#and by that I mean hold a lighter to it very briefly

[messengerhermes]

hello, please pardon me for long replying, but as I sex educator I'd like to--

A) second the wish of please do not buy sex toys from Temu, *especially* insertables. Sex toys in the US are already not regulated by anyone, but toys off sites like Temu and AliExpress (and yes, even Amazon/Walmart) do not even have brand reputation for you to hedge your bets on. B) Suggest if you are in need of a cheap, body safe dildo, I highly recommend funkit toys NoFrilldo line: https://www.funkittoys.com/nofrilldo They range from $20-40 USD, are made from silicone, come in various sizes and shapes, and are harness compatible. Silicone is one of the best materials for sex toys because it is nonporous which means: Bacteria and mold cannot burrow their way into silicone toys to grow and get nasty. You can fully sterilize silicone by boiling it, running it through the dishwasher (yes, I know), or giving it a good hard scrub with antibacterial soap (ideally you really wanna give them a dip in boiling water though). Yes, silicone is usually more expensive than say, jelly toys, (those sex toys you see that come in see-through colors) but jelly toys are made from petrochemicals. This means jelly toys: Have a tendency to melt together over time (inconvenient and gross). Off gas really harmful shit that can cause rashes and other forms of irritation! Not something you want to experience on your bits. Are porous, and thus can harbor mold and bacteria, and cannot be properly sterilized between partners. TLDR: Please look to small artisan dong crafters if you're trying for more cost effective options, and understand that a dildo that costs you less than $20 is probably not a safe option, and in the long run may cost you way more in treating any health issues it causes!

are the temu dildos safe? one of my friends got one because he's on a budget and its the cheapest one he could find

I wouldn't trust water from temu if I was dying in the desert personally

[totally-here]

dpxdc twins au except it's no-pulse flavored

Bart’s new roommate looks a lot like Tim. 

Like, suspiciously like Tim. 

Danny’s the same height, has the same shape of nose, same shade of hair, and even frowns like him. He would have been a perfect copy if he acted more like Tim, but Danny definitely holds himself looser than Bart’s ever seen Tim. 

But he still has his face. So, obviously, Bart has to investigate. Maybe he’s a clone, or a shapeshifter, or maybe one of the Gotham rogues decided to get facial reconstruction surgery to look like him, and this was all a ploy. 

Okay, probably not that last one. Bart doesn’t think Tim’s enemies know his identity. 

Anyway, investigation! Bart’ll figure this out himself, and deal with it if Danny needs to be dealt with. And the investigation will start right after he comes up with an excuse as to why he’s back in their third floor apartment when he passed Danny in the hallway a few seconds before. 

Danny stares at him, and Bart stares back. 

“Must’ve been a doppelganger!” Bart blurts out. 

Danny’s silent for a second before nodding enthusiastically and noting that everyone's supposed to have like seven in the world anyway and wow what a wild coincidence that there’s one in their building. 

Bart extends the same courtesy when a week later he walks in on Danny with an iced over pan on the stove. Danny says they should really get their freezer checked out and Bart agrees and asks if he can use the ice for a painting study. 

(They never get their freezer checked.)

Bart finds that Danny’s great at setting up fun things for him to draw, whether he knows it or not. Like the ice, or his collection of rocks, his astronomy textbooks with the pretty covers, his gestures as he rants about his classes, the excited glint in his eyes when he’s talking about his next repair project and how his eyes almost look like they glow in the right light. 

Hm. A good portion of his sketchbook is drawings of Danny, and yet he’s still having trouble with getting the right blue for his eyes. At first glance they’re Tim’s shade of blue, but when he keeps looking they seem to get lighter. Maybe greener?

He should probably stop staring into his friend’s eyes. 

Well, maybe not. Danny doesn’t seem to mind. 

Just like he doesn’t mind when they started regularly sitting very close on the couch, or falling asleep together, or Bart borrowing some of his jackets, or-

Okay, Bart’s kinda seeing a pattern. He and Danny should really have a conversation about if this is platonic behavior or not. 

But not right now, because Bart brought Danny across the river to raid Wally’s board game closet in Keystone. 

And Wally, who’s used to this, just passes by them with a, “Hey Bart, hey Tim.”

“Danny, not Tim,” Danny replies almost absent mindedly, then looks back at Wally, who’s also staring at him now. ���Wait, you know Tim?”

“OhmyGod I was supposed to investigate!” Bart says, face palming. It just slipped his mind! And Danny was distracting him with his pretty face that he totally wears better than Tim!

“You know him too?” Danny asks. But he doesn’t look suspicious of them, more amused. 

“How do you know him?” Wally squints at Danny, eyes briefly catching Bart’s in question. 

“He’s my twin,” Danny answers easily. “The Drakes only wanted one kid, so they gave me to their friends the Fentons, who wanted a second one.” He shrugs and goes back to digging around the closet. “Tim and I were always in contact, though. Letters and phone calls and texting, you know?” 

He says it all so casually while Wally and Bart are sharing increasingly concerned looks behind his back. 

Do the Waynes know about Danny? Has Tim never brought him up? Why? Does Danny know about Red Robin? Does Tim-

“Holy shit does this mean Tim has ice powers too!?” 

Or: Tim and Danny are twins. Through a series of coincidences, the first people to find out that aren’t Fentons or Drakes are the flashes.

(This post was brought to you by me recently finishing the 1995 Impulse run, and wanting an excuse to share this panel:

Look they both got called twinks clearly they're soulmates)

[catfern]

lap dog.

in support of palestine ∙ the reality of tlou ∙ resources

pairing: ellie williams x afab!reader x abby anderson

music: master of none - beach house

word count: 2k

summary: abby and ellie are best friends, never more. when you come into the picture, competition bleeds into something else entirely.

warnings: porn, ellabs, sub-ish!abby, sub-top!ellie, dom-ish!reader, marijuana use, got high and watched challengers this is what happened

fern says ⎯ this one goes out to @heavenbloom & @atyourmerci the only two pookies keeping me going at this point! rawr!

it was innocent, at first. you suppose.

a pit sinking in your stomach at the all-too-looming feeling of a foreign school, the kind smile offered was an olive branch. white teeth, skin blemished only with the soft indents of a splattering of freckles and moles, it put you at ease. this definitively friendly tour guide.

“hey, m’abby.” the squeeze of her hand was gentle, but firm. practiced. her eyes on you felt like a studied gaze, a flicker over your body that made your ears burn, your name on her tongue a syrupy temptation. “i’m s’posed to show you around, so…”

you clung to abby, in your first few weeks. you would’ve felt bad, this dependence on your only friend growing, if she hadn’t returned the sentiment almost tenfold. 

hey

want coffee before class?

- abby

the blaring screen of your phone dunking on you like ice water, bleary eyes and a dopey smile typing a response in the early morning manufactured darkness of your dorm room. 

she’d show, fifteen minutes later, in all the gloried aftermath of her morning run, shoving the iced latte at you with easy conversation. she’d wait on your bed while you dressed, poorly pretending to be wildly interested in her instagram explore page.

ellie happened later.

“she hot?”

“i don’t wanna answer that.”

the ball hits the roof, before bouncing with a mean thwack into the tangle of abby’s hair. ellie pulls herself up on the bed, teetering on her tired forearms with a servile smile. “come on,”  the rasp in her voice gives her a malignant edge, “objectively, is she hot?”

abby looks at her, swallowed in her gaze even from across the room. she rolls her eyes before returning to roughly running a brush through her hair, “she’s nice.”

“fucking prude!” the palm of ellie’s hand comes down like a rough punishment, a sting on the sculpt of abby’s shoulder that rings a small wince. her laugh is complimentary, “what? she a secret or something?”

abby shakes her roommate’s sliding hands off her, fighting her languid, teasing embrace, “no, no, she’s just- i dunno.”

a light hum fills the quick silence in the air, ellie pulls away.

“i wanna meet her.”

“what? ellie —“ abby whips around quick, something akin to a firm, stubborn fear tracing her face, “no. no.”

you shift on the floor, the scratchy carpet under your ass stinging with a strange itch. the joint is hanging weakly between ellie’s lips as she holds the lighter to it, off-handed smoke swirling and ebbing in the close air of the room. abby is sequestered on her bed, trying her hardest not collapse in on herself.

you’re taking the joint from ellie, ellie. her iced gaze flickers between the both of you, something unrecognisable sitting, gnawing at her very soul.

“so,” smoke spills from your mouth, dripping from your lips like it never wanted to leave you. you hold the blunt, firm between two fingers as you trace your thoughts with your hand, “what is this?”

ellie laughs faintly, her eyes meeting the terror of abby’s briefly, before falling over the way you’re sat, cross legged, the thin fabric of pyjama shorts riding up your thigh. her laugh is dopey, saccharine laced with a bite, “what d’ya mean?”

you’re pinned, like a dead butterfly behind glass, inspected. abby leans forward, a pique of interest crawling up her spine, her elbows digging nasty red welts into her knees. they both, as if practiced, stare, like careful animals on the other side of a zoo exhibit fence. they know they cannot touch you, but they deign still to think they can try.

 you laugh, something elevated, untouchable, bringing the joint back to your mouth, “you two — you seem, close.”

a shared look of panic and something deeper sets between them, ellie stretching her legs to knock yours as she plucks the joint from you, shooting abby a teasing glance. she pats the battered carpet next to her, “come on abs.”

the nickname is a taunt, an echo of some wild, buried intimacy that ellie wanted — needed  you to know. she’s answering your question, in a way.

abby slides off the bed, scooting over at her roommate’s beck and call. she takes the blunt tenderly, leaning back and letting ellie hold the lighter to her, the movement eased, familiar. she shakes her head, “we’re friends.”

you smile, lopsided, a low-flying buzz hanging in the air. your body loose, uncaring, as you canvas the look ellie has on her face. pensive.

“right.”

“what?”

“nothing, i just - i don’t believe you.” 

“it’s true!” the laugh shared between them is something too close for comfort to be true, but abby persists, “we grew up together, we play tennis together, we’re friends.”

“well…” the soft abrade of ellie’s voice was a testament, a challenge. for you, it was a tantalising peak behind a curtain so well guarded, a piece of themselves so rarely shared. for abby, it was an unnecessary torment. she looks at ellie, she sees the competition in her eyes. abby knows the sting of shared desire, of the punishing hand of her best friend. the brunette pouts, studying her roommate’s look of resigned pleading, “come on! i think it’s a — it’s a cute story. abby had a little, teensy crush on me when we were kids.”

“oh fuck off!” the edge in the swell of abby’s voice demanded attention, commanded respect in the abhorrent violence of something unexpected. the closeness of the two sat thick, heady in the face of the thin layer of smoke in the air. ellie’s hand slips from her thigh.

a silence befalls the three of you, foreign and raw in the space of casualty. the air of times past is not lost on you, as you watch the humiliation creep through abby’s skin in red flushes. ellie’s advantage.

“i think it’s cute,” you muse with a misaligned shrug.

— a beat.

“really?” that changes everything, in a pathetic sort of way. abby has the eyes of a puppy, a tortured lap dog as she looks at you, wide and wild, tamed on your word. a certain honey of victory sits in her stomach.

“yeah, i mean -“ you laugh, such an ardent reminder of their own pursuits of you, fresh and recognisable. of who stands on their feet, and who kneels before them. “i just don’t intend to be a homewrecker.”

“we’re not together.” they choir together in rehearsed concordance, in defence of themselves. strange, how their voices melt together in a harmony so well matched.

you hum, as if to challenge them quietly, before standing. the stretch of your legs provides a curious path, their gazes dripping upwards of you like forlorn magnets, drawn to your body. you look down on them with a quirk of your brow, pulling your pj shorts to rest higher on your hips, before perching yourself on the edge of ellie’s bed.

they look at you as if they had just lost you, something childishly snoopy glinting, matched, in their eyes. your hands run along the scratch of ellie’s bedsheets, exploring, before you pat either side of you, gently.

in a scramble, they pull themselves to your side, infringing on your summoning. ellie pressed to your left, abby to your right, inescapable, the both of them.

you meet abby’s gaze, swallowed nearly in the startling kindness of the blue of her iris. she looks so meagre, so shrunken and teetering on the edge of your existence, a planet in orbit of a raging star.

gently, with the softness you label so deserving of her, your hands wander, pulling her in, letting the chasteness of her lips fall away into a fevered triumph, the taste of the salt of her lips and the bitterness of the weed a chaser to her touch.

ellie, sat so humbly, waits in a quiet, angry defeat, her fingers ghosting the edge of your bare thigh. oh, to be the only child, so unused to sharing. impatient and derivative, she almost whines, a soft call for your attention. you answer, to the surprise of both, abby’s taste still on your lips, something so familiar.

she’s more callous than the girl she so aptly loves and despises, her movements quick and domineering as she seeks to own you. abby, tasting you and wanton for nothing, slips down to the stretch of your neck, pressing her kindness into your skin with the pliant pull of her teeth.

ellie’s hands are needy creatures, pulling over you like the ebb and flow of a vicious tide, snaking up your shirt for just a taste.

“..fuck.” your heavy breath fills the room like smoke, a complying pass for her to tease the stretch of her fingers under the waistband of your shorts. control was just a fleeting delusion, your hand grabbing at the bone of her wrist, “come on, let her go first.”

ellie, once again left waiting; abby, so all consumed with the pulse of your neck, is despondent, desperate, her breath shaky in your ear as her hand slips beneath the fabric, a soft groan dripping from her lips at the velvet of your walls enveloping her.

she’s slow, languid and unpracticed with her indigent circles around your clit. a sweet intoxication hanging heavy in the air, you laugh, coy and soft and somewhat mean. you had thought abby bigger, more unobtainable than she really was.

here, she is human. here, she bares her unspoken inexperience.

you pull a desperate, evil ellie from the swirl of your tit, so keen to pull your attention away. your thumb mindlessly swipes along the hang of her bottom lip, her breath warm and savouring in your sunlight.

“y’know what to do?” ellie nods into the palm of your hand, eager to show off, to please. “teach her.”

leaning up on the back of your elbows, you watch through a half-lidded honeyed gaze as ellie slinks down, conflicted. a certain affection in her touch, deeper than that of anything else, she finds abby’s fingers in the heat of your legs, leading them along the strings of your impulse.

a shaky moan leaves abby’s lips, the callous of ellie’s fingers along her own a dream unfounded. she can feel the press of her chest against her back, her breath in her ear, her chin on her shoulder. this was not unlike of them, not a foreign feeling, but new, still. the need in ellie’s throat is rotted, estranged to her touch.

they assess you on the bed, like an experiment. the arch of your back is artwork along the ripple of the sheets.

“go slow, you see that?” ellie’s voice is low in abby’s ear, tracing the breathy moans you drip beneath them. “just like that — good, abs. good girl.”

ellie’s hand slips from abby’s, running your slick along her arm, your thigh, a trail up your stomach as she comes to palm your tits, her mouth finding your neck, biting down on your wicked pulse in such difference to the other.

abby is lost, chasing feelings that no longer belong to her. she watches you writhe under her touch, under ellie’s touch. something wanting sits in her throat, unknown to her.

ellie is her best friend. but this — mean competition abandoned, this is something else. something buried, aged, ready to rear its head.

the blonde brings her lips to the dip of your stomach, pressing a soft trail up the curve of your hips. unsure of what she wants, what she’s looking for on the crest of your body, she presses the crook of her nose into your naval, her fingers burning, picking up their speed.

ellie comes to her, drawn to her like to her a flame. pressing a kiss to the curve of your breast, she finds the cotton of her friend’s lips so easily, as if fated. messily, they meet along the plume of your ribcage, you, an instrument for their own aches. esoteric, their tongues swirl on your skin, on their lips, tracing each other as if they had never known the other at all.

like dogs tugging at meat with the bare of their teeth.

homewrecker, indeed.

⎯ kofi

taglist; @whore4abby @endureher @beemillss @afraidofheightss @sentimentalyellow

[targaryen-dynasty]

YOU’RE THE ONLY THING THAT I PRAY FOR. (3/3)

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/Targcest (uncle & niece), p in v, slight degrading kink, slight breeding kink, this is plot with a whole lot of smut at the end, Valyrian wedding, mentions blood

WORDS: 4.6 K

NOTES: So, this Valyrian wedding is somewhat different to the one in Precious Delights. I took the Daemyra wedding for inspiration, and kinda blamed it on Grandmaster Benifer not being that educated on Valyrian customs (Maegor was just keen on marrying his niece and didn't care of the formalities).

Pentos' desperate need for an alliance against the Triarchy has really played into your hands when Daemon and you first arrived in the Free City. Two full-grown dragons descending not too far away from the city's borders didn’t go unnoticed, meaning it wasn’t long after that you’ve been summoned to the flamboyant castle of Reggio Haratis, the Prince of Pentos. 

Never before have you had the chance to marvel at Pentoshi architecture – or Essosi architecture in general – and were completely in awe as the gates of the castle opened to invite you inside. 

Even now, roughly a sennight after your relocation from the prince’s castle to an equally impressive manse, it’s still as mesmerizing as before; not as monotonous and undemanding as the architecture and tapestries harbored in the Red Keep. 

Reggio Haratis is generous enough to host you and your uncle, and has very recently offered to give you permanent residence in Pentos and gift you the manse you have occupied for no less than seven days. It’s a generous deal in exchange for the intimidating presences of your dragons, considering that with the manse also comes its farms, lands, vineyards, and wood. 

And of course your uncle hasn’t hesitated any moment to accept it – not if it keeps you away from Westeros.

You know Daemon has his own way of keeping tabs and staying informed of your family’s going-ons. He’s well aware of everything that’s happening in the Red Keep since there are several people lingering in it whose favor he has earned long ago that now are working as his spies and informants. 

They are procuring enough information to keep your fluttering nerves at bay, since Daemon is attentive enough to let you in on many of the things that happen in King’s Landing. And hence you know that the court is in a state of uproar, and your father balances between anger and despair, though you’re not aware that he has made it his personal mission to bring you back to the Red Keep sooner or later. 

Unbeknownst to you, this is one of the reasons Daemon all but presses to wed you, because it will not only solidify your relationship in an official way, but it also will make it easier for him to keep you safe should the king’s mission succeed. 

You’re standing on a tuckaway terrace of the manse, overlooking the gardens and extensive fields that frame and surround it. 

Reggio has been generous enough for you to carry out the ceremony in private with not many witnesses, other than the officiant, the Prince of Pentos himself, and the two servants that always tend to your and your uncle’s needs, present.

Ancient robes hug your bodies, and a matching headpiece rests on your head. They are pale white with reddish edges similar to the blood that trickles idly out of the cut on Daemon’s bottom lip. The shard of Dragonglass is still clutched between your fingers, while your other hand holds his chin. 

A gentle smile adorns your face, and though you want to watch the blood trickle out of the cut you have just caused, you can’t seem to tear your eyes off of his. The light of the evening sun is caught in the lilac of his eyes, reflecting and making them appear even lighter. 

As you hand him the shard, you briefly glance down to where your hands meet, before your gaze is fixed with his again, and as the sharp edge pierces your lip, you’re far too lost in the comfort of his presence to wince. 

This is all you’ve ever wanted.

Some of the blood amassing at the cut is gathered by the pad of his thumb, the touch so intimate it sends a shiver down your spine and heat to your cheeks. It is used by him to draw the Valyrian glyph for blood on your forehead, and you draw the supplementary glyph for fire on his. 

Knowing the scars that scatter all over his torso, scarring his pale skin, you’re not surprised to watch him cut the palm of his hand without any sign of discomfort or pain. He has endured far worse, and this is just too easy for him. 

However, the same can’t be said about you. 

You surely have hurt yourself plenty of times before, but it has never been on purpose, and never with something as sharp as the shard of dragonglass is. But that is the last significant step that has to be made to strenghten your one bloodline, to seal your union and signify that you are bound to each other. 

Daemon must sense the slight apprehension that spreads through your veins, and tries to comfort you and calm the raging storm of your fears by gently taking your hand in his, before the coldness of the fragment nestles into your open palm. “Issa sȳz,” he hums calmly, bowing his head once in a reassuring manner. It’s alright. 

Nodding meekly, you exhale a deep breath in the exact moment the dragonglass pierces your skin. The pain is delayed, and for a brief moment all that clouds your mind is the rush of your warm blood, and the sight of it so quickly filling the hollow of your palm. 

“Hen lantoti ānogar,” the priest cites, “va sȳndroti vāedroma.” Blood of two, joined as one. 

You tilt your head back up as Daemon unites your hands in a firm grip, and do not dare to look at where your hands meet. 

The sensation of your blood trickling out of the cut has already been very adamant, but with Daemon’s blood combined, several droplets all but seep out from your joined hands, gathered in a goblet your soon-to-be-husband holds underneath. 

A ribbon in a style similar to the robes you wear is tied around your hands, binding you to one another. 

“Mēro perzot gīhoti, elēdroma iārza sīr. Izulī ampā perzī, prūmī lanti sēteksi,” is said in the background, but you’re far too distracted by Daemon bringing the goblet full of your blood up. Ghostly flame, and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires. 

He holds it out to you, allowing you to be the first to drink, and you comply. 

Capturing the goblet between your fingers, you raise it to your lips, not hesitating one moment to take a generous sip. Daemon follows suit, and though the goblet is lowered by him, you two do not move otherwise.

“Hen jenȳ m��zīlarion, qēlossa ozūndesi.” A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness. 

There is a thick tension between the two of you, and you gaze longingly into each other’s eyes. Only slowly there crawls a grin on your husband’s lips, matching the impish one that’s draped across yours.

You brush some strands of his silver hair behind his ear, before your hand comes to rest on his cheek, the pad of your thumb caressing it gently. 

Daemon’s gaze flickers between yours and your nicked lip, and he only slowly dips his head towards yours just in time with his free arm snaking around your waist. 

Despite the seriousness of the moment, there is a slight tint of amusement in the officiant’s tone as he voices the last part of the vow, clearly just as ecstatic about you being newly wed as you two are. “Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo, rȳk kīvia mazvestraksi.” The vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.

It is then that Daemon’s lips finally claim yours, and the taste of copper spreads on your tongue as his swirls around yours. The kiss is shy of being gentle, yet it doesn’t lack any passion or care. You have kissed plenty of times before ever since your arrival in Pentos, but none of them has ever felt as significant as this kiss does. 

To state it in the words of the Faith, you’re one heart, one flesh, and one soul now. Each other’s from this day, until the end of your days. And you finally feel whole with that prospect, the large chasm that has clasped inside of you filled by Daemon’s undeniable love. 

Reggio Haratis has spared no expenses when it comes to the celebration of your newfound unison. There are a handful of other people present, mostly some friends and acquaintances you both have made during your brief stay at the prince’s castle. 

In Westeros, you would have celebrated your marriage with a large feast in the Throne Room with no less than three hundred people present, following the strict rules and customs the Faith of the Seven prescribes. 

But in Essos, it seems to be a bit different. 

The large dining room is lavishly and opulently adorned by tapestries and ornaments, a goldish hue pervading the entire room with the sun that’s shining through the large apertures and tied-back curtains. 

It truly is a wedding for your caliber, though there’s no royal family accompanying you two. 

Everyone gathers around the large dining table that stands in the center of the room. They are all dressed in a similar fashion to you and your husband now, having changed into more elegant clothes not long after the ceremony, but the expensive textures and patterns of yours give away that this evening solely revolves around you two. 

The dinner and customs are far less formal than the ones back home, and with none of your guests being ill-mannered or impolite, a relaxed and open atmosphere characterizes the evening. 

There’s chatter and laughter everywhere while the food is served, quite a few bottles of wine emptied already, and not one thought of a possible bedding ceremony crosses your mind – because there’s no reason for it. 

Daemon and you have been on top of each other quite regularly, the Pentoshi way of living probably one of main reasons with your insatiable hunger for each other being the other. 

And thus, you’re not afraid of the thought of bedding Daemon once supper is over for your body has had quite a few days to get thoroughly adjusted to his sheer size. 

Only as the Prince of Pentos raises his glass does your breath hitch in your throat for a moment, not knowing what to expect from him. 

The room falls silent almost immediately, and if not everyone has gathered what’s about to happen, they certainly do the moment Reggio rises to his feet. 

“Let us toast to this exceptional match,” he starts with much eloquence, his choice of words bringing a warmth to your cheeks. 

Daemon smiles at you, and clasps a hand around your thigh. As you lean closer to him to hide your blush, he chuckles and rests his forehead against the side of your face. 

“Behave,” he chastises in a teasing manner, squeezing your thigh once. “Or do I have to teach you manners first?” 

Daemon’s words do little to help with the blush on your face, the warmth spreading from your cheeks right down to the apex of your legs, causing you to shift and squirm slightly to soothe the aching. 

Your host isn’t oblivious to what’s going on right in front of him, and merely chuckles, “I’ll try to keep this short.”

You take in a deep breath, and Daemon nods, a silent invitation for him to keep going. 

The prince speaks of your bravery to leave your House behind, of your undeniable love for each other, and how the Old Gods must have brought you together. He boasts of the strong bond you and your husband have, and how that alone is a testament to the Gods themselves. 

Everyone around you applauds as the speech ends, and Daemon raises his cup to toast with your host. “Hear, hear.” Bringing your own cup to your lips, you empty what feels like your fifth cup of the Lyseni sweet red they have procured only for you. 

You grab Daemon’s hand when the applause drowns out again, and squeeze it gently. Gazing at him lovingly, he leans in to press his lips to your temple. 

“Ivestragī īlva jikagon naejot ēdrugon, kessa īlon?” he mutters against your skin, and you sheepishly bite your bottom lip, bowing your head. Let us retire to bed, shall we?

“Nyke pendagon kesā dōrī epagon,” you reply. I thought you would never ask. 

Squeezing your hand back, you follow suit as he stands up from his seat after he has announced your departure and thanked everyone for the lovely evening. A hand of his rests at the small of your back to lead you towards your shared chambers, the lacking guests finally allowing you to catch your breath. 

He snakes his arm around your waist on your way, and pulls you tightly against his side, his hand traveling a bit lower than what’s appropriate. 

“Daemon,” you scold him, placing your hand above his to put it back on your waist. 

As you look at him, you’re greeted by a wide grin adorning his face. “I am sure you can forgive me,” he teases, his hand finding its way to your arse again, groping it roughly enough to make you yelp. “I just can not resist you, not in the prospect of us finally being able to truly celebrate our marriage.”

You shove at his chest on your way into your chambers, chuckling softly, but to no avail as his grip only lets go of you in order to close the door. 

And suddenly, there’s a thick tension hugging the two of you. 

You briefly glance around the room, noticing the many, colorful flowers the servants have placed on your bed; all of which can only be found in Essos. Everywhere stand lit candles, their flames flickering and dancing in the soft, Pentoshi gust of breeze that sweeps past the lightweight curtains concealing the floor-to-ceiling apertures. 

It seems inviting to push the silk aside and step out on the balcony, yet your husband beats you to it and pulls you against his sturdy frame by grasping your wrist, taking control over your movements. 

A soft gasp slips past your lips as you find yourself pressed against his body, the heat and his scent emanating from him driving you insane with lust already. You look up at him with half lidded eyes, your desire for him plain.

Standing on tiptoes, you tilt your head up to press your lips to his jaw in a chaste kiss, and trail some more down the curve of his throat, causing a soft hum to rumble in your husband’s chest. The gold, embroidered vest he wears is slowly pushed off his shoulders while the feeling of your lips on his skin distract him, falling to the ground and pooling around his ankles. 

“Let us not waste anymore time,” you whisper, your fingers almost eagerly fumbling with the laces in the front of his trousers. 

With every passing moment, you spot his breathing growing heavier, his body burning hot with desire. You sigh softly, “let us indulge ourselves in each other as much as we want, even if it means we will not leave our chambers in the morrow.”

His eyes peer deeply into yours when you tilt your head back, the mesmerizing lilac hue completely eclipsed by black. 

He brings a hand to the back of your head, holding it steady as the other clasps around your thigh. Your flesh is squeezed harshly under his tight grip, but you can’t bring yourself to care for there suddenly are not more than a few inches separating your lips from his. 

But instead of kissing you, Daemon bows his head down enough to press sloppy kisses to your neck, licking the side of your throat. His hand slides up to cup your clothed cunt, and you have to hold onto his broad shoulders for dear life, not risking your shaky legs to be the reason you fall onto the ground.

“My darling wife,” he rasps, and hearing him voice it aloud for the first time sends a shiver down your spine. “I should have taken you to Pentos a long time ago.”

With that, he spins you around and pushes you towards the bed. Toppling forward, you catch yourself and tightly hold onto the wooden footboard of it, crouched forwards and basically presenting him your arse. 

Daemon hums, clearly pleased by the sight, and approaches you with careful steps. 

You try to catch a glimpse of him from over your shoulder, not meeting his lust-filled gaze for long enough since he is quick to press your head forward again. When his hands fist the neckline of your dress, goosebumps start to prickle on your skin, coaxed by the warmth and roughness of his fingers. 

“‘Twas a mistake to wait so long,” he says, but it’s clear he’s speaking to himself. 

Then, the laces in the back of your lavish gown tear with an agonizing ripping sound, but the thrill of it doesn't allow your heart to grief the now ruined gift of your host. 

The skimpy underclothes you wear follow the Myrish lace just as quick, exposing your whole body to him faster than you could have wished for. His fingers trail slowly along your spine, and he chuckles as he watches your body tremble beneath his featherlight touch with a jolt of pleasurable excitement. 

His thick digits inch lower and lower, but never touch where you need him most. It’s agonizing, and your patience runs thinner and thinner. Your breathing is just as heavy as his own, and the tension has you moaning softly. 

And then he suddenly drags two of his deft fingers through your soaked womanhood, the ambush eliciting a shuddered breath to fall from your lips. Yet you also welcome it and eagerly buck your hips to chase the friction they grant you, which prompts him to seize your hip with one hand, the tips of his fingers digging into your flesh to keep your body still.

The lack of freedom to move feeds your impatience, and your head bows forwards with a sigh. “I-I can hardly take this any longer, husband,” you breathe, trying to make your frustration not too obvious. 

Another ambush overtakes you as Daemon connects the back of his hand with your cunt, the collusion sending a stinging pain through your body. He tsks in a manner that’s meant to scold a child, having heard it plenty of times before when he was around his nephews and nieces. 

“You can’t take it any longer? What a shame,” he teases. “If you’re feeling so overwhelmed, then perhaps I should stop?”

Remaining still for a moment, the weight of his heavy gaze pierces through your skin, and you’re glad he can’t see you rolling your eyes. You know that he has no intention of stopping, and he knows that you don’t want him to either. 

However, it seems he’s partly forgotten that you two share the same blood, and although he considers himself to be witty, you’re not lagging behind him.

“Oh, you want to stop?” you ask, a mocking edge to your otherwise strained voice. It is clear he’s taken off guard by your words, having expected you to beg and whine for more. “My, what a disappointing turn of events. I was so keen on experiencing you tonight. I–”

The rest of your protest dies on your tongue as he slides two digits inside without a warning, effectively silencing you. 

A jolt of pleasure surges through your body that has you clinging to the footboard of the bed, your knuckles blanching from the force. The moan you release is wanton, and brings a blush to your cheeks that’s intensified by the mocking scoff Daemon releases. 

Your legs are nudged further apart by his foot knocking against yours, causing you to be off-balanced for a moment in which he’s snaking his arm around your waist to support your frame. 

His chest is pressed flush against your back now, and you feel his breath fan over your ear, the heat emanating from him seeping into your skin.  

“I would not deprive you of that satisfaction tonight,” he rasps into your ear while his fingers pump into you at a pace that has your toes curling already, making it difficult to keep your composure. You don’t have to look at him to know he’s smirking, his amusement at the little back and forth of your flirting is perfectly audible. “My darling wife is brimming with pleasure already, but I am just getting started.”

Your eyes widen at his teasing, and if anything, it only makes you want him even more. As your head lulls back against his shoulder, you release another moan, dizzy with lust. 

With every passing second that you don’t have him inside of you, you grow more and more relentless. “Don’t you dare stop now,” you moan. “If you do, I shall feed you to Silverwing.”

Daemon lets out a breathy laugh at your words. “Quit being a brat, wife, or else I truly need to punish you to stop you from being so reckless with your words.”

You slightly push yourself up against his chest, but don’t manage to do more than hum in return at his words, the jolts of your impending peak coursing through your veins like liquid fire. 

There is a brief loss of friction that doesn’t diminish the pleasure that clouds your mind, induced by Daemon’s desire to withdraw his fingers to fill you with his stiff cock instead. 

Just in time with him aligning himself with your throbbing entrance, breaching your tightness to stretch you out with one, swift thrust, you topple over the edge. 

The spasming and shaking of your body has Daemon’s breath hitch in his throat, a strained ‘seven hells’ slipping past it that you barely register with you losing a little bit of control over your body. 

Your back arches against him, and he seizes the opportunity to set up a reckless pace from the very beginning on. 

“Well, now, if that isn’t a disappointing turn of events,” Daemon mocks with an amused chuckle, using your words against yourself. “I can… can not believe that’s all you can take, my dear.” There is a strain in his voice, one that tells you his mind is just as fuzzy with pleasure as yours, amplified by the way your cunt is clenching and unclenching around his hard cock. 

Daemon has both hands on your hips now, pulling you back halfway to meet the mercilessness of his thrusts. Each time the heavy sac of his stones slaps against your sensitive cunt, you feel it spasm again, bolts of pain and pleasure alike piercing your flesh. 

“I thought you would last longer, my sweet wife,” he groans, the term of endearment emphasized by a thrust harsh enough to coax a breathy gasp from your throat. “A sore disappointment.” 

At this point he’s all but assaulting your body, using you for his own pleasure like you’re not more than one of Flea Bottom’s common whores, pounding you hard enough that your vision whitens. 

Incoherent words and sentences are falling past your lips like a prayer, occasionally interrupted by his name, chanting it as if you’re praying to the Seven.

His grip on your hips is bruising, squeezing your flesh so tight you’re not sure if it brings you more pain or pleasure. But it’s something in his words that makes it all so exhilarating, reigniting the fire inside of you. 

Daemon is chasing his own peak with the will to fill you up with his seed, marking you as his and making his claim on you visible to everyone. But his stamina doesn’t seem to be able to handle the tightness of your cunt for any longer, running thin and threatening to burst at any given moment. 

It takes all your strength to hold onto the foodboard to keep yourself steady and upright, not wanting to topple over with the weight and intensity of his thrusts. But your slowly approaching high doesn’t make it too easy for you. 

Your second peak takes its time, but Daemon can tell it’s on its way, the clenching of your walls and trembling of your legs a telltale sign for him. One of his deft fingers comes to your pearl, and he proceeds to rub the bud with frantic movements that make sure to push you over the edge just in time. 

Your mouth hangs open, and there are no other sounds than breathy whines and hiccuped gasps slipping past your lips, the ability to speak completely taken by his cock repeatedly brushing the sweet spot inside of you. 

“I will not last any longer,” the man behind you grunts, the damp strands of his silver hair falling in front of his face. He buries the hand that’s not between your legs in your hair, pulling you upright against him. 

His hips are angled, allowing him to snap them into yours deeper and more precisely. “Peak for me again… now,” he all but commands, and it’s the sharpness and determination of his voice that eventually has you doing just that. 

Your arousal oozes out of your spasming cunt, coating the palm of his hand, the length of his cock and the sac of his stones altogether. 

Your head tips back in bliss, and hot streams of pleasure obscure your senses. The way your cunt is choking his cock makes it difficult for him to help you through it all, struggling to keep it together just a few moments longer. He’s brought you to such heights of pleasure that your mind temporarily blanks.

“Please,” you find your voice again, though it’s strained and resembles a whimper. “Put a babe in me. Fill me up with your seed… please.”

It might have been him being on the brink of his release already, or the meaning and significance of your words, but it is the trigger for Daemon to spend himself inside of you with a loud groan. 

“Gods be good,” he grunts, connecting his lips with the curve where your shoulder meets your neck as he works himself through the blissful high. Even as it subsides, he doesn’t stop and bites through the overstimulation, determined to fuck his seed as deep as possible and put a child into your belly. 

You’ve grown incredibly sensitive and overstimulated by now, and can’t fight against your body’s reaction to squirm out of his grasp to escape the uncomfortable feeling. But he doesn’t allow you to, keeping you flush against his firm chest. 

The soft whines you release, however, humor him, and he tilts his head to rest his forehead against the side of your face. 

“Let your foolish father come for you. I shall slay every man that even dares to look at you,” he rasps. “I possess you, you belong to none other than me.”

A blush spreads on your cheeks as his words sink into your mind, and you turn your head to meet his eyes for the first time ever since you’ve entered your chambers. The meeting of your gazes is intense, and you swear you can feel his flaccid member grow hard again.

You take his hand and bring it in front of you, placing it on your stomach. Without further encouragement, he starts to rub his palm over your skin as if his seed has already borne fruit.

“Let him come,” you whisper, licking your lips. “I have waited years to be with you alone, and to have you all by myself. And now that I have gotten my will, I will not give it up without a fight.”

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[lesbehonestsstuff]

Catholic guilt - part 4

Casey Novak has always been the good catholic girl. Always perfect, always trying to meet high expectations. But she doesn't understand why she feels no interested in the boys who flirted with her, why her eyes instead linger on other girls.

Word count: 3463

Chapter 4/?

Shoutout to @ihaveathingforwomen for helping me figure out this chapter <3

It was mid afternoon as Casey and Alex strolled down the familiar streets, the air warm with the start of summer. Casey’s curiosity had been building ever since Alex had shown up that morning with the promise of a surprise date. 

Casey tugged at Alex’s sleeve, her curiosity mounting as they walked down the street, Alex had been tight-lipped all afternoon, a playful smirk on her lips as she led them toward their date destination.

"Will you tell me where we are going already?" Casey asked, trying to pull more information out of her girlfriend.

Alex chuckled, her hand squeezing Casey’s briefly before she slipped it back into her pocket, glancing around. "It’s a surprise, Case. Don’t you like surprises?"

Even though they’d been together for months, the secrecy surrounding their relationship was still a weight on their chest. But being together made that weight feel lighter, like they could breathe.

Casey huffed, though she couldn’t help but smile. "I mean, I do, but you’re being awfully suspicious."

"Am I?" Alex teased back,she leaned in closer her voice dipping low in that way that always made Casey’s stomach flip."Don’t worry. You’re going to love it."

A few more steps, and suddenly, Casey caught the sounds of distant carnival music, the excited shouts of people, and the sweet smell of sugar drifting through the air. The local fair came into view, its bright lights and spinning rides now in full view.

Casey’s eyes widened as she turned to Alex, a smile tugging at her lips. "The fair?!”

Alex shrugged with a grin. "Well, I figured we deserved some fun."

Casey’s heart fluttered at the thoughtfulness of it. "That sounds perfect… but isn’t it a bit too public?"

Alex gave her a reassuring glance, lowering her voice, her hand ghosting near Casey’s. "There are going to be so many people and crowds, no one will be paying attention to us. Where did you tell your mom you were going today?"

"I told her I had softball practice until late," Casey said, a bit of nervous laughter in her voice.

"Perfect," Alex said with a smile. "Then relax. Let’s play some rigged games."

They wandered deeper into the fair, the bright colors and noise a perfect backdrop for their hidden glances and quiet touches. It was exhilarating, but nerve-wracking all the same. Each time they passed a group of people, Casey would feel her stomach twist in knots, but Alex kept her close. Just a brush of their hands here a shared smile there, she trusted Alex. In this crowd, no one would notice two girls stealing moments of affection.

When they passed a booth filled with stuffed animals hanging overhead, Alex paused, looking at the game where you had to knock down three rows of bottles with a ball. She paid the booth operator and picked up one of the balls, a determined look on her face. 

"I’ve got this," she said confidently.

Casey raised an eyebrow, trying to hold back a laugh. "You’ve got this? Lexie, you’re good at a lot of things but you suck at sports."

"Well I’m good at geometry so that’s got to count for something," Alex replied with a smirk.

Casey snorted, stepping up to the booth alongside her. "Geometry and hand-eye coordination are two very different things."

Alex shot her a playfull glare “Well not all of us can be softball players with great aim and strong hot arms” she threw the ball, and it flew wide, missing the bottles. She frowned, biting her lip. Casey, still grinning, stepped forward, taking another ball into her hand.

"Here," Casey said softly, stepping behind Alex. "Let me show you how." She stood behind Alex, guiding her hands to hold the ball correctly. Alex froze for a moment surprised by Casey’s touch, a blush creeping up her neck, but she didn’t move away. Casey’s body pressed against hers, and for a second, all Alex could focus on was the warmth of her girlfriend’s touch.

"Just follow my hand," Casey whispered, her lips brushing against Alex’s ear. With that, Casey guided Alex’s arm back and then forward, the ball hitting the center bottle and knocking it down.

Alex turned her head slightly, catching Casey’s eyes. "I did it."

Casey smiled, her face just inches from Alex’s. "You did"

They lingered in that closeness for a second longer than necessary before Casey reluctantly pulled away, her hand brushing against Alex’s as she stepped aside. Alex picked out a small stuffed bear from the prize rack, holding it out to Casey, a soft smile on her lips.

"For you," she said.

Casey took the bear, blushing at the gesture. "I thought you won it."

"Let’s call it a team effort," Alex replied with a grin, her eyes full of love.

They wandered off, the smell of fried food wafting through the air which made Casey’s stomach let out a low growl, making Alex laugh. After months of dating she had discovered that her girlfriend was pretty much a bottomless pit, she trained so much that her body was almost always demanding food so she had made it a habit of carrying snacks for her. 

She gave Casey a wide smile looking over the food stands "Guess that’s our next stop," she said, gesturing for Casey to pick. The smell of fried dough and sugar filled the air, and Casey’s eyes lit up.

"I could definitely go for a funnel cake," Casey said, glancing around the fair’s food stalls.

Alex nodded, and they got in line, eventually grabbing a paper plate piled high with a warm, crispy funnel cake. They found a quiet bench a little ways off from the main bustle of the fair and sat down. 

Casey took the first bite her eyes lightening up the moment the powdered sugar and fried dough where in her mouth. She tore off a piece and held it out to Alex, smiling when Alex raised an eyebrow at her. "You’ve got to try this!"

Alex leaned forward, taking the piece from Casey’s fingers. Her lips brushed lightly against Casey’s fingertips, sending a shiver through her. They smiled at each other, the sweetness of the moment brief as they pulled away quickly.

"You’re right," Alex said, licking a bit of sugar from her lips. "This was a good choice."

They ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, stealing glances and smiles between bites.  Every so often, their knees would bump, or Alex would brush her foot lightly against Casey’s leg, sending sparks between them.

Casey, licking powdered sugar from her lips, glanced at Alex. "I never would’ve imagined you liking these sorts of things."

"Why not?" Alex replied, taking another bite, looking at the people passing by laughing and enjoying the chaos of the fair . "They’re fun. Ridiculous, but fun."

“I don’t know, you’re from the city, you don’t strike me as the country fair type” she snickered shoving the last piece Alex left her into her mouth. 

Alex grabbed her hand under the table and gave it a light squeeze “Well I can’t said my parents ever took me to one but I do enjoy it, especially if I’m with you and get to watch how happy you are” she smiled and watched the way Caseys eyes seemed to sparkle with the string of lights above them. She loved Casey’s eyes, her smile, her dimples. She would do whatever it took to make her smile, to make her happy. 

Alex squeezed her hand again. "Maybe it’s not the fair I’m enjoying. Maybe it’s just being here with you."

A tint of red covered Casey’s cheeks and Alex was sure she would never get tired of seeing her blush. “Well I am happy, this is a great date” She had the urge to lean in and kiss her but stoped herself before she could. 

With the plate was empty, Alex stood and tossed it into a nearby trash bin.

"Come on," she said, offering Casey her hand. "There’s something else we need to do."

Casey hesitated for a second, glancing around at the crowded fairgrounds. "Isn’t this a bit risky?"

"There’s going to be so many people, no one’s looking at us. I promise. Plus holding your hand for a second won’t kill us" Alex gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Besides, I’ve got something planned."

She dragged Casey through the crowd, looking back to see her laughing at Alex’s rush and it sent a feeling of warmth inside her. The fair’s ferris wheel towered in the distance, its brightly colored lights twinkling against the darkening sky. Alex pulled them toward it, and before long, they were sitting side by side in one of the little cabins, slowly lifting into the sky.

As the wheel turned, taking them higher and higher, the noise of the fair faded, leaving only the sounds of the night and the creak of the ride. The cool evening breeze played with their hair as the sun began to descend in the sky.

Alex took Casey’s han in hers giving it a tight squeeze, resting their laced fingers between them.  The touch sent a familiar spark through Casey, and she leaned her head against Alex’s shoulder, their bodies pressed close together in the small cabin.

"This is nice," Casey murmured, her voice soft and content.

Alex nodded, her thumb gently tracing circles on Casey’s hand. "Yeah. It is."

For a moment, the world outside didn’t exist. Up here, it was just them, no crowds, no fear of being seen, just the two of them and the quiet, shared closeness that came so naturally now.

As the ferris wheel made its slow descent, Casey sighed, pulling away just slightly. "I wish we could stay up there forever."

"Me too,"Alex whispered, her breath warm against Casey’s ear.

Once they were back on the ground, they wandered through the fair’s more secluded areas, where the crowd began to thin out. They eventually found a small, tucked-away spot behind a food stand, hidden from view but still below the glow of the fair’s lights.

Alex glanced around, then turned to Casey, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know it’s hard," she said, stepping closer. "But I won't let anything happen to you."

Casey’s chest tightened, but in a good way. She felt safe, cherished. "I’m okay," she whispered back, "as long as I’m with you, I’m okay."

For a moment, everything else faded. The world around them disappeared. Without thinking, Alex leaned in, her lips brushing against Casey’s in a soft kiss. It was gentle and sweet, but filled with the intensity that all their kisses carried.

They pulled away, the sound of the fair slowly returning to their ears. Casey’s heart pounded in her chest, her cheeks flushed like they always did, but the smile on her face matched Alex’s.

"You know," Alex whispered, "I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of sneaking kisses with you." She gave her another peck, their foreheads resting together.

Casey grinned, her hands still intertwined with Alex’s. "Me neither."

They stayed there for a while longer, stealing a few more kisses before returning to the lights and noise of the fair, their love burning just as brightly as the lights overhead.

After a few more games and more food they headed back to Alexs house, where they could spend some more time together before Caseys mom started to wonder where she was. They took advantage of the empty streets to walk close together, their hands brushing with every step. Casey smiled and quickly gave Alex a peck on her cheek. “Thank you, it was a wonderful date” 

Alex smiled brightly and nudged her lightly “Im glad you enjoyed it, I had a great time with you.” 

Things like that made Casey fall even harder for Alex, she never had anyone who cared for her that much, who seemed to know everything about her. She smiled, her hear bursting “You know me so well” she whispered her fingers brushing Alex’s skin. “I love that about you. I love… you” 

Alex’s breath hitched and she stopped in her track at Casey’s confession, her eyes widening for a brief second before softening “I love you too, Casey” she whispered back, her voice brimming with emotion. She reached her arms around her, hugging Casey close. The hug surprising both of them. As much as Alex wanted to kiss her right there they where still on the street so she just held her close trying to convey all of her feelings into the hug. 

They rushed to Alex’s after they pulled apart, tears in their eyes, well aware that they would only have an hour before Casey had to go. As soon as they were through the door Alex wrapped her arm around Caseys waist, her lips pressing against Casey’s in a deep kiss. 

They kissed slowly, savoring the moment. When they finally pulled away, Alex rested her forehead against Casey’s, trying to catch her breath.

“I’m so happy,” Casey murmured, her fingers still laced with Alex’s. “I never thought I’d have this—someone who understands me, who makes me feel safe. I don’t ever want to lose this.”

“You won’t,” Alex promised, her hand moving to gently stroke Casey’s hair. “I’ll protect this, I’ll protect us, no matter what.”

They cuddled on the couch after, spending the rest of the night making out until reality creepy back in and it was time for Casey to go. She  glanced at the clock, biting her lip. “I should probably get going soon. My mom’s going to start wondering where I am.”

Alex frowned but nodded “I know. But I hate when you have to leave.”

“Me too,” Casey said softly. “But we’ll see each other tomorrow, right? My mom has a dinner party so I can come over.”

Alex smiled, stepping closer to her. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

They shared one last lingering kiss by the door, Casey’s fingers brushing against Alex’s wrist as she pulled away. She loved Alex, and Alex loved her. She kept repeating that as she walked home wishing tomorrow would come faster.

By the next day Casey had snuck back to Alex’s as soon as she could, the warm afternoon sun filtered through the large windows of Alex’s spacious bedroom, casting golden light over the soft white bedspread. Casey lay on her back, her hand playing with Alex’s fingers as they lay close, their legs tangled together. 

“I can’t believe your parents are never around,” Casey whispered, her voice soft, filled with awe at the contrast between Alex’s home and her own where her mothers presence was suffocating. “It’s like…our own little world.”

Alex smiled, her thumb brushing lightly across the back of Casey’s hand. “It’s one of the perks, I guess. We can just be…us here. No one watching.”

Casey looked over, a soft blush coloring her cheeks. “I like being us,” she murmured. The date at the fair had been fun but here, in the quiet of Alex’s home, it was easy to forget the dangers of being found out. It was just them.

Alex shifted a little closer holding herself over Casey, the space between them closing as she tucked a strand of Casey’s hair behind her ear. Her gaze was soft, filled with affection. “I like it too,” Alex said. “And I want to make sure you’re comfortable, always.”

“I am,” Casey said, her voice barely audible. Their faces now only inches apart. 

Alex’s heart skipped a beat at the admission. She knew what was at stake for Casey, and that would always drive her to be careful. “I love being with you, I love you so much.”

Casey’s expression softened even more, the weight of Alex’s words sinking in. It was that gentle love, the understanding, that patience, that made her fall deeper in love with Alex every day. She lifted her head up a bit until her lips met Alex’s, they kissed for a moment until Alex lowered herself back to lie next to Casey. 

As the evening light began to fade, they found themselves lying even closer, Alex’s arm draped lazily around Casey’s waist as they snuggled into the bed, talking about nothing and everything. Casey’s head rested on Alex’s shoulder, and she closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of the girl she loved. “I wish the world didn’t hate us,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper now.

“I know,” Alex whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to Casey’s forehead. “But I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

For a while, they just stayed like that, quiet comforted by the others presence until Casey got the courage to ask one of the questions about Alex that had been buggin her mind for weeks  

"Alex," Casey whispered after a while, breaking the quiet. "Why did you leave New York? You never really told me."

Alex tensed for a moment before exhaling softly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on Casey’s stomach. "I got caught," she said, her voice quieter now. "With a girl."

Casey blinked, processing the words, her heart breaking for Alex. "Caught? What do you mean?"

Alex shifted to face her more directly. "My parents found out. They walked in on us, and it wasn’t pretty. Instead of dealing with it—the whispers, the judgment—they sent me away. I think they thought a Catholic school, would be a good fix. To get me away from... that part of me." She sighed, looking sadder than Casey had ever seen her.

Casey’s chest tightened as she listened. Suddenly, Alex’s distance when talking about her parents made sense. She reached up and cupped Alex’s cheek, turning her head to meet her gaze. "I’m so sorry, Alex," she whispered.

Alex leaned into the touch, her eyes closing for a brief moment. "It’s fine," she murmured. "I have you now. That’s what matters."

They kissed again, this time with more tenderness, a sweet kiss that left them dreamy and sleepy. Soon enough, the day caught up to them. Without realizing it, the room turned into a warm cocoon of drowsiness. Alex’s hand found its way to Casey’s waist, and Casey nestled into her neck, both of them lulled by the calm around them. Their eyes fluttered shut, and before either could stop it, sleep claimed them, their limbs tangled beneath the blanket.

The next morning, the harsh light of the early sun cut through the curtains, interrupting the peacefulness of the previous night. Casey’s eyes blinked open slowly, her mind still foggy with sleep. For a second, she smiled, seeing Alex fast asleep next to her, hair messy from sleep, the warmth of Alex’s body beside her, the quiet safety of being wrapped up in her girlfriend’s arms.

Then it hit her.

Her eyes shot open, and she bolted upright. “Oh my god!” she gasped, her voice frantic as the reality of the situation crashed down on her. “I didn’t go home—I didn’t—my mom’s going to kill me!”

Alex stirred beside her, groaning softly as she blinked up at Casey in confusion. “Case…what’s wrong?”

“I didn’t go home!” Casey repeated, panic rising in her voice as she threw the blanket off. She was up on her feet, grabbing her shoes and jacket, her heart pounding. “She’s going to lose it, Alex. I have to go. I have to go now.”

Alex sat up quickly, her expression shifting from grogginess to concern. “Hey, hey, calm down,” she said, trying to reach for Casey’s arm, but Casey was already pulling away, frantically searching for her bag. “It’s okay. We can figure it out.”

“No, we can’t! She’ll know something’s wrong! How am I supposed to explain this?!” Casey’s voice cracked with anxiety as she tugged her jacket on, hands shaking. Her mind was spinning with panic. 

Alex stood and grabbed Casey’s hand, trying to ground her. “I’ll help you, I’ll think of something. Just breathe, okay?”

But Casey was already halfway out the door, panic driving her forward. “I’ll see you later,” she managed to say over her shoulder, rushing down the stairs.

The air outside burned her throat with each panicked breath, and Casey could feel the tension in her chest as she sprinted down the street toward her house. Her heart was racing as she approached her front door, praying she could sneak in without anyone noticing. But as she turned the knob and pushed the door open as quiet as she could be, her stomach dropped.

Standing there, just inside the doorway, was her father. High and mighty in his uniform, the image of intimidation staring her down to nothing.

The look on his face made Casey freeze in place, her breath catching in her throat.

“Where were you?”

[emeritusemeritus]

Can i request a soft dom Fred and mean Dom George (george is the rougher twin you cant change my mind on that 😂)brat taming their wife and it ending in fluff when they find out the reason shes been so cranky with them is cause they’re expecting.

Please 🙏🏽 if not i understand 😊

Okay this was right up my alley and I could not leave this alone! I personally think George would definitely be the meaner Dom without doubt. I hope it’s okay that I switched the ending around a little with them finding out she was pregnant rather than knowing all along 🖤

Warnings: Brat!Wife x Dom!Twins, George is kinda mean, Fred is the soft!dom. Punishments, spanking, pussy spanking, sex, piv sex, aftercare, swearing. Graphic smut, pregnancy, minor vomiting. Polyamory, two husbands. Fluff and playful banter.

Words: 3.2k

Use your words.

"Say that again," George says lowly, a harsh look in his eyes. His tone is clipped and steady and though his words implore you to repeat yourself, there's no semblance of him asking for you to repeat yourself.

"I. don't. want. it," you reply, eyes filled with mischief as you bite back, though your face is blank and goading.

"Let me get this straight," he says, pinching the little bumped bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "The food you wanted, the meal you requested this morning, you don't want it now? That's what you're telling me?"

Playing this game with George is like winding up a child's toy. You consider your answer very briefly before deciding to keep playing with him. What had been a seemingly normal conversation had quickly turned into a little power play that you we revelling in.

You nod, offering no verbal reply, knowing what it would do to George.

"Use your words Angel," he says, eyes darkening as he threatens you. You simply smile and shrug, eyes fixed upon his as the look on his face turns thunderous.

"That's it," he says, moving to stand and walking over to you menacingly, reaching out to grab the side of your neck with his large hand, gently turning your head upwards until you were forced to look at him. "You want to tell Freddie what a naughty girl you're being or shall I?"

"Fred doesn't scare me," you bite back, the defiant look returning to your eyes.

"I'll be the judge of that princess," a second voice says from behind you, his tone lighter than George's but still menacingly dominating.

You feel him move to stand behind you, hands instantly reaching out for your hips to thrust you backwards until you were pressed against him. His touch is softer than George's but still as deliciously dominant.

"I'd say that calls for at least 5, don't you think Georgie?" He says from behind you, his lips tracing your hair, nuzzling gently until he's ghosting his perfect lips across your ear and don't the side of your neck that George isn't holding.

"I'd say 10, at least mate."

It's almost embarrassing how wet this makes you, the banter between them as they speak about you, as if you're not currently trapped between them. It was no use denying that you'd been slightly... off for the past few days, more than a little cranky and quite honestly rather bratty. Initially they'd let it slide but you could tell you'd really started pushing some buttons now.

"Think this perfect little ass can take it sweetheart?" Fred says quietly, teasingly, his hand moving from your hip towards your clothes bottom that he caresses, getting a handful of the supple flesh.

Your mouth falls open as Fred grips your ass hard and you strain not to make a noise, already enchanted by the game play.

When George's hand moves slightly to gently grip your throat, your eyes fly open until you're staring up at his piercing, ominous eyes.

"Your husband asked you a question Angel," he says with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Want," you manage to get out, voice meek and quiet as your thoughts race, no longer able to hide your desperation for them to touch you. You were so wet, so aroused, you needed relief- you needed the punishment. You squirm against their holds, first pushing your hips back to run against Fred's growing bulge, knowing better than to try that with George and then by giving him a devastatingly innocent look as you bite your lip, pleading with Georgie to give you what you wanted.

"What was that Angel?" He sneers, grubbing your throat a little harder. "Couldn't hear you over the desperation."

"Please Georgie, need you," you manage to choke out. Truthfully his hand wasn't gripping you that tightly, merely holding you, but the sheer desperation and arousal was making it hard for me you to communicate, your thoughts cloudy. All you could think of was getting off, of their cocks, their fingers, anything that would take away the burning desire you felt.

"Good girl," Fred says from behind you, his crotch making contact with your ass, his obvious erection pressed between your cheeks as he rolls his hips making you gasp.

George lets go of your throat but keeps his hand hovering nearby until he leans down and presses a kiss right to the column of your throat, your head leaning so far back from looking up at him that you were close to resting on Fred's shoulders. The kiss makes your skin burn, electrifying you inside and out.

"Get on the bed, I want you completely naked and bent over for us, think you can do that Angel?" George says in a menacing tone. You go to nod but stop yourself, no longer wanting to prolong the dance.

"Yes Georgie," you say, though it comes out breathless as Fred's hands begin to wander across your body, his hands reaching up to squeeze your braless tits making you release a breathy moan.

"And?" George adds, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes Freddie."

"Bed," Fred says in your ear, dropping his hands from your breasts until he pulls away, patting your bum to move you, ushering you forward.

You don't hesitate and immediately walk to your shared bedroom where you begin peeling off your clothes frantically. Once you're naked, you climb on the bed and get on your hands and knees, ass up in the air just like they like it, just as instructed. You're so wet that you can feel the dampness extending onto your thighs, the exposed skin of your pussy being nipped at by the cold air.

It feels like an eternity waiting for them, naked and splayed out ready for them to take you.

"Fuck, well if this isn't the prettiest sight," Fred says from the doorway and for a second you hesitate moving to look but you decide fuck it, you were being punished anyway. You'll be eternally grateful for what you see when you turn your head, seeing both of your husbands completely naked and waiting for you, cocks hard and their bodies in complete display for your viewing pleasure. You have to bite your lip at the sight, cunt weeping as you fight to stop the little dribble from running down your leg.

George is leaner, slightly thinner and his cock had the most delicious curve that hits every single spot inside you just right. His arms are folded as he stands upright in the doorway, observing you carefully with a resolute expression.

Fred is wider, in every sense. He's bulkier than George and carries the tiniest bit more weight which is an absolutely delicious contrast. He's thicker and perhaps a tiny bit longer than his counterpart and you can't help the strand of drool that falls from your mouth as you look at him, leaning casually against the doorframe.

"Still think she needs punishing mate?" Fred asks George playfully as his eyes wander over your form, focusing between your breasts and your cunt, all exposed to his gaze.

George doesn't reply, at least not verbally as he slowly stalks over to you on the bed. His hand rises and reaches for your chin before smirking at you and turning your head forcefully until you were looking away, back down to the bed, just as he wanted.

You cry out at the sensation when you feel a single finger stroking along your dripping cunt, a featherlight touch that fuels the fire more than provides any relief.

"So wet," George says in a mildly adoring tone, perhaps the nicest compliment you were going to get tonight. His thumb begins stroking lightly over your swollen clit and you cry out, his thumb precisely catching the little hood of your clit- just the spot that drove you insane.

"Ready for your punishment little brat?" George asks, pulling his hand away.

You can't help but whine at the loss of sensation, hips flouncing as you fight to keep his fingers exactly where you needed. Suddenly, you cry out again, this time much louder as his palm lands a smack on your ass for the whine.

"That one was a tester," he warns, rubbing his palm across the newly hit skin. "Five from me, five from Freddie, sound fair little brat?"

"Please, please," you beg, no longer able to think clearly, hardly listening as you fight to keep your gaze fixed to the bed.

"Good girl," Fred cooes, moving to stand to your side. His cock is right there, inches away from your face just begging to be sucked and your mouth waters at the thought.

"Freddie goes first," George explains, moving away until he squats down in front of you, allowing you to look up at him. He places a kiss on your lips, dangerously slow and teasing, as if he's tempting you, spurring you on. He pulls away with a slightly pleased look and smirks. "I want you to count." He then looks up towards Fred and nods, making your cunt throb.

The first strike lands perfectly on your ass cheek, making you cry out. You count, just as George demanded, readying yourself for Fred's next spank. Fred's spanks are always softer than George's, with tender rubs in between. You count to five and breathe a sigh of relief, pleased with yourself that you'd made it through. George kisses your head as he moves to stand, cock bobbing as he switches places with his twin.

"You did so well sweetheart, so well," Fred says, leaning down to press a seductively sweet kiss on your lips that you never want to pull away from. "Just a little more and you can have my cock, okay sweet girl?"

The cry you give out when George's hand makes contact is louder than any you'd ever done, even though his spa king was much, much softer than normal. Most notably because instead of his hand making contact with your ass cheek as expected, it lands straight on your pussy.

You hear a dark chuckle from behind you as he watches you squirm as the impact.

"Thought I was going to make this easy Angel?" He says darkly. "Spread 'em wide."

The next one has you crying out again in sheer ecstasy, the tip of his fingers slightly catching your clit. You look into Fred's eyes as the hit lands and watch as he bites him own lip at the arousal of seeing you in ecstasy.

"Two," you stutter, losing yourself in the sensation.

The next one lands back on your tender ass cheek, the same one Fred had abused only moments before.

"Th-three," you splutter.

"So perfect," Fred coos next to you, "two more little princess."

Every nerve is burning within you, painfully aroused by their torment. The evidence of your arousal drips down your legs and onto the bed and you're entirely powerless to stop it. You need them, need relief so desperately.

"Please," you beg, looking into Fred's eyes and for a second you think you've got him until George lands his fourth blow, fingers landing on your pussy lips. You can almost hear his fingers making contact with your wetness, the sound of wet slapping echoing through the room.

"F-f," you say, taking a breath. "F-f...our."

"One more baby, so beautiful," Fred says encouragingly, his hands reaching out to stroke your forearms that rest on the bed, holding your weight but barely as your limbs begin to shake. Tears are brimming your eyes through the sheer overwhelm of it, something that Freddie notices almost immediately.

When George's hand strikes you one final time, you cry out in both shock and relief, his large hand managing to catch your red bum cheek and your puffy pussy lips all in one go.

You're broken, tears silently falling from your eyes abs body exhausted.

"Colour sweetheart?" Fred says delicately, stroking back your hair.

"Orange," you reply quietly, taking breaths you needed to steady yourself, confirming that you were okay to carry on but didn't want any more punishment.

"You did so well beautiful, such a good girl for us," Fred says delicately but you're not really listening, your attention is focused on the burning need you have to be filled and of his rather silent twin who hadn't given you any praise or instructions yet.

"Let us love you Angel," George says finally, moving beside his brother to look in awe at your tear stricken face. "You look beautiful," he says, his resolve softening as he looks upon your face.

The moment you feel Fred's cock enter you, you feel immediate relief. George's cock sits heavy on your tongue as you begin to such gratefully, trying to prove to him that you could be his good girl after all. The sex is electric, magnificent. It's a complete entanglement of bodies, so much so that you can hardly tell who is who as they manhandle you and bring you to an overwhelming climax over and over.

In the end, you're abundantly satisfied and exhausted, lying between your two loves who look just as broken as you. Fred deals with the aftercare, rubbing some soothing ointment into your sore backside whilst George holds you tightly into his chest, pressing kisses to your hair.

"You ready to eat, Angel?" George asks eventually as he throws on a shirt and his boxers whilst Fred opts to stay nude, always running naturally hot. You cringe slightly at his question, remembering how you got into this in the first place.

"What are we having?" Fred asks, sitting back down onto the bed next to you, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Lasagne," George replies.

Two things happen at once. Immediately you gag hard, throwing your hand up to your mouth to prevent throwing up on your bedroom carpet. You lurch away from Fred desperately, causing him to lose balance and fall off the edge of the bed but you can't stop to apologise as you run into the bathroom and empty your stomach directly into the toilet.

As soon as it had come on, it went. You flushed the toilet, washed your hands and brushed your teeth whilst frowning, wondering what the hell had just happened. You were fine two minutes ago, what had changed?

Until you remembered that you were having lasagne and garlic bread for tea and your stomach lurched again, roiling dangerously. The thought of the oily, strong smelling bread and saucy, slimy pasta had you fighting back another heave.

"Angel? We've got you a glass of water," George calls out through the door. You take a deep breathe, open the window to air it out a little and sheepishly open the door.

"I'm sorry," you say immediately, cringing at the thought of your dramatic exit. "Freddie, I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it sweetness," he says with a smile, rubbing his sore coccyx with his hand. "Guess you're not the only one with a sore arse now."

"So you really didn't want the."

"Don't say it!" You say quickly, stopping George from finishing his sentence.

It's brief, a blink and you'll miss it sort of moment that if you didn't know your husbands as well as you did, their little twin quirks, you wouldn't have even seen it. They share a brief look, communicating between themselves wordlessly that is over in a flash, but you know it's meaningful.

Fred turns to you first, offering a softer glance than his twin as he steps forward to grab your hand. George disappears out of the room as Fred drags you willingly into the bathroom so you can bathe together, which you gladly welcome.

You're sat lazing in the bath between Fred's legs and resting your head back on his chest, camouflaged in a field of bubbles when George walks back in to the bathroom. You frown, noticing he was fully dressed, not in the boxers and T-shirt he'd thrown on after your escapades. He smiles warmly at you and you smile back, realising his dominant side had been shelved for now but you frown again when you see the little bag he's holding.

"Hear us out Angel," George says delicately, sitting on the side of the tub, unfazed by getting his clothes wet.

"Don't be mad okay?" Fred says, sitting up behind you, following your lead.

"You're pregnant," they say together.

You simply stare at them, confused and more than a little offended at the insinuation.

"Right because I throw up once and I've been a bit moody lately," you say with a slight roll of your eyes.

"Look sweetheart," Fred starts, "you've been a little... cranky the past few days, your appetites changed, your boobs are way bigger than normal, we just think it would be a good idea for you to take a test."

You look towards George who simply nods in agreement, a smile tugging at his face. You can tell he's trying not to get excited, the hope of what could be.

Under the hopeful gazes of your husbands, you relent, nodding slowly whilst you stare at the little box George has pulled out of the bag.

"Shoo, out!" You laugh, getting them to leave you alone to pee. You smack Fred's naked arse on the way out as you evict them, not listening to their muttering about how they'd seen you squirt, how is it different.

You take a deep breath and unbox the little contraption, looking it over in your hands before reading the instructions. You try your hardest not to get excited or hopeful but you fail miserably, could you actually be pregnant? It could hardly be a surprise, your two husbands both had a certain preference for cumming inside you without protection, but you had no idea that it might happen so soon after stopping your potion.

"3 minutes," you say, opening the door to let them in, both of them immediately walking over to the little stick that you'd flipped over. George had bought in a little egg timer and sets it on the side of the bath, twisting it round to the little plastic 3. Fred still hadn't covered up in the slightest and you had to laugh at him, looking between them at the fully dressed twin and the fully nude one.

"If it's not," George begins to say, looking deep into your eyes.

"Then there's always next time," Fred says, patting his brother on the shoulder, flashing your both a reassuring smile.

"Put some bloody clothes on," George chuckles, shoving his twins hand off him and you have to laugh at the interaction as Fred huffs, jogging off to put some boxers on.

When the timer goes off, you take a deep breath and close your eyes, secretly hoping that this could be it. You open your eyes when you feel two hands slipping into yours and entwining with your fingers, George on your left and Fred on your right. They both lean down to press a kiss to their side of your head before pulling their hands away to let you check the little stick.

Pregnant.

[billyharringson]

Ship: Mungrove

Prompt: Character A (Either) hoarded marshmallow bags in the bed and Character B (Either) finds out. SFW c:

Not sure this is what you wanted but this is where my brain went.

"Baby?" Eddie called, unable to take his eyes off the bed. He'd been trying to look for his lighter, hoping that maybe it had fallen from his pocket and gotten lost amongst the covers. What he had found however, was not his kissing lighter and was instead something a lot stranger.

"Yeah?" Billy replied, returning from the bathroom.

Eddie turned to him, gesturing down at the three jumbo bags of marshmallows that had apparently appeared in his bed at some point during the day. "Why are there marshmallows in the bed?" He asked, keeping his tone light and as non-accusing as possible.

In their nearly a year of dating Eddie had learnt a lot about his boyfriend. One of the main things being that he dodnt do anything without a reason, even if that reason wasn't clear to anyone but Billy. The other being that because Billy found it very hard to voice his emotions he often showed them, sometimes in odd ways. A lot of the time it revolved around food as well.

It had started with Eddie finding snacks in his jacket pockets, almost always on a day where he'd forgotten to eat something. Then had evolved into Billy cooking for him whenever Eddie had had a hard day, surprising him with sweets when Eddie did well on a test. Those kinds of things.

He knew better than to bring it up head on, Billy was more likely to retract into himself or even lash out with a mean comment if Eddie tried to get him to explain why he was doing something. He knew that the feeding stemmed from Billy often not having a secure source of food himself growing up. That had changed since he'd moved into the trailer, Wayne always made sure there was food in the fridge and made a point of letting Billy know that he could eat as much if it as he wanted.

It had taken a little while but Billy seemed to finally be accepting that fact. Enough that he now had an adorable little pouch that sometimes peaked over the top of his sinfully tight jeans.

Billy shrugged, glancing down at the marshmallows. "You said they were your favourite."

Eddie tilted his head to the side, studying Billy more closely now. Because marshmallows were his favourite thing to eat, when he was sick. His eyes widened as he noted the flush on Billy's cheeks, the slightly feverish glaze to his eyes, the subtle sheen of sweat coating his tanned skin.

Billy was sick. And this was his way of asking Eddie to take care of him.

Eddie smiled and pulled his shirt over his head, kicking off his jeans so he was just stood in his boxers, know mimicking his boyfriend. "You wanna lay in bed and eat marshmallows with me, baby?" He asked, holding out his hand as he gathered up the bags.

Billy shrugged again, taking the hand anyway. "If you want." He muttered, letting Eddie tug him down under the covers and wrap him in his arms.

"I do want." Eddie replied, kissing briefly at Billy's cheek. Yeah he definitely had a fever. "Couldn't think of a better day even."

"You're a sap." Billy snorted, laying his head against Eddie's chest.

"Yeah." Eddie breathed in reply, a lovestruck smile on his face, because he knew what Billy was saying with that statement. "I love you too, baby."

[blindmagdalena]

Hiya!! I wrote you some fluff, sorry! Tldr the protag (I just used “they”) meets homelander while he’s on patrol and saves his really shitty day with a hug. I’m obsessed with compound v babies that never developed marketable powers, so they’re a little tougher and stronger than most but otherwise nothing special. I think if I continued this they’d only meet again when he was depowered and totally friendless. Anyway, hope you like it! Lots of love, first timer 💕

-

Homelander’s jaw clenches through that big smile of his, uncaring if a slight malice coils in the centre of his eye. He looks straight into the camera, and feels a muscle under his lower lash twitch as the flash goes off. In broad fucking daylight.

It only stings for a second and he knows it, but the dull ache lately thudding in his ears is suddenly a full roar. He blinks hard and no one sees the flash of red in his corneas. The phone shoved in his face meanders away with the idiot attached to it unharmed, and he gives a bland goodbye. Barely time for a breath before someone else wants Homelander’s attention.

They’re next, tall enough to look him in the eye and waiting at the edge of polite distance for his invitation. He isn’t rushed at, which makes a change for patrol meets.

“Auto-flash is your friend,” they offer to the guy leaving, but he’s too absorbed in his selfie to hear. They shrug like they tried. “Asshole,” they grumble, now more to Homelander as they approach. “Want a hug?”

He doesn’t. But he has the presence of mind to unclench his fists at his sides. At least they asked, this many people in and requests usually become demands. The expectant shout of his name starts to grate.

His hesitation gives them pause, and their smile turns to momentary embarrassment at having overstepped. “If you’re not big on that, I totally—“

“You can’t take it back, now,” he tries not to sound like he wants to show them his teeth. “C’mon, bring it in.” And manages, it seems, when he holds his arms out.

They close the gap, folding their arms around his sides. Letting their hands rest on his shoulder blades, before one of them gently pats the centre of his back. Their chest to his chest, the sound of their heart briefly surrounding him before it quiets. Like they’ve been reassured of something they were afraid of.

Their sigh doesn’t stab at his eardrums, they hug him like this is something they’ve been meaning to do for a long time. And their embrace’s earnest, affectionate pressure makes his uninterested grip around their waist very suddenly tighten.

Homelander presses them against him without a thought, arms like steel bars digging into their back. He waits for a different sound. The hitched breath and scream of pain to really make this day hell. But their ribs don’t bend. Their spine doesn’t fold.

Their voice is a whisper, easy on sensitive ears. A little breathless, but fond, “You saved me once.”

No verbal thanks accompanies the statement, only their warm hand moving a slow circle at the centre of his back. Then, their grip eases. His arms fall back to his sides without needing to be scolded, as if suddenly awake to the encroaching crowd. To what he could have done.

Homelander stares at their still-smiling face. He didn’t fuck it up. They’re fine.

His control on his expression lapses only briefly, but he stares at them with glassy blue eyes. Brow slightly furrowed. He’s trying to recognize them, and he can’t.

Then that face is gone, back to a veneer-grin. They give a little wave, unbothered with being forgotten in a way he doesn’t understand.

They don’t make him lie. And then they’re gone, the whole exchange barely half a minute. His chest feels heavier, then lighter. Homelander draws himself up to his full height, ready for the next in line.

DEAREST.... i love this!!!!! aaahhh, the way he was caught off guard by the sincerity of the interaction, and the lack of expectation for performance or a front, the CONSENT of it all... please, you have such a way with words!

i loved him being so disarmed he just. squeezed. almost like a reversion to that moment as a child, snapping his caretakers spine, only to come back to reality and see that they were fine. that gave me chills! i'd love to see more from you, wow. thanks so much for writing this and sending it my way! 🖤

[k8epot8e]

Train in Vain: Chapter 1

Notes: Never done this before, I've only ever written academic essays for grad school etc. I got the idea for this story on the train the other day. Wanted to play around with Kid's characterization and his relationship with Kil. The amount of space Kid and Killer are occupying in my brain lately is unhealthy and I especially loved the HC I'd seen of them being in a punk band together. I'd originally thought of this as a one-shot, but I enjoyed writing it so much that I will keep going! My plan atm is to upload another chapter by next week. Please let me know what you think! Going to try to improve my dialogue and action sequences. The general idea is that it'll all happen over the course of one night, like an After Hours, or American Graffiti situation. TWs: Reader is a woman. Sexual harassment of reader. Brief mention of an imaginary sex scene. Light violence. Implied drinking and drugs. Implied familial pressure and sexism. Cursing. Minors dni.

On AO3 I gave it an M but it's a lighter M. Here's that link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53565769

Summary:

You're headed out on a Saturday night when some cute punks help you out of a sticky situation. Next thing you know, you're tagging along to their concert. This isn't something you'd normally do, but they're nice to look at and you need a little more spontaneity in your life. Let's see where the night takes you.

The man was slumped against the faux wood-paneled wall of the train car. You only noticed him because of his massive, muscular frame. He was your age, late 20s, but he had a boyish charm about his face that made you grin. A mischievousness that was noticeable even with his eyes closed as he was currently. His hair stood up in a dark red shock like he'd stuck his finger in an electrical socket. He was pale and riddled with piercings, metal spikes jutting out from his nose and ears giving his angular face an even sharper appearance. He wore goggles loosely at the top of his forehead. A punk aesthetic that seemed simultaneously meticulous and nonchalant. You noticed his massive left arm was metallic from the elbow down. An equally large man sat beside him on the seat to his left. The man was blonde with long hair that layered itself in sharp locks down his shoulders. He had an old-school soul patch that softened his sharp jawline and drew attention to the blue paper mask he wore courteously over his mouth. He seemed tired in a way that betrayed his rough exterior. His traps were huge and strained against the collar of his worn blue t-shirt. Seeing their muscular physiques made you hold your breath albeit briefly as you boarded the train and quickly slid into a newly available seat.

It was mid-Saturday evening and you were making your way to a bar in south Brooklyn to meet up with a friend from college. She'd recently had a baby and her husband had been begging you to take her out. She was always so responsible; you'd historically been one of her very few bad influences and her husband loved you for it. Despite what she would say when pressed, she enjoyed the thrilling sense of ease you coaxed out of her typically rigid demeanor. Your relationship was easy. She didn't need to text or call you to make sure you still felt involved in her life. You could pick up right where you left off, be it months or years since you'd seen each other.

This was how you lived most of your life. Your family and upbringing were so exhausting that you felt an aversion to friction of any sort. That didn't mean you weren't responsible, of course you were. You always did what was expected of you or what you thought needed to be done. You were the oldest girl, rebelliousness was a luxury reserved for other people. Despite this, you carved out ways to satisfy your inner hellion as you could. Little rebellions that you could control but still scratched the itch you had to break everything down. You drank too much, but not enough to be a real issue. You smoked too much weed, only once it became legalized. You had a serious problem with authority figures or anyone for that matter who had the gall to tell you what to do. You would never cause an actual scene, but you'd fume for weeks after the encounter, thinking of clever ways to handle the situation in retrospect. You had a smart mouth, and while you rarely used it on high, your colorful vocabulary and quick temper had gotten you in serious trouble a couple of times before. You secretly loved using your words to cut someone down to their core, but only if they deserved it. When that side of you showed, the really mean one, no one could keep up with you. People would stare at you, eyes wide and mouth agape at your ability to so quickly discern what they truly hated about themselves and launch it back in their faces.

Aside from its ever-looming presence, this side of yourself was far away from you tonight. You were excited to see your friend, and shockingly the sun had been out today after nine days of straight rain. You had your AirPods in and were listening to one of your throwback playlists on Shuffle. The Clash rang in your ears, barraging your poor eardrums with excessive volume as the train hitched and swayed down the tunnel.

You let your gaze travel back up to the two large men at the other end of the train car. It struck you that it’d been a while since any man had touched you, let alone one as cute as the guys you were ogling shamelessly. You leered at the veiny forearms of the blonde, thickly folded into a taught cross over his chest. Your libido, ever your betrayer, flashed an imaginary scene in your mind’s eye. A vision of the man's vascular forearms tensed in a wrought-iron grip around the edge of a table in front of you, while he fucked you mercilessly from behind. You imagined what his strong body would feel like pressed against your back. A warmth bathed over your skin, your imagination tricking your synapses ever so gently. The warm sensation quickly shot upwards to your cheeks as you realized that the man was watching you stare at him. His expression wasn't judgemental or surprised, just thoughtful with the faintest hint of a smirk behind his mask. Your face flushed beet red and you quickly shook your head back and forth, attempting to convey to the man that you were not, in fact, ogling him but rather staring into the distance and were abruptly brought back to reality. This pathetic coverup attempt made you feel even more guilty since you knew your lustful gaze had been obvious. You averted your eyes down and to the right, tracing the lines made by an errant shoelace discarded on the floor.

The movement of the train broke you out of your shameful reverie. The driver pulled the break surprisingly hard into the next stop and your body lurched forward with the car. You steadied yourself on the wall to your left and watched as most of the people in your car streamed out of the train car doors. The older woman who had been sitting next to you disembarked and in her stead, a lanky brunette man with a buzzcut flopped down next to you dramatically. He gave you a shit-eating grin as your eyes met his and you quickly looked away.

You thought you felt a gaze from further down the train watching you closely but you didn't move or look up in an attempt to discourage your newly arrived neighbor from talking to you. This evasion failed miserably as he tapped you on your right thigh a little too high for your liking.

“Nice weather today, right?”

“Yep.” You said as you took out your right earbud.

“Where you headed?”

“To see a friend. What about you?” You mentally kicked yourself for engaging with him. Why were you so deferential?

“Me and my buddies are going out. Keeping the party going.” He nodded to a man to his right sitting across the aisle. His buddy was cute, like him, but something about him unsettled you. Something about both of them.

“Cool,” you said as you tried to put your earbud back in.

You noticed how empty the train car was. You and these two guys were the only ones on your end of the car. Why did this guy have to sit right next to you?

“What bar are you going to?” He asked quickly before you had the chance to put your earbud back in, so you stopped, holding it aloft.

“Baratie. It's nautical-themed.”

“Sounds cool. What's your friend's name?” He asked, staring you in the eye.

“Um, Amanda.” You said slowly.

“Hah. Good. I thought you were gonna say a guy's name.” He said and chuckled to himself.

“What?” You asked instinctively.

“I thought you were gonna say you had a date.” He explained. You were still confused.

“What do you mean?” You asked dumbly knowing full well his implication.

“I mean a pretty girl like you should come out with us tonight,” he said, his smile turning more nefarious by the second.

You'd never thought of yourself as pretty, and being called a girl made you feel infantile.

“Excuse me?” You asked not very aggressively

You knew that men generally found you attractive. You didn't know to what extent, but you knew on some level that you were cute. You never felt beautiful, that was a word reserved for tall, model-like women who were pretty in an ethereal sort of way. The women you found yourself watching in restaurants and clothing stores who made your heart skip a beat. They always seemed so effortless.

You were the opposite. You were small and round and angry and everything you did was full of effort. You weren't tiny but you were short. Despite your size, you always felt enormous and awkward. You were always moving out of people's way because you felt so brazenly wide. This feeling came from being muscular. You weren't ripped but you'd always played sports growing up and took every opportunity to carry things so that your mother didn't have to. You were a force of sheer mass and will. Femininity felt out of reach for someone who took up space.

Despite this, men found your willingness coupled with your small stature endearing. Your muscles and general meatiness meant that you had a curvy body which betrayed how seriously you took yourself. Your boobs were objectively huge which made you feel fat. Your large bust in tandem with your wide shoulders and back made you feel like you were going to hulk out of lithely cut women’s clothes. You didn't shop frequently, opting instead to wear t-shirts that swamped you in their width. You had a bit of a belly from your enjoyment of craft beer but generally, you were in good shape and attractive. You'd never admit this to anyone, but you saw the way people looked you up and down in bars.

Self-consciousness flooded your brain as you stared at the man sitting next to you. What did he mean?

“Oh, haha, no thanks.” You replied tentatively.

“Don't be shy,” he said, wrapping his long arm around your shoulders. You could smell minty alcohol radiating from the back of his throat.

“Haha. No, I'm good. Gotta meet my friend.” You said attempting to shrink from his grip.

His hand tightened and tensed on your left shoulder. He leaned his face into your right ear.

“Come on, don't be a bitch.” He cooed, his hot breath making you shiver in his arms.

All the color drained from your face and your heart sank. “Fuck,” you thought to yourself as your brain scrambled for ideas on how to escape.

His friend across the aisle laughed as he pulled you in closer to his body. He discreetly placed a soft kiss on the base of your neck.

“I know you want it.” He whispered. “My buddy and I will show you a good time.” You felt his fingers drift to your inner thigh as he squeezed lightly.

You froze from shock. Your brain descended into a panic as fear wracked your body. You couldn’t move.

Suddenly, the man next to you was yanked into the air and thrown to the floor of the train, his body making a loud thud as he skidded to a stop across the linoleum. The train bounced as your gaze trailed up the strong legs of the man now standing in front of you. It was the masked blonde man from your earlier fantasy. Your shocked expression caught his gaze. There was a silent rage behind his eyes. You didn't know how he crossed the train so quickly to launch your harasser out of his seat, especially in steel-toed boots, but you were grateful for it. The redheaded punk was still asleep, head resting on the wall.

The harasser’s friend, the man sitting across the aisle from you started to yell. He tried to get up in the face of the masked man but was violently shot backward with a swift roundhouse kick. The harasser got up off the floor while the masked man used his inertia to quickly pivot his feet and turn to face the incoming attack. He caught the harasser’s fist with his large left hand and parried with a swift punch straight to the guy’s jaw. You heard the crack of bone when his fist hit the man’s face. The harasser was once again, propelled to the ground, blood spraying from the side of his mouth. You gasped and covered your mouth with your hand in shock. You’d never seen a real fight before.

At that moment, the train car doors opened, and, seeing the chaotic scene, the people on the platform yelled in horror and diverted to other cars. You noticed the redheaded punk was now awake and smirking at his friend’s handiwork, his large arms crossed over his chest. The masked man paused, breathed out calmly, and turned to face you. You held your breath. His right fist was covered in blood, so after a thoughtful pause, he extended his left hand out towards you.

“You okay?” He asked. His voice was steady and reassuring, his large hand extended towards you, palm facing upwards.

“Um. Yes. I’m alright.” You stuttered, still in shock. You looked the man in the eye. The rage from earlier was gone and all that remained was tentative concern. He seemed worried that you would spook at any moment, like a wild rabbit caught against a fence.

Sensing no malice in his gaze, you gingerly placed your hand in his. It was calloused but warm and reassuring. He clasped your palm and helped you to your feet with surprising gentleness.

“Well I doubt we have much time after that performance” the redheaded punk spat from down the car, standing from his seat. His booming voice filled with deadpan amusement shocked you out of your daze. You looked around, people were whispering and looking at you through the train’s windows. You saw the station cop start to hustle down the platform towards your train car, “Hey! You three!” He yelled as he picked up his pace. “I've got an assault on a train down here” the cop barked into a walkie-talkie on his right shoulder.

The masked man put his hand on your right shoulder and looked at you, “Sorry, about this, but we gotta get moving.” In one swift motion, you were gracefully floated from the ground. The masked man draped your body over his left shoulder like it weighed nothing and held your legs snug to his chest. The redhead laughed raucously as they dashed out of the train car with you in tow. The masked man and the redhead ran side by side as they picked up speed, busting through the emergency exit door and darting up the station’s long walkway to the street. The yells of the station cop echoed into nothing as you emerged up, into the cold night air. The two men didn’t stop running until they reached an alley two blocks away. The masked man lowered you gently to your feet and they both hunched over to catch their breath.

“Kil, I’ve never seen you manhandle a chick like that” the redhead howled.

You tensed.

“Kid, you heard the cop, she was gonna get detained. I had to get her outta there.”

“How fucking gallant of you, asshole. What are we gonna do now? That wasn’t our stop.” The redheaded man finally caught his breath and stood up to his full height. He was huge, even taller than you’d originally thought. The masked man was broad and taller than you but the redhead had to be at least 6’5.

“Um excuse me. I’m here too.” You said looking from one to the other. On hearing this, they both turned and looked at you.

The redhead furrowed his brow at you, “Yeah, we know. You got us into this mess.”

Your jaw fell open. “How is this MY fault you’re the ones who basically kidnapped me!” You said incredulously.

“Yeah, if my buddy hadn’t saved your ass you’d be in a holding cell all night being questioned by Paul Blart.” The redhead shot back, his intense golden eyes boring into yours.

“Kid, knock it off. You know it’s not her fault.” The masked man waved dismissively at the redhead. “My name is Kil. Sorry for escalating things. Just thought you needed a hand.” The masked man reached his hand back out to you.

You took his hand and shook it lightly. “No, I appreciate it. Thank you.”

Kil shot a thumb at the redhead, “This ray of sunshine is Kid.”

Kid crossed his arms over his chest and averted his eyes from yours. “Pleasure.” He mumbled.

“He's not that bad when you get to know him,” Kil added. “We’re in a band and are meeting up with our mates for a show later.”

“Oh that’s cool,” you said, “what kind of band?”

“Punk, genius” Kid tsked and gestured towards his outfit with his metallic forearm.

“I didn’t ask you, ginger” you snapped back. Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw Kid’s lips shoot up into a reluctant smirk.

“Like Kid said, we’re a punk band. You’re welcome to come to the show if you’re interested, but I’m not exactly sure how we’re getting to the venue anymore.” Kil answered.

All of the commotion had made you completely forget about your own plans. “Shit!” You yelped and dug for your phone in your purse. The screen lit up and you find a text from your friend. “Hey I’m so so sorry but Lulu is coming down with something from daycare. I don’t think I’m gonna make it out tonight. Rain check?” You frowned at your phone. You’d wanted to see your friend tonight but hoped her daughter would feel better.

“So are you coming or what?”

You looked up. Kid was staring down at you, eyeing the message you’d pulled up on your phone. He had an expression in his piercing, golden eyes that you couldn’t read.

You paused to think. You didn’t know these guys, but despite their gruff exteriors, you felt decently comfortable with them.

Maybe it was because you’d already done your hair and makeup, maybe it was because you were still full of adrenaline, maybe it was because you thought of yourself as more rebellious than you actually were, or maybe it was because looking at either one of the men made your insides twist into knots, but for whatever reason you cracked a wry smile and replied,

“Yeah, let’s do this.”

[enquiringangel]

Homesick (Ficlet)

((I am having feelings about Laddie and his relationship(s) with the Boys, okay. All the fandom attention is usually on Laddie & Dwayne for obvious reasons, so I decided to do something a little different.))

-x-

Laddie woke up tangled in the blankets on the bed he slept in with Star, feeling confused and upset. Who were those people? The dream had been strange: he had walked in the sunshine and its warmth kissed his skin like the lady with the red hair. She was beautiful and her smile was just for him as she looked down at him adoringly. There had been a house, and a dog that jumped around and ran after a frisbee if Laddie threw it. There was a man too, sawing lengths of wood for the tree house he was building. Somehow Laddie knew he was building it for him. 

He felt like he knew those people, or that he should know them. 

He felt like he loved them, and that they loved him too. 

Laddie couldn’t explain what was wrong when Star asked him; his throat kept closing up and he kept hiccupping when he tried to talk. He could feel the eyes of his big brothers watching him and that made it worse, because he didn’t want to be a little baby. “I wanna go home,” he gasped finally, sobbing as he finally managed to get the words out. “I – I want my Mommy.” 

Across the room David went very still, holding a cigarette halfway to his lips. He lowered it and snapped his lighter shut, slapping it down on the arm of his wheelchair before making his way over to the bed. He knelt on the mattress, knocking Star’s stroking hands away from Laddie’s hair to grip his chin with iron fingers.  

“This is your home now Laddie,” he said. His blue eyes were cold. “You don’t like it here with us?” 

“David,” Star said, tone reproachful. She put her hands on Laddie’s shoulders like she wanted to pull him away but didn’t quite dare. “He’s a little boy and he’s had a bad dream – you leave him alone.” 

David ignored her. “We’re your family,” he went on, then, when Laddie only sniffled and shook his head in protest: “Don't you love us anymore?” 

Laddie only cried harder, had cried no, meaning that no, David was wrong, because he did love them. He loved them all: his big brothers and his big sister Star, and he was sorry if he’d hurt David’s feelings, he didn’t mean it.  

“Then what’s all the fuss about, huh?” David asked, chucking him under the chin and giving him a faint grin. “No need to get all mopey over a silly old dream.” The smile didn’t go into his eyes though as he looked over Laddie’s shoulder up at Star. “Forget about all that other stuff, it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re here with us – that's all you need.” 

“Okay,” Laddie agreed, rubbing at his cheeks with his fist. He felt a bit silly for crying. He wanted to give David a hug but it wasn’t easy with him like it was with Dwayne or Paul. Them he could hug any time, but David and Marko were different. He hesitated a bit too long and the moment passed by.  

So he was surprised when David wrapped an arm around his waist and lifted him onto his hip as he stood up. “You want ice cream, kiddo?”  

Laddie brightened instantly: normally the ice cream shop was closed by the time they got to the Boardwalk. But, like Paul always said, locked doors couldn’t keep you out if you were really determined to get in somewhere. “Can I have fudge?” he asked. “And sprinkles?” 

David raised his eyebrows at him like he’d just asked a very silly question. “Of course. Boys!” he called out across the lobby. “We’re doing an ice cream run!” Paul and Marko immediately began whooping and yelling ‘ice cream!’ like toddlers and bumping their chests together. Dwayne came over to take Laddie off David and swung the boy onto his back. His feet left the ground and he started drifting around the cave, miming swimming through the air while Laddie’s laughter rang off the walls. 

David looked back over his shoulder at Star and held out his hand. “You coming?” 

Hesitation flickered very briefly in her eyes before she nodded and put her hand in his, following the rest of the boys out into the night. 

[puckjay-blue]

So, I've been writing a greek mythology themed slice of life YA fanfic on AO3, it's all very short chapters with a loose continuity between them. I am very proud of it and I thought I'd share it here as well! here's a little bit of chapter 1, as a treat.

Exterior, night. Aphrodite is alone on a rooftop, looking at the multicolored lights of the city. Her simple satin slip dress makes her look frail and dainty. She coughs on her thin cigarettes.  "Thought you quit." Artemis steps up next to her, carefully sets her backpack down and extends her own cigarette. Aphrodite stumbles for the lighter in her purse, quickly wiping away her tears and hiding a sniffle in her shoulder. She struggles with the mechanism of the small lighter, her acrylics getting in the way. Finally, Artemis takes her lit cigarette to her lips and takes a long drag. 

"What did he do." "What?" Aphrodite's voice shakes a little.  "Did he cheat?" Artemis doesn't look at Aphrodite, she just stares at the three stars that manage to break through the light pollution.  Aphrodite chuckles without any joy. "You know he would never." "Yeah, he knows I'd kick his ass." Aphrodite takes an other drag off her cigarette. This time she doesn't cough.  "I don't super want to talk about it, Arty." "Come on. Is that true?" There is a sarcastic twang in her tone. "You love talking about how your exes suck." Aphrodite opens her mouth, closes it again around her cigarette but it has almost burned down to the filter. She shakes the ashes off and lights a new one, struggling with the lighter again.  Artemis lets her stall. Wordlessly, she takes the claw clip out of Aphrodite's hair. Her auburn curls crash onto her shoulders like the foam on a seashore rock. Artemis twists it again to include the few strands of hair that had escaped and re-places the clip where it was before. 

Aphrodite takes a long breath in, remembers she is supposed to be smoking, sighs and takes a drag off her freshly lit cigarette.  "Hephaestus broke up with me, Artemis." "Oh shit..." They say nothing for a while, finish their cigarettes and Artemis pulls a bottle of whisky from the duffle bad still slung across her shoulders and lets it sit, unopened, between the two of them. "He said something about... The stories I make up in my head. I don't know. I wasn't listening as well as I should have been, probably." "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" "That's what I said!" Aphrodite settles down again, the inertia of her outrage only carrying her briefly. "That's not fair. He was kind of right, like... I don't know. He said stuff, and like, it made sense, you know? I didn't like it. But it made sense." "Yeah, Hephaestus is a smartass. Hate him." "No you don't." "Now I do. He broke up with my girl!" Aphrodite laughs. It's a sad laugh full of the tears she's holding back. "Did you listen to the part where I said he was right?" "Nope. Don't wanna hear it."

Aphrodite chuckles again. She pulls make up wipes out of her purse, and accept Artemis's help to wipe off the ruined mascara off her cheeks.  "You sure? I mean, it's pretty unlikely that you can actually not hear anything about it, between the Student Union and your brother..." "Listen here, missy," Artemis says, poking the tip of Aphrodite's nose with the make up wipe. "I like you much more than I like him. I don't care what actually happened, and I especially don't give a shit what anybody says. He made you cry. He's a dick." Aphrodite gives her an uncertain smile and squeezes around her own shoulders, trying not to shiver. Artemis shakes off her jacket and wraps it arounf Aphrodite. It's red looks much brighter on Aphrodite's paper-white skin than it did against Artemis's golden tan. 

"So, since we're ditching this party," "You don't have to," Aphrodite interrupts. "I just needed fresh hair and stuff. I'm good now." "I don't think Magenta Capris count as fresh hair, Tee." For the first time that night, Aphrodite gives a sincere laugh. "Yeah, they probably don't." "Anyways you wanna go break his shit?" "Arty we're not going to break his stuff." "We could tho." "No." "He would probably not even mind." "Arty, I love you, please shut it. I'm going to cry again." "You want to go raid Apollo's freezer and watch Top Gun?" Aphrodite makes a face, hesitates and finally says, "You know what yeah that sounds really good actually.

[a-bucket-of-trash]

Bonds Like Tree’s Roots- Kelvin x Female Reader – P2

P1

Tags: Still fluff af

The motorcycle ride, holding on to Kelvin, seemed shorter than it really had been, but it wasn't that you lived so far away, that city wasn't that big after all. Soon his vehicle rested near your door and you entered to your simple house, with him behind, who quickly and instinctively studied the place with his sharp eyes, taking in details, somehow looking for any danger, as he had become accustomed to after several years of service, and even more after that time spent on the island.

You noticed that, but you didn't say anything, since you used to do the same. Even more, since you used to leave imperceptible details on doors and windows, which would reveal if someone had entered in your absence. You knew very well that ex-soldiers carried with them a certain paranoia as a result of what they had experienced at the front.

“Make yourself comfortable” You said as you left your backpack next to an armchair “Make yourself at home while I make coffee. Do you prefer it normal, light or very loaded?

"Very loaded, please" He watched you walk through that rather small room that served as a living room, dining room and kitchen, "Caffeine helps me with migraines"

"Aye, Sergeant." You smiled, briefly giving him the military salute, before taking out a couple of cups and such.

"How exaggerated you are, I only had a higher rank than yours..." He lowered his voice a little "Which was of little use when I had trouble remembering basic things like making a tourniquet"

You glanced at him as he took off his leather jacket, hanging it carefully on a coat rack. He was wearing a simple black T-shirt, but tight enough so that it was well attached to the body, slightly marking his muscles, his back in a V shape, which made you swallow saliva. He wasn't a model, but he was obviously attractive enough to make your eardrums ring. That meeting was going to be a little difficult for you to bear.

"Is it the real one?" He asked, pointing to a simple, black ax hung ceremoniously on the wall, identical to the one they had used on the island.

“Hmmmm?” You woke up from your cerebral fantasy, looking at him “Oh, no… Yeah…” You shook your head, searching for sanity “I mean, it's not mine, that was taken from me to do studies of biological material, just like almost everything else. I bought that one you see online. It's from the same factory and everything, so you can kill cannibals with it if the need arises."

“Oh, even your underwear was confiscated from you too?” He sighed, with a resigned air "Well, it was to be expected..." He went through his pocket and took out a metal lighter, showing it to you "I managed to hide this one"

“Is it the one from the island?” You looked at him, smiling. He, still seriously injured, had cunningly saved something as a souvenir.

“Shhhh” He motioned you to be quiet and winked at you as he put it back to his pocket.

"Silly" You whispered, making coffee, looking away, feeling your heart bounce between your ribs like a cannibal locked in a trap.

Kelvin looked around for a moment, seeing a large fish tank, with different types of algae, soft, almost golden sand, and a couple of cute water snails slowly crawling around the glass. He found the sound of cascading water coming out of a filter especially soothing.

"Don't you have fishes?" He pointed to the fish tank.

“I had them until recently, but I changed them for the snails. They were growing too much and they were running out of space, so I gave them to a friend who sells fish” You poured the water into the coffee pot “Besides, that filter gets clogged every two days, the fish can die, but those snails are near immortal”

“Do you want me to take a look at the filter later?” He looked at you.

"To that? I just have to buy another one.” You returned the look.

"I'm a Hydraulic Engineer, sweetheart" He laughed, tenderly "Those kinds of filters are a piece of cake for me"

“Are you a Hydraulic Engineer?” You were surprised, with his giggle echoing in the back of your neck “What? Since when?"

“A few years ago, actually” He walked over to where you were, leaning against the nearby wall, crossing his arms, looking a little bigger than he already was “Why do you think I almost didn't fight on the island? I'm not a war soldier like a certain little person here” He pointed at you with his own chin.

“I would say that I am the muscles and you are the brain, but…” You hesitated.

"Right, brain damage." He nodded.

"No, dummy!" You gently slapped his arm “See? You have muscles"

"Mh." He shrugged.

You immediately noticed the row of metallic balls half peeking out of the collar of his shirt. Knowing it was his dog tag, you quickly reached over, yanking on the chain, pulling the tag out as he watched you, curious and silent. Quickly you read his name, since, even after all, you still knew each other by your military pseudonyms from that mission.

"Pfffft..." You chuckled, re-reading his name, which now sounded absurdly weird to you "Robert Keaton... I guess they chose the pseudonym with K for your last name... How weird it's going to be not to call you Kelvin"

"Nobody said you can't keep calling me Kelvin." He looked into your eyes.

"You don't mind if I use your code name instead of your real name?"

"It's you" He shrugged his shoulders again "I'm so used to the way that name sounds on your lips that I might not realize you're talking to me if you call me Robert"

"Emmm" You hesitated, seeing him nearby "Okay... If you prefer it"

“Aha” He smiled mischievously, reaching out his hand and beckoning you “Now you. Give me that. I want to know your name"

"What? No!" You covered your neck with your hands.

"I'm not going to call you Moshe, that code name is horrible, I refuse" He looked you in the eyes, with the face of an abandoned puppy, trying to convince you "Pleaaaase?"

You rolled your eyes, wanting to hide the fact that his puppy dog look had the power to bend your will 30 times over. You mumbled a "Fine" and pulled out your dog tag, reluctantly, handing it to him, seeing him very close, crouching slightly near your neck to read it.

“Ohhh…” He purred, calling your name, half playing with the dog tag, his eyes locked on yours “See? A thousand times better than Moshe”

You muttered to yourself, pulling the tag from his fingers, putting it back under your shirt. Your name, on his lips, with his voice, was the song of a siren to your heart. You turned, to pour the damn coffee, which was already ready, into those pair of mugs. You needed to focus on something else if you didn't want to end up confessing, again.

P3

[euphorial-docx]

a snippet of spinal landscapes (bones and all au) because i’ve been slacking too much and need to hold myself accountable🫀🦴

When it was over, Regulus stared at the ceiling. Benjy laid beside him, curled into his side, a finger gently tracing Regulus’s collarbones. Regulus focused on that, the motions of his finger. Motions, motions, motions.

But then Benjy’s touch moved higher.

“How’d you get this?” he asked, an innocent question, as his finger grazed the scar on Regulus’s neck.

Regulus instinctively reached to touch the thin scar. “A girl.”

“A girl?” Benjy questioned, lighter that time. Almost playful.

“Does that shock you?” Regulus put a grin on, leaning into the playfulness as a means of avoidance. If Benjy thought it was one thing, he’d let him believe it was one thing.

“I just didn’t realize.” Benjy shrugged, his hand venturing to play with the hair at the nape of his neck instead, “You’re into both, then?”

“I’m into no one until I’m into someone.”

Benjy hummed, giving a true grin. “So what I’m hearing is that I’m special?”

Regulus looked at him. Looked at Benjy and his messy hair and the way the lamplight hit his skin and surrounded his frame. He looked at the shadows on his face, the red mark adorning the slope of his neck.

Regulus placed his hand on his neck, thumb brushing over the red mark. Motions faded into the background. Briefly, his mind slipped and a fleeting image of teeth breaking skin entered his mind, but only briefly.

He lifted his gaze to Benjy’s eyes. “Very,” he said, already leaning in, and was met halfway.

He sighed into the kiss and crowded in closer. Tilting his head, it was easy to deepen it, to get inside and taste. Benjy let out a low moan, and Regulus felt the familiar sensation inside him; his stomach made the longing known with a rumble.

Benjy broke the kiss to laugh, his head turning slightly leaving Regulus’s lips to land on his cheek instead.

“Hungry?” he asked.

Regulus let out a heavy breath and rested his forehead against his temple. “Starving.”

They went out to eat, and Regulus ate his and stole from Benjy’s plate, and yet the emptiness inside him remained. It remained, and it grew with every bite.

[semper-legens]

182. Weapons of Past Destruction, by Cavan Scott, Blair Shedd, Rachael Stott, and Anang Setyawan

Owned: No, library Page count: Unknown, not numbered My summary: The Doctor is in trouble. Taking Rose and Jack to a peaceful, favourite planet, he is put off when he finds it a destroyed wasteland. Looks like something's meddling with the way things should be...but who? And why? My rating: 3.5/5 My commentary:

Well, it's time to delve back, however briefly, into the world of Doctor Who. This is again just something I saw at work and thought would be interesting enough. I'm a New and Classic Who fan mostly; though I've dabbled in the Expanded Universe, it's mostly been through the Wilderness Years novels and the Big Finish audios, not so much the comics. The only Doctor Who comics I've really read were the monthly ones that ran in Doctor Who Magazine back when I regularly read that, but it's been a while since that was true. But I've always been interested. Hey, any corner of the Doctor Who universe is interesting, and I'm always down for more Nine content. Nine isn't my favourite Doctor (that's One) but he is a fascinating Doctor nonetheless, not least because of Christopher Eccleston's stunning performance. Obviously we're not going to see that in a comic - so how does this hold up?

The overall story here is somewhat complicated for the format - I'm used to these comics being a bit lighter on plot, from the ones I've experienced before. The Doctor, Rose, and Jack are all on an alien planet which is supposed to be a peaceful utopia, but things have gone horribly wrong. I liked how the Doctor was wrong-footed by history being different to how he thought it was supposed to go, it led to some very natural exposition and uncovering of the details of just what happened here. Rose, Jack, and Nine are one of my favourite TARDIS teams, and their chemistry and banter was well-represented here. I love me some snarky time travelers, what can I say. The plot was really fast-paced and engaging, my only criticism was that Rose was kind of stuck playing the damsel in distress through most of it and didn't really have much to do in terms of the wider plot. She got a lot of personality, but it was notable that she kept getting kidnapped or placed in peril or stuck away from the Doctor or things like that, whereas the Doctor and Jack got to be a lot more proactive.

However, I do have to make the note that the art here is sometimes a bit…strange. It's not necessarily bad, but I think the artist is trying so hard to realistically replicate Eccleston, Piper, and Barrowman that they slip into the uncanny valley from time to time. Certain expressions and poses just seem off, and it's really distracting, particularly when other human or humanoid characters in this art style don't have that problem. I assume it just comes from wanting the characters to be recognisable, but the limits of the art style hamper that recognisability at times. It wasn't a deal-breaker by any means, but it was somewhat offputting at times.

Next up, the early days of the internet, in a graphic novel about connection.

[dreaminghour]

QuiAni Housewarming

Event: @domaystic Fandom: Star Wars Rating: Teen and Up Prompt: 01 Housewarming Ship: Qui-Gon/Anakin Context: Modern AU. Qui-Gon is a karate instructor and Anakin is an adult model who takes his self-defense course. He then gives Qui-Gon a link to his page in an attempt to ask him out. Words: 657

"What's this?"

Qui-Gon blinked at him, still holding up the foil wrapped bottle — clearly a bottle of alcohol — for a few more seconds before he raised his eyebrows.

"Hello, Sensei," Qui-Gon said, pitching his voice so it was lighter, like Anakin's. "How are you? Welcome, please come in."

Anakin just scoffed and shook his head, reaching to grab Qui-Gon's elbow and haul him into the apartment. "Hi," he said, mumbling as he briefly embraced Qui-Gon who remained stiff against him, still just holding that bottle out to one side.

"So this is, ahem, a housewarming gift."

Finally Anakin took the bottle from Qui-Gon but only gaze up at the man in puzzlement.

"I moved in a year ago," was all Anakin said.

There was something about how Qui-Gon was standing that prompted Anakin to unwrap the bottle. It was probably whiskey.

"Thank you," Anakin said, honestly touched. "Should we open it?"

"Ah… You don't have to."

"I mean, it won't go bad, right?" Anakin said, happy to have something to do. He didn't realize he'd be so nervous just to have Qui-Gon in his apartment. "I'm not sure I have the right glasses…"

"How many roommates do you have?" Qui-Gon asked, following him into the kitchen.

"Do you want ice?" Anakin asked.

"Straight is fine, and only give me a splash."

"Would you like a tour?" Anakin asked as he handed Qui-Gon a crystal tumbler, but taking in the slight widening of his eyes, he went on. "I'm not propositioning you."

"I know," Qui-Gon said. And then he, apparently a seasoned whiskey drinker, nearly choked on his whiskey. Nonetheless, the took a few steps after Anakin into the living room.

He seemed smaller in the high ceilinged room, kind of how he had at that pizza parlor when he'd tried to make clear to Anakin there was no romantic future for them. And yet here they were.

Each room they entered, Anakin couldn't help but notice the way Qui-Gon glanced around as though looking for something.

"I don't just leave my stuff leaving around, if that's what you're worried about."

Qui-Gon did stiffen a little at that.

"You really didn't watch anything on my page, did you?" Anakin said, and for perhaps the first time, he felt a little bad about blind-siding Qui-Gon like that. He watched Qui-Gon hold that glass with both hands, swirling the very last sip of liquor; his hands looked too large.

"It's a very nice place," Qui-Gon said.

"We like it," Anakin allowed. He knew it was a nice place. He knew most people his age couldn't even share something this large.

"None of your roommates are home?"

"Why?" Anakin's smile curled, he felt himself growing warm. "Do you want to proposition me?"

"No." Qui-Gon cleared his throat again. "Nothing so crude."

He placed his glass on the coffee table, a thick loop of hair curling over his shoulder as he did, and then came to stand in front of Anakin.

"I would like to kiss you, however," he said, and Anakin didn't trust himself to speak, he just nodded. Just like that, cool fingers touched his jaw, there was a slight rasp of beard hair, and just the briefest press of lips to the side of his mouth. "Thank you for inviting me over."

And as suddenly as it had happened, Qui-Gon was withdrawing.

"Was that all?" Anakin asked. "Quick tour, barely a sip of whiskey and you're gonna go?"

Qui-Gon didn't move, which meant he didn't withdraw further at least.

With a sigh, Anakin plonked his drink down on the ledge beside him and grabbed Qui-Gon's shirt with both hands, immediately feeling Qui-Gon embrace him, and raised himself up to kiss him properly. He wasn't so stiff now, just slow. This time, when Anakin pulled back, Qui-Gon followed, kissing him again. Anakin wrapped an arm around Qui-Gon's neck. The whiskey tasted so much better off his tongue, warm and honey-sweet.

[constant-mason24]

Video Killed the Radio Star- Chapter Five

Riddler x F!reader

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“Uh-” (Y/n) can barely get a word out, mind blank with fear. The man towering over her smirks. He tilts his head at her, though not far enough to knock the green bowler from his head. (Y/n) moves slowly at first, leaning back on her forearms as she scoots away. The rough carpet beneath her scratches in the worst way as Riddler takes a step closer. (Y/n) moves again, faster this time, crawling away from the man closing in. She doesn’t get very far before backing into something. Impossible; the hallway was completely empty-

She bends her neck back to look upwards. It was another man. He must have been in another room when (Y/n) came in. He’s tall, almost twice as tall as she is judging by this angle, and he’s dressed in dark, unidentifiable clothing. She gawks blankly at him too before he picks her up by the underarms and lifts her to her feet. She would’ve collapsed back to the floor if not for the heavy hands holding her by the shoulders now. She was certain the man holding her up could feel her shaking. She hoped the Riddler couldn’t see it.

“Ahh, yes. I know who you are. You were the one who so graciously helped me with the second part of my plan, weren’t you?” He smiled at her, a beautiful grin she couldn’t deny. “You and your cohort. You must be (Y/n), I presume?”

“Y-yes, sir.” She looked into the Riddler’s eyes with her own, much wider ones. They really were an exquisite shade of blue. Or were they slightly green? The suit made it a little hard to tell.

The Riddler laughs out gently, “There’s no need to call me ‘Sir,’ my dear. I am the Riddler! And besides, I’m only teasing. Of course, I know who you are.” 

“Right. Y-you left those notes.”

“That I did.” He turns to walk back into the room his men were searching, motioning for them to follow. (Y/n) took a step after him only to be pushed by the thug behind her. She nearly faceplants right into the Riddler’s back, tripping through the doorway as she stumbles forward. Riddler whips around, fixing a nasty look on the man. “There’s no need to manhandle the poor girl. Let her go; she can move of her own free will.”

The man just nods at that, backing away into the doorway. (Y/n) turns her attention to the rest of the room. The other men working for Riddler have stopped what they’re doing, choosing instead to stare at their uninvited guest. It only takes one accusatory glance from the boss for them to return to their work, however, still stopping every so often to glace in (Y/n)’s direction. 

“You know, there are cops gathering outside.” (Y/n) muttered, looking briefly at riddler before returning to watching his goons work. The masked man seems amused by her input.

“Is that why you came here? To warn me?”

“Uhm… no.” She frowns.

“Well then, what is your reasoning? Was it because of the notes I left on your door?” He leans back against the wall, a gold cane with a question mark adorning the top propped up on his shoulder. 

“I guess so, yeah.” She looks down at her own shoes now, staring deeply at the scuffs of dirt and use. What the actual hell was wrong with her? Riddler opened his mouth to say something else when one of his men interrupted him. 

“Boss, it ain’t here.”

“What do you mean?” Riddler sounded frustrated, getting up off the wall as (Y/n) shrunk back into it. 

“I mean, it ain’t here!” The grunt spoke up again, a deep gray-blue balaclava covering his face. He held up a folder in his hand that was only a few shades lighter in color. “It should be in this folder here, but it’s empty.”

“You’re joking-” The Riddler takes the folder from the man, flipping it open with a growl. He stares at the empty paper with a grimace for a while before a loud thud sounds from the other room. Everyone in the room stops and stares out the open doorway. The thug in the dark clothes who had grabbed (Y/n) earlier left to go investigate. It was silent for a moment, maybe two, before more thudding echoed through the building. This time, it’s accompanied by the man yelling out a warning.

“It’s the Bat!”

This set everyone into a frenzy. Riddler’s men shove right past (Y/n) to get through the door. One of them bumps into her a little too hard, and she stumbles back into the Riddler himself. Now his hands are the ones clasping her shoulders as he steadies her. He’s dropped the grey folder, which falls open on top of (Y/n)’s foot. On the inside of the folder, a stopwatch is crudely drawn in either paint or blood. She really doesn’t want to know which it is. 

“Why don’t you get out of here, now?” Riddler mutters, pushing (Y/n) back through the doorway and into the hall as he made his way out as well. “However the hell you got in here, go back the way you came.”

“W-wait, you’re letting me go?” She asks, surprised she isn’t being killed or taken hostage.

“I’m afraid I’ve got bigger fish to fry, right now. Have a good night, (Y/n).” And he takes off towards all the noise. 

(Y/n) only takes a moment to process what’s happening before dashing to the window she had climbed in through. As she passes by, she glances down into the room all the noise is coming from and sees one of the goons being tossed into a wall.

Yep. it’s time to go now.

Unfortunately, (Y/n) realizes she’s too short to reach the window sill from the inside without standing on something. Behind her, she glances at an “L” shaped desk cluttered with books and pens- and a rolling office chair. She grabs the chair, pulling it up against the wall beneath the window sill. She climbs up onto it, praying it doesn’t roll out from under her. Thankfully it doesn’t and she’s able to pull herself up and through the opening, landing facefirst in the dumpster awaiting her on the other side. If it weren’t for the panic flooding her veins, she’d blanch at the smell.

(Y/n) picked herself up from the garbage, kicking a bag to the side and grabbing her purse out of the corner of her eye as she scanned the alleyway around her. It was empty, as was much of the surrounding area now. The police must have forced entry on both sides.

(Y/n) hopes he made it out.

Throwing her purse over her shoulder, she throws herself over the edge of the dumpster one last time, hitting the ground and running off into the darkness at full speed. 

She doesn’t stop until she gets home.