#I've been sitting on this WIP for weeks now-

[softcitrus2345]

And over a month later, here's prompt #17 XD 17. Curse - Hugo receives a curious gift from an unknown source

Seems like he doesn't mind the results of his curiosity, though he's definitely gonna have to cancel classes for the day until he figures out how to get back to normal-

I actually did some research on runes for this prompt, I thought it would be interesting if the "curse" was intended to be a gift for the person receiving it- >;3c

Here are the runes I used for reference ;p (and here's the source I used too)

Now that I finished this huge prompt, hopefully I can get more of them out a bit sooner TTwTT

[elvenbeard]

A Taste of Dark Matter

[nametakensff]

.

[presidentlokis-hornyhelmet]

Thorki | Bite Me Like You Do

♧Prompt: True mates

Also on AO3

(A/N: Loki was supposed to be playfully biting thor but.. my drawing skills only allow this lol sorry 😅. And yeah i know it doesn't seem like thor or loki so sorry for that too ehehe) The wolf pic on the moon is taken from google, not mine -i was already tired from the rest. Also, that's a mate mark on Thor's neck. Made with kleki paint tool for thormegaverse by thot-son-of-odin

[auburnlaughter]

Renegades Title Here for Wip Wednesday, I love a two-for-one deal! As for the sharing sentences, you can pick whichever doc is calling to you

Thank you for the ask! I got a good amount of editing done for Renegades. You get some new sentences from Plant Company because I hadn't written in it yet today.

WIP Wednesday Game - Plant Company

Back downstairs, Haskell relayed the message.

"He … he really said that?" Gatling asked, disbelieving and hopeful all at the same time.

"Yeah, he did, and I get the feeling he meant it," Haskell said, smiling.

[spaceratprodigy]

new art in about an hour btw 👍

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 11

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: it's a new week

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your phone buzzes against your leg, ripping you back to reality. Your eyes widen and drift away from the stream of font. You sit up and mark the page with your finger as you reach for the jittering cell. 

You scramble to grab onto it and hesitate to hit the big green button. The screen doesn't look like usual, not that you get many calls. You tap the button and the image changes at once, Bucky startling you as he appears. 

"Hey, doll," he grins and winks at you, moving the camera to lean against something. "How's it going?" 

"Uhhhh," you drone, surprised. He can see you too. You know by the little reflection of yourself in the corner. "Hi. Fine." You put the book down with no mind to losing the page, "um, you?" 

"You busy, doll?" 

"Reading but... no." 

"Mm," he hums, "glad to see you enjoying your treats but... no pajamas?" 

He steps back and you get a view of him from waist up, the edge of a counter in the lower edge. You pout then give a sheepish smile, "sorry, I haven't... had a chance." 

"That's okay, doll, I just wanted a peek before I went to work," he undoes his shirt button by button and pulls it off, revealing his muscular torso. You gulp at the lines of his muscle along his stomach, "why don't you put them on now and give me a look." 

"Oh, uh..." you glance at the wall. It's late. You're pretty sure Roxie already left for work and your mom will probably be settling down. "Right, uh..." 

"Just want something to think of when I walk the floor," he purrs. 

"Sure, er," you nearly choke, "I'll just-- one sec." 

"I can wait, doll. I've been waiting, haven't I?" He purrs. 

You feel a pang of guilt. You place the phone down so the lens faces the ceiling and climb off the bed. He's given you a lot, too much honestly, and now you feel like you owe him. It isn't fair to take his kindness without anything in return. And he isn't asking much, is he? 

You dig in the bag, the crinkle loud as the only other noise is the subtle movement from his end. You fish out the soft pajamas and peer over, making certain the phone is still flat. You change far away from it, paranoid. 

You look down at yourself in the tank and shorts. Oh gosh. It's a lot less than you usually wear. Your legs are showing, your shoulders, and a bit of your tummy. 

"Doll?" He says and you flinch. 

"I don't know... I don't think it fits." 

"I'm sure it fits just nice," he insists, "show me." 

"Oh, uh..." 

"I'm just looking, doll, I'll only think of what I really wanna do," he snickers. 

You cross back to the bed and pick up the phone, careful to stay out of view. You turn back and prop it up on the dresser, overly aware of the unflattering angle as you do. You give a wide-eyed look and back up so you're all in frame.  

You hug yourself shyly and sway. 

"Let me see ya," he orders. 

You put your arms straight and notice how he leans in to look at the screen, smoothing his hair back. He keeps his hands over his dark strands and growls. A flutter starts in your stomach. 

"What do you mean too small? That fits your perfect," he says. 

"I... really?" 

"Sure, doll," he turns and you realise he's getting ready.  

He combs his hair stands straight. He grabs a new shirt and buttons it as he peeks again. You near the camera and move it so he can only see your face.  

"Damn, doll, I'm gonna be all over the place," he says, "you're so sweet and sexy." 

"Bucky," you squeak.  

"I don't lie. That's the one thing you should know about me. I will always let you know exactly what I want." 

You blush hotly and a tap on the door nearly makes you drop the phone. You hide it behind you and shuffle closer. You clear your throat. 

"Uh, yeah?" You call through. 

"Hey, honey, everything okay in there?" She asks. Shoot, she must have heard you. 

"I'm watching something," your heart hammers, "sorry, I'll turn it down."

"It's alright, honey. Just thought I heard you..."

"No, just a show," you wisp out.

You quickly back away and go as far from the door as you can. You look down at the phone as Bucky tucks in his shirt. Ugh, that was embarrassing. He heard all that; surely he must realise how lame you are. 

"Mom sounds real sweet," he says, "must be where you get it." 

"She's working tomorrow. Don't wanna keep her up," you explain quietly. 

"That's too bad, doll. I'll just have to keep waiting... wanting," he shrugs and pulls on a dark jacket, "what do ya think? Look good?" 

He poses for the camera. He looks great, as always. You feel smaller than ever. 

"Yes," you answer softly. 

"Yes? That's it?" He sounds disappointed. 

"Very handsome," you eke out. 

"Handsome?" He squints as he picks up the phone. 

"Er," you search your repertoire and borrow from his, "sexy?" 

"Are you asking or telling me?" He chuckles. 

You giggle. You don't think you've ever told anyone they are sexy. You've never been that bold. 

"Yes." 

"Yes?" He laughs. 

"You're, er, oh, sexy," you touch your hot cheek and look away. 

"You are adorable, doll," he growls, "that's exactly what I need to hear." He grazes his fingertips over his beard, "unfortunately I gotta get on it so... tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow," you confirm. 

"Don't worry about a thing, doll, just bring your gorgeous self." 

🃏

The next day is restless. It's worse having hours to wait around for... what? You don't know. 

You spend your time reading, or trying to. Breakfast is small, what your roiling stomach can handle, and you put on an outfit that you think is acceptable, not that you have much to choose from. It might be strange if your mom or Roxie notice the lack of uniform. You could say you change at work? 

Ugh, lie after lie. It's all so much.  

You don't get very far in the book and your phone buzzes, a reminder from Bucky that your fate is coming. You grab your purse and sit out on the stoop, the sunlight beaming down. It would be a nice say if you were so damn uptight. 

Merv pulls up in the sleek luxury car and you get up, checking over your shoulder to see if there's any curious tug on the curtain. Your mom's already at work but Roxie is puttering around somewhere. She could be sleeping or not. 

Merv gets out to greet you. He opens the door and you thank him. He sits in the driver's seat and Springsteen drones from the radio. You smile as he shifts into gear. 

"I know this one," you say. 

"Of course, a classic," he praises. "And how are you today, miss?" 

"Good, you, sir?" 

He laughs as he steers, "very good, miss. And how could I not be." He peeks at you in the rear view, "with sunshine in my backseat." 

You smile bashfully and cross your legs. You can't help the shake in your foot. You're more and more nervous with each second and turn of the wheel. 

As if noticing your unease, he turns up the music, "I like this one too." 

You sigh and ease into the drumbeat. The tempo keeps your heartbeat in check. You're thankful for his subtle comfort. 

You turn to watch through the tinted windows. You never noticed how scenic this city is. You never went many places to have the chance. 

He keeps the volume up and you let it carry you through the long journey across the city. He pulls up to the casino and steers around to the hotel entrance. You peer through then back at him in confusion. He turns the knob down. 

"Mr. Barnes says to give your name at the desk," Merv instructs, "have a good day." 

"Thanks, you too," you unbuckle the seat belt and sidle across to the door. 

You get out with reticence. Staring up at the grand facade, you're more unsure than you've ever been. You've come this far, you have to keep going. You really have no choice as Merv slowly rolls away.  

You step forward. It doesn't get easier the further you get. Your pulse hammers behind your ear as you enter the lobby and a flash of deja vu overcomes you. That night with Roxie, the morning after, and everything since. How does it all feel as if it happened so fast and yet so long ago? 

You go to the desk, feeling entirely out of place. What if Merv is wrong and you shouldn't be there? What if they just look at you and laugh? No choice, keep going. 

You stop on the other side of the desk and give a stiff smile. 

"Hello, welcome, checking in?" The modelesque concierge asks. She's stunning and you're all the more self-aware. 

"Uh, I think? My name is..." 

She keeps her pristine smile in place and her eyes lights up. She doesn't even bother typing into her computer. She flits away and returns with one of little folders with the room keys inside. Oh, this is really happening. 

You thank her and slowly back away. You make a slow advance towards the elevator and wait beside a couple with their suitcases. You step on with them, avoiding a glimpse through the transparent walls.  

You unfold the folio and read the number, pushing the floor number, then stand back on your heels. You keep your eyes on the door, the motion alone making you dizzy. 

The couple gets off before you. When it's your floor, you thankfully scramble off and take a deep breath. You once more check the number and follow the hallways to your assigned suite. 

You swipe the card several times, you still don't have the hang of it. The door opens and you enter meekly. You focus on every move. Shut the door, slip the card back in the folder, put it down on the corner table. 

You look up at last and let yourself marvel at the suite as you delve further in. The smell of pollen greets you with a large bouquet of roses. The suite is huge, even bigger than last time. Two rooms just the same and a full kitchenette and spacious bathroom. You don't go onto the balcony, not wanting to test your stomach. 

You go back inside and glance over the table draped in a red tablecloth beneath the crystal vase of flowers. There's also a tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries and various colours of macarons. You've never had the delicate cookies before but you'd watch countless recipe videos, wishing on day to try them yourself. 

There's an envelope too. You take it and run your nail along the sealed flap. You open it carefully and slip out the card within. 

'Enjoy yourself, doll. I'll join you shortly. B.' 

As if on cue, there's a knock on the door. Oh gosh, you're not ready. What does he mean? Join you? You hoped for a little long before... before... 

You stand frozen but when the door doesn't open itself, you go to answer it. You slowly twist the long handle and open it just a crack. You peer around the edge and blink in confusion. 

"Hello, dahling," the woman's affectation drags out her syllables, "well look at you, how precious." 

She presses on the door and you let her force her way in. You're dumbfounded. Who the heck is she? Another long-legged beauty you can't compare too. 

"Lovely hair," she remarks as she closes the door without a care, "oh, and your skin, yes, perfect canvas..." 

"Sorry, er, I think you have the wrong room--" 

"Mr. Barnes sent me, dahling," she trills in her way, "and I see you are very much in need of my visit so let's begin. Mm, yes, I have a vision," she struts forward, a rose gold chest in her hand, "not very much, you have a natural lustre I adore." 

You retreat as she advances on you. She lifts her chest onto the chaise and flips back the lid, revealing an assortment of precisely organized palettes and tubes. You're horrified and humiliated as you realise why she's there. Maybe you aren't as pretty as Bucky keeps telling you. 

[theragethatisdesire]

"l’amore è cieco" - eren x reader - 18+!!!

back to the ti penso universe!!! finally!! did you guys miss it? i know i did; i am utterly obsessed with these two. i've had this sitting in my unfinished wip pile for way too long not to share.

our lovebirds have gotten the wedding all wrapped up with, so we're a solid four years past them reuniting in italy....and surprise! they're expecting!!!!! i could literally scream just writing that; the grip dad!eren has on me will never let up, i fear......anyways, this one's a little rough because i've picked it apart a thousand times and i'm just tired of editing, so you guys enjoy!!! sorry if it's not quite up to par :/

pairing: eren x reader

wc: 4k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, reader is pregnant, use of names (baby, mama, pretty, beautiful, etc), swearing, vaginal sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, lactation kink, creampie, crying, tooth-rotting fluff

title means "love is blind" in italian, per tradition w this verse <3

-

Right on schedule with your new daily, depressing routine, you stand in front of the mirror running your hands over your body, examining the recent changes. On second thought, scrutinizing might be a better word.

You’re grateful your job has allowed you to work from home for your entire pregnancy, editing articles from the journalists who can actually travel while snuggled up on your couch, but the downside of it is that you’ve had far too much time to mull on all of the ways your body has stretched and warped to accommodate the growing little girl in your stomach. You thought pregnancy was supposed to be beautiful, and sometimes it is, but more often than not, you just feel like a swollen, hormonal mess.

You “popped”, as all the mommy podcasts say, about two weeks ago, and thin stretch marks have begun to appear on your stomach. Eren calls them your “tiger stripes”, having been in full-blown cringe dad mode since the day you took the test. Bizarre cravings control you at all hours of the day, evidenced by the little black crumbs you’re picking out of your sports bra, left behind by your fourteen-Oreo breakfast today. You gaze longingly at the jewelry box on your bathroom counter; you haven’t been able to wear your wedding band in weeks, the tan line already beginning to fade from your finger. Before you can get a hold of yourself, the hormones have you in their grip, and hot, frustrated tears are spilling down your cheeks.

“Babe, have you seen that tie with the red–” Eren materializes in the doorway with absolutely no warning, as he’s prone to do, but cuts himself off at the sight of you, “baby, no, again?”

“Don’t say it like that,” you say, reluctantly allowing him to take you in his arms.

“Like what?” Eren’s voice is sweet, but hesitant. He’s been living under the constant threat of getting his head bitten off for mundane reasons because of you. It makes you feel worse, makes you shove him away and glare at him accusingly.

“Like I’m always fucking crying.” You are always crying, but you wish he would at least muster up some semblance of surprise at finding you in tears yet again. You turn away from him, wiping your face in the mirror. “Shouldn’t you be packing? Your flight leaves in like, three hours.”

“I’ll cancel,” Eren coos, stepping behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, picking your belly up in his hands.

It’s some hack he got off Tik Tok, supposed to take the weight off of your back for a precious moment, and as much as you don’t necessarily want to be touched right now, it actually helps. You’ve been alternating between thinking Eren’s overenthusiastic parenting research is adorable and mind-numbingly annoying, but for the moment, your back has stopped aching for the first time all morning, and you sigh, leaning into him.

“You can’t cancel,” you murmur, momentarily soothed, “‘s a big client. Where is it again? France?”

“I just got back from France, Miss Pregnancy Brain,” Eren chuckles, quieting immediately upon catching your lethal gaze in the mirror. “It’s just over in LA, and honestly, I could have Hitch go if you need me.”

“No, I can take care of myself, it’s just like…” a fresh wave of tears spills down your cheeks, “fuck, I don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”

Eren nods into your shoulder, letting you sniffle. It’s not a new trait, your outright refusal to ask for help, but it’s been exacerbated by your pregnancy, especially considering exactly how much help you actually need now.

You’ve taken custody of all of his sweatpants, not yet able to bring yourself to buy maternity clothes. You’d walked in sobbing and humiliated the other day because you’d peed yourself on the long elevator ride up to your apartment in front of the neighbors. You can’t sleep on your stomach anymore; Eren has to prop himself up just right beside you and sandwich you between himself and a wall of pillows to stop you from turning. You know it hurts him seeing you miserable, and you try to suck it up and enjoy the positives of pregnancy as much as you can, but you can’t muster up that strength every day.

“Hush,” Eren pulls your wet face to his chest, letting you stain the Number 1 Dad! t-shirt he had bought himself. “I’m not going.”

“Eren–”

“I’m not,” he says firmly, rubbing small circles into the bottom of your spine, “you need me here, whether you want to admit it or not.”

You grumble complacently, nuzzling into him. You do need him, as much as you want to think you can tough it out on your own. Eren’s bought book after book, not just for the baby, but for you. Most nights you find him reading titles like You’ve Made the Baby…Now What? or How to Survive Pregnancy: A Guide for Men with his feet propped up on the coffee table, a habit that, despite your efforts, you cannot nag him out of. It’s cute, honestly, how over-the-top he’s gotten with baby prep, especially when you’re often too exhausted to wrap your mind around reading a parenting guide.

“I feel ugly,” you admit quietly, sticky and snotty against his shirt. “I feel disgusting.”

“What?” Eren’s reaction is one of genuine confusion. He pushes you away from him so he can search your face, waiting patiently for you to elaborate.

“I’m gaining an obscene amount of weight, my ankles are the size of my knees, I can’t wear a single one of my rings, what am I supposed to feel like?”

Eren frowns. “Those things are supposed to happen. I read last night–”

“I don’t care!” Your voice cracks under the weight of your frustration, and you press your fingers into your eyes hard enough to see stars, trying to regain control of your temper. “I don’t care that it’s supposed to happen. It still sucks.”

“I think you’re beautiful,” Eren sounds earnest, but you scoff at him anyway.

“We’re married. You’re supposed to say that.”

“I don’t have to.”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “If you want your head to stay on your shoulders you do.”

Eren laughs at that, tugging you over to stand between his legs as he sits on the bed. “So, you’re serious? You genuinely don’t think you look good pregnant?”

“No,” you rub at your nose, “I don’t.”

Eren looks up at you, cupping your face gently. “I disagree.”

“Do you really?”

“I think you look better than ever.”

“That’s an insult to non-pregnant me,” you roll your eyes, moving to step away, but Eren holds you tight between his legs.

“It’s not,” he insists, “there’s just some things your pregnant body has that you didn’t necessarily have before. Some things that I like.”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “Cankles?”

Eren chuckles breathily, shaking his head. “I adore your cankles, but they weren't exactly the first thing that came to mind. Take these, for one thing.”

Eren presses his nose into your sports bra, hands moving up underneath to palm at your swollen tits. You let out a breathy laugh as he explores, already feeling a low heat beginning to simmer in your core. That’s one perk of entering your second trimester; your hormones might turn on a dime, but your sex drive has skyrocketed.

Eren shoves your bra up to free your tits, groaning appreciatively as he takes a nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking. You watch as he feels his way around with his mouth, humming contentedly under your breath, when suddenly, his eyes fly open and he shoots away from you.

“What?”

Eren shushes you, bringing a hand to the breast that had been in his mouth and squeezing lightly. White liquid beads on your nipple, and you cover your face in shame.

“When did that start?”

“A few days ago,” you admit, trying to push his hands off of you, cheeks burning. Eren swats you away, leaning back into your nipple, sucking harder. You can feel a small stream of milk leaving you, relieving some of the pressure in your tits; a moan rumbles deep in Eren’s chest, and you can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Eren releases your nipple with a loud pop and looks up at you panting, eyes blown wide.

“Is it weird that that’s kinda hot?”

“Probably.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” you hum, threading your hands through his hair and urging him back to your chest, “feels good.”

That’s all Eren needs to hear, diving back into your chest with renewed vigor. As he continues, you realize it doesn’t just feel good, it actually feels incredible. You’ve always had sensitive breasts, but with the pregnancy, sensation has increased tenfold; you can feel your panties getting wetter as the weight of your full breast decreases. When Eren’s gotten all he can from your left nipple, he moves to your right, replacing his mouth on the now-abandoned nipple with his hand to twist gently at the wet skin.

The combined sensation makes your knees buckle; Eren saves you smoothly by wrapping an arm around your lower back, yanking you to him to straddle his leg. It’s the perfect angle for you to roll your hips against his thigh slowly, feeling the much-needed friction of his sweatpants against your cunt.

“Eren…” you breathe out, voice nothing more than a wisp of air.

“I know baby,” Eren speaks directly into your flesh, not willing to back away for even a moment, “feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Feels so good,” you whimper, clutching him to you with fistfuls of his hair.

“Told you this new body’s not so bad, hm?” Eren closes his teeth down on your nipple lightly; you almost keel over from the shockwave it sends through you.

You nod, rubbing yourself against his thigh faster. It’s awkward and cumbersome with your belly in the way, but it’s enough for now, enough to light your nerves on fire in that way that only Eren’s ever been able to.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” Eren mutters, grabbing onto your hips to help you get your rhythm right, “you’re so perfect, and you don’t even see it.”

Your fingers dig into his arms as you moan. “But my stomach–”

“But nothing,” Eren kisses you, mumbling into your mouth, “love your stomach, love your tits, love all of it. You think it doesn’t make me so fucking hard, watching you walk around with that big belly and knowing what it came from? I did that. We did that, didn’t we baby?”

“Mhm,” you bite into his shoulder, the friction on your clit through your sweatpants is getting to your head, making you dizzy. “Eren, Eren–”

“Sh sh sh,” Eren shushes you, moving so that he can look you in the eyes, “what do you need? Tell me.”

“I don’t– I don’t know, I just…” you can’t find the words, so in need of him that you can’t even decide what sounds best. His mouth? His fingers? All of it?

“Okay, okay,” Eren says quietly, standing you both up only to lay you against the pillows, “I’ve gotcha.”

He nudges his sweatpants down your legs, bringing your panties with them, spreads your legs so he can see the most intimate part of you. Eren brings his hand to your clit, rubbing tentatively, but you’re so desperate for him that it’s enough to make your back arch, a long, throaty moan ripping out of you. He lays beside you, gently playing with your clit and watching in awe at the reaction you give him, already a blubbering mess after only a few minutes.

“So sensitive, aren’t you mama?”

“Yes,” you hiss out through clenched teeth, a fresh wave of arousal flooding you at the name, “s-so sensitive. Need to cum, I need, n-need–”

“I’ll make you cum,” Eren promises, sinking a finger into you, “I’ll make you cum, baby.”

“Fuck, Eren, it’s– I can’t–”

“Feel good?”

“So fucking good,” you’re basically sobbing at this point, fingers clenched into the muscles of his bicep, clinging to him and humping his hand. You’re not sure if it’s the lack of sex over the first trimester (“What if I hit the baby’s head?” Eren had asked nervously whenever you approached him) or the rawness of the sensation against your over-sensitive body, but you’ve never been so close to your orgasm so quickly.

You don’t hold out long; Eren’s skilled with even just one finger, and before long, you’re crying out his name, gushing all over his hand. Eren presses his lips to your forehead in a sweet kiss despite having utterly destroyed you less than thirty seconds ago.

“Ready for me?”

“Sit,” you pant, pointing to the massive stack of pillows against your headboard. Eren raises his eyebrows in surprise, but does as he’s told, only pausing to pull his clothes off. The loss of the stupid dad t-shirt is a relief as much as feeling his bare chest under your hands. Due to your hormones, you’ve thrown Eren out of the house several times, and you’ve demanded to be alone enough to where his only solution is to go to the gym downstairs and work out until you’ve calmed down. It shows: his chest has grown broader and stronger, and the veins on his arms are nearly popping through the skin. “You look good.”

“Yeah?” Eren offers a shit-eating grin, flexing his bicep ever so subtly. “You should see yourself.”

“You seriously think I look good like this?” You’re straddling his hips now, rubbing your clit on his bare cock. It’s a lewd sight, his cock drooling on his abs, glistening with your cum; your cunt clenches around nothing, more than ready to be filled.

“Mhm, you look so fucking good like that,” Eren grunts, hands finding your hips again and lifting you up to sink you down on his cock, both of you letting out loud, satisfied groans, “but you look much better like this.”

You grind your hips against his, not possessing the energy to bounce your now-heavier body, but it makes you see stars. Eren rarely lets you ride him, much preferring to bend you over or pin you to the bed himself, but with your bump, you now have an excuse to hop on top of him whenever you like. It’s been close to a decade of fucking him, but the full stretch of him never fails to shock you, the way he pushes into you until you’re positive he’s in your stomach. With Eren sitting up, his cock stays firmly nestled against your g-spot, pushing little bits of squirt out of you with each movement of your hips.

“Eren–” you whimper, holding your breasts as you rock into him.

“Shit- you’re so tight like this,” Eren says through his clenched jaw, throwing his head back against the headboard, “why don’t you ride me more often?”

“You don’t let me,” you say with a watery giggle.

“Stupid,” Eren gasps, “‘m so fucking stupid.”

You’re too fucked out to voice your agreement, opting for sliding a hand down your body to flick at your clit. You can’t quite reach it around your bump, though, a discontented noise leaving your lips. Eren opens his eyes, takes notice of the way you’re hunching your back, and swats your hand away.

“I got it, I got it,” he pants, tucking his hand underneath your swollen belly to rub your clit just the way he knows you like it.

“Oh, f-fuck,” you choke out, throwing your head back.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” you hiss, “‘s perfect.”

“Take what you need, mama,” Eren’s watching you intently, a glimmer of admiration in his eye, “take what you need.”

You’re moaning pitifully, loud and wanton as Eren’s cock moves inside of you. Your cunt tightens around him desperately as the bubble building in your stomach threatens to explode.

“Think you get wetter like this, all swollen with my baby,” Eren muses, leaning forward to latch his mouth around one of your nipples where more milk has already started to pool. His words have a visceral reaction on you; you cry, tears welling in your eyes as you spiral towards your release. 

“I think–I think I’m gonna– oh fuck, don’t stop,” you croon, rocking your hips as fast as you can manage. Eren mumbles around your nipple, something about how beautiful you look, and you come undone around him, grinding your hips hard against his and cradling him to your chest. He might have a point- there’s damn near a puddle of your arousal at the base of where you’re connected, slicking up the skin on his hips and the inside of your thighs.

“Better?” Eren pulls you in for a kiss; you can feel him grinning through it.

“Maybe a little,” you admit, laughing light and watery against his mouth.

“Mmm,” Eren hums, grabbing you by the hips and lifting you only to drop you down again and turn your laughter to a quiet whimper, “not good enough. Need you to be much better.”

“Fuck me, then,” you nip at his bottom lip, earn yourself a deep groan.

“Can you— can you hold yourself up like this?” Eren scooches both of you down, albeit, a little awkwardly, so that he can lay flat on the bed. He moves you up until you’ve only got him halfway inside of you, cocking a questioning eyebrow at you.

“Yeah, I–I think so.”

“And you’re sure I’m not going to hurt–”

“Jesus Christ– no Eren, it’s fine, just– fuck,” he cuts you off with a sharp snap of his hips up into yours, grinning menacingly when your eyes roll back.

“Like that?”

“Just like that,” you moan, annoyance wiped from you with one clean stroke. Eren takes that for the green light that it is and starts pistoning his hips up into you, swearing under his breath. Even though he’d instructed you to hold yourself up, he makes good use of his new muscles, suspending you at the perfect height to feel every inch of him as he fucks up into you like his life depends on it.

“You look so fucking gorgeous like this,” Eren growls, “all swollen with my fuckin’ baby. Gonna keep you like this, give you as many as you want.”

“Eren–” you choke out, suffocating on the way he’s fucking you, his words, him. For the first time in months, you feel amazing, holding your chest and groaning long and loud as Eren thrusts up into you.

“Baby, I’m- fuck, not gonna–” Eren cuts himself off with something that sounds suspiciously close to a whimper, throwing his head back.

“Cum in me,” you pant, nodding urgently at him, “want it so bad.”

“Oh fuck,” Eren groans, hips moving impossibly faster. His fingers are digging into your hips near to the point of pain, and that little frown he makes when he’s about to cum is crumpling his face. You do want it, badly.

“Please Eren, I need it,” you gasp, legs trembling on either side of his hips.

“Fucking love you, love you so much,” Eren slurs, hips stuttering. With a long, throaty moan, he slams you down one final time, cumming deep inside of you. You grind against him as he does, moaning along with him at the familiar warmth in your belly. Exhausted, you momentarily forget about your bump and try to collapse facefirst on him- that’s enough to snap Eren out of his post-orgasm haze.

“Whoa, whoa,” Eren shoves you back upright, lifting you under your shoulders and laying you on your back, “careful.”

You wince. “Shit, sorry. Sometimes I forget. It’s still sort of new.”

“I know,” Eren agrees, eyes locked lovingly on your baby bump, “love it, though.”

“Really?”

Eren cocks a disbelieving eyebrow at you. “If that didn’t convince you, I don’t know what will.”

You giggle at that; he’s always been good at this, cheering you up and diffusing your worries like it’s second nature. After ten years, it probably is at this point.

“I don’t mean to be so down on myself, really,” you sigh, tracing a finger over where his hand’s splayed on your stomach, “it’s just…so much harder than I thought it would be.”

Eren nods thoughtfully. “That’s reasonable. But you’re so good at it.”

“I haven’t even– what?” The insecurities that you’ve been successfully masking under good natured teasing and occasional annoyance come slipping from between your lips. You’ve thought it for weeks; how Eren’s so into all the baby stuff, so enthusiastic about learning everything he can, while all you’ve managed is trying not to gag when he cooks eggs in the morning and picking out some onesies. “What about all of your books and your podcasts and crap? You’re the one doing everything.”

“That’s all I can do,” Eren scoffs, “you’re doing all the hard stuff, like carrying the baby around and puking every morning and crying all the time–”

“Hey!”

“I’m serious,” Eren shushes you, “you’re putting in all the legwork. I mean, you’re literally growing our baby. You’re a fucking rockstar mom already. If anyone’s not doing enough here, it’s me.”

That’s one thing about Eren that will never get easier; his deep, unwavering admiration for you, no matter what you’re doing. Sure, it’s endearing when Eren spins you around in his arms for something as simple as finally getting that croissant recipe to come out well, but when he’s praising you for something that’s actually difficult? It’s sweet enough to give you a cavity, warm your heart, and turn your cheeks pink all at once, even after all this time.

“Well, if you’d like to take a shift carrying her around, be my guest. She’s a chunky little thing already,” you roll your eyes, tucking your face into Eren’s ribs to mask the flush rising to your face.

“I’d do it for you if I could,” Eren sighs in faux-thoughtfulness, “but I wouldn’t look half as hot.”

You giggle furiously when he lands a slap to your ass, swatting at his chest. “God, it still doesn’t feel real, does it? A little girl that’s half you, half me.”

“It does and it doesn’t,” Eren shrugs, bringing a hand back to your stomach, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been thinking about it since Italy.”

You gape at him. “That long?”

“You know I’m always ahead of you on this stuff,” Eren teases, squeezing your cheeks together, “knew I wanted you first, knew I wanted you back first, knew we should get married…”

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes at his bragging, “it’s just, like…are we ready? To do this?”

“This?” Eren cocks his head.

“The whole…‘parents’ thing.”

“Putting aside the fact that you're way too late to be having those kinds of thoughts,” Eren says, rubbing your lower back, “of course we’re ready. There’s no perfect parents, but I believe in us– believe in you. Gonna be the best mama any baby’s ever had, I know you will.”

“I don’t even…oh, Eren.” You’re tearing up again–damn hormones. Eren wipes at your tears, planting a big kiss on your forehead.

“I mean it. You’re going to be great, already are,” he says, smiling down at you. He holds you just like that for a few moments, letting you nuzzle into his chest, until his little grin grows wicked. “Although…the only thing I can say I am worried about is which one of us is going to accidentally teach her her first swear word. Should we bet on it?"

Even through your tears, you cock an eyebrow at him. “You and I both know that’s going to be Jean. Especially after what you taught Clara the last time we babysat.”

Eren barks out a laugh. “Hey, hearing her call Jean ‘Daddy Jackass’ was funny, and you know it!”

“Thanks for reminding me,” you smirk, “now I know what I’m teaching our little girl first.”

“No way!”

[timeslugarts]

Ok! I've never written anything nsfw, so this is a test run WIP.

It's not finished, tbh it's barely nsfw, but I just want you to let me know if I should keep going or if I'm doing well.

Vox x Reader at a club

This is gonna be my face sitting fic lmao

Valentino's personal club was exactly how you'd expect it to be, dark, sweaty, and mysteriously damp.

Music pounded through speakers that you could feel in your heart as throngs of bodies meshed together on the dance floor.

This wasn't your first time here, but unlike the last time you were here with a goal in mind.

Your "goal" was sitting at a table by himself, unsurprising since most of the regular patrons were probably too scared to approach Vox, since he was one of the more powerful overlords and anyone who did try to sit next to him he'd probably kill on the spot.

His eyes were lidded as he scanned the crowd before him, searching for something, or maybe just enjoying the view. He swirled a glass of amber liquid between his fingers and took a long drink. That's when he spotted you, high heels, tight black dress that left little to the imagination. His antennas perked up at the sight.

You were heading straight for him. He quickly finished his drink as continued to watch your quickly approaching form.

No introductions were had as your fingers wrapped around his tie and dragged him to the nearest private room of the club. Vox didn't mind, he eagerly followed you like a lost puppy.

The two of you had been having these meetings in secret for weeks now. They were good for relieving the Vox's tension, always having to deal with Val and Velvette, or the stress of Hell and that damned radio demon. Here with you he was just another stranger in a bar, just another nobody.

As soon as the door closed he picked you up and threw you on the soft bed. The silken sheets gave way for your supple curves that his hands were itching to explore.

You looked up at him through your lashes, an eyebrow arched. A silent question asking him what he wanted.

"You look so pretty like this doll, I'm just enjoying the view." He leaned over you grabbing your chin in his claws, his legs on either side of your thighs. Vox lifted your face to meet his own, his electric blue tongue sneaking out to push its way into your mouth. You gasped at the feeling, the static from his screen causing all the hairs on your body to stand up. It was like sucking on a battery.

"You're so sweet." He growls as his tongue leaves your mouth and trails its way across your cheek and down your throat. Small shocks could be felt the whole way down.

[oflights]

wip snip 5.1

i've been tagged a bunch of times over the past few weeks to post wip snips and only had the last few chapters of star splitter to post, so i bailed. i finally have something new to preview!! have a bit of the gilmore girls fic, still in progress. 🥰

Just about 8 years ago, the bell over the doorframe jingled violently as Draco Malfoy threw the door open and swept in, already talking. “Bloody hell, that snow is abominable,” he was saying. He hefted a bundled, starfish-shaped form that would turn out to be a toddler by his hip, a pram scooting behind them and leaving a wet trail on Harry’s floor. With a flick of his wrist, the pram had folded up and nestled in the corner of the dining area, dripping there ignored, as Draco descended upon the counter much the same as he did almost every day.

“You, there—please tell me this place has something warm to—” And then Draco froze, because back then he had not done this every day; this was the first time, and more specifically the first time he had seen Harry Potter in the flesh since their eighth year of Hogwarts.

“Malfoy,” Harry had said, eyeing the puffy bundle warily. He didn’t know it was a toddler then; every bit of Scorpius was covered up and radiating Warming Charms. In hindsight, he was probably sweating, but Harry was to later learn that Scorpius had been a quite agreeable child until he learned to read—an apparent mistake that Draco despairs of having made a few times a week—and he made no complaints even dropped onto a stool as he was, propped up against his father.

“What are you doing here?” Draco, then Malfoy, had demanded. He looked utterly thrown and somehow offended, as if Harry’s existence in his own place of business was a grave insult to him.

“This is my place,” Harry said, and then as an instinctive response to Draco’s disbelieving scoff, he added, “I own it.” He’d hoped Draco would pick up on the implied threat—don’t be an arse or I’ll kick you out.

...

“This place is called Al’s,” Draco said accusingly. “You’re not Al.”

“Nope, I’m not. I’m Harry.” When Draco stared at him, Harry clarified, “Harry Potter.”

“I know you’re—who is Al, then?” Draco went pale beneath his winter flush. “Wait. Did you name this place after—Dumbledore?” He whispered the name as if ashamed, and Harry supposed that was about right, though it garnered him little sympathy.

Harry let that dread sit on Draco’s face for a few moments before he said, “No, it was already called Al’s when I bought it. Didn’t feel like changing the name.” He had changed everything else about it, though, spending one exhausting summer converting it from a pub no one really liked to go to anymore to a greasy spoon that people liked much more.

...

Harry had not opened this place and kept it open so he could be insulted and bullied; he was long past the time in his life when he would accept that, especially from the likes of Draco Malfoy. And so he opened his mouth once again to tell Draco to get out—ignoring all the questions he had for him, like what he was doing in this town, out in the snowstorm, carrying some sort of doll, maybe?

Before he could say so, and even before Draco could interrupt, the doll made a noise that made Harry startle and drop the rag he’d been wiping down the counter with. The doll made another noise, reached out, and grabbed the rag.

“Mine!” the doll said, lifting its head until a nose poked out of its bundling. That was when Harry realized that what Draco had set down on the stool was a toddler.

“Not yours,” Draco said as Harry tried to process this. “Let it go, Scorpius, it’s disgusting!”

“Oh,” said Scorpius, in a very wobbly sort of voice. His head tipped up so much that Harry could now see wide eyes, which were a complex hazel shade that made him really start to wonder what Draco was doing with a toddler. Said eyes were glistening slightly, and to accompany the look, Scorpius said, “Okay,” in the saddest little voice Harry had ever heard. He dropped the rag back on the counter; he could barely move his arm in his heavy, puffy coat.

“He can have it,” Harry said quickly; he grabbed up the rag and tried to hand it back, unable to deal with that stricken face.

[blueeyedgrlwrites]

WIP Wednesday, March 20, 2024

Hey it's Wednesday again, so happy hump day my friends (pun maybe intended, do with it as you will).

Tagged by my pals @kiwiana-writes @anincompletelist @heysweetheart-writes @itsmaybitheway @eusuntgratie and @suseagull04.

I've been working on my @aroyallybigbangrwrb project this week and let's just say @getmehighonmagic is mad at me for it, so now I guess you get to be mad at me too?

"Will you be coming home to change for tonight?" Henry asks as he sits at the table. "What's tonight?" "The foundation's annual fundraising gala." Henry answers, pausing midway through bringing his tea up to sip. Alex's jaw flexes, he sighs heavily, and rests his hands on his waist for a moment before shaking his head. "I have a dinner meeting with Zahra and the other partners I can't get out of tonight, Henry." Henry feels his face getting warm, his mouth pinching into a tight line. He sets his tea back on the table and takes a breath to steady himself, hoping his tone stays even when he speaks. "I told you about the gala weeks ago, Alex, and it's been on the calendar ever since. You know it's always this time of year." "Jesus, Henry." Alex sighs and turns once on the spot, looking down at his feet before resting a hand on top of the counter. Henry doesn't know how Alex is the one that gets to be upset with him in this whole thing. Finally, after a moment Alex looks up at him. "I can come by after the meeting is finished?" Henry swallows thickly, pushing his toast away, no longer hungry, the kitchen walls feeling as though they're closing in on him. "Don't worry. I'll convey your regrets."

Um, I promise it doesn't always hurt?

Anyway, an open tag as always so please tag me if you take it, and some gentle, absolutely no pressure tags to: @getmehighonmagic @bigassbowlingballhead @cactusdragon517 @oxfordslutphase @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @cha-melodius @sparklepocalypse @firenati0n @inexplicablymine @affectionatelyrs @onthewaytosomewhere @onward--upward @sherryvalli @happiness-of-the-pursuit @gayrootvegetable @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @wordsofhoneydew @nocoastposts @myheartalivewrites @three-drink-amy @cricketnationrise @ninzied

[partially-controlled-chaos]

Psssst. WIP Saturday

Although this is not the story I'm currently trying to finish, here's a little snippet of the Halsin oneshot I mentioned in this poll. I've been sitting on this bit for a while now and will have the full story posted once I've finished up New Life Shall Prosper later this week.

Halsin x Reader oneshot set sometime in that awkward space after you leave the shadow lands, but before you make it to Rivington.

Full story can be found here.

You were blissfully unaware of the hungry eyes watching your every move as you indulged in your sweet treat. Halsin’s gaze was transfixed on the movements of your wonderfully nimble fingers as you selected a slice of tart apple from your bowl and coated it with a generous amount of the honey you’d procured earlier in the day. You twirled the slice in your fingers, trying to break the sticky strings that came as you tried to scoop the thickened treat onto the fruit. Halsin was unsure if time had slowed or if it was simply his own desires fogging his mind, but watching this relatively mundane task had become almost intoxicating. 

Your attention was quickly pulled from your snack before you had a chance to bite into it, the call of your name from across camp making you pause. You still held the slice in your fingers, hovering over the bowl as you spoke to your companion about an event from earlier in the day. The honey that rested at the tip of the apple slice began to drip, slowly making its way along the fruit and onto your thumb. Halsin was sitting close enough that he could smell the sweetness and the light floral notes that came from the honey, the scent alone being enough to have his mouth watering for a taste. Although he couldn’t help but wonder at how the taste would change when mixed with the taste of your skin as he watched the honey continue to drop down the length of your arm. 

He had longed for your touch for some time now, but ever since the group had parted the shadow lands, the longing had become incessant. Unbeknownst to you, Halsin wanted more from you; more than just friendship. He wanted companionship. He wanted you. And in this moment he wanted nothing more than to clean the honey from your skin with his own tongue and kiss your dexterous fingers that had been teasing him all day. The impulsive urge to act on the idea was tempting, but given that he had yet to approach you about wanting more, he tried to push the thought from his mind. 

Realizing the sticky mess that was now running down your arm, you quickly popped the apple slice covered in what remaining honey that wasn’t dripping down your arm into your mouth. You searched the small area by the campfire for any sort of cloth to wipe your hands on, but ultimately decided to simply lick it off when you couldn’t find a suitable rag and the sticky honey was now nearing your elbow. With a turn of your head and twist of your arm, you found the large drip of honey on your arm and pressed your tongue along the sweet trail. Starting near your elbow, you slowly pulled your tongue along your inner forearm, collecting the fallen honey in the small well created by your tongue. Given just how sticky the honey was, you found yourself going over the same spots multiple times in an attempt to get every drop that had made its way down your arm.

Halsin could feel his heart pick up speed and almost threaten to beat out of his chest the more he watched you clean yourself of the honey. His tips of his pointed ears had grown warm in a flush and his throat had suddenly gone dry. Despite the growing tension and the tightening of desire growing in his muscles, he found himself simply unable to look away from you. It had been so long that he’d been able to indulge in desires of his own that he had become complacent with pushing away his wants until he had completed his duties. But now those duties had been fulfilled, with your help of course, he was now free to purse any desires he’d denied himself for so long. And the druid was dangerously close to losing any and all control over keeping these wants at bay until the proper moment.

By the time you’d made your way to your honey coated thumb, you finally picked up on the eyes that had been focused on your movements for so long. Your own gaze flicked to Halsin, whose face was a mixture of amusement and something else you couldn’t quite place, and couldn’t help but smile in embarrassment as he’d caught your blunder. What you couldn’t notice, however, was the heat rising along Halsin’s neck and the thread of tension in his chest that was threatening to break at any second. However, when you stuck the entirety of your thumb into your mouth and slowly pulled off the honey while still holding his gaze, that delicately held together thread finally snapped.

As with all of my WIP posts, this isn't edited and might change once the full story is posted. Thanks!

Tag List: @thoughts-of-bear (this is the Halsin oneshot you'd asked to be tagged in a while ago), @beardedladyqueen, @pixie-in-a-moonlantern, @ur-friendly-nbhd-cardassian

[fallinginvictus]

I may be a day or two early for wip wednesday but I absolutely need to know what happens next in ur time loop fic of Andrew

WIP Wednesday Andrew and Aaron Time Loop AU [part 2/4]

Part 1

on ao3 I would tag this as "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings" so if you need to know more because you think there might be something that could trigger you, let me know and I'll let you know

He feels frantic as he drives on now familiar roads, his thoughts swirling in his brain and bouncing inside his skulls, unable to tell where one begins and the other ends, unable to make sense of the nightmare that he has found himself trapped in. Cars race past him as his thoughts race in his brain, images of Aaron's cold and pale body flashing behind his eyelids every time he blinks, the coldness of his brother's hand and the stillness of his chest something that will never stop haunting him for as long as he lives.

“What? Is something wrong?” Aaron asks as soon as he picks up the phone, worry clear in his tired voice.

Andrew's breaths get lost in his lungs, unable to find their way out. 

Aaron is alive. 

Aaron is alive again.

“Andrew?”

“I'm going to stay with you for a while,” is everything that he manages to say, his voice quieter than he intends it to be, his hands squeezing the steering wheel until they turn white.

“What? Why? Did something happen?” Aaron asks and Andrew wants to scream at him. 

“No,” he says. “I'm already on my way.”

“Andrew,” Aaron sighs. “For how long? Don't you have games and practice?”

“I hurt my wrist so I can't play for two weeks.”

“You can't stay with me. I have plans.”

“What plans?” he asks, wondering how many times Aaron has lied to them before, how many other times has he pretended to be busy while his only plan was that of getting high.

“With my friends.”

“You don't have friends. I'll be there in a few hours. Bye.”

He doesn't give Aaron any time to reply, any time to protest, before hanging up, Aaron's voice making his head spin, his blood boil. 

He wants to hug his brother, he wants to feel his chest move, his heart beat, his blood flowing through his veins. He wants to touch Aaron's skin and feel nothing but warmth. He wants to look him in the eyes and see them shine. 

He wants his brother to never be dead again.

♤♤

He sits outside of Aaron's locked door, the clock inside of his head ticking and ticking, each second that passes feeling like a lifetime spent in hell, wondering if the call is going to come anyways, wondering if Aaron is already dead. More than once he wants to drive back to the hospital where Aaron died, where Aaron will die. More than once he takes his phone out of his pocket and dials Aaron's number without ever calling him.

It's ten minutes past three in the afternoon when Andrew's phone rings where it's sitting on the floor by his side. Andrew's breath gets caught in his throat, his whole body tensing at the sound until his every muscle aches and screams, begging to be released, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

But when his eyes finally find the courage to look down at the bright screen by his side, it is Aaron's name that meets his eyes and not the hospital's number (a number that had now been printed inside of Andrew's brain and that he would never be able to forget.)

“What,” he says flatly as soon as he picks up the phone, his muscles still tense, his heart still racing.

“Are you really waiting for me?” Aaron asks in a tentative tone that Andrew can't decipher. Finally Andrew starts to relax, Aaron's quiet voice like sweet honey washing over him.

He hums in reply.

“I'm- I'm almost there. Wait for me,” Aaron says as the words rush out of his mouth and stumble all over each other.

“I've been waiting for almost two hours so you better be quick,” Andrew replies, unable to deny to himself just how much he longs to finally see his brother alive. 

Andrew had long since learnt to keep his emotions trapped inside of his ribcage. Some would oftentimes run away from him, slip through the cracks, escape from their perfectly built prison: in the morning with Neil's peaceful face resting by his side, the brighg sun shining on him, his hair messy, his face puffy, a soft smile on his lips; in the night with Neil's flushed body under his, his warm hands gently placed on his shoulders, his soft moans filling the quiet room.

But it had been a long time since his emotions had come crashing against his chest, threatening to split his ribcage open, uncovering his most safely guarded secrets. He had forgotten how much it hurt, how raw and vulnerable it made him feel.

“Hey,” Aaron says breathlessly, breaking the silence and coming to stand in front of a motionless Andrew.

Andrew just stares at him blankly, taking notice of every single thing that is Aaron, of every aspect of him, every detail. Aaron looks tired, Andrew notices, his skin is pale, ink spilled under his bloodshot eyes but his pupils are normal, he looks rail-thin, his collar bones heavily pronounced. 

Andrew says nothing as his brain reminds him of the list of “Common Physical Signs of Drug Usage” that he had read once on the library's computer when he was fifteen.

“You ambush me like this and you are not even going to say hi?” Aaron asks as he opens the door, but there is no strength in his voice, no malice in his words.

“Hi,” he says as he walks inside the now familiar house, his eyes falling back on the family picture displayed in the living room.

“Give me a second,” Aaron says before running inside his room and closing the door behind himself, probably trying to tidy up the mess that Andrew had already seen.

He sits on the couch, unable to come up with a plan of action, with a strategy. He had already asked Aaron before if he had relapsed and Aaron had denied it. Would he ever tell Andrew the truth if he asked? 

“So,” Aaron says as he walks out of his room with a black trash bag. Andrew just looks at him. “Are you going to tell me why you decided to crash at my house for who knows how long?”

“Am I not allowed to want to spend some time with my dearest brother?” he asks with a sweet and ostensibly fake smile on his lips, trying not to think just how much truth was actually hidden in those words.

Aaron scoffs at him, “Sure, because you totally just wanted to spend some time with me,” he says and something in his voice makes Andrew pause. He just stares at him, his brows furrowed, trying to figure out something that he knows is standing right in front of him and yet he cannot seem to be able grasp.

There's a tense silence for a few seconds as Andrew just stares at his brother, at the way air fills his lungs, as the way his chest moves.

“Fine,” Aaron breaks first. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, as if he's dealing with a troublesome kid. “Fine. You don't have to tell me now. Just- Are you okay? It's nothing bad, right?”

Andrew is taken aback by the concern in his voice before anger fills his vision. No nothing too bad, he wants to say. My own fucking brother died. No biggie.

“No, nothing too bad,” he says between clenched teeth.

♤♤

They spend the rest of the afternoon playing on Aaron's old PS2, the same one that he has owned longer than Andrew has known him. It was quiet and comfortable and Andrew could tell there was something else going on inside of his brother's mind, something that was clouding his brain, making his moves sloppy, his attention fragmented.

“Do you feel like you are going to relapse?” Andrew asks. “Don't lie to me.”

“Where does that even coming from? Fuck-” Aarons scoffs as he misses a jumps and falls down a cliff.

“Do you?”

“No? Not more than usual,” he says distractedly, his whole attention on the game in front of him. 

You used today and you died, Andrew almost says. Stop fucking lying.

“If you feel like using again, just tell me,” is all that comes out of his mouth, his eyes landing on Aaron's focused face. “Promise.”

“Sure,” Aaron says, his eyes never leaving the TV screen.

“Promise,” he repeats loudly.

“I- I promise,” Aaron says, his eyes finally meeting Andrew's.

Andrew knows it won't be enough. Aaron had lied before and he would have no qualms in lying again, in breaking a promise. But he found it difficult to worry when Aaron was sitting right by his side, their shoulders brushing against each other, Aaron's warmth washing over him.

It's 7 pm when Andrew silently gets up from the couch and heads towards the kitchen with the intention of preparing them dinner.

“What the fuck Aaron.”

“What?” Aaron says from the living room, the sound of the game almost drowning his quiet voice.

“Why the fuck is you fridge completely empty?”

“Oh,” Aaron says, turning off the game.

Andrew waits for a second, then two, expecting to receive an actual reply from his brother but getting only silence in return.

“We can go grocery shopping tomorrow,” Andrew says, sitting back down on the couch, his hand grazing Aaron's shoulder. “Let's just order take out for today.”

Aaron nods as Andrew takes his phone out of his pocket to order take-out but notices a couple of unread messages from Neil.

To: 0 Neil:

I'm going to stay with Aaron for a while

From: 0 Neil:

is everything okay?

To: 0 Neil:

I'm here to figure it out

Dinner is quiet, just like the rest of the afternoon had been quiet. Aaron's gaze never leaves his food, his eyes unfocused, his mind full of thoughts that Andrew isn't able to read. 

If only he could jump inside of Aaron's head and search through his brain, Andrew thinks, maybe then he would find the answers he's looking for, maybe then he would find the right questions.

He used to think of Aaron as someone easy to read, his goals and ambitions prosaic. He always thought he knew what Aaron wanted, what he longed for. Every action Aaron took and every comment he made used to be something Andrew could decipher and understand. And yet, now that he's standing in front of him, he wonders if he ever really knew Aaron at all, if this whole time he had been reading Aaron's signals all wrong.

“Why don't you have any friends?” he asks, his eyes scanning Aaron's face for a reaction, for a sign.

Aaron's pauses for a second, his eyes focused on his food, “Of course I have friends,” he says, his eyes meeting Andrew's. “Why would you think that I don't have any friends?”

Aaron's face doesn't betray him, his eyes seem truthful and his voice doesn't shake. If Andrew hadn't known better, he would've believed him, he would've fallen for his lie. How many times, he wonders, has Aaron lied straight to his face? How many times has he tricked Andrew before?

I can tell when you're lying to me, he used to tell Aaron. Now he wonders if he ever really could.

“Don't lie to me,” Andrew says, his voice cold, his gaze unforgiving.

“I'm not-”

“Don't lie to me,” he says again, his gaze just a little softer.

“How would you even know,” Aaron muebles as he puts more food in his mouth with his brows furrowed and an uncharacteristic pout on his lips.

In the past, Andrew would've pushed. In the past, Aaron would've been colder. 

“What's going on with you,” the words leave Andrew's mouth without his permission.

“I just-” Aaron says before shaking his head, something that Andrew can't read flashing in his eyes. “I'm tired. I'm going to bed now.”

Andrew can't do anything but watch as Aaron retreats back to his room and closes the door behind himself with a soft click. He sighs as he drops his head on the couch and stares at the white ceiling feeling lost and confused. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do. 

He doesn't know how to save Aaron from himself.

♧♧

The first week passes quickly, Aaron spending most of his days at the hospital and his evenings locked in his room studying while Andrew is left alone with his own thoughts and fears, images of his dead brother spinning like a carousel inside of his brain. 

Every night he wakes up from nightmares, his body numb and damp with sweat, Aaron's cold body flashing behind his eyes. 

Every night, he sofly opens Aaron's bedroom door and stares at his brother as he sleeps, at the way his chest rises and falls, at his pink skin and slightly flushed cheeks.

He's alive, he tells himself, over and over again. And yet he can still remember when Aaron hadn't been alive.

♧♧

“We should do things together,” Andrew tells Aaron one morning while he's still lying on the couch after having spent a whole night googling “How to make sure your brother doesn't relapse again”. 

“What?”

“Make a list of things that you want to do and we'll do them.”

“Why?” Aaron asks, walking out of the kitchen.

“You don't want to?” Andrew replies, tilting his head.

“You always have a reason for things.”

“If you don't want to-”

“I do,” Aaron interrupts him, his eyes wide.

“Then make the list and give it to me when you get home this evening.”

“I just don’t- Fine,” Aaron says with a sigh as he heads for the door. He stops there for a second, his hand on the handle and his bag over his shoulder. 

“What,” Andrew says as he takes his phone from the coffee table.

Aaron just furrows his brows and shakes his head, “Bye,” is all that comes out of his mouth before leaving the apartment.

Androw looks at the closed door, his heart racing like it does every time Aaron leaves his sight. He can feel little ants crawling under his skin and he knows that's where they'll stay until he'll see Aaron, alive and breathing, again.

♤♤

That evening Aaron comes back later than usual. Fourteen minutes later, to be exact.

Andrew is pacing the length of the living room when he hears the jingle of Aaron's keys as he pushes them in the lock. A few seconds later, Aaron walks inside the house and throws his coat on the hanger as if nothing is wrong.

“You're late,” Andrew says between gritted teeth as he stalks towards Aaron.

“What?” Aaron asks in confusion and bends down to untie his shoes.

“If you come home late you have to text and let me know.”

“I'm not even that late, just a few minutes and-”

“Fourteen.”

“What?”

“Not a few minutes. Fourteen minutes.”

Aaron sighs as he stands back up, confusion written all over his face. 

Fourteen minutes of Andrew picturing Aaron's cold body in a back alley, on a white hospital bed, in a closet, in the middle of an empty street. 

Fourteen minutes of Andrew picturing Aaron's vacant eyes staring at the sky, his pale skin tinted blue with death, his chest unmoving, his heart still.

Fourteen minutes of Andrew recalling Aaron's cold fingers in his hand, his icy forehead under his lips.

Fourteen minutes of waiting for his phone to ring, for the Doctor’s voice to inform him that his brother had died.

“I'm sorry,” Aaron says but it comes out as a question.

“Whatever,” Andrew replies before leaving a confused Aaron at the door and locking himself in the bathroom.

“Tell me something,” he says on the phone, his arms tightly wrapped around his legs as he sits in the corner between the sink and the wall.

He doesn't listen as Neil talks about his day, about practice, about anything and everything that comes to his mind. He lets Neil's calm and soothing voice wash over him, until it seeps into his brain, into his bones. Until breathing doesn't hurt anymore and the ants have left his body.

“Why won't you tell me what's wrong?” Neil asks on the other line, his voice full of worry.

“Aaron,” he says, his brother's name burning his lips as it leaves his mouth.

“Is he sick?”

“I just need to make sure he doesn't do something stupid and accidentally kills himself in the process.”

“You think he's going to?”

“I know he is.”

“Alright,” Neil says with a sigh. “But you have to promise me something.”

Andrew humms.

“Don't hurt yourself while trying to help him.”

Andrew stays silent for a second. There is nothing that he wouldn't be willing to do if it means saving Aaron from his fate, “I can't promise that.”

“Andrew-”

“He's my brother, Neil.”

“Does he even want to be? He just left you and Nicky and never looked back. Why would you put your mental well being at risk after all of your hard work for someone who wouldn't do the same for you?”

“That's not how it works.”

“What?” Neil asks.

“This is not a deal or a transaction. I'm helping him because I don't want him to be dead, not because I want him to do the same for me, not because I want him to give me something back,” he takes a deep breath and shakes his head even if Neil can't see him. “I just don't want him to be dead.”

“Fine just- just be careful and call me when you need to.”

“I will.”

A knock on the door interrupts Neil in the middle of a sentence, “I made dinner,” Aaron's soft voice comes from the other side when Ansrew doesn't reply. 

“I have to go,” he says.

“Call me,” Neil replies before hanging up.

They eat dinner quietly on the couch, the sound of Aaron chewing something crunchy loud in the silent room.

"If you still want I have the list” Aaron says with downcast eyes.

“Then get it,” he replies after another long silence.

Andrew watches as Aaron rushes towards his bedroom, his bowl hastily placed on the coffee table.

Why are you so different, he wants to ask but doesn't.

“Here,” Aaron says a few seconds later as he hands him a wrinkled piece of lined paper, Aaron's elegant handwriting filling the page.

Andrew just nods at the paper and places it on the sofa by his side.

“You're not going to look at it?”

“I'm eating,” Andrew replies.

Aaron nods, his lower lip trapped between his teeth, a dot of blood staining his skin.

“Stop that and eat,” Andrew says, tapping Aaron's chin with his finger.

For a second it looks like Aaron is going to say something but before anything can come spilling out of his mouth, Aaron shakes his head and goes back to his dinner.

♧♧

“We're going for a picnic,” he tells Aaron on Wednesday, a week and a day after Aaron's death.

“What?” Aaron asks as he looks away from the open book on his lap.

“It's in your list, isn't it?” 

“I mean, yeah but-”

“You have an hour to get ready. Chop chop.”

The sun is high in the sky by the time they reach the park. It's still a little cold outside, the air a little chilly, the sun a little weak.

“This is so nice,” Aaron says as he fiddles with the hem of the table cloth that Andrew had placed on the ground. There is a smile that Aaron is trying to hide on lips and it makes the ants under Andrew's skin disappear for a second.

“I always saw families having picnics when I was in primary school,” he tells Andrew as he bites the tuna, mayo and lettuce sandwich they had bought at the café near that park. “It would be better if Nicky were here too.”

Andrew just hums in reply.

“What's your favourite sandwich?” Aaron asks, trying to fill the silence.

“Probably-”

“Wait,” Aaron interrupts him. “I'll try to guess.”

Andrew looks at him a little puzzled as Aaron furrows his brows, a look of deep concentration painted on his face.

“I've got it,” he says after a few seconds, a crumb of white bread falling from the corner of his mouth. “Pulled pork with BBQ sauce.”

Andrew just nods.

“Now you,” Aaron says as he takes another bite from his sandwich.

“Me what?”

“Guess my favourite,” Aaron says, sounding a little too excited, his smile too bright.

“It's not that hard to guess. It's the same as mine. It's what we always got from highschool to college.”

“Mine is meatballs,” Aaron says quietly as he takes another bite of his sandwich.

“Since when?” Andrew asks. It had been years since the two of them had last eaten a sandwich together. Andrew can't help but to wonder what more he missed in Aaron's life.

“Since I was seven and a guy from school gave me a piece of his because I didn't have anything to eat,” Aaron says calmly without looking at Andrew. “I hate BBQ sauce.”

“But we always for pulled pork and BBQ,” Andrew says. It was their favourite, they would always eat it together for dinner after school.

Aaron just shrugs, “It was your favourite,” he says.

“But you-” Andrew begins but is interrupted by a ball landing on his leg.

“I'm so sorry,” a kid shouts as he runs towards them with his brother behind him. “We are so sorry. It was an accident.”

“It's fine, no one got hurt,” Aaron says, picking up the red ball and giving it back to the kid. “Just be more careful next time.”

“Oh my god it's clones,” the smaller child says while hiding behind his brother. “Like in star wars.”

“It's twins you idiot,” the older brother reprimands him as they run away. 

♧♧

When Aaron gets back home on Thursday's evening at 9:45, he looks tired and upset. His shoulders are hunched, his movements slow, his eyes never once lift from the floor.

“What's wrong?” Andrew asks from where he's sitting on the couch.

“Just a bad day at work,” Aaron replies, his voice so low Andrew has to strain to hear him.

“Come,” he says, patting the couch.

“I just want to-”

“Come,” Andrew says again.

Aaron trudges towards the couch and Andrew can see a little tremor in his hands. He looks for signs of drug use but comes up empty.

“Speak,” he says as soon as Aaron is sitting on the couch by his side, his chin resting on his knees as he hugs his legs to his chest, his dirty shoes on the couch.

Aaron opens his mouth but no words leave his lips, just a shaky breath.

“It's okay,” he says as he watches the tremble in Aaron's lips. “Take a deep breath.”

Aaron shakes his head, his eyes wet, “I told his brother it was going to be fine but I-” a dry sob breaks Aaron’s sentence right in the middle. “It was just a little kid and it wasn't even- it really wasn't-”

“It's okay, Aaron,” he says even if he knows it's not.

“And his brother was just there alone and I told him- Andrew I told him that it would- that it would be fine,” there are tears running down his reddened cheeks.

“Can I touch you?” Andrew asks and waits for Aaron to nod his permission before taking Aaron's hand into his own. “You did what you could.”

Aaron closes his eyes for a second, “Can you-” he shakes his head.

“Can I what?”

“Nothing. It was silly.”

“Tell me,” Andrew says. “I'll decide if it's silly.”

A pause and then, “Can you sleep in my bed tonight?”

There is a longer pause, silence fills the room as Andrew thinks it over.

“I told you it was silly,” Aaron says, his eyes now open. “Forget about it.”

Andrew stays quiet for another second, “We can,” he says.

He waits for Aaron's breathing to go back to normal, for the tears to stop flowing down his cheeks, for the tremor in his hands to subside, and then he helps his brother back on his feet and towards his room. Aaron's legs are still shaky, his hold on Andrew's hand tight.

“I'll go wash up,” Aaron says, taking his pyjamas from where he had thrown it that morning and heading for the bathroom.

Andrew sits on the side of Aaron's bed as he waits, scanning the room. He finds it to be more tidy than it had been when Aaron had died, but still disorganised and messy.

“Why is it so messy?” he asks when Aaron walks back into the room. “You always used to keep everything tidy and in perfect order.”

“I just-” Aaron shakes his head and lets the sentence die. Andrew looks at him.

“Come on then,” he pulls down the covers and lies under them. He had missed sleeping in a real bed.

“You don't have to,” Aaron says standing in front of the bed.

“I know,” Ansrew replies. “It's my choice. Just don't touch me.”

“I won't,” his brother reassures him before climbing on the bed.

They lie in silence for a while, Andrew on his back, Aaron on his side, his eyes trained on Andrew.

“You're staring at me,” he says as he looks at Aaron from the corner of his eye.

“When I was a kid,” Aaron whispers as if he were sharing a secret. “I always wanted a brother to share everything with.”

Andrew hums in reply.

“I wanted to build a fort with covers and cushions that only me and my brother could enter. Our secret place where we would always be safe and never lonely.”

Andrew turns on his side and looks at his brother in the quiet dark.

“Goodnight Aaron,” he says, placing his hand on top of Aaron's.

“Goodnight Andrew.”

♧♧

“We are going to the market,” he tells Aaron Friday morning as soon as Aaron leaves his room

“I need to be at the hospital at 1 pm,” Aaron replies.

Andrew nods, “We're leaving in an hour.”

Andrew had never been to a farmers market before nor had he ever wanted to go to a farmers market.

“This is so fun,” Aaron is saying as Andrew tries to dodge the crowd of people that is flowing around him. “Look.”

Andrew isn't sure what Aaron is pointing at, nor does he care that much. The crowd is overwhelming, people constantly bumping into him and touching his body.

They walk around for a while, Aaron pointing to flowers and plants, fruits and vegetables as if he were in a museum instead of a street market.

“Did you know that to make just one pound of honey it takes 2 million flowers?” Aaron asks as they walk past a stand of honey. “Do you like honey?”

“What?” Andrew asks, distracted by a woman who bumped into him.

“You like sweets, so I was wondering if you like honey.”

“I don't know. Never tried.”

“Oh then I should totally buy you some. Come on,” Aaron says walking towards the honey vendor.

“Do you like honey?” Andrew asks as they wait for their turn.

“It's not really something you can eat spoonfuls of or you'll get sick, but I like it.”

They sit on a bench away from the crowd as soon as they buy the honey.

“Here, taste,” Aaron says, scooping some honey on the wooden spoon the vendor had given them.

Honey is sticky and sweet and it makes Andrew's throat burn a little because of the overwhelming sweetness.

“You don't like it?” Aaron asks with a little frown on his face.

Andrew shakes his head.

“Sorry,” Aaron mutters while closing the honey lid.

“What are you apologising for?”

“I thought you would have liked it,” Aaron shrugs.

Andrew just stares at him confused, his face blank.

“It's whatever,” Aaron says as he gets back up on his feet. “We should go home.”

Andrew watches as Aaron throws the jar of honey in the first street bin they find while they head towards Andrew's car.

♧♧

“Neil's playing today,” Aaron says on Sunday as Andrew is cooking dinner.

“Yeah,” Andrew replies because he noticed Aaron hates not receiving a reply.

“Do you want to watch the game?” he asks but then immediately turns on the TV without waiting for Andrew's reply.

When he goes into the living room with their dinner (Aaron's favourite italian pasta), the game has already started and Aaron is comfortably sitting on the couch with his legs crossed, a fluffy blue blanket around his shoulders.

“Thank you,” Aaron says with a smile, taking one of the plates from Andrew's outstretched hand and placing it on his legs. “It just started so you didn't miss much.”

It surprises Andrew how much Aaron talks during the game, how much he notices about the players and their plays, how much he knows about Andrew's team.

“Yeah, he's been doing that the whole season. He really needs to work on that.”

“You've been keeping up with the championship?” Andrew asks.

“Not really, I just watch the games where you, Kevin or Matt play.”

Andrew purses his lips as a mix of emotions explode in his chest. He wants to dig deeper, to ask why. Aaron never showed up for the foxes reunions at Wymack’s place, he cut all contact with everyone, he never once showed any interest in anyone, any will to be their friend. 

Andrew wonders when had Aaron stopped making sense. He wonders if Aaron had ever made sense in the first place at all or if Andrew had made up a version of his brother in his head that had never once been real.

They spend the rest of the evening watching the game, a little smile on Aaron's lips as his hands flail around when he tries to explain sometimes to Andrew.

Could it have always been this easy? He wonders. Did Aaron have to die twice for them to finally spend time together like normal people?

Maybe, Andrew thinks, maybe everything can be fixed.

♧♧

“We are going to the zoo,” he tells Aaron on Monday morning while Aaron is still lying in his bed.

“What?” he asks, his voice low and full of sleep.

“Get ready, we're leaving in an hour.”

Andrew hates the zoo. It's boring and uninteresting. He doesn't care about where any of the animals came from nor from what they had been saved. It's cold and cloudy and the tips of his fingers are frozen. But the zoo was on Aaron's list and it seems to be working perfectly as a distraction: Aaron keeps speed-walking from one enclosure to the next, reading out facts that he seems to find interesting and cool. 

“And this one was saved after hunters shot him down and he lost his ability to fly,” Aaron says after three long and excruciating hours of walking around the zoo surrounded by screaming children and annoying adults. “Isn't that so heartwarming?”

“Heartwarming?” he asks, focusing on the sad little bird sitting in the middle of a huge green field.

“Someone found him when he was just about to die and decided that he was worthy of being saved. They took care of him and gave him a new home.”

“He's a bird who can't fly. Alone in a huge field. It would've been more merciful to just let him die. What kind of life is this?” 

He can feel Aaron's gaze on him as he looks at the bird but when he turns towards him, Aaron's eyes are back on the bird. He doesn't look excited anymore, his gaze soft and sad, something that Andrew can't decipher in his expression.

“It's almost lunch time,” Aaron says, looking away from the bird. “We should go home.”

♧♧

“Next time you are the one who has to visit,” Andrew says on Tuesday morning as he packs his bag. “We should also invite Nicky,” he adds.

“Sure,” Aaron says but there is something strange behind his eyes.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, just- I'm just very very tired,” Aaron says, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“You are not feeling like you're going to relapse, right?” Andrew asks, staring right into Aaron's eyes.

“What? No. No I don't,” Aaron replies, his eyebrows knitted together. 

“Promise.”

“I promise,” Aaron says lightly.

“This is very serious Aaron. Promise me you won't touch any type of drug for any reason.”

“Andrew. I promise I won't touch any type of drug. Unless I'm administering it to a patient. Good?”

“Good.”

“Can I- Nothing,” Aaron says with a shake of his head.

“Tell me.”

“It's silly. Forget about it.”

“I'll decide if it's silly,” Andrew says.

“Can I hug you goodbye?”

Andrew is silent for a second. He can't remember ever hugging Aaron in his life. Not once.

“Yes,” he says.

Aaron moves slowly towards him, as if walking towards an easily spooked animal, afraid that I'll run away. When he's finally standing in front of Andrew, he carefully lifts his arms and places them around Andrew's neck, his cheek resting on his brother's shoulder. Andrew can feel Aaron’s warm breaths on his neck, his brother's heartbeat pounding on his body where their chests are touching. 

Aaron is alive. His brother is still alive.

He tightens his hold around Aaron's waist. He had never hugged his brother before, he thinks again. In two other lives Aaron had died without ever getting to hug his brother. 

Andrew could've gone his whole life without ever getting to share something as trivial and mundane as a hug between brothers.

♧♧

It's Tuesday, the twenty-second of May at six in the afternoon when Andrew's phone rings, the soft voice of a doctor on the other side, the words coming out of her mouth venomous and wrong, lies that Andrew can't comprehend, can't accept.

“That's impossible,” he says getting up from his couch. “Aaron promised he wouldn't touch any drugs. He promised me.”

Aaron promised. He had promised.

“Drugs?” the Doctor asks. “I'm really sorry for the misunderstanding Mr. Minyard but Doctor Minyard's cause of death isn't drug related.”

“What? He didn't overdose?”

“No, Sir. Your brother he- he I'm so sorry. He jumped off a bridge. I'm so sorry.”

Aaron had always claimed that he didn't feel like he was going to relapse. Why hadn't Andrew believed him.

He had been asking the wrong question the whole time. He had tried to solve the wrong problem.

Can I hug you goodbye? Aaron had asked a few hours ago.

Yes, Andrew had replied.

[hgejfmw-hgejhsf]

Six Sentence Sunday!

I am SO far behind on the WIP games I've been tagged in this week, and I promise I'll be back on my usual bullshit in the week to come! It's been...a pretty big week for me personally, haha, in a couple of really great ways, concluding with a visit to see my parents, hence me being a bit quieter than usual. But I promise to be back at it next week!

For now, though, I DO have exactly six sentences for you, from a fic that I told y'all several weeks back was almost finished and would be up soon, and look at me, sitting on my throne of lies haha. At any rate, I am looking forward to finishing this one and getting it out into the world (along with chapter 4 of At the end of a bar I'm so sorry please don't hurt me it's coming soon).

Henry smiles at the thought. Alex, with his furrowed brow smoothed by the kiss of an early summer breeze on his skin. Alex, laughing loud and open at some no-doubt embarrassing anecdote Percy has shared from Henry’s uni days that has both of them giggling and stealing glances at him. Alex, free from waking at his desk, frantically scrubbing ink stains from flushed cheeks, splashing cold water on his face, and slipping hot coffee from Henry’s outstretched hands as he stumbles out the door before the sun has risen, only to return long after the moon has taken its place among the stars. Alex, gleefully dumping the contents of his rucksack into a barrel in the backyard and setting it aflame as Henry gently removes the lighter from his hand once he’s satisfied that the papers and documents aren’t going to survive the ceremonial burn. Alex, returned from the rigors of law school, the eternal light inside him dimmed but not doused, refreshed and refueled on this particular night by the company of those he loves most and who most love him.

No tags yet (and guess what this post isn't scheduled, I'm actually awake at the time of posting for once), so behind the cut will be my list of lovelies (along with an open tag for anyone else who comes across this and wants me to read what they're working on!)

@adreamareads @affectionatelyrs @agame-writes @anincompletelist @bigassbowlingballhead @cactusdragon517 @captainjunglegym @cha-melodius @cricketnationrise @duchessdepolignaca03 @eusuntgratie @firenati0n @gayrootvegetable @getmehighonmagic @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heysweetheart-writes  @indestructibleheart @inexplicablymine @itsmaybitheway @junebugclaremontdiaz @kiwiana-writes @leaves-of-laurelin @leojfitz @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @magicandarchery @ninzied @nocoastposts @nontoxic-writes @notspecialbabe @onthewaytosomewhere @priincebutt @rockyroadkylers @ships-to-sail @songliili @sophie1973 @sparklepocalypse @stereopticons @suseagull04 @taste-thewaste @theprinceandagcd @thinkof-england @typicalopposite @vanillahigh00 @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @whimsymanaged @wordsofhoneydew @zwiazdziarka

[nerdlingmerchling]

Wip Wednesday

I've been tagged by the lovely @hotpinkmurex last week. Better late than never, so here's a bit from the wesper-kid-fic I'm working on.

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

“Wow!” Jesper exclaimed, ruffling the little boy's hair. “You've already finished eating everything on your plate!” 

Perched on his highchair by Jesper's side, the toddler nodded with pride as he chewed on his last cube of honeydew melon. 

“Do you want more fruits?” Wylan offered. 

“Yes.” 

“Which kind?” 

“The -awbeyies.” 

Marya was the one sitting closest to the bowl of freshly cut strawberries. She reached for it and used her spoon to drop four pieces on her grandson's plate. “There you go, little gem.” 

“What do we say to Nanna?” Wylan reminded him.

“Thank you, Nanna.”  

Before Wylan could congratulate his child on a politeness lesson well learned, the sound of the doorbell echoed through the entrance hall, all the way to the sunroom. 

Jesper sprung up on his feet, and he stopped the butler before the stern-faced man could even take a step toward the mansion’s main door. “It’s fine, Luther. I’ll get it.” Jesper was always restless during meals and would take the first opportunity to go stretch his legs.  Wylan had stopped trying to combat that habit several years ago. He just assumed table manners didn't apply to his husband. 

“Dada!?”  the toddler exclaimed, a tinge of distress in his voice, contorting in his chair with a whine, as he tried to see where his father had gone. 

“Dada's gone to answer the door, treasure. He'll be back soon,” Wylan reassured his son and then pointed at the pieces of fruit in front of him. “Why don't you eat your strawberries in the meantime, huh?” 

The little boy looked down at the food, wary now, as if his father’s sudden absence had turned the berries into something vaguely ominous. 

___________

I'm tagging @sleepyzenpanda, @i-can-read-to-him, @linane-art, @jazzythursday, @sissytobitch10seconds, @stormkpr (no obligation of any kind)

Also tagging @shit-people-probably-didnt-say. I dunno if you write fics, but you're the main reason why I decided to write a wesper kid-fic in the first place ;)

[patchworkgargoyle]

boot shine 💦

I've been sitting on this tiny transmasc sub Eddie wip for far too long and will never really finish it past this point, so here you all go, I hope you enjoy <3

Edit: THERE'S ART INSPIRED BY THIS NOW?? AAAA!! It's by @ent-is-indecisive, it's fantastic and I'm so honoured. Rated: E || WC: 917 || CW: boot kink, bondage, sir as honourific, dom!steve, sub!eddie mdni banner by cafekitsune

"You're so gorgeous down there on your knees for me, baby," Steve breathed, an admiring smirk parting his lips in a way that made Eddie shiver.

The jingle of steel on steel was loud in his ears as Steve gently pulled on the leash hooked into a sturdy D-ring, shifting the wide leather collar secured around Eddie's long throat. The soft rasp of the leather on his skin, the tug of it, had his eyes fluttering shut.

"Ah-ah." Steve jerked the leash. "Eyes on me, Eddie."

He obeyed instantly, gazing up at Steve even though his vision was going hazy with desire and that floaty feeling he sank into when they had a scene like this, that thrum of heat and trust and need building through his whole body. The need to obey, to please, to be–

"You wanna be good for me?" Steve asked, his thick fingers weaving their way into Eddie's curls, and he whimpered in response, nodding and pressing up into the soft touch.

"Yes. Yes, please Stevie, wanna be good for you, please lemmie be good," he begged, so fervently he nearly lost balance on his knees. With his hands bound behind his back by cuffs that matched his collar, Eddie had to brace himself with his head on Steve's bare, hairy thigh, unable to reign in the desire to press messy, open mouthed kisses to his mole-graced skin, keeping his eyes locked on Steve's.

Steve let out a deep, pleased hum and spread his legs open further, giving Eddie a peek at the birthmark at the inner apex of Steve’s right thigh. Eddie’s eyes followed the long planes of Steve's naked, flushed chest, wishing he could worship every mole and freckle with his lips like kissing the stars in the sky. He stopped at the pink and glistening head of Steve’s cock standing proud amongst his pubic hair. Eddie’s cunt throbbed at the sight. Taking his hand from Eddie's hair, Steve began lazily stroking himself, spreading precome down his shaft.

Then, Steve shifted the leg Eddie was leaning on, forcing it between his knees instead. The coolness of the smooth black leather boot against the heat of his crotch made Eddie flinch.

"Then be good for me."

Steve yanked on the collar. 

Unbalanced, Eddie fell into Steve’s shin, but quickly shuffled forward so his bare cunt rested on Steve’s boot. The rough texture of the laces against his dick made him pant where he was curled over Steve’s bent knee and his legs trembled with the effort of keeping himself from humping it. Not without permission.

“Please, Steve? I wanna–” Eddie cut himself off with a shocked groan when Steve wiggled his foot, the toe now wedged between his slick folds.

“Sorry,” Steve said, sounding only partially genuine and mostly smug. “Ask me again, Eddie, you sounded so good.”

“P-please may I use your boot, Steve?” he asked breathlessly, pleading with his eyes, watching as Steve tilted his head in consideration. Eddie’s stomach tensed with the effort it took to keep his hips from twitching even slightly. “Please, sir,” he whispered.

“Alright, since you asked so pretty. Go ahead.”

Eddie whined, loud and needy and relieved, finally giving in to the animalistic desire to grind into the boot, splaying his knees wider to get lower, to feel more.

The drag of his dick along the laces was too much and fucking delicious, already wound up from Steve teasing him all day. Little words or touches or just a goddamn look all designed to turn Eddie on, because they’d planned this scene a week ago and today was the day and it was all either man could think about.

Soft leather glided through his wet cunt easily, blunt and wide, growing slicker and teasing his hole at each pass and Eddie thought drunkenly that if Steve’s cock were this wide he’d still take it all, to the hilt, fuck bodily limitations. He’d take anything Steve wanted, deigned to give him.

“So fucking hot, Eddie, fucking yourself with my boot,” Steve groaned. Through the pleasant, floaty haze settling into Eddie’s mind he heard each stroke of Steve’s hand on his cock getting wetter. “How does it feel, baby? Tell me.”

“Perfect,” Eddie gasped.

“Yeah? You needed this, didn’t you?”

“Fuck, yes, needed it so bad, sir. I, I love—fuck!”

Steve angled his foot up, the sudden press of the boot’s toe a ruthless pressure on Eddie’s dick on next grind down and Eddie’s jaw snapped shut in a hiss at the pain that sent sparks flying to feed the fire of his pleasure. Back arching, he let out a stuttering moan, his shoulders aching at the stretch brought on by the cuffs. Eddie panted, hips rocking faster, digging his toes into the carpet to gain more traction and more delicious pressure. But Steve tugged on the leash again.

“Focus, Eddie. What do you love?”

Eddie grit his teeth and forced himself to look at Steve, a monumental feat when all he wanted was to shut his eyes and feel, revel in harsh, hedonistic, filthy delight.

“Love being on my knees for you, s-sir. God, I’m–I’m meant for it. Wanna make a mess, come all–uh–all over the leather.”

He was so glad he’d looked at Steve, because he saw his jaw go slack around a shaky exhale, watched his fist stop pumping to grip his cock around the base, firm like just Eddie’s words were enough to make Steve come.

Swallowing, Steve said, “Then come.”