#you have no appetite and have to fight to keep anything you do eat down bc you just hurt so goddamn much

[leossmoonn]

call out my name | mike schmidt

summary - mike gets jealous after seeing you so friendly with a co-worker

includes / warnings - reader is fem. takes place after he worked at freddy’s. unprotected sex, overstimulation if you squint, fingering.

————

18+ under the cut

mike’s about to shit his heart out as he looks in the window of the car dealership, seeing you and your co-worker standing at the reception desk. his blood starts boil as your co-worker makes you laugh. his hand keeps brushing against yours as he shows you whatever interesting video is on his phone. mike swears your co-worker steps closer to you so now your shoulders are touching. you don’t seem to notice, though.

mike runs a hand through his hair and makes sure the collar of his shirt is tucked. he opens the door, the bell making you raise your head. a bright smile encompasses your face and you stand up straighter, smoothing out any wrinkles in your shirt.

“you here to buy a car?” you tease your boyfriend. “i wish,” mike chuckles softly. his smile immediately drops when your co-worker speaks up.

“hey, mike.” the way he says mike’s name makes his stomach churn. “what’s up, drew?” mike’s smile is polite and tight as he glances at him.

“nothing much. is work slow for you, too?” drew asks. “no, i’m on my lunch break,” mike says. he fights the urge to roll his eyes. drew knows why he comes here.

“must keep you on a long leash with you coming all the way here,” drew says. “what do you do for work again? oh, yeah, mall security?”

mike’s hands ball into fists and he clenches his jaw. he tries to keep his reactions minimal, knowing drew wants to get a reaction out of him.

“actually,” you interject, “mike got a job waiting tables and he just got promoted to manager a week ago.”

“wow,” drew gasps. “how exciting. you must be so proud of yourself.”

mike glares at drew, trying to breathe slowly as to calm himself. you shuffle away from drew, not catching the small disappointment in his eyes.

“let’s go to the break room, yeah?” you ask. mike nods and follows you, part of him relaxing as your hand grabs his tricep. he sits down and waits for you to grab your lunch from the fridge.

“how come you didn’t bring anything?” you frown. “not that hungry,” he shrugs. truthfully, he can’t work up an appetite on the days he knows drew works with you. he‘s tried to eat in the past, knowing how you worry about him taking care of himself. but if he tries to eat, the food would end up wasted, and he can’t afford that.

“do you want half of my sandwhich?” you ask. “no, i’m okay,” he shakes his head.

“what about some pieces of fruit?” you press. “you go ahead and eat all your food,” mike chuckles. you hum in dissatisfaction. you russle through your lunch box, finding a week-old granola bar. “here,” you hand it to him. mike’s about to deny you again, but the desperation in your eyes makes him fold. he takes it and thanks you, taking small bites and chewing slowly.

mike’s worries dissipate the more time he spends with you. his dread is replaced with joy as you laugh at his weak jokes. warmth encapsulates his heart as you scoot your chair closer to him so your knees are touching. the kiss you press on his cheek makes him grin from ear-to-ear.

he saddens when he realizes he has to go back to work. you walk him out to his car, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

“i’ll talk to drew about his rudeness,” you mention. mike’s ears perk up in surprise. “oh…you don’t have. i don’t think he was being rude. he’s just —”

“mike,” you raise your brows. he sighs, “thank you.” you smile and nod, “of course. drive safe to work. i’ll see you tonight.”

he nods and kisses you again, having to peel himself away from you to leave.

a few days later, mike has to drop you off at work.

“can i use the bathroom real quick?” mike asks as you start to get out of the car. “of course,” you answer.

you two walk in together and you go to the break room to put all your things away. mike goes and finds you to say goodbye after he uses the restroom. he finds you in the break room with no one other than drew. you’re leaning against the counter, waiting for your coffee to brew. drew is close to you again — too close. his hand is on the counter right by your waist. he’s looking down at you, eyes flickering from your hips to your breasts and neck.

mike clears his throat and both of you turn to him. you walk over, giving him a long and warm hug.

“thank you for taking me to work,” you say. “no problem. do you need me to pick up you?” he asks.

“no, rachel can take me,” you say. “you just worry about picking abby up from school.”

his lips upturn and he nods. you press a kiss to his cheekbone and he begins to leave, but drew stops him.

“hey, mike. sorry about what i said the other day,” drew apologizes, but he doesn’t look sorry. mike nods at him, smiling awkwardly. “it’s fine. thanks.”

mike awaits your arrival at his home, making dinner for the two of my you. abby wanted to hang out at a friends house, so he dropped her off there, leaving the house empty for the two of you for a while.

he perks up as he hears your voice from outside. his heart races in excitement and he goes to the front door to greet you, but his feet stay glued to the floor as he sees drew, not rachel, get out of the car. he’s handing your purse and lunchbox, which mike knows you’re perfectly capable of retrieving yourself. you smile at drew and mike knows enough about you to know it’s a polite smile. it’s when you and drew hug that mike starts to feel nauseous. you stand a little far away from drew for it to be a normal hug, but drew pulls your closer and you don’t pull away. mike watches as drew’s hand slides down your back, just above your ass. mike’s hand that’s on the doorknob turns white. you pull away after a few seconds too long and drew moves to say something in your ear that makes you giggle. mike’s about to go out there and punch drew in the face, but you’re already making your way to the house.

mike scurries away from the door and back to the kitchen. he keeps stirring the pot of pasta, keeping his head down as you unlock the door and enter.

“hey, babe,” you greet him with a smile. you hang your coat on the rack besides the door, placing your purse and keys on the coffee table. you kick off your shoes and place them by mike’s.

“how was your day?” you ask as you walk over to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water.

“fine,” mike answers through gritted teeth. “you okay?” your brows furrow in worry. you place a hand between is shoulder blades, which he shrugs off. “yeah. just tired,” he mumbles.

“okay,” you say unconvinced. you don’t push. mike’s a grown man and you’ve been together long enough for him to know that if he has a problem, he needs to speak up and ask for help. “where’s abby?” you ask.

“at a friend’s.”

“looks like we get the house to ourselves.”

your tone is teasing and when he looks at you, you have a mysterious glimmer in your eyes. he can’t muster up an ounce of care. he just hums in response.

“i’m going to go change into pjs,” you say, your warm lips settling on his skin. he just nods and you walk away, mind racing with what he could be so upset about.

dinner is worse. you two don’t talk at all. all your attempts fail. even when one of you are tired, you both make an effort.

“thank you for making dinner. i’m sorry i’m not that hungry,” you say.

“it’s fine,” he says, holding his head down and staring into his plate of alfredo.

“drew shared his chick-fil-a with me, so i guess i’m still full from that.”

something inside mike snaps. he drops his silverware with a clang, roughly getting out of his chair. it scrapes against the hardwood and he grabs his plate, shoving all the food down the trashcan and practically throwing the plate into the sink. he stomps away, going into his room. your stunned at his behavior, slowly getting up and walking over to his room.

“what the hell was that?” you ask. “nothing,” he grumbles. he’s taking off his sweatshirt, feeling too warm from becoming worked up.

“mike, talk to me. you’ve been acting weird ever since i got home. is something wrong? did abby get in trouble at school or say something?” you ask.

“i thought rachel was going to take you home.” his eyes stare daggers into yours. your throat dries and your heart starts to race. you don’t know why you suddenly feel so nervous. you weren’t hiding anything, but mike’s expression made it seem like you had just committed a crime.

“i… yeah. she was,” you say, your voice sounding softer with each word. “then why did drew take you home?” mike asks.

“rachel had to pick up her son from school. he got sick.”

“oh, how convenient.”

you now shoot him a glare. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“stop acting so innocent! we both know he’s in love with you.”

“that’s ridiculous, mike.”

“oh, is it? because from the moment you started working there, he’s been glued to your side. i mean, the first time i met him, he was pressed up against you!”

“he was just showing me how the system worked!”

“i’m sure that’s all he was doing,” mike says with a sour smile. “the other day, he was acting like an asshole.”

“i told him to apologize to you and he did, didn’t he?”

“yeah, because he wants to be on your good side.”

“mike, c’mon,” you try to settle the argument. you take a step towards him but he furthers the distance between you two.

“and today? buying you food and driving you home,” mike recants. “he’s a nice guy, mike. he’s bought food for the whole team before!” you exclaim, feeling exasperated.

“yeah, i bet he hugs everybody like how he hugged you, too. pressed all up against you with hand practically on your ass. and then he whispers something in your ear that makes you laugh so loud. he must be a real comedian since you’re always giggling when you’re with him.”

your frustration turns to worry as mike begins to talk more to himself than you. you have to admit, you’ve always known of drew’s crush on you. but he had never made a real move on you or made you uncomfortable. there was no reason to report him or confront him about it, especially since he knows you’re with mike. you always try to make your boundaries clear with everyone, but perhaps you missed a few of the signs with drew.

“tell me, what did he say to you?” mike asks, looking into your eyes.

“i-i don’t remember,” you admit honestly.

“i bet he was saying something about me, right? maybe he was telling you to go back to his place instead. i wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted to say yes.”

you’re taken aback by his assumptions of you. “is that what you really think of me, mike? you think i would leave you for some guy i’ve known for a couple months? for a guy who is only a co-worker to me?”

“i don’t know,” he shrugs. “you seem pretty smitten with him. he probably thinks you want to fuck him.”

you grit your teeth, feeling your heart sink as you finally hear what mike seems to think of you. “you’re an idiot, mike.” you walk out of his room, going to grab your purse and keys. he’s quick to follow you.

“you’re leaving now?” he scoffs. “i bet i can guess who you’re going to call to pick up you.”

“get over yourself, mike!” you yell. you head towards the door but he grabs your wrist, whipping you around to face him. you’re so close, you almost collide with his chest. his chest heaves up and down, his face flushed. “i think you should get over yourself,” he seethes. “you can’t seem to tell me that you don’t love him.”

“i don’t love him. i love you!” you shout, watching his face soften as your words register. “i didn’t want to tell you like this, but… i think you need to hear it.” your voice is quiet, almost a whisper now.

he doesn’t say anything. you can’t read his expression. you know mike likes to pull away from people. you know he’s afraid of losing everyone he loves. you know it’s hard for him to be open with you and this blow up tonight is a testament to that. you just hope he doesn’t try to push you away even more.

“mike? say something, please. if you don’t love me either then just say that, but it’s important you know that i do love —”

he smashes his lips against yours. your body melts against his out of instinct. you drop your purse and keys, wrapping your arms around his neck and weaving your fingers through his hair. his kisses are bruising, like he wants you to feel it tomorrow. his hands grasp at your sides, pulling you in closer, needing to feel every inch of you.

he begins to walk backwards to the couch, one of his hands leaving your body to feel out the couch. he sits down, grabbing the small of your back and yanking you onto his lap. your lips part for a small gasp of air and he slips his tongue in. your teeth clash as your tongue does a tango with his. your hands cup the back of his neck where his spine begins, tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck.

he moans into your mouth, the sound vibrating inside you. his hands untucking your shirt and snaking up your back. he unclasps your bra and he wastes no time with getting his hands on your tits. even with your bra still hanging off your arms, his hand slithers under the wire.

you can feel his hard on under you. you can’t help but grind, your clit catching onto your underwear. your head drops and you moan into his ear, making him shudder underneath you. your hands move down to his t-shirt, dragging it up his body. he has to pause from massaging your breasts, but takes the opportunity to take your shirt and bra off.

his lips attach to your nipple, his tongue swirling and teeth oh-so-gently nibbling. your hands run down his chest, the soft hairs of his chest tickling your fingertips. your fingers stop at his belt and the ache between your thighs grows. you whine in need, starting to unbuckle his pants. once you do so, you quickly stand up and strip, swinging your leg back over mike’s waist once he takes his pants off.

you kiss him once more, sucking on his lip in between breaths. one of his hands settle on the junction between your hip and thigh, the other finding your cunt. you moan into his mouth as two fingers slip inside of you. he curves his fingers inside of you, brushing up against that sweet spot. your pussy gushes around his fingers with each movement and he can feel your juices slide down his hand at this angle. his thumb reaches up and circles over your throbbing clit. you can’t help but fall into him, his chin meeting your shoulder.

“mike,” you whimper. “feels good, huh?” he breathes out, his chest heaving up and down.

“mmhm,” you nod, screwing your eyes shut and biting your lip.

“he can’t make you this wet, can he?” mike whispers into your ear. he begins to kiss below your ear, sucking harshly. your stomach flips at his words and you shake your head, the only things coming out of your mouth are moans and whimpers.

“use your words, baby.” his voice is low and deep. his mouth is pressing searing hot kissing on your skin, sending a thrill up your spine.

“nu-uh,” is all you manage to say. his fingers pump faster, applying just the right pressure to get you off.

“shit, mike,” you gasp, your orgasm bubbling up in your lower stomach. you start to ride his fingers, gathering more friction around your clit. your fingertips dig into the flesh of his bicep as you come.

“mike,” you slur as he doesn’t stop rubbing your clit. “too much, too much!” you exclaim in a moan. mike slows his thumb’s movements, peering up at your face. your eyes are half-lidded and your lip is swollen from biting it so hard.

he gives you a few moments before taking you by the hips and flipping you over. his cock throbs at the sight of your legs spread for him. he knows how wet you were on his fingers. he can’t wait a second longer.

you grab onto his shoulders as he pushes into you. you both groan at the initial feeling. he fits you just like a glove. your pussy envelopes in warm and wetness, making it easy for him to just slide in.

he doesn’t waste any time with fucking you. he’s balls deep inside of you, marveling in the way your pussy hugs him. your walls clench around him with each thrust, the sounds of your juices gushing around his cock making you both lightheaded.

“you like being fucked like this, hm?” mike pants. “yes,” you breathe out. you’re starting to hyperventilate as his thrust become faster. his hips snap with yours, the sound of his balls slapping against your skin filling the room.

“tell me, can he fuck you like this?” he asks, his nose pressed against your cheek.

“no, mike. never.”

one of his hands grip the couch arm, about ready to pull out the stuffing. his other hand is digging into your side, surely to cause some bruising in the next few hours. your hands hook under his arms and you pull him closer to you as you’re about to come.

“fuck, baby,” he groans. “i-i love you, too. i think i’m gonna come, fuck.”

you can’t tell who’s breathing is who’s or who says what curse words, but you can feel him unload inside of you. warmth fills your insides as the knot in your tummy unravels. you buck your hips up to his in one last attempt to feel any sort of friction and then your body collapses on the couch, feeling weak and numb.

mike pulls out of you slowly, a string of his semen connecting from your pussy to his tip. he gets up and pulls on his boxers, walking to the bathroom to grab a warm washcloth. you pull yourself up against the pillows, resting one leg off of the couch. mike sits between your legs, wiping up his oozing cream. he leans down and presses a kiss to your inner thigh, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. he kisses a trail all the way up to your lips.

he kisses you sweetly this time around. his hands cup your face, cradling you close you him. he pulls away, sitting back with a smile as he looks at your neck.

“you’re gonna have to cover that up,” he says. you touch your skin, feeling how raw it is. you shrug and get up, putting your underwear back on. “i don’t think i will.”

mike raises his brows. “what if your co-workers see? what if drew comments on it?”

you give mike a coy smile. “i’ll tell him who gave it to me, then.”

[rubiesintherough]

.

[xjulixred45x]

OKAY MY LAST INVINCIBLE POST BEFORE DEDICATING TO REQUESTS FOR THE REST OF THE MONTH DON'T KILL ME! THIS TIME IT'S FLUFF!

Mark Grayson/Invincible x Starfire!Reader

Imagine being an alien similar to DC's Starfire, you can follow the original line of the character (I follow more than anything the one from the comics or the 2003 series) where your planet was conquered by another race (thanks to your sister) Or you can go the more "family friendly" line, which is that you decided to explore the world outside your home planet but ended up in the hands of some kind of intergalactic trafficking network.

I imagine that if it is the first case, it is most likely that your race has been conquered by the Viltrumite themselves, which caused a MASSACRE to occur from which you and your sister were miraculously able to escape.

Regardless of what you choose, you ended up on Earth, although having gone through great traumatic events, so when you see this new world, with a strange species, you begin to attack by mere instinct (like what Starfire did in the first chapter of Teen Titans)

That's when Mark or rather INVINCIBLE appears.

He tries to fight you at first, get you away from the civilians, that is until he realizes how scared you are (especially if we're talking about the case of the Viltrumite invasion and you realize that Mark IS a Viltrumite). So he tries to change his strategy and try to calm you down as much as he can.

When he succeeds, he ends up taking you to the Globe's guardians to see what to do. I imagine that you are a little different than the original Starfire, you are more scared and defensive in this situation, at first you only trusted Mark.

For this reason, Cecil decides that you will stay in the Pentagon until they know what to do with you. Mark helps you learn the "normal" things of the Earth and show Cecil that you are not a threat.

(if you had to learn the human language by "lip contact" the whole team definitely makes fun of Mark a little for being in love now).

Imagine Mark and Eve bringing you clothes to try on!🥺Eve probably just created it out of nowhere, but she also brings clothes that her parents give her that she doesn't want and for some reason you like.

Mark offers to help you train! At first he tries to go easy on you, but when you almost knock him out with your laser beams, he learns his lesson.

He definitely takes you out to eat junk food! More when he realizes that the Pentagon's food doesn't help you much because of your big appetite. Mark was surprised at how much food you could eat but luckily Cecil pays for it (just don't tell him yet🤫)

Definitely one of Mark's favorite things about you, when you're over the trauma, is your innocent attitude, even after all, you're very bubbly and friendly. which is at least difficult to find in your line of work, so he wants to keep that part of yourself as much as possible.

Mark definitely took you to meet his mother, at first he was a little nervous that she wouldn't accept you after what happened with his father, but surprisingly Debbie took it very well.

Thanks to this you were able to learn more about the culture of the Earth, you constantly asked Debbie about the places she had seen, what they were like and their culture (even some anecdotes about Mark when he was a child), and with your bubbly and youthful attitude she did not It was difficult for Debbie to warm to you easily.

Apart from that it helped you fall in love with the Earth quite quickly, see its beauty for yourself, which encouraged you to be your own version of a hero.

When you want to become a heroine, Mark enters into an internal conflict. On the one hand, he KNOWS very well that you don't want someone to make decisions for you, he respects that, but on the other hand, he is TERRIFIED by the possibility that you will get hurt, captured, or lose COMPLETLY your being or worse, DIE.

It is probably thanks to this conversation that you two become a couple.

In general, at first Mark tries to do your first patrols with you to teach you the basics, then he lets you do whatever you want, and he is SO PROUD when you beat someone.

"THAT IS MY GIRL!" kind of proud.

He definitely really likes flying with you and just wandering, at least he feels like there you two have more privacy. Apart from that he likes how you look in your element. according to him.

If you talk about the first case of origin that I mentioned at the beginning and your sister comes back, Mark sees through ALL the red flags and will be the first to warn you about her, since he went through something similar with his family, you don't want to go through that.

If both fight together, POWER COUPLE. LITERAL. You have certain skills that Mark doesn't, so they complement each other very well.

If Mark gets hurt, you go into RAMPAGE MODE and honestly? Mark doesn't know if he should be scared or more in love. or excited.

If YOU get hurt GOD HELP US, MARK IS ANGRY---someone is going to have a bad time. And You a Lot of cuddles.

Overall, both of them are like two Golden Retrievers being happy together.

@clemberryfriends

Shares, reblogs, and comments are very welcome

[dix0nspretty]

Knives, Bikes, and Stitches, Oh My!

Summary: Daryl is working on his motorcycle and you watch. Too bad you can't keep your focus.

Daryl Dixon x F!Reader, 1.3k words

Era: Prison (again) because he's just so yummy...

TW: Mention of blood and stitches. Maybe chronic horniness?

Y'all loved my first story and I hope this one whets your appetites just as well! I have no idea how motorcycles or vehicles of literally any kind work, so please feel free to educate me in the comments.

You put the fear of God in Daryl every time he sees you with a knife.

It’s not that you can’t use one. On the contrary, you’re a force to be reckoned with when you’re fighting. Sometimes all that can be seen of you in a fight is the shine of blood-tinged metal as you slash and stab at whatever is attacking with your twin blades. No, your knives are comfortable and at home in your grip. Maybe too comfortable.

“How many times I got to tell ya to stop eatin’ off yer damn knife?” Daryl’s rough accent sounds out in the empty courtyard. His head is bowed low as he works on his bike, not looking up as he speaks.

I’m perched on the tabletop of one of the prison’s picnic tables eating a can of peaches. Daryl, for some reason unknown to me, had elected to start taking his bike apart and putting it back together and I followed along to watch the process. I don’t know shit about vehicles, much less motorcycles, but I like spending time with the grumpy man.

“It’s fine, I’m not gonna cut myself.” I tell him as I tilt my head down to drag a slice of peach off the blade. Daryl’s eyes don’t move from the work in front of him, but I can feel him watching me. I pull the chunk into my mouth and lick the blade clean of the sticky juice.

“Told ya to cut it out.” I’m eating the canned fruit haphazardly, not paying any attention to how close I am to the edge. Daryl shakes his head. He knows it’s a matter of time before I cut my lip or tongue.

At his repeated command, I roll my eyes but pull away from the edge of my knife. I set the can of peaches down and watch him. His brown hair is getting longer now and it’s sliding down into his eyes, shielding most of his face from my watchful gaze.

“What are you doing, anyways?” I ask. I scoot myself closer to the edge of the table and peer down over his shoulder. He has one of his tools in his hand and some pieces of metal I can’t identify. It is roughly the size of my fist and cylindrical. Whatever it is, it looks important.

Daryl glances over his shoulder, feeling my curious eyes looking down. He huffs and continues his task. “Workin’.”

“No shit. Working on what?” I’m playing with my knife in my fingers, absentmindedly twisting and flipping it. Daryl looks up at me through his hair, squinting one eye against the sunlight. My breath catches in my throat, and I try to play it cool.

“Do ya really want to know or are ya jus’ bored?” He asks in his gruff voice. I don’t answer for a second. He looks so pretty. Get a grip, Y/N, I think to myself.

“Really want to know. Come on, I don’t know anything about bikes. Teach me something.” Daryl squints at me for several seconds longer and I’m convinced he’s going to send me inside to bother someone else, but he slowly starts talking.

“’M cleanin’ the carburetor.” He tilts his hand up to show me the same piece I was looking at earlier. “It’s startin’ to get clogged.”

“Oooookay. What’s that do?”

“It keeps the engine runnin’ smooth, basically. Don’t keep it clear and that can fuck up the bike, make it stall or overheat. Gotta take it apart and clean it every few months.”

Daryl lets me watch over his shoulder as he points out different parts of the carburetor and how to clean them. After a few minutes, his gruff voice starts to fade out and my mind begins to wander.

He just looks so good. His hands are greasy and dirty from all of his work today and his biceps are sweaty from the Georgia heat. He’s wearing one of his simple black shirts that already fit him so well and the sweat is only making him look more delicious. I’m watching his hands work over the small brass jets when I feel burning heat in my palm and look down.

I’d been messing with my knife the entire time and cut myself. I instinctively let go of the blade and it hits the concrete with a harsh clang. Daryl’s head lifts at the noise and he spins around right as I rush to tuck both hands behind my back. I look like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar and I’m trying to hide the chocolatey evidence. Except this time, it’s blood.

Daryl’s eyes run over me for a second, then flick down to my knife as it sits on the dirty floor. He slowly bends down and picks it up. “Y/N.” He starts, a low warning in his tone.

“It’s fine! I’m fine, I just dropped it.” My voice rambles out. There’s a high, nervous note to it and I’m hoping to God he doesn’t notice.

He raises an eyebrow. “If yer fine, why’s the knife got fresh blood on it?” Fuck.

“Uhhhhh.” I look around the courtyard, trying to find an excuse. I, naturally, see nothing. “Magic?”

Daryl huffs and crosses his arms. “Let me see your hands.”

I wince. I don’t want to get in trouble, but I can feel the blood dripping off my hand, and it stings. The longer I hold off showing him the angrier he’ll get.

“Y/N. Hand, now.” Daryl’s voice leaves no room for arguments.

“Jus’, don’t be mad?” I ask. He says nothing and I sigh, then slowly move my hands back in front of me. The blood is quickly evident on my skin.

“God damn it, girl. Why can’t ya ever listen to me?” Despite his rough tone, his hands are gentle as he takes my wrist and tilts my hand, inspecting the damage. I risk a glance at my hand. There’s a slash across my entire palm and more blood than there should be. It’s going to need stitches.

“Ya need stitches.” Told you.

 Daryl looks up from my hand but doesn’t let go of my wrist. His eyes lock with mine and he gives me a warm look. There’s exasperation and concern and I don’t know what to do with it. He takes a surprisingly clean rag from his pocket and ties it around my bleeding palm, firmly but not enough to hurt.

I can’t help but be surprised by just how gentle he’s being with me. I was expecting a pop in the side of the head and a banishment to Hershel’s cell. I look up at him through my lashes, waiting for my verbal lashing. After almost a minute, I realize there is none.

“Does this mean I gotta go in now?” I try to keep the potential disappointment from my voice and don’t entirely succeed.

“Yeah, yer going to go get those stitches. Ya weren’t listenin’ anyways.” He grumbles at me. “The hell were you doin’?”

I look away from him. I do not want to explain that I was too busy being horny over him to notice that I gouged my palm open. I risk a glance at him and I’m caught by those ocean-blue eyes.

“I was watching your hands…”

Daryl pauses, then snorts. “Maybe instead of watchin’ my hands ya should’ve been watching yours. Go get your damn stitches and I’ll show ya somethin’ else.”

[devoutekuna]

The first meeting

Includes- Toji, Sukuna, Nanami, Gojo, Geto

Sukuna-

He wasn't the best when it came to showing affection or anything emotion really, unless it was something barbaric. So when his daughter came out he was already fighting the nurses to hold her. "Isn't she cute?" Holding your baby in your arms as you checked her out fully, noticing the pink hair standing out against her plush face. She looked just like her father, small dark marks on her face which resembled sukuna's, much to your dismay as you had carried her for 9 months just for her to come out a carbon copy of him. "I guess" he wasn't big on children, he normally ate them. Sat beside you as he watched how you awed over her. "Hold her" ushering for him to take her. "No" he didn't like babies, in fact, he didn't like much people other than you. "Come on Ryo" hands stuck out as you offered her up. Giving in as he knew how you would keep on asking, the small bundle taken into his arms.

Nanami-

Nanami was probably the first one to hold her when she came out, that's how he met her, normally at this time he would be arriving back from work with your favourite food just to give you a massage after missing him for so long. Though, right now he was sat in the hospital cradling his newborn daughter, adjusting her light pink hat so he could see her beautiful face, practically the same as yours. Smiling at the sight of his newborn sleeping, holding himself from grabbing her cheek. "Isn't she cute kento?" Peering down at how low his face was. Nodding in response, normally he'd always use his words unless he was getting emotional, which you had never seen before.

Geto-

"Isn't she a cute baby?" You were barely awake, eyes fighting to stay open just to watch your husband ramble on about his newborn. Today he wasn't reading the room right now, talking too much when he should have shut up hours ago, just nodding along to whatever the man said. "She looks a lot like you." Smiling at you only to face when he saw how tired you looked. "My bad, get some sleep, I'll take care of her!" Placing her back in the bassinet beside your bed as he kissed your cheek.

Gojo-

"Can he walk Y/N?" Not giving you time to answer as he stared to call for your newborn "come here Satoru JR" motioning for him to walk towards him, normally your husband was smarter than this but as soon as he got to take his newborn home he was in an erratic frenzy, completely loosing any sense of logic. "His name isn't Satoru JR!" You were too tired to even argue with the man. "Shh, it's his nickname" giving you a quick peck on the lips to shut you up. "What can he do then?" Sighing how stupid your husband sounded. "Nothing Satoru." "Really?" A bit shocked that his son couldn't do anything other than, eat, cry and sleep.

Toji-

"Can I hold her?" "Are you sure she's not too hot?" "What if she has a big appetite and needs more milk?" Normally he'd never care this much about someone, but he did for his newborn daughter, she was barely a day old and he was already fondling all over her. Fingers underneath her nose to check if she was breathing, two fingers under her chin or on her wrist to catch the faintest pulse. He was awake all night staring at her in case something bad happened. Arms wrapped around your body as he laid awake staring at the little girl, noticing any small movement. Eventually he'd fall asleep in the crook of your neck, breath slowing down as he fell asleep, arms tightened around your body when he slept, it always annoyed you as there was no way to escape his grasp unless he woke up.

[gurugirl]

More of You | bfd!harry

there's a reference to his hair drying all curly after a shower so i had to use this image

Note: Can be read as standalone

Summary: Harry's at your place for a couple of days and you're enjoying having him all to yourself.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warning: 18+ only, smut, lying, cheating, age gap, breeding kink (you guys asked for the breeding kink and this one is full of it), fluff

bfd!harry masterlist

Harry convinced you to call off work the next morning. You were due to go in that afternoon but Mondays were slow anyway and tips were generally subpar when it was slow. Plus you rarely called off so once wouldn’t hurt anything.

He listened as you rolled over in bed and called your boss.

You made up an excuse about being sick to your stomach. And being sick as a server is a big no-no so your boss didn’t even put up a fight. He told you to feel better and then said he’d see you Wednesday because you already had Tuesday off. Two whole days with Harry uninterrupted sounded like heaven.

You sat up to place your phone back on your nightstand and intended on getting up to put a t-shirt on and make coffee but Harry lunged toward you and wrapped his arms around your middle, pulling you back into the bed. His strong arms easily keeping you from getting up.

“Where are you going?” He said as he pushed you down and leaned over you, caging you in by putting his thigh over yours.

You laughed, “I was going to make coffee.”

“I think we should stay in bed for a while longer,” he spoke as he brought a hand up to your neck and then ducked down to kiss your lips.

And that pretty much had you melting into your mattress and feeling fuzzy and blurry with his lips against yours.

You pulled your arms around Harry’s back and felt the scratches you’d given him the night before. You helped him clean them because you’d done some damage.

“Harry you already fucked me,” you moaned as he began to lower his lips down your body.

He stopped the wet path of his lips down and looked up at you, “So? I have an appetite. You just do something to me, Y/n. Prepare yourself for two days of this.” And with that, he attached his mouth to your cunt and you yelped.

You woke up that morning and had hot quick morning sex. You got off so impossibly fast that Harry even had to question if you’d been faking it. But of course, you weren’t. It was just everything all at once. His love, his body, his words, his presence.

And now he wanted to take his time with you. Get you all worked up again and fuck you slowly, filling you up with everything he had to give you.

With your thighs wrapped around his head and Harry’s quick tongue at your clit you came for the second time that morning. But he felt you yanking at his hair and you were begging him to get inside of you again.

“Desperate for me again? Fuck I love that.” He moved up your body and you were writhing under him.

“Yes. Please, Harry. Fill me up full. I need it.”

Harry let out a soft laugh as he kissed each of your nipples. You hadn’t even had time to clean up after the last round because you’d called your boss. So you were still full with his come, which he could taste as he was eating you out.

“Does it really feel that good, baby? You know you’re already stuffed with my come right now. Right? You want more?”

Nodding your head you pulled at him impatiently, “Need more. Want to carry your babies and drip with your come every day all day long.”

Harry groaned. Your sex drive matched his libido perfectly. He loved it. How much you enjoyed having sex. How slick you got and how fertile you were. It all fed into his primal kink to breed. You might have been on birth control but he could have fun with it. He knew you were dirty and enjoyed it too.

He plunged into your hole, pushing his previous orgasm deeper inside of you. The wet squelches were sloppy and obscene. You were so incredibly wet and still dripping with him that it made things even messier. He sat back onto his haunches and slowly thrust into you, pulling back and plunging in until his pubic hair dipped into your messy, wet pussy.

Your legs were spread apart wide as you looked up at him. Harry was honed in on where his cock was spreading you apart. You moaned at the feel of it. Everything was so wet and sticky. You knew it would be on your sheets.

“Fuck me just like that Harry. Deep, get it in there.” You panted your words. Harry was going deep but he wasn’t going hard.

Harry moaned and turned his gaze toward your pretty face, his hands at your hips, pulling you toward him on each thrust, “You just want to be my come hole? Get filled up over and over again?”

You could hear the desperation in his voice. He was already close to coming.

“Yes, sir. Need you to keep pumping your babies into me. Fuck your come into me, and then fill me again so it gets into my womb.”

“Shit, baby. So creamy…” Harry panted as he continued pulling you over his cock like you were a toy he needed to fuck down over himself. Your tits wobbled with each pull and he could hear how wet everything was. Messy. “Gonna breed you, baby. Make you a mommy, yeah? Keep draining my cock deep into your pussy until you’re fat with all my babies. That what you want?”

You cried out and nodded, “Yes! Oh my god… yes!”

Harry could feel his heart thundering in his chest. He’d never been able to do what he was doing right then. Back-to-back orgasms. Even when he was younger he needed to recover. He’d always had a high sex drive but his natural refractory period typically meant he needed some time in between. But god, with you? It was like you just pushed all his buttons exactly like he needed.

He moaned as his eyes roved your sexy form. A pretty thing and all his. Soft thighs shaking, tits wobbling, tummy getting fucked into, wet lips wide open with a fucked out smile… All his.

“Come in me, Harry. Please, sir. Come inside of me. Make me all yours…” you moaned. You were really getting into the breeding thing. Never had it appealed to you before Harry. And maybe the reasons you liked it so much with him were selfish. Because part of you would love to have him get you pregnant. Then he’d really be all yours. You knew Harry would do anything to take care of you and he’d forsake everyone for you. Just as you would for him.

Harry’s thumb landed on your clit and you wailed in ecstasy, throwing your head back as you grasped the tops of his thighs, “Yesss!”

He watched you arch and tremble and felt your pussy fluttering around him so he kept at what he was doing. He could tell you were near your end.

“Gonna come on my cock? Milk me of everything I’ve got? Selfish little thing wants all my come inside of her pussy doesn’t she?”

You groaned lowly and sputtered out a cry. You were actually crying. You had tears on your face but it wasn’t because you didn’t like what was happening. It was because you liked it too much. “Want it all. Want all your come inside of me. Only mine,” you babbled on about his come only being yours and how you needed it inside of you.

He closed his eyes for a moment to keep his thrusts steady because his view of your pussy taking him, creamy white arousal pushed down over the base of his cock, his come leaking out of your hole and down your ass… he was about to explode inside of you again.

“Fucking come then, baby. I’m gonna give you my come but I need to feel you coming first, honey. Come on, Y/n.”

You blubbered and cried and then you snapped. The loud wail that fell from your lungs had Harry taken aback. It was… loud. But he had little time to consider the kind of noises you two were making in your bedroom with your bed bouncing and creaking loudly and your high-pitched moans and yelps.

The moment you cried out as he felt you squeeze around him and your thigh muscles tightened he could feel you orgasming. He coughed out a loud groan and poured into you finally, pressing his hips against yours and rocking down into you so he could get his come inside of your guts and fill your walls with his sperm.

You both whined and cried, you much louder, but the overload of come inside of your pussy was like a small fountain. It dripped down your ass cheeks and soaked the bed under you. Harry had himself buried in so deep and had a hold of your hips so you couldn’t pull away, his balls snug against you as he pumped and pumped into you.

“Shit!” He groaned. He had come so hard that he saw specks in his vision and he felt lightheaded.

When he caught his breath he collapsed over you and felt your legs wrap around his low back, “Harry… oh my god. I love you so much.”

He smiled into the pillow and turned his head so his lips were at your ear, “I love you, baby.”

.           .           .

You were floaty and soft feeling after you’d had two orgasms. Harry was not feeling much different. He kept you close to him after. A short shower together to rinse off and touch and be together. Harry kissed your shoulders and your neck as you leaned your back into his chest under the stream of tepid water.

And in the kitchen with a breakfast of coffee and oatmeal, you teased him about the way his hair was drying in wild curls on top of his head, “You should really just do it like this, Harry. It’s so sexy,” you pushed your fingers into his hair.

He chuckled with a bite of food in his mouth and shook his head, as he watched you. When he’d swallowed his bite he pulled your hand from his hair and fit his fingers in between yours, “That is not going to happen. S’too messy.”

You shook your head, “I like it. It’s wild but it’s cute. Looks like you just had some really good sex.”

Harry pinched your thigh and pulled your chair right next to his before dragging you into his lap, your back hitting his chest with his mouth at your ear as he spoke, “My sex hair is only for you to see, baby.”

You grinned as you felt his hand grip your chin and turn your head so he could kiss your lips.

Harry’s phone rang suddenly and you quickly moved off his lap to let him up. He picked up his cell phone and looked at you before lifting the phone so you could see that Fae was calling him. A signal to keep quiet.

“Hey Fae,” Harry paced into the living room as he answered.

You busied yourself putting the bowls away but couldn’t help but hear his side of the conversation with his daughter.

“Okay… well, we haven’t even really discussed it yet so-“

He was silent for a moment as you rinsed the dishes but then heard him again, his tone was upset.

“Fae, listen to me,” he sighed and you watched as he walked in front of your couch, back and forth, “That’s not it. No.”

He laughed in frustration and then sat down, “I’m not home because it’s the middle of a work day, Fae.”

Harry leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes.

You knew she’d be talking to you about this soon. You imagined Fae called to find out what was going on with him and her mom. She’d want to vent to you. And all you could think about was how you’d navigate the lies.

“Sweetheart, this doesn’t change anything, okay? We just need some time.”

When he finally hung up you sat down next to him and waited for him to tell you what was said.

With his back still into the cushions he scooped your hand into his and brought it up to his chest, “She’s pissed at me. Asked if her mother was going to divorce me.”

You swallowed at the ‘D’ word. It was something you only allowed yourself to indulge in alone. You ran over all the scenarios in your head. It would be messy. Everyone would hate you but you’d have him in the end. And if that’s how it all wound up, that didn’t seem like the worst thing. No. The worst thing was to not end up with him after it all.

“Are you okay?” You asked, your body turned toward his.

He turned his head and looked at you with a smile, “I’m here with you so I’m okay. You make me happy, Y/n. I don’t know what’s going out outside of this but I know when I’m with you, I’m fine.”

You felt the same. Everything outside of your apartment was iffy and shaky. But inside, with Harry’s hands on you, his eyes on you, his voice, his existence connecting with yours… everything was fine.

With the TV on you and Harry curled into one another and watched whatever daytime television show was airing. The call from Fae had changed the air a bit. Harry didn’t want his daughter upset with him and you were on edge wondering when she’d be calling you to vent.

But you had him with you. He was at your apartment with you because that’s where he chose to go. And that had to mean something. Because you were sure his wife expected him to beg her to come back. That he’d be doing anything at all to win her back and explain himself and prove to her that nothing was going on. But he didn’t do that. Instead, he came to you that very night. Rather than going to his wife’s sister’s house to talk to her and smooth things out, he found his way to you and made love to you, and brought a bag so he could stay. Even if it would only be for a couple of nights it meant something.

And even though the air had changed, Harry still stayed within arm’s reach of you. At Lunchtime he had you sitting on the counter next to him while he made you sandwiches and then you sat together on your couch to eat.

“I brought something with me. For us,” Harry spoke in between his bites as he looked at you.

“What did you bring?”

He swallowed his bite and the look on his face told you that he needed to work up the nerve to say what he was about to, “Remember that toy I bought for you?”

You nodded. You did remember. The one that you told him to take with him when you were upset. The one his wife found in his study. There seemed to be a lot of negativity surrounding that toy so you could understand his hesitancy in bringing it up.

He scratched the back of his neck as he leaned forward to put his plate on your coffee table, “Was thinking we could test it out. If you want to.”

“Test it out?” You grinned and placed your empty plate down over Harry’s on your coffee table.

He raised his brows and shrugged, “Do you want to? Just to see?”

There was no way you’d say no to the man. Of course, you’d enjoy testing out a toy with him. You watched Harry connect it to charge and then you read over the instructions and Googled reviews.

The thing was mostly already charged when it arrived so after cleaning it off Harry brought you to your couch and laid the pink toy on your coffee table.

He stayed on the floor on his knees between your legs and pulled you down for a kiss, “You ready? Gonna get you worked up first and then we’ll see what that thing can do.”

Harry was already slipping your panties down your legs as he spoke. His lips against yours were soft and his hands gently spread your thighs further apart.

He pushed you back into your couch and began to peck wet kisses up your thighs and he had his hands holding your hips in place.

“Want you all wet first. Make it feel really good for you,” he spoke as moved his mouth upward to the space where your inner thighs were softest.

He sat back and pushed your t-shirt up over your tits and licked upward over your breasts until the air cooled them and your soft moans invited him to do more.

He planted his gaze on yours as he bent down and pulled at your thighs, causing your bum to slide off the edge of the couch so he could have access to your pussy.

And he put that access to good use.

He softly licked and kissed your clit and your labia, speaking filth in between as he went, “This little pussy is so pretty,” he puffed hot breath over your clit before softly tonguing at the hood, “and it’s all mine to fuck and lick and kiss. Can’t wait to see how she’s gonna look riding her new pink toy.”

You began to laugh at his “new pink toy” comment but it was cut off when he sucked your clit into his mouth with a slurp.

He lifted again with a grin, “She’s all wet now, look at that,” he thumbed at your crease and ran your glistening arousal over your clit before bringing it up so you could watch the spectacle of how wet you’d gotten for him so quickly. The string of arousal connected from his thumb to your cunt was broken as he moved his thumb up to your lips.

You wrapped your lips around his thick thumb and licked off your arousal.

“You ready to take it on a test drive now, baby?”

You laughed through your nose, “Why not?” You said with a grin.

Harry opened his phone and pulled up the app, selecting a pre-programmed setting for vibrations.

“Rub your clit for me,” he directed as he pressed the bulb to your entrance. It easily slid in with a gentle push and you moved your fingers from your clit when the little wand slid into place.

The moment he pushed play you felt the deep rumble inside. Now, you’d played with toys on your own before. You had a decent vibrator. But you knew this one could be used from his house on you while you were in your apartment.

“How’s it feel?” He asked as he looked from your pussy where the little pink antenna was sticking out to your eyes. He was still on the floor between your legs, his hands at your thighs to keep them apart.

You swallowed and nodded, “Yeah… uh… it feels good. Kind of like you’re fingering me with vibrations,” you giggled but then the programmed settings suddenly increased the thrumming inside and you gasped, widening your eyes. Oh yeah. That felt pretty good.

Harry watched you for a bit as you progressively got wetter. Having him right between your legs watching a toy rumble inside of you was quite odd. You’d never done anything like it before.

“Oh!” You yelped when the vibrations stuttered and stopped, started to life, and began to repeat in a pattern that you knew was hitting your g-spot, just like the booklet said it could. It was small but it definitely reached the spots it needed to.

Suddenly your phone began to ring.

You and Harry looked at one another for a moment before you lifted it to your ear quickly to get it over with.

It was Fae. Immediately she commented that she was surprised you’d picked up.

“Oh yeah, I called off today. Wasn’t feel very great. Just needed some rest. What’s up?”

You looked at Harry who had his eyes on you already.

Fae wanted to come over. She asked if she could stop by and you hated, loathed to lie to her.

“Maybe tomorrow afternoon I can meet you for lunch? Not today. I really am not feeling up to it.” You turned your face from the phone and gasped, dropping your mouth open as the vibrations were rattling your insides.

So, she told you about her father and her mother and how she was worried. Told you that her mother had left their home to stay with her sister and how Harry didn’t seem too concerned.

“I’m sure he cares, Fae. He loves you and your mother!” You hadn’t meant to speak so frantically at the end but the toy was still working inside of you.

“No! I’m okay! Sorry, I burnt myself. Can I call you back?” Again, your tone was too keyed up but you truly couldn’t help it as you panted, turning your mouth away from the receiver in hopes that Fae wouldn’t hear you.

It turned out that Fae was getting ready to head into the store to go to work. She had wanted to drop by on her way but you were in no position to allow that. Clearly.

You rushed off the phone as your chest heaved. You’d need to deal with the guilt of lying to her and brushing her off after.

Harry shook his head and grinned at you, “You okay?”

You nodded, “I think so. This thing is really good, though, Harry.”

It was. Once the pre-programmed selection started to pulse in heavy vibrations you grabbed Harry’s hands from your thighs and pulled him up to your mouth to kiss.

He laughed against your lips and used one of his hands to pull his pants down. You could tell he was stroking his cock as he kissed you but you, being the selfish girl you’d come to find out you were, you wanted him to come inside of you.

Pushing at his chest you reached down to pull the toy out, “Inside of me. I want your cock.”

Harry groaned and fumbled with his phone to turn off the vibrating toy and shut the app off. His cock hung heavy and angry as he turned back to you, getting to his knees and swiping his tip into your soaking wet crease, “You like my cock better than the new toy I bought you?”

His grin as he asked was cheeky. His cock was far larger and meatier. And it was attached to him. So of course you liked it more.

“God nothing compares to your cock, Mr. Styles. Now, fuck me.”

Harry shifted his head to the side and squinted at you, “Where are your manners?”

You bucked your hips up and pulled at his shirt, “Please, sir.”

That’s all he needed to hear. He smiled, keeping his eyes on yours as he pushed through your tight little entrance and moaned deeply, “That’s so good. God every time is better than the last,” his words were soft as he pulled back and slowly plunged in.

You couldn’t agree more. Every time you fucked it kept getting better. It was like you two were fusing and morphing into one. Like he knew all your spots and you knew all his. The connection was deep and more than physical. It was everything.

With his hands at your hips, keeping your pussy close to the edge of the couch Harry fucked into you as he kissed you hard. You’d gotten so wet, once again, that even the squeak of the couch couldn’t cover up the sound of your pussy getting fucked.

“Hear that? So juicy for me. You need this don’t you?” Harry pecked kisses down your jaw as he whispered into your skin.

“I need you, Harry. I always need you.”

The delicious rhythm Harry built had your tits bouncing and Harry’s balls swinging but it wasn’t enough. He was struggling with the angle. He pulled out and stood over you, taking your ankles into his hands, and pushed your feet up, pressing your thighs into your chest so you were folded nearly in half with your pussy exposed for him.

The initial plunge of his thick cock through your tight muscle had you whimpering and clawing for something to hold on to.

“Oh fuck!” Harry growled as he drove into you forcefully. The fit was tight and your grip on him, every inch he gave you, had his strong thighs shaking.

You loved it. Loved how thick and wide he felt, loved that he was already whimpering as he pounded you into the couch, loved that your pussy was doing that to him.

“You want my come, baby? Want me to fill you up again?”

You whined and nodded into your knee, which was pressed next to your face with how Harry was holding you down, “Please!”

You heard a moan from him and then felt him press onto your clit as he continued to plunge into you. He was breathing heavily. The angle was work for him. He had one foot on the floor and his other was on your couch as he fucked down into you, grinding himself in with a swivel of his hips every time he buried himself balls deep.

“Yeah? A greedy girl huh?” He panted, “Wants all my come in her tight hole. Wants to be filled up and fucked and bred, yeah?”

You grunted and felt tears roll down your face as you tried to relax into the position to let him completely take control of you and your body. With his fingers on your clit, your body naturally wanted to chase his movements and press into him further but he had you held down so tight you couldn’t move your limbs or your hips properly.

Harry’s cock massaged your inner walls with each tight thrust down into you. You felt every single bit of him filling you over and over again. His breaths were strangled and he began to groan loudly.

Suddenly he let go of your legs and kneed up to you on the couch, positioning himself over you and pulling your thighs over his hips as he rocked into you in a more intimate position so he could see your face and you could see his.

He looked down over you and brought a hand up to your face, “My pretty, baby. God, look at you,” he cooed as he gently placed his palm over your cheek, never ceasing the movements of his hips as he rocked into you.

You moaned, finally able to use your lungs and your voice properly, as you reached up and put your hands onto his face, “Harry, ohhh…” The feel of his pubic bone pressing into your clit at the new angle had you aching to come.

You watched him hover over you, fucking into you slower than he had been before. His face was flushed and you saw the veins in his neck strain as he gasped.

“Come in me. Please give me your come…” Your words came out broken and breathy but he understood you, keeping his eyes on yours.

“I will baby. Gonna give it to you again. Fertile pussy needs my come doesn’t she?”

Nodding you clenched around him and bucked your hips into his, “Yes!”

But Harry wasn’t going to just come like that. You knew he wouldn’t. He always wanted you to get yours first. His languid strokes, deep and meaningful, the drag of his hips into yours so you could feel him against your clit, the eye contact, his dirty words, “Be a good girl and come for me, baby. If you’re good I’ll stuff you full of my come again. Fuck it all into your tummy like you crave.”

You were already gasping and trembling with your heart thudding rapidly in your chest but his words pushed you over the edge. You panted and sucked in a sharp breath as your orgasm took over your limbs. Your head was spinning as you spasmed around his cock while he continued drilling into you with heavy, wet thrusts.

“Shit… just like that, baby. Good girl!” He coughed his words as he worked you through your ecstasy until his balls contracted and he began to come, letting your tight pussy milk him once again, drinking his come in until you were satisfied. Until he was properly drained, stuffed deep inside of you, panting and twitching as he dipped down to kiss you.

You wrapped your arms around him as he gently laid over you, his lips against yours. He smoothed a palm over your thigh and kept himself buried in your guts until you both parted for air and laughed together.

“God Harry… I can’t get enough of you,” you breathed your words, and Harry’s broad grin as he looked down at you was loving and full of something like joy.

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to feel like you’d had enough. I’ll keep giving until you decide you don’t want anymore.”

You tightened your thighs around him and shook your head, “Never gonna happen. Never gonna have enough. Always gonna want more of you.”

His pink lips quirked up on one side as he gazed over your hot face. You were sure you looked like hell. A sweaty mess, with ratty hair and no makeup.

But that wasn’t how Harry saw it. He looked at you and wondered what would have happened in his life if he’d have been born later, or you’d have been born earlier. Could you have fallen in love and started a family and then things would have been easier for you both? He looked at you and saw the prettiest girl, a smart and fun young woman that he was madly in love with, for better or for worse. He looked at your face and he felt nothing but peace and satisfaction when you looked back into his eyes. He hadn’t been so happy in a long time.

You pushed at him and laughed, “What? I look like I live on the streets don’t I?”

Harry shook his head and pressed his lips to yours before looking back down at you again, “No. You look like my love. My heart. Could use a brush, but you’re still gorgeous,” he laughed his words and you pushed at him again before he tackled you with his mouth and made your heart leap with adoration and affection and tender comfort. You couldn’t have been more at peace.

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[saetoru]

Tee imagine being vash’s first kiss :(

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。FIRST — VASH THE STAMPEDE.

「 SYNOPSIS 」 ⋮ vash has never fallen in love—not before you, that is (2.1k words)

☽ contents ⋮ mutual pining, slightly jealous vash (of nicholas), confessions, fluff

☽ notes ⋮ i don’t even think this has anything to do with the ask anymore LMAO i got carried away but here <3

“nico, get your grimy fingers off my share,” you huff, shoving nicholas’s fingers away from the last few bites of your lunch.

food is scarce these days—more so than usual, and you don’t even try to hide your hunger when you finally find a place to grab a bite. vash eyes you as your lips are curled into a soft frown, the crinkle of your brows making his throat dry—because you’re cute, even with a look of pure irritation on your face, you’re soft and angelic and you make his heart skip a beat.

“c’mon, give me a bite or two,” nicholas chuckles, sneaking his way back to reach for your share of food, “you try carrying that big ol’ cross around all day.”

this time, you slap his hand away, huffing as you shift closer to vash to put extra distance between you and nicholas. vash has to keep himself from leaning in when he feels the warmth of your body radiate against him at the proximity.

“oh, you’re such a jackass, y’know?” you grumble, rolling your eyes at the easy chuckle nicholas gives you. but vash can see it—the beginnings of a smile you try (and fail) to fight back as you shake your head. “you’re the one who insists on carrying such a flashy weapon.”

“well it saved your pretty little head a few times didn’t it?” he shoots back. nicholas is easy to talk to like that, banter filling the air between you as you dance around each other with petty taunts and sly grins and stolen touches through pokes to the forehead.

vash thinks the only time he’s ever touched you is to pull you away from danger. in fact, he thinks it’d be easier to fight off an entire city after him than pluck the courage to reach out and flick your forehead the way nicholas does. it’s so smooth, so simple, so natural—and he can from tell the way your eyes soften for nicholas that it must be love.

he glances down at his food, feels his appetite dwindle and his chest tighten, and soon enough there’s an extra share of food pressed to your hand as he stands up.

“i’m not hungry,” he smiles softly, “you have it.”

you blink for a moment before opening your mouth to protest. “but vash—”

he’s off before you can finish talking, climbing into the van and closing the door while everyone stares after his figure and blinks. you frown, looking back at nicholas who only grins wider, holding a hand out for the half eaten dinner in your hold.

“well, don’t be greedy. share the goods,” he insists.

you roll your eyes, pulling away from his outstretched hand as you glare at him.

“something’s wrong,” you announce. meryl and roberto share a look, glancing quickly between you and nicholas again before continuing eating, making your brows furrow. “you guys know, don’t you?”

“everyone does, sweet cheeks,” nicholas chuckles, shaking his head, “you’re a bit more oblivious than i thought.”

“and what’s that supposed to mean?” you glare, but he only eyes you with amusement, turning back to finish the last few bites of his dinner before standing up and walking off, mumbling about needing a smoke under his breath.

you stare back at the van, unsure whether or not you’re supposed to go after vash—whether or not he even wants you there. it takes you a few moments of contemplation before you ultimately stand up, earning a look from meryl and a sigh from roberto.

“i’m gonna go after him,” you announce.

it doesn’t take long to walk up to the van and climb in, finding vash sitting slouched on his side of the back seat, looking out the window. he almost looks…defeated—it’s a type of vash you don’t think you’ve ever really seen.

“vash?” you ask softly, making him tense for a moment before he glances at you, offering a poor attempt of a reassuring smile.

you don’t think vash has ever successfully hidden an emotion ever in his life. for as long as you’ve known him—though it’s not been that long—he’s worn his heart on his sleeve and his emotions bared before you whether he means to or not. you sit down beside him, staring at your lap as he stares out the window again.

“hey,” he says quietly, “why aren’t you with everyone else?”

“why aren’t you?” you counter gently.

“ah, well,” he chuckles nervously, painfully aware of how close your knees are from brushing, “just wanted to sit. and think, i guess,” he says quietly.

“about what?”

“just stuff,” he mumbles.

he doesn’t want to tell you he thinks about how he must be in love with you, doesn’t want to admit as much when you’ve clearly got someone else in your heart. vash has never fallen in love—but he thinks if he’d have to give the feeling a label, it’d be you.

he thinks it has to be love when the first pair of eyes he searches for are yours, making sure you’re okay before he even thinks about checking on anyone else. what else could it be besides love when even if for a split second, the very thought of you being in danger makes his gun leave its holster and ready to aim. if not love, he’s not sure what else it could be when he’s so nervous around you, he feels words stick to his throat like he’s choking.

vash has never fallen in love before, but there’s no mistaking this feeling now that it hits him.

you’re kind—maybe a bit more than you should be to him since he does nothing but drag you into danger. the rational part of him wishes you’d stop coming with him wherever he goes, it hopes you’ll see you have so much to live for outside of cleaning up his messes. the more desperate part of him feels nauseous at the idea of you going your separate ways—he can protect you, can’t he? the desert is a dangerous place with or without him and if you’re in danger one way or another, you should stick by his side where he can keep an eye on you.

no, vash has never been in love—but he’s sure as hell seen it happen before his own two eyes in the many, many years he’s lived.

and he knows you’re in love with nicholas with one painful glance.

“c’mon vash,” you nudge his shoulder with your own, “we’re friends, i know you better than that. something’s wrong. are you upset about what those people in that last town said to you? because i’ll march right up to them and give them hell and back if—”

friends.

he’s tuned you out, too hyper focused on that awful burning sensation pooling in his chest, the one that hits him as soon as you use that cruel word. of course vash is just your friend, why wouldn’t he be? he can’t remember the last time someone actually wanted him around at all let alone as something more.

he doesn’t even notice your hand reaching for his until it lays over his fist, gently unclamping it from the fabric of his coat. he doesn’t even notice he’s been fisting it this whole time, doesn’t even notice his shoulders are tense until you lean your head on it.

“you don’t have to tell me,” you murmur gently, “i’ll wait here with you.”

“why?” he can’t help but ask, can’t help but wonder why you care to spend your time here when you could be there. with nicholas. without him.

“because i care about you.” you say it like it’s obvious, like he should already know that.

perhaps he does—you do care about him, he can see it with the way you help clean his wounds and scold him for being reckless…just maybe not in the way he wishes you would.

“are you ever going to tell nicholas how you feel?” he asks.

you sit up, shock on your face and a crease in your brows as you stare at him in bewilderment. he almost thinks he’s asked something out of line, something he should apologize for. but before he can offer you a stuttered apology, you beat him to it.

“what?” you chuckle. “do i look like i feel something for nicholas?”

“you don’t?” he sounds shocked, making you blink.

“no,” you shake your head, grimacing like the idea is an unpleasant one. “he’s a nuisance i tolerate at best.”

“oh,” is all he says, surprised. it’s silent for a moment before he hesitantly asks, “is…is there someone?”

he doesn’t want to know the answer either way. yes means the pain of knowing there’s someone else he has to let you go to. no means it’s not him even with no one else to compete with at all. but he figures whether your answer is yes or no, it’s enough to force him to let go.

“well…” you hesitate for a moment, inhaling before letting out a shaky breath and slumping back to his shoulder, “can i be honest?”

“of course,” he says instantly.

“i don’t know how you’ll take it,” you admit quietly, and he can hear the slight shakiness in your voice—like you’re nervous, like what you’re about to say will change everything.

but vash knows no matter what you’ll say, no matter what you’ll ever do, he’ll still keep loving you even if you don’t need him to.

“is it embarrassing?”

“no,” you shake your head, “well, maybe a little. depends on how you react. i might look stupid.”

“can’t be worse than running out of bullets,” he smiles softly, “i bet i looked pretty stupid then.”

“a little,” you admit, giggling. and then you both laugh softly, your cheek against his shoulder and your hand gently clasped over his. distantly, you can hear nicholas ask where you are—and you know it’s not long before you’ll lose this rare moment alone. so you take a deep breath, stare at your hand over his as you mumble, “i think i love you. a little. actually, that’s a lie—a lot. like, a whole lot.”

he blinks.

he feels his breath hitch and your shoulders tense and his heart race all at once. for a second he thinks he might’ve heard you wrong—but then you whisper how you understand if he doesn’t feel the same way, how it’s okay, really! you understand, it’s not his fault and you can still be friends because you’re fine with friends. just as long as he’s still in your life because he’s important to you and friends is better than nothing at all.

and then he cuts you off with a soft chuckle, making you pause and glance up at him with doubt on your face.

“can i be honest too?” he smiles gently, melting your heart even as it shatters just a little in your chest.

“of course,” you whisper.

“i love you too. not a little though. a lot. i thought you had a thing for nicholas, though—”

“nico is rude and smells like smoke. i wouldn’t kiss him if my life depended on it,” you interrupt with a crinkle of your nose, making him chuckle with bright eyes and love scribbled over the curves of his features.

he leans in, presses his forehead to yours and closes his eyes when your hand cups a cheek gently.

“good,” he murmurs, “but don’t worry, i’ll keep you safe. your life will never depend on kissing him.”

“good,” you hum, “because i only want to kiss you.”

and then you do, slow and sweet and so in love. it’s his first kiss—he doesn’t really know what to do, but he follows your lead and learns fast, soft lips molding with yours and mingling your warm breath with his. vash doesn’t even care he’s gone this long without feeling something as gentle as being in love. he’s in love now, with you—and he’s glad you love him too and not nicholas wolfwood, the man who keeps trying to steal dinner from under your nose.

“are you two done in there already?” nicholas is pounding on the door, making you pull away with a sour look on your face. “we got places to be. better not be baby making where i’m about to sleep.”

“can’t you make one exception and kill him?” you whine, making vash chuckle before he leans to kiss you again, more chaste this time. and again, and again.

vash has never fallen in love—and he’s sure it’s because he was meant to wait this long to fall in love with you.

© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

[izvmimi]

tanjiro is practically force-feeding you fatsia sprouts again and you're sick of them. frowning, you keep your lips pressed together, looking from the plate to him, and then back out the window.

he sighs.

"... but they're good for you."

tanjiro pouts, and his face is cute and pleading enough that even you, despite the fact that you can't find yourself to stomach more of the vegetables when all you really want is something sweet, give in and indulge him. obediently, you open your mouth as the chopsticks make their way closer to your face and accept the bite, and just as quickly he smiles brighter than the sunlight peeking through the curtains of your bedroom.

"thank you for doing that for me," he says as you chew and swallow.

he's been worried sick for the past week, your lack of appetite after recovering from your last bout with a lower ranked demon (unaccompanied against his better wishes) seeming to extend far beyond what was acceptable for him. as a result, he'd taken to feeding you himself, which could have been romantic if he didn't insist on the healthiest - read, bland - food alive.

you purse your lips again at the idea of being congratulated for eating veggies like you are a small child, but you have been difficult. your most recent injury has kept you out of fighting commission and while you've gotten your mobility back, you visibly don't eat and sleep as much as is expected of your usually naturally vibrant self.

"don't pout," he teases, laughter on his lips. he sets the plate on the table, and his hand cups your face gently. leaning in close to you, enough that you're unable to avoid the adoration in his crimson eyes, he encourages you further. "i want you to get your strength back, so you have to eat okay?"

"i am eating."

"not sweets," he insists. you look at him, then wonder how willing he is to fight mitsuri when she brings you the plate of desserts you've been craving. too willing.

"fine."

taking the chopsticks from him quickly, you shovel down the rest of the fatsia sprouts while he sighs in relief, gently rubbing your back.

"stop worrying so much about me." you murmur, once your plate is completed. he eyes it, then back at you.

"too difficult. can't." he grins. "in fact, i won't!"

you raise your eyebrow at him. "i thought you once said you could do anything for me."

he blinks, then tilts his head at you, and you bat your eyelashes, as though you've said something incredibly clever.

he pauses, then kisses your forehead.

"gosh, would you look at that? guess i lied."

[yetanotherexhaustedalchemist]

Found this tiermaker assigning the twst boys with the seven deadly sins, here's my rankings

Explainations:

Ace was difficult to place, but he is prone to overestimating/boasting about his prowess with magic or intelligence (often without evidence behind him 😒) He also thought he was a match for RIDDLE one week into school, yikes.

Jack was also difficult to place, since he's generally one of the more upstanding students. But he does rely on himself more than he probably should on occasion, such as when he wanted to confront Leona alone in Book 2, without the support of others.

I mean what's not for Vil to be proud of Pride is often defined as being full of yourself to the point that you won't acknowledge your faults; this doesn't apply to Vil. Still, it could be argued that his pride led him to be unable to acknowledge Neige winning against him.

Sebek thinks very highly of being fae. IDK what else

It's Azul. He's a capitalist. What do you want from me?

Floyd wasn't assigned lust from a sexual viewpoint (necessarily), but he does live hedonistically. He only really does things if he thinks they'll bring him enjoyment or pleasure of some form.

Same for Rook. I guess you could say he lusts for beauty?

And same for Malleus. His need to keep the things he cherishes close prompts his overblot, and that's a kind of possessiveness I associate with lust.

Cater is shown in his Halloween SSR to envy Lilia's understanding family relationships. Social media also tends to make people compare their lives to others and lead to envy.

Jamil envies people - a lot of people - to the point that it affects his relationships and distorts how he views people. For example, his envy of Kalim's (perceived) easy life stops him from seeing Kalim objectively.

Epel is a minor example, but he's prone to being jealous of other's strength (physical like Jack and Leona, or magical like Vil).

It makes sense that someone who grew up in the slums, needing to fight and steal to get food to eat, would be kind of obsessed with having food and money. Ruggie is under gluttony rather than greed because he actually uses the money and eats the food (or gives it to the people back home) instead of hoarding it.

Besides having a large appetite, I'd say that Jade is a bit of a 'glutton' for amusement in a similar way to Floyd. I put him under gluttony instead of lust because it just felt right.

He angy

Deuce is under wrath because of delinquent mode, that's it

Ortho chooses violence with alarming frequency. not much to say.

Trey himself admits that he let Riddle's mental state get worse by not dealing with the hard truth and letting it fester. He says he knows he should have done something to stop Riddle, but he didn't, and it hurt Riddle and others.

Leona is lazy (sleeping all the time), but his cynicism also makes him extremely unmotivated and uninterested in putting effort into anything.

Like Leona, Idia is extremely uninterested in doing things outside his interests, even when they demand his attention (housewarden and STYX duties). Also, like Leona, he almost certainly has depression, which would help explain this.

Lilia also didn't fit into any of the catagories well, but I put him under sloth for the sole reason that his suddenly leaving NRC for the East could be seen as him trying to to avoid the hard goodbyes of a farewell, in a (failed) attempt to spare his boys' from pain.

Kalim's just a sweetheart!! none of the categories fit him well

Same with Silver

--

A few specifications: here are the definitions I used for the sins

Wrath: Anger taken to unhealthy extremes; misdirected anger; causing harm by hurting innocents

Sloth: Causing harm by inaction; leaving others to suffer when you could/should do something to help

Greed: When the desire to have resources (money, land, ect) deprives others of what they need

Envy: Seeing others' fortune as wrong; dumbing people down into targets of jealousy

Pride: Believing you are superior to others

Gluttony: Hunger (for food, luxury, ect) taken to unhealthy extremes; anything in excess is poison

Lust: Reducing others as objects/pawns for your desire (sexual, power, wealth, ect); desiring something so strongly that becomes a sole motivator

--

Putting someone in a category doesn't mean that they fit all the criteria/interpretations

I also included despair/melancholy under sloth (choosing to wallow in your own pain and ignoring what could be done to help, yourself or others)

The difference between greed and gluttony is hard to define, but it's best described by greed being the desire to have material things for the sake of having them, while gluttony is the desire to have material things for the pleasure of consuming/using them.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Total Care

Dark!Illumi Zoldyck x reader

18+ content

This was a request....that i accidentally deleted...sorry anon!

(Dark Content, Dubious consent, forced masturbation, voyeurism, implied kidnapping)

One of the more aggravating things about Illumi's personality is his attentiveness.

You eat three times a day. You sleep for exactly 9 hours. You get sunlight, time to move around. Physically, you're well-taken care of, curtesy of your diligent captor.

Even pleasure was moderated by him.

"Well?" You cringe at his voice. You still refused to look at Illumi. Looking would make it even worse.

You fought the first time he crawled into bed with you. The second, third, and fourth time too. Your orgasms were always inevitable.

Sex is very important for your health, he'd often say after the 'session'. Like he was being altruistic about fucking you. Like you were the crazy one for resisting when he pinned you down with superhuman strength, making you cum on his fingers, his tongue, his cock.

You don't fight as much these days, but you still make excuses, 'Illumi, not tonight', 'Illumi I'm tired', 'Illumi please-'

To your surprise, he relented at that.

He pulls back, staring at you with eyes that died lifetimes ago. Or maybe they were never alive in the first place.

"You aren't satisfied with the sex," he says, always blunt, always straight to the point.

You don't answer. Saying anything he wanted you to say would be a lie so you keep your mouth shut and pray that this won't accelerate to something violent.

Still, nothing could compare you to what he says next.

"Fine. You do it, then."

That phrase brought you to your current predicament: With you on the rumpled bed far too big for just two. With Illumi sitting on a chair, legs elegantly crossed.

He's so pretty. Even in his worst moments, despite your fear, you could never convince yourself otherwise. Tall. Shiny hair, long and black. A slender shape that's surprisingly well-built. An angular jaw.

He reminds you of a carnivorous plant. They use their sweet nectar to distract flies from their voracious appetite. It makes you wonder if Illumi is using the same trick on you.

You still have your clothes on, but you feel just as naked underneath his gaze as you cower on the bed. His eyes are stripping, bleach that burns your skin. You shift the blankets closer, but you don't cover your body. Illumi hates it when you hide from him.

You know what he wants you to do. You just can't bring yourself to. Hands hover over your shirt, twitching and waiting.

Illumi, as always, picks up on your hesitance.

"Or, I'd be glad to-"

"No." You reel yourself in, sucking in a dry breath, "I'll-I'll do it."

Because anything is better than him touching you. Raking sharp nails over your soft skin. His teeth.

Anything is better. Even this, you try to convince yourself.

When your fingers hesitantly trail toward your covered cunt, he clicks his tongue.

"Take it off," Illumi demands, "I need to see that you're doing it right."

You shudder at his words, but you comply because anything is better.

You should be used to being naked around him. You don't think you ever will. Even if one day, when your mind is obedient to him, your nerves will never forget.

It's not cold, but you still shiver when you hike up your nightgown, right up to your stomach. He's clearly displeased that you don't take it off, but he doesn't say anything about it. Your panties come next. You roll them off your legs, bunching them right by the blankets.

"Spread your legs." Illumi's voice is back to that monotone lilt. You do as he says, widening the gap a little. When he gives a disapproving scoff, you spread them a little more, fully showing your bare cunt.

It's already humiliating, with you half-naked and him fully clothed, but his sheer nonchalance made it even worse. He looked the same, eyeing your body with a blank stare. It was far worse than a punishment.

He gives a wordless nod. You swallow, and then you can't maintain the eye-contact anymore. It's better to pretend that it's just you. It's better to just look down, ignore his stare.

You're already wet. Your body has gotten used to his touches. Your clit is already sensitive. You jolt when you touch it.

It's something familiar. You've done this before. Months ago, before you woke up in this cold mansion, a large empty room. When you were at home (your real home), with a toy that sank into you just right. Illumi didn't provide such luxuries.

You force yourself to drift off, squeezing your eyes tight, thinking about anything else. A hot celebrity, your ex, or just no one at all. You rub your clit faster as your body responds. Your hips twitch, your walls squeeze around nothing.

But he's watching. And it's too much—it's too much—

You stop, breaking down into humiliated sobs. It's enough to make him draw closer. In an instant, he's right there, enveloping you underneath him.

"Don't you see?" He coos, enveloping you within his arms. "You couldn't do it, by yourself, could you?"

He doesn't even give you the luxury to disagree. You find yourself nestled within his grip. His cold fingers replace your own. A long finger sinks into your clenching pussy. A thumb rubs circles on your swollen clit.

You come like that, hiding in his arms, no longer having to see your own debauchery. He gives a soft kiss on your hairline, kind enough to let you ride his fingers.

"You need me, my love," he says. He almost sounds kind.

His smile digs into the top of your head.

"You need me for everything."

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

Icy cool kittens

How the frostheim boys would be like as cats

Wc: 720

Jin

The fluffiest white Persian cat, he even came with his pedigree papers detailing his bloodline.

And as if he knew the fact he acts pompously too, specific about his wet food and how much you can touch him before he snaps and scratches you.

Fucker sleeps every hour of the day at the top of the cat tower, it's so hard to find him awake other than when he meows loudly at you to brush his hair

He will only meow when asking ordering something, be it the food you are eating, a door he wants open or for you to get Thoma off of his ‘throne’

If you want to cut his claws or do anything he would normally refuse to, for some reason classical music mellows him quite a bit.

Even if doesn't do it often when he screams at the kittens Luca and Kaito they stop everything immediately and keep quiet for about 10 whole minutes before causing a ruckus.

Thoma

He was the meanest but prettiest street cat you had ever seen on the streets, a beautiful coat even if it was matted and dirty with dust and cut in some places with scars from previous fights. Luckily he allows you to pick him up and after a shower and brushing he looks perfectly dashing like a show cat like Jin

For some reason he bonds with him really fast!! Seeing how Jin refuses to put in the effort to groom himself, unless it's to bring you the brush so you groom him, Thoma quickly steps up to lick him every morning like a mommy cat would with her kitty.

He doesn't like touch beyond minimum care but catnip tea gets him so high off of his mind he allows himself to sprawl on your tummy and make biscuits on it.

He is much more involved in whipping the kitties in line, quite to swipe a paw at them if they stand on the counters or claw at the furniture. He might even grab them from the scruff and hiss at them.

Kaito

A small cream Scottish fold with big eyes that don't have one single thought behind them.

He is the smallest of his bunch, when you rescued him from the alleyway his ribs were showing and his fur really matted and stiff. Luckily soon after you got him his appetite picked up and his weight became normal.

The cuddliest baby ever, whenever you sit down or lay down for any reason he is the quickest to rush to your lap or chest and starts purring up a storm. When you go to sleep please be careful to not kick him because he will be right next to your feet.

Every hour is zoomie hour dashing around the house, be it to burn energy or to run away from Luca who was attempting to play fight with him.

Luca

Another pedigree kitty, a beautiful British shorthair.

The man who gave him to you told him he has a habit of escaping to seek his littermate he was separated from too soon so be careful with your doors and windows.

Luckily enough his attempted escaping acts stops a few days after coming home and meeting Kaito he seems to have taken him as his missing brother and is stuck to him most of the day.

He seems to recognize his name and will go to you if you call him, but looks so sad if you call him ‘lucas’ rather than ‘luca’ for some reason, almost as if he was about to get scolded like a child. But at the end he is your child so it kind of fits.

When you open your eyes in the middle of the night he will be around your bed or door guarding you, fearful that you might get attacked at night and not be able to defend yourself, and sleep while you go to work/school and the others are wandering around.

He picks so many play fights with Kaito it isn't even funny, at first you even though he might be a bully! But, given how Thoma doesn't step up to break them up and how after getting hissed he relents, you think he might just have a whole lot of energy and decided to make that Kaito's problem.

[lilywastaken]

⇝ resolution .

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.

PART FIVE OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: A letter in the mail changes everything.

WARNINGS: Mentions of canon typical violence, gore, blood, death; angst, fighting, slight NSFW, a really big rollercoaster of emotions, I'm sorry.

A/N: AFTER ALMOST THREE WEEKS!! I AM SO SORRY IT'S HERE IT'S HERE SOUND THE BELLS!!! Please don't froget to reblog and comment if you enjoyed, it helps so fucking much!!

WORD COUNT: 8.4k

MASTERLIST.

If you want to be tagged in future works, please follow and activate notifications on this account - @lilynottaken !

Also on Ao3!

“You know you can just go to bed, right?”

“Mmm...” You yawned, leaning your head on the cool porcelain of the bathtub’s edge as you watched Tommy try to grab at one of the toys you’d placed in the water for him, leaning over to push it towards him. “...’m fine.”

“You haven’t slept properly for a few days.” Simon tried again, arms crossed over his chest as he tried his best to not just grab you and shove you into bed and finish Tommy’s bath on his own. 

“Noted…” You said, voice groggy and throat sore but still with enough energy to snap at him. “Just go…”

Go where? He wanted to snap back, but kept himself quiet, looking away from your body slumped on the floor to your bed, letting out a frustrated sigh. 

It’d been a few days since he’d come back from the mission that had ended with him and the task force in your home, and despite the warm farewell you’d both shared, when he came back, you’d seemed to have grown colder towards him for no apparent reason, and God, did he hate how much it reminded him of the first few months of whatever this was, insisting to do everything by yourself and leaving no room for discussion, taking up almost all of Tommy’s time with yourself. 

Which was fine, you were his mother, after all, but it just felt a bit like… You were pushing him away, keeping him from your son all over again.

He didn’t like it. 

“I got some curry, go eat and let me finish him up.” He took a few steps towards you, leaning down and placing a hand on your back, immediately being taken aback as you jumped away from his touch, arm placed protectively over yourself as if he’d just tried to attack you.

“No!” You all but screamed, staring up at him in shock before seemingly realising what you’d just done. “No. I- I said it’s fine, Simon. Go eat, I’ll finish.”

He furrowed his eyebrows beneath the mask, clenching his fists at his sides as he watched you turn around again to call out softly at Tommy, who turned his head to you with a bright smile, unaware of the tension filling up the room between his parents. 

“Fine.” He said gruffly, not missing the way your shoulders tensed at the sound of his voice. 

He really didn’t fucking understand what had happened between you two, what could’ve occurred in the span of the few days he’d been gone to change the way you acted towards him completely…

It was worrying, the whole scenario that was playing out making him sick to his stomach as he took out the food he’d bought, making you a plate before his and pouring you a drink, simply staring at his own food while listening to you whisper to Tommy through the walls, suddenly having lost all his appetite. 

You hadn’t even gotten to talk like he’d promised when he came back, you’d dismissed any and every attempt to start a conversation, keeping it to short words and sentences, seemingly not wanting anything to do with him apart from the things you were basically obligated to talk to him about. 

And god, did he fucking hate it. 

“Let me feed him.” He spoke as you walked out of your bedroom with Tommy in your arms, his hair damp and curly from the water, chubby hands clinging onto one of his toys. 

“I can-”

“I’m going to feed him.” Simon snapped, walking over to you and reaching for his son, his towering figure and the fire in his eyes immediately shutting you up as you didn’t put on more of a fight, letting him take the small boy. “And you’re going to eat and then go to bed.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Tommy was placed in his chair, a plate of rice in front of him. “You need rest.”

“Maybe I don’t want to rest.” You retorted, voice almost gone, crossing your arms over your chest and turning your head away from him, yet still keeping a watchful eye on him and Tommy, once again insinuating further that you didn’t trust him anymore anywhere near your son. 

Keep it calm. Not around Tommy.

You saw it by the way he clenched his hand around the fork in his hand, he was trying his best to not snap with your son present, not wanting to subject the small boy to that kind of spectacle. 

And yes, you didn’t either, but you couldn’t just act like everything was normal around him, you knew how you were acting now was just a trauma response to what had happened in the time he’d been gone, that it would all hopefully be better if you told him about it, but the mere thought of the files you’d received in the mail that were currently sitting in one of the cupboards’ drawers made you feel nauseated. 

You just… couldn’t see him the same. 

Yeah, you were once a kid with unlimited access to the internet, yes you accidentally saw some gore shit online, you’d heard some disgusting things thanks to your grandfather that had served in the military, you’d seen all the mess and blood after you’d given birth, you weren’t fully desensitised to gore or blood, but you’d seen it across the years. 

But those pictures, fuck. It wasn’t any surprise that you’d immediately thrown up after opening them, having expected maybe some letters about rent or something, not- whatever that was. 

What you’d been able to discern after flipping through them a few times was that they were not the original military’s file but copies, which by the way the ink was smudged on a few of them and the lettering was off, seemed to have been made under a lot of pressure and on a time limit. 

You didn’t understand at first, why they had been sent to you, too in shock and terrified of the images amongst them to even connect it to Simon until you saw his callsign. And as you started to read through them more carefully, you realised that it was everywhere. 

And fuck, you’d never been more terrified in your life. 

Of course, you were aware of what a man in his position did, but you’d never explicitly asked him about it, never wanted to actually be exposed to whatever things he and the task force did to protect your country. 

But seeing it written down, all the specifics along with the pictures, it was traumatising. 

You hadn’t even realised how much time you’d spent staring at them until Tommy alerted you with a cry, snapping you out of it and forcing you to put the files down (although putting them down anywhere in your house made you feel sick), body shaking and bile rising into your throat once again. 

Obviously, there was no name on the envelope and of course, no return address, so the person who sent the files to you remained a mystery, but it didn’t take a genius to deduce that it was someone who’d been close to everything that had been depicted in them, someone who’d figured out who you were and what relationship you had to the SAS Lieutenant, and either wanted to send some type of message that you were to shook up to decipher or to simply toy with your emotions, all you knew was that somehow, they’d figured out Ghost’s oh-so secretive double life out. 

How, you had no idea. But you did know what that meant. 

You and Tommy were in danger. 

And you didn't know how you were supposed to react. 

Seriously, how?

Everything was too much at once, the files, the pictures, the fear, Tommy, Ghost, you- 

And then he came back. 

Acting like he’d never done anything of what you’d seen, holding your face in those warm hands and being so sweet towards you and your son, conflicting you even more. 

You didn't feel safe anymore, not just around Simon, but in general. And seeing him lean down to pick up Tommy with those hands, those hands that had caused what you’d seen, you just jumped into action, scooping Tommy up before he could reach him and insisting he would need to have a shower before touching him. 

You just couldn’t fathom how a man like that could treat you both with such kindness, how his hands could go from doing that to someone and then holding you softly at night, it was confusing and sickening and all you wanted to do was get rid of everything, go back to before where you had no idea of what happened while he was gone and you could indulge yourself in his touch without that sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

How were you supposed to bring up a topic like that to him? How were you supposed to look him in the eyes after that information, hand him the files and receive confirmation that they were in fact real and true? And what would you do? Force him to explain himself like a wife confronting her husband over an affair? This wasn’t anything like that, this was his job, something he’d been doing for ages and needed no explanation, especially to you. What, would you force him to apologise to all the people he’d hurt? 

Of course not. 

But still, you couldn’t just act normal. 

Even if you felt slightly bad. 

Even if he looked at you like that, the way he’d done at the beginning of your relationship.

You… Couldn’t…

You didn’t even process the tears running down your cheeks until he shot up from his spot and his warm hands came into contact with your cheeks, pulling your head up to look at you properly, making you stumble as the exhaustion and overwhelm finally caught up to you. 

He called your name with such confusion and care, despite how mean you’d treated him these past few days, your hands coming up to grab at his arms for stability as he asked you what was wrong, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. 

“Hey, listen t’me, come-”

“I can’t- I’m sorry, I can’t-” You sobbed out, your breathing erratic as you tried your best to stop yourself from crying, but once the dam had been broken, there was no way of fixing it. “Simon-”

“Come ‘ere.” He let go of your face, arms falling to your body and wrapping around you, pulling you into a hug and letting you grab at his shirt, despite that repulsive feeling stirring deep within your chest once again at his touch. “Fuck, lovie…”

“Don’t…” You murmured into his shirt as soon as the pet name had slipped out of his lips, squeezing your eyes closed. 

“What?”

“Don't” You repeated, pushing yourself away from him and taking a few unsure steps back. “I- I can’t I-” You shook your hands as if there were muck on them, confused and anxious as you tried to breathe, spiralling further and further into a panic attack. 

You weren’t really there for what happened next, Simon could tell as he held you almost limp in his arms, trying his best to calm you down from whatever was happening. Panic attacks for the both of you weren’t unnormal, he knew that, you’d both been subject to anxiety for a long time, so this wasn’t completely new, but you fainting from the exhaustion and him having to bring you to bed was. 

And because you were asleep, he had no way of figuring out what had happened, what the cause of this whole mess was and how he could help you through it. 

He’d placed Tommy in the crib you'd brought into your room a few days ago, letting you both take a well-deserved nap while he cleaned up the abandoned food outside. And well, after that, he picked a beer out of the fridge, convinced that he was deserving of one too after everything. But of course, the bottle opener was nowhere to be found, so he was forced to look through all the different drawers in the kitchen and living room until he found it. 

But… He didn’t. Instead, he was greeted with a file envelope messily shoved into one of the cupboards beneath a few pictures of Tommy you’d put up, blank and very much looking like some of the files that they kept back at base. 

He pulled it out, looking down at the drawer that was filled with little trinkets, stones and incense, definitely not the drawer where you’d stick something like this. 

Maybe he should have put it back, but he finally decided against it, pulling the contents out and spilling them across the wooden top of the small cupboard, fear immediately being stricken within him as he laid eyes upon the papers. 

What the actual fuck. 

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen them, some of these he’d written him fucking self, all the reports for recent missions where he’d been the one to finish off most of the enemy’s team. 

He recognised each and every picture that came along with the textual description, remembered the face and the voice of the person who had been unfortunate enough to meet him during a mission. 

He knew them, he’d had them in his hands at one point, that didn’t fucking explain why you had them. 

A thousand scenarios rushed through his brain as he stared down at them, hands gripping at the edges of the wooden piece of furniture in order to keep himself from breaking his hands from the force he was clenching his fists with, a shaky sigh leaving his lips as his mind went down the deepest rabbit holes to explain why you had this. 

Had you been using him to get inf-

No.

Was this all a game to y-

No!

No, you weren’t… You weren’t a fucking enemy. You weren’t his enemy. You weren’t that type of person. You wouldn’t just fucking babytrap him to get information. 

No one was sick enough for that. 

…right?

“Fuck!” He roared, slamming his hands down onto the wood and staring deep into the picture of the soulless eyes of one of his victims, chewing nervously on his bottom lip. 

No. He wasn’t going to think of you like that. You loved Tommy too much for it all to be an act. He loved y-

Simon raised his hands up to his face to press them into his eyes until he saw flashing lights, trying to calm himself down. 

He turned around as soon as he heard the squeak of the floorboards, furious eyes landing on your dishevelled figure as you clung to the doorframe, staring at him like a deer caught in headlight as you saw what he’d been looking at. 

“Sim-”

“Why do you have this?” A shiver ran throughout your body at the sound of his voice, calm and calculated, like he hadn’t just woken you up with a shout loud enough to shake the building. 

“Si-”

“Answer.” Ghost replied, eyes focused solely on you as you looked down at your feet, a pressure building in your chest as you tried to speak. 

“They were sent to me.” You finally choked out, flinching back as Simon made a move to pick them up, unknowing of the connotations that answer could have.

Silence. 

“Do you really think I’d go out of my way to find those? Do you think I wanted to see you like that- like Ghost?” You started, voice wavering. “Fuck, Simon, those- I couldn’t even look at them a second time, I feel sick just fucking thinking of them!”

“Then why didn’t you tell me!?” He shouted, turning around in a flash and taking a few jarring steps towards you, files all bunched up in his shaking hands. “Why didn’t you think to mention that you were being sent shit like this!?”

“Because I was fucking scared, Simon! I was fucking terrified that this meant that they know who I was, who Tommy is, who he’s related to! That they know about us and therefore can use us as leverage against you! Unlike you, I’m not that fucking desensitised to pain, to whatever you do, to the fear of getting hurt so that they can get to you! I’m not part of the fucking military, I’m just a fucking civillian who is clearly very much in danger thanks to a fucking mistake she made with you!” You screamed, tears streaming down your cheeks and blurring your vision as you shoved a finger into his chest. “So I’m sorry, okay!’ I’m fucking sorry that I was too afraid to bring this up! To bring up the fact I can’t see you the same, that I’m scared Tommy’s going to be hurt and I won’t be able to do anything about it, I’m fucking sorry!”

You let out another sob as you finished, your voice sore and throat dry from letting all of that out. 

“‘M not like you, Simon.”

Fuck.

Everything came crashing down onto him, guilt the only thing weighing Simon down.

“I’m… scared.”

“Of me?” He finally breathed out, raising his free hand to cup your cheek, relief flooding his body as you didn’t move away but immediately being crushed as he saw the fearful look on your face. 

“...I don’t know…”

A beat.

“...Should I be?”

Maybe.

“...I’d never hurt you. I told you once, and I’ll tell you again. You and Tommy are my family, and I’m going to protect you both no matter what. I won't let anyone ever lay a hand on you. You need to know that. The man I’m out there isn’t the same as the one I’m here. But neither of us would hesitate to rip apart whatever bastard is making you feel like this.”

He let the files fall, cupping your face with both hands, shaking you slightly so you got the message to look up at him. 

“I know I can’t undo this, what you’ve seen, what I’ve done, but I want to be here for you. You know I’ll always be here for you.” He said, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I know.” You said, voice breaking. You couldn’t fully express what you were feeling right then, you… you didn’t hate him, it would be impossible to truly hate Simon, after everything he’d done for you; you just needed time and space. His view of you might’ve not changed in the whole time he’d been with you but yours definitely had, and that was normal, considering everything he did. You just couldn’t act like everything was normal after what you’d seen.

“...go back to bed. We’ll talk this out once you’re rested.” He let you go, watching you walk back into your room with a guilty look on your face before turning to his now still beer, the appetite he’d had for one having vanished. 

“...Simon?” You whispered before closing the door, hand clinging onto the wood. 

“Yeah?” He replied, a bit gruffly. 

“...Tommy’s going to be okay, right?”

“Yeah.” He repeated, giving you a reassuring look, one he hoped you caught despite the mask. “‘Course he is.”

He watched you hesitate at the door for a split second, almost like you were deciding whether or not to say anything to further the conversation, but seemingly decided against it, closing the door after a quick nod and leaving him in silence. 

Silence. 

Something he used to enjoy before, when he was alone at home or at base with only himself for company, letting him unwind and think about whatever he wanted to. Now, it was overwhelming. 

It felt like every single thought rushing through his brain was out to catch him or hurt him, showing him the most horrific scenarios and ideas of what could happen thanks to whatever fucker had decided to play some sick joke on you. 

Was it even a joke? It could be hundreds of things, a joke, a message, a threat… 

Or just a form of psychological warfare, a way of messing with you and no doubt hoping to distance you from him, to leave him weak and defenceless like the enemy anticipated. That was the more credible reason, even if the mere thought of someone sending you shit like this in hopes of breaking you drove him insane to the point of wanting to catch and dispose of that abstard with his own two hands, ironic considering that those acts of anger and violence had been the whole reason for your dispute. 

It pissed him off to no end. 

But, even though a lot of people would’ve acted on the current emotions rushing through him if they were in his place, Simon knew that focusing solely on finding the bastard wasn’t the most important subject at hand. As much as he wanted this threat on your happiness and safety disposed of, he couldn’t just fuck off and leave you here to deal with the damage and Tommy all on your own. 

He’d repeated it to himself countless times before going on a mission, he was a protector, he was your protector, even if in the future you decided you hated his guts or something happened between you two, you’d always be safe and secure with him, no matter what. 

And so, he swallowed that horrible need for retaliation and picked up his phone, dialling in his captain’s number.

“What’d you do with them?”

“Burnt them.” Simon grunted, wiping away the mess Tommy had made around his mouth. “Best way of disposing shit like that.”

You hummed, clearly out of it, staring at the news playing out on the tv. 

“I told Laswell about it. ‘Said she’d do her best to find out who was the one who made the copies.” 

“Right…” You drummed your fingers against your mug with feigned disinterest, truly not knowing what to say back. 

“And, until whoever it is is caught, I’m not going anywhere.”

That caught your attention. You turned to him with an inquisitive look, confused. “What?”

“Asked her to stop givin’ me missions until they’re sure you’re not in danger.” He clarified, picking Tommy up from his high chair and straddling him to his side. “So I’m here in case anything happens.”

Tommy was carefully handed to you, Simon’s body plopping down onto the sofa next to you a few seats away, his feet coming up to rest on the coffee table as he picked up his own tea. 

“‘That okay? Figured you’d feel better if it was me and not some random guy sent by the SAS. Though Gaz was pretty up for it when asked…” He mumbled the last part, showing you did indeed have an option if you truly didn’t feel safe with him around anymore (his heart stung a bit at the thought of it, but it was what it was), but you soon shut it down with a simple shrug, pulling Tommy closer to you so he could rest his head on your chest, rubbing his back with your free hand. 

“It’s… okay. I’m just going to need some time.”

You were a bit ashamed of how you’d reacted last night when he’d confronted you about the files, but you still stood by everything you said, even if you’d said it a bit too harshly, it didn’t matter. You weren’t like him, after all, you were still afraid of things happening to you and of course, your son, and just needed some time to process what you hadn’t in all the months of knowing Simon: that whether you liked it or not, you would always be tied back to him, even if the mere thought of being hurt just because of who you’d randomly decided to go back home with one night.

“You said something last night.” He began, outstretching a hand towards you both so Tommy could grab at one of his fingers. 

“I said a lot of things last night.” You tried to humour, but stayed quiet as the expression in his eyes didn’t change. 

“You said that you were in danger because of a mistake you made.”

You flinched at the words, biting down on your lower lip as you recalled back to the outburst you’d subjected Simon to last night, that particular part having slipped out in the heat of the moment.

“...did you really mean that?”

“Fuck! Of course not!” You whisper-shouted, not wanting to disturb Tommy any more than you both already had in the last few days, shaking your head to further your point. “No- Fuck, tat- that was so disgusting of me to say. It might’ve been a mistake back then when it first happened-” You saw his shoulders slump slightly, so you moved to grab at the arm he’d put out, catching his attention. “-but I’d never change it. Not for anything in the world. If that didn’t happen, I wouldn’t have Tommy, and he- God, Simon, he’s my son, of course he isn’t a mistake, he’s my everything…”

He let out a relieved sigh, nodding along with your words as you both looked down at Tommy, curious big eyes switching between you two as if able to understand the conversation that had just transcurred, giving you a toothless smile. 

Well, not really toothless, since he had been crying for almost a month now due to the pain of his teeth coming in, so there were a few flashes of white across the smile. 

“Yeah, you’re my everything too.”

“Huh?”

You’d expected him to immediately backtrack on his answer and say he was talking to Tommy, but he simply shrugged again, eyes darting from you to Tommy with a fond look reflecting in them as he did everything but take back what he said. “Both of you. Might be corny, but it’s true. I told you.”

His everything.

Simon’s everything. 

That shouldn’t have made you as happy as it did. 

Everything was going to be okay. 

Yeah, it would take some time for you to adjust like you’d told him, but he was okay with that. He’d wait for you.

"Come on, please, wake up."

Simon's hands were shaking, gripping at your lifeless body as if you were the only thing that mattered in the midst of this living nightmare, his mask growing wet as tears formed in the corner of his eyes, his breathing growing erratic as your body slumped in his grasp. 

He called your name desperately, your body shaking in his hold from the way his own hands were trembling and in a feeble attempt at getting you to wake up, to open your eyes, to say his name in that fucking beautiful voice of yours, anything. 

His gloved hands came up to cradle your paling face, running it over your features to rub off the dust and ashes that had stuck to the now drying blood, dropping your body in horror as instead of the grime he wanted to wipe off, he was left with nothing, his hand growing warm as the blood from your now horrifying carcass started to flow. 

He was drowning, he was choking, he couldn't fucking breathe, he couldn't think, you were dead, you were gone, his fucking life didn't have meaning anym- 

Simon jolted up as the pressure that had been building in his chest finally exploded, the dam that had been working so hard to keep his fears at bay breaking, letting the tears that Simon always tried his best to contain out. 

Fuck, it felt like he'd really lived it, like he had held your dying body in his hands as you slowly slipped away from him, like his the recurring fears of him causing your end had come true. 

He felt pathetic, like the broken man he really was, lying on the fucking sofa like always trembling like a little kid, the tears a constant stream down his cheeks, all the emotions and stress from the past few months finally catching up to him.

His breathing was raspy and uneven, reflecting the anxiety rushing through his veins at that very same moment. 

He felt awful, he was awful, an awful, destroyed, broken man who had been tipped over the edge by a stupid fucking dream. 

Someone undeserving of everything you’d given to him. 

He was sure his heart was going to break through his chest with how quickly it was beating against his ribcage, one of his hands coming up to clench at the material of his creased shirt. 

He felt like he was about to pass out. 

His eyesight was blurry, his limbs shaky and his mouth dry, clear indications of the oh-so familiar panic attacks he’d been prone to every since he was a young boy, hat he’d grown enough to know how to control, but he knew that right now, he did not have enough willpower to keep himself from spiralling down into his own thoughts. 

He blindly got up, staggering around the living room as the blanket that had been draped over him pooling onto the floor. He pushed open your door, breaths staggering as his teary eyes made contact with your sleeping body, darting towards the crib right next to your bed where Tommy slept peacefully, making sure to stay quiet as he entered the bathroom. 

He didn’t want to wake you up, to annoy you even more than you already were with him after everything that had happened, despite almost a month having gone by after it all, you deserved rest, you deserved fucking better than h-

His hands gripped the porcelain sink as he stumbled into the room, staring at his uncovered reflection in the mirror, his cheeks red and blotchy from having cried mere moments ago, a few stray tears continuing their pathway down his face. 

He felt ridiculous. 

He was supposed to be some hard willed strong Lieutenant, not the pathetic man who cried at a mere nightmare he really was. 

"...Simon?"

The sound of shuffling sheets reached his ears, your muffled voice coming from beneath the covers as you stirred, his panicked footsteps and the light shining through the crack of the bathroom door enough to wake you from your slumber. 

"'S that you?"

Who else would it be? He wanted to joke, but stayed quiet, hoping you would just go back to sleep. 

But clearly, you weren't satisfied with no answer.

He watched the door open behind him from the mirror, freezing like a deer in headlights as you walked in sporting one of his dirty shirts he'd told you once you could wear, hiding the fact he wanted to see you in his clothes behind the pretence that it would be easier to do laundry, sweatpants (his, as well) tied at your waist so they wouldn't slip down your legs. 

"Simon." You mumbled, eyes barely open and vision blurry as you held onto the door frame for stability, a hand coming up to cover your mouth as you yawned. "What's wrong?"

You knew something was off as soon as you'd heard him creep into the bathroom, already knowing from experience that Simon never got up in the middle of the night to go to the toilet, fearing that he'd wake you up like he’d done just now- 

“Nuffin’, lovie. Go back to bed.”

You frowned, squinting at him through swollen eyes, the bright lights from the bathroom and the sleep in them not helping your vision in the slightest, moving your head to rest against the cool wood of the doorframe. “It’s not, though, is it?”

A beat. 

“Simon…” You said, mid-yawn, outstretching a hand to blindly grab at his sleep shirt, tugging at the material. “Tell me.”

He squeezed his eyes closed, willing himself to not break down like he knew he wanted to, his grip on the sink slowly growing stronger as you stumbled towards him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing the side of your face to his warm back, giving him a comforting squeeze. 

"I said it's fine." He whispered, hand coming up to yours and attempting to peel it from his body, giving up once it immediately snapped back. 

Part of him wanted you to stay like that, but the other, more reasonable part knew that it would be best if he didn't burden you with his nightmares and if you just went to bed.

"You wouldn't be crying if it was." You murmured, unlinking your hands and running them over his chest, feeling his muscles tense beneath his shirt. 

"'Not crying, lovie."

"You have to stop lying to me, Simon. It isn't healthy." You mumbled angrily, pulling yourself away and looking up at him, feeling the blood leave your face as you realised you were staring at the back of his actual head instead of the black material of his balaclava like you'd gotten used to. 

Simon had never explicitly told you that he was uncomfortable with you seeing his face, but you could only assume after all the time he spent with his face obstructed, even with Tommy. 

So you looked down at your feet, making sure to not peek at the mirror like you knew you really wanted to, not wanting to upset him by breaking his trust. 

"...I know." He sighed, turning on the tap and splashing his face with some of the water, finding it a bit humorous that he did it with you still clinging onto him, placing a damp hand over one of yours and giving it a squeeze. 

"Come on…" you sighed, letting go of him reluctantly and turning your body towards the door, flipping the light switch off before blindly outstretching an arm out to him, letting out an amused huff as you immediately met his own hand, pulling him out of the small bathroom and back into the comfort of your room. "Stay?"

"...'course." He breathed out, following you mindlessly as you returned back into your spot in the bed, almost like routine now after all the times you'd brought him to bed with the same comforting hold on his hands, kneeling on the mattress and all but collapsing onto the soft covers, running his hands over them until they met your warm body, running his fingertips over the patch of skin that had been revealed by the rise of your shirt, letting out a shaky breath as your own hands came up to run over his arms.

He fluttered his eyes shut, closing the distance between you to and letting his body fold into your touch, snuggling his face into the valley of your breasts (he thanked whatever god was up there that his shirt was big enough to expose your cleavage, a very welcoming sight), and grasping at your thighs for stability. 

Your arms came to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer into you until he'd grabbed at your legs to wrap around his waist, fingers running through his coarse hair, stopping at the top of his head every few seconds to scratch at his scalp, and if Simon was a cat, he knew damn well he'd be purring right then. 

"It's okay to cry, you know that, right?" You whispered, voice muffled by his hair as you let out a breath, his short hair tickling your cheek from how you'd pressed your face against it. "Better out than in."

"You sound like my mom." He grumbled, pulling a snort out of you as you ran your nails down his nape. "'Always said shit like that."

You stayed quiet, ignoring the nagging feeling in your chest that wanted you to continue on with the conversation, curious for learning more about his mysterious family. 

"'Said'?" You whispered, almost nervous, scared you'd overstepped. 

He stayed silent, only furthering your fear that you'd insulted him until he let out an elongated sigh, hands pulling you impossibly closer as his warm breath hit your skin, face flushing at the reminder that if was his actual face pressing against your cleavage, not the rough material of the painted balaclava. 

"Don' see her as much. Not in the best condition to have a chat. Tommy takes care of her mostly."

"Tommy?" You said in confusion, eyebrows furrowed as your eyes darted over to your son's crib, the glow-in-the-dark stars you'd stuck to the sides of it illuminating it enough to reflect your sleeping son's cute little face.

He froze in your arms as if he'd said something wrong. "My… my brother."

"Your brother's called Tommy?!" You almost shouted, peeling yourself off of him to look down at him (ignoring the slight whine that formed in his throat at the feeling of your body being torn away from his), despite not even being able to see him. 

"Yeah…" he grumbled, trying to pull you back into his arms, frowning as you slapped at his shoulders to catch his attention. 

"That's - Why you reacted like that, right?" You mumbled, thinking back to the night he'd met Tommy for the first time, the way his eyes had gone blank like you'd just reminded him of some painful memory. 

"...his name's Tommy."

You felt him freeze behind you, the aura around him growing cold almost immediately, like you'd just blatantly insulted him without any remorse. 

"Tommy." He echoed, voice scratchy as if he was dying of thirst, body suddenly feeling like it had been dunked under tiding waves. "Why?"

You hadn't thought much about it at the time, since by then, you had more important things to worry about, but now that he'd revealed his brother's name, his shock made sense. 

"Yeah…Was kind of… Tragically funny, lovie." He sighed, running your hands over your waist as you finally pulled him back into your hold. 

"Yeah… I didn't know."

"How could've you? I left before I could even give you my last name." He huffed, rubbing the side of his cheek on your chest. 

Silence filled the room once again, only being broken by the shuffling sounds of the sheets over you or Tommy's occasional whines, continuing your brushing of his hair with your fingers. 

You didn't want to pry further into the topic that had been at hand before you'd interrupted, squeezing your eyes closed as you inhaled his shampoo, shivering beneath his touch as he ran his fingers around your belly button. 

"She's in a home. Near where I grew up. Nice one. I only talk to her on the holidays." He started, running them up to the space below your breasts. "It's better that way. Tommy's the nicer one of us."

"Didn't he used to terrorise you?" You teased, trying to lighten the mood, letting out a cry as he licked a stripe up your clavicle, no doubt grinning into the darkness as you slapped his head. 

"Going to stop telling you things from now on if you insist on using them against me in the future, lovie." He murmured, pressing a kiss to where he'd just licked as an apology, ignoring the way your skin grew warmer beneath his touch. "But… he's cleaned his act up. Not as much as a cunt. Probably afraid I could rip him in two, now."

You snorted, hesitantly pushing his bangs back to press a kiss to his forehead, almost giggling at the pleased hum that left his lips. "Si… you, uh… want to talk about why you were crying?"

Simon noticeably tensed beneath your touch as you brought up the whole reason as to why he was in your bed, another breath hitting your skin. 

He thought about lying to you once again, but finally decided against it, throwing a glance at his son over his shoulder as if the boy would understand the next words that would come out of his mouth. 

"Just… a stupid nightmare. You… I jus’ wanted to make sure you were safe. I didn't mean to wake you, really." He let out all in a string pulled together by one breath, hands coming down to grab at your thighs and rub at them through the material of your bottoms, letting out a shaky sigh as you moved them to wrap around his body. "Fuckin' stupid, isn't it?"

"It's not stupid if it affected you this much, Si…" You tried, not wanting to pry further into the contents of the nightmare, but still not wanting to drop the subject all together. “Even the strongest people need a shoulder to cry on.”

You cupped his face, bringing it off your chest, looking down at what you could only assume to be his face. 

“Let me be yours.”

You didn’t move as he shuffled closer to you, running your thumbs over his cheekbones as he leaned closer into you, feeling his warm breath hit your face. 

“Mine?” He mumbled, your hair standing on edge as you felt his lips brush against yours ever so slightly. 

“Mhm… Yours.” You breathed out, nodding as if he could see you. 

Heat rushed to your face as soon as his lips crashed into yours, swallowing the moan you let out as his hands moved beneath your shirt, tightening at your waist. 

And God, did it feel right. 

Nothing had ever felt as right as this did right then, the feeling of his lips slotted against yours and his hands seemingly everywhere on your body, causing you to go near dizzy and drunk on his touch. 

“Fuck, love.” He said between kisses, moving you onto your back so he was hovering over you properly, leaning down to catch your lips back into a passionate kiss, not even giving you the chance to breathe or let out your own moans, immediately swallowing up each and any sound you made. 

His hands came down to your thighs, helping you wrap them around his waist before he moved away to press pecks along your jawline, moving further down until he was leaving a trail of sloppy kisses all over your upper chest, his stubble tickling your skin. 

“S-Sim-”

He shushed you, sucking on the pressure point of your neck, pressing closer to you as you let out another breathless whine, his eyelashes brushing against your skin from the way he's snuggled his face into the crook of your neck, almost as if he was trying to have you impossibly close to him. 

He stayed there for a few minutes, covering your neck in kisses and love bites, answering with a “markin’ my territory” and a chuckle when you asked why he was so adamant on kissing you everywhere but where you needed it the most, his hands doing wonders as they went over your shirt to cup one of your breasts, immediately surprising you both my the loud moan that left you. 

“I-”

“Christ, lovie. That fuckin’ sensitive? Barely even touched you and you’re moaning like that?” He huffed out in amusement, leaning upwards in hopes of laying his eyes on the mess he’d left across your skin only to be met with darkness, grunting as he raised a hand to run over the marks, feeling the indents from his teeth around your neck. 

“It’s- It’s been a while, Si-” You mumbled out of embarrassment, thankful for the darkness since it was the only thing keeping you from fully breaking down from the shame of being so sensitive after a single touch, but you couldn’t really be blamed. 

It’d been almost a year and a half since you’d last indulged in any type of self-pleasure, the last time ironically being the night you’d spent with Simon before his mission, it was no wonder a simple brush of his warm hand to your breast had you writhing and moaning like a bitch in heat, you basically were. 

“Hm…” He grunted, leaning down to press some kisses along your flushed cheeks, still purposefully avoiding your mouth, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he thought of what to do next. “...I want to see you.”

What?

“Properly.”

You felt his lips brush against yours slightly, knowing full well how titillating he was being. 

“Wh-”

“Turn the light on.”

You froze. 

You were staring up at the darkness of your ceiling, letting out soft breathless sounds as he leaned back down to continue kissing your neck, letting the words he’d just spoken sink in, letting out a chuckle against your ear after a minute or so passed. 

“Go.”

You acted on instinct only, stretching your body over to the lamp on your bedside table with the little space he had given you, the man still insisting on having his hands all over your body, your mind and thoughts reeling. 

It would’ve been different if he had his mask on, the small request would have been just for him to see the marks he’d left on you, to continue whatever you’d started in the light so you’d both be able to see your body’s reactions properly, but this was oh so much more than that. 

He didn’t seem to want to make a move to go get his mask or to cover his face, he was actually telling you to turn on the light so you could see him, see his face, his eyes, his nose, his lips, Simon

As soon as your shaking hand found the switch and had pressed it, your eyes closed in time for the room to be filled with light, a nervous sound leaving your lips as Simon pulled you back into place, his calloused fingers running over the length of your nose before poking at the middle of your furrowed brows. 

“Y’can open them.” He whispered, his own voice sounding slightly terrified. “Please.”

“What if you’re ugly?” You blurted out as a joke, trying to lighten the mood, immediately slapping yourself mentally the moment he didn't laugh, opening your mouth to apologise only for him to poke you again. 

“Jus’ open them.”

The first thing your eyes landed on was the smile pulling at his lips, leading them from the scar that adorned the left corner of his mouth past his crooked nose and up to those beautiful eyes of his, his blond eyelashes framing them perfectly like always. 

And fuck… He was beautiful. 

The stubble covering the lower part of his face, the scars littering his face telling stories and tales of all his time on duty, his cracked lips and scarred nose only complementing his beauty even more. 

It was everything and nothing like you’d expected, it was just… him. 

You didn't know what to say, what were you supposed to? But by the way his smile grew bigger at the sight of your dumbfounded face, you were sure that your expression told him everything he needed to know. 

Now, Simon knew that he wasn’t the worst looking person, but the way you were staring at him like he was a god incarnates, like Aphrodite herself had given him a piece of her beauty, it didn’t fail to tint his cheek a soft pink, quickly leaning into you to meet you in another kiss in hopes of hiding how flustered he was from you. 

“Mhf-” You tried speaking as soon as you had regained consciousness through his kisses, a giggle leaving your lips as he gave you no time to speak. “You’re- Mm- S- so pretty, Si-”

Pretty? He thought to himself as he continued his kissing assault, the adjective a very foreign concept, never having been referred to in that way in his life. But, it did feel nice when you said it, the way you were looking at him with that sultry gaze as the compliment oozed out of your mouth like honey, it had him grabbing at your thighs for stability, wrapping them around his waist and letting you make contact with the product of your make-out session and cute words. 

“F-fuck!” You mewled, grabbing at the back of his head for stability, tugging at the roots of his dirty blond hair, shivering underneath him as he let out a breathy groan, the sound sending pleasurable shocks down to where you both were connected, despite the amount of clothes that separated you both. “W-Wait- Hng!”

He stopped as soon as the word left your mouth, pulling back and moving his hands to hold your waist, giving you some time to regain your breath before asking. 

“‘vrything okay?” He said breathlessly, looking down at your equally dishevelled state, your lips red and sore from all his kissing and body littered with all the marks he’d left, taking a few seconds to admire his handiwork and how truly fucking perfect you looked covered in his claims before going back to waiting on you. 

“Y-yeah.” You swallowed, breathing and heart pulse erratic, coming down from the sudden pleasure. “I- I’m sorry, I just don’t know if I want to continue- Sor-”

“It’s okay.” He interrupted you, grabbing your thighs and pulling them away from their spot around his waist, pushing them together and placing them away from him, placing a comforting hand on the one that was still pressed next to his. “We don’t have to. Whatever y’want, love. ‘S been a long time, I get it.”

You nodded, sending him a small smile that he returned in an instant, leaning up to press a final kiss to his lips, thankful that he’d understood your fears so quickly. 

“You’ll stay, right?” You mumbled against his lips after pulling away slightly, looking at his through half-closed eyes, his deep beautiful pools staring back at you. 

“Always.”

His arms wrapped around you from behind once you situated yourself back in the bed, arms pressed tight and securely against our stomach as his thumb rubbed over the skin, a constant reminder that he was there and that you were safe like he’d promised, soft kisses being pressed against your nape from behind, a sweet contrast to the bites that now littered your front. 

“‘You going to wear the mask again?” You spoke drowsily, turning your head slightly so his lips pressed against your cheek, his breath tickling your ear. 

“Not unless you want me to.” He mumbled back, half-asleep. 

“Rather you did… Can’t focus with that ugly mug of yours…” You teased, letting out a high pitched yell as he bit down onto the space between your neck and shoulder, immediately soothing the pain with a kiss and a chuckle. 

“Only mug you’ll se ‘round here, lovie, better get used to it.”

[silassinclair]

Say My Name

Yandere Wild West Outlaw x Reader

CW// 16+ Content, Abduction, Guns, Yelling, Talk of Murder

Introduction (Optional to read)

Last night my life changed forever. My Father managed to get on the bad side of a wanted outlaw by the name of Maddox Graves. And that very same night that very same outlaw killed my Father in cold blood. I thought I’d be next but instead he bound my ankles and hands and threw me with him on the back of his horse. We’ve been riding for hours and I have no clue where this psycho is taking me. Maybe somewhere far away to do diabolical things to me. If that’s the case then I’d rather be dead.

“What’s on your mind princess? You were thrashin‘ and screamin’ a few hours ago. Where’d that fire go?” Graves turns his head slightly back to face me. But I look away. Being this close to him was the most uncomfortable I have ever been in my life. But I had to keep my arms around him as to not fall off the horse and break a bone. I need to be in top condition if I want to escape.

“Nothing…” I mutter. But that answer doesn’t seem to satisfy the greedy bastard. So he halts his horse with a gentle tug of the reins. For a psycho murderer criminal he’s nice to his horse.

“You hungry? Gotta piss or somethin'?” Even though he has a bandana covering his mouth I can tell he’s annoyed by the way his eyes wrinkle slightly.

“No! I’m fine..”

But I’m not fine. How could I be fine? This animal killed my Father and is taking me only God knows where! We've been riding through this desert for hours and it's almost sundown. I'm scared shitless of potential bandits and I'm literally starvi-

Growl~~~

"Your stomach is tellin' me otherwise sweetheart." I can practically hear the smirk on his stupid face.

Hugging myself I sigh in defeat. "I haven't eaten in over a day.. So of course I'm hungry. I just have no appetite."

Lies. I could eat a horse.

"Well you're lucky because look on ahead princess."

Moving my head up and to the side to see over his broad shoulders I see a town less than a mile ahead. I thank the lord in my heart and soul.

"Now don't go thinkin' you can run off and escape. You go to anyone for help and I'll shoot em' dead like your old man." He adds.

Well that dug deep. Scowling, I kick him in the shin causing him to hiss a low curse.

"Watch your mouth. You may be all big and bad but I'm not afraid of you. I won't let anyone disrespect my Father. Especially not the likes of you." I say. But Graves only furrows his eyebrows and crosses his arms. He hops off his horse and grabs me by the waist, pulling me down with him.

"Get off you mongrel!" "Silence that mouth of yours before I gag it!" He snaps, I immediately do as I say. This unpredictable gunslinger could kill me or worse in seconds. I shouldn't have said anything in the first place. My initial plan was too cooperate so I could escape but here I am blowing it. But it's hard because he pisses me off to kingdom come.

His hands are still on my waist as he pulls me closer and speaks, "Do you have any idea why you're alive girlie?"

I feel myself unwillingly do a full body shiver. His eyes were a dark brown but not a normal brown. Almost red due to the sun's setting light shinning down on us. He asked me a question but my throat can't conjure a reply. I only shake my head 'no' back and forth.

"It's because I think you're pretty, and I'd hate to waste a pretty lil' thing like yourself." He slurs. His rugged hands go lower, I can feel them. The fabric of my dress protects me from his direct touch but the violating feeling is all the same.

"So young and precious, you-" He pauses. "What's your name? I never got it."

What a dunce. I sigh and remove his hands from my waist, luckily he doesn't fight back.

"It's Y/n. Y/n L/n."

His eyes soften, but only barely. There's still a hunger behind them. "Y/n..." He tests the name on his tongue.

"I like that. But I like princess more. Sweetheart is a good one too. It matches that cute face o' yours. Or missy when you're bein' a bad girl." His hand goes under his chin as he lists off the stupidest pet names ever.

I deadpan and shake my head back and forth. Pinching my nose bridge I look over at the town in the distance.

"So aren't you gonna ask what my name is?" His sudden voice whispering in my ear and his fingers grazing my neck makes me physically jump and clamp my hand over my neck.

"D-Don't do that!" I shout and take in a deep breath. I'm probably a tomato right about now.

"And I already know your name." I scoff and cross my arms, turning away from him. But he walks around me to try and get me to face him, which I turn again and again after every attempt me makes.

"I wanna hear you say it though. Bet it'd sound real' sexy comin' from your lips." Grave's hands squeeze me around my biceps and lock me in place, leaving me to look no where else except for those devilish eyes of his.

Knowing him for the day I've been around him I know he won't relent. He'll keep me here until I give in.

Sighing I say his name. "Maddox Graves.."

It came out softer on accident. Maybe I'm exhausted. But looking at his concealed face I can see his wide eyes.

"Say it again." He whispers. His grip tightens. It hurts and I whimper in pain but his eyes still bore into mine.

"Maddox Graves." I say firmly. But he groans and shakes his head back and forth. A dissatisfied groan leaves him.

"No not like that! Say it how ya' said it before!" He whines, but he still sounds aggravated.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about..." I mutter and clench my teeth. He has the grip of a bear trap.

"Say it like a wife would! Say. my. name!" He snaps and jerks me forward. My eyes widen in fear at his outburst and I'm reminded that this is no normal man. He's a killer. A dangerous outlaw and the one who killed my Father.

But what he said has me confused. What does he mean by that? He must tell how confused I am because his grip loosens.

"Just... Say it like ya' don't despise me."

That's damn near impossible. But if I want to survive and get food in my stomach then I need to perform.

"Maddox." I say only his first name this time. Gently, I raise a hand and lay it over his that is on my arm. Both his hands drop and I hear his let out a long breath.

He says nothing but he turns away from me and hops onto his horse. His hand reaches for mine and I take it. He pulls me up but I nearly fall over. The control I have over my legs is lacking because of their bound state. Luckily he catches me with an arm.

"Easy now sweetheart. I don't want ya' gettin' hurt. After all, I know what I'm gonna do with ya now." He says in a low timbre that strikes fear into my core.

"Hya!" He shouts and his horse walks in the direction to the town ahead.

This unpredictable psycho... I'm at a complete loss here. What can I do? I'm hopeless! His behavior is nearly bipolar and he's a walking weapon. But now he has a plan for me? Whatever it is I don't want it...

[kaivenom]

Getting in trouble

Summary: you expect your day to go peacefully with your crew arriving to a new village until some boy with a straw hat messes your day.

Pairing: Monkey d. Luffy x reader

Warning: robbing a bank?

Masterlist

The sun was shinning and the ocean was calm, thats how you started the day, optimist and peacefully... right now, you are running from the marines with a strange boy with a strawhat.

"Ahhhh, this is really fun, you should join my crew."

"What?! How can you be talking about that right now?! And beside i have my own crew."

His gum arm traps you and lifts you two in the air thru the buildings. You took that oportunity to start to shoot some of the marines, not deadly, of course. He got to the top of the bell tower of the village and finally put you down.

"I don't like being carried, less when it's like that."

"What did you mean when you said you had your crew?"

"I am a captain, i am (y/n), i have the same bounty as Boa Hancock, but because i don't look as pretty as her many people doesn't know me."

"You are more pretty than Boa," His face was absolutely clueless and that comment made you blush.

"Th-thanks, you are pretty handsome too,"

"Thanks, but i am not going to forgive you," you didn't understabd what he was talking about, "i wanted you on my crew... But i am a captain too and i know that a bond with your crew is unbreakable."

He sat on the ground making a sad face like a little child who cant have a candy, it's cute. You went to sit next to him.

"Today i thought It would be a normal day, enjoying the new village my ship arrived to, buying new things, eating food... and instead i ended up involved on a fight with the marines thanks to your appetite and your lack of money," he let out a little laugh at your tale of the day, "at least tell me your name."

"Oh, right, i'm Mugiwara Luffy, the next pirate king."

"Ooohhh, you are that Mugiwara, that's awesome, but i must say that i am going to be the pirate queen, maybe we can get to an agreement where we can both be pirate royalty."

It looked like he didn't like that idea but he didn't say anything to complain. Some time later the marines abandoned the search of you two so you decided to go down.

"Well, i think i will go back to my crew, i think they will be searching for me, don't get in trouble without me, i hope we see again," and just like that Mugiwara runned away.

And then you thought, if you already had a chaotic morning then it would be worthy to have an equally chaotic afternoon.

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

Robbin the bank of the village with your second in command can be considered a risky move but you had all the adrenaline of the previous morning on your body and you needed to rush it out. It was really fun, running around with big bags full of berry and explosions behind. The ship was already visible, you ordered your crew to get going without you, to save time.

You saw a ship with the bow in shape of a lion or a sun, it's just running fast thru that ship and jump to yours, easy. You start to pass at high speed when you saw Mugiwara.

"(y/n)!? what!?" he had a piece of meat on his mouth.

"I was just robbing a bank, sorry to pass thru your ship and couldn't stop to take dinner," you did a goodbye sign and jumped to your ship.

"I thought you agreeded to not get in trouble without me," he shouted.

"I never said that, but maybe the next time, i am more than glad to renegotiate our deal about the pirate title."

"Never! that would only happen if we get married and i am not going to marry someone who doesn't wait for me to do trouble," that comment made you blush, officially he is completely clueless about compliments.

"We will see that Mugiwara, until our next meeting," you tried to sound fierce but the previous remark keeps repeating on your head.

"Count on it!!!!" you two didn't say it but you two hoped that encounter happens sooner that later.

[twentyfourducks]

Con alcuna licenza: Sunday x Reader

Robin invites you to look through some old photo albums, and Sunday decides to revisit an old hobby.

(intended as somewhat of a character study with some fluff)

check it out on ao3?

4213 words

You open your eyes to dappled sunlight illuminating the foot of the bed. There’s no presence to your side to keep you company as you wake up fully, only the fading scent of familiarity. In your half-asleep state, you can’t help but feel a bit of sadness; couldn’t he have stayed a bit longer? 

Once you decide you’re ready to get up, you rise and shuffle to the kitchenette in this wing of the house. The journey from the bedrooms to the main area is a short trip, but you always take your time in the mornings to absorb the beauty of the mansion’s main hall. Light filters in through stained glass windows, projecting vivid images onto the marble flooring. As you proceed, your shadow is the lone subject in the colors painting the tiles in myriad hues.

From staying here many a night, you know that it’s not often that either sibling has the time to cook their own food. However, you still look through the cabinets in hope that there’s something that could be eaten…plus, you don’t really want to bother the main kitchen staff if you’re the only one being served. 

After rummaging through everything available, the only thing that looks somewhat appealing to you is the untouched oak cake in the fridge. You try to slice through it with a knife, but it fights against you; the tough consistency makes you wonder if it’s stale or just meant to be like that…

Once you’ve wrestled a piece off, you take a bite. How does Sunday manage to eat this? You think to yourself between chews. This tastes…like tree bark. 

You’re looking for a trash can to inconspicuously spit the earthy mouthful into when you hear someone approaching. 

“I thought I heard someone in here!” chimes a pleasant voice. “And, well, I figured it couldn’t be my brother…”

With your back to Robin, you force yourself to swallow the awfulness. “Good morning,” you say as you fill up a glass of water.

Robin clasps her hands together. “What’s that you have there?” she asks, but then falters as her eyes see what’s on the counter. “Oh no,” she hurries over to snatch the plate away. “Don’t—I wouldn’t recommend eating that. It’s a very…acquired…taste.”

“It may be a bit too late for that,” you say, grimacing as you try to drown the remaining taste in your mouth.

“I’m sorry you had to taste that…” She places the oak cake back in the fridge, and slightly obscures it behind a bottle of SoulGlad. “I’ll phone the chef so they can send something better up. Is there anything in particular you want?”

“It’s okay. I think I’ve lost my appetite anyway.”

“Are you sure?...I’ll ask them to bring something anyway.” She pulls out her phone and walks away. A moment later you hear her speaking indistinctly around the corner. 

In a matter of minutes, a platter of tantalizing breakfast food is set in front of you, and you’re thankful for Robin’s hospitality (and thankful for not having to force yourself to consume any more of the oak cake roll.) 

You eat and then go into the parlor to relax. When you enter, Robin is there flipping through pages of a book. A bag of sunflower seeds and a pile of books rest near her on the coffee table.

“What are you doing?” you ask, and she perks up at the sound of your voice.

“I was just looking through some old photos.” She pats the open cushion next to her. “Care to join me? There’s photos of my brother when he’s young,” she says, adding the last part in a singsong voice. 

Not wanting to turn down the prospect of seeing an adorable Sunday in his youth, you take her offer up, sinking into the plush cushion as you sit down. 

“We used to scrapbook together in our youth,” Robin sighs as she lays out the pile of books. You notice that in the crevices and along the spines, there’s an accumulation of dust. “At some point, when our careers began to develop, we slowly moved away from it…but there’s a part of me that wishes that it was a hobby we still continued. Maybe…maybe I’m just too nostalgic.” She shrugs before leaning back against the couch and returning to the book she was looking at. “Feel free to choose any one you want.” 

You choose one bound in dark red leather with a pattern of music notes painted on the front, and open it to a page with a light blue ribbon sticking out. The ribbon unfurls to reveal “First Place” in a gold-lettered cursive font. Affixed to the page with musical stickers are photos of a young, well-dressed Robin who couldn’t be any older than ten. In the background are the tall red curtains of the Penacony Grand Theater. 

Turning the page, the center photo has teenage Robin and Sunday standing in the Theater’s grand hall.. You can’t help but giggle at Sunday’s outfit: a white dress shirt with a red bow tie and suspenders attached to his pants. His silver hair just barely reaches his shoulders, and a glowing smile is on his face. The rest of the photos on the page are Robin standing with various other performers.

The next page is populated only with Sunday, who looks to be the same age as in the previous photo. He’s dressed in formal concert attire, and the largest photo on the page is him in an auditorium playing the violin. 

You turn to Robin. “Sunday used to play the violin?” you ask. 

“Hmm?” She looks up, and eyes what page you’re on. “Yes, he was great at it. As we grew up, we were encouraged into music. The violin was his favorite instrument.” She wistfully sighs as she studies the photos. “I wish he still played.”

“When did he stop?”

Robin pauses and does a quick count on her fingers. “It has to be..maybe three or four years ago? He kind of…tapered off as he began to take over Oak Family duties. I wish I remembered more clearly, because that was also around the time I began to take my career seriously…”

There’s a silence as she stares off into the distance. Then, she turns to you and asks, “Do you mind if I look at that album after you?”

You nod, and she returns her attention to the photos she was looking at. 

Turning the page again, there’s a certificate that takes up the bulk of the area. “Best Performer Award,” it says in print. In these photos, Sunday beams as he holds the certificate and a trophy, a proud warmth in his eyes. 

Mixed into the following pages are the siblings playing a variety of instruments; you see images of Sunday on the piano, tuning a cello, playing the flute. He gets taller, and his hair grows longer. Some of the photos are taken in what looks to be a music room with instruments in the background, others are in performance halls. One of the photos has Robin and Sunday singing in a choir in what looks to be a grand tribute to Xipe; the entire ensemble dons long robes in a deep purple hue.

As you leaf through, you note that Sunday shows up less and less in the photos. The last page is a group photo of smiling people, with Robin front and center in a beautiful dress, an updo, and a trophy in her hands; you recognize a logo in the background to be one of a famous award show hosted by the IPC every few Amber Eras. Within the group is Sunday as you know him to look today.

When you close the book and set it between you and Robin, she looks up. “If you liked looking at those photos, you might like the ones in this book.” She picks an album up from the table and hands it to you. “Careful, this one hasn’t been organized yet.”

You can tell from the unworn leather and the crisp pages that this book is the newest out of all the others. Still, it has a faint layer of dust that looks to be recently brushed off. When you open it, inside are newspaper clippings and concert programs disorderly strewn throughout the pages in no particular order. Everything in it has one thing in common: it’s all related to Sunday. 

Robin’s eyes linger on the pages of the book. “When we each began to take our own path, and we began to spend less time together, I still longed for the carefree days of our youth when we could indulge in being creative…The thought of scrapbooking probably hasn’t crossed my brother’s mind in ages…but that won’t stop me from collecting thing for the next time we get a good opportunity.”

The first item you pick up is the booklet for an orchestra performance that, according to the date on the front, took place five system years ago. Penacony Symphonic Orchestra, reads the flourishing text at the top, followed by the subtext Spring Concert. You turn the page to the list of performing members, and recognize one of the names at the top credited as the orchestra’s concertmaster. 

Indeed, in a photo of the orchestra on the next page, you see Sunday sitting closest to the conductor along the stage’s edge. 

A page of newspaper from four years ago is under the previous page, with the headline stating in bold that the conductor of the Penacony Philharmonic Orchestra had to take a leave of absence due to health issues, and that concertmaster Sunday will be replacing him for the time being. 

The corner of a photo peeks out from the middle of the papers, and you pull it out. It’s a picture of Sunday taken from the audience as he conducts the orchestra, arms outstretched in a gesture for what must be a grand part of the song. You can’t see Sunday’s face, but from his posture, it looks like he was made for the role. 

Another photo is stuck behind that one, and so you peel the two apart. This one seems to be from a different concert. It shows Sunday from the side with a focused expression. His left hand is behind his back, and his right hand seems to be in the downbeat of the meter, judging by the position of the baton. 

You didn’t notice Robin leaning over to view the pictures as well until she speaks. “I wish I had been able to go to more of his concerts,” she says. “During this time, I was touring, and to go to those two concerts I had to take a rushed trip here and then rush right back to the star system I was performing in.”

“Why did he quit?” you ask.

“He was trying to balance his orchestral role with his role in the Family.” She rests a hand on her necklace with furrowed eyebrows. “Shortly before he was made Oak Family Head, he…decided to focus solely on that role.”

Judging from the pensive look on Robin’s face, you decide to lay off of the topic of Sunday not being in the orchestra anymore. “And he doesn’t play as a hobby anymore, either?”

“Not that I know of. But also…I’m not home as often anymore, so it’s possible he could pick up the occasional instrument.” She shakes her head. “Every time I’ve asked why he stopped, he emphasizes the importance of his role in the Oak Family. I personally doubt that's the entire reason, however…maybe if you asked, he’d be willing to open up more to you?”

___

Time goes by faster than you expect it to while you’re looking through the photo books. At some point, Robin left for singing practice, and your eyelids began to get heavier and heavier…

Sunday returns to you asleep on the couch with an open book on your lap and other books splayed out around you. Curiosity piqued, he quietly inches closer to eye what it is that you’re reading. The ghost of a smile plays at the corner of his mouth when he sees the photos on the page. Robin must have been saving these throughout the years. 

A pang of nostalgia hits him as memories return to him. There's no other responsibilities pressing at the moment, so it wouldn’t hurt to bring his violin out briefly…plus, he knows you’ll be interested in hearing him play after seeing the photos.

He makes his way to his bedroom and eases the door shut in hopes no sound would leak out to disturb you. He goes for his closet, and searches the back shelf for his violin case…when his fingers find the handle, he frees it from the darkness. 

The first thing Sunday does is clean the dust off of the dark case. Then he sets it on his desk and undoes the silvery latches; the lid releases, and he opens it. 

Inside the case, resting in a bed of velvet, lies a remarkable piece of work: a hand-carved, beautifully varnished, multiple amber eras old violin that was gifted to Sunday in his youth. His eyes linger on the details, as he’s always been enamored with its beauty. 

He strips his gloves from his hands and plucks at the taut strings in sequence. A discordant chain of notes play; the violin is evidently out of tune from disuse. The corner of his mouth twitches downward. Old habits arise as he seeks to correct this injustice.

As he tunes, he hums the specific frequency he wants the string to sound like. The pitches have been etched into his mind from a young age when he was taught by his instructor to use oneself as the reference. Each tone is separated by a fifth; he’s able to capture them perfectly as he turns the fine tuning pegs.

When he’s done, the pizzicato notes are satisfying to the ear. 

Sunday takes the bow from the case and tightens the tension of the bow hair. He recalls the last time he played, and he remembers how meticulously he cleaned and polished it before leaving it on the shelf to wait for him to take it up again. The body of the instrument still retains its shine.

He checks his container of rosin: lucky for him, it’s not dried out. In long, slow strokes, he runs it across the bow hair with a firm but gentle touch. He’s thorough when he cleans off the excess with a piece of cloth.

After the violin has been restored to its former glory, he brings the violin to his neck in a playing position, touches the bow to the string, and plays a slow, drawn out note as the bow runs along the string. A shiver runs up his spine as he absorbs the sonorous timbre, and he eases into a melodic sequence of notes. 

You’re witness to most of this; at some point, you were awoken by the faint sounds coming from Sunday’s room and crept down the hall only to be hindered by a closed door. In a painstakingly slow manner so as not to get his attention, you opened the door only a sliver, enough for you to peer into the room. 

You watch as he sways with the rhythm he plays. The tune itself is simple and gentle in nature, one you’ve never heard before. His movements are entrancing, and you’re enamored, so much to the point that you forget to make yourself scarce when he’s finished…

When he plays the ending note, his eyes catch yours through the ajar door. 

“Like what you see?” he asks with a smug smile. “You can come in now. Or would you prefer to continue watching from a distance?”

There’s a coy guilt all over your face as you push the door open fully and walk in. “How long did you know I was there?”

“Only the whole time.” He lowers his violin and sets it down on his desk before pressing you a chaste kiss. “Did you have a nice rest?”

“I did. I…” You laugh nervously, bashful at the fact that he definitely saw you looking at his old photos. “I didn’t hear you come back. How was your day?”

“Rather tedious. The bulk of it was overseeing the creation of The Reverie’s budget for the next fiscal year. But…I’m here now. I noticed you were looking at old albums; shall I assume Robin was the one who brought those out?”

“Yes,” you nod. “You were cute as a kid.”

“Ah…really? You think so?” He angles his face away from you to hide the blush forming from your compliment.

“Very photogenic.” You rest a hand on his jawline and guide his face back towards you. His wings flutter in response, but he doesn’t shy away from your touch. “I’m jealous, actually.”

“You know as well as I that there’s no need for you to be jealous.” 

You brush your hand against his neck before you pull back, lest you get carried away. “I was hoping you would play me a song.” 

“What is it you would like to hear?”

“Anything you play would be lovely.”

You sit down on his bed and wait in hushed anticipation as Sunday readies his violin once more. He closes his eyes, and you wonder what he’s thinking. Is he visualizing the music? Is there an internalized metronome he’s counting along to? Maybe he’s—

Interrupting your thoughts, and with his eyes still shut, he starts into a slow melody. His fingers glide across the strings while his other hand draws the bow to weave the notes of a flowing song. Your mind wanders to how mesmerizing he must have looked under stage lights. 

The music swells like the crest of a wave, and it sounds like his tempo has quickened to be more spirited. Already, you’re impressed by how he hasn’t faltered at all while playing. How many more songs must he have memorized? He continues to evoke a sort of vividness through his motions and navigates complex sequences with fluidity. 

His song tapers down, creating a sense of finality that mirrors the beginning of the piece. In the last cadence, he opens his eyes to witness the last prolonged note softly washing over you. He savors the sound before letting it fall into silence. 

Sunday looks to you in anticipation, and to his surprise, whispers of doubt swirl in his mind: Did he make a mistake he wasn’t aware of? Was he in dire need of practice? Or maybe…you didn’t like it. It’s been ages since he’s played for an audience; maybe his skills have deteriorated since then. 

It’s a bit funny, he thinks wryly. I doubt I've been this nervous to know how I did since my first ever playing test. 

The tension leaves his body in reaction to your rapid applause and bright smile. “Sunday! That was amazing!”

He’s awash with relief that you seemed to be satisfied with the song he played. He turns away to set his violin down, but can’t help the feeling of pride blooming inside him as he puts his gloves back on and joins you on the bed. 

You grin at him. “I expected you to be pretty good, but you love exceeding expectations, don’t you?” 

“I admit it’s not…that bad for a long time without practice,” Sunday says, taking your hand in his. “Definitely not my best.”

“If that’s not your best, I wish I could have seen you at your peak.” You lean back onto the bed, and he follows, the mattress shifting with the change in weight distribution. Studying the ceiling, you voice your thoughts by asking “Why did you stop playing?”

“I had to devote myself wholly to my role in The Family,” is the answer he responds with.   

Your eyes drift over to glance at him. “You couldn’t find a way to balance both?”

He sighs. “When I was given my role as the Bronze Melodia, it…was tiring, to say the least. Listening to the confessions of people is more draining than it sounds, especially when…” 

Sunday trails off, lost in thought. You squeeze his hand to bring him back, and he exhales a shaky breath.

“...Right. I…would be completely drained upon returning home from Dewlight Pavillion, and it was difficult to even muster the strength to practice. And then…I became the head of the Oak Family. I had to relinquish my roles in the orchestra, both as a player and conductor. I can’t say I don’t miss it,” he says, longing in the undertones of his voice. “But those roles have since been filled with deserving people.” 

There’s a moment of introspective quiet before Sunday looks to you. “Have you had dinner yet?” 

You shake your head no. 

He rises from the bed and towards the door. “Then I shall inform the kitchen to prepare a meal for us. I don’t think Robin will be joining us tonight…”

As he retreats down the hall, you remain on the bed, pondering his words. Knowing Sunday and his relationship with the Oak Family, you can’t help thinking about the possibility that there may have been a more persuasive force behind his departure from the musical scene…

You stand up and neaten his bed to the way it was, your mind stuck on the things left unsaid.

___

You open your eyes to a dark room. The bad dream you were just having vanishes before you could even recall it, leaving only a pounding heart in its wake. Your eyes flit around the room as you remember where you are. The pale luminosity of the night streams in through sheer curtains onto the foot of the bed. There’s a warm presence to your side — your lover — who is fast asleep, unaware of your racing mind. 

Exhaling, you blindly reach for your phone on the nightstand and squint at the bright screen. System time is three something in the morning. You set it down and roll over, trying desperately to return to your slumber, but to no avail; all of your tiredness has quickly dissipated. 

In the dimness of the room, you gaze at Sunday in his tranquil beauty, and watch his chest gently rise and fall. His silver hair captures the moonlight in the way it shines and disperses it into locks strewn about his pillow. Slightly parted lips give way to faint somniloquies that you wish you could understand. 

You’re lost in how idyllic he looks…until long eyelashes flutter and reveal golden eyes under drowsy hoods. Your body quickly stiffens with the hope you haven’t accidentally woken him up. He stirs beneath the sheets, and looks at you with tired eyes. 

Softly, he asks “Dear, why are you up?”

“I…had a dream that woke me up,” you whisper in reply. “Go back to sleep.”

Without saying anything else, he reaches out and pulls you into an embrace. You melt into his chest, warmed by the comfortable heat he radiates. 

“Was it a bad dream?” he softly inquires.

You nuzzle closer to him. “It was gone as soon as it came.”

Sunday holds you tighter under the blanket. 

After what could have been moments or minutes elapse, you look up to him. He’s still awake. 

“...I’ll miss you tomorrow morning,” you say. “What time do you have to be up?”

“That doesn’t matter,” he murmurs. 

“What time?”

“...Five.”

You wearily groan into his chest. “Oh, Sunday…you work too hard.”

His hand traces languid shapes into your back. “That’s why I have to savor as much time as I can with you.”

In his arms, you reflect on the day, fatigue slowly beginning to weigh down your thoughts. You recall glimpses of Sunday playing his violin, and his effortless grace. The first melody you watched him play, the one you watched through the door, swims through your head. 

A question pulls at your mind, and you choose to ask before you forget. “Hmm…Sunday?”

“Yes?”

“What was the first song you played earlier?”

He takes a breath. “It…was a song I remember from my youth. When I first started playing music, it was one of the first things I transcribed…from memory. Because I never wanted to forget.” 

“It’s a beautiful song.”

You can’t see, but a smile forms on Sunday’s face. “It…was a song our mother would sing to me and Robin.”

“Could I hear you hum it to me?”

He begins to hum the melody, and the dulcet tune coupled with the faint vibrations of his chest begin to lull you into a peaceful sleep. You try fighting it off, just to hear his voice a little longer…only to end up closing your eyes in the end.

Once your breathing is even, Sunday admires your sleeping form. Before he closes his eyes to return to sleep himself, Sunday whispers three words into your ear that evanesce into the air; three words he’ll be sure to repeat to you again once you’re awake.

___

"Con alcuna licenza" is a musical direction that refers to expressive and rhythmic freedom, allowing the conductor to speed up or slow down the tempo of a piece at their discretion.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

@kikker-oma here you go, one sickfic with Til & Abel ❤️

It was a beautiful day on the plateau. The sun was shining brilliantly, but its heat was tempered by the cooler winds of autumn, drying the heat and pushing the green from the leaves. Birds chirped as they gathered supplies for the oncoming winter, and squirrels were audibly scampering about on the thatched roof.

It was a perfect day. But Tilieth lay on the hard bed, miserable, curled in on herself. She’d awoken to an unpleasant cramping sensation, and she figured she knew what it heralded.

Tilieth hadn’t necessarily made plans for the day, but she’d wanted to check on her garden, and this ruined any chance of that. Or really, any motivation to do anything. The cramps were bad enough, but the accompanying nausea nearly brought her to tears.

The sun moved higher into the sky, making Tilieth miserable that she was stuck indoors, but she could hardly move. When she heard approaching footsteps, she started crying, feeling guilty but also not wanting to have to explain anything. She just wanted to be alone. But she also wanted to be held.

The door opened, and Abel shuffled inside, having patrolled the plateau and probably hunted a little. He paused as soon as he entered, immediately honing in on Tilieth, and she buried her face in her pillow.

“Til?” He asked quietly, walking towards her.

Tilieth tried not to cause a fuss, but the mere mention of her name, him just entering her space made her fall apart. She curled in even more, getting some relief from the pain, but her emotions were all over the place.

The first day was always the worst.

Abel paused, distressed and confused, and then his eyebrows rose in dawning comprehension.

Without a word, her husband exited the house, making Tilieth feel both happy that she didn’t have to explain anything or feel guilty and infinitely more alone.

When Abel returned a few minutes later, he had a hot water bottle and a cup of tea in his hands, and he knelt down on the floor so he was eye level with her as she lay in bed.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said softly, holding out the offerings.

Tilieth cried quietly, taking the gifts and feeling equal parts miserable and touched by his actions. Abel always tried to take care of her during this time of the month. The hot water bottle felt amazing against her abdomen, and some sips of the ginger tea helped with her nausea. She could still hardly move, but she wasn’t really in agony while she was still.

Abel laid his palms flat on the bed, resting his chin on them as he gazed at her and smiled. “I’m still in awe with women. Men may be able to physically fight better, but women can certainly endure more. I wouldn’t last in your shoes.”

Tilieth gave him a small smile in return, the tears threatening to return. She hated feeling like such an emotional mess - it wasn’t as if she wasn’t capable of tipping into this point on a regular basis, but she couldn’t stop herself at all when this happened.

Abel kept her silent company, shifting a little so he was simply sitting on the floor head resting on his arm, just a hair’s breadth from her. Eventually, her husband grabbed a book to keep himself preoccupied as he rested with her, letting her sniffle or reposition until, by evening, Tilieth finally scooted close enough to wrap her arm around his head and snuggle in close. The pain was easing, and tomorrow would be a better day.

When Tilieth realized nearly half the day had gone by without Abel moving, and she herself had only had the tea since she’d had no appetite, she poked her husband. Abel glanced up at her, half asleep from reading. “What is it, Til?”

Tilieth reached for the cup, and Abel sat up, taking it. He rose wordlessly, easing the hot water bottle out of her death grip against her abdomen, and went back outside. When he returned, both items were replenished, but Tilieth shook her head, even as she received them.

“You need to eat,” she eventually said.

Abel blinked, having seeming forgotten to, and Tilieth rolled her eyes, exasperated. Then her husband laughed. “Honestly, stop thinking about mothering everyone, Tilieth. You’re not feeling well.”

Tilieth’s emotions swung the opposite way, tears drying in an instant as her cheeks flushed in steadily growing annoyance. Abel recognized the look, and he straightened as if a superior officer had just walked into the room. He nodded with a mumbled, hasty acknowledgement, heading outdoors once more, and Tilieth relaxed.

It took a while before her husband returned, but she could smell the food cooking. Thankfully, the ginger tea had helped enough that the mere smell didn’t make her vomit. Then she recognized the smell, and her anger siphoned out of her in a heartbeat.

Hylian herb soup. It was a simple recipe, bone broth, some veggies and hylian herbs thrown together. He always made it for her when she wasn’t feeling well. He hadn’t made it in years.

When Abel came inside, he only had one bowl, and it was small. She knew he must have eaten his own helping outside, but he still offered her some in case she could stomach it.

Sitting up a little, Tilieth was thankful to recognize that it wasn’t torture to move as much, and with the fresh hot water bottle, she managed some sips of the soup.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered finally.

Abel shook his head. “It’s not your fault, love. Besides, your moods are nothing compared to Lyra’s. I was terrified of that girl’s adolescence.”

Although mentioning their lost daughter still hurt after all these years, the comment did manage to make Tilieth laugh. Their dear Lyra had her father’s temper far more than her mother’s.

Slowly, Abel settled in the bed with his book, and Tilieth finally managed to eat something for the day before snuggling into her husband’s embrace. Tomorrow would be a better day. She knew that. But, with Abel, even today wasn’t all that bad.