#he'd been squatting in their old house

[wileys-russo]

manchester is saved II m.earps x reader

manchester is saved II m.earps x reader

"mumma!" you looked up from your phone, pocketing the device with a wide smile watching your almost six year old son sprint toward you, backpack comically almost as big as he was.

"well hello! someone's had a good day then hm?" you laughed at the huge grin on his face as he waved goodbye to his friends, you sending a smile to some of their parents you knew quite well.

"the best day!" mason beamed, and you couldn't help but melt at how much he looked like your wife when he did so. he had your eyes and the same dirty blonde hair that ran deep in your genes, but his sloped nose, rambunctious laugh and cheeky smile was exactly alike your wife.

"well don't hold out on me, tell me all about it." you demanded as you took his bag from him and he grabbed your hand, swinging it to and fro as the two of you began to walk home, not living very far from the school both you and mary took turns walking him to and from each day.

he began to happily ramble on and on about his day, which you knew he would enjoy given the fact they'd run a sports camp for the kindergarten class for half the day, you having give him very very strict instructions not to lose the permission slip you'd tucked away securely into his bag last week.

"then we have sports day next week! are you and mama coming?" he asked hopefully, looking up at you as you affectionately ran a hand through his shaggy blonde hair, moving it out of his eyes. "of course my love, we'll both be there." you promised as he cheered happily, hugging your leg.

"oh! can i go get mama some flowers?" he gasped, seeing a few wild daises growing in a clump on the nature strip, sprinting off after you nodded. you leaned against the front gate of your house with his backpack in hand, watching on carefully as the five year old squatted down.

you couldn't help but laugh quietly to yourself at the way his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth, eyebrows knitted into a frown exactly mirroring mary's own concentrating face as his eyes wandered the clumps of flowers in front of him.

you and your wife were both fiercely protective over the boy ever since he'd blessed the two of you coming into the world. you'd tried IVF three times until finally on what you'd both agreed would be the final run you'd fallen pregnant.

it wasn't an easy birth with mason coming out feet first, and a grueling ten hour labour had you demanding any and all drugs they'd give you, snapping your wifes head off anytime her lips curled up in amusement, cursing her out over and over as you'd almost broken her hand squeezing it so hard.

but you'd done it and the moment you both laid eyes on him felt a surge of love different to anything you'd experienced before, and in that moment you and your wife made a silent promise that no matter what you would never let a soul harm so much as a hair on his head.

though mary had always been the more over protective out of the two of you, especially since mason had always been quite soft spoken and sensitive, taking after you in that sense.

he was a perfectly happy child, always with a beaming smile on his face and refusing to let either of you cut his hair meaning it hung down just past his shoulder blades, often tied back into a loose bun to keep it out of his eyes.

but as much as he loved to run around and climb trees, scraping his knees and coming home covered in dirt or leaves, he also found immense joy in letting you paint his nails, or allowing one of his aunties to braid his hair, and you and mary made no move to discourage any of it.

though you did have to step in when he decided he wanted to wear his underwear outside of his clothes to his school one day and you'd made him change. taking the bad cop role that day your heart broke as afterwards he ran crying to mary, the older girl sending you an empathetic smile as she rocked him back and forth.

but his soft and caring nature had meant once he was old enough to talk mary had made sure to constantly affirm and build up his own self confidence, making sure he knew how to stand up for himself despite your fussing that he would be fine, your wife forever worried he would be picked on for being that little bit different.

the goal keeper was a nervous wreck his first day of school, overthinking every little possibility that something would happen. you did everything in your power to try and assure her that though he took after you he was still her son, and had her same hard headed determination to any task he set his mind to.

to your collective relief even if more shy in nature, school brought him further out of his shell, turning him into quite the little social butterfly, you and mary needing to get him his own calendar for the fridge to keep track of the multitude of birthday parties, play dates and outings he was invited on.

"come on mase!" you called out, shaking your head with a smile as he struggled to choose which flowers to pick, the boy glancing over to you and sending a thumbs up, quickly pulling out a small handful. you laughed as he also grabbed a fistful of weeds, tucking them in with his little bouquet and racing back over to you.

"i couldn't choose what ones, didn't want to hurt the other flowers feelings." he huffed as you smiled, opening the gate as he ran past you and up the driveway. "careful please!" you warned as he took the front steps two at a time, your breath catching as he stumbled but fixed his footing, waiting for you patiently by the front door.

"bang your shoes please babe." you nodded as he stomped his feet, shaking off the excess dirt and you unlocked the door. you took the flowers from him and hung his bag up as he sat down on the floor and pulled his shoes off.

mary's car not yet in the driveway you knew she wasn't home, much to masons disappointment as he ran a lap of the house calling out for her until you reminded on tuesdays and thursdays she arrived home after he did, the boy nodding with a sigh.

knowing the way to his heart was the same as your wife you proposed some food, tilting his head back and kissing his forehead as he sat at the table and you placed a colouring book in front of him.

placing his flowers in a cup of water you busied yourself making him a sandwich, waiting patiently as he ticked over and over trying to decide what he wanted. "half and half? mama can have the same when she gets home." you offered as he nodded happily, attention dropping back down to his colouring.

making two sandwiches, one ham and cheese and the other with turkey you cut them in half, placing two halves aside for your wife. "bbq or prawn cocktail?" you asked holding up two packets of crisps, your son pointing to those in your left hand.

placing a handful onto his plate alongside some cut up strawberries you put everything away, mason asking if he could watch some tv as you nodded, helping him down and following after him. setting his plate down on the coffee table you clicked onto his favourite show and left him to it.

you glanced to the time with a slight frown, mary normally home no later than four. with a shrug you helped yourself to the sandwich you'd made her, placing away everything you'd used as you heard her keys in the front door.

"only me!" she yelled out letting herself in, a thump telling you she'd dropped her kit bag by the door making you roll your eyes at the small habit you were constantly telling her off for. "in here!" you called back, mason's head shooting up as he hurried to his feet.

"you're home!" he launched at mary the moment she rounded the corner, the tall girl grunting as his body rammed into her legs and she stumbled for a moment before catching her balance. "hello handsome, i missed ya!" mary grinned, pulling him up into her arms and kissing all over his face as he whined and tried to push her off.

"yeah she's gross isn't she mase." you teased sticking your tongue out making him giggle as your wife let him down and he raced back off to finish his show. "forever the charmer aren't you darling." mary rolled her eyes playfully, moving to press your body against the fridge, just out of sight of your son.

"stuck with me now." you grinned holding up your wedding ring as your wife pulled you into a kiss, mumbling that was exactly how she wanted it. "you're home late?" you questioned as she let you go, pecking your lips a few more times and pushing off of you.

"had to drop tooney home her car shit itself again!" mary rolled her eyes as you smacked her shoulder and nodded to the five year old within earshot. "sorry gorgeous." the girl smiled guiltily, you forever warning her about her language in front of mason, who was in the phase of repeating everything and anything.

you'd both found that out the hard way the other morning.

"good morning beautiful." your wife had sauntered into the kitchen, playfully smacking your bum as she breezed past you toward the coffee machine. "watch it earps." you'd warned playfully, flipping over the pancakes as she stuck her tongue out at you.

"good girl mumma!" your head snapped down toward your son who now stood beside you, looking up at you with his disheveled bed hair and a smile, hugging your leg.

"what did you just say love?" mary frowned as he climbed up to sit at the table across from her. "good girl! mummas a good girl." he repeated making your eyes widen as they locked with marys, which only twinkled with slight amusement.

"why do you say that mase?" mary asked, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to de-tangle it. "you said it mama, heard you this morning when you and mumma were wrestling." he chirped, busying himself playing with one of his toy cars, driving it along the table and making noises with his mouth as you choked on air in surprise at his words.

"i'm going to kill you." you mouthed seriously toward the smirking older girl, who'd been insistent your son wasn't awake when she'd had her way with you this morning, far too eager to get up and lock the door despite your worries.

dumping masons pancakes onto a plate you moved to place them in front of him once you'd cut them up, gently removing the toy car from his hand and giving him a fork.

"thanks sexy!" the boy grinned, repeating marys exact words she'd just spoke as you handed her her coffee a few seconds prior. "mase no, thats an adult word okay? you do not say whatever mama says." you'd warned sternly as he'd only shrugged, too busy devouring his pancakes.

safe to say you and mary hadn't wrestled for quite a while after that, much to her utter displeasure.

"oh thank you." you smiled as your son ran into the kitchen and handed you his now empty plate which you stacked in the dishwasher. "mama! those are for you, i picked them." he beamed pointing to the daises on the counter, marys entire face melting.

"oh mase, baby they're beautiful. thank you!" mary grinned, affectionately touching the flowers before bending down to wrap him in a tight hug. "tell mama about your day mase!" you nodded encouragingly as mary picked him up and sat him up on the counter.

he gestured his hands around wildly as he spoke making you smile as you watched on, mary over-acting her facial expressions to make sure he knew she was just as engaged in his story telling, taking a quick photo with your phone and tucking it back your pocket.

you stepped out of the room for a moment, retreating to your bedroom and changing, taking off your bra and sighing in relief as you swapped from jeans into a pair of joggers, tugging one of your wifes england hoodies on over the top.

though as you returned to the kitchen it seemed your timing was somewhat perfect to hear the one sentence you never thought you'd hear uttered in the earps household.

"and i was striker! and i'm gonna be striker on wednesday for sports day." mason beamed as you stopped in your tracks, watching marys face fall for a moment before she slapped a fake smile on, nodding through the pain in her eyes.

"hey mase? can you go and tidy up your toys on the floor of your room please." you called out, your son nodding as mary helped him down, slumping against the counter as he disappeared and you checked he was out of earshot.

"oh my love." you held back the urge to smile, opening your arms as the taller girl collapsed into them, chin resting on your shoulder as she let out a deep and troubled sigh. "a fucking striker. my own son!"

"mary." you warned, rubbing her back and feeling her huff. "there is goal keeping trophies, gears, posters, all around this house! and now he wants to be a fucking striker." mary unwrapped herself from you, pulling herself to sit up on the counter with a scowl.

"at least he wants to play?" you tried, moving to stand between her legs with your hands resting on her knees. "i'd rather he not play than be a bloody striker! no son of mine isn't going to follow in his mothers footsteps." mary shook her head firmly, a smile curling onto your lips.

"baby you can't force him to be a goal keeper." you laughed as she only scoffed. "i can and i will! just you watch." mary challenged, pushing you away with her foot and jumping down, calling out for mason.

"mary alexandra earps, you leave him be." you warned, your wife waving you off as your son appeared. "shall we go to the park and kick a football?" mary offered, mason nodding happily before he ran off to grab his shoes at her request.

"you are unbelievable."

~

you sat on a picnic blanket watching on with your arms crossed as your wife tried any and every way she could to sway masons mind.

"isn't this more fun?" mary cheered as she softly kicked the ball toward mason, makeshift goal set up using a few sticks to mark the posts as he shook his head, refusing to even move and try to stop it as it rolled past him.

"i wanna kick it!" he huffed, stamping his feet and flaring his nostrils, alerting you he was dangerously close to a meltdown. "mary!" you called out, raising your eyebrows as she waved you off.

"you do kick it! but only if you stop it, like i showed you before. try again!" she raced over to grab the ball, pausing to re-tie masons hair which had slipped out of the loose bun it was tied back into given the amount of times he'd furiously shaken his head at her.

you sighed with a shake of your own head, flopping down onto your back and closing your eyes, the warm rays of an impending sunset bathing your face. "yeah! like that." mary cheered as mason stopped the ball, but not before he kicked it hard as he could in the other direction and raced over toward you.

you grunted as he landed on top of you, tucking his head into your neck. "mama won't let me kick." he mumbled as you moved a hand to rub his back, sitting up and shooting your wife a stern look as she huffed and kicked at the ground like a scolded child.

"okay, sit up for me please mase." you gently pulled him away from you, setting him down to sit in your lap as he looked up at you with a frown. "don't do that, if the wind changes your face gets stuck like that forever!" you teased, smoothing out his eyebrows with your thumbs.

"can you do something for me?" he nodded at your words and you glanced over his shoulder to see mary lost in thought, staring away into the distance with a troubled look on her face. "you know how we go and watch mama play football yeah? in the big stadiums." he nodded again.

"well mama is a goal keeper. so strikers are like her bad guy, like how all superheros have a villian." you started. "like batman and riddler?" you now nodded at your sons words.

"but only when she's playing! its like pretend, all a big game. like when aunty lessi kicks the ball at mama and tries to get it in the goal? mama and aunty lessi are still best friends after the game right?" he nodded again.

"so why don't you ask mama if she'll take turns with you? you be the striker and then it's her turn, but you can't let her score when she's striker! otherwise the bad guys win." you smirked, tickling at his sides as he giggled but nodded, jumping off and running back toward mary.

you watched on as mary squatted down beside your son, holding his hands as the boy did his best to recount what you'd just told him, the smile returning to her face as she nodded happily at his words.

you knew this was only the start of a very long battle, knowing your wife well enough that this was only a band aid solution to the inevitability she would do anything in her power to have mason earps be the next big goal keeping name.

you laid back down in the sun grabbing your wifes sunglasses where they sat on the ground and slipping them on, the sounds of your families laughter causing a soft smile to curl onto your lips.

however your lack of watching had meant you'd missed mary call over your son and whisper something in his ear, the two of them growing bored of football and advancing toward you. "get her!" your eyes shot open at that as you pushed the sunglasses up onto your head just in time to see mason jump on top of you, mary following suit.

"no! no no no please." you begged as both your wife and sons fingers jabbed into your sides, your body thrashing as mary held you down with a grin, your laughter filling the air as masons own little giggles joined in.

"manchester is saved mase, bad guy defeated!" mary high fived the blonde as the two of them finally ceased their attack, mason running off to kick the ball as you struggled to catch your breath.

"never gets old." mary grinned cheekily, hovering over you and sweetly pecking your lips a few times as you shook your head and flipped her off, still trying to recover.

"just you wait till i call less and let her know her godsons choosing to follow in her footsteps instead of his own mothers!" you teased once you could speak again. "don't you dare." mary warned as she sat beside you, a beat of silence falling between you before you grabbed your phone and jumped to your feet.

"traitor! get her mason!" mary yelled after you as your son dropped the football in his hands and chased after you with a grin, mary quickly packing everything up into a bag.

"mama!" she glanced up as mason gestured toward you as you darted past her, mary easily grabbing you by the waist and tossing you over her shoulder.

"mary!" you laughed, smacking her back as she slung the bag over her free shoulder, taking masons hand as you shook your head, accepting the fact you were being carried home.

"manchester is saved once again!"

[golden1u5t]

working all day | s.r x fem!reader

ꨄ requested: no

ꨄ genre: smut

ꨄ summary: spencer’s being a brat because you’ve been working all day, leaving you no choice but to fix his attitude for him. 

You had been working all day long, in and out of the house all day. You worked from home most of the time with you being the owner of your company but today you were booked with meetings back to back, barely getting 30 minutes to come home and switch out the paperwork needed for each meeting.

Spencer had the day off which meant he was home alone while you were out at your meetings, only getting to see you when you came home for a brief moment.

The only contact he'd had with you all day was a quick kiss and a goodbye before you left again.

He tried to keep busy while you were out, cleaning the entire house, dusting off old books, doing laundry, he even went as far as watching a modern day romance movie but it didn't work. His mind kept drifting off to you every time he tried to distract himself.

So he tried one last thing, attempting to cook a recipe Rossi had given to him when he announced to the team that you two were moving forward in your relationship and moving in together, it was his house warming gift. With Spencer being so concentrated on trying to perfect the recipe, he hadn't heard you come into the house. You set your things down in your office before walking in the kitchen quietly and wrapping your arms around him from behind.

Spencer tensed for a second before he recognized the familiarity of your arms. He relaxed but he didn't say anything to you, he continued to cut the vegetables. A frown formed on your lips because this was something new. Spencer had never just ignored you like that, especially when you haven't seen each other for most of the day.

"Baby? What's wrong?" You asked, letting go of him and walking around the island to see his face clearly.

He turned around and emptied the bowl of mixed vegetables in the pot on the stove. You were madly confused, you couldn't think of anything you'd down to him all day long, you had barely been home to do anything let alone piss him off.

"Spencer. Look at me, now."

He huffed and turned around, knowing better than to not listen when you used that tone with him. "Don't you have another meeting to attend?"

"Go to the bedroom." He opened his mouth to say something argumentative back but you stopped him before he could form the first word. "Now, Spencer."

He huffed again and put the bowl on the counter and left the kitchen, he knew he would be getting punished but he didn't care, he wanted it. You two hadn't had sex in a week and a half, he was needy.

You watched him walk away until you couldn't see him anymore before going to turn the stove off and move the pot off of the burner. You waited a few minutes before going into your bedroom, wanting to give him a little time to think before you did anything. When you walked in the room, Spencer was sitting patiently on the bed with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his pretty, pink lips.

"What's wrong with you today?" You stood in front of him with your arms crossed in front of your chest, mimicking him. Spencer looked everywhere but you and kept his lips turned down.

"Answer me." You grabbed his chin and forced him to look at you, a whine slipping past his lips.

"Today was supposed to be our day together and-and you haven't touched me in a week." His hands fell into his lap.

"My baby is needy. That's what this is all about, you just wanted some attention." You fake pouted and squatted so you were eye level with him. He whimpered and nodded his head, his cock hardening in his pants.

"What have I told you about communication?" You hummed and tilted your head.

"That if I want something then I need-need to ask otherwise you'll never know." If you hadn't been right in front of him, you would've never heard what he said.

You smiled proudly at him and stood up, leaning down to press your lips to his temple. You pulled back and took a good look at Spencer, he was still pouting just with a hard cock this time.

He always did have a hard time with expressing what he wants or how he feels but you were working through it with him, teaching him that it's okay to tell you when he needed something.

Spencer wanted you to touch him, to do something. He didn't even care that the only way you'd be touching him is when you were giving him his punishment, which he knew was coming.

"Are you going to punish me?" He tried not to let his excitement seep through his voice. Spencer stood up and even though he was taller than you by far, you still made him feel small under your gaze.

"It wouldn't be a punishment if you wanted it." You watched him fidget with the hem of his shirt, fingers tugging and twisting it around.

You reached out and took his glasses off of his face, turning around and setting them down on your vanity. You told Spencer to undress down to his boxers, it almost made you laugh with how quickly you heard his clothes being torn off.

You kept your back to him while you took your time with taking your jewelry off and putting it back in it's spot on your vanity, Spencer watched your every move. He tried to stay calm and wait for you to give him another instruction, he wanted to be good for you, he needed to be.

It's hardwired into his brain, he had to be good for you, it was rare he had days like this when he was being rude or short with you. He hadn't had a day like that in a while which is why you weren't going to punish him, you were going to treat it as a warning.

When you finally stopped your teasing, you turned around to see him just like you asked, stripped down to his purple boxers. You walked closer to him and put your hand on the back of his head, pulling him down so you could kiss him.

Spencer kissed you back with just as much force as you did, maybe even more. You let your hand roam over his shoulders and down his back, stopping over his ass before harshly coming down on it once.

He was so surprised by the sudden hit, he whined into your mouth and stumbled forward. You pulled away from him to watch the blush spread down his chest, a satisfied smile on your face.

"Lay on the bed, sweet boy." You gently pushed his chest. Spencer settled onto the bed and waited for you, he rested on his forearms so he could have a clear view of you the entire time. You slowly stripped yourself of your clothes but left your panties on so he could take them off himself, something he loved to do.

You got onto the bed and straddled his thighs, purposely keeping yourself off of his hard cock. You ran your hands over his torso, stopping over his nipples and pinching gently.

"Mommy- please!" Spencer moaned, his back arching towards you as you continued to pinch and roll his nipples between your fingers. He always did have sensitive nipples and you found it entirely adorable, you loved to try and challenge yourself by trying to make him cum from just playing with his chest.

Spencer brought his hands to grab at your hips, he started to pull you forward so you were sitting on his cock instead of his thighs. The sudden pressure on his cock from your weight tore a whine through his throat, his hips bucking up and making you bounce.

"Ok-Okay, baby. I've got you, let me take care of you." You smiled at the desperate boy under you. You lifted yourself off of him and pulled his boxers down, the chilly air in the room sent a shiver down Spencer's spine. You situated yourself on his thighs once again and wrapped your hand around his leaking cock for the first time in a week.

Spencer's eyes closed and his mouth fell open in a loud moan when you started to move your hand, his body jerked slightly at the feeling of your spit hitting his cock. You moved off of his legs and sat on the bed next to him so you could push his legs apart, all while continuing to stroke his cock.

You moved to sit between his legs, you leaned down at took his cock in your mouth. You suckled on the head while your hand moved up and down on the rest of his cock, a moan slipping past your lips at the taste of him.

Spencer's eyes flew open and his hand moved to grip your hair tightly, tears starting to stream down his face.

"I can't- mommy- mmph, gonna cum! Please, can-can

I- please?" He nearly screamed, his thighs starting to shake as you continued to suck on the head of his cock.

You looked up at him and moaned, that was his breaking point, the vibrations shooting through his body.

Your eyes closed at the feeling of his cum hitting your tongue. Spencer's hips lifted up as he finished cumming, his orgasm dying down. You pulled off of him after giving him one last parting suck, a string of spit and cum connecting your mouth to his cock.

Spencer whined at the sight, his hands grabbing at your arms to pull you closer to him. You gave him a soft smile and kissed away the tears staining his cheeks. "Feel better?"

"Yeah-yeah. Think I need more." His voice was quiet but need dripping through his voice, even as quiet as it was. You let out a small laugh and nodded your head, starting to get off of him so you could push your panties to the side.

"Wait- I want to make you feel good."

[luveline]

Would you be at the write a senario where Eddie and Roan spend a night with reader at their house? Maybe Roan's princess room reveal? 🙏🙏

yes!! love u!! I think this is like 3k ish but idk i wrote it in the app like an idiot <\3 ♡ fem!reader

Before the big move, you and Eddie are trying to ease Roan into her new home slowly. You'd worked hard on her room — more than hard. Nights spent covered in paint, other nights spent working overtime to afford the paint, the four poster bed, the big chest at the foot of it for her toys. You'd bought her a wardrobe, lots of new clothes to fill it, and a small mannequin outfitted in a pricey princess dress.

Eddie thinks you're going overboard, though he obviously loves you to death for the effort.

"You don't have to do all this," he'd said, lips to the back of your neck.

But you do. You'd never painted her nursery, never stocked up on diapers or formula or playsuits. You're bringing your girl home. Her room has to be perfect.

Tonight's the night.

You and Eddie stand outside of Roan's classroom. You're nervous enough to shake with it, hands wringing themselves sore.

"Relax," he says, worming a ringed-hand between them.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose and take a step closer to him, shoulder pressing to his shoulder, his proximity a balm.

The door opens, and Roan's teacher greets the surrounding parents with a smile. She starts to call the kids up one by one.

You peek around her arm and your eyes find Roan where she's sitting with her friend Stacey P. They have their heads bent together, and you can hear their excited babbling from where you stand.

"That's her next to your dad?" Stacey asks, eyes half covered by thin blonde bangs.

Roan beams proudly. "Yeah, that's my mommy."

"She's pretty."

"My daddy says she's go-jus."

You wave at her, wanting to kiss her forever and ever for being the sweetest, funniest baby girl in existence.

She waves back until her wrist looks like it might fall off.

"Roan," the teacher calls, "come on, chick."

Roan springs to her feet with her small backpack in hand. Her big puffer coat protects your legs as she slings herself at you and Eddie.

"Hey, babe. Are you excited?" he asks.

She lifts her head and smiles with her little teeth and her tiny appled cheeks, shorn curls falling away from her lovely big eyes. "Yes! Let's go!"

"Alright, hold your horses. I still have to talk to Mrs. Lundy," he says.

Eddie edges away from you. You tug Roan gently by the hand so you're out of the way of the other parents and then pop a squat to be at her eye level, fingers on automatic as you align her zipper and pull it closed.

"I'm really excited for you to see your room," you confide, because while you're extremely worried she'll hate it you're doubly excited that she'll love it. Princess pinks and all the trappings.

Roan doesn't even know what to say. It's obvious she's excited at having a new room too. Whenever she's stayed in the guest room in the past, it's simply been just that: the guest room. Now it's her bedroom, permanently, and she knows that it's double the size of her old one. She doesn't know you've redcoarated it completely, though. That's the secret.

"I hope you like it," you continue, rubbing your hands down the lengths of her coat before taking her warm fingers into your colder ones.

"I love it!" she declares.

"You haven't seen it yet," you say happily.

"I loved it already. Do I get to have Lucky in my room?"

You squeeze her hands. "I thought Lucky could stay in the living room. His tank is so big."

Roan thinks it over.

"He's your fish too now, babe, " you say firmly. "You can see him in the living room whenever you want, okay?"

"Okay," she says.

You stand up because your knees have started to ache and luckily Eddie's making his way back toward you. He takes Roan's empty hand and the two of you steer her out of the side door you'd come in through and into the playground, where a mass of other parents and kids are exiting their own classes.

"What'd she say?" you ask curiously.

Eddie can't hold in a smile. "Oh, you know, things."

"Things!" you repeat, frowning at him. Roan's hand swings enthusiastically in your own. You don't have any patience when it comes to the good stuff. "What kind of things?"

He tries not to say it and ultimately fails. "Our girl's literally Picasso. She wants to submit Roan's drawings for the Indiana young artists collection."

"What?"

"It's just for schools in Indiana, but if she gets accepted they put her picture in a book and they send us a copy."

"Will you swing me?" Roan asks loudly, tipping her head back to garner your attention.

You beam at her because she is literally the coolest child on the planet. "Depends, what does dad think?"

Eddie grins and readjusts his hold on her hand. You follow his lead, and soon you're both gearing up to lift her on the next swing.

"One, two, three," he counts.

Roan takes a little running jump and you and Eddie use her weight to swing her forward off of the curb and into the parking lot. She laughs with every new swing, and any worry about hurting her arms is quickly eaten up by her joy as you make your way to the car.

She climbs into the backseat with enthusiasm. Beside her carseat are a couple of boxes of her stuff, not too much. You want her to have the option to unpack but don't want her to go back to the trailer and find it empty. You and Eddie are doing everything you can to make this transition easy for her.

She sees all of it and gets confused.

"It's for Y/N's house," Eddie explains, pulling her car seat straps around her chest.

You bite back a correction. Our house, you want to say.

"For you room," you say instead.

"Oh."

"Is that okay?" Eddie asks.

She doesn't answer. It worries you. You chew at the inside of your cheek and turn to your purse in your lap instead, digging through it for the first of her presents, a fake key to the house. You're worried she'll lose it, although it's more ceremonial than anything. You have a real one for Eddie, not that he knows yet.

"I have something for you," you tell her, fist closed around the key.

Eddie shuts the driver's door and turns to peek at what you're doing, clearly curious. You open your hand and offer up the key.

"What's it for?" she asks.

"For the house."

You can feel Eddie's gaze on the side of your face. Roan takes the key and you turn to your boyfriend, plucking his own key from your bag and passing it to him with a smile. "S'your house. Need to be able to get in."

Eddie smiles at you. He's a soft looking guy, soft jaw, slightly high cheeks. He still hasn't settled about it being his house — he's thrilled, obviously, but you know he doesn't want to sound presumptuous or cheeky by accepting it.

Well, you don't care how it sounds. If they're going to live with you they need to know how welcome they are, and how much you want this to work as a family and not just as a boyfriend with his kid.

Eddie steals a kiss that you're not expecting, slightly too rough, extremely boyish. It's pretty great, as kisses go; you can feel his enthusiasm.

The ride to your house is funny. You've done it yourself hundreds of times, but it's suddenly not just your house. You've cleaned more than you've ever cleaned before in your life. You've changed decor to be less single girl and more family, brighter colours, rainbow kitchen utensils. You'd even got one of those plaques for your house outside with the number, and, perhaps embarassingly, a stick figure family engraved into the wood. A mom, a dad, and a girl. There's even a fish bowl for Lucky.

Eddie stops in front of it in awe.

Roan had insisted on you carrying her. If she hadn't you might've asked her to let you anyways.

"It's us," Roan says, following her dad's gaze.

"That's us," you agree. You nudge Eddie gently. "You gonna let us in?"

He's uncharacteristically quiet as he turns the key and let's you in.

You drop your bag in the hallway and you and Roan peek up the stairs. Rather than show her your redecorating, you've decided to save the best until last and walk her to the right toward the living room instead.

"I made space for your-" Is it hot in here? You're ten times as nervous as you had been now you're inside. "For your table. For the princess parties. All your toys. And..." You tuck her hair behind her ear and grin at her. "I usually feed Lucky when I come home. Do you want to feed him?"

Doesn't she just? Kids go crazy for stuff like this and Roan is no exception. You walk her across your rug where the coffee table used to be and pick up the fish food one handed, letting her take the lid off.

"Big pinch, okay?"

She nods and gets a big pinch of fish flakes. You direct her to the top of the glass and slide a panel aside so she can sprinkle it in, and then you bend swiftly so she can watch Lucky swim up from the bottom of the tank and nibble at his dinner.

Eddie stays standing in the doorway.

You look at him over your shoulder and he smiles rather weakly. "What happened to your coffee table?" he asks.

"I gave it away. Thought we'd need the space."

"You didn't have to."

You don't want to wait in agony, so you ask, "Eds, are you getting cold feet? Have you changed your mind?" Reality is sinking in and it's too much for him, and he really doesn't want to live here at all, and this was just a big, huge, awful mistake-

"I think this is the easiest decision I've ever made. I didn't- I wasn't expecting it to be this easy."

You gawp at him. "Easy for you, maybe. I'm exhausted."

You're seriously only kidding. You'd do all the work you've done lately a thousand times over if it meant you got to have this, Eddie looking at you like you're something worth looking at, adoring, infatuated, and his daughter in your arms babbling to her new pet fish.

"Sh-sugar," he says with a wince. "I know, babe, I swear. And I'm gonna make it upto you."

There's no point arguing with him when he gets like this. You smile coquettishly and raise your eyebrows instead. "Yeah? Like, a back massage?"

"A really long one."

"Foot massage?" you ask, though you don't actually want one.

It melts your heart how quickly he says, "Obviously."

"Can I see my room?" Roan asks, distraction waning as Lucky the fish finishes his food and swims back down into his underwater castle.

You wipe her fish-food covered fingers before she can rub it in her nice dress. "Mm, depends. Do I get a kiss for it first?"

With terrible aim, Roan agrees to a kiss and leans in, lips landing at the corner of your mouth. You giggle at her and pretend to think some more, "Hmm... I don't know, it's a pretty great room if I do say so myself. Think I might need a kiss on both cheeks."

"Dad, help me," Roan demands.

Both Munson's kiss either cheek.

Your stairs feel imposisbly tall. "Was I supposed to get a baby gate?"

"She's not a baby."

"Well," you say, holding her closer still as you climb up the last couple of steps, "s'debatable. She's a baby to me."

"She's a baby to me, too," Eddie agrees.

Roan's door is closed but easily discernible as hers. You'd had another plaque made, 'Princess Roan' written in pink bubbly letters with rhinestones and glitter.

"Did you make that?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah."

"You did not."

"No, I didn't."

Eddie snorts.

You set Roan down in front of her new room and cross your finger that this works. That she loves it.

She looks back hesitantly.

"Open it," Eddie prompts.

Dad's approval granted, Roan reaches up and twists the door knob. It opens with a resound click.

She gasps as she enters, eyes racing around the room to take it all in. The princess bed with four posters and sheer pink and white curtains with silky sheets, the heart shaped rug, the matching vanity and closet.

The Princess dress.

She toddles up to the end of the bed and runs her hand over the big wooden chest. You've made sure there's a stepping stool by the side of the bed in case she needed it, and sure enough she can't get onto the mattress without it. The puffy sheets depress under her body as she throws herself into a starfish.

It's alarmingly quiet for a moment, and then she giggles.

You smile and make a small sound of your own, arm instinctive wrapping around Eddie's. He pulls it out of your hold to wrap it around your shoulder, lips at the back of your head.

He kisses your hair. You barely feel it, elation hot and fast in your veins.

"It's like a princess bed!"

She doesn't stay in bed long, too excited to touch and feel everything. Her hands are childishly careful when she reaches the princess dress, a brilliant creation of fake silk and beads. Her squeal is genuinely the best sound in the whole wide world.

-

You'd been so wrapped up in Roan and her first night that you'd forgotten it was Eddie's, too.

Obviously, they've slept here before. Eddie alone when Roan's with Wayne, the both of them, he's stayed in your bed more times than you can remember, but now it's his bed and you've tried to make it feel like that with new pillows, a new bedspread that isn't so girly, and a new nightstand for the right side.

After dinner — Eddie's infamous pesto pasta with all the trimmings, a stodgy masterpiece — and bath time with new bath toys, you and your boy lie in bed together, silent.

Roan had stopped moving around ages ago. You'd put her to bed, kissed her forehead, said a cheesy but extremely necessary, "Welcome home," and Roan had held your hand until you'd pulled away, like she really didn't want to let go. She'd waited for you and Eddie to close your bedroom door before she'd gotten back up, and you'd listened to her explore her new room and laugh to herself for a brilliant half an hour.

Now she's grown quiet again, you're counting Eddie's heart beat under your ear. His hands mess with your hair, no rhyme or reason to his affectionate touching.

"Is the bedspread okay?" you whisper.

"It's perfect."

"What about the thermostat? Is it too hot?"

"Perfect."

"Do you want another pillow?"

Eddie's hand creeps down your head and spread over your shoulders. "Relax, sweetheart. It's all perfect." You can hear his smile, the hitch in his breath when he silently laughs. "I'll miss your sheets, I think."

"I kept them. We can just put 'em back on."

"I have a lot of good memories in those bad boys."

You pinch at his waist. "Idiot."

"Alright, come here."

You lift your head, inquisitive.

"C'mere," he prompts, catching under your arms.

He drags you upward until you're face to face. You hold your weight off of him, a hand woven carefully into his thick head of hair. He looks quite serious, almost impassive beside the traitorous quirk of his lips.

You put your hand on his cheek and stroke the line of his bottom lip with your thumb.

"You didn't have to do all of this. Everything. But you did, and it's perfect." He swallows and covers your hand with his. "Thank you."

Easy to lean down and kiss him. You wonder if he can taste your relief as your lips part, nose tips crushed together as you wade inward searchingly. His hand moves down to your wrist where his fingers curl and cling as you kiss harder, your lips tingling with a ticklish sort of pleasure. He tastes like the mint of his usual toothpaste and he smells faintly of aftershave, more of himself, an unexplainable smell. You inhale hard rather than pull away, reluctant to sever from him.

His hand roves down, up and down again, his touch leaving behind a blooming heat.

"I love you," you say, too close.

He nips at your lip and forces you back and away from him, lifting his chin to redirect any further kissing as he catches his breath.

"Fuck," he says with a chuckle, "you're fucking spoiling me. Everything's fucking perfect and now you're kissing me like that."

"I'm gonna wash your mouth out with soap," you warn with little heat, words sticky with happiness. You feel like you've just eaten a spoonful of honey. Your throat is thick with emotion.

"You're gonna kill me," he corrects. "Kiss me like that again."

"I'm not kissing you like anything if it'll kill you, Munson. Plan on keeping you for a long, long time."

He turns his face into your hand. His exhale is hot against your palm, worse when he readjusts. Unlike his heated mouthing moments ago, these kisses are sluggish. He sucks a small half moon into the fleshy base of your thumb.

"I love you," he mumbles.

He takes your hand into his again and rubs it up his freshly shaved cheek, the skin soft and smooth.

"I love you too. So much it's- it's sick."

"They should lock you up," he says agreeably.

You drop your face into the crook of his neck and let him cuddle you and tuck the sheets tight around your back. He doesn't complain when you kiss at his throat, not aiming for anything else but this, these kisses and his warm arms holding you close.

-

When Roan strolls into your bedroom the next morning with the worst bedhead he's ever seen and Teddy the one-eared bear hanging from her hand, Eddie watches your face pull into a huge smile, his hand already held in your lap. "I think you slept almost as good as I did, little lady," you greet, voice scratchy with sleep.

She grins at you both and beckons for Eddie to help her into bed with you both. "Best bed ever!" she says through a yawn. "Thanks, mom."

You burst into tears. Eddie's only surprised you hadn't done it sooner.

-

more eddie and roan

[lixie-phoria]

bf!chan comfort hours

pairing : chan x gn!reader | genre : angst to comfort | warnings : nightmares, reader has a panic attack but not explicitly mentioned | word count : 0.7k

request : hey, can i ask for a comfort/angst one-shot with skz? it could be any member

grief hits at the strangest times, sucking the breath out of your lungs and logical thoughts from your head.

grief was an old friend. grief was a toxic, manipulative, and pernicious old friend you wish you could let go off.

it was early in the morning. you were supposed to be asleep beside chan, snuggled into his side. but you weren't. you were squatted on the cold tiles of your bathroom floor, head tucked between your knees and back pressed against the hard marble. alone.

nightmares were a common occurrence. they would jar you awake almost every night, covered in a cold sweat and gasping for air. chan would help you down from them, always. he knew what to say, what to do, and how to bring you down to reality.

but this time he wasn't there.

the truth hit you like bricks.

you'd had an argument. it was silly, stupid, unnecessary. but it was terrible. he'd stormed off finally to spend the rest of the night at one of the boys' house. how you wish he hadn't. how you wish he was here.

you didn't know how long you spent trying to calm your breathing, but the sun's rays eventually filtered through the small window, and with them came chan.

you didn't hear his car pull into the driveway or the keys turning into the lock. your heart pounded against your ribs, trying to break free.

the poor boy had finally had some sense talked into him from lee know. he wanted to apologize, but he couldn't find you, and he felt his anxiety rising. you weren't in the kitchen. you weren't in your bed. you weren't on the terrace.

it didn't take him long to put two and two together and before you even realized he was home, chan was flinging open the door to the bathroom.

it startled you as you scrambled back, wide eyes staring into the concerned ones of your boyfriend.

"y/n"

the way he said your name: the tenderness, the accent, the softening of his eyes. it melted your heart.

your body acted before your mind did, and you were up in an instant and running into his embrace, the tears you had tried so hard to keep in finally falling.

he was waiting for you with open arms. he always was. he caught you, both literally and metaphorically.

"chan"

"i'm here, babe. i've got you."

it was simple. no explanations demanded. he knew you needed him, and he was more than willing to be there as he gingerly picked you up, your legs wrapping around his torso as he carried you into your shared bedroom.

the sheets were cold, but chan was warm. he was comforting. he was home.

"channie, im so sorry-"

"dont."

"but-"

"no."

his soft hands pushed your hair out of your eyes, gently wiping the tears away and pulling the blanket up to your chin.

"it wasn't your fault."

"it wasn't yours either," he assured, enveloping your trembling hands into his bigger ones.

"i was so scared you wouldn't come back. i thought you left. forever."

"never. i could never."

he slid into the sheets beside you, tucking your face into his chest and wrapping his arms around you.

"i love you, y/n. don't you ever forget that."

"i love you too, chan."

you loved how he smelled. you loved how he held you close. you loved how his chest vibrated as he hummed a tune to calm you down. you loved the kisses he was pressing against your head. you loved the circles he was drawing on your back. you loved him. you would always love him.

"you should sleep," he whispered.

"i can't. not without you."

"i'm right here, love. i will be here when you wake up, too."

"promise?"

"promise."

you snuggled closer. it had barely been one night and you had missed him so much.

"we'll talk about it once we're both well rested, yeah?"

you nodded into his shirt.

"i love you."

"i love you too."

and just like that the grasps of sleep pulled you in. but this time it was comforting. this time you had chan by your side. and you would never have it any other way.

tags : @foxinnie8 @hamburgers101 @starlostlaiba @laylasbunbunny (send an ask to be added/removed)

©lixie-phoria, 2023

[forfucksakesniall]

Hi bestie, when you have the time could you make something for lewis, like just domestic vibes and/or he being a complete simp

Domestic Vibes and being a Complete Simp

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Trigger Warning/Content Advisory: Too much fluff

He doesn't show it much, but Lewis is a huge cuddler. When it's a lazy morning, he would bury his face in the crook of your neck and wrap his arms around you. It's a force of habit by now.

Lewis doesn't mind being the "little spoon," wrapping his arms around you as you both cuddle. His reason is because he can hear your heartbeat, but you know why he lays on your chest. You can feel the way he nuzzles his face and leaves small kisses.

He would turn the TV on and watch your favorite shows together while your koala of a boyfriend cuddles under a cozy blanket.

He talks about cooking pasta in an interview, but in reality, he is a menace in the kitchen.

But you enjoy spending time "trying" to cook something decent with him in the kitchen.

"No, Lewis. You need to add the water after." He does his old man laugh. "Oh well, we can just do it again. I guess."

When working out on his balcony in Monaco, he would encourage you to join him, making him your personal trainer. "Just one more, baby," he whispers in your ear. "I can't anymore, Lew." you try to catch your breath. "But you've only done one squat, baby."

When he did have work, he would wake up early and give you a kiss on the head before getting ready. Before he leaves the house, he would give you a kiss goodbye while you were still asleep and leave a message on your phone to see when you get up.

Lewis:

Good morning, baby.

Didn't want to wake you up.

You deserve some rest after last night ;)

I'll see you later.

I love you so much!

I love you too!!

If you ever did wake up before he left, he'd make breakfast for you and make sure to use all the time he has with you.

"You'll be late!" you tell him while he has you caged under him. "I still have some time, baby. Just let me take care of you. Don't want you feeling neglected."

When he comes late, you would wait for him in bed watching a movie or reading a book.

"Hey, baby. Why are you still awake?" he asks you. "I wanted to wait for you. You've been gone all day."

Both of you would end up in long, late-night conversations about life and dreams, making sure you always feel listened to and supported.

There may be times when you feel under the weather or when your hormones are acting up. He would stay with you longer and even call in sick if needed.

"You shouldn't have done that... This will pass. I'll be fine later anyway," you say as you cradle his face while lying in bed.

"I don't want to leave knowing that you're not feeling okay. I would be thinking about you even if I leave. Might as well stay here and take care of you," he says, leaning in close to give you a sweet kiss.

Lewis is known for being fashion-forward. While he shops for himself, he would go to the women's section to check out anything that you might like.

He would come home with dozens of bags from different brands."Looks like someone had Christmas early," you tease him. "Oh baby, this isn't even close to Christmas for you," he tells you while setting all the bags down on the floor. "I need you to be a good girl and try some things for me," he winks while getting more bags from the car.

He is seen on all your social media posts. He can't resist leaving flirty comments and adorable emojis, making sure everyone knows he's head over heels for you.

Lewis is known to be very private with his life, definitely with you. So, whenever you guys were in public, he would always take you to a place where there's a private area to be with you. Being this protective also had its perks. He knows that after they serve your food, no one would come over to check on you two again unless you both are done with your meals. He would be really handsy under the table. Light touches on your arm, the way he looks into your eyes then lips and at the same time leans in closer to you. At this point, the only thing stopping him was the table between you.

But when you're with him or your friends, he doesn't shy away from PDA. He would hug you from behind, holding your waist, have you sit on his lap, kiss your cheek from time to time, and whisper sweet nothings.

Lewis loves taking pictures with you or of you, creating a personalized gallery of your love story.

[celestialhole]

Simon Riley x GN!reader headcanons

Warnings: Contains NSFW content below the cut, read at your own risk! Sorta proofread, random as fuck but here's your din din. Thinking about Simon Riley who uses his kids as weights for him to lift while working out. Just for fun. He likes hearing his kids laugh and giggle. Simon Riley who gets hella annoyed when your family/extended family buys so much crap for the kids. "The bloody hell they need this for? Don't we already have the damn pool outside!?" Simon looked down at the huge box in their living room, it was a goddamn bouncy house for the little ones. "I dunno Si. We can put it in the frontyar-" "WE ALREADY HAVE THE BALL PIT OUTSIDE!"

Never really celebrated his birthday before meeting you. You started giving him presents, taking him out, and taking him back to hotels (or your home) to ride him til' dawn. Now that you have little ones you all plan a small birthday party for him since he's old and grumpy. You give him one of his favorite desserts, have all the kids pile on him, and show him some love it resulted in him counting to 5 before chasing them all down while you record all of it.

Will fantasize about what life could've been like if his family were still here with him, what it could've been like if they had lived long enough to meet you. He's sure his Mother and Nephew would've loved you, and his brother would tease him n' say something like, "Now you know how it feels, it ain't as bad as you thought huh?" He wished to God he'd get to experience that in another lifetime. In my world, he doesn't celebrate Christmas and we know damn well why. If he's been with you for a long time he'll find a way to make something for you to make it special or he'll buy you something you mentioned wanting a few weeks or months back. But don't expect him to place a big ass tree in his apartment. If you manage to convince him to buy a tree he'll buy it and maybe a few ornaments he likes but the rest you're buying. Riley totally tore that bitch up and trust me, he tried to stop her but it was too early in the morning for that and he didn't want the tree anyways so he just sighs, puts some tea on the kettle grabs his reading glasses and his favorite book, and just relaxes on the couch as his military dog is tearing up your 350$ Christmas tree. "Jesus fucking Christ what happened in here!?" You stumbled over an ornament as you walked into the living room. Simon was chilling peacefully on the couch as Riley held a broken branch in her mouth and they both looked as if there wasn't a shit tone of ornaments and small pieces of the tree everywhere. It looked like a cluster fuck in your living room. "Tree became a chew toy," Simon mumbled. "I can see that.. And you didn't stop her?!" You narrowed your eyes at him. "Tried to, then it fell and I gave up," Simon took a sip of his tea and turned a page of the book he was reading. "Oh for fucks sake Simon.." You rubbed your eyes and leaned against the wall. He glanced up at you from the couch with an amused smile and looked back down at his book. "...This is what happens when we don't listen to Simon says-" "I'm kicking you and Riley out." You cut him off.

I see this man with an uncut shave because he's too lazy for that shit, however, if he notices he has a whole ass fucking jungle down there he'll trim it and then leave it alone for another 5 months. A solid 7 inches when soft and hard. Girth? Lots of it. Saggy balls. The type of man who doesn't notice when you get something done (hair, nails, etc). When you ask him if he notices anything different he'll immediately look at your ass to see if those squats did you any good. Speaking of your ass he loves your ass. Flat or thick he's smacking it when he casually walks past you. If you're plus-sized or just thicc it's even better. Don't ever bend over with this man in your perimeter. And it's even worse when you're in front of him and walking up the stairs cause he's staring hard at it. When you bend over he's smacking it, groping it, caressing it, and if he's really bold he's sneaking a quick hump against it. It's all shits and giggles till he's in that position. And you never hold back either. Now he doesn't trust walking up the stairs in front of you because you won't stop poking his ass and he hates it he loves you anyways. Call him daddy and he's not gonna speak or look at you for the rest of the day. You've made him spiritually nauseous good job. HE'S A BODY MAN BUT IN MY WORLD HE'S A THIGH AND TUMMY MAN! Also, I can see him being obsessed with ya nipple piercings if you ever got them. But nipple piercings are one thing, a genital piercing IS ANOTHER THING. Mutual masturbation is a must on the weekend mornings. He'll wake you up with pepper kisses to your neck while his hand is rubbing your tummy, when you wake up he'll gradually run his hands over your chest and pinch your nipple before moving his hand down to caress your arousal. He sucks the skin on your shoulder and neck to pleasure you and when you turn over to stroke his already hardened cock, he groans and moves his hips to slowly thrust his cock along your hand while his fingers slowly speed up. Now imagine his groans + his morning voice. This man loves you with every fiber of his being and tries his very best to make sure you know he loves you no matter what, so don't even think about asking him if he'll still love you as a worm. He'll keep you safely tucked in the pocket of his shirt and feed you noodles. He doesn't give two shits if you're hairy, plus-sized, or "unattractive". He'll cross the Amazon or even Antarctica to eat your ass I'm just saying. Don't protest or even speak, just bend over and let him have fun with his beautiful partner.

[thatfreshi]

Rage To The Point of Hysteria (Astarion x Reader)

Third part in this little series (I Want To Mean It and Take This and Leave are both before this.)

Recommended Song: Forgiveless - SZA Ft. Ol' Dirty Bastard

"Well thank the gods you're not upset, because I have a feeling Gale wouldn't try to reverse it at this point."

Astarion's ear perk up at your comment.

"What do you mean darling? I'm sure he'd try if you asked him."

You hesitate to speak again, knowing your fiance will be pissed as soon as he hears about what happened in Gale's tower. Rightfully so, of course, but Astarion is not the type of man you want to make angry, especially when it comes to his lover.

"We aren't exactly... speaking?"

His eyes narrow.

"Is he being a dramatic sad boy again? Because first of all that's my thing, and second of all he has a wedding to be in tomorrow."

"I have a feeling you won't want him there anymore."

"Why not? He's our best friend! Gale has stood by us loyally as long as we've been in love."

You pause, he knows you're not telling him the whole story, but he doesn't push it, knowing you're nervous.

"You do love me... right?"

Suddenly a sadness casts across his eyes, wondering why you would even ask such a question.

"Of course I do my sweet. I asked you to marry me, didn't I?"

You sit back down on the bed, beckoning him to come sit with you.

"Well, Gale said some really horrible things. Horrible things about me, about you, about this whole relationship."

You tear up a little.

"You know he speaks without much thought darling. Not the brightest among us."

"No, Astarion, he was really awful. He said that I was a naive idiot for thinking you were in love with me, and how you've just been using me to keep yourself safe all this time, and that this marriage is just an extra layer of protection for you."

Rage. You still think to this day that somehow his eyes get redder when he's mad, even though that's probably impossible.

"He called you, what?"

His fingernails dig into the sheets, wishing they were around Gale's throat. He could care less about what was said about him, he's been lied about all his life. But you were crying because of something Gale said, questioning his love for you over some foolish man.

"Yeah, and I think he's like weirdly in love with me, and he just never said anything? It was all super gross, and I just can't believe he was like that."

"Funny, I'm in love with you and I would never call you a naive idiot like that. Of course, not outside of the times that you enjoyed it."

Astarion gets back up off the bed, making his way to a chest full of old weapons, memories of your journeys. He squats down, unlocking it, gazing at the various dangerous items.

"Aster, what are you doing?"

He laughs.

"Deciding what I'm going to flay him with my dear, what else would I be doing?"

Rage to the point of hysteria, enjoying the image of exacting revenge. The last time you saw him like this was before he killed Cazador.

"You can't just go over there and cut him up!"

"You're right, I have to do worse. You're so smart my dear."

He grabs a couple of blades out of the chest, and you walk over to where he's scavenging.

"I love you-"

"I love you too darling."

"I love you but, this is only going to make it worse. If you kill him, all of the alarms in his tower will go off, you'll probably be arrested-"

"Worth it."

"Astarion, please just listen to me."

"I am listening, I just happen to be scheming at the same time. I am a wonderful multi-tasker after all."

You'd be frustrated if you weren't worried. He really doesn't like seeing you hurt, or upset, and now you're both, all because some raggedy wizard decided he wanted to cause strife.

"Astarion, you can't even go out right now, it's the middle of the day!"

Now, that stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Damn it!"

He tries to ponder for a moment, wondering how long it would take to dig a hole from your house to his tower. After doing some rough math, he lets out a cry of frustration.

"How dare he throw around baseless accusations, and insult you to boot! He's a coward, a slimy, rotten, coward, who's trying to ruin something perfectly good because some goddess told him he should die for the greater good!"

You reach out, grabbing his hand, squeezing it tight.

"Aster, please."

Your desperation snaps him out of his stupor, realizing you're still crying, and his murderous plans aren't helping. He sighs, sitting down next to you, pulling you into lay on him.

"I'm sorry my sweet. I just... I hate seeing you get hurt."

"I know, but killing him doesn't solve anything."

He shrugs.

''Well, it would solve the problem of him existing."

"Astarion."

"Right, right, you're lecturing me about proper emotional maturity and such. Sorry, please continue."

You fiddle with his hands, staring at the details of his knuckles.

"I'm really upset with him too, but I don't need you to go turn him into a human filet, I just need you to sit here and listen to me. I'm mainly upset by what he said about you anyway."

"Well, you know he's wrong."

"Yeah, but to lie about being your friend, and then claim you're still just this horrible person? It's not fair, you've grown so much."

"We're the only people that need to know that Tav. If everyone hated me but you, I'd still be right where I am, loving you, and only you."

You lose a little tension, melting into the warmth of his embrace.

"I suppose you're right."

He leaves a kiss on your head.

"Now, we're going to enjoy our little time left as unmarried lovers, and when dusk comes, Gale and I are going to have a little talk. But until then, you can rant and rave as much as you'd like darling. Does that sound alright to you?"

You draw a little heart with your finger on the top of his hand.

"Sounds great. Thank you."

"Of course whatever you need, always."

[whumpzone]

Linden & Colton - Guard Dog AU

(masterpost)

exactly what it says on the tin! as you may know I've not written in months so I'm super super happy that I enjoyed this and got it done!!

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation + dehumanising language

-

The guard dog had been taken in. Everyone at the shelter was shocked, but none more shocked than the pet himself. Even better than that, he had been named. He was Col now, or sometimes Colton. He had figured that Col was the nicer, more affectionate version, but his new Master used it all the time, so perhaps he’d misinterpreted. Humans named all sorts of possessions, from plants to cars to, it seemed, guard dogs. Col happily accepted the gift.

The second he laid eyes on his owner, Col felt every ounce of loyalty he possessed being placed squarely at this man’s feet. He would be a worthwhile purchase, and protect his Master no matter what.

Master had come as a bit of a surprise at first, when Col was taken from the dog shelter to his home. He didn't look like the kind of person to make much use of a guard dog. Col stayed up all night, watching for threats, but Master's entire road was as peaceful as the man himself. The worst he'd ever seen was a few teenagers letting off fireworks.

Everything was just... a bit strange, with this new Master. He didn't have any heavy weights, no punching bag, nothing to keep Col strong. He never doled out punishments, never made sure Col knew where his devotion was placed. Col knew anyway, he was a good boy after all, but he thought all Masters needed to enforce it. His old owner had talked a lot of weak minds and needing to keep the lesson fresh. Clearly Colton's new Master had quite a bit more trust in him.

Which was weird, considering Col was a stray. But it made him all the more determined to prove himself.

Col made sure to keep busy during his otherwise unnaturally quiet new life: he lifted plastic bottles of milk for hours until his arms finally gave out; he filled a suitcase with books and squatted with it; he recited his rules at night, fighting off sleep, fighting off complacency. He spent the daylight hours pacing the house unless Master told him to calm down, which he soon realised was an order to come and kneel by his side.

The day Col fucked everything up was a day the same as any other to begin with. Master had gone shopping without him, like Col was useless, and that always made him frenetic with anxiety. He had begged, knelt with his head to the floor, to accompany him, to do his job and keep his owner safe, but Master had refused. I'll be fine, Col, he'd said softly, and then as a follow up, you can guard the house, right?

Col had done step-ups at the bottom of the staircase to try and work through his wasted energy, and when that hadn't worked, he'd stared out of the kitchen window like a hawk, every wail of an ambulance siren or police van sending his mind spiralling downwards. By the time Master returned unharmed he was a nervous wreck (utterly unfit for a guard dog, no wonder he wasn't allowed out) and he'd thrown himself at his owner's feet in relief. He knew what a wonderful rush of power his old owner had got from such an imposing pet cowering below him, and Col hoped Master might want to take him out next time, keep that feeling of power going.

In the present, Col was dutifully following Master's order to do some yoga.

The cat, Jaffa, was doing her own set of stretches alongside him, something that pleased Master greatly.

The sound of the front door unlocking pulled him from his meditation. Someone was trying to get in, Col realised, with a burst of aggression.

He sprang up like a startled animal and ran into the hall, but he still wasn't fast enough: the stranger was inside. Col noted a lean, strong build, with no obvious weapon, and tried to plan accordingly in the split second before he collided into him. He grabbed the human roughly by the shoulders and slammed him against the back of the door, letting his head crack against it with the momentum. Not enough to do any real damage, just to make him see stars. He wasted no time in pressing one forearm against his neck, letting it sit snugly against the windpipe, tight with pent up force. There was no mistaking that if he needed to press harder, he would. His other hand stayed gripping the man's shoulder, holding him in place.

'Who are you," he growled.

"Whoa! F-fuck, Linden! Get off me you crazy bastard!" the man shouted, but there was a smile on his face, which only made Col angrier.

Before he could bark his question again or tell the man to shut up, his Master appeared, running over to them. Col bent his head just enough to see both him and the intruder- he had been trained that dealing with a threat was not an excuse to ignore his owner.

The intruder gasped in what sounded like a sigh of relief, or a strained laugh. Col was still pushing on his throat.

"Mate, get off me," he said, and it was infuriating that he didn't seem at all bothered by Col's presence. Col had the upper hand, didn't he? Was there something he didn't know? Maybe this man did have a weapon concealed somewhere?

"I take orders from my Master only," Col replied, and hoped he would get one.

"Let him go, Col," Master said, "and come over here, please."

He obeyed instantly and moved to stand behind his Master's left shoulder, arms folded, glaring at the stranger. Hoping he knew that it would only take one wrong move for Col to knock his lights out.

He expected Master to tell the man to get the fuck out of his house; Colton was more than a little confused when the stranger instead threw one arm out for a hug, and Master leaned in happily.

"Hey Vik."

"Hey. Nice bodyguard you've got there."

"I'm sorry about that. Col," he turned to face his dog, "this is Vik. My brother."

His brother?

Oh, fuck.

All the blood drained from his face and he actually flinched back, his arms unfolding and instead resting hesitantly by his side. Now wasn’t the time for him to look dangerous.

He looked between the two men. Their physical similarities were suddenly glaringly obvious.

Col had fucked up. He'd fucked up and he didn't know how to make it better. He'd just tried to choke Master's brother for god’s sake, and Col was strong, sure, but he still howled when the belt was used on him, or when his owner had held his lighter to Col's arm, or when his back was slashed open and his owner kicked him between the shoulder blades. He was going to have to pay dearly for this.

"-hear me? Col? Hey, hello?"

Col blinked. His mind had wandered- a bad habit he never shook off despite hours of training. Master and his brother were stood together, eyeing him.

He pulled himself together enough to curl his hands against his heart and bow in submission.

"I'm so sorry for my mistake, Sir, it was unforgiveable, and I'm sorry," he said, forcing the words out mechanically. He didn't sound remorseful in the slightest, and he'd said he was sorry twice, it sounded stupid. His panic was starting to seep through. "I didn't know, b-but that's no excuse, and, and I'll take any punishment you see fit."

The sentence was familiar, and Col managed to dig deep for some composure. He'd be a big brave dog for this. Guard dogs didn't feel fear- they didn't feel anything. Col didn't feel anything. He straightened up, but kept his head bowed, and listened to his heart pounding in his ears. He waited to see if Vik was the type to show mercy.

Master spoke first. "No, it's okay. Just a misunderstanding, right? Vik has a key, so that's how he just appeared-"

"Hey, stop giving me evils."

"-and you were just doing what you thought was right, Col."

Col looked up slowly. Master seemed to be waiting for a response.

"What I did was unforgiveable," he tried, the panic smothering his thoughts. He had to get this right and he just didn't know how- except through pain. "I promise I'll take my punishment well, Sir, very well."

He saw Vik's eyes widen as he tried to catch Master's gaze, but it stayed fixed on Col.

"Well... you could apologise to Vik, I suppose, for- for-" Master's words were eaten up in an outburst of laughter. Col's fear took a sharp, and weird, left turn. What the fuck? "I’m sorry, I just can't believe you almost bollocked my older brother, that’s fucking hilarious!”

"Stop laughing!" Vik snapped, giving Master a mild shove that made Col bristle. "Or go do it while making me a cup of tea."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, haha, I'll leave you two alone for two seconds, I'm gonna-"

Master put a hand to his mouth to contain his laughter, and breezed past Col towards the kitchen, giving him a pat on the shoulder as he went. Master figured this was all a big joke, then.

Left alone with Vik. That would be Master's strategy, and Col figured it was more than fair. Vik had been the offended party.

He was about to lower himself to his knees, but Vik reached out a hand, stopping Col. He tensed just a fraction, no more than that: he wasn't allowed to mitigate pain.

"Fair play, mate, you were very quick. Good form, too. Got the jump on me like that." Vik snapped his fingers, making Col stiffen even more. "But we can be cool now, yeah? Now you know my face. You'll probably see me a lot, I come round all the time. So let's put this behind us and shake on it like two gents."

Col realised why Vik's hand was held out.

He thought about protesting for half a second- his old owner had always reminded him how dirty he was- but the last thing he wanted to do was look like he was buying time.

Vik would probably grab his hand and pull him down, try to throw him to the floor. Col didn't think he had the strength, so he prepared to fake it.

The handshake was the most human thing Col had ever done. Vik did pull, but towards him, and not in the rough way Col had expected. He'd forced himself to go so limp that he almost stumbled into him- he caught himself at the last moment and stood still, grazing Vik's shoulder.

"My brother's a really good man," he said, and Col was sure he knew the threat that would follow it up. So if you make one wrong move, I'll break you.

But instead, Vik's voice stayed low, and calm, with no hardness that Col could discern. There was even a smile on his face. "You're gonna be fine here."

. . .

"You're gonna be fine here," he said, doing his best to use his inside voice because he couldn't let Linden hear him being nice about him for once.

And also because the big guy still holding his hand seemed shit-scared already.

Vik had a damn good view being so near to him: Colton's face was absolutely littered with scars. That was meant to be a bad sign when it came to guard dogs- meant they were volatile or picked fights constantly. Vik wasn't so sure. He'd backed off the minute Linden intervened, and Linden had already told Vik that Colton was clearly terrified of him, even though he tried to hide it. Standing with him now, Vik reckoned he wasn't hiding it very well at all. He could feel Colton's heartbeat thrumming from his wrist like a drum.

He briefly imagined a scene in the far future, when Linden's gamble had worked out and this man was alright again, where the three of them were hanging out together, where they were all close friends. Vik would tease him for the time they first met, when Col had tried to chuck him straight back out onto the street. Linden would probably make some joke that he should’ve gone through with it. They’d all laugh – Col would be laughing hardest of all.   

Right now, Vik felt like laughing wasn't a physical possibility for Colton.

"Please punish me as you see fit, sir," Col replied, just as quietly.

"Ahh, well," Vik said brightly, giving Col a pat on the shoulder - making him flinch - and drawing back to a normal distance. His voice raised with it, giving his brother a hint that all was okay. "You weren't to know. No harm done."

Except for the back of my head which hurts like fuck, but whatever, I don't want this guy to start grovelling.

Col looked at him, his frown loosening a little bit. “Really, sir? You’d give me mercy?”

Ew. “Er, yeah, man. We’re cool.”

Linden’s voice came from the kitchen, accompanied by the sharp rings of a teaspoon being tapped against the rim of a mug, shaking off the final drops. “Tea’s ready!”

Col looked at Vik, waiting for something- instruction, probably. Vik gestured forward. “After you, mate.”

. . .

The rest of Vik’s visit passed without incident. The two brothers settled on the sofa so fluidly that Col got the impression they both sat in the exact same place every time. He felt overwhelmed with shame and apprehension as his mistake replayed in his mind. Running at Vik and pinning him to the wall, snapping at him, intending to hurt him. His Master must feel so embarrassed to have such a poorly-behaved pet.

Col knelt behind his owner and stared at nothing, keeping his back straight and his ears on the world outside. Occasionally the cat threatened to distract him with her purring and big eyes, but Colton didn’t allow himself to enjoy the sight of her. She wasn’t for his enjoyment, anyway.

“Come to mine next time, yeah?” Vik asked.

“Sure, it’s been a while. That’d be nice.”

“Alright, well I’ll head off. Nice to meet you, Col.”

Vik’s face appeared in Col’s peripheral vision, and Col looked over, giving him a nod and looking to his owner for permission to speak.

When his Master gave him an encouraging smile, Col said quietly, “Nice to meet you, sir. I’m sorry again.”

“It’s alright, Col,” Master said, reaching down and giving Col’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. Col flinched that time, too. The shame only twisted deeper in his guts. Master turned back to his brother. “I’ll wave you off.”

“You’re always keeping me out of trouble, aren’t you,” replied Vik with a wry smile.

. . .

Linden didn’t have to catch Vik before he walked out the door – they clearly both wanted to have a debrief. Their chat had been more than a little stifled with Colton kneeling right there, ramrod straight, his eyes wide and unfocused. Vik bent to put his shoes back on and stared up at Linden with a face that said what the fuck.

“Yeah,” Linden whispered. “Someone’s clearly done a number on him. Did he hurt you?”

“No, no,” Vik said, unconvincingly. “It was funny anyway. But he really is fierce when he wants to be.”

“At least I know he’s… loyal, now. Not that I took him in to be loyal. Or violent. Ah well.”

“I know, but I get it, it’s good to know he doesn’t want to use any of that strength against you. You’re safe as anything as long as he’s around.”

“Bless him. He’s so nervous all the time. He won’t even pet Jaffa.”

“You’ve got this, mate,” Vik said sincerely. “He’s still new. Maybe you’ve gotta be a bit more clear with things. Next time he looks at Jaffa, just tell him to go and pet her.”

“I’ll try. You should still come round whenever, I’ll tell him not to worry about you.” The thought of Vik almost having his ass handed to him made Linden’s lips curl up again. “Maybe buy a helmet for next time just in case.”

“Oh shut up, I could still batter him and you, you better not start thinking I’m soft. I’ll see you later. And buy him some weights or something, for god’s sake. He’ll go crazy otherwise.”

Linden laughed as Vik headed off. When he walked back into the lounge, Colton was still kneeling. Of course he was – Linden hadn’t ordered him to do anything else.

“Uh…I’m glad you’ve met my brother. Please don’t fret about earlier, Col. You’re genuinely not in trouble. Vik wasn’t mad in the slightest.”

Col didn’t move except to cast his eyes towards Linden’s face. It made him look creepy, like a mannequin. “Thank you, Sir. It won’t happen again. Thank you for this mercy.”

“It might be helpful to mark Vik as someone who’s completely trusted, you know. You don’t have to be afraid when he’s around. You don’t have to be… on high alert. He’s not going to do anything.”

. . .

Col nodded. If Vik made a move to attack, it would be for him, never his Master. Col wasn’t to fight back. “I understand, Sir. Thank you.”

-

taglist part 1:

@newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captain-seconds @grizzlie70  @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonwardsworld  @cupcakes-and-pain  @bumbumbea @whumpfigure  @yet-another-heathen  @secretwhumplair  @whumps-up  @as-a-matter-of-whump  @getyourwhumphere  @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow @the-monarch-whumperfly  @penny-for-your-whump  @briars7  @legallylibra @angel-stars  @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies  @badluck990  @rosesareviolentlyread  @vickytokio  @neuro-whump  @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight  @whumpsy-daisies  @control-whump  @theydy-cringeworthy  @starnight-whump @cursedandtired  @jo-doe-seeking-inspo  @justabitofwhump  @glamrockgregory  @rippedjeansandfadeddreams  @genesissane  @justbreakonme  @addyez @httyd-chocolate  @littlespacecastle  @haro-whumps  @extrabitterbrain @neverthelass  @downrivergirl914

[atarathegreat]

ZombieLand3 Tokyo Revengers

Haven't done one of these in a while :'(

ft: Rindo Haitani, Shinichiro Sano, Kakucho Hitto, Seishu Inui,

He has survived this long after losing you, not that he was proud. He'd told you in his vows that his heart would stop if he ever lost you. So why was he still breathing? Why was he still fighting? He sighed as he got ready to take his shift on guard for the small town you had both joined.

The dark sky was pretty, if only it hadn't been accompanied by the groans of the dead below. Rindo was tired of hearing the ugly sound every time he was out on watch, knowing that those hideous creatures had taken you from him. There was no other reason for you not returning from a scavenger hunt, you were too good at what you did. Rindo knew the only way you were going down was if you were cornered by too many of these fucking walkers.

"Shut up, one of us smells like ass and it isn't me." Rindo threw a rock at one of the heads below.

"I don't know man, you kind of stink." His partner laughed from the seat beside him. Two people on watch at all times, that was the rule. Maybe if two people had been with you...maybe you would have returned to him, and he wouldn't have to sit alone in that too small apartment. Rindo tossed a rock at the man and told him to shut up.

Everyone knew he was upset about his wife, despite him never having brought it up. Rindo kept his personal feelings to himself.

He sighed and threw another rock down, "These fucking things are pathetic. Moaning and groaning while they stalk around doing nothing all day."

A bang resounded from the tin just below the watcher's ledge, it was loud and drew some attention from the walkers for a split second. Rindo and the other man were on their feet instantly, looking down.

"The fuck...?" His partner squinted, "Am I seeing this right?"

Rindo slapped the guy in the back of the head, "Lower the ladder!"

Rusty hinges cracked to life as the guy rotated the metal wheel. "Go get whoever is supervising right now! Hurry!" Rindo shoved the dude away as people started climbing the ladder. If he thought Rindo stunk, he should've smelled these guys. Whoa. "What the hell are you all covered in?" Rindo had to hold his breath to keep from throwing up.

"Geez, Rinny, you sure know how to make a girl feel missed."

Surviving was easy enough for Shinichiro, who was quite the pro on blunt force trauma from slamming his head into any and everything in the garage. Slamming a heavy wrench into a human's skull wasn't the most satisfying thing he had done in his life, but it was necessary if he wanted to live. And he did.

So, he stood at the door to the little house the group was holed up in, just watching. The chain-link fence did a good job of keeping the yard walker free, but watch was just to make sure the damn things didn't climb over. Shinichiro glanced back into the torn-up house, Emma and Mikey asleep on the dirty couch with his grandpa trying to keep the squat fire contained.

"She's not gonna magically appear next to me, boy." Grandpa sighed, "Stop staring at me."

"Not looking for her." Shinichiro lied, "Making sure you don't kick the bucket over the fire."

Grandpa chuckled as Shinichiro looked away, "I'm old, but not that old, Shin."

Shinichiro rolled his eyes, not seeing the figure that was creeping over the fence, "You're old enough."

He could've shreiked as a cold hand covered his mouth, "How many times do I have to tell you to be nice to your grandpa?"

"This is so fucking lame. Why can't we be out there actually killing these things?"

Kakucho was really getting tired of this brat. Another sad child that was just angry at how the world had become. Not that Kakucho was happy with the way things had gone, but at least he wasn't this angsty teenager anymore. "Just get dressed. We have a job to do." Kakucho groaned as he tugged on the leather jacket.

"Well, hey, wait!" The kid ran to keep up with him, "Didn't you have a wife? My mom says-"

"I don't give a damn what your mom says." Kakucho grabbed the brat by his shirt, "Your dad got himself killed trying to save her when she was perfectly safe anyway. If my wife comes back and I'm dead because I acted stupid, she'll bring me back to life and kick my ass."

The kid stayed silent the rest of the walk to the assignment room. But Kakucho couldn't get the thought out of his head. Should he have gone out to find her?

No, she was smart and capable. She would be back one day and Kakucho would be able to whisper his vows to her as she fell asleep all over again. He felt bad for being so rude to the kid and wrapped an arm over his shoulders, "Your dad was a great guy, he just let his emotions control him and we have to be more careful than that."

"Yes, sir."

"Aw. My sweet Kaku always knows how to make people feel better."

Inui followed the rule you set for the both of you: Always travel. Always travel, always pack lightly, never keep a big group. And for the most part, he'd been able to do just that.

Until he lost you. Now he just traveled, if he came across a group and they traveled together for a while then so be it. But he didn't go out of his way to find a group.

He thought about it as he sat watch, gun in hand as he rested on the doorstep of the shop. Somehow, he had gotten turned around and ended up right back in your hometown. Part of him thought it wasn't an accident. Inui constantly, subconsciously, returned to you. Inui sighed and pulled out his wallet. He'd found that keeping coins and paper money did help in some situations when he needed to obtain things from machines.

Yet he wasn't reaching for his money. Inui only really cared about the polaroid in his wallet. The one of you and him on your wedding day, you looking absolutely stunning in your wedding dress and him making sure that you got your spotlight. It was your day, your perfect wedding, your photo. "I didn't even want that whole event..." He sighed, regretting that he hadn't wanted to make a spectacle at the time, but glad that he loved her enough to let her shine.

"And yet you stood at that altar looking wonderful. All for me."

I like leaving these open ended so that the reader can create their own. I love stories like that.

[hmshermitcraft]

Etho isn't fae. Like actually, no tricks or puzzles or anything, he's a human guy just trying to get through this semester. Unfortunately his college is by The Woods and fae hunters and paranormal experts keep trying to Track Him Down or something. He can't get any peace!!

So no, he's not fae, what he is, is autistic and homeless. So all the strange social rules that fae follow and adhere to and the "lurking in the woods past any time people should be out" are explained with supernatural bullshit and not explained with the failure of the economic system and disability. He's got some weird texture stuff too, wind on his skin feels like knives and pins and needles so he wears a mask and covers up even when it's hot just to avoid the hell that is Air Movement.

He's currently squatting in an old abandoned bomb shelter from the ww2 days in the woods behind campus, he showers at the gym and eats for free with his meal voucher, it's honestly not too terrible. Yes the temperature control is shit but he'd rather be here than in a shelter somewhere, another failure of society he thinks.

Anyway, one day he's followed "home". The man's got a camera and is hell bent on "exposing the fae of the woods" or whatever. Etho didn't realize he was being followed, the man was sneaky and Etho had been on the edge of completely melting down for about 6 hours so he didn't think to check his back.

Bdubs kicks down the door to the shelter, not finding something unknown to the human eye and instead finding Etho, sat on the ratty couch that came with the place, shoveling plain crackers down his gullet by the light of a battery powered camping lamp.

Bdubs screams, Etho screams, Bdubs tries to run and instead smacks face first into the concrete doorframe, Etho laughs at him, they make introductions over a bloody nose and stale crackers, bdubs puts the camera away.

"what do you know about the fae of the woods?" Bdubs asks after a minute

"I am the fae of the woods, people are more comfortable with the thought of a supernatural being than the crisis of homelessness"

"dude."

Bdubs starts visiting after that, they explore the deeper areas of the bunker with a flashlight more powerful than Etho's lamp, he's stayed in the main room this whole time so the inner areas of his house are unknown to both of them. Bdubs can't solve Etho's problems but he can keep him company and bring him apple juice and a new pillow.

Bdubs clears his name at school too, saying that the "fae" was just a hungry raccoon or something. Without the rumors floating around school gets better and he and Bdubs get closer over the summer.

Junior year Bdubs gets a double with someone who dropped out the first week, it's already paid for and nobody else is gonna use it so Etho moves in. Bdubs gets him a bedspread and toiletries and even a stuffed bear full of beans, the weight is nice after a long day. With a stable housing situation Etho is able to get a job on campus, they go shopping together and Bdubs calls it a date more than once. Etho, now equipped with comfortable clothes, climate control and lots of feelings about his friend, asks Bdubs if he wants to go to Panera bread with him, as a date. You know, like boyfriends would.

They push their beds together a few months later and by graduation they move into a little apartment. Being the Fae of the Woods was horrible but it did end up getting Etho his husband, so. Upsides, y'know?

-s (who is so sick and tired of being Othered and seen and something to be avoided cause of disability. i'm projecting, can u tell?)

Bdubs likes to joke that he did expose the Fae of the woods... Just as a big softie that blushes every time Bdubs holds his hands! Etho whacks him, before hiding his face in Bdubs' shoulder like that'll save him.

There was a point that Etho didn't think he'd have his own space to decorate - nevermind somebody to share it with. Now, he can make it perfect. Acoustic cork panels on the walls, a weighted blanket at the bottom of the bed. Temperature that he's able to control! And surrounded by all of Bdubs' plants, and Bdubs himself. He doesn't think he could ask for anything more.

[it-was-funeral-grey]

Celestia-sent (Al Haitham x F!Reader)

Prequel Part 1 Part 2

Summary: There's a weird guy lying outside your house.

Warnings: Vulgarities, food (stew) , mentions of injuries , crying, reader mistakes al haitham as a old guy lmao, reader lives in vimara village, spoliers for al haitham's lore,

Word count: <1.7k words

Inspired by: -

Author's note: it was kinda therapeutic to write al haitham's part- the first half. not sure why. it just felt so easy. i miss my grandma. i should visit her once i feel better.

Please give criticism! Also, if i missed any warnings, do tell me so i can add them!

He's just lying there, faced down. His grey hair sticks out painfully against the brown dirt path, and you fight the urge to squat down to take a closer look. It's a shade of grey you have never seen before. It kinda looks like the moon.

Another old drunkard, you think. There's been many of them recently in Vimara village. Ever since the scandal in the Akademiya three months ago, Port Ormos had crashed. The whole port is a mess- what once was Sumeru's most efficient had become disorganised and stagnant overnight. Now, it's akin to a ghost town- especially after the mass layoff of port employees.

Trading has halted completely, the Wikala Funduq citing 'awaiting instructions from Akademiya higher ups'. But so far, no one from the Akademiya has come down to remedy the situation and help revitalise Port Ormos.

As a result, private traders can't do business, and trading companies can't do business, so no one is making money anymore. Traders from Inazuma and Snezhnaya had stopped docking in Sumeru. In a couple more months, Port Ormos would lose its position as the central trading hub of Teyvat. Sumeru will lose a terrifying portion of its national income. It will only get worse from there.

Vimara village was outraged at the mass layoff. Most port employees lived there, after all. In an instant, families lost all sources of income. The village community had tried to help each other, sharing food and whatever they could with each other. But this was only a temporary solution. The stress of unemployment is beginning to weigh heavy on many, which is why many have taken to drinking recently.

Which is why you aren't surprised that a guy's passed out on the ground. What was surprising is that you had never seen this dude before.

He's wearing expensive clothes, you note. He's definitely not from the village. Clad in green, he'd almost look like a plant if not for his grey hair. There's a cape hanging off his back, and on a shoulder is what you think is a vision.

Damn, you wonder. What kind of guy is this?

Curiosity gets the better of you. Squatting down next to the old guy's side, you lay your groceries down. Strangely, you don't smell any alcohol on him. So, not a drunkard?

"Hey, uh… sir?" you shake his shoulder, brushing your fingers over his vision. It's cool to the touch, the green orb emitting a gentle glow amidst the fading daylight. "Wakey wakey, mister?"

The man doesn't wake. You sigh. What are you going to do? It's almost nighttime. You can't just leave him here. I mean, you could, but still…

There's a pleasant aroma in the air, accompanied by the sound of sizzling oil. Onions, Harra spice… stir-fried with snapdragon leaves?

It reminds Al Haitham of his grandmother's cooking. Maybe she's making dinner now. He's pretty hungry.

Huh. Now that he thinks of it, it has been a long time since he's had dinner with her. When was the last time he even spoke to her? Or visited her?

He has so much to tell her.

He has to tell her about his job as a Scribe. Well, for now, he's the ACTING Grand Sage. Not for long, though. He'll make sure of that.

He's got to tell her about the stunt he pulled to save Lesser Lord Kusanali. She'd enjoy that tale. Probably scold him for being so reckless as well, though.

Yeah, he'll do that. Maybe he'll ask for a second serving of rice too. He's really, really hungry.

Then, he'll ask for advice on how to handle the whole shitshow that he has been assigned to run. She'll know what to do. She always does. She'll teach him how to manage the infinite number of impossible tasks thrown his way.

She'll comfort him. She'll tell him that in no time, he'll be back to his usual job: stress-free and not responsible for saving the nation from a crisis that may result in future generations growing up in poverty and political instability.

She'll hear him out as he rants about the mess Azar and those fuckers ("Language, Al Haitham!") had left him. And how everyone was so reliant on the Akasha terminals and the sages' leadership that when all that disappeared, they were clueless. They can't function anymore. Systems fall apart. People stop working. And because of that, he has to do everything on his own, and he's so tired and-

The sizzling sound has stopped. Is it dinner time already?

But he doesn't want to get up. Not now. Just ten more minutes, please?

There's a faint scraping sound. A spatula against a wok. If he tries hard enough, he can hear a plopping sound. So, it's a stew. He hopes it's Sabz Meat stew. That's his favourite.

How long has it been since he had a homemade meal?

Footsteps. Ok, no ten minutes, then. He'll get up.

Wincing, he sits up. His whole body aches. His knees feel sore. That's weird. He hadn't fallen or hit anything, but he feels bruises forming all over his arms and legs.

Trying to adjust to the bright light, Al Haitham slowly opens his eyes. He's in a small living room. Huh, he doesn't remember his grandmother moving. She never had this couch he was resting on either. Or the wooden coffee table in front. Or that many Liyue magazines.

"Ah, you're awake!"

That's not his grandmother's voice. Wait, what did her voice sound like again?

Al Haitham whips his head towards the voice so fast he pulls a neck muscle. Groaning, he reaches for his neck, massaging it before attempting to turn around, slowly this time.

"Hey, relax!"

There's a soft click from behind, and then frantic footsteps. Someone runs around the couch.

It's a woman. Not his grandmother.

Oh.

Oh yeah. Of course, it isn't her.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Hah, what was he doing, dreaming? Someone like him? Dreaming?

"Uh…sir?"

Of course, it isn't her. The dead can't come back to life. He's alone now. He has been for the past decade.

"…sir?"

He'll always be alone. Now, and for the foreseeable future. If he can even ensure that Sumeru still has one.

There's a hot sensation on his face, snapping him out of his thoughts. It's the woman again. This time with a bowl in her hand, holding it right in front of him.

He'd recognise that aroma anywhere. It's Sabz Meat stew.

"Um, I'm not sure what's going on," she says, placing the bowl into his hands. "But why don't you eat first?"

She pulls the coffee table closer towards him and walks back behind the couch to retrieve cutlery from the kitchen and a plate of rice. Laying them on the coffee table, she then sits on the floor, watching him.

"I didn't add lemons, but I can get you some if you want?" she asks when he doesn't move.

A minute passes. Al Haitham can't move. He can't, and he honestly doesn't want to.

What's the point of moving? Everything moves too fast. He'll never catch up. There's too much. There will always be proposals he can't clear in time. A question he can't answers right now. A policy he needs time to understand. Time that he doesn't have. Time that Sumeru can't afford to lose. He'll always be behind. And because of that, Sumeru will fall behind. Because of him.

It's almost funny. Before all this, he had never worried about being behind. He barely worried about anything.

"Come on," she prompts, taking a spoonful of rice and handing it to him when he still doesn't move. "Eat. You'll feel better after you eat."

Al Haitham doesn't have the energy to resist or deny her. Taking the spoon, he dips it into the bowl, letting the rice soak up some of the stew before lifting it to his mouth.

And suddenly, he's 19 again. He's in the dining room, having dinner with his grandmother again. She's lecturing him about spending too much time alone at home. Again.

"You may not understand now, Al Haitham. But there are people out there- good people. People willing to listen, be patient with you, and shoulder burdens with you. Comfort you."

Al Haitham reaches over to scoop another spoonful of rice. His eyes feel funny. So does his nose.

"You are never alone, child. I just want you to know that. "

Am I really?

Then just send one person, please. I'm waiting.

I've been waiting for a long time now.

"And one day, you may find someone that you can bare your soul to-you do have a soul, child. Everyone has one- no, yours isn't as dark as that 'black coffee'."

His vision is blurry now. With hydro. How strange. He chomps down another spoonful of stew. It's delicious. He hasn't had comfort food like this in a long, long time.

Just one sign. Please. I can't do this anymore.

"But until then, grandma is here to stick by you, hm? Until you stop being stubborn and go make friends!" 

The woman shifts in her seat on the floor. In his peripheral, he sees her reach over to a box, pulling out tissues.

She moves closer to him, a little bit hesitantly. But when she realises that he isn't moving away, she gently dabs his eyes with the tissue.

"There, there?" she comforts awkwardly. She then reaches over to pat his back. "It's gonna be ok. Just let it out."

And that's all it takes. It's so weird. Hydro Tears begin to flow freely. He chokes back a sniffle.

She doesn't stop patting his back. The weight of her palm is comforting- almost grounding.

He cries. In the presence of an absolute stranger, he cries ten years worth of tears in a night.

Later on, as he drifts off back into the realm of sleep to the rhythmic pats on his back, Al Haitham wonders if this is what his grandmother meant.

Maybe there really are people that are willing to stand by someone like him.

Join the Taglist!

[sheep33hallow]

Mix and Match (GhostSoap ABO)

AO3

According to military rules, once you join, any spouse you have has to go to another military officer if you're K.I.A. Any knowledge they have has to stay in the branch you joined.

__________

“Bend over Johnny.” 

Soap does as told. His pregnant belly is in the way, but he leans down over the bathroom counter while Ghost stands behind him, and pulls his pants down. 

Ghost squats behind him, his thumb rubbing over his unopened pussy. The spot is still sensitive, since it won't be cracked until he gives birth. 

Soap's moans are muffled by the marble counter. 

“Can't believe my brother couldn't break this open.” His gloved finger caresses the thick pubic hairs over the outer labia.

“We never tried.” Soap defends. 

Ghost tsk, then pulls Soap's pants back up while he stands. “And if I try, you might go into early labor.” He pats Soaps bum. “I'll put my scent into you another way.” 

Then walks out of the bathroom without a look back at Soap.

____

It's been three months since Tommy, Soap's mate, had been K.I.A, and two since he'd meet Ghost. 

He's heard stories about Ghost. Any one who's been in the military has. He's a big mother fucker who walks on air. He's a hard ass to his recruits, but knows how to make the perfect soldier. 

And he's his brother in law. 

According to military rules, once you join, any spouse you have has to go to another military officer if you're K.I.A. Any knowledge they have has to stay in the branch you joined. It didn't matter that Soap himself was a decorated demolition expert, he was an Omega first, and a pregnant one at that.

He never met Ghost at any of the family functions, but they did receive a gift at their wedding from the guy. 

At the base he was at with Tommy, it had a more family friend atmosphere to it. He had a crew of other parent Omegas and Betas he was getting to know, so he wouldn't be alone for the long deployments Tommy would still go through. Now, he was on a base, called The 141, and the conditions were harsher, more feral in nature. 

Ghost always wore a mask. 

He met Price, the Head Alpha of the pack, warmly welcomed Soap to their base, and instantly started talking to him about his expertises. 

Then he met Gaz, Price’s Omega, and he had a toddler, strapped to his back, sleeping, while they walked outside, and he showed Soap the exercise grounds, and one of the spots had a mud pit. 

Children of different ages were running around naked in it wrestling each other. Then one called out Mom, before running over to Gaz and hugging the heck out of him while caked in dirt. 

Soap was surprised, but a deep part of him felt relief, and he couldn't explain why. 

Ghost didn't talk to him much. He had a room ready for Soap before he showed up, along with another room. 

“Once we heard about you, they upgraded me to this house. Decorate it how you want.” Ghost told him on the first day. 

Since then he's ordered new things to the house. Everything in his old home, minus a few things he had before mating Tommy, was gone. It had Tommy's smell in it, and he can't take a new mating bite while smelling like the old guy. 

Ghost had found an alternative route to getting his smell inside Soap, and he was drinking it from his Stanley cup while standing next to Ghost while he yelled at the recruits. He had woken up alone, which is normal for him so far, but today he needed more and stole a sweater from Ghost’s hamper before grabbing his protein shake and walking out the home to find Ghost. 

His new mate wasn't hard to find when he allowed himself to be. 

Taking a sip. “Aye, Ghost?” He was drowning in Ghost’s sweater, he had to roll the sleeves up to his elbows, and he tucked the front part into his pants. 

“Yes, Johnny?” There was a moment for conversation while the soldiers ran their laps. 

They were standing under a shaded tent, a bench behind them, and a random man, Soap thinks his name was Roach, was cleaning a gun at a table. 

“Wit ye put in this drank? Taste different.” 

Ghost looks at Soap, Soap assumes he's raising his eyebrow, but he can't be sure with that balaclava on. “Didn't change shit about it Johnny.” 

Soap wants to whine at him. Call him a liar. “Aye want another one.” Soap mumbles with the straw between his lips. 

Ghost huffs a laugh, looking Johnny up and down, then looks back at his recruits. “Wait until I get home.” 

Soap feels furious, then gestures for the other man with them. “Cannae the laddie watch over them.” 

The antenna on the man’s helmet bounced for a moment. 

“No, he can't.” Ghost admits, reluctantly. “Also, those drinks take time to make, so you'd be waiting anyway.” 

Before Soap can have the meltdown, Ghost can sense is coming, he grabs the front of Soap's shirt, and yanks him to stand in front of Ghost. Ghost rests a hand on Soap's stomach, and rubs it. 

Soap's body instantly relaxed, leaning back into Ghost’s body. “If I told you to blow up that building over there, killing all those recruits. How would you do it?” Ghost asks. 

Soap purrs as if Ghost asked him for his hand on marriage, and goes off on explaining in detail how he'd do it. 

Off to the side, Roach is taking pictures on his flip phone. 

_______

The infant is swaddled with military precision, while Soap is laid out, six weeks post, with Ghost between his legs on their bed. 

The stupid mask is still on, but Soap is too incoherent to care. His pussy is open, and Ghost is examining it. His gloves are on, sticking his fingers inside of Soap's hole. The leather eases the glide as he fingers him in and out. 

Soap is beyond the word sensitive. He's already squirted three times in the thirty minutes Ghost has been touching him. Ghost is in a short sleeve top, white no less, and evidence of Soaps fluids are sprinkled all over it. He's in his boxers, so there's skin to skin where their thighs meet with Johnny's legs over his hips. 

Johnny's in the nude, freshly showered before Ghost caught him. He was looking down at his son, sleeping in the bassinet before Ghost silently curled an arm around him, and down onto his back. 

“This here mine, Johnny?” Ghost asks. 

“Nae without a knot, sir.” Soap cheeky replies. 

Ghost nods. “You're right, soldier.” He pulls his fingers out. Wiping the excess on Soap's pubes. “You could get pregnant again after this.” Ghost sticks a hand into his boxer, before pulling his fat uncircumcised cock out. 

Soap shivers at the heat his pussy feels when Ghost's cock presses against it. “Sure can.” Soaps answers. 

“I think you belong on the field, soldier.” Ghost rubs Soap's inner thigh with his free hand. 

“Ah do, sir.” Soap throws his head back, when Ghost pokes the head of his cock, just at the opening. 

“Johnny, Johnny. You've met me less than a year ago, and I've just been making all of these decisions for you.” He pushes in. “I wonder if you listened this well to my brother.” 

“Naw!” Soap squeals, he grips the bed sheets. He silently screams when Ghost fucks into him. Not too kindly caring for how new his pussy is. 

“So you're not always this easy?” The slap, slap of their skin is music to both of their ears. Ghost can't deny how he's been waiting to get inside Soap. The little demolition expert has been a figure in his dreams for too damn long since even before he acquired him from his brother. 

“Naw, sir. Just ye. Special like that.” Johnny admits. 

Ghost pushes half of his mask up, Johnny looks up at him with dazed eyes. “Yer teeth…” 

Ghost pulls out, and turns Soap onto his stomach. “Along with my knot, all six of your scent marks will be bit tonight. I won't be foolish like my brother, and allow another you to get pregnant by another if I die.”

One of his fangs slices into the back of Johnny's neck. “Deep in your bones is where you'll feel me.” 

AO3

[sicklyseraphnsuch]

If you are do fic requests, can you do one with Simon meeting Ice king(ours, not WK)?

Ice King doesn't know how long he's been sitting on the floor, crying his eyes out as one does when sitting on the floor. Honestly, if you're on the floor, and you're not crying your eyes out, then you're not maximizing use of the floor. But so yeah, he's sitting there, and it must've been awhile because Gunter wandered off already, and he's all alone in the room.

Or he should have been. But he hears footsteps. It's not the slappity slap slap of Gunther, which means... Oh! Does he have a guest? Someone came to visit old Ice King? Could it be his princess has come home at last?

He lifts his head, a grin crossing his face. But it's not the lovely visage of Princess Bubblegum or Wildberry Princess or Turtle Princess or any princess. It's not even Finn who was like his third guess... okay fine, fourth! ... Fifth actually... Whatever. It's not him. It's not a princess. It's just some nerd, with his glasses and his tweed suit and his single streak of grey hair.

"What? Did you get lost looking for the geek convention?" Ice King sneers. "Can't you see I'm busy wallowing in despair? Scram! This place is for princesses only!"

The nerd looks at him for a very long time. It's preeeetty weird. And rude! Really, does this guy have no manners? Who barges into people's places and just does whatever he wants, huh? Freaks. Weirdos. Absolute lunatics.

Frowning harder, Ice King readies a freeze spell. He's just about to launch it when the nerd finally makes his move.

"Sorry, Ice King, I didn't mean to disturb your... I didn't mean to interrupt you," the nerd says, squatting down. "I'm not... exactly lost... But I'm stuck here for now, and I hope you don't mind company."

Ice King blinks. Like this, this nerdy guy is at eye level with him. Ice King doesn't have to keep looking up, like a bug waiting to get squashed. He tries to remember if anyone has ever met him where he's at before. It's kinda nice.

"Wait, you wanna stay with me?" Ice King stops. Wait. Jay T Dogzone says that looking needy drives chicks away. That could also apply to random nerds that pop into his house. So Ice King coughs into his fist, looking away. "I mean, I'm like the most popular guy around. I gotta check my schedule to make sure I'm free."

Ice King gets to his feet, pretending to search his sleeves for a notebook. He pulls out a stale sandwhich, with hints of mold around the edges. Eh. Close enough. He flips the sandwhich open, running a finger down a crusty slice of cheese like it's got a list of names.

Out the corner of his eyes, Ice King watches the nerdy guy stand back up. "Okay, you do that. I can make us some lunch. How does chicken soup sound to you?"

Ice King drops his sandwhich as he turns around to face the nerdy guy. "You can make chicken soup??"

The nerdy guy smiles, and okay. Maybe Ice King was a little too judgy. For a nerd, he has a pretty nice smile - it's a nicer expression than he's used to seeing, that's for sure.

"It's my favorite soup. It's a cure all for whenever I need to feel better."

Yeah. That makes sense to Ice King. But... "I don't know... I'm on this diet... I can't go ruining my hot summer bod."

The nerdy guy sighs the way Marcy sometimes sighs whenever she talks to him. But he doesn't look ready to shout or yell at him. No, nerdy guy keeps that soft look on his face. Actually, the look gets a little softer. Man, if Ice King had a look like that, he'd be mobbed by princesses.

"I can put in a lot of veggies. You can stick to your diet. Don't you worry about a thing."

Wow. That's just so nice. Ice King squints at him. There must be catch. "Waaait, I know your game, mister nerdy guy."

To his credit, the nerdy guy has the poker face of a mountain. "I am almost certain that you don't."

But it's too late. Ice King connected the dots. "The suit. The charming smile. The affable conversation. You're a door to door salesman!"

The nerdy guy snorts.

"You can't fool me! I see through your salesman schemes! Well, I'm not buying whatever you're hawking! Go bother someone else!"

The nerdy guy continues to stay put. "Okay, you got me. I'm a door to door salesman."

Ice King gasps. "I knew it!!!"

"You're very clever, Ice King. But you don't have to buy anything from me. Just listen to my sales pitch over a nice bowl of chicken soup. That doesn't sound too bad, right?"

Ice King wrinkles his nose. "You can try. But I have the mind of a fox! You won't get a dime from me!"

Then he shoves past the nerdy guy towards the kitchen. That guy must be really behind his quota because he follows Ice King despite his ruined sales schemes. And to his credit, the guy does make him chicken soup. Ice King didn't even realize that he had all the ingredients. But he does vaguely remembers Marceline stopping by some time ago, and dropping off a bunch of paper bags.

The nerdy guy may be terrible at his job, but he cooks a decent soup. And Ice King patiently waits for his sales pitch but the guy starts talking about random stories - good stories too.

"You're pretty funny for a nerd," Ice King announces. "I like the story where you swallowed a bug on accident! That one's my favorite."

"I figured you would," the nerdy guy replies as he collects their empty bowls.

"Are you leaving? Already?" The Ice King sits up. He was feeling all warm and cozy from all that chicken soup (with lots of veggies as promised). But now, panic seizes him like he hoped a woman would one day - hard and sharp and taking his breath away. "You can't! You haven't sold me anything!"

The nerdy guy shakes his head. "No, no, no. I'm just cleaning up."

"Oh..." Ice King slumps. After that shot of adrenaline, he now feels all sorts of tired.

The nerdy guy comes closer, to loop an arm around Ice King's shoulders. "Hey, if you need to take a nap or something, I won't mind."

Oh, a nice touch. Yes, this is nice. It's kinda like a hug, even if this nerdy guy is taking him somewhere. Is he about get kidnapped? Or locked in the closet? Held for ransom? Well, joke's on him! No one would pay out for Ice King.

He likes the kind-of hug though. He giggles softly to himself. His spine is all tingly and the nerdy guy is just so warm. So he lets himself be taken to wherever this nerd wants - which is apparently the bedroom. Oh. OH!

As if reading his mind, the nerdy guy rolls his eyes. "No, you need rest. When was the last time you slept through the night?"

"Oh, so you're into that, huh?" Ice King waggles his eyebrows. "Hey no shame here! You like what you like! Here, I can set the stage for you!"

Ice King flaps himself over the bed, settling in. He catches the nerdy guy pinch his brow before he firmly closes his eyes.

"How in the world did I survive this long acting like this?" He hears the guy mutter to himself.

Ice King doesn't know what he means but he's patient. He's sure everything will work out. Except then he hears footsteps going out the room. His eyes snap open.

"Hey, wait a minute! I thought we were gonna do some fun stuff! Where you going?" Realization strikes him like a bolt of lightning. He flies out of the bed and tackles the nerdy guy.

They both go crashing to the floor. The nerdy guy shouts as he barely avoids hitting his head.

"You're gonna rob me, aren't you? This was just an elaborate scheme to take all my worldly possessions and also my Guntie!"

"Ice King, get off!"

Ice King grabs hold of the guy's collar, shaking him. "You can't have him! You can do anything you want to me-"

"And I'm sure you's like that-"

"But not to my Guntie!"

"Ice King!" The nerdy guy manages to pry Ice King's hands off him, using his leg as leverage push him away. "How are you so strong when you've got the muscles of an anorexic teenager? Geez!"

"Hey!" Now that's just uncalled for. Ice King pulls himself away to flex his arms. "I'll have you know that I have a rock solid bod. Check out these guns!"

The nerdy guy groans. With Ice King no longer pinning him down, he sits up and cradles his face in his hands. "Honestly, what am I doing? There's no reaching him. It's impossible!"

Tch. Okay. Weirdo. What nonsense is he talking about now? Ice King turns away as clearly, no one is appreciating a masterpiece when they see one. Actually, isn't it about time for another workout? When wast the last time he lifted weights? Two hours ago? Two weeks? He better get on it.

He gets to his home gym and starts searching for his dumbbells. It's like those things grow feet whenever he's not looking. As he searches through his scattered stuff, he sees the nerdy guy walk into the room.

"Oh, you're still here? Man, you got nowhere to go or what? Are you homeless, is that it?"

The nerdy guy is staring at him again, not answering. Ice King wrinkles his nose. Seriously, what is this guy's damage? Hmph. He goes back to rooting through his piles of weights, tangled jump ropes, and other assorted exercise tools. Wait. What was he looking for again?

"Are you happy, Ice King?"

"No," he replies because that's an easy question - easier than figuring out what the hay he was looking for, at least. "Sometimes, I get very sad, and I don't know why."

Then Ice King looks at the nerdy guy and now he gets to staring at him. He's not young - man, check out those wrinkles, and that suit has seen better days. Did he get into a wrestling match wearing that? And he just looks wiped out - look at those arms and legs - skinnier than a chicken bone. Ah. That's it.

"You're homeless, ain't you? You got fired from your job and now you're depressed. I see how it is." Ice King nods. "You came to the right place! I know a thing or two about picking yourself up after a good cry. Just stick with me and you learn something!"

The nerdy guy blinks. "That's almost nice of you."

"I mean, you just look so pathetic. It's kinda hard not to offer."

The nerdy guy snorts. "Thanks, Ice King."

"I know just the thing to help!" He flies out of the room, towards his den.

He finally got the TV working again after Gunther broke the screen. The picture isn't the best, a little less saturated, but that's fine. He doesn't need high definition TV to watch his soaps.

Like before, the nerdy guy has no trouble finding him as he searches through his tapes. He's got quite the collection. He doesn't know how got so much but he sure has a lot. He gestures at the nerdy guy to sit on the couch - it's a couch made of ice but it's good for some binge watching.

Ice King scoops up a bunch of tapes and pops one in the VHS player before settling nice and cozy next to the nerdy guy. It's pretty sweet to have someone warm to cuddle with. Sometimes, Marceline stops by and sits with him for a little while, but she's not very warm at all. That makes his chest hurt for some reason. He thinks Marceline should have all the warmth in the world. Heck, he should introduce this guy to her. They could become good friends and he can stop squatting at his place.

... Maybe later...

Right now, this guy is just letting him snuggle and Ice King will take what he can get. Again, it's like the nerdy guy reads his mind because he shifts a bit so Ice King can fully lean on him. Wow. This is great. This is what - first tier? But that's okay. Every tier is special and good.

Sometime between episodes of Full House, the Golden Girls, and finally Cheers, Ice King nods off. When he wakes up, he's alone on the couch with a blanket tucked around him. The TV is still on but now there's a brick through the screen. Ice King gasps as he sees a shameless Gunther standing next to the scene of his crime. He immediately sits up but before he can say the first word of his lecture, he shivers a little.

That's a little weird. He doesn't get cold. But... He gets the distinct sense that for good couple hours - maybe even half a day - he was warm.

"Wenk."

Ice King shakes his head, lifting himself all the way off his couch. "Gunther! What have I told you about the TV? Stop messing with my stuff!"

"Wenk."

"Enough of your sass! Hey, don't you walk away from me!"

-----

Several decades into the future, Simon sits by a window overlooking the Candy Kingdom. Marceline hovers behind him, one hand reaching out but never quite touching.

"Are you sure you're okay? I've told Bonnie to be more careful with her experiments!"

Simon shrugs. "Oh, don't worry about it, Marcy. I'm okay. It was just a little time displacement."

Marcy only frowns harder. "And where did you go anyways?"

Simon grabs hold of her hanging hand, squeezing her fingers gently. "I got to meet the Ice King, face to face, in all his glory."

Marcy makes a full body wince. "Oh, that's rough. Do we need to schedule an extra session with Minerva?"

Simon chuckles, shaking his head. "No, in fact, I'm feeling a bit better. Ice King was a troublesome guy, but he... He was just a guy. He could be nice in all the ways he could be mean."

Marcy breathes out slowly, squeezing Simon's hand back. "And... And you didn't..."

Simon shakes his head slowly. "No... I thought about it. The whole time I was there. I could yell and scream at him, just really let him have it. But I think... I think I've been angry at him for long enough."

Marcy has no reply to this, simply drags him close for a hug. Simon falls into her embrace, something tender and sweet and just a little hurt settling between his lungs. It's the ache of a sore limb after a long workout, muscle fibers stretching and snapping into something stronger.

[zmediaoutlet]

murder in the city

for @wincestwednesdays - blood

They've started dimming the bunker lights at night. More like a real place, that way, a motel or a house to squat in. The concrete floors are cold on Sam's bare feet. Still doesn't totally know his way around, but that's all right. There are plenty of long nights ahead to figure out the layout. Or maybe not that many. He's been trying not to think about it, but. Lot of long nights.

The infirmary, the gun range, the library. The kitchen, and the coffeepot, and the newspaper left on the island with a couple of obits circled in thick sharpie, and it's probably meant to be a distraction for him but it's probably a real job, too. Sam leans over to check it out but his eyes blur and he sinks to his elbows, and then puts his forehead down to his clenched fists. His mouth tastes like pennies. All the time now, practically. In his throat the urge to cough rises and he breathes very carefully through his nose because he just—doesn't want to. He doesn't want to have to.

A box of black Lipton appeared on the shelves, when he kept coughing and hasn't stopped. He heats water in the old-school steel kettle, leaning against the stovetop, his fingers shoved in to the soft part of his throat next to his windpipe. Like if he strangles himself maybe that horrible tickling urge won't creep in. He keeps his eyes closed and feels his pulse thump against his fingertips, slow and steady. Imagines a day sometime soon when that'll change. Either staggering and erratic or all-too-fast—like years ago, in those worse days, when there was no unexplained tea as a clumsy attempt at care, when the iron-taste riming his teeth was all his own fault.

If all this goes the way he expects, it'll be yet another broken promise. His ears ring. It takes a second to swim past that to realize that, no, it's the kettle, whistling. God, he's tired.

"You gonna make your tea or do I gotta do it for you, Miss Marple?"

He jerks, turns. "I—sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up."

"Unless you made me have to pee I think you're innocent, this time," Dean says, but not really smiling. He's wearing the robe he claimed, hands deep in the pockets. Squinting at Sam across the kitchen like there's something to see.

Sam turns and busies himself with the kettle. Splashing over the tea bag, pouring too fast so that it judders out of the spout, spattering the back of his hand. He hisses, and for the hissing he's punished with not being able to keep the cough down, and it stings, god—stings so bad, not that deep down-in-the-lungs coughing that feels like it's actually doing something, like the one time he got the flu and thought he'd turn inside out, but just—scratching, shredding, making his eyes water and his mouth fill with—

"Jeez, you're a safety hazard," Dean says, and he's right there, at Sam's side, taking the kettle away, a clatter of the steel somewhere, and then his hand heavy between Sam's shoulderblades. Warm, patient, while Sam hacks and shudders and tries to remember how to take breaths that feel clean. "Yeah, okay. Get it out."

There's no getting it out. Sam inhales very cautiously through his nose and doesn't say it, because that would be cruel, and it's too late or maybe early to get into that kind of fight. Especially when Dean's warm against him, and soft in that robe. His arm slides down around Sam's back, and Sam doesn't need help walking but he lets Dean take him over to the sink, and he leans down with his elbows on the porcelain rim and washes his mouth clean, spitting. With the lights low he hopes Dean can't see the color.

He sits with his back to the table and watches Dean move around the kitchen. His space, like the library's Sam's. Dean wipes up the spilled water and puts the kettle back in its place and glances at Sam, and then goes to the pantry shelf where he's got a bottle of bourbon stashed and pours a healthy glug into Sam's mug. "Seriously?" Sam says, and Dean shrugs and then pours another mug full of bourbon for himself, and brings both of them over to the table. He holds Sam's out to him handle-first and says, "It's medicine," and Sam smiles at him, too tired to do otherwise. Dean clunks his mug against Sam's, very carefully, and Sam winds the trailing string of the teabag over his knuckles and takes a sip, cautious. Hot, both temperature and alcohol, but sweet too. Might not really help but it feels good, and that's something, at least.

Dean waits for him to swallow, and then drinks his own mug down in a single shot. Grimaces into it, when it's empty. He looks as tired as Sam feels. Maybe more. Sam sits forward and sets his hand on Dean's hip, sorry in this—thin, entirely inadequate way. Knowing he'd make the same choice all the same. Dean licks his lips and sets his mug on the table by Sam's shoulder and then steps between Sam's knees, and Sam puts his forehead to Dean's sternum and holds Dean around the waist. Warm dark. His mouth tastes like bourbon now, at least.

Fingers through Sam's hair, carding it off the back of his neck. "You slept through the night once, this week?"

He takes a deep, careful breath. Raw over his raw throat. He's not supposed to lie, anymore. He promised. Dean's always asking Sam to make promises he'll be forced to break. "Once, I think," he says.

Dean sighs but doesn't call him out. Maybe he doesn't want to fight, either. Ever since they moved in here it's been—good. Better. Dean happy to have a home and Sam just—well, it doesn't matter. He leaves his forehead against Dean's chest and feels his breath rise and fall, his fingers tucked just barely inside the elastic of his boxers, holding on. Dean has a place, here, the safest place either of them has ever seen, and all this knowledge at his fingertips, and if Sam manages not to screw up these trials then it'll be—worth it. The world safer and Dean… he'll be okay, Sam thinks. In this bunker their family gave them. It's worth it, for that.

"Can't believe I got up for this sappy crap," Dean says, very quiet.

"Thought you said you had to pee," Sam says, muffled, and Dean says, "I can multitask," and then tugs on Sam's hair at the back so he's forced to tip his head and look up, and before he can say anything Dean dips down and kisses him, soft with a closed mouth, just—pressing close. When their lips part with barely a sound he holds there, his forehead against Sam's and their noses brushing and his breath coming slow against Sam's mouth. Steady rhythm, like a heartbeat. Sam's anchored his whole life to it more than once. He touches Dean's throat and then drags his fingertips down, hooking the collar of his t-shirt, feeling that empty space where he used to wear—but that doesn't matter, now. Dean's here. Nothing matters more than that.

"You're wearing my shirt," Sam says, fingers caught in the v-neck.

"Finders keepers," Dean says, and then lifts up, and tucks Sam's hair behind both of his ears, and looks at him, eyes low and tender in the dim. "Man," he says, soft, and Sam doesn't know why, but then Dean touches his chin with one thumb and says, in a more normal voice, "Finish your tea, princess, and then come back to bed, huh? Cold down there without the human space heater."

"Not exactly selling it with your icicle feet," Sam says, and Dean shrugs, smiling at him kinda one-sided, but then he leaves the kitchen, and Sam's left there, listening to him scuff along the hall until he can't. He sits with his mug in both hands, looking at nothing across the empty kitchen. Since the first red spot he's been composing a note, mentally. Trying to figure how he could say everything that's worth saying. He never ends up writing anything down. Nothing he can think of comes close.

He drinks his tea. Leaves the mug by the sink knowing it'll make Dean bitch at him in the morning. His mouth still tastes like metal. But then—when he goes to Dean's room, he gets into bed and puts his arm around Dean's waist and puts his nose to the soft buzz of hair at the top of Dean's spine, and Dean sighs and pushes back against him, and he's warm against Sam's whole body except for his toes that tuck in behind Sam's ankle, freezing, like he's done since Sam's earliest memories. His skin like ice and then warming slowly against Sam's. What more could Sam ask for.

[flamehairedwritings]

Stray: Chapter One

Characters: Lt. Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female Reader 

Rating: E, 18+ ONLY

Words: 5k

Summary: Ghost has a fine time making you admit you need want him.

A/N: Chapter One of Six. A chapter posted every Monday!

Entire Story Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, enemies are lovers, porn with plot, they're not nice people, but are they

Chapter Tags:  Dub-con, only because reader says no when she really means yes, slight degradation, affectionate degradation if you will, praise, praise kink, biting, marking, use of love/ma’am/kitten/slut/good girl, belt around back of neck but no choking, cock-drunk, MDom, maybe even a bit of gentle MDom, rough, dirty talk, man-handling, gloves, fingering, blow-job, deep-throat, unprotected sex, slight possesiveness, permission to cum kind of, creampie

Read on AO3

Stray Masterlist

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites. I do not consent to my work being used for AI purposes.

─

Chapter One - The Safehouse

His boots thud on every step of the wooden stairs, echoing a little in the stairwell.

Bone fucking tired, he's opted for the nearest safehouse; a flat in a crumbling, shitty block. It's one of the smaller ones in the area, but it's quiet, got some good escape routes.

Still, habits being habits and training being training, he'd scoped out the surrounding area anyway, finding it quiet, not a soul around. No threats. Not really a place you'd want to be out in after dark, anyway.

You might bump into someone like him.

He softens his steps as he approaches the front door, pulling the key out a pocket on his trousers. Nothing on the seal suggests interference, and there's no sign of tampering on the lock so, really fucking ready to put his head down, he unlocks it, opens it, steps a boot inside─

And pauses.

Music.

There’s fucking music.

Coming from down the hall, in the kitchen.

It couldn't be one of the others, this is one of his safes.

Fuck.

It's the last thing he fucking wants or needs, whatever this is.

Silently, he steps fully through the door, closing it behind himself. Unholstering his largest knife and a handgun, he squares his shoulders and moves down the hall. Entering the kitchen, his eyes dart about the small space. There’s the battered radio, his radio, sat on the centre of the circular table, soft jazz music playing from it. It’s so old the sound is slightly distorted, the instruments crackling.

There’s pots in the sink, too.

What the fuck…

Someone's made themselves a nice fucking meal.

And the shower's running too.

Lifting his eyes to the door ahead, his jaw moves as he stills.

A distraction or someone's actually having a fucking shower in his safe house?

Adjusting his grip on his weapons, he nears the door─ 

The water stops.

There's the distinct, faint squeaking of the taps as they're tightened shut, and then the sound of the curtain being pushed aside.

He decides to wait instead of barrelling in, not knowing what he could be facing.

Could be a civilian squatting.

Could be a fucking psychopath.

Steeling himself either way, next comes the sound of the door unlocking, then the handle's being pushed down and it's opened and─

You stand there.

Paused in the doorway, unsurprised.

In a robe. A fucking plush white, looks like it came from a spa, too fucking big for you, robe. Of course it's not fucking his, which means you actually brought it here yourself. He'd've laughed if he wasn't so pissed off.

And then you smile.

Fucking psychopath it is, then.

“Hello, Simon.”

“Stray.”

Of course it fuckin’ is.

Short for Stray Cat, you’ve been so named through the channels, and never supplied any other, because you belong to no unit, are loyal to no one, instead aligning with the highest bidder.

Should be because you just fucking turn up when you like and use other people's shit.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

You shrug. “I was in the area. You can put those down.”

He's not sure he can yet, but he does. Holstering both weapons, he remains where he is, watching you move into the kitchen, grabbing the kettle and filling it with water like you fucking own the place.

“Cup of tea?”

“Nah.” His eyes don’t leave you.

You, on the other hand, have your back to him. “Sure? I found some bags of Earl Grey─”

“I'm sure. Why are you here.”

Flicking the tap off, you shut the lid of the kettle and settle it back on it’s holder. “I needed a shower.” You glance at him, lips twitching. “And I like the head on that one.”

He grunts. “How'd you get in.”

“Reveal my secrets?” You flick the kettle on and turn to him, folding your arms as you lean back against the counter. “You know better than that, Simon.”

He presses his lips together, an action you can't see but can practically sense at this point. Your lips twitching again, you tilt your head.

“You're looking well.”

He doesn't answer.

“Tough job wasn't it?”

His eyes narrow a fraction. “What do you know?”

You tut lowly as the bubbling of the heating water grows louder. “I asked first.”

“Actually, I asked first, and I'll ask again: What the fuck are you doin’ here?”

The kettle reaches its boiling crescendo and flicks off, and you smile as you turn to it.

“Sure you don't want Earl Grey? There's no milk and even you surely can't stomach milkless Builder’s.”

“I don't want one,” he grunts as you set two mugs down.

You glance at him over your shoulder, the robe sliding off it a little as you drop a bag into each mug. “I'm not going to poison you, Simon, not intimate enough for me.”

He opens his mouth to snap a retort, when his gaze catches the drop of water that slides down your neck. His teeth grit momentarily as he follows it, watching it disappear under your robe, most likely about to slide down to─

His brow twitches into a frown as he sees it.

“What's that?”

Placing the kettle down after pouring water in each mug, raising your eyebrows, you look over your shoulder again, then tilt your head down to where his gaze is.

“Oh, nothing.” You grip the robe, pulling it back up. “Don't suppose you have any lemons hidden away?”

His eyes are on the back of your head, and you feel it. 

“That's new.”

“And?” Scooping the bags out of the boiling water with two fingers, you half turn, tossing them into the sink.

And you've forgotten how quick he can be.

Before you can turn back, he's closer, grabbing your extended arm at the bicep with a gloved hand.

“Ghost─”

His other hand yanks the robe off your shoulder again, lower this time, giving him a full view of the fresh, jagged, angry scar that stretches the length of your shoulder blade.

He exhales a harsh breath through his nose, mouth in a thin line.

“What─”

“Get off.”

He lets you shove him away, the hand that had pulling the robe up once more. He watches you as you adjust the cord at your waist, tightening it. All humour has vanished from you now as you tear your gaze from his, turning back to the mugs.

You’re pissed off now and he doesn’t even want to start fucking analysing why.

Silence descends as you shove the mug you’d prepared for him along the counter, water sloshing over the sides, and lift your own to your lips, taking a small sip from it.

He releases a long breath, hands settling on his belt.

“Was it from one of his jobs.”

“I'm fine, Simon,” you mutter, taking another sip.

“Why have you come running to me, then.”

You scoff, setting the mug down and turning suddenly to him, an incredulous smile on your lips.

“You think that's what this is?”

His head tilts minutely. “I know it is.”

You laugh, folding your arms as you lean back against the counter again. “You're so cute. I was just in the neighbourhood.”

“You're never ‘just in the neighbourhood’, Stray.”

“‘cause you're the authority on me, are you?”

“I know what can make you cum, that tells me everything I need to know.”

You stare at him. Then, you snort, a wide smile spreading across your lips as you reach for your mug.

“Very cute, Simon.”

He watches your lips settle over the rim of the mug, watches your throat move as you swallow. 

Well, seeing as he won’t get the sleep he wants…

“You know…” Exhaling a breath, he pulls his headset off and sets it down on the circular table. “... You’re still a fucking shit liar.”

“I’m not, I do think you’re cute.”

You’re smiling again, pleased with your funny little quip, you’re always pleased with them, and it doesn’t falter as he moves closer.

“Well, now I know that is the truth…” It does falter slightly as he takes the mug from your hands, places it on the counter behind you, where his hand then rests, arm nearly brushing against yours. Tilting his head down to look at you, you have to tip yours back. “... That’s why you’re here, isn’t it. He can make you dance to his tune, but he can't give you what you need. What you crave.”

Your smile has eased, but he sees the darkening in your eyes. “Your presumptuousness is grating.”

“Leave then.”

You don’t move. Predictably.

Your arms are by your sides, and he’s already noted the quickening of your breath, your chest rising and falling a little faster. And your smile’s gone.

He shifts his weight to one foot, leaning more on the hand behind you, leaning closer.

“Go on,” he murmurs. “Play your little game, mouse. We both know how it's going to end. Or I could just…”

You inhale sharply as suddenly his other hand is at your inner thigh, making your hands flatten against the counter door behind you. 

Movement around his eyes suggests he’s smiling.

Fuck, you hate being too easy.

Gritting your teeth, you lift your chin a little more, silent.

He releases a sound, almost a chuckle. His gloved fingers glide against your sensitive skin, tracing up and down, and you hate that he can probably see how tight your jaw is.

“Tell me you want it,” he murmurs.

You lick your lips. “No.”

“No?”

His fingers inch higher, so close to your aching pussy.

Your lips part. “No…” You lift a hand to his face. Then, you grip the material of his cloth mask.

Instinctively, his hand darts up from your thigh, gripping your wrist tightly.

You still, gazing at him. After a moment, you lick your lips again. 

“Just want your mouth, Ghost. Please,” you murmur.

He stares at you.

Then, his grip loosens.

“Did you just fuckin’ say ‘please’?”

“Shut up.”

Pushing his hard mask up and off, and the material one up off his mouth, you then claim his lips. He groans against your mouth as he hears his mask clatter to the floor, your arms wrapping around his neck. Sliding his arms around your waist, he tugs you against him, making your lips part with a gasp.

“Always so fucking needy, aren’t you,” he rumbles as you bite at his lower lip.

“Funny, I thought that was your hard cock I can feel…” you breathe, trailing off with another gasp and a smile as he tightens his grip on you.

“Shut up.”

He kisses you fiercely, so hard it’s almost bruising.

You love it.

Rising up on your toes, you press as hard against him as you can, and he holds you there, but it’s not enough.

“… stupid, fucking vest…” you hiss as you draw back suddenly, and then your hands are fumbling with the fastenings. He just watches you, hands gripping at your waist.

“Thought you liked feeling it against your tits.”

“Not today.”

Shoving it off of him, it joining his mask on the floor, you return to your position, and… yes… it will do.

He’s never gotten entirely naked with you, and it drives you insane sometimes, but you don’t dare to push, lest he make you stop completely, so you don’t try today, just let him take the lead.

And he does.

He captures your lips in one, long, firm kiss that nearly steals all the breath from your lungs before he’s kissing down your chin, jaw and neck, making your head tip back.

Well, kissing is generous, it’s more like he’s biting and sucking.

Trapped between him and the counter, all you can do is arch against him as he mouths at your skin, your eyes closed, mouth open, harsh breaths escaping you.

“Beg for me,” he mumbles against your skin.

“No…” you breathe, and his hand is suddenly between you, pulling at the robe cord.

Parting it, his gloved hand glides from your stomach, up over your tits and down to your hip

“Beg.”

“No…” Even you would admit how breathy and pathetic the single word sounded.

He bites down where your neck meets your shoulder, making you cry out softly, and then his fingers are tugging at your hard nipple.

“Beg for me, then I’ll give you what you want,” he murmurs into your ear.

All you do is moan, gripping at his biceps.

“Mmh… I…”

“Beg, love, then I’ll play with your needy, puffy little cunt.”

Turning your head closer to his, you bite hard at his jaw, your saliva slicking the skin and stubble there as you moan, and he knows he nearly has you.

“You want that, don’t you, love… Want my fingers stroking your aching little clit… My cock stretching your hole open…”

You would be embarrassed at the moan you release but you don’t care.

“Simon…” you breathe, and he presses an almost soft, open-mouthed kiss to a bite-mark that’s forming, and you crumble. “… Please, I want that, I want you, please─”

Snarling, he grips your waist and spins you, walking you backwards swiftly and shoving you against the table. Gasping as your hip bumps against a chair, you gaze up at him with half-lidded eyes as he shoves you up, making you sit on the table. Falling back onto your forearms, you send the radio and his headset clattering to the floor.

One of them sounds like it breaks, probably the radio from how the music suddenly cuts off; you don’t care.

“You’re gunna fuckin’ pay for those,” he rumbles as he unbuckles his belt, eyes fixed on yours.

“How would you like me to do that?” your murmur, corners of your mouth lifting as you rub your ankles against his hips.

“You know.” Pushing your legs further apart, he stands between them. “You want my fingers first, want to be stretched open for my cock?”

Licking your lips, your chest rises and falls swiftly as you look at him. “Yes.”

“Want the gloves on or off?”

“Off. Want to feel you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Removing his right glove, he settles his left hand on your hip, before he runs the other straight down your inner thigh, to your pussy, where he slides his forefinger right into your slick hole.

You cry out as your back arches, eyes falling shut.

“Yeah… That’s good, isn’t it…” he murmurs as he starts to fuck you with it “… Tell me that’s good, kitten.”

Lying back, your head nearly hanging off the table, you don’t want to give into him fully too quickly, so you just moan. And he allows it, for now.

“So fuckin’ wet already… Were you drippin’ from the moment you fuckin’ saw me… I bet you were, weren’t you, you needy little slut… Bet you could take another finger already…”

He eases a second, long finger in so easily, and you fist the robe that’s spilled around you. 

“Oh, God…”

“Not quite, love.”

When his thumb moves from your hip and starts to slowly circle your clit, you’d happily call him so.

You rock your hips into his hand as you moan, almost mewling like your namesake.

“That’s it, fuck yourself on my fingers…”

Gazing up at him, you could cum just from the sight. His eyes flick from your own to your cunt, his shoulders loose, relaxed, and, looking at his chest, you can see his breathing has picked up. You love what you can do to him… but you know you can do more.

Locking your ankles at his lower back, you drop your knees down to the side, giving him better access, and a better look, at your soaking cunt.

“Why don’t you get on your knees, Simon…” you purr. “... Why don’t you taste how wet you’re making me…”

He grunts, though it almost sounds like a groan.

“Now that’s really cute…” Suddenly, his hands are off of you, and before you can whine at the loss, he takes the fronts of the robe in both hands and pulls you up and forward until you’re on your feet, held between him and the table. “... You think you can give the orders here, love? Don’t fuckin’ think so.”

Then, he releases you, and takes a step back. 

“On your knees.”

Lips parted, your body thrumming with pure fucking lust and adrenaline, you smile.

And then you sink to your knees.

“Good girl,” he gravels as he unbuttons and unzips his trousers.

“Fuck you, Simon,” you murmur, your smile lingering and your thighs squeezing together as you tip your head back and open your mouth.

Creases appear around his eyes again; he’s smiling, too.

Pulling his cock out, his groans in the back of his throat as he strokes it a few times with his ungloved hand before he places his heavy tip on your outstretched tongue.

“You know what to do.”

His hand falls away as, instantly, yours takes its place, and you start to stroke, squeezing lightly, as your mouth closes around his cock and you suck hard.

“Oh, fuck…” he hisses, fingers flexing at his sides as his hips buck.

You let his cock sink in deeper from the action, and then you take him all, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

You’re used to it. Or, rather, used to him.

“Christ…” he grits out, a hand flying up to grip your shoulder.

He never touches your head when you suck his cock, unless you ask.

You draw your head back, and then take him all in again, then again, then again, until, looking up, you see his eyes have closed. As if sensing you looking at him, his eyes snap open, and he tightens his grip on you.

“Yeah, you look at me with those big fuckin’ eyes while you suck me off… I’m gunna empty that pretty fuckin’ head of yours until all you’re thinkin’ about is my cock.”

Drawing your head back, you use your tongue to push thick globs of saliva out of your mouth and down his cock before smiling. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Shut up. Put your mouth to better use.”

Exhaling a laugh, you then take him all the way in again, keeping your eyes fixed on his. He grunts and watches you, drawing in sharp breaths. You fucking love sucking his cock, feeling the ridges and veins with your tongue; it’s thick to the point where your jaw will have a delicious ache tomorrow if you carry on for too long, and, well… On your knees, sucking the cock of the feared Ghost and having him grip at you for it? 

That’s pretty fucking intoxicating.

When you have him all in once more, nose brushing against his trousers, you then still, holding all of him in your mouth and throat.

“Yeah, get it all wet for your cunt…” he breathes, voice tight as his eyes flutter, trying to keep them open.

You nearly have him. He’s so very close to the edge.

And you want to push him right over it.

Pulling your lips back, squeezing them around him, until you reach his tip, you suck hard at it, swirling your tongue as your hand strokes up and down his thick shaft swiftly. He gives a strained gasp, quickly gritting his teeth as he hisses out breaths, and you moan against him.

“Cum in my mouth…” you murmur, gazing up at him. “... Cum down my throat…”

You suck at his tip again, swirling and swirling your tongue and─

He steps back, his cock leaving your mouth with a wet, unceremonious ‘pop’.

“What─”

He’s gripping the front of your robe again, hauling you up, and shoves you against the table once more.

“What did I say…” he half-pants, gripping the backs of your thighs and making you sit up on the table. “... about givin’ fuckin’ orders.”

Your heart pounds with excitement and a smile pulls at your lips as he shoves the two chairs either side of you away, sending them toppling to the floor.

“I can’t remember…” you breathe as he stands between your open legs, his wet, heavy cock pushing against your stomach. “... All I can think about is how much I want your cock inside me, Simon…”

He makes a sound akin to a growl, and then his gloved hand is between your breasts, pushing you down. Lying back on the table, you place your heels on the edge of it as he grips his cock, other hand gripping your knee.

“Say it again.”

“Want your cock in me…” you mewl, rolling your hips as you run your hands from your stomach up to your breasts, tugging at your nipples and drawing a soft moan from yourself. “... Want you deep inside me, want to cum on your cock…”

He’s staring at you, your eyes, your fingers, your tits. He’s at the edge of his control… but he’s also a bastard.

“Magic word.”

You exhale a short breath through your nose, rolling your nipples between your fingers. And then you lift a leg, settling your ankle on his shoulder.

“Come on, Simon…”

His hand slides from your knee, up your shin to your ankle, cupping it, and he turns his head to it.

And then he presses a soft kiss to the skin there, keeping his eyes on yours.

Oh, fuck you.

Inhaling a ragged breath, the word sounds like it’s almost punched out of you.

“Please.”

He smiles.

“Good girl.”

You’re moaning before you even feel his tip. When he sinks into you, your eyes fall shut and your head tips back… and it’s bliss.

“Fu-uck…” you breathe out, and you feel his grip tighten on your ankle.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

The groans he releases, so fucking low, so carnal, has you instantly starting to rock your hips, feeling his thick length slid so easily in and out of you, stretching you. Hissing out a breath, he suddenly grips your other leg and lifts it onto his shoulder, taking over and thrusting into you, already setting a hard and fast pace.

The table creaks beneath you with each snap of his hips, but you can barely hear it, all that’s left of your mind focusing on the pleasure that’s pulsing through you.

“How does that fuckin’ feel…” he grunts, hands locked on your shins.

You gasp out moans as you hold his gaze. “... So fucking good, you feel so… so fucking good…”

Shoving your legs off his shoulders, he leans down, settling his arms over your head, mouth hovering over yours.

“Again.”

“So good, so fucking good, so fucking good, fuck, Simon…”

You try to kiss him, lifting your chin an inch, but he moves his head away, instead ducking it to your neck and fixing his lips there.

And then you hear him take a long, deep inhale.

“Fuckin’ Christ…” he breathes.

He thought he’d smelt it earlier.

You smell of the basic, shitty, own-brand soap he keeps here, and it’s driving him fucking wild.

You smell of him.

He thinks of you gliding the bar around your body, soaping your tits up…

“Fuck…” he groans against your skin, spreading fast, sloppy kisses there, sinking his teeth in.

He chuckles darkly when you cry out, your slick walls clenching around his cock.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ like that, don’t you… Like when I mark up your pretty fuckin’ neck?”

He bites down again, revelling in how you instantly clench again, hard, a ragged moan torn from you. Pressing his lips to your ear, he rumbles, “I’ll be on you for days.”

Fucking hell…

Your hands gripping at his jacket, fisting and tugging, you cling to him as he bites and bites and bites, always covering each one straight after with a lick or a sloppy kiss. And he just keeps fucking you hard through it.

When he suddenly pulls back, you actually whine, hands falling from him.

It takes you a moment to realise what he’s saying.

“... Look at me… Look at me…”

Your eyes snap open, and he fucking loves the almost blankness he sees there, how cock-drunk you are.

Yeah, only he can do this for you. Only him.

“Come here…” He slides an arm under you and pulls you up so you’re sat on the table, his cock continuing to spear into you. The angle allows him to plunge deeper and your eyes almost roll back as they close.

“Nah, keep those pretty eyes open, and stay up, look at me as I fuck you open…”

Pulling his belt out of the loops with a snap, without breaking rhythm he wraps both ends around his hands, and then wraps the shortened length around the back of your neck, keeping you up.

Keeping you looking at him.

“This is why you’re here, isn’t it…” he murmurs, nearly panting. “... To be fucked and spread open by my thick cock, to cum on it over and over and over again…”

You’re gasping in your breaths, hands now gripping his forearms, nails digging in, his words probably circling round and round your empty mind.

“… Say it, love… Admit it…”

Your mouth is open, hurried little breaths and moans all that leaves it. “... I…”

“Go on… Say it… It’s why you’re here, isn’t it… Say it.”

“Y… Yes…” you gasp.

“Good girl.”

You clench hard around him.

He growls. “Yeah, that’s it… Squeeze my cock like a good fuckin’ girl…”

You clench again, releasing a ragged moan.

“You need to cum, don’t you, you need to cum on my fuckin’ cock.”

You can’t take your eyes off his. “Ye-es.”

“Beg me for it.”

You’re talking before he’s even finished, words breathless and moaned.

“Please, please, let me cum, wanna cum on your cock, please let me, please…”

He chuckles, the sound catching in his throat with a groan. “You think you fuckin’ deserve it, huh… Think you can break in here and ruin the quiet fuckin’ night I wanted…”

You don’t know how, but you smile, and manage, “Don’t tell me… you don’t prefer this…”

“Well, now I’ll never know.”

Using the belt, he yanks you closer and claims your lips in a fierce, bruising kiss. You give back as good as you can, but you soon falter as an orgasm starts to build and twist in your lower stomach, making your muscles clench.

And he can feel it.

“Go on,” he mumbles against your lips. “Cum for me, rub your little clit and cum on my cock, let me fuckin’ feel you, squeeze me, make me cum…”

The moment he had said it, your hand had flown between you, fumbling, finding your clit and rubbing swiftly as well as you could. You cry out as the pleasure rises and rises, hurtling closer, your hips bucking. 

He tears his lips from yours, pressing his cheek against the side of your head, murmuring into your ear, “Cum for me, fuckin’ do it, cum now, cum on my thick cock, let me feel you, love.”

Your orgasm erupts through you.

Body jerking, you release a strangled scream as you cum, nails digging through his jacket nearly to his skin. He fucks you through it, grunting nearly incoherently in your ear now as your pussy squeezes him so fucking deliciously.

“... Yeah… Good fuckin’ girl… Fuckin’... Good… Tight pussy… Squeeze me… Take it… Take it… Take my fuckin’ cum… Yeah… Yeah… Oh, fuck…”

He thrusts hard and deep once, twice more, and then he cums inside you with a guttural roar, his grip tightening on the belt. Weakened, blissful moans fall from your lips as you feel him fill you, your back arching.

So fucking good, every single fucking time.

When he stills, his hands fall down to the table, taking the belt with them.

Swallowing hard, in turn your forehead drops down onto his chest, and you close your eyes, just focusing on trying to slow your breathing.

Your hand has softened on his arm, your other gently against his thigh.

His chin rests atop your head.

Neither of you speak, for how long you don’t know, and you almost hope neither of you ever do.

Suddenly, enough to startle you a little, his head lifts.

“Suppose you won’t be polite and fuck off now.”

You exhale a laugh, rolling your shoulders as you lift your head, arching an eyebrow. You find his cloth mask is back in place.

“No, I was here first.”

He just grunts out a sound that might be a chuckle as he pulls out of you, making you inhale sharply. Pulling the robe up over your shoulders as he steps back, you slide off the table with a small groan, rolling your shoulders again. His gaze drops down to your thighs, lingers, then meets yours again, and you give him a slow smile.

“Is that my cum leakin’ out of you.”

“Yes it is, Simon.”

You note the way his shoulders drop as his back straightens. 

And he jerks his head towards the bedroom door.

“Get in there. I’m gunna shower off.”

You give him a faux-pout, your brow dipping as renewed lust surges through you. “You don’t want company?”

You know he doesn’t.

He’ll give you everything but his face. And you give him everything but your heart.

He closes the distance between you, lowering his head to you. “You just get on that bed and keep those legs spread for me.”

A corner of your mouth rises higher than the other as you gaze at him. “Don’t tell me what to do, Simon.”

Letting the robe slip from your body to the floor, you turn from him and step over a fallen chair and the radio, moving into the bedroom.

Watching you go, his jaw moves as he releases a long, slow breath.

Fuckin’ hell…

─

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[swearyshera]

I’m sorry what??? You have a furry ex who (tried to?) committed murder?! Alice you can’t just share things like that and not give us the full story

Oh, there is the most batshit crazy story behind it. I'll stick it under the cut because it has next to nothing to do with the blog (other than to provide partial explanation as to why I'm like this). Cw for murder and horrifying sexual acts.

I'll also say, just before I start, that some of you may be aware of this - may even be aware of my involvement - so I'd ask you not to talk about me in relation to it too much. I've changed a few things about myself (including my name) to try and ensure a clean break from it, but I'm happy to talk about it still.

So... Cast your mind back to autumn 2008. At that time, a sprightly young 20-year-old me met a 19-year-old guy that we will call Steve (that's not his real name). Now, being woefully naïve and having at-the-time undiagnosed BPD, I was the sort of person who would fall deeply in love with anyone who showed me the slightest bit of kindness, and Steve did. He seemed caring, had a wild sense of humour, and genuinely appeared to love me back.

And what that did to me was that it made me ignore an entire truckload of red flags. His house was one level above a squat, bare floorboards and windows, no heating ("We can just snuggle under a blanket and share body heat") and I'm pretty sure he spent more money on beer and DVDs than he did on food. But I didn't seem to give a shit, those rose-tinted glasses were stuck firmly on, so I just ignored that stuff. There was worse, too, things that I felt a little uncomfortable with at the time and only realised years later were... well, let's just say I'd implore everyone to be able to identify what consent does and doesn't look like, because it's not always clear when you don't know for sure.

Anyhow, we'd been together about 4 or 5 months. He spent Christmas with me because he had no family to go to, I visited his house, played the "slightly bemused partner at the furry meet-up" role a couple of times, and things (at least to me) seemed to be great. Then one weekend in February, he mentioned that he was going to see some friends - absolutely fine by me, he did that fairly often and I didn't think anything of it. I texted him in the evening asking him how his day was, and he replied "Had a good day, but didn't go meet them".

That was the last message I got.

I didn't hear from him for the rest of the evening. Or the day after. Or the day after that. I got worried, because it wasn't like him to go silent - he wasn't even online on MSN (2000s reference!). And then I got a message from his aunty asking if I'd heard from him - that rang alarm bells. I reached out to a few of the people he knew, and no-one had heard a thing.

He'd been 'missing' for about a week and a half when I got another message from his aunty. She asked me if I knew a guy called Craig (again, not his real name), and I didn't. Then she asked me something that I can still remember verbatim to this day, she said "Do you have a loving family? You're going to need them, I'm sorry." and sent me a link to a news article. I clicked through to find a story in a local newspaper about two men being held for attempted murder. One of them was Steve.

The next few months flashed by as I found my belief about who he was completely trashed and flipped upside down. I discovered he'd been seeing multiple people behind my back, including this Craig guy, and I tried to find out what had happened, and what eventually came out was a completely other life that I didn't know about. I spoke to the Police about him, and was expecting to speak as a witness at the trial (in the end, thankfully, I did not have to do that). But the reality of what happened was fucking wild.

Steve and Craig had developed some weird-ass master/pet relationship, which led to 'role play' about killing Craig's parents. Craig felt that they were controlling and he'd only get peace if they were gone. In the trial, Steve testified that he thought it was not serious, although if that was the case, why did you fucking do it. On the night he sent the last message to me, he had been at Craig's house, made a show of saying goodbye to him and his parents, then waited in a nearby park. He played a game on his PSP to pass the time.

Later in the evening, once his parents had gone to bed, Craig texted Steve to invite him back in. Once he'd arrived, he was handed a knife and told to go upstairs and stab them which for some fucking reason he agreed to. Now Craig's dad was thankfully on the ball and wasn't quite asleep, and he fought off Steve and wrestled the knife from him, before restraining him and calling the police. Initially, Craig was thought to be an innocent bystander, but he was soon arrested too. Steve was charged with attempted murder and conspiracy to murder, Craig with conspiracy, and in court, both were convicted of conspiracy to murder (but cleared of the attempted murder charge).

If you think it doesn't get more fucked-up than that, boy, do I have a surprise for you. Imagine someone's asked you to commit murder - you'd want something in return, right? And indeed, Craig did offer Steve something. What, you ask? Money? A means of escape? Nope! For successfully killing Craig's parents, Steve would have the opportunity to bite off Craig's dick. I am not joking. If he stabbed some middle-aged people, he would get a fucking sausage sandwich.

So yeah... that's what happened. My life has been an absolute soap opera (although honestly, this seems a bit far-fetched even for that - but I swear to you, every word of it is true).