#purchase colorful cages

[risuola]

ENTRY #10 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // You make my heart do things it's not supposed to do.

contents: arranged marriage!au, teeth rotting fluff, nothing else — wc. 1000

a/n: expect me to drop few entries very quickly because they are all finished in my drafts <3

series masterlist

It still flustered him.

Satoru never, not once in his 28 years of life, felt more confused, than right now. Why was his heart doing backflips in his chest? He sat there, on the wooden chair frozen and thankful for the furniture that held his weight because if suddenly it’d be taken away, he would collapse to the floor, meet the cold kitchen tiles and melt against them into a puddle of mess. He was there, stuck in time with his head empty and heart racing in his chest, rumbling against the cage of his ribs while you were going about the day without a care and attention to his pathetic state. A state you reduced him to.

It’s been few minutes already and Gojo sat there in silence, watching your back as you were washing fruit in the sink, snacking on the juicy strawberries he grabbed for you earlier that morning — a gesture foreign to his own body but he wanted, for once, to be the person who made you smile and not only experience the effect of someone else’s doing. He woke up earlier that day, before the sun even peaked above the horizon line and with his thoughts racing and stomach full of butterflies, he went on a very special mission.

It was a tiny market, way outside Tokyo but with the loveliest sellers. He found a booth he eyed once when on the job in the area, a stand full of little hand-woven baskets, each of them brimmed with fruit. The strawberries were red, some very bright and some very deep in color, glistening in the early sun with the morning dew that scattered across the surface looked as if little crystals were adorning the harvest. Satoru smiled and the old lady smiled as well.

“How can I help you, young man?” She asked, spreading her arms invitingly and Satoru could tell, by the look of her calloused hands, stained in juice and dirt, she was working hard every day to make a living.

“My wife loves strawberries,” he began, catching himself on the ease with which the word wife left his mouth, “but I don’t know much about picking the best ones. Could you help me with that?”

“You came to the right place, son!”

Just few moments later, Satoru was walking slowly towards his house, after warping back into the city. In his hand, a bag hung hooked over his fingers, full of those little baskets and their contents. He might have gone overboard with the purchase, but the joyful tears that welled in the eyes of that old woman when he paid her for fruit — definitely much more than it was worth according to the prices — he had no regrets. In result he carried the bagful of not only strawberries but also some apples, raspberries and sweet cherries — all of which he was forced to take, despite his initial plans of getting only the red ones you like so much.

“There you are, right on time,” your beautiful, melodic voice greeted him the moment he swung the doors open, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. He could’ve bought you flowers as well, he planned to do so, but he had to evacuate himself from the grasp of that one seller lady, because as lovely as she was, if he stayed a moment longer, she would pack him her entire harvest of that morning. “I thought you went out earlier, but I made breakfast for you anyway.”

“I went for a little walk,” he said, trying to sound as nonchalant and at ease as he could despite the rageful whirl of butterflies in his stomach. Why was he so nervous? “And I bought you these.”

A soft thud barely made itself apparent above the cacophony of clinking plates and cutlery, but it was enough to catch your attention. You looked at him, curious, and somewhat carefully reached into the bag now rested on the kitchen table. Your face brightened up, your eyes glimmered and you smiled — and Satoru could’ve sworn he’s never seen something more beautiful. You reminded him of a child that got a toy it dreamed of. Pure happiness washed over your features and he wondered if it was always that easy to bring joy to your otherwise calm self.

“Oh my god, Satoru–“ you gasped out, fishing out one of the berries and after a short rinse under the water, you popped it into your mouth and melted. He was told by the woman in the market that the type she was growing on her fields was exceptionally sweet, with the right amount of tang and a lot of juice.

“Tasty?” He asked, watching how you savored the flavor with pure pleasure.

They were tasty. He found out himself, because when your lips pressed to his own, he forgot how to breathe and the only things on his mind were the plushiness of your mouth and that sweetness. His body moved on its own, his hands found their place on your hips, pulled you in, as if it was a natural reaction for him to bring you closer.

And then, before he managed to secure his grip on you, you were gone from his proximity, leaving only the lingering taste of strawberries on his lips and a growing confusion.

I love you.

He heard that right, a gentle whisper against his mouth. You said it, this time you said it for sure, this time he was sure the words actually were spoken, not read between lines.

“Sit down, Satoru, eat your breakfast,” you sing-sang happily, as if you didn’t stop the entire globe just now. As if you didn’t just alter the universe he was in, shifting the rhythm of the muscle in his chest permanently. As if you didn’t just tell him you love him.

But he sat down, afraid to not lose his balance and absentmindedly shoved a piece of a pancake into his mouth.

taglist: @kinny-away @anan-baban @lotomber @netflix-imagines @kawliflo @nishloves @ghostfacefricker6969 @thejujvtsupost @yozora7154 @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost @stuckinmoilalaland@ae-mius @ropickle @chokesonspit @lansy-4 @mo0sin @just-pure-trash @foliea @bakarinnie @big-booty-joe

[qingxin-dream]

“In Spite of Thorns”

summary | all you needed was a bit more color in your life. something to make life seem not so dull. little did you know the wallflower of a florist next door found himself in a similar dilemma. (art credits: @/MNCE_o on twitter)

warnings | profanity, pining, reader is a horrible flirt, reader gets a tattoo, smut [18+, MDNI], female-bodied reader, semi-public sex, reader receives oral, face fucking, edging/orgasm denial, mention of cervix-kissing, breeding

genre | florist!kuni au, fluff, slow burn, smut with plot

word count | 5.2k

pairing | kunikuzushi/scaramouche x reader

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There was a little flower shop next to your regular morning coffee joint that always caught your eye.

On your way to work, you’d often sit outside the tiny cafe downtown and admire the lovely bouquets sitting pretty in the windowsill next door. You imagined a sweet old lady running such an adorable business, the type to water her flowers early in the morning and know every person who walks through her door.

Much to your surprise, there was only one person attending to the shop—it was a young man with short indigo hair that framed his face and trailed down the back of his neck in soft wisps. You noticed he kept to himself with a stoic expression most of the time. You caught him once switching the flowers on display, it was the only time his face revealed a glimpse of emotion—something deeper and more meaningful than silent indifference.

The city was a place often devoid of the beauty and tranquility nature can offer. It was easy to get lost in the hum-drum of daily life and the grind of your 9-to-5 job, overwhelmed by a concrete cage of skyscrapers. It was frankly depressing when you had those rare moments of self-realization.

So, in an attempt to get a breath of fresh air one morning, you decide to visit the flower shop just a block from your work. The bell hanging above the door chimes as you enter, suddenly surrounded by a sea of beautiful flower arrangements kept in pristine condition. In the back stood the young owner, who didn’t even acknowledge your presence as he focused on his next bouquet behind the counter.

You couldn’t believe the level of detail and craftsmanship in each display, traveling slowly through the store in wonder. Perhaps it is what kept people coming back to this place despite his cold demeanor. He is an artist, there’s no doubt about it.

The sound of wrinkling plastic interrupted the young man’s work as you approached the register, setting down a small arrangement of daises in front of him. He grunted, giving you a slightly annoyed glare, quickly ringing up your purchase.

“It’s $10, even,” he says blandly, already looking back at his little flower project on the workbench impatiently.

You oblige without a word, awkwardly glancing around and silently noting his name badge which read ‘Kuni.’

“Your receipt,” he snatches the small paper and hands it to you.

“Thanks, Kuni. Have a good one,” you attempt to break the ice, but the young man has already turned his back to you to continue putting together his next artwork. A bit dejected, you leave with the daisies in hand. Maybe that was stupid.

You kept the tiny bouquet of daisies on your desk at work. Just having a bit of greenery was enough to lift your spirits when the day would take a turn for the worse. They were so delicate and cute, it had you tempted to visit the flower shop again. It was on the way to work anyway, why not?

At least, that was your excuse. I mean, you couldn’t deny that the young florist was easy on the eyes, despite his thorns.

Slowly but surely, you developed a new morning routine. You had become a familiar face to Kuni, the grumpy and closed-off flower shop owner. Around 7:30am, you’d walk into his humble store with a coffee in hand from the cafe next door, greeting him with a small “good morning.” You’d often casually wander around the store, asking about flower species or meanings to his arrangements.

It took awhile before Kuni was willing to indulge much in conversation. Typical responses came in the form of an eye roll, a scoff, or quips about having something better to do under his breath. Though, if you asked the right question, Kuni would occasionally come around the counter to help.

You swear it was like watching a flower bloom in real time with the way Kuni’s entire expression melted softly when he spoke about his arrangements. What once was but a shy sprout became a beautiful swirl of petals, full of life.

Kuni would reach beside you, awkwardly brushing his arm or his chest against you on accident. He would take the bouquet you were curious about and present it to you with subdued pride, caressing the blossoms. Colors, shapes, lengths, petals, ribbons—everything had significance and Kuni loved to teach you the nuances of his passion.

The days were beginning to feel like they pass by quicker. You woke up with a new reason to roll out of bed, lured by the taste of your usual miel coffee and the sweet aroma of flowers.

The chimes of the doorbell eventually had Kuni slightly jumping out of skin when you strolled through, a faint flush of color on his cheeks. His gaze would follow you intently from the corner of his eye, a small smile adorning his lips.

As an artist, he possessed an incredible attention to detail, picking up on your name that was scribbled on the side of your coffee cup; or how you carefully waded through the rows and rows endless flowers with curiosity crinkled on your cute brows. He discovered that your favorite color is blue. You like cream but not sugar. You love rainy days. You avert your eyes before saying hi.

Kuni soon found himself keeping note of these little details in his small notepad, though you simply thought he was scribbling business to-do’s.

Every other week or so, you’d need a new set of flowers for your desk and Kuni was content to offer his personal favorites. He quite enjoyed these mornings with you, as other customers typically visited around lunch or after 5pm to gift flowers to their spouses or loved ones. He’d never openly admit how you managed to melt his cold exterior and warm his heart as time passed.

You learned more about each other as the seasons changed and naturally became good friends. You were more than a regular to him. He found himself interested in hearing you talk about your day. Tell him about that terrible work meeting or the prank your coworker pulled on your boss. Who are your friends? Do you have a pet at home? Anyone significant in your life?

Kuni wanted to know everything about you.

There came one day that you approached him with a mischievous smirk on your face. He eyed you suspiciously, taking off his gloves and folding his arms over his apron. You had trouble written all over your face.

“Morning, Kuni,” you approached the counter immediately, interlacing your fingers together around your coffee cup.

Something is definitely up with you. He raises an eyebrow, finding your unusual mood to be amusing. “I have a feeling you have something to say.”

“Indeed I do,” you couldn’t help yourself, grinning widely with excitement brimming in your eyes. You looked like you were going to burst from laughter. “I need your expert opinion.”

On cue, he rolls his eyes at your adorable antics. “Well? Out with it.”

“I want a tattoo,” you confess, the enthusiasm you were feeling a moment ago now shifting into embarrassment for some reason. You had worked up the courage all night to ask for Kuni’s advice, imagining a hundred different ways it could possibly go. It was too late to take it back now.

“A tattoo? You’d be the last person I’d expect to want something like that,” Kuni deadpans with a hint of confusion and condescension. “Why do you need my opinion? I think you look just fine without one.”

It’s not that he disliked tattoos. The florist simply appreciated your natural beauty, and didn’t want you to regret permanently marking your body. It seems you weren’t entirely as incorruptible as he initially thought.

“I just want to try something new,” you sigh, pursing your lips to express your dissatisfaction. You held your breath, tapping on the side of your coffee cup before adding, “I’m plain. And boring. I don’t even have a piercing.”

Kuni frowned. He had no idea where this self-loathing behavior was coming from, but he was determined to snuff out any reservations you had about yourself. “You’re pretty just the way you are, (Y/N).”

You refuse to accept that answer, shaking your head. “C‘mon, you don’t think I’d look cute with a small tattoo? Something tasteful. Not even a flower tattoo?”

“I mean—it’s hard to imagine you with any tattoos,” he replied before finally relenting his distaste with a noncommittal shrug. “But I suppose, if anything, a flower could only make your skin lovelier.”

His mind was already turning its gears, wondering what spurred this sudden desire to change. He lamented the idea of you being unhappy with yourself. If this is what would make you smile again, then Kuni resolved to support you as any friend should.

“Good, because I figured my favorite florist could pick out a flower for me,” your eyes sparkled playfully, waiting for his reaction.

Putting his hand on his forehead, Kuni huffs and slowly runs his palm down his face as if he is annoyed. Truthfully, he was hoping to wipe the warmth that quickly flooded his cheeks completely off. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him a flustered mess over you.

He runs a free hand through his hair, sighing softly. “Why not roses? Everyone does that.”

Your bottom lip poked out in a pout at his answer. This isn’t the response you expected at all. You didn’t understand him sometimes. Groaning, you dramatically tilt your head in momentary frustration and take his hand in yours, pleadingly.

“Really, Kuni? That’s the most cliché shit ever,” you grumble, though it’s more like a whine as you give him puppy eyes. “I’m being serious. What comes to mind when you think of me?”

The question is innocent enough, but feels like a punch to his gut—stealing the breath right from his lungs. If only you knew what you were asking of him.

Every day he imagines you walking through the door of his flower shop, a pretty smile on your face and a cup of black tea in your hand just for him. He would thank you softly and take your cheek in his warm palm, leaning in to kiss you before the store opens. His fingers would trail down your neck, his thumb nudging your head to the side to give him easier access to that sensitive spot on your neck, lips parting and ready to taste the desire on your skin.

He had to stop himself.

“What about… peonies? It blooms beautifully—a huge blossom with a strong, sweet fragrance.” The florist clears his throat after a brief pause, nervously searching your expression. If you were keen, you’d catch the tips of his ears burning bright pink. “An unmistakable flower that can convey so much… in less than a few words.”

Kuni happens to pull a red peony from the flowers he has scattered on his workbench for his upcoming arrangement, hesitating for a second before extending it sheepishly to you. You’re too caught up in the moment to notice how the dainty flower trembles slightly in his fingertips.

It’s perfect. You bring the peony to your nose, eyelashes fluttering up at Kuni appreciatively. He swears his heart skips a beat.

“I love it,” you exhale, offering the peony back to him. You feel invigorated, elated even, to have found a subject for your first tattoo. It had to be something meaningful, and naturally your first thought was Kuni. “Thank you, I promise to stop by to show you when it’s done.”

Before the lovestruck florist could say a word, you were running out the door, bells chiming at your departure. He held the red peony to his nose, closing his eyes and thinking of you.

It had been a few days since you stopped by, which was unusual.

Kuni tried not to dwell on it. You were a busy person and, of course, had your own life outside of him. He shouldn’t be upset that you suddenly ghosted him, yet he can sense a dreadful feeling crawling into his heart.

The doorbell rings, but the young flower shop owner doesn’t bother to see who entered. Of the hundreds of people who have visited his store in the time that you’ve been gone, none of them were you.

He turns to the counter to water a few flowers, his gaze flickering to the customer, and he can’t stop the way his jaw slowly drops. Standing a few feet away at his newest bouquet display is you all dolled up in a pretty little sundress that stops at your mid-thigh and hugs your figure nicely.

Most notably, your dress has an open back which reveals a plethora of peonies inked down the curve of your spine in an elegant and minimalist design. It’s utterly gorgeous.

“H-hey,” Kuni speaks up, sounding lost as he furrowed his eyebrows at you. His expression was beyond adorable, simply starstruck.

You glanced at the florist from over your shoulder, snickering since he accidentally let his guard slip more than usual. You cover your mouth, giggling at him, “Kuni, I think you’re overwatering the flowers.”

“Shit,” he curses to himself, immediately putting down the small water can on the counter with a light splash. Grumbling under his breath, he tries to drain the pot. “Where the hell have you been, by the way?”

“I took some time off work, sorry,” you admit, but really you were more interested in showing off the final product of your new tattoo. You happily twirl around in your tiny sundress and strike a goofy pose, the frilly ends spinning hypnotically around your upper thighs. “So…?”

All of Kuni’s irritation with his embarrassing mishap washes away as he watches you excitedly spin around, flaunting your curves and the work of art now inked on your back. He smirks and mutters quietly, “I think I like peonies a whole lot more now.”

You brush your hair to the side so he can see the full tattoo. “Haha, come look at it then!”

His heart fluttered, quickly taking off his dirty gardener’s gloves to take a closer look. Every step towards you made his mind race and his breath a little shallow, you were stunning if he was being completely honest. He felt even more attracted to you with such an amazing work of art spanning your back, and to top it off—he was your inspiration—just as you were secretly his muse.

Without thinking, the florist’s fingertips lightly brush your spine in silent admiration. You immediately tense and gasp at the unexpected contact.

He snaps out of his thoughts and recoils in horror. “Sorry, sorry. I-I wasn’t… I, uh…”

You laugh and smile in understanding. “It’s fine. You surprised me is all. Don’t worry about it.”

Yet, he was still compelled to continue tracing the contours of the raven-colored ink over the surface of your soft skin. You said it was fine. You were okay with it. He was overthinking it, right?

“C-can I ask why, of all people, you wanted me to pick your first tattoo?” Kuni was still trying to make sense of everything in his head. He was secretly terrified that he was projecting his own feelings onto you, and masked it behind a playful smile of disbelief.

“Well,” you brushed your hair back over your shoulders and finally turned to face him. Your sundress was just as cute in the front, Kuni smiles to himself. A faint blush dusts your precious little cheeks. “I think I’ve adopted your affinity for flowers. Saying everything while saying nothing at all... it’s poetic, don’t you think?”

“You didn’t have to get a tattoo just for me,” Kuni joked to make light of the situation, throwing in a faint grunt of disapproval and an eye roll. He was sure you picked a flower just to appease him since he was originally against the idea.

In reality, he was more than touched by your thoughtfulness.

There was a peculiar glint in your expression that the florist couldn’t quite place. He felt drawn in. You took a petal from the newest bouquet on display between your index and thumb, caressing the soft blossom.

“I mean, your flower arrangements are always so beautiful, and you handle them with so much care,” you trail off, staring at the bouquet with an indiscernible emotion. Then, in a whisper followed by a smile, you continue, “Maybe I was jealous.”

His gut reaction is to chuckle to hide his reddened face. He didn’t know what to think of it. Surely you were joking.

“Jealous, huh?” Kuni repeats with amusement lining the smirk slowly spreading across his face. “That I touch these flowers with more care than… say, touching you? Is that it?”

However, instead of laughing along, you blush a deeper shade of crimson that rivals his own and to boot, you take your lower lip between your teeth. “S-so you admit it?”

“Admit what?” he scoffs, brushing off your reaction as if you didn’t just confess to wanting his touch. He couldn’t comprehend the possibility that you genuinely had an interest in him. He was in denial, rationalizing every detail in the back of his mind. Where this was going, he had no clue.

As he continued to wage this internal war with himself, attempting to play a kind of 4-D chess to stay a step ahead of you, he neglected the most obvious conclusion. “Y-you really want me to…?”

Poor Kuni had let his mind run in circles this whole time and he was made the fool. You were trying to flirt with him.

You glance to the door of the flower shop, which sported a cute homemade sign that read ‘Come In, We’re Open!’ from the outside. Shifting uncomfortably, you keep your thighs closed tight. That glimmer in your eyes was no longer cloudy but clear as day to the florist—lustful—and he quite liked the way it reflected in your watercolor irises.

A small chuckle escapes your lips, the redness in your cheeks never leaving. You hoped that Kuni could read between the lines. “D-do you take custom orders? Because, I actually, uh, have a special flower I want you to use.”

“Oh?” he knew exactly what you were asking now, heat creeping up his neck at an alarming rate. The tension between your bodies is palpable at this point, as his fingers still hover over your back where he had touched you accidentally. “You know, I’d like to think I’m well-acquainted with many flower species, but… maybe you could enlighten me.”

He wanted you, truly. But part of Kuni had reservations about going this fast.

His attention snapped to you when he felt your fingers on his chest, fiddling with the flower pinned to his apron. Your voice softened and sounded sweet as honey, “You are the florist. I trust that you are a capable man, Kuni.”

“Well, I-I suppose I’d want to give this my utmost attention,” he begins, the back of his fingers graze your cheek down to your jaw, locking eyes with you. This is the stuff fantasies are made of, and here you are batting your pretty eyes at him.

“I wouldn’t mind closing the shop just for you.”

Amid the noise and bustle of the city, the people passing the storefront were none the wiser to the windows of the flower shop, curtains drawn to prevent any prying eyes. The door was locked shut, unusual for this time of day, but no customers would be stopping by any time soon. A sign hung in the window of the door reading ‘Sorry! We’re Closed!’

Even the lights were off, bathing the assortment of embellished bouquet displays in darkness. Near the florist’s workbench in the back of the store, a single lamp cast a warm ray over his newest obsession spread nice and ready for him. A pair of electrifying purple eyes drifted down his favorite fascination, admiring his work thus far—a smattering of hickeys trailing down your bare body. Your beautiful skin was his willing canvas.

The weight of Kuni’s gaze had your cunt twitch around nothingness in anticipation. Your only consolation lied behind your eyelids, edging yourself with the sweet delusion of his pulsing cock grazing your clit before guiding it to your desperate hole. Archons, you could almost envision how it would feel for his tip to venture across every ridge of your walls for the first time.

You needed it, craved it. No, you ached for it—as if you were missing a part of your soul that would make you whole.

Goosebumps raise in the wake of his fingertips brushing on your supple thighs. How he had unraveled you out of every layer of clothing yet never set his sights on your pretty pussy was unfathomable. Art cannot be rushed, after all.

Kuni was taking his sweet time to memorialize the texture of your skin on his, to taste and devour you slowly in every possible sense. His imagination was the limit, and for now he was blissfully chasing your sensual little noises like a dream on the clouds of your lips.

His warm, muscular hand traveled across the round curve of your hip, gripping the plump flesh in reverence, and then snaked it up your back. You whimpered into his mouth as his soft tongue teased yours. He smiled, knowing that deep down you were beginning to reach your breaking point.

Kuni’s voice was smooth and inviting, “Mm, (Y/N), you know why I chose peonies?”

With each vertebrae the pads of his fingers discovered, tracing your tattoo, your spine arched just a little more into his toned chest. The corners of his mouth turn up into an adoring smile, long eyelashes framing the depth of the devotion imprinted in his expression. Your occasional soft gasps of need urged him to capture your lips in a chaste kiss intermittently.

“Your smile… reminds me of yellow peonies. Of new beginnings, every morning,” Kuni chuckles quietly to himself between kisses, intertwining his other hand in your hair. His thumb coaxes your jaw to open for him further, swirling his tongue with yours before rewarding you with the heavenly sensation of his lips once more.

“And in your absence,” he continues, taking your lower lip between his teeth to emphasize the emotions behind his words. “Like a soft pink peony, I realize how much I’m missing without you.”

“Mm, miss you too,” you lean into the florist’s mouth as he tries to pull away, not yet ready to part. He obliged with a smug exhale through his nose, hot breath tickling your lips as he nuzzles you. The atmosphere was thick with temptation, both of you closing your eyes to relish in the tension—such satisfaction feels even better when it’s just out of reach.

“When you walk through that door, you’re more beautiful than the day before… as lovely as a white peony,” Kuni let his hand fall from your hair to your collarbone, reminding you of the love bites he marked you with in a fit of passion earlier.

Licking his lips, the indigo-haired florist embarked to kiss every single inch of your body leading to the delectable curve of your breasts. As he neared your aerola, he couldn’t help but give it an affectionate lick and gentle suck, smirking when your nipple hardened involuntarily.

You whimper again, squeezing your thighs together. However, Kuni had planted himself firmly between your legs where you sat on the counter, purposely pulling back to push the bulge of his erection onto your core to remind you of your place. Don’t you dare keep your petals a secret.

“I bet you didn’t even know,” he almost scoffs, pinching your nipple as punishment and studying the squeeze of your eyelids in desperation. “That many of my arrangements were made in the image of you… with all those hot pink peonies.”

It’s not long before Kuni brings his lips back to your breasts, addicted to the sound of your soft pants. He sneaks his way down your abdomen, dragging his wet tongue along the alluring stretch towards your pelvis in sloppy kisses. As he finds himself kneeled in front of you, suddenly he hooks your knees around his shoulders to pull your pretty flower to his attention, earning a yelp from you.

He has you exactly where he wants you. Before you can react, Kuni is already diving his mouth between your soft thighs. You immediately dig your fingers into his purple locks, grabbing a fistful to temper his enthusiasm. “K-Kuni!”

The florist pauses, lust-riddled eyes flickering seductively up to you with bated breath. The way his eyebrow quirks up at you exudes a new kind of confidence you had never seen on him before, causing your protests to slowly die in your throat. “What? Don’t trust a professional?”

Kuni’s expression is downright carnal, flicking his tongue out at you teasingly. Your grip on his hair loosens, though he catches the pout of your lips. “I-I trust you.”

“Good, baby,” he exhales, wasting no time in closing the gap to your flower. “Because I’m about to show you the meaning of my favorite color peony.”

You attempt to relax as he nudges his nose between your folds, slowly gliding his tongue over your pussy. It’s an experimental first taste of paradise, one that evokes an erotic sigh of pleasure from you. Kuni hums in contentment against your clit, his humid breath tickling every crevice of your delicious cunt.

Circling his tongue around the sensitive bud, Kuni hangs on to every luscious moan and silent plea for more that spills from you. It spurs him to lick your core eagerly, occasionally taking your outer labia between his lips and briefly but gently sucking it in a wet kiss.

“F-fuck,” you mumble in a hot whine, running both of your hands through the florist’s hair to see how his eyebrows knit together prettily. He’s so focused on pleasing you, slurping the intoxicating concoction that is your essence and his saliva dribbling down his chin. It was so tantalizing, it had you bucking your hips into his face.

Kuni abruptly grabbed your sides to steady himself, and grunted lowly in response. He flatly licked your folds, then moving to suckle your clit. Your groans were making him so utterly taken with you, sliding a hand back down in his boxers to smear precum over the throbbing tip of his erection and fist his length.

All he could do is mutter sweet nothings into the wet cavern of your pussy, praising you for tasting so divine and even letting him please you like this. He traces your folds sensually, eventually pushing his tongue deeper into your plush walls. The sensation is more than enough to have you a whimpering mess, tugging Kuni’s head closer and fucking your cunt onto his tongue.

Your thighs tighten around the florist’s head, but he honestly doesn’t mind if he passes out from a lack of oxygen. In fact, Kuni buries his tongue even further into you, if possible, while his nose teases your aching clit. All of it was worth hearing you beg for him to make you cum.

“O-oh my fucking god, mm,” you whisper, voice dripping with desire. “Y-yes, yes, yes… ‘m so close.”

He nods in acknowledgement, smirking and chuckling into your cunt while salacious groans of his own pour from his lips. Without warning, Kuni rips himself away and wipes his face, leveling his cock with your sopping entrance and nestling just the tip in. You didn’t have time to mourn the loss of your climax as it was replaced with the unexpected girth of his length, your hole fluttering instantaneously.

“Aghhh, goddamnit,” he curses under his breath, verging on a growl. You weren’t used to this side of him, but every surprise had you wanting to see more. He slams his hands on the table on either side of you, lavender eyes glued to the hypnotic spasm of your lovely pussy around his cock. “I can’t believe you’re so tight—just for me.”

“Please,” you mewl, legs wrapped his hips to slowly pull the florist closer and bury his cock just an inch further. The hazy glint in your irises said everything. You swallow thickly, “I need you so bad, Kuni.”

He entangled himself in you, inhaling your scent as he held you tightly by the waist and bottomed out inside of your heavenly walls. Oh, you were simply in a state of breathless ecstasy, melting into his arms. The feeling of fullness within you was unlike anything you had ever experienced, and Kuni’s first real thrust had your legs shaking.

It wasn’t enough. How could he be satisfied without knowing his cock kissed your cervix and bred you nicely?

Nuzzling into your neck, Kuni forced you to the edge of the counter by your ass, giving him better access to relentlessly pound that pretty pussy of yours. You took the hint and laying down on your back submissively, resting your ankles on his shoulders. The florist didn’t dare stop his movements, growing more and more drunk on the mesmerizing sound of your pussy taking him so well.

His hand groped at the bouncing flesh of your breasts. “Archons, (Y/N), why are you so fucking beautiful?”

Kuni’s head leaned onto your left calf, eyes trained only on you in a loving gaze, before turning to kiss your leg as he leisurely fucked you. His hand roamed south of your breasts and planted his thumb on your clit in tight circles, gripping your leg harder against his chest to keep you in place. He wasn’t about to let you squirm away from the pleasure he’s so kindly giving you.

At this point, you were beyond trying to keep your composure. Slutty groans of euphoria filled the humble little shop with every slap of your skin on his. He had you begging, pleading in hot tears for your release. Kuni had repeatedly tempted, teased, and edged you beyond comprehension.

Now here you were yearning for your climax like a whore.

“Ah, fuck, hah… yes, please, please…!” you panted, loving the way Kuni was using you like his perfect little cocksleeve. He looked so sexy with sweat on his brow and his bangs messily sticking to his forehead, the raw girth of his cock stretching you so good with each thrust. Frankly, you were reduced to incoherent babbling—coaxing the peak of both your climaxes. “Mm, so, so good. Gonna… gonna cum, I-I…”

“Mhmm, it’s okay, yeah… ‘m gonna fucking cum all in you,” Kuni frantically nods, sucking in a sharp breath and trembling all over as he cums simultaneously with you. He keeps his cock fully sheathed in your pulsating pussy, a myriad of praises and curses flow freely between the both of you. “Fuck yeah, you like that, don’t you?”

“Nnghh, yes,” you replied with guttural enthusiasm, eyes rolling in the back of your head as your orgasm washes away. “I fucking love you.”

Kuni is barely able to support you in the aftershock of that mind-breaking pleasure, clutching you to his chest and breathing wildly. Whether it was the sex talking or not, he didn’t care. He had you in this moment and would never let go, he vowed.

The florist’s eyes flickered to a bouquet of red peonies sitting on his workbench with a soft smile.

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist

[candycandy00]

My Sweet Pet - A Suo x Reader x Sakura Fanfic Part 1

You’re a hybrid cat girl in a pet shop, and Sakura Haruka is a fellow hybrid in the cage beside you. After becoming friends, he promises to protect you. A week later, you’re both purchased by Suo Hayato.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Smut. 18+. Fem reader. Hybrid AU. Suo and Sakura are bisexual. Hand jobs. Fingering. Voyeurism. All characters aged up! Humiliation. Dividers by @anitalenia and @benkeibear!

You were only at the hybrid pet shop for three days before you met Sakura Haruka. You were scared and alone, the only cat hybrid there, so you were excited to see him. His ears were each a different color, matching his unusual hair, and they twitched cutely as he looked around the store. 

When he was pushed into the cage next to yours, you greeted him somewhat shyly, just happy to see another cat. He’d turned red and looked away from you, but when you asked his name, he muttered it quietly. He never started conversations with you, but he almost always answered when you asked him something directly. It took you a few days to realize he wasn’t being rude, he just hadn’t been properly socialized. 

His unique coloring made him stand out, and lots of potential buyers were interested in him, but his almost feral behavior turned them all away. He didn’t like being touched, and hated being talked to like a pet. He would hiss and scratch at anyone who tried to pat his head. 

In your case, your shyness made most buyers look elsewhere. Cat hybrids were expected to be forward and even a bit aggressive, but you were as shy as a bunny. Haruka was the only one you ever spoke to.

One day, while Haruka was out of his cage, being examined by a buyer, he snapped over something they said and clawed at them. The owner used his remote to trigger the shock collar around Haruka’s neck, just like the one you wear. Haruka kept getting back up despite the obvious pain he was in, but eventually he collapsed onto the hard floor. 

Later that evening, you noticed a bad scrape on his wrist, probably from when he hit the floor. With your cages side by side, only a row of bars separated you. Thinking only of helping him, you ripped a piece of your dress off from the bottom and reached through the bars, gently taking hold of his injured wrist. 

He froze, staring at you, his face red, his hair seeming to stand up on end. But he didn’t pull away as you wrapped the strip of fabric around his wrist. “I don’t know if this will help,” you told him, “but I can’t stand doing nothing when you’re hurt.”

The blush deepened on his cheeks as he mumbled a quick “thank you”. 

From that day on, he seemed a little more friendly with you, a little more willing to talk to you. Through the bars of your cages, you became friends. 

One night after closing time, you confessed to Haruka that you’re scared of being purchased, of being someone’s pet. “I know these little cages are miserable,” you told him, “but at least we’re here together.”

He turned red again, and in a quiet voice said, “Don’t be scared. I promise I’ll protect you.”

And with those words, you fell in love. 

Now, one week later, the door to the shop opens and a strange man walks in. He’s the most beautiful human you’ve ever laid eyes on. He wears an eyepatch over one eye, and long earrings dangling elegantly from each ear. He’s dressed handsomely, and his movements are graceful and smooth as he sweeps around the store, looking into the various cages. 

When he stops in front of your cage and peers in, you feel your face heating up and your heart racing. There’s something magnetic about him, demanding your attention. He stares at you with an enigmatic smile before moving on to look at Haruka. 

Looking into the cage beside you, it’s a bit of a shock to see that even Haruka seems drawn by the man’s striking beauty. Instead of his usual glares and hisses, he’s simply staring back at the man, his face growing pink. 

The shop owner approaches to speak to the man, who gestures toward your cage and says, “I’d like to take a closer look at her, if that’s alright.”

Your heart nearly stops. This unbelievably beautiful man wants to look at you?

The owner opens your cage and pulls you out, leaving you standing in the middle of the store awkwardly. You’re so nervous under this buyer’s piercing gaze that you’re trembling.  

“A shy cat?” The buyer asks. “How unusual.”

The owner seems to notice the buyer’s interest. “Yes, she’s very unusual! Shy as a bunny, docile as a sheep!”

You shudder as the owner steps closer to you and begins pulling up your simple white dress. “You can check out the details if you want,” he says. 

Your terrified eyes shift to Haruka. You don’t want him to look, but at the same time, you’re seeking comfort in his face. He’s gripping the bars of his cage so tightly, you don’t know how they haven’t broken, his face twisted in anger as he glares at the owner. 

The buyer suddenly interrupts. “That won’t be necessary.”

The owner drops your dress, and you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

“I’ll take her,” the beautiful man says, and you look up at him in shock. He wants you?! Your heart begins pounding rapidly. You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t some part of you that’s excited to be chosen by a man like him, but you love Haruka, and you’re still frightened by the idea of having an owner, no matter how gorgeous he is. 

You look at Haruka again, and he looks horrified. As tears begin to well up in your eyes, you hear him scream out in frustration, and then two of the bars snap loose from the cage. Haruka jumps out, lunging for the buyer, who doesn’t seem the least bit worried as he smoothly dodges the feral cat. 

The owner hurries to pull the remote from his pocket to trigger the shock collar, turning it to full blast to make Haruka go down fast. 

Haruka is on the floor, his body jerking as the collar shoots him with electricity. He’s glaring at the owner and the buyer. “Don’t… take her!” he forces out. 

You start toward him, tears dripping down your face. “Stop hurting him!” you cry at the owner. 

The buyer, completely unfazed, walks over to Haruka and looks down at him. “Is this your friend?” he asks, his one visible eye sliding over to you. 

You nod, too upset to speak. Haruka is growling as he looks up at the man. 

The owner is sweating, holding the remote in his shaky hand. “I apologize, sir! This one has been too wild since he got here! I’ll make sure to discipline him later!”

The buyer smiles. “Actually, I think I’ll take both of them!”

You and Haruka both freeze and stare at him, then glance at each other. 

“You just want to protect your friend, right?” the buyer asks Haruka. “If I buy you too, you can come with her. That should fix everything.”

Haruka has already stopped struggling, but his body was still clearly tense until just now. “Just… don’t hurt her,” Haruka says. 

The buyer squats down close to Haruka and says, “I can’t promise that, but at least you’ll be there to watch over her, right?”

Haruka seems to deflate, all fight leaving his body. “Fine. Take us both.”

“Excellent!” the buyer says cheerfully as he stands up. “I’m Suo Hayato. I’ll be your owner starting today! Let’s all get along.”

The next hour passes in a blur. Paperwork is signed, both you and Haruka are restrained even though Suo insists there’s no need, and the two of you are pushed into the back of a fancy black vehicle to be driven to your new home. 

Suo’s house is huge, extravagant, the kind of place you never imagined you would even walk inside. It looks like a palace to your eyes as he leads you inside. 

After stepping into a lovely, fully furnished bedroom, he says, “This one is yours. I believe everything you could possibly need is already here, but let me know if there’s anything I’ve forgotten. Take a bath, put on fresh clothes, and come to my room within the hour. I’ll have one of the servants lead the way for you.”

Once he’s gone, you begin looking around the lavish bedroom. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen in your life. Everything is so… beautiful. You look in the closet to find a collection of pretty dresses, all of them in the same style but with different patterns. They seem just slightly short for you, with thin straps at the top. You select one covered with pale pink flowers on white. 

You notice with some alarm that there’s no underwear of any kind. Is this one of the things Suo forgot? You make a mental note to ask for some as you climb into the large ceramic tub to take your bath. 

When finished, you dry yourself and your hair with a towel, and pull on the lovely dress. As you thought, it’s a little too short for your comfort, barely coming below your hips. With no underwear on, you feel especially uncomfortable. Being very careful to walk slowly, to avoid your dress coming up, you go to the bedroom door to tell the waiting servant that you’re ready. 

They lead you down an ornate hallway and to a glossy wooden door. They knock twice, then open it and motion for you to step inside. You barely clear the door before they close it behind you, sending you in alone. 

You quickly spot your new owner sitting in a high backed leather chair. He stands when you approach, and looks you up and down. “The dress looks great on you. Very pretty.”

You can’t help blushing at the compliment. An extraordinarily beautiful person called you pretty! 

Then he look over to the side and says, “Sakura, doesn’t she look pretty?”

You turn to look, and see that Haruka is kneeling on the floor, his hands still restrained behind his back. He’s glaring at Suo. 

“Haruka!” you exclaim, then look to Suo. “Why is he still restrained?”

Suo gives you a friendly smile. “He exhibited some violent tendencies at the shop. This is just a precaution until I’m sure he can be trusted not to hurt anyone. Don’t worry, he hasn’t been harmed, and he’ll get his own private room just like yours.”

You look at Haruka with a worried expression, but he doesn’t seem hurt, or even angry. He averts his eyes from yours, his cheeks growing pink as he mutters, “I’m fine.”

 Suo stands behind you, subtly turning you so that you’re facing Haruka, who is only a few feet away. The room is well lit, a little brighter than you expected, and a little cooler. 

Your owner runs one hand down your arm, the touch so soft it leaves goosebumps. “Sakura, you didn’t answer me,” Suo says. “Don’t you think she’s pretty?”

You flush with heat where Suo’s hands touch you, and you look away from Haruka. You’re in love with him, but you don’t know what he thinks of you. 

“Yeah,” he says, “she’s pretty.”

You look back at him to find his face red, his eyes looking to the side. 

Suo’s hand moves back up your arm, over your shoulder, ghosting over the shock collar around your neck. “I bet you’ve never been shocked before,” he says. 

You shake your head, and Sakura’s ears and eyes seem to perk up in alarm. 

Suo smiles. “Of course not. A sweet, innocent little cat like you is well behaved. Being shocked hurts very bad, doesn’t it Sakura?”

Haruka slowly nods, his eyes focused on Suo. 

“Don’t worry,” Suo says. “As long as everyone behaves, you’ll never experience that kind of pain.”

Haruka frowns, staring daggers at your new owner. 

Suo’s hands move down to the hem of your dress, and start to draw it upward. You quickly try to hold it down. “Wait! Y-you didn’t leave me any underwear in my room.”

He leans his face in close to your ear. You can’t see him behind you, but you can feel his body heat against your trembling back. “I know. You won’t be needing any here,” he says. 

You feel panic rising within you. “But..!”

“It’s okay,” he says soothingly, “It’s just the three of us here. Sakura and I will take good care of you. We just want to see how pretty you are. You’ll show us, right?”

Your shaky hands let go of the dress, and he slowly pulls it up, revealing your body in the brightly lit room, pulling it over your head and tossing it onto the floor. You slam your eyes shut, far too embarrassed to see Haruka’s face. You feel Suo move from behind you, then hear his voice say, “Open your eyes, kitten.”

You shake your head. “I can’t!”

His hands are on your face. “Open your eyes for me. Don’t be embarrassed. We both think you’re beautiful.”

You crack your eyes open and find Suo’s heavenly face close to yours. You blush, your tail swishing nervously behind you. He backs up a few steps to stand next to Haruka, who is pointedly looking away from you. 

Suo squats down and says something to Haruka that you can’t hear. Haruka’s eyes widen, his gaze snaps sharply to Suo, then a growl emanates from his mouth. Suo simply smiles at him.

A few seconds pass, then Haruka finally looks at you. His face is redder than ever, his mouth slightly open as his bi-colored eyes move up your body. Ahh, it’s so embarrassing! To have two handsome men, fully clothed, staring at your exposed body… it’s almost overwhelming. But you can’t deny the strange thrill that’s shooting through you. Haruka is looking at you so intently! 

Suo steps over to the high backed chair and pulls it to you, positioning it so that it’s facing Haruka. Then Suo sits down and pats his lap. “Sit,” he tells you. 

He’s smiling pleasantly, his voice calm, but there’s an underlying tinge of authority that makes you hurry to comply. 

You ease yourself down on his thighs, and his hands move to your waist to slide you back against him. Your heart pounds furiously as his fingers graze over your thighs. 

“Let’s show Sakura this pretty pussy, okay?”

You shudder in his lap, turning your head to look at his face, then back at Haruka’s. “It’s… too embarrassing…”

Suo’s voice at your ear is maddeningly smooth. “I told you, there’s nothing to be embarrassed for. You’re beautiful.”

With his hands, he pulls your legs apart, hooking each one over his own knees to keep them spread. You whimper, but Suo holds you firmly in place. “You have to keep your legs open so Sakura can see.”

One of his hands lightly rubs your inner thigh as his lips move close to your ear again. In a sultry whisper only you can hear, he says, “You love Sakura, don’t you?”

Your breath catches in your throat. 

“It’s obvious to me,” he says, his hand moving closer and closer to your pussy. “But I don’t think Sakura realizes it yet. So let’s tell him.”

You turn to look at Suo, tears rapidly filling your eyes. “No, please! Don’t tell him!” you whisper back frantically. 

Suo laughs. “Oh, I’m not going to tell him. You are. Confess your love, right here, right now.”

Now?! While you’re naked, spread open in another man’s lap?! It’s unthinkable. You look at Haruka, who is staring at you with an unreadable expression. It looks like he’s breathing fast. 

“Please, I can’t do it like this,” you say. 

Suo’s fingers finally reach your silky folds, and you feel him spread them apart, exposing you even more. “This is the best way to do it,” he whispers. “Any man would love to have a beautiful woman tell him she loves him while her pretty, wet pussy is on display for him.” 

You gasp as one of his fingers brushes over your clit, the sudden pleasure sending a shockwave through your body. 

“Sakura, she has something to tell you,” Suo says, looking at the other cat who is still on his knees on the floor, his arms behind his back. 

You lock eyes with him. “Haruka… I… I’m in love with you!”

You didn’t think it was possible for his face to get redder, but it just did. His hair seems to be standing up again, his ears twitching wildly. But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t answer your confession of love. 

Suo’s fingers are playing with you, his touch gentle but invasive. One finger slips inside you, making you quiver, while his thumb strokes your clit. You let out a humiliating moan, wishing Haruka wasn’t seeing this. Finally you close your eyes, leaning your head back against Suo’s warmth, having no more will to fight the pleasure rippling through you. 

You’re becoming wetter and wetter, Suo’s probing fingers making lewd sounds that seem to echo in the room, your own moans nearly overtaking them. You keep your eyes firmly closed. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to look at Haruka after this. 

The pleasure hits its peak, you cry out loudly as clear fluid squirts out around Suo’s fingers, absolutely drenching them. He holds you through your orgasm, his fingers still stroking and pumping, until you go quiet and still in his lap. Then he withdraws his hand and says, “You did well. Now go back to your room and get some rest.”  

You don’t waste any time. You’re far too embarrassed to stay any longer than necessary. Without even glancing at Haruka, you pull your dress back on and hurry out the door. 

*******************************

Sakura glares at his new owner, wanting nothing more than to break free and claw the man’s stupid pretty face off. 

The owner, Suo stands up from his chair and walks over to Sakura. “Still mad at me?” he asks, that irritatingly calm smile on his face. 

“You said you wouldn’t hurt her if I watched,” Sakura practically growls out. 

“Did she seem to be in any pain? I didn’t hurt her. You did.”

“Me?!”

Suo’s phony smile is replaced by a phony frown. “The poor girl bared her heart to you, among other things, and you ignored her. I thought you loved her too.”

Sakura did love her. Of course he did. But he hadn’t been able to say that in the moment. It was too awkward, too controlled by the manipulative bastard standing over him. 

Suo sighs and holds out his hand. It’s still dripping. “Looks like she made a mess on my hand. Hmm, I wonder how she tastes…”

As Suo slowly lifts his hand, Sakura lunges forward, wrapping his lips around three of the other man’s glistening fingers, hungrily sucking her juices off them. He’s never tasted anything so sweet. 

Suo makes no attempt to stop him, instead he looks quite pleased. He squats down to be at eye level with Sakura, his one eye gleaming as he watches his pet suck his fingers. With his free hand, Suo slips his hand down the front of Sakura’s pants, feeling the raging erection. 

“Have you had this the whole time? I didn’t realize it would turn you on so much to watch another man pleasure her.”

Sakura wants to tell him to shut up, but he can’t bring himself to let those deliciously coated fingers slip out of his mouth. He feels Suo’s warm hand softly stroking his cock, and to his horror, he likes the sensation. His body is responding, his cock twitching in the other man’s grasp, quick little moans creeping out around Suo’s fingers. Just when he thinks he’s on the edge of cumming, Suo suddenly withdraws both hands. 

Sakura is left panting, spit and other fluids on his lips and chin, his cock throbbing in his pants. With his arms restrained, he can’t even jack off. He growls in frustration. 

Suo laughs and tosses a pillow on the floor next to him. “Looks like you’ll have to find another way to get off.”

Sakura gives a look that could almost kill, then crawls over and begins grinding desperately against the pillow, trying to create any friction at all. It’s humiliating, but he has no choice at this point. 

“Getting close?” Suo asks, standing over him. “Try remembering how she looked in my lap, all spread out for you. How she mewled and cried when she came. How pretty her face was when she told you she’s in love with you…”

“Ah… fuck!” Sakura yells, his cum shooting out across the pillow and the floor, staining both. As he lays panting, collapsed onto his side, Suo heads toward the door. 

“Try to get some sleep. I might be so kind as to let you touch her tomorrow.”

The he turns off the light and shuts the door, leaving Sakura alone in the darkness. 

[azsazz]

Cherries, Juniper, and Orange Slices

Daddy!Eris x Reader

Summary: This one is a req from @acourtofmenandthirst: Eris' daughter drawing his scars on her doll.

Warnings: Mentions of scars.

Word Count: 1,639

_________________________________________

Eris peeks his head into the room, amber eyes drifting towards the cot his son, Rook, is currently crying in. The young boy, hardly a year old, has an iron grip on the bars caging him inside the intricately carved wood of his bed. Thick vines and leaves cut into the dark lumber, choked by his little fingers.

Tears stream down Rook's chubby cheeks and Eris coos, pushing into the room. Sunlight creeps in through the light linen curtains. The stained glass creation hung in the window casts colorful shadows across the creamy yellow of the walls. 

“My poor son,” Eris huffs dramatically, lifting Rook from his cradle. He’s clothed in only his nappy, reaching up to cling onto his father’s pressed shirt as if he’ll never let go again. 

Eris hopes he doesn’t. His children are growing up much too fast.

Rook sniffles, resting his head in the crook of Eris’ neck, and hiccups. Eris pats soothing motions into his son's bare skin, peppering his freckled cheeks with loving kisses as he calms his youngest child down. He rocks the little boy, waltzing up to the big windows and pushes the curtains open, letting the afternoon sun shine in full force. The room overlooks the small orchard in the back of his quaint home. Trees he’s planted himself with help from you and your daughters, an important tradition to your family. 

It started on your first date. Eris had already known you were the one—love at first sight—and kept his home away from home a secret from his family, only using it to escape Beron’s throes when he really needed it. Briar, he named it. He had cooked you a hearty meal with the most expensive, luxurious wine he could find, and after a delightful dinner, he’d walked you through the nearly empty rolling hills behind his home, hand-in-hand.

You’d commented how the fields needed more trees and had gushed on and on about what he could do with the space. His shadow hounds had run by your feet, chasing each other through the ankle-high grasses, and he’d immediately taken you to his mount and settled you in front of him, taking the both of you into town to purchase some seeds. 

It has been tradition ever since. Birthdays, anniversaries, births, deaths, any and all celebrations the both of you would go into the yard and plant a tree. Maude loves her cherry trees with all her heart, and Eris is convinced the only reason his daughter ventures outside is to pluck the fruit off the trees and stuff herself silly, stumbling back into the house with stained fingers and lips.

A juniper tree for his other daughter, Juniper. This one was harder to acquire, but thriving well in the backyard, closest to the home. June doesn’t seem to understand the value of the tree yet, but someday, Eris knows that she will.

And a sweet orange tree for his little boy Rook. It had been one of your cravings when you were pregnant with him, and to plant the tree only seemed fitting. Rook devoured any little orange bits he was given with the biggest smile on his face.

He makes a grabby hand for the tree, smart enough to know where his favorite treats are from. 

“You hungry, little man?” Eris asks, and Rook babbles in response. He lifts his son, blowing raspberries on his bare stomach that has cheerful giggles bursting through the room. Rook’s auburn eyes shine up at his father, laughing only harder when Eris catches a whiff of his nappy, grimacing. “Alright baby, let’s get you all cleaned up first.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

“Why is our son naked?” you muse, allowing Eris to press a kiss to your cheek while you scoop the last of the cookie dough onto the tray. Your mate and daughters had been helping you, but the girls had been more interested in eating the batter their father kept sneaking them, so you shooed them away to play with their dolls while the cookies baked and you patted Eris on the butt as he went to check on Rook. 

Your son keens, pressing his own open mouthed kiss to your cheek. It’s all slobber and suction, but you can’t help the beaming smile that splits your cheeks anyway. 

“Because he keeps burning them off, Fawn,” Eris answers you, nose wrinkling as he turns to the babe, “Isn’t that right buddy?”

Rook screeches in excitement as his father tickles his stomach. It isn’t abnormal for your son’s power to be flaring up with his emotions. You’d gone through similar situations with Maude and Juniper around this age as well. You still have the burn marks of waddling feet branded into the wood to prove it.

Placing the tray of cookies into the oven, you reach out to take Rook from your mate. “Such a little stinker,” you tease, bopping your youngest on the nose. He retaliates by grabbing a fistful of your hair and you curse mentally, knowing you should’ve tied it out of his reach. 

“Where are the girls?” Eris asks, peeking around the kitchen for any leftover cookie dough. In his mission to steal as much as he could for his daughters, he’d forgotten to sneak a taste for himself. The mixing bowl sits soapy in the sink and he deflates a little.

“Coloring in the den,” you answer, eyes twinkling. Your stomach swoops still at the sight of Eris, even more so whenever he interacts with his children. You knew he was loving, but seeing him like this, completely at ease with no worries tightening his shoulders, he looks ethereal. “Why don’t you get them washed up for some cookies?”

“Yes, please,” Eris says, stealing a kiss from you. Rook squeals and you swoon.

Leaving Rook with you, Eris takes off into the next room. He finds Maude and Juniper spread out on the floor, their coloring supplies strewn about. Thylix and Codon, two of his hounds, laze around both girls, having taken it upon themselves to become their guards. They hardly leave his daughters alone, often choosing to sleep beside their beds at night, though Eris knows his daughters let them jump into bed with them as soon as the door shuts behind him. 

“What are my baby girls drawing in here?” Eris asks, tiptoeing forward. They startle and the hounds’ ears perk up at the sound of their master, but they don’t move. His daughters look up at him with those big, round russet eyes, and Eris knows immediately that they’re doing something they shouldn’t be.

“Daddy,” Maude pouts, hiding something in front of her. Eris’ brows furrow as he wonders what she’s keeping from him, but her younger sister, Juniper, holds her doll up in the air, proudly. 

“Daddy!” June yells, pushing up onto wobbly legs and racing towards him. Eris scoops her up and she squeals, bringing her doll with her, showing off her artwork to her father. Marker streaks across the face of her plaything, reds, oranges, and pinks adorning the cheeks and dress, across the doll’s eye.

“What’s this, Junie?” Eris asks, admiring her artistic abilities. There’s potential, but if she’s going to continue her artistic streak, he better get her something more appropriate to color on. Maybe sign her up for one of the local—or Night Court—art classes.

“It’s Daddy,” she answers, beaming up at her father. His heart swells, but he doesn't seem to be comprehending what Juniper is trying to convey.

He looks around his middle daughter to his oldest, still in her spot on the ground. Her cheeks are pinked with a blush and she’s pouting at her little sister for ruining the surprise.

“Care to explain, Maude?” Eris asks, though he’s not really sure if he wants the answer.

She sighs, shoving up to her feet. She holds up her doll in front of her face like she’s going to get in trouble for what she’s done, but Eris doesn’t understand why.

Until Maude explains. “We drew your scars on our dollies,” she says, and it all clicks. The one across his cheekbone from when Beron has nicked him purposefully with the edge of his sword before he set foot into his first war. His father had said the scar would help him relate to his legion the more roughed up he looked. 

Another, peeking out from the strap of the doll's dress, right above her heart. It’s a rendition of the brand on his chest, another gift from his father. He tries not to let his children see his scars, especially that one in particular, but she must’ve seen it when she’d crawled into your bed after a nightmare perhaps.

Eris’ eyes prickle but he blinks the emotion away. His throat is thick, and he distracts himself by taking a second look at Juniper's toy. Upon catching her fathers gaze on the doll, Maude speaks again. “Junie drew Uncle Lulu’s eye scars on hers. I told her we were supposed to be drawing only yours, but she didn’t listen,” Maude huffs a little, annoyed that her younger sister didn’t follow her direction.

“That’s…that’s very thoughtful, Junie,” Eris places a chaste kiss on her forehead and she grins. “You both did such a wonderful job.”

“You’re not…mad?” Maude asks, staring up at him nervously.

Juniper kicks her legs, trying to escape Eris’ grip. He lets her down and she abandons her doll, racing for the kitchen where she can hear you talking to her brother.

Eris kneels, taking Maude’s hand in his and tugging her into his chest for a hug. “No, Maude, I’m not upset. I’m impressed.” 

“You really like it?” she asks shyly, pulling back so she can look him in the eyes.

Eris nods once, firmly. “I love it, Maude. You made me look perfect.”

[ultimate-chickennougat]

| Your Salaryman Husband | (Vol 9)

Vol 1 Vol 2 Vol 3 Vol 4 Vol 5 Vol 6 Vol 7 Vol 8 (Not Required)

Salaryman!Kento x Housewife!Reader

When Nanami accidentally rolls onto you in your sleep...

Word Count: 1.1k

CW: SFW, domestic fluff, fem!Reader, reader wears a nightgown, Nanami is worried, very slightly suggestive.

A/n: This started as Nanami bringing you flowers and ended up as whatever this is?... (I'll do that next volume instead!)

Nanami sat at the dining room table, staring down at the few hours worth of paperwork before him. As per usual he was already burnt out from his work at the office, but of course it didn’t stop there. One of the joys of getting married was making quite a few large purchases, especially since the two of you didn’t live together beforehand. It had you very grateful he already had a car in good condition, as to not add another thing to the list. 

Unfortunately for Nanami, this wasn’t the kind of work he could get done with prior to coming home to you. Instead, he had to piece every budgeting document and report from various companies at home, and you had offered to join him in doing so. It went a lot faster thanks to your help, but seeing you all tired was not something he wanted to come from such menial tasks in his opinion. But the work was almost done, and most of the documents would finalize the purchases and regular payments that the two of you would need to make.

You were well accustomed to handling the household finances, keeping track of how much you spent each week at the grocery store, and trying to cut back on costs through growing vegetables and eating at home as much as possible. The two of you tried to run everything by each other whenever something was purchased, so your insight was very much appreciated by him. 

In between your yawns, Nanami let out a soft chuckle as he flipped through some pages and sat them to the side. After a few hours of jotting down figures, it was quite satisfying to watch them get slid into an envelope, placed into a box, and sealed away to not be touched for (hopefully) the next decade at least, assuming everything was done correctly.

You laid your head gently down onto the table, as Nanami moved his hand to cup your cheek and act as a pillow. Dinner was already cooking in the oven, a simple one-pan dish of vegetables and protein to be paired with fresh fruit you had purchased from the market earlier that day and ice cream as dessert. The scent flowed throughout the house, making you especially hungry, but it mostly lulled you closer to sleep.

Watching his cute little wife so tired and sweet, Nanami wouldn’t have been able to stop a smile from overcoming his face if he tried. In fact it was another thing that he loved about you, how despite being ready sleep in until noon the next day, you still got up and served the two of you dinner, making sure that everything was in place to make the next day go as smoothly as possible. 

The dishes were washed and set out to dry, and both of you changed into your clothes for the night. A pair of simple pajama pants and a loose fitting shirt for Nanami, and a cream colored nightgown for you. After brushing your teeth, you slid into bed with your husband following behind. 

If you weren’t so tired, Nanami would have acted on his urge to smother you with kisses. Instead he settled for just one, right on the lips held there for a couple seconds. To that you protested, “Kento I’m not that tired, you don’t have to go to sleep-,” but he cut you off. “I’m serious you need rest, goodnight my love,” he slipped under the covers, gently spooning you close as you drifted off to sleep. 

However, those urges didn’t seem to subside. Though usually still throughout the night, acting as a cage as you squirmed around, while deep into his own dreams he managed to turn onto his stomach… with you underneath him. Absolutely smooshed into your pillow, you woke up quickly and turned your head to the side to keep your ability to breath well. 

Your husband was large, that you knew, but for that to become a problem was quite rare when it was usually appreciated. It was that and the fact that he was gripping you so tightly, arms crossed over your torso like you would to a stuffed animal, an inescapable hold that still wasn’t yet uncomfortable. You thought about waking Nanami up for a bit, trying to wriggle out of his arms or push him off of you. Breathing wasn’t a problem and you didn’t exactly mind the closeness, though he was a bit heavy… so it took a good half hour for you to finally build up the will to ask him as you started to overheat. 

Ignoring your lack of sleep, by that time you were giggling at the look on his face when he finally woke up and moved. Nanami sat up on the bed, a slight flush to his cheeks and his lips had curled into a frown. “My love, don’t feel bad to wake me up,” he stated sternly, checking to make sure you were okay in a slightly frantic manner. “I’m sorry, Kento, but I’m okay, I promise,” you reasoned with him, to which he shook his head. “Either way I apologize, I’ll try to make sure this doesn’t happen again,” you snuggled back into the blankets, pulling Nanami by the hand so he laid down as well. 

“Are you sure you don’t want water or something? It must have been uncomfortable,” Nanami tried to get up to go grab some, but you remained clinging onto his arm. “I’m okay, it wasn’t bad,” you yawned with a smile, “In fact… I rather liked being so close.” In all your nights of sleeping in the same bed together, now nearing your fourth month of doing so, you never had encountered him doing such a thing. Something to note about what happens when you, his wife, the love of his life, looks a bit too irresistible and he cannot indulge as usual. 

Nanami hummed, letting out a yawn himself. He turned you around to face him, as you closed your eyes. “Like this?” he asked, admiring your face that was tucked into his chest. He breathing slowed down, worry leaving his mind as he relaxed with you. “It’s perfect,” you smiled, “Goodnight, darling.”

[witchxxjpg]

lestappen hogwarts au dedicated to my harry potter marathon (1k words)

+ seeker Charles and chaser Max (definitely not dating you know👀)

(i know that the age gaps are incorrect and that 11 years-old Max never raced international but for the sake of this au i change these things))

******

Max sat in his compartment alone.

When he looked outside all he could see was children and their parents running around Platform 3/4 with huge trolleys filled with bags and suitcases. But Max himself had only a mediocre case with shabby textbooks and some clothes to wear during his first school year.

Honestly speaking, he didn't know what he was supposed to do. He didn't want to stand out, even though he was well aware that he wasn't quite like all the others.

When he passed by the other compartments, all the children were chatting and, Max guessed, they were just happy to see or meet each other, while some of the older students were discussing their summer breaks.

Max didn't know anyone here. He didn't even have anyone to say goodbye to.

His mother was too busy in Belgium to fly just for him to London. And his father was still furious at him for the decision to take a year off karting to study in this school for wizards. He had just dropped him off three hour ago near King's Cross Station and left without any goodbye.

Standing on the platform, Max'd thought about what to do.

After a failure of trying to ask an officer about platform 3/4 that was written on his boarding ticket Max'd sat on a nearby bench, hopping that soon he'd see someone who looked like a wizard.

And he was lucky enough that after only an hour of waiting he saw a girl, pulling a trolley of suitcases and a cage with a huge brown owl.

When Max had visited Diagon Alley last week with a big disheveled guy named Hagrid to buy all the necessary equipment for his first year, he'd been told that he's allowed to have a pet like a cat or an owl in Hogwarts. But his father didn't even want to give him money to purchase a wand, so Max knew better than to ask for an animal, even though he really wanted to have a cat.

He got into the train well earlier than all the other students, because almost all sofas were empty. He took one of the farthest compartments and put his case on the bench near him. He was too short to throw it on the top shelf and he didn't know any lifting charms. Then started looking at other wizards.

After an hour of observing the almost empty platform, Max finally started seeing more people.

They were all different: some of them wearing usual clothes, that Max's seen people in, while some others were in ridiculous outfits that he decided was sort of wizard style.

But there were a lot of children, of course. Most of them were in the same usual clothes. However, Max was relieved to see that others wore black robes that Max himself was dressed it.

Later he noticed that some of the robes of other students were with colorful elements, unlike his own that was fully grey.

The departure time of the Hogwarts Express was close, so Max sat there and waited, listening to dulled noises on the platform.

Until the door of his compartment was wide open.

"Hey, sorry, all the others are full," said a young boy, who looked around Max's age. "Do you mind if we sit with you?"

Max didn't mind at all, so he shaked his head and offered the seats.

Behind the boy who asked were two older guys who entered the room.

"Need help with your luggage?" asked one of them, pointing at Max's miserable suitcase, and Max, nodding, pointed out in his head that they're not from England, judging from the accent of these two of them.

While he put Max's case on the top shelf, the other one asked, seeing his stiffness, "First time, right?"

Max smiled awkwardly and nodded.

"Don't worry, we don't bite," cheered up the guy who helped with the luggage, chuckling.

"But Charlie can, though!" said the other, ruffling the hair of the younger boy who entered first and laughing.

Max assumed that they were all brothers, considering how well they knew each other.

The younger boy, Charlie, looked scandalous, "Hey, it only happened once!" pointing at the guy who accused him. "And you totally deserved that!"

"Okay," chuckled again the older guy. "We'll go buy us some food".

"Yeah, let the kids bond together," said the other when they exited the compartment, still giggling.

As soon as they left the younger guy jumped on the seat, opposite Max, with a huge smile and stretched out his right hand, "Hello, I'm Charles".

Shaking Charles' hand, Max mumbled, "I'm Max".

"Oh, by the way, that were Jules and Lorenzo," said Charles, pointing at the direction where the older boys had left. "They can be very annoying, I know. But still cool".

Max hesitated, "Are they your brothers?"

"Lo is," Charles smiled. "Jules is my godfather, but he's more like a brother. Do you have siblings?"

With that question Max realized that he actually missed Vic. He last saw her two months ago, while video chatting with their mother. He hoped he'd be able to go visit them on winter holidays.

"Yes, I have a sister," Max mentioned. "But she lives with my mother, and I live with my father".

He saw that Charles liked talking. "Oh, are you parents wizards?"

"No, they are both -" Max remembered that Hagrid had called them somehow, people who can't do magic. But he didn't remember. "Well, you know, not wizards".

"Muggles?" helped Charles. "That's so cool! Mine are from Monaco. Both wizards, but it's a boring story".

That explained the accent, even though Max'd thought they were French.

Max thought if he could share more about himself, "Oh, I raced in Monaco once", he said before realizing that maybe wizards didn't even know what karting was.

Until he saw how Charles' eyes went comically wide.

"Really?!" he jumped off the seat opposite Max and sat right near him. "You do karting? I also do karting. Not like anything professional but we do it every holiday".

Time passed and Max didn't even realize that. Soon returned Lorenzo and Jules with their hands full of sweets and chocolatebars. That's when Max tried his first chocolate frog and got his first card.

Then when Charles was very emotional to discuss Max's karting championships with his brothers, deep red Max was awkward to hear all this excitement (he'd never admit that he liked it). And he didn't know what to say when the older guys invited him to Monaco for winter holidays to show off the skills.

During boat trip to Hogwars Max listened to Charles speaking about four houses and how he was sure he would be in Gryffindor, because all his family was Gryffindor. Max decided that he also wanted to be brave and be in Gryffindor.

Of course, they didn't get to the same house, none of them didn't even get to the house that they'd wanted, but it wouldn't stop them from becoming best friends and probably something more.

But that's a story for later.

Now Max was just excited for his first year in the magic world.

[cityof2morrow]

3-in-1 Supermarket 001

Published: 1-13-2024 | Updated: 1-15-2024 (Counter 1/4 FIX) SUMMARY The 3-in-1 Supermarket collection (Simmons, 2023) includes items from Asamo Sims (2005), Sims Connection (2006), and Simplan-X (2006), edited and expanded. Mix and match items to create your own, unique supermarket design.

DETAILS Requires all EPs/SPs §100-700 | Buy Mode All files with “MESH” in their filenames are REQUIRED for all textures/recolors to show properly. To use the SmartGarden Kiosk, you must have the Planting Overhaul mod (Lamare and Tvickiesims, 2023) installed. Finally, you need one of the following: Shift Everything (Lamare, 2022) OR Object Freedom 1.02 (Fway, 2023). Some recolors may be bundled in the same file, so be careful deleting swatches in-game. Some objects may need to be shifted upward once for ideal placement.

WARNING: The SmartMarket Kiosk, SmartGarden Kiosk, and TV objects have pulsing, flashing, and glowing light effects. If you are sensitive to visual noise, download the LIGHT SENSITIVE version of this set. Only use ONE version in-game at a time. ITEMS Hanging Grocery Bags (Deco) (896 poly) Area Dividers 001-002 (Deco) (59 poly) Barrier Gate (334 poly) Barrier Fence (910 poly) - *not in the collection file. Basket (292 poly) Cash Register (533 poly) Cabinets (Deco) (408-548 poly) Cleaning Deco (1295 poly) Counter 001 (240 poly) Counter 002 (32 poly) Counter 003 (264 poly) Counter 004 Bagstation1  (240 poly) Counter 005 Bagstation2 (184 poly) Counter 006 (286 poly) Boxed Foods Display (396 poly) Shopping Cart (Shelf) (776 poly) Counter Shelf (417 poly) Displays 001-004 (Deco) (206-470 poly) Display 005 (Functional Grocery Bin) (1910 poly) – purchase groceries by clicking on any part of the object; place a shelf inside for additional storage/sale space. Display 006 (Functional Fridge) (738 poly) – store/sell spoilable food items. Display 007 (488 poly) Fridge Shelf (Functional) (834 poly) – store/sell spoilable food items. Shelves & Half Shelves (Left, Right, Center for each) (10-62 poly) SmartMarket and SmartGarden Kiosks (~1472-1650 poly) – purchase groceries, seeds, and fertilizer respectively. Supermarket Sign (2-Story) (352 poly) TV Display (1276 poly) DOWNLOAD (choose one) REGULAR VERSION from SFS | from MEGA LIGHT SENSITIVE VERSION from SFS | from MEGA *A known game bug may disable some shelf slots. If you cannot access more than 2 slots on the hosiery/lingerie racks (the ones with 4 or 6 bars), download ONE these fixes: MORE_Custom-objects-placeable-on-shelves (Numenor, 2006) MORE_Custom-objects-placeable-on-shelves+LOCKEDTILES (Numenor, 2006) Object Freedom 1.02 (Fway, 2023) CREDITS Thanks: AL Wood Actions/Reducing GUIDs/OBJs (@hugelunatic, 2022). Sources: Any Color You Like (@curiousb, 2010), Basket Cage (H.A., n.d.), BBNiche1Master (BuggyBooz, 2012), Beyno (Korn via BBFonts), Cubic Dynamics (EA/Maxis), DOECHII Screen Kiosk (retr0black, 2022 via Creative Commons Attribution), EA/Maxis, Great Groceries Display (Balkopat, 2020), Grocery Store Part 1 (Jacky93sims, 2023; Severinka, 2022; Bodegababy, 2021), Kitchen Basic (Hafiseazale, 2016; BuggyBooz 2008), Kitchen Basic Extras (Hafiseazale, 2016; BuggyBooz, 2010), Offuturistic Infographic (Freepik), One More Slot Package (OMSPs) (SilentLucidity, 2009), Planting Overhaul (@lamare-sims and @tvickiesims, 2023), Shop Essentials (Simplan-X, 2006), Shopping Set (Asamo Sims, 2005), Supermarket (JC/Sims Connection, 2006), Images (Iskisoon, 2023; Macrovector, 2023; 2022; 2019; Photographeaasia, 2023; Freepik, 2023; Upklya, 2022; Rawpixel).

[harmonictechnicality]

*wrote this for @vecnuthy's birthday, so here you go babe! i baked you a word cake 🥰🎂* *ao3 link here*

Nobody gets cool shit on their birthday after the age of sixteen - Steve stands by this statement firmly. That year, he got his permit. And by yuppie parent default-mode, he also received his first car.

He almost, almost had a quarter-life crisis on his twenty-fifth birthday. Steve was seconds away from buying a motorcycle. Robin was very dramatic about this decision, kept threatening to order his gravestone if he followed through on an impulse purchase. 

This, however, would’ve nullified his Adults Get Lame Birthday Gifts theory entirely. So Steve apologized to the salesperson, and tucked his credit card back into his wallet. Robin canceled the order on his gravestone as well, thank god.

Gifts have continued to be lackluster every year since then. And his 30th birthday is no exception to this rule.

A gift card from his parents. A pair of athletic socks from Dustin. And a t-shirt from Robin. Essentially, the starter pack of Welcome to Adulthood. 

Except for one minor detail:

The shirt from Robin is exceptionally soft. Bamboo fibers or something, he wasn’t really listening to her description. Even the color is soft. Muted red, almost pink. Everything about it is soft. Airy. 

Touchable.

Okay - that’s not an observation Steve makes upon receiving it. But it’s one that Eddie Munson will never let him forget. 

The first time it happens is a week after Steve’s birthday. The two of them hit up a bar on the outskirts of town. A place Eddie frequents a lot, occasionally dragging Steve along as his Token 9 to 5 Friend.

“Welcome to the Dirty Thirty Club, man!” Eddie crows, already diving into Steve’s atmosphere for a hug. 

“Thanks! Good to see you, Munson.” Steve chokes out, returning the massive hug with a single pat on Eddie's back.

The guy always gives the most suffocating hugs, fucking cages Steve into his arms and steals the breath of out his lungs with one squeeze. Steve has to inhale through his nose, smells the soapy steam rolling off Eddie’s skin.

Shower. Eddie just showered before meeting him here. It’s so fucking clear by the way he feels damp, smells clean.

Steve hates that he notices that. Wishes he didn’t care about Eddie’s hygiene schedule. But the scent of shower gel is addictive, breathing it in fast. Big gulps of fresh air. Lungs extending like they can capture Eddie's atmosphere and keep it there.

Okay, seriously. Steve thought his Eddie Munson Crush had been buried with the rest of his trauma back in 1993.

“Dude. This shirt is so soft, holy shit.” Eddie is rubbing his hand all over the back of Steve’s shirt, fingertips pushing into the fabric.

“Uh yeah. Sure is.”

Eddie must’ve blazed up back at his place, it’s the only reasonable explanation as to why they’re hugging for this long. Gotta be some strong shit too - strong enough to make him sound completely blissed out over a damn shirt.

He’s is humming now, both hands petting Steve’s shoulders, one on each side. Pinching the material, twisting it till it curls around his index finger.

“Gotta get me one of these bad boys.” Eddie chuckles, turns it into a playful growling sound. “Could touch this all day.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” Steve does an awkward wiggle out of the embrace. He looks down at his shoes, cheeks growing warmer as he continues to take Eddie’s words entirely out of context. 

Look, the sensible part of his brain knows that Eddie is talking about the shirt. That’s it. But the insufferably needy and more prominent part of his brain wants Eddie to be talking about himself in general.

That he could touch Steve all day long - shirt or no shirt.

Right. Steve needs a splash of water on his face. Could use a splash of water on his goddamn imagination too. Dilute the delusion for christ’s sake.

It happens again about four months later. Lucas invites the whole crew over to throw a surprise party for Max’s promotion at work.

Of course, Eddie is running late - he didn’t fail senior year twice solely from his shitty GPA. But showing up late to a surprise party? That’s a new level of risky. Not everything has to be a thrill-worthy adventure. Ugh.

“Max should be getting off work right about now.” Lucas explains, peering around the living room. “So everyone should head to your designated hiding spots.”

Nobody budges, just carrying on with their conversation.

“Alright, asshats - you heard Sinclair!” Steve snaps at each of them, glares for good measure. “Find a hiding spot or get the fuck out.” He gives a quick nod to Lucas, who still looks severely stressed, eyes ready to bust out of his skull any minute.

The coach-esque threat does the job. Everyone, ducks into place, voices descending into whispers. Whispers descending into shushes as the minutes draw closer to Max’s arrival. Steve is folded up behind the couch, arms wrapped around his knees. 

There’s a small creak coming from the front door. A few people yell 'surprise.' Steve peaks to the side to see Lucas shaking his head at them.

“No, nobody move.” He instructs, voice caught between a yell and whisper. “I was just letting Eddie inside.”

Instinct takes over. Steve twists around the corner of the couch, needing to see for himself that Eddie is here. That he really came.

Clearly, he didn’t move fast enough. Although he could’ve sworn he moved so embarrassingly fast that the vertebras in his back sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies (post-milk). 

But no one is there. No Eddie. No Lucas. No one.

“What the-” Something grabs the back of Steve’s shirt, pulling at his collar. A few people start aggressively shushing him.

“Chill out, Stevie.” Eddie is right there, meeting Steve’s face with a lopsided smirk. He’s close, way too close. Still holding the collar of Steve’s shirt with one hand, stretching it out. Keeping them close.

“Just trying to check the tag,” He releases Steve just an inch or so. His voice is so hushed, the quietest Steve has ever fucking heard it. “Wanted to see where I might be able to purchase such a godly article of clothing.”

“Ever heard of a thing called boundaries?” Steve hisses, swatting a strand of Eddie’s hair out of his face.

“Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry.”

They haven’t talked much since that night, barely any interaction for four months. But watching Eddie lean in, angling his head lower to study the tag on Steve’s shirt, hot breath on his neck…

It resets the clock. Flips the hourglass on Steve’s feelings for him.

He’s infatuated all over again, and all it took was Eddie invading his personal space. Just like he always does.

“You’ll have to ask Robin.” Steve whispers. Tries not to flinch when Eddie smooths Steve’s shirt collar back into place. “She’s the one that bought it for me.”

“Damn. Buckley has good taste.”

“Sure does.”

No distance is created. Neither of them move away. Eddie’s eyes continue to sketch over every stitch in Steve’s shirt, every hemline. He seems hyper fixated on it, too fixated to notice Steve’s pink-ish cheeks, thank god. 

If it weren’t for the shirt, Steve would assume Eddie is checking him out, looking him up and down with a heavy gaze. Dark pupils, casted darker by the dim lighting.

“Can I?” Eddie raises a hand out to Steve’s shoulder. He pauses, lifts an eyebrow at the end of his question.

Steve’s jaw is too tight to answer or counter back with a joke about how Eddie never asks permission before popping personal bubbles. All he can do is nod a little too eagerly.

Eddie reaches into Steve’s sleeve, rubs the material from the inside. A small grin forms on his face. He looks so pleased, purely amused. That’s enough to untangle Steve’s muscles, relaxing under Eddie’s light touch. 

But that’s the other thing. He’s barely touching Steve. Every now and then, his knuckles roll over Steve’s skin. Really, that’s it, that’s all he’s doing. And god, Steve craves more.

Eventually, Eddie switches it up, pinching the material between the pads of his fingers. He scoots closer to Steve’s side to do so. 

Time feels paused. Time feels rapid. It’s going nowhere and already slipping through his grasp. All Steve can think about is placing his hand underneath Eddie’s chin, bringing his lips up to his own. Kissing him till the clock stops ticking. Till the sand stops running.

“Softest shirt ever.” Eddie gives the material a slight tug. Smiles wider.

Steve gulps. “If you say so.”

“I mean, seriously - it must be made from the glow off an angel’s halo or something, cause damn.”

“You’re a trip, Munson.” 

Steve has to keep telling himself that Eddie is obsessed with touching his clothes - he’s not thinking about taking them off of Steve. No matter how much he wants that to be the reality of the situation. 

It’s not.

They stay like this till the doorknob clicks, turns. Steve almost forgot that he was at a party, surrounded by other people. 

Immediately, all of his senses flip back into Extrovert Autopilot. Everyone jumps out, yells a combination of surprise and congratulations (because they failed to coordinate that apparently).

He stays in this zone for the rest of the party. Talkative and breezy. Charming the pants off Max’s coworkers with silly little anecdotes about her as a kid. 

Steve is damn good at hosting. It’s probably in his white-collar bloodline or some shit. Still, anytime Eddie walks by, he glitches up. Temporarily out of sync.

He doesn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Eddie ducks out early, waving broadly before slipping through the front door.

Time does that weird thing again. Feels paused and rapid all at once as he watches the door shut behind Eddie.

“You okay, man?” Lucas nudges him.

“Yeah.” The gentle gesture returns time back to normal. Brings Steve back into this moment.

“Doing just fine.”

It’s all he thinks about for weeks. Anytime there’s a lull at work or a commercial break on television, Steve drifts. Pictures Eddie is in his shirt, the one he’s so obsessed with.

At first, it’s just that. Basic. Eddie standing in front of him, wearing that muted red, almost pink, shirt. Sometimes smiling, sometimes expectant. Either way, it’s always enough to make Steve’s neck feel flushed, creeping up to his cheeks.

Gradually, it evolves into something more complex. A fantasy, almost dreamlike. He imagines Eddie running his hands all over himself, his torso, his chest. The thin material of the shirt moving and shifting under his palms. His head tipping back, lips plush and red from where he’s gritting down, biting hard. Holding back sounds.

Those images get Steve in trouble. Panting on conference calls and boners at his work desk. 

He’s alone in his apartment when it grows, branches off into darker urges. Desires. Steve glances down at the floor, can’t help but wonder what Eddie might look like down there, staring up at him. Wearing Steve’s clothes. Begging Steve to take them off. Rip them, ruin them.

“That fucking does it.” Steve scolds himself, scolds his dick too. He’s calling Eddie Munson right now - before he has time to overthink it.

His hand is trembling as he picks up the house phone, dials out the number he didn’t even know he had memorized. The trembling thing is kinda embarrassing, but it's still better than sticking it down his pants and jerking off while the Cooking Network plays reruns in the background.

Every ring feels drawn out. Stretching time like taffy. 

Eddie picks up on the fourth taffy-length ring. “Eddie here.”

“Hey, man.” His voice comes out all strained, bone-dry.

“Shit. That really you, Harrington?” 

Apparently his voice comes out unrecognizable too.

“The one and only.”

Eddie snorts loudly into the phone speaker. “Doubt that very much - seems like a common enough name.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever, smartass.” Steve rubs his neck, scratching his skin. Working his way to extracting the words out of his throat. “So um… you busy tonight?”

“Nope.” Eddie answers.

“Cool. Me neither.”

There’s silence after that. Well, almost silence. Just a slight hissing sound from the phone line can be heard. Not enough sound to make things less awkward though.

Steve has no good reason to be so antsy, so wired with anxiety. They’ve been friends since metaphorical shit hit the metaphorical fan back in ‘86. So being outwardly weird around Eddie? It’s too damn fishy. 

“Is that it?” Eddie says. “Did you just want to bond over our empty schedules?” 

Of fucking course, Eddie would call Steve out on his weird bullshit. Doesn’t know subtlety if it bit him in the ass. 

Bad time to think about Eddie’s ass.

“Come over.” Steve blurts out. Needs to say something before a parade of ass-centric images start back up in his mind. “I ordered way too much takeout and there's a stack of movie rentals that I need to binge to minimize those late fees, so yeah… come over.”

No response, even the background hissing from the speaker cuts out. Maybe the phone line went dead. Or maybe Eddie hung up. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s abruptly ended a conversation, perpetually flouncing to whatever is new and shiny. Always distracted. 

“What kind of takeout?” He finally responds.

“The Greek place with the kickass tzatziki sauce.” Steve smirks, already knows the answer before Eddie can utter another word. 

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

Eddie arrives in less than an hour, actually. Knocks on Steve’s door exactly 51 minutes after Steve gets off the phone with him. It’s slightly disturbing that Steve suddenly turns into a math whiz when he’s fawning over someone.

Someone that fawns over his clothes more than him, but who gives a shit about logistics?

“Fucking starving.” Eddie says, slamming the door behind him. 

Steve smiles, motions his head toward the kitchen. “Help yourself, dude.”

The plan is so stupid. Half-baked at best: get Eddie out of his shirt (and jacket), and into Steve’s shirt instead. That’s it. That’s all Steve’s got so far.

But it’s better than nothing. So what the hell? It’s worth a shot.

He waits until Eddie has stuffed his face with a decent amount of spanakopita, fully reclining on Steve’s couch. Looks incredibly comfy, too comfy to move.

Good.

Steve grabs the strawberry sorbet from his freezer, the one Robin forced him to buy after going vegan last spring. He scoops a bowl for himself and a bowl for Eddie. Exhales the last bit of his self-respect before returning to the living room with the most boring dessert option ever.

“Here you go.” Steve says.

Eddie scrunches his nose at it. “The fuck is this?”

“Sorbet.”

“Why am I not surprised that the former rich kid prefers sorbet over ice cream?”

Steve sputters, takes the bowl back before it further offends Eddie somehow. “That’s not… I didn’t… it’s actually-”

“Deep breath, Stevie. I’m just teasing you.” Eddie yanks the bowl back, shovels a brain-freezing amount into his mouth. “Far too easy, by the way. Give me a bit of a challenge next time. Makes it more fun… for one of us, at least.”

“Fun. Sure.”

“The one of us being me.”

“Got that.”

Steve decides to take Eddie’s ‘challenge’ remark as the perfect cue to set his stupid plan into action.

Steve pretends to shift around on the couch cushion, getting situated. Does this until he ‘accidentally’ fumbles the sorbet. Spills it all over Eddie’s clothes, his distressed black shirt, his dark gray sweatpants. All of it. Makes a much bigger mess than he intended to.

Eddie jumps up. “Goddamnit, Harrington!”

“I am so sorry!” No he’s not. If anything, his apology is more smug than sincere.

“This shit is sticky as hell.” 

“Really sorry, man.” Steve hands Eddie a few stray napkins, like that’s going to make a difference.

“Don’t be. It was an accident.”

Except it wasn’t. It was one of the most juvenile tactic that Steve has ever pulled. Truly, it tops the overused movie theater-yawn tactic.

“Here - let me get you a change of clothes.” Steve offers, already heading to his bedroom. He’s walking and talking and fucking fidgeting. Suddenly paranoid that Eddie can see right through him, see all his desperation on display. Splattered everywhere like strawberry sorbet.

He turns back around for a split second. “I’ll throw those in the wash. Have them dry and ready to wear again by the time you head out.”

“Oh…” Eddie keeps patting down his clothes with a sopping napkin, barely listening. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

His acting performance is fucking dismal. Over the top. Porno-level obvious. Must be karma for all of those times he gave Robin and Eddie shit about being in an improv club. Makes a mental note to never mock their nerdy hobbies for the rest of his life.

“Well, it must be my lucky night.” Eddie calls out from the bathroom door, causing Steve to wince at the sheer volume.

“What makes you say that?”

“Bestowing the holy grail of shirts upon me? Allowing me even one hour in downy-soft paradise?” Eddie is using that tone, the one that’s boozy and savory. Borderline mean. Equally hot and annoying. “Possibly the greatest of olive branches you could’ve offered up.”

“Christ, you’re dramatic.” Which is so hypocritical after the stunt he just pulled.

The bathroom door swings open and nothing could’ve prepared Steve for how good Eddie looks in his clothes. The shirt is snug through the sleeves, loose through his chest. Makes Steve realize how differently built they are. The waistband on the athletic shorts is sitting low on his hips, maybe a size too big. If they were any bigger, they’d slip right off. Landing all tousled around his bare feet…

Okay, Steve has got to snap the fuck out of it. He rubs aggressively at his eyes. Needs soap or military-strength detergent to fucking cleanse whatever is going on with him lately. 

“We could watch something.” Steve says, even though that’s exactly what he’s already doing.

Watching.

Eddie shrugs. Leans against the wall. “We could.”

“Or… I don’t know.” Steve can’t rip his gaze away from Eddie’s arms. His pale skin looks even lighter against the reddish tones. The waves and curls of black ink look even darker. Just a splash of color has turned him into a landscape of extremes. 

“You don’t?” 

“Um…” Steve flops, flounders. Scrambling for an idea. A coherent thought. Anything. “Cards. We could play cards.”

Eddie’s forehead wrinkles, then quickly straightens back out. Nodding politely. “Sure, we can do that. If that’s what you want to do.”

Steve mumbles something about grabbing a card deck from the storage closet, although he’s pretty sure it’s unintelligible. Makes a quick escape, jogs at the weirdest tempo known to mankind. 

Flirting with a longtime friend is throwing him for a loop. Many loops actually. Theme park amount of loops. All of his usual ease and charm are being denied access. Not tall enough to ride this ride.

The closet is packed with junk, so finding a deck of cards is obnoxiously difficult. He’s tossing coats into piles and shoving shoes into corners. Between his nerves and his determination, Steve is working up a goddamn sweat.

“Need a hand in here?” Eddie’s voice startles him. Steve jolts backwards, straight into a shelf of puzzles. Tons of pieces go flying, some landing in Steve’s hair. Redecorating the fucking closet with tiny bits of colored cardboard.

Fantastic.

Eddie backs away, arms crossing into his chest. “Jesus, man. You’re freaking me out.” 

“Sorry.” Steve says. Shakes the puzzle pieces out of his hair.

“Is it the shirt?” The question sounds genuine. No jokes, no sarcasm. “Does it look that bad on me?”

“Oh.” Steve doesn’t know how to respond. The shirt looks amazing, that’s not the problem at all. It’s just… “Um, actually-”

“Look, I know I’m not a pastel heartthrob.” Eddie gestures directly to Steve before waving his arms around. He starts pacing in the tiny closet, just ranting away. “And let’s fucking face it. I’m not getting any younger, so I doubt I can pull off this slim-cut style the way I used to… but come on. It can’t be that repulsive, right?”

“Eddie.” Steve frowns. 

“Shit, that bad?” Eddie smacks a hand to the top of his hand. Grabs a fistful of his hair and looks down at the shirt, still rambling. “We’re using first names now? What’s next? Gonna bust out my full legal name? My birth certificate? Then we’ll really mean business.”

Okay, yikes. And Steve thought he was the stressed one. This is going south very, very fast. He needs to curb the self-destruction that’s happening in front of him. Just… reach out. 

“Hey.” And Steve does. Literally. He places a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, sucks in some courage. He waits until Eddie makes eye contact, breathes at a less neurotic speed. Then he exhales all the courage. Turns it into honesty instead. “You look… you look good.”

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah right.”

“No, I mean it. It’s different. But in a good way.” Steve skims his nails against the fabric, drawing shapes into Eddie’s shoulder. “I like it.”

“You do?”

Steve nods. Bites down on his lip, flicks his eyes to Eddie’s mouth. “Like it on you.”

The energy between them is thick, clinging to Steve’s skin. It’s new except it’s not. Steve has felt it before. At the bar, the party, that random Thursday in 1993. He recognizes the flex and curl in his stomach as Eddie takes one step forward, then two. The feeling is familiar and strange combined. Knotted tight.

Eddie raises an eyebrow before taking another step. Like the day behind the couch. Quiet permission, one he doesn’t ask for often. Only when it means something.

Steve lets the hand on Eddie’s shoulder fall slowly. Catching the material at the bottom, tugging it forward. Prays to fucking god that’s all the permission Eddie needs.

“You were right.” Steve lets his hand drift back up, landing in the center of Eddie’s chest. Wrinkling and smoothing the fabric underneath. “It really is soft.”

Eddie’s breath hitches up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve’s voice drops lower, richer. “Could touch this all day.”

Eddie thumbs over Steve’s bottom lip, drifting into the small space between them. He places both hands on Steve's cheeks and kisses him firmly. Steve presses in deeper, breathes out through his nose so that he doesn’t have to break away. 

It’s so good, kissing like they’re teenagers behind the bleachers. So swept away in the heat and hunger that they’d be late for class. Showing up to study hall with blotchy skin and achy lips. They keep kissing just like that. Feeling, exploring. Lingering in all the areas that seem to make the other person hum or gasp.

“Steve.” Eddie whispers. His hands push up into Steve’s hair, combing it back, pulling in down with an edge. Hard enough to make Steve tilt his head, mouth dropping open.

“Yeah?” Steve replies. Barely a question, too lost in the feeling of Eddie’s lips on his neck. 

Eddie rubs his mouth over the edge of Steve’s jaw. “You’re so…” 

The sentence stops right there, never gets finished either. He nuzzles over the wet spots of skin covering Steve’s neck. Marks them all up with a gentle nip, not enough to leave bruises. Just enough to make Steve shiver.

Steve is making so many breathy noises, which should be humiliating. Pathetic for someone who’s had fucking loads of first kisses, even more makeout sessions.

But none of that really matters, his age or experience or slutty track record. Nothing counts when being kissed like this. Nothing can stop Steve from taking this moment, eating up all of the sounds and sensations. 

Fuck, he wants all of it. Wants Eddie closer somehow, on top of him, beneath him, surrounding him.

He can’t stop tugging at Eddie’s shirt, well… his shirt. No doubt that it’s stretching out, close to ripping it. Keeps pulling it anyways - dragging Eddie into him till Steve’s back is pressed up against the wall.

“Come here.” Steve curls a finger under Eddie’s chin, brings his face back up to him. Not nearly done kissing him stupid, square on the lips. His mouth is warmer now, a few degrees hotter from sucking Steve’s neck. Licks into Steve’s mouth, gets him to whine at how good it feels. 

The washing machine timer goes off, buzzing throughout the whole apartment. But Steve can’t let this end, he can’t.

Except for the buzzing won’t let up. Continuously interrupting all the delicious noises that Eddie makes whenever Steve bites over his bottom lip, gets it nice and puffy between his teeth. 

“Should we...?” Eddie smushes his nose into Steve’s before motioning to the door. 

“Yeah probably,” Steve unclaws his hand from Eddie’s waist. Kisses him once more before sliding out of reach.

As he walks down the hallway, heading into he laundry room, he hears it. Eddie’s voice, still inside the closet. Chanting the same phrase over and over again:

‘Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Holy fucking shit!’

Steve cracks a smile. Kind of hard to believe his heart is chanting the same damn phrase. So full of adrenaline, fucking crumbling under this wave of raw emotion.

Really, he never thought he’d find himself in this situation. Holding Eddie’s clean clothes in one hand, thumbing over his kiss-bitten lips with his other hand. Impatiently craving to get back to where they left off, hopefully on the couch or bed or floor this time.

“Hurry it up, will ya?” Eddie whistles behind him.

“What’s the rush?” Steve tosses the clothes into the dryer, doesn’t turn around because his self-restraint will be fucked if he does. 

“My lips are getting cold.”

“That’s the best line you got?”

“For now, yeah.” Eddie says. “You sucked out all of my brain cells with your mouth. Can’t expect me to be Swayze-level smooth after something like that.”

No way he’s allowed to be so damn cute comparing himself to Patrick Swayze. As if they're even in the same league. Endearing, really.

“You can head back to the living room. I’ll be there in a minute.” Steve pushes a few buttons on the dryer. The timer starts, another reset on the clock.

Feelings that flip the hourglass once again. 

He really fucking hopes it never runs out this time. 

Eddie is perched on the floor, flipping through the channels on the tv. He's squinting at the harsh light because for some insane reason, he always insists on watching the tv in total darkness.

Even that’s cute now. Annoyingly cute.

Steve joins him on the floor, instantly slouching into Eddie’s arms because he can do that now. Completely allowed to be sweet and gross and smitten. 

“Guess my theory was wrong after all.”

“Hm?” Eddie replies, still mindlessly channel-surfing.

Steve gives Eddie a quick kiss on the cheek (because he can do that now too), and looks at the shirt. Muted red, almost pink. Soft and touchable. “Apparently, you do get cool birthday gifts as an adult.”

“What are you mumbling about?”

This thing between him and Eddie. It feels longer than running sand or ticking timers. Longer than their years of friendship. Maybe not timeless…

“I’ll tell you later, Eddie.”

But pretty damn close.

[gunnrblze]

pls yandere keegan hcs....🙏🙏

Sorry this took so long my dear! I’ve not written yandere shit in a millennia, so if it’s corny I apologize💀 also this turned into a little drabble rather than hc’s. MDNI, 18+, dark fic

big TW below the cut: obsessed,possessive Keegan, reference to violence/murder, stalking, manipulation, reference to sexual activity (no actual sex/assault), home invasion, kidnapping, drugging, mentions of being tied up/caged. it’s dark & fucked up, that’s the warning, please heed it don’t come for me

He sees you one day, his heart melting and his cock throbbing in his jeans. You’re so pretty, so precious, and he feels something light him up from the inside out. He wanted to have you. All to himself. He figured you probably didn’t even know how lost you were, not until he stepped into the picture. He was retired from the forces now, he’d been looking for a new project anyways. This would be your rebirth, that’s the way he saw it at least when he decided to follow you home that day.

Scoping out what he’d be working with, your home, how many entrances and exits there are. The neighbors, if you have any roommates/family, pets, alarm systems, etc. To his sheer pleasure, you lived totally alone. He’d change that soon. Don’t worry, honey.

You had a couple ring cameras set up, child’s play, nothing he couldn’t get past. Not that he really cared, of course. He’d have you any way he could get. He’d just hate to have to involve anyone else with his affairs, lest he need to find a more permanent solution. Cop killer isn’t a good look, but if they sniffed around, they’d get what they’d get, he figured.

Taking you would be easy, that wasn’t a problem. He was a silent, experienced man, you hadn’t even noticed how he’d been following you home for the past week anyways. How he’d sit in his truck across the street and watch your figure move around from behind those curtains that were way too sheer. Hell, if he wasn’t planning to rehome you, he’d have to get you new ones. People could see you like that, sweetheart. People that don’t deserve you. Ones that you don’t belong to.

It didn’t matter, really, when exactly he took you, you’d be living a new life with him anyways. He’d already set up such a nice, cozy little spot for you in his basement. He’d snuck in one day while you were at work, he had to know more about you of course. And he knows your favorite color now, so all the blankets and pillows he bought just for you will suit those tastes. He knows your favorite snacks and drinks, he’ll want you to be comfortable of course, especially when you resist at first.

He made sure to memorize all your products, too. So when he helps you wash your hair, you’ll be using the right shampoo. And when he lets you bathe, you can have your favorite scent of body wash. He loves the way you smell anyhow, that scent was wafting off you when he accidentally bumped into you at the grocery store a few days ago.

All the things you enjoyed, he made sure to make a mental note of them. Music, clothes, books, games, any and everything that you filled your space with. He couldn’t believe how lovely you were. Such a beautiful soul, no? You’d be the best addition to the new home and land he’d purchased after retiring, the acres and acres of property, free of any imposing neighbors.

He’d left your home in the exact condition it was in before he broke in, of course. He’d disabled your cameras through your WiFi router, not the best home surveillance, he reckoned, but he had something much more up to the task on his property. Thank god for military training, no? You didn’t even seem to be too concerned when he watched you come home that evening and check them out yourself. Going back and forth between the app on your phone and the camera near your front door in an attempt to figure out why the connection had cut out for a couple hours.

It almost killed him to watch you get so frustrated before finally giving up, going back inside to simply fix your WiFi. He wished he could tell you that sooner rather than later, you wouldn’t have a problem in the world. He’d take them all from you, give you any and everything you need.

He was expecting a fighter, of course. From what he learned, you had an attitude, didn’t take much shit. That asshole in the mall parking lot got an earful when he almost rear ended your car last week, fucker tried to blame it on you. Thankfully he didn’t, but Keegan took care of it anyway after you left.

Had you noticed the missing man on the news was that same guy? Did you realize what he’d done for you? Nobody would ever get to speak to you like that again, sweetheart. Not when he’s around to take care of you.

He packed extra rope in his truck just for you, just in case you were a smarter cookie than you looked. You can never be too careful, always underestimate your enemy, some of the lessons he’d learned during his career seemed to apply here too. Not that you were an enemy, god no, but you’d certainly consider him one for a while. He was just thinking logically, of course.

Thankfully you still had that spare key in the planter next to your front door from when he’d checked for one the first time he went to your house. He thought it was cute, really. How you figured putting it somewhere else, rather than under the mat, was safer.

He wasn’t stupid enough to take you during the day, but he could’ve. He just figured the darkness would hide his figure more easily. It was almost pathetic, how he walked right into your house without making a sound. He knew you were in bed already, part of your night routine. He felt a little bad for turning the WiFi off again when you were in the middle of your show, but it lured you out of your bedroom, thankfully.

Although it was for the best, he understood that you were scared when he silently cupped a hand over your mouth and locked an arm around your waist from behind. So he made sure to replace his hand with the rag very quickly before you fainted in his arms.

It took him a bit longer to get you into his truck than he’d initially planned. Finally getting his hands on you, laying your limp body down on the living room floor to brush the tears off your cheeks, he almost couldn’t stand it. The sight of his sweetheart, finally in his arms, looking too peaceful for words. He wasn’t one to get distracted, certainly not during a time like this either, but he didn’t account for the time it’d take him to get himself under control.

He had to excuse himself to your bedroom for a moment to jerk his rigid dick off into a pair of your dirty panties. He’d hate to drive with a hard on of course, especially when you’d be waking up around the time he arrived home. He didn’t want to be distracted while he brought you inside, considering you’d no doubt be more combative.

And it’s a good thing he knew how to think ahead, because your wrists were already raw against the rope as he dragged you through his front door. He hated to see you cry, hated the way the gag was soaked with your tears and saliva, but he tried telling you it was okay. You didn’t listen of course, flailing like a fish in his arms as he walked down the basement steps. But he’d wait. He’d wait until the day you thank him, until the day you reciprocate his love.

Until then, you can stay shackled to the wall. Please, just don’t make him put you in the cage again. Really, there’s no need to bite, sweetheart.

[kittttycakes]

red currant

Read on AO3 here. No one can outrun grief, not even Morpheus, formerly Dream of the Endless. Grief is patient, and it will wait, even in the aisles of a grocery store, to take him into its arms and hold him tight. contents: Dreamling, human Morpheus, post-Kindly Ones, mild gore, brief discussion of food-related issues, grief

At first, Morpheus was too busy dealing with a body that needed things. It was often too cold, its joints ached terribly, and it took him longer than he cared to admit to recognize what hunger and thirst actually felt like. The latter came with their own host of indignities, not least of which was the seeming inability to properly digest dairy, and a strong aversion to certain textures, no matter how appealing the food in question might be in theory. 

Hob both understood, and didn’t. He was always warm, something Morpheus deeply envied, even if he wouldn’t admit to it aloud. He too struggled, sometimes, with food, albeit in a much different way; the cupboards were often overfull before being carefully culled for in-date products to donate away, and he ate to uncomfortable excess on occasion, as if he forgot that there would be more for the foreseeable future.

There was also the question of fashioning a life out of nothing. Morpheus was dragged to a tiny shop in an out of the way street and photographed for a passport purchased in cash, along with all other relevant cards and certificates that made someone human. He was, with great effort, persuaded to allow the doctor with kind eyes who still made house calls to examine him, who pronounced him to be in fair health and left him with a number of pamphlets on proper nutrition. He came to know how to use a phone in practice, instead of merely in theory. 

But Hob couldn’t stay with Morpheus in the flat forever, and Morpheus threw himself into the process of becoming human. He spent long hours reading, books he once would have known simply by touching their spine, learned instead page by page and word by word. He slept more often than he thought an adult human might need, and he spent time submerged in the bathtub, topping up the hot water the second it began to grow tepid. He played music on Hob’s speakers, any album that Hob owned, and didn’t stop to think why he couldn’t bear to sit still without distraction. 

Because Morpheus was fine. He had been trapped in a human body in a glass cage for a century; being suddenly and irrevocably shoved into the same form, pieced back together lovingly by hands he could not bear to contemplate, was almost a familiar feeling. He had not felt hunger or thirst or pain in that prison, but to discover them for himself was not mind-breaking. He endured, and he allowed Hob to care for him, and he did not let himself be otherwise. 

But all things, as he came to know, must change. 

He was alone in the shop around the corner from Hob’s flat. In exactly seventy-four minutes, Hob would be home for tea, and they were, inexplicably, entirely out of jam, which meant that he could not have jam on toast for tea, and that was entirely unacceptable. 

To Hob’s unending surprise, Morpheus liked the shop, just as he liked the park at noon when all manner of people were milling about, and the pub of an evening when it was full and loud and bright. He did not want to speak with people, but he wanted to be within them, surrounded by them, the rise and fall of their voices, and Hob hadn’t asked him why. He had, instead, shown him a website dedicated to ambient noise, and told him that he could have the coffee shop in the flat all day if he wanted, if that was what he liked. 

Morpheus was standing in front of the shelves dedicated to all manner of spreads, contemplating the relative merits of strawberry (a known quantity, which he liked very much) or red currant (unknown, untested, but also free of any bits, which he disliked very much, and red, which was a promising color when it came to foods), when he reached for a jar to peer at it up close, and instead met the hand of the shopper beside him, who had crept up without his awareness and reached for the exact same jar at the exact same moment. 

He withdrew his hand, out of courtesy, and began to offer an apology as the woman beside him did the same, and neither of them kept hold of the jar, which fell, end over end, until it landed with a very final sounding smash at their feet. The woman stepped back with a small cry of alarm, and Morpheus stood, as if rooted to the very ground itself, and contemplated the slightly wobbling red mess in front of him. Vaguely, he was aware of the woman stepping to the end of the aisle to catch the attention of a shop worker, who would undoubtedly gather cleaning supplies and in fifteen minutes, it would be as if it had never happened at all. 

There was a scent, a cloying sweetness that rose from the shattered remains of the jam jar, a scent that Morpheus was unsure anyone else had noticed, or that was perhaps unique to him as he stood, still and unmoving, a buzzing in his ears, like the whine of a particularly persistent fly, and he moved his hand as if to shoo it away and clean up the mess besides only to blink and see—

Viscera, deep and red as rubies; he was walking through a field of carnage, each step staining him further, gore working its way over his feet to his ankles—why had they bled? they were never flesh and blood (but that was a lie, a lie he told himself again and again and again—they had been flesh and blood to him) and he was walking towards the end of all things, or maybe just the end of himself, and it was quiet, so quiet, an unearthly silence so vast that it nearly swallowed him whole and he felt it, a physical thing, the shattering of all that he was, all that he was ever meant to be, but it hurt less than he thought it might, and for a moment, just a moment, he thought it was over, the power gone, until—he had never felt so hollow, and he tried to reach out, to feel the warm familiarity of uncountable minds of his creation and those entirely independent of himself, human and creature alike, and found only an unending void, he had thought it quiet before but this, this was true nothingness, an abyss in which there was only him, and him alone and he was nothing, nothing, nothing at all—

“—all right, duck? Just a bit of jam on your boots and trousers, nothing that won’t wipe right off, I’m sure, and no staining to worry about, not with that very sensible black, hides a world of sin, doesn’t it?” 

The woman was standing near him, close enough to feel the warmth emanating from her, and once, he would have known her name. She was not touching him, only hovering a hand quite near him, as she continued, voice even more gentle. 

“Let’s just step to the side, and we can get out of everyone’s way while they clean up.” 

For one horrible, painful moment, he thought she might say more, might even offer to call someone for him, the look in her eyes well-meaning, but horribly perceptive. He could not bear to be seen. It was enough to jolt him into motion, and he nodded, somewhat stiffly, and moved away from the puddle of jam. The arrival of the shop worker, complete with cleaning supplies, distracted the woman long enough for Morpheus to enact his escape, abandoning any thoughts of tea or toast as he made his way, with single minded determination, back to the flat.

It was too quiet on his walk back, and it was too quiet inside the flat, the soft tick of the clock on the mantle and the gentle hum of the refrigerator not enough, never enough. Hob would be home in fifty-three minutes, and it was not enough. 

He burnt the paper in the sink, watching it crumble in on itself and smolder into ash, not knowing if it would even work, being as he was. Morpheus waited, hands gripping the cold porcelain of the sink, his knuckles nearly white enough to match. She would understand, his sister. She would know what it was like. She could tell him what to do, how to live, now, that he was apart from the only piece of himself that he had ever cared for, no matter how imperfectly he had done so. He could not abide being so terribly, horribly alone, with only the sound of his own voice in his head to keep him company. There was no consciousness within him, save for his own. 

Morpheus did not hear her enter the flat. She had always been so good at silence, slipping into spaces like smoke. Her hand, when she laid it over his own, was slightly clammy, and so painfully familiar that it made his chest ache. 

“Brother,” she said, and he tried to speak, to greet her in return, but found that he could not force the words past his lips. She would know, he thought, she would understand. 

She led him to the couch, pulling him to sit beside her, and Despair enfolded Morpheus in her arms. 

[delopsia]

Better | Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 6,200  Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, Reader has the callsign 'Weave.' AFAB! Reader, post-jet crash scenario, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, face-sitting, hurt/comfort if you squint, friends to lovers trope, blood, and bodily injury, and a likely inaccurate description of naval aviator gear.  

There is nothing quite like waking up and seeing a multi-million dollar aircraft burning right before your very eyes. 

It doesn't look real. Vivid hues of red and orange dance along the busted shell of what used to be a Naval aircraft, a stark contrast against the pristine, white snow. The hellish heat that licks at your exposed, frozen cheeks is the only indication that it's not a figment of your imagination. Distantly, you think you must've crashed, but it's hard to believe when there's not a single ache in your—

"Fuck!"

You shouldn't have moved, you shouldn't have moved, you shouldn't have moved.

Eyes screwing shut. Mouth ajar. Yet not another sound escaping. Every bone, joint, and muscle on your left side is screaming. White-hot, piercing through every nerve. Your rib cage feels as if it's just burst open, burning hotter than the remains of your plane. 

God, what happened?

You don't recognize this place. These trees don't look like the ones from back home, and you don't recall the weatherman saying California was expecting six inches of snow. What you do recognize is the stray boot that pokes out from behind the jet. U.S. Navy issued. But you're not missing any shoes...

"Bob?" The joints of your shoulders beg you not to move, but you've already pushed yourself up, vision blurring as your head swivels. Your feet scramble for purchase on the powdery snow, but something tugs at you from behind, throws you off balance. 

It's your parachute, tangled within the branches of the tree above you, leashing you. Closing your frigid hands around the material is near impossible, fingers so frozen that they can hardly bend. You've barely enough strength to disconnect yourself. 

"Bob?" You try again. 

No answer.

There's a numbness in your legs as you stumble closer to the roaring flames. On its own, the world seesaws, leaving you to stumble as you struggle to keep upright. You only mean to take one step left, but that singular step becomes two, four, five. 

The ground comes back up and smacks you in the hip.

From down here, you can see the boot better, but you can't the leg attached to the foot that occupies it. Or maybe...that's three boots. They're right in front of you, but when you reach out to touch them, your hand can't seem to reach. Scooting forward, you swipe out and try again. All you get is snow.

But they're right there. 

Forward a little more. Nothing. Something within the jet pops, wicked flames bursting out in a mushroom-shaped plume. Ravenous heat claws at your skin, threatens to eat right through you. Just a little closer. Just a little...

your hand grabs hold of the boot, vision centering a little. Around you, the wind spins like a top, but even through the haze, you realize something.

There isn't a body attached at all.

Your head feels like someone's just filled it with lead. The colorful hues of red, mere feet away from your face, threatens to reach out and melt the skin from your cheeks. You need to move. You know you do, but even as you tell yourself to move, your body refuses. 

The collar of your flight suit tightens as you're yanked backward. 

In the blink of an eye, you've got control again, wriggling, fighting to turn around as you're drug away by the thin material of your collar. Words tumble out of your mouth, but your ringing ears hardly comprehend them. Your foot catches on a rock, body flipping around and—

that face is familiar.

Cheeks patched with soot, blood pouring from a gash that stretches from his temple down to his cheek, just barely avoiding his eye. Glasses long gone, but there's a red indent between his eyes from the frames. 

"Bob?" You know it's him, and yet it tumbles off your tongue anyway.

"'m here," his voice breaks, shaky.

The arm you're using to brace your weight crumples out from under you; the snow that catches you is pillowy soft, but the numbing cold stings at your skin, nevertheless. Bob's next tug on your collar is half-hearted, urging but lacking the strength to put behind it. 

Next to you rests a bootless foot, bathed in a deep crimson that makes your heart sink. 

On its own, your hand wanders out to hold onto his thigh, "you're hurt."

Your observation doesn't receive a response, doesn't exactly warrant one, either. Silence is better than hushed insistence that he's alright when you both know that's a downright lie. Instead, he shifts to rest his weight on his forearm, curling his body around yours as a viciously strong wind ripples past. The fire behind you spikes with a roar, heat blasting. 

His free hand strokes the side of your head, thumb swiping at what you only assume to be blood, "what's the last thing you remember?"

And where the hell is your helmet?

There's a fogginess to your memory. You remember waking up to Natasha snoring and Bradley clapping his hand over your shoulder a bit too hard on your way out of the cafeteria. But you don't remember taking off, and your memory lacks a single shred of where you flew. 

But your ears vividly recall a flurry of voices coming through your radio. Your bones still rattle with the vibrations of a too-close-for-comfort explosion, a missile narrowly avoided. A tiny voice screams out from the commotion, barely audible over it all.

"I remember you telling me to brake left," you shouldn't be leaning up into Bob's touch the way that you are.

His response takes some time, but eventually, he hums, "I didn't account for the one comin' up from beneath us."

After all this, you'd better get a raise and a vacation. 

It's hard to miss the faint hum that cuts through the air. Too far away for you to see, but even through the ringing in your ears, the sound is unmistakable. Bob's head lifts, tilted toward the direction that it's coming from. 

Muscles aching, you push yourself up to your knees, ignoring the angered twinges of muscles that beg you to stay still. Shelter. You need shelter. Bob doesn't require any urging, already has one hand braced on the trunk of a tree as he heaves himself up. 

A yelp ripples through the chilly air, echoing through the forest around you. 

It's not until Bob falls back into the snow that you realize who it came from. Crimson drips from his trembling foot like a waterfall; beneath, dull white shines through. 

"'m okay," his voice wavers, "I'm okay." With his good leg, he shields the wound from your view, but you know what you saw. 

The whirring of that helicopter is growing louder. Closer. 

"No, you're not," but there's no time for you to grill him on it. He's already trying to get up again, breathing through gritted teeth as he's forced to put weight on his injury. You know your backseater too well for your own good. Already know he's not going to ask for help.

And that's exactly why you lift his arm and shove yourself beneath it. 

"You don't need to do that," he fusses, but all it takes is one step forward for him to gasp and lean against you. That foot can't bear weight, and you both know it. 

Liar. 

It's hard to tell where you're going, but with the whirring of those helicopter blades growing louder, you don't have much of a choice. The only thing you know is that you flew in from the South-West; your best bet is to head in that direction. Search and rescue has a better chance of finding you there. 

But only if your enemy doesn't follow the patches of red that mark your trail.

Your swollen shoulder strains under Bob's weight, so sore that even the slightest of pressure has you gritting your teeth to bear it. Fuck, never mind your shoulder; everything hurts. As your weary feet tread through the snow, it's difficult to tell what's just sore and what's been injured. Though, you've got a sneaking feeling that your shoulders and ribs are decorated with some hellish bruising. 

And yet, even as he limps along by your side, suffering through the same ejection pains you are, Bob still has it in him to smile at you. It's watery, faltering when that mangled foot is forced to touch the ground, and it doesn't quite meet his eyes, but it's there. 

"Bobby—"

"'m alright," he turns his head off to the side, shielding his eyes from your sight. You hate that you know what he's trying to do. Those baby blues tell a story too heavy for his tongue to bear; if they meet with yours, they'll start talking. 

It's the one reason why he can't play poker. 

"What's that brown mass on our right?" It's hard to tell if he's trying to change the subject or if he's actually trying to figure out what he's looking at. 

The muscles in your neck are tight, making it difficult for you to turn your head. "We need to get you Lasik after this," joking through the pain, you squint in the direction Bob's transfixed on. Trees, trees, more trees, a clearing, followed by, you guessed it, more trees. You don't see what he's—

oh

wait.

Tucked up against a steep hill sits a tiny shack. The paint has long since withered away, leaving behind nothing but brown, rotting planks. The front of it bows forward, the neglected roof sinking inward, but it's shelter. 

A shelter that might collapse on you. But that whirring is growing louder and louder. The ground hums with the motions of the unknown helicopter's blades. You're in no place to argue.

"It's some sort of shack," you observe aloud, fighting the urge not to hasten your step. 

It's a longer walk than it looks. It would be easy to sprint through the clearing, but Bob can't run in this state. There's no guarantee someone won't spot you from overhead. By your side, Bob meekly hobbles along; blood no longer stains the snow, but his noises grow with every step. Little grunts of pain that burn you to the core. 

That helicopter just keeps getting closer and closer and closer. And finally, you see it emerge over the horizon; looks nothing like the ones back on the aircraft carrier. That's not search and rescue. 

"They don't see us yet," Bob's words are rushed, jumbled together as he tries to move a little quicker. Grunting with every step, eyes bolting shut. 

You're almost there. Just a few more steps. Just a few more.

"Almost there," you grunt, stumbling in tune with his hobbled steps, "almost there."

You don't even get to touch the door handle. 

It's hard to tell whose foot gets caught in who's. All you know is that you're falling forward. Shoulder slamming into a flimsy wooden door that gives at the slightest amount of pressure. The decrepit floor knocks the breath from your lungs. Leaves you struggling to garner another breath. 

Rusty hinges wail as the door swings shut behind you. Oddly...human.

Light barely filters through the tiny, broken windows, illuminating a cracked fireplace and what looks to be a shelf that's fallen off the wall. The very definition of bare bones.

Movement on your left has you turning your head. 

Bob's shoulders shake like leaves in the Autumn wind. Laying on his belly, pretty face buried in the crook of his arm, concealing the tears that you already know are there. The blades of the helicopter are loud, but his wobbly breaths are louder.

Careful, as if moving too quickly will hurt him, you reach out to smooth your hand along his shoulder blades. Only serves to make him shake a little harder, sniffles escaping even as he visibly tries to swallow them down. 

"'m fine." Not daring to lift his head. 

"No, you're not." Running your hand upward, you dare to run your fingers through his messy hair, the damp locks remarkably soft, even now. 

You can't be doing this. Touching his hair only makes you want to gather him up in your arms and kiss those tears off his cheeks. Your tongue already bears the words you'd whisper into his ears, sweet nothings and reminders that his feelings matter to you.

"Bobby," you try again, this time allowing the pads of your fingers to skitter across his temple. His jaw moves, ready to speak. You beat him to it. "Don't you dare tell me you're fine."

That's enough to get his head raising, red eyes peeking out from the corner of his elbow. Those baby blues meet with yours, immediately flickering away as if your gaze has just burned him. 

"Me whining about being hurt is going to do nothing but get on your nerves," he murmurs, his voice barely audible, and yet his words burn themselves right into your skin, "it doesn't fix any—"

"Moron," even being shot out of the sky cannot knock the attitude from you, "you never got upset when I dislocated my ankle and whined about it for a week straight. Why would I ever get upset with you?" 

Bob's eyelashes flutter, voice raising by an octave as if it'll strengthen his argument, "I didn't want to upset you."

"I love you too much to get upset with you for being in pain."

Silence.

Your mouth feels like it's full of lead. Face growing even colder than it was out in the snow. Did that really just fly off your tongue? Now of all times? 

On second thought, being gunned down by that helicopter doesn't sound so bad. "I'm sorry, I—"

"D'you really mean that?" Well, he doesn't sound upset, at least. Shallowly, you nod. 

You don't expect him to lift his head from behind the barricade of his folded arms, opting to rest his head on top of them instead. The hand that was just in his hair slides down to the dusty floor, limp. Bob watches it as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. Even reaches out to run his fingers along a tear in your glove. They curl around it, loosely holding your hand as he looks back up at you. 

And he just...stares. A quiet transfixion on your face, like it's the first time he's ever seen you. Taking in every detail, every wrinkle and crease that your skin has to offer. His head moves forward by just a fraction, but then an awkward smile overtakes him, and he has to look away.

Your synchronous inhale is so loud that it echoes through this tiny, one-room shack. Bob tilts his head back to you, seemingly unable to take his eyes off of you. Next to his head, his fingers twist together, like they always do when he's deep in thought. You wonder if he can hear the way your heart pounds against your chest like a drum. Any stronger, and it just might break free of its confines. 

Bob's moving. Pushing his weight up onto a forearm, tilting his body towards you. Hesitates, just shy of bumping his nose into yours. Again, your eyes meet. Getting shot down was scarier than this. 

Hesitant lips press against your own, slotting together like puzzle pieces. There's nothing else to it, each holding it in fear of the other having second thoughts. Only lasts a few seconds, but it feels as if you spent forever there.

"We shouldn't...be doing this," you find yourself saying as if you're not actively curling your hands around his bruised cheeks, "if Cyclone finds out..."

"Fuck Cyclone." And then Bob's lips are on yours again, no thought required.

It's cruel how easily you fit together. You have a sea of options out there, and yet only Bob Floyd's lips fit against yours so flawlessly. Only your backseater smells of suede and jasmine because he can't stay out of that Polo Blue cologne to save his life. The hand that curls around your cheek feels as if it belongs there. This is how things always should have been. 

The angle is awkward; you want to wrap your arms around his neck, but one of your arms is stuck, bracing your body weight, while the other awkwardly flings around to rest between his shoulder blades.

A shy hand presses against your belly, urging you to sink back against the floor. You don't know what possesses you to comply, but the feeling of Bob settling on top of you is something else entirely. Gasping as he disturbs his injury, but unable to draw himself away. Your knees rise, caging either side of his lithe hips; Bob's not wide by any means, but with him between them, your legs feel like they're spread for miles.

"Bobby," panting against his lips. 

"'ve got ya," one of his hands glides up your sides, working its way beneath your heavy gear, greedily taking in what lies beneath him. Your back arches, leaning into the touch; haven't felt someone touch you like this in so long that it's foreign. 

The desperate need for air is the only thing that can drive a wedge between you, lungs stinging as you gasp for much-needed oxygen. Even that can't stop you from leaning back up, still panting as you press a wayward kiss to his exposed neck. Faintly, Bob's breath catches.

"'m probably sweaty," he warns, but his words fall on deaf ears. You're already dragging your tongue along a protruding vein, sealing it with a wet kiss. "Oh, that's..." the words die with nothing but a sigh. 

You've waited your entire life to hear him make that noise. "You're lucky your gear is keeping me from your collarbone," it's more of a cautionary remark than it is anything else. You're itching to nibble on those pretty, exposed bones, can only imagine what sounds he would make.

It only takes him five motions. One to unclasp his life jacket. Two to undo the strap across the chest. One to pull the underlying zipper down and another to shrug the harness off his shoulders, letting it fall down to rest against his hips. 

Hallelujah.

Bruises scatter his collarbones and shoulders, glaringly sore but so sensitive as you gingerly work your way down to plant kisses on them. Feather-light, teeth only grazing so as to not hurt him. The motion leaves your neck exposed, giving him the perfect opportunity to press his wet lips to the skin beneath your ear. 

"Shit," you hiss, fingertips curling against his shoulder blades. He doesn't say anything, but you can feel his mouth curling against your skin.

His hips dip down, moving on their own accord, something hard brushing against your core. With a strained noise, Bob freezes, nose wrinkling with the grimace that laces his features. 

"Were you trying to grind on me, pretty boy?" Teasing. A futile distraction from the pain.

Cheeks heating red, he nods, "'n I got my karma for it, too."

It was just a simple brush, not even full contact, but you've already gotten hooked on that feeling. This isn't the time, nor is it the place. You can already hear the downright fit Cyclone is going to have when he catches wind of this. 

Bob's eyebrows raise just a fraction, "yeah?" 

Motivated by spite alone, your fingers are already halfway through fumbling with the confines of your harness. Wouldn't have even realized you were doing it had Bob not said anything. It takes some squirming; getting that harness off your legs is harder than it looks, and Bob can only get it down to his knees before he needs assistance. 

The millisecond you get that harness safely off his ankle, you plant two firm hands on his chest and push. 

"Jesus," he chuckles, arms opening up to welcome you as you climb on top of him. 

It's easier this way. You've got to do most of the work, but it keeps Bob from disturbing his ankle. And now, there is nothing that can stop you from tentatively straddling his hips, ass brushing against a hardness that you hope to become overly familiar with someday.

"Better?" You chirp, back aching as you lean down to meet his waiting lips.

As the gap closes, he hums, "better."

Beneath your hands, you can feel his heart pitter-pattering away, soft little thumps that mirror the one that rattles through your weary bones. In the back of your head, a familiar little voice asks you if rolling your hips down into Bob's hard-on is a good idea. There may be no going back from this. The last thing you need is for Cyclone to split you two up and never let you fly together again.

But Bob's sharp inhale tells you that this is a very, very good idea. "Sweetheart," it's hard to tell if it's the pet name or the deep, guttural groan that sends your head spinning, "'m not sure you wanna do that to me."

Eyeroll. "But, Bob~" singsonging. 

"But Weave," he whines back, twitching up to rub against the curve of your ass. His eyes scrunch shut, ankle disturbed, but it doesn't hinder him in the slightest. "If we do this," grunting, "I don't think I'm ever gonna be able to get my hands off of ya."

Should you be making major decisions fresh out of a crash? Probably not.

Will you make that decision anyway? Yes. 

Leaning down, you allow your mouth to open, teeth grazing the shell of his pale ear, "maybe that's what I want." And that ear goes ruby red in the blink of an eye. 

Hands running up your sides, Bob bats his pretty eyes up at you, "then lead the way, pilot."

In all of your whimsy daydreams, you've never come up with a scenario quite like this one. Your quiet, sweet-eyed backseater, laying beneath you in a decrepit shack in the middle of God-knows-where, fresh after an ejection. But somehow, as your hips begin to work themselves against Bob's clothed bulge, and as his hands timidly draw up to cup your breasts, you can't help but realize how fitting it is.

His hips unintentionally shift, and in that simple motion, everything changes. Even through the material of your flight suits, you can feel the outline of him pressing deliciously against your cunt. Not much friction, but it's just enough to have both of your heads rolling, surprised gasps falling from your lips. 

You don't know when he's found the opportunity to unzip your g suit, the material that was once wrapped snuggle around your waist, now hanging low on your thighs. But now those deft fingers toy with the zipper of your flight suit, waiting on your command. Rolling your hips once more, you nod. 

Bob can't get it down quick enough, barely gets the zipper halfway before he's reaching beyond, hands remarkably warm as they slide beneath your shirt. Those dull nails drag just right, tickling your skin.

"So damn soft," he muses, and with the way he's stroking up your spine, you almost think he's petting you. 

They're on the move again, concealed by the distraction of his hips rising up to meet you halfway. Your bra shifts as those wandering hands dive beneath it, doing nothing but feel the shape of you in his palms. Thumbs flick across your nipples, sends your body jerking.

"Jesus, Bobby," squirming as he toys with them, you idly fumble with the side-zipper of his g suit.

"You're lucky there's snow on the ground," he's not even looking at your face, absolutely consumed by what's going on beneath your shirt, "else I'd be beggin' to get this blasted shirt off your pretty lil' frame."

"We can—" fuck, it's hard to talk with him handling your chest like that, "we can save that for when we're sneaking around on the carrier."

"We ain't never gonna hear the end of it," he rolls his hips with yours as he speaks, "Bob and Weave, validatin' everythin' them Admiral's keep sayin' 'bout us."

Just as quickly as he'd reached under your shirt, he retreats, instead taking hold of your devilishly spiraling hips. The pressure tells you to move forward, but when you do, he keeps asking you to move further. 

"Bob...?" You're fully sitting on his chest now, and he's still wordlessly asking you to move up.

He reaches up, dragging that zipper down as far as it will go. Right down between your quivering thighs, exposing the flimsy shorts you're wearing beneath. Whether or not he recognizes that these are his own shorts is a different topic entirely. 

"Up a little more, sweet thing," he urges once more, "want you sittin' on my face."

Oh.

You don't even know what to think. It's hard to believe that your innocent backseater even know this was a thing, to begin with, but here he is, hooking an index finger into the crook of your shorts and panties. His breath is hot against your sensitive skin, enough to have you trying to rise up and away from the feeling.

"What if you can't breathe?" Bracing your hands on the ground beneath his head.

Brilliant blue eyes flick up to take in your expression. "Good."

And with both of his hands gripping your hips, he leans up and drags his dripping tongue right between your folds. Broad, flat as he spreads you open with it, fuck, that's a hell of a feeling. With you distracted, he pulls you downward, forcing you to sit on his pretty face. 

"Bobby," fuck, fuck, fuck, his tongue flicking against your swelling clit is something else. 

The bastard hums, somehow already understanding what you mean when you whimper his name. Already knows that the fingers tangling in his hair are a good thing. If you'd thought his breath was hot, this is something else entirely. The wet muscle that laps at your cunt burns hotter than the flames that consumed your aircraft, threatens to burn right through you. 

Only plays with your clit for long enough to have you whimpering his name under hushed breaths before lapping his way down, down, down to your neglected entrance. Tonguing it, tracing your sensitive rim before pushing inside. The soft tip of his nose presses into your clit, paying it attention while his tongue works in and out of you.

"Fuck, fuck, Bobby," you hope there aren't any foot soldiers looking for you; they'd be able to hear you a mile away, "how the hell did you—ah, even know about this?"

You shouldn't have asked that. No, no, you shouldn't have because now he's peering up at you as he works your sensitive cunt, "y'talked 'bout it one night at the Hard Deck." He doesn't even try to pull away as he speaks, words vibrating right up your spine. "Been dreamin' 'bout it ever since."

Then he's drawing back up, swirling around the swollen bud that he can't seem to leave alone, "Can y'imagine the heart attack this'd give Mav?" How long has he been hiding lewd words under a sheepish smile? "Find'n out I've got my pilots sweet lil' pussy on my tongue right after I promised I wouldn't?"

Mav. Poor bastard spent the past month convincing Cyclone you and Bob weren't seconds away from jumping each other's bones, only for it to actually happen the moment he turned his back. Not a soul on that carrier has a clue. They don't even know you're alive, never mind squirming on your backseater's face as he laps at your pussy like it's his nine-to-five. 

That thought alone sends something tightening in your gut. Familiar. 

"'m close," you gasp, tugging at his short locks, "don't wanna cum like this."

Bob pauses midstroke, seems to think a little before speaking, "how d'ya wan' it?"

"I'd rather cum around your cock," not even missing a beat. 

And even with his face right between your legs, tongue fresh off your pussy, Robert Floyd has the audacity to turn beet fucking red. 

"Well," suddenly unable to meet your eye, "then...be my guest?"

You hate him, you think, as you squirm back down, dragging his flight suit zipper along with you. You hate, hate, hate this motherfucker and his ability to sway so seamlessly between demanding and sheepish. 

Beneath his flight suit, his shirt has risen up, revealing a milky-white tummy that absolutely demands a kiss or two. Even if the angle is awkward and puts a strain on your already sore neck. 

"'r you really kissin' my belly right now?" Combing his fingers against your scalp, but that doesn't sound like a complaint to you.

"I've gotta do what I've gotta do," the cold tip of your nose nuzzles the smooth skin that resides just next to the waistband of his shorts. Your fingers itch to pull them down, but his flight suit creates a hell of a conundrum. You can't even catch glimpse of his pale thighs, and those are probably an eighth-world wonder on their own.

Next time. 

For now, you'll have to be content with pushing the loose material of his shorts upward enough so that you can see his briefs lurking beneath. Even from here, you can see the strain he's putting on the material, makes it easy to find him when you reach past.

"Shit," he hisses, hips rising as you take hold of him at the base. Slowly, slowly, you guide him out, finding yourself amused as he chases your touch until he no longer can. 

He's bigger than you thought he would be. A considerable weight in your palm, pale-pink tip silky soft as you toy with it. You hope there will come a day when you can sit down and see how long it takes him to get off from you playing with that mushroom tip. Because right now, as he bites his lip to stifle his noises, you don't think it would take too long.

Speaking of...

"Hah-!" That's a new sound. Peering up at him from beneath your lashes, you poke your tongue out and run it against his length once more. Clamping his hand over his mouth, he reaches down to bat you away from his poor cock, "'gonna get us caught if ya keep doin' that."

Maybe that's the point. Dying with his cock in your mouth. What a way to go.

Cautiously, you settle yourself up on his lap, one hand braced on his sturdy chest while the other guides him to where you want him the most. Blunt head spreading your folds with such ease that it's as if he was made to do it. Once you apply the slightest bit of pressure but allow him to slip forward, just a slight taste that has him grumbling beneath you. 

Drawing him back, he catches on your entrance, and slowly, as if moving too quickly will break him, you allow yourself to sink down. It's been a long while since the last time you felt the growing pressure that comes with such an intrusion, gradually stretching to accommodate his girth. 

You want to make a remark over the way he downright whimpers into the back of his hand, but you can't so much as make a noise. A little too distracted by how your walls mold to fit the shape of your backseater, filling spaces you forgot you even had. Then your hips are flush together, and it's as if your voice has been punched back into you.

"Fuck, Robby," panting like a dog, you're forced to brace yourself against his chest with both hands or else you'll collapse into a messy heap on top of him, "you could've at least warned me that you were packing."

He rolls his eyes. You hope they get stuck back there. "'m not that big," but he is, and it's so dizzyingly delicious to feel inside of you. Not necessarily long, but thick enough to warrant a wide-load sign. 

Experimentally, you lift your hips, testing the waters as you rise up, then slowly sink back down onto him. He hasn't even hit anything special, and yet it's enough to have your lips parting with a silent sound. You haven't the slightest clue where he's finding the strength to swivel his hips beneath you, blindly searching on each timid upward stroke. 

And then your breath is hitching, stars sparkling beneath your eyelids as his plush head finds the neglected bundle of nerves hidden within those gooey walls. There it is.

"Better?" He chirps, smiling. Evidently, he's not just good with buttons and switches in fighter jets.

Nodding. "Better" 

Drawing yourself up quicker now, barely clinging to his chest as you find your pace. Something shallow enough to avoid the aching in your thighs but quick enough to give you what you want. His head downright nails that poor little spot, has your cunt fluttering around him like a damn butterfly.

"Look so beautiful on top of me," he whines, absolutely awe-struck by the way your body moves, working up and down like you've trained for this moment all your life. His hips twitch upward, weakly meeting you halfway, and rips a surprised cry right out of your throat. "Fuck, 's that what you need, darlin'?" 

"Just like that, Bobby," you don't even know what you're saying, only capable of moving a little quicker, desperate to feel him strike that sensitive bundle again and again and again. "Bobby, just like that."

You want more. Need to hear his soft grunts that follow every lewd smack of skin on skin, need more of everything he has to offer you, but your thighs are growing sore. Muscles burning, begging you to stop. 

"Can't," you're trying, but your legs just aren't having it, unable to chase the familiar tightening of your core as you ride him. "I can't keep—"

"I got ya," there's an unfamiliar strength to his hands as they tighten around your hips. His upward thrusts are weak, but he pulls you down into them so hard that you can hardly notice a difference. 

Two motions of his hips, and you're crumbling like a house of cards, collapsing into his chest. All of a sudden, his name is the only thing you're capable of uttering, face hiding in the crook of his sweaty neck. You don't know where this is coming from, but you pray it never goes away.

"So good for me," he mindlessly babbles against your temple, "cum on my cock for me, sweetie."

His words have you clamping down around him like a vice, writhing as he fucks you. Rhythm faltering but downright merciless as he works that sensitive spot over and over, sends a fire rippling up your belly. Skin prickling as it builds, your mouth starts to move on its own. "Bobby, Bobby."

"Cum, darlin'," and he's saying more, some whispered encouragement to give it to him, but you don't need it. 

One, two, three more pumps of his cock, and you're biting down into his collarbone, unable to stop the strangled squeal that he just about jackhammers out of you. Distantly, you can feel his hips stalling, an unfamiliar heat filling you, but your head is back up in the clouds. Foggy, the air so thin that you can't catch your breath as you weakly pulse around his dick.

But this time, when you open your eyes after a long while, you don't find yourself surrounded by snow and an unfamiliar forest. No, you're wrapped in the strong arms of your Weapons Systems Officer, cock still wedged in you as he presses kisses to your sweaty forehead.

"Y'still with me?" He coos into your temple. 

Nodding, "barely." 

It's twelve hours before search and rescue are finally deployed to come and find you. It takes another twelve for them to release you and Bob from debriefing hell. It's an hour after that when the honorary "they're not dead!" celebration takes off. The cafeteria that houses the impromptu event reeks of alcohol, which may be the reason why nobody catches you and your backseater sneaking out of your own party. 

"I still can't believe you didn't break it," you muse, too focused on rewrapping Bob's ankle to pay attention to the fingers that stroke your cheek. The countless stitches look worse than the original gash itself did, sends a chill down your spine every time you see it. 

"See? I told you I was fine," his eye-roll is audible in his tone, never has been good at hiding it. 

Not missing a beat, you nip at his thumb, chasing his hand away from your face. You need to focus. The last thing you want to do is wrap his ankle too loosely or too tightly. But as you place the metal clasp back into his gauze, your work doesn't look too far off from the medics. 

"Better?"

"Not yet," tapping his lips, "'m still missing a little something."

Huffing, you lean up, meeting his lips halfway. You fear that you're slowly creating a kiss fiend. "Now, is it better?"

All of it is worth it when you get to see his face light up, features laced with a grin so big that his eyes wrinkle with it. "Better."

[tht0nesimp]

Expectations

tw: kidnapping, pet play, this is actually half baked, punishments, shal being a dick, infantilism

A/N: this is for @high-bats-writing! Sorry this fic is probably going to be really crappy! (P.S you should totally go read the inspiration for this post < https://www.tumblr.com/high-bats-writing/746620115972440065/happy-easter-hiiii-in-the-headcanons-you-did?source=share

Out of everything you’d been tested with by him, this took the cake, it took the whole fucking bakery.

you’d handled everything he threw at you but this was simply too much, spending years trying to stay away from everything trackable was hard but knowing it was all just in vain because you were nevertheless trapped in his hands again? The knowledge of knowing your efforts weren’t worth anything in the end was devastating.

“Smile!” His cheery attitude becoming a frown when you used your—thankfully free—hands to shield your face from the camera he had in his hands

“It’s fine, I guess, we’ll have plenty of time to get a photo of you in there after all! Won’t we?” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes when he spoke, encouraging your silence as he continues “you escaped for 2 years? How long do you think I should keep you in there?”

normally you would avoid showing weakness to him, but you couldn’t stop the widening of your eyes “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done what I did” he tilted his head “You don’t have to be sorry, you showed me your true colors!” He chuckled

As he placed a dragging finger down a bar on the cage, you shuddered; quickly finding purchase under one of the plentiful blankets in the cage, one thing you couldn’t complain about was the near suffocating amount of warmth in the normally cold house—well, cold from what you remember from 2 years ago…

Alas, the blankets didn’t protect you from the hand that found your head. Petting your hair reminiscent of petting an animal after it did something silly, something stupid, but something endearing enough to make its owner remain entertained.

And you suppose that may be what he sees you as at the end of the day, a shivering animal used to biting to show affection. Used to having to weakly fight, the only real difference being that your owner in this situation had no intention of saving you

He kept his eyes focused on you, seeing your foot brush against the bowl at the bottom of the cage seeming to remind him “I told myself I’d make you beg, but we can start that tomorrow along with your reeducation. I’ll go fill that up”

he disappeared for a brief moment, before returning with the small bowl full of water, making you reluctantly remember the leaky faucet in the kitchen, wondering he’d ever fixed it like your told him to.

The smile that graced his feature when you saw him crush some form of pill into the clear surface of the water was incriminating alone, but looking at the small off-color dissolving particles in the water was enough to deter away your want to fix the aching thirst in your throat in the moment

Even as you expected some type of negative reaction from your apprehension, he just kept talking. Seemingly excited at getting the chance to act out a fantasy especially after losing you for so long.

his words only proved to spur on a waterfall of unfortunate thoughts, melancholy and upsetting, as they flowed through your mind; wanting to overflow into something more.

“Why are you drugging me?” The words came out weaker than what you might hope, almost dying on your tongue. “Not drugs, just vitamins since I don’t plan on feeding you all too much while you’re down here. Lest it’s like an animal, animals have to work for their food!” He clapped like a child at the zoo “but I don’t want you to be malnourished”

Comfort was never his strong suit, but in the moment it seemed believable enough to allow yourself to indulge in the clear liquid resting in the bowl at the bottom of—dare you say it—your cage

you took a sip of the water, diving your head down as you figured he might not have a great reaction at you trying to pick it up to drink it.

you struggled to drink a sufficient amount, settling for the small sip you were able to get from the bedazzled bowl, almost grateful you hadn’t noticed the “disobedient slut” in pink rhinestones on the front up until you pulled away due to your slight frenzy.

“You’re a natural” he muttered under his breath, getting a quick photo before his phone rang “must be troupe work! Be a good doll and stay right there for me”

you just hoped he wouldn’t be gone too long, after all, 2 years is a long time to spend alone.

Shal chuckled when he heard the slight sigh that left your chapped lips when he left the room, 2 years is a long time to spend alone, and a maddening time to spend with a monster—especially one like him.

[theflamingredwolfarts]

Made a traditional portrait of Johnny Blaze, Ghost Rider as played by Nicolas Cage in Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance using Colored Pencils in the span of 29hrs!!

This artwork has been on my to draw list for years now & I am just so incredibly happy to have finally gotten the chance to draw it!

Finding out how to draw the texture of the leather jacket was a pain in the ass, it took a lot of experimenting & I'm pretty happy with how it's turned out. I really enjoyed working on the reflections of the fire, it was very interesting and I learned quite a lot, same with the fire, this was my first time drawing fire & it was quite intimidating but it was easy to break it down & lay down the colors but getting it to LOOK like fire was a really difficult challenge!!

I can't believe I'm saying this but the skull was the hardest part to draw, there was so much to break down, draw & color & so many changing colors too, it was hard & the flames that are on top of it, didn't make it any easier!

Overall, I'm really really happy and proud of this artwork, I'm really proud of the contrast, how dark the darks are and how bright the highlights are, plus, he looks really scary which was definitely a vibe that I was going for!

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Prints of this artwork and more are available for purchase at: https://www.inprnt.com/gallery/theflamingredwolfarts/

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If you have any criticism about the artwork or an aspect you don't like, leave a comment about it, I'd love to hear it, bad or good & if you can, be sure to tell me how I can improve on the aspect you don't like or criticized about!

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Follow for more art & if you like this artwork, be sure to press the like button or double tap the image

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Materials:

@fabercastellglobal Polychromos Colored Pencils

Touch Twin Alcohol Markers

Electric Mono Eraser

@dalerrowney1783 Red and Yellow Smooth Cartridge Paper

Sakura Gelly Roll White Pen

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Time Spent: 29hrs

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Size: 16.5 x 23.4 inches

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If you want to repost my art, make sure to credit me!

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If you would like to use my art as reference, feel free!

Thank you!

[ddarker-dreams]

what if chrollo sees your gacha game addiction.... what if chrollo sees your obsession towards a certain purple haired man...? i would pay to see the despair flashing through his countenance

chrollo when he sees his darling's obsession with scara

it'd just be unasked for psychoanalysis o'clock. why this 5′ 4″ (164 cm) fella with mommy issues? it's not like he would even treat you better. realistically, he'd treat you worse. smh. would scaramouche read you poetry, kiss your hand, and massage your sore neck? could he even reach? chrollo's out here collecting your personal data more than a tech conglomerate to custom tailor his entire personality for you. now that's dedication you wouldn't get anywhere else (thank god).

but yeah, say goodbye to the gacha games. no amount of batting eyelashes will get him to change his mind and let you do your dailies. not even a weird modded version that's perpetually offline. you can keep the switch at the price of your otome games being deleted. animal crossing and games in that vein are fine, so long as he receives adequate attention. he's annoying the entire time though. he keeps asking you questions/making commentary about everything.

"so why is it you put the mirror on the right, and not the left?"

"hm. skipping over the plain butterfly, i see. you know, outside beauty does not signify inner worth."

"what an expensive crown. is there a feature that lets you steal it, or is purchasing it legally the only way? seems like an oversight to me."

"those colors... interesting combination, dear. don't you think they clash?"

"is this hamster in the cage not sentient, like the others? why is it that this creature is put on display when its brethren walk freely? does subjugation not bother you?"

(yes he's being irritating on purpose to get you to notice him and man does it work well. also his favorite NPC is crazy redd)

[chrisevansleftpeck]

Kitty Games

Word Count: 1k

Spencer Reid x Reader

Content Warnings: None :)

“This one!” You pointed at a small brown kitten, curled up in a ball inside of a cage. “Oh, Spencer, please say yes, please say yes.” You’d finally managed to drag Spencer to the pound after a long argument about adopting an animal. It took five months for him to even agree on getting a cat, but four more months to decide on whether to adopt or rescue. Finally, an agreement had been made.

Spencer smiled down at the kitten’s mud-colored fur. He chuckled a little under his breath at the kitten’s meows at you as you offered your hand out in front of its cage. Still crouched at the kitty’s level, you turned your head towards Spencer. 

“I didn’t say a thing.” Though Spencer couldn’t hide his smile as he pretended to doubt the kitten’s cuteness.

“It’s a girl, Spence. But she’s a baby and doesn’t have a name yet.” You waved your hand at Spencer to crouch down next to you. He shook his head in protest but was forced down as you unexpectedly yanked at his hand. “See that?” You pointed at the information attached to the kitten’s cage. “No home, no prospective buyers. She’s all ours if we want her.” 

Spencer’s face softened as he looked at the kitty, watching her lick at her paws and purr. No doubt in his mind she was the one. Yet still… “I don’t know y/n. I don’t know if she’s the one.” 

Your mind whirred. You couldn’t not take this cat. What if someone else rescued her by the next time you visited the pound? “Baby, please. She’s perfect and I love her a lot. I really really want her.” 

“We can’t make a choice in one day. Let’s revisit this over the weekend, okay?” Spencer watched as his words broke your heart, but deep down he knew it’d be worth it. However, Spencer didn’t expect your sadness to turn into anger so quickly. 

You shot up and started towards the door. Spencer followed you out into the cold quickly, “I’m eating with Penelope, Em, and JJ in two hours anyways. I’ll ask one of them to pick me up from here.”

Spencer looked puzzled, you were upset with him. For real. “We- we came here together though.”

“Well I don’t feel like going home alone without a cat right now. But since you do, I think you’ll do just fine going home without me too.” You were making no sense at this point. You were in a post-pound funk after seeing so many sweet babies without a home or place to live.

Spencer reached for your hand in distress, but you just yanked it away. “Alright. But I’m not leaving until I see you get into a car.” 

“Fine.” You whispered.

“Fine.” Spencer bit back, really hoping this game would be worth it. 

___________________________________________________________

As soon as Spencer knew he was in the clear, he ran back inside the pound and wasted no time rescuing that kitten. He’d calculated that he’d probably have about four hours to get the cat and set everything up, so there was no time to waste. 

Straight from the pound with a brand new kitty, Spencer drove to Petco and picked up a pink fluffy dome-shaped cat bed, much bigger than the kitty, which he thought was funny. On his trip he also picked up an array of cat food and other necessities such as food and water bowls, litter, a litter box, scoopers, everything he’d need. 

That left him with two hours to set up the kitty’s toys and new purchases in the apartment. He spent every minute carefully, building the kitty’s perfect new scratching post, kitty palace of a bed, and filling a little cookie jar with tiny cat treats. All done, Spencer waited in the living room with his kitty in his lap, a big pink bow tied around her, so that he could see your reaction as soon as you walked in. 

You made it into the apartment around 9:40 and slid a to-go meal across the kitchen counter. It was a little something you’d picked up for Spencer. No matter how upset you were, you loved him and would always look after him.

“Hey, we missed you.” Spencer stood up from the couch, extending the wrapped kitty in his arms out to you. 

Your hands shot up to your mouth. “Oh my god. Spencer-” You dragged on as your eyes began to cloud. Spencer carefully laid her in your arms, unwrapping the pink bow around her. “Oh my god, I feel horrible, horrible, horrible.” You whispered as you pet your new kitty.

“I knew to pull off the surprise I’d have to make you sad, but I didn’t think you’d be mad.” He laughed, watching you place a little kiss on the kitten’s small head. Your heart melted as she purred into the kiss.

“Oh! And she has toys, oh my god. It’s so perfect,” You finally looked up at Spencer with a little tear running down your cheek, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Spencer shook his head, just wrapping you and his baby kitten up into a big family hug. “Don’t be.” He placed a kiss on both you and the kitten. “What’s our baby’s name?”

“Hmmm.” You thought with a smile. “Muffin.”

“Ooh, I love Muffin.” Spencer replied, making you giggle. You watched as Spencer’s eyes studied your lips. “I love you. Thank you for everything.”

“I love you so much more. Thank you for the world, plus my kitty.” You placed a kiss on Spencer’s nose in return, then went back to stroking Muffin’s back. 

Spencer raised his hand to your face, “Our kitty.” He claimed with a smile.

“Our kitty.” You corrected yourself, pulling Spencer and your mutual furbaby into a tight, loving, thankful squeeze. The long day made sense now. Everything was worth that moment. Everything was worth little Muffin Reid.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

I’m starting a taglist, if you’d like to be added just comment!

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Taglist:

-  @goobysgoobers

[screamingcrows]

Requested by @missrhinedottir for the @ficsforgaza initiative :3 Here's a link to their masterpost explaining how it works! Note: This is supposed to read as a continuation to Gift of Companionship. Keep this out of ai and the like. Tags: NSFW, smut, afab reader, unprotected sex, established relationship, no plot, accidental orgasm denial, oral f receiving, soft and silly, topping Albedo, inexperienced Albedo, experienced reader, first time together Minors, blank, and no visible age in bio DNI - you will be blocked

Despite the hushed promises that had been shared between you and Albedo, it hadn't been long before his duties as a Captain required him to leave the city. Albedo's stoic expression had been betrayed by how his hands had trembled when they let go of yours, a longing hardly justifiable with the mission being estimated to last a measly four days, far shorter than the trips to Dragonspine he so enjoyed.

Granted, from what you'd gathered it had been long since he'd last shared a space with someone, perhaps it would take a little getting used to being away. You at least hoped he found enough comfort in how you existences had begun to intertwine to miss it.

That same longing was also present in his eyes upon his return, coat and boots shrugged off with an urgency otherwise rarely observed. The question of intimacy hadn't previously come up in conversation and so you'd assumed he simply wasn't interested and never pushed the topic. It had only been a month after all, rushing and breaking what you had was the least of your desires. His wandering hands as you were quickly crowded against a wall, touch a few degrees hotter than usual, spoke of a different story.

Your words came out with a light giggle, fingers finding purchase in his shirt, "I've missed you too, was the intel legitimate at least?"

"It was nothing worth keeping me away," his lips ghosted over your neck, hands having found a more permanent home on your hips, "forgive me, I-.. I have never experienced yearning quite like this," he breathed the confession into life against your skin, voice shaky with something you couldn't quite place, a feeling that something had happened spreading through your body, "Closer, I need to be closer-" he cut himself short, opting instead to nibble hesitantly at your throat.

There had been touches before, warmth shared between the two of you in silent reverence. But never more than kisses and lingering touches, all of it so gentle you'd wondered if he was afraid you'd crumble.

This time, his fingers only separated from your form long enough to discard your clothes, soon caging in your frame against the mattress. An apology was whispered against your sternum, followed by the softest plea for permission to continue, his cheeks already the color of windwheel asters.

"Oh- if you just lay," Albedo sounded breathless when he pulled away, gentle hands maneuvering your hips, cheek pressed against your thigh as though he would crumble without the connection, "like this if I recall correctly. It supposedly feels better like this."

That caught your attention, enough that you raised yourself up to peer down at the ethereal sight between your legs, soft strands of tousled hair tickling your skin. Radiant in its beauty despite being short of golden.

"Supposedly?"

"I consulted some literature a while ago."

A soft whine slipped past your lips, his tongue so unbelievably warm against your folds, the increased confidence in his movements causing your head to drop back before laughter bubbled forth. The heat of his mouth vanished as soon as it had come, almost making you regret chuckling, but the thought of Albedo hunched over in his study, pouring over erotica with eyes sharp as if it were any scientific text, was simply too endearing.

"You consulted 'literature' on how to please a partner… Love, what did you read? Details, please."

The small nip to your thigh only made you giggle louder, thighs flexing around his head in retaliation.

"Most of it was fiction of course," his breath was already ragged, his enthusiasm infectious, "but there were some more detailed firsthand accounts as well as anatomical references, Lisa recommended all of it."

*Ah. At least he'd gone to Lisa and not Sucrose, poor girl would've had a heart attack

A saccharine smile and shake of your head combined with the light tugs at his hair, Albedo immediately understood and moved back to lick at your core with a satisfied hum, fingers trailing up and down your thighs to coax them further apart. You noted with amusement that he was good, prodding against your tight entrance before shifting to mouth at your bundle of nerves, toes curling at the sparks that shot through you.

Lost in the warmth spreading from your core, whines and eager keens filling the air, it would've been easy to miss how the mattress seemed to dip in small jolts. The cause sharpened in your hazy mind as Albedo came into view, muscles taught as he lapped at you, his hips bucking with every lap at your core.

The sight made heat flood through your body, thighs flexing insistently around his head. It felt good to see him like that, so little of his usual composure left. You'd long since gotten used to seeing the depths of his emotions, but looking so disheveled was truly astonishing, his glistening skin a work of art not even he could hope to replicate. When you shuffled away, he looked almost betrayed, breathless when his tongue darted out to lick your arousal from his lips.

"Was it not-"

His doubts were swiftly silenced by the press of your lips against his, hands cupping his cheeks to guide him down next to you as you gently took the lead, straddling his hips and grinding down to let his leaky tip nudge against your soaked entrance.

"It was, relax 'bedo."

All else drowned in the sounds of his muffled groans, words foreign to your ears spilling from his lips as you eased down. He grasped your hips with bruising strength, successfully halting your movements. Perhaps you'd overwhelmed him? The wide-eyed look he gave you certainly bore little hint of restraint. Your fingers teased across his chest, feeling the frantic beating of a heart underneath the porcelain skin as he bucked his hips, pearly tears sliding down his cheeks.

His breathing had barely steadied when you began moving, setting a slow pace to feel every drag of his cock against your walls, and he was lost again. Hands trailed up your sides in reverence, finding your shoulders and pulling you into a heated kiss as he desperately tried to devour you. You quickened the pace a little, chasing the budding pleasure building in your core, the sheer desperation he held for you feeding the flames. With a small sob, Albedo writhed under you and snapped his hips up, tip nudging against a spot that had you briefly seeing stars.

"A-again, please…"

Albedo could only shake his head at your plea, choking out apologies as he became frantic, mindlessly bouncing you up and down as he chased his own end. It was bittersweet when he came with a cry of your name, spilling his seed deep inside before going lax under you. Your own end never came, but it was impossible to hold grudges when he was smiling so adoringly. Besides, there would be plenty of time for the two of you to indulge again later.