#/vague tags so it doesn't turn up on the tracked tags/

[prettyboykatsuki]

objects in the mirror | j. togame

✮ tags ; afab!reader + fem!reader, reader is so painfully dense / naive, ambiguous relationships, friends to ???, somewhat unrelieved sexual tension, sex toys, guided masturbation kinda, kissing, groping, nipples play, squirting, dialogue heavy, vaguely post canon, petnames (kame-chan and jo-chan for togame, baby for reader) 18+

✮ wc ; 6.4k (you have got to be fucking with me)

✮ a/n ; the one fic i wont be mad if you ask for part two on lolol. title from a mac miller song (my favorite mac miller song) that reminds me of a lot of characters but i felt really fit this fic.

go listen to it. his best track. also this like... mega got away from me. togame sorry for blueballing you.

✮ synopsis ; your only goal is to have a half-way decent orgasm. togame, as your best friend, is determined to help you reach it.

"So," Togame leans back into your bed. "You bought a vibrator and... can't use it? Because you keep psyching yourself out?"

"Yeah," You sigh with your head hung low. "Paid good money for it and it's collecting dust in my drawer. I'm miserable."

Togame smiles a little from where he's laid across the width of your bed, back propped up against the wall slightly with his legs hanging off one edge. You kick his side lightly as he fails to contain his amusement.

"Do you enjoy seeing me suffer, huh? You take amusement in my pain, you bastard?"

"Pfft," He snickers, turning a little to face you better. "It's kinda hard not too. Just seems..."

"You think it's stupid," You frown. He scratches his jaw.

"I wouldn't say that. A little silly but—"

"Which is another word for stupid," You point out. He shakes his head.

"The connotations different. Stupid would mean I'm insulting you. I don't think it's stupid. Ridiculous, maybe." And then he laughs to himself like a jackass. "No... I take it back. It's definitely ridiculous."

"You asshole. I should kick you out of my house."

He smiles knowingly, lazy and bemused. "You're not gonna,"

Smug bastard. You groan in defeat. "But I should."

He doesn't reply, brushing you off as easy as ever. "Sorry. Just not sure what exactly you want me to do with that information."

You throw your hands up in the air. "I dunno? Fucking help me. Offer solutions. Use whats left of your brain after getting the shit beat out of you as a teenager. Something."

"Now who's being an asshole." He quips. You frown.

"I'm sorry," You say easily. Togame smiles softly though you miss it while you're looking away. "But...ugh."

"Got such a way with words." He hums sarcastically before sobering a touch. He's scrolling through his phone not entirely paying attenion. "I don't really get why you're askin' me. Don't you have better candidates for this conversation?"

You give him a long-suffering look. "No. Unfortunately I live here, so the answer is not really. I can't talk to Kotoha or Tsubaki about this. We talk about guys and stuff but it's usually pretty PG."

"So I'm your stand in for a girl best friend?"

You tilt your head. "Huh? No. You're just my best friend. I would bitch to you about this either way."

He stares at you for a long while before scrubbing a hand down his face. You can't understand his sudden reaction, watching in confusion as he takes a deep breath.

"Right. Right, I'm your best friend." Togame mutters mostly to himself, sighing before going back to his usual demeanor. He rubs his under his eye. "Really dunno what you're asking for. You can whine however much you want, though."

"I'm not whining," You pause before sighing again. "Okay. Maybe I am whining, like, a little. But you would too if you were me, okay? I want to..." You make a face, the words suddenly feeling clumsy on your lips. You're not even doing anything and you're getting all weird about it. "I just wanna...cum."

Togame pauses. He sits up, sort of suddenly after that and finally has the decency to take off his boots. He scoots to the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor to do it, and you can't see his face when he speaks again. You don't think twice about it.

"Have you not? Like... ever?"

"Huh? No, I have but it's not really satisfying. It doesn't scratch the itch for me, you know? That's what the toy was for."

Togame takes another minute or two of silence as he takes off his boots. You wonder if it always takes him so long to take them off. Seems inconvenient.

He goes back to laying down, leaning on the wall with his legs spread out. "What kinda toy is it anyway?

"Oh, it's—" You stop in the middle of your sentence, brow furrowing. "Wait. Should I be telling you this?"

"Are you suddenly gaining self-awareness? Little late for that." He smiles.

"That's true," You reply, relaxing again with your arms crossed. "Nothing complicated. A rabbit vibrator, but the kinda expensive ones."

"How much?"

"Twelve-thousand yen. I got it on sale too,"

"No wonder you're so peeved you can't use it," Togame comments evenly. "A lot of money to be collecting dust. You even take it out the box?"

You deflate all over again. "Yeah. Charged it. Cleaned it too. But I put it back."

"Lemme see,"

"Huh? Oh, okay. Sure."

You don't bother asking why Togame wants to see your sex toy. It doesn't occur to you that there'd be any reasons outside of plain curiosity which you can understand. Togame dated a girl long-term so he knows some things, but you figure any girl with a decent boyfriend wouldn't need to make the same use of toys as you do. It'd make sense he's never seen one up close and personal.

You scoot to the edge of the bed and lean slightly as you open the side drawer and pull the toy out where it sits in nice, cardboard package. You pass it off to Togame before sitting back comfortably against your headboard.

He sits the box in his lap and stares at it for a long while.

You wonder if this is weird.

It doesn't bother you much either way, but it it is...

Odd, just how long Togame stares at it. He undoes the top of the folded box, pulling it back to reveal the soft, baby blue vibrator. It's six inches long and curved, with a soft rubber attachment to stimulate your clit and angle for your g-spot at the same time. Made with a high quality velveteen silicone. It has a lot of settings, and does the sort of rumbly vibrations you know feel good as opposed to the mechanical buzz of cheaper kinds.

Completely unused, Togame holds in his hands for a while, grabbing it by the ends. He doesn't touch it in a way that's weird. More like he assesses it. Measures it. You don't know for what though.

"It's cute."

"Huh?"

"The vibrator, I mean." Togame comments, putting it back in the box. His expression is unreadable. Something simmers under the surface of his neutral face but you can't place what exactly. "It's a cute color and the little pointed part here is cute."

You place a hand on your chest and close your eyes in sincerity. "Thank you. I also think I have excellent aesthetic taste."

Another pause. Brief but not.

"Do you want help using it?"

"Wha—"

"The vibrator," Togame clarifies before you get through the rest of your sentence. "Do you want me to help you use it?"

Your mind blanks. Your mouth moves faster than you can.

"...In what way?"

Togame remains steady. "Getting you comfortable and putting in you. As far as solutions go, it's the best I've got."

...Huh?

"Wouldn't that be awkward for you?"

"Is it awkward for you?" Togame replies back.

You stop to consider the question then shake your head.

"I mean...It's you. I trust you and I'm grateful but this..." You furrow your brow and look towards him. "Can you really do something like that with me? Just to help me?"

"Yeah." He replies. The words come so easily to him you're startled. Was he always this casual? You guess in a way but still. It's surprising. "It's the most direct route to solve your problem, I think. Once you've done it once with someone else, you'll definitely be able to do it alone right?"

You reason about this and find it's a somewhat optimal solution. You can't figure out the exact source of your unease about all of it, though it's there. You can't figure out Togame either. You appreciate how much he seems to want to help you but it doesn't make your worries go away.

You frown a little deeper.

"You're thinking about it too hard." Togame interjects. His tone is warm and easy.

"You're not thinking about it hard enough," You respond back. "What are you trying to do anyway? To help."

"Scratch the itch for you. Just think of it like that."

"Does that do anything for you?"

He dodges the question. "Don't worry about me. I'm offering. Promise it's fine."

You frown with your legs crossed, staring at the empty space of the bed. "...I g-guess it's fine? I can't think of a reason to say no."

"You don't mind doing this with me? Or is it because you're okay with anyone?"

You shake your head.

"What are you saying? Of course it's because you're the one asking. I trust you."

He smiles genuinely at that, eyes closed in what seems like relief. "I just wanted to make sure."

Togame opens his eyes again and casts them your way. Your breathing feels shallow under the weighted glance. He sits up a little more and shrugs his jacket off his shoulders, placing it on the pillow next to you. He feels broader without the layer of fabric over his torso, white shirt stretching over his frame as he sits on the bed on his knees.

"Lay down. Get comfortable."

You nod, adjusting the pillows and things and trying not to feel self-conscious or get cold feet. It speaks to your desperation that you're taking this help so willingly and from your long time best friend no less. In the back of your head, you do feel a little strange.

Togame is just being a good friend, that's what you tell yourself. You believe it too.

He hovers above you first. You tilt your head to look at him, the short gap of space between you feeling particularly small while also being miles wide. Your stomach flutters as Togame's eyes fix on your lips.

He leans forward and presses his mouth to yours. It's chaste. You wonder if you look even half as surprised as you feel.

"What was that for?"

"Breaking the ice."

You mumble. "Oh..."

Togame kisses you again that time, and then one more time before speaking up. "You're so naive."

"Huh? No I'm not,"

He brushes you off again that time before sitting up again. He sits between your legs where you have them spread. You have no idea what he's thinking or why he's doing this.

Unlike most people, you usually do have a good read on what Togame is feeling. He's upfront most of the time, despite his posturing seeming wishy-washy. It's a little weird to feel so out of bounds around him, like he purposely has his guard up. You wonder if that guard is for you, or for him. Is he uncomfortable somehow? Is he trying not to hurt your feelings by not being interested? You're not really expecting that.

But if that were the case, there's no reason he would help you this way.

Before you get too entranced in your thoughts, Togame snaps you out of them.

"How do you normally do this?"

You blink and look up.

"Do what?"

"Get off," Togame answers. Your eyes meet and you find yourself wanting to look away. "You said it was unsatisfying so I thought it'd be better if we started there,"

"Uhm," You feel embarrassed trying to talk about this. You're not sure why. It's not something you'd feel self-conscious outside this specific context but Togame just seems more... intense then usual. Like he's being serious about your silly problem. "D-depends? Sometimes I watch porn or listen to audios or read. Not always."

"Got it. How do you touch yourself then?"

He looks expectant. You turn your head to look away from him. The minutes tick by.

"Uhm... just rubbing my c-clit usually. I have uhm, other toys I'll use sometimes too but I need to touch my clit to get off." You wonder if these are too many details. Togame is listening to it so carefully. "Uhm. If i-its too sensitive I'll touch over my clothes too. Sometimes I cum like that."

His face shifts. It lingers long enough for you to notice but not enough for you to process what it was. He's back to his usual self so quickly you wonder if you've made the entire thing up.

"Right. I think I know what your problem is,"

You feel a little relieved at that. "Really?"

He pauses before smiling a little with a friendly nod that reminds you of how you were when you were kids, a face that's unexpectedly kind. "Really."

You look at him expectantly.

"I think you're not building up to it enough." Togame comments, smoothly. You blink at him. "You're a girl, you know? Can't jump straight into it, you need to stimulate yourself more first and relax. You're so focused on cumming it backfires. I'll help you."

"How...?"

"I'll help you relax and help you figure out what you like. Don't think about it too hard and focus on feeling good."

"You really don't have to do this for me," You mumble. He smiles at you.

"C'mon. You just said I was your best friend right? I don't mind, so chill out and let me help."

"Okay," You nod, bright eyed. "Okay....thank you."

He makes a face at you before nodding. "Uh-huh. Of course."

Togame hovers above you with lazy smile. You close your eyes on instinct as you feel your lips press together. His lips are softer than you thought they'd be. A hand cups the back of your neck and brings you closer to him. The weight of his body makes you self-conscious about his proximity. You can smell the scent of his skin, feel his presence surround you as he kisses you soft to start.

The shift in the air surrounding you is gradual in a way that reminds you so much of Togame. He's not intense at the beginning, never is really is - but then his hand goes to hold your knees and pull your legs up. His tongue slips against the closed seam of your lips until they part, until he touches yours and you have to reconfigure how you breathe. He's so good at kissing you it makes you wonder if he's kissed you before and you can't remember. But then it feels good and you're reminded—

If it felt this good there's no way you would've forgotten it.

When you pull away for air to breathe, or start to stumble through a question on how this is helping - Togame shuts you up. It takes it happening twice for you realize it's deliberate. Every time he kisses you a little deeper, and the last time he slips his tongue in so far you'd think he's trying to eat you whole.

You're wet. You're unsure if you're allowed to feel guilty about it, or if you're even meant too. Anyone would be turned on getting kissed like this. You're really unsure about all of this but you're fine because it's Togame. There's no way he'd do anything bad to you or for you.

He's over protective in general, though he's rarely frank about it.

(If you were any less clueless, you'd would know that most times Togame is doing his best to protect from himself. Most times, he feels like the biggest danger to you)

Togame pulls away from your lips when you moan a little. You feel embarrassed at the state your left in and how he looks at you. Picking you apart in his mind but not with ill intent. Like he wants to know every thread of your want.

Again, you think he's going to tease you. Light but still teasing.

"Does that feel good?"

It's a serious question. It stuns you. Just a little. His hand on the back of neck feels hot. You notice the way his thumb caresses your nape and try not to stutter.

"Uh..y-yeah." You reply, trying not to look stupid. "I like kissing. Uhm. In general."

He doesn't react to that, nods in a way you find curt in comparison to how passionately he was kissing you just moments ago. "It'll help you relax." And then, a little softly. "If you want to kiss again and we're not already, ask."

An odd request but you acquiesce with another soft noise.

"Do you feel a little warmed up?"

His eyes are so strangely shaded in this light. You open your mouth to the awkward confession. "Oh... nn. I'm... y-yeah. I'm wet already."

"From kissing?"

You give him a sheepish look. Togame responds with another kiss that makes you feel like you're being driven into a corner. This one is hot and heavy, doesn't build up but starts with an almost oppressive air. He nips at you, teeth tugging at your lips and licking in earnest to your mouth. Long and deep until your brain feels melty, your thoughts swimming and clouded. Longing for touch and release. Arousal threads through the fibers of your muscles, makes you feel wound up tight - a serpents coil. You clench your thighs on instinct at the worsening wetness.

Your mouth feels swollen and bitten when you pull away again and Togame looks a little more like you're used to him looking. An underlying sense of smug self-satisfactions on his face as he looks down at you, not outweighed by his genuine ease.

A look on his face like he likes your company. You find him comforting in how easy it is to see.

"Is it okay to touch you in other places?"

"Uhm. Anywhere above the belt is fine, I think."

"Makes sense,"

He leans up and slides both hands underneath your hoodie. You're not really prepared for... this. You don't know if you can call it sex or not but whatever it is, you weren't intending for it to happening.

"You're not wearing a shirt," His hands feel so big on your waist. Big and calloused, split skin scarred over from fighting. "A bra?"

"A sports bra."

"Right."

He slides your hoodie up over your torso until it's bare and takes your sports bra along with it in one go. Your tits fall from them with a soft swish with how quick he does it, the light bounce making your skin grown hot. Togame hovers above you as he eyes them, palms just underneath but not touching.

"Stop looking so hard."

He brushes past that. "They're nice."

"Shut up," You say for the first time. Togame smiles slightly.

"Not a nice way to talk to someone who's helping you," He says sarcastically. You pout but refuse to apologize. He remains unbothered then goes back to being alarmingly serious. "Do you play with them?"

"H-huh? When I masturbate? Not really. I've never thought too."

"Why's that?"

You shrug. "The guys I dated used to touch them but it mostly felt weird, not good. Never thought of trying on my own."

He gives you a looking asking for permission. You nod. This really does not feel normal but the arousal clouding your brain is a lot louder than your sense of shame.

Togame's hands slide up your sides until he's cupping the roundness of your chest. His thumbs hover against hardened nipples, constrained in the touch. It's different than how other guys have done it for you. He's paying attention to that bit most, and he's going about it softly. Pushing the hardened bud with a light flick that sends a jolt of shock through your body.

He's quick to notice your reaction, green eyes flickering up before doing it again. You squirm, stretching your legs and shifting as another tick of arousal goes through your whole body. Your clit is starting to throb so much it hurts. If it were you, you would've started touching yourself a long while ago. As soon as you felt yourself get wet.

Togame is taking his time, though. And you're feeling it so much it's a little shameful for you. He does it again, touching your nipples - both side at the same time. Your body is pushing for more.

You've managed to keep the noise down but you're pushed over your usual limits. A moan spills from your lips as you push up into his touch. "That's good, huh? Just needed it a little softer and more focused."

You try not to be any more embarrassing. Wouldn't anyone feel weird over this?

He's the most important person in your entire life, and he's seeing you like this. Not judging you, just remaining even and consistent. Teasing you but not enough to make you upset. He's being so careful. Is this the kind of boyfriend he is? You think that must make him popular, so then... why does it never work out? He's never dated anyone longer than a year.

But he's being so sweet to you despite not dating. He's always kind but this is different. You can't imagine who would see this part of him and break up.

You try not to think about any of this but the only other thing you can focus on is him rubbing your nipples and how nice it feels. The moan of his name is pitchy, sounds foreign to your own ears with how high and broken it is.

"Kame-chan," Your voice is warbly when you ask. You just want to stop thinking. "Kiss?"

He pauses. You think he's going to deny you at first.

"Fuck. That ain't fair, you know?"

You don't know what he means, but he complies and kisses you open mouthed as he plays with your tits. Rubs and flicks them just the way you like. It feels so good. You've never felt anything like it before. Your tummy flutters, honeyed lust dripping down your inner thighs.

Your body moves on it's own, your hands carding through his hair as arousal starts to pool. Your panties feels soaked and sticky, through the fabric. You shift again trying to relieve the feeling, brain scrambled by Togame's touch.

You're so horny you can't make sense of anything. Your body is a relentless echo of your wants and needs - demanding attention. His attention, specifically. Need curls up in your chest.

Between kisses you confess this to Togame, who you trust now more than ever despite feeling so incredibly vulnerable. How could you not go with it when he's taking such good care of you?

"Wanna cum so bad," You mutter, sloppy between kisses. Togame takes in a deep breath as he pulls away.

"You think you're worked up enough for it?"

You see through him instantly even in your haze. "Don't be mean to me, you jerk."

"Caught me, huh? Okay, okay. How do you normally do this?"

"Do what?"

"Fuck yourself with something,."

The words send heat sparking against your spine. You tuck your face against his jacket where it's laying besides you and huff. It smells like him. "Ngh. Usually finger myself a little first."

"Got a good idea then." He hums. The sound of his voice, low and smooth, makes you feel comforted. "I'll lay next to you and help keep you distracted while you open yourself up, yeah? Nothing below the belt 'n all. And when you're already I'll put in for you and turn it on."

You sniff. "Okay."

He smiles at you, pulling his hands and body away from you before laying besides you instead. He lets you rest your head against his arm and shoulders - sneaking the rest of his arm around and underneath you, squeezing one of your tits. He presses your body into him and gropes around the bed for the box with your toy, grabbing it from inside before shoving it away.

Up close, you can feel his muscles even better than you could. You wonder how someone so relaxed could be this built but try not to let it burden your brain. He smells so nice. Did he always? You feel too horny to remember, but you like it.

You can feel him glancing down at you, amused.

"Comfy?" Togame's voice vibrates through your whole body.

"Uh-huh."

"If you turn your head towards me I can kiss you and touch you. Keep your mind occupied a bit."

"Oh. That makes sense."

"It does right? Go ahead and start."

You think you should tell him not to watch. Keeps his eyes for himself. But the focus of his gaze makes you burn so much hotter you don't bother. He's already seen so much, anyway.

You shimmy out of your sweat pants until they're down at your ankles revealing your panties. Baby blue printed boyshorts, fabric soaked until they look a nearly new navy shade. You feel his laughter less than you hear it, turning your head to glare at him. He smiles a little at you.

"Those are cute too," Togame comments. You can hear his voice so clearly like this you think you'll collapse if you pay too much attention to it. "Too bad you made 'em all messy."

You swallow a sound, too horny to protest. He stops you before you can take your panties off.

"Didn't you say you normally touch over the fabric when you're sensitive? Do that."

"But—"

"Just trust me," He promises. He kisses your hair. Your heart thuds when he does it. It's an innocent gesture. "It'll make it more satisfying, okay?"

Your shaky as you spread yourself a little wider and slip your hand down between your legs. All the desire you're holding starts to unwind as your middle finger slides over the soaked seam of your cotton panties. They're cuter than normal, printed with florals and lace trimmed. Absolutely drenched in your arousal. You rub a small circle into your clit and your whole body breaks out into shivers, your eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.

You could cum like this. Just from this. But you want something more, something better so you force yourself to go slow.

"It's messy," Togame hums, nonchalant. "You get easier than I thought you would. Are you going slow so you don't cum right away?"

"Don't point it out, aah,"

"You should cum if you want too," Togame suggests.

"No," You whine. "Wanna cum with the toy."

"Wanna cum with a cock inside you, ya mean? A silicone one but still. Not enough to just touch yourself, you need something more, is that it?"

He says the words so casually, so lightly. Almost friedly despite how filthy they are. There's no malice in them.

Spoken like high praise or affection. The kind you'd show a kitten,.

"Kame—"

"Didn't know your had such a need pussy. No wonder it's hard to cum all by yourself, huh?"

"Stop being mean," You gasp. "I'll cum,"

He laughs at that. It's genuine and bright.

"Too much for ya, huh? S'okay. Take these off now. Finger yourself. Make sure you get all that mess you made so we can use on your toy. It'll hurt if it's dry going in."

You feel blindsided by just how much Togame is talking. He's been so quiet, so brief and unreadable. He feels like his usual self too much, to your complete detriment. His voice is teasing, yet warm and sweet. He smells good and he's pressing you all against his chest. Your fingers tremble as you slide your panties down to your ankles same as before. You end up shimmying the rest of your clothes off.

You're so aroused it's easy to get the first finger in. Your hole twitches, the entrance pleasurable as slowly ease your middle finger down to knuckle. You til your head towards Togame as you get adjusted to the intrusion easily from how wet you are, pouting your lips. He gives into the kiss right away, warm tongue and soft lips familiar to you now. You ease yourself into the pace of his kiss, whimpering into his mouth as you slowly open yourself on second finger.

"I want it so bad," You mumble. He laughs against your mouth.

"I can tell. Can barely string a sentence together. You want to cum huh?"

"Uh-huh."

"What a naughty pussy. You're trembling from just fingering yourself. Won't you cum right away if I put in you at once? I'll have to go slowly," Togame explains. He speaks the filth so naturally. "Take my time so you're stretched nicely and not scared anymore. I'll turn the vibrator on after it's already inside so you can't run away from it. You can cum to your hearts content, then."

"I'm still scared," You admit. You're just so horny you're unsure of what else to do. He leans down to kiss you again, nose brushing against yours intimately.

"Don't be scared. Just focus on stretching so you're not so tight. I'll praise you if you take it in easily."

Your voice gives once you manage to get a third in. Togame doesn't stop kissing you, barely giving you enough air to breathe. He plays with your chest with his free hand, and holds the toy with the other.

A string of spit connects you. Your thighs are aching, body burning hot as you look at him directly.

"Wanna cum," You slur your words, speaking in short sentences. Togame grins a little.

"Take your fingers out and show them to me."

Your stomach flips but you comply with the request. Your face burns from how soaked they are.

"Good. Rub them on the toy now. Get it as sticky as you can."

Your heart is pounding is loud in your ears as you clumsily coat your new toy with your own mess. You watch it gain a fresh shine, baby blue turning reflective as you push it against and between your fingers until all of it's coated as best you can.

"That's it, good. Spread your legs now. Gonna put it in. Want me to kiss you?"

You nod sheepishly and close your eyes. Togame laughs warmly before kissing you again.

Your whole body throbs in anticipation for it. A muscular forearm and hand slip between your legs as you spread yourself open, your feet flat on the bed for easier access. Togame forces his tongue into your open mouth, kissing you wet and hard as he tweaks your nipples. You feel pleasantly suffocated from the pressure before gasping into his mouth.

The swollen silicone head of your toy stretches your pussy more than you thought it would. You've never had a toy with angles so the sensations are all new. You can feel it so well inside of you, you can barely keep your composure long enough to stop moaning as just the tip slides in. Togame swallows each noise from your mouth. His kisses feel almost ferocious now when they were so composed before, free hand cupping your jaw from one side.

He fucks it in slowly, rocking the toy by its handle slowly until you get used to it - giving you moments between to adjust. You can feel it bottom out inside of you, the head pressing so precise on your swollen gspot you could cum from bucking your hips. Your sensitivity is over the top. Every touch and and tease and bump makes your cunt clench and throb.

The blunt end of the rubber attachment presses against your needy little clit. Togame moves the toy a little, fucking you with it slightly again. Barely. It still nearly makes you cum.

You feel like he's edging you. Anymore than this, you think you'll go crazy.

"Kame-chan." Your voice is beyond wrecked, throat as one of your hands reaches to cling desperately to his short sleeves. You fist it, teary. "Jo, turn it on please. Make me cum. Wanna cum so bad, 'm so close, please, please. C'mon."

"Turning it on, baby. Easy."

The word baby makes your body melt.

A slight click sounds as Togame turns on the vibrator.

Your whole body lurches at the sudden change. Togame pins you with his own, keeps his hands steady and the toy inside of you without skipping a beat. The soft whirr of the first setting completely unravels you. It feels like every nerve in your body is being pulled apart, electricity through a frayed copper wire. The muscles in your body aching with anticipation after so many dissatisfying orgasms clench tight as your body prepares itself for something so vast your mind can't process it at all. Your hands fist at your sides, clutching the sheets as you get close to cumming.

You're thrashing from the sensation. It's so much, too much - you've never felt anything like it before. You feel full and euphoric and your head is spinning. It feels so good it terrifies you, makes you clench up hard in how unbearably unrelenting it is. There's no pace, no where to escape from. The vibrations are strong but not overwhelming to the point you can't feel them.

You're so senstive all over your body and it's touching you in two places.

Your spine starts to curl into an arch, hips stuttering and twisting as you feel it rushing over your consciousness. Fuck, you've wanted this for so long. It's exactly the high you've been chasing after on your own for so many months it's making your brain feel like like mush. Animal instinct forces your hips up, bucking against Togame's hand where he holds the toy. You're fucking yourself on it. You can hear him laugh as he moves to meet you ruts.

You feel like you're losing your fucking mind.

"G-gonna—fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! I can't, I can't, I can't. Feels so good, Ican't."

He leans in and gets close to your ear, tongue caressing the lobe before biting it soft.

"Yes you can. You want it so bad don't you? Wanna cum all over this cock so bad you've been aching for it. I know you want it, I can see it. Look how much your moving your hips." His voice is shaking, hands flicking your nipples messy and harsh as he speaks. "Look what a mess you're making. You're leaking everywhere. You want it badly right? Don't think about it and cum. Cum as much as you want. Cum for me,"

The last words are the ones to snap the thread inside of you.

Your brain bluescreens as your body seizes before finally, finally giving you the orgasm you've been chasing. You smash your lips against Togame's as your spine arches off the bed, thrashing in place. Something in you undoes - and you feel a wet rush spray from between your legs at the same time your orgasm hits. Your mind feels completely and utterly blanked. Your body is in total rapture, uncontrollable pleasure fucking your brain until you're stupid and slack jawed. It feels so good, so so good. You didn't know anything could ever feel that good in your life. It's scary.

You feel like you could get addicted. Your high rides out for much longer than ever before. In between sloppy kisses, you say the same words over and over and over. Togame grips you close to him as you do.

"Jo," You mutter. "Thank you, thank you, thank you—feels so fffucking good, fuck. I can't, I can't. Off, off. 's too much, I'll pee."

Instead of turning it off, he turns the vibration up by one. Your eyes fly open as you gasp, words rushed. Panicked.

"I can't," You swear, looking at him for mercy. His face is flushed. "I can't, Jo-chan, I'll cum again, I'll—"

"Cum." He says, demands - voice rougher than you've heard it all night. "I know you can. Cum,"

On demand practically, your legs seize up and you cum again a second time in near succession. You feel so fucking incredible you think you're going to die.

"Fuck!"

You squirt again, body nearly giving out as more short spurts soak your sheets and mattress. Your pussy is pulsing in the after math, trembling and clenching so violently. You whine loudly as Togame stops the vibration and pulls the toy out, shivering as it catches on your tight hole before coming out of it with a soft pop.

Your legs are twitching.

Even though Togame has no more reason to kiss you he does. And even though you're well past the point of needing to kiss him back, you do more affectionately than any time prior.

"You made me feel so good it's freaking me out." You admit, shaking uncontrollably.

Togame pauses before breaking out into genuine laughter. He kisses your head, arm wrapping around your shoulders until you're hugged against him.

"You were so sexy like that."

You blink at him, face flushed.

"Sexy?"

"I was really hard seeing you cum," He says, casually looking down. "I didn't know you could be cute and ask for kisses. You're usually more—"

You put a hand over his mouth.

"Whatever you're gonna say shut up,"

He just smiles, cheek against your hair. "I'm glad you got to feel good."

"What about you?" You mumble, feeling your heart pick up just asking. "Are you still hard? I feel like I should pay you back somehow,"

He looks at you seriously. "Do you know what you're implying?"

You fold a little but nod anyway. "Yeah."

"Do you really? The monk thing is a joke, you know. If you offer something like that, I won't be able to stop."

"It's fine," You say confidently before adding, much quieter. "I r-really want to do... it with you."

Togame pauses before kissing you deeply. Your whole body feels molded to him now.

"Damn it." He looks down at you, black hair sticking to his skin. You wanna feel his undercut with your hands in his hair. "You know this ain't normal between friends, right?"

"Uhm, yeah? I figured."

"Don't go around getting help from anyone."

You shake your head. "It's only 'cause it's you."

He scrubs a hand over his face and laughs. "You don't need to stir me up anymore. I'm already hard enough. Can't keep my composure at all."

You tilt your head in confusion. Togame just sighs.

"Don't worry about it." He says, shaking his head. "How soon can I get my thanks?"

Your eyes widen as you clench again. "Uhm. Now, if you want it."

He grins a little lazy, eyes swimming with adoration.

"I do," He hums, laying back as you get up from where you've been laying. "Come over here and let me touch you properly then."

"Is that what you really want?"

You climb ontop of him, bare naked almost as your hoodie falls back down over your torse. Togame slides the fabric up and gives you a meaningful look.

"More than anything,"

[cemoras27-but-writing-this-time]

Red's Robin. pt 1.

@im-totally-not-an-alien-2, hi I finished the first chapter :), spent way too long on it but Im happy at how it came out and fully intend on making more

@faeriekit since you were apart of that little conversation I assume you wanted to be tagged to, sorry if not!

Also the formatting may be off at the end, typing like texting is hard! I dont know how humans type other than me! And I've seen Tim typing like he doesn't know how to spell in fics before!

I hope you all Have a Great Day!!

Ao3:(to be added)

Tim sighs as he looks at his window sill. The small orange and gray bird that had perched on it stared at him through the closed window. Almost like it was asking him to let it in. But that's crazy! It's just a little bird, it probably just thinks he’ll feed it and that's why it's looking at him. But he’s not Damian and won’t adopt a wild animal the second he sees it.

It pecks at the window, and stares. Again it pecks.

Tap, tap, tap. It continues as if it's knocking. Tim turns back to his laptop, the Riddler is out of Arkham and has been suspiciously quiet. 

Tap, tap, tap. Tim doesn’t look. Tap, tap, pause. Taptaptaptap taptap tap. The noise doesn’t stop. Tim swings around and closes the curtains. And the noise persists, until it pauses. Breathing out a sigh Tim can finally make some progre-

BANG. The window shakes.

‘Did… did it just fly into the window? Can’t birds die like that?’ Tim peeks around the curtain to see the small robin-like bird shaking its head and turn to fly off. Only for it to slam body first into the window again. It takes a moment before it flies off. Tim opens the curtains and sees it quickly flying towards the closed reinforced window. He's able to open the window before it can kill itself and it rams into his chest instead. Which painfully sends him careening back onto his chair.

‘Ouch… it hits harder than expected…’ He looked down at the small bird that had moved down onto his lap, now that it's closer he notices that he has never seen a bird- robin(?) like this one. Its body is a light bluish-gray and slender with an orange head with little yellow markings next to its eyes, with tiny black legs with three talons. It stood barely a foot tall and its tail had odd white markings that vaguely resembled an arrow fletch. 

The bird adjusted itself and opened its wings, showing a white underwing, and flapped them until it was hovering next to Tim’s face. Small black eyes stare into blue.

“‘Chling!” it chirped and swooped up to land on his head, where it immediately started to peck at his hair. ‘Is it preening me? I thought birds need to trust a person to do that,’ Tim thought, his hair getting thrown into his eyes.

“Hey, stop that. Get off!” he gently batted at the bird trying to dislodge it from its roosting place, getting a stern peck in return. He looks at his laptop. He could just keep working but the bird would be a distraction. Damian might look at the bird, he had more information about animals than Tim did. But did he want to talk to Damian? Not really. He really needed to continue to track the Riddler, he's too much of a threat to be left unattende-

His stomach growls. The bird’s stomach growls. In a weird serenade the organs announce their mutual hunger. 

‘When was the last time I ate? When did the bird eat last?’ Tim thought, overwhelming hunger tearing at his abdomen and dizziness makes itself known. Ok snack then he can look into the bird and hopefully find the Riddler. His minifridge is empty, he knows that but still checks it -yep still empty, so he has to go to the kitchen. He grabs his phone from his desk and checks it.

9:49 -  Friday, June 2 - 26% battery

He still has about an hour and a half until he needs to get ready for patrol. He closes his bedroom door behind him quietly and pulls up the search bar.

‘What do robins eat?’

He's walking down the stairs, the search engine shows several articles, mostly about the most recent spotting of Nightwing, Red Robin, and Robin outside Batburger with pictures showing the three with the fast food bags. Cass was there too but nobody saw her.

He adds bird to the search

‘Mealworms, insects, and berries. Steph ate the last of the strawberries.’ Tim reaches the Kitchen, thankfully no one is in there. The bird finally flutters off of his head and onto the kitchen island and starts hopping around. There’s no other ‘berry’ fitting fruits either. “Sorry little guy, I don't think we have anything you're interested in. Alfie would kill us if we brought any bugs in.” He speaks to the room and grabs his preferred snack, an Alfred made orange-cranberry muffin, and turns to the island. 

The bird is pecking at the banana stand. Tim had forgotten about the bananas, Alfred only gets them to brown for banana bread. Everyone besides Dick hates the texture, and the rest of the kitchen is always stocked with something else to eat.

“Oh I guess there is something.” he sets his muffin down and rips one off the bunch and peels it as far as he’s willing. He wipes his hand against his pants and continues with his muffin. 

The bird hops onto the yellow fruit and sticks its beak into the soft insides. And they eat quietly together. Tim watches as the bird snips the sides of the peel to open it up more. He pulls up the camera app on his phone and takes a picture of it when it lifts its head up. He then goes to google. 

‘Orange and gray bird’

‘Orange and blue gray bird’

‘Robin species’

‘Robin BIRD species’

‘Small birds species’

‘Thrush bird species’

‘Finch species’

‘Bird with orange heads and gray bodies;

‘Birds with white underwings and orange heads’

‘Birds with white stripes on tail with orange heads’

Nothing he searches comes close to the bird in front of him. He sighs and pulls up his messages, and throws away the muffin wrapper.

Demon Child:

lol lokat tis thig

Would you type properly, Drake?

no u

[Image of fletchling]

Unlike you Drake I do type properly.

What kind of avian is that? I do not recognize it.

Idk im ak u

Drake is that our kitchen? Did you let a wild animal into our home?

It was hungy 🥺

Aldo no one eafs the babfas anyway

I am aware of our family’s dislike of bananas Drake.

That does not excuse nor explains why there is a wild animal in our kitchen!

It wan ted insid

Kept hittting my windo

What did you use as bait?

My Good Looks

Drake.

IDK man

It jst wanted in

I think it’s hurt

Didn want you bothefing B over a ded borb outdid

So i open d the window

An it flewa in and won t leab

I won’t be able to look it over until I get home.

And that will not be for another hour. Keep it inside. I will look at it before I go with Father for patrol.

K

At this point the bird had finished with it’s snack and Tim had thrown away it’s peel. It perched on his shoulder looking at his messages to Damian. Tim took another picture of the bird on his shoulder and sent it to Damian and went back to his room. 

If anything, the bird seemed to like him, and he could use that to annoy Damian until he got home.

[thoughtsfromlayla]

Chapter Two - Trepidation

Summary: With palace life, you are never truly alone, but that doesn't mean you aren't lonely. Even when you meet new people, it seems they place you at an arm's length away. You walked on eggshells while people worshiped the very steps all the same. 

Notes: ~5.1k words, centers a lot around Reader this chapter, Morpheus doesn't appear until the later bits soz

Warnings: Morpheus being a lil bitch, reader is a chronic overthinker and same girlie

Tag list is open! Just let me know :)

☾ ✴ ๋࣭ ⭑․⋆⋮. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆⭒˚.⋆⋮⋆․ ․⋆⋮. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆⭒˚.⋆⋮⋆․ ․⋆⋮. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆⭒˚.⋆⋮⋆․

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Trepidation (n.) - a feeling of fear or anxiety about something that may yet happen

It’s very unlady-like to sneak back into your own room. You had only done it once before, when you were younger and less refined and even then you were caught by the housekeeper soon after. But this time it seems the stakes are raised. The halls are completely empty, the moon still has domination over the night sky, and the sun has yet to make its debut.

You have stayed in Morpheus’ bed for a few hours after he left you alone. The rules of palace life are still vague to the best of your knowledge, but after tossing and turning without getting any sleep, you figure it would just be easier to do it in the comforts of your own room. Is this considered rude? You’re not entirely sure. It seems rude to leave your husband’s chambers on the night of your wedding. Then you remind yourself that nothing actually happened… so perhaps it wasn’t as crude as your mind made it out to be. 

You stop dead in your tracks when you see a lone guard stood at the front of your door. Your hands are quick to cross over your chest, the mere nightgown you were wearing was certainly not presentable to anyone else’s eyes. You stay frozen as you glance over his appearance. You were so dead. They’re going to hang you by the gallows and parade your sad body throughout the kingdom as a warning to other maidens that sneak out of their husbands rooms in the middle of the night. 

The knight is dressed in black armor, completely different from the other soldiers you’ve seen around the castle who seem to don silver instead. His helmet represents that of a bird of some kind, a raven if you had to guess. With his arm crossed, he came off domineering and revered and you had half of a mind to turn back around so you wouldn’t get caught by him. 

The beak of his helmet clinks against his chest plate and your muscles stiffen while confusion swipes across your face. A loud snore completely catches you off guard and you brace your teeth against each other as the sound reverberates across the empty halls. Your eyes dart around, hoping to any deity that is willing to listen to you that no one was around to hear. 

A long pause passes and not even a cricket chirps. Another snore emits from the black knight before you consider it safe to pass. You slide your feet across the floor, keeping your footsteps as quiet as possible as you walk up to the bedroom door. Every noise seems to heighten to something ten times greater than what it actually was. The click of the door knob, the slight creak of the door, and the locking mechanism all made you grimace in case it is enough to wake the sleeping knight. 

The bed is grandiose, cool, firm, and simply perfect against your tired body. You think that you would get a few winks of sleep before the sun rises. Yet, even in moments of peace your mind wanders to Morpheus. His words are like cough syrup in your mind, they coat every crevice of your thoughts, no matter how unwelcomed they were. 

“I am no monster,” His words echo in your mind. 

But he is a cheater… is he not? To (not) so secretly see his previous lover at his wedding and to chase after her, leaving you alone on the dance floor surrounded by doting couples. To admit to her that he still loved her. The confession that wasn’t meant for your ears still cut into your unguarded heart, leaving it broken before it could even flourish. 

You try to distract yourself by counting the amount of swirls that were painted on the ceiling. Each time you get somewhere past 50 your mind wanders again to last night and you start over. By the time the first sign of daybreak makes it past the heavy curtains, you feel your eyes begin to droop. With a deep breath you welcome sleep, finally. 

…

It doesn’t last, not even a second, when the doors to your room open with a slam. Your body reacts quickly to it and sits up with a start. You stare face to face with Agnes, who wears her own surprise on her face before she returns her emotions neutral. 

“Forgive me, Your Majesty. I presumed you were with the King. May I draw a bath and get you ready for the day?” She asks. 

“Um, yes,” You reply hesitantly. You watch as she goes to some conjoined room you didn’t notice before and enters it.

There's the sound of objects being moved around and water sloshing before steam fills the room. The scent of something sweet fills the air as she walks out. She gestures for you to come to her, which you do so with heavy feet. 

Sleep once again tugs on your eyelids and you barely register when she removes your nightgown from your body. The warmth of the bath lulls you further into the tub and you reluctantly lean your head against your folded knees. 

Agnes, seeing her queen in, well for lack of a better word, utter disarray, goes back to the cupboards and starts looking for some other herbs. She stacks the boxes on top of each other before making her way to your side. With a certain amount of gentleness, she places the boxes on the floor and kneels in front of the bathtub. 

“Cinderbon flakes for muscle aches, my queen,” She starts as she sprinkles the red flakes into the water. “And some rose petals for romance.” Agnes pauses as she hears you groan under your mop of steamed hair. 

She hesitantly places the rose petals into the water just as she did with the flakes before. “Lastly, some milk from a Natterhorn to aid with sleep…” She whispers finally as she pours a ceramic jug of cream colored milk into the water. 

She mixes the concoction slowly with her hand before adding another bucket of hot water to help you relax further. You hate to admit it, but everything she added certainly helped. You feel her move behind you as she begins to wash your hair, ridding the last of the stardust from the wedding night. Agnes keeps quiet, presuming that is what you wanted most, and she would be correct. 

The maid doesn’t comment on why you were not in the King’s chambers, nor how there wasn’t a single blotch of red on your nightgown, a telltale sign of any consummation. She’s curious, but she knows it’s best not to say anything in case she loses her tongue over it. If she were any younger, she’d be running off to her other maid co-workers and sharing the new gossip, but after a rather traumatic event to an old friend, she’s learned her lesson through her. 

“I’ll leave you to soak, Your Majesty.” Agnes wipes her hands on her apron as she approaches the door. “Please, ring the bell when you wish to be dressed for the day, my lady.” With that the door is shut and you’re left alone once more. 

“Please stop calling me your majesty,” You mutter to yourself.

Titles are not uncommon in your life, but something about “your majesty” was too much for you. It separates you too much from those who will take care of you. You miss your own lady’s maid, the one that has grown with you since infancy.

That title seems too grand, it places you on a pedestal and you can already feel the height it has placed you at. You’re afraid if you peak over the edge, you will plummet to your death. One wrong move, one wrong word, one wrong tick, and everything would be over. You walk on eggshells while people worship the very steps all the same. 

Eventually, when the bath starts to run cold and your fingers are beyond wrinkled, you leave the bathtub. You wrap a towel around your body and tug on the bell that hangs by your bed. Soon after, Agnes appears again, this time with an army of maids behind her. They’re quick to make work of you, easily dressing, combing, and readying you within the half hour. 

When they left your room once again, you’re fighting with the corset string behind your back. Agnes had somehow managed to tighten it beyond human comprehension and then manage to hide the strings beyond your fingers. After a frustrating few minutes with no results, you give up with a huff. 

Cautiously you open the door, peeking your head out. You weren’t exactly given a schedule for today and if sleep wasn’t going to find you, you might as well find something else to do. For example, exploring the castle. Hopefully, no one would point a finger at you and get you into any trouble. 

“Oh, good morning, Your Majesty,” A voice calls out close to your ear. 

“Ah!” You scream, your hand comes up and pain tingles across your palm as it makes contact with metal. 

“Ah!” The voice screams back as the slap makes contact with his helmet. It doesn’t hurt, the armor doing its job quite well, but the noise was bouncing around the helmet, rendering it no better than a bell. “What an arm you have there, Your Majesty.”

You stare wide eyed at the black knight as your pulsing hand places itself over your accelerated heartbeat. 

“You!” You gasp with a pointed finger as the knight finally registers in your mind. “You’re the one that I snuck past last night… this morning?” You correct yourself. You drop your finger quickly, realizing perhaps a bit too late how rude it was. 

At your comment, the black knight stiffens. “Er… What do you mean you snuck past me? I was guarding the door, no one came in or out.”

You blink, once, twice. “Right, you fell asleep?” You say in a way that may help him remember. That snore he made was surely a thought to remember. 

His head cocks to the side, making him look all the more bird-like with his helmet on, and he stays like that for an awkward amount of time. Your eyes darted off to the side when he still hadn’t responded to you. 

“What?” His response finally came. You could hear the embarrassed smile behind the helmet. “Haha… what?” He says again, laughing dryly. 

“Well, I won’t tell anyone, but I guess you probably shouldn’t do that.” You try to soothe him to the best of your capabilities. 

“I’m new?” Came his defeated response, his armor clanks against each other as he slumps from his perfect posture.

With a heavy sigh he turns around and bangs his head to the crevice between the door and the wall. The sigh leaves the crevices of his helmet like a whisper, reverberating between the metal to make it sound like a soft caaaaaaa…. The helmet makes a heavy gong sound as it makes contact with the wall. Another sigh comes before he speaks again. Caaaa….

“I just got this job, I just got sworn into knighthood by the King, how can I mess up already. I’ve been in the academy for so long, I mean granted I wasn’t the best, but I still made it to the personal guard… right? I graduated, didn't I?” At this point, you’re sure he’s mostly talking to himself.

Moping would’ve been a better word for it, actually. 

“What is your name, good sir?” You ask with a tap on his shoulder. It was mainly to get him to stop groaning and moaning so loudly in the halls. 

He turns around, takes a deep breath to calm himself, and answers. “Sir Matthew, Your Majesty.” He salutes as he does so, bringing one arm behind his back, the fist of the other over his heart. Your mind rattles as it remembers the symbolism for the salute: Your heart for the kingdom, cover your back for you will stab your own before your brothers.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sir Matthew,” You greet for the first time. “I’m Y/N.” You curtsy to him, which he returns with a low bow at the waist. 

“Oh, yes, I know who you are, Your Majesty.” He nods as he returns to his regular position. His hand rests easily on the hilt of his sword. 

Of course he knows who you are. The moment turns ever the more awkward, and you’re determined to leave the situation. With a final nod you turn to walk away, anywhere was better than here. It’s not a few steps later that you hear the synchronized steps of Matthew following behind. When you paused, his steps paused, too. You take two steps, his steps followed, two steps exactly. 

“Sir Matthew?” You question as you turn around and face him. 

“Yes?” 

“Are you following me?”

A confused pause. “Yes?”

“Okay… Why?” You ask. You could feel a tension headache forming along the crown of your head and you’re not sure if it’s the tight hairdo or Matthew himself. 

“I am your personal royal knight, Your Majesty,” He explains as if the information was self-evident. 

“Ah,” You respond. You’re still confused, but whatever. 

You begin to walk again and Matthew’s footsteps follow. Stopping briefly you turn to him again. “And you follow me everywhere?”

“Yes, always three steps behind.”

You raise an eyebrow as you take a step backwards. You watch as Matthew takes a step forward, copying you. You take a step forward and he takes one back. 

“This might get annoying.” You think to yourself as you begin to walk normally again. Now you have a nanny. An idea strikes you then and you turn around abruptly once again. 

“Sir Matthew,” You start.

“You can just call me Matthew, your grace, if that pleases you better.” He quickly interjects. 

“Fine. Matthew,” You pointedly say. “What exactly are your duties? Your responsibilities?”

“Well, I look after you, my queen. I make sure you aren’t to be harmed and do as you so wish. Though I would prefer if your wishes for me can be solved with brute force.” Matthew explains simply. 

“If I were to wish you to not follow me?” You ask unsubtly. 

“I cannot, it is within my creed, and orders from His Majesty.”

You intertwined your fingers in front of you again, twiddling the digits between each other as you thought to yourself. Matthew stares forward as you do so, staying quiet until you speak again. 

“If I were to ask you to make sure a certain person never sees me?” You ask slowly. 

“I would make it so you forget they exist,” Matthew answers brutally. 

You internally scoff as he says so. It would be near impossible to forget such a person. Jealousy courses through your veins as you think of her. Perfect curls, smooth skin, and soft pink and gold. 

“Do you know of a woman named Calliope?” You ask finally. “I wish to never see her.” 

Matthew stays silent for a few moments, and you think you’re already overstepping your boundaries. The knight did mention in passing that your orders are easily overruled by the King’s. Perhaps you didn’t have enough power to ask him of this, especially knowing the relationship between the two. 

“Yes, of course, Your Majesty.” Matthew’s head tilts to the side once more and it suddenly dawns on you that he probably knows the affair was happening. Knights are silent but that doesn’t mean they don’t listen. And surely he would have heard about their love story and how a random woman comes in and marries the King, turning a perfect love story into an affair. 

You turn before he can say anything else. A stone finds its way into your throat and a silent cry almost makes its way out of you. Your steps quicken, hoping that some distance will prevent Matthew from seeing the growing frown on your face. 

The castle, for the most part, looks like every other part of the castle. The halls are long and winding. It was made of old stone, smelled heavily of petrichor, and decorated with arts from several centuries. Busts of kings and queens past are set periodically throughout the hallways. Most of the rooms you managed to peek into are empty, with white cloths covering the outline of beds and tables. 

You do manage to find something interesting but it is locked behind a set of heavy doors. Even with Matthew behind you, you know it best to not ask him to cut the door open so you may look behind what those huge barriers were hiding. You gave up as soon as one sharp tug did nothing to the locked secret. 

You continue exploring, eventually finding yourself outside. You walk along the colonnade, the castle’s arching design taking over the columns throughout the roofed walkway. Occasionally you could smell the hanging wisterias when the wind blew past. 

“Wow,” You sigh with admiration. You peer over the railing, hand supporting yourself, at the grand garden the castle had hiding behind its hedges and walls. 

The garden was filled with even more statues, fountains, and flowers that created a beautiful mosaic of nature and all of its inhabitants. You can see the various species of butterflies and bees that flew around pollinating the flowers in late spring. 

A moving, round orange thing catches your attention as it moves meticulously through the garden. As if sensing your attention, it turns and stares at you. Your eyes widen even further as you realize that it was a sentient pumpkin man. Smoke puffs out of his eyes and mouth as he takes another long drag from his pipe cigarette. His gloves and overalls are covered in dirt, but he somehow manages to keep his white undershirt pristine. He grumbles before returning to his work, his wooden frame groaning as he lifts a particularly heavy ceramic jar to a new location. 

Giggling interrupts your observation as a group of women come closer to you. Matthew moves to the side as you turn to face them. You give them a smile and they curtsy to you in return. Judging by their clothing, they were certainly noble, or ladies with titles. 

You go to open your mouth, to greet them, or introduce yourself. Perhaps even to invite them to afternoon tea, but before you can they’re quick to leave, giggles continuing. 

“I heard that King Morpheus didn’t even touch her last night, during their consummation,” One whispers, giggles littered between the words. She thought it was quiet enough, but the design of the colonnade let you hear every word she gossiped to her friend. 

“Probably because the King still loves Lady Calliope,” The other chortles back. “Gosh, can you even imagine? Marrying a man who already has a mistress?”

“How dreadful indeed.” 

Your words die in your mouth as you listen to what they say.

“It’s just gossip.” You try to reason without yourself. “Yeah, gossip based on true events. In which case, they’re just speaking the truth.”

Matthew only watches you as you try to regain your composure. He watches as you close your eyes and take in a deep breath, holding it for several seconds before letting go through your mouth. He’s done the same breathing exercise several times before tournaments. He doesn’t particularly find himself caring for palace gossip, to be quite honest he was too concerned with being the best knight he could to listen in. 

He knew of Calliope, sure, but that was due to her extended stay as a diplomat from a neighboring kingdom. She was often seen in the hallways, or sharing court with the King on how to further the alliance between the two kingdoms. They were always amiable, but perhaps Matthew was too thick in the helmet to notice anything more. 

“Matthew, how can I get down to the garden?” His queen’s voice brings him out of his own thoughts. 

“Down the corridor, there is a set of stairs, my lady,” He answers with a nod in the right direction. 

“Perfect, let’s make our way down then,” You smile at him and turn quickly. Tears prick at your eye line once again, but you’re determined to not let them fall. Never.  

Just as Matthew pointed out, a layered staircase leads you straight into the royal gardens, just past the large fountain was a labyrinth of roses that you know you’ll explore some other time. You take your time hunting down the pumpkin head man, stopping by the garden fountain and playing with the little tetras that lived in the water. 

You tuck a few strands of stray hair back into place using the water’s reflection before you decide to continue on your side quest. The pumpkin man finds you first before you could find him. Smoke still puffs out of his eyes and mouth and he raises a vine that acts as his eyebrow when he sees you. 

“Ay, you look familiar, I feel like I should know you or something.” He gestures towards you with his pipe. He takes another long drag before recognition takes over his face. “Ah, you’re the new boss lady.” He claps his gloved hands together.

“That’s me.” You smile. “Are you a gardener?” 

Matthew taps you on your shoulder before leaning close to your ear. “Can I also call you boss lady?” He whispers, hiding his words with a hand from the pumpkin head’s view.

“On special occasions,” You jest quickly before returning your attention to the squash. 

“Put some respect to my name, why don’t you. Sorry, I’ve got a mouth on me. Probably why the big boss puts me away from people.” He grumbles and turns away. 

You go to follow him as he continues to move a large bag of soil over his shoulders. 

“Oh, this job is going to kill me,” He groans under the weight of the soil. “I need new branches, these are getting too brittle for me.” He explains to you behind him. 

He takes you to a new part of the garden where everything was quite bare except for a lone tree and a small pond. It was a beautiful little get away once he placed new flowers and other decors. 

“By the way, I’m Mervyn, no titles, just Mervyn Pumpkinhead,” He answers your previous question. “Yes, I’m a gardener, and janitor, and fixer upper, whatever.” He huffs another puff from his pipe. 

He looks at you up and down, your soft smile was that similar to the sun now that he really looks at you. Also your youth surely gave you some more muscle than him. 

“Ehh, now that I’m looking at cha… why don’t you plant the flowers in this area then. I’ll give you full control, I have other things to do today.”

He hands you a small shovel and points to a stack of nursery plants off to the side. You open your palm and the dirt covered tool falls into your hands. You’ve never gardened before, but you think you can manage. Mervyn is off before you could protest, anyway. 

You grab a few potted nursery plants and ask Matthew to grab the rest before you start digging holes and planting them. It takes time and a little bit of effort, but soon enough you’ve planted the pieces where you think they would bloom nicely. You dust off the caked on dirt on the front of your dress with a satisfied sigh. 

A small tickling sensation makes you see a small caterpillar crawling on your forearm, bringing it to your eye level to admire the small creature. You turn to Matthew to show him the cute little thing, but his gloved hand comes closer, snatching the small bug from your body. Before you could say much, Matthew unhinges the mouthpiece of his helmet and throws the poor caterpillar into the void. 

“Matthew!” You exclaim, shock ripples through you in fits of laughter. You are in total disbelief; your eyes and ears can’t process what you’ve just witnessed as Matthew continues to chew on the bug. 

“Hmmm, takes like chicken,” He comments before bringing his hand over his beak and hinging it back into place. 

You’re still gawking at him, your hand goes to cover your mouth, muffling your next words. “You… just ate a bug!”

“Oh, shit,” Matthew swears as he returns to his perfect three pace away stance. His posture returns stick straight and you’re about to ask him what changed his behavior when someone calls out your name. 

“Y/N?” A new voice joins your conversation and you turn around, ignoring the satisfied hum that came from Matthew as he swallows his little afternoon snack. 

“Morpheus,” You breathe out, disbelief has yet to leave you. 

This time around, the king is accompanied by two other figures. One, dressed almost identical to Matthew, the only difference is the white crest that bore the King’s symbol proudly in the middle of her chestplate. The other wore typical court clothing, a large book was resting between her arms and hip, her glasses gleaming in the outdoor sun. Silence follows the curt greeting that was cut by a forced cough. 

“Greetings to you, Your Majesty. I am the royal court advisor, Lucienne.” The one in glasses introduces herself and gives you a warm smile that you returned. 

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lucienne.” 

“And this is Captain Jessamy of the royal guard,” Lucienne continues. You give a smile to Jessamy who returns it with the same salute that Matthew did this morning. The white crest on his chest plate shines brightly in the sun and you can tell, even without seeing her face, that she bares the symbol proudly. 

In contrast to the two women, Morpheus looked like he would rather be anywhere than here, making conversation with you. His face shared the similar frown on his lips that your father shared when he was having a difficult day. 

“Has your day been well, my lord?” You ask, taking the risk of his potential wrath. Matthew is good company, but you fear it’s not the company you seek. 

Agnes and your maids are there for you, but they could never quite understand what you go through, would they? Mervyn was nice, a nice breath of fresh air (or smoke in his case). He talked to you as if you were just as equal as any other, but there was still a distance that he put you at. 

Everyone held you at an arm’s distance. 

Even now as you look at your husband, the very definition of pristine, proper, and passive, he too stood further away from you than would have been deemed necessary. 

“No,” He replies dryly. 

You wait a moment, thinking that he would go into elaborate detail as to why. But, those few seconds pass and the two of you, nor your company, have moved an inch. You’re all too aware of how you look now, hair fussed, hands and dress covered in dirt. It’s the exact opposite of Morpheus. 

“What His Majesty means to say, is that there was a rather difficult court meeting we had to attend to this morning. It did not go as planned.” Lucienne interjects when the silence becomes too much, even for her. She enjoyed silence, don’t get her wrong, but this was just painful to witness. 

“Oh,” You frowned at the newly presented information. “Would you like me to join you next time? I believe two heads would be better-”

“No,” Morpheus interrupts you with a raised hand. 

Your mouth shuts slowly and you think your heart cracks a little more in your chest. To not love you is one thing, understandable even if you gave it enough time. But, to not even let you into his court, to help him rule his kingdom as his equal. It’s like the words he spoke from your wedding night meant nothing to him now. You were nothing but a common bird trapped in a golden cage. 

Morpheus’ notices, it’s hard not to when you so clearly express your emotions on your face. The thought of an apology crosses his mind for interrupting you, but it quickly gets buried by other thoughts of his kingdom. There was the tension of his sibling’s kingdom, wanting to wage a useless war against his Dreaming. His other missing brother, his sister who decided royal life was not for her and decided to travel the world. In all truth, his family was just as messy as the politics he spoke of that morning. The burden is not his to share, it’s not yours to carry either in his mind. 

“Well,” You clear your throat, your fingers unknowingly playing with the strands of your matching bracelets. “Is there anything I can do here?” 

“Do whatever you want, Y/N,” He answers honestly. With a look behind you and the general state of your appearance he speaks again. “It seems as if you have already found gardening.”

He walks away without another word. Lucienne and Jessamy follow without a word either, and you stare at his receding figure until you’re unsure if it’s his black robe you're looking at or merely a far away tree. 

Anger rises inside of you and you snap the bracelet against your skin to prevent it from bubbling to the surface. At the corner of your eyes, you can see the same girls you met earlier, peering at you over the railing of the colonnade. No doubt gathering more gossip to spread to their friends. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that bug.” Matthew’s comment brings you out of your own self-loathing. 

You smooth a finger across your wrist that has long since turned red and face your attention to your knight. 

“Captain Jessamy is so cool. Did you see that white crest on her chest? Gosh, what I would give to get one of those. But, nooo, she’s just so perfect of course she would be the only one so far to have that. God! Why did I eat that bug!” Matthew’s admiration turns to jealousy like the flick of a flame. He sighs again and the air pushes out of his helmet. Caaaaa….

“I don’t think she noticed you eating it,” You reply in earnest with the slight raise of your shoulders. 

“You think?”

“I wouldn’t dwell too long on it.” 

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I fear our lovers are going to have a shit time next chapter. Hope you like even more angst :)

♡ Yours, Layla

Tags: @dnarez @arunawayheart

[blindmagdalena]

a prayer in perfect piety (homelander x plus-size reader)

originally written as this prompt here. 18+. 5.2k, f!reader, body image, smut. see AO3 Link for detailed tags.

Homelander invites you, his girlfriend, to your first public event as a couple. He's over the moon to show you off to the world, dressed to the nines and utterly smitten with one another. At some point, he loses track of you in the crowd. Confused, he goes looking for you, only to find you crying your eyes out in a bathroom on an entirely different floor. Someone hurt you, and he's going to put them in their place.

Tonight's gala is a significant one. Not only does Homelander have about a dozen deals to grease with a firm handshake and some oily promises, it's your first time attending one of these events at his side.

He couldn't be prouder.

You took his breath away in your formal wear; a sight to behold that had him clapping his delight. "You're gonna knock them dead," he whispered in your ear, savoring the flustered, breathy way you laughed. Strange now that when he looks for you, Homelander doesn't see you on the event floor. You had gone to get drinks while he spoke with this senator—who has officially lost any and all of his interest in the wake of your disappearance—but you've been gone too long. Like an itch at the back of his neck, something doesn't feel right.

"Ah, apologies, senator, I seem to have misplaced my date," he says, flashing his best award winning smile. "Gimme a minute to find her. Make sure she hasn't gotten herself into any trouble," he says, throwing in a wink for good measure. His pleasant expression falls off as soon as his back is turned to the boring little man. When Homelander doesn't find you on the event floor, he steps out. He listens for you, filtering out the music, the chatter, the noise of the world. He seeks what is familiar to him, what he would know from a meter or a mile away, and what he hears puts a lump of ice into his gut. You're crying . Homelander moves swiftly down the hall, finding the women's bathroom in a heartbeat. You've gone far from the  event floor, bypassing the nearer bathroom to use one further away. You're hiding, he realizes, but he can't fathom what from. He moves faster, imagining that you're hurt, that someone has you, that— "Babe?!" Homelander calls sharply, slamming open the door. He doesn't mean to scare you, but he can see in your expression that he did. Your eyes are wide and red, tears trailing black mascara down your cheeks. You stand with your hand lingering on the bathroom sink, and as the shock fades, your expression falters. He's never seen you look so... sad. It twists in him like a hot knife, the discomfort he feels at it turning immediately into rage. Anger comes quickly and easily to him. His voice is low when he demands, "Tell me what happened." "It's nothing," you try to dismiss, picking up the tissues you dropped on the floor to toss them into the garbage. "I just got overwhelmed at the party." "You're crying in a bathroom a floor down from the event, it is categorically not nothing," he argues, taking hold of your arms once he's near enough. He pulls you into him, lifting a hand to cup the side of your face. Thanks to plenty of experience with makeup in film and television, he knows better than to smear the blackened tears on your cheeks, though the impulse to wipe them away is there. "C'mon. Tell me." You lean into him as you always do. He is a pillar, just as you have been for him. He can't stand seeing you like this. "I don't belong here. I don't... talk, or dress, or look like these people. They're all..." You lift your hands, gesturing vaguely. Your voice sounds hoarse. He can't bear the sadness in it. "Perfect." "You have to be kidding me," Homelander says, his disbelief genuine. "The gaggle of sycophants and suits back there? They're insipid. Boring as all hell. I can't even tolerate being in the same room as them without you anymore," he says, huffing a laugh in an attempt to ease your mood. Anything to bring back your smile. "Seriously, what brought this on? You've never given a shit about all that pomp before." Your gaze drops. He knows you're hiding something from him. "Hey, c'mon," he coos, using the knuckle of his index finger to tilt your chin back up. "Tell me, and I will make it better." One way or another. With visible reluctance, you take a breath. "I... went to get a drink, like I said," you begin, fidgeting with the zipper on his glove. "When a group of people kind of cornered me at the bar. They seemed nice at first, they were asking questions about me, about us, which I know you said to expect, but then..."

Your eyes prickle, he can see fresh tears well up as you speak. Homelander slips a hand to your back, rubbing it, his brow furrowed. Sounds like someone's going to die. "One of them commented on my dress, she said that... Vought must not be used to dressing women my size," you say, voice falling quieter with every word. New tears fall. Homelander's jaw tenses. He looks away from you, blinking back that familiar crimson burn.

"They all started laughing, and I just wanted to disappear," you say, a tight little sob escaping your throat as Homelander pulls you in against his chest, rubbing your back. "I'm sorry I didn't-"

"No," Homelander interrupts, his anger making the word sound harsher than he intended. "No," he says again, correcting himself to be gentler. This rage isn't for you, after all. "No apologies. Let's get you cleaned up, alright? Get back out there."

Someone is definitely going to die.

You tense up, pushing back from his arms to look up at him. "Please, I'd really like to just go home."

"We will," he assures you, smoothing his hands up and down your arms. "Soon. I want you to show me the group who spoke to you."

"I don't want to cause a scene," you plead, flattening your hands to his chest. "They're not worth it."

"No, they're not. But you are," he says, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. He holds you firm until he feels you begin to melt, yielding to the warmth of him. “Let me make this better.”

By the time he draws back, you look sufficiently pliant. "Okay," you say quietly. He bites back a predatory smirk. "Nothing too dramatic, please?" You plea, leveling him with an attempt at a firm look, despite your big watery eyes. He’s never been less intimidated in his life, and never more endeared.

"Me? Dramatic?" He asks, feigning outrage.

"I mean it," you stress, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

There it is, Homelander thinks. There is not a single heinous thing he would not do to see you smile. "Relax," he purrs. "I'll handle this."

When the two of you return to the event floor, it only takes you a moment to point out the offending group. With an arm wrapped securely around your waist, Homelander brazenly guides you to them. He feels you squeeze his hand  anxiously, but he isn't the least bit deterred. "Heyyy, what's up!" Homelander greets boisterously, bulldozing into their conversation with the friendliest of tone. Only you are wise enough to recognize the venom dripping from the corners of his mouth. His canines glint sharply in the light, eager for a bloody meal. The air is strange, a mixture of drunken excitement and surprised nervousness. It's not every day Homelander himself steps into your conversation. A few of them look at you before they exchange  glances, but clearly enough alcohol has been imbibed that they're feeling brave. They don't see the danger they're in.

Homelander runs his tongue along his teeth. Clueless fucking idiots."Homelander, oh my god! I was hoping to run into you," one of the women announces. He can smell the liquor on her breath when she leans in, putting a bold hand on his arm opposite to the one he holds you with. "I'm such a fan, you have no idea. I've seen every one of your movies," she says, flushed giddy. "Always great to meet such a dedicated fan," he says, lying through his teeth. A glance through the material of her bag gives him exactly what he needs; her Vought security badge. She works in communications. "Kathleen, right? In Communications," he says, pointing a finger at her, his eyes slightly narrowed, as if he's just now recalling this information.

"Oh, I-wow, yes! I can't believe you know who I am," she says, glancing back at her companions. "I try to know everyone I work with," he lies smoothly, subtly shrugging her hand off of his shoulder, placing his hand on his hip. Not all of them work for Vought, but all of them have their ID on them. A quick flit of his super powered vision between them is all it takes for him to know each and every one of their names. Homelander cocks his head to the side, giving her a once over. Her dress is richly patterned, a myriad of black, white and red. The belt bears a familiar double C logo.

“Wow, Kathleen, look at you. Chanel, huh? Oh, wait…,” he stops himself, leaning forward to take a better look at the details of the dress. He clicks his tongue, standing straight. “Nooope, I misspoke. Chanel doesn’t bleed. Not a bad knock-off, though,” he says with a brief downturn of his lips, shrugging. Immediately, all eyes fall on Kathleen. There are a couple of stifled giggles and some childish oohh's . The man to her left, seeming eager to play along with Homelander’s little game of Mean Girls, readily chimes in, “Busted.” “I’d be quiet if I were you, Chuck,” Homelander says, rounding on the man so sharply, his laughter falls immediately silent. The shock on his face is understandable. He doesn't work for Vought. Homelander has no right to know his name.  “I can smell the red paint on the bottom of those misshapen Johnston & Murphy’s you’re trying to pass off as Louis Vuitton. Now that’s embarrassing.” This time, no one’s laughing. There’s no mirth left in Homelander’s voice, and they've all finally realized it. His gaze is drifting from one potential prey to the next, his mouth set in an unyielding line. He lifts his brows, waiting for them to continue their jeering. “What? No one has anything to say to that? How about you, Jason?” He asks, startling one of the other men. “Why don’t we talk about those fucking ugly veneers of yours? I mean, god damn . I’ve never seen a more square smile in my life. It’s like staring at white slatwall every time you open your mouth.” Homelander begins to laugh. The sound of it is thorned, vicious to behold. “Aww, c’mon, don’t be so fucking sensitive . You wanted to have a laugh at my girl, right? Let’s laugh, then,” he says, lifting a gloved hand to snap his fingers impatiently, demanding, “Laugh!” Like a bark from an obedient dog, a single man amidst the group forces a stilted laugh.

Homelander hones in on him with the precision of a heat seeking missile, dropping his hand. Deadpan, he asks, “Something funny, Jim?”

Jim audibly gulps. “Y-you said-”

"Y'see, that's your problem. You're all just a bunch of fucking sheep, so desperate to be seen as somebody, you end up being no one at all. If you put half the effort you put into kissing ass into a personality, you might be a fraction as interesting as she is," he says, gesturing to you with the hand he doesn't have holding you close. "But instead you prop yourselves up on all this..." Homelander spins his hand loosely through the air before sighing, "Bullshit. It's boring. You're all so fucking boring and miserable with yourselves. You reek of it," he says, lip twitching in a near snarl. "Go. Get the fuck out of my tower,” he rumbles, voice set low. “All of you. Before I throw you off the balcony myself.” There's a pregnant pause before Homelander snaps, "Now!" Like roaches, all of them scatter. Homelander watches them with a sneer. He would have preferred literally tearing them apart, but it's neither the time nor the place.

"Holy shit," you whisper.

Homelander hums quietly, turning to look down at you. Before he can say a word, you grab hold of the back of his neck and kiss him senseless. He grins against your lips, turning to pull you properly into his arms. His ego swells immediately, the kiss speaking volumes. You're pleased. Pleased with him. He greedily soaks up the feeling of your body against his, lips moving against yours, eager to chase away the salty smell of your tears with something a little more salacious.

The two of you break apart before the kiss becomes any more scandalous than it already is, the buzz of the crowd around you dulled by the fervency pulsing between your bodies. "That was... the hottest thing anyone has ever done for me," you whisper, your heart beating heavily in your chest. "Hottest thing so far ,” he says, smiling wolfishly. He gives your plush hips a squeeze, licking his lips. ”Because this dress on your body has been driving me wild . All. Night. Long," he says, punctuating each word with a kiss. “And I cannot wait to tear it off you.” You bite your lip, inhaling a sharp, flustered little breath. "Can we get out of here yet?"

"You're damn right we can," he says, kissing you again.

Homelander slips away from the venue without an ounce of fanfare, half because you’re so eager to be home, and half because he knows Stan Edgar will be pissed that he took off without shaking the hand of every single political figure the man wants a finger in the pie of.

Fuck Stan Edgar, and especially fuck every one of the brownnosing nobodies invited to that sycophantic cesspit.

The only person in the world he cares about right now is you. ~~~ He wasn’t kidding about the dress. The second he has you back in his room, he’s pushing it off your shoulders, trailing kisses from your neck to your chest. He drags the fabric down until it’s pooling around your waist. You gasp so sweetly in his ear when he snaps your bra apart in a single tug, leaving your upper half bare. 

Your breasts hang heavy and flawless, soft in his gloved hands as he fondles them. “Love your tits,” he says, sucking your nipple into his mouth, coaxing it with his tongue until it’s hard, and you’re squirming in his arms, panting and pulling at his hair. He comes off of it with a wet pop. He cups your ass in both hands, grinds against your thigh so that you can feel how hard he is. “You’re so fucking soft. Wanna fuck ‘em, wanna fuck your tits.”

Those idiots at the gala had no goddamn clue what they were talking about. They were jealous of you, jealous knowing that it wouldn’t be any of their sorry asses he was going to worship inside and out tonight. They wanted to be you, or they wanted to be him, and they were stained an ugly green in their envy. He should have punched their hearts clean out of their chests for making you feel anything less than perfect. 

You–the divine creature you are–nod your assent, breathless and flushed. You’re staring up at him with reverence that runs deeper than the insipid glee he sees in the hoards of livestock he tends to every day: the American populace. You aren’t just awestruck by him, you love him. He wants to devour you for it.

“Okay,” you say, eager and sweet. He lets you take a step back from him. “Do it. I want you to.”

Homelander watches you drop down onto the bed, intently tracks every bounce of your body. He steps towards you, and takes in the sight of you while you work on unbuckling his pants. He touches your hair, cups your cheek. He likes the way your skin looks against the crimson of his gloves, wants to see you stripped down bare and ruined by your hero, your god. Tipping his head back, he stares up at the mirrored ceiling above his bed, lets out a soft groan at the sight of you both.

The suit is carved into the shape of an adonis, rippling muscles that jut and curve. It creates the illusion of the body people expect from a man who can bend steel with his bare hands. It’s everything he should be. He sucks in a sharp breath when you free his cock, but he stops you when you go to push his pants down, grabbing hold of your wrists. “Not yet. Leave ‘em,” he says, distracting you by bringing your hands to your chest. 

“Hold ‘em up for me, alright? That’s it, there you go, just like that,” he says, licking his lips. He takes hold of his cock, and takes a step closer, nudging the leaking head of it under your breasts. There’s not enough slip to be comfortable for either of you, so he leans over to the bedside table and pops open the drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube. With a brief flash from his laser vision, he warms the bottle.

“Lean your head back,” he says, and you do. You look like a work of art, your breasts heavy in your hands, spilling between your fingers where you’re holding them up, pressed together nice and tight. He drizzles the warm lube all across your chest, watches with perverse hunger as it rolls down the slopes of your body. Admittedly, he goes a little overboard, taken in by the image it paints.

“Too much,” you say, but he gives the bottle an additional cheeky little squeeze anyways.

“Can’t help it,” he says, tossing the bottle back into the drawer. “Y’look like a goddamn porn star.”

He can feel the heat of your flush. Somehow, you look demure, even as you sit naked from the waist up, holding your breasts for him to fuck. “Will you fuck me like one?” You ask, and Christ, he feels your words like punches to the gut.

“Is that what you want?” He puts his hands on yours, and slips his cock between your slick breasts, rocking his hips slowly. They feel unreal, enveloping him, impossibly supple and warm. “Want me to fuck you like the whole world’s watching?”

Your blush deepens, crawls all the way down from your cheeks to your chest, where he can feel the heat of it all around his cock. Holding his gaze, you nod, too flustered to respond verbally, which only drives him wilder.

All the while, he can smell your building arousal. The wetter you get, the more his head spins, focusing on the nuances of it: the damp smell of those pretty silky panties he bought you, the way you’re subtly rocking your hips like he won’t notice, seeking any friction at all to feed your own mounting desire.

He’ll have to resist ripping those panties off you. He wants to keep them as a trophy. The smooth slip of your breasts is sweeter than words, but as he thrusts faster, he aches for more. More tension, more friction, more everything. Homelander groans roughly, and pushes you down onto the bed sharply enough that you yelp, falling back harmlessly onto the plush bedding. He wastes no time in tearing the dress from your body, to which you make a noise of protest.

“But–you got that for me, I-” “I’ll get you another,” he dismisses. “I’ll get you ten of them, twenty. You’ll have everything. You understand me?” He drags his hands down your sides, hooks his fingers on the hips of your panties to slide them off. Those? Those he tucks into his pocket. “You’ll have everything.” He dips his hand between your legs, gloves slick with residual lube, and rubs your wet entrance with the leather clad tip of his middle finger. He pushes it in deep.

“I already do,” you gasp, reaching for him. He leans over you, lets you take hold of his hair, his cheek, obliges you when you pull him in to kiss. His hunger is barely contained, leaving him in sharp little nips to your bottom lip, and the ravenous press of his tongue into your mouth. He slips another finger into you, crooks them wickedly as he rocks them in and out, turning your voice thin and breathy. “You are everything to me.”

“Keep talking,” Homelander tells you, drawing out of your hold. He kneels at the edge of the bed and hikes your legs up over his shoulders, mindful of his pauldrons. He never stops pumping his fingers, keeps his pace steady while he leans in and sucks your clit between his lips. You jerk up, but you’re powerless against his hold. 

“You’re so good to me,” you breathe, tangling your fingers in his hair. He’s never fingered you with his gloves on before, but you’re certainly not complaining. You’re moving with him now, pushing into every thrust, moaning. “You’re so beautiful. O-oh, god, I could watch you forever.” Homelander’s gaze flickers up. He realizes you’re not looking at him, but at the mirror above you. He smirks, nuzzling in against you, enjoying that you’re watching him ruin you. You used to hide from that mirror, stay under the covers as much as you could. Now look at you, splayed out beneath it, enraptured by the vision of him swallowing you down. He preens with your words, shakes his head against you. Drags his tongue through the wet mess and fucks you deeper, firmer. He keeps going until your litany of praise and prayer falls off into sharp gasps and wordless euphoria.

He can taste your orgasm when it hits, smell it in the chemistry of your body. Your clit throbs wildly against his tongue, and he sucks it greedily. He doesn’t stop until you’re nearly sobbing from whe overwhelm of sensation, pushing him back with frail, exquisitely delicate efforts. He could hold you down if he wanted to, it would be easy to wring another bursting climax from you, but he relents.

This time.

 Standing up, Homelander drags his gloved hand over his mouth, wiping away the majority of the mess. He unzips both gloves, and tosses them to the side. He wants to feel what he’s about to do next.

You look heavenly, sprawled out loose-limbed and spent, but there is such fire in your eyes when he meets your gaze. “I didn’t forget,” you say, to which he quirks a brow. “Like a pornstar,” you remind him, and he grins.

Effortlessly, Homelander flips you onto your stomach. He loves the way you giggle when he manhandles you, moving you as though you weigh nothing at all. To him, you don’t. You’re light as a feather, and he uses that to his every advantage. He lifts you up onto your knees, brings you right to the edge of the bed, and presses in close behind you. He grabs two helping handfuls of your ass, kneads it while he grinds his cock along the line of it. He gives an appreciative little slap.

You moan, resting your head atop your folded arms. Despite your release, there is neediness etched into your every movement: the anticipation in how you spread your legs, impatiently rocking back into his hands, your nails clawing at the bedding. He’s more aware of your body than you ever will be. He drags it out a while longer, finds your clit with the head of his cock and grinds against it. 

“Stop teasing me,” you whine, trying to push back against him, but he holds you easily in place. He licks his lips, his own cock achingly hard. “Tell me then, sweetheart,” he says, his voice reduced to a low rasp. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you say without hesitation, twisting your grip in the bedding.

“Specifics,” he pushes, his ego nearly as demanding as his cock.

“Put your cock inside me and pound me until your name is the only one I know,” you say, voice wrung tight and impatient. “Please, please, I want you in me. I need to feel you. You make me feel so good , please–”

Fuck, your voice drives him insane. He’s maddened by the eagerness with which you appeal to him, the sincerity in it even when he’s edging you, toying with you, riling you up to see if you’ll crack, to see if you’ll lose this perfect sweetness in the way you profess your love and your need, but you never do. He aches for it, he never wants to stop digging it out of you.

Your string of adulation is cut short when he finally lines himself up and pulls you back onto his cock, wringing a keening moan from you, a noise of relief and pleasure and agony all at once. He’s only barely breached you with the head of his cock. It isn’t nearly enough to satisfy you. You want more. You want all of him. You want to be fucked by Homelander’s fat cock.

Tipping his head back, he stares up at himself, dressed still in red, white and blue while you’re stripped naked, wearing worship and vulnerability more beautifully than he’s ever seen it. He grabs hold of your hips and steadies you, sinks you back onto his cock in one smooth pull. You make a noise that goes straight to the heat at the core of him, feeding it like kindling to the flames.

“Look at you,” he moans, watching both of your reflections. He alternates between the curves of your body, and meeting his own eye. “So fucking perfect .”

Sliding his hands up your sides, he drops his head to kiss a trail up your spine. He cups your breasts, fondles your nipples with his thumbs. They feel so much better in his bare hands, soft and still slightly slick. He gives a shuddering moan and picks up a steady pace, kneading them against your chest while he starts to fuck you in earnest. 

You asked him to make you forget everything but his name. That’s exactly his intent as he pounds into you. Holding you steady against the sharp slap of his hips, he’s moving so relentlessly that you can’t get in enough air to string together any of those pretty words. He doesn’t care anymore, the gasps and half-sobs of pleasure each thrust knocks out of you are music to his ears. He’s already walking the wire’s edge, so hard and sensitive that it almost hurts. Dropping one hand from your chest, he takes those slick fingers and presses the middle to your clit, cradling your belly against his arm, sinking again and again into the sweet, wet softness of you, wanting only to ever be closer, deeper. He moans when the contact makes your pussy tighten up. He barely has to move his finger when he’s fucking you fast and hard enough to jostle you against it. You come again, and this time, you pull him over the edge with you.

Homelander slams in deep, practically growling against you as load after load spills into you in wet pumps. He comes so hard his vision tunnels for a split second. It takes him a full minute to recover, to feel as though his soul has tethered itself back to his body.

Carefully, suspecting you will be tender, he withdraws from you, gentle in the way he helps you sink back down onto the bed. He lets out a long, slow exhale. Christ.

While he had expected you to immediately melt into a pile of goo on the bed, you surprise him by sitting up, adjusting until you’re sitting in front of him. He begins to usher you back, get you comfortable down on the pillows, but as weak and lovely as you are, you refuse it. “Let me undress you now,” you say, unbuttoning the lapel of his suit top. Reflexively, he stops you, hand exceedingly delicate on your wrist.

“Yeah,” he says, still coming down from the high. With it, those complicated feelings from earlier come bubbling back to the surface. “Yeah, in a minute. Lay down.”

Still, you do not.

“You love my body so well,” you say, tone supplicating. He nearly flinches, a part of him hating that you know him well enough to know to speak so tenderly in this moment. “Let me love yours, too. Please.”

Disarmed, Homelander slowly drops his hands to his sides. With a kind smile, you unfasten his top, working it off of his shoulders until it falls to the ground. Up on your knees, you rest your hands on his shoulders, and he begins his hands to your waist. He watches the top of your head as you kiss the center of his chest, then the left side, then the right. You pepper these saccharine touches all over his torso, murmuring sweet nothings against his skin all the while.

Eventually, without his permission, his vision begins to blur. He blinks it back stubbornly, caught off guard by the sudden threat of tears. Why is this happening? He’s happy.

You work his pants off as well, sweeping your hands down his slender thighs. They’re nothing like the carved musculature of his suit. He pets your hair, his other hand sliding to the back of your neck as you kiss your way back up to his chest. Your hands glide down his shoulders, his arms, and you squeeze. He flexes subconsciously, though it does little to make up for the bulk missing from his suit. His heart falls into his stomach when you meet his gaze, and he sees your expression falter.

“I’m fine,” he says reflexively.

“I know,” you say, ever so persistently gentle. “I love you so much. Every part of you–” you say, tracing your hands down his sides, to the sharp jut of his hips. “–is so unbelievably beautiful. Sometimes I can’t believe that it’s mine,” you say wistfully, leaning in to kiss his throat, his jaw.

Closing his eyes, Homelander wraps his arms around you, cradling your head in the crook of his neck. “I love you,” he echoes, voice little more than a low rasp. You coax him under the blankets with you, your body a relief to sink in against. You wrap your arms around his waist, and he tucks your head in under his chin, your legs easily tangling together. There is an ease in the way your bodies slot against one another, as if they were always meant to.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“What for?” He asks, absently stroking your hair.

“Everything. For defending me. For loving me. For seeing me. Just… For all of it. Thank you,” you say, squeezing him as tight as you can. Somehow, despite the disparity in your strength, it’s the most securely held he’s ever felt.

Homelander is rendered speechless by it. He squeezes you in turn, nuzzling in against the top of your head. He feels warm and heavy all over, lost to the steady beat of your heart. Your heart, this precious, bleeding thing that you’ve given him so wholly and freely. He would think it foolish if he was not so painfully aware that you, too, hold his heart in your hands. It is a mangled, ugly thing, battered and discolored from years of misuse, but it is yours nonetheless.

Now more than ever, he thinks that it’s never been safer.

[wombywoo]

Hi! I'm loving learning about your boys!

I'd like to know more about what they do and how their paths cross in the military.

I think you said Vicent acts as a abhuman consultant for the military now. Does that mean he doesn't put one foot onto the field for missions, just kind of on-base intelligence work? Or does he tag along with Quinn's unit on the ground?

Thank you! I've really been enjoying sharing stuff about them😚

Further lore below: So basically--this is a very new highly experimental taskforce in a new highly experimental branch of the UK military called 'Nonstandard Ops' (as vague and uncritical a name as any 😅) Their main purpose is to combat supernatural and other such threats in light of some major world changes currently happening. Quinn had previously been convalescing from a field injury (as well as dealing with the fallout of his best mate being discharged due to an even graver injury) when his old CO approaches him with an offer to join her new squad. His... unmentionable abilities make him an asset, and his CO has vouched for him before even in spite of a somewhat dubious track record. And guess who's also on the taskforce? Vincent. In a controversial turn of events, they're now allowing vampires to serve in the military. This is met with...varying degrees of support amongst their nascent group. Quinn himself is not immediately accepting. Vincent, being a veteran, is entitled to his credentials and rank, though he requires further training to keep up with advances in modern warfare. Essentially, he's taken on as an expert in neutralizing this brand new type of enemy, with all of his attained knowledge and special skills. So yes, he does go into the field with them on most missions! I like to think this beginning period is a bit enemies-to-lovers, in that Quinn has to overcome some of his grievances, but despite a rocky start on a few of the early missions, they quickly develop a rhythm with each other in the field. And then maybe....something more.....🙆‍♀️

[unhingedoveractivemuse]

Title: Because I love you more than a ring

Pairing: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Tags: Married Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Notes: Flufftober Day 26 "I can't find it."

==================================

“Maddie, you don’t understand!”

Buck is vaguely aware that he probably looks crazy, frantically going around his home and upturning everything he can. 

“Buck-“

”This isn't like Chimney losing your engagement ring before he even proposed, Madds! I can’t find it! I can’t find my wedding ring!”

“Evan!”

He pauses, the little shock from his sister saying his name stopping him in his tracks. He doesn't remember when the last time she said it was. The only one who ever uses it now is his husband either when he needs something to sink into Buck's head or sometimes when they're having sex (not that he is ever telling his sister that). 

“Calm down,” she coaxes him like a startled animal. “Let’s go back step by step. When was the last time you saw it?’’

========================================

An hour later and still one wedding ring less, Buck sulks on the couch, trying not to spiral and cry, leaning on his sister's shoulder. 

“What if he wants a divorce?”

“Eddie won't divorce you because of a ring, Buck.”

“But I lost our wedding ring,” he whines. 

“I'm sure he loves you more than a ring, and you know that.”

Logically, he does. All of Eddie's loving gestures and words since he finally went to therapy (for his PTSD first but which turned out to be therapy for so much more) tell him that. Eddie doesn't call anyone else ‘sweetheart’ or ‘love’ or ‘mi vida’. He doesn't give them the fondest looks known to man. He doesn't let down his walls with anyone else. He certainly doesn't have sex with anyone else. 

But everything else, his insecure side, is screaming that the whole marriage thing is still new. Nothing has really shifted, of course (because they already acted like a married couple according to all their friends), but it's new. 

Three months. 

Three months since the bridge collapse that almost took Buck's heart with it. Since they were reminded once again of how precious life is, of how the next moment could be their last. Since they threw the wedding plans they had going since Eddie first proposed after Buck woke up from his lightning-induced coma to pull a Bobby and Athena (much to the ire of many people).

Nothing has been more blissful to Buck than married life. He can really call Eddie his, to say he has a home to return to. 

It doesn't mean he's not insecure though. There was a little hiccup when his jealousy of a certain pilot taking up his husband’s time made Buck completely green, only assuaged when his husband reassured him it was only friendship and gave Buck some of the best sex of his life then later by inviting Buck out with them where he ogled his husband with no shame whatsoever

So what if it's too much? What if Eddie realizes that not only is Buck a lot to handle with how needy and jealous he can be but also so forgetful that he lost their wedding ring of all things?! What if he doesn't want Buck anymore?!

“Hey, love, can you get out of your brain for me?”

Buck blinks, staring into beloved, concerned brown eyes.

Oh, when did Eddie get home?

“Hi,” Eddie says, giving Buck one of those sweet smiles that always has Buck melting on the spot. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Give me a million then,” he easily returns, the routine coming with practiced ease considering how often his husband catches Buck with a million thoughts running through his mind. 

Eddie kisses him then, soft and chaste, a quiet ‘I'm home’, and moves onto the couch next to him. “There we go. Now, care to share? Or do I have to pry it out of my dear sister-in-law?”

“You love me more than a ring right?” he blurts out without thinking. 

His husband blinks, confusion clear as day but, without hesitation, says, “Of course I do.”

“Because I-I can't find it Eds. I can't find it.”

“Find what?”

“My wedding ring,” he mumbles, looking away from his husband's eyes, hoping to get away with it. 

There's a beat of silence, and then he hears a snort. 

A snort. 

He turns to his best friend, disbelieving. “It's not funny Eddie! I lost my wedding ring! Our wedding ring!”

“It kinda is, mi vida. Especially since you're freaking out for nothing.”

“For nothing?!” he repeats, somehow not shrieking. It's their wedding ring, for goodness sakes! It's a matching pair!

“Buck, I took it in for maintenance.”

He pauses. He stares. He-

“Huh?”

A short huff of laughter escapes his husband as his brain tries rebooting. Maintenance. 

“Remember when you got a scratch on it last week?”

Of course, he does. He doesn't even know how it got there, but there was a scratch on his wedding ring and it made him distraught. 

At a loss for words, he nods. 

“So I brought it in this morning to get it out,” Eddie says, then reaches into his jacket pocket. “Here.”

There it is. His wedding ring. 

He takes it reverently, immediately sliding it onto his finger where it belongs, settling him. 

“Better?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, running a finger across the smooth metal. “You didn't have to do that.”

“I didn't,” his husband agrees, sliding their hands together. “But I wanted to. It might only be a material thing, but it means a lot to you. And it means a lot to me too.”

Buck smiles, a flood of warmth and love overtaking him, and he settles his head onto his other half's shoulder, truly calming down after a frenzied few hours. 

“But for future reference, if you do ever lose your ring-”

“I won't,” he protests, gently knocking his head into his husband's jaw to emphasize his point. 

“-it doesn't change how I feel about you. I'm not going to break the promise we made years ago and engraved on it. I'm not going to file for a divorce. Because I love you more than a ring. I much rather lose a ring than lose you.”

Love permeates through every pore of his body at Eddie's words, and he can't help the silly, giddy grin that blooms on his face. 

“I love you, too,” he says, pressing his smile into his husband's neck. “Ring or no ring.”

[justabigoldnerd]

For the WIP tag game, I have to know more about number 16, the Soviet Russia Memes Incident, please!

AKHDJSSKHDJ Okay so I was inspired by these memes:

And started writing a modern crack fic where Solo and Gaby torment Illya with them 😅

Here's a snippet, under the cut!

"So," Waverly started, leaning back in his chair, "Would either of you like to tell me exactly how this happened?" He gestured between the two men vaguely.

Solo moved the icepack he was holding against his swollen eye to glance over at Illya. The Russian wasn't in much better shape; blood was drying around his nose, and a colorful bruise blossomed along his jaw. He was sitting up perfectly straight, his arms crossed and a frankly pissed expression on his face. Solo rolled his eyes and flexed his sore knuckles.

"I….may have misused the work group chat."

"'Misused,'" Illya scoffed under his breath.

"Misused, how?" Waverly prompted.

"In my defense," Solo drawled as he wrangled his phone from the inner pocket of his blazer, "They were hilarious."

A crease formed in Waverly's brow as he accepted the phone, but as he scrolled through the seemingly endless number of messages, his confusion gave way to annoyance. "To be perfectly honest, Mr. Solo, I am impressed at just how many of these you were able to find."

"I made a few of them myself," he preened, "I'm particularly fond of the 'in Soviet Russia, its not iPhone, its OURPhone' one."

"Is not funny," Illya grumbled.

"Right. Mr. Solo, I believe some sensitivity training is in order. However, I don't believe the onslaught of memes warranted an assault. So, in lieu of a harsher penalty, I'll just have you apologize to each other."

Solo huffed, and looked to Illya, who mirrored his indignation.

Waverly leaned forward again and clicked his pen threateningly, "Or would you prefer paperwork only for a month?"

With a sigh, Solo shifted in his chair to half-face Illya, "I'm sorry for sending you a hundred Soviet Russia memes, Peril."

"One hundred and thirty five," he corrected through gritted teeth.

"You counted?"

"When messages keep you up all night, nothing else to do but count."

"It wasn't-" Solo tried to protest, but a pointed look from Waverly made him stop short, "I'm sorry for sending you one hundred and thirty five Soviet Russia memes."

Illya's glare didn't waver in intensity, even as he tipped his head to the side and held Solo's gaze. He was silent for a few moments, then took in a deep breath and muttered, "I am sorry for punching your face. Might have been overreaction."

Solo chewed the inside of his cheek, unable to conjure much anger when he was faced with Illya's ridiculously adorable head tilt, and he had no right to be that attractive with blood smearing his face. 

"I didn't break your nose, did I?" he asked before he could stop himself, in a soft tone that made him curse inwardly. Maybe Illya had concussed him.

In a fraction of a second, something flickered behind Illya's murderous stare, and he turned away with a shrug. He cleared his throat and stared at a missed spot in the freshly polished tile. "Doesn't feel broken."

"Good," Solo nodded, an extremely unfamiliar feeling of awkwardness churning in his stomach.

"Well then," their boss cut in, sounding more like a middle school principal than the commander of an international espionage force, "Now that's all settled, Mr. Solo, I expect you to be front row at next week's sensitivity seminar. Otherwise, you're both dismissed."

"Thank you, sir," Solo beamed bitterly as he stood, "Looking forward to it."

Illya mumbled a similar acknowledgment and slunk out of the office. Once Solo shut the door behind them, he sighed and mused, "Now the only question is how did Gaby get out of this one."

"No idea," Illya shook his head, "Even screenshots I took were altered. Without my knowledge. Couldn't even track changes."

"She's getting too good at this game," Solo tsked, a bit of pride swelling in his chest nevertheless.

"Da. We make her pay."

"How do you suggest we do that?"

His partner's fingers drummed against his leg, and the muscle in his jaw jumped as he considered their options. "We take engine."

"The whole thing?"

The corner of Illya's mouth quirked up in a poorly hidden smile, "Is just bizarre enough to be good payback."

"She's gonna be pissed," Solo laughed quietly, "Hide it in rendezvous three- no, two. The storage rack in there is taller."

Illya nodded along, mischief washing away the anger in his eyes, and checked their surroundings before giving Solo's chest a pat, "Come on, Cowboy. Let's go steal an engine."

[screamingcrows]

mob boss!Pantalone x hitman!reader in fast bullet points

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOCKS BACK AWAY - you will be blocked

Note: This has been rattling around in my brain and I needed to flush it out. This is a very watered down version compared to how dark it is in my mind. Mostly because a lot of the heavy stuff would take too much setup compared to my energy level.

Warnings: dark content, guns, murder, violence, manipulation, coercion, gore, brief allusion to noncon, female reader, 'little girl' used once as petname, vague torture mention,

See any tags you don't enjoy? Don't read beyond this. Simple as that

Pantalone is a mob boss and you're his most priced hitman. Came from bad circumstances, got into worse company and ended up owing the wrong people a lot of money.

Luckily, you met Pantalone. And who would he be to turn down a young woman desperate for protection and help?

Turns out you have quite the flair for subtlety and one hell of an aim. His favorite mix of young, talented, and obedient.

He always assures you that taking someone out is a last resort. Reserved for the truly vile and irredeemable. And you trust him, you've yet to catch him lying after all. It's just…

There are a lot of bad people? A lot of dirty work to do. And suddenly you've killed more than you want to count.

What about that guy last night? With a little kid who came in and saw your target their father in a pool of their own blood?

Pantalone tries to shield you that much is evident. But you start noticing the cracks in his smile. How the little gifts and words of affirmation only come when you've been a little too distant.

You steal some cash from Pantalone that night, the moon your only witness as you bolt towards a promise of freedom in a new city.

Freedom lasts about four days before his men have tracked you down and dragged you back. They ripped out your fingernails in the car on the way, something about "making sure a feisty kitten is declawed"

"I'm disappointed in you. And you of all people should know what happens when someone disappoints me," he glances down at the pistol in his hand, letting out a tired sigh.

He offers you a deal to pay back what you'd taken. But just paying it back with cash wouldn't be enough. No, he had no real use for that.

His eyes hold no small amount of disgust as they look down at the shiny metal reflecting your bruised body. Your lip was bleeding, as was your left temple, that eye too swollen to properly open. Skin on your wrists raw and bloody from the rope. One of your shins broken. His gloved hand grabs your chin and yanks your head up to look at him, his expression cold and detached. Before you can plead for mercy he's already shoved the barrel past your lips, his nose crinkling when you try to scream around it.

"Usually this would be it. But I'm in a good mood. And it pains me so see my little girl like this"

You'd work it off of course. His smile too wide paired with those cold eyes when he assures you that it "won't be like that"

Pantalone just wants you back where you were. With the exception that you don't get to leave unaccompanied anymore. And you only take orders directly from him. Which means you have to stay at his mansion of course, he doesn't have the time to seek you out, you'll be ready at his disposal when he needs.

Promises you'll negotiate your freedom once the debt is repaid, and when has he ever lied to you?

The deal he has you sign doesn't specify the nature of his orders. But you'll find out soon enough exactly what he had in mind.

And so what if he deliberately provided the chance for you to run once he'd begun suspecting you were having doubts?

You were his now, and the ends always justify the means

[lilyginnyblackv2]

More and more sources are starting to talk about a potential Kingdom Hearts movie.

The above image is a tweet from The Hollywood Handle stating: A 'KINGDOM HEARTS' movie is rumored to be in development at Disney. Their source is The DisInsider, which I will link to below in the comments section. The image they show is of the KH1 cover.

Now, I'm someone who is actually fairly intrigued by the idea, but I do think that (if they wanted to follow the series from Sora's POV) than a TV series would be the better option than a movie. Afterall, a movie is very limiting in its runtime.

There are some fans out there that think that, if this movie turns out to be true, it would be something connected to Union X or the mobile games, take place after KH4, or just be an original story that takes place between games (vaguely). But...let's be honest, it is going to be an adaptation of KH1. That makes the most sense as a way to appeal to the masses and introduce a whole new subset of potential fans and viewers to the franchise and series as whole.

When I looked at the comments, tweets, retweets, quotes, etc. on this above tweet talking about a potential and rumored KH movie, everyone is assuming that the movie would be from Sora's POV and that Sora would be the lead like in the games. But, what if they were to shake things up a bit?

What if a potential movie adaptation of KH1 followed Riku instead of Sora? It would make sense in a lot of ways:

Riku interacts solely with Disney characters. Sora interacts with Disney and Square characters (in KH1, Riku does eventually interact with some square characters like TWEWY characters, but if I was adapting the KH games into a movie franchise, I would keep the adaptations to KH1, COM, and KH2 only. It ends nicely with 2 and doesn't get too convoluted yet). But, getting back on track, this movie adaptation would be a Disney movie. So keeping the focus more on Disney only would make the most sense.

Riku interacts with the Disney villains, who have a HUGE appeal to many people, especially the Disney Renaissance villains and classic villains like Maleficent.

Riku visits Disney worlds, but not nearly as many as Sora in KH1. His story is also more focused and easier to condense down into a two hour movie, a two hour movie told from Sora's POV would require a lot more cutting down.

A KH1 retelling from Riku's POV would freshen up the experience for long time KH fans. It would make the movie a more interesting and unique experience. Plenty of fans have also expressed interest in the past of seeing the series / games from Riku's POV.

It would allow the movie to go darker and do something a bit different from the usual Disney formula.

This rumor may amount to nothing, and this speculation on my part will likely remain nothing more than a pipedream, but approaching a KH1 movie adaptation from this angle would actually be really interesting to me and hold a lot of potential to do something a bit out of the box. So, it will probably never happen, but I wanted to share my thoughts on this regardless. Feel free to add anything you want to this as well (additional thoughts, tags, comments, etc.).

[filthyfluffyfantasies]

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . DL;DR - this fic is not meant for anyone under the age of 18 as it contains the following: topper's virginity kink - stop that, he's a gentleman about it ffs, he takes the best care of you , p in v sex of the protected variety, swearing, biting/marking, dirty talk, a little tearing up, kissing/saliva exchanged. writer does not give permission for her works to be reposted, with or without permission. ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

prompt four- virginity

character | fandom - topper thornton | outer banks

reader | original character - female reader, pogue!john b's sister & non -or vague, description.

words - roughly 6.3k

tagging - <taglist here >

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . you've been dancing around the way you feel about him for a while now, but a Halloween bonfire at the boneyard + a few drinks might just change all that..✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

You couldn't stare at Topper Thornton any harder if you tried. Your eyes are glued to him like magnets as he tosses a football back and forth with some other Kooks down the shore. Staring is all you're ever gonna get. Might as well enjoy it. - the thought has you frowning to yourself and you bite your bottom lip as you watch the way he peels off a long sleeve shirt and tosses it at the sand.

Your brother John B happens to notice that you're distracted and you haven't paid attention to a single thing he’s been saying so he clears his throat and when that doesn't work, he bounces a green grape off your forehead.

Kiara snickers quietly. Sarah raises a brow and Kiara gets her off to the side, explaining what she was just laughing at.

❝ Wait.. she likes Top?❞ Sarah glances at you and John B, a brow raised. She groans to herself as she catches the tail end of yet another argument between the two of you. 

❝ She’s in love with him, actually.❞ Kiara shrugs as the argument between you and John B kicks into high gear.

John B glares at you. ❝ We discussed this. I don't even want that prick Thornton breathing your air, sis. He's not a good guy.❞

❝ We didn’t discuss anything, JB. You dictated, like always and I agreed just to shut you up.❞ you snipe, glaring at your older brother. ❝ I'm not involved in this stupid Kooks versus Pogue bullshit. And, ❞ you pause, a hand on your hip, ❝ You don’t know the guy.❞

❝I know him one hell of a lot better than you do, little bit. So what he saved you from drowning and he just happened to be there that time you took the Twinkie out and th' tire blew. Just because he felt like being a nice guy two times doesn't make him a good person. Stay away from th' guy. I'm being serious, lil bit. ❞ John B argues. 

His firm warning is met with a roll of your eyes as you decide you'd rather chew glass than keep arguing with the brick wall known as your older brother. 

❝ Would you fucking relax, dumbass? Its not like I'm gonna screw or marry the guy.❞ you yell, probably a little louder than you should have. Your face is on fire as soon as you realize just how many people your angry outburst has staring at you.

As you're storming away, you happen to crash right into Topper, the unaware subject of the entire fight you've just had with John B. He gazes at you in concern as his hands rest against your upper arms. ❝ You look upset.❞

You swallow hard. And naturally, the thought comes, bitterly, I'm gonna go all weird and quiet now. Just like every other time I'm near Topper.

❝ Y-yeah.❞ you finally murmur, ❝ Johns just bein an asshole…Again.❞ and you're staring up, lost in the multi-toned warmth of his eyes. You can feel your brother and the rest of his friends staring and you sigh a little. But Topper hasn't let go of your arms yet and if the look in his eyes is anything to go by, he doesn't buy what you're saying at all.

❝ Yeah, that tracks.❞ Topper finally mumbles as he reluctantly releases the hold on you, instantly missing the softness of your skin under his hands as soon as its gone. He gives John B and the other Pogues a dirty look and it's fleeting, he's quick to turn his attention back to you. 

❝ I'm gonna get going...❞ you reluctantly step away, instantly wishing you hadn't, ❝ Before he busts a vein.❞

Topper chuckles. And he'll tell himself that the only reason he does what he winds up doing next is solely to cause that, its just to get your very overprotective big brother all riled up, maybe it is. But as much as that's the honest to God's truth, there's a deeper reason he invites you to the Halloween bonfire tonight at the boneyard. 

He wants to see you again. He's like an addict, he needs his fix. 

❝ Hey!❞ he stops you in your tracks, ❝ There's a bonfire tonight..to celebrate Halloween, I guess. You should come..I mean, unless you're scared it's gonna make big brother mad.❞

You can feel the rage and frustration as it rolls off your brother when JJ nudges him so he doesn't miss what's unfolding.

You know you should turn him down, every part of you insists that going anywhere near that damned bonfire tonight is not only a bad idea, it's possibly the worst one you've ever had and yet.. when you open your mouth to do the right thing, the smart thing, and gently tell him no, ❝ Maybe I will, Thornton. Maybe I will.❞

You hurry away after answering, mostly because you know if you don't do that, John will come over and restart the argument you two were having that made you storm away and collide with Topper just now in the first place. 

Sarah and Kiara exchange looks.

❝ Tell me you were picking up on the way Topper was with her just now. Tell me I'm not reading into what we both just saw way too much.❞ Kiara asks after a few seconds. Sarah laughs softly and shakes her head. ❝ I think I have an idea. C'mon.❞ she starts to walk towards where you happen to be standing on the boardwalk as she glances back at Kiara and Cleo, ❝ We can wait for permission now or beg for forgiveness later.❞

❝ Wait, hold on!❞ Kiara rushes to catch Sarah, ❝What are we even doing?❞

❝ When I was dating Top...❞ she trails off and watches Topper as he's watching you, ❝ I used to be so jealous of her. I used to think that he wanted her more. I'm starting to realize I was right… and if she likes him back, I mean…❞ Sarah trails off, speaking up a few seconds later, ❝ Top is a good guy.. He deserves to be happy too, Kie.❞

❝ You do realize John isn't gonna see it that way...❞ 

❝ And we'll cross that bridge when we're there. What I do know is I owe him.❞

❝ Okay, so what are we thinking?❞ Kiara asks, watching as you watch Topper throwing the football around, further down the shore. 

❝ Everybody is gonna be in costume tonight.. well, most everybody.❞ Sarah muses, gazing from you to Topper as she formulates her plan. 

Cleo and Pope wander up to you as you finish your cigarette and thump its remains at the pavement.

❝ John is just being protective..❞ Pope speaks up after a few seconds. You nod, exhaling the last plume of smoke into the afternoon air. ❝ I know, Pope. I just don't get it.. Topper has actually helped out when we asked. Of the rest, he's the least biggest asshole. And I can't help who I.. nevermind..❞ you laugh softly and shake your head, ❝ He’s probably right, its not like a guy like that,❞ you nod in Topper's direction, ❝ Is even interested in me in the first place.❞

Cleo happens to look over where you were just staring right as you make yourself stop staring and Topper starts staring at you.

❝ I think you’re wrong.❞ Cleo muses, nudging Pope to get him looking in Topper's direction. Pope rubs his chin thoughtfully, tuning back into your continued rant just in time to hear you going off on a tangent about the way John B is engaged to Sarah and its kind of stupid to be an ass about Topper based solely on that. 

❝ I mean,  if he obviously liked me to begin with, he's totally a hypocrite for continuing to be an ass about this.❞ you go quiet.

Cleo snickers softly. ❝ There's one way to find out.. Go to the bonfire tonight. He did invite you.❞ she's challenging you, daring you to do something because she's gotten to know you well enough at this point to know that challenging you or daring you is a surefire way to get you to do something, quick, fast and in a hurry. 

You mull it over. You were already planning to go, you were going to hang out with Cleo and Pope. If things seemed off you could bail and you wouldn't be stuck by yourself because Cleo is your best friend and she'll be there.

❝ Come with me.❞ Sarah butts in, ❝ We're going costume shopping.❞

You raise your brow. Laugh softly. ❝ Now why am I gonna do that, hm?❞ you ask, shuffling your feet against worn wood.

Sarah grumbles. Then she sees the stern look she's getting from both you and Cleo so she launches into this long-winded ramble about just wanting to have a little fun, pointing out that you did promise your brother you would at least attempt to give her a chance. ❝ Everybody is gonna be in costume tonight.. well, most everybody. I thought it'd be fun..❞

You laugh. ❝Okay, fine. But I probably won't buy one. I'm a little too old for dress up games.❞ you're kind of scoffing, thinking to yourself that it figures the Kook princess would be into dressing up.

Cleo gives you a gentle nudge and you manage a tight smile at Sarah Cameron.

❝ I've got an hour to waste til my shift at the bar. No lingerie or cutesy animal themed stuff, got it?❞

Sarah laughs. ❝Fine. But you have to let me do your makeup and hair if you pick one.❞

You snort in laughter. ❝ How about you just be happy I agreed to tag along with you two..❞ you nod to Kiara as she leans against the railing around the pier, ❝ And leave me to my own devices with hair and makeup, huh?❞

❝ This is a bad idea, Sare.❞ Kiara gives you a dirty look and you roll your eyes right back at her. Cleo laughs quietly and shakes her head.❝ Alright, you three. Behave. If we’re going, we should go.❞

❝What's wrong with me doing your hair and makeup, anyway?❞ Sarah asks and you laugh. ❝It’s fine for you..I'm just not into the whole princess vibe.❞

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ ･ ｡ﾟ ───

You're lingering hesitantly with your brother and his friends, infinitely regretting your spur-of-the-moment decision to buy the form fitting little white tank style dress and the veil and garter, but in your defense, Cleo dared you. And you're nothing if not petty, so given that you're going to the bonfire tonight just to see Topper and you know what your brother's always saying, you chose the petty road and tonight's costume is you, making a point. The thrifted dress had been longer 3 hours ago but all the tulle and fluff had been torn away from the rest of the dress, leaving you with a form fitting white dress that stopped just about the tops of your thighs. It's the shortest thing you've ever worn out in public but when you also found a garter and an old veil that you could use to form your own shorter veil, you took it to be a sign from the petty gods.

When you'd told Cleo this earlier, she nearly doubled over laughing.

❝ The flannel and combat boots are throwing off the whole costume.❞ Sarah clucks her tongue as she says it, giving you a once-over. ❝ I don't get why you had to destroy a perfectly good wedding dress either...❞

You shrug. ❝Deal with it, Sarah.❞

Sarah spots Topper as his Jeep pulls to a stop next to the Audi Kelce drives. 

Cleo nudges you but you shake your head. ❝ Not right now..❞

Sarah and Kiara have spotted your brother and JJ so they're gone with quickness and it's now only you, Cleo and Pope standing near the coolers and kegs waiting to be tapped. Cleo nudges you and nods at Topper.

You happen to look up just in time to lock eyes with him. You figure he's going to look down first so you're surprised when he smiles and gives a little wave. You pour yourself a drink and take a sip, almost immediately spitting it out.

❝ You are officially on your own, girl. Me and Pope are going somewhere a little more…private.❞ and now Cleo and Pope are gone, leaving you all by yourself. You shuffle your combat boots against the sand awkwardly and you're just about to head over to play a hand of cards with your friends Jesse and Alec, but just as you take a step in the direction of Jesse's tailgate, you're tapped on the shoulder.

❝ You’re here.❞ Topper's breath is minty against your neck and your thighs clamp together in seconds. ❝ I didn't think you'd show up.❞

You turn to face him, head tilted slightly to look up at him. He towers over you easily and you swallow hard, blowing at a strand of fallen hair. All you can do is shrug as words fail you yet again.

Topper chuckles, the sound is husky, quiet. A crowd racing past you both forces you to step into his body and as the wind picks up a little, you hug your flannel shirt tighter against your body. Topper notices this and with a chuckle, he pulls off the jacket he's wearing and holds it out to you. You glance at it, then up at him. He pushes it at you and when you don't immediately take it, he slips it around your shoulders. 

You can feel the exact second both JJ Maybank and your brother have caught onto it but you honestly couldn’t care less. Topper smiles down at you and because of the height difference between you two, he has to bend down just a little when he whispers ❝ I’m glad you came tonight. Kelce, he’s uh.. Been after me to just do something already but I.. Forget it.❞ he laughs quietly, ❝ It’s dumb.❞

You take a sip from the orange plastic cup in your hand and stare up at him quietly, nodding. Your cheeks feel a little warm, a little flushed and you can’t decide whether it’s from the watered down 80 proof in the cup you hold in your hand or if it’s from being around Topper Thornton, like usual.

Every time the two of you have a little run-in, you come away flustered then too.

Duh, you reflect on it, I'm always getting myself into weird and dangerous positions that somehow, he always manages to be close enough to save me from. And I wanna feel bad about that but it puts me in his path and I'm fine with that.

❝ I figured it was the least I could do, Top. I uh...❞ you shift your feet in the sand a little as you laugh at yourself and the sheer lack of ability to form words you’re suffering currently, ❝ I kind of owe you my life.. Three thousand times over, actually.❞

Topper snickers for a few seconds, falling silent again. By now you’ve migrated to a little bonfire further down the shore from the bigger one that everybody’s crowded around. He slips an arm around you and this pulls you straight into his side. Against him. You’re so close that the scent of his cologne envelopes you. As the two of you settle down in a spot on the sand, he speaks up again, gazing into the fire. ❝ I wasn’t keeping score. Y’know, you’re kind of a trouble slash danger magnet, right?❞ he chuckles as he looks over to see you pouting at him. You lightly swat his arm. ❝ Hey! That’s not fair! It’s not like I try to get myself in weird or dangerous situations, Top.❞

❝ Yeah.❞ he laughs, giving you that dimpled grin. You’re trying to resist, but the urge to be closer is driving you crazy. You lean against his side a little, your head resting against his bicep.

Topper’s breath hangs.

❝I always love t’ come out here and look at the stars.❞ you mutter quietly. Topper nods. ❝ Yeah, but the view at the lighthouse is prettier. Go all the way to the top and you can see everything..❞

❝ I’ve always wanted to go there..❞ you muse. He pulls himself up off the sand and holds out his hand to you. And that stupid, sexy, dimpled smile is back. You gaze at the hand he holds out and swallow hard. He’s grinning ear to ear. ❝ C’mon. We can slip away, nobody will ever know. I only come to this shit anymore because Kelce drags me.❞ Topper admits, conveniently leaving out the part where he mostly comes to be as close to you as he dares to get, lest he invoke the wrath of your overprotective big brother, John B.

But he’s got a foot in the door tonight. One chance to be even closer to you than he typically dares to get -aside from the times he happened to be in the right place at just the right time and he managed to keep you alive and safe.

He’s determined to take it.

You take hold of his hand. Biting your lip as you’re pulled off the sand and straight into his body. You’re only half teasing when you say it, ❝ Bet you take all the girls up there, huh? You being a ladies man and all..❞

He shakes his head. ❝ Nope. It’s somewhere I go alone, actually.❞

And you’d never own up to it but when he tells you that, you’re falling even more in love with him and you were just starting to think that couldn’t be possible.

❝ We’re gonna have to speed-walk to the Jeep.❞ you say it and through laughter, the two of you make a beeline for the Jeep. You practically dive into his passenger seat and he backs out of the spot he parked in as fast as he can, his arm around the back of your seat as he turns his head slightly, looking back over his shoulder.

You can feel those butterflies in your stomach, for sure. You know what you’re about to do, sneaking away with a Kook, is at best, a mere bad idea.. But for a bad idea, it feels so good.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ ･ ｡ﾟ ───

The stars glitter and glisten through floor to ceiling panes as you step into the little room atop the lighthouse. Your gasp makes him smile because he’d been hoping you might actually appreciate the view if he ever managed to be lucky enough to get you up here with him.

You turn to him in a rush, your chest presses against his as one of your hands finds purchase in the front of his favorite denim jacket, the one lined with wool. ❝ Top,❞ there it is, that sweet and sultry little purr that haunts his dreams, asleep or awake. He’s staring down at you, dazed. Because the moon is hitting your face just right and your skin is soft and dewy. You’re staring right back up at him, your grip on the front of his jacket tightens just a slip. When you realize just how close you’re pressed against him, your breath catches, a quiet gasp leaving your slightly parted lips.

He leans down, his face into yours just a little. A hand raises and cups your face after he’s brushed some loose strands of hair out of your eyes. ❝ What’s up?❞ he asks finally, the silence is too much for him.

❝ It’s so beautiful up here.❞ you mutter, raising one leg slightly, bent at the knee. He chuckles. The sound is soft. A little husky. Deep as the sound rose up from the very bottom of his soul. It gives you another little tummy flutter. For just a split second, you wonder if this is how awestruck Sarah Cameron had to feel when he looked at her the way he’s looking at you right now. And then in the next breath you’re doing all you can to mentally gaslight yourself that no, he’s definitely not looking at you like that.

You almost manage to pull it off until he shatters the silence. ❝ What I’m lookin at right now is more beautiful.❞

You gulp. The minty clean warmth of his breath fans your face as his moves even closer and the hand that had been on your cheek just seconds before moves to the back of your head. Thick digits catch against your hair. You melt against him and you try not to do it, but your eyes flutter closed as your tongue drags over your bottom lip. The ripped piece of lace you’d stapled to a headband to make yourself a veil at the last minute is lifted, raised out of his way completely.

❝ I’m gonna kiss you.❞ he mumbles quietly, his free hand settled on your hip which he squeezes and uses his grip to pull you into him even closer, as if there was any space left between you both in the first place. ❝ You.. If you don’t want me to kiss you...❞ words are frustrating. He swears under his breath and takes a very shaky deep breath to try again. But you don’t want to wait a single second longer, maybe at least half of your brain is convinced that this is a daydream and you’re going to come out of it to find Cleo and Pope sitting across from you in your usual booth at the Wreck, laughing their asses off.

❝ Are you crazy?❞ you mumble soft, your lips bump right into his as you speak, ❝ I’ve wanted to kiss you since we were twelve.. When I almost drowned to death and you saved me?❞ 

Topper blinks. He’d honestly thought that given all previous interactions, you’d panic and bolt. Because that used to be what you did in any situation where you found yourself alone with him. ❝ You.. you really mean that...❞ he studies you, curious.

❝ I said it, Top.❞ you mumble quietly. You’re not good at making eye contact for too long. So when you try to stare a hole through the front of Topper’s denim jacket, he cups your jaw and makes you look up at him. The distance between your mouths begins to close again. Time all but freezes and finally, his thick tongue splits the barrier of your lips. You keep up with him as best as you can but it’s clumsy. A little needy and you’re melting into his body the more the kiss deepens. When your lips latch onto his bottom one, he groans against your mouth quietly and the hair his hand is so caught up in is given a slight little tug. 

The two of you are light-headed, racing hearts and breathing for each other when the kiss breaks and you reluctantly pull apart, a strand of saliva keeping just a small hint of connection between your mouths. ❝ Fuck.❞ - that’s both of you mumbling the word in unison because he’d imagined what kissing you might feel like for a while now but what he’s just done went above and beyond his wildest imagination. And he knows it won’t be enough because he’s already pulling you back against him and leaning himself down into you for another one.

Your hand raises and settles in his hair, giving it a tug as you climb up into his arms, your legs circling his waist. The ripped lace of the flimsy DIY veil falls down between both of your faces at one point and Topper’s hand catches against the dollar store headband and slips it off your head, letting it fall from his fingers to the wooden floor of the room. You’ve rubbed yourself against him at least two times by now and you keep making these cute little whiny sounds that are driving him to the brink of his restraint.

When your mouth strays from his, seeking out the side of his neck, he sucks in a sharp breath. Hands catch against your ass, squeezing a double handful through a skintight white tank dress. He growls into your neck, ❝ We.. we don’t have t’ do this.. This isn’t why I brought you up here, love.❞ and it’s so cute and sweet and when he calls you love it’s just such a gentleman’s choice of word. You pull away to stare up at him. ❝ I know, I just..❞ you take a deep breath, laugh at yourself because you know damn well you’re rushing into this but at this point, it just feels like you’ve waited longer than forever. Maybe even longer than an eternity.

❝ What? You can tell me, love.❞ Topper coaxes. You play with the front of his jacket as you try to will the words out. ❝ I promised myself if I ever got a chance.. With you.. I was going to do everything I could to make you mine.❞ you cringe a little, it has to sound needy. It has to sound crazy, after all, every previous interaction between you both involved you making a hasty retreat.

❝ You.. you did?❞ he’s puzzled. Because he’s never been anyone’s first choice. He’s never been the guy who gets kissed like you just kissed him. He’s the best friend. Comic relief. The one people turn to only when he can do something for their benefit.

❝ Topper,❞ you whine out as you try to rub against him as much as you can and cling to his body, ❝ I want you..❞

He’s gaping. Stunned. Speechless. Because not only is someone begging for him.. That someone is someone he’s actually had his eye on for a really long time. Secretly, of course.

❝ I… I didn’t say too much, did I?❞ you ask quietly when he’s still dazed a second or two later and you notice that he’s not really responding to anything you’re doing. You frown a little and you’re just about to climb down out of his arms but he takes a step back. You wind up sat on the circular metal railing that surrounds the circular room. ❝ No. No, love.. You didn’t. I just needed to process.❞ Topper explains as his hands leave your hips, skimming up the front of your body, squeezing and cupping your breasts through thin fabric. When you start to rock into him all over again, he bites back a growl and thrusts himself against you so you can feel how hard he is through the jeans he’s wearing. And then he’s staring at you, eyes burning, pupils blown with lust. ❝ You’re.. You’re sure, yeah? We don’t have t’ do this right now, love...❞ he’s melting back into you, his mouth against your neck, tongue dragging the length of your pulse before he takes a little nip of exposed skin.

The scent of vanilla, of you and that sugary sweet cheap perfume you always wear, that fills his awareness, permeates the air all around you both. When his hand slips up your dress and he feels the garter wrapped around your thigh, he inhales, resting his forehead against the top of your breasts. The clasp to the garter was tricky. It was frustrating for him, especially when the only thing he wanted was to strip everything away that kept your skin from touching his.

❝ I hate this damn thing.❞ he huffs out just two seconds before he finally just loses all patience with your tight and stubborn clothing and rips the garter away. Your thin flannel shirt goes next, followed by his denim jacket, both settling in a heap on the floor of the observation room. 

With shaking hands you reach down between your bodies to unbutton his jeans and they settle around his ankles. 

He’s sucking your neck as he works the short and tight little dress up your hips, relishing all your little whimpers and whines and the way you're just so damn responsive to every little touch or kiss. His hand slips between your thighs and your breath catches, your head fallen back against the floor to ceiling pane of glass at your back. He cups your wet sex, rubbing his hand against it until you're rocking yourself against his hand, moaning his name and he can feel you dripping against his palm.

❝ Have you ever..uh, have you done this before, love?❞ he asks the question both not expecting your answer and preparing himself to be at least a little jealous, more determined to erase anyone else you've ever been with from your memory. ❝ No.❞ you breathe out against his neck as you work his shirt up and out of the way. Topper is frozen again. Trying to process everything, from the first kiss to now, when you've just told him that he's going to be your first lover. Only, his mind corrects as he feels himself getting harder at the mere thought that he's going to be the first, only, boy to bury his cock inside you. He never thought that just finding out you are a virgin would drive him as crazy as it is.

❝ Okay, look at me, love..❞ he's trying to be the voice of reason, to slow things down before they go too far. He wants to make sure you really are ready. He cups your jaw, tilting your gaze up ❝Do you really want this? Are..are you sure?❞, he asks, trying to get you focused on the question.

 But you're begging and the way you keep kissing on him while clinging to him as much as you can melts him. He melts down into you after releasing his hold on your jaw, his face buried in your tits as his hands squeeze your ass. 

❝ I want you, Top. Nobody else. You.❞ you answer quietly, cupping his face to make him look up at you so he knows you mean it and you're not just in the heat of the moment. ❝ You.❞

It's everything he's always wanted to hear and given up on hearing. He's all over you after it sinks in, lips against soft skin, hands anywhere he can get them on you. ❝ I'm..fuck.❞ he breathes out against your mouth as he crashes his mouth against yours, ❝ I'm yours, okay?❞ he promises, melting into you so much that you're pressed back against the window.

Your fingers drag over his abdomen as you take in what he's promising. You weren't expecting it, you're blown away.

You whine out in need as you tug at the waistband of his boxers. He chuckles.

❝ Oh no. No, love, not until I get a taste of you first.❞ he mutters against the shell of your ear. Thick digits hook in the side of your panties, he works them down your legs and when they settle at your ankles, he gets down on his knees in front of you, gazing up. ❝ C'mon, love.. open those pretty legs for me. Let me see what I'm doing to you.❞ he murmurs, parting your legs with his hands. As he sets sights on your bare cunt -and how wet you are, he barely stops a groan at the sight. You fidget a little, squirming in his intent gaze because he's your first. This is all so very new to you. You’re afraid that he's going to change his mind. ❝ Relax, love. I swear to God I'm gonna take care of you,  baby.❞

His tongue drags over the outline of his lips as moonlight makes your skin glisten, you're dripping for him and he's barely done a thing. He takes a pause, a few seconds to wrap his head around the fact that this is real and its happening.. with him. He's the one you've chosen to give yourself to and he's determined not to make you regret it.

His tongue drags over the soft skin, tracing its way up your inner thighs. When you start to giggle because you discover you're ticklish on your inner thighs, he chuckles quietly. When his tongue drags a stripe right up the center of your dripping hot sex, your breath hangs in your throat. He groans at the taste of you as it fills his mouth and two fingers join his tongue, stretching you more than you're used to. Your hand catches in his hair and you tug as his fingers and tongue fuck your virgin cunt to prepare you to be full of him. He mutters against your skin  ❝ Pull harder, love. If it helps.❞ as he buries his tongue deep inside. Your free hand curls around cool metal and you whimper and whine. 

There's a white hot ache that's creeping in, settling in the pit of your stomach as Topper works his fingers and tongue inside you. ❝ Top…❞ you're moaning his name like a prayer as you try to move your hips, desperate for more.

❝ Good girl. Fuck. Fuck,❞ he groans out, the sound of his voice muffled by the way he's got his face buried between your thighs. He stops to breathe - and to watch the way your head falls back and your mouth is hanging open partially, begging him to fuck you. ❝ Such a good girl for me.❞

You're so close. He can feel you tense up. He starts to slow down and you cry out for him, frustrated tears shining in your eyes as he looks up at you, his tongue dragging over your throbbing clit. ❝ Too much, love?❞ he questions.

You nod. He pulls himself up off his knees and steps between your legs, his hands pinning your hands against the glass at your back as he lets his boxers fall to the floor and lines up his cock with your dripping hole. As he fucks into you for the first time, you clench around his cock and it's so tight. His breath catches and when he feels you tense up, he goes still. Kissing on you as he waits for you to get used to taking his cock.

❝ Is it.. are you okay now, love?❞ he asks, gently cupping your jaw as you nod and start trying to rock yourself into him. 

This feels so fucking good, - the thought comes as you clench tight around him and he groans against your neck, plowing into you slow and deep. 

❝ –oh God don't stop dontstop, baby you feel so good. So gooood.❞ you're in the heat of the moment and all he can do is watch as you come undone, the sexy little sounds you're making combined with the way you clench around his thick cock is almost enough to make him come undone. ❝ Easy, love.❞ he coaxes, driving into you at a new angle as he lets go of your hands and grabs your hips, picking you up to slam you down on his cock over and over. ❝ I'm…fuck…I wanna cum, princess. You feel so so good. So good.❞ he's begging for it and he doesn't care, he's got no shame at all. You’re clinging to him as your orgasm rips through you and leaves you a fucked out and needy mess. He's thrown into his own orgasm, your cunt squeezing his cock so perfectly that he can't hold it off. 

You feel him throbbing, hot seed painting your insides and he leans down into you, his forehead against your tits while he takes a few sloppy thrusts. His mouth crashes against yours in a kiss that's equal parts sloppy and sweet.

Down on shore, the festivities are still going, you can see the bonfire from where you are as you slip down from the rail, the two of you helping each other redress, stopping to steal kisses or melt into each other.

As he holds out your 'veil' to the costume, he turns it over in his hands and chuckles quietly. ❝ Tiffany..from Bride of Chucky, right?❞ he asks and you laugh softly.

❝ Nope. I am a bride though.. since my brother thinks that I'm gonna run off to marry you just because I really like you and I stare too much, I decided to prove him right.❞

Topper chuckles. Then it sinks in what you're admitting. He catches up to you as you're about to open the door to the room and he turns you around to face him. ❝ I kinda thought you hated me or that I scared you because you're always rushing off whenever we happen to be alone.. thats not true?❞

You laugh softly and shake your head. ❝ I didn’t want my idiot brother to come after you. If he hurt you, I..❞ you trail off, a hand raised to caress his cheek as you stare up at him. ❝ I'm not trying to scare you or anything but..❞ you lean against him, ❝ I think I could love you. That I have for a long time..❞

He's blown away. He cups your jaw to make you look up at him as he takes in what you've just said. ❝ D-do you mean that?❞

You smile softly and nod. He holds you tighter, his nose against the crown of your head. ❝ He doesn't scare me. And he won't stop me from being with you.❞ Topper promises, staring down at you. 

❝ Wanna go back down?❞ he asks after a few seconds. You laugh and shake your head no, telling him ❝ I only came tonight to be close to you.❞

The two of you do make your way out of the lighthouse but it's to sit on the deck, you caged in by his body as he holds you close and points out different stars in the sky.

[theprinceandagcd]

home is where the heart is (but God I love the English)

Summary: Alex's relationship with "London Boy" by Taylor Swift is an emotional journey.

Words: 4,026

ao3 link

Notes: via @KeptinOnZeBridg on Twitter: "alex continuously teasing henry with taylor swift's "london boy" and singing it over and over again when they shop, when they get to bed, when they cook, and when their friends are over"

So. Anyway. I'm not entirely sure what this is? Is it a crack fic? It might be a crack fic. I hope you like it anyway. I do :)

----

you know I love a London boy

I enjoy walking Soho, drinking in the afternoon

he likes my American smile

like a child, when our eyes meet

darling, I fancy you

----

Alex wouldn’t consider himself a Swiftie, necessarily.

June has been obsessed since they were little and still in Texas – Alex has distinct memories of her strumming a guitar and covering Our Song repeatedly because it was the only song she learned at the time. When Taylor Swift stopped in D.C. for the Reputation tour the year after his mom get elected, he’d tagged along with June and Nora, dressed in all black at the girls’ insistence to fit the vibes.

It’d been fine. He’d had a good time.

But he doesn’t know her entire discography and only pretends to keep up when someone starts diving into the Taylor Swift lore, like who her best exes are or why there were five holes in a fence in an Instagram photo years ago. Her music is good, and he doesn’t actively want to turn it off most of the time when he hears it – he doesn’t understand why that can’t be the end of the conversation.

Still, when Lover comes out in late August of 2019, only a week after he had to clean cake out of places he never wanted to clean cake out of, he finds himself lounging back on June’s unnecessarily fluffy pillows, Nora and June both curled up near the foot of the bed with June’s phone as midnight rolls around. Snacks are scattered around them, like they’re preparing for some kind of fucking apocalypse instead of listening to a pop album. He’s got his HRH Prince Henry fact sheet open on his lap as they start playing the first track for the first time, because he’s here for the snacks and to make June happy, and he’s supposed to be committing this stuff to memory at the same time.

The album isn’t bad. He nods his head along to some of the songs, taps his fingers in tune with a few, and he doesn’t really offer a lot of commentary.

“Okay, this next one is… London Boy.” He isn’t looking, but he feels June’s eyes on the side of his face. “Ooh, wonder if it’s about your new best friend.”

Alex frowns, glancing up at her. “What?”

“Henry, obviously,” June says, grinning around a mouthful of Pop-tart. She gestures vaguely toward the file in his hand. “Doesn't he qualify as a London boy?”

“There’s at least a ninety percent probability that it’s about her boyfriend,” Nora supplies, unhelpfully, as she rips open a bag of skittles.

“And the other ten percent?” June tilts her head and smirks, clearly enjoying this too much.

“I’d say like, eight percent that it’s Harry Styles.”

“And?”

“Probably at least one percent that it’s Henry." Nora shrugs. "He’s the more attractive option of the two royal English men within a decent age range.”

June turns back to Alex, eyebrows raised high on her forehead. “See, there’s a chance.”

“Just play the goddamn song, Bug.”

Nora throws a yellow skittle at his head. “Boo, party pooper.”

June plays the song, as requested, and it’s good.

Except.

Except it’s a little too... boppy for his taste.

Except now he’s stuck thinking about pristine blonde hair and stupid blue eyes and an upturned perfect nose because June has made the association in his brain before he’d even been able to give the song a chance. He breathes in deep through his nose and stares at the words in front of him and tries to push down the irritation rising in his chest. Random facts about Prince Henry are staring back up at him, mocking him and reminding him that he has to fix this stupid mess that wasn’t even his fault.

Well, not really.

“It was cute,” Nora says once the song has stopped.

Alex just shrugs. “It’s not my favorite. Next.”

He pretends not to see the glare that June shoots at him. It’s easier than trying to figure out why his stomach is in knots just from thinking about Henry. 

It's probably just pure annoyance. 

----

Taylor Swift has bad timing.

On January 3rd, two days after Henry kissed him on New Years’, Alex is antsy and irritable and needs to distract himself because he's definitely being ghosted. So, he’s trying to get a head start on reading for his classes that don’t start for another fucking week because he has to do something when Idris Elba’s voice comes through the speaker playing a random pop playlist on Spotify. 

He hates that he recognizes it immediately, even though he’s pretty sure he’s only heard it twice since it came out. Even more, he hates the way it immediately makes him feel.

His stomach drops and twists, and the book he was holding slips from his hands because they’re suddenly damp and he can’t hold onto it. He fumbles in his hurry to slam his hand on the volume down button of the offending piece of technology, and the book crashes to the floor beside his desk, loud and jarring. The silence that follows offers little comfort, the tune still playing in his head, echoing between his ears.

Reflexively, he unlocks his phone and opens his message thread with Henry, reading back over the texts he’s sent – questions of if Henry is alive and if they can talk and—nothing. No new messages or missed calls or even a fucking like on his most recent Instagram post. That had been a stretch, he knows - a desperate attempt to get anything from Henry, but the radio silence has only continued. It feels like he’s lost something, something monumental, which is fucking stupid because they weren’t anything, not really. Acquaintances, at best. Fake friends, at worst.

It’s what Alex tells himself.

It doesn’t feel true.

He counts out four minutes in ten second intervals in his head and then turns the volume back up on his speaker. Another song has started playing, one that doesn’t remind him of cold air and warm hands on his cheeks and soft lips pressed to his underneath a tree in the White House garden.

It’s another story, he guesses, if that’s all he can think about anyway, regardless of what song plays. He’ll still blame Taylor Swift for the crack in his chest that he presses a hand to as he picks his book back up, opening it up and not comprehending a single goddamn word. 

Maybe he should have just let the stupid song play. He feels like shit already, anyway.

----

He plays it for Henry in Paris, just to annoy him.

They’re eating apricots and tarts and laughing curled up together on the bedspread in their robes and nothing else, and Alex gives Henry an airpod and they go back and forth picking songs. Alex pokes fun at Henry’s Bowie choices and Henry rolls his eyes when Alex plays the Beatles, but they’re giggling and it’s stupid, really, how this moment feels stuck in time. He knows minutes are passing and he knows Henry will have to leave soon, but their heads are tucked close together and Henry’s palm is warm on Alex’s leg, and he wishes they could just stay here forever.

Here feels like somewhere else, safe from prying eyes and people who wouldn’t understand. Here, they’re just two boys curled together in a Paris hotel room that are friends, that sort of understand each other, that know what the other tastes like when they come and where to kiss to make the other squirm. It’s a little terrifying, this feeling blooming in his chest and expanding. It feels beautiful and fragile, and Alex isn’t sure he’s capable of not fucking it up.

It would be on brand for him, if he’s being honest.

So, he types the song name into his search bar and clicks play. He cuts his eyes up at Henry with a grin, because this is supposed to be something casual, not something that makes him feel like he might die if he loses it. The song is just silly enough, and Henry rolls his eyes and shoves him away, complaining that he needs to take a shower before he heads out.

He hands Alex back his airpod and gets up, but he smiles at Alex before he disappears into the bathroom. Alex lets the song finish playing as he hears the shower turn on, and part of him kind of wants to take off his own robe and join him. Henry would probably let him, but Alex has already skirted the edge of what this is supposed to be this morning, when he watched Henry sleep and traced the ridges of his spine with his fingertips.

Taylor sings “you know I love a London boy” in his right ear, the other airpod tucked into his fist, and Alex, for just a moment, wonders if he could.

Or if he’d even be allowed.

----

The song haunts Alex on his worst day. 

When Henry leaves the lakehouse, the rest of them stay for one more day, like they had planned originally. Alex asks to leave and let them enjoy the last day without him, but everyone refuses to let him go anywhere by himself, and Alex doesn’t want to ruin their vacation, too.

He’s pretty sure he already has.

Nora and June hover around him, and he tries to humor them, but his heart feels torn open and shattered. No, his heart feels gone, ripped from his chest and halfway across the Atlantic by now, probably. He wonders if Henry has cried over him at all, too, or if leaving was easy for him. Has he thought about texting Alex back? Has he stared at their text message thread and considered responding and giving Alex any semblance of an answer? Of a reason?

Does he understand what Alex has lost?

If, he thinks bleakly, he ever had it to begin with.

Alex lets his sister and best friend pull him onto the porch, into the warm sun that does nothing for how cold he feels, and Nora turns on some music, and he tries very hard not to open his Instagram and scroll through Henry’s feed, and he tries very hard not to wonder what he did wrong, and he tries very hard not to cry.

“We could go driving in, on my scooter-“

A broken noise slips past Alex’s lips before Nora can grab her phone and change the song. The door slams forcefully when Alex runs inside, before he's even realized that he was moving, into the room that still fucking smells like Henry. Pain laces through his scalp and – oh – he was pulling his hair. He squeezes his hands into tight fists and presses them into his eyes as his tears start to fall and fall and fall. 

He was so fucking stupid. 

It’s like he can still hear the godforsaken lyrics even though he knows the song was turned off, taunting him, words about loving British mannerisms and “just wanna be with you”s, and he isn’t sure how he read it so wrong, how he misunderstood the way that Henry had looked at him, how he’d let himself fall in love with someone who never planned on being there to catch him.

He curls up in Henry’s bunk and cries into one of the last things that Henry touched that he still has with him, ignoring June when she knocks on the door, apologizing profusely.

It doesn’t matter.

None of it matters.

----

The song winds up being a comfort when he needs it. 

Curled into a seat on a private plane the night after dancing with Henry at the Victoria and Albert Museum, Alex slots his airpods into his ears and plays music to try to calm his racing thoughts. He brings his hand up to his sternum, feels the lump of the key and ring hiding under his shirt and clings to that feeling, that hope. 

“I want you to know, I'm sure. A thousand percent."

If Alex closes his eyes, he can still feel Henry’s soft jacket underneath his fingertips, the way his palms had slid into the dips in Henry’s waist as they’d shuffled back and forth around some of the most beautiful art in the world. Or, at least, Alex assumes it is. He didn’t see much of it, too focused on Henry, on making sure he took advantage of every second that he was allowed to hold him, to press kisses into his cheeks and jaw and neck, to love him the way he deserved to be loved.

The way that Alex is going to love him forever.

He isn’t really paying attention to what’s playing, until his brain registers a familiar cadence, and he realizes that London Boy is playing.

It makes him laugh, quick and surprised, the immediate visceral reaction almost making him skip it. But, the song plays, “but something happened, I heard him laughing, I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent” and his finger stops over the button. It’s catchy, for one. It’s true, for another.

A lot of things will probably remind him of Henry breaking his heart in Texas, at least for a while - the lake house, bunk beds, this song. He can't change what happened, but he's certainly changed his perceptions before. He did, after all, spend the first twenty-one years of his life thinking that he was straight and now he has a boyfriend. 

Things can change. 

He leans back against his headrest and lets the song play, humming along. Cash shoots him a funny look from his seat, but Alex just looks out the window and breathes and creates a new memory for the song – a feeling of elation, of knowing that the future is uncertain except for one thing, the one thing that Alex is more sure of than he’s ever been of anything. Before the song ends, he takes a screenshot of the Spotify app as it plays and sends it to Henry, texting, miss you already xo

Henry’s response is quick: I’m never going to escape that bloody song, am I?

Alex grins. not if you’re with me, baby.

Guess I’ll just learn to love it, then. And then, immediately after: I miss you, too.

----

Henry doesn’t escape it.

June plays London Boy on purpose after the inauguration in January, her grin wide and wicked. Alex lolls his head onto Henry’s shoulder and sings along immediately, poking at his side until that beautiful fucking smile pulls up his boyfriend’s features.

“You’re a menace to society,” is what Henry says, but his cheeks are pink and his lips are warm when he presses them to Alex’s temple.

Alex just buries his face into Henry’s neck, pressing his own kiss to the soft skin there, before trailing up to Henry’s ear and, around a giggle, whisper-singing, “Dahling, I fancy you.”

Henry shakes his head, but his eyes are bright, and his grin is infectious, and Alex just wants to live in this moment forever. His mom and Leo are somewhere – grabbing champagne, he thinks. Nora is curled up on Alex’s other side, and June is sitting on the ottoman in front of them with her phone in her hand, and Henry’s arm is looped around Alex’s waist from where he sits next to him, and it’s everything.

He swallows past the sudden emotion in his throat and then laughs as June and Nora grab remotes and start using them as microphones, serenading Henry until his blush has spread all the way down his neck. They love him, too, Alex knows, and as he joins in with them, singing loudly and off-key, he thinks that this is what Henry deserves – to be loved this fully and wholly and unconditionally and, sometimes, a little comically. Nora leans over Alex’s lap to ruffle Henry’s hair during the bridge of the song, and Alex presses his “just wanna be with youuu” into the crinkle at the corner of Henry’s eye. June fakes a gagging motion, but then she gets up and smacks a kiss on Henry’s opposite cheek, which makes him splutter as he pushes her away.

During the last chorus, he glances over at Alex, as if in need of salvation, but Alex just smirks. Henry rolls his eyes, but the hand around Alex’s waist squeezes as the song ends, and Nora and June devolve into a giggling fit just as his mom and Leo appear with a bottle of champagne and 6 glasses. They toast their wins, all of them, including Henry, who flushes but clinks his glasses with everyone.

They’re all talking over each other and it’s chaotic and messy but there’s still something warm and tangible beating through his veins, comfortable and encompassing. Alex looks over at Henry, who smiles and laces their fingers together like it’s the easiest thing in the world before giving his attention back to Leo, and Alex knows – it’s home.

----

Alex adds London Boy to their move in playlist when they’re putting all of their things in the brownstone, credenzas and way too many shoes and everything in between coming together in a jumble that will probably take them weeks to work through.

But it’s their stuff and their mess, and unpacking boxes with Henry feels nearly therapeutic, like the culmination of everything that they had to go through to have this, a home that belongs to both of them, closets that they share, and decisions that they get to make together.

Henry lets him craft the playlist, which is a mistake on his part, but Alex takes advantage and then bides his time, waiting patiently as they unpack boxes and rearrange furniture and argue over which cabinet the ceramic bowls should go in, which is so fucking domestic that Alex actually kisses Henry mid-argument, fingers curling around the back of his neck as he licks into his mouth. Henry’s hands flutter for a moment around Alex’s shoulders before settling around his waist, and Alex’s grin breaks their lips apart.  

Henry swallows, eyes dark. “Um, I-“

“Put the bowls wherever you want, baby.”

The bowls go on the counter, for the time being, as Henry drops to his knees, and they christen their kitchen before they’ve even finished unpacking the first box.

Later, London Boy starts playing while Henry is setting up their coffee and tea bar and Alex is stacking glass cups in the cabinet beside the refrigerator. Immediately, Alex puts the dishes down and grabs Henry around the waist, effectively pulling him away from his work and into Alex’s arms.

“What are you – oh my – Christ, Alex, really?”

Alex laughs as recognition flashes in Henry’s eyes, keeping one hand in Henry’s as he twirls himself around once. Henry’s arm winds around his middle as he comes back, and then he’s rocking back and forth with Alex, silly and perfect and his. Alex is so deliriously happy as he obnoxiously sings the lyrics, feeling like he’s holding everything he's ever wanted in the palm of his hand.

And, well. He guesses he is.

----

It becomes a bit, something Alex always knows he can do to get a smile out of Henry. He’ll play their stupid song, and sing it off-key in Henry’s ear, and they’ll dance around their kitchen or their living room or their bedroom or whatever space they find themselves in. Henry eventually even stops complaining, unless he’s critiquing the accent that Alex sometimes tries to emanate as he belts the lyrics.

Alex adds London Boy to nearly every playlist they have on their shared Spotify account, including their chores playlist. So, it always seems to come on when they’re sweeping their dining room or dusting their ceiling fans or cleaning their kitchen countertops. They always stop, they always dance. Alex always feels like it’ll never get old, the way that Henry looks skyward for a moment and laughs and lets Alex keep doing it anyway. He’s lucky, so lucky, that this is the life he gets to live, with this man that he loves and that loves him, too, even when he’s ridiculous or overdoing it.

Henry never seems to think so.

Once, when Henry is washing the dishes, the song comes on and Alex puts down the broom that was in his hand to wrap his arms around Henry from behind. His fingers trail across Henry’s abs from over his sweater, squeezing lightly. He presses his lips to the shell of Henry’s ear and hums, “home is where the heart is, but God I love the English” in the most exaggerated bubble gum pop tone he can manage.

Henry pulls his lips between his teeth to try to hide his smile. “Your love for the English is singular, you cretin.”

Alex just kisses his jaw noisily and keeps singing, rocking back and forth, and moving both of their bodies in a way that makes Henry fucking giggle, and Alex might spend the rest of their lives trying to get that sound replicated as often as possible.

“You know I love a London boy

I enjoy walking Camden Market in the afternoon”

Henry sighs, finishing the last dish and drying off his hands before turning to rest his hip against the counter. He tilts his head in a way that Alex recognizes, slightly exasperated but endearingly fond. It still makes his heart skip a little in his chest.

He loves that – the way his entire soul still reacts to even the slightest bit of affection from Henry. It’s like he’ll never fully get used to it, even as much as he knows that Henry loves him, that Henry is staying forever. He hopes the thrill never goes away, either. 

Alex curls himself into Henry’s chest, still singing along with the song as he stretches up on his toes. Henry kisses him, cutting him off and effectively shutting him up, and Alex melts, reaching up to cup Henry’s cheeks in his palms. Their noses brush together when they pull away. “I love you.” Alex grins. “London boy.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re insufferable.” Henry scrunches up his nose, and Alex leans up to kiss it. Henry rolls his eyes. “But I love you, too.”

----

At the end of the year, when they get their shared Spotify account Wrapped, London Boy is their top played song, because Alex plays it while they’re cleaning, while they’re getting ready in the morning, when they have friends over for game nights, as often as he can. He does it for the sole purpose of teasing Henry, of getting to see the splotches of color that rise on his skin and know that it’s born out of love. Plus, as much as he didn’t like it when he first heard it, he thinks that opinion was based on his feelings about Henry getting in the way. In hindsight and objectively, he was too harsh on it. It’s a good song. 

When they go shopping at Target and the song plays over the store’s speakers, Alex’s eyes go wide and he sings it to Henry in the middle of the aisle, and Henry tries to run him over with their shopping cart.

When they get married, Alex adds it to their wedding reception playlist, delighted when it blares through the sound system and makes Henry blush, prompting Henry to pull Alex close and hide his face in Alex’s shoulder, his ring sparkling in the light when he covers his eyes with his hand.

A few years later, when they adopt their first daughter from an agency based out of London, Alex posts a photo to Instagram of Henry holding her, small and wrapped in a yellow blanket that has tiny water spots dotting the top of it from where they’ve both cried on her, captioning it, “you know we love a London (girl).”

June comments both a pink heart and an eye rolling emoji, then texts him asking for caption credit.

After all, she made him listen to the song in the first place.

[litrumi]

(Main Story FINALE Spoilers) "A Drop of Light in the Night"

*(Note: These are VAGUE, ambiguous spoilers for my fanfic. But I couldn't stop thinking about it, so I absolutely just needed to write this down. Even if they might not be part of the final product, which is an EON from now. Only time will tell.)*

Any of these tracks fit: Machine in the Wall (Mausoleum) or Innocence Mangled (Depths)

Italics = Inner thoughts "Quotes" = Talking aloud

Enjoy!

--

Even though we walk on and on, it almost feels like no progress is being made whatsoever.

I just can't shake the feeling we're in another one of those instances...

But the pup behind me doesn't seem all that worried.

"You're not even a little scared?" I ask as we keep going down the dark, cramped, and rocky path.

I hear a small chuckle from him. "We've gone through how many whacky and dangerous adventures now?" He replies. "Besides, we've known about this place for almost a year by this point. I'm surprised this is the first time we're exploring it."

"Only because that research-obsessed elephant wants to know what's down here..." I sigh. "Why didn't he tag along?"

"You could've asked that same question about literally every other time," the dog tells me with a sheepish grin. "Does this place really make you that anxious? It's not nearly as crazy as everything else. And we haven't even heard about a single thing happening around here until now."

"I just have a very intense sort of bad feeling about this place..." I admit, focusing on keeping Dogday's hand held in my own as we venture further, with me taking the lead.

And even though I look at these cave walls, no matter how they all look the same and formed as one would expect the innards of a rocky formation to be, some of these spots give off a familiarity to them.

"Well, when we get back, maybe we can just tell Bubba that we don't wanna go exploring anymore," Dogday suggests. "We'll make this our last expedition, if you want," He smiles at me. Then he looks at a pocket watch he holds in his hand. He examines it, and tilts his head when he notices something funny. "That's weird..."

"Hm?" I sound out, stopping us in our tracks and turning myself to look at him. "What've you got there, Pup?"

"Oh, didn't you hear that last part of the page he found?" He asks me directly.

I muse on the thought. "All I remember was him saying that the page hinted at 'letting reality guide us to our destiny' or something like that," I explain.

"Well, he also said something about wanting to know how long we've been in here once we got started, so I borrowed this from him before we left," he looks back at the watch, shaking it a bit. "But maybe this thing is just broken... I swear it's gotta have been at least thirty minutes by now."

"Let me see," I say, as he then gives the pocket watch over to me. Holding it in my other free hand, I look at it closely.

The canine rubs the back of his head with his other hand. "It's at the same time from when I checked, you know, as soon as we started walking around," he says.

But even as I look at the watch, I notice that not a single hand is moving. Not even the hand representing "seconds passing."

Then, my eyes widen.

Oh no...

Frantically, I look around us.

"Huh? What is it?" Dogday curiously asks.

With so many sudden and worrying thoughts running through my head...

This just can't be. This doesn't make any sense.

I don't see anything or anyone out of the ordinary, but I tense up because the atmosphere now feels so much more sinister than before.

I don't like this.

I really don't like any of this...

"Catnap, what's wrong?" He wants to know what I'm thinking.

It is another one of those times...

Where time means nothing.

"Dogday," I look at him instantly.

"W- What is it, Kitty?" He looks at me with a little concern.

"No matter what," I begin, my body shaking a little. "Stay close to me and don't let go of my hand. Never let go," I plead.

"Huh?" His eyes widen a little.

"And please, please promise me," I gulp, feeling a lump in my throat. "Promise me... that you'll watch your back."

"What?" He seems unsure yet saddened. His own brain is trying to comprehend my fluctuation in emotions. "Don't you mean 'our' backs?"

I shake my head vigorously. "No," I tell him. "No matter what, please, watch YOUR back."

He doesn't understand. He seems more perplexed and worried than anything else. We stand in silence as he tries to process my request.

But I mean exactly what I said.

And even though he would usually try to lighten the mood and calm the tension, I could tell he knew exactly what I was feeling. He could sense just how deathly terrified and serious I was.

"..." He blinks, looking at the ground only for a moment before letting our eyes meet again. "...G- Got it..." He nods.

I grip his hand even tighter in my own. "...Good," I nod in return, believing he understands the situation better.

Without another word, we press on. But now everything just feels heavier. And it's a mess we no longer can just leave behind so easily.

Please... I'm begging whoever's out there... If there's really anyone at all...

I hope and pray, marching on into the darkness with the one I care about most.

...Just let us get out of this, together, in one piece.

That's all I ask.

--

Anything's subject to change when I get to this point in the story. Just thought I'd leave that out there. I definitely wanna give this portion the vibe of "This is it, it's almost the end... There's just one last thing to do."

And all that. Yup! That's it! Take care~

[violetsareblue-selfships]

First Impressions

Ship: Yelan x April | Word Count: 1063 | Warnings/Tags: First Meeting, Pre-relationship (duh)

A/N: Happy birthday, Yelan~ Here's the fic I promised :D

Soft harp music drifts down the streets of Liyue Harbor, capturing the attention of those window-shopping or milling about. It's not so strange for performances to be given at all hours of the day at the various stages set up in the city, but the instrument itself is odd. But not so odd as to put people off.

Yelan has to admit even from a distance that the sound is beautiful. Honestly, if it were one of her free days, even she would go to check out the scene and see who's playing such a beautiful piece.

But, alas, she can't. And who knows if they'll still be performing by the time she's finished tracking this person down?

Such are the breaks of her job… Yelan shakes off her feelings and continues to follow the clues left behind, which incidentally brings her closer to the source of the music.

A smirk rests on her lips as she realizes that her perpetrator must have also been drawn in by the pretty music, effectively killing two birds with one stone for her. She can listen in, see who's playing, and catch him once the performance is over.

Yelan stays to the back of the crowd, nodding a little when she sees who she's been tracking in the crowd. Her eyes flick towards the stage for a brief moment, intending on only looking for a second to see if she recognizes them.

She doesn't, but that's not the point.

The woman playing is beautiful. Maybe more so than her music. Yelan can't quite bring herself to look away even as the song ends. The performer flashes a brilliant smile at the crowd and thanks them once again for coming, her smile turning softer as she starts playing a new song.

If Yelan weren't hooked before, she certainly was now.

Her voice… Not only her speaking voice, which was lovely, but this new song has her singing a melody overtop her playing. And her singing voice is… wow.

Yelan would have never considered herself the type to fall for someone at first sight, or even to gain a crush so quickly, but it seems this one bard is the exception to that rule.

Despite the way her heart is pounding, Yelan vows to look into this bard in her free time. From appearance alone, she doubts that this woman is a crook of any kind but looks often deceive others. And she won't let herself indulge in her feelings unless she knows for certain that she can trust her.

Still, she keeps her eyes on the stage through the song. Some time near the end, the woman's eyes meet hers and Yelan has the delight in watching them widen a little as well as a pretty blush spreading across the bard's cheeks.

Yelan smirks a little. That's cute. She's been making eye-contact with her audience the whole time and Yelan is the one to fluster her?

Impressively, she doesn't stutter in her playing or in her singing despite this, and Yelan finds herself hoping that she is as innocent as she appears. It could be… fun getting to know her.

She stays through the entire performance, not lingering to talk to the performer like many others are. Instead, she follows the one that led her here away from the stage before following through with her job.

It is a shame, though, that she didn't even get the woman's name…

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

Yelan lets out a soft sigh, rolling her shoulders back as she walks in the vague direction of the harbor. The evening lanterns have only recently been lit and she intends on indulging in the sight of the sunset over the water.

It isn't long after she settles in that she hears someone close by. Her guard raises a little but she doesn't visibly show it. It's more likely that this person also wants to watch the sunset and isn't a threat to her in any way, but it never hurts to be cautious.

Some time passes before the newcomer gasps, drawing Yelan to look over at them. Her eyes widen a little with recognition, mirroring the woman's own expression.

"I recognize you!" The woman--April, if Yelan's research was correct-- says, her voice still hushed to not disturb those nearby. "You were at my last performance, weren't you?"

Yelan laughs softly, her heart fluttering at the almost awed expression that crosses the bard's face. "Guilty. I couldn't resist the sound of your playing," Yelan admits, smiling a little when April brightens in response.

Introductions are quickly gotten out of the way and Yelan invites her to sit closer, both of them more focused on the other than on the now-setting sun.

The longer that they talk, the more Yelan is convinced that April is as genuinely sweet as she appears to be. When Yelan looked her up, there wasn't a single dark spot on her record and no evidence of anything being covered up either.

Yelan likes to think herself a good judge of character, so it does seem that April is trustworthy. Enough to become a friend at least, perhaps more if things work out that way.

The conversation lasts well past sunset to when the stars begin dotting the skies above. Yelan's truly enjoying herself, a little awed to have found someone that feels so easy to talk to.

April lets out a soft sigh. "I'm afraid I must be going. I have a performance scheduled early tomorrow…"

Yelan smiles at her. "It's alright. Would you like me to walk you to wherever you're going?" She asks, a hint of protectiveness slipping into her voice. The streets aren't always safe this time of night even with the Millelith patrolling as usual.

April laughs softly and shakes her head. "I'll be fine." She dusts herself off as she stands up and some light glints off the cryo vision hanging off her hip.

"Ah," Yelan says with a nod. "I see. Be careful."

"I will." April's eyes are soft as she says this. "Will I be seeing you at another performance?" Her voice is teasing yet hopeful all at once.

"Perhaps," Yelan says, smiling a little when April giggles, seeming pleased with that answer.

With that, the two bid each other goodnight and go their separate ways, both looking forward to a potential meeting in the future.

[strvwdere]

He's been on my mind and my dash today. Uploaded from the dox archive, briefly edited, and still doesn't have a title! Taking suggestions in the tags <3

Edit: title added!

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"Unannounced"

Aki Hayakawa x gnc!Reader drabble (~1k words)

CW!s: Fluff, brief mention of blood, suggestions of violence and hookup culture, one (1) use of profanity, no pronouns or anatomy descriptions for reader, JP urban life context, Aki is a sweetie pie, **note at the end if u care to read!

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Thinking about the first time you ever put your lips on Aki Hayakawa.

It was far more innocent than others might suspect. With your jobs and daily lives entrenched in spectacular horrors, it was practically expected for those in your position to blow off steam with one another. You'll admit you'd had a brief tryst or two, but now you had a new partner. And Aki didn’t seem like the type.

It's 02:37am and the train car is blissfully empty, not a sloshed up salaryman in sight. Aki had offered you a seat but chose to stand himself, claiming that he'd likely fall asleep if he took a moment to rest his long legs. You could see the truth of it on his face, but also knew he looked most comfortable staying on guard. Frankly, you wouldn't be surprised if the man slept with one eye open, literally.

He's got one hand on the baggage rail above you, the other fiddling with his lighter in the pocket of his suit pants. He catches you staring down at his sneakers, scanning them with casual curiosity, when he prompts,

"What?"

You blink, "They're clean."

“Huh?”

Aki thinks you must be blind, but he’s not rude enough to call you on it. Today’s shift had been your first time patrolling Shibuya together, so it was brutal, naturally. There’s not one article of clothing between the two of you without blood smeared on it somewhere. Standard rite of passage.

“The department chair said you like to stay busy. You a sneakerhead? There’s not a single scuff on those.”

“Not sure what the state of my footwear has to do with anything.”

“Sorry.”

You glance off to the side, not wanting him to presume scrutiny any further.

One thing about Aki- 90% of the time he’s vaguely dismissive and the other 10% he’s shy. 100% of the time you’re dogshit at reading him in the moment.

The ambiance of the train rattling down its track settles over you both. Stops coming and going, announcements crackling through the speakers and flashing on the overhead digital monitors as you pass through. Your lids are about to slip shut when he speaks, almost mumbling to himself.

“I like to take care of things.”

You roll your head along the back of the seat to look placidly in his direction again.

“Come again?”

He clears his throat. 

“I like to take care of my stuff. Is that a bad thing?”

“Not really, just surprising to me.”

“What’s so different about it?”

Your eyes follow the long column of his tie from the barely loosened knot at his throat, down his slim torso, to the pointed end that meets perfectly at the top of his belt buckle. Meticulous, you think. Meeting his eyes again as a wry smile tugs faintly at your lips, you state, 

“You’re a serious guy, Aki Hayakawa.”

“Yeah, guess so.”

He turns away, shielding his face with his arm still resting on the baggage rail, and casting his gaze over his toned shoulder. You’d assume he was dismissing you again, were it not for the visible tip of his ear tinted the lightest shade of pink. Look at that, you muse internally. The other 10%.

-The next stop is Ueno, G16. Please change here for the Hibiya line, the JR lines, and the Keisei line. This train is bound for Asakusa.-

You uncross your legs preparing to stand, semi-accidentally brushing your boot across the width of his shin as you do. He doesn’t flinch, but continues to avoid eye contact.

“Your stop, right?”

“Yep,” you quip, pulling the strings in your limbs against their will. Exhaustion is hitting you more fully now as you gather yourself. You’ll test Aki’s buttons another time, you decide. A time when a hot shower and your mattress aren’t demanding your presence so immediately.

-Arriving at Ueno, G16. The doors will open on the left side.-

“Don’t forget we’re touching base at HQ first tomorrow, and bring your report. They’ll want one from both of us since you’re an internal transfer.”

“Sir, yes sir.” 

You rise carefully to your feet, slinging your bag over your shoulder and steeling yourself for the next leg of your commute.

You’re mid-reach for the strap above when the train activates its breaks, rocking you forward and directly into Aki’s firm chest. An arm comes up to steady you against him while your outstretched hand aims for the baggage rail, landing on top of his own instead.

His voice is as rigid as the rest of him when he asks,

“You good?”

You tilt your head up sheepishly to reply and are struck by the fine architecture of his flexing jawline. Here you are hip to hip, eye to eye, and he’s still avoiding your gaze, burning holes into the wall of the train car behind you.

Whether it’s impetuousness or sleeplessness, something overcomes you. Rising onto the balls of your feet, arm pulling yourself up and in, you plant a soft, fleeting kiss to the underside of Aki’s chin.

-Ueno. This is Ueno station. Please watch your step.-

“Take good care of me, partner.”

-The next stop is Ueno-hirokoji, G15. Please transfer here for the Toei Oedo line.-

His arm leaves your waist and your hand uncovers his as you step away, dashing onto the platform just before the doors begin to close.

As the train pulls away, you’re left with a lingering sense of frustration and the impression of his body heat still ghosting your skin.

What you didn’t catch behind those doors was Aki, collapsed on the seat with his head in his hands, blushing bright red all the way down to his collar. 

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©strvwdere.tumblr.com; est. 02/2023; no quotes, reposts, or translations 🍓

**Note: I really wanted to make a cute reference to the way the phrase “yoroshiku onegaishimasu” is used in Japanese. One of its many meanings is “please treat me favorably” or “please take good care of me” and is often used in introductions and establishing coworker connections. That said, there is no direct translation to English so I’m afraid it came out a little clunky here (in my head, the reader essentially says “Please take care of me, Hayakawa Senpai). Lmk if you guys have any ideas! This was a quick bit I thought up while in the middle of my JP studies in preparation for going abroad. Had a lot of fun toying with our favorite Devil Hunter and looking through Tokyo-metro's website- that level of organization is A1!

[darlin-djarin]

Hiya! I've been lowkey stalking ur blog for the last few weeks bcs i recently got rllllllly into dinluke and saw ur recent post about fic, so now I'm wondering if you have any reccs (dinluke ofc)?! I like ur content and read ur tags so I'd say our taste in fic probably overlaps. Hope you have a nice day!! 🌻

hey!! and yeah i’ve got a few fics that i think a lot of dinlukers might like

first let me link @transmascskywalker's list because that’s where i started out originally!!

now as for my fic recs~

some of these fics might overlap, i’m just putting down the ones i loved most. i’m sure i’ve read tons more but these are the ones i found that you can busy yourself with :)

The Storm by shirozora

Din Djarin needs a new ship.

Greef Karga makes him a deal - do some work for the guild and he'll get a brand new gunship. One such job takes him to a planet with a volatile storm system to track down a double-crossing bounty hunter. What he doesn't know is that the bounty hunter is there to loot an ancient Jedi temple. What neither of them know is that someone else is also on the planet searching for the temple.

And then the storm rolls in.

in-universe

sfw

multichapter/parts

my comfort fic btw ^^ i’ve read it so many times

Mystery Man by snapdragonpop007

Luke is seeing someone, apparently.

And really, it’s none of Anakin’s business.

Really.

modern au

sfw

multichapter/parts

one of the best, funniest fics i’ve ever read ^^

Unfold by SilverScriptings

Han can’t help but be suspicious of a certain Mandalorian who’s been spending an awful lot of time at the Jedi Temple…

in-universe

sfw

multichapter/parts

A Little Farther Down the Line by Chromat1cs

Austin, Texas, 1973. Din Djarin plays the guitar, worries about his kid, and runs aimlessly from a past that pulled the roof down around his ears. When a stunningly-talented duo of up-and-coming performers turns Din’s plans of being a simple session musician clear on their head, Din must decide between the safety of mundanity or the unlooked-at thrill of following his heart lest the tape run out on this track of his life before he’s through recording it.

modern (1970’s) au

nsfw

multichapter

the warmest bed i’ve ever known by ceedawks

pre-original series, din djarin is injured on a remote planet and found by an incessantly chatty farm boy named luke skywalker || i won't ask you to wait, if you don't ask me to stay || aka "making out with hot farm boys doesn't count as breaking the creed if he's blindfolded during it".

pre-ANH/meet on tatooine au (in-universe)

nsfw

multichapter

We Two Scorched the Earth by annathaema (moony)

That left Luke with a much bigger problem: The Sand People knew he was here, they’d likely sabotaged or stolen the speeder by now, and he was stranded in a cave with nothing but a rifle with three rounds left, a survival pack good for only a couple of days, and no transport home. Great. Luke leaned against the wall of the cave and tipped his head back, thumping the back of it against the stone over and over. He closed his eyes and wished for rescue.

Someone groaned.

pre-ANH/meet on tatooine au (in-universe)

nsfw

oneshot

Never leaving well enough alone by DarkIsRising

or Five Times Din and Luke Met (and one time they never parted)

He’s drunk, and he isn’t quite sure how that happened. That’s not true, Luke does remember vaguely how it happened, more or less, and it all started with Han.

in-universe

nsfw

multichapter

Yoda’s Academy for Li’l Padawans by MissDinahDarling

Being a new student is hard.

Being a new student whilst your socially awkward father avoids the school at all costs and your new teacher pines uselessly over a man he’s never met before is even worse.

But by god, Grogu is gonna get through this.

modern au

sfw

multichapter

Just Like Heaven by Kushana

At first, he watches.

Then, he touches.

in-universe

sfw (both aroace ^^)

oneshot

Romance As a Series of Debacles by The SexierEvilerCora

Han stumbles on a golden opportunity to make life difficult for Boba Fett, and drags Luke along as backup to crash a Mandalorian party.

Things do not go as planned for anyone involved.

modern au

nsfw

it’s unfinished with only one chapter but it’s still worth the read

Honey Lemon Popsicle by coffeecatsme

“Good morning,” Luke chirps, not even looking up from the stove, “my honey bunches of oats.”

Din blinks several times, trying to get his muscles to unfreeze, and opens his mouth.

Then closes it.

Then opens it again. “What did you just call me?”

5 times Luke calls Din increasingly weird pet names, and 1 time he finds out Din likes it.

modern au

sfw

oneshot

Restraint and Relaxation by Aureutr_Accoredge

Queen Amidala is sick of watching her son run himself ragged for every good cause he finds. When he collapses at his sister's engagement gala, it is the last straw.

Luke balks, so she summons one of her Mandalorian Knights to take him to the family's lakeside villa to make him rest.

By any means necessary

in-universe

nsfw

oneshot (v good ^^)

these are all the ones i recommend for now! i’ve read other really good fics, but these ones ^^ are the ones i’ve found myself return to at least one way or the other.

please let me know if you're looking for something more specific as well!! i'll do my best to find something for your tastes

[jamesfalt]

the kabru post and then also that farcille post has me thinking about how people do take these gay ships and just completely mischaracterize them for the sake of having ship content. and i could make a whole long ass post or even video essay on this all but i'm gonna try and keep it short here

i feel like ship culture has gotten like....extremely tropey lately? like you have your ships and they HAVE to behave in certain ways or else you can't enjoy content of them. this is like super vague but i've noticed this in like ao3 fics of a lot of ships i'm into where they'll take the ship and just completely mischaracterize one or both of the characters for the sake of the ship

and in some cases i'm like it's bc the fandom is a bit younger, for example naegami is a ship i can't really read fics for bc all the fics are out of character and tropey. they erase how each character actually feels without giving any explanation as to why they would be like that. but i know that the fandom is by default young teenagers bc i was a young teenager when i was really into it.

and a common thread that i see in these types of ships characterizations is taking characters who aren't "soft" characters and making them soft. with naegami it's taking togami, a cynical bougie asshole who although does soften a bit by the end of the first game and is clearly friends and cares for his friends by dr3, and turning him into a guy who's only care in the world is naegi and he loves naegi soooo much and it makes him weak when we know how he interacts with naegi and it's not that.

kabru gets this exact treatment. where the haphazard feelings he has towards laios throughout THE WHOLE series get quickly thrown away to be the guy who is totally on laios's side all the time bc he loves him sooo much

laios isn't much different in this regard in the handful of fics i've read either where a lot of his tenacity and straightforwardness have been whittled down bc "oh he doesn't understand social cues he doesn't know what to do :(" which is so baffling i literally will close the fic the minute i see him portrayed like this.

i'm gonna go through the farcille ao3 tag next it's just taking me a bit to get through the labru one but from what i've seen on just tumblr and twitter alone it's clear to me that they're taking marcille and making her super soft and one track minded when she has other traits that kind of overwrite that? they forget that she joined laios not just bc she wanted to save falin, but bc she knew he wouldn't make it far without someone who could heal him. she's sharp and quick to jump to conclusions

where was i going with this. it's been a hot minute since i interacted with a fandom that's not gacha based (last time was beastars but that fandom wasn't too bad honestly) and so i just see the way a lot of people take characters and i'm just so baffled bc i'm like we have all the content we need why are you insisting they're not that, this isn't a gacha game where we're waiting several months for their story to progress to get a little more info on how they act. we KNOW how they act. you don't need to make up personality traits for these characters if you just read them.