#We just. Poke and prod her at home so much she doesn't think anything of it anymore

[llatimeria]

BABY WEE CLEAN AND FRESH

[cupid-styles]

mates, part ii

word count: 2.7k

content warnings: abo dynamics, smut (knotting, dirty talk, teasing/a lil bit of humiliation); just as an fyi everything is completely consensual!

read the first part here

masterlist | talk to me

fall/halloween blurb list

. . .

To: Y/N

Are you ignoring me?

Y/N quickly swipes out of her text thread with Harry and locks her phone. It's been a little over a week since they met at his frat's party, and it's safe to say that she's been... overwhelmed by the possibility of him being her mate.

It's not that he did anything to make her uncomfortable, or he doesn't seem like a nice guy — all the opposite, actually. After they kissed, there was no follow-up on his end to try to convince her to stay over or sleep with them. They just talked, about everything and anything, ranging from their go-to coffee order to their most embarrassing childhood stories. It was only when Y/N realized her phone was blowing up with panicked texts from Lea and Paige that she decided to head home, but not without exchanging numbers with Harry and a sweet forehead kiss.

It was nice. But Y/N wasn't ready to settle down, and she'd never even thought the whole mates thing was real! And now she just had this knowledge that this man who seemed like he could be her mate was gorgeous and kind and lived all but 10 minutes away from her and — it was just all too much.

So that's why she's ignoring him.

. . .

"She here?"

Harry tears his attention from staring down the front door, glancing at Noah, one of his frat brothers. He grumbles in response and takes a sip of his lukewarm beer. 

"Dude, she's probably not your mate if she doesn't wanna see you," he continues, but Harry shrugs, searching through the crowded room to see if she or any of her friends came to their party tonight. "I'm just saying, you're probably driving yourself crazy over some omega girl that just fucked with your head."

"She wouldn't do that." Harry mutters through a clenched jaw. "It's not like that."

"Whatever, man."

He doesn't pay attention as Noah walks away, already pulling his phone out to see if she's replied to any of his messages from the past week.

Unsurprisingly, there isn't a thing.

. . .

After Harry forces himself up to bed, he wakes up to his phone vibrating on his nightstand. Through squinted eyes, he sees that the call is coming from an unknown number but in a sleepy haze, he still answers.

"Is this Harry?" a panicked voice sounds through the receiver.

"Uh... yeah," he croaks, clearing his throat, "Who is this?"

"Lea. Y/N's friend."

His eyes snap open and he sits up, his chest starting to ache the more he awakens. 

"Listen, I don't really know much about this, like I remember learning about in school growing up but I've never seen it happen but, um— Y/N's like, really sick, and I think she needs you."

"What do you mean she's sick?" he fires back, throwing the comforters off his body. He presses the 'speaker' button and grabs a pair of sweatpants to throw on, quickly shimmying them up his legs.

"She's in her heat, I think, and it came out of nowhere. We live together, so I usually can tell when it's coming by the way she's acting or her scent," Lea explains, "But she— she woke up not too long ago and she's sweating and feverish. She told me what happened at the party, how she thinks you two might be mates and it's the first thing I thought of— I don't know if I should take her to the hospital—"

"Don't do that," Harry cuts her off, the thought of people poking and prodding her when she's in such a vulnerable state sending a shiver down his spine, "I'm coming. Send me your address."

"Harry, do you understand what this means?" Lea asks, her tone hardened. "It means you are mates and her body is in so much pain from being away from you that it's physically calling out to you."

"Yes, I understand," he mutters, jogging down the stairs of the house, "I paid attention in class too. Address. Now."

The line goes dead and Harry's movements pause, a crease between his brows. He's ready to punch the wall when a text comes through from the same number. 

Here's our address. I'm leaving as soon as you get here. Don't fuck with her.

. . .

Hot.

Everything is so fucking hot. 

Y/N doesn't think she's ever felt this awful in her life. She's gone through heats before and is usually able to manage them on her own — she doesn't believe in needing to call up some boneheaded alpha to fuck her through it — but this is... it's nearly intolerable. She doesn't understand why Lea leaves the room and who she's talking to on the other side of the door. She's barely able to pick up on what she's saying, the pounding in her head so severe, her skin tight and uncomfortable, so all she does is hope she's calling 911.

It turns out, it's not 911.

It's Harry.

And if she wasn't feeling so terrible, she may have fought Lea on it, but she's gone the second Harry steps into her bedroom. Through blurry eyes, she recognizes his face and she swallows harshly. The ache in her chest lessens ever so slightly as she smells the same warm, musky scent she found comfort in last week.

"Heard you're not feeling too hot," he murmurs, kneeling down on the floor next to Y/N's head. She grumbles out something and he chuckles, lifting his hand to swipe away some of the sweat-matted baby hairs on her forehead. 

"Why're you here?" she slurs out, resisting the embarrassingly primal urge to grab his hand and lift his wrist to her nose. 

"Lea called me," he replies softly, "She thought I might be able to help."

"Why?"

His shoulders slump slightly and Y/N doesn't know why. 

"Well... we're mates, remember?" he says gently, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, "And... this is kind of a scientific thing that happens when you meet your mate and you distance yourself from them. Your body is craving me. Essentially."

"'s dumb," she mutters, swallowing slowly, "But I feel better with you here."

The corners of Harry's mouth turn up slightly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she nods. "Harry?"

"Hm?"

"m gonna ask you to do something and I need you not to judge me."

His spine straightens, concern apparent in his face. 

"I need your knot. Badly."

. . .

It takes Y/N around 20 minutes to convince Harry to have sex with her.

It's not because he doesn't want to — he's actually been daydreaming about it for the past week, and had more wet dreams than when he presented as an alpha for the first time. He's concerned that when her false heat wears off and her body calms itself down, she'll do the same thing again, where she gets scared and starts avoiding him. And they both know she can't promise him anything, that trust can only exist if they allow it, but he can see how much she's aching for it. She looks better now that she's in his presence; the sweat beading at her forehead has evaporated, he's made her drink water so she's a bit more hydrated, and she doesn't feel as weak now that he offered her to nose at his neck.

(He could tell she wanted to and was too embarrassed to ask. He crawled into bed next to her, ignoring the dampness of her sheets and allowed her to nuzzle up to him, cuddling into his side as she takes deep, calming inhales of his scent.)

Harry can smell how desperate she is. The alpha part of his brain is going insane and it's taking every cell in his body not to ruin her the way he wants to. He knows she's leaking down to her bum, her panties and sleep shorts soaked from writhing in need for the past few hours, and it's finally when she starts moving against him, grinding on his hip that he gives in.

"Alright, puppy," he mutters, gripping her hips and pressing his thumbs into her skin, "You need to relax if you want me to knot you."

"I can't," Y/N whines with a sniffle, "I've been begging for you hours—"

"It's been less than a half an hour, sweetheart—"

"I don't care!" she pouts, "Please, just knot me, I need it, please alpha—"

"Y/N," his pupils dilate a noticeable amount at the use of the honorific, and it makes her smirk. She's prepared to use every tactic in the book, desperate to feel some sort of intimacy with the person she knows is her mate. "Take a deep breath. I'll give you what you want as soon as you stop squirming around."

She does as she's told, watching him as he shows her to inhale deeply, hold it, and then let it out. Her shoulders relax some, her muscles just a little less tense than they were a second ago. She feels some sort of relief knowing that he is planning to knot her and she doesn't have to beg for it any longer (something she knows she'll be humiliated by as soon as her false heat passes).

"Okay," Harry says softly, sitting up on his knees, "You can tell me to stop at any point, alright? As soon as you feel that you're winding down or you don't want to do it anymore, you let me know—"

"Yes, yes, just fuck me already!"

He grunts with a roll of his eyes before pulling his tee-shirt up and over his head, Y/N's mouth nearly salivating at the sight of his toned muscles. Every dirty act is passing through her brain at a mile a minute — she wants to do everything from grind on his abs to have him fuck her face down, but she knows it's better to stay quiet and accept whatever he's willing to give her.

"Jesus, you're soaked," he mutters when he tucks his fingers under the waistband of her shorts, revealing her sodden panties. He can see the outline of her swollen pussy through the damp fabric, licking his lips as he pulls at them, the tightened material brushing up against her most sensitive parts with a gasp. "Why didn't you tell me you made such a mess down here?"

She whimpers, too hazy to reply. With a smirk, he pushes the width of the fabric to the side to push a finger inside, her pulsating hole instantly clamping down around it. 

"So needy," he mumbles, curling up to her g-spot. She moans out loudly and he chuckles. "What, all that for just one finger? Such a noisy little puppy. Gonna need to gag you."

Her eyes roll back at that and he makes a mental note of her apparent affinity for restraints, adding another finger in to begin stretching her out. She's all but riding his fingers, grinding down on them desperately as she begs through breathy moans to stop teasing and make her cum. 

"You're not coming unless it's around my cock," he says, stretching up over her body to latch his lips around her nipple. She arches her back, clawing at his shoulders to bring him closer as his tongue lulls around the bud, popping off when it's hard and messy with his spit. 

"N-need your cock," she stumbles over her words through fluttered eyelashes, "Please alpha."

Harry groans and rips her panties from her body, reaching up to stuff them in her mouth without a second thought. She squeaks through the ball of fabric, eyes wide with surprise that quickly turns to lust. 

"If you want me to last at all, I need you to shut the fuck up," he nearly growls as he pushes his sweatpants down his legs. His cock is painfully hard — if he's being honest, he's been hard since he left his house an hour ago, thinking about the way Y/N was likely writhing around in her bed, horny and desperate for him. He's never been the edging type — he's usually far too impatient for that — and this just proved that he really doesn't care for it.

Her eyes are watery at this point, his heart jumping at the sight of his sweet, submissive omega beneath him. He realizes that, if he's lucky, this is what the rest of his life will look like. Fuck, he hopes it is.

Hovering over her form, his prick bobbing beneath their bodies, he lifts a thumb to her face to wipe away the fallen tears. He coos, his lips upturned in a devilish smirk as she spit slowly pools at the corners of her lips.

"Are you ready for me?" he asks huskily, shifting his knees upwards so he's smearing the tip of his cock over her clit. A muffled whimper sounds from her lips and she nods eagerly. "Sweet little omega. Gonna make you mine, okay? Gonna stuff you full of my knot the way you've been begging."

He makes good on his promise, Y/N's eyes rolling back as he pushes into her. His chest vibrates with a load moan, the warmth of her pussy instantly wrapping around him in the most delicious way. 

"So fuckin' warm and wet, knew you'd be perfect," he mutters, reaching for her hand. She takes it instantly, intertwining their fingers together and pressing their hands next to her head into the fluff of her pillow, "From the second I set eyes on you— you were mine, you know that?"

She nods her head, his prick pushing inside of her in a steady pace. He reaches up and rips the fabric from her mouth, tossing it the side before smearing their lips together in a messy kiss. 

"Fuck," she breathes, her jaw slack, "Fuck, you feel so good."

She resists saying the words that are at the tip of her tongue — you feel like you were made for me — because it's too soon, too intimate to say right now. She knows that they both feel it, though. She can barely utter out words when his hand travels down to where they're connected, thumbing at her clit. 

"How do you like it, baby?" he asks through a clenched jaw, "Like this? Soft and slow?"

She shakes her head, gasping when he increases the pressure and speed of her finger on the nerves. 

"Ah, there it is. Like it faster, hm? Oh, look at that, so cock dumb and ready to gush around me."

"Pl-please, I need to cum, I—"

"'Please'?" he mocks, and her mouth drops open at his unexpected teasing tone, "'Please make me cum, alpha, need your knot.' Silly baby."

She's surprise that his taunting is finally what does her in, her pussy squeezing his cock tightly as he fucks her through her orgasm. He's so thankful — so thankful — since he's been fighting his own peak off for what seems like an impossibly long time, and when he flutters his eyelashes open to see her own eyes shut in overwhelming pleasure, the prettiest of moans falling from her lips, he's coming. It's so much, which he supposes he should've expected, and she gasps out when she feels him filling her and fucking his cum deep inside.

It's a mess of breathy moans and whimpers, Y/N's eyes wide as she watches him, the fullness an all-consuming sensation that she's immediately addicted to. 

"Y'alright?" Harry finally croaks out, wiping some of the sweat away from her forehead. She nods, her pussy clenching down on his knot in the aftershocks of her orgasm. "Shit—"

"Sorry," she quickly breathes out, "Sorry, it was an accident—"

"'s okay, pretty," he smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips, "Here, do you wanna— I can move us onto our sides to it's a little easier."

She nods. He's gentle in his movements, looking out for any sudden winces as they shift, spooning her from behind with his knot still tucked inside of her.

"Do you feel better?" he asks softly, running his fingers down the length of her arm.

"Yeah," she murmurs, "Thank you. I'm sorry if I ransacked you into this. I know I haven't been great this past week... you're probably pretty pissed that I'm your mate."

Harry chuckles and shakes his head, his heart rate quickening ever so slightly at the mention of her being his. 

"Not pissed at all. Over the moon, actually."

She smiles. "You're silly," she tilts her head, craning her neck to look at him. "I know it's late, but do you think we can make something to eat after this? I have pizza rolls in the freezer."

Pressing a kiss to her temple, his lips break out into a grin so wide it almost hurts. 

"Yeah, baby. I'll make you whatever you want."

[queeniecook]

June 19

Sometimes there's only so much pipe organ music a being can take.

James had just returned from his second walk around Forgotten Hollow for the day, the sound of the Count's haunting music was driving him insane. So far he had kept his mouth shut, rare for him, for some reason. He wasn't sure why. Maybe he's mind has been elsewhere. He's not making as much progress as he'd like in his quest to cure vampirism. It's aggravating him and Asa both, for different reasons. Liberty had finally indulged him in a martial romp, that increased his mood quite a bit, but nothing could make the constant sulking music better except for it to cease.

Count Straud sits in his normal place, at this favorite pipe organ. He likes the one in the basement too but this one is his favorite, he's had it since he moved into the estate and has it had maintained well over the countless years. Every since that vixen Lilith Vatore had found a way to ban him from her grounds, he's been in a dark mood. Darker than usual. He doesn't like being denied anything, especially something his undead heart actually desires. He hasn't seen her since that night, she's oddly been keeping to her home or visiting who knows who.

"May I have a word, Count Straud?" James beckons, actually using his manners. Vladislaus almost misses a key at the sudden request and cringes.

"Since you asked politely, very well." the ancient vampire responds, slowly rising from his seat after he finishes his song. He follows the warlock downstairs.

"What's eating you, Vlad?" James questions, not that he cares really but if it stops the music for a while, that would be a delight. 

"You people have such strange lingo sometimes..." Vladislaus grumples, nothing could "eat him" but after thought he figures out what James is actually asking him. "None of your business, warlock."

James smirks "Look, you have no friends. No one to talk to. I'm actually offering an captive ear to you, so you might as well just spill it."

"I rather spill your blood all over my rug instead." The Count bites back. 

James actually has a good chuckle at this, which annoys the vampire. "We both know magical blood is too tempting to just spill."

Vladislaus almost huffs at James laughing but keeps his composure in tact. "I'm not telling you anything."

James watches the vampire seated by him and then it hits him, he smirks again. "The spell on the Vatore estate is bugging you, Lilith has blocked you from her home and from getting into her pants." this earns him a glare from Vlad, which James enjoys. 

"How do you know about the spell?" The count asks, still glaring at the warlock. 

"I happened to catch it being cast." James replies, not naming Dakota though it's a bit obvious who did the spell. 

Vladislaus almost grinds his teeth together in anger. A little warning would have been nice but then again, why would James warn him? That would be odd.

Straud is tired of talking about himself, so he flips the conversation to James instead.

"Shouldn't you be off trying to steal the Vatore spawn or something?" He asks James, he sees a flicker of annoyance go across the warlocks face which makes Vladislaus feel accomplished. 

"Firstly, you can't steal something that hasn't been born yet and secondly, why does everyone thinks I'm going to do something to this kid?" James asks, rubbing his head in boredom more than annoyance now.

"Maybe because you hate Caleb and enjoy poking and prodding him when you get the chance?" the vampire supplies as an answer. 

"Fair point. I admit, I've enjoyed watching them get their little guard dogs in a row and get all ready to battle me if I try something." James says, running his fingers through his silky hair. 

Vladislaus nods, he knows if it were him, he'd enjoy it as well but something inside him wants to know if James is going to try something merely so he can warn Lilith. It's her nephew or niece they are talking about.

"They can have their little crying brat. My goal has been accomplished without really even doing anything." James comments before rising to leave. He's done with this conversation. 

[keithisbae1]

The Mershark & Mermaid - Part 7

⚠️⚠️Warning: ⚠️⚠️ Implied some dark themes

Sakura waited impatiently at her daughter's secret hiding spot, it was only for the night.

One night!

He promised to bring her back safely. Okay so technically speaking they didn't say when she would be brought back, but Sakura hoped Sasuke would understand that she wanted Sarada back as soon as possible. If he could bring her back safely home now well... maybe she'll consider letting him see Sarada more often.

Just then, the mermaid could see Sasuke's figure from afar but her heart leapt not seeing a smaller one by his side.

Please don't say...

"Where is she?"

"I... I lost her."

~~~

~Previously~ For the next few hours Suigetsu, Karin and Jugo entertained the young sharkling. They were playing hide and seek all the while Sasuke was trying to figure out what to do. She couldn't hunt and eat fish and was way too friendly to complete strangers. How is he supposed to protect her here? "She's still young." Jugo tried to comfort the mershark. "At her age, I was given to the sharks to feed on." "You aren't like the rest of your family and neither is she, you can't expect her to pick up on things so quickly." He knew that, Sasuke didn't expect a miracle and that it would take time before Sarada's shark instincts to kick in, but he started to wonder if that was even possible. Can half a mershark and mermaid even have the same instinct as a normal shark? "Maybe that's not such a good thing. If I were like my parents, I wouldn't have gone anywhere near Sakura and then we wouldn't be in this mess." There was nothing wrong with what he said, if he was a normal mershark everything would be fine. There would be no Sakura and no Sarada and he could get on with his life like usual... yet the thought made his stomach churn. "But you don't regret a thing do you?" Sasuke was surprised at Jugo's statement considering how the three of them were beforehand when the whole situation came out. "I can't say I understand what you feel for the mermaid is natural. I can't think of them as anything but prey however I can see how fondly you care about your daughter and as much as you try to deny it you are still in love with that Sakura maid no? You wouldn't go so far as to protect her if that was the case." "Your right." 

"But it's not like anything can happen. Like you said it's not natural, so where does that leave us now?" "I don't have all the answers but you'll figure out something. Doesn't Uchiha Sasuke always get what he wants?" "If I didn't know any better I would say you're encouraging me to pursue a relationship with Sakura." "I didn't say that necessarily. But if it makes you happy, we'll support you. You know Suigetsu and Karin will too." "Mr Jugo, you aren't hiding. That's not how you play the game." Sarada popped out of nowhere dragging Jugo along. "My apologies Sarada and I told you to call me Jugo only." He then turned back to look at Sasuke. "Just think about what I said." It was quite surprising how honest he was and all things considering Jugo was certainly not someone he'd imagined would tell him to go after Sakura. If only it was that simple. "Papa do you want to play too?" "Ah, I'm coming."

~~~

“Papa…” Sarada swam into his room poking him. It was late and chances were Sasuke was fast asleep but she was scared, the cave was so big that she almost got lost on the way, the fact it was deep underwater too. It didn’t bother her during the day but now Sarada kept seeing things. Shadows of monsters her imagination made up, although given whereabouts they were probably didn’t help the little one. “Papa.” Sarada prodded him again and he groaned slowly opening his eyes. What time was it? Shouldn’t she be tired after today? 

“Can I sleep with you?” She asked, big eyes pleading. His first instinct was to say no, she was a shark and sharks don’t sleep with their parents. Yes even sharklings, because what type of predator would they be if they were coddled as such? 

“I want to sleep with you and Mama!” A sharkling Sasuke asked, tears brimming his eyes. He knew his father would say no but was hoping under the circumstances he would be given permission. “Absolutely not!” “But-” “Do I have to repeat myself?” “I keep dreaming about the shark who almost ate me!” He yelled out afraid, he needed some reassurance. To know that someone was there and he was safe. That his parents would protect him from the other mersharks. “And whose fault is that? The strong kill the weak, are you weak Sasuke?” 

The word weak kept echoing in his mind, he wanted to be strong. “Itachi wasn’t like this.” “Fugaku…” Ah yes, his beloved older brother who could do no wrong. Sasuke tried hard to be like him but no matter what he was never good enough in comparison. 

“Maybe we should consider it.” “No!” Mikoto looked at her husband with horror. “He's too weak dear, this is the only option.” “Fugaku no, you know how I feel about this.” “We've gone through it.” “Exactly, and I refuse to let my own baby go through such a thing.” 

“What are you talking about?” Sasuke looked at his two parents confused. “It's a way to help you get stronger, you want that don't you Sasuke?” “Don't try and sugar-coat it, you're leaving him out there defenceless for other mersharks to eat him.” 

What? His parents were.... were going to leave him out there alone? “It's common for sharklings in the Uchiha clan. If they're considered prey to other sharks, fighting for their life is the only way to get them stronger. You want that don't you Sasuke?” 

Did he want that? “Sweetie, you don't have to do any-” “Yes...” Maybe this way he could finally get as strong as Itachi and finally make his father proud.

“The cave is really big and scares me; Mama lets me sleep with her sometimes.” Sarada brought him back to the present. “Sure,” but Sasuke wasn’t like his father. There was no way he nor his family would accept her into the clan so why should he coldly treat her as one of them? 

Sarada beamed and tucked herself underneath his arm snuggling close to him. It didn’t take long for her to drift to sleep letting out little snores. Maybe Sakura was right, his life wasn’t for Sarada yet neither was Sakura's. 

~~~

“But I don’t want to go home yet!” Sarada pouted swimming next to him. She wanted to play more with Suigetsu, Karin and Jugo and maybe see more of Papa’s friends. “Now Sarada we promised your mother, besides you still need to properly apologise to her remember?”

“Hmph!” Sarada huffed and went swimming ahead annoyed, it wasn’t her fault that Mama was angry at him. HE needed to make it up to her, once again Papa was being nothing but a hipocrit. Until she heard the wailings of someone in distress. She crept over behind a rock and saw a mermaid and merman surrounded by mersharks. Should they go over there and help? No, she should get her Papa to help, surely he’ll do something. “Papa-” Sarada was surprised to see him already behind her. He barely looked at the scene before taking her claw and leading her away. “Keep swimming!” He told her. “But- but we have to help them! They have a child, we can’t leave them.” Although the merboy and her weren’t friends Sarada recognised them well enough. He didn’t have any siblings so he would be left alone unless… what if they had them him too? “This is important!” “Sarada!” She flinched at his harsh but hushed tone. They couldn’t risk getting caught. “I can get involved.” “Why? You're stronger than them, just tell them not to do any bad stuff!” 

“It’s not as simple as that. Your mother and her friends are the only ones who are safe because of me. Everyone else… has nothing to do with me.” “I don’t understand…” What was he trying to say? “They were the ones who came into shark territory. They knew what they were doing and the risks, it can’t be helped.” So… there was nothing he could do? Sarada looked down. “What’s going to happen to them?” “…” “Papa!” “Ah, Sasuke my boy.” Sarada immediately retreated hiding behind Sasuke's back. “Orochimaru.” “Talking to yourself?” “Yes.”

“Hmm, how unlike you.” The Uchiha tsked, knowing Orchimaru this can't be good. “What do you want?” When Sarada decided to peek out her heart stopped beating. He was almost as big as Papa and was it her or did he look slightly different than usual mersharks? More like a snake than an actual shark, not that knew what a snake was. He just looked... odd compared to Sasuke and his friends. His tail was darkish grey whilst his scales were pale white. She wanted nothing more than to swim away. “You seem a bit distracted.” 

“Because I have better things to do than talking to you right now.” And he needed to figure a way to get Sarada out of here. “Oh? Well be my guest and leave, nothing’s stopping you.” “And have you follow me? I don’t think so.” Buy some time, buy some time.

“Suspicious as always.” With Sasuke preoccupied in thought, Sarada slipped behind a rock not far from him and swam below until she felt safe enough to swim away. Anything to get away from that creepy shark, she'll make her own way home. It couldn't be that hard.

~~~

On second thought, it was hard. Very hard because now Sarada had no idea where she was. The sharkling kept swimming around. “Maybe this way-” She bumped into something hard hitting her head. “Ow! Hey, watch it!” Boruto rubbed his sore head but then his eyes brightened realising who it was. “Oh hey, it’s you!” Another mershark? “Please don’t eat me…” Sarada whimpered backing away confusing the young shark. “Uh… what? I can’t eat you, I’m too small.” “I’m Boruto. Your Uncle Sasuke’s daughter right?” “Yeah? You know Papa?” 

“Oh, he’s my Uncle!” “Really?” “Well, not by blood.” “He’s my Dad’s best friend.” 

“Ooooh, yeah like Mama and Aunty Ino.” Sarada grinned feeling slightly easy, he didn’t seem so bad. And he looked about her age, maybe they could be friends? But now how would she get back to Mama? 

~~~

“You lost her? What do you mean you lost your own daughter?” “She must have freaked out when Orochimaru showed up, she was behind me I swear but I couldn't risk him finding out.” “I knew I shouldn’t have left her with you. What if something happened? She must be so scared! You promised me Sasuke, you promised!” Sakura began panicking, she didn't blame Sarada for swimming away. She must have been so scared but now her baby was by herself. “And I’ll find her, I will. I won't let anyone touch her but you need to calm down.” He reached out grabbing hold of her arms to steady the mermaid, cupping her face to look at him. “Breathe Sakura. In and out.” She nodded, taking a deep breath before breathing. Panicking wouldn't do any good. Sarada needed them both. 

It had been so long since she felt his touch and yet being so close brought back painful memories. “I'll bring her back here.” Sasuke was the first to break contact. “I’m coming too.” “No way!” 

“She is MY daughter, I don't care what it takes. You are taking me with you.” And with that, she flicked her tail swimming past him. He forgot how stubborn she could be. Fuck! Everything was going wrong today.

[ramblersaccount]

19

Winter break came around faster than I expected. It was now time for me to pack up the life I had created in my dorm and head back home for the holiday season. My brother-in-law, sister, niece, and my cousin’s husband had taken the trip to come get me. You know, even though I had the same amount of personal items when I got there, packing things away and getting them to fit in the car was physically ten times harder than the first time. I think I slept for most of the ride home, but I do remember waking up at some point and seeing a pro-Trump rally with Confederate flags and thinking, “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming,” like I was Dory from Nemo. Other than that, the only thing I remember related to the trip was getting home and my room feeling sanitized in a way. The weirdest emptiest feeling to know that a place is yours but lacks anything you now consider “you.” I’m gonna be honest; from November straight till the end of April is a blur to me now, and that’s saying a lot because my birthday is in April. However, the months that followed are forever ingrained in my head.

On Sunday, the 9th of May 2021, I woke up extra early to make breakfast and buy flowers for our dining table. With the help of my sister, I set the table, put the flowers in a nice clear vase, and invited my mother to come downstairs and have breakfast. She didn’t eat all that much and said she wasn’t feeling well, so she went upstairs to take a nap. My mother has type 2 diabetes, so this wasn’t an abnormal experience. She had been sleeping for a while when I went upstairs to check on her. She had gotten up and was just sitting there. She said she had a weird feeling on the left side, and I noticed her face was a little droopy. I told her we should go to the hospital, but she refused, insisting that she just needed more sleep. One thing to be said about my mother: she’s incredibly stubborn. No matter how much you push her and try to convince her, she won't do anything she doesn't want to do. So, I enlisted my sister to try to convince her, and still, she refused to go. My mother didn’t like hospitals; she hated being continuously poked and prodded. About an hour or so passed, and then she started crying. A sort of soft, silent, sad cry, and I could see the fear in her eyes. She couldn't feel her left leg. That's when my sister and I put our feet down. We told my dad to start the car and helped her get in. I sat in the emergency waiting area with her for about 30 minutes. Then, once they brought her inside the actual emergency room, we sat there, her laying on the bed, and me sitting at the edge, talking to try and keep her mind off things. Again we waited.

5:01 pm: They keep referring to it as a stroke, but there's no confirmation yet. She just finished her CAT scan, and the nurse said we’ll have to wait a maximum of an hour for that.

5:22 pm: The doctors are asking her why she waited so long to come in; there was a 3-hour window they could've reversed the effects. I feel guilt creep up my throat.

5:26 pm: She can't move her left arm and leg, but the doctor says her shoulder and face are pretty strong.

5:38 pm: Confirmed: she had a stroke, and they're gonna transfer her to a different hospital.

5:47 pm: She’s worried about what she wants to do, like gardening, and not worried about her health.

9:50 pm: We’ve been in the emergency room of the second hospital for about 3 hours, nothing is happening.

9:56 pm: I give my mom some mints to hold on to in case her sugar drops, and they send me to the visitor's waiting room.

12:01 am Monday, May 10th, 2021: They give me a number to call to find out the room my mom will be in, and I leave the hospital to go home.

12:38 am: I get home.

The aftermath of my mother's stroke was challenging for us all. Daily visits, therapy, and her monoplegic state dominated our lives. Two years later, her left arm still bears the impact, her fingers constantly rolled into a fist. She attends therapy weekly, frustrated but resilient. This period took a toll on me too. A job became necessary, and with my mother's return, my responsibilities multiplied, affecting my grades. Yet, amidst the challenges, I found gratitude. I met the man who would become my boyfriend and discovered new life goals. The journey post-stroke was rocky, but witnessing my mother's strength and resilience was inspiring. Despite the hurdles, that year held moments of personal growth and new beginnings.

[authorautumnbanks]

How To Tame A Sorcerer (32)

Series master list

They say that the secret to a successful relationship is trusting your partner and clear communication. It's not that Satoru doesn't trust Kagome, and he thinks that their communication has been pretty direct. And yet, she completely ran past him and didn't even stop to see if he was able to follow her.

It's fine–really, everything is a-okay. He's not worried or anything. And it's not as if there's anyone around to call him out on his lie.

He pokes and prods at the veil. Whoever did this clearly knew that they needed to move fast. The appearance is sloppy, but he has to give them props for creating one that was made to keep him out. He would do the same if he was plotting against someone nearly as strong as he. Gojo leans back, rocks on the balls of his soles. There's a weak point somewhere and the longer he takes to find it, the longer his students and Gome-chan are in danger.

Drip.

Drip.

He snaps into action and rushes towards the sound. With everyone pretty much behind the veil, it must be a student or Gome-chan coming through. He might have some choice words if either Utahime or Gakuganji come out before any of the students. His hands work to untie the blindfold as his six eyes dare not blink at the sight. "G-gome-chan?" he calls out, the words scratch the back of his throat.

"Don't touch me!" She jerks back, her hand pressed against her abdomen. The blood seeps through the blouse and stains her hand. Gojo takes a step forward, one foot after the other, with his arms outstretched.

She's not thinking straight with all the blood loss. That has to be the only reason why she would ever reject him.

"We need to get you to Shoko." He tries again, but Kagome skirts around him–keeping him at a distance. He grips his hair and tugs. The slight pain is nothing compared to the way his chest constricts. He lets his hair go and digs his nails into his palms. Kagome's skin is so pale, and there are bags under her eyes. She sinks down to her knees, panting as though each breath takes all of her strength to muster. And he wants–needs–to get her to Shoko, because he can't lose another person, and in his mind, he knows he needs to calm down. He really needs to stay level-headed, no matter how much he wants to lash out and release some of the pent-up pain. Love is the most twisted curse of all, and the last thing they need is for him to manifest one.

"It's all your fault," she whispers, her eyes not quite looking at him. Her eyes hazed over, her mouth is slightly parted, and she just looks as though she's just staring at death and not seeing him anymore. "I was safe back at home. No curses, no more demons." She places another hand on top of her bloody one. "You did this to me."

Drip.

Drip.

Each droplet of blood that falls is like a blow to the face. He squats down and grips the sides of her face. His shoulders sag in relief that she isn't jerking back or screaming at him. He can take every emotional jab, he can weather through the accusations so long as she lives. She isn't lying, though. None of this would have happened if he hadn't been so selfish and actually helped her find a way back home. His arms shake. Kagome is so cold under his fingertips and they need to move.

"Just leave me."

"You know, I'm not going to do that." He lifts her, the metallic smell hits him more sharply. "Shoko will have you all fixed in no time."

"I just wanted to get back to InuYasha." She sags against him and suddenly it feels as though Gojo is carrying a boulder.

"Who are you?" Gojo tightens his grip, doesn't flinch when she gives him a pained expression. Even though this thing is wearing her face, the words that spew out of its mouth are not Kagome. Blood loss or not, she wouldn't throw what he's assuming to be an ex in his face. Not with how dedicated he's been, and not with how much affection she's showered him with.

"You're scaring me," she replies. Her eyes mist over, but nothing falls from them. Nor does the wound in her abdomen seem to give her any more trouble.

"So be it." There's no telling how much time he has wasted, agonizing over how to convince her to get medical help. His Kagome is still behind the veil–fighting, and he's here wasting time on some thing that thinks fucking with him was the best course of action.

"Wait, I can help you! I can help you keep her here."

Gojo closes his eyes as he sets the fake down. "You're really going to keep up the charade?"

"She's going to go back to him. You know if the opportunity arises, then she'd go back to where she belongs. I can help you prevent that." The fake holds its arms out as though pleading will help its cause. The once steady drip of blood is gone, and Gojo is slightly annoyed at how easily he was deceived.

He sighs, spikes a hand through his hair as laughter bubbles past his throat and he's full-on laughing at how wonderful it's going to be to end this thing. The fake takes a step back, as Gojo stops laughing and lowers his hand from his hair. He holds out a finger in front of him. "Cursed Technique Reversal: Red." It's over in a second as the red blast encompasses the fake Kagome and leaves nothing but a wooden figure behind. He picks it up, but it crumbles away in his hand, blowing away with the breeze.

A puppet? With all these shapeshifters around–maybe they need to come up with a safe word or code. He rolls his shoulders and takes flight. He's not gonna find the weak spot on foot. Nah, whoever did this wanted to make things difficult and prevent anyone from inside the veil from dispersing it. The gray veil shows none of its secrets except for how vast it is. Taking up the entire forest, this had to be an inside job. A pink light shines like a beacon in the thick haze. His heart leaps as he flexes his hands. That's his girl.

The first thing he notices is that there are a couple of scratches on her legs, but otherwise, she appears to be relatively unharmed. Todo and Yuji are with her, and there are carcasses of some giant insects–slightly disgusting, but whatever, littered across the ground. There's that freaky tree curse again. Kagome waves up at him and then gives him a thumbs up.

She really can hold her own. And Yuji's energy is much higher than before. So, his priority should be elsewhere. He teleports to where Gakuganji is–the old man seems to be struggling against his opponent. "You," he says, pointing at the bald man with raccoon eyes. The man runs at him with a butcher knife.

"Don't kill him!" Gakuganji screams out, as Gojo lets out a burst of raw cursed energy. The blast shreds the butcher's limbs as the man whines pathetically.

"Well, go on, treat him. You don't want him to die, right?" He turns his back to Gakuganji. There's another emergence of energy where Kagome and Yuji are. It's different, but that matters little to him. He'll take it and that cursed plant out–and show off just a smidge. "Hollow Purple." The purple void blast rips through the forest. Lightening and dust from the destruction follow its path. He puts his blindfold back on and gives Gakuganji a wide smile and a thumbs up.

He teleports to Kagome's side, memorizing the slack-jawed expression on her face at the destruction. "Yo!" he says, pulling her to his side.

"T-that was you?" she asks.

"Ah! Gojo-sensei, that was so cool!"

Gojo waves a hand in the air. "Eh, that was nothin." He leans down, breathing in the smell of Kagome and whispering in her ear, "As soon as we get home, I'm bending you over my knee." Her breath hitches as her face flushes pink.

Oh. He flicks his gaze at her lips and then back up to her eyes. There's a smudge of dirt on her cheek and a thin layer of sweat from battle.

"They always do this," Yuji complains loudly to Todo. "You just get used to it."

Gojo holds back his remark and ushers them back to the school. He briefly wonders if he and Gome-chan could take a detour somewhere.

[thatonecoryosimp]

Can i request a technoblade x fem!reader nsfw (predator prey kink)

Reader was annoying techno a little to much for his liking, but before he could do anything reader bolts out the house and so begins the hunt of piglin hybrid and small human(or hybrid, you can choose what hybrid she is), techno eventually catches her and either rails her against the tree or takes her home and rails her in there

You of course dont have to do this request if you dont want to:)

Can i be 🐽 anon?

Well, hello darling. Welcome to the family dear. I'm so sorry that I haven't been active and this has been sitting so long. I hope I did your request justice. :).

4/16/22

Warnings: SMUT. Predator/prey dynamics. Bit of biting. Scary Techno. Tree sex? Slight breeding kink (like one line)

Techno had been ignoring me all day. I understand that he has important work to do, but I need him to focus on me, even if just for a little. I've been poking and prodding at him all day. And maybe that wasn't my smartest idea. Usually, he doesn't get mad. He'll just laugh it off, but today was not one of those days.

He was grumpy, and I was only poking a bear. The last straw for him was whenever we were sitting in the living room while he was brewing potions. Honestly, I just couldn't help myself. He looked so good. His hair was all tossed around, and his glasses sat low on his nose. His cape was ruffled and definitely needed to be ironed. But all of that just made him all the more real, and much more attractive.

My hands went to his shoulders and trailed down his chest. Gliding down his body to his thighs, and then he pushed them off.

"Not now, hun. I'm doing stuff."

I had sighed and sat down next to him and rested my head on his shoulder. I kept squirming. Moving around and brushing against him. He let out another irritated huff but I kept going.

He flashed me a warning look as my hand brushed over his crotch and that's when he lost it.

He leaned in and bent to my ear, "I'm gonna give you ten seconds to start running."

For the first 3, I was frozen stiff, but when he got to six I bolted up and to the door, leaving it hanging ajar. I was thankful I had my shoes on already as my feet hit against the snow. I had just gotten to the forest line when I heard him start calling my name. His voice was deep and menacing, but still monotone.

I ran as fast as I could. My arms were getting scratched by the branches of the dead trees, and my feet were getting caught on things I couldn't see in the dark. I could hear my boyfriend chasing after me which only made me run faster. I could hear the blood rushing to my head as I ducked behind a big spruce tree.

The forest was quiet other than the howl of the wind. My breathing started to regulate, and I calmed down, thinking I had outrun him. But the twig snapping to my side was my only alert before I was hoisted up and pressed against the tree.

"There you are, bunny. You're so easy to find you know, you make so much noise."

I gasped as I felt his lips on my neck. His hand had come to my pants and ripped the fabric off with little effort. I gasped as the chilled air was now pressing against my uncovered heat. His fingers dipped in and my eyes lulled back.

"You're so wet for me, bunny. Did my dirty girl like being chased? Did you get off on it?"

I whined but nodded my head. I heard him chuckle.

"I'm gonna show you what happens when a bad bunny gets caught."

Before I could say anything else he was pressed inside me. His dick filled me up to the brim and a gargled moan escaped my lips. My arms wrapped around his shoulders for some form of an anchor as he started fucking me at an unrelenting pace.

I was biting my lip trying to stay quiet before he stopped me. "Oh, c'mon, doll. Don't be quiet now, I wanna hear you."

This only seemed to spur him on to go faster. My back was being slammed into the tree with every thrust. My mind was having trouble grasping onto anything other than the feeling of him inside me.

His finger had come to my clit and started rubbing harsh circles. It didn't take long to bring me to my edge and tip me over. I let out a moan of his name as his thrusts started to become irregular.

"Gonna fill you up so good, bunny. Gonna fuck ya so full you'll be swelled up with my baby in no time."

His hips stalled as he filled me up with hot white ropes. His head went to the crook of my neck. A sharp pain registered as he bit down on my collarbone.

"Now, you're all mine. You hear me, bunny?"

~~~

First smut I have written in months. Really hope that was okay. Anywho, stay safe lovelies. Drink water, and eat food. I love you all!

~Jules

[ridiculously-over-obsessed]

number 1 for the pregnancy prompts (sorry forgot to clarify that)

Of course lovely anon!! 🥰💖

Send me a pregnancy prompt and I'll write a TKTMH AU bechloe drabble/ficlet

(1) "Your child's been kicking me all day." "Oh, so now it's my child?"

"I'm home!" Beca called as she stepped through her front door, bracing herself as she heard the familiar pattering of feet coming down the hallway towards her.

"MOMMA!" Brooke dove into Beca's arms as Beca scooped her into the air, "I missed you!"

"I missed you too kid." Beca grinned, her heart swelling three sizes as she gently moved Brooke's hair from her face, "How's mama doing today?"

"Grumpy." Brooke pouted as Beca frowned a little, "New baby makes mama grumpy."

"Well we'll have to do something about that then, won't we?" Beca mused, carrying Brooke into the living room where Chloe was listlessly flipping through channels, feet tucked underneath her, hand resting on her swollen stomach.

"Hey you."

Beca set Brooke down and sat next to Chloe on the couch, arm wrapped around her shoulders. Brooke had settled on the floor in front of the couch again with her colouring books, tongue poking out of the side of her mouth in concentration as her mom's had a conversation.

"You okay?"

Chloe sighed heavily as she leant into Beca, face nuzzling into her neck as Beca hugged her a little tighter.

"Your child's been kicking me all day." Chloe grumbled, soaking in the feeling of having her wife's arms around her after what had felt like a very long day.

"Oh, so now it's my child?" Beca smirked, eyebrow raised as she stroked down Chloe's arm.

"When he's been giving me heartburn all day and I haven't been able to keep anything down? Yeah, he's your child." Chloe grunted, Beca's frown deepening as she kissed the top of Chloe's head.

"Do you need to see the doctor? I can take tomorrow off to take you, it wasn't like this with Brooke..." Beca's tone was full of concern and worry as she held Chloe close, feeling her sigh against her again.

"No, it's fine honestly." Chloe lifted her head to look at Beca, resting forehead against hers, "It's just a rough day Becs, pregnancy isn't easy. I'm just having a grumpy day."

"Still..." Beca caressed Chloe's cheek, "I think we should go just to be safe. You were feeling off this weekend too."

"Okay..." Chloe grumbled, "I just don't feel like being poked and prodded like an overblown pin cushion."

Beca chuckled softly, kissing Chloe softly, "I know. But I'd rather you and my little man were checked out and okay. There's only a few more months to go, it'll be over soon. I wish I could do this for you..."

"Hey." Chloe cupped Beca's face in her hands, seeing the guilt that flashed in her features, "I love carrying our kids okay? Like I said, it's just an off day, I'll be fine tomorrow. You do so much for Brooke, for me and the baby. So stop feeling guilty okay?"

"Okay." Beca mumbled, hands resting on Chloe's arms, "I'll try anyway. And I love you for making our family whole, even on your off days."

Chloe said nothing, simply grinning tearfully at Beca as she kissed her again. Her head rested on Beca's shoulder as she sighed again, softer than before as she relaxed into her wife's arms.

"Did you make mama less grumpy?" Brooke frowned as she turned to look at them, Chloe stretching her arm towards her to encourage her onto the couch with them.

"She did." Chloe kissed Brooke's cheek as her daughter snuggled into Beca's lap, Chloe's hand playing with her hair, "Momma always makes me feel better. I'm sorry I've been grumpy Brooke..."

"S'okay." Brooke glared at the baby bump, "It's new baby's fault."

Beca chuckled softly, winding her arm around Brooke's waist as she pulled her closer, "It's not. He doesn't mean to make her grumpy, it just happens sometimes when mommies are pregnant."

Brooke remained unconvinced, but decided to just settle against her mothers rather than argue with them. Beca looked down at the family in her arms, at her daughter and her pregnant wife, and for a moment she felt tears well up in her eyes. Her family... her wonderful, perfect family... how the hell had she gotten this lucky?

"Momma? Are you sad?" Brooke looked up at Beca who grinned back at her, shaking her head a little.

"No Brookes. I'm really happy. Happier then I've ever been." Beca turned her gaze to Chloe who smiled softly at her, and she knew she was feeling the same way, "Now how about you and I go and make momma some hot tea and find the stuff so we can paint her nails?"

"I know where it is!" Brooke charged from the room, Beca chuckling as she watched her daughter go.

"You don't have to do that Becs." Chloe frowned a little, "I already feel better just having you home again."

"I know." Beca kissed her, "But I like pampering you. And besides, when have you ever turned down one of my foot massages?"

Chloe giggled softly as Beca got off the couch to go and supervise Brooke, watching her wife go. Sure it had been an off day, but everything would be worth it when their son got here. And besides, she always had Beca when she needed her.

[9tzuyu]

dissolve (rewrite)

natasha x reader

note: this was just a huge vent fic idk. these type of fics seem to be the only thing im okay at writing. mistakes are mine as always. but i did proofread, yay!

if you want to read the original (as awful as it is) you can read it here!

wanrings: this heavily revolves around eating disorders.

i’m not tagging anyone because the content isn’t really the lightest to read.

words are used everyday, everywhere – whether to describe something or someone. there’s thousands upon thousands of them.

so you were having a hard time figuring out why you were struggling so much to justify your feelings through the basis of words. it was unnerving, draining and very annoying. your emotions should be simple, right? you were either sad or happy, angry or scared. but there was something more, something unexplainable. saying you felt alone only scratched the surface of the wave of emotion that took over. it was excruciatingly painful, far worse than any physical pain you ever had to endure. and for some reason it seemed to come crashing down at night while natasha slept peacefully. you weren't exactly sure how to express your emotions to the extent you felt them. how else was anyone supposed to understand your pain? they couldn't, not unless they could somehow shift into your body and feel your emotions themselves. but that was merely impossible as such powers do not exist. so you were inevitably stuck with words foreign to your lips. over the years you were deemed unsafe, a hazard, "an accident waiting to happen" you recall one doctor say. everyone’s eyes were on you at all times, monitoring every little movement you made. it was suffocating and at times doing more damage than good.

as an adult now you learned how freeing it could be without the fear of gaining weight or eating a bowl full of rainbow marshmallow cereal. your worth was not defined by your weight.

(at least that's what you believed prior to any relapses.) everything was going well in your life. you were a college graduate working as a psychiatric nurse and you had found love, something your teenage self could only dream of. natasha was by your side through everything. and really, the only downfall in the relationship was that she had to travel a lot for her job. but you were secure enough in your relationship not to worry or decide to call things off. in the end natasha always made up for it when she came back, so you couldn't complain too much. things were going well for you, really, they were. until they weren't. (and you didn't know why.) it happened out of nowhere. work was a little more stressful than usual, but it was nothing you couldn't handle. natasha had been away for three months, only stopping by a few times to check in on you. but again, your wife being away for so long wasn't anything new or worrisome. the two of you had followed the routine of her leaving and coming back more than a thousand times; yet somewhere along the way you lost yourself. food became less of a priority, your hunger decreased drastically, and within the first month you'd lost thirteen pounds. it truly was an accident, slipping into a full blown relapse was never part of the plan. but thirteen pounds lighter you wanted more, to feel small again. you didn't have an answer as to why you became so attached to your eating disorder, but it didn't seem like it would be letting go any time soon. the rate at which you were going natasha would most definitely be able to see a difference; not only on your weight, but in the person you once were. she'd ask what happened and why it happened, poking and prodding for an answer, but you didn't have one. so here you stood in the kitchen of your shared home, a cup of sliced fruit in one hand and your cell phone in the other. you poured the fruit into the bottom of a blender along with a spoonful of yogurt and half a cup of soy milk. another half cup of ice followed suit. while the fruit blended, you shamelessly scrolled through your instagram. there was nothing interesting going on in other people's lives, you didn't even know why you had social media in the first place. it was dumb, and quite frankly you didn't give a shit whether or not sharon went to the beach. the sound of your blender coming to a halt brought your attention back to the real world. you poured your smoothie into your water bottle. the green liquid would be your breakfast and lunch for the day - dinner was still up for debate. a soft sigh left your lips. work was beginning to feel more like a chore and less of something you enjoyed. you were quickly growing tired of it. nonetheless, you grabbed your keys and rushed out of the door.

you thought about the irony of working as a psychiatric nurse with an undealt eating disorder telling teenagers how to deal with their own issues. you felt hypocritical to say the least, especially given that all the nasty side effects were starting to make themselves known.

your hair was beginning to thin, small clumps of it already starting to fall out when you tugged a little too hard. bruises could be seen scattered left and right on your body, and you were cold. god you were cold. your fingernails were tinted blue, warmth seemingly too far out of reach. you looked ill, and it didn't go unnoticed by your coworkers.

a few hours into your shift you found yourself sitting behind the nurses station filling out paperwork. lunch had passed and when your coworker, steve, asked if you were going to eat something you lied straight through your teeth, telling him you'd grab something when the patients were eating dinner.

but steve rogers could read you like an open book. he knew you were lying because he already knew what was going on. the signs of an eating disorder were quite obvious when you were a licensed therapist. and despite your futile attempts at hiding it, everyone could tell something wasn't right.

steve played it by ear for weeks until he contacted natasha, but by then you'd already lost a considerable amount of weight. as soon as she heard the news, natasha booked the next flight home. unfortunately for her though, there was only one flight and she would have to wait two and a half weeks before being able to leave.

you didn't know it, but those were the longest two and a half weeks natasha ever had to wait.

– patients were having group therapy, so you could tune them out - not that you should, but it was hard to focus when the only two things you could think about were food and your weight.

the need to lose weight sounded so stereotypical for someone with an eating disorder, but honestly it wasn't about that. it was never about wanting to be thin. you genuinely didn't know why this was happening. the only thing you noticed was how rewarding it felt seeing the number go down, as if for you were good for becoming less. it was addictive. and it didn't help that you based your entire worth on how much you could lose.

the next time you stood up from behind the nurses station steve met you in the the cafeteria. while the patients ate you took occasional sips from your smoothie. the bottle was still full of its contents from the morning. you had completely forgotten to drink it during the day, but you didn't seem to mind it that much.

the surprise touch of steve's hand on your shoulder startled you.

i am gross, you thought. do not do that.

steve caught onto the slight flinch your body produced as a reflex, but he didn't say anything about it.

"you can leave early, boss said so."

he laughed as he saw confusion plaster your face.

"what? no!"

"go home, seriously. we have this handled. you know tony doesn't like being told no."

you bit your lip, puzzled by the sudden request. most people wouldn't mind being sent home early, but all it did for you was give you a level of anxiety reserved for food.

what you didn't know was that natasha was home waiting for your arrival. she came back just short of an hour after you left for work.

while you were gone natasha made a few thorough rounds in the house looking for key signs of your eating disorder. there was bound to be evidence given that you didn't know she was home.

unsurprisingly, natasha found a glass scale beside the counter of the bathroom floor along with empty bottles of laxatives in the trashcan. the food in the fridge had been expired a few days past their date, giving her the indication that you weren't eating as much as you should be. her concern grew even more when she found your food journal on your nightstand. flipping the pages, natasha could see that throughout the moths she'd been gone your calorie intake had decreased significantly.

guilt began to gnaw at the back of her throat.

during the few days natasha stopped by, she hadn't noticed anything wrong with you. but then again she knew most people with eating disorders were very good at hiding them up until the point they were discovered. three days wasn't near enough time for her to catch onto your tricks, not when her mind was still focused on her job.

natasha always listened intently whenever you would talk about your eating disorder, the first time being six months into the relationship on a date you felt like you had ruined.

but talking about it was much different than experiencing it with you, natasha had never done that before up until now. she read nearly every article there was about anorexia, bulimia, binge eating disorder and ednos. sometimes when you were asleep she would watch documentaries on the disorder, always making sure to keep her volume at a low level.

the videos that hurt her the most were the ones teenagers struggling with the simple task of eating food.

(although natasha knew it wasn't that simple.)

it hurt because she knew that was you at some point in time.

upon your arrival, natasha cooked dinner. she wanted to hold onto the one sliver of hope that steve was wrong - that he was just overreacting - but she knew in her heart he was right about his assumption. however, dinner would only confirm what natasha so desperately wanted to deny.

when you walked through the door you were greeted with the overwhelming scent of food. you cringed at the thought of having to eat, but as soon as you looked up to see the redhead who'd been gone for so long your frown was washed away. a wide smile overtook your face and you rushed to jump into natasha's arms.

"i missed you so much," you whispered. "i thought you'd be gone for another few weeks?"

natasha's arms found their way around your waist as your legs wrapped around hers. "what? i can't come home early to surprise my wife?" you giggled in the crook of her neck. she smiled feeling the vibrations against her skin, happy to know that you'd missed her just as much as she missed you.

she sat you down, back facing you, she tended to the food. "you've lost weight," she commented, not missing the sharp inhale of your breath.

"how was work, nat?"

she nodded to herself. yeah, she didn't expect you to be so open on the first try.

"it was fine. dinner's ready, i made your favorite!" natasha threw a smile in your direction as she carried the plates over to the table. she had hoped to see your face light up the way it used to, but seeing the panicked look in your eyes further confirmed your relapse.

if nothing else, natasha wanted you to have a meal before she brought up the conversation.

"great... i love it, thank you nat!" your attempt at being enthusiastic failed miserably and you knew by the look she gave you, she already knew what was going on.

but throughout the meal, and despite the shakiness of your hand as it gripped the metal fork, natasha didn't say anything.

you weren't really sure which was worse; being confronted or knowing the both of you knew what the other was thinking and still not addressing it.

natasha's meal was good, you couldn't lie about that, but each bite you chewed caused the tightening in your chest to constrict further.

now you couldn't be good. or worthy. or deserving.

nat took away your plate when you were halfway through. she knew your limits, and she didn't want to push you too much out of your comfort zone.

"go change, i'll wash our dishes. meet you on the couch?"

you did as you were told, taking as long as you could to do so. except this time was different. you didn't glance in the mirror like you usually did, you chose to fully take in your figure.

what you saw was not what you expected to see. for the first time in months you saw a version of yourself that wasn't twisted and turned to be something you didn't know was real or not.

your skin was dry, hair thinned out beyond your belief, eyes sunken and dark underneath. the revelation gave you an odd feeling – was once again something unexplainable, unjustifiable by words.

good.

that was how you were supposed to feel, right? after all of this time, after the many pounds of protection and warmth lost, you were supposed to feel good.

but you didn't. and you never would.

there was something so surreal about the realization of your own destruction. you were aware now, which meant you had to either take responsibility or choose to lose everything you worked so hard for.

"y/n?"

your wife's voice snapped you out of your gaze and you scrambled to pile your dirty clothes and rush out of the bedroom.

as you made your way into the living room you could feel the intensity of natasha's gaze. any other time you would not mind her green eyes looking at you, but this time around you felt like you were in trouble.

she patted the empty spot next to her, to which you reluctantly joined. but even after everything you still tried to play it cool.

"what's up? is everything okay?"

she gave a low chuckle, "you tell me."

"what do you mean?"

"oh i think you know what i mean."

natasha’s reply was met with the loudest silence you ever had to sit through.

she bit her lip, "you know i got a call from steve a few weeks ago. he's concerned about you, and from what he's told me so am i."

you were quick to respond, automatically knowing what steve’s phone call was about. "i'm fine. so what if i've lost a couple of pounds? that doesn't automatically mean that im relapsing, natasha."

your quick snap reminded natasha that this kind of confrontation was like walking on eggshells.

she tilted her head, licking her lips. "i'm here with you, always." nat put a hand to the side of your face, gently rubbing her thumb at the top of your cheekbone. "i'm here."

it seemed pointless now to try and say anything because your secret was already out.

your mind began racing back and forth.

you wanted to keep what you knew best and natasha understood that. even by reading your body language she knew what you were debating.

"you know, to keep it you have to give it away." your eyes darted to meet hers. "mhm. you can still have that piece of you. mourn it, grieve it, do whatever you need to do to move onto a stage where it doesn't hurt you. and from there you can help other people, share your experience, let yourself heal by helping others."

she paused, “we all have choices. some of those choices are taken from you while others leave you with only one option.”

although what she said seemed to resonate with you, there was one thing still holding you back.

"i just want to be good."

natasha hummed. you had explained it to her in the past, though your words were jumbled together as you tried to describe it.

"you can be good in other ways. you're allowed to live a life outside of the barriers your eating disorder puts in the way."

you swallowed the lump in the back of your throat. "i don't even know how it got to this point. in january i enjoyed ihop and dennys. in february i could have oatmeal and bananas, sometimes half of a sandwhich if i was feeling brave. now it’s march and i only eat one or two things a day. the idea of having a full meal makes me want to cry. and i just- i don't know how to stop."

natasha wouldn't show it, but your words cut through her heart like a knife. her mind wandered briefly to all the teenagers in the documentaries she'd watched, hoping you weren't too far gone into your eating disorder to ever come back. those cases scared her the most.

"you've got my complete support. you've tackled this before, maybe this time you can beat it? i know its easier to abuse your body instead of growing comfortable in it, but i think you’ve got this. i know you do."

"what about your work?" your question caused natasha to frown. "you think i wouldn't set my job aside for you?" you shrugged, it's not like you felt like you were worth being taken care of anyway.

natasha grew hesitant to tell you her news, but did it anyway because she’d rather you hate her than see you dead. "i've already made some appointments for you. the first one is tomorrow morning."

"i figured you would natasha. it's okay."

you spaced yourself out the rest of the day. each time you made the executive decision to recover, whether that be a genuine recovery or not, the process never failed to remind you that even trying to recover from an eating disorder felt like mourning the loss of a friend who was never good for you in the first place.

[silverarmedassassin]

Clandestine Meetings - One

Actor!Bucky x Reader | Word Count: 2488 | Warnings: None

A/N: Listen, I know I said this would be posted in "about an hour," but I have no self-control and it must be posted NOW.

Sorry for the delay in getting this out! I was having a bit of block. Thank you for reading and, if you feel so inclined, please let me know what you think!❤️ If you want to be tagged, please send me a message or enter your url here!

Dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

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It’s 10:30 by the time your boss stumbles into the office. Pepper Potts is usually the embodiment of poised and put together - sleek strawberry blonde hair either falling over her shoulders in beautiful waves or tied in a high ponytail; black pencil skirts and white blouses tucked neatly inside. But not today.

While the ponytail still sits high on her head, dark circles taint her usually smooth, pristine complexion. She’s fisting a to-go mug in one hand and her office mug in the other, already steaming with a fresh round of caffeine.

You hated days like these; mornings after Tony keeps her out late - either business or pleasure, you never know as you prefer not to pry into your bosses’ personal lives - were always interesting, to say the least. Pepper was never mean, and you were almost positive there wasn’t an unkind bone in her body. She was just off. And if she was off, it means you were off, resulting in your job being about one hundred times harder as you often had to play the roles of both assistant and editor.

“Good morning, Ms. Potts,” you finally greet as she sits down at her desk. She’s rummaging through her bag, growing more irritable as the seconds pass. She sighs before stopping to look up at you.

“Y/N, please. It’s been six months. Just call me Pepper.” You internally scoff at the insistence of being anything less than professional towards one of the smartest women you’ve ever encountered in your life, and she turns back to her treasure hunt. “Don’t tell me I left my laptop at home,” she whines to herself as she slumps down into her large executive chair.

You clear your throat as you shuffle forward, computer in hand. “You had me take down to IT to get your files backed up, remember?” you smile as you deposit the device on the cherry-oak desk.

Pepper returns the smile and shakes her head. “Honestly, I don’t understand how I functioned before you.” She slides the laptop across the desk and opens it. While she waits for the software to boot up, she starts her typical morning rapid-fire session. “Did I miss any calls before I came in?”

“No, it’s been pretty q-word this morning.” You vowed never to say “quiet” while in the office. It somehow always jinxed your days, resulting in everyone and their mother calling within twenty minutes.

“E-mails?”

“The chef you’ve been in contact with sent over his schedule for the next few months. It’s looking like the best time to meet is early next month if you want to get the feature done in time for the winter edition.” Pepper opens her mouth to fire another question, but you’re one step ahead of her. “I’ve already blocked out a date in your calendar and sent the invite to his team.”

A soft smile graces the woman’s face as she scribbles notes in her daybook. “And what does my schedule look like for today?”

You sort through the mental files that contain minute-to-minute information regarding your boss’s workday. “You’re pretty booked. You have that photoshop with James Barnes at noon, and after-”

“Shit,” Pepper mummers, cutting you off. Panic quickly settles into her features. “Why does Tony do this? Barnes is impossible to book for anything. I can’t miss this….”

“Uh, no, you can’t,” you practically screech as you fix your boss with a wild look. “This photoshoot has been on your schedule since before I even started. And the time you have set up with him next week doesn’t allow for a full interview, photoshoot, and get material for the short online feature.” You try not to let the panic come out in your voice, but this is precisely the kind of incident you were hired to prevent.

Pepper gently closes her laptop and sets her features in a serious look. “Listen, I think you’re doing a great job here, and you’ve grown so much within the few months you’ve been on the team.” You eye her suspiciously, wondering if this was your ‘you’re fired’ speech. If so, it was definitely coming out of left field. “Why don’t you take my place at the shoot today? If Tony hadn’t promised I’d be in attendance for this investor meeting today, I’d have you go to that instead. But,” the blonde sighs deeply before continuing, “Tony has no regard for anyone’s schedule, and this is an important meeting.”

Your stomach drops from the 44th floor you’re currently on down to ground level. You’d never been on a set before, let alone one with someone as big as James. Plus, you’d only been on a handful of mid-sized interviews. How did she expect you to do this by yourself?

“Pepper, I…”

“I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to try and tell me that you’re not ready and that you can’t possibly clear your schedule for the afternoon. But if I didn’t think you were capable of holding your own, you wouldn’t even be sitting here with ‘assistant editor’ in front of your name. You have the skillset; you just need to show that you can use it. I know you don’t want to be an assistant forever.”

You anxiously bite your lip, feelings of inadequacy and anxiousness filling your senses.

“I don’t even know this James guy…” you say, defeated.

“Well, the car doesn’t arrive for another,” she looks down at her phone, “forty-five minutes. You better get reading.”

“We really need to bring you into the twenty-first century,” Natasha, Bucky’s manager, says as the first notes of My Funny Valentine start dancing through today’s set.

Following the too-bright flash of the camera, Bucky blinks the starbursts out of his eyes and tries to set the redhead with as stern of a look as possible. “Don’t you dare diss Mr. Sinatra. He’s a classic. A legend!” He watches as a stylist runs up and begins fussing with his hair.

Natasha just rolls her eyes and goes back to scrolling through her phone. As much as she acts annoyed with him - and his insistence of having at least two dozen 40’s songs on every photoshoot playlist - he knew she wouldn’t trade him for the world. They had a long history pre-dating the entertainment industry, and she was damn good at her job. If it wasn’t for Nat, Bucky’s not sure his current agency would have even signed him.

As the stylist finishes up her poking and prodding, the photographer - who Bucky has already forgotten the name of - begins shouting out directions from behind the camera. Pose this way. Turn that way. Make it look like you want to be here. It takes everything in Bucky not to grimace - both at the consistent reconfiguring he has to do to his body and the loud rumble that echoes through his stomach. The shirtless pictures they were shooting today caused him - against his better judgment - to forgo breakfast and, with nothing but too-weak black coffee in his system, Bucky couldn’t help but feel a little agitated.

“Just a few more shots, and then we can break for lunch,” he hears the man behind the camera shout before dragging the camera back up to his face.

Bucky contorts himself into a position that shows off the abs he’s worked incredibly hard to achieve and maintain and masks his face in the perfect moody smolder these magazines love so much. Three more pops of the shutter, some grumbling and direction by the photographer, and one more position change, and he’s finally free.

As he’s looking at the pictures and throwing a robe over his bare torso and boxer-clad bottom, Bucky’s attention is pulled from the camera’s tiny screen to the back of the spacious room by Natasha’s stern, Russian-lilted voice. The accent only came out when she was agitated, so the sound alone is often used as a warning sign to those closest to her to stay away.

“How did you even get up here? Is there no security in place? I swear-”

Bucky turns to find his manager - all five-foot-three inches of her - standing defensively in front of whomever she’s cornered by the elevator.

“As I said, I’m here in place of Ms. Potts.” Bucky perks up at the second voice; is almost positive he recognizes the sweet melody despite having only encountered it once several months before. “Here, look, I have my badge.”

Sure enough, as Bucky scurries over to the duo, he sees a familiar face anxiously looking at his manager. He might be terrible with names, but Bucky Barnes rarely forgets a face.

“Natasha, why do you insist on harassing every person who sets foot within a five-foot radius of me while on the job?” Bucky jokes as he approaches the women.

He watches as your attention shifts from the annoyed redhead to him; a look of shock and maybe a hint of mortification flashes across your face.

“I wasn’t harassing. This is a closed set, and randos from the street can’t just walk on up,” Natasha rolls her eyes. “And it’s not you I’m worried about. It’s...you. But you know what I mean!”

He does. After all, protecting his privacy and work is one of Bucky’s most significant concerns. That doesn't mean he isn’t going to tease Natasha any chance he gets. He playfully scoffs and turns his attention to you. “I see you got the job. I told you everything was going to work out.”

Bucky can’t help but preen at the way you anxiously tuck a non-existent stray hair behind your ear and bite your lip. “You were right. Mr. Stark isn’t as intimidating as I thought. Although,” you playfully roll your eyes, “he is a menace. He promised Pepper’s attendance at a meeting, so now you’re stuck with an inexperienced interviewer rather than the queen of journalism.”

“Bah!” Bucky exclaims. “I’m sure you’ll do great. Plus, you’re not the one half-naked in the situation. If anyone embarrasses themselves, it’ll be me.”

Natasha chortles at the comment, mumbling something the sounds a lot like, “ever the charmer,” before walking away. At the same time, Bucky doesn’t miss the way your gaze slowly skims down his cotton-clade body before snapping back up to his face.

“Come on. We just broke for lunch, and Stark spares no expense when it comes to the spreads.”

It’s well past six-thirty in the evening when you finally make it back to your building. Despite the exhaustion flowing through your veins and the grumble in your stomach reminding you every five minutes that you haven’t eaten since lunchtime, there’s a festive air to your being, a proverbial pep to your step that could only be the result of a successful first interview experience.

Yeah, you were a nervous wreck before and during the interview, but you walked away feeling amazing about yourself - and with three pages worth of phenomenal, touching, and personal quotes from the one and only Bucky Barnes.

You try to ignore the butterflies that erupt low in your belly at the thought of the blue-eyed god of a man. Despite having no other experience interviewing someone with as large of a celebrity as he, you’ve concluded that Bucky is an angel of an interviewee. He was polite, answered all of your questions, and flirted just a little. Or, at least that’s what you would call it if you were anyone but a lowly editorial assistant who still purchased from bargain bins because that’s all you could afford. In all reality, Bucky was a very smooth talker with the confidence to back it up. It explained the incomprehensible hype surrounding the man you had no idea was such a big deal less than twelve hours prior.

The rumble of your stomach pulls you back to reality as you unlock your apartment door. You push the thoughts of Bucky to the back of your mind, settle for finishing unpacking the day for when you’re unwinding for bed. Right now, all you want to focus on is fo-

“Uh, hello!” your roommate Wanda screeches as you push open the door. The redhead is standing, arms crossed, in your entry, a look of disdain on her face. “When were you going to tell me, your best friend and roommate, who pays half the rent and utilities, mind you, that Bucky Barnes followed you on Instagram. James Bucky Barnes, Y/N!”

You freeze at the mention of the man who has taken up every inch of your mind since you left the shoot earlier that day. You deposit your keys onto the small table next to the door and try to act as nonchalant as possible. “What are you talking about, Wanda?”

Your roommate starts wagging her phone in front of your face before pulling it back so she can read off her screen. “Well, I follow these gossip blogs - just for fun, of course. I like to stay up-to-date with all the celebrity goings-on.” You fix Wanda with an unamused look as you pass by on the way to the kitchen. “And I was scrolling through, catching up on today’s gossip, and all of a sudden, I see a screenshot of your Instagram account!”

You freeze mid-reach for a saucepan and turn to look at her. “What?”

“Yea, see,” Wanda holds her phone out so you can see the screen. Low and behold, there your account is; questionably composed landscape shots of the city and poorly-lit food pics in all their glory. “It started to circulate this afternoon after someone saw he followed you! Why did he follow you?”

You slowly resume your task of reheating last night’s spaghetti as you answer her. “I...I don’t know? I met him at work this afternoon. He probably just followed me because of Stark.” You shrug despite the thrill that runs through your body.

You halfheartedly listen as Wanda blabs on about the crush she’s apparently had for years despite never having once mentioned it to you, too focused on running through the day’s events to care much about how she’s seen every single one of his films at least a dozen times.

Maybe he had been flirting with you? His manager did mention he flirts with anything with a heartbeat, so it was most likely just part of his personality. Or at least the role he played in public. You weren’t naive enough to think that who Bucky presented himself as to the media, fans, and others not in his inner circle was the real Bucky. After all, he was likely just trying to win you over so you’d write something good about him.

Still, you can’t help the giddy smile that creeps across your face as, when you finally lie down for the night, you open the Instagram app to find Bucky’s name and verified status among the several notifications awaiting you.

@redbarn1995 @juenenfeu

[katsukikitten]

Skewed Reflection

Comfort story for just me. Enjoy some nice art I made on an app too with stickers.

"Fuck this is a horrible picture." You say as you tap through people's snap stories from the 10 year class reunion. Then you come across one of your profile, something you already hated anyway.

Hating the slope of your nose, the fat that seems to hang as a double chin and your slight over bite that you despised.

Your eyes burn with unshed tears, burning hot rage quickly melts into fat droplets that streak down your cheeks.

All the while you study the picture wondering who the fuck took it and why.

Why they were think that was a good angle or picture?

Why they would post it!

But most importantly why you had let yourself go and so severely at that.

Hyperfixation sets in as you stare and stare, never allowing the glass to change. Heating both beneath your gaze and over use before you stand to stare in a mirror.

Poking and prodding yourself harshly enough that you do not hear your husband announce himself as home.

Rough hands find the cool metal of the fridge door yanking it hope to find a nice little note of how to heat tonight's dinner.

He follows the sticky note's directions, silently happy that you offered to prep/cook for his 16 hour shift week.

He sits at the table, body slowly relaxing before he digs in. A rare smile forms on his lips as he scrolls through his phone.

The ash blonde's phone pings alerting him to a message that he opens. It's a picture of you, himself and a head of spikey red hair.

His smile grows wider, loving the picture, so much so he's determined to show you as he rises his dish with one hand abandoning it in the sink before bounding up the stairs.

He comes into the room to a pile of majority of your clothes while you twist this way and that in your underwear and bra.

A sinful smirk forms on his lips as he watches your ass and legs flex, that is until he looks closer and sees redness that can only come from agitated skin. What looks like pinch marks litter over your hips, inner thighs, back, ribs, every where you think you're carrying too much.

And then he sees your face, your gorgeous eyes clouded in a watery rage as your reflection picks your figure apart.

"What the fuck are you doing?" His voice comes out biting.

"What am I do?!" You growl as if its obvious, swinging your arm to gesture over your clothes, "I'm too fucking fat to fit in anything. I'm taking my fucking measurements. Do you know how fat I've gotten since I've quit hero work?"

He doesn't answer, his own rage forming in his stomach as he watches his beautifully powerful wife pick herself apart.

"Several pants sizes. Almost a hundred fucking pounds!" You huff and huff before a scream comes roaring up your throat, "I'M LIKE A WASHED UP LINE BACKER FOR THE FUCKING AMERICAN NFL!"

The room shakes with your rage, threatening to collapse atop the two of you. Pops echo through the room.

"THEN FUCKING WORK ON IT!" He snaps, explosions coming from his hands. It feels as if your ribs have cracked from the weight of his words, the validity of the truth finally sending harsh bone into a tender heart.

Tears come faster but he doesn't let up as he comes closer to you, forcing you to face the mirror but you keep your eyes closed and averted as his hot hands bite into your hips.

"Since it makes you so upset, so unhappy you need to do something about it. You cannot sit idle and let it fucking consume you." He growls in your ear, forcing your chin towards your reflection, "Open your eyes, Kitten, we have a lot to discuss."

After a few moments of silence you obey, meeting his eyes in the reflective glass.

"What do you see?" He snarls and you answer without a beat.

"A failure. A fat fucking loser." He grips your chin tightly, seething as he grinds his teeth.

"Wrong." He bites, "I see a powerfully alluring woman with curves, with perfect little pink marks to kiss and thank. I see soft breasts that have grown with time, thick thighs that can crush skulls and an ass to litter with love bites. I see a someone who cares for me. Whose smile lights up my fucking world and a woman so intelligent she could predict a villians next seven moves with out a quirk and with a 98% accuracy rate. I see a fiercely fearless woman who could kick anyone's ass, including her husband's. No where do I see a 'fat fucking loser'."

"Since you clearly cannot see what I see." He puts emphasis by pressing his slight hard on into your ass, living to praise you, "Then you need to work on what *you* want to see. But I refuse to stand by and let you slander yourself in such a fucking way."

You feel his heart pounding in his chest, his face soured and not by your appearance but by your attitude.

You breath deeply through your nose and exhale shakily through your mouth.

He grips your chin until you open your eyes, gesturing with scarlet orbs to look at yourself.

At you and all your fucking glory he wish you could fucking see.

"Kitten, everyday you're going to say something you like about yourself out loud until you're happy with your own aesthetic. If I'm not here to hear it you're gonna send me a video. Understood?" A growl at your ear to which you nod. He adjusts your body posture. Straightening your spine, pulling your shoulders back and placing your hands on your hips. A stance you take up often when speaking in meetings or telling your predictions. A stance that increases your confidence.

"It starts now. Go."

You stare at yourself, eyes piercing into your form, seeing nothing but flaws before finally something comes to mind,

"I love good I look next to you." You turn around kissing him roughly, so happy to have married someone who doesn't sugarcoat or coddle you.

Someone who is aggressive, especially so when it comes to self growth, care and esteem.

Both of you have come a long way.

A really long fucking way.

He pulls away from the kiss slightly hands digging into your hips like an promise.

"Not exactly what I was looking for but close enough." He kisses a trail up your neck, "Now are you ready to see how sexy I find you?"