#a warmth the size of our palms

[toushindai]

a warmth the size of our palms

Link has saved the kingdom once more, and Zelda is herself again. But she notices a persistent grief in her knight, whenever he looks at his right arm...

Post-TOTK, 2.4k, rated G. I will leave it up to your preference whether Zelink is romantic or not but they care about each other deeply.

[ Read on AO3 ]

*

The cries of triumph and relief that greet Zelda and Link’s arrival at Lookout Landing almost bring Zelda to tears. They cheer for her like she’s real royalty—all except for Purah, who foregoes such formality and instead sweeps her and Link both into a crushing hug.

“Oh, thank the goddess. I knew you’d bring her back to us, Linky—hm?” Purah pulls back and takes a good look at Link. “Your arm, it’s… back to normal?”

“Your arm?” Zelda looks at her knight with a sudden sharp sting of concern. She remembers what Ganondorf did to it, but she knows so little of what Link has done since then, and it hadn’t occurred to her to ask—

But she sees at a glance that the question puts Link on the spot. He lifts his right arm and makes a vague gesture before signing, “After what Ganondorf did to me, Rauru gave me his arm. But when…” He waffles over his words. “Before I caught you, he healed it.”

Save for that moment of hesitation, he signs evenly and impassively. Zelda’s brow furrows, just slightly. He glances once at her face, and then turns his gaze away. Zelda’s stomach plunges. She has never seen a clearer sign of his discomfort.

Purah doesn’t notice it. “Caught her? What do you mean, caught her? Where was she, Link?”

Link’s posture becomes even stiffer, and in an instant, Zelda knows: he hasn’t told Purah what she did. Has he told anyone? Or has he carried it sealed in his heart alone? A slow-dawning horror sinks into Zelda’s chest.

But she doesn’t let it show. Instead she breaks into a smile—she feels herself doing it, feels how deliberate it is—and says, “Honestly, Purah, I’m still exhausted, and I can’t even begin to imagine how Link must feel. Is there somewhere quiet where the two of us could rest?”

With a few brusque words, Purah clears out the emergency shelter beneath Lookout Landing for their sake. As the door grinds into place, shutting out the happy bustle of the fort’s inhabitants beginning to realize that the worst of their problems are behind them, Zelda sees Link relax slightly. But not entirely.

“Would you like a cake?” he offers, and Zelda knows that this is how he shows his care. She smiles and nods, and she does not let herself stare at him too much as he sits down in front of the pot and begins to ready his ingredients.

She has plenty else to look at: papers and reports scattered across the tables, maps tacked up on the wall. A “Missing!” poster with her portrait and Link’s. A goddess statue, of course, and she does not feel as much of a guilty, panicked twinge as she used to when she sees it. But as she flips idly through a copy of the Lucky Clover Gazette that tells of a convoluted Yiga plot involving a talking cucco, her attention does keep getting drawn back towards her knight. For a moment, he seems almost at ease; he really does love to cook. But as she watches, he reaches out his right hand in the vague direction of the egg he’d set aside. There is a strange pause, and then she sees him turn his head to look at his arm. His face is expressionless. He leans to the right, picks up the egg, and cracks it into the bowl. He is not as relaxed now as he was before.

“Link…” Zelda says. He looks her way, eyes attentive. Zelda shakes her head minutely. It’s not that she needs something from him. Something in his face pulls closed at that realization, and then she sees his lips press together in the barest hint of a suppressed frown. She comes to sit to his left, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She says, “I left a lot on your shoulders.”

He hesitates, then puts his cooking utensils down so he can sign. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I… can’t, right now. Talk about it, I mean. But it isn’t because of anything you did.” Another pause. He reaches for the bowl, but before he picks it up, he stops. “It’s gotten harder for me again,” he confesses, and Zelda’s heart breaks for him.

“I’m home,” she promises him, and his eyes soften with affection and relief.

The cake he bakes for her is delicious.

*

Mineru’s passing is harder on Zelda than she expected. So she is glad when Riju formulates some excuse that pulls the sages and Purah away to explore the Great Sky Island, leaving Zelda alone with Link. He opens his arms to her and lets her weep for as long as she needs to.

“Thank you,” she says, when at last she can dry her eyes.

Link’s hand hesitates on her arm, and then he signs, “The three of them were like a family to you.”

“They were.” She gives a weak smile. “You can imagine how complicated that felt.”

“I have imagined it,” he answers seriously. And then, “Is there a way up to the roof?”

There is, of course. Zelda leads him up there, to the sand garden. The construct stationed there remembers her and greets her as though perhaps only a month has passed since she last spoke to it. Rauru had said that most of them were created long before he was born. And here they are, persisting long after his death. This one glides quietly away to give them their space, and Link walks towards the edge of the roof to look out across what was once the Garden of Time. Zelda approaches him and stands as silently as he does.

He gazes over the golden island, then looks down at his right hand, opening and closing a fist. Then he cranes his neck back and shades his eyes to look at an island that must be half a kilometer above this one.

“When I woke up,” he says, his hands moving haltingly, “my arm had been replaced.”

She looks at him. He looks down at his hand, running his thumb across his own palm, over his fingers. “It didn’t feel as weird as it should have. That hand responded like it should, I could still sign, I could still fight. It…” But he cuts himself off there, waving away the rest of the thought. “You gave up your body and mind,” he says.

She can see the self-recrimination in the movement of his hands and the set of his shoulders. She says, “I made the choice to do so, of my own free will.”

Link’s brow furrows. He signs, “Understand, it wasn’t bad. Especially once I started understanding the powers of the Zonai. Did you ever see Rauru or Mineru use those?” Zelda nods. “I learned to use them. And then it was like they had always been a part of me. Because they were a part of me. Or, I was…” He trails off once more and lets his hands fall to his sides. Closing his eyes, he inhales deeply of the cool air for a silent, serene minute. Then, “I’m sorry that Mineru left, too.”

The pain squeezes Zelda’s heart again. But she says, “It was her time. I think… she may have lived through those thousands of years, in a way that I didn’t.”

Link glances at her and nods. He must have gotten the same impression.

Zelda thinks about Mineru as she was: thinks of that dark and dusty library/workshop and Mineru’s focus on her work. Mineru had already been working on those constructs, Zelda knows. Mineru had already intended to outlive her body, even before Ganondorf’s treachery. And she had been kind to Zelda, and interested in her, but she had never been warm. Her gaze had always been directed somewhere else, until that moment when Zelda had confessed her plan to her.

“I wish she could have stayed a little longer,” Zelda confesses. “But… I think it’s right for her to move on.”

Link looks down at his hand one more time. Then he nods, silently.

*

The rhythms of a peaceful life welcome them back, billowing them gently through the days like a breeze. They travel around Hyrule together as it heals from the Upheaval, and when they tire, they go home to Hateno. There may be a new home waiting for them outside Tarrey Town, but there is comfort in the familiar, for now.

And things are familiar. Sometimes—as has always been the case since they defeated Calamity Ganon—there are days when Link needs to clear his head. Sometimes he is struck with a strange, wandering restlessness, and he heads out alone and returns when he is ready.

Zelda knows the feeling, she thinks; there are still mornings when she wakes up thinking that she has to go, to do. Bearing the weight of the world is, it turns out, a hard habit to break. Even in the past, despite Sonia’s gentle admonishment, Zelda had not been able to shake the feeling that she needed to be the one to stop Ganondorf’s dark designs against the peace of the newborn Hyrule Kingdom.

(She had not quite been wrong about that, in the end.)

When Link returns one evening, Zelda asks, “Do you still go to spend time with the dragons, when you go out?”

That is what he’s done in past years, he’s told her. He has said that he finds serenity in their beautiful, implacable progression through the skies. When Zelda realized what she had to do, she remembered Link saying that, and truth be told it had brought her some peace.

But now she regrets asking it. A stricken expression shoots across his face before he composes himself, and for several long minutes, he does not speak. He only pulls off his boots, removes his leather armor and chainmail. Takes the hairtie from his hair and ruffles it loose. He wears it a little longer now than he used to.

Not looking at her, he signs, “Do you remember anything at all?”

Zelda swallows and gives a helpless shrug. It isn’t that she remembers. But sometimes, when the breeze comes through the window just so, she… slips. The way her mind works shifts, and she feels an unbounded, wide-open tranquility. And when Link touches her arm to bring her out of it, it doesn’t always work the first time, because sometimes that sliver of his familiar presence is part of it, too.

Link signs, “There was one time, I think I spent three days lying on your forehead, wishing you knew me.” And she opens her mouth to say—what can she say?—but he waves his hand and says, “The dragons don’t bring me peace anymore.”

Zelda says, “I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault. And it may have always been selfish of me. They aren’t for me.”

I was, Zelda thinks, but she doesn’t say it aloud.

Again, Link’s hands fall still. He pulls the Purah Pad off his belt, hands it to her, and goes to the kitchen. There, he begins to chop the vegetables he’s brought home. Zelda sees carrots and a pumpkin from the village—but also skyshrooms and a stambulb. She flicks open the Purah Pad’s album and scrolls down to the newest pictures; they are full of golden foliage and clear blue sky.

When the vegetables have all been chopped and added to the pot to sizzle quietly, Link’s hands are left idle once more. He sees that Zelda is waiting for him. Indicating the Purah Pad as if to say you’ve figured this out already, he signs, “I go to the sky islands.”

Zelda nods. She looks down at one of the pictures he took, of a heron picking its way through golden grass. “Are they all this beautiful?”

He wiggles his hand. “Not all of them. There’s this one eyesore above Necluda…”

Zelda has seen it from the ground. “Those smokestacks?”

“It was a forge,” he says. For a moment, there is almost amusement on his face. Then something horrible happens. As Zelda watches, he grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut as though he’s in pain. Very abruptly, he pulls out one of the chairs from the table and sits down.

Zelda starts towards him. “Link, are you all right?”

He waves off her concern with a sharp movement. But his annoyance is for himself, not for her. Hands moving roughly, he says, “It was a forge, and that’s all I’ll ever know about it, and it won’t ever be a forge again.” He grips his right wrist with his left hand, clenching his right hand into a fist. “They’re gone,” he signs faintly.

And Zelda’s grief wells up within her, never far away: Sonia’s loving smile, Rauru’s kind eyes, Mineru’s clever creations. They’re gone echoes in her mind and in the places where they made her life brighter, more expansive. She will never stop missing them.

But Link’s grief, she thinks, is of a different shape. Little by little, he has told her of his adventures across Hyrule after the Upheaval. He has taken her to the Shrines of Light to see the puzzles Rauru and Sonia built and shown her the vehicles Tarrey Town has begun to construct from Zonai devices. Wryly, he tells her that he isn’t as handy with these things as he once was, and his eyes say that he’s joking. But even so, even months later, there are moments when he reaches out for something as if he expects it to come to his hand rather than the other way around. There are moments when he offers to grab her something from upstairs and unthinkingly reaches upwards before realizing he’s going to have to take the stairs. Like any other person. Like any other Hylian must.

Zelda sits down beside Link and reaches for his clenched right hand. Gently, she unfolds his fingers and slips her own between them. She knows the shape of this hand; she knows the calluses on this palm. This is her Link, and she wants to know every part of him. If he aches with loneliness for a people he never really knew—a people he was too late to save, the last remnant of them slipping away from him even as she came back—then she will hold this loneliness with him. Even if he cannot shape it into words.

“Link,” she says, “will you bring me to the sky islands sometime?”

(He doesn’t know it, but Zelda does: Sonia asked this question of Rauru once, long, long ago.)

And Link looks into her face and sees all the understanding she can offer him, and she watches a little of the burden ease from his face. He nods, seriously, and squeezes her hand.

Then he stands to continue making their dinner.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤALIEN GIRLㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Mark Grayson x Fem Qu Reader Part 4

☆⁠ HEADCANON : It's Been Two Years Since You Told Him You're Pregnant. And When He Start To Believe That Maybe You Were Wrong, He Become A Father...

☆⁠ NOTES : Qu is an alien species from the book All Tomorrows. You can learn more about her here. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Mark had been convinced you weren’t actually pregnant.

Two years had passed. Two whole years.

Two long years of your strange habits, cravings, and obsessive nesting.

But… no baby.

At first, Mark had panicked. Then, after months of nothing changing, he thought, Maybe she was wrong? Maybe whatever weird biology she had messed up and she wasn’t actually pregnant.

He even asked his mom about it.

Debbie had given him a deadpan look. "You’re hoping it’s a mistake?"

Mark sighed. "I mean, yeah. It’s been two years. Nothing happened."

Debbie just shook her head. "Mark, honey. She’s an alien. You don’t know what’s normal for her."

Mark groaned. "I just—I don’t know if I’m ready for—"

But then, one morning, he woke up to— Something he never expected.

Mark walked into the bedroom that morning, rubbing the sleep from his eyes—

And froze.

Tiny babies. A lot of tiny babies.

Mark froze.

His brain shut down.

You were curled up in your nest, naked, looking like a goddamn angel, surrounded by— He blinked. What… the hell? There were tiny creatures all around you. At first, he thought they were insects or some weird alien parasite. But then one of them turned its tiny, shimmering face towards him— And Mark swore his heart stopped. They were—

Glowing, beautiful creatures.

Some were spinning in circles, some were chewing on your hair, and others were just clinging to your fingers like tiny, precious fairies.

Mark’s mouth opened. No sound came out.

You were smiling softly, cradling one of them in your hand. The little thing let out a soft, bubbling sound and nuzzled against your nose.

You laughed.

A sweet, soft sound—like bells ringing in the wind.

And Mark—

Fainted.

He woke up to tiny hands patting his face.

He blinked blearily, vision blurry.

Then, he saw it.

A tiny, palm-sized creature was sitting on his chest.

It had soft silky hair, jewel-like eyes, and a face that looked eerily like yours.

It stared at him, then made a tiny, frog-like croak.

Mark screamed.

The baby screamed back, jumped in surprise, flipping in the air like some kind of acrobat and landing on his face.

Mark flailed. "WHAT—WHAT THE HELL?!"

You tilted your head from where you were still lying in the nest, surrounded by tiny babies.

"You loud," you said, unbothered. "Babies sleep."

Mark sat up so fast the baby on his face tumbled into his lap. "I—what—what the fuck?!"

Mark’s brain short-circuited.

He looked around. The nest was covered in tiny, glowing babies—some were curled in your hair, chewing on it like kittens, others were nestled against your stomach, and a few were floating?

Mark stared.

Then, slowly, he looked down at the tiny baby in his lap.

It was looking up at him with big, glowing eyes.

It reached out—tiny, delicate hand brushing against his chest.

Then it leaned forward and kissed him.

Mark melted.

You were still holding one in your hand, gazing at it with a soft, angelic smile, your eyes full of warmth. The tiny baby made a bubbling, singing noise, almost like a frog’s call but… softer. Sweeter. Mark’s heart squeezed. This was… This was… actually… kind of beautiful? The baby bite your finger. And you laughed. It was the most pure, soft, happy laugh Mark had ever heard from you. Mark felt his head spin. His chest ached. His eyes burned. He stepped forward, swallowing thickly. "Babe… are these…?" You looked up at him, your glowing eyes soft and proud. "Our sons." Mark felt his heart explode. "Sons. I have sons. Holy shit. I have too many sons."

Then, as Mark took in the beautiful, fairytale-like scene before him— You opened your mouth. Wide. Way too wide. Like something out of a horror movie, teeth glistening. And one of the babies dangling above your mouth. Mark’s soul left his body. "HOLY SHIT—" He lunged forward, grabbing the baby out of your hands.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD!"

You blinked at him, confused. "Mark?" Mark clutched the baby to his chest, horrified. "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING?!" You tilted your head. "Eat." Mark screamed. "NO! BAD! DON’T EAT THE BABY!" You blinked, then giggled. "Not eat all. Only some." Mark felt like he was going to die. "OH MY GOD. YOU’RE A TERRIFYING MONSTER." You pouted. "Not monster. Mother. Must eat weak." Mark hugged the baby. "OVER MY DEAD BODY." You blinked at him. Then, after a pause, you smiled. "Mark strong." Mark huffed. "Damn right I am." You just laughed and snuggled into him. "Then no eat." Mark sighed in relief— And then froze. "Wait, so you’re saying—if I wasn’t strong, you’d eat them?!" You shrugged. "Maybe." Mark’s eye twitched.

The babies chirped curiously, tilting their tiny heads. Mark sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Jesus Christ. I need to call my mom."

Debbie had seen a lot in her life. But walking into her house to find one hundred tiny, fairy-like grandchildren crawling around her living room was definitely a first. "...Mark." Mark turned to her, exhausted. "Mom." Debbie looked around. The babies were absolutely adorable—singing softly, clinging to Mark, playing with each other’s hair. "...I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this." Mark sighed. "Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting her to try to eat them." Debbie froze. "...She what?" Mark groaned, rubbing his face. "Apparently, her species eats their weaker children." Debbie stared. "And you stopped her?" "Of course, I stopped her!" Debbie hummed. "Huh." Mark narrowed his eyes. "Why do you sound… not surprised?" Debbie shrugged. "Honey, you dated an apex predator. What did you think was gonna happen?" Before Mark could respond, Nolan walked in. He took one look at the scene before him— And froze.

He just stood there, staring at you—looking like he wanted to drop dead. "...You gave birth to a hundred." You tilted your head. "Small number." Nolan inhaled deeply. "Small number." Mark shrugged. "At least they’re cute." Then, one of them climbed onto his head. And Nolan watched as Mark just let it happen.

His expression was unreadable. Slowly, one of the babies floated up to him, its tiny, glowing eyes staring at him curiously. Nolan glared. The baby chirped prettily. Nolan’s face twitched. The baby gently kissed his nose. Nolan let out a deep sigh and rubbed his temples. "Goddammit."

Nolan still hate you. But he had to admit— These things were… adorable. They were unnaturally well-behaved, polite, and clung to Mark like little ducklings. And worst of all? They liked him. Nolan would be sitting on the couch, arms crossed, trying to ignore them— When suddenly, a tiny one would crawl onto his lap, grab his mustache, and start playing with it. Nolan’s eye twitched. "...Mark. Get it off me." Mark smirked. "I think they like you." More babies swarmed him. They hugged his arms, kissed his face, and made little happy croaking sounds. Nolan just sat there. Defeated. "...I hate this." But he didn’t move.

The babies love Mark. They sleep on his chest, crawl all over him, and fight each other for his attention. And they were obsessed with him. Mark could not escape. He woke up one morning with ten of them sleeping on his chest. Another time, he found them cuddled in his hoodies, making little happy noises. Mark’s life was now just being followed by a pack of glowing, fairy-like children who worshiped him. And honestly? He loved it. Even if he caught them eating random things. Because these kids? They ate anything. One time, Mark caught one of them chewing on a doorknob. Another was licking the floor. And one almost ate his phone. Mark had never screamed so loud in his life. Debbie caught one doing the dishes. She nearly cried. They talk to you in your native language. Mark has no idea what’s being said.

It's terrifying.

It clicks, hisses, gurgles, and warbles.

It chirrs like an insect’s wings, croaks like a deep-sea creature, pulses like something breathing in the dark. It is wet, guttural, and skittering, yet somehow, in its horrific alien cadence, eerily beautiful. “Ɐ̷̢͙̤̖ɦ̶͙̳̝͚͖’̙̻̠̼̫͢z̢̲̦̗̗h̵̛̞h̵͍̘͉̠͙l̨̡̥̟̝̠͚l̠̦͉̜͜ͅ r̸̪̜̰͕ͅr̴̗’̳͚̦̲̲̞k͕̗͉̗͢a̶̛̗̞̩a̵̜̯͖̜̠a̵̙̦͉̗̦ͅ-̡̡͉̪͕̞̪̜c̡͚h̴̡͍̖̦̳ī̶͓͖̝͚̙ī̴̫̻͇ͅī̡̢̬͈̹,͇̜̞̩͎͎̕͜ ś͍͉͉s͏̦͕͍̻ͅa̶̮̠̳̲̹’̴͖͍͈͙͖v̦̬̺̰̻͍͠a̸̳h̞̦͈͈r̸̖͖̞h̖͙̯͜h̵͉̠̘͎̞̰ t͉̳͈͞c̴̳͍̜̟̟̻h̨̹̖̳̖͡ͅa̢̰͓͚͎’̡͎̹͡k̸̝͝a͓̞̗͡a͎̠ͅr̵̫̪u̶̘̜͚u̢͍͉̠̘.̸̪”

Sleep, little spawn, the dark waters hold you now... hush... hush... hush...

“T͕͘’͖͚͓͡k̦̘͖͍̀k̢͉͍h͏̲̼̙r̩̙̦̬r̵̨̟r͙͉͚͉̺͘ͅ s̜̻͎̞͜s̛̪̠̼̘̦’̵͏̻͍̯ͅk̸̼͙̞͍̩̯̕a̴̬̰̳͍̘͇͝a̛̬a̼̕̕’̡̦v̸̮͕̲̞̙̕v̵̛̠̜̲n̹̩̕n̨̩͙̝̲̬̳͠,̸̜͍̗͇ h̹͎̲͕͜h͉͝’̨̡͓̝͎̰z̖͙̠͝ͅr̷̞͉̤͚̘̗͞r̜̼͢r̸͙̼̟̕a̡̻̦̙̞͡a̛͙͉-̵̨̳͕̩c̡̡̲͈h̖̜̤͟ͅi̢̨̻̥̤i̵̛̗’̻̘̲̘͠v̷͎̯̘h͎͝u̞͝r̷͉̗̩̰r̴̙͎̞ͅ.̦̖̞͎́”

Do not tremble, do not weep, the deep will consume all things in time... hush...

“C̞̩̠̰͘h̞̻̪̀k̨̼̲̺̠k̠̀’̼̕ͅh̶̨̞h̵̘z̢̙̞̞z̷̲̩̰—͏̗̝v̡̻a̵̦͖̬à̺̗’͙̤̤͙̳͡r̶̜̲̱̬͢i̼̪͡’̷̡̯̹x̷̡̗h̷̩͜h̩͞a͏͙̪̼̝͝a̸̲̥!̡̢̬͇̪͖ K̨̩r̠̕i̦̩̕͢i̛̺͜’͜ͅͅt̷̮̼̩͙ź͖̥̤c̯̙̳̟̥̕h̸͜ v̶͔͢r͏̡̞̜̼’̵͏̰r̸̜͎̰r̼͡n̷̦̝̜̰n̛̬̦͖̜a̛͚̻̗̝?̨͏͎̰”

Oh, my little crawling thing—what is this mess you've made?

“H͠h̀͜z̷z͝h̸̗̬͖̼’̡̺̩̪͓k̷̺̦̠̩k̛̘h̸̝̯͕,̢͎̗̬ v͞á̻͕a͠’̸̳͚͇͙x̡̨̬̦r̸͕̟͙͜r̢̛̻̩̲h̕͟.͡.̶̯̜͓̼͉̹.̶̩͙̻ c̴̝͉h̢̨̝̗̤’̵̙̯̗t̡̢̻z̷͎̻̳h̸̗̖h͙̖̕̕h̷̪͓ v́r̴̻̖r̶̦̠̰a͠a̢̠̙a̳͜a̢̲̰̟ s̴͚ͅz̞̝̦̕͞à͙’̨͙͖̕l̨̙̰̖͡a̢.̶̦̦”

Shhh, my teeth... I will tell you what the tides never whisper...

“T̵̟̝̻’͍͡s̵̗̝̼h̢̯̗̰̰h̢͚͕̪k̷͖a͏̛̥̖a̛̜͎͍͕ v͎̬̗̖͢v͏̡̙̜̗r̵̬̘̻͡’̵̯͙̕h̨͎h̦̞̹̕u̷̝̲u̦͕̬͜u̷̠̰n̶̨̝̗̠ c̰̩̝̺͘h̸͏̝͙̼̩z͚͎͔̕z̛̙͕̯t̩͘͝’̛̹̹̰̘v̸̰̹̗͉͜v̡͏̹̹̲̬h͇̕̕a̵͖a͏͕,̷̨̠͙͉ m͏̹͚̖a̡͚̲̠͠h̡̛̗̗’̪̬̪̻̯͝t̴̬̻c̸͍̘̯͍̝̕h̸̦͡r̘̖̳͜ͅr̢͎͠h̷͍̤.̷̢͎”

Come, my dripping, writhing things... to my arms. They all croak back in unison everytime. Mark dies of cuteness. He's also kinda scared because he don't understand anything. They like to steal Nolan’s things. His gloves, cape, books. One tried to steal his boot. Nolan caught it dragging the boot across the floor.

"Mark. Control your gremlins." "Dad, they’re literally palm-sized babies." "They have no fear." The babies nest with you. They curl up in your hair, hold onto your fingers, and purr. Mark watches them sleep and feels his heart explode. He still can’t believe it. He’s a dad. And despite the sheer insanity of it all, Mark had to admit—

These kids were freaking adorable.

They clung to him like little monkeys, curling up on his chest when he napped.

They kissed him all the time, tiny soft lips pressing to his cheeks, nose, and forehead.

They loved everyone—especially his mom.

Debbie would be cooking, and they’d all be floating around, handing her ingredients.

"Thank you, sweetie," she cooed at one, patting his little head.

The baby made a soft, frog-like song, happy and proud.

Mark’s heart melted.

Even Nolan had given up fighting it.

Mark had caught him more than once with a tiny baby curled up in his palm, snoring.

"...They are cute," he admitted. Mark smirked. "See? Told you."

And Mark’s favorite thing?

You, curled up in the nest, singing them a lullaby in your strange, haunting language.

The babies would float around you, making soft chirping sounds, slowly drifting to sleep.

And Mark?

Mark would just sit there, watching, realizing how much he loved this insane, beautiful, monstrous woman.

And his strange, perfect, tiny children.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— NEXT ☆ Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[materia-girl88]

Kiss and Make Up

18+, minors dni

Graphic smut ahead

the aftermath of a fight between you and Bucky ;)

i'm thinking of doing a few final fantasy and red dead redemption 2 one shots as well :) lmk what you think!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The bed was cold.

You rolled over onto your side, thick comforter pulled up to your chin as you curled up. The clock read 1:18am and you sighed. There was a small picture frame by the clock with a photo of you and Bucky from when you first moved in, smiling at each other with his arms around your waist as your palms rested on his chest.

Neither of you remembered what the argument was really about.

Bucky had come home earlier that evening after a meeting with Sam and Joaquin about a mission they had been gathering intel on and he was stressed.

You had tried to get him to talk about it but he had refused, snapping a "Just drop it" at you.

One thing led to another and one shouting match later, he was in the living room sleeping on the couch while you were alone in your king sized bed, eyes wide open, just wishing he was there to keep you warm.

Another 15 minutes passed before you couldn't take it anymore and you stood, blanket wrapped around you shoulders, and padded your way from the bedroom out to the living room where you could see Bucky laying on the couch staring up at the ceiling.

"Bucky," you called softly, slowly making your way to him.

His head turned, eyes becoming soft and a bit sorrowful at the sight of you. He let out a breath before he opened his arms to you with a quit "Come here, angel."

Your lip quivered a bit as you made your way to him, leaning down to lay on top of him with your legs tangling and your chin propping onto his chest.

"I couldn't sleep. I don't like laying in there without you," you told him, fingers clutching into his t-shirt as you shifted.

All you wore was one of his black t-shirts with a pair of dark blue panties, and you felt his warmth seep through to you as you both gazed in each other's eyes.

He let out a sigh, one arm coming to rest on the dip of your spine, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin while the other came up to brush your hair back from your eyes.

"I don't like it either. I'm sorry for snapping at you, baby. It was a tough day and I took it out on you instead of speaking to you," he said, voice soft.

You leaned your head to rest in his palm, giving him a soft smile.

"It's okay. I'm sorry too for not respecting that you weren't ready to talk. I shouldn't have pushed it," you told him.

He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a soft peck once, twice, a third time.

On the third kiss, your lips stayed locked and you could taste the minty freshness of his toothpaste.

You sat up a bit to reach him better, sliding your legs to straddle his boxer covered hips while his hands slid to your waist.

A shudder ran through you at the coldness of his metal hand, the movement causing you to shift a bit on top of him.

Bucky's tongue slowly ran across your bottom lip and you quickly granted him access with a whimper as your tongues tangled together.

It was instinct that led you to slowly begin rolling your hips against his and he let out a grunt, hips jolting as he began to harden.

You pulled away for a moment to look at him with a small smile, "Take me to our bed, Bucky."

He didn't hesitate in giving you a grin with a "Yes, ma'am" before throwing the blanket covering you both to the floor as he stood with your arms and legs locked around him.

He made his way down the hall like a man on a mission. Once in your room, he threw you on the bed causing you to land with a squeal and a bounce, laughing as he pulled his t-shirt over his head from behind.

You went to do the same but he stopped you with a hand on your shoulder.

"Leave it, doll," he said a bit breathlessly as his eyes roamed over you. "I wanna fuck you in my shirt. Just push it up enough to show me those pretty tits"

You flushed but obeyed, laying back and pushing the shirt up to above your breasts as you gazed up at him.

Bucky loved your body, especially your breasts, and never wasted any time in worshipping them.

Now, for example, he was slowly making his way up the bed towards you like a predator after his prey.

His hands came to rest on your knees where they were bent and he spread them apart, opening your thighs to him as he continued to make his way upwards.

Soon he was eye level with your chest and he didn't waste a moment before leaning in to suck a pert nipple into his mouth, his blue eyes locked onto you.

"Oh.." you gasped, thighs clenching around his hips as one of your hands came to fist in his hair. He knew how sensitive your nipples were and he never passed up a chance to get you squirming.

He gave you a sneaky grin around it before nipping at it with his teeth.

The jolt of pleasure it brought ran from your reddened nipple down to the apex of your thighs and your clit throbbed.

He continued the torture until your breasts were red and sensitive with a large love bite on your sternum between them.

You were slowly working your hips, trying to grind with his as much as possible. Your panties were soaking wet and all you wanted was for him to touch you.

"Bucky," you whined, and reached to grab where his hand was resting on your thigh,"Please."

You guided the hand upward to the damp fabric and saw as his eyes darkened at the feeling.

His hand moved to cup you fully and he ground his palm against you, your jaw dropping open.

"You're such a good fuckin girl" He growled, hand speeding up with the grinding until you couldn't take it.

You were on the edge, shaking like a crazy until Bucky suddenly paused.

Your breaths were heavy as you came down, giving him a frustrated look as your ruined orgasm.

He laughed before saying "Patience," and sat up, hands coming to the waistband of your panties.

With a jerk of his metal hand and a squeak from you, the fabric ripped away and all you could see was a flash of blue as he threw them over his shoulder.

You were ready to berate him but you were stopped when he dived in, lips wrapping around your clit to give a harsh suck as a finger came to your entrance to tease.

"Ohmygod," you whimpered, head leaning back as you arched you spine.

Bucky was good at most things he did whether it be fighting, training or really anything else.

But he was a god at eating pussy.

He feasted on you like you were a glass of water and he was a parched man in the desert.

His finger toyed at the rim of your entrance before sinking in, immediately on the search for that one spot within you that got you every time.

You let out a yelp when he found it, rubbing against it with his finger tip causing you to quiver.

"Please, please, please, baby," you begged, tears in your eyes as he continued his torture.

You could feel the orgasm building again and this time he let you have it, his head bobbing as he sucked at your hard clit.

A yell left you as you came and you clamped down on his finger that was still thrusting into you.

You were still shaking with the aftershocks of it when he gave you one last lick and pulled away.

He grinned down at you, his hair in his eyes and his lips and chin wet.

His hand came from between your thighs to show you the wetness that covered it and he used the other one to work his boxers down, kicking them to the side.

He grasped his hard cock with his wet hand, using your cum to lubricate himself and holy fuck was it hot.

"Bucky, c'mon," you whined as he scrambled into place, his dick coming to rest between the lips of your pussy.

"What is it, doll?" he asked teasingly as he began to grind the head of his dick against you, letting it slide against your oversensitive clit. Your hips jolted with every brush, "What do you need?"

You continued to squirm underneath him and glared up at him.

"I need you to fuck me." you said firmly, causing him to laugh at your neediness.

"Your wish is my command," he said before notching himself at your entrance.

You both let out a breath of relief as he slid inside, bare skin to bare skin.

As his hips began to move your hands came under his arms to rest on his back and he let out a groan as your nails dug into the skin on his back, raking red lines down the length of it.

"You feel so fuckin good. I could live in you forever," Bucky ground our, one hand holding himself up while the other grasped at the headboard.

You were letting out soft gasps with each thrust he gave you and you knew your hips would be sore from taking the impact of how hard he was taking you, but you loved it. You loved when you would bruise and he would spend time after trailing kisses over the skin.

His pelvis was slapping your clit with each thrust and before long you felt the heat rise in you again, your body beginning to quiver as your orgasm rose.

"Bucky, I'm close baby, please," you told him with a strained voice, grabbing for his hand that was holding the headboard and bringing it between you, "Please touch me."

Now that the headboard was no longer being held you could heard the wood of it smacking the wall and you only hoped that his super soldier strength wouldn't cause it to damage the walls again.

It's happened before.

He brought his fingers to your lips for you to suck on before trailing them down to your hard bud, rubbing circles into it roughly and causing you to cry out.

Your pussy tightened around him as your orgasm overtook you, your spine arching and your nails digging into his shoulders.

He let out a groan at the feeling of you tightening around him, his balls drawing up, and before long he too released.

You hummed in contentedness as you felt him spurt within you, warmth filling you.

He slid out once he was soft, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your lips before moving to lay beside you.

You moved to lay on his chest, his arms around you as you traced at the lines of his abs.

"I hate fighting with you, angel. But if this is the result, we may have to more often," he joked, causing you to laugh.

Before long, the both of you were asleep in each other's arms, legs entwined once more where you belonged.

[cameronsbabydoll]

“his hands look like that, so mine can look like this”

a/n: inspired by this message — blue collar rafe au

you bring rafe a beer as he lounges back on the couch, his attention flickering between the game on the screen and the way you settle against him. his shirt is soft, worn thin from too many washes, and when you shift, the fabric pulls just enough to let you glimpse the tan line along his forearm—where his skin fades from sun-worn bronze to something lighter beneath the sleeves he always pushes up.

he barely acknowledges the drink at first, just reaching for it, but you hesitate, keeping it just out of his grasp until he looks at you. his eyes flick up, a little lazy, a little expectant, and you smile as you finally let him take it, the condensation slipping between his fingers.

you watch his hand as he takes a sip. the rough patches along his palm, the way his knuckles are still a little red from the week’s work, the small cut at the base of his thumb—probably from some carelessness he hadn’t even registered at the time. your hands don’t look like that. they never have.

without thinking, you reach out, smoothing your fingers over his. you trace along the callouses, pressing your palm against his, noting the difference in size, in texture. he doesn’t react much at first—just a glance, a quiet exhale—but then his fingers twitch, and he flips his hand, trapping yours against his chest.

“quit messin’,” he murmurs, voice rough from the beer. but he doesn’t let go. if anything, his thumb drags lazily along your wrist, holding you there as the game drones on in the background.

you shift a little, still tracing over his skin, feeling the contrast of it—yours soft, his rough, the kind of hands that spoke of work without him ever having to say a word.

“you know,” you murmur, giggling as you stretch your fingers against his again, pressing your palm flat to compare, “our hands are so different. mine’s all girly, and yours is…” you trail off, not quite finding the word, just running your fingertips along the ridges of his knuckles.

rafe huffs out a breath, somewhere between amusement and indifference, his eyes still half on the screen. “worn,” he mutters, like it’s just a fact. then his grip tightens, just enough for you to feel the strength behind it. “and strong enough to do shit so you don’t have to.”

you roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest betrays you. “i can do things, you know.”

he hums, unconvinced, thumb still brushing against your wrist. “sure ya can, sweetheart.”

you make a face at him, poking at one of the deeper callouses with the tip of your nail, but he barely flinches. instead, he just smirks, finally looking at you full-on, eyes a little darker now.

“somethin’ funny?” he asks, lazy, that cocky tilt to his head.

you bite your lip to keep from grinning. “uhuh”

“mhm.” he watches you for a second, then suddenly flips his hand, trapping yours beneath his palm. you let out a soft, surprised laugh as he squeezes, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you of the difference in strength.

“still girly?” he asks, voice low, teasing.

you nod, wiggling your fingers beneath his hold. “still girly.”

rafe smirks, satisfied, then finally lets go—only to slide his arm around your waist instead, pulling you in until you’re pressed against his chest, the beer still cold against your thigh where he rests it. “good,” he murmurs, eyes flicking back to the screen, but his grip on you stays firm, like he doesn’t want you going anywhere.

and you don’t.

[bunsiesblog]

Viktor Relationship HC

Viktor x GN!Reader

Purely self indulgent headcanons for Viktor in a relationship. You want fluff? Here is fluff.

tags: s1!viktor, established relationship, typical domesticity and fluff

➽───────────────❥

Viktor prefers subtle displays of affection. His intimacy is quiet—a hushed whispered shared between the two of you.

Very public and grand displays of affection tend to leave him embarrassed and flustered. This doesn’t mean he shies away from showing the world he is yours. But he prefers those intimate acts to be shared between the two of you.

That being said—he is a man in love. And he simply can’t help himself when you are near. So he has found a few ways to express his devotion to you:

A gentle bump of the knee under the table as you both sit together.

Interlocked pinkies. A touch so small it might have been missed if not for the faint smile pulling at his lips.

A hidden hand resting on your thigh while he reads or works—absentmindedly tracing circles with his thumb.

A tender touch to the small of your back as he guides you through crowds. Not only to keep you close but to keep him grounded as well.

Quick kiss to your forehead when parting ways. “Take care, lásko.”

Viktor adores holding your hands. Such an innocent and simple act leaves him feeling profoundly connected to you.

He often does it absentmindedly—reaching for your hand when his mind is elsewhere. His thumb traces your knuckles or the faint lines of your palm. He’ll even play with your fingers, as though committing their shape to memory.

Our lovely scientist quite likes the size difference between your two hands. He’ll press his palm flat against yours, marveling at the contrast with a soft smile on his face. “It’s quite unfair that I am so lanky, no?”

When privacy is reliably assured, Viktor rather enjoys spoiling you with affection and being spoiled in return. Here are some favorites of his in no particular order:

Kissing. And not the kind that is full of tongue and saliva (although he can acknowledge certain … situations … where it has its benefit.) He prefers the soft and revert kisses he gives you. The sort of kiss where he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs brushing along your cheeks, and simply embraces you. Like he’d rather be at your lips all day than breathe air.

Viktor also has a pension for kissing you in places that are not just your lips. His kisses are gentle, playful, and unexpectedly intimate. Some of his favorite places to leave them on you are the inside of your wrist, the curve of your shoulder, the slope of your neck, and the tip of your nose.

He particularly enjoys the way you laugh or squirm when he traces light kisses to your neck and jawline. Viktor will hold your hands to keep you from wiggling away. Despite being quiet by nature, Viktor’s smirk betrays how much he enjoys hearing you laugh. “You want me to stop? But you make such sweet sounds for me, Koťátko. Just one more.”

A quiet night in the lab made him realize just how much he enjoys seeking your warmth and filling in the empty spaces between you. When you’re perched at the edge of his work table, Viktor will instinctively step between your legs and rest his hand on your thighs as he looks up at you. It’s any wonder how he gets any sort of work done when you’re around.

To others, he is a polite but distant man. Constantly consumed by his work and ambition. But with you, he is something else entirely: gentle, tender, and devoted. And it is clear to anyone who knows him just how special you are.

Viktor always gives you his unwavering attention. When you speak, he listens. His whiskey eyes are held steady to your own. Oftentimes, when he thinks you won’t notice, they’ll flick down to your lips. And he’ll rub a thoughtful hand over his jaw, trying his best to hide an amused smile. “Hm? Yes, I’m listening, sweetheart.”

His reserved nature doesn’t lend itself to overt sentimentality. But with you? It shines. There is a tenderness in him that only you can bring out.

Viktor has a weathered notebook he keeps in his coat pocket for when inspiration strikes or he simply can’t put his pen down. However, among the haphazard grocery lists or scribbled equation are notes about you like ‘prefers chamomile tea when anxious’ or ‘smiles when it rains’. Even the margins of his notes are decorated with absentminded doodles of you.

He most definitely is an act of service kind of man. The chain of your necklace is broken? Or your watch won’t tick past 6:33? He’ll silently take it off your hands, fiddle with the repair in the quiet hours of his lab, and leave it for you to be found the next day. Any sort of thanks you try to give him are met with a humble “it was nothing.” Although the blush on his ears tell a different story.

[tired-teacher-blog]

When your baby started kicking for the first time, you immediately sprinted towards your husband who was still deep in slumber in the comfort of your shared king sized bed, it was only 3:30 in the morning after all, a little too early to rise, and you would have been snuggled up to him if your bladder capacity hadn't prevented it for the third time that night.

_ "Katsuki wake up wake up, you have to feel this! It's moving!" you announced in a loud whisper while shaking him lightly.

_ "Huh what, what's moving? Do I need to blow it up?" he was obviously disoriented as he tried to blink the sleep away, knitting his eyebrows in concentration so he could focus his blurry vision on you.

_ "What? No, are you crazy?" you bursted out laughing at his unexpected response, and waited for him to gain full consciousness as he wobblily sat up to face you.

_ "Is everything okay?" he reached out to gently trace your cheek, and you could tell he was fully awake at last.

_ "Here, feel this," you took his other hand and placed it on your bulging tummy, "our baby is moving."

His eyes widened and his mouth hung open in obvious amazement, and you watched in awe as your husband's face lit up at the new feeling under his palm.

_ "This is real, we're actually having a baby." the wide, almost face-splitting smile appearing on his face was the same one he had when you announced your pregnancy a few months ago, and the warmth it evoked in you was also the same as back then.

_ "We are Katsuki." and you couldn't help the tears of joy welling up in your eyes as you watched the bliss radiating from him, placing your hands on top of his and holding on tightly.

That night -and every following night- he kept his hand on your belly when you climbed back to bed, holding you from behind and rubbing soothing patterns on your tightening skin while kissing your neck and whispering sweet 'I love you's' and promises for eternal happiness together, until you finally drifted off again.

[achilles-rage]

Cookies

summary: you and buck bake cookies at 3am.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: hey... how y'all doing... i am finally making my comeback!! if you missed my post from yesterday (i answered a bunch of asks so now it's pretty far down there), i'm gonna be posting again, but probably less regularly. i've been stressing myself out i think by feeling the need to post a fic every 2/3 days, otherwise i feel like shit, so i'm trying to get away from that mindset, so i hope that less fics are okay!! i love and appreciate you guys so much!! anyway, enjoy<33

warnings: none, purely fluff, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

The light from the fridge casts a light across Buck’s face, harshly contrasting the dim light coming from the television as he opens the door to grab the ingredients he needs. 

“The butter needs to be room temperature,” he tells you sadly, glancing in your direction as he places the eggs and butter on the kitchen island. Your legs are dangling off the counter as you watch his every move, the cool counter pressing against the backs of your thighs in a way that makes you shiver in your sleepy state. 

It’s late; 2:30am the last time you checked, and you and Buck had the silly idea to pull an all-nighter, since you both have a few days off of work. Just like you used to do with your friends when you were kids.

“I’m sure they’ll be just as good. And, a lot better than store bought cookie dough,” you tell him with a soft laugh, rolling your eyes. 

Honestly, you’re just glad Buck has agreed to bake cookies for you this late. While you were watching a movie, the main character was making cookies, and suddenly you needed chocolate chip cookies. Like, immediately.

"Definitely better,” he says with a smirk, giving you a wink before pulling out the rest of the ingredients from the cupboards.

He helped you onto the counter before he began his work, telling you that he wanted to make them for you, and that all he needed from you was to sit there, look pretty, and keep him company. And with a face like that, how could you say no?

You watch as he measures out his dry ingredients, then mixes everything together, but he pauses every so often to give you gentle kisses, the ends of his curly hair tickling your forehead each time. When his hands aren’t somehow all sticky from the dough – you quickly learned how messy of a baker he was when you first started dating – he’d place a hand on your thigh, taking comfort in the warmth of your skin and the fact that he could feel the goosebumps under his palm. He always knows that you’re sleepy because you get cold, and your skin erupts in goosebumps.

“What do you think you’d be doing right now if we never met?” you ask quietly after a few moments of silence. He looks up at you from his bowl with furrowed brows, tilting his head to the side. 

“Is this the beginning of a breakup conversation?” he replies in a slightly teasing tone, although you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he studies your expression, and your body language, and your eyes.

Your eyes soften, and you immediately shake your head, giving him a reassuring smile as you hold your hand out. He reaches out for it, not letting it hang in the air for longer than a second or two, and lets you pull him forward until his body is positioned right between your legs, although with his hands all doughy, he opts to place his wrist under your palm.

“Baby, I have absolutely no intention of breaking up with you anytime soon. I was just thinking. How different would our lives be if we never met?” you say as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, letting your hands dangle behind his head as his lay on the counter on either side of you, making sure not to get your pajamas dirty from the dough covering his hands.

“They’d be very different. I’d be fast asleep right now, that’s for sure,” he teases with a cheeky smile. You laugh softly, rolling your eyes. It may have been your idea to pull an all-nighter, but he happily agreed that it would be fun. You didn’t even have to try to convince him.

“I’m serious,” you say with a laugh, leaning forward slightly, “I don’t know what I’d do if I never met you.” Your voice is softer now, a hint of vulnerability creeping in. You met Buck purely by chance, and you still think it’s a miracle that he took interest in you, despite him thinking the exact same thing about you.

“I’d be looking for you,” he says after a moment, shrugging as if it’s that simple. And to him, it is. 

Your eyes soften, and your head tilts to the side as your throat suddenly gets tight with your growing emotions.

“For me?” you ask in a teasing, yet slightly disbelieving tone, and he shrugs again with a nod. There’s no hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

“I’d be looking for someone who makes me happy, and who knows what I need without me even having to think to ask, and who is so beautiful that I can’t even believe that they’re with me. So, yeah, you.” You smile, feeling your face heat up. You can practically feel the love radiating from the deepest part of him and into your chest, and while your entire body suddenly feels warm, your cheeks feel like they’re on fire. Suddenly, you’re not so tired anymore.

“I’d be looking for you, too,” you reply, feeling tears prick your eyes as you lean forward and let your forehead rest against his. Buck has to keep a sliver of his mind occupied on not putting his hands on you, no matter how much he wants to feel your soft skin under his fingers. He wishes he washed his hands before coming over to you, but he wouldn’t have dared to let your hand stay raised in the air longer than a split second, just like he wouldn’t dare to part from you right now.

“Yeah?” he whispers, breathing in the faint scent of your body wash now that he’s so close. He wants to touch you so bad, and his self-restraint is wearing thin.

“Mhm. Except maybe without the snoring. I’ve never heard anyone that sleeps so loud.” You match his tone, letting out a soft laugh as he suddenly pulls his face back with a scoff, his brow raised and a smirk growing on his lips.

“Really? Because I seem to remember getting a text a few days ago saying that someone thought it was too quiet to sleep while I was at work,” he challenges, his eyes moving down to your lips for a second before moving back up to meet your gaze, the smug smirk still plastered to his face as you fight back a smile.

“I sent that in a moment of weakness,” you argue quietly, pursing your lips to stop the grin from making its way onto your face.

“Hey, come on, don’t pretend you don’t love it,” he continues, his hands now raised off of the counter and hanging in the air. They’re dangerously close to your waist; if he could touch you, he’d be tempted to tickle your sides to see that gorgeous smile grace your face, but he holds back. Instead, they just remain frozen, almost able to feel the warmth radiating from your soft body.

“I plead the fifth,” you tell him, reaching down and grabbing his wrists. You saw them out of the corner of your eye, full of dough and dangerously close to your pajama top, and the last thing you want to do is go upstairs and change.

You hold his wrists out between your bodies, and all Buck does is chuckle, rolling his eyes and murmuring a soft “brat” before leaning in and catching your lips in an intoxicating kiss. 

In the heat of the moment, you let go of Buck’s wrists, instead grabbing onto his hoodie and pulling him closer to you while your legs wrap around his waist, and he lets his hands go up to your cheeks. Neither of you notice at first, despite the sweet smell of brown sugar filling your nostrils, and he deepens the kiss, letting his lips work in tandem with yours as he savours the feel and taste of your mouth on his. 

Your noses brush against each other as you tilt your heads, and a low hum escapes Buck’s throat as his tongue meets yours when you part your lips. All you can focus on is each other as the oven beeps behind you, signalling that it’s time to put your cookies in, and Buck’s stubble scratches your face in a way that makes your head spin. You’re pretty sure the fire alarm could go off right now, and you still wouldn’t part from him.

You finally have to pull away to catch your breath, and when you do, you finally notice that your cheeks are now sticky. You giggle softly, and you can’t bring yourself to be upset with Buck about it. Not when he just kissed you like his life depended on it.

“Finish my cookies, Buckley,” you whisper after a moment of looking into each other's eyes, and then he finally pulls away from you, immediately missing the feeling of your thick thighs wrapped around him.

“Yes ma’am,” he murmurs, then dumps the chocolate chips into the mixture before mixing, humming in approval when they’re fully combined.

You take this time to wash the dough off your skin; not bothering to go upstairs to actually wash your face, rather merely using a wet paper towel over the sink to wipe off the residue. You know you’ll regret it later, but right now, you wouldn’t dream of being that far away from Buck. Not when the soft light from the tv mixes with the overhead oven light, and the soft sound coming from the credits of the movie envelopes the main floor of Buck’s loft and makes you feel so safe and calm.

When the cookies are in the oven, Buck helps raise you back up onto your spot on the counter, then makes himself at home between your legs, wrapping his arms around your plush middle and resting his head comfortably on your shoulder. You wrap your arms around his shoulders immediately, letting him melt into you as you wait for the timer. The steady feeling of his breath on your skin makes you feel even more at ease, if at all possible.

You don’t talk for those 10 minutes; you just bask in each other's presence. It’s past 3am now, you’re sure of it, but neither of you care. All you care about is how good it feels to be in Buck’s arms, and to know that you’ve found someone to bake cookies with in the middle of the night, just because you felt like it. Someone to bake cookies for you despite being so tired. Just because he loves you so deeply.

notes: likes/comments/reblogs would be much appreciated if you liked this<33

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[safetypinxtales]

Santa baby | Azriel

summary: it's nearing solstice and you have an extensive list for your mate Santa.

words: 1.5k

warnings: fluff, a bit of seduction, Azriel is stupid in love, like absolutely whipped, reader sits in Azriel's lap, feminine reader (lipgloss, hair below shoulder-length), otherwise neutrally described reader, no use of y/n, it's an AU where everything is the same except Santa is a thing.

notes: well, it's been a while but it's Christmas and I have free time for once so why not write? I whipped this one up in like an hour whilst waiting for our guests to arrive today, and it has minimal editing, but it's something light and sweet for the holidays. Hope you enjoy and merry Christmas! 🤍

masterlist

The glass is cold in your hand as you waltz into the living room. The winter sun had already set on the quaint seaside cottage you shared with Azriel. He had surprised you with it after your mating ceremony last solstice, and as you took in the shadows dancing around on the walls, cast by dim candle light, a feeling of contentedness enveloped you. The amber liquid in the glass sloshed with each step you took, but never quite enough to spill over the rim. It was a practiced routine, bringing him a drink whenever you found your mate a little too stuck in his work.

His head lifted from the paperwork he had been going over as he sensed your presence entering the living room, the hand that had been carefully turning a leaf falling slack on the armrest.

His eyes dropped down to your hips, watching them sway with every step you took, gaze fixed as if in a trance.

You let out a low hum as you reached him, extending the glass. His eyes met yours as he put the paperwork aside and accepted your offering.

Slowly – gracefully and practiced – you slid into his lap, one arm snaking its way around his shoulder. The warmth of his hands on your waist spread all the way into your chest, making your heart beat just that little bit faster.

Grabbing his face, feeling the slight stubble of his cheek under your palm, you planted your lips on his. 

The kiss was soft and warm, and perfectly matched the feeling blooming in your chest has he murmured a low:

“Hello, my love.”

“Hello,” you hummed back and felt that slow tug in your chest that you had come to love so. 

You gave a loving tug back and felt Azriel shudder beneath you.

Letting you gaze flit over his face, you marveled at his features. 

The dark lashes framing those mesmerizing hazel eyes of his. The colour of the finest of honey, all swirling and golden. 

The constellations of freckles adorning his cheeks, like a map only you were privy to read.

His lips, currently smeared in your lipgloss and stretched into a dopey smile making him look just as lovesick as you felt inside.

“Hey, Az?” You broke the warm silence that had enveloped you.

“Yes, my love?” He murmured, his eyes flicking down to your lips briefly before finding their way back to yours.

You leaned in to give him another soft peck, only pulling away to rest your forehead against his.

“I have.. I’ve been thinking about something,” you whispered, feeling the breath from his curious yes? on your lips. “About what I want from Santa this year.”

He pulled back slightly at your words, eyebrows raised and that dopey smile still plastered on that pretty mouth of his. He knew as well as you that Santa meant Azriel himself.

“Oh, really? Please, do tell,” his curious hum sent you heart fluttering as you settled in further in his lap.

“Well, do you remember that dagger I liked so much when we visited summer? The gold one?” You purred and ran your fingers through his hair. His eyes fluttered as your nails lightly scratched his scalp.

“The one with the eye-sized ruby in the pommel?” You nodded. “My love, that blade is useless. You couldn’t even cut an apple with it, much less cause any real damage,” he scoffed, ”you’d be better off fighting someone with a cotton ball. That you could at least shove down their throat – hope they choke to death.”

His eyes gleamed at the gasp you let out. The soft swat you landed on his chest drawing out a quiet chuckle.

“I know it’s useless in combat, but it’s so pretty isn’t it? Besides, why would I need to fight when I have you to defend me?” You chirped with a flutter of lashes. 

You just managed to catch his eyes darkening before he pulled you into yet another kiss, this time firmer. Purposeful. 

Claiming.

When he pulled away his breath was heavier and his voice rougher as he swore, “I will always protect you, always defend you.”

“Even if I’m in the wrong?”

“No such thing.”

Your toes curled at his admission, and the hand that was tangled in his hair tightened its grip.

“Good answer,” you mused, and his thumbs swiped at your waist – up and down. 

“What else should Santa put on his list?”

You pretended to think for a moment, pursing your lips into a glossy pout, knowing just how crazy the act drove your mate.

And just as you could have predicted, his eyes dropped down to your mouth, his smile fading slightly, his eyelids growing heavier.

“Well you know that necklace that Feyre has? That she wore on our mating ceremony?” You asked.

He nodded in response, eyes still focused on your lips.

You let your cheeks pull into a broad smile, “well I saw that the jewellery shop by the Palace of Thread and Jewels has its twin in gold.”

“The diamond necklace you kept sighing about for weeks after the ceremony? The one that had me questioning if it was the mating bond that was making you so blue?” He questioned, his voice laced with disbelief.

“That’s the one,” you replied. Removing your hand from where it was nestled against his head, you moved to push your hair over your shoulder, exposing your décolletage.

”Wouldn’t it fit me so well?” You asked, letting your hands graze the bottom of your throat, following the curve down to the top of your chest, watching his eyes track the movement with a predatory focus.

Azriel’s throat bobbed, “It would.”

Your hand fell to his arm, giving the muscle hiding under his sweater a light squeeze. 

“Yeah, you really think so?” You gave him your best hopeful look, batting your eyelashes for added effect.

He simply nodded, too much of a lovestruck, mess of a male in your presence to form any actual words. 

“That’s good,” you hum, “now I only have one last thing on my wish list.”

Your mate didn’t verbally respond, but you took the squeeze of his hands on your hips as a sign to keep going.

“An apartment in the city.”

That seemed to bring Azriel back to life.

“An apartment? Is the cottage I got for us not enough?” He asked with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Well, no, I love the cottage – you know that. But sometimes it would be nice to have somewhere closer to go to after having spent the evening with the others, don’t you think?”

“It takes half a second to winnow from there to here,” he deadpanned, causing you to roll your eyes.

“But I think it would be nice to stay in the city sometimes. To be able to walk home, a stroll along the Sidra,” you gave him your sweetest, most innocent smile and added, “just you and me?”

You could see his resolve melting, and felt the largeness of his hand leave your waist in favour of gently stroking your thigh. 

“An apartment, huh?” His soft voice still had some reluctance hanging on to it, but you could tell he was warming up to the idea pretty quickly.

Your head bobbed up and down in confirmation, and an amused sigh left his lips.

“You must think mighty highly of yourself, dear, to think Santa would give you such special treatment,” he mused as he pulled you closer. 

“Well, I just have it on a hunch that Santa might know that my wonderful, loving mate, who – if I haven’t already mentioned – loves me so,” Azriel’s eyes crinkled at the corners as you continued, “works for the high lord.”

Amusement danced in his eyes, and a soft red glow started making its way up his cheeks.

“So maybe someone like that, like me. Like the mate of the Night court spymaster, deserves to be a little spoiled.” You leaned in to kiss his jaw, and stopped to whisper in his ear, “it sure would make her happy.”

He hummed in agreement, his thumb stroking across your thigh at a slow but steady pace.

“Besides,” you continued, leaning back to look him in the eyes, “I have been such a good girl this year.” 

Azriel’s administrations on you leg stopped, his large hand instead coming up to cup your face. 

He hummed lowly, eyes locked on your lips, eyebrows drawn together in a pensive look.

“You really have,” he murmured.

Again, he pulled you into a kiss, molding his lips to yours. You let yourself melt into him – your wonderful, loving spymaster – into the warmth radiating from his large body. Into the secure grip of his hands and the gentle softness of his lips. You let yourself melt into your mate, with no care in the world, besides kissing him back.

When you finally pulled away you leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “if Santa is very kind to me, I promise I will be just as good next year.”

“Yeah?” His voice was thick with emotion.

“Yes, maybe even better.” You promised, and leaned back to look at him. 

You cupped his jaw, the slight stubble adorning the skin scratching your hand in the most comforting way.

He shook his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Not possible.”

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[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the buzzed babble

buttercup, chapter seven

a/n: WE BACK, BABYYY!!! SURPRISE!! one year later and here we are! back for even more of these two! that has been my little secret for a long time, ever since i quickly began to miss them after i finished the original 6 chapters, so the plan then became to revisit these two once the new daredevil series dropped.

summary:  “…I think I might have done something last night…” your eyes grew wide as the memories suddenly came flooding back. 

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, smut, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, seeing matt hold a baby (because we all know how dangerous it is for our ovaries to witness someone we like do that), alcohol consumption, vomiting, hangover, kissing, dirty talk, size kink, blowjob, facesitting, crying, accidentally scaring matt back into his toxic idea that having people close to you is bad when you're a vigilanty

word count: 3583

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As the man beside you finally stirred from his slumber, a soft hum vibrated against the pillow beneath his head. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” the corners of your lips twisted upwards as you continued to stare just as you had for the past twenty minutes, curled up and toasty on the mattress beside him, your gaze tracing every millimetre of his peaceful features. 

“Morning,” Matt breathed out a hazy smile as his arm slithered closer to your warmth. Sweeping his palm over your waist, he lazily scooped you across the shy distance between your bodies, pressing your skin up against his own. 

Planting a peck on his stubbly cheek, you curled your fingers up over his jaw as you peppered his face with kisses, slowly waking him up further, before he tilted his chin and captured your lips with his own. 

Soon, the kisses morphed, from being slow and smouldering to needy and sloppy, as he rolled onto his back and you crawled on top of him. 

“How did you sleep?” you uttered against the column of his throat as your lips strayed from his own and began to flutter further south. 

“Mhm,” Matt hummed, his fingers gently floating up to your head and softly weaving into your hair as he blissfully tilted his head, “good, it was–, yeah…” his eyes then flickered shut as your pecks reached his collarbone. He swallowed hard as you felt his cock twitch awake beneath you, “and you?” he mustered up enough focus to ask. 

“Not too shabby,” you blinked up at him with a smirk before your kisses began to wander down over his chest, till you had scooted all the way down to the bottom of the bed.

Slotted in between his thighs, your fingertips played with the edge of his black boxers as you let your pecks hop from his hipbone to the bulge now straining against the cotton. 

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned as your soft lips repeatedly pressed against the thin barrier. 

Once you’d freed his cock, tugging down his underwear just enough for the hardness to spring free, you began to drag long licks up the entire length of him. Slowly tracing the veins that decorated his fat girth with your tongue, you blinked up at him and smiled through your gentle laps as the intimate teasing of your hot tongue caused him to melt further down into the mattress as soft moans flowed from him at every kiss you offered. 

When he soon came undone, your sweet mouth milking him for all of his worth, your hand had sneaked down between your own legs to relieve the aching throb. 

Swallowing his load, you offered his softening length one more peck, making it twitch, before you blinked back up at Matthew, panting against his palm that had floated up to rest against his head on the pillow.

Reaching down, his grasp caught onto your forearms before he guided you back up to straddle him once again. Sweeping his touch up to your cheek, he tilted you down till you were in reach for his lips to capture your own. 

“You ready to get up?” you whispered in between kisses, a shy shiver running down your spine at the notion that the taste of himself in your mouth only caused him to groan against your lips and pull your body down further against his. 

And as the scent of your want, molten between your thighs and sticky on your fingers, found Matt’s sharp senses, nearly intoxicated on the aroma, he uttered in a gravelly tone, “not yet,” before his hands seized your hips and manoeuvred your form further up till you were hovering above his head.

“Matt!” the sudden move caused you to yelp through an airy giggle before you grasped onto the headboard. 

His burly arms hugged your hips as he drew you down against him, tilting your frame as he hooked your soaked panties to the side, swiftly making you grind down against his tongue. 

Groaning against your pussy, his low voice vibrated against your clit and caused you to peek down at him, blissfully buried beneath you. 

“Oh, I could definitely get used to waking up like this,” you breathlessly murmured as he sucked down on your puffy pearl and your eyes began to flutter. 

Offering your ass a light tap, his grip then dug into it as he chuckled against your cunt, “I’d happily be your alarm clock if you’d let me.”

“Is that what the slang for boyfriend is these days?” you laughed hazily as you rocked down against his skilful mouth, “are you gonna walk around and tick all day–, o-oh…” your dumb joke then fell from your lips as your thighs began to tremble on either side of his face. 

His arms flexed around you as he kept your squirming form steady through your high, pinning you down against him till you were panting in sensitivity. 

Slinking your boneless frame back down to rest atop his own, your cheek smooshed down against his chest as his long arms draped over your back. 

“Oh,” a giggle then slipped from your lips when you managed to blink your eyes back open and spot how your nectar had glistened up the entire lower half of his face, “remember to wash your face before you head out, you can’t go the office like this or Foggy will have a heart attack.”

As you reached up to try and wipe his cheeks, Matt’s own broad palm swiftly took over as he smiled, “you do know that we were college roommates, right? There aren’t many facets left that can rock our relationship.” 

Chuckling softly, you then tilted down to steal a peck before you uttered, “I’m gonna go make some coffee,” and pushed yourself up off of Matthew’s warmth and out of the bed. 

Slipping on the green rope that hung on the back of your bedroom door, you then glanced over your shoulder at Matt in the bed as he brushed his flat palm over the memory of where your body had just been. 

Once the electric kettle on the kitchen counter was humming, you dug a small wooden spoon deep down into a dark bag of coffee grounds before letting each scoop drizzle down to the bottom of your french press, and on the last spoonful, you felt a pair of arms snake around your waist. Bare chest pressing up against your back, he clearly hadn’t bothered to slip on his clothes from the day before yet. 

“So, how are you feeling about tonight?” he checked in, “are you still up for joining? Because if you aren’t, then I think I’ll just cancel as well.” 

Grabbing the kettle, you tilted it and watched closely as the steaming water filled up the french press, “no, I actually think I am,” you uttered once you’d searched for the answer deep down in your gut, “it’s the end of the week, so why not go out? Maybe tonight is the night when I finally beat you in pool,” you half-joked, “who knows, it’s Friday, anything could happen.” 

“Yeah,” he chuckled in your ear, “I mean, maybe actually leaning the rules to the game might help you, but sure, maybe tonight is the night.” 

Muffled voices found your ears as you approached the frosted glass door of the Nelsen and Murdock office. Quietly creaking it open and tip-toeing inside, your glance flickered to the left and caught the tail end of a meeting in the conference room. 

“Alright, almost done, you just have to sign these and then that’s it,” Foggy spoke as he gathered up a stapled stack of papers and presented it to the lady sitting at the end of the table with a small baby in her arms. 

“Uhm…” the woman momentarily stared down at the many spots that needed to be filled with her scribbles before her glance flickered to her young child, blinking up at her as she clutched it in both of her hands. Shifted the baby slightly as she realised that she wouldn’t be able to grasp the pen as well, her eyes fell upon Matthew, sitting on her other side, “I’m sorry, would you mind holding him for just a second?” she asked, though didn’t wait for an answer before she handed her baby off into the lawyer’s arms. 

“Oh,” Matt breathed and swiftly readjusted his hands to cradle the infant better, “of course not.”

And as the mother began to sign her name each place that Foggy pointed out for her, your breathing nearly stopped entirely as you suddenly became transfixed with your boyfriend, carefully holding that tiny boy, at first a bit nervous and tense at the unexpected job he’d suddenly gotten, before his broad shoulders began to relax and the corners of his lips began to twitch into a smile as the baby began to babble up at him.

Had you known that witnessing your boyfriend hold a baby would trigger such a severe and primal sense in your body, then you would have probably stayed back at the bakery for just a few more minutes before wandering over. 

And as you wiped the drool from your chin and your ovaries distractingly ached, trying so desperately to seize control, the mother scooped her child back into her arms, leaving you blinking hard to shake the sensation off of you. 

“Y/n, hey!” Foggy spotted you as the client began to cross the office towards the exit that you still stood rooted next to, “I didn’t hear you come in.” 

“Yeah,” you coughed, “didn’t wanna disturb you. So, are you guys done for the day?” 

“Yep,” a sigh of relief escaped Karen as she began to clean up the conference table. 

Once Matt had gathered up the empty coffee mugs and brought them to the sink in the office’s small kitchenette, he circled back to near your side before he pressed his lips to your still toasty cheek. 

“Hi,” he murmured as his touch skimmed down the length of your arm before it briefly caught your palm in a gentle squeeze. 

“Hey, you,” an exhale flowed out past your lips, “how was your day?”

“It was alright,” he smiled softly, “yours?” 

“Yeah, it was good. I dropped an open bag of flour when I was trying to refill the bins,” you tilted your head, “but it was good.” 

“So,” Foggy puffed out a breath as he then gathered up his bag and cast his glance around to everyone, “Josie’s?” 

“Wait, do you think it’s too late to go back and join them for karaoke?” you pouted as you suddenly ceased your wobbly steps up the stairs of your apartment building, “do you think they’re still at Josie’s?”

“No, they probably already left,” Matt noted, steadily walking behind you with both of his hands firm at your waist so that you didn’t tumble over. 

“Did I just commit the biggest mistake of my life by going home already? I mean, I know that Karen said she’d send a video, but still…”

“Well, considering the fact that you can barely stand up right, it probably was a smart thing not to keep the night going.”

“I can stand perfectly fine, thank you very much,” you gracelessly reached the top of the steps, “it’s just the world that’s spinning thanks to all those shots.”

“Yeah, I still don’t know why you did that,” Matt chuckled as he reached into his pocket for his keys.

“Well, your friends can be very persuasive when they want to be, even if it’s something that you come to regret later,” you exhaled as your boyfriend momentarily leaned you against the wall while he unlocked the door to his apartment, “I think I might be starting to get why you opted out of it tonight…”

“Yeah, I learned that lesson a long time ago,” he twisted the key in the lock before snaking an arm around your waist to help you inside, “I tried to warn you.” 

Slumping against his frame, Matt kicked the door closed behind him before he slowly shifted you towards one of the armchairs. 

Carefully, he plopped you down in the chair before his feet began to carry him towards the bathroom. 

“No!” you let out a screech as your hazy vision shadowed him, “where are you going?” 

“To get you some painkillers,” he explained as he reappeared in the doorway of the lavatory, holding a tiny box in his hand, “I’m sure you’ll probably need them in the morning.” 

“Oh, my hero,” you hummed, making him smile as he slipped into the bedroom behind you to place the medicine on one of the nightstands.  

Though as you then watched as he crossed the dark apartment to near the kitchen, his visage bathed in warm shades of yellows and golds from the huge, glowing sign across the street, your chin found your palm as you stared at Matt as he conjured a tall glass and began to fill it with water. 

“…do you wanna be a dad?” you abruptly asked, your words hazy as your inebriated state forced you to utter the question out loud. 

Freezing up, Matt forgot to tap the faucet and shut off the water, rendering the glass in his grasp to instead overflow and dripple into the sink as he eventually uttered, “…what?” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m not asking you to take off your pants and knock me up this very moment, it just occurred to me that we’ve never dove into that conversation before,” you babbled, barely registering the words that slipped from your lips, much less capable of stopping them from seeing the light of day, “and also, relevant to that, I’ve never asked you if you ever wanted to get married–, hypothetically of course, just as the other question, but some day in the future, to someone.”

Standing still as a statue in the middle of his kitchen, an unsteady sound escaped his lungs, “oh,” as he scrambled for the right thing to say, “I–…” though his attempt was swiftly tossed to the side as you then suddenly exclaimed. 

“Oh my god,” your palm abruptly soared up to clamp over your mouth as a sudden wave of nausea washed over you like a tidal wave, “wait,” you sprang up from the armchair and scrambled to get to the bathroom. 

Once you were doubled over the toilet bowl, gagging on the regrets of the evening, a moment passed before Matt managed to snap himself free from the state your words had sent him spiralling into, and you finally felt him come up behind you and grasp your hair to hold it back. 

And once you’d emptied the contents of your stomach, the cool bathroom tile still spinning beneath your form, the memories of the night grew misty as even details form moments before began to slip from your mind like you were trying to scoop up spilled honey with your bare hands, only to watch as it slowly dripped and leaked through your fingers. 

“Urgh,” you weakly spat one last time, “do you have any painkillers? I think I might need some in the morning.”

His dark brows twitched slightly as he then uttered, “I already sat them down on the bedside table a few minutes ago, don’t you remember?” 

“Oh, you did?” you blinked up at him, his palm still gently pressed against your back, “thanks.” 

And as you began to fight the losing battle to your heavy lids, you felt Matt’s touch scoop up under your arms before he murmured, “come on,” and carefully helped you up off the floor, “let’s get you to bed…” 

A weak groan vibrated in your throat when you woke. 

Once you finally gathered the strength to blink your eyes open, past the soft grey sheets you were tangled in, stood Matthew, his back turned to you as he faced his open closet.

“How long have you been up?” you groggily murmured. 

Twisting around as his fingers finished knotting his tie, he simply breathed, “a while,” as if he hadn’t been up all night freaking out about the way your tongue had slipped up last night.  

A crinkle then found your brows as he reached for one of the dark jackets hanging in his wardrobe and you finally noticed his attire, “why are you putting on a suit when we’re just gonna stay here all day?” 

“Something came up,” he exhaled as he shrugged on the blazer, “I gotta head to the office.”

“What?” you slowly sat up in bed.  

“I’m sorry,” his fingers slowly did up the buttons. 

“Well, is everything alright?” you tilted your head, dully pounding from the night’s bad choices, “you seem kinda weird.”

“I’m fine,” he shifted, brushing off his obvious brooding, “I just gotta go.” 

“Oh, okay…” your gaze continued to trace him as he slipped on his glasses, “well, I’ll see you later then?”

“Yeah,” he offered you a tight-lipped smile, “later,” before bending down to press a fleeting peck to the top of your head. 

As the door slammed shut behind him, the clatter only worsened the queasiness fogging up your reality. And after a brief instant where you feared it would boil over and force you to rush into the bathroom, the wave of nausea thankfully began to settle again, even if just for a moment.

Crawling off the bed, you reached for one of Matt’s grey sweatshirts before slugging it around your form and zipping it up. 

Once you’d filled up a glass of water and chugged half of it, you shuffled back from the kitchen and sank down onto the couch, the cool leather somehow aiding in the aching symptoms of your monstrous hangover. 

Plucking up your phone that had apparently been discarded on the coffee table, you scrolled through the texts that Karen and Foggy had sent to you late last night after you’d passed out, before you found your thumb pressing down on the call button next to Foggy’s name. 

“Who the hell had the terrible idea to do shots last night?” he groaned on the other side of the line once he’d picked up. 

“That would be you.” 

“Oh, right,” he sighed, “hey, did I sing hit me baby one more time at karaoke or was that a dream?”

“According to the video Karen sent to me as evidence, you did,” you reached for the plaid blanket draped over the back of the couch and swaddled it around your legs, “are you on your way to the office right now?”

“It’s a Saturday and I’m hungover as fuck,” Foggy pointed out, “of course I’m not.” 

“Oh,” you breathed, “well, didn’t something come up? Matt just rushed out the door.”

“No,” he uttered slowly, probably tilting the phone away from his ear to check if he’d gotten any messages he’d missed, “nothing’s going on.” 

“Hm… okay…” you murmured, glancing around the empty apartment, “should I be worried?” 

Puffing out a long breath, Foggy then uttered, “Matt’s probably just being Matt. He’ll come around when he’s ready.” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” you nodded, “I’m probably just still a bit drunk and thereby reading too much into nothing.”

“Probably,” he quietly echoed. 

Fiddling with the edge of the blanket, you then asked, “so, what exactly happened last night?” 

“Uh, well, we started out at Josie’s, played some pool for a bit, then the shots happened, and then from what I remember, we split up and Karen and I went off to sing our hearts out and you and Matt went home, right?”

“Right…” the pieces slowly began to fall back into place before they all rained down on you like a hailstorm, “oh,wait…”

“What?” 

 “…I think I might have done something last night…” your eyes grew wide as the memories suddenly came flooding back. 

“Done something, like you need my legal aid done something?” 

“What? No, or well, I hope not…” you faintly shook your head before you uttered, “I think I may have asked Matt to marry me and give me lots and lots of babies…” 

The line was quiet a moment before you heard Foggy murmur, “…okay, and what did he say?” 

“He didn’t, I threw up and then we went to bed,” you heard your heartbeat begin to thump in your ears, “why would I even ask him something like that? Don’t answer that, I already know, I was drunk,” you swiftly cut in before he had the chance to offer a single word, “but, I mean, still. It’s not like I have some burning desire to settle down and pop out a billion children–, or well, maybe just one, at some point, far down the line when it feels right, maybe in like ten years or something, but not a whole fucking village.”

And as you felt panicked tears begin to blur your vision, you continued shakily, “Foggy? What if I screwed it all up? That’s why he ran out of here at the crack of dawn,” you sniffled silently, “I scared him away.” 

“You didn’t,” the man on the other end tried, “Y/n, listen to me, you didn’t do anything wrong, Matt is just being an idiot like usual.” 

“…I really don’t want to lose him,” your chest rose and fell rapidly as you stared blankly down at the pattern of the blanket draped over your legs, “I love him, Foggy…”

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[widows-venom]

⊹₊⟡⋆ IT DOES MATTER

PART 1

dark!wanda maximoff x fem!reader

✮⋆˙summary

you wake up again, chained to your own bed. you are determined to figure out why this wasn’t your wanda. and wanda was determined to follow through with some plan of hers.

✮⋆˙trigger warnings

dark!wanda, smut, dubcon/noncon, oral (r receiving), strap on usage (r receiving), face slapping (r receiving), mention of possible character death (idrk)

✮⋆˙authors note

please excuse the somewhat bad grammar and switching tenses, i’m not a native speaker anddd yeah, no beta, we die like — our souls when we watch marvel

you‘re thankful that there’s no headache when you wake up, but that gratitude quickly vanished, making place for fear. where were you? and who the fuck is that wanda?

you start to look around and notice that you’re settled in the midst of a queen sized bed — like the one wanda used to sleep in. but she’d never bind you to it’s posts like this — wait, no she would have but not this tightly. and not with her magic, but her silk robes.

where the fuck are you even? you simultaneously think the bedroom is familiar and completely new to you. it faintly reminds you off wanda’s bedroom but then again, it feels completely off.

the energy of the room doesn’t carry its usual friendliness and warmth, the carefreeness and calmness, the comfort wanda’s room always used to bring to you.

it’s all gone, replaced by an eerie, suffocating energy. it feels as though someone had draped a blanket of darkness and cruelty over the once comforting area.

“don’t think so much, malysh, you know i like you pliant and quiet”, wanda’s voice rings out.

her voice is raspy, her sokovian accent more prominent than ever — more prominent than that of your wanda.

“there is no 'your' wanda”, wanda hisses and within the blink of an eye she’s on you, pressing you down on the mattress with the of her body.

her breath is cold and harsh against your cheek, her weight uncomfortable and constricting above you.

with your wanda it had always felt -

“don’t you dare continue to compare me with her!”, wanda screams and before you can even blink, her palm connects with your cheek.

as a startled scream leaves your lips, wanda harshly grabs your chin. her weird, callused black finger tips dig uncomfortably into your skin and you can practically feel the magic in them.

“you’re mine now”, wanda coldly states and brings your face closer to hers. her lips almost brush against yours. “there’s no need to think of that wretched, weak wanda you know”

wretched? weak?

as if you’re going to let someone — frankly, this was the exactly someone, but some other version of wanda — walk all over your wanda.

“what did you do to her?”, you spit out.

wanda huffed and rolled her eyes, grinding her teeth together. “that’s none of your business, malysh. i discarded her, like the useless little witch she was”, she snarked, an almost proud smile forming on her lips. “she couldn’t protect you, malysh, but i can.”

you scoffed, your throat closing up. discarded her? had she actually killed your wanda?

before you can even ask, wanda’s lips are on yours. harsh, unforgiving and — with a hint of love.

you tried to struggle against it, against her, her kiss. your lips not answering hers, merely letting her do as she pleased. but then, wanda pulls back. and there it was.

those hurt, green puppy eyes, staring at you accusingly. “kiss me back”, was it a demand? a plea, even? you didn’t know, but your heart stung.

how could you ever deny wanda? even if it wasn’t technically your wanda, those eyes hurt.

“please”, she whispers, her hands moving to your neck, gently touching your collarbones, tracing them.

now were you dumb, or just hopelessly in love with every variant of your girlfriend?

probably both.

because you lean up and kiss her, desperate to make those sad puppy eyes go away.

you kiss her, like you would have kissed her. slow, gentle and loving — and wanda lets you. lets you set the pace, doesn’t kiss your as harsh as before, but rather as soft as you are. as she would have.

you taste tears. maybe yours, maybe hers.

“let me make you feel good, malysh, please”, wanda whispered against your lips, gently connecting your foreheads.

did you have a choice? probably not.

“be gentle”, you rasped out, and wanda kissed your lips again, letting them linger.

with the twist of her wrist, she’s as naked as you are. a thick, veiny red strap-on settled between her legs. the sight alone making you clench your thighs together. you faintly recognise the toy, your own wanda had used it on you every now and then, but it looks — different. almost attached to wanda.

wanda smirked down at you, a devilish glint in her eyes, as she runs her hands down your thighs, gently spreading them apart.

“you’re so smart, malysh”, she praised gently and kissed your neck. “it’s different, attached to me. i can feel you”, she murmurs, her kisses traveling lower.

her gentleness makes you melt, a shuddering sigh leaving your lips.

“feel me?”, you whisper. “it’s - what, a magic cock?”, you laugh a little breathless at your own words.

wanda’s grin shuts you up. oh. it was a magic cock.

“just for you, malysh. as special as you are”, she murmurs, nipping at the underside of one of your breasts, as her hands on your thighs slide higher, massaging you gently.

“now relax, let me take care of you”, she coaxes, placing a kiss on your stomach, your hip.

“fuck”, you whispered, head falling back against the pillows. your fingers twitch, unable to move much do to the magical restraints.

“fuck indeed”, wanda mused, before nipping just above your shockingly dripping core. she moans at the sight of you, so wet and ready already.

“my, my, malysh”, she teases, green eyes flickering ip to yours as she darts her tongue out, flicking against your clit. a squeaky moan escapes you. “so nice and ready for me”

her tongue dips lower, spreading through your folds, humming at your taste. she manages to keep eye contact with you, while she pushes her tongue inside.

“god, fuck, wanda-“, you whimper out, hips bucking up, only to immediately be stopped by wanda’s hands pressing you down.

“don’t move, malysh, let me have you”, she whispers against your dripping core, the puff of air making you whine helplessly.

wanda’s tongue spreads your folds again, her nose brushing against your clit as she oh-so-gently eats you out. the occasional hum or moan of approval making you shudder from the vibration against your core.

fuck she was good. just like you had remembered your wanda being like.

wanda doesn’t speed up, her tongue keeping you in a nice, pleasurable state, while one of her fingers circles your entrance, slowly pushing in. “oh malysh, you take me so well, so good”, she murmurs.

you’re core greedily clenches around her. your breath comes in fast, needy little puffs and you try to move your hands again, struggling a little against the restraints — no use.

“wanda please”, you find yourself begging quickly. desperate for her, for her cock. the thought of her actually being able to feel you, is making you dizzy with need.

“sh, i got you, malysh, i got you”, wanda mumbles. she detaches her mouth from you, leaving you aching for more. your hips buck against her hands, but she pins you down mercilessly.

wanda moves her body over yours, looking at your scrunched up face with adoration as she lines herself up. “so pretty”, she mumbles, her eyes wandering down to your core as she shifts her hips, brushing the tip of her magical strap on against your clit. watching the red tip brush against you, watching you twitvh and whine.

“wanda!”, you cry out already, her hands immediately tighten on your hips, holding you down, preventing you from even starting to buck up into her.

“there you go”, she moans, pushing the strap on inside, steadily, slowly. brows creasing in pleasure, as she feels your velvety walls fluttering against the magical cock.

“so good for me, malysh, so good”, she whispers, a little breathless, but not coming close to your breathless gasps.

“so nice and pliant for me”, she experimentally rolls her hips, makinng the both of you moan out in unison.

“fuck wanda, please move, please”, you whimper, eyes fluttering close in pleasure.

rough, callused fingers trace your cheeks, reminding you once again that this wasn’t your wanda. but in this moment, you weren’t sure you cared.

“say you’re mine”, wanda rasps, pulling her hips back almost fully, leaving just the tip inside you. “say you belong to me, malysh”

her hands tightened on your face, squeezing your cheeks a little.

“i- shit, wanda i’m yours”, maybe you weren’t stupid, but just a needy slut:

wanda grins and slams her hips forward, moaning loud, as you cry out in pleasure.

“there you go, malysh, my pretty girl”, she moans, setting a steady, quick pace.

“fuck you take me so well, feel so good around me”, she praises, leaning down to kiss and nip at your neck as you struggle not to writhe too much under her.

“you were made for this, for me, my cock, baby”, wanda moans into the side of your neck, biting your skin and soothing it with a kiss.

“you’re mine, malysh, utterly mine”, she mumbles. “mine to take and use as i please”

she shifts a little, coming face to face with you. admiring your face, brows scrunched, lips parted and eyes shut in pleasure, for a few heartbeats.

“if you’re good, i might consider sharing you with your little weak witch”

[daryltwdixon]

Joel Miller x Reader Something Ours

Summary: One Sunday morning, tangled in the sheets, you finally tell Joel what you've been wanting for a long time—a baby.

tags: MDNI 18+ mentions of age gap but not specified, smut, breeding kink, marking/claiming, possessiveness, pinv, dirty talk, but still sweet. oral (f!receiving), baby makin. fluffy ending a/n: I’m in love w him ok. lightly inspired by @littlcdarlin 's Into Temptation series (the way Joel marks her up and wants her pregnant has plagued my mind for days)

Weekend mornings have always been your favorite in Jackson. No early alarms, no long hours on patrol for either of you—just this. Warmth, the soft sounds of steady breathing, the press of skin on skin. It’s more than you could have ever hoped for.

Joel is wrapped around you, his thick arm draped over your waist, his bare chest flush against your back. The wiry hair on his forearm tickles against your skin, even through the oversized shirt of his you’re wearing. He’s so warm, so solid, his presence enveloping you, lulling you into the kind of peace you never thought you’d have. You blink lazily against the golden rays spilling through the curtains, the soft glow of morning casting everything in warmth. Life has been kind to you here—days slipping by with little to no trouble, patrols growing easier as the woods clear of strays. The animals seem happier in the fall, the crisp air cooling the town after the long summer heat. Mornings like these make it easy to stay in bed, no sweaty discomfort forcing you into a cold shower first thing.

Joel stirs behind you, still caught somewhere between sleep and waking, his arm tightening around your waist, pulling you closer. His hand splays over your stomach, fingers pressing into the soft fabric of his shirt, his touch absentminded, instinctual. The movement brings you flush against him, your backside molding to his front, and that’s when you feel it.

Thick and heavy, it’s mouthwatering.

Your breath hitches. He’s pressed perfectly between your ass, the firm length of him undeniable even through the thin fabric of both of your underwear. Heat pools low in your belly, your pulse thrumming at the feeling of him, never quite used to the sheer size of him.

Joel exhales deeply, his body relaxing against yours, still lost in the depths of sleep. His breathing is steady, deep and even, unaware of what he’s doing to you—how easily he ignites that slow burn beneath your skin.

You swallow, thighs pressing together as warmth pulses through you, a quiet ache settling deep in your core. You should let him sleep. Shouldn’t be thinking about how easy it would be to shift back against him, to press into the hardness of him and see what kind of sleepy sound he’d make.

But with the way he’s holding you, his palm heavy over your stomach, his arm locking you against him, it’s hard to think about anything else. 

You shift, just a little, just testing, and the solid length of him presses more firmly against you. Heat licks up your spine, something needy coiling inside you. A low hum slips from your throat as you settle in closer, letting yourself indulge in the feel of him.

Joel stirs, fingers flexing at your stomach before they slide up, his palm spreading warm and broad over your chest. He pulls you in tighter, his hand trailing up, wrapping around your throat—gentle, soft, but claiming.

His lips brush against your hair as he exhales slowly, voice rough with sleep, his southern drawl even deeper as he murmurs against your neck,

“Somethin’ you need, baby?”

A slow smile curls at your lips as you bring your hand to rest on his forearm, his skin warm and solid against yours. His beard rasps gently along your neck as he presses a long, lingering kiss there, his lips moving over your skin, traveling to your shoulder. Each touch is deliberate, unhurried, like he’s savoring the feel of you.

You shift, twisting your neck just enough to meet his gaze. There’s a lazy grin on his face, his eyes still heavy with sleep, a sliver of hazel peeking through dark lashes as he looks at you. Soft and wanting, and all yours.

Your hand moves up, cupping the back of his head as you kiss him deeply, your body molding into his. Joel sighs into your mouth, the sound low and rough, something deep in his chest, as his hand begins to roam.

His palm slides beneath the soft fabric of his shirt on you, heat searing into your skin as he cups one of your breasts, his touch firm and knowing. He squeezes gently, his grip grounding, pulling you in closer—like he can’t stand to have even an inch of space between you.

His tongue sweeps into your mouth, teasing, coaxing, as his fingers find your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, a slow, torturous motion that makes your breath stutter. A gasp slips past your lips, your back arching just a little, silently asking for more.

His hand drifts lower, warm and steady as it slides down your torso, fingertips grazing the waistband of your panties. The anticipation coils tight in your stomach, heat pooling low, but just as his fingers dip beneath the fabric, you break away from the kiss.

"Joel—"

He hums against your lips, lazy and deep, his hand stilling just beneath your panty line, fingertips rough against sensitive skin.

"I've… I've been thinkin'."

That gets his attention. His hand stills, his eyes opening more as sleep fades from them, sharp focus settling over his features. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t press—just watches, waiting.

You move, shifting your body so you face him in his arms, both hands pressing against his broad chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath your palms, the wiry tufts of hair brushing against your fingertips. His warmth seeps into you, his palm settling low on your back, holding you firm, steady.

"What is it?" His voice is quiet, but there's an edge to it, a tightness he tries to keep from creeping in.

You avert your eyes, heart thudding harder now that you’re on the verge of saying it. You know what this means. What it could stir in him. You know his past—know the ghosts he carries, the weight of loss that still lingers in the spaces between you.

The thought forms thick on your tongue, like glue, sticking, making your throat dry.

"I…" You swallow, shutting your eyes, breathing deep to steady yourself.

Joel's hand moves from your spine, fingertips brushing along your jaw before tucking your hair back from your face. His touch is soft, careful. "Baby, what’s goin’ on?" he whispers.

Your eyes open, meeting his, and for a second, you hesitate, the weight of what you’re about to say settling deep in your stomach. But this is Joel. If you can’t say this to him, then who else?

"I want a baby."

Your voice is barely even a whisper, soft and careful, but the impact is instant.

Joel stills, completely. His fingers pause where they rest against your cheek, and his expression shifts, something unreadable flickering across it before his brows draw together. His mouth parts like he wants to say something, but no words come. You can only imagine what’s going through his mind. He was just a kid himself when he had Sarah. Eighteen, barely knowing what it meant to be a man before he had to become a father. Then to lose her so tragically and suddenly…

The hesitation is expected, but it still tugs at something vulnerable inside you.

You press on, your voice steadier now, firmer. "I want… I want to be a family with you, Joel." You watch him carefully, searching his face for any sign of rejection. "And maybe if we had a baby, people would have something else to talk about for a change.” you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

Joel exhales sharply at that, his jaw tightening. You know how people talk—the whispers behind your back, the ones that say he’s too old for you, that you don’t belong with him. That the both of you should find someone his own age.

He blinks, his hands on you shifting to rest along your back again, "That why you want this?" His voice is unreadable, careful, like he’s picking apart your words, searching for the real reason.

You shake your head. "No, Joel, I… I just want something that's ours. Something good. We’ve spent so much of our lives surviving. I want to live. I want a family—with you."

Silence lingers between you, thick and uncertain. His fingers flex against your skin, his gaze searching, guarded.

Then, slowly, something shifts.

His face softens, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly as his hand slides down your spine. His palm spreads wide over your back, pulling you closer, pressing you into the warmth of him.

"Are you sure?" His voice is rough, low, but there’s something else underneath it now—something warmer.

You nod, eyes never leaving his. "I’ve never been more sure of anything."

Joel exhales, slow and measured. His thumb brushes absently over your lower back, his other hand coming to cradle your cheek. There’s a long pause, a moment where you think he might say no, might pull away.

But then, he smiles, and you feel like you can breathe again.

"Wanna make one now?"

The words are quiet, but the effect is immediate. Heat spreads back through you, pooling low in your stomach, making your toes curl in anticipation. Your fingers tighten against his chest, breath coming a little quicker now as something electric passes between you.

His hand moves from your back, sliding down in a slow, deliberate stroke before cupping your ass, squeezing hard. A pleased sound rumbles low in his chest when he feels the way you press into him, the way your body molds so perfectly beneath his touch.

Then, his palm glides lower, over the curve of your thigh, strong fingers gripping as he hitches your leg higher, wrapping it around his hip. The movement pulls you into him, presses you against the thick, warm length of him beneath his briefs, and it makes you mewl for him.

He’s so hard, so perfectly situated between your legs, the friction unbearable, teasing, maddening. The way he breathes out against your skin tells you he feels it too, that same raw need settling deep, curling between you like something heavy and inevitable.

But it’s his mouth that makes your stomach flutter, that sends fire licking down your spine. The press of his lips at your collarbone. The rough scrape of his beard as he moves against your neck. His breath, warm and steady, fanning over sensitive skin.

You sigh, stretching beneath him, chasing the heat of his mouth as he sucks at the flesh of your throat, "Joooeel…" you croon, voice thick and sweet, caught somewhere between indulgence and a plea, "You're gonna leave marks."

But even as you say it, your back is already arching, your body offering itself to him before you can think better of it. Your neck stretches, baring more skin for him, inviting the scrape of his beard, the slow drag of his lips as they trail lower, sinking heat into every inch of you. You can feel the blood pooling just beneath your skin, heat blooming where his mouth lingers, marking you as his. A quiet thrill runs through you at the thought, at the way he takes his time, deliberate, the realization that he doesn’t care if others see his claim on you.

Joel hums against your throat, deep and thrumming low against your neck. The vibrations of it roll through you, making you shiver as his mouth savors the taste of your skin. His teeth graze against your pulse before he soothes the spot with his tongue, his breath warm where it fans over damp skin, all slow and unwavering. 

"Good." His voice is rough, low, barely more than a growl before he bites into you again, harder this time.

You yelp, a sharp sound swallowed quickly as his mouth crashes against yours, tongue sweeping into your mouth, taking, claiming. A deep rumble rises from his chest, reverberating through you as his grip tightens, holding you flush against him.

"Then they’ll know," he murmurs against your lips, voice thick with something dark, something primal. "Once and for all, who you belong to."

The words send a shiver down your spine, heat licking through you in a way you never would have expected. Once, a claim like that would have made you bristle, made you scoff at the idea of a man thinking he could own you. But Joel—Joel was different.

He was a different breed of man. With him, you wanted it. Wanted him to stake his claim, to mark you in whatever way he wanted, to make sure everyone knew you were his. There was something about the way he touched you, the way he held you, the way his eyes darkened whenever they roamed over you. It made you crave it, made you ache for something deeper, something permanent.

And you can see it now—clear as day.

Barefoot, belly rounding beneath one of his worn buttoned plaid shirts as you pad through the house. The scent of morning coffee, the creak of the floorboards beneath your feet. Maybe you'd finally learn to sew, stitching tiny little clothes with steady fingers, something made just for them, just for the life growing inside you. The glow of your skin catching in the soft light from the kitchen window, the quiet hum of contentment settling in your chest as he put his hand over your swollen belly. 

A slow smile tugs at your lips, breath coming a little quicker as your fingers slide up into his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath catch.

“Gonna knock me up, Joel Miller?” you tease, voice breathless, playful, but aching underneath it all.

His hands flex at your waist, grip tightening as something shifts in him.

His pupils darken, jaw tightening as his tongue swipes along the seam of his lips like he's already thinking about how he's going to ruin you.

“You want that, baby?” His voice is low, thick, almost hoarse with want. His fingers drag up your thigh, slow and deliberate, spreading warmth along your skin as he rocks his hips into you just enough for you to feel all of him.

"You want me fillin’ you up, makin’ you mine, lettin’ everyone see what I did to you?"

A whimper catches in your throat at the way he says it, like he’s staking his claim right then and there.

His mouth finds your jaw again, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. His beard scrapes deliciously against your skin, sending little shocks of heat curling in your stomach. He lingers, lips hovering over your pulse before his teeth catch on the sensitive skin, nipping just enough to make you gasp.

“Think I like that idea,” he murmurs, voice rough as he soothes the spot with his tongue.

“Joel—”

“You’d be so pretty,” he continues, dragging his teeth down the column of your throat, his tongue tracing every mark he leaves behind. “Walkin’ ‘round town with my baby in you. Belly all round and full. Everybody seein’ how well I take care of you. My girl. Mine.”

The words send a rush of heat straight between your legs, a soft moan slipping from your lips as he pulls your thigh higher up his hip.

And then he pulls away just enough to look at you.

His hands slide beneath your shirt, palms rough and warm as they skim over your sides, your ribs, moving slow, teasing. His eyes hold yours as he peels it up, tugging the fabric over your head before tossing it aside.

The air is cool against your skin, but the way Joel looks at you is scorching.

His hands find you again immediately, thumbs brushing over your peaked nipples, taking his time, watching you squirm beneath him.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, fingers smoothing over your breasts before he cups them in his big hand, squeezing gently, like he needs to feel all of you.

"You’re perfect," he murmurs, his voice thick, like he can barely get the words out. "So goddamn pretty, baby. Every part of you.”

Heat coils in your stomach, your hips shifting up into his instinctively, desperate for more, for the way he’s touching you, talking to you, claiming you.

And then his mouth is on you.

He drags his tongue over the soft swell of your breast, slow, savoring, before closing his lips around you, sucking just hard enough to make you gasp.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, gripping tight as his tongue flicks over your nipple, teeth grazing over the bud. Joel groans against your skin, hot and deep, before sucking harder, pulling more of you into his mouth, marking you up just like he did your neck.

“There we go,” he murmurs, his breath fanning over the wet heat of your skin as he leans back just enough to admire his work. A red and purple mark blooming right over your breast.

His fingers brush over it, thumb pressing lightly against the tender spot, and you whimper at the delicious sting.

“All mine, ain’t that right?” he whispers against your skin as he continues kissing down your body, pushing aside the blankets so that he can settle between your legs.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s on his stomach, his broad shoulders spreading your thighs wide over him, his hands smoothing over the soft flesh as he drags his lips along the inside of your thigh.

The kisses start soft, slow, warm. Then he bites again.

A sharp nip, just enough to make you gasp, before he soothes the sting with his tongue, lips sealing over the spot as he sucks, marking you up all over again.

“Wanna mark you everywhere,” he grumbles against your skin. “So when you look in the mirror—” he sucks harder, his eyes finding yours as you suck breath in through your teeth, your thighs tense around him “—no matter what you’re wearin’, you’ll remember who you belong to.”

“Always yours,” you sigh, your chest heaving as you prop yourself up on your elbows, needing to see him, needing to watch.

He hums at that, pleased, dragging his tongue over the fresh mark before moving higher.

His mouth finds the damp fabric covering you, his beard scratching at your tender, oversensitive flesh. He nuzzles against you, slow and teasing, the broad bridge of his nose pressing right against your clit.

And then he inhales.

A deep, low groan rumbles from his chest, thick and hungry, his fingers flexing against your thighs as his tongue teases at the wet fabric, dragging slow over the soaked cotton.

“Always smell so goddamn sweet,” he mutters, voice wrecked, like it’s physically affecting him, like he needs it.

His tongue darts out, tasting you through the fabric, and your whole body shudders, thighs clenching around his head.

“Joel, please,” you whimper, “Enough teasing.”

He chuckles, low and rough, the sound vibrating against you. “Okay, okay, sweet girl.”

One hand shifts, his fingers tracing along the thin fabric, feeling the slickness pooled there, spreading it just slightly, like he’s savoring the proof of what he’s done to you.

Then, with agonizing slowness, he hooks a finger around the damp edge of your panties, pulling them to the side. The cool air barely has a second to kiss your skin before Joel’s mouth is on you.

His tongue flattens, licking a long, slow stripe through your slick folds, and at the first contact, both of you groan—him, deep and wrecked, you, breathless and desperate.

The lewd, wet sounds of his mouth on you, the way he laps at you like a starved man, has you trembling beneath him. His tongue moves with purpose, savoring every drop of you, every reaction he pulls from your body.

Almost too soon, your muscles are clenching, your hips undulating, your skin prickling with heat as your climax builds, fast and overwhelming. It’s too soon—you want to wait, want to stretch this out, indulge in the pleasure of his mouth for as long as possible. But Joel is too enamored, too determined with the way you look beneath him, writhing and pliant, so desperate, so full of wanton need.

“C’mon, my pretty girl,” he murmurs against you, voice rough, coaxing, his lips brushing over your swollen clit with every word. "It's right there, I feel it already." and then his teeth graze your swollen clit, just barely, but it’s enough to have your thighs locking around his head as the pressure in your belly snaps like a chord, pleasure ripping through you in blinding waves. Your body shudders, stars bursting behind your vision.

But Joel isn’t done, he keeps up his rhythm, licking and sucking you through it, holding your thighs tight in his wide hands, keeping you exactly where he wants you. His groan vibrates against you, full of satisfaction, savoring the way you pulse in his mouth.

Your body melts, boneless in his arms, the pleasure still curling warm and slow through you. But even as you come down, he doesn’t let up. His tongue keeps moving, gentler now, slower, but still firm, still insatiable. Pressure builds again, too fast, too much.

“It’s-s-s too much,” you mewl, hands suddenly in his hair, but you don’t push him away. You could never push him away, even if it was mind-meltingly overwhelming.

Joel groans against you, deep and dark, nearly feral. His grip tightens, fingers flexing against your thighs, spreading you open even more.

"Another," he growls. The shift in him—from gentle and coaxing to relentless, determined, primal—has your body reacting on instinct, arching for him again, like you were made to obey him, made to give him everything. Your thighs tremble, muscles locking up, and within seconds, the white-hot pleasure crashes over you again, harder, deeper, more devastating than before.

You moan loudly, head thrown into the pillow, hands gripping at him, at anything you can reach, your body writhing as he groans against you, drinking in every sound, every pulse of pleasure he rips from you.

He slows his ministrations, his tongue easing into slow, deliberate licks, kissing at your oversensitive center—so soft, so tender, almost reverent. But the look in his eyes is anything but. Dark. Hungry. Still needing more.

His mouth travels up your body, kissing along your stomach, through the valley of your breasts, lingering for just a moment before moving higher. His hands plant on either side of your head, caging you in, looking down at you like he’s trying to burn this moment into his memory.

Your hand moves to his beard, wet with the mess he’s made of you, glistening with you. You can’t help yourself—you kiss his lips, then move to his jaw, to his beard, tasting yourself, cleaning up the evidence of what he’s done.

“You’re gonna smell like me all day,” you giggle between kisses, dragging your tongue along his stubble.

Joel groans at that, deep and rough, and when your lips meet his again, he leans in, pressing you deeper into the mattress, forearms bracketing your head.

“I sure hope so,” he chuckles, voice thick, wrecked.

Then his hand slides between you, pushing his briefs down just enough, freeing his aching cock. You gasp as he strokes himself against you, his length dragging slick through your folds, spreading your arousal, teasing you with what’s coming. You’re so wet, so messy, so desperate for him, that you can feel it dripping between your thighs, pooling in the sheets beneath you.

Joel lines himself up, but instead of his usual—tightening his eyes shut, brows furrowing with restraint—he looks at you. 

His pupils are blown, his desire nearly black in his gaze, but there’s something else, something deeper, something that makes your chest ache as you lie beneath him.

“Tell me again,” he whispers, giving you a long, lingering kiss.

“Tell you—what?” you breathe, caught off guard, trying to sift through desire-fogged memories, trying to piece together what he wants, what he needs–

Oh.

Your hands slide up his arms, fingertips pressing into the hard muscle, trailing over his shoulders until they rest against his neck. You lean up, kissing him slow, letting him feel it, letting him know.

Joel groans, the head of his cock dragging over you again, teasing, pressing, waiting.

“Want you to put a baby in me, Joel,” you whisper, voice sweet and breathy, but laced with something needy, aching, raw. “Want to be full of you—so full, everyone will know I’m yours.”

His breath catches, sharp and sudden, his whole body going rigid above you. His cock twitches against your soaked entrance, so close, just barely teasing, like he’s trying to hold himself back.

You press up into him, dragging your hands down his back, pulling him in, pulling him closer. “Wanna carry your baby, Joel. Wanna feel you inside me for days. Wanna be so stuffed full of you I never forget who I belong—ah!”

The words are barely past your lips when he snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one deep, devastating thrust. No teasing. No easing you into it. Just all of him at once.

Your back arches as your body stretches around him, clenching tight, squeezing him so perfectly he nearly loses himself right then and there. Joel groans, forehead dropping against yours, voice rough and ragged.

“Yeah, baby?” he rasps, his fingers sliding up to your throat, tilting your chin just right. “That what you need? Daddy fuckin’ you full, keepin’ you stuffed with me, makin’ you round with my baby?”

You moan, nails biting into his shoulders, “Yes, Joel–yes,”

A deep, guttural sound rips from him at that, his grip tightening as his hips press flush against yours. He stays there for a moment, buried inside you, letting you feel it, letting you adjust to the sweet, heavenly stretch of him, the sheer size of him, the way your body molds to take him.

Then, he pulls back, slow, deliberate, letting every thick inch drag along your walls, leaving you shaking beneath him before he slams back in, pushing, pressing, filling. He fucks you into the mattress, his shoulders and arms flexing as he pulls you in, his hands gripping at you like he can’t get you close enough.

His mouth claims yours, all tongue and teeth and so much hunger, so much need, kissing you deep and filthy, swallowing the soft, desperate sounds you make with every roll of his hips. His pace is perfect—deep, steady, wrecking.

“S–so deep, Joel,” you breathe when his lips move to your jaw, nipping, suckling, marking. Your legs tighten around him, locking him in, keeping him buried inside you, "Feels so good," you whimper, hands gripping onto the broad expanse of his back, nails raking down muscle.

Joel groans into your flesh, the sound rough, wrecked, completely undone by you, “Pussy always so good for me, baby," he mutters, voice hoarse, full of reverence, of possession. His teeth graze your throat, his tongue soothing where he’s just marked you, "You’re such a good girl," he rasps, hips grinding against yours, letting you feel every inch, every deliberate, claiming thrust, "Always takin’ my cock so good."

You moan, clenching around him, and he feels it. He groans, pressing deeper, harder, slower, like he wants you to feel it forever.

"Fuck, baby," he grits out, jaw tight as he pulls back again, just to slam back in, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the room. "So tight, so perfect—this little pussy was made for me."

His words send a shudder through you, pleasure curling deep, twisting, coiling, ready to snap. His eyes search your face with a lopsided grin, like he knows. He always fucking knows. Knows your body like it’s something worth studying, worth memorizing, worth loving. Like every reaction you give him is something precious, something sacred.

"You feel that, baby?" he rasps, voice thick, dripping with satisfaction. "The way your body begs for me?"

His hips roll against yours, slow but deep, unrelenting, pressing in like he wants to brand himself into you. His fingers trail over your stomach, right over the place where he's buried inside you, filling you, stretching you, owning you.

"This is mine," he murmurs, thumb pressing down just enough to make you gasp. "Every inch of you, baby. Made for me."

His hand slides lower, fingers finding your clit, teasing, wrecking, dragging you right to the edge, where he wants you—where you need him to take you.

"You gonna cum for me again, baby girl?" he whispers, lips grazing your jaw, voice like sin. "Wanna feel you make a mess all over me. Wanna watch you lose yourself on my cock."

Your body tightens, pleasure pulsing, making you writhe beneath him as your eyes roll back for the third time, and he watches in rapture as you clench around him.

Joel groans, cursing, his eyes squeezing shut as he feels your walls grip him like a vice. The sound of your moans mix with the wet, obscene slap of skin, the way your body takes him, drenched, perfect, his.

His body tenses above you, muscles locking in his arms, his neck, his stomach as his rhythm stutters, sharpens, his breath coming harder, faster. He drives into you deeper, chasing the heat, chasing the way you pull him in, your body milking him, wrecking him.

And when you come back to yourself, blinking up at him, your hands are everywhere—gripping, holding, pulling him in closer, feeling the way he’s right there, teetering on the edge, ready to fall apart.

“I love you," you whisper, breathless, desperate, voice thick with want, with devotion, with everything, "Love you so much, Joel.”

His hips stutter at that, his jaw clenching tight, his entire body shaking from the way you say it, from the way you look at him.

Your hands slip into his hair, tugging gently, your lips brushing his ear as you whisper, "Fill me up, Joel. I want to feel you dripping out of me, wanna be so full of you I swell up with your baby."

Joel moans—loud, rough, broken—

His body locks, shudders, his hips slamming flush against yours as he lets go, as he fills you, claiming you, giving you everything.

His breath comes in heavy, uneven bursts, his body still trembling from the aftershocks as he keeps moving, keeps rolling his hips, like he can press himself even deeper, like he is making it take.

Then, with a slow, almost reluctant sigh, he finally pulls out, a small groan slipping from his lips at the loss of you. His hands stay on you, smoothing over your skin, tracing your waist, your thighs, like he can’t stop touching you as he lays beside you. 

You shudder, still sensitive, and he notices, “Easy, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick, wrecked, and so soft now. One of his big hands rests over your stomach, fingers grazing gently, like he’s thinking about something, picturing it.

You glance up at him, your heart clenching at the look on his face. He’s completely transfixed, almost awestruck,staring at where his hand lays over your belly.

“You really want this?” His voice is quieter now, more serious, but there’s something vulnerable in it, something hesitant.

“Little late to be askin’ that,” you chuckle breathlessly. But then, you look at him, your fingers trail up his arm, sliding over his shoulder, your other hand covering his on your stomach. “I do,” you whisper. “I want a family with you, Joel.”

His throat bobs as he swallows, like he’s trying to process the weight of your words.

You cup his face, guiding his gaze back to yours. “I want to give you something good. I want to make something with you—something that's ours."

Joel exhales sharply through his nose, his hand tightening over your stomach for just a second before he leans down, kissing you slow, deep, like he’s trying to breathe you in.

“God, baby,” he whispers against your lips, his fingers stroking absentmindedly over your stomach. "You got no idea what you do to me."

You smile against his mouth, pulling him closer, feeling the warmth of him everywhere.

“Tell me,” you tease, brushing your nose against his.

He chuckles, shaking his head, completely in love, completely lost in you.

"I dunno how I got so lucky," he murmurs, his forehead resting against yours. "You're everything to me, baby. Everythin’ I ever wanted, everythin’ I never thought I'd get to have."

Your chest tightens, and you press another soft kiss to his lips. “You’re everything to me too.”

Joel’s breath shudders as he exhales, his arms tightening around you, pulling you completely into his chest. He shifts onto his side, tucking you against him, wrapping himself around you.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he whispers against your hair, his lips pressing lazy, lingering kisses there. "Gonna take care of you both."

Your heart swells at that, at the weight of it, at how completely and entirely devoted he is to you.

You nuzzle closer, your legs tangling with his, your fingers brushing over the broad, solid expanse of his chest.

“I love you,” you whisper, so soft, so certain.

Joel sighs, content, like he could stay right here, wrapped up in you, in this moment, forever.

“Love you too, baby,” he murmurs, voice heavy with sleep, with something deeper. "More than you’ll ever know."

[bookwormjust]

Shadows of Reassurance: Learning to Love Yourself Through Azriel's Eyes

You stand in front of Azriel, shifting awkwardly as you explain how you’ve been feeling.

“I just feel... big,” you admit quietly, looking anywhere but at him. “I have all these curves, and I’m so much smaller than Feyre, Nesta, or even Elain, but somehow I feel... heavy. Like I don’t look right.”

Azriel’s amber eyes soften, his shadows brushing against your skin like a comforting embrace. He steps closer and holds out his hands.

“Come here,” he says gently, his voice calm but firm, leaving no room for argument. You hesitantly place your hands in his, and he immediately engulfs them with his much larger ones. He lifts them slightly, turning them over so your palms face upward, his thumbs brushing along your knuckles.

“Look at this,” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe. “Your hands are so small compared to mine. So delicate, yet you’ve carried so much. These hands hold my heart, Y/N. And you think you’re ‘big’?” Your breath catches as he pulls you closer. “Now, stand here,” he says, nudging your feet next to his.

He stares down at the size difference, shaking his head in disbelief. “Look at this. Your feet are tiny. Do you see how I have to be careful not to step on you when we’re walking together?” His tone is teasing, but there’s an unmistakable tenderness behind it.

He places his hands on your waist, his thumbs brushing over the soft curve of your hips. “Here,” he says, leaning down so his face is level with yours. “This is life, Y/N. This softness, these curves—they aren’t something to hide. They mean you’re healthy, strong. They mean you’re human, even if you’re High Fae now. Without this, how would you survive?” You open your mouth to respond, but he cuts you off, his hands now lightly resting on your thighs. “And don’t get me started on these,” he says with a small smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Your thighs fit perfectly against mine. Do you know how much I love holding you? How it feels to have you curl into my lap, your warmth pressing against me? It’s perfect.”

When you glance down at his lean, muscular frame, you can’t help but blurt, “But you don’t have any fat. Not like me.” Azriel laughs softly, the sound low and soothing. “That’s because I’m male, love. My body doesn’t prepare itself the way yours does. You’re nurturing, even without realizing it. Every curve, every bit of softness—it’s your body’s way of caring for the life it could one day carry. It’s already loving and preparing for a future that doesn’t even exist yet.” Your heart stutters, and tears well in your eyes as his words sink in.

“You really think that?” Azriel cups your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears before they can fall. “I know that,” he says firmly. “Your body isn’t just beautiful, Y/N. It’s perfect. It’s built to love, to nurture, to carry. One day, if we decide to have a family, it’ll be the first home our children ever know. And until then, it’s the home of my heart.” He pulls you into his arms, holding you close as his wings wrap around you protectively.

“You’re not big, Y/N,” he whispers against your hair. “You’re mine. And I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.” In his embrace, you feel safe, cherished, and seen in a way you’ve never felt before. And for the first time in a long time, you begin to see yourself the way Azriel sees you—strong, beautiful, and utterly loved.

[bi-writes]

huhhhhh more bestfriend!roommate!simon x fem!reader because i want them to touch

more bestfriend!roommate!simon (part 4/?)

cw: nsfw (18+), suggestive language and content, mature language and content, kissing over the mask, simon "my girl cums first" riley, fem!receiving touching, praise kink, size kink, simon's thicc thighs need a warning, simon "the mask doesn't come off" riley

simon had a bad habit.

a nose-scrunching habit, a oddly pretty habit, a clouding habit.

you shut the door behind you, locking it. you dropped your keys by the door, slipping your sneakers off and hanging your jacket up. you had the day shift today, so simon let you walk home on your own. but he didn't know when you were coming home, and you suspect that's why he was outside on the balcony, a cigarette between his index and middle finger as he leaned against the wall.

you come up to the sliding door, narrowing your eyes before knocking on the glass. simon didn't move immediately, but you saw him turn his face away, tossing the cigarette onto the floor and stubbing it out with the toe of his combat boot. when he turned to look at you, his mask was on, and there was a little apprehension in those dark eyes.

you gripped the handle of the door, sliding it open. he moved to stand in front of you, taking up the entirety of the doorway, broad shoulders taking up the width of the space.

"luv--"

"shut the fuck up, simon," you snapped. you reached over and gripped the front of his hoodie, yanking him inside. he had to maneuver his shoulders to slip inside, and you brought him right up against you so you could glare right up at him. "you know, it's one thing to come back from your boys' nights smelling like it, but in our home?! simon! how many times do i have to tell you that those things will kill you?!"

he sighed, shaking his head a little.

"trust me, luv," he murmured. "this isn't what'll kill me."

"you shut up," you reached up and gripped his masked chin, forcing his eyes on yours. your eyes were a little watery, and your bottom lip trembled. "don't say things like that. don't you dare."

the air was a little stiff. simon was a bit ashamed, averting his gaze. you leaned up and put both hands on his cheeks, putting his eyes on yours again.

"look at me, simon," you said lowly. "i...i cant tell you what to do. i'm not your mother. but i don't like it. its not good for you. i..." you looked down. "i'm sorry. i'm not trying to...i'm not trying to control you, i just--"

"its alright, luv," he quieted you. "it's alright, i know."

you sighed, dropping your hands to rest on his chest. your splayed your palms there, feeling the warmth of him. you held back a smile when you noticed him puffing out his chest a bit, flexing the muscles under your palms as you pressed against solid flesh.

"big, bad lieutenant riley..." you hummed lowly. "nothing can kill you, is that it?"

simon narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to the side as he grunted.

"dunno what'll kill me, luv, but it won't be a bloody smoke."

you smiled wide finally, your eyes sparkling as you looked towards the kitchen.

"what do you want for dinner, simon? did you go shopping like i asked?"

"'f course i did," he said quickly, his tone nearly offended for even a hint that he you had doubted that he would do ask you asked. you let go of him, making your way to the kitchen. simon let his eyes wander. you were still wearing your uniform from the diner, pretty white and red stripes in the most adorable dress he'd ever seen. he'd curse the man who'd made you wear it the day he saw it the first time; his gaze that couldn't help but follow the valley of your breasts, the way the skirt fell over the curve of your ass--he felt like a teenager fawning over something so trivial about you, so physical and seemingly superficial, but you looked fantastic in it. his beautiful girl, the one he had known since she was only 17, how she grew and blossomed and before he knew, there was no other woman who could take up as much space in his mind as you.

simon had been to many dark places. the dark edges of torture, the narrow walls of being cornered by an enemy, the hot places where hell was just right over the cliff--he was a machine of order and sheer will, he had killed the parts of himself that never quite suited him for war, but somehow, this place with you stayed the same. it was the one constant he knew, the one constant that just never, ever changed, and for that, he was grateful.

you don't think simon riley believes in god. but he believes in you.

simon had been around the world. he had seen the worst of humanity, ripped his own right out of his chest, but none of it mattered as he sat down on the couch he had picked out with you. he remembered when you sent him the pictures of it, your voice on the other line of the phone as you told him how much you liked the pieces. he had been on deployment, and while he could care fuck all about what color the couch in your shared living room was, it was important to you so it was important to him.

"simon?"

your voice broke him out of his thoughts.

"simon, could you open that bottle of wine? i need it for the stew."

domestic. fuck, this was too domestic, it was simple, it was calm. simon never flinched, not even when a bullet would hit the wall by his head, but fuck, the sight of you stirring vegetables in a pot in the kitchen of your shared apartment was making his head spin.

simon riley never missed his target. he set his sights on what he wanted, and with the ease and practice of a lieutenant, he crossed another name off his list.

and one could say that his pretty, little roommate, the woman who had been there before the scars and loved him even after them, was another target. your figure was in his sight, but fuck, his hand was shaking.

when the pot was simmering, you poured yourself a glass of wine and came towards him on the couch. simon was sitting, legs spread a little wide, his hands on his thighs as his eyes were fixed on the low hum of the television. you took a seat beside him after setting aside your glass, putting your feet up underneath you and leaning up against his arm.

"simon? everything alright?"

he turned to face you. a low shadow hung over his face, the hood of his jacket making his face appear even darker despite the mask he wore. you reached over under the hood and brushed a few strands of his hair off his forehead, tracing a small scar against his hairline. you smiled at him, running your knuckles down his temple. in the low light, you could barely see even his eyes, but simon spoke so much with just his eyes. they were beautiful. they were alive, had so much emotion, and you wondered always if maybe simon had learned to speak with them knowing it was the only part of him truly visible.

you lowered your gaze as he pressed his forehead to yours. his skin was warm, and you put a hand on his thigh to steady yourself. you swallowed, noticing how much smaller your hand looked next to his. he wore gloves, like always, but it didn't hide the size of him.

lieutenant simon riley. your simon. built like a fucking bear, a mind of impenetrable steel, eyes that had seen the nine circles of hell and wouldn't spill any of their secrets, simon riley who died and a ghost who brought him back and the woman that he dreamed about when they had taken everything from him except his goddamn memories--

he was kissing you. not in the way other men had kissed you, but in the way that simon riley would kiss you. the front of his mask met your lips, a touch of fabric that was warm and soft and melted your insides with a thousand unspoken words. he whispered your name against your lips, a quiet thing that felt like prayer. and maybe it was a sort of prayer, one that only he could make real, one that only he could make sound like faith and all the ugly, sorry truths that it brought with it.

but there was nothing ugly about this kind of prayer. it held no malice. it was pretty and soft and the only kind of word that ever brought him memories and not nightmares.

you were the one to press your lips to his. even through the fabric, it was like kissing someone for the first time. but not just anyone, simon. simon--simon who kissed your tears when you got stood up at a school dance. simon who promised into your hair that he would come back when you discovered the letters about his deployment overseas. simon who beat the manager at the first bar you ever worked at for following you home one night after your shift. simon who died when his family did and then came back, but only within the walls of your shared apartment and nowhere else.

simon, simon, simon--

his hand was under your dress. one gloved palm slipped up the back of your skirt, caressing one side of your ass as he guided you into his lap.

"simon--"

you choked on his name when you felt bare fingers slide over the edge of your panties. you reached up and cupped both sides of his face, whining as he moved his fingers under the fabric. your cunt was wet and glossy, and he pressed his face into the palm of your hand when he realized just how much time he had wasted being anything other than yours. and he had always been yours, but fuck, why hadn't he ever told you?

"youre so pretty, luv..." he smoothed his other hand up your back, tangling his fingers in your hair and tugging just enough to make you moan. "so pretty...so bloody wet...have you always been like this?"

you nod, unable to speak. his fingers spread your puffy folds apart, a soft wet sound that makes you cry. you want him to put those fingers inside of you, to make you ride his hand until you see nothing but white, but you just cant seem to form any words.

"oh, luv...youre a bloody mess..." he chuckled a bit. "fuckin' hell...let me see you--"

he picked up the skirt of your dress, his dark eyes flickering down. he cursed his breath, fisting the lace of your panties and ripping them right off. you whimpered as he tossed them onto the floor.

"christ, luv, can't believe i ever let this cunt be with another man. look at ya. it's fuckin' christmas mornin', aye?"

"you hate christmas--"

"dunno. could be more inclined if i got to have you in the mornin'."

"fuck you--"

"not yet, sweetheart."

simon never really thought you were much of a singer. but the crying and the begging and the moaning was music--and he was learning how to play you just right.

fingers teasing your cunt, he can feel the way your body aches for something more--something big and eager and warm, something that needs you badly, but fuck--you're so pretty with his name in your mouth and your cum on his fingers.

mine, mine, mine--

he grunted when you gripped his wrist, steadying his fingers enough so you could sink down on them. he groaned lowly, watching you tilt your head back and ride his fingers. sinking those gorgeous hips down again and again, putting his hand to use in a way that felt wrong up until now. fuck holding a sniper rifle and putting bad men to sleep--his hand was made to please you, that much was clear to him now.

you were so tight. grinding slow against him, dripping down his fingers, crying out when his thumb moved a gentle circle over your clit and his fingers slipped up enough to graze a pretty spot inside of you.

"nnngghhh--simon--"

"that's it, luv...'s it..."

you laid your forehead against his, nodding along to his words but your thoughts were only on the feeling of him. one finger, a second finger, a third--fucking up into you and feeling the squeezing of your soft walls and touching you in every way that made you dizzy and warm and cock-drunk--

"fuck, fuck, fuck--!"

you sobbed against his covered mouth as you came over his hand, a cloud of euphoria and pleasure and the soft thoughts of him that seemed to string together in some wonderful, hazy picture of him. simon was all hard lines, rough edges, the cut of broken glass or the wrong end of a gun, but it never mattered to you.

simon was the beginning and the end, of what, you weren't sure, but he was the beginning of something and definitely the end of it.

his eyes were on yours, dark, beautiful eyes that never lost their gentleness even when they should've been permanently black with his rage. simon was not angry. simon was not bent on revenge or eager to kill or smiling the face of death.

no, simon was in love. simon was so fucking in love.

[mariasont]

hi !!!!! i love your hotch x oc x reid fic so much, literally got to work late because you updated and i just HAD to read it when the notif came in !

can i request a kinda fluff-y turning to smut fic about maybe reader's small hands compared to spencer's large hands (his hands are so INTOXICATING).

maybe the fluff part can be kinda cute with their first time holding hands starting from that "oh lets compare hand sizes" and then intertwining fingers?? one of the best spencer fic tropes/hcs is when he's usually not enthusiastic abt touching but when its You he loves it and hes been so touched starved DHSKDHHD // and then the smut can kinda be like how reader's hands make his dick look huge (or smth! im sorry this is my first time requesting a fic!!)

i hope im not coming out as being too demanding !! you can have all the freedom w this !!!! sorry sorry for the long request 🙈🙈🙈

love your work !!! 😙

HANDS, HANDS, and HANDS-------------

A/N: AHHHH your mind!!!!! I LOVE IT <3

we need a whole episode just dedicated to his hands fr!

thank you so much for requesting and the kind words, I hope I did it justice <3 xoxo

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ minors dni, hand kink, praise, size kink, m receiving oral, take a shot every time someone says sorry

wc: 1.9k

Your infatuation with Dr. Spencer Reid was an open book to everyone--damn profilers--well, everyone except the man of the hour, Dr. Reid himself. It was hard to say when it all started. Subtle changes crept in--the extra care you took in choosing your outfits to work; the way words suddenly became hurdles in conversations with him; the sensation of your heart nearly leaping out of your chest anytime he was in the vicinity. 

Despite your skills as a profiler, deciphering Dr. Reid was like trying to read braille through gloves. So, you pushed those feelings down, crushing them beneath a metaphorical heel to maintain professionalism. It wasn't exactly a successful strategy, but that wasn't the point. You reassured yourself that even if romance wasn't in the cards, friendship was the next best thing. And what a friend he was--remarkable in every way, which is why you found yourself here, in his apartment, dissecting case files together. It was a friendly gesture, surely, to escape the office when it becomes a little too suffocating. 

You felt your pulse race as he brought his fingers to his lips, preparing to sift through the stack of papers. A dryness clutched at your throat, fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of your skirt, while you're sure your eyes betrayed a cartoonish adoration, practically orbiting with hearts. Forgotten was your own paperwork that now served as a makeshift blanket for your thighs, as he spoke. Your arm claimed the territory along the back of the couch, with your own hand gently propping up your check, a picture of relaxed attentiveness.

In the midst of his lecture about the golden ratio and its prevalence in nature, Spencer suddenly grabs a nearby book, flips to a diagram of a human hand, and says, "Did you realize that our hands are a prime example of this phenomenon? Give me your hand."

Your eyebrows knit together, your head angling subtly towards the boy genius. "Sorry, what?"

Without a word, Spencer lays your hand upon the diagram's expanse. Amidst the book, your hand seems smaller, delicate, a stark contrast the bold lines drawn on paper. 

He looks at you with a soft smile. "See, the size of one's hand doesn't really correlate with the golden ratio--it's more about the proportions within the hand itself. For instance, the length of your fingers compared to your palm, or the distance between the tip of your thumb and the tip of your pinky stretched out."

His hand leads yours across the pages, but you're barely registering the words. Instead, you're acutely aware of the warmth of his touch, causing your thighs to clench on their own accord, your mind tumbling over itself.

"Your hands are actually significantly smaller than the average," he comments, almost to himself. The statement is harmless, yet he finds his imagination wandering. He quickly refocuses, saying, "The range of hand sizes is quite broad, which is interesting biologically. Here--"

He extends his hand, palm open, beside yours--a natural extension of your conversation, yet he shifts slightly against the couch. Spencer was taken aback by his own actions. Physical touch was something he generally recoiled from, but here he was, seeking yours out. He realized this had become a habit, finding reasons to be near you, to feel your touch. Anytime there was something to be handed to you at work, he was quick to volunteer, all for the fleeting possibility of a brush of fingers.

He watched, captivated, as you aligned your palm with his, matching up the bottom of your palms. His attention was drawn to the stark difference between your hands; his, significantly larger, seemed to engulf yours entirely. He found the sight unexpectedly compelling. The disparity in size stirred his curiosity, leading him to wonder how your hand would look clasped around his cock.

His thumb grazed the back of your hand in a subconscious motion as he pondered out loud. "Did you know," he began, his voice sinking an octave, "that the ratio of the lengths of our second to fourth fingers is believed to correlate with various hormones, affecting the way we interact with others."

You found yourself holding your breath as you mapped the shape of your hands together, a subtle dampness beginning to form between your legs. This is what got you worked up? Clearly, you mused, getting laid was overdue. 

As if guided by a force beyond your control, your fingers gradually intertwined, each finger fingers its perfect counterpart. Recoiling as if from a burn, you realized the intimacy of the gesture, a rush of apologies escaping your lips. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to-"

A blush crept up Spencer's neck as he hastened to interject. "No, no, it's completely fine, really."

The moment passed, and you both redirected your focus to the paperwork. Yet, the routine task did little to dispel the residual thoughts of his touch. The size difference, the feeling of his larger hand wrapping around yours, and how ideally his fingers would look pumping inside of you or wrapping around your throat. It all kept playing on your mind, a silent movie that you can't stop watching.

Spencer too, seems lost in thought, his gaze drifting from the files to your hands--manicured and delicate. He watches, seemingly without awareness, as those same hands idly toy with the hem of your skirt, or the way they spin your earring when deep in thought. To him, these minor actions have suddenly become fascinating.

Spencer's voice cuts through the stillness as he resumes his concentration on the work before him. "How do you interpret this?" he probes, touching a finger to a page of the file perched on his lap.

You lean in, curiosity leading you to reach for the file. Your actions freeze momentarily as your knuckles brush against his crouch. You pause, blinking deliberately, as you second-guess what you felt. He was hard as a rock.

You could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks, eyes growing wide with surprise. "Oh, um, sorry," you muttered. 

In a rapid movement, Spencer combed his fingers through his hair, causing the curls to obstruct his view. He snatched a pillow and tossed it in his lap, tilting his head back against the couch with a look of embarrassment. "No, I'm sorry, I, uh--"

Anticipating a scholarly lecture on the male hormones, you quickly interject. "Do you want help?"

Spencer's eyes grew wide as he regarded your face. Your lashes fluttered with a slow blink, your demeanor completely serious. His traced the flush of your cheeks, the gentle parting of your lips, the accelerated rise and fall of your chest. His head tilted slightly, expecting the punchline to follow.

He let out a puff of air. "Do I want what?"

He noted your head tilting to the side, mirroring his own actions. Your hand reached forward, poised to replace the pillow on his lap. Your pinky dragged across the material of his jeans, moving with excruciating slowness. 

"That seems painful," you comment quickly, before your sudden courage fades. "Let can help."

You moved swiftly to his belt, and you could hear his breath hitch in short bursts. He murmured your name, his hand threading through your hair to grasp gently at the nape of your neck.

You shot him an innocent smile as you edged his pants down, just enough to access his boxers. Your smile made him believe he could come on the spot--the way you looked so eager, like you had been waiting for this. He let out a shaky breath as you released his length from his boxers.

You were engulfed in a dizzying feeling, your eyes widened to saucers as you seized his massive cock. "Holy shit, Spencer, you're huge."

You were barely aware of the words tumbling from your lips as you gawked. The impact on him was immediate, the intensity of your graze was maddening. Your small hands encircled his base, accentuating his size. His grasp on your neck grew firmer as he coaxed your head down. 

"Don't play," came his growl, so out of character. Warmth bloomed in your face, excitement bubbling in your chest as your thighs clasped together.

You flashed him a gentle, unassuming smile as you hastily took him in your mouth. You felt like a new person, an unprecedented need flowing through you.

Spencer let out a sharp hiss as your lips met his cock, taking him as far as you could. He mentally thanked whatever gods existed, unsure of what he had done to deserve this. His hands deftly collected your hair in his grasp, aiding you in guiding him even deeper. His breaths hastened as he praised, "Good god, baby."

His words only egged you on, your movements turning sloppy as you bobbed up and down, working every inch of his cock. You never knew sucking a man off could be so enjoyable. You wanted to savor the moment, to savor him. You encircled the based with your other hand, granting yourself reach to what had been inaccessible to your mouth as you started to synchronize your movements.

"Look at you," Spencer muttered hoarsely, his gaze flickering to your hands. Those damn hands, they looked so perfect around him, even better than he imagined. "You look like you were made for this."

You moaned around him in response, the slickness between your legs starting to drop down your thighs upon his praise. This elicited a hiss from him, tightening his grip in your hair as he drew you away from his throbbing cock, spit trailing from your mouth as you separated. 

"Wha-?" Your question hung in the air, marked by the crease of your confusion on your forehead. 

He didn't let you finish, simply stating. "On your knees."

Without hesitation, you followed his direction, your hands clasped in anticipation as you moved from the couch to the floor, your balance settling back into your heels as he towered over you. "Open."

You complied with his command, easing your jaw as he guided himself onto your tongue. A soft moan escaped you, enveloping his cock. He coaxed his length into your mouth, your hands steadying on his thighs as he all but used your face.

Spencer's hands cradled your face, fully encompassing your cheeks as he thrusted into your mouth. His pulse thundered at a pace he hadn't thought possible, and fuck, he wouldn't mind if this was how death welcomed him. There you were, on your knees, so compliant around his cock. His breaths grew rapid as your nails trailed up his thighs. 

"You're so good," he muttered, eyes casting down upon you, your glazed expression, the drool peeking out from the corners of your lips. "So good. 'M so close."

He moves to withdraw from your mouth, but your hands find their way to the back of his thighs, holding him in place, denying his escape. He exhales a deep, unrestrained moan, thrusting into your mouth once more, shallowing moving as the warm liquid fills your mouth. 

He gazes, spellbound, as you swallow his come completely, your head lolling back in total bliss. In that instant, he realizes his willingness to do anything to keep you close, to see you like this--spent, disheveled, and content.

Breaking the silence, you ask, "Did that help?" His laughter, soft and subdued, fills the air as he reaches out, cupping your cheeks once more. He descends to meet you, his kiss messy and desperate, finding the taste of himself lingering on your lips as his hands untangle your knotted hair. 

"You're amazing," he exhaled, their lips parting. "Now, let me return the favor."

[dark-moonlust]

Claimed by the Water Dragon PART 4

Pairing: water dragon x fem human reader

Summary: you are sleeping, tired after caring for your baby dragon. So when your mate hears little Aenon whimper in the middle of the night, he gets up and soothes him back to sleep.

Warnings: safe but since my blog is 18+ as usual minors don’t interact, cuteness and fluff, family warmth, lactating, breastfeeding.

This series is now complete. There is a previous part with smut exclusively on Patreon. Find all free parts here!

It was late in the night. Quiet silence took over your underground home, which you and your dragon mate shared. You now had a small baby dragon as well. Days had passed since your baby broke its dragon shell. Little Aenon was steadily growing, yet he was still small enough to be cuddled into your embrace.

You were sound asleep in bed, nestled up against your lover's huge body. Your cheek was pressed against his soft underbelly, and his wings were delicately folded around you to keep you warm. Strong arms were wrapped around you, keeping you close while he rested. Your baby dragon slept in his crib across the room.

A tiny moan echoed through the quiet room, barely noticeable in your ears but enough to wake your dragon from his light slumber. He raised his head, his ears twitching. Another tiny whine came, more urgent this time. Little Aenon stirred in his crib and whined in the night.

With a hushed sigh, your mate carefully detached himself from you, then tucked your small frame under the covers, and, for someone his size, padded quietly to the cradle. His eyes softened as he looked down at his hatchling, nestled between soft blankets, his small wings fluttering weakly with each weeping chirp. He reached down, his big hand lovingly cradling the newborn dragon, which fit just right in his large palms. But little Aenon continued to fuss, his clawed fists jerking restlessly.

“What’s wrong, little one? Is it your wings? Are you uncomfortable?” the dragon murmured, inspecting Aenon’s wings and body. “No… you’re fine. What is it?”

He paced the room, holding Aenon close and rubbing his back, but the small dragon refused to rest. "What do you need, my fussy little hatchling?"

Leaning against the doorframe, you watched the scene with a warm smile on your lips. You'd heard the cries and awoke to see your powerful partner reduced to a flustered, doting father attempting to comfort your hatchling. You almost didn't want to interrupt—he was so lovely, holding Aenon with such care, his blue eyes overflowing with love and concern.

“Nothing’s wrong, my love,” you finally stepped forward, “our poor little hatchling is only hungry.”

Your mate’s head snapped to you, relief on his dragon features. “Oooh,” he said, his voice sheepish. “Hungry. Right.”

You chuckled and crossed the room to him, taking fussy little Aenon from his arms. “Don’t worry,” you teased your mate, “you’re doing great, but this part? I think it’s my turn.”

“Our son’s a hungry little rascal,” your mate grinned, his sharp teeth flashing. “You fed him but an hour ago.”

“Well, he is a newborn dragon and I have more than enough milk—”

“For us both?” Your mate teased and laughed when you gently slapped him.

“You’ve grown far too greedy, mate,” you said as little Aenon fumbled with your clothes, impatient for his meal.

Your mate scooped you back into bed and watched you prepare to feed your hatchling. He eagerly assisted, as he always did because your tiny dragon was still too small to latch properly on your breast. So your dragon mate gently cradled your mound in his palm, guiding the hatchling to feed from your leaking nipple.

Your mate looked so smug at every feeding. It was his favourite pastime.

"Gods, I wish he never stopped feeding so I could enjoy this sight forever," he growled as the small dragon latched on, his hungry cries melting into coos of happiness.

You chuckled. “Horny dragon.”

“Always,” he replied. “For you. I want to be there every moment, to help you with everything.”

“My love, you are here,” you reassured him with a tender kiss on his snout. “You’re doing so much for me and our hatchling.”

“I wish I could do more. I want our hatchling to know that I’ll always be here for him and his mother, no matter what.”

“And he will know that,” you whispered, eyes shimmering with affection. “Because you’re the most loving, protective father he could ever ask for.”

Your dragon hummed, watching his tiny son in your arms. “I never thought I’d be this… happy,” he admitted. “I found you and you accepted me, created a family with me.”

“That’s because I love you,” you said kissing your baby’s head before returning your gaze to your mate. "You've already given us everything we need: your love, your protection."

Your mate smiled softly. “And I will keep giving you everything,” he promised. “Always.”

I love how this series turned out. Their family is adorable! I hope you liked it too!! Please let me know what you think! Your support is very important to us content creators!

[swanlikely]

Current Nanami Brainrot: Husband Nanami!

TW & Content: Sexual Harrassment, Violence (barely), Cunnilingus, Penetration, Usage of she/her pronouns, and bad writing?

Thinking about Nanami watching his pretty little wife sway softly to the suggestive music that hummed over the audience in the club. His eyes followed every sultry move, a small smirk playing on his lips as he nursed the whiskey in his strong palm. Nanami, being the ever-so-sweet husband he was, agreed to accompany you on your night out with your girls, ensuring your safety while secretly enjoying the view. Chuckling, he couldn't help but trace every curve of your body with his eyes, reminding himself how lucky he was. The way you moved, so effortlessly seductive, captivated him completely.

The mood and your fun were immediately ruined when a man, barely a few inches taller than you, sauntered up against you. The horrible sensation of his front pressing against your rear drove you to swivel quickly around, your face plastered in disgust. As the event unfolded, Nanami was already downing the whiskey and approaching you, his instincts kicking in.

"Please don't do that. I'm married," You yelped over the blaring music, fighting back the bitterness in your voice. The man with no manners cocked his bushy brow, appearing to be enticed by your attitude, and placed a rough hand on the side of your waist. His hold was unwanted and aggressive, causing dread to flare up in your chest.

"I don't see your husband here, do I? Besides, what's a married woman doing in a place like this, wearing that?" he spat, his eyes raking over your body with a predatory gleam. The anger surged through you as you realized he was referring to the black, tight dress Nanami had lovingly picked out for you. The dress that made you feel confident and beautiful, now tainted by this stranger's leering gaze.

"He's right here," Nanami's voice uttered reassuringly as he swatted the stranger's hand off your waist. Relief washed over you as your mountain of a husband placed his large hand on the small of your back. He wasn't just rubbing little circles or patterns; he was tracing letters, grounding you with each gentle touch.

"Sorry." He traced, so courteous as always.

"Ah, well. Maybe you shouldn't let your wife out looking like that. Gonna give someone the wrong idea," the rude stranger mumbled, swiping at the back of his hand where Nanami had gripped so tightly to pry him off you. Nanami was like a tree, towering over the pathetic man before you, both in sheer size and presence.

"Looking like what?" you scoffed, taking a step forward. Nanami still kept his hand on you but didn't intervene. He knew you were capable of handling yourself. He knew better than to stop his wife in the moment. "Like a slut," the stranger laughed, the sound actually nauseating to Nanami's ears. He rolled his eyes, knowing only a child would call a beautiful woman in a designer dress that. Only he could do that, though under different circumstances.

You rolled your eyes at the insult, mirroring Nanami's earlier gesture. With a swift pivot, you grasped Nanami's hand with your right, feeling the comforting strength in his grip. Using your left hand, you boldly flipped the bird at the stranger, your heart racing with a mix of defiance and satisfaction.

But before you could completely walk away with your kind husband, the stranger grumbled and reached out to pull your hair. Except, you didn't feel a thing. Instead, you felt your husband shift, and your eyes followed suit. Nanami was gripping the man by the back of his neck. God, did he look delicious, his arm flexing through the thin fabric of his button-up. His eyes were cold and fierce, a stark contrast to the warmth you always felt from him. You couldn't help but ogle at the way his muscles tensed.

"We shouldn't put our hands on pretty ladies, now should we?" Nanami asked the man, his voice dripping with a disgustingly sweet tone. He tossed the man onto the floor, and he landed on his rear with an "Ugh." Nanami tossed him like he was nothing. Good lord.

Nanami began to gently fold up the sleeves of his dark blue button-up, revealing forearms that could probably make angels weep. He was the living embodiment of "sex on legs." You couldn't help but notice the club's collective gasp as several eyes locked onto the scene, some surprised, others blatantly undressing Nanami with their eyes. Join the club, you thought with a smirk.

Nanami silently squatted down next to the man who was still recovering from the fall, bringing a hand up to grip his collar. Nanami whispered something to the man that you couldn't catch, but whatever it was, it made the stranger's eyes fill with panic.

"I-I'm sorry, ma'am," the man stammered out, bowing his head like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

You didn't even respond to the stuttering fool as you just looked at your husband, half-lidded. You were mad, originally. But who could stay angry when your husband was defending your honor, his chiseled jaw clenched and his eyes burning with intensity, making a heat stir in your stomach?

"Are you alright, sweetness?" Nanami asked as he stood up from his position, walking towards you. Towering over you, again. He was just so big.

You nodded and glanced at your girls, who were raising their eyebrows knowingly. They recognized that look on your face—it was the same one they gave their husbands when things got, well, interesting. They waved you off with giggles and a few exaggerated winks, clearly enjoying the show.

"Kento," you grabbed his hand, weaving through the sea of people like a determined woman on a mission. Despite his towering size and rugged masculinity, Nanami always listened to his wife with a smile. Little did he know, you were about to make him the happiest man in the club.

As you pulled him through the exit and toward his car, he started to put the puzzle together. He couldn't help but chuckle, his eyes glued to your ass sashaying in the dress he bought you. "Well, someone's in a hurry," he teased, knowing full well you were about to make his night unforgettable. "Need you," was all you could manage before yanking your husband down to your level with his spotted tie. His lips met yours in a hungry kiss, leaving you breathless. His hands found their way to cup your cheeks. His fingers traced down your neck, each touch causing your skin to ignite.

Your tongue danced on his bottom lip, and he politely allowed you to delve deeper, exploring the heat of his mouth. He tasted absolutely irresistible, a mix of rich whiskey and mint. The flavor was intoxicating, he was intoxicating, making you crave every bit of him even more. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, so close that you could feel everything.

You could feel his heavy cock pressing against your thigh, the cool metal of the car contrasting sharply with the warmth of his bulge. He was overwhelming. "What's got you so eager, sweetheart?" Nanami mused as he pulled away, just a little, your forehead still pressed against his. His breath fanned against your swollen lips, his chocolatey eyes dark with want. God, he was perfect.

"Can't a woman just want her husband?" you purred, your voice like honey. Husband, oh how he loved when you called him that. It sent a rush straight to his cock, lighting a primal desire that made his breath hitch and his grip tighten on you.

"I guess I'll have to be a good husband and please my wife, huh?" he murmured, his voice low and filled with promise. His eyes never left yours as he reached into his pocket to unlock the car. Like the gentleman he was, he opened the car door for you, his touch lingering just a moment longer. The backseat of his car never looked so good.

Nanami and you slipped inside, and in an instant, Nanami was nestled between your thighs. He was electrifying. His teeth gently tugged your panties to the side, and his tongue working hard on your cunt. He was both sloppy yet precise, each movement sending jolts of pleasure through you. Nanami's big hands roamed your thighs, his fingers pressing into your skin, grounding you in the moment. His tongue worked magic, alternating between slow, deliberate strokes and quick, teasing flicks. The sensation was overwhelming, and you could feel the tension building within you.

Every now and then, he'd glance up, his eyes locking with yours through his glasses, a mischievous glint in them that made your cunt clench around nothing. His dedication to your pleasure was evident, and the way he moved and responded to your reactions showed just how much he loved you. You were dripping, almost sopping at this point.

"Kento, no m-more. I want you," you groaned as your delicate fingers tugged at his neat blond hair. Nanami paused for a moment, his eyes darkening as he looked up at you. The sight of you, needy and breathless, clearly affected him. He slowly rose, his lips brushing a trail up your body, leaving a path of tiny bruises in their wake. You'd scold him for that later.

"God, you're such a good wife," he murmured, his voice deep and husky. His right hand found your waist, while his left undid the zipper of his slacks, tugging them down just enough to reveal his heavy cock. Even in the barely lit car, it was mouthwatering. He was rock hard and throbbing, all seven inches of him.

As you reach to grab him and pull him into your slippery cunt, he stops you with a tut. "Be patient, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?" His voice, low and commanding, added an extra layer of excitement to the moment. You pant, "Yes sir," as you bring your hands to claw at Nanami's strong arms. Your hands looked so tiny in comparison to him.

Something in him seemed to awaken at the sound of your petname for him, ramming into your cunt. The stretch was overwhelming. His strong arms that you loved so much held you tightly, as he fucked you dumb, completely consumed by the raw walls of your cunt. Your thighs were pushed against your chest as your husband kept pounding into you, his groans and grunts sounding like a symphony.

"So good for me, so perfect," Nanami groaned into your neck, his words vibrating against your sweaty skin. As your climax approached, Nanami continued to sing praises into your ear, telling you how good you were, how much he loved you. "Gonna be a good girl for me? Gonna make a mess all over your husband's cock?" He spat as he nipped at the side of your jaw. You could barely answer, your mind already slipping into ecstasy. Nanami was completely pussy drunk, his cock dragging in and out with a pace you couldn't comprehend.

"Y-yes! Yes, oh god, yes!" you screamed, certain that everyone on the block could probably hear you. But you didn't care, because your husband made your walls gush and clamp around him. Nanami's own high wasn't far after yours as his pace somehow quickened, his head kissing your cervix. "Gonna cum," Nanami groaned.

"Gonna get my pretty wife pregnant," his voice dripped with desire as he continued. His seed was thick and warm, filling you to the brim. As he pulled out, he gently massaged the area above your cunt.

"So perfect." ________________ i need him biblically.

If any of the grammar is bad, I am so sorry. I wrote this while I was ovulating.