#I don’t. I have no energy. The only thing I do is eating chocolate and staring at the ceiling

[bookishdiplodocus]

The Neurodivergent Writer’s Guide to Fun and Productivity

(Even when life beats you down)

Look, I’m a mom, I have ADHD, I’m a spoonie. To say that I don’t have heaps of energy to spare and I struggle with consistency is an understatement. For years, I tried to write consistently, but I couldn’t manage to keep up with habits I built and deadlines I set.

So fuck neurodivergent guides on building habits, fuck “eat the frog first”, fuck “it’s all in the grind”, and fuck “you just need time management”—here is how I manage to write often and a lot.

Focus on having fun, not on the outcome

This was the groundwork I had to lay before I could even start my streak. At an online writing conference, someone said: “If you push yourself and meet your goals, and you publish your book, but you haven’t enjoyed the process… What’s the point?” and hoo boy, that question hit me like a truck.

I was so caught up in the narrative of “You’ve got to show up for what’s important” and “Push through if you really want to get it done”. For a few years, I used to read all these productivity books about grinding your way to success, and along the way I started using the same language as they did. And I notice a lot of you do so, too.

But your brain doesn’t like to grind. No-one’s brain does, and especially no neurodivergent brain. If having to write gives you stress or if you put pressure on yourself for not writing (enough), your brain’s going to say: “Huh. Writing gives us stress, we’re going to try to avoid it in the future.”

So before I could even try to write regularly, I needed to teach my brain once again that writing is fun. I switched from countable goals like words or time to non-countable goals like “fun” and “flow”.

Rewire my brain: writing is fun and I’m good at it

I used everything I knew about neuroscience, psychology, and social sciences. These are some of the things I did before and during a writing session. Usually not all at once, and after a while I didn’t need these strategies anymore, although I sometimes go back to them when necessary.

I journalled all the negative thoughts I had around writing and try to reason them away, using arguments I knew in my heart were true. (The last part is the crux.) Imagine being supportive to a writer friend with crippling insecurities, only the friend is you.

Not setting any goals didn’t work for me—I still nurtured unwanted expectations. So I did set goals, but made them non-countable, like “have fun”, “get in the flow”, or “write”. Did I write? Yes. Success! Your brain doesn’t actually care about how high the goal is, it cares about meeting whatever goal you set.

I didn’t even track how many words I wrote. Not relevant.

I set an alarm for a short time (like 10 minutes) and forbade myself to exceed that time. The idea was that if I write until I run out of mojo, my brain learns that writing drains the mojo. If I write for 10 minutes and have fun, my brain learns that writing is fun and wants to do it again.

Reinforce the fact that writing makes you happy by rewarding your brain immediately afterwards. You know what works best for you: a walk, a golden sticker, chocolate, cuddle your dog, whatever makes you happy.

I conditioned myself to associate writing with specific stimuli: that album, that smell, that tea, that place. Any stimulus can work, so pick one you like. I consciously chose several stimuli so I could switch them up, and the conditioning stays active as long as I don’t muddle it with other associations.

Use a ritual to signal to your brain that Writing Time is about to begin to get into the zone easier and faster. I guess this is a kind of conditioning as well? Meditation, music, lighting a candle… Pick your stimulus and stick with it.

Specifically for rewiring my brain, I started a new WIP that had no emotional connotations attached to it, nor any pressure to get finished or, heaven forbid, meet quality norms. I don’t think these techniques above would have worked as well if I had applied them on writing my novel.

It wasn’t until I could confidently say I enjoyed writing again, that I could start building up a consistent habit. No more pushing myself.

I lowered my definition for success

When I say that nowadays I write every day, that’s literally it. I don’t set out to write 1,000 or 500 or 10 words every day (tried it, failed to keep up with it every time)—the only marker for success when it comes to my streak is to write at least one word, even on the days when my brain goes “naaahhh”. On those days, it suffices to send myself a text with a few keywords or a snippet. It’s not “success on a technicality (derogatory)”, because most of those snippets and ideas get used in actual stories later. And if they don’t, they don’t. It’s still writing. No writing is ever wasted.

A side note on high expectations, imposter syndrome, and perfectionism

Obviously, “Setting a ridiculously low goal” isn’t something I invented. I actually got it from those productivity books, only I never got it to work. I used to tell myself: “It’s okay if I don’t write for an hour, because my goal is to write for 20 minutes and if I happen to keep going for, say, an hour, that’s a bonus.” Right? So I set the goal for 20 minutes, wrote for 35 minutes, and instead of feeling like I exceeded my goal, I felt disappointed because apparently I was still hoping for the bonus scenario to happen. I didn’t know how to set a goal so low and believe it.

I think the trick to making it work this time lies more in the groundwork of training my brain to enjoy writing again than in the fact that my daily goal is ridiculously low. I believe I’m a writer, because I prove it to myself every day. Every success I hit reinforces the idea that I’m a writer. It’s an extra ward against imposter syndrome.

Knowing that I can still come up with a few lines of dialogue on the Really Bad Days—days when I struggle to brush my teeth, the day when I had a panic attack in the supermarket, or the day my kid got hit by a car—teaches me that I can write on the mere Bad-ish Days.

The more I do it, the more I do it

The irony is that setting a ridiculously low goal almost immediately led to writing more and more often. The most difficult step is to start a new habit. After just a few weeks, I noticed that I needed less time and energy to get into the zone. I no longer needed all the strategies I listed above.

Another perk I noticed, was an increased writing speed. After just a few months of writing every day, my average speed went from 600 words per hour to 1,500 wph, regularly exceeding 2,000 wph without any loss of quality.

Talking about quality: I could see myself becoming a better writer with every passing month. Writing better dialogue, interiority, chemistry, humour, descriptions, whatever: they all improved noticeably, and I wasn’t a bad writer to begin with.

The increased speed means I get more done with the same amount of energy spent. I used to write around 2,000-5,000 words per month, some months none at all. Nowadays I effortlessly write 30,000 words per month. I didn’t set out to write more, it’s just a nice perk.

Look, I’m not saying you should write every day if it doesn’t work for you. My point is: the more often you write, the easier it will be.

No pressure

Yes, I’m still working on my novel, but I’m not racing through it. I produce two or three chapters per month, and the rest of my time goes to short stories my brain keeps projecting on the inside of my eyelids when I’m trying to sleep. I might as well write them down, right?

These short stories started out as self-indulgence, and even now that I take them more seriously, they are still just for me. I don’t intend to ever publish them, no-one will ever read them, they can suck if they suck. The unintended consequence was that my short stories are some of my best writing, because there’s no pressure, it’s pure fun.

Does it make sense to spend, say, 90% of my output on stories no-one else will ever read? Wouldn’t it be better to spend all that creative energy and time on my novel? Well, yes. If you find the magic trick, let me know, because I haven’t found it yet. The short stories don’t cannibalize on the novel, because they require different mindsets. If I stopped writing the short stories, I wouldn’t produce more chapters. (I tried. Maybe in the future? Fingers crossed.)

Don’t wait for inspiration to hit

There’s a quote by Picasso: “Inspiration hits, but it has to find you working.” I strongly agree. Writing is not some mystical, muse-y gift, it’s a skill and inspiration does exist, but usually it’s brought on by doing the work. So just get started and inspiration will come to you.

Accountability and community

Having social factors in your toolbox is invaluable. I have an offline writing friend I take long walks with, I host a monthly writing club on Discord, and I have another group on Discord that holds me accountable every day. They all motivate me in different ways and it’s such a nice thing to share my successes with people who truly understand how hard it can be.

The productivity books taught me that if you want to make a big change in your life or attitude, surrounding yourself with people who already embody your ideal or your goal huuuugely helps. The fact that I have these productive people around me who also prioritize writing, makes it easier for me to stick to my own priorities.

Your toolbox

The idea is to have several techniques at your disposal to help you stay consistent. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket by focussing on just one technique. Keep all of them close, and if one stops working or doesn’t inspire you today, pivot and pick another one.

After a while, most “tools” run in the background once they are established. Things like surrounding myself with my writing friends, keeping up with my daily streak, and listening to the album I conditioned myself with don’t require any energy, and they still remain hugely beneficial.

Do you have any other techniques? I’d love to hear about them!

I hope this was useful. Happy writing!

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Fourteen

“Steve,” Robin lets herself in the front door, “Steve!”

“Yeah, I’m through here,” Robin appears in the doorway just as Eddie blinks awake, “I’m sorry baby, we woke you up.”

Eddie looks a little bleary eyed, his usually deep chocolate brown eyes looking a little cloudy.

“Steve, what’s wrong, I was there when Keith answered the phone.”

“I’m fine Robs, it’s Eddie who’s a little under the weather,” and Steve couldn’t exactly explain to Keith that the fish-guy who’s living with Steve is coming down with something, so he had to put on his best flu ridden performance.

“Oh...is he okay? It’s not catching is it, like Upside Down rabies or something?” Steve sighs as Eddie shifts, making no effort to get up.

“Eddie does not have Upside Down rabies,” Steve can feel Robin eyeing them up, how snuggled they are on the couch under Eddie’s blanket. Steve watches as she takes in the movie on low, the only other light coming from the tree, the blinds half drawn, “come on baby,” and yeah, there goes Robins eyebrows, her mouth dropping open, “I’m going to go and make Robin a coffee,” Eddie clings tighter for a moment, but then allows Steve to slide out from under him, burrowing right into the corner of the couch the moment Steve’s gone.

“What’s up with him?” Robin asks, “is he okay?”

“He’s a little off his food,” Steve starts, fiddling with the coffee machine.

“And?”

“He’ll be fine.”

“Steve...come on, no. You think I can’t tell when something's wrong? Tell me what’s up.”

Steve gives her her coffee, cradling one for himself as he leans on the kitchen counter. It’s getting dark outside already, the evenings coming in fast. Steve can just about see where the pool is covered over in the yard.

He can’t look at her as he speaks, he knows he’ll start to cry if he does.

“Eddie is...he’s like a tadpole. But the frog is a Demogorgon.”

“Holy shit!” Robin whisper hisses at him, “what are you going to do? Is it soon? Have you told anyone else? Steve, he could really hurt you, is it even safe for him to be here, you’re alone, if it just like, happens-”

“I haven’t told anyone else, and neither will you,” Steve glares at her, and Robin actually cowers a little.

“Steve...we really should tell someone else, Hopper might-”

“Hopper might shoot first and ask questions after. No.”

“But Steve-”

“Robs, stop, please. Please don’t do this, okay. Please.”

“But Steve-”

“I said no Robin. Eddie stays with me, that’s it. Whatever happens I’ll...deal with it.”

“Steve you...but you could get really hurt.”

I’m already really hurt, Steve doesn’t say. He just sips his coffee and breathes deep so he doesn’t loose it in front of Robin.

“Steve are you- you and Eddie I mean...I mean I know he’s your...friend and everything,” the careful way she says friend speaks fucking volumes, “and it’s upsetting but...you guys are pretty close? Already? You seemed real cosy when I walked in and you’re being pretty defensive over a creature from The Upside Down you’ve known for all of maybe three months is what I’m-”

“Robs.”

“Right, yeah but I mean...Steve, he’s a guy. And a fish. I mean…”

“I don’t think I’m going to spend any time worrying about either of those things Rob, considering he probably doesn’t have long.”

Eddies breathing is shallow, Steve’s sure it is. He’s certain Eddie is...fading, somehow. Steve only moves when he absolutely has to. He has gotten up to get a drink, but only because he felt a headache forming, and then to piss, but only out of desperation. Steve took one of these opportunities to check Eddie’s tail; the splits are longer, the tips starting to spread out into a loose star shape. And it’s dry, inflexible; like Eddie’s dying from the tip of his tail upwards.

Steve’s going to hold him through this, no matter what. The moment Steve slips back onto the couch, Eddie uses his last dregs of energy to, feebly, burrow into Steve.

He won’t eat; Steve’s tried everything, even offering a beer. Eddie refuses, but he can’t seem to let himself give up; he has to try, so frightened that Eddie might be in any kind of discomfort.

“Eddie, baby, will you have some food.”

Eddie sighs out a grumble, Steve lifting Eddie’s head carefully, trying to get Eddie to look at him; when Eddie does finally blink his eyes open, he’s sure they’re even less clear than before. They seem to be clouding over, turning milky.

“Food? Baby please, you haven’t eaten all day.”

Eddie sighs, voice dry and raspy, the first time Steve’s heard him speak for hours, “food bad.”

“Why, baby, why is food bad?” Eddie just shakes his head, trying to snuggle back against Steve’s chest. “Eddie, baby?” Steve’s voice breaks, but he tries not to cry, “baby, how long do you think?” Eddie looks at him, lifting his head slowly, “Eddie.” It hurts Steve on a visceral level, kills him inside to do it, but he brings his hands up to his face, pressing his palms to his cheeks and lacing his fingers over his face, he makes their sign for Demogorgon, “what time Demogorgon?”

“No, Eddidie no Demo-gor-gon,” he stumbles over the word.

“But you said you would change. Eddie grow into Demogorgon.”

Eddie shakes his head, “no food. No...Demo-gorgan. Dead later.”

“What? So if you don’t have food, you- Eddie. Eat food.” Sure, Eddie might turn into a Demogorgon, but there’s a chance he might retain some of himself, right? He might still be Eddie, and Steve is willing to take that chance.

“No. Demogorgon Eddidie food.”

“Yeah buddy, you said before, Demogorgon eat Eddie-”

Eddie sighs, clearly exhausted, but he leans over for his coloring book, just able to snag it off the coffee table; he turns to the purple dog. Steve doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before; it’s not just purple, it’s blue and black and all the colors of a Demodog. It’s fucking obvious actually, that that’s what it supposed to be.

“Eddidie eat Demo-gorgon. Eddidie Demogorgon. Eddidie eat,” and he points to the dog, “then Eddidie.”

“How, how though do you eat Demogorgon?”

“Safe dead later.”

Steve thinks, he’s heard Eddie say that before...the bee. Eddie said dead later when he knew the bee was sick, and, heartrendingly enough, he’s just said it about himself. Steve could be pulled under by the grief, he knows it, but he takes a breath and does his best to push it down. “You find one that’s going to die. It’s hurt or weak or...wait, so you need to eat some of the thing you’re going to turn into? Eddie eat this,” Steve points to the page, “then Eddie is this.”

Eddie nods.

“What if...what if you eat something else? What if...Eddie, how much of the Demogorgon do you need to eat? Many?”

Eddie shakes his head, makes their symbol for pea, finger and thumb, close together.

“Small, okay so what if...Steve Eddie food.”

“No. No Stee ow, no-” he protests weakly.

“Eddie,” Steve holds him, holds his face, “it’s only a small ow, please, please Eddie,” Steve starts to cry, he can’t help it. He cries as he begs, “please Eddie, I love you. Don’t go. Stay. Please, I love you. We have to try.”

“I love you too,” and Eddie’s crying. Steve’s never seen Eddie cry, his tears aren’t clear, they stain his cheeks a little, like weak coffee’s been spilled, the palest tear tracks on Eddie’s too white skin. Eddie’s tears smell like mown hay, like fresh cut grass. “Okay.”

“Okay, what else? Just food?”

Eddie shakes his head, pointing outside, “pool.”

That’s going to take hours to fill, most of the night, probably, “baby, would the tub be okay?”

“No. Pool.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve slips out from under Eddie, not bothering to waste time with a jacket, just shoves his bare feet into his sneakers and heads out, bracing for the cold.

It’s the middle of the night. Steve’s wrapped up now, but it’s still really cold. Hard drifts of still frozen snow rest up against the trees and pool furniture; gathered shiny white in all the nooks and crannies of the yard.

The sky is clear now, the stars defined and bright in that way they only ever are when it’s fucking freezing.

The pool is just over half full, but Eddie’s fading, and Steve won’t wait any more.

He carries Eddie out, draped in a blanket, “Eddie, this water’s going to be cold. Many many cold.”

“Cold good,” is all Eddie will say.

Steve’s terrified the water will freeze; that Eddie will get locked under the ice and drown. That this won’t work at all, that Eddie will turn into a monster that doesn’t recognize Steve- he tries desperately to push it all down. “Okay, now what?”

Steve’s standing right on the edge, Eddie suddenly struggles, and Steve, not expecting it, looses his grip on Eddie, and he’s slipping from the blanket and hitting the water with a loud splash. It’s so cold, just the sight of Eddie doing that makes Steve’s breath stutter in his chest in sympathy.

Eddie reappears quickly, and climbs back out half way, clinging to the pool steps as Steve takes his place sitting at the top of them, slipping off his sneaker, and then his sock.

“Small ow,” Eddie says, his voice quavering, he’s soaking wet, hair plastered down, skin shivering.

“Two,” Steve insists, “we need to make sure.”

By the time Eddie’s teeth pierce Steve’s flesh, he realizes he should have brought something to bite down on. It’s strange, he doesn’t feel it at first, not until after Eddie drops back into the water, immediately darting away to huddle at the deepest corner, furthest away.

It’s not until his blood drips into the water; swirling darkly in Eddie’s dissipating wake – that the pain really hits Steve. It’s the burning, stabbing kind. The energetic kind of pain that tells him there’s something really fucking wrong. Then he has to bite back a scream; it bubbles out as an anguished groan instead.

He regrets this instantly – not giving two of his toes to Eddie, not that, they have to try – but not being prepared. Steve is usually the one that plans, the one that thinks of things like this. Contingencies. He has nothing with him. He tries to staunch the bleeding with his sock, his fear for Eddie, temporarily at least, eclipsed with the blinding pain in his foot. Steve takes great shuddering breaths, the frigid air stinging his lungs, unable to control his breathing, and it suddenly occurs to him that this is going to need stitches.

Eddie didn’t fuck about; once he was in, he went all in, Steve’s two smallest toes on his left foot are gone right to the root.

Part Sixteen

[hildatheprincess]

recovering from an ed is such a odd but meaningful experience.

every time I catch myself thinking about the calories or missing the old me, i’m reminded that not once have one of my friends said they only like me for how little i eat, but they were over joyed when i started going out for dinner and getting a sweet treat on our thrifting runs. Feeling the air against my skin reminding me that I don’t need to be the smallest version of myself, i love being able to run, dance, doing awful cartwheels with my friends in the park, going to the corn maze, reading books, colouring, being excited to make a new recipe with my boyfriend, showing off that my dress has pockets, or having a day out just to try a new pastry place with my best friends; i finally have the energy and mental strength to do these things, when i feel a relapse around the corner i remind myself, even on bad body image days i am happy otherwise. my body isn’t who i am, but simply the vessel i get to dress up, put silly dresses on, paint my nails bright colours, get dirt and cuts on my knees after attempting something stupid with my friends, coming in with red cheeks and chugging water while waiting for my hot chocolate on the stove. life is good, trust the process, it gets better, keep fighting, keeping recovering. please.

[dietmtdewbabynewyorkcity]

HOW I’VE BEEN SUCESSFULLY LOSING WEIGHT: Notes from a former binge eater ♥️

*this guide is to show how ~I~ do things and offer advice on how to do it MY way. I am in no way encouraging anyone to do themselves harm. First off,

HEALTH IS WEALTH.

That being said.. this is literally the longest I’ve ever gone without bingeing. It’s just,,, easy this time. Once you get a feel of what it’s like to be skinny you just don’t crave junk as much anymore bc you KNOW it’s not worth it. The trick is to eat clean 90% of the time and allow your favorite treats 10% do the time. Fit them into your calorie limit!!! Here’s some personal favorites that have helped me lose like 20lbs in the past 2 months.

I tend to do one higher- calorie drink during the day (protein shake, Starbucks, etc) and one healthy filling but low cal meal and a sweet snack at the end of the night.

LOW CALORIE 90%

Mediterranean salad (~150): mixed greens, chopped bell peppers, cherry tomatoes, red onion. Little bit of feta cheese. Balsamic vinegar (not dressing or vinegarette!!!!) I don’t add meat but you could totally add chicken for low cal high protein choice. You could also add olives but I don’t fw them.

Chocolate Protein shakes from the gas station (loll). They’re 220 cal on average and a great treat. Strawberry one is good too.

SEAWEED SNACKS they’re literally 30-60 calories for a pack and kill my urge to eat chips!!! Please give them a try!

Soups. Soups that are already portioned and have the calorie amount posted. I add extra seasonings and spice to boost metabolism.

Coffee!! With almond milk and a little coffee creamer. It’s worth the calories if you want a coffee just make one it’s better than going to Starbucks.

Sushi: I’m vegetarian so I get an avocado and cucumber roll. It’s so good with fresh ginger and a little soy sauce. Sometimes I will be craving it allllllll day and have it as my OMAD so rewarding 🥹

Miso soup>>>>>> add tofu and seaweed and onions!! And mushrooms if you like them.

Monster Ultra energy drinks,,,, yeah I know they’re bad for you but I love them.

Fruits!!! I especially love strawberries, watermelon, cherries, blackberries, pineapple and mangoes.

TREATS 10%

Trail mix: dried cherries, pecans, walnuts, pistachios, cashews. High in calories but perfect for killing hunger. High protein keeps you full and muscles strong, high healthy fats will keep your hair and skin and nails beautiful.

Chocolates: SMALL PORTIONS. if you can’t eat just eat a piece without bingeing, do NOT buy a big bag. what I do is I buy a bar of whatever chocolate I’m craving for my bf and we share it piece by piece. Dark chocolate, milk chocolate, white, hazelnut, with coffee beans, with toffee, fruits, chocolate is the best thing ever 🍫

Starbucks! My fav drinks are matcha lattes (hot/iced), iced white chocolate mocha, caramel macchiato, and occasionally a pumpkin spice latte. Peppermint mochas on the holidays. Oat milk always

Baked goods. Same deal as the chocolate, ONLY BUY THE PORTION YOURE GOING TO EAT. If you have been craving a croissant, go get one. One. Don’t buy a whole dozen of them. You will end up bingeing trust me. My favs are cinnamon rolls <3

Habits

I’m going to the gym!!! Consistently for the first time in my life. It doesn’t have to be anything crazy. Spend 30 min on the treadmill alternating between incline walking and easy paced jogging. Put on a YouTube video. Wear pink and bring a cute water bottle. You have to make an experience out of it! I stick to cardio and full body stretches plus ocasional (light) strength workouts w my bf.

I don’t drink anymore. Just 🍃. Alc is so high in sugar and carbs and it’s literally poison bro. I know it’s hard to stop but once you do you’ll feel so much better.

I rarely weigh myself. I’m at my bfs house all the time so I only step on my scale maybe 3 times a month. It’s been a game changer!!!

MINDSET

I practice mindfulness and speak kindly to myself. Basically sweetspo + affirmations to myself all the time.

Taking more pride in your appearance will also help motivate you. You think you’ll still want to binge after you took a full body shower, clean PJ’s or outfit, painted your nails, skincare and makeup done, whitened your teeth and lit a candle? No thanks.

Limit stupid, negative, useless media consumption. Watch things that have to do with your hobbies/ interests and your social media algorithms begin to kinda clean themselves up over time. My pages are all about exercise, study blogs, beauty tips and sciencey stuff. No more drama or celebrity nonsense. Cut down your following!!

Remember you only have one life on earth. You’re young and hot once. Don’t you want to grab this chance while you have it? Unfortunately your beauty is your currency especially as a woman, so if there’s anything I can do to give myself a better life I will. Losing just a few pounds of fat will make the craziest difference in ways you’d never expect. Free and discounted stuff. More people smile at you and listen to what you have to say. Both literal and figurative doors will be opened for you.Clothes fit better bc they’re more flattering when your body is fit and healthy. While it feels good to get validation from other people, the best part of it is looking in the mirror and feeling proud instead of ashamed. The inner confidence that comes from successful transformation………….there’s no other feeling that compares. If you know, you know. I’m just saying,, the choice is yours 🤷🏼‍♀️

[snowberrycherry]

141 when they’re submissive hcs? i just love pathetic men😭🩷

sub 141 nsfw headcannons

warnings: fem!reader, nsfw so mdni

ghost

❦ he loves seeking for your approval and appreciation. he’ll look up at you his deep chocolate eyes with his tongue deep in your cunt and his thumb making circular motions on your clit desperate to make you moan even louder for him. or when he’s fucking into you making sure his thrusting his slow and firm making sure he hits the sweet spot in your soaked pussy.

❦ he loves seeing you in more dominating positions. he loves being underneath you and feeling powerless. it’s more of a mental thing for him as he’s giving you all his trust which only a limited people get. especially in such an intimate moment he just feels loved

❦ simon loves loves loves cowgirl position it’s his favorite. but only when he can play with your tits and gently pinch your nipples while you grind yourself all over his aching cock, his hips bucking into you trying to stimulate more pleasure for you.

❦ simon also lives for edging. the sheer sweat on his forehead as he’s so close to coming but when you quickly take away your hand from him, his mind goes blank and his legs start quivering again with pure desperate for the stimulation again but he loves the feeling of it (and how happy you are when he’s in this state) but nothing tops the feeling of when you wrap your fingers around his cock again, pumping him up and down as his hips spasms with euphoric pleasure.

❦ he will literally eat you out anywhere but his favorite way to do it is face sitting. omg he loves the sensation of your thighs on both sides of his head and your warm cunt pressing down against his mouth while he licks and slurps wherever his tongue can reach. and when he slowly glides his tongue in you he gets so happy when you moan loudly especially with his nose bumping against your sensitive clit.

gaz

❦ needs the praise from you. like it drives him crazy when you don’t tell him he’s doing good for you when he goes down on you or when he’s sloppily thrusting into you. he also likes the little touches of affection like when you run your hands all over his body or softly caressing his cheeks. he gets off on it so bad especially when his so deep inside your aching cunt.

❦ so he loves breath play but only when his head is between your thighs and all he can taste is your cunt. something about your thighs tightly wrapped around his head turns him on so much hes whimpering while he laps at you with two long fingers moving swiftly in and out of you.

❦ gaz likes cowgirl too but he loves when you tell him not to touch you anywhere or else you’ll stop riding on him. he’s so eager for that not to happen he’ll listen to you but it’s just so hard for him. the way your sopping pussy is wrapped so tightly around him and how you’ll purposefully start bouncing on him slowly. it makes his mind turn to slush and all he can focus on is how hard he has to control himself so he doesn’t reach out and grab your hips. he loves it tho

❦ he’s so so loud like a borderline screamer. he loves anything you do to him but he has a weak spot for blowjobs. Your hot mouth licking up and down his cock before taking it as far as it can go into your mouth until your gagging and your eyelashes become wet.

❦ gaz loves self degrading himself. calling himself your toy and how he’s only useful to you when he’s pounding into you.

soap

❦ he loves when you degrade him. hearing your sweet voice telling him on how he could do better or he’s not trying hard enough even though he’s putting all his energy into making you feel good. it gets him

❦ soap loves when you tie his hands together. the feeling of having no control over his body and the fact you can do anything you want to him makes him practically shake with excitement.

❦ OMG he loves reverse cowgirl. watching your ass bounce back and forth against his hips while he’s grabbing handfuls of the your ass while doing so?! and watching your tight cunt move so eagerly up and down his cock makes him even crazier for you.

❦ soap is such a moaner and whimpers at any little touch or kiss from you. especially neck kisses hes so loud and knows he won’t be able to control it so he’ll take your panties and shove them into his mouth. he did that the first time and ever since then he’ll do it without even thinking twice.

❦ when he eats your pussy he begs you to roughly grab at his hair and yank his mouth further into your cunt. he’ll let you keep your hands in his soft hair for as long as you want as he licks and sucks feverishly at your clit. he makes small noises and humming sounds stimulating you even more. he just wants you to feel good

price

❦ he begs and pleads with you to give him anything because he wants to cum so bad. his deep voice less than a whisper his eyes are so desperate for your pussy or your warm mouth or your hand he just wants something

❦ k so he likes to 69. with you on top so it makes him feel below you and your mouth bobbing up and down as you spit all over his cock. also having your cunt moving against his eager tongue only makes the position more arousing to him especially when you come. price will plead for you to ground your hips while you finish in his mouth and he’s so desperate to taste your juices. he can’t help himself

❦ he loves when you slide his cock between your tits and fucks his dick like that. his face blissed out with pleasure and the pressure from your ministrations. also seeing his cum all over your chest and it dripping off of your body makes him want to do it all over again. he’s purely addicted to it.

❦ price absolutely adores it when you ride his fingers omg. his fingers reaching deep into your pussy as his thumb rubs against your sensitive clit. he won’t stop even when his wrist is aching for a break he just wants to see you cum all over his fingers again and again until you tell him to stop

[perpetuallydaydreaming]

will you marry me?

5 times remus has asked you to marry him and 1 extra.

tags: remus lupin x f!reader,, fluff,, angst,, no mention of the word y/n,, childhood friends to lovers,, mutual pining,, character death

first time at 5 years old;

your eldest sister was off to marry in spring and so naturally the whole house was buzzing with excitement and terror. and you, like any impressionable child, felt the tingles of something exciting happening before your very eyes.

lulu, your best ultimate mate as you so graciously dubbed him, felt this energy too.

or at least the many flowers and coloured envelopes scattered on the table, seem to ring some alarms for him.

“this table is too small,” he frowns, stopping his pretend chopping of the leaves, and looking longingly at the dinner table, filled with scattered wedding paraphernalia.

you shrugged, ponytail swishing as you move around him.

“we have to make room, my sister is to be mary.” you confidently repeated what your mum said to you in the morning. when you had whined at the lack of play space.

now you’re humming like it’s obvious, why you were given a child’s table and now have to play kitchen with one pot instead of four because of the lack of space. the confident pretence of a child to show they’re mature enough not to complain.

“why does she have to be mary?” he asks, his shoulder bumping into you, “i thought she likes her name hilda?”

you scoff, clearly lulu does not know of the way of being mary. so naturally, you being older (by a few months) needs to teach him. or else, however is he going to be a proper grown up?

“because she wants to be a wife. so she has to be mary first.”

“a wife?” he asks intrigued, “like mummy and daddy?”

you laugh, patting his head, “only mummies can be a wife, silly. daddies are hus-butts.” you stood straighter, having this conversation with your mum before. “mother says, you have to love first and then be a mary. so you can play with them even after dinner and eat chocolates and make children.”

he seems to perk up even more, looking at you. his eyes as usual, gleaming with obvious awe, “to make children? with what?”

you pout, having no answer.

you haven’t asked your mum this question yet. too busy thinking of how many mary’s there are in your town.

still, you try to think of an answer.

you don’t want to let lulu down, you are after all his only hope for knowing things.

luckily, you’ve overheard this one conversation last week, your sister moving after she becomes mary so they can begin making a family.

you raise your head, hand on your hip and your other pointed as if in a lecture.

you said in your most confident voice. “you enter specific rooms in the house, and always make sure it’s locked. and then you wait until you can come out with children. but you must only do this if you love them. that is the ultimate rule. or else it won’t work.”

“wow,” he breathed, he clenched his fists then, looking utmost determined. before screaming in glee and confidence, the only way a naive child could. “then let’s make children! be mary and then we can play all night!”

you clicked your tongue, disappointed he hadn’t comprehended. “but you should love me first.”

his cheeks heated pink, indignant, “but i do. i love you a whole lot! and i wanna play here all the time.”

you shook your head, grim. “we can’t.” sounding so heartbroken, as much as any five year old could sound.

because you’ve already asked your mum if you could make children with lulu and she said, you’re only suppose to do that if you’re a grown up in love.

you asked, what’s the difference? you were plenty grown. 5 is one hand after all.

and your sister said to you, amusement lacing her words, a grown up to take care of you and cherish you. someone able to help you and grow with you.

you look at lulu. his thin arms and his lack of knowledge.

certainly not a grown up. not a proper man who can be with you, at all.

“i don’t love you, so we can’t.” you say this huffing, now turning completely to your make shift pot and stirring the water and leaves.

lulu cried loud that day, wailing like a little kid.

and nodding to yourself knowing you’ve made the right choice. he is so not a grown up. even if his pinched face made you feel queasy.

your mum rushing over and asking what was wrong. when you told her, she laughed out loud, and hugged you both, brushing remus’ hair out of his tear streaked face.

and you wonder what was so funny when he looked so sad.

second time at 11 years old;

remy was horrified.

you realize this as he stares at you in a crazed panic. and as always, it was up to you to be strong.

“what do you mean by that?” puffing your chest out and stood to cover remy from potter.

“didn’t you know? kissing makes girls pregnant.” he whispered, loudly in the empty halls, scandalized as he went to look at your stomach as if it will inflate this instant.

you fight the urge to cover that area with your robes. willing yourself to be brave for the both of you.

“surely… that isn’t true.”

potter scoffs, offended to have been doubted, “yes it is, i heard a prefect say so.”

you feel remy grab the back of your robes in panic. the reference enough to persuade him. you almost roll your eyes, but instead sighed to calm yourself down.

“i ought to tell you lot to be careful.” potter looked at the both of you meaningfully, and inhaling sharply as a flash of embarrassment burns into your brain.

you weren’t able to will the heat of your cheeks to dissipate, before it showed on your cheeks. your face and neck warmed red. mortified that potter knows the secret kiss shared between you and your friend, currently pulling at your robes.

it was both of your first kiss, deciding to just get it all over with, so you both can know what was so special about it.

it wasn’t much.

it felt soft, and quick.

nothing at all sparkling or romantic, like others said.

“alert your parents immediately, else you might be kicked out. and i’ve grown quite fond of the two of you, you know.” potter nodded at you, looking as if he pitied you both before crossing his arms as he strutted away.

you look at remy fully now. he was standing too close and still holding unto your robes like a lifeline.

“did you really have to tell potter of all people what we did?” you scoff, crossing your arms and tapping your feet like how your mother used to do it when she was cross with something.

he seemed to shrink into himself more, “i’m sorry, he said he saw it, and pestered me into confessing.” he bit his lips to bleed. “i didn’t know you were gonna be in trouble.” he sniffled.

and you immediately cooled, reaching forward and pulling at his chin to stop his assault and softly rubbing at his bleeding lips with your robes with another click of your tongue.

“it’s fine, he already saw, nothing else we can do.”

“so, what are we going to do now?” he asked softly, he looked at you, eyes filling with worry and sadness. “what if you are? we’ll get in trouble, won’t we?”

you bring down your arm now, before breathing out deeply.

you try to think of why it wouldn’t be true, but the tone of his voice was making you worry endlessly too.

even though you know it wasn’t all true, because your sister kissed her husband plenty of times in the house and they don’t have kids.

and you were about to point that out to him. to reassure your ever warm, too soft friend, that james potter was full of it and to relax.

but remy stood straighter, his cold hands gripping yours tightly, so much that it hurts. now standing a bit taller than you. pink lips pulled into a straight line and eyes looking straight at you. soft brown eyes no longer holding any worry, instead with resolute determination.

“marry me,” he said, “i promise to look after our children and work.” he nodded at you, as if urging you to say yes. to trust him.

a look entirely different from what you remembered from way before, yet feeling all the same regardless.

the reason of proposal was ridiculous in of itself that you couldn’t help but laugh.

“i’m not pregnant you dolt, pregnancy doesn’t work that way. i assure you.” rolling your eyes in amusement. “so don’t you go proposing like some weirdo.”

he stopped for a second, as if startled as he kept looking at you. before leaving a shaky sigh, head hanging low.

“okay,” his lips in a wobbly smile, looking weird. “good.”

third time at 17 years old;

sirius had managed to sneak in a case of firewhisky in one winning after-party in the common room.

it was safe to assume that everyone was positively sloshed. if judging from the slurring exclaims from james and a red face peter barely able to stand and sirius laughing maniacally at something marlene has said to him.

and remus being the self-appointed responsible one, had taken it upon himself to maintain sobriety the entire night. to look after the three of them in the aftermath.

resolutely sitting next to you the whole night, engaging in a missed conversation about gossip and literature.

“still feeling confident you can handle these three blokes up in your room?”

he grimaced, already rubbing his temples, probably from regret and the james’ incessant off-key singing. “i don’t really have much of a choice now, do i?”

you laugh easy, “with the way james is attempting to strip, i think not. you did volunteer, taking responsibility and what not.”

he sighed rather audibly, over the soft music of the party that was already dying down. most of the attendees already settling into their respective rooms.

and you look at remus, slumped into the chair, and laugh to yourself.

still so helpless, you think. you guess you had to step up again. pick up the slack a little bit.

you try to trick yourself into thinking you were tired and miffed about it, but you find you quite like feeling needed. especially by remus.

whom of which seems to be way into being responsible now and being a proper grown up. one that follows curfew and plans his day.

he barely looks at you for help anymore.

he always has an answer to questions now.

as the boys depend on him for being the responsible one in their little foursome.

off to late night adventures and pranks. no longer the crying, awe struck, nervous kid you grew up knowing. makes you feel kind of sad.

“alright then,” you exhaled, “i’ll lend you a hand for dealing with the demons.” you stood up whilst downing your drink, a sweet concoction by dorcas.

he looks up at you, eyes looking bloodshot and tired. he softly shook his head, “you don’t have to.”

you frown, clicking your tongue and placing a hand on each of your hips. “i said i’ll do it, so i’m going to. now stand up and let’s go.”

he looked at you just a second longer and sighs looking away, a soft smile etched on lips before looking at you again. looking won over.

standing up, dusting the invisible dirt on his trousers and nodding.

he towers over you now, seemingly out of no where.

you realize this as your neck strain looking up at him. as you gather the rowdy, intoxicated boys back to the dorms.

something sirius was extremely grateful for and the others echoed.

“thanks for— for taking care of me darling,” sirius breathed hot into your face before pecking you on the cheek.

“yes, you’re very welcome,” you hummed amused, tucking his covers into his sides, making sure he couldn’t move out of bed.

sirius giggles, “it feels like being tucked in by a mum,” before looking at you serious, eyes wide and looking more sober than he actually was, as if realizing something.

“you’re the mum in the group!” he exclaimed.

“im the what?”

james overhears this and exclaims his agreements.

“oh you are! you’re the perfect mum size!” james said.

you turn to him, “and what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask hotly.

“you’re very caring and mum-like, and you scold like a mum too, sometimes you even talk like one,” peter mumbled.

you look at remus, giving you an amused look, lips stretching like close to laughing.

“this is going to be the last time i’m helping you lot, if you call me mum one more time.” you threatened lightly.

sirius hums loud like he doesn’t believe you, “it’s not all bad, not like you’re gonna be a single-mum. remus is gonna be the dad after all.” he said like he was so sure.

and james, of ourse, echoed his agreements.

“obviously,” james tutted from his bed, tucked in tight by remus.

“yesh,” peter slurred, “he looks like—remus looks like he knows how to read maps.” he breathes out, like on a verge of sleeping.

james gasps, “he does! remus is a map reading dad, nothing has made more sense than this moment right here. you are meant to hold a map in your hands remus, you’re a daddy compass.”

remus looks perturbed, eyebrows scrunched and lips into a tight frown. he shakes his head then, before closing each of their curtains, not even bothering to justify james’ quip. “night lads,”

“night dad,” sirius teased from his bed, before shuddering excessively, “never thought i’d say that again.”

you snort out a laugh before you could help it. “good night everyone.”

you look at remus, and see him gesture to come outside.

quietly walking out of their room and closing the door behind you.

“come, i’ll walk you out.” grabbing your hand softly and pulling you down the corridor to the stairs. dropping his hold just as quick as if he hadn’t meant to hold it in the first place.

“sorry about the lads, the lack of filter is unfortunately not the effect of alcohol but is just them naturally.”

you chuckle softly, rubbing your tingling palms on the side of your skirt.

as if you didn’t know that already. those three have already been a staple into your everyday life for majority of the year. they, quite frankly, grow on you like some persistent vine on a house.

“it’s fine, it was quite tame compared to the usual rubbish they spew most of the time.”

remus looks at you, barely able to hide the smirk emerging from his lips.

“don’t tell me you liked them calling you mum?” the teasing lilt in his voice impossible to miss.

you lightly push on his shoulders. “don’t be disgusting, being called their mum is weird enough. and you implying i like it just makes it even weirder.”

“well imagine being called daddy compass by one of your mates, it’s gonna be hard looking at james tomorrow morning i’ll tell you that.”

you laugh excessively loud at this, before covering your mouth sheepish as you remember the time.

you look over at him, up and down as if assessing, “but you do look like a dad who knows how to read maps. wears khakis all the time and has a moustache.”

he rolls his eyes at you, as you grin in mirth, “well does that mean you’ll do me the honours of marrying me to avoid the life of a single parent to three demon boys?”

you laugh, shaking your head, “not exactly selling your case to me, are you?”

“won’t you reconsider though?” he moans, like he’s pained but you see the glint in his eyes even in the dark dorm room stairs. “it is after all for the children.”

you know he’s joking, hardly a night of partying counts as anything like a proper proposal.

but your brain can’t help but supply the thought that he looked quite fuller now. arms looking sturdier, and harder. he is acting more responsibly, all the professors trust him.

he was almost like a proper grown up now.

and you remember the echo of the ultimate rule in your childhood.

you shake your head, and an easy smile spread on your lips. stopping at the stairs for your dorms, “over my dead body,”

and he laughs, the sound echoing in the trashed common room, “well alright, good night, beautiful.”

“good night remus.”

fourth time at 19 years old;

you knew james was serious about lily when you lot had graduated from hogwarts. but you didn’t know the extent of the seriousness until he said this after one of the order meetings.

“i’m going to ask lily to marry me.”

james had said this with such conviction, so sure and full of affection. you can’t help but feel awed.

he suddenly seemed mature. not like the doofus you’ve come to know and consider a confidant through these trying times.

but a proper adult, one who does taxes and knows how to set up an appointment for medical check ups and fights in wars.

james suddenly feeling very far away from you.

you feel remus shift, his leg pressing into yours. you look at him to see what he wanted, but saw he was just looking at james, eyes set hard.

you shook yourself out of your stupor. standing up abruptly, not meaning to leave the familiar press of remus’ leg against your thigh.

“that’s—that’s great news james, i would have never guessed you—oh you’re all grown up!” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, and him wrapping his around your middle with a giddy smile.

“thank you, mum.” he laughs, the on going joke still running strong. you squeeze him extra tight and pinching his arm for extra measure. before pulling away. “i never thought you had it in you to propose. i’d have half a mind to propose to lily on your behalf.”

he laughs, a bashful blush resting on his cheeks. “i figured, why wait, you know? tomorrow isn’t promised, and—i think spending every moment together is we all can do. i don’t want to die with regrets. i love her.”

you breathed in deep.

sirius coming forward too and slapping james in the back before giving his own congratulations and then peter and then remus too.

you were happy for them both, truly, having found one another even in these difficult times was awe-inspiring.

and then you start to wretchedly wonder if you could have that too. if only the circumstances were a bit different. would you have been given enough time to find another? enough to love? enough to marry?

you find your gaze sliding to remus, how strained his smile looked and wonder if he’s thinking the same.

he looked back at you, as he always does, and smiles gently. less strained now. like he was resigned.

you try to imagine if the circumstances were a bit different and he would find someone to love. someone to marry.

you feel your navel, coil in a bundle of nerves. a tension in your neck making you almost irate.

he gestured for you to follow him out.

like being compelled and weak, you follow without a question.

the night air was chilly, and feeling some sort of static on your skin, like building an unnerving suspense.

remus just sat and gestured for you to sit beside him.

the seat was cold, and you sat rigid like ice.

it’s been a while since you’ve last sat with remus like this. the order keeping all your hours occupied, mission after mission. surviving by the skin of your teeth.

all the world has gone fucked now, it didn’t feel quite real some time—like some sort of veil has just been pulled over your head making you see things clearer for the horrors awaiting your fates.

and in your mind loud with noise and worry, you almost didn’t hear him.

“why don’t we do it?”

“what?” you turn to him, hoping his face show an inkling, a clue as to what he had said.

he looked at you then, eyes still so warm even with the atrocities he’s faced and eyes still so bright in the night. a twinkling light reflecting in his eyes making him look younger. prettier.

“why don’t we get married?”

you lean back slightly in shock, “what?” you repeated, because you didn’t understand. this came so suddenly, words weirdly familiar but the intent wildly different than from all the others you’ve heard before.

you looked at his eyes. searching, still, for a clue or something that might make sense because what?

he laughs, the warm, soft sounding one you can barely hear. but it was just the two of you outside and it was quiet and you were sitting so close, so you hear it—loud and clear. the sound making you feel warm. “is that so crazy?”

he looked like a boy, happy and hopeful. his leg was pressing into your thighs again. the pressure grounding you.

his hands fidgeting deep within his pockets.

“i think we work well enough.” he added, with a small smile.

you feel something in your heart stutter, “work well enough,” you repeated. “glad to know i reach your standards for a bride, sir lupin.” you almost scoff. masking the bitter simmer of disappointment of his reason. and the coiling nerves still tightly wound in your navel, feeling heavy, making it harder to breathe.

he shrugs, “well you know, a lot of applicants have been killing themselves to be chosen. i reckon you ought to feel honoured.” he grinned over to you, still joking.

you rolled your eyes, “of course,”

“yeah?” he perked up, suddenly sitting straighter, his knees bumping into yours in his haste to look at you properly. “you want to?” he seemed shocked, overtly so, that it makes you laugh. a heat blooming on your face at his apparent willingness to marry you before shaking your head to avoid any confusion.

“no to the proposal but yes, that it is indeed an honour.”

he deflates, “ah,” he said softly, before laughing like he was embarrassed. “i just—i kept thinking what james said, about tomorrow not being promised—and, i, well i thought—“ he clears his throat before continuing. “i thought i might see what the fuss was about,”

you nodded, “‘m afraid marriage isn’t so simple. you have to love one another for a start.” you added somewhat bitterly, looking away.

“so you keep reminding me,” he says, laughing awkwardly.

fifth time at 38 years old;

you feel as if your life was reaching a crescendo.

the night glooming, brooding like the sky knows to colour it of fear and nerves.

it was going to come down to tonight, so it seems. whether we win or we lose. the end or the beginning. all those families we’ve lost and the families we’ve created. all our hopes and dreams sacrificed into this one night.

“you feeling alright?” remus asked to your left.

the glooming sky somehow illuminating his face all the same.

“as alright as anyone can be when facing a dark wizard.” you smirked, shrugging.

he laughs, still sounding so warm and soft.

you feel his fingers brush yours. you had half a mind to remind him to get ready and hold his wand tight.

you notice how keeps forgetting to do that. opting to hold unto you, just like he did before when he was a child from another time.

he only offers a closed lipped smile, looking at you the same way he has always looked at you. his stare the most familiar thing, it might as well be a part of you.

“i love you.” he breathed. and your heart hammered, your world tilting on its axis. shifting the very fabric of your universe.

and he looked relieved like he couldn’t wait to hold unto it any longer. and then he repeated it. more sure. louder. affectionate. looking straight into you. his brilliant, soft, warm eyes so full.

you wonder when did his gaze start to look at you like that?

and then you see;

his eyes looking as it did when he was five, shining with obvious awe.

his eyes when he was eleven, with resolute determination.

eyes when he was seventeen, glinting with mirth in the dark crevices of the dorms.

the look he gave you when he was nineteen, looking so boyishly happy and hopeful.

and now as he’s thirty-eight, looking at you with so much love, and longing, and pain, and joy.

“when this is all over,” he breathe, “will you marry me?”

so much time has passed by now that you had once thought it was too late for you. too late with him. something you always thought but could never have.

he was now undeniably a man. arms littered with scars and unwavering confidence as he looks at you. but his eyes still glimmer and twinkle all the same.

the undeniable rampage in your chest, your eyes searching for an answer or a clue for what he’s thinking.

“i love you,” he repeats, and gazing at you with that familiar eyes of his.

and you laugh because you found your answer. so you’ll give him his.

“yes.”

extra;

the battle was brutal, bodies piled on top of one another. those too young to know what they even fought for. those for their own ideals. and those caught in cross fires.

but it was over. and the good guys won.

but with so many lost, people thought, how could i possibly cheer?

but there was this type of solace when you’re gone. there was no more pain. all those gone can only do one thing, to let go. at least that’s what harry thinks.

staring down at the family he could’ve had.

your limp cold hand holding remus’ equally cold ones.

he wonders if someone intertwined your hands, or if you simply died holding on to each other. never to let go.

he realized it didn’t really matter. you were both gone. forever, but together.

he thinks of the comforting hugs you’ve given him in the short time you’ve spent with him, and the many stories remus told. and in this fierce pain he wonders if you ever saw the shiny, glinting ring in remus’ dresser hidden away ever since he was eighteen.

[sensei-venus]

Poly hawk and robby being sent naughty pics by their gf while they r at the dojo ?

(unedited)(Only slightly nsfw, mostly clean)

It was a regular day of training at the dojo for everyone. Both Sensei Lawrence and Sensei LaRusso where doing a merged class together for a new lesson they wanted to work on together. It was high energy and high stamina training. It was extremely intense but it was a good work out for all of the students to help them grow.

The class started pretty early in the morning. Most of the students showed up a little after sun rise and trading started a hour or so after. It was hitting mid afternoon by the time the Sensei’s called for a break. The students slumped as the break was called. Some students found a spot to slump down and rest, others went into groups to talk and eat lunch, a few worked on some less intense moves from the lesson.

Hawk, Robby and Miguel grabbed their lunch and headed out to the dojo lawn to sit down and eat together. Hawk groaned as he sat down, his legs killing him from the work out. Miguel and Robby rubbed at their shoulders. Robby messing with his forearms and Miguel with his shoulders.

Hawk smirked as he went though his bag and pulled out a bag of his favorite chips.

“I’m starting to get use to the whole letting Reader pack my lunch thing. What she pack you this time?” Hawk raised a brow as he looked over at Robby. Robby smiled as he pulled a candy bar out of his bag “Dark chocolate, as always. Because she's the best.” Miguel rolled his eyes.

“You only like her lunches because she packs you junk food as snacks in the lunches.”

“Actually no, even though I do like chocolate, she packs it because dark chocolate is actually good for you. Also, sometimes I have sugar issues, she makes sure I have some something to keep my sugar up.”

“....I just like chips man.”

Miguel snorted.

Hawk and Robby just laughed as they eat their lunch.

A few minutes later they where just sitting down and relaxing. It was peaceful and quiet out in the yard. Suddenly the silence was broken when both Robby and Hawk’s phones went off with a loud chirp. All three boys raised a brow, the two boys pulled put their phones. Robby opened up his phone to find a notification for “new images” from Reader, he could only guess only she had also sent the same pics to Hawk. He quickly opened his contacts and clicked hers.

His face went red for a moment as he looked at the pictures she had sent him. Hawk was just as stunned but quickly snapped out of it and smirked as he swiped though the pictures. She sent multiple pictures at once to both of them.

Multiple pictures of Reader on their shared bed, selfies of her sitting on it. A few where just of her in regular clothing but more exposed angles of her cleavage. The photos got more and more naughty as they scrolled though them. Ina few she had her face in them smiling at the camera. Then the pics started to change. She was taking bits of clothes off every picture. Shoes, shirt and pants where gone.

Then she was just in a lacy lingerie set that they had never seen her wear before. They don’t even remember seeing it in their closet. She must have gone out and bought it by herself just for them. Hawk bit his lip as he scrolled to the more hot and sexy pictures she had taken for them.

She was in different positions, sitting and laying down on the bed. Then the bra was off, her fat tits where plump and hung heavy on her chest. Her nipples where hard like she had been playing with them for the picture. Then her underwear was off. She displayed her pussy out for them. Wet and glistening in the camera flash. She played with herself, her fingers covered in her own pussy juice.

The picture chain ended with a simple text.

“Hope the class is going good, can’t wait to see you at home later. I’ll be waiting. Xoxo Reader~”

Robby smirked as he put his phone back in his pocket, he did his best to try and cover his half hard cock that stirred in his pants. Hawk clearly doing the same.

“What was that about?”

“We just have to be home on time, Reader needs help with something at the house. She wanted to make sure we knew to come straight home after class.”

[brittle-doughie]

With Baker’s Love. (Valentines Day 2024 Special)

As the Baker, you made sure every one of your cookies felt like they were cared for, that you watched over them as evenly as every cookie across Earthbread. The chocolates you send into various mailboxes were always a treat to the cookies, something that they savored and cherished throughout the day…

———————————————————————

Yogurt Cream Cookie rode upon his flying carpet as he headed to the front of his palace. Normally, he’d have his servants handle things for him. On the day of Valentines though, he must be the one to inspect what’s sent to them. It’s just as delectable every year, a packaged box of heart shapers chocolates along with a note of love from his beloved Baker.

He couldn’t help but smile to himself as he read it, popping a chocolate into his mouth. He sighed contently as the pure sweetness of the chocolate melted as he ate it.

“The sweetest when they make it themselves. Truly something that Coins can never buy…~”

He floated back inside his palace with the box in his hands, nothing but the Baker on his mind…

———————————————————————

Walnut Cookie could not have pulled out the two boxes of chocolate fast enough from the mail as she hurried back inside, Almond Cookie couldn’t help but smile at his daughter’s enthusiasm, he did a good job keeping his hidden. The Baker’s chocolate was the best there is, the sweetness gave him the energy he needed for the number of cases he was on for the week, it surpassed even that of the coffee he has on occasion.

“Looks delicious! Oops, I should’ve tested if it’s safe to eat first…”

Walnut felt embarrassed to have gone through most of her box already in front of her dad, something he assured was okay. This was chocolate, not evidence of a crime scene. He couldn’t help but chuckle a little bit when Walnut went right back to enjoying her box, as he ate some chocolate himself, feeling energized already. If he could taste love in food, he was tasting it right now…

Baker, never stop being incredible, he’d thought to himself.

———————————————————————

Gifts never failed to make Strawberry Cream Cookie feel a bit warm, he still remembered Stollen Cookie gifting him a story book. But when it came to gifts from the Baker themself? He’d drop whatever he was doing and get it right away, the chocolate box was no different.

He made sure to go to somewhere secluded in the academy to taste them, he couldn’t stop the blushing when the first chocolate touched his taste buds, it felt like a warm hug that made him his whole being shiver

“With this, I’ll never feel tired running through the forest..”

He had another and another and another, never getting over the taste…

———————————————————————

“I knew the Baker was in love with me.”

Lychee Dragon Cookie couldn’t stop the sly smile on their face when they received the chocolate addressed from the Baker. It was such a not-surprise to them that it garnered no bigger excitement then a brief wide-eyed look.

“I don’t need chocolates to know the Baker had fallen for my charms, heehee”

Hearing that, one of their monsters tried to take the chocolate from them…only to be met with an extremely angry Lychee in return!

“HEY! I NEVER SAID I DIDN’T WANT THEM! GO AWAY!”

The monster understandly retreated away in fear from Lychee’s outburst as they continued to glare at them from afar. Lychee did a double check around before opening it and hastily eating a piece, unable to stop the dreamy sigh from them.

Just one “I love you, Lychee Dragon Cookie” from the Baker’s mouth themself, just one….and they’ll be a happy dragon for a long time…

———————————————————————

“Very classy~ You know my tastes very well, my Baker~”

Chocolate Bonbon Cookie couldn’t help but admire the way the chocolates looked and tasted, it was like they were expertly crafted specifically for her tastes as she brought them into her establishment.

The texture, the refined flavor, nothing short of amazing that she should’ve expected from the Baker. That never stops her from getting surprised that the chocolates only seemed to taste even better every year!

It just gave her so many new clothing and style ideas that used the finest chocolate she can get, It would be no problem to even send you some of them as a thank you for the chocolates.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to keep in touch with her fellow fashion cookies..if only to have some more of your chocolate from them, she giggled to herself.

———————————————————————

Valentines Day was just one of many occasions to show how much you adore your cookies, even newcomers that had joined you were never treated any differently then ones that have been with you since the beginning. A chocolate from you is enough to make their day, maybe even their whole month!

[oldhalloweentape]

🪨Venture (OW II) x (gn) reader ⛏️

(Love Language Pt. I Edition!)

(Not my picture!)

(I just keep having ideas, and the insatiable urge to write them down so, enjoy :))

Their love language: Physical Touch, Quality Time, Gift Giving, and Words of Affirmation (Pt. II!)

Physical Touch

- As I mentioned in the previous post (here), they love physical touch, especially with you, it’s just so natural to them.

- While on the job at Overwatch, the PDA is at a low, for obvious reasons.

- Though the second the mission is over, they almost immediately have to urge to wrap their arms around you and give you a big squeeze.

- Loves hand holding, rubs their thumb over the front of your hand and knuckles as they give you the details of the last expedition they did.

- Also likes putting their head on your shoulder, especially on the days you both are in bed and don’t have to do anything.

- Kisses with them are a must of course, with their kisses usually being quick yet affectionate but can be long and soft if the situation requires it.

- Their all-time favorite spots to kiss you in on the forehead, cheek, and lips. But they’d kiss you anywhere if you ask.

- They just love to pepper kisses all your face after an especially long day, their favorite activity actually.

- If they’re feeling a bit sillier than usual or you need some cheering up, they make loud smooching noises when they’re kissing you, usually doing it during cheek kisses.

- In general, Venture is a love bug and just can’t help spreading their affection, can’t get enough of you lol.

Quality Time

- This and physical touch go in tandem with one another, when they can’t touch you, it’s ok!

- They can always settle for being in your presence, being with you is always a positive in their eyes, and you just make things all the better.

- Wants to do so much and experience so much with you, meaning dates consist of mostly outdoor activities.

- Think like camping, hiking, running, and exploring in general, even if you just want to walk around a nearby park they’re all for it!

- They just love nature and they love you, so, the best of both worlds. Also, it’s a way for them to use up all that energy they just naturally exude besides their line of work.

- The camping dates are the nicest, just you, them, nature, and the bear you guys chose over a man.

- Jokes aside, the many moments between the two of you they cherish with all of their heart, remembering the littlest of details.

- You guys could be folding laundry together on a lazy Sunday only for them to break the silence of the room, “Hey, you remember that one time we went camping and you got some melted chocolate and marshmallows stuck in your hair cause you accidentally slept while you were eating?” Queue the slow head turn and side eye they get from you that just sends them into a giggling fit.

- They try their best to capture and memorize every minute, having photos of you and your guy’s escapades framed for everyone to see, or in various handmade scrapbooks filled with stickers of geodes, crystals, etc on every page.

- The little things in life, alongside someone they love as much as they love you is something they revel in, I can’t express enough how they are extremely happy to be with you.

(Will try to get Pt. 2 for Beginning relationship and Love Language out as soon as I can!!)

[oreosmama]

What's in a Virtue (Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader)---Part 3

*GIF not mine*

Summary:

Gaz wants you, but the hotel bar you work at has rules; when a bartender calls dibs, all others have to back off. It’s how the peace is kept, and as the new girl just trying to rack up some savings, you’re not willing to rock the boat.

But Gaz doesn’t take kindly to you avoiding him, and he’s never been one to beat around the bush. From confessing his love on the first night you met to shouting your name seven times from across the bar, he’s not letting you off the hook that easy. Not when he’s seen the proof that you’ve fallen just as hard for him.

A/N: mwahaha, and they said it couldn't be done. those who doubted me shall gaze upon my very first (and perhaps last) complete series! Victoryyyyy! I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 8374

Part 1 Part 2

   You’re pretty sure you didn’t hear him right. 

You’ve got morning-after brain, and his chest is so hot and adamant behind you, and his breath is right next to your ear. Plus, your stomach is growling with a pit only chocolate-chip pancakes and white peach oolong can fill. 

And he’s doing that tracing thingy again. G. A. Then what?

R. Maybe.

And that leads you to think you might’ve just maybe heard him correctly, because why the hell is he drawing his last name on your hip so brutishly that it twinges? 

“Um.” You stiffen. “What.” 

Not really a question. The way you say it, it comes out more like you don’t want to know the answer even if you really did ask. 

Kyle groans that long, gruff way, husked past his vocal cords and throbbing a path through your entire body. “Look, I get it.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Just let me… ah, fuck, I know it sounds ridiculous, love, but hear me out.” He moves away, giving you space to think while he leans against the counter and grips the edge, tight. 

“Wait,” you hold up a hand before he can start talking again, because you need a minute. Several minutes, actually. A whole assload of minutes to comprehend the suggestion he’s just thrown at you. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you serious?”

This is probably just what Kyle’s morning-after brain is like. It makes stupid, sudden suggestions that he just blurts out on a whim with no regard for how it’ll land. In all fairness, you doubt it’s ever done him wrong before. Even in a regular headspace it’d be hard to tell him no. 

Never mind that he’s shirtless, and that his broad shoulders eat up the space of three cupboards, and that his gaze is doing that thing again—that unfair thing where he towers over you but can still make you feel like he’s kneeling, dips his head so those pleading irises look up at you. 

“Dead serious, love.”

There’s an air about him that’s resolute, despite it all. He’s tender but stern, decided and confident in his conclusion. He’s shedding his clothes and skin, leaving himself belly-up for you to bite. 

“Kyle…”

“Too soon?” He doesn’t even look hurt. Just expectant. 

You shrug helplessly. “Yes? Very too soon, don’t you think?” You spin around, fiddle with the pancake mix but don’t open it. The mug you’ve microwaved for your tea is probably cool at this point, and you try to turn that into your biggest problem of this morning. 

Not the special forces sergeant who lives life at three-hundred miles an hour, exuding such a new energy in here that you can’t remember the basics. It’s the morning after, and as beautifully new as Kyle is, like the stretch of new blue jeans, he’s not threadbare enough in here yet. Too tight, sucking the air out of your own home and leaving you all prickly and sweaty and nervous. 

And he wants you to move in with him? Right now? This soon?

It’s easy, when you turn your back to him and lob your hand towards the microwave handle, to pretend that your biggest problem can be amended in minutes. 

Because now, despite that itchiness of Kyle’s gaze on your face, your biggest problem is that you haven’t even begun to steep your tea. That’s a huge deal. You’re supposed to do it seconds after the microwave beeps, pull the mug out and let the steam soak into the tea bag that you swing for a bit, always have to watch the foggy-air disruptions back and forth. Then you steep it, let the water grow murky for ten minutes as you cook the rest of the meal. Add sugar, an ice cube because you’re scared it’ll burn your tongue like the first time, and stir while you pour syrup on your plate. 

You’re horribly set in your ways, so much so that you hate—actually hate—the newness Kyle’s thrust upon you. It took him twenty-four hours to upset everything. 

Well, not everything. Just you. While you feel fresh out of the box, everything around you has been preserved in mundanity. 

If you took two rights and a left from this building, you’d find a sandwich shop owned by a short man with an orange cat. If you went two floors up, you’d find a pack of graduate students; one more floor, and you’d see Mrs. Beverly and her purse dog. If you went into your living room, finagled with your window a bit, the shutters would close in a perfect angle so that the sun falls on your couch but doesn’t glare on your TV. 

You know it takes you twenty-seven minutes to get to work in the morning right after you brush your teeth. It takes you fourteen minutes to walk home after you clock off. Thirty more minutes to order food and settle in, Netflix the pinnacle of your night before you nod off in a tank top with exactly three holes and short shorts you’d bought under the duress of a busted AC.

You have milk and eggs both two days away from expiration in your fridge, along with old Chinese takeout. You have books with crackled spines and ruffled pages on your bookshelf, and a muddy stain on your entryway carpet from two days after you’d bought it. A bedroom unruly and unbidden, clothes strewn everywhere.

You could envision it all, see it all because you knew it all. Have known it all for the months that this place has been your home and you’d begun working at the hotel bar. You could have the rest of your life mapped out by tomorrow if you really wanted to. It’d be safe. Predictable. Boring, in that average way you’ve always known. None of it would be moving by so fast that you wouldn’t get a break to think of the consequences. 

None of it would make you feel like you’re reaching new heights by jumping off cliffs, taking big, stupid risks that wind up working all the damn time—and solely because Kyle makes them work. Because he runs seven steps ahead of you and lays out the golden carpet for you to step on, telling you it’s okay to keep pushing forward.

The phone calls, the talks, his touch and voice. All of it closing in on you, molding you into something fresh and unseen. 

But that’s just it. It’s still just you who’s changed. 

Not Kyle, who’s certainly been like this his whole life. Who’s used to making snap decisions that have an impact, gotten so damn used to doing that that he carries it with him now. 

And it’s not Mariano or his cat Garfield, or the ham and swiss you get on Fridays. It’s not Jared and Samantha, both of whom play Mario Kart after writing another page in their theses. It’s not Mrs. Beverly and Chloe, or Jeanne, or your family or friends you haven’t texted in a while. 

Only you. 

You’re stripped to your marrow, neurons and fibers spilling all over the place because—oh hell—you’ve grown too big for all this. Kyle’s had you melting and flowing fast and sharp since he first showed up in your life, and you’re moving too fast to feel out that old stagnancy. 

But there’s an ugliness that lives inside of you too, that hates how uncomfortable every little step forward is, even if you can’t stop taking them. 

It’s exposing. You feel naked, but not in the new, comfortable way Kyle’s helped you discover by virtue of his longing. More naked like school nightmares and too-small bath towels. Naked like someone’s going to douse you in lemon juice and salt any second to watch you writhe. 

“Kyle.” Your hand’s still propped on the handle. The microwave beeps again, impatient. “Last night was—God, it was amazing.” You open the door, pull out the mug despite how lukewarm it’s grown. “Best I’ve ever had, by a long shot. But…”

“But what, love? You’re scared?” His voice is barely above a whisper, and you’ve no doubt he’d watched your mind run and run circles around itself, and had had enough time to form an argument of his own. “It’s too much? A lot to ask? I think that too, love, but we’re running out of time.” He rises to his full height, and you try not to shy away at how much space he takes up when he’s grim and serious. 

He’s massive, bigger when he’s panting over you, sleek hips pressing down, suppressing your twists and jolts. He’s gotten better at trapping you, too. It’s intimidating. Thrilling, in better circumstances.

You can’t think straight anymore. He smells like pine all over again, and looks it too. 

“Come back with me to England. We’ve got bars—bars I can bother you at. We’ve got universities for second chances. I’ve got a flat with plenty of room, plenty of money to—”

“Kyle, please.” The whine rips from your throat, and you drag two hands over your face. 

In the corner of your vision, you don’t miss the way he stiffens and swallows a bit. But then he says your name through choked sigh, and rasps, “I know it sounds fuckin’ crazy—I feel like a bloody fool saying it out loud. But I don’t want to lose this, and I can’t keep comin’ back here to start us from scratch every few months.”

You don’t know what to say to that, can’t stop bobbing your mouth open and closed, trying to find those useless words that might explain what’s holding you back.

Something like, It’s only been three months.

Yes, but Kyle knows that too. And he still wants you. 

You don’t even really know him.

Sure. But what was there to learn that he wouldn’t offer you on a silver platter?

It’s going to fall apart. It always does for you. Months will pass, and he’ll realize he made a mistake. He’ll kick you to the curb, and you’ll be back to square one. 

A coaxing palm cradles your cheek, and a warm thumb prods over your lower lip, both of which make you flinch out of your thoughts. Kyle tips your head up, up, up until you’re looking at him, brown irises gentle and luring.

“I can see it, you know. That cruel little brain of yours is whirring so loud it’s makin’ me nauseous.”

Your eyes fall closed, and you reach up, grapple at Kyle’s wrist, massage the tender spot at its center. “I’m sorry.”

He inhales, ragged and slow. Exhales, blowing past your flyaways. “For what, bunny?”

You continue to caress the baby-soft skin of his wrist, marveling a bit at how different it feels from his rough fingertips, from his scarred thighs, his bruised back. “I need… time. A little bit to think. Consider things.”

The last thing you wanted to do was tell him to leave. You felt like an idiot for even implying that space from him was the something you needed right now. You know the silence will swallow you whole when he’s gone. 

“You want me to go?” he breathes out, and his face crumbles. Likely, he didn’t want to leave. He could barely be goaded out of your bed, and now this? 

Kyle looks like he wished he hadn’t asked, hadn’t said anything. Those mournful brown eyes slip to the counter, where your mug and pancake box sit, then back to you, to your eyes and nose and lips. 

Your lips. He prods at the bottom one, like he can’t help it. The caress slows to a stop when he pinches his eyes closed and tips forward, dropping his forehead to yours. “But I don’t wanna leave, love,” he mumbles. “Scared if I do, you won’t let me back.”

You don’t think you could ever keep him out. Not out of your house, and not out of your head. But your brain feels unspooled and uncollected, and all that’s left are too-sweet cotton-candy wisps that can’t quite latch onto anything. 

“I…”

Don’t want you to leave either.

I want you to stay. I want to move in with you. I want every night to be like last night, and every morning to begin like ours did.

I want it all to be ours.

Your hands rise up and brush against the dips and swells of his chest. Goosebumps blossom under your touch. 

“Kyle, you know this isn’t goodbye. It can’t be. I need you to tell me you understand that.”

He sighs again.

“I know, love. I know that.” His thumb wanders over the arch of your cheek. “I’m used to all this, with you. All the pullin’ away and coming back.” He chuckles bitterly, a bit breathy. “It’s just so fuckin’ hard this time ’round.”

Your chest feels like it’s split open, gaping and pouring out. But your mind, or what’s left of it, knows you need this. You need the separation from him, deserve time to think through all he’s offering, all you could barely repay him for in return. 

The debt between the two of you is yawning. But if you gave in and told him yes, all you’d be left with is uncertainty. 

Not even a man as perfect as Kyle can make up your mind for you. 

“One more kiss before you go?”

He takes you up on it before you can say any more. 

His lips are a harsh press against yours, bruising enough to leave them puffy for hours. He kisses to consume, to swallow you up and spit you out wanting more. 

Gentlemanly as Kyle can be, there’s not a glimpse of it to be seen now. He’s not playing fair, at the moment. 

He hooks a finger under your chin and holds you steady, keeps you close and running out of air as he slips past your defenses, the hot, wet press of his tongue on top of yours. It’s instantly dominating before you have a chance to fight.

And then he’s toying with you, kneading you back into the fray with long prods and swipes, his stubble from the morning a heady friction on your skin. He’s playing and caressing and devilishly stroking needy whimpers from you, fingers dancing along your skin, drawing circles on your skin and whines from your throat. That dangerous tongue of his performs another sweep about your mouth, then slips back. Kyle begins worrying at your bottom lip, teeth digging in so harsh and quick —

—and he tears away from you so abruptly that you gasp, can’t even see straight. Suddenly you’re cold and alone, panting and losing your balance without Kyle’s sturdy form keeping you upright. 

You only realize what had happened when you hear a rustling from your bedroom. Kyle reappears seconds later, avoiding your gaze as he zips his jacket up over his bare chest, legs and hips clad in last night’s jeans. 

Subconsciously, you pick at the neckline of the black cotton tee you’re wearing—his shirt, one you guess he doesn’t want back before he leaves. “You don’t want your—”

“Don’t take it off—not yet, yeah?” He meets your eyes for the first time in two minutes, and there’s little brown left to them, all dilated pupils and a consternated furrow. Even his lips, wonderfully swelled, are tugged into a small frown. “Keep it on f’me. I’ll come back for it when you’re ready.”

But you don’t know when that’ll be. How could you possibly make an unbiased decision when the damn thing still smells like him and you can’t forget that ravenous look in his eyes when he’d first found you in it?

Kyle’s hovers near the door, hand tight around the knob like he can’t quite figure out how to open it again. He glances back at you over his shoulder, lets himself take you in, take the entire scene in. He even looks back at your bedroom, where the sheets are rumpled and need to be washed. Then he settles on you one last time, jaw set, muscle feathering a bit.

“Call me. Text me. Anything, darling. But don’t you dare forget about me.”

The door closes with a slam.  

~~~~~~

The first day, Gaz is sure it’s fine. You need time to think, and that’s okay. He can handle that. He’s handled it multiple times.

And, yeah, when he’d gotten back to his hotel room, he had to sit for a moment, staring at the wall. Had to replay that whole night all over again. 

Then again. 

He did the same thing with that morning, reimagining licking the sweat off your thighs, sliding up and burying his face into your stomach, pawing at your body wherever you’d get the loudest. Replayed the feeling of your supple palms and soft fingertips—every inch of you was so damn soft, fleshy and yielding in his hands—wandering over his cheeks, his lips, his scalp. 

Fucking beautiful. Every goddamn second of it. 

Gaz, that first day, tries not to linger too long on how it’d ended. 

So stupid of him to bring that up. Suggest for you to move in with him when obviously you both functioned at two vastly different paces. 

Isn’t it ridiculous that he can’t even bring himself to think it’s crazy? He can’t find it in him to say no, that’s bullshit, because who are you and why the hell did he ever think moving with a woman he’d only known for three months was okay—desirable, even?

So bloody desirable it almost crossed that line and became imperative. 

He spends that night checking his phone, wondering if you’ll call him again, borderline tears and needy like yesterday.

That was his favorite aspect of yours so far—when you needed him, you needed him badly. You needed him while you choked back gasps and almost-sobs. You needed him while you breathed a little sigh of relief at the sight of him and jumped into his arms. You needed him with that first kiss, shy and tentative, but trying your best to imitate reckless abandon—until he taught you properly. 

He’d spent that whole night watching you be shocked at yourself for how badly could want him, all confused and flushed when you’d noticed your fingers digging into the buttons of his trousers. A little stunned “o” formed on your lips when you’d dug your nails in, body trembling with exhaustion, and still begged him for more. Kyle, please. More.

Gaz only convinces himself to take a shower for the night when the thoughts become too much. He almost trips over his own feet in a mad scramble when he sees his phone flash, only to find a notification for an update. 

He goes to sleep in a sour mood. 

The second day goes about the same. He wakes up late in the afternoon (because, due to your midnight upset, he was still on his Middle-East sleep schedule), spends way too much time remembering and staring at his phone, waiting for a buzz or a ring. Eats his dinner and drinks in a deathly silence. 

Because silence is unnerving to him now. You’ve changed that much in him. Every second spent in lonely quiet feels like a waste of his time. 

But you don’t call. And you don’t text. 

You don’t do any of it for the next three days. 

Gaz wallows even worse. He gets antsy, goes to the hotel gym and sprints on the treadmill, because he knows if he runs outside he’ll find himself at your place. He goes to stores, buys himself another black t-shirt, same size and brand as the one that you’d worn, that’d cinched in at your waist and flared out to capture your hips and thighs. 

He wanders into the bookstore next door and finds a few of the ones he’d spotted on your bedroom bookshelf whenever you’d tapped out on him. He flits through a few pages, eyes catching on the naughty words, and reads through for… wistful entertainment, at least. 

Research purposes, at most. 

And Gaz chuckles to himself, winking at the girls that try to wander into the section inconspicuously. The same ones who surely have as good a poker face as you, and who immediately vacate the area at the sight of an invader. 

It would be more fun if it was you he was teasing. Same pink ears and face, same eyes avoiding contact at all cost, fingers fidgeting at the hems of your sleeves.

A longing ache floods his chest so directly and intensely that he has to take a second, breathe and set down the book so he can center himself again. That same flood of cognizance about his situation hits him when he’s on missions, when the victims’ sobs finally get to him or he looks too long in the eyes of a dead man. 

Like he’s yanked to the surface after hours underneath the tide, and the sun shines so brightly his eyes burn. But he’s seeing and feeling everything he’d shoved deep down, knows exactly what led him to this moment. 

Gaz doesn’t go out much after that. 

Not the next day, or the day after that. Not even the next two days after those. 

It’s around this point that he wishes you would just put him out of his fucking misery. He’s so tired of thinking of you before he goes to bed, dreaming of you, then waking up to phantom touches all over his body. He’s driving himself up the walls trying not to call you, break into your house and just steal you back to England anyway. 

Patience. Son of a bitch—patience. God, you strung it out so thin with him that it could snap like a rubber band and hurt you both. 

It’s midnight of the tenth day of no contact with you that Gaz’s finally got his sleep schedule under control, and he’s twisted up in the sheets, body caked with sweat. 

Well, actually, he’s in Prague.

He’s rapidly approaching a target in a dusty, dark alleyway. Just before they turn the corner and get into public view—can’t let that happen, have to maintain cover—Gaz wrestles them away from the glow of the streetlamps and back behind a dumpster, kicking away their gun while he wrenches a biceps around their neck—

But it’s your voice ringing through the air. Your pleas and sobs pierce his conscious too late. Your neck snaps so loud he flinches, and all the while his mind is screaming no, no this can’t be right. She’s not the target. She’s never the target. 

Gaz scrambles away, tearing off the sheets and rolling out of bed. 

Jesus Christ.

He has to see you. 

After that, just needs to make sure. Needs to check that you’re still in tact, your sweet neck not cracked and limp, eyes not dim and silenced. 

He rises to his feet and can’t find his Goddamn socks anywhere. A yellow glow from the window lets Gaz catch himself in the mirror at the perfect moment, and he can see the thick sheen of sweat that covers his body head to toe. 

You deserve better than that. Better than a sweaty, desperate man with no patience pushing his way into your house and demanding an answer, a single word, fucking anything from you. 

Even a nod or a shake of your head would settle his poor heart. The damn thing aches in his chest all the time now. 

Gaz slips into the bathroom for a quick, cold shower, stubs his toes against the not-wide-enough walls of the tub several times, and ambles out a bit slower and far more jittery than he’d gone in. 

He’s shifting a pair of pants up his not-yet-dry legs when he spots it. 

A dim flash from the hotel nightstand, where his phone is plugged in. 

Gaz freezes.

Surely it’s not…

Well, it might be…

But he’d been gone for not even five bloody minutes; that’s not even fair!

Suddenly, he’s kicking off the pants and hurdling over the bed, buck-naked and scrambling for his phone.

No, no, no, no, no, no, NO.

But yes. It’s a voicemail from you. Three minutes and forty-seven seconds, and he wasn’t there for any of it. 

He presses it with wide eyes and a heaving chest, and something stabs him, hard, cruel, and swift right in the center of his gut when he hears your voice. 

“Wow, I’m getting deja vu.” You laugh, but it’s empty and short. “I’m really hoping you didn’t sneak off to a mission without telling me. That would, uh…” Your tone grows dreary, even as you huff another laugh. “That would really suck. But I’m sure I deserve it.”

You thought he’d leave you?

You can’t see him, and he knows that, but he still shakes his head, brow furrowed because no, no, no, he would never do that to you. Damn that evil brain of yours. 

“I just… um, I just had a dream, though. Wanted to tell you about it. It wasn’t even bad so, like, I don’t even know why it woke me up.” Some shuffling, and a sniffle. “Well, I mean I do, but… okay, fine, I’ll just tell you. 

“It was pretty lame. Nothing big, but I was hanging out in an apartment—a flat, you might say—which is a stupid name for an apartment, but you Brits don’t even know what chips are, so whatever. I’ll let it go. 

“Anyway, I was sitting on the couch kinda bored, and then you came in. Came back, really. It’s like that background knowledge thing you get in a dream, where you only know exactly what’s going on the moment it happens? But you were back from a mission, and I had dinner and a hot bath ready, and you…”

Another sniffle. Gaz hovers over the phone, waiting for those seconds to dwindle down, needing to know how you felt when the message ended so he could call you and be…well, be whatever the fuck you needed him to be in that moment. 

“I don’t know. We were about to kiss, and then I woke up and you weren’t even there and I just…hated that. The idea of that. Of you not being there when you could’ve been. And knowing that the only reason you weren’t was because I was being so stupidly stubborn.”

You sigh, then, and get too quiet for him to hear without crouching closer. “Kyle, if you still want me even at all after this, I…” You suck in a long breath, and he hears that little hitch at the back of your throat. “I need it to be slow. Slower than what it’s been. Especially if… if it’s gonna be the same apartment. I’ve never had anything like this before. Never felt it. And I’m scared of, well, all of it, honestly.

“But I’m more scared of never taking that chance with you. And you’ve been commuting to my home, my country all this time, so… you know, maybe it’s time I reciprocate. Reciprocate a lot of things.”

Then someone knocks on his door.

~~~~~~

Kyle never directly told you which hotel room he was in. But when he’d kicked his pants off and you’d watched them soar over your bedroom floor that night you’d called him over, you’d laughed into his kiss at the sight of his wallet, his key card, and some loose change rattling across the floor. 

The next morning, you’d picked it all up while he was in the bathroom, where he was hopefully not glaring at the impulsive hickey you’d given him. You’d snagged his t-shirt for yourself, some womanly, possessive part of you wanting to squeeze yourself into his clothes, whether it would fit or not. You’d felt like a damn fool crammed into it—until Kyle saw you for the first time, and the look he gave you made your stomach clench. 

You’d organized the rest of his things onto your dresser, only eyeing the room card, and the number sharpied on the back, passively. 

Room 428. 

You knocked on the door now, pulse thump-thump-thumping against your eardrums. 

An “Oh fuck” was muffled and low through the door. 

It didn’t sound like you’d woken Kyle up, and you admit that you’d been seriously considering the fact that he might’ve left for a mission while you were in AWOL mode. A bit of luck, really, that it was actually him, still here after ten days of radio silence. 

But you’d know that gruff, British grumbling anywhere, and your body began to tremor. Small, at first, in your fingertips and toes. Then your knees felt a little loose as time went on and all you could hear from Kyle’s end was quick footsteps and the snap of fabric. By the time the door whipped open, your every breath came out stumbling, like waves over jagged rocks.

And Kyle…

Oh. 

Oh, Goddamnit. 

Ten days was too long for both of you. 

Because Kyle, for all his effortless handsomeness, was a wreck. Untidy stubble’s laid claim to his jaw and throat, and his lips look bitten raw. Deep-seated crescents curve under each eye, lined and dark and angry. He’s draping himself against the door with the black curls on top of his head in complete disarray, and watching you with a low-lidded gaze. 

Gaunt, worn, weakened. Like the life has been drained out of him. 

But it’s still Kyle. There’s a phantom of his old self in his form now, a tautness to his shoulders and neck, slight bend in his knees, vigilance in his whiskey eyes. You’ll have to reel his spirit to the surface.

Looking at him now, though, it hurts to think you’re the one who’d done it to him. So damn hard to believe that he takes absences of you like shots to the heart. It’s lovely, to be so wanted by Kyle Garrick. 

Harrowing, too. 

There’s a learning curve to holding his tender heart in your hands and trying not to squeeze it too hard, too often, but you get the feeling you’ve been treating it like a stress ball. You forget that he keeps himself at this rough idle for you. That he always carries soft, warm feelings all the time, and lets them fester behind the velvet steel of his abdomen.

“Did you get my voicemail?”

He nods a little. 

“So you heard that I…?”

Another nod. 

The air is thick and straining with his silence. All he is right now is two eyes watching you and ten long fingers flexed against the door, features bordering on unreadable. 

But there’s yearning. There’s always that fierce yearning with Kyle.

You lean a little closer, don’t quite know whether to be disturbed or flattered at how his nostrils flare when he suddenly sniffs. 

Then he hums, low and deep.

“Peaches,” you mumble, recalling months ago, a staunch memory of his words about your perfume. 

“Tha’s right, bunny,” he mutters. His fingers peel off the door before he lurches toward you, a lovely swoop in your gut when he hauls his arms around your waist, tilting his face to yours. He takes another sniff, this one nestled against the top of your scalp. “It’ll smell like peaches.”

When Kyle takes a step backward, his arms remain iron-stiff around your back, dragging you with him. Step for step for step until you’re in his hotel room, kicking his door shut with the heel of your shoe. 

His hand rises and sweeps back the hair stuck to your neck, already slanting his lips over your pulse point, teething at the skin. “My flat,” he whispers. Then he scoops up your jaw, tilts your head to the other side and reattaches his mouth to the next indent in your throat. “My bedroom.” Another readjustment of your head, aligning himself just below your chin, your head tipped all the way back, blurry, blissed-out eyes locked on the ceiling. “My sheets.”

“Kyle.”

His fingertips dig in hard enough to leave purple dots against your lower back. “All of it’ll smell like peaches. Like you.”

You pry him off with a tugging grip at his damp hair, only slightly intrigued by the water droplets that you now notice litter his skin. 

A bit too busy trying to think back to why you’re here, outside of getting his hot mouth all over you again, to try and care about something so minor. 

There’s an indignant huff against your bobbing throat before he draws back. Kyle looks damn near put out by the fact that you hadn’t let him keep sucking distractions into your skin, and his teeth bare slightly when he grumbles, “What is it, love?”

Lest you forget Kyle first and foremost loves to grope at the plush of your thighs, he does so now, mindlessly, detrimentally to your train of thought. “There’s—there’s so much to figure out, Kyle.” Your words are more like a sputter, wild spilling past your teeth. “There’s getting my stuff there, and passports, and visas. Things that take more time than how long we’ve known each other.”

The golden gleam of his smirk almost takes you out of commission. One second he’s bitter about his mouth and the lack of your skin against it, the next he’s pulled back far enough to meet your eyes dead on, confident like he knows you inside out. 

“Bunny, when you first started to walk, did you go ’round asking everyone what running felt like instead of trying it?”

You… don’t know what that means. Like at all. 

And you’re fairly certain you wouldn’t be able to figure it out even if you weren’t exhausted from four-hour sleep and the wandering of calloused fingers. 

“Kyle—what?”

The deep timber of his chuckle floods your ears like spools of silk. It’d almost be mean if it wasn’t the same playful laugh he used to give you from across the counter, one hand on a drink, the other reaching for yours, and if he hadn’t done it with little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. 

“I just mean…” he pauses and strokes at your thighs a little slower, “that all of this has felt so bloody natural. Like I’m made to be doing this. Like I’m learnin’ how to walk all over again. And you…” One hand departs, rises and encompasses your cheek, thumb swiping over its swell. Kyle’s features soften. “Love, you make me want to run so badly.”

Your hands fist against his chest, but you know he can still feel the quivering that’s begun. That slowly showers over your body, tip of your skull down to the bottoms of your feet, electrifying and frightening.

You say his name again, startled at how much you want him. 

He’s not wrong. Not even close. Being with him is like warm sweaters, or old socks, or scuffed shoes. Things that always just fit.

But it’s new, these butterflies frenzied in your stomach, this chain reaction of shivers and sparks of pleasure and licks of sweet heat. 

New, and timeless. Confusing, and so damn easy. 

“I’ve got connections, love. And so much time for you. All the time in the goddamn world.” His hips press into yours, and once more, he begins to sway.

And, once more, you follow suit.

“And there’s bars aplenty in England, love,” Kyle whispers the words against your forehead. “If that kickin’ little mind o’ yours feels like it has to repay me—pain in my arse, but I’d let you do it. Even though I wouldn’t mind it if you could just sit in my apartment and look real pretty. That’s always on the table for you.”

“Definitely off the table, Kyle.”

“All right, all right, fine.” He peppers kisses over your face. “So long as you’re there each time I walk through that door, yeah?”

~~~~~~

Gaz can smell it from the hallway. 

The heavy scent of chocolate and those pretty candles you love to light, along with a lingering hint of peach. The door to his flat towers, ominous and contingent, like if he doesn’t open it now, any second it’ll slip away and he’ll be back on the field, gunsmoke thick in his eyes and throat. 

Coming home is always a little hard.

 He’s unwinding vertebra by vertebra, trying to fracture himself into small enough pieces to fit through the door. And there’s the crotchety stiffness of his limbs, too long for these halls, too sturdy for a scene soft as this. 

Gaz shoots for quiet and hits dead silence when he twists the knob. Slips through the doorway and takes in this little fault he’s discovered in reality, phenomenon he’s kept under wraps for the past year or so. 

Because entering the pocket dimension of his flat is nothing short of ascendant. Every damn time. 

The air in here is velvety smooth and warm. Not unbearably, for July—it almost feels like the warmth of a sweaty palm still interlaced with his, making his body all syrupy slow. The lights have been dimmed and everything in view from the doorway is more shadow than actual features. London, like the determined sadist it is, is gray and drizzly outside each of his wide-open windows, helping none with his search.

That is something he’d had to bargain for—open windows. Gaz doesn’t mind the subpar reward any creeper might receive peeking into his home, but you weren’t as convinced. The task to win you over had become almost insurmountable when he’d grown too greedy in the living room and you, with eyes only barely comprehensive over his shoulder, locked gazes with an elderly woman across the way and screeched.

But he’d won, and it seemed you honored your promise now. 

Speaking of you, he doesn’t even spot you the first look-around. Even as his nerves meld into the sleek familiarity, panic splices through his gut when he glances once, twice, then thrice around. You’re not running toward him like he desperately wishes you would. You’re not hovering over the kitchen stove, or digging through the fridge. You’re not even curled up in the window seat, sipping on a steaming mug. 

Gaz knows he was quiet, but he didn’t know he was too quiet. 

It becomes increasingly obvious that you’d had plans to greet him. 

Because not only is his favorite meal still sitting over the burner, and the kitchen’s covered in dirty dishes, but you’re lounging on the couch, plush thighs crossed one over the other with a book in hand, clad in fantastically sparse lingerie of frilly black lace that leaves meager gaps for his memories to fill in.

With a stuttering breath, he fills the gaps in tight. 

Your lazy fingers scrape at the corner of a page, then you flip it with a bored sigh, shifting a little by hooking your heel over the top of a sofa cushion, splitting your legs wide so he can see—

His pack drops to the floor with a thunderclap of noise. 

Your body jerks all at once, a quick shriek splitting the viscid atmosphere in half. 

Your wide, prey eyes latch onto his while you grapple at your chest, book having been launched halfway across the carpet. “Kyle, you son of a—could you have been any quieter? What the hell?!”

He barks out a laugh. The potency of your voice saying his name is already swimming through his mind, and he reaches back and closes the door while you rise to your feet. “Sorry, love. Next time I’ll just crawl through the window, yeah?”

“Fuckin’ may as well have,” you grumble, adjusting the stringy straps of your bra. Your skin is all blank and pale right now from months of his absence, white space where amaranthine marks should be. 

Four months. The longest the two of you have been apart, and every step you come closer that heady scent of your perfume prickles its way up his spine. 

“My sweet little bunny, precious love of my life—what have you been up to, hmm?”

Your hands slot on your hips, and you pout up at him. The build-up of energy crackles all over his skin the longer you stand so far away from him, but you’ve still settled for a lecture instead of a kiss. “Well, I had this whole plan where I’d feed you and bathe you, and then we’d fuck like rabbits, but I guess that’s out of the question now.”

Gaz snickers, the abject disappointment raw on your face. “How is that out of the question?”

“Timing’s off and you ruined the whole sexy vibe I was aiming for.” You fold your arms, and Gaz shamelessly drags his gaze down from your face. “You really suck, you know that?”

His lips part in that effortless grin you so easily drag out of him. “So sorry, love. If you come over here, I’ll be sure to apologize quite thoroughly.” Gaz lifts his arms, holds them out and gestures his fingers enticingly. “I’ll have your forgiveness in a matter of seconds.”

Your expression’s all stubborn and prickly, but you sway forward a little anyway. “I…” You grunt and stomp toward him, let him wind his entire body around you, and relax a little when his palms massage and dig into your shoulder blades. “I really did have everything planned,” you mumble into his chest, fingertips all twisted up in the back of his shirt. 

Gaz is starting to get an idea about what’s going on. 

Only about half the candles are lit throughout the flat, the majority of which are near the bedroom. The bathroom light is still on, door opened a crack, but there’s unpacked bath bombs strewn about like you gave up halfway through. Even the kitchen is more messy than usual after the nights that you cook. Only half the pots and pans look actually used, the rest an anxious jumble of utensils and ingredients he knows you didn’t need to make chocolate-chip pancakes alone. 

It looks like you were distracted. So very terribly disturbed by something that you could only commit half a mind to all your ideas. 

With him, you’re rarely left to your own devices for this long, and it shows. 

Gaz can see it, feel it, and practically smell it all over you. Despite his embrace and what should be relief about his return, the muscle and tissue all over your body are pulled taut, bowstring-tight and ready to pitch forward at any second. 

He hums, feels the tension in your spine only grow as he draws little circles against your skin. “I know, love. I see it. Candles, and the dinner, and the bath.” He kisses your forehead, grins wider when all you do is huff and puff. “Did so well. I know it’s hard.”

It only serves to wind you up more. “I’m supposed to be the one massaging and calming you. Feeding you and taking care of you after your mission. This is…” you hiss a curse, nails scraping at his waist now. 

“S’okay. I’ve been through this hundreds of times.” His fingers dance a little lower, teasing that arch in your back that you curve a little harder against him. “I know exactly what you need, bunny. Sort you out so you can get back to your plan, yeah? Just need you to let me take care of it.”

“I don’t…” you shake your head. “I don’t know why I just—I mean, all of the sudden it’s you, and I can’t—”

You fall silent so fast when he shushes you, presses a too-short kiss to your lips. Already, he can feel the verve traveling through your very bones. He lets his words brush along your lips when he repeats his promise. 

“Know jus’ what you need. Let me handle it.”

~~~~~~

You’re straddling his thighs with a fork in hand, watching in a satisfied stupor as the plate balanced on his chest rises and falls at a rapid pace. 

Sticky, flushed, and sated all over, you saw off another sliver of pancake and hold it up to Kyle’s lips. He accepts it greedily, lets his head knock back against the headboard with a euphoric, close-lipped smile. 

He hadn’t been… wrong. 

Which is to say, you’d somehow managed to get yourself so worked up in his absence that the second he returned, all you’d wanted to do was jump his bones, sans any of the prelude you’d planned.

A warning would have been nice, now that you think about it. Anytime around four months earlier when he’d first begun preparing you for his absence without you even knowing it, would have been superb. 

Instead, he’d let it fester in you, like he’d planted himself a gift, fruit ripe for the plucking at a later date. 

You want to be mad. 

Can’t quite bring yourself to, though. 

A bit too… preoccupied. 

There’s still sweat dripping at Kyle’s temples when he cleans off the plate, hands still squeezing in distracting patterns around the meat of your thighs. 

“Fucking delicious, love.” He laves his tongue at the corner of his lips. “My two favorite meals.”

“You’re horrible.” You scramble off him unsteadily, trying to keep both you and the dishes in your hands balanced. “I should get a bar of soap for that mouth of yours.”

Kyle laughs first, then groans, swiping his hands down his face. “If you’d said that shit in the barracks, love…” he calls after you, tutting in the distance while you deposit the plate in the sink. You almost trip on your skimpy lingerie set from a couple hours ago while stumbling your way back to the bedroom. 

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” You raise a brow at him even as you tug on his arm, drag him out of the bed and down the hall. 

After it all, Kyle had insisted you keep up the plan. Didn’t want that guilty conscience of yours to fester and, even worse, those pancakes to grow cold. He’d poked at your cheek, voice slurring a little from exhaustion as he whispered, “Gotta stay awake, love, or your li’l rabbit heart’ll feel all sad tomorrow.”

So you’d rolled off the mattress and made the trek back through the apartment, and, admittedly, you started to feel guilty about the mess you’d left during your hazy planning earlier. 

You recalled trying to think of ways you could impress Kyle but not being able to think clearly after slipping on the lacy panties; too caught in imagining how he’d tear them off to really notice how half-baked the rest of your plan was. 

And how all you could think about was him serving you, which really wasn’t fair. It’d been over a year since you’d started living together, and when he went off on missions, it was an unspoken promise on your end that you’d welcome him back in calm and comfortable ways. 

His first few missions had been just that—romantic kisses and big, sweeping arcs of hugs; slow dances around the living room and the kitchen, sweet, bubbly champagne with dinner. 

All you’d managed this time around was half-assed pancakes, lacy panties, and a cold bath that you hadn’t been patient enough to finish prepping. 

You remember that you hadn’t even been exhausted today. The opposite, really. You’d been buzzing from head to toe the moment you got his call, mind too frantic to ever really stick to your old habits. 

Kyle kneels down beside you outside of the tub, three bath bombs encompassed in just one of his absurdly large hands. The other is curling your hair around a single index finger. He’s patiently busying himself by touching you, playing with some part of your body or other like he’s always done. 

One morning he’d had an absurd obsession with your left heel, and he’d nipped at the tendon out of sheer curiosity. 

You’d almost kicked him square in the face. 

But he gets new little obsessions with you all the time. Each day, he’s poking and investigating at a different part of your body, and he always—always—has to feel it against his teeth. 

And you let him. Even now, as he hinges his jaw around your shoulder. 

A true adventurer, unafraid to explore with all that he is. Wants to discover every little thing in a million different ways. 

You lean forward and wrench the faucet off, then pat at Kyle’s cheek. “Bath bombs, please.”

When he thunks them in the water, the air in the room floods with lavender and chamomile. The tub’s still fizzing purple when he clambers in and hauls you in after him, slowing your descent into his lap just enough that only a bit of water dumps over the edge. 

A long, drawn out sigh ruffles the loose hairs atop your scalp. Kyle’s hands sweep all the way up to the underside of your breasts, then way back down to the middle of your thighs, back and forth, back and forth. For the most part, you try not to move, try to let the aches melt away with the heat.

You drop your head back into the crook of Kyle’s neck and shoulder, tipping your face a bit to look at him. 

Everything’s fuzzy. Pleasant. Legs and arms weighed down by gratification, gut slick with sated heat. And your heart thumps wild and proud, bum-rushed red and gold. Natural and gleaming. Normal and perfect. 

“Can we stay like this forever?” Kyle asks again, a lifetime later. You’re only one year wiser when you nod yes, of course, how else would we be?

He burrows you deeper against him, trying to meld your skin into his because it’ll never be close enough. Touching and bruising and biting only mollifies it, this wonderful new appetite only Kyle can feed. 

It’s crumbs of food, or the tiniest sips of water. 

Or spare oxygen.

Kyle hunches over you, hard body slipping against yours. Soughs, like you hit just the spot. 

“Can’t believe you kept gettin’ away from me before all this. Tested my patience so bloody much to get here, bunny.”

You smile, tilting your head and pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. “It’s your best virtue, Kyle.”

[golden-headband]

Lady Time… and your new helpers.

Fem bodied!Reader x ESAU Wukong and Macaque

AU created by @emelinstriker

Macaque appeared as if he was about to whine like a puppy, looking up at you as you lay on the bed, unmotivated, and without energy. Uncomfortable. And slightly irritated.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” You heard Wukong ask gently to your right. You turn your head into his arm. You had assured before that just lying down with them near you was enough to sooth you in this time of… well… being born a female.

After they discussed-many times-how they could help, you came up with a position that both of them could stay by your side and help you. Knowing they liked the closeness and that feeling of helping you even when there wasn’t really much they could do. Macaque could lay on your left side, using his portal- or shadow powers- to bring chocolates to you while Wukong laid on your right with his hand over your tummy. Where your pain was centered on. You knew that period pains were different for everyone. For you? It felt like your bladder was turned into a vortex of dull knives. You knew the remedies were either painkillers first thing in the morning, or just having something to eat. Hot beverages, heat over the pain. That’s what worked for you before. And chocolate. Lots. And Lots. Of Chocolate. Hence why they had caught you making chocolate chip cookies a few days ago. You were the kind that kept a calendar marked for every time so you could ready yourself for that messy week- or in your case the first few days of the more extreme pain. And since then, they had been eager in helping you in your time. Apparently they had gone through enough Master Incarnations that they had familiarized themselves with more remedies than even you had thought of. You were honestly amazed at how attentive they were. You had only been with them for about three weeks. This was your first time being their Master with your menstrual cycle arriving.

You had always been told guys get uncomfortable with the mention of periods, so you were more used to dancing around the topic, but here they were talking about all the remedies like you were coming down with the common cold and they would be there to help you the whole while. It was endearing.

“The warmth is enough I don’t need any pain killers…” You assured them. Feeling Macaque nuzzling into your side. Making you smile, almost laugh. “I’m better than I was this morning, I’m thankful for that.” You reassure them, moving your hand to lazily scratch Macaques head, feeling him leaning into your touch. On your right you could feel Wukong nuzzling into the crook of your neck. It was all so soothing.

“You sure you don’t want to hit us?” the dark simian offered, making your heart sink. And making him lower his head. Right. You always forget they can ‘feel’ your emotions through this whole ‘bond’ thing that made them insistent on serving you. You wondered if they also feeling this period pain. You sure hoped not.

“That won’t make me feel better. If anything it’ll just make me worse.” You reminded Macaque. You cared too much about them to take your anger out on them. “Besides, I’m not all that angry. I’m just uncomfortable. The chocolate helps though… thanks for making another batch of cookies. It really helps.” You turned and he rose up, knowing exactly what you were going to do. Your lips touched his forehead, and he melted. Both of them curled into you. Their soft fur soothed you. And gosh darnit feeling their tails around you filled your heart with butterflies all over again. They stayed close… until you had to get up.

“Are you alright?” Macaque hurriedly asked. You knew they already missed the excuse to cuddle with you.

“I’m fine. I’ll be right back.” You didn't look back at what face Macaque was making or the probably concerned look on Wukongs face.

“Do you need us to do anything? We’ll do it right away!” You heard Macaque try to reassure you as you stood up and almost wobbled-the price to pay for not using your legs for so long-focusing on the specific door.

“I don’t think this is something you can help me do.” “Why not?” It would’ve made your heart sink hearing how distressed he was. Like you were dismissing his abilities, no confidence in him after all he's done. But then you turned, and he saw which direction you were headed.

“I’m just gonna use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” You heard how deadpan your tone was. And seeing their expressions almost made you laugh. But you really did need to go. No matter if you had chocolate, pain killers, or heat… if you needed to go, your pain wouldn’t subside.

You knew as soon as you were done, Wukong and Macaque would be there to be your lil snuggle buddies and take care of you while you ride out this whole period thing. You planned on giving each of them a kiss as thanks for everything they did. But where though? Head? Cheek? Lips? ... eh. All of them. Yep. All of them. You concluded with a smile.

[other-shades-of-sapphire]

Methods of recharging – Lee Know

Minho x high school friend turned girlfriend Iris, circa July 2024

Sleep was not the only thing Minho needed after a very long day.

The street was basked in yellowish moonlight when Minho stepped out of the car. He looked up to the sky and indeed found the moon, being on its full round form, way up above him. He smiled to himself, thinking of one particular human being who he knew loved night skies and full moons so much. One particular human being who happened to be already waiting on one of the park's bench, diligently devouring the vanilla-matcha ice cream she had in her hand. Feeling his smile widening at the sight that he found way more delightful than the full moon above, he quickened his pace. 

"You still look energetic for someone who's been up since two in the morning," Iris called out when he was close enough to hear her. 

"It's the moon," Minho told her. "I'm getting energy from the full moon." 

Iris let out an amused snort. "You're more of a kitten rather than a wolf." 

"I adopted this special ability from Wolf Chan." He dropped himself unceremoniously onto the bench, letting out a long exhale. "Hi there. Interesting choice of snack for such a windy summer night." 

"I'll eat ice cream even on subzero temperature." Iris turned to him, offering her ice cream. "Here, want some?" 

After taking a taste of the ice cream, Minho blurted out laughing. "Wait, you actually did eat ice cream on subzero temperature. Remember that one excursion on winter of tenth grade?" 

Took her four seconds to walk down memory lane, then she laughed along with him. "Oh my, you're actually right! Hot chocolate is for the weak, I told you that, right?" 

"Yeah, you did." Minho smiled, both at the Iris on his memory from years ago and at the Iris sitting next to him now. "Your lips were so flushed after that ice cream, it took every single fiber of my self control not to kiss you back then." 

She surprised him by leaning over and pressing a kiss on his lips. Hers tasted like the vanilla and matcha, and just the faintest hint of her lavender chapstick. "You don't have to hold back anymore." 

He chased her lips, stealing a few more kisses. "That I don't." 

"Okay, kitten," she giggled, pulling away with a slight glance to the black car waiting for Minho just outside the park. "Maybe hold back a little since we're not alone and in public." 

"Fine." Minho rested his head on her shoulder instead – to which she responded with a protesting hum, but didn't pull away. "How was your day?" 

She told him about it; about the little experiment she conducted while ordering her coffee today, about the unexpected encounter with her former colleague, about the surprisingly pleasant traffic she had earlier while driving to this park. Feeling content, Minho let Iris' soothing voice lull him into comfort. She was a great story-teller who always had interesting things of her day to tell him, and she always seemed to know when to ask him for his own stories and when to just let him listen like she was currently doing. And at the moment, when both his physical and social energy were inching towards zero, just listening was exactly what he needed. 

"You should head back to your dorm, you're falling asleep." 

"I'm not," he argued. "You were telling me about how you think the vanilla part of the ice cream tastes a bit different than usual." 

Iris let out a chuckle. "Fine, but the fact that you're not dozing off doesn't mean you don’t need to go to sleep soon. You had a long day, and another one tomorrow." 

"This is my own method of recharging other than sleeping, you know." 

"What, hanging out at a park late at night?" 

Minho made the effort to lift his head from her shoulder for a second just to flick her forehead. "Spending time with you, silly. The moon may not give me energy but you do." 

Even without looking, he knew Iris was rolling her eyes at him. "Okay, Romeo, you can go easy with the sweet talks." She glanced at her watch, sighing at the time. "It's really getting late, though, and you've been up for what, twenty hours now? Pre-recording, press conference, music show performance and everything? You really should get some sleep." 

"And I will," he insisted. "Just – another ten percent? Let me have you until I gain another ten percent on my energy meter." 

Iris laughed softly. "Alright, alright." She leaned back to the bench and rested her head atop his. "Oh, forgot to say – congratulations for surviving the first day of comeback season. I'm proud of you." 

He'd heard that countless of times today – from Stays, interviewers, reporters, staffs, and lord knew who else – but hers automatically became his favorite. As they always did. "Thank you," he whispered. 

"I also have to say, Kim Seungmin's new hair really suits him well." 

That was enough to jolt him off her shoulder just to shoot her an incredulous look. "Are you seriously still going on your 'Kim Seungmin is my bias' agenda?" 

previously on | coming up next

Find more stories from Minho & Iris and the rest of Stray Kids here!

[bleakbittersoul]

Bright out of context

Most of these are sent by me in rp some are sent by some awesome people in the server, and I think only one is from the wiki? Thanks for the help from @reddiamondgamer and @jack-of-amulets for their contributions to this list!

"The fear of spiders is kinda misogynistic."

"I think you'd be much more attractive if you ever got rabies"

"Could you in theory make yourself into jam for me?"

"How is it my fault you can't read minds?"

"Great now I'm thinking about dissections and formaldehyde and now I'm hungry"

"being meguca is suffering…"

"Where is your bathroom? I think I'd like to slam my head against a wall in private"

"This water is chunky"

"I only drink diet water"

"Have you ever gotten mad so you put a fork in someone's microwave and then irish goodbyed?"

"Water on toast"

"If you don't marry me I'm going to start collecting more of your DNA to do unethical science with."

"So if I wanted an audio clip of you meowing you'd do that for me?"

"I know what you're referring to. I don't enjoy fake animal ears. Skin an animal. Wear it's ears. Stop being afraid of commitment."

"I want to lick your eyelid."

"I like your eyes. When I first saw you I wanted to ask if I could keep them when you die but that would have been inappropriate and thankfully I don't have to worry about that. But they are lovely and I do want a bigger collection."

Screaming to wake Clef up and then trying to play it off as if he had a nightmare.

"Scientists don't get bullied enough anymore " after implying some people were baby talking an anomaly.

"I want to peel your face off and eat it it's so cute."

" I once possessed this really attractive girl and then got a job at a Walmart and started relentlessly flirting with you every time you went to Walmart to see if you would cheat on me but you never did"

"I wouldn't mind sucking on your wet hair."

"What if we kissed in the 1996 Teletubbies set "

"I want to scratch your head with my teeth."

"I like waltzes. I also like music that makes me feel like poisoning myself and or others as of right now."

"IT'S NOT A THROW PILLOW UNTIL SOMEONE GETS KNOCKED THE FUCK OUT WITH IT!"

"I'm going to lick your bones."

"I want your warm skin."

"I'll remove part of your intestine and eat it while you watch."

"I WANT TO CHEW ON YOUR FACE!"

"YURRR"

"Uhhuhuhuhuhuh" (like an angry shaken pug fly thing)

"Eyes, aren't right. They need to be improved."

"I don't have the energy to cry hysterically or resurrect you if you die. I'd still do it but it would be significantly less dramatic than it should be."

Heard their partner say "My chest is open for you to lay on" but only heard "My chest is open for you" and immediately assumed he meant for dissection. And when corrected Bright said "You're drawing a line on our love?"

"I like eyes. I have some."

"I don't mean that your eyes are pretty in a collectable kind of way they look good alive and on you…"

“…Don’t you just violently HATE having body parts?”

"My life fucking sucks because they… dont let me play with grenade launcher "

"GOD, FUCKING. BITCH! BECOME A WATERMELON." pause "[INSERT SEVERAL MORE EXPLETIVES]"

"I have two of your teeth. One bloody, one…normal"

“…We should kill MORE children!”

"I WANT THE GRAVESTONE! DO YOU WANT MY TOE TAG?"

[Dr. Bright shows signs of agitation, swearing in several different languages, and throwing equipment about the room.]

"If you ever leave me I'm robbing your fucking grave. And I don't mean that in a normal way. I would be after your organs."

"Oh skin"

"Okay to be fair I've seen screaming trees"

"WHY DO YOU HATE MY HAMSTER!?? WHY DO YOU HATE IT'S EYES??? IT HAS NORMAL EYES!!!"

“Can someone get me a shovel? I just murdered the gender binary and I need it to hide the body.”

"Human life or not I'd eat it."

"You'd make a cute poison victim"

"If I made you hot chocolate, I would make it with love and I wouldn't poison it at all"

"I fucking love carcasses. That's why I love meat, it's like edible taxidermy"

"Would you still love me if whenever someone got hurt in a breach or someone got hurt or people get into a fight I would say and that's how it feels to chew five gum and then look away as if I'm looking at a Camara like a character in the office."

"One heart? ONE HEART?! WHAT AM I YOUR GRANDMOTHER? SOME EASILY APPEASED SIDE PIECE???"

"I want to touch you with my bones."

"Okay, well when you feel better I'll go lick a bathroom doorknob so you can repay the favor."

"Would you still love me if I didn't believe in toothbrushes?"

"You've never had your house set on fire before and it shows…"

"Are you often covered in blood. I've been covered in blood a few times. Interesting feeling isn't it? Almost primal."

"Cute color pattern. Was the theme bio hazard?"

"I'm being haunted by myself right now"

“sorry for going through the entire spectrum of human emotions in the past 10 minutes…. do you still like me? ”

"It's yellow and I wanted to think of something other than piss when I look at it. So egg. Piss egg for the piss baby."

in his most demonic voice "I'M FROM…. NEBRASKA…."

Bright: You know I once made a table set disappear.

Clef:… Did you steal it.

Bright through evil manic laughter: Yes

[packsvlog]

HIIIIII i love your work and i wanted to try out the matchmaking prompt you have ok here’s my description:

I am 5,10 (yes tall i know) i have brown eyes, freckles and i’m black and colombian. I speak fluent french and spanish. I have heterochromia ( my right eye is green) I also have a beauty mark on my upper lip.

As for my personality….

I like to think i’m very funny, i can’t really take anything seriously, i laugh a lot usually not in the best situations. And despite what i just said i usually don’t like talking to people because i get very easily irritated sometimes( it really just depends) I LOVE to sleep, and it’s actually kind of bad sometimes because i’ll literally sleep until someone wakes me up. I have a major sweet tooth and could seriously eat candy for the rest of my life but i also really like to work out. Ummm im lowkey broke ngl i’m too lazy to work and if i do get money i spend it within like 2 days of having it. and uhhh that’s all!

(also ignore my shit punctuation sorry)

you seem like the prettiest person ever, hello??? also i had three matches for you being geto, gojo and toji, but nanami came and was like “nah.”

•⁀➷ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. . . ﹫ 𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘪 ៹ ༉‧₊

kento could try and lie to himself, that what called his attention was your strength to beat a stitched curse — shooting through the air during his mission, landing right in front of him. blood covered your skin, yet you were majestical to him. when you fixed your attention on him, eyes shinning with mischief, you winked and said to him “are you alright, mon coeur?”

he disguised it all with a dinner date, as gratitude for saving his life in shibuya. later, he showed you how grateful he could actually be.

nanami finds himself devoted very quickly. there are certain personality traits you have he could not accept so easily. see, sometimes you act like satoru, and he doesn’t like that very much. still, he loves you even more. still, it’s you, the one that does no wrong in his eyes.

so, in the middle of it all, dazed inside a mist of love and passion, he finds himself coming out of his trance in the most baffling moments. for example, after giving you all the candies you wish, it’s like a mind link, you crave and he grants. nanami snorts half way through the bag when he realized it’s the fourth day in a row he has been spoiling you.

“why are you laughing, mi amor?” silk voice with sprinkled sour candy, you smile lovingly and he stares back the same way.

“i love you, just that.”

how easy it is for kento to indulge you in whatever you wish. yet, he knows he has to put his foot down, so here comes the balance. candies are only for the weekends or after lunch, and only fifteen minutes naps are allowed (you take four a day).

god, nanami loves to wake you up. sleepy eyes, groggy expressions and mumbles. he kisses the dreams away, bringing you back from slumber with more energy than ever.

truth is, nanami doesn’t mind your bad habits if only he is the one to keep you balanced. he would never, in a million years, cut your things off, instead he adores your sparky eyes and tongue tinted with bubblegum, to come home and catch you cuddled up on the couch, wearing his clothes and sleeping waiting for him to get you from dreamland. and like a knight and a romantic, he gets you. he’ll always get you.

──── 𓇼 ° ⋆ FUN FACTS ᵎᵎ

۫ ּ ﹗nanami’s favorite sounds come from you — your voice and laugh, he often loses his composure and laugh with you as well. is quite a sight for those who aren’t used to seeing even a single smirk from him.

۫ ּ ﹗nanami buys everything you need, and slowly he helps you to deal with this desire to waste it all, mostly because you’re not wasting yours but instead his. nanami is rich, i don’t make the rules.

۫ ּ ﹗you can get irritated with him sometimes, but never long enough. he can sense the atmosphere changing and come home with a bouquet and a box of chocolate. you both much rather shit talk about others than fight each-other.

۫ ּ ﹗you go quiet, he goes. you tell geto and gojo to eat shit, nanami makes sure they do. he is a simp, trying hard to pretend it’s all under control, but he falls for your antics so easily. the biggest supporter!

۫ ּ ﹗teach him all the languages you know, he learns easily and loves to call you “mi vida” or “chérie

[dallasgallant]

Outsiders Soda and candy -

I guess this is a bit like my “the gang as dogs” this is me basically assigning favorite flavors to the boys. It’s a great character workshop/headcanon thing to do. Going to stay in time period as well

Pony- Pepsi and Clark bars

Canonically a “Pepsi fiend” and he enjoys chocolate the most, so I’m assigning him one that sounds good. However, I think Pony would also be into candy cigarettes (you can still get them at some candy stores. I’ve had them it’s straight up sugar sticks)

Soda- Pepsi and Classic Hershey bars

He’s a classics man. Plain original formula. Don’t fix what ain’t broke, he believes that chocolate is in no need of flavor inhancements. However, would destroy peanut m&ms. I can also see him as a huge fan of root beer barrel candy. But his top of all tops has to be flavored toothpicks. (He’s seen with a few in promo shots, flavor would only add)

Darry - Coke and chicklets

He’s not too much of a candy guy but can appreciate a good chew or handful of something.

Steve-Mountain dew and Jujyfruits

Loves the energy from the Mountain Dew and like Darry he’s a fan of chewy candies and - this is the most chewy, juicy candy out there (I think they’re still made they’re so good). He’s also a fan of milk duds

Twobit- Dr pepper and penny candy

He’ll have just about anything he can grab. He likes all the sweet stuff, a little less on the chocolate. Mostly a gum guy - you never know if he has an actual pack or a prank one. If he buys a ligit pack he’ll give the cards or prizes to his little sister.

Dally- Cheerwine and Red hots

Insane about cherry flavored stuff, he looks like a vampire half the time because he’s so pale and having red around the mouth doesn’t help. As for candy he prefers cinnamon.

Johnny- Orange Fanta and Crunch bar

It doesn’t have to be Fanta. Any orange cola will do. And he likes crunch- mainly for the crunch and the chocolate. Can also see him treating a sheet of candy buttons like a science, there’s a system to eating them you don’t get it…

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Envenomate - 2

“A party?” You give Ace your most suspicious look yet. Full-blown ‘Red is sus, vote him out’ energy.

“I will break this down for you in words of one syllable.” He even claps the words. “You. HAVE. TO. GET. US. IN.”

“Are you sure it’s not another weird insta rumor?”

Ace shakes his head fervently. “Nuh uh. Cater’s info is always good.”

Azul hasn’t mentioned a party. He isn’t the type to enjoy them as a guest, except the usual birthday things, since it’s the one day a year he gets whatever he wants without the hassle of making people work for it. During most parties at the Lounge, he waits in his office for the twins to shuffle prospective clients in and out during the cover of chaos.

Although, as usual, you are the exception to his rule.

“I guess I’ll ask.”

Deuce arrives as he usually does, skidding sideways into the booth like a one-man showing of Tokyo Drift. “Yooo,” he says as if he didn’t just crash into Ace, “are you guys ready for the test?”

“What, the one about octopuses?” Except Ace’s mouth is full of loaded nachos, so it comes out more like ‘offtofufef’ with a whiff of sour cream.

“God, I hate that word,” you add with a disappointed shake of your head. “What’s so wrong with ‘octopi?’ Or ‘octopods.’”

Deuce grabs the chocolate malt you always have waiting for him. “I thought it was octo-podes, like, toads.”

“As in, octopo-DEEZ NU-”

“Close, my guy.” Epel takes a handful of nachos. “It’s actually a Greek word, so it’s pronounced ‘oc-top-o-dees.’”

By the grace of god, Deuce manages to elbow Ace in the ribs hard enough to make him eat his words and choke down a glob of probably-cheese, with some fresh jalapeños for good measure.

You sigh. “I hate you all so much.” You figure you know the test material as well as you’re ever going to, so instead of cramming, you go find Cater’s instagram and tap through his story. He posts so often that it looks like a chain of dots across the top of the screen, most of them replays from whatever party he was at last night. But he does, in fact, mention a party at the Lounge. Tomorrow night, invite only.

You feel a twinge of pain in your chest at the idea that he wasn’t going to tell you about it, let alone invite you. But there must be a good reason.

“There is a good reason,” Azul murmurs into your lips, leaving behind a trailing chill. “I do not wish for harm to come to you.”

It’s hard to talk about business at a time like this, and not just because you’re still thinking about the venom.

“I figured.” This is all his fault, though, because he started it. You plant one hand into the couch cushions for support and kiss him more thoroughly. Actually, a lot of things are his fault. “But I also said I would ask.”

“Mhmm.” Azul tucks one finger beneath the strap of your tank top and caresses your shoulder blade. “I suppose if your friends were there, they could help look after you.”

You sit up a little, annoyed at him, even though he looks cute this way. “I don’t need looking after.”

He sits up beneath you and toys with a lock of your hair, curling and uncurling around his finger thoughtfully. He’s become so relaxed around you. He hardly ever wears his gloves anymore. “Of course not,” he says sweetly. “But anyone looking in from the outside would notice you far less in a group than if you were alone.”

You hook your arms around his neck and let your foreheads touch. “Am I going to be alone?” The question carries more weight than you intended for it to bear.

He notices, because he notices everything, but he pays it no mind. He wraps one arm protectively around your waist, hugging you close enough that his hip bones dent your inner thighs. “Never,” he reassures you. “Not as long as you are mine.”

Your next kiss turns deeply passionate out of nowhere. Yes, because he is exactly your type and you can’t believe this is real, but also because your heart swells every time you think about him, because the thought of losing him leaves you in the deepest despair-

You realize what you’re about to say too late to stop it.

“I love you.”

For once, Azul looks genuinely surprised. “Is that true?” Traces of his namesake color bloom through his skin.

“What? Of course it’s true.” You tuck his extra-long piece of hair behind his ear, as if the rest of it isn't thoroughly mussed from your makeout session. “I love everything about you.”

He recoils shyly, fending off a smile. “And here I was doing everything not to frighten you away by saying it first.”

You giggle and place both hands on his chest. You’ll take every opportunity to feel his muscles beneath the pads of your fingers. “You’re still allowed to say it.”

“Good.” He leans in close enough to speak against your lips again. “Because I do love you, my sweet.”

It feels like he’s pinching the skin on your back, though you quickly realize it’s not his fingers at all. His arm has shifted into that of an octopus from the elbow down, and the suction cups are clinging tightly to your skin. You wince uncomfortably at the feeling - not pain, exactly, but foreign and strange - but then he lets go just as fast and laughs lightly.

“Shall I take you shopping prior to the event?” he asks as if he did not just leave an octopus tattoo crawling from your shoulder blade up to your neck.

Your sigh is melodramatic. “I guess that would be okay.” You act like you’re going to kiss his lips, but you move to his neck instead. It’s only fair if you get to leave a mark of your own.

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