chaotic mess you pushed him into. Quite literally. “I can breathe, but having two hundred-something pounds against my chest would be a counterintuitive statement. Please get off of me.” You exhale.

“Of course…” He scrambles off of you and pulls you up from the dead pile of leaves that cushioned the fall.

You dust off the brown and orange leaves that cling onto your pajama bottoms before squatting down to pick up Bella. “I am so sorry about that! Bella isn't used to the outdoors other than her potty time.”

He chuckles before scratching the back of her floppy ears. “Puppy training?” He questions before pulling his hand away and adjusting his baseball hat. “Yeah? The shelter says she has no self-control.” You again swallow and squat down to fish the end of the leash. “It's been delayed because I'm working two jobs now, and it's hard to squeeze it in.”

“Right…” He acknowledges. His eyes wander down, taking in your squat formation. The pajama bottoms didn't do any justice to conceal as they only amplified your figure more, more specifically, the swell of your rear. His eyes stay glued on “you” momentarily, and he looks away when you get back up from fishing the collar through the dead leaves on the grass.

“Once again, I am sorry.” Your cheeks flush a bright red, your ears joining your cheeks. His eyes dart around, looking at a tree from the distance instead of the swell of your rear begging to be looked at. "Right." He stops and clears his patchy throat, his mind running to think of another disinterested response. "I mean, I understand." He nods, shifting his weight on his two feet. "My dog, Apollo, was like that when he was a puppy." He nods, mindful of the pace.

You nervously laugh, attempting to save the conversation from being anything but awkward and suffocating. "That's so funny..." You mumble before hoisting the small puppy up into your arms more. "Well, I better get going, Bella needs to have breakfast."

"Wait," His voice is coarse and parched before he clears his throat and calls out again.

"Let's start over again. I'm Miguel." He stammers, a rosy tone in his cheeks appearing despite the lip of his cap barely hiding his features. You turn to face him again and smile, introducing yourself.

"I would like to get to know you better."

Seeing a German Shepherd smelling the cocker spaniel pulled your heartstrings before the small puppy barks at the giant dog, causing the canine to retreat—the puppy yaps before chasing the big dog around the mellow park. You giggle before crossing your arms over your chest. “You aren't wrong, Apollo is a gentle giant…” You sigh, seeing Bella continue the chase with her floppy ears bouncing.

“Told you,” Miguel chuckles, tilting the cap upwards. “He loves playing with puppies.”

His eyes move to you, lingering on you for a moment, and his gaze returns to the two canines playing. The giant canine returns to Miguel's side, with Bella yapping around the large canine. "Enough, Bella." You pick up the puppy, latch the pink leash on her collar, and place her gently on the grass. Bella looks up with pleading eyes, and a slight whine from the back of her throat is audible. "C'mon, it's time for breakfast. Say bye to Apollo." You demand the pup.

"I'll see you around, " you ask Miguel. Of course..." He exchanges a soft smile, a soft glisten in his eyes, seeking more. "C'mon..." You encourage the pup, tugging the leash. With a slight whine, she follows behind, her floppy ears bouncing with every step, leaving the two new companions behind in Central Park.

Bella turns around, her tiny body buzzing with excitement as she yaps joyfully. She barks a cheerful melody in the autumn air. She trots eagerly by your side, her fluffy tail wagging like a little flag, radiating pure happiness. Her moist button nose twitches as it delicately inhales the diverse scents drifting around, a mix of freshly cut grass and the tantalizing aroma of hot dogs sizzling on nearby grills.

Often, she glances up at you with wide, sparkling eyes, her expression a blend of playful mischief and undeniable affection. The park around her bustles with life, children’s giggles filling the air. The puppy's heart swells in excitement, anticipating the next unplanned playdate.

It wouldn't be the last time she saw Miguel or Apollo. There was going to be another next time. In her small conscious, she sensed an extended stay from the companions.

tag list:

@yougavemeyourheartyouknow @opaloharas @hyjionie @zaunsin @kavimoo @keiva1000 @slushycoookie

[fireflyinks]

oh my god i can’t stop thinking about riding hamzah’s thighs .. is there anyway u can incorporate that into a fic 🙏

need your attention

hamzah x reader

a/n : okay this is a little 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 so beware, but tysm for this request i LOVED writing it, thigh riding is so 😋

contains : needy!reader, afab!reader, praise, no p in v, thigh riding ofc, pet names (baby, sweetheart, good girl), established relationship, Hamzah is kinda mean at first but he apologizes

18+ MINORS DNI

I watched as Hamzah sat at his desktop, clicking and typing away, editing the next slushynoobz video. I normally wouldn’t have been bugged by this, but I had now been laying on his bed for three hours waiting for him to finish.

Crossing my arms, I huffed, hoping this could catch his attention. It didn’t, of course, since he was too entranced in his video and had on the chunkiest headphones I had seen in my entire life.

I tried to be patient, scrolling on my phone until my eyes stung, and yet he still sat at his computer, clueless.

I think what bothered me the most is that he was the one who invited me over, just to not give me an ounce of attention.

Sighing, I finally stood up and walked over to him. I stood beside him, and after a few seconds he looked up at me and moved a headphone off his ear. “Hi baby, you okay?”

“When are you gonna to be done editing?” I asked flatly, almost cutting him off.

He shrugged, looking at his screen. “I don’t know. It could be another hour.”

My mouth fell open, “Hamzah, why do you invite me over just to pay no attention to me? I could be at home right now, doing something productive, instead of waiting on you.”

My words came out harsher than I had intended. I always tried to not lecture Hamzah over little things like this, but I was fed up.

“Why don’t you leave then?” He snapped, not looking up from his computer.

Hamzah never spoke to me this harshly either, and I felt my throat tightening as I nodded and walked away from him. He wanted me to leave? Fine.

“Wait sweetheart…” he called after me, standing up from his desk for the first time in three hours.

I silently grabbed my stuff, and was walking towards the bedroom door. He grabbed my hand and stopped me. Looking up at him, I could tell that he felt bad, so I stopped myself from leaving.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I don’t want you to leave. I’ll wrap it up, okay?”

I nodded, “Can I sit on your lap?”

Hamzah smiled, “Of course you can.”

The two of us walked back over to his desk, and I watched as he sat back down, patting his lap. I smiled, sitting down.

As minutes passed, I tried to be patient and wait for him to finish. As he peered past my head, his eyes once again glued to his computer, I watched as his arms flex ever so often, typing on his keys and moving his mouse. It was a tiny detail, one that I wouldn’t have notice while I was still sitting on his bed. But now that I was on his lap, his movements seemed to infatuate me.

My eyes grazed his body, trying to take in more small details. I’d admired Hamzah before, and noticed things the way he said “what are” (water), and how his cheeks puffed out when he was trying to keep himself from laughing, but those were just cute. The things I was noticing now were more than cute, they were erotic, and had me rubbing my thighs together.

His arms flexing, the way his long fingers typed at the keys, his hands just in general. I shifted a bit, trying to ease the sensation at my core.

I looked down, biting my lip as I saw Hamzah’s thighs.

It was the middle of summer, about 70 degrees all day long, so Hamzah had worn shorts. When he was sat, his shorts came up a bit, exposing even more of his thigh. I cursed under my breath, realizing how dirty what I was planning on doing truly was.

I adjusted myself, moving to where I was straddling his right thigh, and began dragging my aching core back and forth on him. I tried my best to go slow, not wanting to interrupt Hamzah’s editing time.

“You could’ve just told me if you were feeling needy, sweetheart.”

I paused my motions, looking back at him.

“Well don’t stop on my account. I do have a request though…”

Humming, I turned around so that I was now facing him. “Anything.”

“How about you take that skirt and these panties off, hm? I wanna feel that pussy on me.”

My jaw dropped a bit before I nodded vigorously, standing up and sliding the two articles off of me. I sat back down on his thigh, straddling him.

He was never this forward, and it was turning me on a bit too much.

“Much better,” he cooed. I bit my lip, beginning to move back and forth on him once again.

Hamzah was always the dominant one in the bedroom, but it was almost alarming to me how comfortable he was with this, and how quickly he took charge.

Smalls noises escaped my lips as I moved on him, chasing a release he wasn’t providing me himself.

His eyes were still on the screen, but flicked back to me every few seconds, watching as I pleased myself on him. I could tell he was struggling to not focus on me, but he had a point to prove and a video to edit. My cheeks burned, trying to ignore how humiliating this act truly was.

“Feel good?” He said in a husky voice. I nodded, continuing to move back and forth on him.

“You’re so needy for me baby. Couldn’t even wait for me to get finished editing, you just needed to get you off, hm?”

I whined in response.

He was getting an ego boost from this, but that didn’t make me want to stop.

“That’s it, make yourself feel good on my thigh. Be my good girl.”

Looking down at his shorts, I could see an evident tent forming at his crotch.

“Hamzah…” I whined, grinding down on him harder than usual.

He hummed, typing on his keyboard.

“Need your attention, please.”

Hamzah looked away from his computer, leaning down and kissing my lips. He pulled away, “I know baby, why don’t you finish on my thigh and I’ll give you all the attention in the world?”

His pupils were blown with lust, trailing my face. I nodded, and after a few seconds, I finished on his leg.

“There you go,” Hamzah encouraged, stroking my own exposed thigh with his thumb as I came down from my high.

I basically collapsed onto his chest, hiding my face in the crook of his neck.

“I liked that… a lot.” I mumbled, closing my eyes.

Hamzah smiled softly, “Me too, princess.”

I felt him stand up, holding onto my thighs as he picked me up with him. “Now let me take care of my girl.”

[justporo]

Instead of Roses

It's your birthday! And oh, your vampire knows how to treat you so well - in every kind of way.

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: Well, technically my birthday is already over by half an hour - but we'll say it counts. I wanted to write a *small* self-indulgent thing for myself as much as you as a treat. Don't we all know how these things go in the end around here... Have tooth-rotting fluff that turns into smut! Enjoy!

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You) Warnings: explicit sexual content, porn with feelings, vaginal fingering, nipple play, vaginal sex, creampie, aftercare Wordcount: 3,1k

~~~

You woke from Astarion softly kissing your cheek. His lips on your face feeling like a feather caressing it. He whispered against your skin in between kisses, making his way down to your throat. You felt his cool breath brush over your skin, leaving goosebumps on the nape of your neck.

Being softly dragged from your dreams you needed a few moments until you could make out what sweet nothings your vampire kept murmuring against your pulse point before he pressed his lips to the delicate skin there again.

“Good morning, darling,” Astarion mumbled again when you slowly opened your eyes and began stretching with him leaning over you, loosely caging you with his arm he was propped up on. “Happy birthday, my sweet,” he continued, his words so low they were merely more than a rumble in his throat.

“Hm, is it?” you murmured back sleepily and turned your head a little so you could look at your lover. Astarion was smiling ever so softly at you, curls still messy from sleep but his crimson eyes glimmering happily at you. He was shirtless - but had pants on for some reason - while you remained pleasantly naked beneath the covers.

You rolled your neck and stretched your limbs - like a cat would after getting up from a good rest. Astarion eyed you lovingly, smile growing into his signature smirk. He was definitely up to something - but when wasn’t he?

“I know you said you didn’t know when your actual birthday is,” he explained, cocking his head to his side observing you as you raised your eyebrows at him and couldn’t resist a deep yawn that rolled over you - and another big stretch. “So I thought: wouldn’t today be just perfect?” Astarion concluded and kissed you fully on the lips before nuzzling his nose behind one of your pointy ears, tickling you.

You shivered and chuckled and tried to push him off. But this only resulted in the pale elf wrapping his naked arms around you and tickling you more with the tip of his nose at the nape of your neck.

Wiggling in his arms you tried to escape him but it was no use.

Rolling around your enormous bed while the vampire was teasing you - his hands joining in to tickle you at your waist - it threatened to turn into full blown melee combat. Even with your hand in his face and fingers spread to push him off, Astarion only laughed and doubled down on his attacks by trying to nibble on your fingers - damned vampire.

But as you looked around for a weapon other than a pillow that, shoved in a vampire’s face, emitted a loud hiss from the predator but nothing more, your eyes wandered over something on your nightstand. And suddenly you smelled it too!

Stopping your efforts to escape Astarion - and he apparently deemed you sufficiently teased by tickling - you saw that a nice plate of scrambled eggs with veggies, a bowl of fresh strawberries and a nice steaming cup of tea was placed there. Along with a single white blossom that you recognised from your tiny garden, placed in a random chalice that usually was meant for wine.

“You made me breakfast?” you asked, feeling how warmth filled your chest at the image of a half-naked Astarion standing in the kitchen of your small townhouse to prepare food for you. You moved around a little until you were laying on your side. Astarion softly wrapped his arms around you and scooched up to you until he was spooning you. He pressed another kiss to the crown of your head.

“Of course, isn’t that what spouses do for their partner’s birthdays?”

Your heart was about ready to melt.

You craned your neck to give your vampire a kiss.

The eggs were a bit burned you had noticed. But it all smelled delicious and he’d prepared all your favourite things for you. He was really trying so hard - and succeeding even harder.

“You’re the sweetest, Astarion!” You beamed at him.

The vampire looked very pleased with himself.

“I know. Aren’t I just the best” - you hummed in agreement - “handsomest” - another hum but with lips curling into a teasing pout - “most forthcoming” - you huffed lightly - “and smar-”

Grabbing a nearby pillow you smacked him in the face with it. “And so humble too,” you replied sickeningly sweet as Astarion hissed at you once more and shoved the pillow out of his face - his hair even a little worse for wear than before.

You giggled while the vampire acted as if he was brooding - the corners of his lips dragging up betraying him though.

“Insolent little mi-”

But once more you interrupted him by straining to turn around to grab his face and kiss him. With your mouth moving against his you tried to convey how much your chest was swelling with love for him at this lovely gesture. How much you adored him.

And just to be sure: “You’re the best, Astarion,” you whispered against his lips while you felt the vampire’s hands start to roam under the covers while he hummed happily - not only soothed but pleased.

His hands kept wandering as the kiss deepened and slowed. And you gasped lightly into his mouth, as you sensed what he was about to do.

“I have more in stock for you, my sweet,” the vampire murmured against your lips when he broke the kiss as you felt his fingers purposefully slide down your naked form beneath the covers before quickly diving between your legs. You turned your head away once more, closing your eyes and felt how Astarion moved his head to lightly bite down on one of your pointy ears.

“So much more.”

His voice was almost a growl directly in it. You were still on your side, Astarion wrapped around you. He pressed his lips to this spot directly below your ear and made you shudder.

“Oh?” you almost moaned as the vampire’s long fingers stroked along your core, already getting wet from that and his sinful promise.

“Did you get me roses too?” you tried to tease him. But the way his index began circling your clit was making it hard to keep even an edge of sass towards the vampire in your voice.

Involuntarily, you bucked your hips with a gasp when his fingers stroked along the sensitive bud between your legs more forcefully. You rubbed your ass against his crotch, snuggled up behind you. Even through the covers and his pants you felt that he was just as hard for you as you were wet for him.

“No roses, my heart,” Astarion replied, lips directly at your ear again.

“I thought I’d give you something even more pleasant instead,” he whispered and in time with his words let two of his fingers enter you, taking you by surprise.

A moan was ripped from your lips. You threw your head back and arched your spine.

“How thoughtful of you,” you replied breathlessly as you felt your lover’s fingers wandering to your clit again, covering it in your own slick. Astarion just laughed haughtily, knowing exactly the effect he had on you.

The heat pooling between your legs as you absent-mindedly pressed your thighs together for even more friction was quickly becoming like lava. And Astarion didn’t give you much of a break. His other hand was working its way to your boobs now. It began to squeeze them, the vampire’s long fingers spread out, squishing them together as more lewd sounds spilled from your lips.

“Fuck,” you cursed when at the same time his fingers entered your cunt again and with his other hand he rolled your hardened nipple between his thumb and index.

“Who, love?” Astarion teased. “Me?” Another finger entered you. “You?” His other fingers pinched the hardened peak of your breasts. The groan caught in your throat.

“Both, you bastard,” you pressed out followed by a desperate moan as the vampire worked your body like a musician did his beloved instrument. Caressing and teasing simultaneously, lovingly but with force plucking and stroking to elicit the sweetest notes from you.

Gods, you needed more. You tried to open your legs to give your lover better access to work his magic but felt the bed sheets restrict you. With a frustrated groan you kicked them away, aided by Astarion momentarily letting go of your breasts. But once you were freed of all fabric his hand was quickly back where it had left off, kneading your tits as they felt heavy with lust.

You opened your legs wide for Astarion with a dreamy sigh as he pressed himself against you from behind harder now, rubbing his hardened length against your ass. With a grunt he bucked his hips into you as he rewarded your eagerness by stroking your clit with the pad of his thumb now.

He was doing this for you, you knew. But as his grip on you became stronger, a little more desperate and you felt his hard dick press against you, you knew this was as thrilling for him as it was for you. And that made the moans coming from you almost turn into growls while you arched your back harder, desperate to give you both some more friction to work with.

To be desired and loved by a man like him-

Just knowing this made you almost unravel fully beneath his deft fingers.

Astarion had buried his face at your neck, his lush curls softly tickling you and sending electric shivers through you.

For a while the room was filled with nothing but breathless, needy sounds from each of you.

“Astarion,” you moaned as you were practically grinding against his hand, trying to get more of this delicious sensation. Your vampire merely groaned in response - barely taking in how desperately his name was rolling off your tongue.

Your lover’s hands were all busy with offering you all the pleasure he thought you deserved. And seemingly his mind was all filled with you as well as his face was buried in your hair, his gasps and moans brushing over you. You felt his hardened length twitch in need even through his clothes.

“Astarion,” you exclaimed again, even more desperation in your voice now, feeling as if you might perish on the spot when his fingertips hit just that spot as they dragged over your clit again.

“What is it, my love?” he replied, voice almost as desperate as yours.

“Me-,” you gasped and bit your lip hard as the way your nipple was teased sent another jolt through your entire body. The vampire just made a quizzical sound in response.

 “Godsdammit,” you pressed out as he gave you not a moment of peace with how his hands worked your body. You could barely form half a thought.

“Fuck me, Astarion,” you almost shouted in frustration, your hands helplessly curling in the sheets. The tension inside you became almost unbearable.

But thankfully your partner finally moved to fulfil your request.

Astarion only shortly moved away from you to wiggle out of his pants while cursing profusely. Just by the way the bed was swaying under his struggles showed you how desperate he too must have been to answer your plea.

Quickly, you let your own hands take the place of your lovers’ so as to not lose any steam: squeezing your own tits with a moan. And with the other feeling how obscenely wet he’d gotten you. You  were a heated, desperate mess already - and you weren’t nearly done.

Soon after, you felt Astarion roll around again, his arms wrapping around you once more, his hands covering yours, lacing with them. His dick was hard as granite as he moved to let it slide along your hot, wet folds.

For a few delicious long moments your lover was rolling his hips into you, making his twitching length slide along your slit again and again - precum mixing with your wetness - while his and your hands together played around with you.

Your pleasure became his and vice versa, as if there were no bounds between his body and yours.

The sounds you made rose in pitch and lewdness as you revelled in the sensation and how wonderfully debaucherous it felt to be touched and caressed like that by the love of your life. And yet you didn’t even have him where you wanted him.

“Gods,” Astarion breathed as he took you in. How you writhed in his embrace: so needy and yet giving him so much. His movements almost halted, to bewitched by you. So you reminded him of what exactly you wanted.

“Fuck me, Astarion,” you pleaded with him again, grinding against his cock and his hand now to get him moving again. “Fuck me hard.”

Astarion’s breath caught in his throat at your harsh and enticing demand.

“Fuck me until I see stars,” you kept begging, your words like the beckoning song of a siren in the vampire’s ears.

Oh how sweet you sounded as you requested such frivolity, tempting him.

And Astarion wasn’t one to resist temptation. Not if it was so much more rewarding to give in. Not if it was you.

Suddenly he could barely move fast enough to comply, even with his roguish quickness and dexterous hands.

His fingers that had been teasing your tits together with yours grabbed your already lifted leg to give him easier access to your core. And between your legs your hands quickly worked together to lead the head of his impatiently jerking cock to your entrance. But not before you hadn’t let your hand stroke along his erect length, earning a helpless grunt that almost became a whimper from Astarion as your palm dragged along his cock and then his balls.

“Fuck,” he swore.

And somehow you found it in you to reply even as the head of his cock was sinking into you. “Who?” you teased, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You or me?”

But the vampire had the upper hand now as he bucked his hips to sink into you to the hilt with a single hard thrust. “You,” he growled back as you yelped in surprise. “In every sense possible.”

You tried to grip for something - for balance or to help you cope with the sudden sensation of how full you were, you didn’t even know. But Astarion didn’t let your hand, still joined with his between your legs, escape. So just the other curled in the sheets until your knuckles showed white.

Still trying to catch your breath you already felt how he almost fully withdrew from you. You mirrored him by slowly breathing out

But Astarion caught you off guard again, thrusting into you again, forcefully. His hand wrapped around your leg spread you further for him as he did it again. Slowly but vigorously rutting into you in a ragged rhythm that left you near breathless.

“Astarion,” you managed to utter between two thrusts. You were barely able to cope with how hard he fucked you now but still the way his name fell from your lips coaxed him on. Meanwhile you nearly lost your mind by how well you fulfilled your wish.

His thrusts became faster and harder still as he lifted you almost off the bed in his eager need to feel you. Feel you as fully and entirely as he could.

The hand between your legs, still entwined with yours, made your fingers circle around your clit together again as you had forgotten about it; too lost in how roughly he fucked you.

With every single thrust he hit so deep he was already making good on making you see stars and you knew your release would shatter you completely - not just stars then but a whole universe.

Nearing the edge and with the vampire plunging into you forcefully and fast now, you gave up on trying to keep your balance. But your vampire kept you close and steady, rearranging his other arm not spreading your legs for him so you were snuggly with your back against his chest.

And so he could keep moaning into your ear while the sounds you made became more and more  desperate whimpers: almost unable to keep up and also still begging for more. There was nothing left to form words anymore. Just him inside you and at the same time all around you as you felt the last of your threads came undone.

Your joint fingers between your legs mirrored his strong, fast pace and then-

You came with a scream and your voice breaking as Astarion kept fucking you through your orgasm. Floating somewhere far above your body, shuddering helplessly as the pinnacle of lust shook through you, you felt how Astarion came as well, dick twitching and spilling inside of you while he moaned your name over and over again like a credo. And even then he kept thrusting again, twice, thrice more in slow and hard movements, drawing out your orgasm for you and you drifted up even further.

Until you toppled over together in a shuddering, breathless mess, too exhausted to speak while you slowly returned to your earthly body.

Astarion carefully helped you lower your shivering leg and his arms held you carefully as you were almost laying on your stomach, him above you.

Still breathless and void of speech, he pressed a kiss to your cheek as you had your face buried in the pillows you were laying on.

Your vampire withdrew from you and began whispering soft loving words to you while his hands began rubbing your body.

When you finally had the breath and the mind for it you sluggishly mumbled something into the pillows.

“What’s that, my sweet?” Astarion asked who even with his vampiric senses couldn’t make out your words.

You turned your head slightly. “I said I love you, Astarion,” you repeated.

“I love you too, darling.”

“And then I said that I fear the eggs are cold now,” you repeated truthfully and yawned as a wave of blissful exhaustion from the earth shattering sex you just had washed over you.

From your lowered position you saw how your vampire stared quizzically at you. Then he burst into laughter. He slowly climbed off you and off the bed.

“Well, you insisted I’d fuck you first, so whose fault is that, my sweet, hm?”

Laughing more, he dodged the pillow that came flying for his head. Then he grabbed his pants and pulled them on.

“But just because it’s your birthday,” Astarion said with a pointed look, a dramatic sigh and a smirk on his lips “I’m making you fresh ones.”

And then with a wink he was off.

You smiled broadly - so hard your face hurt - and stayed there for a moment longer, reminiscing about how much you loved this stupid idiot.

Then you jumped off the bed, grabbed something to throw over your naked body and ran after Astarion to keep him company while he would inevitably burn another round of eggs for you.

~~~ If you enjoyed this you can support me by reblogging this! You can also support me on Kofi (pinned post on my profile)! ~~~ Taglist (DM if you want to be added please): @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon @hereliesblackdragon @ayselluna @ajokeformur-ray @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @rikuyrk06 @marina-and-the-memes @somewhatclear @miss-rebel-without-applause

[passengerprincipessa]

hi im feeling a little bold so

for the kink prompts, if you could something that ressembles multiple orgasms/overstim and/or inexperienced partner with norstappen I would be forever thankful,,, !!

I'd like to see what you come up with! (happy holidays?) <3

i... actually don't know what came over me while writing this. this is a grab bag of kinks from the list including: inexperienced partner, virginity, piercings, and multiple orgasms/overstimulation. also lando has a small dick for no reason (cw: inherent power imbalance because max is a king and lando's his consort in an arranged marriage) (for the kink prompt asks)

Max stops short as he enters Lando’s bedchamber, stunned by the sight that greets him.

Lando’s kneeling in the middle of one of the plush rugs, head bowed, the slim golden crown Max placed on him during the wedding ceremony that morning still nestled in his curls. Lando’s skin is scrubbed clean, glistening with whatever oils the servants rubbed on him, and he’s naked except for the gold metal bars through each of his nipples, a jeweled piercing dangling from his navel. Max knows Lando’s people think piercings are a mark of great beauty, almost unbearably erotic, but Max had foolishly assumed he wouldn’t feel any type of way about them. Seeing them like this, though, delicate and feminine on Lando’s slim, strong form, Max can already feel his cock hardening.

Max drags his eyes down between Lando’s legs, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight of the small cock dangling there—smaller, probably, than Max’s thumb. Max knows small cocks are highly favored when selecting consorts, believed to be a sign that the consort will never pose a threat to the king, and Max is sure the advisors he sent to find his new spouse must have been delighted when they saw Lando’s tiny cock. Max has never cared all that much for old wives' tales, but his mouth waters at the thought of sucking Lando between his lips.

Like this, on his knees, naked and obedient, glittering and golden, Lando looks every bit the perfect consort.

But when Max takes a step into the room, Lando looks up, fear flashing in his eyes.

Max stops, cocking his head, studying Lando. Finally, Max asks, voice soft, “Are you enjoying your chambers?”

“Oh, I—” Lando trails off, blinking at Max with wide eyes. “Why do you care?”

That startles a laugh out of Max but Lando flinches, and Max immediately sobers, watching Lando carefully.

“Lando,” Max says gently. “You’re my spouse.”

Lando frowns, clearly confused. “But you’re—you’re the king.” His eyes drift to the floor. Max can barely hear him as he says, “I thought you would simply want to—fuck me.”

Max’s chest aches at the idea of mounting Lando like an animal, uncaring of whether Lando wants it, Lando’s pleasure. “No, Lando, I—” He frowns, trying to work out the right thing to say.

Finally, Max says, “I have many bed partners. If you do not wish to share my chambers, I will not force myself on you.”

It’s true. Max has never lacked for willing men and women to share his bed, and he’ll respect Lando’s wishes if Lando wants to keep their marriage purely political. Lando was only chosen, after all, because Max needed an alliance with Lando’s people. Max knows no one would look askance if the two of them did not share a bedchamber.

Lando’s looking at him with a stunned expression, eyes wide. “You would be alright with that? With not—bedding me?”

“Yes,” Max says, forcing himself to hide any disappointment he might feel. “You’ll have these chambers to yourself and be able to move freely about the grounds. You won’t have to see me apart from formal appearances.”

Lando blinks at him, mouth dropping open.

Max thinks about simply leaving, letting Lando clean the oil off himself and prepare himself for bed. But there’s something in Lando’s expression, something—hungry, that makes Max pause.

Max knows Lando has never been touched before. Max’s advisors informed him that Lando’s people selected him as a potential future consort to a king at age eleven, raised him in a secluded manor house along with a few other candidates. Lando was kept in a chastity belt—Max’s advisors confirmed that Lando’s never been touched, by himself or anyone else.

Max can’t help but wonder if Lando even knows how to touch himself. If perhaps he was never taught how to find his pleasure. Max would teach him. He would teach him gladly, show him exactly how much pleasure his body can feel. He wants to trail his hands over Lando’s sensitive nipples, get his mouth on Lando’s sweet little cock, show Lando how good it can feel to be fucked. 

But Max needs it to be Lando’s choice.

“If you would like,” Max says, softly, carefully, “I could show you how a man takes pleasure in another man.”

Lando takes a shuddering breath and Max flushes when he notices Lando’s tiny cock starting to harden, still unbearably small.

“Would it—feel good?” Lando whispers, still on his knees, still looking up at Max.

“Yes,” Max says simply. “So good, Lando.”

Lando makes a small noise, almost a whimper. His nipples are puckered and hard, pushed out from his chest by their piercings, a bead of wetness sitting on the tip of his cock. Max wants to lick it off.

But he waits, watching Lando carefully. If Lando says no, he’ll leave.

Lando lets out a shaky exhale, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He blinks up at Max and whispers, “Show me.”

Max’s cock throbs in his trousers, and he brings his hands to his jacket, fingers shaking as he starts to undo the buttons. “Get on the bed,” Max orders, voice strained.

Lando goes obediently, stretching the long line of himself out on the sheets, watching Max carefully as Max approaches the bed, shedding the rest of his clothes.

When Max climbs onto the mattress, sliding between Lando’s legs, Max is stripped bare, his cock thick and hard.

Lando glances down at it, letting out a distressed little whimper, and whispers, “Big.”

Max’s cock throbs, but he laughs, softly. “It’s not,” he murmurs, because it isn’t. It’s perfectly average. “I think yours is just small.”

Lando flushes, opening his mouth to protest. 

Max smoothes a hand over Lando’s thigh. “It’s alright,” Max says softly. “I like it.”

With that, Max bends down to suck Lando’s cock into his mouth.

Lando’s entire body seizes up, mouth dropping open on a silent cry. When Max drags his tongue over the head, lapping up Lando’s pre-come, a shiver runs through Lando and he lets out a sweet little, “Oh,” body twisting, hands flying up to grab at his stomach, his pecs, his nipples.

“You can come whenever you feel like it,” Max murmurs, pulling off, breath ghosting over Lando’s spit-slick cock. “Want to make you feel good.”

Lando whimpers, blinking down at Max. “I haven’t—I don’t—” He breaks off on another whimper, looking at Max with a helpless expression.

“Fuck,” Max groans, pressing a kiss to Lando’s little dick, startling a moan out of Lando. “You’ve never come before?”

Lando lets out a desperate whine, but he shakes his head.

“God, that’s—” Max doesn’t say anything more, just sucks Lando’s cock back into his mouth, dragging sharp little cries and moans from Lando’s shivering form.

Lando seems to be getting closer, back arching off the bed, thighs trembling, wetness spilling onto Max’s tongue.

“Max,” Lando gasps, and Max moans at the sound of his name in Lando’s mouth, at the sight of Lando coming undone under his tongue. “Max, please—oh—it’s too—” Lando breaks off on a gasp, hips fucking up, his cock so small that it’s still barely anything in Max’s mouth.

Lando’s crying out, shivering and trembling, face scrunched up. “It’s too much,” he whimpers, still thrusting frantically into Max’s mouth. “Max, I can’t, it’s—”

Max ignores him, just sucks hard on Lando’s cock, moaning when Lando’s whole body draws tight, his stomach shuddering, the piercing in his navel jangling with each panting breath.

“Oh,” Lando gasps. “Oh, it’s—” He goes utterly silent, back arching high off the bed, head tossed back. Max licks over the head of Lando’s cock, watching Lando closely, wanting to see the exact moment Lando falls apart for the first time, wanting to watch as Max is the first person to bring Lando to his peak.

Lando’s hovering right on the edge, silent and tight, brows drawn together, like he wants to come, needs to come, but doesn’t know how to find it. Max slides a hand up Lando’s stomach, up to his chest, and brushes a thumb over the dusky bud of Lando’s nipple.

Lando falls apart with a sharp cry of Max’s name.

Max moans at the taste of Lando flooding his mouth, whines at the sight of Lando shivering and shaking against the mattress, body writhing and twisting as he rides out his orgasm. Lando doesn’t seem capable of words beyond a desperate chant of Max’s name, his hands flying down to fist in Max’s hair, dragging Max tight against him, riding his orgasm out in Max’s mouth.

“Please, Max, I can’t—oh.” Lando breaks off on a moan, cock spilling a little more into Max’s mouth, and he trembles through it, thighs twitching like he wants to close his legs, push Max away, overwhelmed by the pleasure Max is dragging out of him.

Even after Lando finally stops coming, Max stays where he is, letting Lando’s cock soften in his mouth. He thinks he’d be content to stay between Lando’s legs forever, make Lando come over and over again on his tongue, learning all the noises of pleasure Lando makes.

Eventually, Max makes to pull away, intending to give Lando a respite.

But Lando’s hands tighten in Max’s hair, stopping him from going more than a few centimeters.

“Can you—again?” Lando whispers, looking at Max with a desperate expression.

Max realizes that Lando’s asking Max to suck him again, and Max gazes up at him, awed. “Most men need a break between orgasms,” he murmurs, pressing an apologetic kiss to Lando’s thigh. “It’s too sensitive usually.”

Lando whimpers, but he says, “Could you—try?”

“Lando,” Max breathes, huffing a laugh. He strokes his thumb over Lando’s nipple again, smiling indulgently up at him. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

Lando flushes.

Max doesn’t say anything more, just brings his lips to Lando’s cock. Lando’s clearly oversensitive, whimpering and shivering, twitching toward and away from Max’s mouth. But he doesn’t ask Max to stop, doesn’t do anything except whine Max’s name and, before long, spill against Max’s tongue with a frantic moan. This time, Max doesn’t stop once Lando’s done, just keeps sucking him until Lando’s shaking like a leaf, coming for a third time with a pitiful whimper, spilling a tiny amount of come that Max swallows greedily.

Once Lando’s shuddering and begging Max to stop, hands shoving at Max’s head, Max finally lets Lando slip from his mouth. Lando’s little cock looks even smaller, soft and spent, covered in Max’s spit.

Max moans at the sight, but murmurs, “We can be done.” He presses a kiss to Lando’s lower belly, heat rushing through him when Lando whines Max’s name. “You’ve been so good,” Max adds. “Perfect.”

Lando takes a shaky breath, looking down at Max with hooded eyes. “Is there—I’ve heard that there is—more.”

Max laughs. “Yes, there’s lots more. But it can wait.”

But Lando shakes his head. “I want you to take me,” Lando whispers, looking terrified and determined all at once. “I want you to take me like a—like a king takes a consort.”

“Fuck,” Max groans, hips hitching against the mattress, cock throbbing at Lando’s words. “You would want that?”

“Yes.” Lando swallows, throat bobbing. “Please, Max.”

Who is Max to deny his consort?

Lando’s impossibly tight when Max slips the first finger in him, staring at Max with wide, shocked eyes. But Max takes Lando’s cock in his mouth again and soon Lando’s relaxing, letting Max slip a second finger in. When Lando starts moaning and whimpering, rocking back against Max’s fingers, Max knows he’s ready.

Max rolls them over, ending up on his back with Lando hovering above him, looking down at him with parted lips and lust-dark eyes. The crown’s long since slipped from his curls.

“Like this, I think,” Max murmurs, running his hands down Lando’s sides. “It will have to be your choice,” Max continues.

Lando’s eyes go wide. “Max,” he whispers.

 “You will have to choose,” Max says softly, running his fingers up to Lando’s nipples, playing with the tiny buds, “if you want to offer yourself up to me.”

Lando moans, a jagged, desperate thing, and Max already knows what he’ll choose. Knows it even before Lando reaches behind himself for Max’s cock, knows it before Lando lines Max up, knows it before Lando starts sinking down onto Max’s cock, taking his own virginity, giving himself up to Max.

“God,” Max moans, watching Lando struggle to take him, sinking slowly down his cock. “Look at you.”

Lando whimpers, sinking down a little further. He’s still hard, Max notices, even as he bites his lip, eyes squeezing shut.

“Good boy,” Max breathes, and he rests his hands on Lando’s hips, helping him on his way. “That’s it, good boy.”

Finally, finally, Lando’s in his lap, Max buried inside him to the hilt.

“Move,” Max murmurs. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Lando lets out a desperate sob but he starts to move, riding Max hesitantly, carefully, barely moving at all. Max shuffles them up the bed a bit so that Max is sitting up against the headboard, upright enough that Max can free one of his hands to toy with Lando’s nipples, marveling at how sensitive they seem to be with the piercings.

“Max, please,” Lando whines, grinding on Max’s cock. “You have to—I’ll come.”

Max moans, cock twitching inside Lando. “Good, baby,” Max says, voice strained. “I want you to come.”

Lando sobs at that but he keeps fucking himself on Max’s cock, letting Max play with his nipples, the piercing in his navel bouncing as he rides Max.

“Max,” Lando sobs, rim going impossibly tight around Max's cock. “Max, please, fuck, I can’t—”

“Come, baby,” Max murmurs, leaning forward to press his tongue against Lando’s nipple, sucking the metal bar between his teeth.

It’s enough to have Lando stuttering to a halt in Max’s lap, crying out Max’s name. His cock spills a few meager drops of come onto Max’s stomach, rim fluttering weakly around Max, Lando sobbing above him as he comes for the fourth time.

Max doesn’t know how he hangs on, but the moment Lando’s finished coming he rolls them over, Lando on his back underneath Max, face wet with tears.

Max panics for a moment, starting to pull out, but Lando shakes his head frantically, wrapping his legs around Max.

“Please,” Lando begs, crying harder. “Need you to come in me, please, Max.”

Max groans and gets his hands on the backs of Lando’s thighs, pressing them up, fucking him hard and deep, watching Lando cry and beg underneath him. Lando might come again at some point, tensing up underneath him, but he’s been wrung dry, his cock twitching rapidly, nothing coming out. He’s too fucked out to even try to clench around Max, can’t do anything except lay there weakly, worn-out pants of Max’s name.

It’s the sight of Lando coming for a fifth time that pushes Max over the edge and he shoves inside Lando with a deep groan, coming so hard he’s dizzy with it.

After, he pulls Lando on top of him, pressing kisses to Lando’s curls, running his hand over Lando’s back, awed by the man in his bed.

“If you want,” Max murmurs, “we can still have separate bedchambers.”

Lando picks his head up, looking down at Max with an outraged expression. “Why?” Lando snaps. “Why would we not do this every night?”

Max barks out a shocked laugh. “Every night?”

“Fine,” Lando says, giving him a small grin. “Every other night.”

“Every other night,” Max agrees, and pulls Lando in for a slow, soft kiss.

[irisintheafterglow]

it takes forever, but you and opla!zoro admit you love each other while both of you are sober. (drunk zoro and drunk you)

"so, you do love me."

"yes, i love you. i'll say it as many times as you need to hear it." you rub your eyes with the heel of your hand, still adjusting to the dim light of your room. it wasn't uncommon for him to creep into your room and look out your window; you both agreed that you had the best view when the moon was full. nonetheless, you can hear the grimace in his voice.

"this is a lot harder to do without alcohol."

"you can only say you love me when you're drunk?" it's meant to be a joke, but he shakes his head adamantly and you breathe a tiny sigh of relief. at least he wasn't faking, all this time.

"that's not it. you know that's not it."

"what is it, then? i don't want to force you to do anything you don't want to do, zoro," you say gently, pulling your blanket tighter around your body. he sits across from you on the seat of your window, one leg dangling off the side while the other props up his forearm. his eyes search the darkness of the night for some unknown answer and you'd never seen him look more beautiful.

"i want to do it; i'm just not good at it," he huffs in mild annoyance, his sharp eyebrows furrowing in deep thought. you remain silent in question of what he means and he shrugs like a misunderstood child. "you know, feelings and shit." you can't help the chuckle that escapes you at his emotional constipation. his gaze flicks to your face and immediately softens. no one else gets these fond looks from zoro except you, you've learned.

"you're the one that came into my room in the middle of the night. you don't have to say anything about feelings and shit." standing from your bed, you settle against the other side of your windowsill, crossing your legs on the wood. "i do wonder why you're here, though."

"it's a rare moment when we're both here-"

"and we're both sober," you finish for him, the corner of your mouth quirking at the irony of not being able to express your feelings because one of you was always intoxicated. "can i ask you a question?"

"go for it."

"what am i to you?" he tenses and you understand immediately that the question caught him off guard. you're about to apologize profusely when he nods, like pieces are clicking together in his mind.

"you're like... a well-made sword," he says carefully. it takes all of your willpower not to burst out laughing because, from his expression, he means every word with his whole heart. the realization must dawn on him at the same time and he verbally backtracks, exhaling in exasperation and stammering to explain what he means. "i-you know, it's like...fuck, this is hard to do."

"just speak your mind. let it flow naturally." you reach forward and take his hand in yours, running your thumb over his knuckles.

"it's just that a well-made sword is hard to come by. if wielded correctly, it's resilient and reliable, something that i would trust with my life and the lives of those i care about. it keeps me safe and keeps me grounded, moving with me without thought and understanding me without language. i'd do anything to keep you safe, and if i died, i would drag myself out of hell by the skin of my teeth to get back to you. you are everything to me; i just don't know how to say it."

"i think you just did," you whisper, slightly in shock from his passionate analogy. sure, it wasn't like any other declaration you'd heard before, but it was also so wholeheartedly zoro that you knew you'd never want someone else. "so, do you love me, roronoa zoro?"

"more than the moon, the stars, and the sea."

"that wasn't so difficult, was it?"

"i guess not," he murmurs thoughtfully. "can i ask you the same question?"

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[sparklyskeletonsworld]

can you make a Bakugou x chubby reader??. like with the "i work on myself every day so his friends don't think -if you're happy with this…-" trend (or something like that, i don't remember exactly). How the reader first meets Bakugou's friends (she’s quirkless) and tries to look cute by putting on makeup, putting tape on her thighs to make them look smaller and a tight band on her stomach to make it look thinner, because she’s afraid she might humiliate Bakugou because of their differences.

(idea from Ginny & Georgia + English is not my first language, sorry for mistakes) angst to fluff. anyways just if ur comfortable with that! Feel free to decline!

Maybe They'll Like Me If...

Hello love! You're doing great! I'm so sorry this took so long to put out here. I kept looking at this and going, "Yeah, I'll write that later," and then continued to forget that this exsisted.

Just a reminder, this is not beta read!

Enjoy!

TW: Angst to fluff, body insecurities, gn reader

Bnha Masterlist

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Skinny.

That's all I've ever wanted to be. But, unfortunately, no matter how hard I work, what I eat nothing. Nothing has ever worked.

"Nobody's gonna want you with a body like that."

"Fatty"

"You could probably stand to lose a few pounds!"

All things I had heard before. However, nothing struck more anxiety into me that when Katsuki uttered the words:

"I'm taking you to meet my friends. I'll be there at 6, so you better be ready nerd!"

So now here I stand, 2 hours before Kat is supposed to be here, looking in the mirror.

"I better not embarrass myself."

"What if they don't like me?"

But there's one thought that I can't seem to shake. The one that stays in my head no matter what I seem to do.

"What if they think he can do better than me?"

Deciding that enough was enough, I walked over to my closet, and pulled out the stomach band that I had bought years ago on a whim.

"Here goes nothing..."

Beauty is pain.

I had finally managed to tape down my thighs and put on the band, making me look smaller than I really was.

At this point, it was hard to breath, and my thighs were in pain, the tiny hairs on my thighs being ripped out by the tape.

Pushing on through the tears and pain, I picked out something that would hide the tape and band, but make me look presentable.

It took a while to do my makeup, but I finally finished it.

But when I looked in the mirror, all I could see was a stranger. It didn't look like me.

It didn't feel like me.

After taking a while to collect myself, I heard the knocks. Three loud knocks that I registered as Katsuki.

Pulling myself together, I put in the best happy face I could, and opened the door.

"Hey Katsu-" I spoke, before I was interrupted by being dragged by him back into my room.

He sat me on my bed, before rummaging through my closet.

"Here." He said, tossing me a pack of makeup wipes. "You don't look like your shitty self. Fucking fix it."

I took out a wipe and gently removed the makeup. It was at this point that the reality of the situation hit me.

"I'm sorry." I whispered, tears slowly running down my face.

"Why'd you do it? You look fine as it is." He spoke softly. "You didn't need to change yourself for my dumbass friends who get impressed by a mouse in a fucking tutu."

I giggled slightly before looking up at him bashfully. "Can you help me take the tape off my thighs? Please?" I asked, my voice watery.

"Dumbass, you're perfect the way you are." He spoke, gently pulling my pants off and slowly unwrapping the tape.

"I'm canceling. We are going to stay here and eat whatever the hell we want and watching those shitty romcoms that you like." He spoke after helping me change into something more comfortable.

"Okay. I love you." I spoke with a small smile.

"Love you too dumbass." He replied with a kiss to my lips.

And that's that! Hope you enjoyed!

sparklyskeletonsworld

1/21/2025

[riordanness]

safe and sound — [w.wonka]

wordcount: 1.2K

warnings: anxiety and depression implied

requested: no

Some days were bad. Some days were unbearable. Today was the absolute hardest and worst of all.

I sit on my bed, legs drawn up to my chest, trying to breathe. My chest feels too tight, too unwilling to allow air through to my lungs. My breaths come in short, painful gasps.

I have panic attacks a little too often, but recently they’ve been getting worse. Almost every night I end up like this, the long day of much-too-hard-work and pretending everything is fine coming to a crumbling heap in my secluded space in the darkness.

Even Noodle doesn’t know, and we tell each other everything. She’s like a little sister to me, being the only one even remotely near my age.

I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the wall. I try to even my breathing, but it’s so, so hard. I know I can’t keep going on like this. I need help, desperately.

I get to my feet, a little unsteady. What if I go and just ask? I’m fairly close to everyone here; surely they’d be willing to help me? Surely Noodle or Piper would be able to help me calm down enough to fall asleep tonight—my biggest struggle at the moment.

Then, suddenly, an idea comes to me. What about Willy?

The young chocolate maker has only been here a few months, but we’re grown fairly close. He tells me stories about all his travels while we work in the washrooms, and in return, I am telling him stories from books; teaching him to read and write.

He is only a year or so older than me, if I’m correct in thinking that my birthday must have passed by now, and that I am now eighteen years old.

If I’m being honest, he’s kind of become my best friend. No offence to Noodle of course, I adore her, but it’s different with Willy. He understands me so naturally, so easily. Every time we talk it flows smoother than the chocolates Willy makes for me to try, and I never run out of things to say.

I subconsciously run my hands through my hair, and brush down my nightgown’s skirts. I gently push open my door, peeking out, and stepping out into the corridor as quietly as I can.

Willy’s door is only three down from mine, so I’m there in no time. I stand outside for a moment, suddenly nervous. But then I softly open it, swinging the door open.

It’s very dark in Willy’s room, just like it is in all the rooms overnight. There’s no reliable lighting at all, so everyone sleeps in total darkness, even Noodle, who I know is scared of the dark. She sleeps with her door open.

Willy doesn’t have a curtain, however, so the nights when the moonlight is good are washed with a little lighting.

I step around the door, gingerly shutting it behind me. I can only see a tiny outline of Willy, sleeping peacefully in his bed. A sliver of moonlight falls on his face, a singular curl on his forehead.

I don’t want to disturb him, but my heart still beats way too fast; and I know his presence and touch will immediately ease my scattered thoughts.

“Willy?” I whisper, almost too quiet to even hear it myself.

But somehow, impossibly, he stirs. He drags himself

to his elbows. “Y/n?” he asks into the dark. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

I’m about to shake my head, but instantly, I feel the hard lump growing in my throat again, and my chest tightening up. I start to cry, and even though it’s silent, Willy is immediately up and at my side, holding my face in both his hands.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he hushes. “It’s okay. It’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t cry, please don’t cry.”

I can’t stop though, and his sweet words only make the tears come faster. It’s like my body is forcing all the worry and anxiety out of me, but the only way to do that is to cry.

I jolt forward and clutch at Willy, hugging him around the middle so tight I’m almost scared I’ll hurt him. His arms hold me just as securely, though. Willy, without me having to say anything, just instinctively stays quiet as he holds me. My face is buried in his white shirt, my tears probably wetting it through, but he doesn’t mention it.

Once my cries slow down to nothing but hiccups, he gently pulls me away just enough to look into my face. “What’s wrong, love?” he asks me again, his tone and words so gentle and caring it almost sends me into tears again.

I shrug helplessly. “I… I just—“

He seems to understand. After all, we are in the same boat. And Willy has this incredible optimism that never leaves him, never runs out. I envy him in that way so much.

“Can I stay with you?” I ask hoarsely. My voice is scratchy from crying.

At first, Willy seems surprised at the question. His eyebrows furrow together and his eyes search mine, probably trying to guess if I’m joking.

“Well, of—of course,” he says, stumbling over his words a little. He backs up, pulling me gently along with him.

He yanks back the thin blanket on his bed, looking nervous. “Uh—“ He glances at me, hesitantly letting my arms go. “Want me to get in first?”

I smile a little. “I don’t mind at all.” I already feel better, Willy’s magic working on me without him even knowing. He’s a miracle worker.

Willy lays down, shuffling towards the wall as best he can. He holds the sheets open for me, and gives me a soft smile.

I crawl into the bed beside him, instinctively curling into his side. He has an arm underneath me, and his other one loops around my waist, pulling me close.

My head tucks under his chin perfectly, and I can hear his heartbeat as I lay there. I hardly dare to breathe, terrified this moment is nothing but a dream.

Willy’s arms tighten suddenly around me. I’ve never felt this safe, this protected, this calm in a long time. It’s like my anxieties and my worries are just melting away, just like Willy’s chocolates.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you for always being there for me.”

I feel Willy smiling into my hair. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.” He presses a kiss on my head. “Now go to sleep,” he instructs. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

So I close my eyes, and I leave all my fear at the door. I’m just me, just y/n, safe and sound in Willy Wonka’s embrace.

[doudouneverte]

Love your fics and would you do one for Laura feirsinger something fluffy. ( Only if you write for her)

a/n: i wanted to write something for Feiersinger for a while so I'm more than happy with that request

"Say it"

Pairing: Laura Feiersinger x AUSTRIAWNT!Reader

Summary: you just want to hear two words

Type: Fluff

Warning: nothing

word count: 1893

translation: Ich liebe dich/Je t'aime/Ti amo = I love you

-------

You and Laura knew each other from as far as you can remember. First, you played together at Bayern Munich before she left for Sand, and you left to play two seasons for Lyon before coming back to Munich. Your relationship had always been special; you were practically a couple even before she asked you out formally. But it was only a few months before her big move to Frankfurt that she found the courage to do it.

Since then, a lot of things have happened. You joined her in her new club and had to leave your commun best friend, Sarah Zadrazil, behind. And more importantly, you were officially engaged. But unfortunately, your fiancé signed a new contract with AS Roma in Italy, which meant you would spend almost the whole season missing her.

Fortunately for both of you, you were playing for the same national team, and with the new National League came a new national camp. And that was where you were today. The girls just arrived at the hotel when you were already looking for your fiancé. Since her transfer, there was something she never told you, and you needed to hear it now.

As expected by all your teammates, when you and Laura spotted each other, you didn't leave each other. It was not a secret to everyone how close you were, and some of them were used to making fun of it at first, but now it has become something usual.

"Where is Laura?" Barbara asked when she spotted a group of girls talking in Manu's room.

"With Y/n. Like always." The goalie replied.

"Why do I feel stupid to ask that?" The midfielder asked before walking to your room. She was about to knock, but she stopped when she heard something unusual.

"Oh, come on, babe, I know you can say it. It's been like, what? Six weeks since you started to train with them, I'm sure you can tell me now." You said while you were unpacking your stuff.

"We already talked about it, Y/n. I don't know if I'm ready for that." She replied.

"Bullshit." You said before throwing yourself on the bed and dragging the Roma's player with you. "We both know that I'll find it." You said before gently kissing her.

"Yeah, but let me time to prepare myself before." 

"Okay, no pressure." You engulfed your body in her tiny ones, sharing as much warmth as you could. "I missed you." You confessed.

"And I missed you too. Now come on, let's get ready, or the girls will start to worry." She instructed you.

"Okay, but just five more minutes." Even if she knew she had to complain, she couldn't when she saw you so vulnerable.

On the other side of the door, your Frankfurt teammate was already not here. The midfielder rushed to her previous destination a few seconds earlier.

"Girls, I think we have a problem." She said bursting the door open.

"Don't you know how to know on a door?" Sarah Puntigam said after everyone was thrilled by the midfielder's antics.

"Sorry, not sorry, but we have a bigger problem than a fucking door." Barbara said.

"Don't swear in front of the kids." Sarah Z said covering Katharina's ears what made everyone laugh.

"Sorry, but yeah, I was saying that I think Laura and Y/n are breaking up." The new froze everyone and everything in the room for a few seconds.

"WHAT?" All the players yelled.

"Shh, keep it low." Barbara instructed them.

"How do you want us to keep it low when you announce something like that?" Sarah P said, gaining a nod from all her teammates. "And how did you get that information?"

"I may have or haven't heard their conversation when I was going to 

see Laura." She explained.

"WHAT?" Everyone yelled again.

"You know how much Y/n hate when someone tries to invade her privacy, and it's even worse when it involves her and Laura." Manu reminded her.

"I know, but it's not like I wanted to listen on purpose. I will apologize later. Now can we talk about the main subject?" 

"Oh, what are you talking about? I want to be in." You said, appearing behind your teammate. The room froze for a moment. You felt all eyes on you and started to feel a little confused. "Uh, are we interrupting something?" You asked.

"Nothing; we were just wondering where you were, right, girls?" Sarah P said trying to convince you and your fiancé. When you heard all the girls agreeing, you found it suspicious, but you were not going to question it, at least not now.

"Anyway, coach wants us in the meeting room in five minutes." Laura said, and after that, you both left to the room mentioned.

"I don't know about you, but they didn't seem to be near to break up for me." Kat said.

"I totally agree with you, but maybe they don't want to make us worry." Barbara proposed.

"Maybe, but right now the coach wants to see us, so let's go." Sarah Z said before leaving the room, quickly followed by the rest of the team.

In the room, the girls were a little shocked to see an empty seat between yours and Laura's. Even if they didn't question it, some glances were not discreet, and some whispers could be heard. The Bayern midfielder took her seat between the two of you while Barbara could finally talk with your fiancé.

At the end of the meeting, you were one of the first to leave the room. But you were quickly stopped by your ex-teammate.

"Hey, are you okay?" Sarah asked you.

"Uhh...yeah." You replied.

"Where are you going?" 

You paused a little. "Restroom."

"Oh, okay, sorry. I'll not restrain you more." She said a little nervous, making you chuckle.

"Yep, I'll be back soon; don't worry." With that, you just walked away.

What should have been a little weird thing for your teammates became something more when the next day Laura decided to train with her best friend letting you with Kathy. You both didn't notice, but a lot of confused looks were exchanged between the entire team.

At the end of the training the Roma's player was leaving with her best friend when she heard you calling her name. She quickly glanced at you before quickly running away from you, forcing you to chase her.

"Okay, that's weird." Sarah P started.

"The most weird thing was that they were both smiling." Manu continued.

"Maybe Barbara was right." Viktoria finished.

"No, that's impossible. We all know how much they love each other; they can't just break up and keep the facade in front of us. We need to start an investigation." Sarah Z proposed, and everybody agreed.

A few hours later, you were watching a movie with all the team in your room. There was a good atmosphere, and everybody was enjoying the moment until your phone buzzed. You excused yourself and left the room to answer. In less than five minutes, you were back in the room and found your spot next to the tiny midfielder.

"Who was that?" Laura asked you quietly to not bother everyone.

"Oh, it was just Laura who wanted my advice for something." You replied, and your fiancé just nodded before she placed her head against your shoulder.

The next morning, the girls were planning a real plan to do everything they could to not let their favorite couple break apart when they heard someone run to them.

"Girls, please help me." Laura begged with an amused expression. The team didn't have time to process everything until you reached them.

"Okay, you know what? Let's do that in another way." You took a moment to think before you started again. "Okay, in English." 

The entire team was looking at both of you very confusedly.

"Okay. 3...2...1... I love you!" You both said at the same time. The girls were more confused, but you didn't give them time to question anything before you started again. "Now, in Deutsch. 3...2...1... Ich liebe dich." You said again at the same time.

"What's happening here?" Barbara asked.

"Just a minute. Let me finish that." You return your focus to the tiny midfielder. "Now... Je t'aime." You saw her blush, which made you grin. "And?" There was a little silence; all the attention was now on Laura.

"Ti amo." She mumbled, but your face showed her that you didn't understand. She took a breath and focused her gaze on yours: "Ti. Amo. Is this okay now?" 

Instead of replying, you hugged her and crashed your lips against hers. "More than okay." You said with the biggest smile you could ever put on your face right now.

"Okay, what's happening now? I thought you were about to break up. Why are you so lovey-dovey right now?" Manu asked.

"What are you talking about?" You asked, very surprised by her sentence.

"I heard you two talk the first day of the camp, and I thought that you were about to break up because she didn't want to do something or something like that." Barbara confessed.

"First, Barbara, you know that Y/n doesn't when you spy on her. Second, we never thought about breaking up; why could you ever think about it?" Laura explained.

"Wow, now we look stupid." Viktoria said.

"For your information, you always look stupid, like all of you." You said, making your fiancé laugh. "Except for Laura and Sarah Z, of course." You added.

"Okay, that's rude." Your captain said, "But can you explain what just happened?" Laura hid her face in your torso out of shame after remembering why you were both here.

"Oh, it's actually a funny story." You started. "You know that we have known each other since as far as I can remember. But we didn't always play together, so since I came back to Germany after my little trip to France, we decided to establish a rule in our relationship. Every time one of us has to play in another country, they have to learn the local language to say, I love you in this language." You explained.

"Why does that sound cute and dumb at the same time?" Viktoria whispered to your captain.

"Because it is, but she was the one who proposed that, and I can't refuse her anything, so here we are now." Laura defended you.

"But what does this have to do with your behavior from the start of the camp?" The Bayern Sarah asked.

"That's because she didn't want to say it. So I had to chase her everywhere to convince her to say it." You explained.

"I can't wait for the wedding. I would be personally offended if Y/n don't do something dumb like this on  D-day. Manu said. 

When the girls started to ask more questions, the coach called you for training. On your way to the pitch, you had your fingers intertwined with Laura's when she suddenly stopped making you look at her.

Fortunately for you, you didn't have to say anything because she didn't give you time to react before she kissed you. "Ti amo." She said before letting your hand go and running on the pitch.

"Wait, can we get married like today?" You asked while you ran after her.

[stromuprisahat]

Second Army disorganization

Siege and Storm- Chapter 14

One of the most frustrating and famously nonsensical passages of Grisha trilogy, easily explained through doylist approach- the author's inability to write strategy or politics and demands of the genre, requiring a weak, unfit heroine to defeat immensely powerful opponent way out of her league:

Alina: Oh no, they dare to oppose me again! :(

Isn't that why would you want to establish a council in the first place? So you get constructive criticism and suggestions to do things better?!

My objections to the notion Alina came up with representation of Grisha can't be more obvious:

Army is a structured organization. There are ranks and councils by default. No amount of ignorant teens will persuade me calling it "Second" makes it otherwise.

Any big organization has a structure. Even if Second Army were only about education, there would be councils and posts on different levels. Hell, school system works that way.

Alina: I'm gonna have the useless ones represented, because we're not doing things like the Darkling, but that doesn't mean I'll respect them myself or abandon my prejudices. Fucking nerds. Weidos...

Another YA nonsense- you cannot put people into categories based on their physical predispositions, and expect the mental ones to fit accordingly. You can have a huge, muscled guy, skilled in delicate handiwork. You can have a tiny wisp of a girl beating the living shit out of you (popular trope by itself).

Now why should sensitivity to metals get you a spot in labs, if you're a strategic genius? Or incredibly skilled, witty rhetorician? Isn't it more likely you'd be required to complete basic training to stay healthy and prevent accidentally endangering others, while being assigned to whatever you're most useful at?

And what about those weak or less intelligent ones? Are they bringing coffee and arranging entertainment?!

It also fits this fan interpretation, that Materialki are often neuro-divegent, so they are tend to be kept away from battle for their own sake.

Alina wasn't involved in practical running of Second Army before. Just because she doesn't know about something, it's not a totally fresh idea.

I'd be afraid of a girl, who almost murdered a bunch of people for asking questions, too.

At this point, I'm gonna run with the idea that all the older Grisha are torn between face-palming and silently laughing their assess off (so Alina doesn't overhear and her clique doesn't resort to violence).

“But what do they do in there?” I asked, not entirely sure I wanted to hear the answer. “Only the Corporalki know. But there are rumors that they’ve been working with the Fabrikators on new … experiments.”

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 8

... and that says nothing about the field, or the little groups in noble houses. People tend to stick together with their own, when in strange enviroment. I'm sure such bonds dissolve immediately after their return "home".

I've also delved a little into the sitting order here.

A few lines earlier, Alina noted Materialki didn't show up to complain. Who is so horrified then?! Not them, for sure.

Ironically, this fits into Fabricator-brain theory linked above AND the most logical explanation- Materialki have basic self-defense training, but only those, who are able to, continue. Alina isn't particularly friendly with any of them, so how would she know no one had EVER bothered to teach them? Alright, there are none in her class, but as far as we know, it consists of a Squaller, an Inferni and a Heartrender. Not the most saying sample.

Having a third of all Grisha helpless doesn't fit into the picture of Aleksander's leadership:

“That’s what Botkin always says. ‘Not showy, just to make pain,’” I said, imitating the mercenary’s heavy accent. “Smart guy.” “The Darkling doesn’t think Grisha should rely on their powers for defense.”

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 17

You don't have to become another Bruce Lee, you only need a chance, when they drag you out of bed in the middle of the night.

What tradition?

This is rather well-written group of angry, disorganized people. It might start with a reasonable goal, but soon everyone talks about something else than others, and the message gets lost in the noise.

Tradition doesn't equal "the way things are done". Neither of them is the same as "the need for structure and people knowing their places". The third one is a legitimate concern, although one could argue it's exactly what Alina's attempting.

This whole scene very much reads like:

The author is desperate to prove the Heroine isn't quite useless- she has good ideas! Look! *whacks a hundreds of years old stategist and survivor par excellence with stupid stick*

[sstormyskyess]

hi everyone enjoy some single dad!soap as i try to recover from writer's block! warning for hurt/comfort [i made myself sad writing this so take that as you will]

You listen to Abigail talking about what happened in her class earlier in the day while she doodled, brows furrowed from her focus on getting everything in her drawing just right. They were doing basic arithmetics, something she apparently had a distaste for. But she makes sure to tell you that your nephew had helped her with most of the math problems, which brings a smile to your face.

A ping on your phone draws your attention away from her stories. You check the notification and see it’s a text from John letting you know he was on his way home and it draws a small, relieved sigh out of you. It was starting to get late, and you were worried about him not making it back before you had to get the girls tucked in for bed.

Abigail hated going to bed without seeing her dad first; you didn’t really know why, but it was simply a quirk of her mannerisms. It doesn’t happen frequently, but every now and then he’s caught up with work on base and you’ve stayed up with Abigail until he got home with her clinging to your side as you laid on the couch.

You shoot a quick reply back to him and tune back in when Abigail asks you if you could hand her one of her blue colored pencils. She beams at you happily and says thank you when you pass her the blue pencil that you remember to be her favorite.

You’re about to continue spacing out until you feel a tiny tug on your pant leg. Ashley babbles at you from the floor where she was crawling and you pick her up, resting her on your leg. She looks up at you expectantly with her bright blue eyes—ones she got right from her father—and you hold her little hands. “Are you hungry, Ash?” You ask and she continues to mumble incoherently. “What about you, Abby?” Abigail nods excitedly, hopping down from her chair at the dining room table, dashing into the kitchen. You chuckle quietly, standing up with Ashley on your hip.

You’re in the process of cleaning up Ashley’s face when the front door unlocks and the broad stature of her father makes itself present in the doorway. He ruffles Abigail’s hair when she dashes up to him and hugs his legs, grinning up at him giddily. “Papa, come look at my drawing!” She bounces up and down and he lets her drag him over to the table covered with her doodles.

You laugh under your breath, going back to what you were doing before. You jump when John’s arm wraps around your shoulders and he pulls you close to his side. “Gotta talk to you about something later,” he mumbles to you, squeezing you tighter. You glance up at him and give him a confused look, but he just takes Ashley out of her high chair and holds her to his chest, smiling at the way her eyes drooped sleepily after her meal.

“You’re getting called in?” You look at him sadly, a frown tugging your lips downward. “I thought you had another month or so.”

He shrugs and sighs, climbing in bed next to you. “Things happen, bonnie.” His frown mirrors yours and his voice is audibly dejected. He doesn’t like being away from his girls for any amount of time. Now, he has you to come back to as well, only adding to his distaste for leaving.

He pulls the sheets over both of you and lays back against the headboard. You take comfort in his warm presence at your side and shuffle closer to him as subtly as possible. You’re not as slick as you think you are, though. He ends up noticing and taking the initiative to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you into his side.

Your face heats up to your ears because of the close proximity. He’s shirtless, as he usually is when he’s going to bed, meaning you were mere inches away from his bare, muscular chest. “I’ll miss you," he murmurs, resting his head on yours.

You blink, surprised by his words. You're quiet for a moment before a small smile comes to your face. "I'll miss you, too," you respond, just as quietly, almost as though you're trying to hide your words from the outside world.

His hand trembles a bit where it rests on your hip. He sighs, running his hand up your side and back down to your hip to soothe himself. "What are you doin' to me, bonnie?" He mutters, turning his head to bury his face into the top of your head. "Can never stop thinkin' about you and the girls. You're drivin' me crazy," he says, his accent thicker than usual because of how tired he is. "Just wanna be with you all the time."

You wrap your arm around his waist and rest the side of your face on his chest. You can barely think of anything to say. His words muddled your mind, filling your thoughts with all the time you've spent with him. It's been almost a year since you met him and things have become so different. Things have been good. Better than they have been for many years.

“Would you be willing to watch the girls while I’m gone?” He pulls away just enough to look at you. You look up at him and meet his icy blue eyes, taking note of the pink shade his cheeks had become.

You have to think about his question for a moment, despite your desire to immediately jump on the prospect of being Abigail and Ashley’s caretaker for such an extended period of time. It would be a lot; they were already a handful just for the short spans of time you take care of them throughout the week. But as you weigh your options, you always come back around to accepting his proposal. You smile when you look up at him and nod, sealing the deal.

He looks back at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling from how wide his grin was. “Thank you, love.”

Your eyes are dry as you stare up at the ceiling. It was the middle of the night; you should be sleeping because you have work tomorrow, but you keep thinking about him. John had left for the airport about a month ago, maybe a few weeks more than a month. You’ve not been keeping track perfectly, but it was somewhere around that time frame.

You were missing him. It’s not as though he hasn’t been deployed while you’ve known him. He’s been deployed for a month or so at a time on multiple occasions, but it felt like the time was dragging on so much longer than it usually did. Something about being surrounded by all the little traces of him was making it much harder to handle his absence. The sheets still smelled like his body wash and the faintest hint of gunpowder that never seemed to wash clean from his clothes after his missions.

The light from the hallway peeking into John’s room wakes you out of your restless sleep and your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the sudden brightness in your eyes. You sit up quickly at the sound of Abigail’s choked up voice calling your name from where she was standing at the bedroom door.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” You ask gently while you get out of bed, walking over to her where she was sniffling and rubbing tears out of her eyes. She slowly and quietly wraps her arms around your hips, burying her face in your shirt. “Had a—a bad dream…” She ekes out past the hoarseness in her voice. Your heart breaks immediately and you bend down to her level, letting her wrap her arms around your neck in a tight, clingy hug.

You pick her up and take her to John’s bed, sitting with her in your lap. “You wanna tell me about it?” You ask, looking down at her. She shakes her head, nestling herself further into your arms. “Alright, that’s okay, honey.” You shush her softly and let her cry into your shirt.

She eventually goes silent after a while, her shaky sobs reduced to quiet sniffles and choppy breaths. You lay down with her on your chest, your hands running up and down her back comfortingly. You perk up when she says your name to get your attention. You open your eyes back up and look down at her with a hum of acknowledgement.

“When's Papa gonna come home?”

Her tone is so bleak compared to the cheery giggles and bright smiles she’s usually sporting. You think on the question, trying to navigate what the best response would be. It was a question you've been asking yourself over the past month and a half, and you haven’t even been able to come up with a satisfying answer for your own worries. You sigh after a moment and pet the back of her head, taming her messy bedhead.

“Soon. He’ll be home soon, okay?” You muster up a smile to accompany your words. “He’s never broken a promise before, has he?”

She shakes her head, her hazel eyes darkened in the low light of the bedroom. “That’s right. You just have to trust him.” Your smile widens when she nods. “Okay,” she mumbles, going back to hiding her face in your chest.

You both end up sound asleep soon enough, with your arms holding her to your chest and her tiny hands clinging to your shirt.

more single dad!soap on my masterlist [reblogs > likes!!]

[mumms-the-word]

Maybe for an angst one shot could you please write Minthara x human fem!tav? How Minthara knows her girlfriend will get older quicker and won’t be able to live for hundreds of years like her

Hey anon!!! I am SO sorry it took me forever to get to this but here you go!! Some unexpected Minthara angst for your day :’)

~*~*~*~*~*~

Immortality

It began the day Minthara saw her lover staring at her reflection in the mirror. The beginning of a long, drawn out ending that was paradoxically, frighteningly, all too close.

She had paused in front of the mirror, Minthara’s lover had, lifting a hand to tuck some of her long hair behind her round ear when they both saw it. The first gray strands, standing out starkly against her lover’s dark hair.

Minthara said nothing that day. She simply watched as her lover pulled back more of her hair, silently counting the strands, before leaning in to examine other features. The tiny lines around her eyes, the lines around her mouth. She dragged her hand absently down the column of her throat and turned her head this way and that, simply looking.

Looking for signs of age.

The examination had taken mere seconds. After that, her lover had merely frowned briefly in the mirror before fixing her hair and turning away, moving on to her next task. But the memory burned into Minthara’s mind, bringing with it thoughts and fears that Minthara had never yet dared to entertain.

She wouldn’t live forever. Minthara had always known that. With lives as dangerous as theirs, always dodging a blade in the dark, always attempting to stay two steps ahead of the next poisonous scheme, they were not guaranteed tomorrow, let alone a lifetime with each other.

But that wasn’t what bothered Minthara. To live a few months with her lover and lose her to an assassin’s blade or the schemes of the drow matrons was simply the threat of reality. She had lost countless lovers in such ways before. Though this woman, her beloved, meant so much more, Minthara was prepared after a lifetime of loss to deal with the grief of losing her to war.

Minthara had not been prepared to face the possibility of losing her lover to mere time.

She was over two hundred years old, while her lover had barely a few decades to her name. Her lover would be fortunate to make it, bent and worn and gray, to the end of a century. At the end of a century, Minthara would merely be a century older, looking little different than she did now.

But she would be without her lover.

It was pathetic, how much the thought burrowed down into her brain and squirmed there, like that wretched tadpole had once done, whispering old half-truths and prejudices of her time in Menzoberranzan. Old memories that had lain dormant, until now. She recalled the priestess of House Vandree, how she had shared her bed for countless nights, and how she had held her close, whispering comforts in her ear as the poison took over her body.

Poison that had coated Minthara’s lips, transferred with a kiss.

She would not let Menzoberranzan take another lover from her. She would not let blind duty steal the joys of her love for her beloved. She was determined to stand between her lover and every killing blow, to go out first, if at all possible.

But her beloved was human. If Menzoberranzan didn’t take her, time would. 

Time was not something Minthara could stop or silence or stab. But perhaps it was something she could out-scheme.

She had brought up suggestions to her lover in the following days. Vampirism, perhaps—if Astarion could be convinced, after a hundred favors and deals, to make her a full vampire. Or perhaps a dark ritual, some spell that was just out of reach. Perhaps the new God of Ambition would have ideas, or another of their allies would find a solution. They could depart for the astral plane, to live un-aging among the stars.

But her beloved hadn’t shown interest in any of these ideas. “I don’t think I would stay myself if I traveled down that path,” she would say to almost every suggestion. “I promise, I am content.”

But Minthara was not. They had battled against gods and monsters, men and beasts. They had felled dragons together. They had raised armies together and pulled each other from the jaws of death. 

To lose her in war, Minthara could handle. The loss would be great, driving her nearly to madness, and the vengeance greater still, but in vengeance perhaps there would be relief. What vengeance could she take against time?

Once more, poison lingered in her mind. Vials of exquisite, rare poison, glittering gem-like in their crystal bottles. One drop on the lips would be enough. A kiss of death.

Perhaps they ought to go out together, lying side by side, counting their final breaths as their skin cooled and their heartbeats grew slow and faint. Perhaps someone would find them, still lying together. Perhaps in two hundred, three hundred, one thousand years someone would find their bones untouched, the skull of one laying against the ribcage of another.

Obscurity did not seem so terrifying when she thought of the future like that.

The treacherous thought lingered in her mind until at last her lover said something that changed her mind.

“Promise me something, Minthara,” she said, as they lay together in the darkness. “Promise that once I’m gone, you will carry our name for us.”

Minthara sat up. “My love—”

“Swear it,” she said, sitting up too. “An oath, Minthara. That no matter when I die, you will live on. That you will carry our house and burn our name into the annals of history.”

“I will not let you die,” Minthara said, her voice full of rasping pain. “I will find a way—”

“My love,” her beloved said, cradling her cheek. “We all die. I do not fear death. Nor do I fear the ravages of time. I know you do, because I can see it in your eyes every time you look at me. I think you fixate on these gray hairs more than I do.”

Minthara said nothing. There was no defense to make against such a statement.

“Swear an oath to me that no matter when I die—and make no mistake, I hope to live for many years with you at my side—but that when I die you will live on and that you will keep our house and our name alive. For me.”

“I cannot. To face the centuries ahead without you at my side—”

“You can.” Her lover held her face in both hands now, eyes full of tenderness and quiet strength. Confidence and sorrow. Full of love, for her. “You keep asking me how I might prefer immortality. This is how. By you going forward and carrying my name with you. Carve my name—our name—on the pages of history, over the doorframes of your homes, into the very foundations of Menzoberranzan itself. Carry our banners across the continent and establish the empire of your dreams with armies bearing our crest on their armor. Make it so that long after I’m gone, there is not a soul on this earth that doesn’t know our name. That is how I’d prefer immortality.”

Her beloved dropped her hands and faced her fully, sitting on her knees, and held out her hand. “Swear it, my love.”

Minthara stared at her hand. “But the future will be empty without you.”

“Swear it.”

“What use is an empire without its empress?”

Her lover just smiled. “Minthara. Swear.”

Minthara struggled again but finally broke, taking her lover's hand. “I swear it. On my oath, I will not rest until our name is known on every continent.” 

With the oath sinking into her bones, Minthara bent forward, pressing a kiss into her beloved's palm. She lingered there, soaking in the warmth of her skin, the feel of her battled-toughened fingers curling beneath her chin. Her lover raised her face and kissed her, deep and tender, tasting the oath on Minthara’s tongue. Minthara let herself be lost in that kiss, in the fantasy of this moment never ending. When they finally broke for air, it was too soon.

“And now, my love?” Minthara whispered.

“Now we make every day count.”

[look-a-yandere-fandom-blog]

Dr. Lymer & Dr. Greavesly | Yandere Headcanons

_________________________________

Gender Neutral Reader

Fandom: The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls.

No Spoilers.

_________________________________

Content Warning: Bloodletting, blood drinking, surgeries, sadism, marking, obsessive/possessive behaviour, plenty of leeches, these two are proper yikes so brace yourself.

(If there’s anything else I need to add to these warnings, please let me know.)

Giving myself a bit of a challenge here - as so far asylum-wise I've only written for Stockill, and he already kinda fits into the yandere archetype within canon (obsessive towards those who intrigue him, extreme/murderous jealousy, etc).

But, I needed to try something out of my comfort zone, and sadistic yans can be interesting to write soo... have these two, I suppose???

_________________________________

- To catch the eye of the asylum's staff spells misfortune for any soul.

- To catch the eye of its bleeder? Or its butcher? That is more than mere misfortune: it is a tragedy.

- Well… Let's start with Lymer, shall we?

- A lecherous and leech-loving man; if one were to spark this doctor’s curiosity, it would likely be through his infamous bloodletting.

- Lymer has bled many before, evidenced by rows upon rows of bottled blood that surround unfortunate visitors to his ward.

- Blood is not simply a career to Lymer, it is a sickening passion. And such is his passion for the creatures that deliver it to him.

- Then, isn't it fitting that they are what trigger his obsession?

- It was a bloodletting, just like every other. Lymer thought it would be no different. But, as the procedure drags on, he watches his dear leeches. Bloodthirsty little buggers, yet somehow thirstier today than usual.

- Yes, with this one, this inmate, they seem as though they cannot get enough!

- Perhaps it were an imagining of the doctor's, or perhaps a genuine strangeness in the creatures' behaviour.

- Regardless, Lymer decides on the best practice to follow. His go-to practice.

- More bleeding.

- Much, much, more.

- Soon, the dozens of filled bottles are replaced. The labels torn off and the jars cleaned out.

- Replaced by more blood. All from a single 'donor': the unfortunate patient who took his fancy.

- But it was never enough.

- No matter how many samples he gathers. No matter how many times he watches his leeches feed and feed and feed and feed.

- It is never enough for the leeches.

- It is never enough for him.

- A moment of curiosity was all it took, alone in the ward, as he held a bottle between his fingers.

- What was it that his beloved leeches adored so much?

- In an instant, blood rushed past his lips, the tang of metal coating his tongue as he tipped the glass back. Intoxicating.

- An older sample, however. Cold and half-clotted. It could be better.

- So, the next bloodletting�� this one is different.

- Ushering his assistants out of the room, Lymer's mind whirrs, a filthy grin set into his unkempt features.

- In this place, a smile cannot be a good thing.

- The inmate lies down, nervous, yet incapable of resisting. It would be worse for them if they did.

- Soon, the prick of tiny teeth piercing their skin, uncomfortably familiar.

- But once a wound is made, the leech is yanked away, squirming restlessly as Lymer tosses it into a jar.

- The doctor impatiently eyes the wound, pressing himself to the side of the medical bed.

- Warm. Fresh.

- Then, he undoes the leather straps around their bleeding arm. Fumbling with the buckles while his mouth begins to water.

- Vampiric and depraved. The poor soul can do nothing but stare with horror as his teeth latch around their wrist. His eager hands press into their arm, greedily squeezing flesh, ensuring that the flow continues.

- Drinking and drinking and drinking. Engraining the taste in his memory.

- They try to yank their arm away, but the doctor does not budge. Sinking his teeth in deeper. Not wanting the meal to end.

- It's raw. It's disgusting. It should disgust him: ingesting the impure blood that may very well be the reason they landed here in the first place.

- But, the only word that comes to his bleary, buzzing, mind is 'divine'.

- After an age, Lymer is dragged to reality by the patient, their body starting to fall limp (a side-effect of blood loss, and a rather entertaining one in his eyes).

- Finally, he is satisfied. Full and content like his leeches.

- He looks up to the patient's face. A repulsive red fills the gaps between his teeth, his eyes half-lidded as he leers at them, soaking in their bewildered gaze.

- How do they not understand? Do they not know disgustingly good they taste?

- Lymer runs his gaze over them, his drunken mind groping for more places to drain. The other arm, maybe. Or perhaps a leg. Or their neck?

- He saves those thoughts for another time, having satiated his thirst for now.

- But, he does not move to undo the patient's bindings and send them on their way, as usual. Instead, he restrains their arm once again.

- He knows, like every craving, he will not remain satisfied forever.

- And so here they will stay, bound and weak in the bloodletting wing, until Lymer's hunger arises once again.

_________________________________

- Dr. Greavesly is no better. An agitated, barbaric, beast; finding pleasure only in getting under others' skin. Both metaphorically and literally.

- In his case, the reactions of an inmate are what catch the butcher’s attention.

- Specifically, their lack of reaction.

- The patient is resilient. Barely batting an eye to the preserved organs and entrails proudly decorating the surgical theatre. Hardly wincing at the dig of his blades against their flesh.

- A challenge.

- So, naturally, things become much, much worse for them. Dragged out to the operating theatre more and more frequently as Greavesly's determination grows.

- The procedures are just as wild as him. Everything is on the table: slicing their skin open, carving deep into their muscles, perhaps even amputating a few small things... maybe a couple of fingers. Any 'trinkets' are then displayed alongside the other jars, mocking the inmate every visit after.

- Although, he does imagine much worse. Tearing out their organs, holding their insides with his rough hands, watching the spite and life leave from their eyes...

- He is more restrained than he would like to be. Only as he knows how fine the line between life and death is. A bit too much pain and he could kill them before they crack.

- Greavesly doesn't want that. He doesn't want them to die yet. He wants their strength to splinter, to split, to shatter beyond salvation.

- And he wants to revel in it.

- Even the asylum's wards are not a sanctuary, as the surgeon stalks out from his operating theatre. Restless hands twitching as he hunts for the inmate, tormenting them in every free moment he gets.

- He would spend every waking moment, if he could. Alas, he has to perform the operations he was hired for, lest Stockill get on his case.

- It is clear that this inmate is Greavesly's alone to torment. And in most cases, a single glare from the butcher is enough to drive the other staff away. However, some just can't seem to get the message.

- Any chasers who push their luck? Well, they don't tend to return.

- At least, not all in one piece. After all, Greavesly wouldn't want someone else to break his challenge first. That would be no fun.

- Speaking of…

- As his obsession draws on, fun is what Greavesly starts to value more and more.

- There is little strategy or decorum in his actions to begin with. But as time ticks on, he becomes more creative.

- More self-indulgent.

- After all, pain isn't the only way in which one can be broken.

- Forcing them to watch the procedures he performs on other patients is a favourite of his. Even in this cursed building, the inmates cannot help their sympathy for each other. And he cannot help the urge to take advantage of that.

- Meanwhile, in his downtime, Greavesly will lay back in a chair and yank them into his lap, overgrown red hair falling over them.

- As he inhales those damned opium cigarettes, he blows smoke into their face, laughing at their irritated splutters. And if they try to pull away? Well, those cigs are good for giving burn marks too.

- The question is, if they break, when they break, what will become of them?

- Would he finally leave them alone? Would he put them out of their misery?

- Or would it only make his obsession worse?

- That is for the future to reveal.

- For now, this 'challenge' is keeping him occupied, keeping his technique sharp with new methods of torture and maiming.

- Greavesly has discovered that breaking a body is easy, but breaking a mind is so much more fun...

_________________________________

[lemon-russ]

So I've been writing a Cato x OC thing that was just a dumb thing I was having fun with, and decided to share with the class. I will note this is the result of listening to a lot of olde timey emo pop punk and wanting to make an OC that is not perfect. Or good. She's a train wreck. Also this is 40k. And prob not incredibly lore accurate in places but I got excited about hive cities and tried.

Anyway big ol warning on this that it is not supposed to be smut (but I can't control the winds if it works it works) and is 100% just me listening to angsty music and wanting to write someone in shitty situations. So going to be a bit more on serious and bleaker side. Also, Yes the OC is the same one from wolf mother but slightly altered, I am lazy and like this one. Idk why I feel I need to defend myself for pretty clean grimdark fanfic when I normally write tropey smut but here we are lol

Thanks @squishyowl for the dividers! Taglist: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye

Letting People Down Is My Thing (Ch. 1)

|ch.1| Next> Ao3

Song: Just One Yesterday - Fall Out Boy (a lot of this is going to be heavy on old FOB I'm not sorry)

Cato x Fem OC

CW: Drugs, Alcohol, PTSD/ Trauma, General dourness (will have others as it goes please check CW every time!)

Summary: Ex-Imperial Guard captain Wren Vaille gets a summons to meet with Guilliman out of the blue.

Word count: 2,451

Wren trudged through the cluttered, cramped roads of the hive city. She lit up something- she wasn’t entirely sure what but it was in her pocket- and took a drag, shoving her hands in her pockets and shuffling around the rowdy denizens of the street.

Whatever it was, it took the edge off her anxious mind for a minute. She let out a long smokey breath and found her way to a tiny door in an alley, unable to fully open without hitting the building next to it. She squeezed in, pulling it closed hard behind her. It didnt fully close, but nothing in the hive city of the outer palace worked right anyways. She scootched around her neighbor, in her usual place sitting on the floor and blocking the tiny hall.

“Can I get a drag of that?” The old woman croaked as Wren stepped over her. She rolled her eyes, “Don't you have your own?” She grumbled, scooting to her door and entering the passcode on the datapad next to it.

“Still could use a drag.” The old woman mumbled, but pulled something out of her own pocket to smoke anyways. Wren sighed and hipchecked her door to get it open.

She kicked it closed and rearmed the locks, clicking on the light to her tiny, windowless home. Her bed was shoved to the wall, blocked in by her food cabinet. What once was a closet now served as a small bathroom, and took up the area at the foot of the bed, jutting out in a small square. The little free space outside of that had a small table and a rickety chair.

All things considered, a pretty nice place for living in the outer palace hive city. Benefits of a good military savings and some greased palms.

She ashed her mystery roll in a broken cup on the table, smothering it for later. She crawled on her bed and kicked back, grabbing a packet of soylen viridian and tearing it open with her teeth. She ate the goop, squeezing it out of the pouch, and dug her newest acquirement out of her ratty coat pocket- a paperback book on bionics repair. She settled back, kicking her bionic leg up on the counter while she started reading.

The light flickered, and she groaned. Power outages were common in this part of the city. Surely enough, her little lightbulb flickered off. She sighed and pulled a lighter out to light her way to the switch and turn it off- she'd get charged for the power connection even when it went out if she left the connection on.

She flicked her lighter closed, laying back on her bed and sighing, staring at the black ceiling. The only light came from the small glowing indicators on her whirring leg. The blinking green illuminated her little hovel dimly, just enough to make out the shapes of her garbage packed shelves.

In the hall, there was a noise from the old woman. “Watch where you're goin!” She grumbled at someone.

“Don't sit in the hall in the dark then-” the stranger’s voice snapped back before they knocked on Wren's door.

She frowned, freezing, hoping they would go away if she seemed like she wasn’t home.

“Wren Vaille?” They said, knocking more. “Message for Wren Vaille.”

She grimaced. On one hand, this was a pretty common scam, get someone to open their door and rob them. On the other hand, she was curious.

She sighed, scooting over the bed and feeling her way the couple steps to the door. “From who?” She called.

“It's got the Imperial seal- I'm not ‘sposed to open it. Gotta get your signature too.”

She groaned. “Fine. Don't try anything though.” She grumbled, fumbling her hand over a small shelf and taking the knife she had there. She held it in the non visible hand and opened her door.

The messenger looked tired and bored. He carried a small lamp for light, likely used to working in blackouts. He handed her a thick, wax sealed envelope. Her brow raised, and she took it and signed off on his paper.

“’Sposed to tell you you got a transport ticket in there for tomorrow. Someone wants to see you in the inner palace.” he adds, turning to leave.

She frowned and looked at the letter. She closed the door and flicked her lighter open again to read it. Sure enough, it had an imperial seal- specifically, and Ultramarines seal.

She grimaced and cracked the wax.

His lord Guilliman, Lord Reagent, requests your audience while his visits the inner imperial city. Enclosed are instructions and passage tickets for the meeting. Please pack for an extended stay away.

She reread it a few times, then inspected the tickets and passport papers. They seemed real. But why was the primarch of the Ultramarines reaching out to an Ex-Guard captain?

She let out a sigh, head falling back. She felt her way to the table and relit the mystery roll, the dim glow of the embers dancing in the dark of her powerless apartment.

She just got settled here, and now she was pretty sure whatever she was getting called for was going to mean her place would be considered abandoned and reassigned. She flopped back on her bed, what she was pretty sure now was an obscura laced lho-stick hanging from her mouth, and tossed the papers on the counter. Every time she started to settle in, something had to come rattle her cage again.

____________________________________

The next morning she wore her old Guard pack, stuffed full of what little she cared about that was also not illegal to own. The rest of her belongings, the things too illicit and cubersome, were packed away in her little hidey-hole safe she had in the back of an abandoned factory building. She'd found the small lockable room spelunking collapsed hive one day, and now used it as storage.

She waited at the station for the rail transport, taking a quick swig from her small flask to fight off the hangover of whatever she was smoking yesterday. She read over the papers again. Everything checked out. She was to take the rail to a landing pad, where a thunderhawk would fly her to wherever it was Guilliman wanted to meet her at.

What it didn’t include was why.

She assumed nothing good. Rather, nothing good for her. She wasn't in trouble, they'd have simply arrested her. But she was in trouble, as in, they were going to put her in the way of trouble, or they wouldn’t be going through all this.

The rail ride was crowded and bumpy, but she made it to the ship bay in one piece.

As she approached, a few serfs in ultramarine clothes greeted her, checking her papers and ushering her onto the ship.

She settled into a seat in the cargo area, strapping herself in well. Last time she'd been in one of these had been a little too eventful, but she doubted ‘scared of flying’ would count as a reason to blow off a primarch.

She ran a hand through her short hair nervously, sneaking another sip from her flask. A nearby serf gave her a judging look and Wren returned it with a what are you looking at scowl, making the serf huff and turn away. Wren took another swig just to annoy the serf.

The turbulence of the thunderhawk taking off was thankfully dulled enough by her drink that she could focus on other things and not panic while they flew.

When they landed again, now in a part of the Imperial palace where the sky was visible and there was still gold on the walls, she walked quickly out of the ship on shaky legs, heading to a banister and leaning over it while taking deep breaths. She lit up a lho-stick and took a few deep pulls, letting her head fall back as she tried to relax the shaking.

The serfs gave her looks as they went about unpacking the thunderhawk. Wren didn't care. She hated flying.

“Wren?” A familiar voice broke her from her trance, and she whirled around.

She dropped her lho-stick, color draining from her face. “…Cato.” She rasped, swallowing with a suddenly dry throat. She stood a bit straighter, hands finding her pockets nervously. “It's been… a while.” She says, clearing her throat.

He looked at her in shock, eyeing her up and down with a look of mixed surprise and disgust.

“What the hell happened to you?” He asked.

She frowned. “What do you mean? I had a bomb dropped on me.“ she retorted, bristling a bit.

He snapped his mouth closed, frowning in return. “You know I didn't mean that. I was there for that part. I mean-” he gestured up and down at her. “This. You look like you lost half your weight.” He grimaced. “And you reek of smoke and booze.”

She scowled back at him. “Gee, great to see you too.” She grumbled.

Cato rolled his eyes. “Please, don't pretend you don't know you look insane. What happened to your hair?”

She frowned, running her hand through her short hair. “Ok, now youre just being mean. I thought this was a good look.” She huffed, shaking out her hair as it fell over her eyes a bit.

He sighed. “Lets get you into clothes that don’t stink of… whatever you've been doing. And a shower, before we meet with Guilliman.”

_________________________

She was left to go change and shower in the communal showers for serfs, and is given a new uniform to wear. She would have asked why a retired captain is getting a uniform, but she understood what was happening here. Though the uniform did not have any of the patches or badges that would indicate a rank, so at least they didn't outright want to force her to be a captain again. It did seem however, she was being brought back to the Imperial Guard in at least some manner.

She toweled her hair, and dressed, then awkwardly met Cato back in the hall.

He eyed her over, grimacing. “I'd say better, but somehow you look worse in nice clothes. The contrast, I think.”

She scowled. “Can you lay off? I don't look that bad, you just haven't seen me in a few years.” She huffed.

He started leading her down the hall. “Okay, but a couple years doesn't account for looking like an obscura addled zombie.” He said.

Wren groaned. “Glad to see you're as pleasant as ever. What am I here for anyways? And why did the send you? Surely they know our, you know, history.” She grumbled.

Cato huffed. “Guilliman's been looking for someone good with strategy and diplomacy. There's a few planets we're in a stalemate with. We want their workforce to maintain the farms and mines, and they're being difficult, but not so bad that we want to just go in and raze it.” He explained.

She stopped, mouth twisting and brow scrunching in confusion. “Wait, what? Then what the hell am I doing here?”

He stopped and turned back to her with a tight frown. “You're here, because I reccomend you.”

Her brow shot to her hairline. “Why? I'm not a diplomat, and, well, I don't think we were on… get each other jobs terms?”

He kept his composure. “Because I know you're good at de-escalating fights like you were in the Guard, and I knew you probably had nothing else going on.” He said, turning to walk again.

She frowned and jogged a bit to keep up with his long strides. “You don't know that- I have a ton going on. You're actually really interrupting my routine-” she protests, and almost runs into his back as he stops dead.

He turns back to her, looking unamused. “Uh huh. You have a flourishing carreer in the lower cities then?”

She pursed her lips. “Maybe I do, you don't know.”

He sighed, and reached his hand to her waist, slipping between the buttons of her jacket.

“H-hey-!” She startled, but he slipped his hand further under her jacket of her uniform and returned it with her flask dangling between his finger and thumb.

“I think I can guess what you do all day, Vaille.” He said tiredly, tossing the container in a waste chute.

“HEY-!” She squeaked, scrambling for the chute. It was too late, her amasec was already probably a half mile down the hivecity trash network.

Cato sighed. “Please, have a little dignity Wren. Scrambling after booze like a starved rat.” He chided, making her huff and blush, stomping back to him.

“You can't just throw out my shit!” She snapped. He rolled his eyes.

“And you're not supposed to have alcohol or drugs inside the palace proper.” He said dryly, looking at her with disappointment. “Seriously, what happened to you? Even after your recovery you weren't like… this.” He said bitterly.

Her scowl faltered and she had to look away from his face. “You're being an ass and over exaggerating, like you always do.” She mumbled. She tried to sound stern, but it was hard when she felt the heat climbing her cheeks.

Sure it'd been a rough year. And last year was rough too. But she had plans, she was getting back on her feet. She'd cut back already, and was out doing things in the day now. She was doing just fine- thriving for lower hivecity standards, even.

“Just- lets get this over with so Guilliman can ask if you've lost your mind and I can go home.” She mumbled, continuing down the hall.

Cato sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Right. I'm sure I'll have a lot to explain for after for wasting his time. Emperor forbid I assumed you could hold it together for 3 years…” he replied tiredly as he followed.

[passengerprincipessa]

for the kink prompt - 24 + landoscar plsss🥹your writing is gorgeous and making me discover things abt myself <3 ty in advance

landoscar + inexperienced partner (i was struck by a vision of girl!oscar pegging lando for the first time and this is the end result. for the kink prompts and yes i know this is a month late 💕)

When Oscar grabs the harness and lube, setting them on the bed beside them, she thinks Lando might chicken out. Might kick his heel against her thigh and tell her it was all a joke, that he doesn’t actually want her to fuck him, what the fuck’s she on about. 

But Lando stays perfectly still, sprawled out on the sheets, blinking up at her with wide eyes. His cock’s flushed and hard and huge against his belly and it makes her insane seeing it, knowing that he has all that and he’s still asking her to fuck him. 

He’d begged her for it, really, after he’d seen her strap in the draw of her nightstand. He’d had her pressed up against the wall of her bedroom, her nipples brushing against the cool plaster with each thrust of his hips, his fingers rubbing steady circles over her clit.

“Want you to fuck me like this,” Lando whimpered, breath hot against her ear. “Want you to make me come on your cock.”

She’d shuddered and come so hard she couldn’t catch a full breath, her clit twitching against Lando’s fingers, cunt throbbing around Lando’s cock.

“Oh, fuck,” Lando moaned. “Jesus, Osc.” His lips slid against her neck and then he was coming, his hitched whines echoing through the room.

Oscar had thought maybe it was just a fantasy. Dirty talk that he knew would make her come her brains out.

But Lando had brought it up again while they’d been lying in bed one night. His head was resting on her stomach, Oscar scratching her fingers idly over his scalp, his soft curls tickling her palm.

“I want you to,” Lando whispered. “Want you to fuck me.”

Oscar took a shaky breath, fingers tightening in Lando’s curls. A tiny grin appeared on Lando’s face, like he knew exactly how much it affected her, hearing him say it.

“Has anyone done that to you before?” Oscar asked, voice strained.

“No,” Lando whispered. “But I’ve, like—to myself.”

“Jesus,” Oscar murmured, dragging her hand down the plane of Lando’s back, tracing the dip of his spine. “And did you, uh, like it?”

Lando moaned at that, tipping his face against her stomach.

“Fuck, you did, didn’t you?” Oscar breathed. She ran her palm over the firm skin of Lando’s ass, imagining how he’d look underneath her, his muscles trembling as she pushed in.

“Yeah,” Lando whispered. “Liked it so much, Osc.”

Lando had eaten her out after. Let her swing a leg across his face and grind against his mouth. He’d stared up at her with a dazed expression, eyes huge and wet, and Oscar couldn’t stop imagining what he’d look like getting fucked. The same wide-eyed desperation, blinking up at Oscar with something like awe. She’d come with a choked moan, soaking Lando’s chin.

Now, as Oscar slips a second finger into him, she realizes he was telling the truth. He likes it. He likes it so fucking much.

Oscar tells him as much and he nods, whimpers. He lets go of one knee and brings a hand up to his chest, fingers brushing over his nipple.

Lando takes it so easily that she doesn’t bother with a third finger, just pushes off the bed and grabs the harness.

Normally, Oscar hates this part. Hates how stupid she must look tugging at the straps of the harness, hates how the harness sits right below the bit of flesh on her belly, the bright blue dildo jutting out obscenely. The whole thing makes her want to turn off the lights, shove a pillow over her partner’s face, tell them to look the other way.

But Lando’s watching her with hooded eyes, fingers still toying with his nipple, thighs still splayed open. His cock’s leaking against his stomach and he’s letting out these tiny little sounds that she’s not even sure he knows he’s making, eyes fixed on her strap.

Her breath catches at the sight, cunt throbbing. She wraps a shaking hand around the dildo, stroking once, feeling stupid even as she does it.

But Lando moans, thighs sliding farther apart. When his eyes flick up to hers, they’re dark and glassy, the look he normally gets right when he’s about to come. 

Oscar knees her way onto the bed and presses a palm against the back of Lando’s thigh, holding him open. He’s still hard, still looking up at her with a breathless expression, still brushing over his nipple.

She pushes in and it’s so fucking easy, easier than anything. Just a hint of resistance and then Lando’s opening for her, a whimper spilling out of him as she slides in.

“God,” Oscar breathes, staring down at where the strap’s disappearing inside him, at his cock leaking against his stomach. “You like it.”

“Yeah, fuck,” Lando gasps, hand flying down to grip his cock. She thinks he’s going to stroke himself, but he just grips the tip of his cock hard, the way he does whenever he’s trying to stop himself from coming too soon.

“Oh my god,” Oscar pants and she feels wetness slipping down her thigh, soaking the straps of the harness. “That’s so—” She trails off and starts fucking him in earnest, reveling in the little uh, uh, uh’s she pushes out of him with each pass of her hips. 

He’s still gripping his cock tightly in his fist, eyes squeezed shut, eyebrows knit together, his whole body clenched tight.

He lets out an awful little whimper and she needs to hear him say it, suddenly, needs to know he likes it, needs to know this isn't a joke.

“Lando,” Oscar says, fingers digging into the back of his thigh. “Lando, look at me, please.”

Lando opens his eyes the tiniest bit and he’s squinting up at her, like he can’t look at her full on or he’ll come.

“Tell me you like it,” Oscar begs. “Please, I need to—tell me you like it.”

Lando’s head tips to the side, pink mouth dropping open, panting against the pillow. He tries to say something, something that sounds like I and like, but the sentence fractures into a moan, his cock jerking in his fist.

And then he's coming, spilling all over his stomach in slow, messy pulses, come leaking between his fingers. He's whining, high and frantic, hips rocking back against her even as he comes.

“That’s it,” Oscar moans, watching him shudder underneath her, his face scrunching up, his toes curling, high, hitched whimpers spilling out of him.

It’s one of the things she loves most about him, how he always seems to lose himself completely when he comes, stops caring about whether he looks good. Like he knows the part she likes most is seeing him surrender himself to it.

She pulls out the moment he’s done coming, afraid of pushing him too far, and starts to slide off the bed, planning to grab a washcloth.

But before she can, hands find her hips and she’s being flipped onto her back, Lando sliding down between her legs.

“Lando,” Oscar gasps, fingers flying to his hair. “You don’t—”

Lando looks up at her, his face flushed, curls sticking to his forehead. “I like it,” Lando whispers. He gives her a tiny grin before he leans forward, dragging his tongue over the wetness on her thighs, sliding his lips over the straps of her harness.

“Yeah,” Oscar breathes, tugging him tighter against her. “You like it so fucking much, fuck.”

Lando doesn’t say anything to that, just whimpers and wraps his lips around her clit, blinking up at her with a dazed expression.

[vashsmunch]

Being enough NSFW

Millions Knives x Transmasc! Reader (MINORS DNI!)

Synopsis: post trimax knives and you have some quality talk before fucking LMAO Warnings: 2.1k words, hurt/comfort (that's all i write), extremely subby knives, pre-op reader, body dysmorphia, self worth issues, plant pussy WOOO, overstimulation, dacryphilia, pretty bitch knives A/N: okay im ngl, i had a really hard time trying to figure out how to write this LMAO. it was initially a birthday gift for my friend but i had never written transmasc stuff before, so i struggled in how to make it not feel like just fem reader stuff. i think i did alright though! transmasc people deserve more love <3 i also kind of missed knives (bleh), and i enjoy the thought of post trimax him having a crushing amount of guilt. hope yall like it ^^

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

“Nervous, huh?"

You blew into Nai's ear, and he flinched, leaning away from you. "Not... necessarily."

Sitting back on your heels, you cocked your head at him. He was lying, that much was clear. His eyes were purposely avoiding yours, and he was as stiff as a board. Sure, this was... new, but that didn't explain why he was acting so evasive. Did he not want this? Your fingers instinctively fiddled with the blankets on the bed you two were on, trying to ease your own nerves that were starting to stir up. Dark thoughts ran past your mind as the silence grew even more heavy. Maybe... no. You wouldn't start with that.

You hesitated before leaning forward to take his hand, making sure to not tighten your grip too much. Your voice was quiet as you murmured to him, trying to be calm for both of your sakes. "Hey, I know that this is your first time, but it's gonna be okay. You can back out anytime you want, and I promise I'll be slow. Unless.. there's something else you want to talk about?"

There was another long pause before Nai sighed heavily, turning his body to face yours but still looking down. He tightened his grip around your hand, and you noted that his own was trembling. "It's hard for me to explain."

"I'm smarter than you think. Try me."

His thumb pressed against the flesh of your knuckle, his leg starting to bounce a bit. "This is something I want, something I desire. That's not something I want you to doubt, nor is it something I've ever had second thoughts about," You breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he said this. At least it wasn't what you were dreading. "The issue lies more in whether... I deserve it."

Frowning, you leaned forward to put your face in front of his, your hand raised to cup his cheek. "Hey, hey, none of that. I wouldn't be here if you didn't, I don't fuck people just for shits and giggles, ya know."

Your joke made his lips curl into a tiny smile, but there was still something there that you knew he wasn't telling you about. Thumb brushing against his cheek, you gave him a soft kiss. "I'm not gonna do anything unless you're fully transparent with me. I don't want you to regret this. Please Nai, what's wrong?" 

"I just..." His voice quivered as he whispered against your lips. "Are you not frightened? Are you not aggrieved? The people I hurt... friends of yours that I may have killed... do you not mourn for them? Is this truly something that you want with me, of all people? I will never be able to take that away from you, no matter how many years go by or how many apologies I utter. There will always be the knowledge of knowing you're with a murderer, and I would rather you be happy than drag you down to the hell I've built myself."

A pang rang out in your heart as he finished, and you couldn't help but feel so utterly destroyed. Here you were, thinking he was having regrets about being with someone like you while he was still grieving the suffering his actions caused. You were quiet, trying to think of an appropriate response. 

Finally, you spoke up. "I'm not going to discount the lives of people who were hurt. But I won't ignore the hell you went through either. You were just a child when you saw Tesla, Nai, and people grieve in different ways. This doesn't excuse what you did, but I can understand. Please know I will never hold this against you, nor will I resent you for it. You're trying to repent, and that's what matters," You saw tears well up in his eyes and you gently wiped at them before continuing. "You deserve to feel loved as much as anyone else, and I do love you. I love you so much, Nai, that it aches every time I think of you. The way you treat me, and the softness I see in our interactions, I know you're doing your best. Let me love you, and I promise I'll do everything in my power to make you understand this. I know it's hard, but I'm asking you to trust me. Can you do that? For me?"

He finally met your gaze and salty streams started to flow down his cheeks as he nodded. You moved to hug him, and he clutched at you, crying silently. Rubbing his back, you continued to coo and assure him, your own eyes brimming with liquid. He truly was a tortured soul, and you couldn't blame him. Eventually, you pulled back a bit and smiled at him. "Now, are you going to let me fuck you or not?"

A soft chuckle left his lips as he closed the distance again, kissing you. You helped him remove his sweater and pants, having him lay down on the bed. As your fingers grazed down the length of his muscular stomach, he reached down to grasp your hand. You looked up at him quizzically and saw his cheeks flushed a faint pink. "I must warn you, dove. There might be a bit of shock when you see what's there. I'm not... normal. At least in terms of anatomy humans usually have."

"Do you have something I can eat out?" His mouth dropped open at the vulgarity of your question, and you couldn't help but laugh. "Then I'll be fine. I promise, Nai. If anything, I'll probably be fascinated. Strange genitals don't even compare to the fact that you can manifest literal knives." It wasn't like you had the place to judge, considering your own body. 

With that in mind, your fingers absentmindedly traced the dips of his stomach, wondering how to approach this next part. Eventually, you managed to speak up, voice cracking a bit as you looked down. "You're not the only one who's had doubts about this. But I have... for different reasons," Nai didn't say a word, making you rush to fill the empty air with explanation. "You know I'm not biologically male. We talked about it a bit before, but I never really went into detail; mostly because I didn't know how to continue with the topic. But it's made me wonder if you'd prefer to... I don't know. Be with someone who has the means to please you? In a way I just can't." 

You bit your lip, knowing it wasn't just about that. There were often times when you felt.. unfinished. Impure would be a better word. Especially when you were with someone like Nai, someone who literally embodied the definition of a fallen angel. He was beautiful in a way that was so inhuman, that it made you wonder if he was truly happy being with someone that happened to be far from the definition of perfect. At least in terms of standard bodily expectations. 

Nai's hand came to take you in his palm, tilting your head up to his gaze. His face was riddled with guilt, and it made your heart ache. It was your last wish to make him feel bad for anything, especially with your own foolish little worries. He came to press his forehead against yours, his words in a low whisper. "I've witnessed many things in my years of living. I've seen looks of distress and heard cries of horror, many of which were caused by my hand. There are few things that I would consider to be dear to me, as I thought I wasn't capable of feeling such things," A small smile graced his face as he thumbed at your cheek, trying to comfort you with sadness in his eyes. "But you... you are everything I don't deserve and something I refuse to lose. I've spent so long looking for something to fill the void that was left in my heart after witnessing the death of my sister. And I finally found it. I regret all I've done thus far, but I would do it again if it led me to you once more. Please believe me when I say you mean the world to me, and I've seen the world. Nothing could compare to the beauty you are."

You weren't going to cry. You weren't. Fuck you were crying.

Swiping furiously at your eyes, you laughed softly. "You really know how to make someone feel good about themselves, you know that?"

"I simply said what was in my heart. And you are my heart."

With a loud sniff, you looked back at him with a playfully agitated face. "Can I fuck you now or are we going to stay here and bawl our eyes out until dehydration?" He chuckled as a soft pink graced the tips of his ears, finally letting go of you. With a comforting squeeze of his hip, you waited for him to nod his consent before coming back down to his crotch and tugging down his underwear. 

...

Petals? You tilted your head a bit, examining closer. Yeah, petals. Reaching out hesitantly, you gently stroked the length of what seemed to be a flower twisted up on itself, and you heard him let out a quiet hiss. Soft-hued PLANT marks lined the length of his thighs and pelvis, his anatomy resembling a pussy more than what a guy usually had. If you remember correctly, the petals would be covering what was the pistil.  The more you touched him, little tendrils of what you would assume to be the stamens crept their way from the opening as the petals parted themselves. They wrapped around your wrist but made no move to stop you as you encouraged the petals to reveal more.

"H-hah... Wait...!" Nai cried out as you slid your fingers up and down the outside of his hole, lathering them in fluid. His eyes fluttered shut, his breathing becoming more and more labored. You looked up at him, encouraging him to stop you if needed, but all he offered was a pathetically submissive look through half-lidded eyes. Taking this as an incentive, you continued to explore him, growing increasingly curious about the swollen nub that sat prettily nestled between his folds. It must be the PLANT version of a clit.

You took the bud between your fingers and gave it a gentle pinch, and Nai bucked his hips up into your touch, whimpering. "S-sensitive!" There was something so salaciously intriguing about seeing the usually composed man become undone, so you continued. Rolling and caressing his clit whilst bringing your other hand to prod at his entrance before sinking a finger into him. He let out a soft whine as his body tensed up, pleasure visibly coursing throughout him as he came from the pressure alone. You coaxed him through it, pumping your finger in and out until he was writhing around and begging you to stop. 

Nai's voice was weak and strained, calling your name out in broken chants. You didn't though, knowing that if he truly wanted to, he could forcibly make you stop. Seeing as he didn't, you kept fucking him, eventually adding another finger whilst curling them against his puffy, slick walls. You felt around, paying attention to each arch of his back and twitch of his body, making sure to adjust your ministrations in turn. Tears started to build up in his eyes as he shamelessly humped your fingers, seeming to relish in the lewd wet sounds his cunt was making. He was so beautiful like this, it wasn't hard to believe he was a PLANT. Especially when his glyphs gradually appeared on his skin, pulsing with a soft light in time with each of his moans. He was ethereal in every sense in the world, and you were breaking him to his very core. 

Nai cried pathetic little pleas as you felt his walls clench around your fingers even tighter, growing close to his second high. "Please... please I- I can't-!" 

You hushed him, coming up to kiss him softly as you kept hitting all the places that had him melting into your touch. You rubbed harshly against his clit, your lip curling into a smile. "You can." He wailed, his hands scrambling to find something to clutch onto as he came again, his body spasming as his patterned skin glowed brighter, almost blinding you with the way they lit up the room.

Finally easing up, you gingerly pulled your hand away from his dripping hole, fascinated by the glittery cum that enveloped your fingers. You scissored your them open and closed, becoming acutely aware of Nai still recovering from his intense orgasm. His chest was collapsing in on itself, arm draped over his face as he panted hard. You gently pulled it away from his eyes, having him meet your gaze. A tilt of your head and a laugh left your lips as you caressed his cheek. "See? Not that bad, now was it?"

He spent a few long moments catching his breath before he smiled back weakly. "You'll be the death of me, dear." 

[not-orphaned-account]

You, Only You - Chapter 1

I've been writing this mostly for myself, as a sort of fluff bandaid as I work on Lean On Me. I decided I wanted to share it, but as it's just sort of plotless (for the most part) and more of a comfort thing with no set goal, it's going to be a tumblr-only fic. I hope you enjoy :]

It’s late when Satoru returns, so late that the lamps lining the stairs are illuminated and flickering as he slowly makes his way up. Not for the first time, he swears to himself that he’s going to master his long-distance teleportation before his next mission, so he doesn’t have to climb ten thousand million stairs when he returns with his cursed energy depleted and his body sore from the fight. The assistant supervisor walks a few steps behind him, more winded than he is despite not having been involved in any of the action, and they part ways at the top with a nod and exhausted goodnights. The assistant supervisor heads towards the staff dormitories, while Satoru crosses the courtyard to the student dorms, pace quickening and steps lightening the closer he gets despite his exhaustion.

He walks right past his own room, not even bothering to stop in for a change of clothes, making a beeline for the neighbouring door. It’s closed by not locked, and Satoru doesn’t bother knocking as he cracks it open and slips inside.

The lump in the blankets betrays Suguru’s whereabouts, and he sighs softly. Back when they started getting sent on solo missions, just over two years ago now, they’d wait for each other at the top of the staircase, sometimes with Shoko, for their long established post-mission hug; a sacred tradition from all the way back on their first mission, when they were overwhelmed with adrenaline and on top of the world, and the first thing they thought to do was wrap their arms around each other. After the Star Plasma Vessel, those feelings shifted; they were no longer invincible, and their victories were no longer assured. Their triumphant celebrations turned to something more like reassurance: Any broken bones? Did you eat okay? Whose blood is that?

They still wait for each other, but sometimes, things are different. Sometimes, they’ll be sent out on different missions at the same time, and Suguru will return to an empty staircase while Satoru urges the assistant supervisor to drive faster. Sometimes, one of them will be downstairs with Shoko, getting wounds treated while biting their tongue to keep from pushing her to hurry, they have somewhere to be.

Sometimes, it’s one of these days.

Satoru pulls off his jacket and tosses it to the floor, followed by his shoes, socks, and pants, until he’s kneeling on the edge of the mattress in just his boxers and his sweaty shirt.

Suguru is asleep, hands folded into loose fists on the pillow and hair messy from either sleep or the day he’s had. He looks peaceful like this, the usual weight on his shoulders and in his eyes absent for a time. Satoru almost doesn’t want to disturb him, but he knows that if Suguru found out that he’d come home without waking him up, he’d kill him for sure.

Unable to resist, he reaches out, hand blindingly pale in the dark room, and gently brushes a lock of hair behind Suguru’s ear. His hand lingers, tingling slightly at the sleep-warm skin under his fingertips, hesitating in limbo.

Suguru’s eyes flutter open as if called, and he immediately locks eyes with Satoru. He makes a soft sound and shifts under his blankets, like he’s trying to reach out but isn’t quite awake enough to move.

Satoru meets him in the middle, pulling the blankets back and laying down beside him. They’re close like this, two grown men in a tiny student dorm bed, face to face—well. Face to fabric.

As though reading his mind, Suguru finally moves, lifting a hand slowly as if through molasses and fog. Satoru feels his fingers catch at the edge of his blindfold, gently dragging it up and over his head until the piece of fabric is dangling from his fingers, and their eyes are finally meeting with no barrier.

It’s another tradition. As his powers grew and six eyes became stronger, his glasses started to not be enough. He still wears them sometimes, on calmer days hanging around the school, but on missions now he always wears a blindfold to protect his eyes, growing more sensitive by the day. Suguru removing it for him is like a cleansing, something like turning infinity off; the last person Satoru trusts with the most vulnerable and valuable part of him, unwrapping him and leaving him bare.

Speaking of…

He lets out a long breath as infinity deactivates, eyelids immediately drooping as the tension he’s bee carrying for the last week breaks and leaves him heavy and sluggish. It’s an unpleasant feeling, everything suddenly touching him at once; but he can’t bring himself to feel anything but elated as Suguru’s eyes soften and he seems to relax as well, tilting his face forward a bare inch until their foreheads are touching, no blindfold, no infinity, no spaces between: just Satoru and Suguru, how it’s been since they were kids.

He allows himself a few moments to revel in the warmth and comfort under Suguru’s sheets. Suguru watches him, eyes flitting over his face, and a smile curls at his lips when he realizes what he’s looking for.

“I’m fine,” he whispers; he sees the hint of his breath move Suguru’s bangs slightly. “Just some bumps and scrapes. I probably won’t even need Shoko.”

Suguru doesn’t answer, but he feels him relax further. His smile softens, and he finally allows himself to cup his face, running his thumb over his cheekbone.

This is it; this is what makes it worth keeping up their tradition. Suguru’s skin is warm and soft in his hands, and his breath is even and his eyes glimmer in the darkness, and Satoru can’t help but touch, can’t help but stare, can’t help but memorize everything about the man in front of him and tuck it away in the little corner of his brain that Suguru has unknowingly reserved for himself. Their post-mission hugs have evolved over the years, as the missions themselves have grown more dangerous and every day more precious. As Satoru grew more and more unattainable, infinity strengthening and power reaching monumental levels, Suguru too changed, retreating into himself and his mind. Satoru gained a shield; Suguru, a shell.

Days like these are less common than they were in the time following Riko’s death, but they still happen; days where Suguru is all but unable to get out of bed, when his thoughts are too loud and make his body heavy and his heart heavier. On these days, when he doesn’t meet Satoru at the top of the stairs, when his eyes are red rimmed and bloodshot, the touching is no longer for Satoru.

He runs a hand through Suguru’s hair, mumbling an apology when he catches on a stray knot and makes him jerk. He trails his fingertips gently along the soft skin under Suguru’s eye, runs his hand over his shoulder and down his arm before wrapping his arm around Suguru’s waist and pulling him close. He doesn’t need any more prompting that that to curl into him, burying his face in the junction between Satoru’s neck and shoulder and letting out a long, slightly shaky breath.

They lay like that for a while: Satoru rubbing slow circles into his lower back, Suguru simply being, breathing against him. In times like this, quiet nights with Suguru in his arms, he truly can’t imagine being any more at peace than he is in this moment.

“How are the girls?” he asks after a while. It’s a bit of a code for them; if Suguru doesn’t feel like talking, he’ll give a generic affirmation, and they’ll just hold each other in silence. If he’s up for conversation, though, talking about the twins always opens a  sort of door, inviting him to tell Satoru about everything they’ve been up to, from the moment he left for his mission until Suguru tucked them into bed that night.

He feels Suguru’s lips pull up in a small smile, and he grins into the darkness, his heart swelling.

“Nanako learned how to write her name,” he says. “I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s everywhere: scrap paper, the blackboards, outside. After she wrote it on one of the classroom walls, Yaga dug up some sidewalk chalk from somewhere, and she’s been absolutely obsessed with it.”

Satoru laughs softly, delighted at the mental image.

“I didn’t see,” he says, tracing the bumps of Suguru’s spine with his fingertips. “You’ll have to show me tomorrow.”

“Oh, you’ll see it,” Suguru laughs. “Trust me, as soon as you go outside in the sunlight, it’ll be the first thing you noticed. Mimiko tried to copy her, but she couldn’t get the hang of it and just started drawing. There’s chalk on every conceivable surface.”

Satoru hums. His fingers brush the ends of Suguru’s hair, and he lets himself play with it for a moment, loosely twirling the strands around his fingers.

“They ran into Nanami and Haibara on their way to physical therapy,” Suguru says, voice quieter now, and Satoru pauses. “By the time he was done, they’d covered every inch of pavement outside of the clinic with chalk. You’ll have to get Mimiko to show you tomorrow, she’s very proud of her rainbows.”

The pieces click together in his head, and he holds Suguru a little tighter. The bad days don’t always have a concrete cause or trigger, but when they do…

“How is he doing?” he asks. Suguru chuckles a little, though it sounds strained.

“The same as always. I was outside with the girls the whole time, but he was just as cheerful when he came out as he was when he went in. He let Nanako help push his wheelchair back to the dorms.”

“That’s our Haibara,” Satoru says with a small smile. He adjusts his hold on Suguru, sliding his arm around his shoulder and wrapping a hand gently around the back of his neck, just holding him.

“He’s really good with them,” Suguru murmurs, melting into the touch. “And they absolutely love him. He’ll be a great teacher.”

Satoru hums, rubbing slow circles with his thumb into the edge of Suguru’s hairline. It’s true; though, he does suspect that it has something to do with how much he spoils the kids.

“Oh,” Suguru says, as though he’s read his mind, “Yaga wants to know if Megumi and Tsumiki are coming back here for their school break.”

“Huh? Is that already?”

He can practically feel Suguru rolling his eyes.

“Yes, Satoru. Next week, remember?”

Oh shit. Right. Satoru coughs a little.

“Of course I remember. I was just testing you.”

“Right,” Suguru says, in what seems like the most sarcastic tone of voice he can physically muster. “Have you talked to them about it at all? Or the school, for that matter?”

“Calm down, it’ll be fine,” he says, and Suguru huffs. “Megumi probably doesn’t want to, but I’m sure Tsumiki will, and it’s not like he’s going to stay at the school without her. I’ll just go get them on the weekend.”

“Why don’t I come with?” Suguru asks, slipping his arm over Satoru’s waist and hooking his chin on his shoulder. “We can bring the girls, make a day of it. It would be good for them to get out and see the city, I think.”

The twins’ conditions have improved greatly over the last two years, but it’s still better for them to stay on the campus instead of the boarding school Megumi and Tsumiki attend. Still, they’re able to go on small outings now, as long as Suguru is there and they have lots of opportunities to rest away from crowds.

“Sounds fun,” he says. “Maybe we should ask some of the others if they want to tag along?”

“Megumi might like it if Shoko or Nanami came with.”

“But if Shoko comes, then Utahime’s gonna want to come too.”

“I mean…”

They continue to talk, voices soft in each other’s ears and hands wandering, calming, holding. The exhaustion of the mission weighs him down, but his heart feels light as Suguru tells him little stories from the week they were apart, catching him up on everything that made him smile. Finally, his voice quiets and his breathing evens out, puffing warmly against Satoru’s neck as he goes lax in his arms. It’s only then that Satoru allows his own eyes to close, letting himself hug Suguru closer to his chest like an overgrown teddy bear. He still feels a bit gross in his dirty shirt, but as Suguru mumbles in his sleep and loosely clutches it in his fingers, he can’t bring himself to mind all that much as his thoughts finally begin to slow, and sleep takes him under.