#My sugar hasn’t crashed in over a week

[eddis-not-eeddis]

Okay, but guys, I have been eating rice for every meal as well as a lot of vegetable side dishes (fried or fermented or pickled mostly) for a little over two weeks now, and not only am I down to two or three meals a day, I’m also starting to experience hunger again! I’m so excited!

[wendichester]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. sweet, oblivious, you²,

summary. dean likes you. sam likes you, too. lucky you, oblivious to it all.

pairing. dean winchester x reader x sam winchester  genre. smut ( mdni )

wordcount. 2263

notes / warnings. as requested by many families, here's the unholy part 2. i need to go confess myself now to the pope (my local priest isn't equipped enough) ✌🏻// explicit language, explicit sexual content ( sex on the kitchen table!!! ), just weird and kinda hot??

ᯓ★ read part 1

It starts to change after that night.

Not in any big way, not all at once. It’s not like Dean drops to one knee or Sam starts reading you poetry by firelight (though honestly, neither would be completely off-brand at this point). No, it shifts in the quiet ways. The subtle ones. The ways that feel like they’re nothing — until suddenly, they’re everything.

Like how Dean now insists on sitting next to you at every meal. Not across, not diagonally. Right next to you. Close enough that your elbows brush when you cut into your food. Close enough that his arm accidentally finds the back of your chair more often than not, his fingers ghosting over your shoulder, like he just needs to rest his arm somewhere. Totally innocent.

Sure, Dean.

Sam counters with morning coffee.

You don’t even remember telling him how you like it, but one day it’s just there — your exact brew, perfect amount of sugar, that one creamer you love but keep forgetting to buy.

“You didn’t have to—” you start, blinking sleepily.

He shrugs, easy and casual, but there’s that gleam in his eye. “Didn’t mind.”

Dean starts walking into the kitchen shirtless.

Because of course he does.

“Too hot to wear a shirt, sweetheart,” he says one morning, voice husky with sleep, like it’s a suffering he’s graciously enduring for your benefit.

Your brain hiccups for a second. Sam drops his knife against the counter with a little too much force.

It’s war.

You just sip your coffee and try not to combust.

Training sessions become the next battleground.

Dean offers to “spot” you during strength drills. And by spot, he means stand behind you, one hand on your lower back, one guiding your wrist, voice low in your ear, breath brushing your neck like he’s trying to reprogram your nervous system.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, just a little too close. “Keep that form tight, yeah? Just like that.”

Meanwhile, Sam’s out here playing the long game — patience and precision. He takes you through defensive maneuvers, calm and steady. But his hand lingers when he helps you up off the mat. His body presses just a second too long when you crash into his chest. And his praise?

Way more dangerous than Dean’s.

“You’re a fast learner,” he says one afternoon, gaze locked on yours, his thumb brushing your cheekbone after a sweaty match. “I like that.”

You freeze. Swallow hard. Laugh it off.

They both see it.

They both want more.

One night, Dean finds you in the library, legs curled under you, hoodie slouching off one shoulder. You’re so into whatever lore you’re reading that you don’t hear him until he drops onto the couch beside you, legs spread wide, knee bumping yours.

“Whatcha readin’?” he asks, all easy charm.

You hold up the book without looking. “Something about Norse possession rituals. Kinda creepy. Kinda cool.”

Dean watches you over the rim of his beer. “You’re kinda cool.”

You blink at him. “What?”

He grins. “Nothin’. Just sayin’. It’s… cool. That you’re into that stuff.”

You stare at him, a little amused. A little suspicious. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy.” He throws his arm across the back of the couch — again, purely accidental — and lets his fingers brush your shoulder. “You cold? You can borrow my hoodie if you want.”

You’re wearing a hoodie. His hoodie.

He knows. He gave it to you last week and hasn’t stopped thinking about it since.

You’re about to make a joke when Sam walks in, sees you two curled up, and stalls.

Something flashes behind his eyes. Something dark and determined.

He says nothing. Just walks over, grabs a book from the shelf — and drops it in your lap.

“You should read this one next,” he says smoothly, ignoring Dean completely. “It ties into that ritual text. Same demon class. More dangerous, though.”

Your fingers brush when he hands it to you. His touch is warm and deliberate. You feel it all the way down.

Dean clocks it.

His jaw ticks.

Game on.

Later that night, you’re walking down the hall toward your room, yawning. Dean’s voice calls out behind you.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You turn — and he’s there, way too close, one hand braced on the wall beside your head.

His smirk is soft, but it’s hiding something sharp underneath. Something hungry.

“You got plans tomorrow?” he asks, voice honey-slick and low. “Thinkin’ about takin’ you for a drive. Just us. Sunset. You know. Mood lighting.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Oh. Um. Yeah? That sounds nice.”

He leans in — just slightly — enough that your breath catches.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

Before you can answer, a door opens behind you.

“Hey,” Sam says, voice calm but cool. He steps into the hall, barefoot, shirt rumpled, like he’s been pacing. “Didn’t know you were still up. I was about to make tea. You want some?”

Dean doesn’t move. Sam doesn’t blink.

You’re caught between them, flushed and wide-eyed, every cell in your body screaming that something’s happening, even if you don’t know what exactly it is.

You laugh — nervous, flustered — and nod. “Sure! Tea sounds great.”

Sam’s eyes flicker to Dean. “Coming?”

Dean peels himself off the wall with a lazy roll of his shoulders. “Nah,” he says, but the look in his eyes promises blood. “I’ve got other things on my mind.”

And then he walks off, all swagger and smirk, leaving you and Sam standing in the hall like the first scene of a very slow, very dangerous fire.

Sam turns to you, gentle again. “Chamomile okay?”

You nod, suddenly short of breath.

He smiles, soft and devastating. “Good.”

⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

It starts with a look.

One look, too long. Too loaded. Too everything.

You’re in the kitchen again. Nothing special — tank top, sleep shorts, mug in hand. It’s late. You can’t sleep. The bunker hums with quiet and warmth. You’re barefoot on cold tile, staring into the fridge like it holds answers to questions you haven’t asked yet.

And then Dean’s there.

Leaning against the counter like he was born to brood, beer bottle dangling from two fingers, jaw shadowed with stubble and sleep. His eyes drag over you, slow and simmering, and for once?

He doesn’t look away.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, voice low and sandpapery.

You shake your head. “Nope. Thought warm milk might help.”

He smirks. “Old school. Cute.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks, grandpa.”

But your heart ticks faster.

He doesn’t laugh. Just watches you, like he’s trying to memorize something.

You go to the stove. Pour milk into a saucepan. And then?

You feel him behind you.

Not close — not inappropriate — but present. Solid heat. Quiet intensity. You stir the milk and try not to notice the way your breath shortens. The way you’re aware of him in a way you weren’t before.

Dean doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

He’s just there. Waiting.

And then Sam enters — quieter than usual, in joggers and a soft black tee, hair mussed, eyes unreadable.

You expect things to ease.

They don’t.

He sees you.

Sees Dean.

And something shifts in him too.

He walks over to you — not Dean. To you. And places a hand lightly on the small of your back, fingers splayed.

“Everything okay?” he murmurs, voice soft but loaded with that same heat Dean’s carrying. A different flavor — gentler, deeper — but no less intense.

Your mouth goes dry.

Dean watches Sam’s hand. His jaw flexes once.

And suddenly… something clicks.

You freeze, spoon mid-stir.

They aren’t just being friendly.

They haven’t been for weeks.

The lingering touches. The quiet glances. The midnight coffees and training sessions that feel like something out of a dream you’re not sure you should be having. The way Dean’s hand finds your waist when you pass too close. The way Sam’s voice drops when he calls you by name, like he’s saying something sacred.

Holy shit.

You’ve been so dumb.

You look up — Sam on one side, Dean on the other — and finally, finally see it.

They want you.

Both of them.

The room tilts.

The milk starts to boil.

Dean moves first — reaches over you, kills the burner with one flick of the wrist. His body brushes yours, solid and hot, and you gasp just slightly when you feel his chest at your back.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he murmurs, mouth just behind your ear.

You nod. Lie. “Fine.”

Sam’s hand still hasn’t moved.

Dean’s breath ghosts down your neck. “You sure?”

You should say yes.

You should say you’re going back to bed, thanks for the weird vibe, have a good night—

But instead?

You turn.

Right between them.

Your eyes flick from one brother to the other, and for the first time, you don’t play dumb. You don’t look away.

You look back.

Sam swallows hard. Dean licks his lips. You feel the air crackle.

“Tell me,” you say, voice shaking slightly. “Tell me what this is.”

Dean tilts his head, watching you like a lion would a lamb that just bared her throat. “What do you want it to be?”

Sam’s voice cuts in, soft but certain. “We want you.”

Dean nods. “We’ve wanted you.”

The words slam into your stomach like heat lightning.

You blink.

“Both of you?”

Sam steps closer. “Yeah.”

Dean moves in, too. “We know it’s… different. But we’re not gonna lie to you. Not tonight.”

Your pulse hammers. “You’re serious.”

Dean’s fingers lift to your jaw. “Sweetheart. Do I look like I’m fuckin’ around?”

You open your mouth — to argue, to ask more, to do something — but then Sam kisses you.

Just like that.

Big hand curling around the back of your neck, mouth warm and sure, and it’s like your brain short-circuits. You melt against him instinctively, fingers curling in his shirt, lips parting under his with a helpless, startled noise.

And then Dean’s mouth is on your throat.

Not kissing. Tasting.

His tongue flicks along the line of your neck, rough stubble scraping gently, and your knees almost give out.

Sam pulls back just enough to breathe. “You okay?”

You nod. Whisper, “Please.”

That’s all it takes.

Dean lifts you like you weigh nothing. Hands under your thighs, mouth crashing into yours now — hot and filthy, tongue sweeping past your lips like he’s trying to ruin you from the inside out.

Sam follows, fast and quiet, hand sliding under your shirt, warm palm skimming your waist.

“Bed,” you gasp between kisses.

Dean growls against your mouth. “Didn’t plan on making it that far, sweetheart.”

They lay you out on the kitchen table.

Dean strips your shorts off in one smooth tug, kneeling to drag his mouth up your thigh, slow and reverent. Sam kneels opposite him, pressing soft, lingering kisses up the other.

You stare at the ceiling, panting, heart trying to escape your ribs.

This is real.

This is happening.

Dean hooks his arms under your knees, spreads you wide. “You still with us?”

You nod frantically. “Yes. God, yes—”

Sam’s mouth replaces your answer.

Warm. Wet. Perfect.

He eats you like it’s worship.

Dean groans at the sight, lips brushing your inner thigh. “Fuck, Sammy. That’s not fair.”

Sam pulls back just enough to smirk. “She tastes like heaven.”

Dean doesn’t wait — he takes the other side, tongue flicking over your clit as Sam pushes two fingers inside you, curling just right, deep and slow.

You scream.

They hold you down gently, murmuring filth like a prayer.

“Look at you,” Dean groans. “So fuckin’ pretty when you fall apart.”

“She’s shaking,” Sam says, awed.

They devour you.

And when you come — because of course you do — it’s not quiet. It’s not graceful. It’s violent. Ripping through you like fire, hips arching, fists gripping Dean’s hair while Sam strokes you through it with something dangerously close to reverence.

When you finally breathe again, Dean’s standing, mouth wet, unbuttoning his jeans.

“You want more, sweetheart?” he pants, eyes blown wide.

You nod, half-drunk on bliss.

Sam kisses your shoulder. “You sure?”

You pull him down by the shirt and kiss him hard. “Yes.”

Clothes vanish — you’re not sure how. You’re all hands and mouths and noise. Dean presses inside you slowly, groaning so deep it shakes the table. He fills you like he was made for it, rocking into you with slow, brutal thrusts that make you keen.

Sam kisses your lips, your throat, your chest, whispering praise against your skin.

When Dean pulls out to let Sam take his place, your whole body trembles. Sam’s slower — deeper. He kisses your temple when he bottoms out, hands holding your thighs like you might disappear.

They trade you.

Again.

And again.

And when they both finish — one groaning against your neck, the other gasping into your mouth — you lie there, boneless and wrecked, caught in the heat and scent and feel of them.

You’re not sure who moves first.

Dean brushes your hair back. Sam kisses your knuckles. You curl between them, blinking up at the ceiling, heartbeat finally slowing.

Dean grins. “Still think we’re just bein’ friendly?”

You snort, dazed. “You two are the least friendly people I’ve ever met.”

Sam chuckles, breath warm against your shoulder. “Guess we’ll have to prove otherwise.”

Dean presses a kiss to your temple.

And for once, you don’t feel like the prize.

You feel like the winner.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[mummyemmatojames]

33. A New Milestone: Producing Milk for James

Hello, wonderful community! Emma here, your Mummy-in-training, with an exciting update on our MDLB and FLR journey. As many of you know, I’ve been “feeding” James—nursing him—about three times a day for a while now: at bedtime to help him sleep, when he fusses, or when he needs comfort. Thanks to your amazing advice (you know who you are!), I’ve taken a big step—I now produce milk! It’s been a wild adjustment for both of us, but I’m loving how it’s deepening our dynamic and even benefiting his health. I’d love to hear from others who’ve gone down this path!

How We Got Here

Nursing has been a cornerstone of our dynamic for months—starting as a dry comfort thing and growing into a daily ritual. James latches on every night to fall asleep, and I’ve been offering it during the day when he’s upset or just needs a quiet moment with Mummy. It’s become such a natural part of us that I started wondering if I could take it further. After reading your suggestions about inducing lactation—taking supplements like fenugreek and blessed thistle, using a pump between sessions—I decided to give it a try. I didn’t tell James at first, just quietly worked on it for a few weeks, pumping a few times a day and tweaking my diet.

About a week ago, it happened—I started producing milk, albeit just a little. The first time was during our bedtime routine. I felt a little let-down as he latched on, and suddenly, he pulled back with this horrified look on his face. “What’s that?” he sputtered, wiping his mouth. I couldn’t help but laugh—I explained that it was Mummy’s milk, that I’d been working on it for him. He said it tasted sweet, almost too sweet, and seemed thrown off by the whole thing. I reassured him it was normal and good for him, and after a minute, he settled back in, though he was still a bit wide-eyed about it.

Adjusting to the Change

The first couple of days were an adjustment—James wasn’t sure about the taste or the idea of it, and I could tell it made him feel a bit weird. He’d hesitate before latching, like he was bracing himself, and once muttered, “It’s so different, Mummy.” But I stayed calm and encouraging—“It’s just Mummy taking care of you, sweetheart, like always”—and now, a week in, he seems to be used to it. He doesn’t pull away anymore, and last night, he nursed to sleep without a peep, his breathing slowing as the milk flowed. It’s starting to feel like second nature again, just with this new, amazing layer.

For me, it’s been incredible. I love that I’m not only comforting him but actually nourishing him now. The let-down sensation is a little strange—I feel it most at bedtime or when he’s been fussing for a while—but it’s also so satisfying. Knowing my body is producing something just for him makes me feel even more connected to my role as Mummy. I’ve kept up the supplements and pump a little in the mornings and night to keep things steady, and I’m amazed at how well it’s working.

The Benefits for James

What’s been even more surprising is how it’s affecting James’s health. Paired with the control I’ve had over his snacking—steering him toward fruit and veggies instead of biscuits since the toddler grounding rule stuck— Mummy’s milk seems to be doing wonders. His skin, which used to break out now and then, has cleared up beautifully; it’s smooth and bright in a way I haven’t seen before. He’s in great shape too—energetic but steady, no more sugar crashes from junk food. I’ve read that breast milk can boost immunity and overall wellness, even for adults, and I’m starting to see it firsthand. It’s like the perfect combo: my milk plus our healthier habits are making him thrive.

He hasn’t commented on the changes himself—he’s not one to notice his own skin or energy levels—but I can tell he feels good. Yesterday, he was buzzing around with his train set after lunch, full of life, and I thought, “This is working.” It’s not just emotional comfort anymore—it’s physical care too, and that feels so rewarding.

A Deeper Dynamic

This milestone has deepened our dynamic in ways I didn’t expect. Nursing him to sleep every night with milk now feels like such a complete act of care—he drifts off with this full, satisfied look, and I get to hold him close, knowing I’m giving him something special. The daytime feeds, when he’s fussy or needs a reset, are even more powerful now—five minutes on my chest, and he’s calm, nourished, and back to his sweet self. It’s still about comfort, but there’s this added layer of Mummy literally sustaining him, and I love it.

James seems to have settled into it too. After that initial shock, he’s stopped mentioning the taste, and last night, he even reached for me without me offering first—a quiet sign he’s accepting it as part of us. I think he’s learning to trust that Mummy knows best, even when it’s new and strange at first.

What Do You Think?

I’d love to hear from the community—especially those who’ve induced lactation for your dynamic! How did your partner adjust to the milk, and did you see health benefits like we’re starting to? For those who suggested the supplements and pumping, any tips on keeping it going long-term—I want to make this a lasting part of us. And if you’ve got ideas for balancing this with his little space (like pairing it with his train set playtime), I’m all ears—I’m so excited to keep exploring this.

Thank you for your advice that got us here—I wouldn’t have thought to try this without you. I love my little boy so much, and knowing I’m nourishing him now makes my Mummy heart burst.

With all my love, Emma (aka Mummy) 💕

[allwaswell16]

All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in April 2025. For more new fics, check out this month's fic roundup at @1dmonthlyficroundup ! You can find my other fic recs here.

- Louis / Harry -

🌸 Pretty Please (With Sugar On Top) by @angelichl

(E, 113k, omegaverse) Harry is a sugar baby omega who cons rich alphas for a living. Louis is a rich alpha with too much self-control.

🌸 The Money Mark by @brightgolden

(E, 52k, omegaverse) Where Louis is Harry’s first sugar daddy who dumped him over text and their paths cross, seven years later.

🌸 HL 80s NYC verse (series) by superglass / @gaymoustache

(M, 51k, HIV) In the midst of the AIDS crisis, Harry meets Louis after coming home from a drag ball. 80s NYC au.

🌸 Mountain Investigation by babyhoneyhslt / @babyhoneyheslt

(T, 35k, mystery) As a plane crash investigator, Louis has handled his fair share of strange cases, but something is different about the crash of British Airways flight BA278. Crashed into the Brecon Beacons, over the Pen Y Fan mountain, very few survived. One of them being the pilot, Harry Styles.

🌸 All Of You For Eternity by @signofcomfort

(M, 29k, soulmates) Meet the walker of the night, aka, vampire, aka Louis Tomlinson, who is dwelling between the lovers from the past and the present!

🌸 Not having a breakdown! (I'm just here for the kid.) by louisismycat / @liminalkittyfics

(E, 28k, omegaverse) Harry has to park outside his ex-husband’s (Louis) wedding so that he can whisk their kid away if a meltdown ensues during the day. Guests will not know this and will only see him parked outside, it cannot be stressed enough, his ex-husband’s wedding.

🌸 Lucky Again by BoosBabycakes / @boosbabycakes28

(T, 10k, exes) It’s been 7 years since Harry and Louis broke up and one special tattoo on Louis’ fingers might be what brings them back together again.

🌸 Birthday Boyfriend by @emmli28

(M, 6k, meet cute) It’s Harry’s birthday, and he has had a rather shitty day, to be honest. That changes the moment a complete stranger sits down across from him at a bar and decides to make it the best birthday ever.

🌸 in the middle of the night, when the wolves come out by larryftnoctrl / @the-larry-way

(T, 4k, omegaverse) A snowstorm ruins Harry's Christmas plans. Presented with an alternate in an equally stranded Louis, he finds that he doesn't mind so much.

🌸 X Marks The Spot by galactic_larry / @galacticlarry

(T, 4k, exes) Breaking up six weeks before their best friends’ wedding wasn’t ideal, especially given the fact that both Harry and Louis are part of the wedding party. What happens when they see each other at the wedding and actually get a moment alone during the reception?

🌸 My husband (29/M) died and has been possessed by a demon and now he’s cooking eggs in my kitchen as if nothing happened, what do I do? by cosycryptid

(M, 4k, MCD) The man, Harry, his husband, is standing there. Louis still hasn’t removed his wedding ring and he doesn’t think he ever will. He looks down and sees it still sitting on Harry’s finger also, though, there’s mud and dirt staining the silver. Actually. Come to think of it. He’s covered in mud. His whole body. The suit they buried him in is torn in places and there’s grass stains lining his wrinkled white shirt.

🌸 Sweven by @1diamondinthesun

(NR, 4k, Idiopathic Hypersomnia) "So this Harry,” Liam chuckled, reaching for the business card, “Harry Styles, witnessed you in a near nap state and gave you his card? And his personal number?”

🌸 Through Darkest Clouds by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 3k, Orpheus and Eurydice AU) “That’s the deal. You cannot look at him. You cannot speak to him. Until you’re over the border, he is to know nothing.” Harry nods, face set. “If that’s what it takes,” he says. After all, he has no choice.

🌸 Silently Calling You Home by Spigityspack

(NR, 3k, established relationship) Harry is coming home from a trip and wants to take Louis out as a way to celebrate. Louis falls ill and feels awful for ruining Harry's plans.

🌸 The lights are a little too bright by @sunflour28

(G, 2k, chronic dizziness) Louis' a little done with his situation. He's seen the same hospital room far too many times in his life. Maybe things will start looking up though- now that Harry's in the same waiting room as him.

🌸 calm down girl by larryftnoctrl / @the-larry-way

(T, 1k, meet cute) Harry can't handle the stress of boarding his darling cat. Louis is happy to ease his worries.

🌸 What If We Were Penguins? by Worldsofdreamers / @defences-down

(NR, 1k, penguins) A late night question turns into the strangest dream... or is it?

- Rare Pairs -

🌸 Let Us Be Lovers by @lululawrence

(NR, 27k, Louis/Diego Luna) Louis and Diego were only supposed to have a one night stand. When Diego's parents unexpectedly turn up the morning after, Louis finds himself getting a crash course in Mexican culture and Diego's family, and quite possibly the healing he didn't even realize he still needed.

🌸 Two, He's Kissing On You by @louislittletomlintum

(E, 10k, Louis/Harry, Louis/Zayn/Harry) the one where louis' a life model, zayn is a photographer, and harry is also there

[gingervitus]

Davrin Week Day Four: Fatherhood (lattteeee)

Alright, so I had originally intended something different for this prompt, but instead I spent my afternoon writing this and it's better.

thanks to @datvcompanionweeks for hosting this week to our boy and all the other celebrations of the other companions.

I've committed this whole week to this silly modern AU, so please indulge me in this late entry for day four.

Shelter (1,599 Words)

Silvia has been gone less than three weeks, and Davrin has already made at least three poor choices.

The first night she’s gone he eats an entire large buffalo chicken calzone and half an order of churros while flipping between watching a hockey game and a marathon of Whose Line Is It Anyway? The anxious leg bouncing and incessant need to constantly be watching something to numb his brain that isn’t the same three Capital One and Subway commercials makes it easy to wolf down the food without even thinking. He’s grumbling to himself about cinnamon sugar under his nails when his phone buzzes on the coffee table. 

Silvia de Riva: landed safe and sound. plane didn’t even crash once :)

As thrilled as he finds himself, he can barely drag himself off of the toilet that night to talk to her. “Seems like a skill issue, but maybe lay off the blue cheese next time, bud.” It isn’t the comfort he’s pouting for, but he loves hearing her laugh.

About a week after she leaves, he decides to have dinner with Harding and Taash. Previously, he hasn’t had an issue with this sort of thing. However, he’s wondering if that’s because they’ve mostly shared a lot of pub food at bars rather than real sit down dinners at one of their places. As a matter of fact, he can’t say he’s ever actually been to Taash’s home ever in the few years they’ve known each other.

They rent half a cramped duplex just outside of the city that makes his small house seem like a palatial estate. He and Harding share a beer and light conversation while Taash prepares dinner in their tiny kitchen. What’s on the menu can’t be said for certain, but it contains both melons and cheese. A little more exotic than whatever he’s expecting. The name of the dish eludes Davrin, though he eats it without complaint. It would never be his first choice if he saw the ingredients listed somewhere, although he’s surprised to not be put off by the results.

The food is not the issue, though. Not in the slightest. That would be his friends across the small dining table. Hands all over each other. Excessive laughter over every half humorous thing the other says. Constant gushing about and doting over one another. He is so happy to see his friends so happy, but it twists a knot in his gut that doesn’t go away until he’s gazing at Silvia’s displeased and half awake face as she trudges off to find coffee at six AM while he sprawls out in a too empty bed at midnight.

But now, he finds their roles reversed as he stands in the backyard, barely awake but glad to be seeing her as the sun rises over the horizon even if she’s trapped behind a shitty screen. Her phone is propped up on a table as she munches on whatever pastry she’s picked up for lunch. She squints, leans in closer to the screen, and then tilts her head with a smile. “Are you outside?” she asks.

His eyes squeeze shut. “Yeah,” he sighs.

“Isn’t it, like, five AM there?” Five seventeen to be exact. “What the hell are you doing outside?”

His third and possibly worst mistake of all was visiting a shelter with Ella. She’s been going on and on about this fluffy black cat that keeps showing up at her door and is thinking about adopting one herself. Regardless of how many attempts he makes to convince her otherwise, she still manages to drag him along on her pursuit of a new companion. To be fair, there isn’t much else going on in his life right now.

A sharp bark takes him out of his thoughts. His eyes snap open to find Silvia along with her half chewed pastry in her agape mouth staring back at him. “What was that?” she gasps. The corners of her mouth are just barely turned upward.

“I don’t wanna see your half chewed croissant, Silvie,” he groans, followed by another bark in the background. With a closed mouth now, she leans forward, chin propped in the palm of her hand as her elbow rests on the table. “It’s… it’s nothing. We can–”

“Did you get a dog?” A sub-mistake–possibly a fourth terrible mistake–he makes is telling her about the visits to the local shelter. About how they take animals from other shelters all over the country that are on their euthinasia lists to give them a second chance at finding forever homes. About the foster program Ella is considering doing. About how this one dog is pretty cute and is all about him every time he comes up to his kennel. “Davrin?”

What Davrin fails to mention is that he returns to the shelter without his friend to pick up an application for this raggamuffin dog. The thing is all long hair and long legs with the craziest blue eyes he’s ever seen on a dog. Really, what sells him is the one upright and one floppy ear. It’s like something out of a movie how much personality this dog gives without even doing a goddamn thing. “Alright, Assan, your literal dad is here to finally bring you home!” The next thing Davrin knows, two large paws attached to a sixty pound body are trying to claw their way up his chest. 

On cue, a ball of multicolor fur comes racing around his legs and then back to the far corner of the yard, nearly knocking him over in the process. “Jesus,” he snaps. “You can’t do that, boy! You’ll knock someone right on their ass.”

Now, Silvia’s palms are flat on the table. “Let me see him!” she demands. Before she leaves, she brings up the idea of a dog as something that might come further down the line. How he could round out his whole prince charming demeanor with a big stinky lab or charming retriever. So much for that. “Come on, Dav!”

The use of a nickname causes a twinge in his heart as he flips the camera around to show her the insane creature currently kicking up patches of grass while running around in circles. He’s grateful she can’t see the sappy grin that he can’t stop from curling across his lips. “There he is,” he announces with a yawn. “Fucking maniac.”

An open mouth smile is perched on Silvia’s face as she watches the dog. He doesn’t know why he was so concerned that she might have been annoyed at him for jumping the gun with adopting a dog. It seems like something had wanted to do together, but having only had about two weeks with her over the last two and a half months, he’s been finding himself lonely in ways he hasn’t ever noticed before. Simple things like having dinner by himself. Waking up and having no one there. Knowing he’s coming home to an empty house. And this little shithead basically chose him. This little thing would sit and howl until he finally came over to pay attention to him. Would claw at the bars of his kennel until he finally caved and slid a treat through to him. And not to mention how he whined when they finally got the chance to play and Davrin had to go home. How could anyone blame him for applying to adopt such a creature the next day?

“Look at him go!” She’s laughing. Grinning from ear to ear. His heart lurches in his chest. God, he misses her. “What’s his name?”

“Assan,” he answers. “It’s the name he came with. Seems to know it, so I think we should keep it.”

As she watches Assan run around like it’s the first time he’s seen solid ground in days, Davrin takes a moment to admire her while she can’t watch him do so. Her pale hair is piled on top of her head. The makeup she so loves to put on in the morning has been nixed for the day leaving nothing but tan skin, freckles, and a slight darkness in her under eyes on display. The bright midday light makes her eyes glow an almost iridescent green on his phone screen. He thinks that maybe that twinkle in them is delight in watching this crazy dog, though, which is alright with him. He would give anything to see just a moment more of the joy.

“Assan!” she calls, and the dog comes to a halt, head popping up and one ear flopping over the side of his head. “Oh, look at his ears! What a handsome boy!” She stares up into her camera, knowing he’s watching her and not the dog at all. “Where’s his handsome father?” Once again, the screen switches and his face has returned to the small corner of his screen. She smiles once again. This time is soft. Reverent even. “There he is.”

“Here I am.”

“You look tired.”

“Of course, I am,” he scoffs. “It’s five thirty in the fucking morning.”

“I’d fuck you at five thirty in the morning,” she murmurs just loud enough that he can hear. Her mouth is buried in the palm of her hand, and he swears he can make out a faint blush over her cheeks.

He arches a brow, smirk crossing his lips. “That a promise?” he hums, not so suddenly wishing she was there with him and not across an entire fucking ocean. 

“Give me a couple months, and it just might be.”

“I’ll be counting down the days.”

[horriblengrossstories]

Derek def takes ALOT of naps thru the day. And when he wakes up he acts like whole diff person. Groggy, sleepy and hungry

Oh absolutely, Derek is a chaos organism barely held together by stimulants, spite, and power naps :)

Constantly caffeinating to the point of absurdity. Multiple shots of espresso in a single cup, with sugar and chocolate sauce, refusing to drink water like it’s a personal attack. Add coke to the mix during “Bram pressure” periods, and it’s a miracle his heart hasn’t exploded.

Wakes up groggy, confused, blinking like a baby animal, voice hoarse and low and weirdly sweet, like “Where’s my mutt.... Where’s my food... Who moved my pen!"

Burnout cycles hard Derek will go weeks on overdrive, doing deals, making threats, chain-smoking, and tearing the world apart. Then crashes hard. Sleeps for 14 hours and still wakes up wrecked.

Morning Derek (if he slept): Barely functioning. Wanders around shirtless with his hair a mess, grunting at people like they personally ruined his life. Eats leftover takeout cold, forgets meetings, misplaces his sunglasses on his head. Only Mutt sees this version often and she might find it disarmingly human.

Midday Derek: Chugs iced coffee like it's salvation. If he has to be presentable, he can clean up fast—slick, snarly, and obnoxiously charismatic. You’d never know he was dead behind the eyes thirty minutes ago.

Crash Nap Derek: Desk naps. Couch naps. Curled up with his boots still on, coat draped over his face. God forbid someone wake him up. Groggy Derek is soft-voiced, slow-blinking, sometimes even weirdly sweet for five minutes while his brain reboots....until he remembers who he is and sharpens back up.

Coke + Deadline Derek: Fully unhinged. Laughing too loud, writing entire manifestos in one sitting, dragging Mutt into his lap to “think better.” Pacing shirtless while arguing with himself. Eyes glassy, veins buzzing, ego massive. This Derek would buy a tiger if someone dared him.

Crash Again Derek: Doesn’t even make it to bed. Passes out mid-thought. Wakes up starving and snappy, like a wolf coming out of hibernation with a hangover.

If Mutt’s nearby when he wakes, he might say something raw and unfiltered sleepy-Derek has no emotional armor. That's when the real stuff slips out.

"Don’t leave yet. Just five more minutes. You smell warm."

Then he’ll blink, realize what he said, and probably shove her off him.

-Birdie 🐦

[rreskk]

Dear ol' Trev

I'm experimenting with heavier topics, like smut. So if you're sensitive to the subject of "BDSM", don't read! I'll be answering requests soon enough, thank you for being patient :)

Summary: Trevor was untamed and aggressive. There was only one way to force him out of that toxic mentality.

TW: -heavy smut (BDSM) -Violence (Death threats)

Pairings: Dom!Fem reader/ Trevor Philips

Word count: 2971

For the past three days, he has been unrightfully slaughtering every flaw he deceives, and the judgement has been clashed onto you. So for the past three days, you’ve been verbally insulted with every fibre of his body. Reason complied? Unknown. You haven’t recalled doing anything wrong, or anything to cause this spike of anger. Alas, you have been nothing but idle for the past days. He hasn’t made the effort to conversate, fuck, treat you with dignity. Ever since he came home from Los Santos, he’s been ugly and obscene.

You’ve tried to argue against this sudden aggression, challenging his authority, and it would get physical. Right now, he was more than physical. You had lost your temper and called him every name under the sun and he was provoked beyond belief. His face was red, eyes filled with angry tears, fists clenched as his nails would pierce the skin underneath. Trevor stood an arms-length away from you, his eyes burning daggers into yours.

“Say that again.” His voice hoarsely demanded.

“You heard me.”

“You little shit.” Trevor croaked, his vexation becoming hostile.

You raised an eyebrow, “What’s the problem? I don’t see a lie.”

His lips twitched into a snarl and he grabbed the collar of your shirt, threatening to toy you around. His neck and arm veins were pulsing. You wondered if he strained anymore, they may burst.

“Keep your mouth shut. You’re pissing me off, big time.”

“You’ve been pissing me off for the last 72 hours.”

“You don’t say?” He cruelly hissed, “And you repay that by insulting me, [y/n]? You think it’s funny abusing dear ol’ Trev?”

“Cut that creepy shit out. You’re disgusting – “

“Ohhh… Complaints, complaints, complaints. You always FUCKING complain.”

“Maybe you should take the fucking hint and MAN UP!” You shouted in his face, “The moment your revolting scent arrived at my door after a week of no calls or texts, you had the audacity to operate and belittle me? Like what? I was some slave? Oh yeah, what a lovely man dear ol’ Trev is. What a lovely cunt!”

“THE FUCK DID YOU SAY?”

“Just get out, seriously – “

Trevor pushed you back violently as he threw his arm over the dining table, all the plates and clutter falling onto the floor with a big crash. You glared at him after finding your balance.  He maintained that deep scowl, eyes not leaving yours as it went silence, only the background noise of glass crunching under his work boots.

“How fucking dare you.” You heaved, the energy you have left slowly running out.

“You gonna complain again, sugar?” Trevor tongued as you saw the strands of his saliva spit with vemon.

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“I know you,” He continued, “You wouldn’t last a week without me.”

“Me? Really? Please! That’s utter bullshit.”

“Yeah… Really.” At this point, Trevor was breathing down on you, his arms locking you against the wall behind. He began to smirk at how trapped you were. He enjoyed seeing you covered in his shadow with that nasty look in your eye.

You tried to lean away, despite his nudges. His hands began leaving achy bruises on your wrists, them cruel fingers spreading his disease while you avoided the discourse of his intoxicating breath. It smelt like death. Your throat numbed at the inhale of his mucky scent, and before you knew it, he lowered his head and began to combatively whisper slander in your ear.

“I ain’t leaving, prick. I am not leaving this place until it’s fuckin’. You hear me?” His hot breath antagonising your neck.

“Get off me, Trevor.”

“No, I think you like it.”

“You fucking pervert!”

His voice rumbled, “Mmm… Maybe I am. Maybe I’m just a burden, a pervert, a creep. Maybe I just wanna bash your fuckin’ head in? What do you think about that, baby? Sounds good?”

You striked his cheek suddenly, his frame falling back at the impact. Trevor held his cheek with a disturbed expression, his eyes wide. Your hand stung with succession as you gave him a gnarly grin.

“I think that’s a great idea, Trevor,” You said, approaching him, “Maybe I should bash your fucking head in,” Your left hand rapidly grasped his jaw before he could fight back, “And you’ll definitely enjoy it.”

“The fuck? –“ He whinged when you grabbed his neck and jaw.

“What’s the matter? It’s not nice being treated like a dog, isn’t it?” Your other hand jolted forwards, hitting his cheek again where a small cry of pain left his lips.

“Fuckin’ stop!”

“You are going to pick up every shard of glass on this very floor. If you don’t, I’m kicking your ass goodbye. You got that?” You shouted in his flushed face.

Trevor threw your hands off, a look of disgust painting his face. He studied you up and down, a sense of uncertainty behind those unstable eyes.

“You’re taking the shitting piss, [y/n]. I’m not doing that.” He mocked.

“You are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Really?” You licked your teeth, “I think you are.”

He sent you a hefty glare, “The fuck are you playing?”

“You want to play?”

“What? – “

“Okay, Trevor. If you really wanna play.” Within a second, Trevor felt his trousers being torn off as he cried out in surprise. His hands automatically covered his bulge but you slapped them away, your fists threatening to interrogate his crotch.

“[y/n], fuck off!” He demanded, fighting against your hands.

“No, I think you like it.” You reflected his words from before, smirking.

“Stop! – “ His voice wobbled with vulnerability. He bellowed forwards and tried to pull his trousers up until his underwear was confiscated as well. Trevor gritted his teeth, seeing you enjoy the struggle he was going through when his cock was on display. He noticed you were grinning at his exposure, feeling fragile and insecure, “C’mon – this ain’t funny. Fuck off!”

“Awh…” You teased and allowed him to scatter, his trousers clumsily being buckled up again. He did not look happy. Trevor’s nostrils flared as he stared at you with raw fury.

“You think this is funny?” He shouted, “You’re a fuckin’ cunt!”

“Easy…”

“EASY? YOU TELLING ME TO BE EASY?”

“You always liked showing yourself off. What’s so bad about it now?” You questioned, smirking up at him.

Trevor stumbled backwards, his feet stomping on the shards of glass that he littered. One piece made a crunching sound from under his foot. He gazed up to see if you had noticed, biting his lip when you stared heavily; watching his every move like a vulture feasting on it’s future prey, the impulsive climax barely containing itself.

His lips snarled when you spoke again, “I heard it – you heard it.”

“I ain’t cleaning.” He responded, crossing his arms.

“Why not?”

“Because I ain’t. You can’t make me.”

“Oh, okay.” You hummed and dismissed the conversation, turning your back.

Trevor smirked when he thought you backed away from the argument. He uncrossed his arms and whistled, singing your name as he placed his foot over a broken frame of you and him. Once he had gained your attention, Trevor licked his lips and pressed down, breaking the picture even more – clearing wanting a strong reaction, as he found it enjoyable.

You felt something stab your gut when he pathetically destroyed the only good picture of you both. And he smiled after it broke. It made you distressed, furious, hated. He stood there carefree, his belt still loose from your stunt beforehand, making him look like a golden stud. A golden stud you wanted to hammer.

“Whoops.” He winked, rotating away from the living room before a hard-hitting hand clenched his shoulder, launching him backwards and onto the rumble of glass. Trevor cried out, his skin scratched and prickled by the mess he made.

You stood over him and stared down; no sign of pleasure nor happiness. He cursed your name as he tried to stand up from the pile of shards but your foot sent him flying down again. It crushed his lower stomach, his breathing becoming unhinged and erratic. Extending weight onto your foot, his hands wrapped around your ankle, begging for you to get off.

“Fuckin’ get off!” He pled repeatedly.

Of course, it didn’t convince you. Your foot dug into his torso until he was threatening to lose his ability to breathe. Waiting for the moment Trevor’s eyes would portray the seconds left of his near-death experience, you released the pressure, and he frantically crawled to his knees, wailing for some air. He mercilessly wailed, believing he was on the road to death by your strangulation.

“Why are you crying?” You degraded, grabbing his hair and forcing his knees to kneel against the glassy carpet.

Trevor panted. His head being forced to look up, staring directly towards your thighs. He didn’t say anything but whined when you’d occasionally tug his hair, trying to pressure some rise out of him.

“C’mon… You’re feeling shameful now, aren’t you?”

He shook his head, still being stubborn.

“You like being on your hands and knees, Trevor?”

He whined again.

“Why don’t you get the fuck up?” You smirked.

“I hate you,” He finally mewled, “I’ll kill you!”

“Get the fuck up then.”

Trevor struggled, trying to use his weak arms but you only pushed him back down with a laugh.

“[y/n]!” He snapped.

“What?”

Your fingers tickled his scalp, falling down his back, reaching the hem of his trousers as he remained on his all fours, having a hard time keeping balance due to the amount of scratches and impaled glass in his skin. Nonetheless, your fingers tickled him. Trevor felt his trousers being pulled down again, and he dropped his head, whispering profound insults that definitely included the words “evil”, “witch”, and “bitch.” But you didn’t care. You waited until his ass was exposed and his cock dangling between his legs. He was shaky, unsure of what you’re about to do. He wanted to stand up, but your grip on him only tightened and his knees were too weak. Did he beg you to stop? No. So you only made it harder for him.

Very hard.

“Fuck… The fuck you doing to me?” Trevor murmured in pain.

“If you wanna ruin my home, you can be ruined with it.” You said before kicking your shoe against his exposed cock, making him jump and cry out in agony.

“FUCK!”

“You like that?” His whole arousal was being beaten with your shoe again, the repetitive kicks destructing Trevor’s last ounce of his aggression.

“FUCK – I HATE YOU! – “ He’d cry, tears oozing down his red cheeks as you kicked him from behind again.

“You deserve so much more hate,” You huffed – his cock and balls being left swollen and bruised, “I’m giving you the bare minimum of it. You should thank me, Trevor.”

It ended with his face crazing against the glass-scattered floor, his cheek embedding deep wounds as he wails from the pain of his genitals being physically abused. He attempted to cover his cock but you slapped his hands away, kicking him one last time before giving him a minor break.

He collapsed, body sprawled out.

The glass was ignored now. You stepped over him, your shadow overcasting the menacing danger of your touch. Trevor, with his eyes closed, felt the shade and spoke through his condition, his voice crackled and fable – like an emotional child begging for some hugs after a traumatic nightmare.

“I’m not thanking… I’m not! Not thanking – you! Kick me again, I fuckin’ dare you! I’m never – FUCK!” You obeyed his request and pressed the soul of your shore against his manhood, crushing until it went numb.

“You never give up, baby…”

He whimpered with is nose stuffed in the carpet floor.

“Wish you’d last this long in bed.” You ended.

Trevor’s head jerked up at the mention of you judging his struggle to hold. He gritted his teeth and aimed to spit, unsuccessfully watching the saliva reach barely half way as you just watched with a frown. A piece of clammy drool fell from his lips, dropping onto the floor, along with his tears.

“And what was that for, huh?”

“Fuck you.”

“Sensitive topic?”

“FUCK YOU!”

You grabbed his waist and forced him to his knees again. Trevor tried to resist but fell into your hands, murmuring complaints about the pain. He winced, trying to face you. But yet again, he failed. And he was beyond angered at his power being taken away.

“This is not FUCKIN’ funny, baby,” He whinged, “I hate you so much sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” You grinned.

“Mm, shut the fuck up…”

“C’mon. Admit it.”

“I said; shut the fuck up!”

“Fucking man up, Trevor. You’re on the floor with your cock fucked and your knees asleep – what are you gonna do? Encourage me to enjoy this more?” You caressed the back of his neck.

“Keep on going…” He whispered, almost quiet enough for you to miss.

“Sorry?”

“Keep going.”

A small smirk twitched and you crouched down, Trevor hesitantly putting his chin on your knee as he looked at you with an angry but lustful stare. He tried to lean closer, wanting a kiss, but he was refused and grunted when you dropped his head onto the floor again. He hit the floor and cursed your name menacingly.

“Fuck you, baby! I want you!”

“You wanted this, Trev?”

“Shut the fuck up and kill me already! Just end my life, make me cry!” He protested with desperation.

“You’re gonna be a man and last long for me?”

He nodded his head, “I wanna last long for you.”

“And you’re going to apologise? – “

“[y/n]! Please, just help me already!” Trevor complained and returned to his knees and hands, his dick burning red.

You laughed and shook your head with a small grin. Now that he was vulnerable and eager for your touch, it made it easier to gain a reaction. Your knee pressed against his backside and you forced him up, his back grinding against your thigh. Trevor closed his eyes as he felt your arms wrap around him, the skin-contact trailing from his stomach, closer to his arousal. He twitched with excitement, his hair mangled and skin tattered with oozing blood.

“So good for me, baby.” You praised and hugged his cock with your cold hands, massaging the tip and roughly mishandling the length to ensure your power is still prominent.

His whole body shook at your touch and he groaned when you demanded him to keep his hands away. It took some courage to follow your authorities, but it was worth it when you began stroking him, caressing his sore skin.

“Yes…” Trevor breathed, “Yes… Yes, that’s right.”

“You wanna be rubbed like the pervert that you are?”

“I’m a fuckin’… God! Yes!”

“Tell me how bad you want it, Trevor.”

He struggled to speak, “I – I… Oh, fuck… M’yeah. C’mon… Fuckin’ faster! Now! – “ Then he paused, dread clogging his throat when you clenched his cock.

“You want to continue being a little fucker?” You hissed in his ear.

“No… No, ma,” Trevor felt it get tighter as he whimpered, “I’m your fucker… I’m your pervert, God!”

“Say my name.”

“[y/n]…”

“Prefer me being in charge, baby?” You giggled, not used to seeing him so submissive.

“I love being treated like a rape toy, mommy!” And he had lost the plot, so emerged in his attraction.

You rubbed him harder and faster, your lips pressing down his neck as he was moaning frantically. From the way he was so stiff and hot, it was clear he had been holding a semi for a long, long time. It made you smirk. Trevor was so pathetic. He made it harder for himself – just so he could feel some pleasure in the end.

“I’m gonna cum – “

“What did I say?” Your lips moved against his skin.

“I – “ Trevor rolled his eyes back and dramatically growled, his hips jerking and cock twitching.

“Don’t cum yet.”

He panted, “Fuck you… Fuck you… Fuck you, I love you!”

“Easy. Concentrate on me, baby.”

“All for you, ma. All for you!”

“You’re so hard, sugar.” You held his body weight so he was forced to deal with you edging him. Even though he was erratic and fierce, you managed to keep him in check and he remained huddled in your arms, his cock being molested by your hands.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ cum!” He sobbed.

“You’re such a slut, Trevor.”

“Ohhh… Fuuuck!” His words mingled for so long that it would crack. Then it went silent before his body spazzed, his dick delivering a huge load of cum that squirted onto the floor that was stained with damp tears, blood, glass.

He had silently cried through the orgasm. You looked at Trevor, his face scrunched and tongue hanging out like a dog. You had overstimulated him too much that climaxing had become a huge revolution, almost as though he transported through time.

“All good, baby?” You asked.

It took a few seconds before he nodded.

“You sore?”

He nodded again, chest heaving in and out.

“Good boy…” You kissed his cheek.

“You’re killing me,” Trevor airily slurred, “You almost killed me.”

“I know.”

“Fuck… Fuck! Fuck you… That was so hot…”

“You gonna clean up now?”

“[y/n]!” He whined tiredly, “You punished me enough, baby…”

You’d smirk, “Fine. You’ve proven how much of a baby you are. I wouldn’t want to cross the line and over exhaust you.”

“Fuck you.”

“And stop insulting me. Who’s house are you in?”

“…Yours.”

“So treat this place with respect, and me.” You warned.

Trevor gave you a playful glare before nodding, “Fuckin’ fine…”

“Now stand up. You reek.”

[dujour13]

OC Kiss Week - day 5

A bittersweet epilogue, with Siavash as companion to my friend @spyridonya's Knight-Commander Kadira 💜

(PWOTR spoilers under the cut)

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

Siavash nods. Of course Kadira has him figured out. She spreads her wings for balance as she places her hooves cautiously on the sloping tiles and settles on the edge next to him, perched above the riot of celebration in the streets of Drezen, looking out over the rooftops and the hazy moonlit landscape beyond. “You won’t even stay for the Queen’s victory ball?”

“Not that I have anything against balls.” He says it deadpan but the light in his eye makes her laugh. “But I’ve lingered in Sarkoris long enough already.”

Sarkoris. The Worldwound’s been closed for three days and he’s already calling it that: the scarred wasteland that was once a verdant home for her people, and will be again when her work is done. Kadira appreciates that he shares her vision, but then since the day they first met he always seemed to believe in her, for no good reason she could see except his Desnan trust in the luck of the stars. There were times during the Crusade it seemed folly, and others when it gave her the one more reason to hold on she needed. She folds her hands in her lap and squeezes them tight to wring out the sadness. “You’ll be back to visit.”

“Sure. I have to come see what you do with the place.”

“I’ll miss you.”

He wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “It’ll be fine. You have people now.”

She does. Daeran and Lann of course, and all the others with whom her friendship was forged in the fires of the Abyss, but she still presses her tearful eyes into his shoulder at the realization that he’s always understood what ached most deeply in her heart.

Her life was stolen from her; her family driven from a land laid to waste to scrape out a living as refugees, and then she was separated from them too and locked away while they aged and died and moved on. Isolated except for demons and the cold, analytical gaze of the witch who had taken everything from her and gave her a gift she didn’t want in exchange. Her wings whisper restlessly. “And you? You always seem to have people, but do you really?”

He takes a sharp breath. She understands a number of things herself.

“Don’t worry about me. Hey, listen to this.”

He releases her and pulls his guitar into his lap and begins to play a simple melody. It’s very pretty, but she's fairly sure he’s deflecting. It is some time before the realization dawns that she knows this song.

No wonder she didn’t recognize it at first. He sings in Hallit but his Andoren accent is making a nasal wreck of the pronunciation, and she hasn’t heard this song since…

…her soft, dimpled child’s hand pressing a cookie cutter into buttery dough to make little stars, dusted with sugar like frost, that she and her cousins would arrange into Pulura’s constellations on the tray they set out for travelers.

A childhood so distant it doesn’t feel like it belongs to her anymore. They sang this rhyme as they worked, but only now does Kadira realize the song had always been about Areelu Vorlesh—the witch who drove a knife into the heart of Sarkoris, just as she did to Kadira. But now both are healing, though not without a reminder. The Sarkoris Scar.

She sings along and he tries to imitate her Hallit and they laugh, until they hear scuffling and glance over their shoulders to see Lann hop up onto the roof. He stoops to help haul up a vigorously swearing Daeran, who cradles a wine bottle in his free arm.

“We’re crashing your going away party,” Lann announces, helping stabilize Daeran so his fancy shoes don’t slip down the tiles and land him in the street below.

“How did you know?” Kadira only spotted Siavash because she was up on the Citadel tower.

A shadow peeks out from behind Lann. It’s Woljif, a pack slung over his shoulder. “Hey chief.”

“You’re going too?”

“Got some investin’ to do down south in Andoran.”

When he plops down next to her it’s her turn to press a kiss onto the other tiefling’s forehead. Kadira hugs him, hugs Siavash, and the wine bottle is passed around as she teaches them the words to a new refrain.

[scuttling]

Lean on Me

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Gender Neutral Reader Word Count: 4,717 Tags: SFW, Fluff, 5+1 Trope, Obliviousness, Mutual pining, Aaron Hotchner deserves good things, Canon typical injury Summary: Five times you want to kiss the frown off of your boss's face, and one time you actually do it. *Requested by Anon. Link to AO3 or read below! “It doesn’t make sense.”

You stick a tack in a photo of a murdered woman—unfortunately one of many you’ve stuck to this board—and turn to face Hotch, who is looking over your handiwork with a quizzical expression.

“What doesn’t?” He takes a few steps closer, crosses his arms in front of him.

“Why would the unsub leave his comfort zone? The first six abductions occurred within five miles of the college, so why did the seventh and eighth happen almost twelve miles away?” He reaches for the board, traces his finger along the circle Reid had colored in on the map. “We profiled that he’s disorganized and far from confident, so why would he do that?”

He looks over at you, frowns, and not for the first time your gaze is drawn to the little crease between his eyebrows that always forms when he is puzzled, worried, confused, stressed, or otherwise unhappy. In short, it’s there kind of all of the time.

For the first time, though, you think of how easy it would be to lean over, press your lips there, smooth it out, and maybe even get him to smile for a change. He has a great smile, when he lets people see it.

You shake the daydream, rewind back to the question he asked, and wrinkle your nose in thought.

“Maybe his circumstances changed? It's summer now, and there are still classes, but students aren’t living in the dorms. Maybe he moved back home or got an apartment off campus that’s within that area—or a job.” He sighs, runs a hand over the back of his head, nods.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. That’s good. I’ll mention it to the others.” He pulls out his phone, and you grab another photo, another thumbtack, but something stops you and you lay a gentle hand on his arm.

“You don’t have to think of everything, you know. That’s why you have us.” He exhales, his shoulders losing a little of their tension, and that forehead wrinkle gets a little less deep.

“Sometimes I forget that not everything needs to be done the hard way. Or by me.”

“What? You, Aaron Hotchner, doing things the hard way?” you tease, and you are gifted a glimpse of his rare, unfiltered smile.

“Okay, enough pointing out my flaws,” he says with a raised eyebrow, though he’s still smiling, and as he looks down to type out a text, you remember to pull back your hand.

“I would never.” He looks up from his phone at that—maybe at the conviction in your voice, which you hadn’t exactly intended—and his expression softens further.

“I know you wouldn’t.” You hold eye contact for a moment, and then turn to finish preparing the board, pinning up another photo of another woman and reminding yourself that they need you to focus on the task at hand. Two weeks later, you knock on Hotch’s office door, a stack of completed consults in your hand. He looks up, that familiar notch in between his brows, a scowl on his face; when he sees that it’s you, he tones it down a little.

“Draw the short straw?” he asks, and you figure that’s because everyone knows he is in a bad mood and they’ve been avoiding this office all day. You shrug.

“It was rock, paper, scissors, but yes.” He huffs a short laugh, and you smile, step toward his desk. “Anything I can do to lighten the load?”

“Technically you’re adding to it,” he says with a glance at the files in your hand, and you set them on one of the chairs with a purposefully loud thump and then take the other seat.

“Technically. But technically, you only need to review my consults; I can review theirs. Right?” He mulls it over a moment, like the thought never crossed his mind—of course Aaron I have to do everything myself Hotchner would never suggest such a thing, even as the team sits in the bullpen with nothing to do, seeing who can throw M&Ms into Spencer’s mouth from the furthest distance.

“Technically,” he agrees, and you pluck a pen out of his pen cup and take the first file off the pile, open it in front of yourself, careful not to cut into the workspace he’s occupying. You both smile softly down at your work, and you actively do not think about that wrinkle between his eyebrows.

About an hour later, he reaches for his mug out of habit but finds it empty; you stand, take it in your hand, and he makes a noise of protest.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you say, and you walk toward the door. “I need some too. I’ll be right back.”

You pass through the bullpen—apparently the M&M contest led to a sugar crash, because Spencer is laying with his head on his desk—and grab your cup off your desk, take both to the break room to fill them.

Derek appears next to you as you’re stirring your sugar in.

“Coffee date with the boss?” he asks with a curious expression, and you shake your head.

“Of course not. I’m helping him with the overwhelming amount of paperwork on his desk so his mood improves, instead of just ignoring him.” You raise an eyebrow in challenge, and Derek scratches the back of his head.

“Never thought of that,” he admits, and you pat him on the arm and take your coffees back upstairs.

Hotch looks up at you as you set his mug down, says a soft thank you, and you grab the pile of files you brought up, separate them, and head back downstairs.

“You review mine,” you say to Derek, handing him a stack, “Emily take Spencer’s, Spencer take Derek’s, I’ll take Emily’s.” They look at you like they have no idea what to say, and you just smile, tap the top of Spencer’s head with a folder. “I’ll come back down and grab them in a little bit.”

“Yes, boss,” Emily says, and you grin on your way back upstairs. Hotch is standing when you arrive this time, looking out the window over the bullpen.

“What did you do?” he asks, turning to you, frowning again. You’re so close that kissing that wrinkle would be effortless. All you’d have to do is lean in.

You smile.

“I delegated, Hotch. You should try it some time.” You put your hands on his arms and guide him back to his desk. “Now what can I help you with?”

By the end of the day, his desk is clean and his bad mood is long gone. He closes the last of his files, sighs deeply, covers your hand with one of his, and says thank you.

The next morning when you come in, there is a steaming latte and a cookie on your desk, and you can’t stop smiling the rest of the day. Your next case is draining, children abducted and left for dead, and everyone is on edge, but no one more than Hotch. You’re fairly certain his face hasn’t relaxed since the initial briefing, and he’d be a prime candidate for the old ‘your face will get stuck like that’ joke, if anyone was up to joking.

The team catches the unsub, saves one child, but not until after three are dead; you take a late flight home because no one wants to stay another night in a town it feels like you’ve failed, and everyone curls up to get some rest except you and Hotch.

You try to read the book you brought along—a science fiction dystopian novel, something to get you out of your head and away from real life problems—but you’re a little distracted by Hotch’s sighing. It’s become an every-five-minutes thing, and while you’re definitely on board with sighing as a way to decompress, he’s not decompressing. He looks like he’s in pain mentally, exhausted physically; you’re not sure how everyone else was able to ignore it and go to sleep, but then you figure everyone else may not be as in tune with him as you are. As observant.

As in love.

Not that that matters: you know your issues, and some of his issues, and there’s the whole superior/subordinate thing which doesn’t really do anything for you except give you a stomach ache. It would never work out, even if he somehow, miraculously, were to love you back—and that’s a pretty big if in and of itself.

But still, you notice him, can’t help it, and the sighing is getting to be a little much. You sigh yourself, put your finger in between the pages of your book, and walk over to take the seat next to him; he looks over at you, frowning just like always, and you carefully close his file and set it aside.

Neither of you say anything to the other, just look each other over for a moment, and then you lean lightly against his shoulder and flip back to the beginning of your book.

“I still dream of the island. I sometimes approach it across water, but more often through air, like a bird, with a great wind under my wings. The shores rise rain-coloured on the horizon of sleep, and in their quiet circle the buildings: the houses grown along the canals, the workshops of inkmasters, the low-ceilinged taverns.”

You keep your voice low and soothing, and you are just turning to page fifteen when you feel the weight of his head drop onto your shoulder.

The crease between his eyes melts away in sleep.

You read until you make it home, and you wake him up with a gentle nudge before the rest of the team drifts back to consciousness. He looks at you, blinks slowly like he’s trying to remember where he is, and then gets a little sheepish when he puts two and two together, realizes he fell asleep on your shoulder.

You just shake your head, give his arm a squeeze, and head back to your seat to gather your things. You, Hotch, and Emily are catching the elevator to the parking garage—after staying two hours later to work on some rush consults straight from Strauss—when he looks at something on his phone that makes him groan aloud. You and Emily share a look, and you ask what’s wrong.

“I just remembered I’m supposed to have a treat for Jack to take to school tomorrow and it’s, what, seven thirty?”

“So just stop at the supermarket on your way home; no one can tell the difference anyway,” Emily says, but you and Hotch both shoot her a skeptical glance.

“It’s all about the treats at a school like Jack’s,” you supply, and Hotch looks over at you like he’s surprised by your comment. “If they’re not homemade, the parents talk. Plus there’s probably an allergen list a mile long: no nuts, no eggs, no soy, no dairy. You have to pick him up from Haley’s tonight, right?” You’re pretty sure, but when he nods he confirms it. “So pick him up, go home and get some dinner, put him to bed, and I’ll text you when I’m on my way over with the goods. I have a great recipe for vegan apple cinnamon muffins that will go over really well.”

“You really don’t have to do that; I’ll figure something out,” he says, but you just shake your head and pull up the recipe on your phone.

“Forget it, it’s already done. I have everything I need at home already; let me help,” you murmur softly, and when he looks at you with the furrowed brow that comes with accepting kindness from someone else, you almost forget it’s not just the two of you in the elevator. It’s only when Emily clears her throat that the eye contact breaks. He nods.

“Okay. Thank you; I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” The elevator dings and it stops at the parking garage; the three of you get off and head in separate directions for your cars. “I’ll text you.”

“Goodnight,” Emily says with a grin, and you wave at her, hop into your car, and head for home.

About two hours later, you show up at Hotch’s door with two dozen apple cinnamon muffins, and unbleached, whole wheat flour in your hair, and he has coffee brewing, a smile on his face.

“You don’t know how grateful I am,” he says as he ushers you into the kitchen, takes the boxes of muffins from your hands, and pours you a cup of dark, delicious coffee. You sip it slowly, savoring the taste—you should have known he’d have incredible coffee—even though it’s far too late for you to be indulging. Unless you’re working a case, you usually switch to decaf by three.

“I know you are. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think you’d appreciate the gesture.” You lean forward, open a box, and pull out two muffins, handing one to him. “I made a couple extra so we could taste test; if I accidentally put salt in instead of sugar, you’re on your own,” you joke, and you wait for him to taste it before taking your own bite.

“That’s delicious. There’s really nothing unapproved in here?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“Nope, it’s all healthy and allergen free, except for the flour, but that wasn’t on the list you sent.” He reaches a hand toward you, and you don’t realize, at first, that he’s brushing the flour out of your hair.

“Messy baker,” he teases, and your heart feels really full, being in his kitchen like this, warm muffins and fresh coffee, even if your hair is a mess. You smile, and he smiles back before dropping into that serious expression, eyebrow wrinkle and all. You think about brushing your lips there tonight, but this feels like two steps forward, and you don’t want to risk taking that step back. “Next time I’ll help you.”

“Oh, next time? You plan on needing my baking expertise again? Fair warning, this is the only recipe I know, so I hope you like apple cinnamon muffins.” You take a sip of your coffee, look up at him, and he takes another bite, nods his head.

“I do. Especially these.”

In a perfect world, what comes next would be a cinnamony, coffee flavored kiss, but the world’s not perfect, and you yawn instead. You look down at your mug like it’s betrayed you, and Hotch chuckles low.

“It’s decaf. I know you usually stop in the afternoon; I wouldn’t forgive myself if you were up all night because of me.” You have always been a person who falls in love with all the little details about someone, so the fact that he’s noticed this, remembers this, makes your heart beat a little faster. “I should let you go. You’ve done so much today, between staying late and baking for Jack—for me. You need to get some sleep.”

He’s right, it’s nearly ten, and you should be getting back home, but this is a moment you never want to end.

You just nod, though, and he reaches out to brush his hand over your back when he walks you to the door.

“Thank you again. I really appreciate that you did this for me,” he says, soft, like he still can’t imagine you would.

“You’re welcome, Hotch. Any time, really; I’m happy to help.”

You get home, clean your kitchen, and have a very late dinner, and the smell of good coffee and apples and cinnamon is still in your nose when you drift to sleep. “You didn’t hear what he said,” Hotch snaps almost a month later, with one hand splayed on his hip and the other on the table in front of him. The moment you saw him engaged in an argument with a member of the Sheriff’s department, fire in his eyes, you’d grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into a small conference room, shutting the door behind you. It took almost three minutes of staring at each other for him to say something instead of just glaring at you for interrupting the pissing contest.

“I don’t need to know what he said. I know you, and I know you handle people like that with a quick, sharp remark and then you wash your hands of it. You don’t argue back and forth, you don’t draw it out. You would have regretted it if you did that today, so I stopped you.”

“You think you know me so well, do you?” he asks in an unkind tone of voice you can’t identify, haven’t heard from him before; the expression on his face is familiar, though, a scowl that only puts emphasis on his handsome features—it’s unfair, really.

You exhale, cross your arms.

“Yes, and I know you well enough to know you’re irritated with him, not me, so cut the shit.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever been quite that direct with him, and certainly the first time you’ve ever sworn at him; your immediate instinct is to apologize, but he surprises you by huffing a laugh. The angry lines of his face smooth into something softer.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. He just—I can’t stand people like that.” He scrubs a hand through his hair in irritation. “We’re here to work—to do a job they couldn’t finish on their own. Not to be… objectified.” He mutters the last word, so low you almost don’t hear it, and then there’s a knock at the door. Derek enters.

“Sheriff wants a word, Hotch; do you have a sec?” With one last look at you, he nods, brushes past him to leave the room. Derek gives you the barest hint of a smile. “He was defending your honor, you know.”

You frown. You didn’t know.

“That jerk was talking about me?” you ask, clarifying, and he nods.

“Something about assuming you’re an athlete because he likes your ass. Set the boss man off.” You walk over to him and leave the room together, heading back to your workspace.

“Well Hotch is right, we’re here to work, not to be objectified. I can see how he would get angry.” Derek shoots you a flat, questioning glance.

“You think he’d be getting that worked up if it was my ass that guy was talking about? Or Emily’s?” The two of you stop outside the conference room, and you cross your arms, lean against the doorframe, frown.

“So what are you trying to say? That he sees me as being weak, thinks he needs to defend me? I'm as capable as either of you.” That may not be strictly true, because you’re a little more brains than brawn, like Spencer in that way, but you can hold your own and you thought Hotch knew that.

Derek just laughs, shakes his head, and ducks into the room. You follow, so confused.

“I thought you were just playing it close to the vest, but you’re oblivious, aren’t you?”

“Oblivious about what?” Emily asks, pen between her teeth, feet kicked up onto a chair, and you shrug.

“I’m still not sure. Hotch got into an argument with a deputy about me, and I asked Derek if Hotch thinks I’m weak and that’s why he felt like he had to defend me.” She smiles broadly around the pen, pulls it out of her mouth with a grin.

“Oh, honey. That’s not it. You know that’s not it, right?”

“I clearly don’t know what’s going on at all, so no, if you’d care to enlighten me,” you say, sinking into an empty chair. “I hate it when you guys are cryptic.” You love your team, but they have a habit of doing this all the time, saying things to each other with their eyes, or just a few words that don’t have any sensible meaning that you know of. It’s like they live to talk over your head, to say things without actually saying them.

“Okay. Hotch has a thing for you,” Emily says simply, and you blink.

Well that’s the very last thing you’d expected to hear.

“He absolutely does not.” You look at Derek, who’s making a face like you’re the one being crazy; you laugh out loud, can’t help it. “He does not. I’m pretty sure Hotch doesn’t have things, and if he did, he wouldn’t have a thing for me.”

“Why not? Because that would be too convenient, since you have a thing for him too?” Derek asks, taking the seat across from you, and you grab the nearest case file, flip it open and focus your attention on it.

“I care about him, the same way I care about all of you, and he maybe needs a little more care—but you guys are reading into things.”

Thankfully, you don’t have to say anything more, because Hotch, JJ, and Spencer return, and you all have a lead to work.

You can’t help but wonder if you’re being obvious about your feelings, though, especially later, when you get back to the hotel and the group decides to have a drink at the bar.

JJ and Emily hit the pool table while Derek and Spencer head up for drinks, and you are left sitting with Hotch at the table, pressed together in the inside corner of a booth.

“Tired?” you ask him, because he does look worn out, his tie a bit loose, his eyes a little red. You know he doesn’t get much sleep when you travel, and you can’t imagine he’ll go to bed even when this little detour is over.

“Always,” he sighs, but when he looks over at you, he smiles, just a little. “Just can’t wait to get out of this town.”

“Yeah, it gives Southern hospitality a whole new meaning, doesn’t it?” The people you’ve interviewed today are, on paper, quite respectable, but there’s a Desperate Housewives, ‘everyone is sleeping with someone else's spouse’ kind of thing going on, and it’s honestly exhausting. To your surprise, Hotch laughs.

“It really does. I don’t think I’ve ever missed the quiet solitude of my apartment quite this much.” You lean back against the vinyl of the booth, sigh.

“I miss my apartment, but it’s been too quiet lately. I prefer the sounds of someone else sharing space with me: the coffee maker percolating, the news in the background, the shower running, the sound of flipping the pages of a book or magazine.” You look down at your hands, because you’re getting a little more emotional than you usually let other people see. “Sorry. I’m not typically this open about being…”

You trail off, but Hotch looks over at you, concerned, the wrinkle between his eyebrows even more noticeable when you’re sitting this close. You think, just briefly, of running your thumb over it, but with your luck, Derek or Emily would see, and you’d never live it down.

“Lonely?” he finishes softly, and when you nod your head, he covers your hands with one of his own, bumps his shoulder against yours. “I get lonely too. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” You look up at him, feeling a little vulnerable, and his expression softens. “When we get back, maybe you could come over for dinner some night. Nothing fancy,” he clarifies, and you smile, “just two lonely people being a little less lonely.”

“That would be really nice.” You can see Derek and Spencer approaching out of the corner of your eye, and Hotch must too, because he removes his hand, slips back into the slight, persistent frown you have come to know and love. Derek looks at you, raises an eyebrow, and hands you your beer. You try to tell him to shut up with your face, plan to follow up later to see if that actually worked. “We have an agent down on the second floor,” Spencer says into his comms, and you immediately want to slap him in the back of the head.

“Don’t say agent down, kid; I’m like, slightly wounded at best.” You hold a hand against the stab wound on your side—the unsub honestly just grazed you, and you’d knocked him out with a single punch, which made you feel pretty awesome—and reach out the other so he can help pull you to your feet. Your hand comes up to your own walkie button. “I’m not down, I’m fine—just slightly stabbed,” you add, and Spencer is getting his cuffs on the unsub when Hotch and JJ burst through the doors.

Well, Hotch bursts. JJ follows behind looking strangely winded for one of the most naturally athletic people you know.

“What happened? Are you alright?” he asks, and you lift your shirt to show him the sluggishly bleeding gash.

“I’m fine, see? It’s not even deep. Spencer saw blood and got a little ahead of himself.” You turn to Spencer, who sticks out his tongue, then back to Hotch, who looks haunted and pale, with that goddamn wrinkle between his eyebrows again. He’s bent down, looking over your wound seriously—you’ve had worse, so much worse, that you don’t understand why he’s so worried about it—and then he leans up, presses a hand to your cheek, and pulls you close for a soft, tender kiss.

If this were a movie, right about now a camera would be panning around you in a circle, as you wrap your free hand around his neck, pull him closer, melt against his body like it’s all you’ve been dreaming of for months, and the two of you would break apart smiling, maybe even kiss again.

It’s not a movie, though, so you just bleed out against your hand and freeze, because Hotch is kissing you at a crime scene and you almost got filleted, so you’re not sure if this is a you got hurt, so I’d better kiss you kiss or an I’ve been wanting to kiss you forever, and you got hurt so I have to kiss you kiss.

When he breaks the kiss, you’re both breathing a bit heavily, and you don’t know what to do, so you just lean in and press your lips to that wrinkle between his eyebrows that you’ve been thinking about so frequently since the first time you noticed it. You brush a hand through his hair, and when you pull back, he’s smiling.

“What was that?” He covers your hand on your side with his own and helps get you toward the elevator so you can be patched up by the EMTs; JJ and Spencer are left staring, open-mouthed in your wake, with an unconscious unsub at their feet, but neither of you are concerned about that.

“I’ve been thinking of doing that for months now: to kiss that spot between your eyes so you’ll stop frowning for a change. Since I couldn’t, I decided to find other ways to help you stop frowning so much. It kind of became my life’s mission.” He sighs, puts his arm around you and holds you close while you wait for the elevator to bring you to the ground floor.

“I stop frowning when you’re around because you’re around, not just because of the things you do for me,” he tells you, and he presses his lips to yours for another warm, soft, perfect kiss. “I’ve been thinking of doing that for months now.” You tilt your head, make a sound of contemplation, and he chuckles softly. “What is it?”

“I think those cryptic idiots we work with might be onto something,” you say with a grin, and when the elevator lets you off and Hotch helps you toward the ambulance to be patched up, Derek and Emily are waiting with concerned looks on their faces. They must be pretty confused to see you’re grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, you guys were right; Hotch does have a thing for me!” you call as you walk past them, and when your wound is properly dressed and wrapped, you put your arms around his neck and let him kiss you until the frown and accompanying wrinkle are nothing but distant memories.

*The novel excerpt is from The Weaver by Emmi Itäranta.

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed

[boldlyvoid]

Million Dollar Man | chapter two

18+

summary: Spencer's therapist recommended he branch out and meet new people who don't want to talk about his work... she didn't expect him to sign up for a Sugar Daddy website.

Content warnings: sugar daddy!spencer, age gaps (14 years), daddy kink, blow jobs, kissing, drinking mention, lowkey perv!Spencer, cum play, praise, oral (female receiving), grinding, love confessions, arrangements, Spencers anxiety, (more to add)

word count: 3.4K

a/n: updates on Wednesdays and saturdays at 2 pm est

Chapter Two | Masterlist

She sat on the subway with an anxious pit in her stomach and her purse held close to her chest. Her laptop in her bag, she didn’t want to lose it on her way to the most important meeting of her whole life.

Her story was becoming a book, she was almost done the final draft, they were making touch-ups to the cover and picking the type of paper today.

Her dreams were coming true within the next month, soon she’d have a physical copy of her book, her pre-sales were showing that she’d be on the bestseller list, and her name was finally going to be on the cover of this one.

She sighed and reached for her necklace, holding it between her fingers as she took a few deep breaths. She was doing so much better today than she was last year and it was all because of Spencer, he was the best thing to happen to her. To think she complimented his sweater vest and now he’s the only person in her life she can count on.

All she can think about is him for the rest of her journey, through 4 more stops she keeps her eyes closed as she thinks of all his little facts and his cute laugh. She smiles to herself and the anxiety slips away, she loves him and she knows that for sure, but she just doesn’t know how she loves him.

She’s never had a sibling, her best friends are all women, her previous boyfriends were all shit and her other sugar daddies were never this wonderful, and her parents are lesbians… she doesn’t know what her feelings really are for Spencer, mainly because she’s never known any other men to compare him to.

But she does know the exact moment she realized she fell for him.

He booked a hotel room in DC after a local case, asking her to meet him in there at 10 pm. She was waiting in the bathtub when he arrived, bubbles galore, her hair up and arms open, “welcome home, honey.”

He laughs, “you want me to get in there with you?”

She just nods, “let me take care of you, daddy?”

He takes off his blazer, pulls his tie off and starts to unbutton his shirt. She watches patiently as he gets undressed, and it’s not sexual to her. He’s her person, her best friend, the only human being she would ever share a moment like this with and that’s when it hits her.

She doesn’t accept it just yet.

It’s not until he’s lying on her chest, between her legs, cheek resting on her boobs as she runs a sponge over his back while he gives her a little run down on his terrible week. His co-worker almost died, his mom is stressing him out, the only good thing he has left is her and she knows that.

“And then I get to my moms facility and she’s had a really good day, she knows me and she knows all of my childhood again and she’s all right there in front of me and yet she’s so far away. I’m never going to get all the time I want with her and it’s really hard to accept.”

He shares things with her that he doesn’t even tell his therapist. Because his therapist doesn’t hold him like a child against her chest and tell him he’s okay when he get’s upset.

Y/N loves him, so she kisses his forehead, “I’m so sorry, I have 2 moms if you’d like to have one?”

“It’s okay, I would love to meet them sometime though,” he wraps his arms around her waist a little tighter under the water. “Thank you for tonight.”

“Did I mention my leg is 44 inches from hip to toe?” She asks in the middle of the silence, quoting pretty woman, knowing he hasn’t seen that far into the movie yet. “So basically we’re talking about 88 inches of therapy for the bargain price of $800 dollars a week.”

Her legs wrap around him and their naked bodies are closer than they’ve ever been and yet it’s completely platonic, “I’d spend a million dollars on you if it always meant feeling this good after.”

She runs her cheek along his wet hair as he snuggles into her neck, “mmm, I like the sound of that,” she teased. “My million dollar man.”

Her stop rolls around and she pulls herself out of her day dreams to get off the train and head to her meeting. She smiles as she walks through the station, up the stairs and onto the busy downtown streets when she gets a text with Spencers special chime. She opens it when she gets to where she’s going, safely inside and in the waiting room.

It makes her laugh in the waiting room. People look at her but she doesn’t care, he’s so special to her she feels butterflies in her stomach even when he’s not around.

“Y/N!” She hears her name being called by her editor, he’s over ecstatic as he comes running out to get her. “Come, come we have so many choices to make!” He jumps up and down as he holds her arm, like a child in a candy store.

“Andy, chill man,” she laughs at him and plays it cool, “It’s just the cover being finalized.”

“It’s our baby!” He teases back, pushing his glasses up and tugging her behind the glass doors of the office.

She’s surrounded by people and paper and huge versions of her book cover. She has a sharpie as she fixed mistakes and jots down final ideas. “And I wan’t Phil to look more human and less like data from Star Trek?”

“But Dorothy looks okay?” The artist asks, nervously and Y/N can tell.

“She looks beautiful! You really brought her justice,” she smiles, “really she looks the same in my head! It’s just Phil and I’m sure it’s tough getting a drawing to look like a robotic human, let alone human.”

“I have some ideas?” She opens up more, taking her iPad out and sliding it across the table, “I wanted to give him more of a Sophia feel? His face is silicone but his joints and everything are more like an Elon Musk crash dummy.”

“That’s perfect!” She’s shocked, “why didn’t that go in the first draft?”

“I was worried it was too much,” she’s a little older than Y/N, and yet her anxiety is that of a teenage girl. “I’m going to get working on the final, do you want some emailed versions tonight?”

“Yes please,” she smiles.

“So we’re done?” Andy asks, “we’ve made all our final calls?”

“I believe we have,” Y/N closes her laptop and takes her phone out, taking a photo of the final rough sketch of her book cover on the table to send to Spencer before he comes to pick her up. She can’t wait to see him now.

—

They’re sitting side by side in matching spa robes, he’s getting a pedicure while she gets her nails done. Leaning back in her chair with a face mask and cucumbers on her eyes, she’s never felt more relaxed in her life. And just in time too, her back was killing her from writing, her knuckles hurt and she just needed a break.

Spencer did too, he was genuinely not having a good time at work anymore, every case made him spiral and he always looked to Y/N on days like that. They met more than once a week now, she got $800 every Friday and she didn’t even really need it anymore. He was coving for so much of her bills and lively hood that her savings account was growing and growing because of him.

For the first time in her life she thought she would be okay if a man left her. As terrible as it was, as much as her moms tried to raise her differently, she fell down the daddy issues rabbit hole and she’s never going to find her way out— however, luckily for her, Spencer is down here too, and he brought a flashlight.

He understands her, more than anyone else on earth. He knows all her secrets, every crush and bad grade and snide remark she’s ever kept to herself. He didn’t judge her, he could actually listen to her issues and tell her why she had them. He gave better advice than a therapist and he was able to get information for her if he didn’t know the answer to what she was going through.

He’s absolutely everything to her and yet he’s 14 years older than her, he’s still traumatized beyond belief, he’s sad and ashamed and recovering… but he’s the best man in the whole world and she wishes he could see that. If he just looked at himself from her eyes, if he felt how she did in her soul when they were together, he’d love himself.

They’re too relaxed to drive home, and Spencer knew that would happen beforehand, bringing her a change of clothes (lingerie) and that robe me mentioned. He books a hotel above the spa and takes her to it. Arms linked as they enter the suite, she’s amazed to find more than one gift bag on the bed.

“How many gifts is this now?”

“We’re at 5 out of 24.”

She laughs as she wraps her arms around him in a thank you hug, “this is what you consider 4 gifts? Spencer there are like 8 things on the bed, let alone the massage and manicure?”

“If you think this is too much I guess you’re going to get really mad next week,” he teases as she looks up at him with a surprised look on her face.

“Spencer, I am so busy next week, I cannot be galavanting around with my sugar daddy,” she tries to act like she doesn’t want to go on an adventure with him again.

The last trip they took was the best week of her life. They went to all the historical sites in the UK that she and Spencer had talked about. Mainly old churches and castles, strange poets graves, random art and most importantly; stone henge. It was a trip of a lifetime and he took it with her.

“I watched the rest of Pretty Woman the other day,” he smiles, “and I thought I’d pull an Edward Lewis and really surprise you because you deserve it.”

“You know how the movie ends, right?” Her heart beats really fast in her chest and she wants him to love her so bad but it’s also terrifying now that she’s this close.

“He lets her choose,” he whispers.

“He rescues her,” she corrects him.

“And she rescues him right back,” he really did watch the end of the movie.

It makes her heart skip a beat as she swallows sharply, “what does this mean for us?”

“I have a whole plan, a whole sequence of events I want to stick to. I wanted to make you fall in love with me this week and ask you on your birthday, can we still do that?” He pleads with her, he’s so serious. He’s clearly put a lot of effort into this.

“Absolutely,” she smiles, “but if you’re going to make me wait that long for you to ask, you still can’t kiss me till then. No matter how much I already love you.”

“Really?” He’s so soft with her, she knows he’s not reacting to the teasing. He’s never had someone tell him they love him and then stay after.

“I would never lie to you about that, spence. I know what love means to you, I know how scared you are and I’m scared too. But I know there is no one else in the whole world I’d rather be scared with than you,” she holds him tighter and rubs her nose against his, “so what’s in the bags, daddy? Finish your surprise.”

She plays along perfectly, stepping back and hauling him towards the bed. “I got you some outfits and things for the next 2 weeks, we have a few things planned. We’re going on a flight soon, I have new luggage being delivered to your apartment this week and we’re going to see your moms for 3 days.”

“No,” she shakes her head, “there’s no way, Spencer, I haven’t seen them in 5 years, I’m going to cry.”

“I know,” he cups her jaw with his hand. “They’re really excited to see you.”

She hugs him tight, kissing his neck as she holds him. “Thank you, daddy, do you want me to put something on for you now?”

“I’m just going to take it off you, plus, what your wearing is sexy enough, he whispers back. “You’re always so beautiful, baby.”

“I thought you were saving the best for last?” She asks as she pulls back, overly eager and he can tell.

“I want to repay the favour from the other night.”

She doesn’t mean to gasp and yet she does, “please?”

He pulls on the tie of her robe, opening it enough to snake a hand behind her back and draw her in with a hand on her bare back. “Please what?”

“Please, daddy?” She looks up with her best begging eyes, perfect pout and all. “I want you to touch me, I promise I’ll be a good girl.”

He steps away from her to swipe all the bags off the bed before picking her up and laying her back against the pillows. He kisses down her body, hand on her lover back as she arches, he drags his bottom lip from her belly button to her cleavage. Nipping and sucking at the exposed skin on her chest, pulling her breasts out of the bra to suck on her nipples, she moans and it’s louder than she expected.

As she plays with his hair, he marks her, bruising small little love bites all the way down as he makes his way between her legs, “take me, please?”

He’s been dreaming of this for so long, he can’t even give you an accurate number of times his mind has drifted to the thought of how wonderful she would taste, how beautiful she’d sound…

“Tell me how badly you want me?” He asks as he spreads her legs and kisses her left thigh.

“I haven’t had sex in 10 months while waiting for you. Daddy, please you’ve owned me for so long, just take what’s yours already for gods sa- OH!”

With a broad lick, his tongue flattens against her core and it shuts her up. She gets what she wants, holding into his hair as she tosses her head back, taking it all in and enjoying it. He’s been on her mind for months, every time her vibrator was where he is now, she thought of him. he’s been the man of her dreams longer than she’s known him, and he was proving it.

“Right there, daddy,” she speaks through shallow breaths, “do you know how much I’ve thought of this?”

“You know I don’t,” the vibrations of his voice against her skin are glorious, he looks up at her through his lashes as his tongue flicks over her clit and she shakes a bit.

“Fuck,” she gasps, gripping his hair tighter, “better than I thought you’d be, fuck, too bad you— Jesus, don’t have the stash anymore…”

He stops and looks up at her, the smirk on his face glistening with her juices, “the stash?”

She nods, “I’ve thought about calling it the pussy tickler,” she teases, running her hand down his cheek and swiping her thumb across his bottom lip before bringing it up to her mouth to taste, “I want more of you.”

He kisses back up her body and she reaches for his robe the second he’s close enough. “Just grind against me? I know you’re waiting but we can still feel good together?”

He kisses the side of her mouth and she takes that as a yes, wrapping her legs around him so his hard cock is pressed right against her core as they move their hips in synchronicity with each other. His breathing is heavy as he kisses her cheek and jaw, her nails scratch down his back, he feels absolutely amazing against her.

She feels so empty, she wants him so bad she’s clenching around nothing as she squirms against his cock and wishes she was full.

“I wish I could move time,” she whispers. “Fuck, why can’t it be my birthday?”

He laughs against her, grazing his teeth over her neck and drawing another moan from her but then he stops moving his hips, “why are you so impatient?”

“Remember I said I stopped enjoying everything? Well, taking a 10 month break from sex and thinking about you every time I got off has made me desperate,” her hand cups his cheek, “I’d wait forever for you, but a girl needs to be fucked hard every once in a while.”

Only she could find a way to make something both profoundly beautiful and whorish at the same time, he loved her for it and she knew that now. He smiles and leaned in to rub his nose against hers and it takes everything in her not to kiss him. The same way it was taking everything in him not to slip into her as he began to grind against her once more.

She’s so close, the accidental edging has added a whole new level of desperation she’s never felt before. She wants to cum for him so bad, but more importantly she wants him to cum for her.

“Take my bra off,” she whispers, Spencer’s hands travel behind her back to unclasp it and he helps her out of it before tossing it to the floor.

“Cum for me daddy,” she whispers in his head with a hand in his hair, gripping him tightly as he bites at her neck, “cover me with your cum like you’re marking your territory.”

“Shit,” his hips sputter against hers.

“Say it, I know you want to,” she teases, so close to the edge but it’s too good of an opportunity. She loves seeing him fall apart like this and she can’t wait to see it again. “Who’s am I?”

“Daddy’s girl.”

He grinds down on her harder and faster and she’s so close, the bubble in her gut is reaching a fever pitch and with a gasp, she’s cumming and then she feels it. His load covers her stomach as he pants against her neck and grips her hips tighter as he comes down.

She wraps her arms around him and holds him as close as humanly possible, her breathing still heavy as he rises and falls on her chest. He’s heavy but she doesn’t care, she just kisses the top of his head and thanks him.

He brushes his nose against her neck, nuzzling her like a cat, “do you really mean it?”

“What, honey?” He remembers so much, this could be a question about something she said 2 months or 2 minutes ago and she has no clue.

“You’re not just playing along with my kinks right, you genuinely want to be mine?”

For being her million dollar man, his heart sure was broke. This is why he wasn’t ready, he still didn’t understand why she would want to stay without anything in return, he’s gotten so used to paying her for her time now that his anxiety has managed to convince him that she’ll leave when he stops being worth it to her.

“What does my necklace say?” She asks, knowing how close he was to it. “Read it to me, I forget.”

“Daddy’s girl,” he smiles again.

She soothes her hands over his back, “I would do anything with you because I love and trust you, but also because everything you do is sexy… you could read me the dictionary and I’d still want you to pump me full of cum after.”

“It sounds so crude after,” he laughs, “speaking of, we really need to have a shower.”

“I’ll wash your back if you wash mine?” She teases as he gets up.

“Only if you let me wash the front too?”

She smacks his bare ass and races him into the bathroom, turning on the water and getting in with him while still laughing and carrying on. He’s her best friend in the whole world, there’s no one else she would rather do this with… there was no one she has done this with. No one has made her feel this good, before during and after sex.

Spencer Reid was an anomaly, but he was hers.

Permanent tag list:

@g0lden-cth @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @shemarmooresfedora @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @blanchardsbk @idonotexiste @measure-in-pain @dreams-in-blxck @doc-padfoot @nomajdetective @mggswhorificlover @dinonuggets1967 @meganskane @gubeskneescrew @kya-li @reidsbookclub @muffin-cup @sassymoon @shirleyrose

Sugar daddy fic (Some tags didn't work)

@mggs-sidehoe @bakugouswh0r3 @mggskneescrews @moonlight-2-6 @spencerreidscumwhore @my-thoughts-are-weird @violetclifford @youabitchhhh @bunny-script @baby-i-am-fireproof @moondustmemories @rexorangecouny @minervaonmars @onlyhereforthefanfics @anonymous-reading @go2sleepducky @kingcrain @beepbooptoop @givemeth @emma-is-a-nerd@wrecky-becky @eternalspence @ne--yo-pets @valerieweasley @coldlilheart @andiebeaword

[turtle-steverogers]

i was thinking but do you know the unsent project? it is this website where you can write a message to your first love that you never sent to them. now imagine steve writing one (or multiple) to bucky after he came out of the ice after nat told him about it... yeah

hello hi anon this broke me and it was too perfect not to turn into a ficlet klafjldskjfalskf thank you

-

Unsent Letters

To:

Steve’s fingers freeze over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at him. It feels like it’s taunting him-- teasing him with the burden of choking out a name. What should he even say? The sender is anonymous, but how many people are named Bucky out there? Would anyone even care?

To: Bu

Steve huffs and backspaces, his hands trembling as he curls them into fists. He isn’t sure what provoked Natasha to tell him about this website. It’s a cruel tease to everything he wishes he could say-- wished he could say before Bucky slipped through his fingers. And now his only option is yelling into an abyss. The text box is black and daunting. He turns it yellow. No, too happy. Green. Yes, that’s fine. Bucky’s favorite color was always green.

His gaze wanders away from the screen of his hefty Dell laptop and out the window of his apartment. DC’s low rising buildings span out in front of him. His gut aches; he misses New York already. But he knows being there would only mangle his soul further, seeing his already alien home torn to shreds by literal space whales. He huffs, thinking of Bucky’s comics. His stories came to life after all. Bucky would have probably vibrated out of his skin if he knew there was other life out there.

To: My astronaut

How’s space treating you? It’s treating me pretty badly, if I’m being honest. If only you could see what it’s done to Brooklyn. I think you’d be pretty mad at it if you knew…

Steve hesitates, reading back over what he’s typed. It’s stupid as hell, and he cringes, but he doesn’t backspace. His fingers find the keys again.

I miss you something awful. I don’t think that even encompasses how much I’m hurting without you. I feel so lost right now-- space is much bigger and scarier than you’d think. I know you’d love it. I wish you could see bits of it, but god, I just want to go home. I want you to come home.

Steve freezes again and finds the screen blurry where tears have welled in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he pictures the way Bucky would laugh at him-- teasing him for his dramatics and ruffling his hair. He wishes he could be there now, rolling his eyes and nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“What’re you upsetting yourself for?” He’d say, gently closing the laptop and coaxing Steve into his arms. “I’m right here, pal.”

And if Steve closes his eyes, he can almost feel Bucky’s warmth enveloping him. But he’s not there. He’s dead, and Steve’s a goddamn ghost, drifting through a future that doesn’t know him.

He opens his eyes and stares at the text box, then clicks submit.

The screen loads, and his message is gone, his pain forever documented in the abyss.

-

For someone who fought aliens two weeks after waking up from his impromptu seventy year sleep, Steve’s life is pretty monotonous. He contemplates this unfortunate fact as he stands in front of his toaster, hair sticking up on the back of his head as he nurses a mug of coffee and waits for his toast to pop.

It’s 5:45 in the morning and he tries to remember a time when he didn’t rise this early. Before the war, perhaps. Though, he’s always been a bit of an early bird. His home life was sporadic to put it lightly and he’d learned from an early age that the sooner he was awake, the better it was for everyone. Vigilance is not a new concept for Steve.

He hasn’t always stayed up late, though. That’s certainly new, and he feels this fact viscerally as he catches sight of his reflection in the microwave. There are bags under his eyes that will be gone by mid-morning thanks to the serum. Dermatologists hate him, Natasha says. Steve thinks he’s pretty lucky that the serum more or less equipped him with a built-in anti-aging agent. His father had started balding by thirty.

His toast pops and he starts a little, blinking blearily at the slightly burnt bread as he pulls it out of the toaster with his thumb and forefinger. He spreads on the same raspberry jam and butter that he uses every morning and tries not to think of how bland it tastes in his mouth as he eats it standing at the counter. Another routine.

He tries not to look at last night’s dishes in the sink as he stacks his plate and silverware on top and doesn’t bother sorting out his hair before pulling on his sneakers and slipping out of his apartment. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, only the beginning tendrils of light sneaking over the low tops of the DC buildings, and Steve vaguely regrets not grabbing a sweatshirt before he left. It’s not quite Summer yet and the mornings could still get pretty cool.

He’s about to take off down the street when he freezes. Natasha is sitting on the steps of his complex, wearing a pair of pink tinted sunglasses and tossing up and down the keys to her car. Steve blinks, rubs his eyes, then blinks again. Nope. She’s still there.

“Nat?”

Natasha looks up at him and smiles. “Hello.”

Steve shifts, uncomfortable. “Hi. You need something? Is there a mission?”

“No,” Natasha says lightly, standing. “You’re not running this morning, though. Come on, I’m taking you to Starbucks.”

“What?”

“Starbucks. You’re going to try it.”

“I don’t want--”

“Steve, you do the same thing every day. Step out of your comfort zone a little.”

Steve frowns, but Natasha’s right-- he really doesn’t ever stray from his routine.

“Fine,” he says, and twenty minutes later, they’re strolling into the nearest Starbucks.

He’s only been in one before, and that was to use the restroom while on a run. He’d bought a water bottle in an attempt to not be rude and use their facilities without giving them any business, but he hadn’t even considered the expansive menu. All the fancy names were too daunting.

They’re just as daunting now as he stares up at the board, heart hammering out of his chest as he’s faced with indecision. Natasha takes one look at his face, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

“I’ll order something for you,” she says. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

Steve gives her a pained look. “Um… just coffee?”

Natasha quirks a smile and orders him something called a caramel macchiato. He’ll take it, he guesses.

The drink is too damn sweet and sugary and he almost gags. Still, he was always told to finish what he was given, so he drinks the whole thing.

-

To: Mr. Sweet Tooth

You’d fucking love it here. Everything is packed with sugar and sweetness-- enough to make even my teeth rot. I had something called a caramel macchiato today and it tasted like someone took your ma’s caramels and condensed them into a cup. I couldn’t stand it, but I know if you were here, you’d want at least twelve. I hope you’re enjoying all the sweets you can up in space.

Love, Mr. Boring

-

Steve’s fingers are stiff and frozen as he works at the straps of his stealth suit. The tangy taste of saltwater still sits heavy on his tongue, and he clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering too harshly as he finally peels off his suit. It’s not much better, being naked, but at least the wet fabric isn’t clinging to him anymore.

The mission had been pretty straightforward until some alien tech managed to blast the quinjet to kingdom come, and they all free-fell straight into the freezing Atlantic.

Steve had managed to keep it together as they took down the goddamn mad scientist that fucked them over, but now that he’s home and alone, he can feel the adrenaline crashing.

He’s shaking from more than just the cold as he draws himself a warm bath, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, trying to breathe through the panic that wants to engulf his entire being.

He loses time for a bit, and comes back to himself lying in his bed, burrowed under several thick layers. He feels so cold, down to his very soul-- a chill that he can never seem to truly shake, even when he’s warm.

Not for the first time, he wishes Bucky were there to hold him. He slips off to sleep thinking old, comforting thoughts of Bucky rubbing his hands between his own, coaxing his head under his chin to engulf him in that natural warmth of his. He always was a fucking furnace.

But when Steve wakes an hour later, shaking hard enough to move the bed with the force of the nightmare he’d dropped into, Bucky is not there to soothe away the ice.

-

To: JB

im so cold and i cant breathe ever and nothing feels right. I dont know what to do, u were always the problem solver between us and i cant think straight right now and i just want you here please. I cant do this anymore, im so tired please come back. I need you please

-

The Winter Soldier file sits in front of Steve-- a horrifying nightmare wrapped up in a neat brown folder. Residual nausea swirls around in his gut as he comes down from the horrible high of reading through the contents. His hands shake where they grasp the thick paper. His heart clenches hard in his chest.

Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive, and he’s been unmade.

Steve doesn’t know where he is-- if he’s escaped, or if Hydra found him again. It’s been three weeks now since the helicarriers, and he’s only just gotten the courage to sit down and wade through the shit that is Bucky’s reality.

He just hopes he’s safe. God, he hopes.

Sam says he’ll help him look, and Steve needs to know he’s at least out of danger, but he barely knows where to start.

And he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry.

Blinking out of his reverie, Steve looks at his laptop. He feels strange and detached as he reaches for it and logs in.

To: Bucky

And yes, that feels right. He should use his name, since he suspects no one has for a long, long time.

I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting so quietly for so long. I understand if you’re not ready to come home-- I understand if you never are. I just hope that you know that there will always be a place with me that is safe. I love you so much and I’m here, forever and always.

Love, Steve.

He’s not naive. He knows it would be dangerous to submit that particular message, so he doesn’t. But that’s okay. That one’s just for him-- for them.

-

“Steve? What is the… Unsent Project?”

Steve frowns and pokes his head out of the kitchen. Bucky is sitting on the couch in the living room, using his laptop, because his own is having storage issues.

Bucky looks at him. “It’s one of your saved tabs. What is it?”

And oh, fuck. Steve had forgotten to remove that from his homepage-- it really wasn’t needed anymore. He blushes all the way to his ears.

“Oh, it’s-- nothing. Not anything important--”

But Bucky has already clicked on the tab.

“The Unsent Project,” he reads aloud. “A collection of unsent text messages to… first… loves…”

He trails off as he processes what he’s looking at, and Steve can’t quite read his expression when he looks at him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s some sort of kicked puppy. Steve shifts, uncomfortable.

“Were you sending me… messages? While I was dead?”

Steve swallows. “Um…” and now that Bucky says it out loud, it really does sound quite sad. He shrugs. “It’s Natasha’s fault?”

Bucky shakes his head, clicking on the search bar. He starts to type his name, but Steve shakes his head.

“I didn’t use your name.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, then frowns at him again. “What did you use?”

Steve blushes harder, sitting next to Bucky and taking the laptop from him.

“Um…” he hesitates, then types what he was sure he used as his first alias.

My astronaut

The screen buffers and loads, then fifty or so messages pop up. Steve scrolls down-- it doesn’t take long to find his.

They’re both quiet as they read, and Steve cringes. Jeez, he really had been pretty dramatic. Next to him, Bucky makes a hurt noise.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, taking the laptop back from Steve. He reads the message again, then once more, and reaches out for Steve. “Aw, I’m here now.”

Steve huffs, embarrassed. “I know,” he says. “That was way back, like, three weeks after I woke up.”

Bucky stills. “You fought aliens three weeks after you woke up?”

“... More like two.”

Bucky hums. “Are there others?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching out to type on Bucky’s lap, because Bucky is holding him now and he’s quite reluctant to move. He thinks for a moment, then types in the next one he remembers.

Mr. Sweet Tooth

Bucky laughs, and Steve finds himself smiling.

“I find this funny,” Bucky says. “Because caramel macchiatos are definitely one of my favorites now.”

Steve laughs, too, and butts his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“If only I could tell that to myself back then-- he’d be thrilled.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky says. “Any more?”

Steve hesitates, thinking of the one he’d sent after that nightmare-- when he was low and hurting. Incoherent. He isn’t sure he wants Bucky to see that particular side of his soul, but Bucky has been more than generous in letting him in on his pains nowaday, and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t witnessed Steve’s own current nightmares.

He bites his lip and types in JB. That seems to yield a lot more results, and it takes a while for Steve to find the message.

He hides his face in Bucky’s neck as he reads. Bucky’s arms gradually tighten around him, and a moment later, he feels him kiss the top of his head.

“Honey, I hate that you were hurting so bad,” Bucky mutters against his hair.

Steve shrugs. “We both were,” he says, and it’s true. There’s something to be said about the guilt they both feel for not being able to save the other person at their lowest, but life hasn’t been kind to them. The vitriol, Steve thinks, should be directed at the goddamn universe for keeping them apart, not themselves for fucking dying. They’re working on it.

Bucky’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “Is that it?”

Steve shakes his head. “But I never sent the last one.”

“Why not?”

“I wrote it after DC.”

He feels Bucky squeeze him again, and he squeezes back.

“Oh.”

“I just-- I wanted you to know that you didn’t have to come home. That I just wanted you to be safe; needed to know you were safe, but it was up to you. I just needed you to know I was here, if you needed me.”

Bucky pulls back then and cups his face, kissing him soundly. Steve’s surprised for only a moment before he’s kissing back.

“I did know that,” Bucky says against his lips. “I needed time-- I was lost-- but the first thing I knew when I remembered who you were was that you were a safe person, because you’d never force me anywhere.”

Steve kisses him again, then pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you knew that.” It’s warm, where their chests meet, and Bucky is solid beneath him. Real. He isn’t speaking into an abyss anymore.

-

There’s a sticky note on Bucky’s pillow next to his head when he wakes up the next morning. Steve’s side of the bed is already vacant, and he can’t hear him downstairs. He must have already left for a run.

Propping himself on an elbow, Bucky plucks up the sticky note.

To: My Bucky

Thank you for choosing me to be your home, and thank you forever, for being mine.

I love you with everything I have.

Love, your Steve

Bucky smiles, heart light as he folds the notes. He’ll keep that one with him, he thinks. A little bit of home to bring wherever he goes.

-

anyway yeah fslkjflaskjfls i-- ouch. anything to do with letters w these two hurts me immensely

[sillyrabbit81]

Hi dear

I'm a big fan of your writing, especially the way you write Sy. Love it. If you are still taking prompts, I have one.

How would Henry and his characters react to having an Erectile dysfunction?

I think that topic is not being discussed enough.

🖤🖤🖤

Thanks for the ask Anon. I was having trouble with this ask so I discussed it with @henryobsessed and we worked on it together. To be fair, she did most of it! If you haven’t read any of her work I suggest you visit her blog and take a look at her Masterlist . She is a great friend and has a wonderful perspective and a unique style. I love her!

@henryobsessed here I have to interject and have my say too, I loved this request, it was so much fun finding creative ways to discuss a delicate subject. And for the record I may have done more characters but @sillyrabbit81 wrote more words per character HAHAHA. You are a wonderful Friend and Cavill sister you inspire and push me to be myself and I cannot be more grateful. That being said have fun reading guys 😊

Summary: Situations in which Henry and his characters suffer erectile dysfunctions

Word Count: approx 3k

Warnings: smut, masturbation (m), oral sex (m and f receiving), anal play, p in v sex, bad medical advice, incorrect use of prescription medication, bodily fluids, period sex, drunk sex, Dom/sub relationship, descriptions of violence and death,

Masterlist

Erectile Dysfunction Headcanon

Henry Cavill

Henry had been filming for months and now he was headed home for a week’s break. You sat there waiting in the tinted people mover, as Henry was ushered to the car. Lights blinded you as the door opened, he climbed in, and smiling a weary grin, he pulled you into a big bear hug. He missed you so much.

That night, he fell into your arms in a passionate embrace. You had both craved each other, missing one another’s touch. As the night progressed, you noticed things were different. For the first forty minutes you were ecstatic, he had bought you to orgasm three times. Your body was super sensitive, but every time he seemed to be close himself, the phone would ring, indicating someone needed him. You had switched it off after an hour, having enough, and wanting his undivided attention.

Henry had managed to stay hard, but after an hour and a half, it was beginning to be painful for you, and he seemed no closer. Eventually, he flopped beside you, drained from the physical exertion.

“I don’t know what’s wrong. It’s like I’m right there, but I can’t let go.”

You brought him into your arms, and caressing his back said, “Don’t worry love. It will be ok. Just give yourself a day, and maybe we can shut your phone off. I think the stress it is causing you might be a big part of the problem.”

He huffed at the thought. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe.” He sighed and soon you heard soft snores spilling from his lips.

Walter Marshall

It had been a long day, scratch that a long month. Walter had been working day and night to catch a serial killer. That night as he came home, he couldn’t forget the latest victim. What they had found had turned his stomach. In all the years he had been on the force, nothing could have prepared him for what they found that night.

Arriving home he collapsed on the bed, he was so physically exhausted, and for once sleep immediately consumed him. He woke nearly twelve hours later to the smell of bacon, eggs, and coffee. He groaned; he had forgotten it was his two-year anniversary with you. Walking into the bathroom he washed his face, staring at the blood shot eyes reflected back at him.

“Come on man, get it together. You promised her,” Walter tried to fire himself up. It was no use, he was spent. Sighing, he walked into the kitchen wrapped his arms around you and breathed in the soft floral scent in your hair. For the first time in days, he felt a spark within himself, and although the horrific images still played on his mind, he felt a slight peace. He kissed your head, relieved, something could still reach him, something was still good. “Happy anniversary, love,” he growled.

After a wonderful breakfast, Walter sat on the couch with you and the two of you cuddled while watching a movie. His eyes kept sliding shut, his exhaustion made worse by his full belly. His fatigue became even more apparent when after reaching your hand beneath the blanket, you could not bring his flaccid muscle to attention.

Normally this situation would turn heated quickly, you had a way with your tongue that often had him begging for more. But Walter couldn’t get rid of the images in his mind, the battered and dismembered bodies, and the fact they were no closer to catching the killer weighed most heavily on his thoughts.

After half an hour of you trying to arouse him, Walter said in a resigned voice, “Sorry love, I don’t think I can.” With eyes that spoke of immense pain he looked at you and asked, “Could we please just cuddle? I think I need that more than anything right now.” In that moment he knew you were the one for him. He had expected huffing or crying because you thought you weren’t good enough or you asking him to please you. Instead, you had adjusted your position, so he was tucked into your body, holding him close while your hand stroked his curls.

A calm filled his soul as you whispered, “I am here for whatever you need my love. Rest now.”

Captain Syverson

You were just about to turn the light off and go to sleep when you heard the front door open with a crash and heard a rough curse. You grin, Sy was home and wasn’t sober. You knew what that meant, rough, wild, primal fucking. You quickly turn the light off and hide under the covers, well acquainted with the game, you knew how to play your part.

“Where are ya, woman?” Sy’s voice boomed at your bedroom door. “Don’t think you can hide from me. I’m hungry!”

You peek out from under the blanket, Sy had turned the light on again and was quickly undressing. You lick your lips, watching your big furry ox as he dropped his jeans, and his cock was revealed already on its way to being hard. Turning suddenly, he saw you, and you yelped covering your face again. “I see you woman, don’t play shy!” You giggle nervously, excited, your core already dampening with arousal.

Sy pulls the covers back and smirks as he sees you’re already naked waiting for him, “You’re a cheeky little thing ain’tcha?” You bite your lip, opening your legs slightly, inviting him in. Grabbing your ankles, he pulls you down the bed and gets on his knees. A low growl emanates from his throat before he dives between your legs feasting on you with an eagerness that brings you swiftly to your peak.

Licking at his lips and sucking on his glistening whiskers, he stands up pumping his cock getting it ready. Your brows pull together, puzzled, he’s always hard when he eats you out. You don’t have time to dwell on it because he’s soon ready. Sy flips you onto your knees before he enters and begins his assault on your core.

Something is wrong though, you can feel him falling out of you. Did he cum already? Sy mumbles curses, pulling out and you turn around and see him fisting himself again as he slips his fingers inside you. In a few moments he is hard again, removing his fingers and replacing it with his cock. You sigh, relieved, as he builds his rhythm, and you hear him start to groan. But soon, it happens again, and try as he might he just can’t stay hard.

“Fuck,” Sy growls. You turn around and see the look on his face, a mix of frustration and embarrassment that melts your heart. “I think I drank too much Sugar,” he says, running his hand over his short hair. “Fuck. This hasn’t happened… Fuck!”

“Hey!” you say sharply to get his attention.

“What?” Sy replies just as sharply, but he doesn’t look at you.

“It’s fine, Baby,” you assure him. You see him jut his jaw and you reach up and cup his cheeks, making him look at you. “It’s ok. You’re just a little too drunk,” you smile and give him a soft kiss. “It happens.”

“Not to me it don’t.”

“It’s not forever,” you say. “Come on, let’s go to sleep. I’m sure it’ll be back normal in the morning.” You kiss him again and pull his head down to whisper in his ear, “maybe you could wake me up like you did last week.” You pull back and smirk raising your eyebrows.

Sy grins, still a little sheepish, but there was a hint of mischief in his eyes again, “You’re a good thing, Sugar.” He kisses your forehead and says, “I love you.”

Geralt of Rivia

Geralt had never in his life had this happen before. The bar maid who had eagerly agreed to keep his bed warm on this cold winter’s night, gaped in confusion.

How could it be? She thought, All the myths about Witcher’s said they were virile and could last most of the night. She had been consumed with the thought ever since The White Wolf had arrived in the area and was quick to accept his offer to take her to his bed. She was bitterly disappointed and pouted at Geralt. Her sweet, plump lips alone should have been enough to make his cock stand, but tonight it lay unmoving, and useless.

That blasted sorcerer, it must have been him who had cast a curse on Geralt. It could be the only explanation for his inadequate showing. Looking at the poor wench beside him, Geralt pitied her. She had been most eager to satisfy his needs tonight, giving a valiant effort to arouse him. No matter, he had other ways to enjoy bringing her to the height of pleasure. Granted he didn’t normally concern himself with their needs as his own normally coincided with theirs. But tonight, his fingers, and tongue would be adequate until he broke the curse and returned to give her what she truly deserved.

Mike

The party had been epic, the drinks flowed, pot was smoked in abundance and Mike had managed to capture the attentions of a wonderful long legged blonde beauty. She helped him back to her apartment and his heart rate raised as she slowly stripped him, leaving him in all his naked glory. Laying on the bed he watched as she did a strip tease for him, her perky breasts bouncing as she jiggled her ample peach in his face.

But something was wrong, the situation was right, she was right but… he held his hand out to the two or was it three beauties before him. One took his hand as he guided her to sit in his lap. He caressed her as they kissed, his tongue violating her mouth with as much enthusiasm as his inebriated self could manage. Even with her grinding against him nothing happened.

“Shit” he swore.

The girl frowned and her lips seemed to move in twisted patterns which stilled again before she snickered. An evil cackle reverberated in her throat and her face twisted into that of a demented creature. “Can’t get it up, boy?” she taunted as she continued to laugh. She collected his clothes and managed to push him out of her bedroom and into the night. Standing in the cold with only his briefs covering his body, he stumbled as he began his walk of shame home.

August Walker

August Walker was hands down, far and away, the greatest lover you have ever had. He was the only man who had ever been able to keep up with you, your average session lasting for four hours. He was able to cum and get hard again faster than any guy you had ever been with too.

But being with August meant following The Rules. There were many Rules, rules which governed how you would dress when you saw him, how you were groomed, how you were to address him and when you could contact him. There were punishments too, but you had been a good girl, never broken any of his rules, so you never gave the punishments a thought.

One of the many Rules was absolutely no snooping. He said it was for your protection as much for his privacy. You didn’t know exactly how August made his money, but you assumed it had to be from some sort of illegal activity. So, you obeyed this rule as you did the others until one evening after a marathon session, you realised you got your period. You were shocked August hadn’t said anything, clearly he had continued to fuck you while you were bleeding. You started opening his bathroom cupboards searching for a tampon or pad or something, hoping you wouldn’t have to stuff your panties with toilet paper until you got home.

You opened the cupboard behind the mirror and were surprised to see a pill bottle with little blue tablets. You recognised them and after checking the label and confirming it you were speechless. August used Viagra? But, it didn’t seem possible that he would need it, his stamina was out of this world… unless…

“What do you think you are doing Petal?” August said from the doorway, a box of tampons and a towel was in his hands.

Quickly recovering your senses, you grabbed the box and towel out of his hands and kissed his cheek saying, “Looking for those. Thank you, August.”

Quicker than you thought possible you were bent over the counter, cheek pushed into the stone benchtop. “You found my pills,” August said coldly. Leaning his body over yours, his weight pushed down on you, holding you in place as he kicked your legs apart. You muffled a cry as you felt him hard again against your ass. “I don’t need them, for most women, Petal. But for particularly slutty, insatiable, cock hungry brats such as yourself, it’s a necessary assistance.”

“I didn’t mean to pry,” you murmured, hoping he would take pity on you. Tears welled in your eyes as his finger pressed against your ass, forcing your tight muscles apart and you cried as he entered you. “I’m sorry, August.”

“My dear sweet, Pet,” August grunted as he violated you with a second finger. “If you aren’t sorry now, you will be.”

Napoleon Solo

Napoleon had been watching the siren from a distance all night. Her lithe body commanded all around to her attention. After she finished singing her call to the night goddess, he made his move. Two drinks in hand he set his sights and went in for the kill.

The two danced, drank and now were in her apartment, laid out on her bed he was happily pleasing her, mouth buried between her delicious thighs. His tongue flicked expertly over her button bringing her to climax, exciting his body, he climbed forward and for the first time that night claimed her lips. They kissed passionately until something changed, his mind grew foggy, and his cock deflated.

“Aww, is the great Casanova having trouble?” she laughed her sweet siren song changing to a bitter retort. His confused eyes tried to fix on hers as she began to distort, her last words filling his gut with fear. “Don’t worry love. I’ll take good care of you Napoleon Solo.”

Clark Kent

Clark was in college and his new friend Tommy was egging him on to take Crystal out for a date. He couldn’t understand why the cheerleader wanted to take him out. He wasn’t anything special as far as she knew, but she had been flirting with him all week.

Dinner was nice and Clark was surprised when Crystal suggested they return to her share house for dessert. Nervous as he was around her, he was pleased when after ice cream he had allowed her to talk him into a make out session in her room. They had only been in the room a few moments when he had felt strange. They had been kissing, it was enjoyable, but his stomach had begun to feel off and he felt unusually tired and weak.

The more they kissed the more frustrated he was to realise he wasn’t getting a rise out of his little friend. He noticed a pendant hanging on the wall near her bed, the green stone glowed eerily at him giving him a bad vibe. After a few more moments he politely excused himself, saying he must have eaten something off. Clarke murmured apologies and gave promises that he would call her and he left. Strangely, by the time he left her house he felt better, as if he had never felt ill at all. He was only a little upset that he had ruined his chances with Crystal, something about that pendant made him hope he would never see it again.

Charles Brandon

Charles sat in the apothecary rooms, wondering what he had gotten himself in for. The King had recommended him when Charles confided in his friend of his problem.

“So young man, why are you here?” the old man asked, his face kind but stern.

“Well, I’ve been having trouble, when I pee it burns and well, I can get an erection, but it deflates quickly and sometimes I cannot get one at all. I’m also having abdominal pain.”

The old man chuckled. After examining the affected area, he turned to his wall of potions. Pulling together some salves, and powdered herbs he turned to address the Charles. “Here, rub this on the affected area twice a day, and drink this tea three times a day.” The apothecary paused and said with a grin, “And finally, give the ladies from court a rest for a bit, you will regain your vigour again.”

Shame and chagrin filled Charles as he pulled his coverings back over his privates. Taking the medicines, he snuck out of the room trusting that no one saw him, and hoping against all hope, that this would work.

Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock sits back in satisfaction, marvelling at his new invention. Based on some literature he read from the America’s he perfected the design and made it fit himself perfectly.

Having commissioned the glass tube and rubber attachments, the contraption worked by winding a small handle, creating the necessary suction to create a vacuum, pooling enough blood into his cock to make it erect. By placing a rubber ring at the base of his shaft, he found he was able to maintain an erection for approximately thirty minutes. He could even bring himself to orgasm by his own hand.

It really was a delightful invention. Now, he just had to find that little vixen of a maid and see if it worked with her too. Perhaps he should try and use her mouth first.

Tag List 1

@henryobsessed @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @posiemax @nostalgicb-txh @moonlacebeam @anitababi @agniavateira @blakerogue @shadesofarrogance @mansaaay @stxlemate @wheretheriversrunintothesea @amberangel112 @madbaddic7ed @eldarwen333 @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @summersong69 @littlefreya @littlebirdofrivia @luclittlepond @myloveforhenrycavill @mary-ann84 @tellingyouastory @beck07990 @zealoushound @sofiebstar @sweetlybigdragonn @bloodyinspiredfuck @marantha @diegos-butt @greensleeves888 @endofalldays01 @justaboringadult @ysmmsy @offroadinjandals @littlewrenofrivia @pussyverson @foxyjwls007 @kebabgirl67

[starglow-xx]

(About the brother!atsushi) aRE YOU READING MY MIND MISS?! Because that has been on my mind for MONTHS. TYSM For writing it was amazing!! If you don't mind, may I request (if requests are open) atsushi, still an older brother, but with a sister that's 10-13 yrs old? It's totally fine if you don't wanna do it. Keep up the good stories, ily mwuah!

*sobs* you’re so kind thank youu 🤧🤧

i wrote this a bit differently i hope that’s okay anon! at first i planned for this to be mainly abt atsushi and the reader, but i decided to add in relationship hcs with the agency bc i ran out of ideas

if you guys liked this don’t worry! im planning a special part two for this one so be the look out for it hehe

atsushi with a tween! sister

ft. the armed detective agency

like in my baby sister hcs, you’re still the most important thing to him period

the two of you got picked up by dazai and kunikida when he was 18 (obviously) and when you were 12

for a 12 year old, you were a bit small bc of malnourishment (which makes atsushi feel so bad) so both dazai and kunikida thought you were a bit younger than you actually were

they assumed you were about 9-10ish

you and atsushi both share a favorite food !! chazuke :)

so when kunikida treated the two of you, he made sure you got more bowls bc like i mentioned above, he feels really bad that you were malnourished and under weight

(don’t bring this up but kunikida felt bad too hehe)

when dazai went with your brother to the warehouse, you were with kunikida

imagine the surprise of the other ada members when kunikida came in with a little girl dressed in rags that popped out from behind him

kenji was the one who vocalized his thoughts 

“kunikida-san you have a daughter?! wow! i didn’t know that! :D”

when you found out your brother was a tiger, you were a bit concerned but you were actually kind of excited

you were even more excited when you found out the two of you were going to be taken in by the agency

anything was better than the stupid orphanage

and besides!

you got a tiger for an older brother and a bunch of other super powered agents to take care of you! who could want anything else?

at your age, you’re very impressionable and can be influenced easily so atsushi makes sure to teach you more in depth of good morals and the importance of kindness

his heart swells with pride and relief when he catches you being kind to others

pride bc he’s proud that even after all the two of you have gone through, you still ended up being a good kid and having a bright view of the world

and relief bc he hasn’t failed as a big brother

pfftt like he could ever fail

but please, from time to time reassure him that he’s perfect and the only big brother that you’d ever want bc he rlly needs that kind of validation

with his salary and savings, he tries to buy nice things for you

what a sweetheart 🥺

he saw you eyeing that one dress at a store window? fast forward abt a week and half and it’s inside a pretty gift bag for you

you wanted to try that dessert from the nice bakery? that’s dessert after dinner at one point

but other than buying you things, he sets money aside for you

like all the time

(y/n), here have this, you might need it”

“but nii-san you just gave me—”

“take it”

#1 spoiler

also your #1 confidant and source of physical affection

you tell him anything and everything (except crushies and those kinds of things)

atsushi loves it when you talk abt your day and he can see the big smile on your face and the sparkle in your eyes

it gives him the strength to keep going 😖😖

the two of you aren’t as touch starved as you’d probably think, but that’s only bc the two of you had each other

in your opinion, no one can match the hugs of your big brother

and it got even better bc YAYY he has tiger arms now ٩(◕‿◕)۶

if you ask, he’d carry you around too hehe

you also get nightmares quite often so he’ll always be there ready to calm you down, talk if you need to, and rock you back to sleep

god i love him 🤧🤧

atsushi will do everything in his power to protect you and make sure you get to grow up happy, supported, and loved

port mafia attack? oop he’s already taking you to the nearest escape route

someone is starting to harass you? they just got suckered punched into the next week

you want to go out to have some fun? he’ll go ask the president for a day off

you’re not feeling well? he’ll take another day off and take care of you

whatever you want to do, he’ll do it with you! (as long as it’s within reason)

will always be your #1 supporter! and he’s the president of your fan club hehe

he loves you so so much and will do anything for you; your life and happiness will always be more important to him

you are his reason to keep going

agency head canons !!

atsushi is your big brother, but kunikida is most definitely some sort of father figure

everyone can see it

except kunikida of course

kunikida scolds you lightly if he thinks your manners need work or if you make a mess in the agency

you listen to him of course and in turn as some sort of a reward, he’ll give you pieces of stationary

he always gives you the nice, good quality kind and you’re over the moon

atsushi adores it when you come running to him showing your new notebook or fountain pen and blabbering what you’re going to do with it

sometimes it isn’t even as a reward for being a good child; he’ll just give it to you and he’ll say smth like “i noticed you’ve used up your last notebook quite quickly, so here’s another one” or “did you run out of ink? here have this then”

he usually has a soft spot for children in general, but he most definitely has a soft spot (or a thousand) for you

yosano is kind of like a motherly figure to you

she gives you the guidance a mother should and goes on shopping trips with you!

atsushi always gets dragged along by you, but he thinks it’s worth it seeing you look so happy

yosano being a doctor also tries to teach the things you should know, or things that would be helpful to you

she’ll teach you the basics of cooking, sewing, how to treat a cold/fever, etc

also gives you excellent advice 1000% of the time

“remember (y/n)-chan if someone hurts you come tell me and then i’ll chop them into—”

“yOSANO-SENSEI DONT TELL HER THAT—”

fukuzawa is like a father to most in the agency but you see him more as a grandfather figure

bi weekly tea and gossip sessions hehe

along with cat talk!

most of the time though, it’s just you talking and him listening to you, but the two of you enjoy it nonetheless

“and then kunikida-san ended up crashing into a pole and dazai-san started to laugh at him and i did too because it was really funny but we ended up getting scolded—”

“hmm i see...”

he’ll let you stay in his office as he fills out paperwork; you’re usually doodling or drawing in your notebooks

sometimes he’ll meditate and you’ll join him, but 4/7 times you’d fall asleep

you always wake up with a blanket over you

dazai is like a cool but a highly concerning and kind of high maintenance uncle

frequently takes you out with him when he ditches work

walks in the park, eating at uzumaki so he has the excuse of treating you so he doesn’t have to pay his tab avoiding kunikida and sometimes chuuya and akutagawa, all that fun stuff

also tries to not talk abt suicide in front of you especially if it’s just the two of you alone

he knows that you mean the world to his pupil and that said pupil would probably hate him for putting suicide inside your brain

he teaches you random but useful things like how to pick a lock, how to steal kunikida’s notebook if you’re looking for some information, how to sweet talk your way out of things, etc.

is also the one to tell you that if you ever get a significant other to introduce them to the agency first

he always wants all of your gossip; some of them work pretty well for blackmail

“dazai-san! dazai-san! did you know that kunikida-san lost his glasses and he was looking for them for nearly an hour when he was just holding them the entire time??”

“woah really (y/n)-chan?! hey hey can you say it again into this recording device so kunikida-kun would believe me when i tell him—”

always ends up giving kunikida a heart attack when he says that you’ve been with him all day

ranpo is also like a cool but a highly concerning and kind of high maintenance uncle

will share some of his snacks, but don’t push it or you might not get anything at all

loves it when you compliment him

if you tagged along with him and your brother on a case, he will show off to impress you

“...and that’s how the crime happened”

“UWAHH RANPO-SAN YOU’RE SO COOL”

atsushi is lowkey and kunikida is highkey stressed that ranpo’s eating habits will rub off on you

“ne (y/n)-chan do you wanna try this highly caffeinated drink and this concerning amount of sugar filled snack?”

“can i really?!”

“rANPO-SAN NO—”

ranpo definitely does stuff like that on purpose 

the tanizakis are like siblings to you!

a weird set of siblings but siblings nonetheless

the two of them adore you and think you’re precious

atsushi definitely knows how to do your hair whether it’s long or short but he got even better at it when he asked the two

hehe braid trains are definitely a thing + kyouka and kenji (and maybe even dazai)

sometimes you have sibling swap days

you’re with junichiro for most of the day and atsushi is with naomi

strange i know

each of the tanizaki siblings try to make it fun bc they know that the two of you did not at all have a happy upbringing

junichiro likes spending time with you by taking you out to different places that naomi likes to frequent

like the mall, different stores and restaurants, the park, places like those

naomi does the same thing with atsushi so if you ever bump into them, you go out and eat together :)

besides atsushi, the next one in line who spoils you the most would be junichiro (and yosano & kunikida both coming in at a close third)

he honestly can’t help it; you remind him of how naomi was when she was younger

and besides

he’s always been a sucker when it came to the happiness of a little sister

“would you really buy this for me junichiro-san?!”

“of course! don’t worry about it” :)

wanna talk abt boys/girls/celebrity crushes things like that? naomi is your girl

you feel a bit embarrassed to go talking to yosano or your brother abt that and kyouka does not know a thing abt them either

“uwahh naomi-san look at all these people in this magazine! they look so good!”

“right?! but of course onii-sama is still the best—”

you get along with kenji and kyouka quite nicely being roughly the same age as them; they’re also like siblings!

just pure, wholesome vibes from the three of you

you’re over the moon when she finds out that kyouka is staying with you and your brother

atsushi is twice as happy seeing you talk your mouth off and finally having a girl around your age to talk to

“do you think demon snow can change how she looks?”

“hmm... im not sure...”

you and kenji talk abt anything and everything

he even teaches you how to take care of plants!

sometimes the two of you are kind of in the same boat bc you don’t know much abt yokohoma being stuck in the orphanage and kenji doesn’t know much abt cities in general

“wait where are we again kenji-san?”

“ah we’re close to the ports! but im not really sure how close because i don’t know what the symbols on this sign mean”

“don’t worry! neither do i!”

bonus things!

yosano was kind of too late teaching you abt you know what

“NII-SAN IM BLEEDING IN BETWEEN MY LEGS”

you’re sobbing in the agency’s bathroom and atsushi is panicking trying to get you to open the door

“Y/N?! H-HOLD ON LET ME GET YOSANO SENSEI”

ranpo overhears and cackles making everyone around him confused

suddenly atsushi bursts in the agency basically on the verge of tears rambling incoherent sentences abt the bathroom, you, and blood

it just clicked for everybody in the room

(im going to pretend that kenji has sisters back home so that atsushi is the only one who remain oblivious here hehe)

atsushi is genuinely confused and sort of concerned that no one is freaking out with him

yosano waves her hand saying smth like that she’d take care of it and junichiro pulls atsushi to the side to talk to him

fast forward like half and hour and dazai and ranpo are cackling on the looks of both of your faces

honestly not sure who’s more traumatized, you or your brother

“why does this have to happen” :(

“ne ne (y/n)-chan!~ you’re too young but at some point you’re not going to have it!”

“uwahh really dazai-san?” :D

“yeah! but first you have to have ANFK—”

next thing you know your ears are being covered by your brother and dazai is thrown across the room by kunikida

you know

the normal

you’re twelve and have never gone to school, but the agency takes care of that

it’s too dangerous to go to school so they teach you what’s necessary and whatever else they can

kunikida takes care of math (obviously)

yosano takes care of science/biology/anatomy/health (whatever you wanna call it)

ranpo even dragged poe to help you with english

atsushi even got lucy to help you out with english too!

as tanizaki and naomi used to be students, they give you their old work books and they try to teach you all the other subjects

sometimes kyouka and kenji are there learing with you too!

sorry if there’s some errors! i’ll read through it again later :)

and as always, reblogs and shares are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe! and just in case nobody told you they loved you today, i love you! you are enough! <3

writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize! the reblog button is there for a reason

[spxllcxstxr]

Inked • S.B

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hi! Could I request a Soulmate AU with Sirius please? Marauders era with matching tattoos. No rush and thank you 🌹🖤 — @fific7

Summary: Mary is determined to find your soulmate and not even an oncoming storm will stop her. (Soulmate AU)

Warnings: some tattoo talk?, rain, thunder, I guess hints/implied bullying, Peter makes an appearance but like he’s not a key part and he’s not like bad or anything

Word Count: 2.3k

A.N: This is the kind of star I’m envisioning for your soulmark (just not yellow) I actually never specify the color, so you can imagine any color you want. This took me like a week to write for some reason. But I like how it turned out. Hopefully you guys do too! Love you all ❤️

****

No one ever told you that soulmarks tingled.

When the eight pointed star seared itself into the flesh of the inside of your left elbow at age sixteen, you thought that was it. You thought that it would just sit there innocently to the point where it wouldn’t cross your mind every second of every day, but Merlin were you wrong.

The prickling of the mark was constant, like pins and needles jabbing relentlessly into your arm. It wasn’t exactly painful, it was just an obnoxious and infuriating reminder that you still haven’t found your soulmate.

Hogwarts was practically the place for the vast majority of witches and wizards to find their soulmate, as it was basically the only topic discussed amongst the sixth and seventh years.

Honestly, you just wanted your mark to stop its incessant tingling to the point where you wouldn’t mind anyone being your soulmate. You’ve never heard any complaints from your friends who had already found their true loves, so you assume that the sensation stops eventually.

But you were tired of scratching at your arm making it look like you had some weird sort of flesh eating disease. It was unflattering and highly inconvenient.

Sure, you could run around like a headless hippogriff with your sleeve rolled up asking everyone you encounter if they’ve seen another person with that identical mark, but that’s not romantic. And you wanted romantic, Merlin damn it.

Plus, imagine the burn of embarrassment that would overtake your entire being if no one shared your soulmark. You shudder at the mere thought.

So, you learn to live with it.

You almost want to rip your arm off when it gets particularly bad while studying or trying to get the perfect measurement for your potion, but after a full year you’re almost used to it.

You’re used to how often your friends would gush about their own soulmates and their constant questions about why you’re still single as well.

Mary MacDonald, one of your best friends, had already found her soulmate, some boy from Beauxbatons that sent her too many Howlers during breakfast, but they loved each other, so who were you to complain?

But ever since she found hers, she’s been pretty determined to seek out yours. Even getting her boyfriend to ask around his own school. You can never show your face around Beauxbatons and that’s final.

She’ll make you sit around the courtyard, pretending to read a book, while she scans the arms of the many crowds in search of your star. Mary tries to walk in on top secret Quidditch practices to get a glimpse of any rolled up sleeves, but so far, no good.

That’s really the only reason she’s dragging you down to the Black Lake even though dark grey clouds are hanging heavy in the sky.

“Mary!” You huff as she drags you down the grassy hills, the smell of rain thick in the air. “I know what you’re doing, I’m not daft, y’know.”

Her hand tightens around yours as she starts to feel you resist.

“What I’m doing? (Y/n), it’s a nice day to just hang out at the lake!” Mary cries, the lie hidden well if she wasn’t your best friend.

“Mary it’s about to torrential downpour.” You scoff.

“I thought you liked the rain.” She shrugs innocently, the sound of weeds getting crushed beneath your school shoes loud in your ears.

“Mary, my soulmate might not even be at Hogwarts!” You exclaim, trying to get out of this whole situation. You could be curled up by the fire with a sugar quill, but no, why would Mary let you have some peace and quiet? “They might be older or younger than me—“

“Well we won’t know that, will we, until we check everyone in our year first.” She insists.

The deep murky water is in sight, a few people are lazily lounging around the water’s edge. Like they haven’t even noticed the rain clouds overhead.

“You’re obsessed.” You sigh, finally stopping your attempts to wriggle away from her.

“It’s because I love you.” She smiles sweetly at you, cheeks pushed high, obscuring her dark eyes.

You continue to rub the inside of your arm against the side of your abdomen, attempting to find some sort of relief. The scratchy fabric of your white button down against your grey vest is probably the most effective. The closer to the bank you get, the better you’re able to make out the figures.

The owner of the vibrant red hair was obviously Lily, one of Mary’s friends, and also the more sensible of the group considering her coat was tightly wrapped around her. She’s in a somewhat similar situation as you—she hasn’t shown her soulmark to anyone. However, if what Mary drunkenly told you one night is true, it matches James Potter’s to a tee. Poor her.

Peter was also there, kicking rocks around and chuckling at whatever story Lily was telling them. His Gryffindor jumper is a little short on him while his slacks are a little long, mud dirtying the hem of them. As far as you know, he doesn’t even have a soulmark. It’s not uncommon or something to be ashamed of, but ever since certain people found out, it’s been quite the issue. Sure the infamous Marauders took care of the situation the best they could, but the damage was already done.

The last person was obviously Sirius, you could tell by the way he has his wand situated in his bun. He was closer to the water, picking up flat stones to skip across. His bark like laugh echoing across the space. You and Mary weren’t too far from the group now, so you could tell that the top two buttons of his dress shirt were popped open. Sirius Black’s soulmark was another mystery. He seems like the type to brag about something as important as a soulmark, but as far as you know, only James, Remus, and Peter were privy to that sort of information.

“Hey guys!” Lily perks up, waving at the two of you.

You smile and wave at her, but as Mary stops and chat, you gravitate closer to Peter and Sirius.

“So where are the other two?” You ask, watching as his stone skips across the water, finally ending with a satisfying plunk!

Sirius turns to face you, a few loose strands framing his face, blowing slightly in the wind.

“Detention.” He remarks casually, lazily trying to tame his curls.

“And you two aren’t?”

Peter shakes his head enthusiastically, blond hair bobbing around. “Sirius and I managed to escape before Slughorn lost it.”

“Hey Pete!” You hear Mary call from behind you. “Don’t you wanna know what you missed in Muggle Studies?”

“Shit, yeah.” Peter bounds over to where Lily and Mary are sitting, leaving you and Sirius alone. Your feet shuffle at the predicament.

You slowly inch closer to Sirius, the large distance awkward without a third person. You’re forced to hold down a wince as your mark prickles almost painfully.

Sirius’ eyes are almost the same shade as the clouds in the sky as they pierce into yours.

“You know how to skip rocks?” He tosses you a smooth stone which you catch effortlessly.

You open your mouth to respond but before you’re able to, you’re cut off by a clap of thunder. The ripples of thunder makes you jump slightly.

“We should probably go inside—“ You start, shivering at the cold wind that begins to roll past you.

“Scared of a little thunder, (Y/n)?” Sirius teases, smirking at your shivering form.

“Don’t be a prick.” You snort. “Just throw your rock.”

You push the thought of the oncoming storm to the back of your mind as you position yourself on the bank.

The water laps at you shoes as you toe the edge, running your thumb over the smooth surface. You mirror Sirius’ position, slightly crouched at the knee, body angled towards the lake.

“One...two...three!”

You watch his body move fluidly through the positions, the stone releasing and skipping across the water delicately. Not only do you get distracted by Sirius, but the mark on your arm gives a sudden jolt, making your posture falter and your stone crash recklessly into the lake.

Sirius brings a ringed fist up to his mouth, trying and failing to stifle a laugh.

“It’s not that funny.” You grumble, embarrassed.

“I mean, it’s pretty fucking hilarious. I thought you said you knew how to skip rocks?” He crosses his arms over his chest, eyebrows raised, a chuckle still lightly escaping his amused smile.

“Technically, I didn’t tell you shit.” You remark. “The thunder cut me off.”

“Ah yes. The spooky thunder.” He drawls, wagging his painted fingers at you mockingly.

You bring your hand up to flick him off when you feel a cool dot of water drop onto your hand.

“Hey, did you just feel a—“

In the middle of talking, one raindrop becomes hundreds, the torrential downpour almost instantly soaking you to your bones. You hair plasters to your skin, clothes clinging onto you.

“—raindrop?” You utter weekly, a chill coming over you.

Your eyes widen as you look at Sirius, how his dark hair sticks wildly to his face, like curtains across his eyes.

Lily and Mary let out identical high pitched shrieks, and you hear the sound of mud squelching as the three run back towards the castle.

As Sirius tries to wipe the wet hair from his face, you grab onto his wrist, pulling him as your sprint back to the castle. You’re fumbling as you try not to slip in the mud but at the same time try get to the cover of the castle quickly.

“A little thunder, my arse, Sirius!” You huff out, his wrist still grasped tightly in your hand.

You hear him chuckle behind you, easily keeping up with your pace.

Cold water traces down your back and fills your shoes, your discomfort rapidly increasing with every step and every second you spend outdoors.

Your mind drifts off to Sirius, who was only in his white uniform button down. He must be freezing.

After sloshing through puddles and mucking up your shoes, you manage to get under the cover of the stone castle.

Your teeth are chattering and you body trembles, but at least the rain isn’t cutting into your skin anymore.

Lily, Mary, and Peter are nowhere to be found, though they’re probably making their way to the Gryffindor common room already.

Sirius is wringing out his drenched dark curls, his wand between his lips, but you’re too focused in the face that his shirt is now completely see through. Your eyes wander as you ogle his fit body, shamelessly trailing everywhere. You bite your bottom lip at your confidence.

However, something catches your eye as you admire his arms. A black splotch. Like a tattoo in the inside of his elbow. You somehow go colder than you already were.

“Admiring my beauty—Hey!”

You step forward and latch onto his arm, trying to get a better look at the spot on his arm. Initially, he struggles, but you jab your finger into his skin, your own mark tingling beneath your wet clothes.

“What’s your problem, (Y/n)?” He angrily grunts.

“What’s this, Sirius?” You demand, looking at him.

“Why?” Sirius rips his arm out of your grasp, trying his best to hide the mark from you.

“Because,” You explain, rolling up your own sleeve to expose the eight pointed star on your arm. “We might have something in common.”

Your entire body erupts into shivers both from the cold wind against your soaked skin and the way your soulmark buzzing.

The star stands out against your skin and you watch Sirius’ eyes widen, his jaw going slightly slack.

“Sirius.” You whisper. “I need to know if you’re my soulmate.”

The rain pounds against the castle, wind whistles, and thunder claps, and yet you don’t jump. You’re too focused on Sirius’ expression.

Silently, he brings his index finger to your mark and lightly traces the shape with his fingertip. His finger is cold, but you barely realize it because of the shock that runs through your body, originating from his touch. Goosebumps run wildly across your flesh.

He swallows harshly before pulling away and recklessly pushes his sleeve up the length of his arm. Your heart beats wildly in your chest in anticipation.

Sirius shoves his arm in front of you and you bring your gaze to focus on the inside of his elbow.

And there it is.

His soulmark.

Your soulmark.

The lines are clean and the points are sharp, the star is clear against his skin.

“Oh.”

“You’re my soulmate.” Sirius mutters. “Oh thank Merlin!” He’s laughing, a smile growing across his face.

His laughter is infectious and you find yourself joining him, practically jumping with glee.

Sirius latches onto you, pulling your wet bodies close. He brings his lips to your forehead, warmth spreading from the contact.

“We should celebrate.” Sirius remarks, pulling away just enough to see your entire form.

“Hold on.” You chuckle. “I think you’re forgetting to do something.”

His grey eyes flick down to your lips. “How could I ever forget the best part?” He smirks.

You lips are slow to connect, relishing in the sounds of the rain and how his his hands wrap around your elbows, thumb pressed into your mark.

When they finally join together, you feel whole. Like two puzzle pieces linked together. Eyes flutter shut as emotion run rampant through your body. Your mark tingles before fizzling out when you and Sirius disconnect.

You’re breathless as you cling onto him, as he clings onto you.

“We’ve got a party to throw,” Sirius grabs your hand. “soulmate.”

A stupid grin makes its way across your face.

“Lead the way, soulmate.”

•

Sirius Black Taglist: @quindolyn @fific7 @msmb @lunalovecroft

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

[matchamorphosis]

MS ROSIE THAT HEADCANNON OMFG MAY I PRETTY PLEASE REQUEST DADDY ARI- maybe like hes busy with work but youre really needy so he lets you ride his thigh i lub mean daddy ari🥺<33333

𝐶𝐴𝑁𝐷𝑌 𝐶𝑂𝐴𝑇𝐸𝐷 𝐶𝐻𝐸𝑅𝑈𝐵

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || Ari hasn’t been paying you much attention and so you take matters in your own hands as well as your short cherry skirt.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 || smut smut smut

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 || alt. AU — daddy!ari levinson × [black//woc]fem!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || 18+ nsfw, thigh riding, masochism, kinda dark!ari, spanking, hair pulling, lots of edging, tons of crying, Ari is a big meanie :(( MINORS DNI — 18+ INTERACTION ONLY

𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 || candy by doja cat

𝐰. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 || yes jasmeen of course you can!! 🥺💗 i’m gonna make daddy!ari extra mean and dirty for you and i’m gonna add a little bit of bratty reader cause in this house we love mean daddies and spoiled brats! 💗💗💗

Ari’s eyes follow the screen to the stacks of paperwork in front of him. all this was due by the end of the week and he still didn’t file the information from the online form to the files laying on his desk.

there were times where Ari broke some work related limits of hours upon hours of desk work fueled by caffeine and your kisses of encouragement but then again he did have his limits.

these were those times but no matter how much he promised himself he’d take a break, meaning to check up on you and see what you’ve been up to. although time seemed to pass and Ari hadn’t realize that that side note was forgotten three hours ago on the account of his mind relentlessly kept on reeling him back into his paperwork.

the large coffee mug you made him at a pottery class sits besides a stack of files is pushing its fifth refill of the day as Ari pours the remaining bitter black liquid from the coffeepot. the dark black liquid flowing into the yellow painted, honeypot shaped mug.

it makes him smile at the memory of when you gifted it to him, wrapped in sparkly wrapping paper he presses kisses all over your face in gratitude. he always complained on needing a mug since he always dropped them and he was certain to never drop of break this special mug his princess made him.

its sudden with the loose grip he has on the coffee mug that the coffee spills over the brink of the mug and onto a few papers. the action causes Ari to blurt out an aggregated scold before fanning out the papers soaked in coffee to the side near a fan.

sitting back down on his chair his eyes look over the work he has completed. stapling and putting away documents that have been signed and filed out as well as closing off tabs that weren’t important anymore-

he still has more work cut out for him

his rushing thoughts and swift hands bearing a pen and the other a computer mouse, his head shoots up as a rhythm like knock echoes at the home office door. “come in,”

the low rumble of his voice speaks out as his eyes and attention to back on the papers in his grasps. sipping on his black coffee, slightly sweetened in his desired cream and sugar packets, his focus and eyes stick to his paperwork.

the door opens to reveal you, slightly irritated and desperate for attention from your daddy. you were certain with your presence and the way your heels clack against the flooring he would lift his head up. adjust the small glasses on the brink of his nose and acknowledge you, tell you that you look cute today or stop writing all together but it doesn’t spark interest to him at all.

thin spectacles on the brink of his nose, loose curtains of hair rest on the sides of his face. as you take steps closer you can see the worn out exhaustion in his blue hues and the deep darkness of his under eye bags. daddy hasn’t slept great in days, always joining you in bed in the early morning hours and waking before you can. so now knowing that your mission for attention might not be the best idea, you know when your daddy gets like this.

it’s best to leave him work but it wasn’t healthy for him to overwork. it’s stress none stop about getting work done cause it wasn’t good for daddy! and despite you feeling a burn in your belly that you wanted to deny and push aside for him...

even you had your limits of being deprived from his embraces, praises and touches.

a solid three days it’s been that Ari has been glued behind his desk. it irked you how demanding his job was but you had to be his supportive princess, he needed all the support and encouragement. even if it meant to ignore the wetness in between your thighs that needed to be catered and handled by your daddy then so be it...

maybe you can get a bit of attention, a morsel of affirmation from him and you’ll be set to go. maybe you shouldn’t have worn the outfit you have on if you now just want a praise of two but you don’t hesitate to get comfortable. settling in one of the form fitting arm chairs at the far corner of your daddy’s office near the towering bookshelves and his hanged degrees.

admiring how smart and brave your daddy is with his degrees, certificates and honors as you play with the little charm bracelet he gave you. throwing one smooth leg over the other your mini skirt rakes up to reveal your upper thighs but still covering up what little you’re trying to hide. you liked dressing up pretty for daddy and he did to, today was no exception cause you were planning on cheering him up.

when he would finally realize you were here- you roll your eyes as he takes another sip of coffee. taking all your necessities that you stuffed in your Strawberry Shortcake book bag, you laid the elements of entertainment on the coffee table in front of you near the plush armchairs.

one of your lisa frank coloring books being thrown across the expansive wooden tabletop, you take out your bright vivid gel pens and pastel markers from your coloring pouch. and by taking out you unzip the pink pouch and turn it upside down for it all to fall on the table.

the clashing plastic crash of your coloring tools against the polished tabletop alert Ari- his head shooting up as his eyes meet your distanced body uncapping a scented marker and opening a page of the coloring book.

“princess? I didn’t see you, what are you doing here?” his voice breaks as he drops the pen in his hands briefly, softly smiling as he sees your face driven in concentration. his smile deepens when your nose doing the cute little scrunch thing when you’re unsure about something but plan on figuring out.

hair styled in one of your complicated yet sophisticated hairdos, his large sweater he allowed you to wear since the morning still adorns your bodice comfortably. knees bended, he sees them bare but an outline to a crimson red skirt falls on your hips.

it’s a shame Ari couldn’t get up and scoop you up in his arms, play and color with you for a bit without the ball and chain of his work holding him hostage at his desk.

“so now you notice i’m here,” your voice lightly snaps but it’s mellowed as your lips pull into a pout, pulling the strings of his heart. a sense of guilt rises in his chest because he knows he hasn’t been caring for you properly these past few days. without the little moments of meals and getting ready for bed he hasn’t been spending time with you that much.

“don’t be like that princess. daddy just has alot of work to finish-” but you still shake your head, confusing Ari as you cross your arms over your chest.

“but I don’t want daddy to work! daddy works forever! I want special time!” you whine, your eyes tearing up as you slam your hands against the table. making the coloring books, pens and markers quake at your mercy.

at this moment Ari’s at your mercy, and if he permits you to continue this stirring frenzy who knows how much he’s going to spend away from his work to calm you from a potential tantrum. so the words that come out of Ari’s mouth make you hault your next actions of crying and screaming-

the simple notion of, “come here princess, bring your coloring book with you. we can work together,” makes your tears stop falling and your body rising to leap towards him. grabbing your things quickly and making your way to your daddy. it’s now that he sees you in your outfit that has his eyes sticking anywhere else but yours.

a smirk curling your glossy, cherry painted lips you turn around for him so he could see your little ‘outfit’ the flow of your skirt tempting to rise up at the bottom curve of your ass but you’re hoping to save the surprise do what’s underneath it later, “do you like my skirt daddy?” you say, your eyes tracing his and he only but stares at anything else but your eyes.

the rich gleam of your thighs and long legs, the way your chest peaks out through the fabric to his sweater, your tempting glossy lips and those damn heels...

his response is his hands patting down on his thigh, enough to practically make your heart jump at the sight. it’s been that long since you’ve sat on his lap but then again you constantly need to be on it.

a moonlight smile pulls at the corner of his lips when you drop your coloring books and markers on his desk. making sure to not mess up his paperwork with yours, Ari moves his papers to make way for your things.

sighing happily when you settle your bum in between both of his thighs to get comfy. sweet scent of strawberries and cream from your shampoo wafting to his nose and the stark fruitiness of your scented markers mixing with the coffee steam from his mug marry together.

the two of you do your separate jobs peacefully, with the exception of you reaching for his honeypot mug to have a lick of coffee that he tsks at you. moving the mug away from your grabby small hands.

“that’s a big people drink sweet pea. i’ll give you a juice box if you’re thirsty,” but you just shake your head and get right back to shading with your colors.

“daddy may I please play my hello kitty game?” your perky voice starts as you start coloring the detailed tiger cub. emphasizing on the may and please, your daddy was a sucker for good manners and etiquette.

shifting against only his right thigh now, your back hunches to reach the desk with difficulty until he shift to get you comfortable. continuing coloring but your eyes leave once in a while to stare at the keyboard Ari’s fingers clack with each key, “not now princess.” Ari hums and you frown sourly.

the online hello kitty theme park game would be an excellent way to have you distracted as he works but at the same time Ari doesn’t think it’ll be healthy for you to invest that much screen time. and besides he’s working on it, leaning your head on his bicep you let go of that unwanted answer and get back to color tinting and detailing.

Ari files in the margins of the paperwork and writes everything out as you do with your coloring sheets. as the minutes turn into hours, his mug once again being filled with coffee and your sippy cup filled with your juice. you finish coloring page after coloring page and Ari stack after stack of paperwork.

leaving you halfway done with your one hundred and seventy-five page Lisa Frank coloring book and your daddy only one stack of field files. the amount he managed to finish has him impressed of himself and grateful to his special good luck charm sitting perfectly right on his thigh.

“daddy look at all the pages I finished!” you cheer as you pull out the coloring book for him to look over, practically bouncing on his thigh from excitement. the dazzling brightness of your wide toothy smile bringing a large smile to Ari’s face as he takes the coloring book to look over at your hard work.

flipping each page, the drawings and outlined sheets were more colorful and detailed than the last and Ari was indeed speechless and at awe. proud of his creative princess and her clever unique technique with scented markers and glitter gel pens.

“princess these are gorgeous! I have a little artist on my hands don’t I?” Ari grins and his words make the wide smile you have crinkle as your eyes dash away from his flustered.

your bashful state makes Ari chuckle but his eyes don’t pull away to continue analyzing and admiring your work. you indeed did an excellent job at coloring and Ari thought you’d struggle a bit with the detailed sheets of Lisa Frank. the refrigerator tonight will be decorated in these latest masterpieces, he’ll make sure of it.

and you know what? you deserve a reward.

Ari thought and he bends to the side to open the second compartment of his desk just above his organized files. pulling the drawer open, his hands roam over the pens, staples and office supplies in search for the treats.

stopping his short search when his fingers grab the bag of heart shaped lollipops he at times rewarded you when you listened to him extra carefully. he grabs one and brings it up to your eyesight, enjoying how your eyes light up and follow the lollipop with each motion.

starlight eyes widen and focus on the cherry lollipop in your daddy’s grasp then stare up at him again, “is that for me daddy?” you words drip in eagerness, wanting to taste the sugary sweet artificial fruit against your tongue.

Ari’s eyes playfully squint against your mischievous ones, his fingers undo the wrapper and disregard it aside on the desk. wonderstroke eyes looking over the bare heart shaped lollipop, you can smell the tangy cherry and your mouth waters.

although you don’t expect daddy to take the lollipop in his mouth. a pout pulling your lips as you rock against his thigh for a taste and you stop once your daddy takes it out with a smart delightful pop!

“open up for daddy princess,” and you don’t need to be told twice as you open your mouth so Ari could place the heart lolli in your mouth. “tongue out sweet girl,” and you stick your tongue flat out, making Ari smile at your good listening skills.

your glossy lips closing around the sweet candy on a stick, you hum at the sweet taste, “thank you daddy,” Ari simply kisses your forehead before patting your head, getting straight into work.

despite the candy he gave you, you’re still upset he still is ignoring you. by all means you could color as many pages in your coloring book for eternity but they never gave you the same satisfaction then the attention daddy gave you.

being deprived of it, you’ve also been deprived of his cock.

locked away in the depths of your shared bedroom you couldn’t just replace his thick fingers with yours. your pink silicon toys with his cock because they didn’t reach the golden spot he easily could reach. and you couldn’t rub your panty clothed pussy against one of your pillows and pretend it was Ari’s body.

no matter how much you wanted to touch yourself at times- hell you wanted to touch yourself when you were in your playroom this early afternoon. Ari obviously wouldn’t notice since his head was deep in paperwork but you knew you couldn’t break one of his golden rules.

right now daddy was right here, you were sitting on his very lap and compared to him you were a little thing in desperately critical need to be taken care of. your slicked cunt wasn’t going to stop over-examining your daddy’s big arms that caged you in. his large hands that held the pen that looked so small in it as he wrote. his wide muscular chest that you rest your back against.

not to mention the soft and tender caresses of his one hand rubbing your thigh through your fringed scarlet red skirt. soft lips pressing gentle kisses on your hairline here and there along with the scratch of his thick beard. the soft spoken praises he whispered in your ear as you colored quietly for him.

daddy himself made you needy, very needy. because as much as you could sit still and color quietly and be his good girl you desperately wanted to grind your cunt against his thigh.

but then again who were you to ask for permission?

the sudden shift your body has against his thigh doesn’t ring any bells or blast any alarms since he just thinks you’re simply shifting to find a comfortable position.

wandering fingers trace the veins bursting from your daddy’s flexed hands and forearms that grip his pen as he writes. as well as the other that’s hooked around your belly to keep you still, finding the perfect rhythm to roll your hips against ari’s thigh.

holding in a whimper you suck on the lollipop hard, picturing the heart shaped lolli has the tip of his cock but then again it just makes you drip pathetically against your daddy’s thigh even thinking of that. the burning pleasure vibrating at your core as your hips continue to rock onto the denim of your daddy’s jeans. the slick of your pussy soaking your panties and the honey seeps through the crotch of the thin lace thing.

as much as you’re doing a good job at keeping your little sounds to yourself and throwing Ari off at your dirty work as you carry on coloring he isn’t oblivious to the wetness that is drenching his thigh nor your ongoing grind you have on it.

no matter how considerable you told him earlier that you were coloring the page you’re working on for him and how adorable you looked grinding your desperate cunt on his thigh.

you didn’t ask for permission

Ari’s sure if he could lift your body away from his thigh they’re would be a wet patch stained on his jeans. he can hear the sloppiness of your wet folds and slick with each rock your hips have. the smell of your arousal filling his nose, the cherry in your breath as you let out a little whimper. feeling the loose string of your orgasm building in the pit of your belly beginning to tighten as you roll and rock your hips to the lace that makes you melt.

“stop it,” Ari’s low rumble commanded, his hands still writing something but his eyes dash from his work to you. eyes closed and face clouded in lust as you persist your grinding. head and conscious tucked away in your dirty little dream world. Ari doesn’t let the fact that you’re sucking on the lollipop like it’s his cock or the little moans that sound like high pitched hums.

he gave you you’re a reward and he can easily take it away

oblivious of your daddy’s true intention you moan when his hand lands on your head, stroking through your hair until he takes a handful of it and pulls your head back. a gasp escaping your lips, your eyes open and the grind you have on his thigh comes to a crashing stop at the painful tug.

“daddy let go!” you loudly whine. your eyes watering at your ruined orgasm and your hair potentially getting ruined by your daddy’s harsh hold.

another cry escapes your lips when ari pulls your head back even more, causing your back to arch as his breath wafts against your earlobe. “daddy told you to stop, princess. is my little princess a dumb baby or is my little princess too busy fucking herself on daddy’s thigh to listen?”

the coarseness of his remark makes you shiver, a whimper and cry leaving your lips as your eyes water as the hold he has on your hair tightens.

“get your filthy cunt off of my thigh and keep coloring that picture for me. can you do that for me or you going to wander and get lost in that whorish brain of yours?”

rapidly nodding your head up and down and lift your hips over his thigh, your need to please and answer his question quickly makes him chuckle into your hair. although you’re still whimpering and pouting over your ruined hair, you spent all morning making it cute and perfect all for it to be ruined with a single tug from his large hands.

hot bothered breath and searing lips grazing against the shell of your ear causes your wetness to seep and drip onto your rubbing thighs. catching you in the act, Ari’s free hand pulls the skirt above your hips, expecting you to wear some kind of tiny lace panties but you aren’t wearing anything.

blue eyes don’t meet any scandalous undergarment, just your plump ass and your dripping cunt desperate for his touch. desperate for a release and his attention, his hands examine the flimsy material for a skirt that deliciously hugs and covers your hips.

feeling your daddy’s stare on your princess parts, it makes your heart jump and thump when his hands grab at your ass. kneading the flesh of it before gripping the waistline of the cherry red skirt.

“daddy-?” another gasp escapes your lips when a loud tare ripples throughout the room and the weight of cold air hitting your slicked, exposed pussy.

Ari grunts as he takes the fabric of your now ripped skirt and throws it onto the floor without a care, all he wants to see is your pussy. a large hand comes down to slap your ass, enjoying the way it bounces back like it’s a response. it has all the blood and lust flowing down south to his hardening cock.

“do daddy a favor princess and shut the fuck up before daddy makes you,” the threat makes you whimper, the lollipop in your mouth swirling sweetly against your tongue as your daddy pinches and gripes handfuls of your ass. slapping the flesh and watching it bounce, he wants to dig his teeth in your peach flesh.

“take my sweater off. I want nothing on what’s mine. do you understand?” Ari groans in your ear as his hands glide around your hips to dip into your cunt, his fingers stroking your folds and not believeing how wet you are. “oh and princess, the heels stay on,”

whimpering and following his order quickly, grabbing his sweater from the helm and lift the heavy wool material of the sweater above your head. body fully bare and under the heat of his burning glance, you drop the thick article of clothing in your hands on the floor. leaving the heels on as he commanded, feeling the lust filled burn of his stare intensify as you rest your hands together on his knee waiting.

waiting impatiently for the matter for his next command. the smell of the baby oil and sweet strawberry lotion he rubbed on your curves earlier that day hits his nose and he moans. you look, smell and- as he takes his fingers in his mouth and moans- taste like candy.

hearing the sudden sound of a heavy metal buckle of his belt loosen, Ari’s hard cock rises up and hits the hard muscle of his belly. an untamed groan escapes oats his lips when you turn your head over your shoulder to see him rubbing the tip of his cock with his thumb.

those starlight eyes that usually gleam in their faux innocence stare back at the fire in his eyes and you pout. wanting to touch daddy’s cock and taste him on your tongue. but your eyes tear up when he takes his thumb and suck the white cum into his mouth, not leaving enough for you to taste.

it makes you whip your head away from his handsome smug face. Ari doesn’t ignore the sniff out of you as he sets sight of your bare body in front of him. resting your elbows and body weight on the desk your arched back leaves loads of space for him to glide his hands through. running delicious shivers throughout your spine before he slaps your ass again. stinging and burning but your cunt creams in pleasure as you bite your bottom lip.

“my slutty princess wasn’t wearing a bra under daddies sweater? no panties under those scraps for a skirt? fucking knew you looked too good. wanted daddy to find out and ruin your tiny pussy, didn’t you? wanted to distract me from work? nasty little girl thinking she can get what she wants.”

not daring to let out another moan, his hand still gripping your hair loosens as his free hand rises up your waist to pinch a nipple. “answer me slut. you get nothing if you don’t,” his hiss rings and normally you would laugh at him in this state. telling off his stupid hunchmen on the phone as you got all hot and bothered as he yelled at them, making them beg for his forgiveness.

now you’re on the end of that anger; and you don’t mind it one but as his large calloused hands grab the fragments of your ripped skirt on the floor before analyzing your bare body arched pretty and posed for him. in nothing but your big girl heels with your cute lacy white socks, his cock is painfully hard now as the tip paints his abdomen in precum.

“yes daddy. I wanted you to fuck me. I wanted you to stop working because you haven’t touched me and I want cummies! I deserve cummies!” you cry but the words are too sloshed and unreadable from the lollipop in your mouth.

it’s quick that Ari takes the stick and pulls it away from your mouth with a swift and perky pop! a loud whine excludes your lips from his sole action but it’s replaced with a gasp as Ari slaps your mouth, “shut your big brat hole up before I stuff it shut myself,” and you moaned at him, fucking moaned at the threat.

it leaves him just as speechless as you, you’re face wafting in the heat of your embarrassment and you cower when his smirk curls deviously done on you. Ari wants you to cry- God he wants to rip your heart out and bandage it up with his cock

“dumb babies like you get what daddy gives you. nothing else, now grind on daddy’s thigh princess,” his rough command makes you freeze, not even daring to breathe for a second.

wondering if he’s being serious, and it’s as if he could read the confusion buzzing in your head he decides to clear it up. the harsh and stinging spank awakes you from your overthinking session and you get to work. working to gain the same pleasurable friction you were enjoying moments ago.

your hands gripe the edge of his desk till your knuckles bulge out around your soft skin. rocking your hips against the roughness of his jeans, this time no panties are in the way as your slickness flows freely. lubricating your folds and soaking his thigh with your juices, it makes him chuckle when he feels your wetness soak through the fabric onto his thigh. you’re so pretty and obedient he could fuck your till you couldn’t think or stand.

“do you think you can finish your coloring page before you cum princess? show me how good you are at coloring.”

Ari’s artificially sweet remark makes you whimper, just as artificial as the cherry heart lollipop you were licking. not hesitating or wasting a minute, you quickly grab your coloring book and markers and get straight to work.

thankful you didn’t have to color much, one good thing leading you to this moment you could feel your orgasm nearing. the high peak that you’re getting closer and closer to, you want to jump off the cliff and dive into the waves of your pleasure. who knows what daddy would do if you didn’t finish your drawing on time, you needed to fucking cum.

you always got what you fucking wanted regardless what daddy thought, but maybe you spoke to soon-

“please princess, daddy knows you can grind harder on that. show me how much of a slut you are for daddy’s thigh,” you whimper at his command and obey immediately.

grinding harder against him, his teeth biting the soft bit of ear as his fingers roll your hard nipples. slightly wincing and deeply moaning, you can’t help but allow him to make you slip in that space of mindless obedience.

daddy always made you a moaning wet mess, always desperate for his approval and sweet honeyed praises. glassy eyes concentrating on your coloring sheet, it was becoming difficult to focus on coloring as you rocked your hips. trying desperately to withhold your orgasm but desperately trying to please daddy and grinding harder. hot tears springing in your eyes at the havoc situation, you let out a sob as your rock against Ari’s thigh.

Ari only but cooed at you, thumbing away your hot salty tears. “what a little crybaby,” he chuckles through a fake sympathetic smile. fisting his hard slippery cock in one hand as the other crept down to rub your little button. if anything Ari wants more now is for you to cry- it’s getting his cock harder and harder as the tears drip onto the coloring sheet.

“daddy I-I can’t color that fast!” that cry as his thick fingers advancing in their speed and pressure. stroking the puffiness of your folds before brushing against your drenched hole.

taking not a single ounce of regard to your wail, he responds only by pinching your pussy lips. causing you to cry out in sudden pain before he strokes your pussy to calm you. thick digits gathering up your arousal, your folds creating a lewd serenade in the golden tint of his office.

“you can’t color that fast? my stupid little princess doesn’t know how to color quick enough? to color a small stupid drawing before she can cum? huh, princess? answer me!”

there doesn’t need to be any tugging at your hair or harsh slap to your ass for you to quiver against him. Ari- your daddy has a magical way of making you submit with just the ease of his words but you don’t know how to answer him at all but to keep coloring. marshmallow tears streaming down your face like shooting stars, you continue to reach your high your daddy assists you on reaching but denies.

however Ari is noticing that you’re practically almost done coloring the picture, by the time you’re finished you’d probably cum and fufill his order. oh he couldn’t let that happen. his spoiled brat wasn’t gonna cum until he felt she deserved so, which wasn’t gonna be anytime soon if he could do anything about it.

quick hands slap down on your ass, causing the marker in your hand to scribble slightly over the lines. a gasp escaping your lips your bottom lip trembling at the sight and rushing figuring out how to fix it. scarlet heels clacking together, his hands stop tracing the lace of your socks at your ankles.

ravishing in your panicked state, he smirks into your hair. grabbing the lollipop he snatched from you earlier from the desk, taking it into his mouth with a satisfying pop! ignoring your offended and hurt whimpers as your daddy steals your reward away from you due to your clumsiness. it makes your vision blurry and your bottom lip tremble violently, head echoing in only one thought and one thought only-

daddy is so mean, daddy’s a big fat meanie.

your thoughts roar but you didn’t mean to say any of them aloud, you’re so caught up in the moment that you have no idea you did so because now your ass is getting spanked again and again and again and again. all until your peach flesh burns and Ari can see the indents of his fingers on that heart shaped ass he loves so much before bringing his hand back in your hair.

tugging it so your spine suddenly arches back so his lips brush your ear, a gasp escaping your mouth. “I can be meaner princess. you stop coloring and I won’t let you cum. do you understand that? stupid whore.”

the growl rolls off his lips and it just adds onto the sheet of sweats glistening off your skin. tears drop from your lashes as shaky, trembling hands grip the markers as you persist on finishing the coloring page. feeling your body is on fire, your sobbing cunt continues to rock against his loins and the pleasure is almost unbearable you whimper.

the smirk plastered on Ari’s face is sinful, his hands unbutton his shirt to leave his chest bare. golden pendant glistening in the light bulbs of his office. back muscles resting against the leather of his office chair, he strokes his throbbing cock. biting his bottom lip enjoying the naked sight of his desperate slut for a precious princess bouncing and rocking on his thigh.

arms bended calmly behind his head, biceps slightly flexing as he licks on the lollipop he took from you. humming from its sweet taste while imagining it’s the nipples of your tits, his tongue flicking over the heart shape- sucking sharply on it. savoring the sweet cherry taste as his hands graze up to gripe your bouncing tits. savoring in your heavy moans, stiff sniffles and stuttering sobs all on the account of him.

like taking candy from a baby, his baby.

Ari thinks as he watched your ass bounce, sweat glistening off your skin as your heeled feet shake. moving back in your high unaware matter, your ass unintentionally brushes roughly against his balls. causing you to gasp and your daddy to grunt, ordering you to do it again which you do.

suddenly the thought of fucking your other tight hole full of his white ropes of cum takes over his mind but he was enjoying you trying to find a release. “maybe if you color the picture really nice for daddy then daddy will let you cum,”

Ari spoke, his voice soft and tender like always despite the current moments of viscously degrading and name calling you. you’ve always craved this part of him but who knew it would hurt your heart so fucking good with each insult and slap to your heart shaped ass.

although the remark creates a hopeful glisten in your relieved eyes, posture relaxing a bit. you were certain you wouldn’t be able finish it on time but maybe if you focus on making it look pretty- regardless of a few white spaces- daddy would let you have your cummies. Ari would kiss you on your pretty lips and make you undone with the sweetest command.

oh how you craved it this moment it’s bringing more tears to your eyes.

“r-really daddy?” you stutter, imagining the tenseness of his thigh as his cock. squeezing it just right around your walls as your eyes glue on the coloring sheet. grinding your pussy harder onto his jean covered thigh that let’s all your high pitched and stuttering moans flow like honey, “you really mean it?”

a dark glint shines in Ari’s blue hues, taking the lollipop out of his mouth his hand rubs his shaft painfully slow. that thumb that has been teasing your button glides past his weeping tip, his burning blue glance shifting to you. until his hand reaches up, causing you to moan when he grabs a handful of your hair.

oh how he was going to tear his poor princess down after building her a sense of hope.

“no,”

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Fair

Ferndale Survives AU. Takes place after “First” and before “Bed.” Estinien takes Agi to the Spring Fair and hopes to impress her. SFW.

The weeks that followed since “the kiss” passed with Agnes going with Estinien as he shephered his flock. Away from pryin’ eyes. Don’t want Ma and Pa watchin’ me kiss my girl! To her relief, Agnes received a letter from her parents saying that they too were relieved that she was alive and well after her disappearance from Gridania. They implored her to stay in Ferndale, if only to learn more about the Ishgardians. “You LOVE meeting new people, Agi!” Agnes said in her mother’s voice as she read the letter to the Varlineaus while the group was eating breakfast. “So stay and mingle!”

Mingle? What’s that even mean? Does it mean talkin’? Or is that another adventurin’ phrase?

“I can try to find somewhere else to stay. I’ve imposed on you for far too long.” Agnes said apologetically, but Marcelin and Esme shook their heads.

“Nay. Stay ‘ere. We’re happy t’ave you.” Marcelin smiled at Agnes. “Besides, you make our Estinien very ‘appy.”

PA!!!!

“Aye, Agi! At least stay fer the Spring Fair!” Hamignant clapped his hands. “It’s always a fun time!”

HAMI!

Esme grinned. “Stini loves goin’ to the Spring Fair. Always eats all the sweets!”

MA!!

Agnes wrinkled her nose and laughed. She’s so pretty when she does that. Prettier than any girl ‘round ‘ere! “Why, of course I’ll stay for the Spring Fair!” She paused and glanced at the Varlineaus. “What exactly is the Spring Fair?”

“Celebratin’ the Fury and her gift of spring t’us ‘course! It’s got animals and prayers and FOOD!” Hamignant practically yelled, nearly leaping from his chair.

HAMI!!!!!!!!

Estinien grunted, shoving more porridge in his mouth. For Fury’s sake, you’re all embarrassin’ me! Actin’ like I’m still a boy who hasn’t had his spurt! Who hasn’t grown into his ears!

“I’d love to go and thank you all so much again for your generous hospitality.” Aw, she’s blushin’. My girl blushes so pretty. But before anyone else gets more words in, off we go!

“Agi, time to take the karakuls out.” He said and quickly ate the last bit of eggs on his plate and drank his coffee. “We can chat ‘bout the Spring Fair later.”

“Oh alright. See you all later!” Agnes said as she grabbed a bag (I paid Madame Laborois for it! For my girl!) with lunches and water for them.

***

Once they settled on their usual rock (where I kissed my girl for the first time!!!), Estinien packed and lit his pipe. “Sorry ‘bout them. They get awfully excited over the Spring Fair.”

Agnes giggled. “Yes, I could tell, but especially about you and I going. Is it true you eat all the sweets?”

Estinien puffed on his pipe and could feel his cheeks get hot. Fuckin’ hells! How does she do this to me? “Well, I…I do like sweets. Don’t get much of ‘em normally. Sugar’s expensive. At the fair, there’s lots of sweets. All kinds.”

“I’ve never had any sort of Ishgardian sweet, so you’ll have to be my sweet guide.” She giggled again. “Oh dear, my sweet guide! Because you’re so sweet and my guide!” Agnes kissed his blushing cheek. When Agnes caught his glance, her mood changed. “I haven’t embarrassed you, have I?”

Fury preserve…how does she do this to me?! “I-I, no sweetheart.” Estinien paused. “I hope it’s alright if I call you that, Agi. Don’t want you offended.”

Her face positively lit up. “Of course, you can! What shall I call you though?” She wrinkled her nose and giggled. “My favorite shepherd? Sweet shepherd? Grumpy shepherd? I’m not sure ‘darling’ fits you, love.” Her pretty eyes widened. “Oh…sorry. I shouldn’t say ‘love’ but I use it quite a bit though not as much Mum, who calls everyone ‘love’ or ‘sweetie’ or ‘dearie’ or—”

Estinien’s lips crashed into hers. After a few moments, he pulled away. Rendered her speechless I did! “Agi, you can call me whatever you like. If you want to call me ‘love’ you can. I won’t be angry. Mayhap someday,” Soon I hope!!! “what we have growin’ will turn into love.” Please Halone, hear my prayer. I hope we’ll love each other like Ma and Pa do.

Agnes blushed. So pretty! Like roses on her face! “Then ‘love’ it is…love. So, what else goes on at this fair? Is there dancing? Games? Fireworks?”

Dancing?! Fireworks?!?!!? What sort of fairs has she been to? “Well, there’s games and contests like showin’ animals, bakin’, makin’ jelly and jams, and feats of strength.”

“Feats of strength?” Agnes asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Aye like rollin’ a giant pile of hay ‘cross a field and wrestlin’.” He puffed on his pipe. Mayhap I should do the hay rollin’ this year to impress Agi. I’ll show her I’m very strong! “There’s also shoppin’ for ladies and games for the wee ones.”

She wrinkled her nose and giggled. She is so pretty when she does that. And sounds like an angel! “Wee ones like my parents. Sorry, couldn’t resist!” Agnes touched his arm, and Estinien thought he would explode from the contact. Halone and her holy spear, I’m ‘bout to burn up. Her little kisses and touches are too much, but…I want more. But can’t have it. She’s a lady, and ladies deserve care and love and not to be messed ‘bout with until you’re married. “It does sound quite fun, but much different than the Moonfire Faire at home.”

“What’s that like?”

A small smile appeared on her face. “It’s to celebrate summer. There’s lots of dancing, fireworks, food, drinks, swimming, and most people stay up all night every night that it happens.”

Estinien nearly choked on his pipe. “I beg your pardon, miss! Up all night?! Doesn’t anyone have work to do?”

“Love, that’s what we like to call ‘burning the candle at both ends.’ And not everyone does that! I certainly don’t. I think the latest I stayed up during the Moonfire Faire was…hmmm…half two in the morning?”

“By the Fury.” Estinien muttered, shaking his head. “Does no one work where you come from?”

Agnes laughed. She laughs so prettily. Does she know that? Does she know how cute she is? “Of course, we work! That’s too funny! ‘Work hard, play hard’ as the saying goes.” She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed happily.

“Work hard, play hard? Never heard it myself.” Estinien grumbled, taking another puff on his pipe. She smells so nice. Like…flowers inside a kitchen. Just pretty and perfect, my Agi.

“It means you work very hard at your job and then have a lot of fun after. Although my definition of fun differs from others who like to drink and dance all night! I’m more into baking and cooking with my Mum, going fishing with my Da, just being with my friends, going for a swim…far tamer.” Agnes giggled. “I know I must sound very boring, especially for an adventurer.”

Estinien rolled his eyes. “Borin’?! You?! Nay, lovely miss. You’re not borin’. You’re an adventurer, Agi! You seek out danger and fame and fortune and help others! My life isn’t like that at all.” He puffed on his pipe and blew out some smoke in the shape of an o. “That’s ‘bout all I can do.”

Agnes gasped. “Estinien! That’s simply not true at all. You care for your flock. You’re very handy. You help your family and village.” She kissed his cheek. Fucking hells, every time she does that I burn up! “You’re a good man.”

Estinien still felt his cheeks burning as he wrapped an arm around Agnes’s broad shoulders. “And you’re a good lady, Agi. The very best. ‘m so lucky, sweetheart.” And I get to show you off at the fair! They’ll all be jealous. “Look at young Estinien’s lady! Look at how beautiful she is! How’d he end up with her?”

***

The day of the Spring Fair, Estinien put on his best and cleanest shirt, trousers, and boots. Should I tie my hair back? I think she’d like that. A classy lady deserves a classy man.

“Wut are you doin’ Stini?” Hamignant asked, giggling as his brother tied his long hair into a ponytail. “You’re all clean! It’s jus’ the fair!”

“Fair with Agi. I’m gonna show her a good time.” He gritted his teeth, finishing his hair. “Agi’s a classy lady who deserves all the nice things at the fair.”

Hamignant sniggered. “Oh, I bet you’ll show her the fair alright.”

Estinien glared at his younger brother. “Wot?! Agi says and I quote, “Estinien’s a gentleman!’ She means it! ‘m gonna be a gentleman to her, Hami!” He stood nose to nose with his brother, puffing out his chest. I’m not some pervert! I’m gonna treat my girl to the fair!

“Oh Stini, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Just teasin’! ‘Sides, Agi’s waitin’ for you.” Hami winked. Estinien hurried outside the cottage to see Agnes speaking to his parents. She’s all full of excitement! And what a pretty dress she has on. She’s the prettiest lady in all Coerthas. Nay, all Eorzea!

His father spoke first, trying very hard not to laugh. “Fury take me, did my boy wash for the fair?”

PA!

“Stini, you look so nice! Doesn’t he look nice, Agi?” Esme asked, patting Agnes on the arm.

“Yes, he does. You ready?” She took his hand and squeezed. I’m smilin’ so much I know it. I must look like a fool…nay, a fool in love with the prettiest lady in all the land! He gave her a nod, and they went ahead of his family to the fair. Oh, I’m gonna win her something! Everything!

“I entered a feat of strength.” Estinien said proudly as they entered the fair. “Rollin’ hay.”

“Oh love, you needn’t—”

“But I do! I want to show off for you!” He looked around the fair and spotted some treats being sold by an older elezen woman. “Madame Artois’s got some cookies and pies. You want one before I do my hay bale rollin’?”

She shook her head. “We can get something after, ‘Stinien…oh. I hope you don’t mind—”

DO I MIND!??! “No, no don’t mind. I’ve extra gil on me today…did some more chores and odd jobs for the village so I can properly take you ‘round the fair.” He felt his chest puff out and held his head higher. I’m gonna show my girl the best time. “But first,” he winked mischievously. “I’ll push the biggest bale o’ hay anyone’s ever seen!”

“Love really, you don’t—”

He silenced her with a kiss on her cheek. Fury forbid I kiss my girl on the lips in front of the whole fucking village. They’ll have a bloody stroke! “You’ll see how strong your man is!”

Agnes giggled and smacked his arm playfully. “I already know you are, love. You needn’t prove anything to me.”

But I have something to prove to myself…and to everyone who ever said “the elder Varlineau boy is antisocial so-and-so who’ll never marry!” Estinien winked again and led Agnes to the center area of the fair, where several other young men stood shirtless. “Hold onto this, will ye?” He removed his own shirt and gave it to Agi, who was blushing. “All for you, my sweetheart.” He whispered before kissing her warm cheek.

***

“I can’t believe you won!” Agnes cried as she gave Estinien back his shirt. “And only by a quarter of an ilm! If the runner-up just pushed a bit more, then—”

“Then I’d lose, and I don’t like losin’. Now, with my winnings,” he jangled the bag of gil in his hand. “What would you like? Somethin’ to eat? Mayhap some pretty crafted thing?” Agi’s a classy lady. She’ll want jewelry…or maybe something fancy like a ribbon for her hair. Oh wait, she’s got short hair. That won’t work, Varlineau.

“Let’s get some of your sweets, love, and then we can see what they have for crafts.” Agnes turned to face Estinien. Her eyes are twinklin’! Like little sparkly chocolates! “Though, I do want to try my hand at some games. Let’s see if I can’t win you something.”

Estinien raised an eyebrow. “You don’t—” My girl doesn’t have to do that. I won plenty o’ prize money. Let me treat her like the queen she is!

Agnes squeezed his hand and offered a smile. “Please? You deserve something nice too, love.”

Snorting, Estinien looked around until he spotted Madame Hobart’s stand. Besides my pretty Agi, Madame Hobart makes the best treats in Ferndale! AND MUM. Can’t forget Mum. Sorry, Mum. “There! Come on, Agi. I’ll buy you whatever you want.” So many sweets for me and my sweetheart!

Agnes nodded and blushed a little. “You really don’t have to—”

“I want to. You’re worth it.” I’ll tell her she’s worth it every damn day, Fury as my witness. When they arrived at the stand, Estinien grinned at Madame Hobart, a middle-aged hyur woman with green eyes and graying black hair. “Madame. I’m ‘ere to sample your wares with my lady.”

The older woman smiled warmly at Estinien and Agnes. “Ah, you’re the young lady Master Estinien is courtin’. Rosa Hobart, at yer service.”

“Agi Currai. It’s so wonderful to meet you. Estinien’s told me a lot about you and your delicious treats.”

Enough of this bullshit. I WANT SWEETS. Estinien tried to cough discreetly and squeezed her hand. “Right, we’ll take the large variety tray and two teas.” Wait, I should really treat her! “And a mini Sohm Al tart please.”

Agnes’s eyes widened. “Love, that’s an awful lot—"

He shook his head. “Tis fine, my pretty! I’ve got plenty of gil.” Estinien grinned at her and winked. That way she’ll know that I can treat her and be a bit cheeky! See, Madame de Gregoire---I can be social! After walking to the short stone wall on the far side of the fair, Estinien sat next to Agnes and took a large bite of a pastry. “Mmhhhmmmmmmmm! Damn good!” SHIT! Don’t talk with your mouth full! Ma told you that ages ago, you idiot! He chewed and swallowed quickly before smiling apologetically. “Sorry. Bet you think I’m a big ill-mannered fool!” Estinien could feel his cheeks burning. Fucking hells. She always does this to me. How?!

To his great shock, Agnes brushed some of his silken hair out of his face, smiling ever so softly. “No. I don’t think that at all.” Her hand grazed his cheek with her thumb tracing the side of his mouth. It feels like we’re both going to explode with…sexual…feelings! “You’re a man who enjoys the little things in life. That’s wonderful, love.”

Estinien tried to speak but no words were uttered. Just me moving my mouth like a damn fish! She must think I’m so stupid!

“Do you know why that’s wonderful, ‘Stinien?” She whispered, leaning closer to him. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest at any moment. Upon hearing no response, Agnes giggled. “Because I’m the same way…and it’s one of the reasons why I love you.” Never breaking eye contact, she wrinkled her nose and broke a piece of a cookie. “A sweet for my sweet shepherd.”

As soon as the cookie was on his tongue, he groaned softly. My eyes rolled back into my ‘ead. Halone, why did you send your prettiest and most sexy angel to me?!?! After he swallowed, he stared at her for a moment. Just kiss her, you fool! Tis the moment! He took her face in his hands and kissed her passionately. Jus’ like in those novels the girls talk ‘bout!

“L-love, aren’t you afraid someone will see?” Agnes asked, her eyes darting around the immediate area.

“Fuck it, sweetheart.” He snorted and resumed kissing her as she giggled again.

***

“What did you think of the fair?” Estinien whispered bells later, laying on the floor in his room.

Agnes was on her side and looking down at him. Squintin’ a lot. She took ‘er glasses off already. “It was fun. Maybe, if I’m around next year, I can bake a few things to sell. Do you think that would be okay?”

Estinien’s heart began to race again. Fury take me, she wants to be ‘ere next year for the fair?! And sellin’ her goods?! Does she…Halone ‘ear my prayer. Does she want to stay? With me? ‘ere in Ferndale? “I think ‘twould be alright. Don’t see why not.”

“Oh good! I wouldn’t want to step on any toes or get in the way.” NEVER. “Anyways, love…we should go to sleep. You have an early day tomorrow…”

Every day’s an early day. But with you, tis not too bad. “Night, sweetheart. Sweet dreams.”

“You too, love.”

Halone, as your ‘umble servant, I ask you to bless and keep Agi. Use your shield to keep ‘arm from ‘er. Keep sorrow from ‘er. And let ‘er know that this fool who ate far too many pastries today loves ‘er with ‘is ‘eart. I swear to you, ‘ere and now, that I, Estinien Varlineau of Ferndale, will care, love, and cherish Agi Currai for the rest of my days.