#ao3's origins

[animasolaoriginal]

I n f a t u a t e d ♦️THREE

CHAPTER ONE◾TWO THREE FOUR◾FIVE SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN ELEVEN

He finds out the girl he picked up on a whim is the perfect candidate. So innocent, so submissive already, with just the right amount of Daddy issues. But she still has a lot to learn, and he's determined to teach her everything.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Sex toys. Fingering. Cunnilingus. Orgasm denial. Oral sex/deepthroating. Anal play. Creampies. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 4.9k

TWO 🟥 THREE 🟥 FOUR

He's surprised how quickly she adjusted to her new surroundings, to the things he's asked of her, forced on her. Maybe she's still feeling the after-effects of the drug he's given her last night, maybe she doesn't understand the situation just yet, maybe she's simply the perfect candidate for this. To stay here, for him. She's barely putting up any fight, only seems embarrassed most of the time, but the way she's sucked him off has shown him how eager she really is.

Even though she still has a long way to go. Too fucking innocent.

She's that little ball of hair and limbs on his lap, curled up, melting into him, small hands that have been around his cock now gripping his shirt. Feet tucked under his thigh, deep little breaths against his chest. It's been only a few hours, and she's already so submissive. He's almost disappointed he didn't get to break her first. But maybe her defiance is yet to come. He's certainly looking forward to it.

His phone chimes on the coffee table, and he throws a quick look at the display. The courier is here. Good. Without a word, he stands, picking her up effortlessly. She hums against him, leans into him as he carries her into the bedroom. When he puts her down on the bed, leaning over her for a moment, he meets her hooded eyes. So pliant, so innocent. He can't help but lean down further to press his lips to hers.

She melts into the mattress as he pushes her deeper, putting his weight on her, elbows on either side of her shoulders as he gives himself a few minutes of a bit more much-needed pleasure before he has to leave her. She's hesitant at first, but as soon as he slips his tongue between her lips, her own jumps into action. A groan escapes him as she kisses him back with more and more confidence. His fingers dig into her hair, their tongues wrestling, his cock stirs back to life against the fabric of his pants.

He leans back abruptly, breathing a little harder, the girl beneath him panting as well, her lips parted and red, glistening. Her eyes on him. “I gotta take care of something,” he tells her quietly. She only blinks. “Be a good girl and wait here for me, okay?” The way her pupils dilate when he calls her that makes his stomach tense up. He's noticed it before, how she reacts to his praise. It's an intoxicating sight.

He crawls off her and stands, looking down at her small frame. White lace was a good choice, accents her innocence perfectly. Those little embroidered flowers barely cover anything, but it's still enough fabric to keep it interesting. She's beautiful, the way she lies in front of him, chest rising and falling, that flutter to her stomach, the little twitch to her thighs as she presses them together and tries to hide her sex. He raises an eyebrow at that.

“While I'm gone,” he says, a smirk growing on his lips, “I have a little task for you.”

He steps towards the nightstand and pulls open the first drawer, randomly picks some of its contents and throws them onto the bed next to her. Her eyes widen when she follows the gesture and stares at the colorful toys. He picks up one of the smaller dildos and braces himself on one arm as he leans over her.

“I want you to be very wet when I come back,” he whispers, gently taking her hand and placing the object onto her small palm. “Understood?”

She still looks at him in shock, and he can already tell she's never used any of the things he's presented her with. Another challenge, another thing he's willing to change. He leans back and looks down at her, head cocked to the side. His eyes narrow slightly when she doesn't reply.

“Understood?” he repeats a little harsher.

A tiny gasp escapes her and she sits up, nodding frantically. “Yes, sir.”

His hand finds her cheek, a gentle caress, thumb running over her bottom lip. He watches her intently. “Good girl.” The shiver that runs through her amuses him immensely. Patting her cheek, he then turns away and leaves her to her own devices.

Returning to his phone, he sends a message to the courier, and minutes later there's a chime on the door. His men are good, and fast, and when he looks through the things in the box that was brought up to his place, he nods in contentment. The things she left in the club, a jacket, a phone, case stuffed with some money, some keys and her ID. He's surprised that she's actually 19, when she looks quite a bit younger. Not that it really matters. His eyes scan her name, memorizing it. Fits her.

There's a folder tucked into the side, all the information they could gather on her, and the more he reads, the wider his smile gets. She is perfect, a random pick, an instinct, and it has still been the best choice. Alone in the big city. He checks her phone, swipes through pictures and messages. There's only one new message, someone congratulating her. Not many social contacts, no Mom or Dad or other relatives. Does explain a few things though. The girl definitely lacked the presence of a proper authority figure in her life, or at least someone who could give her the attention she needs, someone to hug her even, guide her through life, tell her what's right or wrong. No wonder she's so overwhelmed with his advances, yet strangely compliant at the same time.

Daddy issues.

What a perfect little thing that found her way into his clutches. He turns the phone off and puts it back into the box, then locks it securely in the safe in his office, before he focuses on the bag that came with the delivery. Clothes he ordered for her, more underwear mostly, some dresses, shoes. He doesn't plan to take her out much, not yet, so she won't need too many clothes anyway. They're just an illusion of safety for now, something she feels more comfortable in, before he'll take that away as well.

Grabbing the bag, he returns to the bedroom – and freezes. The bed is empty, except for the array of sex toys on the blanket. Untouched, unmoved. And the girl is gone. Something hot rises inside him, his hand tightens around the straps of the bag. He checks the bathroom, also empty. When he opens the door to his walk-in closet, he hears a soft little gasp, before his eyes move down to the far back where she's curled up on her side, wide eyes staring at him from under her lashes.

Like a beaten animal – and he hasn't even done anything to her yet. Not really, anyway.

He puts the bag down on a shelf and approaches her slowly. The dildo he gave her lies in front of her, just as untouched as the rest. She curls up even more, a little ball of hair and limbs, white lace in stark contrast to the dark rug she's lying on. He crouches down, hands resting on his knees as he watches her.

“What are you doing here, baby?” he asks quietly. “Are you hiding from me?”

She sniffles, shakes her head. “No,” she mumbles, wide eyes following his every move. Why is she so skittish all of a sudden? The drugs probably wore off. Poor thing.

He doesn't care. His hand reaches out and grabs her elbow, pulls her closer. A little yelp escapes her. He sits down on the floor and pulls her between his legs, she struggles against him but his fingers close around her arm, squeezing harder than he intended. She winces, a deep shudder rushing through her small body when he drapes her legs over his thigh, making her lean against him. One arm securely around her, holding her with enough authority that she stops squirming, he raises the other hand and grabs her chin, makes her look at him.

“What happened?” he asks, looking at her, scanning her face, fear and shock evident on it.

She averts her eyes, chewing on her lip. He squeezes her chin.

“Look at me.”

She does, with a soft little whine, blinking rapidly, eyes glistening as she meets his gaze. “M'sorry...” she mumbles.

“For what?” His voice is stern, and she frowns at his tone.

“For... for not... doing... what you told me...” she whispers, the first tear falling from her lashes. “I... I couldn't...”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”

Her cheeks are bright red by now, her eyes moving over his face in frantic little flutters. “Felt... wrong...”

He watches her, letting go of her chin to move his hand straight between her legs. She flinches and yelps when his fingertips brush against her panties. The fabric is a little damp, warm against his touch. He doesn't hesitate and slips a finger under the hem, testing the waters. She turns her head away, whining softly as her blush spreads over her shoulders. “Do you need my help?” he whispers.

She only stiffens in his hold as his finger glides along her slit. Warm, wetter than he expected. He doesn't know why she was so stressed about this task or thinking she failed him. She's perfectly responsive. His lips brush against her temple.

“Tell me you need me to help you...” he breathes against her.

Her thighs twitch. “I... I need you to... to help me...” she mumbles out, burying her face in his chest in a little gesture of embarrassment. So fucking cute.

“Good girl,” he hums and kisses her forehead while his finger slips between her folds, gathers her slick and promptly dips into her entrance.

She flinches, but keeps quiet, leaning into him as he nudges her legs apart with his thumb. His finger slips in and out of her, her tight walls gripping him in a way that makes his cock throb. Her wetness gathers around him, quiet squelching sounds filling his ear. She lets out little noises of discomfort, barely-there whines, almost-sobs but in a way that doesn't seem too distressed. She's slowly adjusting, relaxing in his hold, her breaths deeper.

His thumb finds her clit, and when he pushes gently on it, she wails a little louder, her legs trembling, her small hands gripping the front of his shirt as she melts into him more. He keeps drawing tight circles around her nub, his digit pushing deep, in and out, faster, her wetness runs over his hand. The moment she becomes really still, a sharp inhale cutting through the air, he stops, pulls away, and she looks up with her lips parted, almost pouty, eyebrows furrowed, disappointed.

He smirks at her and brings his wet finger to her lips. She doesn't fight it when he slips it into her mouth, rubs it over her tongue and along her gums, pushes deeper. She freezes again, stares at him, but then she closes her lips around his finger and sucks, her tongue flicking around it, licking up her own juices. He pulls it out with a wet pop and leans down, capturing her mouth for a quick, deep kiss, sucking on her tongue, tasting her. She melts into him, clinging to him, but as soon as she starts to relax again, he lets go, leans back, leans around her to grab the dildo still lying behind her on the floor.

“Here,” he says and puts the small pink object into her hand. “If you want to finish it, do it with this.”

She stares at him, eyes wide, fingers curling around the toy, her face flushed. And then she shakes her head, catching him off guard.

“No?” he whispers, raising his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

Her breaths are loud through her nose as she holds his gaze, not saying anything.

He narrows his eyes. His first instinct is to grab the toy and shove it deep into her tight pussy himself, but he refrains, pushes her off his lap and stands, then grabs her wrist and drags her out of the closet. She stumbles after him and yelps when he throws her onto the bed.

Scrambling to her knees, her lips parted and trembling, she stares at him with her eyes wide in shock. He ignores her for now and walks to the bedside table, rummaging through the drawer until he retrieves a little teardrop shaped object, bright pink as well, smooth silicone with a little antenna.

A high-pitched squeal escapes her as he grabs her and pushes her onto her stomach, one large hand on her lower back, holding her down as she starts to squirm. “Stay still or this'll be more uncomfortable than it should be,” he tells her through gritted teeth. She stiffens, her breaths loud and frantic as she white-knuckles the sheets.

He moves the toy between her ass cheeks, pleased to see the butt plug is still in place. Nudging it slightly, he makes her wince. Pushing her legs apart a bit more with his knee, he slides her underwear aside, grabs her thigh to steady her and lets the small vibrator glide between her slick folds, and it's only a little push of his thumb before it slips into her, swallowed up by the tense muscles of her pussy. She lets out a strained whine. He wipes his palm over her mound gently, then tugs on the fat string until he finds the thicker bit at the end. The button clicks audibly when he presses it, and she gasps when the first vibrations shake her body. It's low, but still definitely overwhelming for her.

He puts her thong back in place and grabs her elbow, dragging her off the bed. Her legs are trembling, the low hum between her twitching thighs barely audible, but he hears it, sees her reaction to it, feels his blood pumping into his cock, the throbbing almost painful, and he wonders why he's taking his time with her. He could have had her last night, this morning, any time he wanted, fucked her hard and mercilessly, any hole he desired, and yet he waits, eases her into it, with a patience (or restraint) that surprises himself.

Sighing loudly, he grabs her hand and leads her out of the bedroom, she follows him on shaking limbs, too stunned to protest now. They reach the open kitchen, and he grabs her waist and sets her on the island, hears the faint clanging noise when the base of her plug hits the marble top. Spreading her legs, he steps between them, braces one arm on either side of her, stares down at her darkly.

Her eyes are wide, glistening, shock and uncertainty on her face, but there's also a deep blush and a tightness to her lips as she fights the sensations pulsing through her small body. Her hands fidget between her legs, a nervous little gesture. He rips them away, tells her to sit on them. She does with a bit of hesitation as she watches him with bated breath. He leans in, lets his breath fan over her cheek, then kisses the corner of her mouth, and there's a jerk in her neck as she turns her head, trying to meet his lips.

He pulls away before that, exhaling through his nose. His hands move over her legs, thumbs brushing along her inner thighs until he pushes them against the damp fabric of her underwear. Her wetness seeps past it already, staining the white satin bit, and he licks his lips at the sight. His restraint is slipping, he can't help it, he can smell her arousal, and it's driving him insane.

In one swift motion he grabs her hip, pulls her to the edge and leans down to press his mouth to her inner thigh, quickly kissing up the soft skin to where the little pink antenna pokes out of her. His free hand tugs at it, then he drags her panties aside and closes his lips around her folds. She yelps softly, body jerking against him. His fingers dig into her flesh, hold her in place as he laps up along her slit, gathers her sweet wetness on his tongue, drinks her up like a man parched.

She whimpers when he sucks on her clit, teeth grazing her soft, sensitive skin while he fumbles with the toy and presses the button a few more times, feeling the vibrations increasing, her hips jerking, thighs pressing against his head. Her noises are getting louder, helpless whines and mewls as she squirms on the counter, hands still squished under her legs while he continues to eat her out with a passion that he hasn't felt in ages.

Holding her with one hand, he tries to counteract her uncontrollable twitches, while his other hand rubs over her thigh before his index finger pokes at her entrance, following the toy inside. It's thrumming hard against her tense muscles, and he pushes it around a little with his finger before he finds the right spot, and that's when she really wails, body spasming against him, the heels of her feet thudding loudly into the cabinet as she tries to ground herself somehow.

He holds the toy pressed to her g-spot, still sucking on her clit, eyes moving up to watch her lose it in front of him. She's arching her back, head tilted upwards, chest pushed out, arms trembling before she can't keep her composure any longer and pulls her hands from under her legs and grabs his hair, two sets of small fingers with an iron grip that surprises him. Either to push him away or hold him right there, he isn't sure. Whatever the case, he lets her, gives her that one moment of control.

Her walls tighten around the toy and his finger, rhythmic clenching, her orgasm is so close, she's right on the edge, and it's that moment that he hooks his finger around the toy and pulls it out, leaning back, slipping from her suddenly limp fingers, and leaves her throbbing and panting, watches her deflate as her orgasm slips away again. A whine escapes her, and she falls backwards onto the counter, body convulsing without release, hiding her flushed face behind her shaking hands.

He straightens himself, licks his lips and then his finger, puts the vibrating toy on the counter before he turns it off. She's sobbing now, overwhelmed and left hanging. Poor thing. But it's not over yet.

Hooking his hands under her arms, he hoists her off the counter and pushes her down on her knees in front of him. She's too surprised to react, slowly lowers her hands and looks up at him, tears streaming down her red cheeks. Without a word or command, he unbuckles his belt and opens his pants, then snaps his fingers at her. Despite her trembling state, she follows the order instantly, automatically, that inborn desire to please stirring within her, when her small hands move up to push his pants and underwear down enough to free his erection.

The initial touch is almost enough to push him to the edge and over, but he braces himself, puts his hands on his hips and watches her as she closes her fingers around his length, slowly stroking up and down like he's shown her. Her eyes stay on him, watching him closely, and he tilts his head, pressing his lips into a thin line, a slight furrow between his eyebrows. He sees her swallowing, and barely a second later, her lips brush against his hot skin, the contact enough to coax a little groan out of him.

He watches her closely as she moves her lips up and down his shaft, tongue licking along his bulging veins, circling his tip, flicking over his slit, before she opens her mouth and takes him deeper. She's a little hesitant, careful, one hand still on his girth, the other braced against his thigh as she slowly bobs her head, lips closed around his tip, cheeks hollowed, the little suction really tempting his self-control. He wants her to find her own pace, get better on her own, learn to pleasure him properly, but he also really wants to fuck her throat and make her choke on his cock. The struggle is real.

His hands move to her head, a gentle little caress, fingers sliding through her hair, slowly nudging her closer, she shifts on her knees, the hand on his thigh pulling her into him. Her eyes are closed now, and he can see tears forming under her lashes as she keeps moving her head back and forth, the hand that's tight around his girth keeping her from taking him deeper. He feels her warm mouth, that little tongue flicking around his tip, hot and wet, sucking softly, almost meditatively, and he can't help it, he bucks his hips slightly against her, his cockhead poking into her cheek when she turns her head with a little muffled whine.

One of his hands moves down to grab her chin, holding her in place, head slightly tilted, as he repeats the same motion, pushing into her mouth, watching her cheek bulge. He hasn't noticed it before, but she's a natural at keeping her teeth out of the way, her jaw opened wide enough to allow him to slip in and out fairly easily. Her eyelids flutter open, and she meets his gaze, her eyes glistening, pupils dilated more than he has expected. She's enjoying this, huh?

He smirks at her, moves her head a little and tilts her chin up before he pumps his hips a little harder against her, more of his cock slipping into her small mouth. She stiffens, both hands now gripping the fabric of his pants, bracing, a sliver of panic in her eyes. He watches her closely, the grip on her chin hard as he concentrates, holds back, fights the urge to just fuck her cute little face. His breaths are quick and loud through his nose.

She holds still, doesn't fight it, and he uses that submission to move faster and eventually slips deeper, feeling his tip prodding the back of her throat. She gags almost immediately, a sudden reflex, her body convulsing against him, fingers digging into his legs, and he lets her pull back with a deep cough, saliva dripping from her lips. But he only lets her relax for so long, before he pushes his cock back into her mouth, deeper, to that spot once more, and she gags again, spit filling her mouth, coating his tip, yet this time he holds her head in place, and she lets out a pained little howl, muffled but clearly distressed.

Sighing, he grips her hair and pulls her back again, lets her catch her breath, swallow the excess spit. Tears stream down her face, her eyes are red, eyebrows furrowed, a helpless expression mixed with something like indignation looking up at him. A low laugh escapes him, and he grips her chin and pulls her back, cock slipping into her mouth, her tongue scraping along the underside, frantic little breaths through her nose, warm on his skin.

“Relax,” he tells her, and strangely enough it's that command that lets him slip deeper, past her gag reflex, further into her tight throat. It's only a few seconds though before she gags yet again, fingernails sinking into his legs, that little uncontrollable twitch as her body fights the new sensation of having her throat stuffed. She gurgles, desperate to breathe, too panicked to relax anymore. He pushes her away, and she splutters, spit and precum flying from her trembling lips, her shoulders shaking.

It takes all of him to loosen his grip on her, but when he lets go of her chin and her hair, inhaling deeply, she looks up almost surprised. Bracing his arms on the counter behind her, he closes his eyes, fighting the urge to make her choke again. That feeling when her throat tenses around his tip, squeezes him, it's something he enjoys a little too much, almost as much as watching her suffer through it, with her tears streaming down her face and her hands digging into his legs, that desperate struggle for control.

He'll force that urge right out of her, soon. Another time.

“Suck,” he grunts instead, standing still as he leans over her.

She resumes her ministrations, one hand around his girth, pumping and stroking, while she closes her lips around his tip again, sucking and licking it, keeping it far away from the back of her throat. She's shaky and sloppy, her wet slurping noises echoing through the room, her body still trembling, but she somehow manages to bring him right to the edge after all. He feels his balls tightening, his stomach tensing up, his cock throbbing in her hold. His hands itch, clenched into fists on the counter, his body shivering. So close. So fucking close...

A deep groan escapes his throat, and he leans back abruptly, grips her hair and pulls her off him, a sharp inhale coming from the girl beneath him. Her eyes are wide as she looks up at him, and he just ignores her, hooks his hands around her elbows and pulls her to her feet. She's that tiny body he can manhandle however he wants, and she ends up on her stomach on the counter, short legs dangling off the edge, feet kicking before he cages her in, one hand on her lower back, the other moving straight to the little shiny knob sitting between her plump ass cheeks.

Before she can comprehend what's happening or try to fight him, he drags her panties aside and pulls the plug out with a plop, puts it on the counter with a clang, before he grips his throbbing cock and pushes the tip against her sphincter. She lets out a surprised wail, her hands reaching back to swat him away, but he only grabs them and bends her arms behind her back, held by one large hand. She still struggles as he pushes further, forcing his tip deeper. He doesn't have time to prepare her properly, he's close to exploding.

She whines, writhing on the counter despite his unrelenting hold, and he watches her tight muscles give way to him, the grip almost as good as her tensing throat. His crown slips in, and he stops, letting it rest there as he strokes his shaft hard and fast, until he feels that tension finally dissolve. He comes with a deep grunt, arching his head back, feeling his cock throb and twitch in his hand and in her ass.

Spurt after spurt shoots into her tightness, filling her up until the first drops seep past the tight ring of muscles that clench around him involuntarily as she squirms helplessly, sobbing softly. When he relaxes against her, shoulders sagging, the grip on her arms loosening, he wishes he'd prepared her better, made her more pliant, open her up properly to take more of him. But this'll do for now. Once the twitching subsides, he gently pulls his cock out, watching her ass gape for a moment, his thick seed slipping out almost immediately.

He pushes it back in, feeling her tense muscles close around his finger. Then he grabs the plug and brings it back into position, holding her down again as she starts squirming more, the cold metal slipping into place, plugging up his warm cum. He exhales deeply once he is done, and when he lets go of her and steps back, he can't help but slap her plump cheek once for good measure.

She sobs louder, but remains lying on her stomach, legs dangling off the edge, immobile, all the fight gone from her body. He watches her as he puts his spent dick back into his pants. “What a good girl you are,” he whispers, noticing a wave of goosebumps rippling over her skin. His hands are on her round rear, gently sliding up and down, thumbs teasing between the cheeks. He fixes her thong, nudges the plug, smirks when she flinches at the motion.

Then he grabs her waist and pulls her off the counter, turning her so he can scoop her up into his arms. Despite her reluctance and the fact that she's still crying softly, she leans against him, needy little fingers digging into the collar of his shirt. No matter how hard she fights him, fights the sensations and experiences he gives her, she is clearly craving this, his attention, the care he gives her afterwards, the gentle moments after however rough he treats her.

It's a good dynamic. It'll work, he's sure. She will be absolutely perfect.

He carries her into the bedroom, carefully putting her down on the bed. She immediately rolls onto her side, knees pulled up to her chest, wiping at her wet face, avoiding his gaze as he watches her closely. When he leans down, she flinches, but he only grabs the edge of the blanket and drapes it over her small body.

“Rest now,” he tells her, straightening back up. “I'll order us some food.”

TWO 🟥 THREE 🟥 FOUR

End notes: Just a little side note on where this story is set: it could be literally anywhere (where there are skycrapers or a downtown area with taller buildings). I did not have a specific place in mind, could be any major American city, could be a bigger European city, anywhere you like to think of. It doesn't really matter anyway. (And if it is set in America, just imagine his club to be one of those more lax ones where the drinking age isn't 21 or at least nobody cares about it.)

Also, you may have guessed it, but our male protagonist is a little bit more than just a nightclub owner. I won't go into too many details, just know he's influencial, if you'd like to call it that. And definitely intimidating enough for anyone to bow before him, not just our poor girl who might just be a little in over her head at this point.

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Monday!

TAG LIST: @qmsvpx @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE◾

SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN◾ELEVEN

[shamera]

this expresses about 1.5435432% of how much i've been enjoying this series lately, and touches even less on its amazingness, but what can you do.

if you have the time and energy to spare, please go read My S-Class Hunters / The S-Classes That I Raised!!!

[girlcalledwhatsername]

🍂This user is always happy to see ao3 surpass their donation goals btw.🍂

This user is glad to see publically-funded archives of all kinds and especially those with a history of standing against censorship, especially fully volunteer-run ones with artists generously sharing their works for free, especially well organised ones that I respect the hell out of.

[alvivaarts]

FINALLY!!! THE FISH CHART FOR THE MERMAID AU IS COMPLETE! I hope you can see that little Leon in the front of the line! Working on this between final semester projects and answers for the mermaid AU asks. Hopefully this chart can clarify a bit about the species. Or, hopefully, open up room for more questions! Symbol Codex: -Red/Orange E = Endangered -Red/Orange ! E = Highly Endangered -Pink downwards key = Live Birth (No eggs) -Blue male symbol and downwards key = Male Carriers -Yellow downward arrow and triangle = Low Fertility -Blue lung = Cannot Extract Oxygen from Water

Some major notes for the chart: -The "Common Names" are not necessarily accurate to the scientific classification or function of these species. They are just what people started referring to them as prior to further research. I.E. 'Open Ocean' merfolk don't actually live in the open ocean, they just migrate farther distances and are thus the most likely to be seen in open ocean environments. -Females are normally larger than males regardless of species, this chart doesn't do a great job with that. -Everything under the 'Squamos Monotremes' category can crossbreed to some degree! It's a very complex system that cannot be explained in this short post. -I literally have no practical way to explain Octo Folk Anyway, I hope ya'll enjoy this chart in the meantime!

[honeytrace]

drawing was too good it got blocked! have a sneak peek

(DO NOT REPOST and please check tags under and pinned post)

[iamanartichoke]

Posted this on twitter but it applies here, too. Also a plug to I guess follow me on twitter if you want - I'm not super active there insofar as posting goes, but I'm on there a lot (more than I ought to be, tbh).

Anyway I'm posting this partly to share but mostly bc I have things to say about it and I want to come back to it without it getting lost in my brainpan.

[shatnerihardlyknowher]

Heya! New spirk fic up! Been working on this one for MONTHS. Hope you enjoy.

Rating: General Audiences

No warnings

Category: M/M

Fandoms: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek

Relationship: James T. Kirk/Spock

Characters: James T. Kirk, Spock(Star Trek)

Additional Tags: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, James T. Kirk has PTSD, Spock Loves James T. Kirk, James T. Kirk Loves Spock, Comfort, References to The Beatles, silly lil song fic!!!, Protective Spock(Star Trek), Established Relationship, Established James T. Kirk/Spock, Vulcan Bond(Star Trek), Purring Vulcans(Star Trek

Enjoy!

[slaymitchabernathy]

champagne problems

“Who is Lucy Gray?”

Soarynn’s question pulls Coriolanus from the newspaper he’s currently reading at the dining room table and he fails to hide the look of surprise from washing over his face.

Soarynn stands across from him on the other side of the mahogany furniture, hands on her hips as she expectantly looks at him. Coriolanus swallows, there’s no way she knows about Lucy Gray, not after that demented District girl was practically erased from Capitol history. Unless Soarynn somehow found the one tape Dr. Gaul kept for her own sick and twisted pleasure…no, she couldn’t have.

Coriolanus offers her a small smile, to calm her, to calm him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about darling,” he says, reaching for his cup of coffee.

His normally polite and doting girlfriend scoffs and roll her eyes, not buying into his lie for a second, “Do you think I’m an idiot Coriolanus? Did you think you could keep something like this from me?”

If Soarynn knows about Lucy Gray then that means she could know about Sejanus too. Coriolanus can see his perfect world crumbling around him. All his hard work gone, down the drain.

He’d come back to the Capitol after his little Peacekeeper stint a new man with a new persona. He was no longer some wide-eyed school boy who hoped to find some goodness in his heart. No, he was past that. He threw himself into his studies and it paid off well. He was offered an internship as a Game Maker and made quite the name for himself despite his young age.

During his second year at the University was when he met Soarynn. She was everything he was looking for. Kind, smart, polite, stunning and above all, born and raised in the Capitol. They made quite the attractive couple and with her by his side, everything was lining up for him.

Until now.

Coriolanus calms himself, he needs to find out what she knows without telling her what he knows. “Soarynn, I don’t know who told you about this…Lucy Gray girl but I can assure you that sh—“

“Oh don’t try to play it off,” Soarynn snaps, not allowing him to finish his sentence, “Festus mentioned your time as a Peacekeeper and when I said how unfair it was that out of all the Districts to be sent to, you got sent to Twelve, he started going on and on about how you were some…some mentor to some girl from Twelve.”

Festus Creed was about to be the fourth body Coriolanus buried once he was done dealing with Soarynn and her little temper tantrum. Leave it to him to be loose lipped at the worst time.

Coriolanus rubbed his temples, she didn’t know everything, which was good. She only knew as much as Festus knew and that wasn’t a lot. Only what he saw in person, on television, at the zoo and in the arena.

No big deal.

“My mentorship is something that I don’t wish to talk about Soarynn. There’s a reason no one talks about it so why don’t you drop it before you say something you’ll regret,” he suggests, giving her a stern look. Normally, she’d back down but this is a fight that’s got her fired up from the looks of it.

“So she was your Tribute?”

He nods, “She was my Tribute.”

“And she won? She won the Games?”

“She did. And I won the Plinth Prize.”

Soarynn shakes her head, “But then you got sent to Twelve.” She says this as if he’s been caught red handed. He feigns a look of innocence, “There is no such crime for being sent to serve the great country of Panem darling. I simply went where I was assigned before I was called back home.”

Soarynn tilts her head and for a moment, he knows he’s won. “So you didn’t go look for Lucy Gray once you got there?” Well, he didn’t have much else to do once he got there but he nods his head, “She disappeared soon after I arrived, some say the Mayor and his daughter had something to do with it. Others say she ran away up North.”

There, he didn’t even fully lie. Maybe he is newly improved.

Soarynn strides over to where he’s sitting and he prepares himself for the apology, the begging, the tears. Soarynn’s always been rather submissive and she’s always the first to apologize.

She’s got something clutched in her small fist and she slams it on the table, keeping her hand over it and keeping it from his view.

“I don’t believe you,” she whispers, pulling her hand away and revealing what she’s left on the table.

Her earring.

Lucy Gray’s earring.

He’s fucked. He knows that much. Damn him for being so sentimental. If he knew where this earring would land him then he would’ve left it in those godforsaken woods.

Coriolanus swallows and stares at the piece of jewelry before him. It looks so cheap compared to the jewelry he’s bought Soarynn. All her jewelry is made of gold and precious jewels. This earring looks like a child made it. But he kept it. And that must mean something. It clearly means something to Soarynn who’s fuming at the moment.

“This was before I met you.”

He can’t even stop those words from leaving his mouth but he wishes they never did when he sees how much they’ve hurt Soarynn. She gives him a glare, “That doesn’t matter and you know it. We both agreed to be honest with each other. You knew about my past relationships but when I asked about yours I was shut down. I should’ve known it from the start, should’ve…should’ve known that you’d be hung up on some District whore.”

Coriolanus is on his feet in seconds, his chair scraping across the hard wood floor and his large hand wrapping around Soarynn’s neck. He stares down at her, his breathing heavy and fueled with a sudden anger.

“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you about anything because I just knew you’d react like some spoiled child. Yes, I was Lucy Gray’s mentor. Yes, I fell for her smiles and her silly little songs. And yes, she probably was some whore who lived by her charms but it doesn’t really matter at the end of the day now does it?”

His face is inches away from Soarynn’s and they’re both mad, both hurting for different reasons.

Soarynn has tears in her eyes and he doesn’t know if it’s from how he’s treating her or how long he’s kept this all a secret from her.

“You’re not the man I fell in love with Coriolanus.”

Those words break him in more way than one.

His grip on her neck disappears and he takes a step back, letting out a cold, bitter laugh, “I think Lucy Gray probably thought the same thing before she left.”

He’s done it now. A single tear falls down her face before she turns on her heel and storms out of the room. Coriolanus is quick to follow her, call after her. Her heels click against the hardwood floor and her light colored dress flows behind her as she makes her way to the front doors.

“Soarynn.”

“Don’t. I know what I needed to know now.”

Coriolanus scoffs, “And what is that pray tell?”

Soarynn turns around and there’s nothing but anger in her eyes as she looks up at him, “That you, Coriolanus Snow are an arrogant man who thinks himself to be above others. Who is desperate for love in any shape or form but in the end never gets it. And one day, you’re going to let your obsession for power get the best of you and today might be a small taste of that. How your obsession with some girl from District Twelve will cost you everything you’ve ever worked for.”

Soarynn slaps him across the face and he lets her. Frozen by her words. He watches her leave, listens to the doors slam behind her. Two girls gone.

One for the money. Two for the show.

He never was ready so he watched them go.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

[athymelyreply]

FIC REC FRIDAY

hiiii! I’m starting a new tradition, somewhat inspired by @fellshish ‘s really wonderful fanfic fridays, as well as all the incredible fic I’ve been reading lately and wanted to share!

Every Friday I’m going to share a fic I’ve read and really liked, along with a little summary and a bit of my thoughts on it (nothing spoiler-y I swear). Anyone else can feel free and encouraged to jump on with a reblog of one of their faves, something they’ve been reading, etc. (and self promo is ABSOLUTELY encouraged <333)

This week I’m starting out with Of Trees & Telepathy (Kirk/Spock 51k E) by @lemonemenom

Jim and Spock are sent on a diplomatic mission on a planet of telepathic aliens. They soon get dragged into the political machinations of the local government, though the conflict might not be so local after all…

There’s really really cool worldbuilding, wonderful spirk moments, incredible intrigue and tension building, really awesome ocs, just SO much cool stuff. This fic has so much of the alien cultural exploration that I love in Star Trek, and it’s super engaging. I read the entire thing in 1 night and I COULD NOT put it down. The mystery at the center of the story had me on the edge of my seat, and so many of the writing and style choices play into it so well!! The prose/writing are also just really really well done. I can’t stress enough how much y’all should go read this.

[animasolaoriginal]

I n f a t u a t e d ♦️TWO

CHAPTER ONE TWO THREE◾️FOUR◾️FIVE SIX◾️SEVEN◾️EIGHT◾️NINE TEN◾ELEVEN

She wakes up in his bed without any recollection of how she got there and what happened. But does it matter? She'd be stupid to deny a hot, rich guy like him, wouldn't she? No matter what he demands of her...

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dom/sub dynamic. Praise kink. Dubcon elements. Fingering. Butt plug. Hand job/blow job. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 5.8k

ONE 🟥 TWO 🟥 THREE

She wakes to a low thumping inside her head and a strange taste on her tongue. It's a known hurt, usually brings up memories of parties, too much to drink, dancing till her feet give up. But she can't remember anything. And it's painful to even try to remember. It gets worse when she opens her eyes and finds herself in an unknown room.

On a bed. A stranger's bed.

Her first instinct is a little flutter of her heart, panic, unease, frantically looking around while she sits up slowly and bunches the covers around her shivering body. A quick feel beneath them gives her a short-lived peace of mind. She's not naked, but some of her clothes are missing. She swallows thickly, clears her throat, tests her voice.

Only to suddenly meet the stare of a man sitting opposite the bed, on a couch between two large floor-to-ceiling windows showing a familiar cityscape. She freezes when he looks at her with dark eyes, a little glint in them, a smirk on his lips as he watches her. She wraps the blanket tighter around herself.

“Good morning,” he says, voice deep, a low thrum in the air.

“Hi,” she replies hoarsely, her rapid heartbeat echoing inside her hurting skull.

“How do you feel?”

“Head hurts,” she mumbles, not even wondering why he would ask that. Not wondering anything at that point, really.

“There are some painkillers on the nightstand, and water,” he replies with a nod to her left.

She follows the hint and sees a large glass of water and two small pills next to it. And her skirt, neatly folded on the edge of the table. Leaning over to grab the things she needs to hopefully feel better, she keeps her eyes on him, cautious, hesitant. Once the pills are down and the glass empty, she inhales deeply, that awful taste gone from her mouth. One less thing to worry about. Though it gives her the chance to feel other things.

Like the stickiness between her thighs.

Shifting on the bed, she looks around, dares to break eye contact, gets a lay of the land, or at least the room. Huge. Minimalist. Just the bed, two bedside tables with a tiny lamp each, no clutter, a large couch on the opposite wall with a pompous rug in front of it, two doors to her right, one on the left. A single large plant in one corner. Fancy wooden floorboards, white walls adorned with exquisite trim. A luxurious light fixture built for a museum above her.

She looks back at him, her mind racing. “Do you remember me?” he asks when she meets his gaze. She nods. Of course she does. She's been coming to his club for weeks, and he finally noticed her. She has no idea how she ended up in his bedroom though.

He stands up, a tall frame clad in a fancy black suit with a white shirt, handsome and intimidating. Somehow even wealthier than she expected. His steps are confident as he approaches the bed, his eyes never leaving hers. “Did we –” she starts quietly, scooting back a little as he sits down on the edge, facing her.

“Did we what?” he replies, his lips curling up slightly. “Use your words, darling.”

She shivers, a strange feeling coursing through her as his words sink in. “Did we have sex?” she then manages to say, feeling her cheeks warming up.

“No,” he says, braced on one arm as he watches her closely. “Do you want us to?”

Now her head is burning, and she looks away with a sharp inhale. His laugh is low and rough. She breathes loudly through her nose.

“Is that not why you came to me?”

Their eyes meet again, she bites the inside of her cheek. Has it been that obvious? It's been a stunt, a challenge from her friends, a silly little dream. She's had no idea it would actually work. Whatever it was that made it work. There hasn't been much planning, to be honest, with how drunk she's been, high on adrenaline and endorphins, too happy to care about possible consequences.

She flinches when he extends a hand and brushes his fingers against her side, curls them into the blanket. Her heart is racing as he slowly pulls it away, exposing her. She doesn't fight it, just freezes, hugs her knees to her chest, crosses her feet, when the covers fall away. Why doesn't she fight it? Why should she? He's hot, rich, gives her the attention she's been craving her whole life. She'd be stupid to push a man like that away.

But he doesn't touch her, just looks at her, eyes wandering over her body, while she sits on the bed, shivering, waiting, her mind spinning.

“Why are you here?” he asks, and she frowns at the question.

“Why did you bring me here?”

His eyes meet hers, his gaze intense, dark, somewhat hungry. There's a playful twitch to his lips, and he leans back, licking them. “Probably the same reason why you approached me,” he replies quietly, his voice low with an almost dangerous edge to it. “To fuck you absolutely senseless.”

His words make her gasp, eyes widening at the bluntness. Still she feels that throb between her legs, the warmth seeping into her panties. She shouldn't be this excited, and she forces herself to not make it too obvious.

Grinding her jaw, she looks away, towards the large windows. She has no idea what time of day it is, the sky is gray and the buildings she can see are only various shapes in a different shade of gray. She must be downtown, it's too high up to recognize anything. She's never been in any of the taller buildings of the city before.

His hand is on her foot, long fingers curling around it, and she whips her head back to him, inhaling sharply. “Is that not what you want?” he whispers, his thumb drawing circles on her ankle.

She breathes faster, no longer as sure as she's been last night. It's not helping that she cannot remember anything other than approaching him at the bar. There's the faint image of being pinned to a wall, making out in the darkness. But nothing more. She swallows, staring down at his hand.

“I... I don't know...” she mumbles. His thumb stops moving, he tilts his head at her.

“Are you a virgin, sweetheart?” he asks bluntly.

She clears her throat, ears burning under her hair. “Uh, yeah,” she admits, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. His touch feels too warm, too invasive all of a sudden.

“Do you want to leave here a virgin?”

She doesn't like the way he says that, it makes goosebumps ripple over her skin. He takes his hand away, and she looks at him. She's expected him to grin at her, look suggestive, leering and creepy, somehow, but his expression is full of genuine worry, lines on his forehead, a furrow between his brows. Dark eyes as intense as ever, but warmer. And so freaking handsome it's really distracting.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she can only shake her head. His face relaxes, the hint of a smile grazing his lips. “Good,” he says and stands up. She flinches at the sudden movement. “Go take a shower,” he then orders, pointing to one of the doors to her right. “There's some stuff you can use in there. Wait here when you're done.”

His tone is authoritative, not leaving any room for complaints or hesitation. “Yes, sir,” slips out of her almost automatically, and he smiles wider.

“Good girl,” he says, winking at her as he walks around the bed towards the door leading out of the room.

He leaves her sitting on the bed, shivering, a strange tension in her stomach. She doesn't even try to comprehend why his last two words to her felt like something she's never experienced before, like a warm shiver running down her spine, a caress deep within her. An itch she never knew she needed to scratch.

The bathroom is almost as huge as the bedroom, black and white tiles, warm wooden tones in the vanity and cabinets lining one wall to accent the lack of colors. There's a big bathtub in front of a large window, the lower half of it covered by expensive looking blinds, showing only the gray sky beyond. The shower is enormous, could easily fit five people. But she's alone in it, standing under the spray, still pondering what is happening. What she's agreed to.

Has she agreed to anything though? Well, denying to want to leave or to remain a virgin couldn't be more straight-forward.

What's gotten into her?

Sure, he's handsome, wealthy, owns a night club, lives in an apartment overlooking the city, quite a catch, but he is still a stranger. Just a man she's grown a little infatuated with over the last visits to his club. She's always seen him lounging at the bar, looking over the dance floor, dark eyes scanning the crowd. She's seen him hooking up with random girls, leading them into the back.

And she wanted to be one of them.

A silly wish, and now she stands naked in his shower. It's almost too good to be true. No, it's foolish, dangerous even. She doesn't know him. Did she really agree to be taken back to his place? She can't remember. Why can't she remember? The painkillers work, but the low thumping is still there, muffled and no longer as agonizing, but still there, in the back of her mind, like a mass of unanswered questions burning through her nerves.

Inhaling deeply, surrounded by the steam of the shower and the faint scent of him that clings to the room, she tilts her chin up and lets the water run down her head, over her warm face, through her hair down her back, little rivulets following the curves of her body. Gosh! She's never felt this nervous before.

But in the end it's just sex, isn't it? Better to lose her virginity to a rich guy in his fancy place than to a drunk guy in a dirty alleyway. It can't be that bad, right?

When she steps out of the shower and grabs a towel, her gaze falls onto the little pile on the vanity. Rubbing her hair, she inspects it – and freezes. It's underwear, white lace with the hint of shimmery satin, intricate, barely able to cover anything, bra and panties, but that's not what makes her insides churn. It's the little metal thing lying on top, the teardrop shape with a small handle like a knob, adorned with a big sparkling jewel. She may be inexperienced, but she knows exactly what it is. He left her a freaking butt plug.

Shivering at the thought of putting anything up her ass, she ignores it and focuses on the packaged toothbrush he's given her. Putting all her energy into brushing her teeth, drying her body, blowing hot air through her messy hair, she quickly forgets about the implication that special gift holds. When she puts on the white underwear, she leans towards the mirror and wipes at the steamed-up surface to look at herself. A gasp escapes her.

Not only does she look so different in the lace set (the white little embroidered flowers barely covering her nipples or her sex, the thong sitting deep between her butt cheeks, leaving nothing to the imagination), but she also notices the large bruise on the side of her neck.

Her finger traces the deep purple mark, and she shivers. The memory is faint, but she can feel it as she remembers last night (or what remains of it), how he's sucked on her skin, his warm mouth, even warmer tongue, licking over his work. She swallows thickly. The throbbing is back, low inside her, her stomach tense. It's either fear or anticipation, she can't be sure just yet.

When she exits the bathroom with her hair cascading down her shoulders, trying to cover more of her chest, she lets out a little yelp when she sees him sitting on the couch again, one leg over the other, lowering his phone when he notices her. His eyes are on her immediately, and she tries to cover herself with her hands as she walks backwards to the nightstand, trying to grab her skirt.

“No need,” he says, his voice firm, and she freezes, hand extended, fingers brushing over the fabric. She frowns at him, and he shakes his head. “You'll only wear what I tell you,” he adds, and the harsh tone lets her exposed skin pebble, his words barely registering inside her suddenly empty mind.

She inhales sharply, holding her breath. She's never felt this exposed and vulnerable, embarrassed that he can see her like this. Even though he'll probably see a lot more of her very soon. The thought scares her as much as it excites her. To say she's conflicted is an understatement.

When he stands up abruptly, she flinches, and even more so when he is with her in a few quick strides of his long legs. His hand closes around her wrist, pulling her towards him. She has to look up at him now, her chest rising and falling faster, heart thundering loudly, something hot gathering deep in her belly. He watches her closely, a stern look in his eyes, as his other hand slides down her side, over skin and lace, curves around her rear, and she shrieks when she feels his fingers dipping into the cleft between her ass cheeks.

He lets go of her, his eyebrows furrowed. She bites her lip as he scrutinizes her darkly, before he turns around and enters the bathroom. He comes back with the little metal thing between his fingers, and she feels her stomach tensing up even more.

“You didn't like my little gift, huh?” he says quietly, almost menacingly.

“I... I did–didn't know how to... use that...” she admits in a breathy whisper.

“Hmm,” he hums and steps closer to her, one hand cupping her face as he leans towards her, the other holding up the plug, dangerously close to her lips. She stares at him, stiffening, eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Open your mouth,” he tells her.

She hesitates, and he pushes his thumb and forefinger into her cheeks, forcing her jaw apart. A muffled whimper escapes her, and she grabs at his wrist instinctively. His gaze darkens.

“Tongue out,” he whispers, his voice that low thrum in the air, stern and strict, and she knows she shouldn't hesitate anymore. Slowly she extends her tongue, flat, mouth open, her eyes wide as she watches him when he lowers the metal object onto it. “Come on, lick it or it goes in dry.”

A cold shiver crashes through her, every muscle clenching in anticipation. Struggling to swallow hard (which isn't easy with her mouth open), she flicks her tongue around the cold object, holding his gaze. He pushes the plug deeper between her lips and forces her to close her mouth around it. She feels her eyes watering as he pushes it in and out, coating it in her saliva, warming it up. It's humiliating, to say the least. But she's afraid it's only the beginning...

He plops the plug back out of her mouth, then quickly pulls her against him as he sits down on the edge of the bed. She can barely react as he manhandles her onto his lap, draped over it, ass raised, stomach pressing into his hard thigh, hair falling over her head. She claws at the fabric of his pants, squirming on his lap, her head spinning as she tries to understand what's happening. “Hold still,” he tells her, but it's almost an instinct to writhe more, fight against what he has planned.

The sudden slap of his hand against her ass cheek is loud in her ears, and it takes a moment before the pain attacks her senses. A pathetic little cry escapes her, and she kicks her feet. Another slap to the other cheek makes her yelp again, the sting to her soft skin like nothing she's ever felt before.

“Hold still!” he repeats, and she whimpers, buries her head in his leg, and forces herself not to squirm, despite the throbbing pain. She feels tears in her eyes, her mind blank with shock. Her breaths are frantic, little wheezes of panic. “Shh,” he makes, his hand gently caressing the irritated skin now. She relaxes a bit, but only until he pulls her thong to the side and she feels something cold pressing against her sphincter.

“No!” she whines out, unable not to squirm, and he sighs deeply. Instead of spanking her again, he brushes his finger along her cleft, warm, a teasing tingle, a little rough, but better than that hard plug. Until she hears and feels him spitting on her, something warm and wet gathering on her skin, his finger spreading it around slowly, and then he dips his fingertip into her tight hole.

She gasps and tenses up immediately, only making it worse. He doesn't care, slowly works his finger deeper, wriggling it slightly, easing the tight muscles. She bites her lip hard enough to draw blood, quietly whimpering, frozen in place. Surrendering to the fate she seemingly called upon herself. By the time he forces the plug into her ass, she's sobbing, unsure how to feel about the object poking out of her – and what that says about his other plans for her.

He helps her stand then, big hands on her upper arms, looks down at her as she looks up at him through her tears. Sighing deeply, he wipes at her wet face, smoothing her hair, shaking his head. “You'll learn to love it,” he whispers before he leans in and presses his lips to hers for a soft kiss, a gesture she hasn't expected after whatever just happened. His words barely register, the underlying threat (or promise?) for more overpowered by her own shame and confusion.

Leaning back, one hand on her face, thumb on her bottom lip, he watches her, something dark glinting in his eyes. His other hand moves along the curve of her spine before he gives her another slap to her tense ass cheek. She cries out, flinching away, feeling her muscles clenching around the metal thing inside her. He only laughs and grabs her hand, pulling her after him.

She puts her bare feet into the ground, and he looks back at her, eyebrows raised. “C-can I... get something m-more to wear?” she asks quietly, voice hoarse from crying.

He tilts his head, chuckling. “No need,” he says again. “It's just us, baby, don't worry.” She doesn't know how to feel about that.

“Please?” she tries again. “I'm... cold...”

“Are you now?” he whispers, his hand moving up to her chest, his thumb pressing against her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra. “Doesn't look like it.”

She lowers her head, inhaling sharply, blinking away new tears.

“Little advice, darling,” he says, putting his finger under her chin and making her look at him. “Never lie to me.” His words are cold, his eyes dark as he stares at her. “Understood?”

She swallows, nods slowly. He grabs her chin, narrowing his eyes. “Y-yes,” she says, quickly adding: “Sir.”

He lets go of her and gives her a smile, his hand on her head, patting it softly. “Good girl,” he whispers. Her insides tense up, something cold trickles down her spine while something warm throbs inside her core.

He takes her through his vast apartment, but she's too focused on walking behind him to really look around, his hand big and tight around hers, her bare feet tapping over the wooden floor, and she feels practically naked in that sorry excuse for underwear he's forced her to wear.

Force, there's no way around it now. He's forcing her to do this, no matter what she might have agreed to. That plug in her ass that twitches with every step she takes? She didn't want that and yet it's there now, tightly gripped by her confused muscles, the shiny knob brushing against her thong, giving her shiver after shiver. But she's too stunned and overwhelmed by it all to even think about finding a way out of this.

Is this still what she wants? Has she ever truly wanted this, whatever this is? She has no idea, she just knows, somehow, that whatever he tells her to do, she'll do it if he keeps calling her good girl. It's a strange realization, two simple words, but they make her feel special, like she's never felt before. Just thinking about it makes her core ache, her muscles clench, her nipples perk up.

She's caught in her own mind when he stops in front of a set of couches, a u-shape in a large room, a plush rug beneath her feet, more of those big floor-to-ceiling windows, the gray city beyond the glass, so far away it seems. He watches her, she realizes when she looks up at him with a slight frown, amusement glinting in his dark eyes. Letting go of her hand, he sits down, leans deep into the cushions, both arms resting on the back of the couch.

“Straddle me,” he says quietly as she shifts nervously on her feet in front of him. Swallowing, she moves her gaze from his eyes to his crotch, to his wide spread legs. A confident sitting position, exuding dominance. And she knows she shouldn't hesitate, but it still takes her a moment to follow the order.

Slowly she moves closer, one leg on either side of his, cautiously pushing them together a bit to allow her to kneel on the couch and sit down on his strong thighs. Her hands find his shoulders for support, and she watches him as closely as he watches her. Her heart is racing when she settles on his lap, trying not to focus on the fact that her legs are spread wide enough to give him a good look at the scandalously thin fabric of her thong, barely hiding anything.

He tilts his head as she retrieves her hands and folds them in front of her sex, head lowered, shoulders stiff, still unsure what she is even doing here. Suddenly he grabs her waist, large hands splayed around her body, making her look back at him with a little gasp.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispers hoarsely, his eyes boring into hers. It's not a question of consent, it's another command, and she can't help but agree yet again.

“I... I want this,” she says under her breath.

“Yeah?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “You sure?”

She inhales deeply. “Yes.”

“Say it,” he urges, fingers digging into her soft flesh. “Tell me what you want.”

“I... I want...” she starts, chewing on her lip, her eyes wandering away from him, her cheeks burning up in embarrassment. “I...” Her mouth feels dry. “I want you to... to...” She swallows thickly. “...to sleep with me...”

His laugh sounds almost mocking. She looks up with her eyebrows furrowed, her lips pursed, discomfort written all over her face. “So fucking innocent,” he mutters, shaking his head, amusement or malice making his lips twitch. “Say you want me to fuck you. Come on, use big girl words, baby.”

She presses her lips together, shifting on his lap. “I... I want you to... f-fuck me...” she repeats quietly, clenching her jaw, trying to hide the shaking of her voice, embarrassment burning deep inside her belly.

His hands move up her sides until he grabs her face, pulling her closer towards him until his nose brushes against hers. “You want me to take your virginity?” he whispers darkly, his breath fanning over her face.

“Y-yes,” she whispers back, her heart beating harder.

“You want my cock in your cunt?”

She flinches at his words, but nods into his hands.

“Say it...”

She swallows, breathing loudly through her nose. “I... I want your... your cock... in my... my c-cunt,” she stammers, feeling the blush spreading all over her body, her eyes watering under the intensity of his gaze, his closeness, his grip on her face, the dominance in his voice.

He smiles, quickly pressing his lips to hers. “Good girl.”

She closes her eyes, a deep shudder rushing through her body like a wave of relief. He pulls her against him, wrapping both arms around her, just holding her while she rests her cheek on his shoulder, savoring his warmth, the unexpected intimacy of a simple hug. But simple doesn't seem to be something he likes, because his hands wander lower, cupping her rear, fingers kneading her soft flesh, teasing between her cheeks, rubbing along the thin strip of fabric, pressing against the base of the plug.

Forcing herself not to flinch, she just leans against him and lets him touch her, her hands squished between their bodies, dangerously close to the warm hardness between his legs. With how he handles her butt, she's forced closer against him, her fingers brushing along the bulge, and when he suddenly pulls on the plug, she jerks away and into him, pelvis slamming into his lower stomach, and she can feel him through the thin fabric of her thong. Hard and hot.

His hands move back to her hips, pulling her away again. He looks at her, curiously with a dark glint in his eyes. “Have you ever touched a cock, darling?” he asks quietly.

She licks her lips, shakes her head.

“Seen one?”

Another shake of her head. His amusement turns into surprise, while the shame of her confession makes her blush even more. He gives her a strangely sweet smile, one hand on her warm cheek, thumb tracing the outline of her lips.

“Do you want to?”

“Yes,” she replies, her heart racing. His eyebrows rise up, and she quickly adds: “Sir?” He just looks at her, pointedly, demanding. “I... I want to touch it...” she then whispers, biting her lip. “Your... your cock...”

He caresses her cheek, smiling. “Such a quick learner,” he praises. “Well, go on then, make your wish come true,” he continues, leaning into the cushions, pushing her backwards a little, his arms resting on the back of the couch as he watches her intently.

She stares at him for a moment before she understands the command. Shifting on his lap, her fingers move towards his belt, shaking uncontrollably, her mind reeling, heart beating out of her chest. Somehow she manages to unbuckle his belt and open the button and zipper of his pants. Without too much thought, her hand curls into the opening, fingertips brushing against warm skin.

Looking up for confirmation, she sees him nodding, and when she frees his hard erection (the sight more intimidating than she expected) by pulling the fabric down, his lips curl up into a smirk. “Don't be shy, just grab it.”

She does, two small hands around his girthy length, his flesh hot and hard, veins bulging against her palms. A little throbbing motion from deep within. Unsure what to do, she just squeezes her hands around him a little, until he puts his big hand on hers and starts moving it, showing her how he wants her to touch him. He's surprisingly patient with his teachings, guides one of her hands up and down his shaft while he places her other to cup around his testicles.

Her breaths are frantic little puffs of air, her cheeks are burning in embarrassment, but when she looks at his face instead of his angrily throbbing cock, she sees him smiling at her, a soft expression she hasn't expected, almost proud, and she inhales deeply and focuses on the task at hand – literally.

Eventually he takes his hands away and lets her do her thing, and she follows the movements he's shown her, moving her hand up and down, shifting the soft skin over his hardened core, closing her fist around his tip, smearing the precum leaking from it around his length, while the fingers of her other hand knead the soft flesh of his balls. It's almost relaxing, meditative.

He's breathing deeper, louder, and she can see his face tensing up, as if he's holding himself back. She continues stroking him, pumping him with all she has, until he grabs her wrist and stops her, his eyes almost black from how dilated his pupils are. She's too stunned to fight him when he suddenly manhandles her onto the couch next to him, on her knees, facing him, and he forces her head down with an iron grip to her hair. She yelps in surprise.

“Open your mouth,” he rasps, voice deep and rough. She swallows hard, stares down at his cock twitching inches away from her face. But she follows the order, her lips trembling as she parts them, tongue out flat, and before she can prepare herself, he's forced her head down on him. His tip slips into her mouth, warm and wet, a slightly bitter taste on her tongue. “Close your lips around it and suck,” he orders, his grip unrelenting.

She feels her eyes watering, her chest heaving in panic, her hands bracing around his thigh. He holds her in place, waits for her to do so, and when she hollows her cheeks, he inhales sharply. She breathes loudly through her nose, feeling his cock hard and heavy against her tongue, poking into her gums. It's just the tip, but it fills out her mouth to the point she's afraid to choke on it.

“Keep... pumping,” he breathes, hoarsely, on the verge of losing it. Her hand finds the rest of his dick, and she starts moving it up and down his length, still so much ground to cover, so big she's somehow glad he doesn't force it deeper, or even down her throat.

His body is shivering beneath her, the hand in her hair tightening its grip until it hurts. Muffled whimpers escape her, but she keeps sucking on his tip, precum and saliva filling her mouth, dripping past her lips and down her chin. She moves her tongue as best as she can, flicking it around his spongy crown, while stroking up and down his throbbing girth quick and hard.

A grunt escapes him, and she feels him twitching inside her mouth and against her palm. He grabs her head with both hands and holds it down, it's a sharp pain that makes tears roll over her cheeks, but it's nothing compared to the sudden jerk against the back of her throat that makes her flinch in panic.

She tastes it, hot and salty and thick, as he comes inside her mouth, spurt after spurt, filling her cheeks until she can't hold it anymore and has to swallow. It hurts to do so, and she opens her jaw a little wider, letting most of it drip down her chin as she gulps for air.

He relaxes beneath her, his grip easing on her head, releasing her. His hand pries her tight fingers off his cock and holds it himself while he pulls her back a little. She looks up at him from under her clumped lashes, vision blurry, mouth and chin covered in a thick layer of spit and cum. She feels too lightheaded to be embarrassed about how she may look, and when he gives her a weak smile, she cares even less.

His finger traces along her chin, gathers his cum and slowly pushes between her trembling lips. It's almost an instinct to lick around his fingertip, and his eyes darken at the sight in front of him. He keeps cleaning her and she keeps licking up his essence, the taste growing on her despite the initial bitterness. He wipes his palm over her mouth, smearing the last remnants over her lips, before he holds out his hand to her, soiled palm up, watching her closely.

She shifts on her knees, her body shivering, overwhelmed by all these new experiences, but she manages to cradle his big hand with her smaller ones and leans down to trace her tongue over his lifelines, lapping up the rest until his hand is clean. He nods approvingly and grabs her chin to guide her back to his crotch. “Clean,” he says quietly, and she only nods and bends down to bring her tongue to his cock once more.

His fingers dig into her hair, gentle caresses this time, light scalp massages, while she licks around his tip, sucks up the last drops of cum from his slit, moves up and down his shaft with her lips sucking lightly, while her lungs burn and her head throbs. It's as if it's the only thing that exists anymore, his cock, his pleasure, his contentment. Only to get the soft touches and gentle words, those two words he has yet to say to her for her service, her obedience.

He pulls her back once she's done, quickly putting himself away again while she leans on her knees, head bowed, licking her lips, swaying slightly as if drunk. It's a strange kind of serenity. Calm, head empty, his taste lingering on her tongue. Nothing more to worry about.

Shifting beside her, he pulls her onto his lap, strong arms caging her in, her head resting on his shoulder as he holds her, one hand rubbing up and down her back. “You did good,” he whispers, and she shivers, soaking up the praise like a sponge, saving it for later.

“Thank you,” she breathes against him, and the hand on her back pauses.

“What are you thanking me for?” he asks.

She swallows, inhaling deeply. “For... for saying that I did good, for... teaching me, for...” She feels her cheeks burning up, head clearing enough to feel embarrassed again. “For... letting me touch and... and taste you...” she adds in a low mumble, burying her face in his collarbone. For not forcing me to do more, she thinks.

He laughs softly, resuming the rubbing of her back. “It's nice to start the day like this, huh?”

She only hums in response, melting into his body as he holds her. They sit like this for a long moment, it feels strangely natural, intimate and warm. Something she could get used to. Something that scratches the itch deep within.

ONE 🟥 TWO 🟥 THREE

End notes: It's only going downhill from here...

By the way, you may or may not have noticed that these characters don't have names: and that's on purpose. I want to keep this as vague as possible, focusing solely on their connection. If you need to address them, I guess Sir and Darling would work? But really, it's just He and She now.

(And if you wanted to, you can imagine them being your favorite fictional characters also. I didn't describe their appearance either, despite it being an older, taller man and younger, shorter woman. Anything goes.)

And yes, our female character is very naive, very submissive, very innocent indeed. I hope it's not too much. She has a crush, okay? And we all know (hopefully) how that can turn brains into mush.

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Monday!

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾️TWO◾️THREE◾️FOUR◾️FIVE SIX◾️SEVEN◾️EIGHT◾️NINE◾️TEN◾ELEVEN

[moonmoonthecrabking]

looking at the top ao3 ships of 2013 is so wild. like yes, ragingly male-dominated, but also a lot more superwholock, teen wolf, and harry potter (non-marauders era). it's so fascinating to me as someone who wasn't in fandom at that time

[your-name-is-jim]

If Spock wrote a r/relationship post

Aaaaaahhh finally I can talk about this! :D So, 2 weeks ago I wrote an in-universe Kirk/Spock Reddit post for a fic-exchange on AO3, and it was anonymous until now (because of the exchange rules). Some of you probably saw it, because I got great feedback and some comments were so sweet they made my day!!

I finally replied to everything, but I want to thank anyone who read my work and anyone who will read it! :D You can find it here:

Summary: Spock shares a list of reasons why his friend Kirk should accept to marry him.

Rating: T, No Archive Warnings Apply.

Fandoms: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)

Relationship: James T. Kirk/Spock

Characters: Spock (Star Trek), Nyota Uhura, Montgomery "Scotty" Scott, Hikaru Sulu, Pavel Chekov, Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk (mentioned)

Additional Tags: Getting Together, Relationship Advice, Post-Star Trek I: The Motion Picture, Marriage Proposal, reddit, In-Universe r/Relationships Post, Social Media

Words: 2465

Any like, reblog, kudos, comment, bookmark, etc. is very appreciated! Thank you!! ❤️

[running-tweezers]

After a lot of encouraging from my bestie @phantasmechanical, and some interest from a few folks here, I’ve decided to post the first part of an AU fic I’m writing (and have been hyperfixated on) with my favorite ocs. There are currently 6 parts written, over 13k words, and I’m still working on it. If you enjoy, I live and breathe off comments and reblogs and asks and such. And I’ll continue posting more here on occasion. SO, without further ado.

~ Pictures Of You - Part 1 ~

The year is 1989. Nate, with his sunshiney smile, his love of plants, and his mostly “normal” tastes, has fallen head over heels. There’s only one issue. He’s fallen for a gorgeous goth named Zephyr he only sees on public access TV once a week.

Rated: T

2255 words

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

~ April 28, 1989 ~

Nate’s eyelids drooped a bit as the clock made its way closer to 1 AM. He would regret this in the morning. He always did. But it was worth it.

This Thursday night routine was all a secret for a while, until his sister started calling him out for nearly nodding off during their Friday lunch catch up sessions. He couldn’t hide it from her, he had to fess up. She had just laughed and rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, that figures,” she’d said. “You’ve always had a thing for the freaks.” She scolded him gently for not getting enough sleep and that was that, aside from the odd comment occasionally about his “hot TV goth.”

Nate poured a cup of the coffee he brewed just for this, hoping the caffeine would pull him through the next half hour without making him jittery all night. It was either that, or risk falling asleep on his uncomfortable couch again. Then he’d really regret it.

He settled in and flicked on the TV, switching it to the public access station before the screen could even fully light up. What played before varied from week to week. Sometimes it was this phony TV psychic, sometimes reruns of some televangelist, sometimes just infomercials selling Ginsu knives and love song compilations. He figured they couldn’t find someone willing to stick to such a late time slot. This week it was some New Wave guy with questionable talent and even more questionable haircut, banging on a Cassio keyboard and singing off key. He hit the mute button and sipped from his mug, waiting for the last few minutes to pass.

Soon the irritating Duran Duran wannabe cut out, and the screen filled with familiar color bars. He unmuted, just in time to hear the last bit of ringing dead air cut suddenly to the sound of guitars and deep droning vocals.

And there they were.

Behind a dimly lit desk in a brick walled basement, with thick black eye makeup and wild, ratted up hair, sat the whole reason Nate was still awake at this time every Thursday night.

“Welcome, night owls and creatures of the darkness.” The figure on the screen spoke to the camera, in a cold, deadpan voice, never letting their face show anything more than a wry smirk. “My name’s Zephyr and you’ve stumbled into my world for the next half hour. Aren’t you lucky.”

A phone number hung at the bottom of the screen as they continued their introduction. “If you have something worthwhile to say, call in. If not, don’t bother.”

They launched immediately into a long and rambling explanation of the song playing in the background that kicked off the show. Nate recognized the name of the band, ‘Sisters of Mercy,” from their music recommendations in the past. He barely knew anything about the goth scene they talked about. What he did know, however, was that they were gorgeous. There was something so entrancing about them. Something dark and mysterious that he couldn’t look away from.

Maybe Mick was right. Maybe he was just into freaks.

“Speaking of music, I got my hands on the single The Cure put out last week, the one from the new album coming out soon. I’m gonna get the album as soon as it hits the shelves, but whatever, I couldn’t resist.” Their face remained apathetic, but there was an undeniable light behind their eyes. It was obvious they were excited behind the thin mask of indifference. It was endlessly endearing.

“Fascination Street is the single, and it’s incredible, even the B-side is great—“ They paused looking down at their switchboard. “Looks like there’s someone on the line,” they muttered, fiddling with the buttons on the desk in front of them. “Hello, you’re on the air.”

“Yeah, me and my friend have a question,” the distorted phone voice slurred with the distinct cadence of a drunk college kid, with said friend laughing in the background. “Are you a guy or a girl?”

Zephyr breathed a weary sigh, and leaned back in their chair. “Doesn’t matter, I’m not gonna fuck you either way.”

“Who the hell said I wanted to fuck you, you ugly fucking frea-“

“Bite me,” they flatly interrupted, disconnecting the line. “Anyway, Facination Street…”

Calls like that were too common. More people called in to be rude than to actually talk. It just seemed to come with the territory, but they handled them pretty well. It took a person with a ton of courage to come on TV and deal with people like that, just so they could talk about things they loved. That only made them that much more intriguing.

“I got the cassette version, the 12-inch vinyl has an extended intro, plus an extra B-side. I heard that extended intro for the first time at the club the other night. I swear it was a fucking spiritual experience. Being on the floor at The Underground, listening to The Cure, with all those other people? That's church to me. That’s my religion.” He continued with that same intensity, as if nothing happened. That was their favorite band, they talked about them all the time. He’d never listened to any of their music, but every time he saw one of their albums on the shelf at the store, his mind lit up with recognition.

He daydreamed occasionally of bumping into them at Sam Goody, just by pure coincidence. Striking up a conversation. Asking them about what music they’d recommend. Hearing their passionate rambling in person. It was dumb. They probably went to much cooler, underground record stores than some mall chain. But it was nice to think about.

“We have another caller.” Once again they paused their stream of consciousness and pressed buttons on the switchboard. “Hello, you’re on the air.”

“The Cure sucks shit.” The voice on the other side of the phone managed to sound even more bored and detached, almost like it was a competition. “They’re nothing but mainstream garbage now.”

“Have you heard the new single?”

“No, but their whole last album was poppy bullshit.”

“It had a little bit of a pop sound, yeah, but the meat of what makes them good was still there,” they argued. “You’re acting like they became fuckin, Tiffany and started doing mall shows or something.”

“They might as well be.”

“I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

“Well I think you’re a poser.”

They noticeably bristled at the accusation. “I’m already halfway through my slot, I don’t have time for this shit.” They disconnected the call, looking a bit more shaken than usual.

Why did people call in just to be assholes? Maybe the anonymity combined with an audience was too sweet a deal to people like that. Nate genuinely couldn’t understand that way of thinking. Where was the joy in being mean to a stranger?

He glanced at the phone sitting on the end table by the couch. Calling in had crossed his mind before. He had even had the number dialed, ready to press the call button a few times, but he always chickened out in the end. What would he even say? He didn’t know anything about any of this. So he remained a silent observer, content to just watch this beautiful goth waxing poetic about the things they cared about.

They didn’t have to wait much longer for another call. They answered with a touch of exasperation. “Hello, you’re on the air.”

“Yeah, remember me, bitch?”

Without wasting a second, what was obviously the drunk caller from earlier, dove in with some of the most brutal nastiness Nate had ever heard anyone spew, much less a caller on their show. The onslaught of insults and hate speech seemed to be unending, attacking every aspect that he could think of. Nothing was off limits to this guy. It turned Nate’s stomach to be reminded so vividly how awful some people could be.

Zephyr didn’t look like they were faring well either. They scrambled to disconnect the call, blurting out a single shaky “fuck you,” before silencing him. They let out a heavy breath, their silence only accentuated by their faint music still playing in the background.

Something broke. The nonchalant, confident Zephyr he’d come to know through the screen was completely gone for a few brief seconds. Like they’d never been there.

They cleared their throat and sat back up straight in their chair, trying to regain composure. “Sorry about that,” they said, as solidly as they could muster. “Maybe we should just move on to something else…”

Nate made up his mind in an instant.

He grabbed the phone next to him and carefully dialed the on screen number, not hesitating to press the call button this time.

He twisted the cord around his finger as he waited to connect. The shift in Zephyr’s demeanor on screen let him know he’d gotten through. They looked defeated, like they were debating even picking this one up. He prayed that they did.

He saw the press of the button and heard the click from the phone a split second later.

“Hello?” They had dropped their regular script, too exhausted and annoyed to even finish it.

“Hi!” The first word out of their mouth was entirely too much energy, but once he heard that call connect, he was acting on pure instinct.

They relaxed, if only a little, obviously relieved to hear any voice other than the previous caller. “Hi?” they repeated, puzzled.

It hit him all at once, and he could only sit in silence for a split second. He was actually talking to them. Live on the air. He acted on such impulse, the only thought in his head was to block that asshole from calling back. He hadn’t thought past this moment.

“I uh… I didn’t really think through what I was gonna say.” Nate laughed nervously as he floundered for the right words. “I guess I just wanted to tell you that I really like your show? I’ve been watching every week for the last couple of months. I don’t know much about all this, but I like hearing you talk about it.”

Zephyr looked skeptical. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“No! No, I mean it!” Nate summoned every ounce of sincerity he could, to try and make Zephyr believe him. “You’re obviously really passionate about it, and I like watching you because of that.”

Yes. Because of their passion for their interests. No other reason. Especially not because he found them unbelievably sexy.

“Oh.” Zephyr’s drawn on eyebrows raised in surprise. “Well, uh. Thanks, I guess.” They struggled to accept the compliment and still maintain that mysterious facade. Nate thought for a second he caught the beginnings of a smile, but it may have been a trick of the cameras.

“You’re welcome.” He glanced at the clock. Just over 10 minutes of airtime left. If that guy wanted to call in again, he would have plenty of time to do it. He had to stay on the line and get them talking about something else.

“So, I do have a question,” he began, thinking back to his stupid record store daydream. “If I just walk into any regular mall record store, what would you recommend looking for if I want to ease my way into listening to stuff like this? Or do I need to look somewhere else for the good stuff?”

“Oh, that’s a good question, actually.” Their eyes lit up again, and they were off. “You can find good stuff there, it’s just gonna be the more mainstream artists. But there’s nothing wrong with that. I’m always gonna recommend The Cure, obviously. And no matter what that prick earlier said, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with their last album, and I feel like it’s pretty accessible. A good gateway, I think.”

He stayed on the phone, asking questions, and they were more than happy to answer them all. The next 10 minutes flew by, and soon he had a list of artists and albums scribbled on the back of an envelope.

Eventually, Zephyr cut themself off from the tangent they had been going on. “Oh shit, I’m almost out of time.”

“That’s ok, thanks for all the suggestions!” He couldn’t hide the smile in his voice, and it threatened to draw a smile out of the stone faced goth on the TV.

“Of course.” They answered, having turned that creeping smile quickly into a smug smirk, to maintain the illusion. “Have a good night.”

“You too!” He hung up the phone and watched as Zephyr went through their regular show wrap up. Only now did he realize how hot his face was. He made his dumb little fantasy come true, if not in the exact way he’d imagined it. And they came out of the horrible first half of their show unscathed. That’s all he could ask for.

“I suppose that about does it then,” they said, fully back in the swing of things. “Thanks for spending some time with me tonight. And remember, there’s beauty in the darkness, if you’re willing to let it in. Goodnight, and I’ll see you next week.”

The screen went black yet again, and Nate switched off the TV. He had to try to sleep. But between the coffee and what just happened, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get there.

At least he’d have a hell of a story to tell his sister tomorrow.

[roughdaysandart]

A fun Ch 8 pt 2 idea doodle

yes, shes never seen him shirtless at this point lol.

[29625]

A short Slimav story. Kissing and touching and ravishing Sli’s big tiddies on the couch on a cold day because they are gay and happy. Set somewhere in the early 90s—the same universe as my longfic. Enjoy!

Winter has come in Miramar. The day is shortening and the temperature is dropping. Don’t forget to bundle up, check your tires just in case—the vigorous DJ says on the radio as Maverick tosses beneath the blanket for the thirtieth time.

Maverick never handles the cold too well. This winter is no exception, even though Slide insists it’s really not that bad. It’s cold, sure, this year’s relatively chilly by the San Diego standard they’re both used to, but not I-get-my-shit-done-in-a-blanket-don’t-judge-me level cold.

Well, whatever he says, Maverick thinks in a somewhat groggy state after sleeping in. That bastard spent a considerable amount of time at his nana’s place in New York, for God’s sake.

Crawling back under the cozy fort, he curls himself and indulges in the snugness of the velvety fabric. The comfort of the couch, combined with the radiating heat of Slider’s body, is nothing but pleasantly addicting, more so on a chilly Sunday like this.

“Hey, Froggy.” A soft, amused tenor calls him. “Freezing much?”

Froggy.

Maverick never handles the cold too well. If one thing that entertains Slider in this frigid weather, that would be teasing his boyfriend for his very amphibian antics.

He peeks his head from the blanket and loops his arms around Slider’s torso. The sleeves of his lightweight sweater are rolled up below his elbows. The material is pretty tight-fitting as far as he can feel on his hands, hugging his toned physique in all the right places.

“Should I say yes?” Maverick mutters. “Or should I just accept my fate and say…hi-ho!”

“What? Kermit?”

“Who else am I supposed to be, jackass?” Maverick pouts, throwing his arms in the air. “Hi-ho! It’s Kermit the Frog here, little Ronnie.”

“Sounds like a strangled car horn right there, huh?” Slider smirks. “But sure, Froggy.”

Froggy. Jim Henson-esque.

Maverick shifts under the cover, snuggling Slider’s stomach.

“Haven’t got to practice much lately.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I used to.” His voice trails off before it turns into a small sigh. “But Bradley’s all grown up for Sesame Street lately, y’know.”

He relaxes in Slider’s lap as he strokes his head, playing with the short strands of his brunette hair. He likes it when his big hand caresses him like this, always so gentle and soothing.

Maverick slips in his fingers under Slider’s sweater, playfully pulling it up to reveal a part of his tanned skin underneath.

“Pete?” Slider whispers. “What are you—oh.”

Maverick hikes up Slider’s sweater just high enough to bare his muscled chest. His fingers trail on the toned abs, tracing and rubbing every curve as his hands move up to his sternum. His touch is no more than a light brush over his skin, but it is enough for the taller man to jolt. He drapes himself over Slider’s body and wallows in the warmth that feels so encompassing against his skin.

A small moan escapes his lips as Maverick’s cold hands brush against his chest, adding a good amount of friction to his sensitive nipples. He gently sucks the tips, drawing a small, sensual gasp from his robust lover beneath. The contrast between his tanned complexion and the dark gray sweater is what hooks him. The nasal moan Slider sometimes lets out under him adds to the eroticism—and a sense of satisfaction, that he is the one who’s making Slider melt under his touch, that he is the only one at this moment who’s allowed to devour every part of his man.

“All warmed up, weakass?”

If there’s anything to please Maverick more, it’s the daring flame in Slider’s outwardly nonchalant gaze. An invitation he knows he could never resist.

“Bullshit.” He laughs, placing another gentle kiss on Slider’s forehead. “Not enough yet, sweetheart.”

A soft grin paints Slider’s sharp features.

“Do you wanna hear something funny, Froggy?”

“What?”

Slider throws his arms over Maverick’s neck, tugging him by the shiny strands of his short brunette hair.

“I don’t hate this.”

A kiss on his temple. A kiss on his earlobe. And—God, those swollen lips on him—pink, puffy, and wet, parted slightly, tempting him with their unmistakable softness against his flushed skin.

“Yeah,” Maverick whispers into the hollow of Slider’s neck. “How strange, is it?”

Slider loops one of his legs around the brunette’s hip, drawing him closer. His sweater is left hiked up, revealing just enough skin for Maverick to taste and wallow in the healthy yet sinful beauty of his toned chest.

“Mind warming up a poor froggy, darling?” Maverick grins.

“Shut up and show me what you’ve got, Kermie.”

[asimplearchivist]

𝓒𝓗. 𝓥𝓘𝓘 — [𓂾𓏏] (‘𝓻𝓭𝓽’ | 𝓰𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓰)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐕𝐈𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ ru is growing up fast. pairing ☽ khonshu/singlemom!avatar!reader word count ☾ 5.5k a/n ☽ [header credit] ⤏ i am so sorry this took so long. it’s a bit shorter than I’d prefer, but i’m hitting a point where i’m going to have to move time along some and i agonize over timeskips bc i worry about writing them well. the next chapter will see Ru aging up some more with copious amounts of fluff, then we’ll be headed for the main arc of the fic. fingers crossed that i can keep the momentum going! ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER [TBA] ☽

You couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Khonshu.

For so long you had grown accustomed to his obstinance and ire, learning how to circumnavigate his myriad moods as well as the boundaries within which you could deal with them. Most of the time he had no true qualms with you quipping back at him, but every now and again he grew too touchy (borderline sensitive) to tease and sass. Working as a nurse had forced you to grow a thick skin years ago, so his biting remarks had never fazed you (which you think puzzled him, at times), but while he was mostly ready to dish it out, he couldn’t always stand to take it in return. The behavior almost reminded you of a scorned child, if you were honest, so when he was at his lowest points of temperament and patience, you treated him like one. It worked far more efficiently than it should (at least ninety-nine percent of the time).

But you had started to notice some odd changes in him. Subtle ones, perhaps, because he still sure as hell had his moments where he acted like a toddler (and even Ru couldn’t compete with some of the moon god’s tantrums), but you were observing a certain…relaxation in his demeanor. You didn’t know how else to describe it.

Overall, he had grown wordier than ever, talking away even when you didn't pry him for information, yet he spoke in a smoother, milder, and quieter register (when he wasn’t fussing at you about getting injured in the latest alley bawl, anyway)—especially around Ru, whom he shared conversations with more frequently than he did with you, despite the fact that you could actually respond.

He wasn’t nearly as consistently agitated as he used to be—new moon nights left him inexplicably broody, still, but he had proven to be far more pleasant company, even while you were out and about on patrol. He continued to pop in from time to time to check on you throughout each day, but the urgency that had colored his previous inquiries about your activities was now curiosity.

He looked better, to boot—you hadn’t quite believed your eyes when you’d realized that the dust littering the edges of his cloak and bandages had disappeared, as had the tattered hems and frayed wrappings. The gold ornamentation shone as though freshly polished no matter the lighting nor the lack thereof. Even his skull didn’t appear quite as washed out and weathered. (And if you had been studying the slightest bulking of his gargantuan, if lean, figure—strictly out of curiosity—then…well, that was between you and the weight of moonlight at your back.)

You were uncertain of what had caused all of these minute, almost inconsequential shifts in the lunar deity. You hadn’t thought that you’d been acting any differently than usual, and nothing out of the ordinary had happened in your routine to warrant such altered behavior. 

The only thing changing was that Ru continued to grow like a little weed, having hit the nine month mark. He was babbling almost constantly, although no comprehensible words had yet emerged from his pouty little mouth. He had mastered crawling, much to the dismay of your poor nerves, and although you had already baby-proofed the entire apartment thrice over in preparation for it, turning around one day to find him grinning gummily up at you without having made a sound had startled you more than you’d readily admit. He found great joy in sitting in the middle of a castle of wooden blocks within which you would encase him, watching you with glittering eyes, before going full kaiju and knocking them all down like it was his sole purpose in life. Lizzie was doing her damnedest to teach him old rhymes and such, but all he could manage was a monotonous stream of monosyllables and somewhat off-beat clapping.

Watching Khonshu with Ru was something that never failed to soothe your worst of days, even if you were bemused by the development. The old bird had only grown more comfortable interacting with the baby, picking him up and toting him about on his narrow hip without any prompting on your part. He played games with him, too, but only if he thought that you weren’t paying attention or were in a different section of the apartment. 

You weren’t certain how to feel about the odd way that the moon god reacted to every new milestone Ru surpassed—with equal parts troubled perplexity and apprehensive sobriety.

He has chewed that ring for hours and has produced enough saliva to drown in. What is he doing? Surely he realizes that it is inedible.

“He’s stimulating his gums—they’re probably sore. He’s starting to teethe. I need to start keeping them on rotation in the fridge to help numb the pain.”

It…hurts him?

“They call it ‘cutting teeth’ for a reason. They have to erupt from the gums. It’s not a fun time. He’ll probably start fussing about it soon enough—if you don’t want to listen to him whine, you don’t have to stick around for it.”

Khonshu did, though. He stayed even when Ru screamed at his lungs’ full capacity, clutching to your shirt with tears dripping from his eyes with the discomfort, crying until he tuckered himself out and faded into uneasy, fitful sleep. Khonshu hovered constantly at your back, beak tapered over your shoulder to observe with a fraught tension you couldn’t shake from rising the hairs on the nape of your neck. The only relief the baby seemed to get was when the lunar deity held him, his massive hands not quite engulfing the growing child as completely anymore—almost instantly Ru would cease his complaints, snuggling into Khonshu’s arms or chest as though nothing was bothering him but your soft-spoken conversations afterward.

Khonshu had mentioned before that he was able to heal Ru and had done so on enough occasions that you’d need both hands to count them. You certainly weren’t one to offer any sort of protest—trying to keep up with your son’s development was overwhelming at the very least. You cataloged every occasion studiously in his memory book, but even that still felt insufficient.

You were neck-deep in cooking supper on a stormy Friday evening when Ru reached ten months old, facing a full moon night that always caused the city—and the maternity ward/NICU in particular—to enter into inexplicable chaos. The benefit of this, you supposed, was that Khonshu’s powers grew to their full capacity and—in so doing—granted you more ease with which to deal with the, at times, utter buffoonery that would plague your efforts to keep the peace in the city. Your stamina, strength, and speed lasted longer, and you recovered faster.

You were cooking over the stove while you had music playing through a speaker, lending an ear to Ru under Khonshu’s watchful eye in the living room. The god had the babe engaged with colored blocks, although Ru was more in the mood to throw them at the deity than to build. Khonshu’s continual commentary on the infant’s inaccuracy and lack of strength had long since fallen into background noise—if he was calm, then you had nothing to worry about.

So it was the near deafening silence you only noticed once you turned off the burners to serve yourself a plate that alarmed you. You turned sharply on reflex to peer into the adjacent room, heart thrumming in alarm, but you accidentally bumped into the doorframe and grunted.

Don’t cause a racket, he is concentrating, Khonshu told you tartly.

Your brows shot up and your mouth dropped open. “I—why didn’t you say anything?!”

Your son looked over his shoulder at you, blinking as his pouted lips parted and he smiled with the two teeth that had emerged in the lower front of his mouth. He bobbed a bit, but Khonshu’s hands tightened around his forearms to hold him upright as he stood on unsteady feet upon the god’s thighs. Ru gurgled, eyes shining as he straightened up and bounced a little.

“Oh,” you breathed, slipping over the threshold to kneel at Khonshu’s side, “look at you, baby. Good job—you’re doing so well!”

Khonshu leaned back against the couch and cocked his beak. He has been attempting to stand all afternoon, but he requires assistance.

“That’s normal,” you murmured, reaching out for him. Khonshu wordlessly relinquished the babe as you hefted him by his sides to stand on your own knees. It took him a moment to regather his equilibrium, but Ru flapped his arms with a delighted squeal once he found it. “Oh, baby—you’re growing up so fast.”

Khonshu slouched to peer at Ru inquisitively, poking his rounded tummy with a spindly index finger. We shall work on your stance, he rumbled, so you are able to stand your ground.

You let out a wet chuckle, swiping your eye on the elbow of your sleeve as surreptitiously as you could manage. “You’re not going to teach my infant the fine art of combat right now.”

When do you propose I begin, then? The sooner he learns, the better.

“At least wait until he’s five,” you sighed, the corner of your mouth tugging upwards as Ru reached out to grab at the end of Khonshu’s beak with grasping, flexing fingers. “Then we can worry about him getting into fights at school, okay?”

Khonshu stiffened. …School?

“Yes? He’ll have to go eventually. He’ll start preschool in a couple of years.” You leaned in to nuzzle your son, grinning as he slobbered on your cheek. “But we don’t have to worry about that right now. We’ve got time, even if it feels like it’s going by so fast.”

Khonshu hummed, low and flat. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, but his rigid frame gave away little in the way of indicating his inner thoughts. You almost missed him being able to emote like he had at the Christmas party…but he hadn’t brought up his shapeshifting ability since, so you hadn’t tried to press him about it because he had looked uncomfortable for the majority of the night every time you’d looked at him for too long.

You are…all right with that? he ventured finally, caution couched in his tone.

“I have little choice in the matter,” you told him, “since I don’t possibly know how I could homeschool him with everything else I have to do every day. I’ve been researching some local private schools to see what the best options are, but Lizzie said she’d help me find one.”

But sending him away to be surrounded by people he doesn’t know— he started, then stopped.

You nudged his arm with your elbow just as Ru finally caught his beak and pulled it down slightly. “He’ll be okay. I fully intend to get a feeling for the teachers available before I make any final decisions. It’s a little scary, sure, but it’s a necessary part of growing up. I can’t always be there for him, unfortunately. But it starts off slow, thankfully, and I feel like he’s smart enough to keep up without effort—actually, I think he’ll get bored, but…”

…If you are certain, Khonshu acquiesced, although he didn’t sound pleased in the slightest.

You smothered a smile, deciding not to tease him about his evident worry. “Don’t worry, big guy. He has his mom who’s an avatar of an ancient god, his red-headed godmother, and you—which goes without explanation—to back him up. I don’t think we have anything to be scared of.”

You forget that I deal in the realm of the supernatural as well as that of mortals, Khonshu responded quietly.

“You’re letting yourself think about it too much,” you told him. “Thinking up worst-case scenarios only makes things worse, you know, and it doesn’t give you any more control of whatever’s going on. I had to learn that a long time ago.”

Khonshu turned his head to look at you, instead, and Ru let out an unhappy grunt when he lost his quarry. I would spare you from the knowledge of all the danger that lies out there, he murmured.

“We can cover it once it comes up,” you told him. “Like you said before, I don’t have to know everything. I think it would overwhelm me, honestly. As long as we don’t have an apocalypse knocking on our front door, I think we’ll be okay.”

Khonshu gave a curt nod and said no more on the matter.

“I know that look,” you told Lizzie, refilling her tea cup with the Earl Gray she’d brewed earlier to help quell her growing headache. You added the sugar and cream according to her taste since her hands were occupied, then sat across from her while glancing towards the window in the oven to check on the baking casserole. “How’s your mom?”

She had Ru standing on her lap while poking small slices of banana into his mouth to keep him distracted while you were bustling around the kitchen—she had just gotten home from work and had taken a call from one of her sisters on the commute, resulting in her low mood. You hadn’t wanted to bother her with the baby since she was tired, but she had bee-lined straight towards him claiming that there was no better cure for her ills.

Ru had gotten better at standing up in the last month, having little trouble in keeping his balance now unless the surface on which he stood was unstable—like your lap, or the cushioned furniture. He was totally enraptured by the fruit Lizzie was feeding him, grasping at her hands as though she was summoning the sweet treat out of thin air.

“Her dimensia’s getting worse,” Lizzie sighed, her normally well-kept curls a little frazzled from the humidity and her nervous habit of running her hands through her hair when stressed out. Normally the job didn’t bother her so badly, so you wondered if her boss had been an outstanding prick more than normal. “Saoirse wants to put her in a home, Lisa wants to bring her to her husband’s farm, but I think hiring a home health nurse would be best. She’s so attached to that house since Dad built it when they got married, I’d hate to see her part with it.”

“It’s a tough call to make,” you admitted, propping your jaw with your fist and watching her focus on Ru, “and I definitely don’t envy you. But my recommendation would be to get her established with someone so she can build a rapport before she starts to have more memory trouble. It’s just little things right now, though, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. She forgot to pay the water bill again and couldn’t understand why the meter got shut off. Saoirse checks on her over the weekends, but it’s not often enough in my opinion. She’s just having a harder time keeping up with stuff now.” Lizzie frowned and leaned Ru back to sit on the edge of the table so she could pass a hand through her hair with a sigh. “I’ve almost got half a mind to move back in with her.”

Your brows rose. Lizzie was one of the most dedicated people you knew when it came to pursuing her dream career. She’d fought tooth and nail to get the experience and record necessary to work for her current firm, and the thought of her forfeiting all the comforts that accompanied her position surprised you. You knew she had a closer relationship with her mother than her older sisters did, but you hadn’t realized before how worried she was for her.

“With your experience, there aren’t a whole lot of remote employers that wouldn’t hire you,” you offered. “You could get into transcription maybe—that way you could work from home, or wherever you end up. I know she likes to take road trips.”

“It’s just a thought. I’m not so sure I want to move all the way back to the countryside,” she responded wearily. “I’ll do some research on our options and keep an eye on her. I know it’ll only get worse from here, but…maybe it won’t happen as quickly as it does to others.”

“Maybe.” That hadn’t been one of your favorite topics to cover while in medical school, honestly, and one of the key points of why you hadn’t gone into psychiatrics. “Just know that I’ll help however I can. You know that.”

“Thanks. But enough about me—you mentioned you’ve been looking into preschools? It’s a little early, don’t you think?”

“I’m not looking to enroll him quite yet, I’m just trying to get a lay of the land. I want to get as much paperwork done preemptively so I won’t get as overwhelmed with it when the time comes. I want the best for him—I didn’t have a great primary education, and he’s already so smart. I don’t know that much about schools over here, though.”

Lizzie studied you for a moment, watching you ease back to your feet to check the oven. “You still don’t want to move back to the States?”

You raised a brow at her. “Do you want me to?”

“Heavens, no!” She placed a hand over her metaphorical pearls. “I just wondered if you’re still avoiding your parents.”

“Leave it to you to be so blunt,” you sighed, but you knew she was only concerned and intended no malice. “I’ve been talking to them, so it’s not like that. I just…they were right, and I should have listened to them. They’re not smug or anything, but I don’t know that I can face them. Not right now, at least.”

“It won’t hurt to wait until this little one could handle the trip better, anyway,” Lizzie added, giving him the last bit of banana. “And I would certainly hate to see you leave.”

“Besides,” you continued, leaning down and opening the door. Golden-brown on top—perfect. “I’ve got a good job. I’m saving up for a permanent home, and I’m throwing around the idea of moving out of central London to get away from all the noise. There are excellent resources at his disposal.” And you weren’t so sure what Khonshu would do if you decided to leave, either. Would he just follow you? You didn’t really want to think about the possibility that it might cause him to sever your…arrangement. (Although you did wonder if him growing so close to the both of you was part of the contract.) “I like it here, besides, and I’ve got you. I never had a lot of friends growing up, and I don’t know that I could handle missing you.”

Ru babbled, slapping insistently at Lizzie’s empty hands while you grabbed a hand towel, pulled the dish out of the oven, and set it on top of the stove. “Nothing wrong with that. It’s hard to uproot your entire life once, never mind twice and with a baby.” 

You swiped the towel over your perspiring forehead, glancing towards the living room and realizing you’d left your own mug of tea on the coffee table. “Hang on, let me grab my drink.”

You stepped out of the room, but Ru’s incomprehensible string of noises caught on some familiar syllables. “Ma-ama! ‘Ama!”

“Oh my god!” Lizzie squealed as you whirled back into the kitchen. She was nearly bouncing in her seat, hands secured around the babe’s waist so he wouldn’t fall.

His face lit up when he spotted you. “Ma-ma!”

“Oh,” you breathed, tears springing up into your eyes. “Oh, Badru.” You picked him up and held him close, pressing a litany of kisses along his forehead. “Baby.”

Lizzie was positively beaming. “I’ve been working with him on that,” she claimed, “and I was starting to worry he’d never speak!”

“So now we focus on ‘auntie’,” you chuckled, sniffling quietly as your cheeks ached with the breadth of your smile. “Oh, I can’t handle it. You’re too sweet, Ru. My sweet boy.”

Your excitement, granting you an extra burst of energy unlike any magic Khonshu had ever imbued into the armor, bled through your entire shift at the hospital until you met up with him to start your patrol. You would almost dare to say that he was as pleasantly surprised by the good news as you were, if the warmth in his tone afterwards had suggested anything of the sort.

“Come on, baby. You can do it.”

“‘Ama!” Ru fussed, slapping the rug beneath him with no small amount of dissatisfaction. His frown was mighty, and almost enough to cause you to cave. But you had been working with him all month to start toddling—even if he couldn’t walk that well, and only took a few steps, you wanted him to start as early as possible. He was already hitting certain benchmarks early, and you wondered what all he could do with a little more encouragement.

“You’ve gotten so good at standing up by yourself,” you reminded him. “That’s the easy part. Can you at least do that for me?”

Ru was momentarily distracted by the pillow directly to his right and palmed the pale cashmere knit, part of the barricade you’d set up in case he fell. You sat against the base of the armchair adjacent to the couch, only about a yard away from your unhappy toddler. You’d shoved the coffee table to the other side of the sitting area, so he had almost the whole rug to himself. You’d negotiated with him for the past ten minutes to try again after the last failed attempt, but you felt that your offer for some ice cream as a reward was falling on deaf ears.

“Are you listening to me?”

He wasn’t, if him leaning down to tug the corner of the pillow up so he could chew on it was any indication. You sighed and dropped your face into your hands.

…What are you doing?

You jumped and looked over your shoulder at the lunar deity looming over the armchair, stooped to stare down at you with his staff held out from his flank. “Oh. Just…trying to see if I can get him to walk. He’s taken a step or two, but he’s being stubborn.”

And from whom could he have inherited that trait, I wonder? he mused.

“Oh, shut up.” You turned around to face him, crossing your legs underneath you and leaning back on your hands to meet his scrutinous gaze. “At least he’s tenacious.”

About things you would not prefer, correct? he responded.

“Yes. But maybe that will make it harder for others to push him around when he’s older. I was a bit too much of a doormat, and I don’t want him to get picked on like I was. Obviously I don't need him going around starting fights, but…I want him to be able to stand up for himself.”

Hmm. I think he will have little issue on that front with you as his mother. Khonshu tilted his skull to the side. You seem adept in how he thinks already.

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Khonshu gestured behind you.

You twisted to look where he indicated, then your mouth dropped open as you were met face-to-face with your boy. He let out a squeal, startled by your sudden movement, and toppled backwards—you caught him mid-fall, anchoring him and tugging him into your lap. You were in disbelief, mostly, processing what you hadn’t seen.

You studied Ru’s face for a long moment, seeing certain features with which you were all too familiar from looking in the mirror. You were so very proud of him, and thankful that you’d been able to have him regardless of the circumstances. You’d go through it all over again just so you could experience the marvel that was him growing and learning. You hugged him close.

He holds much affection for you, Khonshu murmured, observing the pair of you thoughtfully. I…did not realize how early he would start to develop such thoughts, albeit remarkably simplistic.

“I hold much affection for him, too.” You kissed the crown of your son’s head, easing to your feet and bouncing him a little on your hip. “I promised him some celebratory ice cream. Do you want some?”

That is unnecessary.

“That doesn’t answer my question. Do you want some?”

…No. Thank you.

“Suit yourself.” You shrugged a shoulder as you slipped Ru into his booster seat. “I promise you that it’s better than those cookies I made, though.”

Khonshu grunted in disbelief, leaning against the partition between the kitchen and the living room and watching you step over to open the freezer. You pulled out the carton of double chocolate and pried it open before you grabbed a spoon out of the drawer and returned to the table. You sat in front of the boy and slipped some into his mouth. His eyes lit up and he gurgled excitedly, licking his lips and slapping the tray in front of him.

“Yeah,” you responded brightly with a smile. “That’s the good stuff, isn’t it?”

…You understand that he will be more difficult to manage now, right?

“Of course. But it’s a natural consequence of growing.” You took a bite for yourself, grinned around the spoon when Ru let out a disgruntled noise and slapped at your elbow, and offered him another. “I couldn’t stop him even if I wanted to. I’ll miss carrying him around, sure, but…maybe if I work harder I can still pick him up even as he gets heavier.”

If he continues to eat like that, it will pose a challenge.

“He’s a growing boy!” you defended, smothering your chuckle to cast a faux frown towards the lunar deity. “And I think he’s earned a treat.”

At this rate, any accomplishment he makes will be rewarded.

“And it’s well-deserved.” You paused, then slumped against the back of the chair. “I…I’m just glad we’ve gotten this far.”

Khonshu cocked his head at you.

“I almost lost him,” you said quietly, heart squeezing with the recollection of feeling so helpless, listless, on the verge of catatonia but only focused on the babe trapped within you. You smoothed your free hand over his head on reflex, soothed by the texture of his hair against your palm. “I might not even be here if not for you, and I don’t even know if he would’ve made it or not if I had…you know. I wonder sometimes what would’ve happened if you hadn’t showed up when you did. I think about how lucky I was that you found me. And…I’m grateful. I’m so grateful—to you, and Liz, and Ru—for all keeping me going. I owe all of you everything.” You looked up at Khonshu through your lashes, face warming. “I owe you everything.”

That seemed to make him uncomfortable, as he shifted his weight and brought both hands to grip his staff, leaning into its haft and bringing the crescent before his head to hide the majority of his unyielding face.

…It was only per our agreement, he responded finally.

“You saving my life to start with wasn’t,” you pointed out gently. “I just want you to know I’m thankful that you’re in my life, too. You’ve helped me so much without me even asking, and I could never repay you for it all. Ru’s happy and healthy in part because of you.”

Khonshu stiffened, just slightly, but it was enough that you noticed. Very well.

You shook your head with a fond smile. “To be such a conceited god, you sure have a problem taking compliments.”

And just like that, it seemed like a switch was flipped—he straightened, pressed his shoulders back, and raised his voice to his usual lofty tone. It is only reasonable to give credence to your patron, he told you haughtily, but there was a lingering softness to his voice that told you he was putting on airs. It is about time that you acknowledge the work I’ve done.

“Mmhmm.” You rolled your eyes and returned your attention to your fussy son. “Maybe I need to try popping that ego again—I like you better when you’re sweet and quiet.”

And yet you continue to converse with me.

“You’re all I’ve got,” you confessed, effectively shutting him up. “You and Liz. Like I said, I owe you a lot. Even if we’re…whatever we are on paper, you’re still important to me. To Ru. You’re…well. You’re my friend. Maybe that’s weird.”

Khonshu, as still as the statues that the ancients had painstakingly chiseled and carved from the finest of stone, tightened his grip on his staff. You heard the wood creak quietly.

“I can take it back if it bothers you that much,” you added, voice lowering with embarrassment at his lack of reply. “I don’t guess you’d like to be reduced to something so trivial after you’ve been a god in the eyes of humanity for so long. I shouldn’t have said anything—”

I possess few friends, Khonshu interrupted softly.

You clicked your mouth shut, watching his body language relax into something unguarded and…vulnerable, almost. It reminded you of him at the party, shoulders high around his mandible as though expecting a blow—except that you didn’t have anthropomorphic facial features to try to decipher the intricacies of the emotions playing in the back of his mind. The almost nervous drumming of his fingers on the hilt of his staff was telling enough, though.

“I can’t imagine why,” you told him. “You’re incredibly loyal. I thought you were going to snap Kyle’s neck.”

His back curved forward as he leaned towards you slightly. I would have, had you asked.

You blinked. “I…don’t doubt it. But that’s unnecessary—he hit on one of the ER doctor’s wives after you chased him off and finally got fired. Even the board wasn’t going to play with assault charges on his behalf. Now that’s karma at its finest.” You paused, chewing on the inside of your lip as you gave Ru more ice cream. “You take painstaking care of us, too—even if you’re a bit of a mother hen sometimes. It’s been a while since I’ve had anyone other than Liz that’s so concerned about us.”

…I can’t have you unwell, he replied lamely.

You bit your cheek to withhold your smile. “Of course. Thank you anyway.”

He huffed, but he retained his open posture. You are welcome, Sri mewt.

He is one year old.

The statement almost sounded like a question. You turned your head to look over your shoulder at the moon god looming over you in the darkened doorway. He hadn’t been there a moment prior, seemingly summoned by you flicking the lights off in Ru’s room now that he had finally fallen asleep.

The boy had seemed to sense that the day was a special occasion, as he’d kept you on your toes with all his boundless energy. You and Liz had taken him to an aquarium, which he had loved, and you had bought him an octopus plush to go along with his most beloved raven. He now had both of them under each arm, tucked under the blanket in which you’d brought him home from the hospital what felt simultaneously like a whole lifetime yet a mere day ago.

“Yeah,” you whispered. 

So inconsequential, in the grand manner of things, he mused, low and—dare you say it—wistful. Millions are born in a millennium. Time eventually will claim them. And yet…

“Feeling nostalgic tonight?” you murmured, smiling softly up at him.

Only contemplating the plight of man’s ephemerality, he returned evenly. You are born and you die in such a short amount of years—you accomplish so little in your lifetimes, and yet you laud the temporality and fragility of your lives. It has always puzzled me.

“Not all species live thousands of years like yours does,” you pointed out. “Frankly, I’d be terrified to live for that long. I’m afraid I would go crazy having experienced everything at some point, with nothing else to see or do.”

Khonshu lowered his beak to gaze directly at you instead of the crib that housed your slumbering son. I can assure you, he rumbled, that five thousand years is insufficient to experience all that life has to offer. I still learn daily things I never would have expected. 

You raised a brow, lips tugging up into a grin. “At least you’re not bored. I’m glad that we entertain you, at least.”

He scoffed. You do far more than entertain me.

“Annoy you, then. I’m sure you just love spending your free time babysitting.”Badru is…intriguing, he admitted. I have little experience interacting with human children. I have learned much about your people merely by observation that I did not know before through my avatars. And I am…grateful, to have been afforded the opportunity.