#but I get why he feels the way he does and makes the decision he does

[luveline]

Spencer’s oldest child (either with reader or previous relationship) wanting to help out with readers baby!

“So…” 

“So,” Spencer echoes, hooking Amy under the arms before she can wriggle away. He props her on the counter, cloth already in hand. 

“About the baby.” 

“What about the baby?” he asks, encouraging her head back gently to wipe her mouth. She’s covered in butter and omelette, a chive stuck to her chin. 

“You know how she’s little?” 

“Yes.” Spencer wipes her face clean very gently. It’s not a good plan, Amy wriggles and squirms away from the warm water and it takes a long time, but Spencer can’t bring himself to be rough. “She’s really little. I know all about it.” 

“And mom is tired.” 

Spencer grins. “Yes, mom is tired.” 

“Can I look after the baby? ‘Cos I’m big?” 

Spencer isn’t in the habit of lying to her, perhaps to the detriment of his own easy life. “Probably not. You are getting bigger, but she’s so little she’s actually quite fragile. We have to be careful to hold her the right way, and to carry her gently, because she’s not done forming. You don’t have the dexterity to do this all the time. Plus, she’s heavy.” Spencer puts the cloth aside. He leans down enough to be face to face with Amy, puckered up for a kiss. 

Amy frowns. Spencer kisses her damp cheek. 

“I do too have dex-trity.” 

“What do you want to do?” 

“I want to look after the baby.” 

“Then who will look after me?” Spencer asks cheekily. 

“Mom.” 

“Okay. Listen,” he takes her face carefully into his hand, wiping at the place where he’d kissed affectionately, “there are ways you can help with the baby. Lots of ways! Stuff we already do, like making dinner, and stuff we’ve been doing to help mom, like washing her clothes and watering her plants.” 

“I love mom so I water the plants, that’s not the baby.” 

“I know,” he says, rubbing her cheek. “That’s why I do it too. But I promise it helps mommy more than you realise when we do this stuff for her.” 

“Let’s do something else.” 

“Like what?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Spencer opens his arms for her and she latches on like his baby sloth. He used to say it to her all the time, how she was his lazy sloth pup, always on his chest. “How about we ask?” 

He carries her out of the kitchen and upstairs to find you, only you’re not where they left you in the master bedroom. Instead, you're sitting on the floor of Amy’s bedroom with the baby swaddled to your chest. “Oh, hey, it’s big Reid and little Reid.”  

“What Reid does that make you?” Spencer asks. 

“I’m ambiguously sized Reid.” You look down at the baby. “And this is tiny Reid.” 

“What are you doing?” Amy asks. 

“I’m cleaning up your humongous mess, angel.”

“What!” Amy shouts. Spencer laughs at her outburst. “Mom, I’m supposed to help you!” 

“Says who?” 

“Says me! Daddy, put me down.” 

Spencer obliges her and sets her down. Amy runs to you and takes the doll from your hand, to your surprise, sweeping the pile of her dolls away, mixing the ones you’d redressed with naked and ragged ones. You cover the baby’s back, sighing. Spencer knows from experience those dolls are finicky. 

“I was just trying to help,” you say, pouting at her. “It was a big mess, you can’t do it all by yourself, you’re just my little girl.” 

Spencer appreciates the way you say it. It’s good to love someone, but it feels like great luck to have fallen in love with a mom who couldn’t adore her children more than you do. He wanted kids so badly, and your love for them cements a great decision. Amy doesn’t feel so lucky, throwing herself against the side of her bed with a dramatic, forlorn whine. 

You tip your head back as Spencer kneels by your side. “What’s wrong?” you ask. 

He pulls the swaddle from the baby’s face to see her. She’s awake but quiet. Recognition lights her features when she notices his poking, giving him a gurgling smile. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says to you. “Amy just wants to help today, ‘cos she’s our lovely girl.” His voice turns to sweetness as the baby’s smile widens. “Hello, angel. Hi, hi, hi.” 

“You wanna help me?” you ask. 

Amy pulls her face up from her messy bed sheets. “Yes, please.” 

“Well, nobody’s given me a hug in a while.” 

“I want to help with the baby!” 

“Nobody’s given her a cuddle today, either.” 

“She’s cuddling you right now!” 

“She’s just resting. What she needs is a good hug and a good kiss.” You stretch your legs out in front of you and reach back to pull at the swaddle. Spencer helps before you can stretch your shoulder in the wrong way, taking the fabric down your arms and releasing you from its confines. You cup the baby’s weight in one hand, her head the other, and slide her into your arm. “Come on, best big sister. Come and hold her for me.” 

Amy rushes to do as you’ve said. Spencer smiles to himself and pulls the mound of dolls toward him —there’s a lot of work to do in here, you weren’t kidding about the mess. 

You put the baby in Amy’s lap. 

“Now,” you say, leaning into Spencer’s, arms opening expectantly, “for me?” 

Spencer can’t wait to abandon the doll and bend down over you. He almost pokes your kidney out with a Barbie, but he’s never been any good at resisting you when you ask for a cuddle. It’s not your most comfortable embrace, and yet it’s as perfect as any other, his laugh lost in your shoulder, wrapping his arms behind your back. 

“Keep an eye on the babies,” you whisper. 

Spencer checks that Amy’s holding the baby the right way and makes you into a Reid sandwich. “She told me she is too dexterous.” 

“Did you imply she wasn’t?” 

“I said,” he relents, smiling to himself as you squeeze his waist, “that she’s not dexterous enough to carry the baby all day long.” 

“But how do you know?” 

“I read a couple parenting books a few years ago, I tend to have a pretty good memory.” 

“Do you remember how to rub my back?” you tease, softly, still a little shy after all these years. 

Spencer rubs your back. Amy babbles loving nonsense at the baby for a few minutes, and then complains of being bored and wanting another omelette. 

[thetorturedbuckydepartment]

chapter five: fucking situations, circumstances, miscommunications

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!reader

summary: Six months ago, you were appointed to be Head Nurse to the Avengers by Tony Stark. Every day, you count your lucky stars, knowing the horrible past you quickly ditched back in England. It holds you back, restrains you, from getting close to anyone when on your new job.

That's until you met and fell in love with Bucky Barnes. The supposed assassin with a heart of gold, who seems to be eager to get to know you. To peel back your layers piece by piece, but could you trust him once you're laid before him raw and vulnerable?

masterlist

PREVIOUS PART -- CHAPTER FOUR: WHO ELSE DECODES YOU?

warnings: language, mentions of sex (no smut), self deprecation, angst (!)

word count: 3.9k

Taglist: @scott-loki-barnes @cjand10 @blackwidownat2814 @blackbirdwitch22 @laughterafter  @blackhawkfanatic @mcira @bxckybxrnes24 @rachellovesloki @toffeacademia @bean-bean2000 @lana525 @selella

A/N: im so sorry okay? but I promise, the fruits of patience are always sweet (is that right)! hope u enjoy, and don't worry only five more chapters until I stop torturing the pair to pine longingly... also phase one is complete, so I'll be taking a two week break before starting phase two: the falling rollout! stay tuned :)

It turns out you were wrong. You had been speaking to Nat — Wanda was off somewhere with Vision — and you talked her out of the notion that you were falling in love with Bucky. Because of course you aren’t…you can’t afford to. Falling in love made a mess of you, there’s no way it’s going to happen so soon.

When you first set foot in New York, it felt like a fresh start. Sure, you’d imagine if all went well, then a few years down the line you’d find yourself opening up again. Not doing it so soon, and certainly hadn’t imagined in your wildest dreams that it would be reciprocated.

You convince yourself you’ve imagined it. And of course, you did. Because in the night, Bucky had left you and your scheduled movie night last minute, to go out on the town with Steve. He had invited you, but you’d declined. Maybe you’ve weirded him out with admitting you’re more attracted to brunettes — maybe he’s figured it all out and is now trying to avoid you, to let you down gently. 

And when you’re just about to fall asleep after tormenting yourself with all the awkward ways he’s trying to avoid you, because he’s too nice to tell you — that’s when you hear it. Moaning and groaning of a man and woman through the wall, the hard and rough pounding of what can only be a bed frame against a surface, and the man is undoubtedly Bucky. You'd recognise his voice anywhere. Your heart sinks as you immediately walk out of your room, where you can hear everything, heading to the kitchen, unable to handle it. It feels like your insides will be spilled all over your front and the floor. Trying to get the images out of your mind of Bucky and another woman entangled…like that. Clutching at your chest, because your heart just burns and your eyes are full of water and everything’s blurry, shaky hands reaching for a glass of cold water to dissolve the lump in your throat.

Why are you upset? Bucky is a grown man, fully capable of making his own decisions and choosing the women he wants to sleep with. It’s not his fault he doesn’t choose you. So why does it make you so upset, that you’re quietly stifling your sobs in an empty, cold kitchen?

You feel like your heart has been ripped out — once again doomed to be romantically interested in the one who would rather choose an inanimate rock over you. Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but still. You don’t know how long you stand there, the only light a warm orange spilling over the black kitchen island, and think every single spark of hope in you away. The look of desire on his face…maybe it was platonic affection. You mistook it for something more, because you’ve never seen that look haunt anyone's features before. Maybe he looks like that at everyone.

And then you hear hurried footsteps, and the unmistakeable, juggernaut-like clack of women’s heels. You straighten, and she appears. Wrapped in a red dress, Bucky’s favourite shade, that accentuates every part of her so flawlessly, and her lipstick hasn’t even budged, despite the mess of her hair and other parts of her makeup. She offers you a soft smile as she passes, but you can’t help yourself. How has her lipstick not even smudged a little?

“Wow, you’re so pretty, oh my God. What lipstick do you use, and how the hell has it still not budged? Girl, I need the brand and name, like, right now.” You usher her over, to inspect her perfect lips more closely. Even the warm light makes her seem a million times more attractive, and you can’t help yourself.

You hold her face in your hands while she rattles off some obscure brand you’ve never heard of, making a mental note to search it up later. “It looks amazing,” you say, meeting her eyes, which are the most warm shade of brown. 

You know you can never hold a candle to the beauty of this woman, even at your very best, but you’d be damned if you didn’t tell her of her radiance.

“Thank you,” she blushes and straightens, pulling away from your hold. Her outfit is so amazing, you can’t even blame Bucky for being so taken with her. You’re right there with him.

“Flirting with my date, are you?” Comes Bucky’s voice from the doorway, and you both turn to look at him. Then you remember yourself, and your situation. She’s just had sex with Bucky, and here you are, complimenting her lipstick.

And in this moment, you dig to your lowest familiar, and compare yourself to her. It’s not a competition, you know better than to fight over a man, but even if there were…you would lose by a landslide. Objectively.

Absentmindedly, you touch your hair while glancing at hers, dark, perfectly curled locks swishing about her shoulders and touching her elbows, even at its messiest. You don’t know if you want to look like her, or to be with her, in this moment.

“No, no. I was just asking her about her lipstick, that’s all.” She hands you her phone, ignoring Bucky, and asks you to enter your number with a wink. You happily comply, and almost miss the way her face falls when she reads over your name, and glances over her shoulder at Bucky. 

Clearly, you’ve missed something. You don’t want to ask. “I’ll call you,” she gestures to you, leaving you with a kiss on the cheek. You blink several times, trying to process the events of the past hour or so.

You’ve never been more confused. How did you end up with Bucky’s date’s number? “You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you doll?” He’s got that signature smirk on his face, but you look away. Something about his messy hair and flushed cheeks seems a sight that isn’t reserved for you, but the lover who just left the compound.

“No, I— I was just complimenting her, I swear. She seems nice, though. Are you gonna see her again?” He joins you at the table, and up close you can see the slight sheen of sweat on his brow, and you hate the way the sight of it stirs something in your lower belly. You want him, so bad. You want to be the reason he emerges from his room flushed and you leave with messy hair like you just rolled out of bed. Alas, it isn’t in the cards for you. Fortune and romance have never been entangled lovers in the story of your life, and you shouldn’t expect anything different in this chapter of it. You take another cold sip, hoping to swallow the bitter realisations you've stumbled across tonight.

“Well, considering I don’t even know her name, and you got her number, I doubt it.” He laughs, hoping you’ll chuckle alongside him. You’re not in the mood to talk about his sex life, and you feel like you’re about to throw up because of it, yet again. Now knowing his type is a dark, sexy feminine energy, you can’t bear it anymore. You are the very antithesis of it all — light, and soft. Maybe he even finds you sweet. But you’re not the one, not the one he wants.

You may be the one he spills his secrets to, but you know you’ll never be the red-dress femme fatale he takes to bed, or into his heart.

“Are we still on for tomorrow?” You ask, sparing him a quick glance then returning to look at your hands that just look too wrong. Palms too wide, fingers too stubby. She had hands like a fucking nail polish model. Everything about you feels wrong and misshapen in this moment. Bucky’s wondering what he did to upset you. He’d overheard you talking to Natasha, explaining clear as day that you’re not attracted to him. He’s simply taken it as his sign to move on, to try and bury his heart that he’s laid in your chest, instead of letting it consume him. That's why he said yes to Steve, why he left you to go out. He didn't want either of you to stew in uncomfortable silence because he doesn't want to admit what he heard and how badly it hurt him. To confess would be to lose you, and so he buries it all deep down. Just like everything else.

But it’s a lot harder than expected, especially when he brings a girl home, for the first time in decades, but all he can think of is you. He’s manoeuvring her hips and imagining them to be yours, kissing her lips and pretending you’re the one gasping against his mouth. He ended up so wrapped in the fantasy, your name had slipped past his lips as he came, even though he tried to hide it in a murmur against her shoulder. But, of course she heard. She’d lectured him for a couple of minutes while throwing her clothes back on, about how he shouldn’t be fucking around if his heart is so set on one woman, that he says her name when lost in the throes of passion with another. Then, she’d spun on her heel and left, and he’d departed to find you. 

To tell you, he can’t do it anymore. Despite your feelings of romantic apathy when it comes to him, he can’t say the same. He is enamoured, infatuated, obsessed with you, and he can’t let you go. He can't bury his feelings when they just keep building up like waves and crashing over the grave of his heart -- he can't keep it to himself. Even if your words seal the vault closed forevermore, he needs to hear them. He was so ready to beg for one date. One chance, one kiss, one taste. Maybe not in the moment, seeing as you wouldn’t appreciate the taste of another woman’s wine on his lips. He wouldn’t either, if that night you’d gone on the date with Steve, he'd let his impulsive thoughts win just moments after you kissed another's mouth. He wonders how you kiss as he touches his own lips in thought -- would you let the other take charge and cover him in sweet pecks, or do you prefer to taste like passion and sin? These were the only thoughts circling his smitten mind as he searched for you longingly. 

And then he found you, illuminated so beautifully in the light of the kitchen island, and it occurs to him, just how there is no competition between you and other women. They could never hold a candle to you, to the radiant sun of your essence and your beauty.

The woman seems surprisingly smitten by you, with your eyes on her lips, and her giving you her number. He doesn't blame her for feeling that electric pull to you. He's right there with her.

He also didn’t miss the look she gave him over her shoulder, after reading your name. She knows, that it’s you. She won’t come back, she knows better than that. But he can’t tell you that that’s the reason he won’t be seeing her again, and you won’t even look at him. 

“Yeah, doll. Of course. I’m not bailing on you again.” He smiles, gently touching your cheek, and you pull away before his skin makes contact.

“Alright, I’ll see you then.” You turn around and walk out, the tears in your eyes dripping down your face and leaving a salty trail all the way to your door.

                                            ————————

In the night, you’d done a lot of thinking. And you’ve decided to let him go, to let him do what he wants. He’s not evil, he’s certainly not wicked. He just doesn’t want you. That’s not something to hold against him, how could it be? He doesn’t owe you romance just because you want it with him. You’ll cherish his friendship, his strictly platonic affection, but you’ll let any thought of a relationship with him go. 

You’ll be all the better for it. 

And so you stand in the communal living room, rechecking your Taylor Swift themed tote bag that you’ve kept everything you need. You had taught Bucky how to bake his favourite brownies the other day, so you packed a few of those in case he gets hungry. Your favourite crisps, drinks for the both of you. Headphones, a charger for your phone, a claw clip to tie up your hair if it gets too hot, car keys, wallet…

It’s sunny outside, so you’ve opted for a long, maxi summer dress in a dark dusty rose colour and covered in gorgeous flowers, golden hoops and necklace like always, and your hair falls over your back loose and natural with a small accent braid weaving through the strands. You’ve also kept the makeup light — blush, kohl and mascara, and a tinted lip balm. You feel oddly good about your appearance, when you’re not in front of anyone else. When there’s nobody else to compare yourself to, you allow yourself to feel pretty. You throw on a thin white cardigan, grab your tote bag and head over to Bucky’s room to collect him.

You two are going out today. And you plan on buying him a surplus of items, all because of the massively fat pay check you get given courtesy of Tony. You’ll also be taking the subway, something Bucky’s a bit afraid of, but—

You almost crash into Steve when you turn the corner, in your mind being preoccupied with making an itinerary of where you’re going. He catches you, grabbing you around the arms. The both of you are a little on edge, given the failed outing of a few nights ago, but you had let him down gently. You did tell him you want to stay friends, even as he looked embarrassed and laughed about it. You didn’t tell him about your crush on Bucky, having decided to keep it under strict lock and key after being consumed by the feeling of wanting to kiss Bucky instead. You knew, in that moment, that nothing would've made him feel worse. You meet Steve’s pale blue eyes, offering him an apologetic smile.

“Oh my God, Steve. I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there. Did I hurt you?” He shakes his head, chuckling at your panic.

“No, no. I’m completely fine. Don’t worry, dear. You look good.” He compliments you fondly, eyeing you up and down once. You smile, forgetting the initial panic that surged through your system.

You take the compliment at face value. “Thank you, Steve. That’s really nice of you.”

“Where are you going today?” He asks in polite conversation. You’ve already talked about this, about where you’re off to. Maybe he forgot.

“Oh, Bucky and I are going downtown today! I was planning on getting him some new clothes, you know, his current closet seems a little out of date. We’ll probably be back by 7 at the latest, but it depends on how picky he is, you know him. Oh, and before I forget, Denise is in charge while I’m away. Mr Fury and Mr Stark haven’t told us that there’s any major missions today, so it’s mainly the barebones team, so if anything happens today, you report to her. I’d much prefer to enjoy my first day out in months, but in case of absolute emergencies, of course you can contact me, alright? You’re the most responsible one of the bunch, so I’m trusting you to spread the message for me.” You gently squeeze his arm in reassurance. 

“Yeah, will do. You have fun today, okay? I’ll try my best to make sure nobody gets in a housefire or something. You’re one of the hardest working people I know, dear. You deserve this. And trust me, if you’re the one picking out the outfits, you could put him in a hot pink suit bejewelled to high heaven and he’d wear it happily.” 

You mouth drops. “You know what, that’s an amazing idea, thank you.” He laughs at that, and you smile. You’ve always been treated by past-partners like you’re the most unfunny person on the planet, like your jokes are tolerated and not laughed at. So it always surprises you when people find you funny. You welcome it, but it feels strange nonetheless.

And then Bucky appears, slinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into him. “Ah, the prodigal super soldier emerges,” you say, hand wrapping around his back almost stiffly as you try to calm your aching heart at the sight.

You know this will haunt you, when you’re feeling down on yourself. You’ll clutch at your chest once again, feeling stupid at the fact you ever thought this Adonis of a man would ever look at you twice. Why would he?

But for now, his friendship is enough. It has to be.

“Uh huh. Should we go, doll?” He tilts his head extremely close to yours, and it takes every conscious muscle in your body to stop yourself from closing your eyes. No need to embarrass yourself.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” You turn to the other supersoldier in the room, currently being the one left out. “Bye Steve. Please tell everyone what I told you.” He nods.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” You smile and let Bucky lead you away, waving a quick goodbye over your shoulder.

“I wanted to ask, was last night awkward?” You try to ignore the comment as you both walk down the street, heading to his favourite bistro for breakfast. The sun is shining, the streets smell like something that isn’t piss, and you’re spending the day with your favourite person.

“Hm, no not really.” He stops the both of you at a busy intersection, pulling you into an alley, and pushing you against the wall. His arm is still secure around your waist so your back doesn’t crash too hard against the eroding brick and mortar, but unfortunately that means your hands end up on his…firm chest, and your thumbs can’t help but soothingly stroke from side to side. You can’t meet his eyes.

“Then why are you avoiding eye contact? Is there something I did wrong? Are you upset with me? Look at me, doll. Please.” His tone is pleading, borderline pathetic, but neither of you care. Your eyes meet his, and you try your best to not get lost in his eyes like sinking ships, so inviting that it takes everything in you to not jump.

To not kiss him. You crave to know what his lips taste like, but you shouldn’t. You keep trying to bury these intense feelings, and yet they keep building up like waves and crash over your grave, resurrecting you. And it feels amazing to be alive.

“I’m just…awkward about these kinda things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Sex. I mean, I heard you through the wall with Camille. And then, ten minutes later you were speaking to me like you weren’t just doing…all of that. It’s strange. I—“

“Do you think it’s bad? That I’m having sex?”

“I…what? No. No, no, Bucky, I’m not shaming you for having sex, God knows I should be the last one judging you for that…it’s just…I’m not used to that. People I’m close to... we all talk about it a while after...you know. I’m just not used to hearing you have sex and then seeing your face, like, ten minutes after. That’s all.” You smile then, touching his cheek as a way to assure him you’re telling the truth. Half of it, at least.

He leans into it so sweetly. “Okay. If that’s all, then… We should get going.” You nod, despite every bone in your body protesting moving away from this intimate moment. He feels the same, because every fear he’s ever had disappears at the warmth of your hand on his face. His eyes travel to your lips and you fix yourself, smoothing down your dress.

“You look absolutely beautiful in your outfit, by the way.” He silently adores you as you double check nothing’s been stolen from your bag, although you doubt someone is going to sneak between you two what with your hyper vigilance and Bucky’s enhanced senses.

You laugh. “You always think I look beautiful no matter what I wear. Even if I wore your sweatpants, you’d still say the same.” Smoke covers the both of you in a misty haze, but he swears he’s never seen you any clearer.

“Because you still look beautiful to me. You always do. Just accept the compliment, will you? You know you don’t have to work hard to deserve compliments, don’t you? They should be freely given.” He strokes your hair, admiring the tiny braid in between his fingers.

“I’m learning to.” You both smile at each other, and you let yourself feel the sweet swell of your heart, for once. Maybe that’s what will work. You just need to feel it all, and get it all out of your system. That’s how you end your crush on Bucky — feel until your reservoirs are empty, until you look over him one day and see nothing more than a good friend, a best friend even. It might takes years, it might even be next week. But this is your plan. 

“Now, should we go?” You extend your hand in a silent offering, to reconnect the bridge that you had temporarily abandoned in your moonlit insanity. He takes it, placing his metal hand firmly in your grasp and interlocking fingers. You notice how he’s wearing long sleeves and gloves, even in this peculiar hot day in November.  He must be boiling in that leather jacket.

For now, you lean into him, into his warmth even though you can feel yourself start to sweat, and you both walk hand in hand. To any outsider looking in, you two paint the picture of the perfect couple. You admire the red and orange leaves against a sky the colour of the eyes that are trained on you — memorising the curve of your nose and the pillow of your lips. In the bistro, you two sit comfortably close together, laughing silently over everything and nothing — like you’ve been dating for years.

The rest of the day goes by smoothly, the both of you laughing like everything’s funny. Like teenagers on the first date — giddy and carefree. Your phone doesn’t buzz once, and you love the feeling of Bucky’s hands on you. He always loves to touch you, whether it’s tracing your palms or leaning his chin on your shoulder in the subway because you’re on his lap in the only spare seat available. You love it too, never knowing someone would be so eager, so desperate to touch you and feel you so innocently.

You’ve always felt shunned — like you’re only worth touching for a partner’s sexual satisfaction, and other times you were made to be ignored and tolerated. But if even a friend can cherish you in this special, sacred way, you can’t help but imagine what a true, enamoured lover would do.

Both of you want it, can feel that your feelings could be something worth a forever and a half — but of course, misunderstandings have to get in the way.

They always do.

NEXT PART

[harocat]

I always imagined that Dongfang Qingcang only read non-fiction; war manuals, battle tactics, history books on the three realms, etc. before his emotions returned. Could you even really be interested in stories without an emotional connection to them? The very purpose of fiction is to connect with our hearts, and without them, there really wouldn't be a reason for stories to even exist.

Reading non-fiction is a way to pass the time for him; a way to learn so he can be a better leader. I wonder if he even loved to read as a child, and the habit, almost reflexively stayed with him.

Then when his emotions start returning, maybe even as soon as while he's still at Arbiter's Hall with Xiao Lanhua, he starts picking up stories. At the beginning he goes to Xiao Lanhua's personal library of books with the excuse that perhaps reading the things she likes will help him learn more about that pesky little flower demon so he can make her happy (for his own convenience, of course). He judges the stories a bit; finding them trite and pointless. However, the more he reads, the more he actually starts growing invested.

Like his other early expressions of emotion, he brushes these off as just an echo of Xiao Lanhua's feelings.

He finds some of the stories frustrating at first. His logical mind is irritated at the tales of tragic love; 'if they'd just been less foolish and done this instead of this, they would have been fine' and 'how trite to give up security and success for something as nebulous as true love.' Of course Xiaohuayao likes such silly books!

But as time goes on, and as his emotions return more and more, he finds himself---- against his better judgment, he starts maybe not feeling (of course not!), but understanding the characters and their decisions more, and even rooting for them.

When they get back to Cangyan Sea, he spends most of his reading time catching up on what has occurred the past thirty thousand years, as is the responsible thing to do. Plus, he does legitimately enjoy learning, he's discovering. He remembers how well read Xiao Lanhua appeared to be on the lore of the three realms, even knowing about the Xilan Holy Seal and the Eternal Flame, and he wonders if she likes reading to learn as well.

But then he finds himself going back to stories, and he tries not to dwell on why he's doing so. After all, these are from Silent Moon Palace's library, not Xiao Lanhua's. When he's confronted with the fact that his love tree is blooming again, he understands why, but he's, as we know, angry and scared. He sets aside his stories for a while.

When he returns from the Realm of Return to Ruin, while recovering, he rereads some of the old Cangyan Sea stories his auntie told him, and even some his father read him when he was very young. A curious Xiao Lanhua asks him to share, and he does. This is the first time they read together, and it will be far from the last.

Later that day, she asks Shangque to procure some of her all time favorite stories and books from when she was young (many are not in Silent Moon Palace, as they are of course from Shuiyuntian), and she leaves them on Dongfang Qingcang's bedstand with a note gifting them to him.

They are good stories, if one ignores the fact that in most cases, the heroes are fairies, warriors, and lords of Shuiyuntian. He is touched by her gesture, and loses the urge to tease her about their origins.

She also gives him poetry. He likes that as well. Perhaps, in those words, he can even begin to find a way to describe what she has come to mean to him.

One day Shangque drops a stack of books by as well. He does not leave a note, but it's clear who they are from. Most are adventure stories; tales of unbreakable friendship and journeys to faraway lands. A few are even from the mortal realm. There are of course, tales of dragons as well. He begins to understand what Shangque means when he talks about the importance of friendship, how he would never betray Dongfang Qingcang, how he is his closest kin despite not being related.

He is discovering that when he reads a very good book, he can empathize with the characters even if he himself would not make the same decisions. Empathy is the strangest of emotions. He struggles to parse it, and he doesn't even fully know what to call it at first. Those stories will stick in his head, and he thinks of them often, even finding himself occasionally distracted mulling on them. He scoffs less at decisions characters make that he would have found foolish months ago, because now he isn't entirely sure he wouldn't do the same. He is not quite sure how much he likes this, but he accepts it as the person he has become.

Xiao Lanhua does love to read, and he often runs into her at the library. He reads the romance books that she suggests. She borrows the copy of The Art of War he picked up in the mortal realm and pretends it didn't bore her to tears because she is kind. He sits down with her once they're together, and he shows her the poetry he's come across that reminds him of her. He does not have much time to do such things, but he carves out what he can. There's nowhere else he'd rather be.

When he falls into a dream, five hundred years in the making, they read so many stories together; whole novels. They laugh at the ridiculous parts, and he squeezes her tighter when she gets teary eyed at the sad parts. They spend hours upon hours like this.

Someday, he tells himself when he wakes up, the piece of Xiao Lanhua's primordial spirit cherished in his heart, he will be able to do this for real with her. It gives him strength to move forward.

(Someday, he does.)

[002yb]

Your last ask about the reverse Robin's au was just so interesting . Please, could you tell us more about Tim and Damian in that au. Also, poor baby Jason. Bruce why are you always like that with Damian? 🥺 I just love how both Jason and Tim have this respect for Damian. Oh and what would happen with Dick?

Of course! Thank you for your interest in them. Damian and Tim's relationship in that reverse robin AU is one I'm so happy with, so I'd love to share more. (˵ •̀ ᴗ •́ ˵ ) ✧

Damian + Tim (ft. Superboyfriends)

In that period of time where Tim bounces and Damian is left to mind Jason's becoming of Robin (+ Bruce), he gets a lot of grief from Jon about how Damian went about everything

And Damian is so stubborn about it. Because his feelings might be a bit hurt over Tim abandoning him, but also because in his mind, Damian isn't wrong: Tim is more than Robin; always was.

Jon understanding where Damian was coming from, but insisting there's better ways to go about it

Which Damian refuses to entertain, come off it. Jon does if only for a time; if only because Damian is genuinely sore over how everything fell apart

With time though, Jon dropping in little anecdotes on how Tim is doing at Titans Tower. Because Jon hears about Tim from Kon.

And Damian plays aloof, but he hangs on every word on how Tim's doing, what he's been up to, what amazing feat he's accomplished.

Damian feeling the same pride, but it's tinged by a painful melancholy because he misses the bastard.

With more time and a lot of interference, Damian coming to realize how he should have handled matters. Not that he makes an effort to right them. Damian writes himself off, resigned to reap what he's sown. Not that he was entirely wrong. Jason still proves to be a tremendously capable Robin, it's just...it would be nice for Tim to have been here to be part of it all.

Kon relaying similar stories about Damian to Tim. Who always clicks his tongue and scowls but gives himself away by looking expectantly at Kon whenever he stops talking.

Just two proud boys doing the classic bat brooding and miscommunications. But it's chill because they've got their supers there conspiring to bring them together again.

Because fr Jon and Kon are so over having to schedule around when they sneak over their boyfriends overnight, y'know?

Also idk, just Damian and Tim wanting to reach out but doing the dramatic deleting of a text or dropping their phones to their chests without making a call. Turning away from their phones outright. Good stuff.

These two eventually running into each other on missions that happen to coincide. An initial standoffishness that falls away as they fall back into old habits with each other, only to realize the mistake and get all sulky/broody about it again.

But they do start to talk at some point. It's stilted at first, but soon enough the usual banter returns and it's all quiet shoulder checks and ornery, playful torments.

Damian ultimately eating crow about the whole situation. Tim brushing it off because he knows Damian cares for people in extremes. Not that Damian was right about anything. Just - talk to Tim next time.

Which leads to another step towards proper partnership for these two and it's sweet. ;U;

As for Dick's introduction in this AU... I'm admittedly torn between who seeks him out. It'd be cute if it were Jason reaching out after the tragedy at Haly's, but like... Jason whump opportunity so:

It's Damian who takes Dick under his wing and wants to give him the Robin mantle

Only he's learned from his mistake with Tim, so this time he talks with Jason about it, first.

And the thing is - they were all there to see the tragedy happen. Jason was right there beside Damian as he comforted this inconsolable boy, orphaned by Gotham's turpitude and their family's inability to ever get ahead of it.

So Jason would see in real time as Damian makes this decision and it would be the most devastating thing.

Because months/years later, Jason is still recovering from Ethiopia. He's trying so damn hard, too. He's almost okay, almost ready... but the truth is that he'll never get back to that level he was before he was beaten so terribly. Even if Jason can push himself, there are times his hip still gives out, or his ankle collapses under him. Psychologically he's as sound as the next bat, but physically? Jason can't recover.

Even still, Jason clings to Robin like a lifeline. That's his hope. His connection to Damian and Tim and Bruce; his family.

So to watch as Damian sees Robin's future in someone else is painful. There's nothing Jason can do to stop it, either. Whether Damian asks for his opinion or not, the choice is made.

'He needs this.' Damian would tell him, compassionate and cruel all at once. And Jason would hate him a bit because, 'what about me?'

Just Jason joining the ranks of the middle children with Tim, y'know? ;u;

Something something Jason withdrawing from Damian. A chasm building and all the insecurities and resentment festering. Bargains about how Dick can stay with Bruce, but Jason can be Damian's [Robin].

Jason fighting tooth and nail for his place in the family, but maybe hurting himself because he pushes too hard? Which sparks concern-induced-rage!Damian who snaps at him out of worry, but Jason takes it as a personal attack and it's sadness as they fight and fall out

Meanwhile Dick's out here completely enamored with this boy that tries so hard and fights so viciously and has so much passion. So he follows Jason around and wears him down and soothes the hurt of whatever abandonment/betrayal Jason feels somehow. Something like Dick promising to take care of Robin & Damian until Jason can do it himself. Or wanting to fly beside Jason - two Robins! Ahhhhhh, these two boys finding the essence of Robin in each other and that being their foundation.

[videogamelover99]

you’re a big “mori is a horrible person but that doesn’t mean he isn’t a good villain and interesting to analyze” person which makes me wonder: what do you think of fukuchi?

Oh I hate him XD

[musical-chick-13]

Bro, I'm so tired.

[meatmensch]

The people that have abandoned me really need to stop talking to me like they have any right to tell me what to do, or I swear to God, I'm gonna get the FUCKING hammer.

[saetoru]

i think about what alhaitham’s childhood must’ve been like and i honestly make myself very sad thinking about it

[sheepwasfound]

after a few days have passed now, it was interesting to read through a transcript of the instagram dm’s which dream confirmed he believed were real. seeing them just on their own like that with nothing around it is a valuable experience i feel like

[roughentumble]

WAIT Jaskier decides to invest in a horse, maybe after hurting his leg or something so it's a more urgent thing, but Geralt insists that Jaskier get a mule instead

and he does it bc he knows a mule will be more wary and have a better sense of self preservation so Jaskier will be safer

oughghhhh thats so cute 😭💕

[kneebrac-ed]

what gets me is how resolved ed was to just. do what he thought was the best option. stede’s ‘but this isn’t it, right? you’ll come up with a plan, right?!’ and ed’s no, mate, done with that. you’re safe, we’ve made this decision, I’m gonna fold your socks, that’s my life now. from the moment they arrive he’s giving stede these cautious looks, knowing he’s expecting something different, and he has that visible ‘hmm, oh dear’ moment when stede fully comprehends the situation and ed’s approach to it. they’ve really been caught, the adventure is really over, and stede has already been thinking that he’s ruined blackbeard long before he’s told so. ed’s always understood their situations better, and this time he needs stede to drop the whimsy and fantasy that this will all work out and they can just keep going the way they have been. but the thing, The thing, is that as soon as ed knows his feelings are reciprocated the life and sparkle comes straight back to him. ‘there’s always an escape’. they Could have broken out, of course he could have got them out of there, but at that point it didn’t seem worth the disruption. ed had resigned himself to this being the life, this being the way he would become a different person and have stede by his side. both of them just being some guy, not adventurers or pirates or runaways wanted by the crown. he wanted stede to want the vision he had of them making do because it’s all over and they’re together - the comfort of their situation. but in the end it’s talking! it through! that’s needed — in explaining to stede that he’d found this new purpose and happiness with him, it leads them away from the scenario they’ve found themselves in. as soon as the option of Together And In Love was there rather than just together by any means, of course ed wanted more for them, as safe and far away as possible, and would immediately pursue it ;;

[happy10thousandyears]

So the brax long fic ive been following for half a year just revealed John and brax to be siblings in this setting. I’ve been coping today

[strwbrymlkshake]

finished my normalcy phase returning to the horrors

[orcelito]

The greatest tragedy is realizing that we probably can't hire dbz shirt guy unless someone else says no bc I have to judge by objective decision

BUT ALSO the lady I have to choose between is leaving in half a year and does have a job already soooo

[cherry-leclerc]

true temptation ☆ cl16

genre: sainz!reader, humor, nnn (mommy, i can explain), smut, fluff, whipped!charles, established relationship

word count: 2k

Your boyfriend makes a decision to participate in NNN, but immediately regrets it when he realizes just how difficult it is to stay away from you. 

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...car sex, riding, fingering

req!... probably the longest drabble i’ve done so far, but i hope you all enjoy! 

“You’re never going to last.”

The Monegasque’ eyes challenge you as you stand there unimpressed, hands on your hips. It had all started with him barging in on you and calling an ‘emergency couple’s meeting’.

Pacing the room, he goes back and forth, mumbling slowly, as if creating a plan up in his head. As far as you’re concerned, he was never going to actually do it. The man was obsessed with you. 

“Have a little faith in me,” he groans, hands brushing his hair back in despair. 

His so called - ‘emergency’ -  was that he would be taking part in No Nut November. No kissing. No sex. 

Or anything remotely related to it.

Walking up to him, you pat his chest. His hands find their way down to your waist, doe eyes staring back up at him.

“I will… But I’m going to make your head spin.”

-

He started off strong. He even felt a bounce in his step when he entered Ferrari Hospitality; he swore he felt like he was walking on sunshine. 

“You’re actually doing it?” 

Joris, too, had no hope for his friend. He had seen the way the green eyed boy would cling onto you as if it were the only thing he knew how to do. The way he talked about you, even when you weren’t around. 

“Oui. Why? Do you not think it’s a good idea?”

His friend tilts his head to the side as he thinks about it for a minute. “Not sure. All I know is that your and Pierre’s bet on who can last longer is never going to end up good. You can’t even go a single second without kissing her!”

“He said he could last longer than me? I have to prove him wrong….” His mind slips over to the last part. “I can live without her kisses for a month. It’ll be fine.”

The Ferrari driver makes his way to his team, properly analyzing what faults his car had and how he can make the best out of it. Frustrated, Charles rubs his eyes. 

“I will do the best I can, but I can’t promise a podium. Not with a car like this.”

Taking notes, Xavi nods as he walks away. “Hi, Xavi!” The sound of your voice instantly makes him ease up as he searches for you. His jaw goes slack.

“What are you wearing?”

Smiling wide with eyes crinkled, you rush over to him. “It’s only a dress.”

But it wasn’t just a dress. He knows you did it on purpose, wearing the little black dress he had last fucked you in. It’s the way it fans your thighs as the wind gently teases anyone passing by. 

“You’re supposed to be on my team. Are we really going to let Kika and Pierre win?”

Rolling your eyes, you tippy toe, naturally about to kiss him, but stop yourself before you do. He frowns. 

“You are sooo right!” You comedically screech as you slap your hands against your cheeks. “I do want us to win! Forget the kiss, my mistake.”

He chuckles darkly, shaking his head. 

“You’re a fucking nightmare.”

-

He’s a week in and he’s finally starting to lose his grip.

“You’re sweating buckets, mate,” Daniel points out as he lets out a loud laugh, doing a muppet dive. Charles unbuttons his collared shirt. 

“It’s the heat, it’s the heat.”

The Aussie furrows his eyebrows and he raises a hand up to feel the air. Light breeze. Shivering, you strut over to your boyfriend. 

“Can we leave? It’s getting too cold.”

And he hates the way that dress clings onto your body, your figure being completely shown off. Nothing but dirty thoughts have entered his mind from the moment he first saw you. 

“Sure.”

Kicking off your heels, you throw yourself onto the bed, face first. Shooo tirefff, you mumble against the sheets. He purposefully takes a seat across from you, knowing he’d be tempted to cross the line if he didn’t. 

Tossing over, you reach out for him. And he’s about to turn you down, but he notices the way your nose is painted pink - your cheeks, too - and soft, tired eyes meeting his. His heart melts at the sight. So, he reminds himself that a hug with his girlfriend is nothing bad.

Climbing onto his lap, you dig your face into his chest, short dress riding up. He physically has to stop himself from letting out a loud moan. Instead, he traces his fingers up and down your spine. You shudder.

“Are you sure we can’t fuck, Charlie?”

Right there, is his breaking point. He’s ready to kiss you, finger you, eat you out, fuck you, anything. But you giggle teasingly as you pull back, a wicked smile drawn. 

“Whoops. Never mind.”

-

He’s known you wouldn’t make this easy on him. It’s almost as if you’ve made it your mission to screw with his head - and while he would normally love it - in this case, it was killing him.

Dance with me, you would beg him and you sway in front of him. It was a rare moment of it just being you two, so naturally, you took advantage of it. You showered, did your skincare, watched a movie, but the moment you heard Sparks by Coldplay echoing from his phone, you immediately jumped up like a bunny.

Then, his heart would melt, and melt, and melt - and melt some more. It would only be a reminder of what a perfect match you both were. He would memorize your face once again; no makeup, eyebags due to long travels with him, a small cut on the bridge of your nose from earlier when Lando had accidentally hit you with his frisbee, pink lips he so desperately missed. 

He would oblige, the way you knew he would. He found home within you as you would both sway, your feet on top of his as he would lead you both, you having to do nothing but close your eyes and feel his heartbeat. And it was so sweet to know that it was only yours.

I love you, he would remind you as if he didn’t already tell you a million times before. As if it were a way to make up for all this. And you would say-

“I know.”

-

“How are you keeping up?” 

The Frenchman smiles proudly as he takes a sip of water. “I’m actually doing fine. You?”

Charles gulps, green eyes following to where you stand next to Kika.

“Good.”

-

“It’s actually not that hard.” 

Kika and you had been touching up on your boyfriend's challenge. She would say it as if it were the easiest thing. You slump against your chair.

“That’s not fair… Mine has the most beautiful face ever!”

“Hey!”

You squeal as she aims a pillow at you. I’m sorry! The Portuguese laughs too, sticking her tongue out. You sigh. “I do miss him, though.”

“Yeah…”

“Have we seriously just been talking about how horny we are?”

“Don’t say it like that!” She bites her lip. “We have.”

“Why did they ever think this was going to be a good idea?”

Propping her arm against the table, she beams. “It’s not, but I heard from Pierre about how much Charles is struggling.” You groan.

“Yeah, well that’s nothing but his own fault.”

-

It’s now been 2 weeks and he’s already given up. His pleads were convincing. 

C’mon, baby. Let me fuck you.

It’s been too long. I miss the way you taste.

But you stood your ground. 

“No, no, no.” You shook your head, running away. Seeing Carlos, you hide behind him. “You brought this onto yourself! Now you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

Confused, Carlos questions you both on what you’re talking about. It’s just that your sister won’t let me-

“Stop! That’s my brother!”

The Monegasque shrugs as Carlos turns to you. What is he talking about? Your face burns up as you brush him off. “Nada, nada - he’s just being a jerk.” And so, he believes it and walks away, too tired to deal with any of it.

 You let out a squeal when Charles plunges towards you. He picks you up, carrying you to his motorhome.

“Let go!”

Dropping you onto his small bed, he stares down at you like a lion salivating over their prey. You suppress a whimper, clamming your legs shut. He raises a brow.

“You’re telling me you don’t want the same thing I do? I promise I’ll do it just the way you like it.”

Closing your eyes, you can picture it. You can feel him already, pressed up against you. You do want it, you do. Opening your eyes, you shake your head. 

“Just two more weeks to go.”

-

“We lost.” Taken aback, you snort. What do you mean? Your friend blushes before dragging you to the corner. “I mean that last night Pierre and I went out for dinner and one thing led to another and-”

“Okay, okay, I caught on!”

Giggling, she shimmies her shoulders towards you. “What are you going to do?” You pout as you stare back blankly. She sighs. “I’m talking about you and Charles! I mean you both already won - you could do whateverrrr you want.”

Stuttering, you cough before saying, “You made it loud and clear, thank you very much.”

-

Shivering, you climb into the passenger's seat of his Pista as you thank him for opening and closing your door. As soon as he climbs in, he turns on the heater. The Monaco streets were lonely, everyone already in their homes, sheltering from the light rain that had picked up.

“You want to pull over?”

You sound so sweet asking that he almost thinks he’s hallucinating or that any second now you’re going to surprise him with a, just kidding!

But he quickly could tell you weren’t and he doesn’t want to let the moment slip away. Not when he’s been waiting for so long. Screw it if he lost.

Pulling over on the side of an isolated street, he hauls you onto his lap. You thank the universe for skirts. Pushing your panties aside, his long fingers slide against your wet folds. You let out a wail.

“Fuck, you don’t know how I’ve missed hearing you.” He slides two fingers in. “Feeling you.”

Dazed, you find yourself grinding on his fingers. Every single time they would brush against your g-spot, you would kiss him harder. He slips them out, bringing them up to his lips. 

And he moans in a way you’ve never heard before. So fucking sweet. Blushing, you lean in to kiss him. You can still taste yourself.

“Charles, please - do something.”

Never during your entire relationship has he ever fucked you as hard as he did that day. His grip on your waist hurt, but it hurt so good. His cock would continuously brush against where you needed him the most, so much so, he left you seeing stars. Drooling all over him, you hold onto his shoulders, bouncing up and down rapidly.

“So tight – So warm.” He chokes when you ground your hips deeper. “So fucking good.”

Then, he finishes inside of you. His fingers slide down to your clit as he rubs it. You finish with a loud cry. Kissing you one last time, he slaps your ass. You scowl playfully.

“Admit it - you’ve missed it, too.”

-

“Just a few more weeks and you would have won!” Pierre clicks his tongue before kicking his legs up against the table in front of him. Charles rolls his eyes.

“I’m never doing that again.”

Kika smacks the Frechman’s thigh. “You both lost, remember? Only, you did before him.” The Monegasque quickly springs up.

“You’re saying we won?”

“You’re acting as if this were the fucking Olympics, Cha.” You drag him by the arm to sit back down as he starts celebrating his ‘accomplishment of the year’.

“What are we clapping about?”

Your brother strolls over to an open seat as he opens up a water bottle. Hurriedly, you screech, “Nothing! Only that the season is almost over-”

“He’s yapping about how he won No Nut November, except, he didn’t. 2 weeks and fucking does not count.”

“You did what?”

Jumping up, Charles trips over his feet as he tries backing away from the angry Spaniard. “I think I forgot my phone! I’ll be right back!”

Chasing after him, your brother yells out, “That’s my baby sister, cabrón!”

[makoodles]

I would give anything to know Ghost’s inner monologue during any part of the last fic you posted. Is he purposefully getting into her space at the beginning (because we all know Ghost is too aware of his body and his trauma to accidentally touch anyone, let along have his entire side against them)? When he walks in does he just blue-screen, is that why he doesn’t immediately leave? What is he thinking when he sees our wet cunt still stuffed? When he finds out no one has touched us that way, or made us cum? When we want him to fuck us so badly we beg him to do it raw? Does his heart break a little when he heard us say we thought he left us, while we were so vulnerable and still dirty? Is he also freaking out about the fraternization stuff, or has he decided that we are his in the same way that he is ours, and Price will just have to cover up another damn thing for his team?

yes to all of this

(a little drabble part 2 to this)

Ghost has a little habit, when you're concerned. He's usually hyper-aware of his body and his limbs and where he's touching, what's around and beside and behind him. His skin itches sometimes when he's touched without warning, though he always hides his reactions. But with you... he's not so careful. He lets his legs spread, his arms stretch, lets himself crowd into your space. There's something intoxicating about the way that you let him, the way you never lean away from him. You're just so soft, so warm, always letting him infringe on your space with a sweet little smile as though you're happy to see him. You're one of the rare people who are happy to see him, and it makes something uncomfortably warm wriggle in his belly.

So yeah, he leans into you when he sits next you in the rec room. It's mostly muscle memory, because you've never minded before. But today, you're a little tense. Ghost knows you, knows you well. He can see the way your spine is a little stiff, the way your eyes are a little glassy as you stare off into the distance. You look a little... ruffled. Ghost watches you carefully out of the corner of his eye, probes a little, but backs off when you dance around his question. He's knows boundaries well, and he won't push yours. Even if he thinks it's... strange that you leave so quickly, eyes averted.

Finding your phone wedged into the seat after you left was like an opportunity. Simon Riley has never had much, he's always made do, and yet he's admittedly greedy when it comes to you. He's not often a selfish man - he's never had enough to be selfish about - and yet he's hungry for your time, your smiles, your touch. And you're always so generous with yourself, so he doesn't second-guess his decision to follow you down the hall to your quarters. He's never been there before, and he wants to see your space, hungry for any shred of you he can get.

He should have knocked. It was rude not to. But he's so, so fucking glad he didn't.

He's a little rough when he opens your door, a little too eager to get into the room and see your pretty grateful smile when he gives you your phone back. But when he gets that door open, sees the sight of you on your back among your sheets, legs spread, head back, eyes fluttered closed, his mind goes fucking blank.

He watches you scramble, watches the mortification flash across your face as you attempt to shut your adorable little pink vibrator off as you shut your legs, depriving him of the prettiest view he's ever seen. Ghost is not a man with a weakness for pretty things, but it seems only natural that you're the exception, you and your pretty wet puffy pussy.

He hardly even knows what happens, his fingers and toes numb and his attention narrowed down to you, only you. Before he knows it, he's sitting on your bed, feeling enormous and ungainly next to you as you stare up at him. He reaches out, his big hands scarred and ugly against your pretty skin when he holds your vibrator, his blood buzzing at the thought that this had been inside you mere moments ago.

He never thought he'd be envious of a piece of fucking plastic, but here he is. A big man, a deadly soldier, reduced to a fool at your bedside. And yet, you don't even seem to notice. You're so good, so sweet, parting your legs when he asks you to and letting him look.

He asks you to finish. It's bold, and stupid, and greedy. He wants to see you come - he already knows it'll be the prettiest thing he's ever seen, that it'll be seared in his mind forever. In this moment, he thinks he'd do anything just to watch your eyes roll back, your face go slack, to hear the pretty little noises he knows you'll make.

It escalates faster than he could have imagined. Such a sweet thing, laying back and showing him how you use your vibrator. And he watches eagerly, his breath catching at the realisation that this is how you play with yourself when you're alone. You're clumsy about it, which is absolutely adorable.

But then you make a confession, and Ghost thinks he might be spiralling. You've never been touched, never been fucked, never come. It feels like an outrage. He thinks of how tense you'd been earlier, shifting beside him in your blue jeans, and he just thinks... what the fuck? Prettiest girl he's ever seen, and you don't even know how to touch your own cunt properly? He wants to show you, more than anything he's ever wanted before. Greedy. You make him so greedy.

"Let me try."

He's between your legs before he even knows how he got there, pulling your stupid little vibrator out so he can replace it with his fingers. And if he thought he was greedy, he soon finds that he's well-matched when it comes to you. You're just as eager, just as hungry. Spreading your legs and whimpering, all those sweet, sweet noises that spill out of your mouth, just like he knew they would.

You have the prettiest cunt he's ever seen. Pretty, slick, swollen, just as hungry as the rest of you. He alternates between his fingers and his mouth and your little dildo, a little drunk on your taste and your soft thighs when they squeeze around his head. He kisses you too, because he can't help himself. Greedy.

He's never been a chatty man, but his cock is so hard now and he knows his mouth is running. He can't help himself. Your salty-sweet slick on his tongue has loosened it; he barely even knows what he's saying, or what he's promising, but by god he's going to live up to it.

Then, your lovely sweet voice, all breathless and pitchy, asking “Can I try yours?”

Not only that, you beg. You plead with him to fuck you, to do it raw, as if he was ever going to say no. As if he'd ever be strong enough to say no. He can hardly handle hearing you beg like that; he feels as though he's going to blow before he even gets his cock inside you.

In his wildest dreams, he never imagined you so needy. You writhe, you're soaked, you make the most heart-stopping little noises deep in your throat when he presses inside. You're so hot and wet and tight that it feels as though you're about to squeeze his cock right off, and he tries so hard to feed it to you slow, to give you time to take him. You're so good, taking him even though you struggle a little. He's not a small man, certainly not an easy man to take inside of you for your very first time, but it's a testament to how slick and eager you are that he slides in with minimal effort.

After that, he loses himself. Hardly even knows what's he's doing, working based on pure instinct, filling and fucking you until he's losing his breath. God, you're beautiful, and he clenches his jaw hard to bite back his orgasm - he has to focus on you, only you while the tears are streaming down your pretty face as you gasp and cry for him.

He can see your orgasm creeping up on you before you recognise it yourself. When it hits you, it's a whole body event. Your back arches, legs spasm, stomach trembles, eyes roll back. Your cunt clenches down so fucking tight that it's a little bit painful. Simon doesn't dare blink - he's never going to fucking forget this. Your very first orgasm, and you're experiencing it on the end of his cock.

He loses it a little after that, his thoughts fizzing and slipping from his grasp as he loses his coordination. By the time he comes inside of you, cock throbbing and skin tightening, he's already decided that he's going to have to make you come again. Once isn't enough, not for someone as hungry as him. Or you.

He thinks he might have fucked you stupid. Your eyelids are fluttering and your lips are parted, but you're a little bit dead to the world. It's cute. He feels his pride swell, smug at the thought that he's fucked you so good that he's sent you reeling off into dreamworld.

He leaves, only for a moment, unable to be away from you for too long. He just wants to get a cloth, something to wipe you off with to make you all clean and fresh again. You're already awake when he comes back, though you're still hazy and clumsy and all teary-eyed.

He's happy to wipe you clean, despite your quiet mewling complaints, and then he hauls himself into your bed just so he can curve his big-ass body around your smaller one, relishing your sweet softness. God, he's wanted to hold you like this forever, but he's still a little nervous about hurting you. Killing and maiming and hurting have been the only things he's been really good at his whole life, and he's irrationally fearful of moving wrong and hurting you, even after the sex. Or maybe especially after the sex.

He can see your brow crease, the uncertainty in your eyes. He realises you're probably a little uncertain about where you stand with him, or what this is. That's fair. Simon has never been the most demonstrative man, but he's also been the type to cling on like a tick to the things he values, the things he wants to keep safe. He holds you, checking his strength, proud to be able to keep you safe in his arms.

He's going to make sure that you don't worry about it either. Your hair smells sweet, your skin is so warm, and your ass is so soft where it's pressed against his crotch. He's reaching for you before he can think about it, and his heart pulses hard when you spread your legs for him so easily. God, he's gonna ruin you. Just like he promised.