#and i kept encouraging them in that so they really imprinted on me hard that i legit couldn't get away from their cuddles aha

[icharchivist]

cw: child abuse (psychological, grooming, ect)

also speaking of parental abuse there's also this text of how Millie wants to be Tyra's mother, but she doesn't want anything that makes Tyra unique.

She started loving Tyra the moment she saw her find some dinosaure when she was dying in the cold and starved after being separated from her parents, seeing that despite her situation, Tyra was so excited about finding a Tyranosaure she was forgetting how desperate her situation was and instead loved the dino right away.

Millie saw how excited Tyra was about it, and loved Tyra right away enough to decide to make her hers.

But Millie hates dinosaurs, she finds them disgusting, she uses them as tool and keeps insulting them, hates that Tyra sees them as her family.

she used the dinos as bait to get Tyra to pay attention to her, and she used a particularities of the dino to mind control Tyra

but even now as Tyra is being brainwashed, everytime she looks at the dinos, Millie just tells her "don't look at those disgusting things, just look at me, your momma"

and it's another level of control that rings way too true on parents who """"""love""""" their children, but not for who they are -- just for what it brings them.

yes Tyra is cute. But everything she likes, everything that makes her happy, is disgusting. So it needs to be removed from Tyra's life. Her love and her excitement has to carry over to Millie, not to the stuff she actually like.

it's something way too real and it's genuinely giving me the yikes it makes me unwell.

[feverdreamjohnny]

My Melting World

Hey there. This is going to be a bit of a personal post. I'm going to talk about a game I made in 2020 that I kept returning to well after I should've left it alone.

Demon's Island was... Well, it wasn't a game, I guess. Probably something closer to a virtual post card, maybe even a hangout zone by proxy. Regardless, Demon's Island was an effort to collapse a lot of my feelings and memories down into a single bite-sized sandwich. That's probably why the game feels distinctly childish and silly; it's as earnest as I was capable of at that time, purely translating how I felt in the form of messy, unfiltered in-jokes and spaces built for people that no longer exist.

I think that last part is probably one of the more haunting prospects whenever I revisit the game. 2020 was a different time. There are rooms and textures left over from people who've since faded away, and revisiting it in recent times feels like walking into the bedroom of a deceased relative. It's just a room, but the little imprints of them are still left there. It's a chilling sensation, sometimes unpleasant, but I still feel like it's something we all need once in a while.

Tallying all of the time up, I probably spent nearly a year building this time capsule. I went through a lot of growth as a game developer over these past few years, and I really think Demon's Island was core to it. It wasn't just the technical skill required to make a multiplayer exploration game, but because it was also the last place I got to store a lot of the unbridled joy I felt with my friends before I had to suit up and try to become a "real" game developer. Excitedly promising my friends a trip to a mall that we could all walk around in before I moved away to some proverbial college town.

Demon's Island wasn't the first game to serve as a time capsule for me. Years ago I had this friend who I was close with and it was actually his body of work I used as a touch-stone to come back to a time I was quickly forgetting. His work always fascinated me because while I was struggling to try and make my games evolve (to disastrous results), he went with the flow and just did whatever he felt like. I think that's probably why his games managed to capture a lot of raw emotion that I was completely incapable of in my own work. It's tragic that I failed to understand the value of what he was doing because I was too distracted with trying to "become something."

I pushed him a lot, trying to encourage him to leave his comfort zone and make something more "tangible." He always responded that his work was just for his friends. He ALWAYS responded that his work was just for his friends.

We ended up separating around late 2019 after a serious personal rift outside of game development. I disappeared and moved on to another friend group, trying to pretend that nothing ever happened. He just moved at his own pace and continued onward like always. It was a hard time.

One day I was curious about what happened to him, and I eventually came to discover that he moved to 3D art. From what I could tell it seemed like he had found an audience for himself. I was happy for him. Despite the rift, I still wanted to see him succeed in the end. Even though I pushed him in the wrong direction, that was always what I wanted to see. Maybe it was for the best that he stopped being around me.

About a month or so ago I was reflecting over the games he and I used to make to a different friend of mine (who also knew him), and this friend condescendingly described my nostalgia as "immature." I never really confronted the way he phrased it, but I fumed internally. It's funny how a single, stupid word affected me so much. It frustrated me that one of the few things I had left that connected me with a happier time was now re-framed as something to be shoved under the rug. I think it's important that you occasionally take time to reminisce so you don't forget the events that are shaping the moment you're in. Sometimes you need to look back to figure out how everything got to this point.

I think the reason I've fixated on this concept of "games as time-capsules" is because I have an incredibly hard time remembering things. Not so much that my memories are being completely erased, but recollecting things becomes more and more difficult if I leave them alone for long enough. Now, it's not uncommon to have a hard time remembering things, but I definitely lose my grip on memories faster than the average person. I'm not sure if this is something I inherited from my mother (who's also had memory recollection issues her whole life) or if it's something else, but it's definitely made it difficult for me to retain most of the things that have made me who I am today.

The reminiscing isn't just to relive happier moments, it's also one of the only things I have that's keeping me tethered to my roots. The less and less I reflect, the deeper those memories sink into murky waters, to the point that it becomes nearly impossible to bring them back up. I've already lost so much of my past self this way that I can't help but be frustrated that I never took an effort to archive stuff from when I was younger.

The reason Demon's Island still matters to me is because it was the first time I had managed to make a game (without my old friend) capable of tethering me to a time that's been slipping away so fast. It's possibly the single most ridiculous, mind numbing game I've ever made, but it might have one of the most important roles in keeping my fading memories alive.

Somehow a bunch of silly dancing rat gifs have convergently evolved into this. I don't know if it's the funniest shit in the world or just tragically pathetic. Maybe it's both?

I think the most important part of this entire blog post is what follows. This is the only reason I found the motivation to re-examine my feelings about Demon's Island and make a retrospective.

About half a year ago, a woman contacted me on Patreon to tell me a story about her husband.

I was floored by this, not only because I was offered to be a part of something so meaningful, but for the first time this... Stupid little thing I built to scaffold my failing memory actually connected with someone. I immediately offered to do more than just a personal message or a secret image: I wanted to make them a special room to celebrate their anniversary. She decided to send me some images and videos from their relationship, and I stitched them together to make a little flowers n' fruits themed space. This was eventually packaged in a private version of the game, and after giving her the files I went to sleep.

I didn't hear anything for about a month or so, but the silence was broken when she sent me a video of her husband reacting to his gift. Despite all of the memories fading and twisting out of my mind like shopping bags in the wind, I don't think I'll ever forget seeing the genuine joy on his face.

For first time in my life, I felt like I had finally done something that mattered.

Before I received that message, Demon's Island wasn't special to anyone but me. For my friends, it was just a fun scrapbook from a time that we were all rapidly moving on from. For strangers the game was even more useless: it was just an unrelatable stream of conscious chattering from inside my head. Who was Tim? What's with the weird HPS1 rooms? Why is there a guy with cream all over his mouth on this Thanksgiving poster? Just a bundle of connectomes signaling to nothing in particular.

For me, it was one of the last things I had connecting me to one of the most important years in my life. After receiving that message, I understood that someone else connected with the game the way I did. It was the first time I felt like I was actually being seen. Of all the little funny moments that have happened in my time as a developer, this is the one I'm fondest of.

If you're a game developer and you happen to be reading this, I have a single recommendation for you. I think you should consider making a little world of your own. It doesn't have to be a "game." It doesn't need any core mechanics or structure. Just make a little world filled with memorabilia, and make a little character to let you walk through it.

Stupid in-jokes with your friends, images and gifs you like, weird drawings, photos you took, whatever you want. Just build a world for yourself (and maybe even your friends too if it interests them). Even if you don't release it, I think you'll be grateful in the end.

There might come a day where your world starts to melt into a blurred puddle, where every day feels the same and the endless grinding makes you want to scream. There might be a day where you forget that you were alive once, and maybe having that little bucket of memories will be the thing that keeps you moving on to tomorrow.

Anyhow, we're nearly done here. I wanted to end on this room. It's actually my favorite area in the game.

See, during the latter part of 2020 my grandmother died, and my world sort of got thrown into insane disarray. It resulted in us moving out of our old home to take care of hers, and during that move I decided to build a room out of textures from my backyard.

This little room is one of the few personal remnants I have from that old house. The house I spent my entire childhood in. The house where I started making games. Guess I'm glad I kept something to remember it by.

[hiskillingjar]

Chastity (Ren/MC)

day 5: chastity second person

You couldn't hold back a little squeak as Ren locked the heavy-duty chastity belt around your hips and between your legs, the soft click of the first padlock being threaded through the metal loop that rested atop your belly being enough to make you tremble even more than you already were.

You had behaved badly, or at least, he thought you had behaved badly enough to be kept like this for a while.

The length of time was up to him, naturally, and he hadn't made a decision about it yet. 

He was happy enough just locking up the padlocks and watching you tremble and shiver, it seemed, as he stayed on his knees in front of you, focusing intently on his task.

"How long are you going to keep this on?" You asked softly with a little pout, looking down at the young man, his tail wagging gleefully behind him, as he locked the second padlock between your legs (but not before pressing the cold metal toy attached to it up inside you first, keeping you full).

"Oh, you know. However long I feel like, really." Ren replied with an innocent smile, taking both of the keys to the locks and theading them on a ball chain he fished from his shirt pocket. "It could be days. Or weeks, or months. Who knows!" He let out a laugh then, raising his brows beneath his bangs and standing up to his feet as his ears tilted forward with excited anticipation. "Maybe I'll keep it on forever."

Your eyes went wide and scared at his playful threat, which only encouraged him to step closer towards you, his innocent smile fading into a sharp grin on his face and his tail wagging even more rapidly.

"Wouldn't that be something?" He continued, bracketing his hands on the metal bands at your hips as his tail wound around your bare legs, soft and teasing. “Keeping you full and desperate for release, forever and ever, without any hope of rescue?” He let out a giddy little breath. “Just saying it is getting me hot.” 

"W-Well, why would you do something like that?" You stammered softly, biting your lip as he continued to idly fiddle with the padlock of the belt, his eyes drifting down to the thick metal waistband digging into your soft flesh, marking your skin. You could already feel that it was going to leave a stark imprint behind. "If I'm all...belted up, forever, you wouldn't get to-"

"I wouldn't get to fuck you?" He finished for you with another little chuckle, keening up (on his tiptoes) to press a kiss, a teasing bite to your jaw, digging his fingers around the metal band and pulling your hips close to his. You could already feel how hard he was getting through his jeans. He wasn’t kidding around then. "No, that's true. I wouldn't get to do that...but honestly, I think it'll be worth it to keep you so wound up and desperate all the time." He chuckled again, and ran his nose against your neck, scenting you. " I think it'll be worth it, anyway. And that’s kind of all that matters, hm?"

"But...mph," You let out a soft groan from the back of your throat as he continued to rut his hips against yours, looking for whatever stimulation he could against the hard metal despite how much he was insisting otherwise. "Why?"

"Because I want to," He said, his voice a touch softer, watching with half-lidded eyes as your own flitted to the side, trying to avoid his hungry gaze as he continued to toy with the padlock. "Because I can. Even knowing that you're unable to play with yourself right now and feeling your frustration is enough for me."

Your cheeks flushed a little (a lot) darker as he brought his face close to yours with a salacious smile, licking his fangs indulgently like a fox would as he took in your embarrassed expression.

"And...what if I beg for you to take it off?" You asked, peering back towards him, your face growing more flush as you noticed him string the ball chain around his neck, the keys to your padlocks shining against his chest. 

"Well, it'll be up to me to decide if you deserve it," He replied, the sharpness in his grin settling into a cruel smirk as he keened up again to kiss your neck one last time. "And I'm pretty tough to convince...especially when I want something as badly as this."

[mystiika]

@liightbringr asked : do you remember how we met? / for eva's husband pls and thnx ( the fixed version )

there was a peaceful quiet permeating throughout their home, their little girl all tucked away after their family outing to a fair had tuckered her out so much tyrus had to carry her inside. & the movie they'd put on after that had long since rolled its credits. but the pair seemed a little too comfortable to move yet, as they laid cuddled together on the couch. then comes her question, & it brings a smile to his face. he takes a pause as he recalls all the feelings from that day. from their first meeting all those years ago just as much as their much more recent connection. be it her clothes, her hair, the way she smiled when she introduced herself, it was imprinted in his mind the way he kept thinking about it all in the days following.

so he lets his head fall to rest against hers, ignoring how in the days following that meeting just how much he'd regretted not getting a phone number or an email, just ... something. so he could see her again. but of course as time passed, he thought about her less & less until she because a vague memory. but who could have expected the two of them later meeting 2 full decades then some now as full adults? & when that fateful day came. he didn't put two & two together.

but he felt as if he'd fallen for her that very day & was grateful every day since, for every new moment he was able to spend with someone as wonderful as eva it all felt like a heightened version of the feelings he'd had when they went on that first distant but nostalgic day. ❝ like it was yesterday. —both times. so of course from this round, a buddy from my firm needed some documents dropped at the track & i jumped at the chance thinking i'd get to admire a few nice cars. & after i handed them over i decided to hang around to watch a little bit. & that was when you, my love, decided to offer a fan a little tour. you seemed so cool & beautiful & kind, it was hard to focus on the tour despite you taking the time out of your day. instead i just kept watching your face as you lit up getting to explain it all. ❞ there's a short pause, but he'd never been good at keeping compliments for her under his tongue, not when seeing her expressions made it so much more fun.

❝ i don't know if i ever told you that actually — exactly how captivating you were. sure, you had offered for me to come back another day to see the cars in action, but i think even then i was coming for you more than i was for the cars even if i didn't know it yet. ❞

❝ but if you mean the day we actually first met, it's a little fuzzy but also a memory i'd thought about through the rest of teens because you'd made such a strong impression & i think i'd fallen for you without even realising it.❞ he enjoys relieving that day now. they'd taken some time to realise that their distant but all too brief love, but they were able to piece the day together between the two of them & now ty remembered in almost surprising detail.

❝ so, i had gone up to you after getting encouraged by my friends to talk to you — doing my absolute best to ignore that you were with your family to make me less nervous about the question. & you had to consider it for a moment but i felt really relieved when you'd said yes. i'd only recently started thinking about dating & wasn't exactly... confident asking a pretty girl out on a date. ❞ he smiles at the thought. ❝ & how pretty i thought you were. ❞

❝ but you did say yes. so we went around playing the games & talking about anything at all. & then, at the end of the night as it started to get dark, we took one final ride, the ferris wheel. when we stopped at the top & you said the view was beautiful, i agreed but you seemed so much prettier, & i just figured i could catch a nice sunset any day, but seeing you smile while the last rays of sun lit up your face... that much i could never forget. after seeing how pretty you looked i couldn't help but think about how much i wanted to kiss you in that moment. ❞ he'd had his first kiss before then, but that didn't make him any less nervous. ❝ then i looked in your eyes & asked if i could kiss you. ❞ he smiles so fondly as he recalls that moment.

❝ you know, ❞ he starts, ❝ even though it took a while for us to realise that we were each the others person that had stuck in our minds through the years, at least now we have a better story to tell when people as how we met. ❞ & he sits up just enough to turn towards her, his hand naturally comes to her jawline with his thumb jutted just under her chin to gently tilt her head into the few sweet kisses, lips so happily meeting her own. his lips moving slow but light until he pulls back just far enough to speak ❝ besides, i think it's nice that we were both our first & last loves, don't you? ❞

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Uncharted Space

Look, I like characters who are strong on the outside dealing with insecurities so when that one particular letter from Ambrose to the last clones mentioned this idea, I was All Over It.

It just took me another reread of the book to finish the fic...

Please reblog and leave a comment on Ao3 if you enjoyed this!

--------

Knowing they'll now be the penultimate clones, Kodiak and Ambrose get used to bodies that live past seventeen. One of them needs a little encouragement with this.

--------

It occurred to Ambrose that he hadn’t seen his own reflection in some time. 

There were surprisingly few reflective surfaces on the Coordinated Endeavor, the Cusks built with retro space aesthetics in mind. Everything was crisp white polycarb in the technical areas or soft, neutral toned canvas in the living quarters, logos splayed proudly on walls like even here, in the furthest reaches of space, there would be someone to sell the brand to. There were the enormous observation deck windows, of course, you could see a faint imprint of yourself there, like a ghost standing alone in the inky blackness. But there was always something better to look at through the window, even hundreds of thousands of years past the Sun. 

And the Aurora was even worse. There everything was stark, like bone to the Fédération’s snow. It was utilitarian and functional, hard edges because the time to sand them down and soften them could be better spent, every square inch put to some use. The same polycarb as past the orange door but kept the same colour it had come out of the printer so it was slightly off. 

So no glass either side of the small corridor that separated each country’s design. Glass was fragile, glass was a risk. So was any kind of exposed metal, anything that could shatter or snap and leave rough edges. Definitely something to avoid in low gravity. 

And around two people who were isolated together in a confined habitat hurtling through space, Ambrose supposed. Though that went in the file of Things We Don’t Think About.

Really, the only place to see his own face staring back at him these days was the small mirror in the area he was supposed to wash and brush his teeth, tightly screwed into the wall and lined in plastic casing. And even that, he hadn’t found himself looking over lately. As he brushed his teeth or washed his hair with that awful dry soap stuff or brushed through his curls, he would wander around the bunk, going through code on his bracelet, listening to music or even his boyfriend explaining some technical repair he’d be attempting the next day, never expecting Ambrose to understand but sorting it out in his own mind out loud. He never gave his reflection more than a glance. 

And it shouldn’t even have occurred to him at all. Except suddenly Kodiak seemed unable to leave his own alone. 

Kodiak always woke before Ambrose. They’d both spent their formative years in regimented training, they were used to snapping their eyes open hours before dawn but one of them was enjoying the freedom of floating through distant space with no instructors and no OS a little more than the other. Whenever he’d open his eyes to see the low ceiling he still smacked his head off at least once a week for the three years he’d been occupying it, the other half of the bunk would be empty, the blankets shaped to a body that wasn’t there anymore. 

And this morning was no exception, there were very few of those on the Coordinated Endeavour. Ambrose yawned hugely, enough to make his jaw ache, stretching his arms as far as possible above his head with the lazy, contented confidence of someone who knew exactly where he would go from here. He would doze for a little while, let himself wake up slowly which he’d discovered gave him a much better start to the day and made him less of an asshole around noon. By then, Kodiak would finish whatever task he’d jumped out of bed to do and get hungry, like a semi-feral cat who’d finished surveying his territory. Ambrose would tempt him back into bed for a while, possibly just to hold him and let his body warm Kodiak back up, maybe for something a little more exertive if they were both in the mood. Then it would be breakfast, sitting at the table on opposite sides but with their legs tangled together underneath, talking and laughing about small, gentle things in their corner of the void. 

The rest of the day would be completing tasks, keeping their home functional against the thousands of things that could kill them in deep space. Following OS directions and still feeling a pinch of anxiety when the task number ticked down, even with the years they’d now been safe. Safety being a relative concept out here.

Ambrose reclined in this easy confidence, the certainty of this and every day. You’d think their lives had become monotonous- and they had- but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, especially for two young men who’d grown up surrounded by structure. There was something domestic about it, something honest and reassuring. So he dozed with a soft smile on his face, a smile that widened when he heard footsteps come into the room. 

Ambrose shifted onto his side and waited patiently for those strong arms to circle him and draw him close to the only other heartbeat for millions of miles. And found himself still waiting five minutes later. He cracked an eye open, glancing grumpily over his shoulder, to the side of the bunk that was annoyingly not being occupied by his boyfriend. 

“Kodiak?” he mumbled, voice too croaky in that just-woken-up way to project much, rolling onto his back. 

With no answer, he made himself sit up, blinking in the low light. The designers of the ship had tried to soften the stark, strip lighting for the sleeping quarters, showing a remarkable amount of forethought that astronauts shouldn’t have to risk hellish migraines just by waking up. The light was gentler, more yellowish, coming from glowing orbs set into the walls of the small space. 

So when he saw Kodiak, standing in the washroom section of the bunk, he was edged in gold like some kind of angel. He was standing as far back from the small vacuum basin as the space allowed, face creased in a frown as his eyes fixed on the mirror. His hair was pulled away from his face into a loose knot, to keep it out of his eyes as he worked, but now it added intensity to his gaze, almost like he was glaring at himself. 

“Kodiak?” Ambrose repeated, voice woken up now, “Morning.”

That his boyfriend heard, blinking like he was waking up too and turning. The intensity of his eyes softened though he was clearly still distracted, half of his mind on whatever he’d seen in the mirror.

“Morning,” his voice had a gruff kind of rumble to it, clearly the first words he’d spoken since waking up and he’d saved them for Ambrose, “Sleep well?”

Ambrose nodded, tilting his head slightly, “Are you coming back to bed?” 

If he said yes, it would be forgotten like it had never happened. Ambrose knew better than to try and draw something out of his taciturn partner before he was ready. They’d had years together, messages from years distantly passed, though he doubted he’d have needed more than a day to put that conclusion together. He knew if Kodiak wasn’t ready to talk about whatever was bothering him, he would simply say yes, he would climb into bed next to his partner and they would let go of it as they took hold of each other. 

Kodiak turned back to the mirror, the corner of his mouth turning down. Ambrose’s heart went out to him, though he kept himself quiet. He understood completely, how it felt to see your own face and remember those ones in the bags, pressed down and vacuum sealed and obscured but still so painfully familiar, your eyes and nose and mouth cultured and stored ready to be used. And then thrown away.

Knowing you’d once looked exactly like that before pure circumstance decided you’d be woken up next. That your body wasn’t one of the ones another Ambrose would need to destroy. 

Instead you ended up being that Ambrose who had to cut his own throat eight times over and see that same face staring up at him as he’d done it. 

Maybe there was a reason he hadn’t seen his reflection in a while. 

“Kodiak…” he murmured, voice soft, preparing for a day when it would just be too much and they wouldn’t end up leaving the safety of their darkened bunk. 

“Do you think I’ve gained weight?”

Ambrose was caught off guard by that, he had to admit. 

“Huh?”

Kodiak frowned into the mirror again and pressed his hands to his cheeks, like he was massaging them into another shape, “I’ve gotten fat.”

Ambrose pursed his lips, “I suppose you have lately. But you say that like it’s a bad thing?”

Kodia’s hands dropped to his waist where he’d tied off his jumpsuit. He did the same massaging motion to his hips and the stomach there, like he was trying to mould something different out of them. His frown deepened and worry crept in at the corners of his eyes. 

“It is. When did this happen? I eat the same goddamn food every day. I eat rations.”

Ambrose sat up fully and crossed his legs underneath him, voice patient.  “Well...we’re older than we’ve ever been allowed to be before, aren’t we? We’re not teenagers any more and our metabolisms have changed.” 

“Our,” Kodiak scoffed, “You’re not going to fat just because you turned twenty four.”

Ambrose decided that would be enough, reaching his hands out and making motions for him to come close, grasping the way a small child would, “Come here…”

Kodiak hesitated, the mirror and its discomforts proving to have a strong gravitational pull. But Ambrose had learned patience, rather forcibly, and just let his smile grow, expectantly. After a few moments, Kodiak took the hint and loped over to the bunk, climbing aboard and moving into his arms. He felt the weight of him against one shoulder, turning with it, pressing his boyfriend back against the relative softness. 

Boyfriend. It felt like such a small word for what they were to each other. Partner. Fellow survivor. Only other human, or at least human-adjacent being, for billions of miles. It just didn’t seem like enough, but what word would be? But Ambrose was getting distracted. Part of living this life was keeping such thoughts at a comfortable distance so they didn’t crush you, preferably in that file of Things We Don’t Think About. 

So he focused instead on kissing his Kodiak, until those lines of frustration eased and his body became soft and pliant under Ambrose’s. There were no stars or planets to chart out here in the barrens of the outer galaxy but that didn’t mean he’d been slacking. Instead he’d been making a careful catalogue of the spot behind Kodiak’s ear that made him shiver when he kissed it, the soft whine he’d make when he tangled his fingers in his hair, the way his pupils would blow wide like supernovas when he sucked on his fingers. Ambrose knew it all and wasn’t above weaponizing it. 

Once Kodiak was boneless and ready to hear him, Ambrose kissed a path back up his chest, the dark hair silky against his lips, and balanced his chin on his breastbone so he could look into his deep, clay eyes. 

“You do look a little softer,” Ambrose murmured, stroking through his sleep tousled hair, “So maybe you have gained some weight. But I really don’t think that’s a negative, Kodiak, not at all.” 

Kodiak sighed, his breath warm on Ambrose’s cheek, warm and so beautifully alive, “I know it’s foolish. But looking a certain way was the only thing I was told to care about for the first seventeen years of my life. Being strong. Being fit. Moving outside those very strict parameters still feels like I’m failing.” 

Ambrose felt the not unfamiliar desire to punch someone high up in the Dimokratía government right in the teeth. Whoever was responsible for the way Kodiak thought about himself. 

With anyone who’d ever been responsible for his lover’s neuroses long dead and probably turning into sediment millions of miles away, Ambrose settled instead for a soft kiss on Kodiak’s lips. 

“I know. Getting used to a different life purpose is a hell of a headache. But you’re not doing it alone?”

That twitched his noble warrior’s mouth into a smile, though something was clearly bothering him, “I know…”

Ambrose cocked an eyebrow at him, moving one hand down to knead Kodiak’s thigh where it fell lazily across his lower back, like he was physically working the words free. 

Eventually he sighed, resting back against the pillow, his hair a blue black waterfall against the cream. It was getting longer, Ambrose would need to trim it again soon. 

“It’s just…look, I know the people you- well, the original Ambrose- used to choose…and the people you find attractive in the streams we watch…and, you know, the other things we watch together…” His voice was trailing off, fading as his confidence ran out, like a radio losing the frequency, untilt the last of it came rushing out, “The people you find attractive don’t look like me and I want to look good so you don’t get sick of me.”

Ambrose sat up so fast he nearly cracked his head on the top of the bunk again but managed to stop just short. 

“Alright, you’ve gone and done it,” he prodded Kodiak in the chest. 

Ambrose wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the tough Dimokratía soldier he was in love with look quite so alarmed. Maybe when they’d been battling the OS for their very lives but it was a close thing, “I’ve gone and done what exactly?”

“I am about to make a very big mushy speech and your emotionally constipated ass is going to have to sit there and listen,” Ambrose grinned in triumph.

“I’ve gotten less…constipated? That’s a disgusting expression…” Kodiak blinked, eyes darting like he was going to see if he could bolt for the door. Ambrose shifted his weight down just in case and used his hands to cup his boyfriend’s face, just because he could. 

“Listen to me, Kodiak Celius. The old Ambrose, the one who chose people who don’t look like you, was a complete and total idiot. He would never have been able to love you and it was his loss entirely. The Ambrose in front of you right now does and always will think that you are the single most beautiful human in the universe.” 

“There isn’t a lot of competition?” Kodiak pointed out wryly. 

“Hush. You’d be surprised how little that has to do with it, it certainly surprises me. I love your face, I love your hooked nose, I love that sharp bow in your lips, I love how thick your eyelashes are, I love the way your shoulder muscles move under your shirt, I love the scar on your arm, I love your ass for obvious reasons and your dick for even more obvious reasons… and yeah, I love your stomach. I love that it’s soft and slightly rounder than it was before,” Ambrose kissed it, like that would help prove his point. 

And just because he wanted to.

“Because it means my Kodiak was the Kodiak who got to live to be twenty four and who got to realise his metabolism isn’t as fast as he thought it was. I love learning that about you and I’m going to love learning all the little things the other Ambroses and Kodiak’s never got to realise about their ageing bodies. Maybe my hairline is going to start receding or I’ll get more freckles or you’ll decide you like wearing your hair a different way. And it will be beautiful because we were the ones who got to see it. I got to live and my Kodiak got to live and I’m never going to feel anything but lucky when I look at your beautiful, soft stomach. Okay?”

Kodiak’s eyes were swimming by the time he was done, his mouth soft but hands tight on Ambrose’s hips like he was scared he might be pulled away from him, “Okay.”

Ambrose grinned, running his thumbs across Kodiak’s cheeks, “And I mean, come on. You think my decadent Fédération self is going to complain about having more of a good thing? You think I’m over here like ‘oh cruel world, there’s more of Kodiak’s phenomenal ass for me to grab while he’s doing that thing he does with his hands, what a terrible fate-’”

“Alright, alright,” Kodiak snorted, making a half-hearted show of trying to put his hand over Ambrose’s mouth, “You’re ruining it, Cusk…”

Ambrose hummed, catching his hand and pressing a kiss to the palm, “Yeah, yeah. I love you, Kodiak Celius.”

His eyes were the softest thing for a million miles as he murmured back, “I love you too, Ambrose Cusk.”

Warmth radiating through his body, Ambrose settled back into Kodiak’s arms, finger tracing a swirling pattern across his chest like the path of the points of light beyond the window. Beneath the pad of his finger, calloused again after years of playing his violin, the heartbeat he loved so much echoed, each pulse a hard won triumph. Every cell of the both of them, a victory. 

“I’m still cutting my portions down,” Kodiak murmured against his hair. 

“Whatever makes you comfortable, darling,” Ambrose hummed, breathing in the comforting smell of exertion and exercise, the heady musk of his skin, “It’s your body.”

“It is,” Kodiak seemed happy with that, repeating it to himself as he pressed his thumbs into Ambrose’s spine, “It’s mine.”

But Ambrose wasn’t sure he was ready to relax, as good and slightly ferocious as his boyfriend’s massages were. 

“Though…are you sure I convinced you how completely and totally in love with you I am?” Ambrose purred, kissing Kodiak's neck, “You don’t need a physical demonstration?”

He felt as much as heard the chuckle that rumbled through his lover’s chest, “Well. If you wanted to make sure my self esteem was well and truly repaired…”

Ambrose was already smiling as he rose up to meet the kiss Kodiak gave him, hands already sliding into their familiar places, limbs already moving into the comforting closeness they knew so well. Everything familiar but new every single day as they moved into the uncharted space of their own futures. 

Ambrose thought he would start seeking out his reflection more often. After all, he’d fought hard for it.

[fluffyprettykitty]

Come November, Come January

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (no gender or any specifications!)

Word Count: 957 words

Outline:  A relaxing weekend away with your boyfriend turns sour when you overhear a phone call.

Warnings: swearing, cheating arch, breaking up. Not Beta'd, all mistakes are mine!

Author’s Note: Part of 3 different ex-boyfriends fics I wrote. This is the first one while this one is the last. No need to read them all, just a thematic flow.

P.S: dividers by @firefly-graphics ​

🌟 Please reblog and comment if you want to, all feedback is appreciated and warmly encouraged and allows me to know what people are interested in reading🌟

Main Masterlist ・❥・Bucky Barnes Masterlist

It all started in November: clandestine meetings, behind-the-counter kisses, and golden promises, all seemed nice and clear. He held your hand out in the street, smiled at your jokes, and listened to your problems, you attended to his needs and kept him close like an oath.

Come the middle of January you were both sitting on opposite sides breathing in and out not wanting to truly speak to one another. Something went wrong, something went wrong fast and crushing.

Wasn't he the man of your dreams, the one who would pull you out of the darkness and turn the world upside down for you?

Weren't you the partner of his dreams? Kind and loving like his mother, pretty and proper like his dad would like. You were all of that and much more but things went fast and escalated. And now?

Now you were swallowing hard trying to keep your composure in the reception hall of the fancy hotel he had brought you in. A common ground. Doesn't sound like a hotel floor.

People came and checked in and walked around, nobody bothering you as you stared and stared at each other. What should we do? What is this which humans do? Whatever we can. Any time we can. What went wrong? Tick, tick, tick.

In three months’ time – what a short amount of time, right now you should have been in his arms dancing around the wooden floor at his fancy upper east side apartment barefoot and singing along to your favorite song. He would have cooked his favorite cacio e pepe spaghetti and opened the fanciest Chilean red wine he so much fancied and preferred, not spending your Sunday evening like this.

With a huff, almost scoffing, you crossed your arms took a deep breath and exhaled deeply. "I'm sorry" he murmurs and you can tell by the sound and the tone of his voice he is hurt.

Is he really though? He played you like a fiddle. He is only sorry because he got caught. Lied through and through his teeth every single day, weaved you in a web of lies.

Come the middle of November, he would say it was merely a matter of formality, they just hadn't signed the divorce papers yet, –a keyword it would seem. And as for you? You would believe him because he seemed brokenhearted, his face was rugged, he looked as if he hadn’t been sleeping at all, his apartment was new and refurbished, he wore no ring, no ring imprint either and had no pictures of his past and his family in his apartment. All seemed nice and clear.

Until one day during a weekend trip away to Montreal (because snow is so heavenly he would tell you, we will have so much fun together) accidentally without any provocation, your mind never going there, you would overhear a call. Bucky was hiding in the balcony while he thought you still were in the shower telling his wife how he can't wait to see her and how boring his work meeting was.

What you felt next was the sound of your heart shattering to pieces, a gut feeling forming in your stomach, a need to run away, fast, and sail away.

That was just this morning. Just this morning, oh god. What a fool you have been….

Now you were sitting still completely in shambles as the man who broke your heart just a few hours ago was apologizing over and over again "we thought about giving it a second chance over Christmas, we owe it to ourselves to give it a second try, had to give a second chance to our marriage" yes during those two days you went to visit your family. Enough time away for him to realize he missed his wife you guess.

Shaking your head you cross your arms tighter, trying to hold yourself still and put together, every single dream of the future, your future together shattering. You would never come between a man and his wife, you were the other person this whole time, this whole time, hasn’t it been more than thirty days since Christmas?

You had helped him build his apartment, decorated it. Helped him shop clothes and shoes for himself. And now? What was the situation right now? Pretty boy was dressed in the emerald green jumper you had bought for him, in the camel faux leather shoes, you had chosen for him, wearing the fancy watch you gifted to him as a Christmas present.

It was all so confusing in your head, scenes and phone calls and meetings in dark streets away from town collapsing all together inside your head, and all he could say was sorry. Sorry, you very visibly scoffed as if a simple word like that could ever fix anything. With a sniffle, you shook your head.

You needed to get over him and this situation fast and you needed to go home. That was echoing in your head, repeating like a mantra “go home, go home, go home”

When he tells you the cab had arrived, you snapped out of your thoughts of your time together come and past, widening your eyes open, your heart rate picking up. You tapped at your feet running in all senses of the word towards the parking lot and into the car, him following with your joined suitcase "one suitcase is enough, we will be leaving together anyway" he told you just three days ago. Scoffing at the thought, you get inside the backseat of the cab, him opting to sit in the front taking deep breaths. One short airplane ride later and you would be home.

Oh how fast the night falls and changes, how fucking fast...

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[silkenstarlight]

wild cherry sweet

Summary: Bucky and Reader have to dress up for a mission. Bucky likes Reader’s look, maybe a little bit too much.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x agent!reader

Warning/s: smut (18+ only, minors dni); dirty talk, oral (male receiving)

Word count: 1.9k

Find part two here

My masterlist

Join my taglist

Author’s note: i have really been wanting to buy some red lipstick recently so this may or may not have been inspired by that oops

Do not repost! Likes and reblogs are welcome and encouraged :))

“You are breathtaking.”

You turned away from the bathroom mirror, leaning against the counter and meeting Bucky’s gaze with your own. His eyes raked up and down your body, clad in a slinky, silken dress that shone bright beneath the fluorescence and clung to your every curve like liquid. You smirked at his gawking eyes and raised brows, carefully wiping the excess lipstick that bled from the corner of your mouth with your pointer finger. That motion drew his attention upward, his eyes settling on the plump set of your mouth, painted a sultry, deep shade of scarlet.

He huffed a breath and shook his head, trying to form the right words to compliment you, but they seemed to instantly evaporate from his tongue the moment he opened his mouth. Instead, he walked towards you, taking your hands in his and stroking his thumbs against your soft skin, laughing at himself as he gaped like a fish out of water in response to your beauty.

“Well, you don’t look too bad yourself.” You jutted your chin slightly at his suit, a neatly-pressed, all-black ensemble that only seemed to further enhance the icy blue shade of his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he said, voice low and hoarse. He leaned closer, pressing his lips to your ear. “Lipstick’s a good look on you.”

You shuddered, pressing your body closer to his warmth and rocking your hips into his. When he started kissing that sweet spot at the juncture between your jaw and your ear, you couldn’t help but let a breathy moan escape your lips.

This had been your plan all along, of course. You didn’t wear a full face of makeup often, usually foregoing the glamorous, airbrushed look for the bare-skinned practicality of moisturizer and sunscreen. Your job as an agent required you to be on the ball, willing to give up the remainder of your day for the sake of a mission, oftentimes on just a moment’s notice. You couldn’t afford the time and effort of beautification with an occupation that required so much blood, sweat, and tears on the daily. But, tonight was different. Tonight, you and Bucky were preparing for a different kind of mission than either of you were used to.

The GRC was hosting an exclusive gala, invitations to which were only granted to the wealthiest elites in the country. Politicians and A-listers would surely be in attendance, secretly and silently admitting their support of the GRC’s eviction of post-Blip refugees. Such an event was bound to attract some hostility, whether through hush-hush internal transactions between its elite, yet seedy, attendees, or from some outside menace, like the lurking risk of a re-established force of flag smashers. You and Bucky both decided that it would be prudent to attend, just in case you were dealing with fraud or a full-blown terror threat. You both wanted to be ready, to be able to face whatever troubles may arise, from the inside. So, you had to look the part.

You had chosen the dress with the event’s black-tie dress code in mind, of course, but the lipstick was all for him. You had been picking up the bare necessities at the mall, a tube of concealer and a new type of mascara, when the red-gradient display of lipsticks caught your eye. Every shade, ranging from coral to plum, offered a different mask, a slight variant on the character you would be playing the night of the gala. Would you be the coquettish twenty-something, all bright, glossy, and new? Or, would you be the mysterious seductress, daubed in smokey shades of maroon?

After a few moments of careful deliberation, one shade in particular had caught your eye, and your lips twitched into a small grin. You plucked the tube from the shelf. Velvet ribbon red, its label read. A deep, sultry shade, reminiscent of the garnet, wine-soaked tones that were so popular in the ‘40’s. The natural shade to choose, of course, for Bucky Barnes’s companion.

Now, you felt his hands release yours, grasping the fabric at your hips with greedy hands. He continued kissing your neck in a blatant, hungry display of need, lips bowed in a slight, mocking smile when he heard the soft moans that his affection pulled from you. You gripped the edge of the counter tightly with one hand, desperate for purchase, and dragged your other hand up his abdomen, settling your fingers lightly on his chest.

He drew his teeth against your neck and sucked lightly, and you were sure that he was trying to leave a mark, a flagrant signifier to the attendees of the gala you were already late to that you belonged to him, and him only. When he pulled away, examining the petechiae he had branded on your skin, you brought both hands in front of you, tracing them down his front in a flirtatious caress and settling on the buckle of his belt. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his, taking in his blown pupils as you adeptly released his buckle and unzipped his pants. In a sudden gesture of dominance, you pushed him back to the opposite wall, directing him by the hips. When his back hit the wall, he let out a soft, purring laugh, pleased by your control. He pecked you on the lips, a quick and chaste gesture that contrasted with the unexpectedly sensuous direction the evening was heading into, and you slowly lowered to your knees, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time, pulling his pants down slightly to expose his underwear.

You braced your hands against his quads, running your fingertips up and down his legs in a slow, teasing motion that made his jaw clench. He balled his fists at his sides, not ready to usurp control from you just yet. You simpered, proud of the fact that you had this man coming undone in the palm of your hand, without having even touched his cock yet.

Soon, though, you brought your mouth close enough to his lower half that he could feel the heat of your breath through the thin fabric layer of his underwear. His eyes fluttered closed in anticipation, hips rocking towards your face, and he combed his fingers loosely through your hair, tugging lightly to grant you permission to keep going. It was sweet, the way he was simultaneously so respectful of your boundaries, but so eager to feel your mouth on him. Neither of you cared that it would ruin your makeup, that after this, you would be late for the gala. You both craved a distraction from the nerves that accompanied a mission like this.

You dragged your fingernails along the waistband of his underwear, leaving light scratching marks across his lower abdomen. He moaned softly, a sound that you hoped to sear in your memory forever. And then, you reached inside, pulling his already-erect cock from the tented, taught fabric. The tip glowed an angry red, already leaking pre-cum.

You looked up at him through your lashes and flattened your tongue against his base, dragging it all the way up to his tip. He gripped your hair tighter, the delicious pull of your hair taught in his fist driving you to swirl your tongue around his tip and take him slowly in your mouth.

“Goddamnit,” he muttered as you slowly began to bob your head up and down his length. “Gonna ruin that pretty makeup of yours.”

You pulled back to respond, lips separating from his cock with a satisfying, wet pop! “‘S’alright,” you slurred, palming him roughly with your hand, fingernails dragging against sensitive skin to offer the perfect balance between pleasure and pain. He bucked into your grasp, breath stilling in his throat, and you smiled, sucking the tip of his cock back into your mouth.

You worked him slowly into your mouth, until he hit the back of your throat and only a couple of inches remained outside of your mouth. He noticed this, eagerly watching your progress, and took control, holding your head against him, applying a gentle pressure until you slid down the rest of his length. When your lips pressed against his base, you gagged slightly, inhaling deeply through your nose. You maintained eye contact the whole time, even as your eyes pooled with tears from the strain of looking up.

“What a good fucking girl,” he groaned, rolling his hips against your mouth and smearing your lipstick on his skin in a vulgar imprint of wet, lusty red. You felt a wet, needy warmth accumulating in your core at his acknowledgement, but you kept your hands firmly rooted at his hips, so desperate to please him. “What would people say if they knew you were such a slut for me?” His voice was gruff but lilting and playful, as if he knew that this turned you on as much as it did him.

Finally, he released the pressure, pulling back to let you breathe. After a few seconds, though, you increased your pace, guiding one hand down to his balls and gently massaging them. He closed his eyes again, lost in the tantalizing sensations of your tongue, but he held back, refusing to let the slow and steady pistoning of his hips devolve into the frenzied motion he so desperately desired to adopt in order to finish. Your cheeks hollowed against him, sucking hard, granting him permission to let go.

He understood. Short, shallow movements quickly turned into deeper thrusts, punctuated by quiet moans that rose in pitch as he came closer and closer to coming undone.

“Gonna paint you with my come. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You couldn’t respond verbally, could only stare up at him as his cock breached the entrance to your throat in faltering, uneven motions. That was the final straw. His grip on your hair tightened and he held your head down flush against him, cock pulsing, as his orgasm ripped through him. One final, unabashed and guttural groan escaped his lips as he succumbed to his ecstasy and painted the back of your throat with ropes of come. You mirrored his sound, moaning around him with an enticing vibration.

He held his length inside your mouth for a few seconds, still holding your head against him, not ready to let you retreat just yet. But as his cock grew sensitive, he pulled back with a quiet, overstimulated moan. Your mouth felt empty without him, lipstick smears and strings of spit painting your face in a satisfied, sexed-out portrait of lust. He beamed with pride, hooking his hands under your elbows and pulling you up to your feet before pressing his lips firmly against yours in a gesture of gratitude.

You broke the kiss, cradling his face in your hand. Laughter bubbled in your throat, and, seeing your light-hearted demeanor, he began to chuckle. You stood like that for a minute, laughing in each others’ arms, momentarily uncaring about upcoming missions or smeared makeup.

He took a deep, yet shaky, exhale, and smirked. “Well, we’d better get you cleaned up. Those mascara tracks are pretty telling, and we’re already late.”

You shrugged. “Worth it.”

He brought his hand up to your face, cradling your cheek and wiping the messy smudge of lipstick from the corner of your mouth.

“Oh, absolutely.”

Part two

[spencers-renaissance]

i can't forgive me & you can't forget

Summary: Spencer is happy that his boyfriend is as compassionate as he is, but watching Derek do everything he can to help Strauss with her alcoholism when he stood by and did nothing back when he was struggling with his dilaudid addiction is beginning to take its toll.

Tags: hurt!spencer, miscommunication, angst, insecurity, est. rel., hurt/comfort, cuddling & snuggling, angst w a happy ending, fluff TW: referenced past drug use, addiction, and overdose, implied/referenced alcoholism

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 4.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // The other fic in this universe

Inspired by @marisatomay’s post here!!! The title is from the second part of the poem Betrayal by Lang Leav.

It’s pushing ten pm by the time Spencer finally hears the front door open and close with a soft click, hears the rustling of Derek ditching his leather jacket on the crowded coat rack and toeing off his shoes — no doubt placing them neatly at the side of the hall like he always does — and listens to his footsteps as he nears the bedroom where Spencer’s been holed up since Derek left.

“Hey, baby boy,” Derek says with a warm, relaxed smile, his fingers already working on undoing his shirt buttons, before digging through their wardrobe to find a more comfortable top.

“Hey.”

Spencer watches him with tired eyes. He’s been feeling as hurt and despondent as he does this evening for weeks now, but tonight is the first time he doesn’t have the energy to hide it. He’s spent the entire afternoon in bed, and he’s certain it shows in the imprints of the creased pillowcase on his cheek and his messed up hair, and where just a couple of days ago he’d rush to hide those tells, he simply doesn’t care enough anymore.

Derek turns around from the wardrobe and shrugs off his shirt, replacing it with a soft blue t-shirt Spencer’s always liked on him. “Have you had anything to eat yet?”

Spencer shakes his head. Derek undoes his belt and switches his trousers for a pair of grey sweatpants before walking over to the bed and climbing onto the mattress, grinning cheekily as he rolls over Spencer’s body and leans down to press a tender kiss to the tip of his nose.

It’s sweet and romantic and so painfully normal, and maybe that’s exactly why he suddenly finds himself swallowing back tears. He’s hardly spent any time with Derek outside of work in weeks and he’s hurt and sad and struggling, and it’s only making it worse that his loving and attentive boyfriend hasn’t seemed to notice. Really, Spencer knows he needs to communicate, and that a significant part of his pain is his responsibility, but the shame—

“Well that just won’t do,” Derek murmurs, interrupting his thoughts as he brushes his fingers over a lock of curly hair resting on Spencer’s temple. “I’ll go and make you something. Or we can order in? What do you fancy?”

Spencer shrugs, looking away. He’s not trying to be difficult, it’s just incredibly hard to think about food and a relaxing night in with your partner when you feel like your insides are splintering and you’re just barely holding yourself together.

Even without looking directly at his face, Spencer can see Derek’s brow furrow and his happy expression fade, and soon enough Derek’s fingers are at his chin, gently moving his head until he’s looking at him again. “Hey, pretty boy,” he says gently, looking so concerned it makes his chest ache, “what’s wrong? Tell me what’s going on in that big old head of yours.”

So much of him wants to give in and tell him everything, wants to spill his fears and his anxieties and his anger and his shame onto the sheets of their bed and lay it all out for him. He wants to shout, “See? This is who I am! This is all my mess and my pain and my regret! Look at it!”

But he can’t. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again to meet the swirling worry in Derek’s deep, beautiful brown eyes and he wills himself not to cry. “Nothing,” he lies. “I’m just tired. Hungry.”

He knows Derek doesn’t believe him, but there isn’t much he can do if Spencer isn’t willing to communicate, so he nods reluctantly and leans down to place a kiss on his forehead this time, lingering there for a moment longer than he usually does. The feeling of his boyfriend hovering over him and asking him what’s wrong and kissing him so tenderly is all Spencer’s craved for weeks, but now it’s here, he still feels sad and empty and hollowed out by shame and bitterness, desperate for something more without so much as an idea as to what exactly more might entail.

“I tell you what, I’ll go make you some tortellini, alright? There’s a pack in the fridge and it only takes a couple of minutes so I’ll be back before you know it,” Derek promises, and Spencer can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Regardless, Derek hops off the bed and heads out to the kitchen, leaving Spencer alone in the softly lit bedroom. He pulls the duvet further up to his chin and buries his face in it, the soft fabric gentle on his skin, and the comforting scent of Spencer’s shampoo mingling with Derek’s cologne settling him slightly.

Derek had spent the afternoon with Strauss at the rehab centre. And not for the first time.

The problem is, how can Spencer be mad at him for that? Really, it’s the epitome of his character: genuine, constant, unconditional compassion for everyone around him, no matter who they are or what his history with them might be. Of course he’d see Strauss struggling with her addiction and swoop right in, getting her settled in at the centre and spending hours with her on visiting days, fighting alongside Hotch to persuade the director to let her keep her job.

But watching him leave every week, watching him text her encouraging messages, hearing him talk about her progress and recovery… it strikes a nerve deep inside Spencer. He isn’t proud of how he feels. He knows it’s petty and illogical, but he can’t help it.

Because somewhere deep in his soul, an old version of himself, a sad, lonely, scared, addicted-to-dilaudid boy is crying out, why didn’t you do that for me?

It’s that question that really plagues him. They’re called into work the next day for a fairly interesting case in North Dakota, and there are some fairly strong links to the world of academia, so usually, Spencer would be all over it, reeling off facts and statistics and reaching out to his contacts to further the case. But for some reason, he just can’t get his head in the game.

He finds himself zoning out on the jet and wandering off at crime scenes without even knowing where he’s going. Initially, his team had assumed that he was thinking, or was going somewhere deliberately that might help them with the case, they’d all counted on Doctor Reid to come up with some brilliant theory to bring them closer to catching their unsub.

But Hotch had quickly realised that his head was somewhere else and kept him close to his side from then on. At least staying at the police station with Hotch and being tasked with reading through the unsub’s literary work and constructing a geographical profile both gives him something specific to focus on, and — as much as Spencer hates to admit it — keeps him away from Derek.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Hotch asks gently when they both find themselves at the coffee pot in the late afternoon. He doesn’t look over at him, his eyes focused on the stream of coffee and creamer headed straight for his mug. Spencer knows it’s a tactic to make him feel less ambushed and more relaxed, but that doesn’t stop it from working.

“No,” he says honestly.

Hotch nods in acceptance. He puts a warm hand on his shoulder and squeezes briefly. “Well, you know where I am if you change your mind.”

Both JJ and Emily eye him suspiciously throughout the case as well, but no one is more confused and concerned than Derek. Spencer tries not to think about the irony.

“Baby, what’s got you all distracted like this?” Derek asks softly when they’re finally alone in their room that night, full up from the rushed dinner they’d all had in the lobby before crawling to their rooms for a couple of hours’ sleep before the manhunt continues in the morning. “This is so unlike you and you know it.”

Spencer doesn’t reply, just continues quietly changing into his pajamas before brushing his teeth and washing his face. Derek’s still sitting in the same position when he comes out, looking frustrated and contemplative, and Spencer feels guilty for making him feel this way, but he just doesn’t know what to do. He can’t act like everything's okay because it isn’t, and he’s tired himself out from pretending that it was for weeks, now. But he can’t tell him what’s going on either.

The thing is, how is Spencer supposed to admit that he’s still hurt over something that happened almost five years ago now? And how is he supposed to admit that Derek doing the right thing is only reopening wounds he’d tried so hard to heal and close? That both Derek and Hotch had specifically helped him heal and close?

He doesn’t know how to verbalise his feelings without sounding petulant or pathetic, so he doesn’t. He keeps them buried deep inside him and hopes desperately that no one comes digging.

“I’m fine, Derek,” he lies again, leaning down to kiss him gently before rounding the bed and crawling under the covers. “Just having an off day, I guess.”

Derek sighs but doesn’t push any further, clearly knowing a lost cause when he sees one. Instead, he follows in Spencer’s footsteps and gets ready for bed silently, whispering a quiet good night before switching off the lamp and climbing into bed on the other side.

It feels like the expanse of white sheet between them goes on for miles.

It’s the first time Spencer’s regretted Hotch’s decision to continue letting them share a room.

The question continues to plague him over the next week. He gets marginally better at pretending he’s not falling apart at the seams, and it’s enough to make almost everyone back off, but Hotch is still concerned and Derek is still confused, and he can feel himself drifting further away from the team each day, as though his rope tying him to the others has been cut, and now the current is having its way with him.

Nothing much changes. He continues in his hurt and lonely quietude, and Derek continues to ask what’s wrong, sighing sadly when he gets nothing out of him, and they exist in tandem.

It had always felt — ever since the beginning of their relationship — as though their relationship was a salsa dance. They were tangled in one another’s lives, both physically and emotionally, and they existed in this relaxed kind of ease that Spencer’s only ever seen before in long-term relationships. They’d fallen into a lucky, easy kind of love, and it was never as much work as everyone had promised him a relationship would be.

They’ve been together for four years, and their worst fight was over whether the cheese grater went in the cupboard next to the sink or above it. (Granted, it had spiraled into some other disagreements that came along with cohabitation, but. Still.)

Spencer knows he’s introducing a dynamic they’re unused to, and he hates it. Guilt plagues him, mingling with his shame and sadness until he’s drowning under the weight of it, no way to claw himself to the surface to take a breath.

They exist on parallel lines: next to one another; yet never crossing over. Their relationship is no longer a salsa dance.

The next off-day they have, Derek can’t get out the door fast enough. “I’m off to visit Erin,” he tells Spencer, and it still makes him irrationally angry that he’s stopped calling her Strauss and now refers to her like a friend.

Is it better that Strauss is now Derek’s friend? Him helping someone he actually cares about makes him not caring about Spencer all those years again slightly less of a gut-punch, he supposes. But the fact that Derek and Strauss of all people are becoming closer while he and Spencer drift apart hurts in a way he can’t even begin to explain.

This time, he spends the entire day crying. Every time the tears slow down and he catches his breath, another wave of grief and pain and anxiety and shame and jealousy crashes over him, and all of a sudden he can’t breathe again. It’s an exhausting cycle, and by the early afternoon his stomach muscles are aching and his ribs feel bruised.

It’s also the first day he gets a craving.

He’s an addict, right, he’s had periods of intermittent cravings over the years, that’s completely normal. Sometimes, even thinking about it in passing is enough for the itch to come back, to whisper the number of his old dealer in his ear, to recall in both his physical and mental memory the feeling that came with each press of the syringe.

This is the most intense one since his withdrawal immediately after waking up in hospital following his accidental overdose in his parking garage. It’s so intense that it scares him.

Crying harder than he thought it possible, he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand and — fighting the temptation to type in the digits of his dealer — he dials the number he’s had memorised since he was nineteen. He can’t speak through his gut-wrenching sobs, but he knows the sound of him crying this hard will be enough, so he lies in bed and continues his pity party until he hears the front door swing open and the rapid steps through the hall.

Soon enough, Hotch is pulling him into his arms and he finally feels a little less alone.

Hotch lets him cry himself out, and only when his tears have dried up and the hiccups have subsided does he say anything besides the reassuring murmurs he’d spoken into Spencer’s ears as he cried.

“Spencer,” he says — somewhat desperately — “please. You have to tell me what’s going on. Let me help you, okay? Whatever it is, I’m here. I won’t let you suffer on your own anymore, I promise.”

Spencer doesn’t raise his head from its position buried in Hotch’s t-shirt, but he does finally say something. He doesn’t know what overrides the shame that’s kept him quiet — maybe it’s the exhaustion or the loneliness finally winning out — but whatever it is, he’s glad it does.

“I had a craving today,” he whispers, because it seems like a good place to start. “Haven’t been feeling good since, uh. Since… Strauss.”

It’s hopelessly phrased, but it’s the best way he can explain it and Hotch, being the miracle profiler and father figure of Spencer Reid, figures it out instantly.

He feels the way he slumps slightly, hears the tired, frustrated sigh, and knows he’s probably beating himself up for not figuring it out sooner.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just… I couldn’t. I didn’t know how.”

Hotch shushes him. “You don’t need to apologise for that, Spencer, don’t be sorry. I’m the one who should be sorry for being so blind, and I am. I hate that you’ve been suffering like this and we’ve all been too stupid to realise why.”

“It still, it still hurts,” he says quietly, sadly, regretfully, “it still hurts that no one helped me until it was almost too late. But everyone dropped everything to help Strauss— I’m sorry, it’s so selfish, I shouldn’t be—”

“Hey, Spence,” Hotch interrupts him, caressing his arm gently. “It isn’t selfish. It’s human. And you’re right, we should have helped you sooner and it’s always been my greatest regret that we didn’t, and that because of that dereliction of duty, we almost lost you.”

“I’m not, I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or anything—”

“Spencer, I know that. But you need to stop feeling guilty for how you feel, alright? It makes complete sense that this is bringing up both the feelings of rejection and betrayal, and also cravings for the drug you were addicted to at the time. It’s so obvious that I don’t know how I didn’t see it earlier.”

Spencer nods, but he doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. “Derek’s been visiting Strauss on our days off,” he admits quietly. “I’ve barely seen him for almost a month now, and that— it isn’t helping.”

“I can understand that. Have you talked to him about any of this?” he asks, even though Spencer’s sure Hotch already knows the answer.

He shakes his head.

“I know it’s hard, Spence, I really do, but I think you need to talk to him. Obviously, it would’ve been better if both he and I had figured it out without you having to tell us, but clearly, he isn’t going to realise by himself. I know that as soon as you explain it, he’ll understand completely.”

Spencer sighs. Some part of him had known this was coming, he just didn’t know how it would come about. He wouldn’t have put money on Hotch being involved, but maybe he should have done. He always seems to come to Spencer’s rescue.

“He’ll probably be out for a while. He usually stays out for hours when he goes to visit her.”

“Well, how about I stay until he comes home, and then you can talk to him? How does that sound?”

Spencer looks up at him. “What about Jack?”

“He’s out with a friend and their family anyway,” Hotch reassures him, smiling as he runs a hand down his arm. “Now how about I make you some tea and we go and sit on the sofa?”

Spencer reluctantly agrees and moves from the safety of his bed to the comfort of his sofa, but he has to admit that the light streaming in from the big bay window and the feeling of sitting up makes him feel just a little better straight away. Once Hotch is back and placing a cup of chamomile tea into his hands, he doesn’t feel quite so much like he’s going to burst into tears at any moment.

“I have to ask, Spencer,” Hotch says carefully, “did you buy any dilaudid? Or attempt to contact your dealer?”

“Thought about it,” he admits, not meeting Hotch’s concerned eyes, “but I didn’t.”

Hotch relaxes. “Good. I’m proud of you, you know.”

Spencer looks at him with a hesitant smile that only grows when Hotch beams back.

They spend the afternoon watching nature documentaries — and Spencer admittedly dozes through a lot of them, exhausted from the burden of carrying so much pain around and the physical exertion of crying so hard — until Derek comes home at just gone five thirty.

“Hotch?” he asks, confused, and his voice wakes Spencer up from one of his unintentional naps.

He scrambles to sit upright, going inexplicably red at the thought of what he knows is coming. For some reason, he feels like he’s done something wrong and he’s about to be told off. He hates that this is what his relationship with Derek has come to.

“Hi, Derek,” Hotch says, squeezing Spencer’s ankle and getting up from the sofa. “Spencer asked me to come over earlier” — which is a bit of a stretch when really Spencer sobbed into the phone until Hotch showed up — “and I was just keeping him company until you came home.”

Derek’s eyebrows only furrow further, looking between them, confused. “Right.”

“Spencer,” Hotch says, meeting his eyes, “are you okay if I go now? You’ll tell Derek what we talked about?”

Immediately, Spencer blushes red as Derek’s scrutinising eyes fixate on him, but he nods and smiles weakly at Hotch, following him with his eyes as he lets himself out, if just to avoid meeting Derek’s.

“Pretty boy?” Derek says cautiously, slowly taking off his jacket and approaching the sofa like Spencer’s a wild animal liable to be spooked away at any given moment. He supposes it’s probably quite a good analogy, actually.

Spencer shifts nervously in his seat, moving his legs out of the way to give Derek more room to sit down on the sofa.

“You finally gonna tell me what’s been up with you these last few weeks?” Derek asks, and Spencer isn’t oblivious to the hope in his voice. “I’ve been worried about you, baby.”

Spencer nods and closes his eyes for a moment, taking a couple of deep breaths to compose himself. He’s told one person, and it went fine— it went well, actually. Derek is his life partner, his soulmate, and they tell each other everything. He just needs to start at the beginning. He needs to tell him all of the disclaimers, remind him that he’s not angry at him for doing the right thing or for being the compassionate person he is, he just needs to— He needs to focus, and he needs to tell the truth.

“I called Hotch earlier because I was scared of myself,” he says, finally opening his eyes and looking into Derek’s. “I was having some of the most intense cravings I’ve had since being sober, and I was seriously considering calling my dealer, but I managed to call Hotch instead, and we talked about how I’ve been feeling.”

“Baby, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” Derek says regretfully, his face melting into the very picture of apologetic as he scoots a bit closer on the sofa so he can grab Spencer’s legs and pull them over his lap.

“I know,” Spencer replies, ignoring for now that him not being here is why they have a problem in the first place. He moves on. “I’ve been… struggling… over the last month or so with feelings that I haven’t really known how to rationalise or explain, and when I finally did make sense of them, I felt that I couldn’t share them with anyone, which is why I’ve been so distant and private. And I’m sorry for that, by the way.”

Derek just smiles, caressing his bare ankle with one hand as he rests his other over his shin.

He pauses for a moment, trying to find the best way to word his thoughts, but before he can think about it too hard, the words come spilling out, unbidden. “I’ve found it hard to reconcile your attentiveness and willingness to throw everything at helping Strauss, and the way no-one helped me with my addiction back in 2007.”

Derek’s face instantly falls, and saying the words out loud brings all the emotions he’d managed to control back again in full force, and suddenly his face is crumpling, too. Derek surges forward, moving them both until he’s situated between the sofa cushions and Spencer, cuddling him as close as he can while Spencer cries into his chest.

“I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispers, voice breaking as he begins to cry as well. “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything then and I’m sorry I didn’t put two and two together to realise why you were struggling so much. I can’t believe I was so oblivious, Spence, oh God.”

They lie there for a long time, crying together as Derek runs his hands through Spencer’s hair and Spencer clings desperately to the fabric of Derek’s t-shirt.

“I was just feeling so distant from you because we weren’t spending as much time together, and I had no idea how to admit that I was feeling hurt about something that happened almost five years ago,” he continues when they’ve both calmed down again, and they’re ready to resume the conversation. “I guess I just felt… ashamed of both my feelings now and being jealous, which is so ridiculous, I had no idea how to tell anyone how I was feeling. And I’m so sorry that my lack of communication affected us so much.”

“Oh, baby,” Derek sighs, leaning in to press a kiss to Spencer’s lips. “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m sorry that I was hurting you when I should’ve known the effect my actions would have. This whole mess is on me for so many reasons.”

“Der, I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Spencer says insistently, urgently, looking at him imploringly. “You’ve apologised enough for what happened back then, and there’s no way we can change what happened. You were just being the same kind and compassionate person you always are when you were helping Strauss.” He reaches out and cups Derek’s face gently, hating the tells of guilt and self-loathing he can see all over it.

Derek sighs and moves Spencer’s hand to his lips so he can kiss his palm. “When I was sitting in that hospital room waiting for you to wake up,” he explains, “I made a promise to myself. I told myself that I would never let anyone down like that again. I was never going to stand back and watch anyone else I knew fall into the same trap you did. So when I realised Strauss had a drinking problem, all I saw was an opportunity to keep that promise.

“The only problem was that I was so wrapped up in doing the right thing in helping her that I wasn’t doing the right thing by you. I should’ve realised all the feelings, physical and emotional, that this would bring up for you, but I didn’t think. I’m so sorry, baby boy, I really am.”

Spencer cuddles back into Derek, burying his face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder and relaxing into the reassuring scent of his person. “I know, Der. I forgive you.”

“How about we order in some Thai for dinner from your favourite restaurant and watch some Doctor Who?” Derek suggests after a couple of minutes of silence. “I think we’re long overdue for some quality time together.”

Spencer smiles at him, feeling so much of the heaviness that’s been weighing him down over the last few weeks lift that he feels almost like he’s floating. “I think that sounds like a plan.”

They set the living room up to be as cosy as possible, lighting the candles Penelope had made for them and using only their soft lamps to light the room, before piling the couch high with blankets and pillows until they’re cuddled together in a little nest.

The evening is spent eating their favourite food and watching their favourite season of Doctor Who, and while Spencer’s still hurting and they still have healing to do, this feels like a damn good start.

“I’m proud of you,” Spencer whispers to Derek late into the night, when they’re close to falling asleep in the comfort of their blanket pile.

Derek turns to him, looking confused. “What do you mean?”

“You made a mistake when you let things get bad with my addiction back in 2007,” Spencer explains, “and when you saw someone headed down the same path, you stopped at nothing to make sure you didn’t make that mistake again. If anything shows me how much you regret not doing anything sooner, it’s your devotion to Strauss’ recovery.”

Derek smiles at him, his eyes a little watery, and holds his chin gently as he leans in to kiss him. “I love you,” he murmurs. “I love you so much.”

Spencer kisses him again before cuddling back into his side. “I know you do, Derek. And I love you, too.”

And really, when it comes down to it, that’s enough.

Ahhh, this was the first fic in forever that actually felt fairly easy to write thank GOD. I loved this concept and writing that good, good angst was so much fun. Plus, we always love a happy ending in this house! Also, a reminder that how other people when you confront them with the way they hurt you or made you feel is not your responsibility.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @lesbiantodds @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @transhanniballecter @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @hotchscotchh @marsjareau @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds @wifeyprentiss @cmily @love-pyramus @notevanbuckley @thebipolarbisexualnerd (add yourself to my taglist here!)

[spikesbimbo]

Picnic Date

Pairing: Shugo Meian x Reader

Tags: Picnic date with a side of head, fluff, babymaking breeding kink, daddy kink, nipple sucking, oral sex, handjob, outdoor/public sex, mating press

Summary: Your titties look a little too good to be kept in that dress.

Word Count: 1.7k

a/n: i tried looking up his bio to get a better idea of his personality but there's nothing. I def think hes a gemini sun and/or mars

-And also i do not support zoos and aquariums, i just can't think of where else people would go on a date☠️

18+ Minors DNI

You laid on the blanket, your head in his lap a little buzzed from the champagne you drank earlier, giggling with that soft smile of yours, him stroking your hair out of your face watching the cute little kids run around.

Going out with your fiance was a regular occurance, you’ve pretty much been (fucked) everywhere in the city with him. He loved to express his feelings for you by taking you on spontaneous dates; whether it be the beach in the middle of the night, the club, aquarium, and any new food place that opened up, loving watching you eat.

“Aren't they cute?” He said referring to the toddler pushing his baby brother on the swing. You already knew where this was going, yes you've daydreamed about starting a family together, but having a 6' 5., 200lb man's babies was a nightmare for your body. But that was overshadowed but the sincere look he had on his face watching them play, not to mention you were ovulating right now making your baby fever rise.

“Yeah” you shyly mumble, hoping he doesn't notice the blood rushing to your face, spoiler he does. 

You try to take your mind off of that, feeding him the sliced up watermelon, keeping all the strawberries to yourself. His lips lingering on your sticky fingers. You loved babying him, yes he was a grown, strong ass man, but the second he was in your arms he melted, finding comfort in you.

“Your shoulders are stiff baby” you said, noticing it after leaning on them for hours “You want a massage?” you asked, fluttering your eyelashes up at him, already knowing the answer taking matters into your own hands.

“Yeah doll, whatever you want.” he said, giving you the go. You work your hands over his shoulders down his back, your boobs pushing against him, making him grow in his pants. You were just trying to have a cute date, but the way your body looked in that sundress was killing him. The thin straps leading down to the v-neck exposing your cleavage. The loose cotton material hugging your hips perfectly, stopping below your knees. Fuck you were pretty.

The tree behind you covered you two just enough, the park was empty enough now as it was now dinner time and all the families went home. 

He thinks for a second, it not being the first time you two have fucked in public, the last time being in the locker room. All worries leave him as he grabs your neck pulling you in for a kiss, falling in his lap. His lips were warm and soft, parting slightly, allowing your tongue to slip inside tasting the sweetness of the fruit.

He kisses down your neck, stopping at your collarbone and pulls your top to the side freeing your breast. “Meian”  You moaned, the feeling of being exposed making you twitch.

His mouth wrapped around your nipple, sucking greedily, gripping his hair pushing him into you more. Your tits feeling sensitive and sore, him latching his mouth onto you. He was so grateful for you being in his life, letting him use you as he needed. Him showing his love by giving you your every want and need.

You looked around making sure no one was here, the embarrassment of Hinata walking in on you two while he was balls deep in you in the locker room making cringe at the thought, but who were you to deny your fiance as sweet as he was? 

You reach down palming his crotch until he was hard. Your fingers sliding slowly down not wanting to leave, unzipping his pants bringing his boxers down, precum staining the fabric pulling it down enough to uncover his cock. 

You wanted to be his good girl, he was always so good to you. He’d never tell you no, whether it was wanting him to get you something or wanting to ride him in the middle of the night, he never told you no.

“nghh daddy” you whined, him finally giving you a break from abusing your tits. He tightly wrapped his other hand around your waist leaving an imprint, dragging you closer to him.

“You're so good to me angel.” He whispered, making you shudder. His low voice stirring something inside of you.

“Really daddy?” You asked, hoping to get confirmation that you were doing a good job, grabbing his balls underneath you.

“Fuck baby” he said, thrusting his hips, you squeezing his balls a little harder. He looked at you with heavy eyes, pleading for you to touch his throbbing cock.

You took him in your hand, wrapping your fingers around his shaft the best you could, stroking him slowly looking up to meet his eyes to see if you were doing a good job.

He looks at you grabbing your thigh to stabilize himself and reattaching himself to you tits, you made him feel like he was in heaven, what's better than getting played with by a pretty girl with her tits in his mouth.

“Fuck princess im close. You gonna let me cum in that little mouth of yours?” you don't respond, just moving your head down to be face to face with his cock stroking your hand faster, opening your mouth for whenever he was ready.

“Fuck y/n” he groaned, his voice crackling at his release. His cock still so sensitive in your hands. His cum dripping down your lips, you not being able to swallow it all.

“Clean it up” He said, referring to the mess in his lap. You quickly moved your mouth to his length kissing the tip, some cum still on it as you worked your way down. His hand grips your hair as you wrap your lips around him.

 A throaty groan escapes and he rolls eyes back. He thrusts into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat making you gag and your eyes water, but you don't get off, still keeping him in your mouth.

You move your head up and down moaning at the feeling, wanting to reach down and relieve yourself but knowing he wouldn't allow it. Your eyes water this time not because you're choking but because you're needy, wanting to be touched also. 

Your eyes flicker up and see him staring at you with his eyes drowning you in lust. His dark locks stuck to his forehead. His cheeks red with want as his breath quickens.

“Baby, fuck. I'm close”

You bob your head faster, hoping to push him over the edge sooner, your jaw hurting with each motion. His hand is wrapped in your hair again and you can feel his voice get strained and deeper letting you know he was about to cum again.

He doesnt pull out when he spills, his cock sitting in the back of your throat. You swallow his cum for the second time today. Him finally taking it out, looking at your disheveled appearance, wondering how you were so beautiful while looking like a mess.

“Cmere baby” he said dragging you in for a kiss, lifting your dress up enough to feel your drenched panties, not giving a fuck if anyone saw with the sun still out.

You loved his cock so much, borderline worshipping it. It filled you in all the right places, stretching your little cunny out while hitting your g spot, him being the only one that could ever make you feel this way.

“Daddy” you moaned. “ I need it daddy. Please” You whined out as he laid you on your back, hand behind your head making sure you didn't hurt yourself. 

He parted your legs sliding your panties off, your body beneath him, your soft tits slipping out of your dress, your soaked pussy on display for him. Fuck he was in love. 

“Hold on angel” he said, adjusting himself with your entrance, staying in this position so he could see your pretty face.

 “You're such a good girl.” he said, slowly sliding his cock in against your whimpers. “Pretty girl, taking a cock too big for you” he continued, you grabbing his arms, leaving indents from your nails.

 “Look at you, i haven't even bottomed out yet and you've already made a mess” he teased, putting your legs on his shoulders, stroking your cheek.

 “Uhhngh please” you cried trying to hold on as he finally settled into you and started thrusting 

 “Meian please” you said not knowing what you were begging for. 

 “Hmm” he froze, stopping his movement.

 “s-sorry daddy” you realized correcting yourself.  “sorry please... please”

 “Guess I’ll just have to pull out then” he said slowly taking his cock out looking at your teary eyes all distraught

 “No! Dont pull out. Daddy pleaseee, no, please please... nghhah” you cried out like the world was gonna end if he didnt fuck you.

“Hmm? You want me to cum in you? You want my babies?” he teased, getting off on the fact that he knew you got turned by the thought of having his kids. The embarrassment appearing on your face, highly aware of your needs, you turned your face away looking at the grass beside you.

 “Hmm? u gonna be my good girl?” He said cupping your jaw to look at him.

 “Yes daddy” you said reaching your arms out trying to grab him in for a kiss.

 “Nope only good girls get to kiss daddy”

“Nooo daddy please!” You cried again, needing his touch.

 “U gonna let me stuff you full?”

 “Yea-ah” you said pulling your legs back exposing your sloppy cunt, needing him to be in you again.

 “There’s my good girl” he praised leaning down into you, thrusting in you getting harder each time. 

 “D-daddy m’gonna make a mess” You cried coming closer to your orgasm. You feeling him batter your cervix and g spot at the same time making your tummy burn and seeing white.

 “You are sweet girl? Go ahead. Do it.” He cooed, encouraging you to let go. You listened and quickly came, clenching around him making him follow soon after.

 He brought you up against him, his still being in you whispering sweet praise while stroking your head. You feel so content in his arms, enough to fall asleep, but unfortunately you two had to walk home as the sun was setting.

 “Love you meian” You said, snuggling in him yawning

“Love you too angel” he replied, kissing your forehead as you two watched the sun set in the distance, trying you best to stay awake. The both of you never being as happy as you were together.

<3

© all content belongs to spikesbimbo. do not alter or repost .

[imaslutforremusandsirius]

hi i saw your requests were open and i love your writing so i just had to submit something! could i request something with all three of the boys? maybe the boys didn’t let her cum the night before for no reason (just for their fun lol) and she’s annoyed with them the whole day and decides not to speak with them? the rest is up to u hehe

Don‘t pout

Thank you sm! And thank you for requesting :)

Yo this is filth🗣 but what else is new

Warning: 18+

---

You had been ignoring your doms all day, not even sparing them a look when they greeted you in the morning. The second Sirius sat down next to you in potions you went so far as to getting up and looking for a different group to work with.

“What the fuck was that little stunt?” He yelled at you when he caught you alone in the classromm.

“What do you mean?” You responded, raising your brow. “I didn’t do anything.”

You damn well knew what he meant, but you were too angry to care. 

“Oh so you wanna be a brat? Is that it?” Sirius raged, “Alright. You know I like to make you beg.”

“And apparently you like not letting me cum after edging me the whole night! Who does that!”

Sirius went silent at that, before he forcefully stood up from his chair and backed you against a wall. 

“You keep forgetting that we can do whatever we want sweetheart” His voice was low, dangerously so. That’s how you knew that he wasn’t playing around. “So if you know what’s good for you, you shut up and take it. Do you understand?”

You gulped, not wanting to anger him more. Without the other boys here he would have no one to ground him and your punishment would be really unpleasant. You might like pain, but not as much as James, which is why Sirius let his more extreme fantasies out on his friend, not you.

“Yes, Sir.” 

He sneered at you one last time before he pushed himself off the wall and left the classroom.

---

The was a tradition you and your boyfriends had for the past year. All of you would always fall asleep in one bed, every night. It was a way to show, that no matter what happend during the day, at night you would lay your differences aside and enjoy your close proximity.

But you were still pissed and not ready to blindly follow their rules. If you were to sleep in their dorm tonight, you would definitely lose your cool and explode, which is why you stayed in your room. It was already well passed midnight when you noticed that you had left your wand on the couch in the common room.

„Oh come on“ you whined quietly and pulled your hair in annoyance. „Fucking wand.“

Getting up as slow as possible you slipped out of the room and tip toed your way down to the couches. When you nearly reached them you heard low voices and you peaked around the corner.

You boyfriends were curled up around each other around the fireplace, conversing softly. You could faintly make out Remus‘ face and James‘ head resting on his shoulder. Sirius‘ back was facing you. Remus had something in his hand and was twirling it around. Your wand.

„Fucking shit“ you whispered and decided to just turn around and get it in the morning when you heard Remus speak.

„Get over here, I can smell you, you know.“

Your banged your head against the wall in anger for your carelessness. Of course Remus would know! Stepping away from the wall you squared your shoulders and held your head up high. Walking over to them you stopped a meter or so away and held out your hand.

„My wand, please.“

Wiggling your fingers impatiently you waited, growing angrier by the second when the boys only laughed at you.

„My wand, please.“ Remus mocked and gave you a smirk. „Is that all you have to say?“

„Remus, give me my fucking-“

Your voice cut off with a painful gasp as James pulled you down by your wrist, your knees banging on the floor. Letting go of your wrist he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck and pulled you closer, his nose touching yours.

„We haven‘t been around for one day and you already think that you can just do as you please?“

„James-“

He squeezed harder, nails slightly digging in and you winced at the pinching sensation.

„That is not my name.“

You shut your mouth in irritation and glared back at him, not backing down.

„Oh so you wanna play? Sirius told us what happened today. Apparently you think that you can decide shit for yourself?“

You dug your hand in his wrist and seeing him wince with the pressure brought you immense satisfaction.

„I can do whatever I want, if my doms think it‘s okay to not let me cum even if I fucking deserved it, James!“

Damn, that felt good. Both of you were breathing heavy now, a full on staring contest between you two. The others were silent, watching the exchange with amusement.

„Did you hear her boys“ James sneered „she‘s mad that she couldn‘t cum. How unfortunate..“

He twisted his hand and you were forced to turn. Pulling his hand back he pressed you flush against his chest and pulled you on his lap, Remus taking your hands and restricting them in your lap.

„You wanna cum, huh? Alright then, let‘s make you cum.“ James hissed and Sirius pulled your bottoms off, spreading your legs wide.

„Oh look at your cunt“ Sirius cooed „all sore from last night. Your clit is still swollen, baby.“

Your legs twitched when he softly thumbed over your clit. Sirius pressed a kiss on the same spot, tongue peaking out to give you kitten licks over your slit.

You felt James‘ palm enclose around your throat and tilt your hand back. His calloused fingers wrapped tightly around the sides of your soft skin, pressing and cutting off your blood circulation lightly. You felt a faint dizziness and pushed your hips against Sirius‘ face.

„Please touch me“ you begged, voice a little hoarse „Please, I need you.“

Your eyes were trained on James‘ but your words were directed towards the boy who was currently teasing you by fucking you slowly with his fingers.

When Remus was sure that you wouldn‘t fight back he let go of your wrists and joined Sirius between your legs. James hooked his arms under your knees and pulled your legs up, your cunt lewdly on display. The sight alone made the two boys groan with yearning, to see you so open and wet.

„We‘re all gonna fuck you“ Sirius drawled, adding a third finger and Remus‘ lips locked around your clit, sucking soundly while he stared up at you. „One after the other, until there is nothing more that you can give.“

Remus‘ hands pulled James‘ pants down along with his underwear and his cock curled up towards your cunt, throbbing and eager to sink into your tight hole. Sirius took his fingers out and jerked James to lubricate him, pushing his cock inside this time. James stretched you open, the a burning sensation accompanied the fullness of your pussy and you opened your legs further.

James wrapped both arms around your knees and pulled them up, pounding you deeply. Remus sat on the couch and pulled your head back, silencing your moans by making you choke on him.

„Can‘t have you scream like a whore, can we?“ He laughed, albeit a little breathless by the way you were curling your tongue around his length. He shuddered when you moaned, the vibrations making him fucker deeper in your wet mouth.

Sirius only watched from the floor, jerking himself leisurely as he watched his two best friends fuck their girl silly. Sirius liked to be the last to fuck you, when you were so full of their cum, twitching and begging. When you barley had your voice and tried to crawl away.

You trembled in their arms, as you came for the first time, squeezing James so tight he had to readjust and hold you down to chase his own orgasm. Remus pinched your nose shut and fucked your open mouth, spit leaking out of the corner of your mouth as you cried out with overstimulation. Finally Remus pulled away, fisting the base to keep himself from coming yet.

„Ah fuck yes“ James groaned, latching his mouth on your bare shoulder to keep his voice down. He came, breathing heavy as his cock pulsed inside of you and his movements slowed until he pulled out. His head fell back with a satisfied sigh and he let Remus pick you up.

Remus bend you over the back of the couch, not wasting any time. He held your hands behind your back and pushed in with a strong thrust, his pace punishing.

„You dirty bitch I can feel James‘ cum inside of you. You like that? You like being filled with our cum?“

You were gasping for breath with every push of his hips, your walls clenching and fluttering around his unyielding cock. He didn‘t care if it was too much, you were forced to take him. You were forced to feel James‘ cum leak down your legs as Remus replaced it with his own.

„Yes“ you cried out „Want it! Please Sir!“

You heard the slap before you felt it, your lust hazy brain needing a few seconds to register the pain. James spanked you again and again and again, until your flesh flushed and you had clear imprints of his hand on your ass.

„So now we‘re Sir again?“ he hissed „Now that you get what you want?“

Remus stilled, going impossibly slow now. „Maybe I shouldn’t give you my cum...“ he said, grinning when he felt you push back.

„No please“ you gasped, tears already forming „Please I need it. Want it!“

„What do you want?“ Remus pressed, thrusting hard to encourage you.

„Ah“ you shrieked „Want cum! Want cum!“

„Where do you want cum?“ James kept pressing, spanking you again. The tears were flowing freely at this point, all shreds of dignity and pride flushed down the drain.

„My cunt! Want cum in my cunt, pleaseplease-“

Remus lost his control and positions his hands on the back of the couch next to your head, using the leverage to pound into you. In this position he put his entire body weight into one thrust, hitting your spot every time. You could only lay there, body taunt and eyes screwed shut.

And then James spanked you, the pain so intense and sharp that you came again, not a single sound escaping you. Remus came just after you, so much cum that it leaked out on its own, mixing with James‘ as it ran down your inner thighs.

Remus smeared the fluids on your skin, chuckling when you whined and pushed back against his hand.

„Want more“ you pleaded and made your way down to Sirius. „Please, one more!“

Sirius cooed and stroked his hand through your hair, pressing soft kisses along your sweaty hairline.

„On your back and spread those beautiful legs for me, baby.“

You grinned and laid down, spreading your legs. Sirius smiled proudly when he saw your eagerness and gently trailed your quivering cunt with the tip of his cock.

„Such a pretty pussy, so full already. Good girl, taking us so well..“ he moaned, breath hitching when he slipped inside easily.

„See how easy I got in? See how fucked out you are?“

You whimpered at the pain of being used so thoroughly, your body protesting against another orgasm. But you soldiered through the pain, making grabby hands at Sirius.

„Kiss, please“ you pleaded meekly, pouting your soft lips. Sirius shivered at the sight, letting himself being pulled down and kissed you soundly, sucking on your tongue and biting your lips.

„Fuck I can taste Remus on you lips, that‘s so fucking hot..“ He groaned.

You let him lick into your mouth and trace every inch of your teeth and lips. Remus and James appeared on either side of you, pulling and pinching your tits. They were messy about it, stuffing your mouth with their fingers when you got too loud and soon your chest was covered in bruises.

Sirius had his head thrown back as he succumbed to his orgasmic haze, biting his fist to keep in high pitched and hoarse moans. He came so hard that the world momentarily turned white at the edges of his vision and your back arched at the sight. Your eyes stayed glued on his body, the way his muscles clenched and the veins in his neck popped.

„Oh fuck“ he whined „oh fuck, yes..“ He groaned, watching you clench around nothing when he took his cock out, smearing his head on your clit. You convulsed slightly, still coming down from your high and closed your legs as your curled up.

„So full“ you whimpered, letting James pull you to his chest and carry you towards their dorm.

„I know baby, m’gonna clean you up and let you rest. Okay?“

You nodded in relief and slumped against him, watching from over his shoulder as Remus and Sirius stayed behind a little, softly making out.

„Okay.“

Thank god, you don‘t think you could handle another round.

[diaphragmjellyfish]

I’ll Take Care of You

Ok so this is pre-shift Jacob because he’s the only correct Jacob, also I’m ignoring the whole “imprint on Renesmee” thing bc it’s MY fic and I get to pick the plot lmaooo. 

Requested by @bisexualturtledove

Jacob Black was a charmer, to say the least. He’d only had to ask you out three times before you said yes, which is more than any other guy could say. You respected his tenacity, and ended up going out with him for no other reason than to put him out of his misery, fully expecting it to be awkward and a solid end to your guys’ thing. Safe to say that’s not what happened. 5 months later and you were in a happy relationship planning your lives together. However, there was always a bump in the road with you. Something that had ruined every relationship you’ve had so far, and you hadn’t told Jacob in an effort to keep him around as long as you could. But the truth had to come out sooner or later. You couldn’t keep avoiding his heated kisses, his undressing gaze, his wandering hands. 

The truth was, you were terrified to have sex with Jacob. So many insecurities run through your mind whenever he tries to take things to the next level that you freeze up, and Jacob being the sweetheart he is, stops immediately in an effort to make you comfortable. You knew that this was the only thing keeping your relationship from being perfect. You wanted to, I mean really wanted to have sex with him. But you were insecure about your performance. It wasn’t that you didn’t think you could please him… it was that you knew no guy had ever been able to please you and that made them insecure and resentful, which always ended in a messy breakup. You weren’t sure if it was the antidepressants you had been on, the nerves of being intimate with someone, or if you were broken, but for the life of you, you could not orgasm. 

However, you knew it was time for a change. You had to face this head on. If he didn’t accept you for you, then as painful as it would be, he wasn’t the one for you. So you invited him over, putting away anything in your room that could be a distraction to the serious talk you were about to have with him. Jacob climbed in through your open window, his usual suave entrance, and immediately rushed over to you, out of breath. 

“Is everything okay?” he panicked. You took him in. It looked like he got ready in a hurry, hair messy and… Jeez, was he shaking? 

“I think the better question is, are you ok? You look like you just saw a ghost, babe.” you worried back. 

“Well when my girlfriend just sends me a text saying We need to talk. That doesn’t exactly put a good feeling in my stomach.”

“We do need to talk. Or I guess, I need to tell you something. About.. Me.” God, why were you so nervous? Just spit it out! 

“Okay. Whatever it is, you know you can tell me,” he encouraged. 

You grabbed his hand and moved to sit on the edge of your bed. He sat next to you, waiting intently for your next words. After a long pause, you found the words. “So… I’m sure you’ve noticed that we haven’t had sex yet.” Wow. Nice one. 

“Umm, yeah. I’ve noticed. I mean, I know that.” He seemed even more confused at this. 

“Yeah,” you laughed awkwardly, gaze focusing on the carpet. “There’s a reason for it. I’ve had some past experiences that are making me… hesitant, I guess?” you tried to explain. He only nodded for you to keep going, thumb rubbing over the back of your hand. “Okay, this is going to be awkward. So I have a really hard time,” you sighed deeply, already cringing at your next words, “finishing.” You looked up at him at this. His eyebrows were furrowed, but he had the beginnings of a smile on his face. 

“Finishing,” he repeated. “Like, having an orgasm?” You guys had always had a super open, communicative relationship. You could tell him. 

“Yeah. Because of that, the guys I’ve been with normally end up getting really frustrated and mad at me and, I mean, there’s not really much I can do about it but I guess what I’m saying is that I don’t want you to be disappointed and end up resenting me because I make you feel insecure when I won’t cum and,” you take a deep breath, feeling yourself about to cry. 

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay,” he moved you onto his lap, rubbing your back soothingly. “Y/N, I would never do that to you. I don’t care if we never have sex. I love you and I want to be with you for the rest of my life. Okay?”

You nod, tears rolling down your face at his kind words. He brings a hand up to your chin, lifting your face so you are looking him in the eye. He smiles softly at you. 

“Thank you for telling me.” 

“I just didn’t want you to think it was your fault or anything,” you replied. 

“Baby, you know it’s not your fault either, right?” 

You didn’t respond, just stared at the wall over his shoulder in deep thought, brows furrowed. Truthfully, you did think it was your fault. If you could only finish like any normal woman could, this wouldn’t be a problem. 

“Babe. Look at me,” you did, hesitantly. “Its. Not. Your. Fault.” he paused between each word to emphasize his point further. 

“Jacob, how can you say that when I’m the one that’s keeping us from having sex? When I’m the one that’s broken.” Something snapped in him at this. He became stern, grabbing the sides of your face to keep your gaze on him. Gently, but firmly. 

“You are not broken. Don’t ever say that. If you need some extra attention, that’s fine. We can figure all that out. But don’t ever say you’re broken or not good enough. Do you hear me?” 

“Yes,” you murmured. He wiped the tears off your face and sat with you while you  fully calmed down before speaking again. 

“Good. We’re gonna have an open, honest conversation about what you need so that I know how to make you happy. So… what gets you off?”

His bluntness made you huff out a laugh. “Okay, umm. Well, the only thing that’s, ya know… done it for me, is,” you made a gesture with your hands while Jacob waited patiently for you to finish. “A… thing.” 

“A thing.” he parroted, still wildly confused. 

“You know!” You continued making nonsensical gestures, so Jacob knew he would have to start guessing. 

“What? A dildo?” you shook your head, blushing. “A vibrator?” At this, you looked at him, smiling quickly before burying your face in your hands in embarrassment. “Babe, lots of girls need that. It’s not a big deal. I really don’t mind using one with you, I just want to make you feel good.” 

“Really?” you were genuinely surprised. Most guys hated the idea of using toys in the bedroom. They always thought they should be enough for you, when they just weren’t no matter what they did. So you always ignored your own needs to fuel their egos. But you hadn’t anticipated that Jacob might actually be willing to use one with you. 

“Of course. Do you have one?” 

“Yeah,” your voice was small once again, eyes peeking through your fingers. 

He paused for a second. Two seconds. “Can I use it on you?” his voice seemed an octave deeper as he asked. 

You sucked in a breath. In your wildest dreams, you thought maybe he’d be okay with you using one on yourself while you guys were intimate. But here he was, asking to use it. On you. Wow. All you could do was nod. 

“Yeah? Where is it?” at this, you pointed to the drawer of your bedside table. He reached over, opening it. His hand rummaged around for a few seconds before he pulled out a small pink bullet vibrator, holding it up to the light, and testing it. He pressed the button, the toy immediately making a low buzzing sound, as he teasingly held it to your upper arm, laughing as you jumped. “This is gonna be fun,” he smiled wolfishly. You were still perched on his lap. He turned the vibrator off, leaning in to kiss you deeply. Jacob had always been an amazing kisser, and today was no different. His lips were so gentle, sucking at your bottom lip before swiping his tongue over yours, occasionally nipping lightly. You guys heatedly made out for a couple of minutes before his hand trailed under your shirt, and his lips travelled down your jaw and to your neck. He suckled at the skin here as you gasped, tilting your head to the side to allow more access. He’d always been a fan of leaving marks on you, but it never stopped feeling good. The next minute happened in such a frenzy of lips and gasps and wandering hands, that you found yourself lying under him with just a bra and underwear on, him lying over you, still kissing at your neck, with just his own underwear to keep him covered. He still held the vibrator in his hand, but you had forgotten about it until he held it to your inner thigh, flicking it on. The sudden sensation had you jumping out of your skin, breath laboring quickly. He was holding it a good 5 inches away from your center, but the feeling had you squirming nonetheless. 

His other hand came up behind your back to unclasp your bra. You sat up for a second to slip it off your shoulders, and came back down only for Jacob’s lips to latch around your right nipple. You gave a soft moan, only encouraging him to swirl his tongue lightly over it. Your hands found purchase in his long, thick hair, tugging whenever something felt especially good. He was teasing you. You could tell, because your hips were grinding on air, trying to get him to move the toy upwards, but he kept it firmly planted on your thigh. 

“Jacob,” you panted. He ignored you. “Jacob, c’mon,” you tried again. 

“Hmm?” he hummed around your other nipple. 

You were becoming frustrated. “I thought you said you wanted to use it on m-oh!” your back arched off the bed as he suddenly moved it up directly over your clit, pressing down firmly. You were moaning openly at this point, hips continuing to writhe on the vibrator. He began moving it in small, tight circles, letting you grind your hips however felt good. He moved to kiss you deeply once more, your moans getting lost in his lips. You two remained like this for God knows how long, your stomach eventually beginning to cramp from clenching and unclenching, your body practically begging for release. But you just could not get there. Jacob seemed as calm and patient as ever, but you wanted to cum so bad it hurt. You thought you might cry. 

“What do you need?” he whispered in your ear, lovingly. 

You blinked away a tear as you replied, “I don’t know.” He could hear the sadness and frustration in your voice, so he pulled the vibrator away, sitting up. 

“Alright. C’mere love.” You knew he would give up. They always did. God, you were so useless. “Take these off for me,” he tugged at the waistband of your underwear as he reached into his pants pocket off the floor and pulled out a silver square. A condom. Of course he still wanted to get off. He’d given you so much time, it was only fair he get his fill. You did as he asked and slipped your underwear off, tossing them to the floor as he stripped himself of his and rolled the condom onto his painfully hard cock. He moved back over to you still on the bed, grabbed your face between his hands, and gave you a loving kiss. 

“I’m gonna take care of you baby. Okay?” 

Again, all you could do was nod. Wait. Was he still at it? He still wanted to get you off? Damn. This boy was determined. And you were thankful for the effort. He grabbed you by the waist, turning you around to kneel on the edge of the bed, back facing his chest as he stood behind you. He wrapped one arm across your chest, hand landing on your throat. Oh god. He applied a small amount of pressure as his other hand lined him up with your entrance, pushing in lightly. You had been so desperate for any sort of friction that there was no resistance from your body. Inch by inch. By inch. By inch. He slid into you, keeping the pressure on your throat. When he was fully seated inside you, he paused to let your body fully adjust to his impressive size. You grinded back on him, and he took this as his cue to start moving. He pulled out slightly, pushing back in. Again and again and again, each time building speed and force. When your breathing once again became labored, he brought the hand that was on your waist down to hold that beautiful pink vibrator right onto your clit. This time, there were no undergarments in the way. This time, he had his hand around your throat, keeping you in place. This time, he was fucking you, and God it made all the difference. You began to moan again, feeling that knot in your stomach tighten more and more. He kept everything consistent for the next several minutes, encouraged by your moans and grinding hips. Your back was flush against his chest, and you could feel the definition of his abs as he fucked you. 

Once again, you felt right on the edge. Right at the point where you felt yourself about to fall, but something kept holding you there. If you weren’t able to come from this, you might die. Jacob seemed to be able to sense you starting to get frustrated once more, so he began pounding into you at a much harder pace than before, desperate to get you there before he finished. Your moans went up in pitch, that soft spot inside of you practically jolting with electricity every time he hit it. Your eyes rolled back in your head, never having experienced any pleasure like this before. It was raw, animalistic, aggressive. And you loved it. Suddenly, Jacob shifted his hand on the vibrator, turning it up to high. You screamed. Your whole body shuddered, the feeling going from your brain to your toes, and you came hard. Your body was shaking, center throbbing and juicier than ever. The sight of you cumming, the feeling of you tightening around him, had Jacob coming just minutes after you. 

When he had come down, he pulled the vibrator off you, switching it off and tossing it onto the floor. Your clit was swollen and sensitive. Jacob brought his other hand off your throat, not noticing that that was the only thing holding you up. You collapsed forward onto the bed, having just enough energy to turn your head to the side before you hit the mattress. Your legs still trembled violently, and Jake was super careful as he got a damp towel from the bathroom and wiped you off. When you were both cleaned, he lay down on the bed, grabbing you under the arms and pulling you up next to him. Your eyes couldn’t even hold themselves open. He soothingly rubbed your back as he teasingly whispered into your ear, “Told you I would take care of you.”

[echo-of-sounds]

your birthday

Drabbles of Aizawa, Toshi, and Hound Dog celebrating your birthday. 

These came out a little longer than initially planned. But that’s okay since these are birthday drabbles for @smutav​ @mrsvash​ and @rurounivash​! I hope you guys have/had/will have a great, relaxing day, and thank you for all your support! (I also tried to tailor them a bit towards what you like and how you’d want to spend your day. I hope I did okay!)💙💙

Warnings: there is some smut in these

Aizawa Shouta

Wind and water washed; one brought a fine layer of salt across your skin; the other, a cold tidal flow over your feet. You walked into Shouta’s shoulder. He didn’t react until you did it again, trying to get away from the freezing water.

“Too cold?”

You hummed and nudged closer to his eternally high body heat. That same heat enveloped your hand, guiding you away from the tide. Gratefully, he didn’t chide your request for an evening stroll on the beach. Well, he sighed but hid any reluctance.

It wasn’t till most people cleared the area and you were nearing the exit that he halted, keeping you in the open, onshore winds. The tiny tilt of his eyebrows stopped you from questioning him. The simple, long bracelet box he pulled from his pocket turned your chills into a fluttering. Wrapping paper nor bows covered it. The only design was the imprint of the designer’s name.

Shouta mumbled over the mounting breeze, the smallest blush noticeable in the lowering light, “It’s not much. You didn’t give me any helpful ideas.”

“Because you didn’t need to get me anything.”

“Yes, I did. Here.”

Careful to not drop or let the wind take it, you accepted and opened the box. Inside, waiting on a velvet cushion, laid a rose gold bracelet. White gemstones, glittering from the waves and sun, decorated the braiding chains. It felt frosty yet loving under your fingertips. You exhaled, “Shouta… how much was this?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he scolded and returned the box to its pocket. Deft fingers aligned it around your wrist, easily linking the tiny clasps together. His hands stayed around yours, holding firm, displaying the bracelet between you. “Do you like it?”

Dark eyes waited, calm, almost concerned as you stared. It didn’t matter how tired they were, they always gave you so much love. And it didn’t matter how much he typically sucked at buying presents. This one was good, excellent, raising a laugh from your throat. You threw your arms around his neck. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“I love you,” heated breath puffed along your jacket’s collar. Lips replaced it, gracefully skimming the hidden skin. His warmth perfectly offset the cold.

“I love you, too.” You withdrew to meet his eyes and whisper, “Let’s go home.”

He agreed with a kiss.

Once home, you sat with Sho on the couch, hunkering down for the rest of the evening for some wine, cuddling, and kissing. His question paused that: “Glasses?”

“Fuck.”

Before you could get up, he plucked the bottle of wine from your hands, popped the cork, and took a swig. He handed it back to you and watched as you mirrored his actions. Fewer dishes, you guessed.

He lounged back, leaving his chest wide open for you to rest against. The cracked window provided an excellent chilly breeze for snuggling up under a blanket. You curled up, legs on his lap, ready for relaxation.

The beginning of the movie was the only part you paid attention to. The hand drifting from your shoulder to your waist, slowly touching every part of you as it moved towards your thigh, pinching the bottom of your shorts, kept tugging at your thoughts. It would fondle its way back up, carelessly pulling up your shirt until it snapped back in place.

Forty minutes into the movie, he presented you with another box: same color, same style as before, just smaller. With lips flushed to your temple, in a deep, doting tone, he whispered, “Open it.”

As you did, his kisses traveled to your cheek then neck. Propped inside were earrings, mimicking the angelic rose gold and white of the necklace. You sighed at his lips and gift, “Shouta, they’re beautiful… thank you.”

“Put them on,” he hummed just before biting your collar bone.

Stuck between laughing and moaning, you did. And he immediately removed your shirt after, kissing behind your ears, kneading your sides. You gripped the back of his shirt, wanting it gone, but as per usual, he didn’t listen, choosing to unclasp your bra next. Teeth returned to your neck. Something thin and cold accompanied them.

Sho sat back exposing your front to the nippy air. He stared at your chest. You looked down. A necklace hung, gleaming and gorgeous, pink and white. You smiled at his lunky gift giving. “You could've just given them to me all at once, you know?”

He shrugged and slid off his shirt. You leaned back as he came forward. Lips landed on yours hard, firm, just like his body did, weighing you into the cushions. He propped up on his elbows, staring at the necklace.

“I can take it o-”

“No. It stays on,” he droned, coming back down for a kiss. Your palms flattened along his sides. Your legs spread for him to settle much closer, properly close, wonderful for grinding, and exactly where you wanted him the rest of the evening.

Yagi Toshinori

It was already noon. You didn’t expect a call at six a.m. sharp, but you imagined he’d call before noon, at least, or send a text, a picture, an emoji, something to show you he remembered. No, you knew he remembered. He always did. He was probably just busy teaching the next generation of Heroes and all.

Something closed. You froze, listening, wondering if you imagined it. The faint shuffling told you, you didn’t. You hurried out of the bedroom to see Toshinori waiting, holding a bouquet of flowers. He sang, “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“What are you doing home? I thought you had to stay on campus till tomorrow.”

“I finished early.” He set the stuff down and collected his welcome-home hug. “Well, I convinced Nezu I could finish my work from home, and since tomorrow is a training day, I have an extra day to finish.”

“Thank you.” You latched tight, nuzzling against his jacket. The thought of spending your birthday alone wasn’t the worst thing, but it wasn’t the best. You mumbled, “I thought you forgot.”

“I would never.” He pulled away and rubbed the back of his neck. “However, I, uh, I wasn’t prepared to celebrate today. I couldn’t find a reservation for tonight. I tried a bunch of different places, but they were all booked. I’m sorry, I tried.”

“That’s alright, Toshi. I’m fine staying in.” You hugged him again, adding, “I hate when they sing to me. Home is perfectly fine.”

He kissed the top of your head with a laugh. He stroked your back, slow and firm, keeping his lips pressed to you, occasionally whispering sweet sappiness. Yeah, this was much more preferable than spring the day alone.

“I’ll cook you something, anything. What do you feel like?”

“Dunno. Doesn’t really matter.”

“You have no ideas?”

“No. Let’s just order something.” You really didn’t want to let him go. Feeling him in your arms was much more pleasurable than anything else.

“Alright. What do you want?”

“Dunno.”

“You’re not helping me.”

“Surprise me.”

In thirty minutes’ time, someone knocked on the door. Toshi paid, thanked them, and returned to the couch, bearing a brown paper bag. Inside was your very early dinner of chocolate chip pancakes and fresh fruit. The last thing he withdrew was a milkshake. “It’s cake batter. I figured if you lacked a cake, this was the next best thing.”

“Thank you,” you chuckled.

The meal was enjoyed in a simple, snuggling silence, watching Tv with a kiss here or there. The syrup added a tasty sweetness to his lips, something you kept going back for during commercial breaks.

You didn’t want to break the cuddle. It was Toshi who eventually did. He retrieved your jacket and held it out for you.

“What’s this for?”

“This day may not have been the most exciting, and I feel like I was underprepared, but I do have an idea for your present.”

“Toshi, you don’t need to get me anything. You’ve done more than enough for me.”

“I know, but I want to treat you to something. Come on.” Toshi led you outside and down the street.

The late afternoon air provided a blissful breeze and contentment. People were sparse, allowing you the comfort to hold his hand. Though the occasional glance made you tuck into his side until they passed. He never mentioned it; he simply squeezed your hand and continued the walk.

Just when you began to question if there was an actual destination, he steered you towards the computer store you frequented. Inside was just as barren as out. You guessed he picked a good time for shopping, if that was what this was about. And since you were still left in the dark, you questioned him, “What’s this about, Toshi? I don’t need anything from here.”

He scratched his jaw. “When you were talking about the parts you wanted for your, uh… hard drive… motherboard, processor… thing, I was more than a little confused. Instead of buying the wrong thing, I’ll let you pick it out. I know it isn’t much of a surprise this way, but I wanted it to be useful to you. So, go pick!” he chimed, throwing his hands out in front of him.

“Toshi, this stuff is expensive. You don’t-”

“I want to. Go pick some things, and don’t you dare look at the price.”

Encouraged by his smile, your hesitations vanished, and you all but skipped to your desired isle. A hard drive adapter and mounting bracket caught your eye. Plus, they were cheap: thirty dollars at most.

You tried to move on from the next thing that piqued your interest. Yet, the box kept calling your name. You picked it up to read the back.

Toshi came up beside you. “What’s that?”

“It’s a motherboard.” You showed him the label, Gigabyte Z590 AORUS Elite Intel LGA 1200 ATX Motherboard, and explained, “It could run with my Corsair ram with the Intel 10700k. It’s supposed to be easy to overclock and stable on air.”

“Oh, that sounds very nice, sweetie,” confusion faltered his voice. Bewildered or not, he still kissed your temple, murmured his love, and took the items.

“Toshi, I wasn’t planning on getting it.”

“Well, I am.” He smiled and, despite your very vocal doubts, bought them.

You hugged his arm the entire way home, eager for your presents and craving some more cuddles.

Hound Dog

Through the tiniest crack in the shades, light beamed directly into your eyes. You rolled over and snuggled into the blankets. The day could wait…

Apparently, Ryo didn’t think so. The door squeaked open. The bed creaked as he crawled behind you, funneling heat across your body and fur nuzzling your neck. His ridiculously gigantic hands thwarted your attempt to wiggle away. You fussed his name, just wanting to sleep more.

“It’s almost noon.”

“Hng.”

“Time to get up.”

“Why?”

“I made breakfast. Come on.”

“No,” you whined into the pillow. You should be allowed to sleep in on your-

“Fine.” With a chest-filled growl, arms circled and heaved you out of bed, comforter included. You gripped his bicep amid the whiplash. The swirling ceased once he plopped you on the couch, bundled in your blanket, surrounded by pillows. None of which you could lie on since all were fur-coated and staticky.

“Breakfast,” he introduced, placing two plates down with a mix of breakfast quesadillas, muffins, patatas bravas, yogurt, and avocado and eggs. It appeared like he just made whatever he could think of. Not that you were complaining. It all smelled and looked amazing.

“Eat quickly.”

“Why? Do we have plans?”

“No,” he grumbled and sat beside you, his right leg bouncing. He gave you no more information and dug in. You did as well, thanking him for and appreciating the big birthday breakfast.

And all the way through the meal, his leg never stopped. Sometimes, he’d shift in place, or twitch, but his leg just kept going.

“Are you-”

“Time for your gifts.” He jumped up and disappeared into the hall. You wiped your hands and mouth clean in time for a giant gift bag and a present to fall into your lap. He was certainly rushing his way through this.

You blinked at the present. There was no way in hell he wrapped it. The huge, purple bow was tied neat and even, enclosing pink and blue wrapping paper, perfectly folded and taped down. It looked like a picture, not his actual doing.

And your face must have said it all because he gruffed, “I kept ripping the damn paper. Vlad wrapped it for me. Now open it.”

You’d have to thank Vlad next time you saw him. The ribbon released easily and the paper slid off quickly. You stared, smiling at the box of fine-tipped inking pens. It included nine of different sizes and one brush pen. Every time you thought about buying them, you talked yourself out of it. He must have remembered you mulling it over one of the few dozen times.

Wet heat licked your cheek. His nose pressed to you after, cooling the spot down. “Is it the right one?”

“The exact one. Thank you.” You kissed his muzzle, running your nails along the length of it and between his eyes. An odd grumble came from his throat. Judging from his calm, closed eyes, it was a happy grumble. You pressed a few kisses to his cheek, wanting to listen to the husky rumbles.

Ryo’s eyes opened, surprisingly remaining content, and he tapped the gift bag. “This next.”

This one was most definitely done by him; ripped tissue paper was shoved into the top, littered with holes from pointy claws. You laughed as you pulled it out. Strays pieces of tape somehow made their way inside, sticking paper to your skin.

Eventually, you found the presents: two t-shirts, a wearable blanket, and a deshedding brush. You held the last item up in a silent question.

“You always complain about my hair everywhere. This will fix that.”

You rolled your eyes and thanked him. He lapped at your cheek again, choosing to frisk down to your neck. His heavy hands tugged you onto his lap, sending tissue and wrapping paper falling to the floor. Fingers felt around your shirt. You gasped when they clamped on your side’s sensitive skin.

“Ryo-” You shuddered at their increasing strength. He didn’t really know how to fondle passionately. It was more like prodding and pricking to him. You panted, “I haven’t showered today or anything.”

“You do that once I’m done with you.” Teeth clamped on your shoulder, not enough to draw blood or pain, yet solid enough to lock you in place. His tongue, solid and way too hot, aimlessly dragged along thin skin.

His embrace kept you from wiggling away. Not that you really intended to. A day home with Ryo was such a scarce thing you valued so highly. You’d take anything at this point…

Especially since that anything was his fingers shoving into your shorts. Like the rest of him, they wasted no time and slipped inside you, steadily and sturdily caressing your front wall. Your body was hardly awake, making it considerably more responsive to his intense touch.

“Ryo, fuck-” Your breath caught at digging teeth. His palm pressured your clit, grinding, near jerking, giving you no preparation for your speedy orgasm. You gripped his wrist, closing your thighs on his hand, holding him in place.

His arm muscled its way out so he could lick his fingers, smirking and rumbling, clearly delighted.

Once again, he heaved you up, comforter included, and carried you back to bed. But this time, he threw you down and crawled atop, not letting you catch your breath because his tongue replaced where his fingers were.

Your shower was a long ways away.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Into The Unknown, Part 9

First

Previous

It was kind of weird how quickly they got acclimated to civilian life.

Sure, Marinette often came out of the day with way too much energy, but they could burn off most of it by sparring. A ten to twenty minute session a day (excluding warm ups and cool downs, which added another thirty minutes or so) was enough to maintain their physiques and get rid of the uncomfortable energy that came with the sudden loss of constant danger in their lives.

(Not that this Gotham wasn’t dangerous, but it was… markedly less so. The Rogues Gallery didn’t exist in this world, what with Batman not existing, so the only thing that they really had to fear was mob activities and the occasional mugging. As long as they kept their noses clean and never stopped to tell a person the time, there was no reason for them to be scared.)

Other than that… it was almost too easy to get used to the new life that they lived.

Marinette woke up first in the mornings for work and would take care of Damian while she got ready. Tim had baby duty for the nine hours a day she was at work and commuting, so it was the least she could do.

And, really, he wasn’t all that difficult now that she was starting to get the hang of the whole baby thing.

Damian was trying to mimic her -- anticipatory socialization, she was pretty sure it was called (Or was it imprinting? Observational learning? Damn it, her psych major was not coming through for her right then). She found it cute and it was completely normal so she was perfectly fine encouraging it: she had gotten him mini versions of all of her makeup brushes.

One time, though, this backfired on her: he had dipped one of the cheap makeup brushes she’d gotten him into her makeup when she wasn’t looking and applied it to his face.

Marinette glanced down -- he had been quiet for too long, never a good thing -- and gasped. “Dami, you can’t whitewash yourself!”

Damian looked up at her, eyes wide with confusion.

She tried not to pout because he might take it wrong. Why must her best jokes always come to her when no one was around to hear?

“Don’t touch the powder stuff, please. It's not for babies, it's for grown ups.”

Damian frowned and looked down at his brush. She gently took it from him and worked at getting the makeup out.

When she gave it back to him he still seemed a little sad.

She sighed and gave him a short hug. “I’m not mad. I promise. It’s just… not your color!”

(The real reason was that makeup is very expensive, but kids don’t really understand money so she needed an excuse.)

Damian was still a little pouty. She didn’t know what to do. Damn. She supposed that served her right. She shouldn't have dared to think that she was getting the hang of having the whole ‘having a baby’ thing.

She sighed and looked down at him for a few moments, thinking. He was sitting in the high chair they kept him in when both of them were too busy to hold him. Usually he would be swinging his legs back and forth like a toddler -- probably because he was a toddler -- but now he was remarkably still, green eyes wide as he looked up at her.

She glanced at the time. Damian had woken her up early that morning, so she had extra time to get ready…

Marinette pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the internet.

… hm. Makeup could be toxic to babies. Good to know.

She grabbed one of her makeup wipes and scrubbed it from his face. She’d make sure to tell Tim so he could look out for any rashes the kid might get.

Then, she pulled out a comb and started brushing the tiny curls on Damian’s head. There wasn’t much, so it was mostly just dragging against his scalp, but the kid seemed pleased so she kept doing that for a few minutes.

At one point, he tried to take the comb from her. She allowed it, figuring he wanted to try and brush his own hair, but then he reached for her.

She leaned down to take him out of the chair, she was mostly done getting ready anyways, but instead he started trying to brush her hair.

… oh.

She felt, strangely, like crying. Her kid -- sorry, this kid -- was just so cute.

… but she didn’t want to mess up her hair...

He made a vague whining sound and she was weak.

She could always fix her hair on the train or something, she supposed.

She hesitantly leaned down so he could brush her hair. “Fuck it? I guess?”

“Fuck it,” Damian said, giving a short nod.

She groaned internally. “I’m actually going to have to stop swearing, aren’t I?”

“Fuck it!” Damian said again, louder this time.

Her lips twitched. “You’re so right, Dami. Who cares about a few little swears?”

“I do,” said Tim, who was apparently standing in the doorway.

She yelped. She probably would have flinched away if Damian hadn’t managed to make a giant knot in her hair in the few seconds that she had let him touch it.

She turned and sent Tim a weak smile. “You’re up early.”

He rolled his eyes. “Please stop teaching him swears.”

“I mean… it’s kind of funny, though.”

“It’s not.”

Marinette groaned overdramatically and turned to look at Damian. “He’s such a stick in the mud, amiright?”

“Sti-in-mu,” Damian said, nodding.

Tim huffed. “I’m starting to think he likes you better.”

“As he should,” Marinette said. She picked up the baby and nuzzled her nose against his. “Who’s a smart baby? You are!”

Damian giggled and tried to nuzzle her back.

~

Tim hummed as he went around the apartment, sweeping the floors. He and Marinette had come to a kind of unspoken agreement: he would do the cleaning, and she would do the cooking. It was only fair, since Tim’s standards for cleanliness were higher than hers and she was the only one out of the three people there that was physically capable of cooking an edible meal.

(Yes, he was aware that he was comparing his cooking skills to that of a baby. It was accurate, okay?)

Damian crawled along after him. He was trying to help, Tim was pretty sure, swatting the floor behind where Tim was cleaning...

Tim smiled. Maybe he should get the kid some fake cleaning supplies like Marinette had done with all of her makeup brushes. Would he like that? Only one way to find out, he supposed. He found the grocery list and wrote it down.

When he turned back to where he had left Damian -- which, he reminded himself, he shouldn’t be doing, because the kid was surprisingly fast when it came to trying to get himself killed -- and found the kid…

Holy shit.

He was walking.

Tim watched with a bright smile as Damian struggled to his feet and took a few steps towards him.

It didn’t last long. Damian had only really managed about three steps before he fell back to his knees and crawled the rest of the way. But…

Tim made a slightly embarrassing squealing noise in the back of his throat and leaned down, scooping the baby up in his arms and hugging him close. He couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off of his face.

“Look at you! Walking! Oh my god! Oh my god oh my god oh my god!”

Damian was blinked up at him in wide-eyed confusion.

Tim leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of the kid’s head and refused to pull back until he had calmed down a little.

He smiled down at his younger brother, who looked delighted at the attention but also very confused as to what was going on.

He looked around until he found Kaalki, who had been on his phone doing… horse things? God things? Who cares?

“Please tell me you took a video of that.”

“Nope. I did get a picture of you kissing his forehead, though.”

Tim huffed a little. “Delete that.”

“Too late. Already sent it to Marinette.”

Even this wasn’t enough to dampen his mood.

And Tim knew that the fact that Damian was walking had almost nothing to do with him, but he was proud, damn it. Or maybe the better way of saying it was that he was happy for the kid? He didn’t know, he had always been terrible with emotions. It was a good emotion, though, that much he was sure of.

He kissed Damian’s forehead again and smiled when the baby giggled at him and reached out, smushing his cheeks in his hands.

“Hello,” Tim struggled to say with the baby hands pressing in on his face.

“Nano,” Damian said.

“Close enough,” he said. “Want to watch some TV to celebrate?”

Damian nodded vigorously. Tim wondered, vaguely, if the kid understood what he was saying or if he just kind of gave answers when he knew that Marinette and Tim were asking him things.

Didn't matter. Tim would put on that one weird show with the talking cat that Damian liked and they could watch that until Marinette got home.

And, when she did, she practically ran over. She didn’t even take off her shoes, a sure sign that she was excited.

Damian looked away from the TV and smiled. “Mar-ree.”

Marinette’s mouth dropped open for a second… and then curled into a bright smile.

“You’re so… cute!” She cooed. “Yes! Hi! Good to see you, Dami!”

Tim pouted, slightly jealous.

She seemed to notice because she stuck her tongue out at him. “You got to see his first steps and I didn’t. I deserve this.”

He disagreed. The pout on his face remained until Damian saw and twisted around in his lap, leaning up and wrapping his arms around his neck in a kind of hug. Because it was kind of hard to stay sad when he was doing that.

He hugged the kid back for a few moments and then drew back, planting a kiss on his nose.

Marinette hesitated.

“Can I… have him for a few minutes? I want to see him walk.”

Tim considered this.

Then he smiled. “Only if I can take a video.”

“I would have made you do it, anyways,” she said.

Tim chuckled softly and handed the baby over so they could take the video.

~

She slipped into the apartment after a long day of work.

Tim was fluffing the pillows, apparently out of apartment to clean.

Damian looked up from the pillow he was hitting at the sound of the door clicking closed, and he seemed to light up. He grabbed Tim’s hand with one hand for his attention and pointed at her excitedly with the other.

“Nano! Yanzur! Mar-ree!”

“Yeah, that’s Mari,” Tim agreed.

Marinette flexed her feet now that they were out of the god-forsaken heels that she had been wearing.

“Hi, Dami. How was your day?” She asked.

Damian didn’t understand the question and certainly didn’t know enough words to respond, but he seemed sated by the acknowledgement of his existence. He slowly slid off of the couch and started his way over to her.

Marinette smiled faintly, amused. She looked over at Tim while she waited for him to get to her.

“So… he told you to look at me, that I get… but what is a ‘Nano’?”

“That’s what he’s calling me now, I think,” Tim said, slightly flushed.

She blinked. “That… isn’t even close to your name.”

“I know,” he said, shrugging helplessly.

Her lips twitched. “Maybe he’s calling you short.”

Tim threw the pillow he had been fluffing at her.

She let it hit her -- it was a pillow, it wasn’t like it would hurt -- and then stuck her tongue out at him. “Don’t blame me! I’m but an innocent bystander in this! He’s the one that did it!”

Damian tugged on the fabric of her shirt. She looked down, a grin still on her face. He made grabby hands and she obliged with ease, picking him up and nuzzling her nose against his.

Then, her eyes sparkled with mirth.

“Tell me, Dami, is Tim short?”

Damian looked between the two of them. Marinette was nodding and Tim was shaking his head vigorously.

“... shor!”

Marinette burst into a fit of giggles while Tim groaned.

“I hate you.”

Her amusement didn’t die down in the slightest. “Oh, if you hate me, then I guess I’m only making food for Dami and I. Hope you didn’t eat all the leftovers for lunch today...”

“Wait, Mari, let’s talk about this --.”

~~~~~

Next

@unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff

[goggles-mcgee]

Too Late: Luka & Kagami (commission for miner249er)

Chapter 6 of the commission for @miner249er 

Previous Work

Last Chapter                              Next Chapter

Summary:  Luka and Kagami just being there for one another and trying not to drown in their guilt and grief

It was mostly quiet between the two, Kagami had taken to channel surfing while Luka strummed his guitar aimlessly till he got sad and frustrated that he couldn’t find a melody. Then he would meditate before trying again. Mostly he was trying to get back into the music for his mom and Juleka’s piece of mind, he knew they were worried about him, he knew they noticed the lack of music in his life, but he also knew they knew why. Marinette. Even just thinking her name made his heartstrings tug painfully. How had everything gone so wrong? Him and Kagami had a plan, at the time it seemed like a good plan, but thinking back on it now he couldn’t help but see it for all it’s flaws, and there were...many. He felt like a fool, but he hadn’t brought up their failed plan because he knew Kagami could not handle hearing about their failure. He could hear it in her song, he could see it in her eyes, it was seeped into her very being, and all he could feel was pain and regret. That’s why there was no more music.

The “music” he would make would sound like his heart and his thoughts, and at the present they sounded like someone threw silverware in a blender and he felt like he was in that blender himself. Constantly hurting, constantly trying to get out and heal, but never being able to because he was too caught up in the motions. Once he had gotten the Snake Miraculous, he thought he understood the saying, “Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it.” His power was all about learning from the “past” and that saying had always been something that had stuck with him. He thought him and Kagami were well prepared to handle anything with their plan, but the more he thought of it, the more he screamed at himself that they should have told Ladybug, they should have told Marinette, they should have said something, anything. 

Romeo & Juliet had always been his least favorite Shakespeare play, he hated miscommunication in tragedies. It worked well as a plot device in comedies, but in tragedies it was just frustrating. Luka always believed people could be better than the famous star-crossed characters and everyone else in the play, he truly believed he was above that level of miscommunication. Sure he had trouble explaining himself, more often than not he used his music as his voice, confident it would make sure his feelings were communicated clearly. Then Marinette came and he found himself wanting to talk without his instrument as the voice, each day built his confidence, he had never been that confident in his talking abilities, and then everything crashed and burned. Miscommunication was the fuel. 

He was sure if he hadn’t cried as much as he had already he would be in a fit of sobs at the moment, but as it was, Luka was all cried out. So was Kagami it would seem, whose mother uncharacteristically was actually giving her time to herself, time to grieve, and time with her “friends.” Luka knew the only friends Kagami had were him and Marinette, and there had been that air of almost more that hung above them all, but just thinking of that hurt him more than he could ever put into words or song. It was easier to deal with the heartbreak of the things that came to be and passed rather than the ones that hadn’t even had a chance to see the light, or even have the opportunity to be a proper thought that was discussed. No. No. He wouldn’t think about it. He couldn’t think about it. 

“Luka? You okay?” He heard Kagami’s soft voice ask. He looked to her immediately hoping he wasn’t showing the desperation he was feeling, but at the tight smile he got in return he knew he failed hiding it. “Thinking about her again?”

He made a noise somewhere between yes and no. It was harder to talk when she disappeared, but he didn’t want to leave Kagami to have to interpret all his sounds so he cleared his throat and pushed past the lump that seemed to be stuck there no matter what he did. “Shakespeare.” 

Kagami nodded and took a seat beside him on the couch and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Romeo and Juliet again?”

Luka sighed and nodded as he closed his eyes and leaned his head on top of Kagami’s softly. “I know it’s not technically history, but it’s a part of history and it made me think.” 

“I would say stop thinking since that’s all you’ve been doing today, but I know that is not easy and not actually achievable.” 

“If I could stop thinking that would be great. I just...she would still be here if I had-”

“If we.”

“If we had just communicated we wouldn’t have lost her...I...we…” Luka growled before sitting up and grabbing his guitar and playing an angry harsh cord. He held his guitar to his chest like a lifeline, his grip not loosening, the string biting into his skin and for a moment he wished it stung or imprinted but his callouses protected him. 

“I know. I know. She...Marinette was my first friend. The first friend I had ever made on my own. Not one my mother made me have because it would be good for the company or because it would make me or her business partners look good.” Kagami started to tell Luka, of course he paid attention, Kagami wasn’t really one to open up about how she felt. Even with all the time she had spent with him and Marinette and all the encouragement they both gave her to be more open with them. “I thought...I believed our plan was foolproof. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t stop to think of human error, and everything that could go wrong. Marinette...Marinette and you gave me optimism Luka. I had never looked at the world or any situation I had faced with optimism. It’s not how I was raised. Or any Tsuguri for that matter.” 

Luka didn’t know what to say so he held Kagami’s hand and gave it a squeeze for comfort and a way to say to continue if she felt comfortable. There of course was an anxious little voice inside his head that was screaming that, maybe, just maybe, if Kagami hadn’t spent so much time with them, everything could have been avoided but he quickly shot that thought down. He would never regret becoming friends with Kagami. Never. She was Marinette’s and his compass. She gave them control and direction when the two of them wandered too far. Luka was the calm, he was the ship’s wheel. He followed the compass and made sure to keep them all steady and comfortable, but he was always ready to change the course if they all needed the change of scenery.

 At first, Luka thought of Marinette as the sea. Beautiful, full of life and emotion, taking care of all the creatures and life in its waters, and filled with creativity. Then she changed in his mind to a lighthouse, something that would call him and Kagami home, a safe haven, something to strive for. Again the image in his mind changed to her as their anchor. She kept them both grounded, she made sure Luka didn’t get too lost in his thoughts and she made sure Kagami didn’t second guess herself. She kept them safe. Marinette was all those things and more. 

“But you guys,” Luka tuned back into Kagami and berated himself for getting lost in his thoughts, “you guys gave me optimism. I was no longer just thinking about the bad that could happen in things. When we made our plan, I thought I had been thorough, that we had been thorough. I wanted to believe we were doing the right thing. The intelligent thing. Most importantly, I wanted to believe we were doing the helpful thing. I was optimistic. I was hopeful. And in the end we lost her…”

“Kagami...There is nothing wrong with being optimistic.”

“Did I say there was?” She snapped before her expression fell and she held Luka’s hand in both of hers, her eyes teared up as she looked at him. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you didn’t mean it Gami.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“Maybe not but you have already apologized. That’s what makes it okay.” 

“If you say so...I’m just not entirely convinced, but okay. It’s just, I love that you and Marinette are optimists. I liked seeing things positively for once and not always thinking what could or will go wrong if I didn’t do things perfectly. But the one time I do so, it bit me in return. I...I hesitated Luka. Now Marinette is gone, the media only reminds us of her akuma and only wants to speak of her akuma and not the wonderful person she is. Except maybe Nadja and Aurore’s blog. It’s all that’s on TV, then there’s the whole Agreste situation that I would prefer not to think about but again, the media is focused on it.” After Kagami let all that out it was like she deflated and sunk into the comfort of the couch. Luka decided to join in and just flopped himself back into the couch and just stared up at the ceiling. 

“Oh yeah...that. On one hand I can believe it, on the other I don’t want to but yeah let’s just...not get into that today. Maybe another day,” Luka grimaced at the memory of all the Agreste “rumors” flying around, and honestly he understood why Kagami would prefer not to think about any of that. 

“Or ever. That could be beneficial too.” 

“Gami. You know it’s better to face something than avoid it.”

“Perhaps, but avoidance sounds like the better option considering everything that has happened.” 

“Have you spoken to Adrien at all?” 

“No. Not since I found out he had no spine. And now...now I don’t even know how I would go about speaking to him. I do feel for him, but he’s not someone I consider a friend anymore. If anything he’s an acquaintance by necessity.” She huffed out with a shrug of her shoulder as she once more grabbed the remote for the TV and returned to channel surfing. 

“Yeah, I get what you mean. It’s....talking with Jules has been hard. It was hard before, but now it’s...I don’t know. I know she wants to talk to me, I try to talk to her, but she won’t talk to me. She used to before Lila. Then we fought...we never fought...but she didn’t want to listen to me about Lila and her screeching of a song. Juleka got mad that I couldn’t see the “true” Marinette. She said I was blinded by my...my feelings.” Luka preferred not to remember him and Juleka fighting but it had become normal ever since his sister had started listening to Lila Rossi. After everything that passed though, Juleka wouldn’t even look at him unless it was in worry, like she couldn’t look at him. Not because he wasn’t worth her time, but because she seemed to believe that she wasn’t worth his. 

 In the simplest of terms, it was heartbreaking. 

“Rossi has been exposed now though. She knows you were right.” Kagami said full of confusion, and Luka could admit it sounded confusing no matter how you looked at it.

“I think it’s because I-we- were right.” 

Luka glanced over at Kagami and saw her frowning, “She’s angry that you, that we, were right?”

“I think it’s more shame than anger. I don’t doubt there is anger there, but it’s most likely directed at herself.  Her song is all over the place…” He admitted with a sigh, he just wished that Juleka would open up to him like she used to so he could help. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew that something was happening at her school and it wasn’t good for her or her classmates. He hated thinking his sister was getting bullied but with Marinette’s rise to fame as an akuma and her almost cult-like following and those who raised her to martyr status all around, he wouldn’t be surprised if the “Akuma Class” was being “taught a lesson.” 

“And yet she still won’t talk to you?” 

“It’s...complicated. We are both not the strongest talkers, but it has always been worse for Jules. Now with everything that has happened…” Luka let out a frustrated breath and ran his hands over his face. Before him or Kagami could say anything else to add on to the conversation they heard rushed footsteps hurrying down the stairs towards them. Immediately, Luka recognized them as Juleka’s footsteps. 

Juleka burst into the lounge from the deck, one look at her and Luka felt his anger rise. His sister’s clothing was ruined, her jeans that she had painstakingly sewn the lace to the outer edges of herself were splattered in paint and if he wasn’t mistaken there were rips on the knees. Her shirt looked wet and paint splattered, as did her hair, and one glance at her only visible eye told Luka she had been crying. She seemed startled to see them there and for a while none of them spoke, the only noise came from the TV where it had seemed to stop on a news channel since Kagami stopped her channel surfing in favor of focusing on Juleka’s entrance.

As soon as Luka stood up to comfort Juleka, maybe ask who the hell did that to her, she just as quickly shouldered past him and ran into her bunker with a slam of the door. That was another new thing, though not unneeded, they both got separate rooms after...after Marinette had helped Luka convince his mom they deserved separate rooms. Especially because of Jules and his ages and the fact a curtain wasn’t enough privacy but then there was the fighting due to the Lila and Marinette situation. It was just easier for them all if he and Juleka got separate rooms, his mom agreed, he knew it was because she noticed the tense silences and the loud music coming from them both during that time. So Kagami and Marinette helped Luka clean out another bunker room that had been used as a storage room and then helped him move in. 

Luka didn’t know how long he stood there just looking at Juleka’s door but he came back to himself when he felt Kagami place her hand on his shoulder. He looked down at her to see her giving him a sympathetic smile and gave his shoulder a squeeze for comfort. It was grounding, but Luka’s heart still hurt at his sister’s refusal to talk to him or Kagami. He knew she needed him, and honestly he needed her too, he just wanted to be her brother again, and her be his little sister that was sometimes annoying but it was in a loving way. Everything had changed and Luka felt like he was on a sinking ship with nothing to grab onto for support except Kagami but he didn’t want to drag her down with him. 

“I just…” He started, his voice tight with tears.

“I know.” Kagami answered. 

“...Collège Françoise Dupont.” Both of their heads whipped towards the TV once they heard the name of that school. On the screen were two reporters that neither were very familiar with but they had seen the news channel in passing. 

“Is that right? An investigation?” The male reporter asked.

“That is correct Robert! It has been confirmed by inside sources that a full scale investigation will be launched on Collège Françoise Dupont! Not only for its horrible negligence against The Protector but because of new reports made by students who no longer fear having to be akumatized since Hawkmoth has conveniently disappeared. Apparently the number of calls to the Board of Education was just appalling. As were the reasons behind the reports.” The female reporter announced with a plastic smile, but if you looked it would twitch every so often like she was fighting to keep smiling.

“I would like to say I’m surprised Madeline, but that would ultimately be a lie.” Robert quipped back with an equally plastic looking smile. 

“Yes it would Robert.” The reporter called Madeline chuckled as she said that. “In other news still connected to The Protector, her parents will be getting an official apology from TVi Studios after said studio used footage of their daughter without permission written or otherwise.”

Luka and Kagami winced at the mention of Tom and Sabine as they knew the couple were having a hard time, but they had no idea that TVi Studios showed that segment without permission. Luka especially had a hard time believing it considering Nadja worked there and was a good friend of Sabine’s. Kagami looked particularly worried about this so Luka nudged her as a way to ask what was wrong. “Do you think they sued the studio? I don’t think M Dupain and Mme Cheng are in the right state emotionally to go through a lawsuit.”

“Well...they said it was an official apology so I don’t think they sued, which is good, because you’re right. They are in no state to go through a lawsuit or anything much at the moment.” Luka agreed.

“On to World News, there has been an amazing recent discovery in Northern Scotland. It has stumped the people, and historians. When we come back from the break we will talk about this historic find and what it means for the people of Scotland. See you after the break Paris!” Robert said before the commercials started up. Luka didn’t know why, but something told him that discovery was important.

Next Chapter

[bobateastay]

poetry - park seonghwa

park seonghwa x gender neutral!reader

cw - light angst(?), fluff, established relationship, childhood bestfriend!seonghwa

word count: 880

taglist: @pikacuuuuuuu @lovely-ateez @sunsethw4 @xirenex @seonghwanotes

Seonghwa’s never been a massive poetry fan. He was alright at it in class but he wasn’t the kind of person who went around reading it outside of class or looking for it online or on social media. But there was one particular line from a poem by Richard Siken that he thought about more often than he’d like to admit, always over analysing himself and his life until none of it made sense anymore, just a jumble of highs and lows.

“How much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it's some kind of murder?”

That’s how the quote went. Seonghwa had it imprinted into the back of his head, resurfacing every time he saw old pictures of himself with you or any of his friends. Fuck, even pictures from their debut made him think of it, made him feel guilty and wonder if it was a kind of murder to change the way he had done. And there were other times where he felt as though he hadn’t changed at all and that it was all fake - a staged murder or a copycat crime.

He never asked you if you felt the same way. You’d both known each other for so long that he knew to some extent that you did worry about it. Some nights when you got to stay over at his dorm and you fell asleep curled up in his arms you whispered about how much you’d both changed. You mentioned the good (‘I think we’re both more mature now, right? We don’t argue as easily as we did back then.’) and the bad (‘I wish I hadn’t cut so many people off. It gets lonely sometimes.’) and sometimes you mentioned things that had stayed the same throughout the years you’d known each other (‘You’re still the kindest person I know, Seonghwa. You still have the prettiest smile too.’). It was nights like those that he found himself somewhat glad that Hongjoong worked late so often.

That didn’t entirely make him forget though. He still looked at himself in the mirror some days and could almost see the split between his body and his soul, wondering when he’d started to look like this. When he’d started to look so grown up. Some days he’d throw his phone out of frustration, hating the old pictures stored in it and that with each one there was another younger Seonghwa to dredge up. Had he murdered him too? Had he changed enough that it could be called murder?

But when he looked at you - sleeping in his or your own bed, your face peaceful and tired and the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen - he saw the same you he’d always seen. The you who’d kissed his scraped knees better and put colourful plasters over them. The you who’d helped him with his homework and the you who’d begged him to help you with your own late assignments. The you who’d encouraged him for so long to chase his dream of being an idol, the same bright smile on your face and the same warm hands holding his own when you leaned in to kiss him.

Of course you didn’t look or act the same way you had done when you were in elementary school or middle school or even high school. But the old you wasn’t gone, just wrapped up somewhere in the new you.

It was this that placated him the most. Maybe it wasn’t really murder. Just a sort of hiding away.

“I’m so proud of you,” you told him one night. Your voice was barely above a whisper as he went about making coffee for you in his dorm kitchen at three in the morning (‘The things I do for love,’ he’d sighed to himself when you begged him to). He hummed in response, giving you a warm smile as he took out the mug you kept here for visits. “You’ve grown up well. I know we were all worried about what would happen when we all split up but you did well. You’ve got your members and you’ve worked so hard for everything.”

“You grew up well too,” he told you as he handed you the coffee he’d made. “You still ask me for help with assignments sometimes though.”

You pouted at the teasing which only made him smile. With a soft sigh he kissed your forehead, unable to hide the smile on his lips as he pulled you into a hug, making sure you set the coffee down first.

“Did I grow up too much?” he asked, letting his eyes fall shut when you shook your head against him.

“Did I?” you asked in return, hugging him tighter when he also shook his head. “Good. I want to be best friends for as long as we can, the same way as always.”

“We will be, don’t worry,” he replied with a soft laugh, kissing the side of your head. “Come on, get your coffee and let’s go to bed.”

And Seonghwa supposed in that moment that it might be alright if he didn’t have all of the old versions of himself, as long as he’d always have each and every version of you.

[wendimydarling]

Please Don’t Leave Me

Title: Please Don’t Leave Me

Summary: Talking about our past is not easy. What happens when it’s finally time to share what you’ve been through with Henry?

Pairing: Henry x First Person Reader

Word Count: 1635

Warnings: Angst; mention of being yelled at, personal hurt, self-harm, attempted suicide, emotional neglect, parental abuse, beginning stages of a panic attack, anxiety, depression, loneliness, and fear of abandonment. (If there’s anything I missed, just let me know and I’ll add it).

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY FREYA! I know it’s next week, but I’ll be off Tumblr because it falls on Thanksgiving this year. You asked me for this fic and I wanted to do right by you, as you’ve done so much for me. I love you, bish! 

It had been a rough day. And not just your typical rough, I’m talking the kind of rough where you spill your coffee all over your blouse in the car, end up being late for work, forget your lunch, and get yelled at by the boss kind of rough. The kind of rough where every traumatizing past event in your life comes bubbling to the surface. The kind of rough where you want nothing more than to crawl back into your bed and sleep for seven years, and it’s only nine-thirty in the morning.

The one saving grace I held on to as I counted down the minutes of my shift was that Henry would be home tonight, waiting for me. God, I don’t know how I got so lucky, but somehow that kind and gentle soul had seen through the cracked and broken wall that I kept as my only defense mechanism, and had chosen me anyway. He knew some of my past and pain, but I hadn’t opened up about everything; I wasn’t ready to lose him, and I knew he’d be out the door once he heard it all. Just like everyone else. Perhaps that was selfish of me, but for once in my life, I knew what it felt like to be loved, and I was soaking in every ounce I could of that sweet nectar before it was gone.

Finally, finally, my work day was over. I headed to his place as fast as I safely could, anxious and burdened with unwelcome memories. The delicious smell of roast flooded my nostrils as I opened the door and Kal came bounding over. I noticed as I toed off my pumps and tamed the wild beast that Henry had built a fire, and gratitude filled my heart. He always seemed to know exactly what I needed, sometimes even before I did. I headed toward the kitchen, following my nose.

“Hey love,” Henry smiled wide, already pouring me a glass of red. He swallowed me in a warm embrace, his chin planted on the top of my head, and my body tucked firmly in his arms. I melted, sinking into the security of his hug and letting the stress of the previous hours wash away. I was here, he was home, and I was safe.

We ate quietly, talking here and there about random facts or tidbits. I pushed the food around on my plate, taking a bite here and there to satisfy Henry but I could sense him watching me carefully; his concern was evident, but he covered it well, masking it with simple questions or well-timed caresses. Even so, his next question caught me off guard, my fork halfway to my mouth.

“Will you tell me about it?”

The silverware clattered to the plate, forgotten in my fear. This is it, I thought, tonight’s the night I lose him forever. My chest constricted and I could feel the panic slowly rising, tears welling and threatening to spill. Henry quickly grabbed my hand and shushed me, cupping my face in nurturing kindness. 

“You don’t have to,” he comforted, and I closed my eyes, exhaling the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Henry soothed his thumb over my cheek before pulling me onto his lap, cradling my head in his large hands. I burrowed deep into his chest, letting his scent wash over me in calming waves.

“I just want to help,” I heard Henry whisper. I sighed; he was right, it was time for him to know. I looked up at him, staring at that beautiful face that held so much promise. A face that said so much in just a look, with eyes that sparkled like the heavens whenever they landed on me. Once again, I wondered why his eyes looked like that when it was me they were viewing, but I shoved it aside. Self-deprecation would not help, not right now. Nodding softly, I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out. I couldn’t tell him, not out loud. I dropped my head in defeat.

Henry shifted me off his lap, grabbing my hand and walking us to his desk. He sat in his gaming chair and patted his thigh, tugging on my arm. I hesitated, confused.

“Come here, love,” he encouraged, guiding me to sit. With both of us facing the computer, he opened a word document and offered me the keyboard.

“If you’re unable to say it out loud,” Henry crooned in my ear, kissing softly under my lobe, “Then write it. I’ll read it as you type, and neither of us has to say anything.”

This man. I swear to god. Relief flooded through me, though anxiety pounced instantly as I was reminded that once we were done, he would be gone. No one else had stayed, my problems were much too great... Why should he be the one to bear the burden of me? I took a deep breath anyway and eyed the screen, my fingertips trembling over the instrument of my demise.

Where should I even begin? Should I go all the way back to the beginning, to my birth? How I was nothing but a mistake, and every day I was reminded as such? Or maybe I should tell him what the scars are from? Perhaps I should simply tell him about failed relationship after failed relationship, both romantic and non. Those are all fun tales, I had no doubt he’d love to hear all about them. Maybe he wanted to know the amount of times I’ve come close to admitting defeat and ending everything. Spoiler alert… that number’s higher than it should be. 

I swallowed thickly and began typing, slow and hesitant words forming on the page. Every thought was carefully constructed, worked over in my mind at least five times before I allowed it to leave my fingers. Henry’s comforting arms were wrapped tightly around my waist, his chin nestled on my shoulder as he read what I shared. Tears slowly brimmed in my eyes, kept at bay only by sheer force of will. Each stroke of a key sounded like a hammer hitting the nails in our relationship’s inevitable coffin; surely he wouldn’t, couldn’t love me after this. No one could. It’s simply too much for anyone to bear, too awful… too hard.

And yet in my ear were the sounds of something different. Encouraging grunts, empathetic hums. Henry kept his promise, he never said a word except for one small sigh of “oh, love” as I hit a particularly difficult moment. His hands rubbed my sides, kisses left tiny wet imprints on my cheek, and every now and then he would squeeze tighter, small reassurances to keep going. 

The words started pouring out of me. I couldn’t have stopped myself if I tried; Every struggle, every loss, every tiring moment; every single thing that had ever happened to me found its way into that document in a flurry of clacking plastic. My hands moved of their own free will and the tears started to flow; long, silent trails of pain releasing years worth of pent up anger and hurt. The salty drops fell onto Henry’s forearms but he just left them there, rooted to his task of protecting me. I would miss how safe I felt in the protection of his arms. 

The final sentence fell out of my hands, and I immediately turned and buried my face into Henry’s shoulder, bitter sobs wracking my frame as I clung to his neck. 

“Please don’t leave me,” I begged, ashamed of myself for being so needy and undesirable. I expected him to untangle himself from my arms, to get up and open the door to excuse me from his home. To force me to leave his life and never return.

The last thing I expected was for him to burst out laughing. 

I snapped my head up and stared at him in horror, which only made him laugh harder.

“I’m so sorry,” he wheezed, “I really shouldn’t be laughing. It’s just… I know why you think I would leave you, it’s all right there on the computer, but you have nothing to worry about.”

Henry wiped his eyes and mine and cupped my face, still chuckling. 

“You think so little of yourself that you can’t see just how worthy you are,” he murmured, adoration and mirth mingling in his eyes as he tucked my hair behind my ear. I furrowed my brow and pressed my face into his palm, relishing the cooling sensation of calm that his skin brought. 

“I know what it’s like to feel how you do,” Henry went on softly, “To feel unwanted and undeserving. But I’m not going to walk away from a flower as strong, as rare, and as beautiful as you just because she’s got a few bruises. I love you just the way you are.”

His admonition shocked the both of us. He loves me? I tried to process what he’d just said, but my mind was raw and I couldn’t think straight. He loves me.

“Yes, I love you,” Henry repeated as though he could read my thoughts, clasping my jaw and looking me straight in the eye. “I love you, and I’m not going anywhere… I’m not going to leave you.”

I smiled widely as tears spilt over once more, happiness bursting from my heart. With anyone else I’d be doubtful, I’d have hightailed it on my own after a proclamation like that before the other shoe dropped... before they could hurt me worse. But this wasn’t anyone else, this was Henry. And being with him made me brave, which is why I found words leaving my lips that I never thought I’d ever say again.

“I love you, too.”

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