#I DID IT the pegging fic has arrived

[blindmagdalena]

Complete Me

Summary: 18+ 2.5k homelander x reader, sub homelander, bottom homelander, mommy kink, pegging, large toy, lite belly bulge, restraints, praise kink, comeplay, schmoopy aftercare.

It's not always easy keeping the most powerful man in the world satisfied, but as far as he's concerned, you were made for the job. art by @krazyyy & used with permission!

There is a void in Homelander that he is unsure he will ever be able to fill.

But fuck if you don’t try your damnedest.

If he’s being honest, he never thought that sex with a human could compare to sex with another supe, but you’ve found tricks that curl his toes better than the clench of any Compound V charged hole could. You put his wrists in cuffs that he could snap with a thought, and whisper Don’t break those, baby. Or mommy won’t fuck you tonight.

He huffs and twists against them, but never breaks them. He listens to you. He’s obedient. He’s your good, good boy, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. The electric thrill of being bound by nothing but your will empowering these flimsy cuffs has him panting. He wants more from you, as he always does, and like the wicked, wonderful enabler you are, you give it to him.

When he first sees the toy you intend to use tonight, long, thick and barely contained by the harness you wear, he thinks you’re joking. “Christ, are you going to fuck me, or bludgeon me to death?” He asks, adjusting against his headboard. It doesn’t stop his cock from throbbing, steadily drooling precome onto his belly while his stomach churns in anticipation. “Don’t be a brat,” you reply, eyes glinting. He watches you spread a generous amount of lube along the girthy chunk of phallus-shaped silicone, his own neglected cock aching at the sight of it. “You said you wanted something big.” “Didn’t expect you to take it so literally,” he says wryly, mouth feeling dry as the bed dips with your weight. “Expected something, y’know, grand. Impressive. Bombastic.”

“My, my. Look at you and all your synonyms,” you purr, smiling. He jerks slightly when you put your hands on his ankles, drawing them slowly up his legs, spreading them out. He’s malleable under your hands, always is, legs falling open in a wanton splay.

“I’m a walking thesaurus,” he gives back sardonically, but his breath hitches with the way you squeeze his inner thighs before adjusting his legs on either side of you.

“I don’t think you’ll be walking anywhere after this,” you say, voice and expression both downright devilish.

He laughs breathlessly. He knows you won’t be able to hurt him, but the notion still sends a thrill trilling up and down his spine like a xylophone. He sucks a breath in through his teeth at the first warm, wet press of your fingers to his rim, circling it in slow, firm glides. Homelander nods. “Yeah, yeah, yes. M’ready.”

“Yes, what?” You push. He smiles. He loves that you push him like this, push him to say the things he wants to, but holds back from out of shame or embarrassment or both. He loves that you don’t let him hide from or deny himself the things that he wants. He loves you.

“Yes, mommy,” he exhales, despite his tongue feeling leaden in his mouth.

The smile you return is worth it. “Good. Take a deep breath, and lie down.”

He complies, sliding down the headboard until his arms are stretched above his head. You adjust yourself between his legs, gripping his ass in your palms to spread it wide, and as he breathes out, the obscenely large head of the toy presses against his slick rim.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he grouses, eyes widening.

“Breathe,” you encourage him, patiently massaging his rump. “Humans can stretch seven inches before anything tears. You’ll be fine. Trust me.” He scoffs, but he does trust you. He knows you won’t break him, wouldn’t if you could. He relaxes his head against the headboard and closes his eyes. It’s not that it hurts, but the pressure that builds as you spread his rim open around the fat head of the toy is intense and alien, more so than anything he’s used to. He twists the chains of the handcuffs, which groan precariously. You reach out to touch his wrist, hushing him. “Breathe, darling,” you remind him again, gentle and soothing. He screws his eyes shut, focusing on the feel of your fingers on his wrist, your other hand under his thigh, and breathes in deeply. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he keens, endlessly shifting and adjusting himself, though never pulling away from the girth of the toy slowly splitting him open.He shakes his head, faith wavering. “What the fuck, that’s not–it’s not going to fit,” he pants, trying to spread his legs further, but no matter how he angles himself, there’s no escaping the slow, aching pressure of the oversized silicone cock sliding into him.

“Shhhh,” you hush, holding the base of the cock in one hand while you use the other to stroke his thigh. “It’ll fit. You’re just poorly prepared,” you say. He can hear the smile in your voice. His cock gives a dripping throb at the pleasure in your voice, knowing that he’s impressing you, even as he complains.

“And whose fault is that?” He asks breathlessly, arching his back.

“Yours,” you answer, giving his ass a sharp little smack. He had asked for this, after all. He didn’t want you to wet or stretch him out too thoroughly. He wanted to feel it.

And feel it he does.

“Halfway there,” you murmur, close enough to kiss him now. He leans into it eagerly, savoring the gentle, plush press of your lips, gripping the chains of his cuffs, wishing he could touch you, even as he relishes this hold you have over him. He keens against your lips, opens up easily for the wet slide of your tongue only to suck at it, greedy for more, more, more. Your hips are almost flush with his. You’re so close, and he’s so full. The sheer size of it inside him doesn’t leave space for anything else, no thoughts or feelings about anything other than what’s happening, other than your touch and your warmth.  He’s panting now, giving sharp little bucks of his hips, though you remain stubbornly still. “It’s too big,” he moans, overwhelmed by this inescapable, full feeling. You soothe him with gentle sweeps of your hands up his thighs, his hips, his sides.

“You’re doing perfectly,” you tell him. He can hear your excitement, smell it in the air. He cracks his eyes open to gaze up at you, and flourishes under the open adoration he finds in your stare. The praise warms him. He adjusts himself again, but there’s no way to make this feel anything less than. He cannot minimize it, cannot escape it. His cock throbs, the leaking head bouncing against his stomach of its own accord. You give one last push, and he moans with your body finally slotting snugly against his, buried as deep as you’ll go. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Homelander nods fervently, swallowing back the lump in his throat. “Good, good, s’good, mmm…”

He leans into it when you touch his cheek, nuzzles your palm before pressing a wet kiss into it. You have a way of touching him that renders him senseless, used, but treasured. He knows that even when you’re done with him, when you have finished playing and this intensity is gone, he will not be left empty or alone. 

You’ll be there. “I’m going to fuck you now, baby,” you whisper. His breath hitches with excitement, the chains above his head clanking lightly against one another. He nods, bites down slowly on his tongue to hold back the little noise that threatens to slip from him when you pull almost halfway out, only to drive firmly back in. You don’t have to move very fast, the sheer size of the toy does most of the work for you, unraveling him with every movement. “Oh f-fuck, ffffuck, nnngh,” he groans, pulling on his bindings. The steel loop they’re hooked to groans precariously. His eyes snap open when you wrap your hands around his throat, slowly leaning your weight down on him. “Look at me,” you tell him, your own eyes clouded with arousal, pupils blown wide. His eyes flicker constantly to the wet part of your lips, aching to kiss them. You squeeze. You may not be strong enough to crush his windpipe, but it’s more than enough to restrict his airflow, to make him keenly aware of every breath he takes. You brace yourself that way, make him feel it as you settle into a steady rhythm, rocking in and out of him, the size of the toy making every push and pull twice as intense.

“There, that’s it. You’re taking me so well. Knew you would, baby. Always so good for me. You’re gonna make a mess for me, aren’t you? Come so hard, I bet you’ll mess up that pretty face,” you coo, the words going straight to his cock. The toy is too big, too unwieldy for you to fuck him fast, but the intensity of being carved in and out of by something so large is just as good.

“Y-yes,” he chokes out. “Yeah, yes, fuck, I’m fffucking–” He can’t think long enough to string a coherent sentence together. He chokes on his own breath when you move a hand from his throat to his belly, pushing down on it as you slide all the way back into him. “Look,” you tell him. He obeys, tipping his head down to see where your hand is, bleary-eyed and feeling as though he’s slipping outside of his own body. Where your hand is, he can see his own skin slightly distended around the sheer girth of the toy. Seeing this extension of you inside him, is dizzying, but the way you press your hand down on it nearly makes him come right then and there, a shiver running through his whole body.

He almost throws his head back, but you stop him, catching him by his hair. “No, no. Keep watching. Keep watching,” you tell him, your own voice thin, growing desperate. Your grip in his hair tightens and he moans for you. “Just like that. Good boy. Good boy.”

Keeping one hand in his hair, you move the other from his belly to his cock, taking it in a firm hold that sets his teeth on edge, biting back a high keening noise. His eyes snap wide open when you start to mercilessly pump it, no preamble or extra lube, just sudden and intense friction and pressure. He chokes on his own fumbling words, no longer holding himself back, openly gasping and making startled, desperate little noises. You look fucking thrilled. You give his hair another sharp tug, keeping it down, keeping his gaze on your hand stripping over his dick, and the barely visible swell of your cock grinding back and forth deep, deep inside him. “That’s it, baby,” you say breathlessly, sweat prickling on your skin, voice thin with exertion. “Show me how you come. Show me how you come on mommy’s cock.” Beyond the capacity for words, all he can do is let go a ragged sound halfway between a sob and a moan, screwing his eyes shut tight as the catastrophic crash of his orgasm overtakes him, his body locking up tight while his cock unloads a ribboning torrent of come so intense, it paints across his whole face, wetting his lips, his cheek, hanging heavily on his eyelashes, spraying all the way up to his hair. You thoroughly milk him of the experience, squeezing out every last drop with gradually slowing strokes, emptying him of the very last drop that spills out onto his stomach. Homelander feels fully outside of himself, transcendent from his physical form, free floating on an upward current of pure sensation. Not even the weight of the toy inside him can keep him tethered to reality, his eyes rolling back into his skull as he sinks down onto the bed, his arms dangling loosely from his bindings. Gradually, however, reality does slip back in. It’s a slow trickle of grounded touches: your fingers tapping on his thighs, his sides, his chest. You drag your nails carefully along his skin, eliciting goosebumps. You lure him back to his body not with demands, but with soothing, purposeful touches. With love.

The toy slides out slowly, and he lets go a tired breath with it. The warmth of you is gone, but only briefly. You’re quick to slide right back between his legs, minus the toy. One at a time, you free his hands, holding each one and lowering it to the bed. Every single moment of putting him back together is full of the same practice and care that you took him apart with.

You trail kisses up his body, the occasional hot slip of your tongue like a static shock. You lap at every drop of the mess he’s made of himself. Your lips feel like worship, your hands like reverence. He doesn’t feel used like something dirty or disposable, he feels like something that has been used and cherished.

His eyes flutter open as you cup his face. His lips spread in a lazy smile while you kiss him, cleaning away the salty mess of his come from his lips, his cheek. He rumbles contentedly when you bring your lips back to his and he can taste himself on them, his own movements languid and weak. He doesn’t bother trying to lift his hands. He’s too busy enjoying the way you tend to him, taking it upon yourself to set his limbs into comfortable positions before you lay down atop him, fingers in his hair, lips on his throat where you had previously been squeezing.

“How do you feel?” You ask eventually. “I’m fucking great,” is what he thinks he says, but to you, it comes out more like, “M’f’k’n’gr’t…”

You laugh softly, your love and affection so palpable in the sound, he wants to bury himself in it. “You were wonderful,” you say, your words settling over him more warmly than any blanket, warmer than the sun itself. He could bask beneath them forever. “So, so very good for me. You always are,” you say, punctuating your words with delicate butterfly kisses. “I love making you feel good. I love you.”

The first time you cared for him this way, he had fallen to pieces in your hands. Even now, there is the threat of it in how his eyes burn, prickling with tears, but he does not fall apart this time. Instead, he relaxes into your every touch, and lets himself feel freedom in this sense of deconstruction, knowing without a doubt that you will not leave him to pick up the shards alone.

“Love y’too,” he gives back slightly more coherently. “Why’d’ey m’ke ‘em th’big?”

“They make them bigger,” you answer, effortlessly understanding his slurred question.

The look he gives you makes you laugh again, a sharper bark of amusement. “Relax,” you tell him, stroking his hair. “I think we’re good. For now.”

“Fiend,” he accuses you affectionately, putting in the herculean effort to lift a hand to your cheek, stroking it with his thumb before he kisses you, melting into the warm, sweet aftermath of the session. He likes that you always tease him with more. It’s a clever way of assuring him that there will always be more to look forward to.

[ladylooch]

Strictly Pleasure - [Timo Meier]

A/N: So color me stunned when I went to the roster of Team Switzerland in 2019 and did not in fact see Timo on it……. Because the Sharks were in the playoffs…. LMAO But you know my entire AU timeline is built on 2019 so we go with it. As promised, the full fic for our unanimous poll winners 🥹

As a warning, I literally was clawing my fingernails into the bench seat editing this morning. Holy fuck. Apparently I was feeling extra smutty this weekend.....

Word Count: 4.3k

The coolness of my white wine glass chills my palm while I bring the liquid to my lips. I take a sip, lips curling up in appreciation of both the wine and the stunning sunset before my eyes. I sit on the patio of a cafe in Bratislava, Slovakia awaiting the arrival of my little brother. I am the only member of my family who has been able to make it over to Slovakia in time to see him compete for our country at the IIHF World Championships. His previous international experience has been at the U18 level, but this year he is competing in the big leagues. We are so proud of him and I feel honored to have the flexibility to see him live his dream this week.

Crowds from various countries line the streets of the capital city, surrounding Ondrej Nepela Arena. Various teams are represented- the three crowns of Sweden, the lion of Finland and one man with the red and white of my home country. I smile at the familiar crest on his chest. He wanders down the sidewalk with sunglasses on, hair perfectly styled in a swoop to the left. Mirrored aviators hide his upward gaze to the awning that spells out the restaurant. He flips his sunglasses up, looking down at his phone, then at the name of the restaurant again. Once confirming, he puts his phone back in his pocket, then stalls his footsteps at the podium explaining the menu options for tonight.

“Go Swiss!” I cheer in my native language at him. He looks up from where he had been studying the menu, nodding in my direction. 

“You from?”

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

“I assumed so. You have the accent.” 

“You… kind of do?” He chuckles, questioning. His head tilts to the side slightly, thick eyebrows pulling lower over his eyes. “Where are you from?”

“Close to Bern.”

“Ah… that southern dialect can be troublesome.”

“Maybe you just haven’t heard it enough. Should get out of the big city.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Zurich. Clearly.”

“St. Gallen.”

“Same difference.” 

“Okay.” He chuckles, shifting as he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “This place any good?”

“Wine is good.” I cheers my glass in the air at him. “But other than that, I don’t know. My brother picked the place.”

“Yeah, I am meeting someone here too.” 

“Would you like to wait with me? I can buy you a drink.” For some reason, he laughs. 

“Buy me a drink?” He nods. “Sure, if your boyfriend won’t mind?”

“No boyfriend. I’m sure your girlfriend will not be much longer though?”

“No girlfriend. If I did, sitting next to a beautiful Swiss woman would likely get me into big trouble.” He murmurs, reaching for the back of the empty chair across from me. As he pulls it out, my brother comes hustling up next to us.

“Oh great! You did get my text about Timo joining us. I’m glad you found each other.” We both pause, connecting the pieces of who we are to each other. I would not have pegged him as a hockey player. He presents so different from the others I have interacted with over my brother’s playing career. “Timo, this is my older sister Emma.”

“Nice to meet you.” He murmurs as he shakes my hand. Our hands fit perfectly together in a polite shake. His fingers drag along every inch of my palm as he pulls his hand back, creating an electric jolt up my arm.

“Yeah…” I trail off, answering my brother. I gulp down a sip of wine. “He was easy to spot.” Nico grins as I stand, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. “Hi.” I haven’t seen Nico for a few weeks. He came home to Switzerland after his season ended, but was running off with all his friends with his new found freedom.

“I am glad you could make it. Mama and Papa are coming tomorrow?”

“Yes, it was the earliest they could get here. I was able to get on a flight from my conference in Berlin.” 

“Good. More time together.” I laugh, glancing at Timo who studies the menu across from me.

“Seemed you liked the way the last few weeks were.” I murmur. “Your big sister always coming in last.”

“I’m sorry.” Nico sighs regretfully.

“It’s okay. As per usual, your time is pulled in every single direction.” 

“Yes, but you’re important to me. I’ll do better.”

“Good! You can start by buying me dinner. You make the big bucks now!” 

“Yeah, you can buy mine too. You make 1st overall money. I’m slumming it down at 9.” Timo and I share a look, chuckling together at Nico’s red, embarrassed cheeks.

“With a flick of a pen, you instantly made more money than your sister has her entire career. You can buy my dinner.” I pile on.

“Stop.” Nico shakes his head with a shy smile. “I will buy you dinner because I love you and that’s it.” I shake my head, looking over at Timo.

“Nico always has to be so sweet to make me feel bad for teasing him.”

“You need to get meaner Nico.” Timo laughs. “Your sister is more intimidating than you.” I scoff at him, then smirk.

“Certified man eater.” I confirm. “You better be careful.” He sucks his cheeks in for a moment, scanning his eyes along my body. Then he shakes his head.

“I like a challenge.” He winks. I pause, recognizing his interest, sliding my gaze over to my little brother who seems to be contemplating between two entrees. I lick a drop of wine off my lips after taking a sip. Timo’s blue eyes stay there, then fall back down to the menu in front of me.

The rest of dinner, these small, wordless interactions happen. He brushes my hand while handing me back my filled water glass. We steal looks at each other whenever Nico isn’t looking. Most of the conversation is driven by us towards each other. Nico seems content to listen, happy to see us getting along so well after inviting a stranger to sibling bonding. I am thankful he did. Timo and I are vibing, conversing and joking like we have known each other for years, not less than two hours. 

Nico pays the bill, making a huge show of treating us with his black Amex. 

“Flaunting your wealth is tacky Nico.” I scold. He scoffs at me, waving me up out of my seat. I toss my arm around his shoulder, pulling him in for a forced hug. “I love you. Thank you.”

“I love you, buddy! Thank you!” Timo says too, coming in to the other side so Nico is sandwiched between us. I giggle hard, tilting my head back towards the dark sky while doing so. Timo’s hands grip my sides as we squeeze Nico harder. I fold my fingers over his arms too, feeling the soft material of his sweatshirt. When I open my eyes all I can see is Timo. His beautiful blue eyes sparkling with joy. His big smile and scrunched nose indicating how much fun he is having with us.

“I could use another drink.” I hear myself say to him directly. He nods immediately, releasing from our packed hug.

“We have a bar in our hotel. Are you staying there too?” Timo asks casually.

“Oh! Yes! Let’s go.” I exclaim. “Neeks?”

“Maybe. I’m tired, but I’ll see how I feel when we get there.” 

“Okay.” I shrug. No offense to Nico, but I wouldn’t be disappointed if he didn’t come.

“How are we feeling about the game tomorrow?” I ask the boys as we walk the cobblestone walk way. 

“Good. We’ll get it done.” Timo says confidently. Nico echos that though a yawn.

His yawning continues through our first round of drinks until he is almost falling asleep sitting up in his chair where we sit at a space in the bar, backing up to the lobby.

“Nico, just go to bed.” I chuckle.

“Yeah I am going to head there.” Nico sighs after a yawn. He looks over at me. “You too?” I bite my lip, shaking my head. 

“I’m not tired. I stay up late for a living.” Nico shrugs his shoulders. “Goodnight.” He stands up.

“Goodnight baby brother.” I tease him as he heads across the lobby to the elevators. “Sleepy good!” I take a sip of my wine, then settle my brown eyes on Timo who still watches with those interested eyes. “Are you tired?” I wonder.

“No.” He says then takes a sip of his drink. “A lot more interesting things are happening down here than in mine and Fiala’s room.” A shiver runs from the base of my neck down my spine pulling my chest tight with flattery. 

“You like to stay up late?”

“Mhm.” He answers around another sip of his drink. He licks at his top teeth afterwards, bringing my eyes back to his lips. “Kinda have to in this job. What do you do?”

“I own an event planning business.” 

“Oh fancy, Ms. Entrepreneur.” 

“I went to college and everything.”

“Impressive. Maybe I should hire you to run my charity golf tournament.”

“I could do that. But it depends.”

“On?”

“What happens between us tonight.” A slow and sexual grin rolls across his lips. He likes my boldness. My heart fluters excitedly in my chest. I love this part, getting gorgeous and powerful men to give into what has been brewing between us. “I have a strict line between business and pleasure. I’m sure you can understand that in your line of work.” Timo nods, looking lost in a previous mistake. 

“That is fair.” He tilts his head. A few teammates walk through the lobby, shouting a hello at Timo. He gives a brief wave, then focuses back on me.

“Any chance I could convince you to go somewhere private to discuss further your personal and professional qualifications?” There is nothing professional about his request.

“Where would you suggest?”

“Maybe your room?” I pretend to contemplate, leaning back in my chair while studying him with scrutiny. 

“What would we do there?” I ask him, dragging out the vowels in my words. I slowly run my tongue along my lips, gathering his attention there.

“You can tease me some more with that mouth.” 

Forward. Bold. Going in for the kill, just like I hoped. 

“Our drinks?” He pulls his wallet out, tossing cash onto the table. He stuffs his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans and stands. He holds his hand out for me. I stare at the warm, welcoming skin of his palm. I know what taking that hand means. I know this is dangerous territory, but Timo is a temporary teammate of my brother. It’s not like he is in New Jersey with him full time.

I slide my fingers gently into his hand, then clasp it as he lifts me into a standing position. He weaves our fingers together, palms cupping each other as we walk silently to the elevator. He pulls me in behind him, then turns expectantly at me.

“Four.” I tell him. He presses the button and the doors close. 

“You do this often?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Plenty.” His eyes drag ravenously from my face down my body. He nods in surprised appreciation. “I won’t tell you I love you after, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He chuckles. 

“You look harder to get than that. What are the rules?” He asks as he turns towards me. His hand drops mine, so he can pull my hips flush with his. My eyes flutter at what I feel. Big. Hard. Ready. 

“Wrap it up. Don’t you dare finish before me. No butt stuff. And…” I insist, stepping closer. “Nico never knows.” My foot goes between his, rubbing my thigh against his zipper. He exhales a little heavier, hinting at the desire building in his body. The elevator doors open and we step out. I lead the way, sliding the key through and pushing the door open. I walk in first again. He shuts the door behind us then crosses the slim space between us. He whips me around by my wrist, crowding my space immediately. My heartbeat skyrockets in dangerous and needy passion.

“Anything else?” He asks, sliding a hand to the side of my neck. He holds it tight, thumb stroking my cheek. His blue eyes are fierce, ready for whatever waits for us on the other side of my answer. 

“What are yours?”

“I don’t want anything serious. You understand that?” He strokes my cheek as he says it as if to soften the blow. He’s clearly had this conversation before with other women. He’ll figure out I’m not like them soon enough.

“Completely.”

“Are you on the pill?” 

“Yes.” I laugh. “Are we going to fuck now or keep playing 20 questions?” I slide my hand down to the button on his pants. He laughs too, pausing as he bites his bottom lip. 

“What are your thoughts on cuddling?”

“Hell no.”

“My kinda girl.” He whispers then closes the gap between our faces.

His lips on mine create an explosion that rocks me to my core. I exhale into his mouth in a moan. He runs his hand through my hair then down my body. It wraps around my waist and he lifts, practically tossing me up onto the hotel desk. The lamp shade rattles against the wall. His hands come to my shirt, lifting. Our lips part for a moment, then reconnect with tongues. Wetness pools in my panties, almost soaking them through. 

One of his hands comes up to my breast, squeezing it, then finding my nipple and thumbing it over my bra. I sigh happily into his mouth, then fist his shirt in my hand. His shirt joins mine on the floor, then I reach for the button on his pants. It snaps apart easily. I jerk his zipper down until it’s completely open. His cock is hot and seeping in his underwear. I pull back from his mouth, looking down as he unclasps my bra. The straps slack along my arms. He pulls them the rest of the way off, then takes me in. 

“Beautiful.” He mumbles, tugging my hips so I slide closer to him on the desk top. “So, so beautiful.” He repeats against the warm skin of my chest. His lips kiss down vertically, until he gets to a tight nipple. He makes eye contact with me as he sucks it into his mouth. His tongue strokes upwards too, making my jaw unhinge for a moment. “You had so much to say earlier, now you’re quiet? Gonna have to change that.” He whispers, then sucks my nipple deep into his mouth, working it over, sending darts of pleasure to my clit. It aches to be touched, missing out on his skilled mouth and fingers. 

“Oh.” I pant. He smirks into my breast.

My fingers find the waistband of his underwear, tugging it back from his skin so his cock rises to rest on his belly. His red tip is oozing down the edge of his head. I bite my lip, then my head knocks back into the lamp as his tongue strokes my other nipple into submission.

Fuck, this is incredible. He knows exactly what he is doing. When to push, when to pull away, how to tease and reward. He will be worth any future punishment. My hands shove at the waistbands of his bottom layers until they work down his strong hips. He steps out of them, grabbing a condom in his jean pocket, then kicks them off to the side. I lean back on one palm grinning. He lets me take him in, every delicious curve and edge of his muscular body made perfect from hockey and hard work. His big hands cup my breasts, rolling his thumbs over the stiff peaks in unison. 

“Oh that feels sooo good.” I moan appreciatively. I run my free hand through my hair. He watches my face, playing with me more until I am embarrassingly close to coming without him even being inside of me. “I need you to fill me up.”I demand breathlessly. He bites his lip.

“You’re so fucking sexy. You can tell me what to do all night, Emma.” 

“Just call me Em.” I laugh. “Emma is so formal.” 

“Whatever you want, babe.” 

He unbuttons my jeans, then pulls them off my legs. He admires my black, lace panties, seeing the creamy wetness pooling there just for him, then he works them off my body so we are both naked. He picks me up, setting me to the very edge of the desk, then he hands me the condom. I rip the package open with my teeth, gripping the tip, before easing it down his shaft. His eyes close and he sways slightly forward at my hands on him.

He crowds my space, our breath combining together, still smelling like the minimal alcohol we had tonight. One hand goes to my left hip, then the other goes to grip his shaft. He rolls his head through my folds, collecting my soaking juices before he nestles his head at my entrance. Together, we watch him disappear between my swollen lips. He lets out a shaky exhale. He grabs my wrists, putting them on his shoulders, then he lifts me slightly up off the desk, beginning to pump into my pussy. 

Tingling explosions burst out down my body. Gooseflesh covers my arms and legs as I take each hard thrust with enthusiastic greed. I kiss along his jaw, grinning at the way I jerk in his arms with each pump. He isn’t handling me like a fragile doll, he is fucking me just like I knew he would. Hard, fast, deep, showing he was built with power and strength for a reason.

“Fuck, Em, your pussy is so good.” He growls into my neck. The sound of skin slapping together increases, becoming disgustingly obvious in the room as he rocks hard into me. “So wet and tight.” He hisses through gritted teeth. My nose bumps into his jaw as I moan on his throat. He turns his face, capturing my lips then fucking up harder and faster into me. My whole body goes tight and rigid, then I fall into my orgasm. Timo fucks me through it, not wavering in his thrusts at all until I collapse onto his chest in surrender. He slows then, kissing my neck as he takes me to the bed. He lays me down, then work himself out of me. I look down at the condom, wondering if we are done.

“Your turn. Show me what you got, Hischier.” I laugh loudly. He sits down on the bed, then falls backwards. He takes my hand in one of his, fingers folding together, helping me maneuver to straddle his lap. I work my hair to one side, then reach behind me to grab his cock in my hand. He hums, then sighs happily as I swallow him whole in one press of my hips. Timo’s eyes literally roll back into his head as I start to move. His hands come behind his head fingers lacing together on the pillow below.

“That’s right. Just lay there princess.” I smirk, throwing my hips back on his cock. 

“Funny… gorgeous… talented… where has Nico been hiding you?”

“Practically under your nose.”

“Ah, that’s why I didn’t see it. It’s a little big.” I giggle, then set my hands on his shoulders, rolling my hips.

“Ooo. You know how to fuck.” He praises me. “So good….” He bites his lip, exhaling heavily. “Little more, gorgeous.” He encourages. I comply and he groans. “Mmmm.” His hands snap away from the back of his head. He grips my hips, feeling the roll of them on him. Then two fingers find my clit. I shutter. His other hand comes to my breast, pinching my nipple. “Fuck me until you cum.”  He whispers. I moan shakily, then keep bucking my hips down into him. When he senses I am about to release, he works his hips up in little thrusts to help me over the edge.

“Oh!” I cry out, pinching my other nipple.

He gently eases me down, pulling his feet up closer to his butt so his thighs create support for my back. I slump into them. I pant, looking at him on the pillow as he smirks. 

“Shit.” I hiss as he forces his cock up deep into me, lifting my weight with his hips like it’s nothing. 

“Doggy?” He asks, wiggling his large eyebrows. I nod eagerly.

I’ve never come so hard or had so much fun with a one night stand before. Usually, it’s awkward, bumping into each other and trying to find the right tempo. Not with Timo. It truly feels like we were made for each other. Gone is the insecure way I try to move my body so my partner can see the best angles. Usually, I stay away from doggy. But I am desperate to feel the hard slapping of his balls against my clit. 

We both stand. Timo kisses me, tongues flirting within my mouth. Our lips are puffy and red by the time we pull apart. He twists my hips, working his cock between my legs as I bend over in front of him. He lines his latex covered head with my entrance, then pulls me back on his dick. We both groan loudly this time, appreciating the stretch and arousal of each other. 

“Gonna be dreaming about this pussy tonight.” He groans, starting to buck his hips again. The delicious slapping has me deliriously groping the bed sheets. His thick cock crams into me thrust after thrust, feeling like he is rearranging my internal organs. A big hand comes to the back of my neck, forcing me down. I groan loudly, shrieking an inhale at how good this angle feels. 

“Please.” I hear myself beg.

“Please what, baby?”

“Please make me cum. Please. More. Um! That! Yeah!” I yelp out as his hips snap harder into me. My ass shakes with his powerful thrusts. I turn my face into the comforter, then scream hard into it as a powerful orgasm grips my core and turns me inside out. 

“Fuck… I’m gonna cum. Feels so fucking good when you cum.” I shake against his thighs as he finishes in the condom. His hand releases from the back of my neck. He grips the edge of the condom then works his way out of me. Wordlessly, he heads to the bathroom, striping himself and cleaning off. I collapse forward into the bed sheets, curling into the fetal position while my heavy breathing continues. Timo brings a towel back with him, tossing it to me. Afterwards, I throw it onto the floor while he lays back next to me in bed. 

“Good job.” I murmur, holding my hand up. He slaps it firmly, then sighs happily.

“That was amazing.” He turns to look at me when he says it. I nod, meeting his gaze. “Any chance you’re available for more of that this summer?”

“No strings?”

“No strings.” He agrees. 

“Then yeah. I’m available.” He chuckles. 

“We make a good team, tho. Damn.” He rubs a hand over his head. He turns his wrist, looking at the time on his expensive, silver watch. “I gotta go. It’s almost curfew.”

“Yeah, I want to go to sleep.” I admit, stretching out, pushing at his thigh under the covers to move him off the bed. He dramatically rolls off like I kicked him full on. I giggle as he rests his chin on the bed from the floor. His blue eyes soak me up. His hand comes up, poking at my left cheek.

“Your dimples are cute.”

“Thank you.” I murmur. 

“How long are you here?”

“Wanna see me again already?” He laughs.

“Yeah. Sex that great is rare. I want you again tomorrow.” Butterflies erupt in my stomach. I roll my bottom lip in my mouth, watching him pull his clothes back on. His last article is the Team Switzerland sweatshirt he zips up to the middle of his chest.

“Okay.” I agree. He smiles gently, then walks towards me. 

He kneels one knee on the bed, hovering over the body he wrecked tonight. He kisses me quick, then pulls away. He smells seductive and sultry, like his expensive cologne and me. 

“Sweet dreams.” He whispers.

“Goodnight.” I respond. He walks out of the room, closing the door softly during his exit.

I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling above me. The butterflies in my stomach expand up into my chest until it feels crammed full. I put my hand over my face, watching back the reel of the night against my black eyelids, ending with the mutual agreement of more. 

More this weekend. More even this off-season too. More, more, more because it will be months before I will have had my fill of him.

I’m not sure how we will make it all work. Sneaking around once is one thing, but doing it continuously is another.

I guess this planner is going to have to figure it out. 

Because It’s going to be a long, hot summer with Timo Meier.

More Timo and Emma can be found here.

[radiaurapple]

Lucid Dreams of New Orleans: Chapter 2

IN WHICH Lucifer plays the violin; Alastor performs the most important show of his life; and the bayou creeps in.

[AO3 LINK]

Very excited to share the second chapter of my radioapple fic! hope you enjoy, next chapter will be a week from today. 📻🍎

Chapter preview below!

They meet again at the church before school on Thursday. It is a bright morning, and the rising sun scatters a constellation of stained glass reflections across the walls. They begin by reviewing the scales from their last lesson. The intervening days seem to have cemented the movements in Lucian’s muscle memory — his hands move up and down the octaves effortlessly, even as he continues to grill Alastor about his life and family. 

“You’ve worked so hard, with jazz,” Lucian says. “Now you’re finally playing the most prestigious venues in New Orleans. Aren’t you satisfied?” 

“You sound like my mother. She’s always telling me to slow down and be thankful for what I have. Psalms 106:1: ‘Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever.’” Alastor laughs. “She doesn’t understand. I’ll never be satisfied. I need to know how far I can go — if I can make it to the top. Isn’t it the same for you?”

Lucian inclines his head — his hair catches the sunlight. “Hmm?” 

“When we first met, you mentioned that you also play.”

“Oh, yeah — it’s different for me. It’s just something I do.”

“How long have you played?”

“Always,” Lucian says. “It calms me.”

“Can I hear?”

Lucian’s hands still; the chapel falls into silence. “Now?”

“Yes,” Alastor says. “I have my violin.” 

“So do I.” 

Lucian reaches around the piano for his backpack, rifles through it, and produces the most beautiful instrument Alastor has ever seen. It is made of metal — gold? — pristine and reflective as a mirror, engraved with intricate patterns: apples across the body, constellations of stars along the ribs, a snake winding around the neck. 

Lucian sets it on the piano and rifles through his backpack again for the golden bow. 

“My God,” Alastor says. “How on Earth did you come into possession of an instrument like that?” 

“Family heirloom.” Lucian stands and stretches his arms over his head. 

Alastor reaches for Lucian’s violin. “May I?”

“Of course,” Lucian says. “As long as I can tune yours up, in the meantime.”

Alastor nods his head toward the front pew, where he’d unceremoniously dumped his backpack when he arrived. Lucian casually tosses Alastor the golden bow — which Alastor fumbles frantically to catch — and bounds down the steps. 

The metal warms quickly in Alastor’s hand. He picks up the violin — it’s heavier than his own, but not by much. He runs his fingers over the engravings. Above the bridge is a tiny, smiling angel with three sets of wings and Lucian’s face. It’s easily the most expensive thing Alastor has ever touched. He holds up the golden bow in his other hand and tries to imagine how Lucian could toss it around so carelessly. 

He looks up to find Lucian seated on the first pew, reverently examining the spot on the back of Alastor’s violin where years of pressing the instrument into his shoulder have worn the lacquer away. 

“It’s the only violin I’ve ever had,” Alastor says. “It was a birthday present from my mother, ten years ago.” 

“It’s great,” Lucian says without looking up. He tucks it under his chin, draws the bow across the strings, then lowers it to adjust the tuning pegs. 

Alastor follows suit. The sound of Lucian’s violin is bright, haunting, smooth, and already perfectly in tune. 

Lucian looks up at him. “May I play it?” 

“If you’d like.” 

[AO3 LINK]

[turtletimewriting]

Day 17: Interrogation

Summary: Leo has been captured and is in real danger...

Note: You may be surprised by this, but this is a tickle fic so beware! I wrote this for the 2012 boys but in reality, this could be any turtles. So I've tagged this as rise as well.

._._.

The harsh light flashed into his face. Leo woke up with a dramatic gasp. Peaceful sleep ripped away from him in an instant. The light blinded him. It took a few moments of desperately blinking away the spots in his vision.

"Well well well."

Leo managed to look up and was faced with the back of his baby brother. He was standing with his hands neatly clasped behind his back and staring off into the pitch black room.

It was then that Leo became aware that he was currently tied up with Mikey's chains. He was chained against his brother's bed's headboard.

"Mikey!" Leo gasped, "What the hell!"

Mikey turned around slowly as he removed his sunglasses that he was wearing. His face stern and rigid. "I just have a few questions for you. If you cooperate, then this shouldn't be too bad."

"What?" Leo said incredulously but he was very much trapped in the chains. He couldn't move his legs or arms, at the most he could kinda sway to side to side.

Mikey slammed his hand against the headboard just beside his head. "This is serious!"

Leo gave him the exact response that demand deserved: a sassy side eye.

"Yesterday, I ordered a large pizza. Jellybeans, jalapenos, pineapple and spicy sausage." He spoke nostalgically. "But I didn't feel well. The pizza was to cheer myself up from feeling sick but eating it didn't make me feel good."

"Okaaaay?" Of course Leo remembered this. Mikey had been off all day and he had even been the one to grab the pizza off the delivery guy when it arrived.

"And I put it away in the fridge. To have tomorrow when I felt better."

Mikey crowded even closer to him for a moment, the eye contact intense, before finally backing away again. He cockily moved to sit down on the bed beside him. "And when I got up."

Leo felt a bead of sweat drip down his brow. He never realised his goofball adorable baby brother could be so scary.

"There was only a singular slice left out of the whole. Damn. Pizza.."

Leo tried to push himself away but he couldn't move his legs. "Mikey. Now listen. It wasn't me! You know it wasn't me! I wouldn't touch your pizza!"

Mikey put back on the sunglasses, sticking the sellotape back on so they actually stuck to his face. "I'm sorry, Leo. But I think we're gonna need to talk about this some more."

Leo was nervously sweating buckets at this point. "Mikey, it wasn't me! It definitely wasn't me! H-have you tried asking Donnie? Donnie would know what happened!"

But Mikey paid him absolutely no attention. He examined his nails before holding both his hands out. He raised a brow.

"Mikey! Please! It wasn't me!"

Mikey tutted and pointed one finger out. "If you don't start talking then I'm going to start tickling your side."

Leo lurched forward like the word alone tickled him. "Mikey! Mikey! Please! No! You know it wasn't me!"

Mikey's finger started creeping closer and closer. Still nonchalant. "I'll start with a single finger on your right side. Just scratching along your side. Then I'll start going up and down. If you don't start talking then I'll use my other finger on your other side. Just tickling you with two fingers."

"Mikey!" Leo screeched with a humiliating voice crack.

Yet his finger did land on his side. Leo flinched like he had been electrocuted. "GAH! HAHAHAHAAA!" The singular tickle did not warrant such an explosive laugh but his nerves were screaming just from their quick conversation.

From all the years of 'being taken down a peg or two' by his brothers, never had he been so easily riled up. Never had teasing gotten so quickly to his head.

Mikey's finger stayed in the exact same spot, right in the soft flexible cartilage of his side and gently tickled away. Not ramming his finger into his side painfully like Raph would. Just a gentle consistent itchy tickle that couldn't be ignored.

He threw himself to the side but he didn't get very far. Mikey didn't even blink as he followed him. Bouncing up and down did nothing. He had no choice but to bare the tickle.

"HahhAHAHAH! MIHi! HAHAH! MIKEY! I DOHON'T KNOW ANYTHING HAHAHAHA!"

"Where were you last night then?"

"HAHA! HA! MIHIKEY! EEEEEEE HAHAHAHAAH! CAN'T TALK! HAHAA! YOU'RE TIHI-"

"Aw man, Leo. When did you get this ticklish?" Mikey giggled himself, taking a moment to squeeze both his sides rapidly, absolutely delighting himself in Leo's screechy squeal. "Okay, okay."

The tickling was taken away and Leo could actually breathe again.

Well, in theory. Instead, the giggles never stopped. The ghostly tingling sensation still fluttering away at his side like no one's business. And Mikey was still sitting there and making no move to stop 'interrogating' him. That fact alone was enough to send him spiralling into frantic giggles.

"Where were you last night."

"In my room! In my room! Mihihihi hahaha heh Mikey! You know I wouldn't heh- AH WAIT NO NO NOHAHAHA AHAHAAHAAAAAH AHAAHA!"

Mikey simply raised a non-existant brow. "In your room, huh?"

He had grabbed a hold of his foot and was happily scribbling away as if it was completely normal and Leo was the weird one for losing his mind. His foot totally trapped in Mikey's cradling hold but he could still see Mikey's fingers trace and tickle him. "HAHAHAHAHAAA! MIKEY! HAHAHAAH! IT'S THE TRUHUTH! PLEAHAHAHAAHAHAAA!"

"You see, Leo, I just don't think I believe you," Mikey said conversationally as if he wasn't making Leo lose his sanity one tickling trace at a time, "You see, I have it on good authority that you weren't in your bedroom last night."

"DOHOHONNIE'S A SNITCH!" He shrieked out without thinking, the tickling corroding his ability to think.

The tickling halted. Didn't withdraw. But his hand stopped mid motion of raking down his sole. "So you admit it!" Mikey yelled before leaping forward and squeezing his sides like his life depended on it.

Leo bucked so hard he thought he heard the bedboard creak. But he still didn't break free. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA! AAAAAH! HAHAHAHAHA! MI-HAHAHAHAHA!"

"ADMIT IT!" Mikey screamed, just absolutely beaming with happiness.

Leo shook his head madly as if that would constitute denying the allegations. He was laughing too hard to really say anything and Mikey was now too lost in the ler-sauce to stop tickling home.

Both of them broke free from their stalemate when there was a harsh knock on the door.

"Michelangelo. Stop tormenting your brother. I believe it was Icecream Kitty who took the pizza anyway. Training in ten minutes," Splinter lied.

Leo gasped desperately as Mikey pulled away.

"No," He whispered horrified, "There's no way. After all we had been through... Icecream Kitty...."

He was snapped out of his sorrow when Leo tried kicking him with his foot. "Let me go, Mikey!"

"Haha, oops? At least Sensei told us before I could interrogate Raph."

[mutedsilence]

@writingfanficsfan the cut is some of an Ironstrange fic I've been working on. Tbh I've not added anything in a while. But I have plans for where it'll go.

"No." 

"Stephen-"

"No, I will not show up for some douchebags publicity stunt!"

"He has a heart condition, he needs-"

"A lower ego, that's what he needs. Look, Christine, I'm not going! If he thinks he can wave his money about and I'll come running, he has another thing coming."

"Stephen, you are the top. Best of the best. He wants you. They won't let him up there without medical assistance, and he won't go without you."

"We've literally never met. Not to mention that I'm a Neurosurgeon!"

"Doesn't stop him wanting you there. You'll have plenty of time to get to know each other."

"I'm not going. I wouldn't be caught dead working on some publicity stunt for Stark. He's a pompous asshole that needs to be taken down a peg. What he needs is someone to tell him no. Someone to tell him they won't play his little game."

*** 

Stephen stood outside the transport to his new home for the next year. His possessions had already been collected. He could only take essentials - clothes and a select few items to keep them entertained. Stephen was told that if anything was needed, they could contact the control centre. Whatever it was would be sent up with the next food shipment. The shipment that came every three months. 

Even with his protests, he went along to the training. A car was sent to collect him every day. A man called Happy, drove him to the training centre. He would be intercepted on his way to the hospital. It was as if Stark hadn't given him a way out. It had caught him off guard when he was first picked up. A man in a suit stood waiting for him in front of a car. It had been early in the morning and Stephen was walking to his car, ready to start his shift. "Excuse me, Doctor Strange?" 

He had turned to regard the man properly, still walking towards his car, "Yes? Sorry, running slightly late." He hoped that had been enough to deter the man from further conversation. No luck. 

"Hello, I'm Happy Hogan. I've been sent to collect you," That made Stephen stop. All attention on the stranger, "I work for Tony Stark. To go to space, you need proper training. It's already been cleared with the hospital." 

"I'm not going to space, I'm going to work." Stephen went to push past the man. His anger slightly building. The nerve of that man! Happy extended a hand, not touching, just giving Stephen a pause. He extended the hand to his ear. He gave a nod to no one in particular - obviously listening to someone. "Is that him?" Happy gave another nod as he listened, "Listen, I'm not going to join you in an insane publicity stunt. Find someone else." 

Happy spoke before he could move away, "Doctor, Tony has said if you get into the car, he will not only pay you handsomely, but the hospital as well." 

Stephen didn't think of himself as a sell-out, but they needed funding. They needed any and all the money they could get. His mind wandered to all the run-down equipment they had been using. He grit his teeth and let out a sigh, "Let me get changed." 

He hadn't met Mr Stark. He knew of him and what he looked like. Everyone did. There wasn't a person alive that didn't know Tony Stark, especially after he became Iron Man. Stephen strapped himself in for intensive training. It typically took two years before going to space. But this was Tony Stark. He had created a ship that replicated Earth's living conditions. As Stephen had been saying constantly, it was stupid. He still required some training, but not nearly as much as actual astronauts. 

***

Stephen sat in the small waiting room. He and Stark would be the only ones living in the space station full-time. Others would arrive when needed, but this was Stark's plan. He would be alone if it wasn't for his heart. They would travel up there together, in a confined space for six hours. Then a year of confined space to follow. 

He couldn't help but think of all the good he could be doing if he had stayed home. 

Someone sat beside Stephen, with his nose buried in a book, he didn't pay them any mind. The person shifted. They kept moving as if they had never sat in a chair before and were trying to figure it out. Stephen tried to ignore them, tried to keep his focus on his book. These were the last hours before he was stuck with Stark for the foreseeable future. 

"So, you're my Doctor."

Stephen looked up at the intrusion. His thoughts scattered as he looked into the eyes of Tony Stark. The eyes that looked steadily into his own. A small smirk was playing at Stark's lips. Stephen really, really wanted to punch him. 

Stark stuck out his hand. Stephen tore his eyes away from Stark's face to look at his hand. He steadily took it in his own. "Mr Stark." Stephen kept his voice business-like. His handshake was short and sharp. The second his hand was dropped, he turned back to his book. Determined to have some kind of peace in his last moments on Earth. 

He turned the page and Stark spoke up again. "You can take that with you," Stephen looked back up into Stark's eyes. They were searching for his eyes. "The book. If you're ready, we can leave now, or- or I mean, it's up to you. If you're not ready to leave yet - that's fine. We can wait for the designated time. It's just, everything is ready, so if you wanted to, and I mean if you actually wanted to. Yeah. I'll shut up." 

Stephen watched him in amusement. He had never expected to see the great Tony Stark, stumble over his words. They would have had another hour at least until they needed to leave. Stark had looked down and away, blowing out a breath. Stephen found it kind of funny watching the man scramble over what to say. He wasn't what he expected. Stark had always been shown as a narcissistic, arrogant sod, but, perhaps that was just how the media wanted him to be seen. The Tony Stark they show to the world. Not this Tony Stark. The Tony Stark that's kind of cute as he tries to speak to another human. 

Stephen closes his book. Stark had turned his head to look out the window, watching as people worked. "I'm ready if you are." Stark's head snapped to Stephen's. A smile ghosting his lips. A twinkle hidden within his eyes. 

"Great, I'll let them know," He held out his hand, "Do you want me to put that in cargo? Probably won't be able to read on the way." Stephen looked between his book and Stark's hand before giving a nod and handing it over. 

***

They hadn't spoken a word during the six hour trip to the space station. There just wasn't anything to talk about. At times, Stephen was certain Stark would start talking. He would turn to face Stephen, but something on his face must have deterred any conversation Stark may have wanted. 

The six hours seemed to span into days. 

The station was large, much larger than what was warranted for just the two of them. But it gave him an opportunity for escape. When he felt like he couldn't take it with Stark anymore, Stephen had plenty of room to get away. 

They were connected to each other through the programming that ran the station. The computer knew exactly where they were and what they were doing at all times. It was necessary. The whole point of Stephen going, was to keep an eye on Stark. He had access to all of Stark's vitals at all times. All he had to do was just ask. If anything was out of the ordinary, the small bracelet Stark was to wear, would send out an emergency distress signal. That signal would send throughout the station to wherever Stephen may be. He hated to admit it, but it was indeed, very clever. 

Stark gave Stephen a tour when they landed. He was clearly very pleased with his work. 

There was a dining area, already stocked with food and drink for them. A room filled with machinery, Stark assured him that if he wanted, he was welcome to tinker with it all. There was a smaller room that just had seating and a few books. There was a control room, Stark told him that that was where they would do the live streams when needed. The live streams would be broadcast on television and online so people could know what was happening on board. They were scheduled few and far between. 

The bedroom was shared. The beds were small and compact. One above, one below. A curtain creating the only type of privacy. It made sense, he supposed, that they share a room. If anything were to happen during the night, Stephen would be readily on hand. There was only one bathroom. Simple in its design. Their clothes, Stephen found, were already in the wardrobe. There was only one wardrobe in their room. Their clothes had been mixed and placed together, all hung neatly. 

For some reason, Stephen didn't mind. He kind of liked it. 

[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

Katsuki Bakugo x GN!Reader (Confession or Mess)

Okay so, this is not the best thing I've ever written, but I've been wanting to write a fic for Mr Explosion Murder for AGES and it's finally done!

Thank you @mystikalini for giving me a shove to get this done, hopefully I'll be happier with the next one...hint hint.

To say that (Y/N) and Katsuki's friendship is a peaceful one would be an absolute lie. Nothing about the bombshell blonde is peaceful, and (Y/N) is equal parts calming and catalyst.

It had always been that way, even back in the UA days when Kirishima had been downright worried about Bakugo's social skills, or lack thereof.

If not for the Bakusquad, would Katsuki even have a friend group? Kiri and Mina had pretty much adopted the angry pomeranian, but to the rest of the world he was a downright scary force of nature.

His worried were thrown out the window, by (Y/N)'s arrival on the hero scene.

The same age and with a quirk to stop Katsuki in his tracks, (Y/N) hadn't shied off Bakugo's rough edges and soon became a part of the blonde's life after graduation.

(Y/N) lives life toeing a line between poking the blonde, and backing him up, half the time one would think they'd just pissed him off, but Katsuki always stops short of boiling point and soon they're back to calmly judging other people together.

He shares food with (Y/N), denies ever cooking for them even though he's not fooling anyone. (Y/N) makes him playlists and tries to make him laugh with the names and random themes of them all, it works, somehow.

Most importantly, it's comfortable, so why...why does he want it to change?

It happened slowly at first, a flutter in his chest, warmth in his face whenever they laughed just right because of him, but then it came all at once, and there's no mistaking this feeling.

Katsuki's in love, and it's killing him.

Soon it will be ten years that (Y/N) has been in his life, they've seen him climb the hero charts into this three way dance with his former classmates, and never fail to know exactly what to say when Deku or Shoto inevitably dethrone him.

They've seen him at his best, backed him up at his worst, and knocked him down a peg when he's being an asshole.

They're perfect, just like this, so why...why have they caught him staring in the agency four times this week? Why does he want to watch them come in from a successful mission just so he can watch their hips sway with that special kind of swagger, why-why is he in love with them?

It's driving him nuts, for the month he's known it's slowly become impossible to ignore until it comes out, as usual, in the worst way possible.

Being snappy is nothing new for him, usually when there's something on his mind, so the glower did nothing to lesson (Y/N)'s smile.

'Hey! Did you see the group chat? Movie night at Mina's. You're coming, right?'

'M fuckin' busy.' He grumbled, glaring at his computer screen as if he could burn a hole in it.

'We're always fuckin' busy,' (Y/N) chuckled, undeterred as they perched on the edge of his desk comfortable.

With his scowl lowered, he watched the fabric of their costume shift as the plushness of their thigh settled against the hard edge of his desk.

Such a ridiculous thing to notice, an entirely non platonic thing, and it lights a fuse behind his eyes.

With those crimson orbs lowered, (Y/N) doesn't get to see the warning lights. Why would they look for them, it's Bakugo, those explosions are never aimed at them.

'She's on about this new horror movie that came out, but I honestly can't think of anything worse than being scared shitless on purpose so if she keeps pushing I'm hidin' behind your ass.'

That's right, (Y/N) hates horror movies, the other time Kaminari made them watch one they'd tucked in so tight to Katsuki's side the blonde couldn't move an inch for most of the movie.

The thought of that closeness, that level of comfort and trust, the little whimpers they let out every time something loud happened on screen-

His hands slammed down on the desk, and the firecracking pops were the only warning (Y/N) had to get clear as the temperature in his office suddenly spiked ten degrees.

'Back off!' He demanded. 'I can't do this shit anymore! You're such an attention whore!'

The words came flying, senseless, meaningless to his mind. It's a special kind of panic that takes hold of him when he realises what he's done.

(Y/N)'s heard him say some shit, they've been on the receiving end of countless playful insults, said in his growling tone but never meant to bite.

This...that wasn't a joke.

They've jumped clear and put his desk between them, their eyes clear and calm, as if assessing a threat in the field, but he's not to be fooled, he knows there's hurt there.

He hurt them, stupidly, needlessly.

'I...guess I'll tell Kiri you're not coming.'

No, no that isn't right, there's no fight, resignation, defeat, pain, but no fight, and as they turn and leave him to his petulant internal rambling he can barely spur himself to stand.

This is stupid, his feelings are stupid. He's not an idiot, he understands them and knows he's not thinking straight when they're around anymore.

He thought he could hold it in, wait for it to blow over like some internal storm of clusterfuck, but that's not working, and now he's hurt (Y/N) over it.

Resolved to do the only other thing he could think to do, he threw himself to his feet, and made a plan.

If he's gonna confess, that it's gonna be the best damn confession anyone's ever seen goddamnit!

(Y/N) may well be a social butterfly on the day-to-day, but alone time feels incredible after a taxing day of patrols.

Their home is quiet, safe, a place to unwind alone, play music and just drift.

Or at least, it would be, if their mind weren't ever wandering to his words, that tone, the times (Y/N)'s found him staring across the room...

(Y/N) found themselves absently fidgeting on the sofa, staring off into nothing as they turned their thoughts over and over again in their head. Maybe he'd figured out the crush? They thought they'd hidden it well enough but...maybe relying on him so much had been the wrong move.

Then again, Katsuki does rely on them just as much. He trusts (Y/N), it feels dirty to lie.

The doorbell is a shrill sound, snapping them clear out of their thoughts like a splash of cold water, heard even past the background music they'd put on.

'Who the fuck-?'

'Oi, open the damn door!'

'Ah, Bakugo.'

Here for a late night mission? Had something gone wrong?

Something involving...flowers?

The roses are the first thing they saw as they pulled open the door, a dozen red blooms spreading that delightful scent around the porch as Bakugo practically death gripped them at his side.

'Uh...Bakugo?' (Y/N) blinked, then blinked again to make sure they weren't dreaming because they could have sworn that Katsuki Bakugo is standing on their doorstep in a damned suit, looking like the best thing ever born.

The deep breath he took had broad shoulders shifting under the tailored material of the suit, painting delicious lines of his figure as he forced himself to relax and hold out the bouquet.

'Take it, it's my apology.'

His tone is softer than (Y/N)'s used to as they ease the delightfully scented bouquet to their chest, unable to resist the urge to smile.

'They're beautiful, thank you.'

The heart can't take it, it feels three sizes too big for their chest, and it's not about to get any better.

'Don't thank me, I was an ass. Figured I could handle it without you noticing, but I guess that ain't happenin'.'

(Y/N) blinked owlishly. His eyes are on them now, and there's something in those maroon depths that they don't recognise. There's warmth there, softness, directed at...

'Bakugo, handle what?'

He smiled then, the slightest curl to his lips, a softness that almost feels alien, contradicted by his tone.

'I outta get you fired! What kinda detective doesn't notice their best friend's got the hots for 'em?'

The words sat at the front of their mind until they sank in, and all hell broke loose.

'Excuse the fuck outta me?! You coulda told me you raging assho-!'

(Y/N) never got to finish, never even noticed the roses fall, replaced with the smell of his cologne, and the softness of his lips against theirs.

His hands fall, big and warm, wrapped around their frame, cradling their body to his as he kissed the breath from their lungs.

(Y/N) melted, practically purring as every fibre of their being screamed: finally!

'If I knew you kissed like that, I would have told you sooner.'

'You're an ass.'

'I'm honest, and you love me.'

'Fuck, I really do.'

[misspearly1]

Day Nineteen: Titty Fucking - Pero Tovar

Kinktober22 List

WC: 2.4k Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Established Relationship. Playfighting + Tickling. Smut. Titty Fucking. Oral. (M Receiving) Dirty talk & Degrading remarks (Pero calls reader a slut). Praising kink. Daddy Kink (Reader calls Pero Papi). Hints of breeding kink. Mentions of wanting kids. AN: Oh, I've been looking forward to this fic! I've never wrote anything regarding titty fucking before, but I enjoyed it. I hope you do too, my loves.

-

It seems uncanny to peg Pero Tovar as the sweet and playful type. Not many would agree. They would agree that his personality matches the cold and ruthless skill he has when wielding a sword but suppose all it really took for that sweet side of him to come out and play was the right woman. And you are that woman. 

Two years ago, Pero laid the sword down and bought a little cottage with you on the outskirts of a village in his motherland, and life since then has been good to you both. There isn’t a need to steal or kill to make a living anymore. You’ve settled down in a place that’s home; that you and Pero have made a home. He works at the local butchers, and you work from home, sewing and knitting the day away to sell clothing to the villagers for extra coins. 

It's a good life that you both live, and the only downside is that you don’t get to see William as often as you’d like to. He went back to China to be with his one true love Lin Mae, and you miss him dearly, as does Pero, but any day now he is due to return for a visit with Lin and their baby boy. You received word almost twelve months back about the arrival of their firstborn and their plans to come for a visit when he turns one. 

Meanwhile, you and Pero have been keeping yourselves busy by prepping day and night for their visit. The cottage you bought is small; two bedrooms, one bath, kitchen and dining areas, then the living room with big open fields all around the outside. You’ve been preparing by working on an extension. It wasn’t easy. Gathering the money for materials was difficult, but you both made ends meet and have been working hard every day. 

Now your cottage is double the size it once was. It’s spacious enough to fit two families inside and more. Outback is where all of your crops are, fenced off and protected, but out front is just big open plains of land for the eyes to enjoy for miles and miles. You and Pero are in the big open fields this evening, catching a break under the shade of a large oak tree after completing all the finishing touches for William and his family's arrival. 

“We did a good job, right amor?” The man asks while gazing across the land, his fingers rubbing circles on your arms across his chest as you cuddle him from behind. As much as you love to feel his brute strength pressed against your back in a hug, nothing beats the sight of seeing Pero physically melt when you lay behind him like this, embracing him instead. 

“Of course, we did a good job,” You tut lightly, as if disgusted with his question, though the warm smile on your lips betrays you. “Did you knock your head today and forget that we did?” You joke, eliciting the man’s body to shake with a soft chuckle escaping him as he shakes his head. Upon feeling the ambience change with high spirits, you ask another question. “Are you satisfied that we did a good job, Pero?” 

“Si bebita - I am.” He takes a long inhale of air and exhales breathily with a smile, though you were feeling playful and decided to stir him up a little. “Very well then,” You conclude with a berated tone. “Doubt loves to eat, so don’t feed it. Ok mister?” 

“Ok, señorita (ok, miss).” Pero laughs and tilts his head to look at your face, amusement of your words and tone of voice evident in his expression. He liked the authority in your tone; liked your cute attempt to be strict with him. “Chica mandona hoy. Me gusta (bossy girl today. I like it).”

“Oh, did you just call me bossy?” You gasp exaggeratedly, eyes widening like you were insulted. “I’ll show you bossy, Pero Tovar.” Darting your fingers to his ribcage, you tickle his skin and laugh at the way his body instantly reacts by jerking away from your touch. The man reaches for your hands through a rage of uncontrollable laughter, but you’re too quick for him and change direction. 

Prodding your fingers into his armpits now, your cheeks burn with merriment at the sweet giggly sounds he makes. “Fallarme! (Fuck!)” He yells with a smile, his beautiful brown eyes sparkling with hilarity from your actions, but you were getting too ahead of yourself, and it quickly became too much for him. Pero grabbed your hands swiftly and started to move, no doubt to get you back, but you were just as quick at escaping him. 

“No! I’m sorry!” You bark out a meaningless apology while crawling away from the tree trunk. You weren’t sorry at all for tickling him, you were just saying sorry in hopes that he'll show some mercy. Which he doesn’t. Just as quick as you made a dash for it, Pero turns and grabs your ankle, pulling you back to him.

“Oh no you don’t. Get back here.” He growls with laughter, “chica tonta (silly girl). You want to mess around, huh?” Yanking you around to lay on your back, he was forceful with his actions but not hurtful, though it sparked sexual excitement to run its course through your body and straight to your core. You like it when he gets playfully rough. 

The man enacted his revenge, tickling all of your most sensitive areas and taking pleasure in the way you squealed with laughter for him to stop. He didn’t of course, but he instead opted to drag it out as long as he could, watching your pretty face burn with joyous giggles as you fought him, which therefore only made it worse as Pero fought back. What started off as an innocent play between you and your beloved, quickly became something filthy and vulgar. 

Pero was tickling you, but he had moved up your body and carefully distributed his weight onto your stomach to pin your arms above your head when suddenly, he became aroused with thought. The tickling stopped, thankfully, but you saw him looking down at your breasts from above with a fiery look in his eyes. He thought about how perfectly his cock would fit between them. The man even tilted his head with a crooked brow, picturing the sight in his mind. 

“Oh no. I recognise that look, mister.” You scold, acting like you're not happy with that look you’re all too familiar with. Not only can you see Pero eyeing your breasts up and down, but you can see a tent starting to grow in his slacks too. He’s thinking dirty, and you love that he is. In fact, the man is thinking so hard with a smirk on his lips that he didn’t even hear what you said. 

“A penny for your thoughts, mi amor?” You ask, speaking a little louder this time in an effort to actually penetrate his dirty mind. Pero snaps out of it and looks up into your eyes, the irises expanding with lust as he smiles bashfully for being called out. “Just thinking about how beautiful you are, cariño.” He replies with a truth to disguise what’s really on his mind. 

“Hm. Care to elaborate Tovar?” You tease him skilfully. “I don’t believe that’s what you were thinking about.” You wanted to know what he was thinking about your breasts. You saw the look in his eyes, see it every day as a matter of fact. The man loves your boobs and will play with them at every given chance. If you were to choose only one weapon to defeat Pero Tovar, then that would be your breasts as they always manage to render him weak in the knees. 

“No?” Pero raises both brows and smirks at your question to know exactly what he was thinking about. He’d love to share, love to enact his dirty minded thoughts, but it’s something new for him and for you. But when you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, nodding all innocent and sweet-like, it only fuels those sudden desires to slot his dick between plush breasts. 

“I want to put my cock right here-” He points to the middle of your chest, “-and fuck your tits until I come, querida.” 

“Oh, Pero.” You pout and bat your eyelashes, wiggling your upper body purposely so your boobs jiggle for him. “Why didn’t you just say so?” You ask rhetorically, then gaze at him with big doe eyes, the man's chest rising and falling heavily with your interest in the idea. He thought you’d shoot him down, but apparently not. You saw the way his eyes lit up; saw the way he was taken aback by your answer to what he wants to do, and you couldn’t help but find it so sexy to see him surprised and aroused that you want this too. “Well, what are you waiting for-” You lick your lips slowly, speaking with a seductive tone. “Fuck my tits, papi.” 

“Dios mío! (oh my God!)” He chokes out a grunt, brows pulling together as his cock twitches inside his pants. “Say that again.” He moans - actually moans. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, it was just for fun, you didn’t know he would actually like the term ‘papi’, but now that you know he does, you intend to use it more often. 

“Fuck my tits.” You moan too, breathily and wanton, brows contorting with bliss. “Fuck my tits until you come papi, please.” Your pleading sends the man over the edge, makes him growl and release the beast inside. Primal urges buried deep within the man are brought up to the surface with your sweet voice calling him that one word. It brings out the urge to pump you full every day until you're round and plump with his baby. 

“Ay, carajo (Holy shit).” Pero curses, removing one of his hands from your wrists to palm his aching bulge. “Ok bebé. Te follaré las tetas. (Ok, baby. I will fuck your tits).” He opens his pants and free his cock, licking the palm of his hand before pumping him length. “Open your shirt, hermosa. Go on, good girl.” You blush from the praise. Doing as you're told and popping the buttons on your shirt open; your breasts spill out with your nipples hardening as they’re exposed to the cool evening breeze. 

“Pero.” You whine, hearing him grunt from above as he fucks his fists. “You too. Take your shirt off, sexy.” Licking your lips with the request, you reach out and take hold of his cock while he pulls his shirt over his head. He moans out from the unexpected touch, stomach tensing as rolls his hips into your strokes. “Allow me, mi futura esposa (my future wife).” He looks down at you, moving your hands to the side of your tits. “Hold them here for me, like this.” 

“Si Pero.” You sigh breathily, still doing as you're told like a good girl. He leans down to spit on his cock, then spits between your breasts before you push them together. “Open that slut mouth too.” He growls, placing his hand atop of yours before notching the tip of his cock inside the little pocket your boobs were creating. You smirk at the man then open your mouth for him, your throaty moans escaping you as he rolls his hips forward. 

“There you go, that’s it.” He rewards you with his words after you suck the tip of him when it breaches through the other side. He didn’t even have to tell you. Picking up his pace and panting with each thrust, Pero slips one of his hands around the back of your head, helping you meet his actions halfway as his orgasm begins to build. “It’s so soft, cariño.” He babbles brokenly, voice cracking with his throat becoming dry. “Merida! Your tits are so soft… And warm…That tongue. It’s so wet. Don-shit! Don’t stop.” 

“I… wouldn’t… dream of… it.” You reply between each thrust, taking the tip of him in your mouth each time with a swirl on your tongue. The noises you made were obscene, the gasps and moans reaching his ears working to push him closer and closer to the edge. You loved seeing him like this above you; loved seeing the way his face transforms as he loses himself. His movements became sloppy, laboured and ragged, chasing his high as he drank in your beauty with his eyes. 

“Te amo (I love you).” He hisses, jaw clenching as his brows pulls together. His peak is nearing. You can tell. Watching the muscles in his biceps flex as he grabs your boobs bruisingly, you moan out from the contact. “In my mouth.” You look up at him with pleading eyes. “Come in my mouth.” 

“My pleasure, bonita (beautiful).” Pero replies, his mouth falling open into the shape of an ‘o’ as his hips stutter. You open your mouth, holding his line of sight through half lidded eyes seconds before hot ropes of his seed spill past your lips. You even stick your tongue out, humming with content as you feel him painting the inside of your mouth with his creamy spend. Audibly gulping his load back, you lick your lips and smile at him. “Thank you, papi.”  

“You don’t know how dangerous that word is, bebita.” He chuckles light-heartedly. Swinging one leg away from your body, he moves down to lay at your side then pulls you to face him. You gaze at him with a smug look on your face, knowing exactly how dangerous that word is and why. “I do know.” You say, self-satisfaction evident in your tone. “I know why calling you papi feels so special.” 

Pero shakes his head, disbelieving that you really know what he wants, but you do. You noticed it a while back when William's letter came through about the birth of his baby and you just thought it was a passing phase. Like a cloud of baby fever overtaking him, but that’s clearly not the case. He wants to be the father of your baby. It wasn’t just a passing phase. He’s thought about it ever since he fell in love with you, and in the last year, he has dreamed every night of burying his cock deep inside your cunt to plant his seed. But you don’t want a baby. 

Well, that’s what he thinks and he’s wrong. You do want a baby, his babies.

-

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[dreamties]

CG! JD x Little! Reader W/ Sensory Issues

A/n- I related to this request a little too much and it just ended up as 3k of self-indulgence hurt/comfort. Hope everyone else can enjoy, as well!

Word Count: 3,138

T/W: some cursing, sensory overload / panic attacks, emotional hurt / repressed emotions, JD is referenced to have a gun in one scene but it's like. when he had it in the cafeteria and pretended to shoot Kurt & Ram like . . . that type beat, y'know?

This fic is seriously unedited <3

JD is willing to do just about . . . anything for his partner. Except, maybe, y’know- change his fundamentals as a person? And he’s generally pretty open about things, people, you name it. As long as you aren’t hurting anyone, who is he to stop you from a pastime that comforts you? 

He’s never heard of age regression before- in some regards, you still believe he may have never learned what coping mechanisms were either. And he certainly would never have pegged you as an individual that needed it. He knew of all the hurt you had gone through, of everything you tried to recover from. He guesses he never thought of how you planned to heal from it. Thinking maybe that he’d be enough to fix your broken bones.

He doesn’t ask you about it. Well, not for a while. JD prides himself in being so studious, in his curious, watchful nature. He always picked up the little bits and ends of people. And yet- he misses this. 

You’d been sneaking around him so easily, hiding the tenderest of your heart. He hates to think you hadn’t felt safe enough to let him know . . . but he thinks of the Heathers and Jocks of the world, and reconsiders. You must have been so scared. He can picture you alone and shaking in your room, after a long, painful week of school. He only wishes he’d moved sooner. He’d have come bounding into your life quicker, to be there for you, to protect you from brainless cruelty. 

Some bullshit, it was meant to be mantra loops his brain. He still wishes he had been there, every night. 

A few days after you tell him, he finally peaks his own curiosity and asks a question. Or, you don’t tell him either. Which also bugs him. But he finds out, because he doesn’t call to tell you he’s coming over or wait at the front door or even arrive at a normal time. He knocks on your bedroom window and stands outside waiting for you to let him in. You’d expressed distaste to him breaking in in the past. You don’t reply and he gets worried. And when he gets fed up and swiftly props the window up so he can climb in, he’s met with a pretty scary sight.

You’re lying on the floor, your side pressed against your flooring. You have one hand against your ear, you bite and suck on your other thumb. You hold a crumpled mess of blankets towards your chest, like they’re a fun, plush animal friend.

You don’t seem nearly as scared as he thought you might’ve been seeing him whilst in such a state. You’re just upset and overwhelmed, and you tell him as such when he’s knelt down beside you. You struggle with getting the right words, but he knows you’re struggling and he stays with you the whole night till you calm down. 

And, okay, you do answer his question(s). He has . . . a lot. He’s confused. He doesn’t understand what’s wrong, really. He knows you’re hurting, but doesn’t quite know that it’s not all fresh wounds you’re suffering from.

He first asks, “Why?”

Not in that manner. 

He waits till it’s the two of you, when you don’t seem too stressed, but still have that glossy, sad look he witnessed those few days before. The two of you are cuddling on your bed, you’re safely nestled between his legs and you contently play with the loose threads on his sleeves, as he holds you with one arm and caresses his hand through your hair. 

“Hey, why did you hide that part of yourself?”

You tilt your head to look at him. “Huh?”

JD’s light smile twitches. He can’t show his hurt so blatantly. “Oh, c’mon, Sid. You know what I’m talking about.”

They look back down to their activity, their hands moving through the fabric quicker. “I didn’t know how you’d react,” you mumble.

Jason does frown at this, and you can feel that as he presses a kiss to your head and nestles his cheek there.

“I love you, darlin’. It’s the two of us, against the world, remember?” 

“Yeah, but-”

JD cuts you off. He wouldn’t allow your self-doubting anxieties to get in the way. 

.

You don’t ask him to help out. But he knows you need it. 

Every time he notices your demeanor go towards that place; he knows something’s up. He figures this out half by observation, and the other was you coming from your shell, and telling him how you felt. 

He comes to know the first time he found you huddled on your bedroom floor, was due to a sensory overload meltdown. Nothing felt right that day, and you had hoped- so bad - that the icky feeling would dissipate with the night. You craved pressure and the lights in the hallway were too bright and you could still hear your mother brushing her teeth in the other room. You couldn’t turn the lights off and you couldn’t tell your mother- she’d freak out at you for being so sensitive. You could, though, press your body tightly against your floor and hold onto something, a barrier between angry, red skin and yourself. You could feel grounded on your bedroom floor. You could, maybe, even, sleep. 

.

He doesn't know how to feel that you need him. He’s thrilled. He wants nothing more than to be everything you desire. He worships you. He loves you. But you need help when you’re feeling so small? You need a hand, you need someone to give you the care you never received? He feels so lost. He never had the care you needed growing up. He doesn’t want to screw you up with backwards thinking. 

So, it takes time. He doesn’t feel completely comfortable with you regressing at first. But he always comes later on in the night to calm you down and help you sleep. 

One night, you’re curled up in his arms, and you scrunch his shirt up in your fists as you call out for him. “Papa, ‘eed you.” 

He looks down at you, and he combs his hand through your hair and you shake it off. The touch felt too light. “What’s wrong, darling?”

He peers at you and his stare, dark eyes boring into you, is unshakeable. 

“Need you,” you repeat. It’s clearer this time. 

He asks again. He suggests closing the window or getting a blanket and you don’t know how to respond. It’s so hard to form how you’re feeling into words. Everything is a little too much and it hurts. You’re so worried your boyfriend will judge you for what does come out. No matter how much he tells you he cares and tries to shush away your insecurities, they’re still there. 

“Jus’ hurs righ’ now. B-bad feeling.” 

He moves to leave your side and you only pull at him again. 

“Need. .hard no’ ligh’.”

He forces his face to stay neutral, as he works through the confusion. “Do you need pressure, is that it?”

You nod. 

“Okay, get up. With me.” 

You whine and he gives you a look and you go along with it. He peels your blankets back, and has you get under them. He sheds his jacket and pants, and makes sure you’re comfortable in your clothes, too. He lays back down next to you, bringing the sheets back up and over your bodies, tucking it in tight around the edges. He presses his body to yours when you still whine for pressure, safety. He hangs his arm over you and rests his body weight against you. He’s worried that he might hurt you. But the content purr as he finally does so, washes his worries away. 

You thank him again and again. Your papa was so perfect to you. 

.

A few months into all this, JD brings up helping ease you into your regression headspace. To help relieve your stress before it gets too much. He also brings up your sensory issues, as he noticed the two were often connected. He also tells you that the two of you don’t need to talk about all of it right now, but he needs to know how to be there for you. How to treat you. How to love you.

And you tell him you don’t know how to explain any of it. Certain sensations or inputs just . . . overwhelm you. Like the ticking of clocks or people brushing their teeth made you upset and angry. And you know to everyone else it feels irrational, but it’s such a big deal for you . 

Jason asks if the pressure has to do with your sensory issues, and you nod. You tell him how light touches can feel violating and more intense, how it feels like he’s not quite there. How you need his reassurance. And he says he understands and he gets it, or he at least tries to get it- and you smile, a full smile, of unbridled joy, at his response. 

“I love you, Papa!” You yell, excited. You squeeze him in a big hug, and he returns it.

He smiles, “Of course, babe.” 

.

There are some problems he notices this pose. 

He’d never blame you for feeling small or overwhelmed- or for how you reacted or dealt with that feeling. You were trying so hard and he was so very, very proud of you! 

But helping you at home, in your room, late at night- was no hassle. It was safe and secluded and no one but you and Him were there, could hear or know what was going on.

In school, it was different. You only had a few classes together. When the lights were too bright or the chatter in the classrooms too loud, it was much harder to get away from it, to self soothe. You couldn’t just walk out. 

You try to nap at your desk. Your hands discreetly covering your ears. One of your classmates bumps into your desk on the way back to her seat, not even a glance back or an apology. You bite your lip and hunch your shoulders up, weeping at your desk. Or, no, trying not to cry but failing horribly, miserably. 

JD is at the back of the classroom, he always is. It’s the best place to avoid unwanted eyes. He also loves it for the exact opposite reason, no one pays attention to the kids in the back. He can study his classmates without questions. He knows so many secrets he shouldn’t, because people never think he’s listening in. 

Sometimes he watches you, too. He loves seeing you frustrated, nibbling at the end of your pencil as you struggle with your assignment (he always “helps” you later with it- he isn’t much of a studier, though). He thinks you’re cute, especially when you don’t notice you’re being looked at. 

But he notices the negative interactions with your classmates, too. He’s never been one to keep a lid on his frustrations. 

He interjects, he calls her out for her shit.

“Did you want to apologize to someone?” He quirks a brow at the classmate. She looks bewildered and mumbles something under her breath.

Before she gets back to her seat, Jason gets up and takes great strides, rushing to your side. He pays no attention to the girl, as she steadies herself on some poor fool’s desk.

“Hey, watch where you’re going! You almost knocked me over, freak.” 

He thinks briefly on what any other student would do. Ignore it. Give some stupid retort back. 

He flashes her a grin, “That should be the least of your worries.” He opens up his jacket enough for her to see the handgun tucked away in the inside pocket.

Needless to say . . . she freaks out. And the teacher tells them, finally, to quiet down. It escalates, he gets sent home for the day. He’s not even worried or peeved about his end of the situation. He only has blanks in there, anyways. With the diversion he created, you could easily slink away from the classroom to a quieter space. Without all the suspicion gathered around it.

You don’t see JD again till after school passes. You know he’s at home. At his dad’s house. Knows that he probably got chewed out about his careless behavior. So obvious, so frivolous. No pizazz to his act. Nothing.

You know he’ll be upset. But he’ll act like nothing’s wrong. And it frustrates you. He always does so much for you. You could be an emotional anchor, too. Gosh darn, you could!

You hope it’s just him that’s making it difficult. 

That’s not right.

You hope that it’s not because of you, that Jason shuts himself off. You know that part of it’s that. That he didn’t grow up around parents who could be emotionally vulnerable with him. That he never had any close friends growing up. That, yeah, he had major trust issues.

Part of you worries that it’s more . That he feels cut off from you, that your issues overshadow his own. That he spends so much energy on you, that he has nothing left at the end of the day to give to you. He can’t splay his heart out on the table, because you are exhausting. 

And you have to shake off the feeling that you’re too much and you’re overthinking it. JD would let you know if he was upset with you, right? 

Thankfully, his dad isn’t home when you knock on the door. Usually you’d call him beforehand, to let him know you were coming over. You’d come to learn that despite his surprise visits at your place, JD was never thrilled about who could be at his door. Irrational fears? Maybe. His own guarded trauma? That you were certain of.  

He peeks through the peephole, unlocking the door and removing the latch at the top. He leans against the semi-open door. 

Jason gives a weary smile, “What’s up?” 

“I wanted to see you, JD.” 

He shrugs. Instantly amused by you. “Alright. You’ve seen me, now what? What’s the big surprise , Y/n?” 

You roll your eyes at his reaction, at his jazz hands. “Nothing. I just wanted to see you. I can be excited for that, right?” 

JD barks a laugh. “Of course.” 

He leads you in, locking and latching the door behind him once more. 

“The old man’s out for the night.”

“Perfect.”

“I knew you’d be sad about that,” he smiles and pulls you in for a rough kiss on the crown of your head. 

He picks up where he left off. He’d been reading some kind of magazine. It was boring. But he liked the distraction. He liked something that was a bit mind-numbingly dumb sometimes. He flops down on the couch, picking the tabloid off the coffee table. You hesitantly join him. You lean your head on his shoulder. 

The two of you stay like that for a while. You get up once to turn the fan off (it wasn’t very hot at all, you think it was just left on for background noise), but the noise rattles in your head and it’s all you can think about. Neither JD or you say anything, you just return to his side once more, till he’s finishing up the last page. He throws it with an exasperated huff onto the table. 

You snuggle closer to him, cradling your face next to his. You breathe in his scent, old leather and blood. You want to wrap it up and take it around with you everywhere. Maybe make a candle, so your room would always have a little bit of your boyfriend in it. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, in a quiet, mousy voice. 

JD doesn’t really respond. He doesn’t even shake his head or avert his eyes. He does, however, snake his arm around you and pulls you in tight. You whine- not at the embrace, which you loved- but his response. 

“Please?” 

He glances away and squeezes you tighter. You take that as your queue- don’t press it. 

“Thank you for what you did today, though. You’re always such a protector. You’re, like– my prince!” You try not to sound too giddy at the thought, you knew JD wouldn’t be up for much play time. Or maybe . . . any play time. That would be okay though, you rationalize with yourself. 

Jason Dean finally looks at you. His eyes water, only slightly. His brows furrow and he seems almost confused, but you know he isn’t. JD was the smartest person you knew. His lips quirk into a small smile. 

He chuckles, hiding his mouth when his laugh reaches a higher pitch. “Yeah, I am. Aren’t I? What does that make you, little one?” 

Oh god, okay. Maybe you can’t stay big for long right now.

You hum. “Maybe a princess? Or another prince?”

He boops your nose with your own, and you nearly forget why you’re there as your mind gets hazy. 

“JD, are you hur’?” 

He shakes his head.

“Are you sure? Papa, would you tell me if you were?” 

He looks at you quizzical. 

“Of course, dear.” He motions for you to get up. You do so, mostly unwilling. You follow him to his bedroom. “Y’know, I wanted to wait to give this to you. Sometime special but.” 

He sorts through his top dresser drawer, and pulls out a soft plushie of your favorite animal. You squeal as he hands it to you. 

“I was going to give it to you earlier today, at school. But those high school  Neanderthals  got in the way.”

You smile at the gesture and hold your new plushie in a tight grip against your chest. You loved the feeling of your fingers sunk into the fuzz and stuffing. It was squishy and had a bit of weight to it. 

“Thank you,” you mumble into your new toy. 

JD was all too good at distracting you. He knows you’re worried about him, but he doesn’t know how to tell you that this? Being the one real thing that can get you to smile? Makes up for all his bad feelings. He never feels alone with you. Never feels judged.

You always treat him with softness. You’re always looking out for him. And if you could just look up and see his face in this moment, how his smile reaches his eyes- that all he needs is you. As you are. He could face a lifetime more of hardships, as long as you could stay by his side. 

Maybe he still is enough to love you. Not to fix you but love you as you are and sit with you on your bad days and maybe enough to let you in his heart, too.

[bex-la-get]

Their Little Bear (Ethan x f!MC)

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Natalie Cusack

Special Appearance: Noah Cusack

Word count: 670

Summary: While out shopping for their little arrival, Ethan falls in love with an unexpected item.

Rating: T

Category: Fluff and feels.

Author’s Note: Dedicated to @genevievemd​ and @danijimenezv​ for both showing me the IG video that inspired this fic and encouraging the chaos that followed. Hope I did this justice, my loves! 💙

Natalie scanned the aisles of the baby store, looking at all the various supplies they would need. The nursery had already been painted and baby proofed. Now, the fun part began: shopping.

They still had a few months before their son was due but, being the planners that they are, Nat & Ethan wanted to leave nothing to chance. By the time the baby was born, they wanted to focus exclusively on him, and nothing else. Nat stopped in front of some rocking chairs and inspected each one, determining which she thought would be the most comfortable. Narrowing down her choices, she nodded to herself, then made her way over to the clothing section where she had last seen Ethan.

She found her husband standing in front of a rack of onesies, holding a small brown onesie in his hands, his thumbs running absent-mindedly over the fabric. “Hey E, will you come look at some rocking chairs and tell me which one you like better?” she said, approaching him.

Ethan didn’t immediately respond, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the onesie. Nat cocked her head to the side and lightly touched his shoulder. “E?”

He perked up at her touch and his eyes refocused. “Hm? Sorry, love. Did you say something?”

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He gave her a small smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

She studied him for a moment before determining that he was telling the truth. She looked down at the onesie in his hands and smiled. “Do you like that one?” she asked.

He looked back down at it, his eyes lighting up. “Is it ridiculous if I say yes?”

“Of course not!” Nat replied. “I think it’s cute! But I never pegged you as the type of person who’d want to dress up our baby in an animal onesie.”

“I’m not, usually, but…”

“But?”

He shrugged, sheepishly. “When I look at this, I have this image in my head of our son wearing this and I… I’m kind of obsessed with the idea.” He laughed. “I don’t know why, I just am.”

Natalie grinned. “Ethan, I love that idea. Let’s get it!”

“Really?”

“Really,” she nodded. “He’ll be our little bear cub.”

“I thought we were Rams for Ramsey?” he replied, smirking.

Nat shrugged. “When you find a cute ram onesie, we’ll talk about changing it. For now, he’ll be our little bear.”

Ethan beamed at her and placed the onesie in the basket he had been carrying. “For our little bear, then.”

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

A Few Months Later

Ethan smiled down at his newborn son as he gently zipped up the onesie around his small body. Little Noah wiggled around and cooed at his father, making Ethan’s heart swell with overwhelming love. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his son’s forehead before picking him up and carrying him out into the living room.

Nat was sitting on the sofa, watching television when Ethan appeared with the baby in his arms. Nat’s face lit up at the sight of her son in the bear onesie they had bought for him all those months ago. “Hi my little Bear,” she said, her voice rising an octave as the baby was passed to her arms. “Look how cute you are!”

“I gotta say, Nat: we made one cute baby,” Ethan said, sitting down next to her.

Natalie smiled as little Noah wrapped his tiny hand around her index finger. “Yeah, we did. It helps that his father has such good taste in onesies,” she replied, looking at him.

He kissed her forehead and smiled down at their son. “He’s the cutest bear I’ve ever seen,” he said, quietly.

“Our little Noah Bear,” Nat replied.

Noah looked up at both his parents with his bright blue eyes and cooed. Ethan rested his chin on Natalie’s shoulder, his cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling so much. “I love you,” he whispered into Nat’s ear.

“I love you more,” she replied.

He kissed her cheek. “Never.”

A/N: Noah would outgrow the onesie, but this nickname would stick for life.

Tagging separately.

[mochidreambubble]

Desire to Take a Bite out of You

Something about a Beauty taming a Beast… You could call it a cliché but it happens time and time again for a reason, no?

[didn't post it here originally but here, my self indulgent Reese fic cause when the newest update released I had lost my mind. AO3 version here.

Spoilers up to Episode 4 of Scarlet Hollow Episode 4 has me in a chokehold. Also probably OOC for Reese because I’m trying to hold back on purple prose but that is asking a lot from me. Almost all dialogue is lifted directly from in-game text (This was torture for I had to keep referencing in game dialogue lmao)]

With the doc fussing a great deal in the clinic above, Reese just stares into the ceiling as music blasts through his speakers. His phone that rests next to his head, sharing the lumpy space, has lit up with activity a great deal the past several hours. It’s from Stella. He should be keen on reading what she has to say, being the only friend for a long while that keeps in touch with him at all but

he’s 

just so

tired, down to his very bones

and those bones are yelling at him, screaming to move and to stretch but into what he doesn’t know and he just wants to keep laying there but he needs to get up he’s just stuck here

Reese relents, at last, to read the wall of text Stella’s messages had accumulated to. Calls were one thing, but Stella tended to text more intensely - message after message if she could, in terms of her updates. 

Almost all of it, in between what could almost be strung coherently like a B-grade horror flick plot, was about the only other Scarlet apart from Tabitha to currently walk the Earth. He actually can’t tell if she’s just excited to make a new friend or if there are some hints of a developing crush because she does seem taken with the guy.

Stella did have a history for dating Scarlets, even if the only one prior was Tabitha - that and she didn't tell Kaneeka or him. But he didn't think they were hiding it that well. Though comparing him to his cousin, from what she’s been explaining, he pegs the new guy in town as a lot less sour - heck, even friendly. There’s this odd sense that she’s skirting around talking about what this guy looks like for whatever reason. He tries to paint a picture in his mind of haunted eyes amidst a friendly face, but every Scarlet he got the chance to meet or see past pictures off were all so dreary. Maybe, despite being from out of town, or maybe because they were a Scarlet born out of Scarlet Hollow, that they morphed into looks so unearthly that no words could describe them. And Stella was just too nice to speak of it?

It would be interesting, Reese concludes, something worth getting up to see if he had the chance to. Stella talks quite extensively of him but has yet to offer up a picture of any kind after all. 

He sleeps, dreams of finally leaving this prison of a house.

* * *

He gets his flippant wish, and part of him wishes to turn back time if only to make one with more serious thought

a key for his cage maybe

but he’s ecstatic - even if he can only express it in the mildest way possible - to see Stella and Kaneeka again; to finally have company aside from just his mom and the silence of the ever-changing guests at the morgue. His mom had told him that they were dropping by for dinner with said Scarlet stranger. He tells her his name is Ashe and gives the most noncommitted sound of acknowledgement she can. He supposes maybe she doesn’t think it’s worth remembering for long, since he was only here till the funeral before he likely dips for good, never to return to this sorry state of a town. 

He tries not to be glued to the entrance, the doc fussing how he’s going to wear himself out and that the outside warmth would swelter him and the dozen over effects of why and how and everything. But he’s close enough to hear when they arrive.

“..What if Doctor Kelly yells at us?”

And he stifles a laugh. He hears Stella good-naturedly reply to Keneeka, even giving his own mom the benefit of the doubt that it was all fine and dandy that they were here a little early because they were there to hang with him after all. Makes him feel a little guilty them for delaying looking at her messages and updates. She really was a good friend. 

He opens the door just as Kaneeka interjects, and he holds back the already rising laugh - he’s actually not sure the doc would react well if it devolves into a coughing fit. It would end the night early and he would hate that after he finally gets the chance to see other people again. 

“Hey!” 

He makes sure to take in the sight of both his childhood friends, holy hell it feels like it’s been too long, and…

Oh.

Oh fuck.

He takes the few insane milliseconds that quickly tick by that his friends used to greet him back to go through an inner state of panic cause what the fuck Stella how hard is it to tell him the new guy was a siren on land, a work of art a little warning would have been nice actually fuck he should say something

“You must be Ashe, right?” He offers a small smile and Ashe immediately retaliates with a bright one. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Stella’s been relentless about making sure I got all the Ashe updates.”

Gretchen starts getting huffy in Stella’s arms, her owner gently trying to calm her nerves. The poor pup never really liked coming here, and he’s a little surprised Stella still brought her along. His mom never lets pets in the house - near him especially. 

“Hope she’s been saying good things,” Ashe gives a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Reese gets the feeling Stella would nudge him if she wasn’t trying to calm the restless Gretchen in her arms. “Please, I’ve just been thorough on our misadventures, and if those include unsavoury details about you, that’s on you, dude.”

She throws a wink his way and Ashe laughs with a little more vigour. Kaneeka rolls her eyes and gives Reese a pointed look, doing her best to 

His mom rushes to the door at last, clearly in a worried and displeased huff that they were early. 

Several minutes of tense small talk between his friends, the stranger and his mom, the visiting trio found themselves in his basement room. He tries not to just focus on the newcomer; his friends whom he hasn't seen face to face in forever were visiting after all. Who knows when the next time this would happen would even be. But he still peaks at Ashe from the corner of his eye, the teen who dressed in sleek monochrome studying his work so intently. It makes his heart dance and tremble. Perhaps he should have laid out his best work…

Stella pulls him back, she and Kaneeka spending minutes in conversation with him. You told them to make themselves comfortable while the newcomer continues to study Reese’s works. He's happy that his friends are here of course. Of course he is, but there's this great impatience there too. He can only be disappointed in himself but

hunger just a bite. you deserve it you want to sink your teeth into his pale neck and to lick the wound close and have him curl against you to rely on you wouldn't that be nice to be all he needs

“Your art…”

The three of them turn to Ashe who was meeting their gaze, his eyes in some form of contemplation as he gently brushes his fingers against the frames of the canvas. “I feel the emotion you put into these… They’re writing, just behind the paint, radiating pain and anguish.”

Oh. Oh he understood.

behind the paint, they yearn to pull him in, drag him so he remains here, forever immortalised

He walks over to the lithe young man. “I know what you mean. I feel it, too.”

Part of him wants to slap himself. Of course he would know, these were his paintings after all. He continues, if only to quickly pretend he didn’t say that. “When I’m working on them it's like I’m channelling whatever’s plaguing me into the paint, and when they’re done I feel like I’ve been emptied out, and all the vile things inside of me have been sealed away in the canvas.”

Ashe turns to him now, investing, transfixed even by his words. Kaneeka and Stella seem to browse around his room, trying not to interfere. So Reese continues. “It’s why I make so many of them. Sometimes, when I return to a piece, it’s almost like I’m offering an invitation for those feelings to slither back under my skin…”

The newcomer looks slightly mournful as the words pour out from Reese. “There are some pieces I can’t even look at. I hide them until I forget they exist. I’d rather not let those particular feelings back in.”

Kaneeka chimes in, a reminder that it was not just the two of them in the room. “Sounds kind of like… Therapy? That seems… Healthy, probably…?”

“Yeah, art therapy!” Stella’s chipper voice joins in. “Sounds like it does you good. Being empty must be better than being full of bad thoughts, right?”

“I think so. It works for me, at least.”

There’s a glint in Ashe’s eyes, slightly playful and enticing inviting. “If you ever need a model, I’m here ‘til Monday.”

It was like his heart was suddenly caught in his throat. “Th-That would be amazing. Though I should warn you, I work odd hours… I don’t usually pick up a brush until late at night.”

He doesn’t seem deterred by Reese’s words, and he feels confident to ask, trying his best to sound… Flirtatious? Hopeful?

“But if that’s not a dealbreaker, it would be incredible to have such a…” He tries not to fluster or blush, it would be so obvious on his pale visage. “Captivating model. I look forward to the company, and I hope I can do your likeness justice.”

“Late hours don’t bother me,” Ashe smiles, and Reese can understand why foolish sailors were drawn to drown by mermaids or to follow enchanting but dangerous beauties into the woods. “I’m something of a late owl myself, so I don’t mind if it’s alright for me to be over so late.”

Whatever elation you feel is sharply shattered when Stella interjects. “Maybe we could all come! Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Keneeka finally turns back at them from her corner, a little awkward as she reads the mood. “Uh…”

Ashe simply laughs good naturedly and the conversation lulls to other things. Reese tries to focus on the fact that things seem to be looking up for him. 

Of course, he just had to fall ill at dinner, and his friends and the newcomer had to be chased out of his home…

He readies himself to be despondent on not seeing Ashe before he had to leave on Monday…

* * *

…Except whatever that seemed to be looking out for him finally threw him a bone. Reese was staring into the darkness, the chill of the morgue drowning him. Then, the lights clicked on.

Ashe was just as surprised to see him. Well, slightly funny as Ashe was likely trespassing out of the blue. He’s not disappointed though. “Ashe? What are you doing in the morgue?”

Clearly caught off guard, Ashe actually seemed a little flustered. “Uh,” he cleared his throat, trying to regain composure. There’s an odd look to his face, as if he was not used to being so flustered. “H-Hi…”

It was an adorable contrast to the cool countenance from yesterday. 

and the hunger stirs deeply

“H-hey…” Of course, he shoots down any chance to be the cool one for a change. He scrambles to his feet to meet Ashe. “Sorry,  this must look kind of weird. I promise I’m not secretly dead already or something. Sometimes I just come down to… Practice. Rehearse.”

Ashe steps closer, that playful gleam returning like from yesterday. “If you are a living corpse,” he pauses as if to ponder, then adds jokingly. “That wouldn't be a dealbreaker.”  

“That’s good to know. I’m still not. But I’m glad I haven’t managed to scare you off, it’s not often I get to meet new people.”

Reese crosses his arms, trying to hide his nervousness, but unable to meet the eyes of the other, to fear his tells giving him away. “Especially new people I, um… Would like to get to know better.”

He sees the slight delight at those words, but Ashe was suddenly drawn to something else. The wall it seems. He didn’t mind. Not when it started a chain of exciting events. And well, it certainly helped that…

The retrieval of the axe gets slightly halted from the Doc’s quick return, and now Reese finds himself in the closet (Ha! Like a bad metaphor for the ages) with Ashe. He feels Ashe come closer to gaze out the small crack of the closet door, Ashe’s hand brushing against his. His reflex has him involuntarily twitching away, a quiet gasp escaping his lips. He tries to keep his voice steady in his whispers. “S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to bump you…”

“It’s okay,” His voice was so so gentle. How long was it that someone spoke to him this way, his own mother even. “I don’t mind.”

“Oh…” Reese relaxes slightly, though the whole affair made him anxious as he was excited. With a small smile back, Reese speaks up again, but he feels a blush colouring his cheeks. “Th-Then if you need to lean in, that’s okay. I don’t mind, either.”

He wonders if it was possible to feel regret and elation all at once in such intensity, especially since Ashe does lean in again. Reese does so too, trying to keep his eyes out into the office. He knows Ashe could likely hear the erratic beating of his heart and his shallow breaths, though Ashe himself makes no further comments on it. 

Once they were in the clear and free to explore the office once more - Reese trying to not look like he was hurrying out, Ashe does give a soft laugh and it was like music. “Aw… I was having fun in there.” 

He pauses in his search for the keys, heart once again caught in his mouth and a quick glance back to Ashe, cheeks dusted pink again. He could swear Ashe was all too pleased. It was like a hope, a swansong, this direct interest. He tries to search intently, unable to meet the other’s eyes. “...We could always… Spend more time together later. Once we’re done sneaking around.” 

Reese shifts to another cupboard, trying to look too preoccupied to return his focus to Ashe. “If the doc hasn’t kicked you out by then.”

Though just like a mocking force enjoying his suffering, whatever joy that built up was shattered by haunting revelations. He was only grateful that Ashe let me use the axe to ruin that drywall. And maybe he was… Slightly happy to carry Ashe once whatever that stone… slab thing knocked him out. The carvings were so intrinsic, if the doc wasn’t on a warpath and a sleeping beauty wasn’t literally sleeping in his arms, maybe it would be interesting to sketch down. 

Ashe certainly didn’t seem to mind when the revelation came up that Reese carried him down to his room and laid him on his bed. 

“Wish I’d been awake while you carried me…”

Maybe Reese should mark the calendar for today for the most occurrences that blood has rushed to his face. “I could always put on a repeat performance… If that’s the sort of thing you’d like.”

Ashe seemed more concerned about him and his current circumstances than wherever occurred upstairs. He even scored an invite to… To live with him. Well, him and a pet cat of sorts. One may think they were moving so fast but…

“It’s an exciting thought. Living… With you.”

Anywhere was better, so long as they were away from her, a place where he could keep Ashe safe

can you? so long as she lives, can you keep him safe?

They discuss plans and theories of that woman, but it eats at him, something itches beneath his skin.

Ashe offers the most enticing distraction before more anger could build. “You could always… Draw me.”

Reese tries not to think of the frenzied painting of Ashe he did last night. It was all wrong when he tried, unable to being forth the captivating features and the life in those eyes. He dreamt that the painting of Ashe came to life and…

It doesn’t matter. He ruined it somehow. Tore through the canvas.

This was a chance to redeem that. 

“If you’re sure you’re okay with sitting for a portrait… I’d love to draw you.”

He gets Ashe a chair, energised and excited at the prospect. He feels more alive than he has in years. Bolder even. After some rough lines, he decides to ask, “May I… Touch your face?”

His art model laughs, and every time Reese hears it, it’s always like a symphony that he wants to repeat. “You don’t even have to ask permission.”

He really is so… Calm about this attention. It shouldn’t be that surprising. People like Ashe… They are hardly the type to have a sparse dating history. He had mentioned offhandedly yesterday he wasn’t in a relationship now, but it just meant he had a history. There is that itch beneath his skin again, a gnawing feeling. He ignores it, pushes it down as Ashe gave him permission to touch him.

He feels the need to be gentle as he tilts Ashe’s head slightly to the side. He was so close he could smell the wisteria and jasmine on Ashe’s skin. Ashe was watching him from the corner of his eyes. Reese memorises the long lashes and gentle gaze.

“Perfect,” Reese says as he pulls away, missing the soft touch of the other’s skin on his fingertips as he pulls away. He doesn’t withdraw very far, eyes locking with Ashe who hasn't broken his own gaze from him. Ashe takes this chance to gently take his hand, bringing it to his cheek. 

“Maybe you could study my face… More closely.”

He is pulled closer, and a flurry of words come to panic because he could swear he was about to get a-

Ah. But what was that and the constant theme of things not going his way? It was only natural perhaps, that it all went to hell.

That voice. That man, creature, whatever that ghoul was. He just has to interfere, had to be a thorn at Ashe’s side. It didn’t matter. Him. The doc. They would all be dealt with now, wouldn’t they?

* * *

It was like a sudden breaking of a curse. The anger. The hunger. It all snapped and tore away. 

“She loves you Reese,” Ashe doesn’t recoil from him, a gentle hand on his face. “Leave now.”

He hears the plea, so torn, so heartbroken. For him.

“Before you do something you regret.”

“I’m not… a monster…”

The gunshot that came after that tore through him did not hurt as compared to the horror he saw flash in Ashe’s eyes. It hurt even more, the longing to be with him…

He flees.

[alethiometry]

what's this aco himym fic huh!!

kate i don't know how much you know about ac odyssey from whatever the hell i or anyone else you follow has posted about the game in the last however long it's been since it came out, so i am very very sorry if none of this makes any goddamn sense.

OKAY FIRST OF ALL i need to say that i have literally never in my life watched a single episode of himym and i do not intend to and i know nothing about it except i'm aware that people have Opinions on how it ended. it has barely fuckall to do with this fic, except that i just cannot think of a fitting title.

the short summary is that this is a kassidas fic where for some reason (have yet to figure this out) brasidas ends up with custody of elpidios and tells him all about how he and kassandra met, how their relationship developed, and how they came to be where they are now (hence the filename).

the long summary is i got WAYYYYY too ambitious with this fic and it mutated from being like a cutesy little wish-fulfillment love story to a full-blown fix-it fic where i want to address most if not all of my most vexing plotholes in ac odyssey, ranging from plot points that make no sense, to character interactions or lack thereof that had zero closure, to a complete rewrite of the very bad no good comphet dlc. and although i hated how the game handled the forced romance between kassandra and natakas, i do think there is/want to see if i can find a way to make their relationship more complex and messy and interesting by removing the romance of it but just making him a more fleshed-out character. part of my worry is that the dlc is so reviled (with good reason) across the fandom that this premise is dead on arrival anyway and no one will like it, not even myself. but at the same time, i still want the endgame of this fic to be kassidas-focused, because they are my everything and to me there is no ac odyssey without them*, and so i have to figure out a way to write some kind of weird love/parental triangle between the three of them even though i fucking hate triangles**

i waver back and forth between the himym-ness of it being due to the fact that for whatever reason kassandra is no longer in elpidios' life (thus bringing it closer to official game canon), or just waving a gigantic middle finger to ubisoft and letting kassandra actually be a mother to her son whom she loves so so much and barely got to spend any time with, but she's understandably pretty tight-lipped about her past because she's aware of the heaps and heaps of generational trauma that's plagued her family and wants to break that cycle, so it's up to brasidas to spill the tea.

another layer of complexity/difficulty in writing all of this is that i imagine elpidios to be around 7 when the story starts, because that's the same age kass was when she lost her family, so then that age becomes sort of symbolic as a milestone. which means there's also the issue of not a whole lot of ac odyssey being appropriate for a kid of that age. like, graphic violence and dark themes aside... i can't really have it be like "yeah and after decapitating korinth's biggest meanest crime lord your mother flipped me over and pegged me six ways to [whatever the ancient greek equivalent of sunday is]" and just... yeah. i don't know. i still think about what i want to do with this fic often, but i think there's a very good reason why i have barely even opened it in almost 2 years.

*this made me giggle as i typed it out bc actual historical spartan general brasidas has like 15 minutes total of screentime in a 100+ hour game. but it's also not a joke because despite all that (and also getting fucking killed at the battle of amphipolis) he still had more chemistry with kassandra than any of the other like 15 actually-romanceable characters in the game.

**another tongue-in-cheek joke/double entendre because it's revealed in the game that pythagoras who did all that triangle math equation stuff is kassandra's biological father and an absentee, deadbeat one at that. fuck that guy fr

[onekisstotakewithme]

2022 Masterlist

Hi everyone, and happy new year! I hope your 2023 will be better in every conceivable way 💜✨

I've decided to do another yearly masterlist, to be able to share what I've written this year with my friends and mutuals. New fandoms and old, long fics and short... it was a fun year, and I'm delighted to share the year's work with you! This list will be organized by fandom & length, with ships marked, and there are exactly two WIPs I'm carrying into next year with me (there is also one story not listed here, because I did Yuletide this year!)

M*A*S*H

Finest Kind: The 4077 MASH (WIP) - The 50th anniversary story I wrote for M*A*S*H, about a couple of journalists who want to make a documentary about the 4077. 3 chapters exist thus far, more to come in 2023!

make of our hearts, one heart (WIP) - BJ and Peg renew their vows for their tenth anniversary... and are planning a private wedding for themselves and Hawkeye. Part 5 of the Home series. 2 chapters are up so far, but the whole story is written, it just needs to be edited!

no love less perfect than a life with thee (98k) - In April of 1957, Charles Emerson Winchester III marries Donna Marie Parker (with background BJ/Hawkeye/Peg, Max/Soon-Lee and Sherm/Mildred); 12 chapters long, Part 4 of the Home series.

Not On Your Life (19k) - The missing days between when Donna arrives at the 4077 and her and Charles's unwedding. Charles/Donna, 3 chapters long.

younger in October (than in all the months of spring) (14k) - Charles visits Hawkeye in Maine over Canadian Thanksgiving, in October of 1953. Charles/Hawkeye, 3 chapters long.

etymology (9.4k) - The evolution of language as it pertains to BJ, Hawkeye & Peg. BJ/Hawkeye/Peg, one-shot.

Many a Weary Mile (6k) - BJ's journey home from Korea is marked with reunions and partings. BJ & Hawkeye (romantic if you squint), BJ/Peg, 2 chapters long.

katabasis (5.5k) - What if Hawkeye didn't get off the bus in "The Late Captain Pierce?" (aka Hawkeye journeys to the Underworld). Gen, one-shot.

night and day, you are the one (5.4k) - Hawkeye tries to plan a date night for himself and the Hunnicutts. BJ/Hawkeye/Peg, one-shot.

What Unites Us (4.4k) - Epistolary fic; letters from the attendees of the stateside reunion to their family members in Korea. Tag to "The Party", Gen, one-shot.

Take My Hand (3.8k) - BJ's first day in Korea. Tag to "Welcome to Korea", BJ & Hawkeye, one-shot.

the love that you've looked for (2.9k) - The 1980s personal ads AU, aka "what if the Pina Colada song was poly instead of about infidelity". BJ/Hawkeye/Peg, one-shot.

Well-Oiled Machine (2.8k) - Sheer pornography, aka what if Peg was a mechanic and BJ a sexy man on a motorcycle. Inspired by Tom of Finland, Peg/BJ, one-shot.

Last Requests (2.2k) - Hawkeye, if he's facing the gallows, has one dying wish - and it involves BJ. Tag to "The Novocaine Mutiny", BJ/Hawkeye, one-shot (this fic was four years in the making from idea to execution).

One Small Step (2.1k) - Hawkeye watches the moon landing with his family in 1969 and marvels on the progress he's seen in his lifetime. Post-canon, BJ/Peg/Hawkeye, one-shot.

If Only In My Dreams (1.8k) - Hawkeye and BJ reflect on Christmas Eve. Expansion of the mess tent scene in "Death Takes a Holiday." BJ/Hawkeye, one-shot.

Superman (1.4k) - Tag to Fallen Idol, missing scene between BJ and Hawkeye. BJ/Hawkeye, one-shot.

Star Trek: The Original Series

a wild call and a clear call (that may not be denied) (10k) - Two and a half years on from "Amok Time", Spock's pon farr returns without warning... leaving Jim with no choice but to help. Smut & Feelings, Spirk, 4 chapters long.

a lover's tourniquet (1.5k) - Hurt/comfort where Spock helps Jim clean up after an altercation with the Klingons. Tag to "The Trouble with Tribbles", Spirk, one-shot.

Stranger Things

you spin me right round (1.3k) - Hurt/comfort, Nancy helps Steve with his bandages while they're in the Upside Down. Tag to "The Massacre at Hawkins Lab", Stancy, one-shot.

perfectly paired (like a pb&j) (1.2k) - Robin and Vickie bond over peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Tag to "The Piggyback", Robin/Vickie, one-shot.

The West Wing

The Fall's Gonna Kill Ya (1.4k) - There's only one person CJ wants to call with the news about her new job offer. Tag to "Third-Day Story", CJ/Danny, one-shot.

[thebreakfastgenie]

📓 If you're still doing them because I missed you reblogging this (I blame time zones)

This one is kind of on hold as an actual fic because airports in the 50s were so different I have to do some research to figure out how to make it actually work. It thrives on some self-indulgent contrivances but hey, daydreams, right?

In March, 1954, Hawkeye is flying to San Francisco to visit BJ. He has to change planes in New York, and maybe again after that. Things start fine on the first leg. The enclosed space makes him nervous, and he thought he'd be fine as long as he could see out the window, but he's in an aisle seat, and the man next to him keeps the shade down (I would have put him in a middle seat to increase his suffering but very few planes had rows of three back then). He's already on edge, and then several rows behind him a baby starts crying.

The man next to him starts making comments about how someone needs to shut that baby up, and Hawkeye begins to lose his cool. He tells his seat mate the baby is fine and just to leave it alone, but the comments don't stop. Eventually, the crying does. Panicking, Hawkeye get up and runs toward the back of the plane. He tries to snatch the baby from its mother, insisting he's a doctor and he can fix it. The baby, which was asleep, wakes up and starts crying again. When he realizes the baby is very much alive, he gives it back to the startled mother. He allows the stewardesses to escort him back to his seat, but he's non-responsive for the rest of the flight. His seat mate cusses him out for his behavior and waking the baby, but he doesn't react.

They land in New York, and he's still not responsive, which frustrates his seat mate who has to get past him to get out. The stewardess convinces him to leave the plane with her, and fines something in his luggage that makes her realize he's a veteran. She takes him to some kind of little office in the airport (I was envisioning like a mall security office but I'm not sure they even had those back then) and tries to figure out who to call. She doesn't want to turn him over to the police, and ends up contacting the VA. They agree to send someone over to talk to him.

When the person from the VA arrives, Hawkeye recognizes him, and the first thing he's said for over an hour is "Sidney?" The stewardess asks "You know him?" and Sidney says "Are you kidding? This man ran the best poker game in South Korea. He probably bought his ticket with my money." Hawkeye and Sidney talk in private. Sidney explains he's in private practice, but he treats a lot of veterans because of his experience, so he has a relationship with the VA. They talk about what happened. Hawkeye was so sure there was something wrong with the baby, he thinks he was seeing things, and that scared him even more. He says "I saw it." Sidney says "You did see it, eight months ago in Korea," and explains a 1950s (or perhaps just beyond in keeping with how Sidney was written in the show) understanding of what we now call flashbacks. Sidney invites Hawkeye to his house, and reassures him that his wife took their toddler son to her parents' for the evening.

Hawkeye and Sidney hang out at Sidney's house for a while as Hawkeye calms down, and eventually Sidney asks where he was going. Hawkeye suddenly remembers that the fight he was supposed to take to San Francisco will have landed already, and BJ was expecting him to be on it. He quickly explains, and then calls BJ's house (promising to pay Sidney back for the long distance fee) where Peg answers. Peg tells him BJ called her from the airport a few minutes ago in a panic and is refusing to leave until he finds out what happened to Hawkeye. He tells her he missed his connection but not why. Either BJ or Peg also called Daniel to confirm Hawkeye got on the first flight, so after he hangs up with Peg (who's going to fill BJ in) Hawkeye has to call Daniel to tell him he's okay.

Hawkeye tells Sidney "Sometimes I wish you hadn't made me remember." Sidney says "If you hadn't, you'd still be in that small room, or one like it. That's not much of a life." Hawkeye says "Some life I have now." Sidney asks what he'd like to do, and Hawkeye says "Practice medicine. Visit my friend. Sleep through the night."

Hawkeye eventually falls asleep in Sidney's guest room, and Sidney calls BJ back. The next day, BJ shows up at Sidney's door, and tells Hawkeye they can fly to San Francisco together. Hawkeye is nervous about the return trip, but he decides he'll figure something out.

[thatgirlwholikestowritestories]

The Summer I Fucked Up (Ch 17)

A Conrad predominant retelling of The Summer I Turned Pretty TV show and book series.

Did you read the books and want to understand what was going on in that little noggin of his? Read my fic to find out that this man has zero thoughts

Chapter list

CONRAD

Even without the morning light seeping into his room, Conrad would have woken up early. The emotions from his conversations with Belly and Jere last night and the fact that today was truly the last day in the beach house suffocated him like a blanket he couldn’t kick off. If he stayed in bed and did nothing, he was worried that the weight would actually crush him. Instead, he wandered downstairs and started cleaning, just to keep his handles busy.

The party had seemed like a good idea last night, but in its wake, it just made the house feel emptier and wrong, seeing his mother’s beach house trashed. He thought they would come back to this house every year for the rest of his life, just like Susannah had. Now, these were going to be his last memories of the house-random people filling up the house and making a mess, Jeremiah and Belly dancing together and the conversation with Belly on the beach.

It was all his dad’s fault. The selfish prick thinking he knows what’s good for them, what Susannah would have really wanted. Adam had acted like being there for Susannah in her last weeks was enough for the time he was absent in their marriage. He crushed a beer can in his hands and thought about pegging it against the wall. It was only his mother’s memory that stopped him.

When the previously locked front door swung open, Conrad’s head snapped in its direction. “Laurel?”

She was the most unkept he had ever seen her, her clothes mismatched like they’d been put on in a hurry and her hair was mostly up, but some bits were hanging out.

“Where is she?”

“Who? Belly?”

Her eyes could have melted him on the spot. “Yes, Conrad. Where’s Belly?”

Conrad would not risk being eviscerated by Laurel this early in the morning. He gestured upstairs. “I think she’s still asleep in her room.”

Laurel took two steps at a time.

Even downstairs, Conrad could hear their arguing. Laurel was insisting that they leave immediately, and Belly was trying to explain that they needed her here, that Adam was selling the house. Even Conrad flinched when Laurel insinuated that Belly was just here to get drunk and fool around with him.

When all her attempts to reason with her mother, to explain, failed and only made Laurel angrier, Belly said, “Susannah will never forgive you for this, you know. For losing her house. For letting down her boys.”

The slap resounded throughout the house.

Conrad froze. It felt like even the wind outside did, too. That sound was so foreign in this house. It did not belong. Throughout their summers, the kids had definitely slapped each other on occasion when play fighting or playing games. But this one was full of malice, and that was one thing that hadn’t existed in this house before.

When the sound of Belly’s steps came rushing down the stairs, Conrad forced himself not to look at her, forced his hands to reach and pick up more beer cans. Conrad knew that she wouldn’t want them to see her like this. He knew that she would go to the beach to be alone for comfort only the ocean could offer.

He was able to finish cleaning the lounge room before his hands started shaking. He sequestered himself to his room so he wouldn’t have to hide them, sitting on his bed and staring as they tremored. Maybe they had grown tired of letting everything slip through them, so they weren’t going to bother being stable at all.

He had come here to save the house, and he hadn’t even done that. Belly and Jere had come here to help him, and now they were all leaving worse off than when they arrived. Belly had looked like she’d taken an emotional beating after their conversation last night and got a physical beating this morning. All because of him.

Conrad wanted to blame his dad, wanted to twist this disaster against him, except a kernel of anger ignited for Susannah. If she hadn’t died, none of this would be happening. The house would be fine. He and Belly would be fine. He and Jere would be fine. Their whole family would be okay. Instead, they were mourning her and falling apart at the seams.

All this time, Conrad had tried to ignore that this anger existed for his mother. It wasn’t fair to be mad at someone who’s dead, who can’t be here to get you to forgive them. But how could he forgive her for dying?

His growling stomach eventually forced him back downstairs. Belly was in the shower, and Jeremiah’s car was missing from the driveway, so Laurel was alone in the kitchen when he walked in.

“Conrad.” She gave him assessing glare.

He nodded. “Laurel.”

He wasn’t even sure how to interact with her now. He noted that she looked a lot more put together than she had when she arrived this morning. Her hair was pulled up into a familiar, slicked-back bun, she’d found some different clothes to put on and he ached wondering if they had been Susannah’s clothes.

She pat the seat next to her at the counter. Accepting her invitation, he slid into the seat.

“Your dad’s coming over soon. For breakfast.”

Conrad shook his head and went to stand up, but Laurel’s hand on his forearm stopped him.

“Conrad, I know you hate your father right now, but I’m going to do what I can to try and stop the sale.” Laurel must have seen the hope light up in his eyes because she added, “I can’t make any promises. Legally, he has every right to do what he wants with the house, but I can at least talk to him about it.”

Conrad wanted to speak. He wanted to thank her, except the words couldn’t make it passed the lump of emotion in his throat. Laurel looked at him like she knew what he was trying to say anyways. He sometimes forgot that she was his Laurel. Of course, she knew.

With a small and quiet voice, she sighed. “It’s what Beck would have wanted.”

He managed it then. “Thank you, Laure.”

Belly came into the kitchen then, looking better. He could just smell her shampoo over the muffins in the over. Or maybe he was imagining it.

After Laurel burnt herself taking the muffins out of the tray and dropping them on the floor, she put them back in a basket to give to his dad anyways and ran her finger under cold water. Conrad felt smug satisfaction at that.

Laurel offered a muffin to Belly who all but inhaled the thing and then Laurel said, “You and Conrad take the recycling out.”

Without a word, Conrad picked up two of the heavier bags and left the half-empty one for Belly to take. They walked out to the trashcans, Belly trailing slightly behind.

“Did you call her?” Conrad asked. It seemed like an obvious question. He didn’t call Laurel, and he doubted that she’d be first up on Jere’s call list. Of course, it would have been Belly.

She looked at him from the corner of her eyes, suspicion laid behind them, “I guess I did.”

Simply, he said. “Thanks.”

Her eyes widened a little bit and she stared at him. “Sometimes you surprise me.”

He didn’t look at her when he said, “And you hardly ever surprise me. You’re still the same.”

He meant it as a compliment. Of all the things that had changed, Belly was always the same. Conrad had heard once that when gymnasts or dancers performed certain tricks that required lots of spinning, they had to pick something to focus on—something unmoving, unchanging–so they don’t lose their balance. In a storm, Conrad thought he might pick Belly as his something.

Except she clearly didn’t take it as compliment. “Thanks a lot.” She dumped the garbage bag in the bin and shut the lid a little too hard.

“No, I mean …”

She looked at him waiting for him to finish his sentence. Conrad opened his mouth to say something except then Jere was bounding out of his car with grocery bags in his hand.

Belly and Jere greeted each other. Belly couldn’t even look at him, but Jere reached out and gave her hand a squeeze and thanked her. Conrad let his gaze fall to the ground.

Then they all walked inside together and cooked in cleaned in preparation for his father.

His father was an unsuspecting victim of Laurel, lured in by the sight of a feast and the assumption she was here to create order like she’d always done. She immediately set him straight. She was here for Beck’s boys.

Conrad nearly jumped across the table and rung his father’s neck when Adam said that the house wasn’t part Laurel’s too. Belly’s jaw even dropped.

Despite the insult and her reddening face, Laurel was still firm and calm. When his father got up to leave, saying he wasn’t going to argue with her, she ordered him back to his seat and kicked the kids out. It was time for the adults to speak alone.

Conrad opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it when he saw the red-hot flames behind Laurel’s eyes that melted Adam back into his seat.

He, Belly and Jere rushed out of the kitchen. He felt much younger then, sitting at the top of the stairs, straining to hear the adults talk. Conrad sat at the very top stair, while Belly and Jere shared the one below.

“What the hell, Laurel? Did you really think you could railroad me into changing my mind?” His father huffed.

“Excuse me, but fuck you.”

Go Laurel.

Belly slapped a hand over her mouth.

Conrad felt vindicated. To hear someone talk to his father with the same rage in their tone as Conrad had felt in his heart was just so… satisfying. To have that person be someone he respected as much as Laurel? Oh, that was just the cherry on top.

Below him, Jere’s head was ducked like he might cry, or be sick. Or both. Conrad watched as Belly grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. Jere tried to pull away, but she held tighter. Conrad blinked. Then he looked away.

Laurel went in, telling his father everything that needed to be said. The house was for them, the boys. She would stop him if she had to. Conrad didn’t want to acknowledge the small chips that formed around his heart when his father’s voice gave away his own grief over the wife he’d lost.

“She’s everywhere here. She’s everywhere.”

Laurel’s voice verged on gentle, “I know. But Adam? You were a sorry excuse for a husband. But she loved you. She really did. She took you back. I tried to talk her out of it, God knows I tried. But she wouldn’t listen, because when she sets her mind on someone, that’s it. And she set her mind on you, Adam. Earn that. Prove me wrong.”

Conrad knew his father had said something, but even straining his ears to listen was not enough to catch it.  And then Laurel said, “You do this one last thing for her. Okay?”

Belly turned up to look at him, and Conrad thinking out loud rather than saying it to her specifically, “Laurel is amazing.”

There was understanding in her eyes. “Yeah, she is. So was Susannah.”

Conrad looked at her. He was reminded that Belly was one of the only other people in this world that loved his mother as ferociously as he and Jere, that when she said she was amazing it was because she had truly known Susannah. Conrad was also reminded that if Belly had not been here, neither would have Laurel, and Conrad would have lost this house with everything else he’d lost and given up.

Laurel had Adam. By this point, it was obvious. He didn’t need to listen to the rest. He got up and went to his room.

Conrad cried in relief.

When Jere came and got him later, saying his father had asked for him, he was sure the other shoe had dropped. He kept his face neutral. He couldn’t let anyone see what was stirring beneath.

“I’ll make you a deal,” his father said, sitting at the table like it was his desk at the bank and Conrad was just some person asking for a loan instead of his son.

Warily, Conrad said, “What do you want? My trust fund?”

His father’s jaw tightened. “No. I want you back at school tomorrow. I want you to finish your exams. If you do that, the house is yours. Yours and Jeremiah’s.”

Jere cheered and grabbed their father in a hug. Conrad was not so easy excited. “What’s the catch?” Conrad asked.

“No catch. But you have to make at least Cs. No Ds or Fs. Do we have a deal?”

“I haven’t studied,” he said. “I might not pass.”

Conrad didn’t know why he couldn’t just take the win. Even despite the difficulty of his courses, he’d been able to maintain his good grades-excellent even. He had time to figure it out, even if he only got Cs, they’d be able to keep the house. Except his father’s response was important to him, the make of a man.

“Then no deal,” His father said. “Those are the terms.”

Conrad squinted his eyes. Exactly what he thought Adam would say.

Urgently, Jeremiah said, “Con, just say yes, man. We’ll help you study. Won’t we, Belly?”

Conrad looked at Belly. Would she be allowed to stay? Would she even want to? Belly had done so much to help him in the last couple days, and it had mostly just backfired on her.

None of this even seemed to occur to her. Belly turned to Laurel without hesitation. “Can I, Mom?”

Laurel nodded. “You can stay, but you have to be home tomorrow.”

Belly turned back to him with a little nod. “Take the deal.”

Well, if even Belly agreed. “All right,” he said at last.

“Shake on it like a man, then,” Adam said, holding out his hand. Conrad refrained from rolling his eyes. He’d always thought that phrase was dumb. Out of the corner of his eyes, he thought he saw Laurel mockingly mouth it too.

Reluctantly, Conrad extended his arm and they shook.

“Thanks, Dad,” Jeremiah said. “Really, thanks.”

“I need to get back to the city.” Then he nodded at Belly. “Thanks for helping Conrad, Belly.”

“You’re welcome.” It seemed like it was an automatic response—it’s what you say when someone thanks you. Except she took on this pensive look afterwards, and Conrad wondered what she was thinking about.

Laurel left not long after Adam, except she at least helped clean up after breakfast.

The three kids walked her to her car.

“You boys will get her home tomorrow?” she asked, throwing her bag onto the passenger seat.

“Definitely,” Jeremiah said.

Then Conrad said, “Laurel.” He hesitated. “You’re coming back, aren’t you?”

Laurel looked so surprised that he’d say that, it almost broke his heart. This house was barely a house without the Conklins. The shambles of it only just survived the disappearance of Susannah, it would shatter without her, without them.

“You want an old lady like me around?” she asked. “Sure, I’ll be back whenever you’ll have me.”

“When?” His voice sounded small, like a child needing to be cared for. He needed to make sure she’d be back. It’s what Susannah would want.

Then, in a gesture that was so much like his mother he wanted to cry, Laurel touched his cheek. If he closed his eyes, he could’ve pretended it was her. He leaned into it slightly.

“Before the summer’s over,” She said, “And I’ll come back to close the house up too.”

Then Laurel was driving away and the house was still standing and he was here with Jere and Belly and Conrad felt kind of okay.

Next Chapter

[love-bokumono-fics]

Fresh Crops! June 12 - June 18, 2023

This week's newest fics and chapter updates for Harvest Moon and Story of Seasons on AO3!

I'll Be My Own Hero - by PrinceErose; WIP, 4/?, 20k

Rating: General Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: Other Fandom: Tree of Tranquility Relationships: Gill/Owen, Luke/Owen | Ose, Kathy/Owen, Luke/Gill, Gill/Selena; Characters: Gill, Owen, Barbara, Hamilton, Elli | Elly, Jin, Irene, Mira, Ramsay, Luke the Carpenter, Renee, Kathy, Toby, Bo, Yolanda, Craig, Selena, Anissa, Simon, Daren the Harvest Sprite Additional Tags: Idiots, Gill is a bisexual mess, i'll update the characters and tags as the story progresses, My First Work in This Fandom, Work In Progress, Drinking, Bar Buddies, can you tell how much i don't like hamilton, finally i can reveal my ship, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Gill x Selena has been living in my head rent free for like 12 years, AU Summary: No one was going to fall from the sky and come save their island. Gill felt like he was the only one who thought that way, and he was determined to change things. alternatively: Gill has to use the power of friendship to band everyone together and work to restore the island to its former glory. alternatively alternatively: What if the player character never arrived on Waffle Island? How would things have gone had they not stepped in when they did to restore the rainbows and save the Harvest Goddess and Mother Tree? The challenges and hardships that a single rancher had to conquer is now an entire town's responsibility.

Just So You Know - by Crven; Complete, 1/1, 2.1k; Language: Bahasa Indonesia

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings; Category: F/M Fandoms: Friends of Mineral Town, Back To Nature Relationship: Claire the Farmer/Doctor Trent | Torre; Characters: Claire, Doctor | Trent, Gray Additional Tags: Romance, Drama, Drama & Romance, Fluff, Eventual Romance Summary: Asal kau tahu saja, aku mencintai dirimu yang seperti itu. Dirimu yang dingin, asing, dan tak terjamah oleh siapapun. Re-posted from FFn. Revised a bit.

[Art] Confident Barmaid - by Anonymous; Complete, 1/1, <100

Rating: Explicit; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: F/M Fandoms: Harvest Moon (SNES) Relationship: Jack/Eve; Characters: Pete | Jack, Eve Additional Tags: implied pegging, pretty women holding strap-ons, Fanart Summary: A surprise awaits Jack when he gets home one evening.

Carter's Omega - by Peraltiago1345; WIP, 1/?, 100

Rating: Mature; Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings; Category: M/M Fandoms: Harvest Moon DS Cute Relationship: Carter the Archeologist/Original Male Character(s); Characters: Carter the Archeologist, Callum (OMC) Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alpha Carter the Archeologist, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mating Rituals, Omega Verse Summary: (Archaeologist Carter) Callum has been living on his parents farm since he was small. He was anxious and hardly interacted with anyone unless his Mother took him into the town for special events. Well now his Father and Mother have passed and he's the only one to look after the farm along with his little dog, A.J., and his cat, Raven. What happens when he starts to notice a certain Alpha archaeologist? Read and find out!

[magicbystarlight]

A Coveted Bride

Dark!Loki x Reader

@pearlsofme has me thinking of Asgardian men and arranged marriages thank to her new Thor fic Into The Mist. This is definitely darker (and the wrong brother), but I’m still blaming her for my depravity 😌

Summary: You were betrothed to Thor. But with his death, Loki claims your hand in marriage.

Warnings: 18+, noncon, forced impregnation (breeding kink), mentions of murder, obsession, forced marriage, semi public humiliation (it’s only one person) Minors DNI.

Word Count: 1155

The idea of Loki becoming King of Asgard was laughable at one point. After all, he was a mere magician compared to the might of his brother who commanded the skies. But after Thor and Odin’s mysterious deaths, he was the only one left to claim the throne.

Your father assumed that you, the Vanaheim princess betrothed to Thor since birth, would be released from such a duty after Thor died. What new king would want the heartbroken remains of his brother’s bride? He had gone off to speak with the new king thinking such.

But Loki was adamant that you had been betrothed to the future king of Asgard, not Thor. And now that he had been crowned as such, the deal was due.

It was less than a week when you sat in a simple white slip as the Asgardian lady’s maid applied color to your lips mere hours before you were to be passed off to a man you despised. A dress of fine silks mocked you from where it hung, waiting to be the first uniform of your prison. And as if the Fates were ill satisfied with how much spirit remained in you, you watched as the maid fled from the room at the simplest of commands from her king when he entered unnanounced: “Go.”

It was out of habit that you rose to grab the robe hung on a peg.

“No need for such frivolous proprieties,” was all he said as it and the last of your dignity disappeared in a glimmer of green. His leering gaze made your stomach twist but your chin held defiantly high.

“To what do I owe the displeasure of your premature visit, your majesty?”

His chuckle was light, the fists clenching at his sides pulled behind his back when he stepped further into the room. “You wound me. Here I thought your past distaste could be burned away with my brother.”

The brusque way he spoke of Thor, a man you admired and respected and loved, left your skin prickling. And as if his churlish remark about his own brother were not enough to ensure your revulsion, his next comment did.

“Did the negligee I’d chosen offend you, darling?”

The sheer red fabric sat untouched in the box it had arrived in. “Only in the sense that you thought I would entertain any possibility of consummating this spurious union.”

The click of his tongue seemed to echo as he circled you. “It’s quite endearing to see you think you have a choice in the matter.”

The same green glow took over your slip, fading slowly as the white was replaced with the sheer red material. Instinctively your hands flew to cover your breasts and mound from his leering gaze.

“Red was always too audacious for my taste,” he admitted. He must of have grown, his frame coming to loom over you as you wished you’d disappear. “But it seemed fitting. After all you were Thor’s betrothed for centuries.”

His fingers trailed down your arm, letting his open palm cone to rest on your stomach. His nose brushed against your ear and he whispered, "It was the night he boasted of how you would make him a fine heir that I decided to dispose of him.”

Rumors had been muttered throughout your realm that he had had a hand in the unexpected demise of the Asgardian king and prince. But you’d refused to believe such an accusation. Loki was horrible and vile, but you’d never thought him a murderer.

“That giant oaf had everything I ever wanted handed to him. The right to the throne, the approval of our father, the love of our peoples. Those I could accept.”

His hand snaked around to your back and pulled you taut against him. “But you? The thought of him claiming you by filling you with his seed snapped any restraint left in me.”

Bile threatened to climb your throat and you prayed it would. Then you wouldn’t have to struggle against Loki’s unyielding grasp. Asgardians were strong, but his strength startled you. It was as if you were weightless in his hands.

You fought against him, managing to tear into his leather. It did little to impede him as he walked you backwards. It was when your nails scraped against his cheek and left a blossoming red line that you were finally free of his undesired embrace.

Crimson was smeared on his fingers when pulled them from his face. “That, my dear, was foolish.”

Air became scare as your back harshly met the floor. Loki’s shadow overtook you as he straddled you, uniting his pants and pulling his erect cock free. It was the first you’d seen in person. Panic rushed in with the first true breath you were able to take.

It only took one of his hands to pin both of yours above your head. The other was free for him to spit on and stroke himself with. Your unintelligible pleas landed on deaf ears as the wet head met your dry folds. He pushed in, impaling you with little regard the the searing pain that swept through you.

Tears flowed freely as he pulled out and thrust back in, each repetition coming quicker than the last. Worse than his intrusion was your body’s reaction to it. The slickness you could feel beginning to ease the pain as pleasure took its place.

“Who would have guessed that my chaste princess would enjoy such harsh love making?” he taunted, turquoise eyes watching with glee.

“You call this violation,” you gasped at another thrust, “love? I could never,” nails dug into your wrists, “love you.”

“You will love me,” he hissed. “Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But when you are ripe with my heir, our child, you will sit by my side. When their first cry echos in the halls, I will be by your side. You will learn to love me.”

The even, unrelenting pace of his hips began to falter. His body tensed and you could feel the twitching of his cock inside you. He finally stilled with a wide grin settling over his face.

"You shall love me, darling. And together we shall fulfill my destiny of ruling the Nine Realms.” Something thicker than your own wetness leaked from your folds as he unsheathed himself. You attempted to pull your hands from his grasp, but he still refused. The maid scurried back in at his call, eyes downcast to avoid taking in the entirety of the scene before her.

"My bride is to stay in this position for the next ten minutes. After which you may resume her preparation for the ceremony."

The maid nodded. "I shall call to have them bring a basin.”

"No," he said, tucking his flaccid cock back into his pants. "She is not to be cleaned. I shall clean it myself in our bedchamber this evening.”