#Eight would totally just carry them everywhere

[kjpurplepineapple]

The gay Cephalopods have taken over my brain

[donotpush]

Thanks to @nalimk for the support, this a comissioned story with: fpreg, stuffing/feederism, big bellies, mentions of labor (no birth), lactation.

It was not a surprise when her doctor told Helen that there were two heartbeats at her 4-month well-baby visit. All women in her family had multiples, from her great grandma to her older sister, they all carried big and bountiful. 

Not like it wasn’t obvious: she was huge even in her first months.

Helen started to show early, and her belly continued to only grow bigger and bigger as the months went by. For someone else, the changes her body was going through may have seemed like a lot, but to her, it was like her body was made for it.

And her pregnancy fit just like a glove on her life. She was glowing in every aspect, cherishing every moment, and it wasn’t even a matter when it came to her wedding day.

Helen and Alan started trying for babies as soon as they announced their engagement and if everything was going according to their plans, Helen was going to be able to walk down the aisle being a living portrait of gravid fertility, glowing in white (even if she technically shouldn’t wear it, but fuck it) and with a beautiful, huge bump.

But it was not like they had another option. They had been planning the wedding and stretching their engagement as much as they could, trying to bring in any excuse they could use to explain why they were postponing it, but now it was time.

And they weren’t rescheduling. 

Even when Helen reached the eight-month mark and her doctor told her that there were no signs of the babies having no intention of coming out. Actually, they seemed to be planning to extend their stay. 

And it was clear when the nine months came, and still no signs of the twins wanting to come.

They will come when they’re ready, would say her mother. 

Induction was not an option at all for Helen, because her babies would come when they were ready. Even if not having an induction would mean that she was going to get to her wedding day painfully overdue.

There were no other forecasts than a way too pregnant bride for the special day. 

During the pregnancy, her belly was not the only thing that got bigger. With two big, strong babies to feed, it made total sense when her breast not only grew but tripled their normal size when she started to produce milk.

They were so full, big and sensitive that the slightest touch would provoke not only a waterfall of sensations on Helen, but they were so sensitive that it was so easy to stimulate them— she was producing so much milk.

Her body had anticipated the events and was producing enough milk to feed two babies that weren’t there yet. 

For Alan, this pregnancy only meant one thing: Helen had to eat for three now. 

It was his duty to keep his future wife well provided for, giving in to every single one of her cravings and making sure that there was always a second plate waiting for her and their babies. 

And of course, she needed to eat to be able to produce so much milk. That one was an issue that, sooner than later, they figured out the easiest way to solve the problem of their oversupply of milk.

Helen’s breast would get so swollen and full, so much milk that the slightest touch would hurt and send her nipples a signal to start leaking, and the only solution was to start milking them as much as possible.

If Alan didn’t offer to use his mouth, they would have to pump her breasts with one of those machines and that took away all the fun. 

It was often a boring, painful process, but Alan knew how to be gentle, where to touch and how to make it all a pleasurable experience. 

Not only her chest grew, giving Alan a visual delight to feast on, but with how sensitive they were, it only took Helen a few sloppy kisses and sucking on her nipples to get her to have some of the best orgasms. 

She was so full and tight everywhere.

“You sure you don’t want to sit down?”

Helen lifted her head from the floor, where she was focused on the white heels, and shook her head. Her hand was firmly pressing against her stomach, unconsciously rubbing the underside of it trying to calm the babies inside.

She had a small cramp, that’s all. 

A cramp that made her bend over slightly, threatening to send flying the bunch of clips on her back that kept her wedding dress in place. 

Erasing the frown on her face, she corrected her posture. It had been a crazy day, only hours before her wedding, and it had become absolutely necessary to make some adjustments to her wedding dress.

The precious white mermaid-style dress had stopped fitting at the waist, unable to fit anymore at the gravid stomach that hung in front of her, and the list of modifications didn’t finish there. 

Her breasts were huge, and they had to rethink the neckline if Helen didn’t want to have an accident in the middle of her wedding. 

A long sigh left her mouth when she moved to face the designer, a few pins in the dress that was causing a dull ache as they dug into the sides of her belly, and her breasts were starting to hurt trapped against the restrictive neckline.

She should have pumped before she left the house, but she totally missed it. There were a hundred things in her mind, with the wedding last minute preparations, the dress, the bridesmaids, that even the few contractions she had been feeling went unnoticed, and the need to get some relief on her aching breasts too.

Helen knew that any moment now they were going to start leaking at the slightest wrong movement. She only hoped it didn’t happen on her wedding dress.

She felt like a cow. So uncomfortable.

She could quit, call it a day and postpone the wedding, the idea that she found so wonderful at the start of showing off all her gravid glory at the altar, no matter what, seemed crazy right now. 

But she had called Alan, and he talked her into her senses. There was no way they could cancel the wedding now.

These past few days, these weird cramps that Helen tried to convince herself were not contractions kept appearing at the most inconvenient time. They were uncomfortable, but they were so sporadic and quick that she thought of it as just a case of cramps from being too stressed. 

Helen lifted her arms to let the designer take the dress off her, and when her breasts were free, she immediately felt them falling heavy and full without the support of the tight neckline, the discomfort making itself evident in her features. 

As soon as she reached to grab her shirt, every movement was careful and gentle, because she knew that a single wrong movement would make her start leaking.

The friction of the fabric as she pulled her shirt over her head made her wince. Was this shirt always so tight, and was the lace in the collar always so restricting?

Or has the constant build-up pressure on her breasts just made itself more and more evident these last few days? The sensation of her bra being pulled too tight around her chest, squeezing her crammed breasts painfully, made her want to cry out loud and throw that damn thing away.

Either way, Helen only could think about how uncomfortable it was making her feel. Another contraction hit and she almost gasped, but her legs were already moving toward the bathroom.

***

Her mother lifted the zip in the back with enough strength to make Helen unsteady, and a small groan left her mouth. 

"Careful" Helen warned, looking down at her huge self.

Her mind was all over the place, and the constant pain and fullness in her breasts confirmed that she forgot to pump once again. Who could remember it when it was her wedding day?

"Alright..." her mother finished tying the dress and gave Helen a small slap on the side of her belly. "All ready."

Her stomach tensed in response as if she had eaten something awful, as the babies kicked.  It made Helen feel cramped, yet she smiled as she rubbed the tight skin.

Helen turned to face the mirror, taking in all of her reflection. Her belly hung low in front of her, gracefully hugged by the white fabric, the revealing neckline that, even with the modifications, was still a bit too tight on her swollen breasts. 

Almost painfully.

They felt as if they were about to burst, almost hot at the touch as Helen tried to massage them gently. It did nothing but cause an ache in her chest and the familiar feeling that milk was about to start leaking, so Helen stopped. 

Both babies kicked at the same time, and Helen grimaced.

But she couldn't help but smile, because that's what she wanted. There was no shame in being a beautiful and pregnant wife, and her mother's smile reinforced the idea.

"Are you ready?" her mom asked, and Helen nodded. "Let's only hope these two don't want to make a surprise appearance before this whole thing is done."

"Ugh..." Helen breathed, her hand distractedly caressing the side of her stomach as a small contraction hit her. When it passed, the bride stood upright, smoothing out the dress one more time before nodding. "They won't, mum."

***

The walk down the aisle felt... like everyone had their eyes on her. Well, everyone did have their eyes on the bride, but it felt like everyone had their eyes glued to her stomach, almost waiting for her to pop right there. 

They weren't so wrong. The contractions that bothered her were now closer and stronger, nothing to worry about yet, but every hour they were getting harder to conceal. 

Right now, if she didn't hang on Alan's arm for dear life, everyone would have seen her clutching over her own stomach when a contraction ripped through her. 

Alan gave her a questioning glance, most of his attention focused on the priest in front of them, and Helen gave him a reassuring nod and a look that told him to not worry.

"Just nervous," she mumbled, shifting her weight from one foot to another.

Her back was killing her.

The priest started talking, and Helen couldn't help but let her mind wander to the thoughts of how tight she was; everything, her belly and her breasts trapped inside the bridal dress, both of them more and more sensitive with every minute passing.

God, she couldn’t believe that she wanted her own wedding to be over already.

****

They told her to enjoy every minute because it would be over before she realized it, and they were right. It all happened so fast that before she knew, they were seated at the reception, everyone dancing and drinking.

Months ago, she chose all the seats and the tables because they were pretty, so fashionable and in touch with the theme of the wedding. But now, heavily pregnant, Helen was constantly squirming in her seat trying to escape the back pain that the hard surfaces were causing, and her overdue belly was pressing against the table, unable to go anywhere. 

Alan put the fork next to her face, another huge piece of cake waiting for her, and Helen gave him a weak smile. 

His hand went to rest on her belly, caressing the mound of flesh over the tight fabric as he moved the fork in front of her mouth.

She was full. God, she barely had a single piece of cake when they cut it but she was full; maybe she shouldn’t have taken so much freedom with the snack bar.

The babies were resting low, and her breasts were constantly aching, and she felt huge and so full, ready to burst at any moment.

But nonetheless, she opened her mouth and leaned towards the fork, taking the cake inside her mouth. 

Alan smiled, his hand massaging, now with a bit more force than necessary, all over the tense orb, making Helen hold a moan on the back of her throat. 

His thumb was brushing over her popped belly button, on the underside of her belly where one of the babies head was right there, almost (and Helen was sure that he wasn’t doing it because there were people) crawling up her swollen breasts.

With one final push, the cake disappeared inside her mouth, and Alan leaned in to kiss her cheek. 

"Can't wait until we're alone" he said, the palm of his hand cupping her gravid stomach.

Helen chuckled and leaned back, pushing the chair away from the table to give her stomach a rest. Without the support of the edge of the table, her stomach almost expanded over her thighs as she let out a breath. 

She couldn't wait till they were alone, preferably without cameras around and naked, off of this awful dress. 

But they weren't even done with their meal yet, this was her second plate of cake and Alan was still not satisfied, pushing another piece in her mouth before Helen could say anything, then rubbing circles on her belly while she swallowed.

God, it felt so good. The food was delicious, even if her dress was tighter and tighter. 

***

Alan's hands were firmly holding both sides of her belly as he pressed against her from behind, pulling her inside the hotel room and closing the door behind him without sparing a glance. 

His hands left Helen’s belly only to move to the back of the dress, unzipping the zipper and pushing it off her shoulders. The dress fell off her shoulders, only stopped from falling to the floor by her bell, and Helen quickly waddled herself out of it. 

Resting on top of the bed, in a pristine box with a golden bow on top, the rest of the wedding cake was waiting for them. Alan had taken care of making sure that it was a fundamental part of their fun on their wedding night.

Her husband's hands moved to cup her full breasts, getting a small gasp from Helen when he squeezed softly at first, then harder until a moan escaped Helen. 

"They're..." Helen breathed as she felt herself being pushed back down onto the bed. "Sensitive. Careful, honey"

"Oh," Alan's voice came from above, sounding a bit out of breath too before he started kissing all over Helen's body.

The only moment he pulled away was to grab the box, opening it slowly and carefully to take out the cake. Then his lips were back on Helen again as he took a large piece between his fingers and placed it in her mouth.

She let him do it, enjoying this special occasion. But soon enough, her fun was interrupted when a sharp pain shot through her stomach, bringing a muffled moan to her lips. Alan thought nothing of it, easily mixing a sound of pain with one of pleasure, and soon he was sliding another piece of cake towards her.

Another wave of pain hit Helen like a freight train as she struggled to keep eating the cake. Alan's hands moved behind her back to undo her bra, helping her slip the straps off as well. 

Helen felt something warm sliding down her nipples, and a second later, Alan's mouth was sucking hard on one of her leaking breasts, while his free hand was gripping hard at the other one, making Helen whimper.

Alan pulled away again, as if he wanted to do so much that he couldn't stay still in a single place, and moved to spread Helen's legs to sit between them. He reached to grab another piece of cake, putting the whole thing in her mouth and moving his hands to start massaging the tense belly.

Helen let out a whimper at the feeling of all the pressure on her stuffed middle, her hips bucked up involuntarily when a sudden, strong contraction hit. 

When Alan shot her a worried look, she quickly shook her head, moving to take one of Alan’s hands and placing them on her leaking breasts. Some of the pressure she had been feeling was relieved now, but still, they were full and heavy on against her naked body. 

She was full, and she meant it in the way that her already big belly now was bloated with all the food she had consumed, and she could feel wetness starting to build between her thighs.

Usually, being that full felt so good, but now, Helen just wanted to get rid of some of that weight. She tried rubbing herself against Alan’s hand when he slid one between her legs, but when a second round of contractions hit, she stopped, letting out a deep groan. 

God, she was so horny, but this didn’t help.

She looked up at Alan as she moved back and forth a few times, trying to find some relief, but he only tightened his grip on her breasts.

"Where do you think you're going, baby?" he asked huskily, watching her as he kissed his way down between her legs.

"Mh-hm...!" Her words were drowned by a moan when Alan's hands started applying pressure on her bloated stomach before they began moving lower.

Helen's hips jerked to meet Alan’s hand movements as another contraction hit. This time, when she moaned, it was louder.

Alan laughed against her skin as he continued to massage her swollen breasts,  one hand leaving her breasts to continue moving lower, starting to work on her wet folds.

With all the sensations going on, all the excitement of the moment, it was hard to point out which one was driving her crazier: the pleasure that was coursing through her whole body, the now closer and closer contractions, the feeling of fullness on her whole body. 

Everything was a combination that made Helen dizzy.

Alan's hands moved up again, pressing and gripping at the sides of her belly as he started to massage her swollen abdomen with more firm moves and more pressure, his hips grinding against her body.

With each passing movement, the more pressure Alan applied to her stuffed belly, making Helen moan loudly, arching her back into the mattress. Another contraction hit her, her stomach tensing under Alan's hands, and Helen was sure that now he was aware of it.

And if he was aware, it only made Alan even more excited, because the tempo of his movements picked up, faster than before, and the pressure he was applying on Helen's stomach only increased. 

One of Alan's hands left her stomach to slide between her legs again, rubbing at her pulsating center, and another contraction hit her as a wave of pleasure and pain washed over her body.

It took her by surprise, as the contraction ended giving her a brief moment of relief when a gush of water started to flow between her legs. Alan moved away from her, his eyes growing wide and his mouth dropping open as her amniotic fluid soaked the sheets and the white, newly bought lingerie.

He looked up, his eyes locking with Helen's as she gasped in surprise, trying to catch her breath before the words stumbled out of her lips.

"My water just broke."

[eelhound]

"Being scandalized by Republican hypocrisy sort of feels like getting mad at a dog for peeing on your carpet. If anything, you’re the chump for having any sort of expectations for them.

The far more perverse thing, to me, is the way the idea of 'political violence' has been invoked in the aftermath of [the attempted Trump assassination] as something totally alien and un-American. 'There’s no place in America for this kind of violence,' said President Joe Biden. 'It’s sick,' he continued, saying that this kind of political violence was 'just unheard of.' He later said the violence was 'contrary to everything we stand for as a nation.' Former President Obama shared similar sentiments, saying, 'There is absolutely no place for political violence in our democracy,' urging Americans to 'use this moment to recommit ourselves to civility and respect in our politics.' The headline for the New York Times Editorial Board’s take on events was that 'The Attack on Donald Trump Is Antithetical to America.'

I’m sorry, but what country do these people think they live in? We’ve just spent the last nine months being blasted in the face with images and videos of some of the most unspeakable carnage imaginable coming out of Gaza. Most of it has been carried out using U.S.-made weapons. Political violence is so 'antithetical to America' that on the very same evening that the op-ed was penned, the Israeli military dropped eight massive American-made bombs on the al-Mawasi refugee camp, an area that the Israel Defense Force had previously designated a 'safe zone' for civilians to flee. Israel claimed that two senior members of Hamas may have been hiding among the 80,000 civilians sheltering there. According to the Gaza Health Ministry, 90 people are dead and 300 are wounded. One of the survivors described the scene to Reuters: 'I left the tent and looked around, all the tents were knocked down, body parts, bodies everywhere, elderly women thrown on the floor, young children in pieces.' Not long before reports of this massacre rolled in, Israel Katz, the foreign affairs minister of Israel, issued a condemnation of the assassination attempt on Donald Trump, saying 'Violence can never ever be part of politics.' The irony was apparently lost on him.

Many of the people currently condemning political violence don’t actually hate political violence. What they really condemn is violence against politicians. But there is no act of violence more political than dropping bombs on a city of defenseless people because you want their land. Massacres like the one carried out Saturday have been going on for nine months, and, among the political class, they have rarely been condemned with anything nearing the force of the Trump assassination. In fact, the student protesters who spoke out against the war in Gaza — condemning political violence, in other words — were met with state violence themselves, which was cheered on by these same politicians. 

On the contrary, the people right now who are dismayed at political violence are some of its foremost perpetrators. Biden is, of course, selling Israel the weapons they’re using to destroy Gaza and kill scores of its people. Beyond that, President Obama authorized so many drone strikes during his term of office that if he were to apologize to one innocent civilian killed by them each day, it would take him more than three years. Trump, today’s brave victim of political violence, not only expanded those drone assassinations and spoke openly about 'taking out terrorists’ families' but even bragged about ordering the assassination of an American citizen in an act of 'retribution.' 

Even when they’re not directly ordering acts of what we might think of as 'political violence, U.S. leaders oversee a system that inflicts violence on both a national and global scale.

At home, both parties support a for-profit healthcare system that kills tens of thousands of Americans each year who can’t afford medical care. Each week, nearly 150 people (and nearly 1,500 in the wintertime!) still die of COVID-19, in part because treatments for the illness are so unaffordable. The Biden administration has abandoned most efforts to mitigate the virus, including workplace protections, and ended the public health emergency in 2023, which transferred costs of testing, vaccination, and care from government to health insurance companies and individuals. The CDC now tells workers that they no longer need to stay home from work for five days if they catch the illness, and only one state, New York, still requires businesses to pay leave for employees who are sick with COVID. And some state governments have even criminalized wearing masks in public.

The Supreme Court just made it legal for states and cities to jail homeless people sleeping outside. Police, whose departments both parties have showered with increasing amounts of funding, killed more people last year than at any point in the previous decade. The U.S. has so many mass shootings that it averages out to more than one a day, but our leaders have failed to pass even the most basic gun control laws, like an assault weapons ban or universal background checks at the federal level. And after mass shootings, Republican-led state legislators in particular have been more likely to loosen gun restrictions rather than tighten them.

When migrants flee poverty and war to seek relative safety in the United States, they are met with razor wire and buoys with blades affixed in order to maim them. Since the U.S. Border Patrol began its Prevention Through Deterrence program in 1994, the agency reports that 10,000 people have been killed while attempting to cross. Other aid organizations estimate the number to be as high as 80,000. Even those who reach the U.S. safely are often subject to inhumane conditions in immigration detention centers.

The United States provides military support to a majority of the globe’s dictators, which allows them to carry out their own acts of political violence. The U.S. has provided arms to Saudi Arabia as it has carried out a monstrous military campaign in Yemen that has killed more than 150,000 people, including tens of thousands of civilians. U.S. sanctions have inflicted collective punishment on the people living in enemy nations, like Cuba, Venezuela, and Iran, in an effort to foment regime change. One study found that U.S. sanctions on Venezuela, which deprived its people of food and medical supplies, contributed to as many as 40,000 deaths from 2017-2018 within the country. 

Each act of violence described above is a consequence of political actions or political inactions. And I could go on with more examples, going all the way back to the founding of the nation and the genocide of Native Americans. As former Ohio State Senator Nina Turner wrote in Newsweek yesterday, 'America was founded on violence. [...] A nation founded in violence, whose economy is rooted in violence, will have a society that is violent.'  And yet, most of this violence is inflicted on average people, not politicians — which may be one reason our policies are rarely conceived of as 'violent.'

To be clear, I don’t intend to diminish the significance of the attempt on Donald Trump’s life. It was indeed a destructive act of political violence that should be opposed. But the very same people who treat an attack on Trump as some horrifying anomaly — including Trump himself — are perpetrators of vastly greater violence than what occurred on Saturday.

 In response to the assassination attempt against Trump, in an effort to 'lower the temperature,' the Biden campaign pulled its advertisements criticizing Trump from the air. And on condition of anonymity, campaign officials reportedly told Reuters that 'Rather than verbally attacking Trump in the coming days, the White House and the Biden campaign will draw on the president's history of condemning all sorts of political violence including his sharp criticism of the ‘disorder’ created by campus protests over the Israel-Gaza conflict.' (Reuters has since quietly removed this paragraph from the story, though they did not issue a correction or retraction, so the reason is unclear.) Apparently, now that Trump has been shot, he’s no longer a 'threat to democracy,' and they’re instead going to spend precious time bashing voters that Biden already desperately needs to support him. 

This was an election where, in the words of President Biden, 'Personal freedoms are on the ballot.  The right to privacy, liberty, equality, they’re all on the ballot.' But after the assassination attempt, according to Axios, a 'senior House Democrat' says 'We've all resigned ourselves to a second Trump presidency.' Two days ago, Trump was Hitler Jr. Now, the party that has spent the last nine years claiming to be the only bulwark against fascism is throwing in the towel with fascism on the doorstep. 

It could not be clearer that, to the people in charge, all of this is a game and a joke. But seen from their perspective, the decision of Democratic elites to essentially throw the election in an act of decorum does make a sort of sense. Writer and attorney Dylan Saba put it quite well on X: 'Truly beautiful to see the ruling class come together like this… What’s most important is their personal safety — and the love they have for one another.' 

He’s right! People in Biden’s position will be insulated, more than most, from the consequences of a potential Trump victory. They will not be deported if he wins the election. They’ll be able to pay to get their loved one an abortion if they need one. None of them are transgender and at risk of having their legal personhood revoked. Most of them would probably benefit from Trump’s plan to get rid of the federal income tax in favor of a regressive tariff. 

To the extent that the members of the ruling class care about any of this, it’s only insofar as it affects their personal power and well-being. Just look at how Joe Biden has been acting in the past few weeks as he’s clung to the nomination. When asked how he’d feel if his decision to stay in the race results in Trump returning to power, he said: 'I'll feel as long as I gave it my all and I did the good as job as I know I can do, that's what this is about.'

That really is 'what this is about.' This is about them, their comfort, their egos, and their personal glory — all of it completely divorced from the reality of life for the vast majority of people on this planet. And that’s why an assassination attempt disturbs these people so much more than all the death and destruction that is inflicted on the world each day as a result of their actions. We must remember: the fights that matter are not theirs, they’re ours."

- Stephen Prager, from "'Political Violence' is All Around Us." Current Affairs, 16 July 2024.

[bigmpregnm]

Father's Day: Original - Part 6

[Story Collection] | [Part 5] [●] [Part 7]

Even though I’m extremely tired after giving birth to 4 big babies, I have some fun with my wife while Ed is taking care of his many siblings. I still can’t believe what’s happening but by the time my mom comes back from bingo around 5:00 PM, Ed already has disassembled all the cribs and has my clothes and the babies’ stuff packed, ready to be loaded on his and my wife’s car. My mom is completely speechless when she sees Ed and his mom hugging me and when they introduce the twin girls to her, my mom cries while holding them. She looks really happy and for the first time in months she smiles at me. My wife tells my mom they’re giving me an opportunity and my mom is so excited that she helps Ed to carry all our stuff to the cars. I guess my mom is tired of having me around but I can’t blame her; a pregnant son, 8 babies and no money to support so many mouths, my dear mom is a superhero. So, we struggle to fit all the babies in the cars since my wife only has two baby car seats for the twins but when we finally come up with a plan, we head back to the house that I have missed so much for the last months. You have no idea how good it feels to walk in my old room, lie down on my old bed, all of this without a massive belly on the way. Even then, when I rub my soft remaining belly, I can’t help but miss the feeling of the babies moving inside me.

I feel great but things are pretty complicated because I have to take care of a lot of kids. Thankfully, now I have my wife and Ed by my side to help me most of the time. Ed has finished his scholar year a few weeks before Father’s Day and now he’s just waiting for his graduation ceremony. I’m so glad I didn’t miss it but I still have to find clothes big enough to make me look decent enough to attend a formal event. You see, I still have a pretty big remaining belly that I have no idea if will ever go away, I mean, my abdominal wall has been stretched so much for so long that I’m pretty sure I’m never getting my abs back. Also, now that I don’t have a huge belly to take all the attention away from the rest of my body, I’m finally realizing how big I’ve gotten everywhere. I have a pretty big ass that even when I wear oversized pants it’s clearly too big to be normal. It just takes so much space inside my pants that it stretches the front of the pants and makes my big bulge be more noticeable. You see, my balls have grown thanks to the hormones and it seems like they’re not shrinking down yet, or ever, so I have a kinda obscene bulge even when I wear oversized pants. I mostly wear huge sweatpants that my wife has gotten for me but even then, I can’t hide my big balls and huge ass. Well, in a way it all makes me feel good because my wife says I look hot.

So, my pecs are another story, an even bigger story. They’re not going away but getting even bigger instead. You see, I’m producing ridiculous amounts of milk because I don’t only have to breastfeed the younger quadruplets, that we have named Andrew, Aiden, Adrian & Alex by the way; but even though the older quadruplets are almost 10 months old, they still want to have some of my milk and my wife says it’s not fair to wean them just because of the younger ones, especially because I have more than enough milk for them all. Added to that, she has insisted that instead of her just weaning the girls, I should breastfeed the girls for them to bond with me that way. Obviously she just wants to let her breasts dry off because she has to work every day and she says it’s annoying to be lactating and working at the same time, totally understandable so I finally agree. I know it sounds crazy but she has a point, I’m producing more than enough milk to feed all 10 kids and since I’m home all day long it’s only logical for me to take care of all the kids. Also, it’s not like two more babies would make any difference when I have eight hungry boys to breastfeed. I actually love when Emily and Emma look at me and get their mouths around my nipples to have a snack. I love all my babies the same.

So, I spend my days between the 10 babies, breastfeeding them, changing their diapers, taking care of them and even though Ed helps me a lot, he has his own business to take care of so I find myself alone sometimes but the feeling is way different than a few weeks ago. I’m extremely happy even when all 10 babies start crying because I know by the end of the day my wife and Ed will come back and they will love me and help me no matter what. Everything, or almost everything, is perfect but there’s only one thing that I actually miss and it’s Tate. My wife thinks he feels betrayed because he won’t answer my calls or texts. She says Tate must be mad at me because he has helped me so much and even though I knew how he felt, it was Filip the one who knocked me up the second time. My wife knows Tate pretty well because he has been a friend of mine for longer than I have known her and since the moment I told her all the details about my sex encounters with Filip and Tate, she’s been pretty cool about it. One night she even asks me if I had enjoyed the times when Tate fucked me while my belly was pinning me down to the bed and even though it’s an odd question, I’m completely honest and that conversation lead us to an amazing round of sex that leaves me completely breathless. I really miss Tate a lot.

So, June ends and, thanks to many compression belts, I attend Ed’s graduation ceremony with my wife and all the kids, a big happy family celebrating our big boy. I still look weird because even though my ass and belly make me look kinda fat, my pecs are simply too big to be mistaken for fatness and the compression belts are so tight that I can barely breathe. People stare at me in disbelief because I’m sure they know I had run away over a year before but at the same time they are really nice and the ceremony is nice as well. I can’t deny I feel a bit ashamed when I talk to some of Ed’s friends’ dads because they make some comments about my body but some of those comments are compliments instead of jokes. Ed’s best friend’s dad even whispers in my ear that I look hot. I blush when I hear those words and I can’t deny many thoughts cross my mind in that moment because the man is a pretty attractive man but then I see Ed talking to his best friend, Will, and I remember that I can’t let myself go into those horny thoughts again. Though, I can’t deny I’m really tempted to play along when I feel Will’s dad’s bulge pressing tight against my leg.

So, I spend some amazing days with the babies and Ed because he stays most of the time in the house helping me out. We have some fun talks and he’s really interested in how it has been for me to be so pregnant. He even tells me he’s been wondering if he or any of the babies have inherited my “special ability”. He says he just wants to know but he insists he would never let a guy fit his dick up his ass. “No offense” he says and we just laugh. We know we can find out if he and all the boys get an ultrasound to see if they have a womb but the only person I could trust to do that on my kids is Tate and he won’t answer my calls. So, I try my best to forget about Tate and keep going with my crazy life between tons of babies while also taking care of the house and cooking for us all. I'm a full time dad and I love it. I love to spend time with my wife, I love to spend time with Ed, I love to spend time with the girls and I love to spend time with the eight baby boys. Whenever I see any of the younger quadruplets moving, I remember and even miss the feeling of having them inside me but I say nothing.

So, two months after the day I gave birth to the younger quadruplets, things are amazingly fine and I’m finally starting to forget about Tate. My relationship with my wife is great and our family life is chaotically amazing. Between babies, diapers and Ed’s paperwork to get into College, we have our hands full all the time but always manage to have some fun several times a week. So, on my birthday, August 21st, my wife surprises me very early with a huge breakfast in bed. It’s Sunday so she doesn’t have to work. I still have to breastfeed all the kids throughout the day but apart from that, she takes care of everything else and cooks several snacks and a huge lunch for me. In the afternoon she goes somewhere with Ed so I spend a few hours alone with the kids but when they come back home, they bring in lots of bags from my favorite restaurant, many bags with clothes for me, a big birthday cake and even some balloons. I can’t help but start crying because after all I’ve done to my family, they still have such sweet details for me. So, she hugs and kisses me while Ed is getting the table ready to have dinner. Then she tells me she has one more surprise but she asks me to close my eyes and I do. When she says I’m allowed to open them, I see Tate standing next to my wife with a box of donuts in hand and a big smile on his face. “Hey buddy, Happy birthday”. 

I’m in shock but my wife explains that she has talked to him and he has forgiven me for cheating on him. Tate laughs when Darcy says those words but then he comes closer and hugs me. I’m still speechless but I’m really happy to have my friend back. So, we introduce the new babies and the twin girls to Tate and then we sit at the table to have dinner. My wife puts a huge portion in front of me and asks me to eat it all. I’m incredibly hungry all the time so I’m happy to oblige. While we eat, we tell Tate everything about the day I gave birth to the second quadruplets and when I tell him I haven’t seen a doctor since the last time I have seen him, he says I should pass by his office so he could check on my health. He tells my wife some details about my first labor and she agrees that I better do what Tate says. Then Tate brings up a topic that he has mentioned before the day I gave birth to the first quadruplets but since I got pregnant again so fast, I haven’t thought about it since then. He says I should get my fallopian tubes tied as a contraceptive method, to prevent me from getting pregnant again. It’s weird to think about that since I’m not planning on having sex with a man ever again but my wife agrees and I have no other option than accept. It’s a good idea after all.

So the party didn’t end there because when we’re almost done with dinner, my wife gives me a huge surprise when she reveals she’s pregnant again, 2 months along to be exact and she’s having one baby, not sure of the sex yet. She says she thinks I got her pregnant the day the quadruplets were born and I can’t believe I’m going to be a dad once again. The regular way this time. So, Ed gets super excited, Tate hugs my wife and then hugs me and I can’t stop smiling. After all I’ve gone through and all the mistakes I’ve done, here I am celebrating that my family is getting even bigger. For my wife and I the celebration continues in the privacy of our bedroom once Tate has gone and all our kids are already sleeping and while we’re catching our breaths back she asks me if I have liked Tate’s visit. I’m always honest with her so I say I have. Then she tells me we should invite him over more often. Obviously I agree.

After the revelation of my wife’s pregnancy, she starts working less hours and gets in charge of all the cooking. She also starts helping me more with the babies but I’m still fully in charge of the ten of them. Everything is pretty fine but, breastfeeding 10 kids isn’t an easy task so it’s still pretty stressful. Even then, I just enjoy the moment, especially because my wife is taking good care of me. She even starts giving me extra portions of food, saying that I need the fuel for my pecs to keep producing for the 10 kids and the one that’s coming. She even makes some jokes about me being their dairy cow and I find it really cute because she seems to be in love with my new big body. She even insists that I should keep the new size instead of trying to get fit again so I start feeling better about my overall thickness. She also says I shouldn’t be doing many heavy things until I have been checked by Tate and since I’m supposed to have a surgery soon to get my fallopian tubes tied, she insists I have to take things easily. I know she’s right so I continue devouring all the food she puts in front of me and I seem to be just getting hungrier every day.

So, on August 29th, on Emily’s, Emma’s, Finn’s, Fabien’s, Freddie’s and Frank’s first birthday, we make a little party to celebrate and we have a really fun evening while my wife and I share some stories about us being pregnant with the kids. While we’re eating cake I receive a text from Tate telling me that his office will be free for me to go on Sunday so he could check on my health properly. When I tell my wife, she smiles and tells me I should take the day off. She says I’ve been doing so well handling the kids and the house that I deserve to have some free time and hang out with Tate. I really can’t believe how nice she is about everything even though I have cheated on her and a man have knocked me up twice, while another man fucked my brains out every few weeks. And things get better because she starts giving me even more food and brings some extra snacks to bed at night for me. I just love her so much.

Anyway, the day I go to Tate’s office, September 4th, my wife says I should take the whole day off and maybe go for lunch or dinner with Tate because I need a break from all the househusband-dad life. I really love spending time with my kids but being away from all the crying and constant breastfeeding sounds amazing too. So, I pump tons of milk from my pecs before leaving the house and for the first time in ages, I sit in the driver's seat of a car and go out alone like a normal adult should do. I feel weird being alone without the kids but by the time I arrive at Tate's office I’m feeling like a whole new man. When I get in, he’s already waiting for me and the place is completely empty. He hugs me and he leads me to his office immediately. We start talking about my current life and then he starts talking about the importance of medical care, especially after I have gone through such a bizarre and unique experience, twice. He checks on my blood pressure, weight and all the regular stuff. Then he commands me to undress and get on the examination table. I hesitate for a second but then I nod and start taking my clothes off. It’s not like he hasn’t seen me naked before so I get fully naked and then lie on my back on the examination table.

I see Tate putting on some globes while he explains a few things about the procedure he’s about to make. I already know what it is since he has done it after the first quadruplets were born but I just nod and smile at him. He gets between my legs and he starts saying he has missed me all these months and that he was just hurt but my wife has helped him understand that he shouldn’t be angry. I don’t respond and then he starts softly poking around my hole’s entrance and my whole body shivers, making me gasp. “Sorry, nobody has touched me there like that since… you”. I say and he just continues without saying a thing. Then he fits one of his fingers in my hole and starts moving it around it. He slowly fits a second and then a third finger in my hole and I’m fighting to contain a moan. “You seem to be perfectly fine, stretchy as always and it’s definitely healthy since you’re dick tells me you’re feeling my fingers pretty well”. He says while my dick starts hardening. Then he gets a fourth finger in my hole and with his free hand he starts rubbing my big balls. “It seems like the bigger balls will stay for a while because they seem to be bigger than the last time I had them in my hands. I bet they feel full all the time”. He says while he continues massaging them. “Hormones are weird and they usually take some time to get in balance again naturally. But I think they look great so… let’s keep them big and full”. He squeezes them once more and then moves to my hard dick. All the while his four fingers stay in my hole and it feels great.

He strokes my dick a few times and I finally let out the moan I’ve been trying to drown all along. I hear him laughing a bit and he finally takes his fingers out of my hole. With both hands he starts feeling around my big soft belly and somehow it feels good. There’s nothing sexual in this part but this is turning me on more and more every second. “Tate… I… I really don’t think we should…”. I start saying but his touch is making me lose my mind and slowly I’m falling for him once again. “Shhh. No need to worry. This is just the regular procedure for a big and fertile man like you”. He says and then his hands start massaging my massive pecs. “Darcy told me you’re breastfeeding all 10 babies and I can tell since they’re so big and so full. Bigger than any woman I had ever seen”. He says while he starts teasing my nipples and milk starts coming out like faucets. “Yeah, I’m producing so much milk that even 10 babies aren’t enough to empty them up. They’re plump and heavy all the time and… they’re only getting bigger every day”. I say while I softly moan and he continues rubbing my huge pecs. By now my inhibitions are blurry and I can’t think of anything else but Tate’s dick up my ass. The memories of the many times he had fucked me while I was pregnant starts flooding my mind and I his touch gets even more passionate.

“Tate, we should stop… I’m… trying to do things the right way and Darcy…” I say but more moans come out of my mouth when one of his hands gets between my legs again and starts touching me around there. “She’s not here and she’ll never find out. You owe me this because you cheated on me. You knew how I felt and you let that man knock you up without hesitation”. He says and I know he’s right, not only that, I’m barely begging for him to fuck me so I sit up and pull myself closer to him while his fingers are poking around my hole. I pull his head closer to me and kiss him passionately. “You’re right, big guy. I owe this to you and you have no idea how much I have missed that thick dick of yours”. My mind goes wild in pleasure and I use my legs to pull my crotch closer to his bulge where it’s obvious his big dick is fully hard. Just a few seconds later his pants and underwear are off and his thick big dick is aiming at my hole while we make out. “Go on, no one will find out”. I say and he shoves his dick in me in just one move. I cry out in pleasure and lie back on the examination table to put my legs on top of his strong shoulders. “Fuck me hard, big guy. I’m all yours one last time”. I moan out.

He starts thrusting into me and I’m seeing stars. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s been really long since the last time I had been with him but he’s fucking me so well that I can’t even talk, only moans, groans ands gasps are coming out of my mouth uncontrollably. While he trusts hard into me I feel my big belly and massive pecs bouncing hypnotically and I can feel my nipples spreading out milk everywhere like fire hoses. “Oh fuck, even after 8 kids you feel so tight. So good and you look so hot”. He says and starts going faster, while I’m just panting. I can already feel some pre coming out of his dick and warming up my guts while his hips smack against me with such force that the sound fills up the whole room. “I just can’t get enough of this. I wanna fuck you over and over again ‘till my balls are as dry as raisins”. Tate says and just a few seconds later he starts cumming buckets inside me, filling up my guts to the brim and making me shoot all over my own hairy belly.

While we’re catching our breaths back and Tate’s dick is slowly softening inside me, I sit up a big and see the huge mess I have all over my body. My torso is covered in milk, sweat and lots of my own cum that’s covering my big belly. “That was a great last time, right?” He says while slowly takes his dick out of me. I look at him up and down while I think and I bite my lower lip. He takes his shirt off since it’s soaked in sweat and has some of my cum on it and for the first time in so long, I contemplate his body in full glory. Tate is pretty tall at 6’2” and even though he’s 41 years old, he has an amazing body that would put any younger man to shame. Wide shoulders, nice sized pecs, well defined abs, a thin waist and a big dick to add to his looks. He’s such a stud and I know I can’t let him go just like that. I check on my watch and I still have all evening for myself so I reach for Tate’s soft dick and pull him closer to me. “Well, what if we make this a goodbye day and not a goodbye fuck? I mean, my wife said I should go have lunch and dinner with you so she’s not waiting for me to go back home ‘till much later so… what do you say if we go… somewhere else and I let you have a few more rounds? A few last times before we don’t do this ever again”. I kiss him and I feel his dick chubbing up a bit against me. “I guess that’s a yes”. I kiss him again and stroke his dick.

That day we go to a hotel room and he fucks me several more times before we finally close the chapter of us cheating on our wifes. When I get back home, I feel kinda guilty but my wife treats me so well and we have such an amazing night of sex that I focus on the future without worrying about my last cheat fuck with Tate. Everything keeps going as planned, Ed leaves to start his College life and even though I miss him a lot, I’m really proud of him. His College is just 2 hours away from our house so he says he’ll visit us pretty often. My wife���s pregnancy is going smoothly but her doctor still recommends her to take it easy because of her age but we know the baby will be fine. All of this works for the best because her boss recommends her to work from home most of the time and she only has to go to the office a few times a week and just for a few hours. You have no idea how great it is for me to have her around most of the time and enjoy our family life without many babies and the one growing in her belly. We talk about me getting my fallopian tubes tied but Tate recommends me to wait until I have weaned all the babies so I forget about that for a while and continue with my regular life.

Then, by mid-October I start feeling terribly sick all the time and even though my wife is really worried, I assure her over and over again that it’s just the flu or a stomach bug. I have never felt so bad in my life but I have 10 babies and a pregnant wife to take care of so I have to keep going even though I’m constantly tired, sore and nauseous. I remember some of my morning sickness from both previous pregnancies but this is way worse than both pregnancies put together. Every morning I have to fight the urge to throw up as soon as I open my eyes. Then, I randomly get dizzy which is pretty dangerous because sometimes I have any of the babies in my arms and if I fall to the ground, I might hurt the baby. My wife says I should go see Tate but I insist it’s just a stomach bug and that it’ll soon go away. I really try to convince myself about that but the sickness just continues and some parts of my body are going crazy. My pecs start overproducing milk even more and now they’re almost bursting all the time, even after I have just fed the 10 babies. My dick starts getting randomly hard and my balls feel fuller than ever. And then there’s my belly. I've been eating a lot lately so it hasn't shrunk down at all but even though it’s still pretty soft, it’s starting to feel firmer everyday and… rounder as well. This is the red flag I needed to schedule an appointment with Tate.

On October 30th, Sunday, I go to Tate’s office while my wife and Ed are taking care of all the babies. I have lied to my wife telling her that Tate wants to run some tests on me to get me ready for the surgery and since Ed is visiting us this weekend, they stay with the babies. All the way from my house to Tate’s office, I can’t take my hand away from my firm belly and I hope I’m just bloated or something similar. When I arrive at the Tate’s office he’s already waiting for me and since I have already described my symptoms, I insist on getting an ultrasound as soon as I get in. Tate says he needs to check on a few things first but I just need to know if my guessing is right. Tate insists and he checks on my blood pressure and it’s a little bit higher than it should be, then he checks on my weight and the scale shows 258 pounds which is 16 pounds heavier than the last time I had been in Tate’s office.”16 pounds is not that much… you must be eating a lot”. Tate says but I know it’s not just fat. “Please, the ultrasound”. I ask and he finally leads me to the room where the ultrasound machine is.

When I’m lying down and he’s preparing the ultrasound machine, I notice he seems to be smiling instead of being worried like he should be. I don’t say a thing and let him put the gel on my lower belly and then close my eyes in fear of what is very likely about to happen. Tate puts the transducer on my belly and moves it around while I take a deep breath with my eyes still closed. “Casper, open your eyes. This is amazing”. Tate says and when I look at him he’s clearly smiling. “You’re pregnant and very pregnant if you ask me. We’re having kids”. He says and I freeze when he shows me the monitor and starts pointing out to the babies. “There’s baby A and baby B, here on top is baby C, next to baby D, here we have babies E and F and on the lower right corner of the screen we have babies G and H. It seems like you have two sets of identical quadruplets”. I feel dizzy while he keeps smiling at me and talking about the babies being perfectly healthy for their stage. “Octuplets, that’s so amazing and they look perfect for 8 weeks along”. He says and while I swallow the information he stands up and gets to the door. I’m too scared to pay attention to what he’s doing, I don’t know how I will explain this to my wife and my oldest son.

Then, Tate opens the door and while I’m there with my belly on full display, covered in gel, my wife walks in with a big smile on her face and I start feeling even dizzier. “Hey babe, how did the check up go? Is everything alright?” She asks and comes closer to me while Tate turns on the ultrasound machine again. I don’t know what to say and when Tate puts the transducer on my belly, the monitor shows the babies again. My wife looks happily at the monitor and I’m still speechless, looking at her while trying to understand what’s happening. She notices I’m in shock and she kisses my lips. “What? You thought I wasn’t aware of what you did with Tate? Babe, how do you think I convinced him to go to the house? We found out we have several things in common. First, we both think you look hot with a huge belly full of babies. Secondly, you cheated on the both of us so… it’s time for you to pay for your crimes”. She says and kisses my lips again while Tate rubs my belly. “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you”. Tate adds.

...

[onyxandemerald]

Hey, I’d love a tarot reading! My question for you is: What strengths should I focus on developing right now and which fears are holding me back?

If you’re not doing questions a general mini reading is cool too! Get to this whenever you’d like. Have a beautiful day. ❤️

My first reading how exciting! I consider us friends, obv, so I got a little carried away lol. Sometimes more cards is in fact better lmaaooo. Love you! I hope you got what you're looking for! <3

Okay so we started with the three in the middle. I went with fears/current situation/strengths, in that order. I flipped the Two of Wands first. Since you're asking this question at all, I'm getting the sense that you're feeling stuck, possibly in the middle of two opposing forces. There might even be danger on the horizon; this feels like an urgent dilemma. Then I pulled The Moon, XVIII, your strengths. I did in fact notice you're a Cancer sun! And then I pulled the Four of Wands to represent the fears you are inquiring about. This kinda threw me off at first, and that's when The High Priestess reversed showed up.

From this reading, I'm getting the idea that you may be neglecting your true self, your true path, your authenticity as a way to keep the peace in your mid-world, possibly with the intention to please others. In my personal practice, I associate The High Priestess with Hekate, that spooky mysterious force that seems to guide us all. Are you saying no to her? She's ready to hand you the key, but are you ready to receive the mysteries she has in store for you? When I see the Eight of Wands, I read it as, "Do it scared!"

Your emotional power is your strength! It looks like you are so ready, so willing to dive into your emotional world. You understand balance is the key to harmony; Temperance. You are searching for something new, or a new perspective, Ace of Cups, but are your own cups full or empty?

The impression I'm getting from this whole spread is that you want to grow and to feel, and you are ready, but you might be unwilling to shake up your day-to-day to make room to accommodate the growth you're seeking. If you want your irl community to accept you, find a community where you belong! If your support system (whether they know it or not, intentionally or not) is holding you back, it might be time to make some changes to your relationships. You have the power and the intuition to succeed, you just have to take the first step and actually go do something with it.

I'll relate this to a personal anecdote- My biggest anxiety when starting down the path of witchcraft and the mystical was how it would effect my relationships and my support system. I was afraid I would get sideways glances for wearing crystals and bringing incense everywhere like literally everywhere with me, even from people who I knew loved me. But I decided hiding my intention and my truth was not worth the suffering I was going through by neglecting that it even existed; I was not praying to my spirit guides as regularly as I needed, I wasn't making offerings, I wouldn't even bring my tarot cards into the living room w me. These things were really effecting my spiritual health. So I just started doing it. I started reading tarot in front of my family, asking them if they wanted readings to help me practice, and it was really awkward and a little uncomfortable at first, but now literally everyone in my home is a witch. We have a community altar in the living room. Not only was I hiding for nothing, being authentic and true added value to my relationships! Because I had the bravery to be weird without feeling embarrassed for doing things that bring me joy and more importantly healing, the rest of my roommates finally felt the comfort to be weird back. We do yoga together when last year even I would have cringed at it.

Moral of the story is, if your people can't love you totally and fully, your wounds and weirdness and all, then they're not your people. When you are completely and wholly authentic, the people who want to be around you will find you. The people who don't will make a hasty exit. Tell them, "Good riddance." They were never serving you to begin with.

[st0rmyskies]

STORMY!! a baby smiled at me today and it made me like stupid happy so now I'm in a baby mood!

How would the townhouse boys be with kids? Like doesn't even have to be their kid, but rather a child that they are looking after? Could shadow and dark be included too. 👉🏾👈🏽

👽

What we know about how the boys act with kids comes mostly from HSH: Sugar and Spice. Under the cut for length.

Time loves kids. LOVES kids. Would have had eight kids of his own with Malon if they could. Time is even-tempered and patient with kids, he loves to play and loves to tell stories. Catching fireflies is his favorite. Would strap on one of those baby bjorn things without hesitation and take that baby with him everywhere, chatting away with them the entire time.

Twilight similarly loves kids and would like three of his own someday. He's very good to roughhouse with, he knows his own strength and uses it to let those who are small enough hang off of his arms and get carried on his shoulders and toss them around (safely). He's not shy about reading stories aloud and acting out ALL the voices. Also very good at keeping kids in line.

Wild is kind of childlike himself, so he's not as good with kids as, say, Twilight is, but he doesn't dislike them, either. He's more likely to strike up a conversation about shared interests, like video games or comics, and talk with a kid like an equal. Also he's totally the one you want to convince to sneak down into the kitchen at midnight for the most killer banana splits!

Champion has no feelings about children, positive or negative. If left to care for a child, he'd keep to a rigid schedule: park from 2:00-3:00, walk home 3:00-3:15, snack (100 calories goldfish crackers, 80 calorie juice box, fruit punch flavored obvi) 3:15-3:45, etc. etc.

Warriors finds kids amusing, but he's less likely to baby kids and more likely to recruit them for his own mischief-making, so long as everyone will be safe and happy. He'll sit down and let a gaggle of little girls give him a makeover and model that look with utmost seriousness. He's not going to care if the kids want to spend all afternoon playing video games or if they eat popcorn for dinner. Maybe not the best of babysitters, or at least not alone.

Sky likes kids well enough, although he's not quite good with them. He didn't have any siblings and doesn't really know how to talk to or interact with kids. Sky and Sunny are going to have several kids of their own, though, and he'll end up being a doting father that resorts to "Go ask your mother" whenever anything vaguely uncomfortable or anything requiring permission is asked.

Legend would prefer to avoid kids when possible. He doesn't like the idea of being responsible for another human. He wouldn't know what to do if the kid started to cry, or if they decided they were hungry, or if somebody needed a bandaid. He would also appreciate it if they DIDN'T touch his expensive crystals, etc. Maybe they should just go play outside for a while, hmmm??

Hyrule sees every snotty nose and skinned knee and whiny face and lack of proper hand hygiene and... No. Just, no. He will see children professionally as an emergency doctor and then tuck in his clipboard as they walk past when he's finished, thankyouverymuch.

Wind is fond of kids, even if he won't admit it, and he's really good with them, too! He was the one to get little Lolo to smile and laugh first in the accidental baby fic. He's good at reading baby body language, at knowing which cries mean "hungry" or "change me" or "I'm exhausted!" Aryll trained him up well.

Four is pretty ambivalent to kids. The ones who are entertained by things like taking apart the remote control and putting it back together again are the ones that get his vibe best. The ones who are more about wrestling or playing noisy games get on his nerves. He wouldn't say 'no' if someone asked him to watch their kid, but he'd lowkey stress about it.

Dark jokes that he'd be the person who would teach the kid their first curse word or give them their first cigarette, except he's not joking. Dark wouldn't be the type to roll up to a seedy liquor store with a baby strapped across his chest and his piece in his back pocket. This kid will not be sheltered from the ways of the world, nor would they be in any danger during the worst parts of Dark's day. By the end of the day, you'll find Dark passed out on the couch, snoring as loud as can be while the baby is calmly sucking her binky and watching cheesy old horror movies.

Shadow - If left in the care of someone's child, he'd walk them to the next crowded intersection, switch hand-holding positions with the nearest busy stranger waiting to cross the street, and bounce. Good luck, kid.

[noah-luck-easterly]

Abstinence is having what I believe is called a moment. Everywhere a vast literature of self-denial proclaims the benefits of not drinking, not eating carbohydrates, not having sex, not watering one’s lawn. Practically the only thing from which the American people are not serially asked to refrain happens to be the one vice that I have managed to renounce, in my case with very little difficulty. I mean, of course, voting.

“Why does anyone vote?” I ask myself. The answer cannot be that we believe that by doing so, we will influence the outcome of an election. My vote, were it not withheld, would have no such effect. This is true even at the county or municipal level. The vote margins for the State of Florida in the presidential election of 2000 — the closest in modern American history — were in the hundreds, not the single digits. Voting is, strictly speaking, pointless.

Those of us who wear the temperance ribbon are accustomed to hearing the same wearyingly familiar rejoinder: If everyone felt this way, no one would vote, and then what? To which the answer, of course, is that I am not responsible for the votes of everyone. We do not live in England before the Reform Bill of 1832, when, for example, two periwigged gentlemen of Dunwich each controlled the votes of eight of the 32 total freedmen. (In the bad old days, one vote really could make a difference.) Under universal suffrage, the likelihood that everyone will follow me into recusancy is nil. Most voters, I suspect, agree with this analysis, even if they would not put it precisely this way. Their actual reasons for voting have less to do with the practical effect of pulling the lever and more to do with the significance they ascribe to voting itself.

When I was growing up I was solemnly informed that voting was one’s civic duty. I fear that this quaint phrase does not quite catch in my throat. Civic duty is a protean concept. In the antebellum South, members of night patrols considered it their civic duty to hunt down fugitive slaves. In the course of our country’s history, the concept has also been invoked to describe obligations as various as membership in eugenics societies and the promise of Catholics to take up arms against the Holy See in the event of a papal invasion. To me, civic duty simply means paying taxes and obeying all reasonable laws (e.g., registering for the Selective Service). Your proverbial mileage may vary.

If patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel, civic duty is surely the first. Some version of the civic-duty line is trotted out by the sort of do-gooder who hands out voter registration forms to strangers — an activity I find as off-putting as I would an invitation to sit down and fill out a handgun permit.

Civic duty is also the implicit appeal of avowedly neutral advertising campaigns meant to induce young people and other so-called low-information or reluctant voters to cast ballots. Would it be too cynical to suggest that when MTV first encouraged viewers to “rock the vote” in the early 1990s, it did not envision a landslide re-election for George H.W. Bush? When activist stickers tell us to “just vote,” do they mean a straight Republican ticket? Surely if you thought a candidate was a harbinger of the end of democracy, you would urge anyone you thought likely to support him to “just do anything else.”

The logic of sports fandom brings us nearer the mark. When most people vote, they are expressing something like a rooting interest, not because they expect their support to carry their preferred team to victory but because cheering on one’s side is simply what one does. This is one of the many ways in which the presidencies of Barack Obama and Donald Trump were similar: To many of their most fervent supporters, what, if anything, these men would accomplish during their time in office was of far less importance than the sublime totalizing experience of voting for them. Something similar explains why hundreds of thousands of Americans vote for third-party candidates whom they readily admit will never be elected. The act is expressive.

What about those of us who remain on the wagon? If voting is expressive, then the same is true, surely, of not voting. My indifference is, among other things, a reflection of my view that the real problems in American life are deep-seated and structural. I cannot change the fact that financialization, environmental spoliation, drug addiction, the hollowing out of the public sector and the subsuming of virtually every aspect of human existence into reality-augmenting digital media are making this country an uninhabitable wasteland — and neither can any president I expect to see elected in my lifetime.

Of all the arguments ever made to me in favor of exercising the franchise, I am fondest of the one about how people who don’t vote don’t get to complain about politicians. This is not because it makes sense to me. (Surely you are in the same position vis-à-vis a bad president whether you voted for him or not.) I like it simply because it makes me think of my great-grandmother. More than half a century ago, she would find herself saying to my great-grandfather: “Get off the davenport, buster. It’s time to go cancel each other’s votes.” (She was an aspirational Rockefeller Republican, he an unflagging United Automobile Workers Democrat.) As she saw it, voting was a kind of license that allowed you to say whatever you liked about the people in charge. With all apologies to Great-Grandma Ruth, this seems to me not just wrong but exactly backward. Among the benefits of living in a country like this one — one of the few unambiguously good things, in fact — is that we are free to think anything or nothing about our leaders, who are in their present position not because they were crowned, anointed or even clever enough to carry off a coup d’état. They are there because of us, regardless of what millions of us did or didn’t do in November.

What a fucking jackwagon.

NYT having an op-ed on the 4th of July about why people shouldn't vote whose author is a liar and someone tied directly to the movement culminating in Jan 6th as well as created Trump and the GOP's education policy plans as well as Erik Prince's alma mater.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Coming Home (Part Fourteen)

Azriel x Reader.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen

Ahhhh, brace yourselves. This is a big one, folks. A storm is a’brewin’.

Happy Halloween!

Warnings: SMUTSMUTSMUT 🌶️🥵

⧪

You woke the next morning with a blanket draped over your body – and a leaden weight on your shoulders, in your heart.

You felt…numb. And not numb at all. Achingly empty and yet so full, you couldn’t possibly cram any more inside your head. Restless, like you wanted to run and run and not stop; where, you weren’t sure.

After the argument with Elain the day before, Az had spent the day plying you with tea and mindless, easy conversation. You knew precisely what he’d been doing – keeping a close eye on you, sensing that you were teetering on the edge of something catastrophic. But not once did he raise any of the pressing subjects that were dragging on you.

Not once did he acknowledge the total shit show that was your life, and your relationships with everyone in it.

How could you face Starfall that night, when everything had piled on top of you so suddenly? When you felt a few steps away from a total fucking break? You wandered up to your bedroom, staring around the cold, empty area that, it seemed, no personal effects could fill or warm. It lacked life, lacked spirit. 

You…you lacked life, you realised. Lacked spirit. 

Returning to Velaris hadn’t been what you’d thought or hoped it would be. The initial reunions had been euphoric, of course, but it had taken a while for you to realise something that now seemed blindingly obvious. 

You couldn’t be happy here – not right now. Couldn’t be happy anywhere, in fact, because you just weren’t happy, fullstop.

And it wasn’t just the situation that existed between you and Azriel. It was bigger than that, more than that. This thing went back years, had started long before you were old enough to harbour romantic feelings. It was a sickness, of sorts…a plague. A hatred. For yourself. 

You stared in the mirror, not recognising one bit of the person that stared back at you. Had you ever been happy, even in those small moments of light? When your big brother had simply doted on his little sister, and it had nothing to do with him being a High Lord or ruling a court? 

Had you ever had a chance to be happy? 

Your father had hated you from your first breath to his last one. He’d told you what you’d become – a disappointment, a burden – and somehow, in your attempts to avoid those very things, you had, indeed, become them. 

And travelling, seeing the world, had been nothing more than a ruse to get away. Because you’d thought, perhaps, that being away from the people who saw you for what you truly were, reinventing yourself every time you went someplace new, would somehow fill that chasm that lived inside of you. 

Bandages. You’d just slapped bandage over bandage over bandage, and now they were all fraying, exposing your wounds, and you were losing the fight against them. 

You never should have come home. Should never have turned up on your brother’s doorstep, shattered pieces of your soul in tow, and hoped that no one would notice how broken you truly were.

Home. Where even was that for you? You weren’t sure you had one. A place where you felt at peace, and whole…content and wanted and loved–

A thought struck you like a ton of bricks.

Frowning, you strode over to your dresser, pulling the drawers open and rifling through one by one. It had to be in this room somewhere – you knew you’d carried it everywhere with you and brought it back to Velaris with you; a tiny little keepsake you never wanted to lose. 

Buried in the bottom of your armoire, tucked into a coin pouch, you found it.

The edges were torn, the colouring yellowed – the note was sixty years old, now, but you treasured it as much as the day its author had handed it to you. 

A young, new High Lord who had been just twenty years of age and thrust into a daunting role, with views and opinions so aligned with your own, with a zest for goodness and peace. Your time spent in his company was, perhaps, the only time you’d felt true happiness. The only time you hadn’t thought something was missing from your heart. 

You unfolded the note, smiling down at the neat handwriting. It gave you the comfort you absolutely needed in that moment.

I wish you weren’t leaving us, but should you ever travel this way again, or you simply want to come and play with us, you’re always welcome in the Summer Court. I’m deeply indebted to you for your counsel and friendship these past months. Don’t forget about me, Lady of the Night. Warm regards, always – Tarquin. 

Tarquin. What a light he had been, in those few months you’d spent in Adriata, soaking in the sun and tasting the wine and helping a young male who was absolutely terrified of the responsibility that had been placed on his shoulders. You’d never returned to the Summer Court after you’d left – though you’d always sworn you wanted to – and only ten years later, they’d been trapped Under the Mountain.

Maybe you should have returned to Adriata, rather than Velaris. Maybe there, you would have sorted yourself out instead of spiralling. 

Maybe it wasn’t too late to do so. 

You weren’t sure. But with that little, folded note in view, you felt the slightest easing of the weight on your shoulders.

You gathered yourself together, did what you were supposed to do and began to get ready for Starfall.

But as you did, your thoughts were far, far away, on crystal blue waters and sandstone palaces.

⧪

“You wished to see me?”

The House of Wind had been rapidly filling up since the sun had begun to set over the city. Azriel and Cassian had flown back and forth, transporting the guests from the ground, up into the house where the celebrations were already underway, drinks and conversation flowing. Az had made true on his word to fly Killian up there, and the poor male was currently being pelted with questions from both Mor and Feyre.

And Rhys — Rhys had summoned you to this pokey little office to have a private chat. 

He looked up at you, taking in the dress Az had bought you, your hair and makeup that you’d somehow found the will to perfect. His mouth kicked up into a soft smile. “You look beautiful.”

“As do you.” And he did — a true vision of the Night Court high lord. You stayed standing. “Why did you summon me here?”

“I know we agreed not to discuss anything too pressing until after Starfall, but…” He pursed his lips. “I wanted to check on you, see how you were doing after yesterday. After…”

You folded your arms. “After Elain suddenly decided she had a backbone? I’m fine. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve coaxed a cat’s claws out. If she keeps it up, she may actually start to look like she fits into this court.”

Rhys’s eyes closed. You watched as he pressed two fingers to each temple, gently massaging the area. A long, deep sigh was dragged from his lips. Like he was trying — and failing — to stifle his temper.

“What is it, Rhys?” You pressed.

Those violet eyes flickered as he glanced up at you. “Elain shouldn’t have behaved how she did yesterday — and I’ve made that clear to her. But you…I need you to have some compassion.”

“Compassion? Compassion for what?”

“Elain has suffered some terrible things—“

Your barked, incredulous laugh swallowed up his words. You shook your head. “I cannot believe we’re having this conversation right now.”

So he hadn’t summoned you here to check on your well-being —- but rather, to ask you to be kinder to Elain. If you weren’t already feeling so empty, so checked out, you may have actually screamed. 

“Elain isn’t like you, Y/N.” Rhys said. “She doesn’t have your resilience. She isn’t brave, or confident, or—“

“If you truly believe that I am those things,” Your eyes met his, “then you do not know me at all, brother.”

For just a moment, he stared back at you. His brow furrowed, and his mouth became taut — like he was trying to puzzle you out, trying to find some semblance of the person he’d once known. But he wouldn’t find it; he seemed to realise that as he sat up in his chair.

“What is going on with you?” He demanded. “Since you came back to Velaris, it’s like—like you’ve been on a downward spiral. You’re acting out, pushing everyone away. And you’ve always been stubborn, and outspoken, perhaps a bit brash at times…but unkind? You’ve never been unkind. And yesterday—“

“Yesterday was not supposed to go the way that it did.” You pressed your lips together. “I simply wanted to talk to Elain, and I regret what I said to her when things got heated. But the way she’s acted, Rhys, the whole time I’ve been here…I can’t just sit back and ignore it.”

“She’s been through a lot—“

“And what about what I’ve been through?!” You snapped so suddenly, you shocked even yourself. You slammed your hands down on the desk, begging your eyes not to well up with tears. “What about what I’ve suffered?”

Rhys blinked at you. “I don’t know a thing about what you’ve been through because you haven’t told me.”

“You haven’t asked!” You needed to move, needed to get out of there before you truly lost it, but you couldn’t force your feet into action. “Nearly an entire fucking century I was away, and you haven’t even asked what I’ve been through. Whether I’m okay.”

“Y/N—“

“I’m not, Rhys. I’m not okay at all.” You hated, hated so much, that your voice cracked. “I’m broken. So fucking broken, I’m not even sure I can piece myself back together. I’m lonely. Bruised. And I’m so fucking tired!”

“You—“

“I saw death — out there, in the world. So much death, so much violence, it will never leave me. I may not have been trapped under that mountain with you, but I was still trapped. Trapped inside my head, moving from place to place and trying to find somewhere that I might actually feel whole. Somewhere I could become someone you would be proud of. And I tried to be that person…tried to learn things and help people and make things better, but I can’t do that because I’m the problem! So while you all assumed I was just galavanting around the world and having a merry fucking time, I was drowning. Suffocating.”

Rhys’s eyes were pleading, now, the colour so stark, you could be forgiven for thinking he was crying. “I don’t — I’ve never known how to help you, Y/N. I’ve always sensed something was wrong. I know that you went through a lot. Our father damaged you…and Tamlin’s father…and then Azriel…”

Just like that — just like that, you went so very, very still. A chill skittered through you like claws caressing your insides. 

The words were the slap that Elain had failed to land.

“What,” you said bluntly, “does Azriel have to do with this?”

Rhys sat back in his chair. Squared his shoulders. The pitying gaze in his eyes made you feel sick to your stomach. And you…you felt smaller than ever.

You felt just as you had when you were a child. When Rhys would kneel down before you, to speak to you at eye-level. When he would soften his features and speak so gently, because you were his little sister — somewhat more like a daughter to the young male barely out of his adolescence —  and he would do anything, anything to protect you. 

Where had that relationship gone? That ferocious love? Had you, the hate and anger that ate you up from the inside, destroyed it?

“…it’s why you left, right?” He said quietly. “Because you were in love with Az — and he was in love with Mor. Anyone with half a brain cell could see it.”

Your eyes shuttered. No. You couldn’t talk about this. Not with him. Azriel had pushed you away for Rhys. To preserve his feelings — to keep to his loyalty for his friend, his brother, his High Lord. 

And Rhys had known the whole fucking time? Had sat back and kept his mouth shut, like watching some shitty love triangle from a shitty romance novel play out? Like the whole thing was petty and meaningless, something you would have just gotten over with age?

And then he’d let you go out into the world, let you try to run from your feelings, straight into ones that were so much worse. So much lonelier. He’d let you build up such a guard, such a hatred. 

And yet he was here, wanting you to be kinder to Elain.

You couldn’t stay here. In Velaris. There was no possible way you could stay here. 

“I…” You spoke with dangerous calm. “I am not having this conversation with you, Rhysand. This ends here.”

“Y/N—“

But you were already turning your back on him, wrenching the door open. “Enjoy your night, brother.”

⧪

Churned up though you were, you decided to stay — for Starfall. 

In some useless hope that the stars would zip by and carry your problems away. Maybe even carry you away. 

Somehow, you floated around, drinking and dancing and socialising as if absolutely nothing were wrong. As if you weren’t a high fever about to break. A volcano seconds from erupting. 

You’d given Killian sweet smiles that didn’t reach your eyes and pretty laughs that tasted sour in your mouth. You pretended to enjoy yourself — and when Killian plucked up the courage to talk to Rhys and Cassian, his eyes alight with utter awe at them — you felt relieved for the break. For the opportunity to drop your smile for a few moments. 

But it was too noisy. Too much. Everyone had gathered on the main balcony once the sky’s displays had started, and you felt crowded, suffocated. Too hot and too boxed in. 

With their faces tilted up at the sky, nobody thankfully noticed as you slipped away and went in search of some solitude. You quietly wandered inside, taking the staircase up to the roof that was unoccupied and just the right amount of quiet, even with the bustle of voices and music still audible from below. 

You felt closer to the passing stars up here. Close enough to reach out just past the railing and touch. They seemed to dance around you, in front of you, cartwheeling their way through the endless expanse of night sky, and you couldn’t…couldn’t help wondering if perhaps one of those passing souls was your mother. Floating around you. Watching over you. 

Couldn’t help wondering what she would think of you now. 

Only when the door opened behind you did you realise you were crying. You jumped at the sudden intrusion, attempting to shield your face, to dab at the tears without completely destroying the artwork of makeup you’d painted onto yourself. Perhaps Killian had peeled away from your brother’s side and come looking for you. Perfect, you thought — you wanted distraction, to feel something or nothing, to feel reckless and dangerous and light on your feet—

“What happened.” 

The question was dark, blunt — almost a snarl. Not Killian at all. Azriel shut the door to the roof behind him, and he was by your side in a couple of great strides, prising your hand from your face. 

“What happened?” He repeated. “Has Kameron upset you?”

You couldn’t help but snort — albeit weakly, pathetically — dabbing your eyes. “His name is Killian.”

“…I really do not give a shit.”

No, you didn’t doubt that at all. Anyone glimpsing the Shadowsinger tonight may have merely seen his usual guardedness, but you knew him better than that. He didn’t like Killian, and he wasn’t pretending to. He’d barely breathed a word while Rhys and Cassian had plied the sweet male with questions. 

“He didn’t upset me.” You said, leaning against the railing. “I’m just…reflecting, I suppose.”

“Reflecting.”

You could feel Azriel’s intense stare on you. He mirrored your position, bracing both arms on the railing and letting it support his weight. And gods, every bit of it — it was so much like that last Starfall. So much like that night that changed everything. The two of you alone together, the night sky a burst of brilliant shapes and sounds and colours. Your bodies brushing side-by-side. A host of unspoken words weighing on your tongue. 

And you were…you were older. Obviously. And different. You just really weren’t sure, anymore, that the difference was a good one.

Az hadn’t torn his eyes from your face once; even with the exquisite sights that were happening right there, close enough to touch. 

He angled his body towards you, the warmth of him brushing your bare arm. “What is going on in that head of yours?”

Good question. You wanted to laugh, to ask him if he had a spare millennia to puzzle out your complicated thoughts with you. But you merely focused on a passing star, your brow pinching. 

“…Do you think she’d be proud of me?” You asked, your voice far smaller than you’d intended. “My mother, I mean.”

Azriel seemed surprised by the question — such a rare thing to catch him off guard. He blinked, frowned, and then touched your arm with a feather-like gentleness. 

“Of course she would.” His voice was soft, quiet. “Why would you even ask that?”

Slowly, you shook your head. “…I don’t think I would be, if I were her. Proud. I don’t think she’d— “

Your words were cut off as Az’s rough hand suddenly gripped your chin. He turned your face to his, his jaw ticking as he stared down at you with that molten intensity in his gaze. 

“I think she’d have more pride than she’d know what to do with.” He said. “I think she’d see how brilliant, how compassionate, how strong you are, and she’d know that no matter what, she wouldn’t have to worry. That somehow, no matter how bad things may seem, you would always be alright.”

Your eyes shuttered. You couldn’t stare at him — not like this. Not this close, with such words leaving his lips. It was easy to remember why you’d bridged that gap all those years ago and acted on your feelings. How simple, how second-nature it had been, to lean forward and kiss him. 

You couldn’t make that mistake again. Not…not after everything. Not with everything else to contend with.

So you simply whispered “thank you”, and gently pulled your face from his grasp, angling yourself forward again. 

He didn’t leave, like you half expected him to. He sidled closer to you, his arm pressing against yours, and you welcomed the warmth, the comfort, that he — and his wings — provided. 

“You don’t have to keep me company up here, you know.” You smiled softly — I’ll be leaving soon enough anyway, was what you didn’t add. “You should go back and join the fun.”

“I think I’d rather be up here.” His eyes tracked a passing star, its light bringing out the flecks of green and brown that made up the hazel. “Besides — I think your lover is still drooling over Rhys.”

You rolled your eyes. But you were thankful for the lighter turn in conversation, the jesting in his tone. It felt good — normal. “He’s not my lover.”

“No?” He angled towards you again. “You fucked him. Isn’t that what a lover is?”

“I’m not sure it really counts if you didn’t get to cum.”

Az stared at you — and then threw his head back, and laughed. A great bellow of a laugh that was so at odds with his usual quiet, you couldn’t help grinning at the sound, the sight of his eyes crinkling at the edges.

“You’re not going to let that go, are you?” He smiled — a gods-damn breathtaking smile.

You shrugged. “Nope. Such an affront leaves one very frustrated.”

“Hmm, I’m sure.”

He pushed away from the railing, his feet falling into slow, relaxed steps around you. You wondered, for a moment, what exactly he was doing — whether he was returning to the party after all.

But then you felt the warmth of him at your back. The solid press of his body flush to yours, as he seemed to enclose you against that railing, the span of his wings cocooning you both from the rest of the world. 

“Perhaps I need to make up for it, then.” He said. His voice was a deep, delicious rasp. 

Your entire body had gone taut. You couldn’t move, couldn’t think — weren’t even sure you were breathing as your hands tightened on the railing. Every bit of Az was overpowering you in the most addictive way, his potent, spicy scent filling your nose, the warmth and hardness of his body holding yours upright, the fanning of his breath against the nape of your neck. He was tall enough to rest his chin atop your head, but he instead dipped it, angling it down.

His lips brushed your bare shoulder in a barely-there caress, and you sucked in a sharp breath. Tried to remember why this was a bad idea. 

“This fucking dress.” He murmured, repeating the action with a slightly firmer press. As he did so, he snaked an arm around you, his hand brushing your navel.

Your eyes fluttered shut. “I…” You cleared your throat. “I thought you liked this dress.”

“I do. Perhaps too much.”

His lips ghosted along your shoulder again, moving further, further, up the column of your neck, where he seemed to settle. He pressed a gentle kiss behind your ear, and you released a shaky breath.

“…Az…” You whispered, letting your head fall back. “…what are you doing? What about…what about everything you said?”

With that one hand still rubbing light circles into your navel, he raised the other to your shoulder, toying with the strap of your dress.

“Maybe,” He murmured, “everything I said was what I thought I should say. Not what I wanted to say.” That hand on your stomach dipped slightly lower. “And maybe I’m tired of doing what I should over what I want.”

“…is that why you’ve been so different these past couple of weeks? The notes…the flirting…”

His hand inched lower, lower still. Now dancing just over where your waistband lay. “Maybe our conversation in Windhaven made me realise things. Made me realise that I want to be more than just the Spymaster. Want to feel more than just my duty. Maybe seeing Lucien defend you yesterday made me understand how I’d failed you.” Another light brushing of his lips. “I want…I want to feel alive, Y/N. And nobody makes me feel that quite like you do.”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think— “Oh.” Was all you managed to whisper.

“Oh, indeed.” He hummed. Pressed another kiss behind your ear. “Do you want me to stop, Y/N?”

Panic bleated somewhere far away inside you…because how could this be happening now, when you’d reached your breaking point? When it felt too late?

But if he stopped, you may just grab him by his wings and launch him off the roof. You…you could have this, couldn’t you? Mindless pleasure for the sake of it? A distraction from the fact that you were sinking?

Yes, you decided. You could.

You placed a hand against his, pressing it against you, as if to prove your point. You could have sworn he laughed. 

“No.” You ground out. “I don’t want you to stop.”

“Thank fuck for that.”

Before you could register his movements, he was spinning you in his arms. Your back was pressed against the railings, and he gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

“I cannot tell whether I want to stare at you in this dress or rip it off you.”

And then he was kissing you. 

Hard, hungry, passionate. The railing was bitingly cold against the skin of your back, and yet every part of you was warm. You opened your mouth on a gasp, and he slipped his tongue inside, the taste of him — of the fruity drink he’d been nursing — drawing a moan from your throat. 

His other hand — the one that wasn’t gripping your face — moved down and down until his fingers were skirting the hem of your dress and the skin of your thigh, the brush of his calluses a delicious scrape that you wanted to feel on every part of your body. He kissed you harder, exploring every inch of your mouth he could get to, and slowly began to lift the hem of your dress up. 

You reached up, fisting the front of his shirt in your hand and attempting to yank him closer to you, harder against you, but you were stopped. He tore his lips from yours. 

This, a horrible voice in your mind told you, is where he realises he fucked up and walks away. Again. 

You stared up at him, your lips still tingling. A lick of worry rose in you—

But he smirked, his eyes studying your flushed cheeks, your swollen lips. His gaze seemed deeper, darker, somehow. You wanted to kiss him again, to taste him — but he stopped you as you leaned in. 

“No.” He rasped. “I want to look at you while I give you that orgasm you didn’t get from Kristian.”

You gasped as his fingers brushed the lace of your underwear. “His name is Killian.”

“I know.”

Any suitable response quickly eddied from your mind as Az’s hand slipped past the waistband of your pretty, flimsy underwear. If he hadn’t already scented your strong arousal, he found it waiting for him as his fingers reached the gathering wetness at your centre. 

“Fuck.” He growled. “You’re soaked.”

“Yes.” You breathed, pushing against his hand. “Because of you.”

The way he looked at you could have suggested that you’d given him the secret to eternal happiness. He bit his lip, his eyes locking with yours. And then dragged a finger right through your folds. 

“Oh gods,” Your head fell back as his thumb pressed against that sweet spot at the apex of your thighs. He began to make slow, torturous circles, his other hand forcing your face back to his.

“Look at me.” He grunted, pressing down on the sensitive nub. “Don’t stop looking at me.”

He was…gods, he was perfect. You’d always known he was skilled, an expert with his hands — you’d seen him use them enough in training and in work. And you’d be totally fucking lying if you said you hadn’t imagined what else those brilliant hands could do, in the dead of night, when it was just you in your bed, your hand between your legs.

But this — the real thing? It put those heated fantasies to shame in an instant. 

His eyes were locked with yours, tracking every one of your micro-expressions, the way your brow furrowed, how you kept alternating between pressing your lips together and allowing them to fall open, allowing a whole host of noises to fall from them. Not once did Az look away from you. 

With his thumb still rubbing circles against your clit, he brushed a long finger through your wetness, dragging it slowly down towards your entrance. You bucked your hips towards him, practically begging him to slide that finger into you, and he released a deep, guttural laugh. 

And then did exactly that. 

“Fuck.” You gasped, your hips bucking again. “Oh, gods, Az.”

“Like that?” He’d stilled his hand — just to make sure you were comfortable. He couldn’t seem to resist leaning forward and kissing you once, quick, before he pulled back to stare at you again. “Feel good?”

“Yes. Fuck, yes, can you—“

His finger began moving inside you before you could complete your request. What started as a slow thrust quickly picked up, the pace of his thumb also increasing against your clit, and your head fell back once more as he slipped a second finger inside you. His free hand gripped the back of your neck, forcing your gaze back to his, and pure, feral need flashed in his eyes as he studied you. 

It seemed to do something to him — watching you, maintaining eye contact, as his fingers thrust inside you, your release tightly coiling in your stomach. The whole world had melted away, and it was just the two of you, not even the passing stars able to compare to what you were feeling right then. 

“Look at you,” Azriel ground out. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Gods,” You moaned, your hand clamping down on his wrist — simultaneously trying to slow and encourage his movements. It was too much, too incredible, and you could feel it unfurling rapidly. “Gods, I’m gonna—“

That was all you managed to get out before release barrelled through you, the words dying in your throat and becoming nothing more than staggering, breathless moans. 

You’d never felt anything like it — never had a fucking orgasm like it. Like…like you were lightheaded and gasping for air, the world spinning around you. You swore you could see swirls and colours and shapes, as if the travelling stars had stopped right above you and Az and exploded, showering you in their shimmering dust and light.

Only then did you realise Az had gone completely still, his hand still in your underwear — and he, too, was staring up, up at the sky above you, and—

The stars were exploding directly above you. Raining down on you. Iridescent, glowing dust was falling onto your skin and in your hair. Never had you seen them do that before.

You didn’t know what was happening. Couldn’t think. All you were aware of was something rocking you to your very core, like the world was cleaving in two and making room for…for something else. Something more. You weren’t sure if the roof was truly trembling around you, or if that was just you, your body, your release—

Az tore his gaze from the sky and looked at you. 

And there, in your soul, in your heart, in your thoughts, you felt it — a resounding snap. Like something clicking into place. Something taking residence in your entire being that felt old and new at the same time. And complete. So utterly complete. 

The way Az was staring at you, his eyes wide and alarmed, his lips slightly parted — you knew he’d felt it, too. Felt that groundbreaking snap that was now burning and growing inside of you. 

He pulled his fingers out of you. Eased his hand from your underwear. His mouth opened and closed around silent words as he took a simple step back, pure shock taking over his face. Like the shock he’d worn on the night of your return, but…more, somehow. Stronger. 

“Fuck.” He choked out, and you swallowed. 

You both knew exactly what this meant — could almost hear his shadows whispering around you: mates, mates, mates. 

Az looked like he didn’t know whether to scream or laugh or cry or fly right out of there. His body had gone preternaturally still.

“Fuck.” Was all he said again.

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

Tags: @theravenphoenix26 @safetypinxtales @historygeekqueen @smartiepants217 @mulansaucey @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @issybee0611 @goldentournesol @percyjacksonspeen @high-bi-andreadytocry @esposadomd @positivewitch @bsenpai @cityofidek @shannonsaid @topaz125 @azzydaddy @nobody00sthings @sfhsgrad-blog @elizarikaallen @hanasakr @ruleroftides @mis-lil-red @reiincarnatiion @moonfawnx @new-adventures-every-day @davinaclaire16 @i-am-fascinated @lucyysthings @margssstuff @magneticforceofaswifty @xxoverthinkerxx @marigold-morelli @owllover123 @vera0124 @thewarriormoon @the-book-gnome @favoritecrime1 @pricklepearbloom @icantthinkofanythingplease @ilovespideyyy @kitty-kait @hwas-housewife @localhopedealerr @magical-mischief-makers @holywolfsstuff @grungy-blue-hipster

[sinsandsuccubus]

Bf!Jack Things

Masterlist ☽ ☾

                                          ☽ ☾

SFW

Calls you stink

“Jack, you know that’s not an endearing word, right?”

“Well, it’s endearing to me.”

Buys you matching sunglasses

Criticizing him for buying shades instead of prescriptions

“You literally cannot see, but you want to buy regular designer shades.”

“You gonna leave me and my bad eyes alone.”

Taking care of his hair

“I can’t believe you used Cantu”

“I didn’t know any better”

“Yeah well now you know, shame on you.”

Stealing his shirts/hoodies cause he’s huge

“Babe, have you seen my Kentucky sweatshirt?”

//is wearing it// “I have no clue where it is.”

Keeps a list on his notes app with all your orders from your favorite places to eat and drinks

Takes off your makeup when you're too tired to do it

Religiously FaceTimes you after every concert

“Babe, the crowd went crazy, I think that was the best show yet!”

After every show you didn’t go to he would make sure to smother you in love

Lays on your chest telling you about how good or bad the show

Rents out restaurants for the two of you to eat at in peace

Pays for your manicures & pedicures (if you’re into that)

“Let me see your nails..” “Oo~ these look good on you ma. I saw this design on Pinterest, you should totally get it” //whips out phone//

If he comes in from a rough day, he’d crawl up your body and go under your shirt and lay his head on your boobs

Is your personal weighted blanket

Has nightmares when he sleeps on his back, so he likes to lay on you

Definitely loves being the little spoon, in secret though

Sometimes has insecure moments

For example, if you’re watching or listening to someone who fits your type, he feels a little bit insecure about what you see in him

But he’ll take that with a grain of salt as soon as you confess your undying love for him, then he gets cocky

“Motherfuckers ain’t got nothing on me, couldn't even bag the best girl”

Is fiercely loyal to those he loves

Would go above and beyond to shower you with love and take care of you

Would buy you things just cus

“Jack, you don’t have to spoil me so much”

“Well, I want to so deal with it.”

Is important to him to provide for you and make it so you don’t have to work

Would sometimes bicker with you because you don’t want to feel dependent on him

“Jack, I can provide for myself, you don’t have to do everything for me.”

“I know but I want to. I want to give you the world.”

“But Jack, you’re my world”

//he cries//

Carries a piece of you everywhere he goes

Y’all have matching necklaces

“I want to have a part of you everywhere you go, and which versa”

This leads to…

NSFW

Makes a mold of his dick for you (as a sex toy) to use when he’s away

“Did you seriously give me a mold of your dick?”

“Yeah, so you’ll have the real thing. Well, not the real thing, but a copy.”

Loves to spank your ass

Has left a bruise from where he’s slapped your ass in the same spot, multiple times

“Babe, pick a new spot, I’m bruising”

“But I like this spot” //smacks it again//

Asks you to send him nudes or lingerie pictures when he’s either at the studio a lot or away

“Damn ma, you got me bricked up in the hotel room right now. You wanna help me handle that?”

Phone Sex

Makes sure your nails are always done so you can leave scratches on his back

Would absolutely fuck you in the studio and then use the recording of your moans on a song

Loves your ass but also loves your titties

Would titty fuck you and cum on them

Is into cum play

Definitely has a breeding kink

“Well, we gotta make those eight daughters happen somehow.”

Size kink

“You look so small underneath of me ma”

He’s confident enough that he would love having toys in the bedroom

Would see them as his “best friends”

“They’re my allies, not my enemies”

Is down for some things, but would need some convincing

Could probably convince him with chicken wings and ranch

“Babe, I’ll buy you a big bucket of KFC and a whole bottle of ranch if you try this new position with me”

"I'm in"

Aftercare

Totally takes care of you. Like full care

Washes your body and allat

Offers you a massage

“You did so well for me mamas, let me get your shoulders. Are they hurting here?”

Is into bath bombs and shit

“Babe, this is rose scented. Oh! And it has little rose petals embedded”

Makes you drink herbal tea

“Oo~. See babe, this one relaxes your muscles”

Cuddles you and showers you with love and affection

“You’re such a pretty girl. You did so well for me.”

“You’re all mine, allmineallmineallmine.”

He sleeps soundly in your arms

It’s the best sleep he ever gets

Is forever in love with you and makes sure to remind you before you fall asleep

“I love you forever mamas”

-

Major shoutout to @hoodharlow @jackharlowsthings @mortirolo & the notorious 🧚 for helping me out. Y'all the realest

Also shoutout to anyone else who helped me. Y’all know who you are, and I appreciate you

[animeomegas]

let's imagine this: asra and his alpha are having THAT fight, although it's more like asra yelling all desperate and his alpha trying to calm him down so they can talk properly. asra is having none of that (even if his alpha it's not even mad or actually fighting, they just want asra to feel better) so his alpha just interrupts him while he's starting to panic and simply says:

"where do you want to go? i think it would be nice living in the middle of the forest, just the two of us. and if the plague continues for more than a couple of months, we could even open a shop in whatever place we'll live in"

asra is like what?? and the alpha just tells him something like "i want to help our city, but not if that is a reason to be away from you. you're my mate, the most important person in my life. i'm sure i can figure out a spell or something else that let's me help find a cure for the plague while being in some far away city instead with you, the both of us safe and most important: together"

i feel like asra would just start crying because he thought he was going to lose his alpha, that they would choose to stay instead of understanding that he doesn't feel safe in the city anymore and even if someone else could think that he's selfish, it really makes sense to just want his mate safe, you know?

and then they just cuddle (WITH FAUST TOO !!!) while talking about what kind of place they want to live in while the plague still exists. i'm soft :(

¡¡ I JUST HATE THAT IN THE GAME, MC DIDN'T GO WITH ASRA LIKE ?!?!? THEY COULD HAVE USED THAT WATER SPELL TO HELP FIND A CURE WITHOUT BEING THERE PHYSICALLY !!!

(Omg I totally agree! I would have been out of that city the second that plague reared it's head. I simply do not have loyalty to places and I would be gone lmao 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️💨 Also, my prompt for Asra for Kinktober is emotional sex, which you sent in of course 😉, and I think I might use this post as the backstory for it... @bymoanne)

Okay, so Asra has been watching the plague develop like a hawk, and he's decided that they have to leave. They have to. Otherwise his alpha will die, and Asra knows he won't be far behind. Things are going from bad to worse, and Asra knows they have to leave now before the city gets quarantined.

But then his alpha says the worst six words he's ever heard.

"I want to stay and help."

And Asra breaks down into hysterics completely, shouting and pleading and bargaining and saying anything and everything he can think of to convince them. He's furious at them for doing this to him. For putting him in this position where he can't protect his mate. But he's also not surprised. This is so like them, to want to help everyone, and normally it's one of his favourite things about his alpha, but right now he can't stand it.

And Asra's alpha is just staring at him, completely blindsided by his breakdown, vaguely aware of Faust slithering up to rest on their shoulders. He'd been quick to leave Asra when his shouting started.

They had no idea he was feeling so unsafe, feeling so desperate to leave. They do want to stay and help but not if this is what that decision does to Asra. He'll never leave them, they know that, and they couldn't bare to watch him breakdown like this if they decided to stay.

They try and get him to calm down, but he won't let them speak. He feels like he's going to die, like they both are going to die, if he can't convince them right now that they need to leave.

...

"Where do you want to go?" they interrupt him, speaking loud enough to be heard over Asra's panicked pleading. His voice dies down as the words register.

"What?" he asks, dazed.

"I don't know if I ever mentioned it, but my family had a cabin in the woods about thirty miles from here... It hasn't been used in years, but it was pretty hidden and secure, so it should still be there. From what I can remember, we left the kitchen stocked with plates and cutlery, and the linen cupboard stocked with blankets and sheets. I can't promise that the roof won't leak and that the blankets aren't musty and need washing but, if you want to go there we could fix it up a little?" they offer.

Asra blinks a few times, before his bottom lip starts to quiver.

"Really?"

"Of course! We can pack up as much of our stuff as we can, we'll have to hunt and grow a lot of our food there, but we can bring as many cans of food as we can to supplement. There's a river for fish and everything! I think you'll like it, but it will take us about six hours to get there at least, probably closer to eight with all our stuff- Woah!"

Asra interrupts them by throwing himself into their arms. He can't even begin to stop the tears that fall freely from his eyes. He's so relieved he can barely breathe.

"Thank you, thank you," he sobs into their shoulder. He claws at his alpha's shoulders, desperately trying to pull his alpha closer.

"Shh," they hush, holding him securely. "I do want to stay and help, but not if that makes you feel like this. We're a team. I will never make you stay in a place where you don't feel safe."

"A team," Asra repeats in a whispered voice. Faust gently begins to transfer back to Asra, now that the shouting has stopped.

"A team," they place a kiss on his head. "We'll leave at first light tomorrow, it's too late today. The cabin is hard enough to find in the daylight and I haven't been there in years, the night is too risky. It will give us some time to pack though."

Asra sighs, nuzzling in to his alpha's neck, exhausted. All the adrenaline is starting to crash and now he just feels tired, but also so, so grateful.

"I love you," Asra says, trying to push as much emotion as he can into those words.

"I love you, too," they reply, sliding a hand up to nestle in his hair. "Why don't you take a nap while I make a packing list?"

...

Asra's alpha sits on one of their sofa's, Asra's head cushioned in their lap as he sleeps, and they write a packing list.

They leave just before dawn, with as much stuff as they can carry between them, dragging a small cart behind them to help. They all (Asra, his alpha and Faust) exit the city without touching anything or talking to anyone. They walk in silence, focused on just leaving as fast as possible without a fuss and without catching anything.

It takes a whole day of walking to arrive at the little derelict cabin, but the second they do, Asra feels like a huge weight has been lifted off of his shoulders.

There are cobwebs everywhere, the roof is questionable, and the whole place is covered in dust. But it's workable, especially with magic. They have a food source, a water source, blankets and a bed, a semi functional kitchen... and crucially, they're far away from any town or city.

It's perfect.

[I really want to build the little derelict cabin in the sims 😆 Maybe I will haha]

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Nineteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: another chapter where the girls are clowns and cassian worships nesta's every breath 🙄 i promise some variety is headed your way soon

***

Gwyn adamantly refuses to accept any gifts for her birthday, much to Emerie’s irritation and Nesta’s relief. No amount of love for her friends can make Nesta enjoy the turmoil of hunting for the perfect gift, and she happily shows up at Gwyn’s apartment that night with nothing save for an overnight bag.

Gwyn easily has the nicest home out of all three of the girls, and it makes Nesta feel oddly proud to have a financially stable friend. Nesta herself has been flacking on her legal consultant duties to Night Court Inc., choosing to make do with the money she’s already earned while focusing on school.

Once they’ve all changed into sleep clothes and are settled around the living room coffee table with a cupcake and a glass of wine each, Gwyn pulls out a brightly colored bracelet-making kit with a sheepish grin. “I found this while I was looking through my childhood things,” she says, opening the kit. “You guys aren’t too grown for it, are you?”

“Depends,” Emerie hums, leaning over to get a closer look. “Is it Rainbow Loom?”

She gets her answer when Gwyn dumps out bundles of multicolored string instead of rubber bands onto the table. Looking disappointed, Emerie plucks up a handful of string. “Fine, I guess I can make do.”

Nesta licks cream cheese frosting off her thumb. “How do you make them? The bracelets?”

She’s met with two dumbfounded stares. “Have you never been to a thirteen year old’s slumber party?” Gwyn says.

“...No?”

When Gwyn and Emerie keep staring, Nesta feels the need to add, “I’ve never been to a sleepover. This is my first.” She was never one to be invited to sleepovers or social gatherings; even when she made acquaintances in middle and high school, they were just that—acquaintances.

“That’s… actually kind of sad,” Emerie says. Gwyn elbows her hard, making her yelp.

“I never thought of it that way,” Nesta says, shrugging. Though maybe it’s because a lot of things about her childhood were sad; it isn’t like she kept count of it all.

“Well, you can learn how to make bracelets now,” Gwyn states, taking out a little plastic baggie and emptying it out onto the table. Small silver charms scatter everywhere. “Everyone gets three colors and one charm.”

Nesta leans forward, making out the different charms. She spies one in the shape of a book, and another in the shape of a dove, and one in the shape of a music note. She snatches up the eighth note before anyone else can. Gwyn takes the book for herself, and Emerie considers the selection of charms before picking a dagger-shaped one. They prepare their string next.

“Now, we can either braid them or knot them.” Gwyn demonstrates how to do it either way, Nesta watching closely before imitating her. She braids the strings of her bracelet as best she can, her cheeks turning red with frustration whenever she spies one of the other girls’ perfect knots. Her half-eaten cupcake is forgotten as she tries to get her bracelet to stay together.

At one point she just has to accept the shoddy work she’s done and tie the bracelet off. She checks to see if it fits on her wrist.

“Now everyone give their bracelet to the person on their left,” Gwyn declares.

Nesta clutches her sloppily-made bracelet to her chest as Emerie responds, “What?”

“So we can wear each other’s bracelets,” Gwyn explains. “And carry around a part of each other all the time.”

“If I had known we were gonna be sentimental, I wouldn’t have picked the cute charm,” Emerie grumbles. Nesta agrees, but Gwyn just clicks her tongue and starts switching bracelets around. In the end, Nesta has Emerie’s dagger bracelet, Gwyn has Nesta’s music note bracelet, and Emerie has Gwyn’s book charm.

Nesta wiggles her bracelet on and turns her wrist over in the light. “That was fun,” she decides. “What happens next at a sleepover?”

“Next,” Gwyn says, “we exchange our most embarrassing secrets with each other, and then we do each other’s hair.”

Emerie shakes her head. “Okay, now I’m really too old for this. Anyone want to watch a movie?”

Gwyn nudges Emerie. “I’m the old one here, and it’s my birthday.” She raises her pert chin in a way that doesn’t look very grown up at all. “What I say goes.”

Emerie flicks up an eyebrow and stares in challenge, which Nesta interrupts by saying, rather exasperatedly, “I’ll go first, then.”

She digs around in her head for something embarrassing enough to be socially acceptable, only to realize that although a lot of embarrassing things have happened to her before, none of them are secrets. She finally settles on an admission. “When I was a kid, I had a thing for breaking and entering into rich people’s empty houses and hanging out in them. Does that count as a secret?”

Gwyn gapes, laughing in disbelief. “Are you going to leave it at that?”

“That actually sounds fun.” Emerie swirls her wine. “Why’d you stop?”

Nesta had almost forgotten. “I got caught.” She remembers the terror of being fourteen and fleeing past cherry blossom trees on her bare feet. “The owner’s family showed up early to vacation one year, and I never risked going back after that.” She shrugs. “Who’s next?”

Gwyn raises her hand excitedly. “I used to be a hardcore Gleek. Like, I had a closet full of Glee memorabilia.”

Nesta doesn’t quite know what to say. Emerie winces. “Maybe you should’ve kept that one a secret.”

“It was only one facet of my entire theatre kid personality. Should I tell you about the rest?”

Emerie raises her hands in surrender. “Please don’t. I’ll go next if it makes you stop.”

Gwyn laughs and Nesta perks up. “What’s your secret?” She hopes Emerie will finally admit to filling their shared Kindle account with lesbian spanking fiction.

But Emerie suddenly gets serious, clearing her throat and fingering the stem of her wine glass. “I might have the worst secret,” she says awkwardly. “I haven’t been honest with you guys.”

Nesta straightens, and Gwyn looks intrigued.

“In my defense,” Emerie says, “I never expected all of us to end up hanging out this much. Before Nesta and I became friends, all I did was show up to school to kick rich kids’ asses and make career connections.”

“Spit it out, Emerie,” Nesta tells her.

So she does. “I’ve been lying about my age.” Her cheeks turn red, either from alcohol or embarrassment, Nesta doesn’t know.

Nesta furrows her brows. “You’re not twenty-four?”

Emerie shakes her head in guilt.

“How old are you, then?” Gwyn says.

Emerie mutters something too low for them to hear. When Gwyn tells her to repeat herself, she says, too loudly, “Twenty-eight.”

She’s met with silence, and then—

Gwyn starts cackling, nearly keeling over. Nesta can only stare in shock. “Why would you—?”

“Because school is a shark tank,” Emerie says. “Everyone else went there straight out of undergrad, and I had to work four jobs for four years just to afford tuition. Being old at Prythian means being poor.” She quietens, looking down at her brown hands twisted together. “And by the time we started to get close, it felt too weird to bring up. So… I’m sorry?” She looks up to see if Nesta is upset.

Nesta doesn’t know what to feel, but Gwyn seems to. “You called me old,” she accuses. “You’re nearly a grandma!”

“Were you going to lie about your age forever?” Nesta interjects.

“If I had known there was going to be a forever, I would have opened up a lot sooner,” Emerie defends.

Nesta drops her head onto the table and covers her ears with her arms. “This is so weird,” she says against the wood of the table, her voice muffled. “I can never look at you the same way ever again.”

“That’s fair,” Emerie says cautiously. “But are you really mad?” Nesta feels a hesitant hand touch her shoulder.

“I need time to process,” Nesta says from her cocoon. Suddenly she hears a hum and a click, and her cocoon gets even darker. Gwyn and Emerie make twin sounds of surprise.

Poking her head up, Nesta blinks to find total darkness in the apartment. The heater has stopped running, leaving behind a quiet stillness.

“Shit,” Gwyn curses, fumbling with her phone. The flashlight turns on, lighting up her face. “I swear I paid my electric bill.”

“I don’t think it’s just you,” Emerie says, getting up to look out the window. “Look, the whole street is out.”

By the time they gather some candles and light them, the apartment has dropped twenty degrees in temperature. Nesta shudders, wishing she’d brought some warm pants with her.

“Let me get us some blankets,” Gwyn says, running off to the linen closet. Emerie and Nesta huddle together on the couch while they wait.

“So you’re really not mad at me?” Emerie asks, hope in her voice.

“Not mad,” Nesta says. “But I think we all lost a little respect for you back there.”

Emerie smiles. “Just a little?”

Gwyn comes back then wearing a thick sweater and carrying a pile of comforters. “I got a text from the landlord,” she says, unceremoniously dropping the blankets onto the couch. “Ice took out the power lines in the whole neighborhood, and we’re not getting any electricity until morning.”

“But it’s negative temperatures outside,” Nesta protests. “We’ll freeze to death.”

“Not if we all cuddle.” Gwyn tries to beam at them, but the effort is futile. “I’m sorry, guys,” she sighs, plopping onto the couch beside Nesta. “This is a terrible birthday celebration.”

Nesta wraps an arm around Gwyn and tucks her into her side, soaking up her warmth as Emerie spreads a heavy comforter over all of their legs. “What are you apologizing for? You did nothing wrong.”

The girls sit in silence for a few minutes until Emerie speaks up. “I wonder what Mr. Madani is doing right now.”

“What?” Nesta frowns.

“He’s probably all alone in his fancy heated cabin, unaware that you’re stuck in the cold dark.” Emerie suddenly smacks Nesta’s arm. “Hey. Why are we freezing our asses off here when you practically own that cabin?”

“I do not practically own that cabin,” Nesta splutters. “And this is Gwyn’s birthday. Why would I take you to Cassian’s place on her birthday?”

“Exactly!” Emerie says. “It’s Gwyn’s birthday, and she deserves better than this. Can’t your boyfriend be a little charitable and share his nice house with us?”

Nesta turns to Gwyn for help, but Gwyn just says carefully, “...Is it a big cabin?”

Emerie nods fiercely, pulling out her phone. “Eris has a picture of it from New Year’s on his Instagram. You wouldn’t believe how much money these Night Court execs make.”

Nesta makes pointed eyes at Gwyn. “You really want to spend your birthday with two strange men?” Cassian and Azriel aren’t exactly meek, nonthreatening men either—at least not at first glance. Considering the state Gwyn was in just some weeks ago, this doesn’t sound like a good idea at all.

Gwyn sounds wary but open-minded when she says, “You trust them, right? And it’s not like we’re going to let the guys join our sleepover. We’re just going to have a warm place to stay while we wait for my power to come back.”

When it’s phrased like that… Nesta purses her lips, thinking.

“Fine,” she finally decides. “Let’s go.”

***

Nesta strips off her jeans almost as soon as she enters the cabin. Much to Cassian’s pride and pleasure, this leaves her wearing only one of his old sweatshirts. Meanwhile, Gwyn and Emerie stand around awkwardly in the middle of the living area without knowing what to do next.

“Make yourselves at home.” Cassian grins at them. “Do you need anything? Food? Drinks?”

“Stop worrying,” Nesta groans. “We don’t need to be mothered.”

“I totally hear you,” he nods. “I’ll make cookies.” And maybe some hot drinks. It’s supposed to be a birthday party, after all.

Just then, Azriel appears at the top of the stairs in a dark hoodie and sweats. He’s halfway down the steps when he notices the living room full of girls and promptly turns around.

Cassian calls his name before he can escape. “Want to help me out in the kitchen?”

“No, thanks,” Az says over his shoulder, leaving Cassian alone to play host.

While Gwyn and Emerie admire the cabin (“There’s a gym down the hallway and a library upstairs,” Nesta points out to them), Cassian gathers baking ingredients in the kitchen. He rarely eats desserts or junk food, much less makes them, but surely he can manage a snack for the girls.

When he returns to the living room half an hour later with cookies and mugs of hot chocolate, the coffee table has been moved out of the way and replaced with a spread of blankets and pillows. The fire crackles hotly enough that Gwyn and Emerie have joined Nesta in discarding any extra clothing articles, and they all cheer from the couch when they spy the food.

“Goddamn,” Emerie whistles at the platter of cookies on Nesta’s lap. “Nesta told us you were a catch, Mr. Madani, but she didn’t tell us she got the full housewife package.”

“Shut up.” Nesta shoves a cookie into Emerie’s mouth and passes Gwyn some hot chocolate. Any toughness vanishes when she looks back at Cassian. “Thank you,” she mouths, and he answers by smoothing out her ponytail.

Satisfied with his work and feeling guilty for crashing the girls’ fun, he’s about to call it a night when he feels a tug at his pants. Nesta is looking up at him with eyes that ask him to stay. Cassian glances nervously to Gwyn and Emerie, who are arguing about what movie to watch from his extensive streaming collection, and glances back to Nesta. Are you sure? he asks her silently.

She nods, but it isn’t until Gwyn says, “Just sit down, you’re blocking the TV,” that he indeed sits his ass down on the floor by Nesta’s feet.

A short tug of war between Gwyn and Emerie results in Emerie getting the remote. She blows a hair triumphantly out of her face. “No Planet Earth documentary for you, then,” she says.

Gwyn sits back, grumbling, “You’d think I’d get treated better on my damn birthday.” Nesta adds, “I like documentaries.”

“You’ll like The Proposal even more,” Emerie refutes, scrolling through the TV.

The smell of melting chocolate chips must invade the rest of the cabin, because not long after the movie begins, Cassian catches Azriel sneaking downstairs. As subtle as a shadow, no one even notices him until he plucks up a cookie from the side table by Nesta.

She slides her eyes over to him without turning her head. “You look like a punk with your hood up,” she snorts. “What are you, fifteen?”

From the floor, Cassian withholds a sigh.

Az shoots her a dark look, clearly not appreciating the attention brought to his presence. “Don’t be a little shit,” he warns in a low tone. He reaches for another cookie and Nesta bats his hand away. “Those aren’t for you,” she hisses.

“Can we please not—” Cassian tries.

Az glares and goes for the cookie again. Nesta smacks him back, which results in a slap fight that is only interrupted by Gwyn pleading, “Guys, we’re missing Sandra Bullock!”

Nesta pulls away, looking apologetic, and Az flushes pink. “Sorry,” he mutters. But he snatches up three cookies with a final look at Nesta and goes to sit in the armchair on the other side of the room.

Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie get cozy once more, quickly forgetting that Az is there. Emerie stretches her brown legs out across Gwyn’s lap like a cat. Nesta drapes her own leg over Cassian’s shoulder without warning. He turns around to meet her eyes, surprised, but she’s already intently focused on the movie. Smiling faintly to himself, he reaches up to brush her skin. It probably looks to everyone else like she owns him head to toe.

One thing Cassian quickly learns about the girls is that they simply can’t sit still. Even Nesta is more restless than usual, and she nearly kicks Cassian in the head more than once while readjusting herself on the couch. Emerie moves to sprawl on the rug. Gwyn sits upside down and watches with her head dangling off the seat.

As for Cassian, he loses all interest in the movie once Nesta joins him and Emerie on the floor, unable to contain her emotions from the couch. He glances between the movie and her face to find what’s making her so giddy, but it’s only the two main characters getting ready for a shower. He lifts a brow in amusement for no one to see, but settles back to watch her face in the glow of the dying fire. He’s waiting for her smile.

Because when Nesta really likes something, she’ll smile, and when she smiles… Everything scrunches up: her nose, her eyes, her cheeks.

On the TV, a naked Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock collide into each other, toppling to the floor. Nesta’s grin makes an appearance, and she slaps Cassian’s thigh in excitement, hard enough to hurt.

He hisses in a sharp breath, but doesn’t say anything or look away. He thinks he might have to kill anyone that refuses to protect the smile on her face right now, no matter who it is.

Once the scene changes, he walks two fingers up her leg to get her attention. “Nesta,” he whispers, unable to help himself.

She glances at him for half a second before looking back to the movie. “What?”

He opens his arms and gestures her closer. Come and let me hold you.

Nesta makes a face. “Don’t embarrass me in front of the girls.”

Cassian’s lips turn down. “You don’t mean that.”

She does. To prove her point, she crawls closer to Emerie and settles down next to her. Gwyn joins them on the floor, and they all huddle together.

When he catches Az staring at him with a hint of revulsion, Cassian coughs off the yearning and rejection and glares right back.

After the movie finishes, Emerie victoriously crushes an empty can of beer in her fist. Cassian has no idea where it came from. “More Sandra!” she demands.

It takes three more movies before Emerie is knocked out cold on the arrangement of blankets and pillows on the floor, Gwyn with her. Nesta eventually came back to Cassian and fell asleep with her arms wrapped around his waist, and Azriel passed out sometime after Miss Congeniality, curled up in the armchair with his fist propping up his head.

Now, Cassian carefully untangles Nesta from himself, nudging her towards Emerie instead. In her sleep, Nesta turns over to clutch the other woman’s arm and mumbles something unintelligible.

Cassian props a pillow gently beneath her head and picks up another one, throwing it harder than he needs to at Azriel’s face. “Get up,” he hisses.

Az jerks out of his sleep, looking around the dim room in confusion. Cursing lowly, he pushes himself out of his seat and scrubs a hand through his hair. “What time is it?”

“Three.” Cassian pulls a comforter over Nesta and Emerie’s shoulders.

Az crouches and picks up the other side of the comforter, adjusting it over Gwyn’s body. Cassian thinks he might see a frown cross his face for half a second, but then Az is standing up and brushing off his clothes.

After turning off the TV, the guys head for their rooms. “I didn’t think three grown women could be so... much,” Az says as they climb up the stairs.

Cassian huffs a laugh. “We were like that when we were younger, too.”

“Yeah, but we were teenagers.”

They reach the hallway. “I don’t know about the others,” Cassian says thoughtfully, “but Nesta never got to be a normal kid.” She barely got to be a normal adult. And in a couple of short years, she’ll be working her ass off at some prestigious firm and won’t have time for simple things like sleepovers anymore.

Cassian selfishly hopes he can give Nesta all the normalcy he can before that happens.

***

a/n: i’m gonna do my best in future chapters to give cassian depth beyond just his relationship with nesta 🥴 but first, be on the lookout for a gwynriel bonus scene :)

tags: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara9 @lanyjoy-13 @frosted-crackers @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad

[antariies]

Visions of the Past: The Departing

Summary: The Commander never told Braham about their first death at the hands of Balthazar. Years later, he finds out in the worst way possible.

Characters: Pact Commander, Braham, Aurene, Balthazar

Notes: Commander’s POV (2nd-person); set before Jormag Rising; fluff, angst, hurt/comfort; 5.6k words, CW: blood, gore, character death, anxiety attack; the departing is and will always be one of my favorite instances and it sucks that we never got an emotional confrontation about it between braham and the commander. hope i did it justice. enjoy!

—

“Commander, can I use the Scrying Pool to view your memories?” Braham asks one day, apropos of nothing, sliding into the seat across from you.

You slam your glass of water back down onto the table with a loud smack, screwing your eyes shut and leaning forward as you choke on your drink. After a few seconds of intense coughing and waving away Braham’s apologies, you finally clear your throat enough to be able to speak.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, squinting at him in confusion, “you want to… what?”

“Uh, use the Scrying Pool to view your memories?” he repeats, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Only with your permission, of course.”

“…Ah,” you nod slowly, letting the question fully sink in. You bring the glass of water to your lips again as you search for the right words. “That’s…”

A complete and total invasion of my privacy, your mind supplies helpfully.

“...a strange request,” you mutter into the cup. The only thing stopping you from shutting him down on the spot is the fact that it’s Braham. He wouldn’t ask this of you without a damn good reason. “And you want to see them because…?”

At this, Braham lights up, squaring his shoulders. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what the lost Spirits said. About how I need to be a better leader if I’m going to beat Jormag, y’know? So I figured, since you’re the best leader I know-”

You can’t help the fond eye roll you give him.

“-if I got to experience some of your memories, then maybe I could learn from them,” he finishes, nodding once in determination.

“It’s definitely an unconventional way of learning,” you remark coolly, resting your chin on your hand as you level an even, challenging stare at him. You’ve cowed countless soldiers and politicians with this look alone, honed to terrifying perfection over the years.

Undaunted, Braham sets his jaw and meets your gaze dead on. “I know nothing can replace first-hand experience, but I think this would be a good way for me to practice without, uh,” his eyes flicker down for just a moment and he swallows hard. “Without the risk.”

You quirk an eyebrow at that, but you don’t miss the way he absently fiddles with something small and wooden in his free hand and-

Oh, you think, recognizing it and finally understanding. Oh.

It’s been months, but the memory of your first day in Bjora Marches stays fresh in your mind.

It had been freezing cold in the barracks of Jora’s Keep when you and Braham had gotten locked in, but the ice that froze in your veins when you watched him stumble upon the mangled body of his former guildmate was colder still.

“Alva,” he’d whispered, stricken with grief as he sank to his knees beside her body.

“I’m sorry, Braham.” The words sat like ash on your tongue, tasting the same as the first time you had ever offered your condolences and every time after that. You never really got used to it.

“Garm… used to rest his head in her lap.” Braham had pulled her head into his lap then, smoothing her hair out of her face with the utmost care. You turned away to give him as much privacy you could, but the dead silence in the barracks meant you heard every hitched breath and muttered prayer to the Spirits. When he returned to your side after a few minutes, he was clutching a small wooden figurine.

“It’s Wolf,” he explained softly when he caught you looking, “Alva made one for each of us, but I gave mine back when I left, I… I had no idea she’d kept it all this time…”

.

.

.

He carries it everywhere now: a constant, physical reminder of his failures as a leader and as a friend.

You know the feeling all too well.

Unbidden, an acrid tidal wave of bitter jealousy swells up inside you. It’s not fair. You never had the chance to practice leadership because you were thrust into your rank, your title, in the middle of a war. You had no one to guide you. Every lesson you learned was written in blood and people paid for your mistakes with their lives.

The wave reaches a roaring apex, then swiftly crashes and breaks against the rocks of your guilt and better judgement.

It’s not his fault, you tell yourself, that you were given the short end of the stick. If you had had the opportunity to practice, to learn from someone else’s mistakes without risking the lives of anyone under your command, wouldn’t you have taken it too?

Of course, you think, picturing the Pact Memorial that still stands in Caer Aval to this day, of course I would have.

“Of course,” you say, gaze and voice gentle, “I think that’s a great idea, Braham.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t expecting- wait, what? Really?” He stares at you incredulously, the beginnings of a disbelieving grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Are you sure? Because I honestly didn’t think you would say yes so-”

“Well, now that you mention it,” you start mildly, before stifling a snort and shaking your head in amusement as he scrambles to retract his words. “Yes, Braham, I’m sure. C’mon, let’s go before I actually start having second thoughts.”

As he helps you clean up the remains of your lunch, you can’t stop your mind from dredging up every embarrassing thing you’ve ever done in the past eight years. You shut your eyes in a fruitless attempt at blocking out the memories, a long-suffering sigh trapped in your lungs.

It’s okay, you reassure yourself, you’ll be in control of the memories you show him. What could go wrong?

.

.

.

“Hey, Aurene- oh. She’s not here.” Braham says, stopping at the entrance of Aurene’s lair.

You walk past him, a smile stretching across your face as you look around the room. It teems with plant life. Curtains of ivy hang from the tops of the room’s arches while giant Maguuma lilies and dozens of other flowers grow out of cracks in the floor, reaching toward the sunbeams that stream in from the open skylight. Clusters of Aurene’s iridescent Brand crystals cover the walls, filling in the holes left by years of neglect.

In the middle of the room, the Scrying Pool gives off a faint light of its own, its waters swirling lazily as you approach. The spot where Aurene normally sits is vacant, though, just like Braham said. Closing your eyes, you reach out to the bond you share with her. It hums at the edge of your consciousness, quiet and comfortable when you’re not actively talking to her. You give the slightest tug.

‘Just checking in. Where are you?’

A few moments later, a familiar sight flashes in your mind. A vast stormy sky, filled with blue-tinted thunderclouds and stretching as far as the eye can see. The Mists.

Then, Aurene’s voice in your head, clear as day. ‘Trying to figure out what Jormag is up to. So far… I still have no idea.’

“Are you talking to Aurene?” Braham asks. You nod. “Tell her I said hi!”

‘Braham says hi.’ you relay.

‘Hello, Braham!’

‘Alright, we’ll let you get back to it.’ You smile inwardly, a rush of affection warming your chest. ‘Be safe. I love you.’

‘Love you too, Champion.’ Aurene croons happily in your head.

“Aurene says hello,” you say, opening your eyes. “She’s keeping an eye out for Jormag in the Mists right now. I don’t think she’ll be back for a while.”

“Oh,” Braham says, slight disappointment coloring his tone, “Does that mean we can’t use the pool?”

“I’m not sure. Wouldn’t hurt to try, though,” you answer, walking over to it. Kneeling as close to the edge as you dare, you lean over to look into the waters. Your reflection wobbles with every ripple from the pool’s constant, self-sustained swirling and you study your distorted face until you catch some movement above your mirrored shoulder that doesn’t seem to be from the pool.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warn lightly, tossing a flat, unimpressed glare over your own shoulder.

Braham, to his credit, looks sorry for maybe half a second before grinning in a way that is decidedly far from it. Still, he concedes and backs away from you with his hands slightly up in surrender. “Oh, like you wouldn’t do the same?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I would never,” you lie, turning back to the pool so he doesn’t see your smile. You make a note to push him into it at the first chance you get. “I’ve used the Scrying Pool a few times now and I can tell you that it’s way easier to view your own memories rather than someone else’s. Feels different too.”

When you first used the Scrying Pool to view Ryland’s memories, it wasn’t anything like Kas’ glamour during the All-Legion Rally. You weren’t just wearing his face and spectating from inside his head, you were Ryland. You felt everything, including his thoughts and his emotions, as if they were your own. It had felt so real that after waking up, it took a few seconds for you to realize that you weren’t him. Aurene had to calm you down as you scrambled around for a flamesaw that was never yours and shouted for a warband you were never a part of.

You can only imagine the state you would have woken up in if you had overstayed your welcome in Ryland’s memories.

It was different with yours, though. Those were easier to fall into, like slipping into a dream, and you always woke up from those with complete clarity.

Speaking of your own memories…

“I think I know the perfect one to start with,” you say, dipping a hand into the pool and focusing on a memory you’ve already used it for. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to access a memory without Aurene here, never mind control it. You don’t even know if two people can go in together, or whose body Braham would end up in. So you start off easy. Something you both remember. The leather of Braham’s armor creaks as he settles down next to you and does the same. He watches on in awed silence as the water glows brighter, swirling faster and faster until a small whirlpool forms in the center and pulls at the lily pads closest to it.

A familiar darkness crowds the edge of your vision and you let yourself fall backwards into the memory.

.

.

.

It’s not hard to spot Braham when his blood-red hair contrasts so starkly against the bright, white snow that covers the land and comes down heavy from the sky.

That, and he’s also waving at you from where he stands outside the gates of Cragstead.

“Hey!” he greets once you’re in earshot, shouting over the wind, “Hey, thanks for coming.”

You glance around. “Just us, huh?”

Braham grimaces. “You heard what Brimstone and Whitebear said. I tried sending out notices too, but…” he shakes his head, determination hardening his features. “Nevermind that, we have to go. My friends are in there.”

Turning your eyes upwards, you catch sight of billowing plumes of dark smoke as they start to pour into the sky. A strong gust brings the stench downwind and both you and Braham wrinkle your noses in distaste at the same time.

“No time to waste,” you nod. “Let’s go.”

You tighten your grip on your weapons and follow closely behind Braham as he leads you through the driving snow to the heart of Cragstead, cutting a path through the strange alliance of Flame legion and dredge along the way.

This is an evacuation mission, first and foremost, you remind yourself. Your gaze sweeps over the empty lodges and homesteads, searching for people. It’s not so different from the evacuation missions you used to do with your order when Zhaitan was still alive and a threat, its Risen minions encroaching further and further into the homes of Tyria’s minor races.

You find the villagers soon enough, all rounded up into small groups in the center of the town and trapped inside shimmering domes of fire magic. An equal number of charr and dredge guard each dome, their mechanical weapons whirring and spitting the occasional flame.

Braham growls at the sight and hefts his mace, rolling his shoulders in anticipation.

“Wait,” you caution, throwing an arm out to stop him from charging in. “We can’t just rush in. We’re way outnumbered.”

“We took care of those other guys just fine,” he argues.

“Those were just stragglers we picked off,” you gesture at the domes scattered around. “Here? There’s a dozen of them and only two of us. We can’t take them all in an open fight-”

Braham makes a frustrated noise and you hold up your hand.

“-which is why we switch tactics,” you finish, flashing a sharp grin at him. “They haven’t noticed us yet. Here’s the plan.”

The thing is, you’re no stranger to being outnumbered. Your entire time in Orr was spent leading handfuls of people on high risk, high reward missions, after all. It was kind of your specialty.

So it’s with practiced ease and calm authority that you explain your plan now, laying out a classic divide-and-conquer strategy that’s gotten you and your small squads through countless skirmishes against all odds.

It’s a flawless ambush, all things considered.

You and Braham hit them hard and quick, fighting in tandem as you push the offensive and give them no time to react or warn their allies before you cut them down. And with the help of his protective guardian magic, you two manage to free everyone without a single casualty.

“Where are the others?” Braham asks immediately as he helps an older man to his feet.

Despite his clearly injured arm, the man pulls him into a quick hug before answering. “They were chased up the mountain, to the shrine. I wasn’t- I wasn’t fast enough…”

“It’s okay, Haslo, I’ll go. Will you be-”

“We’ll be fine, thanks to you.” Haslo claps him on the back. “You and your friend be careful!”

When Braham looks over at you, you nod. Of course I’m coming with you.

The trip up to the shrine is shorter than you expected, but you think that might have something to do with the lack of flaming charr or dredge along the way. That only puts you more on edge and you ready your weapons, wary.

You don’t hesitate for a second at the entrance of the cave, charging in to catch the massive Flame legion charr and his grunts off guard. You’ve only known Braham for a few days and fought alongside him for less, but you two fall into a steady rhythm almost instantly, barely having to exchange words. You make quick work of the goons, letting him take care of the hulking charr. Braham doesn’t even let him get a taunt out, stunning him with a shield bash before swinging his mace into the charr’s snout with a brutal, deadly uppercut, spraying blood across the cavern walls.

With the threat taken care of for the time being, you and Braham free the rest of the villagers and escort them down the mountain, dispatching any stray Flame legion or dredge who tried to escape in all the chaos. While there weren’t any casualties, fortunately, there are still plenty injured, so while he talks to some of the other villagers, you help tend to the wounded as best you can. They have a long walk to Hoelbrak ahead of them, and you don’t envy them the trip.

You’re tying off a bandage when you hear him call your name.

“There you are,” he says, stopping in front of you. “Hey, thanks for everything. Really, I mean, I don’t know if things would’ve turned out as well as they did if you hadn’t shown up.”

“Glad I could help,” you say, tilting your head at him. “What are you going to do now?”

“After we get everyone to Hoelbrak, I’m gonna find out where all these Flame legion and dredge are holed up so we can track them down.” He pauses, then rubs the back of his neck with a nervous laugh. “Uh, that is, if you still wanna come along…?”

You smile and cross your arms. “Guess I’ll see you soon, then?”

The pleased grin Braham gives you is warmer than any hearth and twice as bright.

“See you soon!”

.

.

.

“Oh no,” Braham mutters, the first thing you hear as you blink away the last of the memory. “Oh, Spirits, noooo.”

“Something wrong?” you ask, keeping your voice light even as you eye him up and down in concern. It was his first time using the Scrying Pool, after all. Had it affected him differently?

He shakes his head. “No, I’m fine, I just… I just can’t believe I used to wear my hair like that.”

You keep a straight face for an admirable three whole seconds before bursting into snickers. When Braham groans and buries his face in his hands, you only laugh harder.

“For what it’s worth,” you say, smiling, “I thought it suited you.”

He glowers at you. “You’re just saying that.”

You make a non-committal noise and wiggle your hand in a “so-so” gesture. He groans again, falling backwards onto the floor.

“That was really cool,” he says after a while, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. “Being in your head, I mean. I felt so… in control the whole time. Like I knew exactly what I was doing.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself.” Leaning backwards on your hands, you tip your head back and close your eyes. “You were impatient—well, you still kind of are—but you handled yourself better than some soldiers twice your age. And you’ve only gotten better since then. Give yourself a little more credit, Braham.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him flush at the praise, sitting up abruptly.

“Thanks,” he coughs into his fist, fighting a grin. “So, uh, any more memories you feel like sharing?”

You hum. “Several, actually. Ready to go again?”

.

.

.

You, grabbing the handles of a cannon with both hands and holding on for dear life as The Glory of Tyria lurches to the side, sending Destiny’s Edge, Pact soldiers, and Risen alike sprawling flat on the deck. When the airship finally rights itself, you waste no time, bracing your shoulder against the cannon and shoving hard until you have Zhaitan directly in its sights. The Elder Dragon is on the verge of death, pieces of its own body sloughing off itself as it clings desperately to the side of the tower. You take a deep, steadying breath and fire.

You, the only thing standing in between a crowd of fleeing civilians and a swarm of cutthroat Aetherblade pirates as they drop down from their airships. Lion’s Arch can be rebuilt, but lives can’t be replaced. You do a quick headcount, zero in on the weakest-looking one, and leap into the fray.

You, tracking down your teammates one by one as you tear through the dark, vine-twisted labyrinth under the Silverwastes, an undying behemoth of a Mordrem wolf hot on your heels. You lead them all safely through the maze, driven by the fierce desire to protect your friends. You will not lose anyone today.

You, the legendary Pact Commander, at your best.

After a few back-to-back trips down memory lane, you both decided to take a short break. For his part, Braham had opted to swing his legs over the edge of the pool, dipping his feet in. When he asked whether or not it was okay to do so, you just shrugged and told him you had already cannonballed into the water before. Multiple times.

“How are you feeling? No headaches or anything?” you ask after a few minutes of rest.

“Nope. I do feel pretty commander-y, though.”

You snort. “Commander-y?”

“Mhm. I’ve been in your head too long. Any second now, I’m gonna start spouting a bunch of your expert advice.” Braham clears his throat and puts on an exaggerated voice that you swear sounds nothing like you. “‘Remember, it doesn’t matter how long the hog’s been dead. It doesn’t matter that it’s been sitting in a toxic cloud. You can always try to eat it.’”

You roll your eyes and swipe your hand through the water, splashing him. “Okay, that’s it, I’m revoking your pool privileges. We’re done here.” You pause, expression turning thoughtful. “Actually, I think we are done here. I don’t think I have any more memories to show you. None that would help, anyway.”

“Hmm, what about your time in Elona? I wasn’t there for that.”

“Uh, you definitely were,” you say, shooting a quizzical smile at him. “Or do you not remember storming Joko’s palace with me?”

“No, no,” Braham laughs, waving dismissively, “I meant before that. I wasn’t there for… ugh, what’s his name again? Balthazar?”

For a brief, blissful moment, you only recall the part where you killed him.

Then your free hand flies to your chest on instinct, ghosting over a wound that no longer exists.

“What about him?” you ask, a little louder than necessary. You cringe inwardly, but Braham doesn’t seem to notice.

“Well, everyone told me you somehow took control of Joko’s Awakened army and got them to fight on your side,” he shakes his head, chuckling. “I didn’t believe them at first, but that sounds exactly like something only you could pull off.”

You can hardly hear yourself over the frenetic pounding of your pulse in your ears. “Did they… tell you anything else?”

“Not really,” Braham frowns, finally turning to face you. “Why, is there- woah, hey, are you alright?”

You open your mouth to answer, but nothing comes out.

“Commander?” His voice spikes with worry.

Swallowing hard past the lump in your throat, you try again. Still nothing.

You’re so preoccupied with trying to force yourself to speak that you don’t even realize your other hand is still in the pool until you feel the tug of an old memory on your consciousness.

Ripping your hand out of the glowing water in a panic, you can only stare in horror as that does nothing to stop the ancient, powerful magic from pulling you helpless back into the dark.

.

.

.

Everything hurts.

You wish it would stop.

It doesn’t.

You throw yourself to the side, narrowly dodging a fireball as it blazes past your head. Ducking behind a crumbling pillar, you press your back up against the stone and try to catch your breath.

You’ve bought yourself some time, at least.

This is a fight you know you can’t win, but the walls of flames surrounding the spire prevent your escape, so your only hope is to keep Balthazar distracted until reinforcements arrive.

“Any second now,” you mutter, and you don’t know if you’re trying to reassure or convince yourself.

You grit your teeth as another wave of pain wracks your body. There’s a nasty gash in your side, larger and deeper than the rest of your cuts, and it oozes sluggishly, soaking your armor in blood.

It’s bearable for now, but you can’t afford to be slowed down.

“Are you hiding, Commander?” Balthazar sneers, “How pathetic.”

Your answer to that is to dart out from behind the pillar, launching a flurry of attacks along his flank and back. When he twists around to send a volley of fireballs your way, you just tuck yourself into a neat dodge-roll, avoiding them all with ease. If you wince and stumble on the landing, you pretend not to notice and hope he didn’t either.

“Aw, you missed!” you taunt, sounding way braver than you feel, “How pathetic!”

Balthazar’s face contorts in fury. “Enough!” he shouts, and both the flames surrounding him and the spire seem to burn hotter than ever.

Before you can react, the ground beneath your feet erupts in a column of fire and you scream as your world is engulfed in a white-hot inferno. When the initial blinding agony finally passes, you find yourself sprawled out on the ground, pointed stones digging into your back and your weapons flung too far out of your reach.

Get up.

You only manage to twitch your fingers.

Get up. Now.

Your throat burns raw. When you try to speak, the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a pained whimper.

GET. UP. BEFORE BALTHAZAR-

You sense Aurene before you see her.

“Ah, the scion, finally come here to defend her champion.”

Finally…?

It clicks. Your heart stops.

Balthazar’s been toying with you this whole fucking time.

It’s impossible for you to form words, let alone make any sort of loud noise, so you try to warn Aurene through your shared bond instead, panic rising with every passing moment that she doesn’t respond.

‘GET AWAY,’ you practically roar at her, ‘TRAP. IT’S A TRAP. YOU’RE FLYING RIGHT INTO A TRAP, TURN AROUND, PLEASE-’

And Aurene roars right back at you. There are no words you can hear—you don’t think she’s old enough for that yet—but she can convey her feelings through the bond and right now she’s drowning out your desperate warnings with them. She refuses to abandon you. You are her guardian and her champion and she loves you and you promised over and over to protect her so she promised the same and weren’t you the one who taught her about loyalty in the first place?

It takes one self-sacrificing idiot to know one. You would laugh if you weren’t so fucking terrified of losing her.

Your vision swims and you only catch glimpses of Aurene’s skirmish. She’s a bright blue blur, swerving expertly in the air as she dodges fireballs and lets loose her devastating dragon breath every time Balthazar tries to swat her out of the sky. Snarling, he launches some sort of phantasmal chains at her and-

No.

No, no, no, nonono-

“Aurene!” you scream. The exertion sends you into a coughing fit, but you don’t care.

You’re crying now, too. You don’t care.

Balthazar is saying something, but you stopped listening to him ages ago. It’s a monumental effort just to crane your head towards Aurene, your vision clearing long enough to see her staring at you, eyes blown wide in fear as terror rolls off her in waves.

She tries to apologize and you rush to soothe her.

‘It’s okay, it’s alright,’ you reassure, ‘you have nothing to be sorry for, I love you so much, it’s not your fault, never your fault.’

Maybe you’re projecting a little. Whatever.

You only stop when a giant metal boot steps squarely into your line of sight, blocking her from view. You glance up.

Balthazar towers over you, his giant, flaming greatsword hovering menacingly by his side.

The fear that lances through your gut is primal.

You can’t die yet. Not here. Not now.

He notices the way your wide eyes trace his sword and bares his teeth in a humorless grin. Oh, he’s enjoying this, relishing the power he has over you.

“I thought you would put up more of a fight, given your reputation,” Balthazar remarks casually, circling you. With a lazy wave of his hand, his sword floats over and suspends itself in midair right above your chest.

Your already labored breathing dissolves into short, shallow gasps.

You can’t die. You’re not ready.

He lets the sword hover for a few more seconds before grabbing the hilt with both hands, raising it higher over your body. His face twists with hate, eyes blazing molten gold as they bore hungry and vengeful into yours.

You don’t want to die.

The edge of the blade glints orange from an indifferent sunset.

Please.

There’s a sickening crunch as he swings it down hard into your chest, punching through your armor and sternum and crushing most of your ribcage in the process. Then the blade severs your spine and you lose all feeling in your lower body.

Distantly, you think you hear someone scream, high-pitched and anguished. Was that Aurene? Or Taimi? Maybe both.

Certainly not you, although you’d tried to. What remains of your lungs are filled with more blood than air at this point, and it pours out of your mouth when you open it.

I’m sorry, you think, but you can’t remember what you’re apologizing for. Or who you’re apologizing to.

You’re so tired of blood. Tired of pain. Tired of feeling.

Everything hurts.

You wish it would stop.

It does.

.

.

.

The only reason you don’t wake up choking back a scream and clutching your chest like Braham does is because you’ve relived this in your nightmares far too many times for it to rip that kind of reaction out of you anymore. Still, it takes you longer than normal to push yourself into a sitting position and even longer for your pulse to even out. Fighting the urge to curl up and disappear from the world, you rush over to where Braham sits hyperventilating.

“Hey, Braham, hey, look at me, you’re okay, you’re okay. You’re here, you’re alive,” you reassure, and you’re surprised at how calm you sound. You work on getting him to match your breaths, counting out every inhale and exhale.

“Oh, Spirits,” he chokes out after his breathing steadies, his voice nearly cracking as tears prick in the corners of his eyes, “that was… how- h-how did you survive that?”

Your mouth shuts with an audible click. Biting your tongue, you look to the side, carefully avoiding eye contact.

You could lie.

Lie and tell him the airship made it just in time and the medics brought you back from the brink with a miracle. Another close call, but you pulled through like you always do. Spare him the pain, the grief. It’s been years, and there are more important things to worry about right now. It would save you both so much trouble.

“Commander?” he asks softly, earnestly.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I didn’t,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

Deafening silence, for a beat.

Two.

Three.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Braham says eventually. When you finally bring yourself to look at him again, his brows are furrowed in confusion. He stares at you in concern, scrutinizing. “You’re… definitely still alive.”

“I sure am.” Neither of you miss the tired bitterness that bleeds into your sarcasm. You wince and sigh, running a hand over your face. “I’m sorry, it’s just… It’s a long story.”

And to this day, you still haven’t told anyone all the details. You’re not sure if you ever will.

“Who knows?” Braham asks.

The question catches you off guard. “Uh, Rytlock, Canach, and Kas were there when it happened. Taimi… overheard.” You don’t know which is worse: being the one to hear you die, or finding your body after the fact.

They’re not the only ones who know, but they’re the only ones who matter. Even then, you swore them all to secrecy.

“Taimi called me around that time,” he says.

Your eyes widen. “Did she…?”

Braham shakes his head. “She was crying too hard,” he says, speaking slowly as he focuses on remembering. “She said something about you, but she couldn’t get the words out. When I tried to ask her what was wrong, she just hung up on me. Then she called me back a day later to say it was nothing and to pretend it never happened.”

“Huh,” you say, because you can’t think of anything else.

“I always wondered what she was trying to tell me,” Braham smiles sadly at you. “Guess I know now.”

You swallow hard. “You’re… taking this a lot better than I thought you would.”

“I’m not the one who died,” he shrugs, even as his hand comes up to brush across his chest absentmindedly.

But you know how it felt, you think, How I felt.

The thought hangs in the air, unspoken.

“Are you okay?” Braham asks after a while.

“Yeah,” you answer quickly, automatically, “I’m fine.”

He raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “Are you sure?” He looks pointedly down and you follow his gaze.

Your hands are shaking where they rest in your lap. Gritting your teeth, you clench them into fists. They don’t stop.

“I’m fine,” you repeat, more to yourself than anything. “I’m fine.”

The shaking travels up your arms until your shoulders are trembling as if under an invisible weight. This is so embarrassing, so humiliating. You’re pathetic. You-

You don’t resist when Braham pulls you into a warm embrace.

“It’s been years,” you mutter, blinking rapidly against the itchy heat behind your eyes. “I thought I’d be over it by now.”

“It always hits you when you least expect it,” Braham says quietly, “I’m sorry, Commander.”

The noise that comes out of you is somewhere between a laugh and a sob. You know he knows you hate pity, but this is the farthest thing from it. “When did you get so wise?” you tease.

“Learned it from you,” he says, voice tinged with pride, and now it’s your turn to flush. He squeezes you tightly once before letting you go. “Are you okay?” he asks again.

“Yeah,” you say, and this time you mean it. You breathe in deep, feeling lighter than you have in ages. “I’m okay. Thank you, Braham.”

“Glad to hear it,” he grins, and promptly shoves you right into the Scrying Pool.

His boisterous laughter echoes off the walls and drowns out your indignant spluttering. When you pull yourself out of the pool, drenched and dripping water everywhere, he scrambles to his feet and breaks into a dead sprint down the hall.

You chase after him, smiling, and leave your memories behind you.

[wiypt-writes]

Sunny Side Up

Summary: Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, right? And for Mike, there’s no better way to start it than by eating his favourite thing, ever.

Pairing: Mike Weiss x Reader

Warnings: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Brief mentions of drug addiction- nothing graphic. Language!

A/N: So this was what popped into my head after seeing @imanuglywombat​ post that damned latest Sex Position as part of her downright filthy and wonderful “Is That Even A Sex Position” weekly challenge. This position is called “The Special Breakfast”. See here for more information. And you can totally blame @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ for this one. I wasn’t gonna write it but…yeah, I did. Sorry not sorry.  I’ve tried to make the reader as non-descript and as inclusive as I can but I don’t usually do reader x fics so I apologise if it hasn’t quite hit the mark.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar the reader.  By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Tagged my permanent tag list.

Main Masterlist

********

“No, that’s not the same, at all.” Mike’s voice drifted up the hallway of you house as you closed the door behind you, shutting out the bitter January wind that has descended over Dover. “Yeah, well they signed up to the terms so....”

You glanced at your watch, it wasn’t even seven-AM yet and he was already on to someone about the current case he was working. But then, that was Mike all over. An addict, only now you were glad to say the only thing flooding his system was adrenaline and passion for his work.

You hung your jacket up on the pegs by the door, unwrapped your woollen scarf from round your neck and placed that over the hook above your jacket and then reached down to unzip you boots, before toeing them off. Your sock clad feet padded down the wooden floor of the hall towards the kitchen and you walked in to see Mike was bent over a file on the island in the middle, already dressed for the office.

“Clause ninety-one, paragraph twenty, sub-bullet two. Yup. We’ll present that to them today, give them chance to respond.” He paused for a moment, his head turning to you, a warm smile spreading across his face as you leaned over for a quick peck before you headed to the fridge for a soda. “Yeah. Okay, no problem, see you about half eight.”

With that he placed the cordless phone down and turned to face you.

“Morning, Baby.” He grinned, before he nodded to the Diet Coke in your hand. “Interesting choice of drink for breakfast.”

“Technically it’s not my breakfast time.” You shrugged back. “More like dinner, I suppose.”

Mike chuckled as he crossed to space towards you, his hands falling to your hips before he bent down and brushed his lips against yours in a hardly there kiss. “Good shift?”

“A heart attack, car accident, two broken legs, couple of flu cases and a shit tonne of idiotic drunks, the finest Delaware has to offer.” You shrugged. “Usual shit.”

“I don’t know how you do it, Dr Y/L/N”

“Lucky for you I do, or we’d have never met.”

“And I’d be dead.”

“Don’t.” You shook your head, swallowing a little. The memory of that night almost eighteen months ago was still raw. If you hadn’t stopped by at Mike’s that evening following an argument the pair of you had earlier in the day, you’d never have found him almost dead from an overdose. It had been a long road to recovery, and whilst nothing was ever proven, Mike and Paul were convinced that it was something to do with the safety needle case they had been working. Despite the fact that there was enough heroin in his system to stop his heart, Mike swore blind to you he hadn’t taken anything but a few lines that night, and there was something about the way he said it that made you believe him. And so did Paul.

The authorities never managed to prove anything, but there was one good thing to come out of it. When you had broken down and told Mike how scared you’d been that he was going to die and that you couldn’t cope anymore with the constant fear that one day he would kill himself for real, it gave Mike the final kick he needed because he didn’t want to lose you.

So he got clean. And this time he did it for good.

It wasn’t easy, for either of you. Once he was medically fit enough, Mike had been placed on a programme at a Rehab Centre, whereby he saw no one bar trained medical specialists and councillors for six weeks. It felt like the longest six weeks of your life but he did it. And when you went to pick him up, you instantly burst into tears at how different he looked, how better he looked, how healthy he looked.

The road to recovery is a long one, paved with temptations, you knew that being a Doctor. And whilst Mike knew and understood his triggers thanks to his programme, those temptations met him everywhere, especially because he knew exactly where and how to get his fix. So the pair of you agreed to take a fresh start. You traded Texas for Delaware, the State you were originally from, and you were beyond proud to be able to honestly state that Mike Weiss had been clean now for eighteen months. Well, apart from alcohol that is. But even that was enjoyed in moderation, and to be honest, you’d rather him sit at home with a glass or two of bourbon each night that sticking fuck knows what into his veins.

You cocked your head to one side as his hands flexed on your hip and he gave you a little side smile. “Sorry. Oh, hey guess who I got a call from?”

“Who?” You asked as he stepped back, grinning.

“The Alligator Farm. Snappy’s got himself a lady friend. They’re gonna send me some photos and stuff.”

You smiled, giving up that beloved alligator had been a hard sell to Mike. “That’s great.”

“Yeah. Oh and Paul was thinking of coming over with the family in the spring. I said they could stay here, I know it’ll be a squeeze but is that okay?”

“Course it is.” You reached up to cup his cheek. “It’ll be lovely to see them again.”

Mike smiled and dropped another kiss to your lips, this one slightly stronger before you pat his chest as he rest his forehead against yours.

“I need to go shower.”

“Want me to come join you?” He asked, eyebrow raised and you smiled.

“As good as that sounds there’s something else I want more.”

“Oh yeah?” He grinned, his eyes flickering down to the buttons on your blouse and you laughed.

“Calm down, Stud. I want pancakes and bacon, I don’t give a shit what time it’s supposed to be for me.”

Mike groaned as you moved away from where you’d been stood with your back to the large, stainless steel fridge and headed out of the room. He watched you go, the gently sway of your hips in your well fitted black pants made his groin twitch. He was half tempted to fuck your demands and go and jump you in the shower whether you wanted him to or not, but he’d seen the flicker your face had given when you’d described how your twelve-hour shift had gone down. Despite your blasé tone, he knew you too well and understood exactly how tired and stressed you were feeling. So, instead, he turned his attention to making breakfast.

Something he prided himself on was his cooking ability. He’d picked it up pretty fast since you’d moved here, he found it was a welcome distraction, so much so you very rarely made meals now, bar when you insisted on doing a roast which he never argued against.  Within fifteen minutes he had a stack of pancakes, bacon, eggs- sunny side up, as you preferred- all laid out on the island and ready for you to help yourself to. He’d just poured you an orange juice when you walked back into the kitchen, hair piled on your head in a messy bun, wrapped in a dressing gown and he was pleased to see you looked relaxed.

“Oh, Mikey, this looks great!” You smiled as he wrapped an arm round you, kissing your head. He watched as you helped yourself to a huge plateful before making your way over to the table and sitting down with a sigh. Mike tucked his tie into his shirt to avoid it dropping into his food and plated himself a helping up before he sat down at the place next to you, cracking his neck slightly. The pair of you chatted about the day ahead, which for you consisted of sleeping until it was time to get up for your next shift, Mike’s contained a meeting with a company who he was currently in the process of negotiating a settlement with on behalf of a client. When you’d finished, Mike made to clear away the dishes but you gently placed your hand on his arm and stood up, insisting on doing it as he’d cooked.

When you returned to the table, Mike pushed his chair back slightly and patted his knee.

“Come ‘ere.” He smiled softly and you grinned, settling yourself on his lap sideways, your arm looping round his shoulder, fingers gently playing with his suspenders. He gave a contented sigh as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to your head, happy to simply be close to you for a moment.

“You doing okay?” You asked and he smiled, your words carrying that hidden meaning- ‘Do you want a fix, today?’

“I’m good, Babes.” He pulled back to look at you. “I promise.”

Smiling you gently placed your lips on his in a soft kiss, which soon became heated as Mike’s hand slid up to the back of your neck, holding you in place as his tongue slid along your bottom lip. He was pleased when you reciprocated, opening your mouth slightly to allow him in. He could taste the sweetness of the syrup on you from your pancakes and, as your tongue gently swirled against his, he let out a little groan from the back of his throat and he felt you smile.

“How long till you have to be in the office?” Your voice was lower than you’d intended, betraying exactly what you had in mind and Mike grinned at you, pulling back a little, as he glanced up at the clock.

“Just over forty-five minutes, why?”

You bit your lip, fingers toying once more with his suspenders which were clipped to the waistband of his light, grey trousers and sat over a maroon shirt, set off with a black tie. “Do I gotta spell it out to you, Weiss?”

“No, I just like hearing you beg.” A cheeky glint flashed in his eyes and you gave a snort.

“I do not beg.”

“Really?” He arched an eyebrow and in a swift moment he stood up, causing you to give a shriek of a giggle as he sat you on the table in front of him. “I bet,” he pushed on your shoulders causing you to rest your weight on your elbows as he loomed over you, gently reaching for the tie on your robe, “that I can have you singing my name and begging for more,” his hands made quick work of the knot and pulled it open, before his fingers slid up the front, opening it to leave you bare in front of him, “in less than five minutes flat.”

“Less than five minutes?” You looked up at him, his eyes blown with lust and you smirked. “You’re so full of shit.”

He wasn’t though, you knew full well that you were the one full of shit. Mike had on many an occasion had you crying his name in less time than it took you to sing a verse of the National Anthem, and he knew it as the cocky expression on his face showed.

“Oh, Baby Girl.” He chuckled, bending over, his mouth brushing against that spot on your neck, the bristles of his short beard scratching your skin. “Have you learnt nothing, yet?”

“Only that you’re a cocky little bastard.” You tried to keep your voice level but it didn’t work. Your words came out a shaky whisper as one of his hands gently splayed on your stomach and brushed up your body to your sternum as he peppered hot, opened mouthed kisses across your collar bone, before his lips ghosted up your neck, over your chin and his mouth claimed yours in a searing kiss as his hand palmed at your breast. As he rolled your nipple between his finger and thumb you gave a moan and he smirked against your mouth.

Suddenly, he was gone from over you and you frowned, missing his sudden presence and you propped yourself up on your elbows to see him settling back in the chair by the table.

“Mike, what the-“

You were cut off as he reached over, grabbing your ass and hoisting your pelvis up, pulling you towards him. Before you could register what was going on, your legs were over his shoulders and you just caught a glimpse of his face, as he quirked an eyebrow at you, lips curled upwards in that maddeningly smug bastard grin, before his mouth was trailing up the inside of your thigh.

“Oh, Jesus.” You let out a little groan as he neared the place you now desperately wanted him and he chuckled.

“No, just me.”

“Fuck off you-“ But whatever it was you were going to call him flew from your mind as his tongue licked up your sex, and grazed against your clit, teasing it with quick, hardly there flicks which, you were ashamed to say, had you riled up something feral. His hands palmed at your ass, his fingers curling round the outside of your thighs as he quickened his movements, his mouth expertly devouring you, tongue flicking into your entrance as his lips circled that sensitive nub, giving a suck that made you cry out, your back arching off the table, pushing yourself further onto his face.

Mike let out a chuckle which vibrated exquisitely against you and you gasped again, your hands slapping onto the cool surface of the table, fingernails feeling the grain of the wood as he upped his efforts dramatically, lips and tongue teasing you in a way that was so delectable it was teetering along that fine line between pain and pleasure. His mouth expertly devoured every inch of you, from your inner and outer pussy lips to the depths of your walls, tongue fucking you like you he was starving, despite the breakfast the pair of you had eaten moments ago.

“Fuck, Mike, I need…” Your voice was croaky, the words sounded far off as they bounced around your lust addled brain and once again he chuckled.

“I told you.”

“Yeah, yeah you arrogant sh-oooh fuck!” You cried as he gently nipped your clit. “Shit!”

You were willing yourself to remain grounded, wanting to prove him wrong but you couldn’t. You couldn’t fight the urge you felt to ride over the edge which was building like a fire inside you. When his mouth was over you completely once more, tongue deep, you felt him move one of his hands and his thumb pressed against your clit, before the pressure eased off and his tongue slipped away.

"Okay, okay you win, Mike, please for the love of God!” You groaned and with a final, maddeningly smug chuckle he dove back in, only this time when you felt your orgasm brewing he didn’t stop. One of your hands flew to his hair, pulling lightly on his soft, spiky strands and he gave a growl as you tugged, his efforts doubling once more as his beard scratched against your sensitive pussy and inner thighs. The coil in your belly was tightening, your entire body quivered and with a final flick of his tongue you gave a cry as your orgasm crashed over you. Your toes curled into his back just below his shoulders, your own back arched as your walls clamped down over nothing, the room fading out as everything went silent and the lights erupted in front of your eyes, your entire body feeling like you were floating.

Mike grinned, guiding you through your release before he stood up, pulling you further to the end of the table as he undid the flies on his trousers, freeing his painfully hard erection. The swollen head of his dick gently swirled around your folds before he buried himself inside you, groaning as he felt you fluttering around him in the after throes of your orgasm. You let out a low groan and finally opened your eyes, looking up at him as he pounded into you, fully clothed, those fucking suspenders that drove you wild still looped over his shoulders.  

He slid one, large hand under your back and pulled you up causing you to cry out as he drove deeper into you, his hand on the base of your back pulling you up and towards him as he dipped his head to give you a dirty, sloppy kiss whilst he rolled and thrust into you. Then His lips moved down, nipping at your neck, his breath hot on your ear as your head fell back, a low moan rumbling in his throat.

“God, I love seeing you like this, fucking wrecked all because of me.” His panted words made you groan even more as the heat in your groin was beginning to mount again. “Makes me higher than any fucking drug ever could.”

His thrusts continued, hard, deep, and you felt his dick throbbing inside you as he drove up against your spot, his lips back on yours as he kissed you hard, swallowing the pants and whimpers you were making as you began to teeter on that cliff edge again. With a deep roll of his hips you let out a low wail and came, once more, your core spasmed around him as your entire body tingled, and that was enough for him to follow you. With a powerful thrust he stiffened, a low grunt stuttering from his lips as he pulsed inside of you, his hips growing sloppy before they stopped completely. His chest heaving, he pressed his forehead to yours, the pair of you gasping for breath as you came down from your high.

“Shit, Mike.” You managed to stutter as he grinned, his lips meeting yours in a soft peck. “That was…”

“Yeah, I was pretty good.” He chuckled and you slapped his arm as he moved and pulled out of you. You straightened your robe and stood up, wincing as you felt his release trickled down your inner thigh.

“I need another shower.” You grumbled, before you glanced at his crotch, the damp patch where he’d pressed against you was clear as day. “And you should probably change your trousers.”

Mike glanced down before his eyes met you, and he shrugged. “Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll go into the office like this and then every time I see it I’ll be reminded exactly what a damned good breakfast I had this morning.”

You blinked before you shook your head, scoffing. “You’re gross.”

He laughed. “You love it, Sweetheart.”

“I love you.” You corrected, your hands sliding up over his shoulders and he smiled, a pure, innocent smile that made him look like a schoolboy before he took your face in his hands and kissed you deeply, pulling away, his nose bumping against yours.

“I love you too.” He whispered, his eyes locking onto yours. “Now go, before I decide to play hooky for the day.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Weiss.” You smirked, before with one final quick peck you left the room.

Mike watched you go, before he ran his hands through his hair and turned to glance around the kitchen, his eyes falling to the table he’d just fucked you senseless on.

He should probably clean that before he went to work…

[lyrabythelake]

Stick Together

Legend is lost, and so very alone.

Read on AO3

CW: gore, mentions of death, just a shed-load of Legend angst

No birds sing in these woods.

It’s the thing that stands out most to Legend as he stumbles his way over fallen branches and rotting logs he cannot see, for the fog swallows his legs and the foreparts of his arms he stretches blindly out in front of him. There are no twittered conversations or scuffling of small creatures, no trickling nearby streams or even rustling leaves.

Just complete, all-consuming silence.

It’s the kind of silence that sits heavy in his chest and threatens to choke him, the kind that reminds him every second that he could not be more alone.

It’s not how it’s meant to be, he thinks desperately. Woods are places where life and nature thrives, but the trees that emerge from this ghastly fog are withered and decaying, twisting shells of what they once were. Or perhaps they have always been like this. There is no life in this place; it is a graveyard for the lost, one that threatens to bury him alongside all those who were unfortunate enough to die here, so very alone.

“Time!?” he calls, but it is half-hearted at best, his voice long hoarse from hours spent shouting the same eight names in futile hope that one of them will hear. The sound falls pitifully short, consumed by the banks of white swirling mist that cave in on all sides. He sounds small and frightened, incredibly pathetic, but he would give anything for someone, anyone to hear him.

How long has it been? he wonders. Time loses all meaning when the world around him provides no landmarks but the homogenous, gnarled faces of those mangled, warped trees that stare down at him every few steps. Time doesn’t flow in the same way when one is staring into that infinite abyss of swirling white.

His feet ache fiercely, but he cannot stop. He entered this place, so there must be an exit, there must. His mouth is so, incredibly dry and his stomach aches with hunger, his legs are weak and his ankles are splintering with pain from turning over on the uneven floor, but still he blunders forward. He has no way of knowing in which direction he is heading, every turn of his head is disorientating, every trip of his feet he is left wondering if he has just been going in circles all this time.

He has never been good at following orders, he’ll admit. Perhaps it is not so surprising that eventually it was the thing that brought his downfall.

“Stick together,” Wild had said, “and whatever you do, don’t stray from the path. This place is called the Lost Woods for a reason.”

Simple really, but the Captain had been on top form that day (is it the same day or have weeks passed without him knowing?) and after a jab that hit particularly close to home, he had stormed off in a fit of prideful rage.

None of that anger remains now, all that is left is clawing desperation and uncontrollable terror. There have been many times in his life where he thought he might die, when he had accepted that he may be nearing his last few moments in this world, but never has he felt so completely helpless about it.

This isn’t like dying in a sudden, electric explosion of a lightning strike. This isn’t like falling mid-battle, fighting for his life, sword held out in front of him until the very last second. This is slow and quiet and suffocating, it is drawn out and long-suffering, like Hylia is playing with him, torturing him before she finally ends it all.

It’s not like he deserves any better, he supposes.

A scream echoes in the distance, guttural and full of fear, like the sound of an animal crying out as they are torn limb from limb by a larger predator. Except there is no mistaking that this one is human.

“Hello?!” His breathing picks up as he clambers forward more quickly, half twisting his ankle on a tree root.

“Is anyone there?!”

Had it been a figment of his imagination? Is his worn-out mind configuring hallucinations from the ringing in his ears just so he can focus on something other than this endless white murk?

The scream sounds again, closer this time, but coming from all around him, the direction impossible to determine. But this time he hears the familiarity in it; he knows that voice, though he’s never heard it in this capacity, never heard such blatant terror held within it.

“Hyrule…” he all but whispers, his voice choked, the sound not coming out how he intended. “HYRULE!” he screams louder, his vocal cords feeling like they’re tearing under the strain. He spins around, desperately scrambling for the direction he needs to go in order to save him. But there is none. The sound had come from everywhere.

Had he gone searching for him after he had disappeared? Has he been wondering lost and alone all this time because of Legend’s stupidity? Has he met a grisly end in these woods, ripped to shreds by some wild animal, or is he lying somewhere in the mud, staring up into this boundless white mist, bleeding to death on the woodland floor in bleak agony?

“HYRULE!”

He can’t let that happen. Hyrule is too sweet, too determined, too kind, and he has already spent most of his life alone, he doesn’t deserve to die like that, he can’t die like that.

Another scream echoes out, lost to the white darkness and again, its tone is horrifyingly familiar.

“WIND!” Legend cries. There are tears streaming down his face, though he can’t remember when they started. Perhaps they have always been flowing.

Wind is so young, so hopeful and holds such promise. He told Legend only the other day how he dreams to explore every inch of the ocean, discover everything it has to offer. When he said it, he held such excitement in his big, blue eyes that Legend couldn’t even pretend not to be enthusiastic on his behalf.

“WIND! HYRULE! Where are you,” he utters miserably, those last words quieter but as much to himself as any of his pleas. His heart is banging in his chest, beating away the last stems of energy he has left within him. He dares not set out in one direction, for he might only extend the distance between him and his friends and when he finally loses his last morsel of energy, he won’t have the strength to rectify the mistake.

Another scream. Warriors. The man is like a brother to him, even if they have their disagreements. He has fought too hard in his life, he deserves a noble death, not this.

Then there is another scream, then another. Twilight, Four, Wild, Sky, their voices warped from terror and pain, so different from what he is used to them sounding like, none of them indicating any further as to where they may be located.

Legend is not holding back his sobs anymore, there is no point, no one can hear him. The mist takes his tears and draws strength from them, seeming to get ever thicker, that cruel, hypnotic swirling ever more disorientating.

Time’s voice sounds next, low and strained as if he’s trying to keep himself from screaming but fails as the pain gets the best of him.

“Time! Warriors!? PLEASE!” That last word comes out more of a scream, raw and painful, every fragment of helplessness he feels carried in its din, and he sinks to his knees. He has nothing left to give; dirt and twigs dig into his knees and shins and then his hands as he brings them too to the ground. The screams are a cacophony around him, coming from every direction, a symphony perhaps in the way they seem orchestrated to break him down until he is nothing. They are so frequent he can no longer tell them apart; it is just noise and agony and his own pathetic crying.

He wants to bring his hands to his ears, but he can’t bring himself to, for what awful kind of coward would block out their friends as they suffered. He cannot go to them, he cannot help, so he listens, and his tears fall and wet the muddied ground as he cries for his companions and all the others he could not save.

It is ridiculous now to think of all those who called him a hero when it’s clear all paths led to this moment, to him cowering on the slowly softening ground, snot dripping from his nose like a child while his friends die their endless, painful deaths.

But then the screams stop. Suddenly and all at once they cut off, and if it weren’t for the ringing in his ears and the heaviness of his face, he might have thought they never sounded at all.

They weren’t real, he thinks, they couldn’t have been. But his heart is still beating like a rabbit caught in a trap and adrenaline makes him tremble violently. The sheer disparity between the screams and the silence makes it seem like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs. He is waiting for something, waiting for them to start up again, perhaps worse than before.

And start up again they do, eventually, except this time, there is only one, and it is different. A jolt rips through him as if from a lightning strike, sudden and totally unpredictable at the scream that is higher in pitch than the rest and so, unbearably familiar.

Marin.

“Please, no,” he sobs, and though he knows it isn’t real now, that almost makes it worse.

He has not heard her voice in oh, so long. There have been nights where he’s lain awake trying to remember it, replaying those distant memories over and over in his mind, helpless as the picture of her gradually fades. He once would have given anything to hear her voice again, and it seems his desires have been thrown back in his face, distorted and satirical.

His heart aches as if it is tearing in two, and he truly believes it would be impossible to feel any more pain than he does in this moment.

He does move then, finally. He curls up into a ball, his back leaning against the rough, gnarled trunk of one of those dead, shadows of trees, his eyes pressed to his knees, listening to the sounds of his lost love, her sweet voice warped in excruciating pain.

There is a time during the potential hours he sits there that those screams turn to something melodic. He doesn’t know when it happened, perhaps it was too gradual to put a finger on the exact moment it changed, but the sound that reaches his ears is now a beautiful, eerie, and terribly familiar song.

It doesn’t sound like he remembers it. It’s not her voice, not really, there is an ethereal quality to it beyond the echo the woods provide and there is something strange and creepy about it. It’s a mockery of the girl he loved, and it is worse than any of the screams that came before it.

His tears stop. There are no more within him left to cry. The singing drones on and, he supposes, if he is to die here, at least he is thinking of her.

And he is. He thinks of lighthouses and gull’s cries, of falling asleep to the waves gently crashing on the shore. He thinks of the feeling of sand between his toes which he thought unpleasant at first but grew to love. He thinks of thick, red hair and the smell of strawberries and a time that brought true happiness in a way he hasn’t felt since.

There is an aching peace in those memories, so he hides in them. He lets himself be cowardly, because you know what? He’s given all that he has to play the hero, and perhaps he does deserve to die alone in the end, but in the face of it all, he’ll take back what he can.

So he gives up, lets the fog consume him.

 _______________

 “Legend!?”

He is aware, vaguely, that the singing has stopped. Aware of the ache in his head from crying and in his stomach from hunger. It is distant, but it is there, and logically, that means he’s not dead.

“Legend!?”

The voices… sirens… whatever they are haven’t given up then. Perhaps they’ll keep torturing him until the life finally leaves him completely. How cruel the world can be.

“Legend, where are you?!”

He perks up, finally bringing his face from his knees, for all the good it does. The fog is the milky white of a blinded man’s eyes.

Footsteps in the distance. The snap of twigs, desperate chatter. Maybe…

“Hello?!” Goddesses, his voice is wrecked. He’s never sounded so pitiful in his life.

“Legend! Is that you?!”

“Over here!” he cries, the small beginnings of hope blooming in his chest, despite him trying his best to smother it. Hoping never did end well for him.

“It is him!”

“Which direction did that come from?”

“This way, I’m pretty sure.”

“It’s a wonder we found anything in all this goddessdamned mist.”

“Over here, I think I see him!”

All of a sudden, a familiar face is staring into his own, worry etched into every feature, his curly brown hair wilder than usual, one cheek streaked with grime. But Hyrule is looking miraculously alive as he kneels in front of him, and this time Legend sobs in relief. He reaches out a trembling hand, the frailty of it almost sickening, and grabs a fistful of green tunic.

“You’re real?” he whispers hoarsely. It’s more a plea than a question and Hyrule’s eyes widen in something similar to shock.

“I’m real,” he tells him, watching helplessly as Legend reaches out his other hand to grab a handful of material in that one too.

“I wasn’t sure.” But he is now. Hyrule’s tunic is soft in his hands and the details of his face, the faint freckles on his skin, the green of his eyes, they’re too real to be anything else. Reality has been warped so many times for him that it’s become difficult over the years to tell what’s real and what’s not, but Hyrule is here now, and that’s as much confirmation as he’s going to get.

The others arrive, falling silent as they see Legend on the ground. He knows what a state he must look, he must have been crying for hours, but he can’t bring himself to care. The colours of their clothes are the most vibrant he’s seen for an eternity, and he turns his gaze from the Prussian blue of Warriors’ scarf to the glinting gold of Time’s chest plate like he is starving for it.

“What happened?” Time asks immediately, his voice soft but sombre.

“I thought you were dead. All of you.” Legend’s voice has almost given out completely, every syllable feels like he is ripping up the inside of his throat. There is another silence, and it seems no one knows what to say. Legend supposes the sight of him in such a vulnerable state must be a little shocking. He may not be the most stoic member of the group, but like them all, he keeps his emotions close to his chest.

“They say travellers who get lost in these woods hear the sounds of their loved ones in pain in the last moments of their life,” Wild murmurs quietly when no one says anything. His voice is muffled by the fog, but they all hear him crystal clear.

“I’m sorry we didn’t find you sooner,” Twilight says sombrely, as if it wasn’t his fault for running off in the first place. He doesn’t want apologies; he just wants to get out of this goddessforsaken woods and pretend all this never happened.

He knows that’s impossible though. The screams of those who stand in front of him unite in his mind with the strange, beautiful melody sung by the girl in his dreams. The way it echoes in his ears makes him fear it will never fade.

“Can you stand?” asks Sky, clearly sharing his desire to leave this place as soon as possible. To tell the truth, he doesn’t think he can, but he lets Hyrule haul him up, and though he wobbles palpably, he remains on his feet.

“We’ll rest as soon as we’re out of this fog,” Time tells them as they follow Wild closely. He somehow seems to know where he’s going, though Legend isn’t paying much attention to him, lost in his own relief and remnant horror.

“Let’s not come here again.” Wind’s voice is smaller than usual, containing none of its usual optimism. Legend could not agree with him more.

The atmosphere around them feels slightly strange to him. His ears still carry those Goddessawful screams and nothing feels quite normal. It is only the feeling of Hyrule by his side helping him along that assures him he’s truly been saved. But he trusts his friends, believes them to be real. And that belief is all he has.

[couldyouspeakmyname]

Hi! 💕 I hope I'm submitting this correctly but I'm assuming you write for the Shishigumi lions? If so, I'd like to request some sfw and nsfw headcanons for them dating a female herbivore and it's totally up to you which members you would like to write for (although Free and Agata are my favourites!)

You know I love the Shishigumi, a lot. So I went overboard. I offer my apologies.

I will say, since I usually put NSFW under cut, but due to length I put it all under cut, I do have a big warning for it as to not surprise y’all

There’s a lot I could write for them, but to keep it reasonable I kept it kinda short! Feel free to request more if you’d like!

I’m also not great at nsfw so I tried my best I hope you like it anyway

SFW

Ibuki (I love him and will never NOT include him in an ask about the Shishigumi)

Ibuki is probably the best one at dating an herbivore. He’s very gentle and conscientious of you as an animal and your limitations 

That being said, he’s top tier respectful. He knows you may not be as physically strong as her is, but that doesn’t mean you’re not strong in your own way. He also likes the idea of protecting you. 

Always walks side by side with you. He’s nervous about holding your hand, but he’d never say it. Do it for him. 

Has eaten meat for YEARS and really struggles with that part of himself. 

Doesn’t kiss you for a really long time, he’s inwardly terrified that he’s going to hurt you. You’d have to make the first move.

Keeps you away from his work. He doesn’t want you to get hurt. 

He knows his world is dark, gritty, and that you shouldn’t be a part of it. He wants to send you away, but can’t. He thinks he’s selfish. You’ll need to reassure him this is what you want. 

Herbivores can’t see in the dark, so he keeps lights on in key areas so you can see better.

Protective. If anyone gives you any trouble he’s quick to correct their behavior, he can be incredibly intimidating when he wants to be

Slouches so you’re around the same height. Give him a back/neck rub at the end of the day. It will make him feel better, and he liked being close to you

The kind of boyfriend that remembers all the major events in your relationships, including small ones. 

Once he gets comfortable, he’s a snuggle bug in private. Cheek kisses, arm around your shoulders when you’re sitting, wrapping his arms around your waist when you’re standing.

Lions can’t purr, but if they COULD oh man, he’d never stop

Free

He’s famous for enjoying females, so the fact that he’s dating someone seriously that’s not a feline is really strange

You should have seen the expression on one of the more flirty female lions when he turned them down. 

Everyone thinks he’s joking about dating you at first, when they see he’s actually serious the teasing dies down, but doesn’t stop (it’s at his expense don’t worry).

“Has hell frozen over? What’s someone like you doing with a guy like Free?”

He honestly doesn’t expect you guys to stay together for very long. He expects it to be a fling. Only it doesn’t stop. He doesn’t get tired of you or eat you....It’s weird but wonderful. 

Has eaten meat for years, and has a hard time letting himself kiss on anywhere but on the cheek. Likes to throw his arm around you and hug you. So he does show affection, but keeps his mouth FAR AWAY from your throat. 

Rests his head on top of yours 

Calls you “Babe” a lot. He has a lot of other nicknames for you to. Some of the lions don’t even know your name, just that you’re dating Free. 

Over. Protective. He knows the market, the animals in it and the animals who come to it. He is very prepared to shoot or maim anyone who tries anything. The fact he’s such a loose canon does help scare people off. Everyone knows who you’re dating and they make sure not to push it. 

He likes to show you off. He’s that guy that carries a picture of you in his wallet. Anyone who asks about him dating someone and he’ll show you off. 

“Sure she’s hot, but have you see the ass on my girlfriend?” 

Likes to show off in front of you. Fights? Yes. Please watch him and root for him.

Tries to get you to get a tattoo, but will NOT get identical ones. He doesn’t want to jinx it. If you wanna have similar tattoos though, that’d be okay. 

Dolph

A relationship with Dolph when you’re an herbivore is really low key. A lot of people don’t know you’re dating. He doesn’t want to put you in jeopardy

He’s pretty serious and it’s hard for him just to relax. He does relax when you’re alone and he knows you’re safe. 

Likes to lay his head on your chest and listen to your heart beat 

When you do go out together, you may have to initiate any hand holding.  He plays it off, but he’s secretly happy

He smokes, and you may have to get on him for that if you don’t like it. It’d be very hard for him to quit 

Will let you braid his mane, but wont keep it in if you go out

Supports your endeavors and does whatever he can to help. He may get a little to into it. You’ll say you wanna take a trip and he has everything planned out. It’s a blessing and a curse. 

Likes how small your hands are in his

When he has a hard day, just hold him. He’s heavy and will lean into you, but he just needs the support

Has to relearn how to be himself, and you really help with that. He smiles more when he’s alone with you. 

Has a really deep, gruff, morning voice

Agata

If lions could blush you bet he’d be constantly red. If you actually look close, the insides of his ears usually are

Loves holding your hand and hugs

Respects your boundaries. If Ibuki is the king of respect, Agata is the prince.

He’s still part of a dangerous organization in the black market, so when he’s working he’s all business. Only a few of the members know about you (just the inner circle). 

Agata, like most of the others, is petrified to kiss you. He probably has the worst anxiety out of anyone else. He’s a meat eater, he’s eaten your kind of meat before. What if He accidently hurts you?

Texts you all the time.

The one you can be on the phone with for hours and not know it

Likes it when you run your fingers through his mane

He’s stronger than he looks, so he may just pick you up and carry you every now and again. He just likes to hold you, let him have this

Brings you flowers and your favorite snacks whenever you have a bad day

Stammers when he’s flustered.

Likes to bury his face in your neck

He has a hard time being who he is versus how he thinks he should be. The fact he can goof off and just enjoy life without the strain of being a lion is a blessing. 

Probably says he loves you before you do. He does it when he’s half asleep on your lap. He falls asleep before he realized he said it, whoops.

You’d have to be the one to be aggressive in public. “Excuse me, he asked for no pickles”  meme

Miguel

He’s pretty quiet in his group, so no one knows you’re dating

Miguel is really good at thinking his feelings and thoughts, but isn’t great at voicing them. He does a lot of little things to show affection. He brings you a warm drink on a cold day, has food for you when you wake up, holds you hand

He likes to try and see the best in everything, even if he knows how ugly the world is

His mane is maintained carefully. Once you get really serious, he may ask you to help him with it. It’s pretty intimate, and when you’re done he looks at you like you have stars in your eyes

He’s the force of protection you don’t even know is there. He’s probably saved your life like, eight times, and never let you know that he did

Sabu

If Miguel is quiet, Sabu is dead silent

No one knows anything about his personal life, let alone his dating life

They find out one day when the group is trying to make plans for a fun sort of day, and he turns them down because you two have a date. It becomes a secret mission for the group to find out who you are.

They don’t, Sabu is the oldest member and one of the most clever

A popular headcanon is that his face is really, REALLY messed up. I share that headcanon. The first time you kiss the scars on his face he chokes up

He goes all in. he’s yours as long as you’ll have him. He expects the same respect from you. 

He’s eaten meat for a really long time, but he has more semblance of control being a smidge older than most of the other lions. 

A bit pessimistic 

Kisses you good morning and goodnight. 

Cuddles on the couch. He’ll watch whatever you want to, but he has his preferences

Wears his face covering everywhere, you’ll need to remind him he can relax when you’re alone

. If you get out of somewhere like work or school late at night, he’s waiting for you to take you home. 

So used to wearing a suit and tie, he doesn’t know how to do casual wear very well. He lets you pick most of his stuff out. 

Jinma

He knows a lot about the black market, so he’s over protective from the get go. However, since he does know so much, he knows what connections to make to keep you safe. 

Eats meat, and is self conscious that you’ll judge him for it. Please be nice to him

Kiss his eye with the spot, it makes him feel special

(Personal headcanon) His mane has never grown right, so he keeps it short. He’s kind of self conscious about it. A lions mane means a lot to male lions, he tries to keep it nice but...it’s nothing like some of the other Shishigumi’s manes. Pet it, run your fingers through it. Males don’t complimented enough. It’ll make him feel loved. 

If you ever wanna go anywhere fancy, because of his connections and knowledge, you can basically go anywhere at any time...as long as it’s in the black market, but he may know a guy that knows a guy. If there’s something more legal you need, he checks in with his other gang members to see who knows who

Has a wicked good memory, remembers pretty much everything you’ve said

Dope

A gentleman. He will hold doors open for you, offer his arm and hand when you walk together, brings you flowers. 

He, like all the Shishigumi, eats meat. He is self conscious about it an doesn’t want to scare you away. He will be upfront about it though. He wants honesty. he talks it out with you, and he will try and cut back but being part of the Shishigumi, and a meat addict, means it’s very hard for him to stop. He probably wont, not completely, but he tries not to do it around you. 

He doesn’t brag he’s dating you, but if he’s asked he gets this really peaceful look on his face

If you ever take him shopping at any flea market or outdoor stalls, he will get you the best bargain. He’s also amazing at helping you with any work contracts, apartment contracts and anything else.

Likes it when you brush his mane, and lets you put it up for him before he goes out. He doesn’t let you do anything fancy, but says when you do it it somehow turns out better

Hino

Hino is very attractive. His looks are what brings jobs in, so he keeps the fact that you’re dating a secret for business. 

Gives you extra affection in private because of it. Kisses, hugs, all that. His favorite is to kiss the back of your hand, he is kind of a romantic. 

Don’t get him wrong, he’s still a lion. If he hears that an animal is giving you a hard time, he will take them down and look handsome AF doing it

Eats meat, and like all the other lions worries for your safety. He tends to eat before he sees you, but after a while of you dating he becomes more relaxed. He doesn’t eat in front of you though. 

Spends a ton of time getting ready for the day, you may have to fight him for the bathroom 

Compliments you a lot. He uses the basic one liners at his job with older, lonely, animals. So, he uses unique ones for you. 

“I think the sun is jealous of your smile”

Totally lets your style his mane, and if you’re going out to somewhere not the black market, he’ll keep whatever style you give him. He’s confident and pulls anything off

Calls you Darling

Worst bedhead. 

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

NSFW Manage yourselves safely!

Ibuki 

It was almost impossible to get him in bed with you. He’s so worried and full of anxiety. Any mood you get in, you instantly gets ruined by him being worried he’ll eat you

You’re going to have to plan in advance and spend a lot of time talking about safety and safe words

Honestly? He does try and eat you the first time. Not intentionally and he stops himself, but to be fair to HIM as an herbivore...you almost let him

It kind of ruins the mood and you end up talking it out with him. He’s so ashamed he can’t look at you for a while. 

Once time goes by, and you move pretty slow, but it’s worth it. Sex with Ibuki is amazing

Remember how Ibuki is really diligent about your limitations and you as  an herbivore? Pays OFF when he’s with you

He’s all about foreplay and making sure you are ready and prepared before he does anything. Ibuki has big dick energy. He doesn’t brag but is blessed. But he knows that with you being smaller than him, he’s not down to hurt you with it 

 He starts keeping his nails short for you. The other guys may try and tease him for it, but Ibuki gets defensive over you and so it’s short lived.

His voice drops when he’s in the mood, and he borderline growls. You’ve been teasing him all day, you really should make it up to him

Surprisingly good at dirty talk, it kind of comes naturally to him and neither of you know why

Loves your thighs, and his whiskers tickle. 

He has big hands, and when you’re alone he may saunter up behind you and run them down your sides slowly, kissing your check and down your neck. 

Best at aftercare, no matter how tired he is, he will take care of you 

Free

Is more concerned than he lets on. He tries to pretend he’s all confidence, but he has a pretty hard time getting to the point of actually having sex with you. He actually start actively avoiding it. He blue balls himself. Someone help him.

He’s used to doing what comes natural, and what if what comes natural means hurting you? He’d rather not.

When you do finally try and have sex, he doesn’t kill you...but he does bite you. You need stitches, and he has even more of a complex (tell him he just gave you a cool tattoo or something)

He may actively avoid you or being near you. It’s a set back. He’s not like Ibuki who can talk it out, he’s supposed to be a lion, not a scaredy cat. 

You have to put your foot down. You’re dating a bad ass mafia lion, not some nervous school boy. Remind him about how much you care about him and how much you want him.

The second time goes better, but he’s a LOT more careful. he does maim a few pillows, claws the mattress. Their sacrifice is appreciated. (you two become famous for ruining and destroying beds. The other guys are both impressed and disgusted. Free has no shame)

Trims his claws so he can use them the next time. He’s learning.

This male is a womanizer, but he’s not great at doing things that females would stay for? It’s more of a hit-it-and go. He knows some tricks but...not a lot. 

Tries his best though. Loves to dig his hands in your hips. Leaves bruises. One time he got hammered and asked Ibuki for advice. Ibuki was helpful, but needed therapy afterwards. 

Rough sex 90% of the time (that other 10 is passionate sex that lasts hours, it’s pretty impressive)

Once you guys get comfortable, hope you’re okay with bite marks and kiss marks. You’d have to wear winter clothing 24/7 to hide them all. He’s VERY proud of you being his female, he doesn’t want any other male getting ideas

Turns him on if you take control. Most things you do turns him on. He’s near insatiable. You could roll out of bed, eyes still squinty, mascara from last night all over, and he’s like..man, that’s hot. Hope you’re okay with having sex in weird places, he’s going to ask. 

Not great at aftercare, but BOY can he snuggle. If you’re able to walk afterwards, you wont be able to. Clingy. 

Dolph

Wants it to happen organically, but when it finally does, he catches himself.

He’s looking at you under him, how your eyes sparkle and shine, and how vulnerable you are...And the idea that he could rip out your throat comes to mind and it terrifies him. He practically throws himself off you

You have to reassure him and talk to him. 

Dolph is careful with you the first time, and while he doesn’t bite you, he does dig his claws in a little to much. They may or may not scar. He feels bad, but he’s so in the moment he can’t help it

May drool a little. Don’t tease him until later. 

He doesn’t stop until you’re satisfied. It’s a promise. You will NOT be able to walk the next day. He’s going to make the claw marks up to you if it kills you and wakes everyone in ear shot. 

Out of all of the lions, you’re safest with Dolph. He’s ”the serious one”, which makes him practical and knowing. He actually does research and goes online to inform himself. 

Love bites. He doesn’t break skin, so you’re safe there. 

Loves it when you try and claw him. You can’t do a lot, as an herbivore, but the fact your instincts try and make you...really gets him going. 

Casual at aftercare. Better than average but nothing near Ibuki or Agata.

Not a sex maniac, and with work, it’s not high on his priority list. He’ll make up for it though ;)

Agata

Likes to pretend it’s not something he’s interested in, but he is. He just doesn’t want to pressure you, or scare you. Dating a lion is one thing, being fully exposed is another and he knows it. 

He thinks about it a lot, but doesn’t act on it. You probably will have to take the lead. Agata gets way to in his head.

The sweetest kisser ever, but when he’s heated they’re like fire. Biting your lip, you face carefully with his claws just teetering on the edge of digging in. He loves kissing you, doesn’t matter where. 

Kissing will lead to other things if you don’t stop him, but do you really want to?

Likes to pull you close, and the more heated he gets the more likely he’s going to grind on you without realizing he’s doing it

Totally whines if you stop kissing him. 

Younger than the rest of the Shishigumi, and is more prone to using his instincts. He eats meat and is afraid of hurting you, but his desire to fuck your brains out is far greater than the instinct to eat you

He does end up biting you, and uses his claws. The damage he does isn’t serious, but he still fuses over you when its over. 

Takes a while to let himself near you like that again. He beats himself up. You may have to prove to him you’re tougher than you look. 

When you try again, he makes up for his shortcomings. You’re not sleeping tonight, call in sick to work tomorrow. 

You may have to ask him to slow down. He intends to go all night, you may have to curb his enthusiasm. Don’t forget to take breaks for water so you don’t pass out. 

Wont stop until you’re satisfied. Doesn’t matter how tired he is. 

Sweet nothings in your ear non stop...between the moaning. He’s surprisingly vocal

Talk to him too. Part of the reason he cares so much about you is because you see him for who he is, not his status as a lion. 

Since he doesn’t plan having sex with you, and just lets it happen naturally, he always has things in his room for you. Just in case. Please don’t tease him about it, the other lions do that enough. 

Is totally the kind of guy to help you bathe afterwards if you want.

One of the biggest snugglebugs 

Miguel

Miguel is worried about having sex with you, but no one knows it but him. 

He’s the brawn of the group, and is strong as hell. He may end up trying to show off and you may end up in positions when you have to totally vulnerable (if it makes you uncomfortable, he’ll adjust. Just talk to him)

Muscles for days. The lion is made of stone, but has surprisingly soft touches. He knows his body and knows how to use it

He’s never had sex with an herbivore, he’s thought about it, but having sex with something he may eat later didn’t sit well with him. You are a different story. He’s thought about it a little to much

First time he has sex with you he claws you, and they’re pretty deep. You end up getting stitches. Unlike a lot of the other lions though, he doesn’t avoid you afterwards. He’s there when you get stitches, intimidating the doctor (who has a small heart attack every time Miguel moves)

Apologizes but isn’t afraid to try again. He trims his claws this time, you should really tell him the other things his fingers could be used for outside clawing your back. 

Do not mess with his mane or pull it, he’ll get grumpy. 

Loves your chest and carefully uses his tongue. Doesn’t matter what size they are, he’s a fan. 

Not very vocal, but likes it when you are. 

Sabu

Sabu is older and more controlled, so you’re pretty safe with him. 

He doesn’t seem like he’s interested in it, and since he doesn’t talk much, him bringing it up comes out of no where.

“Wanna have sex?”

Just out of no where. He doesn’t talk much so he doesn’t beat around the bush. You were just scrolling on your phone, and you nearly drop it.

He doesn’t hurt you when you have sex, not even by accident, but the couch you were on gets shredded. It looks like an animal twice his size attacked it. 

Runs his hands over your body, he can’t stop touching you. 

Kiss his scars, it sooths him, and he’ll pay you back

Loves your neck, but is careful not to leave any marks (you have no idea how he doesn’t, it’s like magic)

He doesn’t care if you leave kiss marks on him

No great with aftercare, but will make sure you’re okay and kisses your cheeks and on top of your head

Jinma

Disaster. He doesn’t mean to be, he just is

He wants it to be perfect, but while he knows everything about the black market, he doesn’t know much about having sex with an herbivore. He never really though of it, and now that he is...help him. He knows rumors of herbivore and carnivore relationships that have gone wrong so...he kind of freezes up. That, and he hasn’t been in a lot of long term relationships. 

While the others do their research, Jinma goes way to into it and becomes a bit overwhelmed, but hides it. 

You end up having to take control. For someone who knows the black market like the back of his hand, Jinma is the student and you are the teacher. You’re an herbivore, and you’re going to show him just how much you know (you are the captain now)

He bites you, and he does break the skin, but he just closes his mouth and allows you to decide if you wanna continue or stop

He starts keeping a med kit in his room just in case. 

He gets better, the more he learn and the more serious he is with you. Soon he’s compiling a book of knowledge on you.. He knows where to touch to make your toes curl, what to say, and your weak spots

He takes everything he learns and uses it against you one night. He’s a fast learner. 

 Dope

Part of negotiations is to know what a person wants and what they will go through to get it. So, when you bring it up, the look in your eyes is all it takes for him to know he needs to take you serious. 

Usually his kisses are quick and satisfying, but once he actually starts to seriously kiss you its like it’s the last time he’s going to do it. 

Likes to have you in his lap. Seeing your face is important to him. Every movement and actions of your body paints a picture of what you want. 

Third best at foreplay, what drags him down is he watches you to the point that he forgets what he’s doing

When you first have sex, he ends up clawing your hips and biting your lip to hard. You lip bleeds a little and his nails break the skin.  He’s a little worried, but if you don’t tell him to stop he’ll get permission to keep going. 

Ends up also biting you, but nothing to terrible or life altering. 

He loves watching you, body language tells a person a lot about someone, so no matter where or how, he likes seeing your face. 

Afterwards, he makes sure you’re okay, and comfortable, He does the basics, but doesn’t go overboard 

May leave a kiss mark or two, but it’s accidental. He doesn’t want to embarrass you (even if seeing you with kiss marks makes the animal in him deeply satisfied)

Hino

Hino knows a females body like no other. He’s not exactly promiscuous, but he likes being satisfied

Since dating you, he hasn’t been with any other females, he’s very needy. He’s not as bad as Free, but he’s getting there.

You have no idea how he seduces you every time, one moment you’re making tea, the next, you’re on the kitchen counter 

The first time you try and have sex with him, he claws you way to hard and you end up having to get stitches and fixed up. He feels awful and can’t look you in the eye. He swears he will NEVER do it again

He never does, he keeps to his word

Unlike some of the other lions, the fact he hurt you doesn’t keep him away. He feels bad, but now he’s going to try twice as hard to make sure every time he has sex with you is amazing.

Wont stop until you’re satisfied, and just seems to naturally know your body and what you like.

While he’s composed in public, you get to see a little wild in his eyes when he fucks you. He has this low growl that rumbles through his chest that you feel deep in your body the tighter he holds you

Probably has had sex with you on most surfaces in your home. 

Above average at aftercare. He tries, but having more one night stands than not hasn’t equipped him for great aftercare. He learns though. 

[13uswntimagines]

Our Troublemaker (USWNT x Baby!reader)

Request: uswnt x reader where reader gets into some trouble at a pride event they all go to, when they get back to hotel reader is punished and then fluff and cuddles to end

Author’s Note: Special thanks to @literaryhedgehog​ for her addition of fluff and mediation of my crazy thoughts. So this universe can be taken several different ways, as i didn’t explicitly define it. Feel free to interpret it in your favorite context. Also, I would totally be down for continuing this universe... Hit me up with Questions, comments or if you just wanna say hi!

You hadn’t meant to start a fight. Well, that was a half-truth. You had totally meant to tell that ignorant ass that he was being a homophobic dishrag. What you hadn’t meant was for him to punch you in the face, and the team to get involved in defending you from his drunk ass. So here you were, being carried over Lindsey’s shoulder back towards your hotel. 

You wiggled again in a vain attempt to get her to put you down. “Come on Linds, I can walk,”

“Yeah, you couldn’t be trusted to stand with Mal for 5 seconds on your own, and you might have a concussion,” Alex answered for the blond, and sent you a glare that oozed “try me,”

 “I don’t have a concussion, and I couldn’t let him talk to Mal like that,” You pouted up at her raised eyebrow. It was tough considering you were over someone’s shoulder, but you managed. 

“Next time you wanna show off for your girlfriend, try not to pick a fight with a guy four times your size,” Kelley laughed, patting your lower back. You frowned. Mal wasn’t your girlfriend. Yet. 

“I didn’t think he would hit me,” You grumbled, flopping down, Lindsey gripped your legs harder so she didn’t drop you on your head. That was all you guys needed right now. 

“Well he did, so let’s get you back to the hotel trouble,” Alex said, pointing towards the building down the street. Lindsey nodded, swinging you around as she turned and began to walk that way again. 

“I’m not trouble,” you complained

“No it just follows you everywhere, and has earned you no ice cream tonight,” Kelley rolled her eyes. 

“I’m not Sonnett, ice cream isn’t the love of my life,” you said, trying to act like you weren't pouting. So maybe the team treated some of the youngins like they were a little younger than their age. You all loved it, and you craved the structure it brought to your life. 

“Wanna make it for the rest of the week?” Alex asked, with her signature eyebrow arch. You grumbled back a no, along with several inaudible complaints. You knew how creative the woman could be with her punishments and you really didn’t want to test her. Your face hurt and you really just wanted to bury your head under a pillow and scream. You had protected Mal, you shouldn’t be in trouble. 

Your pout was strong all the way to the hotel and up the elevator, not wavering at all until Lindsey set you down in the corner of Alex’s room. You tilted your head at the woman in confusion. 

“This isn’t my room.”

“No, it’s not. You get 10 minutes in the corner for putting yourself in danger,” Alex said, her arms crossed across her chest. 

“I didn’t put myself in danger. I just told that dude to lay off. We were in an outdoor bar, there were plenty of people around. I thought societal convention would trap that dude into not making a scene.”

“No, you got punched in the face and almost had a beer bottle smashed over your head to impress a girl who already has a massive crush on you,” Alex exclaimed. 

“She does?” You asked, eyes wide. 

“Not the point Y/n,” Kelley shook her head. 

“The fact is, you engaged with a drunk homophobe on your own. There are times to engage, and that was not one of them. Now sit!” Alex said, dragging a chair to the corner and pointing at it, “your time out starts now.”

You sat down wordlessly, staring down at your hands. You knew that there was no getting out of this one. One of them had a scrape on the palm from where you had landed on the gravel. 

The minutes seemed to drag by, and you fidgeted more and more with every passing second, picking at the cuts on your hands. 

There was a knock on the door. “Stay,” Alex commanded, looking at her watch, “you still have two minutes left.” Behind you, you heard someone go to the door and open it. 

“I got your text,” Becky’s voice came from the doorway. You slouched in your chair, partially from embarrassment, partially from relief. They hadn’t called the medics. And at least they hadn’t called Carli, she duct-taped an ice pack to you the last time you got a bruise. But still, you hated that more people would know that you had gotten yourself into trouble again. “I brought a first aid kit and an ice pack. Also some duct tape, in case she tries to escape.”

 You shook your head, not finding the comment funny. You weren’t going to try and escape, your face was throbbing by this point, and you would rather they took care of you then leave you to fend off Jill and Dawn by yourself.

Alex’s watch beeped three times, signaling the end to your time out. You sighed in relief. Sitting still was never your strongest suit. 

“Come sit on the bed, Y/N,” Becky said, pulling Lindsey’s comforter straight and opening up the first aid kit on one side of it. You blinked twice, staring at the spot. You never liked getting fixed by the medics, and Lindsey’s bed looked lonely. 

“Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.” You looked at Lindsey in confusion, as she started counting. “Three. Two One. That’s it.” Lindsey picked you up and sat down with you on the bed, situating you in her lap. 

You started to move and realized she had grabbed your hands and pulled them across your chest, essentially putting you in a human straightjacket. 

“Sit still and let Broon make sure you are alright you absolute badger of a human being. You are a great defender, on and off the field Y/n. But it won’t kill you to let someone else take care of you for once.”

You huffed and sunk down in Lindsey’s lap, finally stopping your struggle to get free. It was going to happen whether you wanted it to or not. 

Becky shined a flashlight in your eyes and wiped down a cut on your lip with an antiseptic wipe. You winced slightly. 

“Hand.” 

Lindsey let go of one of your arms so you could put your scraped palm into Becky’s outstretched hand. She wiped it down with gentle strokes, checking to make sure there wasn’t any gravel pieces still in it. 

She nodded at Lindsey who released you and pushed you lightly next to her on the bed. Becky stood up from her crouch, slapping her hands on her jeans as she did. She went over to the dresser where she had set a small bag of ice and brought it over to you as Kelley sat down on the other side of you. 

Alex picked up the chair you had spent your time out in and placed it in front of you, straddling the back of the chair and leaning on it’s back as she looked at you. “Do you understand why we’re upset with you Y/n?” While she spoke, Becky perched on the bed and folded her hands in her lap. 

“Yes, but I wasn’t going to let him hurt Mal,” You mumbled, playing with your fingers. Yes you had been reckless, and probably could have ended up in way worse shape, but you weren’t going to let him disrespect the two of you like that. Her like that. 

“Love, we are so proud of you for standing up like that. You shouldn’t have to deal with hatred from strangers for being who you are,” Becky started softly. 

 “But you are going to have to deal with a lot of it in your life. And we need you to promise you won’t confront someone like that alone.” Alex finished seriously. They would never be able to get the image of little you standing toe to toe with a 6-foot tall man out of their heads. 

“There’s a reason we’re called a team. We work together, back each other up. And strength in numbers is usually more convincing to the average asshole bully than a lone ranger. Let us defend you sometimes.” Kelley chimed in, nudging you with her elbow.

“And if you’re alone, walk away. It sucks, but it’s better to live another day than die on your sword. You can't win every battle, and the world is a much better place with you in it,” Lindsey said, squeezing you in a sideways hug.  

“Fine, I won’t provoke any more dishrags,” you said, in mock exasperation. 

Kelley snorted, and you saw Alex’s lips twitch slightly as she nodded, “Good.” You would always be their troublemaker, but at least they knew you would try. Even if it was only for a little while. 

You snuggled deeper into Lindsey and Kelley, smiling as Alex joined Kelley’s side. The room was quiet for a few minutes before you blurt out a sleepy “Do you think Mal will think I’m more badass now that I have a scar?” 

Becky laughed, standing to pack away her first aid things. “Oh yes, the most badass. Now if you’ll excuse me cuddle bug, I should get back to my room. I have my own troublemaker to attend to.” She walked to the doorway and paused turning back to you. “One more thing. Y/n? You have to spend the night in here for observation. Doctor’s orders.”

“Those are agreeable terms I guess,” You shrugged. That had been your plan anyway. 

“My cuddles are better than just agreeable,” Kelley huffed, bumping your cheek with her nose. 

“Of course they are squirrel,” Alex laughed, kissing her temple. 

Yes, you were a troublemaker, but you were their troublemaker.