#so he uses his bending to make tea instead :)

[petricorah]

I love "i would kill for you" ship dynamics but what about "i would stop killing" ship dynamic??

I would lay down my sword for you. I would change my nature and go against everything i've known. I would resist the easy way out of solving my problems. I would give up the adrenaline of battle to stay by your side and make tea instead. I'm not sure I know who I am without a weapon in my hand because I've had to fight for so long but for you I'm willing to try and figure this out.

It must be hard. To put down your weapon that's protected you for so long. It's allowed you to stay alive it's kept you from getting hurt--physically and mentally. Because you've never had to worry about a real relationship if you think you'll be dead at the next battle. And you feel naked without it and it feels like you're ripping off an extension of yourself. Are you even whole without it? Are you worthy of being loved if you can't prove it by risking your life? And yet they've found someone who's asking them for something much harder than dying in battle on their behalf. They've found someone who wants them to live. And that's much more terrifying.

[zhongrin]

01101100011011110110000101100100011010010110111001100111001011000010000001100110011101010110001101101011011010010110111001100111

(binary to text converter)

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, al haitham, capitano, childe

◇ tags ◇ minors dni, afab!reader, chubby!reader, self aware android au, overstimulation (zhongli al haitham), period sex (al haitham), oral (giving / al haitham), inhuman features (capitano), did (childe | tartaglia), sadistic tendencies (tartaglia)

◇ a/n ◇ i have no words ya girl filthy and i blame it to the zhongli sisterwives coalition for enabling me (if yall see this, ily <3). also - obligatory tag to crys @crystalflygeo bc i feel like she'll set off a feral al haitham at me if i don't tag her /aff /silly. lastly no i definitely don't play favorites wdym

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

handsome, elegant, gentle, and overall the perfect partner. from the random geology facts to his massages and specially blended teas, zhongli is the ideal android companion you could ever splurge on. he’s an expensive model and will break your bank, plus, his various dlcs and extensions - ranging from his alter personality “morax” which is brasher and rougher on the edges to the several… ‘attachments’ you could purchase to enhance his ‘performance’ - could probably get you into debt if you’re not careful.

but really, it barely matters when he manages to fuck you just fine with his standard out-of-the-box attachment. he’s as rough as you want him to be, yet at the same time he kisses you like you’re the most precious gem he’s ever unearthed and he’s not pounding you against your bedroom door. your knees buckle and your voice cracks around the edges as you scream his name for the hundredth time that night, the way he’s bullying into your sweetest spot making you gush yet again.

he’s perpetually hard as he helps you come down from your high, and the circle in his amber eyes spins as he loads the data from your smartwatch in a matter of milliseconds.

“2092 calories... hmm. i suppose you’ve met your goal for today….”

zhongli bends down to press a tender kiss to your sweaty forehead. and for a moment you sink into post-climax bliss, feeling warm and satiated and a lot less stressed than when you first started-

he smirks when your whole body jolts as his finger starts to slowly rub your swollen bud, hips gently moving to set a slow pace to not overstimulate you too much. although he had to say he was tempted to do so, with the indecent sound you’re making from both your upper and lower set of lips.

”… but what say you we go for more? after all… you’re most sensitive when you’re on the peak of your fertile days - such as today, yes?”

your android is very very strange, you decide. but then again his personality is described as “a tad insufferable” on the label so you guessed teyvat⟡robotics is at least being honest. for one, al haitham is very punctual with his ‘working hours’ - in fact, it was the very first thing he asked when you turned him on. anything after his ‘office hours’, and he gives you the insufferable roommate treatment. he also prefers to read physical books instead of using his supercomputer brain to look up information. he’s also very seemingly apathetic about a lot of things, and sometimes it drives you crazy… just like now.

“you said you wanted the cramps to hurt less. now stay still.”

he seems to not give any fuck about all the period blood smeared over his synthetic skin as he brings you over the edge for the third time tonight.

granted he could just turn off his smell and taste sensor, but you were pretty sure the vivid lust in his verdant green optics with a diamond of terracotta of his activity bar must be a glitch in his code. with muscled arms hugging your plump thighs, he buried himself further into your cunt, humming when he felt you clench around his tongue amidst his ministrations. they vibrate and fucks your sweetest spot with such precision and speed - and with each climax, it gets harder and harder to think.

go ahead, tug on his hair all you want - he’s just doing what you’ve instructed him to do. and what is he if not exemplary at his job? hell - perhaps if it’s for this, he wouldn’t mind working overtime.

“when i’m done with you, you won’t be able to feel any pain, let alone think.”

previously a unit made for war, the capitano model is intimidating - and that’s an understatement. he’s tall, bulky, rigged with many alien-like features, and would probably get stuck on your house’s doorways, but what most people don’t know since they don’t bother reading his manual is that he’s utterly soft and gentle to his owner. in this case, namely, you.

and you’re glad that he is because the sinful way his thick fingers are stirring your sloppy pussy and fucking your mouth was already making you see stars. long thick tongue slithered out from his ‘mouth’ behind the crevasse of his helmet, wrapping around your breast and flicking your hardened nipple, a guttural purr that sounded both mechanical and otherworldly seemingly making the air vibrate.

he hums when you beg for his girthy manhood, and his fingers scissor your walls as he gauges your reactions. capitano grunts and chuckles, gentle yet with a dark undertone behind it as he taps onto your clit and fucks you deeper with his fingers.

“not yet. you’re not ready, my little human. maybe after you give me two more orgasms.”

the general consensus is that ajax is the cutest companion one could ever get from the market, and you used to agree with that sentiment. he’s sweet and cheerful, cooks you the best homemade meals, and knows when to hold you when you feel too stressed.

if only your curious soul didn’t hack into his program that one night out of curiosity. if only you hadn’t found the commented-out section amongst the lines of codes in his program. if only-

tartaglia is meaner - a lot meaner, in fact. ajax holds your hand like you’re a bubble rising on top of the water's surface which can pop any moment, but tartaglia pins them onto your mattress in a tight grip to prevent you from escaping. ajax's focus is to please you and make you feel like royalty who's in for a good time - tartaglia’s focus is on how loud you can scream in pleasure for him, how many times you can come undone by his hands compared to ajax, and he thrives by hearing his name falling from your lips as your eyes cross and your cunt spasms around his length.

too sensitive? too much? you can’t?

“but babe…. doesn’t it feel even better when there’s a little bit of pain mixed with the pleasure?”

© zhongrin | 2023 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

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[leviismybby]

Never too old

Levi Ackerman x fem!reader

Nsfw 18+, mdni, age gap!

It was no secret that Levi was aging, just last week he celebrated his 40th birthday with you and the rest. Levi didn't mind that he was getting older, he had had a though life and all he wanted was a peaceful one with you by his side. You were ten years younger, meeting him when you started to work as a waitress in his tea shop. It was only inevitable that two years later, you two were in a relationship.

With age, comes his first gray hair too, you noticed it the other morning when you were getting ready, you really tried to hold your tongue from saying anything but that was never your strong side. "Look at that, your first gray hairs old man." You chuckled, teasing your lover as he got dressed. "Who the fuck are you calling old?" Your eyes ran up and down his strong back, you loved every scar on his skin. "You are old." You tease again, this time with a lot more conviction in your voice. He didn't like that.

By this time, you were supposed to be opening the tea shop, instead, you're in your bed gasping as Levi places kisses down your bare hips. "Old huh? I'll fucking give you old." He bites into your lower navel just above your underwear, he licks over the mark he left on your skin before looking up at you, the high scar on his face intimate many, to you, he was so beautiful.

Levi removes your underwear gently, despite the fingers he is missing, he was able to slide them off without any trouble. He kisses up your body again, leaving a wet trail behind, when he reaches your ear, he kisses your earlobe. You put your hands on his shoulders as you look at him. "Don't fidget too much, understood?" You nod, kissing the side of his neck as his hand slodes down lower.

He inserted two fingers into you, pumping them in and out of your heat, his movements are harsh, clearly, the comment you threw his way earlier got him even if it was just a joke. You moan softly as his fingers side into your pussy, your eyes never leaving his. All his scars and wounds, yet, he was more handsome than any man you have ever seen.

His lips kiss your own, it is a rough and sloppy kiss and you love every second of it. Moaning against his mouth, your hands slide to wrap around the back of his neck, and his fingers start to move faster inside of you making you buck your hips against his hand. Levi pulls away from the kiss, biting into your lower lip. "You're so fucking wet, keep your hips down, baby." He pins your hips down with his other hand, bending his fingers inside of you.

"Oh fuuuck!" You throw your head back, a loud moan escaping your lips. Levi was always so skilled with his hands, years of experience use of ODM gear gave him that skill. Your walls start to clench around his fingers which makes Levi finger you even faster, he enjoys this thoughtfully. Only he knows how to pleasure you like this.

A few customers could be waiting outside for the shop to open so that they can have those morning drinks but Levi doesn't care. He never puts anything above you, his purpose is to please you and make you see stars, he won't stop until you come around his fingers. Levi spits on your cunt, making it easier for his fingers to pump into you.

"Levi that feels so good!" You try desperately to buck your hips again but Levi holds them down. "I said keep your fucking hips down. Don't make me tell you again." He warns you, fucking you more harshly with his digits. Moving his thumb, he rubs your clit softly, he knows your body like a map, every curve, every little movement. It's a perfect combination, his fingers slide into you roughly, and his thumb rubs your clit gently.

It's enough to push you over the edge, your eyes roll back, whimpers surpass your wet lips. The only sound in the room is the breeze coming from the open window and sloppy sounds of Levi's fingers pleasuring you. You grab onto his forearm, you know he doesn't like it when you cum without his permission. "Levi, I need to cum, please... please..."

"Do you now? Interesting...." He softens his movement to curl his fingers inside of you, feeling your warm walls clench tightly around him again. "...Cum all over my fingers, baby." And you do just that, you let go of the knot that built in your lower navel, coming over his fingers and wetting the mattress under you. Levi doesn't mind it, he hates mess until it's your mess.

As you calm down from your high, Levi kisses your cheek before he spreads your legs again, running his cock on your pussy. "Tell me when..." You open your eyes, his hands slide on your waist, you nod your head, still a little in a daze from the intense orgasm you just had moments before.

Levi thrusts into you in one swift motion, groaning at how perfect your cunt feels wrapped around his cock. "Mhh always so ready for me. Fuck I love you." He starts to move, your hands grip the sheets, and your moans echo loudly in sync with his hard thrusts. Maybe people outside can hear you but that's not a concern you care about right now.

His cock pounds deep and hard, Levi knows how you like it. "You think someone younger can make you feel like this? Can fuck you until tears are streaming down your face huh?" His hands go up to squeeze your breasts, making you whimper slightly as he plays with your nipples. "No..just you!" You say through moans, loving the way he is treating you right now.

"That's right and don't you ever forget it. I am never too old to fuck your sweet cunt unit you can't walk." His hips start to snap into you at a restless pace, he hisses at the slight pain in his knee however he keeps going fucking you harshly.

After some time, you notice the discomfort in his face. You pull his body closer to yours, kissing him passionately on the lips and wrapping your legs around his hips as he keeps slamming into you. Quickly, Levi gets the message and switches your position, his hands on your thighs and you are now on top of him.

You start to move your hips with his, thing position makes you feel his cock even deeper inside of you. Levi rubs up and down your legs as you ride him, you leans back, putting your hands on his thighs. Levi loves the view, he can fully see himself sliding inside of your wet pussy.

"Mhh that's it, keep going." His hands move to your ass and he starts to move you even faster on his length. You moan, looking down at Levi and the way his wet hair is dripping with sweat, his abs flexing as he fucks up into you.

When you feel his cock twitching inside of you, you lean forward again, your fingers digging into his strong chest, your pussy clamping down on him. You start to move more passionately, causing Levi to moan and roll his eyes back.

He is on cloud nine, your pussy feels too good for him like this. Without warning, Levi grips your hips roughly and starts to bounce you on top of his cock. His hips thrust fast, all he wants to do is cum deep inside of you. "Fuck fuck fuck..." Groaning, Levi slaps your ass a couple of times when he feels you start to cum on him, your nails dig into his chest.

"Oh yes, Levi! Right there!" He has you moaning shamelessly, Levi closes his eyes as he slams into you hard one last time before squirting thick ropes of cum deep inside your pussy. You lay your hand on his chest, he is still inside of you. Levi runs his fingers through your messy hair as you calm down from your high.

"You were right...you really are never too old." You smile, kissing his neck. Levi pulls out of gently, his cum drips out onto his lower stomach. "You're messy aren't you?" He kisses your forehead. You chuckle. "Want me to lick it off of you?"

"I'll always take you up on that offer, sweetheart."

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

Taglist: @youre-ackermine @the-milk-anon @humanitys-strongest-bamf @romantichomicide95 @mrsackermannx @sixpennydame @svftackerman @hhighkey @cometlevi @notgoodforlife @levisbrat25 @randomlevithoughts @ackermendick @saenora @loveackermannn @levismylover @laurenzitaa @missyasma @sad-darksoul @thebobaprincess @la-undercover-latina @levilxvr @bpdtistic

[littlelionwriting]

Male Companions and Parenting

Here is some headcanons for the male companions (and Zevlor) for Baldur's Gate 3. This is a continuation of the Pregnancy headcanons I wrote previously. If you want to request anything just send me a DM!

Zevlor

His son is a spitting image of him except for his eyes, his eyes are your eyes.

When he holds him for the first time his son's tail wraps around Zevlor's wrist and he feels like his heart will burst.

He's a strict parent but he makes sure that his child knows that they are loved.

He wants to be there for everything, every step, and every word. He wants to be involved.

If his son starts to become interested in weapons or fighting it gives Zevlor a heart attack. He doesn't want that life for his son.

But seeing how important it is to him, seeing how his eyes light up when he is fighting, Zevlor makes sure he is properly trained. Nothing but the best.

He will constantly tell his son how proud he is of him.

"You should have seen him today, Sweetling. He was great. He will be amazing." Zevlor sat on the edge of the bed, looking at you with a grin on his face. "Our family is amazing."

Wyll

When he holds his daughter for the first time, he feels like laughing. His wonderful, beautiful daughter who looks like the perfect mix of the two of you.

He is the dad who has tea parties and helps paint her nails.

Wyll would gladly take her with him when he goes to train, showing her how to properly hold a (dull) blade the moment she is big enough.

He cannot tell her no; she doesn't even bother to ask you for something when she can go to Wyll instead and get what she wants.

The first time he sees his teenage daughter in a proper evening gown for a ball his heart drops cause he knows she isn't his little girl anymore.

He's not the best dancer but he does his best to teach her how to show up everyone on the dance floor.

"Darling, do you see her? Doesn't she look marvelous?" Wyll's eyes go from the dancing figure of your daughter with some noble's son to you as he takes his hand in yours. "Maybe we should take the hint and dance ourselves."

Astarion

His handsome son with his silver hair and red eyes but your skin color.

He is the only one who can get your son to stop crying as a baby. Not even being held by you can quiet the wailing child.

His son may be a troublemaker from the moment he could walk but Astarion would only encourage it. Very much an 'As long as you don't get caught' way of parenting.

Would have no qualms about teaching him how to pick locks or how to use a dagger. One must always be prepared according to Astarion.

He does not like his child being out at night without one of you, even as he gets into his teenage years. If he isn't home by sundown Astarion is ready to go out searching for him.

Astarion makes sure to encourage his son in anything and everything he wants to do. He would gladly buy the world if that is what was asked of him.

"He did well today, Lover. You would have been proud of him." You hummed softly in acknowledgement, not looking up from your book as Astarion walks over to where you sit in front of the first. He smiles before bending over and laying a kiss on the crown of your head.

"Of course, he's your son."

Halsin

When your twins are born Halsin swore they would ask for naught. Holding them both in his large arms to his chest as they slept.

Your son looked like you but had Halsin's hair and eyes while your daughter looked like a clone of Halsin just with your eyes.

Halsin learned early on to keep an eye on them, from the moment they could walk they were running off into the forest. They would often come home covered head to toe in mud.

He makes sure to teach them to respect all creatures, even the gross and icky ones.

It is not uncommon to find one of them on his shoulders. In fact, they often would fight over who got to ride on his shoulders so he had to make them take turns.

His son takes after his father, bringing home random critters much to his father's amusement.

His daughter is on the quiet side, liking to stay by his side and enjoy nature more than the company of people.

Would be over the moon when his daughter felt the call to being a Druid and his son a Ranger.

"You are so proud, Halsin." You walked to his side, taking his large hand in yours, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand.

"More than you could ever know, my Heart."

Gale

Gale loves his daughter from the moment she is born but he is not a baby or toddler guy.

When he is left alone with her for the first time as a baby you come home to both of them crying.

He does his best which includes taking said daughter with him to any lectures he gives and when she babbles, he acts as if she is answering or giving input.

"Excellent point, Darling! Now, to continue..."

He makes sure she is dressed properly for whatever the weather and makes sure she is always in style.

Tara is her favorite babysitter hands down and Tara is more than happy to follow the young Miss around.

The first time she tells you and Gale she has a crush on someone you have to hold Gale back from threatening the poor soul with a fireball.

Gale makes sure to teach your daughter how to be proper and that includes how to rip someone to shreds with their words.

Gale puts a huge emphasis on education, he will make sure that she has the best tutors and will even tutor her himself if she asked.

"She is doing simply amazing, Dearest. You would never guess she has only been studying for a few years. I say she will soon surpass all the others in her class!" You gave your husband a soft smile as he continued to sing your daughter's praises, happy as can be.

Want to buy me a coffee or commission a short story? Find me here: https://ko-fi.com/littleleonlion

[fic-over-cannon]

a little something to celebrate 100 followers (and finishing my finals!)

Jason’s thigh shifts under your cheek. The fabric of his jeans is warmed by your combined body heat, worn soft in the way a best loved pair always is. It’s been a long day, a long week actually, but its over now. You’ve made it through though and there’s nothing but a glorious evening free ahead of you now. You’re lying on your side, eyes closed, head pillowed by Jason’s delicious thighs. He was sitting on the couch when you came home, thighs splayed wide open and absorbed in a book. He’d looked so comfy sitting there, it was all you could do to control your descent onto the couch. You’d flopped down, boneless the instant your body made contact with his. Jason’s thighs were just as comfortable as they looked, warm and firm with just the right amount of give. He looks down at you, fond.

“You gettin’ comfy down there sweetheart?” It’s wry, and probably accompanied by a smile, if you could be bothered to look up and open your eyes to see it.

“Mmmhmmm.”

You nuzzle your face further into his thigh, let the smell of detergent and Jason wash away the day. He reaches for something over you, pulls down a soft fleece blanket to cover you with. He drapes it over you, let’s you adjust it the way you like it. He pets over your hair once, twice, then buries his hand it to cradle your skull. There’s a rustle of pages and you know he’s gone back to his book.

You drift there, warm and comforted by Jason’s steady presence. There’s nothing but the sound of your combined breathing punctuated by the occasional turn of a page. You’re not sure how long you stay there, but by the time you open your eyes again the quality of the light has changed. The living room is only lit by the low warm light of several lamps, the sun completely gone down. For the past few minutes Jason’s gone back to petting your hair, finished with his book.

“You back with me yet?”

Instead of answering, you try and bury your face even further into his leg. His thigh just so firm and biteable that you give into the urge and gently clamp down.

“Hey! Okay, we’re both getting up now. You can either wait here on the couch or sit in the kitchen with me but I need to start making dinner.”

He tries to shake you free but you’re not ready yet. It’s not until he bends over to kiss you on the temple that you magnanimously let him go. Turn up to look at him appraisingly.

“Kitchen but I get to be your taste tester and I get to bring the blanket.”

He laughs then, bright and loud. Sweeps you up, blanket and all, and bridal carries you to the kitchen. Sets you down on one of the bar chairs across the counter so you can watch him, and then starts to pull out pans. Gets the black tea and spice chest out of the cupboard and starts digging for the mortar and pestle under the kitchen sink. Chops and peels a ginger root, adds it to the pot with the tea and spices before covering it all with water to boil. He cleans up as he goes, pulling out the ingredients for pasta as the water boils. You rest your head in your hands to watch him work. A few spoonfuls of sugar and a cup of milk go into the pot now. His hands are steady and mesmerizing as they use a ladle to aerate the boiling milk. The kitchen smells amazing, warmed spices and tea filling the air. A steaming mug appears in front of you, as if by magic.

“New spice blend. Let me know what you think.”

Jason winks before spinning back to the stove.The chai is rich and sweet on your tongue, warming you up from the inside out. It’s probably your favourite version yet, but then you say that about every new iteration he lets you try out.

Jason’s multitasking in a way your tired brain can’t quite catch up to. Pasta’s boiling in one pot, chicken seasoned and shallow frying in a pan, and his knife’s flying to dice garlic and cherry tomatoes. He darts forward with a bit of chicken on a fork, gets you to blow on it before carefully putting it between your teeth. It’s plump and juicy, fat adding salt and the basic seasoning doing the rest to make it delicious.

“It’s good. Taste tester approved. The chai and the chicken.”

“Glad to know my cooking meets your high standards.”

He grins like quick silver, hands never stopping their motions. There’s a pesto sauce cooking off with the chicken and its fat, garlic frying up with it. A dash of cream and the colour goes a soft green. The chai’s almost gone now, a satisfying weight in your belly that only makes you hungrier. There’s pasta on another fork waving in front of your face. Annoyed, you snap it up with your teeth.

“It’s cooked.”

A cloud of steam and the pasta’s drained, tossed into the chicken and sauce. Two bowls appear on the counter filled with chicken and pasta, topped with cherry tomatoes and grated Parmesan. You’re not even sure when he had time to grate cheese. It looks so good, your mouth is already watering.

You’re warm and relaxed, still bundled in a blanket, the dregs of chai still in the mug wrapped in your hands. There’s food on the table, good food made with care. There’s a beautiful man leaning across the counter from you, in the apartment that you’ve made a home together. It’s been a long day, but you’re home with the man you love and none of that matters anymore.

[kyeomsense]

svt maknae line as your bf hcs

pt 2 baby!!

svt x f!reader, all fluff

wc: ~2.1k

read the hyung line ver

minghao

☆ takes you out on artsy dates (museum hopping, painting, decoden, brunch at a boujee cafe, etc.)

☆ takes candid photos of you every chance he gets. he uses them as reference for his art later and as a small pick-up when hes feeling down

☆ he understands the need for individuality in a relationship. although he loves you and you feel the same about him, he makes it clear that the two of you dont complete each other, but instead compliment each other

☆ hes not as openly affectionate around others, but he makes sure you know that hes there by rubbing your knuckles, walking close enough so that your shoulders brush, and leaving a small kiss on your head after each hug

☆ loves to dress you up! he thinks you look great in anything, but he especially likes how the clothes he picks out look on you. youre like his personal fashion model and he loves it

☆ hes super sweet to your family. he shows a lot of respect towards them and they take him in as if he was their long-lost child.

☆ he is brutally honest. he tells you exactly what he thinks and offers suggestions on how to fix things. although he still comforts and reassures you, he also tells you the truth and helps you accept reality

☆ he loves to make you tea! you two even have designated tea time where you both wind down and just talk about life for a bit

☆ the type to ask what youd like for breakfast at night and wake you up with the heavenly smell of his cooking

☆ while walking home from your favorite cafe with freshly-baked pastries, he stops by a local flower shop. when he gets home, he prepares the bouquet in a pretty vase and leaves them on the counter. they remind him of you, and he cant help but smile at the surprised look on your face when you wake up to see the flowers blooming in your kitchen

mingyu

☆ loves the way you look in his clothes. his favorite look on you is when youre in your pajama shorts and one of his big white tees

☆ super clumsy (but its endearing!!). he always finds ways to drop your things, but the sad puppy eyes and string of apologies leaving his lips make you forgive him every time

☆ he. loves. kissing. at the beginning of your relationship, he spent nearly half the time he had with you with his mouth latched onto yours. your friends said he looked at you like he wanted to eat you. he mellows out as time goes on, but the passion from the honeymoon stage of your relationship still lingers

☆ hes not afraid to show everyone that youre his girlfriend.. all the time.. anywhere.. he always shows his affection for you as if no one else was around

☆ the type to bury his face into your neck and hug you from behind all night (he wont let go until you “say the magic word, ‘please’”)

☆ hates that he loves it when you tease him. you think hes so cute when he gets flustered or upset, and although he tells you to knock if off and whines for you to stop messing with him, he secretly loves it.

☆ always shoots you a good morning text! if hes really feeling it, he’ll even send a selfie of him in bed, barefaced, with his hair all poofy and messed up from rolling around in bed

☆ hes a big softie normally, but an even bigger softie for you. he’ll bend over backwards to make you happy, and he never wants you to stop smiling

☆ a bit of a himbo, but it only makes him cuter. he always says dumb stuff that makes you laugh or trips over himself trying to impress you.

☆ gets the warmest, fuzziest, most mind-boggling feeling whenever he thinks of you. his friends always tease him about it (“you look like a real life heart eyes emoji. can you stop thinking about her and focus?”)

seokmin

☆ the most ‘boyfriend’ boyfriend to ever exist. he asks his friends to take photos of him when hes away. he sends them to you and captions them “look! its like we’re on a date <3”

☆ laughs the loudest when youre around. he finds you hilarious and loves your sense of humor

☆ gets drunk and sends you these long, drawn-out text messages where he expresses his love for you and how he wants to marry you. he gets super embarrassed when you tease him about them them the morning after

☆ he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky for him. every time you meet his gaze, his eyes are full of adoration, and a bright smile accompanies them.

☆ loves to pick up things that he knows you like while hes out shopping. he fills his cart with your favorite meal kits, frozen desserts, and even texts you photos of things asking if youd like him to buy them

☆ loves to surprise you with his strength. sometimes you forget just how buff he is due to his loose-fitting, boxy shirts. he loves picking you up randomly and laughs when you yelp in surprise and smack his arm while telling him to put you down

☆ shares everything with you! his clothes, his food, he even clears out one of his dresser drawers for you

☆ always sets up these really elaborate comedic bits with you. he knew he wanted to marry you from the moment you first played along

☆ he loves your hands. hes always messing with them, holding them, massaging them. he just loves your hands so much and especially loves seeing them when your fingers are entwined with his

☆ when he introduces you to his family, they all latch onto you immediately and basically adopt you. they adore you, and hes so happy that they approve of you he accidentally writes your last name as his instead of your own

seungkwan

☆ hes your best friend, and thats what makes your relationship so great. he knows you like the back of his hand, and you return that sentiment equally

☆ when he officially introduces you as his girlfriend to his family, his mom makes a comment about how he wouldnt stop talking about you for months. she adores you (sometimes, seungkwan even thinks that she loves you more than him)

☆ hes great at comforting you and empathizing with what youre going through. he hates seeing you cry, but knows that its needed. he holds you for as long as you need him to and listens to your problems just like you do for him

☆ hes extremely protective of you. not in the sense that he goes overboard and makes it weird, but in the sense that he doesnt want you to get hurt and he’ll confront anyone who he knows has bad intentions towards you

☆ he doesnt put up with your crappy friends’ bullshit. he sees right through them and makes an effort to tell you immediately how he perceives them, but he doesnt force you to follow his advice

☆ on his days off, he wakes you up with kisses and breakfast in bed. when you move to eat, you realize that hes already cut everything into bite-sized portions for you

☆ he peels the rind off of the tangerines his mom sent him before placing them on your plate

☆ although he loves you and wants to stay with you forever, he has no plans set up for the future. he simply wants to stay by your side for as long as he can, and hes willing to do whatever youd like to do in the future with your relationship

☆ he loves it when you call him “kwannie”, he thinks its adorable and feels his cheeks heat up each time

☆ he takes you out on the most romantic picnic dates and always stresses on planning ahead. he brings extras of everything and checks the weather app feverishly to make sure your dates dont get ruined by a drop of rain

vernon

☆ he cracks jokes at you with a straight face and it breaks you every time. he smiles afterwards and stares at you with love in his eyes

☆ he uses cheesy pick-up lines on you even though youre already dating. he loves how you cringe and get all shy, especially when he does it in front of your friends

☆ the two of you spend hours laying in bed and just talking. you talk about anything and everything, and you both end up sleeping as the sun rises

☆ you love his face, and he knows it. hes handsome. he always stares at you and likes watching you fumble whatever is in your hands or trip over yourself like a teenage girl every time he does

☆ he loves at-home dates. hes always wanted to cook a romantic meal for you, but he settles for ordering takeout since he cant figure out the meal kit in your freezer

☆ hes a bit of a blanket hog. the two of you giggle and thrash around the bed on most nights while fighting for the blanket

☆ the type to not question you much when you tell him to do something. if you told him to drink a mysterious liquid, he would. he trusts you completely

☆ you provide each other a sense of safety. you feel safe in his arms and he feels safe in yours. emotionally and physically you both allow each other to sleep soundly.

☆ he buys pairs of beanies whenever he finds cute ones so that he can match with you

☆ he loves to think about the stupidest hypotheticals with you and daydream about alternate realities (he bets that he’d still be yours in all of them)

chan

☆ hes your biggest fan. he loves hyping you up and reassuring you that youre more than enough, that youre beautiful and that hes so glad youre his girlfriend

☆ when he confessed to you, his exact words were “can i be your boyfriend?” instead of “will you be my girlfriend?” because he thought it was too cliché

☆ he loves it when you watch him dance. it makes him go 10x harder than he normally would. after practice is over, he drags you onto the dance floor and pulls you in for a hug, laughing as you whine about how sweaty he is

☆ his eyes are shining when he introduces you to his grandma. the two of you spend the evening talking with her and sipping on hot teas while she makes the tastiest stew youve ever had

☆ his favorite nights are those spent with you. lights off, on the couch with you on top of him and feeling you pressed close against him while the newest episode of your favorite kdrama illuminates the room. (he honestly cant remember what its about, and neither can you, because you both end up kissing and cuddling through multiple episodes)

☆ youre his partner in crime. you spend a lot of time plotting ways to tease his hyungs and end up agreeing to a lot of wild antics that end with the two of you being chased down by a pouty seungcheol

☆ he gets extremely silly around you. for some reason, having you around boosts his confidence, and he cracks more jokes and is way more extroverted in your presence

☆ the first time he heard you crying in bed, he turned you to face him and asked you what was wrong. he held you close, his face inches away from yours, and told you that everything would be okay. you fell asleep in his arms, with his hands running through your hair and the sound of his steady heartbeat lulling you to sleep

☆ he put his photocard in the back of your phone case as a joke. every time he sees it, his cheeks get hot, but he cant quite tell if the blush is from embarassment or endearment (“you still havent taken that out yet? …no! its not a problem at all!!”)

☆ he lets you style him, even letting you do his hair and makeup. he says you do a better job than the makeup artists at work. he puts on a show for you afterwards, putting on his model face and letting you host a mini photo shoot for him

a/n: finally finished writing this! tbh i went a bit out of order when writing all 13 members, so this should have been out way earlier than the hyung line one, but.. yeah! hope this is good :> happy 17th heaven release day everyone!!

[harveysweakness]

a fic about jealous harvey?

..thoughts?

A/N: jealous Harvey has me

Harvey didn’t often feel the need to prove himself. He was a self-assured, confident, successful man. He got what he wanted and his biggest desire was you. You two had known each other for years, only realizing you would be a perfect couple in the last year. And in that time, Harvey had never felt jealous.

Except for now.

You were incredibly respectful of the relationship you had with Harvey. You used to flirt (among other things) with clients in order to get what you needed. Ever since you and Harvey had made things official, you’d stopped doing anything of the sort. But that didn’t stop clients from attempting to make advances on you.

Your boyfriend didn’t often feel concerned about the advances they attempted, because you respectfully always declined their offers for dinner, declined their offering of their arm when walking into the court house, etc. But Harvey couldn’t stop the anger bubbling inside of his chest when he saw Mark Daniels.

Mark Daniels was CEO of Harper National, a newfound AI company that had gained an enormous amount of legal attention in the past few months due to a battle over company rights. He was arrogant, charming, good-looking, and beyond wealthy. He was similar to Harvey, which is why your boyfriend was so angry.

Daniels was constantly trying to beat Harvey, holding your coat open for you when meetings had finished, grabbing you a coffee, tea, or water at the start of depositions, and buying you dinner every time he saw you, even if he had left the building before it was close to dinner time. The man had it delivered to your office, once even as you had sat down in Harvey’s office with the dinner he had bought for you.

The problem seemed to be that Harvey couldn’t just discuss his feelings with you, but instead decided he had to beat Mark at his own game, which meant that you were in the middle of a stupid men’s war.

“And can you be sure that-“ You stopped talking, confused as Harvey entered the conference room.

“I’m heading out, just wanted to quickly say ‘goodbye.”

“Oh, okay, goodbye Harvey,” you replied with a polite smile. It faltered when he moved around the conference table to bend down and press a kiss to your cheek.

“Harvey-“you began, a little shocked at the display of unprofessionalism.

“We’re in the middle of something, here,” Daniels spoke up.

Harvey opened his mouth to speak, but your eyes flashed dangerously at him and he shut his mouth. You watched as he sent a smirk towards Daniels as he walked out. It took everything you had in you not to yell at the two men. Sighing, you refocused on the documents in front of you.

——————

“Hey, sweetheart,” Harvey greeted as you walked into his apartment. He took one look at your face and furrowed his brow. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” You asked, anger growing as you threw your bag into a nearby chair. “How about that display of ridiculous toxic masculinity you decided you needed to show earlier?”

“You mean in the conference room? I was just saying goodby-“

“No, you were trying to prove to the man what you think is yours, which I am not. I am not yours, I am not anybody’s and I know that man gets under your skin but you-“

“Get under my skin- the man tries to shove the fact that he wants you in my face!” Harvey argued, tossing the dish towel angrily onto the counter.

“But I don’t want him!”

“How am I supposed to believe that?”

“Because I am not going to leave, Harvey! Mark Daniels is not in your league! And he is certainly not attractive to me! He is not my boyfriend and I know that you are scared of losing me, scared that what we have will mean nothing, and I know why, but I am not what happened in your past. And I know you love me, even if you haven’t said anything.”

“How can you know that?” Your boyfriend asked, fear quickly flashing in his eyes before he masked it once more.

"Because I know who you are. I just know, Harvey," you deadpanned, your anger softening. "I know that you tell people we met at a bar because you want our meeting place to be intimate to just us. I know that you were sick when we went up north, but I knew you weren't ready to be that type of vulnerable with me that early in our relationship. I know that your favorite show isn't that law one you like, but actually Will and Grace. I know when you ask me to marry you, it will be because you can't hold it in anymore, and I know that on our wedding day you will say something ridiculous that will make me laugh and two seconds later you will say the most romantic thing I've ever heard. I know that you look not only at my ass and boobs, but at my stomach. I see the way your eyes soften, the way you stare, imagining me pregnant with your child. I know you, I know Harvey Specter. And the next time you get jealous, you remember that."

You finished your rant, slightly out of breath, chest heaving. A flurry of emotions crossed Harvey's face. He looked as though he was about to say something, but thought better of it. Instead he quickly crossed the few steps to you, his lips slamming into yours, arms coming around your waist, bringing you into him like his life depended on it.

Your hands moved up to his neck and hair while he picked you up easily. You could tell he was trying to do anything to get closer to you, like nothing would ever be close enough for him.

“You are the most amazing woman I have ever met,” he murmured against your lips.

“I know.”

[thegettingbyp2]

Hi! your fics are amazing! can I request for Anthony bridgerton a marriage of convenience (+ enemies to lovers)? thank youuuu

Get Used to It

A/N: I'm thinking of writing a part 2 for this! Let me know what you think!!

Anthony Bridgerton irritated you to no end.

Your family and the Bridgertons had been close for as long as you could remember and you got along with all of the Bridgerton siblings, all except the eldest. You couldn’t place exactly what it was but there was something about him that annoyed you; and it was the exact same for him. In fact, the two of you disliked each other so much, you pretty much stayed away from each other unless you absolutely had to interact with each other.

Until now, that is.

‘No,’ you replied to your parents bluntly, shocking them at your blatant refusal. You understood that in the society you lived in, you didn’t always get a say in what happens in your personal life, but this was crossing the line.

‘Sweetheart, I know that the two of you don’t always get along but this is for the best, this is the best possible move that our families can make, combining two of the biggest families in the Ton,’ your mother tried to reason with you as your father stood in front of you.

‘Mother, I can’t,’ you insisted, ‘not him, please don’t make me. Choose someone else and I won’t complain just don’t make me marry him.’

‘(Y/N), stop this, your being silly. You and Anthony Bridgerton are going to be a perfect match,’ your father cut in, effectively silencing you. You looked between your parents and as you took in the stubborn expressions on their faces, your shoulders slumped in resignation, knowing that there was no point in trying to argue.

The next day found you and your parents going for tea at the Bridgertons and, naturally, you were seated next to your new fiancé. Sensing that the two of you were uncomfortable, your parents and Violet suggested that the two of you go for a walk along the grounds. At first, you tried to protest, but when you felt Anthony’s hand wrap around your shoulder, you got up from your seat, not even bothering to put up a fight.

The two of you were walking through the garden in silence, you trying to put as much distance between you and Anthony as you possibly could. It had gotten to a point where your silence was irritating him and he pulled you to a stop by grasping your wrist and turning you to face him.

‘So you’re not even going to talk to me?’ he asked, sighing heavily when you didn’t respond. ‘Look, I don’t like this any more than you do but we don’t have a choice, believe me, I’ve tried to get us out of this but I can’t, so get used to it and talk to me.’

‘I get that we can’t get out of it, I’ve tried too,’ you snapped, ‘so we can be civil in public but can we just make a deal not to bother each other if we don’t have to.’

A smirk began to form on Anthony’s lips as he took another step towards you, tilting your chin up to look at him. ‘You know, I’m going to be your husband,’ he mused, ‘and there are certain expectations between a husband and a wife.’

As his words trailed off, your eyes widened, having completely forgotten about what being married to him would mean. ‘No. We don’t have to do that at all,’ you replied, feeling your cheeks turning red when you heard Anthony’s chuckle. ‘Besides,’ you added, ‘how would it feel knowing you’d be sleeping with someone who doesn’t want you.’ You tried to hurt him with your words, instead, it seemed to do the exact opposite as you watched determination fill his eyes.

‘I have patience, Miss (Y/L/N),’ he said gently, the smirk still playing on his lips. ‘I’ll wait until I have you begging me to take you and, believe me, it will happen.’ He said, bending down to press a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before turning and walking away, leaving you standing in the garden watching him, wondering what the hell you’ve just gotten yourself into.

[1whore1gang]

it's the little things🤍

part 1

part 2

Enjoy part 3 besties :)

I feel like something bad has happened in every chapter so far, i’m sorry lmao

the next chapter will be fluffier 🫡

WARNING: this chapter contains some tough topics such as SA, read at your own risk!!

Taglist: @ghostslittlegf @sketchyfandomgirl @batw3nch @thedevillovesflowers @gaymistakeboi @almightywdm @under-the-dirt @clear-your-mind-and-dream

(if i forgot anyone i apologize!!)

I feel like these are getting shorter and shorter 😬

The hum of the coffee machine was the only noise in the kitchen as you waited for the coffee to brew. You and Price were able to squeeze in a couple more hours of sleep before you became restless and got up to make coffee.

You had your arms wrapped around yourself due to the cold air in the compound. Taking a deep breath, you watched as the coffee began to pour out into the container. The smell of it already woke you up more as you breathed it in.

Pulling out the mug underneath, now filled with the liquid, you began to blow on it before setting it down hearing footsteps approaching.

"Morning. Did you make any tea?" Price's groggy voice rang through the silence.

"No, I didn't I'm sorry." You wrapped your sweater closer around your body.

"S'all good." He mumbled, moving around you to get a kettle going. "You still got that training session today?"

"Yeah, new recruits. It was supposed to be me and Ghost, but I told them Ghost got the flu." Price chuckled at that.

"Want me to come help you since you're down a man?" You tilted your head in confusion at his statement.

"Who would watch the boys?"

"Laswell. We can trust her can't we?" You lolled your head to the other shoulder, thinking.

"I suppose so. how do we even tell her? She's gonna report us for illicit drug use." You laughed a little at the thought.

"I'll tell her it's my nephews or something, or we can tell her the truth?" Price laughed along with you.

"Can I ask you a question?" Price hummed as confirmation. "Why haven't we fought yet? Usually when we work together, we're at each other's throats."

Price nodded, obviously contemplating his answer. "I don't know." He said it so simply, as if he hadn't noticed the change in behavior from you both. "Maybe because there's children involved?"

"How many rescues have we done with children where we're still fighting?" Price nods in agreement.

"I'm not sure then." He looks up at the clock, noticing the time. "Let me go ring Laswell while you get ready."

Somehow, Laswell bought the nephew lie. She agreed to watch them for a small amount of time.

"Alright recruits. I'm your Lieutenant, and you can call me that. This is Captain Price, you report to him for any major or emergent situations, otherwise you find me or Sergeant Garrick, who you will meet at a later date. Today, we are going to go over some basic defense maneuvers."

Carefully, you taught the recruits, demonstrating each device with Price. From what you could see, the recruits were catching on quickly. "Finally, my favorite defense mechanism." you signaled Price to come at you, putting you in a headlock. Bending down and quickly pulling your body weight forward, you fling Price over your head.

You hear a couple of recruits gasp. "For the nature of this exercise, we will have each one of you come up to try to flip one of us instead of having you flip each other."

One by one, each recruit came up attempting to flip you and Price. A couple failed, which is normal in these types of training situations. You only had a couple of recruits left. "Private Taron?" you called the young man up. "Try to flip me." You heard Price call up another recruit as you wrapped your arm around the Private's neck. He easily had you flying over him, landing roughly on your back.

You felt the wind being knocked out of you. "Here, let me help you." Taron reached out a hand, helping you up off the floor. When you stood up, he didn't let go of your hand. "Can I ask you something since I'm the last one in your line?"

"Yeah, what's the problem?"

"No problem, I just wanted to see if you could flip me?" You froze at the question but took the challenge since Taron was about the size of Price.

"Why not, I could use the challenge." You prepped yourself, waiting for him to wrap his arm around you. "Ready when you are-"

Your words caught in your throat as you felt him grind himself into you, his erection pressing into your lower back. "See what you do to me ma'am? You won't write me up for sleeping with my superior will you?-"

Quickly, you flung him over your head, him landing with an audible thud. "You have a meeting with General Shephard at 0800. Don't be late."

You left the room quickly, not even bothering to look at Price. You beelined to your room to change and shower as quick as you ever had before going to relieve Kate from the boys.

"Thanks again Laswell."

"Anytime, his nephews are angels." She left without another word as you looked down at the three littles in their playpen.

Soap and Gaz were playing with some little planes you and Price had bought while Ghost was asleep. Soap looked up at you and his little face lit up, making grabby hands at you. You smiled as you picked him up. He immediately snuggled into your neck, letting out the cutest little sigh. Gaz followed suit, giving you grabby hands as you picked him up too. "Come on boys."

Moving over to the pullout couch, you propped the two boys to where each one was laying on a shoulder as you sat back. Both of them seemed calm, almost sleepy at contact. You stroked their little heads, shushing them into a nap since Laswell said she couldn't get them to settle.

You tried to focus on the current moment and not the disturbing event that had happened not even 10 minutes prior.

Your skin itched, feeling exposed, dirty. You felt violated. You felt tears sting your eyes, trying your hardest to focus on the little sounds coming from Soap and Gaz. Deep breaths left your mouth, trying to calm yourself.

Little snores filled your ears as your face became red with tear stains. You moved to set the boys back down, feeling bad for not holding them for very long. You sat with your head in your hands, trying to subside the tears you felt. It was such an icky feeling, your body crawling with an uncomfortable feeling.

You didn't want Price to see you like this, you knew he'd ask about what happened and you two would get into a heated debate about how you could've handled it better than storming out.

You could hear his voice now, telling you how you should've reported him right away, spoke up. His voice telling you that your response was immature.

Sighing, you took out your phone to send an emailed report to Shephard so he knew what was happening when the recruit walked in.

Footsteps filled your ears as you hit send, the door opening slowly as a freshly showered Price entered the room. "What the hell was that?"

"I'm not doing this right now. Yell at me all you want another time."

"No, explain to me why you walked out on those recruits." His voice was beginning to border the line of anger.

"Price, please."

"No, Y/N, what was that?! It doesn't matter who you are, you don't walk out on recruits during a vital training sessions." his stood against the closed door, his arms crossed. His head tilted as he spoke.

"Can we please not do this?" You finally made eye contact with him for the first time since he had stepped in. This made him see your tear ridden eyes.

"Tell me. Now." His voice was almost a growl as it came out.

"Please-"

"WHO?!" He boomed as his hands slammed down on the table in the kitchenette of his room. It made you flinch, which made his gaze soften. "Y/N."

"Price." He moved over a few steps closer to you.

"Tell me. Please." You saw his eyes change from being the angry narrowed look to a more gentle, beckoning one. "I am still your superior, so you report any issues to me, regardless of what it is."

"Don't fucking pull that card." You shook your head in annoyance.

"I can pull whatever card I goddamn want, I am your Captain and you will tell me what happened." You was back to the pointed look he always gave you.

You huffed out a breath. "You don't give up do you? Don't know when to stop talking?"

"Y/N..."

"One of the recruits rubbed their hardened cock on me and told me that they wanted to sleep with me. Happy?"

"Y/N, if you had just-"

"Don't start. I know you're gonna tell me my response was immature and that I'm overreacting or I misheard him. You're going to tell me the statistics of women getting harassed in the military and how one little grope isn't gonna hurt me right?" You watched Price's face turn to one of horror.

"Why the hell would I say that? Do you really think so lowly of me?" Price was hurt now.

"Because that's what you did last time something like this happened. November 4th, 2020. We were on a mission in Dubai and one of the new soldiers on the mission groped me and fondled me. You told me I was overreacting and told me to brush it off."

Price was froze, his mind turning for answers to why he did that. He wasn't speaking nor moving. Instead, he just walked out.

He walked out on your important conversation like that. Left you alone in your state of pain and the familiar feeling of betrayal came back to your chest.

That feeling was a package deal when it came to your Captain. You always felt betrayed and hurt by him due to your common interactions. He was tough on you, and you two never were on the same page.

Except lately, you thought you were. You were so wrong.

You took your things and the boys back to your room that night, wanting to be away from your Captain. You knew the kindness was too good to be true, deep down though you wanted it to linger just a little bit longer.

His offers to cook or watch the boys, the way he would look at you and tell you to rest. You wanted the kindness in his eyes and his smile to stick around longer.

You wanted John, not Price.

And you'd never have that. Not with your Captain's history with you. The constant fighting, the butting of heads, the disagreeing will never go away, and as you realized that, you cried.

You had seen a glimpse of the man behind the title, and you welcomed the warmness he had brought to your eyes. The way his personality shown through instead of his usual coldness. You had felt a tinge of a friendship blooming, but that has quickly been ripped from your grasp.

While you were crying, you looked over to see Ghost standing up in the playpen, staring at you with a blank expression and wide eyes. He whined when you looked at him. "Oh, Simon..."

Moving, you picked him up and rocked him in your arms as he began to sniffle. "I'm okay, just the usual squabble with our Captain." You shushed him, trying to convince this small child that you were okay.

His little hand reached up to touch your mouth, letting out a little sound. he blinked at you a few times, still sniffling as his bottom lip quivered and he eyebrows were down.

You smiled a little at the seemingly meaningless gesture. "How do you know how to make me smile even as a baby?" You laughed a little as he sad expression faded, his little hand dropping back down. he let out a couple of little baby babbles, and you smiled again. "My Simon always comforting me, even if it's incoherent baby noises." He yawned, leading you to move him back into the playpen, giving him a thank you, even though you knew he couldn't understand you. He yawned again as he rolled over, closing his little eyes.

You sat back down in your bed as your mind raced a million miles a minute.

How could your Captain be so double sided, and what triggered him to change from cold to warm, but so quickly snap right back?

[auspicioustidings]

Firewatch Part 10

Summary: Simon tries to bring you back from the edge.

Words: 2.2k

CW: Kidnapping

Simon did not know what he expected to walk into and couldn't really come up with any ideas. His mind was too clouded with the need to see you, to confirm with his own eyes you were alive. He sprinted through the forest barely tempering his reckless pace through the darkness. When he reached the cabin he barrelled in without much ceremony and locked eyes on you.

You looked smaller somehow. It wasn't a physical smallness, it was the way that fear rolled off of you in waves. You were curled against Price, willingly burying yourself into him next to the fire. All of your fight was just gone. He hated it. He hated seeing you like this.

Simon had always been a bit more realistic than the others when it came to you. He had been in your cottage after all. It was chaotic but there was so much of you that shone through in the chaos. Half finished craft projects everywhere (you were clearly passionate but lost interest easily if there was nobody to keep you on task), books neatly put away by genre and not alphabetically (he could tell you were someone who took great care with them, the type to use a bookmark instead of folding down any of the edges, and the adventure and fantasy books told him you were someone who dreamed big), several different types of tea (you must like variety).

There weren't any photos up, it had annoyed him. You didn't seem to have much in the way of loved ones but for your cat who you clearly spoiled if the cat walk lovingly built along the walls was any indication. He knew you were stubborn and had a temper, he could tell from the butchered bit of wall from where you had clearly struggled to get one of the shelves to sit straight. He knew you were messy, messy enough that it would probably get on his nerves when you lived together. 

He loved you despite it. He loved seeing your passion in every inch of that cottage. He loved seeing your wild recklessness through the well used first aid kit that was lying out ready to be used again. He loved seeing your tenderness in how Dosia had subtly blocked him from touching your hair as you slept, the little thing fiercely protective even against a predator many times her size. She loved you because you had loved her and that was a beautiful thing.

This you? Dull eyed and clinging to Price like a lifeline? It wasn't right. It didn't fit properly. He would take you kicking and hissing and biting at him over this affection born from trauma. It was the reason he never tried to use the fact it had been him that carried you out of that burning cottage against you. He didn't want a version of you that had to bend to what would make him happy. He wanted you just as you were.

Price found himself in a similar mindset. 12 hours ago he would have killed to have you like this, soft and clinging to him like he was the only thing in the world. Not like this. Not broken from fear and hypothermia. 

His heart had nearly stopped when Soap had shouted that he found you, his voice laced with panic. Him and Gaz had gotten to you as quickly as they could in the dark. You were cold and you were beyond scared, tear tracks from what must have been hours of sobbing dried onto your cheeks. You thought they wouldn't come for you. You thought you would die. 

He knew how bad it was when Johnny was crouched in front of you trying to get a response and you had just slowly, painfully slowly, leaned forward to crumple into him. He saw Soap tense for a moment before scooping you up and murmuring soft words into your hair, his accent having gotten so thick Price couldn't pick up any of the words properly. He carried you like that, your legs wrapped around his waist and your head tucked into his shoulder, back to the truck.

It was barely even a two minute walk from where you were to the road but Price was telling you how fucking thankful he was you had stayed where you were, assuring you that you had done the right thing. If you had tried to get back and went the wrong way they might never have found you. You didn't respond. 

It was like you weren't even really there. He drove and you clung to Soap in the back while him and Gaz tried to coax you to talk, but they got nowhere. It was shockingly easy to pass you between them, you were just eager to be holding a warm body, to have someone enveloping you. 

Christ they could do anything to you in this state, you'd let them do anything if it meant they wouldn't leave you. It made him want to throw up. He radioed Simon on the way back, deciding to get you inside as soon as possible rather than going to pick him up. 

It was Gaz who carried you in, he was shaking himself, looking like he was liable to fall apart at any moment. This was his team, time to be a leader. Price gently took you from Gaz's arms and softly gave instructions for him and Soap. Get warm clothes and a blanket, make tea, keep the fire going, clear the now stale brunch and get something warm and easy to eat started. 

They found it difficult to not be near you, but being near you was clearly causing them to freeze up and not know what to do, so giving them a task list helped. He settled into one of the armchairs by the fire with you, letting you hold him and tucking his chin onto your head so he was enveloping you fully, keeping you warm and safe.

“You're OK little bird, I've got you. You're safe. Not going to let anything happen to you” he said in a hushed whisper to you, half because you really did remind him of a little bird that might get spooked if he was too loud and half because a torrent of emotion that felt too big for his body was choking him up. 

Even when Simon came crashing in you didn't react. 

“What happened?”

“It's our fault Si, we didnae even see her through the windae. Got all wrapped up in whit we were doing.”

“Jesus Johnny” Simon said, seeing how he looked like he really believed this was his fault. 

Price gave Simon a look and a little nod, he had you but Simon needed to keep everyone else together, calm them down. He went over to Johnny who had a plate of cold scrambled eggs in hand, clearly was midway through getting rid of them but had frozen up. He could see the plate was shaking. 

“Wasn't anyone's fault Johnny. Hey, look at me. This was not your fault.”

He took the plate gently out of his grip and started to clean away the food. It helped Johnny to sink back into the task when Simon was there helping him. Gaz came in with clothes and a blanket and swallowed thickly when nodding a hello towards Simon, like he wanted to put off going and helping get you out of your clothes that were cold and dirty and into your cosy fresh ones. 

“You got this?”

“I- yeah, I got it. I'm solid.”

Kyle didn't really know if he believed himself but he pressed forward because he could not leave you in those clothes. 

“Can one of you bring over the first aid kit? Her feet need looked at.”

Issuing an instruction made him feel a little calmer as he gently rubbed your back, crouching a little so he could speak softly to you.

“Hey luv, it's just me, it's Kyle. Pretty name remember? Need to get you changed OK? Going to make sure you get nice and warm and comfortable” he said gently, starting to coax your hoodie and top off with Price's help. “Making you safe right? I'll always save you.”

It was agonising. You let them get you out of your clothes like it didn't bother you at all. It bothered the hell out of him. They were fast in changing you because it felt wrong that this was how you'd be naked between them. It felt awful that the brush of his hand against your breasts as he pulled clothes off and on you wasn't something that caused you to hiss at him. 

He had never been more grateful for Simon Riley is his life when the man came over once you were changed to take you from Price. He knew it was jarring for them to see you so vulnerable and bare like that, a hideous bit of lust creeping in and making the both of them hate themselves over it.

You went to him easily, far too easily given your last encounter. Price focused on getting your feet cleaned and bandaged while Gaz went to knock his forehead against Soap's, needing some sort of comfort for this whole fucked up mess. They could easily have lost you tonight. They still might. Price did give Simon somewhat of a warning look but let him say his piece as he traced patterns on your back.

“What were you thinking sweetheart?” he said, gentle but with upset simmering right under the surface. “As soon as you're feeling better we are going to have a long chat hm?”

He wanted a response from you. He wanted something. You only clung to him. He nosed at the mark still healing on your neck and you still didn't react. There was a warning growl from Price when he kissed it, but Simon gave him a firm glare. He needed you to come back no matter what it took. When he kissed a little harder he could feel the slight tense of your muscles, the hint of annoyance. 

The others noticed when you twitched as he moved to suck a mark just next to the bite and watched on, hoping against hope that it meant something. It was a good thing Simon Riley was a persistent asshole.

“Think I'll leave another mark, make your neck all pretty. That what you need? Someone to bite hard, put you in your place a little?”

You didn't really remember what happened, it was a bit of a blur. You knew that you felt warmer now and that you never, ever wanted to be that cold again. You knew that behind your heavy eyelids was a soft light and that you never, ever wanted to be in the pitch darkness again. You liked that there was something living underneath you, something warm with a strong heartbeat encouraging your own.  

Somewhere in your mind when your clothes were being taken off you thought you'd just let them have their way with you. If they would just stay close, keep you warm, keep you in the light, then you could let them. You didn't care about anything else. 

There was a spark of something when lips were pressed to the tender mark on your neck. The lips pressed harder and you dimly recognised it was Simon. He sucked a mark and you remembered what happened last time with him, felt a bubbling annoyance take over that void of feeling nothing. Hadn't you been beating yourself up thinking he was a good man and now he was right back at your throat?

You actually heard and understood words then, came back to yourself a little. This fucking jerk. It's what he had said before. Well last time you had booted him between the legs and gotten him punished so who the hell did he think he was to try again when you were being nice?!

You were straddled on his lap and bundled up in him so you couldn't do much groin kneeing. You could give him a taste of his own damn medicine though. Simon groaned low when your teeth sunk into the juncture between his shoulder and neck and then grumbled out a laugh through the sting. 

“There's my girl.”

You pulled back to find him grinning at you, seemingly not bothered at all by the indents you had left. This guy was a maniac, but fuck you were suddenly glad to see him. You were so, so terribly glad he was here and you were warm and safe. Maybe. You held his gaze, not willing to face the two men who had been casually discussing your murder. 

“I don't want to die.”

“Then don't pull stupid shit like that sweetheart.”

“Don't kill me.”

“You have my word.”

Price held a hand up to Soap and Gaz, telling them to stay quiet and let Simon handle this.

“Don't let anyone else kill me.”

“If anyone tries, I'll serve them to Dosia.”

This has been the most awful night of your life so for the sake of your own will to keep going, you chose to believe him.  

[the-froschamethyst4]

Where is My Husband (PT2)

𖤐Pairing: Husband! Ghost x Wife! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: Fluff, a bit smutty, a bit emotional, kissing, language, married couple, remaking memories, flashbacks,

𖤐Recap: Ghost had unfortunately lost his memory after getting injured. He lost all memory of his wife Y/n, he lost 2 years worth of his memories. His wife tries to help him gain all those memories back of her into his mind.

𖤐 where-is-my-husband (pt1)

—————

—————

Ghost has been going to the physical therapist for about a week now, he’s definitely having trouble moving his arm a lot, the therapist told him not to lift anything heavy for a while at least not in till his feels more confident.

Y/n has also been going with him as well, he just wanted her to come so he could show her that he will be okay.

Y/n was driving them home from one of his appointments, he leaned back in the passenger seat head leaning on the window.

He didn't want to say it...but he felt very useless.

"How many more appointments?" Ghost asked.

"In till you feel comfortable and till you show some signs of improvement."

He groans. "This is annoying," he says.

He's definitely the same ol' Ghost from before leaving for the Military, no patience, and always grumpy.

"It's not annoying, Simon, you need to go so you can become healthy again and so your arm can move like it used to." She says, while pulling into the driveway.

They both got out, Ghost using his key to unlock the door, and both were greeted by Phantom, he meows loudly rubbing his head on Ghost's shin and pawing at Y/n's shoelaces.

She smiles bending down and picking up Phantom. He lets out some loud purrs and rested his head on Y/n's shoulder.

Ghost went to the kitchen to make himself some tea as Y/n followed behind. The doctor had said to keep an eye on him from lifting heavy things, he wasn't even allowed to carry a gallon of milk.

He opens the fridge and tries to grab the gallon of milk, but Y/n put Phantom on his cat tree and grabbed the milk for him.

He signs of annoyance, and looked at Y/n.

"I could have used my other arm."

"It's okay, Simon, I got it for you."

"Don't...I'm not thirsty anymore."

"Oh, stop it, Simon..." Y/n says.

Ghost just rolls his eyes and she set the milk down on the counter, Y/n looked at Ghost and smiled.

Ghost may hardly remember Y/n but he's slowly remembering that sweet smile of hers. Ghost stares at her and then wonders how did someone like her fall for someone like him?

--------

Y/n has to go to the store for groceries, she was getting her jacket on and zipping it up halfway. Simon looks over the couch and saw her getting her shoes on next.

"Y/n? Where are you going?"

"The store-OH! Would you like to come with? I figured you may not want to come but I should have asked instead of assuming."

"No, I'm fine, go on without me," he yawns and turns back to the TV. Y/n grabs her purse and walks to the couch, she leans over and kisses his cheek.

"I'll be back," she whispers and walked out of the house. Simon felt his cheeks heat up.

"Goddammit," Simon says.

Once she was gone, Simon stood up and wondered the house. He found some photo albums and started to look through them. He looked through one that was small, a light pink colored cover, the first photo he flips to was on Y/n on her back with a summer dress, she looks beautiful, it was like the one that sat behind the couch.

He flips to the next page seeing him sitting on a big rock looking at the river, he looked like he was in hiking gear, it must be a date and vacation photo album.

Going on he finds one of both of them in a hot tub together, his right hand held her waist, the other holds the camera, he was smiling but not one that showed his teeth just a small mouth smile, Y/n's arms wrapped around his neck, and she showed a bright smile. This must be an important date or vacation, he then noticed something.

The first photo of her on the picnic blanket her finger were bare but this one in the hot tub, her left ring finger held her wedding ring.

He proposed to her this day.

Flashback

Simon and Y/n had gone to the states and their vacation was in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. Simon had rented out a cabin for a week, and in this week, Simon was nervous...he was going to propose to Y/n.

Y/n and Simon were in Gatlinburg enjoying the sights and hiking, it was Y/n's idea to go somewhere in the States, she hasn't been in a while and Ghost hasn't been to the States before.

Simon's left hand was in his pocket messing around with the small black velvet box in his pocket. Y/n was at a wine testing bar as Ghost was behind her, he was making sure she was okay and whatever she wanted Ghost was going to spoil her with whatever she wanted it was all about her this week no one else, not even himself.

She picked out two wines a classic white grape wine and a cotton candy flavored wine. Ghost had bought them for her. Ghost and Y/n were now shopping, Y/n wanted some souvenirs as Ghost just bought a keychain, it was of a black bear with Gatlinburg engraved in it.

They headed back to their cabin and Y/n really wanted to get the hot tub, she packed a swimsuit and Ghost had brought his swimming trunks. They both changed into their swimming gear and Ghost removed the cover on the hot tub and let Y/n go in first.

Then he got in, he sat across from Y/n, she was a little confused on why he was so far.

"Why are you all the way over there?" She asks.

"I...I'm not sure," he chuckles and moves closer to her. He put his arms on the side of the hot tub, one behind Y/n's head and the other was rubbing his fingers together. He looked over his shoulder and saw the black velvet box just peeking out from under his towel.

"What?" She asked, ready to turn around but he stopped her.

"Nothing, hey look at me," he says. She does and giggles at him.

"What?" She asks.

"Just...wanted to look at you that's all," he said, kissing her lips. His hands went to her cheeks and soon fell to her waist pulling her closer to him.

"S-Simon, why so sudden?"

"Why not?" He asks, kissing her some more and he stands up still kissing her and grabbing the black box. "Y/n?"

"Hmm~?" She hums, looking up at him.

"I umm~ I wanted to ask you something...something that's very important."

"Okay...ask away," she smiles.

"Well...when I met you, I was wondering how could someone like you end up with someone like me? How did I get so lucky to have someone like you in my life? Y/n...I want to keep having those thoughts, I've been holding this back for a while because I didn't know the right time, but I think now is the right time to ask," he shows her the black box and she immediately knew what was inside.

She covers her mouth with her hands and waited patiently to open it.

"Will...Will you make me the happiest man on Earth and..." he opens it to show off a beautiful ring. "Marry me?"

"Oh Simon, yes, yes, of course, I will," she hugs him tightly and he was smiling and hugging her back. He slides the ring on her finger and grabs her waist and pulls her closer to him, he other hand, held the camera and took a photo.

"I remember..." Ghost mumbles before flipping to the next photo.

The photo was a bit...scandalous...it was of Y/n, and it was her on the bed, sitting on her knees in some white lingerie, her straps had fallen down and her bra was undone but she held it against her chest to cover herself.

He chuckles and shakes his head.

Next, she was feeding a buffalo at a Zoo they went to, she looked so happy, he could see the ring in the photo, it made him smile even more at the thought of her.

Ghost remembers a random time that just randomly popped in his head. It was of him, and Y/n just lying in bed and talked for a little bit, he doesn't remember the conversation or anything it was just random.

He places the book down and grabbed another album. It was the wedding one, it was white and in big letters in cursive saying 𝒯𝒽ℯ 𝒲ℯ𝒹𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 ℴ𝒻 𝒮𝒾𝓂ℴ𝓃 ℛ𝒾𝓁ℯ𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒴／𝓃 ℒ／𝓃.

The first page the picture was of Y/n getting ready, curlers in her hair, eye masks under her eyes, and she was drinking from a coffee cup while his guess her mom was behind her with her hands on her shoulders.

He turns the page and saw him and his friends smiling at the camera and holding glasses full of liquor, none of them were ready, Simon's shirt was unbuttoned, and his belt was undone.

"What are you looking at?" He heard Y/n's soft voice.

"...Memories," he said, holding up the album.

"Oh...yeah," she places the groceries away and went to the couch sitting next to him as he turns the page.

"What was happening here?" Ghost asked, but he probably knows what's happening.

"Well, Soap had a few too many drinks and wouldn't stop laughing, so Price tried to get him to stop by covering his mouth, but everyone was having fun," she says.

Ghost looks at Y/n's finger seeing the ring.

"I remember how I proposed to you."

She seemed shocked he remembered.

"HUH! Really?!"

"Yeah...we were in Gatlinburg and we both where in the hot tub together and I proposed," she cups his face.

"You remember?"

"Yeah~" he sounded confused maybe he was wrong?

"Oh my god," she hugs him tightly and he hugs her back.

"But...I still don't remember much," he says.

"I understand," she says.

They kept going through the photo albums and he was smiling at the wedding and then Y/n grabbed another vacation album.

"This was us at Bora Bora for our honeymoon," she says.

"Is that-"

"Yeah~" There was a photo Ghost flipped to and it was of Y/n in the water...naked. Ghost looked at her and her face was red, she was embarrassed.

"I mean we were in our own private area, so it didn't matter, but you WANTED a phot after I said no, so many times," she giggles. "We don't show this album a whole lot because of...some of the photos," she confesses.

"I can see why," he flips the page and saw where he was laying in the bed completely bare, and the white sheet rested on his lower half, but you could see his v-line. "I wonder who took this photo?" He says chuckling.

"You took so many of me, I thought I should do some," she says giving him an awkward smile.

The next one was both of them in bed together, Ghost's legs pushed open hers as she laid on her back and covered her red face.

"Did we?"

"We did...you were so adamite on taking a picture of me after doing it," she acted shy.

Most of the photos in this album was always them naked in some way or Ghost embarrassing Y/n, in a good way.

Y/n put the album away and looked at him if he wanted to look at more photo albums or if they wanted to talk about memories instead.

-------

Y/n had made tea for the both of them, as Ghost asked questions and Y/n would answer them.

"Did we ever talk about having kids?"

"A couple of times, but we also talked about how we should be prepared, and finically stabled before we have any," she says.

"I see...when did we move in together?"

"A year after we started dating."

"How did we meet?" He asks.

"We met by Soap and Price, I was Price's friend, and we went to his party together and Soap and him set us up together, we started hanging out, then you asked if we could date, and I said yes."

"Wow Soap was useful for something," he jokes, and Y/n playfully pushed him giggling.

Phantom plopped himself on Ghost's lap and Ghost pets his head as he kept asking questions.

"Do you ever miss me when I was gone?"

"Every time and every day, I will always miss you," she says.

Ghost stares at Y/n as she pets Phantom's head and heard him purring, Simon's and Y/ns hands grazed each other, and she looks up at him.

"I want to...want to kiss you..." he confesses.

"You're allowed to...I am your wife," she reminded him. He moves forward and Phantom jumps from his lap as Ghost cups her face pulling her closer.

His lips landed on hers. She moans into the kiss; his hands went to her waist, and he mumbles in between the kissing.

"You are so beautiful *kiss* gorgeous *kiss* incredible *kiss* and my *kiss* very cute *kiss* sexy *kiss* hot *kiss* wife." He says. He pulls away and looks into her eyes.

Her face was red and bright, she was embarrassed but is also glad he is remembering her.

"S-Simon."

"God...I love you...my wife, my wife, my wife," he repeats and kisses her again.

---Tags---

@ash-tarte

@thisisaphrodite

@mrflyingbanana03

[snaililita]

Lyney and Lynette's death lines cut me deep.... I needed to make this to make me feel better....

TW: Serious injuries not described graphically however, Reader gets emotionally traumatized, the twins almost died but they survive, Reader cries a whole shit load, blood is mentioned a lot, Traveller is Lumine, Lyney x Reader content, Reader is implied to be female and uses she/her pronouns.

I made this at 1 am any errors are because I made this instead of sleeping.

It had all happened so quickly... one moment you and your closest friends were collecting seashells and the next a concentrated horned crocodile bursts out of the waves tackling Lynette to the ground in a bloody spray of crimson. You and Lyney tried to fight it off but not for seeing the attack none of you had weapons. You thought this beach was safe.... If the traveller hadn't showed up with her party you are sure that you and the magicians would had been done for...

You had never noticed how pristinely white the walls of the infirmary were until now. However, that's probably because you were usually never there unless you yourself were injured. So you suppose you just never noticed. The smell of the place was also quite strong, it was unmistakable and always brought you mixed feelings. Feelings of anxiety for needing to be near those smells at all, but, also some hope.

That's what you needed right now.

You sat inbetween the beds of your blonde friends who had been so graciously placed in the same room together by the staff. You had already, for the most part, recovered from most of your minor wounds leaving just your more serious ones to heal. Left with a cracked rib and a broken arm you were 100% set for full recovery. You weren't sure if the same was to be said about Lyney and Lynette though....

Both had received major injuries to their heads and neither had woken up yet. It had been 3 days since that evening. You hadn't left their room since you came in, nurses failing to bend your stubborn iron resolve and just bringing you food. You didn't want to leave them alone. The inner pessimist in you and your anxieties kept you locked there. What if they didn't wake up? What if they passed on leaving you behind? You at least wished to be with them if that were to happen.

You looked down upon Lyney's bandaged face. His make-up had long since been removed and his hair was a curly mess. Same could be said about Lynette's hair but to a lesser extent. Both had bandages wired around their heads and purple blotches that left a sour taste in your mouth. Seeing your two closest friends in this state made your stomach ache horridly.

Gently, you took Lyney's hand into yours. A frown was spread across your delicate features as you ran your thumb across the blonde's exposed knuckles gently. They were so soft. It's a shame he always hides them underneath his gloves.

(("Lyney, Lynette. Please wake up soon. I'm not sure what I w-would do without you guys..."))

Your lip began to quiver again. You had already long since shed many tears over your friends' current states but you felt as if your tear ducts were overloaded tea cups on the brink of shattering.

(("I l-love you guys so much- please d-don't leave me."))

You kept your voice as quiet as you could, not wanting to disturb other patients in the neighbouring rooms who could possibly be sleeping. However, you couldn't control your voice cracking every other word and the pitchiness of it.

Leaning your head of (H/C) hair onto Lyney's bed beside him, you once again began to cry. You didn't want to soak his sheets with your tears however so you made sure to cry into the arm that wasn't holding the magician's soft hand.

(("You shouldn't cry chérie, we wouldn't want you to get a headache now would we?"))

A familiar voice spoke a name only one person who walked the lands of Teyvat would refer to you as. Sitting up abruptly, you lock eyes with soft lilac ones and a gentle smile. Lyney had woken up. His voice was strained and it sounded as if he struggled to speak though.

(("Lyn..ey?"))

You felt your eyes begin to water again as more crystalline, salty tears began to drip down your rosey cheeks once more. Your breathing became uneven as your crying made it hard to.

(("Lyney- Lyney pl-please never do that again l-lets never go b-back there again Lyney I c-can't live with- without you or L-Lynette please-"))

You choked out between strained breaths and sobs. Lyney gently brought one of his delicate hands up to one if your tear-stained cheeks, carefully caressing it. You quickly leaned into like a feline would, accepting any form of reminder that he was alive and recovering, albeit slowly.

(("Mon précieux, it'll be alright."))

His lavender eyes held nothing but a loving reassurance in them, backing his words. Nothing else was spoken between the two of you for a long time aside from your sobs and the occasional 'Lyney' between them. This lasted for a while, a long while. You had wound up crying yourself to sleep on Lyney's lap as he gently stroked your head.

This is when Lynette began to stir.

(("L-Lyney?? (Y/N)? What happened?"))

Her voice was thankfully still mostly in tact it appears. Lyney spoke softly, answering her question,

(("Horned crocodile attack. I presume we've been out for several days but it's hard to tell. If (Y/N)'s reaction is anything to go off of, however, I would assume it's at least been 2-3 days."))

Lynette looked towards your sleeping figure, relief of your safety washing over her. Your tear stained face and multiple bandages were a little worrying but you were alive and healing regardless.

(("Is she alright?"))

The girl asked her brother who nodded in response,

(("She'll be overjoyed when she learns that you have awaken as well dear sister."))

[mediumgayitalian]

She almost runs over her guitar on her way in the driveway.

For a second, the image is so obscene that she laughs. She’d gotten her hands on a permanent marker, when she was three, scrawled her name across the body with careful hands a tongue stuck out of her mouth in concentration. The N is backwards, and she’d creatively used the soundhole as the O. Hollered for Daddy to come look, to come ruffle her hair and swing her over his shoulders for a job well done.

He’d come to look, alright.

“Well, Helen,” he’d said to his wife, scrubbing a hand over his neck, “damn thing’s hers, now, I suppose.”

He’d always warned her to be careful with it. Scolded her for every sticker she’d slapped on the neck, every painted doodle on the face. Picked it up when she left it sprawled on the couch, placing it gently on the stand. Careful as he was with all her things, with her.

It’s strings-down on the pavement, now, half-crushed under the weight of her patched pink backpack. She takes a half step forward, chipped paint of her purple toenails scratching against the wood of the guitar. She crouches down and touches it, softly, wincing at the twang of the twisted strings.

“What…”

A flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye catches her attention. She looks up just in time to catch the pale blue curtains swish quickly shut over the bow windows, to see the lights flick off.

Mouth dry, she touches her stomach. The swell is barely there — barely noticeable. Barely far along enough to feel the kick.

She wants to scream. She wants to run up to the door and bang on it ‘til Mama swings it open, wants to collapse to her knees and sob and beg for their forgiveness. Wants to tell them about how scared she’s been for months. Wants Mama to grip her hand in her calloused ones, sit her at the kitchen table and get her the exact type of tea that’ll settle her stomach and soothe her heartburn. Wants Daddy to smooth back her hair and press a kiss to the crown of her forehead, squeezing the curve of her shoulder. Wants Wally the cat to hop up onto her lap, mrrping and bumping his head into her sternum.

Instead, she swallows. She swings her backpack over her shoulders, picks her guitar gently off the cracked driveway, and walks straight-backed to her car. The key sticks in the lock, as it always does, and in her increasingly desperate attempts to force it open she twists the damn thing, and the key is sad and thin and bent when she yanks it out and she cries, almost, the tears build and build and build in her eyes, util suddenly she grits her teeth and decides that she will not. She shoves the key back in the lock and twists the other way, bending it back into shape, wrenching open the door and throwing her backpack in, relishing in the thunk as it hits the passenger door. With her guitar she’s gentler, barely, setting it neatly along the backseats and wrenching her hand back as hard as she can to make up for it.

She sits in the drivers seat so hard the whole car shakes. The steering wheel is warm, still, from the heat of her palms on the drive here from Molly’s house, because she’s been overheated lately. For the last four months, to be exact. Overheated and cranky and nauseous and heavy.

“Well,” she whispers, resting her forehead on the steering wheel. She wraps her arms around her stomach, squeezing her eyes shut, biting her tongue as hard as she can. “It’s you and me and sheer fucking will, I guess, kid.”

She rifles through her CDs until she comes across a case with a wood-pattern print and a man with a revolver lounging across it. She pulls out the scratched disc and feeds it carefully into the player, waiting for the deep baritone to rumble through her shit plastic speakers, and listens to the first bar, the second, the third.

But this is for real, so forget about me. Eight more minutes to go.

The light doesn’t come back on. The curtains don’t flick. Her Daddy doesn’t come runnin’ out the door, screaming for her to wait. Mama doesn’t follow out calmly after him. All there is is shadow, shadow, shadow, and the shape her guitar made upside down on the pavement.

She backs out of the driveway where she tripped and fell and lost her first tooth, and drives, and drives, and drives.

———

When she was little, her uncle took her to go see Alien.

He shouldn’t have. It was far too old a movie for a kid her age, and the clerk had told him so. But Noah Solace had a penchant for being stubborn and a chip in his shoulder, so he’d taken her anyway. He should have left when the alien leapt from its nest and definitely when one of the freaky little parasites burst from the guy’s chest, but he didn’t, and Naomi had watched frozen completely in her seat, palms sweating, spine rigid, squirming at the thought of something growing inside her. Of being betrayed by something that lived in the deepest recesses of her body.

The day after she leaves home, she taps her chewed-up fingernail on the sides of the wall-phone by a rest stop. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. The Bell logo is covered partially by someone’s tag, by a curved C and bubble O B A L T. Ironically, the worn Sharpie ink is purple.

617 343 7844. She knows the number by heart. She knows the song of dialling it like she knows Jolene. Bah-duh-duh bah-duhduh duh-bah-duhduh. One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three, four. Tap. Tap. Tap.

She sucks her lip into her teeth. Training her eyes on the purple COBALT tag, the obstructed Bell, the rainbow of wads of gum balled up in the corners, she presses the right buttons. Bahduhduh-bahduhduh-duhbahduhduh. Ring. Ring.

What is she doing. What is she doing.

Ring. Ring.

Naomi isn’t one for planning. She’s absent-minded, she knows she is. Flighty and distracted. Head in the clouds, never one to study. A coaster. A drifter. A real one, now.

Ring. Ring.

Hey, Uncle Noah. It’s been years since I’ve seen you. I keep forgetting to respond to your letters. How am I? I’m great! I slept with a god and now I’m nineteen and knocked up and homeless, to boot. Wanna come pick me up?

Ring. Ring.

God, what is she doing. What is she doing.

Ring. Ring. Ri—

“Fuck d’you want?”

Low baritone. Gravelly. Rough, slurring. Sleepy?

“Hello? Can you hear me? Who’s this?”

Hey, Uncle Noah. It’s been years since I’ve seen you. I keep forgetting to —

“Is this one’a them fuckin’ tele — fuck they called — tele…tele…”

— respond to your letters, great, nineteen knocked up —

“Tele…grams? Telefuckin…telemarketers! You one’a them fuckin’ telemarketers?”

— pick me up pick me up pick me up please —

“Swear t’a fuckin’ Jesus — I told you sons of bitches —”

— parasite —

“Ah, fuck you. You call here again I’mma fuckin’ —”

Click.

Riiiiiiinnnnnng.

She stares at her own finger on the receiver, white and bloodless. Inhale. Inhale. Inhale. Inhale.

You have disconnected. To reconnect your call, please —

She flings the phone from her hands, against the receiver, against the box, clink, clatter, bounce, tap tap tap tap tap tap against the pavement. Tap. Scritch. Tap tap tap. And flees to her car.

———

Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.

She blinks back at the yellow little fuel light, humming along to the stereo. She can push it for a while longer, probably. Maybe even to the district line.

What happens if she just drives? If she drives and drives and doesn’t stop. Lets the little light blinkblinkblink at her, keepin’ time with Reba McEntire and her dying husband. That’s the night when the lights went out in Georgia.

She’d have time to pull over, probably. Coast on the speed she was going, cut across to the gravel shoulder. There’s no one else around, anyway. She could recline her seat and cross her arms over her chest and watch the clouds through the dusty top of her windshield. Sleep through the night and wake with the mourning doves’ cooing. Then what? That’s the night that they hung an innocent man.

Walk, probably. On the side of the highway, along the stretch of dying grass and reedy weeds. Guitar on her back and backpack tucked under her arm, strolling under the balmy March sun and sing to the cawing crows, to the rushing cars. Well, don’t sell your soul to no backwoods Southern lawyer.

Someone’d pull up next to her, probably. A trucker or a group of hippies. Headed to Oregon, they might say, round glasses covering bloodshot red eyes. Need a ride? ‘Cause the judge in the town’s got bloodstains on his hands.

And she would need a ride. She’d sing for them, maybe. Pluck along to Hey Jude on her out-of-tune guitar and holler with the wind rushing in from the old broken windows. They’d know someone in Cali, of course they would, slip her their card. He’s a manager, he’s looking for some new talent. You’re just what he needs. Well, they hung my brother before I could say.

Right. A knocked-up nobody who’s paying for gas with her last few bills and the four quarters she found in a sticky mess of juice in her cup holder. She’ll go platinum, right up there with the Stones and the Roses. Naomi Solace, part-time mom, full-time country star. The tracks he saw while on his way.

She drifts off the exit to the first gas station she sees. The blink, blink, blink of the light irritates her, now.

The highway town she drifts through looks like a carbon copy of the dozens of others she’s been to in her life. The giant grey rest stop, the 24 hour McDonalds, the three separate Mattress Firms. She skips over the Buccees — the stupid mascot gives her the creeps — and pulls into the first gas station she sees. Dollar twenty a gallon. Jesus.

There’s an old man at the pump across from her. He stares as he pumps his gas. Nausea builds in her stomach, but whether that’s the gross factor or the avocado-sized mass growing inside her, but she doesn’t stick around long enough to find out. She sprints for the little convenience store at top speeds, shoving open the door and ignoring the startled cashier and stumbling into the little bathroom in the back, barely making it to the stained toilets before emptying the contents of her stomach. She can see the half-digested junior bacon cheeseburger she had for lunch. It makes her throw up more. It also makes her mourn the eighty-nine cents she spent on it. Fuck.

She walks back into the convenience store grimacing at the taste of her own mouth. Nobody tells you that mouthwash and water bottles account for approximately eight billion dollars of your pregnancy cost. Of course, Naomi has never asked, but that should be a bigger part of the condom ads.

Or abstinence ads. She’s not sure how helpful a piece of rubber is against godly sperm. Mary seemed to struggle with the ordeal. Godspeed to her — she gets why the Catholics are so bananas for her now. This shit is hard and she handled it like a champ. Good on you, Mother Mary.

“Just these?” the cashier asks hesitantly, poking at the travel mouthwash, the water bottles, the singular packaged pickle, and the tiny jar of strawberry jam. And the plastic spoon she grabs from the hot table.

“And pump number 5. Please.”

“…Twenty-three sixty.”

Gas and water and a snack.

Twenty five dollars.

She has to count out her coins, hyperaware if the cashier’s dirty look. She bites back a comment about how frustrating it must be for them to have to do their job when it’s so busy out, what with one customer. Shame. Because she’s used up her irresponsibility quota for the next few years, she reckons, so she oughtta bite her tongue.

Half her fortune poorer, she walks back out to her car. The gas nozzle is still sticking out if it. She puts it back while holding her breath — do gas fumes kill growing babies? They probably kill growing babies — and shoves open her trunk, digging around. Blanket — no. Forgotten impulse purchases from months ago — no. Umbrella — no. Grad cap — no, and also why.

Finally, she finds what she’s looking for. She climbs onto the hood of the car, digging into her jam pickle, and flips open the paper atlas, turning the many pages until the map of Texas stares out at her, huge and overwhelming.

Twenty-six dollars and forty-nine cents. That’s what she has left. ‘Round twenty bucks for a full tank — that’s what she has left. 400 miles on a full tank. Seven or so hours until she’s out of the state.

“I could leave,” she says aloud.

And go where? New Mexico? Barely. She’s nowhere near LA, she’s nowhere near New York; hell, she’s nowhere near Austin. She’s nowhere near anything. Not even the nearest Amtrak station. She could drive until she runs out of gas, leave her car on the side of the road, and walk — to where? To the desert? To some serial killer’s basement?

To fucking find Apollo again?

“This is ridiculous.”

Slamming the atlas closed, she stomps back into the convenience store.

“There a secondhand store near here?” she demands.

The cashier regards her for a moment. Taking her in, probably, her ratty jeans that she can’t button anymore, her stained pink sweater, the greasy mess of her hair. The jam sticking to the corner of her mouth and the sliver of stomach pushing over the waistband of her pants. Her peeling flip-flops.

“Not here,” they say finally. “Highway town, ma’am. Ain’t got shit but what you can see from the road. You wanna real store, you gotta head ten miles east to Blowshow.”

“There’s a town called Blowshow?” she asks incredulously.

“There’s a town called Sheffield,” replies the cashier, mouth twitching, “which no one calls Joansburg, on account that the mayor was caught with his secretary gumming his green bean behind his desk by the film crew of the local news station coming to talk about a recent policy change. It’s got a main road and a general store, and will most definitely have a secondhand store.”

Naomi nods, rocking back on her heels. “Anybody hirin’?”

“Well, I ain’t been to Blowshow since last Sunday. And even then only to come see my sister. I wasn’t lookin’ at help wanted signs.”

“There’s gotta be somethin’.”

The cashier hums. The busy themself with a stack of cigarette boxes behind the counter, fiddling with a strip of cardboard come loose.

“There’s a diner,” they admit. “Di’s. Worst turnover rate than any place I ever been to.” The glance over at her, eyebrows raised. “Frankly, you won’t last a quarter year.”

Instead of sneering something about bowing out quickly and how they must know lots about finishing early, because that’s gross and also uncalled for, Naomi simply walks out. She gets in her car and starts the engine and turns the radio to thirty, making the warbling over the speakers so warped she might as well be listening to static, and guns it east. Or what she’s pretty sure is east, anyway. It’s fifteen minutes the empty pothole roads give way to something that looks like it’s seen a person in the last forty years. A little house sits nestled in the trees, bikes strewn about the driveway. A few hundred yards down road is a jogger that she gives a wide berth. In minutes, she’s pulling into a proper town — a tiny town, with more trees than people, but a real town with a real purpose. She slows to a crawl, eyeing hand-painted banners and peeling signs until she finds what she’s looking for.

The secondhand shop is small, clustered, and smells like mothballs. A shelf of broken old toys blocks her view of the rest of it and any people that may live inside of it, so she steps aside it, stepping carefully around chipped tile and stacked up boxes, looking for the right section. (The right shelf, really; nothing in this store is big enough to be a section.)

She finds what she’s looking for in a dusty old corner near the very back. Behind a broken typewriter and an ancient fax machine, and more random wires and cables than she can count, is a little portable cassette player. A pair of wiry headphones are wound around the hunk of black plastic, foam ear muffs cracked and peeling, and the worn label on the side reads Isobel. She grabs the clunky old machine carefully, brushing the pads of her fingers over the peeling paper label, and holds it to her chest.

At home she has a proper CD Walkman. It’s pink and pretty and covered all over in shiny foil stickers, and it’s chipped on the side from when she dropped it down the stairs. It skips every sixth song of an album without fail and she has to skip three backwards and two forwards to hear it. She has a collection of CDs to go with it longer than her longest shelf, and they’re arranged by colour and favour.

On another shelf, she finds a series of chipped cassette tapes. She flicks through the selection, frowning, trying to restructure hopes that were set too high and read labels written thirty years ago.

“I’ve got an extra box of them by the counter,” says a voice, making her yelp.

“Christ alive, you could kill somebody,” she snaps.

The man shrugs. He wears the loudest shirt she has ever seen and cutoff shorts that are way too short for someone his age. There are streaks of blue in his white hair, and four sweatbands on his left wrist. Green purple grey yellow. One, two, three, four.

“I’ll take a look.”

She spends another ten minutes in silence. The box, at least, has a little more variety than the shelf, so she picks out what’s worth it. She ends up with a stack the size of her arm.

“I have ten dollars,” she lies, Mama’s lecture about showing your cards ringing in her head. “That cover it?”

“Beautifully,” says the man, shiny gold-tooth smile. His bug-eye spectacles gleam in the yellow light. He holds out his hand. “Ten bucks for the player and tapes.”

Looking him right in the eye, she hands him her last twenty-dollar bill. He glares, when he sees it, muttering something about liars and thieves. Strangely, he looks at her with a little bit of respect when he slams her change down onto the counter.

She walks back out to her car, unwinding the headphones as she does. She’s half-worried the ancient things will disintegrate in her hands, but they manage to stay whole, if a little warped. She slides in behind the wheel and pushes back the seat, settling against the itchy carpet upholstery. With a quick glance out the window to make sure there are no creeps, she pulls up her shirt, bunching it up around her ribs, and lowers the waistband of her jeans. She eyes her belly critically.

There’s definitely a bump. Not much she couldn’t explain away with a particularly filling lunch, but it’s hard and there and constantly kicking at her from inside. Slowly, feeling foolish all the while, she stretches out the headphones until both halves rest on either side of her stomach. She picks out one of the tapes, slides it in the player, and clears her throat.

“Listen, kid,” she says, trying to sound less embarrassed than she feels, “I don’t want some lame baby who doesn’t know that Tina Turner was country first, okay? That’s a — waste of my time.” She clears her throat, hovering over the play button. “I better get some engagement.”

The twangy guitar is loud enough that she can hear it through the headphones. Or maybe they’re just that bad. Either way, Alien Parasite should be able to hear it just fine, amniotic fluid be damned.

“‘Means your true love daddy ain’t comin’ back,” she sings along. She closes her eyes and relaxes against the recliner seat, bare skin tingling. “‘Cause I’m movin’ on, I’ll soon be gone. Mhm, hm hm. So I’m movin’ on.’”

At the crest of the bridge, as the guitar speeds up and beats get harder, there’s a point of pressure right above her navel. Another, a few seconds later, at her pelvis. A third right below her ribs.

“Acrobatic little freak,” she mumbles fondly, smiling at her stretched taught skin.

She adjusts the headphones, adjusts herself, and turns the music up louder.

———

next

[lazuruspit]

separate ways (worlds apart) — (m)

pairing: miya osamu/afab!chubby!reader (no prns used) content warnings: osamu and reader are divorced parents, angst, smut, pwp (minimal plot if you squint and stand on your head), finger sucking, cunnilingus, size kink, unprotected sex, marking, cheating (reader cheats on her current bf he is an npc tho) wc: 2.8k

“Osamu.”

The aforementioned man looks up, rubbing the back of his neck, and laments your first name as a retort. It’s with the same blunt cadence and everything—rolling off his tongue a little sarcastically, squeezing past his lips like sandpaper.

“You’re late,” you finish.

“Traffic was a pain.” 

“You could’ve left your shop earlier.”

“I was busy,” Osamu grunts, jamming his hands in his pockets, “occupied with something.”

Your eyelids wilt into dubious slits. “Something? Or someone?” 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He mumbles, “How’s yer new boy toy?”

“Don’t bring up Rafael,” you say, pointing an accusatory finger at the taut canopy of his black t-shirt, “I know how to keep my romance life separate from my daughter's life.”

“Our daughter’s life,” he firmly states, “and I ain’t seeing anyone. Not that it’s any of yer business, anyway.”

You eye him gingerly. Osamu looks unseemly beneath the doorway to your home—especially considering it used to be the doorway to your shared home. He awkwardly idles on the threshold to your genkan, his thick body and tall stature almost taking up the entire space of your doorway. He rubs the scruff of his neck and hangs his head, averting his eyes.

“... You’re right. I’m sorry,” you say, before pivoting on your heel and walking briskly down the hallway.

Osamu hurries in toeing off his shoes, lining them up next to the door. He trips over his socked feet trying to follow you, making a conscious effort in keeping his eyes cast downward, unwilling to be faced with the barren walls that used to be decorated with photos of the two of you, or bleak shelves that once held ornaments from all your past anniversaries.

Osamu clears his throat. “Where’s Sayu?” He asks, saving himself from saying anything else.

“Upstairs sleeping,” you reply, “she fell asleep waiting for you.”

Humiliation flares over Osamu’s cheeks. “I was working overtime,” he mutters, “I’ve been saving up for Sayura’s birthday gift. She said she wants a Furby—whatever the fuck that is.”

He idly drums his fingers on the kitchen island—the counter he spent so many nights bending you over—as he watches as you flit around the kitchen, preparing your evening tea. It strikes a chord in him. Through bones and flesh and cartilage and all. It hurts for him to realise that the only thing fully cut from your life following the divorce was him, not any other part of your routine. 

(A selfish little part of Osamu wishes everything else was uprooted for you, too—that the smell of hōjicha tea reminds you of him; that you couldn’t walk past Connel Coffee without remembering how bare your ring finger feels—just as it is for him.)

Osamu silently heeds your silence, and decides to help you by grinding tea leaves.

“I’m trying my best,” he tacks on, “that’s all I’m trying to say.”

“I know you are,” you huff, vigorously wiping down the marble counter. Osamu watches with depthless eyes as you run a threadbare rag over the already spotless island. He can just about see your reflections—your sullen cheeks, his tired eyes. 

“I–”

“It’s just– it’s hard enough for our daughter to move between our house– my house– and your apartment every other week. If you wanna work doubles, that’s fine, but you shouldn’t do it on the days you’re supposed to be picking her up–”

Your words die on your tongue, and before you—or Osamu—know it, instead of rubbing an unstained counter, you’re now wiping away the tears that dribble like scythes.

“Woah,” Osamu panics, “hey, hey hey hey–”

He pulls you into his arms, letting your head ensconce itself on his shoulder. He gently shushes you as he glides his hand lower, letting it rest atop the small of your back. Osamu’s fingers run over your spine, over the familiar divots he has committed to his memory, and tries to stamp down the rush of nostalgia that fleetingly impairs his focus.

“It’s just so difficult–” you sniffle into his chest, clutching a fistful of his shirt in your hands. 

“I know, I know,” he placates.

Osamu’s heart furors before he can stop himself. He pulls back—just scarcely enough to look you in the eyes—and cups your face, running his jaded thumbs over the cherub of your cheeks, wiping away your tears. He always told you you’re too pretty to cry—especially when you were squirming around his throbbing cock, desperate to swallow him whole.

His silvery eyes flicker down to the necklace locked around your collarbones. It’s gold, lustrous against your buttery skin, and twisted into the letter R. For Rafael. The piece of jewellery mocks him, winking under the dull kitchen lighting.

(That of which you used to slow dance under at the crest of midnight, baring the skeletons in your closet to one another, before feeding each other lukewarm rice soup with cupped hands placed under a worn wooden spoon.)

Osamu’s bigger than you—decidedly so—he’s lost his edge over the years, with his college six-pack being replaced by a heartier layer of flesh, but still, he’s buff. Has the body of someone disciplined. So Osamu encompasses your world as you hoist your neck up, staring at him through your blotchy vision. He preens under your gaze, sliding the pad of his thumb along your mouth, which prompts you—through the curse of muscle memory—to part your lips, and shepherd Osamu’s finger into the round of your cheek with the curl of your tongue.

Your eyes widen. “Osamu–!”

“How is he, by the way?” He asks, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. Chewing it, gnawing it, tearing it, before letting it slip from his bite—swollen and raw and red. “Does he treat you well?”

Does he treat you better than I did? Is what Osamu wants to ask, stuck on the threshold of whether or not he even wants to know the answer.

“I’m not crying ‘cause of Rafael,” you sniff, “it’s just hard dealing with everything.”

“Has Sayura met him yet?”

“It’s too soon,” you whimper, “she still asks why we can’t have Sunday brunch together anymore.”

“... We’ve been divorced for a year, baby.”

(The term of endearment slips out before he can stop himself. He stands ramrod straight; you slacken into his warmth. Your chests touch, kept apart by the protective fence of your ribs, but even then, your heartbeats pulse in synchronisation.)

“It’s already been a year?” You slur, puckering your eyebrows.

“Yeah. It has.” 

He slips his thumb out of your mouth, hooking his forefinger under your chin. He tilts your head up as he looks down at you, eyes glazed with a misty glow. Osamu weaves his thick fingers between the wisps of your hair, craning your head back, baring your neck, and sets his sight on the supple skin of your collarbones.

His heart thumps in a rapid succession, miles from his brain. His impulsiveness overrides his consciousness, and in an undertaken lapse of judgement, Osamu tugs you close by your love handles, breathing lowly against the shell of your ear.

“Does he fuck ya well?” He sharply inhales, scarred lip tilting into a snarl as he not only smells your sweet shampoo, but something else—something a little unseemly wafting from your supple skin—like pomade, or burnt sandalwood.

It’s Rafael’s cologne, Osamu realises. He growls under his breath and kneads your waist, eyes darkening.

“Osamu–” you start, cutting yourself off with a croon of surprise as your ex-husband bullies you backwards, catching you against the kitchen island. The cold marble does little to offset the heat that flares over your body—blooming under your flesh, sluicing between your legs, spreading like a labyrinth throughout your chest—as Osamu cuts his fingers into your chubby skin, pulling you against his sturdy chest.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you gasp, but you refute your words by grinding against his thick thigh that he slots between your legs.

Your fickle statement is countered by Osamu’s beseeching “Just the tip,” as he holds you close, meagrely humping his swelling cock against you, nose buried in your neck.

You shuck Osamu’s shirt above his stomach as he works his fingers into your leggings. He massages the flesh of your ass and captures your lips for a wet kiss. It’s reminiscent of returning to your bed after a long vacation.

Osamu cards his tongue past your lips and curls it over your teeth, savouring your taste. Blood rushes to his cock at the thought of you having been chaste ever since your divorce—he knows it isn’t true, he knows you’ve had sex with Rafael, you have your realistic needs—but Osamu indulges himself, allowing his mind to caper and prance as the taste of home fills his mouth.

He moves his hand to the front of your leggings, palming your pussy through the thin gauze of panties. He shepherds out your natural lube—angling the heel of palm against your clit, tracing feather-light circles around your fluttering hole. Your arousal licks the skin of his fingers, making them glisten and glimmer under the lighting fixtures.

Osamu sinks to his knees, imploring a prayer to the altar that is your body, and tugs down your leggings. He digs divots into your thighs and leans in close, burying his nose between your thighs. Osamu puckers his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your swollen clit. He pulls back, mouth glazed with a wash of your slick, that of which he eagerly cleans with the swipe of his tongue. You twist a tuft of Osamu’s hair in your fist and shepherd him closer, into the welcoming warmth of your pussy, fucking yourself on the defined bridge of his nose.

Osamu rolls out his tongue and flattens it against your cunt, revelling in the way your arousal sieves through the cotton of your intimates, marinating in his mouth. Your dewy cunt dampens your panties, turning them a pearlescent tint of off-white with your pre-cum and Osamu’s saliva. The panties stick to your cunt, making the froth a little see through, outlining the barest hint of your soft pussy.

He snags the band of your underwear between his teeth, and drags them down your legs. Osamu wastes no time in lapsing back to your pussy, slipping his tongue between the fat of your cunt, sucking at your sticky folds. He moans into you, sending vibrations curling up your spine, his eyes fluttering shut as your sweetness saturates his mouth. 

You fuck yourself on Osamu’s tongue until you’re creaming around the wet muscle, running your slick and swollen clit atop the tip of his nose. You moan synchronously with him, a cacophony of your voices echoing out in otherwise empty the kitchen. He fully submits to you—he lets you ride out your orgasm on his face—greedily lapping up all your juices, letting the rest trickle down his chin.

Osamu doesn’t give you the luxury of reorientation. Not after having been starved of you for so long. He raises to his feet and mashes his lips against yours. You taste yourself on his tongue. The saltiness of your arousal and the sweetness of his lips play like a mosaic inside your mouth.

Osamu sharply undoes his belt and shoves his pants down his thighs, not even bothering to pull his balls out. Just his cock—fat and heavy as it flares with an angry red tip, leaking with cum.

Your eyes flit down to his boxer briefs, widening. “Did you–”

“Of fucking course I did,” Osamu interrupts, jerking himself off, shameless as he admits he already came—just from eating you out. 

Osamu spins you around and folds you over the countertop. The coldness nips your skin the same way Osamu nips your neck, marking you with love bites. He drags his dick between your legs, slapping it against your puffy slit. The sensation prickles your heat, causing you to moan, squirming beneath his firm hand that keeps you in place, locked between your shoulder blades.

“Just the tip,” he repeats—mostly to himself, as some fruitless reminder—“do ya want this? Do you want my cock?”

“I want it,” you cry, halfway between a whine and a beg, “I want it all.”

Osamu grasps the base of his dick and directs it to your winking hole, teasing it with the drooling head of his cock. He drags it against your clit, and just barely squeezes himself past your opening before he starts to vibrate, sweat gathering over his eyebrow.

He tightly curses under his breath, white-knuckled as he grips your waist harder, rolling his hips into you, and into the deep warmth of your cunt. His “just the tip” resolve didn’t last long, he muses. Osamu lifts up his shirt and wedges the hem between his teeth, letting himself watch as his big cock slips in and out of your cunt.

You haven’t been stretched this far in a long time. Rafael’s good; Rafael’s stable; he’s safe. But Osamu—while your safeguard—was always a challenge. He always had to wiggle himself in, watching you struggle around his cock. 

Osamu’s hands loll over your waist, pulling you down on him; he growls as your pussy simultaneously swallows his impossibly large cock and squeezes it back out. Skin slaps against skin. Pleasure seizes Osamu, the feeling wholly better from the tightened fist he uses on lonely days, where his greying hairs are a testament to the struggles of co-parenting and the after effects of divorcing his first—and only—love.

Osamu pulls your arms behind your back and collects your wrists with a single hand, making a conscious effort in avoiding the stark absence of your wedding stack. He then raises his dominant hand and sinks it into your hair, using it for leverage to pull you up, to mould your back against his chest, still fucking you stupid as he wraps his arm around you, fingers finding your clit and blindly sweeping at the engorged bud.

His dominant hand leaves your hair and goes for your collarbone. He rips the necklace from its place, and there it goes tinkering to the tiled floor. A puckish chuckle crosses his tongue, seeing it flimsily discarded.

Your jaw hangs open at the pressure of Osamu’s fingers paired with the snap of his hips—his thrusts attuned to your every need.

(You remember back in university, your first year of dating, finding a dog-eared kamasutra book stashed under Samu’s dorm bed, in lieu of the usual eroge or hentai. His friends teased him about it; you found it endearing. He said he wanted to learn it all for you. To study it and improve—and from there your intimacy came a long way: graduation, engagement, and eventual marriage. Divorce.) 

Osamu knows you like the back of his hand by now. So he makes your second orgasm come easy, capitalising off the fact that you’ve been strung so far for so long, that only he knows how to turn you into a trembling mess.

Your orgasm crests when Osamu slots his mouth against yours, breathing a plaintive “IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou,” into your cleft lips. Making you feel good makes Osamu feel good; so as you quiver in his embrace, Osamu’s pleasure flares, and he hastily pulls out just in time to screw his fist around his heavy cock and jerk himself off. You mewl at the loss, kittening your butt over him, adding friction to his rising pleasure. Osamu whines as he cums—cutting his fingers into your hips, directing the thick ropes that shoot from his cockhead to the soiled crotch-area of your panties, low on your legs. Some of it sticks to your thighs, dribbling down like hot strings as they tremble.

Osamu rests his forehead against your back once he’s sapped. His hot breath sluices down your spine, his lips barely brushing your sheen-stained skin in what sounds like hesitance. It was always a part of your ritual for Osamu to kiss you everywhere after sex. To soothe the burning mosaic of hickeys and bruises with his lips.

“... You can shower here,” you say, stepping out of your panties, pulling your leggings back up.

Your name crosses Osamu’s tongue. It’s quiet, a premise to talk about what just happened.

“Samu,” you turn around. “I…”

“You can leave Rafael, ya know?” He says, and immediately regrets it. Selfishness was supposed to be something self-indulgent—not something he’d ever admit. This was not self-indulgence, this was pure assholery, because Osamu still missed you, and you had moved on.

You look up at Osamu. He always cried during sex. But not like this—red, scythe-like ribbons around his bloodshot, puffy eyes. You smile, and Osamu’s post-orgasm haze, riding on the last tendrils of love, ripens into dread. 

“I think we both know this was a mistake, Samu.”

Osamu hopes you mean the divorce, not the post-divorce sex. But you tilt your head, your telltale sign of discomfort, and Osamu submits to the pain.

“I’m sorry.” You awkwardly turn. “I’ll see you later.”

A tight knot nestles between your shoulders and your heart as you head upstairs, taking whatever’s left of Osamu’s heart and soul with you as you leave.

[oxygenbefore1775]

winter time makes zeke's glasses fog up

➼pairing: zeke x reader

➼cw: fluffy fluff (as fluffy as it can get with zeke), could be canonverse cuz its ambiguous

➼wc: 1,5k

➼a/n: hoho im on the roll, winter gives me strength; divider by @/benkeibear

Frost stubbornly clings to your clothes even as you enter the warm shelter of your house. The air surrounding you is still fresh and crisp, a pleasant feeling safe from its biting cold. 

Shaking the snow off your boots, you do a rush job of unlacing your shoes with your very much stiff fingers to escape into the saving warmth of the room.

“The next time you get the bright idea to go for a walk in the snow, be so kind as to check the forecast beforehand,” your voice doesn't betray any annoyance with Zeke, not because it isn't there, but because it boiled out nearly an hour ago. The relief of finally being home is too overpowering for you to muster up irritation all over again. “Suggestion for a suggestion box, you know?”

As you decide to make your way to the kitchen, a line of outer clothing forms behind you. The snow, stuck to the fibers, already melts in the high temperature of the room and is bound to soak your clothes should you not hang them out in front of the heater, yet this barely makes it into the list of your current worries. All you want now is a cup of hot tea, coffee, cocoa - whatever the cupboard holds at its disposal, it just needs to be scorching hot to warm you from the inside out.

You can almost discern him huffing at your proposal - either that or it can be a shadow of laughter. For all you know, he’s found the visual of you waddling through the snow as the blizzard raged on quite amusing. Mayhaps it’s been his plan all along, to drag you out outside just to revel in the sight of you struggling against the elements.  

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he answered in kind, stomping his feet a bit too thoroughly to get rid of the snow. “As we both know, I was sitting inside the whole time and mocking your misfortunes.”

Well, cold certainly hasn’t dulled his poignancy. 

With a counter-quip dancing at the tip of your tongue, you turn around to face him - only to see nothing but the snow powdering his form. An unbidden smile graces your lips at the sight of this second layer of clothing, dusting it with white frost. Even his hair and beard aren’t safe from the fluffy flakes sticking to them, maybe even more so than other parts of his body. After all, he can always take off the outer layers covered in snow just like you’ve done a moment ago, hair and beard - not so much.

Too bad he can't see you approach, a spark of endearment pooling in your eyes. His glasses fogged up the moment he stepped into the house.

“Look at you,” you half-tease half-flatter, holding up a finger to the flushed tip of his nose. “At least the weather treated us equally shitty.”

Your comment falling on deaf ears, he promptly rejects your touch by brushing off your hand. Unlike you, Zeke actually has enough decency to undress in an orderly manner and put his clothes on a hanger instead of the floor. An impressive fit, considering the partial blindness he is currently experiencing.

As he bends down to unlace his shoes, you can't help but laugh at the way he's peering over his glasses, desperate to find the knots to untie. Knowing full well how unwelcoming he is to your touch, let alone affection, you nevertheless have the audacity to reach down to ruffle his hair still powdered in snow. Most of the snowflakes you shake off shower the floor around you two, with some landing on his lenses. Still, he says nothing to repel you - perhaps he's staring daggers at you, but you wouldn’t be able to see them behind those glasses.

Maybe it’s the recent cold leaving you wanting for more spice (as if barely getting out of the blizzard hasn’t been enough), but you feel brave enough to crouch down beside him. Eyes fixed at his brows he’s been furrowing ever since you approached him. Evidently, his inability to watch you is quite unnerving to him.

“Why don’t you take them off for a second?” you suggest with a smile, already reaching your hands towards the metal frame, “I can even be so gracious as to clean them for you.”

Before you can though, he smacks your hands away. Not hard, but assertive enough to make his discontent with your ill-conceived action known to you. Doesn’t mean that it stops you from smiling at him. It’s quite a challenge to get your point across if the most expressive feature on your face is now reduced to a pair of foggy circles. 

Standing up, probably to get away from you, he crosses his arms over his chest as he scoffs at your sudden bout of cheerfulness. “Hands off my glasses. I know you too well not to expect you to leave a smudge on the lenses. And guess who would be the one to wipe it off?” The way he crinkles his nose at you fails to deter you and if anything does the opposite as you now want to tease him even more. “Just don’t touch them, they'll get cleared up in a moment.”

With that, he attempts to push past you, but you've already decided to torment him relentlessly, sensing his susceptibility to it today. Having caught a glimpse of his irritation, you now crave to witness it in full display. And here you thought that it would be the other way around today.

You stand in his way, a complacent grin plastered across your face and eyes burning bright with challenge - not that he can see it anyway. Contrary to his reassurance, the glass lenses don’t show even the slightest hint of clearing up, if anything, they’ve gotten cloudier ever since.

The annoyance in his posture is palpable as you press your palms against his chest in a feeble attempt to prevent him from going away. Lucky you - he puts up with your schtick just the right amount for you to get away with this. 

“Come on, we both know that you don’t really need them,” you rebuke in a soft tone, reaching for his glasses again.

This time he lets you, although very reluctantly. Maybe the pros of giving in to your whim outweigh the cons of being hounded with your nagging should he refuse your touch. 

“Come on,” you nudge further and he relents, bowing his head ever so slightly to grant you more access. 

The metal frame feels cold as you grab it, and with an awkward, not-so-smooth motion, you slide the glasses onto his head. Meeting his gaze isn’t something you anticipate so the sight of his blue eyes staring back at you catches you by surprise. 

Now, his eyes stand out even more against his features, rosy from the cold. It’s been quite some time now since you’ve been given an opportunity to look at them up close, let alone without the barrier of the lenses. Even the peevishness he is trying so hard to convey to you through the gaze alone is unable to obstruct the clarity of their color, as fresh as the winter sky.

Again, you send him a curt smile in hopes he responds in kind. Only he doesn’t budge at this display of sentiment. He must be very cross with you to warrant such a lack of positive reaction then, evident in the way he purses his lips and quirks his brow at you, looking forward to seeing your whim to subside sooner or later. 

“Maybe I don’t mind a stroll in a blizzard every now and then.” As you muse to yourself, your fingers delicately trace the space where a subtle blush dusts his features. “If it means seeing you like this.”

Just as you're poised to playfully tap his nose, he unexpectedly leans forward, stealing a quick peck on your lips. As often happens, especially when he isn't careful (just like a moment ago), the coarse hairs of his beard prick your chin. You recoil instinctively, fingers reaching to your face. Before you can say something, your brows knitting together in understandable confusion, he shoots you a smirk. Now it’s his turn to flick you on the nose.

“This,” he declares, while scanning your features, “is my rightful compensation for having to endure your obnoxiousness earlier.”

Even as he utters those words, not a hint of irritation darkens his tone. Sliding the glasses back on his nose, he shoots you a grin before walking past you - the lenses have already cleared up enough for you to notice a glint of complacency shining in his eyes.

Well, if this is the price for you to be insufferable then who would you be as not to accept this generous offer, you muse to yourself as you follow him into the kitchen.

[balillee]

had to turn back to tumblr after a year of not using it to hate on the new atla adaptation

a few things

speedrunning through half of the story with the fire nation family is not a good idea, actually. lu ten was introduced far too early, and with it you delve into iroh's backstory, motivations and true character before you've even fully developed the whole 'silly old spiritual man who prefers tea and hanging out with his nephew over hunting down an 11-year old air nomad'. the lu ten funeral scene was fine as an addition, but it's not something for book 1. learning about lu ten is something we do in book 2 as it compliments the developing relationship between iroh and zuko with the fire nation as a whole. also, iroh seems a lot less cool. the show commits the grievous literary sin of always telling rather than showing, and by continuously telling us 'he's the famed general iroh, dragon of the west' you're not actually accomplishing anything. let him redirect some lightning you fucking cowards.

azula also seemed to exist for no reason. any of the correspondences to azula from zhao could have bypassed her entirely and could have gone straight to ozai or even the fire sages. she exists in season 1 purely to rush through explaining zuko and iroh far too early. the show exists as a guideline. FOLLOW THE GUIDELINE. THE GUIDELINE IS GOOD. EVERYONE KNOWS THE GUIDELINE IS GOOD. also make her fire blue. cowards

aang does not waterbend for the entire season, which means the window of opportunity for him to learn to bend the other elements before the arrival of sozin's comet is even shorter than in the original show. even the original aang, who the netflix adaptation changed because he was 'too childish and always goofing off instead of getting to the point' understood his responsibilities to learn the elements better than this new live action version - part of the reason for the gang to get to the northern water tribe was to find aang a teacher (not just katara), master pakku, because katara was not capable of teaching him at her novice waterbending level but even so they were still seen practicing together on multiple occasions.

this brings me to my next point. WHERE THE FUCK IS JEONG JEONG. aang in the original series understood the urgency of defeating the firelord before sozin's comet after speaking to roku very early on, not as late as depicted in the adaptation. currently, the gang don't even know that they're on a time crunch, and yet still the show refuses to let them take their time by going on side adventures. this leads into the episode where aang meets jeong jeong and tries to learn to firebend before he's even started earthbending at all, because he's still scared that he only has a year to master the elements. he burns katara while trying, which is the reason she learned she had the power to heal with her waterbending, we see how fucking sick jeong jeong is at firebending for the first time during the fight with zhao, and aang swears off learning firebending at all, which is one of his main points of conflict leading all the way into book 3. if we skip that whole episode, we have skipped meeting one of the members of the order of the white lotus. the show could think it's slick by omitting him to just have iroh as the white lotus' firebender, but that's possibly one of the worst changes they've made. the deserter was not a filler episode.

i know a lot of people were talking about this before the show even came out, but sokka is not sokka. in book 1, sokka is three things - funny, overconfident and sexist. in the live adaptation, he is kind of one of those three things. part of why sokka's arc is one of my personal favourites from the original show is the stark change you see from the start to the end of his story - he believes himself a leader but has no real tactical or combative experience despite telling all the fighters and warriors he meets about how impressive he is. and then at the end of the show he is a definitively strong leader, shown by leading the assault on the fire nation armada - his team being two of the show's most competent female characters, who he trusts and respects with his life. by omitting these traits from sokka's character, you remove a big part of why he's even there in the first place - his arc's beginning allows him to become the fearless leader that lead his team to defeating the fire nation army.

i also hate that aang meets monk gyatso in the spirit world. a big part of aang's conflict about running away is that there exists nobody in the world who can tell him that what happened to the air nomads was not his fault, and that there was nothing aang could do to stop it if he was there. the new adaptation decides against the inclusion of one of aang's primary internal conflicts by changing the 'running away from his responsibilities as the avatar because he's a terrified child' to 'getting some air', and then throws in meeting the spirit of monk gyatso to tell him all of these things that aang needs to learn on his own. once again, telling rather than showing.

and finally, my least favourite change - the agni kai. part of the reason why i personally think the agni kai is so significant to zuko's story is the fact that zuko intentionally refuses to fight. in the adaptation, zuko fights back against his father, and his father scars him simply because zuko hesitates. in the original series, zuko bows to his father and pleads for mercy, and refuses to fight at all, and that is when it cuts away to iroh and azula's very differing reactions to the altercation, zuko screaming in the background. the setting also irritates me, because in the original, the agni kai was a public spectacle for hundreds to see in an ominous chamber, while in the new show it looked like just a regular old family gathering in the sun. zuko's adaptation scar i also hate because it doesn't even look like a scar. it looks like a birthmark, or at best, a black eye. if you hadn't seen the original, you would only know that it's a scar because the show tells you that it's a scar. zuko's scar in the animated series is a definite physical deformation of his face, his face looks red and raw, and his eye is smaller likely due to how the tissue healed, and as the show goes on you learn that the severity of his physical scars reflect the severity of his emotional ones. the original show does a brilliant job at showing how, just through the scar and the banishment alone, that despite zuko's beliefs, his father has betrayed him time and time again.