#Had a lot of fun writing this

[brewstersbru]

Uh-oh have some more; i have a problem ! Huskerdust pt. 2 🕸️❤️‍🩹

It’s stupid. Really, it’s fucking insane, nonsensical, and the worst goddamn idea Angel’s had since he sold his soul. Still, though, he can’t stop humming the song.

“I’m a loser, baby…” He sings to himself, curled around Nug as he stares out his window into the neon lights and building fires that ever burn throughout the city. One thing he likes about the hotel- aside from actually having people who care about what happens to him, and a safe (and free!) place to sleep- is that he can’t see Val’s from his room's window. He can fall asleep without his sword hanging over his neck, without the constant reminder of what he’s allowed himself to become.

Before tonight, before Husk’s surprisingly uplifting little song and dance number, Angel hated most of what he was. Yeah he likes sex, but he doesn’t like being a whore. Doesn’t like being Val’s whore, especially. 

And it didn’t make anything better, not really. Not in any way that matters. But it was nice to smile at Husk and not be expected to put out for it. To dance and sing without a leash, and instead gentle fleeting touches to guide him through the steps.

Angel curls further into himself, Nug makes a soft squealing noise at the jostling. 

Husk was so careful with him. They were on the side of the goddamn street, next to a puddle of bum-puke (which Husk had prevented from getting on him!!) and Husk chose to be kind with Angel. What an idiot. What a gentleman.

They’d never work out, Angel has to remind himself of that when a shiver of a feeling he’d thought had long been fucked or beaten out of him by now works its way through his body. Warm and sugary. 

Both beholden to contracts they’d signed, pets to egotistic psychopaths entirely too eager to make them suffer. What now feels so comforting could very quickly turn into something agonizing and painful. Plus, Husk doesn’t want him. He’s made that abundantly clear by now. Sure he’s being nice now that Angel’s ‘respecting his boundaries’ or whatever but the boundaries are there for a reason. He doesn’t want Angel. So much that it makes him uncomfortable if he gets too close.  

Angel can feel his eyelids getting heavy, but there’s a jittering in his chest that signals a rough night. Shit, even with a night as good as this one, he can’t sleep in peace? 

He’s a loser. Damaged goods. Maybe he’s not alone, but fuck if he doesn’t feel it right now. 

Nug wriggles out from the lax cage of his arms and jumps off the bed. 

***

There are texts from Val waiting on Angel’s phone when he wakes up. 

He was right, it was a rough night. Only managed a cool three hours of fitful tossing before his alarm rang for the hotel’s ‘daily activities’. Say what you will about him, he’s nothing if not punctual (and Charlie had looked real pitiful when she asked him to come down in the mornings more, it’s really impossible to say no to her face). 

The texts are a long eternity of scrolling pink. Angel sighs at the few words he manages to catch as he makes his way to the top, “whore” (unoriginal), “bitch” (overdone), “ungrateful” (points for accuracy), and a whole myriad of other demeaning things that his exhaustion addled mind can’t be assed to fully compartmentalize.

He didn’t know how much he’d miss being called “baby” in that smooth low baritone until now; being called all the regular stuff makes his stomach churn in comparison. Or maybe it’s just who’s calling him what. He’d let Husk call him whatever he wanted if he kept being all gentle with him. Shit, it hasn’t even been a day and he’s already mooning like a whiny romance protagonist. Eugh. 

Looks like he’s got another long shoot today. He’s expected over in an hour or so, and Val had signed off with an “xoxo” which really means “or else”. God, he’s really punishing him for stepping out of line this time. Angel can feel a twinge of something in his back as he stands from his bed. Even with an enhanced body, fourteen hours nonstop took it’s toll, and it’s just going to get worse from here. He winces to himself and moves to rub at the sore spot. “Fuck.” He mutters, casting around for a decently sexy outfit so Val doesn’t have another thing to nitpick about. 

It doesn’t take long, after the first several years of coming home sticky and itchy Angel had curated his closet to be both sexy and comfortable. Every piece strikes that balance perfectly and nothing clashes when combined. He’s quite proud of it actually, but it’s not something that comes up often in conversation so he doesn’t really ever have the occasion to brag. 

Husk is- as he always is- shining glasses behind the bar when Angel makes his way down. One has to wonder if the dishes he’s cleaning are actually dirty, or if he just needs something to do with his hands. Angel would put a lot of money on the latter, no one here- even with all the alcoholics- could possibly go through glasses that fast. 

Husk’s eyes dart up to his when the stairs let out a sharp creak, announcing his presence. With a small, private smile he waves him over.

“Mornin’ Angel. Fancy a drink?”

It’s really pathetic how much Angel has to fight to not give in. Not to walk over and settle at the bar, letting that warm, even voice soothe all his decades old aches and pains. He smiles, but it’s tight and untrue. Husk glances down at his lips for a moment, frowns, then goes back to shining.

“Sorry, Kitty, got a shoot. Raincheck?” He hopes he says yes. What he would give to be able to see Husk at the end of the- long, painful and entirely exhausting- day and share a drink. He’s never been to heaven, never even tried thinking about what might be up there because, well, look at him. It’s not really his kind of place, is it?

Still, though, a drink with Husk at the end of today’s misery has got to be pretty damn close. As close as Angel can ever hope to get, anyways. Husk sets the newly polished glass down, and leans against the countertop.

“Sure thing. I’ll have a cosmo waiting.” Angel can tell he wants to ask, that he wants to say something about Val and the fact that this is the second day in a row Angel is going in for a long shoot. About the bruises that are still visible, having just started purpling against Angel’s skin. But he doesn’t, he bites his tongue and offers what solace he can. The feeling that bubbles beneath Angel’s skin at this realization is hot and dangerous. 

He nods, curt and with another stiff smile before scurrying off. He hates that Husk has seen him like this. 

“I can’t wait.” Angel mutters- more to himself than anything- at the cusp of the doorway. 

And it’s the gospel goddamned truth. 

***

It’s late, definitely later than whatever ballpark time Husk had in mind when he accepted the raincheck for tonight and though Angel knows Husk’s not really one to give much of a shit about punctuality-  when you have eternity ahead of you, ‘on time’ becomes pretty damned relative- he still feels like shit for keeping him waiting.

He’s fidgeting in the back of a sleek, pink limo Val had been kind enough to provide him when, at the end of today’s shoot, Angel had found himself frighteningly unable to walk. Of course, nothing is ever free in this unlife, so Val had taken a cut of his earnings to ‘compensate himself’ for having to cart Angel around, when, if he’d just done as he was told, he wouldn’t have gotten himself hurt enough to need it. 

Angel doesn’t want to buy into the idea, but Val has a point. He needs to be more careful if he’s going to continue being of any use to the hotel. As much as he pretends to be an uncaring freeloader, something itches beneath his skin at the thought of actually becoming one. He can pull his weight. He can pull his goddamned weight.

The limo swerves in front of the hotel and lets him off with little fanfare; Angel gingerly picks his way up the hill to the large front doors, wincing and trying to ignore the stabbing agony going on below his waist with each step. 

He doesn’t expect to see anyone when he walks in, it’s late, and they have ‘redemption’ exercises to do in the morning; even Husk has to have a bedtime and it’s late enough that Angel assumes the time has already passed. Hell, if Angel didn’t have work today he’d probably be asleep by now. 

And yet- as he tiptoes past the threshold, gently pulling the door closed behind him- Angel hears a low rumbling sound. The lights in the lobby are off, as expected, but there’s just enough ambient light to reveal a small lump curled up on the couch. Upon closer inspection, Angel realizes that the sound is purring, and the lump is Husk. 

“What the fuck…” He mutters to himself, as Husk’s purring is interrupted by what Angel can only describe as a hitching snore before resuming with even more force. His wings, which have been wrapped around himself in a facsimile of a blanket, tremble and shudder with the power of the vibrations. Angel has to strangle the coo that tries to escape his lips at the sight. 

Fuck, that’s adorable. He really is just a kitty underneath all that jaded bullshit, huh. Unwitting, Angel’s hand reaches out to coast over the fur on his head. Not quite touching, but close enough to feel the warm shudder of contented purring. It’s enough to make Angel forget about his injuries for the moment, too enamored with the rare sight of a pleasantly sated Husk in the throes of sleep. 

Alas, the bliss of the moment is short-lived, and before Angel can tug his hand away, Husk snatches it out of the air, scrambling up into a sitting position to glare at him and hiss. Okay, even his hissing is kind of cute, but that might just be Angel’s fucked up-ness talking. 

“Hey… Huskie…” Angel eeks, trying to pull his hand away from Husk’s bruising grip. His body’s already got its work cut out with his other injuries, it doesn’t need more paltry bruises to expend its energy on. 

Husk shakes his head and, after a moment, his eyes clear of the film of sleep. Once he recognizes Angel in front of him, he drops his arm, as if burned. 

“Fuck, Angel. Y’can’t sneak up on me like that.” Having regained his senses, he takes a moment to apprise himself of the state of Angel, eyes roving critically over each exposed patch of skin in the dim light. His expression gradually hardens as he becomes more and more aware of just how much damage there is to contend with. Angel, desperate to talk about literally anything but his bleeding body laughs hollowly.

“Yeah, sorry man. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep before, though, did you know you purr?” Husk gives him a blank look at the obvious attempt at deflection but, after a moment, shrugs and scoots over, patting the space beside him on the couch. “I was aware. Must’ve passed out waiting for you.” He scratches at the chops of fur just below his chin as he speaks, seemingly unconcerned with what he’s just said. That he waited for Angel to come back so they could have their raincheck; that he waited up and Angel was late. 

Angel feels a little sick, the mixture of butterflies and sinking despair in his gut creating something entirely new, and entirely nauseating. He winces, but settles on the couch, curling into himself. “Sorry about that, Tuts. Got a little caught up at the studio… Y’know you didn’t have to wait up, right? We can always raincheck another day.”

It’s quiet for a long, excruciating moment, before Angel feels Husk’s eyes on him again. He can’t bring himself to meet them, instead staring further into the relative safety of the knotted wooden floor. Husk sighs.

“I know. I wanted to.” 

Oh. Oh, fuck. Angel is infinitely thankful for the fact that the lights are off because he can feel the aggressive flush working its way up his cheeks and knows it would be incredibly obvious, if it isn’t already. He coughs into one of his hands. 

“But… I was late…? It’s- it’s like four AM. I wouldn't blame you for just going to bed.” Angel isn’t really sure why he’s arguing with Husk about this, all he knows is that none of what has happened since he walked into the hotel has made any goddamn sense, and it’s making his stomach churn. Husk’s tail swishes, hovering lightly over the span of Angel’s hunched shoulders, not touching, but close enough to feel. 

Finally, after another long minute of silence, Husk speaks.

“I just wanted to make sure you got back okay.” Part of Angel swoons at the gentlemanly sentiment, the rest of him bristles at the implication that he needs that. That he can’t make sure he gets back okay on his own. That he’s weak. He whips around to glare at a startled Husk. 

“And you don’t think I can get myself back safely? Fuck you, man, I’m not some weak little damsel in need of saving.” He spits. Husk shakes his head, eyes wide at the vehemence in Angel’s words. His hand raises from his lap- perhaps to reach out, to comfort- but at Angel’s expression, he brings it to his own arm to rub at his tricep sheepishly. 

“Stop putting words in my mouth, Angel.” He scolds, brows furrowed, “I don’t think you’re weak, I just don’t want you to feel like you’re facing this alone.”

Angel scoffs and turns away. Evidently, that’s the breaking point for Husk, because he huffs and snarls, “What? I can’t care about you?” There’s a static to his movements, a ruffling to his fur that indicates real irritation. For some reason, that makes Angel angrier. 

“Not if you’re not fucking me! Not if you don’t get any fucking thing out of it! Fuck!” His wounds give a valiant, biting twinge at the end of his sentence, causing Angel to hunch over himself and press a hand against his side while he struggles to catch his breath. Through the haze of agony, he hears shuffling, and feels the couch straighten as Husk rises to leave. 

Good fucking riddance. Angel knew it was all talk. He knew it. 

His breaths remain ragged for a long time while he tries to get ahold of himself again. Enough, at least, that he can drag himself back to his room. He curses Husk, but more so he curses himself for getting himself into this situation in the first place. What was his one rule? Don’t get attached, don’t let them lure you into thinking they care because they never do, and you’re just going to end up getting your feelings hurt if you keep being stupid about it. 

The pain does not abate, even as his thoughts spiral ever downwards into despair. 

After an excruciating, indeterminate amount of time, he feels the couch dip again and, unwilling to face whatever well-meaning do-gooder it is this time, Angel shakes his head. 

“Leave. Me. Alone.” he grits, each word more painful than the last. The person does not leave.

“Are you gonna let me help you now, or is it going to be another fight?” It’s Husk’s voice. He’s back. Fuck, why is he back? The noise of confusion that bursts from Angel’s lips is entirely unwitting. He opens his mouth to offer a scathing rebuttal, but can only manage a soft groan. Husk scoots closer. He’s warm. Fuzzy.

“Just nod or shake your head. Can I touch you?” Angel takes a moment to think about it, but has to acquiesce to himself that if he doesn’t let Husk touch him, he’s going to be in agony for the rest of the night. With great effort, he nods. A heavy breath punches itself from Husk’s lips, fanning warmly across Angel’s head. 

“Okay. Good. I’m gonna lay you down so I can get a better look.” Angel desperately wants to make a joke about the phrasing of that, but doesn’t get the chance before he's being manhandled onto his back. It’s a familiar situation, but the usual spike of fear in his throat is noticeably absent this time. Angel doesn’t dwell on what that might mean. 

Husk works quickly and efficiently on Angel’s wounds, soothing him with a warm hand through Angel’s hair whenever the pain gets to be too much- punching miserable little sounds from him- and keeping his touches strictly clinical. When he finishes, he sits back on his heels with a sigh. Settling back at the other end of the couch and allowing Angel his personal space again. Angel’s eyes feel surprisingly heavy. He catches a soft look from Husk before they flutter closed. 

Husk chuckles, soft and low.

“See? Doesn’t always have to be a fight.”

[hb-writes]

for lovefest2024, could i request isiah and clara with #7 from the sultry prompt list, “almost caught”?🤍

Thank you for being so patient. I hope you enjoy the piece inspired by your prompt: Drunk Shakespeare.

[spinnertop]

Fun thing I wanted to talk about regarding Tango and Xisuma as netherborn and voidwalker respectively. I'm not good at biology, and this might just make sense to me, but I like this headcanon.

So for my fic, I wanted some help writing it because the recent chapter focuses on parts of netherborn biology. For that, I wanted to make sure that I got most of it fairly accurately. One thing that I wanted to get right would be Tango's body temperature. In my head having someone live in a hot place, and their body being hot didn't make sense to me. So I decided to ask my friend who loves biology about that. She told me that in an environment like the nether, the body would actually cool down to save the brain from overheating.

That thought is fascinating to me because in fics we all see that people who the fandom considers netherborns (Tango, Sapnap, etc.) are described as very warm. It's even better when you consider the inverse.

So I personally like to think that the End is very cold, due to the fact it has no barrier between it and the Void. The reason I think the Void is cold is because a void is an absence of everything, including heat. So creatures in the End would have a higher body temperature to keep themselves from freezing. This means Endermen (at least ones in the End. I like to think they're all slightly different species but that's a theory for another day) are rather warm. Voidwalkers would also follow this rule. I especially like it for Xisuma because it brings out more differences between player races in all three dimensions.

I like this because it really doesn't change anything for the plot beats I'm planning. For example, because voidborns in this theory are generally warmer, they can't be in hot places for too long. This is an important part of my fic and I'm so happy that I have a way to explain the absence of Xisuma in one of the more crucial chapters coming up.

[infinitegest]

poppy here, @widenmyhips but thinking about your risky sex post, and how in the months that follow (as the wedding gets closer) I deny that I’m pregnant or gaining weight until I get to the aisle, and realize I’m heavily pregnant in a dress that’s three months too small

the risky post in question

It’s your own damn fault for getting engaged to a witch, honestly.

I mean, I prefer “occultist,” but I study magic all the same. A while ago, before we got engaged, you said something cheesy like “You can cast a spell on me any time you like.”

So it was with a completely clear conscience that, that winter, I rigged the mistletoe over our bedroom door with a fertility rune. As we started making out after coming home from a party, pulling hungrily at each other’s clothes, I felt warm waves of energy washing over us as thick as the snow falling outside our window, and knew it was working when the thought of using protection never seemed to cross your mind. We had done some breeding dirty talk on previous nights, with you begging for me to knock you up, but tonight you were speechless, letting your body completely take over.

It also didn’t seem to cross your mind that, in eight months’ time, we’d have an appointment with an altar.

Even as I brought you to climax after screaming climax, your legs locked around me, I was thinking about it, and how beautiful you would look walking down the aisle. Especially because of this night.

I was also planning ahead, of course.

Designing a spell can be damn difficult, you know? If I wanted to keep a secret from the whole world, I could simply bury it deep enough for the bedrock to hide away, but to make sure you were the only target… well, I got creative.

A few weeks later, when you were resting in bed after an exhausting morning with a mysterious stomach bug, I brought you breakfast. Nothing fancy, scrambled eggs and poppy seed muffin. You ate gratefully, and any sneaking suspicions you had about your morning sickness disappeared.

There were so many times I was tempted to lift the spell. For instance:

When you started complaining that your bras weren’t fitting quite right. You couldn’t put your finger on what was wrong, of course, tho anyone else could tell you were spilling out of them. I quietly noted that you hadn’t complained about your pants not zipping up, nor your shirts getting tighter and tighter around your midriff. Your fast-swelling abdomen was officially a total blind spot for you.

The first time one of your friends brought it up. I’ll never forget the look of complete bemusement they gave me when you told them they needed to stop or you might start to think they were insulting you. I simply shrugged. The conversation continued a little awkwardly, as they continued glancing down at your bloated belly, clearly bulging out from under a poorly fitting tank top. It was around this time I started wondering how many you were carrying, because one was out of the question.

Shortly after that, when a stranger asked to feel your belly. You ranted angrily for more than an hour after that. I have to admit, I surreptitiously recorded several minutes of you pacing back and forth, incensed, completely oblivious and denying the clear truth that you were big enough to be well into your third trimester, despite being not quite past month five.

“How could he ask that? What a total creep! I’m not pregnant! I don’t even LOOK pregnant!”

The Desk Moment. God, I'm so glad I got that one on camera too. I walked you to class, and watched as you tried sitting at one of the cheapest desks the university could afford. No matter what, there was no way to squeeze your swollen roundness into that gap. You turned to look at me, a look of pure, adorable bewilderment on your face as you struggled to rationalize what was happening. Your blind spot was getting too big (just like you!)

Finally, one night, as we were enjoying your new hormones, moaning and grinding on each other--

"Get me pregnant," you whimpered needily, "Give me a big, growing belly..."

I grinned, murmuring into your neck and gently rubbing the great curve of your belly. "But I already did."

You paused, pulling back slightly. "What the hell are you talking about? I think I would have noticed if you had," you said with a snort.

“Are you sure about that?” I said, guiding one of your own hands to the burgeoning girth of your pregnancy, right on a spot where movement bulged under your taught skin. “You’re so bloated with my babies that you look ready to pop, and you’ve still got two months left to grow. I’m pretty sure it’s triplets.”

You quietly, absentmindedly caressed the rippling surface of your belly, brow furrowing for a second, before giggling. “You’re cute when you get baby-hungry. I’m not pregnant, silly.” You pressed yourself against me again, as well as you could with your immense blindspot in the way. As you nibbles on my bottom lip, I reveled in how much softer you were, how much more you there was for me to hold.

“You’re so pregnant…”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

And so it continued.

Each time, the temptation to open the little safe I kept hidden away was so strong, to see the look of realisation on your face. But a better time would come.

Your wedding dress fitting was almost farcical. The tailor, usually professional to a fault, completely short-circuited when you told her that no, you didn’t want the dress to have any extra space, nor were you planning on losing a lot of weight in the next few months, you’d like it tailored to fit you exactly as you are now, thank you very much. Once again, as she turned to me for an explanation, I simply shrugged and smiled, watching you study yourself in the mirror. You were absolutely glowing with joy.

Finally, the Big Day.

People who know me well know I don’t always show excitement, no matter how much I’m feeling it, so it wasn’t necessarily a surprise to anyone that, as we waited for you, I was casually leaning against the altar, hands in the pockets of my dress suit.

You stepped out, and took my breath away.

You were so beautiful. And the greatest tragedy of all was that you didn’t know how beautiful you were. So, it was at that point, as you were a third of the way down the aisle, that you heard a distinct, peculiar cracking sound.

Seven months ago, when I made you breakfast, it was probably the greatest working of kitchen witchcraft I’ve ever accomplished. Simple: eggs for fertility, poppies for forgetfulness. But before making it, I cautiously emptied the egg without breaking the shell, then sealed the shell with wax and etched a series of sigils on its delicate surface. Since then, it’s been sitting undisturbed in my safe, siphoning away and storing every thought you’ve had about your own fertile state.

Except, today, the egg was no longer in the safe. It was in my pocket.

And now, with that cracking sound, you feel every thought, every memory that’s obscured for the last seven months, hit you in full force. You remember outgrowing your clothes, you remember trying to squeeze into your desk, you remember all the strange comments and aches and how difficult it it’s become to walk anywhere.

You remember that night, when we argued and joked and wrestled over how pregnant you were, how pregnant you weren’t. And now, meeting my gaze, seeing my smile, you realize I’ve won the argument.

You look down, and all you can see is belly.

The dress was made for a pregnant person, yes, but the tailor had no way of knowing how big you were going to get over the next three months. You’re, quite frankly, too pregnant. This gorgeous piece of fabric craftsmanship that, a year ago, would have reached the floor, is now bursting at the seams trying to cover your boobs, your ass, your wide baby-making hips, barely falling far enough past your gigantic belly to keep you decent for our assembled wedding crowd.

The crowd is tense— you let out a gasp before staring down at your fit-to-burst belly, and I think more than one of our friends were already prepped to call a hospital— but you take a deep breath (your dress gives off a quiet rip), lock eyes with me again, and continue walking forward, hyper conscious of how much your belly sways as you do so. A few seconds ago, your heart was beating out of your chest because you’re about to get married, but now, your blood is pumping with confusion and embarrassment.

You step up to the altar. Seeing you framed against the floral decorations, you really do look like a blossom gone to fruit. You look so full and round with babies, so perfectly ripe, I feel like I could take a bite out of you. The officiant starts droning.

“What did you do?” you ask in a hushed but panicked tone.

“Are we going to have a little argument at the altar? Ooh, this is just like that scene in The Incredibles!”

“Shut up!” you hiss, even more frantic, your chest and belly both heaving with your breath. “What did you do to me?!”

I continue to smile the most loving, sweep-you-off-your feet smile, but you can see a glint of something sharper, more mischievous.

“Exactly what you asked me to do. You asked me to cast a spell on you, and you said you wanted to get pregnant. I gave you both in a neat little package. Well, a neat big package.”

“You fucking—”

“It’s you, you’re the package. Because you’re so big.”

“I’m gonna kill you—“

I snort. “I’d love to watch you try. Watch you try to chase me around. I’d probably have to step in to keep you from hurting yourself, since you’re so heavy with my babies. Aren’t you?”

“…”

“C’mon, say it for me. Admit it.”

You pause for a long moment. Then, in the quietest squeak I can barely hear: “I’m pregnant. I’m so fucking pregnant, it’s so heavy, oh my god—“

I lean over, making sure you can hear as I say, “And isn’t it a shame you missed out on so much of this? Don’t you think you need to experience it all in its entirety?”

You look up at me, realizing what i’m insinuating, realizing what we’re going to be doing the moment you pop, the moment your body is ready to start growing again. And, with two little words, you seal your fate.

[almondpiglet]

ppl were drawing mikus from all over so heres habesha miku and her lil twin sibs rin and len!!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I hope you take this as the compliment it is intended to be, but you strike the same chord of irreverence-as-love, jokes-to-showcase-sencerity that I get from Chuck Tingle, and I adore both of you.

You have bestowed the greatest honour upon me.

[wardingshout]

Zelda goes mushroom girl

[spiritsong]

wyll.y.am ravengard, I love you so

everyone loves to put him in gold (rightly so) but my personal style is lots of silver jewelry + heavy eyeliner so that's what I gave him. also roses because he's so damn venusian

[the-raindeer-king]

(A/N: prt 4 and the finale of the Mama Riley au! Thanks for all the support and nice comments. It means the world to me! No content warnings. Enjoy!!)

If the ground would swallow him whole, Simon would consider that a blessing. God, he never should've asked his mom about you. Of course she'd clock him. Who knows the man better than his own mom?

He stares blankly at you for far too long. Long enough that you're wondering if there was a chance Mama Riley had it all wrong. You open your mouth, ready to backtrack the statement, when Simon settles a hand on your thigh.

“I… yeah. It's true,” he answers you. He tells you it's fine if you don't feel the same. You were his mom's friend first, and he can see how deeply you care about her and vice versa. He wants his mom to be happy.

“What about what you want?” You ask, curious.

Simon's quiet for a moment, thinking. He wants to marry you, but that might be a bit much to admit right out the gate. So he gathers his nerves, and quietly admits, “I want to kiss you.”

You can't help but smile in response. You lean in a little closer to him, your eyes already half lidded. “I want you to kiss me,” you reply softly.

The kiss is a little awkward. It takes Simon a second to get comfortable in the kiss, but it's good once he does. (You find out later on that it's his second kiss.) His hands come to cradle your face, tipping your head back to deepen the kiss. That's when the kiss becomes perfect, the kind that makes your head spin.

You break away at the sound of the door opening. Simon's hands linger in your face for a moment longer, before he drops them back down to his sides. But you're quick to lace your fingers with his, more than eager to start displaying affection. You've been holding back for far too long.

Mama Riley smiles at the both of you, a coffee in hand. “You kids get your feelings worked out?” She teases.

You and Simon share a look, before responding simultaneously.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Yeah, Mum.”

Going to sleep that night is incredibly bittersweet. You two finally made progress, just barely started your relationship, and he's leaving in the morning. Simon has never hated his job more than now. He's waited, since the day y'all met, for this, and he doesn't feel like he even has a chance to enjoy it.

But it makes returning, two months later, all the more worth it. This isn't the first time you've gone with Mama Riley to pick him up, but this time is different. There's no fanfare, no balloons or signs, although you and Mama Riley had joked about it. But there is a new energy in the air, excitement to see your boyfriend.

He's easy to spot amongst the crowd, tall and imposing. But you see the way his shoulders sag with relief, when he spots you two. He greets his mom first, crushing her in a hug. There's some whispered words between the two of them, before Simon turns his attention to you.

He hesitates, before tugging his face mask down. “Can I kiss you?”

You can't help but giggle a little, nodding your head. His hands move to cradle your face, so gentle despite the horrors he's witnessed. And when your lips meet his, Simon decides there's no better way to welcome him home.

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]

Hey hey hey may 31th anon! How's 2024 going? ☆ヾ(*´▽｀)ﾉ This year I have for you a leaked Sherlock season 5 image. Thinking of you!! And everyone!!

[elvyn]

doodles some of my favs from One Piece because after two years I'm finally almost up to date with this anime😭

[yakichoufd]

fanart of The Bars, The Parks, The Mansion by Ffrindyddraig <3

[serpentinegraphite]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Maxine "Max" Mayfield & Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington & Maxine "Max" Mayfield Characters: Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Eddie Munson Additional Tags: Character Study, also a study of child neglect and other fun experiences, Marijuana, this is a lot of speculation on the non-monster trauma max deals with, is this post-canon? canon divergence? up to you to decide, don't think about the timeline too hard, loooooooads of introspection about Max's relationship with Billy and his death, shitty childhood solidarity between Max and Eddie Series: Part 1 of ST Oneshots Summary:

It’s a long decision, but Eddie is patient, and she takes the joint, how fucking hard can it be?—weed just smells like Eddie, like something warm and smoky and sweet and safe, like the only times she ever saw Billy smile, like Steve a few times when she saw him over here, giggling like a fucking kid with Eddie over nothing—so she’s a little grossed out by how bitter it actually tastes and how it instantly makes her whole mouth feel dry and miserable, and she can’t hold the smoke in because duh this is the first time she’s ever tried to smoke anything, so she embarrassingly tries to hack up a lung. But Eddie doesn’t judge her, just gives her a minute to cough it out, her eyes watering again while Eddie takes the joint back.

“Steve’s going to kill you,” she says when her voice is back, and okay, she does feel a little better, feels something, miserable in a different way, a comfortable way. Dry mouth, lungs a little irritated, but the shake in her hands is gone.

“Only if you rat me out! Damn, Mayfield, I try to help a girl out and she turns on me.”

Max can't sleep, and neither can her neighbor.

[yuno-karei]

Misfits water gun fight! Who will emerge victorious? Only one way to find out

I did this piece for one of the @mairumadevizine prints! It was also done long before the beach chapters in the manga and I really just... balled with their designs

[catsgut]

FROM BUD TO BLOOM - GOJO

warning : incest, drugging, noncon

“we know you just turned 18, but we were your age once, you know. even if it was years and years ago,” you rolled your eyes and groaned, falling onto the couch. “we just know how kids your age think,” your dad said backing your mom up. they were leaving for a week for work and just broke the news to you that you wouldn’t be staying at your house alone. part of you could understand where they were coming from, but you had just turned 18. it was bullshit they didn’t trust you enough to not throw a party.

but somehow, someway, they trusted your immature and spontaneous uncle to hold the fort down while they were gone. you weren’t really close with uncle satoru, so it didn’t bother you any that he would be there, it was the lack of trust your parents had for you. it was almost insulting.

a loud knock on the thick wood of your front door brought you out of your thoughts. speak of the devil. “toru!” your dads voice boomed at the sight of his older brother, arms wrapping around his shoulders to pat on his back. “hey,” you heard a smooth voice follow before the sound of shoes on the floor. “good to see you again,” gojo said to your mom with a bow and his signature smile. you sat up and peered over at the three older adults in the entrance hall, looking over the man you rarely ever saw. you were surprised he even answered to the text your dad shot him about the favor they had needed. gojo’s predatory eyes wandered over to where you were sitting on the couch and smirked.

“hello, angel,” he spoke eyeing every inch you down as if he could see what you were thinking. “your babysitter has arrived!” his long legs brought him to stand over you, head leaning forward to get a good look at your face. it had been so long since he had seen his pretty little niece. you sighed, closing your eyes you laid back down ignoring the annoying comment, still feeling hurt by the lack of trust your parents had for you. “aw not happy to see your uncle, little girl?” he chuckled and looked back over to your parents. “you nothing to fear! i’ll make sure everything goes… smoothly.” they just nervously looked at one another before putting their bags in the car.

they said their goodbyes and you hugged your mom tight. “it’s not too late to tell him to leave,” you mumbled into her shoulder before she flicked your forehead. “nonsense. now be good for satoru,” she said before kissing your cheek. “we will be back in a week.”

honestly, the first few days went by fine. you hadn’t spoke to gojo much and just hid up in your bedroom playing computer games. he actually wasn’t so bad, usually watching tv, cooking something, or laying out by the pool. the one thing you did notice about uncle satoru was that he liked the ac on full blast. colder than what your parents usually keep it at. several times he has pointed out your clearly hard nipples through the thin fabric of your pajama shirt. “you cold?” he’d ask with a grin and you crossed your arms over your chest furiously. it was embarrassing, but you assumed it was because he was just as immature as when you were a kid.

even though he kept the house at freezing temperatures, gojo absolutely loved to spent time outside. he would stay out there hours laying in the sun. a couple of times you had caught yourself staring out your bedroom window at the shirtless man laying on the pool chair. although he was in his 40s, you could tell he was still very active for his age. your eyes traced down his abdomen, taking in every detail of his defined body before looking back up to his face. to your absolute horror, he was already looking back at you with a sky smile. you quickly sat back down on your bed feeling your face get hot.

after that you avoided him as best as you could. he probably thought you were some kind of pervert, and you hated yourself for it. his own niece looking at his body in that manner. god, you needed to get ahold of yourself.

“hey.” you heard a voice in your ear from behind. it was the middle of the night and you were making yourself a snack. startled, you quickly turned around to be face to face with your uncle. “hmm, are you avoiding me, little girl?” he cocked his head to the side. you groaned at the nickname he had decided to give you. “i’m not little anymore,” you rolled your eyes and turned your back to him, hiding your embarrassed face. why couldn’t he just leave you alone.

“that’s right! you’re 18 now… you feel any older?” gojo asked leaning against the counter next to you, arms crossing over his muscular chest. you shrugged and stared down at your hands. why was he talking to you so casually after what happened just hours earlier. “i remember when i was 18. had the girls alllll over me,”. he giggled and sighed as he reminisced. “of course, they still are.”

you stared over at him with a look of horror at his comment. “what? embarrassed? well don’t worry, i won’t tell if you won’t,” his big hand rubbed your shoulder before placing it on top of your head. “do you have a boyfriend, y/n?” you shook your head quickly feeling more and more uncomfortable. “never had one before.”

that seemed to get his attention because he raised an eyebrow. “never? wow… so you’re a virgin then right? damn, if i were your age i would have jumped at the chance.” you didn’t know how to answer that, almost feeling ashamed being called out for something that was probably weird for a girl your age. of course you were a virgin, never even having your first kiss.

gojo stared down onto you for what seemed like hours before leaning closer. “so what you’re saying is you aren’t really a woman…yet,” he harshly squeezed one of your cheeks before leaving you alone, standing there in shock. ‘was that normal for uncles to do?’ you thought. you tried to brush it off, hurrying up in the kitchen before running off to your bedroom for the night. did that really mean you weren’t a woman? is it really that obvious? it made you feel insecure and uncomfortable at the realization. little did you know, gojo couldn’t get the thought of his sweet little niece being a virgin. he felt like the luckiest man in the world.

on his third night over gojo had offered some alcohol after getting back from the store. he said it would be good for the both of you to drink and bond over a movie. not wanting to seem little, you accepted his offer, sipping on the mixed drink he gave you. it tasted fruity and made your face twist in disgust. did adults really drink this crap? you would never say it, but this was your first time having alcohol and so far you couldn’t say you were enjoying it.

but was it normal to feel this funny after a couple sips? ‘must be a lightweight,’ you thought, eyelids blinking almost in slow motion. alcohol felt weird… why was your body feeling heavier?

you looked over at your uncle who was watching tv a few feet from you. his long legs were spread and he was picking at a hangnail on his thumb, biting at it occasionally. you cocked your head to the side as you watched the man. you felt guilty at the fact your stomach was doing flips at the sight of him just existing. it wasn’t normal to have these thoughts about your uncle, but here you were thinking the nastiest things.

you watched his eyes flick over to where you were sitting, giggling to yourself with your legs crossed. “what’s so funny?” he sat up a bit and patted the spot next to him. “come sit by your uncle.” his long finger beckoned you over as you slowly crawled over to him, head running into the side of his shoulder from losing your balance. “woah there,” he laughed and wrapped an arm around you. “how you feelin’ kid?” his eyes stared at you already knowing the answer to his question.

truth is you could barley see at this point. “ish thisss… normal?” you mumbled, head rolling to the side. “just gave you a little something extra… to make ya feel good,” you heard him say under his breath before pushing your back against the couch. his words didn’t register in your brain, but you felt his big hands on your hips, massaging them. you felt his long fingers hook into your waist band, playing with it for a bit, before slowly pulling your pants down your thighs. everything was happening so fast yet so slow at the same time. “mmm what doinn’?” your question went unanswered as rubbed his pointer finger over your pussy, listening to the wet noises it made. you moaned and closed your eyes, lip being pulled in between your teeth.

he inserted his finger before a second and then a third. your body naturally reacted to the foreign feeling, back arching and hips lifted off the cushions of the couch. he chuckled and pushed on your lower stomach. you tried sitting up, but between whatever it was you had drank and your uncle pinning you down you were unable to do anything but lay there and take whatever he wanted to give.

“just stay right there pretty girl,” you barley heard him say, and after that everything went black. you didn’t know what was happening to you even if you tried to fight it, drifting off into sleep. the last thing you remember was hearing the sound of fabric rustling, not knowing it was gojo taking off his sweat pants.

“missed you,” you hugged your mother tightly, face burring into her neck. you really, really did.

after that movie night with uncle satoru, you had felt off. your lower body ached and your head was fuzzy. you chalked it up to lack of sleep, but something deep down told you it wasn’t…. you were missing something big that happened but you couldn’t remember for the life of you. maybe it was the fact you woke up in your bed in a different pair of clothes, or maybe it was the weird sticky mess in your panties. the whole situation was off.

“she’s been an angel all week,” he told your parents with a hand on your shoulder. your parents told gojo he was so generous and that they were so thankful for helping them out. he even offered to let you stay with him when you went to college! your parents were so very happy to hear that, telling you it would be an amazing experience. you knew they just wanted you out the house, but all you could do was smile, not knowing what to do or say, showing gojo he got away with his sins that took place that night. showing him that he would be able to get away with something far, far worse.

[lonicera-caprifolium]

a Christmas meal to go with @mirjam-writes' absolutely gorgeous fic--

Be Still My Soul (link ✨️)