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allthatjazz416 · 2 days ago

Note

Hiii do you write for kenma from haikyuu? 👀

OMG HII! I was did write for him in my drafts cause I know Kenma girlies love to send request ��. Yes! I do take request right now but he's not really a character I usually write for. But here it is!💗

Kenma NSFW🎮

"Stream's over, baby" Kenma TIMESKIP fic Tags: Fem!Reader! Post-streamSex! SoftDom!Kenma! LazyDom!Kenma! Fingering! Edging! OrgasmDenial! CryingfromPleasure! SlightDegration! DesperationKink! Workcount:1.8k Note: My first time writing about him! Hope you like it divider crdts:@/cursed-carmine

Kenma barely glances over his shoulder when you open the door.

The room’s dim, lit by nothing but the glow of his monitors and the faint RGB ripple under his keyboard. He’s still in his hoodie, headphones around his neck, hair messy from where he’s been tugging it during ranked. You can hear the faint ending jingle of his stream—the soft “thanks for watching” overlay flashing across the screen.

“Done?” you ask, leaning against the doorway in one of his shirts and nothing else. You know what you’re doing. You always do.

He hums. Doesn't even look away from the monitor. “Mhm. Got raided last second, had to say thanks.”

You cross the room slowly. No bra. No panties. His oversized shirt barely covers the tops of your thighs. And when you crawl right into his lap, straddling him backwards on the gaming chair, then he looks.

“...You’re not wearing anything under that,” he says flatly, hands sliding under the fabric like it’s just an observation. His fingers are already brushing the crease where your thighs meet your heat. “Trying to distract me?”

You grind down slowly in his lap, just enough to press against the bulge you already feel forming under his sweats. “Stream’s over, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your clit like it’s nothing. “Camera’s off. Mic’s muted. Nobody’s watching.”

Except him.

And he’s watching now—eyes half-lidded, lashes casting shadows over flushed cheeks. He leans back in the chair, lazy and loose-limbed like he’s done this a hundred times, but his fingers are so deliberate. Slow, unhurried circles over your clit then he drags that finger down and curls it inside you, testing how wet you already are.

“You really waited until I logged off just to do this?” he asks, quiet, like he’s teasing. “Could’ve just asked.”

You let out a soft gasp when he adds a second finger, pace unchanging, dragging them in and out like he’s scrolling idly through patch notes.

“You were busy,” you whisper, breath hitching.

He hums again, low and unimpressed. “I’m still busy.”

But his free hand settles on your hip, anchoring you down against his lap while his fingers work you open like he’s got all night. And when your head drops back against his shoulder, whining soft, he presses a kiss just under your ear and says—

“Messy already,” voice low, almost bored. “You really just needed me to touch you, huh?”

You whimper something—affirmation, apology, maybe just his name—and he keeps going like he didn’t even hear it. His fingers curl just right, brushing that spot inside you over and over until your thighs start to twitch. Slow and steady, lazy and precise. His cock throbs against you beneath the fabric of his sweats—subtle, but unmistakable. You feel it twitch when your pussy squeezes around his fingers, like he’s not as unaffected as he pretends to be.

“Bet you were wet while I was still streaming,” he adds, tone unchanging. “Sitting out there, waiting, thinking about this. Should’ve let you crawl under the desk and suck me off mid-match.”

“Kenma—” you gasp, grinding down hard on his lap, chasing friction, but his grip on your hip tightens.

“No,” he says, so soft it’s almost a sigh. “You’re gonna sit still and take it.”

His free hand presses down on your lower stomach, holding you flush to him while his fingers work faster now—just a little. Just enough to make your breath catch. He hasn’t even pulled his dick out. Hasn’t kissed you again. Just fingering you open in the dark, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, face calm and blank while your body starts to shake.

“Don’t cum yet,” he murmurs—not a command this time. A warning. A promise.

Because he’s not even close to done.

His fingers never speed up—not really. They just stay steady. Intentional. He curls them just right, drags them slow, over and over, until your whole body’s buzzing with heat and your hips won’t stop twitching in his lap.

He doesn't; say anything. Doesn’t need to. Just keeps watching your face, eyelids heavy, mouth slack, pupils barely focused. Every breath you take is shaky now. Every shift of your hips pulls a little whimper out of you, desperate for something faster, deeper, anything.

But Kenma doesn’t give it to you.

Not yet.

Your moans start climbing, soft at first, breathy little exhales that grow higher, faster—until your walls start to clench, heartbeat thudding in your throat, right there, the edge curling warm and tight in your gut—

And then he stops.

Just stops.

Pulls out like he forgot he was even inside you. Lets your slick coat his fingers, trails them lazily down your thigh like he’s playing with spilled syrup. Then he lifts one hand, squints at the mess between your legs like he’s reading patch notes or checking a loading screen.

Nothing but silence for a beat.

And then?

Back in.

Two fingers, again. Slower this time. Crueler. The same maddening rhythm, like he’s clocking every twitch, every clench, every shaky little breath.

You can’t help it—you bury your face against his neck, nails digging into the fabric of his hoodie like that’ll keep you grounded. His hoodie smells like clean cotton and energy drinks. His voice hums low near your ear, flat and unconcerned as he circles your clit with the heel of his palm.

“You’re already shaking,” he says, like it’s mildly interesting. “Didn’t even cum once yet.”

You choke on a moan, breath catching when he presses deeper inside. “K-Kenma—please…”

“You’re so loud,” he murmurs, like he’s just noticing it. “Just from this?”

You nod quickly, breathless and ruined. You’re right on the edge again, and he knows. Your hips start to buck against his palm without meaning to, your thighs tense and trembling, right there again—

And then?

He pulls out.

Again.

No warning. No softness.

He slips his fingers out and drags them across your inner thigh, leaving a slick trail of your arousal like it’s nothing. You feel the air hit your swollen, aching pussy and almost whine from the sudden loss. But Kenma just wipes his fingers off on your skin like you’re his napkin. His hand settles on your hip again, like maybe he’s done. Like that was enough.

But it’s not.

You’re throbbing—empty and soaking and dizzy with need.

And he just sits there, the glow of his monitors painting faint lines across his tired eyes as he watches you struggle.

You’re throbbing—empty and soaking and dizzy with need

And he just sits there, the glow of his monitors painting faint lines across his tired eyes as he watches you struggle.

“You’ll live,” Kenma says softly, almost to himself. “You just hate waiting.”

You let out a pitiful sound in response, more of a whine than a word. Your hips keep trying to move—little twitches, half-thrusts against the front of his sweats—but he holds you still with one hand, fingers digging into your hip like a leash.

He brushes his hand back between your legs, lazy, like he’s not even thinking about it—and when he drags his fingers through your folds again, they slip in without resistance.

Hot. Wet. Clenching around nothing.

Two fingers again. Deep. Slow. And your walls pulse around him—gripping, squeezing, leaking down the backs of your thighs. Every thrust is a sloppy slide now, your cunt so desperate to be filled that it pulls at his fingers, greedy and aching.

Your moan comes out broken. High. Like you’re already close again and he knows it.

You cry out—soft and strangled—just from the stretch. Like your body doesn’t know how to take it anymore. Everything inside you pulses around him, slick and sore from being teased for so long.

“You’re so fucking sensitive,” he mutters, almost impressed.

And still, he doesn’t give you what you want. He curls his fingers just a little—presses into that spot deep inside you—and then pulls back. Again. And again. Slow enough that you feel everything. The squelch of your slick. The drag against your inner walls. The brush of his palm over your clit that you swear he’s doing on purpose.

You whine—frantic, wrecked—and bury your face in his hoodie, humping his palm now without thinking, breath hot against his collarbone.

“Kenma—please,” you gasp. “Please, I need it—I need to cum—”

“I should make you do this every night,” he says, tone unreadable. “Keep you warm and wet while I play.”

You moan into his hoddie, half-crying, nails scratching at the fabric of his hoodie. “Kenma, I—please, I can’t…”

“You can,” he says, calmly. “You will.”

He keeps going. Same pace. Same cruel rhythm. Brings you right up again, your whole body clenched, teetering on the edge—

And then stops.

Again.

You sob.

You don’t even mean to—it just slips out, a broken, desperate sound that makes him pause for real. His fingers rest against your inner thigh, still slick with your arousal, while he tilts his head and finally looks you in the face.

“You’re crying?” he says, quiet now. Still calm. But curious.

You nod frantically, trembling in his lap, thighs sticky and sore and clenching on nothing.

His gaze softens—barely. A blink slower than usual. He presses a kiss to your cheek, almost lazy.

“Alright,” he says, like he’s doing you a favor. Like he’s bored. “You can cum now.”

And this time?

He doesn't stop.

Fingers sink back inside you, his thumb pressed right there, rubbing messy circles over your clit as his other hand wraps around your waist and pulls you tight against him. No more teasing. No more pauses.

Just heat. Pressure. Wet, dragging friction right where you need it.

“Go on,” he mutters, breath warm against your neck. “Let go.”

And when your orgasm finally hits—hard, blinding, long overdue—he doesn’t say a word. Just watches. Watches your whole body jerk and spasm in his lap, hands trembling against his chest, mouth open and breathless while you fall apart for him.

Your whole body locks up—back arching, walls pulsing hard around his fingers while your orgasm crashes through you like a wave. Wet. Deep. Unrelenting. You’re crying out his name into his hoodie, hips twitching through the aftershocks, pussy clenching so hard he has to work his fingers just to ride it out.

You’re dripping—absolutely soaking his hand, his hoodie, the cushion of the chair. Still fluttering even after he’s pulled out. Even after he’s licked your release off his fingers, slow and lazy, like it’s nothing.

He presses a kiss to your temple, quiet now. Soft.

“Can feel you twitching still,” he mumbles, thumb brushing your inner thigh. “Didn’t even fuck you yet.”

His other hand slides down between your thighs again, fingers slipping through the mess he made. “Still fluttering,” he murmurs, watching your hole clench around nothing. “Think you’re ready to take me now?”

Part 2? ❤

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angelsuecult · 2 days ago

Text

champagne coast | s. crosby

“on my last strength against you

baby, tell me what you need”

warnings: smut w/ plot, explicit sexual content, MDNI, 18+, NSFW, smut

summary: Sidney isn’t yours, and you aren’t his, but in moments like these it’s easier to pretend that there’s something besides the sex.

request: would love a sidney fucking u to tears fic!!! no pressure but wuld be so tasty in ur style !! love ur work :)

word count: 10.2k

song: champagne coast - blood orange

a/n: still working on perfect places, trying to make it better because I hate how I ended up writing it out, have a few more in the drafts waiting to be released but I hope you enjoy this one! original asker don’t hesitate to reach out if you hate/love it! enjoy guys <3

—

Your apartment was quiet when you got home. Golden hour had started to settle over the buildings outside your window—burning up the edges of the skyline in that soft, buttery light. You dropped your keys in the dish by the door, slid your shoes off with your toe, and moved on autopilot toward the couch like your body already knew what it needed.

The cushions sighed under your weight as you flopped back, arm tossed over your eyes. The kind of tired that clung to your skin, that post-work haze where you’re not really thinking, just being. You weren’t even gonna check your phone at first—not until you heard it ding on the coffee table.

Twice.

Pause.

Then once more.

That tone. You knew that text tone. Because you were a stupid girl with your read receipts off and a custom tone setting for his texts. Like a dumb little Pavlovian dog.

You cracked one eye open. Reached over with a lazy arm. Unlocked the screen. And—yep.

Sidney [6:03 PM]: You home?

Just two words. No emoji, no punctuation. But it still did that thing to you. That tight twist low in your stomach, the flutter in your chest that you hated admitting was real.

You stared at it for a second longer than you should have.

He knew he was gonna get a reply. That’s the worst part. That’s the part that made you wanna roll your eyes and smile at the same time. Because he’d been doing this long enough to know that he had you. Not in a bad way. But in the stupid, heady, chemical brain-melt kind of way.

You sat up just enough to type back.

You [6:05 PM]: Unfortunately yeah. Couchbound.

A minute passed. Another buzz.

Sidney [6:06 PM]: That a complaint?

You snorted. Typical smug shit. You shifted back into the corner of the couch, one leg bent under you, phone warm in your hand now.

You [6:06 PM]: Couchbound = no pants. So. I’ll let you decide.

Sidney [6:07 PM]: Jesus christ

Sidney [6:07 PM]: I’m in a team meeting right now

You laughed. Full-on. Head back against the cushion, warmth rushing up the back of your neck like you were nineteen again. It shouldn’t still feel like this. Not when you’ve known him for over a year. Not when he’s flown you out to Pittsburgh more times than you can count. Not when you’ve already had him in your bed and his.

But it did.

He always knew how to hit the gas.

You [6:08 PM]: Mmm. Hope you’re not sitting near the coaches.

Sidney [6:09 PM]: You trying to make me pop a boner during film review?

You [6:09 PM]: I would never

You [6:10 PM]: I just think it’d be really funny if your laptop was in your lap

He didn’t reply right away. You imagined him in that room with his team, the blue light of the projector flickering across his face, jaw tight, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile. One hand on his phone under the table, the other probably running along his thigh.

Probably thinking about your legs, too. How they always look when you’re curled up on your sofa.

And then:

Sidney [6:14 PM]: You have any plans tomorrow?

You sat up straighter. That was quick.

And that... that was the start of it.

Because this was always the rhythm.

Light talk. Dirty joke. And then that switch. The one you both recognized before either of you said anything out loud.

He’d be here tomorrow. You knew that. You’d looked it up weeks ago. Like a fucking idiot. You even marked it on your calendar in a soft little dot—like it was a dentist appointment or some other innocent shit.

You [6:14 PM]: Oh, I dunno. Might wash my hair. Might ride a hockey player. Who’s to say.

It took him no time at all.

Sidney [6:14 PM]: I’ll come see you

Sidney [6:15 PM]: Same place?

You bit the inside of your cheek.

God, he really was a sweet-talking menace. It was in the way he didn’t ask—he knew. You weren’t gonna say no. You never said no. Not to him. Not when he looked at you like he did. Not when his voice dropped just slightly over the phone when he called you late at night, and you knew he was alone in his room, whispering just for you.

You [6:15PM]: You gonna knock like a gentleman or just let yourself in again?

Sidney [6:16 PM]: That depends

Sidney [6:16 PM]: You want me to be a gentleman?

You [6:17 PM]: Not even a little bit.

Your heart was beating faster now. The apartment was still quiet, but your body wasn’t still anymore. You sat forward, legs curled tighter beneath you, your other hand flexing restlessly at your side.

Another buzz.

Sidney [6:18 PM]: I’ve been thinking about you for days

Sidney [6:18 PM]: Thought about you this morning in the shower

Sidney [6:19 PM]: I’d say that’s pretty rude of you

You closed your eyes. Leaned back again. Breathed out slow.

It was always like this before he came to town. This haunting build-up. Like his presence arrived ahead of him. You could already feel him in your space—already smell the fabric softener he used that clung to your sheets. You hadn’t washed the pillowcase from the last time he was here. That stupid, dumb part of you had just left it.

You [6:20 PM]: I’ve been sleeping on your side of the bed.

You [6:20 PM]: I think it misses you.

Another pause. A longer one this time.

You imagined his face again. That unreadable stare he gets sometimes—too much behind his eyes. You’ve seen it after games, after goals, after wins and losses.

And then:

Sidney [6:24 PM]: Do you miss me?

Your stomach flipped.

God, he always did this. Said one little thing that made you feel like you’d been cracked wide open. And it wasn’t even fair, because he’d follow it up with something filthy and ruin it anyway.

But this time you just answered honestly.

Because fuck it.

You did.

You [6:25 PM]: Yeah.

You [6:26 PM]: I do.

No emoji. No jokes.

Just the truth.

And then you waited.

You waited in that too-still room, with the sun still sinking outside and the buzz of the fridge the only sound for a minute. And when your phone lit up again, your chest actually ached.

Sidney [6:30 PM]: Sleep over?

You smiled. God, you were so screwed.

Because Sidney Crosby, face of the fucking league, was texting you like a teenage boyfriend.

And you loved it.

You absolutely loved it.

You [6:31 PM]: You bringin’ pajamas this time? Or just the abs?

Sidney [6:32 PM]: Just the abs. Maybe a toothbrush.

Sidney [6:32 PM]: Gotta keep the tongue clean for you.

You groaned. Actually groaned aloud, dropped your head back and muttered, “This fucking guy.”

But yeah.

You were shaving tomorrow.

You were shaving everything.

[9:56 PM]

The next time you heard from him you were already in bed and he called.

Not texted. Called.

Your phone lit up beside you, and your stomach jumped like it always did. You stared at his name for a second—Sidney—before you thumbed it to your ear.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

His voice was low. Rough like he’d just cleared his throat, or maybe like he’d been talking a lot all day and was winding down. “You’re in bed already?”

You smiled to yourself, turning on your side and tucking the blanket up to your shoulder. “Yeah. You keeping tabs now?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “No. Just picturing you. That’s all.”

“Mmm.” You rolled your eyes and let your voice go soft. “Are you picturing pajamas, or are you picturing lingerie I don’t even own?”

“Oh, you own it,” he said. “You’re just pretending you don’t so I’ll come buy it for you.”

You grinned. “Now that’s a good idea.”

There was a pause on his end. Just quiet, heavy breathing. Like he was letting himself imagine it. You knew that sound well. Knew it from nights just like this—when he was on the other end of the phone in a hotel room somewhere and you were in your bed, a city and a timezone away.

“What’re you wearing?” he asked, voice a little softer now. Like he couldn’t help it.

You laughed. “Are you serious right now?”

“Dead serious.”

You pulled the blanket tighter, suddenly aware of how bare your legs were, how thin your tank top felt against your chest. “Okay fine,” you murmured. “T-shirt. No bra. Underwear. Kinda useless ones.”

He groaned. “Fuck.”

You smirked. “What, not the answer you wanted?”

“It’s exactly the answer I wanted. Which is the problem.”

You could hear the smile in his voice now. That slow-building tension. Like he was relaxing into it, settling in for the game you always played.

“You still in your meeting?” you asked.

“No,” he said. “I’m in my room. Lights off. Lying on my back thinking about you.”

Your thighs clenched without you meaning to. That voice—his voice—always did that. Soft and low and a little scratchy like he’d been talking for too long. You could picture him perfectly. His hair messy. One arm behind his head. Shirtless, probably.

And you were what he was thinking about.

Which was insane.

Still. After all this time. That he wanted you like that.

“What part of me, specifically?” you teased. “Because I’ve got a lot of real estate.”

Sid laughed quietly. “You want me to go top-down or bottom-up?”

“Top-down. Let’s be classy.”

He hummed. “Mouth. First. Obviously.”

You smiled, warm now under the covers. “Because of my sweet personality?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about what it looks like when you take me deep.”

You covered your mouth and kicked your leg out under the blanket. “You’re disgusting.”

“You asked.”

“I did.”

He let the silence stretch for a beat. Like he could feel you on the other end of the line, warm and squirming, trying not to smile too hard.

“I miss your face,” he added softly. “And your laugh. And your mouth, obviously. And your back.”

“My back?”

“Yeah.” He exhaled, slow. “That curve, just above your ass. Where I rest my hand when I’m behind you.”

You blinked up at the ceiling, breath caught in your throat. There it was again—that thing he did. The way he could go from filthy to fond in a heartbeat. The way he didn’t even try to hide that he paid attention. That he missed you. Even if he didn’t always say it outright.

“You’re too good at this,” you said, voice quieter now.

“I know,” he whispered. “I’ve had a lot of practice with you.”

“You better not have practice with anyone else.”

He chuckled. “Jealous?”

You paused. “Should I be?”

Another pause. His voice dropped.

“No.”

And god. That one-word answer sent a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t have time for anyone else,” he added. “And if I did… they wouldn’t be you.”

It was quiet for a second. Just your breath in your own ears. His, soft and steady.

“Now I’m really not gonna be able to sleep,” you whispered.

“Why?”

“Because my brain’s gonna loop this conversation until morning.”

“That’s fair,” he murmured. “You want me to help wear you out when I get there?”

Your cheeks burned. “You offering cardio?”

“I’m offering a full-body workout. Legs shaking. Sheets ruined. The usual.”

You covered your face with your arm and let out the softest groan. “Jesus Christ, Sid.”

He smiled against the speaker. “What?”

“You’re annoying.”

“And you love it.”

You did. God, you did.

“You landing tomorrow?”

“Yep,” he said. “I’ll text you when. You want me to pick you up, or you wanna meet at yours first?”

You considered. “Meet at mine, I’ve still got work in the morning.”

“Good,” he said, voice thick with promise. “Because I’m gonna be thinking about you all morning.”

You let the silence sit there, heavy and warm.

And then finally: “Goodnight, Sid.”

“Goodnight, baby.”

Your heart did that dumb flip again.

“Sleep well.”

“You too. Dream of me.”

“I always do.”

[9:48 AM]

You weren’t exactly a stellar employee that next morning.

You spent the entire fucking day trying not to look like you were waiting for a text.

Your phone was face-down on your desk, but that didn’t mean shit. You still checked it every ten minutes like a girl in high school who hadn’t outgrown the crush phase. You were pathetic. And the worst part? You didn’t even care.

It had started as a trickle—just a few messages while you were brushing your teeth this morning. You weren’t even fully dressed, still in the oversized tee you’d slept in, when you saw the first one.

Sidney [8:34 AM]: Just landed.

Then another:

Sidney [8:35 AM]: I haven’t even seen you yet and I’m already hard. Do something about that.

You’d actually dropped your toothbrush into the sink.

You didn’t answer right away because you knew what kind of spiral you’d tumble into if you did, and also because you had twenty minutes to get your ass out the door and into traffic. You were late. And you didn’t care. Because he was here.

By the time you were halfway through your drive, stuck behind some dickhead in a BMW who couldn’t figure out what a blinker was, he’d sent another one.

Sidney [9:12 AM]: Thinking about staying at your place tonight and ruining you in that bed of yours.

Sidney [9:13 AM]: That okay?

You’d answered yes before your brain even processed it.

Of course he was staying at your place. He always did.

And that was the part that ruined you the most.

He had a hotel room booked. You knew he did. Probably a nice one too, paid for by the team or the league or whatever mysterious arm of professional hockey handled those things. But he never used it. At least, not when you were in town.

Because when Sidney Crosby came to California, he stayed with you.

Every. Time.

And you let him. No questions. No boundaries. No illusions that it meant anything deeper than what it was. But still—he always dropped his bag by your door like he belonged there. Like it was second nature. Like home.

And that? That was the shit that wrecked you.

Not the sex. Not the bruises he left on the inside of your thighs. Not even the soft, stupid way he said your name in the dark like he was afraid it would disappear.

No. It was the quiet little normal things. The way he asked where the toothpaste was. The way he brought his own coffee from Pittsburgh but still used your shitty little French press. The way his voice dropped when he got out of the shower and said “C’mere.” like that was just how he said good morning.

You were supposed to be at work focusing on the spreadsheets on your screen. But your brain was soaked in him.

You stared at your screen for what had to be twenty straight minutes, rereading the same goddamn sentence of an email and imagining what his hands were doing right now. If he was already on the team bus. If he was wearing a suit or one of those Polos that made you feel insane.

Your coworker walked by your desk, snapped her fingers in your face.

“Earth to you. You okay? You’ve been zoning out for like—ten minutes. That email gonna write itself?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Just…” You waved vaguely at your laptop. “Just tired.”

Lie. You were wired.

You shot off the email—barely readable, but who gave a fuck—then finally flipped your phone over.

New message. Of course there was.

Sidney [10:33 AM]: Hotel gave me the wrong keycard. Some poor guy walked in on me changing. Pretty sure he saw dick.

You slapped a hand over your mouth to hide your laugh, eyes stinging from trying to keep it in.

You [10:34 AM]: Poor guy? Sounds like he got a show.

Sid [10:37 AM]: He looked horrified. I might’ve scarred him. You should come fix it.

You [10:37 AM]: Fix it how? Kiss it better?

Sidney [10:38]: God yes. I’ll leave skate early.

You blinked. That wasn’t like him. He was usually pretty strict about team shit, at least when it came to meetings and skates.

You [10:40 AM]: You’re not serious.

Sidney [10:41 AM]: I’m hard. I’m restless. I’m thinking about your skin and your sheets and how good you smell. I’ve got half a mind to fake an illness.

You [10:42 AM] Don’t you dare. You could get benched and it’d be my fault.

Sidney [10:43 AM]: If I’m gonna sit on the bench, might as well be because you made me useless.

You shook your head, smiling. He was impossible. Walking around like he didn’t have you completely fucked up from the inside out.

You [10:56 AM]: You better show up at my door with dinner. You’re not getting any without bringing me food first.

Sidney [10:58 AM]: So that’s the price? A taco tax?

You [10:59 AM]: That and a kiss.

Sidney [11:03 AM]: One kiss? You’re underselling yourself.

You [11:04 AM]: Fine. One kiss, a margarita, and you have to let me use you as a body pillow all night.

Sidney [11:07 AM]: You say that like I’m not into it. I wanna be crushed by your thighs and smothered by your hair.

You [11:09 AM]: I wanna ride your face until you can’t remember your own name.

Sidney [11:13 AM]: I love it when you talk romance to me.

Your thighs clenched under your desk.

Pathetic. You were so pathetic.

You dropped your phone into your lap and took a deep breath. A long one. You had at least four hours left in the workday, and you were about as useful as a wet napkin. All you could think about was his voice. His hands. The look on his face the first time he stepped back into your apartment like it was his.

Because that was the part that killed you the most.

He felt like he belonged. Like he fit there, in your space, beside you in your bed with his socks on and his arm tucked under your neck, face buried in your hair like he was hiding.

You weren’t his.

You never would be.

But every time he looked at you like that—like you were oxygen—it made you want things you had no business wanting. And fuck if it didn’t make the hours crawl by. You wanted him now. Needed him like you needed your next breath.

[4:47 PM]

You knew he was there the second you stepped off the elevator.

Your building always smelled faintly of hallway cleaner and burnt coffee, but tonight? It smelled like him. Like his cologne—subtle, clean, something stupidly expensive that always clung to your sheets long after he left. Like him standing behind you with his chin on your shoulder. Like the warm, dense press of his chest to your back in the middle of the night.

You hadn’t even opened your front door and your stomach was already flipping. You hated it. You loved it.

You unlocked it and pushed it open.

There he was.

Sprawled on your sofa. Hair damp from the shower. Wearing a gray Penguins hoodie with the sleeves shoved up to his forearms, a pair of black athletic shorts that barely reached mid-thigh sitting down, and bare fucking feet on your coffee table like he lived there. Like he belonged.

His bag was by the door, half-unzipped. His phone was in one hand, and there was an empty glass—probably water—on the side table next to him. You noticed the faint smell of his body wash, like cedar and clean skin, already curling in the air like it missed you.

He looked up.

And holy fuck.

Your breath left your chest before you could stop it. He looked like sin. Warm, flushed, relaxed. That look in his eye—like he’d already been thinking about touching you. Like he knew you were gonna let him.

He stood immediately. Didn’t say anything at first, just came to you in three easy strides like his body was already pulling toward yours. Like he didn’t need a reason.

And maybe you should’ve said something. Maybe you should’ve made a joke or pretended to be unaffected. Maybe you should’ve been stronger. You weren’t. You never were with him.

You dropped your bag on the floor, kicked the door shut with your heel, and then—

His hands were already in your hair, his mouth already on yours.

“Fuck,” he breathed, between kisses, as your arms came up around his neck. “Hi, baby.”

It knocked something loose in you, hearing that. Six months without him and now he was here, mouth dragging along your cheekbone, fingers gripping your waist like he didn’t know how to do this gently.

“Hey,” you whispered back, laughing a little from how winded you already were. “Jesus, you couldn’t even wait five seconds?”

“Nope,” he said, unapologetic, already kissing the corner of your mouth again. “You look so fucking good. You smell good. You feel good. I missed you. So much.”

His voice was lower than usual, a little rough. Almost hoarse. Like he’d been thinking about this all day. Like it wasn’t just about getting off—it was about you.

You let your hands slide under the back of his hoodie, skin to skin. He was warm, solid, all lean muscle and broad shoulders and that ridiculous lower back you hated how well you remembered. “You’re damp,” you murmured against his jaw, biting down just a little. “You showered in my shower?”

“You mad about it?”

“Not yet. You leave the towels on the floor again and I will be.”

He grinned against your skin. “Worth it.”

You kissed him again, slower this time. Deeper. Let it linger. Let him part your lips and take his fucking time. Your body was already humming, vibrating like something electric lived under your skin. You wanted him in your bed. In your space. Inside you. Yesterday.

“You still have my key,” you muttered, half against his mouth.

His hands moved to your ass. He squeezed, shameless. “You never asked for it back.”

“You never gave it back.”

“I didn’t wanna lose it,” he said, smiling like a bastard.

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers were already pushing through his hair. Still damp, still soft, still impossibly familiar.

“Have you seriously just been sitting here all cozy on my couch like you live here?”

“I do live here. When I’m in California. I’ve got a toothbrush and everything.”

“You’re such a piece of shit.”

“You love it,” he said, nuzzling into your neck. “God, I missed this neck. Missed the sounds you make when I—”

You slapped his shoulder lightly, laughing. “Sidney.”

“What?” he grinned. “I’ve been good. I haven’t even tried to get my hand down your pants yet.”

“Yet?”

He stepped back, looking at you. Really looking. The kind of look that made your knees weaker than you cared to admit. That look he gave you the first time he’d seen you walk across that bar like you weren’t about to change his whole fucking life.

“You look so fucking good, baby,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you on the flight. I was hard halfway across the country.”

You snorted. “You’re so gross.”

“And you’re so pretty,” he said, tugging you close again. His hand slid along your waist, thumb brushing under the hem of your shirt. “Seriously. How am I supposed to be normal about this?”

“You’re not normal about this. You’re obsessed.”

He kissed your jaw. “I am.”

Your throat tightened.

He said it so easily. So shamelessly. Like it wasn’t supposed to matter. Like it didn’t already.

You felt a shift when he lifted you then. His grip on your waist was possessive, like he was reminding you that he could take what he wanted. You wanted it, though. Needed it. His lips didn’t leave yours for a second as he carried you, your body pressed tightly to his, your hands tangled in his hair.

You barely noticed when your back hit the doorframe. You were too busy losing yourself in the taste of him, in the feel of him. His mouth was everywhere—your lips, your jaw, the hollow of your throat—his hands sliding under your shirt like they belonged there.

You pulled back, gasping, and looked up at him through your lashes, eyes hazy with want. “Sid...”

“What?” He barely let you get the word out before his mouth found yours again. His kiss was harder this time—rougher, like he was trying to make up for every moment he hadn’t had you.

His body pressed into yours, and you could feel every inch of him—his chest, his hips, the hard press of his dick against you. You moaned softly into the kiss, hands sliding down to his chest, feeling the way his muscles flexed under your touch.

“You’re killing me,” you murmured, tearing your mouth away to look at him properly. His eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them. Like he was starved.

“You’re killing me first,” he growled, his hands already pushing your shirt up. You didn’t stop him. You couldn’t. The way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—like everything else faded to black when you were near him.

He tossed your shirt onto the floor, he set you down, his hands moving to toy with the waistband of your work slacks, and he set you down so he could get them off. You let out a little breathless laugh. “This is definitely a ‘fuck first, talk later’ situation, huh?”

“Always, babe,” he said, voice so deep it made your insides tighten. “You don’t get to make the rules anymore.”

He kissed you again, and you melted into it. His tongue found yours, and it was deep, slow, all-consuming. You could feel his heart pounding under your palms as you slid your hands down his chest, reaching the hem of his hoodie and pulling both his hoodie and shirt off of him in one go.

When he stepped back, there was a brief moment where you both paused, taking in the sight of each other. His abs were more defined than you remembered, his skin still that perfect shade of sun-kissed gold. You couldn’t stop your fingers from tracing the lines of him, down his chest, over the deep V of his hips.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” you whispered, admiring the way he was still standing there, half undressed, waiting for you.

“You make me perfect,” he said, his voice rasping with something more than desire.

You grabbed his collar and pulled him back toward you. “Let’s see if you’re really perfect, Crosby.”

You dragged him to your bed, letting him fall into the sheets with you. The second you were both on the mattress, he was on you, kissing you again, moving with a need that made your breath catch in your throat.

He lifted your hips, tugging at your pants, and you were all too eager to help him. “Been thinking about this for months,” he murmured between kisses, pulling your slacks down your legs with impatient hands.

“Me too,” you managed to say, your hands sliding over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. “You have no idea.”

“Tell me,” he said, leaning down to kiss your neck, his mouth soft but insistent. “Tell me everything.”

You gasped as his lips found the curve of your neck. “I—fuck—I missed you,” you said, the words tumbling out like you couldn’t keep them inside anymore. “Missed your touch. Missed your voice, the way you make me feel like I’m the only fucking person that matters.”

He groaned, his lips brushing over the soft skin of your throat. “You are the only fucking person that matters,” he muttered. “I’m not going anywhere, babe. You have me.”

And then his mouth was back on yours. His hands cupped your breasts, fingers brushing over your nipples, and you arched into him with a soft moan. He broke the kiss again, looking down at you with the kind of expression that made you feel like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

He tugged his shorts down, and you shivered at the thought of what was to come. “You sure you’re okay with this?” he asked, voice thick with lust, but still gentle, like he needed your confirmation. “I want you more than anything, but I’m not gonna force you.”

You tugged him back to you, pressing your lips to his neck, your hands tugging at the waistband of his boxers. “Shut up and fuck me, Sid.”

He turned over and sat back on his elbows, hands coming up to rest on your hips, just looking.

“You always stare this long?” you asked, voice soft but teasing.

“When I’m starving, yeah.”

His voice dropped. “And you know how long it’s been.”

You tilted your head. “What like 6 months?”

He looked up, smiling. “You counted?”

“Not that difficult.”

You ran a hand through his hair, tugging gently. “You gonna make up for it or just sit there?”

“Oh, I’m gonna make up for it.”

His hands slid down and around, cupping your ass, squeezing once. “But don’t act like you’re not dying to climb on top of me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who said I haven’t been thinking about it since breakfast?”

He spread his legs a little wider. “Then show me.”

You didn’t need more than that.

You straddled him slowly, knees bracketing his thighs, your chest brushing his. His hands roamed like he couldn’t decide where to keep them—hips, thighs, up your sides. Everywhere. You rocked your hips once, slow, just to tease.

“Jesus,” he whispered, jaw clenching. “You gonna ride me slow or make me beg?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” you said, leaning in to kiss just beneath his ear. “Depends on how sweet you are.”

“I can be sweet,” he murmured, lips catching your shoulder. “I can be so fucking sweet.”

You were already grinding against him through both layers of clothes now, your breath hitching every time he pushed up into you. He kept one hand on your ass and slid the other between your legs, palming you over your underwear. You gasped and pressed harder against him, your head falling to his shoulder.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, nose brushing your jaw. “Fuck, baby.”

“You did this,” you managed. “You’re the reason.”

“I know,” he growled. “That’s why I’m losing my fucking mind.”

You pulled back just enough to tug your underwear to the side and reach for him. He was hard—hot and heavy and already leaking at the tip. And when you looked down between you, you saw the way his stomach jumped when your fingers closed around him.

You leaned in, kissed him slow, deep, and filthy, mouths open and tongues dragging, his breath catching against your cheek when you lined him up and slid down in one slow, brutal motion.

“Fuck, fuck, baby…” he groaned, arms wrapping tight around your waist.

Your head dropped to his chest, lips parted, breathing hard as you adjusted to him. You felt full in a way that was only ever him. You circled your hips once, slow, and his whole body jerked under you.

“You okay?” you whispered, half-laughing.

“Don’t talk to me right now,” he hissed. “I’m trying not to blow it.”

You laughed again—soft and warm—and kissed his jaw. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“You’re always so tight.”

You moved slow at first. Rocking gently, hips rolling. His hands gripped your thighs, then your waist, then slid up your spine. And every time you moved, he said your name like a prayer.

When you leaned forward and braced your hands on his chest, his eyes rolled back.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You were made to fuck me.”

You smiled against his mouth. “Think so?”

“Know so.”

You started riding him harder then. The slap of skin, the wet heat of it, your name in his throat over and over. His fingers dug into your hips.

"Harder, Sid," you panted, feeling the orgasm build like a storm in your core. "Need it harder."

Sidney's eyes lit up, he sat up, flipping you over so that you were now lying on your back, his body hovering over yours. He slammed into you in a way that stole your breath, your legs falling open. "Is that what you want?" he growled, his voice a dark promise.

"Yes," you moaned, arching your back to meet his thrusts. "Oh, fuck yes."

Sidney took a moment to appreciate the view, his eyes traveling down your body to where he was buried deep inside you. He spread your legs open, his hands holding them in place, and began to move in a steady motion, watching himself disappear into your welcoming warmth, only to come out glistening with your arousal before plunging back in again. "Look at me, baby," he said, his voice thick with lust. "Watch how good I fuck you."

You couldn't help but whimper at his words, your eyes drawn to the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing between your thighs. It was almost hypnotic, the way he moved, the way your body responded to his every touch. "Sidney," you breathed, your voice a plea for more.

With a grunt, he lifted your hips up slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts, his hands now gripping your ass tightly. The new position had your head spinning with pleasure, the sensation of him filling you up even more intensely than before.

"Oh, fuck yes," you moaned, your nails digging into his back. The angle allowed him to hit that sweet spot deep inside you that had your toes curling and your eyes watering with each stroke. He took this as a cue to go deeper, harder, faster. You could feel him thickening, his cock pulsing with each thrust, and the knowledge that he was so close to the edge had your own orgasm coming down on you like a freight train.

"Touch yourself, baby," Sidney rasped, his eyes never leaving yours.

You swallowed hard. You've done it before, sure, but the way he said it made it feel new, like a delicious secret you were sharing. You brought your hand down between your legs, your fingers gliding over the slickness he'd created. You felt shy for a moment, unsure of what to do, but Sidney's eyes never left yours, encouraging, hungry.

With trembling fingers, you found your clit, the tiny bundle of nerves that had been begging for attention. You began to rub it in slow circles, your movements hesitant at first.

"Just like that," he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

He leaned down, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth before kissing you deeply, his tongue mimicking the motion of his hips as they pounded into you. The room was thick with the scent of sex. His hips never stopped.

You began to move your hand more confidently, your fingers circling and teasing your clit with a precision that had Sidney groaning into your mouth. He liked watching you touch yourself, liked knowing that you were so lost in pleasure that you couldn't help but give in.

"That's it," he murmured against your lips. "You're so fucking perfect."

The tension grew, each stroke of your hand and thrust of his hips bringing you closer to the edge. Sidney's breath was hot and ragged against your neck as he kissed and nibbled the sensitive skin there, leaving a trail of heat. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch of you as if he hadn't had you in years, not just months. They found their way to your breasts again, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive peaks.

You moaned into his ear, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. "Don't stop," you begged, your voice hoarse with passion. "Please don't stop."

Sidney's response was to increase his pace, his cock slamming into you in a way that was almost painful, but oh so good. Your hand moved faster on your clit, the sensation building higher and higher.

"Fuck, baby," he grunted, his eyes darkening with lust. "Gonna make me come."

You felt the first tremor of your orgasm, your body tightening around his cock. The feeling was so intense, you had to bite down on your lower lip to keep from screaming. Your fingers danced over your clit, the pressure building until you couldn't take it anymore. You slammed your hand down, pressing hard as you felt the wave of pleasure crash over you. Your eyes squeezed shut, and you threw your head back, the moan that tore from your throat was raw.

It was fast and sudden and violent. Your whole body clenched, head thrown back, hips grinding down while he hissed through his teeth and held you steady.

But he didn't stop. If anything, his thrusts grew harder, his hips slamming into yours as he watched you come apart in his arms. He liked it when you were like this, vulnerable and lost to the moment, his name a chant on your lips. His length was so hard it ached, and he knew he was close, so fucking close.

He shifted the position without pulling out. He gently closed your legs, his cock still buried deep inside you, and rolled you onto your side. The angle was different now, he moved his hips in a steady, grinding motion. You clutched the bed sheets, your knuckles white with the effort of holding on, as he whispered in your ear.

"You're mine," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "Say it."

You could only moan in response, your voice lost in the haze of pleasure. He chuckled, the sound low and dark, and rolled you onto your stomach, pulling you up onto your hands and knees. Your ass was in the air, and you could feel the heat of his body as he hovered over you, his cock still buried deep within your pussy. He placed a hand on the small of your back, keeping you in place as he began to move again.

"Say it," he repeated, his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

You whimpered, the sensation of his cock moving inside you from this angle was almost too much for you.

"I'm yours," you finally gasped out, the words barely a whisper.

Sidney chuckled. "Good girl," he praised, his hand moving to grip your hip harder.

He pulled almost all the way out, leaving just the tip of his cock inside you, making you whine with need. Then, with a wicked smile, he slammed back into you, the sound of your flesh colliding with his sending a shiver down his spine.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, the feel of you so tight around him driving him wild.

You dropped down onto your elbows, arching your back even more, giving him the perfect view of your ass as it bounced off of him. He watched as his cock disappeared and reappeared between your cheeks, the sight making him even harder. He liked watching you like this, taking him, begging for more. He liked the way your pussy gripped him like a tight fist, the way you moved your hips back to meet him, fucking him just as hard as he fucked you.

With a grunt, Sidney reached back, his hand smacking your ass with a firm, satisfying sound that echoed through the room. You moaned, the sting mixing with the pleasure, urging him on. He smacked you again, harder this time, his hand coming down with a force that had you seeing stars.

"Uh huh," you breathed.

You felt his cock slide out of you, the sudden emptiness making you whine in protest. Your legs were trembling, your pussy pulsing with the need for release. "No, please," you begged, not caring how desperate you sounded.

"Not yet, baby," Sidney said with a wicked grin, his voice a low purr. He reached down, his thumb brushing over your clit in a way that had you biting back a scream. "Want to feel you come on my tongue."

He flipped you over onto your back. You were trembling with need, your entire body alive with sensation. He slid down your body, kissing and sucking marks into your skin as he went. His breath was hot against your inner thighs, sending shivers through you. He spread your legs wide and took a moment to appreciate the view. Your pussy was swollen and wet, pulsing around nothing, begging for his attention. He leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sensation had you arching off the bed, your fingers tangling in his hair.

"Mm Sid," you gasped as his tongue swirled around your clit. He chuckled, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body. He licked and sucked, his mouth working you like a pro, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you from bucking him off. You could feel yourself getting closer, your orgasm building like a storm in your belly. "M gonna come," you panted, your voice breathless.

Sidney didn't stop, didn't even pause. He pushed two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that perfect spot, and you almost screamed. Your hands found his hair, fisting it tightly.

You were close, so close. His tongue was relentless, swirling around your clit, flicking it just so, sending bolts of electricity shooting through your body. His fingers moved in and out of you in a steady rhythm, curling just right. You could feel your orgasm building, the tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter with every stroke of his tongue.

"Shit," you gasped, your voice high and desperate. "Fuck, Sid."

His eyes sparked with mischief as he felt your legs begin to tremble around his head. He knew you were close, and the thought of making you come like this had his cock throbbing against his stomach. He slid another finger inside you, stretching you further, and you moaned, the sound muffled by the back of your hand. You were grinding against his face now, riding his mouth like it was his cock, and the feeling was driving him wild. He could feel your walls tightening around his fingers, squeezing him like a vice.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you felt the pressure build, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Sid, Sid, Sid," you chanted, your voice a high-pitched whine that grew louder with each passing second. He could feel your thighs tense up, and he knew it was coming. He sucked on your clit, his fingers moving in and out of you in a way that had you seeing spots. "Fuck, Sidney, fuck, oh my God," you screamed.

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, so intense you thought you might drown in it. Your eyes watered, and your legs shook violently, trying to find stability on anything to keep you grounded. But Sidney didn't stop, didn't even flinch as your nails dug into the back of his neck. He held you down, his mouth working you through the intensity until you were a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him.

As the last of the waves settled, Sidney slowly kissed his way up your body, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses in his wake. Each kiss was like a brand that said you belonged to him in this moment, in this bed. When he reached your mouth, he took your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged gently, teasing you until you opened your mouth to let him in. He kissed you deep and slow, his tongue delving into your mouth to taste the sweetness of your release. You moaned into the kiss, your body still humming with pleasure, your eyes glossed over with tears threatening to spill over.

While Sidney kissed you, his hand found its way between your thighs again, his fingers softly caressing your still-throbbing, still wet pussy. You felt your body respond almost immediately. His thumb slid over your clit, and you shuddered, the sensitivity making you gasp.

Without breaking the kiss, you reached down too, wrapping your hand around his hard cock. He groaned into your mouth, his hips jerking slightly. You stroked him slowly, feeling the veins pulse under your fingertips, the velvety skin hot and slick with pre-cum.

You pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss with a gasp for air. "You're so fucking big," you murmured, a hint of amazement in your voice. Sidney chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"You say that every time," he said, his voice teasing.

"Because it's true every time," you replied, your voice a low purr as you continued to rub your finger over the slick head of his cock. You watched as a bead of precum slid down the length of him.

Sidney chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest, vibrating against yours as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your temple. You could feel his heart pounding, matching the rhythm of your own, and the heat from his body seeped into your skin. He kissed you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance of passion. You felt his cock twitch in your hand, the muscles in his stomach tightening.

As you continued to stroke him, you wrapped your other arm around his broad shoulders, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you. Your breasts pressed against his chest, your hardened nipples brushing against his skin.

You felt him shift, the head of his cock nudging against your folds, the slickness of your arousal making it easy for him to slide along your entrance. He groaned, his hips rolling in a silent plea for you to let him in, but you had other plans. You took the tip of his cock in your hand, rubbing it along your wetness, teasing yourself, teasing him, watching his reaction with a small smile.

"You're killing me, baby," Sidney groaned, his eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and lust.

With a smirk, you lifted your legs, wrapping them around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back. Sidney groaned, the sudden pressure making his cock throb with need. He couldn't take it anymore, he had to be inside you again. He lined up the head of his cock with your slick entrance, the anticipation almost too much to handle. With a final, almost desperate look into your eyes, he slapped his cock against your pussy, the wet sound echoing in the room.

He pushed into you, the force making you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. You felt so full, so complete with him inside you, like nothing else in the world mattered except the two of you and this moment.

Sidney's eyes never left yours as he began to move, his hips pistoning in a rhythm that had you gasping for air, your body moving in perfect sync with his. The slap of skin on skin filled the room. Each thrust was deep, claiming, and you could feel the head of his cock brush against your cervix, sending a new wave of pleasure crashing over you.

You clung to his biceps, your nails digging into the solid muscle, using them as leverage to meet him thrust for thrust. The sensation was overwhelming, so intense that you had to squeeze your eyes shut, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip to keep from crying out. You could feel your orgasm building again, a pressure that was almost too much to bear.

Sid’s hips moved with a purpose, his cock hitting that spot inside you that had you begging for more, even though you weren't sure you could handle it.

"Look at me," he growled, his voice low and demanding.

You did, your eyes meeting his, and the connection was like a bolt of lightning, setting your entire body on fire. With each thrust, he went deeper, filling you so completely that you weren't sure where he ended and you began. And when he finally reached the peak, his cock pulsing deep inside you, you felt his warmth flood you, his release marking you as his own. He didn't stop moving, though, his hips grinding against yours, his cock still hard and thick, still fucking you through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

The feeling was intense, almost painful, but you didn't want it to end. You felt his come dripping down your thighs, a warm, sticky mess. And as he continued to move, the sensation grew, the pleasure turning into something almost unbearable.

Sidney's hand found its way to one of your breasts, his thumb brushing over the nipple as he fucked you, his strokes deep and slow. You bit down on his shoulder, muffling the sounds of your pleasure, your eyes watering from the overwhelming sensation. You could feel the muscles in his arms flexing, the sweat on his back making your grip slip as you held on for dear life. His other hand moved to your neck, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin as his fingers threaded into your hair, gently pulling your head back to expose your throat to his hungry mouth.

He kissed and licked your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he continued to pump into you, his cock still thick and hard even after his first release. The feeling of him coming deep inside of you was something you never got used to. You felt his hips grind fully against yours, his pelvis pressing against your clit, the friction making you gasp for air.

Sidney felt your pussy tighten around his cock, the walls clenching in a way that told him you were close. He loved making you come, loved watching you fall apart underneath him. He pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into you, making you gasp.

Your eyes fluttered, meeting his for a second, and in that moment, you knew. Your throat was raw from screaming his name, and your voice had abandoned you, leaving only the desperate, quiet gasps that escaped your parted lips. You felt it building, the pressure deep in your core, spreading through your body like wildfire. You clung to Sidney, your nails digging into his back, your body arching off the bed.

His eyes narrowed as he watched you, reading your every move, every twitch of your body, every shallow breath. He knew you so well, knew exactly what you needed, and he was going to give it to you until you couldn't take it anymore. He continued to move, his hips moving in a steady rhythm that had your eyes rolling back in your head. The only sounds in the room were the slap of skin against skin, the harshness of his breath, and the faint sound of your pussy, clenching and releasing around his cock, begging for more.

Another orgasm washed over you, a silent scream of pleasure that had you trembling beneath him. Your body arched, your back bowed, but no sound escaped your throat. It was as if the intensity had stolen your voice, leaving only the desperate gasps for air that filled the quiet room. Sidney groaned, feeling your walls tighten around him, the sensation pushing him closer to the edge once more. He didn't stop, didn't even slow down, his need for you as insatiable as ever.

You could feel the tension in his muscles as he held back, his jaw clenched with the effort of not coming again too soon. But you were lost in the haze of pleasure, your mind a blur of sensation, and you couldn't help but move your hips against his, urging him on.

Another orgasm washed over you, you felt your body convulse around his cock, your pussy clenching tightly, pulling him in deeper, milking him for every drop of pleasure he had to give. And through the silent cries of ecstasy, the tears that rolled down your cheeks, Sidney watched you. He kissed each one as they fell, tasting the salt of your pleasure on his lips, his movements never faltering, never stopping.

You were so sensitive now, so raw with need, that even the brush of his stubble against your cheek was enough to make you whimper. Your orgasm continued to ripple through you, like aftershocks from a powerful earthquake, leaving you trembling and exposed. Sidney took your cries as encouragement, his own passion spiraling out of control as he felt your body responding to his touch, his cock still buried deep inside you.

"Fuck, baby, you're so goddamn tight," he groaned, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

His hips moved faster, his strokes growing more erratic as he approached his own peak again. You could feel his balls tighten, his cock pulsing with every thrust.

Your tears continued to fall as Sidney buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. He kissed you there, his tongue tracing the line of your collarbone as his cock slammed into you with a force that shook the bed. And as he chased his release, you felt your own orgasm building again.

Your body was a symphony of feelings, your pussy tightening and releasing around his thick length, your breasts bouncing with each thrust, your legs trembling with the effort of keeping you both upright. You could feel his muscles tense, his entire body coiled like a spring about to snap. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on tight as he picked up the pace.

Sidney's breath was hot and ragged against your ear, his teeth nipping at your lobe as he whispered sweet nothings. You felt the bed shake beneath you, the headboard banging against the wall in a steady rhythm. Your nails dug into his back, leaving little half-moons on his skin, but he didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he liked it.

With one final, powerful thrust, he kissed you again, groaning into your mouth as he came. The sound was raw. His cock pulsed deep inside you, his come filling you up, mixing with your own release. The feeling was indescribable, a warmth that spread from your core to the very tips of your toes. You could feel him tense against you, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

He wrapped his arms around you, mouth open against your collarbone, “Fuck, fuck—God, baby—”

As his release calmed, he rested his forehead against yours, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His eyes searched yours, looking for reassurance that you felt the same, that he hadn't just used you as a means to an end. You kissed him softly, a silent promise that you felt everything he did, that you were just as invested in this as he was. He pulled out of you slowly, the loss making you whimper, your body already missing the feeling of fullness.

The bedside clock glowed 8:23 PM in soft red letters.

You turned to lay your stomach, cheek pressed into your pillow, still a little sweaty, still very much naked. Your leg draped over Sidney’s hip like it belonged there—like it always had—and one of his arms curled loosely around your waist, fingers drawing lazy circles just under your ribs, his fingers kept brushing higher, like he was absentmindedly plotting his next move.

You hummed softly, voice low and rough from all the noises you were making. “You’re still awake?”

His fingers paused. “You think I could sleep after that?”

You cracked a grin into your pillow. “Was I that good?”

“You know you were.”

You turned your face toward him, just enough to catch the smug tilt of his mouth. His hair was messy, sticking up in weird angles, and his cheeks were still flushed from earlier. You hated how good he looked like this—soft, tired, yours.

“I do have a gift,” you said with a dramatic little sigh. “My talents are wasted on you.”

He leaned in and kissed your shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. Big talk for someone who couldn’t stop shaking a few minutes ago.”

You slapped his arm without even lifting your head.

He laughed, warm and smug and Sidney.

A moment passed.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

You hummed again. “What?”

“You coming to the game tomorrow?”

You opened one eye and gave him the flattest stare you could muster. “Are you seriously asking me that right now?”

He shifted onto his side so he could see you better, resting his head on his hand. “I am seriously asking. I know you work. I didn’t want to assume.”

You groaned. “Don’t be responsible. It’s disgusting.”

Sidney snorted. “Okay, sorry. Let me try again.”

You closed your eyes again and tried to go back to pretending you were tired and content and not giddy as hell just being with him.

“…You coming to the game tomorrow, or am I gonna have to play like shit just to get your attention?”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too hard. “Mmm. What’s in it for me?”

He paused. You could feel him grinning without looking. “You want me to bribe you to come see me play?”

“I want you to try.”

Sidney shifted again, leaning over you now, kissing your shoulder, then your back. “Okay,” he murmured against your skin. “You come to the game…”

He trailed his hand down the curve of your side, slow and deliberate.

“…and I’ll take you to dinner after.”

You turned your head just enough to give him a skeptical look. “That’s the best you’ve got? Dinner? That’s what you’re leading with?”

He laughed into your shoulder. “You like food!”

“I also like not being treated like a fucking groupie.”

“You’re not a groupie. You’re—” He hesitated. “You’re you.”

That made your heart do a weird thing. You ignored it.

You rolled onto your back with a dramatic sigh, pulling the sheet up over your chest even though he’d already seen everything several times tonight. “Try harder.”

“Jesus. You’re insane.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” he admitted easily. “Okay. You come to the game… I’ll take you to dinner, and—” he leaned in, voice low and tempting, “—I’ll leave you the quarter zip again.”

You blinked. “The one I’m obsessed with?”

“Yeah. I’ll even spray it with my cologne so it smells like me when I leave.”

You rolled your eyes, even though your stomach fluttered. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re the one who asked for it.”

You mock-gasped. “So you admit I’m pathetic.”

“Baby,” he said, dragging the word out, “I’ve been saying that since the first night we met.”

You reached out and grabbed a pillow, hitting him in the chest with it. “Asshole.”

He laughed and caught your wrist, then kissed the inside of it like he was apologizing for teasing you, which he definitely wasn’t.

“You are pathetic,” he said gently. “But so am I.”

You gave him a look. “You showed up here unannounced and used a key I gave you six months ago.”

“Exactly.”

“You should be in a hotel. With your team. You remember them, Captain?”

“Hotels don’t have you in them.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He leaned down and kissed you again—slow and soft and unhurried. Like he had nowhere else to be. Like you were the only thing he gave a shit about right now.

You sighed into it, letting your fingers curl around the back of his neck. “You’re lucky you’re good in bed.”

He laughed again, cocky. “I am good in bed.”

“God, I hate how smug you are.”

“You love that too.”

You kissed him again. “Yeah,” you murmured, lips brushing his. “Unfortunately.”

Sid pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes warm and soft. “So that’s a yes? I’ll see you there?”

You groaned dramatically. “Ugh, fine. I’ll come watch you do your stupid little hockey.”

He grinned and kissed your hip. “Wear my jersey.”

“Gross.”

“Please.”

You fake-gagged.

He leaned up over you, face hovering close, eyes soft in that way that made you feel like you were nineteen and falling hard for the first time.

“You look hot in it,” he said. “Do it for me.”

You sighed. “Fine.”

He kissed your forehead, then settled back beside you, pulling you into his arms like it was the easiest thing in the world.

It was almost annoying how right it felt. Like he belonged in your bed. Like you belonged in his arms.

Like this wasn’t a game you kept playing because you were too scared of what it would mean to stop.

You sighed again and rested your head on his chest. “You’re gonna owe me so much after tomorrow.”

He ran his fingers through your hair. “Whatever you want, baby. Just tell me.”

And god help you—you believed him.

—

#angelsuecultwrites #angelsuecult #champagne coast | s. crosby #sidney crosby #sidney crosby fic #sidney crosby imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl players #pittsburgh penguins #sidney crosby x reader #sidney crosby smut #reqs open

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karaaeilish · 21 hours ago

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★ old habits; b. eilish. . .

★ a/n — i don't wanna directly connect this to the new pics of billie and nat. this fic's been in my drafts for a long time, and now seemed like the perfect time to post it. i don't encourage hate or anything like that. so please treat this work the same as all the others !

★ angst `

for as long as you were together, you had one little habit that never went away. it was just something normal, something ordinary. it was a sign that you were okay, that nothing had changed, that your heart still beats just as hard at the thought of seeing her again. and it doesn't matter if you haven't seen each other for two hours or two weeks.

you always jump on her. just run up and throw your arms around her neck, legs wrapped around her waist every time when she was coming home after a long drive or any other situation when you saw each other after a while. billie was always strong enough to hold you in her arms calmly while you wrapped your limbs around her like a little koala. that was the nickname she gave you.

on normal days it was always energetic and joyful, hugging her tightly around the neck and leaving kisses on her cheek, her lips, her forehead, until her whole face was covered in traces of your lipstick and you were both giggling. she would carry you around the house for a few more minutes, making you feel like a little girl.

other days, after fights or tense moments, it was touchy-feely, slow, sensual. you would approach her with eyes puffy from crying, slowly climbing on top of her or holding out your arms for her to lift you herself, letting you lean completely on her. you'd hold her tighter than usual as she carried you to the bedroom, gently lowering your body onto the soft mattress. she'd take your hands in hers, listening patiently as you told her what had hurt you. so you could sincerely apologize to each other, and then fall asleep with her head on your chest, listening to your calm breathing and counting the beats of your heart under her cheek.

it was always so normal. so real.

but this time, apologizing wouldn’t help.

billie was leaving for a few days to support one of her friends before their concert. you didn’t have to ask her who would be there. she just laid her head on your lap, telling you every detail and every plan. said she just wanted to have fun, and you let her go without a second thought, knowing that the only thing you’d worry about was that she’d fall over again, coming home with a bunch of new bruises.

it was dark outside, the summer air ventilating your apartment through the small crack of an open window. the clock had just struck 10 PM, and you heard the soft click of the front door. and then that achingly familiar voice. your chest tightened. billie put her bag down on the floor, shouting that she was home and opening her arms wide for you to embrace her. but you remained still. there was only silence in response, and then she really tensed up.

“baby?” she nervously takes off her shoes, hurrying further into the apartment and entering the only room with a light on — the living room. billie's eyes scan everything she sees, and her gaze lands on you, sitting on the couch, curled up into a ball, making you look even more fragile.

there was a shit ton of papers scattered across the coffee table, and billie didn't realize what they were until she got closer, picking up a few of them in her hands. her eyes glazed over. her heart stopped for a few moments. pictures. her. some girl you didn't know. kissing. her stomach dropped.

the half minute of silence stretched on for an eternity as she continued to stare at the same photo, as if hoping the image would change. fade. burn away under her gaze.

“is this how you hang out with your friends now?” your voice was quiet, broken. so hurt that there was no accusation in it. just the raw pain tearing at your heart for the last few hours that you had spent in the same position, staring at the same images. and the longer you stared, the more unreal they became. everything became so unreal, so empty and meaningless. “i thought i could trust you, billie.”

using the full form of her name made her almost choke on air as she began to realize the scale of the disaster. the air between you grew heavy and thick, preventing either of you from breathing properly.

"baby, i…" she takes a step forward, as if trying to reach you, but you just move, sinking further into the soft cushions of the couch. you were disgusted. disgusted by her, by yourself, by this woman whose face you saw for the first time. a woman who turned out to be better if your girlfriend decided that kissing her was something that would bring her pleasure. no matter how much you loved her, it was only her choice and her decision. only her responsibility.

the thought of her touch chokes. a few hours ago, you wanted nothing more than to hold her again, to feel the warmth of her body warming your eternally freezing limbs, but now? now you're afraid that if her skin refuses to touch yours, you'll break up. forgive her. let her fix everything.

but there is no point in that when she's already broken your heart.

"i'm so sorry my love, i didn't know what i was doing.." she tries to justify herself, but you won't let her. you don't want to hear anything else, just because you know that every next word spoken with such tenderness will crush your heart even more. "billie. please, shut up. just stop talking."

you stand up from the couch abruptly, too abruptly for your usual behavior, making billie flinch.

"this is the end. we're done. i don't wanna hear your excuses."

your words are dripping with venom. or rather, you make them sound like that, just so she won't be tempted to continue apologizing. just because you know that eventually the tears will break through, flowing like a river down your cheeks and you'll find yourself in her arms, drowning in the tenderness of her words and the caress of her touch. you give in to the way her strong arms hold your trembling body, not allowing you to move an inch.

"i love you" she whispers. desperately. tears pool in the corners of her eyes.

"i love you too. that's the problem"

౨ৎ tags; @billiesbabygirll, @amara-eilish, @st0nerlesb0, @bxllxebxtch @mystiquemm, @bilswifee, @dragoneyelashart, @bilssturns, @chrissv4mp, @allyeilishh, @bitchesbrokenpromises, @too-sapphic-to-function, @thefeverburningalive, @peytonglazesbillieeilish, @1nn3rthOughts, @thebluediner, @xiletay, @eilishsfantasy, @ariieeesworl

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jiminiepabov · 1 day ago

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"Sleepy" Method [Experimental]

Hey how are you huh? Enjoying your dream life, am I right? Wanna see my new method? Before that read the disclaimer.

DISCLAMIER:

(1) This method is a experiment and it's fun way to induce void state so, please don't come up to me with some shits like "It doesn't work" Or "You can't use method for void state, you’re soo Pathetic lmao". Not only this method, every single method will not work for if you assumed it's not gonna help. Using method for void is a fun activity for those who struggle to induce void.

(2) You can change the time schedule which are mentioned in the method to your convince. And it's not rule follow the perfect time because there's not divine timing unless you assume it. You can use the time mentioned method for better and comfortable experience. If you’re struggle with this method please don't use it for your health.

Anways let's go back to the method

Step 1: Lets break your sleep cycle. Sleep at 9/10pm and wake at 12/1 am and don't sleep until 3/4am and please don't roam or do something that makes you active or use ELECTRONIC like phone, tab or your TV. Now you'll be in ultra max sleepy state where your body goes numb in seconds if you didn't move body while lying down.

Step 2: You can directly induce void but I'm giving 3 more ways

VOID:

Affrim from there. Don't overthink. Don't stress. Just embody the void. Allow it. Surrender to the NOW. Trust yourself. Boom. Now you're in void.

SATS (State Akins To Sleep):

Lay down relax your body by focusing on your breath or your preferred way. In second you'll be in SATS. Affrim from there to induce void state. If you fall asleep too your subconscious will absorb the affrimations.

Sleep Paralysis:

Lay down relax your body and stay still don't move a bit, let your thoughts wander, observe them don't absorve and don't focus on your body. Affrim from there to induce void. Affrim with feeling(knowing) that you already in void state with certainty and acknowledgement.

Hypnogogic state:

relax, be calm and soon you'll get hallucinations like flashing lights. From that state start affrim for void. That's it you'll be in void.

You can induce any state from there not only the 4 I mentioned here.

Hope this post helps you

-𝓙𝓲𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓮𝓹𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓿

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rh1ncodontypus · 3 days ago

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Actually, I'm still going.

TL;DR

Two days is nothing in real life time.

Content creators are human. We should treat them as such.

Equating morality to the content people consume is not a "one-size-fits-all" strategy.

This is in no way equivalent to what happened with Iskall.

Do I agree with Skizz having mods that support MAGA? No, not at all. I think he deserves the benefit of the doubt, at the very least.

Two days is nothing in real life time.

I think people are jumping the gun with the current information we have. I think Skizz hasn't had the chance to really do anything yet. Hell, I don't think ANY of the Hermits have had the chance to do anything yet, let alone think. I feel like we've been spoiled with in-real time updates. I don't think it's fair to expect Skizz, or anyone for that matter, to reply or act right this second or else.

Content creators are human. We should treat them as such.

TL;DR: This man has just bumped headfirst into the Paradox of Tolerance. Give him a second.

Generally the definition of tolerance has been maintaining a neutral opinion. This was especially the case with Gen X/Millennials. We have different opinions and we work together anyway. I probably don't have to inform you that's much harder to do in the present, if I'm putting it lightly.

I don't think Skizz is transphobic. I don't think he looked at his mods and decided to hire two of them because they're MAGA. Don't get me wrong; I am not defending having mods that are MAGA. I think that five years ago, he needed people to moderate his chat and he thought those mods did fine. This circles back to the definition of tolerance.

Right now, Skizz is facing the paradox of tolerance. It's up to him what he does with it. And honestly, this might be the first time he's having to think about this. He's a white cis man, which means he occupies a position of incredible privilege (that is not a moral judgment).

And you know what? Trans rights are divisive and the fact they're divisive sucks. I'm saying this as a trans person. You post something about trans rights and you have people fighting on your post in 0.2 seconds with increasing levels of hostility. I don't blame anyone for not knowing how to deal with that on livestream, or wanting to maintain neutrality, as much as it disappoints me.

In the wider scheme of things, Skizz is new to being a full-time content creator. He's probably never dealt with a situation like this before.

I feel like people were quick to assume malice or hostility. So I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt and I hope other people are, too. I also don't think this is the cardinal sin that some people are treating it as.

Equating morality to the content people consume is not a "one-size-fits-all" strategy.

I'm already seeing posts encouraging people to boycott his content and heavily implying that someone is a bad person if they don't. You've probably heard of the situation with J.K. Rowling. The reason people are calling for a complete boycott is because any support or money actively enables her transphobic actions and platform.

Separating content from content creator is complicated. I acknowledge that. But applying the morality = content consumption runs the danger of turning into "I am a good person because I only consume pure content™ and this person is bad because they consume the bad content." I don't think that's the way we should be judging people.

This is in no way equivalent to what happened with Iskall.

If this situation is a 10, then what happened with Iskall is a 120. Iskall's situation had tangible victims and was happening over an extended period of time.

Do I agree with Skizz having mods that support MAGA? No, not at all. I think he deserves the benefit of the doubt, at the very least.

#skizzleman #skizz #rh1n speaks #skizz situation #enkays-den said it way better than me but I'm not tagging them #for reasons i think are obvious #...we can afford trying our best to be good to each other #y'know?#or at least we can afford a breath and deciding to watch and wait before making big judgments

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kisskoushi · 3 days ago

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⊹₊⟡⋆ koushi sugawara who rushes into your classroom to present the mound of snacks and drinks he’s bought for you two. “they didn’t have your favorite so i had to opt for the second option, i hope that’s okay” a cute, sheepish smile on his face. he’s always making sure you have enough to eat.

⊹₊⟡⋆ koushi sugawara who practices endlessly, perfecting his craft. it’s no longer just for him or the team, but for you too. your arrival in his life brought him a new sense of meaning—of hope. “you’re here!” the squeaking of volleyball shoes coming closer and closer until you feel surrounded by a familiar embrace. “of course i am silly” grinning ear to ear. the team is sick of you two lovebugs, but your presence helps them too—especially knowing how happy you make koushi.

⊹₊⟡⋆ koushi sugawara who tries to keep his losses on a down low, after all getting subbed out wasn’t that big of a deal, right? game coming to an end you make your way down from the stands to celebrate the win with your boyfriend, only you can’t seem to spot him.

“hey, i think he went outside for some air” you thank daichi for the helpful guidance heading towards the exit. this doesn’t happen often, him just up and leaving so quickly. you open the door, cold air hitting your face as soon as you do, you see a tall figure leaning against a light post.

“kou, are you alright?” he turns to face you, eyes watery. “yeah i’ll be alright, it’s no big deal” he’s trying so hard to keep himself composed in front of you, as if this were the first time you’ve seen him like this, so utterly defeated despite the win being celebrated inside the gym.

he finds himself wrapped in your arms in between your legs, both seated on the steps of the building. “maybe if the set had just been a little higher, would it have been good?” it breaks your heart seeing him so critical of himself after games, knowing how many hours he spends practicing. “kou all your sets were incredible, i’m sure it was all just part of the game plan for tonight” running your hands through his hair, occasionally twirling a strand with your finger. this calms him down sooo much, goodness he gets so weak with you.

“i just hate it sometimes, i work hard to earn my spot on the court but it seems like it’s all for nothing y’know?” his head falling into his hands, breath staggering. “oh kou,” you coo, rubbing his back with your hand, “i know but look at it this way, all that extra practice worked off and you helped score a ton of points” he turns to face you, a single tear falling down his cheek. “yeah…you do have a point” wiping his cheek you continue, “anddd you boosted the teams morale, no one can do that as good as you baby” he grins.

“mmm…maybe you’re right, i’ll work twice as hard next practice!” jumping up from your arms, eyes twinkling with newfound motivation. silly goose. already working himself up for the next match, and you know he’s going to give it his all.

⊹₊⟡⋆ koushi sugawara who understands that labels can be heavy, but always puts your friendship before the relationship.

“talk to me like a friend not a boyfriend, i want to understand how you’re feeling right now” he pleads, things getting particularly tense between you two. it’s not the first time, but it’s not like it happens often. he has always been good at this type of thing, getting you to open up. exam season and volleyball tournaments have taken a toll on the both of you, and you’ve been doubting your ability to keep up with it, as well as the relationship.

seeing you in tears, apologizing for the way you’ve been acting, not talking to him sooner and a whole lot of unintelligible mumbles, he pulls you close. “i promise i’ll do my best for the both of us, and i’ll always be here for you no matter what” he hates seeing you cry, but he always, always knows the perfect way to cheer you up. “c’mon! let’s just go to the park, like old times” you grin. like old times, there’s your koushi for you. your part-time lover, full time friend.

i keep writing suga stuff jaja lmk if you want to see any other characters! ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

also!! desire: unleash is out now! pls go stream if you can (≧∇≦)

#livs favorites (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)#sugawara koushi #koushi sugawara #sugawara fluff #sugawara x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq #hq sugawara #hq fanfic #hq fluff

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sweetromanova · 3 days ago

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More To Lose: Part Five🖤

Summary: You thought your life with Steve Rogers was what love looked like. But love isn’t quiet disappointment or fading into the background. It’s soft hands when you’re breaking. It’s someone who sees you, even when you don’t see yourself. And just maybe, it’s Natasha Romanoff, waiting for you to see her too.

A/N: honestly this chapter haunted me, i re-read it again and again and i just can’t click with it! i edited this the most out of every chapter and still i’m ending up posting the original. anywayyyy a mini epilogue will be out tomorrow! hope you all enjoy final ‘official’ chapter!🤍

Chapter Five

It ends quietly. Not like usual with the Avengers, like with an explosion or a door slammed off its hinges but with a small unraveling. Soft and inevitable. The kind of ending that’s been writing itself for months in the silences between arguments, in the late-night walks down opposing hallways, in the empty spot on the bed where warmth should’ve been.

So when Steve leaves, it’s calm. Polite. He doesn’t raise his voice and he doesn’t fight.

He just packs his duffel bag, folds a few of Margot’s toys into a ziplock to keep at his new place and says. “We’ll figure out a schedule.”

You nod, once. Nothing left to say.

Margot watches from your hip, thumb in her mouth, her eyes wide but dry. She doesn’t cry when he kisses her forehead, she just copies your wave and flashes the fresh, baby teeth that appeared overnight.

She doesn’t cry often but she does cry. She cried when Natasha left for a mission for less than 24 hours last month. She cried when Natasha didn’t come quick enough to kiss her goodnight at bedtime.

So after the door closes, after the Tower settles back into its late evening routine, you let out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding. The kind that comes not from relief but from release.

A final acceptance.

The next morning, you move into a smaller suite, further down the hallway. Just you and Margot. Two rooms, a beautiful open plan living room where you can see every corner of trouble your toddler can get into and a balcony that catches the afternoon sun. Wanda helps you unpack while Natasha fixes the stuck drawer rail in Margot’s wardrobe. Sam shows up with pizza and a very serious speech about getting visitation rights with Fanny.

You laugh, genuinely. For the first time in weeks, months or even years.

It doesn’t feel like mourning. It feels like after.

⋆⋆⋆

Your old name finds you again slowly, whispered first then spoken aloud as you return to work.

“Great to have you back, ma’am.” Someone greets you during a strategy call. It takes you half a second to realise they’re talking to you. That you’re not standing in Steve’s shadow anymore, not ‘Cap’s girl’ or ‘Steve’s baby mama’, not even ‘Mrs Rogers.’ You’re just you.

You give the order. You map the route. You clarify with clean, unshaken precision.

No one questions it.

Later that week, Sam corners you in the elevator and bumps your shoulder with a grin. “Kinda missed seeing you run the show.”

Wanda squeezes your hand over lunch. “You seem back.”

You’re not sure what back means. You’re not the same person who fell into this place years ago, overflowing with confidence and clipped control but you’re no longer lost in someone else’s story either. You’re writing your own again.

⋆⋆⋆

Natasha doesn’t push. She never has. But she’s there more and more now. Present in all the small ways that used to feel accidental but now you know better. She’s in the rhythm of your days now, wrapped into the spaces between early morning walks and late night baby wake-ups. There’s no label for it. No declarations.

Just Natasha.

She shows up with coffee before staff meetings. She still leaves dry clothes on your chair after Margot spills milk on you during breakfast. She fixes things before you even realise they’re broken.

And Margot, sweet, clever Margot gravitates toward her like the moon to the tide. Sometimes you watch them, the way your daughter curls into Natasha’s side on the couch, how Nat hums under her breath while brushing little knots from Margot’s hair, how she never complains when she’s called “Nat Nat” ten times in two minutes.

You never said it out loud. But you think your daughter knows. Knows where she’s safe, knows who shows up, knows real love.

⋆⋆⋆

It builds between you slowly, the thing that waits beneath words.

You don’t kiss. Not yet. But your fingers brush across hers when you pass a mug. Her eyes linger when you lean too close over the baby monitor. You both pretend not to notice.

Until one night, you can’t sleep.

Margot’s long fast asleep. The Tower is still. You stand on your balcony in a hoodie, sipping lukewarm warm tea, staring into the dark as if the answers might be there in the skyline.

The door behind you slides open with a soft hiss. You don’t need to turn because you already know it’s her.

“I was going to call you.” You murmur.

“I know.” Natasha replies. She steps up beside you, another mug in her hand. “Didn’t want to wait.”

You smile into your cup. “Figured me out, huh?”

She hums quietly. “I’ve always had a thing for patterns.”

The silence stretches again, not awkward. Just full.

You speak first. “I feel so… content? Like I think I stopped waiting for the life I thought I wanted. And started noticing the one that just… showed up.”

Her eyes find you and they’re full of warmth. “Are you waiting for me to be sure?” You question, the first time acknowledging the relationship since that night in her bedroom.

Natasha takes a breath, then shakes her head. “No. I’m waiting for you to want it out loud.”

“I do.” Your chest aches in the best way. “Want it.”

A pause. “I want you.”

She doesn’t smile, not right away. She just leans in, slow and patient and when you meet her halfway, it’s not fireworks. It’s not heat or need or desperation.

It’s quiet. It’s peace.

Her lips press to yours and you sigh into it, like your lungs have finally found space again.

When she pulls back, her fingers still resting on your cheek, she says it so softly you almost miss it. “Took you long enough.”

You laugh, low and genuine and rest your forehead against hers. “I had a few detours.”

She nods. “I waited.”

“You always did.”

⋆⋆⋆

It wasn’t supposed to be anything.

Just a late-night stop after the drive back from a mission briefing one state over, a long, quiet ride filled with half-hearted radio scanning, the buzz of overhead lights and Natasha humming to herself while you stared out the window.

The debrief had run longer than expected. Everyone else stayed overnight but Natasha didn’t feel like waiting around and you had an eager, impatient toddler being babysat by an even more impatient witch.

“Wanna ride back with me?” She asked, casual as can be, leaning on the doorframe like she hadn’t just dragged three lieutenants through a tactical report without breaking a sweat.

You said yes without thinking twice.

Now it’s just after ten and you’re sitting across from her in a plastic booth at a McDonald’s off the highway, half-laughing over fries that are already going cold. There’s a flickering fluorescent light overhead and your drink lid keeps popping off. Someone in the back is listening to a podcast way too loud. At first it was overstimulating but now?

It’s ridiculous. And weirdly… nice.

Natasha picked the table in the corner, away from the windows. She ordered a Filet-O-Fish like it was the most normal thing in the world. You didn’t even know people actually ordered those.

She raised an eyebrow when you stared. “Don’t judge me. It’s nostalgic.”

You snorted into your straw. “You think you know somebody then they go do this… you’re so full of surprises, Romanoff.”

She just shrugged, taking a slow bite and then flicking a fry at you. “So are you.”

Conversation drifts easy about the mission, about Margot, about the absolute horror of ketchup packets.

She steals some of your fries and you let her. Somewhere between laughing about Sam’s recent brief but disastrous attempt at online dating and her rant about people who don’t return shopping carts, your knees bump under the table and you don’t move away.

You feel it. That thing curling up in your chest, low and steady. That quiet awareness of her, the warmth of her thigh against yours, the soft rasp of her voice, the way she keeps looking at you a second longer than she needs to. Since Steve left, she’s been around and there were moments of affection but once you returned to work, things became increasingly hectic and it felt like your relationship was gradually pushed to the sidelines.

You’re mid-sentence when she reaches across the table and plucks a piece of napkin fuzz from your hoodie. Doesn’t say anything. Just smooths it down with her thumb before her hand slips back to her side.

Your whole body hums and she knows. You can see it in the faint tug at the corner of her mouth, the way her eyes drop to yours and hold. She’s not teasing or pushing but noticing.

You eat in silence for a moment. The kind that feels full, not empty. When you get up to leave, you toss your trash and hold the door open for her. The air outside is cool, the scent of fryer oil surrounding you. She stands beside you, her hands in her jacket pockets, eyes on the near-empty parking lot.

“So…” You say, suddenly unsure what to do with your own hands. “That was… something.”

Natasha glances over at you, one brow raised. “What, the filet? That was everything.”

You laugh. “No, I mean- Was this a first-“

“It wasn’t a date!” She cuts in, too fast.

Too pointed.

You blink. “Okay.”

Her gaze flickers to yours and softens. “I mean- It was McDonald’s, not Paris.”

You shrug. “Still felt kind of like a date.”

Natasha exhales a quiet laugh. “If it was…” She says slowly, stepping a little closer. “It was a really terrible one.”

You grin. “Worst first date of my life.”

She grins back. “Good. Then I won’t have to try too hard to top it.”

You’re quiet a moment longer, watching her. The way her hair’s half falling out of its braid, the way her eyes linger on your mouth like she’s weighing something. “If this was a first date, would you have kissed me?”

The air shifts as the question hangs between you like breath held too long.

“I usually don’t kiss on first dates.” She shrugs finally, even though her voice is playful now. “Too much pressure. Too much expectation.”

“Right. Yeah. That makes sense.”

She steps closer. “But…” She adds, her fingers brushing your sleeve, deliberate and slow, “This wasn’t a first date…” Your breath catches. She’s close enough now that you can feel the warmth of her body, the way the night air can’t quite get between you.

“And honestly?” She murmurs, her face a fraction away from hers. “If I got the chance to have a first date with you? I probably would’ve kissed you the second you offered me one of your fries..”

You laugh, a quiet, breathless sound. “That early, huh?”

She smirks. “I was already hooked. Perfect crisp-to-salt ratio.”

You smile at her. “So… what’s it count as if we kiss now?”

She tilts her head. “Maybe we’re just… skipping ahead.”

“To what?”

Natasha leans in, so close your noses nearly touch. Her voice is barely audible. “The part where I stop pretending I don’t want to.”

And when her lips brush yours, gentle but certain, it’s not a question anymore.

It’s not a first date or a second. It’s just you and her, finally catching up to something that’s been waiting patiently to bloom.

When she pulls back, you’re smiling and when she turns toward the car again, she says over her shoulder, “You still have to buy me real food next time.”

You follow, grinning like an idiot. “Not McDonald’s?”

Natasha laughs. “You don’t get a second maybe-date with a Filet-O-Fish girl that easy.”

And just like that, maybe it is a date. Maybe not the first. But definitely not the last.

⋆⋆⋆

Tony picks Margot up on a Friday morning. He meets you at the Quinjet hangar, all bright-eyed and grabby hands, already crouching down with his arms open before you’ve even unbuckled her from the car seat.

“There's my favourite tiny Avenger!” He exclaims, like he hasn’t seen her every night this week.

You roll your eyes but Margot giggles, launching herself into his arms without hesitation. He lifts her easily, swinging her around once to make her laugh harder, then settles her on his hip like he’s done it a thousand times, which, by now, he has.

Steve’s taking Margot for the weekend, a rare break in his schedule and a well-earned one in yours. It just so happened to line up with Tony being summoned to DC for a two-day energy summit. To save both parents the trip, he offered to bring her along on the Quinjet.

“Well…” Tony says, adjusting her backpack over his shoulder with one hand and you handing over her favourite stuffed teddy, that for some reason wore a Black Widow outfit, with the other. “Daddy America has a full itinerary. I’m talking baking, crafts, probably some wood-chopping, a bedtime story told with emotional range. It’s gonna be adorable.”

You raise a brow. “And you're okay handing her over to all that wholesomeness to go work?”

He grins. “Please. She’ll be bored out of her mind within 20 minutes without Uncle Tony. But hey, I admire your optimism.”

Margot wraps her arms around his neck and presses her cheek against his arc reactor like it’s her own little nightlight.

Your heart tugs, not with worry. Just that quiet kind of ache that comes from loving something so much it leaves space when it’s gone.

“You good?” he asks, eyes flicking to yours. He’s teasing, but it’s gentle around the edges.

You nod. “Yeah. Go. Before I change my mind and keep her all weekend.”

Tony salutes with two fingers. “Copy that, civilian. Go take a nap or a shower.”

He turns toward the ramp, Margot waving over his shoulder. You wave back until they disappear inside, the hum of the Quinjet engines disappearing.

Then it’s quiet, a little too quiet but also maybe the good kind. The kind that makes room for something else.

⋆⋆⋆

Back in your apartment, after you can finally see your floor again, Margot’s toys neatly put away for the first time in months, you take a minute to breath in the silence. Not for long though as there’s a quick knock on your door.

You weren’t exactly expecting Natasha but you knew she’d come.

She’s holding a bottle of wine and a bag of groceries, a subtle smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. “Felt weird not seeing Margot.”

You step aside before you even think about it, your heart already softening. She’s wearing jeans and a sweater that slides slightly off one shoulder.

She cooks something simple, pasta with garlic and oil and a little too much parmesan. You sit at the kitchen table and watch her in the soft kitchen light, her bare feet quiet on the tile. She moves like she belongs here like she already knows where everything is but then again, she does.

You eat together. No interruptions. No monitor buzzing. No half-eaten plates or negotiations about broccoli.

Later, with the dishes drying and the lights dimmed, you pour one last glass of wine and sink into the couch beside her. Her fingers brush yours, hesitant at first then firmer, like a question she’s already sure you’ll answer.

She doesn’t ask, she just waits like usual.

You’re the one who leans in first. The kiss is soft at the edges, but deep. She meets you with quiet certainty, her hand sliding to your jaw, holding you there like she doesn’t want to let go. The second kiss is slower. More deliberate, like an unraveling. You lose time like that. In touches and exhales and the warmth of her hand under your shirt, her fingertips skimming your skin like she’s memorising the shape of you.

When you finally stand, it’s without a word. She follows you down the hall like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like it was always going to be this.

The bedroom is dim, the bedsheets already pulled back. The air is cool against your skin but her presence is warm and steady at your side. She undresses you slowly, without performance, just pure admiration. Her touch isn’t rushed or uncertain. It’s gentle, filled with something quiet and reverent. She tucks your hair behind your ear and lets her fingers linger at your jaw, eyes searching yours for permission she doesn’t need to ask for out loud. You nod.

There’s no urgency. Her lips brush your collarbone, your neck, your chest, your thighs. Her hands trace over your ribs, your waist, your back, not demanding but present. Like she’s reminding you that you’re here, that she’s here and neither of you is going anywhere.

Her mouth finds yours again, and again, and again, until everything else blurs.

⋆⋆⋆

Later, the window is cracked open. The night air drifts in, brushing over flushed skin and tangled limbs. You lie half beneath her, half beside her, the covers twisted and low around your waists. Her hand rests on your bare stomach, lazy and possessive, her thumb stroking small, absent circles into your skin.

She doesn’t pull away. Even when sleep starts to pull at her, she stays wrapped around you like she’s anchoring herself too.

In the morning, sunlight spills over the sheets, gold and warm. Her arm is still around you and your legs are tangled like roots. She’s pressed into your back, her breath warm against your shoulder blade, her palm flat over your heart.

You smile into the quiet.

And she doesn’t need to say it, you feel the curve of her lips against your skin.

She’s smiling too.

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bvtbxtch · 12 hours ago

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The Name Game | Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader.

@loveu2themoonandsaturn wrote a cute little post here and I promised I would write for it because it's just too cute! This is a working title and I am so open to suggestions. I made this one nice and short and cute because I did not have a lot of time to write!

wc: 910 (this is the shortest blurb I have written, as I am a certified yapper, and I am actually so proud of myself.)

Warnings: talk of smoking weed, kissing, a bit of coercion but reader gives consent for physical touch, some fluff and some sillies!

You stared at the boy slack jawed.

You had found yourself hiding from your last period gym class, the curly haired boy parked next to you seeking refuge from his second attempt at English. You nursed a joint between the two of you, giggles starting to take control of the two of you.

“You’re fucking kidding me” your eyes squinted at him, waiting to catch any flash of a smile or a tell on his face. He was as deadpan as Eddie could get - his eyes always had the glint of a sparkle in them and the small dimple rested on his left cheek. You pursed your lips and crossed your arms over your chest.

“Teddy, be so fucking for real right now.”

“Why the fuck do you care?” He chuckled at you. “It’s not like you call me Eddie anyway!” He was right. You could count on one hand the last time you had called him by his first name. In fact, not many people did. You were introduced to him as ‘Munson’. Everyone around Hawkins called him a freak. As you got closer, as stolen looks became lingering touches, your nicknames for each other became more elaborate. You would come up with new renditions and it would make Eddie fall apart for you even more.

But apparently, you asking what Eddie was short for was something that was beyond the boundaries of your relationship. After his eyes had doubled in size at the question, Eddie’s shocked face turned into a sly grin. He bade you to guess and to all of the most basic, straightforward responses, he violently shook his head from side to side; He teased that you would never guess what his full name actually was. You pouted in intoxicated defeat.

You were both silent for what seemed an eternity, then Eddie turned to you, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“I’ll tell you for a price” he schmoozed. His large brown eyes batting at you.

“What do you want, Munson?”

“A kiss” His grin spread impossibly wider across his face: a challenge.

That’s what landed you in your current position - mouth agape, heart pounding in your chest, giving Eddie one of the most bewildered looks he had ever seen a person make. You heaved a sigh and flashed the metalhead a dry smile. His face fell as he watched you put your hands on his broad shoulders and cautiously straddle yourself over his waist. He hovered his hands above your body, his voice caught in his throat and it was your turn to challenge him.

“Fine, Teddy. You want a kiss? You can have it” you tried your best to taunt, but Eddie could hear your voice shake. Your bright eyes darkened with want and anxiety. You ran your hand from his shoulder to his jaw where you felt him tense underneath you. His hands migrated to the sides of your face, gently pulling him into you.

The kiss was longer than you could have hoped. As uncertain as both of your lips were, they seemingly felt unable to separate themselves. Eddie traced his tongue along the bottom of your lips, desperately asking for permission to deepen the kiss. You felt his content sigh throughout your whole body. You moaned against him in approval, begging the universe to seal this moment in eternity so you could stay this blissful forever.

Begrudgingly, you pulled away from Eddie. Your eyes stayed pinned on Eddie’s face. You would only allow one of two things to happen: either Eddie pulled you down into another searing kiss, or he told you what he promised he would.

You let you an expecting “Well?”

“It’s short for Edwina” he grumbled into your neck, peppering kisses up to your jawbone.

“No fucking way.” You grabbed his face to stare at him again, trying to catch any inkling of dishonesty. When you found none, your smile began splitting. You hastily got up from the boy’s lap and lunged for your bag.

“You really are a freak” you giggled back at him as you strode back to the halls of Hawkins High. “And you better call me about that kiss, because we have things to discuss.”

Eddie couldn’t help the hot blush that bloomed across his cheeks and nose. He sent you a small salute as you playfully rolled your eyes back at him.

The last period bell rang and you awaited anxiously at Gareth’s locker. By the time you saw the blond mop of hair trudge towards you out of his physics class, you were basically bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“Gareth!” You squealed. He opened his locker and grabbed his bag. “You are never going to guess what I found out today!” He looked unimpressed but raised an eyebrow to pacify you.

“I found out Eddie’s full name today” You were beaming with pride. Gareth slammed his locker and looked at you quizzically. You bounded down the hallway, you arm hastily wrapped in Gareth’s.

“Eddie’s full name is Edwina. Can you believe it? I bet that’s why he prefers to go by his last name. He tried to tell me that Eddie wasn’t short for anything” You snorted. “Yeah right. But I busted him, I finally got him to tell me.” Gareth shook his head at you.

“Dude, Eddie is short for Edward. I literally helped him find his birth certificate in his room.” Gareth studied your shocked face.

“That mother fucker.”

Taglist: @eddies-acousticguitar @mmunson86 @sadbitchfangirl @hideoutside @anxiousobserver @ali-r3n @brinleighsstuff @filth-fiction-archive @vintagehellfire @kirstinjayjay @poofyloofy @sluggzillaa @aol19 @keikoraven @emxxblog @adrenalineeerevolver @crybabyddl @lovemegood @cherry-pop3547 @cozmiccass @leelei1980 @trixyvixx @skylar-ish-meh @harrysgothicbitch @thehuntresswolf @girlwiththerubyslippers @blueberry-lemon @duncanhillscoffeecups @comeonatmebruh @them-cute-boys @cowboylikemunson @veemoon @v1per1ne If you would like to be a part of my taglist, please consider following and filling out this form

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littlefrenchiestar · 4 hours ago

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Prompt: drawing on the lads men while they sleep -> part.1 (Xavier,Zayne) Warnings: suggestive (hehe) A/N: I've been stuck on this prompt for a while, so I decided to just post what I had written so far. Part 2 coming later! Hope you enjoy, cuties! 💕

Xavier💫 -> 681 words

“I’m home,” you said loudly as you closed the door behind you. It had been a long day at work, and all you wanted was to cuddle with your sweet boyfriend and the couch.

“Xavier ?” You took off your shoes before walking into the living room, looking for him. Weird—he usually reads a book on the couch while waiting for you to come back.

“Babe?” you called softly, walking down the corridor toward your bedroom and opening the door gently. And there he was, in all his sleepy beauty — the sun caressing his angelic face, his t-shirt slightly raised as his hand rested beneath it. You let your gaze linger on him for a few seconds before walking over to his side of the bed.

Letting your bag drop to the floor, you sat at the edge of the mattress, gently brushing away the few sweaty strands from his forehead. He nuzzles his face into your hand, still in a deep sleep, he was really cute like that, you thought before a mischievous idea came into your mind.

You leaned to grab your bag,rummaging around, before pulling out a pen.Removing the cork with your teeth before gently taking his hand, the one that wasn't under his shirt, placing it on your thigh so you could have some support. You started by drawing some stars on his hands, adding a bunny hopping on them before focusing on your final masterpiece, a small doodle of Lumière.

You must have chuckled a little bit too loudly because you start to feel his hand squeeze slightly your thigh.

“Hi,” Xavier’s voice was rough as he pulled himself from sleep. A smile slowly crept across his face as he took in your figure, squeezing you a little tighter.

“Hi,” you said, trying to hide your mischievous act behind a bright smile as you leaned in to kiss him. He eased into the kiss, his hand sliding from your thigh to your hair, pulling you toward him as close as he could, before suddendly pulling back.

“What did you do ?” he asked, looking at you suspiciously, eyeing you up and down.

“Nothing!” you giggled, straddling him and moving his hand to your back.

He moved his head to the crook of your neck, placing his lips right where your pulse beat the strongest. You felt a shiver run down your spine as he nipped at the skin.

“You’re lying.” “Did you just—” “Yes, I did. And you’re either lying or arou—”

You planted your hand over his mouth. “Xavier you can’t say things like that !” You felt him smile beneath your palm before he slid his hand from your back to take yours away.

It was then that he noticed the small drawings on his hand, and his smile grew wider—until his eyes fell on the drawing of Lumière. His smile disappeared, and his eyebrows furrowed.

You didn’t have time to open your mouth to defend yourself before Xavier’s arms wrapped around you, twirling you around. Your back hit the mattress where it had been just seconds before, and you could still feel the warmth of his body against the sheets.

Your eyes settled on his almost feverish gaze and the way only one of his hands caressed your body while he let the other dangle as if it were no longer part of him.

“You had to draw him on my dominant hand, princess. Well, that’s going to be a little more difficult than usual, but there’s no way I’d let him touch you.”

“Babe, Xavier, that’s literally yo—ah!” You felt a small pinch on your side, not enough to really hurt but enough to stop you from finishing your sentence. “Did you just pinch me?!” you asked with a chuckle.

“Yes, I did, and you are in no position to make a complaint, Miss Hunter,” he said as he leaned in to kiss you again. And when you kissed him back and he caught your lip between his teeth, you knew you were in for a ride.

Zayne❄️→ 833 words

You had decided to surprise Zayne at his work; he had been overworking himself for quite some time and barely had time to rest. You missed spending time with him, he was working on some project to improve the hospital’s management and patient reception, as well as create a better space for families so they can be close to their sick loved ones while feeling comfortable and supported.

Behind his cold demeanor, he truly had a heart of gold, and your job as an incredible girlfriend was to take care of him just as much as he took care of his patients and you.

That’s why you were currently heading to the hospital, as the sun was setting over the city, your footsteps echoing through the deserted streets as you took the final turn leading to the hospital. You were wrapped in a thick coat, carrying two bowls of soup and several cupcakes you had taken the time to prepare earlier that afternoon.

You walked through the sliding doors, offering a polite hello toward the front desk before stepping into the elevator, which had just opened to reveal a few familiar doctors you'd seen before. You gave them a small smile before entering. The ascent was quick, the soft sound of jazz filling the small space.

You were so excited to see him you couldn’t stop smiling as you walked toward the door of his office.

You knocked enthusiastically. “Zayne?”

No response. You knocked again. Still nothing.

You turned the doorknob, hoping you weren’t disturbing him.

"Zayne?" you called again, taking careful steps into the room before noticing him in the corner — slouched in his armchair, his legs casually stretched out on the footrest. He had changed into something more comfortable — a plain black cotton t-shirt and pajama shorts. He was probably planning to sleep there, even though his shift was over. Your eyes settled on his long legs, marked with a few thin scars, and an idea began to form in your mind.

You grabbed a pen and the rolling stool, sliding over to him with a smile on your lips and settling beside him. You used the stool’s lever to lower yourself as much as possible, letting your arm rest on the edge of the footrest. Then, you began to draw, focusing on the shape of climbing ivy and the snowflakes you traced along his leg, making sure each one was unique. You added seals on each knee, and they were sending kisses to each other -so cute.

After a few minutes, you became lost in your inspiration; drawing snowflakes was truly relaxing. Then, a hand came to rest on your head, gently caressing your hair.

“Are you having fun ?” He asked rhetorically, looking at you with a “Are you serious?” kind of expression, but with a hint of tenderness still in his eyes.

“Yes, a lot actually,” you answered, letting your head rest on his legs, his hand still tangled in your hair. “I brought back soup and cupcakes”

“You didn’t have to.” Zayne twirled a strand of your hair around his finger. “I know, but I missed you and wanted to take care of you.” “That’s why you broke into my office to commit your mischief,” he said, pinching your cheek. “It’s not breaking and entering if the door isn’t locked,” you retorted, trying to playfully pull away from his grasp.

He let out a small laugh before scanning your drawings on his legs. “I can see those are snowflakes, but what is this on my knee?”

“Those are clearly seals!” you exclaimed, standing up indignantly before he caught your arm, pulling you toward him, making you land on his lap. “I know, I’m joking, love.” You weren’t sure if he really meant it or if it was just to stop you from sulking.He gently touched your cheek. “By the way, you should have waited for it to dry before resting your head on my legs.” You now had pieces of snowflakes and some ivy leaves on your cheek—the ink had smudged a little on your skin.

“At least we match” you chuckled, putting your cheek against his. “At least…” His hand came gently under your chin, turning your face toward his, pulling you into a quick kiss.

“What’s that for?” you asked, a blush spreading across your face, your lips still hovering over each other. Zayne raised an eyebrow playfully. “Do I need a reason to kiss my girlfriend?” You opened your mouth to respond, but he beat you to it. “And if I even needed one, which I don’t, you brought sweets.” As he spoke, he guided one of your legs to straddle him.

“Yes, I put them on your des—”

“I wasn’t talking about the food,” he started to trail kisses down your neck.

“Oh.” your hand found its place on his shoulder squeezing the muscle slightly as he nipped on your collarbone.

Maybe you were going to spend the night here too.

#love and deepspace #lads #lads zayne #lads xavier #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #zayne lads #xavier love and deepspace #xavier lads

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spitefulsatanfics · 3 days ago

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《 ❝You break my heart, Kid.❞ 》ஓ๑♡๑

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Y/N (She/Her) — Supernatural

Tone: Grief, hurt/comfort, deep emotional intimacy, soft domestic moments, quiet healing, canon-level angst, found family, mutual vulnerability, protective!Dean, post-loss trauma, unspoken love as a tether to hope.

Rating: 18+ | TW: Grief and loss, vivid depictions of mourning, alcohol, emotional trauma, strong language, canonical character death 🛑 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 🛑

Based On: Supernatural — Season 7, post-Episode 10 “Death’s Door” ⚠️ This show is rated 17+ and deals with dark and mature themes.

Synopsis: Bobby Singer left behind more than a legacy—he left behind a daughter. And grief doesn’t wait for monsters to disappear. While the Winchesters reel from the loss of their only father figure, Dean finds himself in unfamiliar territory: comforting the one person who loved Bobby as fiercely as he did. Through bottle caps, battered notebooks, and memories soaked in blood and whiskey, Dean and Y/N learn how to carry love’s weight, even when it threatens to bury them both.

By; 𝙻𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚕 ♥ — date written and published: June 6th, 2025™ (Request fill — thank you so much for the beautiful prompt.)

════════════════════════════════

Scene One: The House Without Him

The house is wrong.

It smells like coffee that’s gone cold in the pot. Like old leather and dust. Like everything she ever loved and everything that just left.

Y/N doesn’t drop her keys. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at the chipped threshold where Bobby once made her wipe her boots no matter how bad the hunt was. Now her boots are streaked with dried blood and Missouri mud, and no one tells her to clean them.

Dean is waiting just inside, backlit by amber hallway light, flannel hanging off his frame like it's suddenly too big for him. He opens his mouth, but the words rot before they reach his lips.

“Where is he?” she asks. It’s not a real question. Just a refusal to believe what she already knows.

Dean’s throat works as he swallows. His eyes are red, not from drink but from something heavier. Something primal. His voice, when it breaks the quiet, is ash and gravel.

“He’s gone.”

She makes a sound—half a breath, half a sob. Her legs buckle under grief’s first strike. But Dean’s there before she hits the floor, strong arms circling her like he’d built them just to hold her up. Her fists beat uselessly against his chest once, twice—then curl into the fabric of his coat like claws. She weeps in choking gasps, the kind that rip holes in the air, the kind that never end.

Dean lets her. Doesn’t tell her to be strong. Doesn’t tell her it’ll be okay.

Because it won’t. Not tonight.

Not ever in the way they both want.

═══════════════

Scene Two: Bottle Necks and Bones

Two nights later and they haven’t left the motel.

Y/N sits cross-legged on the second bed, still in yesterday’s shirt, staring at the wall like it’s holding secrets. The TV murmurs nonsense. A bottle of Jack sits between them like a fourth presence in the room, half-drunk, cap long gone.

“I keep thinkin’ he’s gonna call,” she says suddenly, voice like old sandpaper. “Tell me I forgot to lock the damn garage again. Or that I left the devil’s trap under the porch undone.”

Dean nods slowly. “I know.”

“He yelled at me the last time I saw him,” she whispers. “We argued about the damn plumbing. Can you believe that? The plumbing.”

“You think he didn’t know you loved him?”

Her jaw tightens. “What if I didn’t say it enough?”

Dean looks at her for a long moment, something unreadable moving behind his tired eyes.

“You did,” he says finally. “You said it in the way you took care of him. In the way you knew which books he liked dog-eared and which ones you never touched. You said it every time you cursed like him or made his chili recipe with too much cayenne just to mess with Sam.”

She almost smiles. Almost.

“You didn’t need to say it. He knew.”

═══════════════

Scene Three: Ghosts in the Study

It takes nearly two weeks for her to walk back into Bobby’s house.

Dean doesn’t push. He drives, his knuckles white on the wheel as she stares at the horizon, one hand in his.

The moment the front door groans open, the air shifts. Cold, stale, but still full of him. She steps through and it smells like memories—like gun oil and half-finished research. Like home.

Dean watches her closely. Not hovering. Just nearby.

In Bobby’s study, the desk is untouched. The leather chair still sits askew, a notebook abandoned mid-translation. A book on Norse rites is cracked open, his cracked glasses beside it.

Y/N steps closer, fingers tracing the well-worn edge of the desk.

Then she spots it.

A photo half-tucked under a stack of notes. She pulls it out—she and Bobby, summer of ‘06. Her face dirty with engine grease, Bobby giving the camera the finger. She remembers Dean behind the lens laughing so hard he nearly dropped it.

She presses the photo to her chest.

Dean’s voice behind her is a murmur. “He kept that on his desk for years.”

Y/N turns, unshed tears glossing her gaze. “He never told me.”

“He didn’t need to.”

═══════════════

Scene Four: The Journals

Later that night, she finds the box.

Old, wooden, claw-scratched and stained. Tucked under the bed like a coffin for memories.

Inside—journals. Dozens. Some dating back to the '80s. Yellowed pages, ink smudged with whiskey and time.

Dean crouches beside her, holding a lamp. “Didn’t know he kept this many.”

She lifts one labelled: Wendigo, Montana '93. A scribbled margin note reads: “Dumbass kids didn’t salt their campsite. Nearly got toasted.”

She laughs. Actually laughs.

Dean smiles. It’s a broken smile, crooked at the edges, but real.

They sit cross-legged on the floor, knees brushing. One by one, they flip pages. Case notes blend with grocery lists. A doodle of a squirrel named “Jim Beaver” is scrawled in a page margin next to a decapitation sketch.

Y/N wipes her eyes. “He was such a mess.”

Dean leans against her shoulder. “He was our mess.”

She turns to another journal. Inside the front cover is a note written in Bobby’s unmistakable scrawl:

To Y/N—You ain’t half bad, kid. Keep this mess runnin’ if I’m not around. And if Dean’s still being a pain in the ass, smack him one for me. Love you. You idjit.

She covers her mouth.

Dean’s hand slides into hers.

They sit there on the floor surrounded by ghosts and ink, and for once, the grief doesn't feel quite so sharp.

═══════════════

Scene Five: Not Alone

Outside, the sun is beginning to rise—light bleeding through the blinds like a quiet promise.

They haven’t slept.

Dean stands behind her in the study, arms wrapped around her waist, chin resting atop her head. She leans back into him, heavy but safe.

“You think he’s still around?” she asks, voice barely a breath.

Dean’s reply is steady. “Yeah. I think he’s in all of this. In you. In me. In every kid we save.”

Her eyes slip shut. “You promise you’ll stay?”

He presses a kiss to the curve of her neck, slow and reverent.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And in the hollow wreckage of everything they lost, that one truth glows like an ember:

They’re not alone.

Not anymore.

═══════════════✓═══════════════

🕯️ 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖔𝖆𝖉 𝖎𝖘𝖓’𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞—𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖎𝖋 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖞𝖘 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖞𝖔𝖚. 🕯️

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sequinsmile-x · 21 hours ago

Note

hello bestie! I love your fics SO MUCH. I was wondering if you’ve ever written something about Emily nervous about being intimate after having a baby? Going through that right now (sorry if that’s too personal 😆) but could use some Hotchniss comfort to make me feel better!

hi bestie <3

Not too personal at all. I kind of took this idea and ran with it a little, but I hope you find the comfort in it that makes you feel better <3

Also - you've just done an incredible thing. You had a baby!! You made a whole new person. Be patient with yourself <3

-x-

Tenere

verb. /teˈne.re/

(transitive) to hold

(transitive) to possess

-x-

“The pyjamas are new.” She doesn’t know what to say, how to broach the subject of sex with her husband, and she feels like it’s their first time all over again, when the scars Ian had left behind had been seen by no one but her, and when both she and Aaron were a little gun shy. “I…I got my birth control from the doctor yesterday.”

AKA the one where Emily wants to be intimate with Aaron after she's had their son, but struggles with how she feels after giving birth.

My 450th Hotchniss fic.

-x-

Hi besties,

This is, would you believe, not only my 450th fic for Hotchniss, but it's also the fic that takes me over 2.75 million words of fanfic for them.

I never fails to amaze me how much I love this little community, and how supportive you all are. My love for Hotchniss and writing is only ever made stronger by all of you.

Here's to the next 450 fics.

As always, let me know what you think.

-x-

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: insecurity, post partum

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily wakes up slowly, a luxury she hadn’t had in weeks.

In her half-asleep state, she lets herself enjoy it. She stretches instead of thinking about why she hadn’t slept more than two hours at a time in close to two months, and sighs contentedly as she yawns. She lets her eyes drift shut for a moment and arches her back, wishing that Aaron was with her instead of away on a case. A familiar aching in her breasts registers, immediately dousing any remnants of sleep in panic, and she sits up, her eyes wide as she turns on the lamp on her nightstand, standing and almost tripping over her own feet as she reaches out for the bassinet just a couple of paces away from the bed.

She sighs in relief when she sees Hugo contentedly sleeping, his little eyelids fluttering as he starts to shift, a sure sign he’d be awake soon. She stares at him for a moment, still as in awe of how much she loves him as she was when he was first placed on her chest seven weeks ago. He was perfect. A beautiful, tiny little thing that she’d made with love and care, and no small amount of chips and Oreos. She couldn’t believe he was hers, that she had him and Aaron and Jack - her Hotchner boys.

Hugo grunts, and she knows she has a very small window of time before he’ll be awake. She places her hand on his sleep suit covered chest for a second before she whispers to him, “Mommy will be right back to feed you in a second, sweet boy.”

She makes quick work of using the bathroom, purposely avoiding looking in the mirror as she washes her hands, and she blows out a slow breath as she picks up the small packet of pills she’d picked up from the doctor the day before. It was strange to be back on birth control, to be actively avoiding pregnancy after trying for a baby for close to a year before she fell pregnant with Hugo. It almost felt unnatural to have a chemical barrier back in place, to acknowledge that her life and body were so irrevocably different to the last time she’d taken a tiny white pill that held so much power.

She sighs and she takes one, popping it into her mouth as she hears Hugo start to cry in the bedroom, and she turns, once again avoiding looking at herself in the mirror, to go and see to him.

Birth control, she supposed, only really served its main purpose if she was actually having sex with her husband. As soon as she left the doctor’s office, she went to buy condoms too, her OBGYN’s warning that the pill wouldn’t be effective for at least five days ringing in her ears. Emily didn’t think she’d ever felt so embarrassed buying them in her entire life, her cheeks red and her eyes fixed on the counter as the teenager serving her in the store failed to hide a smirk as he looked back and forth between her and Hugo in the carrier on her chest.

She hated that she felt like she was right back at the beginning, like she didn’t know what to do or what to expect, but her body still didn’t feel like her own. Aaron had been nothing but understanding. He was soft and gentle with her, almost too gentle, and she knew he had no expectations of anything. When her doctor signed her off for sex again the week before, he’d simply nodded before moving on to a question about Hugo’s vaccinations, his focus always on her and their son’s wellbeing.

She loved him for it. Loved that he wasn’t pushing her or making a point that the doctor had said she was ready. She wanted to be ready; she wanted to have sex with her husband and feel like herself for a little while, so she was pushing past all the voices in her head that were telling her it wasn’t time yet.

She smiles as she walks over to the bassinet and soothes Hugo as she unzips his sleep sack, stamping a kiss against the side of his head as she lifts him against her chest.

“I know, baby,” she says, smiling when he immediately starts to root. She chuckles and kisses the side of his head before she settles into the armchair in the corner of the room. It was originally intended for the nursery, but Aaron had built it in their bedroom, smiling as he quipped that they could afford to buy a second one. Whenever he was home, he’d wake up when she fed Hugo, no matter what time of night it was, and he’d go get her a snack and fill up her glass of water for her. She’d always tell him he didn’t need to, but he’d shrug her off, kissing her forehead as he told her he’d look after her so she could do the one part of looking after the baby that he couldn’t help with. She adjusts her shirt and nursing bra and smiles when Hugo latches on, stroking her thumb back and forth over his temple as he eats, “When we’re done, I’ll get you all nice and clean and ready for the day. Then we’ll wake up your brother and get him ready for school. Then it’s just you and me, sweet boy.”

Hugo grunts as if in response, and his hand rests against her chest, his fist only slightly bigger than the brand mark just next to it. She barely thought about it these days, was no longer worried about how it looked, but seeing it next to her little boy’s hand felt like a victory. Proof that she’d won and Ian hadn’t, and that she had everything he’d tried to make sure she never got to have.

“Hopefully, Daddy will be home today,” she says, carrying on talking to the baby as if he could understand like she had since the moment he found out he existed, “So when you nap later, Mommy is going to shower and wash her hair,” Hugo grunts again and she hums, “I know, it’s unsual these days isn’t it,” she smiles as she traces the swirl of dark hair on his head, a pattern she knew she’d remember for the rest of her life, something she’d committed to memory that first night in the hospital, “But Mommy has plans later when you and Jack are asleep, and I need to look good.”

She ignores the shake in her own voice, ignores how just the thought of it makes her chest tighten and her heart seize in her chest. She wanted this. It’s a mantra she repeats again and again, something she knows is true no matter how much her own body seems to fight against the idea. She wanted this. She wants to be intimate with her husband again, to be more than just mom and dad or two people who traded off on chores and things to do to look after the boys. She wants to be his wife again, to be the person he fell in love with years before either one of them had the courage to admit to it.

She wanted this.

Hugo unlatches, and she smiles, her focus on him and burping him instead of the war waging in her chest, hope and fear and things she can’t find the name for taking up all the space until it feels hard to breathe.

She smiles when he burps and she kisses his temple, her lips catching the curve of his ear, and any thought of sitting here with him for a little while comes to a quick end when she hears another door open just down the hall.

“We’ll be late for school!”

Her smile gets wider at the concern laced through her eldest’s voice. He was so much like Aaron that it made her ache sometimes, and she was so proud to have played a part in making sure the little boy had a life where he would worry about school and everyday things instead of losing another parent. It still happened sometimes. He’d still crawl into their bed in the middle of the night, sandwiched between her and Aaron as they reminded him that George was long gone, that he couldn’t hurt any of them anymore, but it was less than it used to be.

They kept Haley as alive as they could in their home. There were pictures of her spread across the walls, scattered amongst pictures of what their family looked like now. Aaron told him stories about her so he had more than the fading memories he had, and Emily had asked Jessica to tell her as much as she felt comfortable sharing about her sister so she could talk to Jack about her too, so she could make sure he remembered the woman who had died so he could life.

Jack had introduced Emily as his mom to some new friends recently. It was the first time he’d done it, was the first time he’d come close to calling her anything other than her name, and when she asked him why afterwards - careful to make sure he knew she didn’t mind, but that she was just curious - he’d said it was because she was his mom, and that he didn’t want to be the kid whose mom had died anymore. She’d burst into tears, completely at the mercy of her hormones at the time because she was 8 months pregnant, and he’d cried too because he thought he’d upset her.

Aaron still gently made fun of her for it even now, how he’d walked into the house with a pizza in hand minutes later to find them both crying, entirely unsure what had happened in the 20 minutes he’d been out of the house.

“Mom.”

She chuckles and stands up, making sure Hugo is secure against her chest as she goes, “I’m coming, honey.”

She blows out a shaky breath, and she walks out of the bedroom, determined for today to go as she had planned.

She wanted this. She just hopes by the time Aaron gets home, she’ll start to believe it.

___

He gets home after the boys are in bed.

She meets him downstairs, flitting back and forth between running her fingers through her hair and grimacing at the feel of it and plucking at her pyjama shirt. It was a new set she’d bought with tonight in mind. The dark green satin shorts and matching cami had made her feel as close to good about herself as she had in a while, but as soon as she’d put them on, she’d started to doubt herself. She hated how the material clung to curves she still wasn’t used to, and she cursed herself for not thinking about the fact that the straps of her maternity bra were much thicker than those of the satin cami, but it was too late to change.

She walks over to meet him, and any anxiety she feels is briefly washed away by relief because he’s here. She knows a past version of herself would scoff at how much she missed him when he wasn’t around, and it wasn’t just because looking after the boys by herself was hard work. Aaron was her other half, a part of her. When he was away, or when she was, she felt on edge. The feeling that she’d forgotten something or left behind always lingering in the back of her mind until they were together again.

The only comfort in it was that she knew Aaron was the same, that he looked for her in rooms he knew she wasn’t in. The team made fun of them for it, would gently tease them for being so in love with each other that they were at a loss when they were apart. Emily often wondered if she should feel embarrassed by it, but she could never bring herself to be.

After everything she’d been through, after everything she’d survived and died for, she’d found love and happiness she would have once thought was beyond her, and she’d never be embarrassed about that.

He smiles as he drops his bag at their feet to wrap his arms around her. He’s warm, just like always, and she leans into it, humming as she settles against him, letting his warmth seep into her skin and through the satin of her pyjamas as he holds her close.

“Hi sweetheart,” he says, kissing her temple before he pulls away enough to stamp a kiss against her lips, “I missed you.”

She kisses him and rests her forehead against his, “I missed you too. So did the boys.”

“Are they in bed?” He asks, and she nods, not missing the disappointment that flashes through his eyes, “Sorry I wasn’t home in time to help.”

She shakes her head and kisses him one last time before she steps back, slipping her hand into his to squeeze, focusing on the size of his hand against hers, “It’s not your fault, honey, it’s just one of those things.”

He smiles and finally looks at her properly, taking another step back to look at what she’s wearing, “You look beautiful.”

She blushes at the naked honesty in the compliment, and she feels it spread down her neck and chest, and she has to press her lips together in an attempt to control her smile. She looks down at herself and thinks she must be looking at something different than he is. She doesn’t know how he could look at her exactly like he had on their first date, or their wedding night, and still see the woman he loved.

“Thanks,” she says, plucking at the material of her cami again, “The pyjamas are new.” She doesn’t know what to say, how to broach the subject of sex with her husband, and she feels like it’s their first time all over again, when the scars Ian had left behind had been seen by no one but her, and when both she and Aaron were a little gun shy. “I…I got my birth control from the doctor yesterday.”

It wasn’t how she’d intended on bringing it up, it wasn’t how she’d practised in her head all day, but he immediately understands, his eyebrows shifting up his forehead as he tightens his hold on her hand.

“Oh.” He says, clearing his throat as he smiles at her, an edge of encouragement to it that makes her cheeks go red.

“We’ll have to use a condoms too for a little bit until the pill starts working,” she says, scrunching her nose up at how unsure she sounds, as if she’s a teenager about to do this for the first time - although the irony that she hadn’t had that conversation at the time isn’t lost on her. “I accidentally bought a jumbo pack,” she admits, laughing nervously, and he joins in, his smile so soft it makes her breath catch in her chest, and she can see the hesitation in it, can see how it carves itself into the dimples in his cheeks. “If you don’t want to-”

“Sweetheart,” he says, cutting her off before she can get carried away with that thought, “It’s not that, I promise. I just want you to be sure.”

“I want this.” She nods, pressing her lips together to hide the shake in them, ignoring the swell of nerves in her chest. She leans in to kiss him, her lips against his before she can doubt herself or he can ask any other questions, and she wraps her arms around his neck, standing on her tip toes so she can get as close to him as possible. He’s still for a second, one of the longest of her life, but then he wraps his arm around her waist, holding her impossibly closer. It squishes her breasts against his hard chest, and she winces, pulling her lips from his just enough to speak, “My boobs are sore so-”

“Off limits,” he says, unfazed as he nods at her, his thumb running up and down her side over the satin cami, “We’ll do this at your pace, Em.”

She nods, and she grabs his hand, linking their fingers together as she encourages him upstairs and towards their bedroom. She checks on Hugo, making sure he’s still asleep, before she turns to look at Aaron again, smiling when she realises he’s taken off his shoes and his jacket now, the latter of them neatly laid over the armchair in the corner of the room.

“I’ll put it away before you next need to feed him,” he says, and she nods, wringing her hands in front of herself, twisting her wedding rings back and forth as he steps towards her. She sucks in a breath when he’s close, and she knows he sees it, knows he can tell how it rattles around in her chest. “Em-”

“I’m okay,” she says, not sure she entirely believes herself, “I really am. I’m just…”

“Nervous,” he finishes for her, and she nods, closing the gap between them to wrap her arms around his neck again. He places his hands on her waist, his hands spanning from her hips to her ribcage, and it makes her feel safe, the warmth and presence of him briefly undoing whatever was happening inside her chest.

She uses the moment of bravery to kiss him again, to lean forward and put more force behind it than the kisses they’d shared downstairs, almost desperate in her attempts to prove to him and herself that she was as okay as she was saying she was. For a moment, it’s everything she wants it to be. She sighs contentedly into the kiss as he pulls her closer, but not as close as he had downstairs to avoid hurting her, and she thinks that she might just be able to do what she so desperately wants to do.

Then his hand slips under her shirt, the warmth of his palm against her back a brand, and she pulls away entirely against her own will, as if her body has taken over. She takes several steps back, the air around her cold in comparison to him, and he doesn’t follow; he lets his arms slip to his sides as if he’d been prepared for it on some level.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” she says, her hand over her mouth as she tries to catch a sob she doesn’t understand, “Fuck,” she presses her lips together and looks at the ceiling to try to stop the burn in the back of her eyes but it doesn’t help, doesn’t stop the tears from splashing down onto her cheeks, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

She has to cover her mouth again to stop the strangled sob that comes out of her being too loud, aware even in her state that an awake and crying Hugo was the last thing they needed. Aaron steps towards her, a sweater of his in hand that he offers out to her and a soft smile on his face, she doesn’t think she deserves. She takes the sweater and slips it on over the top of her head, grateful for the smell of him lingering on the fabric and the warmth it immediately provides.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, picking up the baby monitor with one hand and offering her the other to hold, “Let's go sit downstairs and talk.”

She nods and she takes his hand, letting him lead her back downstairs and to the living room. When they sit, he gives her space she doesn’t want, so she shifts closer to him, lets her leg press up against his as their clasped hands settle in her lap. They sit in silence for a few seconds, and she knows he’s again giving her space, letting her take the lead.

“I’m sorry,” she says, swallowing thickly as she looks up at him, her lips pressed together in a shaky smile as she wipes tears from her cheeks, “I all but jumped you at the door and then…”

“Emily, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he says, lifting their hands to kiss her knuckles, “You had a baby seven weeks ago. It’s okay if you’re not ready.”

“But I want to be ready,” she says, hating the crack in her voice, how her tears start up again, “I want to have sex and get back to that part of our life, but…it feels so much harder than I thought it would.”

“And that’s okay,” he says, “The most important thing in all of this is how you feel and what you’re ready for.”

She sniffs, wiping her nose with the sleeve of the sweater she’s wearing, “You don’t miss it? I miss being intimate with you.”

“There are plenty of ways to be intimate that don’t include sex, sweetheart.” he reaches out and wipes her cheek for her before using his knuckle to hook under her chin and make her look at him. “And I’ll wait however long you need to.”

She sucks in a shaky breath, “I feel so stupid. I bought these pyjamas, I bought a fucking year’s supply of condoms,” she shakes her head at herself, “I shaved parts of myself I haven’t looked at for months and I washed my hair,” she scoffs, “But I think I forgot to wash out the conditioner because it feels disgusting, but I was too tired to do it again.” she looks down at their joint hands, “I’m so embarrassed.”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” he assures her, leaning forward to kiss her cheek, “Nothing at all.” He says, and she nods, even though she isn’t sure she believes him, and she rests her head on his shoulder. She closes her eyes so she can breathe him in, hoping that his being so close will calm her down, that his mere presence will be a balm to wounds to her ego that felt self-inflicted. “Do you want me to wash your hair for you?”

She furrows her brows and pulls back to look at him, “What?”

“You said you think you left the conditioner in, but you’re too tired to wash it again,” he says, stroking his thumb back and forth over the heel of her hand, “I smell like the jet and whatever motor oil the lead detective was using as cologne,” he jokes, and she can see how pleased he is with himself when she smiles, “So why don’t we shower, I’ll wash your hair for you, and then we can snuggle in bed until Hugo wakes up for his midnight snack.”

She thinks of what he’d said, of how there were so many different ways to be intimate, and she smiles. This felt like a stepping stone, like a single step down the path she’d tried to sprint down, but it was something, and it would make her feel closer to him, just like she’d wanted.

“Yeah,” she says, leaning in to kiss him, a tender thing against his cheek, “I’d really like that.”

#aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotchniss fanfic #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron x emily #hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss fan fic

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thelostprincessposts · 2 days ago

Text

Paperweight [Verso Dessendre]

Pairing: Painted Verso x Reader

Summary: AU painted world where soul mates exist. Reader starts to have dreams about Verso and is intent on finding him.

Rating: G

Warnings: Canon typical deaths?

Author's note: this is probably garbage, but there's so little Verso fics that I'm making myself post it anyway. I haven't written in a while so *shrugs*

Every word you say I think

I should write down

Don't want to forget come daylight

The dream was happening again: the sound of a soft ballad playing on a piano. It was peaceful and made you want to stay, but you knew the dream never lasted longer than a few minutes. Each time you had it another image would appear, meaning you were one day closer to meeting your soulmate.

The dreams started a few months ago, but you had kept them to yourself. That is, until you had one too many drinks with Gustave after work one evening. You'd let it slip that you thought you'd started having mate visions. Not everyone was lucky enough to meet their mate in their lifetime, and you weren't even really sure that the dreams were consistent at that point or if they were just manifestations of late nights or sleep deprivation, but Gustave was intent on hearing out your experience.

Your boss second and your friend first - Gustave was easy to confide in. You'd felt bad, knowing that he desperately longed to have the dreams himself, but he and Sophie took it upon themselves to create their own relationship despite perhaps not being each other's soul mate. It was common enough in Lumiere; the population dwindled each year and no one was really sure how the mates were fated. Plenty of young people had relationships anyway.

"So all you've seen so far is a piano? I mean, that's kind of fitting. Perhaps you will be able to sing his songs," Gustave quipped after taking a sip from the bottle of bourbon.

The emergency bourbon was kept around for these late night work sessions. Everyone was burning the candle at both ends either finishing preparing for the expedition in a few months, or spending as much time with their loved ones before the gommage.

The warehouse was dimly lit as you and Gustave made repairs to an electrical converter for a nearby restaurant: a work order your team willingly took on the side.

"I haven't even seen the piano. At this point I'm only hearing his music, which is beautiful," you replied as you reached for the bottle yourself.

"Everyone's dreams are different. I'm happy for you, though. Soon enough you'll be able to meet him. I just hope it happens before I leave with the expedition so I have a chance to kick his ass once or twice," Gustave laughed. You smirked, but the light feeling didn't last once he brought up the expedition.

It had been an unspoken rule that no one would bring up leaving. You were still a year younger than Gustave, Lune, and Sciel. You were planning on staying in Lumiere to keep working and performing when you could in your free time.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Gustave said quietly, looking up at you from the work table. You looked away, out the window angled at the night sky. Suddenly it felt like time was moving too fast. The sound of Gustave's tinkering, while calming, made you anxious.

"I think you should go find Sophie, and I think maybe I should head home. I'll finish this first thing in the morning," you offered, leaning off the table and grabbing the bottle of bourbon to stash away. His eyes also followed your gaze to the night sky and sighed, getting up from the work table.

How strange to feel like life was ending and beginning at the same time.

"Thanks, Y/N. I'll see you tomorrow."

That night you went home and hummed the piano song from your dreams, trying desperately to hold onto it until the next time the dream came.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The first images came to you weeks later. Dark hair and the sight of a piano on a cliffside. The cliffside was covered in the softest looking grass and flowers carpeted in shades of white, lavender, and dreamy yellows. It made no sense. You expected to see the piano in a home or perhaps at one of the local performance cafés, but not outside.

Part of you looked for him on every street in Lumiere. When you were helping Maelle with deliveries; when you were on stage on Saturday nights singing with the band; when you walked with Sciel to the market; but you didn't have much to go on.

The expedition was only a month away. How strange to have this secret hope in a time that felt so hopeless.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You awoke startled in a haze. The dream was longer this time: places you'd never seen and snippets of sounds you'd never heard entwined with melodies on a piano. One of the melodies sounded a lot like the song you'd finished with tonight at the café.

You supposed it wasn't "tonight" anymore, but closer to 4 in the morning. None of what you experienced in this dream was alarming...until the end. The last flash of a clue happened to be clothing. And not just any clothing: an expedition uniform.

Could your soulmate really be going on the expedition, and you had not met him yet? You supposed it was possible that you didn't know everyone in the city, but you knew quite a few people around your age.

Your heart hammered looking at the clock again, trying to make sense of the dream. The gommage and expedition day was only a week away.

The second the sun rose you were out the door, your feet taking you to the Expedition headquarters at the heart of the city.

"Y/N, you're here early. Did Gustave send you?" Alan asked as he checked a crate of rations that were being dropped off.

"No, sir. I'd like to enlist for the Expedition," you replied, trying to sound even-keeled after having been awake in a panic for the last few hours. Alan hesitated as he stepped toward you, but gave a short nod when he caught the glint in your eye.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The dreams came every night leading up to your leaving. Gustave was irked by your decision to join, but vowed to protect you as well as he could.

You'd been training with Maelle for the last year or so, but if you were being honest, you weren't paying much attention. You were only looking out for her at Gustave's request when he was too busy with other projects.

You realized that you were seeing potential memories from your soul mate: a fireplace burning warmly next to a woman painting at an easel. You only ever saw her from behind, but the most beautiful records could be heard. A flash of a stuffed friend on a bed. Laughter and the sounds of another male saying that he was "owed another fight after that sorry excuse for a duel."

This time the dream ended with a final clue: the brightest blue eyes, with scarred skin around one side. The sight of them burned into your memory as you shot awake.

It was gommage day.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You should have been dead: that much you knew. The blast of the initial attack left you incapacitated for hours. By the time you woke the area was only left with smoke and debris. Bodies surrounded you as you scanned the area for survivors.

It had all been a waste anyway. No one ever showed up for the expedition that matched the man in your dreams. You had known everyone on the team. You'd come to the conclusion that you were delusional and it was now your duty to protect Lumiere. Perhaps your mind had concocted this false hope to cover up some sick martyrdom fantasy buried in your heart.

It was still light enough outside that you could attempt to swim to a nearby outpost. Staying still didn't make any sense when you didn't know what attacked your team.

Then again, you didn't know what was in the water either. Your only bet was to move, and move fast. You slipped into the water nearby and took off despite your headache and fatigue.

It took an hour or so to reach an outcropping of rocks away from the beach, but close enough that you could make out the shoreline. Without any supplies, you drifted off quickly from exhaustion.

Your mind could not grant you peace even after that hell of a day. Your dream took you to the manor with the warm fire, but this time you could see the man peering over a bed. You were watching him from behind, just outside the door.

It was quiet until you shifted your weight and your boot made the sound of a wet sole squeaking on the marble floor. It made no sense because you weren't really there, right? You'd been sleeping against the rocks, sopping wet from your pathetic attempt to flee home.

The sound made the man's head pop up and turn slightly towards you. He was taller than you imagined with a strong stature. You couldn't see who he was watching over, but by the time his body turned to look at you, you were in awe.

His piercing eyes tore through yours, stealing all breath from your body. If this wasn't real, this was a cruel hope your mind had conceived to survive.

"Mon couer, what are you doing here? Why are you in an expeditioner's uniform?" He asked tightly.

You tried to will your body to move to his, but you were stuck. You couldn't move and you couldn't open your mouth. You could only stare at the horrific beauty of this dream that wasn't real and somehow felt like the most precious thing you'd ever experienced.

The dream was ending - you could feel the edges of your vision clouding before seeing one last look on your mate's face: determination.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You were floating, so you must have been dead. Your eyes fluttered open to the sight of clouds and birds passing above you. The early morning sun was bright and made your head want to split open, so perhaps you weren't dead, but surely you would be soon once this creature disposed of you.

"Ah, mon ami! You are awake. Do not worry, I am taking you for a swim swim to a safe place." The creature spoke to you in a lazy lilt that somehow felt safe and endearing.

"Thank you, but I need to get back to Lumiere," you said confused. Land passed to your left as your eyes tried to adjust to the colors and sights.

"Ah, but you see, I am taking you to friends. Verso will know what to do with you," the creature hummed.

"What is a Verso?" You asked.

"Verso is my best friend. He will be your best friend too. You'll see! You should rest." The creature returned to focusing on swimming and you were honestly too tired to think of your next move.

Your team was gone, you had no weapons, and even if you did you weren't sure you could take this creature down yourself.

You were captive, whether you liked it or not.

"How did you find me? And why are you helping me?" You asked as you floated down a body of water much like a river.

"Verso and I look out for the expeditions. I was looking for survivors from yesterday's landing. I'm sorry about your friends."

You still weren't sure who or what Verso was, but the reminder of your friends' suffering had snuffed all other questions from your mind. It occurred to you that you were farther into the continent than you had ever hoped to be. It was still your responsibility to finish the expedition.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The creature, Esquie you'd learned, was actually taking you to his friend Monoco, who lived safely on a mountain that very few dared to venture to. Esquie and Monoco argued for a bit about Monoco's involvement while you tore into the food offered once you reached the station. There was still no sign of this Verso, but you could only venture what sort of creature he'd be after meeting these two.

Esquie had left you in Monoco's care until Verso could collect you. This made you feel captive again, but Monoco advised against venturing on your own down the mountain. He told you of the nevrons and even started to offer tips on how to get to the Monolith in between challenging you to duels. You ceased to dream altogether, but to be fair, you were only sleeping in fits since the night you tried to swim home. A few minutes during the day...napping after dinner...and then staring at the fire all night.

Monoco tried to enthrall you with tales of his adventures, and it was during one of these such tales that you both heard the sounds of voices approaching. You were in the middle of laughing at one of Monoco's jokes when the crunching of snow beneath feet made your companion move toward the station entrance.

"Stay here," he warned. You were on high alert, having yet to encounter another being since Esquie.

You peaked around the train car in time to see several figures approaching - and what felt like a dream to you. You recognized your friends standing beside Monoco: Sciel, Lune, and Maelle all miraculously alive.

A sob tore from your throat as you sprinted down the station's center toward the group.

"Y/N! You're alive?" Sciel beamed. You crashed into her with the biggest hug you'd ever given anyone. You could feel Lune laughing beside you before joining in.

In the chaos of the moment, you'd failed to notice one more figure that was shadowed by Monoco initially. You broke from the hug and turned to meet the eyes of the man who'd been haunting your dreams the last few months.

His striking eyes locked onto yours for what felt like forever. You could hear the girls asking you questions, but your mind became blank upon seeing your soul mate standing in front of you.

"Am I asleep?" You asked, barely above a whisper. You were terrified to look away from him, fearing that your mind was playing tricks on your sleep deprived existence.

"No, mon couer. I'm here," the man replied. He also sounded in disbelief, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Y/N, this is Verso. He's the one you've been waiting for," Monoco introduced, though he seemed perplexed by Verso's words.

Verso's hands trembled as they lifted from his sides and flexed with a nervous tick as he reached towards you. Your feet moved before you could stop them - not that you wanted to.

Your arms reached up on reflex, your hands grasping the light scruff on his face. Neither of you broke eye contact once.

"I don't believe it," you whispered. "I was sure that my mind was making you up. When I signed for the expedition and you weren't there, none of it made sense."

His hands gently rubbed your sides as he leaned his forehead forward to rest against yours.

"I will never believe that you are mine," he whispered back. You would never get over the feeling of his hands on your body. It felt like a dream...that is until Monoco cleared his throat.

"So, what are you lot doing here?" Monoco asked.

The rest of the evening was spent catching up - learning the fate of your fellow team members and what lie ahead. You agreed to make camp one last night at the station for some much needed rest, and selfishly, so you could have some more time to speak with Verso.

You were the last two sitting by the fire when he asked, "should we get some sleep?"

"Will you still be in my dreams?"

"Only if you will enchant mine, Y/N. I don’t think I can sleep without hearing you sing."

Your dreams welcomed the sounds of Verso's piano before you saw him playing in a field, waiting for you to join him in this peaceful existence once more.

#verso x reader #verso dessendre #expedition 33 #clair obscur #verso fanfic #expedition 33 fanfic #oneshot #verso imagine

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alyssac9 · 24 hours ago

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Well I had to dsay goodbye to my sweet little rescue Zoey yesterday. I got her 13 days ago the day she was born. Her mom left her under my carport. She was also a preemie, she was way to small to be fully developed but I took her in because that's what I do even if its a long shot for them to make it. I've had worst kittens that have made it so I figured I would try. And she was doing so well! She seemed and looked healthy. She had her own little personality even though she was so young. And once i got past her first week and she hit her first milestone of opening her eyes I thought I was in the clear. Oh how wrong I was. Yesterday I fed her a bottle at 1130 and when I went to put her back in her carrier so I could get lunch at 12:15 she was gone. She died so suddenly. There was no signs that she was distressed or that she was fading she was just here one second licking and sucking on me and then she was just gone. Im assuming her heart or lungs just stopped working because they would have been underdeveloped since she was a premie but its still not easy having to let go. I mean through the sleepless days and nights, the every two hour bottle feeding, and all the other things to care for a kitten its very easy to grow attached and I do that with all my rescues. And telling them goodbye for them to go to their forever home is completely different then having to say goodbye because they passed away. I still feel like I failed her somehow even though I know I did everything in my power to save her. But her is a few pics I took of her. And sorry I know I usually don't post about my rescue stuff that I do but I just needed to get this off my chest because I miss my Zoey and I feel lost right now not having to take care of her 24/7. And i just needed to vent.

Just a few pictures of my time with her. I hope these pictures of her can make someone smile because she brought me so much joy. As hard as rescuing is and as hard as losing them is I wouldn't have it another way. I love rescuing and saving little lives. And at least Zoey felt nothing but love her 12 days on earth. I will eventually stop feeling like I failed her and be able to look at these pictures without crying but for now im going to go cuddle the ones I was able to save and try to figure out where I went wrong.

#rescue #cats #cats of tumblr #cute cats #animals

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houndofllove · 2 days ago

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Kate likes her coffee strong.

Way too strong. To the point where even the smell of it as you brew her first pot of the day is as overwhelming as it is concerning. There's the cigarettes: an indulgence which she only treats herself to once a day, twice if there's something incredibly pressing on her plate.

But the coffee is always there. You've watched her hands reach over her desk for the carafe before she's even finished the first half of her mug; how her face sours and her mood turns after taking a sip post-meeting, the drink turned cold and bitter.

The day you realised this—before making her coffee became your job—you'd stared at her through the glass panelling of her office, staring holes with brows so furrowed the exterior could shatter. The silky brown liquid going from the pot to her mug then–

As she went to take a sip, her eyes locked onto yours.

What is it?

You shook your head, embarrassed, but let your gaze linger anyways.

Then, raising a single brow the action said all that was necessary: Back to work.

Despite being her secretary, for the first month of working for her you weren't her coffee girl. There was always someone else from the team (they had a rota, you'd realised) taking it upon themselves, or someone from the cafe who owed her a favour would take the five floors up and deliver a steaming cup in the morning.

(The most important thing to know, again, is that everyone respects Kate. Everyone owes her something.)

Yet between the one and two month mark—when you'd recognised just how much coffee she drinks, how many cigarettes she smokes, how she tends to forget about her meals—you decided as her secretary, there was a duty for you to watch out for her too.

So you started making the coffee in the morning, first thing before you even sat down at your desk. Two pots brewed, one for her, one for the rest of the team to share and bicker over (because there's only enough for three cups, and when there's seven of them all sleep deprived, yeah).

And when someone else, a week later, said they could do it instead you'd turned them down.

"I'll do it."

"Why?"

"Isn't this what secretaries do?" You'd joked, lip curled. "I don't mind, honestly. Saves you the time."

Then a week turns into a month and it becomes a ritual for you. One that means that smell of coffee is stuck to you like a second skin; not overly obvious like a spray of perfume. But it lingers even after you scrub your hands throughout the day, as you take your loofa over and under your nails in the evening.

It's something hard to complain about. There's very obviously worse things to smell like and even worse things going on in the world that you really shouldn't care so much—yet. All it does is remind you of her.

When you wake up, dragging a face over your hand and scratching your nose, the smell is there; when you go to sleep, or when you're rubbing your eyes or cooking your dinner. She's there. Around you.

You can't stop smelling like you can stop seeing. You can't close your eyes and hope that her presence will go away—and well, even if you did, now you've started seeing those brilliant eyes of hers in your dreams too.

You're already flustered around her half the time, a ball of anxiety at worst and swooning over her small praises at best, but it just gets worse. How can you look her in the eye knowing she's in your dreams? That a simple smell makes you think of her while you're in the shower, scrubbing but all the same hoping that it won't ever go away.

Feelings that develop dangerously quickly the longer you sit behind that desk, doing work for her, watching her being pulled in every direction all day long. An urge to care for her—protect her.

(She's the last person that needs protecting, you try to rationalise, she doesn't need you.)

You imagine yourself helping her anyways. A silly, girlish indulgence that leaves heat in your cheeks and your tummy tingling.

"I can help you," whispered in her ear, your fingers already melting into her back, smoothing over the tense muscles. "Just let me."

Instead, you start arriving half an hour earlier to get ahead of her for the day, hot wisps already floating up from her mug on her desk. Top ups pre-prepared for as soon as she calls.

And then, your newest attempts: once the clock hits five pm, when you're due to leave for the day but Kate is still stuck in her office, ailing over her computer, taking calls, striking up last minute meetings, you switch things around.

The next top-up pot is decaf instead, given to her before you leave with a small, sheepish smile on your face as someone on the phone drones on to her about politics and war. Food for her is already ordered, the security guard at the front already well aware.

("Could you?"

"I'm not so sure."

"I ordered an extra two bao buns, you're welcome to have them."

"Well, alright then.")

Proud of yourself, you leave for the night feeling lighter, like you've done her some good. A sweet, simple ritual to help ease her a bit.

Then two weeks later, while you're delivering the usual decaf pot, she stops you before you can leave.

"You're giving me decaf." Her tone is so strong yet husky and your knees nearly buckle beneath you.

You turn shyly, biting your lower lip. "Yes, ma'am."

"And you keep ordering me food."

"Yes, ma'am."

Hey eyebrows raise in a way that you can't tell whether it's surprise or annoyance. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, and if you could feel it just a little more you swear you would leave her office with an aching chest.

"Should I expect anything else from you?"

"No, ma'am," you reply, somewhat dejected.

Then she huffs, shuffling papers around her desk, adjusting the angle of her laptop.

"That's a shame."

Oh.

That makes the small blaze within you roar, heat in your cheeks as you stare at her with parted lips. Something tingling in your stomach as she gives you a small smile. Your mind runs so quickly, picking left and right for some kind of answer that you're blurting out before you can think:

"I can do anything you want."

That has Kate looking at you with her full attention, her expression shifting, something of a smirk written over all her features. You gulp.

"Anything?"

"Ye- yes, yes ma'am."

How you're still standing right now is beyond your comprehension.

She laughs then and your mind completely blanks. It's minor, a chuckle and accompanied by her curled lip, leaning back in that big leather chair of hers, exuding authority.

"You tell that to everyone, sweetheart?"

The embarrassment comes too quickly, leaving you a gaping, stuttering mess. "I– no, ma'am."

"Good." Girl, you think. Good girl good girl good girl. Your core pathetically starts weeping at the thought, at the image of Kate pushing and pulling you in every direction she wants. Kneeling at her feet and eating her–

"Off you go," she says, and then she looks down at her watch and back up at you as if to emphasise a point. "You should already be home by now."

You stare at her for a moment too long, still frozen and reeling from the past two minutes stood in front of her. Under her heavy, watchful stare and brilliant tongue.

"Yes, ma'am," you manage amidst the chaos in your head. "Good night."

"Good night."

#cw suggestive #kate laswell x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #laswell x reader #kate laswell #call of duty modern warfare #cod smut

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zeravmeta · 3 days ago

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Hundred Line DLC Route Concepts

So since hundred line might get some dlc and kodaka wants to hear concepts im gonna put this out in the wild and hope the psychic forces of the universe beam it into his head

note im not 100% on HL yet so maybe some of these ideas were done/are fulfilled in other ways BUT this is my post and while I DO think some routes can get expanded on, im sticking strictly to actual new concepts even in expanded routes, if I want to expand on a previous route id want it tacked on post the supposed ending where a last minute choice could branch off the end

spoilers obvs btw and also long so readmore for spoilers and length

Preamble: BIGGEST AND EASIEST WAY to make a lot of these routes possible as DLC is to allow Eito to kill Sirei on Day 2 and work from there, but they can easily be added at other junctures. With that out of the way,

Concept 1: Last Defense Academy 3rd Run / Inherited Will -> Nozomi as the time looper coming back

I think the title is pretty self explanatory BUT I could see it going in two ways: Takumi after his death in Second Scenario manages to rewind himself back to Day 1 and, using the knowledge of the truth and greater context that Truth/Second Scenario provided, does one more go around for the 100 days to stop Humanity's invasion of Futurum and try to save everyone. Alternatively, you can have Nozomi as the protagonist for this 3rd run, having inadvertently absorbed Takumi's cryptoglobin following the end of Second Scenario and she rewinds, letting us play through this third run with her as the protagonist where she tries to save Takumi in turn and, with a newfound contempt for humanity, can choose whether to strive for coexistence or to sabotage humanity's efforts for using her friends as living weapons.

Concept 2: Bad End Takumi Invasions

So Hundred Line definitely has what I call the Three Houses problem, wherein a character who has time travel powers they can use pretty freely to fix the immediate problems in front of them STILL does not use them because the story demands they not have the reset button on hand, BUT i think this could be used in an interesting way: Have alternate Takumi's from bad end routes use their powers to invade the Academy to try and take our Takumi's better circumstances for themselves. For example, you could have a Retsnom end Takumi try to kidnap our non-Retsnommed Darumi under the logic of "You don't love or appreciate her like I do, so I'll take her off your hands. You don't care anyways so this isn't an issue.", or maybe a Cult Takumi obsess over our Takumi being another extension of his will and try to absorb him because he needs to fulfill his role as the ultimate fix-it tool, or perhaps a Failed Rebellion Route Takumi trying to find a new Futurum after he accidentally ruined his own, you could take this in a whole ton of ways and it could even be as simple as different Takumi's who died early trying to live and absorb and take our Takumi's place.

Concept 3: Expanded V'ehxness & Eva Routes

I think this one is also pretty self explanatory, as while the despair sisters commander siblings have some of the best routes, they're also pretty short, written out as really good endings but with little substance in the middle.

Eva routes can be expanded just from letting Eito kill Sirei: She doesn't get brainwashed, and because Sirei isn't there to shock Takumi and the SDU every waking minute, Eva and the SDU engage in more dialogue where perhaps she has the SDU join the Futuran rebellion against V'ehxness earlier on because now with Sirei no longer manipulating info, they talk for a literal 5 minutes and realize the truth about the war far earlier. Takumi when he was actively shunned in the class managed to befriend her in 10 days this one is so easy.

V'ehxness route can also be expanded upon easier, maybe there can even be an offshoot following Ending 44 where V'ehxness, now having someone she actually loves and wants to survive FOR as opposed to being an eternal unthinking god symbol, manages to escape with Takumi and narrowly survive their fatal wounds. From here it could go a few ways: Maybe they become vagabonds fighting all sides and relying on each other to survive, maybe the commanders and SDU slaughter each other and the satellite humans invade, leading V'ehxness to tenuously team up with Kahmyun and you fight against humanity's invading army as an unlikely allies rebellion where it's an awful tenuous peace but Kahmyun recognizes that V'ehxness is needed for her power and at least this time she actually has a person she cares about other than herself so she can be directed using Takumi.

Honestly I think V'ehxness and Eva should have more interactions in general, maybe even the Unlikely Allies Rebellion route has Eva as the only surviving commander from the massacre and V'ehxness and Eva are forced to actually talk like equals, and we get more backstory from both perspectives.

IDK something something pull both sisters? that'd be kinda funny. Moko spontaneously materializes from Takumi's blood to beat the shit out of him.

Concept 4: Traitor Route / Satellite Invasion Route

Takumi as a "Paragon of Despair" commander allying himself with the Commanders and leading the invasions against the SDU, each battle ends with the capture of a friend and you have to choose to either imprison or eat them. it could be that he's captured early on, MAYBE he revealed his foreknowledge and that leads to his capture and from there they talk more.

I think there's so many ways this one can be done in general: Not only would this be the route where Takumi can bond with the commanders vs the SDU students, but maybe Takumi can have mini routes associated with various commanders as he reaches an understanding/deeper connection with individual ones? Like Nyewgank straight up also has a time power and is depicted as a priest so maybe he can have a mini route dedicated to more worldbuilding as he teaches Takumi about his Futuran heritage? Maybe Takumi even embraces the religion and the internal strife within the commander ranks can have Takumi pick between factions like V'ehxness, Dahl'xia, and the like.

This one would def need to start with letting Eito kill Sirei but perhaps it can be its own golden end scenario with Eito finding out the Second Scenario truths and nudging the other students to join as commanders, with this route's enemies being an invading human army instead of the little monster mobs. Maybe it can even do a rehash of the Second Scenario final battle, but the combined might of the SDU and the Commanders helping them this time actually leads to a happier end for them.

This one is one of those route concepts I like not just for story reasons but for gameplay reasons as well, using the commanders in place of the students can expand gameplay a ton, you fight your endgame gigabuffed students that you spent all those previous routes building up with your giant 4 space bosses, maybe the human army has a different enemy variety type with a whole bunch of different new gameplay mechanics.

Concept 5: True Golden End -> This is the School Mode Dating Sim Option

Eito kills Sirei, then Takumi locks up Eito. Once everyone else wakes up, he uses Second Scenario foreknowledge to not only get the SDU on his side, but also takes the Commanders prisoner, eventually culminating in all the Commanders invading at once (maybe around day 20ish where you have half the army imprisoned and half the army invading). Because Sirei isn't brainwashing them this time and the captured commanders realize "oh shit these aren't humans they're artificial Futurans who literally didn't realize they were being used as weapons", Takumi and the gang + captured Futurans manage to establish a true dialogue with the remaining Futuran commanders and from there they have 80 days of fucking around in free time where you can date them ala the Danganronpa School Mode post games.

We can also date Shion AND Nigou.

Concept 6: Multiple Minds / Takumi remembers multiple routes

This one is a more loose concept and I already think Takumi remembering Second Scenario alone leads to a whole bunch of new route options BUT we could maybe expand on different routes and using multiple routes foreknowledge to give them good and or bad endings? Maybe Retsnom Takumi manages to go back and take Retsnom into himself instead of Darumi, and the rest of the route has us play as Darumi and making the choices to support and/or maybe even kill Takumi.

This can be used for a whole bunch of different routes, like an Eva/V'ehxness route Takumi going back and trying to help the commanders earlier on, an embittered Failed Rebellion Route Takumi being more merciless to try and prevent any SDU casualties, etc so I'll let you have your personal route blorbo pick

Concept 7: Eitovision Route

Listen if we're gonna have Eito be the government assigned yaoi for this boy, why not have a route where Takumi actually sees and lives the world through Eito's eyes? We see distorted versions of all the SDU and Commanders, even Eito and we can decide to help sabotage humanity alongside Eito and the route has a dramatic end with both of them being the only living SDU members left and it's a rehash of the Day 2 Eito solo battle.

Concept 8: MatchMaker Route

This one is more comedy focused but hear me out. Romance routes have Moko playing matchmaker and hosting an outright gameshow with Takumi's lovelife, so what if TAKUMI joins in on the action and tries to make his friends happy by playing cupid with them. Already there's a ton of potential choices in just setting up your fav pairs and you can even make your yuri/yaoi piles canon (take this to the extreme imagine if Takumi mid battle is like "V'ehxness you should really check out Addamaque you both love violence and murder :)" ), but maybe this could also be the Moko romance route.

Concept 9: Karua is Real Route

Ok so we all know that Second Scenario revealed that Karua was just an artificial memory in Takumi's head put there to make him fight extra hard for humanity as were all the hundred liners' backstories, she just happened to take up on Nozomi's look and history because Nozomi would always talk to test tube Takumi. But what if Karua actually WAS a real person on the satellite?

Second Scenario's end cutscene has Karua's spirit appear alongside Takumi, so perhaps from alt timeline shenanigans or whatever reason Uchikoshi cooks up, Karua actually IS real and this completely sends Takumi spiraling because there's two of them now!? And with Karua by his side and technically safe there's not really all that much reason for Takumi to want to fight for humanity.

You could take this in a ton of ways: Karua could be a plant by humanity, maybe a double agent by Sirei or even one of the executives from the Satellite who had a soft spot for this particular experiment, maybe this is a new Futuran commander/other party who was a plant IN the satellite and she nudges Takumi to abandon the cause and join Futurum because she likes him or DOESNT like him, maybe she's from an alt timeline where SHE is the artifical soldier and Takumi was the implanted memory, maybe this could even be a spy thriller/conspiracy esque route where Nozomi is the one trying to figure out what Karua's deal is because she KNOWS something is up. It can be taken in a ton of ways

Concept 10: Monster Mash

Another loose concept comedy focused one but what do you MEAN that there isn't a single vampire in the game where you eat other people's blood. Takumi literally reads about a whole bunch of human mythos in the library so what if he finds a cursed halloween book and now MONSTERS INVADE idk this one is more funny meme idea than anything

#thllda spoilers #the hundred line last defense academy #zerav meta #yapping about my fun ideas #yay or nay like comment subscribe etc etc #kodaka i dont have twitter so im sending this heart tipped arrow out into the wild and hoping it plunges into your back

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