#First one has a closed fist with the pointer finger stretched

[peachesofteal]

Light On - single mom/neighbors fic Simon Riley/female reader

Amends, Simon learns, are harder to make than he thought. 

At first, he tries to catch you in the hallway, or in the lobby of the building. It’s started to get cold, and you’re not out on your balcony much, so he resorts to sulking around like building like a ghost, miserable and downright creepy, waiting. Watching. 

He begins to memorize your routine. It's not intentional, just a hazard of his profession, but he can't help but work everything you do into a schedule that looms at the back of his mind. What time Emma wakes up, what time you usually take her somewhere with you on your lunch, what time the sound of your dryer buzzes to signal it's cycle complete, what time you turn the TV off and the lights go out for bed. Knowing your schedule so well relaxes him, makes him feel reassured, and he waits for every part of it with bated breath, ensuring you're home and safe with each mental check in.

He tries to sync with you, run into you in the hall or outside the building somewhere, but you're elusive, and at night, before he falls asleep, he resorts to daydreaming about a future where he didn't screw everything up, and you already lived with him. Where you shared a bed with him, where Emmaline slept in her room down the hall. Where he has his girls under one roof with him, his roof, safe and tucked away from the rest of world. He can't fall asleep without it now, this daydream, and sometimes, if he's lucky, it stays, gracing his subconscious with beautiful false memories, the kind that linger a little, in the morning when he opens his eyes.

Still, he can't have any of it, dreams or reality, without making amends.

His first real try, after the initial failure, is when he manages to catch you in the lobby. It's right before your lunch is usually over, and he strategically positions himself to enter the building around the same time as you would. Emmaline is in your arms, and when she catches sight of him, she squeaks, swinging a chubby little fist in his direction. You look over your shoulder at whatever has caught her eye, and when you see him, your face twists, smile shifting into something full of apprehension and worry.

“Hi.” You say, when he gets close, inching towards you like you might run off. Emmaline coos, arms stretched out towards his body, and he lets his hand drift, pointer finger finding the grasp of all five hers, wrapped around him.

“Hey.” I miss you, he’s desperate to say, I’m so sorry. But nothing comes out, and something sad stretches across your face when Emma smiles so big at him.

His phone rings, loudly. Johnny. When he looks back up from the screen, you’re gone.

The next time he tries, is in the supermarket.

You’re pushing Emmaline in the buggy, leaning forward to talk to her in the soft little baby voice that you make, and he stops himself at the end of the aisle, just out of sight. You look exhausted, eyes tired, moving slowly, and his heart aches.

“What about some yogurt?” She bobs in the stroller, and you smile. “Yeah! Yogurt! It’s good huh?” You're not paying attention at all, not cognizant of your surroundings, or his proximity to you. If he was someone else, someone who wanted to hurt you, take you... it'd be a non issue. The back door less than ten meters from where your back is turned, someone could have you incapacitated and vanished before you even knew what was happening. His stomach flips uncomfortably just imagining it, anxiety tossing his breakfast around, everything in him screaming at him to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go again.

You turn the corner to his position, still focused on the baby, half paying attention to where you're walking. You manage to glance up once, right before you nearly run into him, and you jerk backwards in confusion, surprise. "Hey."

"Hey, sorry. I uh... wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

"That's alright." He scrounges around in his empty fucking head for something else to say, before landing on: "How are you?"

"Oh, good. Alright, yeah. We're... we're alright."

"That's good." There's a beat of awkward silence, and you chew on your bottom lip for a second.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine." Just do it, he screams at himself. Just say it. "I've been thinkin' about you." Your eyebrows raise.

"You have?" What? Of course I have, sweetheart. You're all I ever think about now.

"Yeah. A lot, actually." He says softly, like you're not standing in the middle of a grocery store, in between the hustle and bustle of everyone else. "I ah... I know this really isn't the place but I wanted to talk to you. It's... I have something I need to tell you. Are you... free tonight? Can I make you dinner?" He practically rushes it out, like water from a spigot, flooding free, too fast and without aim. It's a cautious request, more of a hopeful thing than anything else, and when you take so, so long to respond, he prepares himself for the disappointment.

"Okay." You whisper, with a nod. "Yes. We... we're around tonight."

[awkwardlyfangirly]

rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles fanfiction ~ aged up ~ Donatello x female reader ~ one child, a son named Damian ~ there's a pregnancy reveal out of left field towards the end I'm spoiling that now in hopes it will make it less cringey when you read it ~ includes Donnie stopping talking for a bit and communicating with sign language,, apologies if i dealt with this wrong or wrote it wrong in any way, it's not something i have had first-hand experience with <3

in which Damian causes a small, accidentally-on-purpose disaster in Donnie's lab.

(part 2!)

/////////////

He has never tried so hard. He has never tried so hard as he does trying to be a good dad.

But he still. is never. ever. good. enough.

“Please,” you’d say to him, “please try to think about how he feels - ” and he’d just drum his fingers on his knee and tell you that he is trying his best.

He is trying his best.

There is one time when Damian - your first son, your first child - finds his way into Donnie's lab. He’s two and a half years old. He explores, and investigates, and stretches his creative muscles, and stretches his destructive muscles, in quiet contemplative two-year-old silence.

Donnie is on his way to his lab, completely blissfully unaware of what is waiting for him inside. He’s rambling to himself, under his breath, fidgeting his fingers in anticipation.

He presses his hand to the ‘entrance’ panel.

“Voice recognition engaged,” the system says. “Waiting.”

“Bootyyyshaker9000,” Donnie says. “Capital B. Three Ys.”

The door whooshes open and he steps inside and immediately feels his heart disconnect itself from his body.

His son, on the ground, surrounded by microchips, and pieces of plastoid, and pieces of machinery, and tools, all smashed and crushed and defaced.

Donnie freezes.

He feels his hands start to shake, and his heart start to race, and he opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out for a second. He pauses. Closes his eyes.

He hears his son’s voice.

“Hi, Daddy!” it says. “Hi! Look what I’ve done!”

Donnie opens his eyes.

His son is smiling up at him, widely, his mouth stretched as far as it’ll reach. He holds up two handfuls of wiring.

“For you!” he chirps.

Donnie feels a vein throb in his forehead.

“DAMIAN!” he screams. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS? YOU KNOW HOW EXPENSIVE ALL OF THIS IS!! YOU KNOW HOW IMPORTANT IT IS TO ME!! YOU KNOW YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO TOUCH ANY OF THIS STUFF!! WHY ARE YOU SO STUPID?? WHY ARE YOU SO --”

His voices of reason break into his consciousness. His wife’s voice, and his little brother’s voice. They each place one hand on one of his shoulders. You need to learn a healthy way to express your feelings to your family, they say. Use your words. Think about how you’re making him feel.

He clears his throat.

“Damian,” he breathes, stiffly, through clenched, clenched teeth, “I… I feel. I feel. I feel. I feel. I feel.”

His son has shrunk into himself. His eyes are big, big, big, and he’s still twitching a piece of metal in his hands, and he’s staring up at his father with a blank, blank look on his face. Very much like a blank, blank look Donnie has seen in the mirror time and time again.

“I feel,” he says again, and his chest is so hot and his teeth are so so tight together that he’s starting to feel sparks in his jaw. He feels angry. He feels furious. He feels like he wants to scream and stamp his feet and shake his son and smash whatever inexpensive things are in arm’s reach.

You need to learn a healthy way to express your feelings to your family. He sees Dr. Feelings in his mind’s eye, tapping his pointer threateningly against one of his palms. Use your words. He sees his wife, leaning towards him, judgement in her eyes. Think about how you’re making him feel.

Control yourself, Donatello.

He’s breathing hard, squeezing his fists into themselves.

Damian is waiting patiently.

“I feel,” he gasps, “I feel, I feel,” and there is so much rage swirling in his mind that he can’t speak.

Damian blinks up at his father.

"I feel," Donnie says again, and then his wife appears at his side.

“Donnie?” you say, voice tight with concern. “What’s going on?” Your eyes focus on the scene on the floor: your son, your husband’s equipment, tons and tons of shattered machinery.

You mumble something under your breath - to be honest, you don’t even know what it is you’re trying to say - and glance sideways at Donnie. He doesn’t look over at you. You don’t press it.

You step carefully over to your son, placing your feet awkwardly, trying not to destroy anything else.

He’s staring down at the floor, still sitting. You crouch down in front of him.

“Damian,” you say, firmly. “What’s going on?”

Damian won’t look at you, either. No one’s acknowledging you right now.

“Damian,” you say again.

“I made a mess,” he says, quietly.

“You sure did. You made a mess of Daddy’s lab.”

“I know,” he mumbles.

“What do you say to Daddy?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” He doesn’t look at his father.

"Good. Now I'll help you clean up."

There’s quite a bit of crushed technological innards on the ground. You pick up the bigger pieces and place them on one of the tables, all together; and then you sweep up the smaller pieces with your fingers and dust them onto the table as well.

Damian picks up some of the pieces. He holds them with his tiny hands until you take them from him and put them on the table with the others.

Occasionally you glance up, trying to catch Donnie’s eyes. He’s standing in the doorway of the lab and watching, his fingers twitching, his teeth ground shut. He’s still avoiding eye contact.

Finally, the floor is cleaned. The shattered pieces and parts are all on the table.

You scoop up your son and carry him out of the lab. You’re holding him a little too tightly. A little too desperately. He shifts uncomfortably against your chest.

Damian doesn’t say anything as you pass by Donnie. Donnie doesn’t say anything as Damian passes by him.

But once you’re several paces away, Damian twists himself around in your arms to look at his father still standing shock-still in the doorway.

"Is Daddy going to be okay?" he asks, his forehead wrinkling in concern.

"Gosh, I hope so," you sigh, pressing your fingers tight against your son's warm back. "I hope so."

"I killed his lab," Damian says.

“You didn’t kill it, baby. You just made a mess. You just broke his things.”

“I killed it,” Damian says, and pushes his face into the jut of your collarbone. “I killed the machines and I killed the tech and I killed it all.” He pulls his face back out and stares at you solemnly, with all the gravitas of a seventy-year-old judge finding himself in the defendant’s chair. “On purpose,” he says, severely. “I killed it all, on purpose.”

You reach Damian’s bedroom, and you try to set him down on his dinosaur-print bedspread, but he clings tightly to your neck.

“I’m bad,” he whispers, his voice small and sticky.

You wrap your arms around him again and shut your eyes, feeling the warmth from the crook of his neck. “What do you mean, you messed up the lab on purpose?”

Damian picks at the hem of your shirt collar.

“Dami…?”

“I was mad,” he confesses.

Silence.

“Why were you mad?”

Silence. He picks harder at the hem and puts his face back into your shoulder. You’re quiet, now, letting him decide when to speak.

“Daddy doesn’t love me,” he whispers, and starts sucking on his thumb. “He’s always in the lab. He always loves the lab. He won’t play with me. He’ll go into the lab because I’m not allowed in the lab and he ignores me and he won’t play with me and he only loves his machines! And his robots! And so I wanted to kill the lab.”

“To hurt him?”

Damian shrugs, finds a loose thread on his bedcovers, pulls at it until it lengthens and the cloth puckers slightly.

“Dami,” you say.

“I don’t know,” he says, flatly. “I don’t know why. I was just mad. And so I killed the lab.”

He curls his little fists around the fabric.

When you return to the lab, looking for your husband, you find him seated at one of his tables, his goggles pulled down, the crushed pieces of tech scattered around him, his hands hard at work with soldering irons and small blowtorches and wrenches and screwdrivers.

“Hey, love,” you say, carefully, but Donnie just holds up a hand, still clenching a sizzling tool in it. He’s not going to talk to you right now.

You take a deep breath and hold it for a moment, and then you sigh and stand behind him. “Shoulders?”

He nods.

You hook a stool with your foot and drag it towards yourself, and trigger the release on his battle shell and lay it carefully on a nearby table. You run your fingers across his shoulders for a second, feeling for the places of tension, before digging your knuckles into the tight knots.

You can’t think of anything to say.

The two of you are quiet together for a while, your minds humming and your blood racing. There’s no sound except for the buzzing of Donnie’s tools and his occasional soft exhales from the tension trying to release in his shoulders. There’s a lot of tension in his shoulders. There’s always a lot of tension in his shoulders.

You wrap your arms around his chest and rest your head against the curve of his neck and watch him work.

The guilt is swelling up inside you. It’s your fault. It’s all your fault. Damian would never have gotten into the lab if it weren’t for you.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He pauses for a moment and puts down his tools and flips up his goggles and swivels around in his chair. You let go and sit back and he starts to sign at you, quickly, angrily.

Why weren’t you watching him? he demands.

“What?” You feel the warm heat of distress creeping across your cheeks. “I…”

You were supposed to be watching him, he snaps. You. Were. Supposed. To. Be. Watching. Him. And you weren’t, apparently, and now… now…

You glance behind him, at the deconstructed pieces on the table. It wasn’t just spare parts and pieces that Damian got his hands on. It was tech. Full-on completed or nearly-finished tech. Tech that Donnie had been pouring his heart into, staying up late working on, and Damian had crushed it, so carelessly.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper again.

You stare at your hands.

Donnie taps your knee until you look at him again. I’m seriously asking. What were you doing? Why weren’t you watching him?

You were napping. You were so, so, so tired. You are so, so, so tired. You’ve been nothing but tired and unpleasant for the past four months. Tired, and unpleasant, and pregnant.

Pregnant.

You haven’t told Donnie yet. You’ve been being a horrible wife. You haven’t told Donnie yet.

His reaction to your first pregnancy has been on your mind for the past two and a half years. You don’t want to put him through that again. You never want to put him through that again.

You never want to put yourself through that again, come to think of it.

So you’ve been waiting. Waiting, and re-testing, and waiting. And sleeping. And crying. And throwing up. And sleeping some more. And trying to look after your energetic two year old and very needy husband.

So, you should have been watching Damian and you knew that you should have been watching Damian but the fatigue just rolled over you like a steamroller and you laid down on the couch for a second and the next thing you knew, Donnie was screaming from the doorway of the lab and you’d clambered off the couch in a mess of guilt and fear and nausea and ran as fast as you could to the lab, where you discovered that your first catastrophic theory was in fact the truth.

“I’m so, so sorry,” you say.

He arches an eyebrow.

Well? he prompts.

You stare at his plastron. Not his eyes.

“I was sleeping,” you sigh through your nose. “I know. I know. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just laid down and then I was gone.”

His hands get faster and angrier and harsher. You were SLEEPING? You fell asleep? And left our son by himself?!

“Yes!! I know!! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! Look, I was just so so tired and I laid down on the couch and then I was asleep! I didn’t mean to! It’s not all MY fault, anyway! If you helped a bit more then maybe I’d be able to sleep more and I wouldn’t just involuntarily fall asleep while I was supposed to be watching Damian!”

Donnie’s mouth drops open and his eyes narrow to furious slits. Oh, so now it’s MY fault? Now it’s MY fault for being a bad dad?

You’re shaking your head. “Donnie, Donnie, no, that’s not what I meant. That’s not what I meant at all.”

He signs over you, frustrated. No, it is. Don’t lie to me, Y/n. That’s what you meant. I know. Stop trying to backtrack; there’s no way around your words. I know. I get it. I know. I know I’m a bad dad and I don’t need you to tell me! It just makes me feel bad!!

“Donnie…,” you say, twisting your fingers together in your lap. “I’m not calling you a bad dad. I’m just saying… I could use some extra help. You could… do a little more.”

You’re the one who fell asleep on the couch when you were supposed to be keeping an eye on Damian. If you’d let me know, I could’ve kept him with me today! Or something!

“I know, I know, I know! That one’s on me! I’m sorry, okay? I really really didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry about your lab. I’ll help you with whatever you need. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Donnie sighs and looks down at his lap. I’m just… I’m just… His hands are shaking and you watch them ball into fists for a moment. …so, so angry. Just. Just so angry.

“I know.” You bite your lip. “I know, I know. I’m so sorry. I’ll pay for it. I’ll --”

No, no, you don’t have to do that. His eye is twitching softly, and you can see the tension coming back into his shoulders. He is my responsibility too. And I shouldn’t have yelled at him.

“It’s okay. We all yell sometimes.”

Except you.

You don’t know how to respond to that.

Donnie sighs and turns back around to his work.

“You know,” you say, quietly, “Damian told me that he acted out because he felt like you weren’t paying enough attention to him. You might want to do something with him soon. Just the two of you.”

Donnie doesn’t respond, but you know that he heard you. You see his shoulders stiffen even more.

You lean forward on your stool again and start rubbing at his neck.

Might as well tell him the news, right? He’s already had so much heaped on him in the past hour. One more thing can’t hurt. Hopefully.

But your body fights you. Your mouth won’t let the words out. You swallow and focus your attention on a particularly stubborn knot for a few minutes. Donnie’s hands still for a second and he tilts his head and lets you work at it. You hear him sigh in contentment, and you look at him gently and push harder on the knot.

Say it. Say it. Say it. Say it. Say it. Say it. Say it. Say it. Say --

“I’m pregnant,” you say.

Your fingers are kneading and your heart is pounding and you feel Donnie tense up under your hands. (Again.)

He puts his face into his hands and your eyes get big and you stop massaging and wring your hands together nervously.

“Donnie?”

He signs at you again, his back still turned towards you. I need a moment. I need a moment alone.

“Yeah,” you mumble. “Yeah, no problem.”

And you and baby number 2 bumble off the stool and hurry out of the lab and go lay down in bed next to your napping son/brother and stare at the ceiling for a long, long while.

[ceejaykayess]

Endgame spoilers for AI The Somnium Files abound, play the best part of Uchikoshi's wild ride (said by someone who hasn't seen anything before his Zero Escape stuff).

Can't believe this started with me just wanting to draw my own take on a non-mask wearing Date in Nirvana Initiative and then evolved (devolved, even) into wanting to draw character-centric pieces on the various Dates that then further changed into wanting to work on actually adding background to works which just turned into "make most of it black, but draw attention to symbolism."

Kinda funny I got less content with each subsequent image, with the first being the one I'm most confident in. The faces just got more and more scuffed as I had to draw them from different angles to any references I have. Something to practice on, I suppose.

The first piece could be called "SINKIN' IN THE CAPTaiN'S BRaiN," since it's meant to combine the background of the two of Date' Somnium and their shared motif of being places where to interact with things, light needs to be on them. Which I have thoughts about, thoughts about natural Dadte, but now's not the time.

The second piece, similarly, could be called "VaiNLY PSYNCIN' IN THE CHaiN," or "CHaiNED, PSYNCIN' IN THE VaiN." Depends on whether you want to think of it as Saito pridefully entering Date's mind full force, or Date being forced to drown within Saito. I am horribly curious what PSYNCIN' IN THE CHaiN looked like from Saito's PoV, though. I wonder if it shared the usual motif, or if the topic of discussion being very forcefully turned to something generally unhappy would shift the Somnium's paradigm.

The third piece does not have an elaborate title, since it focuses the least on giving a proper background. It was made to be similar to the final Mental Lock in PSYNCIN' IN THE CAPTaiN, but also reminiscent of the game's cover art. I suppose you could call it... "PSYNCIN' IN THE MIRai"? But, that doesn't suit as much. Actually, to follow the idea of it being my weak spin on NI Date, we could call it "New Invitation." Or something.

Now, the important part. The Date. There isn't really much I could do on him that hasn't been done before, but that's fine. We all build together and all that. I first wanted it to be, a Date that wore his usual clothes but in a way Falco would have worn them. That is, open jacket, and replacing his sweater with a button-up purple and black-striped shirt. Showing off his chest, the whore.

Problem is, Date's usual jacket has huge fucking crossover. Any IRL equivalent I could think of usually had a vest-cut for the neck, instead of some fucking Nomura-type neck protector. So, I had to content myself with not showing off as much of the Datitties as I would have hoped. Instead, his jacket looks all poofs at the side, which is a poorly made attempt at showing that there's an invisible wind blowing everything to the right side of the image, as weakly shown in left-Date's hair being blown back and Falco's jacket being blown forward. Very, very weakly, when I consider how not as much detail as I would hope is conveyed in the pictures I took... how do I rectify that? Take closer pictures?

Whatever, next. Date has his hair in a ponytail, which you can vaguely see over his left shoulder. It's so grey compared to the rest of his hair, because I thought, "Ah, what if in the six year gap Date grew his hair out in his ignorance, and got some of it dyed by, I dunno, a friend he met, and made it the same shade as the mask he kept as a memento from whatever life he led before he woke up memory-less." Some of his lower hair near his neck is dyed, too.

Date's right hand is gloved and his left hand is ungloved because I thought it looked cool, shut up. Also, he has his right hand over his face because I decided that's what he does when he Wink Psyncs. Mizuki gives a peace sign, Ryuki shows off his respect to the aliens, Date listens to his inner-Saito (the part that is a dramatic bitch, not the serial killer part) and poses like an anime villain losing it.

[kashimos-hajime]

definition of a good boy | a.a.

summary: literally you just peg the FUCK out of armin arlert. that’s it. and he looks real fucking pretty taking it.

WARNINGS: smut (18+), switch!reader (but majority femdom), switch!armin (majority sub <3), PEGGING, edging, anal fingering ahgnfkld, safe word (not used), oral (fem-receiving), overstim, praise kink, minor dacryphilia bc that shit HITS pairing: armin arlert x fem!reader word count: 3.7k

a/n: if armin no like peg, why he look like THAT last episode? ANYWAY this is who i represent now. just,,, pegging men and making them cry

crossposted on ao3

You wonder how many times Armin’s thought about this before. Or even, the first time at least. 

Was it when you rode him until he was crying for relief, your hands around his throat and your lips ravaging his own? Or maybe that time you had riled him up until he had you pinned in an alleyway just outside a fucking embassy, panties swept aside by the crook of his fingers and cock sheathed inside your wet folds as you cried out into his shoulder.

Which in itself was a feat. It’s probably the most difficult thing in the world to irritate Armin Arlert to the point where he wants to fuck the attitude out of you, and it had started with a dress that had a slit up to your thigh, and you tugging at his tie in the middle of his conversations, and ended with bruised collarbones, jelly legs, and fucking Connie texting you, WOW GOOD JOB!!!!! SASHA OWES ME TWENTY.

But you digress. You could probably pinpoint a million times he’s thought about it, a million times more when you have. It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that Armin Arlert is laid out right in front of you, flushed, sweating, eyes closed shut and mouth shamelessly open as you jack him off. His cheeks are red, the blush spreading down his neck and chest, but nothing compares to the shade of his lips as you swallow down his moan, tongue dipping into his mouth. Your other hand pins down his shoulder as he lets out a soft whine, and you smile, drawing back just as quickly as you came.

“You look so pretty, baby,” you whisper, brushing the hair fanning across his forehead back. The golden strands glimmer in the warm light of their room as Armin lets out another strangled noise when you squeeze the tip of his cock, the precum warm underneath your palm. “You think you’re ready?”

“Yeah.” His hands are on your back, fingers scratching the skin and sending shivers down your spine, yet now, one travels to the back of your neck and pulls you down for another deep kiss. Their mouths meet messily and his other hand trails down to your hips, your thighs by his waist, and squeezes. “I’m ready. I trust you.”

Pulling back, your gut clenches and you wish you’d taken up his offer to ride the edge off on his thigh, but you’d been so excited that you had refused. Now, nervous energy mixes with the heady arousal surrounding them you pull off of him, fingers giving one last pump to his hard cock. Sitting aside with the lube, you watch as Armin rolls over, revealing a muscled back ripe with tension and you immediately crawl over to him.

“Tense?”

“Nervous, yeah.” His fingers dig into the bedsheets as you place a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. His blond hair tickles the apple of your cheek and you situate yourself right over him. Squeezing a sizeable amount of lube onto your pointer and third finger, you smear it down to your base knuckles and glance at Armin again. His cheek is pressed against the mattress, his sedated face betraying the hunger in those blue eyes. His hips twitch against the blankets almost imperceptibly but you let it slide—they both need a moment to just…

“Safe word?” you ask.

“Conch,” he replies dutifully. “Don’t worry so much or I’ll start to worry.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you or for you to hate this.”

“The most important thing is that we tried it, alright?” He reaches back to grab your hand, and you look down at his fingers wrapping around your wrist. Twisting to hold onto him, you kiss his fingers before he lets go, resumes the slow grind against the mattress and you watch, transfixed at the rolls of his hips. Reminded of the slick glistening down your thighs, you clench your legs together as a soft moan is muffled by Armin’s face buried in the sheets. His knuckles are white as his thrusts grow frantic, but they both know that nothing on this bed is enough friction for what they both want.

Too many nights with disappointing outcomes have taught them better—silk is good for hair and skin only, it seems.

“On your knees,” you murmur, and he freezes, face turning slowly to reveal blissed out face and a panting mouth. Stomach fluttering at how obedient he is, you situate yourself right behind him as he rises to his knees and elbows and you spot the wet stain where his precum had soaked into the sheets. Smiling, you rise up on your knees, lean over, and kiss his spine, settling a hand on the small of his back. “Relax, baby.”

Your fingers slip between his cheeks and rub along the hole, the heat emanating from his skin incinerating. Gently, you sink your fingers in and he lets out a choked noise at the stretching as you scissor slowly to give him time to get used to the burning. His fingers sink into the mattress, claw-like, and his back tenses up but you lean forward, running a soothing hand between his shoulder blades.

“Are you okay, baby?” you whisper, the resistance making you pause so he can get used to it. He lifts his head, gasping before nodding to the wall.

“I’m okay.” Forehead to the sheets again. “Keep going.”

Kissing his hip, you nod and push forward as your hand on his back spreads out, and you feel the moment he relaxes because something inside him eases, too. Your fingers sink in despite how tight it is, near-choking as his legs twitch against your thighs. You watch the back of his head keenly, catch the speedy rise and fall of his shoulders as you slowly draw your fingers in and out, getting him used to the sensation.

Tiny sounds escape his mouth as he rests his cheek against the bed, his sharp gasps whenever you push in deeper than before music to your ears and to the growing drip of arousal between your legs.

It’s when Armin’s legs shoot out from underneath him, his whole body collapsing and a loud moan comes out of him that you really snap awake. Your hand ripped out from between his asscheeks, you jump back, eyes widening in fear and you crawl up so you can spot his face. His eyes are wide enough that you can see a ring of white around his blue, blue eyes, and he’s coated in a fine layer of sweat over his pink cheeks. A hand is slapped over his mouth and you hear his raspy pants through his nose, desperate and rapid as you lower yourself to his eye level.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” you ask but he lifts a wet hand from his mouth, and you watch slowly as he grabs your wrist tightly. Lube from your fingers drips onto your hand as he yanks you close.

“Why’d you stop?” he groans. “If that’s how it feels every time I hit your g-spot, I wish we started this sooner.”

Electricity zaps through your chest and your lips pull into an incredulous smile as he lets go of your wrist and cups your neck, pulling you down into an open-mouthed kiss and you moan into his mouth as he pushes himself up onto an arm, tongue exploring your cheeks, his hand sliding down your back. It’s decidedly slow, unpretentious, intimate, and you remind yourself that there’s still a task at hand, no matter how persuading Armin can be with his eyes, hands, tongue, or otherwise.

Parting, your heart pounds like a damned drum as he squeezes your ass but you pluck his hand off of you, pushing him back down onto all fours.

“Elbows and knees, Arlert. I’m not finished with you yet,” you murmur and you see the shiver in his body at the idea. He does as he’s told, lowering himself until his face is against the mattress and his ass is up in the air, and you migrate to his end again, through the molasses air until you’re where you were before. 

A hand on the small of his back, you ease your fingers in again, and this time, when he lets out a sharp whine, you know not to give up but to give in, push against the spongey flesh at your fingers that sends his hips jolting back into your palm. Peering at a pretty blond head, you frown when you see his palm has found its place over his mouth again and without thinking, your hand on his back trails to his ass, giving it a light slap before squeezing the flesh.

“Let me hear you, pretty boy,” you croon as his back arches with a choked ah! that fills your stomach with butterflies. Pushing down on his spine, with every whine, moan, desperate more, every pleading deeper, baby, you reward him with another thrust of your fingers that makes Armin writhe with pleasure you can feel everywhere in his body. Heat licking at your own face, you get so lost in the rocking of his hips, the sheets twisting under Armin’s fists as he tries to chase his own high, that you nearly miss the signs of his coming orgasm.

Classic: he starts swearing like a sailor.

“Fuck—hngh!—C’mon, baby. Come on. I’m so close.”

And the panting that’s so noticeably heavy and fast that it’s a wonder he can even breathe with how much he’s begging and squirming by the pressure of your fingers alone. 

Those two things echo in your head as you pull your fingers out just as he stands on the brink of his eyes rolling back from the black-out euphoria he must’ve been on the edge on because when you stop, he lets out the loudest fucking curse you’ve ever heard in your life.

No, fuck! Baby!” His whines are music to your ear as he buries his face in the silk. “Baby, I was so fucking close! You, you—“

“I? I?” you tease, a thrill igniting underneath your heart at how he sweats and arches underneath your hand. “You’re just so pretty for me all needy, Armin. Not every night I get to edge you.”

“It could be,” he pleads, his hips lowering to the mattress again as he reaches forward for a pillow to shove between his legs but you smack the hand away as you stretch for the nightstand. “Baby, just let me cum. Let me cum and I’ll let you edge me every night. Please, please, please—“

“Armin,” you censure, although the words are enticing and you know if you brought it up to him outside the bedroom tomorrow morning, he’d blush and have to accept his own vow. But you’re not that cruel. “When have you ever given in to my pleading?”

Maybe you’re worse. You don’t mind that at all.

“Sometimes, I do. When you’ve been a good girl.” His hips begin to rub against the silk sheets as you grab the strap-on and buckle it up comfortably around your hips. Armin’s oblivious to it all and you let him have his moment of faux relief, pretending you don’t notice. He’s going to need the breather after you’re done with him. “And I’ve been good. I swear it.”

“Really?” Grabbing the lube bottle that’s been lost in the sheets, you squirt a hefty amount all over the silicone and run your hand up and down the shaft, warming it up. “I don’t think trying to fuck yourself on silk sheets like you’re a prince without a whore is going to help you much now is it, hm?”

His hips freeze and you chuckle to yourself, the power trip making you dizzy as you hum appreciatively and lean over him, the tip of the strap leaving a wet trail from between his cheeks down his spine. Your lips find the knob of his spine, mouthing at it warmly as his entire body goes taut and you reach blond hair, nosing it away and sucking a mark onto his neck. He lets out a soft moan, lifting his head and reaching up a hand to wrap around the back of your neck. 

Bracing yourself, you smile and find the sensitive spot right underneath his jaw, biting gently.

“Armin,” you whisper huskily against the shell of his ear, nose drawing along his temple. “What’s that again about being a good boy?” You return your mouth to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, grinning wickedly when his back arches and he lets out a helpless whine. Inhaling the smell of clean soap, you crane your head to look down between your bodies. He’s laid out bare in front of you, and you wiggle your hips, nestling the strap back between his ass cheeks, just to get him used to the sensation.

Tearing yourself away and back up, you cup his thighs and pull him back up to his knees.

“Anyway,” you continue, as if remarking on the weather, “I don’t know if you do deserve this anymore. Seeing as if every time I stopped touching you, you’ve gone to rutting the bed like I wouldn’t notice.” The tip presses against his hole and you feel his shiver. You tilt your head. “Nothing to say now, huh.”

“No, no, please. Fuck! I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I won’t do it again. I promise. I really promise, baby.”

“Right.” You don’t believe him, but nonetheless, you smile. “Why don’t you prove it and relax?” A soft noise keening from his mouth, he nods and lowers himself deeper. Counting silently to yourself, you wait until he gets comfortable.

When he does, you set a hand on his hip, another on his back, and slowly push in. 

“Ah!” His head snaps up, knuckles blanching as he grasps the sheets. Breathing quickening, he stiffens but you hush him quietly, stroking soothing shapes into his skin. You slowly ease out again and he exhales. A heat sears through your chest and the urge to slip your fingers in, to push against the spongey part again until he’s begging, not for you to stop or for you to continue, but just crying begging for you, causes you to groan to yourself.

“You don’t know how pretty you look all like this, Armin,” you murmur as he shifts back and you laugh gently. “You really want this, hm?” You push back in gently, and it goes easier this time. Your hips nearly press flush against his skin as he lets out a choked noise. “Lemme hear you, yeah? God, I wanna hear you so bad, baby.”

“Hngh! Ah—“ You draw back only to sink back in again, bottoming out and you know you hit it when his elbows slide out from under him, cheek against the bed. You pause, tip pressing against the prostate until he’s blabbering, voice going raw with desperation. “Baby! Baby, baby, baby, oh God—“

Guts tightening, you bite your lip, trying to hold back your own moan as he tries to jerk back. 

“You want me to move, baby?”

“Yes! Yes, please. Please, please, please.” His hand claws at his face, caging his mouth but doing nothing to muffle any of his noise as you push harder. His eyes roll back and you smirk, pulling back. “Baby!”

“Alright, alright. Since you asked so nicely.” And you sink into him, faster this time, hitting your mark so easily that when his moans arise, it’s only incentive for you to continue thrusting, your movements sloppy but quick. Hips against his ass, your fingers dig into his hips as he begins to rock back against you, settling into an unsteady rhythm only they can begin to understand.

You watch in delicious satisfaction as Armin falls apart, raising his ass higher, sinking deeper into his chest. A soft whine rises with every movement as he gasps out, “Harder,” and you nearly fucking lose yourself in the high-pitched rasp in his voice. His voice begins to thicken when you listen, and you catch sight of his cheek, glistening with tears.

“You close, baby?” you pant at the sight. Fuck, he’s so fucking pretty; it’s otherwordly. Your hips beginning to tire, the smack and slide of their skin the only other thing you can feel besides how hard and tight he is as he nods, red lip trapped between teeth. “Yeah? You’re doing so well, you know? God, I’m so proud of you.” He lets out a whiny mhm! A harsh throbbing between your legs, you squeeze his hips. “C’mon, baby. C’mon. You’re so pretty. Pretty boy crying for me.”

“God, I love you,” he cries out, body beginning to shake as his breath hitches in his throat sharply like a ragged gasp after nearly drowning. “I love you so much. Please, let me cum. I wanna be good. Lemme be good for you.”

Lurching forward, you plunge as deep as you can into him and he lets out a hoarse wail as you sink your teeth into his side, at his ribs. Your arms wrap around his waist, holding him flush against yourself and he shudders, head raised as he claws at the sheets, riding off his own orgasm on your strap, shamelessly, with reckless abandon and you press your face into his shoulder blade, rocking with his moves.

Soft, airy moans fill the silence as he stubbornly tries to keep going as he falls back on his knees, in some yoga pose you can’t remember the name of, and you draw yourself back up, shallowly rolling your hips against his until he’s crying into his arm, ears red, cheeks red, everything red and warm and slick.

Sighing, you finally pull out and he lets out a whimper at the loss. Sitting back on your ankles, you begin to unbuckle the strap, climbing over his shaking leg to grab the towel on their nightstand. Wiping off the lube and juices from the silicone, you glance over your shoulder at your dazed boyfriend, and a soft smile pulls at your mouth as he tries to catch his breath. Back rising and falling, he wipes at his face and you chuckle, abandoning your cleaning efforts to crawl over to his face. Leaning down to kiss his cheek, you hum.

“Pretty baby,” you murmur as his blue eyes rake over your face, down your body covered in a fine layer of sweat. You lay down beside him, mirroring his position so you’re on your stomach, chest resting on your forearm. Your other hand lifts, fingers brushing through hair that falls over his eyes lazily. His irises are still blown out with lust, the residual pleasure still occupying his face in how lax his face is, how he barely keeps his eyes open. “You okay?”

“More than okay.” His voice is nothing more than a mumble as he turns to plug his eyes with his forearm and you laugh, scooting closer to kiss his ear. “I dunno if I can walk tomorrow, though.”

“I did go a bit hard on you, didn’t I?”

“’S okay. I asked for it.” He lifts his head with a cold breath, and he looks at you again. “I wanted it. So badly. You did so good, baby.”

“A-Armin—“ His name is swallowed up by his lips and you let out a noise of surprise as he cups the back of your neck. Pushing you onto your back, he deepens the kiss and their legs tangle up as his other hand runs down your side. A soft moan spills out of your mouth into his as he trails inward, exploring the slick pooling down your legs. Without a second to waste, he sinks a finger in easily to the first knuckle, curling sinfully and your legs spasm against his.

“Maybe you liked it more than me,” he hums, lifting his mouth from yours. Before you can refute that claim, he’s travelling down your body, free hand adoring every single curve and line. You let out a small protest as he slips his finger out but it’s almost instantly replaced by his mouth suctioning onto your cunt. Heat splinters through your body and your legs wrap around his head immediately.

“Fuck, Armin,” you sigh, hands buried under the pillow above your head as he laps at your slit and when you raise your head to see him peering back, you groan at the sheen covering his chin and lips. His eyes are still blown out, darkened with lust, and he dips his mouth again as the coil inside you tightens and just seeing him beneath you again has your eyes rolling back. His hand squeezes your thigh as your breath hitches and you feel it coming, harsh, white, and hot.

Chest blistering tight, your eyes flutter shut and your fingers scrape at silk as your hips rut against his face. You’re so fucking close—fuck, fuck, fuck—

“Armin!” You let out a hoarse scream as he slams a hand over your mouth and your back arches as his other hand presses your hips down. Eyes rolling back, your hands wrap around his wrist as he sucks on your clit, massages you through the crashing waves that run through your body. Legs trembling, you try to move away but he only huffs a laugh, kissing your slit before licking a stripe up. The overstimulation makes you whine, shaking as he continues to tease you out, drinking you, eating you as if you’re his last meal on death row.

His name spills out of your mouth in shameless babbles, praises about how good he is for you coming out raw as you try to catch your breath but he won’t let you. Not even for a second. 

Armin only breathes you in—hums against your soaked thighs, biting gently on the flesh, and your hands fly to your face, one over your mouth, another over your eyes as a helpless, incoherent plea spills out of you. You feel the smirk in his cheeks as he pushes himself closer and your hips nearly lift but he pulls you back down to the bed, chuckling.

“Am I good boy now?” he asks huskily against your cunt. Shivers shoot up your spine and he inhales deeply, squeezing your thighs like he’s never seen something so fuckable. “Or do I need to prove it to you again?”

[apocxlypticangel]

sated (bucky barnes)

Prompt: Bucky helps you wind down after a tough day

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Spoilers:None

Warnings: Smut, dirty talk, mentions of unsatisfactory masturbation, hint of degradation, mention of muscle relaxer.(just shameless smut definitely not based off of real life frustrations)

Authors note: First time writing something like this, kinda nervous. Please leave your thoughts and positive feedback/criticism. Thank you, lovelies!

18+ puh-lease! thank you! :)

After about an hour of unsuccessful attempts to ease your stress, the clock now read 4:00am. Throwing your head back, you sighed. Fuck me. “Ha, that would be nice.” you snort, quickly throwing on a t-shirt and panties before leaving your room to find your way to the compound kitchen in the dark. You needed water and a muscle relaxer, anything to ease the tension in your neck and the pain in your head. It had been a stressful day... or week. Or month.

Once you reached the kitchen you flicked the light on, making quick and noisy work of getting your glass and filling it with water. You thought nothing of it, its 4am and the compound is like a damn castle. You looked over the counter into the living room, debating on whether or not to find something on TV to drown out your desperation, but quickly find a pair of sleepy blue eyes staring directly at you from the couch. Of course it was Bucky fucking Barnes. Suddenly you were very aware of your minuscule attire.

“Could you be any louder, doll? I wasn’t quite ready to go to sleep yet.” He grumbled out, raising one eyebrow at you and tracing your body with his eyes. Your surely disheveled hair, dry lips and eye bags probably weren’t helping your situation. ���I could be louder actually. Maybe you should sleep in your room, Barnes?” You accidentally snapped and then sighed. “Sorry, ‘m sorry. That was rude of me.” His slightly annoyed expression quickly turned into a frown while he stared at your exhausted form. “What’s wrong, doll? Can I help with anything?” His eyes softened when you slumped down at his questions. Of course you could help. You could come fuck me. Before you realized you had even said it under your breathe Bucky’s eyes narrowed. You slapped your hand over your mouth, mentally cursing yourself for being so stupid.

“So that’s what’s wrong?” He hesitantly inquired. You were now pinching your nose between your pointer finger and thumb. “You know, maybe I’ve had a rough day and maybe all I wanted to do was fucking orgasm, but that’s not really any of your business..” You heard a faint chuckle, shuffling and then feet padding across the floor before they stopped in front of you, “It is when you ask me to fuck you, sweetheart” You could just hear the smugness dripping from his voice, but it dissipated as soon as the pet name came out.

Tiredly, you drug your eyes up to meet Bucky’s and sighed. After today, your brain was fried and you could have been defeated by Groot at this moment. “Do you want me to help you?” he offered quietly, eyes flitting away from yours for a millisecond. You stood there, looking at the boy- no, the man in front of you. It was only now you noticed he was shirtless with a pair of sweats hanging low on his hips. His abs carved perfectly along with the v-shape that disappeared into his pants. This man was built like a fucking Greek God.

“I-... I don’t-“ You stumbled over your words, cheeks flushing. “All you have to do is ask, doll. Tell me what you need from me.” His reply came soft with a warm smile creeping onto his face.

“I-um... yes, uh, please. I need it so bad” Your words came out jumbled as you tugged the hem of your t-shirt.

Bucky took your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, tilting your head to look him in the eyes. He let his lips graze yours for a few seconds before he connected his lips with yours softly. It wasn’t a needy kiss, he was feeling you out and you had nothing left to do but just take what his soft mouth gave you.

He walked you back and pressed you up against the kitchen counter, his hands made their way down your sides to your thighs and he caressed them. He slowly removed his lips from yours to kiss down your chin, around and down your jaw line to your neck where he nipped at the flesh just below your ear, his tongue quickly slipping out and licking over the place he surely left a mark.

You let out a sigh at the feel of his contrasting hands. His right is soft and warm while his left is firm and cold, the feel of his teeth and tongue on your neck adding to the sensitivity of your skin and the heat pooling between your thighs. “Bucky, bedroom please. We can’t do it out here.” He let out a small laugh against your neck and gripped your thighs to pull them up around his waist. Your breath hitched in your throat as you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck. He walked to the elevator to take it up to his floor.

When he reached his room he hurriedly opened the door, moving you into just one of his arms, making your core rub against his covered cock. You let out a quiet moan and circled your hips against him; trying to gain any friction you could. He let out a deep hum and laid you on your back on his bed. He caught your lips in a hungry kiss and grabbed a fist of your hair to pull your head back. He licked up the column of your neck before grabbing the bottom of your shirt and pulling it over and off your body, discarding it to the floor somewhere.

Your cheeks flushed when he pulled his head back to stare at your breasts for a split second before he dipped his head and licked one of your nipples. You let out a sharp breath when he took your sensitive bud into his mouth and brought his cold, metal hand up to toy with your other nipple. He followed his first sharp suck with a light bite to your nipple, causing you to arch your back and let out a soft moan. You tangled your fingers into his dark hair and pulled ever so lightly, forcing a grunt from his mouth.

He flashed his eyes up to your face, a devilish smile dancing on his lips before he began kissing down your torso, down your abdomen to reach just above the top of your panties. He licked from the band of your soaked panties to your bellybutton before placing a wet kiss to your clothed clit. You bucked your hips against his mouth involuntarily. He pulled down your panties and tossed them beside your now exposed form.

You whimpered at the vulnerability of your state. Completely naked and soaked for the super soldier. He tugged your legs apart to take in the sight of your dripping cunt and smiled. “Look at you. Absolutely fucking soaked for me, sweetheart.” He placed small kisses to your inner thighs but never quite made it to where you needed him the most. “Bucky, please. Please just do something, anything.” You pleaded as you locked eyes with him. You could barely see the blue around his dark pupils that were blown with lust.

He brought two fingers up and spread your lips to lick up your slit to your bundle of nerves, drawing a wanton moan from your open mouth. He winked at you and lapped at your wet cunt. He gripped your legs so you couldn’t close them whilst he slid his tongue into your tight hole, thrusting it in and out before coming up to suck your clit into his mouth.

“Fuck, Bucky. Don’t stop” You choked out, gripping his sheets so hard your knuckles turned white. You could feel the coil in your stomach wrapping itself tighter and tighter. You were almost there. “Almost-almost, Bucky, please!” At that he let go of one of your thighs and slipped a finger into your tight core. You let out a breathy moan and ground your hips into his finger, needing more. He caught on and slipped a second finger in, thrusting and curling them until he found your g-spot; hitting it the first time and you couldn’t help but moan rather loudly, which prompted Bucky to find your panties with his other hand and shove them into your mouth.

You bit down on the fabric inside of your mouth as the thrusted his finger one last time and gave your clit a not so soft bite, tearing your orgasm from you. He watched your face intently, how your eyes shut and brows furrowed. He felt you clamp down around his fingers and go stiff in his hold as he finger fucked you right through your perfect, much needed orgasm.

Once he was sure you had ridden your high completely, he removed his fingers and sucked them clean while moving back up your body. You tore your panties from your mouth and grabbed the back of his neck to bring him down for a sloppy kiss, moaning at the taste of yourself. He pulled away and looked at you through hooded eyes, “Think you can cum one more time, princess? Wanna cum on my fat cock, huh?” He cooed and you could only moan out in response, grabbing the top of his sweats and pulling them down, urging Bucky to take them completely off.

He was sat on his knees in front of you when you finally got a look at his cock. It was long and thick and your mouth suddenly went dry at the sight of him. You wanted it in you so bad that you grabbed his shoulders and drug him down onto your body, locking your legs around his waist. He chuckled, “Needy little thing aren’t you? So desperate to take my cock”

You didn’t even have time to think about answering him before he slid his red, leaking tip through your wet folds before pressing into your core inch by inch. You clenched around his length as he slid into you and moaned. He was only a little ways in but he filled you so perfectly. The stretch was perfect, the way it stung and split you open felt amazing.

He pushed himself the rest of the way in, burying himself to the hilt he left out a moan. “Fuck your little pussy takes me so well, sweetheart. So wet and tight just for me.”

You laced your fingers through his hair as he dragged himself out slowly, leaving just his head inside and then pushing himself back in at an agonizing speed. “Buck, please. No teasing. Need to be fucked, please.” You whined out and pressed the heels of your feet into his ass, urging him to move. He buried his face into your neck and complied, beginning to snap his hips up into yours at a vigorous pace.

Moans fell from your mouth as he fucked into you. Your eyes were screwed shut, trying to meet his thrusts with your hips but ultimately failing. He grabbed one of your ankles and slipped your leg up and over his shoulder, angling himself perfectly to hit your sweet spot.

You cried out, his name falling from your lips as you came closer and closer to the edge, the coil from only moments ago wound tighter than before. Bucky was grunting and panting, “Won’t you play with your pretty clit, baby? Gonna cum soon, but can’t until you do again.” You immediately obeyed, sliding your hand between the two of you and rubbing tight and fast circles onto your throbbing clit.

Bucky’s pace became frantic and impossibly harder as your pussy fluttered around him. He thrusted up into you and hit your g-spot roughly, snapping the coil in your belly.

“Shit, Bucky! Oh fuckfuckfuck yes!” He fucked you through your second orgasm, hips stuttering and grunts of your name falling from his lips. One last hard thrust and he was stilling deep inside you, spilling his seed. You moaned at the feeling, clenching and milking him for all he was worth.

Both of you stayed in that position, Bucky’s limp body on top of yours. He picked his head up and placed a kiss to your cheek before pulling out slowly and getting off the bed. You watched him walk into his connected bathroom and heard running water. He returned with a wash cloth and cleaned you up, throwing it back into his bathroom and collapsing beside you.

“Feeling better now that I fucked your brains out, Doll?” He turned his head and smiled at you.

“Didn’t know old men like you knew how to do that kinda stuff to a woman.” You quipped and turned on your side, laying your head on his chest and smoothing your palm against his toned abdomen.

He rolled his eyes playfully and wrapped his arms around you. “Go to sleep, before I put something else in that mouth besides your panties.”

You hummed thoughtfully, but decided you were too tired to argue. “Okay, thank you. Goodnight.”

“Anytime, dollface. Goodnight”

[eirikaanemo]

As the Rain Falls

Venti x GN!Reader

1.3k Words

Warnings: Mentions kissing

It all started with Venti, you, and Venessa’s tree. The day was beautiful, though a rainstorm seemed to be on its way. At the rate it was going you would have a good couple hours before the rain actually started though. Which is good because you know if you got caught in the rain you could get sick.

The moment you shared under the branches of the large tree is a peaceful one. He’s putting the finishing touches on a song he has been working on for a while. You’re half listening and half focusing on what you’re scribbling down on your notepad. When the two of you hang out it often turns out like this. There’s just something about being near each other that makes it a bonding experience, even though you’re often doing completely different things.

Venti lets out a sudden whoop in excitement. He has stopped strumming on his lyre and is stretching out his fingers some to relieve them of the stress he’s put on them by playing for so long. “I finally finished it!” He exclaimed victoriously. “My latest masterpiece took a bit, but for this story it’s a perfect fit!”

You smile in amusement. “Rhyming again, Venti?” You inquire. The smile he sends you is more of a smirk than anything. Something about it makes your heart leap to your throat.

“Of course,” he replies. “The habit lingers after writing a song, is anything about that wrong?” He raises an eyebrow at you, as if daring you to have a problem with his habit. If you didn’t know him so well you probably would not have caught on to the fact that he was teasing you.

“Of course not,” you assure him with a small laugh. “If I had an issue with it I would have told you long ago. I find it quite endearing, actually.” His heart skipped a beat as he tried to keep from blushing.

He quickly changed the subject. “How would you like to hear my new creation? It’s short but I think you will like it. And I’d greatly appreciate your observations.” You found his subject change confusing but graciously allowed the subject to be dropped. Maybe something had made him uncomfortable?

“Sure,” you easily agree. “I’d be happy to listen and give you feedback!” He cheered and pumped a fist in the air. Then you settled down and started the song’s introduction.

There once were two friends as close as could be

Who often meet out under a tree

They spend time together, doing different things

And yet to each other more closeness it brings

The two are so happy to simply be friends

Yet at least one of them sought different ends

See, what they had was much closer to love

Often of the other that one would think of

Still they stayed quiet out of disabling fear

Would their confession be one the other would hear

Maybe someday they would let their friend know

But they were most terrified that they would say no

And so pining in silence that person did stay

Though they dreamed constantly of that great day

When they would admit to their dear one their love

In hopes that the other would return their love

There was a long moment of silence as you think about what he has just basically confessed. The last fleeting notes of his song seemed to linger in the air. Your thoughts were flashing through your mind a million miles a minute. And your heart was beating at the same pace.

Maybe he didn’t know, but you’ve liked him for a long time.

It wasn’t any one thing that happened. No love at first sight, heroic events, or sudden realizations, the two of you have just gradually grown closer and closer as time went on. You fell in love with him piece by piece. You cherish every part of him, the good and the bad. His simple presence brings you comfort, he has simply become home. And home is where the heart is.

But the thought of him returning your feelings was one you had almost completely rejected. He is a free soul, seemingly detached from society at large. Sure, you consider him a friend, but a little part of you isn’t so sure.

And yet there are moments that remind you that he does care. Sometimes he holds your hand. Sometimes he flirts with you. Sometimes he takes you on outings that are almost like dates. But that couldn’t be. It must all be platonic, joking, or coincidence. Right? There’s just no way he could return your feelings.

Or is there? He had essentially just admitted to being in love with you. Are you dreaming? It must be a dream. You pinch yourself and yelp as it hurts, attracting Venti’s immediate attention. He hurries over to your side.

“Are you okay?” He asks, eyes scanning you to see what was wrong. When he didn’t see anything he looked at you, confused.

“I’m fine,” you reassure him. “I just- I just had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.” You take a moment to swallow. “So, uh, did you- did you mean it? Was that about us? About me?”

This time it’s his turn to swallow anxiously. “Yes, that was about us,” he reveals. “And yes, I do like you. I didn’t really expect you to catch onto that the first time you heard the song, sorry about that. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, I wouldn’t want my feelings to hold you down like that.”

You reach out and press your pointer finger to his lips in a “shhh” motion to stop his rambling. When he finally looked back up at you, you had a fond smile on your face. “It’s okay, Venti,” you promise him. “I like you too. I have for ages, really. It makes me really happy to know that you return my feelings.”

His responding smile lit up your world. Your breath caught when he leaned in to press his forehead against yours. “I’m glad,” he utters softly. “I’m so, so glad.” Reaching forward to place his hands on your hips he flicks his eyes from your eyes to your lips a couple times before licking his own lips nervously. “May I kiss you?” He timidly asks.

In response you move your hands to his shoulders and whisper a quiet, “Yes.”

The press of his lips to your own feels magical. The whole situation feels magical, but the moment his lips met your own you knew that it was really real. Venti really loves you. He loves you! And between that thought and his kiss you nearly melt in happiness.

The wind whips around you and picks up speed as he gets more invested in the kiss. By the time he pulls away for you to breathe the rain clouds are right overhead. With a flash of lightning and a crash of thunder, the storm breaks right over your heads. It relentlessly pours to the ground, pounding against the leaves and branches of the tree before soaking both of you to the bone.

He hesitates as you try to pull you in for another kiss. “But you’ll get sick!” He protests. You make a mental note that he didn’t mention himself in the statement, but are too busy wanting to kiss him to care.

“I don’t care if I get sick, catching a cold from kissing you in the rain is worth it.” You grumble and he finally lets you pull him in for that kiss. It was just as wonderful as the first and you regret nothing, even when you do come down with the promised cold. After all, Venti is there to help the whole time. How he avoided getting sick, you don’t know. All you know is that he loves you and wants to be there for you, and that’s all that matters.

[fangorl-trash]

In the Dark

The Mandalorian x fem!Reader

Summary: you and din have an intimate bonding moment...in the dark.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: SOFT. SHY. MANDO. uhh... slight mentions of a dark past, but it’s vague af, like not even warning worthy BUT JUST IN CASE LOL. curse words. there’s no smut, but if yall want a part 2, lemme know ;) if i forget anything, lemme know lol

A/N: first of all, this gif makes me FEEL things jfc wow i adore din. secondly, hi there lol! this is definitely a self-indulge piece lmao, but i hope you guys enjoy nonetheless! i can promise there are no season 2 spoilers, cause i’d like to think it takes place between the two seasons. aaaand this was all based off a brainrot hour i had (you can read it here, if you really want!) so...yeah lmao. Enjoy y’all! :)

The night before was just like any other night. Chuckles and giggles and stories whispered and shared back and forth. Hands itching to get closer, to connect wholeheartedly, but never having the courage to do so. The calm before tomorrow’s storm of bounty hunting.

A small, yellow-tinted light above the shared cot illuminated the two. She thought he looked like a guardian angel, the way it shone off of his armor dully. He thought she looked like a goddess, the soft light giving her a halo.

They were hopelessly in love.

Y/N and the Mandalorian. A dynamic duo, of sorts. Two different puzzle pieces from two different puzzle sets, yet they somehow fit together perfectly. She loved him for his tenacity, his fierceness in battle, and his big heart he only showed to her. He loved her for her kindness, her empathy, and the way her eyes sparkled when he came back to the ship after a long day.

They were hopelessly in love with one another, yet neither has said it. Maybe to both of them, saying it was not enough; the actions and moments shared between the two was what truly defined it all. The way he purchased antique books for her to read, because she mentioned it once. The way she grabbed extra blankets from the closet because he got cold at night easily.

The night before was just like any other night. It was calm and quiet and pleasant; almost too pleasant for Din’s liking. In the line of work of a Mandalorian, pleasant never lasted long. But Maker, he swore that time stopped when he saw you that next morning.

When he looked over to see your sleeping form, his breath hitched in his throat. The yellow light above you was dim, but showcased your features brightly and beautifully. You laid on your side, arm tucked under your ear and other hand laid at your side. Your hair fell over your forehead and cheeks.

You looked like a dream.

His gloved hand reached out and tucked a strand or two behind your ear, so he could see his beautiful girl. After all you’ve been through...you were still Y/N and Din. Din and Y/N.

A feeling of gratitude overcame him suddenly as he gazed upon your angelic form. You deserved everything good in this world. The prettiest of jewels, that sparkled in the starlight. The largest of feasts with your favorite intergalactic meals and beverages. Whatever novel that you craved to read next.

He would go to the ends of the galaxy for you. Anything to see that smile.

He prayed everything he did for you was enough, even if it was all so small and minute. You deserved so much better than what he was giving you.

His gratitude took a negative, insecure turn. He knew what you really wanted, what you really deserved that he couldn’t give you: physical love. He can’t kiss you. He can’t hold you. He can’t look in your eyes and tell you how much you meant to him.

He thought of himself as selfish. He wanted all of those things and more. He wanted to feel your lips against his. He wanted to look in your eyes, and your eyes only. He wanted to hold you close without beskar separating you. He wanted to feel your skin against his fingertips, because holy fuck, you just look so soft and so fucking warm.

With a soft sigh, his leather-clad fingertips brush down your cheek and over the curve of your arm. Dank farrik...what he would do to hold you. Hold you properly.

Something clicked in his brain all of a sudden. Why is he being such a pussy? He’s THE Mandalorian, for Maker’s sake. He knows just the solution.

~~~

That night, you dreamed of your past life. Before you met Din. Before you both met the Child. Though your dream wasn’t a nightmare, it was still dark and dull. You honestly couldn’t wait until it was all over.

And then you felt lips on the inside of your wrist. Slightly chapped and slightly wet, with small hairs tickling you as well. A gentle hold on your fingers. The kisses slowly trailed up the inside of your forearm, curving against your elbow before continuing their trek up the rest of your arm to your shoulder. It tickles, you thought, shifting under the stranger’s hold.

Your eyes fluttered open with a soft groan. A blanket of pitch black overwhelmed your vision. Panic struck your heart. What in the world is going on right now?

“Good morning,” a voice spoke, breath fanned across your exposed shoulder. Shy, but certain. A low grovel, but not due to a helmet’s voice amplifier.

“D...Din,” you mumbled, fingers grasping his tightly. Your heart skipped a beat at the feeling of...of him. “Wh-What...what’s going on? I-I can’t see.”

He took a pause. “I turned off the lights.” Another pause. “I just...wanted to...”

Even though his voice trailed off, you knew exactly what he wanted to say.

This was new territory for the both of you. Neither of you were scared, per say, but...nervous, cautious. Your voice and your actions matched how you felt. After you sat up and crossed your legs, you reached out with your vacant hand on bated breath. “M-May I?” You requested quietly, hesitatingly. Your eyes scanned about, but you couldn’t find him within the dark ahead of you, even though you were barely a foot apart.

You learned that in certain situations Din’s silence meant yes.

Your fingers made purchase with his bicep, but you backed away just as quickly as you touched him.

Okay, so maybe you were scared. Just a little.

You both sat there silently, slowly counting the moments before one of you made a move. The ship thrummed around you two, but the blacked out bunker was quiet overall. After the bounty hunter released a shallow breath, he lifted the hand that held yours, bringing it to his cheek with a Din-like grace and sureness. A smile stretched both of your lips at the feeling; the feeling of you actually touching. Wholeheartedly Connecting.

His stubble was a pleasant surprise. It felt scratchy under your soft fingertips, but it felt...it all felt like home. Your fingers cupped the back of his neck tenderly, your thumb brushing against his cheekbone. His own fingers brushed against your left upper arm and shoulder delicately, feeling your goosebumps rise slowly as he brushes against the strap of your tank top.

You shuffled a bit closer to Din, now in between his open and bent legs. You didn’t know you were holding your breath in until you let it out, shaky and soft. His own breath reached your forehead, delicate and quiet. Your other hand lifted up, hand finding its place on his chest. Once again, you were pleasantly surprised to touch his bare skin; soft and warm to the touch. Your fingertips yearned to travel, and before you could stop your curious thoughts, your middle and ring fingers brushed against a rough scar. It was a jagged, diagonal line, only about three inches in length. Dry, scabbed-over skin, a story untold. You suspected he had battle scars galore, but actually feeling one was...shocking.

The reality of this man’s career suddenly hit you like a shot from a blaster. This man...this man that you loved.

How many of these untold stories were near deaths? How many stories would have ended without Din back in your arms?

You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat before your fingers continued their journey, a confident spark behind their actions. They ventured across his beautiful canvas, blindingly mapping out the divets, marks, and bruises of his skin. Your hands gripped and caressed at his shoulders and arms, your fingers brushed against his cheeks and jaw. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, and the banging of his heartbeat. You couldn’t help but smile at that. Other than the fingers on your arm, Din remained unmoving under your touch; if he was being honest, he had no clue what to do.

You finally smiled as you felt his hair, fisting tufts of it gently. It was coarse and curly, but you didn’t mind. “What color is it?” Your voice was hoarse, crackling softly in the dark room.

“Brown,” he said after a moment, a small smile of his own. His own fingers made their way up your arm, past your shoulder, and cupped the back of your neck like you did to him. His pointer finger rubbed back and forth in a small motion, a small habit the bounty hunter grew over the months. It was...very different, to feel you under his touch like this. He’s held your hand and stroked your hair and cupped the back of your neck tenderly, but..touching you this way was new territory for the Mandalorian. It was scary, in a way, especially for him.

He ventured on with a brave face.

His other hand found it’s way to your calf, slowly and carefully kneading the skin. You wondered if this was the first time he’s...he’s felt skin since he was a child. You wondered what he was thinking in the moment, if he thought you were beautiful or not. You dismissed those thoughts to the best of your ability. This was your moment, and you’ll be damned if your own brain ruined it. His hand cupped the back of your knee, his whole chest craning down to press a sweet peck to your knee cap. His eyes closed for a brief moment, embracing the feeling of your skin on his lips in the brief moment they were in contact. A shiver ran up your spine; now you remained unmoving, frozen solid by Din’s hot, pillowy lips against your skin. His hand then trailed up the outside of your thigh to your hip. He skirted over your cotton shorts to your waist, gently caressing...you.

He thought you felt enchanting under his touch. You were absolutely perfect. And he loved you so much.

Nerves pierced his heart. His small smile fell. He lifted his hand to cup your other cheek, both of his thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. Your hands stopped in their tracks, the nape of his neck under one palm and his right shoulder under the other. “Can I...may I...”

You didn’t let him finish. The way you leaned in was carefully calculated, nerves an underlying color of it all. Din sat straight-backed, unmoving once again. He was so scared to mess this up for you. I mean...your first kiss shared. He imagined how much that meant to you. It meant a lot to him, too.

You proceeded to lean forward until your lips were pressed against his as your eyes fluttered close. Just as quickly as you two connected, you were apart once again. A small and short kiss, a test for you both. Din leaned forward this time, without anymore hesitation, capturing your lips as he pulled your body into his.

You weren’t surprised Din’s first real kiss was going to be...well...Din-like. Methodical. Purposeful. Caring underneath all of the layers. You were surprised at the fact that Din’s first kiss felt...like destiny. Like this moment was written in prophecies years ago, and it’ll be written in history texts for years to come.

You were surprised because his lips moved against yours like he knew what he was doing.

Your arms found their way wound around his neck, and his wound around your waist. His kiss was patient and sweet and really fuckin’ good. His mustache tickled your top lip, but you didn’t mind one bit.

Right before he pulled away, his cheeks quirked into a smile against your lips before falling to their neutral state.

“I, um...” you began, eyes sparkling in the darkness. You wondered if his baby browns shone the same way, tracing your figure in the darkness. Even though you had so much to say, your voice became stuck, lodged deep in your throat. Tears sprung to your eyes.

He did this for you, didn’t he? He turned off the lights in your guys’ bunker. He took off his helmet. He...he kissed you. Dank farrik, he just kissed you. And he let you touch his hair and his face and...him.

Even though the pair of you weren’t doing anything particularly sexual, every bit of this moment that you shared in the dark felt more intimate and vulnerable than you could ever hope for, dream for, ask for.

The cotton in your mouth expanded slowly, ridding you silent and helpless in the arms of the man you loved. Of the man you would sacrifice everything for. Does he feel the same? Would he do the same for you? A tear tugged down the apple of your cheek as you buried your face into the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms around him tighter. You sniffled softly as his hands caressed your back and hips.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He questions, holding you close to his chest. His right hand rubbed small circles in your back and he sat patiently awaiting your response, but the cotton continued to expand into your mouth.

“I...I, uh...” You begged the cotton to be rid, you prayed for your tongue to move and say the words. The three words that have been dancing around the two of you day and night, for months now, being said over and over again in your mind.

Somehow, Din knew what you were going to say. He was positive you could hear his rapid heartbeat, but if you did, you didn’t show it. He craned his neck down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Then, he leaned down to your ear and kissed your lobe, his breath hot against your skin. The lumps in your throat melted away.

“I love you,” you finally said.

The buzzing energy in the bunker seemed to still and quicken all at once. The humming you heard before silenced. Din pulled you closer to his chest, his arms tightening their grip around you. He didn’t say anything for awhile; you were sure he fell back asleep, leaving your confession unheard.

“I love you too,” he said.

You couldn’t see his eyes or his mouth forming the words. But you could feel his love, feel his dedication for you. Under his fingertips, in his arms. It was all love for you. Tears returned to your eyes. You hugged him even tighter, burying your face into his shoulder even more. Anything to bring him closer to you. Anything to feel him more.

The two of you stayed like that for what seemed like hours. You actually fell back asleep, filled with more content and love than ever before. Din put you back to bed quietly and carefully, tucking you under the wool blanket you pulled from the closet the night before. He lifted one hand to cup your cheek, craning his neck to plant a lingering kiss on your other.

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t want to get back in his armor. He wanted to lay here, beside you, mask off and lights on. He wanted to see your smile as his eyes reached yours. Responsibility tugged at his heart and his brain. He knew what he had to do, what he was born to do, even if he hated it in this very moment. This is the way.

When you woke up again, you were alone in a dimly lit bunker. A hefty sigh fell past your lips. Maybe it was all a dream. You touched your lips with the pad of your fingers as your eyes fluttered close. You thought to yourself, if it was a dream, then why did his lips feel so real?

You changed into your normal garb and climbed out of the bunker. After lacing up your boots, you climbed the ladder into the cockpit. Like every morning, the Mandalorian was at the helm and the Child was in his designated seat. Din pressed buttons and steered the Razor Crest stoically, and the youngling played with his small metal ball. You approached the child with a smile and a pat to his head, in which he gurgled and grinned at your touch.

You then walked over to the Mandalorian’s right side, boots slowly and softly padding against the metal floor. His head remains forward, even when you place your left hand on his shoulder. Cotton fills your mouth again. What are you even supposed to say?

It takes you a moment before words form on your tongue. “Thank you,” you say softly. “I...I care for you...a lot. I...I love you. And I appreciate you. Thank you.”

His head turns now, looking right at you. You wondered if his baby browns were looking into your eyes right now, calculating what to say and what to do. Din lifts his left, gloved hand to your cheek. Underneath the leather, you can feel his warm, delicate touch that you were able to feel this morning.

“Anything for you, my love.”

[echo-of-sounds]

hands

Small headcanons about the hands of Aizawa, Toshi, Hizashi, Fatgum, Gang Orca, and Hound Dog.

Hands have always been one of my favorite body parts. I used to love anatomy and wanted to be a surgeon. But once I saw a video of a surgery, I lost all interest.

Warnings: it’s nothing in any detail but some of these mention injuries/blood

Aizawa Shouta

Shouta has big palms. Hair and veins are noticeable on both sides. On the dorsal side, dark hair from his arms brushes along the outside. There’s a light dusting on his proximal phalanges. Prominent veins line the dorsal side as well. You can trace them up along his wrist and forearm.

On the palmar side, blue and purple veins lay close to his pale skin’s surface. They’re seen remarkably far up his arm and down into his fingers. A few light scars mark his palm. And warmth radiates from his palm. It’s excellent on chilly nights. While cuddling, his hands slide under your shirt, keeping your stomach warm. 

His fists are one of his main weapons (on his body). Consequently, his knuckles have taken a beating. Even with the proper posture and punching technique, his fingers will eventually feel the damage of socking skull bones over and over, even more so since he doesn’t wrap them. His metacarpophalangeal joints (MCP) are a little distorted. His pinky’s shifted, his middle is much higher than the others, and his ring’s have receded. They don’t affect his hand movements, but he does feel pain and gets twitches every now and then.

His cuticles and skin around the nails are dry, flaky, and peeling. Most of the skin on his hands is rough and dry, but he never uses lotion. If you want to help, just sit beside him one evening as he’s watching TV and massage thick layers all over his hands and fingers. And keep his hands in yours. He’ll completely forget and rub/wash it off.

Yagi Toshinori

Toshi’s long fingers easily wrap around your thigh. They rub and squeeze and, despite the roughness, feels pleasing on yours because of their weight. However, they are prone to shaking and weakness. His physical health may be the source, but his anxiety also causes trembling. Days when sleep is little and anxiety is high, it’s the worst. If you happen to notice it, don’t comment, just hold his hand for comfort.

His hands are just so big and beautiful. When he had his powers, his hands were rougher and dryer. He has calluses below the proximal interphalangeal joints (PIP). His index, middle, and ring finger are the worst ones. Dry, cracked skin surrounds them, stretching around and between each finger. Thick skin covers his upper palm.

Now that he isn’t working as a Hero, his hands aren’t constantly being beaten and cracked and torn, and have (somewhat) healed. He started using heavy-duty reparative lotion and the improvement is clear. His skin isn’t as cracked and rough.

The tendons in his hands and wrists are very prominent, especially on his dorsal side. The extensor pollicis brevis and longus are noticeable even when his thumb is resting. He also has a palmaris longus tendon that you can feel quite a ways down his forearm.

Toshi loves when you play with his hands- move his fingers, trace his tendons, kiss his knuckles, massage his palm, anything. Though his fingers are often cold. When he first reaches for your hand, it’ll jump you a little. At night, he’ll tuck his hands in your shirt or wrap you tightly in his arms to warm them up. On the plus side, he always wants to cuddle!

Yamada Hizashi

Hizashi’s palms aren't that big. It's made up for with his beautifully long, nimble, and agile fingers. His proximal and middle phalanges are elongated. They’re steady and dexterous, letting him handle tasks that require care and precision. And since his fighting style doesn’t call for his hands in any way, they aren’t all roughed up and dry.

He always takes care of his fingernails. They’re trimmed, the skin around them is perfect, they’re sometimes painted black or dark purple, and he likes wearing clean-cut, masculine rings. 

They’re fairly warm. His gloves help. If you’re ever stuck outside on a chilly night, he’ll take your hands and tuck them in his pockets with his hands. They’re so smooth and fluid as they rub yours. And at home, they give glorious massages, caressing and stroking everywhere.

From playing instruments, there are a few guitar calluses on his fingertips. They’re nowhere near as bad as the other guys' though. Along the same lines, aches and joint stiffness bothers him if he’s on a marathon playing piano and bass. You’ll have to step in and tell him to stop because he won’t want to, possibly hurting himself in the process.

Taishiro Toyomitsu

Big. Really big. Seriously, his palms are huge. Tai will pat your head and it'll feel like a book is being knocked against you. And, god, his fingers. They’re thick and solid and oh so delicate as he picks up tiny cupcakes. 

His flexion lines are deeper than average and there are a few calluses on his upper palms. It’s being cracked and dry he needs to worry about though. It doesn’t help that he’s always washing his hands because he goes from fighting to eating to fighting to eating multiple times a day. He could use lotion more often than he does.

Tai’s MCP joints are like Aizawa's, but his are a little more misshapen and damaged. His pinky’s warped outwards, pulling the skin tighter in that area. His middle finger’s bumps high and is sensitive to touch. Sometimes when his hand is overworked, his fingers won’t glide up and down naturally. It’s almost like they snap up and down instead. His metacarpals and muscles are often sore as well.

They definitely deserve pampering. Ice his wrists for fifteen minutes, then carefully massage his palms and knead his fingers. The popping and cracking don’t hurt him. It actually feels nice as the tension releases. A groan or two might slip out. After, he’ll want to repay you… using his fingers.

Gang Orca

They feel different because Kugo’s skin isn’t human, but it’s not a bad difference. He enjoys running his palm over your skin and it’s surprisingly soft considering his job. Seeing his huge hand on your stomach fuels something deep within him.

His fingers are long, his palms are big, and his joints are robust. His hands are just sturdy powerhouses. Finger pull-ups are no problem for him. Yet they’re still gentle in everything they do. 

Tendons on his dorsal side may not be able to be seen, but they definitely can be felt. Move his fingers around while stroking the back of his hand, and they’ll pull and constrict under your thumb. They’re just as strong as the rest of him.

Because of his mutation, he doesn’t have nails. His fingertips are pointer than an average human's, and he’s always been careful with them. As a kid, he scratched things a lot. Now, after years of training and bodily awareness, it rarely happens. But he’s still scared of scratching someone, specifically you and children.

Kugo’s skin doesn’t crack and peel. Although they do dry out and it’s painful. Lather his hands in body butter then put plastic gloves on him to keep the moisture close.

Hound Dog

Rough, calloused, thick, and firm- that’s not just Ryo’s personality but his hands too. His palms are calloused. His fingers are thick and firm and do damn near everything roughly. Papers crinkle when he picks them up. Pen and pencils break in half when he uses them. A few laptops and tablets have been busted from him grabbing them so hard. He could take a few pointers from Kugo on how to be gentle.

Under his PIP joints, there are rather severe calluses. They break open and bleed and regularly cause itchiness/pricking. Band-aids don’t last. Bandages get torn. One day you’re just going to have to wrap his fingers together and duct tape it closed to let his skin heal. He’ll bite the tape to get it off. Distract him with food or movies.

Hair comes from his arm up to the back of his hand with some dusting the tops of his fingers. His extensor digitorum tendons are handsomely raised with veins vining around them. They’re perfect for when you’re in the car and your thigh is begging to be squeezed, highlighting their size and strength even more. 

Even though Ryo’s nails aren’t actually pointy, they’re tough and durable, and if they hit you at just the right angle, they could easily puncture your skin, maybe take a tiny chunk out. He trims his nails to prevent them from hurting anyone. The second they’re five millimeters over, they’re clipped and filed down.

[itsjustmyfantasyroom]

Paper Surprise part 2

Follow on from: Paper Surprise

Just want Miguel to have a happy ending cause I love him. Thank you @beccabarba for reading over it to see if it was ok before I posted it.

Warnings: Smut.

WC: 2511.

Enjoy x

You were walking around the gallery doing some final touches on the multiple art works hanging around the walls while the catering staff set up the food and drinks. You made sure all the lights over each piece of work was on, there was no dust on them and they were hanging straight. You had just walked into the break room to put on your heeled boots when you heard the bell of the front door,

“Sorry we’re closed” You walked out of the room pushing your skirt down over your stockings and you stopped in your tracks freezing. You pulled your glasses off your face to make sure you weren’t seeing things,

“Y/N” His voice sent a shiver down your spine just like the night on the beach just a couple of years ago. You stood there raising an eye brow at him and crossing your arms in front of yourself leaning into one hip “I was hoping you still worked here”

“What are you doing here Marcus? Wait no, I mean Miguel”

Miguel walked over to you resting his hand on your elbow. You didn’t shy away from his touch and a smile pulled to his face. You looked down at his long fingers resting over your clothed elbow before your eyes scanned up his arm, up to his neck, over his bearded face and locking eyes with him,

“I want to talk to you. That night at the club. You haven’t left my mind” he sighed.

“But you lied to me” you snapped back.

“And I’ am sorry I did, but I didn’t have a choice, I thought if I changed my name- I was naïve, it’s the biggest club in Cabo it was going to catch up with me”

You snorted and nodded your head at him.

“The opening is in 20 minute’s”

“Meet me after? Please?” Miguel titled his head looking down at you “The café on the next block over- midnight?”

You looked up into the sea of brown, your knees trembling threatening to give way and you instantly felt comfortable despite knowing about him.

“Ok” your voice was horse till you cleared it and you nodded.

Miguel lent forward, his warm lips landing on your boiling hot cheek. You sighed into them, your eyes closing for a brief moment before he pulled away giving you a quick wink and turning on his heels to walk out the door. You stood there frozen watching as he walked out, getting into a black SVU and it driving off.    

Before the opening you had messaged Alice letting her know what had happened and giving her the details of the meet up, just to be on the safe side. You flicked the gallery lights off at 11.45, walking out and locking the door, a big smile planted on your face at how successful the show was and how pleased your boss was that you had managed to secure buyers for every piece, all deposits paid in cash within a couple of hours.

As you made the short walk to the café, you stopped at the store front next to it, looking at your reflection. You fixed your white button down in your skirt and you hooked you hair behind your ears. You opened your bag pulling out your gloss, quickly reapplying some and walked to the door opening it and walking in.

Your eyes scanned the dim, somewhat crowded room, when you found Miguel sitting in the back corner looking directly at you. You weaved your way through the tables and he stood up as you got him, walking around the table to greet you. Miguel lent over kissing your cheek and then he moved the chair out for you to sit down and he sat down across from you. You both put in your orders and then sat back in your chair looking at Miguel leaning on the table,

“How was the opening?”

“Great. Sold all the pieces” you smiled at him.

“Congratulations. Thank you for meeting me Y/N”

“No worries. What did you want to talk about?”

Miguel took a deep breath licking his lips “I want to explain why I gave you a different name. I want you to see me for me, not for anything you have read or heard”

You sat there and listened on as Miguel explained everything to you. About his family, about him, about the bad things he done without going into detail, about his marriage, why he left Santo Padre and what happened in the last two years.

“Ok” you took a deep breath sitting up in your chair leaning on the table “That’s a lot to take in. You have a very colourful past Mr Galindo”

“I do, I have a lot of regrets. I didn’t want to add you to the list Y/N. That night- it felt amazing to be wanted again, for me”

“I’ am not going to lie, you haven’t left my mind since then. Even after everything I read. But what are you doing now?”

“Helping out with club in the Height’s, hopefully opening another one and running that”

You nodded and fell silent for a moment, sitting back in your chair, “Legit business?” you said out loud and Miguel nodded back.

“For the first time in my life. Y/N, I can understand if you don’t want anything to do with me after lying to you and you hearing all that. It’s a lot and I did a lot of things I’ am not proud of and still haunt me. But I didn’t want to lie to you again. I didn’t want to hide anything if you do decide to give me a chance and if you don’t I’ll never disturb you again, but I’ll never forget you”

“Are you really done with that life?” Miguel nodded back.

“Sleep on it” Miguel grabbed your hand. "I’ll be at the club tomorrow night covering a private function. If you show up, that’s your answer”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then that’s your answer” Miguel squeezed your hand.

***

You walked into the club when most people should be sleeping. You had a talk with Alice and she told you to go for it,

“Y/N, it’s been two years! He’s done more than enough to prove himself and he has been honest with you, what more do you need?”

You walked into the overly loud, overly crowded room getting up on your tippy toes to try and see over the sea of heads looking for the private room. You noticed the ‘Private Function’ sign and started to make your way through the crowd. You made it to the bar standing in line when you felt an arm come around your waist and a pair of lips at your ear,

“Guess I have my answer” You smiled wide and turned, coming face to face with Miguel “See those stairs over there” Miguel nodded towards the side of the room “Go up and wait for me”

“Ok” you nodded and smiled.

You stood up in the office space looking out the big roof to floor window, looking down at the dancing crowd, the strobe lights flashing and bouncing off the walls and the bar que 20 people long. You saw Miguel walk out of the private room and to the bar saying something to the bar tender, who hurried off and he looked up at you giving you a wink before the bar tender was back handing him a bottle and two glasses and he started to walk across the dance floor.

You were tapping your foot to the beat of the music when Miguel walked in through the door closing it behind him and walking to the desk sitting the bottle of wine and the glasses on it. He was behind you in a flash, his arms going to wrap around your waist pulling you back into him. You bit your bottom lip as he kissed up your bare shoulder, the feeling of his beard brushing on your skin making you giggle and squirm against him,

“You came” Miguel purred into your ear “I’ am glad”

You turned your head, looking out of the corner of your eye at him, a grin pulling to your face.

“I’ am glad I did too”

You pushed back into him and a growl escaped him, pushing his crotch into you. You wriggled your hips over his hardening cock and his arms around you tightened.

“I promise you, Y/N” one of his hands ran up to cup your breast over your shirt and the other ran down to your thigh toying with the hem of your skirt “I will be completely honest with you”

You moaned nodding your head. Miguel’s hand slid up your skirt, up the inside of your thigh.

“And” you gasped when his finger slipped into your panties “If your past comes back to bite you, you need to tell me. Oh Miguel” you groaned when two fingers slipped into your warm wet core and he started to pull you back from the window backing you both towards the desk.

“I promise” he whispered “But for now, it’s been two years” His thumb connected with your clit and you groaned, your knees trembling as his fingers started to move in and out of you fast “I know this is going to be as good as I remember”

The pit in your stomach was filled with knots and your skin caught on fire as the knots snapped, your breathless moans bounced off the walls and your knees threatened to give way as you came hard on his fingers.

“Good girl” Miguel grunted into your ear thrusting his hard cock into you, pulling his hand out of your panties bringing his fingers up to your lips, while his other hand slid up your shirt, his hand rested on your belly button.

You grabbed his wrist parting your lips and sinking his long fingers into your mouth, running your tongue around them, pulling them out with a pop and Miguel groaned in your ear. Miguel pulled his hand from out of your shirt and stepped back, reaching into his pocket pulling out a foil wrapper. You turned, reaching over to undo his belt buckle, pants button and unzipped the zipper pushing them down to land at his feet. Your eyes locked with his lust filled ones as you hooked your pointer fingers into the waist of his boxers, pulling them down and letting them slide down to meet his pants. You ran your hands up the tops of his thighs, one of your hands resting on his hip and the other wrapping around him, stroking him lazily.

Miguel surged forward, his lips finding yours, the kiss intense and deep straight off. Miguel’s free hand run up your arm, up over your shoulder, over your neck and up into your hair, balling his hand into a fist pushing your head into him more. His pre cum covered your hand and he pulled back taking your bottom lip between his two, stretching it out and then letting it go for it to snap back into place.

His hand came out of your hair and he ripped the foil packet with his teeth, throwing the wrapper on the floor and rolling it one. You licked your lips watching his long fingers moving over him as he rolled on the condom. Before you knew it, Miguel grabbed your hips spinning you around and bent you over the table, pushing the middle of your back forward so your chest was resting flat on the cold metal desk. You felt his fingers at the hem of your skirt again pulling your skirt up over your hips and his fingers traced down over the lace edge of your cheeky cut panties,

“See you came ready for me, dirty girl” Miguel’s fingers grabbed the waist of the panties and pulled them down letting them slide down to your ankles.

“Miguel’s dirty girl” you purred, pushing your hips back into him.

A smirk came to his face and both of Miguel’s hands gripped your hips and you felt the head of his cock starting to push up into you, the stretch an amazing burn. Miguel saw your mouth drop open and he thrusted up the rest of the way till he bottomed out. He didn’t give you much time to adjust to him before he was slamming into you hard, deep and fast, hitting the right spot every time. You lifted your chest up off the table, resting on your elbows, pushing back into him, his balls smacking into you.

You felt the familiar sensation starting to wash over you and Miguel started to feel your walls clamp around him. One of his hands started to run up under your shirt running up over your back and his other snaked around to your clit rubbing it with his pointer finger,

“Fu-Miguel” you panted out loud.

Miguel thrusted his hips up into you hard, his movements getting sloppy, his own release not far behind. You pushed back into him hard your hands balling into fists on the desk, chanting his name and your eyes slamming shut tight while your orgasm raged through you. Miguel trusted up, his balls tensing and he fell forward, his hands landing on the desk as he spilled his seed deep inside you, your name and Spanish words pouring out of his mouth.

Miguel lent over you, kissing your shoulder up to the base of your neck before pushing up off the table, pulling out of you and moving away to clean himself up. You finally caught your breath pushing yourself up off the table, bending down to pull up your panties and push down your skirt. You used the back of your pointer fingers to wipe away smudged mascara. You turned around searching for Miguel and he looked over at you with a smile on his face as he did up his belt buckle walking over to you.

When Miguel got to you he cupped both your cheeks, his lips meeting yours kissing you sweetly and then peppering your face with kisses wrapping his arms around your shoulders pulling you into him. You wrapped your arms around him, you both melting into each other, Miguel’s head resting on top of yours. You both staying like that for a long moment.

After a while you felt Miguel reach up taking your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, tipping your head back,

“Thank you”

You frowned looking up into his face and then raised an eye brow,

“For?”

“For being my second chance” Miguel brushed his nose over yours “I promise Y/N, I have learnt from my mistakes”

You pulled your chin away from his fingers and reached up to cup his cheeks. You ran your thumbs over his cheeks and he smiled down at you

“Hey, I just want you to be you. Everything is in the past. New York, New Miguel.”        

 Tags: @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo @withmyteeth @alwaysachorusgirl @amorestevens

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 1600~

Summary: Lapis genuinely doesn’t know how many hours (Days? Months? Years?) have passed when light finally graces her eyes once again.

Ah, my first Lapis POV fic! This one has been in my drafts for ages- at least a year and a half. Feels nice to finally have it done.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3

________

Finally Free

It’s funny, in a way.

She spent thousands of years trapped inside herself, unable to form... hating the Crystal Gems... fearing the endless destructive conquest of the Diamonds... and yet in the end, the first time she falls in a battle she fought willingly she does so fighting alongside those star-bearing rebels, face-to-face with the very Diamond who abandoned her to Earth to be forgotten to begin with.

And now, she’s gone. Trapped inside herself again. It’s equal parts disorienting as it is concerning. After all, Lapis Lazuli cannot see the world beyond. She has no way of knowing if the Crystal Gems lost or won. No way of knowing if she’ll be shattered at any moment. It’s nerve-racking— suffocating! She wants out. She wants to know.

But no matter what she tries, she can’t manage to pull herself out of this formless limbo on demand. She always imagined that the next time she got struck down she’d reform in an instant... pop right back up like the next day’s dawn, ready to slice the waves and swing her fists like she’s never been shaken to her knees in the first place. Apparently not.

Despite her dearest wishes, it would seem the universe has a higher agenda.

_

Lapis genuinely doesn’t know how many hours (Days? Months? Years?) have passed when light finally graces her eyes once again.

Fittingly, it’s the ocean who greets her first as she hovers midair in the midst of reformation, arms outstretched and coursing with newfound strength as her form fully solidifies. She gently falls to her knees on the sand. With the sun’s energizing warmth kissing the gemstone on her back, she spreads her fingers through the fine granules, her relief at being free from unconsciousness’ cruel prison so palpable and overwhelming that for a moment she’s irrationally terrified she’ll poof again from the intensity of this fierce emotion alone. Her hard-light body remains solid, however. After all, she’s a stubborn Gem. There’s no way she’ll let herself poof as easily as she did this time around ever again.

Coaxing herself to her feet, she makes a clear point of judiciously surveying her surroundings. Her first big clue as to the outcome of the battle is the fact that the Diamond ships still lay broken and motionless in the shallows at the edge of the peninsula. (Not to mention the fact that the Earth is still... well, here.) Directly behind her, she finds a makeshift worktable formed out of a thick board placed over twin stacks of wood, with plenty of human tools scattered across its surface. No one appears to be hanging around Steven’s house right now, but there’s a sizable tarp thrown over the half that Blue’s ship smashed during the battle. That’s good, that insinuates that someone’s alive to begin repairs. Although, wait a minute... Her brow sharply creases as she filters back through recent memory. Wasn’t that ship still leaning against the side of the cliff when she poofed? How’d it get into the water? And how did the arm ship’s thumb get reattached?

Before she can fret about these mysteries further and and risk losing herself to a burst of paranoid panic, she hears her name called from the distance. Attentively, she whirls around, seeking its source.

It’s Peridot, sprinting right towards her across the fine sand as if the rest of this growing, changing world has somehow hurtled to an abrupt stop. But not her. Goodness, never her. She’s always in motion, always manages to be so alive.

And she... she’s changed her outfit. There’s stars everywhere, on her leggings at her knees, in the silhouette formed by the shape of her visor and hair, and plastered proudly right across her chest. Lapis can’t help but give a fond smirk at the sight. It suits her. Now she can finally represent like a true Crystal Gem.

“Lapis!” she exclaims as she crosses the final distance, lands herself face-to-face once more. “You’re finally back!”

For a minuscule moment the green eyes behind that tinted visor glitter with deep affection and relief, and her arms stretch outward as if she intends to envelop her in a tight embrace and never let go, but as oft is the case, the turbulent waves of emotion coursing through this Gem are riddled with more complexity than initial appearances let on. And if there’s one thing Lapis fails to excel at, it’s understanding how to best respond to the nuances of complex emotions. She’s never been much of a people person, even before her capture.

Eventually, the joyful familiarity within Peridot’s expression dims, and— inhaling deep— she steeples her fingers together as if she were an agate merely addressing a subordinate. The tone of her voice becomes bitingly procedural, detached.

(Try as she may, Lapis can’t block the ephemeral ache this new reality elicits at her core as the conversation continues. She clutches at her wrist, shamefully dropping her gaze to the sand.)

“Anyways,” the former Kindergarten technician says evenly, gesturing at the mess littering the beach behind them, “we have a lot of work to do. No time to waste!”

Her brow creases. “But... didn’t we win?”

“We did, yes,” she nods in confirmation. “Bismuth can explain in more depth, but she’s currently on one of the diamond ships. We’re fixing them so we can fly out as backup.”

“Backup? Backup for what?”

Peridot’s cool and collected guise crumples at this query, her hands curling into small fists as she blinks away any lingering evidence of her distress.

“Steven’s in trouble,” she reveals. “We just received a distress message from him yesterday. I’m told he returned to Homeworld with the Diamonds to discuss healing all the corrupted Gems, but...”

“Something went wrong,” she guesses, the shadow of her bangs darkening over her eyes. “They turned on him.”

“Well... we don’t really know what happened. Which is why time is of the essence!” she says with a sudden surge of positive energy, swiftly jabbing her pointer finger in the air. “Follow me, and I’ll show you where we’re working.”

Her old roommate prepares to jog away, towards the other side of the beach where the ships lay in temporary rot and ruin. Time stills in Lapis’ mind, if but for a brief moment, as she watches the sunlight glint at the upper edge of her visor, the refraction producing almost kaleidoscopic patterns in the sand. The choppy rhythm of the ocean, its undulating melody as it washes in and away from shore, uninterrupted... it almost sounds sad. She hums a few bars of a song she wrote back in her solitude, on the moon. And then she realizes, eyes widening... that she never really left that place, did she? In a way, even though she returned to Earth, it’s like she’s still stuck watching everyone from that observation sphere, still barring herself from nurturing her relationships with others out of fear.

Lapis throws her glance out towards the endless horizon, standing tall and erect as the loose pants of her new form billow against her legs in the light breeze. The long-held tension at her core releases. She’s done closing herself off from people. She’s done with feeling trapped and alone. She wants to mend her relationships, not let them erode away.

Which means... she has to at least try to make things right with Peridot. Somehow.

The tide’s pace resumes to its full intensity. At that precise moment, her friend turns on her heels, swiftly preparing to return to their work site.

“Peridot,” she says, quickly stepping forward to catch her shoulder before she can walk off, before she journeys to some distant shore where she can’t follow.

The shorter Gem freezes in place upon the utterance of her name. She doesn’t respond in words initially, lips tightly pursed. Waiting. Hoping.

(Stars, just say it!)

“I... I shouldn’t have run away,” Lapis blurts out, her form growing lighter the second that vocalization crosses the threshold from her guilt-filled subconscious to shining reality. “That was... a huge mistake. And I really wish I could make it up to you, but...” Her scattered focus shifts as she searches for something— anything— to say in further acknowledgement of her regret, eventually landing upon the shattered remnants of wood still strewn across the beach. She sighs sadly, giving her respects. “I’m pretty sure we can both agree that the barn’s a goner.”

Under her hold, Peridot’s once-tense shoulder relaxes. She makes no move to face her, however, still drinking in the no-doubt humbling sight of this planet’s boundless sea

“Well,” she begins slowly. “As long as you work to communicate with your friends whenever you feel overwhelmed in the future, and promise not to kidnap all of my morps into space again, I think we can call it even.”

She places one of her hands atop hers, the action but a small sign of their renewed goodwill.

“In any case, I’m- really glad you’re back,” she says, fondness evident in her tone.

Lapis smiles.

The ocean’s melody is no longer tinged with a companionless melancholy.

_

It’s funny how things can change.

She spent thousands of years terrified of the consequences of being caught as traitor to the Great Diamond Authority, and now she’s planning to illegally commandeer a diamond ship to fly a rescue mission into the stagnant heart of Homeworld. She’s only been a Crystal Gem for the equivalent of a few minutes, and yet she’s already reformed bolder and braver than ever before.

She feels strong. Despite the inherent danger of their task, she feels an ever-building reassurance, fighting amongst her friends. For the first time ever, she finally feels like someone has her back.

Lapis closes her eyes as she reflects on the culmination of her journey, standing confident alongside her dear friend on the bridge of Blue’s ship.

No more searching. No more running. She’s finally free.

[whumpasaurus101]

Washing out that mouth

This is basically Asher having a breakdown, and getting a nice sudsy surpise >:)

CW: Aloooot of swearing (Asher gets a bit angry...) / Dehumanisation / soap in mouth / vomiting (brief mention) //

Wordcount: 1,108

“Come on love, wakey wakey.” Asher groaned as a stabbing of light came into his view. He stretched and groaned again. “Sweetey, if you keep making those noises, I'll just have to join you in that bed!” Asher immediately stopped and rolled out of bed. Rodger’s eyes dropped down to Asher’s exposed torso, small scars, bruises and cuts littered his skin. Those were marks he gave him. Asher was his. “Nonce,” Asher teased. Rodger smirked and raised his eyes to Asher’s, “Get dressed, I've decided I want you to have breakfast.”

Asher’s eyes widened, he was going to get fed! “Y-Yes sir.” Rodger left and Asher scrambled over to the dresser and got changed in his usual baggy t-shirt and baggy tracksuit bottoms. He was skinny. He knew that. But he tried to ignore it. He tried to ignore his ribcage that stuck out and his legs were like sticks.

He tried to stop himself from sprinting down the stairs, Rodger had punished him once from storming down the stairs too fast. He stopped at the open door of the kitchen. Rodger noticed him, “Ah, Asher! Come in, come in! I made pancakes.” Asher started walking but then he stopped, “Why- why are you being so nice?”

“Can't an owner treat his dog? Jeez, come on, kneel, it's getting cold.”

“You're not going to… you know… kill me or anything, are you?”

Asher jumped as Rodger chortled a loud laugh. “Of course not darling! Not yet anyway, you're far too precious to kill. But don't let that comfort you too much, because if you become useless and a brat, I will kill you.” Asher gulped. “But not today, so come, kneel!”

Asher slowly crept into the kitchen and knelt beside Rodger’s usual chair. Rodger hand-fed him. Asher had to stop himself from biting Rodger’s hand off ass he devoured the for. It was delicious, warm, sweet. “Slow down now,” Rodger chuckled, “You have no permission to puke.” Asher swallowed the last bit of glorious pancake that was in his mouth and looked up at Rodger, “Thank you, sir.”

“Oh silly, you have some syrup on your cheek!” Rodger brought Asher’s face up to his and licked a line up his cheek. Asher froze, his breathing was shaky and uneven. Rodger tucked a lock of Asher’s hair behind his ear, “Your hair’s getting longer.” Asher gulped, his joy sunk. “I think I like it longer.” Asher didn't. Asher hated it.

“What's wrong love?” Rodger hummed, massaging Asher’s scalp. It was too much. Rodger knew that, that’s what made him continue. The food, the lick, the messaging, the threats, Asher couldn't breath. He quickly pulled away from Rodger’s hold on his chin. “Let... l-let go.”

“Oh, I see the stupid stutter has come back, do I need to retrain you? Are you that dumb?” “N-no! No, I'm- I - no!” Rodger raised his eyebrows, “Well, let's sort out you pulling away from me first. Why did you pull away?”

Asher took a deep breath, there was no right answer, he was going to get hurt no matter what he said. “I-I just-”

“I-I” Rodger mimicked, “Jesus fucking Christ, you are dumb!” Rodger grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked Asher up to eye level. Asher gasped, “N-n-no! Please!”

“No, no, no, no. Don't you beg, you're supposed to be the tough one, hm? But really, deep down, your just a broken pet, isn’t that right, 034703?”

“No! I'm not falling for that again. You're a fucking sick bastard! I hate you! I hate you! I wish you would burn in hell! You fucking, shithead, bastard, fucking-” Asher was panting. And then he looked up at Rodger who’s eyebrows were raised in surprise, “Are you finished love.” Asher went to run away but was stopped with another yank of his hair. He yelled out in pain. “Right then, I can't let you off with that, let's fix it, shall we?”

Instead of being dragged to the basement for a punishment, he was dragged to his ensuite. What the fuck was about to happen to him? He was forced to kneel on the cold tiles. “Open your mouth.” Asher’s heartbeat quickened. What sick shit was Rodger planning? “Asher, now.” Again, asher refused, keeping his jaw clenched. Rodger sighed loudly -louder than necessary and closed Asher’s nose with his thumb and pointer finger, blocking the air source. Asher’s eyes widened. “Oh and by the way, if you pass out, it will make this worse, and me more angry.”

Just as Asher started to see black spots, he opened his mouth and gasped for air. Before he could collect enough air, Rodger shoved a bar of soap into Asher’s mouth. Asher tried to spit it out but Rodger was quick to put his hand over Asher’s mouth, “Chew.” Asher made a muffled scream and shook his head. He was gagging on the vile taste. “Chew.” Asher knew there was no escape. Rodger was behind him, his body pressed to Asher’s, hand against Asher’s mouth, breathing into Asher’s ear.

He slowly brought his jaw down, teeth sinking into the bitter, metallic bar. It burned his tongue. Tears were streaming down his face as he screamed and gagged. “Good, again.” Asher opened his jaw and closed it back down. He was going to get sick, heeded this thing out of his mouth.

When the bar was fully broken down, Rodger was almost satisfied, “I’m going to take my hand off baby, but when I do, you can't spit the soap out, not yet, you'll spit it out when I tell you to. Understand?” Asher nodded quickly. Rodger guided him up and to the toilet. “Wait, keep it there, come on you can do this.” Asher couldn't take it, his mouth was on fire. “Spit.” Asher managed to ball up as much of the soap and spat it out. “Oh good boy, now, one more thing baby, then were done, then we can have a rest in my bed, how does that sound, hm?”

Asher was shaking, the taste didn't disappear. Rodger got a glass of water, “I need you to swirl this around in your mouth and then swallow it. Do not spit it out, think you can do that for me?” Asher took the water and did as he was told. Once the water went down his throat, he quickly handed the glass to Rodger and vomited into the toilet. It was water but his stomach needed it out.

An hour went by and Rodger and Asher were lying in Rodger’s bed. Rodger was cuddling behind him, “You’re so good for me baby, I love you.”

---

next

Taglist: @likeit-or-whumpit @as-a-matter-of-whump @whatwasmyprevioususername

[mcfreakin-bxtch]

Welcome Home

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Smut, Half-awake and goofy Reader, Daddy Kink, Soft Sex, Unprotected Sex, Language, Fluffff

Word Count: 2.5K+

Summary: After many sleepless nights (and one missed text), Bucky is finally home.

A/N: Reposting because Tumblr hates meeeeee. I know I’ve been IA off and on here but I promise I’m working on my series as much as I can. It’s been one hell of an year, huh? My inbox is always open for you lovelies. Love you all.

***

The bed feels too big without him.

It’s normal to feel this way on most lonely nights, when Bucky has to be away on a mission—not like he isn’t saving the world or anything, but after two years of sleeping next to his heavy but familiar weight, it’s hard to fall asleep without it. What’s worse is that you can’t rest your head over his heartbeat or crawl into his warm, open arms, or kiss that little pout on his lips.

You even begin to miss the array of clothes spread out on a pile in the corner of the room that he always claims he’ll get to when they start to smell—as much as you want to kill him for it, you sincerely miss it now.

The blocky red numbers glare at you from where it sits on your nightstand, reminding you for the hundredth time that this is the fifth night in a row of tossing and turning and it’s four in the morning. Your body is fatigued but your mind anxious and relentless; he hasn’t texted like he promised he would, like how it’s been on nearly every mission, and maybe it’s because of the fact that he’ll be home tomorrow, not because he’s—

“Stop,” you whisper to yourself.

You let out a deep sigh and flop onto your back—the ceiling still has the same color and the small crack that keeps you fixated for a decent amount of time. Not even the running box fan or the low volume of your tv is doing anything to appease your unsettling thoughts. At this point, you don’t want to get up at all, not even to pee… no, you really need to go.

The bathroom is just as cold as the bedroom feels and it makes you want to cry; you won’t, but it’s close. The slight chilly air stings your bare feet as they paddle across the floor, sitting up this time on your bed and snatching the remote with a huff. You flip through the channels mindlessly, barely paying attention to the titles—titles that you’ve already seen a thousand times—while slumping against the pillows with the hope that SpongeBob SquarePants will be the final solution to your sleeping problem.

You become so engrossed in the cartoon that you don’t notice the creak of your house door, or the soft plop of a bag on the floor, nor the light steps making their towards your room until the handle jiggles rather loudly for someone who’s trying to sneak around; Bucky still underestimates his own strength on some days, like this one.

When the door starts to slowly open you curse yourself for not being more attentive, and try to remember with stiff muscles where that stupid knife Bucky gave you is…

“Shit,” the intruder curses. “Sorry, doll. Did I wake ya?”

The gruff whisper—twinged with a light Brooklyn accent—echoes across the room and straight to your chest, your heart stuttering a beat at the realization; the ocean gray eyes meets yours with a tired but exciting glint that equally matches the one in yours and that beautiful, beautiful full smile greets you like home.

“Bucky!” You squeal quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace, opening your arms out wide for him. “You’re home.”

He chuckles and closes the door behind him, slipping his gloves off, the two or maybe three shirts (armor, padding, whatever it is) he easily shrugs off, then his socks and pants, leaving him in a tank top and boxers. You wait patiently, all the while checking for any new scrapes and bruises or any signs of injury in his expression; so far so good.

The mattress dips under his fists as he leans over to give you a kiss; it’s short, just a quick peck that leaves you whining for more. Instead, he smiles again and rubs the tip of his nose affectionately against yours.

“I missed you,” his breath ghosts over your lips.

You cup his face, his light stubble scratching your skin, and pull him towards a longer, deeper kiss. He moans faintly into the kiss and dips the rest of his weight on the bed, curling into you instinctively; he fits against you like your puzzle piece, and when you lie down he follows fluently, careful of not laying all of his weight on you—as much you really want him to squish you.

“I missed you more,” you say in between kisses, wrapping your legs around his waist. “So—” the loud smack of your lips against his cheek raises a lovely chorus of giggles from the both of you. “—so much! But how?”

Bucky understands. “Caught the guy earlier than expected. Got back at the compound, took a shower—”

“And you didn’t text me, asshole!”

“Aw,” he drawls in a pitch, teasing your ribs with feather-like caresses. “I’m sorry baby. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

He seals his promise with a kiss, not wasting any time in slipping his tongue along the seams of your lips; you grant him access, swirling his tongue with yours. You moan and, without even realizing what you’re doing, slant your hips up, arching yourself into his touch. His hands slide down your body, memorizing every detail of your curves while continuing the dirty, sensual kiss; you then feel the half-hard bulge grinding steadily against your core, but you nor Bucky comment on it.  

He’s the first one to pull back. Bucky doesn’t say a word, and so neither do you, just taking in each breath that leaves his lungs through an exhale, every inch of muscle that rests and moves against yours, and suddenly it feels like you can actually sleep now.  

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs, using the tip of his pointer finger to trace the circles under your eye. “Having trouble sleeping again?”

“I always do when you’re gone,” you mumble back, closing your eyes since he mentioned it.

He starts to move but you latch onto him before he can fully sit himself up, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying his face in your neck.

“Baby,” he giggles, moving his hands to your hips.

“I still have to welcome you home, soldier,” you purr and run your fingers through his soft, short hair.

You grind back at his still hips, grinning goofily at the sigh that escapes his lips. “C’mon, I want to.” Another slow grind, harder than before. “I wanna feel that thick cock fill me up so good, been too long, daddy.”

The breath hitches audibly in his throat, his eyes growing dark and glazed. “You sure?” He asks, because he’s the perfect gentleman as always. “It looks like you can barely keep your eyes open, sweetheart.”

“Not uh.” To prove your point, you open your eyes as wide as they can go. Bucky laughs with a shake of his head that tells you, ‘I love you, you fucking goofball’.

You lean up to catch his slightly chapped lips, and reach down to pull your shorts and panties off; Bucky breaks the kiss to look, groaning at the sight of your glistening pussy. You palm him through the thin fabric of his boxers, giving him a light squeeze.

He buckles against your hand. “Fuck,” he hisses, then chuckles. “It really has been too long.”

“So,” you quickly slip your shirt over your head, reveling in the way his eyes immediately latch on your breasts. “Fuck me.”

Bucky finally gives in with a moan, bumping his forehead against yours for a rushed but heated kiss that leaves goosebumps on your skin. You waste no time in pulling his boxers down, licking your lips at the sight of his twitching cock.

“Oof!”

His entire weight topples on you in his haste to pull his shirt off, crushing the air out of your lungs; he mumbles an unintelligent apology against your open mouth.

Metal rests against the slope of your ass as the other lines himself at your entrance, looking in your eyes for your approval. You nod, too excited and trembling with anticipation. His lips are once again back on yours, the bulbous tip of him nudging through your folds and circling your clit, teasing you with a knowing smirk as you kiss.

Before you can scold him he pushes in, stretching you slowly to the brim until his balls rest at the slope of your backside; it’s a little painful, but the burn is a bonus to the increasing pleasure you feel by him just being inside you.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp through gritted teeth, clutching his biceps with a tight grip. He answers with a nip to your breast, circling his tongue around the perk nipple before completely latching his mouth onto the sensitive mold; his teeth lightly scrapes you, making your body jolt and pussy flutter around him—shit, it really has been too long for the both of you.    

You tighten your legs around him, enveloping yourself in his heat, not wanting to bear the coldness that plagued you in his absence.

“Good?” He croaks from your chest, already sounding breathless.

“Please.”

He settles himself more comfortably between your legs and pulls back until only the tip is inside, plunging back in with a hard, punctuated thrust that heaves your body upwards. A choked sigh scrapes your throat, your hands splayed out on his back, feeling every muscle continue to move and slither; chaste kisses litter your neck with every thrust, hard and steady and deep.

“Buck.”

“I know,” he says. His metal hand cups your cheek, holding your gaze—you’re doing your best to keep your eyes open, but you don’t know how much longer that’ll last. “You feel so good, princess. So good, so fucking good.”

You lift your hips to meet his, feeling the coil in your lower stomach building and tightening and getting hotter and hotter—

“Fuck Bucky right there!” You moan wantonly, shifting your body so he can hit your sweet spot again.

“I got ya,” he rubs your back before pushing your lower half up so he can keep you exactly where he wants you, not once breaking the rhythm you can now so easily create.

His cock continues to bring you undeniable euphoria, scratching against every little itch you have and angling his pelvis so that it grinds against your aching clit, giving you the extra stimulation you need. He kisses you until you have no more air to give, nips and bites at you until there’s marks, caresses your body with a touch only a lover can understand, fucks you so right and smooth that you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock; thank fuck he’s home.

His hips move a little faster, no doubt starting to feel the edge of his climax. As if to prove your point, his hand—the one that was one your cheek—reaches up to grip the top of the headboard, using the pull to push himself somehow deeper into you; like he’s trying to crawl into your body and take shelter where he knows he’s safe.

“Y-yeah, shit B-Buck keep going!” You stammer in between thrusts. Your pussy flutters harder around him, making him squeeze his eyes tightly shut and curse under his breath.

“Me too, pretty girl,” he growls, looking down at you like you’re the most beautiful piece of art he’s ever seen, and in his eyes you are. “Gonna cum with me?” Your cunt clenches around him. “Goddamn baby—” (holyfuckingshit the way he just whimpered has your entire back arching and more juices gushing from your core). “—forgot how tight you are.”

It’s too much now, the friction heating your entire core until it feels like your whole body is on fire, about to implode at any second. Your moans and whimpers spur him on even more, now slamming his hips until the sound of skin against skin—and the sloshes of his dick pounding into you—echoes loudly in the room.

“Bucky I’m gonna come.”

“I feel you,” he grunts. “Come around my cock, babygirl. C’mon, I wanna feel it, sweet girl.”

Your legs tremble and shake as your orgasm approaches you, clouding your mind with a fog and filling your vision with white; you’re so lost in the spasm of your pussy, the thumb now rubbing your clit in tight circles, and the growls and whimpers that he’s doing nothing to hide, that when your cunt squeezes him like a vice, the scream that follows does no shame to the gruff grunts and groans lapping with your vocals.  

Bucky fucks you through your orgasm, your sensitive pussy continuing to flutter around him. It’s like you’re being shocked by bolts with the way your body spasms beneath him, taking everything he’s giving you and more until you’re nothing but a puddle at his bidding; every nerve feels shot and abused, but it’s not complete until he fills you up.

“Christ doll I’m coming,” he growls from his chest, sending shivers through you. You clench your pussy around him and… and he gasps like you just punched him in the gut and suddenly hot spurts of cum fill your pussy in thick, hot ropes.

With one final, hard thrust he collapses on top of you. The air is thick and slick with the air of sex, skin glistening in the soft light of the tv that’s still playing the same cartoon. His chest rises and falls with yours as you catch your breaths, holding each other.

Bucky is usually the first to recover. He raises his head and gives you a tired, goofy smile before kissing you; he uses the distraction to carefully pull out of you, the chill of the air brushing against the combined juices covering your pussy and inner thighs. You grumble with a scrunch to your eyebrows that makes him giggle.

“Hang on.”

He gets out of the bed with a heavy sigh that comes with age—you like to tease him about it every now and then—and flicks the light to the bathroom on, leaving the door ajar. The sound of running water is faint to your ears, the exhaustion of the week settling in on you heavily. The rattles from the bathroom fade with the stress, into comfortable white noise...

The cold, wet cloth makes you jump with a whine (did you actually fall asleep for a minute there?). Bucky shushes you gently from where he sits, gently cleaning you up before throwing the washcloth towards the corner of the room—yes, his corner.

Your arms blindly reach for him, your eyes still closed. You hear him turn the tv off and shuffle around until the covers are being pulled back and he slides in, making sure you’re both completely covered. He crawls into your embrace, laying his head in the crook of your neck and tangling his legs with yours.

“I love you,” you whisper groggily.

“I love you, too,” he says back with ease.

A few moments of silence pass, and just before you reach the land of dreams, one silly little thought brings you back.

“Bucky?”

A minute.

“What?”

“Welcome home.” 

[stufftippywrote]

prom night

16: Why haven’t you kissed me yet? From this prompt list…

Wei Ying is sitting in the beanbag chair when he mentions it, hunched over forward as he plays Mario Kart solo. Lan Zhan is reading, and trying to keep himself from stealing glances at Wei Ying. It's not easy. Wei Ying's legs are miles long, extended on the carpet. He's got his video game face on -- intense, focused, just barely biting his lower lip.

Lan Zhan has just forced himself to look back down at his book when, in a sweeping motion, Wei Ying throws down his video game controller. His eyes dart Lan Zhan's way. "Hey, want to skip prom with me?"

Lan Zhan blinks. He closes the book and sets it aside. "You're not going to prom?" he asks, trying to tamp down on the throbbing of his heart. He was sure Wei Ying would have two or three dates to prom by now. It was that certainty that kept him from asking Wei Ying himself -- that certainty, and maybe a lack of courage.

Wei Ying blows air through his lips. "Pffft. Who wants to go to prom? All that dolling up." His expression changes, and he flips onto his stomach on the big beanbag chair, legs kicking up in the air. "Why, have you got a hot date for prom already? Who is she? Do I know her? When'd you ask?"

Lan Zhan is actively trying not to stare at Wei Ying's legs. "No."

"No, I don't know her? Or..."

Lan Zhan sighs. "I do not have a date for prom."

Wei Ying claps his hands. "Sweet! Then hang out with me that night. I'll show you a good time."

It feels like a flirt, but Lan Zhan doesn't dare hope it really is. Sometimes Wei Ying's just like this. It's maddening, and he's maddening, but Lan Zhan can't get enough of him. Ever since he walked into history class freshman year with a jumbo-sized cup of Coke and a carefree smile, Lan Zhan's been gone.

Of course he will skip prom with him.

So on the night where giggling girls wear corsages and flirt near the punch bowl somewhere across town, Lan Zhan comes over. For a while it's like every other time they hang out: They go upstairs to the attic den and sit by the big TV shoulder to shoulder. They play Mario Kart without talking and, in Wei Ying's case, without blinking (Lan Zhan's pretty sure). But at about 10 PM, Wei Ying abruptly jumps up and switches off the TV.

"Uncle Jiang has to be asleep by now," he says. "Sweet. Time to go."

"To go?" Lan Zhan's vision is still swimming with red and blue shells.

Wei Ying grins and winks at him. "You didn't think we were going to stay around here all night?"

Which is how Lan Zhan ends up sneaking down the steps and out to the driveway and "borrowing" Jiang Cheng's bicycle. He's not sure how he feels about the ethics of all this, but he'd follow Wei Ying anywhere, any way he can. So they make a beeline through the night and end up in front of the Yunmeng Secondary School building. Wei Ying leads Lan Zhan around the side of the building and tucks their bikes in the shadow of a tree.

"What are we doing at school?" Lan Zhan asks.

"Whatever we want. Come on." Wei Ying heads toward the building.

"You're going to break into school?"

"No." Wei Ying makes a face at him, half-lit by a lamppost ten meters away. "It's not breaking in if I don't go into the building."

"Then what are..."

Wei Ying hefts his backpack on his shoulders and points toward the fire escape. Lan Zhan follows that pointer finger all the way up. "The roof?"

"Well," Wei Ying says too loudly, "I'm going up. You can stay here." He makes another face and trots toward the fire escape, leaping onto the first step with a ridiculous amount of grace for a teenager carting a heavy backpack.

You can stay here, he says, but Wei Ying must know that's impossible. Lan Zhan clenches a fist. "I'm coming," he says.

They scurry up the stairs and across the landings like mice in a maze, and Wei Ying swings himself over the concrete barrier and onto the roof. Lan Zhan follows, cautiously. The roof is plain, ugly even, just concrete and an HVAC unit that gurgles dangerously in the darkness. But the view is all right -- sprawls of suburban houses, vague orange glow above the treetops, bright full moon above. Lan Zhan gets a little lost looking around at it all. Then his eyes fall on Wei Ying and he's even more lost.

Wei Ying's wide-eyed, walking in a circle with his arms outspread. The moonlight and the muddled light from streetlamps join to illuminate him, the sharp curve of his nose and those smiling lips. Lan Zhan has, yet again, the urge to hold him still and kiss him. Wei Ying is always on the move, and all Lan Zhan wants to keep him in one place long enough to make his feelings known. But  that would be so unfair to Wei Ying, who is so beautiful when he's in motion. So all Lan Zhan can do is follow.

After a few excited laps around the roof's perimeter, Wei Ying settles next to him and swings his backpack down from his shoulders. When he unzips it, Lan Zhan can see the plaid peek of a picnic basket and a couple of cans of beer.

Wei Ying takes one can and offers the other to Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan shakes his head. Wei Ying shrugs, then pops his can open and drags out the blanket.

Several minutes later, as they lounge quietly on the blanket with the wide sky above them, Wei Ying mumbles, "Lan Zhan."

"Hm?"

"What are you gonna miss about high school?"

There's color in Wei Ying's cheeks, and Lan Zhan can feel his ears go hot in response. He turns over the question in his mind. There's not much about high school that he won't have in college, and he's looking forward to that more than he's worried about missing high school. He turns the question on Wei Ying. "What will you miss?"

"Oh, man, so much." Wei Ying lies on his back and lifts his arms, pretending to draw a bow and aim it at the moon overhead.  He lets go of the imaginary arrow and snickers. "Those stupid pep rallies we had to go to. Huaisang's locker full of dubious items. Failing math quizzes."

"You've never failed a math quiz in your life," Lan Zhan points out.

"I've tried," Wei Ying says with a laugh. "I'm gonna miss the pool."

"There will be pools at college," Lan Zhan says. "Better ones."

"Yeah, but will they have the charm of our dumb little kiddie pool? Will they have locker rooms that smell like beef for no good reason? Huh, Lan Zhan? Will they have that?" He points his finger at Lan Zhan and closes one eye as though aiming a gun.

Lan Zhan plays along, putting a hand on his chest and looking down as though he's been shot. Wei Ying cackles.

They spend hours up there, talking of this and that. Mr. Wen's hair, whether Jiang Cheng really could shove Wei Ying in a locker like he always threatens to, what they'll major in when they get to university, everything. Wei Ying slings over casual questions and Lan Zhan answers them, calm, looking up at the few visible stars. He'll miss this, he thinks. Even though Wei Ying is going to the same university, it's a big campus, and it won't be like it is now, with Wei Ying a few doors down or a classroom away. And there will be so many new people, and Wei Ying will find a whole other group of friends. Lan Zhan will inevitably be left behind. He wishes he had the courage to tell Wei Ying how he felt. He wishes he had any confidence that Wei Ying feels the same.

So he'll hold on to this night, the two of them alone beneath the canopy of sky, the smell of beer and the sting of insects. He'll hold on to the look on Wei Ying's face now, happy and flushed from alcohol, and the way his hair spills out of his ponytail onto the blanket like a waterfall. He'll hold on, and he'll want, and then when he has to, he'll try to let go.

Lan Zhan doesn't remember when they fall asleep, but when he wakes, the beginnings of dawn are painting the eastern sky pale blue. Wei Ying is curled up, head on Lan Zhan's stomach, and Lan Zhan reaches down to touch his hair, pet him gently. "Wei Ying," he urges.

Wei Ying sits up, blinks, and gives a big yawn as he stretches out his arms. "We slept?" he complains. "I wanted to stay up all night."

"You had to sleep off the beer," Lan Zhan says, kneeling and then standing up. The heat that had been Wei Ying's body is dissipating too fast, and the morning air is chilly against his bare arms. He crosses them over his chest, trying to hold in some warmth.

"I was never drunk," lies Wei Ying. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and unfolds from a crouch to stand with Lan Zhan.

"You'll be unstoppable in college," Lan Zhan says with some consternation.

"You'll be there to keep me under control," Wei Ying replies. Strangely enough, it's the first time he's talked about the two of them still hanging out when they go to school. Lan Zhan's heart twinges with a painful bit of hope.

Wei Ying saunters to the edge of the roof and leans on the barrier. "Well, Lan Zhan, how'd you like prom night?" he asks, offering a winning smile.

Lan Zhan just nods. Wei Ying smiles wider.

"How about a dip before we go home?" he says.

Minutes later, they've shinnied over the fence like a pair of climbing monkeys, and Lan Zhan is standing awkwardly next to the school's outdoor pool. Leaves have fallen in from the tree that arches over the pool area, big maple hands with spread fingers. Wei Ying is stripping somewhere near him. Lan Zhan has the good sense not to look. Instead, he turns his eyes to the western sky, still dark with night. The last remaining star winks at him.

And then he has Wei Ying's arms around his waist. "Take off your clothes," he drawls, trying to ruck up Lan Zhan's sweater from the hem. Lan Zhan shakes out of his grip, but not before Wei Ying has laid a warm hand on his bare side. Heat courses through Lan Zhan even after they've parted, and he fixes Wei Ying with an angry gaze.

"Fine, if you want to wear clothes into the pool, see if I care!" And Wei Ying drops his pants in a rush of motion and cannonballs into the water in just his boxers. Water splashes onto Lan Zhan's slacks, and he looks down in dismay. As he does, Wei Ying sends up another fountain of water, and this time it soaks him up to his sweater. Dismayed, Lan Zhan grumbles and starts to strip.

Wei Ying does the backstroke at a remarkable pace as Lan Zhan eases down the ladder into the pool. The water is cold, not icy but chillier than the mild air around them. Lan Zhan swims a lap or two, then relaxes against the side of the pool and watches Wei Ying horse around. He gets splashed several times. It's fine. He doesn't care. Wei Ying's attention is on him, so he'll take whatever shit he's given.

Wei Ying grabs his hands, pulls him underwater. Lan Zhan opens his eyes and blinks away the sting of chlorine. Wei Ying is a big fish, his whole body one sinuous movement. Lan Zhan could grab his elbow, pull him close. Kiss him under the water like some sort of fantasy. He could. He's strong enough.

But he runs out of air too soon, and comes up sputtering to the surface. Wei Ying surfaces next to him and laughs uproariously.

When he's had his fill of the pool, Wei Ying hoists himself up and out, then pulls two big towels out of his backpack. Lan Zhan marvels that they were able to fit. Wei Ying has thought this through, going so far as to bring spare boxers for the pair of them, and Lan Zhan is impressed. If only this was a date he'd planned out so thoughtfully. Lan Zhan's stomach sinks as he reminds himself that no, it's not.

Wrapped in towels, the two of them lean against the chain link fence and watch the sun come up. The orange-yellow light makes Wei Ying squint and shield his eyes. Lan Zhan can't not look - with the rays of the sun streaming onto him, he's all lit up, his face illuminated planes and long shadows. He's breathtaking, and Lan Zhan indeed forgets to breathe, gulping in a lungful of air like he's just come to the surface after minutes underwater. He forces himself to exhale slowly, normally. Why is Wei Ying so beautiful? It isn't fair.

"We should probably head home soon," he forces himself to stay. "Your uncle will wake up."

Wei Ying affects a labored sigh. "I guess," he says. "I'll be in trouble anyway, but you should probably head home and rest."

"Mn." Lan Zhan turns and walks toward the corner where his clothes are piled up. Or, he starts to walk. He doesn't get much further than an inch. Wei Ying has him by the arm, both hands stopping him.

"Wait," he says. "I have an important question for you."

Lan Zhan can do nothing but give him his full attention. He turns to face him.

Wei Ying flushes. The color in his cheeks rises so suddenly that Lan Zhan worries he's gone feverish from the early-morning swim. His hands are still wrapped around Lan Zhan's bicep, strength and warmth against his skin. "It's a very important question," he says, and there's some tension in his smile.

"Go ahead." Lan Zhan ignores the strange lurching feeling in his chest. The sense that something is happening. "What is it?"

"It's like this." Wei Ying beams at him, hands tight where they tug at Lan Zhan's arm. "Why haven't you kissed me yet?"

Everything stops. Time stops. Breathing stops. Lan Zhan forces out a "What?"

"I mean, I set everything up." Wei Ying says, a whine in his voice. "We spent the whole night together, and now we're watching the sun rise and it's prom night and I'm shirtless. What else is it gonna take?"

Lan Zhan's thoughts have gone so still, he has to kick them back into gear. "For me to kiss you?" He hears the words come out of his mouth and can't believe it. He can't believe this moment is happening.

"Yeah," Wei Ying says. "I thought you would have done it months ago. Unless I'm misreading everything." His hands loosen their grip, then let go, trailing down his arm and away.

There's dismay in his gaze all of a sudden. Lan Zhan can't bear to see it. He lifts a hand to Wei Ying's face, touches where he's dreamed of touching for four years. "Wei Ying ... really wants me to kiss him?"

Wei Ying laughs. "I've made that pretty obvious by now, right? Lan Zhan, don't tell me--"

Lan Zhan muffles any further words with his lips.

Wei Ying is sweet under him, so sweet. Sweet and yielding, and when Lan Zhan licks the seam of his mouth he opens to him, the kiss deepening but still soft, still gentle, still careful. Lan Zhan is aware that his hands are trembling.

They break apart and look at each other in the rising sunlight. Wei Ying's cheeks are rosy, and his lips are wet and shining, slightly parted.

Lan Zhan kisses him again, and this time, he's not careful.

He pushes Wei Ying against the chain link fence, feeling it sway under their combined weight, and drinks from his lips again and again. Wei Ying's arms wind around his neck. A groan breaks free from Lan Zhan's mouth. Wei Ying answers it. Beneath the slanted sun's rays, they kiss and kiss, Lan Zhan sighing, Wei Ying moaning and pushing his body against Lan Zhan's wantonly. Heat fills Lan Zhan's body all the way down to his toes. He licks into Wei Ying's mouth in desperate, powerful sweeps of tongue. The broken noises Wei Ying keeps making are driving him crazy.

He only stops kissing him when he can't kiss anymore. When they're both too out of breath and flushed to continue. They breathe raggedly, as though they've just run a marathon. Wei Ying's hands cling to his back, his head bobbing against Lan Zhan's shoulder.

"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan begins, not knowing where he will go from there.

Wei Ying cuts him off with a delirious sigh. "Finally," he murmurs against Lan Zhan's ear. "Finally, finally, Lan Zhan, I've been waiting so long."

"Why didn't you say something?" Lan Zhan asks, truly confused. They could have been doing this years ago.

"You know." Wei Ying's voice drawls, smooth and sweet as honey. "You were Lan Zhan, you didn't worry about things like that. I was just nursing the same crush that every girl in school had on you. Was I so special that I could have what all of them couldn't?"

Lan Zhan holds him close. His heart is thudding with happiness and his mind is singing. "Wei Ying is very special."

"Does that mean we're boyfriends now?" Wei Ying asks, still a shudder of uncertainty in his voice.

It's the silliest question he's ever asked. "Mn."

"And when we head off to college--" Wei Ying wriggles in his arms happily. "I can't wait to tell everyone I'm spoken for."

"Wei Ying. We should go home."

Wei Ying throws himself forward, squeezing Lan Zhan around the waist.

Lan Zhan sighs and tips his chin forward, his lips catching Wei Ying's cheek. Wei Ying makes a happy noise. "Five minutes," he whines. "Give me five more minutes and then we'll go."

A jogger passes on the distant sidewalk. The neighborhood is waking up, and they're still half-naked and damp. Lan Zhan really should urge him to go now, lest they be caught. Instead, he holds Wei Ying close and kisses his hairline. He's waited four years. He can certainly spare five minutes.

They go back to Wei Ying's place, and get in trouble, and pester Jiang Cheng about the prom. He has brought back with him loads of gossip, which he shares over the breakfast table. Wei Ying hooks his foot around Lan Zhan's ankle under the table. It feels like fireworks. Lan Zhan fixes him with an incredulous stare, and Wei Ying just grins.

Wei Ying walks him to his house; they kiss, hot and messy, outside the front door before Lan Zhan walks in to inevitable scolding. It's worth it. He couldn't have imagined a better prom night.

[hyucks-archive]

rain.

word count: 4,350

genre: angst, fluff

member(s): donghyuck

warning(s): none!

author’s note: i have been feeling way too much for angst lately

D-54

“It’s raining.”

Extending an open hand out, you watch as the droplets of rain fall onto your palm. As the rain starts to get heavier, the rain drops begin to fall at an increased pace. You wait patiently, allowing the rain shower to soak your hand.

Donghyuck watches you silently. To him, it has always been a mystery as to how you are always so consistently fascinated by the rain, even though you’ve already seen it thousands of times by now. Yet, you always donned the same expression of amazement, the same smile of excitement, and the same eyes of infatuation when you encounter rain.

“Hyuck?” you call. Donghyuck hums in reply. “Do you think that rain will remind you of me?”

What a bittersweet question. Donghyuck knows for sure that he isn’t able to associate rain with anything else, let alone anyone else, but you. Donghyuck turns his head away from you, raising his chin to look up at the sky. Through the moonlight and the dimly lit street lamps, he is able to identify every droplet of rain. He takes in a deep breath, “Rain will always remind me of you,” he says.

Your smile widens at that. “Just like how the sun will remind me of you?”

Donghyuck turns back to look at you.

“Just like how the sun will remind you of me.”

D-48

“Come on Hyuck, please?” you beg, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to persuade Donghyuck into giving in to your whims. Donghyuck remains firm in his position, “I refuse.”

“But I’ve never tried it before, and I really want to!” you whine, holding a sole finger up, “Just this one time, hm? I promise, this will be the only time,” you say, the smile on your face slowly turning into a mischievous one. From Donghyuck’s expression, you can already tell that he is going to give in to you. He always does. It’s one of the things you love about him.

Donghyuck looks at you – your brows knit in desperation, your knees bent in plea, and your eyes full of excitement. He can never resist the high-tone, pleading voice you always manipulated to your advantage. It makes his heart melt, as much as he’d hate to admit it. But honestly, Donghyuck knows that even without utilising all of your antics, he will still give in to you eventually, because that is all he wants to be able to do for you. To be able to comply and give you everything you want. He is, after all, well aware that he doesn’t have much time left to do so.

“You have eyes too, you know,” he says, seating himself down on the high stool by the kitchen aisle. You squeal in excitement, hopping over to the sink to wash your hands, before returning to the ‘work’ station that you have already prepared, knowing all too well that Donghyuck will agree to letting you do this.

“If I tried them on myself, I won’t be able to see how they look like going on and coming off,” you say, picking out a pair that suits your fancy. “If I can’t see that then what would be the whole point of this?” you finish off, smiling with your tongue between your teeth as you peel open the capsule. Donghyuck smiles, reaching out to hold your hand.

You look at him, raising a questioning brow. Donghyuck soothes your palm with his thumb, sharing a silent moment with you through the eye contact. “Now I have to rewash my hands, Lee Donghyuck,” you say, scowling at the boy.

In reaction, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in close, resting his chin against your stomach. He stares up at you, taking in your entirety. He loves the way your features blend in so well together. His favourite part? Your pink, plump lips. Your lips that do not require any form of enhancement, and it already looks so beautiful, so kissable.

You notice the hazy look in his eyes, and he notices the pink that spreads across your cheeks.

“If you’re going to kiss me, you should do it now,” you say, your voice barely audible. Donghyuck hears it, nonetheless. He boosts himself up, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. It wasn’t enough, and he knows it. But, Donghyuck likes to keep you wanting for more, which is why he says, “Aren’t you going to wash your hands?” with the all too familiar smug smirk on his face.

“I’m only washing my hands because I want to put the damn contact lenses onto your eyeballs,” you say, a little too aggressively. You just didn’t want Donghyuck to think that he has control over you. Even though, it’s obvious enough, that he does. He chuckles at your angst.

“Don’t forget I’m the one with the power to poke your eyeballs, so I wouldn’t be laughing like that if I were you,” you taunt, faking a scowl. You pick up the first lens with your pointer. “Go on, I trust you,” Donghyuck encourages. It is only now, when you’re holding the lens, that the nerves begin to sink in. One wrong move and it’s going to cause damage to Donghyuck.

“How do I do it?” you ask. Donghyuck patiently guides you, “Hold my eye open with your other hand, put the lens on the eye, and you’re done.” He doesn’t forget to remind you, “I trust you, so just go for it. Don’t be scared.” While his words may be encouraging, the same cannot be said about his clenched fists resting atop his knees.  

“Okay, I’m going to do it,” you precaution. Donghyuck nods his head, pursing his lips. With a deep breath, and your full-strength focus, you bring the lens towards Donghyuck’s eye. While everything may be happening in real time, in your perspective, it feels like it’s happening in slow motion. You’re finally able to breathe when the lens comes into contact with Donghyuck’s eye, the boy blinking quickly a few times, allowing the lens to settle in.

He howls, bringing a fist to his forehead, “That is a big fat relief,” he says, finally able to smile brightly once again. You laugh, “I can’t believe I just did that.”

“How does it look?” he asks.

While you’ve always loved Donghyuck’s dark brown eyes, something about Donghyuck with grey contact lenses makes you feel a certain way. A certain, sexy kind of way. “Maybe you should consider dyeing your eyes grey,” you say.

“Would that make you happy?” he asks.

“You can’t dye your iris, Hyuck. There’s only scleral tattooing, and I’m pretty sure that puts you at the risk of vision loss.”

“I can just put on grey contacts every day for you,” he coos, reaching for your hand once more.

“Please, don’t act all mushy and sweet. You’re not that kind of guy,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“You’re right. I just want to make out already. Are we done?”

D-32

Donghyuck lets out a loud yawn, purposefully stretching his arms and legs far and wide, taking a peek through the corner of his eye to ensure that you are watching. You let out a low chuckle, shaking your head as you continue to wipe down the countertops. Dissatisfied with the lack of attention, Donghyuck gets up from his seat, making his way over to you.

He rests his cheek on the spot that you are about to get to cleaning. Frowning, “That’s disgusting, Hyuck. I haven’t cleaned that area yet. Your face is going to grow pimples,” you chide. Donghyuck, with the same look of blankness, doesn’t react. Instead, in a monotonous, not to mention, extremely dramatic monotonous voice, he says, “What’s the point? Even if I grow pimples, you still won’t love me.”

You purse your lips, resisting the urge to burst out in laughter. Once again, Lee Donghyuck and his dramatic antics in his attempts to get your sole attention. It’s one of the things you love about Donghyuck.

“Go away, Hyuck, I’m working.” With as little usage of strength as possible, you give Donghyuck a light push, successfully getting him out of the way as you resume the cleaning of the countertops. With his undying spirit, Donghyuck snakes his arms around your waist, pulling you in so close, you could feel his entire body against your back. He rests his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling his nose into the nape of your neck.

“I need attention,” he says.

“And I need to work,” you say, arm still moving as you begin wiping down the display glass.

“Fine, but I’m not letting go,” he says, tightening his hold around your waist.

You smile, continuing your duties with Donghyuck latched onto you.

D-27

You tap your foot impatiently, annoyance building up by the second.

“Hurry up, Lee Donghyuck,” you shout, turning to look out the window. The droplets of rain are just beginning to fall, and you’re afraid that if you are delayed for another moment, you might just miss the rain altogether. You don’t know if it’s going to be a light drizzle, or a heavy rain shower. Donghyuck is taking too long.

“Seriously, Lee Donghyuck, if you don’t come out here right now, I’m going out on my own!” you warn, already preparing to head out by yourself.

Donghyuck shuffles out of the room, his arms behind his back. You eye him suspiciously, “I don’t have time for your games, Hyuck. Whatever prank you’re trying to pull, let’s get it over with so that we can go out to the rain,” you say, closing your eyes, ready to accept whatever Donghyuck is about to throw your way.

Instead of the usual occurrence of some happening followed by Donghyuck’s obnoxious laughter, you hear the rustling of plastic, followed by Donghyuck’s sweet voice. “Open your eyes,” he says, so you do just that.

Donghyuck stands in front of you, holding out two raincoats, an adorable smile on his face. His grin only widens when he sees how your lips pull out into a beautiful, excited smile. “You bought these?” you say, peeling your eyes off of the raincoats to meet eyes with Donghyuck. He has never looked more glorious, more handsome, and more loveable, in any other moment, than he does, in this moment.

“Instead of just through your hand, you can experience the rain all over now,” he says, giggling at the end of his sentence.

Touched, you run forward, wrapping your arms around Donghyuck, pulling him in close for a snug hug. You press a kiss to his collarbone, “I really love you so much, Hyuck,” you whisper. He soothes a hand down the small of your back, “I know,” he replies in a cheeky tone.

With the raincoats on, Donghyuck interlocks his fingers with yours as he leads you to take your first step into the rain. As the droplets begin to hit you one by one, the warmth of excitement spreads throughout your body. In metaphors, being drenched by the rain has always been a negative association, usually with feelings of heartbreak. In this moment, though, being drenched by the rain has never allowed you to feel even more alive than you do now.

You close your eyes, tilting your head upwards, allowing the raindrops to fall directly on your face. You giggle, “This feels great!”

Donghyuck stands by the side, watching as you raise both arms up, allowing your entire body to fully embrace the moment. He isn’t able to supress the smile that comes out knowing how elated you must feel. Holding a hand out, he watches as the raindrops land on his palm, one by one. Yet again, he fails to understand what you loved so much about watching the rain.

“What are you doing, Hyuck? Join me!” you call out, gesturing for Donghyuck to come towards you. He looks at you, smiles, and walks over.

As the two of you prance about in the rain, to Donghyuck, it feels like a scene unravelling before him, in slow motion. He notices every little detail – from the echoing of your laughter, to your pearly whites peeking out from your joyous smile, to the dewy shine of your skin that is illuminated by the moonlight, to the soft rose pink that decorates your two cheeks. Donghyuck notices how adorable your every little action is; the way your feet made little jumps, the way the jumps slowly become three-sixty degree turns, ultimately becoming twirls.

Donghyuck sees the way the droplets are flung left and right as you continued to twirl in the rain, your giggles a resonant melody to his ears. Donghyuck watches all of this. It’s a scene that is unique to his memory, one that only he will be able to recall in detail. One that he is supposed to reminisce in the future.

But, the rain that drenches you, the rain that seems to bring you so much joy. As it drenches Donghyuck in the exact same way, why is he left feeling cold? Again, today, he wishes that you don’t have to go.

Mid-twirl, you stumble, almost falling forward. Luckily, Donghyuck is quick enough to catch you. You turn to face him, smiling brightly, “This is better than anything else I’ve ever experienced in life,” you say.

“If you continue playing around like that, not only are you going to catch a cold, you’re also going to go back in with a bunch of wounds,” he says, tone melancholic. You know, and you understand, that rain isn’t a warm presence to Donghyuck, like it is to you. But all you wish for, is that each droplet of rain will become a unique memory to Donghyuck.

After all, love can come to anyone suddenly, just like rain. Right?

“Kiss me,” you say.

Donghyuck hesitates.

Clenching his raincoat in your hand, you pull him in, connecting your lips.

Even if it’s for one small, insignificant moment, you want Donghyuck to feel that rain is a beautiful, romantic existence, like himself.

D-19

You adjust your position, resting your head atop Donghyuck’s arm, pressing your cheek against his chest, draping an arm over his body. Donghyuck snuggles closer to you, his arm wrapped around your shoulder, finger tracing stars on your arm.

“Did you stay up staring at this when you were a child?” Donghyuck asks, referring to the view that you had introduced him to – a glow-in-the-dark do-it-yourself night sky that you had whined about having your entire childhood. Your parents finally agreed to buying and putting up the glow-in-the-dark moon and stars on your 6th birthday, on the condition that you’d agree to three consecutive gift-less birthdays.

“Yeah, I used to love the night sky before I fell in love with rain,” you say, your lips spreading into a smile at the thought of how you used to collect tons of sticker books of the night sky. “What made your love for rain surpass your love for night skies?” Donghyuck questions.

You tilt your head upwards, trying to look at Donghyuck as you reply, “You.”

Donghyuck tilts his head downwards, twirling a lock of your hair with his finger, “Me?” He tries to recall an instance, if any, as to why he is the reason for your love of rain. He isn’t able to find the answer. “Why me?”

You press a kiss to his chin, readjusting the position of your head, snuggling closer to his side. “The rain was where I first met you. Remember that day, when you were devastated about your pet turtle running away?”

You feel Donghyuck’s body vibrate as he lets out a low chuckle. “Damn, I almost forgot about him.”

“When you were holding a ‘funeral’ for him in the open field, I saw you. I think that’s probably the point where my opinion of you actually changed. Seeing you weep like a baby made me realise you’re not as big of a jerk as you make yourself out to be,” you say, reminiscing the moments of bratty Donghyuck from your younger days. You never disliked him despite his annoying, borderline offensive behaviour.

“I thought we became friends because I approved of the pranks you pulled on Renjun,” Donghyuck says. You laugh; right, that was exactly how you managed to get Lee Donghyuck to pay attention to you – you assisted him in pulling the biggest pranks ever on his best friends.

“I wonder when, if ever, will we be able to go back to those carefree days.” You sigh, and Donghyuck presses a kiss to the crown of your head. He turns his body to face you, pulling you in for a hug. You can hear the calming beat of his heart.

“My favourite date will forever be our movie date,” he says, pulling away, looking down to meet eyes with you. You giggle, recalling that ‘movie date’ in vivid detail. “I’m pretty sure those people would’ve beaten us up if we weren’t in uniform,” you comment, recalling how the people seated in the row in front of the two of you almost threw hands at you.

Donghyuck laughs, “Hey, but who else can say that they’ve been to a movie theatre, pretended to be shocked, and threw the entire bag of popcorn at the people seated in front of them?”

“I’d do it again, even now.”

Donghyuck smiles at you, a gaze filled with love. “I know you would, and that’s why I love you.” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“But I’m still better at pranks than you are,” you taunt, sticking a teasing tongue out at him. Swiftly, you push yourself off the bed, knowing that the tickle war is about to begin. “Don’t let me catch you!” Donghyuck says, beginning his hunt.

Like every other night, the apartment resounds with laughter, painting the night sky a beautiful hue of pink.

D-6

Donghyuck opens another bag of chips, munching away as he watches you unravel the brown cotton twine. Cutting off the desired length, you put the two ends of the twine up with some tape, ensuring that the middle droops down, forming a curve. Satisfied, you dust off your hands, reaching for the polaroid camera you had prepared earlier, a full film cartridge already inserted.

You walk to Donghyuck, “Smile,” you instruct, capturing the moment before Donghyuck could say anything. The film prints out from the top of the camera. You pinch it between your fingers, waving it about as you waited for the picture to develop.

“I wasn’t ready for that,” Donghyuck complains. “I know,” you reply, nonchalant.

“Why did you waste a film on that?”

“It’s not wasting a film, Donghyuck,” you begin, “It’s building a realistic memory. Nobody’s going to believe you eat chips with a fake smile plastered on your face. That’s creepy,” you end off, shaking your head. As the ink bleeds out in the film, you’re able to see that Donghyuck’s adorable candid expression was perfectly captured. You smile, touching his two-dimensional cheek with your finger. “It came out nice,” you say.

You walk back to the wall where you had put up the cotton twine. Grabbing a small wooden peg, you attach the polaroid to the far left of the cotton twine.

“One down, nine more to go!” you announce.

“We’re going to take nine more photos?” Donghyuck asks, already ready to scowl. You nod your head, “We have to fill the entire twine up. We have to leave some form of tangible memory,” you explain, avoiding eye contact with Donghyuck.

“Oh, okay,” he says.

Donghyuck understands. To some extent, Donghyuck has prepared his heart for when the time comes, whenever that may be. It will be less torturous if you had told him, or even hinted at him in the slightest bit, when that time will come. But he doesn’t question it. Instead, he learns to deal with it. He learns to live every passing day, ending the day off with a grateful heart that the day has yet to come. He knows he isn’t going to be able to do that much longer.

“What’s next?” he says, feigning an anticipating tone.

D-3

You stand before the now completed string of memories. You smile, loving the fact that you were able to capture most of the moments that were significant to your relationship with Donghyuck, albeit some of it was staged just for the sake of having the memory as a photo. You wish you had picked up the habit of capturing your memories as photos, but you never did, and there isn’t much to regret now.

“Which one’s your favourite?” Donghyuck asks, joining you.

You point to the eighth photo of the two of you in the raincoats Donghyuck surprised you with. “Definitely that one. I don’t think I will ever forget that day. What’s yours?”

Donghyuck smiles, pointing to the third polaroid where he had on grey contacts.

“I thought you hated it when I forced you to let me put the contacts on for you,” you comment, looking up at him. “Who said I liked that part of the memory?” he retorts.

“What else can it be?”

“The make out session after,” he teases, smiling cheekily.

You hit him on the arm. “I think this wall is a pretty accurate representation of our memories, don’t you think?”

Donghyuck reaches for your hand, pulling you towards him. Your cheek rests against his chest, your arms naturally finding its way around his body. He breathes in your scent, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I think we’re the best representation of our memories,” he whispers.

You close your eyes.

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, the season is almost over. It is almost time for you to go.

D-Day

You’ve been staring at the luggage that you’ve packed, for the past twenty minutes. The time has come, yet you didn’t seem to be able to pick up your things and leave, like you had expected when you first came.

Lee Donghyuck. Donghyuck was a mischievous, fun-loving boy that you had met back in high school. At the time, being your young and carefree self, you were ready to do whatever it took to get what you wanted. So you began your pranking journey, indulging in the activities you knew Donghyuck loved, just so you could win that extra moment of his attention on you.

You failed miserably. Donghyuck never reciprocated your feelings. Not until you left town.

In the time that you were gone, Donghyuck began to rationalise his feelings. He slowly learned that the reason he always found himself walking past the bus stop where the two of you would exchange laughter, the reason why teasing Renjun wasn’t as fun as before, and the reason why he has been feeling so empty – he learned that it was all because of the absence of you.

To his extreme joy, a year later, you finally returned. That’s when the two of you were finally able to kindle your flame. But the two of you did it, in full knowledge, that it would be a seasonal thing. It will pass eventually. Yet, the two of you chose to indulge in it.

Was it worth it? Yes. A thousand times yes. Do you regret it? No. Absolutely not.

Taking in a deep breath, you pull out the luggage puller. Wrapping your fingers around it, you take one last look at your shared bedroom; you’re going to really miss it.

Donghyuck knows its time. The reality sinks in even further when he hears the wheeling of your luggage resonate throughout the apartment. Donghyuck is prepared for this. He has been, all along. He has to let you go. He knows he has to.

“I’m going to go now,” you say, meeting eyes with the boy. Donghyuck flashes a small smile, nodding his head.

Opening your arms wide, Donghyuck’s body collides with yours, the tightest, snuggest hug you’ve ever shared. He doesn’t want it to be the last. You know that there will be more to look forward to in the future. You just don’t know when that would be yet.

“I love you,” he says, pressing his lips to your neck.

“I love you too, Hyuck.”

Pulling away, he takes a step back, freeing the way for you.

“Goodbye, Hyuck,” you say, smiling sincerely. You’re doing everything you can to not give in to the lump in your throat. It’s beginning to kill you already, and this is merely the beginning.

“Bye,” he says, waving.

Refusing to prolong this painful, torturous moment any longer, you turn around, walking straight towards the door, fighting every urge to turn back, to run back to him. It takes every ounce of energy left in you to push the door open, and then, to close it behind you. You allow the first tear to roll down your cheek.

You pull out the polaroid from your back pocket. The photo of Donghyuck in his grey contacts.

Donghyuck looks to the memory wall. He notices the empty third wooden peg. He scoffs, shaking his head, a bitter smile on his lips.

“You’re so cruel,” he murmurs. “You had to take both my favourite person and my favourite memory away from me.”

Epilogue; D+94

Donghyuck turns his head in reaction to the pitter-patter of the light drizzle. “It’s finally raining,” he murmurs under his breath. Slipping on his jumper, he heads out of the apartment.

Donghyuck looks up at the night sky, the rain slowly picking pace.

Extending an open hand out, he watches as the droplets of rain falls onto his palm. As the light drizzle transitions into a medium shower, the rain drops begin to fall at an increased pace. He waits patiently, allowing the rain shower to soak his hand. A small smile finds its way to his face. Slowly, but surely, Donghyuck is learning to appreciate the rain.

He turns to the once occupied, now empty space beside him.

“Are you enjoying the rain too?” he wonders.

[georgescatcafe]

press play

rating: t warning/s: none pairing/s: dreamnap genres/tags: friends to lovers, fluff, angst, light angst, getting together word count: 3044 summary: “You have so many more freckles than I thought you do,” Sapnap says, leaning his chin on his hand. “I don’t even think I could count them all.”

Dream blinks, sitting up. “I—I mean, I don’t think I have that many.”

“Dude,” Sapnap says. He points a finger at his own face, drawing a circle around it. “It’s so many. Like... you could draw constellations there.”

A moment passes. Dream lets it go. Sapnap gives another laugh.

“Be honest,” he says, “how freckled are your shoulders?”

+ao3

;;

Day 1

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, not really. They had talked this through, probably way more than necessary⁠—Dream’s fault, but he couldn’t help it. His heart is a battery in his chest, shaking the earth beneath him and lighting the flame of anxiety in his stomach. Sapnap knows what he looks like, has seen him at his highs and his lows and even lower, but there’s something so much more... real in actually... meeting. In being able to touch, to hold onto and not let go. Dream’s fingers grip tighter around the wheel as he finally finds a place to park, and he finds himself sitting in the car long after he’s gotten there.

And then his phone alarm goes off, telling him he’s only got so much time before Sapnap’s flight lands, and Dream is finding himself running on autopilot, shutting off the car, getting out, walking to the entrance, finding a bench and collapsing on it. A flight from Colorado has come in, and the conveyor spins lazily, the flight small, the suitcase count minimal. Dream closes his eyes, leaning back in his seat and taking a breath. This is it. This is it.

His phone goes off again. It’s not an alarm. It’s a call.

Dream licks his lips. Answers. “Hello?”

“I’m on my way,” Sapnap says.

Dream can hear the sound of life in the background, chatter, beeping, rumbling, noise. He takes another breath. “I’m at baggage claim. You’ll see me.”

A pause. When Sapnap speaks, Dream can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll see you.”

The call ends. Dream immediately calls back. Sapnap answers. “Yeah?”

“Stay on the line,” Dream says. “I want⁠—just... stay.”

A breath. “Of course.”

The pressure building behind his eyes burns. Dream nods. “Okay. Thank you.”

A laugh. Again, “Of course.”

Dream brings a hand up to swipe at his eyes. It comes back dry. He feels a lump in his throat. He tries to swallow it down. The noises coming through the phone begin to blend with the environment around him. Dream watches the light of another conveyor flash, his eyes go to the sign. It’s for Sapnap’s flight.

“You good?”

Dream blinks, pulling the phone away from his ear before setting it back. “Yeah. I just... this is happening.”

“It’s happening.” Dream smiles; it’s wobbly. “I’m almost there.”

“Cool.” Dream bites his lips. “Cool.”

Dream’s eyes go to the entrance of the baggage claim. People, everyone in the world, it seems, everyone who isn’t Sapnap come through. He has his phone in a death grip. He hears Sapnap’s breath through the line. Hears the speakers, announcing the arrival of a new flight. Dream’s heart is in his stomach.

He glances back at the conveyor’s sign. HOU blinks at him in bright letters. He stands. He looks to the entrance and locks eyes with⁠—

“Dream!” The shriek pierces his ears but it might be the best sound he’s ever heard, that or the laughter that encapsulates him as arms circle around his waist, a face pressed into his shoulder. “Holy shit. Holy shit, dude. This is happening.”

“Sap,” Dream breathes out, one hand still holding his phone as the other snakes around Sapnap’s back to hold him tight. And then he shoves his phone in his pocket, not even bothering ending the call. They can do that later. He wraps his now-free arm around Sapnap too. And then he just takes him in. Closes his eyes, buries his nose in Sapnap’s hair, holds him as close as he can. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah.” Sapnap’s voice is muffled. Dream doesn’t cry. He won’t let himself. And then Sapnap pulls away, and then he smiles at him, and the tears start pouring.

“Holy shit,” Dream echoes Sapnap’s words from before. “Holy shit. It’s you. You’re... you’re here. With me. And I’m⁠—you’re⁠—you⁠—you’re here!”

“I’m here!” Sapnap concurs. “Oh man.” He pulls Dream back into another hug. It’s the best feeling ever. “Oh, this is great.”

Dream nods, and then the speakers come on again, announcing the final conveyor’s flight. He and Sapnap separate, and Sapnap turns to the conveyor. “Ugh,” he says, “this thing.”

When Dream laughs, it comes out raspy, squeaky, choked. Sapnap glances at him.

“You okay, dude?” he asks.

Dream wipes his eyes, and this time, his hand comes back wet. “Yeah,” he says. “I just can’t believe you’re actually here.”

Sapnap laughs, and it’s better than any music Dream has ever heard. “I know, right? It’s so crazy.” His eyes survey the conveyor all the while. Finally, he must spot his luggage, because he nudges Dream, nodding his head at the conveyor. “I’m gonna....”

“No,” Dream says, and then he’s making his way over, “which one is it? Let me⁠—“

“Oh, it’s⁠—no, it’s okay,” Sapnap tries, but Dream’s hands are already reaching for the suitcase he assumes is his friend’s. When Sapnap nods at the inquisitive look Dream sends him, he grabs it and tugs it off the belt. He has so much he wants to say to him, so much he wants to do with him, but all the words get caught in his throat as he directs Sapnap back to his car. Sapnap is now a steady presence at Dream’s side, a presence he wishes he could keep forever.

In the car, Sapnap tells him about his flight and about what he hopes he can see on this trip and at one point he turns to Dream, lifting a hand to brush away a stray bit of hair that had fallen in his eyes. Dream swallows, and Sapnap’s hand goes right back to his lap, where he holds it down with his other one. “You, uh⁠—don’t want you to crash!”

Dream swallows. “Yeah. That’d be... bad.”

A beat.

“Oh my God,” Sapnap’s shoulders shake with laughter, “this is so dumb.”

Dream starts to laugh too. When they reach a red light and he looks over, Sapnap is already looking back. Dream hopes he mistakes the red in his cheeks for the red from the light.

;;

Day 2

They’re eating lunch in a sunny cafe. The sunlight catches in Sapnap’s hair and spins the auburn locks into gold. Dream finds his eyes continually drawn to them then back down to the content smile that has stretched on his friend’s lips. When he speaks, his smile stays, and Dream has to remind himself to meet his eyes.

Sapnap drums his fingers on the table before he takes a sip of water. “It’s so much brighter here,” he says. “It’s like... I knew it could be sunny, duh. But, like, dude, it’s nothing but sun.”

Dream nods, tilting his chair back to look out through the roof, the sun high in the sky above them. “It’s a lot.”

“You have so many more freckles than I thought you do,” Sapnap says, leaning his chin on his hand. “I don’t even think I could count them all.”

Dream blinks, sitting up. “I—I mean, I don’t think I have that many.”

“Dude,” Sapnap says. He points a finger at his own face, drawing a circle around it. “It’s so many. Like... you could draw constellations there.”

Dream coughs behind a fist. “Um, thanks?”

Sapnap blinks, leaning back, like he’s just realized what he said. “No... no problem. It’s just...,” he gives a laugh, “true.”

A moment passes. Dream lets it go. Sapnap gives another laugh.

“Be honest,” he says, “how freckled are your shoulders?”

;;

Day 3

Dream doesn’t like the beach. Sand gets everywhere, there’s the pounding sun, and, half the time, if you’re not out by 8am, you’ve got no place to put your things. But he’s willing to ignore all this just for another second of Sapnap in the sun, standing proud against the skyline, the beach an endless backdrop behind him.

“So?” Sapnap calls, turning to him. “How freckled are you?”

Dream swallows. His hand comes up to grab the back of his shirt. He pulls it over his head. When he lowers his arms, Sapnap studies him with narrowed eyes, chin resting between his thumb and pointer finger. When he comes closer, Dream wonders if the heat under his skin is from the sun or himself. Sapnap places a hand on his shoulder, and Dream swallows. From himself. Definitely from himself.

“H’m,” Sapnap says. “Not quite.”

“I don’t go to the beach that often,” Dream tells him. “And I don’t wear tank tops a lot either.”

Sapnap hums again before patting his shoulder. Dream looks out over the water. And then. “Race you there.”

Dream wins, and he turns around to rub the victory in his friend’s face, but then Sapnap is grabbing him by the arm and falling into the water, dragging Dream down with him. When they rise, their hair is wet, and Dream’s falls in front of his eyes in thin, wavy tendrils. Sapnap lifts his hand in a repeat of what happened in the car; when the heel of his palm brushes against Dream’s forehead, Dream takes in a breath, staring at his eyes. They don’t even stare back, instead locked on Dream’s hair.

Dream moves first. Sapnap tastes like salt, the bitter tang of the beer he had drunk on the way there, like the sun soaking into his skin, golden honey pouring over his tongue. His fingers find their place in Sapnap’s hair, one at the base of his neck, the other cupping the back of his head, pulling him closer. He feels Sapnap’s hands tug at his shoulders, nails scratch across his back, before they come to rest, one at his waist, one still holding tight to his shoulder.

When Dream pulls away, he’s only given a second to breathe before Sapnap is pulling him back in. The crashing of a wave against them breaks them apart. Dream finds himself winded, staring down at him.

“I…,” he can’t find the words. He licks his lips. The salt of the sea sticks to them.

Sapnap stares back. “I don’t….” He swallows. “I don’t regret it.”

The ocean makes them sway, a dance neither of them properly began. Dream looks out across the ocean, squinting against the sun. He feels Sapnap’s gaze on him all the while. “Me neither,” he says. Finally, Sapnap turns too, gaze on some distant point. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah.” They both know he’s not talking about the ocean. But it’s not like Dream had been talking about it either.

;;

Day 4

Dream doesn’t know if it’ll last. He wants it to. He really wants it to.

Sapnap lays spread across his bed, phone hovering above his face. Every once in a while he’ll laugh at something, rolling over to show Dream, but for the most part he’s silent. Dream is content to sit in silence too, eyes drifting over to Sapnap every couple of seconds. He can’t help it. Sure, they can FaceTime, they can send pictures (not that Dream sends pictures of himself, not... often. It’s just not something he does), but it’s not the same thing as Sapnap being here, Dream’s eyes left to roam his face, memorize the slope of nose, the shape of his eyebrows, in actual perfect detail—not the pixelated mess you can end up with from your phone. And it’s not the same anyway. On your phone you can’t notice the small details, the minute rise and fall of his chest, the fluttering of his eyelashes. It’s just not the same.

Dream leans down. Sapnap’s gaze goes from his phone to the other’s face.

“Hey,” Dream says.

“Hey yourself,” Sapnap replies.

They move at the same pace.

Dream tangles his fingers into Sapnap’s hair, wondering if he can leave them like that, if they could lay here forever, if he could get Sapnap to stay. It’s stupid, it’s a daydream, a fantasy, something he’s allowed to think about but never have. For a moment, he pretends it’s something he can have.

It tugs at his heartstrings and squeezes his lungs. Sapnap’s dropped his phone and wrapped his arms around Dream, pulling him down so they’re pressed chest to chest. Dream lets himself fall into him.

When they separate, Dream keeps his eyes closed, dragging his lips from the tip of Sapnap’s nose to the flat plane of his forehead. He feels his friend’s breath on his throat, and it sends a shiver down his spine, his body a live wire. Electricity dances along his bones, threatening to light him up completely at the smallest touch. One of Sapnap’s hands slides around to press against his chest, and Dream feels the switch flip, fire spreading through him.

“Fuck,” he breathes against Sapnap’s skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Sapnap asks.

“I can’t do this to you,” Dream replies. “This is—it’s a bad idea. I’m sorry.” He moves to push himself up, to get away from him, but Sapnap’s got a hand on his wrist, gripping his shirt tight, keeping him close.

“Why?” he repeats. “What changed?”

“Nothing,” Dream answers. He swallows, looking away. “Everything.” The grip on his shirt relaxes, and with it, so does Dream, sagging over, exhaustion weighing him down. “I just... I want too much, don’t I?”

“Well....” Dream thinks it’s a ‘yes.’ It sounds like a ‘yes.’ Sapnap’s fingers dance along his jaw; they grip, and Dream is forced to look at him. “You’ve never said what you want.”

“Neither have you.”

Sapnap laughs, light and airy. “That’s true.” His cheeks are flushed. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “You? This? I’ve just been taking what’s given.”

“No,” Dream says. “You... you give just as much.”

Sapnap huffs another laugh, and the grip on his chin loosens so his fingers once again brush gently against his skin. “Alright,” he says. “If you say so.”

“No,” Dream repeats. “I mean it.”

Sapnap studies him for a second. Dream does the same. “So,” Sapnap begins, “what do you want?”

“Same as you,” Dream shrugs, picking at a loose thread in his comforter; he feels the other’s gaze on his face, “and for you to stay.”

“I want that too,” Sapnap begins, but Dream shakes his head.

“It’s more than just you being here,” he says. “It’s like... I want to just... have you here, all the time, and when you’re not here, I want to know you’re coming back, and it’s like....” He makes a noise in his throat.

Sapnap falls back onto the bed. “It’s a lot.”

Dream nods, imitating the motion. Sapnap takes his hand.

“So do we keep this going?” he asks. “Or do we pause?”

;;

Day 5

Sapnap will come back to Florida. Dream will go to Texas. They’ll go somewhere else, together. They just have to wait.

“Pause it,” Dream says finally over dinner. “We can think it over. It was sudden. It was... the sun, it’s new, you’re here. It’s a lot.”

“It’s a lot,” Sapnap agrees.

“So we pause it,” Dream says. It’s not running away. Sapnap gets another handful of fries. “When we meet again, we’ll see how we feel.”

“Okay,” Sapnap says.

Dream nods. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

;;

Day 6

Sapnap’s palms are warm on Dream’s back, and Dream closes his eyes as he feels the other’s fingers trace constellations in the freckles on his skin.  I love you, he thinks. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.

“You’re my best friend,” he says instead.

“You too.”

Dream doesn’t kiss him. He wants to.

;;

Day 7

The drive to the airport is one spent in silence. It’s obvious neither of them want it to be. Dream’s fingers drum on the steering wheel as Sapnap taps an unknown beat on his knee. Dream curls his fingers around the wheel, holding it tight as Sapnap looks over at him. Even when Dream thinks the other might speak, he doesn’t, merely keeping his gaze steady on him.

Dream glances over. Sapnap stares back.

He wants to say it. He can always say it. He means it. He’s always meant it. But he never meant it this way.

Dream puts a hand on the console. Sapnap takes it. Dream squeezes his hand tight and wishes he’d never have to let go.

When they arrive at the airport, they both get out because Dream’ll be damned if he ends things in a half-hug over the center console. He walks Sapnap as far as he can, the suitcase clanging behind them until they pass it on to the airline, and then nothing but their footsteps between them. When they reach security, Dream’s fingers are twitching with the need to reach out and touch, to get his last fill of him before he goes, and Sapnap has his hands shoved in his pockets. Dream wonders if he feels the same.

“So,” Sapnap says.

“So,” Dream agrees.

They don’t kiss. They want to.

Dream pulls him into a hug. He feels Sapnap bury his face in his neck and hold him tighter. He doesn’t cry. They’ll see each other again. He doesn’t cry.

They’ll see each other again.

;;

Stepping off the plane is perhaps the best feeling in the world. His legs are cramped from sitting in the chair for so long, and his eyes feel heavy with the poor nap he took. Stretching in the bright morning sun that filters through the large windows is heaven.

And then he’s making his way to baggage claim.

He doesn’t run, but perhaps he cuts some corners, near knocks over a display and a violinist, trips over his feet in his haste to get to where he needs to be. Where he’ll be.

Dream reaches baggage claim.

Of course Sapnap sees him first, eyes wide with excitement, like they’ve never met before, never done exactly this before, mouth opening in a shout, a grin. Dream runs.

It hasn’t even been that long. Less than a season. Not much more than a month. But it feel like forever. They both pull away from the hug they threw themselves into and Dream finds himself asking:

“Still paused?”

Sapnap kisses him. Dream kisses him back. Into Dream’s mouth, he says, “I’ve missed you.”

Into his mouth, Dream says, “I love you.”

[itsjustmyfantasyroom]

Failed

This is for my lovely @beccabarba​ who requested this:

<One Nick x Reader request isn't enough! Could you write reader having a bad day and she texts Nick and tells him and he comes over to make it all better, trying to be sweet, and she's like, 'you know what would make me feel better'...😏 Smut ensues!>

Hope this hits the spot lovely, it sure hit mine and hope you pick up on the little inside jokes hehe x

WC: 1739

Warnings: Oral Smut

Enjoy x

The day was crap from the moment you opened your eyes. You should have known what was ahead. Your hot water cut out mid shower, you spilt your coffee on your white button down as you went into your final exam for the semester and after a meeting with your professor wanting to talk about an assessment you surprisingly failed you were done with the day.  

You had always been academic, always wanting to better yourself and learn new things. You had transferred from Miami Vice and once you settled into SVU in Manhattan you looked around to study something to excel your SVU career and skills. You had settled on a Criminal Psychology Degree night course. Liv was happy with both you and Sonny for studying and was flexible as much as she could be with your studies more so during exams.

You walked out of your Professors office mad, sad and tired. Kicking yourself for the stupid mistakes that lead to a fail in the first place. You pulled your phone out of your pocket opening it to your message chain to your close friend and partner Nick,

Y/N 1pm: I’ am done with today : (

Nick 1.03pm: What’s happened? Exam didn’t go well?

Y/N 1.05pm: Cold shower, spilt coffee on a white shirt, failed assessment and long ass exam.

Y/N 1.07pm: How was your trip? Are you home?      

You were at your kitchen sink trying to scrub the coffee stain out of your shirt and music blaring. Your hair was tied up in a high bun out of the way, ¾ black leggings with a slightly loose camo puller over and black slippers. You had just filled up the sink with water for your shirt to soak when you heard knocks on the door. You turned the music down and made your way to the door swinging it open singing along to the song playing over your blue tooth speaker,

‘I’m hot, sticky sweet from my head to my feet yeah’

Nick chuckled at you a big grin on his face,

“I like that song” He winked at you walking past you into your apartment holding some brown paper bags.

“I’ am sorry- do I know you?” you raised an eye brow at him, following him into your open plan kitchen, Nick turning to look at you after he put the bags on the kitchen bench. “My gosh Guapo” you reached over and ran your hand down his bearded jaw.

“You like it?”

“Oh my yes. That has made my day better already” You winked at him.

You both sat at your kitchen table eating your favourite wraps from your favourite deli and iced coffee that Nick had brought to try and cheer you up,

“What do you need to do to make up the marks?” Nick took a sip of his drink.

You sighed and rolled your eyes “If I pass today’s exam Professor Neill said I don’t need to write it again, but-“

“You’ll be fine. This is the first thing you have failed in two years”

You giggled and shrugged your shoulders “Here’s hoping. How was your trip how is Zara and Gil?”

“It was good. They are both doing great-”

You sat at your kitchen table as Nick moved around the room cleaning up after you had both finishing eating. You were sitting up straight, pushing your shoulders back arching your back and rubbing your neck trying to push the knot that was in your neck.

“Sore neck?” you looked over at Nick wiping his hands dry with a tea towel as you stretched your arms up above your head to try and loosen it up.

“Yeah, been slouching too much”

You gasped when you felt Nick’s hands on your neck. His long fingers rubbing into your neck, his thumbs running just under the collar on your t shirt. Nick’s pointer finger pushed into the knot on one side of your neck and you moaned,

“Oh Nick right there”

Nick cleared his throat as he felt himself stiffen slightly when he heard you moan. Nick worked the knot out and he kissed you on the top of the head when he heard you sigh contently. Nick squeezed your shoulder and you moved your hand to rest on top of his looking up at him through your lashes,

“Better?”

You stood up standing flush with his body. His body heat radiating through your cloths,

“Much. But do you know what would make me feel even better?”

“What?” Nick growled deep his eyes narrowing grinning at you, running his hands up and down your shoulders and arms.

You lifted your pointer finger to his jaw and ran it down over his extremely soft facial hair,

“Feeling this between my thighs”

“Is that all you want?” Nick whispered into your ear before he started to kiss down your neck.

“It’s what I deserve. You made me fail my assessment”

Nick laughed smiling into your neck,

“When I asked to come over you should have said no”

You giggled and one of your hands brushed down to cup him through his jeans,

“You know I can never say no to you Nick” you gave him a light squeeze.

“Maybe you should learn”

Nick’s lips met yours for a deep kiss, your tongue’s fighting each other’s. Darting into each other’s mouths. Nick pulled back and you pulled your hand away from his crotch, you ran your fingers of both hands into his bearded cheeks.

“You know I like learning so-“

“Kidding” Nick almost shouted in protest with a smirk reaching down to pick you up by the backs of your thighs “Supongo que será mejor que le compense a mi hermosa dama (Guess I better make it up to my beautiful lady)- although you won’t be much a lady once I’ am done with you”

Nick put you down on the floor of your room and made quick work of undressing you and then himself. He was in front of you in no time kissing all over your neck and kissing down to your collar bone, sucking and nipping your nipple lightly, his beard running over your skin making you so extremely wet, that it was running down your thigh. Nick pulled back making his way to your bed laying on his back, his hard cock standing to attention. You walked over to him, wrapping your hand around it giving it a couple of storks, twisting your wrist every so often. Nick groan and pushed your hand away,

“Tonight Y/N, is not about me” Nick sat up pulling you on the bed, grabbing a thigh to pull it over him so you were straddling his stomach and he laid back down “I have some making up to do to you and I have a way you can get some extra credits” Nick winked at you. Nick pushed your thighs up to give you the hint to move up his body. You raised your eye brows at him as you moved up, your knees now resting in his elbows.

“Are you sure?” Nick could see the slight hesitation on your face.

“Yes” Nick’s smile predatory “You want to feel this” Nick moved his head to run his chin over your skin and you whimpered “Between your thighs and I have missed the taste of mi dulce coño (my sweet pussy)” Nick’s hands moved to grab onto your ass cheeks giving them a tight squeeze and then a slap “Sit in my face mi Amor” Nick’s voice was deep and matter of fact.

You rested your hands on the top of head board, Nick’s hands pushing your hips down, his nose brushing your clit as you moaned and slammed your eyes shut. Nick moved his head to the side kissing your thighs in big open mouth kisses, the feeling of his beard making you rock against his face.

“Feel that good mi Amor” Nick nipped at your thigh and brushed his beard over it

“Oh Nick” you moaned loud.

Nick smiled into your thigh before he moved his head back to your core and started to run his tongue over your folds, sticking it in as far as he could, licking up to your clit sucking it between his lips. Nick reached up with one hand grabbing a hand full of your breast, twisting and tugging on your nipple and reaching down to his hard cock wrapping his other hand around it stroking himself fast.

You could feel everything tightening every time Nick sucked in your harden pulsing bud. You started to grind onto his face with every suck he gave you. You could feel your arousal running onto his face coating his beard. Nick sucked on your clit and then pulled back blowing on it. You mouth went slack at the sensation, groaning when he sucked it between his lips again, licking your inner walls and flicking it with his tongue tip.

Nick’s pace fastened on himself hearing your moans and groans, he knew you were close. Your coil was wound so tight you started to breath heavy and your body was on fire. One last lick and a quick suck when you grinded hard onto his face and you were screaming “Nick” over and over again with your eyes shut tight your hips moving fast over Nicks mouth and face until you came down from your high.

You felt Nick’s arm moving fast and you moved off him like a flash kneeling between his legs, pushing his hand away and taking him fully into your mouth hitting the back of your throat, flatting your tongue on the underside on the way back up and taking him fully into your mouth again. Nick’s hand balled into a fist in your hair and he tugged on it, not enough to pull you off or hurt you and felt his hot salty cum flood into your mouth.

You licked him clean like you would a melting icy pole and pulled off Nick with a pop. Nick sat up pulling you into his chest kissing you deeply,

“Did I make all better?” Nick kissed along your jaw.

“You sure did. We need to do that again before you shave this off” You ran your nose over his jaw.

Nick winked and kissed you lightly,

“If it turns on you that much mi Amor its going no where.”

Tags: @thatesqcrush​ @the-baby-bookworm​ @permanentlydizzy​ @amorestevens