#she did not bend to be more soft but eventually things settle

[tothesolarium]

Gay things are afoot in this atomic “utopia”

[babygirl-riley]

Hii🌸 if u don't mind would u pls write for simon w fem reader who's having a difficult pregnancy??:'( if not that's ok, luv ur stuff btw🩷

In Sickness and Health

Simon’s heart breaks when watching going through your first pregnancy

A/N: Omg i watched my old co worked go through a hard pregnancy. It never looks easy no matter how it is going. I love this idea too ❤️

Warnings: sickness, pregnancy, hard pregnancy, underlining depression, arguments, marriage, soft!simon, husband!simon, dad!simon, fluff, little angst, swearing

simon x reader guide

simon x reader fluff/angst

When you found out you were pregnant, it was obvious. No period. Your cravings became intense. You threw up every fucking morning. Simon and you were excited that you were pregnant, people encouraging you that the morning sickness would pass. Instead. It came harder and longer. You cramped all the time, you bled once. Thinking you lost the baby when in fact you didn’t. Doctor reassured that it was normal in some women.

However, both of you didn’t expect the pregnancy to get harder than what people said it would have been. Your mom even said that what you are going through isn’t what she did. You are through your third trimester and nothing changed. Eventually your midwife came to put fluids in you since you couldn’t hold anything in. Throwing up was your new aesthetic. It got harder for you to work so you had to quit your job and stay home. Best friends with your toilet, you slept there day and night until your body grew bigger.

Simon was ordered from Price to stay home until the baby arrived and settled. Price heard from Simon about how the pregnancy has been not the best. You been up all night not being able to sleep from being too hot to throwing up to not being comfortable. Which caused Simon not to sleep, due to being worried about you. He would hold your hair up if you were too tired to even notice it was falling inside the toilet. Simon would wash your hair as you cried. Shushing you to keep you from having a panic attack.

You hated all of what was happening to you where you couldn’t enjoy being pregnant. Counting the days not to see your kid but to have her out. It was like you were hating the fact of everything no that was happening. Feeling like a curse then a miracle. Simon was the opposite even though he was heartbroken to see his love going through only hardship, the thought of having a mini both of you made him warm inside. Bringing it up once had you excited until you would hurl once more.

Simon would bend over backwards for anything you needed. Needed a bath Done. Needed a craving. Done and done again. Needed to be carried to the bed. Done. Needed a belly lift. Done. Anything was possible for Simon if it was for you. Nothing would stop him from helping you.

Was it perfect? Not always. Even when you both were tired and exhausted, you would fight, he would always be right by you. No matter what the fight was about, lately things that were ridiculous.

You both finished a fight and made up as he pet your damp hair, rubbing his other hand on your swollen belly. You were laying on his chest in bed, having your belly rest on the comfort of the mattress.

Sweat consumed you, your body working overboard on making your child and keeping you from not dying from everything else. It was silent before you sobbed. You were done, nothing for you. Your feet hurt. You felt like a whale. And your husband hated you. You’ve been only a bitch since you got pregnant and you were done.

You kept repeating in your head that he truly didn’t want to be here that you were just an excuse of a wife. That he never wanted to help you. That he wished you were gone. All because he didn’t get you your pebble ice. Simon had to leave the house for a while and what did he bring back? The stupid fucking ice. You called him a coward for leaving and not say anything about you said just for him to gift you?

Simon’s heart broke when your son burst out, your body shaking. Concern written on his face as he made your face turn to him. “Love what’s wrong?”

You cried harder as you laid your face in his shirt. “I want her out. And I feel terrible that I don’t want to do this anymore. That I have been a bitch. That I can’t stop throwing up. That this whole pregnancy hasn’t been what people have been saying.” He listened to you rubbing your back in soothing patterns. “I’ve been a terrible wife. I can’t believe I have been awful to you. You only been kind and generous and loving.”

Simon shook his head. “I could never do what you are doin’ dove,” He said quickly as he rubbed your shoulders. “This pregnancy is not been the best for ya.”

You sobbed harder as you clenched your hands into his shirt. Simon started to hush you quietly and soothingly. “You don’t deserve me.”

Simon froze from the comment, he used to say that to you at the beginning of your relationship. Telling you that he is a monster and that he would plague you with his darkness. That you were the angel and he was a demon, instead you showed him that he was the opposite. He was just lost in a broken world of his. Simon knew you were not like this. Not confident. Angry. Negative. No, you were the opposite of all of it.

Simon scooted so he would have you sit up against the frame. “Don’t you say that.” He said sternly.

You scoffed. “It’s true, I called you mean things. I said mean nasty things that are not true. Just over ice? Like how…”

“Stop,” He said stopping you dead in your tracks. “I know you didn’t mean it. Never have you showed me that. Baby,” He watched as your lips trembled, as your skin paled. “I know you love me, you are in pain just like I was. Let me help you bring yourself back as you make our child. You’re almost there love.”

You inhaled deeply as you looked away. “I’m sorry,” You turned to him and placed your hand on his cheek. “I love you Simon.”

Simon smiled and grabbed your hand kissing your knuckles. “I love you too. This is through sickness and health yeah? We promised each other that. So that is what gonna happen.”

You laid back down on him, your heart swelled with joy. You didn’t know how you got such an amazing husband. But all you knew is that he was your soulmate and you were his.

Another month went by and the baby was in distress from your body. She would be a month and half early which could lead into problems. However since your was fighting off too many things it wanted the baby to come out. You laid in the hospital bed as they induced you to push your baby girl out. You cried as Simon held his hand on yours and a cloth against your forehead.

“You got this mama,” The gynecologist announced looking up at you. “She is almost there!”

You looked at Simon concern written on your face and his. “It’s al’ight mamas. ‘M right here.” He whispered soothing you by brushing your damp strands back.

With a couple last pushes you heard a wail. Immediately relief went through your body as you laid all the way down into the bed. You panted as nurses and the doctor tended to the baby. Simon watched back and forth between you and the baby. “Go-Go see her.” You whispered gulping air.

You watched as he gave you a concerned look then nodded. You watched as he looked over the shoulders and smiled. Your heart fluttering. One of the nurses came to look over you. She said something but you couldn’t hear her. You felt nauseous and weak, lightheadedness coming in full swing.

The nurse called out as you felt your eyes roll. After that it was dark, you felt like actual sleep took hold. When you woke up, you were in a different room in the hospital, mouth was dry. When you looked over you saw Simon asleep with your baby girl against his bare chest.

You smiled. “They have been so cute,” You turned your head to see the doctor walking in. “How are you feeling?”

You hummed and coughed a bit. “Thirsty.”

“I bet. You had a blood clot form after giving birth to your baby girl. It can be common and could cause from your body being on overdrive to fix you. You are on blood thinners so take it easy. You have a healthy baby girl, she might be a little smaller than usual but that is expected from a early birth,” she explained looking over your vitals. “Your husband knows what to do. Just get to know your baby and rest.”

That you did, Simon once again by both you and both of your baby girl. Never have you felt so much relief and love. You smiled as Simon changed her diaper humming softly to her. In sickness and health. Is all you thought of as he gave you a kiss handing you your baby girl.

[yesimwriting]

False Prophets

A/n was looking through my drafts and decided to let this logan fic leave the vault also fun fact the title is inspired by a line in a gracie abrams song

Summary: After the laboratory that's served as the only home you've ever known is ambushed by those that don't believe in the mission you've dedicated your life to, you're left with no other option but to trust the stranger that helped do so.

Warnings/info: slight allusions to manipulative use of an unspecified religion, reader has a touch of stockholm syndrome bc she was raised by a cult that experiments on mutants, brief mentions/implications of being medically abused by a caretaker, age gap (reader is in their early 20's)

----

The knife is as intangible as everything else. You squeeze the blade's handle regardless, knuckles straining against your skin as you try to force the metal's weight to mean something to you.

How did--how did things turn so quickly? Father Daniel grabbed you by the arm, he dragged you up the stairs and into the above ground. He gave you little instruction and even less explanation.

Protect the cause. That was all he could say before the defiers found you. Things had moved so quickly, your instincts allowing you to neutralize an assailant before--before the world became little more than a nauseating haze.

The pulsing ache behind your skull, the weight of your limbs, the resistance of your lungs, the dark spots clouding your vision. You set a palm against the floor, the coolness of the tile doing little to ground you. It's not unusual for you to feel unwell after over exerting your abilities, but this has been something else.

You need to--to evaluate, to begin the contingency process. Who knows how much time you've lost?

You bend your legs, hand pressing against the ground as you try to stand. A sharp pain immediately latches onto every tendon in your body. You screw your eyes shut. Breathe. Breathe.

A soft creak brings you back to where you are. The handle in front of you begins to twist. The door's pushed open, revealing a man who occupies too much of the doorway for you to consider bolting.

His attention shifts around the small space before settling on you. Everything about the stranger is harsh--his stance, his expression, the blood staining his clothing and skin.

The man takes a step forward. You flinch, head hitting the closet's back wall. He presses his lips together before exhaling. He holds his hands out in front of him as he steps back to where he was before, behind the doorway's threshold. "I'm not going to hurt you."

One of the many lies Father Daniel had warned you about. When you don't respond, the man sighs again. "So drop the knife. You look more likely to hurt yourself with it than me."

The perceived weakness only adds to your mounting unease. You scoff. He may have the physical advantage, but you have something he doesn't. You tilt your head, ignoring the pounding of your skull as you focus on mentally reaching for him. He's easy enough to latch onto, but actually doing anything takes more from you than you'd ever admit.

You take a deep breath, letting your energy build before pushing it onto him. It takes longer than it should, but eventually, your mind finds the strength to obey you. Just as the man's starting to bend to your will, his feet beginning to drag against the floor, your hold on him lapses.

Great--you've revealed your only real advantage and for what. You try to stand a little straighter, eyes landing on the stranger. You stare at him with wide eyes, fear making it difficult to breathe right. Father Daniel has always warned you about what happens to your kind in the real world.

You don't know what you expect from him--anger, horror, something else equally brutal. Instead of displaying any of that, the corner of his mouth briefly pulls itself upwards. "Got it out of your system, kid?"

"I'm not a kid." The raspiness of your own voice surprises you. "Where is he?"

He seems to know what you mean immediately. "The man that held you hostage and experimented on you for what--twenty years?"

Of course that's what he'd believe. "Father Daniel is a visionary with a divine calling, who is doing what he needs to do to pioneer a better future for mutants and humans alike."

"Yeah? Is that why he hasn't let you go outside in two decades?"

You scoff. It's not--the situation isn't like that, and to pretend that things are that black and white is ridiculous. You've been outside. Family outings to the movies after particularly strenuous medical trials, birthdays, and sometimes Christmas. Sure, you're not worldly, but that's the cost your family pays for safety. Until society is no longer cruel to your kind, you're safer in the lab.

If you were feeling a little more like yourself, you'd tell him all of this. But all you can manage is a defensive, "I've been outside."

His eyebrows draw together, something in the look coming terribly close to un-harsh. He doesn't believe you. Whatever. This man's opinions mean nothing to you. The only thing you know about him is that he's one of the ones that decided to invade your home in order to target you and Father Daniel's work.

His eyes drift downwards, landing on the band-aids stuck to your forearms. Some urging part of you wants to explain that things aren't always like this. That your labs and medical trials only make a fraction of your life, that these last few weeks have only been extra uncomfortable because Father Daniel has been getting closer. But the words needed to explain this to a stranger feel so far, and you doubt he'd be able to understand, regardless, so you settle for turning your forearms away from him.

"Congratulations," he mumbles dismissively, attention shifting away from your arms, "You're going again."

"What?" He sighs, as if there's something deeply irritating about the question. He can't--he can't possibly mean to take you from here. You squeeze the knife's handle. "No. I'm not--" Your protests don't impact him in the slightest. "No."

"I know it doesn't seem like it," there's something measured about his gruff assurance, "But you'll be okay if you come with me. I'm taking you to people that want to help you."

You press your a hand against the wall, as if the plaster will offer you a means of escape. "No one like you wants to help someone like me."

He watches you for a moment, something behind his expression becoming a little less fragile. "Someone like me?"

The man takes a measured step forward, crossing the door's threshold. Dread digs into you as your mind tries to reach for him. You've barely touched his energy before a piercing ache in your skull forces the connection to snap. If the stranger noticed your attempt at self defense, he gives no indication of it, taking another step in your direction.

He continues forward, his movements slow and definitive until he's so close you have to tilt your chin upwards to look him in the eye. Like this, his anger feels less...prominent.

After a moment, his eyebrows draw together slightly. If you didn't know any better, you might have mistaken the look for a barely there grimace. The man drops his gaze downwards, and you follow his line of sight.

His hand, the back of his palm--he had been weaponless before. And now, sharp, metal blades have split his skin from the inside out. You lift your chin to meet his gaze. He's not exactly smiling, but there's something gentle about the set of his mouth.

You angle your head downwards again, carefully pulling your free hand away from the wall. You move slowly, holding your arm out between the two of you for a moment before letting your pointer finger touch the edge of one of the blades. In another life, you might've been willing to tell him how cool you find his mutation.

He pulls back immediately, his hand moving away from you as his claws retract back into his skin. "You get it now?"

You press your lips together. Just because he's a mutant doesn't mean he's like you. Very few people understand your family's mission, and he isn't one of them. The fact that he broke in here is proof of that. But the ache in your skull is too disorientating for you to be efficiently hostile, and maybe there's a small chance that the fact he wanted to ease you when he could have easily just attacked you is throwing you slightly.

There is no good answer, so instead, you offer another question, "Where is he?"

"He left." The response is flat. "Ran downstairs and then disappeared."

What? Father Daniel--he left. That's not...that's not part of the contingency plan.

Okay--you let out a breath in an attempt to neutralize your expression. If Father Daniel left, he must have had a reason. There are other things that needed protecting. He'll come back.

You must look as thrown as you feel, because the man sighs. "Do you understand now?" When you don't react, he pauses. "You can stay here--in an abandoned warehouse, or you can come with and--and get some help."

Help. The word digs at you. You're not--not some kind of victim. You were chosen for a higher purpose, your mutation was given to you so that you could help others. However, that doesn't mean that the prospect of staying here, in a now compromised lab, without your family, isn't much more unappealing than leaving with this stranger.

You swallow, ignoring the lump in your throat as you weigh your options. Maybe there's something to remaining within a certain proximity to those that attempted to destroy Father Daniel's work. You could learn about their operations, their goals and desires; then, when the time is right, you'll have information to share with your family. It might not be the simplest task, but it's better than waiting.

This man also knows more about the outside world than you do. You could always just use his offer as a way to get some distance and then bolt once you're somewhere more secure. It might be easier to find Father Daniel from somewhere...out there.

You can't will yourself to look at him as you nod, wounded pride only amplifying your anxiety.

"Okay." His voice gives you no indication of what he thinks of your compliance, but something tells you that he'll be cautious of you for awhile. "You gonna drop the knife?"

The request is spoken so casually, you do briefly consider listening. You've never been much of a physical fighter, and you're sure the stranger could easily overpower you regardless of your small weapon, but you can't bring yourself to let it go. Besides, the stranger gets to have multiple knives physically attached to him. You should get to keep your one.

You briefly lift your chin in a vague gesture towards his hands. "I'll lose mine when you lose yours."

Some aspect of him seems to shift, his brow relaxing and his lips pressing together. The differences are gone too soon for you to dwell on them, his expression returning to its default blankness as he turns. You assume that's the closest thing to an 'okay' that you're getting, so after a beat, you follow him.

----

a/n i was considering adding to it and it lowkey feels like a waste of lore not to, so if you'd like a part 2 lmk!!

[tummieaching]

hey it's ✉️, sorry about the delay, this is the second part of what happened the day I had to go to the post office 🤭

(Two). [cw for brief p1ss mention] Home now. Oh my god. I could barely function when I got to the front of the queue, my mind was just racing with "I think I'm going to puke, I'm going to be sick etc.", then I actually gagged when I was talking to the cashier and she asked if I was ok and did the signature for me so I could get out of there. I was so embarrassed.

It's hot and I started feeling so dizzy walking home so I drank a little water, and as soon as I swallowed it came straight back up, with a little of the milky stuff mixed in, I didn't even have time to move and it came out all over my t shirt and some on my leg. I don't think anyone saw. I sat on the grass for a few minutes because I was sure it was all coming up then, but I think maybe the shock and embarrassment kept it in because I just kept salivating and getting waves of dizziness (didn't dare drink more water), so eventually I got up and slowly managed to get home.

The smell of the puke on my t shirt was making me want to just bend over and heave but I made it. I was shaking when I finally closed the door behind me and went straight to the bathroom with a towel, my water bottle and the second glass of green tea which had steeped to a very dark colour. I was still feeling awful but turned on about all of this.

Since I already threw up on myself I left my clothes on and sat in the shower. I started reading stories on here that other people wrote about themselves being sick and hoped it would help me release my own stomach. It turned me on more and I rolled up a second towel and sat with it between my legs, rocking and starting to salivate as the motion irritated my stomach. I let the saliva run out of my open mouth down my chin and started to say things out loud about how sick I felt and how I needed to get it all up. Then the dizziness hit me hard and I had to lean against the wall to stay upright. I moaned a little and told myself I just needed to let it come and be sick and then I would feel better.

I grabbed the tea and drank it, it was cold so I could drink it very fast. It was incredibly bitter and as soon as I finished the cup I could feel it coming back up. I always get a bit scared right before I throw up so I told myself, let it come, get it up and before I could even finish a stream of sick gushed up out of me and splashed in the shower. I couldn't move because I was trying not to faint so it got in the cup, all over my legs and socks and part of the towel. I burped and retched and gasped for breath and then got sick again, this time it was soft, milky sludge that felt foamy in my throat and landed quietly on my chest. It moved really slowly in my throat and made me gag hard again.

The towel felt warm and I realised I had pissed a little as I gagged. The waves of retching came again and again and I got desperately, loudly, uncontrollably sick all over myself, this time it was like a thick soup with berry pieces. The chunkier stuff was sitting a slimy pool in my lap. I told myself I was doing a good job to calm me down because I didn't have anyone there to help me.

Next time I heaved so hard I had to grip the shower rail, it was gurgly and sounded much deeper than my usual voice and I brought up a big puddle of thick slightly darker coloured vomit that felt heavy as it settled in the pool on my top. It was sour and had pieces of pastry which, when I felt them sticking to the roof of my mouth, made my eyes roll back and I threw up again and soaked the towel. One memorable moment was when I tried to soothingly call myself a good girl but as I was saying "girl" I was violently sick so it came out as "good blbleeeuuuurghle" lol.

This carried on for about 40 mins and towards the end I was just burping and burping and every few burps I'd bring up a blob of rice pudding into my mouth and have to spit it out. It was a bit more intense than I planned but really hot.

The only issue is that now I've puked so much, my stomach is very sensitive and will be for hours - I vomited a bit of water while writing this just from my own descriptions and then when I was cleaning it up, another glob of rice pudding sick came up out of nowhere (I just managed to lean over the edge of the sofa in time to let it up onto the floorboards). I have a bowl with me now because I'll probably keep having these small sudden vomits for another few hours but I'm going to try to settle my stomach with mint tea.

Thank you very much for telling us your story here ... it's very arousing to read, I'm proud of you for getting it all up like that, I bet you felt so much better afterward ... the puddle in your lap oh goodness, it must have been warm for a little while ... and wow, you peed yourself too ♡ I would have loved to help you get it up ... your poor sensitive belly, I hope that bowl serves you well ♡

I'm rubbing myself reading this, sitting in front of the toilet myself, I hope it will help me puke soon ... I'm going to read it again after I post this ♡

[fitrahgolden]

WEARY MEMORY: 6 - MOMENTS THAT I CAN ALWAYS RELIVE

The sheets were different. Of course they were, after three years. But that was the only thing that had changed. Not the paint, the furniture, the way anything was appointed. There were even areas still left vacant after he’d cleared them of his things. Perhaps Anthony would lie down on Kate’s bed and suddenly feel like the last three years were a dream, that they saw reason, never finalised the divorce, and he still lived here.

“Are you alright?” Kate’s voice was accompanied by her fingers intertwining with his. “Do you still–?”

Anthony tugged on her hand, pulling her towards him. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her tenderly. “Yes,” he breathed across her lips.

“Good.” Kate pulled him down and kissed him again.

Kissing Kate in what had for so long been their shared bedroom seemed to trigger something in Anthony, like a muscle memory. He swiftly turned her around and pulled her by the hips back into him. Her yelp at the impact had him feeling smug and powerful. He tugged her black henley over her head, and pushed her forward towards the bed, bending her over it before finding the button of her shorts.

“Is this OK?” he asked gruffly.

He thought he saw her nodding in front of him, but he wasn’t certain.

“Tell me it’s OK, Kit.”

Kate's knees buckled at Anthony’s demanding tone. Another memory unlocked. Though, he wasn't sure that he had ever truly forgotten anything about Kate, about her body, about how their bodies worked together.

“It’s–” she heaved. “It’s OK. Please.”

A flick of his fingers had her waistband open, but he apparently didn’t unzip her fly enough in his haste, because tugging her shorts down her legs took more effort than he anticipated. The small frustration fueled a primal noise he didn’t recognise.

Kate giggled as she stepped out of her shorts, then she crawled further onto the bed, and Anthony followed. She started to turn around, but Anthony stopped her, planting her hands back on the mattress, keeping her on all fours.

“Don’t fucking move, Kit.” Watching her shiver on her hands and knees was a sight Anthony couldn’t believe he once again had the opportunity to relish. “Let’s see how ready you are.”

He moved her underwear to the side, and teased a finger inside. “Well, we can do better than this, can’t we, Kit?”

“Please,” was all she seemed able to say.

His laugh was dark before he closed his mouth over her, then they moaned in tandem. Greedily, he covered as much of her as he possibly could. And Kate seemed appreciative of his efforts. Eventually, her shaky arms gave out, and she buried her face in the comforter, further muffling the sounds she’d been trying her best to keep within the confines of her bedroom. Anthony backed off and she whimpered.

“You know I need to hear you, baby.”

Kate turned her head to the side, gasping.

“There you go. But not too loud, OK? Not here.” Anthony turned his attention back to the task at hand, and soon–

“Anthony…”

“Fuck, it’s been too long since I’ve heard that. Hold on, Kit.”

He redoubled his efforts, and soon Kate really did have to muffle herself. Anthony gave her some time to come down, rubbing her back as she rested in a foetal position on the bed.

Once her breathing evened out, Anthony stood and quickly divested himself of his clothes. He sat on the bed next to Kate, his back against the headboard, and continued to pet her.

“Are you alright, Kit?”

“Mmhmm.” Kate smiled dreamily up at him.

“Come here.”

Anthony pulled her up and settled her between his legs, his front to her back.

They sat like that for a while, Anthony still a bit dazed by the fact that they were even here. He tried and failed not to think too hard about what it meant, what it would mean if their night progressed.

How long will she let me stay? 

“Anthony?” Kate's voice was soft and low.

“Yeah, Kit?”

There were a few more beats of silence before Kate took a deep breath.

“Is the breakup with Siena the reason you were so upset? The night you called?”

Anthony knew he couldn't fuck this answer up.

“Not the fact that we broke up, no. That needed to happen. I'd let it go on too long. I'm ashamed of how I let her think that…that we could be anything more than we were.” As he spoke, Anthony couldn't stop himself from running his hands up and down Kate's arms, through her hair, across her thighs. And she let him.

“When she left that day, it was just… I was hit with a ton of bricks, thinking about you and the kids and…and you. You and me. How much I miss you, miss us. How wrong it is, that I'm in a position where I have to miss you. I don't know if I'm making any sense.”

“You are.” That's all Kate said, her voice small.

“I never want to miss you again.”

“Anthony…”

“I'm not asking you for anything right now. Just… Just know that I'm done kidding myself. I need you, Kit.”

“Anthony?” Kate repeated, leaning her head on his hand.

“Yes?”

Kate turned to face him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Are we done?”

Anthony smiled as Kate nuzzled his nose. “Do you want to be, sweetheart?”

Kate looked him up and down as she slowly shook her head. Anthony caught her chin with two fingers and kissed her. “Then, fuck no, we aren't done.”

—

Kate and Anthony worked together to push her knickers down her legs before she straddled him. Her bra went next as they kissed. Kate ground down onto his lap, feeling how hard he was getting, wondering if he would feel exactly like she remembered inside of her. Then another thought intruded into her musings. She pulled back.

“One thing,” she breathed.

Anthony looked concerned through the haze of his arousal. “What is it?”

“It didn’t go past the one night,” Kate said quickly, holding either side of Anthony’s face, looking into his eyes, hoping he’d understand. He did.

“OK.” He nodded reassuringly. “I wasn’t… You didn’t need–”

“I know. I didn’t have to tell you, but I wanted to. It was… It just didn’t feel right.”

Something wicked flashed in Anthony's eyes.

“Well, does this?” Anthony put two fingers in his mouth, a move that was as sexy as it was unnecessary, before he slid his hand between them, those same fingers swiping across and around her clit. He caught Kate's gasp with his mouth before asking again, “Does this feel right, Kit?” He drove his fingers into her, playing her like an instrument he hadn't picked up in years, yet his skill with it hadn't atrophied at all in the interim. “Answer me, or I'll stop,” he threatened viciously into her ear.

“Yes,” Kate sobbed, gripping Anthony's hair hard enough to elicit a hiss from him. “Fuck. Yes.”

“Do you have condoms?”

Kate nodded wordlessly towards the appropriate drawer. She was glad that Anthony knew they needed a condom. If he'd asked her if she wanted him to use a condom, Kate honestly doubted she would have answered the way she should have, considering how wonderfully familiar this all felt.

It'd been over three years since she and Anthony had last had sex, but it had been a decade and a half since they'd used condoms. But Anthony had had at least one girlfriend since the divorce–a relationship that had just ended, and Kate and Tom did sleep together once. Whether whatever happened tonight was an anomaly in their relationship as amicable exes, or a gateway to something both old and new at the same time, they had to be responsible.

Anthony laid Kate down on her back. After an indulgent perusal of her body, spread out in front of him, he leaned forward until he was hovering over, rubbing himself against her entrance.

“Are you ready, baby? Is this what you want?”

Kate nodded enthusiastically. “Yes.” She bit her lip as Anthony slid into her, and pulled him down so she could wrap her arms around him. “I missed you, too.”

—

In the quiet of Kate's bedroom, Anthony traced over the scars on her knees, an old habit. They were the long term physical remains of the car accident, tangible reminders of the death of her mother. They were small, and were dwarfed even further by the emotional scars. The fractures, some healed, some not, that marked her all over on the inside. Anthony had spent years chasing them, finding them, trying to cover them up and force them to fuse back together, before he realised that he couldn't. That he shouldn't.

“I should go, shouldn’t I?” he whispered into the dark room.

Kate hugged him a little tighter at that. “I don’t know. Kicking you out feels shitty.”

“I don’t want to leave. But… Maybe the kids shouldn’t know.” He’d wanted to end that sentence with “yet,” but he didn’t have a read on where Kate stood. Maybe there was no “yet.”

“Right.”

Silence took over the room again, as if neither of them wanted to make the final decision, even though they both knew what the right decision was. Finally, Anthony took a deep breath.

“I’ll go.” He sat up, causing Kate to do the same.

“I’m sorry,” she said glumly.

Anthony started to get dressed. “Don’t be.” He buckled his belt, then paused. “Unless…” He looked at her and swallowed. “Did you mean–?”

“No!” She didn’t seem to notice that she hadn’t covered herself with the sheet when she sat up. Anthony certainly did. “No, um… I’m not sorry it happened.”

Anthony’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. I’m not sorry, either.”

He finished getting dressed, as Kate watched him, her expression difficult to interpret. Once he was dressed, Anthony stood a bit awkwardly beside the bed.

“Can I kiss you goodbye?”

Kate smiled. “I think you'd better.”

Anthony sat on the bed and Kate met him halfway. As they kissed, his body screamed for him to crawl back into bed with her, but he somehow managed to stand back up. He’d almost made it across the threshold when he heard Kate.

“Anthony?”

He turned, eyebrows raised in question.

“I'm not ready to make any big decisions–well, more big decisions, but this… It wasn't just tonight. It's more than this, right?”

“Oh, Kit,” Anthony whispered before walking back to the bed in just a few long strides. He leaned down and kissed Kate with everything he had. His hands were on her cheeks and hers found their way into his hair. How could she even ask me that? When they finally pulled apart, he looked into her eyes and promised, “It's so much more than this.”

—

[aeoris4lovers]

Angstpril 2023 Day One: Liar

There were very few things in life that Eadwulf insisted upon without any chance of compromise. Choosing battles was a matter of survival under the tutelage of Master Ikithon; incurring punishment was easy enough to do even without the added risk that stubbornness presented. To resist bending only made it inevitable that one would eventually have to break, and as far as Eadwulf was concerned, the world offered little of great enough importance to justify tempting that fate.

It was not an oath made lightly, then, when he promised that he would return every day that he was able to one particular cell in the depths of Vergesson Sanatorium.

Astrid refused to speak to him for weeks after the incident, after what he did that night to save her from a fate far worse than a scar. So, with no one there to swear it to, he made his promise to the gods themselves.

He knelt on the floor of his bedroom, hands clasped together in his lap. Outside the small window above his bed, the cool light of the nearly-full moon fanned out across the skies, setting the shadowed room aglow with the night’s ghostly haze. His gaze settled on the nearest mountain peaks; ancient and immense and unmoving, he thought they must be the closest things to gods he would ever lay his eyes on. When thoughts of his past, of his people, of his own actions that night threatened to creep to the front of his mind, he pressed them back into the darkness of memory. They were gone now; there was nothing more to be done for them. Instead, he turned his thoughts again to Bren, to bright red hair and wild eyes and roaring flames and the crack of rock against bone. 

“If I condemned him to this fate,” he whispered, so quiet it was more thought than speech, “let me be the one to see him through it.”

Only a moment later, the soft moonlight was eclipsed by the silhouettes of two ravens coming to rest on the windowsill, and he knew somewhere deep within him that his oath had been sealed.

The next morning, he rose earlier than usual and ate his breakfast as quickly as he could manage to hold it down. The sun still hadn’t even begun to show itself in the young day’s sky when he slipped past the guards at the sanatorium, giving each of them a look which told them not to stand in his way if they valued their lives. They had no way of knowing that, in truth, he wasn’t sure if he would have the courage to make good on that threat; they only saw the determination in his eyes and stepped aside. 

As he pushed through hall after hall, he wasted no time looking at anything other than the faces in each cell, searching for blue eyes and red hair. Any strange looks that may have been aimed his way were lost in the blur of stone and bars and wrong faces. 

When he finally turned a corner and saw a short-cropped burst of orange in the nearest cell, he was just in time to stop the guard who was preparing to enter with whatever sad excuse for a breakfast they had prepared for the day. He caught the guard by the arm, stooping down to look her in the eye, and pressed a few coins into her hand.

All he said was, “Let me.”

She stared at him for a long few seconds, head tilted to one side, before shrugging.

“If you insist.”

Handing him the tray of oatmeal and water, she unlocked the door of Bren’s cell and started off toward the next one down, leaving Eadwulf there alone. He slipped through the door, closed it behind him, and crouched down next to Bren, truly taking in his current state for the first time. 

Perhaps the most noticeable thing should have been how beat up he was – the dark bruises, the blood that no one had bothered to wash from his skin. But instead, all Eadwulf could see was how empty he looked. There was always such a fire behind his eyes, a kind of passion and life there, like his mind was working so feverishly to puzzle the world together that you could watch it happening from the outside, and now? That fire had been all but doused. His eyes were glazed over, wandering helplessly around the space, looking through it all and not truly seeing any of it. There was a slight strain on his face, a clench to his brow that Eadwulf knew his resting face didn’t possess, which betrayed some process of thought, no doubt an unpleasant one. It was distant, though, and passive, as though the thoughts had taken on a life of their own within his mind and he, in this clouded state, was helpless to resist or engage them at all. When his gaze finally fell on Eadwulf, there was a soft spark of recognition that sent Eadwulf’s heart into his throat.

Eadwulf returned every morning after that, and again every night, so long as he wasn’t off on a mission or locked away for the sake of some punishment. Each morning, he fed Bren whatever breakfast the guards had prepared, careful to make it a far more gentle process than the other meals likely involved. As Bren’s hair grew longer with time, Eadwulf took to brushing it, and trimming it when the ends began to fray. A few times, he considered cutting it short again; surely, it would be more comfortable for Bren to have less of it. But there was no ignoring how his eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of it being brushed, or how he hummed in a way that almost seemed to approach contentment — better to keep it long, Eadwulf always ultimately decided. 

At night, Eadwulf would clean him — easy enough to do with a simple spell, but most nights Eadwulf wiped his face and hands the mundane way first, probably more for his own sake than for Bren’s — and tended to whatever wounds may have been sustained since the last visit. Then, he would take out whatever books he had been able to find that day, sit by Bren’s side, and read. Bren’s favorite of the books, judging by the way his eyes brightened ever so slightly at the sight of its cover, was an old children's story about a young boy and a cat prince, so they always started and finished with that one. In between, they cycled through as many of the other books as Eadwulf thought they safely had time for, and by the time he closed the fairytale for the final time, Bren was almost always slumped against his side, asleep. 

Eventually, once the rifts between them had been repaired, Astrid joined him for some of his visits, though she was quickly given more responsibilities than him and often found it more difficult to get away. On those days, Astrid would braid Bren’s hair once he had brushed it in the mornings, and alternated reading with him at night.

And after every nighttime visit, he would sit in his bed and write a few lines in a journal: how the day’s visits had gone, what had gone on in the outside world that day or over the past few days, what he and Astrid were doing in their own lives. Someday, he told himself, Bren would have his mind back. Someday, he would hand over the journal, a meticulous record of the days Bren was locked away. Someday, Bren would be able to read it, and it would be as if he hadn’t missed a thing at all.

In all that time spent in Bren’s cell, Eadwulf never feared being discovered by Master Ikithon — not out of carelessness or apathy toward the consequences he would inevitably incur, but because he knew it was foolish to assume he hadn’t already been discovered at the very start. The archmage’s gaze took immense care to avoid, and nowhere was it more omnipresent than in the halls of the sanatorium. The chances that he had gone unnoticed were laughably slim — it was better to assume Master Ikithon was well aware, that a confrontation would come soon enough.

And come it did.

One morning, nearly two years into his visits, Eadwulf arrived at Bren’s cell to see his teacher standing there, calmly watching him approach. Inside the cell, he could see Bren’s eyes wide and his face held more tensely than usual. He was shifting slightly where he sat, as though his own body were the walls of a prison preventing him from running away.

All at once, Eadwulf was overcome with the urge to run forward, to lunge at Ikithon, to scream, because how dare he come here and strike that kind of fear into someone so helpless, hasn’t Bren been through enough? But he pushed the urge down and kept calm as he walked in spite of it. It was him that the archmage was angry with, it was him who would face the consequences of his actions; Bren had no reason to be afraid.

As it turned out, neither did he. Master Ikithon wasn’t angry, not at Eadwulf nor Bren; he never said or even suggested that Eadwulf would be punished, and the calm smile never fell from his face. He seemed entirely unfazed — pleased, even — by Eadwulf’s actions. 

“You are welcome to visit our dear Bren whenever you wish, Eadwulf,” he said in a tone that could almost be mistaken for good-natured, “as is Miss Becke. In fact, I think it’s wonderful that you three have grown to care so much for each other, even after all this time. By all means, do continue to come visit him if it pleases you.” Moving closer, he added in a lower tone, “I would only urge you to remember that it is for you, yes? As much as it pains me to say this, Bren is — how shall I put this? — absent, by all accounts. You are a smart boy, I have no doubt you’ve noticed. Each time you leave this place, it is to him as if you were never here at all; he won’t remember. The sharp young man we knew is, I’m afraid, no longer with us.”

And every night since then, as silence fell over the sanatorium’s halls, Eadwulf would look down at Bren, tucked against his side the same way they had once grown used to laying in their beds, and ask himself: how could that possibly be true?

How, when he still squirmed at the mere sight of his old teacher standing nearby, when his eyes still sparked at the sight of his favorite fairytale’s cover, when he still remembered how to fall asleep next to Eadwulf like it was as simple as breathing, could Bren be gone? How could it be possible that such a sharp mind, so full of passion and of life, simply slipped away? Even if he remembered none of it, even if each day felt to him like the first time, Bren seemed in his own way to welcome their company far more than any other’s, to relax in some small way at their presence; did that not count for something?

It would take him many more years to truly make sense of it, to fully understand the weight of what it meant, but the simple fact remained: that Bren was gone was the first of Trent Ikithon’s lies that Eadwulf ever saw through.

[zeroducks-2]

I received a ko-fi, which means that y'all get a snippet, a WIP or a sketch :)

Thank you so much Daniel! I was not sure what to share, and eventually I decided for something which won't likely ever see the light. It's a snippet of my Omegaverse Royal AU, but it's dedicated to Dick and Wally in particular (Wally is Laird of House West in Keystone, and Dick is Captain of the Royal Guard in Gotham) and it doesn't really fit anywhere but in a spin-off which I might or might not ever publish.

(TW: pregnancy, polyamorous pack)

Hail and wind howl outside but the nestroom stays warm. Pots filled with burning coals make the bedding materials comfortable, but still Wally won’t sleep, knuckles tracing from the top of his mate’s shoulder to where her arm wraps around Dick’s side, wishing he could keep both like that, right there in his nest, instead of constantly having to let one of them go. 

«Stop fretting.» Dick murmurs, his steady purr quieting. «You’ll wake her. She needs rest.»

«I thought you were sleeping too.» Wally admits, his hand reaching to cup his old friend’s cheek. «Let me fret. Night’s the only time when I can.»

Linda moves slightly against him, makes a soft sound in her sleep, and Dick sends him an eloquent look before resuming to purr, nuzzling her cheek and caressing the small swell of her belly. Wally feels guilty for almost an entire minute before he can bring himself to rumble, shifting so he can hold both of them as close as possible. 

«She’ll be alright.» The older Omega murmurs once Linda settles again. The fact that she managed to sleep for more than an hour is a lot already; in the past month she’s been in near constant discomfort, she bleeds way too often, and Wally is losing hope that she will manage carrying her pregnancy to term. «Wal, you’re fretting again. She’ll be alright. She’s strong, you know she is.»

«I know.» Wally frowns, dipping his nose into her dark hair to breathe in her pregnant scent. He immediately picks up the usual bitter notes and he hates them, he misses the way she smelled like a honeycomb in the first few weeks, the way she was glowing and always humming to herself and the pups growing in her. «I’m glad you’re here, Dick. I’m glad you came. I… I wish I could dedicate myself to her more, to my pups.» He also wishes his aunt to be back already, but he needs to rule over Keystone while she’s on her diplomatic endeavors. He can’t forsake their people, even if his mate needs him more than anyone else at the moment. 

«What did your uncle say?» Dick asks, his warm hand closing on Wally’s upper arm, thumb pressing to soothe the tense bend of his muscles. «I know, he’s a healer and not a midwife,» he adds, and Wally’s mouth clicks shut as he was about to say the exact same thing. Dick quietly snorts and flicks on his shoulder. «but he’s also an Omega and has successfully carried two pups himself. He has some degree of experience.»

«He says Linda is young, and that it’s frequent for a primigravida to lose her first pup. That it’s…» He stops, his chest tight. «Will you stay?» He asks all of a sudden, looking up and directly at Dick. «I know you need to get back to Gotham, you have your duties, I know. But just for… for a few days more.»

«I’ll stay.» Dick gets closer, touches their foreheads together and Wally breathes out what air he was holding. «I’ll stay as long as you and Linda need me.»

[fundeadasylum]

How Many You Carry

In a hypothetical world, where things go right, and everyone gets a happy ending, there are still some open wounds. And they will take a long time to heal.

Peachy and Zone talk about things left behind, things that can never be lost, and the things that still remain.

-------------------------------------------------

Zone was floating quietly by the dock when Peachy made her way down the steps to the shore.

The house in Anarchy Bay was farther up the hill, away from the waterline and any threat of higher tides. But it had a lovely view of the sea and the dock that clung to the rocky shoreline, and it had been important to Peachy to have a place near open water. She had friends who deserved to live in the sun, she’d said.

It was the middle of the night; the bay was quiet save for the waves lapping at the rocks, the water looked black and bottomless in the light of the moon and yellow glow of the dock lamp, and the salty smell of brine rolled in with the cool breeze. Their dock stretched a couple yards out from where it met the shoreline, a sturdy and wide cement and wooden thing, raised a good foot or so from the surface of the water. There was no boat, but a couple of lawn chairs sat at the end, facing the bay.

Peachy tucked her blanket tighter around her shoulders and sank into one. It creaked beneath her, plastic bending as it settled. Zone watched her out of the corner of his eye. He hadn’t been sleeping, just floating, his long tail coiled around one of the legs of the dock to keep himself from floating away. Only the curve of his shell, his bandana, and the tip of his snout showed above the water. Every so often he would breathe out in a huff, clearing his nose of seawater.

No one said anything for a long time.

Then Peachy shifted in her seat, drawing her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Her voice was soft when she spoke,

“It’s a bad night.”

Zone stretched the lethargy from his limbs and reoriented himself. His claws dug into the rocks and silt at the bottom and he straightened up, shedding sheets of seawater as he did. In the warm dock lamp, it gave his scales of golden shine. He towered over the dock for a moment, majestic in the low light, terrifying and magnificent in his own way. Then he lowered himself down, crouching in the water so he was submerged up to his shoulders and more level with Peachy.

“Bad?” He echoed and even speaking in his quietest voice, he was still a distant rumble of thunder that vibrated in Peachy’s chest, “It’s a good night for hunting.”

“No thanks,” Peachy murmured, tucking her chin into her knees, “I’m tired.”

“Then go back to bed, little squid.”

“Can’t sleep.”

Zone snorted, “What is keeping you awake? I’ll kill it.”

He saw the corner of her mouth quirked in a tiny smile and she let out a breathy little laugh. Small victories.

“I don’t think you could kill this thing, Zone.”

“I can kill anything!” He said proudly, a challenge to the world, “Tell me!”

Peachy didn’t answer at first. Zone watched her, thought maybe he could see the gears turning in her head. He didn’t understand how such a tiny creature could be so clever, so brave, so strong. Peachy was so much, she was full of everything. He wondered where she put it all.

“The...hurt,” She said eventually, the word tripping out of her mouth like she wasn’t certain it was the right one.

“Who hurt you?” He growled, bristling at the notion.

“No, no, not, like, the physical hurt,” Peachy said quickly, raising a hand to stop him from working himself into a temper. When he settled back down, she curled in on herself, pulled the blanket tight around her shoulders, and looked at the black water,

“The hurt on the inside. The...fear. Being afraid of...yourself. And of other people.” Her fingers twisted into the fabric of the blanket, pulled it taut, “The...I don’t know how to say it except that it hurts. It hurts a lot. And sometimes it just hurts so much I can’t…” She pressed a hand over her mouth then, her eyes bright and shiny, stinging.

Zone frowned, turning the words over in his head. He looked away from Peachy because he could see she was in pain, but it wasn’t a pain he could tend to. The distant beacons marking the Salmonid Swim Zone winked back at him. He thought about Peachy’s hurt, about his own hurt, about the things he had fought and the places he had seen. He thought about fear and sleepless paranoia, thought about Kell’s company in the dark tunnels, thought about things that could never be escaped from, no matter how far you ran.

A heavy sigh left him and he found that his chest ached. It had done that before.

“It...does not stop hurting,” He said into the night, carefully navigating his way around trying to explain something even he did not fully understand, “It feels like...an open wound, one that won’t heal. And sometimes it hurts a lot. More than it should. And it’s stupid that I can’t fight it.” He could feel her eyes on him and he glanced at her, meeting her gaze. She was listening with the patient intensity he had grown familiar with, appreciated, even. Few people ever really, truly listened to him.

He shuffled around in the water, lifting his hands and letting them drip in the air as he hesitated. She watched him. He eyed her. She didn’t push, just watched and waited. She was still curled on the lawn chair—a tiny little creature, barely a mouthful, looking so fragile. He knew she was not. She was like him; a survivor.

Before he could convince himself not to, Zone reached up and undid his bandana. He pulled it away from his head, dropping it onto the dock and easing down even lower in the water so Peachy could get a good look. He sat on the bottom of the ocean and rested his chin on the dock, giving Peachy a clear view in the dock lamp’s gleam.

Scars lanced across Zone’s head. They were old scars, pale and faded, but still stark against his rich red scales.

A neat line ran around the circumference of his skull, surgically precise and horrific in its implications. Another line traced from the top of his head all the way down to the base of his skull. Clean lines, made with purpose. The other scars were jagged, tearing through the purposeful lines with fury and terror. They clawed over Zone’s head like remnants of a dreadful battle. Their shape matched the same frantic tears that broke the neat little lines of the barcode on his shoulder.

Peachy reached out, hesitating when she saw his eye on her. But he didn’t say anything, just blinked his second eyelid in a brief film of cloudy white, and looked away.

She scooted forward in her seat and ran her hand along one of the surgical scars. It was smoother than his scales, softer somehow. The thought of where it came from, what it represented, made her fingertips tingle. She leaned forward even more, rested both hands on Zone’s head, fingers spread, his scales warming beneath her palms. Zone made a low rumbling sound, a quiet churr that still made the dock vibrate a little bit.

“Why do you hide them?” Peachy asked, standing up all the way from her chair and stepping closer, leaning against the side of Zone’s head. She rested her cheek against one of the ragged scars slashed through the clean, surgical lines. The cold water still clinging to Zone’s scales dampened her clothes but she didn’t seem to mind.

Zone let out a heavy sigh that made the other lawn chair skid across the dock a bit,

“Because I hate them and I do not like to look at them. They make me…” He paused, brow furrowing for a moment, tugging at the scars under Peachy’s hands, “Angry. Anger that’s not...anger.”

“Afraid?” Peachy offered and Zone grunted. It was not a denial, but it was as close as he would ever get to admitting he felt fear. He was a massive and powerful creature, one of the strongest beings in the waters. He did not fear anything.

And if he kept telling himself that, then maybe it would be true.

“I do not understand you,” He grumbled aloud, his scales scraping along the dock. A boat horn called from somewhere out in the bay, its lights distant stars in the water, “How are you not enraged by what happened to you? Why don’t you want to tear apart your enemies? Why won’t you let me do it?”

As if she could stop him had he truly wanted to go. But old fear kept him close. He hadn’t seen exactly what was done to her, only the aftermath. He hadn’t asked either. He knew by the scars on her body and the haunted look on her face what she had been through. And he would rather stay far away from those people, far away from the ones who could catch and subdue Peachy. Brilliant, strong, stubborn, wonderful Peachy.

“I could destroy your enemies,” He ground the words between his fangs, an ache in them that said more than he did, “I could destroy everyone who would ever try to hurt you.”

“Being angry is exhausting…” Peachy closed her eyes, leaning more of her weight against Zone. He didn’t protest, “Vengeance...just thinking about it makes me tired. She felt the ridges of his scars and the edges of his scales beneath her as she ran her hands over him, curious, yes, but trying to comfort too, “Things need to change but...we don’t have to do it alone. I don’t want to do it alone. And I don’t want you to do it alone either. You don’t need anymore of these.”

She pressed her hand along one of his scars, trailing it down to the side of his head until it petered off and she was only stroking along his unblemished scales. Her hand dipped suddenly, the hard scales giving way to a softer, skin-like texture, and Zone twitched his head to the side, sending her stumbling back a bit to sit down hard on the edge of the lawn chair.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?”

Zone grumbled in response, shifting around to face her more directly. Water slopped against the sides of the dock and the salt stung against Peachy’s bare legs for a second.

“Ear,” He grunted heavily, “You poked my ear.”

Peachy blinked, “That was your ear?” She titled her head, peering at the side of his face, looking for the membrane she had touched before. If there was a visual difference between it and his usual scales, it wasn’t one that was visible in the low lighting.

“Yes, my ear. I don’t have ridiculous things pointing out the side of my head like you, little squid,” Zone raised a claw to prod gently at the tip of Peachy’s ear and she grabbed his finger to stop herself from toppling over, “You look silly. And if you could swim, the water would go right into your ear hole and fill your stupid brain with slosh. And you would be stupider than ever!” He tugged his finger away from her and she let him go with a small smile, “I hear better underwater this way. I can find my prey easily, hear them splashing about, know when they change direction. They cannot hide from me.”

“I bet I could hide from you,” Peachy pushed herself to stand from the lawn chair again, smiling a little.

Zone eyed her and then leaned forward, scraping across the dock until he bumped his snout into her,

“If you hid, I would find you again. I would find you before any of your enemies. You can’t hide from me, Peachy. I will always come for you.”

To anyone else, it might have sounded like a threat. To Peachy, she heard the promise in his words and the tightness in his throat. Saw the way his eyes squeezed shut as he pressed his nose against her. She draped herself over him, wrapped her arms around as much of his snout as she could, tried to show him how much she understood and how much she cared.

Zone was not a creature of words and he often misunderstood what was being said. For him, actions meant more and said more than any speech. So Peachy held onto him the only way she knew how and smiled when he churred against her.

The moment was interrupted by a yawn that she tried to stifle.

“You should sleep,” Zone said and he nearly lifted her off the ground when he spoke because she was still holding onto his snout, “You are a tiny little thing and you are still healing. You need to sleep. Besides, if you get caught down here, the white coat one will be mad at both of us and I don’t want to listen to her yelling again.”

“You can call her Ira, you know,” Peachy mumbled, stepping back and patting Zone on the end of his nose. She shivered as the cool night air touched her damp sleep clothes and picked up her blanket to wrap it around herself.

“I will call her by her name when she has earned it,” Zone replied snootily, huffing with an air of haughty arrogance that was all bluster. He watched Peachy yawn again and rub the sleep from her eyes. With a snort, he heaved himself from the water, sending waves crashing into the shower and threatening to overtake the dock, and then deftly scooped Peachy up in his hands. She curled up in his palms without protest, leaning back against his fingers as he lumbered out of the ocean and headed up the hill towards the house. She looked up at him, watching quietly as he ducked under tree branches, and sat up with a gasp,

“Wait! Zone, your bandana! You left it on the dock!”

He froze and Peachy could see him swallow, his neon pupils narrowing into nervous slits in the dark. She patted his palm, “We can go back for it, it’s okay. Let’s go get it.”

Zone didn’t say anything but the tension eased from his shoulders and he breathed out a long stream of air that made the trees sway a little. It was a bit of a to-do getting him turned around, making sure he didn’t destroy any of the trees with his size and his lengthy tail as he trundled back down to the beach. Stones cracked under his feet as he shifted to deposit Peachy on the edge of the shore and then reached out to pick up his bandana. It dropped sea water as he lifted it to tie it around his head again and Peachy wondered at how he managed to tie it off without snagging his claws. Practice, she supposed.

He looked down at her when he finished and lowered his hand to rest it on the ground. He never asked usually, he just picked up whomever he pleased and moved them wherever he wanted. He’d left Mars on the roof of the house for an hour once in a fit of petty revenge for Mars getting on his nerves.

But now...this was asking. It was a gentleness he rarely showed.

Peachy beamed at him and clambered into his hand, settling down as he lifted her and set off back towards the house. He kept her tucked close to his chest, shielding her from the branches of the trees that scraped along his shoulders. She glanced up at him, saw the single-minded focus on his face, and gently brushed her fingers over one of the cracks in the armor of his chest. It didn’t look deep, the edges worn a bit smooth by age. She wondered if it had hurt when it happened.

Zone growled, that thundercloud sound threatening a storm, and Peachy twisted around to peer through his fingers. Ira was standing on the front steps, the porch light on, a flashlight in her hand and a coat pulled on hastily over her sleep clothes. She had stopped in her tracks as Zone crested the hill and his reflective eyes locked onto her.

Peachy waved a hand in the air with a sleepy smile, “Hey Ira…”

Ira sighed in exasperation, clicking her flashlight off and putting her hands on her hips, “What’d I tell you about midnight strolls?”

“To not do them,” Peachy hummed and had the gall to look smug about it. Zone’s grin was more of a sneer in Ira’s direction, but he didn’t say anything as he lowered his hand and allowed Peachy to climb off. She patted the side of his hand before she trotted over to Ira, who immediately began to fuss and lecture her about going out at night when she was still vulnerable, look at her, she’s soaking wet, this is bad for the scabs that are still trying to heal, is this sea water, are you trying to give yourself an infection—

Peachy just smiled and let Ira ramble. She only turned when the sound of Zone shifting caught her attention. He was making the effort of turning around to head back to the water.

“Zone,” Her call made him stop and he turned his head enough to peer over his shoulder. The light catching his eye made it seem to glow neon in the night, “Stay  by the house tonight?”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stared at her (Ira threw her hands in the air with a loudly whispered, “By the house!? Where’s he supposed to sleep, Lu!? Up a tree!?”). Then he sighed as if it were a great inconvenience to him and lumbered around to the side of the house. He sniffed at the grass and dirt, peered at the side of the house, eyeing the windows and layered siding. Then he eased himself to the ground, made himself comfortable, gave Ira a smug look, and pulled into his shell. His tail coiled around him, spines pointing outward, and a huff came inside the shell, ruffling the grass. There was a faint gleam of his eyes watching them from the shadows.

Peachy giggled and Ira rolled her eyes, “Great, now he’s gonna be there to scare the ink outta Django in the morning.”

“Leave him be, Ira,” Peachy patted her friend on the shoulder, brushing past her to go back into the house, “He just...needs some time. And a little bit of space.”

Ira grumbled something about Zone having plenty of space but the rest was lost as she closed the door behind both of them. Zone listened to the night, heard the faint boat horn from somewhere far out to sea, and wondered why he stayed in Anarchy Bay, with these little inkfish and their little problems.

He thought about Peachy’s warm hands on his scars, the scars he had never shown to anyone, and how she trusted him enough to climb into his claws and hang onto his beak like he wasn’t a dangerous predator. Sweet, kind, patient, and unstoppable Peachy.

Zone closed his eyes.

He knew why he stayed.

[baiyunli]

giant bt21 shooky pillow ✨

writer asks: giant bt21 shooky pillow - what’s the most warm and fuzzy scene in your wip? share an excerpt

i generally find myself in a sort of 'writer (non-practicing)' stasis and i'm not sure that any of what i'm currently working on is very warm and fuzzy, unfortunately - i have a couple of wips that will eventually, hopefully, include warm and fuzzy scenes, but none of them are quite at that point yet. here's something from a fic i wrote and didn't post at the end of the 2022 devs season (the Last of the hell years) instead!

Nico helps Jack wash his hair, combing through the locks and soaping them up. “Your haircut makes you look younger.”

Jack snorts. “I already got all the jokes about it. Draft day, right?”

“Kind of,” admits Nico. “I’m more offended you didn’t tell me you were cutting it.”

“My mom sprung it on me,” Jack answers. “She didn’t give me a chance to say no.” After a moment, he asks, “Did you like it better, before?”

Nico runs a finger up the length of Jack’s forearm. “You looked more like you,” he says eventually. “With the long hair. The haircut, it reminds me of—your first year. That kind of thing.”

“Ah,” Jack says. “Not great.”

“I watched the draft,” Nico tells him. “It was like, one in the morning in Switzerland but I woke up just to catch the first pick.”

“Do you remember what—what did you think?”

Nico curls a hand around his waist. “You looked young,” he says. “Too young to carry so much.” Half a season and his leg still hasn’t stopped hurting, not for anything.

“We’re gonna be fine,” Jack mumbles. “Seriously. We’ll be okay.” He goes quiet. “Also, I think my hair is as clean as it’ll get.”

When Jack dunks his head under the surface to rinse it off and splutters, Nico just tugs him closer to kiss him. There are soap suds sliding down both of their faces and Jack tastes exactly like he accidentally inhaled a mouthful of sandalwood-scented water, and Nico presses their foreheads together when they pull apart.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says as Jack starts to choke on the water.

“Thanks for the advice,” Jack manages to get out between coughs. “Really destroying your image of me as calm and collected right now.”

“No one has ever thought you were calm and collected,” Nico tells him, pressing his lips to the ridge of Jack’s cheekbone.

“Well, not anymore.”

Nico laughs. “The water’s getting cold,” he says, brushing a hand over Jack’s hair. They climb out and dry off on the bath mat, squished together in a space that can’t be more than twenty inches length or width-wise. Jack wrings out the towel and helps Nico squeeze the excess water out of his hair.

Somehow, they end up pressed against the cold rim of the tub, Nico sitting on the lip with his towel spread across his lap while Jack stands between his legs, bending down to kiss him. It turns sloppy so fast his head almost spins with it, the ache between his eyes receding as Jack leaves soft bites across his jaw.

Water rolls off his skin, soaking the bath mat as he pulls Jack into his lap. Jack settles back into the rhythm of kissing easily, and he tugs lightly on Nico’s hair. 

“Wait,” Nico manages to get out. “I don’t want to—flood the bathroom.”

Jack pulls back. “Oh,” he says. “Right.” He slides off Nico’s lap and points a threatening finger at him. “But this doesn’t end.” 

Stumbling back into the bedroom, Nico pulls on a pair of sweatpants, then brushes his teeth and crawls into bed. Facing the wall, he feels the mattress dip under Jack’s weight as Jack folds his arms around Nico’s hips.

“You wanna be the big spoon?” Nico mumbles into the pillow, pushing himself up to flick off the lamp.

Jack kisses the skin behind Nico’s ear. “Not really.” He yawns. “I was just stepping up to meet the demand. If you turn around I’ll give up the role.”

“Weird,” Nico says affectionately as he rolls over and hitches a leg over Jack’s thigh, face buried into the junction of his shoulder and neck with one arm thrown across his waist.

“You’re better at being the big spoon anyway.”

Nico brushes his lips over the jut between Jack’s collarbones, the spot where his chest meets his neck. “Brushed your teeth?” he asks, and Jack just responds by catching his mouth, the taste minty.

“I think we should get a pet,” Jack says against his lips. “Like a dog or something.”

“Who’s going to take care of it when we’re away?”

Jack curls a lock of Nico’s hair around his finger idly. “We could figure something out. What should we name our dog?”

“We haven’t even figured out what we’re going to do with it and you’re already moving to names?” Jack gets like this sometimes, saying things for the hell of saying them even though he knows they don’t make much sense. Nico just likes hearing his voice.

Jack shrugs. “It’s the most important part of the pet-owning process. How do you feel about human names for pets? Like, Gerald or something.”

Nico wrinkles his nose. “Definitely not.”

“I think naming our dog Quinner would be pretty funny.”

“I think your brother would never talk to you again.”

Jack gets ahold of Nico’s hand and plays with his fingers, pressing into the knuckles lightly. “We’ll workshop the name.”

Nico kisses his eyelids. “Go to sleep.”

“So that’s a no to the blowjob?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Nico says consolingly. “Just—not tonight.” 

Jack shifts until they’re pressed together with no space between their bodies, chest to chest. “Fine.” He exhales and slides his fingers between Nico’s, squeezing his hand lightly. “Love you.”

Nico smiles. “Love you too. See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” Jack hums, and then he turns his face into the pillow and he’s out. Nico matches the rhythm of his breaths until he falls asleep.

[inherstars]

The Fire Inside (Part 4 of 7)

OK, I spent most of today re-outlining everything, and I feel better about it now. Here goes nothing. Previous section here.

The boat did not pull anchor, and it did not withdraw.  Fate checked and checked the windows until Istar begged her to please leave it for the night, and she finally came away.

She made them dinner, far more than either of them could hope to eat in a sitting, but he didn’t complain.  He ate until even the dragon part of his brain decided he was in excess, and finally she stopped serving him.

With the table cleared he lit a fire in the hearth, and she sat nearby -- he on the floor, far closer to the flames than she liked, she in a padded rocker alongside, working studiously on needlepoint.

There was no reading tonight, and no discourse, despite the morning’s events.  Istar stared into the fire as if communing with it, divining something from its dance.

Finally he looked over, watching the dart of her needle.

“What is it you’re working on?”

“Oh,” she sighed.  “A banner.  I thought of it when I first saw the king’s crest.  We live in a castle… it seems only fitting we have a banner.”

“May I see?”

She tucked her needle, turning the hoop to face him.  In its frame, a heraldic black dragon reared in glossy blue-black thread.

“Sable, a dragon rampant,” she said.

Istar massaged his jaw with one hand.

“A bit on the nose.”

She turned it to face her again, studying, then shrugged and resumed her work.

“Perhaps.  But it’s too late now, I’ve already gone too far.”

He folded one arm atop the bend of his knee, watching the easy glide of the needle, the chase of blue down the black silk floss as she pulled it taut.  Now and again Fate looked at him, patient and waiting, sensing there was more than just comfort to his silence.  It took him time, but eventually he found his tongue.

“I’m bad at talking about things,” he said.

She laughed, using the needle’s point to pick at a snag.  “Goodness, am I ever glad you came to that conclusion before I had to break it to you.”

Undeterred, he continued, “But I feel there are things I should say.”

Now she paused, eyeing him between stitches.

“Alright, then. Let’s hear them.”

Istar sought the fire again, emboldened and reassured by it.

“Fate,” he began.  “How badly do you really want to stay?”

The pop of sap and the crackling settle of logs filled the gap of silence between them.  Istar gave her time, but when no answer was forthcoming he looked at her more squarely.

“The king would likely pay you very well, if you negotiated,” he said.  “No doubt he has gold to spare.  You could do whatever your heart desires.”

Where normally her embroidery soothed her, now Fate worked the linen with short, pricking, clumsy stabs, and had to stop twice as often to frog her stitches.

“You’re funny,” she crabbed.  “Talking about desire.  Not so many months ago you longed to vanish under the ocean.  And before that, to die gloriously in battle.”  She stopped, hesitating with immediate regret, and laid her hoop atop her knees.

“What good would the King’s gold be to me?” she said, shrugging emphatically.  “Would I use it to buy a pretty house?  I have that.  Summer-sweet blackberries that stain my fingers?  Casks of wine?”  Another shrug, but more limp.  “I have those as well.”

Softer, then, she said, “Would it buy me a warm fire at night, with sweet curls of smoke that make my head spin?”

He pointed at her.  “I keep telling you to take smaller breaths.”

“Would it buy me you?” she interrupted, jarring him into silence.  “...Can you, Istar, be bought for any amount of gold?”

He looked at first confused by the question, or perhaps its asking.  His gaze trailed back to the fire, head heavier with the weight of all that went on within it.  Fate picked up her work again, passing her palm across the soft layering of linen and silk.

She said, “I already have everything I want.”

Istar stared harder into the flames.

“You’re very peculiar.”

“Hm. Came to that conclusion as well, did you?”

He fixed himself more comfortably, both legs bent, arms curled loosely atop his knees.

“You’re right, of course.  I cannot be bought.  But it turns out I can be convinced.  Convinced that I am better off on an island in the middle of the sea than fathoms below it.  Convinced that perhaps there is more glory to be had watching the sun rise than dying in battle beneath it.  I, too, have everything I want.”  He swallowed, rubbing his thumb against the side of his fist.  “Or.  Very nearly.”

Fate held the loop still on her lap, watching him, breath held.  Her heart went soft.  Hopeful.

“...what else is it your heart yearns for, Istar?”

He sighed.  “I do miss a really good cut of steak.”

She made an outraged noise as she tossed the hoop to the basket by her chair, rising in a furious hurricane of skirts.

Istar’s hand snatched for her, fingers quick about her wrist, arresting her before she could storm beyond the hearth’s glow.  He didn’t restrain her -- there was only enough tension in his grasp to convey a silent, musing stay, and it was this gentility, this unspoken appeal, that stopped her in her tracks.  She looked down at him, surprised to see him smiling.

With sudden wonder Fate turned back to him, lowering to the balls of her feet.  As she’d caressed the shimmering silk, her fingertips skated softly across the rough texture of his jaw, finding the shape of his smile just as it faded again.

He didn’t know what to make of that look on her.

“What is it?” he asked.

“That’s new,” she marveled.  “Your smile.  I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you truly smile before.”

It was gone now, but he passed a palm across his mouth, searching for the ghost of it.  Unsure how to make that magic happen again, and as if to divine it by touch, he brushed a thumb across her own softly smiling lips.

Again he swallowed, thickly this time, and took back his hand.

“Fate.  I’m.  I’m… bad at talking about things.”

“Yes,” she agreed, standing slowly.  “But you can learn.”

He needed more time to stare into the fire and regroup.  Fate squeezed his shoulder, retaking her rocker, picking up her embroidery from the basket.  She selected a bobbin of red silk from the collection, holding and tilting it to the light like a gemstone, watching the shift of light back and forth.

The dragon should be holding a red heart in its foretalons, she decided.  A heart gules.  It would be tricky, now that she was a bit nearer to being done, but it would be worth it.

As she threaded the needle, she asked, “Why did you ask me this question, to begin with?”

Still he stared into the hearth.

“Merely to gauge your thoughts.”

“Mm.  And now you know them.”

“I do.”  He looked up at her.  “And so we will stay.”

Fate’s needle dipped and flew, the light off the silk like a dart of blood.  Slowly the shape of a heart took shape between the dragon’s claws.

“They won’t like that.”

“Pity for them.”  Istar sabled his voice.  “I’m not in the habit of weighing the desires of my prey.”

Continued here.

[chershire23]

My Special One

Chapter 8

Slanted is Na'vi

Riely pov

It's been a few days since I started this stupid period, everything hurts, and I get so emotional so easily. I know my family says I'm Na'vi but I now know for a fact I am of the sky people, and I hate myself for it. Except for Grace all the sky people do is take and destroy. I wish I had been born a true Na'vi then maybe the people wouldn't look at me weird now that we know what i truly am. For now though i'm hiding in my secret place away from everyone. It's a little underground cave that I have turned into a little hut of my own, and its entrance is small enough that I only have to slightly bend down to get in. Yet if a true Na'vi tried to get in they would have to crawl on their belly to do so.

I know my parents will come looking for me eventually but for now all I want to do is curl up in my soft makeshift nest of blankets and pillows that I took from home and cry and sleep. As I lay here I soon hear soft footsteps outside my hideout, and I know exactly who it is. You know, your mother and father are going to tie you to the main post of your family hut for this little stunt you have pulled. Tsu'tey calls out as he crawls through the opening of my hideout. I start counting down in my head. 3, 2, 1, now. And right on cue I hear Tsu'tey grunts and as his head finally pokes out at the end of the small tunnel that makes up my entrance. You're stuck, aren't you. I ask not even bothering to look at him. I hear him start to grunt as he wiggles around in the entrance till I hear him let out a big grunt. No, I'm not. He says as he manages to pull himself in.

I'm lucky that my hideout is big enough to fit at least three fully grown Na'vi, otherwise it would have been really cramped in here and I really don't need that at the moment. I still refuse to look at Tsu'tey as he crawls into my nest with me. Why won't you look at me Ma little Riely? He asks me as he rubs my shoulder. I heave a sigh as I shake his hand off my shoulder and move away. Because I am a disgusting demon that should not be here. I say as I settle on the other side of my nest. I hear Tsu'tey let out a low short growl and the next thing I know his hand grabs my ankle and I'm being dragged across the nest and pinned down with Tsu'tey on top of me. You listen to me and you listen will Riely. He says and he said just my name, no nickname before or anything so I knew I was in trouble.

You are my best friend. Not only are you my best friend but you are the only one who has ever truly seen me. He starts. But most importantly you are not a demon. Eywa made you, she made you and gave you a life here on Pandora when she led your mother to you that fateful night. She led your family to you. Now I have no idea why she made you the way she did but I do know one thing. As he continues his eyes gloss over a bit. You may look like one of those aliens, demons whatever they are but you are not one of them. You breathe our air, they do not. You connect with the forest and the animals here, they do not. They only destroy and hurt everything they touch, but you, you heal and respect everything around you. As he says this as he cups my head with his hand and my eyes fill with tears.

Sure, you may look like them but unlike the sky people you are not ugly or disgusting, even though you may think you are. In fact, you are extremely beautiful and let me tell you just how beautiful you are. He continues on as he then grabs a strand of my hair. Your hair is like the glowing embers of a fire. So bright that they glow red with passion. His hands then move to grab one of my arms, his thumbs caressing my skin. While your stars may not glow like the rest of ours do in the night, there are more of them on your body than the rest of the clans combined. I chuckle at his exaggeration, but he then held me to him in a constricting hug. You are also one of the most kindhearted people in this world. You have so much respect for the surroundings around you, and the animals respect you as well. You are surely a gift from Eywa.

I then start crying into his shoulder as he holds me. As of this moment I feel as if he is my only friend in the whole of Pandora. He continues to hold me as I cry, rocking me back and forth. We stayed like that for what felt like hours when in reality it had only been minutes. After I finished crying I looked up at him. Thank you for always being there for me Tsu'tey. You always know how to cheer me up. I tell him as I hug him tighter. As I go to hug him again I soon jump up in a panic due to feeling the period blood seep slightly down my inner thigh. I'm so sorry but I must clean myself. I tell him as I go to move another section of my cave. I can help you if you need it. Tsu'tey says as he goes to stand up. Ew no you're not touching me there. That area is reserved for myself and my future mate only. I tell him.

Tsu'tey gets this weird look in his eyes before he smiles and says. As you wish I shall wait for you outside. As he turns to leave I shout at him. Don't let your fat butt let you get stuck again yeah. He turns his head around and hisses at me then starts to wiggle his way out of the cave. As I got to clean myself up I started to wonder what the look he got meant and if I would ever see it again to find out. I shake the thought out of my head and go to finish up changing out these stupid pads as they are called and dispose of them. When I finish, I meet Tsu'tey outside and we start to head home. Soon i find out that Tsu'tey was not exaggerating when he said mom and dad were going to tie me up for taking off because as soon as we stepped foot into home tree i am pounced on by both Neytiri and Slywanin who then take me to the family hut where i am tied up and then surrounded by my parents and sisters in a sleep pile with me in the middle. I then think to myself that my life could not get better or worse than this. For i shall forever have my parents and both my sisters by my side.

(if you ever want updates on when chapters will next be out and how far along with the story I am please give me a follow. I put out an announcement every time I post a new chapter and let my readers know how far threw the next chapter I am.)

[ofwrxth]

BASICS

Name: Elliot Cross

Age & Birthday: 33, December 20, 1989

Gender/Pronouns: cisman & he/his

Birthplace: Atlanta, GA

Time in Hollow Cove: 3 years (November 2020)

Species: Werewolf – Cross Pack

Role: runner but actively volunteers as soldier, watcher and patrol – anything that takes him out of town and gives him the opportunity to search.

Positive traits: good-natured, humorous, intelligent, pensive

Negative traits: anxious, reactive, sarcastic, unreliable, 

ABOUT

Growing up in the Cross Pack meant growing up under the iron fist of Jeffrey Cross, their Alpha and father. Neither Elliot nor his brothers had a particularly happy childhood but they had each other and that’s the only thing that kept Elliot going. The grueling physical challenges that their father put them through were only the tip of the iceberg. Jeffrey was an unforgiving man, unforgiving of softness, of any perceived weakness, and he saw all of that in Elliot. He seemed as determined to break his youngest’s spirits as he was his bones. 

But little Elliot had his brothers by his side, pulling him up and helping him every step of the way. And though he always felt like he was more like his mother than his father, or wished he was, that Cross temper could get the best of him just like it did his brothers. 

When it came to the shift, Elliot struggled more than his brothers. He felt every break and bend and snap of his bones, the physical turmoil driving him to emotional distress, even in his wolf form. It was like this for years, his anxiety ratcheting up ahead of every full moon. It made him more of a target for Jeff’s anger and it made him hate himself even more. Everyone in their pack seemed to find it easier the more they shifted but Elliot would feel like a shell of himself for days after. And he knew that his brothers, Hunter in particular, tried to shield him from Jeffrey’s disgust and ire. 

But for years he’d always felt like the faller, the person who was making things worse for his family. The one who didn’t fit quite right. The broken piece. When he was nineteen, Elliot made a plan to leave home. His only focus was to stop being a liability. To stop costing his brothers so much when they took the brunt of anger on his behalf. He’d convinced himself they were better off without him. He’d nearly done it too when Hunter stopped him, all but forcing Elliot to stay lest Jeff find him and kill him for deserting. 

Years passed and there were pockets of time, weeks and sometimes months, when things got better for him. But when their mom died ten years ago, that rocked his foundation, sending him spinning again. Eventually, he finally found equilibrium. When the Alvarez family settled in Atlanta, Elliot was drawn to Isla. Their unlikely story started with them being at each other’s throats constantly before, eventually, their relationship grew into something more. It was one of the few things that brought Elliot true joy. She helped him with his shifts and was able to reach through the dark periods that followed, pulling him back into the light. He was thirty when, two years after their relationship started, they welcomed little Catalina Cross into the world. Cece became another beacon of light in Elliot’s life, Isla and their daughter filling his world in a way he never thought he deserved.

And maybe he didn’t. When the world changed three years ago, a year after Cece's birth, their lives crashed down around them. Elliot was separated from Isla and Cece in the chaos of the Atlanta Massacre. He knew that Isla would keep moving, so he did as well, leaving messages in different safe havens and with any wolves he encountered before coming to Hollow Cove. It’s been three years and they’ve taken a toll on the youngest Cross whose only resolve comes from his brother’s unwavering support and his own determination to find Isla and his daughter. Whether or not he deserves them in his life, they’re one of the few things he’s got worth fighting for. He’s constantly mapping out new towns to go to and new routes to try, one of his brothers usually in tow despite the risks. Elliot refuses to give up but each dead end wears on him, slowly but surely eroding his soul. And some nights, when he’s at his very lowest, he’ll shift just to feel the pain of something other than loss.

[covenantofthedeep]

can i have a hug? ☆

feat. | childe, sucrose, zhongli, kokomi, and ningguang! summary | sitting near each other, but not touching, had always been what you did. but it’s been a shitty, exhausting day, and you wanted a hug.  author's note | i hope you enjoy!! ive been really tired lately and this was totally self-indulgent.. but anyway! and jj, as per your request: @genshin-impact-writings

tartaglia | 

he stiffens at first, when you lean against him and bury your face in the crook of his neck. he relaxes, though, wrapping you in his warm embrace. 

you end up sagging against him (kind of a half-slump towards the ground) and he tightens his arms around you. “i’m so tired,” you mumble into his chest. 

he smiles against your head and bends down. and with one quick swoop, he lifts you into his arms in a sort of bridal carry (though you’re protesting, you’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe) and carries you to the couch, setting you down. he tickles you, causing you to gasp out, “stop! truce! enough!”

he sits next to you, smiling. you lean against him, laughing still. “feeling better?”

when you nod, he kisses your cheek. “good.”

sucrose | 

the sweetie that she is, she blushes when you loop your arms around her neck and drape against her.

she’ll stroke your hair or pat your back, not quite sure of what to do. she tries her hardest though, sweet thing. 

eventually, you’ll tug her against your shoulder and the two of you spend ages like that, tucked in each other’s arms. she looks peaceful like this; her face relaxed and her brow smooth. joy wells up inside you, tamping down your earlier unhappiness about your day. 

she traces the lines of your face with her finger, smiling slightly when you pepper her cheeks with kisses. “i love you,” you say into her ear.

“i love you too,” she whispers, burrowing against you.

ningguang | 

ningguang’s the one that notices how agitated you look. she pulls you towards her, sighing. she’ll run her fingers over your shoulders and kiss your cheek. she wants you to laugh and smile.  

you kiss her, relaxing against her and taking her hand. she threads her fingers through yours, squeezing your hand. 

she lets you sit like that, her arm draped over your shoulders, your face pressed into her shoulder. 

she doesn’t mind it; in fact, she makes sure you’re as comfortable as possible, urging you to lay down. you give in, and she smoothes your hair away from your forehead, your head resting in her lap.

she winks at you. “rest well. we can go out to dinner tomorrow.”

zhongli | 

his voice is low and soft when he asks you if you’re okay when you lean in for hug and all the strength goes out of your limbs. you lean all your weight against him and he stiffens slightly. 

he relaxes, though, wrapping you firmly in his arms. he’ll press a kiss to the top of your head, or your forehead. it’s clear how tired you are, your eyes drifting shut even as you smile at him. 

he’ll take care not to move you at all, the sappy romantic he is, and you’ll fall asleep like that. although it’s kind of uncomfortable for him, he doesn’t mind.

when you wake up, he smiles at you. “sleep well?” 

he insists on you sleeping more and leads you to the bed. he makes sure you’re comfortable first before he settles down. you fall asleep in seconds, and he tucks the covers over you. 

sangonomiya kokomi | 

kokomi lets you settle against her. “ah, hard days. i know all about those,” she says softly, stroking your cheek. 

her touch is cool on your skin, and, as she works, you sit with her, making sure to not disturb her too much. 

at one point, you shift your position, and she looks up, alarmed. “oh, were you not comfortable?” 

after assuring her that you were, she settles back again, threading her fingers through your hair. she hums softly as she works, the noise a soothing backdrop to your thoughts. 

she’s so gentle with you, and so sweet. and you do the same in return. <3  

______________________________________________________________

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[imagining-in-the-margins]

Get Lucky (S.R.)

Summary: The fire alarm in your apartment building goes off at 3AM after a pipe bursts in the middle of winter. You are soaked and you left your wallet in the apartment. You only (barely) know the FBI agent who lives in the building, but he offers to share his jacket, and eventually a hotel room, with you. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Strangers to lovers, only one bed trope, kissing, oral sex (female receiving), face-sitting, penetrative sex, protected sex (condom), implied weight for Reader (she wears his shirt/boxers) Word Count: 8.1k

MASTERLIST

There was supposed to be something romantic about winter nights in the city. The poorly maintained lighting was supplemented with colorful bulbs that caught every snowflake. Each frozen lattice refracted the light and littered the air with rainbows. For a few hours, while Washington, D.C. slept, the prismatic powder would cut through the smog.

There was usually a purity, a serenity to the city soaked in snow. But that night, as I stood in three inches of snow in already drenched slippers, I only had one thought regarding the world around me.

“It’s fucking freezing out here!”

My voice didn’t echo back to me, and instead dissipated into distant honking of an insistent fire truck slowly fighting its way through construction gridlock at 3am.

I hadn’t expected anyone to answer my cry, which had been borne out of frustration and apathy for everything around me that moment.

But someone did answer. And oh boy, did he piss me off.

“It’s actually only 35 degrees, so we’re 3 degrees off,” the man corrected what was an obvious hyperbole.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything to explain just how close this man had come to death. But when I finally turned and spotted the sleepy smile of my neighbor, I couldn’t help but soften at the sight. His eyes were barely open behind foggy glasses he’d thrown on in a hurry and he was swaddled in a chunky cardigan that must’ve been three times his size. It might as well have been a blanket.

A warm, cuddly, insanely soft looking…

“But in your defense, I think we’re close enough for it to count,” he interrupted as effortlessly as ever.

I smiled even though it felt like it should be impossible under the circumstances. Even though I couldn’t feel my ears that were suddenly burning as my face flushed with heat when I saw his eyes quickly scan my body.

“You were about 3 degrees away from getting your ass kicked,” I warned playfully.

He smiled. Then he made it worse.

“Yeah, it’s probably not the best ice breaker right now,” he snickered.

“Say one more cold thing, I dare you.”

With both hands in the air (in a very inviting way), he immediately conceded to my fury.

“Sorry!” he laughed through the surrender, “I’ll stop talking.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I grumbled, “It’s a nice distraction from the fact I can’t feel my toes.”

I looked down at the offending digits as if my glaring would make them any warmer. But it did nothing to make that contradictory burn any less painful when I’d tried to move them.

While I was trying to bend the laws of thermodynamics, however, my neighbor had decided to work within their confines to find a solution. One that consisted of him stripping off his comfy cardigan and baring his arms to the cold.

“Here,” he offered, holding out the knit fabric. “I don’t have anything for your feet, but I do have this.”

I suppose a better person would’ve refused at least once before they took it, but I was not a better person. I was a cold motherfucker standing in the snow with wet socks, so I snatched the cardigan without a single second’s hesitation. As I wrestled to put it on, I swore I saw him smile at just how eager I had been to wear his clothes.

Once I was settled, and a few degrees warmer thanks to his body heat, I sighed, “You’re a lifesaver. Aren’t you going to get cold, though?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m freezing,” he admitted bluntly enough that it made us both laugh. Then, to make me feel at least a little better about torturing the poor boy, he continued, “But I’m also not all wet, so…”

The thought was interrupted by the blaring fire engine horn as it barreled down the street to the building that was most definitely not on fire. The flashing lights illuminated similarly colored Christmas decorations, and I tried to find beauty in the free, albeit shitty, light show.

“Do you think they’ll let us back in tonight?” I wondered aloud.

“Probably, but… Not for a while,” he answered with that annoying honesty. “The pipe burst in your apartment, right? I saw the water.”

“Yeah. I’m basically Murphy’s Law personified.”

“Funny. That’s usually my line,” he chuckled.

While I probably should’ve been offended by how much joy he found in my misfortune, I couldn’t help but join him. There was little else to do when you found yourself half-frozen and swaddled in your cute neighbor’s cardigan that smelled like cinnamon and vanilla.

“Yeah? Tough. You’ve been out-bad-lucked,” I said before sticking out my tongue.

His eyes darted down to it with a startling speed. In the vibrant red light, I watched his lips part to make way for his own tongue sweeping over them. But before the fantasies got too far, he cleared his throat and shattered the moment.

“I’m probably going to go drive to the closest hotel. Did you want a ride?”

“I have a car,” I responded on instinct. After all, it wasn’t often that men offered a ride that didn’t come with ulterior motives. I was satisfied that I’d made the right decision in reacting quickly… until I started to run the mental checklist of where my essentials were.

It was only then that I realized just how badly I’d fucked up.

“… But my keys are upstairs,” I sighed before hanging my head in shame, “… and so is my wallet.”

I was convinced that the worst thing he could’ve responded with was pity, or some white-knight offer to save me from my own misfortune. But much to my chagrin — and in an odd, contradictory way, my delight — he responded in a different way.

He laughed.

“Wow… you really are unlucky.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you are very punchable?” I squeaked back immediately, only for him to answer just as quickly, “No, usually they just hit me.”

“Well, now I just feel bad for you. Thanks a lot.”

Again, the self-assured grin he flashed might’ve been off-putting if he hadn’t been so damn charming at the same time. Still, it stoked my competitive spirit a little too well. How nice it would be, I thought, to wipe it right off his face. How sweet a sight it would be for him to be so overwhelmed that he could barely even manage to speak.

“What are you going to do, then?” he asked.

“What? About what?” I answered in the guiltiest possible way.

His eyebrows jumped in response to my quick and confusing reply, but he was kind enough to clarify nonetheless, “Is there someone you can call? A… boyfriend? Or something?”

Smooth move, neighbor boy.

“No, not really. My phone is also upstairs, probably under a foot of water.”

I wasn’t sure I could make it any more pathetic, but somehow, I managed.

“And truth be told, even if I had it I… wouldn’t know who to call. I just moved here a couple months ago and I don’t really leave the house much. Unlike you.”

The ever-attentive listener just nodded along in agreement. While I would normally call bullshit on someone else being as much of a hermit as I had been the past few months, I had already accepted that the strange man next door was anything but normal.

There was something comforting about him, which was hard to say about someone who looked so damn anxious all the time. But there I was, swaddled in his comfortable clothes while his shoulders were damp with snow that clung to unruly brown curls.

And that was the same moment that I realized something terrible.

“You’re basically the only person I know in D.C., and I don’t even know your name.”

I turned to find a contemplative look behind somewhat foggy glasses. There would only need to be a few seconds of silence longer before I wouldn’t be able to recover the embarrassment that was my own audacity.

“Isn’t that sad?” I asked, and he gave the most curious answer.

“Spencer,” he said.

“What?”

“My name is Spencer.”

It suited him. I couldn’t say why, but I knew it had. There was something equally soft about the way it sounded. I mouthed the name, imagining how easily it could roll off the tongue. I was too scared to say it out loud for fear of messing it up — that I wouldn’t say it well enough for the surprisingly bold, peculiar man with mismatched fuzzy socks shoved in slippers on a snow-covered sidewalk.

The same one who was looking at me with a barely put together smile as he chuckled, “Most people would say their name at this point. Unless it actually is Murphy. In which case, I think I’m being rude again.”

Through embarrassment and laughter, I finally offered, “My name is (y/n).”

Spencer responded with… a much more interesting offer.

“Okay, well, (y/n), would you like to come with me to the hotel?”

I’d heard of hearts skipping a beat, but I’d never felt it before that moment. I was half convinced it would stop altogether. Clutching my chest and choking on the word, I managed to ask, “W-What?”

“I know it sounds weird, and I really don’t want to freak you out, but I just really don’t like the idea of you being out here all night,” he explained in a rational, matter-of-fact manner. But behind that awkward monotone was a concern that I desperately wanted to be genuine.

One thing I’d learned about Spencer thus far was that, while he was an oddball, he was a perceptive one. He knew that I was weighing the pros and cons of following a near-stranger to a hotel room in the middle of the night.

And deciding to skip the scales… in some direction, he decided to blurt out, “I promise I’m not a serial killer. I’m actually the exact opposite.”

“What? A mother?”

“Come on,” he drawled, wisely choosing to avoid explanation and instead make more comforting promises. “You don’t even have to sleep. You can leave the door open and the lights on.”

“Oh, if I’m getting in a bed, I will be going to sleep. Even if you’re in it.”

“Oh,” he squeaked before falling suddenly, uncharacteristically silent.

My cheeks started to burn in the absence of his voice, as I had started to develop the sinking feeling that I had said something wrong. The only problem was that I had no idea why what I’d said deserved such a scandalous reaction, considering he was the one inviting me into a hotel room.

So, like a normal person, I asked, “What?”

Spencer cleared his throat, but even that didn’t seem to dislodge the lump in his throat. He tried again.

When that failed, he chose to answer with bright red cheeks and a weak, scratchy voice, “I-I mean… I was going to get two beds.”

“Oh. Yeah, duh!” I said much too loud and accompanied with an awkward, guilty laughter, “I mean, yeah, of course you did. I meant… the room.”

If my ineloquent rambling accomplished anything, it was convincing him that I was most certainly lying. But he must not have minded my perverted tendencies, because he was smirking like the cat that got the canary when he whispered back, “Right.”

“But I would kill for body heat right now, not gonna lie,” I responded to justify my previous — inaccurate — assumption. I’d expected him to return with his own flirtatious banter.

He chose… a different route.

“If you kill them they wouldn’t be very warm. At least not for long.”

“Dude, aren’t you supposed to be convincing me you aren’t a serial killer?”

Spencer just sort of shrugged as if to emphasize his point. And call me crazy, but I couldn’t help but find the whole thing insanely adorable.

Even when he whispered with a sudden shyness, “… Is that a no, then?”

“Ugh. I guess it’s a yes,” I said with a roll of my eyes that strongly contradicted the smile stretched across my cheeks.

Spencer let out a deep, satisfied sigh before he mumbled, “What every guy loves to hear from a pretty girl. A reluctant, begrudging ‘I guess.’”

Despite his words to the contrary, though, he looked downright pleased with himself when his hand found my lower back. Staying as gentlemanly as possible, he guided me through the crowd of our neighbors in the direction of the parking lot.

The silence would’ve been uncomfortable if it hadn’t been for the unending contact. Even when we finally made it to the beat up blue Volvo, he insisted on helping me into the car with hand in frozen hand.

The car roared to life, blasting cold air into the cabin and reminding me just how damp I really was. It strongly contrasted the way my body was burning in the two places he’d touched me, but I couldn’t let him know how fast I’d grown fond of his touch. So, naturally, I did what any girl would do.

I threatened him with violence.

“I will throw myself out of your car if you’re creepy.”

“Duly noted,” he agreed in stride.

I figured that he’d deserved at least a little bit of sympathy, considering I was still cozily settled in his cardigan while the poor thing was a chattering, shivering mess.

At the same time, I cursed him for somehow looking good while puffing hot breath into his closed hands. Those silly grandpa glasses fogged up immediately, but he didn’t let it discourage him from continuing whatever method he could of warming up any small part of him.

Deciding to be a little compassionate, I reached forward and grabbed his hands. He seemed surprised, or at least confused, for a couple seconds. That was, until I began vigorously rubbing my also freezing hands over the top of his. Then, he was just smiling. Beaming, really.

I had to do something to combat the overly affectionate way he was looking at me. Unfortunately, the best thing I could come up with was, “I’m sorry I’m going to make your car all wet.”

“Oh! Right,” he squeaked, not moving his hands from mine but throwing his head towards the backseat as he explained, “I uh, I have extra clothes in the back of my car if you… want to change when we get there.”

And then we were back to square one, with the both of us being way too nice to each other for strangers about to (potentially) share a bed.

Pushing his hands back towards the wheel, I moved my own to the heater now blasting lukewarm arm and pointed out casually, “That will not stop your car from getting wet, but I appreciate the offer.”

“Well, I can’t ask you to change now,” he drawled sarcastically. He waited until I turned a quirked brow to him before he explained, “You said you would throw yourself out of my car if I was creepy, and I’m pretty sure telling you to strip before I let you in is firmly in ‘creep’ territory.”

“How considerate of you,” I laughed.

For all the oddities about him, there was no denying that Spencer was clever. Cute, too, if I hadn’t made that obvious enough. His stature, held up with horrendous posture, reminded me of someone who would be easy to push around. But that dark undercurrent in his eyes told me the exact opposite.

Always brief, always fleeting — there was a darkness inside of him somewhere. And despite my curious nature, I had no intention of seeing that side of him that night. I was more interested in the more obvious. The compassion of a man who would give his only source of warmth to his dripping, cursing neighbor.

The warmth in hazel eyes was still obscured by the soft layer of fog borne from his cheeks. Now that we were away from the red lights of the fire engine, I could tell that he had been blushing after all.

He was peculiar, but charming. Maybe that explained why, of all the flirting and witty banter, he remembered one thing above all else.

“So you’ve lived here a few months and haven’t made any friends?”

Then, like it always seemed to happen with the two of us, he clarified the possible insult before I could bite his head off.

“I thought that only happened to me.”

“Ha. Yeah, we’re a match made in heaven, apparently,” I sighed.

Once again dedicated to correcting the most obvious of metaphors, he bounced his head back and forth for a second before he broke down and had to say something.

“Or hell, depending on how you look at it,” he decided.

But if he’d wanted to figure out which divine cosmic eternity we would end up in, I was more than happy to help him figure it out.

“I will crash this car,” I deadpanned. The apathetic show earned me a chuckle, which then broke into a more entertained laughter after another moment of silence.

“You’re very violent,” he muttered under his breath.

There was no worry that he’d been put off by the threats, though. If anything, he looked downright enamored with me when his eyes quickly jumped over to see if he’d made me smile.

He had. Arrogant little shit.

“Yeah, you better watch out,” I warned in an attempt not to let things get too chummy.

That time, he was happy to follow my lead.

“You know, I never stopped to ask. Did I agree to room with a serial killer?”

“Yep. And you’re going to pay for it,” I shot back a little too quickly for comfort.

So, I turned to him to reassure him, but he was already looking at me. Not just a glance this time, either — his stare was so full of wonderment that it actually made me choke on the clarification that made its way out, anyway.

“The room, I mean.”

“Of course,” he said with a curious little smile.

He said nothing else. Neither did I. Not because I hadn’t wanted to, but because I couldn’t quiet the butterflies swirling through my chest.

The drive was both regrettably and thankfully brief. Regrettable because I had the feeling that once we were actually in private, we would both lose our nerve. Nonetheless, I was thankful because I was pretty sure if he said one more clever, infuriating thing to me, I was going to jump him in the hotel lobby.

That fear did not wane in the slightest once we were there. The sterile, cookie-cutter lobby left much to be desired, but it was still a more romantic atmosphere than standing outside in the (not-quite) freezing cold. It was also the first opportunity for me to ogle him with impunity, albeit from a distance.

That night wasn’t the first time that I’d noticed him. It wasn’t the first time I’d wanted him, either. There had been many brief meetings that my mind had chosen to fixate on. Many fantasies to be weaved from small smiles and peripheral glances.

But as I watched him glance over at me between the awkward exchanges of information with the front desk, I realized that the reality was very different from the fantasy.

It wasn’t a bad thing. Just different. In fact, when he finally started to make his way back to me, I realized that I preferred this version of him. The real one.

The Spencer that was stumbling over his own words and fumbling even more awkwardly with the two keycards shoved into one envelope.

“So… I have some awkward news. It’s sort of funny, really, if you think about it. Fitting, too, considering the trend of your night—"

“There’s only one bed, isn’t there?”

A stiff, dejected nod was his only answer.

My response, however, was two-fold. With a cluck of my tongue, I shook my head and sighed, “Such a cliché.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whined, almost like he hadn’t realized just how excited the news had made me. He remained solemn and serious as ever while he continued to explain, “I even asked them if they had an extra cot but they just sort of shrugged, which… isn’t a very helpful reply.”

Oh, Spencer, I thought with a dreamy sigh he wouldn’t understand, What am I going to do with you?

“Hey, like I said, I’m sleeping in that bed whether you’re in it or not.”

That odd man continued to fidget but made no meaningful movement. I could see on his face how terrified he’d been that he’d made a number of mistakes to lead him here.

But even with the horrifying, soul-crushing awkwardness that was this situation, I still got the feeling that he had wanted this all as badly as I did. He was just too scared to make it known.

Different from the fantasies.

Better than the fantasies.

“Come on, I’m literally standing in a puddle.”

As I ushered him forward towards the general direction of the elevator, I didn’t hesitate to lock my arm with his. I greedily stole his body heat and bolstered both of our confidence with a boldness that couldn’t be ignored. And despite being drenched, exhausted, and nervous, I smiled.

Because contrary to what he’d believed, my luck was finally starting to turn around.

Despite the chill still emanating from my bones, I almost welcomed the cold porcelain floor of the hotel bathroom. That oxymoronic burn was the only thing keeping me grounded. Even the normally sterile smell of the building was lessened by the comforting aroma of vanilla and cinnamon that seemed soaked into Spencer’s clothing.

I pressed the impossibly soft shirt against my face and refused to feel guilty for it. I let the thought of his kindness and his innocence stoke the flames that had burst from the sparks of his smile. I swaddled myself in the well-loved clothing and imagined a world where this was a regular occurrence, rather than an odd circumstance of combined misfortune.

But just as my fingers began fiddling with buttons, I had a thought. Just the one. Lifting my head to look in the mirror, I saw the opportunity to make something more out of an otherwise pitiful night. There I stood, with his boxers tightly hugging my hips and his shirt resting gently on my shoulders.

Then, with not a single button done and the bare skin of my chest visible, I opened the door.

I didn’t leave at first. I just peeked my head out from the door until I spotted the man. His legs were bouncing so intensely that I could hear the sheets rustling below him. It felt wrong to bother him, but I knew that — if I played my cards right — he would appreciate the distraction.

“Hey Spencer?”

“Yeah?” he answered faster than should be humanly possible. His head turned just as quickly, his eyes landing on me with perfect precision like he’d manifested the moment through sheer force of will.

“Could you help me?” I asked, and he found nothing odd about the request. He’d had no reason to. Not yet.

Not until I stepped out into the light.

“With wh—?”

The poor thing had only barely stood from his seat before he fell back down. His legs, once shaking, were now paralyzed in place. His eyes were also frozen as I’d been a few minutes earlier.

“My fingers are still numb, and the buttons are hard to get,” I explained.

Spencer didn’t respond. He just continued to stare at me with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. When he was able to compel himself to move, to do anything other than ogle a mostly naked woman, he was unsuccessful. His stare merely became affixed on the space above my fingers that loosely held the shirt shut.

Taking his silence as something akin to acceptance, I took a step forward. Then, when he didn’t object, I took another, and another. I didn’t stop until my thighs were resting gently against his knees.

It was then I realized that his legs actually were still moving, just in a different way than before. In fact, his whole body was filled with energy.

That poor, sweet thing was trembling.

“Spencer?” I called.

“Y-Yeah. Yeah, sure. I can…” he started with a stumbling tongue and his pitch growing higher with each syllable. “I can help b-button your shirt… which is… my shirt… on you.”

I almost felt bad about it, too. I almost felt bad for torturing him when he’d been nothing but sweet to me. But the rest of me felt something else; something powerful and encouraged by the deep red shade creeping up his neck.

“Thanks!”

To his credit, though, his hands were surprisingly skillful. It took me a second to remember that it had been his shirt, after all. But for all his ability, he seemed to be taking his time. Starting at my stomach, he slowly made his way up to more dangerous territory. I couldn’t blame him for being afraid to touch me there just yet.

Which was why it was particularly odd to me that he hadn’t shrunk away. If anything, he’d grown closer. Then, with one swift and powerful tug on the sides of the shirt, he almost succeeded in pulling me straight onto his lap.

But just before my knees buckled, I caught myself. My arms wrapped around his neck and my hands grabbed the mousy brown curls that were far softer than I ever could’ve imagined.

Soft like his shirt, soft like his eyes, and his smile. Soft like everything about him.

I thought that I’d figured him out, but I had been wrong. Because the next time he spoke, it was quiet, but it was anything but soft.

“Interesting,” was all he’d said.

When he didn’t expand on the thought, it was my turn to be nervous.

Without releasing my hold on him, I made the only sound I felt capable of making and hummed, “Hm?”

His answer came, swift and playful and sending a chill down my spine.

“You lied.”

At the same time as the words hit me, his pointer finger dipped beneath the fabric of the shirt. He dragged his knuckle down my sternum like a dare, and I realized that I’d dramatically underestimated his ability to be something other than soft.

There was something sharp, something dark in his stare when he slowly leaned back against my hands tangled in his hair. He smiled while my heart beat hard enough that I was sure he could feel it against his finger still roaming the bare skin of my chest.

Then, he chuckled, “Your hands aren’t cold at all.”

I had been caught.

But I had not given up.

His words were issued like a dare, and so, I accepted it. Filled with spite and a little bit of embarrassment, I stole back the power by taking his lips with my own. I kissed him and was met with no resistance.

He was every bit as sweet as I’d hoped he would be. Even though his glasses bumped against my nose, I didn’t hate the feeling of cold metal and foggy glass. I welcomed every part of him, including his hands as they left my chest in favor of my waist.

Spencer hoisted me onto him the best he could, but it was never going to be graceful. It was silly and messy and fun the entire time we struggled to find our way to the top of the massive king-sized bed.

We never really made it, either. We made it as far as we’d needed to and abandoned any unnecessary effort. But our ideas of necessary clearly differed. Because as soon as I pulled away from him, his hands were quick to bring me back in for another kiss.

Hot, heavy breath filled the little space between us with a gentle dew that our tongues would forever chase after. His was more adventurous than mine, but I didn’t mind. It was hard to feel anything but lust when he’d begun his descent down my neck. Still, the goosebumps raised, our bodies on high alert from something entirely different from the cold.

I couldn’t stand it any longer. Each time he kissed me, each whimper and moan against my skin felt like fire in my veins. I had to do something to hurry him along because I wasn’t convinced my frozen bones would be able to handle the blaze. I would choke on the steam before we ever got a chance to feel the unique kiss of ice and fire.

I tore myself away despite his insistence. To my surprise, and disappointment, he was more willing to let me go than I’d hoped. Then again, it was hard to be upset when he didn’t let the new position stop him from worshipping whatever was in front of him.

Trying my hardest to ignore the steady line of kisses he was laying down my stomach, I reached for my purse on the bedside table. I was on a mission that I knew he would thank me for later, the same as I would thank him for the cool trail of spit he left behind on heated skin.

As soon as I’d managed to dig the condom from my purse, however, Spencer decided he was also tired of waiting. Boxers be damned, he didn’t let the fabric stop him from wrapping his arms around my hips. Then, with another quick, impossibly powerful motion, he brought my hips down to bury his face between my thighs.

The gasp that he’d elicited was nothing compared to the deep, rolling moan that followed as he puffed hot breath against the flimsy fabric. His lips continued their motions, his tongue still swirling despite the barrier. He paid it no mind because we could both still feel it. The quickly growing dampness that threatened to bring me crumbling down before I’d ever had a chance to even touch him.

As hard as it was, I had to stop him. Exactly like before, he whined as I left him, but he still let me go. I couldn’t help but laugh when I did look down. Spencer’s glasses were crooked and had completely fogged over from the sudden change in temperature as he stayed begging and whimpering between my legs.

“Oh, aren’t you the sweetest, most pathetic little thing,” I cooed as I reached down to pull his glasses off. I’d done it for no reason other than missing the sight of soft caramel eyes.

But I had not been prepared for what I would find. That dazed, lovesick stare filled with desire for more.

“Please. Please let me,” he begged, all the while pawing at the clothing keeping us apart. He could have pulled the boxers down if he’d tried, but he stubbornly waited for permission. Until then, he continued with his pitiful pleading, “It’s not fair to tease me like that. I want to make you feel good, please.”

The sound was like music to my ears. I had no reservations about my answer.

“By all means,” I sighed happily, “go right on ahead.”

But for the second time that night, I realized that I had underestimated Spencer. His response to permission was as quick and strong as ever. His arms, still wrapped safely around my thighs, exerted even more force to pull me right where he’d wanted me.

I was barely able to follow his instructions fast enough for his liking, but eventually, I fell back onto the bed with a light bounce. Like inertia of the best kind, Spencer jumped up from his spot and tore the boxers — his boxers — down my legs until there was nothing else in his way.

And at first, I just laid there, rubbing my legs together and waiting for him to pry them apart again. But that wasn’t what he’d done. Instead, Spencer grabbed hold of me and used his entire body weight to pull me back on top of him.

It wasn’t until then, when my trembling arms were resting besides his head, that I’d realized what he wanted. His hands, strong and broad across the back of my thighs, he urged me closer.

I obeyed, forgetting for a moment that I was supposed to be the one in charge. But the eager boy below me was more than happy to give up control. The closer he came to his treasure, the more his body squirmed with energy.

There was still a softness about him. Still something gentle, something sweet in the way he peppered my thighs with light kisses when I was finally close enough to touch. Insistent hands remained on me at all times, although they roamed the space more freely.

It almost felt like he was memorizing each inch of me before he’d moved on to the next. But before I knew it, he was ready. Applying pressure to the small of my back, he pulled me down.

At first, I hesitated. I hovered above his face and I tried to will my body to stop shaking. But the sudden shock of the heat after coming in from the cold made every puff of his breath burn.

One of my hands found his fluffy hair once more. The other, however, sought out the headboard. It would turn out to be the smartest decision I’d made all night, because not soon after I’d grabbed it had he begun.

The same tongue that had been lovingly tracing my folds through clothing returned, this time unimpeded by the fabric. This time, it wasn’t a gasp that escaped, but a sob. I could already feel my stomach knotting and my chest filling with butterflies, and he’d barely touched me.

Because it wasn’t just the physical touch, but the obvious enthusiasm behind it. Although he tried so hard to be gentle, he couldn’t help but grip me tightly. He noticed my fear about crushing him and chose to put an end to the insecurity once and for all. Using all his remaining strength, he pulled me down.

I had no clue how he was able to breathe, but it seemed like the least of his concerns. Even with the crushing force of my weight, he moaned as he laid open-mouthed kisses at the small bundle of nerves at my crest. With his whole body, he urged me to continue on to new levels of pleasure.

He wouldn’t stop until my hips were rocking and my hands were gripping tight enough that I swore I’d splinter the wood. I still tried to give the poor thing room to breathe, but each time there was space between us, he’d close it again. I could feel the bridge of his nose digging against my pubic bone, and every time it would make my legs start to shake again.

It was that enthusiasm, that unadulterated love and worship that would cause me to fall apart. When that tension started to build, I finally allowed myself to follow his obvious direction and let go.

I didn’t bother worrying about him because I knew that he would be alright. I could still feel him, burying his tongue inside of me and lapping at the juices smeared between my legs. I felt that desire, that unending need to please me, and I gave in to his begging.

Spencer welcomed my orgasm with a similar fervor, moaning while he lavished my most sensitive point with all his worship. Even when he’d felt my body relax, he continued. He didn’t even hesitate to start all over again, no matter the fact that I was practically suffocating him. He practically welcomed an end between my thighs.

But I wasn’t done with him yet. I was only getting started.

Somehow, I managed to gather enough effort to pry his hands off my hips and throw myself off him. Still, he once again whimpered at the loss. I turned to him as soon as I could, happy to catch a sated smile between each attempt he made to taste me again. He wiped his face clean, but still carefully cleaned each finger between his heavy breaths.

Our eyes met again during his shameless indulgence, and his smile grew wider at the sight. He inched closer, his lips seeking mine for a kiss far more tender than the kind I quickly growing used to.

Again, I gave into his begging. I kissed him back and tasted myself on his tongue. The heady, intoxicating scent of me on his skin made the throbbing ache between my legs even more obvious. And for the first time, I allowed myself a chance to consider the bulge in his pants.

I pressed my thigh hard against him until I heard him squeak. I continued to grind my leg until he moved — a gentle thrust against my leg that demonstrated exactly what I’d needed to know.

“Take off your clothes,” I ordered the second he’d opened his eyes.

He’d already started before the words had even left my mouth. I watched with rapt fascination at how his hands were still quick and his eyes were still burning, still sticking to me like soft caramel and the cinnamon he smelled of.

I was so distracted by the way he looked in the dim, golden light, that I’d almost forgotten the second order I had. Once his pants were off, I floundered until I found the foil wrapper I’d dropped on the bed during his pleading. I held it up with two fingers, and issued another simple order.

“Put this on.”

His answer was not what I was expecting. Not a no, but certainly not an answer as enthusiastic as I’d been hoping for.

It was a fucking tease.

“You really think you can keep going?” he chuckled.

And despite the way exasperated chuckles floated between my words, it was no laughing matter.

“Oh, you did not just say that,” I gasped.

If it had been his intention to encourage me back into power, it had worked. That competitive spirit reared its head again. I drew from every reserve left in me and I climbed atop him again. This time, I also permitted myself the opportunity to ogle him as shamelessly as he’d done to me.

But I still found myself fixated on his eyes, which were in turn following each line of my body. His hands that had been busy searching my skin for some unknown answer were still there, gently running fingertips and knuckles anywhere that he hadn’t felt yet. He sought out the shivers and goosebumps until I caught his hand in mine.

Then, he looked up at me. Again, he smiled something soft.

“Spencer, believe me when I say that I intend on paying you back for that ride,” I assured him, but he was still not taking it seriously.

“Which one?” he snickered, instead.

I stopped trying to hide my laughter. I just leaned into it, leaned forward until I was close enough to feel dewy breath on my lips.

“Shut the fuck up,” I muttered without doing what he’d so obviously wanted. Even when he tried to chase after my lips, I refused.

That frustration eventually came to be too much for the pathetic boy’s heart, and in a moment of weakness, he issued a dare he wasn’t ready for.

“Make me.”

“Oh, Spencer,” I whispered with a low voice laced with a promise, “Nothing would make me happier than to render you totally and completely speechless.”

To prove my point, I knew exactly what I’d needed to do. Reaching a hand down, I wrapped one firmly around his dick. The slippery latex aided me in slow, strong strokes down his length. And immediately, any hint of opposition left him.

“Not so bratty now, huh?” I teased.

His lungs emptied with a broken sob that turned into a drawn out whine. It still sounded as beautiful as ever, and I found myself seeking out those sounds with a newfound vigor. The energy and color returned to him, too. His cheeks began to flush from pink to scarlet. I wanted to paint him with every color I could, but I would need my hands to do just that.

Slowly, and with utmost care, I began to lower onto him. All the while, I made sure that his half-lidded eyes stayed locked on mine. I didn’t want to risk missing the moment when the head of his cock breached my entrance. I wanted to watch those sweet brown eyes roll back and his sneaky, devilish tongue peek from between his lips as he tried to stop himself from finishing so soon.

“Tell me how it feels,” I whispered. I should’ve known better than to dare the man to speak, but I’d missed his voice too much to be upset by the sound of it.

Especially when he was still panting when he blubbered, “Y-You feel even better than you taste.”

Then, continuing the trends from earlier in the night, he dug his fingers into my hips and dragged them down as he begged, “Please. Please, fuck me.”

It was such a sweet, humble request that I’d felt compelled to follow it. I spared him the torture of anticipation and dropped my weight on him once again. This time, it wasn’t his tongue, but something much more appealing that was buried between slick folds. The wet heat still felt like steam and fire, even though my body wasn’t cold anymore. Nonetheless, I threw myself into the fire without hesitation. My hips would rise, and his would follow.

In an effort to get him to relax the same as he’d done for me, I pressed two hands against his chest and sat up straighter. Immediately, his eyes lit up with an adorable adoration that would quickly fade when he’d realized my plans.

I had wanted to paint him with as many colors as possible. That was why I drew crescent marks into his chest with my nails. Spencer didn’t protest, and in fact thrust into me harder in response. He urged me on with eyes and body alike. So, using my nails like brushes, I drew angry welts on an empty canvas until I could make something out of the mess of pink and red.

“Fuck!” he shouted when he couldn’t keep it in any longer. The exclamation was quickly followed by whimpers that strongly contrasted the filthy sounds between us.

He’d sounded so pitiful that I couldn’t help myself from drawing it out. The next time my hips fell, I stayed with him fully inside me. Grinding down with wide circles, I used some of the same fingers that had tried to draw blood to do something else. Something soft.

I traced bulging veins across his temple. I followed the sharp angles of his jaw all the way down to his neck. There, I pressed the pads of my fingers against his pulse and felt how it shifted the longer my palm was pressed against his throat.

But even through that pressure and delirium, he managed to croak, “You’re so amazing.”

And although I’d been satisfied by the praise, which had no hint of brattiness left, I’d still held a grudge for his earlier flippancy. I wanted to torture him the same way he’d tortured me with kindness and quiet longing. Because if I hadn’t made a move, who knows what we would have done that night instead?

I had a feeling we always would have ended up there, though. That was why I giggled when I asked, “Is that why you wanted to get me alone?”

“Please,” he whimpered in response.

“You were hoping that I would let you touch me?” I taunted before immediately beginning to lift my hips. The cool air tickled at the burning heat between us, and I felt every muscle in his body tense as he tried not to chase me.

He stayed put, like a good boy, gripping the sheets like a vice and throwing his head back to bare his throat to me once more.

“Please, let me,” he blubbered. I could barely understand him through the begging that seemed never-ending.

“Please,” he said, “Please.”

I dragged it out just a few minutes longer. I listened to the song-like quality of his desperation and rejoiced in the feeling of him filling the empty space between my thighs.

But eventually I missed the sweetness of his lips. I leaned forward until our lips collided together, sloppy, imprecise and entirely perfect. My exhausted arms shook, but still found the energy to slip under his pillow.

His hands didn’t hesitate for even a second. He welcomed me into the fiery embrace and buried his face in my shoulder. Even his hips had stopped. All his attention was focused on the simple task of holding me until I gave into his pleading one more time.

“Go ahead, pretty boy,” I whispered in his ear.

That elusive, ever-shocking strength brought us together again. Although, it felt different that time. The enthusiasm remained, but so did the softness. Even when I called his name, he quieted me with a kiss that was gentle enough to make goosebumps ripple over my skin.

“Spencer,” I whined when he began fucking into me hard enough that I could hear the headboard knock against the wall. But he was too focused, too enthralled with the power and the possibilities that he barely registered his name on my tongue.

“Spencer,” I said louder.

That time, he’d heard me, but it had done nothing to dissuade him. In fact, he went harder, seeking out that sound again and again and again.

I gave it to him, over and over, each time he forced himself to the hilt and held me down against him. I focused on nothing but the feeling of being full of him. The friction of sweat slicked bodies that never got enough of each other.

“I’m…” he struggled, the words breaking with gasping breath, “I’m gonna…”

We didn’t need the words to know what was coming. We could feel the steady beating of hard working hearts as they echoed in our bones. His hands kept me steady, kept me with him as his hips continued. It was my turn to find shelter in him, to press soft kisses against his neck until we were both ready. We both held on until I gave him the permission he sought.

“Do it,” I begged, “Come for me.”

I’d said it just in time to feel him twitching from deep inside of me. Despite the latex between us, I still felt the heat of him grow until I joined him in the euphoria. My arms pulled myself closer and a moan poured from my chest until it rumbled against his neck.

Although I couldn’t look him in the eyes as he came undone, I had no regrets. I basked in his warmth, treasuring these few moments where I got to feel the comfort of his embrace. In that quiet moment, I realized that it had been so long since I’d felt at home with someone like that.

So, I clung to him the same as the soaked clothes when we first spoke and I hoped that he wouldn’t want to discard me as quickly. But in the end, it was me that climbed off of him. I grabbed his glasses before I’d crushed them under my weight and I wiped the foggy lenses clean before I turned to the man half-asleep beside me.

“Hey Spencer?” I slurred.

He turned to look at me, and his eyes still burned with something pure, something innocent. Something soft as the hands that reached out to take his glasses.

“Thanks,” he mumbled with a laugh.

“You’re welcome,” I sighed. And although I was a coward, and my breath had barely evened out again, I felt compelled to explain to him the real reason I’d abandoned his embrace.

“Hey Spencer?” I called again, only to find that he was still staring at me, albeit now with more clarity.

“What?”

He’d said it so innocently that I couldn’t help but laugh. Because at that moment, I realized two things. One was that I really needed to stop underestimating that strange, soft, pathetic thing. And the other was best shared with an incredulous laughter at our luck of finding each other on such a cold night.

With a dramatic groan, I shouted, “It’s so fucking hot in here!”

(Tell me what you thought of this fic here!)

[buckyownsmylife]

Follow you - Chris Evans smut

The one where Chris becomes your roomate and finds out he has a domesticity kink... and more

Warnings: Smut, breeding kink, domesticity kink, friends to lovers, rommates au, pandemic mention, hair-pulling kink, daddy kink, cockwarming, kind of allusion to an age gap, but can be read as reader being into teasing chris

Word count: 4.1k

A/N: Thanks to @mollygetssherlockcoffee​ for reading this over and helping me make it better! You’re the sweetest person ever!  this is for my own birthday celebration challenge! Like I explained here, I’m going to try to fill every single AU I listed with the characters I picked for the challenge, and since the deadline if May 27, these fics will be posted randomly, as I finish them. Hope you guys like it!

Chris’ P.O.V.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” I’d been trying to convince her to close her laptop for the last two hours, unfortunately without any luck. She just glanced at me before returning to her document, and I groaned as I left the living room in search of what I knew we needed.

“Close the laptop and I’ll give you a sip.” This time when she looked up, she found me holding a bottle of my most expensive whiskey, the one she’d been dying to try ever since she first got invited to my place.

It was a tense moment of evaluation while she took in my offer and her workload, her head turning from her computer to me and then back to the device again, and I found himself growing anxious because of how desperately I wanted her company that night.

“Please?” I tried to convince her, even going so far as to pout - which at least earned me a giggle. I considered it a win, especially with the way it made my chest warm up. “C’mon, we deserve it! After the week we had?”

She frowned when she thought back on the stresses we had confided in each other for the last couple of days, and I watched with glee when she slowly closed her laptop, prompting me to wave my arms around in victory. “We?” She teased, getting up to stand before me with her arms crossed in front of her body, making me laugh.

“Alright, so maybe just you.” I couldn’t really deny that my work “problems” paled in comparison to hers. “Listen, I’m only trying to help.” She narrowed her eyes at me, reaching out for the bottle and unscrewing it before taking the sip I’d promised.

“Shit, this really is good.” A smug smile took over my face as I wrapped my arms around her, walking us back to the couch before making us fall over it.

“Only the best for you, babe.” I watched her roll her eyes at the pet name, snickering at how it affected her. I knew it made her giddy and she hated it, it’s why I insisted on doing it - or so I told myself.

Something deep inside of me whispered differently, though. I tried to ignore it. She was my best friend and we were going to be living together for the foreseeable future. No one knew when this pandemic would let up.

And lord knows that nothing positive had ever come out of my investments in romantic relationships. So every rational thought in my mind was begging me not to overcomplicate this. I couldn’t stand to lose her friendship, anyway. That’s why I had invited her to spend lockdown with me - my need to know she was okay, and be able to have her around whenever I needed to vent.

She was the only one outside my family who got my anxiety well enough to help me work through it when I was feeling bad, and she had even been able to prevent me from having panic attacks more than once.

I just couldn’t imagine going through this with anyone other than her. I simply hadn’t anticipated how fucking horny this period of forced sexual privation would make me, and I never expected her to become a willing victim to my needs.

But boy, once the liquor hit and she ended up over my lap, shivering as she rode my thigh without a care in the world, was I glad that she did.

“Is this what you like?” I asked, looking up at her with my mouth hanging open, unbelieving of how fucking sexy she looked as she used my body for her pleasure. I didn’t even care that my cock was straining against my jeans, begging me to move her on top of it. As long as I could keep enjoying the show, being a part of it, I was satisfied.

“I wanna learn it,” I pressed, moving my hands to hold her ass, squeezing it the way I’d always wanted to do but never allowed myself to dream about. “I wanna learn how to please you.” She made me feel something I hadn’t felt before, in any of my past relationships. There was attraction, of course, but there was also this deep, familiar feeling that made me feel at home. It made me feel safe, and with the help of alcohol, I was desperate to explore it.

“Ugh,” she groaned, letting her head fall back, drawing my attention to her breasts, the way they bounced in front of my eyes, unfortunately still covered. My mouth watered at the sight of it, wanting nothing much than to strip her bare and wrap my lips around one of her nipples.

“Don’t say stuff like that, Evans.” The comment threw me off, making me frown as I took a hold of the hair on the back of her head and yanked her to me, devouring her lips. They were soft - so much softer than I’d ever allowed myself to imagine.

“Why not?” I panted against her mouth once I was forced to separate from her taste of whiskey to search for some oxygen. She kept moving, her eyes hazy and glossed over, and it sent a pang of lust straight down my body when I realized it wasn’t completely due to the drinks we shared. There was also desire in there.

“You want to learn?” She asked, hands bunching up my shirt as she used her hold to grind against me faster. “Then fuck me, Chris.” She molded her body to mine, engulfing my lips once more as I laid her down on the couch, excited to have her underneath me - excited to see her naked body, explore it, get to know every little thing that made her tick.

I knew it would be a moment I’d forever remember, regardless of the amount of bourbon in my blood. I just never expected it to become something I was so eager to relive over and over and over again.

It was supposed to be a one time thing. When I woke up in the morning, I was ready to go back to being roommates. We were good at that. She was a morning person, by the time I woke up every morning, she already had breakfast ready for me, and then we’d go out to the backyard to let Dodger out together.

We’d sit and talk and then I’d go for a run - she’d have done her yoga already, while I was still asleep - I’d answer some e-mails, she’d work on her laptop by my side and the silence was just as comfortable as all of our late night conversations.

She’d sneak out to the kitchen and come back with a few sandwiches for our lunch, and then the rest of the day would go by with us doing whatever mundane task we had in mind, together even if we were doing separate things, and I didn’t feel suffocated.

I didn’t even run out of things to say. By the time dinner rolled around and I followed her back to the kitchen, cleaning up the dishes while she fixed us dinner - I wasn’t allowed to cook in my own stove, mostly because she was terrified of my food but hid it under the excuse of that one time when I started a fire - then we’d eat together, watch a movie together, talk until we fell asleep - always together.

I was shocked. It’d never been this way in any of my previous relationships. In fact, I was certain it was the reason why they had never worked. I’d given up on any realistic expectation of settling down precisely because of this: I just never expected to find anyone with whom a day-to-day life wouldn’t eventually grow boring.

It’d been three months and I still loved to wake up to her coffee. We still fell asleep every night side by side, too tired to move into different beds because we had laughed our asses off after skyping Scott.

And now that sex came into play in our relationship? I just knew there was no way I’d ever go back to being nothing but friends - or living in a place where she wasn’t the first person I saw when I woke up.

It sucked that it took a pandemic and a night of alcohol to make me realize that, but damn, was I grateful that I decided to open a bottle of whiskey that evening.

I kept waiting for the catch, the moment it would all go to shit, but it never came. Our lives resumed to how they used to be, only now I had this ongoing inner battle to not just bend her over the nearest piece of furniture when we were busy, and the ability to do exactly that whenever there was nothing else to do.

And for a while it was bliss. There wasn’t a nagging voice inside my head questioning this arrangement because it was theoretically perfect. I had a best friend, a roommate and a fuck buddy, all wrapped into one single person that I adored.

Life couldn’t possibly get better - until I realized that I wanted more. Talks of lockdown being over started and she had plans of going back to her place, of course, but I couldn’t stand the thought of being away from her.

I wanted to see my family too, but I wanted to take her with me. Introduce her to my mom, see her get along with my sisters. Witness how she’d be with my nephews and nieces - I knew how much she loved kids. And that’s when it hit me.

I’d given my heart to her. Somewhere between the morning coffees and afternoon runs, the nights where I’d rant about all of my silly problems and she actually listened to them - really listened, never making me feel bad about what could only be described as rich people problems.

All the innocent little gestures, and the not so innocent ones - when I discovered she was exactly the nasty slut I’d always dreamed of, the way she would randomly drop to her knees and suck me off, even while I was on the phone. Most times she didn’t even let me repay the favor. She just genuinely liked to blow me.

She also liked to play with me randomly, like when we were watching a movie and she mindlessly reached for my crotch, rubbing me until I got hard. It almost always ended in sex, and I just loved it.

I loved it, and I loved her, and the idea of her ever sharing this idyllic lifestyle with anyone else made me irrationally jealous.

And that’s how I knew it. I didn’t want to mess it up. But how could I not fuck this up?

Xxx

“Chris…” Her sweet voice called out to me, reaching my ears while I was hiding in my office, trying to get my thoughts in order so I wouldn’t just randomly blurt out what I was feeling for my best friend to my best friend.

To her credit, she didn’t try to force me to keep her company - but that only made me fall even deeper for her, leaving me a complete and utter mess while she went about her day as if nothing was wrong in the world.

“Yes?” I looked up to see her by the threshold, clearly reticent about invading my privacy. It made me smile, thinking back on all of the times my exes hadn’t been as understanding, even after I let them clearly know what I was needing.

“I made cupcakes, do you want me to bring you one?” The thought of her in the kitchen, baking a sweet treat just for me had my cock twitching in my pants. Biting my lips, I pushed away from my desk to finally get up and stretch my legs, taking advantage of the monitor to hide my hard-on.

“No, I’ll come eat them downstairs with you.” She smiled before leaving, and I soon trailed after her, walking into the kitchen to find the most delicious-looking little treats, just waiting to be devoured.

Much like her, I supposed.

I was reaching for one of them, already licking my lips in anticipation when something caught my eye, prompting me to raise my gaze and look at her again, but really look at her this time.

She was wearing an apron.

There was nothing inherently sexual about the damn thing, but the way she looked with it, going about her business in my kitchen like she owned the place… It just felt right, seeing her there.

And suddenly I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Y/N…” I started, leaving the cupcake back on the counter and brushing off the crumbs as I circled the kitchen island to go stand in front of her. She hummed before turning to meet me, smiling slightly to signal that she was listening to what I had to say.

But I didn’t know how to say it. So we just stood there, staring at each other until eventually her smile became a frown. “Chris, what’s going on?” I still couldn’t speak. Much to my absolute surprise though, she just sighed, wiping her hands on the apron while shaking her head, a knowing smile on her face.

“You’re stressed, aren’t you? You’ve been working so much, that’s why I thought the cupcakes would be a good idea,” she explained nodding towards the tray where her sweet treats laid. “They’re a reward and a break all wrapped in one delicious cake.”

The comment was like a punch to the stomach - or a scalding wave of desire rushing through my body, straight to my groin. The idea of her thinking about my needs and catering (quite literally) to them just did something to me, and I didn’t know how to explain it - I don’t think I understood it myself.

“But since they didn’t work…” she continued, blissfully unaware of the conundrum she had put me into. “I know something else that will definitely work.” And just like that, the woman dropped to her knees in front of me, reaching for my sweatpants before I could find a way to close the mouth that was hanging open.

“I guess I’ll grab a sweet treat for myself.” She looked so devious, small hand encircling my already pathetically engorged member, that all I could do was whisper an, “Oh, shit,” when she immediately wrapped her lips around it,  starting to suck me off without any preamble.

My fingers were white as I held onto the counter behind me to keep myself up. She looked so good, staring up at me with her lips wrapped around my dick, I felt like I was about to blow already.

Why did she have to be such a fucking tease?

“Oh, God,” I moaned when she managed to engulf the entirety of my member inside her throat, the choking noises getting to my head. My hand instinctively laced with her hair, first to hold her lips close to my navel, then to pry her completely off of my member.

“What’s wrong?” She questioned once she was able to speak, surprise written all over her features while I was still staring down at her slightly teary face and trying to find my voice.

“I-I have a problem.” There. I said it. I had finally made some progress in my goal to let her know what was going through my head. Only instead of curiosity, what I got was a confused expression from the woman still holding my dick, her eyes darting from my own to the member throbbing between her fingers.

“No, you don’t!” It would have been funny if I wasn’t so fucking frustrated. Yanking her by the hair, I complained, “Not that kind of problem!” pulling her to the living room so I could throw her on the couch, trying to ignore her moans of pleasure in the process.

I’d figured out pretty early on that she had a pretty serious hair-pulling kink, and if my plans of sitting down and having a level-headed conversation were ever in motion, they surely went out of the window the second she pulled my body down to cover hers and adjusted my cock so it would easily fill her.

“Son of a…” I groaned, letting my head fall down against her chest as the little vixen gleefully giggled underneath me, legs wrapped around my torso as she tried to thrust up and tempt me to move.

“Just wait a second,” I managed to reason, but she just shook her head.

“Fuck away your problem, Chris. Use me. I want you to.” Motherfucker. I really couldn’t catch a break with her. Just as she started to make me move again, my hand instinctively wrapped around her neck, lightly squeezing it just enough to get her to shut up.

“I wanna start a family with you,” I finally spilled, looking deep into her eyes as I tried to ignore that I was still balls deep inside of her. Her eyes widened, and now her mouth was the one hanging open.

I couldn’t really relish in it because she looked absolutely delicious and she felt stupidly heavenly to my throbbing dick.

A few seconds went by without as much of a reaction from her and I was about to pull out - despite still being achingly hard - but her legs held me tighter, stopping my plans of leaving her tight haven.

“You know…” She started to speak, a little out of breath, catching my attention as I finally gathered the courage to look her in the eye again. “When I first met you, I thought you were the epitome of a fuckboy.”

The unexpected sentence had me snorting, and then I just couldn’t stop laughing. Finally pulling away from her, she fixed her hair when she sat up and I did the same, shaking my head slightly as I rubbed my eyes.

Our own relative nakedness - well… mine, she was wearing her usual dress with no underwear under the damn apron - didn’t affect anything when I pondered over her words, until I decided to break the silence.

“I mean… I think I was?” She chewed on her bottom lip as she took in my response, analyzing it, weighing its validity in that gorgeous head of hers. I was nervous, but she hadn’t blew me off yet. And quite honestly? I’d do anything for that little hope that was growing inside of me.

“What changed?” Was her question, so unexpected I couldn’t help but question, “Huh?”

“What made you change?” It wasn’t an unwelcome inquiry, especially when the response became clear to me, lighting up my brain and warming my chest, spreading all over my body until I had no choice but to voice it.

“I realized I could have a future with you.” My smile was vulnerable but honest, and in her eyes, I could see that she knew that. When she threw one leg over my lap, straddling my hips, I allowed myself to breathe deeply again, leaning on the soft cushion while taking a hold of her ass.

“So, how are we gonna do this?” She non-nonchalantly asked, slowly rubbing herself against my still half-hard member. I groaned when I realized the implication of her words, knowing that the meaning paired with the feeling of her wet lips dragging along my cock would get it back up in no time at all. “You wanna do me right now?”

The brashness of the question made my eyes light up, as weird as it may sound. In that moment, it became clear just how perfect for me she really was, giving me what I needed exactly in the way I didn’t know how to ask for it.

“See? This is why I’m in love with you.” She rolled her eyes at that, making me laugh. I’d anticipated the gesture, I knew it’d take her longer to say it, but it was alright. The fact that she was willing me to give me a child was more than enough proof of her feelings for me, if her entire behavior ever since she moved in wasn’t already.

“Shut up and fuck me, Evans.” Throwing her back against the couch, she yelped in surprise when I took off my shirt and slapped the inside of her thigh, assuming my usual position of hovering over her smaller frame.

“Spread your fucking legs, darling. I’m gonna fuck you real good.” The way she bit her lip as I slowly penetrated her again showed me just how excited the prospect got her, and as I started to make good on my promise, her moans told me just as much.

“Holy fuck,” she commented as I pounded her ruthlessly, weeks of frustration and the rush of anticipation getting the best of me, and I was glad for the feeling of her nails biting into my skin because otherwise, I’d probably run over the edge of not even caring about her own pleasure as I chased mine.

“You gonna cum inside of me, honey? Make me a mom? Finally fulfill your dream of becoming a daddy?” Her words detracted me from my task of sucking bruises on the skin that was now mine to bruise, mine. I threw my head back, yelling a, “fuck yes,” as my hips sped up, desperate to fill her up, but I was determined to get her to cum before me.

“Say it,” she ordered, small hand circling my throat as best as she could, a throwback to what I’d done only moments prior. It wasn’t enough to choke me, but it did catch my attention. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Tears escaped the corners of my eyes as I blinked, the intensity of the moment overwhelming in the best of ways. “God, you are such a fucking tease…” She chuckled underneath me, giving my throat a squeeze before she raised up on her elbows to kiss my jaw.

“Better get used to it… daddy.” And just like that, I realized that I had yet another kink I hadn’t known about before her. Or maybe it was just her, and I was obsessed with the damn woman, painfully turned on by every little thing that she did.

“I’m gonna cum deep inside your little pussy, sweetheart,” I finally gathered myself enough to do as she asked me to. “You’re gonna belong to me forever now. Give me kids, make me happy. How do you like that?”

The mischievous grin she gave me told me everything. “I love it.” I knew this was her way of saying what she couldn’t yet voice, and I’d take it. I’d take anything she gave me, any chance I got to love this wonderful woman.

We came together, both riding our highs in deep ecstasy. I moaned when I felt myself empty all of my seed inside of her, incredibly excited about the prospect of starting our future together right then.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” I cradled her face in my hands as I struggled to catch my breath, but she turned it to the side and pressed a kiss to my palm and I was breathless all over again. It was such a simple action, why did it get to me so much?

“You’re not too bad yourself, Chris.” I didn’t want to part with her warmth, so I just adjusted us on the sofa in a way that kept me inside of her, sighing contently as I realized I’d never have to sleep away from her again.

“I’m gonna stay right here all night.” I adjusted myself so I was resting my face on her boobs, perfectly happy to do just so, but by the tone of her voice, I knew she had a teasing smile when she called me an, “Old man.”

“And here I was, thinking you’d be able to go again.” Warmth filled my chest at the realization of just how badly she wanted me - just as much as I wanted her too. I was so damn ecstatic. Not even her pokes at my age would be able to affect me.

“Oh, darling… better get ready,” I warned as I adjusted myself to hover over her again, taking notice of the excited glint in her eyes, the way she bit her lip as she stared back at me. “I’m never gonna get enough of you.”

The next morning, I added a new kink to the list of random bits of information that were driving me slowly insane as I felt the overwhelming need to bend the woman that I now got to call ‘mine’ over the nearest piece of furniture and rail her until I had cummed deep inside her pussy: seeing her in my shirt while cooking breakfast.

Yeah, I was going to live a happy life by her side.

[rek1s-headband]

Oh oh! Can we get some hedcanons about cherry adopting a girl who is around miya's age. Like how close would they be and how would others feel about her being his daughter now. Bonus points if uncel Joe and little missy mess with daddy blossom

Xoxo love your work so far, keep it up💙

➯ A/N: This was such an amazing request, I had so much fun writing it! Hope you enjoy :)

Also, i started watching Your Lie in April today, and its AMAZING! So much more than what I was expecting

➯ With a daughter

➯ Characters: Kaoru Sakurayashiki with a young daughter. Reki, Langa and co. are mentioned throughout!

➯ Warnings: none:)

Having a child had never crossed Kaoru’s mind before, but when Joe had teased him about how “you treat Carla better than you would a child!”, the idea kind of stuck with him. And so, he’d spent countless nights awake, wondering to himself if it was something he truly wanted?

He’d pass parks, seeing parents with spewing babies and toddlers throwing tantrums, wondering if he could actually put up with that? But as he passed the shops, he came across a mother and her daughter, who looked around 12. He watched them pass, a grin on the child’s face as she looked into her shopping bag, examining her haul for that day. And so it was settled

He wanted a baby girl he could spoil absolutely rotten

And the search for a child carried on, and this time instead of baby shops and websites, he was browsing the shelves of Claires and other tween clothing stores. It had only occurred to him over a bottle of wine with Joe, as they were discussing if Kaoru was truly ready for something like this. Instead of a crying baby or a messy toddler, he could simply adopt someone a bit older!

It made sense too. For a single parent, an older child seemed much more doable. Of course, he wouldn’t be alone. Joe was always telling him how he’d help out, yknow, if he actually went through with the damn thing.

Not to mention, the older you get, the more difficult it is to get adopted. Babies and young children will get adopted left right and centre, whereas the child he will take home will have been there for a while. Finally, they will have a place to call a home

He spent months trying to get the approval for adoption, and one fateful day he finally got the letter that yes he could go ahead and take one home. He was ecstatic, spending the next few days finding out the location of every orphanage around his area of Japan. He messaged every single one, asking when their next visiting day was

And so it was set: Kaoru would not rest until he had found his perfect little girl

He went through orphanage after orphanage, searching for someone he could call his own. However, none of the children were lighting that paternal flame inside him. It wasn’t their fault of course, they just didn’t click with him, staring at him any time he tried to talk to them. Visit after visit, he’d go to Joe’s, ready to tell him about his recent fail.

It wasn’t until Joe came up to him with a phone number, asking if he’d been to this particular orphanage yet. Apparently they had a few children aged 12 and up, and were available for visit that Saturday. And so there he was, packing a bag and getting ready to travel to the house. This time felt different, somehow. He could feel his palms sweat, as if he could sense he would take one of them home

When he finally made it to the house, he was a nervous wreck. The lady of the house let him in with a smile, telling him the children were in the backyard playing while she bounced a baby on her hip. Cherry winced as the baby gurgled at him, glad he opted for an older child

She led him outside, gesturing at the children who were sprinting around in the vast field, hiding behind trees and bushes. It was clear they were playing a game of hide and seek. He smiled as he scanned over them, but it quickly disappeared when he noticed one little girl sitting on the step, head in her lap while her shoulders gently shook with tears

He walked over to her, bending down with a soft smile. He didn’t know where this sudden calmness came from, but that was his last priority right now. A little gash sat on the girls knee, caked with blood as it trickled down her shin. He frowned, pulling out a tissue to gently wipe it. She jumped, wincing with shock from the fresh wave of pain, and surprise. Kaoru gently wiped at her knee once more before looking up at her to attempt a conversation

“Hello, is your knee alright?” She shook her head frantically, wiping a tear away from her face. A small breathy laugh escaped him as he watched the child stand, gesturing to her leg

“Nope, not at all. I think its broken, if you ask me. All cause of that stupid thing!” She threw her arm out, gesturing to a pink board Kaoru hadn’t noticed before. A skateboard.

That’s when Kaoru realised it: I want this one

Suddenly he felt a new sense of importance, like he had to make a good impression. He walked over to the board, tutting as he looked down at it. “This is what hurt you?” He looked at it with disdain as the little girl nodded her head violently. Kaoru could see how she hurt herself, the thing was massive, especially for someone her age. It looked around the size of a board he would use.

Grinning, he picked up the board. “Well, want to see something cool?” She watched in wonder as kaoru stood on it, pushing off and turning quickly, popping an ollie over a stray toy. The little girl jumped, throwing her arms up as she cheered Kaoru on. He finished with a flourish, coming back to stand beside her. “What did you think?” She was speechless, simply moving her hands, saying scattered “wows” and making various sound effects. Kaoru smiled, certain that he could teach her more.

When he realized visiting time was coming to a close, he proposed the idea to the girl, who’s name he had come to know was Lily: he’d come back next week, and he’d bring his board. He even promised to find her a smaller boar perfect for her to learn on, saying he knew a friend who could make her one. From there he would teach her the basics of skateboarding, even a couple of tricks once she got that down. She was delighted, bouncing up and down and declaring she couldn’t wait, all the energy of someone much younger than her. Kaoru found he couldn’t stop smiling himself either

He made his way back through the house, Lily skipping alongside him. He explained the plan to the Lady, that he would come back next week for another visit. Just as he was about to leave, he turned to the lady to request one final thing from her

“Make sure no one snatches her up from me while I’m gone, yeah?”

Needless to say a bottle of wine was opened at Joe’s that night in celebration of Lily, the potential daughter

And so the weeks turned into months, and Kaoru returned each week with his board and some sweets for her and the other children, teaching her everything she needed to know about skateboarding. After a month or so she could confidently ollie without bailing, and next time he visited she displayed it with delight, watching Kaoru’s face light up with pride.

She had taken a real liking to Kaoru, according to the Lady. She refused to pay any other visitors any notice, declaring they “simply weren’t Kaoru.” This is what finally made him realise that maybe it was time to ask if she’d like to live with him from now on, where she could practice with him every day.

When he asked her, Kaoru could’ve sworn he actually saw stars in her eyes. She simply lit up, throwing herself at Kaoru, tears streaming down her face as she shouted yes, of course she would. she wasn’t the only one crying, Kaoru could barely see from the tears in his own eyes, the lady dabbing at hers with a tissue

Once the paperwork was complete and Lily was his, he felt a weight had been taken off his shoulders. He had packed her a new change of clothes the day he went to collect her, bringing Joe along with him for emotional support. Lily came flying at him the second he got out of his car, wrinkling her nose at Joe

“You never told me you had a boyfriend, Kaoru” she stuck her tongue out at him from over his shoulder while they both tried to convince her that no, they weren’t a couple, before she ran upstairs to get changed. Joe turned to Kaoru, an almost offended look on his face

“Why were you so adamant that we weren’t together??” “I dont need her worrying she’s going home to a Gorrila” “HEY”

Once they all got home, they threw a little party at Joe’s who had closed a little early specially for it. Kaoru didn’t let her out of his sight, making sure she wasn’t uncomfortable with all the new people. Of course, it was only Joe, Shadow, Reki, Langa and Miya, all of whom she would meet eventually, but he still worried in case she got overwhelmed.

She made quick friends with Reki, who was ecstatic from the moment he realised she could skate. The two bonded over it, talking about tricks they’d learned, Reki shouting over at Kaoru because why hadn’t he taught him anything??

Miya was a bit standoffish at first, but when she saw the switch in his hand, the two were instantly bonding over who had better villagers in Animal Crossing, and who had passed more levels in Mario with three stars

As the months went on, Lily really settled into her new life in Okinawa, starting at school in Miyas class. The two were joined at the hip, Miya often coming home to Kaoru’s so they could practice together, or simply study and watch some movies. Reki constantly teased the shit out of the two, talking about how he heard “wedding bells”. This comment earned him a swift whack into the skull from Kaoru, warning him not to tease his little girl

Soon enough Kaoru was making her own skateboard with built-in Carla, who helped her skating improve insanely. As Kaoru said, she was definitely a chip off the old block. Langa and Reki would take her to the skate park with them, helping her land new tricks and would take videos of her to send to Kaoru

Shadow was like a chill uncle to her, bringing her flowers for her room and taking her out to get some clothes and ice cream. Joe was like an uncle too, but a much more untrustworthy one. Would he take her to the park, or would he take her to parts of downtown she definitely shouldn’t have been? Who knows, certainly not Kaoru...

Poor Kaoru can never get a minutes peace. Every second of the day she’s plotting something, waiting for him to let his guard down so she can pounce, scaring the shit out of him. When the others are around its 10x worse, all of them ganging up on him to pull pranks

As well as skateboarding, Kaoru tried to teach her how to do calligraphy. She ended up being awful, blotting the ink and smearing it with her hand. But hey, it was a fun art project that made it onto the fridge

At S, she was watched like a hawk. When Kaoru was competing,the others would be like her bodyguard, making sure no one got within 5 feet of her. She’d watch her dad with wonder, the look of awe never leaving her face since the first day she saw him skate. She can’t wait for the day she can compete, maybe even beating her own dad

The first time Lily called Kaoru “dad” was when he won a race, showing off some amazing skills and winning the insanely close match by a hair. He picked up his board, looking around for Lily. He saw her in the crowd, throwing her arms up and cheering “THATS MY DAD!! LOOK, RIGHT THERE, THATS MY DAD!” When she spotted him, a large grin spread across her face. “Nice job out there dad! You did amazing!! D’you think I can do that one day?”

Everyone was staring at her, she hadn’t even realised she had said anything out of the ordinary. Soon enough Kaoru was lunging at her, picking her up in a hug so she didn’t see the tears quickly forming on his face. With a smile he pulled away, his voice dripping with pride

“Of course you could. You’re my daughter, aren’t you?”