#SOAP has a little bit of a heavier sound but it's so so good

[pixiis-blog]

If people are still looking for a Lovejoy replacement (like I was a week ago) I highly recommend the band SOAP! Their sound and general vibe is similar to Lovejoy without the Wilbur in it.

[mysaintkitten]

I fully forgot I had this .. so here’s a little something for y’all lol

prompt: Jonathan calls you up after having a few drinks

WARNINGS: SMUT (18+ MDNI), mentions of alcohol/intoxication, brief mentions of suicide, subby-ish Jonathan, phone sex, come eating

*not proofread & old as hell*

you’re abruptly awoken by the phone ringing. through squinted eyes, you peak at the clock sitting on top of your nightstand.

1:03 am flashes at you. who’s calling at this hour? you drag your body out of bed and trudge your way over to the living room where your home phone resides. once there, you drop to the couch and grab the phone, putting it up to your ear.

“hello?” you groan, you hear a small snicker on the other end.

“hiii babyyy!” they respond, clearly a little tipsy, you immediately recognize the voice.

it’s jonathan, your close friend, who had recently got placed into a psyche ward after attempting to kill himself. you hadn’t heard from him since he had told you the news. now here he is, ringing your phone at 1 am, while simultaneously dropping a “baby” bomb on you.

“jonathan?” you blurted, feeling yourself become a bit more awake, “what are you doing? why are you up? how do you even have access to a phone right now?”

he sighs into the phone, “me and toby sn- toby’s m’pal .. by the way .. we snuck out ‘n had a few drinks ..” his mumbles, “now ‘m allllll alone ..” he whines, dragging out the all to emphasize his loneliness, “oh ‘n about the phone .. since i’ve been so good they gave me a landline, cordless too, i mean they couldn’t give me a cord ‘cause i might wrap it around my neck, but it’s nifty!”

you roll your eyes. of course he’d do some shit like this. if it was any other friend, you would’ve told them bluntly that you’re not in the mood to talk, but jonathan was an exception right now. he was in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people, and his comment about wrapping the cord around his neck grounded you back into reality. you decided to chat with him for a while.

“is that so?” you reply, “how’d the night go?”

“fun!” he bubbled, “oh m’god .. me and toby .. my friend .. we saw this piss drunk guy fall in the street!” he giggles while recounting the incident. you giggle with him, not so much at the story, but at the fact that he felt the need to reiterate that he has a friend named toby.

“that sound very funny, jon, but shouldn’t you be getting some sleep?”

he whines, “‘m not tired! plus i’ve been thinking about you .. that’s why i called .. wanted to hear your voice ..”

oh?

“why’d you wanna hear my voice? you miss me that much?” you joke, relaxing more into the couch. he hums, “jus’ like how it sounds ..”

“well. you woke me up, and i don’t think i’ll be able to go back to sleep, so you’re welcome to listen to my voice for a while.” you chuckle softly, not thinking too heavily about his intentions. he’s drunk, after all.

“hmm ..” he mumbles in approval, “can you jus’ talk? tell me about your day, love ..”

your brows furrow a bit at the request, but you oblige.

“i didn’t do too much .. just showered .. picked up a bit .. it was nice though.”

he groans quietly at you mentioning showering.

“mmh .. wards got no nice soaps .. i like how your soaps smell. always smellin’ so good ..” he murmurs, through the phone you can hear some minor rustling, but you assume it’s just jonathan drunkenly tossing and turning.

you laugh at his odd compliment, “you think i smell nice?”

“oh, i think a lot of you s’nice, darling.” he assures, his breathing becoming heavier

“what else about me is nice, jonathan?” you ask, thinking he’ll say something corny like your humour or your personality.

“that face f’yours .. gorgeous ..” he giggles and huffs, “‘n that body .. maybe it’s ’cause ‘m all alone .. ‘n a bit tipsy .. but i can’t stop thinkin’ about touchin’ you ..”

oh.

you’re not too sure what to say. you’ve been friends with jonathan for years, you would have never assumed that he wanted you that way. jonathan was very attractive, and you’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about him in a sexual way before.

“jonathan ..” you reply calmly, “i think you’re just drunk and confused, how about we talk more tomorrow? you can call me when-“

he whines, “no, baby, ‘m sorry .. i’ve just wanted you .. for so long ..” he hums as his breathing becomes louder, “‘n now .. just your voice got me s’hard ..”

you pause, listening to jonathan, you still hear the shuffling and his breathing. occasionally he whines a few times, is he touching himself?

“jon, are you .. getting off right now?”

he chuckles, “s’hard .. mmh .. thought i might faint.”

you hate to admit it, but hearing jonathan’s neediness got you a little worked up. knowing he was hard just from your voice ignited some interesting feelings from within you.

as your mind is racing, jonathan speaks, “if i w’s there .. would y’touch me?”

your heart begins to pound, his words have become more direct. he’s not just rambling about how he feels, he wants to know how you feel. you slip one of your hands into your panties, feeling how slick you’ve become from jonathan’s words. you might as well get yourself off as well.

instead of answering, you flip the question. “i’m wondering what you’d do if i was there.” you laugh breathily as you gently rub your clit. jonathan whines into the phone, “god, baby, s’filthy. y’don’t even wanna know ..”

“tell me. i want to hear it.” you pry as you become more aroused, hearing jonathan moan weakly at his own thoughts.

“mmh .. wanna eat your cunt .. make y’come at least once on m’face ..” he groans, “wanna fuck you. raw. make y’shake ‘n cry from my cock. wanna make that cunt feel so so good.”

jesus. really didn’t take much convincing for him to spill his thoughts. you bite your lip at his words, hearing his fantasies made you blush embarrassingly hard.

“hm .. yeah?” you moan into the phone, rubbing your clit at a quicker pace

“‘n i wanna eat you again after my cocks been ‘nside you .. lick up our come ..” jonathan gasps, through the phone you can hear him fisting his now slick cock. “then i wanna kiss you when m’done ..” he adds, chuckling a bit.

“god ..” you sigh, “you are filthy.”

you’re finding it difficult to hold back your moans, you almost want jonathan to hear them at this point.

“you .. you got me all wet, jon ..” you admit a bit awkwardly, you’ve never had phone sex before, but you don’t think jonathan will notice.

he whimpers “are y’touching yourself, baby?”

“yeah .. yeah i am ..” you purr, sliding a finger inside yourself and moaning softly as you plunge it in and out.

“jesus, fuck ..” he huffs, “you rubbin’ your clit? or fingering yourself?”

“i’m doing both .. switchin’ every now and then ..” you coo, adding a second finger inside. you hiss slightly at the change, but your cunt quickly adapts and accepts the second finger.

“mmh!” jonathan moans, “s’hot, knowing you’ve got y’fingers all over that pussy .. you sensitive, baby?”

he’s really into calling you baby. although it feels foreign, you’re not opposed to it at all.

“yeah .. a bit ..” you chuckle breathlessly as you remove your slick fingers out and bring them back to your clit.

“oh, fuck ..” he whimpers loudly, “baby, baby, ‘m not gonna last- m’sorry ..”

you could tell from jonathan’s tone and desperate little whimpers that he was close, he didn’t need to tell you, but it’s kind of nice that he at least let you know.

“that’s okay, come jon. show me how good it feels.” you purr. he can’t physically show you, but he can verbalize it, and he does.

“mmf- fuck, baby, ‘m comin’-“ he moans loudly, you’re worried other people in the ward might hear him.

“that’s it, come on yourself jon, good boy.” you encourage, you’re almost surprised that you called him a good boy, you never expected that to slip out.

his moans dwindle into small little whimpers as he rides out the orgasm, huffing quietly once he’s come down.

“‘m all messy, baby ..” he giggles,

“poor thing, you gonna clean yourself up?” you hum to tease.

“mhm .. nice ‘n clean ..” he mumbles as you hear him making small sucking and licking noises,

“jon, are you licking up your come?” you nearly chuckle at him,

“well no one’s ‘ere to do it for me ..” he whines, continuing to lick away his come.

“jesus. dirty, dirty boy.” you scold playfully, toying with your clit again.

“‘m a dirty boy ..” he repeats while yawning, “dirty boy.”

“you tired?” you ask softly,

“mmh, yeah, little bit ..” he mumbles,

“how about you get some sleep and we talk more tomorrow, all right?”

“mmh.. but i wanna talk ..” he groans,

you laugh weakly at his determination, “i’ll be here tomorrow. trust me. get some sleep. we can talk when you’re more awake and sober.”

“fine .. g’night baby. sweet dreams.” he gives in, yawning again

“sleep well, jonathan.” you close before hanging up. as you place the phone down, you’re left with silence and your thoughts. you decide you might as well get yourself off, and you do, you come in your pants to the thought of jonathan’s whimpers and moans. then, you clean yourself off before heading back to bed.

—

Not to jinx myself … but I am currently writing. Send me good energy yall please

[captain-mj]

I really love your Selkie!Soap au. Maybe Ghost could discover a bit more about Selkie culture, and the generational trauma that Soap might have?

YES!! Love this! Direct continuation of the previous post

Ghost brought Soap a deer. Soap stared at it for a minute before laughing. "What do we do now?"

Ghost hummed. "I'll clean it and cook it for you." And you'll fall in love with me.

"I see." Soap smiled. "Need any help?"

"No, I got it. It's bloody work but if you want sit with me..."

So they sat together in the little shed, both mostly quiet but the radio was playing. Soap watched him work and Ghost tried not to glance at him too often. He wore a surgical mask but that was more for cleanliness than anything else.

They ate well, both of them sitting next to each other as the sun set.

Soap ended up stealing some of Ghost's off his plate despite there being plenty of food still in the kitchen but it was fine. He glared at Soap who only smiled at him.

A ringtone sounded and Soap froze. It sounded like a personal one.

Ghost didn't move for a moment, waiting for Soap to pick it up. Soap just stared for a minute, picking at the food for a second before remembering himself and answering.

"Hey, dad."

Ghost perked up immediately. He had heard next to nothing about Soap's dad. He wondered if he was a selkie too. Or something else.

"Yes, sir. I am on leave, but my..." There was a pause before Soap swallowed. "My coat holder commanded I come with him."

Ghost frowned a little, but he stayed quiet.

"Yes. It's new. I haven't had... Yes, sir." Soap was visibly wilting. "I am... He's commanding me back. Sorry, sir." He hung up after a second and quietly put his phone down.

"I take it your dad is not... good?"

"No. I hope you two never have to talk, but its best he doesn't know we're close." Soap rubbed his arm, looking tiny and cold. Ghost scooted closer.

"Are you alright?"

"It's how he always is. He was excited someone has my coat again. That I'm at your mercy. He's a fucking prick." Soap looked down. "My mom can't leave him or else I'd never talk to him again."

"He... has her coat?"

"Yeah. I tried to find it. Took a couple slaps for it. But I never could. Swear I tore that place apart looking."

Ghost pulled Soap closer. "I see."

"He's such a bawbag."

"Is she the only selkie you know?"

"No. I know a few. All of them are like her. Trapped in their positions. Either as a spouse or caretaker or worker or..." Soap sighed. "No choice. No control. Stuck until either the coatholder dies or we get lucky."

Ghost was quiet for a while before reaching over and pulling him closer. "You... want this, right?"

"I do. Don't worry. You gave it back. You're a good man." He leaned into him. "My sister got lucky. She's just human. My other sister is a selkie but dad... protects her a little more. I think it's because she's the baby."

"Coatholder. Is that what you guys call them?"

"Not the most creative name, but yeah. Gets the message across. For a while Master was used but... yeah, it felt just a little too degrading." Soap hummed and shoved the plate towards him. "He'll want to meet you. I can try to lie and keep you from him. I don't... I don't want him to know it's my choice. If he knows..." Soap started to breath heavier, holding on to Ghost.

"Johnny, you're okay. He can't do anything to you."

"It's not me I'm worried about." Soap said softly. "If he gets upset he takes it on her and..."

Ghost winced. This entire situation reminding him just a little too much of his own time growing up. "If your mom had left your dad, would you have grown up a seal?"

"No. She likely would've abandoned me." Soap answered honestly. "It sucks but that's reality. I would've been left with him and my sisters. Can't blame her. She didn't choose to have me."

Ghost frowned and gently touched his chin, making him look at him. He smiled awkwardly. "You know when I came back from the military, the first thing I did was wait in my mom's kitchen."

"Why?"

"For my dad to hit her. He did eventually. He always did. It was all the excuse I need. I dragged him outside and beat him to hell for it."

Soap looked surprised. "Damn."

"Mom kicked me out for it. But she didn't let him back in the house either and that's all that mattered to me." Ghost took a deep breath. "I should meet your dad."

"Simon. You can't beat up my dad."

"I could, but I just think I should meet him. I want to meet your mom too."

Soap didn't look convinced but he nodded. "Alright, Si. Alright." He kissed his hand gently, looking tired. "Mind if we go to bed?"

Ghost hummed. "Course not. I'll see you in the morning."

"I'll be in the spare room, of course." Soap smiled at him, a hint of teasing there.

Ghost followed him like a shadow until he got to his door and then went to his own room.

Once he was in bed, he stared up at the ceiling quietly. He thought of Soap's mom, the gentle voice on the phone and how Soap shrank back.

It must be hard. Trusting Ghost of all people with so much. Even now, the thought occurred to him that it wouldn't be very hard for him to take the coat back. Or even just hurt him. They were alone in the middle of the woods.

And Soap still trusted him.

If it was anyone else, he'd call them an idiot for trusting the Ghost, but he knew as well as Johnny did that Ghost was harmless to him.

Did those other selkies think their human was harmless? Was their first meeting them taking the coat? Demanding so much from them?

Someone had done this before. Soap had mentioned someone had taken it before. On purpose. Had they hurt him? Forced him to do anything?

The idea of a younger Soap being controlled the way Ghost had read about in those stories made him feel sick.

He got up at some point and like the needle on a compass, he pointed towards his north star.

Soap was probably asleep. He also used the spare for a reason. Ghost shouldn't bother him. There were boundaries for a reason.

Soap's sad eyes popped back into his head. The distant look when he talked about the past or the others he knew.

He didn't knock in case he was asleep.

Soap jerked up immediately. "Jesus, Ghost you scared me. Something wrong?"

"Scoot over."

"What?"

"Scoot over." Ghost repeated, staring at him. Both their eyes reflected the light, both finding each other easily.

Once Soap did move over, Ghost climbed in with him. He pulled him safely to his chest and held him.

"No one is ever going to touch you again." Ghost mumbled into his hair. "I'm never going to let something like that happen to you again."

"You don't even know what they did." Soap knew exactly what Ghost was talking about, like always.

"Doesn't matter." Ghost squeezed him. "Never again."

Soap let Ghost hold him, putting his head on Ghost's shoulder. "Get some sleep, Simon. I know you must be tired."

Ghost slept better knowing Soap was safe with him.

[mikhailwrites]

Keep Your Aim True

Repost from my AO3, one shot about Soap being into archery, Ghost finds out and some teaching (and touching) ensues.

Ghost stops dead in his tracks. There he is, the sergeant. Standing in the range, tall and proud, but the stance is just wrong. Then he picks something up and Ghost understands even if he doesn’t understand, not really. Because… a bow? Seriously?

The lieutenant stalks along the wall, not making the slightest sound, and just watches Soap. The posture is new. Ghost studies it, taking mental notes. He has no idea why, but he still does it.

Soap slots in an arrow, raises his arm, and locks his shoulders as he draws the string. It’s a fluid and well-practiced move. He goes and goes, drawing further, muscles working and flexing under the regulation green t-shirt. The moment he releases the string startles Ghost a little. There's a whistle, and the arrow buries itself in the target. It’s not quite bull’s eye, but it’s close.

He watches Soap, transfixed by the sight. It seems almost mechanical, the way he takes an arrow out of the quiver on his hip, slots it, holds up the bow, draws, and releases. Again and again, until there are no arrows left. He’s accurate, too, arrows slotted in a nice cluster.

“I can feel you burning holes to the back of my head, you know,” Soap chuckles as he puts the bow down.

Ghost says nothing. He’s not really surprised the sergeant knew about him all along. You can only serve so many missions together without developing an almost supernatural skill to sniff out your teammates.

“Wanna try it?” Soap grins at him as he walks up to retrieve the arrows. “Bet you’d be good with it, too. Or maybe it’s the one thing you would suck at?” There’s an underlying challenge there. Ghost contemplates.

“I could try,” he shrugs, walking up and stepping into the light.

“You gotta get rid of the gloves, though, they’re no good for this,” Soap says as he unclips his guard, handing it to Ghost. “Wear it, trust me.”

Ghost draws the string, it’s heavy, heavier than he’d anticipated. Obviously, it's still not a problem in the slightest, but it catches him by surprise. As he releases the string, the arrow whistles through the air before hitting the target with a definite 'thud'. Well, it doesn't quite hit the target, just the general area. Ghost grunts, disappointed and annoyed. He's an elite sniper, and this definitely shouldn't be harder than hitting a target at 2K.

“Hey, not bad,” Soap says, coming to his rescue. “When I was shooting for the first time, I never found one of the arrows. Try again, I’ll just… correct you a wee bit.”

So Ghost goes at it again. He is holding the bow up in his left hand. Soap is suddenly there, way too close, and holding his wrist. “You have to relax it, don't grip it tight, just... let it rest against your palm.”

“I’m gonna drop it,” Ghost remarks.

“You won’t. Hold it, but gently, it’s not heavy and it won’t kick you like a gun would, you dinnae need to put strength into it, just lock yer arm, like this,” Soap steps so close to Ghost’s back the Lieutenant can feel his body heat and tenses immediately. Soap, apparently ignorant of the effect he has on Ghost, just slides along him, lowers his shoulder a little bit, and slightly rotates Ghost’s elbow: “You gotta remember this, or you’re in for some pain. Here. Draw.” Ghost does. He feels the resistance but it’s just like Soap said, he doesn’t need to grip the bow hard, his arm and the string will leverage it. “Aye, that’s it, just like that,” Soap speaks softly, close to his ear, and with that, Ghost’s focus shifts entirely to him.

“You’re tense. Relax, or you’ll fuck up your shot,” Soap smiles. Ghost thinks: No shit. “Draw it back more. Don't worry; it won't snap.” It’s not the string he’s worried about. Nonetheless, Ghost follows the instruction. He feels his grip on the string unexpectedly loosen, startles, and just plucks it. Arrow flies and hits even more off than the first one.

“That was better,” Soap says, and Ghost is entirely unsure if he’s fucking with him or not.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Ghost grunts.

“No, I’m serious. It gets worse before it gets better, I promise. Go on,” Soap nods. Ghost is sceptical but slots in another black arrow. This time, Soap doesn’t touch him, and Ghost does hit the actual target, even though it’s the outer edge of it.

“That’s what I’m talking about! Damn, you could be so deadly with it after some practice!”

“Could you even kill something with this?” Ghost doesn’t even try to hide his doubt.

“Sure. A man with this one, a man wearing body armour with a proper hunting compound bow. Of course, a crossbow would be more practical and more powerful if you, for some reason, couldn’t or wouldn’t use a gun.”

„If you can’t use it in combat, why bother? “

„Ah guess it helps, ye know, “Soap weaved his hand noncommittally, his accent getting thicker, betraying an underlying nervousness.

„I don't," Ghost says, inclining his head to catch a glimpse of Soap with the corner of his eye.

„With the restlessness. It helps with that. I gotta be… present and calm to do it right,“ the sergeant admits, looking a bit sheepish.

"Hm," Ghost huffs, returning his gaze to the target. "Isn't sniping the same? You could use some practice at that too."

"It's not the same. It's... I guess a bit similar since it's methodical and requires focus, but it's not as complex."

“Sniping’s not as complex?” Ghost repeats, incredulous.

“Yeah, that came out wrong. It is complex, just not as much physically complex.”

“Oh yeah? You ever tried one of those big fuckers? Anti-materiel? They kick like a bloody horse.”

“Aye, but that’s just about bracing for the kick. The shooting process is the same, and it doesn't require you to control your body in the same way archery does. I’m not trying to oversell it, you’re a mean sniper Lt., I couldn’t do what you can.”

“Wouldn't be so sure. You seem pretty accurate with this, and I’ve seen you with a rifle. You’re not half bad.”

“Hah! Now you're trying to oversell me. I knew you liked me," Soap grins, and Ghost feels a sudden urge to remove the expression from his face by means he shouldn't even be thinking about.

“Told you before: I like you alive, Johnny,” Ghost says quietly. This is dangerous ground. One he shouldn’t tread in public. In Las Almas, things were dire. Ghost isolated, Soap wounded, limping across the town with only Ghost’s voice in his ear to hold on to. Ghost could excuse the lack of decorum then, but now?

“That you did,” Soap smiles, and there’s something in his eyes that has Ghost looking away immediately. He tries to hide his discomfort by reaching around Soap and plucking another arrow from the quiver. The bow might as well save him.

Or not. As he draws again, Johnny's hands are there too. Touching his back. “Undraw it, please,” Soap asks. Ghost complies. “You’re using your arms’ strength.”

“That’s wrong?” Ghost asks. He does hold the bow in one hand and draws with the other, how is he not to use his arm’s strength?

“Aye, it's really your back that should do the work. Let me show you," he takes off his shirt and takes the bow. “Put a hand between my shoulder blades.” Ghost does, willing himself to stay perfectly still. The skin under his palm is dry and warm. He’s aware of the power hidden underneath. Soap draws the string. Slowly. Ghost gets the message, feeling and also seeing Soap’s back muscles work, shoulder blades pressing close together. “Can you feel it? Now my wrist is slack, shoulder’s relaxed, I’m not leaning on my upper arm strength, don’t need to. I go on,” he draws the string back, fingers tucked beneath the chin. “And let go,” he whispers as the string slips from his fingers. His aim is true.

Ghost knows he can take his hand off of Soap now. He doesn’t, and the sergeant just stands there, unmoving and silent, which is quite a change. Ghost feels bold. He slides his palm up along Soap's spine to his neck. Soap tenses ever so slightly and huffs out a breath.

“You seemed a bit tense there,” Ghost says, trying to justify his action.

“You know,” there’s a smile in Soap’s voice, “you might be right. Better check some more.”

Here is an invitation he should absolutely refuse. He doesn’t. Instead, his fingers dig into the muscle, not too much, but certainly enough for Soap to feel it. The sergeant gasps as Ghost adds his other hand, too.

Johnny’s still, pliant. Ghost kneads at Johnny's neck and shoulders, purposefully keeping his thoughts at bay.

Soap turns without going out of Ghost’s reach. His eyes are dark. He’s slightly flushed as he licks his lips in a cheap bait that almost offends Ghost. Ghost yanks his balaclava up his nose as he grabs Soap by the neck and slams the man to him. The kiss, if it could even be called that, is not pretty. Sloppy, full of teeth, and perfect in just the way they crave. It doesn’t last long, as they’re still in the middle of a shooting range. Anyone could walk in on them, and Ghost would rather not murder a fellow soldier today.

“Fuck, Johnny,” Ghost says, quietly, still holding on to the other man.

“Gladly, we should probably do it somewhere else, though,” Soap grins.

“You’re stupid, and you’re making me stupid, too,” Ghost groans, pulling the balaclava back down.

“Aye, but I’m your stupid,” Johnny smiles, the sweetest and brattiest thing.

“That doesn’t even make sense. But yeah, you are,” Ghost shakes his head before stepping back. To anyone, he’d look as cold and stoic as ever. Soap, however, doesn’t miss the soft look in his eyes. He's definitely not going to be sleeping in his own bed tonight.

[sweetberrysmooch]

HC: And There Was Only One Bed (Affectionate) [pt. 1]

(Zzzzzzz.....)

(This is unfortunately gonna have to be in several parts, mainly so I can get something out to you guys while still being able to work on the rest ^^)

Basic sleeping hcs with ya boys, and sort of... smell hcs? Idk, I got into a mood and couldn’t stop writing about smells so here it goes lol.

Characters: Dream, Techno, Wilbur.

Warnings: There’s mentions of nightmares in Dream’s and a emotional breakdown in Wilbur’s, but that’s it.

Song Recommendation: Dream A Little Dream Of Me- The Mamas & Papas.

Up Next- Quackity, George, and Bad. [pt. 2]

Hope you have nice day today <3 Enjoy!

Dream:

Depending on where you’ve fallen asleep, Dream will kind of work with your position before he lets himself relax.

He prefers it when the two of you are in your bed, with him near the closest door and on his back and with you sleeping against his side, arm stretched over his middle. It’s a good way for him to be between any intruders that may come and to still have you close. But no matter where you are, he has to make sure that he can protect you before he lets his guard down.

Another position he likes is when you’re tucked against his chest under his chin, sitting on his lap or curled up together in bed. Being tall with a broad chest means he makes a pretty good pillow, so use those puppies when you can 👀👀

Smells like a forest, most times. Almost like wild honey, but it’s a very delicate smell. You don’t notice it until your first hug, when you were upset and crying and he pulled you to into his arms so you could hide your face. Now you smell it everywhere he is, in your house, on your bed, even your clothes smell like him. Neither of you say anything, but he slowly begins leaving his soap at your house. Just in case, y’know, if you ever run out.

Other times, when he seems a little more... off, he smells like the beginning to a storm, like ozone and petrichor. Those days he doesn’t speak that much, and keeps you at arms length. He sits quietly and watches your doors and windows with obvious intent, and is gone before morning. You don’t think he even moved from his spot throughout the night, much less slept there. You don’t see him for a few days afterwards.

Usually he remains as still as a log, but sometimes he has fidgeting fits where he twitches and grumbles to himself. Sometimes you’ll even catch him speaking full-on sentences, though they don’t make much sense. Mostly normal out of place stuff, but once you heard him talking about someone called DreamXD, and figured you’d ask him about his oc the next morning.

He has nightmares often too. It’s hard to tell when he’s asleep but he’ll wake up sweating and trembling and lean over you to check you’re still breathing. He won’t ever tell you what they’re about, but it isn’t hard to guess when he buries his nose into your hair and holds you tightly like you might leave him.

If the two of you aren’t sleeping in your house or completely alone, he won’t sleep until you are. Sleep loss doesn’t quite affect him like it does others until after a pretty long time of not doing it, to which he’ll become surlier and more angry until he eventually just clocks out. He wakes up extremely well rested 2 days later and the process repeats. Sleeping at your house is the closest he gets to proper sleeping, and it’s the only time he can ever feel truly relaxed when doing so.

When he can’t fall asleep, he goes straight to watching you. He gently plays with your hair and fiddles with your fingers, relishing in how unmarred and soft they are in comparison to his much rougher, bigger ones. It’s a sure fire way to get him to mellow out and relax, and he finds that sleep ends up coming much quicker.

(Dream wakes up in warmth one night, with rain knocking on window panes instead of what ever shelter he could scrape together and a fire crackling far off. He deduces immediately that he’s in someones house, and it doesn’t take long before he notices the owner, asleep in his lap. 

Your legs are slung over the arm of the padded chair he’s sitting in, a book (one of his own, he acknowledges, an older version of a well known storybook that he has memorized already) loosely held onto in your hands, and your head rests on his shoulder. 

He expects to feel worried soon, the fear of you getting close to him reappearing to ruin another close moment. But it never comes. All he can feel is the safety and comfort you always emanate, driving away his tension and soothing his mind. He closes his eyes, and falls back asleep.)

Techno:

Techno is very very touch starved ^^; While he may not be the only one on this list that is, Techno is definitely the most…. shy about it. He won’t ever directly ask to sleep next to you, and will actively try to avoid that. He’s afraid of making you uncomfortable but also of being close to you in general? It’s an odd mix of emotions, like eating mints and a hot pepper at the same time and then feeling hell fire burn inside of your body. Anytime the two of you have to sleep in the same room as each other, he will immediately offer you the better spot and go find a chair to sleep in, and he won’t accept a no.

The most you can do is make the choice to go sleep next to him. It’ll weird him out a little before becoming overwhelmingly endearing when he processes the fact that you would rather sleep next to him than somewhere more pleasant. When you’re asleep however, he’ll pick you up and move you to the place where he wanted you to be. He’ll drape his massive cape over your body and (after assuring himself six different times that you are in fact asleep) softly press a kiss to the crown of your head. If he runs his thumb over your cheek once, then thats his business.

Later on in your relationship though, after he relaxes and settles a bit, it’s pretty unusual if you don’t fall asleep next to him. He still won’t outright ask for it, but he kinda just hopes that when he starts his nightly routine before bed that you’ll just join him without needing to be asked. Having you there helps him sleep better, you act as both a silencer for the voices and someone to hold close when he’s at his most vulnerable.

When sleeping in bed together, he prefers to pull you close and curl around you in a half pulled fetus position. He’s usually a heavy sleeper, and actively clings on to you when asleep. It's an impressive feat if you can break free from his strong arms while they’re wrapped around your middle, and you leaving inevitably wakes him up. He’ll go searching for you then, barely awake, just to pull you back to bed to be his teddy bear again.

And speaking of the voices, while generally they’re loud and insistent, occupying his mind more than he does at times, their reaction to you baffles him so much. In place of the usual screaming is gentle mumbling, quiet whispers about how nice you look today or how pink and soft your cheeks look. It’s a welcome relief, and no matter how he hard he ignores the fact that he’s wrapped around your finger, he’s glad to know they care for you as much as he does.

He also smells pretty nice, it’s this natural musk he has mixed with a muted minty scent. The mint smell comes from this fancy soap Phil had gotten him a while back that he hadn’t given much thought about until you said something. Techno’s already a clean kind of guy, but after hearing your praises of his smell he almost begs Phil to get him more.

Snores, but in a quiet reserved way. Sometimes he makes soft cute noises, like little happy sounds when you snuggle into him more, or bashful grumbles when you kiss him before bed.

(Sunlight flickers through the blinds of Techno’s room, streaking across your face and waking you from sleep. Sighing quietly, you lift your head a little and stretch as best you can while being held in place at his side, before snuggling back into your spot, fully content to stay there for the rest of the morning. 

As you enjoy the moment, you savor the gentle snores that rumble in his chest, his strong heart thumping beneath your ear, and the way his hand kneads your hip as he wakes. 

‘It’s a good morning to sleep in.’ Your mind says quietly, and with how he rolls over to face you and kiss your forehead, it seems Techno thinks so too.)

Wilbur:

The way Wilbur sleeps really depends on what Wilbur it is.

To start off though, a few general things. He’s a neat sleeper, doesn’t snore, doesn’t move a whole lot, and smells pretty nice too. His smell also came from a fancy soap he got from Phil, but it smelled like sugar and lemons and it was a lot heavier than Techno’s. He would always take showers before bed because he knew you liked how it smelled, and often he would offered to share it with you (so that you would smell like him). Once he was exiled, he didn’t have the liberty of bathing as frequently as he used to, and he stopped using the fancy soap because he thought it felt tainted. He’d end up smelling like stale air and gunpowder, though he’d never tell you what the smell was from.

With sleep, if it’s pre-Pogtopia Wilbur, you get a fairly standard sleeping arrangement of him crawling up into between your legs to flop down on your stomach with a sigh, waiting impatiently for you to get comfortable and curl around him like you usually do. Your hand comes to cradle his head closer to your chest and he nuzzles into your collarbone before falling asleep near immediately. The two of you wake up tangled completely together and immensely comfortable. Wilbur used to sleep in on days like that, quietly savoring the peace that came with you and your generous hands that would slowly brush through his sleep-messed hair. Even after the election, when he starts descending into madness, the memories serve as a final comfort to him.

Post-Pogtopia Wilbur (Vilbur, if you will) is a stark contrast to his old self. He’s more bitter, more reserved, and even more paranoid. He doesn’t sleep with you anymore, at least never consistently, and the only times he does is when he’s so emotionally fraught that he passes out from the stress and lack of sleep midway through you trying to calm him down. You usually end up just kind of holding him close, praying that when he wakes up you can settle him before he works himself up again. You fall asleep like that, tired and restless.

(He rouses from sleep a few hours later, curled up in your arms and still exhausted from the breakdown. Your chest rises and falls slowly behind him, face smushed into his hair and completely relaxed. 

For a moment, all is calm again. He can pretend that it’s just how it used to be before the election had happened, that the two of you are back at home, happy and stable. 

His hands tremble when they reach for yours, and he grants himself the freedom to cry while you’re still sleeping, ignoring the fact that the next day will be just like the last, and that nothing has changed.)

See you next time :D

[magpie-to-the-morning]

Sundress Season

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.5k

Tags: Fluff, Domestic af, Hurt/Comfort, Nothing major the Reader got some scratches gardening and Frankie is Concerned, p in v sex, wrap it before you tap it, Size Kink, Sort Of, Exhibitionism, If You Squint, A little, Dirty Talk, mostly just tooth-rotting fluff (plus a little loving smut),Triple Frontier, Frankie “Catfish” Morales, Domestic, Gardening, Outdoor Sex, No Beta

Summary: You and Frankie have just moved into a farmhouse fixer upper and are enjoying the first warm day of spring. A lazy afternoon nap turns into something... more.

Read on Ao3

Leaning the shovel against the white picket fence, you stand back to take an appraising look at your handiwork, squinting against the midday sun. You’ve taken advantage of one of the first truly warm days of spring to plant some blackberry bushes along the boundary of your new home. Sweat slides down your spine and you can already feel a dull ache spreading through your calves and along your forearms, but you toss aside your leather work gloves with a grin, proud of your morning’s work. You brush your hair away from your face with the back of an arm, leaving a trace of dirt along your forehead. “Frankie, come look.”

“One sec.” His answer is muffled, even considering it’s coming from inside the old farmhouse the two of you have just moved into, and you realize he must still be working on the kitchen sink.

You enter the house, surprisingly cool and dim after the sunny warmth outside, and walk to the kitchen. Frankie’s legs jut out from beneath the sink, and all you can see of him are his work boots, khaki pants, and a glimpse of his soft stomach where the rusty red t-shirt he’s wearing has ridden up. You lean against a nearby counter, the smooth stone lip pressing into your lower back, and smile down fondly at him. “How’s the sink coming?”

The house is a dream come true for both of you, but it’s also needed a ton of work both inside and out. You’ve already sanded floors, patched up creaking stairs, painted most of the rooms, and ripped out overgrown hedges that had threatened to take over the yard. Once you’d cleared them out, the yard and gardens became an invitingly open canvas, just waiting for you to make your own.

The two of you had spent several late winter evenings curled up in front of the stone hearth, seed catalogs and plant nursery order slips laid out in front of you, arguing pleasantly over how to cram in every plant both of you want. You’re determined to line the yard with fruit trees and shrubs, while Frankie is surprisingly invested in the beds where he plans to cultivate tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, and a variety of herbs. At least you both agreed to leave the large, well-established lilac trees bookending the house, and you’re currently waiting to see who will win the bet about what color the sprawling, thorn-covered rose bushes will be. You’re hoping for a buttery yellow to complement the lilacs, while Frankie is holding out hope that they’ll be the same pale pink as the roses he’d brought you for one of your first dates.

This morning, just when the two of you had made plans to tackle some of the new plantings, the kitchen drain had backed up. You’d decided that job would be better handled by Frankie and headed out to start the landscaping yourself. “Almost there, I just need to…” Frankie’s deep in concentration, and you swear you can almost see him sticking the tip of his tongue out as he focuses. There’s a final sound of metal scraping against metal, followed by a victorious “ha! Try it now.”

“You sure? I don’t want to soak you.”

A muted huff echoes from the space below the sink. “What, you don’t trust me?”

“Ok,” you shrug. “Just don’t blame me if you get a faceful of water.” You turn the tap on slowly and watch as the water spirals easily down the drain. “Hey, you did it!”

Frankie braces a hand along the top of the cabinet and pulls himself to his feet. “Don’t sound so surprised,” he teases. “Told you I could do it.”

“My hero,” you say lightly, crossing the floor to kiss his smiling cheek. His scruff scrapes lightly against your face, and you find yourself lingering, especially when he captures your lips for a proper kiss. “Now I can wash some of this dirt off- I feel like I brought half the yard in.” After the hours you spent planting various shrubs and a few small fruit trees, your arms are streaked with dry soil.

“Here, let me help you.”

Frankie steps behind you, his broad form leaning against yours as you stand at the newly repaired sink. His thighs press lightly against your own as his arms encircle your waist. He leans his chin on your shoulder and his messy curls brush against your ear while he begins to run soap over your forearms. You laugh, his efforts mostly just splashing dirty water around, but the cool water is a welcome relief. “Frankie! I can do it myself.”

You can feel him smiling against your neck. “I know, I just- oh.” His voice turns suddenly soft, with a note of worry.

“What is it?”

“Baby, you hurt yourself.” He steps alongside you, examining the delicate skin of your inner arm with a concerned frown. “What happened?”

“What?” You look down and see a few thin, angry red lines streaking the length of your forearms. “Oh, it’s nothing. The blackberry branches were thorny, that’s all.” You’d been wearing one of Frankie’s flannels for a little extra protection, but it had grown too hot and you’d stripped down to just your t-shirt. “It’s fine, they’ll heal fast.”

Despite your reassurance, Frankie ducks into the bathroom while you pat your arms dry with a clean dish towel and comes back holding some ointment. “They’ll heal better with this.” He flips open the cap and looks up, seeking permission.

You nod, unwilling to deny him anything, especially with that melting brown gaze trained on you. It’s not necessary, but you have to admit- you love that he takes such good care of you. Frankie takes his time, gently stroking a dab of ointment over each small scratch. His light touch quickly takes the sting out of your small hurts, and when he’s finished you catch his hands, bring them up to your lips for a grateful kiss. You adore his hands- so much bigger than your own, strong and capable but still so deft. He ducks his head and smiles and your heart clenches with love for this quiet, loving man.

------- After changing out of your dirt-streaked jeans and into a clean sundress (which, of course, Frankie also offered to help with), you head back to the kitchen to grab a drink from the fridge. The cold glass bottle begins beading almost at once, and you hold it against your slightly sunburnt neck. “I was going to go read in the yard for a bit, care to join me?”

“I’ve got a couple more things to finish up here, you go ahead.” Frankie drops a kiss to your temple as you pass, on your way to get a book and an old quilt to spread out on.

“Ok, see you in a bit.” The old screen door swings shut behind you, bouncing slightly before it catches the latch. A project for another day, you think. The two of you have already done plenty, and for now you just want to enjoy the rest of the sunny afternoon.

You spread your quilt out under a flowering magnolia tree which offers just the right amount of shade and lay down on your back. A light breeze stirs the green grass around you and sets the flowering tree branches swaying, a few pale pink petals raining down. Sunlight dapples your face as you relax, enjoying the surroundings of the garden you and Frankie are making together. The book is good, but you find yourself distracted, listening to nearby birdsong and watching billowing clouds scud across the bright blue sky. With the sun warm on your face, it’s not long before your eyelids are drooping.

-------

When you wake up, shadows are lengthening across the yard and Frankie is sprawled out next to you, having come out and dozed off at some point after you did. You lean into his shoulder, still warm from the heat of the sun, and smile against him. There’s a patch of skin just below his hairline and above his collar, and you lean in to kiss him just there. He tastes faintly of clean sweat and you press your tongue against him, seeking the slight taste of salt.

Frankie stirs and sleepily cracks one eye open. “Can I help you?” Try as he might to sound long-suffering, you suspect he enjoys your touch.

“Nope, I’m good.” You toss your book aside and drape yourself over his back, enjoying the slight movement below you as he shifts to accommodate you. It’s getting a little cooler now as the sun slips towards the horizon, but Frankie’s warm, solid presence grounds you. He tenses a little when you lean your head on his shoulder and you pull back at once. “Is your shoulder still bugging you?” He’d pulled it while you were moving and as hard as you try, you don’t always manage to wrest the heavier chores away from him, so it’s been a slow recovery process.

His answer rumbles quietly from below you. “A little. Working on the sink probably didn’t do it any favors.” You lean up at once, straddling his waist so you can massage his neck and shoulders. “Poor thing, you are tight here.”

He hums in agreement, though you can feel the tension begin to leak out of him as you knead his tense muscles. You work a stubborn knot, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder, and as he sighs you can feel him relax further.

You lean down once more, careful to put your weight on your hands, braced against the ground,  and drag your mouth lazily over his neck. Your seeking licks turning to more intent kisses and when your teeth close over his pulse point, Frankie lets out a low groan and bucks his hips. You feel the movement all through him, especially where you’re seated against his ass.

“You want me to stop?” You ask teasingly, getting the expected shake of his head in response. You grind slightly against him before returning to nose at his neck. By the time you trace the shell of his ear with your tongue and nip gently at the cartilage, Frankie has had enough.

He rolls the two of you over with a smooth motion that ends with you flat on your back, and him smiling above you. “Oh, are we done fooling around?” You look up playfully. “I can show you the blackberry bushes before-”

He stops your mouth with a kiss, nipping at your lower lip before licking his way into your mouth. Delight shivers through you and you deepen the kiss, your tongues tangling languidly. You run your hand through his tangled curls, scraping your nails against his scalp. This pulls a soft noise from low in Frankie’s throat as he leans into your touch. His nose brushes yours and he nudges your cheek, trails kisses down your jaw.

Heat is pooling low in your belly and you spread your legs to invite him closer. Frankie takes the hint, canting his hips to drag the growing bulge in his pants against your core while you push back into him. “We should head inside,” you gasp as he moves lower, sucking at the delicate skin of your neck.

“We can if you want, but who’s gonna see?” His large hands cup your breasts and he dips his head to brush kisses over their swells. You arch your back, desperate for his touch even as you look around cautiously. He has a point; there’s no neighbor on this side of the house, just a patch of woods, and you’re well back from the road.

“Good point.” You reach down to tug at the hem of his shirt. Grinning, he sits up for a moment to help you. As soon as he’s shirtless he gets straight back to the task at hand. Frankie’s fingers make quick work of the buttons running the length of your sundress and he pulls the fabric aside, exposing the creamy lace of your bra. Your stomach flips at the sweet, eager look on his face. You’ve been together so many times, but he always makes you feel special, cherished. Despite being outside, potentially exposed, you feel completely at ease in his arms.  

With a quick glance up to check that you’re ok with it, Frankie unclasps your bra and helps you shrug out of it. The air is slightly cooler now, but his warm, broad palms encompass your breasts before the chill can even register. You sigh as his thumb brushes your nipple, and downright shudder when he wraps his plush lips around the stiffening peak. Your legs are writhing almost of their own accord now as you grow desperate for more. “Frankie,” you groan, tugging at his hair.

You feel his lips curve into a smile and his tongue darts out to flick against you. It glides along your swollen bud and your pussy aches for more so you hitch your leg over his hip. Frankie grabs your thigh to hold you close and rolls his hips sinfully against you, drawing a desperate noise from deep in your throat. “You like that, baby?”

You nod frantically. “You know I do. You know it drives me crazy when you put your mouth on me.”

Frankie chuckles and sucks your nipple into his mouth, pulling much of your breast along with it. The tugging sensation sends a bolt of desire straight to your cunt and you whine. You seize his jaw and glare, your eyes blown with lust. “If you don’t touch me soon Francisco I swear I will go inside without you and finish the job myself.”

You’re all talk and Frankie knows it. “I am touching you, sweetheart,” he says innocently.

You give an irritated huff and seize his hand, directing him where you want it. His composure slips when his fingers brush the crotch of your panties, already soaked with your need. His gaze flicks to yours, a lovestruck look in his eyes as he asks softly, “is this all for me?”

Biting your lip you nod. “Yes. I need you Frankie, please .”

“Shh, I’ve got you baby.” Frankie hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and drags them over your legs. You kick them off, nearly sobbing in relief as he drags a single finger through your glistening folds.

Frankie closes his eyes reverently. “Shit honey, you weren’t kidding.” His finger comes away coated in your juices and he sucks it slowly before replacing the digit. He adds another finger, the pads slipping just inside your entrance to collect more of your slick before circling your clit. You tip your head back, grasping his shoulders as he gently fingers your slit. Just when you can’t take it, when you’re ready to beg for more, he pushes those fingers into you, stretching you out perfectly. Mewling, you buck your hips, chasing the feeling of him fucking you open.

“Mm, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“Never. Think you can take another?”

“Yeah.” Your answer comes as a breathless whine.

“Good girl.” Frankie adds a third finger and you swear it makes you see stars. He curls his fingers to stroke that spot deep inside and you find yourself skating the edge of your release. You’re so close, could so easily tip right over that edge, but it’s not until you hear Frankie murmur “come for me, beautiful” that you actually do. All that gorgeous tension he’s been winding up unspools in a rush of pleasure, your legs shaking and your hips bucking as he works you through it.

You’ve scarcely begun to come down before Frankie’s blazing a trail of kisses down your belly, his hands gently parting your thighs wider to settle between them, keen concentration suffusing his handsome face.

“Wait,” you breathe, catching his jaw with a deft hand.

Frankie draws back at once, concern creasing a furrow between his brows as he gazes up from between your legs. “Everything ok?”

You sit up, already nodding to reassure him as you draw him forward and kiss him deeply. “Everything’s perfect. I just want to come on your cock this time.”

Frankie looks down at you in amazement before pulling you into a crushing embrace. He tilts your chin up to give you a searing kiss, his arm wrapped around your waist. He leans his forehead against yours, his breath tickling your lips as he rasps “You’re perfect, you know that, right?”

You giggle, moved by the awestruck look on his face, and drop your hands to unbuckle his pants. He’s already barefoot, making it easier to push his pants down, followed by his boxers. You glance around again, reassuring yourself that the coast is clear. Clocking what you’re doing, Frankie chuckles. “Don’t worry, baby, we’re good.”

Smiling a little sheepishly, you nod. “I know. Just protecting your honor.”

Frankie begins to laugh softly but the sound is cut off by a hiss as you lick your palm and wrap it around his shaft. “F-fuck.” His eyes roll back in his head as you tighten your grip, working his cock. You brush your thumb over his weeping slit, collecting the pearly bead of precum glistening at the tip. “Now who’s being a t-tease?”

You look up at him innocently through your lashes. “I don’t know what you mean, Frankie.”

“Sure you don’t,” he huffs, his breathing already picking up. “C’mere, baby.” He pulls at your waist, encouraging you up into his lap.

You’re happy to oblige. With a few quick movements, you’re settled above him, his cock lined up with your entrance. Throwing your arms around his neck, you lower yourself slowly, taking him inch by inch. Frankie buries his face in the crook of your neck and meets you halfway, thrusting up to seat himself fully inside you. He always seems even bigger when you’re on top, and he gives you a moment to adjust to being so well-filled.

“You good?”

“You have no idea.”

He smiles at that, clearly pleased. “Then tell me,” he urges, kissing you just below your ear. “Tell me how much you like me stretching you out on this big dick.”

Your eyes flutter closed at this. He knows what dirty talk does to you, knows exactly when it will be the most devastating. “It feels so fucking good, baby,” you assure him. “You’re so thick and you hit so deep. I can’t get enough, want you even deeper. Please, Frankie.”

He sucks hard at your pulse point, his tongue laving your neck as he begins to thrust up into you. “Anything, baby. I will give you anything you ask for. You know that, right?”

Gasping, you nod quickly. “I know, love. I know.”

His fingers tangle in your hair, his strong arms bracing you as he fucks up into you. You match each thrust, grinding yourself on the base of his cock. The two of you find your rhythm and you lean back, allowing him to hit at an even deeper angle. Frankie leans forward, able to reach your breasts now. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, all wet heat and slick tongue moving against you. You whimper and arch your back, trusting him to support you.

He does.

Frankie’s eyes are screwed shut as he pounds into you, determined to take care of you before finding his own release. Your whimpering cries plateau and he can tell you’re not quite there yet. He rests his forehead against yours without missing a beat, opening his eyes to gaze into yours. “What do you need, baby?” He asks it softly, reverently, his large hands cradling your face as if you’re something holy. With him looking at you like this, you almost feel that way.

“Talk to me, Frankie,” you gasp. “Want to hear how much you like this.”

Your want pulls an answering moan from him. “God, you know I fucking love this. You’re so tight, and you take me so well, baby. I could pound this pretty pussy all day.” He snaps his hips, driving himself deeper inside you as if to prove his point.

Your breathing comes faster, your cunt clenching around him as his words drive you closer to your edge. “Fuck, yes, just like that. I’m so close, baby,” you whine.

Frankie cants his hips, hitting that devastating spot deep inside you. His voice is even huskier as he urges you onward. “You have no idea what hearing that does to me, sweet thing,” he pants, sweat dampening his hairline. He runs the back of his hand distractedly over his forehead. He’s not about to let go before you do and he leans in close, his warm breath ghosting against your ear. “ Come for me. I know you want to. I can feel you clenching around me so be my good girl and come for me, sweetheart . ”

And just like that, a wave of sweet pleasure rolls through you. You clutch his shoulders as the two of you ride it together, Frankie moaning against your lips as he finds his own release.

Your head drops to his shoulder, your limbs quivering as little aftershocks zip through them. Frankie holds your limp form easily, dropping lazy kisses over your face and hair while you drift back to the present. Finally, you draw back, a dazed smile tugging at your lips. You blow out a breath along with a tired, please laugh. “That was-”

Frankie chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, pleased to have pleased you. “I know, baby.” His kisses are easy, unhurried, and still make you feel nearly drunk with happiness as the two of you linger lazily in your afterglow.

By now, the sun is truly setting, the horizon taking on a purple hue as the first evening stars begin to appear. Even in Frankie’s arms, you start to shiver as the breeze whispers over your rapidly cooling skin. In a deft move, he tugs at the edge of the old quilt, rolling the two of you into it, creating a cocoon of private warmth. As the sky darkens and more stars appear, the two of you stay wrapped up in each other, making plans for your future in the peaceful space you’re creating together.

[krysalla-archive]

come away with me.

relationship: geralt of rivia x reader warning(s): my dumbassery... word count: 3k summary: geralt comes home to you after a four month separation

Winter is approaching fast. Nearly all the trees have shed their leaves and covered the grass and the cold chill has started to bite a little harder during the day and make the nights almost unbearable. The rain will start soon and you won’t have any more days where you can lay out beneath the sun without the fear of frostbite or rain. Only a few more days left like this. 

A shadow is cast over you, large and cold, heat seeping out from your body. You peek one eye open to look at who has interrupted your slice of heaven. Amber eyes peer down at you and sunlight catches on silver strands of hair. You smile. It’s been too long since you’ve seen his face. 

“Hello, dove.”

You close your eyes and hum, “Stand a little more to the left? You’re blocking the sun, darling.”

He scoffs. “Three months I haven’t seen you and that’s all you have to say?”

“Actually, my love, it’s been four months. And, yes, it’s one of the last days of sun for a while and I don’t want anything to spoil it. Not even my favorite Witcher.” You smirk up at him and pat the space to the right of you. You’ve been waiting patiently for this day. 

He follows your teasing order, crushing clovers and blades of grass beneath heavy boots and heavier steps. He sits next to you and groans when his knee pops. He’s getting old, you both are, but you’re the only one that will outwardly look it while he will stay the same for much longer than you. You mourned that fact once, just at the beginning, even though you were plagued with the question of what you meant to him. 

He leans over you. A blur of pink and white and he has a flower tucked into your hair. You smile. 

“A flower?”

“Peony, the merchant told me. Reminded me of you.” He grunts and lies by your side. 

“Careful, my dear Witcher. People might start to think you aren’t a soulless, unfeeling thing.”

He rolls his eyes at that, but you smile wider. You pluck the flower from behind your ear and twirl it between your fingers. It’s beautifully preserved. It must have cost a pretty penny since peonies only bloom in the spring and early summer and the preservation process is quite expensive to pay for. The simplest token and it makes your heart swell with love. 

“Where did you get it?”

“Azmar. Not long after I last saw you.”

“You carried this around with you all that time?”

You swell with love and joy at the thought. He kept you with him for four months. You lay your hand over your heart, flower tucked between your palm and your breast. “Tell me about your travels?”

He hums. Geralt runs his thumb over your knuckles. There isn’t much to tell and what he can tell you isn’t something that you should hear. His stories are gruff and short and more importantly, tell the whole truth. He would much rather you hear Jaskier’s version of events over the truth any day. He doesn’t want your perception of him to change. If you ever heard that thought come out of his mouth, you would be furious. 

“Please?” You cradle his cheek with your free hand and turn him to face you, “For me?”

His eyes glide over your face, drinking in your features greedily. He’s missed you, missed the warmth and love you preserve for him. Your smile, soft and curling gently, pulls him in. The kiss is brief and chaste even if he wants something more from it, but he can wait a little longer for that. “What do you want to hear?”

You brush your finger over the scar on his forehead and smile. “Everything.”

***

You lead him home. The tiny cottage stands stark against the heavy green of the trees that surround it, a beacon of peace from the world. As proud as you are of your family, you could not live with them. This cottage, stone white and green ivy crawling up the sides, is your own little paradise and you are more than happy to share that with Geralt.

Roach is already resting in the stable. He must have come here first and went looking for you when he found that you weren’t home. What a lovely thought. He knows he could have waited in the cottage for you, but he went out of his way to bring you back home.

You push the door open and begin to fret about the small clutter that's started to gather around the single room. The old, black cat looks up from his spot on the window sill, blinks lazily at you and turns his attention to Geralt. His tail swishes and he pushes himself up and with a hiss at the Witcher, he jumps out the window to lay in the flowerbeds instead. You click your tongue. He’s a skittish old thing. He doesn’t like unfamiliarity and Geralt’s easy coming and goings from your life puts the poor thing on edge. 

“Please, sit down, I’m sure you’re tired.” You pull out a chair from the table, swiping at dust that doesn’t exist. It’s always awkward the first few minutes he steps into your home like the cottage and yourself have forgotten that he isn’t a stranger. 

One, two steps and he’s able to wrap his fingers around your wrist, his lips quirked into a half smile. He gently (always gentle with you, no one else, because he’s all too aware of his strength and the last thing he wants is to hurt you) tugs you to him. He presses a quick kiss to your temple. 

He’s good for you, even if he thinks the opposite, he brings you down and grounds you when that worry begins to claw inside of your stomach. Geralt continues to kiss you, making his way down from your temple to your cheek, jaw and finally to your lips and it takes every ounce of strength to push away from him.

“We can do that later,” you tap a finger above his heart, “Dinner first.”

***

The sound of rain pattering on your roof wakes you. It’s not a horrible way to drift away from your dreams. It’s peaceful, you can’t hear the groans of the trees over the rain or the occasional pattering of coyotes feet tracing the perimeter of your fence in an attempt to break into your chicken coup. 

He’s staring at you, but it doesn’t make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up like it does when everyone else stares at you. You thought it odd once that you were able to trust him so wholeheartedly. You have never trusted someone like this, even your own family, but then again, he understands you in a way nobody else can. 

Fingers drift over your stomach, drawing patterns that you can’t decipher. It’s his own little language, you imagine, spelling out words of love, promises he can’t voice himself. You smile when his palm lays flat against your stomach, molding to the curve of it. No matter where his hands start, they always end there. 

“How long have you been up?” you croak. Drowsiness still hangs over your head. It’s so peaceful. “You should get some sleep, beloved. You need it.”

He makes a noncommittal noise and turns you in his arms to face him. “Not yet.”

He moves his hand to your thigh and hooks it over his hip. It’s nice being close to him. You peer over his shoulder to get a glance of the fire. It’s nowhere near being completely burned out but there’s a noticeable ash pile collecting. It’s only been a few hours by your estimation. It looks though that you didn’t put nearly enough to last through the night, but no matter, you have Geralt to keep you warm through the night. 

You push your face into his chest and breathe in. He smells like lavender and honey from the soap you gave him. His fingers brush over your spine and traces a loop onto your skin. 

“I have missed you.”

“It would be nice,” you brush a piece of white hair away from his face and push yourself away just the tiniest bit so you can look him in the eye, “to just lay here forever. We wouldn’t have to miss each other so often.”

There’s a flash of emotion in his eyes, something you can’t decipher, maybe sorrow or regret. He hums and you’re not sure if it’s in agreement or just to appease you. It takes everything in you to not smooth out the worry lines on his face. 

“Kiss me?” you don’t want to think, you just want him. It isn’t a surprise that he complies with your request, he would do just about anything for you.

His hand cups your cheek and he leads you to lay on your back. He hovers over you, careful of his weight and gentle when he comes to straddle one of your legs between his. The kiss is soft, but unwavering as he tries to convey how much he’s missed you. 

***

He reaches out for your warmth and wants nothing more than another hour in bed before the rooster calls, signaling the beginning of the day, but he finds empty sheets instead. He turns to face the room, blankets tangling his ankles, and catches you in the middle of dressing. You lay out the layers on the back of a chair. 

He watches your back fondly.

You startle when his hands come to rest over yours and his fingers begin working nimbly to help you dress.

“I can get it myself, Geralt. I’m a grown woman.” You huff and turn your glance over your shoulder at him. 

He grunts in acknowledgment but continues fastening the laces on your stay. Geralt’s seen you do this countless times before. All he wants to do is help. There’s enough on your plate already and it wouldn't hurt him to help with a few simple tasks.

“Where are you going, dove?” he moves your hair to the side and presses a line of kisses down the nape of your neck. 

“We are going to the river.”

You lean back against him, melting into his touch and he can’t help the swell of pride in his heart. This is his and although he is undeserving of it, he will call you his as long as you let him. More importantly, he is yours. He likes the way that sounds to him. Yours. 

***

The damp grass gives way to sand and rocks as you approach the riverbed. It’s peaceful today as it will be until the spring. Families and fisherman and hunters will be few and far between for the next four months. It’s your favorite time to visit with Geralt. There’s no prying eyes, no townsfolk looking for another piece of gossip to fuel them through the winter. You can just be. 

You sit side by side on a thick knitted blanket with a quilt wrapped around your shoulders. Geralt insists that he’s fine and maybe he is, you know that he does run warm and that he eases the chill of winter nights when he’s there to share your bed with you, but you still want him to have the simple comfort of the weight of a blanket wrapping him up tight. 

He’s looking at you, recommitting your face to memory. But he knows you well and can read you like an open book. Every small twitch on your face, the slight downturn of your lips, the small line between your brow deepening when you pull your eyebrows together in a worried or frantic thought, the stiffness of your shoulders when you plant your knuckles against the ground rather than your palms. 

Geralt gently grasps your chin, thumb pulling at your bottom lip for just a fleeting second before he remembered what he was going to ask. “What’s wrong, dove?”

“When will you leave?”

“Eager to get rid of me, are you?” Geralt chuckles and moves his hand down the delicate curve of your neck, tucks his hand under the blanket and over your shoulder, down your chest and finally settling at the curve of your hip. It’s a well worn path and comforting to him. He leans his cheek against yours and smiles when you squirm and whisper his name in gentle chiding. 

“No, never that.” You lay your hand over his and brush the other through his loosely tied back hair, tucking in strands that have fallen out of place. He’s always had such lovely hair, strands of pure silver and soft as silk. “I want to know how much time I have left with you.”

“Dove…” he sighs. Exhausted, hesitant, resigned. 

So it will be soon, maybe even tonight if you’re unlucky enough which always seems to be the case when it comes to him. Maybe it is selfish to want to have more time with him and foolish to want yourself to occupy his every thought and have him carry you in his heart wherever he goes. But love makes you foolish. 

He cradles the back of your head when he feels you pull away. Stay. 

“There’s a village in the south, Venzor, that has a problem with ghouls.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Geralt looks at you, shifting to sit upright and angle himself toward you. The river's small waves lap at the sand and rocks, neither so much as moving under the force. Maybe if you dip your feet into the water and wade out to the current, the river could sweep you all the way to the end of the world. What a wonderful thought. It would be easier to go that way than by heartbreak. 

“Are you upset?” He questions, but he knows you better than you know yourself. He doesn’t need to ask the question. So he flounders for something to say, because as much as he likes to disguise himself with indifference and disinterest, he does care too much. “You could come away with me.”

An appeasement. 

You both know the answer to this. No. He would never take you with him, it’s too dangerous for you out on the road when you don’t know how to defend yourself and the danger it would do to your reputation for people to know you are following a Witcher across the world. Besides, you’re selfish. You don’t want to give up your comfortable life here, you want Geralt to give up the danger and hang up his swords and strip away the armor and medallion and join you in your garden. Teach him how to tend to the vegetables and your flowers, teach him how to knead bread the way your mother taught you to. You want to give him a home, a place where he belongs and is loved instead of living on the road and reviled by the people who request his help. 

You want a normal life, one that he can share in. 

“I am upset. But as long as you come back to me, I will be okay.”

***

It’s quiet when you finally come back to your home. The entire walk back is filled with only the fading sounds of water and the rustling of dead leaves at you feet.

He will leave in the morning. He was gone for four months and you barely get to spend two full days with him. Your heart lurches at the idea of another moment without him, even a full day makes you dizzy with grief, but you understand it. He has a job, an obligation to the world. Geralt is a protector and you could not ask him to give that up, otherwise everything he went through to become a Witcher would be in vain. Still, it would be nice to live that fantasy that plays in your mind when your bed is cold and loneliness settles into your bones.

You cradle his face in your hands, swaying in your spot and his arms tighten around your waist. His forehead pressed against yours as you hum a little tune you heard from a bard whose lovelorn song had made your heart clench. It’s all you need to tether you for a while, these small stolen moments. Maybe one day you’ll both come to your senses and realize that this isn’t something that you can hold onto. You can imagine him saying that he’s stolen all chance of you for a normal life when you begin to wrinkle and your hair begins to match his. You’d do it all over again for him in a heartbeat. 

*** 

He wakes up earlier than he intended. The fire is starting to die and the black cat sits as close as it can to the fire, soaking up the warmth while it’s still alive.

You’re dead to the world at this point in the night. No matter how much he shifts on the mattress or how loud the coyotes get outside, you continue to dream. He hopes it’s happy, tranquil. An easy dream that will not make you wake with a fright and leave you unable to move until the fear subsides from your body. You told him once before that those dreams only happen when he’s not there and his presence, even to your subconscious, reminds you that you are safe when he is tucked in next to you. 

He pulls your hand to cup his cheek. Only a few more hours until he departs from home and goes back to living on the road and roughing it for an indeterminate amount of time. People become even less generous to him when winter rolls around. 

Perhaps he will return to you after this one job in Venzor and can come back to support you through the winter. He will have a warm bed and regular meals, no jostling from villagers or be casted out by the people he is trying to help. You will welcome him with open arms and invite him to hide away with you in the space you carved for yourself in the world. 

[unbridgeabledistances]

okayyy so i had something heavier/hurt-comforty in the works as a gapfiller about mickey processing (bc we all need that!!!) but this fluffy little 3+1 about ian and mickey singing to each other happened instead— i hope u enjoy💞

a 3+1 of 3 times ian sang to mickey, and one time mickey sang to ian (to give context to the absolutely wild 11x09 serenade)

also the biggest shoutout to @southside-forever’s 80s gallavich playlist which has SO many bops and inspired bits of this😌

--

1.

Mickey didn’t really know when it all started— Ian was always fucking humming these days, always whistling or singing some tune under his breath when he came out of the shower. He was more buoyant recently, lighter— the security gig was going well, and these days it felt like something looming and heavy had lifted, releasing the crooked hunch out of Ian’s shoulders that had taken root the sour morning weeks before as he shoveled Fruit Loops and Jameson into his mouth. Since then, it felt like he and Ian were finally on the same goddamn page for once— like they had a purpose, like they were moving forward.

Or at least, moving forward on the weekdays— but today was a slow, lazy Saturday, and Mickey was still laying in bed in a tank top and boxers, sweaty and entangled in the crumpled sheets, laying back with his head on the pillow and playing some overly-gory sharpshooter game on his phone. He’d been trying to beat this fucking level a million times, but his thumb couldn’t move quickly enough at the pivotal moment when he had to shoot a bunch of enemy forces— he’d been at the game for a good half hour, since when Ian had sleepily stumbled off of the mattress sporting a full bedhead to go take a shower, and Mickey was starting to get a tinny, sharp headache from staring at his phone screen for too long. He was just starting to consider getting up, to peel off his sweaty tank top and head downstairs to grab some coffee— when Ian came into the room from his shower, a fraying towel wrapped around his lower half and his torso slick with excess water droplets. Mickey flickered his eyes up from his game for a moment, taking an… appreciative glance, and then quickly focused his attention back on his pixelated mission as Ian stood in front of the dresser in the cramped bedroom, and started to rustle through the drawers for a t-shirt.

Mickey maneuvered his buff video game avatar through a minefield, biting his lip in concentration— when his sharp focus was suddenly infiltrated by Ian, singing under his breath in an airy tone.

“Ooooooh we’re halfway there.”

Mickey gritted his teeth slightly and tried to pour all his attention into the pivotal moment of the level, but half of his mind was being pulled to listen to Ian’s gravelly voice, continuing to softly murmur to himself in a tone that was ridiculously off-key.

“She says we’ve gotta hoooold on, to what we’ve got—”

Mickey’s phone screen flickered. GAME OVER.

Mickey wanted to throw his phone at the fucking wall. He inhaled, then pressed “Start Game” again, one last time— and again, his focus was disrupted by Ian, singing under his breath as he pulled on his jeans and gently pattered his hands in a rhythm on the top of the dresser— which was endearing and sappy as fuck, sure, but it was not helping Mickey with the task at hand. Mickey puffed out a sharp, frustrated breath, keeping his eyes on his phone screen.

“The fuck are you singing for right now?”

Ian suddenly gave a sheepish smile over his shoulder as he rifled through their sock drawer, like he’d been caught in the middle of doing something wrong.

“Don’t know. Song was just stuck in my head I guess.”

Mickey glared at Ian, pressing his thumb to the screen to pause his game. “Cut that shit out.”

Ian rolled his eyes fondly, sitting on the edge of the mattress to pull on his socks. “You should be thanking me for serenading you with your fucking eighties dad music. I could be singing Carly Rae Jepson right now, or some other pop bullshit that you hate.”

Mickey felt an involuntary, amused smirk split onto his face, and he tried to turn it into a scowl. Fucking adorable motherfucker.

“Okay, tough guy. If anything you should be thanking me for cleansing your ears from the techno garbage that you used to listen to.”

Ian gave a soft smile, shoulders turning fully towards Mickey now that he’d finished pulling on his socks— and then he turned and clambered into the bed, hovering above Mickey and causing Mickey’s fingers to go slack around his phone case. Mickey could smell the warm, freshly-showered scent of him, all cheap bar soap and Old Spice deodorant, and felt the soft press of his t-shirt through Mickey’s thin tank top— an overly worn t-shirt, one of Mickey’s, that stretched just a little too tight over Ian’s torso.

Ian looked down at Mickey, fucking beaming for some reason, his eyes light. He swooped down, pressing a soft, quick kiss above Mickey’s eyebrow. And then—

“Take my haaaand, we’ll make it I sweeear”

Mickey felt an involuntary, uncomfortable chuckle bubble up out of his ribcage. Was Ian fucking… singing? To him? It definitely seemed like it. And as much as he didn’t want it to, because this was fucking sappy and ridiculous and… well, gay— Mickey couldn’t help the fact that his husband leaning over him, breathily singing the tune of one of their goddamn wedding songs in his husky tone-deaf voice, made Mickey’s blood run a little bit hotter; which was bullshit, because absolutely nothing about this should be hot, and it was probably the most disgustingly married thing that Mickey could think of— but apparently everything about Ian, every dorky and fucking god-awful cringey thing that he did, was a turn-on, or at least according to Mickey’s thudding heartbeat and sweaty palms right now.

Ian’s face was still hovering centimeters above his, his eyebrows raised triumphantly and sporting a sappy fucking grin, like he knew how affected Mickey was by this, no matter how much Mickey grumbled and complained and tried to hide it.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “You’re fucking soft, Gallagher.”

Ian just leaned down again, kissing up the slope of Mickey’s neck and biting at his earlobe—and, okay, maybe Mickey could get behind Ian’s singing after all.

 2.

Ian’s singing was starting to get fucking ridiculous— and as much as it made something deep inside Mickey feel a light pang of relief, to see Ian being his old bubbly self again in the rhythms of routine and held by the safety net of financial stability because of the security gig that made the air between them less stale, it also meant that they were also around each other pretty much 24/7, and Ian’s serenades were starting to get relentless.

While they pretty much had a common ground in liking nostalgic 80s music, they would still inevitably argue about what music to play in the ambulance every morning— and whatever shitty album they eventually chose to put on, whether it was Ian’s pop garbage of Mickey’s mellower 80s tunes, Ian’s brain would apparently absorb all the songs like a fucking sponge and he’d start singing them all day long—in the kitchen, in the shower, even when they were just laying in bed on their phones and Ian would constantly hum absentmindedly.

Today they were driving to some bougie dispensary in Glencoe, near a bunch of ridiculous mansions on the very outskirts of the city, and it was Ian’s turn to pick the music— Mickey usually elected one of the well-loved CDs that he’d jammed into the glove compartment as they were refurbishing the ambulance, CDs that he’d kept since he was a kid when he piled them high in the corner of his grimy room next to a half-broken boombox— but as much as they were Mickey’s comfort CDs, Ian could only listen to Bon Jovi so many times before he started to slander 80s music as a collective genre.

“Can we just listen to something by someone who isn’t older than us, just this once?”

“Easy for you to say, Gallagher. At least the music that I like has fucking words.”

When it was Ian’s turn to pick the music, he usually picked more modern stuff with heavy beats and a thrumming bass (though more often than not he also appeased Mickey’s tastes with some “80s throwback” playlist he’d found on Spotify that he’d noticed Mickey would bob his head along to)—but on longer drives, like this one, it was easy to butt heads about the soundtrack. Ian had allowed Mickey to play through one of his Queen CDs that morning, and then Ian had put on some whiny indie bullshit from a playlist on his phone for the other half of the drive— now they were heading home after a long day, with the stereo turned low to a local radio station.

They’d settled into a comfortable silence, as they often did at the end of the day when their energy faded— Ian had stopped pattering his hands on the steering wheel like he usually did when he was amped up and buzzing with energy in the mornings, and Mickey could tell they were both ready to collapse onto the couch the second they set foot in the door.

Mickey blew out a deflated breath and reached to turn up the radio, tuning in to some middle-aged host with a cheery voice chattering about the heat wave in Chicago that upcoming weekend—and then the airwaves went silent, and there was the overdramatic sound of a slamming door and a gospel choir.

Ian’s ears nearly fucking perked up at the sound as the opening chords began.

“Life is a mystery… Everyone must stand alone…”

Ian immediately raised his voice to join in, the tired slouch leaving his shoulders.

“I hear you call my naaaame”

He turned to Mickey and pointed overdramatically, causing Mickey to shove his arm away but unable to quell the overly fond grin that he knew was blooming on his face.

“And it feels like… home.”

The beat dropped, rolling into the chorus, and Ian energetically drummed his hands against the steering wheel once more.

“C’mon, Mick!” Ian laughed, throwing his head back dramatically as he sang while still trying to keep his eyes on the road.

“When you call my name, it’s like a little prayer, I’m down on my knees, I wanna take you there.” Ian’s pitchiness clashed with the melody, but he was too focused on singing and bopping side to side in this seat to really care.

Mickey rolled his eyes, his lips still turned upwards at the corners while he watched his absolute dork of a husband jamming to Madonna. “Isn’t this song about giving someone a blowjob or some shit?”

Ian gave an easygoing laugh. “Technically, yes. And it’s also definitionally a gay anthem, which means you have to sing with me.”

Mickey scoffed and flipped Ian off. “Fuck off.”

Ian raised a playful eyebrow, and continued to sing with relentless eye contact:

“It’s like a dreeeeam, no end and no beginning”

Mickey felt heat rise into his cheeks against his will. No fucking way was he going to sing a Madonna song about a blowjob stone-cold sober at 2pm on a Tuesday while driving home from work with his fucking husband—which, wow, that was probably the gayest sentence that had ever crossed Mickey’s mind in his 26 years of existence (which was definitely saying a lot).

This wasn’t ever a place Mickey thought he’d be in— sitting beside Ian so comfortably, singing fucking songs while they drove home from their daily commute; getting to soak up all the warmth, all the brightness that had always radiated out of Ian so intensely that it nearly blinded him, a warmth that he’d always wanted to lean in closer to even when they were just scrawny kids in a shitty neighborhood still figuring everything out.

Maybe, just maybe— it was okay to lean in a little more.

By the time the chorus rolled around the third time, Mickey was begrudgingly humming along, like he usually did whenever the songs that Ian was singing on and endless loop got stuck in his own head and popped up while he was brushing his teeth or making toast for breakfast— by the time the final rhythmic chorus faded to silence on the radio waves, Mickey glanced over at Ian, singing at the top of his lungs, face slightly flushed and grinning ear to ear.

“Just like a prayer, your voice can take me there.”

3.

Ian and Mickey were walking down the moonlit sidewalk, veering back home after an evening at Lip’s— the night had honestly been weirdly enjoyable, which was definitely a welcome reprieve from all of Lip and Debbie’s intense back-and-forths about the house over the past few weeks. Tami and Lip had needed to go over to Brad and Cami’s for some bullshit crisis management about the stolen bikes, and Ian had readily agreed to watch Freddie— which meant that whether he liked it or not, Mickey had spent his Friday evening at Lip’s half-packed apartment watching Ian coo over a one-year-old, which was… not a totally unwelcome sight.

Trying to keep his shit together, Mickey had snapped a picture to send to the Gallagher family group chat, and everyone had immediately given them shit about being so eager to babysit and get their hands on a toddler like a couple of baby-crazed newlyweds���which had caused Mickey to start overzealously complaining in the groupchat to compensate while Ian occupied Freddie. Kev had noticed the texts and swung by Lip and Tami’s house after closing the Alibi to keep the two of them company, bringing by a pack of beers—and now he and Ian were warm and happily buzzed, relieved of their babysitting duties and walking the chilly city streets back towards the Gallagher house.

Halfway through the walk Ian had interlaced their fingers, and now their arms were swinging slightly as they turned the final corner to walk down the last stretch of pavement towards the chain-link fence—when suddenly, Ian stopped cold a few houses away from the Gallagher front porch. He looked down at Mickey, raising their entangled hands and pressing a kiss to the inside of Mickey’s wrist.

Mickey raised an eyebrow in confusion, and Ian just looked back at him—his cheeks glowing pink from the few beers, his eyes light and unguarded under the streetlamps.

“This spot reminded me of something.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. Of fucking course it did. Ian was a sappy motherfucker on the best of days, but with a couple of beers in him he was practically uncontrollable.

“What?”

All of a sudden Ian let go of his hand, punching into the air dramatically.

“Cause love is a battlefiiiield”

Mickey laughed, feeling warm hot blood rush to his cheeks in delight—and fuck, he loved his husband so goddamn much. And just this once, mostly because of the own alcohol running thick in his bloodstream, Mickey made the lurching decision to join in, stepping closer towards Ian and raising his hands equally as dramatically.

“No promises, no demands”

“Woooooah”

Ian had practically doubled over with laughter, tears welling in the corner of his eyes—and Mickey let himself get lost in it, the warm feeling buzzing through his body, of love and joy and fuck knows what else, getting to sing on a fucking street corner with his husband a decade after everything had gone so gut-wrenchingly wrong, leaving him bleeding on this same pavement.

They stumbled over their own feet up the stairs, fumbling out of their clothes and collapsing into bed—and later, just as Mickey was on the brink of fading into unconsciousness, Ian mumbled the same refrain into the crook of Mickey’s neck in a sleepy voice, like the song was still stuck in his head and he just couldn’t help it.

“Love is a battlefield.”

4.

It was late— it was one of those slow, tender nights when the past was hanging heavy over them, laying pressed together in bed as thin streams of moonlight poured in through the blinds, pressing whispers into each other’s skin about all of the hurt and the doubt that had been seeped up and healed with time.

Ian was sprawled back on the bed and Mickey was laying with his head resting on his chest, feeling his ribcage expand and contract each time he took a breath. They’d absorbed so much the past few weeks— the sick, twisted blows of a loss that felt all the more jagged and painful because of how muddled the grief for Terry was—but after a few days had passed they’d found a place to settle, in the comforting press of the silence in their bedroom.

Mickey was mindlessly playing with Ian’s fingers, listening to his steady breathing—and without thinking, he ran a finger over the cool silver of Ian’s wedding band, letting out a breathy chuckle.

“I still can’t believe we’re married sometimes, man.”

Mickey could feel Ian’s lips curve upward into a smile from where his mouth was pressed against the top of Mickey’s head.

“Yeah, me either.”

And Mickey felt something bubbling, something welling— and he didn’t ever fucking sing, not unless Ian made him, but Ian was always fucking dropping song lines into sappy moments like this.

So he took a breath, and, half-singing but mostly talking, in a way that sounded almost mocking if it wasn’t so soft around the edges, he let out into the dark silence of the room:

“At last….”

He wasn’t even singing, not really—he was just sort of… saying the words in a singsongy way, but he knew that Ian could tell what he was doing, what he was trying to do. He was trying to be as fucking sweet and soft and pliant as Ian was, as Ian always was in moments like this, in a way that sometimes made Mickey feel brittle and hard in comparison. This time, Mickey wanted to breathe out the love he had for him into this moment, the love that made his ribcage feel like it was going to fucking burst— a love that he felt erupting outwards when Ian had played this song for him for the first time a few weeks before the wedding, and had asked with a shy smile, “D’you think it’d be okay if you walked down the aisle to this song?”

Ian’s chest shook with laughter, and he carded a hand through Mickey’s hair. And then, in his gentle, sleep-soft voice, in a breathy tone that tickled the shell of Mickey’s ear:

“My looove has come along”

Mickey rolled his eyes fondly, just to prove something to himself, even though he knew Ian couldn’t see him—and then he reached a hand upward and leaned back, drawing Ian’s chin forward to press his lips to his for a brief, lingering moment.

Mickey settled back against Ian’s chest again, and felt Ian press a kiss to the top of his head. He smiled contentedly, closing his heavy eyelids.

Maybe being a couple of sappy motherfuckers wasn’t so bad.

[blueluneacy]

Soaps and Special Drinks

I wrote a giant melone x reader off a fantasy i had at work. enjoy

word count: 4k

warnings: delusional yandere, not sfw, breeding kink, stalking, public sex, aphrodisiacs, forced drugging, major dub con, does making someone uncomfy at work count? idk but its there

You didn’t hear her until she called your name for the third time, and when you did, you nearly fell over.

“Oh god, what happened, what did I miss, I wasn’t asleep, my eyes were open!” You yelled, leaving your manager to jump.

“(Y/n), it’s okay, don’t worry!’ She said, laughing a bit to herself. “Don’t worry, I was just going to ask about what was happening and if you needed anything. But it looks like nothing is happening.” She sighed. You nodded, looking around the shop. You worked at a small, handmade soap. The soaps in here were beautiful, but the shop itself was quiet, only getting a few customers. The bulk of sales ended up being online at the owner’s etsy shop, with the actual building simply being in their family for the last 300 years, making it hard to part with. You didn’t mind, the soap was nice, you often got to take some of it home, and the work was easy. But you couldn’t deny that god, it was really god damn boring. 

“Yeah, I’m alright. Sorry, I’m just… Really bored.” You laughed, your manager just sighing.

“I can take the front of shop for a bit and you can play on your phone or something. You don’t have to just stand there all day.”

“I don’t mind it. Gives me time to think. Besides, I see you playing on your phone in front of shop all the time, I know that I can do it right here if I wanted to.” You hummed, your manager just rolling her eyes.

“I put it away when a customer shows up, don’t you worry. And what is it that you’re always thinking about, huh? A boyfriend?” She teased. You rolled your eyes.

“You know that I don’t have anyone like that in my life. I end up thinking about stupid stuff. Like what would happen if cows became four feet taller, or something.” You told her. It was a lie, of course, but you could never admit what actually went through your mind.

After all, how could you admit that you were just sitting there thinking about otome games and anime characters? It was nice to sit and think about lots of handsome men loving you. Maybe you played too many video games or watched too much anime.

“Alright, alright. Keep sitting with your weird thoughts.” She teased, the two of you laughing before the bell at the door rang as it swung open. 

The two of you stared as you saw the man walk in. He was so strangely dressed, and he was wearing a mask. Is this some sort of bad Dread Pirate Roberts cosplay? Half of his shirt was missing, which you sort of wanted to chalk up to bad sewing, but you also knew that it merely could be bad fashion. People around here are weird looking. He had choppy purple hair that covered one of his eyes, making you think that maybe the whole mask thing was meant to be an eye patch more than anything. You weren’t an expert in eyeball health. Still, you smiled brightly at the customer, not wanting to offend as you walked over to him, ready to assist in any way possible.

“Hello, Welcome! Is there anything in particular that you were looking for today?” You asked, Melone looking over at you before his eyes widened. God, you were just so… So god damn cute! The apron you were wearing hugged your curves so well, your body was so cute in the way you held yourself, smiling as you looked up at the man. He could just notice your tummy under the apron, a shudder going through his body as he saw your bright, smiling demeanor looking up at him.

“Oh, I heard that there were handmade facial products here? I’m looking for something a little more natural in my skin care routine.”  He replied, looking down to see your little name tag, smiling as he got the information. “Ah, I suppose then you could help me, (Y/n)?”

You forced your grin a little wider when he said your name, before nodding, waving him over and you brought him over to a little corner of the store. You don’t know why, but it seemed to only make you uncomfortable when people did things like read off your name tag. Which seems silly, after all, it was there for a reason, but still.

“Of course, sir, let me show you. Are you looking for something like a cleanser? We also have exfoliate scrubs, made all in house.” You told him. Melone just hummed, leaning over the products and moving a bit too much into your personal space as he pulled off his gloves. 

“You can call me Melone, sweetheart, no need for the formalities. And do any of these have scents in their formulas? I would hate to break out from oils…” He asked, touching his face lightly. You just smiled, shaking your head. You took note of his name, trying to keep yourself smiling

“Any scents that the product has is from the actual parts, not from anything we add. Like, our coffee ground scrub smells like coffee, because you know. We also have some regular facial soap, all in bar form, that we have, if you’d like to see. I can also make some samples for you, and we have a sink where you can try out some of the testers we have out.” You told him. He just smiled, nodding as he looked around a bit.

“That’s all well and good, but what would you recommend before bed? I need to remove my makeup, and so many cleansers are for the morning.” He complained. You just smiled, looking around and grabbing the giant pot of what you were looking for.

“Here we go! This stuff kills at removing any makeup. It’s made with shea butter, honey and rose water, with a little bit of tea tree oil in there for that calming feeling.” You said, reaching in and using a little spoon to put some on one of the little dishes your store carried, and then handed it to him. “Go on, go to the sink and check it out! You should also really check out our poppy soap too, it has poppy seeds in it which honestly? My skin has never been better.” You chuckled. Melone looked at you, before smiling and nodding. If that soap was what gave you such a glow, then he would definitely have to try it. You sighed as you went back to the counter next to your manager, watching the man as he washed his hands, his eyes widening before he grabbed one of the little papers you had next to the table, and a pen. Since everything here was served in whatever amount the customer wanted, the shop kept papers for customers to make a list of what they wanted.

“What is it now, daydreaming about a customer?” Your manager teased, leaving you to roll your eyes.

“Do you want him instead? He was all in my personal space.” You replied.

“Oh, cheer up, he wasn’t that bad. A little weird, but harmless. And you really need to get used to the idea that Italians don’t have a notion of personal space. You practically lost it when that old lady grabbed your hand.” 

“Hey, that was a while ago, that’s not fair! I think I’m used to it now, he’s just sort of creepy. Melone…” You mumbled his name to yourself, Melone’s ears perking up as heard you speak about him. Oh, your name sounded so good rolling off your tongue. He wanted to hear it over and over again, make you make the sound, scream it, moan it-

“I think I have my list ready, cara. Care to help me out?” Melone asked, coming over to the counter and leaning over it, handing the list over to you. You just took it from his hands, looking over the list before sighing.

“Can you get the bar soap while I get the cleanser?” You asked, writing down what you needed in the liquid before handing out the rest of the list to her. She nodded, walking off with a small smile on her face before you just sighed, going to get the cleanser. You grabbed one of the small glass jars you had, before putting it on the scale, taring it out after placing down the glass. 

“Five hundred grams, right?” You asked, only for Melone to nod. 

“Yes. It’s heavier, so it’ll be less than what I assume it’s going to be, so I might as well just go for it. I’ll use it anyway.” He replied, watching the way you reached into the pot and carefully scooped out the cleanser. You were so focused, he couldn’t help but imagine what you would look like in a domestic situation, maybe using a serving spoon to scoop out sauce for dinner, maybe just for the two of them. Maybe you would be in a cute little apron like the one you were in now, your feet bare and your hair loose as you grew heavy with his child-

In that moment, Melone felt a plan start to form in his mind.

The rest of the transaction went fine, in all honesty. Melone seemed as though he was suddenly in a hurry, that he forgot that he had something to do, purchasing his items and leaving with a quick “Ciao!”. You could tell that he was speed walking down the street, but you didn’t really care. Maybe you were over exaggerating, and he was just some normal gy, albeit oddly dressed. Still, it didn’t really matter to you. The fact that the store was empty meant that you could go back to your daydreams.

You were so grateful when the store finally closed. As the two of you locked up, you pulled your coat closer to your body, looking around.

“You should be careful now going home. It’s dark a lot earlier now, I’m afraid that maybe there might be some bad actors in the alleyways…” Your manager sighed. You nodded in agreement, the thoughts of how dangerous this city was becoming as Passione moved themselves in running through the both of your minds. Your manager had talked about moving, not wanting her kids to grow up here, and you couldn’t blame her. But both of you knew deep down that no matter where you went, the mafia probably lurked there somewhere.

“I will, don’t fret. Text you when I get home?” You asked, giving her a smile. She just smiled back and nodded.

“Don’t zone out and forget, alright? I’ll text you when I’m home as well!” She said, before waving, the two of you walking off in separate directions.

You hummed slightly to yourself as you walked down the street. You made sure to stay close to the streetlight, but you could swear that you could see something out of the corner of your eye, the feeling of being watched harsh in your stomach. You turned around often just to check, but no one was there. You must really be losing it today.

Still, it was like you were attracted to what was unknown. You instinctively started to move farther away from the streetlight, to try and see what exactly was going on in the shadows, but nothing was there. You barely even noticed how far you were in the dark until you passed by an alleyway. You didn’t even see the hand that shot out and grabbed onto your collar.

You immediately tried to scream, but you could barely make a sound as lips crashed into yours, your body pressed up against the wall as you squirmed. You winced as your head slammed against the wall, your vision tripling and a groan leaving your mouth and easily swallowed up by Melone. He pulled away, taking deep, harsh breaths, watching as you tried to focus on him.

“Don’t worry cara, it’s only me, didn’t mean to scare you, wanted to surprise you on your way home…” He cooed, pinning your hands above your head and moving to let his lips press against your neck, leaving light kisses and he hummed.

“Wha… Y.. You’re that guy from the soap shop! What are you doing, let me go!” You yelled, starting to squirm. Melone just pouted, as if you had told him a bad insult or you had genuinely hurt his feelings.

“Ah, don’t be like that, bambina. Are you mad because I embarrassed you at work? It’s alright, I’ll make it all better.” He hummed, reaching into his pocket to pull out a small vile. He used his teeth to pull out the cork, before letting a drop hit his tongue.

“Yep, it’s still good. Go on, drink this all down, and you’ll feel much better, carina.” He told you. 

“Like hell I’m going to drink anything you give me-” Perhaps you shouldn’t have spoken. When you opened your mouth and started to yell at him again, he just shoved the vial into your mouth, pouring the liquid in before covering your mouth with his hand.

“It’s alright, I know it tastes awful, but you have to drink it all, amore, otherwise it won’t work.” Melone hummed. You just sat there, holding the foul tasting liquid in your mouth before finally caving and swallowing. It wasn’t like you had much of a choice. When Melone felt that you had swallowed, he pulled his hand away, leaning over and pressing a gentle kiss against your forehead.

“Di molto… Good, thank you. It means a lot to me that would trust me like that.” Like you had any other fucking choice. You just let your eyes narrow as you continued to let them dart around for some sort of escape.

“What exactly did you fucking give me?” You hissed, Melone laughing a bit.

“Well, I suppose you’ll feel it momentarily, won’t you? Liquid medication only takes one to four minutes to assimilate…” He hummed. You swallowed, feeling that your mouth was starting to feel really dry. It felt like everything was getting hotter, until your whole body was on fire. You let out a soft whine when you finally opened your mouth to let out a few pants, suddenly out of breath, before squirming again. This time, to try and get rid of the heat that was engulfing you. 

“W-What is this?! Please, it’s so hot, what did you do?!” You cried out, internally cringing at how desperate your voice sounded. But Melone just ate it all up, leaning in to press his body against yours, the outline of his cock making you shudder. God, think, what was happening to you?!

“It’s one of the best aphrodisiacs out there. Only the best for you, bella, I want to make sure that you feel amazing throughout all of this…” He told you, before pressing his lips against yours. You tried to struggle, but god, you were feeling so weak as the drug coursed through your veins, and Melone’s lips felt so good against yours. You felt your knees get weak, your body slipping down the wall that you were leaning against as it became harder and harder for you to support your own weight. Melone just pulled away, watching you sink to the ground as if weighed down by your own lust, smirking to himself. You were so beautiful like that. Melone could see the way you were tugging at your clothing, trying to get them off in some relief from the hell that consumed you. He just chuckled, pulling you up and making you lean on him. You just ended up grabbing onto Melone tightly, trying to take deep breaths.

“Don’t worry bambina. I bet it hurts bad right now, doesn’t it? Maybe I should’ve opened you up first…” Melone thought aloud, before shrugging. Too late now. He reached down to start to pull your panties off, the other arm wrapped around you and firmly holding you against him. He shuddered at the way your soft body pressed up against him, holding onto him like it was the end of the world.

“Don’t worry, (Y/n). I’ll make this heat go away, make you feel all better. You’ll feel perfect and well once you’re fucked full of my children.” He hummed. Despite yourself, you just nodded, desperate for a suggestion that would mean that you would feel better. 

Melone practically jumped in delight, easily pushing two fingers inside of you, relishing in how wet you had become, to the point where you were starting to slick your legs. You moaned, gripping onto Melone tightly and starting to whine shrilling, babbling back at him.

“O-Oh fuck, that feels so good, fuck, please, Melone, pleeeeease…” You whined, already trying to buck against his fingers. It felt so good, but it wasn’t enough, it just wasn’t enough to satisfy you, to make you feel whole again.

“You’re tempting me so much, bambina. You make me want to fuck you right now, god, you’re going to be so full when I’m done with you, my cute little wife.” He told you as he added another finger, scissoring you open. God, if you could hold yourself up, Melone would have no problem getting on his knees and eating you out until you came all over his face. He wondered what cute, fucked out faces you would make after cumming five, ten, a hundred times for him. He felt his cock twitch in his trousers and did his best not to get ahead of himself. He wanted to make sure that you felt just as good as he did, but god, you were making it so hard with those cute faces of yours! The way you were clinging to him, gasping and moaning like a bitch in heat, begging him for more, it was all so much.

“P-Please, fuck, more… It’s still so hot, please, need you so bad…” You mumbled, moving to rest your head against his shoulder as he thrust his fingers into you. He let out a low moan at your words, his hips slightly bucking against you for it. He was so pent up, not wanting to waste a single drop until he found the perfect person to fill up with it, and here you were, all perfect and begging him to breed you full of his children.

“Aww, poor thing. Perhaps I gave you a bit too much…” Melone sighed, pulling his fingers out of you and leaving you to whine in frustration. He pushed his fingers into his mouth and just moaned, shuddering as he tasted your juices. You grabbed onto him tighter, begging for some sort of relief from this hell. When Melone finally pulled his fingers from his mouth, he let his own lips crash against yours, pushing your back against the wall and pressing your chest against his to hold you up while his hands moved to rip his cock out from his trousers.

It was nice, bigger than you expected, and you could see that Melone was well groomed about himself as well. In any normal circumstance, you would be continuing to scream, but as Melone started to rub his cock against you, slicking himself up with your juices, you just moaned.

“Yes, fuck yes! Please, more, give me more, god, fuck me already!” You cried out, squirming and trying to make Melone’s cock catch to try on your entrance. Melone just groaned, moving a hand to grab your hip, before pushing into you slowly. He threw his head back as he moaned, his nails digging into you as he started to move, only pulling his cock out half way before slamming back, leaving you to whine in return.

“Oh, cara, you’re so tight, fuuuuck… You’re so perfect, fuck, my pretty little wife, gonna be such a great mother, fill you up and keep you full of my babies-” Melone groaned, leaning forward and leaning on your shoulder, babbling his nonsense into your ear. And you just ate it all up, nodding and wrapping your arms around him and digging into his back, whining.

“Fuck, yes, please… Feels so good, please, Melone, pleeease…” You whined, holding onto him tightly as you tried to grind against him. Your words were enough to really spring Melone into action, starting to pound against you wildly, mouthing as your neck and leaving harsh bruises. You just scratched at him in return, leaving red welts that might even turn into bruises tomorrow. Melone groaned at the idea of you marking him so primally, the feeling of you marking him as yours just as he was marking you as his. 

“God, you’re all mine, aren’t you? Love you so much, (Y/n), gonna keep you safe, warm, all mine, I’m yours just as much as you’re mine, fuck-” His teeth dug into his lip as he felt the way you were clenching down on him, the signal that your orgasm was fast approaching. Really, it was a miracle that you haven’t cum once or twice already, but perhaps it was something in the back of your mind that was holding you back, keeping you from finishing.

“Mmm, I can feel you’re close… Di molto, that’s perfect, do you want to cum while I breed you? It’ll be a great way to make sure it goes as far as it can.” Melone groaned into your ear, his voice sultry and husky in a way that filled your foggy head with static, only pulling Melone closer as you tried to chase your own orgasm.

“Yes, yes please, fuck, it’s too much, I’m gonna cum, please let me cum, please-” You mewled, on the verge of tears from how pent up you felt, grabbing onto Melone as if he would disappear if you let go.

“Fuck, good, then cum, cum on my cock, make me breed you, gonna fill you up so much, so perfect and soft and round, do it, cum for me, God-!” His voice was practically as a howl as his movements became jerky, before finally thrusting in and bottoming out inside of you, finally cumming. It was the feeling of him pushing inside of you that one last time that set you over the edge, a loud keen coming from you as you squeezed down on Melone, starting to milk him for all you could. 

The two of you rode at your orgasms together, quiet panting and whimpers from the both of you as Melone finally pulled out of you. You practically collapsed as he let you go, free from the burning heat but now exhausted beyond all belief. Melone caught you, holding you up with his arms and chuckling a bit. You shuddered as you felt some of Melone’s seed drip down your leg, leaving Melone just to purse his lips.

“We shouldn’t be wasteful like that. I should’ve brought a plug, poor thing…” He sighed, reaching down to scoop up what fell and push it back inside of you. You moaned at the sensation, giving him a look to let him know that you were much too sensitive right now. He just laughed at your expression, before easily scooping you up in his arms.

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. We have all the time in the world once we get home.” Melone hummed. You stared at him incredulously, trying to figure out what the fuck he meant. You started to squirm a bit, but you were much too exhausted to really put in an effort to get away from him.

“Hmm? Well, of course I’m going to bring my wife home.” Melone hummed, petting your hair lightly. Your face went pale at the realization, but there was nothing you could do. Even if you could get out of his arms, you were too weak to run away away from him. You were stuck, hopelessly trapped with a madman, forced to listen to his deranged cooing as he made his declaration.

“We have a lot more work to be done if we’re going to make you a mother.”

[1-lightofjustice]

How Each Color Installation Feels like

Little compilation I’ve made for science (and fic that maybe I will never write)

Red

According to Fushimi (Lost Small World Period 2 Part 5):

The fire spread from Suoh’s hand and in no time it wrapped their entire bodies. The image of his own body being burned spread in Fushimi’s mind with high speed. The blood in his whole body evaporating, his skin melting, his hair burning, his internal organ boiling - he thought he was really going to die. There are usually people who die of shock from something like this, right? If he has been assailed by this kind of sensation for just a bit longer he probably would have fainted. The flames that in just a moment rushed about every nook of his body disappeared like they were an illusion.

No... It condensed in one point and remained within his body. Throb, throb, there was a hot and aching spot.

Blue

According to Fushimi (Lost Small World Last Period) :

Instantly the whole scabbard glowed in blue luminescence. Like absorbing the raindrops around it, the blue became thicker and brighter. As it climbed up from his hand to his arm, Fushimi closed his eyes, taking a defensive posture to prepare for the shock.

But that didn’t happen. No scorching heat like it’s boiling every cell in his body. No acute pain like getting shot in the heart. None of these struck him.

He opened his eyes slightly. The blue luminescence on the scabbard gradually settled down. The very moment Munakata let go of the saber, it fell into his hand with weight heavier than it seemed to be. Nearly dropping it, Fushimi grabbed it with both hands.

This was nothing like Suoh’s all-or-nothing gamble: either be accepted and granted great power, or be rejected and burned in scorching flame which can be lethal. Munakata’s Installation was very calm and businesslike, progressing in pre-established harmony.

Green

According to Fushimi (A Desperate Game):

Hisui’s body glowed green, entwined in whips of electricity that burst with a crackling sound. The radiance elongated in what almost looked like cords, or maybe vines that a green plant sprouted, that spread wide within a moment and attached themselves to Fushimi’s body. The long thin tendrils of green light clung to Fushimi’s arms, temples, chest, linking him up to Hisui Nagare. The moment a weak electric shock, followed by characteristic numbness, ran across his body, the light disappeared.

Silver 

1. According to Kuroh (K The First Story, Chapter 15):

Kuro stared at his hand and gently took it and stood up. He felt the boy’s power flow from the connected hands. The boy and Kuro’s body glowed silver.

His body became lighter and he felt that he was protected by something warm and soft.

Encouraged by the softness and vitality that flowed from the depths of his body, which resembled the boy’s personality, Kuro put his strength in his hands.

2. According to Awashima (K The First Story, Chapter 14) [temporary installation]:

In front of Awashima, who was confused, the part where the boy’s skin and Awashima’s sword blade came into contact suddenly lit up with a silver glow. The light grew stronger and spread, and traveled the length of the sword to Awashima’s hands, wrapping her entire body in silver. It was as if she was being eroded by the boy’s power, and her voice screaming from her was about to leak out and she swallowed it hastily.

It felt like it was a balloon or something. The boy was pinching the blade of Awashima’s sword as if he were holding a row of balloons, and she was worried that if she let go of that hand, she would go up to heaven and could not return.

At the same time as the boy coughed, Awashima and the body of the boy hanging the Strain girl were each enveloped in a spherical light. It was a fairy tale scene that seemed to be inside a sparkling soap bubble, but Awashima was quite helpless as if she were a capsule toy.

3. According to Neko (K The First Story, Chapter 14) :

It was an image that was different from the surface power when Awashima temporarily synced with him earlier, removing the power in the main part of him and handing it over to Neko from where he touched her.

Silver light moves from the boy’s body to Neko’s body.

“Shiro… I’m glowing!”

Neko made a surprisingly playful voice. Unlike the boy, who was nervous about his first installation, her eyes weren’t scared. Seeing the boy’s light on her body, he was glad to make her eyes shine.

Neko’s illusions were weak on a grand scale. She was not only supposed to transmit the boy’s image and voice to everyone as auditory hallucinations, but she also had to carry the boy’s power along with the hallucinations.

Of course, this would be Neko’s first attempt. However, she believed that she should be able to do so now that she became a member of the boy’s clan and connected with him.

Colorless

According to Kuroh (K Side Black and White Part 1) [Not really an installation, but how activation Colorless power felt, because looks like Kuroh was in the brink of death on his installation] :

‘Focus’ he reminded himself. He could feel waves filling him up, all the way to his fingertips - a sensation he’d long since grown accustomed to, Four years ago, he’d only been able to faintly perceive it, but now he could clearly sense it. Putting it figuraticely, it was like there was an invisible pool at the base of his core, with little particles of light bubbling up from it. It felt a bit ticklish.....and so very warm.

For good reason : because at that very moment, he was connected to the very root of the Colorless King, Miwa Ichigen’s soul. He could feel Ichigen’s strongly shining vibrations resonating within himself - and it imbued in Kuroh’s boundless courage, cheering him.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Of course, I can’t find for Gold and Gray. I will update this list if I have more information, for example if upcoming K:Side Purple gave us information about Colorless King installation.  Please tell me if anyone have more information about how other’s installation, especially Homra members and Jungle members, because I only found Fushimi’s p.o.v and he’s Blue biased in body and mind.  

[mirohlixie]

Mommy's Boy (Kim Seungmin)

Seungmin x Reader (gender-neutral) Genre: Smut Words: 1,6k Summary: After coming home from a long day of performing, Seungmin takes a bath with his lover. He has a hard time hiding how needy he is, but luckily mommy is there to help him.

Content Warnings: Masturbation (Male Receiving), Unprotected Sex, Switch (sub)! Seungmin x Dom! Reader (mommy)

----------------------------------- o --------------------------------------

“Baby I’m home!” A familiar voice called through the apartment. A smile grew on Y/N’s face as they sat up in bed. Seungmin was home from his performance today! They jumped up from the bed and ran to the front door, jumping into their boyfriend’s arms. He chuckled. “Hi baby,” he said. “How’re you?”

“Great now that you’re here,” Y/N said, their voice muffled as their head was buried in their boyfriend’s neck. As he carried them to the bedroom, they immediately noticed that he was tired. Probably exhausted from all the singing and dancing. “Why don’t I draw you a bath baby? Would you like that?”

Seungmin’s eyes lit up as he nodded. “That actually sounds perfect, if you don’t mind,” Y/N nodded and walked into the bathroom, turning on the water before pouring some soap into the tub.

“It should be ready in a little,” they said, walking out just as their boyfriend was taking off his sweaty clothes and threw them in the hamper. He was so fucking handsome, Y/N still couldn’t believe he was actually their boyfriend.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered softly, pressing a kiss to their temple. “I cannot believe you’re mine.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Y/N admitted. “You’re so perfect and I cannot believe you are my boyfriend and my boyfriend only. It’s so unreal.”

“How, baby?” He said, sounding genuinely surprised. “I’m gone all the time and not home a lot. How would it ever be perfect to date me?” The frown that replaced his smile made them a little sad and they wrapped their arms around his neck.

“I knew that when I started dating you. I knew what I signed up for. You are perfect baby. You’re sweet, kind, funny and amazingly handsome. You make up for all the missed time when you are here and that is more than enough,” a small smile replaced the frown now and he pecked his partner’s nose.

“God, what would I do without you,” he mumbled.

“Not have amazing baths,” Y/N replied wittily before pulling him along to the bathroom. “Now it’s time for relaxation after that long day,” they watched as he stepped into the tub and relaxed instantly when the hot water warmed his sore muscles.

“This is amazing,” he moaned quietly.

“I’m glad,” they sat down on the ledge and ran their fingers through his damp hair. “I’m really glad.”

“You know what would make it even more perfect?” Seungmin asked. Y/N tilted their head, waiting for the answer. “If you’d join me in here,” a smile grew on his face and Y/N joined him in that before taking off their clothes and carefully stepping in, feeling how their boyfriend wrapped his arms around their waist and pulled them into his chest from behind. “Yes. Perfect,” he muttered against their hair.

They sat like that for a little, whispering sweet words and just generally talking about the day. Then, when their legs began to cramp, Y/N shifted a little. Unexpectedly they were rewarded with a soft gasp from behind them. They’d been so focused on stretching their leg, that they hadn’t noticed that their ass had been wiggling against their boyfriend.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, his cheeks heating up in embarrassment. He hadn’t meant to become hard just now, but the sudden movement did something to his body. The two hadn’t had the time or energy for sex in quite a while and this slight touch was already enough to make him needy.

“Someone’s happy to see me,” Y/N purred quietly, wiggling their ass a little more.

“B-baby-” Seungmin stuttered, grabbing their partner’s hips while leaning their head back. “Sorry.”

“No sorry,” Y/N demanded before turning around and facing their boyfriend. “Never sorry,” they leaned forward and kissed their boyfriend gently. His demeanor gave away that he was far from being in a dom mood right now, but Y/N did not mind at all. In fact, they’d always been curious what it would be like to have him under their control. Today seemed like a perfect day to try that out.

Seungmin eagerly kissed back, his hands resting on their waist. He was needy for more. As they deepened the kiss, Y/N started stroking their boyfriend slowly, eliciting soft whimpers from his soft lips. This was already rewarding enough for them to keep going. They gently massaged his balls with one hand while pumping his erect member with their other.

Seungmin’s grip on their waist tightened and his breathing became heavier. “B-baby-” it was a mix between moaning and stuttering and it immediately gave away that he felt good.

“Relax, darling. You’re tired, so I will take care of you tonight,” Y/N whispered in their lover’s ear before speeding up their movements, feeling his hips jerk under them. “You’re so needy baby. So hard for mommy.”

He nodded eagerly. “So hard for you, mommy,” he said. “Only for you, I promise,” Y/N giggled and nodded.

“Only for mommy,” they ran their thumb over his tip, feeling him twitch slightly in their hand. He was close and they were debating whether they would edge him, or just let him cum right here right now. Since it had been a long day for him, they decided the latter. “Cum for mommy, baby boy,” they whispered in his ear. “Let go.”

Seungmin obeyed and bucked his hips before spurts of cum shot from his flushed tip. He released a high-pitched moan as he shook a little. “Mommy,” he whined, coming down from his first orgasm. Yes, first, because Y/N wasn’t done with him yet. They needed to see how much pleasure they could bring their loved one. They wanted to give him the best treat he could wish for on this evening.

“Want more, prince?” They asked, their voice sultry. “Want more of mommy?” Seungmin nodded, biting his lip in anticipation as he watched the figure in front of him.

“Please mommy, need more,” he confirmed, looking at them with puppy-dog eyes. Y/N nodded and took his member in their hand again, pumping him a few times quickly, watching him wriggle under their touch. He was still sensitive and this direct touch made him make beautiful sounds.

“Tell me baby boy, what do you want. What do you want mommy to do?” Y/N kissed their baby boy’s jaw, making him tilt his head.

“Ride me please mommy, need to feel you around me,” Y/N smiled and straddles Minnie’s waist.

“You got it darling,” they whispered before lining their entrance up with his hard cock, teasing his tip slightly before sinking down on him slowly. This simple movement pulled profanities from his lips, his hands finding their way to their waist again. Y/N stilled, giving themself some time to adjust before slowly moving their hips up and down.

Seungmin’s eyes were clenched shut and he dug his fingers into his partner’s waist as the warmth embraced his cock. This was all he’d been needing all day and now he was finally getting it. He bit his lip, wanting more. He needed more.

“F-faster please,” he whined, bucking his hips lightly to create more friction. Y/N chuckled quietly and speeded up their movements, circling their hips as they bounced on their boyfriend’s hard-on. His little whines and moans were enough to keep Y/N going; it was their favorite sound. They rocked their hips back and forth, letting their boyfriend’s length slide in and out of them easily.

The water splashing with every movement made for an interesting mixture of sounds and Y/N dipped down their head to kiss Seungmin passionately.

He eagerly kissed back, needing each and every inch of his lover. He’d been craving them so much lately due to the little time he spent at home nowadays. He felt himself twitch, not being able to hold on much longer.

“I-I-” he started, but Y/N could already feel it inside them.

“Close, prince?” They moaned out. “Come on, cum for mommy,” they yelped as they moved their hips in such a way that his tip hit their sweet spot every time they sank down on him. “Let mommy feel your hot cum baby doll.”

Seungmin threw his head back, digging his nails into his lover’s hips before stilling and shooting his hot load deep inside their tight hole. An array of moans and profanities left his lips and for a second he couldn’t care less whether any stay in the world could possibly hear him right now.

The feeling of the hot spurt inside them pushed Y/N over the edge as well. They held onto Minnie’s shoulders before clenching around his cock, milking his orgasm. “Fuck baby!” They screamed out, having just as little care as Seungmin himself. “Holy shit-”

They kept moving their hips, easing both of them off their highs as they were entangled in their affection for each other, kissing each other sloppily and eagerly, breathing as if it would be their very last breath.

“Y-you-” Seungmin really tried, but he couldn’t bring out a proper sentence. He was too worn out and too out of breath to think of the right words to say and actually vocalize them. But it was enough. Y/N knew what he meant and they agreed. This had been one of the best, most intense fucks they’d ever had and they both knew it.

They both stayed in that exact position for a while, not having the energy nor urge to move. Just them, together in each other’s embrace. Connected in more than one way.

----------------------------------- o --------------------------------------

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 4)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2652 Warnings: none

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira​ Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 3 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

The past few days have been exactly what you wanted a month ago, peacefully silent, yet somehow it doesn’t feel right. You were able to finish your paper in record time, fully concentrating on your work but part of you missed the incessant music from next door.

There was an odd comfort knowing Bucky was home playing, and with the knowledge of his musical talent you now wanted to hear what he would come up with. Getting to know him briefly was… well, it was something. It could have gone a lot better if you didn’t stick your foot in your mouth.

Bringing up the music related noise was one thing but how you ever managed to bring up the noise of his “nighttime activities” made you wish you could have vanished into thin air, never to be seen again. You had done your best to avoid Bucky ever since, rushing out of or into your apartment as quickly as possible. You weren’t sure how you could ever face him again but you couldn’t deny that a small part wanted to.

Facing your shared wall you imagined where Bucky might be, picturing him on his couch, lounging across the cushions of the soft leather as he leisurely plucks away at the guitar strings, sounding out a melody. Or was he more focused, sitting upright and gliding his dexterous fingers across his keyboard? Was he at his computer editing his melodies? Was he thinking of you?

The silence was deafening. With your palm pressed against the wall you began to lean in with your ear, hoping you could hear anything. With a slight gasp you jumped back, there was noise but not any coming from next door. Your phone buzzed against the coffee table, with Steve’s face illuminating the screen.

“Hey Steve!”

“Guess who I saw going into Sweetgreen?” The strain in his voice clued you in to the right guess, Lillian. “Yup, and she wasn’t alone … yeah she’s still with Jason, for now,” he muttered under his breath, expecting her to cheat again.

“I’m sorry Steve. You know you deserve better than her, right? I know you know this.”

Steve sighed heavily. Even though he knew what you were saying was right, seeing his ex still hurt a lot.

“Thanks Y/N, I do know that, doesn’t mean I’m going to torture myself though and go in there so is it cool if I pick us up something else? I’m in the mood for carbs.”

Chuckling at Steve’s admission you couldn’t help but agree, salads were great and all but all this Bucky stress you’ve put on yourself definitely makes you crave heavier foods.

“Tacos?”

“Mmmm, yes tacos! Extra guac please Rogers!”

You set your table in preparation for Steve to come over with food, remembering to throw your wallet on the table to give him money. The last time he came over you had forgotten, being so caught up in reliving the terrible memory of your interaction with Bucky. Steve might have been right, if he handled talking to Bucky maybe you wouldn’t be so worried about running into him.

“Sam tells me you guys spoke,” Steve said, digging a tortilla chip into the container of guacamole.

You chewed quickly to swallow the bite you had taken. “Why do you always ask me a question mid-chew?” you joked. “But yes, we did speak and…” your voice lifted with anticipation as Steve’s eyes widened, waiting for you to continue. “He gave me the number for Elena Rodriguez. She’s head of the social work department and…”

“Oh my god Y/N please just tell me!” Steve begged.

“I set up an interview with her next week!”

Steve’s eyes crinkled with his excited smile though it faded shortly after as you nervously mused about fitting the internship into your schedule.

“One step at a time,” Steve offered with a small laugh.

He’s right. One step at a time. You didn’t even go on the interview yet, you might not even be hired for it; the thought of which worries you even more, but you remind yourself to breathe and take things as they come.

The elevator ascends slowly, filled with your eager coworkers looking to join the rush home. As it lets off on the ground floor, everyone dashes to the heavy glass doors as you leisurely stroll to the security desk.

Mr. Lee had a big smile on his face as he seemed to be in the middle of telling Steve a story. Slowly you approached the desk, seeing Steve smiling down at something in his hands.

“That’s what I said but Howard was ahead of his time. A comic book movie…” Mr. Lee chuckled. “It didn’t work in ’47 but it sure would be a hit now.”

“Oh, what’s this?” you asked.

Steve held up a sealed copy of a comic book, Kid Colt, which you were unfamiliar with.

Leaning over the desk towards you Mr. Lee spoke, “Tony found that for me in his father’s things. That’s how Howard and I met. He wanted to make a movie outta this. Stark Pictures. He never did though, the whole thing became a big tax write off.”

“I didn’t know you knew Howard Stark.”

“Oh yeah,” Mr. Lee boasted humbly, “Since I was seventeen. He was a good man. You know he was so proud to finally be a father. He worked a lot, probably more than he should have but he had Maria and the nannies bring little Tony over to the office. Tony Stank I’d call him. Oh boy, you could smell those diapers from a mile away it was so bad.”

Hearing Mr. Lee talk about the head of your company so freely like this made you laugh. It also made Tony Stark seem a bit more human. As far as you knew he was a workaholic who may or may not be seeing Pepper Potts. You’ve caught the way she looks at him though, with an extra twinkle in her eye or how she hesitates for the smallest moment to gather herself before going into his office.

“Tony Stank, that’s amazing,” you laughed, wondering if Pepper has ever heard this story before. “Well, have a good night Mr. Lee!”

Steve came around to the front of the desk standing tall, filling out his blue uniform with his broad stature. It was unfair how he could pig out on food with you and not show any sign of it. Meanwhile, your stomach has been rumbling all day from last night’s dinner.

“I’m on the late shift today,” he frowned.

“Poor Stevie,” you joked, wiping an imaginary tear from your eye. “Not that my night will be any better, I’ve got a shit ton of laundry to do.”

“Enjoy the sweaty laundromat then.”

“Oh I will,” you said sarcastically.

The steady hum of the running washing machines drowned out the sound of the newscast coming from a small TV mounted on the wall. It’s muggier inside than out, and even with the door open you can’t escape the permeating smell of cheap soap and mildew.

The wash cycle is nearly over so you move from the metal chair you had been uncomfortably sitting on, listening to music to pass the time, and lazily stroll over to the machine that is spinning your clothes. Quarters jingle in your pocket as you walk, ready to be placed in the dryer as you wait some more. You hate laundry day.

It’s crowded too, with all the chairs taken and other people leaning against the wall. A few kids were running around screaming, not helping their tired mother who looked too exhausted to even reprimand them as she folded all their clothes.

No one looked happy to be there, not even the attendants who had to apologize to the screaming man who didn’t understand why he couldn’t use one of their reserved machines. It was a cut throat world on laundry night, with other patrons fighting to stake claim for the next free machine.

A loud buzz lets you know your clothes are done, you wheel a basket over and open the door. The shadow of the clearly impatient person waiting for your machine blocks the dull light from the fluorescents above so you hope to grab everything quickly without dropping anything on the dirty linoleum floor.

“It’s all yours– oh.” Your mouth hung open, not expecting to see Bucky standing beside you. “H-hey.”

“Hey Y/N. Didn’t want to startle you,” he sheepishly said. “Uhmmm, is this free?” Bucky gestured to the obviously open machine.

You nodded quickly. Not knowing what else to say you stared awkwardly at the basket of damp clothes and said, “I’m gonna dry these.” Smooth.

Turning around you let out a deep breath and worried over what would happen next. It would be extremely rude to ignore Bucky and continue to listen to music. He hasn’t done anything wrong to you, not this week at least, but you were too scared to risk saying something stupid, again.

It would take at least a half hour for your clothes to dry so you put on a brave face and decided to walk back towards Bucky. Dressed in casual black shorts and a white t-shirt, his smooth, toned arms were crossed over his chest as he leaned against a support column, squinting to read the poorly transcribed closed captioning on the TV.

“Hey neighbor,” you said, offering a small friendly wave as he turned his head.

Bucky smiled, standing upright as he turned to face you completely to greet you back. He looked genuinely happy to see you, which made you feel even worse for how you left things.

“I’m sorry if I made things weird the other day. I didn’t mean to,” you blurted out before your brain gave any thought to see if this was a good idea.

Bucky chewed on his bottom lip, the gaze of his ocean blue eyes staring right through you. “Don’t worry about it,” he said with a cavalier air.

“So how’s the music coming along?” You were truly curious, having not heard any sound.

“It’s not bothering you, right?” Bucky winked.

“No, not at all,” you smiled softly. “Are you still working on that one piece?”

Bucky asked which one and you hummed the tune. Closing your eyes you missed the way his own lit up in delight hearing you repeat his melody.

“I know I complained about the noise but honestly it was so beautiful,” your voice lightened and he felt the weight of emotion even through the simple way you described it. “Maybe that’s why I couldn’t focus.”

Bucky adjusted his weight, needing to ground himself after your words made him feel as light as air. His music meant so much to him, working tirelessly to bring to life the sound he envisioned in his mind, to know that the unfinished piece had such an effect already made his heart swell with pride.

He developed his music like a chef crafting a recipe. Each instrument was a different ingredient, carefully selected notes were gathered on the counter, waiting to come together in a symphonic skillet. The flavors of music combine, heating up together the piano is covered in the spice of an electric guitar, with the drumming rhythm simmering beneath the surface as the sound of strings are poured generously over the top.

In the end the dish is a delicious feast for the ears but here you were, happily devouring the unfinished ingredient in its raw form.

“Yeah…” his voice came out breathless. Catching himself Bucky cleared his throat. “It’s actually for an upcoming video game. I can’t say which, but it’s part of an emotional scene when the main character finds his family is gone.”

“I can sense the depth of it.”

“That’s not even the best part,” he explained as his face grew with a wide smile. Bucky became lost in describing the emotion of the violins that would come in. “They’re the voice of the character and when he’s lost everything I have them coming in, crying out in pain. It’s sharp and strong, and beautifully tragic.”

Listening to Bucky describe his music resonated in your soul. You saw the complete love and passion he had for it and once again you felt terrible about asking him to stop.

“I’d love to hear it, if that’s okay.”

You looked at him with hopeful eyes, and Bucky smiled, nodding before he spoke his answer. He couldn’t wait for you to hear everything together.

You passed the time by getting to know each other a little more. Bucky has a younger sibling named Rebecca who moved west to work as an avian veterinarian in a bird sanctuary.

“My parents are lost without them around,” Bucky joked. “Do you know how hard it is to try to explain how to use Skype to them over the phone?”

“Oh believe me, I know. Somehow my mom always calls at the worst time to have me explain the most basic function on her phone that she already knows because we’ve gone over it a million times but…” You threw your hands up as Bucky joined in with your laughter.

When your clothes were dry Bucky gave you some space to fold them alone which you appreciated, not wanting to showcase your intimate items in front of him. He was still a stranger, sort of, but you were glad you were getting to know him.

Checking the time you realized it was on the late side and you still needed to shower before bed. Your clothes were packed neatly into a laundry bag, well most of them were at least. One sock managed to get eaten by the dryer to your dismay, and you hoped its pair was somewhere on your floor having fallen out as you prepped the laundry.

Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you gripped the bottle of detergent with your other hand and walked towards Bucky.

“Hey,” you called out to Bucky who lifted his head from his phone. “I’ve got a few things to do tonight still so can I take a rain check on hearing your music?”

“Yeah, of course.” Bucky did his best to mask his disappointment but he understood. He noticed the slump of your shoulders, balancing the laundry bag high on one side and letting your other limb hang low with the weight of the heavy bottle.

“Do you want me to carry that back?” he asked.

“Oh, no it’s okay, I can manage.”

The apartment was only two blocks away, two long blocks but still, you didn’t want to inconvenience Bucky even though judging by the curve of his biceps it wouldn’t be a problem.

Bucky walked with you to the front of the laundromat as you smiled and said goodnight.

“Goodnight Y/N,” he whispered, watching as you walked down the sidewalk until he could no longer see you in the crowd.

The words stayed on his lips like they were always meant to be there and Bucky has a brief flash of a life he’s never thought about.

A warm bed, made even warmer by the figure curled against him. His breath syncs with theirs and he’s at peace. His heart beats to the rhythm of love and his lips purse together to plant a soft lingering kiss on their forehead. A smile secures itself on his face because he’s truly happy; surrounded by the comforting feeling knowing that when he wakes up that person, his love, will be by his side.

The machine buzzes at the end of its cycle dragging Bucky back to a reality that has him gasping for breath. He steps outside for a minute for air, needing to clear his mind of the vision that seemed so real it scared him; for better or worse he can’t quite say.

PART 5

[revasserium]

Can I request B.62 for Sakusa, if you write for him. Thank you 😄

hq!!reqs currently: closed 

(i adjusted numbering for the second prompt list; i hope i got the prompt right, if not, feel free to request the actual number 62 for him!)

123. seductive danger sakusa; 1,842 words 

you wouldn’t call him seductive, per se – though you supposed that the face mask could be a thing for some people. anything can be a thing for some people – rules of the internet and all. but he doesn’t go out of his way to pander to his loyal legions of fans (read: oikawa). and he really does have legions of them. 

going pro has only exacerbated the issue, much to his dismay. 

“no respect for personal space,” he mumbles one day as he’s carted into a dark van with tinted windows, having ducked out of the gym through one of the back exits. 

you glance up at him from over your phone. 

“hazards of being a famous volleyball player,” you chime. 

he only huffs. tugging his hood up over his head, and punching the recline button till he’s almost lying flat, his legs bent slightly against the seat in front of him. he really is a bit too tall sometimes. especially for japan, it’s not really well designed for people over the height of 6ft, and he’s well. more than that. 

you’d been friends for as long as you can remember, both a little on the quiet side as children, both with weird obsessions (him with his germs, you with your color coordination), both a little too odd for the normal kids to play with. neither of you had minded. because after all, you’d found each other, right? 

still, it was a bit strange, seeing your best friend grow into a household name, this title, this team. it’s strange, seeing his face on the side of busses or blown up on the big screens flashing over shibuya crossing, endorsing some random item or other (you’ve still no idea what sunscreen’s got to do with volleyball – they play the indoor kind). still stranger when he appeared on a list of the sexiest athletes in all of japan, narrowly missing out on the top four courtesy of kageyama, ushijima, and the miya twins. you remember wondering how on earth the second miya twin made it onto the list when he’s known mainly for selling onigiri, but you suppose that people do like their things in sets sometimes. that’s a thing for people too, right? twins. 

you’d never thought about sakusa that way before that article came out. and sure, you’d been pestered by some friends during highschool for his number, but it’d been funny then. it was less so now when hoards of screaming girls seemed to appear at every function he goes to (it’s not many, but he has to get sponsorships somehow), scrambling over each other for a glimpse of him. 

but sexy?

“how was practice?” you ask, eyes dropping back onto some article about how volleyball interest in japan has reached an all-time high. 

he makes a noncommittal sort of grunting noise before heaving a deep sigh. 

“it was grueling, as per usual. but i’m getting better at ball control on my spikes, which is good.” 

you quirk an eyebrow, “even more ball control than you already have you mean.” 

he turns towards you with an amused grin. 

(oh, well, there’s something you don’t see often.) 

“you can always have more control.” 

you suppose it’s because you’ve just been thinking about the article, but you can’t help lingering on his smile, the double entendre in his words. a prickle of heat crawls up your neck and you quickly look back down to your phone again, scrolling through for something else to read. something to divert your attention from how his knee is pressed against yours in the backseat of this van that had seemed much larger only moments ago. 

now, it seems to be shrinking in around you, the space between you getting smaller and smaller. 

you lick your lips. 

“what’re you thinkin’ about?” 

your eyes shoot up again. it’s not like him to ask many questions of this variety (about volleyball though, don’t even get his started), if any, but the way he’s looking at you makes your heart stutter in your chest. 

“nothing. why?” you retort, a little too quickly, and you watch as sakusa’s eyebrow travels up the expanse of his forehead till it’s in danger of disappearing completely into his hairline. 

“because you’re making a face.” 

“what face?” 

he leans in suddenly, squinting at you, your noses almost brushing. 

your breath catches in your chest, your thoughts derail like speeding trains, crashing into the unexplored wilds of your mind – you note that he smells like hand sanitizer and lavender soap. you remember that you’d gotten him a large bottle of it for christmas – he’s always running out of soap. 

“that face,” he says, his face still much too close to yours. 

from here, you can see the individual lashes framing his darkened eyes, and you watch as they dilate, like two pinprick black holes, ready to devour whatever comes into their path. the way he’s looking at you makes your skin go hot, hotter than it was before, hotter than when you’ve just stepped out of a shower, your skin steaming from the blistering water. you wonder briefly if steam might be coming off of your face right now, because it sure as hell feels hot enough to be. 

“i… i don’t know what you’re talking about.” there’s a breathiness to your voice that makes it sound unbelievable, even to yourself. 

he scoffs, falling back into his seat, his hood falling off his head, leaving his hair delightfully mussed. you resist the urge to run your hand through it, just to see how soft it might be. probably really soft, you think, from all the times you’ve brushed up against it, when he’d fallen asleep with his head on your shoulder in high school, even though he woke up complaining of neck pain because of how much shorter you were. 

“hm. whatever, i’ll figure it out eventually.” 

you sink into your own seat, wishing very briefly for the seat to open up and suck you into the plush cushioning. you nip that thought in the bud. it might lead to sakusa sitting on you one day, and you’d rather not follow that line of thought either. 

“don’t hold your breath,” you mutter beneath your own, but it only makes sakusa round on you again. 

“tell me what it is.” 

you laugh, a little helplessly as he presses into your personal space again. 

“i thought you didn’t like being so close to people.” 

he narrows his eyes. 

“you’re different. you know that. and stop trying to change the subject and tell me what you’re thinking.” 

“it’s nothing!” 

he huffs, “you know i can’t stand not knowing.” 

“it’s –” you flounder, looking for something, anything, to shoehorn into this, “really stupid,” you admit finally, but it does nothing to pacify his curiosity. 

“i don’t care.” 

you curl into yourself even harder than before, eyes flickering around to anything but him. it’s hard, when he’s so close to you he takes up almost your entire field of vision. 

“it’s… it’s just – i was trying to figure out if you’re sexy.” 

he blinks. 

once, twice, three times. 

you hold your breath, unsure of what he might say next. 

but then, he just settles back into his own seat with a contented grin, glancing over at you with a tilt of his head. 

“and?” 

you blink. 

“and what?” 

“am i?” 

“are you?” 

sakusa sighs. 

“sexy.” 

you bite your lips. 

“uh. i haven’t figured that out yet.” 

he regards you with an unreadable expression, his eyes sharp with the kind of concentration you’ve only ever seen on him during matches. to have all that attention focused on you feels like being beneath a concentrated heat of the sun filtered through a magnifying glass. and you’re sure you’re going to combust at any given moment. 

“hm. lemme know if you need further convincing.” 

“what?” 

he leans back in his seat and closes his eyes again. 

“you heard me.” 

“i think my brain glitched.” 

he peaks open one eye to look at you, and this time, you’re sure he’s smirking. 

(well shit. the magazine might be onto something here.) 

“that’s cute.” 

“what is?” 

he pauses for a brief moment, before – 

“your face.” 

you really do think your brain might have glitched then, and the expression on your face must’ve been more revealing than you realized because the next moment, he’s laughing. the kind of laughter that you hear once in a blue moon, when his team somehow manages to drag him out for enough drinks to get him to forget about all the other stuff. all the buzzing that goes on in his brain. 

he’s laughing, and you feel yourself blush to the roots of your hair. 

you reconsider your earlier wish to be swallowed by the seat. it seems perfectly valid again. 

“you’re –!” you try to find a word, something to encompass the torrent of emotions crashing through you, all of which are his fault. 

“yes?” he’s leaning in again, his eyes alight with mirth and something darker, heavier, much more tantalizing. 

“you’re…” 

he licks his lips, and think you can almost hear the sounds of your own wires fraying at the ends. 

“sexy?” he asks, though this time, there’s no laughter in his voice. it’s low, almost gravely as it grounds through his chest. you feel it vibrate through your own chest and it’s all you can do to keep from shivering. 

you swallow, your eyes flickering from his mouth up to his eyes, his pupils now blown wide enough to swallow his entire iris. 

you nod, slowly, despite yourself. and he grins. 

“good,” he says, his voice still low and soft and, dare you say it, seductive. 

“glad you got there first. i was gonna have to kiss you next.” 

he almost pulls away but you suck in a breath. 

“kiss me anyway.” 

he pauses; his eyes going an infinitesimal wider at your words. a second later, he’s leaning in close, close, even closer. his breath fans out over your lips and you let your eyes fall shut. 

he kisses you. 

and you thank the heavens that there’s a soundproof divider between the driver and the back of the van because that noise you make barely registers as human, tumbling from the back of your throat into his mouth. he grins against your lips. 

“should’ve done this sooner” he muses, pulling apart only to start another kiss. and then another. 

you smile, letting yourself be kissed and kissed and kissed. 

that article really has some merit, you think as sakusa manages to maneuver you out of your seat and into his lap. 

that, and maybe, just maybe, if it can keep his hoards of screaming fans from ever coming close to his lips, you just might be able to get into the whole facemask thing. 

[fallinnflower]

pretty baby

jeonghan x reader (established relationship, non-idol!au)

a/n: this fic is a part of the intimacy anthology project. 

warnings: mentions of insecurity, jealousy, petty coworkers with snide remarks, and implied mature content

Being with someone like Yoon Jeonghan wasn't easy. His ethereally good looks could make it impossible to feel like you were up to his standards — or, rather, the standards imposed upon you by being with someone as beautiful as him. Pretty people were supposed to be with other pretty people, right? 

Although nobody ever said anything explicitly, there were always the subtle jabs, the little comments meant to stick like thorns in your side — things you tried to ignore but piled up over time. Airing out your dirty laundry was never your strong suit, and so you just pushed it all further into a darkened corner, hoping one day it would just disappear. 

Of course, things don't just vanish into thin air, not even emotions. In fact, if anything, they halve like cells and reproduce, over and over and over until the mole hill is a mountain you can't even attempt to move. 

Usually, you can convince yourself things are fine, you can get over your insecurities and issues on your own. 

And then, there are the days where everything just feels, well, yucky. When no amount of your favorite things can keep a smile on your face, and faking one feels like far too much work. Those days that creep up on you and bury you under their weight. 

It's the end of a week that's felt incredibly long, with seemingly unending gray skies and a workload that just keeps piling up so that it feels like it won't ever get done. 

The day started with the zipper on your favorite pair of jeans busting, leaving you scrambling to get ready in time for work. Throughout the day you feel sluggish and yet hyper-aware of every little flaw about you — the frizz of your hair, the discoloration on your face, everything. And you can't shake the feeling that other people are noticing it, too, picking you apart behind your back. 

Your worst fears come to life around lunchtime, when one of your coworkers rolls her desk chair over to your side. 

“Y/N, who’s this guy on your Instagram? He’s stunning.” Her motive is instantly clear to you, and there’s a bitter taste in your mouth as you force yourself to smile politely at her.

“Ah, that’s my boyfriend, Jeonghan.” You swear you see anger flash in her eyes for a second before she goes back to looking at your post. She surveys the photos you’d posted of Jeonghan on your date this past weekend with a mixture of jealousy and clear admiration for your boyfriend’s good looks. On a good day, you might feel yourself swelling with pride at someone noticing his ethereally good looks — hell, you’d probably be boasting — but today her words only make you feel smaller. 

A couple of your coworkers, returning from the break room with their lunches and fresh coffees in hand, stop by your desk to see what the fuss is about, peering over the shoulders of your coworker in her rolling chair. Even though it’s your desk, you somehow feel like an intruder as your three officemates gather in your space. One of them lifts their gaze from the phone, eyes slightly narrowed and gaze sharp as they very obviously give you a once-over. You feel as though you’re frozen solid beneath their gaze, your grip on the pen in your hand tightening like your throat. The third coworker doesn’t even bother to look up at you,

“Wow, I had no idea your boyfriend was so attractive, Y/N. How’d you get so lucky, hm?” The one with the sharp gaze cocks their head to the side, leaning their weight back onto one foot, hip jutting out sharply into your space.

“Yeah, Y/N, how did you get so lucky?” 

You can feel your face heating up, and wonder if you’ve misheard them — did they mean to put the emphasis on you? You lick your lips nervously and let out a laugh, smoothing down your hair self-consciously. Suddenly, you can’t bear to look at them anymore, and so you shrug and turn back to your paperwork.

“I’m not sure,” you say, trying to keep the atmosphere light. “I suppose it’s just that — luck.” You’re aware of the three pairs of eyes on you, but you don’t dare look up, even as you hear one of them huff slightly in annoyance at your answer.

“Maybe you should share some of that luck with the rest of us, then,” someone laughs, and you feel the sharpness in each of their words. On any other day, you’d probably just square your shoulders and joke right back — you’re accustomed to the petty games some of your coworkers enjoy playing, having worked here long enough — but today you feel as though your skin is no thicker than a rubber balloon, and their barbed words have you deflating rapidly.

“Maybe,” you reply, far too quietly. You don’t bother looking up at them, forcing yourself to keep filling in the blanks on your paperwork, trying to keep the shaking of your hand from being noticeable. Eventually, probably tired of your meek responses, the trio finally leaves; as you hear the chair finally rolling away, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

Your phone lights up with a reminder that you should take your lunch break, and with it comes Jeonghan’s smiling face on your lockscreen. His hair slightly ruffled by the wind, his eyes curved into happy half moons as he holds his coffee in one hand and your own hand in the other, looking back at you as you walked down the path framed with cherry blossoms. His hair had been blond then, and the pinks and whites behind him made him seem all the more ethereal. 

You stare at the screen until the notification disappears, plunging the image into blackness, and bite down hard onto your bottom lip. Your words from earlier echo in your ears, leaving your heart feeling heavier by the second.

I suppose it’s just that — luck. 

After all, why else would someone as beautiful as Jeonghan want to be with someone as plain and difficult as you?

You can’t find another reason, much less so when you spend far too long standing in front of the sink rubbing the soap on your hands as you stare into your own face in the mirror. You don’t think you’ve ever hated the thought of being lucky more in your life.

By the time you drag yourself home, you're quite aware that you've had far better days. You feel miserable, your head stuck up in those rain clouds overhead, trudging up the stairs and into your apartment. 

You're so caught up in your own downward spiral that you hardly notice the second pair of shoes by the door, only fully realizing Jeonghan is home when you hear the sound of sizzling from the kitchen. 

"Baby?" Jeonghan calls, his delicate voice carrying over the sound of his cooking straight to you. You feel like your tongue is lead in your mouth as you hang your raincoat on the coat rack by the door,

"Hey."

There must be something in the tone of your voice, despite how hard you try to hide it, that alerts Jeonghan to a change in your mood, because you find him peering out of the kitchen to catch the first sight of you he can. His brows are puckered in concern, and somehow seeing him — hair out of place, standing in a hot kitchen and still looking impeccable — makes you feel like you're going to cry. You tighten your jaw, trying to will the tears to go back where they came from, but before you can Jeonghan has turned off the burner. 

"What's wrong?" He walks out of the kitchen to meet you in the hallway, wrapping you tenderly in his embrace; softly, as though you're delicate, breakable. You wonder if that's how you look to him now. 

You shake your head, looking down. 

"Nothing," you say, snaking your arms up around his shoulders. For a moment, you allow yourself to melt into his arms, but it only causes your chest to tighten further. As you feel the tears building you pull away from Jeonghan, letting out a watery chuckle. 

"Just— work, you know?" Jeonghan lets you step away, but not far from him. His hands continue to seek you out, one ghosting across your forehead and down the side of your face to brush any stray hairs away that may be hiding your expression from him. It isn’t fully a lie, but you know that he can read you like a book, and lying while looking into his eyes is a skill you don’t think you’ll e

"Are you sure?" The softness of his tone makes the tears well up in your eyes, and Jeonghan puts an arm around your waist. He leads you to the couch, sitting you down  and grabbing the box of tissues from the coffee table just in time for the waterworks. 

To his credit, he does just let you cry it out for a bit, which you hadn't quite realized you needed so badly. He opens his arms to you, offering you his shoulder to quite literally cry on until you finally feel capable of talking. 

"What's been going on outside of work?" He asks delicately, rubbing comforting circles into your back. You avert your gaze with a sniffle, thinking on the knot of emotions currently residing in your stomach. It suddenly feels impossible to even get to the root of it all, but you clear your throaty and try. 

"I just feel down." He hums in response, his hand still on your back. 

"What about?"

There's a long pause during which you try to think of how to say what exactly is at the core of what's wrong. In the end, all you can manage is a feeble,

"Myself."

Jeonghan seems almost equally as upset as you, but far more confused than he was when you first came home. 

"Why do you feel bad about yourself? Did someone say something? Was it someone at work?" You shake your head rapidly, but it only takes Jeonghan giving you a particularly searching look to finally get you to spit out what's really on your mind. You sigh,

“I mean, not directly, but… they saw my latest Instagram post and they were asking all these questions about you, and us…” He tilts his head to the side, brows puckered in confusion.

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“God, Jeonghan— it's because you're pretty, okay? More than pretty, honestly, I can't believe a person can look like you, and— and you're with me, of all people, and sometimes I just don’t know why— a-and it's just been a terrible week”— You force yourself to take a deep breath, blinking rapidly to try and force the tears away. Jeonghan gently reaches for you, pushing your hair away from your face and tipping your chin up to look into your eyes. 

"Ah," Jeonghan says, sighs, and you feel the pain in his eyes when they meet yours, as he realizes you're being honest. 

"What do I say to make this better...? I love you so much." As he gently murmurs his own thoughts aloud, he swipes the pads of his thumbs beneath your eyes, catching the tears preemptively. Eventually, he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, causing your eyes to flutter shut. 

"My pretty baby," he says. "The prettiest in the world. Do you know what I love about you?"

You shake your head, feeling physically incapable of speaking. Jeonghan only smiles, bringing one of your hands up to his lips. 

"I love your hands"— kiss.

"And your arms, your shoulders, your neck," he says, pressing a kiss to each part of your body he mentions, ghosting his lips against your skin. You can't help but giggle when he kisses a slightly ticklish spot on your cheek, and Jeonghan immediately breaks out into a broad grin. 

"I love your smile, and your nose — I love your whole face"— before you can react Jeonghan has taken your face in his hands and begun peppering your skin with kisses, leaving you feeling flushed and giddy. He presses one final, lingering kiss to your lips before surveying you with heavy-lidded eyes. 

"Should I continue?" Jeonghan asks, and you let out another laugh as you shake your head. 

"No, no, I feel much better now."

"Mm, good," he says, smoothing down your hair with a smile. "Now how about I run a nice hot bath for you, and once we've worked up an appetite I can finish dinner, hm?" You feel your face warming up again at the mischievous glimmer in his eye, and you gently push at his shoulder. 

"Aish, don't be dirty," you scold, and he gives you his most innocent look. 

"Dirty? What are you implying, Y/N? I just said I'd make dinner once we got hungry." 

"Just go run my bath!" You look away, pushing at Jeonghan to try and get him off the couch as he laughs at your antics. 

"There's my baby," he says, pinching your cheeks gently as he stands up. Once he has your attention his grip slackens, leaving him merely cradling your face in his hands as he gazes at you fondly. He leans in and presses one last kiss to your lips, sweet and slow and heart-warming in the best of ways. You can't help but smile, giddy with his love when he pulls away. He lets out a contented sigh at the brightness of your expression and gently taps his finger against the tip of your nose,

"My pretty, pretty baby, who’s the prettiest when they’re happy. How did I get so lucky?" 

And as he says the words you really, truly feel just as he describes.

[thedevillionaire]

Exordium

Supernatural soap opera II, domestic edition.

Brief background info: Cerberus and Kia are pretty much newlyweds here – they’ve been bonded only a couple of weeks after a brief and intense courtship.

Anyway, here’s a little moment with my Demon lord doing his best to reject reality.

---

Cerberus woke blearily, hazily, feeling as if he’d partaken of one too many – or, for that matter, many too many – drinks the night before, although he’d done nothing of the sort. He sniffled and rubbed his nose as he sat up carefully, moving the bedcovers aside gently so to disturb Kia as little as possible, extricating his arm from underneath her as smoothly as he could. A slight shiver ran through him and he glanced across at the fireplace, which was, as it always was when he was in the room, alight in the usual manner. Hm. He shivered again as the background tickle in his nose he’d not yet had time to even give much thought to intensified abruptly, insistently, and with a sudden, sharp inhale, he brought his elbow to his face to cover an urgent sneeze, and a rapidly following second one, immediately looking back over his shoulder at Kia, his brow creased in alarm, worried that he’d woken her.

She didn’t seem particularly disturbed, however; only murmuring a whispered, sleepy “Bless you”, cocooning the bedcovers more tightly around herself as she rearranged herself among the sheets, and making a small sound of tired contentment, not quite ready to fully wake yet. Cerberus, simultaneously relieved and enchanted, smiled at the sight of her, distracted momentarily from his own discomforts ­– his newly bonded’s hair a mass of silken dark chaos across the pillows, framing her exquisite face, her expression in repose serene and so very beautiful – and he leant over to touch a tender kiss to her forehead, his heart warming at the resultant small reflexive smile that crossed her face, though she otherwise didn’t stir.

An unwelcome returning irritation called him back to himself, and he pressed his fingers firmly against the bridge of his nose to subdue it, sniffling as quietly as he could manage. He swallowed with unexpected difficulty, frowning at a resultant slight sting, but disregarded it, vaguely reassuring himself that it was nothing, he’d just slept badly, that’s all, as he collected his dressing robe and crossed the bedroom to the ensuite, closing the door behind him. He’d feel better after a shower, once he’d woken up a bit more.

Surely.

He always shakes this sort of thing off.

 ---

 Why the hell is it so cold in here? Cerberus, descending the staircase, brought the lounge room hearth to roaring life with a wave as he passed it on his way to the kitchen, feeling slightly more awake, if unfortunately not much more clear-headed, post-shower. And it would be much appreciated, he thought with another sniffle, if whatever it was that was bothering his nose would give it a damn rest.

He sighed, briefly wondering if it was possible that he was coming down with something, and dismissed the idea almost…well, not completely out of hand, but he wasn’t prepared to give it any meaningful credence at this point either. These things never take, and he has that meeting about finer distinction points within the grading Levels anyway, and that had already been difficult enough to set up a time that suited everybody as it was. Damned if he was going to cancel and attempt to reschedule over a headache and what was probably an overreaction to the lower-than-optimal temperature in the house. And the place highly likely needed dusting too; this last month had been quite the whirlwind of activity and intensity, not a great deal of which had involved deep cleaning, and that was almost certainly the…reason for… As if on cue, the irritation which seemed determined not to give him a break this morning returned with ferocity, and another pair of sneezes overtook him almost before he recognised what was coming. He shook his head briefly, sharply, frowning, and sneezed again. Goddamn it, DeVille. He sniffled compulsively, and took several deep, measured breaths, pressing an index finger underneath his nose in an attempt to return to some sort of equilibrium. Honestly. Just…stop. He impatiently Created a coffee, the idea of waiting for water to boil in the standard manner seeming even more unnecessary than usual to him right now, and walked back over to the loungeroom, ostensibly to review the papers he’d prepared for today’s meeting but more immediately to avail himself of a couple of the tissues from the box on the coffee table. Taking a seat on the couch, he wiped his nose, sighed, sipped his coffee and attempted to concentrate on at least some of the more pertinent points for the meeting.

This, unfortunately, was proving a much more difficult proposition than it should have been. His head remained clouded by a steady dull throb, plus what was starting to become a regular, constant sniffle, not to mention the low-grade background accompanying itch intermittently threatening to turn into a sneeze, demanding his attention, pulling his focus away from matters at hand only to result in moment after frustrating moment of acute and tremulous unfulfilled expectation, and having the consequence of making him feel as if he was unable to accomplish literally anything this morning. Repeatedly.

For fuck’s sake. What the hell is the…

He inhaled shakily, suddenly, desperately, the need to sneeze returning with keen certainty this time, and he grabbed another tissue in preparation for…

“hh… Huh-TSCHH-uu!”

“Bless you!”

He turned hastily, surprised, to note Kia’s arrival in the foyer, but the insistent tickle wasn’t done with him yet, and he sneezed again without pause, twice.

“Oh, bless you, sweetheart.”

Cerberus sighed in mild vexation. “Thank you, darkling. Pardon me.” He wiped his nose firmly, sniffling yet again. “Sorry.”

Kia wandered over to lean against the couch, smoothing his hair back from his face, and looked at him with curiosity, concern. “You okay, hon? You sound like you’re catching cold.”

“I’m alright.” Cerberus, still not willing to seriously consider that possibility, dismissed it with a wry smile.  “Just a bit of an irritation. Didn’t sleep well. It’ll pass.” It has to.

Kia rubbed his shoulders gently and gave him a dubious look. “You sure about that?”

“It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.” Cerberus finished the last of his coffee, stood and walked around the couch to meet Kia, kissing her on the top of her head. “I have to head out fairly soon, actually. I have that damn Levels meeting in about…” He checked the time. “Hmm. Much sooner than I’d like, it seems.” He wrapped his arms around Kia and pulled her to him, kissing her tenderly. “Sorry, love.”

“Mm, no problem,” murmured Kia, taking quiet pleasure in his firm embrace, reaching up to curl her hand around the back of his neck, through his hair. “I’ve got a bunch of Inception papers to go over, anyway, and all the…stuff. Only a million things or so. Testing prep. No problem. All good.” She chuckled sardonically, trailing a finger down his chest. “Okay, maybe it’s freaking me out just a bit.”

Cerberus laughed quietly and kissed her before reluctantly breaking their embrace, collecting his notes from the table, and walking towards the door. He selected the heavier coat from the clothes stand there, pausing for a moment. “You’ll be brilliant, darkling. I have no doubt of it.” He sniffled again and rubbed his nose, not escaping Kia’s notice for a second.

“Babe…” She moved to him, fastening an extra couple of buttons on his coat and straightening the collar. “Are you sure you’re…”

Bemused by her fussing over him, an unfamiliarity he found himself strangely enamoured by, Cerberus smiled softly, cupped her face in his hand and offered her a repeated reassurance of something that he very much hoped to be true. “I’ll be fine.”

Kia eyed him doubtfully but decided to allow him the benefit of that doubt nevertheless, though not without reservation, and she gave him a quick kiss in farewell. “Keep warm, sweetheart.” :I love you.:

“Certainly trying.” :I love you too.:

 ---

 The drastic drop in temperature from the manor to the outdoors took Cerberus by surprise, even though he thought he’d prepared for it, and he fastened the final top button on his coat, a shiver running through him and the itch that had plagued him since waking returning with a vengeance. He blinked rapidly and rubbed his nose, but he knew any further fight here was a lost cause as he inhaled deeply, helplessly.

“Huh…ahh-HEHTSSHhuu!”

Fucking hell. He sniffled sharply, wiped his nose again and tried to breathe more evenly. Reaction to sudden falls in temperature like this were hardly an unknown quantity for him, though, and he managed to rationalise it well enough - almost. This will pass. It always passes.

Cerberus pressed his fingers against still irritated sinuses, the overwhelming need to sneeze again wasting no time in negating his determined wish for this to be nothing, and he offered a silent entreaty to deities he didn’t believe in to just make this stop. Now. Just…

“hhuh-TSCHHUU!”

The sneeze sent him into another series of relentless sniffles, head throbbing, and he sighed heavily, exasperated.  Just get to the damn meeting. This. Will. Pass.

Surely.

He always shakes this sort of thing off, after all…

 ---

[picklesmin]

Soap Bubbles and Memories

They were allies, they were friends, but sometimes they were even more than that to Olimar. And under the soap and grime that coated them now they were a needed blessing, and a haunting curse to a mournful father’s heart.

So I decided to make “Outside A Galaxy Of My Own” a series instead of a multi chaptered fic (though some arcs may have multiple parts)!

Thought of this when I was bathing my little brothers, and it started out intending to just be cute but devolved into sadness. Oh Olimar, why can’t you just stay happy for me?

-

This planet was host to so many different terrains that Olimar never quite knew what environmental hurdle would be thrown at him, and as such he wasn’t always quite prepared either to face it. No, too many times had him stumble into a pool, scaling rocks, and even frozen snow.

It never seemed to matter what mess the pikmin found clinging to them at the end of the day either. When they slid down the tentacle like appendages of their onions the next day they were always sparkling. As the onion was a nest, he supposed that meant it was equipped to groom them as well.

That wasn’t always the case however.

“Damn,” the father cursed to himself in a panic as he barely managed to cling to the bark of the rotting log that had snapped under their careful feet. One hand was barely grasping Louie by the pants as they dangled precariously over a strange pit.

“The pikmin!” Olimar shouted in alarm as he stared down at a small group of wailing little pikmin desperately trying to keep themselves afloat in a tarry substance. Even the blues were sinking.

Instinctively Olimar blew harshly on his whistle with several sharp breaths, but while his little comrades desperately tried to reach towards him, they couldn’t free themselves. Even their little arms could barely wave in distress. A winged pikmin attempted to flutter over to its siblings, but after pulling uselessly the poor thing was only suctioned into the chaos of black taffy.

“No good.” Louie shook his head and let his whistle dangle again. “It’s tar, they can’t get out.”

Olimar turned desperately to his partner and then back to the drowning and sinking squad. The mere thought of attempting to turn his back on their faithful companions struggling to live and begging him was utterly inconceivable.

“I can't just not try.”

Puffing his cheeks in frustration at the rather expected answer, Louie nodded curtly and without a word, stretched his hand down to let the captain slowly lower into the pit.

Olimar could feel the disgusting, congealed substance begin to sink against his thighs but regardless, using a few rocks sticking up, he maneuvered over to the struggling pikmin.

Exhausted and slowly being consumed in the mass, the poor creatures couldn’t even reach out to him. Gritting his teeth as he strained against the pressure of the pit, Olimar extended his arm out and tried to scoop the pikmin into him. After several tugs, he managed to loosen them, and the terrified, filthy creatures took refuge on his helmet.

Louie grunted as he felt Olimar’s weight become even heavier. “This was a stupid idea.” But he knew his fatherly boss and he knew he never let anyone struggle without trying to save them.

Olimar was much more difficult to lift thanks to the extra weight on his head, but after a few complicated attempts the group was catching its breath back on shore.

“That’s my exercise for the day,” Olimar joked, gazing skyward and still feeling his head heavy with pikmin. “But it’ll be dark soon anyways.” The pikmin were practically glued to his head.

Louie fiddled the dial on the onion and their squad began climbing up the legs, sliding into the opening of their vessel. He peeled the five pikmin on his captain’s helmet and threw them at the onion’s legs.

Like one of those ‘splat’ toys Olimar’s son had at home, the poor creatures merely made a wet sounding splat as they hung there like velcro, bewildered. Neither explorer could resist a snort.

“This is a bit of an issue,” Olimar hummed as he watched the blinking, chattering little pikmin. Were it not for their unique shape, you’d hardly be able to tell which type was which, sullied under all the black goo. “The onion has to groom them. It can’t take them like this.”

Louie stared at the dirty pikmin and shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t do much…”

Olimar’s thoughts were already winding as he surveyed their environment carefully. The only thing nearby was a small pond, and that was useless...unless…

“What are you doing?” Louie’s eyes widened slightly as he watched Olimar pick up the messy pikmin and head towards the water. Judging by the way the critter’s eyes absolutely bugged out, the poor pikmin were wondering the same thing.

“Testing a theory…” Holding a confused yellow pikmin, Olimar sat down in the shallows of the pond. He had the creature propped up on his shoulder, its eyes staring the water down with trepidation. Olimar held it out and his soft smile gazed into its terrified expression.

“It’s alright.” He cursed the ever present language barrier between them, because being able to speak their dialect was exactly what Olimar needed right now. “You won’t get hurt, I promise you.” The yellow pikmin’s chest rose and fell quickly, ears pinned back with pupils the size of a full moon.

As he moved to lower the pikmin into the water, it squealed in fear and folded its tiny legs up like a frog. When Olimar tried again, the frightened thing broke free of his hold and clawed up his arm to take refuge on his helmet.

“Meeeep! Meeeeef!”

“That went well.” Louie’s normal monotone held a slight teasing to it and Olimar glared half heartedly back at his young charge.

The captain craned his neck to try and look up at the pikmin and smiled sadly when he saw it was shaking. “You’re alright, I promise.” He picked up the chittering leaf again and immediately it began squealing and scratching the air. “Hey-hey!”

Olimar lifted the slightly wet creature from the water with one hand supporting its back and with his other hand he cupped the pikmin’s tiny, delicate face with the care and experience of a patient father. “It’s me! It’s me…” Teary eyes gazed up at him earnestly and Olimar held the pikmin at eye level, hoping his tone at the very least could soothe where words could not. Although the pikmin was still visibly panicked, it appeared to be listening.

“It’s me,” Olimar repeated, his tone akin to the gentle fatherly one he used with his children (and sometimes Louie) when they were upset. “Come on, you know I won’t let you drown.”

But did they? Did they really? So much about the symbiotic relationship they shared was such an enigma. To this day Olimar still didn’t know why the pikmin followed him, served him, and especially laid down their own lives willingly, even knowing how many perished in his leadership. For all he knew the little thing in his arms was thinking he was planning on executing it!

Olimar moved his thumb over the yellow pikmin’s cheek, brushing away the tear that was there. The gesture seemed to be calming the little leaf’s shakes slightly and he smiled. “You willing to try?”

Although the pikmin remained understandably nervous, gradually its little muscles relaxed and eventually its tiny legs hung down. Olimar shifted the pikmin in his arm and held it in a partially cradled position in his lap. The moment blackened toes touched the water, the yellow pikmin squeaked, but a few gentle shushes from the Hocotation and it went quiet.

Olimar allowed the pikmin to sink down a little further, until the water line was just under the creature’s chest. Its eyes widened as it instinctively raised its head, visibly trying to keep its stem as far from the water as possible. Olimar cupped his glove carefully over the delicate leaf, leaving ample room for it to breathe, while being shielded.

The gesture was like magic, relaxing the pikmin almost instantly. Its ears flicked inquisitively and Olimar nodded. “It’s the stem,” he informed Louie. “That’s what happens, that makes sense. These creatures are sentient plants, and any plant can be drowned if it’s exposed to too much moisture.”

Louie walked out of the ship with scrub brushes and watched a dirty blue pikmin happily fling itself into the pond. “And the blue ones?”

Olimar waved a hand dismissively. “Well there’s always exceptions for every part of nature.” He was glad he didn’t have to fight with the blue ones. Although for the most part now the yellow pikmin was utterly compliant and even interested in the strange environment it was never safely able to be in.

Olimar smiled encouragingly over his shoulder at the tiny group of pikmin watching nervously from land. “Any of you comfortable being next?” Propping his pikmin on his knee he was able to reach a hand out to the small group.

A winged pikmin, grounded from the tar, stared at its siblings and back at the Hocotations. After a moment it came closer with an affirming chirp.

“Well, they’re certainly getting braver!” He rubbed his yellow pikmin’s cheek softly and felt something tug inside him when a soft purr was the response. “Louie, they like baths,” he practically gushed, trying to keep his smile from splitting his face. It was just so unexpected, so adorable.

Louie merely sighed and took a hold of the winged pikmin. “You’re gonna bathe them from now on.” It was a statement, not a question and that’s what made Olimar’s cheeks bloom a dark red of embarrassment.

“Of course not!” he barked with an affronted scoff, nearly jostling the little pikmin in his lap. “Don’t be ridiculous, Louie. We’re here on a mission, which I’m well aware of and what’s required of me. But, well, you know the scientist in me—I’m just excited with this new discovery!”

“Hmm.”

The derisive hum only served to make Olimar redder and he instead turned his gaze to the yellow pikmin. Its chitters were that of amusement and curiosity and Olimar watched a tiny claw flick the surface and watch the water droplets. The Hocotation smiled and exhaled after a moment. “Well, time’s ticking away. We should probably clean them.” As tempting as it was to just sit there and watch their adorable antics.

“Guess so. Got the stuff.” Louie had a bucket in his hand with various sizes and textures of brushes. He also had a liquidized soap. He flopped down into the water and squirted some soap out onto one of the brushes.

“Louie wait, we don’t know if their skin can tolerate that!” Olimar exclaimed and winced as the sanitized sponge slapped lightly down onto the yellow pikmin’s tiny arm. He anticipated a pained cry, but while there was a surprised squeak, the little creature was only confused. Its small claws rubbed along the peculiar, slimy substance with a croon.

“Well, it doesn’t seem to be burning this one.” Olimar chuckled as he watched the chittering little thing play with the soap on its hands. The goopy substance mingled with the surface of the water, creating foam. Olimar had to bite back a laugh as he watched the yellow pikmin’s eyes dilate as wide as a cat’s upon seeing the first of the soap bubbles float upwards.

The little yellow pikmin’s chatters became far more excited after a series of entranced noises. It was now standing in his lap and attempting to reach up and catch one. The slowly setting sun reflected on the kaleidoscopic surface, and the array of colors encased inside made the pikmin want it more.

“This isn’t playtime, you know!” Olimar told the pikmin, but by now he couldn’t help but laugh. Even the winged pikmin sitting in Louie’s palm was making grabbing hand motions.

Perched on his knee with surprising bravery, the yellow pikmin jumped up and clapped the bubble. It naturally popped and the soul shattered expression on the poor little thing’s face could have made Olimar cry.

“They don’t work like that,” he informed the nearly tearful little leaf. “I know, my children made the same tragic discovery… You won’t be able to hoard these in a treasure pile I’m afraid.” But with the copious amount of soap now in the water, the bubbles were doing a swell job at hoarding themselves into a pile!

By now this unexpected development and a sight that none of the other pikmin had ever seen was beginning to attract the three dirty pikmin standing on land. They made impatient little hops and noises until a grumbling Louie walked over and tucked them under his arm.

“Whoa!” Olimar was almost too late to snatch a brave little red pikmin that literally leaped off Louie towards the bubbles—and subsequently—the water. “I think we’ve transitioned from being fearful of baths to being fearless of baths a little too quickly!”

“Your idea,” Louie reminded him as he sat in the shallows and began to carefully scrub a rock pikmin in his hand. It cooed and its eyes followed a trail of bubbles that floated upward.

“And your fault for bringing in the bubbles!” Although he knew soap was more than a necessity for this type of filth. “But at least they’re enjoying it.”

The original yellow one still in his lap strained its tiny arms to grab at the foam, and chuckling, Olimar scooped a mound towards the creature. “Oh fine, I’ll indulge you. You want to see something funny?” Abruptly and carefully, he shoved a handful into the little thing’s face. It squeaked and twitched around its cheeks, staring up at their leader.

“It’s a bubble beard!”

The yellow pikmin was only confused for a moment before its eyes narrowed with a mischievous sounding chitter. And before Olimar realized it, a sizable splash of water had slapped into his helmet, making him flinch. Louie snickered and the red pikmin on the Hocotation’s other knee repeated the motion its sibling had done.

“Ack!” He could hear what sounded like the pikmin giggling at him and suddenly Olimar found himself transported back to warm memories. Memories of a heated bathroom and far too many plastic and rubber toys. Their musical giggles, the gap between his son’s teeth, his daughter’s pruny, pink hands as she touched his face with soapy fingers...

“Captain?”

Louie’s uncharacteristically soft and concerned voice broke Olimar out of his reminiscing, and that’s when he realized his young underling was a blur in his vision. Wiping his helmet from the water, Olimar felt a wetness spilling down his cheeks. That wasn’t from the pond, nor was the clench in his chest.

“Olimar?” Louie’s voice was even softer and Olimar felt the small creatures in his lap lean against his slightly shaking chest. Louie stood up and walked over to the captain’s side. Completely out of his comfort zone, he didn’t know what to do, but he still felt himself laying a hand on Olimar’s shoulder and squeezing it. It was usually the fatherly captain doing such for him.

Olimar gave a slight sniffle and was vaguely certain he felt tiny hands rub his arm through his suit.

His hand lingering on his captain’s shoulder for a moment, Louie awkwardly stood back on his feet. “The sun is going down more.”

Somewhat embarrassed, the older Hocotation cleared his throat and stood, picking up the soaked and clean pikmin. “They’re practically shining now, we should hurry up and dry them.”

Louie merely nodded in agreement and shook off his boots as he fetched a large towel that was draped over the bucket of cleaning supplies. Olimar didn’t say much as he wrapped up the group, but Louie didn’t miss the way he swaddled the pikmin and held them much closer than necessary.

“I wish we had more moments like these.” Olimar’s almost...solemn confession broke the silent tranquility. Louie blinked slightly and looked to his boss, whose gaze was on the bundle of content and slightly purring creatures in his arms. The aching gnawing at his heart was barely lessened by the creatures cradled against him, but he was desperate to try and fill any part of the void that he could.

“Moments where we could just relax…” the captain clarified, watching the yellow pikmin as it played with some moisture on its fingers. “Where we can just sit here with them, get to know them. Maybe not have that sidetracked by instantly losing them to the jaws of any of this planet’s voracious predators.”

Louie’s lips pursed quietly and even his shoulders seemed to sag in agreement. He wasn’t sure if he’d bonded as strongly as his boss had to their squad, or even this planet, but he couldn’t deny he wanted a break. “More time to cook...sleep... Yeah….the pikmin.”

As Olimar’s hands massaged the tiny backs and shoulders of their pikmin through the fabric, Louie gazed through the trees to where some stars were already beginning to peek through the setting sky. “You know...I bet they’d like them.”

Olimar looked at him. “Wh-who?”

“Your family,” Louie said quietly as he looked over at the now sleeping pikmin. “Your kids. I...I bet they’d like them.”

Olimar’s mouth creased and he could barely hold back another round of tears. “Yeah...I think so too.”