#also I haven’t given up on my fic it’s just on a short pause

[cedarsmoke4]

Mechanic au Heisenberg still owns my soul and my ass

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 17

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: It's friday again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Once Leslie leaves, you lock yourself away again. Your father's taken to the cold shoulder over his previous aggression. You don't mind, it assures you of a tenuous peace. So long as you don't draw his attention, you're okay.

Your anxiety remains piqued. Not only by your father's stewing ire but the thought of what looms both behind and ahead of you. With all that happened at work, you have little hope of tomorrow being better. There is also the question of Mr. Laufeyson's surprise... you can't even begin to guess what he has in mind.

Another test, no doubt. Like today. You're certain you failed that one too. You took his kindness and showed yourself to be ungrateful. You questioned him when you should have just accepted it with a smile on your face.

It is not your place to worry about his intentions, as he has made it clear, you are not on the same level. He is your boss and you do what he says. So you will do that and nothing more.

Is that his voice in your head?

You sneak out for a shower but it doesn't do much to calms your nerves. You spend another night tossing and turn, kept awake by the television set a top volume and the dissonance of your anxiety. Even with the extra hours granted, you find yourself painfully awake at the same splitting hour.

You get up to make your tea. Your father's snoring on the couch at the TV continues to blare. You don't disturb either as you put on the kettle and ready a mug. You rub your eyes and yawn. Leslie will be here soon. You should wake him and get breakfast going. It will lighten her load.

When you have your cup steaming, you stay at the counter and sip tentatively, weighing your next steps. You leave your father as he is and return to your room, dressing and cleaning up before you descend again. You have your phone in hand, almost hoping a notification will pop up. Maybe Mr. Laufeyson will change his mind and you can be off before you have to face your dad. The phone remains lifeless. 

You sigh and shut off the television, hoping the sudden silence might rouse him. He continues to snort loudly. You bite down on your cheeks as your skin buzzes and itches. He's not a morning person. 

The memories of him exploding to consciousness in a furor of hollers and kicks keep you from shaking him. You back away as the doorbell rings and does the job for you, your father grumbling as you go to answer it.

Leslie enters with her usual blustering brightness. She greets your father and stops short, hands on her hips as she tuts.

"Now what is the meaning of this?" She huffs, "Charles, you can't sleep down here."

"I'm not," he sits up and hacks into his hand before sliding the oxygen tube back into place. "You woke me up."

"What's gotten into you?" She accuses, "I told you yesterday I'm not here for your attitude. You're not some teenager, you're a grown man."

"Bah, I need coffee," he snarls.

"You need a cold shower," she retorts as she goes around the couch and snatches up the pack of smoke on the cushion beside him, "and a swat on the snout. What're you doing with these things?" She pauses and looks at you, "he can't be having these in the house."

"I don't... know where they came from," your murmur.

"Don't matter, if you see them, you toss them," she reproaches, "this is a team effort, alright? Now yesterday, this place was a right mess. I'm here to help, not play maid."

"I'm sorry, I..." you snap your mouth shut. You did clean up, as best you could before work, but you'll have to do better.

"Not her fault she's useless," your father quips.

"Charles," Leslie warns as she points at him.

"Sorry, hon," he puts his hands up, "was only a joke."

"Not a very nice one," he rebukes.

"I know, I know," he chortles.

"So don't apologise to me," she flicks her finger towards you.

Your father stops his laughing and quiets. He crosses his arms and slumps his shoulders as you stare at the back of his head. You wait as Leslie tilts her head dangerous and cross her arms.

"Charles," she girds.

"Don't worry about it," you croak, "it's fine. I'll... I'm going in late so I'll get breakfast started."

"Oh yeah, she don't gotta go polish that man's silver early," your dad growls.

"Charles," Leslie snips again, "I mean it, be nice."

"I am nice, hon, I'm being funny."

"You are not," she insists.

"Come on, Les," he lowers his voice as you pad towards the kitchen, "I'll be good, alright? Don't give me that look."

She sighs but you don't look back, "alright, no more smokes."

"I'm tellin' ya, honey," he speaks so softly you barely recognise his voice, "I didn't touch 'em. Found them in the couch but I didn't smoke any. Don't be mad at me."

You shake your head and try to roll the tension out of your shoulders. She's been here just over a week and he talks like he's known her forever. He's actually nice to her. He cares about what she thinks, what she feels. But you, his own daughter, you get the blame for it all. You're the reason he hates himself and his life. Maybe if you'd never come along, he'd still have the woman he loved. 

🧹

You set off just after eleven, the bus due not long after. As you come down the overgrown walk with its cracked pavement and uneven tilt, your eyes are drawn up by the snap of a car door. Footfalls scuff on the pavement as you look over the curb to the shiny car parked there. It's an unusual sight in the rundown neighbourhood.

Mr. Laufeyson proudly steps up as the window on the passenger's side rolls down. A pair of similarly green eyes peer out as she takes in the sight of the yellow duplex. You want to run and hide. You can't imagine either of them ever had to dirty themselves in a place like this.

"Mr. Laufeyson," you rush towards him, "I--- you said noon."

You pull the phone out and check the time. He puts his hand on the roof of the car calmly as you stop a few feet away. He chuckles, amused by your panic.

"It's so quaint," Frigga remarks as she remains firmly in the front seat, "dear, how are you?"

"Um, I'm well, Frigga," you answer with a tight gulp.

"Good, good, you look well," she praises, "a bit tired. Tell me he's not overworking you."

"Mother," Laufeyson shoots a glance in her direction.

"Er, it's fine," you clutch the strap of your bag, "I... did I do something?"

"No, no," Frigga waves off your suspicion, "I simply insisted my son bring me to see you while I'm in town."

"Oh, I was just on my way..." you look at Laufeyson confused as he gives an expression you can't quite read. He's expecting something but you're not sure what.

"We have lots to do so no sense in waiting around," she trills.

"Oh?" Your lips part. "Did something-- is the house okay?"

"The house is just fine. That old place only needs a little light, but see if my own son hears me," he rambles, "Loki, don't be rude, get the door."

He flinches and drags his hand away from the top of the car, "yes, mother."

He moves to open the back door, gallantly opening it for you. You feel like you've been dropped into an alternate universe. This can't be happening.

"Get in," he says. 

You blink at him and he tilts his head, gesturing to the back seat. You obey with some reluctance and sit the large leather bag beside you. You slowly pull the seat belt down and click it into place. Laufeyson strides around the bumper as you peek in the mirror at Frigga's silvering curls.

"Right, then," Laufeyson opens the driver's door and lowers himself into the seat, "there we are."

"How are you feeling, darling?" Frigga's eyes meet yours in the rearview before you quickly look away, "are you very hungry or can you wait a bit longer for lunch?"

"I... Lunch? I'm okay," you assure. You can't figure this out. "Thank you."

The car whirs and rolls into motion. You're uneasy as you watch the street pass by. If he takes a left, he can get back to the main roads and-- no, he's going right?

"Mm, alright, the boutique first then," she orders her son, "I'm wondering if perhaps they could squeeze us in at the spa. It has been a while since I had some clay done. Oh, and my nails are ragged."

You try to connect the dots as your brows stitch together. Is this his surprise? His mother? Why are you there? You should be figuring out what's going on with the squeaky hinge on the closet. 

"I can't wait to see the new season's colours," Frigga carries on as you tune her out, lost in the riddle of her presence and your own.

Surely, you're being brought along as some sort of valet. Of course, Laufeyson would offer you to carry her bags as she splurges on her pretty dresses. And she is always dressed so nicely whenever you see her. And make up, her lips are a pleasant shade of rose. She would likely spend even more on shoes, don't forget the silver sparkling at her throat and the gemstone dangling there... 

Right, you see. Another lesson. He wants you to remember what you don't have. After your slip-up yesterday, he has to remind you of where you belong; squashed under his sole.

"Oh, is Eliana still at the salon, I should stop in and say hello," Frigga's voice once more punctures your distraction. "She was always so sweet."

"Mother, I... don't know about that. Maybe a different salon."

"You are such a pessimist, what are the odds we run into her?" 

"Don't even tempt fate," he warns.

"No one said you were invited, hm? You said you had business down at Heimdall's."

"You are stubborn, mother," Laufeyson tisks.

"It's where you got it from, dear," she taunts, "so, darling," she peeks in the mirror again and you shy away, "how about it, you and I? It will be so nice. I haven't gotten a day out in so long."

"Oh, you haven't? Should I ask father about that?"

"Let's not mention your father," she rebuffs him smoothly and his shoulders slump.

"Um, well, that's nice, but..." you protest meekly

"It's my treat," she insists, "please. You're doing me a favour."

"I really don't know--"

"I don't mind," Laufeyson interjects, "and it won't affect your hours."

"I did soften him up a bit," she purrs.

"Mother," he hisses again.

"Oh you are so serious," she chides, "she needs this more than I do, I'm sure, with a stickler like you."

He twitches but says nothing. You sense he wants to say it again, 'mother', in the tone of please be quiet. It would be laughable if you weren't so perplexed by it all. Maybe it is a dream. Maybe you didn't wake up and you're oversleeping your alarm, having stress dreams about what will happen when you wake to reality.

"He's a good little chauffeur," she pats his arm playfully, "so he will drop us at the salon, won't you, dearest son?"

He grips the wheel tight and you see his knuckles turn almost translucent, "yes, mother, whatever you wish."

🧹

Mr, Laufeyson drives through the downtown area. You don't come there much, or at all. You passed through on your way to the hospital and on occasion to sort out a billing issue with the bank, but there wasn't much for you there. Along the west side, the nicer shops reside and several buildings with businesses you could never figure out.

Laufeyson pulls up into a marked spot beside a meter. As you stare out, still puzzled by it all. Everything's going so fast and you just want it to slow down. You look at your boss and feel a pang in your chest; how many times had he mentioned your clothes? This isn't a favour, this is him saying you're not good enough.

"Come, come," Frigga gets out and opens your door for you, "let's not drag our feet."

You undo the seat belt and go to grab your large leather bag. As you get out, Frigga catches you by the shoulders. "You won't need this," she takes the bag and reaches past you to put it back in the car, "only your pretty self."

"Oh, uh, sure, okay," you look again at Laufeyson but you're not sure why. He isn't going to help you. He's plunged you into this situation. He only arches a brow in response.

"Just going to give you a nice refresh," Frigga pulls on your elbow and shuts the door, tugging you onto the pavement. "You would do wonderful with some highlights."

You stumble along beside her, overwhelmed by her enthusiasm. She directs you to the shining transparent windows of a salon, a sign overhead with a curled iron bar across the top. You peek over your shoulder again as Mr. Laufeyson lingers another moment before steering out into traffic.

The door chirps as it opens and you're ushered inside to the sound of jazzy pop covers. You can't choose where to focus as the sleek shelves of colourful bottle behind the pure white counter refracts the lights of a spindly chandelier. Velvet chairs are arranged around a table in the little waiting area as stylists gab with clients in chairs.

"Frigga," a woman with platinum locks flutters over with the clacking of heels, "oh, it's been so long."

"Eliana! It has, look at you," they embrace and part, Frigga playing with the tall woman's pin-straight tresses, "what happened to the black?"

"Got a few grays and a divorce," the woman, Eliana you presume, cackles, "and who's this?"

They look at you as you're ready to fade into the black and white stripes on the wall.

"Oh, a friend, she's lovely," Frigga comes back and takes your hand, drawing you forward, "she just needs a little touch-up."

"Oh, she's a natural, she won't need much at all," the stylist approaches you, "I know just the woman; Luciana," she claps and looks back, "I have someone to fill in that cancellation.”

[st4rgzer]

FLIGHT TICKETS (nathan doe)

summary: you miss your brothers and Nate tries to help you in the best way he knows how

genre: FLUFFFLUFF

cw!: mentions of missing your brothers…?

a/n: i think this was requested by @iha8you i think

“hey you know who we haven’t seen in a while?” i say, with my legs rested on his lap, we’re both laying on the couch, watching a cheesy rom-com only I enjoy.

“who?” he asks, diverting his gaze from the movie and onto me.

“my brothers, now that they’re internet famous and living in LA, we haven’t seen them since like, august” I sit up so I can look at him better, placing the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

“yeah you’re right” he thought for a moment, given the 5 hour plane ride would take at least ‘some’ planning to do. “do you wanna call ‘em and see if we can plan to go there?” nate says before picking up the remote and pausing the movie. He gets out his phone before my response to see the earliest flights available.

“yeah but babe, calm down, we don’t have to do this like, right now” I say, laughing a little bit. Living so far away from my brothers hasn’t been the easiest so Nate was always there for me when they couldn’t be, so he sometimes overdoes it with these things, but i don’t mind, the majority of the time….(foreshadowing the“puppy love”fic im working on…)

“but- you’ve been talking ‘bout how you miss them lately, with all the christmasy stuff and all” he says, grabbing my hand reassuringly. He never liked seeing me sad, he knew that christmas meant a lot to me and to not have them around for all the pre-christmas traditions wasn’t nice. He also missed them, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

“i know, i know. But we really don’t have to think about this today, we’ll get the flights tomorrow, lets just finish the movie first m’kay?” I pleaded, squeezing his hand and smiling at him, trying to not get him to rush on making decisions.

“finee” he sighed, caving in “but I don’t even like the movie…” he muttered under his breath.

“what d’ya say?” i asked, turning my head to him with a half joking, questioning look.

“….nothing…?” he mumbled with a grin on his face, trying to hide the fact that he tried to say he didn’t like to watch “ten things i hate about you” for the 10th time, which he did enjoy of course, but just cause it was with me.

I let him off easily and just grinned, rolling my eyes at him, and curling up besides him, snaking an arm around my waist and bringing me in.

A while later, as I was drifting off to sleep, he took out his phone, quickly bringing the brightness down to not disturb me, and opening up “skyscanner” he typed up “boston-los angeles flights” and got looking, I peered open my eye just a bit and smiled when I saw him looking cautiously through the flight info, eventually putting in his credit card information and turning his phone off. God he was stubborn but I couldn’t help but melt at his determination to make me smile.

“i love you” I whispered beside him, eyes closed, a smile still on my face, he placed a gentle kiss on my cheek in response and turned the volume on the tv down.

I guess we’re going to LA?

a/n: sorry this was short bbg @iha8you

taglist: @dwntwn-strnlo @iha8you @gabbylovesreading @slaysturniolo @stvrni0lo @sturniolol @stvrniolo @20nugs @partoftoofuckinmanyfandoms @ifilwtmfc

[rollofleaf]

Owlcatober Day 2: Fake Names

Day 2, give it up for day 2! A short bit with Hilde, originally this was going to be part of the Dance of Masks fic and it does still lead into that. I am working on that, just not while I'm doing these monthly challenges.

Queen Galfrey chose to stay behind while the rest went to the festival. Hilde had to order Anevia and Irabeth along; the two tried to refuse the respite they desperately needed. The trip to Kenabres took two uneventful days, and two nights that Arueshalae spent curled up tight in the arms of her Hilde. The camp was too intimate for them to be comfortable with sex, especially when Arueshalae knew she wouldn’t be able to keep quiet. She didn’t mind, cuddling inside a warm sleeping bag pressed against Hilde’s flushed skin brought her all the bliss she could ever want. Aivu joined them, sleeping with her head on their bag like an enormous puppy and very happy to be traveling outside of Drezen.

Arueshalae awoke on the third morning to find herself alone. A brief pang of loneliness hit her, swiftly dimmed by the sound of Hilde’s voice outside. Nenio’s followed, a collected, “How about that? Do you approve?”

“It’s perfect. Thank you, Nenio!” Hilde’s voice rang out again, just outside the tent. Arueshalae slipped on a vest and some pants and poked her head out. Nenio was sitting next to a woman who was looking at herself in the mirror. The woman’s form shimmered for a brief instant as she looked at Arueshalae and grinned. “Oh, Arueshalae, good morning!” She had Hilde’s voice, but her skin was lighter, her eyes were a deep brown, and her hair was a vibrant platinum blonde. The illusion wrapped around Hilde didn’t hide her freckles or the scar over her nose, though.

Arueshalae looked at her with some confusion. “O-oh! Good morning. Um, why do you look like a human? A very lovely human,” she couldn’t help but add.

Hilde shrugged and looked back. “I think I’m going to go to the festival like this. If it’s really in my honor, then showing up as myself will just be… I won’t get a moment alone. I won’t get to enjoy it as myself, I’ll just be a symbol swarmed by people. I miss being a normal person, not the Knight Commander.”

Arueshalae squatted down next to Hilde and Nenio, a pensive look coming over her face. “Maybe I should do that too…” She looked down at her own tail as it twitched and curled gently around Hilde’s wrist. “I’ve changed, but… Most people probably won’t see that. They’ll still just see the monster. Oh, but disguising myself feels too much like deception!”

Nenio briefly glanced up, then went back to studying the ring she was imbuing with the illusion. “I’m not implying you haven’t redeemed yourself, but I might caution against a disguise. Statistically, you are far more likely to suffer violence if someone sees through your illusion than Hilde is. Far, far more likely.”

“That’s… True. M-maybe I just shouldn’t go. I wouldn’t want to cause a scene or scare people or-“ Arueshalae paused as Hilde tapped her tail twice. Their little code that Arueshalae was getting in her head and starting to spiral. Hilde’s signal for her to stop, breathe, and clear her head. She did as she was asked, closing her eyes and sucking in a few breaths through her teeth. “S-sorry. No, I… I should go as myself. My true, honest self, shown to the world.” 

She let out a squeak as Hilde planted a kiss on her cheek. “There’s my brave Arueshalae… As for me… I think I’ll be going as, um, shit, help me think of a fake name.”

Arueshalae tilted her head. “Um… Why? Oh, I suppose you’d be recognized by your name. Hilda, maybe? No, that’s too obvious. Edlih! It’s Hilde backwards! Also too obvious?”

Nenio chimed in, “And it doesn’t sound like a normal name. Perhaps, was there a name you were almost given as a child?”

Hilde sighed. “Yes, but those were all boy’s names. Oh! Nenio, could you make the illusion look a bit more Varisian? I’ll be Esmerelda today!”

“Esmerelda… That name sounds familiar.” Arueshalae sat down, wracking her brain for any mention Hilde had made of such a person.

Hilde answered quickly with a grin. “Esmerelda was the woman that let me travel with her caravan when I left home. She was kind of like my mom for a few years… No doubt she’s gone now, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind me borrowing her identity a little! So there’s a name that has some meaning to me.”

[heichou-dancho]

FFVII Rebirth thoughts (Spoilers for everything)

I reemerge having finished Rebirth after four weeks and 92 hours in-game playtime. That’s an incredibly short but also massive amount of playtime for me, Yakuza 0 took me a year with pauses. I’m still reeling after finishing chapter 13, and since all my FF buddies from the old days are long gone, I’ll just vent here. I enjoy reading the reactions and thoughts of other players, so maybe someone else does too?

This post is full of spoilers and Shinra fangirling, but it’s about the whole game:

Shinra:

First, somebody on the team that wrote material for the Turks and Rufus must be some Shinra fandom veteran grown up with 20 years of fanon. Just Elena as a whole, Rude getting her that ice cream, Rufus in the Gold Saucer harassing fighting Cloud for fun, Dark Star not only obeying Rufus but also Tseng. Rufus complaining that Tseng is being overprotective… (faints) So much crack and shippy moments, I was grinning like an idiot.

(Is crack fic even a thing anymore? It feels like they’ve gotten rarer)

I expected maybe three or four scenes with the Turks, maybe less for Rufus. AND THEN SQUARE SHOVED THEM IN WHEREVER THEY COULD WITHOUT DERAILING THE PLOT. Elena was given so much room to breathe. Same for Rufus. Those little moments with Darkstar. I’m over the moon.

Okay, Rufus, so your father got stabbed, and the first thing you did after that was recording some motion-capturing and dialogue for a Turk recruitment hologram-video-thingy in an abandoned facility? It makes zero sense, but it’s my favourite protorelic mission and I’ll happily add it to my headcanon as a sign that Rufus gave Tseng his okay to recruit more Turks.

(The real answer would probably be automatically generated AI shenanigans, but that’s not very exciting.)

Viceroy Saruf. Just … Rufus, you’re such a cheeky idiot and I love you. Is there any faction in this world you’re not manipulating from the background? I can’t shake the feeling that being the man in the shadows suits you more than actually openly running the company.

Tseng and Reeve were great, I would love more little moments like that, where the Shinra folks just interact outside of action scenes and dramatic moments. The talk Tseng had with Reno and Rufus in Remake after the Sector 7 collapse hit the same note for me. I want more Reeve in part 3.

The scene between Tseng and Aerith at the temple made my eyes misty, but I wish it had been longer. Tseng keeping it short and abruptly leaving to "make a report" was perfect, and I know Cloud being so cold and cutting Aerith off fits his behaviour, but something about the timing just felt off.

I was surprised that Heidegger would take a bullet for Rufus. For President Shinra, absolutely, but Rufus? Hmm… This makes great fanfic material. I’ve read a fanfic before that tried to reimagine the Shinra executives (even Palmer) as more realistic people, and I found it to be really interesting, but then I’m a weirdo with plot bunnies in my head that involve a younger President Shinra, his wife, Veld, Vincent and the older Shinra execs.

I’ve never been a fan of Hojo but his R re-imagining is one of the few that doesn’t work at all for me. OG Hojo was far more unsettling. R!Hojo is just your typical mad scientist, I just can’t care about him, which is a shame, because him taunting Aerith in Remake with how he dissected Ifalna hit me hard.

I still haven’t quite grasped why Rufus is so obsessed with the Promised Land. It probably all comes down to wanting to be more successful than his father, right? I’m probably forgetting or mixing up details from Remake, Rebirth or the OG here, but I assumed that Rufus would outright dismiss it as a fairy tale.

Apparently there is a Midgar DLC for Power Wash Simulator. Square Enix, where is Hitman: Tseng and a version of Yakuza where I can play the Turks dealing with dumb crap doing missions in Midgar? Give us Shinra fans something, I'm still waiting for the EC version of Before Crisis. And I don't even like gacha mobile games. >:(

General game thoughts:

The open world is fantastic, I want to live in Gongaga or Kalm. So pretty. People online seem to hate the Gongaga map, but the soundtrack and the jungle theme made it work for me. I found the gliding parts in Cosmo Canyon far harder to navigate.

Shinra Manor is terrible with Vincent being it’s only redeeming part. The actual mansion looked great (the portrait of President Shinra was a nice touch) but the upper levels being inaccessible and turning it into another lab dungeon was boring. Same for the box throwing mini-game.

Dio the archaeologist turned body-builder is great, but Shinra knowing about the keystone and just not bothering to use it when President Shinra was looking for the Promised Land is a weird plot hole. It would have been a lot easier than trying to convince Aerith to come to them. There were some other little details like that, that bothered me but it’s a blur now.

Remake Barett made me into a Barret fan, Rebirth Nanaki into a Nanaki fan. The writers are genius when it comes to rewriting these characters from the OG. I’m not really bothered by Cid not being grumpy and swearing all the time. Him reminiscing about Ifalna was cute. Vincent using his old Turk skills (and having some lingering loyalty to the job?) was cool. Really looking forward to seeing how they’ll handle Lucrecia, the one character in FFVII I'm so conflicted about.

I’m still confused about Aerith’s death scene, especially the cuts where she’s lying in her own blood and then isn’t. I understand that she’s dead in her current reality, but is the scene without blood (and Aerith "waking up" in Cloud’s arms) Cloud’s hallucination or just a different reality? I’m also utterly confused by how many Aeriths we’re dealing with. The Aerith and Cloud we’re playing with and the sleeping Aerith (and Cloud) from the dimension where Zack lives are one and the same? It’s tying my brain into knots, and not in a good way. That’s why I usually can’t stand stories involving elaborate time travel loops or parallel universes.

(Man, why doesn't Tumblr allow spaces between paragraphs? I hope your eyes aren't bleeding)

I first played the OG as a young teen. Cloud’s mind being fractured and hallucinating was a neat bit of storytelling back then that I hadn’t encountered in video games before. Twenty years later, I’ve dealt with loved ones who are ill but refuse help, and known plenty of people who have some form of psychosis or schizophrenia. Whilst I would never seriously compare Cloud’s problems with rl mental illnesses, I found the scenes where he sees Sephiroth and no one else, or is completely out of it hard to stomach. Interacting with somebody who has hallucinations (even "harmless" ones) or paranoid thoughts is unsettling at best, nightmarish at worst. The group trying to passively bear it and keep things together rings very true (especially Tifa) but I’m surprised that even Barett or Yuffie aren’t trying to confront Cloud about his behaviour at least once.

(I tried to format in html, but it somehow looked worse. I'm old. This is how Vincent must feel like every day.)

Dyne, Myrna and Tseng talking to Aerith at the temple had me tearing up, and I lost it at Aerith’s "date" with Cloud in Ch. 14. Hoo boy, I know Aerith stalling off the inevitable just for a little time, was the game having a very direct conversation with the player about what’s going to come, death and how we deal with it. But to me personally, it was more about how one gets caught up in trauma and repeat it over and over in your head, mulling about the point of where things went wrong and what you could have done to prevent it. I know it doesn’t fit, but that’s what my weird brain made out of it. Also Dyne’s and Aerith’s (at the temple) speeches about how they deal (or didn’t) with grief and trauma hit me hard.

Damn you, silly anime action game, you really shouldn’t affect me this deeply, but then a lot of fiction hits me harder than it used to.

[id-rather-be-an-outsider]

Cashmere and Cradles

Jean Kierstein x Pregnant!Reader

summary: y/n gets sick, and Jean worries sick. then, they’re both in for the sickest surprise of their lives.

word count: 3226

a/n: I was inspired to write this by the always lovely @quiveringdeer! this is also something close to home for me due to me incorporating my personal experiences, so plz be nice in the notes ya’ll (everyone always is but I like putting the disclaimer there for certain fics)

masterlist

I haven’t stopped being nauseous since I woke up. Is this really all because I had an anxiety attack from that one asshole? I already googled it, maybe it’s the fact that I drank a ton of water right when I woke up. I don’t know. I could barely touch the alfredo noodles we had last night, but I thought that was just me being anxious. Jean looked a little concerned at dinner, but I told him I was fine when he kissed me goodbye this morning. Just tired.

Really, I’m exhausted. I feel my stomach lurch, and I realize, I’m going to throw up. I run to the bathroom as fast as possible, nearly missing the toilet, and the last bits of undigested dinner from last night come up, along with bile and all the water from earlier. When I stop retching, I flush the toilet, and stand up dizzily. I brush my teeth to get rid of the remaining vomit, gargle a million times, and wipe my face, which has tears streaming down from the pain. Without fail, my body always feels like it’s been shoved into a trash compactor when I throw up.

When I’m finished cleaning myself up, I decide to go back to bed. The thought of trying to keep food down right now is an awful one. I text Jean to tell him I think I got a stomach bug, and he immediately texts me back asking why. I smile to myself, rolling my eyes a bit. He’s such a worry wart. Just puked, but I feel a lot better. Must’ve been why I was tired, I reply.

Do you need anything? He asks me, and I can imagine his furrowed eyebrows right in front of me.

You’re so sweet, baby. No, I just need sleep.

Have you eaten today?

No. If I eat right now I probably won’t keep it down. I never can after throwing up. I’ll eat when I wake back up. Love you xo

Ok, love you too babygirl xo

I smile to myself, then set my phone down on the nightstand. It doesn’t take long for me to drift off into a peaceful slumber.

I’m woken by my phone vibrating on the nightstand. “Hello?” I answer groggily, and am spooked by Connie’s annoyingly loud voice.

“Y/n! Someone’s pregnant!” He yells into my ear. I hold my phone far away from me, pinching the bridge of my nose. Somehow, he’s already given me a headache. “Who?”

“I don’t know, but Sasha said her mom had a dream about fish! And you know what that means!” He says. I do not know what that means.

I yawn, asking, “Does it mean she misses her son-in-law’s cooking? Niccolo should visit her again soon.”

Connie pauses. “Hey, were you asleep before I called you?”

“Yes. Very peacefully, I might add. I have the flu.”

“W-why didn’t you tell me?!” He yells at me, and I wince.

“Connie, shut the fuck up! I have a migraine because of you! And because, I thought it would be obvious!” I say.

“Huh?” Connie asks in exasperation. “It’s three in the afternoon! How am I supposed to know you took a midday nap?”

“I never took a nap…” I trail off when I realize that means I’ve slept for basically 14 hours straight, excluding my short time being awake this morning. “Damn. I didn’t think I was this sick.”

“I’m sorry for waking you up, y/n.” Connie apologizes, panic gone from his voice.

I wave him off, not realizing he can’t see me for a few seconds. “No, no, it’s fine. I needed to get up anyways, I have commissions I need to work on, sick or not. Anyways, what’s your point? About the fish and somebody being pregnant.”

“Oh! Right!” He exclaims. “So, dreams have meaning. There’s symbolism in them that rings true.”

“Why are you using the word symbolism? That has no business being in your vocabulary, it’s out of your intelligence bracket.” I say, snickering to myself when he pauses to process what I’ve said.

“Hey! I know things, okay?!” Connie defends himself after realizing I called him stupid. “Anyways, when someone dreams about a fish, it means someone they know is pregnant. And there’s always someone who’s pregnant.

“Mhm.” I say. “Well, if you figure out who that pregnant person is, tell me so I can congratulate them on making a terrible financial decision for the next eighteen plus years. I’m tired, so I’m gonna go back to bed.”

Connie says, “But didn’t you just talk about how much work you were gonna do?”

“Times change, Connie,” I respond, “That, and I just got even more tired than I was when I first answered the phone. I think you’re just exhausting me with your idiocy.”

Connie gasps, and I swear I can hear him clutching his imaginary pearls. “Hurtful!”

I sigh. “Goodbye, Connie.”

He groans, like I’ve just ruined his plans to gossip about pregnancy candidates. “Bye, y/n.” The phone hangs up with a beep, and I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling as I think to myself. There aren’t many options, in all honesty. Ymir and Historia could have decided they wanted to start a family, Eren and Mikasa, Annie and Bertholdt, even Sasha and Niccolo. I’m sick as a dog, so I’m already counted out — can’t have a baby when you’re busy having stomach flu. Before I know it, I’m lulled back to sleep by the comfort of the plush mattress and cushy blankets.

When I come to, it’s sunset, and the offending noise that wakes me is Jean’s keys jangling in the doorknob. I would get up to unlock the door for him, but I’m too groggy to move more than a finger. The door squeaks open, and I hear him put his keys down on the counter, stepping out of his shoes. “Y/n?” He calls, concern laced in his voice.

“Over here!” I respond in turn, yawning and stretching a bit. Jean’s footsteps make the apartment vibrate. He’s not heavy, but the infrastructure isn’t immune to jiggle physics. He turns the concern and I can see the wrinkles forming in real time, all because of me. Then, I can see flowers and a card. “Baby!” I exclaim in surprise, “Is that for me?”

He smiles, and he’s no longer aged by seven years. “I couldn’t come home to my girl empty-handed now, could I? How are you feeling?” He sets the flowers down on the bed, along with the card, and gathers me into a gentle hug, kissing me on the cheek.

“Babe,” I argue, “Don’t, you’ll get sick.”

“And get to take time off to spend with the most beautiful person in the world? Sounds great to me.” He grins when I roll my eyes, then asks, “Did you stay in bed all day?”

I nod. “Yea, I felt pretty shitty. No throwing up aside from the one time, though. Oh! And guess what? According to Sasha’s mom, somebody’s pregnant. The fish in her dreams told her so.”

He meets my eyes with a knowing look, his smile ever-present. “I am taking this so seriously right now, I swear. And who did we hear this fish dream news from?”

“Connie, who dared to wake me from my slumber.” I sigh, sitting up in the bed so I can be on eye-level with Jean.

Jean says, “I see, I see. Sounds like indisputable fact, if you ask me.”

“No, babe. We’re asking the dream fish.”

He laughs, and I laugh with him. “Okay, enough bullying people for being superstitious. You need some water, and soft foods. You probably haven’t eaten all day, have you?” I shake my head no. Jean says, “Well, I’m not Chef Niccolo, but I can make something pretty saucy. I’ll see what I can manage.”

“Do we have…” I start, but trail off, realizing it was a stupid question. Of course we wouldn’t have Kraft mac and cheese. “Nevermind.” I say with a smile at Jean as he looks at me inquisitively.

Fifteen minutes later, he brings me a bowl of noodles with shredded chicken in it. “Is this alright?” He asks me, and I can see he genuinely is worried I won’t like it.

I smile gratefully at him. “Of course, thank you baby. You don’t have to worry about me, the nausea seems to be the worst of it.” I feel a twinge in my stomach looking at the food, but I know it’s just me being finicky because I’m sick. I have to eat something if I want to get better.

He pats my back. “All right, I’m gonna hop in the shower. The door’s unlocked if you need anything, as per usual.” He kisses my forehead, then leaves me to handle business.

When he’s out of sight, I stare at my food like it’s insulting me. My stomach feels like it’s doing flips, and I would rather go back to sleep, but I know if I don’t eat anything, Jean will freak. His mom used to get sick all the time — bad immune system — so now, after everything I’ve been through, he watches over me like a mother hen.

And what is it that I’ve been through? Well… a miscarriage. And an eating disorder. It was for the better that the miscarriage happened, because neither of us were ready for a kid, but it was grueling. I only found out I was pregnant because of the miscarriage, and it left me even more physically and emotionally drained than I already had been for the month before. It explained the nausea, and the inability to eat most foods, but after the miscarriage, I continued being unable to eat. I lost a lot of weight, and when I finally went to the doctor’s office, they recommended I start eating protein bars to regain what I’d lost. I did, and I haven’t lost the weight again since then, but Jean fusses over me, because he knows my eating disorder is a daily battle, not one that just goes away. I tell him not to worry, that as long as I’m keeping my current weight then we have nothing to worry about, but it’s like talking to a brick wall. Or, for accuracy’s sake, it’s like talking to a magical brick wall that finds the most anxiety-inducing message in all of your words and echoes that back to you.

The miscarriage and the events after it happened years ago, but I remember it like yesterday, and so does Jean. Every now and then, we whisper to each other at night, talking about what might have happened if I hadn’t miscarried.

I don’t know why I’m thinking about all of this right now. Maybe it’s because the nausea I’m feeling now reminds me of back then. I shake my head, clearing my thoughts, then mentally prepare myself to take a bite of food. I stab the fork into my noodles and twist, twist, twist, until I have a reasonable lump of noodles around my fork, ready to be eaten. I lift it up into my mouth, and when I smell the noodles… it’s over.

I throw my fork down, quickly setting my bowl down on the nightstand and run to the bathroom faster than the speed of light. I nearly slam the door open, and start puking as soon as the toilet seat and lid are propped up. I hear Jean pull back the shower curtain as I heave, splatters of liquid and mush landing in the toilet. The room is already steamed up – he loves hot showers. We both do, to be fair. “Babe? Are you okay?” He asks me, and it takes literally everything in me to not snap at him and say that I’m obviously not okay.

I give him a thumbs up. “I don’t know why, but just smelling the food made me nauseous. What was the expiration date on the canned chicken?”

As water trickles down his bare chest, sculpted abs dividing my attention, Jean says, “I just bought that on Saturday. No way it’s expired. If you can’t eat, why don’t you try taking a shower? You’ve been in sick clothes all day.” I put the lid down and flush the toilet, slowly nodding as I stand up. I strip down, joining him in the spray as he holds his hand out for me to take. Always the gentleman. I’m sandwiched between him and the warm water, and I sigh, feeling some relief for once. He slides his hands around my waist, kissing my cheek and leaning his head against mine, sighing with me. “I’m sorry you’re so sick, baby.”

I turn around to face him, the water hitting my backside as I wrap my arms around his neck, looking up at him. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” I get up on my tip-toes to kiss him, and where nausea once was in my stomach, a fire suddenly rages – a fire of want, of desperate need. I close my eyes, deepening the kiss and pressing my body against his. “Baby.” I pant out, reaching down for his member as I feel the slick growing between my thighs.

He grunts, stopping the kiss and holding my arms, stepping away. “Not right now, y/n. You’re sick. It would just make you worse. Let’s wait until you’re feeling better, yea?” I hadn’t actually touched him yet, but I can already see that he’s clearly aroused.

I frown to myself. I’m disappointed, but he’s right. “Yea, right. Sorry.” I don’t know what came over me in that moment, but right now, I feel riled up for no apparent reason. What is happening to me?

We finish our shower, and he grabs out the silkiest pair of pajamas for me, helping me dry off and put them on before helping me into bed, and I note he removed the offending food from the area. I don’t know how I managed to meet someone as kind as him. “Hey,” He asks me, “Weren’t you supposed to start your period a few days ago?”

I think to myself, then nod in confirmation. “I think I was. No big deal, though. I’d probably be miserable if I had to deal with that and this at the same time.” He looks deep in thought. “What is it?” I ask him.

He shakes his head. “I’m just worried about you, is all. Why don’t you get some sleep and I’ll run to the store to get some hot cocoa for you to try?” Hot cocoa sounds delicious right now, I’ll give him that. It’s not usually something I crave, but maybe some sugar is just the thing I need after all of this bullshit.

I smile, then lay back in bed. “Okay, baby. See you then.”

When I wake up, it’s to Jean sitting at my feet, holding some kind of stick in his hand, eyes wide in shock, jaw completely slack. I look to my right and spot two mugs of cocoa sitting on my nightstand, one half-drunk. “Baby? What is it?” I ask him, unable to push myself up.

“I… I… I didn’t think… I only had an inkling of a hunch as to what it might be, but…” He stammers, more to himself than to me.

I sigh forcefully. “Jean. Baby. What is it?”

“Baby.” He says.

“Yes, I’m listening, Jean,” I reply, a bit annoyed that he isn’t listening. It’s not like him. “What is it?” I ask again, with more emphasis.

“A baby.” He says, and when he lifts up his hand to show me, I realize he’s holding not one, not two, but three pregnancy tests. And they all are positive. “You forgot to flush the toilet when you peed after getting out of the shower.”

Now, my face matches his. “What???” I say, suddenly jolting up into a sitting position, but not without a wave of nausea rolling over me. “I… what are we gonna do?” I say, panic setting in.

Jean answers, “We’re gonna do what you want to do, of course.” He leans over, setting the tests down on my nightstand and grabbing my hand, squeezing it. “If you don’t feel ready…”

“I–” I cut myself off when I feel my lip wobble. Tears suddenly well up in my eyes, and I fight the urge to let them loose. “Jean, I can’t.” I see the disappointment in his eyes, and I start to cry. “I can’t lose another one, Jean, I can’t. Please.”

He pauses, taken aback, but quickly hugs me to comfort me. “Oh, y/n, don’t cry, don’t cry. I’m an idiot, I thought you were saying ‘I can’t’ as in, you couldn’t keep it, I’m an idiot, ignore my initial reaction.”

I sniffle and wipe my eyes. “Wait…” I ask, “You mean you would rather me keep it?”

Jean laughs, and I almost puke from the vibrations alone, but I don’t care right now. “Yes, yes, I absolutely would rather you keep it, but I’ll support you either way.”

I start crying even more. “Oh, thank God, thank God, I thought…”

Jean pulls back slightly, but only to place kiss upon kiss all over my face. He pauses, looking me in the eye. “Put that thought away. It doesn’t have any place here.” He then places his arm behind my back, laying me back down on the bed. He starts unbuttoning my pajama top, just a few buttons from the waist up. He kisses my stomach, right below my belly button. “Hey, baby.” He whispers against my abdomen, and I lightly push him away with my arms.

“Baby. As cute as that is, please don’t. The vibrations make me nauseous.” I smile tiredly, but beckon him to lay next to me. He happily joins me, throwing an arm over my stomach and sliding under the covers.

Quietly, he says, “How does the cocoa smell?”

“Good.” I whisper.

He chuckles. “My mom said she liked that when she was pregnant with me.”

Sassily, I say, “Oh, so the baby has your taste, does he?”

And he says, “Possibly. Is it selfish of me to want them to be a girl? I’d love to have two of you around here. Plus, then Connie won’t try to make me name them after him in honor of him being the first one to share the news of your pregnancy.”

I roll my eyes. “Right, the fish gods.”

“I thought they were dream fish?”

“Same shit.” I scoff. “Can we just… never tell him?”

Jean hums. “Mmm… unfortunately, that might be a little suspect. We have to tell my mom first, anyways. Gramas always have seniority. Want me to wait a bit?”

I respond, “Maybe for a week, that way you can say I got you sick and you can’t go into work.”

Jean groans. “Babe, how are you so hot, so smart, and so pregnant with my kid, all at once? I feel so lucky right now.” He kisses my collar bone, laying back beside me like I’ve knocked him out with my grand idea.

I laugh, hand resting on my stomach. “You’re an idiot, Jean.”

“Just a fool in love,” He says, “Thinking about cashmere blankets and cedarwood cradles.”

[quills-of-freedom]

Preview of tomorrow's Reiner fic...

It's five chapters deep and will be ready to upload tomorrow (BST)

Here's a little preview of what is to come...

“I’ve noticed you like this sort of thing.” Reiner noted to y/n after their laughing fit.

“Hm?” She hummed while taking a drink of water. “What sort of thing?”

He pointed up above them to the tree they were under. “Nature. Animals, trees. That sort of thing.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She smiled gorgeously, making his chest melt like butter. “Is it obvious?”

“No, not really. Only to a trained eye like mine.” He smirked.

She smiled mischievously. She always felt at ease and playful around Reiner. And just like Marco had said, these days they just seemed to naturally drift towards each other.

“Right. Your trained eye.” She smirked. “What else has that skill picked up on?”

“That you don’t really like eating meat.”

“And that you actually enjoy it when you’re caught in the rain.”

Her demeanour changed instantly, shocked that he’d picked up on that. Only her three best friends knew that.

“How did you –”

“Reiner…” Her lips part.

“I told you…” He smiled coyly, tapping his temple. “Trained eye.”

“Seriously, how do you know these things? Have you been talking to Eren?” She pouted, which he found adorable.

“Then tell me how.”

Laughing, he shook his head.

“No.”

He then tapped his nose.

Rolling her eyes and sighing she gave in.

“Alright Mr Amazing. Won’t you, oh so please tell me how your greatness knew these things?”

She just looked at him in awe.

Laughing out loud he draped his arm over his knee.

“Your eyes light up whenever we’re in the forest. They also seem to linger at the tops of trees and flowers. You smile slightly when you see something in particular you enjoy, let’s say for example a small hidden waterfall.”

“The meat thing is easy. You look away quickly when the suppliers come in. You feel bad for the animals is my guess but hey…I’m an eagle eye not a mind reader.”

y/n let out a chuckle.

“And the rain thing, well you get that same look in your eye as when we’re in the forest.”

“A good Soldier always is.” He beamed.

There was a short pause as she took that all in.

“Well aren’t you observant?” She then smiled.

Given that they were pretty close now he knew she was joking so he let out a laugh.

“A good Soldier…or maybe you’ve been staring at me, Reiner Braun.” She arched an eyebrow at him as he felt a little nervous at that statement. She then held her nose up pretending to act snobby.

“A little creepy if you ask me.”

“Just leave it to me.” He grinned. “I’ll take you to every single forest in these god damn walls.”

She laughed again. “Why?”

“To see you smile.” He replied simply.

“But I wanna be the one to make you smile.” He replied, heavy-lidded as he put his face a little closer to hers. “And to give you that sparkle in your eyes.”

She felt extremely touched to hear that.

“You can see me smile any time. We see each other every day.” She joked.

y/n glanced away shyly, the weird feeling she had around Reiner getting more intense.

“Look at those two.” Eren steamed from afar. “They’re so close they’re practically kissing.”

“Just leave it Eren.” Mikasa said in her usual monotone voice. “Haven’t you noticed how happy she’s been recently?”

Armin, who had already figured out Eren’s feelings for y/n, didn’t really know what to say. His mind ticked over but before he could think of anything, Eren continued.

“It’s not like they’re in earshot of anyone so there’s no need to be talking so quietly either.”

Eren looked like he’d just been stabbed in the gut. “What are you saying?”

Mikasa glared at him. “I’m saying, if you try anything to ruin it, I will make sure you’re discharged from Cadets due to injury. Don’t you think she deserves to be happy?”

Frowning, Eren looked back over as the pair of them let out another belly laugh.

“Of course she does…” He sighed.

I just want it to be with me…

[lesetoilesfous]

I'm here to give you some prompts for DADWC! First one is “Remember the pact of our youth.” for Karl/Anders.

Hello! Thank you so much!!

(If you’d like me to write you a da2 fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Anders/Karl Thekla

Characters: Anders, Karl Thekla

Tags: pre-relationsip, kids!, the circle is awful

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

"Maker, what a freak."

"D'you think they cut his tongue out on the way here?"

"Nah, we'd have heard about it by now." "Maybe it's just how Anders are. Creepy."

“That’s his name, right? Anders.” One of the apprentices snorts. The skinny blonde boy he’s talking about flinches, arms tightening around his knees. “Guess he’s a couple sparks short of a glowstone.”

Karl clears his throat, and the pair of gossiping apprentices startle. Karl pushes his shoulders back, rising to the greatest height his fourteen-year-old body can manage, and gives them his best impression of Enchanter Wynne. “Don’t you have classes to be attending?” 

Both the apprentices gulp in a way that would have been funny if it weren’t for the terrified twelve year old behind them. As it is, Karl folds his arms and waits for them to flee. Far off, there’s the crunch of Templar boots on stone. Karl pauses, listening, trying to figure out if they’re coming or going. When the echo gets quieter, he relaxes a little, and turns to the little boy in front of him.

Anders, because they haven’t been able to get any other name out of him, is a haunted looking boy of Ander parentage the Templars picked up from some farm in the Fereldan countryside a week or so ago. His face is bruised: a black eye and a split lip, and his wrists and ankles boast angry red welts from the cuffs he was chained in. His hair is filthy - Karl doesn’t think he’s been washed beyond the perfunctory bathing given to all new children to clear them of lice and other pests. The robes he’s wearing don’t fit: too short for his gangly body, and too wide everywhere else.

He looks tired.

Karl crouches down, and the little boy doesn’t react - staring intently into the middle distance as if some spirit from the Fade will appear at any moment to rescue him. Part of Karl wishes that it would. The rest of him knows that isn’t how this works. Slowly, stiffly, Karl moves to sit cross-legged in front of the apprentice. He studies him as he speaks, but tries to avoid direct eye contact. A few of the other apprentices don’t like that, and he’s not here to unsettle the boy. The opposite, really.

“I’m not sure if you can hear me.” Karl pauses, concentrating hard to fold his hands into the language Enchanter Torrin had taught him. Anders barely even blinks, brown eyes remaining fixed on some patch of stone. Karl tries not to sigh. Instead, he goes on. “I think you’re probably really scared, and sad,” Karl pauses, “and angry.” 

Anders doesn’t react, exactly - Karl can’t even say whether it’s in response to him - but one of his hands uncurls a little around his knees, and his breathing stutters. Karl holds on to that scrap of hope for the fool’s chance it is. “I’d be angry too. Furious.” Karl leans forward, lowering his voice and trying to ignore the prickling on the back of his neck. “They’re bastards, all of them. And I don’t mean that their parents were unmarried.” 

Quick as a cat, Anders’ eyes flicker to him, and Karl suddenly understands that he is neither unable to comprehend Fereldan speech, nor so traumatised by whatever happened on his journey here that he can no longer come back to himself. There is more intelligence and fury in those brown eyes than Karl had honestly expected, and for a moment he finds himself speechless. But he can also feel the hourglass of the boy’s attention, the sand slipping away even as he gathers his wits. 

“My name’s Karl. I’ve been here…” Karl falters, then presses on, “Longer than you. And I’ve figured out a thing or two about staying alive.” Karl pulls a face. “It’s not pretty, and it’s not fun. It’s…” He sits back, and tries to ignore the tightness in his chest. “It’s humiliating, most of the time. "But this is how I see it: all that most templars want is for us to get on with it and die already. And if we don’t kill ourselves then, well,” Karl bites the inside of his cheek, and forces himself to look into Anders’ eyes, and tries to ignore the baby fat in his cheeks. “They’ll do it for us. Do you understand, Anders? They’ll kill you. They’ll just kill you. Because they can. Because you’re different. Because you’re a mage. Because you’re a mage, and any deviation from the norm, anything at all, is justification enough for them.”

Anders doesn’t make a sound. Karl prays to a Maker he is still trying to believe in. 

“So here’s the deal. You don’t speak. That’s ok. But I’d like to ask, please, that you stick with me, ok? Because I think I can keep you safe. And I don’t think it’s right, what they’ve done to you.” 

Anders blinks, rapidly, eyes shining suddenly, and all at once Karl doesn’t know what to do with himself. Hurriedly, he gets up on his knees, flapping his hands. “No, no, it’s ok, it’s ok. I just. Look, if they want us dead so badly, then the best revenge we can give them is to live as long and as much as we can, right?” Karl pauses for an answer he doesn’t really expect, and doesn’t get one. He presses forward anyway.

“So we’re going to stay alive. Together. Deal?” Impulsively, he holds out his hand, pinky finger forward. For a long, long moment Anders just stares at it - long enough for Karl’s face to start to flush, and him to awkwardly retract his arm towards his chest.

Anders moves fast as a viper, fast enough to make Karl jump, grabbing his finger. His hands are ice cold. But he hooks his pinky finger around Karl’s tightly, and looks into his eyes when he nods, once, with a fierce movement of his sharp chin.

Karl feels the tightness in his chest loosen. He grins, and thinks, maybe, he can do this one good thing. “Deal. Let's live, together. For as long as we can.”

[whirlybirbs]

FEVER-DREAM    ;    echo/reader 

summary: echo is fine-tuning his new prosthesis. you have experience, you help. unspoken feelings are acted on. adoration blooms. you learn what mesh’la means.

word count: 3k

pairing: echo / f!reader

tags: mutual pining, lots of tender looks, victorian-era hand-touching sluttiness, echo is a gentle soul, reader is head over heels, a touch of ptsd mention, set on ord mantell, mention of our boy fives, in this house we love assistive devices, enough sexual tension to power the death star

a/n: this is me round-house kicking the bad batch writers in the throat because they made echo cosplay a droid — but, also because this man deserves to be treated as more than a means to a mission’s end. majority of you know i am ~bitter~ (understatement of the century) of tbb’s plot/design/writing. but echo has been a favorite from the original days... so have some very soft fic.

i reference character redesigns by @nibeul​ in this piece — please go peep them here, and some updated character spreads here! they’re really beautiful and add a phenomenal layer of storytelling to the existing designs that’s lacking. nibuel’s art and writing is lovely. please give them a follow — i can’t rec their work enough. 

“How does it feel?”

The words are nearly whispered; it’s clear you didn’t want to startle him, and Echo can feel the pinch in his brow soften at your sudden appearence in the doorway. 

His bunk, at the back of the Havoc Marauder, is small — the space itself even more so. There’s a makeshift partition, hooked together with spare parts and meant to offer a bit of privacy on the cramped vessel. Its slate grey color has faded, and the edges have become tattered in the cycles of use. 

When Echo pulls his dark eyes up from his work, you’re leaning against the frame — your expression is earnest.

For a moment, the once-ARC Trooper is quiet. 

He wonders if he’ll ever get used to your attention. Each and every time, it sends him into a spiral; his heart catches as he inhales and tries to push down the warm stir in his gut. The sight of you is enough, nowadays, to melt Echo’s well-maintained irritability. His attention is stolen from his ever-present pain, if only for a bit.

There are plenty of days where he misses the old him — the wide-eyed, eager ARC Trooper who had his brothers by his side. His real brothers. Hevy, Cutup, Droidbait... Fives. 

Fuckin’ hell, Fives was probably staring down at him now laughing. 

No matter what changes, you’re still shit with the ladies, vod’ika. 

In a way he hasn’t fully admitted to himself, you make him feel like himself again. Like... Like some shiny cadet, on leave and distracted by the promises of pretty smiles passing-by. It’s good.

This makes him feel... good. 

He flexes, and his right hand — the new, gunmetal durasteel cyberized-prosthesis — closes into a tight fist. It’s taken him a bit, but the feeling isn’t so foreign now. It’s still... slow. Slower than he’s used to, but you’d mentioned it may take some time. The phantom feelings get better, too. All in all, it’s a good thing.

Your own hand, your left, glimmers back in the same gunmetal color.

(Echo had never pressed you about the missing limb — not until one day, in Cid’s, you’d joined him in a quiet corner. You’d spilled your drink and a complaint about getting the star-cherry syrup out of the joints had slipped out. Echo had laughed; a real laugh, the sort that was so rare coming from him, it had you staring at him as if he’d hung ever star in the sky. 

Can I ask how it happened? he’d said, breaking the heavy silence when your eyes never left his.

The Pykes, you’d said, and that was enough.)

“I haven’t, uh... Haven’t gotten the sensory calibration right yet.”

Then, his prosthesis cramps. His fingers go rigid, and Echo curses sharply as he reaches around his forearm to quickly reboot the appendage. It goes slack, then hums alive once more.

You wince.

You’re slow to move into the room — and you settle atop one of the crates Echo had stolen from the belly of the ship, an old Mantell Mix shipping container. You’re mindful to set his datapad aside, to not disturb his space too much. Before you reach for his hand, however, you lift your chin and open your hands in your lap.

“May I?” you ask, just as soft as before.

Echo feels small under your gaze.

Truth be told, you’re doing more than just... asking. You’re taking him in — appreciating him. It’s a habit that’s grown more and more apparent to not only himself, but the others.

In recent rotations, Echo has let his hair grow out — not long, but the once close buzz he’d kept has begun to curl at the top. Not entirely dissimilair to how it was before the Citadel. The dermal implants, the ones the Techno Union installed in order to parse the nuerological data in his head, stand out against his warm-colored skin. 

His usual AJ^6-inspired headpiece is resting on his bunk.

That damn thing.

A neccesary tool. One that, given the amount of user data Tech had procured when working on modifying the implant, Echo found himself immediately distrusting. It wasn’t as if the AJ^6 cyborg construct had a beautiful track record, and frankly, Echo would like to keep his personality in tact, thank you very much. There were plenty of days he felt machine enough. 

It wasn’t often you saw him without the headset; you knew it made linking in via his scomp easier to handle, it made the visualization of data transfers as easy as breathing. For Echo, it was a part of his vast kit, an important tool. For you, seeing him without it bubbles up a bit of a smile.

Echo catches it.

His eyes narrow playfully.

He looks... well. You — hell, are there words for it? For the way the sight of him makes you feel? It’s like there’s a world full of potential there, a thousand words unsaid, and feelings that have steeped in the warmth of longing gazes and half-there touches.

You’re still looking up at him, knees bent on the crate.

You blink, realizing you’ve been caught staring — not for the first time and certainly not for the last. In the beginning, it had left a sour taste in Echo’s mouth. But, now... Well, it stokes a sort of pride in his chest that he hangs onto. 

It never gets easier to recover from — certainly not when Echo smirks. He moves to allow you to take his prosthesis into your lap. The gesture is gentle; your fingers cradle the firm yet pliable metal.

“What?” he asks. His voice, low and rough and warm, is tinted with amusement.

“Nothing,” you say vaguely with a shrug — as if that’s supposed to explain any part of your enamored stare. Your attention moves to the prosthesis.

“Nothing?” he asks, moving to thumb his left ear with his free hand with a dash of nervousness. A habit. Echo tilts his head as his fingers brush the cochlear implant there. The panel rests neatly against the side of his head, a small rounded-off square. The bite of self-consciousness has dwindled around you — but still, it creeps back up every now and again.

The Corporal’s brows knot playfully as you turn his new hand over in your lap; you’re admiring the upgraded feel, the more seamless panelling in comparison to your own. Echo watches your lashes flutter in silent thought.

Then:

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

You blink slowly at the hand, swallow down your sudden sheepishness and ignore his gaze. You bite back the smile digging into your cheeks. “Maybe.”

“Do I have something on my face?” he asks suddenly, and you look up.

A baited trick. He’s smiling. 

The warm sort — the sort reserved for you and for Omega. The two souls that hold a piece of his heart, with all its ticking valves and electric timed pulses. There are machinisms that keep him alive, and then there is you. Your wide-eyed expression melts, giving way to the sort of smile he’s tried to memorize over and over. It’s the same smile that has warded off that reoccuring nightmare of the night on the tarmac at the Citadel, the same smile that has pulled him through the grit of phantom pains.

“What—” a sudden laugh bursts from your chest, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You were staring, mesh’la,” he rumbles out as a reminder, enjoying the fact he’s suddenly become the center of your attention. Echo leans back, his boot toeing yours. You nudge it back. Your face feels hot. You ignore his pointedly teasing look with a roll of your eyes.

The nickname started a few weeks ago. You haven’t asked what it means — no, for now it’s meaning hangs in the balance. Untouched but there. The affection the word carries makes your heart feel heavier and unbelievably full.

“Bad habit,” you chirp back, looking up at him through your lashes.

His laugh is warm.

“Maybe not.”

“No,” you say quietly; your voice is soft as your eyes bounce across his face, tracing the lines of his face with your gaze, “I don’t think it is.”

There’s a silence that slips between you — a comfortable one. It’s heavier than before. That has begun to happen recently, especially with the petal-soft utterance of mesh’la becoming more and more frequent. You hold his gaze. Echo lets out a soft, contented sigh.

Then, you remember the task at hand.

You clear your throat.

“Uh... The access panel I’m looking for,” you say slowly as your raise your finger to point to your own arm, “It’s on your bicep.”

Echo blinks. He clears his own throat before looking down — he hadn’t even noticed that access panel. That could explain the jarring miscommunication stalling the limb. This model had more bells and whistles than he initally realized. 

Better than a fuckin’ scomp link, that’s for sure.

Wordlessly, Echo makes room on his bunk. You move to settle beside him, your bent leg resting aginst his hip as you half-straddle the bed; your other knee brushes his thigh — and Echo tries to sit still. You’re close, now. 

“Is it okay if...?” you trail off, fingers tugging on the short sleeve of his blacks; you pause until Echo offers a curt nod. You catch him swallow. You push onward, fingers nimbly rolling the fabric up over his broad bicep. 

Echo steals a glance your way as your fingers pass across a slip of his bare skin. 

In his lap, both his hands twitch.

He’s no small man. Lean and athletic, Echo is built like a soldier. Omega had said once that Echo was an ARC Trooper, one of the best of the best. You believed every bit of it, and you’d hung on her words when she’d rambled on about ARC training, about Kamino, and about who Echo was before you knew him. It was all in the past, though. That Echo is a part of this Echo but... They’re different men. He’s been changed by the things that have happened.

You don’t press him on the details. 

In time, they’re slipped into conversation here and there — between the here and now.  

In the beginning, when you’d found yourself amongst the crew of the Havoc Marauder — be it for a simple job on Cid’s behalf — Echo had hardly paid you a moment of attention, though you admit you’d been curious from the start. It had taken three jobs for you to finally see his face. Then began the slow and gradual bonding over catching joints, grating plates, and hardware updates. His legs, your arm. Two pieces of a pair.

Now, he has this. A beautiful new upgrade — something he’s wanted for a long time. A part of his old self is back, in a way.

You liked that it was more than just a tool. That, in having this piece of his body back, he felt like more than a tool. More than a scomp link. 

After all, he is a man — a... a very handsome man. One whose proximity is sort of distracting you, again, from the task at hand.

“The panel here,” you say as you slowly press on the seam that enables the settings panel to be revealed; you’re mindful to explain, “It controls sensory outputs, as well as synchonized synaptic commands. The panel on my forearm does the same to my hand, yours is just... well, you’ve got the new and improve version.”

Echo ducks his head as you work, watching you from the corner of his eye. “Feeling a bit jealous, mesh’la?”

“Maybe,” you breathe out with a smile. 

Then, you lift your eyes. You intended to see that he was still comfortable, but instead you come face to face with the Corporal. His nose nearly brushes yours when you lift you chin, completely dragged in by the closeness shared.

There’s a beat of tension. Echo’s mouth goes dry.

You fingers pause. You swallow hard. “How... uh, how does it feel?”

Echo tightens his grip, then releases. His breath tickles your cheeks. His eyes, a deep, warm brown, flit from your eyes to your mouth, and then back. His voice is a croak. 

“...Same as before.”

You tinker with a dial, eyes never leaving his; your voice is above a whisper. “And now?”

It’s immediate. Like a rush of cold air up his arm — and on instinct, Echo’s hand twitches. His fingers grip the fabric of his blacks, along his thigh, and... he feels it. The smooth, stretch of the material. It’s... it feels like a lot. His fingertips, metallic and cyberized, tingle. It’s distracting.

He can feel. 

His hand is slow. It moves across to bridge the space between you. His pointer finger settles on the curve of your knee; the feeling of your tactical pants beneath his fingertip is ignored, instead he chases the heat of your body.

Your breath catches at the touch. 

Echo’s face is turned to you, but... his attention has settled on his hand. His palm then sweeps across your thigh. He follows the curve, soaks in the feeling. You’re frozen in place, beating back the desperate sound of appreciation that threatens to be pulled from your throat. The touch is... more than welcomed. 

The closeness itself is making you dizzy.

Then, Echo turns — and the warm, durasteel-plated palm finds your cheek.

Your skin is hot. 

“Is this okay, mesh’la?” he whispers, words riding on a quiet exhale — the sort that make you feel... well, you don’t even have words for the way he makes you feel. Echo is... kind, honest, and loyal. Above all else, he’s gentle. Despite it all, despite every bit of horror he’d been put through, he’d never lost sight of the importance of a gentle hand. Especially now in a moment as intimate as this. It coaxes you closer.

You lean into the cybernetic attachment, cheek resting in his palm. You nod, then, with eyes eager to take in every bit of this moment.

He chuckles at the enthusiasm. Echo’s thumb, deft and smooth, then traces the line of your lower lip.

The feeling is... the gnawing pain that he’s felt for nearly a year has melted. Finally, the itch has been scratched in his brain and the hollow ache of his bones is gone. It’s relief, and comfort, and excitement and all these beautiful things — and you. 

You’re stuck — you don’t want to move, you won’t move. He’s rooted you completely, and when his other hand — the calloused and warm one of flesh and blood — finds it’s spot along your thigh, you swallow a lovesick sigh that would only exaserbate your desperation. 

Your mouth is moving before you realize it. 

“What does it mean?”

Echo’s eyes narrow, only a bit, and he runs his thumb up your cheekbone.

“What does what mean?” 

“Mesh’la,” it sounds foreign on your tongue. It’s not Hutteese or Twi’leki, not like any language you know, “Will you tell me what it means, Echo?”

The corner of his lips quirk. Your eyes jump to it.

You feel like someone’s reached right into your chest and given your heart a squeeze — and it only worsens when he laughs. He laughs, deep and quiet and warm, like a thunderstorm on a summer night. It feels cruel, to string you along like this when you’re here, lips parted, hanging off his every touch and his every word.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly as his other hand touches your jaw — it’s so damn reverent, this little moment in time, that you almost don’t believe it’s real.

It feels like a dream — like someone has come in and stolen your thoughts from you; like the unrequited yearning has finally stoked a fire large enough to burn you up entirely, a fever you never knew you wanted.

His nose brushes yours.

Your fingers wind into the fabric of his chest. You’re clinging, lost to the moment — and you can’t help wonder if this is how it feels when he catches you adoring him. He’s admiring you so tenderly that you nearly break.

You want to kiss him.

He’s thought about nothing but kissing you for the last five days at least. Longer in his dreams. Nowadays, it’s a constant pull, a constant want.

And now, it’s here — a present and current moment where it can happen. Where he can stop being a shiny cadet and he can make a move...

Enter Omega.

“Echo, we’re back—!”

The telltale hammer of a girl’s boots on the floor signals that the party is back from their supply run — but you’re so far off, spinning in a different universe, you don’t even hear her until its too late... Until Echo is yanking himself away and clearing his throat and rolling his wrist to test the prosthesis in a different way, a less intimate way. 

You blink, then rattle yourself back to the present. Omega is in the doorway staring with a quizzical look. Clearly, your state does little to dissuade the assumptions she’s already making and you can see the gears turning in her head. The dark-haired girl then slowly grins.

“Hi.”

You swallow. “Hi, Omega.”

“...Whatcha guys doin’?”

Echo coughs. “Uh, just fine-tuning the new upgrade.”

“...Riiiiiight.” 

You rub your cheeks and laugh — clearly forced and incredibly pained — as you stand up and nearly ram your head right into the top of Echo’s bunk. It’s met with a hiss of warning from the trooper as he jumps up to try and protect you from the impact. 

“Well! Uh, thanks for letting me help, Echo,” you clap, rocking back and forth on your boots, “I, uh... Oh, Cid called. I should... I should get back—”

“Yea,” he says, straining a bit to find the words, “Yea, I’ll... I’ll comm you if it starts to, uh... If it starts to act up?”

Omega watches the exchange, big brown eyes moving from left to right. 

“Good, great — yea, that’s,” you inhale as you rub your thighs and move towards the door, “Perfect. Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Bye!” Omega calls, waving.

You wave back, smiling. “Bye, Omega.”

Then, once it’s only Echo and Omega in the bunk, the tween speaks.

“...What the kriff was that?”

[qtipcottonbuds]

𝙔𝙀𝙎 𝙏𝙊 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝙑𝙀𝙉.

an awfully delayed request for my previous 200 follower event, I’m so incredibly sorry and I hope this fic is okay <3 I'm not too proud of it (this will also be gender neutral too)

the request ;; “you could’ve died, you know.” + gojo satoru

warnings;; contains spoilers for those who haven’t caught up with the manga etc, and possible mild language, angst, and mourning.

by qtipcottonbuds 2022. do not repost.

𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢 𝗫 𝗚𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥;

Satoru wasn't a fearful man. Kento had told him that once.

And, lying is easy when you’re thirsty. Kento had also told him that - but he doubts those words hold any truth to them anymore - he’s dead.

Each potential word feels more brittle in his mouth, rattling, whistling around against his teeth; tongue awkwardly feeling drier with each syllable as the muscle struggles to gather up more saliva in order to talk, say something - but all he can do is swallow uncomfortably, the saliva doing nothing but catching onto the back of his tonsils occasionally.

A slight part of him wants to make a joke, a (well) ill-timed joke about needing to live a little; but he’s not the one having his hand held so tenderly, the grasp mindful of the compact plastic tubing threading into his vein.

It’s odd, glancing down, with the subtle shifting of his wrist joint left to right, he feels it squirming underneath his skin. Unnatural, and foreign. It doesn’t belong there, and Satoru knows he doesn’t belong in a hospital either - but he knows he’s at least coherent enough to understand it’s supposed to help.

“You could have died, you know.”

Your eyes are strongly diverted away from his gaze when you say it. Anywhere, away from meeting his own. He’s not entirely sure what information you’re trying to gain from staring adamantly on the four walls decorated with randomly placed linoleum tiling (decor clearly wasn’t a infirmaries’ strong suit) - but each to their own.

(Each to their own is what got you here in the first place, it mocks).

“I know,” he manages, the attempt at a half-baked smirk pulls more into a lopsided wince, “Nothing wrong with a little thrill-seeking, no?”

You don't return a smile back, now tight-lipped.

Instead, the soothing grip on his palm slips away (Satoru already wanting to seek out the lost warmth), settling for gripping into the bedsheets.

"I know-"

It’s a pained laugh you let out, almost like a wheeze, barely managing to clear your throat properly.

“I don’t think you do, at all,” your fingers now curl into your hair, what you'd usually dismiss with a weak wave of the hand as a self-soothing technique, but the tugs into the loose strands start to become harsher, occasionally breaking off the ends, "Back then, we could barely recover what was left of him. What was him; what was the disfiguration left as an artistic motif."

But you were afraid; for him.

"And, you know what, for once, realising you'd headed straight back there, I thought I was going to find you the same way... I did him," you pause with a watery smile, "A mangled mess of limbs or god knows what, something other than my Satoru - and I accepted that. I was ready to bury what might've remained of you. So, no. You don't know that I had accepted to find you dead, to let you rest. That I'd given up and lost faith in your abilities - and you don't know how much I hated that. And myself for doing so. Because I'd promised I wouldn't doubt you."

And finally, you meet his gaze, unsure, uncertain, and unwavering.

But, Satoru finds himself speechless, and like you, uncertain; and for once, unable to offer you comfort. What could he say? Really say? Or a means as a quick fix, a simple joke, changing the trajectory of the conversation?

"Just… I know you're closer to the heavens than you are here but - please don't forget your humanity. You still bleed."

So, as confined as he was, he settles for a short nod, monotone. It's all he could do; and settle with the guilt God taught him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 29

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, allusions to abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: I'm sorry this whole week has been Andrew

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

"Wish I didn't have to go back to work," Andy tucks his shirt in as he enters the kitchen, "mmm, something smells good."

"Oh, I found the waffle maker," you say proudly. Admittedly, you've made a mess. Your tablet displays the recipe as a bowl sits next to it dripping batter. "I thought it would be a nice start to the day."

"How long have you been awake?" His expression falls, "dove, you've been... very busy lately. I'm worried."

"Why?" You bat your lashes. Yes, you've been a bit all over, always trying to distract yourself. It helps you keep your mind off of the cramped nights and sleepless hours. "Dr. Kemp wants me to set goals."

"Yes, I know. And it's good advice but you can take a day off," he suggests.

"Maybe," you shrug and hide your disappointment. You thought he'd be happy. You're doing what he wants too. He wants you to give back and you're trying to take care of him the best way you know how. You've never tried this hard in your life but he doesn't seem to see that. 

"Here," you turn and take a plate of waffles, "I also cut up some fruit," you put it on the island near him and grab the bowl of strawberries and blueberries, "and syrup."

You bring the bottle of dark maple and a set of cutlery for him. He sits on one of the high chairs and accepts them with a thanks. Despite his admonishment, he looks delights. You step back on your heel and watch him. As he cuts into the fluffy stack, he pauses and looks at you.

"What about you?"

"Oh, I'll eat when you're gone," you assure him, "I'm not hungry yet."

He inhales and takes his first bite. He chews it slowly, his thought tensing in his jaw, "promise you will. Dove... I see you pushing your food around."

"I don't have a problem," you say defensively. He doesn't know how you used to be. How you would binge so much you nearly puked. So you miss a meal or two, it's better than the alternative. 

"I think it's something you should discuss in therapy? Just to be certain," he offers.

"It's not," you insist. "I'm fine--"

"Then sit down and eat with me. That's what couples do. They eat together," he points his fork at you, "and don't forget a kiss before I go."

You watch him for a moment. You don't tell Steve about these arguments, you only tell him what you learn. What you're doing to be better. You'll tell him you know now that you should eat with Andy and give him a kiss goodbye. That's something, you suppose.

"I'm sorry, Andy," you murmur and put a waffle on a plate for yourself.

"Don't be sorry, just do better, honey," he says.

"Alright," you turn back to him as you grab a fork and knife. You go around the island to sit next to him. You poke at the waffle and cut off a small piece.

"And... you can call me honey, too. Would you?"

You nod, "okay..." you hover the fork in front of your mouth as your stomach mulches, "honey."

🕊️

You spend much of the day painting. Your attempts at napping were met with tossing and turning as your mind kept wandering to the nights ahead and those behind you. Andy's touches aren't as unusual as before, you can lay still, close your eyes, let him kiss you. But he doesn't like it when you stop him from doing more.

Your back aches as you hunch forward on the stool. You know it's a bad position but you don't care. You lean in, nose almost touching the canvas as you focus on a feather. 

You yawn and swipe the brush against your palette. You sway slightly, eyes nearly rolling back. You should try to nap before–

"How's it going, Dove?" Andy startles you as his shadow fills the door.

You turn, shivering in the airy garage as you lower the brush. You blink at him, for a moment thinking he might be a walking dream. You shake your head, no he's real and times slipped past you again.

You set down your palette and hug yourself. It's as if the day was a fog and it's only just clearing. You give a sheepish smile as Andy stays at the top of the steps.

"Tired?" He says, "oh, wow, you got a lot done."

"Yeah, uh… a lot," you agree hoarsely.

"Come on, you're asleep on your feet, sit down. I was thinking of ordering some pizza. I've been craving it," he beckons to you. You're glad he's in a good mood.

"Alright, I'll just clean up," you turn and rinse off your brush, "see ya inside."

"I can do that–"

"No, no, I'm… a bit particular about my brushes," you mutter, "I'll be in soon…honey."

"Alright, don't make me come find you," he kids as he backs up.

You're thankful he's appeased. You're too exhausted for him to be smothering you again. You just want to zone out.

You clean your brushes and palette off and place them away neatly. You rub your hands together as you climb the two steps inside and close the door behind you. As you pass the kitchen, Andy calls after you.

"Hey," you enter as he twists a knob on the stove.

"Making you some tea," he says, "you look cold. Why didn't you turn on the heater?"

"Didn't think of it," you drag your feet, legs heavy, "tea sounds nice."

"Some of that stuff Steve brought," he sniffs and gives a shrug, "you really seemed to like it."

"Sounds good," you lean on the counter and cup your chin.

"You can have it while we decide on toppings," he smiles, "you like pineapple on your pizza?"

"I'm not picky," you answer.

"I'm asking what you like, sweetie."

"Just cheese," you reply, "sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he comes around the island and cradles your head along the side, bending to kiss your crown, "go, relax, I'll bring the tea out to you."

"Thank you," you sidle away slowly.

You go into the living room and nestle into the corner of the couch, hugging your legs as you try to warm up. You watch the window, the grey sky dimming with the onset of the autumnal evening. You lean your head back and groan.

When Andy comes in, he plunks your cup down and sits heavily next to you. You look at him as he grabs the remote.

"Why don't you put something on?" He holds it out to you.

"Um, is there a game tonight?" You wonder.

"Don't worry about it. I'm not in the mood."

"Oh, alright," you take the remote and flip on the tv.

"Whatever you want," he leans back, one arm across the couch above you as he keeps his phone in his other.

You browse the television shows, thinking of trying something new. Your eyes drift thoughtlessly as he thumbs at the screen. He hums, "just cheese?"

"Yeah, that's good."

"Alright, I want you to finish two slices at least," he says.

You frown but don't argue. You don't appreciate his concern for your eating habits. Pizza is a lot and greasy. You reach for your tea and continue to search through titles.

You hear a bing and glance over again, certain not to move your head. You see the notification just before Andy swipes it away from the top of the screen. 'Cloud recordings full.'

You don't think anything of it. You don't know what that means. You click on a show you always saw Amber watching.

"Good choice," he says as he puts his phone down, "all ordered. With garlic knots too."

"Mm, sounds good," you blow on the tea, the smell of maple comforting, "thank you… er, honey."

"Of course," he kisses your head again as he drops his arm onto your shoulders, "the tea will help tide you over until it gets here."

🕊️

The pizza comes as the drowsiness tugs at your eyes. You feel sluggish as Andy brings you a plate with two slices. You chew as you stare at the bleary television, the audio garbling as you struggle to down each bite.

You finish with a painfully full stomach. Andy clears your plate with his and says something you don't catch. You feel so out of it. You've never felt like this before.

Andy comes back with two bottles of beer uncapped. You squint at him, sure you're seeing double. It must be the lack of sleep.

"Here," he holds one out as he sits next to you.

"Oh, I don't…" you eke out.

"One won't hurt, sweetie," he winks, "it's already open."

You rub your eyes before reaching out to take one. It's cold and the glass condensates beneath your palm. You sniff the open neck and make a face. It smells awful.

"Taste better than it looks," he clinks his bottle against yours.

You open your eyes wide, fighting the weight around them. You lean the bottle against your lips and make yourself take a drink. As much as you want to spit it out, you choke down the wheaty acidic liquid.

"You get used to it," he chuckles and takes a hearty swig.

"Mmm," you grumble, "I am very tired…"

"You go to bed early every night," he rests his hand on your knee, "worked all day just looking forward to being with you, honey."

You frown and nod, taking another repulsive gulp. It's nasty but you don't want to waste it. And you don't want him to be upset. Again.

"Finish your beer and you can go lay down," he says, "okay, sweetie."

"Alright," you look at the bottle, a tall task as each taste is worse than the last. "Thank you."

He keeps his hand on your leg. You notice how it slips higher along your thigh as you sip. You feel your body slackening and the sludgy fatigue turns to a bubbly blare. 

You focus on the bottle, just wanting to go to bed. You empty it down to a small cluster of foam and sit forward to put it on the table. You miss and the bottle clanks on the floor. Andy chuckles and reaches to pick it up, setting it down with his own.

“Oh, honey,” he turns to you, “are you tipsy already?”

“Andy,” you breathe, “I don’t feel good.”

“You drank that too fast,” he laughs again, pushing his arm behind you, “here, I got you, baby.”

You close your eyes as he swoops his other arm under your knees and the whole world shifts as he lifts you. Your head lolls against his shoulder as he holds you against his chest. His scent seeps into your nostrils as the motions of his gait lulls you.

He climbs the stairs carefully as you lean into him. Your head swirls strangely. You’ve never felt like this. Your eyeballs feel funny and your stomach is airy. 

You open your eyes again as he enters the bedroom. He tuts, amused by your state as he lays you on his bed. He hushes you as you babble dumbly.

“I’ll get you some pajamas, just relax,” he coos, dragging his hand down your side and kneading your thigh.

He leaves you as you obey him. Not out of your will, but because you have no choice. You can’t fight this eerie heaviness. The sludge of time and space that smothers you.

He returns, a blurry smear of colours as he moves around the room. He tosses something light beside you and bends over you. He runs his hands from your hips and around your back as he sits you up. You bobble as you struggle to hold your head up.

“Here,” he tugs on your shirt, bringing it up your torso.

Instinctively you catch it and try to keep him from revealing anymore. He clucks and yanks until you nearly fall back. You drop your hands to keep yourself up.

“Honey, I’m helping, don’t be bad,” he warns as he continues to raise the fabric, “arms up. I got you a fresh set of pajamas.”

Your lashes droop down and cling to each other. You shakily raise your arms and he pulls your shirt off. He gulps loudly and his fingers flutter along your shoulders and down to your chest. He cups your tits and purrs.

“Sweetie, I… never got to say before but you’re so beautiful, you know that?”

You shoo his touch away and cross your arms. He sighs heavily and grips your hips. He pulls you down harshly so you land flat on your back. You squeak in surprise as you bounces against the bed.

He pops open the button of your jeans and curls his fingers beneath the denim. He rolls them down roughly, jolting you as he gets them past your feet. You shiver as you lay in only your underwear and bra, hugging yourself.

“Mmmm,” he sits beside you again, leaning over you as he plants his hand by your other side, “honey,” he runs his other hand down your arm and takes yours, moving it into his lap, “do you feel what you do to me?”

He presses your hand to the bulge in his pants. Your head turns side to side as your voice sticks in your throat. The flavour of the beer stains your tongue and chokes you. He bends closer and kisses you on the lips.

“I need you so bad,” he whispers as he pulls away, “but… I want you to feel it.”

He moves your hand off of him and shifts, dragging his other hand away from the bed and down the curves of your side. He trails kisses down your jaw and neck, further and further, lingering around your chest as he guides the straps of your bra down your arms. 

He looses your tits and tends to them one at a time. Nipping, kneading, and suckling until your nipples are sensitive and hard. His lets his hand wander further down as he dotes on your chest, slipping his fingers beneath he elastic of your panties.

He lifts his head and exhales a scalding breath over you, “can I taste you? I need to taste you…”

“What?” You murmur as your head slumps to one side and your eyes shut, fuzzy and itchy.

You feel the bed jostle as his weight lifts and his touch drifts away. He urges your legs apart before he settles between them, the bed moving with him. Your panties roll down your legs and he bends your knees. You whine, confused about what he’s doing.

He growls and you feel his breath along your thigh. You twitch as he spreads his hands across your flesh and holds your legs open. Something cool delves into the warmth between your legs. You yelp as your eyes snap open.

You lift your head as it teeters on your neck and you see the top of Andy’s head by your pelvis. He runs his hands around your thighs, gripping the outside and pushing them flush to his face as he laps at your cunt. You whimper as you fall flat again, hiding behind your eyelids as the vision of him paints the void of your speckly mind.

What is he doing?

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Daddy Issues | Draco Malfoy

Wow I’m sorry I didn’t mean to disappear like that Lovelies! Sometimes I forget depression and writers block are a thing until they punch me in the face and force me to go MIA for a hundred years! I guess I’m back? I hope? Fingers crossed? Anyway, I’m sorry this isn’t a TVD fic but I figured Y’all would appreciate something over nothing. I missed you all more than I can say! I hope you enjoy, I love you all!

Description: Draco and y/n are best friends until Draco’s father threatens y/n. She avoids Draco until he confronts her.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: Like none, it’s kinda sad but not really, the only flaw is bad writing

Word count: 3.4k

Tags: Angst, FLUFF

(not my gif, I just love it lol)

Your heart stings from across the courtyard, the gap between you and the blonde boy tangible. For a second you don't know whether or not your heart is even in your chest anymore or if it’s in his hands. In that case your heart is sitting on a bench, sandwiched between Blaise Zabini and Vincent Crabbe. Maybe he isn’t holding your heart, though, maybe he is your heart, in which case you’re avoiding your heart’s piercing gaze. 

Your hands twitch at your sides, itching to grab his or to twist through his silky hair or do anything other than lay idle when he is only mere steps away from you. Your hands ache to touch him and usually you would be doing just that: clinging to his robes or twisting the rings around on his fingers or simply tangling your own fingers with his slender ones. Your hands feel painfully empty without him to hold on to. 

That makes sense though, he’s your best friend after all. You’re rarely ever spotted less than five feet away from each other. Everyone at Hogwarts can see how utterly entwined you are, every part of him wrapped around your finger and every part of you sitting precisely in the palm of his hand. You orbit each other, drawn in by a gravity that the rest of the student body can’t deny.

Right now, though, that gravity is being tested and everyone feels a little bit like they’re floating away. 

Draco sits exactly seventeen feet and four inches away from you. You can feel his eyes on the back of your head, like lasers, searing into your black and gold jumper and refusing to look away. It burns but you embrace it, taking any contact, even imagined, that you can get from him. Even if it hurts. You would gladly burn for the blonde Slytherin if it made him happy. This doesn’t make him happy, though, being ignored by the girl that commands his entire life. You know that, but you also know that it’s for the best. 

You run your hands through your hair, tugging on the strands relentlessly and closing your eyes. You see his father, the tall, grim man, and replay the conversation you had in your head. 

“He has a bright future ahead of him, y/n.” 

Lucious had backed you into a corner, both metaphorically and literally, the stone of the castle biting harshly into your skin, “I know that, sir.”

He stood tall, menacingly, like he was bigger than the castle itself, “he doesn’t have time for nonsense, y/n.”

Your hands trembled, the cold of the dungeon nipping at them fiercely, “he’s very bright, Mr. Malfoy, I don’t think I’m slowing him down.”

The neutral, if not cold, expression on his face switched then to one of red hot anger, “did I ask what you think? It’s time the two of you separate. He is to be married next year and not to some silly Hufflepuff girl.”

“We’re just friends, sir,” your eyes had long since found the floor.

“Don’t be daft, my son is infatuated with you. If I catch you near him from this day on I will not hesitate to destroy you, do you understand me? Do not speak to him again.”

That was two weeks ago and you haven’t dared to go near him since, spending every waking moment of your spare time in the Hufflepuff common room. You aren’t brave, you didn’t march up to your best friend and tell him that his father threatened to destroy you. You would be lying if you said you even thought about it. The reality of it is that you’re a coward and have iced Draco out in fear of having his father hurt either of you.  

His father’s words still ring in your head. Don’t be daft, my son is infatuated with you. Your heart flutters hard in your chest, your rib cage the only barrier keeping it from finding him across the courtyard. Draco is infatuated with you. Apparently. He hasn’t said so, only his father. Still, you can’t help but hope that it’s true.

But then that makes your chest burn and palms sting again. You aren’t allowed to hope that Draco wants you. You aren’t even allowed to hope that he wants to be your friend. You’re not allowed anywhere near him, let alone allowed to kiss him. Would he even kiss you? Probably not. You tug even harder on your hair, as if pulling each strand out will somehow take the pain away. Don’t be daft.

“Y/n,” gentle hands wrap around your tight fists, “you’re hurting yourself.”

You forgot Luna was there, sitting next to you on the bench, the bench that is seventeen feet and four inches away from Draco. You let the airy Ravenclaw unravel your fingers and hold one of your hands, rubbing circles on the back of your palm. It doesn’t feel the same, her grip is too soft, her fingers too short. Draco’s fingers are longer. 

You shake your head, trying to clear the fog of him from your senses, “sorry, I know I’m not the best company right now.”

Luna only smiles at you and rolls her eyes gently, “I know it’s hard for you right now.”

Of course you told her. You weren’t able to tell Draco so you turned to Luna, your other best friend. You nod your head at the blonde girl, too tired to speak. 

“I think you should tell him though, he looks bloody miserable without you,” your eyes widen as if on their own accord.

You feel dizzy at the thought and not the good kind like when Draco spins you around. No, this is the bad kind of ‘I’m definitely going to throw up’ dizzy. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears rapidly. Thump, thump, thump. It almost sounds like footsteps, angry ones, pounding towards you. That can’t be right.

“I can’t tell him, Luna, you know that.”

A hand lands on your shoulder, warmth spreading through your jumper. You open your mouth, ready to thank Luna for relentlessly comforting you, but close it quickly when a thought hits you. You glance down to your lap, just to double check. There, on your lap rests your hand carefully wrapped up in both of Luna’s. Crap. 

“What can’t you tell me?” It takes everything in you to not let his familiar voice curl around you and pull you further into his touch.

You shift out of his hold, not turning to look at him yet, afraid to see the expression on his face. Would it be anger? Sadness? Disgust? The last one makes your heart drop, the thought of the blonde boy being repulsed by you causing you to curl into yourself slightly. You would take anything from him but that.

You stand curtly, turning to face Draco, all too aware of the lack of space between you and him. Six inches at the most, every breath he takes makes his chest brush yours. You still don’t look up at him, not anywhere ready to meet the eyes of the boy you’ve been avoiding. 

You lock your eyes on his silver and green tie, mumbling to it instead of him, “What makes you think I was talking about you, Draco?”

You finally glance up at him and wish you hadn’t. His eyes, usually a bright blue, are dull and rimmed with red. The bruises under his eyes stand out against his cheeks. He’s always had dark circles but this is extreme. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, like he hasn’t eaten in days. It’s almost garish, but then again nothing could ever make the Slytherin Prince look anything less than perfect. He looks destroyed, almost as if his father had gotten to him too. You have to stop yourself from reaching out, choosing instead to look away again.

“Are you serious right now? Tell me this is all a joke y/n!” The courtyard goes silent when Draco raises his voice.

You squeeze your fists, the tone of his voice a punch in the gut. He never shouts at you. Draco is never anything but soft around you. Right now, however, he’s seething. No one around you dares to make a sound.

You close your eyes, trying desperately to stop a traitorous flood of tears, “Draco, please don’t do this right now.”

Draco takes a step back, as if your words had shoved him, “if not now then when? You’ve given me no choice! You run every time you see me, you don’t answer my notes. Do you even read them anymore? Can you just explain why you bloody hate me?”

His voice cracks when he says hate, like its acid in his mouth. In any way it’s acid to your ears. You could never hate Draco, it’s very much the opposite actually. You’re painfully in love with him.

“I don’t,” you have to pause to clear your throat, trying to rid the lump, “I could never hate you.”

His hand grasps you chin gently, his rings cold against your skin as he pulls your face up to meet his eyes, “then tell me what’s going on. Please.”

You squeeze your eyes close, sinking into the warmth of his palm for a moment. You can’t remember a time you’ve gone this long without the blonde boy touching you. You can’t stop the tears from trailing down your cheeks and into his palm. You can feel the hitch in his breath as if it had come from your own lungs. You wrap your own hands around his, squeezing his fingers gently before pulling them away from you.

“I can’t, Dra. We can’t do this anymore. I’m,” your voice trembles, your eyes still closed, his hand still locked in yours, “I’m not good for you. We can’t be friends.”

You release his hand, taking a few steps back from the love of your life. This time, though, he doesn’t let you get as far, taking two steps towards you for every step you take away from him. It doesn’t take him long before he’s in front of you again, closer and even more determined. His eyes burn into yours, his hands restless. You know he wants to touch you. At least, you hope he does. You want to.

“Don’t say that,” there’s a strength behind his words, one you have yet to hear until now, “don’t you dare say that! Tell me what’s going on y/n, you need to tell me! I can fix it. I can make it better whatever it is just please tell me. Please, love.”

Love. That’s new. Your heart cracks even more when he says it and maybe that’s because you know you won’t get to hear it again. You wish you could grab the word from his lips and hold on to it. You want to put it in your pocket so at least you can have a part of him, the very best part of him, for when he walked away. But you can’t, so there’s no use in trying. 

“You can’t fix it this time, Draco,” you take another step back and your back hits the rough surface of a tree.

He fills the space between the two of you once more and this time you’re stuck. Your palms continue to sting, reminding you relentlessly how much you need to touch him. You scrunch the hem of your jumper, trying desperately to quell the pain. Your wrists feel like they’re on fire, something you’ve come to realise that means you’re about to have a panic attack. He can't see that happen, you refuse to fall apart in front of him. 

Of course he notices, though. That’s your Draco, he notices everything about you. That’s his job. 

He grabs your face again, stopping you from frantically looking everywhere but him, “of course I can. When have I not fixed your problems? Remember when those Ravenclaws’ were messing with you? I took care of that, didn’t I? And Parkinson? Zabini? I took care of them too. Remember when Snape wouldn’t let you hand in your assignment because you had the flu? And the time you passed out in the stairwell? I fixed those too because I can. Because I wanted to and I do what I want. Now, all I’ve wanted for days is you so if someone said something to you I need you to tell me so I can sort them out and get my best friend back. Now.”

He stares into your eyes the entire time, daring you to turn away. You feel like you can’t breathe, your hands once again wrapped around his but this time clinging for dear life. You’ve been terrified for two weeks and the exhaustion hits you in one, whopping punch to your stomach, the second punch of the day. Without warning your legs give out, all of your weight falling into the blonde who seems to expect it. His arms wrap around you, holding you against his chest for the first time in what feels like ages.

You don’t realise that you’re sobbing until you try to speak, “Dra, I’m so scared. I’m tired,” you grip his robes in your fists, your head falling against his chest, “I don’t know how much longer I can do this, I feel like I’m falling apart.”

He pulls you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you and holding you against him. You can feel the sigh of relief he releases and his heartbeat slowing as if it’s your own. Maybe that’s because yours does the same. For the first time in weeks you’re engulfed in Draco and you cling to him, circling your arms around his waist and pulling yourself impossibly close. He wastes no time either, wrapping his cloak around you and burying his face in your neck. 

Your body shakes furiously in his arms, everything you’ve been bottling up comes pouring out in a torrent of sobs and hiccups. Draco presses closer to you, towering over you and shielding you from the rest of the world. You let his peppermint scent engulf you completely,

“For Salazar’s sake y/n I need you to tell me what’s wrong. I need to fix it, love. Please tell me,” his voice is low and choked.

He’s right, you know he’s right. You squeeze your eyes tighter and grip his back, savouring the muscles under his dress shirt for a few more seconds before you know you’ll have to let go.

“Your father told me we couldn’t see each other anymore. He told me,” you pull out of his arms, leaning back against the tree, “he said, well, it doesn’t matter what he said. We just can’t be together.” Draco’s eyes widen and your cheeks heat up, your words ringing through your ears, “I mean we can’t be friends.”

Draco steps closer to you, running a hand through his hair and closing his eyes. He mumbles something under his breath that you can’t hear but you’re almost positive that it’s a curse. When he opens his eyes, your heart stops. His blue eyes burn into yours, glassy and angry but with something else too, something hot and fierce. Your heart restarts when he places his arms against the tree, caging you between it and him. You can’t resist placing your hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat pick up as well.

“What did my father say, y/n.” He isn’t asking you, he’s telling you.

You lower your eyes, not bothering to fight him anymore, “he told me he would destroy me if I kept being friends with you. He said you were getting married and that you could never marry a Hufflepuff and that he would destroy me if he had to.”

He staggers back with each word, like each one shoves him more than the last. He squeezes his fists before straightening his fingers, shoving them once more through his hair. His shoulders are tense, his back straight. His eyes are screwed shut again. 

“Bloody hell,” he pulls at his hair, biting his lip, “he’s lost his damn mind.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, tugging at your jumper, suddenly hot all over. Now is not the time to be getting riled up over Draco but you can’t help it, he looks exquisite. Messy hair and an un-tucked shirt, the veins in his hand prominent and his rings glittering in the afternoon sun. He’s absolutely and undeniably perfect.

“It’s ok, Dra, you’ll be ok,” you try your best to comfort him but he snaps his eyes open, looking at you like you’ve gone mad as well.

“My dad threatened to kill you! No I am not okay!”

This time you walk to him, pulling him into your chest again and wrapping your arms around his neck. He sweeps his arms around your waist, pulling you so close that you have to stand on your tiptoes to keep your arms around him. His hands grasp your hips tight and you immediately know what he wants. You oblige, wanting it just as much if not more, jumping up and wrapping your legs around his stomach. You tuck your face into his neck this time, breathing in the slightest hint of apples, green ones. 

You don’t speak, practically feeling the words bubbling in his chest, “My dad told you he was going to kill you, love. He threatened you and he didn’t even tell me. I am definitely not okay. I need to do something. I need to talk to him. And he told you I was getting married? He’s lucky he isn’t here. I don’t care if he’s my father, nobody talks to my girl like that.”

He’s rambling, something he does when he’s at his end. His words wrap around you, tangling with every part of you and sinking into your skin. They lull you into a daze of sorts, almost nodding off on your best friends shoulder. You don’t realise how tired you are until you’re in his arms, safe. And then it hits you, and you’re wide awake again.

“Your girl?”

You cut him off mid sentence, squeezing your legs tighter around him to bring his attention back to you.

“What did you say, love?” Draco hikes you further up his body, readjusting his grip on you.

Your cheeks flame, your neck hot. His eyes bore into yours, searching for something that you’re not quite sure you’re ready to give. His lips are so close to yours, his breath hitting your lips with every exhale. The courtyard around you fades away and Hogwarts itself holds its breath.

“Did you call me your girl, Draco?”

He doesn’t blush like you thought he would, “yes, I did. That’s what you are. Mine. And Merlin help my father for trying to take you away from me.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, letting his words sink into your flesh. They curl around your bones, laying down a warmth that you’ve been craving for longer than you can remember. He’s right. Of course he’s right, he’s Draco. You are his and you always have been. His arm around your back tightens, jostling you enough to make you cling harder to him. Your fingers find their way to the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair. He leans his head back, giving in to your touch willingly. 

He holds your gaze as your fingers weave through his silky hair, capturing you with his eyes and refusing to let go, “I’m yours, Draco. Please don’t let me go.”

He leans his forehead against yours, “never, love.”

Hogwarts releases the breath it had been holding, the noise of the courtyard once more fluttering around you. You go to get down from Draco but he stops you, tightening his arms. You only shake your head and smile, letting the sunshine warm your face.

Your heart aches slightly still though, “what are we going to do about your father, Dra?

He starts walking, the sudden movement causing you to tug his hair a little harder.

His voice is strained when he finally answers, leaning down to rub his cheek against your head, “just let me handle that, ok?” 

You give in, for now, laying your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes for the final time, “where are we going, Dra?”

“We, my love, are going to take a very much needed nap.” 

[t-lostinworlds]

Twenty-Five (Tom Holland)

a/n: well, i haven’t posted a fic in a while and i’m scared asdfghjkl. anyhow, this was a last minute idea, a.k.a was written fairly quick so bare with me for it may be shit lol. hope you guys enjoy! oh, and happy birthday to this handsome man in a turtleneck!

pairing: tom holland x female!reader trope/genre: none summary: Tom unwraps his last gift for his birthday, from you. warnings: implied smut (18+), nothing detailed, will include a glimpse of dom!tom at the end. word count: 1.6k+ (short but sweet spicy)

masterlist in bio

-:-:-:-:-

It's been ten minutes since you arrived back home from Tom's birthday dinner, a simple yet eventful night with friends and family. It was a given that the birthday boy was probably tired from all the fun and rowdy activities, add that to the fact that he'd been entertaining his guests the whole evening. But, with one last gift, it was also a given that your night was far from over.

You were nervous, there was no denying that. This was the first time you'd ever bought something like this, much less, show it to someone else. Despite being together for almost two years now, you hadn't really dabbled much into showing Tom a much more alluring type of clothing. But since it was a special occasion, you found no harm in giving your man a little surprise, a gift, as you might say. So of course you were nervous since this was going to be the first time that Tom will see you in something so...lacy, dainty, and well, sexy.

After checking yourself countless times in the mirror to make sure everything was right—with a few pep talks thrown in as well—you tied up your short, red, silk robe before finally coming out of the bathroom.

You found Tom sitting on your shared bed, still sporting his outfit of the night which was his tight, black turtleneck, biceps practically begging to be free with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. It was paired with his striped pants, one that was making his thighs look even more ravishing, inviting. He was looking handsome as always. His eyes were glued to his phone, fingers typing away, probably responding to more of his endless sea of greetings.

You silently made your way in front of the bed, fingers toying with the hem of your robe from the jitters. Taking in a few steady breaths, you tilted your head and said,

"Tom, go on and unwrap your last present for tonight."

"Huh? What present—oh," Tom cut himself off, eyebrows rising once his gaze landed on you. He hurriedly put his phone away, even doing as much as putting it inside his drawer, and you could only assume he turned Do Not Disturb on as well, the eagerness written all over his face. His smirk grew wide as he stood up from his place, walking over to you with his brown orbs gradually turning a shade darker. His hands found themselves on your waist once he was in close enough proximity, squeezing it tenderly. "Is my present under that robe?" he asked, voice falling down an octave.

"Maybe," you said with a shrugged, a feign innocent smile playing on your lips.

Tom shook his head. "I think I might need to sit down for this," he chuckled deeply, settling himself on the foot of the bed, spreading his legs wide so you could stand in between.

He kept his eyes locked with yours as he twirled the tie of your robe around his fingers, smirk only growing wider once he saw you swallow the lump in your throat. With how close you were, he could probably hear how your heart was beating so loud. Tom always found pride whenever he earned any reaction from you by doing absolutely nothing yet. It was very smug of him, but Tom being confident and in control will never fail to be so damn attractive, who were you to complain?

Agonizingly slow, he undid the ribbon, eyes never leaving yours even until the fabric had loosened around your body. Then, Tom reached up, fingers slipping underneath the silk, touch unhurried as he gently pushed it off your shoulders. The smooth material slipped down your body with ease and pooled at your feet, Tom still holding your gaze but only for a moment. With a deep breath, his orbs flickered down, features befalling with awe, his jaw dropping as he cursed,

"Fuck."

It was a simple, red, 3-piece, lingerie set. The garter and lace detailing covered so little but enough to still leave something for the imagination. It was hugging your body in all the right places, accentuating your shape in the most flattering of ways. The set was practically see-through yet the fabric was still cut out in certain areas to show even more skin. There was a ribbon right on top of each bra strap and then a matching one right in the middle of the hem of your panties.

"Absolutely stunning, you are," Tom marveled, almost like a gasp, hands wandering from your shoulders, down your arms, curling around your waist before proceeding down your thighs. His touch was laced with utter worship and praise. Add that to the way he was gazing you up, your nerves were quick to be replaced with confidence. You giggled softly, cheeks flushed as Tom did nothing else but caress your flawed skin amorously, making sure that there was nothing left untouched. His eyes were roaming just the same as if he was being extra sure that he wasn't missing a single detail, both on your perfect imperfections and the lace alike.

"You like it?" you asked.

Tom scoffed, shaking his head as he looked up at you with much adoration. "Like is a massive understatement." Squeezing your waist, Tom let you go as he leaned back on his arms, now all sprawled out with a wide smirk. "Step back a little, darling, I want to see all of you," he drawled. And you did, walking back a few steps so he could get the full scope. Tom shook his head with a low groan, "Fucking gorgeous."

"Now, give me a spin."

You laughed timidly but did so anyway, nothing but hums of satisfaction and appreciation coming out of your man as you did a full 360. Once you were facing him again, you found him with his head tilted far to the side, bottom lip caught between his teeth as his eyes stayed down to which you assumed was ogling at your backside. Your assumption was swiftly proven right when Tom threw in another request.

"Turn to the side a little, sweetheart," he asked, not at all trying to be discreet as to where his eyes were glued. With the confidence brewing in you, you posed for him sideways, chin on your shoulder as you flashed him a charming smile. Tom bit back a groan, admiring you from head to toe, shaking his head and blowing out his cheeks once he did so. After a few moments, he met your gaze again with nothing but a proud and satisfied look on his face. "Difficult decision," he pondered, a soft hum with his voice all deep.

"What?" you giggled.

"I can't decide if I should rip it off of you immediately," Tom paused, tilting his head at you with a knowing grin as he continued with a guttural tone, "Or fuck you while it's still on."

You bit your bottom lip to suppress a whimper, thighs instinctively pressing together which only earned a low chuckle from you man. Yet with your newfound confidence, you took a breath, a soft sigh as you ran your hands slowly, teasingly over the lace repeatedly. Tom's eyes followed your fingers, brown orbs coated with much hunger and lust.

"Well, don't rip it yet. It's new," you hummed, pouting at him sweetly before you shrugged. Toying with the garter of your panties, you added, "Then again, you are the birthday boy, you can have your way however you may please."

Tom's eyes snapped back up to meet yours. There was a flicker in his orbs, like a switch, and that was when you knew he caught on that your words meant more than just the lingerie.

"The latter then," he concluded, sitting up straight before his hands patted his lap, beckoning you closer. "Come here."

You walked over to him slowly, making sure to sway your hips sensually, which made Tom shake his head at you with a low groan. Once you stood right in between his legs, you lifted a hand to grab his shoulder for support, ready to straddle his lap. That until he caught your wrist midway into the air.

Tom shook his head no, tutting with a menacing smirk. He brought your wrist to his lips, giving it sweet, chaste kisses before he slowly guided you to where exactly he wanted you. You felt your insides churn when he simply said, "On your stomach, my love."

With a sharp breath, you did as told, situating yourself on your stomach, your body sprawled right across his thick thighs. You shivered once Tom ran his fingers down your spine before tracing the fabric that hugged your body so delicately that it may have seemed like he wasn't even touching it at all. He was silent, merely admiring, and dare you say it, enjoying his view. If the certain hardness that was poking your stomach wasn't a dead giveaway, then the way he was breathing heavily, would. Yet once he spoke again, you felt your whole body fire up, every inch of your skin tingling with utter fervor and excitement.

"How old am I again, darling?"

You gulped. It was rhetorical, but an unanswered question could only do more harm than good for you.

"Twenty-five."

Tom only hummed in response. There was no use for words anyway when you felt his warm palm smooth over the supple flesh of your ass that was exactly in his line of sight, exposed for his and his sight only. Yet in contrast, the cold metal of his Rolex on your skin emitted another shiver from you, a shaky breath escaping your lips soon after.

Tom chuckled proudly at your reaction, a few seconds of silence floating over you both before a sudden, sharp smack rang in the air.

Your body jolted in utter surprise. The stinging sensation immediately covered your cheek at the harsh impact, starting from where Tom's hand once was before the heat spread to your very core as you breathlessly moaned,

"One."

-:-:-:-:-

thank you for reading love! like, reblog if you enjoyed and lemme know your thoughts! x

[aroacemisha]

True Name

A short Retired Leaders AU fic. This is technically a rewrite of a fic I wrote back in September called ‘Names’, which was my first ever TOH fic.

In this fic, an old human ponders his name and identity.

---

It’s been a few days since Belos, Hunter and Kikimora moved into the Owl House, following the former Emperor’s resignation.

In the kitchen, Luz and Kiki were helping Raine cook, learning the recipe in the process. Meanwhile in the living room, King lay curled up on the red couch, taking a nap, and Hunter sat beside him, scrolling through Penstagram and occasionally replying to messages.

He heard the sound of familiar footsteps coming from the corridor, and soon Eda stood in the doorway, her brows drawn together.

“Hey, kid. Where’s Belos?” - she asked the teenager. - “Dinner’s almost ready”

“I think he went outside” - Hunter told her. - “I’ll go look for him”

It didn’t take long.

As he walked out the front door and looked around, he immediately noticed the older Wittebane sitting on the ground near the edge of the cliff, hugging his legs and staring into the distance.

Hunter knit his brows.

“Uncle? Are you okay?” - he slowly approached him.

His words were followed by a silent pause, lasting a few seconds, before the human responded.

“I’ve just been thinking...” - he mumbled, while Hunter sat down cross-legged beside him. - “Now that everyone knows my true identity, should I start going by Philip again, or should I remain Belos?”

“I dunno” - Hunter shrugged. - “What name do you want to go by?”

The old man looked at his nephew, his gaze lingering for a moment, before he turned away once more. He moved his legs forward and rested his forearms on his knees.

“Hm...” - he paused to ponder, staring at the ground between his boots. - “..I haven’t gone by the name ‘Philip’ in decades, and, to be honest... I don’t really feel connected to it anymore.

That name was given to me by a hateful society, who would’ve murdered me in cold blood for not living my life the way they deemed “correct”. For no longer being a witch hunter, for using magic, for leaving the faith... Even intrinsic parts of me, like my attraction to men, would have been wrong and worthy of punishment in their eyes”

He looked up at the horizon.

“On the other hand, I chose the name ‘Belos’ myself. Back then I only took it to keep my true identity hidden, but.. I’ve gotten used to it over the years. I’d even say I’ve grown attached to it. And it’s the name I was going by when I made and raised you” - his lips perked up in a smile as he turned to his nephew.

Hunter’s jaw dropped for a moment, surprised by the genuine glimmer of joy in the old man’s tired eyes. He smiled at the sight.

The human playfully ruffled his hair.

“You’ll never stop being adorable, will you?”

The teenager chuckled, and the former Emperor put his forearm on his knee again, staring at the sea, as his smile slowly faded.

“Thank you for listening to me” - he said softly. - “I think I’ll keep going by Belos”

“I’m glad I could help” - Hunter stood up. - “Are you gonna go back inside? Eda said dinner is almost ready”

“Hm..” - Belos hesitated. - “I’ll join you shortly. I’d like to watch the sunset a little longer”

“Would you mind if I stayed too?”

“Of course not. I appreciate your company”

Hunter sat down beside him once more. He turned his gaze towards the scenery: the orange sky, the sea shimmering in the sunlight, the yellowish-orange tint on everything around them.

He leaned against his uncle’s side, and the two remained quiet, simply enjoying the view.

---

If you like my work, please reblog it. And feedback is also appreciated.

[thesunicarusfellfor]

The neither route was amazing! If you ever get ideas for it pls continue because i found it really interesting. You are a great writer.

Okay! This route actually made me very happy, but unfortunately, as much as I wanted to write it, I didn't know how exactly to do it? If that makes sense?

Context is HERE- The very end of the story is the Neither route.

TW: Anxiety, mentioned nightmares, mentioned Tubbo threatening Ranboo, guilt

I would also like to say that cuddling is platonic.

Left The Game (Plat!C!Ranboo x GN!Reader x Parental!C!Philza) Headcanon/Fic (Part 3???)

Ranboo Beloved joined the game.

(Y/n) (L/n) joined the game.

Michael Underscore-Beloved joined the game.

You and Ranboo tumbled out of the swirling portal and hit the ground with a hard thud, dirt and sand kicking up around you both upon impact.

Before you could comprehend what happened, a small squeal came from behind you and something slammed into your back, causing a groan to pull itself from your chest.

The monochrome male mumbled from beside you, his face practically buried in the grass which caused his words to be muffled.

His crown had rolled a few feet away, and his bags had opened as well, sending a few of his tools scattering, but everything seemed to be intact?

You slurred a mess of words before spitting out the sand that had gathered up in your mouth, attempting to tell the tall male that you were alive.

At least somewhat.

You both knew that you three had to drag yourselves into Phil's house, but the travel was so exhausting. Sleeping in the dirt sounded so tempting...

A quiet whine sounded from the weight on your back, reminding you that Michael had also come into the server with you.

When Ranboo got up, he picked the zombie piglin up from where he sat on your back, allowing you to get up.

You both, plus Michael who was resting on Ranboo's hip, began to pick up everything that had dropped out of the portal with you.

Once everything was gathered up, you three wandered through the iron doors of Philza's home and looked around curiously.

Two cats, one named Pog and one named Champ, came up to you both, chirping and meowing eagerly before pausing suddenly. They most likely expected Phil...

Michael gave a loud squealing noise at the sight of the cats and squirmed out of Ranboo's hold, running over to pet the cats.

Ranboo set off to find food in the chests, scribbling in his memory book the entire time.

You, on the other hand, dug through your bags to find materials you had brought to make three beds. One yellow, one grey and the other (f/c).

Once you placed each of them beside each other, Michael eagerly hopped into the middle one (the yellow one), while Ranboo walked over with plates of steamed carrots and baked potatoes.

"Stressed?" He mumbled softly, watching you stare down at your wrist where the tattoo of a heart with deep grooves in the center rested. The exact place the three hearts tattoos were, "I-I know, it's going to be a little different... But... Maybe it's a good different! ...Please, eat something and then get some sleep. Phil will check on us in the morning, and you know how he can get..."

With a smile, he handed you the plate and a fork before sitting on the floor at the foot of the beds with his own plate. Luckily he had given Michael a golden apple before he had gone to look for food, so the child was quietly drifting off to sleep, "Do... You really think that running was the best option?" You whispered, taking a bite of the vegetables.

"I... What else could we have done?" He frowned, setting his crown beside him before taking a bite of his own food, "We couldn't fight them... and they were definitely not going to let you go so easily. Hell... Tubbo... My own fiance was threatening to kill me because I was talking to you and caring for your burns!" He hissed, tilting his head back with his eyes pinched shut tightly, trying so hard not to cry.

You quickly walked over and moved his plate so it rested on his bed and you wrapped your arms around him tightly. The enderman hybrid eagerly returned the hug, crying into your shoulder so the fabric of your clothes soaked up his tears, "Should... I have just... Accepted their love, and maybe learn to love them back? For everyone's sake?" You whispered, your voice wavering as you tried to keep your composure.

"Absolutely not!" He yanked himself back from your shoulder to give you a glare, "That relationship would not have been healthy whether you loved either of them or not! They would've kept you locked away like a prized possession, and they would've severely hurt anyone who tried to interact with you!"

"I- I know... But..." You glanced down, but Ranboo tilted your head upwards so you were looking at him, but you still avoided eye contact so it didn't make him uncomfortable, "Your... Your relationship..."

Ranboo sighed, "I know. But, I'd rather that he showed me his true colours and I divorced him again for that, rather than him manipulating someone into loving him... and putting everyone else in danger in response. Now. We have a lot to do tomorrow. Finish eating and get some sleep."

The next morning, Philza practically slammed open the iron doors to his own house, looking a tad bit out of breath and a bit frazzled.

Once he saw you, Michael and Ranboo curled up in a small cuddle pile on the three different coloured beds, he gave a loud sigh of relief and adjusted his striped bucket hat.

Thankfully, the father of Minecraft let you three sleep for a little while before waking you and Ranboo up around noon.

First, he gave you both spare elytra's and so you could keep up with his massive black avian wings.

Ranboo's turned into massive black and purple dragon wings, while yours turned into (f/c) (f/a) wings.

Phil showed you both the end realm and his Endlantis, which he gave Ranboo special water protection potions so he could swim through the waters as well.

This man basically treated you three as if you were his own children!

Taught you how to fly.

Taught you how to cook properly.

Everything!

And basically survive with bare minimums.

Once you both got better at flying, a few months later, Philza rEAAALLY wanted to take you to the massive project he called Nether Void.

"Ready, mates?" Philza walked over and ruffled the hair on both your and Ranboo's heads with a soft smile, somehow unbothered by the blistering heat of the hellscape, "Double check your potions, armour durability and food supply."

Ranboo mostly stopped wearing his crown because it had problems staying on when he flew and because it had a lot of memories tied to it, so he didn't want it damaged. He had also stopped wearing his tux, instead, he wore plain black pants and a white ruffled poet shirt with a purple short cape that had a golden trim and gold chains, which was a gift from Philza.

You on the other hand wore something similar but with a(n) (f/c) poet shirt and a(n) (f/c) and gold cape. Your cape was also a gift from the fatherly figure as well, and so was the (f/c) infinity scarf type fabric wrapped around your shoulder over your chest that helped you carry and protect Michael as you flew, "Yep, we're ready to go, Mr. Dadza Minecraft!" You gave him a mock salute with a smile as he laughed.

Ranboo checked on Michael who was nibbling on a golden apple before he helped put the zombie piglin child into your scarf carrier, "Yeah, everyone seems safe!" He chirped softly as he adjusted his cape to spread his wings, shaking them out a bit in the heat of the lava.

"Let's go!" You cheered softly once you made sure Michael was 100% secure and wouldn't fall out somehow, "Food is stocked up and in my bag, as well as Regen and Health pots, and a first aid kit and two extra totems."

Philza gave you a proud father smile and took off first, hovering in the air for a few seconds as he waited for both of you to catch up. Thankfully, he knew very well that you both likely would never be able to catch up to his skill in flying as he had been born with massive feathered wings hundreds of years ago. You and Ranboo had never been into the air until a few months ago. Once you both caught up, he took off and soared through the burning hot nether.

Phil loved telling you both the stories of the lands. The Blaze Empress who lived in the Quartress, the foolish Ender King...

You and Ranboo always listened to his stories with such eagerness, often asking him to retell the stories when you were having a bad day or just wanted to relax.

The elder male actually greatly enjoyed having two children to raise again, even if he didn't have the best track record with sane children.

When he did leave to go to the DreamSMP, he would always promise you both that he would be safe and NEVER left without saying goodbye, even if he was angry or upset with either one of you.

He never wants his last words to someone to be filled with anger or hatred.

Somedays he would go to the SMP, you and Ranboo would not leave the house, just out of fear that he wouldn't come back, or that Tubbo and Tommy would come out instead of Phil.

Both you and Ranboo were plagued by nightmares very often for the first few weeks and woke up in tears in the middle of the night.

As old as Phil was, he had absolutely no problems comforting either of you in the middle of the night, same with Ranboo.

"Here mates..." He whispered softly as he handed you a hot beverage and gave Ranboo a grass block, "You're safe here... I promise. I would have to allow either of them into the server, and that would never happen... Especially now that I know what kind of people my sons are..."

You sighed and put your hand on Ranboo's back as he sobbed into your shoulder, using the fabric of his shirt to dry his tears before they burned his skin, "I know... I know... There's just the overwhelming fear that suddenly I'll wake up and I'll be back in the SMP and-and..." You decided not to finish your sentence, nuzzling into Ranboo's hair to try and keep yourself calm.

"Last I checked... Techno scared them off from the Tundra... But I haven't been in Snowchester or near the Embassy enough to know what Tubbo and Tommy are doing. But Ghostbur said that Tubbo has gone absolutely nuts... And Sam had to steal the nukes so Tubbo wouldn't destroy anything else... He also said Tommy on the other hand hasn't done anything except visit Dream in prison constantly."

Ranboo gave a shaky sigh and glanced over at Michael, most likely extremely happy that he brought his child along so he didn't have to deal with a psychotic Tubbo... Hell, he didn't know what would've happened to his kid if he did leave him. The thought caused him to give a small sob and hide his face again, holding onto you tighter and practically pulling your smaller form into his lap, trying to silently promise you safety and using you to remind him that he wasn't alone.

"We... we can't thank you enough, Phil... Really... You taught us so many life skills, kept us safe and promised us a safe haven... Allowed us to your private server..." You whispered, before feeling the warm cup being taken from your hand before a hand replaced it.

"Honestly... It's the least I can do to protect you both... You two have become two children to me, and, while I haven't been able to raise you from children like Techno, Wil and Tommy..." He didn't continue his sentence, struggling to form sentences, but both you and Ranboo understood and were quick to yank him into your little cuddle pile/hug, the two of you eagerly hugging him.

"Thank you... Dadza..."

[holyfluffly]

Bone Warming

Rating: M

Genre: smut, fluff, established relationship

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader(f) x Mark Lee

Word Count: 1.8 k

Warnings: cock warming, body positivity,

A/N: It’s my first time writing for Mark, so I really hope I did him justice here.

Also: Here is a playlist I made just for this fic. 😉💜

Playlist

“Yo, Darling.” Baekhyun’s rumbling voice calls through your phone speaker. “Are you still coming to the studio today?”

Quickly you glance at the clock on your nightstand. You have been studying for the last four hours and had completely lost track of the time. “Y-Yes.” The word stammers from your throat.

A familiar voice calls out, “Ask her to pick up some grub on her way.” Mark snickers softly, “We’ll be hungry.”

“I’ll grab something,” hastily you gather your things as you dart from your apartment to run to the bus stop, “what do you want to eat?”

Without missing a beat Baek growls, “You.”

You miss a step on the apartment stairway, sliding the last five rungs onto the lobby floor, “Wha- what?” The whisper stumbles from between your lips. Although you’ve been seeing the two of them for almost a year, they never cease to surprise you.

“Ya, Baek-hyung!” Mark yells.

“What?” He chuckles, “Gotta love our angel’s pie.”

You can practically hear Mark’s smirk across the line, “True, she’s the sweetest I’ve ever had.”

Shaking off the tremors running through your limbs, you confidently ask, “What would you like to go with this pie?”

A little old lady checking her mailbox eyes you quietly, winking when you make eye contact. Heat floods through you as you promptly exit the building.

“Precious, we sent over a car to get you. We really just want you, and it’s cold here…” Baekhyun pausing, almost as if he’s gathering the courage to ask his question, “Would you keep our bones warm?”

You freeze, a deer in headlights expression on your face, “Keep your…” your brain barely seems to process his words when Mark butts in, practically yelling into the receiver on their end.

“Ya! Will you sit on our dicks!? Please?” His tone turns pleading as they both remember all the times they’ve asked this of you before, your hesitation and worries always at the forefront of your mind. “I know we’ve asked before, and yes we’ve got some work to do, but,” at this point, you’re pretty sure he’s taken the phone from Baekhyun as he’s the only one talking now, “we’d really enjoy it if you would.” His voice lowers to the point where you barely make out his next words, “We love you.” You can imagine how brightly he is blushing, just as he does every time he says those words to you in person.

“I-I love you both too.” You slide into the open door of the car that pulls up in front of your apartment. Twisting to the side you pull the seat belt over your shoulder as far as you can before clicking it into the lock. “Can I think about it on the way there?”

Excitement laces his next words, “Of course. No pressure.”

“Okay. See you both soon.” You whisper out just before ending the call. That’s when it hits you… you forgot to put on any underwear and are now seated in the back of a company car in an oversized tee and a pair of booty shorts. Nervously, you tug the hem of your tee further over your bare thighs and adjusting the seatbelt to comfortably fit over your frame.

The entire car ride is filled with you steadily doing everything you can to avoid eye contact with the driver whenever he glances in the rearview mirror. Your brain whirls between thoughts, ‘They know how I feel about my size’ you glance out the window seeing a man and woman holding hands as they walk down the sidewalk, ‘They keep telling me that it’s okay, and I do want to try, but’ “Ugh.” You grunt out under your breath, not noticing the driver glance back at you. By the time you reach the underground entrance to the studios, you haven’t made a decision one way or the other. You’re just scrambling to make it from the car to the privacy or Baekhyun’s private workroom.

Swiftly, you punch in the code they’d given you before rushing your way into the room, running straight into Mark’s waiting arms.

“Hey, Princess.” His smile warms you through, causing you to feel like you’re melting.

Baekhyun turns in his chair, his eyes soft as he takes in your nervous behavior. “Angel, are you worried because you think you’re too big?” Mark squeezes you tightly as he feels you shrink into his arms more. “Cause we don’t think you are.”

Mark whispers into your ear, his breath playing along the shell of your ear, “We think you’re drop-dead gorgeous.” His words send shivers along your spine. “Plus, have you seen how much Baek-hyung has been lifting lately? He’s like Hulk.”

A smirk slides across Baekhyun’s lips, “Mmm, precious, let us make you feel good.” His expression gentles again as you let slip a soft chuckle, “Can we try, if it’s uncomfortable we can stop.”

“No pressure whatsoever, Princess.” Mark smiles, nuzzling into your neck.

Fire runs along your veins, giving you the courage to nod, “Okay.”

Desire pools into Baekhyun’s eyes as he crooks one finger at you, luring you closer to his welcoming lap. His hands glide up your thighs as Mark places gentle kisses along the column of your throat.

Fingers lightly hook into the waistband of your shorts as Baekhyun slips them from your legs; licking his lips he looks back up at you, “Angel, would you like to keep your shirt on or off?”

Slowly, your eyes fluttering you try to process what he is asking as Mark’s lips leave shiver-inducing trails along your shoulders. “Um, on?”

“As you wish.” He whispers, turning you to face away from him and pulling you softly into his lap.

Mark’s eyes dart to your legs as Baekhyun carefully applies pressure to your thighs, spreading them open. Gently, his fingers slide along the supple flesh. “Precious, you know we love you right?” Timidly, you nod your head, heat creeping into your cheeks and along your chest. “We love you just the way you are, right Mark?”

His gaze snaps up to your’s, “Just the way you are, Princess.”

With those words, Baekhyun glides his fingers along your labia, gathering the slick that has already begun to form, “You’re already wet for us?” His tone is questioning, but you know he’s not really questioning you.

Slowly, cautiously, he sinks them into your depths, eliciting a small whimpering moan from you.

"Mark, grab the tube." Baekhyun requested, pointing over his shoulder.

Hurriedly Mark shuffled through the drawers, locating the small collection of lubricant. "Which one?"

"Hmm," Baek grinned, "the warming one."

Your heart began to race knowing how hard it is for you to sit still when they use that specific kind. "But Baek-" you begin to whine.

"Angle, you're going to sit very still while Mark works on the track, okay?" You look into his eyes and you nod, your trust in him calming any anxiety you had.

As Mark takes his seat before his desk once more, Baekhyun fully lifts you, his arms securely under your thighs, and effortlessly carries you to Mark's lap. Once you're firmly straddled across his legs Mark reaches between you both and rubs just the tip of his member between your folds.

"Don't forget the lube." Baekhyun smiles as he drips a healthy dose over Mark's dick.

Smoothly, Mark plunges into your core provoking a loud moan to escape your lungs.

"Now no moving, either of you." Baekhyun chides before he walks to the microphone on the corner.

Small whimpers sound from behind you every time that you unconsciously clench. The heat from the synthetic lubricant enticing you to swivel your hips, if even just slightly, but both of them continue to work. Only Mark's whimpers letting you know that you aren't the only one yearning to move.

Baekhyun begins to sing, his voice filling the studio and surrounding you. You lay back on Mark's shoulder just trying to revel in the sound of him singing.

Suddenly, Mark shifts causing his shaft to move in and out, just once but it's enough to send you shudderingly close to orgasm. His heart beating a heavy beat against your back, you feel him take in deep breaths before slipping a pair of headphones over your ears.

The heavy cadence of the base begins to drum into your ears, Mark’s raspy rap adding a layer to Baekhyun’s angelic tones. Unconsciously you begin to move to the music, lightly rolling your pelvis and closing your eyes, losing yourself with in the music

Abruptly, Mark’s hands grab onto your hips, swiftly stilling your movements. The music cuts off and your eyes fly open to find Baekhyun inches from you, a sly smirk on his lips.

“Angel, our music really does things to you doesn’t it?” His tone is playful and you feel Mark’s shuddering breaths behind you.

Struggling to speak, Mark gasps out, “Baek-hyung, I can’t hold on much longer.” His fingers dig into your sides as his self-control begins to weaken.

A finger gently grazes your cheek as Baekhyun softly smiles at you, “You close too, Angel?”

You suck your bottom lip in just as Mark makes a jerking trust in and out of you, causing you to gasp, releasing that lip once more before you nod quickly, begging Baekhyun to let you move, but you continue to hold yourself as still as possible.

“Okay.” He smiles at you before nodding to Mark, “Give our precious angel what she needs.”

Those words seem to be the reins to Mark’s self-control as they were uttered, he let go, unleashing his pent up energy. Rapidly he plunged deep with you, over and over. Deep grunts leaving his lips, as he drummed into you pushing you further and further up to the precipice of orgasm. You clench down on his phallus as you leap off the cliff into the blissful oblivion.

Just as Mark begins to falter, Baehyun pulls you from his lap, carrying you to the couch nearby. A low moan whispers from Mark’s lips as he finishes into his hand.

Carefully, laying you onto the couch, Baehyun kneels between your knees. Delicately he blows against you, before tenderly licking a slow path from your inner thigh to your core where he barries his tongue into you, his tongue flicking against your clit, quickly driving you back up that cliff into ecstasy once more. Stars explode behind your lids as he adds a finger to sink into your warm cunt. Expertly, he brings you to completion three more times, wringing every ounce of energy left within you. As you free fall into your last orgasm of the night, you slip into a peaceful slumber.

Blearily you wake, feeling soft, comforting heat surrounding you. Contented, you snuggle deeper into the embraces of your two boyfriends, letting yourself drift between waking and sleep.

“Happy Valentine’s Princess.” Mark shyly whispers into your ear.