#and it’s a constant reminder of my own condition

[starkcregan]

.

[longagoitwastuesday]

Gushing about Gojo and Megumi and how they are or could have been everything to me I forgot to mention that I really really really love Yuuji. Like, a lot

[omgeto]

☆ COVER UP — tattoo artist!GETO SUGURU

summary: all you wanted was a cover up tattoo to replace the name your ex left on you. you didn't think you'd be leaving the tattoo shop with a replacement for your ex's tattoo and a replacement for him as well.

wc: 3k

cw: afab!reader, geto gives you backshots, he's kinda obsessed w/ your ass here, unprotected sex (since I forget condoms) BUT he's a gentleman pulls out </3 your kinda a meanie. he's kinda a meanie so light angst (?) but barely. MDNI

an: haven't posted a longer work in a hot minute, but here is how you meet tattoo artist boyfriend!geto soooo give this one a chance big fanks to my lil twat @kazushawty for helping me out and reading bits of it.

as you push open the heavy glass door of ‘cursed ink studios,’ a subtle bell chimes softly, announcing your presence. instantly, the atmosphere inside crackles with an electric charge. the air is thick with the intoxicating scent of ink, mingling with the sterile bite of antiseptic. the walls are adorned with vivid flash art form a chaotic tapestry, while the rhythmic hum of a tattoo gun echoes through the room.

and there he is, geto suguru – a tall, enigmatic figure with jet-black hair and sleeves of mesmerising tattoos that seem to tell stories of their own. he sits at his workbench, surrounded by an array of ink bottles and tattoo machines, his piercing eyes never leaving the art he's creating. a carefully curated playlist of music plays softly in the background, punctuated by the occasional buzzing of the tattoo gun.

he glances up from his intricate work as you enter, his gaze slowly travelling up and down your form. there's a hint of curiosity in his eyes, as though he's wondering why you, of all people, have ventured into his sacred space. his expression, however, suggests that he's far from thrilled about the interruption.

"need something?" he asks, his irritation evident.

"i need a cover-up” you swallow your nerves, holding your head high, your voice steady, ”my ex's name."

geto raises an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed by your request. "ex's name, huh? you people never learn."

your jaw clenches at his condescending tone. "well, i'm here now, so can you do it or not?"

he continues to scrutinise you, his gaze feeling like a judgmental weight. finally, he nods, albeit reluctantly. "fine, show me."

with a sigh of resignation, you turn around, your heart pounding as you pull down the waistband of your jeans just enough to reveal the offending name covering your left ass cheek. it's a constant reminder of a relationship gone wrong, and you're more than ready to be rid of it.

"this won't be easy," he mutters, his fingers cool against your skin as he traces the outline of the name. his touch lingers, just a little too long, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. his fingers, skilled and confident, continued to trace the inked letters of your ex's name on your skin — almost toyingly. and you could feel the chill of the tattoo parlour's air-conditioning contrasted by the warmth of his touch.

his voice, though still gruff, held a trace of disgust "who did this?" he asks, not looking up from the tattoo.

you hesitate, your memories of that past relationship flooding back. "my ex-boyfriend," you reply tersely.

geto's fingers stop their tracing, and he lets out a low, almost imperceptible sigh. "you let your boyfriend do a shitty tattoo on you, and you let him make it his name," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "you practically let him brand you."

“is it your job to be such a bitchy artist?” you snap, already fed up by his comments. you’ve heard it from your parents, your friends, ever since you got that trashy tattoo. but couldn't disagree with that sentiment — you knew it was a shit tattoo. “i thought i was paying you for your artistry, not your smart mouth.”

"listen," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "you walk in here with that god awful mess on your skin, and you've got the nerve to criticise my attitude? if you want to be rid of it, you'll do well to keep that attitude in check, sweetheart."

you bite back a retort, realising that you've indeed crossed a line with your comment. there's a palpable tension in the air now, a simmering anger beneath the surface, and it seems that geto has no intention of backing down.

with a deep breath, you swallow your pride and offer a reluctant apology. "i'm sorry," you mutter, a touch of remorse in your voice. "i shouldn't have snapped at you."

he continues to hold your gaze for a moment, his expression still stern, before finally nodding. "apology accepted."

you didn’t actually have an idea of what you wanted for the cover up, you just knew you needed it gone. geto was a highly sought out cover artist so you had no doubt that he’d be able to do you good. with your initial meeting being heated, you thought it was best to leave him to do his thing.

with a sense of relief that the confrontation has subsided, you decide to give geto some space to work his magic. "i'll leave you to it," you say, your voice quieter now, and you turn away from him.

"good," he mutters, his focus fully on his ipad as he starts to sketch, not even looking as you leave the shop. 

geto usually was quick to draw up tattoo sketches for clients, but when it came to you he was stunned — too busy thinking about how your ass looked rather than what he was meant to tattoo on it. from the moment you stepped in his shop, he was intrigued, you didn’t see the type to get work done by him and the marking stretched on your ass didn’t seem like it would belong to someone with an attitude like yours. 

his mind was anything but focused on the design. he couldn't help but replay the encounter with you in his thoughts, your brashness and the way you'd stood your ground, even under his scrutiny.

"why the hell did she get that shitty tattoo?" he mutters to himself, his fingers deftly working his pen. the sketch was beginning to take shape, but his mind kept drifting back to the curve of your ass. he couldn't deny the attraction he felt, and it frustrated him. he was supposed to be a professional, detached from his clients beyond the art he created on their skin. but something about you had thrown him off balance.

“so you ready to get this tatted on you?” is the first thing he asks when you return the following day. you inspect his sketches in awe, of course you never doubted his talent but you didn’t think he’d be able to draw something you wanted without you even having to say.

“well it seems you do live up to your reputation,” you comment with a neutral facade, but you both know that you were downplaying your excitement — you were pleased. and like with any client, that made geto satisfied that he was doing his job correctly. but when he saw the way your eyes lit up when he initially showed you the sketches, it was a sight he wanted to see again. “i guess we can start the tattoo.”

“okay i’ll get my stuff set up, get rid of those,” he says nodding towards your jeans, “and lay down when you’re ready.” you slip yourself out of your bottoms, leaving the itty bitty thong that you knew you’d need for the appointment and that a small part of you hoped he liked.

he pauses when he sees you laying down on the seat in his station, your head resting in your arms, your ass slightly raised.  ‘this is gonna be a long session,’ he thinks to himself as he smirks, shaking his head as he works his way to his seat.

as he sits down, he places the stencil over your ass, and you berate yourself for getting giddy at the feeling of him rubbing over the design to make sure it was in place — wishing that his hand stayed for longer. 

“how are you with pain?” he asks, and from the way you were laying you weren’t able to see the way he was gawping at your ass.

“what type of pain?” you retort.

“y’know the type of pain where someones drilling into your ass for hours,” he comments as if it’s obvious but you both knew his words were hinting at more than just the tattoo.

“choice words there,” you muse, “but any type of pain i’m alright with, so give me your best.”

geto's needle hovers just above your skin, poised for action. "you sure about that?" he murmurs, his voice low and suggestive.

a coy smile tugs at your lips as you respond, "I can handle it if you can."

with a deliberate, almost tantalising slowness, he lowers the needle to your skin. the first touch is a sharp, stinging sensation, but you refuse to flinch. you're determined to hold your own, to meet geto's challenge head-on.

he continues to work, the needle dancing across your skin with a practised precision. the room is filled with the rhythmic sound of the tattoo machine, creating a hypnotic backdrop to your growing tension.

as minutes turn into hours, you find yourself lost in a strange mixture of pleasure and pain. the pain is undeniable, but there's something oddly exhilarating about it. you steal a glance at geto, his intense focus on his work, and you can't help but wonder if he's enjoying this as much as you are.

"still doing okay?" he asks, his tone a mix of concern and something more primal.

you bite your lower lip, suppressing a moan that threatens to escape. "i told you, i can handle it."

geto smirks, his gaze locked on your ass as he continues to tattoo. "you've got quite the threshold for pain. impressive."

“is it really? i'm sure you’ve worked on a lot of other clients with higher thresholds for pain.”

“but none of them have had an ass like yours though,” he mumbles to himself — but you hear him loud and clear, a grin forming on your face at the confession. “anyways, we’re all done now, go ahead and look in the mirror.”

you stand in the full length mirror, your head slightly turned at an angle as you gawp at your ass. your eyes widen seeing what was once your shitty exes name, now turned into a piece of true art. 

“so what d’you think?” he asks, and you didn’t even notice him coming to stand behind you until you felt his breath on the back of your neck, “this shit is hot right?”

“you can say that again,” you agree, keeping your eyes focused on the tattoo, trying to ignore the quickening of your heart beat at the presence of him, “this is really great though, like i couldn’t imagine my ass could look this good after having that tattooed on on it all his time.”

“well no need to imagine anymore,” geto’s face forms a smiling grin, you can tell he was admiring way more than just his artwork, “you mind if i take a picture… for my instagram?” he says, barely asking as his phone is already out of his pocket and is in his hands, he looks up at you for permission and you give a slight nod before he’s snapping away at your ass.

“are you sure this is for your instagram,” you tease, as he continues to take photos crouched down, as he circles your ass with his phone, “or is this just for your personal wank bank?”

“would you like it to be?” he retorts back swiftly, there wasn’t even any mischief in his eyes as he looks up at you, just pure lust.

“um i–” you stutter, only now feeling exposed — as if he hadn’t been working on your ass already for the past six hours.

“don’t get shy on me now,” he coos, standing up to face you head on, “y’gonna let me finish off making you forget that ex or yours or what?”

“be my guest,” you respond, trying to come across as nonchalant, but the eager look in your eyes gave geto all he needed to know. 

he pushes you softly, as he commands, “hands against the mirror and spread your legs.” and you do just that, as he comes behind you, fitting in between your legs perfectly. his hand forces ur back down, deeping the arch of your spine before both of his hands grab onto your ass.

geto really rubs and digs his thumbs into your cheeks, biting his lip at the sight at the way his fingers mould into your ass. “fuckk man,” he groans out, he’s not even in you yet and he was already obsessed with every inch of you. 

he frees his dick from his pants, and pumps it quickly before sliding it across your already gushing slit. you hiss at the contact, a pleased smile working its way on your face as the tip of his dick edges into you.

“s-shit,” you stammer, as he inches himself into you deeper, “w-what about the rest of the shop?”

“what about them?” he shrugs, “you don’t want them to hear naught you’re being right now? HEY GUYS—”

“oi,” you hiss out, your eyes widening as you turn your head to look directly at him.

“i’m just playing, i’m not ready to share you quite just yet,” he retorts, his dick moving in you at an achingly slow pace, “now, keep your eyes focused on the mirror, and you better not let those hands slip.”

before you can respond, he thrust his hips into you as deep as he could, his dick slamming into you. you moan out at the surprising force, trying your best to keep your palms flat on the surface of the mirror, as you stare straight at him — watching how he works his hands from your ass to your hips so he can drive into you with all of his force. 

“this pussy is s-so fucking good,” he praises, the sloppiness of your cunt making it easy for him to slide his dick in and out of you. “oh and this ass,” he continues giving a hard spank on your ass cheek, to emphasise his point, “c’mon throw your ass back on my dick, i wanna see it bounce.”

you fuck him back, doing exactly as he says, your ass meeting his hips with the same amount of force. his spanks encourage you to be quicker, to give him everything he wants. his repeating, strong strokes, have you feeling weaker, your hands slipping as you try to stay up right, when all you want to do is collapse and cum everywhere. 

“f-fuckk it’s too much,” you whine, as he drills into you.

“nah,” he says, shrugging his head, “it’s not enough,” he lifts up his legs, his digits pressing into your deeper, as he now angles his strokes even further into your pussy, hitting your spot with ease. “give it to me harder, i know you can” he encourages, another two swift spanks landing on your ass.

with his continuous contact of your ass and his hips, and the way his dick pushes into you deeper, you felt like you were splitting in two. but you kept going, thinking back to your earlier conversation, you didn’t want to prove him wrong, you wanted to show him that you can handle it, handle him.

geto was practically beaming, licking his lips feverishly at the sight of your fucked out face through the mirror as he watches himself plough into you, your body rocking forward with every thrust. his eyes concentrate on your ass, as he says, “d’you see how your rocking my work on you now?” and you nod dumbly, too busy trying to reach your climax to string a sentence together, “so fuck that ex of yours and his shitty ass tattooing, from now on you only can me on your body, you got that?” he asks and you nod again, but he shakes his head, his hand moving from your waist to your chin as he grips it making your eyes stay locked on his through the mirror, “i said do you got that?”

“ahhh s-shit yet i do, i do,” you say, mirroring his words, “i will only have you on my body, ‘promise.”

“good girl,” he approves, giving your chin a squeeze before letting go, “now cum.” 

with those simple words, you release all over him, your stance getting weaker, as you shoot out cum all over his dick. he’s quick to pull out of you though, stroking his dick as he sprays his cum all over your ass, with a deep groan.

your hands are still on the wall, as you take deep breaths, trying to recollect yourself. but you turn around swiftly seeing a flash of a camera behind you, and geto is back to crouching down, with his phone out, taking pictures of your cum covered ass.

“you mind if i keep these in my wank bank forreal this time?” he asks, smirking as you nod, “i’ll take some more later, but i got two questions to ask.”

“and those are…” you say, prompting him to continue.

“first, let me take you out after this?” he asks with a smirk, already knowing the answer. after the way he just dicked you down, you’d be a fool not to let him wine and dine you, “second, y’gonna come suffocate my face with that ass of yours or not?” you couldn’t even answer the second question since he’s pulling you down to the floor with him, with a joyous grin on his face.

AN: IGNORE THE FACT THAT HE CUMS ALL OVER UR FRESH TATTOO. LIKE JUST IGNORE IT. just focus on the fact that you have a lovely ass and geto loves it too. but yes do you want to see more, I HAVE ENOUGH IDEAS TO EVEN MAKE A LIL MASTERLIST FOR IT. I love tattoo artist boyfriend!geto so so much, like when u guys become an established relationship it actually gets so good. BUT I DONT REALLY LIKE THIS ONE, BUT IF U GUYS FW IT I PROMISE ILL ACTUALLY WRITE AND POST THE ONES I LOVE. BUT I FELT LIKE I HAD TO WRITE THIS FIRST SO YOU COULD SEE HOW U AND GETO STARTED. LMK UR THOUGHTS

[ashraffamily]

Help Ashraf's Family Escape Gaza Genocide🌿❤️

Vetted by @gazavetters , my number verified on their list( #74 )

Vetted on X platform on this spreadsheet (#391)

I'm Ashraf from the war-torn Gaza. I've lived an entire life under siege in Gaza, facing relentless military actions and life-threatening conditions daily. In October 2023, the conflict escalated drastically, devastating my newly built house, my neighborhood,my workplace, and jeopardizing the lives of my family.

I mourn the loss of our safe haven, but more urgently, I need to secure a future for my family away from the constant threat of bombings that have become our grim reality.

Meet Yamane, our precious seven-month-old. Who was born during this war, We aspire to provide him with opportunities that surpass our own experiences, fostering a future filled with joy and prosperity.

This campaign is a call to arms for all who believe in the transformative power of community support. By contributing, you're not just donating; you're actively shaping Yamane's world, ensuring his journey is filled with the promise and potential every child deserves. Join us in making a profound impact on his life

Yamen... he's only a baby. He doesn't understand the fear that grips us, the darkness that engulfs our lives. He just smiles, his eyes bright with innocent wonder, oblivious to the terror that surrounds him. He reaches for me with tiny hands, his laughter a fragile melody in this symphony of destruction. 💔

But how long can this innocence last? How long can we shield him from the reality of this war? How long can we keep him safe? 😥

Another side of this war

No gas. No electricity. It's just the cold, empty space where a stove should be.

It's a cruel irony that the war, which has already taken so much from us, has also taken away the warmth of a home-cooked meal. We are forced to rely on makeshift methods, the flickering flame of a makeshift stove fueled by wood or charcoal, a testament to our resilience, and our determination to survive.

The wood crackles and pops, spitting sparks that dance like fireflies in the gloom. It's a dance of desperation, a desperate attempt to coax warmth and nourishment from the ashes of our former lives. Each meal is a battle, a struggle against the elements, the hunger, and the uncertainty of the future.

We boil water in rusty pots over open fires, the smoke stinging our eyes, the fumes filling our lungs. We bake bread in makeshift ovens built from clay and debris, the aroma of baking dough a faint reminder of better days.

But even with these meager resources, we persevere. We cook, we eat, we share. We find solace in the act of preparing a meal, a reminder that even in the face of adversity, life continues. Yet, the weariness lingers, the weight of the war pressing down on us like a heavy cloak. We yearn for the simple normalcy of turning on a stove, of cooking a meal without the fear of smoke inhalation, of the comforting hum of a refrigerator.

The war may have taken away our electricity and gas, but it has not taken away our spirit. We will continue to cook, to eat, to survive.

We will continue to fight for our right to a life of peace, of prosperity, of simple joys. And when the darkness finally lifts, when the smoke clears and the city breathes again, we will remember the lessons we learned in the shadows.

We will remember the strength we found in adversity, the resilience of the human spirit, and the enduring power of a simple, home-cooked meal.

Please help me secure a future for my family away from the constant threat of bombings that have become our grim reality. We are immensely grateful for any support you can provide. It’s more than a donation—it’s a lifeline.

Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on their list( #74 )

Vetted on X platform on this spreadsheet (#391)

[starry-eyes-love]

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader (One-shot, AU, No Outbreak). One-shot but in the same universe as Marriage Dynamics. This happens way later than the storyline within that series though.  Can be read as a stand-alone or within the series.

Summary | Joel feels a little self conscious that he has to admit to you, his wife, that he has erectile dysfunction, and that he’s out of his little blue pills. You, being the understanding and loving woman that you are, remind him just how sexy he is, even with his little problem and that love doesn’t come with conditions.

Word Count: 5.4K

Warnings | 18+, Minors DNI, Smut.

Age gap (58/40s), language, husband/wife dynamics, got some angst in this one (but it ends where they are ok and happy), smut, f! (fingering), m! (hand job), mentions of f! (oral), slight body descriptions (she states she’s 30 lbs heavier), mentions of erectile dysfunction and Joel having to take Viagra, Joel being out of Viagra (that poor man), sweet and tender moments, comfort, terms of endearment, you teasing Joel that he’s old and him showing you that he’s not.  This is basically half story and half smut, so enjoy :) 

No longer using tag lists, please make sure that your notifications are turned on for my page so you are notified when I post something new.

Top banner created by artist on Instagram:  caimages_love 

The longer your husband snapped his powerful hips and ground into you, the more worked up you were getting. Joel knew how to work you up, get you so riled up that you’d beg him to fuck you. You were trying to bite back your moans and whimpers, not wanting to give in right away.  But when you heard Joel speak filthy things into your ear, you turned into a needy, whimpering little mess. 

Joel stood in the bathroom, looking up at himself in the mirror while sighing. He didn’t know how it happened. How did he become an old man where his body required medication to function normally. Here he was, 58, with a worn out body that he no longer recognized.  He had spent his entire life working construction, and now he was feeling it.  He had aches and pains in places that he didn’t even know existed. He took blood pressure and cholesterol medication everyday just to keep his body somewhat on the right track. But worst of all, he had to start taking a small blue pill to help him obtain and sustain an erection.  Yup, Joel Miller was diagnosed about six months ago with erectile dysfunction, something that he thought only old men got.  But here he was, 58, and having to take Viagra just so he could properly fuck his wife. Joel didn’t know what was worse, having to take the little blue pill or the fact that you knew nothing about it. To make matters worse, he ran out of his special little pills, and he couldn't get any more until about six weeks. His doctor was on vacation and wanted to see Joel upon his return before re-filling his prescription. Joel didn't know how, but he had to figure out a way to keep you happy, without embarrassing himself any further. As he ran a hand down his face, he exhaled loudly, mumbling to himself ‘goddamn, when the hell did I get old?’ 

“What's that scowl for, old man, especially so early in the morning?” You teased, walking up to the other sink in the bathroom to wash your face. Your master bathroom now had two sinks, his and hers. It was a side project that Joel had completed last summer with the help from Tommy. He got tired of your constant nagging of finding his facial hair trimmings in the sink. So he decided to knock out a few walls and build you your very own sink with counter space. A his and hers master bathroom off from your bedroom. It only took a few weekends, but eventually his little side project was done. Now you both had enough counter space, where the two of you weren't bickering about where everything went in the bathroom anymore. Joel no longer grumbled about you taking up his side of the counter with your serums and ointments for your face. And you no longer nagged him about finding his beard trimmings in the sink.

“Quit it,” he had huffed, giving you a dirty look in the mirror as he finished trimming his beard.

“Woah, what's that look for?” You asked, taking a few steps towards him to plant a tender kiss on his cheek. “Good morning. Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed or something?”  

Joel exhaled and shook his head, mumbling to you, “mornin,’” as you went over to your sink to wash your face.  You knew Joel enough to know that this scowl on his face was only reserved for when he was upset about something or someone. You had hoped that someone wasn't you. 

“Did I piss you off or something?” You asked while looking at him in the mirror, trying to figure out where his sour mood was coming from. “You're awfully grumpy this morning.”  When he didn't respond, you replied again with a little more bite to your words. “Well, for someone who got laid last night, you don't seem very happy about it today.”

Joel huffed at you while rolling his eyes and mumbling, “yeah, well, I'm paying for it this morning now ain't I? M’back is fucking killing me.” 

Oh, so that's why he was grumpy.

A part of you instantly became frustrated at his statement, but you bit your lip and tried not to say something inappropriate back. You enjoyed last night a lot with your husband, especially when you begged him to go harder. His answer to that request was to hold your head against the mattress as he fucked you hard from behind. It had been a long time since Joel Miller became unhinged like that in the bedroom, and if you were being honest with yourself, it felt fucking fantastic. It was something that you desperately missed.  However, according to Joel’s comments and current mood, apparently he didn't feel the same way today as you did. He was now hurting, wincing as he twisted to grab the scissors to trim his mustache. You didn't want Joel to regret doing what he did with you, nor did you want him to be in any pain. His obvious lack of enthusiasm this morning about your midnight activities made you feel self-conscious.  Nodding your head you said “ok,” as you attempted to wash your face. But when you stood there you felt yourself get anxious and self conscious about last night. 

Did he not enjoy it with me? Maybe it’s because I’m not as thin as I used to be anymore? I did put on about 30 pounds over the years, so maybe I hurt him with my weight?  You knew your body had changed a lot over the years, you no longer had a flat stomach or a tight ass. You had what people called a mom body. A slightly curvy, unattractive, stretch-mark laced body that carried three kids.  Your later adult years were more about raising your kids than it was about going to the gym and looking sexy like a model or a porn star. 

As you stood there, allowing your mind to run wild at the reasons why Joel may have not enjoyed himself last night, your hands started to tremble slightly and your eyes started to sting from the tears that were threatening to form. You quickly splashed water over them to try to stop the emotional reaction that you were getting. You were very hormonal recently, especially since your doctor said that you needed to stop your birth control. She told you several months ago that it wasn't healthy for a woman in her forties to continue to take birth control. So you stopped last month, two months after Joel got a vasectomy. Joel and you were done having kids. With Sarah finishing college, and with three kids that you had with him still at home, you had agreed that the only other future babies that would be in your house would be future grandchildren. What you didn't realize was that when you stopped birth control you would become more sensitive with your emotions again as your body adjusted. 

Usually any type of grumpy behavior or comments from Joel like this wouldn't bother you under normal circumstances, but today you were extra sensitive and emotional. It didn't help that you had been super horny for your husband for the past two weeks while he was gone on a business trip. With the lack of kids for the weekend, Joel had taken his last blue pill right before he got home. When he got home, he barely made it through the door before he was thrusting himself deep inside of you, claiming you once again as his. 

Now as Joel stood there, watching you through the mirror, he knew something was up. You kept alternating between splashing water on your face and then drying it. When he saw you do it a fourth time, he had to say something to you.

“Babe,” he said, trying to get your attention. When you didn't answer, but kept up your routine of splashing water onto your face, he knew something was wrong. He also noticed that you untied and retied your robe several times, mumbling to yourself that you hated your mom-type body. 

Fuck, Joel thought. He could see that you were reading too much into his mood and that you probably were coming to the wrong conclusion yet again with his attitude. Joel wasn't upset or grumpy from the sex he had last night, because damn he loved your body so much. He was so turned on by it last night. He loved pounding his wife’s tight little pussy and hearing all those filthy little noises that you made for him. The reason for his sour mood this morning was because he was out of those damn blue pills, the ones that allowed him to be buried deep inside of you as he heard you moan his name. 

When you didn't answer him, he tried again. “Honey, will ya look at me for a second?” When you finally looked up at him, he saw your lip quiver and the tears begin to fall. He immediately let out an exaggerated sigh, mumbling ‘fuck’ under his breath. 

As soon as you turned to leave, Joel spoke up saying, “baby, I didn't mean anything by it. Fuck, c’mere will ya.” You had only gotten about three steps out of the door before Joel grabbed you by the waist and pulled you hard against his chest. 

“Baby c’mon, I didn’t mean it like that. No, shh, it’s okay, don’t cry,” Joel said, holding you close. He had one arm around your waist holding you firm to his body, while his other hand was gently wiping the tears from your eyes. You wouldn't turn to look at him, so he just held you against his chest while trying to console you. “Baby, come on now. Shhh, don't cry sugar. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I'm not cryin’,” you mumbled, trying to sound stern, but failing miserably at your attempt. Joel cupped your cheek, and gently turned your head back towards him, kissing you tenderly while continuing to softly tell you that he was sorry for his mood and that he loved you. 

Joel Miller may be several things in life. He may be grumpy and not very communicative from time to time. Often he’s described by others as being an asshole, especially when people piss him off. Usually he doesn't apologize for his grumpiness or gruffness, unless it's dealing with family. And it fucking kills him to see you, his wife, someone that he desperately loves and cares for cry because of his behavior. Joel never likes seeing you cry, in fact, it’s his least favorite thing to see.

After a few moments of tender kisses, Joel slowly started to deepen them into more passionate ones. He was walking a fine line here. He was trying to make up for being an asshole to you this morning, but also trying not to progress it too far where his lack of ability in performance would be seen. But with those little whimpers that you were doing, along with how you were gently nipping his neck, Joel found his resolve quickly crumbling.

“Baby, we gotta slow down,” he said, nipping at your collarbone and then giving you a hot and messy kiss to your lips.  

God, it felt so good kissing his wife like this. Joel didn't remember the last time you two made out like this; all lips, tongue and teeth. He slowly backed you up to the wall and then hoisted you up, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist. After another needy whimper from your mouth, Joel's resolve completely crumbled and he found himself thrusting hard up into you and grinding his hips against your clothed core.

The longer your husband snapped his powerful hips and ground into you, the more worked up you were getting. Joel knew how to work you up, get you so riled up that you’d beg him to fuck you. You were trying to bite back your moans and whimpers, not wanting to give in right away.  But when you heard Joel speak filthy things into your ear, you turned into a needy, whimpering little mess. 

“Is this what my baby wants, huh? Does she want her husband to show her who’s boss? To show her how a real man fucks, hmm? 

“Yes. Please baby, f-fuck me. Show me how a real man does it, I need it,” you panted, reaching down to unbuckle and unbutton his pants. Your cunt was practically throbbing. So desperate to feel your husband’s stretch, to feel so full of him. Joel was a big man, he was long and thick. You always enjoyed the sting of his stretch, and the heaviness of his cock inside of you. 

As soon as you touched Joel’s belt, he remembered the big problem that he had. He was only half hard with the inability to get fully hard for you. Goddamn fucking pills.  Joel, feeling embarrassed at the situation, gently set you back down while placing a hand on top of yours. He was trying to stop you from reaching inside his pants.

“Baby, fuck, we can't” he said, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against yours, breathing slow, trying to find a way out of this embarrassing situation.

“What? Why? I don't understand,” you said with disbelief. You were trying to understand why your husband, who had been gone several weeks on a work trip, didn't want to have sex with you when the kids were gone. “Is it your back, honey?” You asked somewhat perplexed. “If it is, I can be on top and do all the work for you if you want. I don't mind, really.” You said, trying to reason with Joel to let you touch him more. When he didn't respond you reached forward and palmed him, feeling him only half hard.

“Please stop.” Joel said in a stern voice, grabbing your hand and gently removing it. “I- uh, I can't- fuck- we can’t, ok.” He said, voice shaking as he slowly backed away from you, running a hand down his face. He was disgusted with himself and the fact that he couldn’t give his wife the proper attention that she deserved. 

You stood there bewildered, unable to make sense of what was happening.  Did Joel Miller just turn down sex?  In all the years you two have been having sex together, he has never once stopped sex from progressing. You were racking your brain, trying to figure out why all of a sudden he’d stop you.  And the only solution that you could think of was that maybe you weren’t the only person he was seeing like this. Maybe he, just like your father, had found a new favorite toy on the sideline. You looked at your husband with mortified eyes, fighting with the firm possibility that maybe he was no different than your dad; a lying, cheating, bastard. “Wow mom, I guess you were right, all men do fucking cheat.”

Joel snapped his head up in your direction at your statement. What did you mean that all men cheat? What the hell were you even talking about?  

As you started to walk past Joel he grabbed your arm and said, “what the fuck do you mean all men cheat?”

“Joel, please” you said, struggling to keep your voice even.

“No,” he said, shaking his head and grabbing both of your arms, slightly shaking you in his grasp. “You think I’m cheatin’ on you, is that it? That I’m fucking another woman. Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he growled.

“Joel, please don’t do this. I-I-”

Joel saw your eyes in that moment, saw that you thought he was fucking someone else. That wasn't the case. He didn't want to admit his problem, but goddamn it, he wasn’t going to have you think that he was no different than your father.  Joel had no idea all those years that his best friend, your father, was using him as a goddamn babysitter so that piece of shit could go out and ball half of Austin as your mother recovered from her cancer treatments before she died of cancer.  No. Joel wasn’t a piece of shit like that, and goddamn, it killed him to have his wife think so low of him.

“Baby, ya gotta believe me. I ain’t fucking around on you, ok? Please sugar, ya gotta believe me. I’d never do that.” He said, clenching his jaw, battling with the anger and rage that was rising up inside of his mind. He didn’t want to explode at you over this. He wasn’t mad at you, he was disgusted with himself of why he wasn’t honest with you when all of this shit started for him. 

Joel’s problem of not getting or being able to sustain an erection didn’t happen right away.  It was a slow process.  At first he thought that maybe it was because things in the bedroom had gotten a little stale. But when Joel struggled to keep an erection even when he was alone, he knew that something was wrong.  He didn’t want you to worry, so he didn’t say anything to you. After a lot of embarrassing situations at home, and with himself, he decided that he needed to bring it up to his doctor.  After a few tests, his doctor had diagnosed him with erectile dysfunction, and then had given him a prescription of Viagra to try. At first Joel was nervous about taking them, wondered if he’d feel different.  But once he did, holy shit, it felt amazing. Those little blue pills were like a magic drug.  He could last longer and was harder than he’d been in years.  When he noticed your increase in sex drive because of it, he felt like he won the lottery, especially when he could give you two orgasms with just his dick alone. 

But slowly, his secret was getting harder and harder to keep from you. He quickly realized that those pills took anywhere between 15 to 60 minutes before they started working, which created a problem when you were trying to be spontaneous with him in the bedroom. At first he played it off at being tired, needing to rest for a little bit.  Sometimes he’d also tell you that he needed to take a shower first, to freshen up for you.  But when you’d wake him up on a Sunday morning, rested and freshly showered the night before, he struggled keeping his secret.  He started using blindfolds in the bedroom when the two of you would have sex, so he could hide the fact that he had to take a pill quick.  Sometimes when he waited for it to work, he’d give you oral sex and edge you.  On days when he couldn’t do that, he’d just lie and tell you that he had a really bad headache and he couldn’t have sex right now.  

He hated lying to you. He always wanted to tell you the truth, but every time he got the nerve to tell you something would happen or it just wasn’t the right time.  If he was being honest, he didn’t tell you because he felt embarrassed and ashamed at the situation. 

As you took another step to go around him, he yelled out “I got erectile dysfunction, ok.  And as much as I'd love to fuck ya right now, my dick won't- fuck- it doesn’t get hard like it used to and I ran out of my prescription pills. I ain’t cheatin’, I never have, and I’ve never wanted to. You got to believe me. I know, I’m sorry I haven’t been honest. But baby, I can’t do it anymore with you like we used to.” He said, voice cracking at the end.  Joel covered his eyes for a moment with his hand, wiping the tears away. 

“I want to fuck you so much right now, so much. But I can’t, ya hear me. It ain’t a different reason, baby. My body, it just won’t let me do it anymore. It won’t let me be the man that I’m supposed to be for you.”

You stood there shocked at his admittance.  When you went to open your mouth to console him, Joel quickly cut you off by saying, “I don't need your pity right now. I know I can't perform up to my wife's satisfaction anymore without help. And before you ask, no, I can’t take a pill right now. I have to wait until my doctor is back from vacation in six weeks. And I get it, you can’t wait that long and-”

“Joel” you said, gently cupping his cheeks in your hands. “Honey, I'm so sorry that this has happened.” He scowled at you with your reply, shaking his head and trying to step away. “Baby, please let me finish,” you said, forcing him to stay near you.

After taking a big breath you said, “I wish you would have told me about this when it happened instead of hiding it. Can you get an erection at all or?”

“Sometimes I can,” he said with a sigh, “but it ain't anything to write home about.” Joel let out a long exacerbated sigh. “Fuck, I can't fuck my wife when it's only half hard like this ok, and I’d appreciate it if you didn't think less of me for it and-” 

“Joel Allen Miller,” you said in a commanding tone.  “I would never think less of you for this. Baby, I love you, and everything about you. Yeah it does cause a little bit of an adjustment for us, but honey, I don’t care. You’re my husband and you should never feel like you can’t tell me something like this, ok?”  You then gently cupped your husband with your hand, slowly palming him, feeling him slightly stiffen. 

“Baby I-” Joel said, straining, trying to stay level with his voice and not break down with his words again. He didn't feel like a worthy man right now, and he was so embarrassed to feel or admit it.

“Please, Joel” you softly spoke, “let me try baby, please?”

“Darlin', it ain't gonna-”

“It doesn't have to get fully hard. Just please, please let your wife show her husband how fucking sexy he is, even with this little problem.”

“It ain't a little problem darlin’.” He said, slowly leaning his hips into your touch. He desperately wanted to feel his wife, to be inside her, to fuck her and hear her moan his name. 

“I know it ain’t a little problem honey,” you whispered, gently nipping Joel’s neck. You slowly started to unfasten his belt and unzipped his pants, lowering them with his boxers down to the floor. You encouraged him to step out of them, trying to get him as comfortable as possible. As you stood up, you slowly licked your hand, and then gently wrapped it around his half hardened cock, slowly stroking him the way he liked. You were also nipping, kissing, and lightly sucking on his neck, on the places that you knew drove your husband wild. As you continued, you whispered loving messages to him, things that you hoped would remind Joel of how much you loved him. 

“You are so sexy baby, and so big and strong. I feel so safe with you. I've missed you so much. I missed hearing you snore,” Joel let out a little grunt at that statement. “I've missed hearing you play your guitar, humming in the morning while you make your coffee. I've missed kissing you goodnight, and waking up next to you in the morning with you holding me.”

Joel leaned forward more, pushing your back against the wall as he tapped one of your legs to open wider for him. He quickly placed his hand down your sleep shorts and started playing with your clit as you talked.

“I-ah-I also missed your, your-”

“You missed my what darlin'?” He growled, thrusting his hips into your hand as he started moving two of his large fingers in and out of your wet, throbbing core. 

“Shit Joel, I'm-”

“Did ya miss this baby? Did ya miss your husband's fat fingers fucking you dumb?” He said, nipping at your sensitive spot on your shoulder.

“Mmhmm” you said, tightening your grip around his half hardened cock. Joel wasn't lying, he really did have erectile dysfunction. But at this moment, you didn't care. Your husband was curling those fingers perfectly inside of you, to where you were almost seeing stars while he continued to snap his hips back and forth hard, helping you stroke him the way he liked. 

Even though he wasn't buried deep inside of you. Something about the lewd noises the two of you were making, in combination with not being able to see your husband for the past two weeks, was rapidly propelling you towards the edge with your orgasm. 

Joel could feel your breaths becoming more erratic, and could feel your walls tightening around his fingers. He was also getting closer to finishing himself. Your hand was the perfect tight fit around his cock. He kept rocking his hips back and forth, fucking your hand, feeling himself leak precum everywhere. He wanted to bury himself so badly inside of you, but he knew that he couldn't. Just as he started to feel self conscious again about the situation, your filthy mouth forced him to stay in the moment.

“God, baby, I fucked myself so hard with my fingers when you were gone. But nothing ever felt as good as yours do right now. Fuck, next time I want to fuck myself with my fingers, I'm just gonna use yours-oh fuck.”

“Oh, you dirty fucking girl. Shit- You were fucking those- yeah baby- those small little fingers inside of you pretending- fuck- pretending that they were mine, huh?” He said, speeding up his thrusts with his hips and with his fingers.

“Yes Joel, fuck, don’t stop baby, please don’t-”

“I won’t stop, not until you gush around me.”

The two of you continued to pleasure each other, bringing each other towards the edge, but neither one tipping over just yet.  “Joel, I need more, baby. P-please, give me more,” you moaned. You were desperately snapping your hips back and forth, wishing it was your husband’s cock that was inside of you.

“Aw baby, look at you, riding my fingers like the dirty little girl that y’are.”

“Joel, baby, please-”

“Say it,” Joel growled, “say I'm the only one who makes you feel this good.”

“You are Joel, you are.”

“Say I'm the only one who gets to fuck this tight little pussy whenever I want.”

“Fuck- You do Joel, you do. It's yours, she's all yours.”

“She's all mine, huh?” Joel said, feeling your walls put his fingers in a choke hold with how tight you were squeezing him. “If she's all mine, then do it. Fucking come for me. Show me who's pussy this really belongs to. Ya heard me, I said come, now,” Joel growled. That coil that had wound itself so tight in your belly snapped hard at Joel’s command. You screamed your husband's name as you coated his fingers with your juices. Joel tightened his grip around your hand that was stroking him, while continuing to work you through your orgasm. After a few more hard thrusts himself, he came all over your hand.

You both slowly came down from your highs, and you couldn't help but giggle at the acts that the two of you just did. It brought back memories of when Joel and you dated. As Joel’s giggles eased he slowly ran his hand that was coated with your juices through your hair. 

“Hey you,” he said, smiling fondly down at you. God he loved you so much, in every way possible. You were his soulmate, his better half.

“Wow, where the heck did that come from?” You said, giggling to yourself again. When you looked up you saw how Joel was looking at you, like he could see your soul. 

“I love you so much, you know that right?” He said, slowly running his nose along your jaw.

“I know,” you said, sighing at his affection.

He then grabbed your hair hard in the back of your head, pulling down slightly to force you to look up at him. It didn't hurt, just surprised you a bit, which forced you to listen to the next words that came out of his mouth.

“Then never, ever, hint at the possibility of me wanting to fuck another woman again, ok. Baby, you are the only one for me. I ain't your father, and I sure as fuck ain't my ex-wife.”

Your eyes widened at the mention of Joel's ex-wife, he never told you the in-depth story of what happened, just the highlights that they drifted apart. “Joel, I-”

“No, sweetheart, I ain't talkin’ about her. What's done is done. Just, don't ever say that to me again, hinting that I'd cheat on you. Cause baby, I'd never, haven't ever, won't-”

“Ok Joel, I promise. No more fussin’.” You gently kissed your husband, giving him the slow intimate affection he was just giving you. After a few more passionate and tender kisses, Joel sighed and rested his head against your forehead, while rubbing his nose slowly against your nose. 

“I reckon we both need a shower,” he said after a moment, exhaling and laughing slightly to himself. “Come on, I'll get the shower started.” 

When Joel got to the bathroom doorway you said, “wait a sec,” and then walked up to him as he turned around to look at you. 

“Next time, please tell me this stuff ok? No more secrets.” He nodded his head in understanding as you leaned up and placed another tender kiss to his lips. When you pulled back you added, “good, cause I hate to break it to you. You’re officially now an old man.” Then with another small peck to his cheek, you sauntered off into the bathroom, giggling at the nickname that you gave him back when he was in his thirties. After starting the shower and getting in, you yelled back “are you coming old man, or do I need to help you with your wheelchair?”

“No wiseass, ya don't,” he yelled, looking up at the ceiling and shaking his head at your smartass remark. 

When he looked down he saw himself in the mirror once again. Yes, he did have gray in his beard, in his hair, and on his chest. He also could see that he wasn’t as physically fit as he once was in his 30s, but he still looked good.  He needed glasses to read most of the time now, and you and Sarah constantly harassed him about it. But that was ok. He liked it, and he loved you both dearly. He also creaked worse than the old board on the stairs, along with feeling his age every time he tried to do something that he knew he shouldn't. 

Sure, he had to take medication for his high blood pressure and high cholesterol. And now he got to add a little blue pill to the regimen, just so he could have sex with his wife. He was also at that age where he needed a colonoscopy done, something that was scheduled next week for him. 

With all of these things going on, Joel did have to admit that he was older than when he first started dating you. But even with this admission, he knew from the moments before that he’s never made you come so hard in your life from just his fingers alone. So you could say getting old did have its advantages.

With a small smirk on his face, and a slight puff to his chest, Joel quickly entered the shower with you. When you turned around he said, “old my ass. I'll show you who's old, ya little shit.” Joel then dropped down to his knees and ate you out like a starved man. After he gave you another two orgasms, one of which he heard you screaming his name off the shower walls. He eventually found himself lying next to you, cuddling you in the bed. You were exhausted from all of your extracurricular activities the past two days, and were curled up and ready for a nap. After catching your breath, Joel slowly whispered in your ear, “who's old now darlin’?” 

Before you could answer, Joel made his way down back your body and gave you one more Earth shattering orgasm. He wanted to prove a point. That he, in fact, wasn't too damn old.

End Story

[darling-i-read-it]

Burns

Charlie Swan x fem!reader, Carlisle Cullen x fem!reader 

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: age gap (for both men, both are legal but carlisle is like 223297493 years old so do with that what you’d like lol), burns (second and first degree), doctors office, me knowing too much about twilight 

Author’s Note: IM WRITING A PART 2 RN BUT WANTED TO SEE IF YOU GUYS LIKED THIS <3 I literally randomly had a burst of inspo to write this and i lowkey love it…

Summary: You’re a waitress at the local diner to pay off tuition in the summer. You have a small crush on the chief of police who comes in to get his coffee from you. You thought that was all it was until you met the resident doctor when you have a mishap and now you’re stuck between two incredibly charming men that both have a little crush on you. 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

Forks, Washington was under a near constant cover of rain. You were aware of it when you woke up in the morning, prepared to see the dreary weather that greeted you through the window. You could smell the rain on the pavement before it came, see it in the clouds as they hovered above. You were always prepared for it, always ready for it. 

Today, the sun was out. Summer usually calls for something more temperate. You found that those days weren’t necessarily unwelcome, but never your favorite. Everyone went outside when it was sunny. You could see people you hadn’t seen in ages. You never made an effort to see them in the first place for a reason. There was an uncharacteristic amount of skin showing. It may only be mid 70s but everyone suddenly acted like the ocean water was a relief to their burning skin. 

You sweat easily, especially in the diner. The Lodge had little to no air conditioning and the sun brought people in droves. Everyone wanted a bite to eat. They all remembered the diner had milkshakes. It was never a great mix for a waitress. 

You turned the corner on your heel, giving a quaint smile to Cora, your coworker. She looked like she was going to melt away. 

“Do you think anyones gonna leave early today?” she asked quietly behind the counter. You shook your head. She had the coffee pot in her hand and was holding it tightly so it didn’t spill. You looked around the packed diner, laughter bubbling from sections where it normally was silent. You shook your head, giving her a sad look. 

“We’re in for one.” 

“I should’ve called out,” she muttered. “You should’ve called out. This place needs us.” You shook your head. 

“You’ve gotta put food on the table,” you reminded her. She had a kid who was going into middle school. You had met her when Cora brought her in, her headphones stuck in her ears and reading some trashy teen novel. 

“Always the voice of reason,” she muttered. “Plus, you gotta pay tuition.” 

“Don’t remind me.” 

You were going to college in Seattle but always worked the summers back in Forks. You loved the little town despite its insanity. You found that most of it was quiet, even on louder days. Plus, it was always easy to find a job back home. You were practically shoved the waitress apron when you returned this summer. You had been doing it since you graduated high school, always trying to find something to keep yourself occupied. You were coming upon your senior year in college and the extra money helped immensely. 

“Hey, your boyfriends here,” Cora teased. She pushed herself off the counter to refill someone’s coffee cup. You furrowed your brows in confusion even though you knew exactly who she meant. 

You watched as chief of police Charlie Swan walked through the doors with a clink of the bell above his head. He met your eyes and gave you an awkward half wave, which you returned slightly more enthusiastically. He walked up to the counter, squeezing between the people sitting there. Someone said hello to him and he gave them a nod in acknowledgment. 

“You guys are busy today huh?” he questioned, scoffing. 

“Just a bit,” you admitted. His presence never ceased to bring butterflies to your stomach. Maybe you were harboring a small/not so small crush on the sheriff but you tried your best not to show it. You assured Cora it was just something silly for you to feel as you passed through your work day. Still, her eyes lingered on yours as she went around the counter to greet someone else because she knew you were busy. “It’s the sun.” 

“Brings out all the loonies,” he said. 

“I imagine you’re busy out there too.” He was always scanning around to make sure no one was doing anything wrong. His eyes flicked from you to the people beside him, then back to you. 

“Taking my 15.” 

“Just to see lil ol me?” you teased. Even as the words left your mouth you felt self conscious of them. This time though, he gave a half smile. 

“You make the best coffee I’ve ever had,” he promised. You tried not to get flustered. 

“Well, it looks like you need a double today, Sheriff.” 

“Charlie, how many times do I have to tell you?” You rolled your eyes. He leaned against the diner counter even though there were no seats. You turned around, every other table lost in your mind. Cora would help you out until he left.

“Well Charlie, it might be too hot for a hot coffee. You could’ve gone to one of those fancy coffee shops,” you offered, grabbing a coffee pot. 

“Yeah, can you imagine me ordering there? I have a hard enough time with you.” 

“I think I get what you mean by now,” you joked. You poured him a cup and grabbed three sugars and two creams. “Anything else?” 

“You always this quick with your service?” he questioned, looking at the people down the line who hadn’t gotten their food. 

“I’m just the coffee girl with a pretty smile. I don’t control the food orders.” You handed him a stirring stick as he opened his sugar packets. “Plus, you’re the chief of police Charlie. I don’t wanna get arrested.” He chuckled, a real genuine laugh. 

“I think I’ll let you off for this one.” You smiled at your success. The laugh was guaranteed to be the highlight of your shift. 

“Thanks Charlie.” You turned back to the kitchen which was starting to call things out. “Anything else?”

“No ma’am.” He grabbed some cash out of his wallet. “Keep the change.” 

“You’re my favorite customer Charlie,” you joked at his more than generous tip of 100%. He did a little salute with his finger and raised the cup to you. 

“Go do your job otherwise you’re bound to get more angry customers than I am.” 

You nodded once and bowed out of the conversation gracefully. You grabbed the food from behind you and started to bring it out. Cora gave you a look as you passed her, the smile plastered on your face a clear tell of your conversation. 

“Peach cobbler,” you said to one of your regulars. She was a small old lady who always came in on Saturdays, at exactly the same time. You enjoyed talking with her and catching up on her life. She got the same thing each time and the consistency was something you appreciated. “Sorry it’s been slower today Miss. Heidi. The heat has the whole of Forks out!” She shook her head, brushing you off. 

“No worries at all,” she assured you. “It’s not like I’m not gonna come back.” You shared in her shaky laughter. She picked up her fork just as you were about to leave and pointed it at Charlie. “You making heart eyes at the chief over there sweetheart?” You flushed immediately. Maybe you weren’t so great at hiding it. 

“Maybe. But keep your mouth shut Heidi,” you whispered with a smile. She chuckled. Her eyes lingered on Charlie who was finishing his coffee already. He had started a conversation with the man beside him. Charlie seemed to know everyone in town. 

“Aren’t you a little young for him?” You rolled your eyes. 

“It’s perfectly constenting and legal,” you assured her. “I’m plenty older than his daughter if that’s what you’re gonna say.” 

“I was gonna mention.” Her eyes wrinkled at the edges, shaking her head. Her movements didn’t feel like she was disagreeing with you. More so that she was gossiping with a friend, just girls being girls. “He had his heart broken by her mother, you know. He’s a good man.” 

“Is that your consent Heidi? Because I don’t even know if he feels the same way.” Your voice was lighthearted. She grabbed your hand, her saggy skin feeling comforting. 

“I wouldn’t worry too much sweetheart.” You scrunched your face a little and shook off her words. You were still on the clock. 

“Enjoy your peach cobbler Heidi.” 

-

You brushed your hair out of your face. The sun had finally subsided for the evening, giving way for the clouds. You embraced their presence, appreciating the way that the cool air felt on your overworked skin. Cora was still hanging around after her shift, waiting for her husband to come pick her up. You sat on the back steps of The Lodge, watching the trees sway. 

“The air feels so crisp,” you muttered. 

“You say the weirdest things,” she grumbled, laughing. She was leaning against the building. “It’s the trees.” 

“I know.” You were going to leave right after work and finally drive back home but you needed a moment to sit and enjoy the day. It had been a long shift. Cora and you were officially trauma bonded. 

“How was the chief?” 

“Good,” you promised. “Sweet.”

“A guy can be sweet and catch criminals?” 

“He’s assertive,” you argued. When Cora laughed she did it with her whole chest. 

“Honey, you’re down bad.” You rolled your eyes and stood up. Cora’s eyes followed you as you did so, turning back to the door inside the diner. “You’re goin back into that hellhole?” 

“Forgot my phone,” you said. “Also, I am not. It’s a work crush. I’m entitled to one! Just like you like the produce guy!” 

“I do not like the produce guy. I think he’s hot. Big difference!” You rolled your eyes as you opened the door back inside. The heat hit you again, unpleasantly. You had to weave through the cooks to get back to the front. You couldn’t remember when you had put your phone down. You were making a phone call during your break. Maybe you had left it on hte steps outside after all? 

“Hey Jerry?!” you called to the cook in the back.

“What?!” 

“You seen my phone?” 

“No! All I’ve seen are burgers!” You rolled your eyes harder this time and dipped underneath the counter to see if you had put it with the sugars and stuff. You let out an annoyed groan when it wasn’t there. 

You turned too quick and ran right into the closing waitress. She was holding a hot pot of coffee and effectively spilled it all over you. You gasped involuntarily, the feeling of scorching coffee seeping through your clothes. The gasp turned into a seethe as you packed up. You could hear her speaking, the high pitched, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” reverberating off your eardrums. You had dropped coffee on yourself before. All you could think of was that you needed a towel and some cold water. 

You turned on a dime and walked back to the kitchen. You turned on the sink back there and fumbled your hand around for a towel to use. 

“Jerry, towel,” you mumbled, the burning skin now setting into a tingle. He turned his head around and saw you. He started to fumble around. You walked in front of him to grab the towel and just barely lost your balance, causing your hand to fly up onto the table. 

Right onto the stove. 

This time you yelped. The coffee was already forgotten as there was now more of an issue at hand. 

“Woah dollface!” Jerry exclaimed. He grabbed your wrist because you were just staring at your red hand. You had put your entire palm down. You looked up at him, tears staining your eyes from pain, and he brought you over to the sink. 

“Oh fuck,” you groaned as he put it under the cold water. It didn’t subside any pain, just added another sensation. “Jerry that hurts!” 

“Hey Y/N, I have your phone in my apron.” Cora came through the door to witness you breathing heavily next to the sink, Jerry the cook practically holding you down. 

“She burned her hand on the stove,” he explained. 

“She spilled coffee on me,” you blubbered childishly. You could feel all your body parts at once, like you were on fire. You had no brain power to say anything else. 

“Oh Jesus,” Cora muttered. She rushed forward, grabbing your wrist to look at it. “You gotta get this checked out honey.” You gave her a somber looking face. “I know, I know. I’ll take you. Where’s your car keys?” You reached in your apron with your non burnt hand. It was soaking wet from the coffee. 

“Is she okay?” the waitress asked, sticking her head through the window. 

“She burned her hand on the stove,” Jerry said. 

“She what?!” 

Cora put her hand on your back, leading you out the door. You took deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth. You were fine. You were gonna be fine. 

“I’ll be okay,” you whispered. “You have to g-”

“I’ll have Steven do it,” she said. Her husband. You gave her a look of pure thankfulness as she helped you into the passenger seat of her car. 

“I really don’t have to go to the hospital over this,” you tried to say. 

“I know you don’t. But I think it’s safer than waiting.” You put your head against your headrest. 

-

Cora dragged you by your free arm to the front desk. She was the one who gave your name and your information as you stood beside her, holding your hand. You looked like a mess, given the coffee all over you. You were sure this could all just be fixed by some water and ointment from the store but Cora insisted. 

She rambled on about how a family member hadn’t gone in for a burn and it ended up being more severe then they thought, damaging below the skin. Her words were not comforting. 

Eventually they called you back to be looked at. You sat on an exam table with a thin paper on top. A nurse had come in to check on you and give you something for your hand while you waited for the doctor. 

You were in a row of beds. Cora pulled the curtains aside to give you privacy. 

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” you said. 

“They don't get to know all your business. HIPAA or whatever.” You squinted. 

“I don’t think-” 

“Ladies.” Carlisle Cullen stepped through the curtain at the open side. He was holding a clipboard, a charming smile plastered on his face. Your breath hitched at the sight of him. He was gorgeous. “Y/N, I hear you burned your hand.” You nodded. 

“And her chest,” Cora muttered. She must have noticed Carlisle’s looks as well. Or maybe she just noticed your reaction to him. You cleared your throat. 

“I had coffee spilled on me.” 

“No, you should check it out. It’s bad.” You gave a look. Carlisle’s smile remained, shaking his head. You had heard of him but never had a reason to come out and see him. You wouldn’t even call this a valid reason. 

“Sounds like an awful case of bad luck.” You nodded. “Can I take a look?” He sat on a spinny chair and pulled it towards you. You extended your hand to him. 

“I’m gonna go call Steven,” she said to you. You nodded. She patted your back, her eyes lingering on your doctor even as she left. Carlisle held your hand in his, gently looking it over. You looked down at him. 

“A stove did this?” 

“Yeah. It was dumb,” you promised. “I lost my balance looking for a rag for the coffee burn.” 

“And that’s okay?” You nodded. 

“I think. I mean, my hand feels way worse,” you assured him. 

“Your friend seems to think otherwise.” 

“Cora’s dramatic by nature.” He laughed gently. 

“Well the stove fought back.” He wheeled backwards towards the table beside your bed. “It looks like second degree burns on your hand. I’ll send you home with some ointment for it and you’ll wanna wrap it up so that you don’t get it caught on your clothes or anything.” You nodded. “I’ll wrap it for you first, show you how to do it.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Of course.” He stood up and fumbled in the desks drawer. “Are you sure you don’t want me to check on the coffee burns?” He glanced back at you. You looked down at your shirt. It had mostly gotten your stomach. You could still feel pain there, probably driven by the fact you never got to clean it off. 

“If you think it’ll help?”

“Stomach burns are interesting just because of their placement. It’s harder to wrap them. I think it would be beneficial for me to make sure they’re only first degree, if anything.” You nodded. You would listen to him read the phone book. 

“Okay.” He walked back over. Before even touching your shirt he made eye contact with you. 

“Only if you’re comfortable. I can wait till your friend comes back if you want me to.” You shook your head. 

“I’m okay!” you promised. You cleared your throat and grabbed the hem of your shirt. You carefully lifted it up over your torso, holding it just above the wet spot. Carlisle’s eyes went down to your body. 

“You said the hand hurt more?”

“By far.” 

“Can I touch you?” Please. You cleared your throat again. 

“Sure.” He put an icy hand on your hip, lightly brushing your burn with his thumb. 

“How much does that hurt? Scale one to ten?” 

“Five.” He applied more pressure. 

“Now?” 

“Seven. Your hands are really cold, which could be worsening the effects,” you joked. He chuckled, his lips turning up a bit. 

“Sorry about that.” He backed up a bit. You put your shirt back down. “Those are first degree burns. It only hit in some spots. Should feel numb or touchy for a couple days. You can put the ointment there too but you shouldn’t have to wrap it up.”

“The hand needs it.”

“The hand needs it,” he agreed. He had put some stuff on the counter, which he now took in his hands. He squeezed something out a bottle and put a bit of it on his finger, taking your hand back in his. “Let me know if the pressure is too much.” 

You watched him, your free hands fingers curled under the bed you were sitting on. He gently covered your hand, using such a light touch that it was like he was barely there. 

“You’re good at this.” 

“It’s my job,” he said, smiling. “Are you from out of town? I don’t think I’ve had you in here before.” 

“Just lucky,” you quipped. “I go to college in Seattle too so I’m usually out there.” He nodded slowly. 

“Fancy.”

“The drive back is beautiful.” He nodded slowly. His hand lingered on yours as he examined his work. “So is this town.” 

“Do you work at the diner?”

“Yeah! That’s where I got this beauty.” He scooted back, grabbing the bandages.

“I think my son’s seen you there. He’s graduating high school in a year and likes his seclusion,” he explained. 

“Son?” you asked. 

“Edward.” 

“No, I’m just stunned you have a child. You look far too young,” you said, laughing incredibly. He grinned sheepishly. You tried not to think of him being married or the lack of ring on his finger. 

“He’s technically my foster son,” he described. 

“I see. Do you do it all on your own?” You winced. That was aggressive. “I don’t mean to pry.” “It’s alright,” he said, shaking his head, completely cool. “Yes, they’re all under my care. I haven’t found the right one quite yet. Plus, she’d have to take on more than a couple stragglers with me.” His eyes flicked up to yours. They met for a moment longer than they should have. You had to look away. 

“Sounds like a task.” 

“It’s definitely not for everyone.” He tightened your bandage. “There. I’ll send you home with some of this, it’ll be sent to wherever you get your prescriptions.” He stepped back from you. “Try to be careful around stoves next time.”

“Yes sir.” He gave you one more look, a kind hearted smile and then was on his way. You followed him until he was gone out of view. You were glad he hadn’t checked your pulse because you were sure it was beating out of your chest. Cora came around the corner. 

“He’s too old for you too,” she said. You laughed dryly, shaking your head. You could practically still feel his touch on your hand. So gentle. 

“You’ll learn to get used to it,” you teased her. She rolled her eyes. “Were you waiting out there the whole time?” 

“Wanted to give you and Doctor Dreamy some alone time.” 

“You’re such a wingwoman!” 

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell the Sheriff.” 

Part 2

[mononijikayu]

pasilyo — fushiguro toji.

"Yeah…." he admits, opening his eyes to meet yours. "Just… watching you. Thinking." "Thinking about what?" you ask, your curiosity piqued by the softness in his tone. Toji hesitates for a moment, searching for the right words. "About how lucky I am," he finally says. "How lucky I am to have you, to have this life. I never thought I’d be here, with you, like this. It still feels… unreal, sometimes." Your smile widens, and you shift closer, your hand moving to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "It’s real, Toji. I’m here, and so are you."

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: Fluff, Romance, Husband and Wife, Parenthood, Husband! Toji, Mamaguro! Reader, Comfort, Fix-It, Domesticity, Family Life, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Mention of Familial Abuse, Mention of Neglect, Megumi is Such A Cute Baby, Toji Is The BEST Wife Guy;

WORDS: 5.4k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: hi guys, i'm sorry i've been out and about. my other brother got sick and i've been the one doing much of the his chores and taking care of our younger brother!!! i'm about to write 'thirty-nine' and will be doing another poll for the upcoming works!!! thank you for your understanding and love!!! also @v4ntaaa-w4ves has been waiting for this, so i hope i deliver!!! many thanks <3

main masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━

AS A BOY, ZENIN TOJI THINKS HE WAS SACRED TO SLEEP. He remembered how it was frightening to even bat his eyes closed as a boy. His father had a harsh attitude about remaining alert at all times. Jinichi was father’s favorite for that reason, he thinks. Toji never slept a wink on those rough days.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t have time to dodge the incoming attack. Toji learned from an early age that he had to learn fast, that he had to grow up quickly, and be the strongest. Or he wouldn’t be able to live. In those days, he thinks that he really wasn’t deserving to be alive. And he hated it. He hated it every single day.

Those memories are etched deeply into his mind, a stark reminder of the relentless training and constant vigilance. The Zenin way. He hated the Zenin way. And he perhaps always will for the rest of his life. He feels at times that he is still that boy again.

The fear of closing his eyes, even for a moment, was ingrained in him, the bruises and scars serving as his father's unforgiving lessons. Jinichi, with his ability to stay awake and alert, became the favored son quite quickly, leaving Toji to struggle on his own. To be alone in that pit, alone with those cursed spirits as he cried. 

Toji's childhood was a relentless cycle of pain and survival, where sleep was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Where youth was thrown for the greed of power, of strength. He learned to anticipate danger, to read the slightest shift in his surroundings, to become a weapon honed by necessity.

It was a brutal existence, but it shaped him into the man he is today. Toji sighs, shaking his head. Those days were over, they were long gone. He doesn’t have to go back. He doesn’t have to suffer anymore. He looks at you and closes his eyes. He’s here, with you. That’s all that matters.

Now, lying beside you, those old habits are hard to break. After all this time, he still doesn’t sleep well. There were a lot of things that have changed about Fushiguro Toji. But the years of conditioning still grip him tightly, making it difficult to find peace even in the safety of your embrace completely. Yet, as he watches you sleep, Fushiguro Toji feels a small measure of that peace seep into his heart. 

Toji thinks that he needs to pinch his arm every morning he wakes up. He doesn't think this is real, living his life with you. It's hard to believe that it's been a few years since you've changed his life, for all the better. He turns to you, looking at your still sleeping form. He sighs, his eyes softening as he looks at you. Every inch of you is a treasure to Toji.

His rough exterior belies the tenderness he feels as he gently brushes a strand of hair from your face. The memories of his past, filled with turmoil and struggle, seem to fade away in the presence of your serene beauty. Toji feels an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the love and peace you've brought into his life.

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, careful not to wake you. As he pulls back, he takes a moment to marvel at how perfectly you fit into his arms, how natural it feels to have you by his side. It's a stark contrast to the solitary life he once led, filled with danger and loneliness.

Toji's hand finds yours beneath the covers, and he intertwines your fingers, feeling the warmth and reassurance of your touch. He knows he's not dreaming, that this is his reality now, a reality he never thought he deserved but one he cherishes deeply. 

Toji thinks that his hands are soaking wet, or maybe he’s just feeling it, like a river overflowing with summer rain’s tears falling from the sky. He’s overwhelmed with relief that he could be with you, that he lives a life like this, free from grief and pain. It’s always been like this since you both met.

Toji can pinpoint that exact moment when he first looked at you, the spark that burst inside him. It was your smile—that’s the thing that made him feel alive. Even now, as you sleep, you smile so beautifully. When you smile, Toji thinks the world becomes a better place. It becomes a wonder. And he lives it, every day. And he loves it.

He brushes the hair from your face and takes a languid sigh. If he were to have the words to speak, he thinks they wouldn’t be enough. The words existing wouldn’t be enough to capture the wonder he’s found in you. How his body aches to never be apart from you. How in every breath he takes, he cannot help but look at you. Even when he’s at work, he ends up thinking of you. Of wanting you. Of longing to be with you.

And now that you’ve given him the world, the blessings of life in the form of your dearest son, Megumi, he thinks that everything he feels for you has multiplied tenfold. He never imagined he could feel this way, so completely and utterly devoted. But here he is, holding onto this life, this love, with everything he has.

Toji’s chest tightens with emotion as he gazes at you, feeling a mixture of awe and contentment. You’ve transformed his world, filling it with light and joy he never thought possible. And now, with Megumi, that love has only deepened, rooting itself firmly in his heart.

He knows that no words could ever fully express what you mean to him, but every day, he’ll show you. He’ll show you in the way he holds you, the way he cherishes each moment, the way he dreams of growing old by your side. Because with you, Toji has found everything he never knew he needed, and he’ll spend the rest of his life loving you as fiercely as he does now.

Toji's thoughts are interrupted by the subtle shift in your breathing as you slowly wake. He watches as your eyelids flutter open, and a sleepy smile spreads across your face when you see him. That smile—the one that always melts his heart, no matter how many times he's seen it.

"Good morning," you murmur, your voice soft and warm, like the first light of dawn.

Toji leans in, his hand still gently brushing your hair back. "Good morning to you." he replies, his voice low and tender. He can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth as he looks at you, his heart swelling with emotion.

You reach up, your fingers lightly tracing the line of his jaw, and he leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment as if savoring the contact. "You’ve been awake for a while." you say, a knowing look in your eyes.

"Yeah…." he admits, opening his eyes to meet yours. "Just… watching you. Thinking."

"Thinking about what?" you ask, your curiosity piqued by the softness in his tone.

Toji hesitates for a moment, searching for the right words. "About how lucky I am, y'know?" he finally says. "How lucky I am to have you, to have this life. I never thought I’d be here, with you, like this. It still feels… unreal, sometimes."

Your smile widens, and you shift closer, your hand moving to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "It’s real, Toji. I’m here, and so are you."

"I know." he murmurs, his hand coming to rest over yours, holding it against his chest. "But sometimes… It feels like a dream. A good dream. One I don’t ever want to wake up from."

"You won’t," you assure him, your voice filled with gentle certainty. "We’re in this together, for the long haul. You, me, and Megumi. We’re a family."

The mention of Megumi brings a softness to Toji’s expression that only you’ve ever seen. "Our family," he echoes, the words filling him with a deep sense of fulfillment.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, and Toji melts into it, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head as he deepens the kiss just slightly, savoring the moment. When you pull back, your eyes meet his, and there’s a warmth there that makes his chest tighten with emotion.

"I love you, babe." you whisper, your voice carrying all the sincerity in the world.

"I love you too." Toji replies, his voice thick with emotion. "More than I can ever say."

You smile again, and Toji feels that familiar spark ignite in his chest, the one that started it all. He knows, deep down, that with you, he’s found something he never thought he deserved. And he’ll do everything in his power to keep it, to keep you, for as long as he lives.

As the morning light filters into the room, bathing you both in its gentle glow, Toji feels a profound sense of peace settle over him. This is his life now, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━

TOJI THINKS THAT HE REMEMBERS YOUR WEDDING BEST. You walked slowly towards Toji then. It was a simple wedding, just you, him, and a handful of close friends. The sun was warm against your skin, the air filled with the scent of fresh flowers and the soft hum of nature. Toji stood at the altar, looking almost out of place in his crisp suit, his hands clenched at his sides as he watched you approach. 

He had wanted to wait. If he was being honest, you deserved the best wedding. He had spent nights thinking about it—how you deserved the most beautiful flowers, the most stunning dress, the most exquisite ring. The thought of giving you anything less than perfection had gnawed at him.

But you didn’t care. The grand ceremony, the extravagance—none of it mattered to you. When he voiced his concerns, you had smiled, taking his hand in yours, your voice soft but firm.

“It’s okay, Toji. I don’t need all of that. I don’t want all of that. I just want you. Only you.”

He had looked at you then, his heart clenching at the sincerity in your eyes. “Are you sure?” he had asked, his voice rough with uncertainty. “You deserve so much more.”

But you only shook your head, your smile unwavering. “This is more than enough for me. You’re more than enough for me.”

And so, he waited by the priest, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched you walk down the long aisle towards the church altar—and towards him. You wore a simple sundress, the fabric flowing around you as you moved, your hair loose and catching the sunlight. To him, you looked more beautiful than any bride he had ever seen.

As you neared, he could see the happiness radiating from your face, your eyes bright with joy. The closer you got, the more he could feel the tension easing from his shoulders, replaced by a warmth that spread through his chest.

When you finally reached him, your hand slipping into his, you looked up at him with a grin that made his heart stutter. “I’m here!” you said softly, your voice filled with a quiet assurance.

He could hardly speak, his throat tight with emotion. “You’re really sure about this?” he asked one last time, his voice a hushed whisper meant just for you. “About…me?”

You laughed then, a light, melodious sound that seemed to echo through the quiet church. “Toji, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I love you. That’s all that matters.”

And with those words, everything fell into place. The doubts, the worries—they melted away in the warmth of your gaze. Toji felt something deep within him shift, a spark of realization that this was real, that you wanted him—just as he was.

The ceremony passed in a blur, your vows exchanged with soft smiles and whispered promises. When the priest finally pronounced you husband and wife, Toji didn’t wait for permission. He pulled you into his arms, holding you close, his heart pounding against his chest. You giggled, your arms wrapping around his neck as he buried his face in your hair, breathing in the scent of you.

“I’m never letting you go, hm?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. The weight of his words hung in the air, a promise and a vow all in one.

“I’m not going anywhere.” you replied softly, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “I’m yours, Toji. Always.”

And years later, as he watches you sitting there, holding your son Megumi in your arms, he knows he was right not to let go. You and Megumi—the two of you are the epitome of all the blessings he has in his life. The only blessings he’ll ever want.

He sees you notice him from across the room, your face lighting up with that same smile that first drew him to you. “Good morning to you, babe.” you greet him, your voice warm and welcoming.

You lean down, gently encouraging Megumi, who’s nestled in your arms, to greet his father. “Say good morning to Daddy, Megumi.”

Megumi, still sleepy-eyed, blinks up at him before mumbling little incoherent noises back at his father. Each and every sound ofhis small voice making Toji’s heart swell with affection. He nuszzles closer to you, your little one, which causes you to giggle.

Toji crosses the room, unable to keep the smile from his face as he kneels beside you. “Good morning, sleepy.” he replies, his voice soft as he cups your face, leaning in to kiss your forehead. Then he turns to Megumi, pressing a gentle kiss to his tiny head. “Good morning, little man.”

He wraps an arm around you both, pulling you into his embrace. In this moment, surrounded by the love of his family, Fushiguro Toji feels a deep, contented peace settle over him. He doesn’t need anything else—this is his life now, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Toji sits down beside you, his arms still wrapped around you and Megumi, feeling the warmth of his little family pressed close. Megumi squirms slightly in your lap, his tiny hands reaching out for his father, and Toji can’t help but smile as he gently takes the boy into his own arms.

"Hey there, kiddo." Toji murmurs, his voice soft as he cradles Megumi against his chest. The boy blinks up at him with wide eyes, a mixture of curiosity and contentment in his gaze. Toji can see so much of you in those eyes, and it fills him with a quiet joy he never thought he’d experience.

Megumi babbles something unintelligible, his small hands reaching up to pat at Toji’s face. Toji chuckles, feeling the tiny fingers explore the rough stubble on his jaw. "What’s this, huh? Not smooth enough for you?" he teases, his voice filled with warmth.

You laugh softly beside him, watching the two of them with a smile that makes Toji’s heart skip a beat. "He’s just curious, I think." you say, leaning your head against Toji’s shoulder as you watch Megumi continue his investigation of his father’s face.

Toji nods, his eyes never leaving Megumi’s. "Well, he’s got plenty of time to figure out all the mysteries of the world." he replies, his voice low and tender. He shifts slightly, adjusting Megumi in his arms so that he can sit more comfortably. "And I’ll be here to help him every step of the way."

Megumi, as if sensing the love and security in his father’s voice, gives a soft coo and reaches for Toji’s nose, squeezing it with a surprising amount of determination. Toji snorts, the unexpected sensation making him laugh, and Megumi’s face lights up with delight at the sound.

"Oh, so that’s funny, huh?" Toji says, his tone playful as he nuzzles his nose against Megumi’s cheek, earning another giggle from the boy. "You think you’re pretty strong, don’t you?"

Megumi responds with more babbling, his tiny hands patting at Toji’s face and chest with a mix of curiosity and affection. Toji’s heart swells as he feels those little hands, so small and fragile, reaching out to him with such trust. Each touch, each small gesture from his son, feels like a precious gift—something Toji never thought he’d be lucky enough to experience.

As he looks down at Megumi, his heart bursts with an overwhelming surge of love and pride. He sees you in every part of his son, from the brightness of his eyes to the way his lips curl into a dimpled smile. Those eyes, so full of wonder, are the exact tenderness as yours, carrying the same spark that captivated Toji the first time he met you. It’s like seeing a piece of you, the most beautiful piece, in the small boy resting in his arms.

Megumi’s laughter, a sweet, melodic sound, is a mirror of your own. It echoes in Toji’s ears, a reminder of the joy you bring into his life every day. When his son pouts—those soft, pink lips curling down on his chubby cheeks in a way that’s both endearing and familiar—Toji can’t help but think of you. The way you’d pout when you didn’t get your way, or when you were deep in thought—it’s all there in Megumi.

Everything about his son that makes his heart ache with love is because of you. It’s in the way Megumi tilts his head with curiosity, just like you do when you’re pondering something. It’s in the way he smiles, a smile that lights up the room and makes everything feel right in the world. That smile, that pure, innocent smile, is a reflection of the love and light you’ve brought into Toji’s life.

He traces a gentle finger along Megumi’s tiny nose, marveling at how perfect it is, how perfect he truly is. And it’s all because of you, his beloved wife. Toji never imagined he could feel this way—that he could look at someone so small and see the entire world reflected back at him. But here it is, in the form of this little boy who’s as much a part of you as he is of him.

Toji’s voice catches in his throat as he whispers, almost to himself, "He’s got your everything." There’s a reverence in his tone, a deep gratitude that he can hardly put into words. "Your smile, babe. Your laugh… even the way he pouts.Megumi…. he’s all you, babe."

You watch him with a soft, loving gaze, seeing the way he’s looking at Megumi as if he’s the most precious thing in the world. "He’s got you too, you know?" you say gently, your hand resting on Toji’s arm. "The strength in his grip, the determination in his eyes… That’s all you, Toji. You are everything that is him too."

But Toji shakes his head slightly, his eyes never leaving his son’s face. "He’s you, babe." he insists, his voice filled with awe. "Everything beautiful about him… it’s because of you."

There’s a moment of silence as you both take in the weight of those words, the depth of love that flows between the three of you. You smiled at him, your eyes bright with summer love. Your eyes have never been one to view him any other way. Just one look and Toji thinks that he’s fallen in love again.

One more look and he’ll see that you’ve fallen for him again too. Toji leans down, pressing a soft kiss to Megumi’s forehead, then another to your temple. He pulls you both closer, holding on as if he never wants to let go.

In this quiet, tender moment, Toji realizes that this is what he’s been searching for all his life. This love, this family—it’s all he’s ever needed. And as he holds you both in his arms, he knows that he’s the luckiest man in the world.

"You’ve got your daddy wrapped around your little finger, don’t you, Megumi?" you tease, watching the two of them with a warmth in your eyes that makes Toji’s chest tighten with love.

"Yeah, well…." Toji says, glancing at you with a soft smile, "Our ’gumi got that from you." He leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple before turning his attention back to Megumi. "You’re both pretty good at that."

Megumi, seemingly satisfied with his exploration of Toji’s face. Toji blinks as your son snuggles closer to his father’s chest, his tiny body relaxing into the safety of Toji’s embrace. Toji shifts slightly, leaning back against the couch with Megumi resting comfortably against him. He glances at you, his eyes filled with a tenderness that speaks volumes.

"Thank you, babe." Toji says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "For giving me this. For giving me him."

You reach out, placing your hand over Toji’s on Megumi’s back, your fingers lacing together. "I didn’t give you anything you didn’t deserve, hm?" you reply just as softly, your voice filled with love. "This is our life. Our family. And you always, always, will deserve it."

Toji gazes at you for a long moment, his heart so full it feels like it might burst. "I love you," he says, the words coming out as a gentle sigh. "Both of you."

"We love you too, Toji." you reply, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips, a soft and lingering touch that makes Toji’s heart soar. “Always.”

Megumi, still nestled against his father, gives a contented yawn, his small body growing heavy with the onset of sleep. Your little treasure always seems to enjoy sleeping. But Toji understands. He’s a boisterous baby. It’s hard to exist at times, when you’re learning much about life as you go. Toji glances down at his son, a soft smile playing at his lips as he watches the boy drift off, safe and secure in his arms.

"You’re already such a great dad, you know that?" you whisper, your voice filled with certainty as you watch Toji with Megumi.

Toji nods, his gaze never leaving his son’s peaceful face. "I’m just doing my best, always." he replies, his voice thick with emotion. "For him. For both of you."

As the morning light filters into the room, bathing the three of you in its gentle glow, Toji feels a deep sense of contentment settle over him. This is everything he’s ever wanted—this simple, beautiful life with you and Megumi. And he knows, without a doubt, that he will cherish every moment of it for as long as he lives.

━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━

TOJI HAS NEVER BEEN A RELIGIOUS PERSON. But he thinks that if he has something to thank the heavens for — it's you and Megumi. Because Toji thinks that being with you will always be incomparable. No one has ever been able to make him feel at peace with himself the way you do, like your son could do. The quiet moments you shared together, it was everything to him. 

Even just a day out in the park, eating out at restaurants on your days off, or simply sitting on a bench at the nearby playground watching Megumi play—are his greatest treasures. They are the moments when the world feels still, when everything seems to align perfectly, and he’s reminded that this is what he’s been searching for all his life.

At times, being with you makes Toji feel like nothing but good could exist in the world. And he’s happy about that. If he could choose, he would do everything and everything to make sure that all his memories were the ones you had built for him. 

Toji holds onto these moments, savoring each one as if it were the last. He always prays that it will stay this way for the rest of your lives. That you’ll continue to find joy in the simple things, in each other’s presence, in the quiet, shared spaces of your life together. He carries that little hope with him every day, tucked away like a precious secret.

Every morning, he wakes up early, slipping out of bed with practiced quiet so as not to disturb your sleep. He heads to the kitchen, the routine as comforting as it is necessary. As he prepares breakfast for you, the smell of coffee and fresh bread filling the air, he recites his favorite prayer—a prayer for your happiness, for your health, for the life you’ve built together.

He prays that this happiness will always last. That you will always be together, side by side, through every challenge and every joy. He prays that you’ll grow old together, watching as Megumi grows and flourishes, as your love deepens with each passing year. Toji doesn’t ask for much from the universe, but he asks for this with all his heart, every single day.

As he stirs the pot or flips a pancake, he silently repeats the same words he’s said countless times before. It’s a quiet ritual, one that brings him comfort and strength. He prays that this life you’ve created together will remain untouched by the harshness of the world. That no matter what comes your way, you’ll face it together, hand in hand, just as you always have.

And every time, he ends his prayer with a whispered gratitude for the life he now leads, for the love he never thought he’d deserve. He remembers the day he asked if he could take your last name, a symbol of his commitment to you, of his desire to be fully and completely yours. When you agreed, with that beautiful smile of yours, it felt like his prayer had already been answered.

Fushiguro Toji knows he’s been blessed beyond measure. He never thought he’d find peace, not in the life he once led. But here, in the quiet of the morning as he cooks breakfast for the two people who mean everything to him, he feels it—peace, contentment, love.

And every day, he prays that it will stay this way. That you’ll always wake up beside him, that you’ll always be together, that the life you share will continue to grow and thrive. Because there’s nothing in this world, nothing at all, that could ever compare to being with you.

As Toji finishes preparing breakfast, he carries the plates over to the table where you’re already seated, your hands cradling a warm cup of coffee. Megumi is in his high chair, babbling happily as he plays with a small toy. Toji sets the plates down, taking a seat across from you. The morning light filters in through the window, casting a soft glow over the kitchen, and everything feels peaceful and right.

You smile at him as he sits down, your eyes filled with warmth. “Breakfast looks amazing, as always, babe.” you say, taking a bite of the perfectly cooked eggs. “You spoil us, you know that?”

Toji chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Just making sure my family’s well-fed, y’know?” he replies, his tone light. “Besides, it’s the least I can do.”

As you both start eating, a comfortable silence settles between you, broken only by the soft sounds of Megumi’s babbling. He sat in his high chair, enjoying tapping the table. He's even excited to eat his dad’s food, small as he is. After a few moments, you look up at Toji, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

“So, what do you think we should have for dinner tonight?” you ask casually, your tone teasing. “I’m in the mood for something special.”

Toji raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Special, huh? What are you thinking? Something fancy or just comfort food?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think it over. “Hmm, maybe something with a bit of both. Like a nice roast or maybe pasta. We haven’t had that in a while.”

He nods, considering the options. “Pasta sounds good, babe. I could make that sauce you like, with the garlic and herbs.”

Your eyes light up at the suggestion. “Ohhhhh! That sounds perfect!” you say, leaning back in your chair with a contented sigh. “But you know, we could always make it a bit more special.”

Toji gives you a curious look. “Oh? And how would we do that?”

You lean forward, a mischievous glint in your eye. “We could have dinner just the two of us… after Megumi’s asleep. A little date night at home.”

Toji’s expression softens as he catches on to what you’re suggesting. He sends you a tender smile. “That sounds nice, babe.” he says quietly, his voice filled with affection. “Just you and me.”

You nod, reaching across the table to take his hand. “Exactly. We don’t get many chances to have a quiet dinner together these days.”

Toji squeezes your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “We’ll make it happen, don't worry.” he promises, his eyes locked with yours.

You hold his gaze for a moment before your expression turns a bit more serious. “You know… I’ve been thinking….” you begin, your voice soft.

Toji tilts his head slightly, his brow furrowing in concern. “What is it?”

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. “I’ve been thinking about us… and our family. About how happy we are with Megumi. And… well, I was wondering if you’ve thought about having more kids.”

Toji’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, and for a moment, he’s quiet, processing your words. He nearly loses his balance. Your eyes go wide as you see him, but he manages to get a good steady composure. He clears his throat, turning to you again.

“More kids?” he repeats, his voice laced with curiosity.

You nod, giving him a small smile. “Yeah. I mean, I know it’s a big decision, and it’s something we’d have to really talk about, but… I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. About how much I love being a mom, and how wonderful it would be to see Megumi with a little brother or sister.”

Toji’s expression softens as he watches you, his heart swelling with love for you. “You really want that?” he asks, his voice gentle.

“I do,” you admit, your eyes shining with emotion. “But only if you do too. I don’t want to push you into anything. I just… I wanted to know how you feel about it.”

Toji is quiet for a moment, his thoughts racing. He never imagined this kind of life for himself—a life filled with love, a life where he could be a father, where he could be loved and cherished. The thought of having more children, of growing your family even more, fills him with a sense of warmth and possibility. Being the father he had always wanted. He thinks that nothing would make his heart anymore fuller. And with you by his side? He thinks he would end up the happiest man alive.

Finally, he squeezes your hand again, his gaze steady as he meets your eyes. “I’d like that too.” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “If that’s what you want, then I’d love to have more kids with you. Nothing would make me happier.”

Your smile widens, relief and happiness flooding through you. “Really?” you ask, your voice soft with hope.

Toji nods, his expression serious and filled with love. “Really. I want to give you everything, and if more kids are part of that, then I’m all in. Whatever makes you happy makes me happy too, babe.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you lean across the table, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. “I love you so much, Toji.” you whisper against his lips.

“I love you too,” Toji replies, his voice just as soft. He pulls back slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So, pasta for dinner… and maybe a little planning for our future?”

You laugh, the sound filled with joy. “Sounds like the perfect evening.” 

Toji smiles back at you, his heart filled with a deep, contented love. He knows that whatever the future holds, as long as he has you by his side, everything will be just fine. As long as you’re together, as long as his little prayer will be answered — everything will be okay. That’s all that matters.

[dj-spiderman]

Request: Hey! So Miguel is my new obsession and I would just love to request this: So Miguel x male reader where the male reader reminds miguel of his daughter so he's overprotective and take son a fatherly role. I was thinking either that the reader gets hurt and Miguel accidentally calls him Gabriella so angst, or it's just a second chance for Miguel to be a father for a kid that needs it

ARAÑITO

- Miguel O’Hara & Child!reader

- Genre: Platonic fluff

- Synopsis: Jessica and Miguel decide to take you back to HQ for recovery, but with the slow process, Miguel grows a bit too attached to allow for you to leave his sight. Talk about fatherly instincts.

- A/N: Reader can be depicted as any age, though is written to be relatively in his teenage years. The Spanish used is from google translate, my apologies for any mistakes! If any Spanish users would like to correct anything, please do!

Jessica was the one to find you. Up against a vulture far from your own. Grotesque teeth exposed by an uncanny snarl. A thick substance, that could possibly be identified as saliva, dripping down onto his face as he was pinned beneath heavy talons.

Hushed and rapid wheezes and curses slipping past busted lips. The taste of metal heavy on your tongue as you grasp onto the heavy ankle, desperately trying to remove it from your collapsing chest. Weak pleas being spat, no clue as to whether they were aloud or echoing throughout your thoughts.

Vision spotting and a sense of doom filling your gut, your body gave out and you lied limp. So close to death that you simply accepted it.. until…

A large blur of blue and red tackled the man off of yourself. Leaving you to jolt up wheezing and coughing. Tears welling up in your eyes as the pregnant woman soothed you. “Sh, sh, shh.. we’ve got you now. Gonna be alright.”

Miguel works hard to take down the vulture, pinning him down with large claws and an open jaw. A similar state as to what the creature had you into before, only less patience as he locks his jaw down in a venomous bite.

Of course, by the time he’s finished, you’re unconscious after having the adrenaline wear off. Slack body held in Jessica’s motherly hold as she gives a knowing look towards the larger man.

“You can’t be serious,” he groans, walking past her and opening a portal.

“He’s injured Miguel! We can’t just leave him here.” She argues in turn, scolding the man. “He’s just a kid..”

The man pauses, slouched over and running hands through his hair as he groans. “Fine, but only for recovery.” He mutters, to which Jessica happily carries your unconscious form through the portal.

════════════════

The moment you wake up, you’re disoriented and blinded by bright lights. It’s all overstimulating; the lights, the constant beeping, and the static like touch all over your body.

It takes a moment to gather your surroundings, whining softly as you anxiously look around. Shaky hands lift up to try and remove the nasal cannula, only to be stopped by a much larger and warmer hand.

“I don’t suggest removing that, it’s helping you breathe.” You don’t know who this man is, but his words are gentle and you simply relax back and leave the tube alone, it’s better that way. “You fractured a few ribs in your fight, bruised a lung, but nothing aggressively serious.” The stranger huffs, seemingly checking the bandages that wrapped around your torso.

“W-who…” Your throat is sore and dry, it hurts to speak with the conditions. Your words puffed out with a wheeze and wince.

“Miguel O’Hara, head of the spider-society.” The stranger introduces himself, sitting back with a grunt. “You’re only being kept here because of your injuries. As soon as you’re healed, you’re gone.”

Such manners he had, you thought with a small glare. You didn’t need someone to take care of you, let alone someone who hated you from the start.

This was already the worst thing you’ve ever dealt with.

════════════════

It had been a couple days now, your recovery going slow as you remained bed rested with little movement. Today was Jessica’s day to check on you, but rather the warm woman, you were met with two younger men.

“So you’re the mystery spider!” The smaller of the two cheers, eagerly rushing up to you. “Miguel refuses to let anyone see you!” His energy big, like that of a puppy’s.

The taller, more punk-themed man stepped forwards, tinkering around with some of the many machines. “‘Course, we’re not ‘onna listen to that old bloke.” He mumbles, finally making his way over. “‘m Hobie, Hobie Brown.”

You only watch, eyes drifting over to the former man. “Pavitr Prabhakar!” He cheerfully informs, poking around at your IV’s and breathing support.

Eventually the nimble fingers cause your IV to slip out, causing a wince of pain from yourself. And as scary as it was, Miguel himself appears in the doorway. A nasty scowl on his face as he glares down to the younger men. “Pavitr, Hobie, our.” He practically snarls.

For someone without a spider-sense, he was scarily good at sensing when something was wrong. Perhaps his AI, you thought, glancing towards his watch as though it’s where she was kept.

With the two strangers gone, it’s just you and Miguel. He’s pacing, pinching the bridge of his nose as he goes on about something. “¡Le dije a Jessica, le dije que no los dejara acercarse a ti! ahora estas herido..”

You’re not quite sure what he’s on about, but he seems upset with himself. He spares an apologetic glance your way, walking over and gently caressing the skin from which your IV was pulled.

“This is going to sting, arañita.” He coos in a tone you’ve never heard before, holding down on your arm as he slips the IV back in. Hushing and coddling you as you whine in pain. The flinch you give only causes more pain from your ribs. Tears welling up as a bodily reaction to the pain. “I know, I know.. hurts, doesn’t it, arañito?”

You’ve never seen this side to him. It almost feels like trap. Luring you into a false sense of trust only to tear you apart..

Your small cries cause him to hold you close against his chest, whispering about how brave you were. It felt fatherly, almost. Something bitterly familiar. You never did have a good relationship with your own father.. maybe this was a second chance?

════════════════

Days turned into weeks. Your recovery a slow process, but you were improving. You were allowed to walk within the medical room, though Miguel refused to let you leave his sight. You were only allowed to explore alongside him, told you that he had to “keep you safe”.

You usually obeyed his wishes, but the boredom was just so aggravating.. it wasn’t like he would know either way. So, you left the room, stumbling along halls and bridges in search for something fun to do.

You near scream, as though you could in your condition, as a masked horse mindlessly knocks you to the ground. The cowboy atop seemingly panicked as he begins anxiously apologizing, but it’s not you he’s speaking to.

An all too familiar shadow peers over your small, ‘fragile’ form. Above you, Miguel stands with a menacing glare. He does not at all seem happy about the incident, or your little ‘escape’.

“Get that damn horse under control, cabron.” He practically snarls, immediately pulling you into the comfort of his large arms. It’s no surprise when he begins coddling you and checking for injury. He was always this overprotective of you.

“Are you okay, arañito? He didn’t hurt you did he? Why are you out of your room..? Were you hungry? Cold? Lonely even?” He continues to question you, holding you to his chest. “You know you can just call for papa, I’ll be there as soon as you need me.”

That was another thing, Miguel had taken it upon himself to have you call him papa. He was constantly spoiling you or doting on you. It was.. strange.

You hadn’t even noticed when the man began dragging you back to your bedroom, scolding you softly. “You know better than to leave, you could get hurt.. scared me so bad arañita…” he’s lying you in your bed, tucking you in and taking a seat on the edge.

“You know I’m just trying to protect you… trying to be a good father.” He seems so genuine, it makes you feel guilty.

“Lo lamento, papa…” He seems genuinely shocked to hear you speak, let alone in Spanish. Supposed you had picked up on a few words within your stay.

A small smile plays at his lips, glancing your way as he speaks. “It’s alright arañita, I know you didn’t mean to scare me..” he reaches over, gently stroking your hair back. “Just promise me you won’t leave me… please don’t leave me..” he seems to be upset with the idea, and so you agree to his terms.

Nodding softly as you take hold of his large hand, gently playing with the rough, yet warm, flesh. “Sí.. won’t leave… never..”

And it was true. You didn’t have plans to leave, not when he was such a good father. Not when he gave you reason to trust him. He offered you safety and love, and in turn, you’d be his arañito.

[novaursa]

The Searing Flame (chapter in-between chapter)

- Summary: Aemond drags Grand Maester Orwlye to Aegon, so the maester can confess what he suggested to your mother.

- Paring: (wife) twin!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Note: This is the expansion of The Searing Flame, this chapter happens in-between the last chapter, after Orwlye suggests to Alicent that the reader should be moved into a separate chamber, away from Aegon, just before it continues with her recovery. For all the parts and more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Word count: 1 800+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The sharp scent of burnt flesh and incense still clings to the air in your chambers, a cruel reminder of the fires that raged at Rook's Rest. Your body lies motionless beside your twin, Aegon, as the weight of your shared injuries presses down on the room like a storm about to break. You sleep deeply once more, not out of peace but because your body is struggling to mend itself, trying desperately to pull you from the constant brink.

Aegon stirs beside you, every breath a reminder of his own pain. His body, though awake, is just as broken as yours—his skin still angry with burns, his mind haunted by what almost happened. His hand, heavy with exhaustion, reaches out, instinctively finding yours. The touch of your cool skin is the only thing that reassures him, the only thing that keeps him tethered to the moment.

The door slams open. Aemond strides in, his one good eye burning with fury, dragging the reluctant figure of Grand Maester Orwyle behind him. Aegon blinks, lifting his head slightly, a wince creasing his face as he tries to focus on his younger brother.

"Wake up, brother," Aemond hisses, a cold edge in his voice as he drags the Maester toward the bed. "Orwyle has something he needs to confess."

Aegon's brows furrow as he struggles to sit up, his body protesting with every movement. His hand instinctively tightens around yours, unwilling to let go, as if even in your sleep you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world. His voice is hoarse when he speaks, barely more than a rasp. "What is it?"

Aemond pushes Orwyle forward with little gentleness, his face twisted in disgust. The Maester stumbles, looking down at his feet as though the stone floor might offer him some escape from the Targaryen fury bearing down on him.

"Tell him what you suggested to our mother," Aemond growls, his voice low and dangerous.

Orwyle glances nervously between the two brothers, his hands clasped in front of him, knuckles white. "I... I merely advised the Dowager Queen on... precautions," he begins, his voice shaking. "Queen Y/N... your sister... her condition—"

"Speak plainly, Maester," Aegon interrupts, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. His grip on your hand tightens further, a desperate edge entering his gaze.

Orwyle swallows hard, his voice trembling. "I suggested to the Dowager Queen that it might be best if... if Y/N were moved to another chamber. Somewhere quieter. Away from the distractions and—"

"To what end?" Aegon snaps, his eyes widening in alarm, a sharp heat rising in his chest. The thought of you—his twin, his wife—being taken away from him, of your shared connection being severed, even temporarily, fills him with dread. He can feel the rage bubbling up inside him, twisting through the pain that already gnaws at his bones.

Orwyle hesitates, glancing nervously at Aemond, who stands like a viper ready to strike. "Her condition is delicate. I... I fear that... that Queen Y/N may not—"

"May not what?" Aegon growls, his voice more forceful now. "Finish your words, Maester."

Aemond steps forward, his voice a vicious whisper. "He told our mother that he thinks our sister will die." He spits the words as though they poison his tongue. "And he wants to hide her away in some dark room to wait for the end."

Aegon’s heart slams against his ribs, a mixture of panic and fury overwhelming him. His breathing becomes labored, his entire being rebelling against the very idea of losing you. "She will not die," he hisses through clenched teeth. "She is stronger than you think, stronger than any of you fools could imagine."

"Your Grace, please," Orwyle pleads, his voice faltering. "I only meant—"

"You meant to hide her away, to leave her to rot while she still breathes!" Aegon’s voice is almost a roar now, his body trembling with the effort it takes to keep himself upright. His eyes blaze with a fury that even the fires of Rook’s Rest could not diminish. "Fix her, Orwyle. Do whatever you must. You will not touch her again unless it is to heal her."

Aemond steps closer, his own anger radiating off him like heat from a dragon’s breath. "You will do as my brother says," he growls. "Or I will see to it personally that your head no longer sits on your shoulders."

The threat hangs heavy in the air, and Orwyle trembles, nodding rapidly. "Of course, Your Graces. I will— I will do everything within my power. I swear it."

"Then go," Aegon commands, his voice laced with barely controlled rage. "And remember, Maester, I will hold you accountable for every breath my sister takes from this moment on."

Orwyle quickly backs out of the room, bowing his head repeatedly as he escapes the tension that coils like a snake in the chamber. The door shuts behind him, leaving only the low crackle of the hearth and the heavy breathing of the brothers in the air.

Aegon leans back against the headboard, his gaze immediately falling to your still form. His fingers brush your pale cheek, as if willing you to wake, to open your eyes and tell him you’re still here with him.

"I won’t let them take you," he murmurs softly, his voice barely a whisper now that the storm has passed. "Not ever."

A harsh silence fills the chamber as Aegon’s hand remains on yours, his thumb absently stroking the back of it as if the rhythm alone could rouse you from the slumber that holds you captive this night. His eyes are locked on your face, every breath he takes more labored than the last. You are the mirror of him, always have been, and the thought of you slipping away into the abyss once more twists his insides into knots he can’t unravel.

Aemond lingers by the door, his shadow stretching long across the floor in the low light. He watches his brother, his good eye narrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. There’s something unreadable in his expression—something that hovers between concern and frustration, though Aemond’s face is so often a mask, even Aegon struggles to know which.

"She will recover," Aegon mutters, as if speaking it aloud will make it true. His voice trembles slightly, though he tries to hide it. "She has to."

Aemond steps forward, moving closer to the bed, his boots softly scuffing the stone floor. "She’s strong, brother. But Maester Orwyle is a fool." His gaze shifts from your pale face to the burns still marking Aegon’s flesh. "You should be resting as well."

"I’ll rest when she wakes again and eats more," Aegon bites back, eyes flickering toward Aemond with a sharpness that cuts. "Until then, I’m not leaving her side."

Aemond exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders visible. He approaches the foot of the bed, his hands clasped behind his back, watching you closely. “I wouldn’t ask you to leave her, Aegon. I wouldn’t dare. But you have to consider the cost of pushing yourself too far."

"The cost?" Aegon scoffs, his voice brittle with disbelief. "The cost is losing her. My twin, my wife—" His voice cracks slightly, and he looks away, his jaw clenched tight. "How am I to consider anything else when she’s lying here like this?"

Aemond doesn’t immediately reply. He stares at the faint rise and fall of your chest, and a rare flicker of vulnerability passes through his eye. His hand moves to grip the hilt of his sword, as if anchoring himself. He’s seen you fight alongside Aegon in spirit and resolve, always his equal, always his mirror. To see you now—broken, vulnerable—is a sight he finds hard to bear.

"I’ll see to it Orwyle doesn’t get near her again," Aemond finally says, his voice quiet but firm, almost a vow. "But you need to trust she’ll fight her way back to you. She’s always been stronger than either of us."

Aegon lets out a soft, bitter laugh, more of a grunt than anything, though there’s no humor in it. His eyes never leave your face. “I can’t trust anything right now. Not the Maesters, not the healers. Not even the gods.” His voice turns raw, desperate. “I should have been able to protect her.”

Aemond’s jaw tightens, his expression darkening. “You weren’t the one who failed, Aegon. It was the dragons. The battlefield. We’re always at their mercy.”

The words hang heavy in the air, a truth neither of them can deny. The dragons, so often a symbol of their power, are just as much a source of their destruction. Even their might could not shield you from the flames of war. The thought gnaws at both of them, filling the room with a bitter silence.

Aegon leans forward, his forehead resting against your hand, as if drawing strength from the warmth of your skin. “If she dies,” he says softly, the words almost strangled by emotion, “I’ll have nothing left. She’s everything. My other half.”

Aemond watches his brother, a flicker of pain crossing his usually impassive features. He knows the bond the two of you share—he’s seen it since you were children, always two halves of the same soul, inseparable. It’s a bond that he, despite his own strengths, has never quite understood. He lingers at the edges of your twin connection, watching from the outside in.

“She won’t die, Aegon,” Aemond says quietly, his tone less harsh than before. “She’s a Targaryen. And you know as well as I do that Targaryens are not easily felled.”

There’s a pause, and Aegon finally lifts his head, his bloodshot eyes meeting Aemond’s. “Then you’ll help me ensure that,” he says, more a command than a request.

Aemond gives a single, sharp nod, his eye glinting in the dim light. “Of course.”

The room falls into a tense stillness again, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire. Aemond turns to leave, but he hesitates at the door, looking back one last time. His eye lingers on you, and for a moment, something softens in his gaze. A brief flicker of something unspoken, something he would never admit aloud. Perhaps it’s worry. Perhaps it's a regret that he can't do more. But then it’s gone, his mask slipping back into place as easily as ever.

"Rest when you can," Aemond says, his voice firm again, though not without a hint of concern. "Both of you."

Aegon doesn’t respond, his focus already back on you. He watches as Aemond slips out of the room, the door closing quietly behind him, leaving the chamber once again steeped in silence.

His hand returns to yours, his thumb brushing your skin with the same relentless, aching hope. He leans down, pressing his lips against your forehead, his voice a whisper against your skin.

“Don’t leave me, Y/N.”

[stardust-and-snickerdoodles]

tired and i'm awake

fandom: Chicago Med

pairing: Connor Rhodes x Reader

summary: You've kept your chronic pain a secret from Connor since you started dating. But fate has other plans for you, and an untimely accident leads to him finding out about your condition.

tags/warnings: angst, injury, burns, hurt/comfort, chronic pain/illness

word count: 3024

a/n: this one's for all my EDS/POTS combo girlies

When you were young, the doctors said it was “growing pains.” That eventually it would go away, that it was only temporary, take an Advil.

Then you got older, and it was your period. Even though the pain was constant and all over, somehow every doctor put it down to your cycle. Sure, it was worse when you were menstruating, but it didn’t disappear when you weren’t.

Sometimes, you were “making it up” or “drug seeking.” ER visits, annual physicals, all proved fruitless. Eventually, it was all just too much to handle. The constant doctors’ visits, the unending questions with no answers. You’re tired.

Even when you lay on the bathroom floor, curled around yourself and sobbing, you refuse to go to the doctor. You know it won’t amount to anything, just another bill and insurance paperwork. You manage on your own with 3 extra strength Tylenol or a heating pad or just laying in bed until it mostly subsides. Then you can get up and pretend to be okay again.

So, it was a bit of a surprise to everyone who knows of your issues when you started dating a surgeon. Hell, you even surprised yourself. But Connor is… different. He’s kind and understanding and patient. Still, your previous negative experiences prevent you from telling him about the chronic pain you experience, or any of the other problems that come along with it.

You’ve been dating now for about six months and you couldn’t be happier. Connor’s hours are busy and long, but you look forward to the end of every day when you can see him. Even if it means putting on a brave face when your joints ache. You moved in together about a month ago, and it’s a little harder to hide the pain now, but you manage. You don’t want to be just another patient for him to deal with.

Today, you have a feeling it’s going to be a little more difficult to put on your façade. Your knees and hips have been acting up lately. Everything feels… a bit looser than usual, like the tissues between your joints are made of thin string, ready to break at any movement. Each movement feels as though you’re going to rip yourself apart, limb from limb. It’s all you can do not to cry out when you finally pry yourself out of bed in the morning. Connor is already gone, having left sometime in the middle of the night, off to work his shift at the ED. You hope beyond hope that the pain will have subsided by the time he gets home tonight.

You hope that maybe a warm bath with some Epsom salts will help, and take short, shuffling steps to the bathroom, walking near the wall just in case. Each footfall sends shooting pain up your legs. You grit your teeth and manage to make it to the toilet, sitting down and reaching to turn the tap on the bath. Breathing in and out slowly, you remind yourself that you have this under control. You will survive this, it’s just pain. It’s just pain.

You stare as the tub fills with water, trying your best to compartmentalize and clear the pain away. Mind over matter, that’s what your mother always says. Easy for her, when she’s not the one in pain.

Feeling as though you might break with any sudden moves, you lower yourself into the warm bath, closing your eyes as the water surrounds you. It’s calming and smells like eucalyptus.

You linger until the water is cooled and your joints begin to protest from staying in one position too long. You wrap a fluffy robe around yourself, a gift from Connor after he saw the old ratty one you’d been using for years. It’s luxurious and soft, and probably cost him the equivalent of an entire week’s salary for you. Perks of dating a surgeon, you suppose.

Just standing has you feeling lightheaded, and you can feel your heart beating in your ears. For a moment the room darkens as spots fill your vision, but you just breathe in deeply until it subsides. Then you continue to take small steps back out to the bedroom, before placing yourself gingerly on the comforter.

Once you’re still and laying down, the pain begins to creep back in with force. It just reminds you that as much as you want to, you can’t ignore it. You can compartmentalize and convince yourself all you want, but you’re stuck with this.

Now, along with your hips and knees, your back and neck have begun to ache from sitting upright in the tub. You sigh and curl onto your side, your wet hair clinging to your neck. Five minutes, you tell yourself. Then I’ll get up and get dressed and dry my hair and… God, it’s all so much. How are you ever supposed to get all of that done when you feel like this? Still, you reprimand yourself and promise only five minutes of rest. Just until the aching diminishes somewhat.

You wake to the sound of the door unlocking. Night has fallen outside the window, leaving the apartment bathed in darkness.

So much for five minutes.

Connor walks in, looking tired and worn out, but still wearing a smile when he spots you curled up on the bed. You smile back, still groggy from your extended nap.

“Hey sweetheart,” he murmurs, setting his bag down before taking a seat next to you. “How was your day?”

“Good,” you lie easily. “How was work?”

Connor smooths some errant hairs away from your forehead before placing a soft kiss there. “Busy. But good. Did you shower? Your hair’s still wet.”

A fierce blush makes its way up your cheeks as you avoid his eyes. “Took a bath. I guess I just passed out after. Baths always take it out of me,” you half-joke.

Connor’s brow furrows and you can immediately sense the switch into “doctor mode.” He places the back of his hand on your forehead again. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” you reassure, pulling his hand down to your lips to plant a gentle kiss on his knuckles. “Do you want dinner? I can make something.” The ache in your joints begins to make itself known again, but you want to do something nice for Connor. You know how tired he is after his shifts.

“Sure,” Connor replies, but he’s still looking at you with concern.

You slowly sit up, trying to school your expression as something pinches in your hip. “Spaghetti? I think we have some noodles leftover from the other night; I can just make a quick sauce.”

Connor nods and stands with you. “I’m gonna go shower,” he states while pulling you into a loose hug. “Do you need anything before I go?”

You shake your head and breathe him in. He smells like the hospital, but underneath that is the gentle scent of his cologne that always relaxes you. “No, you go. I can handle it.”

Connor releases you and makes his way to the bathroom while you head to the kitchen. You feel incrementally better than this morning, the pain in your back and neck thankfully lessened. Your hips are the worst now, and the right one especially feels tenuous. Each step is shaky, but you push through it.

You’re grateful for the distraction of cooking as you work on dinner, but it’s not enough to totally take away the pain. As you stand over the stove you can still feel the pulsing in your knees, the unsteadiness in your hips, and the ache in your back is returning. You barely suppress a groan as your right hip nearly gives out.

Seconds later, the door to the bathroom opens, and Connor exits with just a pair of jeans slung low on his hips. For a moment you’re tempted to stop cooking altogether and take him right back to bed. But then your right hip protests yet again, and the thought quickly flees. You shoot Connor a smile as he comes up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. His chin rests on your shoulder and you tense imperceptibly. Illogical as it may seem, you’re worried maybe he’ll… feel your pain or something, if he gets too close.

“Smells good,” Connor murmurs, kissing the side of your neck.

“Grab some plates,” you reply, stirring the spaghetti sauce one more time before turning off the heat.

Connor’s arms leave you and you let out a breath. You grab some potholders from a nearby cabinet and pull the sauce off the stove.

As you make your way over to the table, your hip begins to feel even more unsteady than before. Each step is agony as you grip the saucepot, praying that your leg doesn’t give out now. Connor’s back is to you when suddenly you step wrong. Instantly, you feel a popping sensation in your hip and you stumble.

The pot goes flying, splattering sauce all over you and the kitchen. You crumble to the floor, a short cry leaving your lips. The sauce burns your thighs, uncovered thanks to the robe you still wear, but all you can feel is the burning pain in your hip. It feels… wrong.

It’s not exactly a new experience. A few years ago – with no help from your doctors – you finally realized that this type of pain means something is dislocated. In this case, your hip. It’s one of the worst to dislocate, since you have trouble getting it back in place on your own.

Connor immediately rushes toward you, calling your name in panic. “Are you okay? Oh god, what happened?”

You grit your teeth to stop from crying out again as you right yourself with your leg out in front of you. Your hand grips your right thigh, the pain from your dislocated hip shooting down your leg and making your toes numb.

Connor’s already pulling out his phone to call 911, obviously only seeing the burns on your legs from the hot sauce.

You reach out to grab his wrist to stop him from dialing. “I’m fine,” you insist, tears brimming in your eyes.

Connor levels you with a glare that would make anyone give in. “You just spilled scalding sauce all over yourself. You’re at least getting checked out at the ED.”

“Okay, okay, but… Can’t you just drive me?”

He must hear the pleading tone in your voice because he sets his phone down with a sigh. “Fine,” he surrenders. “Let’s get you cleaned up first so I can take a look.”

You nod as he stands to retrieve towels. Once his back is turned, you take mental stock of your hip. It doesn’t feel too badly dislocated, but it certainly needs to be put back sooner rather than later. Before you get a chance to do it yourself, Connor returns with wet towels. He immediately gets to work gingerly cleaning your skin. You can tell that you’ve at least got first-degree burns, maybe even second in some places. But you can’t get past the pain in your hip. If you could just get a moment alone so you could reset it…

You notice that Connor’s movements have stopped and you look to see what he’s doing. His brows are furrowed as he looks at your right leg, now clean of the sauce. “Doesn’t look too bad, but I still want to go to Med just to be sure. And…” Suddenly his eyes widen and his hands rest delicately on either side of your leg. You can’t help but flinch at the touch. “It looks like your hip is dislocated… God, that must hurt. Did you hit it on the ground when you fell?”

You bite your lip and shake your head. “It’s nothing,” you insist.

“Y/N,” Connor’s voice is firm. “We need to get this reduced. I’m calling an ambulance,” he says, pulling out his phone once more.

“No!” you cry. “I can take care of it!” Before he can stop you, you bend your knee outward, making a half-butterfly shape with your legs, then push down on it with your hands. Your hip pops back into place with an audible click and the relief is instant.

Connor is silent for a long moment as he stares at you, mouth agape.

You speak before he can, blabbering without much sense. “It’s fine, it happens a lot. I’m okay, I promise.”

Your boyfriend’s eyes are wide with concern and empathy. “What do you mean?” he whispers.

You shrug and take the wet towel from his hand, continuing to wipe off the sauce from your other thigh. This one’s not as bad as your right, but it’s still painful. “Nothing, Connor. I just… It happens sometimes, okay? Dislocating things, it’s not new to me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Connor’s voice is so full of hurt that you immediately regret keeping this from him.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, meeting his eyes. The tears in your own begin to fall down your cheeks. “I just… I’ve always dealt with it on my own. I didn’t want you to have to deal with it too. And I didn’t know if you’d believe me, no one ever believes me, and I didn’t want to lose you because of my broken body…” You’re rambling now, the adrenaline and pain making your words come out jumbled.

Connor scoots over to sit next to you, uncaring of the sauce that’s getting on his jeans. His arm wraps around you gently, and already you can feel that he’s treating you differently. Touching you like you’re… fragile. “Y/N… I would never not believe you about something like this. Have you gone to the doctor about it?”

A sob leaves your lips and you smile sarcastically. “Of course, I have, Connor. I’ve been to so many doctors and none of them have any answers. It’s always growing pains, or my period, or I’m faking it. Eventually I just gave up because, like I said, I can deal with it on my own.”

Connor is silent for a long while. Finally, he lifts your chin with his finger so you’re forced to meet his eyes. “You don’t have to deal with it on your own now. We’re together, and that means we tell each other these things. I won’t leave you because of something you can’t control, sweetheart. And I want you to find answers. We can find them together. Okay?”

You nod and Connor goes to dial 911 again. As he’s on the phone with the operator, you let the tears fall. The pain of the burns is finally hitting you, only adding to the existing pain you already feel. Connor’s words mean everything to you, but right now that’s all they are – words. How can you know he’ll stay with you after he finds out what this really is like? The constant pain, the days spent in bed, the agony of it all? How could anyone – how could Connor – ever want someone like you?

You don’t realize that Connor is done on the phone until his hand lands on your shoulder. “Babe?” his voice is a little louder than necessary, which tells you that he’s been trying to get your attention for a while.

“Sorry,” you mutter, using the back of your hand to wipe away errant tears.

Connor takes a deep breath, and you worry about what he’s going to say. “You can talk to me, you know?”

You nod, avoiding his eyes. “I know. But this… I don’t want to be just another person you have to take care of.” The sound of sirens grows loud outside the apartment building.

“Honey. Look at me,” Connor urges, lifting your chin again. “You are not just another patient to me. You never will be. Okay?”

“You don’t know,” you whisper, your voice suddenly hoarse. “Once you know what it’s like, how much help I’ll need… I don’t know what my life will be like in 10 years, hell, even in a year. I’m in pain all the time, and I don’t know if it will get worse, and I don’t want you to be burdened with that.”

Before Connor can answer, the intercom buzzes as the paramedics request entrance. Connor stands to let them in, and you bring your sore legs up so you can bury your head in your knees. The embarrassment of it all is starting to hit you as you realize that soon you’ll be at Med, surrounded by Connor’s colleagues. No doubt he’ll want to run a myriad of tests to figure out your underlying condition, and you’re not sure you have the energy for that right now.

You hear the door opening, followed by a couple pairs of footsteps and Connor’s voice getting closer. “Female, 27, post-fall and contact with hot liquid. Superficial partial thickness burns on the thighs. Right hip dislocated but already reduced.” You hold in a snort at his medical jargon describing your silly accident.

The paramedics aren’t anyone you know, but they’re nice enough as they examine the burns and apply saline-soaked gauze. You’re embarrassed by your lack of proper clothing, but they don’t seem to mind. You’re sure they’ve seen worse than a nearly-naked woman anyway.

They ask various questions while Connor watches nearby, eyes slightly narrowed as if to make sure they don’t hurt you further. Once you’re finally loaded up onto a stretcher, he returns to your side and holds your hand in a crushing grip.

“This is really unnecessary,” you mutter at him, squeezing his hand.

Connor looks down at you with a soft smile. “Doctor knows best, sweetheart.” He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay if you don’t want. As long as you get that hip x-rayed and those burns checked, I’ll be satisfied. We can figure out the rest later.”

You smile back, tears pricking your eyes again. “Thank you, Connor. For being here.”

He snorts out a laugh. “You really have to raise your standards, baby.”

[misserabella]

secret for a secret

fedra officer! ellie williams x dealer and teacher! reader

sypnosis; after being caught by a fedra officer, your perfect façade could fall apart, unless you end up working with her…

cw; drugs, violence, drug use and dealing, guns, threats, teasing, constant bickering, fighting, kissing, fingering, oral sex (r receiving), scissoring, dom! ellie, sub! reader, kinda hate sex??, needy sex, lotsss of praising, no use of y/n but pet names like princess, pretty girl, baby…, dirty talking, multiple orgasms, cum eating… minors dni!!! +18 content!

REMINDER: english is not my mother language so i apologize if there are some mistakes <3 !¡ either ways, i hope y’all like it. <3

REPOSTS AND COMMENTS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!<3

Please, under no circumstances, repost my work on any other sites. I do not consent to anyone taking my work and posting it as their own.

—

You were fucked, absolutely and incredibly fucked.

“Hands up.” your heart was fucking thumping, and your hands were soaked in sweat. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

You showed the police officer your hands, your eyes squinting under the light of her pistol.

“Don’t move.” she ordered, and you swallowed harshly when she stepped closer.

You groaned when she harshly turned you around, pushed you up against the wall and tugged on your wrists, the metal of her cuffs digging on your skin.

You’re fucked.

“Let’s see what we have here.” she mutters as she starts rummaging through your pockets. She hummed and smirked when her fingers met the little baggy, taking it out to inspect it.

“Fuck.” you whisper…, pressing the back of your forehead against the side of the building in which you had been pinned.

“Illegal dealing and possession of drugs. You really are a bad girl, huh?” she mocked you and you groaned.

“Look please… I can’t have anybody know about this. It would ruin my career.” you begged, turning around, and you almost crumbled underneath her big green eyes. She was beautiful, breathtaking… An angel that had come to punish you for your sins.

“Well maybe you should’ve thought it through before getting into this shit, don’t you think so pretty girl?” your breath got punched out of your lungs when she muttered, so close that you could see the beautiful freckles on her skin.

“I’m a teacher… I love my job.” you pleaded, your eyes almost watery.

“If you love it so much then why fuck it up with your little side job, hm?”

You fell silent.

“Look. I’ll do anything you want. Just please… I’ll give you free weed. I’m sure inside there shit is as fucked up as shit is outside. Rations are growing thin. I needed the extra notes.” you muttered.

You knew it was dangerous to deal inside FEDRA’s QZs but even if you loved your job as a teacher, this world had left you with hunger and the need to survive even if that made you do things you weren’t proud of.

The officer looked at you, her emerald eyes squinting.

“One bag a week.” you offered, crossing your fingers. Please, please, please, please…

She scoffs.

“You trying to buy me off?”

You swallow, hard. You’re trembling. Shit.

She fell silent once again before her words gave you a gust of new and fresh air.

“Three.” you frowned. “Three bags a week.” she clarified and your eyes shot open. “If you’re not in I will…”

“No. Three bags it is.” you nodded, your whole body fluttering with relief.

“Then it’s a deal, pretty girl.” she smirked. “Just make sure I don’t catch you dealing again, or nobody else. People out here aren’t as nice as me.”

Nice my ass…

“You won’t officer. It’s a deal.”

—

Getting caught by a FEDRA officer was a really close call. It hurt you, you and your pride to crumble that easy underneath that green eyed girl, but you had to bend and accept her conditions or else you’d have probably ended up cleaning sewers for the rest of your life.

You kind of owed her. Three baggies of weed a week were a lot, but if you wanted her to stay quiet then three would be. But all of that went to hell when a rumor hit your ears. One of your current and close clients have told you that there was a new dealer inside the walls or FEDRA, selling weed at better prices than you and making a whole bag.

That was when it hit you. And after taking a closer look…

Motherfucker…

“A sight for sore eyes, aren’t you today, sweetheart?” Ellie, who you’ve had to grow close to, mocked you as she closed the door to your apartment before her back.

You were scowling, your blood boiling.

She frowned when you didn’t sat up from your spot, neither talked back. You always did. Something was wrong.

You looked at her, then back to your computer’s screen, a scoff leaving your lips before you’d turn it around for her to see.

“You’re smart. But not careful.” her skin grew pale when she saw herself dealing with another FEDRA officer at the back of their QZ police departments. She frowned.

“How did you… There weren’t supposed to be no cameras in that alleyway.”

“I put it there.” you smiled, leaving your place on your chair to stand up. “You know… It’s really shitty to try and steal clients from another dealer. It’s… Really offensive, Ellie. Even more when you’re using your dealer’s weed that they bribe you with…” she swallowed.

It was fun. See her fall apart like you had.

“Are you gonna tell FEDRA?” she inquired, and you smirked.

“Oh no… I called you to…, make you an offer.” you leaned against your table, your head lolling to the side as you gave her an innocent smile. She knew it wasn’t anything at all.

“An offer?” she inquired and you nodded.

“Since your little FEDRA friends seem to like my weed so much… I thought that maybe you could work with me, you know? Keep doing you dealing, keep making profits…”

“What’s the catch?” she inquired, and you smirked.

“So smart, aren’t you?” you sighed. “Well, since I’m the one providing for you, it’s only fair that I’d get the most profit. 60-40.” you said, and she scoffed.

“No fucking way.” she spat, and you shrugged.

“Well. If you don’t want to that’s fine. I’ll just go ahead and show your little bosses this amazing recording of you dealing with your friends. They’d probably give me a whole life worth of supplies for catching the rat living inside their walls.” you shrugged, but as you turned you and gave her your back, you heard her yell.

“Wait!” you smiled, turning once again with your eyebrows rose and your arms crossed over your chest. She sighed, looking at her feet as she clenched her jaw and fisted her hands. “Fine.” she mumbled under her breath, teeth gritted.

“What? I’m sorry… I didn’t hear you.” you mocked her, and she gave you a dead stare.

“I said fine.” she repeated and you smiled.

“There she is… My smart little officer.” you cooed, sitting back on your chair. “What are you waiting for? Sit down, we have a lot to plan.” you said, and tried your hardest not to laugh as she harshly pulled from the free chair and sat down.

—

After your deal was sealed, you and Ellie were making a lot. And you really meant it. A lot. You had even been able to move to a better and much expensive apartment on the south of the town, having a great view of the city beneath your feet. The profit was big. And it kept growing. And with new dreams came more days in a row that you’d see Ellie, spending hours on end with her due to new deals and spots.

You’d pretend you hated it. Her and her stupid remarks and bickering. Her and her stupid shiny green eyes, which would spark every time you’d talk back after her teasing. Her and how hot she looked while dealing, how her free hand would be silently holding the gun to come off as more impotent. How her tattoo would show, how the veins on her hands would pop and decorate her skin…

Yeah. Absolutely hated it.

Today was no different. The deal was done. And you were of course not looking at her and her hands through the whole three minutes that it lasted.

You left your backpack on the table, instantly going for a beer to your kitchen. You threw one at your back, fully knowing that Ellie would be there to catch it. She did.

She took out the profits of the day from her pocket and smirked, leaving your bit on the counter.

“You pulled 20 more from Jesse?” you inquired, impressed.

“He was gonna have a gathering with his little buddies. Hooked him up.” she shrugged and you shook your head, scoffing.

“Impressive.” you accepted, making her arch her eyebrows.

“Was that a compliment, pretty girl?” you pushed her away as she leaned closer, going to your living room and taking one of your already rolled blunts from your tea table before sitting down on your sofa.

“Keep dreaming, Williams.” you smirked, a spark lighting the joint, filling your lungs with the smoke and burning up the back of your throat.

She took the free space beside you. Chuckling when the smell of the weed hit her.

“‘M sorry officer.” you mocked her, falsely pouting. “Hey!” you said when she took it away from you, taking a deep and hard drag of the blunt.

“It’s confiscated now. You know…, the law and all that.” she smirked, and you rolled your eyes, leaning against your legs to reach down on your tea table and grab another joint for yourself.

Ellie tried really hard to not stare at your ass as you did so, but you had worn that tiny little skirt that you seemed to like to wear around her, and it was hugging you really good.

She quickly looked away, taking another drag of her joint and spreading wider on the sofa, leaning more on it.

You lit your blunt and took a drag, leaning against the sofa. Your tongue dampened your lips as your eyes met her thighs, clothed in a pare of skinny low-rise jeans. You really were thanking the summer as you checked out the muscles of her naked arms.

You looked away before you could get too lost on the lines of ink on her skin, closing your eyes with a new drag.

Ellie looked at you, plump lips surrounding the bud, rosy cheeks due to the warmth of the weather…

“You okay there, princess?” she inquired and you huffed.

“Why? Because I’m silent?” you answered.

“Just checking. Usually you’d be enjoying clawing at my neck and all that.”

“Oh, as if you’re not the same. Perhaps I’m not that interested in talking to you, Ellie, have you thought about it?” you squinted your eyes and she scoffed.

“Woah. That actually hurt. Harsh, princess.” she sarcastically and playfully grabbed her chest, and your rolled your eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry, officer. Am I a bad girl now? Are you gonna cuff me up, hm?” you innocently said, playful.

What you didn’t expect was the slight shiver that went down Ellie’s body, nor how her eyes seemed to get hazier.

“Is that what my bad girl wants? For me to get a little bit rougher with her?” she talked back, following your little game, although her voice was deeper, and more velvety now. She leaned in, a smirk on her lips. You were out of words. “What is it, hm? Cat got your tongue?” you swore you could hear your own breath hitching when she took your chin in between her thumb and index finger.

Your heart jumped when her eyes fell to your lips right before going back to your face.

“Look at you. All dumb and pretty. You look so pretty when you keep your mouth shut…” you swallowed, her tatted hand—that was holding the blunt— falling onto your naked thigh.

“Fuck you.” you spat, and her smirk grew, her emerald eyes brightening up.

“I bet you’d love to.” she muttered, and a shiver went down your spain when her hand travelled closer and closer to your core, slowly teasing you, warm fingertips against your skin. It was intoxicating. “Or maybe even the other way around. I bet you’d look so pretty beneath me, all sweaty and messy taking whatever I might decide to give you.”

You couldn’t help the way your thighs squeezed together at her words, your eyes widening as she chuckled.

“Come on princess, you’re growing quiet on me.” she taunted you, and you groaned.

“Oh, shut up.”

“You always know the way to make me.” she smirked, for a split of a second your eyes flickered to her lips…

And suddenly, your mind came up with two words that were enough to make you finally break the distance in between the two of you. Fuck it. Your need took over you when your lips crashed against the other, teeth messily clashing and tongue slapping the other.

“I hate you.” you breathed out in between kisses, hearing Ellie hum against your lips.

“Of course you do.” she nodded before harshly kissing you once again, a smirk tugging from her lips. Ellie took the blunt from you, and you almost cried when her hand left your thigh to leave the joints on the ashtray before getting back on your skin. You couldn’t help the way your thighs pressed against the other, your pussy already throbbing and begging for her touch.

Ellie clicked her tongue. “Nuh-uh. Keep them open for me, baby.” she said, and smiled when you did so. “That’s it, good girl.” you let out a breathy moan the moment her fingertips pressed against your dampened panties, the praise making your walls tighten around your awaiting to be filled hole. “Fuck. So wet for me already and I haven’t even touched you.” you moaned, just the mere thought of having her fingers inside of you making you almost beg for more. “Would you like that, hm? Would like me to fuck my fingers into your pussy baby?” you nodded, making her hum. “You look so pretty right now, being such a good girl for me… Look at you.” your eyes rolled to the back of your head when her fingers pushed aside your panties and met your clit, rolling your puffy bud in tight and slow circles. You moaned, back arching and a gasp leaving your lips. “That’s it, baby. Take it, come on.”

“Fuck, Ellie.” you whimpered, and her heart jumped, her own pussy growing wetter.

“Shit, forget it. I definitely like you better when you’re not quiet.” she cursed, slowly pressing a finger in between your tight and warm walls, making you sigh and rock your hips against her hand in search of more.

You were a whimpering and moaning mess by the time she started slowly fucking it in and out of you, her lips latched to your neck, leaving marks that would decorate your skin for days. You should probably push her away, tell her to stop with every new harsh suck on your flesh, but you couldn’t, ‘cause it felt so good…

“Fuck, Ellie, please…” you cried out, pleading for more, for her to be harsher, to kiss you deeper…

“Shit, you’re so fucking hot.” he groaned, quickly getting on her knees and in between your thighs. You couldn’t help the scream that tore your throat when her lips latched to your clit, another finger now fucking into you. “So sweet. Taste so good for me.” she hummed, lapping at your cunt like a woman starved.

Your fingers tangled on her hair when her own curled and hit your g spot, making you loudly moan and ground yourself on her face. “Right there, hm?” she teased, curling them again and leaving you unable to snap back. You were dumb on her fingers and tongue, on the pleasure she brought you with just her single touch.

You recognized the warmth that was building up on your lower stomach, how close you seemed to be to come undone for her. Your thighs trembled and she sucked harder on your clit, making you moan.

“Ellie, I’m gonna-“ a gasp left you mid-sentence, making her chuckle.

“You gonna cum, baby? Gonna cum all over my face, hm?” you moaned, nodding.

“Yes, fuck, yes. So close…” you cried out, rocking your hips against her face as the knot grew tighter. “I’m cumming, fuck!”

You let out a pornographic moan as you came all over her face, waves of pleasure hitting you as she helped you rode it out, hungrily lapping at your juices, not wanting to let any of it go to waste.

She was impossibly turned on, in need to touch you more, to hear you moan and scream her name more…

“I need to fuck you, shit. Can I fuck you baby? Gonna be good for me and help me cum too?” you nodded.

“Yes, yes, please, Ellie…” you whimpered, eyes widening when she took you in between her arms and quickly walked towards your bedroom, throwing you onto the mattress. You knew Ellie was strong, but fuck if that wasn’t the hottest thing you had ever experienced in your whole life.

“You’re dribbling a little bit there, princess.” she mocked you as she tugged her white tank top off, her beautiful and perfect tits making you almost moan. She was so fucking hot. “Why don’t you take your clothes off for me, hm?” she asked, and you followed. “That’s it. Atta girl.” you whimpered and she was back on top of you, smirking. “Aw, does my girl like it when I praise her, hm? You like being my good girl, don’t you baby?” you nodded, eyes on her now naked thighs and cunt. God, the things you’d do to return Ellie the favor and lay in between her legs.

You moaned when her hands cupped your breasts, mouth latching to your right nipple as the other got pinched and teased by her fingers.

“You look so beautiful just like this, all ready and needy for me to fuck…” you whined, your hips bucking against hers as she pulled from your thighs. Her cunt was dangerously close to yours, and you were dripping in need to feel her. For her to fuck you.

“Shit Ellie, please… Fuck me. Fuck me please.” you pleaded, your bones aching for her.

“Look at you. Asking so nice to make a mess out of you… So cute…” she muttered against your lips, and your back arched when she thrusted against your cunt, clits bumping together. She groaned and you moaned, whole body shivering as she started to rock her hips against yours, gushing and slick sounds coming from your cunts filling the room and making your cheeks grow pink. “That’s it, you feel so fucking good…” she moaned, and you gasped. You needed to hear her moans again, though you feared that if you did, you’d come faster than you’d ever before.

Your hands unconsciously travelled to her hips, pushing her closer, harder against your pussy, making your moans grow louder and louder as her speed caught up.

“Good girl. Shit, you’re gonna make me cum so fucking hard…” she cursed, kissing your neck, playing with your tits…

“Ellie…” you sobbed. “ ‘M close!”

“You close baby? Gonna cum for me? Gonna give me one more, hm? Go ahead, be a good girl for me and come. Let me have it.” she didn’t have to ask twice, with one last thrust against your clit, your back arched in pleasure, moans loud and non-stopping as you came. Your vision turned white for a moment, your hears ringing at the increíble pleasure that seemed to have no end as she too chased her peak.

“Fuck, I’m cumming. Shit.” she panted, moaning and coming all over your sticky folds, nails digging on your thighs as she rode it out, hearing your moans and calls of pleasure.

You whimpered when the overstimulation became too much, and she let go of you, a string of cum connecting your cunts as she pulled away. You almost moaned at the sight.

You looked into her eyes, and that’s when it hit you that you had forgotten one of the most important dealer rules; Never get too hooked up on drugs.

And Ellie Williams was a hard one.

＊＊＊＊

a/n; hope you liked it <3 i missed writing for cop Ellie!

here’s the link to the tag to find my masterlists! since tumblr seems to be having problems with the links on my masterlist pinned post <3

xxxxx

[badgerbl00d]

drinking with the one piece boys pt.2

☆ characters: law, crocodile, mihawk

☆ up next: one piece boys getting jealous pt. 2

☆ summary: getting a lil drunk w the above characters who definitely don't have a thing for you ;) ..., suggestive content

☆ a/n: part 2 is finally up! let me know which characters you'd like to see in part 3... and please enjoy!

law

bourbon

It was a relatively small victory. 

The Polar Tang had sprung a minor leak after nearly 3 weeks without resurfacing, and somehow, amidst the general panic, Penguin’s constant reminders that dying by drowning was arguably the worst way to go, no shipwright, and Law’s inability to keep everybody anybody calm, the leak was patched. It took two and a half hours and there would be a significant clean up job but it was a victory nonetheless. The crew hadn’t seen a fraction of excitement for the past month and it was such a relief to have fixed it that within minutes alcohol was being passed around. 

Law snuck back into his office, barely avoiding the spray of opened champagne and shaken beer bottles, groaning and mumbling about ‘behaving like children’ and ‘unprofessionalism’. 

You sat with the others for a while, playing cards with Jean Bart as Bepo and Shachi looked for the karaoke machine. 

You dismissed yourself quickly when they found it, grabbing a bottle of expensive looking alcohol before you left. 

Knock. Knock. 

“Come in,” Law sighed. 

He didn’t look up from his paperwork and was sorting out different kinds of coins on his desk. 

“You left the party too early,” you teased, “My Heart Will Go On has a third person part in case you wanted to join in!”

A small smile spread across Law’s face and he looked up, perking up slightly when he saw the amber bottle in your hands. 

“What’s that?” he raised an eyebrow at you, opening his desk drawer to pull out two glasses. 

“Bourbon,” you popped off the seal, smelling the liquid inside before pouring some into each cup, “I figured we might enjoy it better than they would out there. Cheap beer seems to do the trick for them.”

Law nodded his head in thanks and clinked glasses with you as you both took a sip.

“Good god,” you gagged, “That’s strong.”

“Looks like it might be cheap beer for you too.”

“You just want the whole bottle to yourself.” 

He shook his head, “You know I’m better behaved than that. This glass should be enough for me.” 

He finished it with a second sip.

“C’mon don’t make me drink alone, Captain.”

With little protest from the pirate, you poured him another drink, and capped off your own glass when you had finished.

An hour later and somewhere between your fourth and fifth glass of stolen bourbon and Law’s sixth or seventh you realized how completely gone you both were. The bottle was half empty and with every sip you took you felt the man across from you’s eyes watching how your plump lips hugged the rim of the glass with every sip. 

Overcome by both boldness and drunken impulse you leaned forward, laying your head down on the table and softly ran your fingers over his.

You traced the tattoos that painted them, and placed your hand on top of his when you had finished. 

You slowly sat back up, and looked at your Captain. His cheeks were a hazy pink and his hair tousled and messy. His eyes were half lidded and his voice seemed to have dropped an octave or two. He’d undone the top two buttons on his shirt and it took the entirety of your hazy minded willpower to not start drooling. 

“Y’know,” Law started, his words blending into one another, “You’re ver’pretty.. ‘n I might have a crush on you.”

His hands made their way towards yours and you toyed with each other until your fingers seemed to naturally tie themselves together, your hands resting comfortably in his. You softly laughed, it was airy and beautiful. 

Law continued, “Like that. S’pretty.” 

“Y’might not remember this ‘n the morning,” you slurred, your cheeks a furious red. 

“Then kiss me now.”

You both stood up much faster and more suddenly than your condition allowed and nearly fell over.

You giggled your way towards each other, Law placing a surprisingly gentle hand on your back, guiding you towards the side of his desk, his hand guarding you from any sharp edges. 

He sat you down after sloppily clearing away all the papers, leaving a mess on the floor. 

He pushed your hair from your eyes, clumsily tucking it behind your ears. 

Everything was suddenly very warm, the palms of his hands seemed to radiate an ebbing heat onto your back. One on the small of your back and one supporting your neck.

Despite your drunkenness, you locked eyes, and there was a startling sincerity in both your stares.

You closed your eyes as a soft pair of lips were gingerly placed on yours. 

Your lips closed around his, softly sucking and nibbling at each other, giggles littering the space in between each attachment of your lips. You brought your arms up around his neck and he pulled you closer into him, situating himself between your thighs. 

Your desperation grew and you sunk yourself fully into him, your tongues slipping back and forth into each other's mouths, sloppy strings of saliva connecting your lips every time you pulled away. 

“Law, Law, wait,” you said, gasping for air, “Wait.” 

You swallowed, your chests both heaving.

His brows furrowed and his hands rubbed your back.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, still breathing heavily. The dim light in the room was making your head spin and you suddenly felt very overwhelmed. 

Law pulled you into his chest and pressed kisses to the top of your head. 

“What do we say tomorrow morning?”

“Does it matter?”

You were silent. 

“I suppose that depends. Are you drunk?”

You shook your head, “I’m not, no. Are you?”

“Not anymore,” he laughed. 

You looked up at him. 

He smiled. 

“Then we say nothing.” 

crocodile

whiskey

If there was one mistake in your life you’d regret, it would be this one. 

He’d make sure of it.

Had you really, in all your laughable idiocy, convinced yourself you could double cross a warlord? 

And you probably thought you’d been clever about it. Like he couldn’t recognize when he saw a sheep in wolf’s clothing. 

You were, he had to admit, better than most. 

You were cunning in a wickedly creative way and he had no doubt that had you not shown your hand, he would have been in serious trouble. But did you really think he wouldn’t find out? 

You’d been so careful that it astonished him you’d chosen the worst possible confidant to help carry out your planned assassination. Mr. 2, aside from being notoriously big-mouthed and unaware, was- more than anyone- loyal. 

Surely you had to have known that.

But that was no concern of Crocodile’s, and he’d have dealt with you before morning.

‘Ten o’clock, Hasting’s Bar on 2nd’ was what the card had read. 

It was beyond you what he could have possibly wanted to do with you at a bar but you weren’t left with much choice. 

You waited for an hour before he cared to arrive, sitting next to you. 

You sucked on a cherry stem, and tapped your cigarette out onto the ashtray in front of you. 

He said nothing, but you felt his eyes swallowing you whole.

It was threatening, of course, but enjoyable. Your red dress looked good and his attention felt even better.  

“Two whiskeys,” he ordered, slapping a hand down on the bar, breaking the silence.

“Oh- I don’t drink.”

Crocodile raised a hand to stop you talking, “You do tonight.” 

He was visibly upset and you shifted in your seat in discomfort. 

The bartender placed two glasses in front of you, each containing a dark gold liquid. 

You grabbed your glass by the rim, swirling it around.

It smelled like gasoline and wood. 

“What’s the occasion?” you asked. 

“Company is doing well. Marginal increases, international buyers and sellers, and most importantly, we’re now operating completely legally. Well, we will be in three weeks. Once we’ve wrapped up all the licensing paperwork.”

You looked at him, not completely understanding why he’d be giving you all that information. Your position at the company most definitely had nothing to do with legality of operations. 

It made no sense for a man of his secrecy to tell you anything. Unless… 

You felt your stomach start churning and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. 

Bon Clay had said something. 

He knew. 

His expression remained completely neutral, disinterested almost. 

You slowly stood up, “Why are you telling me this?”

“What is that proverb,” he asked, standing up with a startling speed and stepping behind you, a leg on each side of yours closing you in, “About traitors?”

You swallowed audibly, sweat beading against your forehead, your knuckles turning white around the glass they were holding. 

“Keep your friends close…,” he whispered as he leant in, brushing his lips against yours, a hook snaking around your waist to pull you closer into his chest as he traced a tantilizing finger up your cheek, brushing a strand of hair back. 

Dragging his lips to your ear you felt a sly grin slowly etch into his face, 

“.. and your enemies closer.”

Your heart was steady, though the beat against your chest was now much stronger. 

How typical of a man in his position. 

Assuming he knew best and you knew nothing. 

In a sudden motion you threw your drink behind you, drenching his head and shoulders in whiskey. 

He stepped back, anger bubbling up from his chest into his face which was turning red. 

“If I’m correct,” you started, “Sand doesn’t disperse when wet.”

You turned around to look at him, smiling at how his eyes widened.

“Playing stupid worked! For a second I thought you’d be too smart to fall for the ‘clumsy assassin’ routine. Accidentally letting slip who I was with by telling Mr.2 of all people? Please.”

You studied his face as he stood unnervingly still, thick drops of golden liquid dripping down his cheeks. 

There was something else in his eyes though, something uncivilized and hungry. He looked at you with anger, yes, but also with a fervent desire. 

He seemed genuinely amused. Not in a condescending way like you were used to from him, but like he had a genuine interest in the turn of events. 

“You know, sweetheart,” he laughed, taking out a cigar and placing it between his lips, “I’m impressed.”

He walked towards you, facing the cigar in your direction, asking for a light, “I should offer you a job.”

You let out a short, dry laugh, bringing your lighter to his lips. 

He bent down, grey eyes locking onto yours and you watched a wolfish smile spread onto his face. 

“There’s a car outside, that will take us back to mine.”

He slipped a coarse finger under the strap of your dress, toying with it, letting it off your shoulder. 

“Good thing you’re dressed for the occasion.” 

You pulled the cigar from his lips, taking a long drag before softly blowing the smoke onto his rigid nose.

You ran a finger under his chin, bringing your lips millimeters from his. 

“Must we leave here? We have it all to ourselves.”

Crocodile smiled, pulling the cigar from your lips and putting it out on the bar.

He pulled you into his lap as he took a seat, letting his coarse hands palm your body.

If there was one mistake in his life he’d regret, it would be this one. You were about to make sure of it. 

mihawk

wine

“Cariño,” you called out from the tub, “Bring wine!”

You sunk back down into the warm water, listening to your husband chuckle to himself as he ran downstairs to complete his errand. 

Bubbles covered you and floated around the tub as you softly paddled the water underneath. 

A deep sigh made its way out of your lungs and you rested your head back, enjoying the display your husband had arranged for you.

Rose petals littered the bathroom, strewn across the floor and tub, the room dimly lit by candles which casted a warm hue giving your skin a golden glow. 

It wasn’t often the two of you were home together for more than a few weeks at a time, however you’d both managed to finish all your obligations and errands before winter had even set on Kuragaina. 

The swordsman, much to your surprise, had finished nearly a full two weeks before you and had spent the time preparing for your arrival. 

He owned an abundance of different financial assets around the world, most of which you managed. Properties from North to South Blue, millions of dollars in (rigged) stock market exchanges, investments in artworks around museums around the world, and several different savings accounts with banks run by ex-cons and loan sharks. 

Your husband might not have been the most violent type of pirate, but he was a pirate nonetheless and, well, clean money didn’t buy castles. 

You didn’t mind, and were good with the men he dealt with. 

Pirates' morals were pretty simple when they were talking to a beautiful woman with a globally feared husband, so you were never really worried. 

Though, on the rare occasion something did happen you could usually handle yourself. 

Two light knocks at the door woke you back up and you turned to look at Mihawk holding up a wine bottle. 

“I figured we didn’t need the glasses,” he mused. 

You giggled and beckoned him towards the tub, “Butler,” you teased, “The water’s cooling down.”

He smiled and turned the faucet to the left, increasing the temperature of water pouring into the tub. 

He kneeled outside the tub, a large hand bringing your head towards his lips which pressed a kiss onto your forehead. 

“Anything else, hermosa?”

You nodded, sinking into the hold of his hand on the back of your neck. 

“¿Qué necesitas?” he asked, admiring how beautiful you looked.

“Entré aquí y te diré.”

He smiled, more excitedly this time, pressing a rapid flurry of kisses to your face before obliging your request. 

“Help me undress,” he asked. 

You leaned over the edge of the tub, the bubbles clinging to your body acting as a rather transparent cover up, and slowly began undoing the buttons of his shirt, tracing your fingers up and down his exposed skin as you did so. 

The golden light filling the room enhanced his muscles, highlighting the product of years upon years of rigorous training and strength building. 

But he wasn’t hard to the touch, like marble or stone. His skin was impossibly soft and smooth. He bore no scars- a fact that brought him immense pride, and further proof of his title as the world’s greatest swordsman. 

A sinfully soft hand gently grabbed your cheeks, pulling your lips towards his. 

You kissed him, savoring how even now, in marriage, he kissed you with completely unfiltered lust. 

His tongue slipped past your lips, begging entry into your mouth, and you tasted that he’d gotten a head start on the wine. 

“Not fair,” you giggled, pulling away from the kiss.

He stood up, discarding the rest of his clothing, folding it and placing it on top of yours before stepping in. 

He sunk down and you made your way over to him, sitting yourself in between his legs, lying back onto his chest.

He grabbed the wine bottle and handed it to you, from which you happily took a long drink. 

It was surprisingly sweet and you thanked him for accommodating your less refined wine tastes, the bitter stuff just didn’t entice you. 

He laughed, gathering up the hair that had fallen out of your claw clip and redoing it for you. 

“I missed you,” he said, kissing your neck. 

You grabbed his hands and laced your fingers into his, lightly squeezing as you wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“I missed you so much,” you started, “I know we should probably be used to it after five years but…”

You let your thoughts trail off. 

“I’ll never get used to your absence,” he said, “Before you this castle was lonely and empty save for some squatters I momentarily had staying. And now it is only a home when I can find you in it.”

You giggled at his quip before continuing, “It’s so lonely and empty and the floors are so cold and I swear I still get lost sometimes.

And when you’re not here the bed is so much colder and I worry the entire time about you.”

“Worry about me?” he teased, “And what possible pirate or marine out there could possibly have you worried about me?”

You took another long sip of the wine. 

“I dunno,” you said, your head starting to feel hazy. The heat from the bath and the surge of emotions of being back home were overwhelming you. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he assured you, “I’m here now. And I’m staying until spring.”

You hugged his arm which was still circled around your waist. 

“I have to leave for another week,” you’d been hesitant to tell him and had decided now was probably going to be the best opportunity. 

“I’ll be back by next Sunday, I have business in the city. There’s a man who wants to rent part of a property we own for reasons I assume he’ll elaborate upon when we meet.” 

He gently grabbed the wine bottle from your hands, taking a drink from it, saying nothing. 

“I know I just arrived, I’m sorry.”

He gave you a soft squeeze.

“I have no room to complain, amor, I’m constantly leaving you here,” he pressed a flurry of kisses to the top of your head, “But I could go with you.”

You turned around to look at him, adjusting yourself in the tub so you were at the perfect height to give him a kiss.

You pulled away, only for his hand to find its way to the back of your head and pull you back in for another. 

You deepened the kiss, pressing your body against his, as his hands traveled downward palming a good amount of your ass.

It was clear this activity was bound to make its way into your bedroom sooner than later. 

You sat up, running a hand through his hair. 

“Let’s go get in bed. We leave early tomorrow morning.”

He laughed, grabbing your cheeks and pulling you in for one last kiss.

[whereforarthur]

Brother’s Flatmate

Request: anything that starts angsty but ends fluffy PLS

Pairing: Arthur Hill x George’sSister!Reader

Category: Angst to Fluff

Word Count: 4.3k

*****

"Real love doesn't meet you at your best. It meets you in your mess." – J.S. Park

In the bustling heart of London, where the Thames River curved its ancient path, there was a man named Arthur Hill. He was known to many as a charismatic YouTuber with a velvety singing voice, yet to his closest friend George, he was simply Arthur, the bloke who was always there for a pint and a laugh. Arthur's flat, a cozy sanctuary tucked above a quaint bookstore, reflected his unassuming nature—a blend of vintage furniture and the faint scent of dusty pages that spoke of quiet nights spent reading and recording his latest vlogs.

The flat was often filled with the sound of George's raucous laughter as the two friends bantered over cups of tea. However, the dynamic changed whenever George's sister, Y/N, was around. She was a sharp contrast to Arthur's laid-back demeanor—ambitious, driven, and often blunt to the point of discomfort. Her visits were met with a tension so palpable it could be sliced with a knife.

Today was no exception. The moment she barged in, Arthur felt the atmosphere shift. He set aside his camera, knowing that the evening's vlog would have to wait. Y/N's eyes narrowed as she assessed the cluttered room, a clear judgment of his lifestyle.

"It's not just a bit of mess," she retorted, her voice laced with frustration. "It's a health hazard. And it's not like you don't know how to clean up after yourself, Arthur."

The unspoken hostility between them was a constant thorn in George's side. He had no idea what had caused the rift, only that it had grown wider with each passing year. Arthur and Y/N had never seen eye to eye, and it was clear that their dislike for each other was deeply rooted.

"Look, I've had a long day," Arthur said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Could we not do this now?"

Y/N scoffed. "I'm just saying, if you want to be taken seriously as an influencer, you should start by taking your living conditions seriously."

The comment hit a nerve. Arthur's success had always been a sore spot for her, a constant reminder of her own unfulfilled aspirations. Her words stung, and he felt his temper begin to flare.

"And what would you know about that?" he shot back. "You've never had to chase your dreams because you've always had everything handed to you on a silver platter."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, her voice dangerously low.

Arthur took a deep breath, knowing he had crossed a line. "I didn't mean it like that," he said, trying to backpedal. But the damage was done.

"You don't get it," Arthur said, his voice tight. "You never have. You think because I make videos and sing songs, I don't have a clue about hard work?"

"I didn't say that," Y/N replied, her voice equally as tense. "I said you should take better care of yourself. This place is a mess, and it's a reflection of your priorities."

The accusation stung, and Arthur felt his cheeks heat up. He had always prided himself on his authenticity, his willingness to show his true self to his followers. Yet here she was, suggesting he was a fraud.

"You think I don't know what real work is?" he spat out, his eyes flashing. "You sit in your fancy office all day, sipping lattes and bossing people around, while I'm out here, trying to make a difference in the lives of my fans."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You're not curing cancer with your videos, Arthur."

The words hung in the air, a challenge that Arthur couldn't ignore. "At least I'm not living a lie," he retorted. "Pretending to be someone I'm not just to climb the corporate ladder."

Y/N's job was a sore subject for her, a constant battle against the expectations of their family's legacy. He opened his mouth to intervene, but she was already responding, her voice icy.

"You wouldn't know the first thing about hard work, Arthur," she said, her eyes glinting. "You play dress-up and make jokes for a living. It's easy to be liked when you're not actually doing anything of substance."

The words hit Arthur like a punch to the gut. He had always felt a little guilty about his chosen career path, especially compared to Y/N's high-flying corporate job. But he also knew that his content brought joy and comfort to millions. He clenched his fists, trying to keep his cool.

"You don't know anything about what I do," he said, his voice measured. "You think it's all fun and games, but there's a lot more to it than you see."

Y/N folded her arms, unmoved by his defense. "Oh, I know all about it," she said. "You sit here, making videos that people watch to forget their own lives, and you think that's meaningful?"

"It is to them," Arthur said, his voice rising. "It's more than you do, stuck in your ivory tower."

Y/N's eyes flashed. "At least I'm not living in a fantasy world," she snapped. "At least I'm not chasing after something that's never going to be more than a hobby."

"It's not a hobby," Arthur said, his voice strained. "It's my life."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Your life? More like your escape," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "You're afraid to face the real world, so you hide behind a screen and pretend you're important."

*****

Arthur's eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stared at her, the words cutting deep. He hated her—no, he didn't. He didn't hate her. It was something else, something more complicated. He hated the way she made him feel, the way she brought out his insecurities, the way she questioned his very existence. He hated that she could do that to him.

But he didn't hate her. She was George's sister, and George was his best mate. He couldn't hate her. Could he? The more he thought about it, the more he realized that what he felt was closer to fear. Fear that she might be right. Fear that he was just a glorified clown, dancing for the amusement of the masses.

He took a step towards her, his hands balled into fists. "You don't know anything about me," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "You think you're so much better, but you're just as lost as I am."

Y/N's expression didn't change, but something in her eyes flickered. For a moment, Arthur thought he saw a glimpse of vulnerability, a hint of doubt. But she quickly masked it with a sneer. "You're pathetic," she said. "You're wasting your life on this nonsense."

Arthur felt his heart racing, the blood pounding in his ears. He didn't hate her, not really. But her words stung because they echoed his own fears. He had always wondered if his career was just a facade, a way to avoid the responsibilities of adulthood. Yet here he was, standing up for what he believed in, for the community he had built, the fans who looked up to him.

"You're just jealous," he spat out, the anger giving him courage. "You're jealous that I found something I love, something that makes people happy."

Y/N's eyes narrowed. "You think you're so special," she said. "You're not. You're just a pretty face with a decent singing voice."

Arthur felt his anger boil over. "And you're just a cold-hearted bitch," he said, his voice shaking. "You don't know the first thing about love or passion."

Y/N's eyes went wide with shock at the venom in his words. For a moment, she looked as though she had been slapped. Then, she laughed—a bitter, harsh sound that rang through the flat. "Love and passion? Is that what you call it? A bunch of teenagers worshipping you?"

The room was a battleground, the air thick with animosity. The line between love and hate was paper-thin, and it was clear that they had both danced upon it for too long. Arthur's heart felt as though it was being squeezed in a vice, the weight of her accusations crushing him. Yet, amidst the anger, there was something else—a strange warmth that he couldn't quite explain. It was as if their shared disdain had kindled a spark of something more.

Y/N's eyes searched Arthur's, and for a fleeting moment, he saw a flicker of doubt in her gaze. The mask of superiority slipped, revealing a hint of the insecurity that lay beneath. She had always been the successful one, the one who had everything figured out, while he had stumbled into fame almost by accident. Yet here they were, both lost in their own ways.

"Shut up," Arthur murmured, the words barely audible. He didn't know if he was speaking to her or to the voice in his own head, the one that whispered doubt and fear.

Y/N took a step closer, her eyes flashing. "Make me," she challenged, her voice low and dangerous. The air between them crackled with tension.

Arthur's hand shot out, his fingertips brushing against her cheek. It was a gentle touch, a stark contrast to the harshness of their words. Y/N's eyes widened, and she took a sharp intake of breath, as though she hadn't expected the softness. For a second, they just stared at each other, the electricity between them palpable.

Then, before he could think better of it, Arthur leaned in and kissed her—harshly, desperately. He kissed her as if he was trying to prove a point, to show her that he was more than the sum of his YouTube views and singing talents. He kissed her as if he could erase the years of contempt with one fiery gesture.

Y/N's body stiffened, her eyes widening in shock, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into the kiss, her hands reaching up to tangle in his hair. It was a strange, intoxicating dance of anger and attraction that neither of them had seen coming. The heat between them grew, the air in the room thickening until it was almost suffocating.

*****

When they finally broke apart, both were breathless. Y/N's cheeks were flushed, her eyes dark with a mix of anger and something else—desire? Arthur couldn't tell. He felt as though he was drowning in confusion, his chest tight with emotion.

"I hate you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. But the way she said it, the way her breath hitched, told him she didn't mean it. Not entirely.

Arthur's chest tightened. "No, you don't," he said, his voice low and intense. "You're just scared."

Y/N's eyes searched his, a storm of emotions raging within them. "Scared of what?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Scared of admitting that maybe, just maybe, we're not so different after all," Arthur said, his voice low and earnest. "Scared of what this could be."

Y/N stared at him, her eyes searched his, looking for a sign that he was joking, that this was all some twisted ploy. But Arthur's gaze was unwavering, his expression raw and vulnerable. The truth of his words hit her like a tidal wave, and she felt the walls she had built around her heart begin to crumble.

"We're nothing alike," she whispered, her voice shaking. But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. They were both chasing their own versions of success, their own ways of making an impact on the world.

Arthur stepped closer, his hand still resting on her cheek. "We're more alike than you think," he said softly. "We both want to be seen, to be heard, to matter."

Y/N's breath hitched. She didn't hate him, not really. But she had spent so long pushing him away, hiding behind her sarcasm and scorn, because the alternative was too terrifying to consider. If she let him in, if she allowed herself to care, she might just get her heart broken. And she had been down that road before—she wasn't sure she could handle it again.

"I don't do feelings," she said, her voice a feeble attempt at the armor she had worn for so long. But Arthur's hand remained on her cheek, his thumb tracing gentle circles that seemed to be unraveling her very soul.

"Well, you're doing a bloody good job of hiding them," Arthur said with a sad smile. "But I can see right through you, Y/N. And I think it's about time we both faced them."

Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of a bluff. But all she found was honesty, a stark contrast to the barbed words they had exchanged just moments ago. Slowly, she reached up and placed her hand over his, her touch tentative yet filled with a spark of hope. "What are you saying, Arthur?"

He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words before speaking them. "I'm saying that maybe, just maybe, we should stop fighting and start understanding each other." His thumb continued to caress her cheek, his gaze never leaving hers. "We're both just trying to find our place in this world, and maybe we could help each other do that."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, the walls she had built around herself feeling more fragile than ever. The idea of letting Arthur in, of admitting that she might need someone, was as terrifying as it was tempting. Yet, she couldn't deny the undeniable pull she felt towards him, the way his touch made her feel seen, understood.

"I don't know if I can do that," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've spent so long pushing people away."

Arthur's eyes searched hers, filled with a gentle understanding that seemed to see right through her tough exterior. "I know," he said, his voice equally soft. "But maybe it's time to try something new."

The silence that fell between them was heavier than any of their previous barbs. Y/N felt the weight of his gaze, the warmth of his hand, and the sincerity of his words. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that usually surrounded their interactions, a gentle reminder that love could emerge from the most unlikely of places.

Her eyes searched his, looking for any hint of a lie or a hidden motive. But all she found was a mirror to her own confusion and yearning. Arthur was right—they were both lost in their own ways, but perhaps together they could navigate the tumultuous waters of life.

"Okay," she whispered, her voice shaky with uncertainty. "Okay, let's try."

Their kiss was not gentle this time, but it was not fueled by anger either. It was a kiss of understanding, of two souls colliding in the messiness of their shared existence. Arthur's arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, and she melted into him, her own arms snaking around his waist. It was as though they had been holding onto this moment for years, waiting for the perfect storm of words and emotions to bring it to the surface.

As they broke away, both panting, they stared at each other with a newfound appreciation. The hostility that had once dominated their interactions was now replaced with a strange, thrilling anticipation. They had both been hiding behind their own fears and insecurities, throwing jabs and insults to keep the other at bay. But in that one moment, they had found a common ground—the mess of their lives.

Arthur knew that real love didn't emerge from a perfect, pristine environment. It grew in the cracks of doubt and the weeds of imperfection. It was in the chaos of their shouting match that he had seen the real Y/N, the one who was just as lost and scared as he was. And in that chaos, he had found something beautiful—a spark of connection that was more real than any of the scripted moments in his videos.

They stood there, in the silence that followed the storm of their words, their hearts racing in unison. The tension between them had shifted, no longer a barrier but a bridge, a delicate yet solid connection that neither wanted to break. Y/N's eyes searched Arthur's, looking for confirmation that this was real, that she wasn't just imagining the tenderness in his gaze.

*****

"I'm sorry," Arthur murmured, his thumb still tracing circles on her cheek. "For everything."

Y/N nodded, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Me too," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I've been a bitch."

Arthur's hand slid down to her neck, his thumb brushing against the rapid pulse in her throat. "You've had your reasons," he said, his voice gentle. "But let's leave them behind now."

Y/N nodded, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "Okay," she whispered. "Let's start again."

Arthur wiped the tear away with his thumb, his eyes never leaving hers. "We don't have to start over," he said softly. "We just have to start… differently."

Y/N took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling against his chest. "Differently," she echoed, the word feeling strange and yet incredibly right on her tongue.

Arthur's gaze searched hers, his eyes filled with a warmth she hadn't seen before. It was as though he had just discovered a hidden treasure, something precious that had been buried beneath layers of anger and misunderstanding.

"I didn't know," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder. "I didn't know it could feel like this."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searched his, and she could see the realization dawning in his gaze—the raw, unfiltered understanding of what love truly meant. It was as if he had just stepped into the sunlight after years of darkness.

Arthur's eyes searched hers, the weight of his realization heavy in his gaze. It was a look that spoke of a thousand unsaid words, of moments of doubt and fear that had led them to this precipice. In that instant, she knew that he saw her—the real her, not the armored version she presented to the world. He saw the vulnerability she had worked so hard to hide, the softness that lay beneath the sharp edges of her sarcasm.

"Neither did I," she murmured, her voice shaky. She felt the warmth of his breath against her skin, the steady beat of his heart under her palm. The tension between them had transformed into something new, something that made her heart flutter in a way she had long ago convinced herself she was immune to.

They stood there, in the quiet aftermath of their confrontation, the air charged with the electricity of their newfound connection. It was strange, terrifying, and yet, somehow, it felt more real than anything she had ever experienced. For the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N allowed herself to hope that maybe, just maybe, she had found someone who truly understood her.

"We'll take it slow," Arthur said, his voice low and soothing. "We'll get to know each other without the baggage of what we've always thought we knew."

Y/N nodded, the tightness in her chest slowly easing. The idea of taking it slow was both comforting and exhilarating. She had always rushed into things, eager to prove herself, to conquer and claim. But with Arthur, she felt the need to be gentle, to tiptoe around the fragility of this newfound bond.

"Okay," she said, her voice a whisper. "We'll start tonight."

*****

They decided to order takeout, a simple meal of fish and chips from the chippy down the street. As they waited, Arthur suggested they watch one of his videos together, one that had a special meaning to him. Y/N agreed, her curiosity piqued.

The video was of Arthur singing a cover of an obscure indie song, the melody haunting and beautiful. As he watched her reaction, he explained how the lyrics had resonated with him during a particularly tough time in his life, how the words had given him the courage to keep going. Y/N listened, her eyes never leaving the screen, and for the first time, she saw the depth of his passion, the raw emotion that fueled his art.

When the video ended, she turned to him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I had no idea," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I never knew you felt like that."

Arthur took her hand, his thumb tracing comforting circles on her skin. "There's a lot you don't know about me," he said, his voice gentle. "And I want to show you."

The night stretched out before them, a canvas of unexplored possibilities. They talked, shared stories, and laughed—the kind of laughter that washed away the years of tension and left them feeling lighter, freer. It was a tentative start, a delicate dance of opening up to each other.

As they sat there, on the couch in Arthur's cluttered flat, surrounded by the detritus of his life, Y/N felt something within her shift. It was as though she had been holding her breath for years, and now, finally, she could exhale.

The kiss that followed was not driven by anger or spite. It was born of a newfound respect, a tentative curiosity that grew into a blaze of passion. Their lips met, and it was as though all the words they had left unsaid were finally finding their voice.

When they parted, Y/N's heart was racing, her cheeks flushed. She looked into Arthur's eyes and saw the same wonder reflected in his gaze. They had crossed a line, stepped into a place neither had dared to tread before.

"I don't know what this is," she murmured, her voice husky.

Arthur leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. "Neither do I," he said. "But I know I don't want to let it go."

And so, with the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the window, they embraced the uncertainty, the thrill of the unknown. They had found something in each other that was more than just friendship or rivalry. It was a connection that defied logic, a bond forged in the fires of their shared pain and doubt.

As they sat there, holding each other tightly, Y/N felt the first stirrings of a love that had been buried beneath layers of contempt. It was a love that had been waiting for the right moment to emerge, a love that was as real and as raw as the music that filled Arthur's soul.

The future was uncertain, fraught with the potential for either heartbreak or a love that could surpass their wildest dreams. Yet, in that moment, all that mattered was the here and now. They decided to take it one day at a time, to build their relationship on a foundation of honesty and mutual respect.

The weeks that followed were filled with tentative smiles and gentle touches, as they both learned to navigate the new waters of their blossoming relationship. Y/N began to see Arthur not just as George's friend, but as a complex individual with his own fears and aspirations. She admired his dedication to his craft and the way he connected with his fans, bringing joy to the lives of so many.

Arthur, in turn, discovered the strength and resilience behind Y/N's sharp exterior. He saw the passion she brought to her work, the way she fought for what she believed in, even when the odds were stacked against her. Her ambition was no longer a source of irritation but a quality he found himself drawn to, a reminder that there was more to life than just his own small corner of the internet.

*****

Their first date was a simple walk along the South Bank, the Thames reflecting the soft glow of the setting sun. They talked about their hopes, their fears, and the moments that had shaped them into the people they were today. The conversation flowed as easily as the river beside them, and with each step, they grew closer.

Holding hands, they stumbled upon a small jazz club, the music spilling out onto the cobbled streets. Arthur looked at Y/N, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Dance with me?" he asked, leading her inside.

The intimate venue was crowded, but they found a spot near the stage. As the music swelled around them, they swayed together, lost in the rhythm and the warmth of their bodies. Y/N felt a sense of belonging she hadn't experienced in a long time, as though she had finally found a place where she truly fit.

Their relationship grew steadily, each moment revealing a new facet of the other. They discovered shared interests, like a love for obscure British sitcoms and a passion for long, meandering conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning. The flat that had once been a battleground of snark and sarcasm now echoed with laughter and whispered secrets.

Yet, as much as they enjoyed their time together, the specter of their past remained. George, caught in the middle, watched with a mix of bewilderment and happiness as his sister and best friend grew closer. He knew the history of their animosity, the depth of the scars that still lingered beneath the surface.

One evening, as the three of them sat around Arthur's kitchen table, the tension grew thick. Y/N reached for Arthur's hand under the table, a silent plea for support. He squeezed it gently, a reminder that they were in this together.

"Look," Arthur said, breaking the silence. "We've all said things we regret. But we're trying to move forward. Can't we just… be happy for each other?"

George studied them, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he leaned back in his chair. "I just want you two to be happy," he said. "But don't expect me to understand it."

Y/N and Arthur shared a look, a silent promise to navigate this new chapter with care. It was a step forward, a small but significant one. They knew they had a long way to go, but for now, they were content to simply enjoy the dance they had found themselves in.

*****

Taglist~

@gvf23 @xxkatxgracexx @pookietv

[bigmpregnm]

Becoming a Broodfather - Part 1

[Story Collection] | [●] [Part 2] A commissioned story for my dear friend @trtyutr. Enjoy!

**** Tim sat on a bench in the park, enjoying the soft and fresh breeze. At 45 years old and after many years of pregnancy and parenthood, he had learned to enjoy the peaceful moments where he could relax and appreciate the view. Tim sat comfortably on the bench and heard the frame creaking and bending under his weight, making him smile at the reminder of his weight these days. He had always been a thick man, but his current state took the definition of thickness and heaviness to a new level.

Tim lifted his right arm and rested it on his massive belly, where many kids kicked up a storm. With his free hand, he rubbed big circles on the left side of his gigantic abdomen, grinning as he found comfort in his own touch. He sighed, looking down at his massive body, but unable to see much beyond his pecs, he moved his hands up and started rubbing his pecs with a slow and gentle touch.

Tim’s pecs were swollen with children, just like his belly. He carried five babies within each pec, making his chest look like a pair of beach balls, hiding part of his face and obscuring most of his view. The kicking within his pecs never stopped, but as an attempt to settle the babies down, he enjoyed constant rubs. His nipples were enormous and permanently engorged due to the heavy lactation to provide milk for his older kids. Tim was a father to a large brood, and soon, said brood, would grow a lot more.

Tim’s pecs rested heavily on his enormously swollen abdomen, where 30 full-term babies turned and kicked constantly. He had grown used to feeling the babies move in his belly, but even then, the longer the babies stayed inside him, the more he enjoyed it. He loved his kids and loved having more on the way. He knew he was meant to have many kids, so he enjoyed each second.

The constant kicking and turning weren’t limited to his pecs and belly because, inside his massive baggy shorts, his enormous balls had grown to accommodate 10 more babies, five on each ball, for a total of 50 full-term babies growing in his body. Also, tightly fitted in his shorts with his balls, Tim’s huge dick was half hard. It formed a big tent that would’ve caught everybody’s attention if it wasn’t for the rest of Tim’s enormous body drawing everybody’s looks.

As Tim caressed his own body, he remembered his previous pregnancies and how they had led him to his current condition. He was married to six men who loved getting him pregnant and also loved to carry his kids. Together, they had carried to term and given birth to many babies, with many more on the way. Tim was the brood-father of the clan, so he always made sure to keep his husbands full of kids while he carried a lot more as well.

Tim’s massive body was proof of the many pregnancies he had gone through and the many kids he had given birth to. At only 5’5” tall, Tim could be described as a mountain of fat, muscle, and womb. He had a good amount of muscle mass, mostly acquired due to the physical effort of carrying around his heavy body during his big pregnancies. His ass was one of the main reasons why people stared at him, and it had grown enormously during the pregnancies.

The fact that his entire body had a thick layer of fat that made him look enormous accentuated his “pregnant look” and made him even heavier. His arms were thick and stout. Apart from his enormous belly, his love handles augmented the circumference of his midsection and thickened his frame. His ass and hips were fat, jiggling hypnotically with each step he took, and his legs were incredibly thick and fat too. Additionally, his baby-filled pecs, belly, and balls made him unbelievably heavy and slowed his movements a lot.

As he thought about his husbands, Tim groaned as his kids kicked everywhere, and his hands couldn’t reach most of his belly and none of his balls. When he was home, his husbands would give him a lot of belly rubs, but as he sat on the bench alone, he could only rub a small part of his body. However, as he looked around the park, he saw a tall, lean young man standing only a few feet away, doing some stretching and showcasing a chiseled physique.

The young man stood tall at 6’5”, a whole foot taller than Tim, and his body was very different from the massively pregnant man’s. The young man was athletic, a total jock, so it was evident he spent many hours working out at the gym. Tim couldn’t help but bite his lower lip as he saw the young man’s bubble butt, looking perfect for breeding. Tim observed the young man’s moves as he flexed and relaxed his muscles, prompting him to make a move.

“Hey, buddy, would you mind giving me a hand with something?” Tim said aloud to call the young man’s attention. “Come closer for a moment,” Tim said as the babies started kicking even more, and his groans grew louder. 

The young man stopped what he was doing and looked at Tim, realizing the pregnant man was calling for him. As he approached, the young man was evidently in shock at the sight of Tim’s massively pregnant form. His face was a mix of excitement and awe, making Tim grin.

“Are you okay, sir?” A deep and low voice came from the young man’s mouth while Tim groaned.

“Yeah, but these babies won’t stop kicking, and I’ve grown too big to calm them down. They like when I rub on the spots they kick, but I can’t reach most of those spots anymore. So, I literally need a hand or two here,” Tim said with a firm tone, looking down at his pecs and belly.

The young man stared silently for a few seconds and, smiling kindly at Tim, reached for the massive pregnant belly to rub it in small circles. As the young man nervously caressed his belly, Tim looked closer at his athletic body and confirmed it was perfect to carry and birth many children.

“Oh, yeah… that feels amazing. Those big and strong hands of yours really know how to treat a pregnant belly,” Tim said, exaggerating his moans to excite the young man. “May I know your name?”

“My name’s Ashton. And I’m glad to be helpful. I had never done this before, but I get that you have a lot of belly to rub,” Ashton said, rubbing big circles over Tim’s taut skin.

“It feels nice. I wish you were closer more often,” Tim said, smiling and admiring Ashton’s good looks and strong-looking physique. “May I know how old you are?”

“I just turned 26 last week. Why do you ask? Do I look younger? Older?” Ashton asked.

“You look simply perfect. It was just curiosity,” Tim responded with a grin.

Ashton wore gym shorts that left nothing to the imagination, and even though his muscles weren’t enormous, the definition and proportion were unbelievable. As he stared into Ashton’s eyes, Tim remembered the first time he got pregnant. His body used to be lean, and his muscles weren’t huge, either. Even though he had been shorter, Tim saw a lot of his own story all over Ashton’s body. These thoughts excited him as he imagined Ashton getting pregnant and carrying a lot of kids. His strong-looking body was definitely meant to have many children at once.

“I won’t mind you rubbing my pecs and my balls too. The babies in there are also kicking up a storm,” Tim said, prompting Ashton to touch more of his pregnant body. “Your hands are big, and your touch is firm; I really need a massage, and you’re the perfect guy,” Tim added, trying to lift the hem of his enormous shirt up to reveal his gigantic belly.

Ashton smiled and helped Tim reveal his massive belly. “Wow, you’re huge, beyond huge.” The young man moved his hands all over Tim’s belly and moved his hands higher to Tim’s massive pecs. “You look incredible, and the sensation is awesome. I had never touched or rubbed a person as pregnant as you.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you carry fifty babies inside your body. You get this huge,” Tim said, winking at Ashton. “And you know... I’m sure you’d look amazing with a belly as big as, or bigger than, this one. Look at you. You’re so big and strong and have the perfect hips to give birth to many babies and form a large family.”

“Oh, no, no. That’s not for me. I haven’t considered having babies... or a family, but... you make it look hot,” Ashon said as his hands played with Tim’s engorged nipples. 

“I can show you all the goods and benefits of getting this big. But then again, I’m sure you can get even bigger than I am.” Tim pulled Ashton’s hand toward his bulge for the young man to feel Tim’s huge, hard dick. “I know we just met, but I can teach you. I will teach you.”

“No, I really don’t want to be pregnant. I prefer to only observe and maybe… touch,” Ashton said, lowering his hand to feel Tim’s yoga-ball-sized balls.

“I don’t think you’re understanding here. I’m not taking no for an answer. I’m sure you’ll be a great dad, and with that body of yours, you’ll get huge with my kids,” Tim said, reaching for Ashton’s body to caress it. “What do you say if we go somewhere else? I know a place where I can show you all the good aspects of being pregnant.”

Ashton hesitated for a few seconds, but Tim’s voice was firm, so he couldn’t say no. He looked at Tim’s body and could only gasp and marvel in surprise at how fertile the big man was. Everything about Tim drew Ashton’s attention, so with a firm nod, Ashton accepted the invitation. Meanwhile, Tim could only imagine the size Ashton would reach with his pecs, belly, and balls full of his babies. This thought made Tim’s dick throb violently in his pants, convincing Ashton that he had to go with him.

****

As they arrived at a small apartment owned by Tim, Ashton quickly removed his gym shorts and underwear and helped Tim out of his enormous clothes. Standing right in front of each other with their bodies fully naked made their thoughts fly. Ashton could only drool and gasp as he saw Tim’s massiveness on display. There was so much to stare at that Ashton didn’t know where to start. The enormous pecs looked so full, with perfectly engorged nipples adorning them and making Ashton want to suck on them. His gigantic belly looked even bigger than at the park. His balls also looked fuller and larger than inside the shorts, and Tim’s almost 2-foot-long hard dick made Ashton shiver with anticipation.

While Ashton observed Tim’s body with shock, Tim was amazed by the whole sight of Ashton’s perfectly shaped muscles, and his average 5-inch-long dick. Tim grinned as he looked at Ashton’s dick, which was small compared to all the pregnant man's huge dicks he was used to, knowing that it would change once the young man started his new role as a broodfather. He had been very different before his pregnancies changed him many years before.

Tim pulled Ashton closer by the hand and forced him to lean forward to kiss his lips. The tall man offered no resistance while Tim’s hands started caressing his shoulders and pecs. The making out intensified as Tim reached for Ashton’s dick and started stroking it, also playfully squeezing his balls. Ashton moaned and gave Tim’s massive ass a firm massage, kneading it like dough, but Ashton stopped him.

“Not so fast, big guy. We have other things to do before you get to enjoy an ass like this,” Tim said and reached for Ashon’s bubble butt to squeeze it firmly. “Many years ago, I had a cute ass like yours. But I can assure you that you’ll get to love what many pregnancies can do to your body.”

Ashton didn’t respond and only continued kissing Tim while they got in bed together. Ashton didn’t know how to position himself, but Tim commanded him to get on all fours. It was the best way for a huge man like Tim to fuck him, so Ashton was more than happy to oblige. As Tim observed the young man’s big ass ready for him, he slowly positioned behind the young man to rub his massive dick against the big ass. Tim lifted his huge belly enough to rest it on Ashton’s strong back while the babies inside it kicked up a storm. The babies on his pecs also moved and turned a lot, making Tim rub his body while smiling broadly.

“It’s been many years, but I still remember the day when an enormously pregnant older man made me understand that I was meant to be a broodfather, just like you are meant for it,” Tim explained, pushing his hips forward to poke at Ashton’s hole, making him groan. “I met the man at a restaurant. He asked me to help him reach something on his table because his belly was too big to do it himself. I know how it feels now, and soon you’ll learn it’s amazing. It makes you feel so powerful,” Tim added, pushing even harder and forcing the massive head of his dick into Ashton’s tight hole.

As the head of Tim’s dick entered him, Ashon moaned out loud, and his breathing became shallow. Tim’s massive dick made Ashton feel like he was tearing in half, but mixed with the most pleasurable sensation he had ever experienced. As Tim pushed inch after inch of his huge dick into Tim’s hole, moans filled the room, and even though the young man couldn’t articulate words, his moans were a sign that he wanted and needed more.

“I didn’t realize how amazing a pregnancy could be until my belly started growing, and my entire body grew to handle it. The man who turned me into a broodfather was over twenty years older than me, but he made me realize that I was meant to bring many children into this world by carrying them and by getting others pregnant. I still remember how he filled me up with that first batch and how he taught me the goods and benefits of it,” Tim said as he pushed his entire dick into Ashton, making the young man cry out in pleasure.

Ashton gasped for air, and his mind was almost blank due to the intense pleasure, but as he processed Tim’s words, he pushed his own hips backward to fit in as much of the massive dick as possible. This was a sign for a very excited Tim that Ashton was ready for the next step. Tim started fucking Ashton’s hole with slow and powerful thrusts. The young man groaned and moaned as Tim pounded hard into him.

Ashton moved his hand to his abdomen and felt the massive bump that Tim’s dick formed. He marveled at how huge the dick was and how his body was able to take it. As Ashton rubbed Tim’s dick through his skin, the young man felt a large glob of pre-cum coming out of Tim’s dick and making him feel even fuller. He knew his abs, which he had worked hard to get, would soon disappear if Tim kept going, but the more Tim talked and fucked him, the more Ashton convinced himself that he was meant to get pregnant.

Tim sped up his pace as Ashton moaned louder. With each passing second, the sex session intensified, and more pre-cum entered Ashton’s willing hole. Tim was wager to fill Ashton up with cum, and Ashton was eager to be filled with Tim’s cum. His mind had changed while Tim fucked him, and feeling the enormous belly resting on top of him made Ashton realize that it was what he wanted.

“I’m close to cumming. I’m sure you’ll love how this feels,” Tim said, pounding fast and hard. “You’ll love how all my cum feels inside you, and you’ll beg me for more,” Tim added, reaching for Ashton’s hips to hold them for support.

“Yes, please,” Ashton managed to say between moans and groans of pleasure. He couldn’t think clearly, but he was sure that he needed Tim’s cum in him.

With a broad smile, Tim pushed forward and got balls deep into an eager Ashton, groaning out loud as he started shooting massive globs of cum into the young man. Tim’s body shivered, and his babies kicked more than ever as he released a massive cum load into Ashton, aware that the young man would be very pregnant after that load.

Ashton moaned and gasped for air as he felt the torrent of cum entering his body and bloating his stomach in a few seconds. He was surprised by the size of Tim’s cum load, but he could only long for more. He rubbed his abdomen and felt it expanding due to all the cum getting inside, soon turning into a full belly.

Once Tim had stopped cumming, he took his huge dick out of Ashton and collapsed in bed next to him, rubbing the size of his belly and pecs because the babies were moving a lot. It happened every time Tim had sex with any of his husbands, so he was used to the feeling. His husbands always gave him a massage after they had sex, and this time, he knew Ashton would be more than willing to do so.

Ashton was still breathless as he lay on his back beside Tim. He caressed his cum filled belly and chuckled when he noticed how tiny it was compared with Tim’s, but he knew that he would get there at some point.

“You really think I’ll get as big as you?” Ashton asked.

“Probably even bigger, eventually,” Tim answered, reaching for Ashton’s belly. “But don’t worry. You have a lot to learn before you get there, and I’ll teach you everything. The man who got me pregnant taught me how to be a broodfather, and I’ll teach you the same. First lesson, come here and give my belly, balls, and pecs a good massage. These kids always get restless when I have sex, but soon you’ll learn how that is,” Tim said, patting his pecs.

Ashton didn’t hesitate and kneeled next to Tim, pressing his small belly against the older man’s much bigger one while giving him a good and detailed massage. Ashton knew his life had changed forever, and he couldn’t wait to learn everything about becoming a broodfather.

...

[messiahzzz]

while it’s perfectly fine to have your own headcanons that are non-canon compliant — by all means, go wild. recognizing pieces of yourselves in fictional characters can be a very healing and validating experience. this is nonetheless a casual, well-intentioned reminder that gale, in fact, does not have bpd.

bpd is a pervasive pattern of instability affecting interpersonal relationships, self-image, and mood. the disorder is marked by impulsivity beginning in early adulthood and is present in a variety of contexts. a diagnosis requires at least 5 of the following 9 criteria to be met:

Fear of abandonment

Unstable or changing relationships

Unstable self-image; struggles with identity or sense of self

Impulsive or self-damaging behaviors (e.g., excessive spending, unsafe sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating).

Suicidal behavior or self-injury

Varied or random mood swings

Constant feelings of worthlessness or sadness

Problems with anger, including frequent loss of temper or physical fights

Stress-related paranoia or loss of contact with reality

source: [x]

i highlighted the criteria that do apply to gale in one way or another in a pretty purple.

i personally believe that it’s rather harmful to equate his relationship with mystra with her being “his fp”. she is a deity, his goddess, and the source of his powers, who is in in full control of the magic he wields.

gale: mystra commands all magic. salvation, if such a thing exists, is hers to bestow or withhold.

gale has been effectively groomed and conditioned to serve and revere her at every turn since early childhood. imo this comparison really undermines a lot of crucial points in gale’s story that deal with his overall trauma and abuse. after all, you wouldn’t call shar sh*dowhe*rt’s fp either.

gale doesn’t revile mystra, nor does he commit benevolent deeds solely motivated by the secret hope that she will somehow notice and take him back. when you meet gale in the game he has already fully come to terms with the fact that he has been abandoned by mystra with no hope of reconciliation whatsoever. he also had some very fitting lines in ea regarding this topic that i'm sad haven't been repurposed in the full release in some way.

gale: [the tadpoles] don't know that some things are impossible. they don't know that... they don't know. player: what is impossible about what you're being shown? gale: forgiveness. gale: it is mystra i see. and yet it cannot be her. there was a time when i would have believed - but no longer. gale: suffice it to say she would not bestow upon me the favors promised in these dreams. that is how i know they are delusions.

he has already reached the stage of acceptance. moreover, gale only starts to realize that mystra might have been in the wrong for requesting his death once the tadpole squad & tav speak some sense into him. and even then he doesn’t ever show that his emotions regarding mystra are anywhere along those lines. he is instead rightfully angered that she only saw value in his death, after he had been worshipping her loyally for years.

gale: i worshipped mystra loyally for years, and in that time she granted me the barest sliver of the power i was ready to wield. gale: even with the fate of the world at stake, she had little more to offer me than the means of blowing myself up at a more convenient time. she's done nothing to help us.

gale: you abandoned me in my hour of greatest need. i had no obligation to help you in yours. gale: because you had no right to ask that of me. you cast me out, remember?

gale doesn’t display rapid changes in mood either. he is a character who is generally very composed and has been known to remain nonchalant even in the face of utter horror. tim downie himself even commented on this once. source: [x]

the only instance i can think of is his sudden switch from resigned-to-death to utter-eye-sparkling-enthusiasm once he spots the crown of karsus. apart from crucial story reasons that i won’t touch upon in this post, i’d also like to add that it’s a rather common phenomenon for people who have just barely survived a suicide attempt to suddenly be filled with zeal and unbridled energy. he doesn't display impulsivity without thorough consideration when it comes to its acquisition either. he considers this a golden opportunity and is positively enthusiastic and elated that this might prove an alternative to him ending up in a cloud of netherese smoke. nonetheless, he knows what he is doing. evident in him actually succeeding in ascending in one of his endings.

gale: this is no passing whim, trust me. if i can obtain that crown, it will affect us all. it is not a decision i'll take lightly. gale: it's our future that i'm thinking of - we can't rely on anyone else to do it for us. gale: for now - we've learned all we can.

neither are his relationships that we do know of (namely elminster, tara, and morena) frequently changing. they are marked by years of mutual respect, care, and consistency. there is nothing unstable about them. while it's important to note that his relationship with tav is still in its honeymoon stages during the main game, there is no inclination of any push-and-pull dynamic between them whatsoever.

gale isn’t preoccupied with keeping up some sort of benevolent act in order to win (back) affection — he genuinely IS a good person and he proves this at every turn. moreover, to have a tressym become your familiar you must be of Good alignment.

(taken from tumblr user galedekarios's post.)

there is never a moment where his ideals or alignment suddenly change. in fact, i’d argue that he and wyll are most consistent in this regard when compared to the rest of the companions. gale makes his moral standpoint very clear from the beginning on and also explicitly states that he believes that in order to survive this entire ordeal it would be selfish of him if he wouldn’t be willing to compromise on his morals. this isn’t a sudden bout of ✨muahahaha wizard hubris✨ that he barely contained to hold in before, this is yet another act of selflessness — it is what he’s willing to do for the group and subsequently, the welfare of faerun.

player: i love unsavoury things. don't feel guilty on my account. gale: that's good to know. although i should say i do what i do out of a sense of utility and pragmatism, not a love of the unsavoury. gale: we're up against the greatest threat faerun has ever faced. i don't mind getting my hands dirty if it gives us a better chance of surviving. gale: whatever advantage i can gain for us. i will. and i refuse to feel guilty for it, no matter how much mystra's chidings might echo in my skull.

this is him, once again trying to be useful in whatever way he can. to give them an advantage, a slither of hope against seemingly impossible odds, so they might make it out of this in one piece. gale wouldn’t approve of those actions under normal circumstances, but their predicament is as far from any definition of “normal” as it can get.

gale is no fool, he realizes this is essentially about survival. he knows that he has no option left other than to tolerate, which is why he can be convinced to not immediately depart tav’s company even if they choose to commit atrocities. this is no character flaw of his or him displaying a previously dormant openness for cruelty, this is about recognizing the necessity.

player: you don't stand a chance alone. you're free to go. i dare you. gale: gods damn you - you're right. few things are more powerful than the will to live.

gale: i thought the orb to be the greatest of my sins, but i see now that there are darker depths to which i might yet sink. you may be content to sink into that abyss, but i assure you - i am not.

gale doesn’t lead a split existence. he has a very strong sense of identity. he knows what he wants, what he doesn’t want and he isn’t shy in expressing his boundaries either. which he has especially shown when it comes to his relationship with tav. i originally had intended to touch upon this in another post entirely but: i firmly believe his entire Gale of Waterdeep™ persona is more of a performance than him struggling to find a sense of identity and trying them on for size. it is an intentional decision to separate gale dekarios from the great wizard of waterdeep, to create distance and make sure his family name remains untarnished in case things should ever go sideways.

gale: i agree. and on the plus side, if i get myself into any truly cataclysmic straits during the remainder of our journey, my family name will go untarnished.

there is also a deep-rooted feeling of unworthiness and his firm belief that love and praise are conditional resources that he will only be granted through his talents alone, naturally. presenting himself as gale dekarios, the man, would mean highlighting his shortcomings and very human flaws, while distracting from the aspects of himself that are deemed praiseworthy, the ones that actually matter: his magical prowess.

i personally believe that part of the beauty of gale’s story is him realizing just how “little” it takes for him to be truly content. he gets his happy ending, with someone at his side who truly sees him, understands him and unabashedly commits to him. they worship and adore him in return — and it is well deserved. he isn’t reduced to be constantly and restlessly searching for some unattainable ideal to fill the gaping void within himself. he doesn’t secretly thirst for more power still or believes that in being with tav he is settling for something. instead, he is finally happy to just be. be and be accepted. teaching a class of unruly wizards and coming home to his spouse each day already fulfills him.

gale: that's how i feel with you - content. it's a rather unfamiliar feeling, i must say. not something gale of waterdeep ever craved.

even if he doesn’t pursue a romance with tav, he reaches a realization of “oh, it appears i am not irredeemably flawed and only able to reach true redemption through my own death. what i needed was actually with me all along.” throughout their journey and through his friend's support. i think that’s a very powerful and comforting message. he is very well capable of finding peace within himself.

devnotes: his default state is that he returned to waterdeep and became a professor of illusory magic at his former school, blackstaff academy. general vibe here is that this is a gale who's found peace with himself - he's a great teacher, one his students are mostly in awe of.

to repeat myself: sharing your headcanons is all in good fun, nor should you ever be discouraged from doing so. this is your personal tumblr experience, after all. but i personally think we should be mindful of unintentionally perpetuating negative stereotypes, such as narcissism being a general indicator or being deemed a classic depiction of bpd. i think we can all agree that the continuous longing for acceptance, connection, praise, and approval is something we all have in common deep down, regardless of whatever disorder we may have. [insert victoria justice meme here]

gale may be many things to many people, but he is no entitled narcissist.

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Ch 13

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

Johanna thinks men are stupid and she doesn’t respect them (pls tell me someone gets this reference)

Content Warnings - your fave is an idiot (for now)

District 13 is lonely. They still won’t let you have any visitors and haven’t quite determined if you are safe yet. Their constant dismissal of your words reminds you of why you went mute all those years ago.

“Please,” you beg one of the doctors. “What do I have to do to prove I’m not a danger? You released Annie a week ago.”

“Miss Y/L/N I am not approved to clear you. That decision is made elsewhere,” the doctor responds.

“Then let me speak to whoever’s in charge!” you demand. “There has to be some way for me to show you all that I’m harmless.”

Ten minutes later you are sitting in front of a lady named President Coin. Your hands and feet are still cuffed but they gave you a jumpsuit to wear instead of your hospital gown. They wheeled you over here in a wheelchair despite your constant reminders that you could walk just fine.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Coin states. “What can I do for you?”

“I want to be released from the hospital,” you firmly state. “I’m of no danger to anyone here.”

“I’m afraid we cannot do that,” Coin replies.

“Why?” you ask.

“It was risky enough to bring you to thirteen,” Coin explains. “We can’t have someone as rogue as you wandering amongst the general population. It’s too dangerous.”

“How many times do I have to explain to you that I’m no longer a danger to anyone?” you practically shout. “They didn’t hurt me in the capital. They gave me some treatment that made me better. I’m not feral anymore.”

“And how am I supposed to believe that?” Coin asks.

“I didn’t talk to anyone for five years besides Finnick,” you snort. “You think I’d be talking to you if I wasn’t healed?”

“That is a fair point,” she sighed. “Maybe we could come to a compromise. I won’t permit your release yet but I will allow you to have pre-approved visitors on the condition that a soldier can monitor the visits and administer sedative if necessary. We can revisit this arrangement in two weeks and adjust based on results.”

“Fine,” you huff. “I just want to see Finnick.”

An hour later, Finnick comes to visit. You reach out to pull him onto the bed with you but he sticks to the edge of the room, sitting down in a chair in the opposite corner.

“Finn,” you whine. “Come here.”

“They told me I need to stay five feet away,” he states. “for my own safety.”

“Well that sounds a lot like a rule you ignored for the past five years,” you shrug. He just shakes his head in response.

“I can’t,” he states. “Not until I know you aren’t going to hurt me.”

You look at him dumbfounded. He thinks you would hurt him?

“You really think I’m going to hurt you?” you ask him.

“I,” he stutters. “I don’t know.”

“They fixed me,” you explain. “I can talk to everyone now. No more violent outbursts or breakdowns.”

He just shakes his head and puts his hands on his temples.

“If you’re just going to treat me like a feral animal, then leave,” you state, causing him to look up at you. What hurts the most is the fact that he actually does get up and leave.

He doesn’t trust you.

Three days later, Johanna comes to see you. Finnick hasn’t come back since you told him to leave so you’ve been all alone in your room.

“Hey Fiesty,” she mutters as she sits down on your bed. “What are you up to nowadays?”

“Nothing much,” you shrug. “I just got moved from one prison to another.” This answer gets a small laugh out of Johanna.

“Glad to see you’re talking again,” she states. “When are they letting you out?”

“They aren’t,” you respond.

“Oh come on,” she groans. “You’re harmless. Don’t tell me Finnick hasn’t tried convincing Coin to release you.”

“He hasn’t,” you reply, shaking your head. “He doesn’t trust me. He thinks I’m going to hurt him like how Peeta hurt Katniss.”

“Ugh. Men are so stupid,” Johanna groans. “I’ll talk some sense into him when he visits me this afternoon.”

“He visits you?” you ask. “Why doesn’t he visit me?”

“Because he’s stupid,” Johanna snorts. “Don’t worry. I’ll go fix your relationship.”

“It’s not a relationship!” you exclaim as she leaves your room.

“Shut up Fiesty!” she yells as she finally exits.

“Hey idiot,” Johanna states as Finnick enters her room. He looks like he didn’t sleep again.

“What did I do this time?” he groans.

“You’ve been avoiding Fiesty,” she replies. “She’s locked up in a room all by herself and I’m the only one who has visited her in days.”

“I can’t see her,” he responds, fiddling with the rope in his hands. “It isn’t safe.”

“Stop being an idiot,” Johanna states, causing Finnick to look up at her. “I don’t know exactly what her treatment entailed but it definitely wasn’t the same as mine or Peeta’s. She never screamed. She didn’t have a single cut or bruise on her body when they rescued her. They even polished the bite mark off her wrist. If they had done anything to her, I think someone would have noticed by now.”

“You said before that her room was near Peeta’s,” Finnick comments. “Did he see or hear anything?”

“Well I’m not allowed to see him so I haven’t been able to ask,” Johanna shrugs. “One of the soldiers, the one who is supposedly Katniss’ cousin, told me that Fiesty made a comment about Peeta being dangerous when she was brought in but he didn’t think much about it till he attacked Katniss. If she was also dangerous, I don’t think she would have tried to warn anyone.”

“I don’t know…” Finnick sighs.

“Look,” Johanna states firmly. “We will go visit her together, first thing tomorrow, and I will show you that she’s not dangerous.“

“Fine,” Finnick relents.

Taglist:

@randomgurl2326 @mystargirl-interlude @uther-pendragon-is-an-ass @yourdailymemedelivery @americanprometheuss @l3xi3luv @noisyalmonddreamer @nordicvxid @teaganthemorningstar @samatokisunfinishedcigarette @justtrying2getby @heytherellala @notplutos @innercreationflower @nexxus13 @kachelleee @helluvafire @haymitchabernathyslover @memeorydotcom @frostsword @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @giverosespls @honethatty12 @just-levyy @dd122004dd @nekee-lilac02 @impeterporker @nox-the-gay-nerd @redsakura101 @hopefulatrocity @eddiemunson4ever @fangirlvibez @kittimbo @zucchinimalfoy @sleepy-roman @secretsicanthideanymore @writerofadream @vsnrly @mayonesavegana @lilifl0wer @finnickodaddy @abbersreads @fox-bee926 @ginger-swag-rapunzel

*if the tag didn’t work please check your settings to make sure other blogs can tag you