#by mess i just mean that i've jumped all over the place and need to A) fill in parts and B) make sure what i've got is cohesive

[quaranmine]

TONIGHT. I WRITE MORE.

[sunraies]

Rafe x Sleepy! Reader where he freaks out that she’s not answering her Phone and thinks The worst scenario that she’s sick of him, cheating etc. But It gets better when she calls him while he’s with The boys and she’s in her pj’s telling him she just woke up and asking what happened that made him call so many times 🥹

Sleepy baby

As requested above

Warnings - insecurities, toxic thoughts, drug use, drinking, and mentions of sex. Ending fluff.

*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*×*

16 hours ago, you posted to your insta story. 16 hours since you'd been laughing, smiling, singing, and dancing into the camera. Music pumping and disco lights blazing as you partied into the night.

You looked so happy, surrounded by your college friends. Some he knew, and some he didn't. He wished he could have been there with you. Long distance was slowly killing him, he was sure of it.

Although he'd been uneasy about you going so far away, things had been working out. He visited as often as he could, and you came home for the holidays. But it was moments like this when he started to doubt it all. His mind would spiral.

At first, he thought there was a reasonable explanation for you not texting him when you made it home and for not responding to his messages. You were probably to tired and drunk, simply forgotten.

But as the hours ticked by and multiple messages and phone calls later, his mind began to wander to darker places. You didn't need him anymore. You had finally realised it. You had found someone else. Someone else had found you.

You were a college student, you didn't need some hometown boyfriend dragging you down, you had finally decided to live your best life. Without him. Party, sex and drugs.

Well, two could play at that game. The moment Topper had told him about a party happening, he immediately said he would go. Fuck it, he was still the Kook King, he knew how to party, how to have any person he wanted.

The problem was that you were the only person he wanted. After a few drinks, he found himself where he normally ended up at parties. Sat with his boys, Topper, Kelce, and Barry, nursing a beer, smoking a blunt, doing a few lines, and glazing into the fire pit as the sky of endless stars shone above them.

"Bro, that's like the billionth time you checked your phone." Topper pointed out as Rafe pulled his phone out of his shorts pocket again.

"What's up, Little Miss Havard ghosting you?" Barry teased as he through arm an over Rafe's shoulders.

"Fuck off" Rafe tried to shake his arm off before sighing as looked at his phone again.

All that stared back at him was you as his lock screen and a couple of notifications, but none from you.

"Oh, shit. You really think she is?" Barry's smirk dropped, suddenly noticing his friend genuinely down about something.

"She's probably just busy," Kelce tried to reassure him. "You know with essays and shit. I mean, I have a shit ton, and that's just online"

Out of everyone in their little friend circle, you were the only one who moved the furthest away. Topper was on a gap year, Kelce was doing online courses, Barry was dealing, and Rafe had to follow in Ward's footsteps. A few of your friends did gap years.

Rafe nodded slowly. "What if, what if she's do -" He didn't finish his sentence as his phone screen suddenly lit up. 'FACETIME - Baby �� 💍'

He nearly dropped his phone in the panic of answering it. For a spilt second, he thought about letting it ring out of spite. You'd not answered any of his. But he couldn't do it, for all the spiralling his mind had been doing. He needed to talk to you.

"Rafe, hey, you ok?" You looked so sleepy as you rubbed your eye. "I'm so sorry, I've been asleep all day"

If he could have jumped into the screen and kissed you in that moment, he would have. You looked so adorable, hair in a mess, no makeup, clearly sat in your dorm room bed as he recognised the bed sheets and the tapestry on the wall behind you.

What made his heart warm the most was that you were in one of his t-shirts. One of many you had borrowed/stolen.

He knew he was smiling at his screen like a complete goof. But he didn't care.

"Where are you?" You asked, trying to work out the noises around him and odd lighting of the fire pit. "Why did you call so much? Everything ok?" You asked, concerned.

"Everything's good, baby," He smiled. "Just at a party with the boys." He turned the phone around to show them

"God, Rafe, no don-" Too late, there you was in all you sleepiness. Proudly held up on his phone screen.

"Mrs Country Club!" Barry greeted as the others said "yo" and "hey"

You awkwardly waved and smiled as your cheeks burned before Rafe turned the phone back him.

"Well, I better not keep you from the party. As long as everything is ok?" You could tell something wasn't quite right, but didn't push it. He'd tell you in his own time. He always did.

"Everything is fine, my sleepy baby." He smiled, not giving a shit if the others heard.

"Alright, see you this weekend? Facetime tomorrow?" You smiled as he nodded before saying I love yous.

"Aww, my sleepy baby. Sleepy bab-" Barry teased before Rafe pushed him. Causing his chair to topple backwards onto the grass. Making everyone who witnessed laugh.

He glanced at his phone one last time, seeing you smiling face on his lock screen and new message 'Baby 😍💍 - I really do love you ❤️😘'

[prokopetz]

In recent posts I've complained that a lot of tabletop RPGs which toss around the term "fiction first" don't actually understand what it means, and I've been asked to expand on that complaint. So:

In my experience, there are two ways that game texts which want to position themselves as "fiction first" trip themselves up, one obvious and one subtle.

The first and more obvious pitfall is treating "fiction first" as an abstract ideology. They're using "fiction first" as a synonym for "story over rules" in a way that calls back to the role-playing-versus-roll-playing discourse of the early 2000s. The trouble is, now as then, nobody can usefully explain what "story over rules" actually entails. At best, they land on a definition of "fiction first" that talks about the GM's right to ignore the rules to better serve the story, which is no kind of definition at all – it's just putting a funny hat on the Rule Zero fallacy and trying to pass it off as some sort of totalising ideology of play.

A more useful way of defining "fiction first" play is to think of it not in terms of whether you engage with the rules at all, but in terms of when they're invoked: specifically, as a question of order of operations.

Suppose, for example, that you're playing Dungeons & Dragons, and you pick up the dice and say "I attack the dragon". Some critics would claim that no actual narrative has been established – that this is simply a bare invocation of game mechanics – but in fact we can infer a great deal: your character is going to approach the dragon, navigating any inclement terrain which lies between them, and attempt to kill the dragon using the weapon they're holding in their hand. The rules are so tightly bound to a particular set of narrative circumstances that simply invoking those rules lets us work backwards to determine what the context and stakes must be for that invocation of the rules to be sensical; this, broadly speaking, is what "rules first" looks like.

Conversely, let's say that your game of Dungeons & Dragons has confronted you with a pit blocking your path, and you want to make an Athletics check to cross it. At this point the GM is probably going to stop you and say, hold up, tell us what that looks like. Are you trying to jump across it? Are you trying to climb down one wall of the pit and up the other? Are you trying to tie a rope to the halfling and toss them to the other side? In other words, before you can pick up the dice, you need to have a little sidebar with the GM to hash out what the narrative context is, and to negotiate what can be achieved and what's at stake if you mess it up; this, broadly, is what "fiction first" looks like.

At this point I know some people are thinking "wait, hold on – both of those examples were from Dungeons & Dragons; are you saying that Dungeons & Dragons is both a rules-first game and a fiction-first game?" And yeah, I am. That's the second, more subtle place where game texts that talk about "fiction first" go astray: they talk about it as though being "fiction first" or "rules first" is something which is inherent to game systems as a whole.

This is not in fact true: being "fiction first" or "rules first" is something which describes particular invocations of the rules. In practice, only very simple games spend all of their time in one mode or the other; most will switch back and forth at need. Generally, most "traditional" RPGs (i.e., the direct descendants of Dungeons & Dragons and its various imitators) tend to operate in rules-first mode in combat and fiction-first mode out of it, though this is a simplification – when and how such mode-switching occurs can be quite complex.

Like any other design pattern, "fiction first" mechanics are a tool that's well suited for some jobs, and ill suited for others. Sometimes your rules are fine-grained enough that having an explicit negotiation and stakes-setting phase would just be adding extra steps. Sometimes you're using the outputs of the rules a narrative prompt, and having to pin the context down ahead of time would defeat the purpose. Fortunately, you don't have to commit yourself to one approach or the other; as long as your text is clear about how you're assuming a given set of rules toys will be used, you can switch modes as need dictates. However, you're not going to be capable of that kind of transparency if you're thinking in terms of "this a Fiction First™ game".

(Incidentally, this is why it can be hard to talk about "fiction first" with OSR fans if you're being dogmatic about fiction-first framing being an immutable feature of particular games. Since traditional RPGs tend to observe the above-described rules-first-in-combat, fiction-first-out-of-combat division, and OSR games tend to treat actually getting into a fight as a strategic failure state, a lot of OSR games spend most of their time in fiction-first mode. If you go up to an OSR fan and insist that D&D-style games can never be fiction-first, then attempt to define "fiction first" for them and proceed to describe how they usually play, they'll quite justifiably conclude that you have your head up your ass!)

[celestialprincesse]

John Price's secretary 💌

John was adamant that he was fine working alone - desperate to convince Laswell that he didn't need help with the mounting paperwork and mission reports piling up on his desk. The last thing he needed was some airhead flitting around base and getting in everyone's way with the sole purpose of lessening his workload. He was a captain, should've been able to file his own paperwork just like the rest of his men.

That's why on your first day, he was no less than brusque with you. You who strode into his office with a polite smile and a practised firm handshake, introducing yourself to him with the obvious statement of your name and position. He couldn't help but immediately think to himself how lovely you were, how out of place the radiance of your smile was in such a dark place as this. His introduction was as gruff as yours was gentle, listing off your duties to you like you didn't already know what they were, a tablet already in hand as you took note of any extra information provided to you with a stiff reluctance, nails tapping away at the screen before you, his calendar already jotted meticulously down to the hour.

"Anything you want me to prioritise?" You chirped warmly, ignoring the way his eyes had already returned somewhat dismissively back to the screen of his desktop. In a way, though, you were almost relieved he wasn't looking at your expression, wasn't looking to see the way your eyes went wide when he pointed at the box of unfilled paperwork stored messily in manila files, dumped on the floor beside his desk, piled so high they leaned. You were sure that even one more piece of A4 thrown on the pile would have the whole thing come tumbling down like depressing corporate Jenga.

The paperwork had you drowning until lunch, heel tapping rhythmically against the linoleum as you stamped off and filed, stamped off and filed, hours crawling by at a snails pace whilst your desk became increasingly cramped for space. The paper overrunning your desk also occupied your mind so much that you didn't notice the tall shadow of John Price looming over you until he cleared his throat, making you jump with a squeaked out "Oh!" and a hand clutching at your chest in surprise.

"Didn't mean to startle you." He rumbled lowly, his warm, apologetic tone making you blush, unintentionally fluttering your eyelashes up at him, an action which causes him to inadvertently ball his fist, trying to hide the appreciative glaze settling over his baby blues. "You haven't eaten." His voice came out softer, trying not to startle you again.

"No. I guess not." You muttered softly in response, torn halfway between staring back up at him and shying away from the intensity of his gaze. "S'pose I got too caught up in all of this." A hand indicating to the paperwork drowning your desk made him chuff out something which sounded pleasantly like a laugh.

"Would you like some lunch?" Had you nodding emphatically in response, not even realising how hungry you'd become in your intense focus.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

The next few months were much the same, paperwork lumped on your desk, working until John came and offered you to join him for lunch. With every meal shared you learned more about him, and with every guiding hand he placed on the small of your back when he walked you to the mess hall, you grew more - appreciative? Your guilty little work crush grew harder to suppress.

It was hard not to be into John Price, with his gruff demeanour and contradictorily soft eyes and gentle hands, you couldn't help it. He was a good, kind man, so different from the others who haunted your past - a fact which you struggled to forget when he'd walk you to your car after working late, occasionally even bringing you coffees on early mornings.

".. You with me?" His voice snaps you from your reverie, his fingers drumming on the wood of your desk, one eyebrow raised in intrigue.

"Sorry?" You murmur in confusion.

"Said I've got a work dinner tonight with some important people. Need you to come along, take some notes for me."

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

[happiest-hotch]

The Brink of Collapse

Summary: Aaron and reader have been on the brink of divorce for a long time. And then suddenly he's there, and feelings come to a head.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: very angsty, talk of divorce, mentions of strippers

It's been an odd month.

Surreal, in some ways.

You and Aaron have been on the brink of divorce for a while, but once you finally said the word, everything changed. It opened up a new world of feelings and even more hurt.

It didn't seem possible to feel more hurt, but here you are, sitting on the couch, feet tucked beside you, and a glass of wine on the coffee table. You need it for your nighttime reading, the first draft of a separation agreement, your and Aaron's full names on the top.

It feels like physical proof that you and Aaron have failed. Every sacrifice that was made in the decade you had been together wasn't enough. All the love in the world wasn't enough.

It hits you in a deeper place in your chest than you knew existed, and it makes breathing difficult.

Those papers are a taunt you've been putting off confronting, but it's time. It's something you have to do.

Your eyes gloss over the words, but you catch yourself slipping into a defense strategy where your name is removed from you, and it's a draft divorce settlement of detached clients.

"Late-night reading?" His voice makes you jump, startled by his appearance in front of you.

You had spaced out, thought he escaped through the front door to avoid whatever this awkward situation could be categorized as. You find yourself wishing that he did as he looks at you, trying to profile your thoughts. Dick.

You're both trying to keep life somewhat normal for the children, not wanting them to be caught up in your mess which means when he's in DC, he picks them up for the day and drops them back home. You just thought he'd leave out the front door rather than come across the house to talk to you.

"It's not that late." You reply. "Do you actually want to do this?" You're not sure why you ask, not when it's going to hurt.

"Do what, Ms. L/n?" Aaron asks, but he knows. He walks behind the couch and into the kitchen, taking the open bottle of wine and pouring himself a glass without invitation.

"Get divorced." You answer before adding something you probably shouldn't since there's no need. "I'm still technically Mrs. Hotchner."

He doesn't chuckle at your quip, but he looks close. "You wouldn't be holding that if we didn't." Carefully chosen words, as expected. "I've always loved that part of your name."

You scoff, shaking your head. "That's a conflicting message."

Aaron shrugs, sitting down on the couch next to you. You kind of wish he hadn't. He could have just gone back to wherever he's staying and you wouldn't have to do this metaphorical dance.

"They're not mutually exclusive." He explains. You try to keep a neutral expression, but it's hard to hear that your soon-to-be ex-husband likes that you have the same surname. "I love the name, doesn't mean we can't get divorced."

"I won't be Mrs. Hotchner then." You remind him, but you keep it lighthearted in tone.

The air is getting too grave and when things get too grave, you both say too much. It's painful conversation, of late. No more 'I love you's and bleeding heart promises of fixing it. You both know you're beyond repair so you talk about that, and it's getting depressing.

He shrugs. "Not necessarily. Plenty of women keep the name after divorce."

Divorce.

That dirty word that's become your reality.

"I've not considered it." You confess. It seems easier to be honest about something little. "Would it bother you? If I kept it?"

He waits a beat, staring into the semi-opaque wine. "No. Not in the slightest."

"I feel it could get real awkward." You admit and he frowns, not understanding what you mean. "When someone says, 'Oh, are you related to Aaron Hotchner' and I have to say, 'Yeah, he's my ex-husband.' I mean, you know half this town."

Aaron considers it for a second, that thoughtful frown on his brows. "I hadn't considered it." Obviously. "You have my blessing if you keep it."

You chuckle humorlessly. "Thanks."

"This whole thing doesn't have to be adversarial." He reminds you, but it's not condescending. He's almost smiling, lips tugging up at the corners.

Your eyes narrow at him. "Have I done something to make this feel adversarial?"

It's snider than it needs to be, but he comes back professionally. "No. But I've seen couples in our situation start arguing, even yelling, at every step."

You snort out a laugh. "The life of divorce attorneys, right?" He's telling it like you don't know like you're not still in the job he left for the FBI. You bite your bottom lip, considering whether to drive the conversation in a different direction, and come to the conclusion that it might make the conversation lighter and with it, stop the clenching feeling of your heart. "Do you still remember the Beamounts?"

He laughs louder than you've heard in a while. That does the trick and gives you a quick breath of relief, but it's gone as soon as it's there. "I couldn't forget it." He assures you. "Do you still have her little card? The one you kept in your wallet?"

You're almost giddy listening to him laugh, and it makes you giggle as you recall it. "Yes! She ran those exotic dance clubs, I remember. I'm still not sure if I'm offended she gave me the card… like, I can't work out if she thought I might be interested and would want to come watch, or if she thought I'd like to leave seven years of school and a law career behind to strip."

"Do you want me to take care of that card? It's been in there for what? Twelve years?"

His offer throws you a little, but your reaction comes out as teasing. "Oh, do you need her card? Now that we're about to be divorced?"

"I certainly don't." Unsurprising, he has no trouble with women. "But I do want to preserve your wallet's purity."

"I think she gave me the non-explicit version." You explain to him. "I'm sure there are some racy ones out there for guys that are into that stuff..." Something prompts you to push it further. "Like you."

Aaron laughs again, and you get another breath. "Very occasionally." He assures you.

"There's photographic evidence, Aaron." You remind him, smiling softly at the photos Morgan showed you of some BAU boys' nights out. Aaron looked so uncomfortable, and you're sure he spent the entire evening refusing to look at any woman's assets. It makes your stomach churn knowing that, if the situation arises again, he won't act the same way. "Unfortunately, good old Mrs. Beamount is spoken for these days, so I guess the card has no use to you."

He hits you with something you don't expect, although maybe you should have since it's in line with your mutual reminiscing. "That was the first time we met. Just baby lawyers thrown into the craziest case."

"I remember laughing with you about how ridiculous it was." The first time you laughed together about that, you breathed deeper than you ever have before. "Do you remember the thing with the dog?"

He snorts with laughter. It's probably not meant to be as attractive a sound as it is. "That damn chihuahua he insisted was possessed? I remember being so annoyed because I knew the dog couldn't be possessed. I kept asking myself what I'd done so wrong in my life that I had a client expecting me to argue it." Hearing his thoughts now is different than just laughing about back then. "Then when we got there, the damn animal was barking and growling in a demonic way. That was the weirdest thing I've ever seen in my life. It was possessed."

The passion with how he talks about a damn dog makes you smile. "Now imagine everyone seeing that and having to argue it wasn't demonic." You remind him of what your position was as his opposing counsel. "I felt so ridiculous arguing it. And she wanted the divorce settlement to include him taking it to the groomer." You shake your head disapprovingly at the memory. "It creeped me out that she kept it in her purse. That was the ugliest dog I'd ever seen."

It's odd to be laughing with him, considering your precarious relationship circumstances, and even odder that it's about the first case. Surely it should be about what Eden said today, bonding over your kids seems less intimate than talking about when you met.

"I remember she even tried to make herself look more motherly and nurturing in court, by taking care of it during the proceedings." He continues.

It's like you're watching the whole thing again, but you know how it ends. "I was just praying she wouldn't start breastfeeding it." You say. "Her boobs were so plastic that I think if she put that rabid dog near them, he'd chew them."

Aaron loses it laughing, clearly seeing the mental image that worried you 12 years ago. "Okay, okay, that's enough." He finally manages to get out.

You finish off the laughter, letting it die down rather than continuing the conversation.

"What did you think of me?" He asks, a surprising tangent. "When we first met?"

You know he knows since it had been discussed it a few times between dating and marriage, wanting to reminisce. Why he's asking now, you're not sure, and why you're answering, you're even less sure.

"I thought you were a jerk." You admit.

He laughs, but he's thinking about whether you think that again now. "Yeah?" He prompts you to go on.

"That's what happens when you arrive at a mediation meeting five minutes late with Ferrari keys." You remind him with the same disapproving frown.

You can still remember when he walked into the big boardroom, dressed in a perfectly fitted dark blue suit with his hair longer than it is now and parted down the middle. Compared to now, he looked so young, just 25 and straight out of law school, not having seen the most awful parts of the world. He's different now. His shoulder bag switched out for a briefcase being the most minor change.

When he walked into the room that first day, you were equally as pissed off by and attracted to him. It's full circle that you feel that way again.

"I had to find parking." He reasons.

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. "You didn't valet your car?"

"After the Ferrari, things were tight," Aaron says, but it's a joke. You both know he has money, the separation agreement dividing your assets wouldn't be so long if neither of you had money. "What about after that?" He asks. Sadistic or masochistic, you're not sure. It hurts you to relieve it in your memory, but is it hurting him?

"I was leaving that meeting. As fast as I could, of course." You pause for his laughter. "And you were already in the elevator." It hurts to recall, just like you expected. "I wondered if I should join you."

You still wonder now, if you made the right decision that day. On one hand, you'd have none of the good memories, but on the other, you wouldn't feel like your chest was clenching and your heart was threatening to shatter with each breath.

You decide to keep telling the story. "And I did. And you made me laugh, right off the bat, both of us giggling about the ridiculousness of our clients."

"Not very professional." He notes with a smirk. "Opposing counsel gossiping about their clients."

Your eyebrows pull together in a frown. "Why'd you make the first joke then?"

He wants to tell you it's because he needed to make you laugh, just to hear it and see you smile. His fear takes over and he settles for a quip. "I mean, you looked uptight, but I could tell you weren't."

Your scoff is accompanied by you hitting his shoulder, both of you laughing and it suddenly hits you that you're flirting with him.

It must hit him too because what he says is out of left field. "Part of me wonders if the reason you're only just looking at that is because, on some level, you're hoping we'll fix things and get back together." Fuck! Aaron has always been a straight shooter, but that was far too much honesty.

You gulp, the saliva in your mouth drying up. "Hey, let's just not go there, okay?" You offer. It's not a conversation you want to be having. Your mixed emotions coupled with his ability to push you, it's not a good combination.

"Sure." He admits, but his tone suggests he's unhappy, and so does his sigh. You're begging him with your eyes not to push it, to leave the house and the conversation, and not make it awkward and hurtful. "I never wanted this to be an argument. Do you know that? I know I've never been great at communicating and all this, but I've always tried to do the best for you, always tried to... I mean, I've never gotten divorced before, so I'm still feeling out the right way to do it."

You're not impressed he's lying through his teeth. Both of you know he didn't "always" do his best at communicating. Those last few months, he barely spoke to you. In fact, this conversation might contain more words than an entire few months.

And is there a "right way" to get divorced? You don't know, but you wish you could stop picking apart everything he's saying, overanalyzing.

You're caught on the first statement. "This isn't an argument, is it?"

"I guess not, but there's a vibe." He points out. "Maybe I'm being hypersensitive. Listen, I know this is hard. I think we both knew this probably wasn't going to be the easiest thing, right?"

You avert your gaze from him, a few tears welling in your eyes. "Yeah, we knew that."

"Hey, look at me." He implores.

You tilt your head to the ceiling, trying to stop crying before you start.

"If you're not ready to do this, then please just talk to me." He says- begs. "Please talk to me."

It's ironic really, him sitting there begging you to talk to him when formerly, it's been you doing the begging for him to share his feelings with you. An embarrassing amount of begging, really.

"Please don't do this." You beg back. "I'm not interested in the idea of being vulnerable in front of you, okay?"

He sighs a bit, hands falling to his side. The look on his face you can read. He's upset about not being able to comfort you, and he's begging himself not to show it. What the fuck does that mean?

"Fine." He agrees. "It's... I don't think I ever fully realized how much this whole thing would hurt, but I'm seeing it now."

You don't thank him sarcastically for being obvious. It's twisted that he's spilling his emotions now, and it's hard not to be resentful about it. If he had just fucking talked to you when you begged him to every night in your last month together, you wouldn't be here. It's too little, too late.

"I guess." You agree. "We'll just get it over with."

It stings his heart, so he stings you back. Whether it's intentional or on reaction, you can't tell. "Maybe you're right and we should get it drafted and signed so we can be finished as soon as possible." But, most surprisingly, he flip-flops. "I miss you, Y/n."

It's the same rollercoaster of emotions that your brain is riding in your head, but at least you're not saying it out loud and confusing the shit out of him. "Don't say that, Aaron." You warn him.

He has the nerve to be surprised by your harsh tone. "...what? It's just a fact. I miss you. Why is that bad to say?"

"Because I missed you for four months while you had one foot out the door of this marriage." You finally snap.

Aaron looks stunned and it only makes you angrier and more upset. "I know," He tells you.

He knows, but he'd never do anything about it. You try to act casual, taking a deep breath. "Okay." You attempt to leave it at that.

He won't let the conversation go. "I should have fought for us."

"You still can." You're not sure why you say it, but you do. Maybe you give him one last chance because you'll regret it forever if you don't.

"I am more in love with you than I have ever been." He bursts out, unable to help himself given the chance.

It makes your heart soar and your eyes water. You sit there silently, wrapping your arms around yourself tightly like it might protect you.

"I never should have put you in a position where you felt like something was wrong with us." Aaron looks at you so sincerely that you can't help the tears running down your cheeks. "It got to a point where I felt like I couldn't fix it so I didn't try, and I'm aware that was the wrong choice every day."

"I don't know what to say." You tell him. "Why bother coming to this conclusion, and telling me about it, when it's too late?" Maybe you're protecting yourself more than you need to be.

Aaron shakes his head. "Because it isn't."

"Aaron." You shake your head, holding up the literal divorce papers that exist to remind him. "So much has happened in the last four months."

"Not too much, though." He emphasizes.

He's pushing a button that makes your emotions boil over. "I don't even know where you're sleeping." You remind him firmly.

"Holy shit, Y/n!" Aaron's quick to assure you of what might have been going on in your head. "No." He pauses. "I'm sleeping at my office." You can't say that doesn't relieve you. "You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on. Since the day I met you, I've never looked at anyone the same."

His strong assurances make you cry more. "I don't know if we can fix this." You admit, disappointed in yourself.

"We absolutely can." He pleads to you. "You said we should get a divorce because love isn't enough to make this better, but there is more than love here. I am committed to you and I want to fix this."

You continue your tears and he reaches out to touch your cheek, wiping away your tears with the pad of his thumb. You lean into his soft touch. "I do too." You admit, the realization alleviating some of the aching in your chest.

"You mean the world to me," Aaron tells you firmly. "I will do anything to get us back on track. I wasn't before and I know I was stupid for it, but I'm listening, Y/n. To everything you need and want."

"I think we need help." You confess. "Like professional help."

He can't nod fast enough. "I agree. We can get that."

You stop him before he can pull out his phone. "Tomorrow." You request. "I just want a hug."

He hasn't had you in his arms in far too long, and he reaches out for you. You lay on his chest, letting him wrap his arms around you.

"Wow, I've missed you." He hums, breathing out a deep sigh of relief.

You sniffle your tears, nodding in agreement. "Me too."

"Y/n, I will never let it get this far again," Aaron assures you. "I was stupid and I can't lose you. I love you."

You're sure you feel the same way. Everything definitely wasn't fixed and there was a lot to do, but one thing you're sure about is being married to Aaron Hotchner. "I love you too."

[luveline]

Hello! I just want to start off by saying you're an absolutely amazing writer! I've been reading your blog for two years now, I believe, or something very close to it, and I still find myself awestruck by your talent when I check your blog, which is pretty much daily!

If you're up for the prompt and if you're not too swamped with requests, could I ask for a blurb with bombshell reader x Spencer? Maybe reader makes him something really sincere and handmade? Maybe a baked good or a knitted sweater? No special occasion needed, just because he deserves it 😋

Thank you for sharing your works with us! Be well and remember to take breaks! Love you Jade!!

Thank you my love, that is so kind! Love you♡

You feel sleek walking into the office that morning. Fitted clothes steamed and pressed, hair freshly upkept at the salon the previous weekend, nails manicured, smile primly painted, you look perfect. 

But that's not what you're excited about. 

Spencer lounges cross-legged at his desk, a book in his lap, surprisingly broad shoulders hunched as he reads at a more natural pace than usual. His desk is cluttered in organised chaos, books lining the partition that separate his desk from Derek's and Emily's, strange knickknacks scattered. There's a bunch of bright squishy things from Penelope, an upside down umbrella statue lined with hair elastics, and, cutest of all, his two photo frames. One of him holding baby Henry, and one of you. You and him, of course, but mostly you in the frame, closer, smiling like you love him as you angle the camera back in a well meaning and misaligned self portrait. 

You do love him. He hasn't caught on yet, is all. 

"Spencer," you greet, hoping he won't jump. He flinches minutely and lifts his head to yours, closing the book against his hand. "Sorry, I was trying to make it so you didn't jump." 

"My fault." He rubs his eyes. "Just been reading this book for so long it's messing with me." 

The book, of which he's told you about in detail, is about a documentary, which is in turn about a bunch of dark, ever-changing rooms, hallways and tunnels from within a house. The line between what's fiction within fiction blurs, and it's actually pretty scary if he's to be believed. "I've never seen you take so long reading one book, even if it is eight hundred pages," you say teasingly, letting the handle of your handbag slip down your shoulder. 

"The point is suspense," he says, eyes following your fingers where they dive into your bag. "Which needs time to build. What are they?" 

"These are for you, handsome." 

"You already gave me a present," he says quizzically. 

His birthday was a few days ago, and he's right. "These aren't for your birthday, Spence." 

He cracks the lid off of the tupperware on side at a time like he's scared he'll ruin the sweet treats within. You've made him fresh baked shortbread biscuits dipped in dark-chocolate and topped with sparse coconut shavings. 

"What are these?" he asks.

You both know that he knows they're cookies, so you answer the unasked question instead. "I wanted to make them for you. I think you'll like them, they're a little rich but the coconut helps even it out. You don't have to try them now or anything–" 

"Can I?" he asks, lips quirked into a gentle pout. 

"Sure." You hide your nerves as he bites into one, the cookie itself breaking softly, crumbs falling into his waiting hand. "They're messy. Should've warned you." 

He puts the uneaten half back in the tupperware and places it atop his closed book on the desk. He's nodding as he stands, arms quick over your shoulders. You can hear him swallow, his voice mildly hoarse as he says, "They're so nice," he praises, clearing his throat, "I think I swallowed too fast." His laugh warms your ear. "I can't believe you made those. How long did it take you?" 

"Not that long," you say, beaming as he pulls away. "I knew you'd like them." 

"It helps that you made them." He holds your elbow. "I don't know how to say thanks." 

You raise your cheek. "Only if you want." 

He kisses your cheek. You smile like a fool and giggle much the same, reaching around his arms to nab a cookie for yourself. They'd tasted nice last night when you tried them, but they're perfect after Spencer's praise. 

"No one's ever baked something for me before," he admits, the two of you standing much too close considering the setting. "I mean, there really wasn't a reason?" 

"No, Spence. I was watching some TV last night when I started thinking about you, and I recently got that cookbook, you remember? That was one of the dessert recipes. I had to make two batches because I put too much butter in the first try and they spread flat as a nickel." 

He smiles at your misfortune. "What?" you ask. "What's funny about that?" 

"It's not funny. You made me cookies and when they went wrong you made me more. I don't know what I–" His hand flirts with your elbow, index finger moving with a mind of its own, tickling you through your thin blouse. "You're amazing." 

"You make me really happy." You look down at his hand where it draws a line. "It makes me happy to be able to do something for you." 

Spencer can evidently see you turning shy, and he's a sweetheart, so he rescues you from your timidity with a life jacket. "Is there anything you can't do?"

"Not that I've found so far, handsome. Why, did you have something in mind?" 

He makes a big and genuine laugh, grabbing two cookies and forcing one into your hand. "You have to eat your share before Emily gets here." He nudges your hand up with his. "Go on. I'm not in the mood to share with anyone but you." 

[cogentsummoner]

Questions

continuation of this drabble / requested by @like-a-clock

You sit back down in your office chair, stunned expression on your face. What are you supposed to do, to say? You look back up at All Might- Yagi- whomever- and see him swimming in All Might's- his?- costume. He's fidgeting with his hands, the way he always does when he's anxious, and you realize that despite your shock, you have to say something to soothe him.

Then, another realization hits you.

"Oh my god. That's why one of you was always missing at meetings!" you exclaim, going over the past few months in your head. Generally it was All Might who was absent (which was a source of annoyance for other senior staff members; apparently this had become a big problem with him the last few years), but whenever he did make it to a meeting, Yagi would be absent, generally for health related reasons.

He jumps a little, clearly not expecting that from you, and laughs sheepishly. "Yes, it's… hard being in two places at once. Or rather- being in one place twice."

"It… I can imagine," you manage. The gears in your head are slowly starting to turn again. "So, this whole time…?"

He nods, apprehensive. "I'm…sorry for keeping this secret. It's not… something I want people to know."

You shake your head. "No, it's… I can understand, I think… I've only been here a few months, after all. How… how many people know?"

He's quiet for a moment, then answers, "None of the other staff-"

"None?" you repeat incredulously. "All Might- Yagi- that's… how have you been pulling this off? And how long have you been pulling this off? And- why? Plenty of other Heroes have transformation Quirks, I don't understand-"

"It's not a transformation Quirk," he cuts you off, tone…guarded. Guarded in a way that catches you by surprise. You're silent, waiting for him to elaborate, and he does so with a sigh. "It… my appearance would change slightly whenever I 'turned on' my Quirk, but it…it didn't use to be this drastic."

You wet your lips, a sudden knot of anxiety in your stomach. "What changed?"

He won't look at you. "I got hurt, a few years ago. I can't be All Might all the time anymore. I started dropping weight because… well, you know."

You did know. The bare essentials, at least. Yagi had told you that he'd lost his stomach in a Villain attack, and that's where all his dietary restrictions came from.

"Over time, the difference between my 'Quirk on' and 'Quirk off' forms grew more stark, until… well. You can see," he says, gesturing to his emaciated body with barely disguised disdain.

A lot of things make more sense now. You knew Yagi… didn't have the best view of himself and his appearance. If, all this time, he was comparing himself to All Might, because he was All Might, because his appearance suddenly and dramatically changed as he couldn't maintain his weight and muscle anymore… little wonder it messed with his self-esteem.

You get up from your chair, moving to be just slightly in his personal space- you didn't want to overwhelm him… not yet, anyways.

"Okay, that explains the appearance thing. But why… why pretend to be your secretary? That's what I'm really struggling with here."

He frowns at you. "I'm not pretending. I needed a secretary after Nighteye left, and I… didn't trust anyone else with this secret. But it was… a lot more work than I was expecting, and… well, you remember how things were when you got here.

You did. They were bad. Reports that were 5-6 weeks overdue, thousands of unread emails, and a gaggle of very frustrated senior staffers who couldn't understand why All Might didn't just fire the incompetent Yagi. Niceness alone did not a secretary make.

"So… why me, then? I mean, obviously you needed help with everything, but…why an outsider?" You take another step closer, though Yagi doesn't seem to notice.

He lets out a sigh. "Anyone I promoted in the company would've faced a lot of scrutiny- as would I. They'd also… well, they'd be coming into it knowing about…how over my head I was." He's fidgeting with his hands again, and not looking at you. "Every reference you had talked about how patient and understanding you were, and… that was what I thought I needed. What I did need. You've been so helpful and kind, and you- you seemed to care about me. Not just All Might, but…Yagi Toshinori too. I didn't realize how much I needed that."

"I do care about you- both of you, all of you," you tell him, taking one final step forwards. It's only now that he realizes how close you've gotten, and he startles a little, a faint blush on his cheeks. "Alright, last question."

He nods, solemnly, ready to hear whatever it is you have to say.

"Can I kiss you?"

His blush deepens into a beautiful crimson, and his mouth hangs slightly open. "You- you want to? With me?"

You can't help but laugh. Where was all that smooth confidence from ten minutes ago? "Of course I do. I already told you- I'm in love with you."

"Oh," he says quietly, and that one little sound says so much. He wasn't expecting you to really have feelings for him, or he was expecting the secret identity thing to be a dealbreaker, or… something else. He wasn't expecting this; you, wanting to kiss him, wanting to hold him- you, wanting him.

You cup his face with your hands, and he nods, suddenly, eagerly. You can't blame him- you're eager too, as you stand on your tiptoes to press your lips to his.

It's different from kissing All Might- his lips are thin, and dry, and just a little bit chapped. He's a little more shy, letting you take the lead, gently resting his hands on your hips. But it's perfect, regardless.

[narcissistshandler]

hello, idk if you write fluff but if you do, imagine a fwb relationship afab geto where reader got jealous seeing him spending time with a random girl. so that night reader was being too rough making suguru say his safeword. which ofc made reader stop and provide lots if aftercare. idk im feeling the need for fluff rn lmaoo, and with amab reader pls? thankss

𝗔 𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗣𝗔𝗡𝗬 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗥𝗞

✧ 𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦 gn reader x geto suguru

✧ 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 amab!reader, afab!geto, use of vagina/clitoris/pussy for geto's genitals, friends with benefits, sub/dom dynamics, overstimulation, sex toys, vaginal penetration, humiliation, squirt, talking about pee, pushing boundaries, use of safeword, oral in public (geto receiving, just mentioned), reader is a mean dom

✧ 𝖠/𝖭: Hi, thanks for the request, this is only the second time I've written something merely similar to fluff, but I hope you like it ♡

It's need to blink several times to ward off the tears that accumulate in the corners of his eyes, which slide down the side of his face, onto the mattress. The lamp on the ceiling was brightly bright and the entire lit room was starting to feel like too much exposure. He wanted to shrink down and become small enough to disappear into the middle of the huge double bed.

Your fingers travel from his heel, towards his legs pressed together and the sigh that leaves Suguru's swollen lips is shaky. He is so wet that he can feel the moisture on the inside of his thighs and his clit pulses heavily, painful and uncomfortable, the entrance tightens, unable to close by the set of vibrators you had placed inside him, taking your time pressing the vibrator post dildo in his sweet pussy. He felt raw.

“Open your legs for me,” your tone was gentle, but your fingers tight around his ankle were firm. He hesitated. The vibrations at different speeds inside him could be felt in his stomach, frequent, strong, intense. Too much. “Suguru.”

Suguru obeyed the order, shaky legs parting for you.

You didn't even praise him like you normally would as you used your grip to direct one of his legs to your shoulder and your free hand reached down to touch his full entrance. A single finger slid inside, pressing against the vibrating plastic toys and stimulating him to the threat of pain. Pain was usually good, welcome, as sweet as pleasure, but today something felt different.

You didn't respond to any of his messages for over a week, avoiding him and then, today you suddenly took the initiative to text him, calling him to your house, but your mind felt distant since you opened the door for him. Suguru wondered what was more important than this moment, the here and now? Who took your thoughts?

“You’re just a slut for getting your pussy filled. A filthy little thing begging to be used.” Your finger sank in further and bent, pulling his hole through the wet mess. A muscle on his inner thigh jumped in response.

Suguru breathed through his teeth. His body didn't react like it usually did, it didn't tighten, get wet and beg for your cock. He wanted your cock, but only because he wanted to be closer to you, wanted your focus to be on fucking him, not on anything that was on your mind.

“I-I'm not,” he argued, the voice sounding unfamiliar and distant in his own ears.

You laughed, a dark sound that made Suguru look at you. “Oh, but you are.”

Your finger stopped your attempts to widen his tight channel further, but Suguru didn't allow himself to relax for even a minute. The five, maybe six or seven toys of different shapes, sizes and weights were already stretching him to the limit, the vibrations could be felt at the base of his spine. Suguru had already cum three times and the sensitivity seemed to be getting worse by the second, despite knowing he was leaking enough to form a wet puddle beneath his ass, he felt dry, tense, uncomfortable, all at the same time.

Everything would be better if you touched him as usual, kissed him and looked at him like before. Even if it was all fake, he would rather have the lies of a merely sexual relationship than this.

“Let me go,” he pleaded in an uncertain whisper. His nails had left scratches and crescent marks behind his own hands that were tied together with black rope, pressed against his bare chest. The entire body was naked, covered only by red and purple marks, sweat and dried saliva.

“You don’t give the orders here, remember?”

Suguru forced himself to continue breathing deeply, even as the tip of a particular toy hit a sensitive spot and he could feel his bladder tense. You were already looking at him so coldly, he didn't want to imagine what you would say if him ended up wetting your bed - the thought made it harder not to cry, not to allow a sob to rise up his throat. He didn't want to disappoint you, he didn't want you to feel angry and disgusted with him.

“I want to, uh, touch you,” he said as he forced his eyes closed, fingers clenching at an uncomfortable angle.

“You can’t,” you said. Your touch faded and Suguru's foot that was on your shoulder dug in an anxious action, just to make sure you were still there. He didn't want to be left alone in the darkness. “Don’t be gross now, Suguru, making such a big mess.”

And it would be a lie to say that Suguru didn't feel when the jets of liquid began to be expelled between the toys, pushing them out of his convulsing walls, with force. But he hoped you didn't notice, or at least pretended not to. Shame gnawed at his insides.

“That-that...” he fumbled for words, legs tense and body hot to the point that the friction against the sheets was irritating. This has never happened before, Suguru wanted to assure you immediately. Instead, he begged, “Please, I’m s-sorry.”

“That’s not urine, is it? I was hoping you would use your words if you wanted to go to the bathroom. Look what you did in my bed now.”

Suguru wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear. "I..."

The sound of your hands working to undo your pants was distant beneath his breathing becoming increasingly labored, his nails scratching his skin. “Who else would accept a slut so dirty that can’t say he needs to go to the bathroom like you, if not me?” you questioned, there was something bitter in your tone that Suguru couldn't identify. “Nobody.”

“I-I don’t want to play anymore,” he muttered softly.

You continued as if he hadn't said anything:

“Definitely not that girl.”

Girl? Suguru thought. What girl?

The tip of your cock touched his rippling entrance. Suguru was stretched out, so wet and twice as sensitive; he could still vaguely hear the sound of vibrations. His entire body began to shake when just the head entered him and you stopped, letting him feel how his tense and aching walls contracted around the intrusion. You grabbed Suguru's sensitive clit between two fingers, pinching it mercilessly.

“Plea-” he choked.

The onset of an orgasm or a blackout made his eyes roll back under the closed lids.

“Look at me, Suguru,” you said, it didn’t feel like an order or a request, it felt like begging. Your cock sank an inch deeper. Shock rattled through his bones. “Open your eyes or I’m going to take every toy we have and shove them inside you and I swear I’ll leave them there until...”

The rest of your words were lost when the first sob sounded and genuine tears ran down Suguru's face. Why you...?

“Red.” He panted out of bed; heat expressed under his skin, rose up his throat. Suguru choked around the safe word. “Red, red, red, red.”

Your touch was gone. You were slow in pulling out of him, but still quick enough that within seconds, everything was dissolved into nothing. Nothing. He sobbed, pulling his legs closer to his chest and turning onto his side, even though the pressure against his sex was terrible, he realized he wanted the pain, thought he deserved it.

You were murmuring something, fingers running through his sweat-damp hair and Suguru only noticed that his hands were already free when he moved them in search of you, even with his eyes closed, his fingers found your shirt and squeezed, not wanting to be alone in the dark.

“Suguru,” you were saying. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I went too far. I didn't mean any of those things, okay? Believe me," you begged. “Can you talk to me? Suguru?”

He didn't respond, still couldn't reason through the sensitivity scratching his skin.

“Can you at least open your eyes for me? Please?" it was a question this time. Suguru shook his head, feeling tour fingers leave his hair and run down his face, wiping away the trail of tears. He opened his eyes. Your worried, guilty face stared back at him. "There you are. Is it okay if I touch you?”

Suguru nodded. He realized he wanted you to touch him.

You gently rubbed his arms where the ropes left pink marks behind, then touched the scratch marks. Keeping one hand in his - that tightly gripped your fingers -, you reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand and settled into the bed next to him. Without much difficulty you pulled Suguru's tense body up and against yours, letting his head fall onto your shoulder before opening the bottle and placing it against his dry lips.

“You need to drink, dear.”

After drinking the entire contents of the bottle, you let him slide back onto the bed. Suguru's nose pressed against your pillow, inhaling your scent clinging to the fabric. His skin felt like it was on fire and he had to keep one of his legs bent in front of him to avoid putting even more pressure on his pulsing sex. Suguru could feel slick lube oozing out of him, his entrance opening and closing. He felt disgusting and damn vulnerable. And the tears didn't stop falling.

Your hand fell on his hip and without another word, you turned him around so he was facing you. A dissatisfied moan rose in his throat, but before it could be vocalized, cold touched his skin. Suguru sighed with relief as the cloth passed over his hot, sweaty skin. He had to fight the urge to close his legs as the cold ventured between them and passed over his swollen sex, it felt good.

Everything seemed to take forever. Your footsteps echoed as if from a great distance and what seemed like hours later, the bed next to him dipped, your hand running down his side and fitting into the back of his knee, careful to spread his legs in the same position Suguru was in previously. "Thank you," he said softly, a mere husky whisper. Thank you for not leaving him alone, even after all the mess he made, even after he got wet and...

Your hand didn't go away and instead, it ran up his leg and traveled over his hip. You asked, "What do you need, Suguru? I need you to talk to me."

His skin burned like an out-of-control fire, his sex felt like raw meat and the words you said to him still lingered in his mind, the way you looked at him; as if he were nothing. There was a lump in his throat and Suguru couldn't look you in the eyes.

“Can you… lay with me?” he asked, hesitant like a small child, eyes down.

“Sure, dear.” There was sweetness in his tone, but Suguru still noticed the distance in them. Your mind still felt elsewhere and all he desperately wanted was for you to focus on him and him alone.

You lay on the bed next to him, your fingers seeming to play a melody that only you knew on his waist, the skin wet with sweat. “Should I change the sheets?” you asked as you pulled Suguru closer, pulling him away from the wet spot. The sheets, however, were his last concern.

"...What was all that?" Suguru asked. He kept his arms close to his chest, even though he really wanted to touch you, he didn't know if he could handle being pushed away. Suguru had to keep reminding himself that it wasn't right to feel this way, that you didn't belong to him, just like he didn't belong to you.

You took a while to respond and your fingers stopped.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. “I had my head elsewhere and ended up taking it out on you. It wasn’t your fault, you were perfect, you always are.” The compliment sent butterflies through his stomach.

“You were thinking about someone else.” The accusation came out harsher than intended. “What girl were you talking about?”

“I wasn’t thinking about someone else,” you said, “I was thinking about you.”

“...About me?”

“That girl at the bar, two weeks ago, who gave you her number. You called?"

Suguru took a while to understand what you were talking about. Two weeks ago... He remembered going out with your friends, how the loud music had been intoxicating enough for you both to forget that you were in public and that none of your friends knew about the other kind of relationship that you two had - if he could call it that. The girl at the bar who slipped a piece of paper with her number into the pocket of his tight pants, however, was a blurry, secondary memory to how your tongue had been inside him in the dirty bathroom afterwards.

“Why would I call?”

“Don’t call.” It wasn't a request at all. “She can’t have you.”

Suguru's heart skipped a beat. He finally found the courage to look you in the eyes.

“What does that mean?” He needed a direct and clear answer. He needed to make sure you meant what he thought.

“You’re not mine,” you said and his chest tightened. “We are just friends, even if we kiss and meet secretly to have sex, even when we know each other's bodies intimately, just friends. I don't want that anymore. I don't want the 'friends with benefits' status anymore. I want to be yours and I want you to be mine. I want to be the one to have you naked, satiated and relaxed in my bed. Every night and every day.”

Despite drinking water, his throat still felt dry, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He felt like crying again, this time for an entirely different reason. “I-I want to be yours,” he said in a low, strangled voice, the words barely coming out. But he was urgent to respond, before you could change your mind. Suguru repeated, louder, “I want to be yours. I want this. All of it.”

"Yes, dear? Do you want a relationship? Do you want me to hold you in my arms to sleep every night? Because that’s what I’m concluding,” you said, a smile taking over your mouth. Suguru can't help but press himself against you, nose against your neck. He whimpered as he nodded in affirmation, it felt like thousands of butterflies fluttering their wings inside his stomach, in a good way. It felt like a dream. “I’ll never let you go again if you say yes.”

“Yes,” Suguru moaned, tears flashing in his eyes. "Yes. Don’t let me go, ever.”

Your fingers slid through the dark strands of his hair. You let him cry as you pressed kisses against his head. “I was really hard on you earlier, I’m sorry,” you said. “I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you, I shouldn't have said any of those things when I know that humiliation is one of your limits. I will be more careful from now on to never hurt you again.”

Suguru just continued to nod. He accepted your apology, he knew you were sincere and you stopped as soon as he said his safe word - he forgave you. But he didn't apologize for using it and Suguru knew you also didn't want him to feel sorry for being able to set his own boundaries and protect himself.

“Is there anything you need, my love?”

That made a smile pull at his lips, moving his face away from your neck so he could look at you, hands gripping your clothes. “You haven't kissed me once since I arrived.”

“I didn’t even notice, forgive me,” you said, your thumb rubbing his red cheek to calm the tears that still fell from his dark eyes. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

Suguru rolled his eyes.

"Idiot."

Your thumb rubbed his bottom lip, dry and cracked, with red bite marks. The touch made him close his eyes, mouth opening in pure muscle memory and when your finger slid inside and touched his teeth, Suguru closed the lips and sucked. Your taste filled his senses and then, your lips pressed against his, slowly pulling your thumb out of Suguru's mouth, your other hand steadying the back of his head.

There was nothing innocent and chaste about the way your lips moved against his, hard enough that threatened to leave the imprint of your mouth on his. Saliva wet Suguru's dry lips and he could still feel the ghost of your touch on his tongue. He wanted more of you, of your taste. He wanted to dive into your mouth and never let go.

The lack of air made the two of you separate and Suguru instinctively searched for your lips again, even as his chest rose and fell. You must have been so ecstatic about your new relationship status that you kissed him again, through the lack of air, searching for oxygen against each other's mouths. And then kissed him again. Again. And again. Until Suguru's lips were numb.

“Is there anything else you need?”

He just needed you. Just it.

“Hug me.”

You did it. You wrapped your arms around him firmly, knowing that right now nothing bothered Suguru more than not being in your arms. Between sweet kisses that left his mind spinning in ecstasy, your voice filled the silent room, the words of love, appreciation and praise making Suguru's toes curl, a new shade of blush rising on his damp cheeks.

“I love you, always have,” you said, right over his ear. “Don’t be afraid, Suguru. I'll still be here when you wake up, ready to repeat all these things to you, to remind you how amazing and good you are, how beautiful and how much I love you. I will never let you go, it's a promise.”

Darkness appeared behind Suguru's closed eyelids and this time, without fear of being alone in the dark, he allowed himself to relax in your embrace.

“I love you too.”

[heian-era-housewife]

This fic is part of the @nanamiscocksleeve Secret Santa Ficmas event.

Happy Holidays to @mysteria157 who wanted some holiday fluff with Nanami!

A/N: Thanks to both of you for your patience and sincerest apologies for the delay. I hope you had a wonderful holiday season and a fantastic New Year to come! Enjoy!

Nanami Kento is perfect.

That's why you fell for him, isn't it? Perfect manners, perfect work ethic, perfect timing, perfect...hair.

So when he invited you over for your first holiday dinner together, it only made sense that you'd want to match that sky-high bar he had set.

Of course he insisted on making dinner, but you just wouldn't have it. Afterall, if you were going to prove your worth, you wanted to pull your weight.

And so, here you were, on hands and knees on your kitchen floor, picking up the broken pieces of the serving platter you'd just dropped- what would've been your main meal now splattered about the tile- cursing yourself for thinking you could ever match up to perfect Nanami Kento.

Kento♡ - Hello Darling, can't wait to see you.

He texted, thirty minutes before your would-be dinner.

The feeling is mutual. Heading out shortly!

You lied, preheating your oven while frantically scouring your fridge and pantry for spare...well...everything.

Kento♡ - Wonderful. See you soon.

See you soon ♡

The words make you cringe as you stare down at the floor. Your meticulously-made dinner still strewn about in slippery patches you dodge as you dart around aimlessly.

The minutes pass like frenzied heartbeats, and still you've nothing to show. You should have been at Kento's twenty minutes ago, now the growing feeling of failure has settled in.

Kento♡ - Everything okay?

Just a little setback... I'll be there soon.

You lie once more, desperate for a way out of the mess you've created.

Kento♡ - Take your time, my dear. I'm sure everything will be perfect.

And there it is. That dreaded word you've come to hate. The reason you're in this mess in the first place. Who were you kidding, thinking you could impress Mr. Flawless incarnate? Who were you, next to the consummate, Nanami Kento?

You sink to the floor, heart heavy from the shame of unmet expectation. Oven empty. Counters a mess. Tears falling hard and fast with with the weight of fear and failure.

If only he could see you now, you think bitterly.

Moments later there's a gentle knock at the door. You jolt to your senses, all time and meaning washed flat in that wave of sudden sorrow.

Getting up, you nearly trip, floor still slick with the meal you'd promised.

Panic stricken, you grab at papertowels in a frantic attempt to wipe up the mess, too tizzied to notice the door slowly opening, or the sound of steady, leatherbound footsteps.

A soft voice causes you to jump.

"Need a hand?"

Perfect timing.

Your voice catches. His face says it all. Not mad. Not disappointed. Just concerned. And somehow, that feels worse. Wiping at your tear-stained cheeks you continue to clean the floor in silence.

"Hey," Kento's voice is barely above a whisper as he crouches next to you, taking up your hand in his. "You could've told me, you know."

"I didn't want to let you down," you mumble out.

"Let me down?" Bringing your hand to his lips, still cold from the chilly outside air, he waits until you meet his tender gaze. "You could never."

The moments pass in silence, the two of you working to clean up the kitchen. Before long, the floor is free of food, much like the dinner table.

"Ken, I don't have the ingredients, other wise I'd try to-"

"You know," he gently interrupts, eyes gleaming over a runaway roll he plucks from under a cabinet. "I've never really been a big dinner guy anyway." He laughs, tossing you the roll. "Always fill up on the bread. Got any flour?"

With a puzzled look you grab an unopened bag of all purpose flour from the cabinet as he suggests an easy recipe for dinner rolls his grandmother once taught him. A "guilty pleasure", he admits. Taking the bag he pulls at the corners, perfect confidence as he swoops in to save the night. And then-

*POOF*

The bag explodes. From top to bottom, he's torn it clean open, flour blanketing the countertops in a mess of powedery white. And Kento? He's covered.

You stare in silent shock as the man removes his signature glasses. Two hazel eyes blinking humorously through the chalky mess. And just as suddenly, laughter spills from your chest, echoing off the walls and around the once again soiled kitchen. Kento's laughing too. And for the first time tonight the weight of perfection is lifted from your shoulders. With what you can salvage, the two of you follow his grandmother's recipe, kneading dough, stealing kisses, and basking in the joy of togetherness.

"How long?" You ask as you slide the tray into the oven.

"Hmm..." he considers, a look of almost mischeif on his still-powdered face. "I'd say...long enough for a quick shower..." he says with a boyish grin. You know just what he's implying, taking his hand and heading toward the bathroom.

Clean and warm, you sit down at long last to your improvised holiday dinner. The rolls only slightly overdone.

But to you, they were perfect ♡

[w2soneshots]

Can you make a short one about us singing Harry’s distrack home alone and he brings the boys home and they just hear us singing it and cooking. And We Get scared and emberesed all all it is just super fluffy

Caught -W2S

words: 0.5k+

warnings: none.

summary: when you’re home alone you subconsciously start singing Harry’s old diss track. But unbeknownst to you four of the sidemen are listening.

notes: I love this idea! I think it's time for my monthly 'sidemen diss tracks' rewatch😂. Enjoy babe!🌟💞

"Creature was shit. Why did we have to wait four months for it?" I sang quietly as I made myself dinner. "You said you were evolving, but you didn't do bits. You just evolved into the first male with tits." I continued before taking a sip of the wine I just poured. "You said you had to get some things off your chest. So, tell me, why the fuck do you still have breasts?"

I've been with Harry for years. We met just as he moved to London and immediately hit it off. So I was present for the entire diss track era, meaning I have unintentionally learned the lyrics to Harry's 'Ksi Sucks' song. Along with the fact it's recently gone viral and is all over TikTok. "Yeah, you're leaving the Sidemen, but, thankfully. You made the other guys. But you didn't make me. So I can stand here on my own two feet. As I chat shit about you on this old-school beat." The pan sizzled as the chicken cooked, and a puff of steam erupted into the air.

I heard a chuckle and I jumped, along with a small screech from my mouth. I quickly whirled around to see Harry, Ethan, JJ and Simon stood in my living room, with massive smiles on their faces. "Fuckin hell you scared the shit out of me!" Harry chuckled. "were you just singing my diss track?" My face turned red from embarrassment. "Uhm... yea it's stuck in my head." I replied. All four of them burst out laughing.

"Are you hungry? I made way too much food." I asked as the boys sat down on the sofa. "Yea sure, that would be great." Harry answered. The boys nodded their heads happily. I smiled lightly then returned to cooking the food. Once it was finished I plated it up onto five different plates then everyone came to sit down.

"So how come you all came back here?" I asked after a few minutes. "We need to make some last minute decisions for our next shoot so I said we could do it at our place." Harry replied. I nodded "well you could've sent me a quick text Haz. Maybe I wouldn't have been caught singing." I said sarcastically. A small rumble of laughter came from Ethan. "You were pretty good to be fair." Simon joked. I rolled my eyes and continued eating my food. Since I've known Harry for so many years I'm pretty comfortable with the boys and have amazing friendships with the girls (especially Freya since she was also here from the very beginning).

Once everyone had finished JJ offered to clear the plates away but I told him that I'd do it and for him to get on with the work he needed to do. After cleaning up I headed into the bedroom to watch tv. I heard many laughs and loud talking. "It's going to take them ages to finish that if they keep messing around." I thought. But after almost an hour they were finished and Harry was crawling into bed next to me.

[startanewdream]

Prompt: "Are we going to talk about it?" "I'd rather not".

That's me, finally writing something for @jilytoberfest!

*****

A door bumps somewhere in the castle — it could be on the North Tower or right next to them, she cannot tell — and Lily breaks apart. She takes a moment to reorient herself: Lily Evans, that's her name; she is a witch, currently in her last year in a magic school — an excellent student, Head Girl and all; her lips are burning; James Potter is in front of her — and, oh, she just kissed the guy that's been popping up in all her dreams lately.

The guy, incidentally, who has just bent over to pick up her scattered books and is now offering them back without meeting her eyes.

"Ah—"

She accepts the books, staring down at the covers as if they are written in a foreign language. Did she forget how to read?

"Er—" Perhaps she also forgot how to speak. God, she is a mess, right? And all because...

Her lips tingle. She can still feel the taste of his mouth — the hot cinnamon tea he enjoys every morning, with a drop of lemon —, can recall the movements of his tongue. It had been perfect, the way no other kiss had ever felt; no one else had the added bonus of making her heart soar, all of her claiming for more—

She's nearly reaching him, adamant on kissing him again, when he turns around.

"I'll get the Potions books," he says, continuing a conversation that Lily has no memory of, and vanishing out of sight.

She watches the place where he was, urging him to appear, and when James doesn't, her glance falls to the books. Transfiguration books. Right. This sparks something.

They were talking about a joint assignment that would get them extra credit in two classes that they didn't need any extra points but they both enjoyed. They were picking the books they would use, and as always happened when Transfiguration was involved, James was sparking: his eyes shone as he compared authors and discussed theories; hands unable to stand still as he would pass the books to Lily, running up through his hair not out of nervousness, but excitement; and sunshine came through one of the high windows of the library as if the sun wanted to greet him, and Lily had thought... Actually, she hadn't. The books had fallen from her hands as she threw her arms around his neck and proceeded to kiss him as if her life depend on it.

And James had answered with an intensity that didn't match the way he was now walking back to her, shoulders slumped and avoiding her eyes.

"There's a place for us there," he says, pointing to the middle of the library, where all the other students were. Public place.

Lily blinks. "We've just kissed."

"Yeah." His fingers itch, but he cannot move his hand with all the books he's holding. "I've noticed it."

Her lips tingle even now. She wonders if they are as raw as she feels.

When James just looks as if he will walk past her, something snaps inside Lily.

"Are we going to talk about it?"

"I'd rather not."

She purses her lips for a moment; it doesn't help with the tingle.

"Oh, right." Her voice sounds off. "Just forget it."

"I'm trying, I mean—" He looks around before lowering his voice. "I am sorry, okay? I shouldn't have grabbed you and—"

"What are you talking about?"

James shakes his head, looking guilty. "See, that's why I didn't want to discuss this—if we can just move past, please, Evans—"

"Are you insane? You didn't grab me, I was the one who pulled you!"

He blinks. Twice.

"No?"

"Yes."

"But I made you drop the books."

"No, I did. Rather rude of me." She stares at him. James looks nothing but confused. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Not really, I was talking and then we were—you know—and, to be honest, a hippogriff might invade the library and start tap dancing and I wouldn't notice anything but you." Her heart jumps, especially because James sounds only earnest. He tilts his head like an owl. "Did you really kiss me?"

"And I thought you had noticed it."

"I mean, did you really mean to kiss me?"

"I didn't plan it," she mumbles, which may be only half-truth. Somewhere in her dreams, there had been elaborate plans of how to snog him — her last one involved the locker room, hot steam from the pipes, a black dog she had seen around, and a singing coral. "But I'm not regretting it. I've wanted to do it for some time." She bites her lip. "And you?"

"Hmm." There's a smile at the corner of his lips. "I need you to return those books you're holding." He nudges his own pile of books. "I'll do the same, be back in a few."

"James?"

"The new librarian has been giving detention to people who don't return the books," is all he says, vanishing again.

She is sure he lost his mind, but she returns the books all the same. In what seems seconds, James is back, all grinning now.

"All done," he announces proudly.

"Why the urgency?"

"I really cannot afford a detention right now."

"James Potter actually doing an effort to avoid detention?"

"What can I say, Evans? You bring the best in me." He offers his hand. "Shall we?"

"Where?"

"Anywhere, really, but I was thinking about someplace bright." He waves his hand and Lily takes it. James' hand is as warm as his lips. "I was hoping to notice every detail this second time."

"Oh." Her cheeks flush, but Lily doesn't mind. "I might jump on you again."

"Thanks for the warning." He beams. "I've been waiting for you to do it for quite some time now."

No more lost time, Lily thinks, with a feeling this might be her last coherent thought for some time now.

[oneofthetorturedpoets]

Can you write a Melissa Schemmenti x reader, which Melissa writes like secret like cute notes to us but like we don't know it's from her and it being like all fluff and stuff please also maneater was sooooo good ❤️😭

melissa schemmenti x reader

(not proofread please ignore any errors 😭)

old fashioned lover.

“i just wish some things were still old fashioned, everything’s online now” you comment as you open the break room fridge “like buy me flowers, write me letters, something real” Janine nods along.

little do you know, melissa is taking mental notes of everything you say.

-

the first note you got, you thought it was from a student.

you walk into your class room, seeing a folded white sheet of paper on your desk. you opened the little note up.

'you are an amazing teacher, when you first came to abbott, I could tell you were going to make this place better than it has ever been'

you slide the paper into your drawer, smiling at the kind words.

-

the second note made you assume you had a secret admirer. there was a bouquet of beautiful flowers with the note inside.

'your smile lights up any room you walk into. just seeing you makes my day'

you grab the flowers, bringing them up to your nose to smell them. Barbara walks up to the door.

"you got yourself a special someone?" she asks, knowing very well who sent them.

you turn around, smiling. "yes, apparently. but I have no idea who it is, they aren't giving me anything to go off of"

she smirks. "don't worry, time will tell" her words only confusing you more.

-

the third note gave you a little hint at who it was.

'the night when we all went to the bar after the last school year ended is forever burned into my mind. your hair was perfectly curled, the outfit you wore bringing out your eyes. every time you looked over at me, my heart jumped out of my chest. it's impossible to not fall in love with you.'

you remember that night, you and the entire abbott crew went out for drinks after completing yet another school year. your secret admirer is between Jacob, Ava, Barbara, Melissa, Gregory, and Janine. there is no way its any of them, Jacob is gay, Ava and Janine are straight, Barbara is married, Melissa is messing around with that firefighter, and Gregory is still in love with Janine.

who the hell is it?

-

the fourth note made you even more confused.

'I've tried to move on from you, I even got into a serious relationship thinking if I tried to ignore my feelings for you, they would go away. I was so wrong. I felt like a shitty person because I kept comparing them to you. I learned then that no one can compare to you.'

in the break room, you're showing Janine the note. "it has to be someone in our group." she says, you nod. "could it be Melissa? she has been the only one who was in a serious relationship and broke it off?"

you laugh. "no way, she wouldn't feel that way about me. plus she has that one guy. bob? rob? I don't know, I just know she is way out of my league... I wish though, you know how long i've liked her" Janine shrugs.

Melissa, who is right outside the door, heard everything. you liked her back?

-

it's 8pm on friday, you're on your couch in your pajamas, watching your latest obsession when there is a bunch of loud persistent knocks on your door. "Jesus! I'm coming!"

you get up, running to your door. you open it, revealing an out of breath Melissa. "Melissa? are you okay?" she nods, trying to catch her breath.

"i'm sorry, I just need to get this out. I heard what you said in the break room about your feelings for me-" you cut her off.

"shit. I didn't mean for-"

"don't. let me get this out, y/n. I've been writing those notes for you. I wasn't sure what I was going to do if you found out it was me, I just wanted to make sure you knew there was someone out there who loved you. I never thought you would feel the same about me. Ever since I laid eyes on you, I've loved you." your eyes go wide. not sure what to say, you pull her into you. looking into her eyes for permission. she gives you a little nod. you gently press into her, her lips soft against your.

you pull away. "what about your firefighter guy? weren't you seeing him?"

she shakes her head. "it was one night, just for fun and I hated every second of it." she pulls you in again.

-

taglist: @natashamaximoff-69 @allamanamedearl @ricejucie @marvels--slut

to join my taglist, send in an ask!!

[meowmeowriley]

@sergeantwoods Sorry for the long wait, but here's the mer!AU

Think I'll call it Fish Out of the Sea

Ghost x Soap, blacktip reef shark mer!Soap, human Ghost, fluff, getting together (kinda)

Ficlet after the cut 😘

"No."

John sighed, he didn't seem surprised by Shepherd's hard rejection, but he kept trying. Simon had to give props to the fishing boat Captain. "You have the best mer rehabilitation facility in the country. It'd be a shame not to use it."

"You said you had a mermaid. That's not a fucking mermaid, John."

"I said I had an injured mer." He repeated himself from their earlier conversation.

"I'm not taking that thing into my facility."

"He needs help-"

"He's hideous, and aggressive." Shepherd barked. "That thing keeps lashing out, it'll scare patrons, attack my staff, and if that *thing* touches my mermaids, tries to mate with them, I'll have it put down."

"Mers are actually matriarchal, sir." The mer expert, Kyle, finally spoke up. "I've never worked with a shark mer before, but I do know he won't mess with Kate or Rosa, because they won't want him. Since they're together."

"Kyle. For the last time, the mermaids aren't lesbians. They're just fish." Shepherd was one of those who thought of mers as lesser than humans. Obviously.

Simon was standing near the door. No one had noticed him sneak in, but when he'd overheard that the mer was a shark variant, he'd needed to see it. Now, seeing the poor thing huddled in the corner of it's transport tank, curled in on itself, he felt so bad for it. He watched, any time someone went near it it flared out it's dorsal and pectoral fins. It would gnash it's teeth and charge the glass. All signs of aggression in a shark but... as soon as it finished its display it was right back to the furthest corner from the humans. It kept peeking at them over it's own shoulder when it thought they weren't looking. He quietly crept closer.

He took in it's markings, gray on it's back, white on its belly, black tips to it's fins. Claspers on its pelvic fins. A male blacktip reef shark then. His inferior end was all shark, something Simon was very familiar with, as he took care of all of the sharks here at the aquarium, several of them blacktips. His superior end, or top half, he supposed a visitor would (incorrectly) consider it, was new and interesting to him. Though he was vaguely humanoid, his skin was all two tones white and gray, like his tail. He had a wedge shaped snout in place of a human nose, a wider mouth with jagged teeth. Slitted eyes, and a black tipped fin atop his head that reminded Simon of a mohawk. Webbed gray and white hands with black claws rubbed up and down it's own arms in a self soothing gesture. One forearm had an odd angle to it, probably the injury that landed him here.

He retreated from the tank quietly before speaking, interrupting the squabbling of the other men. "He looks like a reef shark to me." Everyone else jumped. "Blacktip reef sharks aren't aggressive. Sure they can get a little iffy during feeding, but they're more curious than anything."

"He's been charging the glass, Ghost." Simon managed to suppress his eye roll at Shepherd's nickname for him. They all called him that here. "Fuck you mean 'not aggressive', you don't know mers."

"No, but I know sharks. He's injured, and defensive. You ever think he doesn't like us because it was something shaped like us that broke his arm?" John winced, he obviously felt bad about it. Not like he could've know he'd caught the mer in his net, but it was nice to see some accountability from a fisherman for once.

"Well we can't communicate with him, so he'll stay scared and defensive." If Simon didn't love the sharks, he would've left this place a long time ago because Shepherd was an absolutely abrasive cunt.

"Kate and Rosa can. And their English is excellent." Kyle spoke up again. "We have them pass on the message of our intentions, and Ghost and I tag team his rehabilitation." Of course he uses the dumb nickname too. "It's the perfect plan! And an incredible opportunity to be one of two aquariums to actually work with a shark mer. The novelty of something so rare will bring in patrons." Kyle was really leaning into Shepherd's true interests here, bringing up money.

Shepherd was quiet for a moment and then, "If anything happens, you're both fired." He then stormed out of the room.

"Thanks, Gaz."

"Of course, Cap."

Now the three of them had to get the shark mer into an appropriate tank.

***

They had initially tried to put him in with the other mers, but he'd seen the sharks in the tank across the hall and told Kate he wanted to be with his own kind. That would make Simon's job easier, anyway. Kate had explained that they needed to put a cast on his arm, and Rosa had wrestled it onto him, since the humans couldn't get too close. They decided to name him John, after Captain Price, calling him Johnny affectionately. Gaz explained to Ghost that part of rehabbing Johnny would be gaining his trust, teach him to communicate. To release him without a way to communicate could lead to him attacking humans and being a problem down the road.

Simon had a plan: ignore him. He was a reef shark, his own curiosity would get him to open up. It took a week.

Simon would feed his sharks from a catwalk above their tank, for safety reasons, dropping their food in in the mornings before they opened their doors. No need to scare any children. For the first week, any time he passed by, Johnny would posture aggressively and gnash his teeth, before snatching up his food and swimming off. When Ghost would gear up and go in the water for his evening shows, Johnny stayed far away. At night, Gaz and his mers would move over and Ghost would mostly just observe as the girls tried to teach Johnny how to speak, and he petulantly ignored them, with a little pout on his face as he refused to even make eye contact with them. It was cute.

The first time he tried to speak was also the first time Simon saw him raise his head above the surface. He seemed frantic. "HAAAH!" He startled a bit at what was most likely the first time he ever used his lungs to breath air. "HAAAAH! AH! YAAH!" he was waving with his good arm. Stretching it out towards the platform between his tank and that of the other mers, thrashing his tail with his fins tucked in. Very distressed. Simon went to check, to see what could possibly be bothering him so much, when he found their elusive fourth mer. Simon had only seen Gary once. Gaz called him Roach, because he hid in the tiniest cracks in the reef in their enclosure, why on earth the isopod mer was on the platform, and not in the water, was beyond him, but he couldn't let the poor thing suffer. He had several of his little legs caught in a grate. Simon spent some time disentangle him. He tossed the infant sized mer into the nearest tank, which happened to be the shark tank, with Johnny. The larger mer immediately dove to catch him. He stroked Roach's antennae back like one would the hair of a small child, a soothing motion. Clearly not as much of a loner as he pretended to be. From then on the little isopod mer could be found clinging to Johnny's sides or fins with his many little periopods more often than not. After that, it seemed that Gary encouraged Johnny's more curious side. The mer's language was mostly outside of the human range of hearing, but Simon occasionally caught clicks, whistles or hums shared between the two.

Simon had left a bucket with soap close to the edge once, the two mers were clearly curious about it, but he didn't think anything would come of it. Which is why it was such a surprise when Johnny stuck a webbed hand in and scooped some out, popping it immediately into his mouth. Simon knew it wasn't enough to harm him, which is why he couldn't help but laugh at the poor creatures misfortune as it sputtered and writhed, making bubbles. While laughing he let his guard down, and was surprised when something struck him, knocking him off the catwalk and into the tank. He opened his eyes and looked around, seeing only Roach, floating downward, listing side to side, tiny head in his tiny hands. He surfaced to see Johnny. "Did you just throw him at me?!" Johnny sunk down so only his eyes and cranial fin were above the water. The little shit. "Not cool, Soap!" He forced his palm out towards the mer, sending a spray of water its way. That seemed to really break down the mer's walls.

Johnny started approaching while Simon would try and clean the tank. At first, darting away if Simon caught sight of him. Eventually however, he would get closer and simply observe. He'd watch Simon work at cleaning the glass or vacuuming the sand at the bottom. It was fun to see shark behavior and mer behavior collide. If Simon sat something down, Johnny would pick it up, and without a doubt if he could get it in his hands, it would end up in his mouth.

There was a small crowd, a child's birthday party had been held over by Gaz's mer tank, the girls were always a hit with the kids, and the little show they put on with Gaz was actually pretty funny. They'd harass him as he pretended to try and do his chores. Slapstick comedy was good for all ages.

Simon had his own show with his sharks, but it wasn't for a few more hours. He was actually just trying to clean. Apparently his cleaning sponge had caught Johnny's attention, as the mer had swam up and was watching him intently. He kept inching forward, eventually crowding Simon against the glass while reaching for his sponge. "Oi!" He said into his respirator, not that anyone could hear him. He shoved Johnny away and kept trying to cleaning, but the persistent bastard just kept coming back. He could vaguely see the crowd observing them through the glass. They were probably laughing. When he'd had enough, he got an idea. He turned when Johnny got close again and placed one hand on his dorsal fin and the other on the underside of his snout. He began to rub at the sensitive underside of the mer's snout, and just like his sharks, the mer entered a state of tonic immobility. He repositioned Johnny, nose down tail to the surface, Johnny's arms hung limply down past his head. Simon quickly withdrew his hands and watched as the mer continued to float for a bit, before blinking vigorously. He shook his head before righting himself, and slapped his tail into Simon's chest as he practically fled to his little cave at the other end of the tank. When he surfaced later, Gaz informed him that the kids were raving about how cool the 'shark guys' were.

Simon had to admit that Johnny was growing on him. He looked forward to seeing him each day. Johnny began trying to get Simon to swim with him. He'd grab Simon's arms and try to pull him into the water when he was on land, or he'd push Simon away from the glass and his cleaning supplies, towards the open water. Sometimes Simon would indulge him, and the two of them would make laps around the tank.

Simon realized, when Johnny began posturing towards the sharks and getting territorial about him towards them, that Johnny was attempting to court him. Worse, he couldn't bring himself to try and put an end to the behavior either. Johnny was getting touchy, he'd run his hands along Simon's sides or chest, in much the same way Simon would to per his sharks, but it felt different. He would push Simon until he floated horizontally in the water, then drape himself across the man.

Simon knew he was getting himself into some deep shit, but he couldn't help the small voice in the back of his head that urged him to reach out, to cradle the mer's rubbery cheeks in his hands. He wanted to kiss him. He was fucked.

***

I hope you liked it! Ngl, I really liked this one. If you don't mind, I might expand on this and make it a multi-chapter fic over on AO3? I wanna explore more of society's reaction to mers, specifically interspersed relationships and where this could go. Let me know what you think, and thanks for the idea!

[butmakeitgayblog]

Jumping in on the CI appreciation. The dynamic is just so fun and deceptively beautiful as messed up as they are. You are a great writer and have a unique way of captivating a reader. Kudos and much success however you choose to pursue your talent! Speaking of… have you written or plan on writing that blowout fight scene (post hospital release) where Lexa draws the proverbial line so to say?

CI fight 😈

///////////////////////

This is the stupidest you've ever felt in your life.

Which is saying a lot, considering the sheer amount of reckless and dumb shit you have done.

But this absolutely takes the cake you decide as your hired nurse wheels you into your lounge room, the sheets already turned back on your couch-turned-makeshift bed and the mountain of your wife's borrowed pillows that are already fluffed to within an inch of their goddamn life.

Your hip kills every time you try to stand on it and your back feels like it'd gone one too many rounds with a baseball bat, and thanks to the four fractured bones in your wrist, you can't even deal with it on your own with the use of a crutch or cane. So instead, you hang on to this fucking stranger and woddle over like a toddler, sweating through all three herculean steps it takes until you can sink down into the godsend that is your new recovery zone.

You wave her off with your good arm once she gets you settled. Tell her you're fine and to stop fucking hovering because you didn't even really need a nurse to move in with you to begin with.

But your wife had insisted and left no room for argument, and well... You're not very good at telling her no when she's upset.

So here the hell you are.

Your grousing is hushed by the sweeter notes of your wife's voice when she comes trailing in behind you with that familiar sharp clicking of her heels.

She apologizes for your lack of manners and tells RN Whats-her-name she can go get settled in the guest room that she'd already showed her - you suppose she must have gotten the grand tour at some point while you were still laid up in the hospital.

Ass out in a gown and perpetually high as a kite.

Not your finest point in life.

Not the lowest either.

At least the drugs made it a good time...

Your temple throbs when your 'guest' excuses herself and snaps the doors shut behind her, making you groan and reach to rub at the bandage taped to the side of your head.

Fingers quicker than yours catch you before you can do any damage.

"Don't," Lexa warns you in a whisper more gently than you had expected, considering she's had to remind you three times already today.

You murmur your sorries and pout because it hurts, but can't help but breathe lighter when she slips into the space between your legs.

Rather than settling in your lap as you'd foolishly hoped for, she perches on the edge of the coffee table instead. She smells so good and her gorgeous face is so serene when she gets comfortable and looks at you dead in the eye.

But then she folds her fingers together and she leans her elbows on her knees, and you already know you're in for some kind of ass chewing.

Fantastic.

She levels you with that 'wife look' she gets. The one that tells you that she means business.

Nobody warned you about that when you'd agreed to this whole 'marriage' thing.

"So," she breathes, only pausing to lick her kissable lips, "Welcome home, Darling."

You snort a laugh through your nose that still hurts where it's swollen but the good drugs kinda help you not care. "Thanks for having me, babe. Nice place you got here," you say in sarcasm-dipped words.

She merely hums and gives you a narrow-eyed grin that feels sexy and distinctly lethal.

"Yes. I've missed you in it. I've missed having you here. With me."

That softens you. Lulls you into a false sense of security.

"I missed you too, baby."

"Good. Then," she says in a quick breath that sounds not unlike ripping off a bandaid. "I wanted you to know that I've taken the liberty of finding a buyer. Well, a few of them, really. All predictably salivating over the collection. But I supposed it'd be appropriate that we talk about the logistics of this before moving forward. I'm open to deferring to your expertise in this field when it came to numbers because, frankly, I'm more than willing to just give the fucking things away. So, we should talk about this."

You smile, because you're an idiot, and you think it's hilarious that she's talking to you like one of her clients. But you also smile because you're a little high off your medicine, and she's really just so pretty, and because not one word of that made any sense.

"What's... 'this'? What're you— Talk about the logistics of what?"

"Selling your cars," she answers with an easy nod, like it absolutely should've been obvious.

The silence that rings through the apartment feels loud in your ears... before you burst out laughing right in her face.

"What?" you choke out and chuckle, because you must've heard that wrong. "What are you talking about?"

"Just what I said, my love." She reaches out boops the tip of your nose with a patronizingly scrunched smile. "You know I don't like repeating myself."

"That's cute, Lexa," you titter and swipe at the hand that's already so far out of reach.

"Oh I'm not kidding, Clarke."

"Okay. And I'm not selling my cars."

"No, actually, you are."

You scoff and use the shoulder that isn't currently trussed up in a sling to push you hair off your neck so you can see her better. Or... something.

Because all you really see is the calm of her smile. Those eyes that are sharp. Hollow. Unyielding. And if you'd looked beyond the swell of anger that suddenly bursts through your chest, you might've seen the whispered-smoke of terror that hid in their depths.

But you do not.

Instead you focus all of your righteous indignation and stubbornness that burns white hot. You give a derisive laugh, and shake your head, and level her with a cold stare of your own.

Making sure she hears your every word, loud and clear.

"No. The fuck. I am not."

It almost feels like victory when her smile falls away.

"Clarke," she says with a deathly click to your name, "I want those deathtraps gone."

"Lexa—"

"I don't care."

"Lexa—"

"Stop saying my name, because whatever comes after it, I promise you, I do not care."

"Well I don't really fucking care either," you spit just to get a rise out of her, "because I'm not doing it, and I don't give shit what you say, Alexandria."

Her jaw ticks to the side as her eyes flash with hellfire.

She hates that name and you know it but right now you just want her to be every bit as angry as you are.

"Okay," she says so quiet you barely hear her over the hammering of your heart as she pushes on her knees to stand up and hovers over you for a moment.

And you think it's a victory because it feels like a victory...

Until it does not.

Because she just nods.

And keeps nodding.

Just this slow up and down of her head, her eyes empty and her face cold, but not in the way that you fell in love with.

This only fills your chest with dread.

So it's a shock when she straddles your hips, planting one knee on each side and sinks down to sit in your lap. Her weight is comforting after your stay in the hospital, if not a little painful in the way it twinges your fucked up leg. But you don't even let yourself flinch because God you've missed this. You've missed her, and her scent, and the way she practically drapes herself over you.

Your good arm wraps around her waist and digs fingertips into the soft dip of her spine, pulling her flush against you. You soak up the flutter of her lashes at the feel of your breasts pressing against hers; the way she fidgets not to grind down like her body's muscle memory is obviously screaming at her to do.

Instead she stares at you through those dark hooded eyes, now so beautifully filled with emotions that make your heart pound out a more pleasant rhythm than before.

"I love you, Clarke," she says. Whispers.

And your breath catches in your chest.

Same as it does each time she says those words, so fleeting and so rare as they are that they pierce straight through the mushiest parts of your heart. Because you know she loves you. You know it in every single thing she does. But there's just... It's just... Nothing will ever rival these moments when she lets them slip out, so unguarded and vulnerable with you.

And really... that should've been a warning.

"And I love you, pretty girl," you whisper right back instead, grinning as she preens under the praise, so lost in her beautiful face you don't even remember there exists a world beyond her.

You watch her throat dip in a thick swallow, her hands smoothing up the length of your neck. She cups your cheeks as her eyes trace every line of your face... as if she were committing this moment to memory.

She shakes her head. Sadly.

"I adore you," she says again, softer still and with more conviction. "Everything. I adore everything about you, Clarke. I love you more than I have ever loved anything in my entire life. And I'm always going to love you, no matter what."

When she kisses you then, in that moment, it's possibly the softest, purest thing you have ever known. She kisses you like it's the only thing she needs in this world and you hope she knows it's the same for you. Because her lips pillow and give under every caress of your lips, and her tongue slipping against yours feels like the only home you've ever known. It's one kiss among thousands you've shared. But you know you'll think of this one for years to come, and honestly if fighting gets you loving like this then you should really make a mental note to call her by her birth name more often...

She breaks the kiss with a sigh, and a shuddering breath against your lips.

"I love you. So, so much... I just want you to always remember that."

You barely have time to blink out of your haze when she extracts herself from your arms and your lap and your lips, and stands up on shakey legs.

She lets out a deep breath and smooths her hands along the front herself, rigidly primping herself free of any creases you might've left.

Her chin rises in that regal arch as she looks down at you and nods once again.

"I'll have our lawyer draw up the divorce papers in the morning."

Your hand snaps out when she turns to leave and catches her shirt cuff before you even have time to think, gritting your teeth to try and bite back the sudden shock of pain that slices up your arm and explodes through your shoulder.

"Wait, what the fuck did you just say?" you practically yelp.

Her icy glare drops to the hand that holds her, jaw flexing as she watches how bad you tremble.

"Let go of me."

"Uh, no—"

"If you don't," she cuts in, enunciating with lethal precision, "I'll have to rip my arm away, and that will hurt you more, and I don't want that. Now stop acting like a child, and let go of me."

You grit your teeth and fist her cuff harder through the cold sweat of pain. "I guess you'll have to hurt me then, because I'm not letting go until you repeat what the hell you just said."

"You heard me perfectly well, my love."

"No, I don't think I did."

"Then you'll figure it out tomorrow, won't you."

You let out a strangled sound and collapse back on the couch - both from the pain and the sheer terror ripping through you. "Lexa, what is this? What are you playing at? Why are you doing this?"

"I'm not playing at anything, I'm telling you that I'm not doing this with you ever again, Clarke," she says in her crisp business voice. "The hospitals. The sitting at your bedside. The wondering if you're ever going to be able to paint again. Watching you limp around for weeks, just to turn around and do it again. I'm done."

You roll your eyes at her dramatics. "Oh my god, are serious? It was just an accident—"

"One that could've killed you."

"It wasn't even my fault."

"That's not the point," she nearly growls, all fire and fangs. "This is your third accident in four fucking years. I can't keep doing this."

"And what exactly is 'this'?"

"Waiting around to lose you!"

Your ears ring at the volume of her shout.

You swallow as she takes a moment collect herself.

Feel the lump grow in your throat as she mindlessly fiddles with the diamond on her finger.

You know it's a habit that calms her when she's feeling particularly out of control. A tick she picked up and never seemed to kick somewhere around the third year you were married.

"I trusted you," she starts again, sounding calmer. Less shaken, but still frayed at the edges. "I told how I feel about you. I told you I wouldn't— Couldn't... survive without you."

"So your solution is to divorce me now?" you scoff. "Tell me, how does that makes sense?"

"Because I have loved exactly two people in my life, Clarke... And this way? At least I won't have to bury one of them."

It's like a bucket of goddamn ice water has just been upturned over your head.

You can't help but stare at her, dumbfounded.

Because you are... so fucking stupid.

Your heart twists and it pounds and for a split second you wonder if you're having a heart attack, or if maybe this is what they mean when they talk about broken heart syndrome. Because nothing has ever hurt this bad. Nothing has ever devastated you as much this tidal wave of guilt. Nothing has ever scared you; made you feel this kind of shame so deep in your bones.

And when she drops her hands like she's given up and turns toward the door, you almost feel like you're going to throw up with the way your stomach clenches in a fresh wave of terrified dread. You want nothing more than to pop up and run over to her and explain and just fix this, but your hip and your leg and you just—You just...

You did this.

You did all of this.

"Okay," you damn near yell, sounding distinctly like a wounded animal to your own ears.

She pulls to a stop and snaps back around, "Okay, what?"

"I said... okay."

"Okay, what?"

"Okay, I'll fucking get rid of them," you bite right back again, desperate and annoyed and shaking so badly it's making your shoulder ache.

She stares at you, placid and unmoved.

"All of them?"

You grit your jaw and blow a breath out. "All of them... The dangerous ones at least."

She clicks her tongue and starts to turn away when you yell—

"You have to compromise with me here!"

She wheels back around with thunder in her eyes and a snarl already twisting her lips.

You know you have never needed to talk faster in your life.

"The ones that aren't street legal, they're gone, okay? Nothing that is actually dangerous stays. But I'm not getting rid of the ones that are perfectly safe, and, Lexa, I'm not getting rid of my grandfather's car. It's the only thing I have from my fucked up family that means anything to me, and it's mine, and it's not fair of you to even consider making me get rid of it."

"You hate that fucking thing—"

"I don't hate it, I love that car! That car changed my life! That car got me you."

You watch the rage bleed out of her as she slumps at the shoulders.

She runs a hand through the controlled chaos of her hair.

"That car did not get you me, Clarke," she strains out in a sigh, sounding tired and beautifully frail. "We're married because I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. Because I fell in love with you. Because I'm in love with you."

It makes your heart squeeze tight all over again.

"Maybe, but you wanted that car before you ever wanted me—"

"That is not true," she cuts you off in a hush of a whisper.

She stares at you with eyes clouded with devastation and hurt, and for the life of you, you don't know how to fix it.

You never seem to know how to...

The air between you feels frozen for a long moment before she seems to make up her mind about something all at once.

She shakes her head as she crosses the room in quick, elegant strides and drops to her knees right in front of you.

"Listen to me," she says, and tenderly - so tenderly - takes your least injured hand and folds it into her own. "There are so many things I regret about my life. But making that bet, and losing it, are not included. Half of the reason I ever even wanted that car to begin with was because of how attracted to you I was whenever I saw you in it."

Your scoff is loud enough to give your concussion addled brain another headache. "You are such a liar, Lexa."

Your belly swoops when she flits that damn eyebrow up in challenge.

"While I appreciate your assessment of my moral virtues," she practically purrs, "on this, darling, you happen to be wrong... All that windswept blonde hair? The way you looked like you owned everyone and everything in those shaders that you'd so carelessly slip down before pulling away?"

You wonder if you even still have those sunglasses as she bites her lip and lets her eyes run the length of you.

You'll have to check the next time you can walk properly.

Maybe have them make a reappearance at your next brunch date.

Just for old time's sake.

The hand holding yours squeezes gently.

"You were so damn cocky. The way you'd throw that thing in park and hop out. You'd just toss your keys at the doorman like you didn't care about anything. I hated it so much," she laughs with a rueful grin that slips into something entirely more fond. "And yet I could never seem to make myself stop staring at you, darling."

Even after all these years of marriage, the thought of younger her having wanted younger you...

You shift at the throb that weakly pulses between your thighs.

"So... You made the bet because... you thought I was sexy in my car?"

"I made the bet because I thought you were entirely too full of yourself," she corrects, "which I still believe. But I wanted the car because I'd envisioned getting fucked in it more times than I could count."

God you love it when she gets vulgar.

She reaches up and brushes a curl away from your forehead.

"It just took me a little while longer to realize that the person I had been imagining fucking me was - annoyingly - very much you."

You know your smile is kind of dopey right now rather than the teasing slope that you're aiming for, but later when you look back on this moment, you'll definitely blame it on the drugs.

"So our marriage is based off you wanting me to top you in my grandfather's car?"

Her faces pulls up in distaste. "No. It's based off the fact that you are—"

She pauses and exhales something from deep in her chest, her eyes closing under the weight of whatever it is she's feeling as she finally trembles out,

"That you are everything to me."

You really really really kind of hate that you're injured in that moment, because when she opens her eyes they glisten with a lovely wet sheen. And you just want nothing more than to scoop her up and hold her in your arms. Because it's where she belongs. It's where she's always been meant to be...

"You're everything to me too, baby," you say because she is and she should know it, and you really need to remember to say it more often. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Lexa, I didn't— I didn't mean to..."

She nods when you can't find the words and kisses the bruised ridge of your knuckles.

Rests her forehead there for a moment as though in prayer.

When she looks at you again she's already pulled herself back together.

That's part of why you love her so much.

Always unbreakable.

Except... when it comes to you.

You have no idea what to do with that knowledge, but you know you'd give up anything just to keep it.

And you love her so much that it makes you smile. It makes you smile, because you just want to see her smile at you again. Always.

"Hey," you say, tossing in a lazy wink because you know she hates it. "You totally had a crush on me."

She rolls her eyes. "You're an idiot."

"You had a cuh-ruuuuush on me."

"Clarke. I am married to you—"

"Still," you snort. "Loser."

Her sigh of resignation is so weary it fills your heart close to bursting with how much love you have for this woman.

Because she doesn't fight you on that. Just leans her forehead against yours and nods, kissing your lips soft enough to not make the cut on them bleed again. Her nose brushes against yours in a sweet moment of aching tenderness, and when she pulls back to look at you beneath the fall of her lashes, the whole world is once again nothing but her.

"We'll go through each one together," she says somewhere between a question and a statement.

You nod in agreement, just to be safe.

"Anything remotely questionable, goes."

You heave a sigh but dutifully nod again.

"That means anything without the right mirrors, or proper turning signals. Engines that might blow up for no reason. Anything that was recalled decades ago. Anything with brakes that have a habit of failing... Anything that doesn't have fucking seat belts."

As her list grows you mentally tick off a good two-thirds of your collection.

You glance at her lips and remember how they feel against yours first thing in the morning, and simply nod again.

"Fine. But also? You can't just start threatening divorce every time you want me to do something, you know," you murmur still, because while you're compromising here... you really feel the need to remind her that she's not domesticating you or anything.

She doesn't seem remotely affected by your pout when she just shrugs and grins and leans forward.

You feel distinctly like a puppy on a leash when she pecks a placating kiss to your lips.

And then another to the tip of your nose.

"We'll see."

[luminouslywriting]

Hey! Novalis here again with another Winters request lol. This time it's based on that scene in Captain America: The First Avenger (one of my favorite films of all time) where we meet Peggy and she's confidently speaking with this guy who's making fun of her before she decks him in the face. Could we have something based on that where maybe one of the guys messes with the reader like that and ends up punching the guy in the face -> also pairing reader and Winters somehow in this request? Thanks!

Iconic of you to request this!! I would be HAPPY and thrilled to do this for you :) Reminder that my requests are open and I don't mind spam haha!

More under the cut, cut for length, slight sexual harassment/intimidation (not from Winters) mentioned, medical jargon and speak mentioned as well:

-Listen, I've said it once and I'll say it again, Dick Winters is a man who drinks his respect women juice

-So when the head doctor is introducing herself during the training and preparation for D-Day, you tend to listen to her because her instructions could mean the difference between life and death

-For Dick Winters, he's an attentive man who has already struck up a friendship and correspondence with you. And maybe, just maybe, if things go well, he'd like to ask if he can write you and if he can take you out sometime.

-But for right now, he's dutifully staying within the respectful bounds of a workplace relationship and no fraternization

-So there he is, standing at attention and listening to your instructions about how best to tie a tourniquet if there are no medics around (which is really quite useful, especially if something goes wrong with the jumps)

-And someone dares to question what a woman would even know about medical needs

-And he goes on and on about how women aren't meant to serve their country in the same way and how they need to be at home waiting to make babies or be filled up by some man

-So naturally Dick Winters is fuming about the entire thing and flabbergasted at this man's audacity

-And just when he's about to say something, you step up to the bat, ask the man's name, rank, etc.

-Once you have the information, you gracefully punch him in the nose and there's a very satisfying crunch of things. And the thing is?? You're a doctor. You know exactly how much force is needed to break a bone and how much is needed to set it back in place

-So there are the medics, bustling around because WTF??? And you just have them re-set his nose right then and there

-In that moment, Dick Winters has never been more in love in his life and he's got those googly/starry eyes that has Nixon looking at him like he's a freakin' simp or something

-The man is howling all sorts of things

-And you're just, "I outrank you. What are you gonna do? Court martial me? After all of that harassment? I don't think so, buddy."

-Dick Winters decides on the spot that he wants to marry you

-So yes, after the whole training is over, he does in fact, go for it and ask you out :) He also commends the punch and gives a kiss to the forming bruise on your knuckle

-We stan a supportive husband lol

[fic--writer]

Rolan x Fem!Reader. Friday's Smut.

Attention ⚠️🔞: Smut, NSFW!

It was damn hard, but you did it. But now all you needed was a relax.

The Last Light was not so crowded that night. Many were still licking their wounds or just resting in their rooms.

Rolan caught your eye. He stood at the bar, cleaning up the remains of the mess he had made the day before.

As you approached him, he looked over his shoulder and said:

"Oh, it's you. Have you changed your mind about the reward, or have you decided to apologize for this?"

He lifted his sleeve and showed you the huge dark bruise on his arm that he'd gotten after you'd thrown the heavy bag of coins he'd offered you for saving your brother and sister.

"No, I have no regrets," you said, jumping onto the counter he had so carefully polished. "How are Lia and Cal?"

"Well, first I fed them, then they washed for half a day, and then they fell into a fitful sleep. They need some time to recover, prison of absolutes is not the best place on earth, thank you."

"What about you?" you picked up the bottle of wine and twirled it in your hands,

"first you drank out of sorrow, and now you drink out of joy? Can't you relax any other way?"

"I hardly drank today, I just decided to clean up a bit, but what do you mean?"

You looked slyly into his golden eyes and raised the neck of the bottle to your lips, drumming playfully with your tongue. The remains of the sour wine tickled your receptors.

The gesture left no room for misinterpretation, and the tiefling reacted immediately:

"Zurgan!" he said, not in disgust, but in surprise.

"Just because you refused my money doesn't mean I'm your whore, Tav!"

The tiefling grumbled and fidgeted, pretending to go through rags.

You put the bottle down and decided to change your strategy:

"I didn't mean it like that. I just thought, oh, hell..." The revelation was not easy for you.

"You thought what? That since you're all heroic now, you can just take whatever you want? I appreciate it, Tav, but I'm not your stupid toy. You know, maybe you should go see Astarion, he seems to have a similar... mindset."

Rolan's nostrils flared, especially when he mentioned the vampire, and the rags he'd been carefully folding crumpled in his hands.

"No, hell it, just hear me out. To be honest, I thought I could have died any damn second and I'll probably leave this world soon because of that fucking worm in my head. So I thought, what's wrong with spending the night with someone you like and are attracted to?"

Rolan had listened with interest, he had stopped cleaning and now turned his whole body towards you.

"I mean, sure, if you're grossed out by me and I'm not your type, say so. But if you like me even a little bit, then..."

There was a noise, Jaheira had come back from the street and slammed the doors, and you dropped to a whisper:

"Then let's spend the night together. Just one night. And who knows what will happen to us next. Maybe we'll never see each other again."

Rolan stared at you predatorily, and you could not read his thoughts. The tiefling's tail whipped audibly through the air.

"I sleep in a room with my brother and sister," he finally squeezed out.

"Got it. Well, I'll drown myself in shame in Chionthar as soon as I get to the city. Sorry." - You hurried to jump off the counter and get away, but a clawed hand stopped you.

"I sleep in a room with my brother and sister. So give me your room number."

"Number two hundred and three," you replied practically with your lips.

Jaheira came closer and you broke free of the tiefling's grip and hurried to your room to avoid witnesses.

Rolan knocked softly twenty minutes later, good, you had time to tidy up. When you opened the door, you met his worried look, as if he hadn't expected anyone to open the door.

Rolan came in and said, not knowing how to begin:

"So you like me and are attracted to me?" - He asked incredulously.

"I am. Your devotion to your family and your loyalty to your goals strikes me to the core. I've never met anyone who cares so selflessly and sincerely for their loved ones and pursues their dreams with such perseverance."

No matter how eloquently you wanted to describe your feelings, your tongue was barely listening and your mind was elsewhere.

You put your hands on the desk behind you, and Rolan took a step toward you.

"I don't remember hearing so many kind words from someone," he grinned smugly.

"I'm sorry you have to hear them from a dying girl. But I don't want this to be a night of regrets" - you opened your nightgown and Rolan wrapped his arms around your neck.

"That's not going to happen," he pressed his lips greedily against yours, as if he'd been waiting for this for so long.

But just because he had agreed to share your bed, it did not mean that he intended to be affectionate or gentle with you.

The Tiefling turned your back to him as he hurried to remove his pants. It was as if he was ashamed of his own body and didn't want you to look at it.

You, as a human with no experience with tieflings, had little understanding of how this should happen and just decided to trust him and give yourself to the moment.

He threw off your robe and pulled back the fabric of your panties, positioning his cock at your entrance. You stretched out on the table. Everything happened without foreplay, fast and furious. He gripped your neck tightly with his hands during his powerful thrusts.

A low moan escaped his throat when he was finished. And then he just got dressed and left silently, leaving you alone like his used whore.

You spent the next day thinking about it, trying not to leave the damn room to avoid awkward encounters. The bruises on your neck still hadn't healed.

There was a hurried knock at the door and you opened it carefully, hiding behind the door. It was him.

"Tav, I wanted to, I... Zurgan," Rolan chewed his lip and put his fingers to the bridge of his nose when he saw your bruises.

You gestured for him to come in.

"Gods, Tav. I'm sorry about yesterday. It's been so long since I've done anything like that. And you know I haven't done it with humans. I thought I was just being a fun animal for you, but I couldn't resist the temptation.. Hells, I can't do anything right. Not a damn thing! I'm just a dirty pig. I'm so sorry." - The tiefling held out a healing ointment to you.

You nodded understandingly and accepted the ointment, grateful for the revelation but still not satisfied.

"Rolan, I would never treat you like a circus animal. After all, I have no idea how you could think that. But I understand..." - Your heart clenched at the memory of how the Tieflings were treated in the grove and the other places you knew.

"Really? I thought, I thought maybe you'd give me, us... a second chance? And I wouldn't be such a pig to you, I promise," he raised his eyebrows and waited for an answer.

You looked at him in amazement; you didn't think he would talk to you, let alone apologize. And the thought of having to earn your forgiveness was so tantalizing...

A gentle nod made him exhale in relief, smile, and embrace you.

He kissed each of your cheeks, your temples, your lips. He held you in his arms like your most precious treasure.

Rolan caressed your collarbone with his hot tongue, never missing a millimeter.

He moved lower and lower, massaging your breasts, and you watched with pleasure. Well, if he really wanted your apology, he would have to work for it! You asked for more and more and he didn't dare to refuse you.

You pulled him down on the bed and laid on your back.

Rolan undressed you both and drew circles and zigzags with his tongue over your belly, your thighs, and then your vulva and clit.You moaned shamelessly, enjoying what was happening. The Tiefling satisfied you mercilessly with his searing tongue until you shivered. Well, the apology was accepted, almost.

"Rolan, please..." - You sobbed pitifully.

"Please what?" - He looked away, just to hear you out.

"I want you inside," - you begged.

Rolan's smug rumble could be heard and he immediately climbed on top of you.

Now he took his time penetrating you, savoring every cell of your wet vagina. You finally felt him properly and enjoyed his aroused face right above you, holding his hair. You exchanged lustful, trusting glances and it pleased you.

You came again when he sped up the rhythm and decided to thank him. You jumped up on your knees and took his quivering end in your mouth and sucked on it vigorously.

Rolan moaned for the whole building to hear and came all over your face and hair. You wiped your face and relaxed as you fell into bed with him.

Lia's screams could be heard:

"Rolan? Where did he go, I heard him scream, I think he's here!" She and someone else could be heard approaching quickly.

You said in confused:

"Rolan, you closed the door behind you, didn't you?"

He just looked at you sharply with widened eyes and jumped up, trying to find his pants.

You wrapped yourself in the blanket and headed for the door to lock it, but Lia was faster.

She burst into the room ready for battle, ready to defend her brother. Cal ran in after her.

"Brother! Did you scream? Where the hell did you go, we couldn't find you half the night."

Rolan appeared before them, pulling his pants up his ass in vain. Looks like it's time for a bigger pair of pants. And Tav, wrapped in a blanket, trying in vain to brush her hair back with the palm of her hand. And shamefully hiding her face at the same time.

The scent of sex hit Lia's nose and she moaned infernally.

"What the hell..."

Cal, who had realized before she did, grabbed her elbow:

"Let's leave them sis, our help is not needed here."

Next chapter