#climbing the tiles to try to get out of the wet

[dsabian]

When you're trying to shower but be conscientious of the poor bedraggled spider in the corner like sorry dude I'll be done soon & can you please not be here tomorrow

[marvelstoriesepic]

Steam and Silhouettes

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Summary: While trying to take a shower, Bucky comes barging into your shared bathroom, claiming Alpine misses her new mama.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: mild nudity (non-sexual); mutual pining; suggestive humor; domestic fluff; Alpine being Alpine; Bucky being a ridiculous dork

Author’s Note: This is a part of a series with a loose timeline, but you can also read this as a standalone. Hope you enjoy ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

“Oh my god, Bucky, get out!”

Your voice resounds off the steamed-up tiles, somewhere between scandalized and entirely unconvincing. A squeak of the shower curtain rings as it trembles slightly, your poor attempt at pretending this isn’t the weirdest and most you moment of your life as Bucky Barnes’ roommate.

“Relax, doll. She missed you.”

You peek through the waterfall of hot water stinging your eyes, blinking furiously, heart lurching somewhere high into your throat.

A shadow casts on the shower curtain. A tall figure with broad shoulders and the boldest audacity, backlit by the bathroom light.

And perched high on his forearm, just barely bobbing into view over the shower curtain, is a tiny white paw. Then another. Then two crystalline blue eyes.

You sputter a wet laugh, nearly choking on a mouthful of water. “Buck! Did you seriously bring Alpine in here?”

The kitten meows. Sweet, high-pitched, held up by Bucky’s arms, peering over your goddamn shower curtain as though she’s Simba in The Lion King.

Your heart is hammering.

Not because of Alpine.

But because Bucky Barnes is standing just on the other side of the plastic barrier, mere inches away, and you’re stark naked, and your feelings are very much not platonic, and your brain is officially trying to outrun you.

Bucky sounds way too casual about the whole thing. “She was cryin’ outside the door. Thought maybe she just needed to see her mama.”

Huffing, you push your wet hair out of your face, the weight of it slick and heavy down your back. “She’s a baby, Bucky. Babies cry. Doesn’t mean you come walking into the bathroom while someone’s taking a shower.”

Bucky holds her up with both arms, the way someone might offer a sacred relic or a bottle of wine. His bare forearms flex slightly, and you hate that, even though he’s holding an adorably sweet and fluffy white kitten, Bucky is still somehow distracting.

“But she was cryin’, doll,” he says, now softer. “Wouldn’t let up. Climbed up my pants. Clawed her way up like I was a tree.”

“Seriously?”

“Swear on Steve’s good name. Wouldn’t stop till I picked her up. That’s how I figured she missed her mama.”

Your heart stutters. That stupid word again. Mama.

“Bucky, get out,” you only repeat exaggerated.

“You left the door unlocked,” he shoots back through the veil of hot air, all indignant as though he’s the one being violated.

You make a strangled noise, rubbing your temples, breathing through your nose, trying to remember that you do like him most days. You chose to live with this idiot. You’ve lived with him for a while now. You’ve survived him accidentally setting a potholder on fire, singing 90s power ballads at 2 am, and alphabetizing your spices just to mess with you.

“That’s not an invitation to come in here like a psycho and lift our kitten over the curtain to watch me shower.”

There’s a rustle on the other side. The shuffle of his feet on the tile. “But she was sad, doll. Missed you. Thought maybe you abandoned her for good.”

“She saw me ten minutes ago,” you state with a sigh in your voice, turning to rinse shampoo out of your hair.

“Well.” You see his shadow shrug behind the curtain, adjusting Alpine’s wiggly butt in his hands. “Ten minutes is like a week to a baby. You ever gone a week without your favorite person? It’s tragic.”

The words trip something in your chest. You hear the slight quirk of his mouth in his voice, as though maybe he knows what he is doing. As though this isn’t entirely about Alpine.

Alpine mews again, that high-pitched kitten sound like a squeak toy dipped in sugar, and Bucky chuckles, soft and low and affectionate in a way that makes your knees threaten to buckle.

Her tiny nose twitches, eyes wide, paws scrabbling at the edge of the curtain as Bucky still keeps holding her aloft like a proud, ridiculous cat dad.

You sigh, one hand on your face, the other holding the curtain in a defensive scrunch. “I’m still naked, Barnes.”

There’s a pause. Like a thoughtful, huh kind of pause. You hear him shuffle on the tile. As though he only just caught up with that part. As though he hadn’t really thought this through beyond the cat misses you and you probably miss the cat and maybe, just maybe, I wanted to see you too.

“I mean, technically she’s naked too,” he deadpans after a beat.

You let your forehead thunk gently against the tile wall, groaning into the rising steam.

“And she’s a girl, y’know. So… girl to girl. Girl solidarity. Ain’t weird,” he adds helpfully, as though this might somehow serve as a legal defense in court.

“She’s also two pounds and can’t even use a litter box without falling in,” you hiss back.

“Details.”

You sigh, slumping back under the spray and dragging your hands down your face. Soap hangs off your eyelashes. Alpine meows, a chirpy sound, as if she’s telling you to be nice to your ridiculous roommate.

“She says she didn’t get a real goodbye,” he says, voice low and a little sing-songy as though he knows he is pushing your buttons and is committing to the bit anyway. “Her little heart’s broken now. Might never recover.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help the snort that leaves your lips. God, you’re so in love with him it’s embarrassing. Your heart feels like a paper lantern too close to the flame.

Alpine meows again, tiny paws curling over the curtain as she cranes her neck to spot you better, big blue eyes wide with wonder, as though you are the best thing she’s ever seen.

And Bucky is holding her so gently he might have spent the last ten minutes convincing her that yes, mama still exists and no, she didn’t disappear, and yes, you can go look at her now.

Reaching out, you poke your hand over the curtain, water dripping from your fingers as you scratch softly at Alpine’s chin.

“There you are, baby,” you utter amused but soft. “You’re such a drama queen.”

Bucky chuckles, deep and low, but there is something fragile under it. His hand - still holding the kitten - brushes yours for a second and he stays still.

You can see the shadow of his boots from under the curtain, the soft shuffle of his weight shifting, but not moving toward the door like a normal person would do after realizing they’ve invaded your steamy sanctuary of suds and sanity.

Then, you lean out. Just your head. Damp hair dripping, chin tucked, eyes narrowed as you peek past the edge of the curtain like a very cautious ghost.

And there he is.

Standing. Holding Alpine as though she’s the goddamn crown jewel. But his hands have stilled on her fur, mid-stroke, and his face is softened, startled. As though he just remembered something he wasn’t supposed to forget.

Then his gaze flicks - unintentionally, just a tick - toward the vague silhouette of your body behind the curtain. His breath hitches. Just slightly. And then his ears go red.

His eyes do an awkward flutter toward the ceiling, toward the tiles, toward Alpine, anywhere but toward the slice of your face. He looks like a man trying not to glance at a solar eclipse without sunglasses.

“You good?” you ask, dry as bone, drops of water landing on the edge of the shower.

He clears his throat. “Uh. Yeah. Just gonna let you finish up. I, uh- think Alpine’s satisfied now,” he says, one hand coming up to scratch behind the kitten's ear. She purrs lazily, utterly unaware that she has single-handedly plunged her two favorite humans into an emotional fever dream.

You bite back a smirk. “Sure she is.”

“I didn’t see anything, obviously,” he goes on, still looking at literally anything other than you. “Not that I was tryin’ to. Not that there was anything to see- I mean- that’s not how I- I meant, that you- Fuck, now I’m makin’ it weird. Which is not what I meant. I mean- it’s not bad, just- Jesus Christ.”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing. Not because it’s funny - though it is funny - but because there is something in your chest threatening to melt. Something painfully weak. The kind of thing you don’t want to touch too hard in case it turns real and runs away.

“Right. Great,” he mutters. A pause. “I’m gonna take her out,” he adds, finally lowering Alpine down to the little mat beside the door. She immediately tries to climb his pant leg again.

You tilt your head.

“You sure? She might still want to see her mama.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, well, her mama deserves a shower in peace without bein’ ogled. Just thought she’d calm down if she saw ya. You can resume whatever mysterious shower rituals you do in there.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, it’s called cleaning myself, Barnes.”

He huffs a laugh. “Alright, alright. I’m goin’. Don’t yell at me in front of the kid.”

“She’s a cat.”

“She’s sensitive.”

You shouldn’t be this warm. It’s not the water anymore. It’s something else creeping under your skin, behind your ribs. You want to say something. Want to reach out and grab his shirt and pull him in - not into the shower, not like that, not yet. Just into your space. Into the same space you’ve been for a while now. Waiting.

But you’re also very wet. And very naked. And this isn’t exactly the moment you want him to remember for the rest of his life when he thinks of your first real step forward. If he even believes you could take such a step.

So instead, you smile, shake your head. “Get outta here, Barnes. I’ll be out in five.”

He lifts his eyes at you, long enough to catch your expression. And even though you’re barely there - just your head, framed in fog and water and shampoo suds - he smiles. Something tender glimmers in his eyes. Maybe he’s already counting down those five minutes.

He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Take your time,” he says, voice gone quiet now.

And it’s soft. Not teasing. As though maybe this wasn’t as embarrassing as he thought it would be. Maybe he’s not entirely sorry.

Your face does something treasonous. Your heart does something worse.

With a clear of his throat, his hand takes hold of the doorknob, opening it a crack. Alpine trots out of the bathroom, tail swishing, entirely pleased with herself. He watches her for a beat. Then stares at a tile. Lingers. Then looks back at you. His eyes snap quickly to your body shielded by the curtain, and fly away instantly, as though he caught himself in the last moment. “Alright, I’ll give you some privacy,” he utters, voice a little raspy. “Gotta go now. Gotta go learn about boundaries or somethin’.”

And then he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him.

You’re standing there dripping, heart pounding for reasons that have less to do with steam and everything to do with him.

He’s got that effect on you. Even when he’s being a ridiculous dork. Especially when he’s being a ridiculous dork.

The door cracks open again.

“Oh my god, Buck-” you begin to protest, but he interrupts you quickly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just-” Bucky calls out, soft, voice low as though he’s trying not to scare a bird. “Uh, I was thinkin’. You want takeout?”

One hand freezes mid-reach for your body lotion, the other still braced against the curtain. You didn’t expect him to ask that.

“Thought maybe you’d be hungry,” he explains, as though it’s the most reasonable thing in the world to have a food conference while you’re still literally naked and trying to have some privacy. “I’ll order. You take your time in there. By the time you’re all… y’know-” You see his shadow gesture at you behind the curtain, “human again, it’ll be here.”

You laugh. It kind of bursts out of your mouth before you can stop it. “Human again?”

“Well, you’re half-shampoo, half-grump right now,” he says with a smirk you can hear. “Didn’t wanna assume you were ready to talk logistics until you de-soaped.”

You don’t know what to say. So you sigh and wait for him to leave.

But he lingers.

You peek your head around the curtain again, water droplets trailing down your temple like punctuation marks to your raised eyebrows. “Barnes.”

His eyes flick up. Instantly. And then down. Instantly-er.

“Oh,” he blurts, practically recoiling, sheepishly running his hand down his face. “Still- uh- yep. Still naked. Right. Shit.”

“You literally knew that going in the first time. And now you did it again,” you deadpan, grinning at how fast he suddenly backs away again.

“I wasn’t- I mean, I still didn’t see anything, not that I was looking. Or trying to look. I just thought- well, Alpine was done sniffin’ the rug and I figured maybe food- ya know what? Never mind.”

The door squeaks.

“Bucky,” you call just before it closes again.

He pauses. Leans back with only half his face showing - one hand gripping the edge of the frame as though it might keep him tethered.

You soften. You can’t help it. “Takeout sounds good.”

He smiles, small and crooked and pleased, and god help you, it tugs at something in your chest that makes you want to sit down and cry for no reason at all.

“Got it, sweetheart.” His voice is warm again. Familiar. “I’ll get the usual. You just… take your time. Wash the world off.”

You nod. And he’s gone again.

You hear his footsteps pad down the hallway.

With a sigh that’s 60% fondness, 30% embarrassment, and 10% utter, unrelenting this man, you lean back into the steam, your heart performing some frantic dance in your chest.

Outside, Alpine lets out a mewl that sounds suspiciously like laughter.

“You don’t accidentally end up sharing a life.”

- Erin Hahn

[snail-day]

Tummy Ache Survivor

Based in the same AU as this drabble Anesthesia Doctor! Gojo x Reader x Nurse! Geto Tw: Fluffy domestic bliss, tummy aches, established relationship. A/n: I'd imagine reader has a super weak immune system where they have to change their scrubs at work now otherwise you will catch whatever bug they bring home. I think Geto doesn't mind that...because he lowkey enjoys fussing over you.

Tummy aches are the absolute worst. Mostly because you can’t quite place where they come from. Was it that leftover takeout? Something one of your boyfriends dragged home from the hospital? Are you pregnant? WebMD says you’re both pregnant and dying, so that’s fun.

Sure, you could just ask one of them for medical advice. It’s literally their job. They’d probably take one look at you and tell you to take some pepto and chill. But the thought of bringing it up is… humiliating, somehow. Like, yes, hello, my big sexy boyfriend who's seen every internal organ imaginable, please help me with my fragile little tummy ache. No thanks.

So instead, you burrow deeper into the warm sheets of your massive bed. Satoru’s still in the shower, humming off-key. Probably wondering why you haven’t come to join him yet. You just know he’s going to come into the bedroom, dripping wet and pouty, whining about how lonely he was without you in there. Probably tickle you until you're shrieking.

The thought alone makes your stomach churn.

And then there's the smell of Suguru’s cooking. Normally, that scent would have you halfway down the stairs with stars in your eyes. But today? All it does is make the bile climb up your throat.

Must be pregnancy. Or cancer. Or both. Maybe it’s something worse. The internet is not helping.

You close your eyes and prepare to meet your fate.

“Baby?” Satoru calls, water shutting off with a metallic clink. You hear the glass door slide open, followed by the plap plap plap of wet feet on tile, the steam trickling from the bathroom into the bedroom. He’s chuckling now. “Come on, you have to get up.”

Your heart thuds.

Why is being sick so weirdly vulnerable?

“Hellooooo,” he drawls, voice already playful. “You were supposed to join me. I was in there suffering. Naked. Alone. Practically crying.”

You barely stir, tucked so deep in the comforter cocoon that only the bridge of your nose peeks out.

He doesn’t let that stop him. He drops the towel somewhere behind him, no shame in being bare, and climbs onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, knees sinking into the sheets as he looms over your lump of a body.

“Are you mad at me?” he asks sweetly, already halfway through his routine - nose brushing your cheek, lips pressing light kisses to your forehead, wet hair flicking against your skin. “You never miss post-shower snuggles. It’s practically a routine now.”

You groan softly. Not the annoyed kind that he's used to either.

Satoru stills.

He pulls back, not all the way, but just enough to look at you. There’s a subtle shift, barely perceptible to anyone else, but you know him. His playful grin fades into something more focused, less boyfriend and more clinical and doctor like.

“Wait. Baby,” he murmurs, voice dropping an octave. “Are you okay?”

You shake your head weakly.

“Tummy hurts,” you whisper.

He blinks. Once. Twice.

“Where?”

You whimper and gesture vaguely to your lower abdomen.

Immediately, he’s brushing the covers back, not harsh or dramatic, just careful, gentle fingers pushing your shirt up as he scoots closer, settling on his knees beside you. You can feel the warmth of his palm hover just above your skin, his expression focused now, all that boyish teasing gone.

“Is it sharp? Crampy? Nauseating?”

You squint at him.

“Don’t use your doctor voice on me.”

“It’s not a voice, it’s a diagnostic tone,” he says with a straight face, though his lips twitch like he’s holding back a grin. “I’m trying to help, baby.”

His palm presses lightly against your belly. His hands are big, always have been, but now they seem extra warm, fingers splayed wide as he palpates carefully, feeling for any tenderness. He’s quiet while he works, eyes carefully scanning your face as if waiting for you to flinch.

His hair is still dripping, one strand sliding down his cheekbone before he absently flicks it away. His lashes are thick and clumped from the shower, and his cerulean eyes - always so stupidly pretty - are narrowed with gentle concern.

“You feel a little warm,” he mutters, leaning down to kiss your forehead. Then again, to check. Then again, just because he wants to.

“You have a thermometer in the bathroom,” you mumble.

He hums. “Yeah, but my lips are more sensitive. Doctor’s secret.”

You don’t have the energy to fight him on that one.

His hand rubs slow, soothing circles into your belly now, just above your navel.

“You been stressed?” he asks softly, like he already knows the answer. “Suguru said you didn’t eat much dinner last night. And you’ve been chewing your lip again.”

“I have not,” you lie, your lip instantly throbbing in betrayal.

He raises an eyebrow. “You want me to call him in?”

“Noooo.”

“Okay, okay. Just me then,” he says gently, leaning over to nuzzle into your hair. “Just me and my genius medical brain.”

You curl into him as he settles beside you, his arm wrapping around your waist, his skin still warm and faintly damp against your back.

“I’ll keep an eye on you for now,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “But if it gets worse, I am calling Suguru. And he’s better at the whole bedside stuff, y'know, bullying you into drinking water.”

You groan. “So scary.”

“I know,” he coos, mock-sympathetic as you bury your face into his chest and he exhales, relief softening his posture.

You must’ve drifted off at some point. Somewhere between the soothing rub of Satoru’s hand on your belly and his murmured reassurances into your hair, sleep swept over you with ease. Your tummy still aches a little, but your body finally gives in, tucked safely in Satoru’s arms.

He stays there for a while.

Longer than he probably should, considering Suguru’s downstairs in the kitchen preparing breakfast for three. But he can’t bring himself to move, not when your breathing’s finally evened out, not when your lashes are fanned soft against your cheeks and your fingers are curled loosely in the fabric of bedsheets.

Eventually, though, duty (and the smell of food) calls.

Satoru slips out from under the blanket like a pro, moving slow and careful, even as your hand twitches in protest. He presses a kiss to your forehead and pulls the covers back over your shoulders.

“Doctor’s orders,” he whispers, brushing a stray hair from your face. “Rest. I’ll bring you some toast.”

Downstairs, the clatter of cookware and the faint scent of fried garlic and something sweet fill the kitchen. Suguru’s at the stove, hair tied up in a loose bun, wearing pajamas and an apron. There’s a crease of concentration between his brows as he stirs something in a pan, back turned when Satoru walks in.

“You took your sweet time,” Suguru mutters without looking up. “I was afraid you both got lost." Glancing over his broad shoulder, his voice grows more quiet, "where’s my baby?”

Satoru drops himself onto a bar stool, half naked now thanks to the sweatpants he put on. “Sleeping. Tummy ache.”

Suguru turns, brows immediately furrowing. “What kind of tummy ache?”

“Just a little queasy. Said everything smelled weird, didn’t wanna eat. Was too embarrassed to tell either of us because God forbid she use the fact that she’s dating two medical professionals for her own benefit.”

Suguru sighs through his nose, annoyance already melting into quiet concern. “You check for fever? Tenderness?”

“Yeah. Little warm. No acute pain though. Probably just stress. Or something she ate.”

He nods, turning back to the stove, but you can see it in the set of his shoulders - he’s chewing on it.

“I could’ve made her ginger tea,” he murmurs.

“You still can,” Satoru says, voice gentler now. “I just didn’t wanna wake her. She looked so tired, Suguru.”

There’s a quiet moment. The eggs hiss in the pan. The scent of miso and jasmine rice hangs in the air like a comfort blanket.

“…She didn’t want me?” Suguru asks softly, almost to himself. Violet eyes narrowing down at the eggs. Jealousy hidden in his tone.

Satoru watches him for a second. Then stands.

He walks up behind Suguru and presses his chest to his back, arms wrapping around his waist as he leans down to rest his chin on his shoulder.

“She wanted both of us,” Satoru murmurs into his ear. “But sometimes people don’t know how to ask for help when they feel small.”

Suguru’s hands slow on the spatula.

“…I’ll bring her tea,” he says, voice low. “And the toast you promised.”

“And a kiss,” Satoru adds with a grin.

Suguru climbs the stairs with a tray balanced in one hand - tea steeping, toast buttered lightly, a few cut-up slices of pear arranged on the side like he’s hoping something will tempt your stomach back to life.

He pushes the bedroom door open slowly with his hip.

You’re still curled in the sheets, hair mussed and lashes fluttering as you start to stir. The soft clink of ceramic must’ve pulled you from the edges of sleep, because you shift with a tiny groan, blinking blearily up at the silhouette in the doorway.

“…Toru?” you mumble, voice rough and sweet with sleep.

Suguru almost halts, a bit more frusterated, because why didn't you call him? Why didn't you need him? He’s better at this kind of thing, don't you know?

“…No, angel. Just me,” he says quietly, stepping in. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Your eyes widen a bit when you realize who it is, and you look momentarily sheepish. Guilty, even.

“Oh…” you whisper. “He said he wouldn’t tell you.”

Suguru sets the tray on the nightstand and sits beside you, brows drawing in with something too tender to be disappointment, but too honest to be nothing.

“He didn’t tell me,” he says gently. “I asked.”

You fidget with the corner of the blanket. Not quite meeting his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just… I didn’t want to worry you.”

His expression softens completely at that, pain and adoration warring in his chest. He cups your cheek with one hand, thumb brushing under your chin just to get you to look at him.

“Worrying about you is part of the job, baby,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to hide when you’re not feeling good. Not from me.”

You swallow, lips wobbling. Tears threatening. Why does he always make it so hard. “But you made breakfast, and you’re always taking care of everyone, and I know you'd ask those embarrassing questions, like if I - ”

Suguru cuts you off by leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.

“I want to take care of you,” he whispers, voice thick with feeling. “That’s not a burden, it’s a privilege.”

You sniffle, eyes glossy. “I feel gross. I was gonna throw up earlier.”

He brushes a hand down your side. “And I’d hold your hair back if you did.”

You crumple.

“Don’t make that your romantic line,” you mumble into his chest, and he chuckles softly.

He coaxes you up just enough to sip some tea, holding the cup for you like you’re delicate and precious. Which, to him, you are. You settle into his side as you drink, and he rests his chin on top of your head.

“…Next time,” he says, after a quiet moment, “call for me first. Okay?”

You nod, a little guilty. “Okay.”

He presses another kiss to your crown, arms wrapping around you like he’s keeping all your little broken pieces from spilling out.

“Good girl.”

The next time you wake, the light filtering through the blinds is tinged warm and golden, the kind of hazy evening glow that makes everything feel soft around the edges. You blink slowly, body still heavy, and shift beneath the comforter with a groggy little sigh.

Something’s tucked into your arms.

Not the pillow you remember falling asleep. Your fingers curl instinctively around plush fur and a tiny satin ribbon.

It’s a stuffed animal. A fat, round calico cat with sparkly eyes and a ridiculously oversized head. It smells faintly of Satoru, his cologne and the faint clinical scent of the hospital.

Your heart squeezes a little in your chest.

There’s a folded note pinned between its tiny paws.

“Stopped by on my break. Pedialyte’s in the fridge. Sugu will be back soon. - Toru <3”

You read it twice. Smile once.

The ache in your belly is still there, but somehow… duller now. Softer around the edges. Easier to sit with when you’re wrapped up in blankets, a stuffed cat in your arms, and the quiet knowledge that your boys thought of you, even between patients, even while juggling god knows what in their day.

The apartment is still. Peaceful.

Somewhere in the fridge, there's a bottle of blue Pedialyte with your name on it. And in another hour or so, Suguru will be home too - probably with soup, and a forehead kiss, and a quiet grumble about how they both should’ve stayed home with you.

You pull the stuffed cat closer to your chest and close your eyes again.

Maybe it’s not so bad to admit you have a tummy ache. Not when it means being spoiled so much by them.

[hihomeghere]

Insomniac

Word Count : 1.8k Summary : Five has trouble sleeping and when he does sleep it's anything but peaceful. After a nightmare he craves your touch to remind him you're okay. Warnings/Tags : Talk of nightmares, insomnia, smut, piv, cursing, allusions to violence, use of y/n, Aged up!Five

Happy Valentine’s Day <3

Whether or not Five wanted to admit it he was an insomniac. Blame it on his heightened survival instincts from the apocalypse, or the commission. Whenever it was time to relax and go to sleep, Five felt more wired than ever. Which led to you normally finding him in the strangest positions when he finally crashed. Whether that be hunched over the kitchen table, cold coffee in a mug next to him. Sometimes you’d find him slouched in a chair, a blanket draped over him by one of his brothers. Your favorite was when you’d be watching a movie together, his eyes slowly closing, he’d mumble something along the lines of, ‘just resting his eyes for a second’ before he’d be snoring on your shoulder. A sure sign that he was still an old man in a young man’s body.

It’s not like he didn’t try to sleep. Every night you’d both climb into bed, you’d lay your head on his chest, the soft beat of his heart lulling you to sleep. He’d lay awake, his mind constantly churning. He’d gotten so desperate at one point he’d tried to follow the meditation video Klaus had lent him. Although listening to some lady stoned out of her mind telling him to breathe deep only agitated him further.

On the nights where Five did fall asleep it was anything but peaceful.

Five screamed, waking you up as you all but jumped out of your skin. Five sat up in bed, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his breathing erratic. You sat up, the sheet pooling around your waist.

“Five?” You whispered your hand lightly grazing his back. He jumped, turning to you like a cornered animal. His lips pulled back in a snarl, wide eyes glaring at you. “Hey,” You pulled back watching the gears turn behind his eyes, guilt washing over him as he realized you weren’t a threat. “Hey it’s ok, you’re ok.” He leaned forward resting his head on your shoulder as you wrapped your arms around him. His heart was beating like a small animal against your chest.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He mumbled, his head resting in the crook of your neck. Hot tears wetting your collarbone.

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” You soothed, your hand traveling up to his head. You ran your fingers through hair, lightly scratching his scalp. He let out a shuddering breath, loosening his grip around your waist. “Do you want some tea?” You asked, you had been trying to help him kick his coffee addiction.

“Coffee.” He mumbled, sighing into your neck.

“Ok, let’s get some coffee.” You said peeling the sheets off the two of you. He sat up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. You grabbed your robe off the floor, wrapping it around your body. Five stood by your bedroom door, bleary eyed. You took his hand leading him down the stairs to the kitchen. You looked at the clock as you passed the oven, 2:35. You internally sighed slipping your hand out of Five’s grasp. He pulled out a chair, grimacing as it scraped across the tile floor. You walked over to your new Keurig, Five’s birthday present. You popped one of the pods in before shutting the lid. You walked over to the kitchen cupboards, pulling out a mug and setting it in the Keurig. The smell of coffee filled the air as Five got up from his seat. He walked up behind you, resting his head on your shoulder. His arms wrapping tightly around your waist, pulling you back against his chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, reaching up to wrap your hand around his neck. You had both been trying to be more open about your pasts. Which meant having these uncomfortable conversations.

“Just-” He sighed, “Just stay with me for a minute, dearest.” You nodded slightly swaying as you both stood in the kitchen. Five loosened his grip around your waist, reaching past you to pick up his coffee cup. You leaned against the counter, pulling your robe closer around your body. He held the mug in one of his hands, leaning his head back against the cupboard cabinet. He let out a sigh before taking a sip of his coffee. “You’re staring.” He mused, turning to look at you.

“I’m just-” You sighed, shrugging your shoulders, “I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be.” He said with a tight lipped smile. You raised your eyebrows, crossing your arms.

“I know you better than that.” You said a small smile pulling at your lips as you shook your head.

“Then you know what it was about.” He huffed, bringing the mug to his lips.

“A or c?” You asked, looking down at your feet. You had invented a code between the two of you, A for apocalypse and C for commission. While you couldn’t relate to being stuck in a post apocalyptic world, you were all too familiar with the inner workings of the commission. The killings you both carried out plagued your dreams as well. Your hands had been stained long ago.

“C.” He answered. The commission. Well that narrowed it down.

“Real or not real?” He hesitated, sneaking a glimpse toward you before raising his gaze toward the ceiling.

“Not real.” He said before clearing his throat. You walked over to him, laying your hands on his cheek. He avoided your gaze keeping his eyes lo

“Was it about me?” You asked, pushing his head slightly with your hand to get him to look at you.

“Yeah.” He said clenching his jaw, his eyes darted away from yours. You waited for a moment, to see if he would say anything more.

“I’m right here.” You whispered after a moment had passed, “I’m right here and I’m ok.”

“I know,” He leaned forward his lips finding your neck, he breathed in your sweet scent. The tiniest hint of sweat from the night. His hands found your hips, pulling you against him.

“I need you.” He breathed against your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses.

“You have me.” You sighed, leaning your head back offering him your neck.

The world spun and the temperature dropped as Five blinked you both back to your room. It took a second to get your bearings before your knees hit the bed. You allowed Five to lay you down, his long fingers curling under the waistband of your pajama pants. He pulled them off, while you pulled your shirt over your head.

“So gorgeous.” He murmured, kissing up your stomach. You sighed contently, melting under his touch. He pulled away briefly, pulling his shirt off and stepped out of his pajama bottoms. Leaving both of you in your underwear. He lifted your hips up off the bed, his fingers curling into the waistband on your panties as he pulled them off. Your body buzzed with anticipation as you watched him take off his boxers. He climbed forward onto the bed, slotting himself between your legs. You grabbed the back of his neck pulling him forward into a kiss as the head of his cock found your entrance. Tasting the bitter coffee on his tongue as slipped inside with the familiar ease of a lover. You gasped into his mouth, feeling every inch of him as he pressed inside you.

“There you are.” He sighed against your lips, his own curling into an easy smile.

“Five-“ You moaned, gripping his shoulders as he slowly started thrusting inside you. He never left your cunt, hips rolling against yours. Your legs wrapped around his hips, keeping him as close as possible. Your moans and the sweet sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air. You looked up at Five, his eyes bore into yours. You felt a bit shy under his gaze, your eyes darting away.

He stilled, laying his forearms beside your head as leant over you. He covered your body with his own, his hand turning your head so you would look at him.

“Let me see you.” He said softly, nosing against your cheek.

It was moments like this that made you feel like a normal person. Moments when it was just the two of you in the world, two becoming one. He reached down, grabbing your thigh, his fingers squeezing the soft flesh. “You feel so good.” He mumbled, pumping in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace. He was taking his time with you tonight, that much was clear.

Your heels dug into his butt, trying to pull him closer to you. He let out a small laugh, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. He slowed, his hips creating a low drag into your cunt with every thrust. His pubic hair rubbing against your clit in a delicious way that had you clenching around him. A low whine pulling its way out of your throat, as he propped himself up.

“You like that doll?” He whispered, his cock rubbed at your walls in deliberate strokes.

“Mmhm.” You nodded tears springing to your eyes as you bit your lip. Your body craved more, more stimulation, more Five. “Please.” You whined, your hands digging into his shoulders, leaving small crescent shapes in their wake.

“Please what?” He asked tilting his head as he leaned down, nipping and sucking at your neck.

“More, I need more please.” You said bucking your hips up to gain and friction.

“As you wish.” He said, his breath fanning across your neck as he snapped his hips into yours. You moaned, your eyes rolling back into your head as he set an excruciating pace. He sat back on his heels, pulling you down the bed with him. He slammed into you, leaving you a moaning mess under him. You grabbed his thighs, nails dragging down his pale legs. Your body buzzed as you neared your high, breasts bouncing as he drove into again and again.

He watched you, picking up subtle signs your orgasm was approaching. Your toes curled as he reached between your bodies, rubbing deliberate circles on your clit.

That was enough to send you over the edge, you spasmed around him, your nails digging into his thighs as you cried out. Tears slipping down your cheeks.

“That’s it.” He smirked, breathing hard. He was getting sloppy as he neared his peak. You continued to ride out your orgasm as his came crashing down.

“F-Fuck.” He groaned spilling into you, his hips stuttering as he painted your insides. He lowered his body onto yours, laying his head in the crook of your neck as he interlaced his fingers with yours. You both breathed hard, letting your heart rate come down.

“How do you feel now?” You asked breathlessly, squeezing his hands.

“Much better.” He nodded, kissing your neck. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” You said pulling your hands away to wrap them around his sweaty body.

Needless to say, Five slept through the night

[neontiger]

valentine's night in

MDNI 18+

It's the Valentine's day special with Jason Todd! ♡ I was in a hurry to get this one out, so sorry if you find any misspellings or slightly wonky grammar ♡ Always thank you for the love ♡♡♡

~♡~

The out of order sign had been hanging on the elevator at your apartment complex for the past week, and it was the first thing that greeted you when you stepped into the lobby after a hectic Valentine's Day at work. You'd spent the past six hours trying to keep up, running through tables and doing your best to keep all the damn couples satisfied. Meanwhile you were spending the night alone, while your boyfriend was off fighting crime or whatever.

Deep breath. Jason's good, better than your previous relationships by a long mile, despite the nighttime activities that kept him preoccupied a bit too much. Strong, brave, protective, selfless…hot. And so what if it was your first Valentine's as a couple? The two of you could do something later. It was just a day. You didn't need to feed the consumerism.

Still, it stings a little in your heart – and your tired, aching feet – as you climb the stairs to the third floor and the apartment you know will be empty. You tug free the keys around your neck and unlock the door. The click is deafening, echoing off the crappy vinyl tile of the hall.

You shove the door open with your shoulder because it sticks. You're not so sad you're angry. You're not jealous of those couples at work. Nope, none of the above. You're fine. It's fine.

Light blooms through the studio apartment when you flick the light switch on your right. You freeze, a deer caught, eyes growing wider as they sweep over each new thing. The kitchen counter is gone, buried under flowering bouquets: camellias and carnations in pinks, reds, whites; baby’s breath and aster; red roses, petals falling on the floor, a path for your feet to follow.

The path takes you past the couch to the bed, where the butter soft petals cover the bed, wild and chaotic save for the heart that takes up the center. On the pillowcase is a stuffed cat, pink bows on both ears, wearing a shirt that’s too familiar with its red bat-like symbol on the chest. On either side of the plus is a heart-shaped box of chocolates, each nearly as big as the pillow. Candles sit in wait, columns of red and pink wax, on your nightstand. Then the windows – the curtains are different, not your basic black-out ones, but heavy red and decorated with ribbons around the rod. Draped over the armchair by the window – the one you sit in as you stare out the glass, wondering where Jason is, if he’s safe – is a dress in deep wine, the fabric like velvet, a bow in the back and the bodice cut low. The kind of dress you’d wear at some fancy restaurant with crisp white tablecloths and crystal wine glasses and market priced fish.

There was so much all at once. You’d missed Jason sitting on the couch, a smile plastered on his face as he watches you take it in, delighting in the way your mouth hangs open and your eyes dart around from flowers to bed to the windows and end up on the chair. He gets up to linger closer, arms crossed as he waits for you to notice him.

“Shit.” You look up at Jason, smirk on his lips and white tuft of hair curling over his forehead. “I thought…you said you were busy.”

“I was busy.” He gestured at the apartment. “I never said what I was doing though.”

“Yeah, but…all this?” You look around again, the room growing blurry, then him – your lower lip trembles and he barely has time to register the change before you burst into tears. He wraps you in a tight hug and presses his lips to your forehead as you snivel against his chest.

“I'm sorry,” you mumbled. “I'm tired. But it's…” You lift your head and clear your throat, smearing your tears on your cheeks with your palms. “Thank you. It's perfect, Jay.”

Jason lifts your chin and leans to meet you for a kiss. It's wet, tears streaking your flushed face, and his hand is hot as it strokes your cheek softly. Thankfully it's a short kiss, because you're not sure how long you can remain standing.

“I got you stuff for your bath too,” he says, straightening up. He wipes a stray tear from the corner of your eye with his thumb. “But your tub's kind of sad. I don't think we'll both fit.”

He’s right – it’s barely big enough for you to lay down comfortably, and for him it’s probably a shoebox – but you won’t sit for the slander. “Sorry it’s not Wayne manor,” you say.

Jason laughs dryly. “I guess we have to make do with what we've got, huh?”

Before you can ask, he's taking your bag and lifting the strap over your head and off your shoulder, then your hand. Leading. Your bag is left on the couch as he directs you to the bathroom. More candles sit on the tiny bathroom counter, and balanced partially over the sink is a ribbon-lined basket full of lotions and soaps, bubble baths and soaks, face masks…edible lube?

The pipes behind the shower walls rumble to life, drowning out the click of your tongue as you open your mouth to say something on the matter. Jason takes the opportunity to press another kiss on you, stealing the thoughts from your head and replacing them with a slip of his tongue over yours.

Your butt meets the bathroom counter, knocking into the basket and nearly sending it to the floor. One hand holds your lower back and keeps your body flush with his as the other begins working the buttons on your shirt. You can't tell if it's the sound of the shower or blood rushing in your ears when his kiss moved to your neck, teeth nipping at your sensitive flesh. The front of your shirt hangs open, enough for him to slip his hand inside and cup your breast still clothed in a basic cotton bra. Beige, frayed on the cup, the least supportive thing in the drawer…if you'd known, you would've dressed up underneath.

But Jason doesn't care. Doesn't seem to even notice as he tugs the fabric out of his way to envelop your breast in his large hand, to squeeze and tweak your nipple as he sucks a mark on the side of your neck. Steam gradually fills the space from the hot water running down, accelerated by your bodies grinding together.

You tug up his shirt but get caught trying to pull it off him completely, his attention held on tasting you. “Jay,” you whisper, lips close to his ear. “The shower.”

He inhales deep against your neck, before straightening up to let you remove his shirt. As soon as the dark fabric clears his head he's doing the same to you, slipping your shirt off your shoulders and removing it with as much grace as he can muster, considering how much of a hurry he seems to be in.

You undo his belt, but he takes over, so you move to shed your work shoes and pants. There's no point fighting instinct – your eyes drop to his cock, semi-erect and poking out from that neat patch of hair.

Jason grabs your chin and steers your gaze back to his. He smiles into another kiss and teases, “Did you forget the shower?”

You step into the shower and wince; the water's too hot, turned all the way up. You fix the temperature as Jason slips in after you with bottles in his hands. He sets them down on the edge of the tub and grabs your hips, stopping you from turning to face him.

“Nuh-uh.” He runs his fingers through your hair and tilts your head back, letting the water rush over. “Let me take care of you first. Close your eyes.”

You obey, closing your eyes and concentrating instead of your other senses: the feel of his fingers as they massage your scalp, the water through your hair and trickling down your back…the feel of him, twitching against your butt…the scent of sandalwood, musk, the hint of citrus, as he lathers shampoo into your hair.

“Rinse,” he whispers softly into your ear, and you let yourself be guided back a quarter step, let the water run over and wash away the shampoo bubbles. As you lean back into his chest, lips press gently to your forehead, and fingertips brush down your back and make their way lightly to your stomach. They trace each breast, the touch bare enough to leave you wanting.

“Now turn around.” His hands pull away and give you space to turn in the cramped shower. You've barely opened your eyes before Jason catches you in a deep kiss and they're closed again as you roll with the sensation of him. He grips the back of your thigh and lifts your leg, enough for him to nudge against your slick entrance with his now fully erect cock. You squeeze his biceps and rub against the tip of his cock in an attempt to impale yourself on him.

Jason breaks from your lips. “Little impatient, huh?” He grips your hips and moves you gently off him. You find your back against the cool tile of the wall. “Sit,” he says.

You don't know how well that will work, considering the edge of the tub is barely five inches wide and not nearly big enough for your ass, but you're too soaked not to obey him blindly. You sink down and balance on the edge as Jason lowers to his knees. The water hits his back as he grabs your thighs, supporting your weight as he spreads your legs for him.

He starts with kisses on, around your slit, coming close but not touching your clit, easing you open for him. His tongue dips inside and you gasp, clench around the intrusion. He responds by pulling out and giving your clit an experimental flick. You squirm and slip off the edge of the tub; he tightens his grip on you to hold you in place. Another flick, firmer now, before his lips close around the bud.

Your hands, attempting to hold you stable, slip on the acrylic of the tub’s edge as Jason buries his face against your cunt, sucking on your clit with a steady pressure that’s quick to knot your core. Moments of air come in the shape of him breaking away to bury his tongue inside you again, his nose pressing your clit with how deep he tries to go, how much he wants to taste you.

You whine, head bouncing back against the tile. He knows the sound – you’re close. Back to your clit, to sucking, swirling his tongue around as he traps you and lifts you up the proverbial mountain. Your feet burn and your body tenses up – and snaps seconds later.

Jason slows to bring you down gently, tasting your release as it drips slightly from your lips. Carefully he helps you lower your legs – they feel like limp noodles, and you don’t think you can stand for what you’re praying is next – and grabs you in a kiss. “So perfect,” he whispers, words brushing your lips. “I think…I think we’re clean enough. Yeah?”

You nod. You wrap your arms around his neck as he helps you to your feet again. He shuts the water off and helps you out as the strength is slow to return to your thighs. Neither of you bother getting dressed despite the chill that scrapes over your bodies as you make your way from the warm bathroom to the cool bedroom.

You hardly remember the walk. Jason’s mouth is almost glued to yours, or to your neck, tasting and biting as precum leaks from his tip. You want to reach out and stroke him, ease some of the pressure building in him, but he takes your hand before you can and brings you into the bed. He moves the chocolates, the stuffed cat, to the armchair by the window before sitting down, his back against the headboard.

From the nightstand drawer you fetch a condom; wrinkle your nose when he tries to take it from you, and you roll it down his throbbing length with almost trembling fingers – how bad you want it, want him – no. This is a need.

At first he watches below, as the tip of his cock prods your slippery entrance with ease, as you lower yourself into his lap. But then he remembers that the view elsewhere is so much better – and instead meets your heavy-lidded gaze to watch your face as it contorts with pleasure as you sink down on him. He sighs when you bottom out, hands tight on your hips.

“Good…” he swallows, his cheeks burning. “So good for me, baby. Go slow.”

You don’t want to – fucking need – but you do, dragging your cunt up and tensing around him as you sink down again, the head of his cock hitting deep inside your core. His fingers dig into the fat of your ass and his mouth hangs open as he pants and small moans escape.

You lean and kiss him, arms wrapping his neck as you pick up speed. Your breasts press into his chest, nipples pert from the friction, the excitement. Faster, slicker, walls clenching around him as you bounce in his lap. His mouth finds your neck again and his groans are broken up by kisses planted to your throat, pink blossoms sucked and the nibble of teeth.

Jason’s grip tightens; his legs move, pull up; he’s fighting his orgasm. Your fingers tangle in his hair and pull to bring his mouth back up to yours. His pupils are blown out, glazed over, cheeks red.

“Come,” you whisper.

You delight in watching him meet his end – eyelids fluttering shut, mouth open in a strained moan, fingers tight and unrelenting on your ass as you sink down a final time. His cock twitches with release inside, pumping deep, the condom working hard to keep itself together.

When he calms, you lift and lower yourself slowly a few more times, making sure he’s given you everything before resting your head in the crook of his neck. His hands loosen and move to envelop you in comfort.

Jason sighs. His heart thrums madly under your hand on his chest. “Happy Valentine’s,” he whispers.

You lift to kiss his cheek. “Happy Valentine’s, Jay.”

[bullet-prooflove]

The House: Frank Langdon x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @julessworldd @yousigned-upforthis @travelingmypassion @julius-ceasar

Summary: Frank reflects on his decision to sell the house.

Companion piece to:

Ivy - Frank gets a tattoo to commerate the woman he loves.

Hypocrite - Frank struggles to make amends for a past wrongs.

Crash - Almost getting you fired wasn't the lowest point of Frank's addiction.

Rock Bottom - Frank hits rock bottom when he sees the devastation his addiction's caused.

Little Black Dress - Frank starts to spiral when he realises you're dating.

Every Damn Day - A drunk text leads to a confession.

Wet Dream (NSFW) - Frank sometimes dreams about the life you had together.

War Stories - A realisation about your coping habits leads you to Frank's door.

The Three Cs - Frank and you finally discuss your issues and pave away towards the future.

The Wall - A date at the climbing wall leads to a revelation from Frank.

Commitment - You create a fun way of showing Frank your commitment to the relationship.

At Your Alter - You discover Frank's tattoo when you undress him for the first time.

All In (NSFW) - You and Frank take a big step forward.

Slut (NSFW) - Frank gets a little bratty after a bad day.

Nightmare Fuel - Frank’s been waiting for the fall to come.

Boo Fucking Hoo - Your forced to defend yourself after you’re attacked outside the hospital.

The Incident - Frank’s world is thrown into turmoil when he learns about your attack.

The Filing Cabinet - Things haven't been the same between you and Frank since the attack.

The Perfect Storm - Frank's time in North Carolina almost leads to his downfall.

There are a thousand things unsaid between you and Frank but he can’t even begin to process them just yet. When he lets himself into his house, he leaves the roller suitcase and his overnight bag at the door before taking the stairs up to the bathroom and turning on the shower. He’s exhausted from North Carolina, grimy from the plane and numb from everything else Robby’s just told after he pissed in that cup.

He strips off his clothes, shredding each layer of his shitty day before he steps underneath the hot stream. His palms come to rest on the tiles, his head bowed as the water rains down on his head, blocking out the world around him.

He takes a deep calming breath, followed by another trying to focus on the positive aspects.

He’s home, he hasn’t used and you’re safe, that’s the important part.

Your brother Danny may hate Frank’s guts but he loves you, he’ll take care of you, make sure you don’t get in your own head.

It’s the house that’s done this. This damn place is filled with ghosts, not just yours but his as well. For you it’s the OD, for him it’s the entire weight of his addiction. This is the place where it started and he’s been holding onto that, keeping it pressed to his chest as a reminder of just how far he’s come. It’s time to let that go now, the two of you are moving on away from all of that, or he’d thought you were.

You’d carved a space out of your life for him, provided him with a home by inviting him into yours. He’d wanted to do the same, give you a place where you could be happy, feel relaxed and it could never be this house.

So he decided to sell it, move somewhere closer to you and the hospital. He was meant to tell you that weekend but then the lawsuit happened and his father had taken that tumble down the stairs.

Now he’s here and the truth is, he has no idea what to do.

She needs time and you need a meeting, Robbie has told him in the breakroom. I’ll text her your new number, she’ll call when she’s ready.

It’s 4am right now in Hawaii, he doesn’t expect to hear from you until much later in the day, which is good because he’s still trying to wrap his head around the fact you thought he needed a second round of rehab.

He gets out of the shower, a navy blue towel wrapped around his waist as he pads back downstairs and takes the phone out of the overnight bag, setting it up to charge on the side table. He collapses onto the couch, where the blanket and the pillow he’d been using before his trip to North Carolina still reside.

This is the other thing he hasn’t told you. He can’t sleep in that bedroom anymore, not since the nightmare you had last month about his OD. Seeing you upset like that, knowing it still affects you two years later…

That was the tipping point for him, that’s when he knew he had to get rid of this house.

He reaches for the remote, turning on the TV, cueing up an old Penguins game from earlier on in the season. He does this sometimes, falls back on something familiar to sooth the restlessness inside him.

His phone lights up and his hand lashes out for it, snatching it up as he stares at the screen.

Ivy Williams Calling.

He hits the decline button, sending it to voicemail before he lies down on the couch, his eyes fixed on the game as he draws the blanket up around him.

I’m sorry, he texts you. I’m not ready to talk just yet.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[hcneymooners]

BABESSSS you know I love you girl. I was hoping to see if could get a short fic abt Sevika and/or Ambessa abt it being my birthday:)

My birthday is in 3 days:))

Feel free to not answer if you don’t want to or can’t do a fic.

⋆ i'd be crazy not to follow / follow where you lead.

sevika x fem!reader (birthday) morning routine headcanons. men & minors dni.

cw: age gap, older woman/younger woman, non-sexual intimacy, soft!sevika, implied trauma, a ridiculously intense way of taking care of each other, kind of a modern!au, fluff.

notes: happy birthday, baby girl. i wanted to post this on your actual birthday (praying i didn't get the math wrong, lmao. #womeninstembutarewereally?) i hope you have a beautiful day full of affirmations of love and happiness from those around you. you're perfect, angel.

𑁍 it's astounding how easily you make concessions when you love someone.

𑁍 you're typically an early riser. you blink awake in the carefully curated dark of your room and lie still, listening as birds of paradise call out to each other across tropical waters. the soft winds slightly distort their calls, their singing. it makes you sit up because you're trying to focus on what they're trying to say. but this has changed.

𑁍 now, you still climb out of your sleepy haze quite early into the day, but you don't sit up. you barely move at all. if you move, then she'll move. and she deserves to rest more than anyone you know.

𑁍 so the new routine goes like this:

𑁍 your phone strums you awake with the soft, slow harmony of sax and piano. it's perched on the sill of the reading nook that feels a mountainous amount of steps away. it's purposeful because it forces you to move and shut it off instead of simply rolling over and slapping the snooze button. you let the song play twice, a third time until you feel the familiar stir of the woman lying against you.

𑁍 you tilt your head down, stroking a hand down her spine as she blinks her eyes open slowly and surely. sevika glances up at you, her grey eyes still glazed over with sleep. you don't say anything. the two of you never speak this early. it's a silent agreement.

𑁍 she likes to make the bed. you watch from your place in the nook as she putters around, her fingers lingering on the slight indents where your body had been resting. she presses down on your pillow, her nose twitching slightly as she tries to be covert about breathing in what you've left on it. you hide a smile. it probably smells like guava, something ozonic and sweet.

𑁍 you watch as she tucks in the sheets with a quiet strength that makes your stomach warm. you turn to look out the window, the room now silent except for the sounds of her slow shuffles and intermittent yawns. the light is refracting off of the window, and it makes you glow. she stops to look.

𑁍 you wanted to live by the ocean, so the two of you live by the ocean. you wanted her to be kinder to herself, so now she makes the bed.

𑁍 shower? you ask. you sign it, because you're taking a class in town to pass the time. her brow furrows as she tries to translate, and then her face cracks into a smile as she understands. yes, she signs back carefully, and you smile because she's always making the effort.

𑁍 showers are your favorite part of the routine. the shower you have in this place is large and echoes whenever you speak. but you usually don't. you step onto the cool tile, turning as sevika comes in behind you so that you can assist her in removing her prosthetic. the two of you crowd underneath the head, the water pressure perfect and the water itself crystal clear.

𑁍 she soaps you first, despite you wanting it to go the other way around. she drags her fingers across your wet belly, down your thighs. it's not sexual in nature, just devastatingly intimate. you know she does this because she didn't think she would have this sort of softness post-childhood. you lean back, hair flattening against her scarred shoulder, and close your eyes.

𑁍 you let her hands continue traveling, covering you in synthetic violet foam along the way. she cups the soft, wet, fatty tissue of your breasts, and the grip is almost curious. you reach up and make it firmer, tell her that she's allowed to have this. she thumbs over your nipples, then rises to your neck—stops before making it to your lips. she knows that you have a special face wash for that.

𑁍 you switch. her turn now. it's the same process of touching, of asserting love. you are making her hair thick with shampoo, some sustainable cucumber shampoo bar that she thought was ridiculously small for the price. so much complaining, but she loved using it. you bought her a pack of twenty-four for her birthday and laughed at the childish awe in her eyes. but honey, you said, you liked it. of course i was going to get you more. she cried.

𑁍 then comes the best part: the sitting. you sit on the little inner bench of the shower, the stone cold and jarring against the water-warmed skin of your thighs. the two of you let your legs dangle off, but your upper bodies are twisted to face one another. both of you look slightly drowned, the water having weighed your hair down and practically plastered hers to her cheeks. she reaches out, presses on your stomach, and watches it rise.

𑁍 good morning, you say. good morning, she rasps and she smiles so widely that you can see her gap and soft gums.

𑁍 you get out of the shower.

𑁍 from there, you kind of move around each other. she quietly asks you to help her put her arm back in, and you smile because she's making progress by asking for help. you remember the arguments before, over stupid little things like how she would get mad when you would wake up earlier than her because she hated the idea of you doing “work” (only chores, really) on your own.

𑁍 you look at the white board hanging by the fridge and see that today's designated breakfast is vegan breakfast bowls comprised of many things, including pickled plums and carrots. she doesn't get the vegan thing, except for the exemption of beef. cows are sacred in her culture, though their consumption varies by region and personal preference. her family abstained; her parents were practicing hindus, and some of it stayed with her.

𑁍 you're in a big sage green tee with the words “when was the last time you were yourself?” written in all caps. your underwear beneath it is baby pink and sheer. you like the way they make you feel. you're wearing perfume that sevika gifted you two birthdays ago.

𑁍 it was your mother's favorite, and it smells like baby powder with a hint of iris. it reminded you of makeup powder and spinning backstage with the dancers at the club because you were a child and didn't understand you were supposed to be ashamed of her yet. you never were ashamed as you grew older, it pissed people off.

𑁍 but sevi liked that about you. so she bought you the perfume off of some shit retailer online and you cried so hard she offered to return it. you kissed her because you couldn't speak, but she heard you anyway.

𑁍 you pull out the cast iron skillet. it's heavy, a gift from her father that sits like a ghost in your shared kitchen. he was an angry man, you think. she doesn’t talk about him, and you don’t push. but she kept it, told you to use it. 

𑁍 the vegan breakfast bowls are more of a suggestion than a strict plan. you know sevika will modify it, will add something that makes it feel better to her. probably something sweeter, like candied orange peel.

𑁍 she leans against the counter, phone in hand. her thumb moves quickly, scrolling. you're bent over a copy of this month’s zaunite. you get it shipped in, despite the price. the magazine is thick with personal essays, and you have always loved reading about someone else’s life. you fold down a page so you can remember to show it to sevika later. she'll like it. the morning light catches the page’s glossy bend.

𑁍 baby, look, sevika says, turning her phone towards you. it's a ridiculous meme about workplace dynamics. you can see her toothy smile before you even look up. it’s not even that funny, but she knows you'll humor her, knows you love these small moments of her selective happiness. so you smile, then laugh and preen inwardly at the way she studies your face as if to mentally take a photo of your face creased with joy.

𑁍 you’re so old sometimes, sevi, you murmur and she laughs. and you’re practically brand new, she shoots back. you shrug. i kind of like that about us. 

𑁍 the pickled plums sizzle slightly in the pan. you've learned her cooking, learned that she seasons by feeling, by memory, not by measurements. a pinch of this. a handful of that. her prosthetic moves with surprising grace, tapping the side of the skillet to redistribute the heat.

𑁍 breakfast is never just food. it's a conversation. it's an agreement to the continuation of your way of life. it's in the way she slides the plate in front of you before sitting down. it's the way she ensures you take the first bite. you catch her watching you. something sits differently in the air. a specific kind of energy. contained, but vibrating underneath.

𑁍 you put on a playlist. soft piano starts filtering through the speakers. it's the danielle ponder cover of creep. radiohead, but transformed. she holds out her hand. you take it. 

𑁍 the kitchen becomes a ballroom. her hands are careful, precise. your bodies move slow, not quite dancing, more like swaying. she’s gaining rhythm, because you constantly tease her about how she can’t dance for shit. you lean into her chest, hum the melody to yourself as the two of you circle around and around.

𑁍 after, she pulls a small wrapped package from a drawer she'd strategically avoided all morning. simple brown paper because you love it more than regular, waxy wrapping paper. it feels vintage. a red string is tied carefully around it, swept into a perfect bow along the front. the effort is clear, and you feel your throat tighten.

𑁍 today is your birthday. on the front of the gift, it says to: baby in blocky handwriting with an uneven heart drawn next to it, and you laugh wetly because it's cute but also makes you feel like you’re falling apart.

𑁍 you don't even look at the gift. you look at her. "i love it," you say. and you know she understands. 

© hcneymooners.

[scarrlet-xiv]

release

nsfw

geto suguru x fem!reader

college au

<part 1> <part 2> < part 3 >

feel it snap? part 3 of sexual frustration.

you close your door after saying your goodbyes to the two idiots. closed it fast that you didnt even bother locking it as you pressed back on the door sighing at how the tension snapped the wrong way. you don’t even bother kicking off your shoes. you just stand there, chest rising and falling too fast, heart still beating like it’s trying to catch up to something that slipped out of your fingers.

goddamn it, satoru.

the heat from your body doesn’t fade—in fact, it’s worse now. like it’s been sealed inside with you. the weight of almost lingers, heavy and heady.

you could have said yes. you wanted to. you wanted to follow suguru into that room and see what happened when neither of you had an excuse to pretend anymore.

your palms are warm as you drag them down your face. your thighs press together as if they’re trying to recapture that pressure from earlier. god, his hands. the way his breath hitched when your ass settled into his lap. the sound of your name on his lips like it was breaking out of him.

you shove yourself off the door and head to the bathroom.

your reflection in the mirror is a mess—makeup smudged, cheeks still flushed, lips parted. you turn on the water. you don’t even wait for it to warm up. you just need something now.

the cold only works for a moment. the second you start scrubbing makeup off your face, suguru’s face flashes behind your lids again. his eyes dark. his voice low. his hands on your waist. the ache inside you twists tighter.

you strip out of your clothes, try to convince yourself you’re just taking a quick rinse before bed. but everything you do feels like a slow seduction. lifting your shirt, slipping out of your skirt. you peel your panties down and you swear your thighs twitch from the memory of his lap underneath them.

you stand under the spray longer than needed, palms flat against the tile, forehead resting between your arms. it’s not helping. you’re too keyed up, too wound tight.

by the time you get out, towel wrapped around your chest, the ache has become a throb.

you dry off, slip into a loose camisole dress and nothing else, your damp hair sticking to your shoulders. the fabric clings to your skin as you climb into bed, and you tell yourself you’re just going to lie down and sleep it off.

but your thighs rub together again, and the friction sends a jolt straight to your core.

you bite your lip, eyes shut, your hand slipping beneath the covers like it has a mind of its own.

you try to ignore the heat gathering between your legs. you try to ignore the memory of his hands on your waist, the way he lifted you like you weighed nothing, the subtle grind of his hips beneath you.

but you can’t.

your fingers slide beneath your dress and down, brushing over the damp heat already pooling there. you sigh—soft, shaky—and press your palm against your core.

your hips twitch. it’s too much. it’s not enough.

you push your hand into your panties, middle finger gliding between your folds. already slick. already pulsing.

your breath hitches.

you bite the inside of your cheek and close your eyes, painting suguru in the darkness behind your lids—his sharp jaw, his dark hair falling over his brow, the hungry way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching.

you circle your clit, slow and aching, and your breath catches again.

he’d touch you like this, wouldn’t he?

carefully, deliberately—like you’d break if he didn’t take his time.

you let your hips rise to meet your hand as you slip a finger inside, moaning softly at the stretch, imagining it’s him—long fingers, warm hands, knuckles curling just right.

your other hand grips the sheets.

you think about how his breath would ghost over your neck. how he’d groan when he felt how wet you were. how he wouldn’t stop with just his fingers.

you pump your hand faster, your thighs trembling, your toes curling beneath the covers.

“fuck—” you gasp, your voice audible, your hips rocking up.

you imagine him whispering your name again, rough and low, right into your ear. imagine him saying please, like he needs you to fall apart for him.

your back arches.

your moan escapes before you can bite it down… and you’re hoping he hears it enough.

~

suguru knows he’s fucked the second he closes his door.

he leans against it, jaw tight, fists clenched, his forehead hitting the wood with a dull thunk. the ghost of your body is still pressed to his lap—his thighs remember the weight of you, his hands remember the curve of your waist, and his cock… well, his cock hasn’t forgotten a damn thing.

he exhales hard through his nose, trying to will it all away. he’s not a fucking teenager. he’s an adult. he can control himself.

except he can’t.

not when he hears your voice in his head, that soft, breathy "are you sure?" replaying like a loop. not when he remembers how you looked at him—like you wanted to say yes. like you would have, if that idiot hadn’t shouted your name from down the hall.

he peels off his hoodie, dragging a hand through his hair before grabbing a clean shirt from the chair. his heart’s still hammering. and he’s about to do the mature thing, really—was gonna brush his teeth, maybe splash some water on his face, sleep it off like a normal human.

but then—

a sound.

faint. barely there. but so familiar it makes his entire body freeze.

a soft sigh. high-pitched. choked off.

your voice.

his head turns toward the wall.

and then he hears it again. a broken moan, muffled by drywall and poor insulation, but real.

he goes still. every muscle taut, breath caught in his throat like it’s stuck behind his ribs.

his brain tries to reason, maybe she dropped something. maybe she stubbed her toe.

but then you moan again. longer. this one doesn’t sound like pain.

suguru’s jaw locks. his fists clench at his sides, nails biting into his palm.

he shouldn’t listen.

he shouldn’t be standing here, two feet from his bed, ear tilted slightly toward the paper-thin wall that separates his room from yours.

but he can’t move.

because he knows exactly what that sound is.

and the worst part?

he recognizes it.

he remembers it. that same exact sound—when he heard you trying to keep quiet last night.

you didn’t succeed that night either.

a low curse slips past his lips.

he scrubs a hand over his mouth, as if he can force his body to settle, but it’s useless. the image of you, touching yourself alone, frustrated, wet and needy just a few feet away—it’s driving him insane.

especially when he knows you were just on his lap twenty minutes ago.

and then—fuck.

he hears it.

his name.

your breathy voice whispering it, strained and soft like you’re trying not to let it out. but it slips anyway.

his cock throbs in his pants, so hard it’s painful.

he’s had enough.

suguru pushes off the wall and stalks to his door without thinking and walking to yours. no plan, no logic. just the heavy thrum of need in his chest and a voice in his head screaming she wants this too.

he’s standing outside your door.

not knocking.

not calling your name.

just… there, caught in the low hum of your quiet, broken moans bleeding through the wood like they’re meant for him. every muscle in his body’s drawn tight, fingers flexing at his sides like he’s trying to squeeze the restraint back into himself.

he shouldn't be here.

should turn around, pretend he didn't hear anything, pretend he doesn’t want anything.

but he doesn’t move.

just stares at the door like it's some kind of threshold, like if he crosses it, he won’t come back the same.

he exhales slowly, eyes fluttering shut.

then his hand lifts—hesitating just an inch from the doorknob. his fingertips graze it. rest there. heat coiled low in his stomach, pounding louder than reason.

he doesn’t know what he’s expecting when he finally presses down.

but it turns.

unlocked.

his breath catches.

the door eases open, quiet on its hinges, revealing the soft spill of light from your bathroom and the shape of you in bed—caught mid-movement, limbs tangled in the sheets, chest rising and falling like you’ve been trying not to fall apart.

then your eyes snap up.

and fuck.

you look like a dream barely held together. like he could breathe too hard and unravel you completely.

you freeze when you see him—but you don’t cover up.

you just stare, lips parted, flushed and wanting, your hand still between your thighs.

and he can’t move.

can’t breathe.

you whisper his name like it’s something sacred.

suguru steps inside and closes the door without a sound.

you don't move at first.

neither does he.

the room feels too still, like it’s holding its breath for you. the air is thick with everything that didn’t happen earlier—everything that almost did. and now he’s here, framed in your doorway like a goddamn storm about to break loose.

“you left it unlocked,” he says again, voice gravelled at the edges, like it’s physically hurting him to keep calm.

you swallow. your body’s already aching—still hot, still wound tight from where you left off—and now he’s just standing there, watching you like he’s deciding if he can survive touching you.

“...i thought i did” you saysoftly, breath shallow.

his jaw flexes. his fingers twitch. but he still doesn’t move.

so you do.

you don’t even realize you’re moving until your feet touch the floor.

the air in the room feels different now—charged, like it's humming beneath your skin. suguru’s still standing there in the doorway, his breathing unsteady, hair loose around his shoulders, jaw tight.

his eyes rake over you.

you’re still in the same thin camisole dress, the hem barely covering anything, one strap already half-off your shoulder from how restless you’d been. his gaze darkens when he sees it.

“you were doing that on purpose, weren’t you?” he says, voice low, like it’s coming from the base of his throat.

your lips part. “what?”

he steps inside without waiting for an invitation, closing the distance like a wave pulling you under. “lying in there, making those sounds. moaning my name.”

“i wasn’t trying to—”

“but you knew i could hear you.”

he stops just short of touching you. his eyes flicker from your mouth, to your neck, to the slip of strap on your shoulder. “you wanted me to come.”

you should lie. you should deny it.

but all you can manage is a whisper.

“and you did..”

that’s all it takes.

in a heartbeat, he grabs you—his hands hot on your hips as he pins you back to the wall with a thud, mouth crashing against yours like he’s been holding back for far too long.

you gasp, fingers fisting in his shirt as he kisses you rough, messy, hungry. like he needs this—needs you—more than air. 

he pulls away, but you try to catch his lips again. he forgives you the first time but pulls away again, this time cupping your jaw.

he’s staring at you—like he’s trying to burn the sight into his memory. your camisole straps have fallen completely now, leaving your chest bare, your dress slipping up from your thighs, your breath shallow as his hands find your waist.

“you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked. “always knew you were trouble.”

before you can answer, he drops to his knees.

you gasp, back arching slightly as his hands slide down the backs of your thighs, coaxing your legs apart. you adjust you dress straps back in place again, giving him more access down. he’s kneeling between them like it’s reverent—like he’s about to worship—and when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, you nearly melt against the wall.

“suguru—” your voice is breathless, already trembling.

“i’ve been thinking about this all night,” he murmurs, voice hot against your skin. “you, squirming in that tiny skirt. then you moaning through the wall like you wanted me to hear. you don’t know what you did to me.”

his lips press kisses just above your knees, the inside of your thighs, everywhere but where you need him most.

when he finally licks a slow, firm stripe up your slit, you cry out.

he hums like he’s satisfied with your reaction, hands gripping your thighs tighter as he buries his face between them. his tongue is soft and wet, curling perfectly over your clit before dipping down again, slow and purposeful.

you fist your hands in his hair.

it’s too good—the way his mouth moves like he knows exactly how to make you fall apart, like he’s memorized the sound of every breathy whimper you make.

and then he flattens his tongue and sucks.

your hips jerk, thighs trembling around his head.

“stay still,” he growls against your cunt, the vibration making your knees buckle. “i’ve barely started.”

he circles your clit again and again, pausing only to slide one thick finger inside you—then two. it’s all too much, too good, the pressure curling low and tight and impossible to ignore.

you’re panting now, moaning louder, your body shaking as you ride the edge.

and then he growls, low and filthy:

“cum for me, baby. let me taste it.”

you fall apart instantly.

your body tightens, trembling, thighs clamping around his head as your orgasm hits—loud and blinding, your cry echoing down the hall as you soak his mouth and fingers. he doesn't stop—not until you’re whimpering from the sensitivity, trying to squirm away.

only then does he stand again.

his mouth is wet, lips shiny with you, and when he kisses you, you taste yourself on his tongue. it’s filthy and soft and so intimate it makes your chest ache.

“i should’ve done that the first time i saw you,” he says, and you barely get the breath to laugh.

before you can recover, he lifts you again—effortless, like he’s been waiting to get his hands on you this way. your legs wrap around him instinctively, arms around his neck, and this time, he doesn’t bother to slow down.

he slides down his sweats and lines himself up, groaning as he rubs the head of his cock through your soaked folds. you’re still slick and pulsing from the orgasm, so when he pushes in—thick and deep and all at once—it knocks the breath from your lungs.

“shit,” he grits out, forehead pressed to yours. “you’re perfect—fuck, so tight”

you gasp. “don’t stop—please, don’t stop—”

and he doesn’t.

he fucks you hard against the wall, his hips slamming up into yours with heavy, filthy rhythm. the slap of skin fills the space around you—along with your moans and his breathless grunts, the soft creak of the wall behind you as he thrusts deeper, harder, every movement hitting that perfect spot inside.

you’re unraveling all over again—sensitive and overstimulated, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pressure builds fast and wild.

“you close again?” he growls.

you nod frantically, unable to form words. your mouth is open, eyes glassy, clinging to him like you’re drowning in the feeling.

he kisses you once—hard—and mutters, “then cum with me. i wanna feel it when i fill you up.”

that’s all it takes.

your second orgasm crashes through you like a wave—hot and dizzying, making you cry out as you squeeze around him.

and that—that—is what sends him over the edge.

he groans deep in his chest, hips jerking one last time before he spills into you—hot and thick, the warmth flooding you in thick pulses. his forehead drops to your shoulder, both of you panting, boneless, trembling.

you cling to each other for a long moment, both struggling to catch your breath, your heartbeat still pounding in your ears. his cock stays buried deep inside you, softening slowly, but neither of you move.

then he pulls back to look at you.

hair messy, lips kiss-bitten, and still inside you—he smirks.

“…think that made up for satoru ruining the moment earlier?”

you snort, head falling back against the wall with a soft laugh. “yeah. you could say that.”

he chuckles, finally sliding out of you carefully, lowering you gently to the floor.

you wobble immediately.

“shit—my legs,” you mutter, grabbing his arm for balance.

he steadies you, grinning smugly. “guess i did a good job then.”

“you’re so annoying.”

“and yet,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, “you let me ruin you anyway.”

you glare at him, half-playful. “you’re gonna be impossible after this.”

“i was impossible before this,” he says, shrugging, cocky.

you roll your eyes and try to take a step. your legs give a very unsteady wobble.

“…okay, maybe you have a point,” you mumble, holding onto his arm tighter.

he laughs and scoops you up again without asking, carrying you bridal-style like you weigh nothing.

“let’s clean you up,” he says, heading toward his room. “then round two. but on a bed this time.”

“round two?”

he smirks. “sweetheart, i’ve waited months for this. we’re not stopping at one.”

you groan—but your smile says otherwise.

after all, you did moan his name through a dorm wall on purpose.

fair’s fair.

a/n: AAAA finally finished it!!! sorry for the long wait. this girly had to survive engineering midterms lol. hope u guys liked the ending <33

tags: @k0z3me @irwinchester@sunnysdiarythoughts @getoswifeyy @albedoslovepotion @bloodyblooms-5 @arabellasolstice@zeunys@izluvsyou @zoldyi @shadyd3ar @heart-0f-silk @teenbreakup @blahblahblahhhhhhhhhhhhhh@ilovebokutokoutaro@siennadoodles

[giuseppe-yuki]

No but like rain is not fine, but orange cat gf will climb into the bath like nothing and just sit in the water looking at franco, maybe even swatting at him, i mean its her bath after all, he cant join

🐅

hehe yes definitely!

franco asking you to step outside while it's drizzling is a preposterous request, but a nice warm bath? hell yeah.

mini blurb below :D

picture credits from pinterest :)

franco colapinto x orange cat shapeshifter!reader

you can hear the noisy bath faucet from inside the master bathroom as you pad around franco's flat, swishing your tail. the gurgles as it pours out a steady stream of hot water echoes through the empty halls. wisps of steam escape from underneath the door, curling like ghost fingers at the edges. you can also hear the shuffle of your boyfriend as he yanks off his clothes every which way in order to hop in the bath quicker.

honestly, you felt like a bath too. how dare he not invite you in?

you approach the door and send a swift karate kick against the corner of the door in an effort to open it.

luckily, franco hadn't closed the door all the way, so it slams open, revealing your boyfriend sitting in the tub. you can see his arm muscles ripple impressively , which was quite the comparison to the way the bubble bath solution glittered as he poured it into the water.

you narrow your eyes. he was probably using your special strawberry scented sparkly bubble bath solution that had literally cost an arm and leg. whatever, you'd probably make him buy you a new one soon anyways.

the moment franco spots your feline figure padding across the bathroom tiles, you about jump out of your skin, because he starts screeching at the top of his lungs.

"EEEEEEE! what are you doing in here?" he yells, using his arms to shield the top part of his body that was above the water.

the bottle of expensive sparkly bubble bath flies across the tub, and fully turns upside down in the water. almost immediately, the still-running faucet creates a hoard of bubbles that threaten to spill out of the tub.

your boyfriend chooses to ignore the $30 dollars worth of bubble solution that has now made its way out of the bottle and into the tub in bubble form to snap at you.

"i am naked!" he says pointedly, continuing to use his arms to cover the part of his chest that was above the rising suds.

you roll your eyes. as if you hadn't seen him fully nude before.

approaching the tub, you use your paws to scramble up onto the edge. it smells delightful, the strawberry scent wafting into your sensitive nose from the steamy water below.

your boyfriend seems to understand what you are trying to do, because he quickly shakes his head and holds out a finger in warning.

"don't you dare, baby. this is my-."

with a wet plop, you drop into the bubbly water before franco can finish his sentence.

he lets out a huff of annoyance.

"oh great- so you can hop in here like it's nothing, but you won't step out in the rain for a million dollars?"

you let out a moody meow, as if saying 'yes.'

a beat of silence passes as franco wedges himself at the far end of the bathtub, glaring at you sitting on the other end.

after a bit of thought, you suppose that you would rather take a bath by yourself.

you take a leap at franco, using your paw to swat at him a few times.

it seems like he gets your message after a second, because he jumps out of the tub the second you take your third whack at him.

your boyfriend scowls at you with his arms crossed, bubbles still piled on his head and body dripping bathwater all over the tiles.

"thanks a lot for stealing my bath!" he snaps.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 53 (Human Alastor x Married Reader)

CW: Domestic Al, Drug addiction  AN: We're less than one month away from MisD's birthday! Can you believe it?! Get your party hats ready and stay tuned for details! Prev__ Welcome Post__ AO3__ KoFi Want a bonus chapter on Wednesday? Unlock it via KoFi updates! More information here

The radio played as you danced around the kitchen, swaying to the rich horns and the piano cords. Bread baked in the hot oven while you busied yourself with spreading spices over the chicken thighs on the workspace. It wasn’t much, but it was a blessing to have any fresh meat with how Laurence had been controlling the money. 

Laurence hadn’t given you enough money for the groceries, not nearly enough to get any meat, but Alastor purchased the chicken for you. The thighs were not big or meaty, but they were better than nothing.

Warm arms wrapped around you, holding you to a firm chest you knew belonged to Alastor. If someone asked you before, you would have said it was silly to think you could identify a man by the feel of his chest pressed against your back. You knew better, now.

 He held you in a way that your husband never did. You melted into his touch as he ran his hands up your sides, pressure firm, but not so much as to cause pain from the bruises. He held you in a way that promised to support you, to hold you tight, and to cherish you. 

“I brought in the laundry on my way,” Alastor whispered in your ear. 

For a moment, you thought it was mad how attractive that statement was. The simple fact that Alastor took part in the household care made you want him even more. That wasn’t something women talked about, not even in those books they were shamed for reading. It didn’t matter to you that it wasn’t his household he was taking part of the care of. 

“Thank you.” 

“The bread smells amazing,” Alastor placed a soft kiss on your shoulder as he held you, watching your fingers massage the seasonings and oil into the meat. “Have you made up the bed yet?” 

“Not yet,” you said as you turned, placing a kiss on Alastor’s cheek but being mindful not to touch him with your dirty hands. 

“I’ll sweep while you finish up here. Then I’ll make up the bed for you.” 

“Alastor!” you protested, feeling helpless as your hands were covered in slimy oil, preventing you from reaching out for the man stepping away from you. “I can do it, really!”

“You can,” Alastor said, leaning forward and placing a kiss on your nose before stepping back again, “but I can too!” 

You groaned, stomping your foot dramatically as he just laughed at you. This was what your life could be, you thought, as he grabbed the broom from the closet. This was what your life would be like. It was just a matter of time until this was more than a game of pretend. 

Alastor hummed as he made his way up the stairs. You couldn’t help but rush to the sink, washing the oil and seasonings from your hands. There was no reason to rush but knowing what was coming, you wanted to spend every minute of time you could with Alastor. 

After drying your hands, you climbed the stairs slowly, walking on the toes of your shoes. Your steps were light as you tried to avoid the steps that squeaked, though not always as successful as you wanted. 

You were eager to try your hand at sneaking up on Alastor. He was so easily able to move through your house without making a sound. It looked easy as he did it and yet you couldn’t stop some boards from squeaking as you walked. 

As you walked down the hall, you passed the dustpan, dust swept neatly inside it with the broom leaning next to it. Alastor had done as he said, sweeping up the upper floor for you. Following the sound of his voice into the bathroom, you crept into the small room. 

Alastor stood with his back to you as he worked the wet rag in his hand along the tile, washing away the layer of grime that had accumulated over the last few days. He had his sleeves rolled up, exposing his tanned forearms. The sight of them had your breath catching in your chest for a moment before you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around his torso as he often would do to you.

“Oh no,” Alastor said, chuckle covering his poor attempt to feign shock. “I’ve been captured.” 

“Yes, you have.” You were far too short to kiss the back of his neck like you wanted to, instead you had to settle for kissing his back, between his shoulder blades. “I’ve captured you and you’re all mine.” 

“I am,” Alastor said as he wrang the water out of the rag. Once he was sure it wouldn’t drip on you, he turned in your arms, wrapping his arms around you as best he could without smearing his wet forearms on your dress. “You’ve throughly captured me before I realized it.”

You nuzzled into his chest, taking a moment to just allow yourself the comfort of being held. The scent of him wrapped around you, just like his arms did. You knew what it felt like to fall asleep wrapped in his arms, but what would it be like for that to be your normal? 

“Why don’t you go get the bed made up and I’ll finish up in here? After, we can cuddle up on the couch and maybe you’ll let me read to you from your book?” Alastor nuzzled your nose with the tip of his nose, drawing a soft giggle from your lips. It was his favorite sound… well, one of them.

“You would do that for me?” you asked, standing on your tiptoes but only able to manage asking for a kiss with his considerable height. 

“In a heartbeat,” Alastor said. “When you’re my wife, I’ll read to you every day should you wish.” 

“Will I get to be your wife?” you asked, hope blooming in your chest. 

Alastor often said that this thing between you wouldn’t wilt in the sun. Each time he spoke of a time after the shadow of Laurence was cast from your life, it felt more like children’s hopes and dreams than a future you could have. Until you acted, it would only be hopes and dreams. It was up to you to make it a reality. 

“I would hope so,” Alastor said, placing a chaste kiss on your lips. “But we will have all the time in the world for you to decide if that’s what you want.” 

 “I-” Alastor kissed you again, cutting your words off as he was so prone to doing. 

“Will be able to decide your future when you’re free from your present,” Alastor said. “Now go get that bed made so we can get comfortable.” 

“Alright,” you agreed, laughing lightly as his smile lit up his face. 

Laurence paced the ornate sitting room, waiting. It felt like his mind would separate out of his body if he stayed too long. He was running out of time and running out of options. 

“Laurence, dear!” His face lit up at the sound of the warm voice that he knew so well.

“Mother!” He wrapped the elderly woman in his arms, placing a kiss on the side of her cheek. “It’s been too long.” 

“Indeed, it has.” She wanted to be pleased to see her son. She had loved him dearly, but his visits increasingly brought trepidation. “Do you bring news? Is your lovely wife finally with child?” 

Laurence laughed, motioning for his mother to take him into the sitting room. “No, no! Not at all. We’re waiting still.” 

“Is she barren?” The kindly old woman asked as she settled into a chair across from her son. 

“No troubles like that,” Laurence assured his mother, waving the question away with a too wide grin, though he suspected his wife was indeed barren. Saying such to his mother wouldn’t help his case right now. “We’re just waiting for my luck to change. We’ll be making you a grandmother before you know it.” 

“Laurence,” his mother leaned back in the chair, straightening her aging spine, “what is it you’re here for?”

Before the watchful eyes of his mother, Laurence rung his hands. She never failed to make him feel small, like a child once again. “I… I’m in a bit of a bind.” He hesitated for when his mother’s smile turned sour, as if his words somehow shoved a lemon slice into her mouth. 

“I’ve heard about the struggles the business is facing.” Her voice was colder now. 

“It’s from no fault of mine,” Laurence was quick to offer reassurance. 

“Laurence, it’s your father’s legacy, but it’s your business now. No matter the reason, at the end of the day, it is always your fault.” 

“Ma,” he choked on the word. She hadn’t let him call her that since he was a boy. “Mother, I just- I just need a little help. I can pay it back. I will pay it back.”

“It was wonderful to see you, but I’m expected at the Garden Society’s fundraiser. She stood, looking down at her son. He had shown so much promise in his youth, yet as he had grown into a man, he wasted it. He disgusted her. “It’s time that you leave.” 

The doorman stepped forward from where he had been lurking, as he always did, holding out a hand in direction, ready to usher the unruly heir away. 

“Please, Mother.” Laurence pleaded as he stood. “Just a few coins? For fuel? I- I don’t have enough to make it all the way back home.”

“I have no more money for you, Laurence. This family has given you enough. I will always love you, but it is time for you to leave. It is time for you to stand on your own two feet. Goodbye, Laurence.” 

The car had gotten him almost back before it sputtered and died. Thankfully, there was just enough momentum to pull onto the side of the road and park. As soon as the car stopped and was thrown into park, Laurence slammed the palms of his hands down on the wheel. 

He screamed, slamming his hands down again and again. People looked, but he didn’t care, not at first. Once the burst of energy had subsided, he threw his body back in the seat, gasping for breath. 

This wasn’t getting him anywhere. Laurence reached over, pulling open the glove box and throwing papers into the seat as he hunted for the one thing that would let him think clearly. Panic sparked as the bottle remained elusive. Someone must have gotten into his car and taken it.

Ah, there it was!

His fingers wrapped around the old amber bottle. He hadn’t thrown it out yet and oh, Laurence was thankful for it. His back ached and if he was going to walk the rest of the way, he would need the pain treated first. 

That was all. 

Laurence’s fingers trembled as he screwed the dropper off. There was nothing he could suction out of the bottle with it. He groaned, dropping the glass dropper into the seat. Throwing his head back as he upturned the bottle. 

There had to be a drop or two left in the bottle. Laurence needed it. Shaking the bottle, he willed a drop to fall into his mouth. Nothing came out.

Tears gathered in Laurence’s eyes as he picked the dropper back up, putting it in his mouth. Shameful. He was a shameful man. Laurence sucked the dried, bitter remnants off the glass dropper, running his tongue over the inside of the cap as he sought every bit of the tincture he could find. 

Once the bitter taste was no more, he turned his attention back to the bottle. He sucked at the threads, seeking the bitter taste that promised relief from the pain before he tried to force his tongue inside. The bottle was too small for that to work, resulting in him shoving his pinky inside, trying to soak up any medication on his skin. 

He considered breaking the bottle under a rock and licking the broken shards before he pulled himself under control. There were too many people on the street for him to do that. They would see him being shameful and rumors would spread. 

Fog, not nearly strong enough, slowly pulled over his mind. It wasn’t enough, but it was better than nothing. It was good enough for now. He needed to get to one of the fresher bottles he had stashed for emergencies. 

Laurence threw open the door to his car, stepping out. He would get this situation taken care of. Sparing a look back at his car, he walked down the sidewalk. He’d find a few things to sell and then make his way to the station. 

Somehow he would gather the funds needed, he would make that damned payment to the half bit radio host who thought he was too big for his place in society. Oh, what Laurence would give to knock that man down a few pegs, reminding him where he belonged. People seemed to forget what that man was, what his mother was. 

Laurence ran his hand through his hair, tangled knots catching on his knuckles as he walked down the sidewalk. The hairs ripped from his scalp as he pulled his hand away. Through the fog, he hardly winced as he shook the hairs from his hand. 

He had to hurry. 

“Mr. Latimer,” a woman stepped out of his way but held her hand up to him in greeting, “I don’t usually see you this time of day, not around here? Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Smith.” Laurence slowed, “I’m in a rather big hurry, though.”

“I’m sure.” She looked down the sidewalk one way and then another. “I just- I… My cousin has a business, you see. He could use some help with marketing. Could I… could I give him your card?”

“Of course, of course!” Laurence reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. His hands trembled as he flipped it open, struggling to pull a business card out to pass to the woman he couldn’t place in that moment. “Here you go!”

“Thank you.” She rested her hand on his shoulder. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” 

“Business,” he said shortly. “Just business.” 

“Well,” she said, “I think he’s in the cafe now, actually. Why don’t you join me for a cup of coffee and you can meet him?”

“Can’t,” Laurence said, forcing a smile to his face. “I’ve got places to be, meetings to attend.” 

He would not tell her he was left with no choice but to shutter the business by the end of the summer if he couldn’t turn things around. Hell, if he couldn’t slow the hemorrhaging of funds, he feared the end would come even sooner. 

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[sturnboos]

[🍓] CAUGHT RED HANDED

Characters: caregiver!chris x little!reader

Summary: chris was supposed to be watching you but got too caught up in his game.. you find nicks hair dye…

“Alright, we’ll be back in a few hours,” Matt called over his shoulder, keys jingling. “I just gave her lunch, check on her every thirty minutes.”

Chris, was downstairs in his bedroom hyper fixating on the game royal kingdom. He waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Relax. She’s watching Bluey. She’s chill. I got this.”

The front door slammed shut with a loud click. Nick followed Matt out to the car, muttering something about the upcoming Space Camp meeting.

Inside you were curled into the corner of the couch wrapped in a fuzzy blanket that practically swallowed you whole. your plate of cheese and crackers sat beside you, one cracker clutched in your small sticky hand. your eyes were glued to Bluey on the screen, legs swinging slightly in rhythm with the theme song, and your beloved stuffed bunny was tucked under arm.

Chris checked on you after his first round of royal kingdom. you were still in the same spot, drooling slightly and giggling at Bandit pretending to be a robot. So far, so good. A little later, he brought you a juice box. “You doin’ good, princess?” he asked, kneeling beside the couch. you nodded, clutching the straw in both hands. “doggies.” He smiled. “Yeah, Bluey the dog.”

And then… time just slipped away. Chris got way too into the game. That is, until his phone buzzed a notification from Matt.

Matt: On our way home, how’s she going?

Chris blinked. Then sat bolt upright. “Oh no.”

Panic surged. He picked his phone, nearly tripping over in his rush. “princess?!!” he yelled, already sprinting out of the room. The living room was empty. The TV was still on, but the couch was abandoned. Juice box upside down on the floor. You and 'Bun-Bun' were missing.

Chris’s stomach dropped.

He bolted into the kitchen. “Baby?? You hungry again? Please tell me you didn’t climb into the cabinets—” Nope. He checked the backyard door. Locked. Thank god. “where are you baby girl?!” Then he saw it. A smear. One little handprint in… red? Just on the hallway wall, at your height.

Chris’s heart rate spiked as he followed the trail of Red blotches, His mind was already racing. “Please don’t be blood please don’t be blood please don’t be—” He reached the upstairs landing. The bathroom light in Nick’s room was on. He ran. And stopped cold. It looked like a horror movie.

The white tiles of the bathroom were streaked and splattered in red. The counter had pools of crimson liquid, the sink was full of red suds, and the mirror had little finger smudges all over it. Standing right in the middle of the chaos… you. Hands coated in red, cheeks streaked, shirt soaked, and proudly cradling your bunny plush, now dyed red.“What happened?!”

She turned around, face lighting up. “I made Bun-Bun pwetty, Chwis!”

Chris stood in the doorway, frozen. “Oh. My. God.” He stepped in, immediately slipping slightly on the wet tile. “Shit—careful—what the hell?! This is Nick’s dye! Oh, they are so gonna kill me.” You looked up at him with innocence. Chris dragged a hand down his face, trying not to scream into the void. “that’s $40 Arctic Fox dye! Why did he even leave this out?!”

He grabbed a towel and started trying to clean the sink, the counter, the floor, anything. “Okay, okay, we just have to clean this up before they get back. We’ve got, what, twenty minutes? That’s—fine. That’s enough. We can do this. This is fine.”

He looked back at you, your now finger painting a heart on the side of the tub with the dye.

“Oh god…I’m so dead.”

His phone buzzed again. Another message.

Nick: Tell her I say hi btw :)

Chris stared at the screen, then looked at the red crime scene around him. He slowly texted back:

Chris: Uhhhh. She says hi. And also maybe destroyed your bathroom. Do not panic when you get home.

He turned back to you, now patting the red bunny dry with a hand towel.

Chris took a deep breath. “Okay. Look. You need a bath. A real one. I need to bleach this floor. We’re gonna clean you up first, and then—actually, no, I’m gonna cry first, then bleach.”

You held up Bun-Bun proudly. “He’s a strawberry now!”

Chris blinked. “Cool. I’m a corpse now.”

Chris had just finished towel-drying your hair (now slightly pink at the tips), when he heard the car pull into the driveway. Chris did a last frantic sweep with a wet rag across the bathroom tiles. Still a faded red.

Too late.

The front door opened downstairs, followed by Matt’s voice “We’re back! Nick said he—wait, what’s that smell”

Nick’s voice rang out louder, sharper
“Why does it smell like chemicals in here!?”

Chris poked his head out the bathroom door just as the heavy stomps of socked feet thundered up the stairs. He winced. “Heyyyy guys… Welcome home… don’t freak out…”

Nick reached the top first. He looked at Chris, looked past him into the bathroom and screamed. “WHAT. THE—WHY IS MY BATHROOM BLEEDING?!” he yelled, clutching his chest like he was seconds from cardiac arrest. Matt appeared a moment later, wide-eyed, holding a half-unpacked folder of space camp brochures. “Oh my god. Did someone die?”

Chris held up both hands in surrender. “Nobody’s dead! It’s just hair dye. Just… a lot of hair dye. That she found.”

Nick’s eyes whipped over to you, who had now waddled into the hallway still wrapped in a towel, cheeks pink, little toes squeaking on the floor.
She held up Bun-Bun. “made Bun-Bun a strawbwerry!” Nick’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “You… turned him into a fruit?!” You blinked up at him. “He pwetty now.”

Matt, trying very hard not to laugh, pressed a hand over his mouth.

Chris groaned and sank against the wall. “I swear, I was checking on her. Like… at first. And then I got into the game and she was so quiet—”

“That’s never a good sign, Chris!” Nick snapped. “Quiet equals chaos!”

Chris looked like he might burst into flames. “Okay. Look. I’ll pay for the dye. I’ll pay for the towels. I’ll bleach the floors, I don’t care. Just please don’t kill me.”

Matt finally lost it, turning around and full-on cackling as he leaned against the doorframe. “I leave Chris in charge one time and we come back to a toddlers stuffed animal murder scene?.”

Nick crossed his arms. “This is worse than the time you let her eat glitter glue.”

“it said it was edible!” Chris cried.

“Yeah If a portion is accidentally swallowed not the whole bottle Chris!”

Meanwhile, You had begun waddling back down the hallway, Bun-Bun tucked in one arm, the towel trailing behind You like a royal cape.

Nick stared after her in disbelief. “She’s walking away like she didn’t just commit property damage…. Where you going princess!!?”

“D-doggies” you reply simply going back to watch more bluey.

Matt clapped a hand on Chris’s back. “Well. I think you learned something today.” Chris looked dead inside. “That I’m never babysitting again?”

“No,” Matt grinned. “That our princess is cute as hell but also a walking tornado.”

Nick peeked back into the bathroom and groaned. “My bathtub looks like someone dipped it in fruit punch”

Chris stood, hands raised. “I’ll clean it. I’ll clean all of it. Just… promise me one thing.”

Nick narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Move the hair products out of reach”

Downstairs, the Bluey theme song started up again.“Do you hear that?” Chris whispered. “That’s the sound of war returning.”

Tags: @blushsturns @riasturns @iloveduckssm @chrissbxby @sturnobessed @kayskreativeideas @tits4matt @mattsfavho @sturniolobananas1 @courta13 @alexisa78 @chrisissos3xy @sturnobessed @mattschelseaa @norahsturns @dolliraez @jibitzlesscrocs @oopsiedaisydeer @gemzyy @mattschelseaa @hesvoid34 @phone4pills @spaghettislut1 @sturnslux3 @phone4pills @owenstar @luvsturns @nickssidewitch @ariieeesworld @babyt0matoes @sugarraez

[itsphoenix0724]

Hold Me Gently (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: Azriel knew exactly what he signed up for when he became the court's spymaster, but sometimes everything gets too much for him to handle.

Warnings: Smut, angsty, negative thoughts about oneself, some dark stuff mentally

Word count: 1.6k

Bonus Chapter!

A/N: Hi loves! I'm excited to put this out for you guys I've been working on it for kind of a hot minute. Please read the tags carefully. I hope you all enjoy it, and as always constructive criticism is welcome. Plus I've got a special surprise coming in December that I may announce later this week so keep a look out. <3

Azriel swore sometimes he could still hear the screams that echoed off the stone walls of the Hewn City rattle around in his brain for days. Rhys had been clear this time. 

Get the information through whatever means necessary, no matter what. 

So that’s exactly what he had done, and it had taken hours. He sent Rhys a message with the information and winnowed directly into your bedroom. He knew you were downstairs in the kitchen because he had sent his shadows earlier to watch you, but he couldn’t bear to have you look at him right now. To have you look at him like he was the most amazing thing in the universe when you had no idea what horrors he committed just an hour earlier. Azriel hides his shame from the portrait of his mating ceremony, turning away from even your painted adoration. He is not the smiling male in that picture. He is not the male who deserves to put his blood-stained hands around your waist. He doesn’t deserve any of it. Not your kindness, not your comfort, not your kiss, or your smile. Not when he spent half the day ripping a man apart. 

Maybe that male had a mate waiting at home too. 

He sneaks carefully into the bathroom, turning the bathtub's faucet to boiling and letting the tub fill. Az peels off his leathers layer by layer, and they hit the clean white tile with a sickeningly wet sound, none of the blood is his. As he watches the red slowly seep onto the floor he knows that the tile’s just another thing he’s ruined. 

He wishes he could peel his skin off as well. 

Azriel sinks slowly into the tub, letting the sting of the hot water work every muscle. He wanted to erase everything, to let the water cleanse away his disgusting actions. His shadows send a whisper of you humming quietly from the kitchen and he almost bursts into tears. How had the cauldron given him someone someone so gentle? How did you wake up in their bed every day and not know you slept next to a monster? Az sinks under the surface, unable to bear the rushing in his head, and doesn’t come back up until his lungs are screaming for air. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You knew something was wrong when your mate didn’t immediately come to see you after returning from his mission. You had heard the faucet start to run while chopping vegetables for dinner, and you assumed Az was quickly rinsing off before he joined you. After half an hour had passed you started to become concerned. You knew your mate, and even though he never told you specifics, he sometimes needed time after his return from the Hewn City. You silently creep up the stairs of your home, avoiding all the creaking floorboards that might tip Azriel off. You swing open the bedroom door, but he is nowhere to be found the only evidence of him is a trail of blood that sends your heart into overdrive. You follow it to your bathroom door, now more worried about his safety than anything. The bond beating in your chest is dark, and it has been since Az left your bed this morning. Throwing open the door you’re met with a wall of crushing darkness. You fight through the swirling blackness, trying to call Azriel’s name, but you can’t see two feet in front of you. A rouge shadow comes to circle your wrist dragging you to your mate’s hunched form in the bathtub, base instinct takes over as you climb into the water hissing as the burning water scalds your thighs. “Azriel,” You call his name, taking his head in your hands. His hazel eyes seem unfocused like he’s looking through you than at you. “Az,”  you rush out again. “Are you bleeding? Are you hurt?” You tilt his head this way and that way before scanning the rest of his body. You shake him at the shoulders trying to get him to see you. Finally, as if Az just realized you were there, he looks at you. 

“The blood isn’t mine.” is all he says before his head thumps back against the porcelain as if it’s too heavy to hold on his own. Your shoulders sag in relief. “You shouldn’t be in here. Go back downstairs I’ll be there in a minute.” He runs the wet silk of your nightgown in between his fingers. You have no intention of leaving this bathtub until you figure out what's wrong with your mate.

“What’s happened?” You push running your fingers through the threads of his inky black hair. “Did the mission not go well?” Azriel scoffs, looking unbothered, but you can see the muscles in his throat tightening with effort to keep something hidden. You try to pull at the bond again, begging him to lower the obsidian shields he builds around himself, his hands shake with the effort of keeping them impenetrable. He still avoids your eyes, yet you try again refusing to yield. “Sweetheart…” you whisper softly and the Shadowsinger cracks before you. His walls rush down and crash against you like a tsunami, the wave of self-hatred that he had been holding in barrels against you with enough force to bring down the mountains. Silver lines his hazel eyes and your heart almost cracks in two. Wrapping your arms around Azriel you cradle him to your body, his hands tighten around your waist seeming torn between pulling you closer and pushing you away. His shoulders shake with the force of his sobs and all you can do is keep stroking his hair and make soothing sounds, trying to calm him down enough to speak. Az takes a shuddering breath, but the tears still stream down his face. You chase them away with the pads of your fingers. 

 “I do not deserve you,” he grinds out, voice rusty from the tears. You rub soothing circles into the joints of his shoulders and it makes Azriel want to throw up. “I am the monster mothers warn their children about at night. I’ve committed horrors that should make you run away in terror” You shake your head with feverance. 

“I would never run from you Azriel. There is nothing too dark or too ugly that would make me love you any less. I promise you I can handle it.” Azriel does nothing but collapse back against you shaking his head back and forth. “Just talk to me please.” He takes a deep inhale, trying to calm his racing heart. 

“I bled a male dry today. Rhys needed information, and he was harder to break than anticipated.” It’s all the information Az is willing to give. You have to stamp down the fury rising in your own chest. Both at Rhysand for putting your mate through this and at the Hewn City itself. 

You’d tear this court apart brick by brick for making Azriel feel like he’s less than deserving of his life. 

You’ll have to talk with Rhys later because for now, your focus is Az and Az alone. You refuse to allow him to continue to carry on like this, cursing yourself for not realizing the effects of this position wearing on him sooner. 

“Look at me.” You pull his jaw towards you, forcing him to meet your eyes “There is no universe where you are not deserving of happiness. You have a job to do, and I understood that when I accepted this bond. I do not fear you, I do not balk from you, and I do not love you any less because of that.” The bond sings with light as the weight finally starts to leave your mate's shoulders. Golden eyes study you intensely before he hauls you against him in one fluid motion and crashes his lips to yours. He tastes like burning whiskey, and kisses you so fiercely you’re afraid your lips might bruise. You hold him together the best you can, afraid that if you let him go he will shatter into pieces before you. “Are you sure you want this right now?” You ask, you’ll give Az whatever he needs, and if he needs a distraction from his head then you’re happy to provide it to him. He nods, leaning down to press his lips to your collarbone. You run your hands along his back grinding yourself into him, and pour love and devotion down your side of the bond to him. His hardness presses against you as he nudges aside the scraps of lace before sheathing himself into the hilt. You let Azriel take what he needs, fucking you on his length, rocking you back and forth. He’s hitting the spot inside you that makes you see stars with such force water sloshes over the edge of the tub, washing away the blood from Azriel’s leathers. You run your hands along the edge of his wing and he roars, one hand almost cracking the porcelain of the bathtub. He changes his pace to pure brutality, using you like no more than a toy. Your thighs shake with the effort to keep yourself upright. He’s ruthless in the way he moves like a hungry predator finally tearing into its kill. Your orgasm tears through you with blinding energy, and you unravel faster than you’d like to admit, but Az always manages to have that effect on you. He loses himself soon after you, tumbling over the edge with so much force he rips the bottom of your nightgown into ribbons. You stare at each other for a long moment, relishing in the afterglow and grateful for the hot water in the tub. 

“I’m sorry for ripping your nightgown,” Azriel rumbles and you laugh a beautiful golden sound. 

“You can buy me a new one later,” you promise, “but for now let me wash your hair.” 

[xxsabitoxx]

Showering / Kinktober Side Quest 3… kinda

Aged up! Megumi x AFAB Reader

Warnings: Fluff with intimate moments / not really sexual but ya know… still fun :)

You shower with your boyfriend quite regularly. Especially after you return bloody and worn from missions. Whether it's a mission only one of you went on or a mission you shared, it doesn't matter how tired you both are, you're climbing into that shower together to take care of each other.

"Turn around." Megumi's voice is thick with exhaustion, motioning you to spin so your back faces him. You do as you're told, forehead pressed to the cold tile wall as Megumi starts to gingerly scrub your bloodied back. "I'll put a salve on it when we're done. It's not too bad, but it will be irritating if I don't wrap it." This time, you had taken the brunt of the damage.

Megumi hated it, to say the least.

“Can’t it wait for morning?” You mumble, eyes closed as you focus on how good it feels when he passes the soft cloth over your bruised shoulders. “No.” And his tone his final, no room for any retaliation. You always put up a fight, it got on his nerves most of the time but… he always won.

“Fine” you whined, you pressed your cheek into the cool tile now, your face feeling warm from a mix of the steam and Megumi’s gentle touch. His fingers were delicate as they moved lower.

Megumi’s hands are nimble, scrubbing your lower back with such tenderness it only made your face feel warmer. Intimacy like this with your typically cold and stoic boyfriend always sent your heart into a flurry. You knew him long enough to know he had this side, a side reserved only for you.

But that didn’t make you any less flustered, it never ceased to give you butterflies. That was another thing you utterly adored about him, despite being together for years at this point, your heart still skipped a beat when you saw him.

“Ouch.” You hissed, he was pressing the warm cloth over a harsh scrape on your hip. “Sorry.” His tone was slightly strained, he couldn’t stand seeing you in pain. Even on days where you had headaches or just weren’t feeling great, it made his chest tight. He never wanted you to feel these things, even if they were naturally occurring. You always teased him for it.

“…s’okay Meg.” You sighed as he finished up on that one area. “I’m almost done, I swear.” He sighed, dropping to a crouch to deal with the damage that had even effected your right ass cheek. “Poor baby.” He murmured as he used the cloth to gentle clean the skin. You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. Of all places to get injured, your ass wasn’t ideal.

“Don’t make me blush, Gumi.” You drawled the rest of his name, always alternating between the two nicknames but rarely saying his full name. “Sorry.” He teased, easing the stress in your heart as his tone turned a little light. When he was done, he placed a gentle kiss on the small of your back, trying not to smirk when you visibly shivered. "Can't help it."

You pushed off of the tile, turning as Megumi stood to his full height once more. You wasted no time wrapping your arms around him, pressing your face into his wet chest. “We still need to clean up.” He murmured softly as he pressed a kiss on the crown of your head. “We already did.” You mumble back, eyes closed as you listened to the steady thump of his heart.

“I cleaned your cuts and scrapes, we still need to clean your body.” Megumi sighed, letting his hands rest on your hips because he didn’t want to hurt your already wounded backside. "Can we just stay like this for a bit?" you knew his answer, maybe that was why you hugged him a little harder. "No, because you'll fall asleep standing if we do."

You sighed, grumbling softly as you pulled away from him to grab your body wash. "Stop pouting." Megumi's tone was teasing, his pretty eyes lidded with exhaustion. He still needed to bandage your back, which was the only thing keeping him from falling asleep along with you. "No" you mumbled, pouring the liquid out to begin gingerly scrubbing your sore body.

This angry act stood no chance against Megumi's soft "Can you wash me?". You sighed, turning to him with a pout still present on your lips. "Of course, I can, Gumi." He smiled, pulling your soapy body close to his as you started to scrub his arms. "Can't really wash you when you hold me like this, Gumi." there was a hint of laughter in your tone, one that made Megumi hold you a little tighter. "You're doing just fine."

Green eyes locked on your hand, watching your fingers massage his skin until suds appear. "Oh, whatever." You worked diligently, trying to ignore the way your back burned as the hot water ran over your marred skin. It took longer than necessary, but you were turning off the water and stepping out of the shower finally.

Megumi's hands still held a tenderness as he used a towel to slowly pat your back dry, uttering soft apologies when he heard your breathing stutter. "you can lay on the bed and I'll patch you up." You nodded, eyes closed as you walked from the bathroom to your bedroom. You managed to get a pair of underwear out of your dresser before flopping onto your plush mattress to wait for Megumi.

He entered the room a few minutes later, setting the medical supplies on your nightstand before going to get underwear and pajamas. No words were spoken, mostly because Megumi assumed you were passed out by now. You were close to it at that point, inhaling the comforting scent of your blankets as the bed dipped.

He worked with care, smiling when you shuddered in relief as the healing salve was spread on your broken skin. Despite the ache in his bones, his body begging him to sleep, he didn't rush a single step of the first aid process. He was comforted by your gentle breathing as he cut the gauze and secured it with medical tape. You had managed to fall asleep once your back was finally relieved of pain.

Which meant Megumi did everything right. That was enough for him as he flicked off the lights, crawling under the blankets and pulling them up over the both of you carefully. "Good night." He basically slurred out, exhaustion already making him relax into a blissful sleep.

[thefriendlyferretwriter]

Thief

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Weasley!Fem!Reader

Summary: Hatred, passion...those are basically the same anyways.

Warning: Thievery, banter, tension, make out sesh, angst

A/N: Almost 4k words, yay! Don't forget to leave a comment I love knowing what you thought!

"Wicked!" George Weasley squeals as he checks out the newest spell his twin cast on their shared charms book.

Their walk toward the Gryffindor common room is casual, so casual that the very few students they come across quickly pass them finding it suspicious that the 'trouble twins' happen to be so calm.

"She taught me to do it on regular books but not on the monster book, so your grudge is still pending."

The beginning of the afternoon sounds just like any other. The sun comes out after the morning rain and beams against the scattered droplets, bringing a certain ethereal feeling to the already breathtaking castle.

The corridors around the courtyard are empty without counting the very few students taking a walk or reveling in the sun as they digest their breakfast and wait for their next classes.

The sound of hurried stomps echoes through the open hallways and attracts both of their attention as a frown overtakes their features.

The steps get louder and they finally see the runaway, recognizing the familiar red locks.

She frantically looks behind her before shoving past her brothers and running ahead and out of breath.

Like clockwork, the twins look at their sister sprinting past them and look back at each other before naturally falling into her rushed steps.

"What did you do?!" Fred asks with the brightest smile as he huffs catching up with her.

"And to who?" George follows up catching a glimpse of a book his sister holds onto for dear life.

"Nothing!" she shouts out of breath.

"Why are you lying?!" George yells to overcome the sound of the pounding footsteps as he easily catches up to her.

"I'm not!" she yells back when another distant shout is heard.

"Weasley!" the twins look back to see no other than Mattheo Riddle rounding the corner at full speed trying to catch up to them.

Turning back Fred can't help but let out a cackle.

"You pissed off Riddle?!" George notes.

"She pissed off Riddle!" Fred cackles one more.

His fit of laughter is cut short when his sister sharply turns right and runs through one of the many stone arches to run out into the clock tower's courtyard.

He follows her and slips up barely catching himself on the pillars of the arch as he sees her stop dead in her track in front of the stone wall with her feet firmly planted on the now dark grey ground still wet from the rain.

He stands back up and hears the pounding feet behind him before he speeds back up and runs out into the courtyard catching up right behind George.

"Give me an up!" she hurries waiting for either one to move which happens to be George who bends down and joins his hands for her to climb onto.

As her brother forces on his hands, she reaches the roof of one of the hallways with a groan, still clutching the book.

As soon as the weight leaves his hands George sheepishly slides aside to stand beside Fred as they both contemplate Mattheo Riddle catching up to them and trying to climb right behind her via a pipe but failing as the rain leaves the pipe slippery and unable to be used.

Slipping down back on the ground he turns around when he hears snickers and recognizes the two redheads, glaring at them.

He turns back around and watches as the youngest Weasley stands up on the roof balancing herself as she tries to walk on the mossy-drenched roof carefully.

"Get down Weasley!" he yells as he walks in parallel with her down on the ground.

"No!" she says waddling and leaning dangerously on one side as she stops momentarily to regain balance.

"Careful little Billywig, Hogwarts' tiles aren't the same as the Burrows" Fred warns his little sister with a smile reveling in the Slytherin's anger.

"I manage just fine!" she answers pissy and frustrated.

"All this for a book?" George wonders aloud, his eyes firmly planted on his sister, wary of her safety.

He can see Riddle roll his eyes without having to look at his face.

Their bickering continues with Mattheo's incessant orders for her to get down and her blatant disregard for his demands, balancing herself on the slippery tiles.

It is Fred who puts two and two together, he leans back against the stone wall and crosses his arms.

"It's your stach isn't it." Fred's statement sounds like a question as a devilish smirk overtakes his face.

"No it's not, shut up Weasley," Matt says uninterested in the blatant provocation, still glancing upward.

The hit that lands on the back of his head is delivered by George with a warning, "Don't stare too much."

He hisses referring to Riddle's insistent stare up as his sister who keeps tugging her skirt closer to her with one hand to avoid unwanted attention up there as the other doesn't help much, still holding on to the book.

Mattheo, by instinct, slaps the hand away as soon as it's done hitting him which leads the two to have a stare-down.

A clang and a shrill scream grab both of their attention back as they see her on all fours trying to cling to the roof's tiles.

"Get down!" Riddle reiterates screaming.

"No!" she yells back with conviction.

She takes her time but sits up, takes a breather, and carefully stands back up to continue waddling her way across the roof as he continues to mirror her path.

"You damn stubborn!" he reprimands monitoring her steps.

"And you stole my parchment!" she yells back accusingly.

"I didn't steal shit!" he bellows throwing his fingers in her direction as she looks down at him, glaring in turn.

"If anything, you stole my wand!" he shouts.

The bell rings in the twins' heads as they remember the altercation that led to the current event.

"What's going on?" she asks pushing through the small crowd gathered in front of Transfiguration class.

Mattheo pushes Harry back with one finger on his chest and a threatening stare that attracts Fred to stand in front of Harry shielding him with his towering height.

"Get lost Potter," she spots Mattheo stepping in front of Draco Malfoy who was having a staredown face to face with Harry Potter.

"And you back off Riddle," he says staring down at him.

"And while you're at it how about you muzzle your buddy," he continues looking over his shoulder directly at Draco fixing the strap of his bag on his shoulder with a snarled lip.

"How about you keep the muzzle for your friend, heard he's got some trouble with an imaginary grim," Mattheo says breaking into laughter followed by his fellow Slytherin mates.

Fred is thrown aside by Harry as he bolts towards Riddle with a closed fist that collides with his cheek.

Mattheo recovers from the punch and immediately throws a punch back as Malfoy draws his wand out quickly followed by Riddle.

The crowd widens as people step back to leave enough space for the four, now five of them as Harry and the twins follow the lead of the snakes and point their wands back at them.

The rest happened incredibly fast and the only thing her mind could register was her brother violently thrown back with a stupefy sent by a rageful Draco.

The ruckus started by the casted spell only escalates when a student shows up with a professor sending the crowd into a flock of people running in different directions.

She is sent falling on her back when a student collides with her. She rolls around to stand back up when she sees the all too familiar wand left unattended on the ground.

Hearing Professor Slughorn yell for calm she snatches the wand from the ground and boosts herself forward with her feet to sprint around the corner and away from Slughorn gripping Riddle by the arm.

"I did not!" she yells at the accusation.

"Get down!" he shouts frustrated by her attempting to balance herself and yelling back at him.

Fred cackles and holds his stomach at the interaction, amused every time Riddle's face contorts in a shocked or rather offended expression due to his sister's temper.

Taking a bold step, her foot slips as she falls sliding to the roof's edge with a scream. Her hand grips the gutter tightly as the three boys hurry closer to the wall.

"Okay you've made your point Weasley, give me your hand now!" Riddle says hurriedly stepping on the stone window using this to boost himself up and gripping the stoned wall's crevice to slip his arm around her waist unable to hold either of her hands.

He's pulled by his collar and stumbles back watching as George uses his height to his advantage, boosting himself up and sneaking his arm around his sister's waist and tugging her down to his other arm holding her princess-style.

"Calm down Riddle," Fred gently grabs the notebook from his siter and walks towards him before shoving the book right on his chest letting Mattheo clutch it and stumble back as the twin steps back with a smug, demeaning smile, "Your stach is fine."

His scowl doesn't falter even with his property now in hand. Instead, his nostrils flare with a pissed-off sigh before the youngest Weasley girl is set down on her feet, still wobbly from the shock of the potentially harmful situation.

"It's not my-" his sentence is cut short by the youngest Weasley girl being set down back on her feet as she nods in gratitude, still a bit wobbly from the previous potentially harmful situation.

Her newfound safe position has him noticeably relax but the scolding expression doesn't leave his features as he points at her and her brothers back and forth while he tries to find the words to describe his frustration.

With no full sentence gracing his mind, he instead looks at the twins directing his spite on them, still pointing at her.

"Get your siblings under control," he says walking backward and away from the little family, still incredibly pissed off by the interaction.

Arithmancy is already complicated enough with the teacher's words blending in an incomprehensible mash, but the incessant feeling of his stare burning through my back is the worst.

I turn around with a scowl and spot him at his usual place at the back of the class with the rest of his friends, looking back at me with just as much venom.

Zabini is the one that spots him glaring at me attracting the rest of the table's eyes in my direction.

Despite the insistence of Blaise to stop glaring at me his death glare continues, this time accompanied by his first tightly clenched on the table.

My stare deepens and I'm ready to mouth him what's his problem when the giant bells resound and send half the class scurrying to lunch including me as I jolt up with my bag in hand intertwining my arm with Luna Lovegood.

Quickly passing the door I appreciate the covered sky as the weather is still warm regardless of the sun hiding.

'A weather announcing rain for later in the day probably' I think to myself tuning out Luna's newest rant about Nargles.

"Your head's full of them."

I hum with a frown in her direction registering her words once again.

"Wrackspursts."

My frown deepens as the word is familiar but the context escapes me.

A bell rings in my head when I remember reading the word in Luna's latest edition of the Quibbler she landed me.

An edition I forgot to give back.

"Oh talking about that, here's your-" I say opening my satchel to see the magazine sitting cozily beside another one of my textbooks right on top of Mattheo Riddle's wand when I notice the absence of my notebook.

"Oh no I must've forgotten to pack up my notebook," I note to Luna handing her back her magazine.

"That's okay. Go grab it, I'll save you a seat at lunch." she smiles.

"Thanks, I'll be right with you," I say already trotting away before turning around in a run towards the Arithmancy class.

I pass Zabini and Co on the way and find it weird that Riddle isn't amongst them before remembering his angered stare back in class and figuring out he must've taken the route of the astronomy tower to take his anger out, probably followed closely by Nott.

Typical.

My mind turns back to reality when my eyes lock on the classroom door ajar.

'Professor Vector probably pulled it behind her as she left for lunch' I think as I push the door open stepping inside.

The room looks empty and it doesn't take too long for me to notice my desk.

Empty.

My frustration builds up as I approach my desk and kneel to check the floor where I don't see any trace of my notebook.

Sighing in annoyance I let my satchel's strap fall from my shoulder and stand back up to lift my desktop to glare at the cluttered compartment.

I groan closing my eyes and throwing my head back before keeping the desktop open with one hand and starting to rummage through the mess with the other.

Scrambling through, the echo of my search is interrupted by a smug tone.

"Looking for this?"

I let go of the desktop that snaps shut loudly spinning around and backing up against the desk in shock seeing Riddle coming out of the shadow with my notebook in hand.

My shock quickly dies down and is replaced by anger as my breathing picks up and my tension rises, not liking one bit to be stuck with him in a room alone.

"Give me back my notebook," I say in a definitive pitch extending my hand as he approaches me still showcasing my notebook up in the air like a trophy.

"I'm still missing my wand," he says smugly just a few steps away from me making it obvious that this is a transaction, my notebook for his wand.

"Then go look for it, give me back my notebook," I say more sternly dismissing him and reaching out to snatch it but his reflexes beat mine as he pulls it just far enough for my fingers to miss it just by a few inches.

His hand recoils extending behind his back as he uses his body to stand just a few inches in front of me.

My scowl deepens and his smile lights up even more showing his dimples with that mischievous glint in his eyes letting me know he's amused at the situation.

"I know you have it," he says cooly moving my notebook just a bit so that I can see it but not enough to reach it without having to end up face-to-face.

I've had enough.

"Give me my notebook back Mattheo," I say done with his games.

His smile dies down as well as the flicker in his eyes leaving place to an expression I can't read.

Is it anger?

Annoyance?

His arm lowers at his side and I don't waste a second before reaching for the journal, grasping at it and tugging when I notice that his hand doesn't let go of it no matter how hard I may tug.

I look up ready to ask him if he's really gonna waste more of my time with his little game before my thoughts are cut short as my gaze reaches his, fixated on mine in a more intense way than before.

My frown softens when my eyes catch his hand reaching the desk letting his fingers graze the surface.

My hand stops tugging and I stay focused on his hand memorizing every detail, from the veins that appear to the reddened knuckles from a previous fight.

I look back up at him and notice that the red knuckles are accompanied by new cuts on his face, one on his eyebrow and another hidden by a bandaid on his nose.

As a last attempt try to move aside thinking that putting distance between us will help me tug on the notebook better but it's like he can read my mind and steps in front of me.

Chest to chest he uses his body weight to push mine back against the desk.

I don't know what to say, the action leaves me breathless and confused.

What is going on?

I see him hesitate. Would it be possible Riddle has become speechless for the first time?

I see it in the way he's trying to talk. Trying to speak but he can only open his mouth and hesitate before closing it back up in frustration

The silence is killing me. I try to be patient and wait, even enticing him to take his time and nodding subtly when he opens his mouth yet again but he's left unable to speak and lets out another sigh of frustration switching his gaze from one eye to the other.

He whispers something, something so quiet I don't catch it.

I want to ask him to repeat himself but I don't get the time to when his lips crash onto mine. The action takes me by surprise but it's like he anticipated it as his arm that was holding my journal let go and surrounds my waist to replace my weakened legs that gave out on me to lean me against the desk.

With my eyes closed, I can only feel. Feel his lips against mine, soft and experienced but I sense that he hesitates testing the water maybe to see if I'm going to push him away.

I should, I want to.

I taste the remnant of mint, probably from a previous gum.

His lips leave mine and I open my eyes to make direct contact with his. I can barely see his irises with how dilated his pupils are.

My brain is on overdrive but no thought finds any conclusion. Every possible movement is blocked by my body frozen on the spot and every word I wish to say is replaced by an exhale.

I feel his hand, the one that was grazing the desk travels up my neck to rest on my cheek as his lips catch mine again.

His hand is warm like his lips and entraps me in a daze.

The haze in my head thickens and leaves me to nourish my urges like my desperate need to anchor myself as I let my notebook fall from my hand and grip the desk behind me letting my other hand grab his neck where the tip of my finger brushes against one of his locks and I decide instead to grip a handful of his curls.

The action brings a pleased hum from him and triggers my own when the arm that's wrapped around my waist tightens and my feet leave the floor as I feel myself being seated on my desk.

His lips don't leave mine as both his hand cradles my face before they follow my lead and travel up to entangle in my hair, stepping closer to me and standing between my legs.

One of his hands remains in my hair as the other brushes down to my neck and descends to brush my knee.

Lost in the feeling my hand grips his soft hair harder leading him to groan as I hum once again without having any control over my voice.

I feel his hand grab a handful of my thigh but the feeling is easily forgotten when I feel his teeth biting my lower lip with a sting that causes me to gasp. A gasp that gets cut off when his tongue swoops in and locks our lips back together.

I feel really hot and I can't think. I believe I'm gonna overheat when his hand travels up my thigh and I feel like a bucket of ice water is thrown onto me.

My eyes shoot open and the hand that was enjoying the softness of his curls joins my other hand that was gripping the desk to push him off me.

The push is so violent that he bumps against the desk right behind mine and needs to hold onto it to not fall as I slip off my desk.

The silence isn't noticeable as our heavy breathing fills the emptiness of the room.

All my senses crash on me and this time the fog in my brain is lifted leaving me in full control of my actions instead of a puppet to my urges.

He stands back up and stares back at me breathing heavily before wiping his mouth with his fingers letting them linger.

I mirror his action without thinking feeling my lips all plump.

What am I doing? Why did I do that?!

I just…made out with Mattheo Riddle?!

The heat that was possessing me turns cold as I frown.

That was stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

Thinking back to it my hand travels down to my skirt, tugging it down as my stare leaves his to stare into the void thinking back to everything.

Riddle is an opportunist and saw an opening. He took me by surprise and my body just reacted.

It was a mistake.

My eyes are probably the size of the sausage I'm supposed to be eating for lunch right now and that's when everything comes back to me.

How long have I been here? Has Luna waited for long? What time is it?

I came in here looking for my notebook.

My eyes focus back and I realize I need to get out right now. My eyes look back at his as he stands there just as frozen as I am. That's when I decide to make the first step looking down to spot my journal on the ground right beside my bag.

I quickly kneel down in a panic as his presence, with the knowledge of what just happened, makes me panic more and more the longer I stay here with him.

Clutching my bag I shove my book in there before scrambling to feel the outline of his wand as I see him in the corner of my eyes arranging his messed up hair.

The second my hand brushes against his possession I snatch it from my bag before stomping toward him and shoving his wand on his chest as he clutches it not breaking eye contact.

His hand mindlessly brushes against mine as he grips his wand and I snatch mine away as if he burnt me before shoving past him so fast I bump harshly into his shoulder out of the room leaving him there all alone to run toward the Great Hall like I should've done all along.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (16)

A Holy Sight

At long last, Arianwyn returns to King’s Landing.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: none

Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Emrys, Vermax, and Arrax were already saddled and waiting in the courtyard when Arianwyn, clad in her riding leathers, raced down the castle’s steps. Emrys immediately lurched forward to try and meet her, but the Dragonkeepers had long since learned their lesson and now had six monks holding his reins to keep him in place. He whined rather pitifully but perked up the moment Arianwyn laid a hand on his snout.

“Lentot jī, Emrys,” she whispered. “Jorrāelti gierȳti lua āmāzī.” We are going home, Emrys. We are going back to the people we love.

He whooped in response, crouching to allow her to mount more easily. She climbed into his saddle, fastening a satchel behind her. The majority of her belongings would be with Brynna and her guards on one of the ships leaving from Spicetown, but not this.

Not used to carrying any cargo beyond Arianwyn herself, Emrys tilted his head as he examined the small bag.

“Arlī mīsītsor, yno syt lo bē Dāro Vilinio māzissuty jonevīlun. Nūmia sepār landir sesīr,” she explained. The dragon looked from her to the bag, then back again, as if confused. “Vaogenkon rongondi jomīston āmāzīnna daor. Dāria yne tolī sȳrī gīmēdas.” Fresh clothes, for me to wear once we arrive. Jewels and shoes, too. I can’t make my return in dirty leather. The Queen taught me too well.

Emrys only huffed, and she imagined that if he could, he would roll his eyes.

The courtyard doors opened, and Rhaenyra and her family emerged. Arianwyn suppressed her smile and straightened her posture, refusing to look any of them in the eye. Though Jacaerys did try to catch her attention as he mounted. He’d been in a foul mood since dinner the night before. She didn’t have a single guess as to why, nor did she care to ask.

Once he and Lucerys were settled in their saddles, Rhaenyra approached, a sleeping young Viserys on her hip. She gave detailed instructions on how to get to King’s Landing and what they were to do from there, but Arianwyn did not listen. She did not even meet Rhaenyra’s gaze; instead, she focused on offering encouraging whispers to Emrys.

Why would she need instruction when she’d spent the last eight years dreaming of flying back?

Finally, Rhaenyra made her way toward the dock. She and Daemon would not fly to King’s Landing while she was heavily pregnant. Instead, they were to sail on the ship with their two young sons – Aegon and Viserys – and the servants and cargo.

Arianwyn was grateful for it. The last time she had flown across the Blackwater, Caraxes had nearly driven Emrys to madness for how close he followed. Today, they would fly free.

The sight of the shining red roofs of King’s Landing brought more comfort to Arianwyn than she had anticipated. How could simple tiles bring forth such a feeling of home?

While Vermax and Arrax dutifully flew straight for the Dragonpit, Arianwyn led Emrys in a wide circle before she landed, wanting to soak in as much of the city as possible before she was stuffed in a carriage with her stepbrothers. The sun was infinitely warmer than on Dragonstone, and while there was still the smell of salt coming off the sea, it was far more inviting than the fishy, wet brine she’d endured for so long.

The moment they landed, Emrys let out a joyful roar, overcome with excitement to finally be home. The Dragonkeepers never had the chance to take his reins, for as soon as Arianwyn dismounted, he scampered into the mouth of the Dragonpit, seeking his long-lost companions.

One of the young female Dragonkeepers allowed Arianwyn to use her room to change into her gown and stayed to help adjust the folds of the silk, straighten the braided silver and bronze chains of her necklace, and release the wind-blown tangles from her silver curls.

But when she finally climbed into the carriage, her stepbrothers were not impressed by her appearance.

“We’re going to be late because of you,” Jace complained, pounding the ceiling to signal their departure as he glared at her.

Arianwyn ran her eyes over his attire – a worn gray gambeson that made him look more like a squire than a prince. Luke wore the same. She shrugged and curled her lips in a saccharine smile. “At least I will look presentable when we reach the castle.”

He scoffed, “What do clothes matter? I am the future King, no matter what I wear.”

“What you wear can send a message,” Arianwyn replied, perhaps more curtly than was necessary. “For those of us who cannot speak so freely as a ‘future King,’ we must rely on more subtle methods to convey our opinions.”

“And what message does this dress send?” Jace asked with more venom than she’d heard before. He reveled in teasing her but had never truly sounded hateful toward her. Why did he do so now?

Luke repeatedly banged his forehead against the carriage window.

Perhaps Jace was angry because he understood the message she was trying to send and wanted her to say it aloud so he could have something to report to Daemon.

The elaborate, flowing gown was made entirely of the finest black and bronze silk brocade, with hundreds of tiny round beads made of blackened steel stitched into the bodice and sleeves, evoking the appearance of a set of pauldrons. Her jewels were entirely set in bronze, save for the single silver chain woven into her necklace – the same necklace Aemond had chosen for her on her thirteenth name day.

The ensemble practically screamed her message: I am not one of them.

But she could not say that. Not to Jace, who would immediately report what she said to Daemon. So she pursed her lips and gave a pretty lie, “It sends the message that I am a beautiful and civilized young woman. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Jace scoffed again and turned away from her, watching the pale stone of the city rush past them. For the rest of the ride to the docks, Arianwyn wore a self-satisfied smile, though she fiddled nervously with one of the stones on her necklace: a single, tear-shaped sapphire.

The mood in the carriage lightened significantly once Rhaena joined them. She was the only person who could ever create peace between Arianwyn and Jace.

She had not been permitted to bring Morning with her, as the long journey would have been difficult for the still-young hatchling. So, she talked ceaselessly about how much she missed the little pink creature, worrying that she would somehow miss all of his youth in the few days they would be gone. The others sympathized with her, and all tried to cheer her with stories of their dragons’ adolescence.

But silence fell once more when they rode into the courtyard of the Red Keep to find it all but empty. The king was not there to greet them, nor the queen, their children, or even any of the Small Council. Only Ser Steffon Darklyn was there to receive them.

“All hail Rhaenyra of House Targaryen,” he announced to no one but the regularly stationed guards and a handful of scattered servants, “Princess of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne, and her Royal Consort, Prince Daemon Targaryen.”

As she exited the carriage behind her siblings, Arianwyn watched the confusion on Rhaenyra and Daemon’s faces melt into anger. Obviously, the princess had been expecting something far more grand. Perhaps she expected it still, as she ordered the children into formation with a tilt of her chin.

Being his eldest child, Arianwyn should have been positioned just behind Daemon, with her younger half-sisters behind her. But she knew her true place. So she stood in the back, Rhaena and the two babes ahead of her.

But it did not bother her. Soon, she would be with her true family once more.

After long, awkward minutes of waiting in the chilly courtyard, the doors to the Red Keep finally opened. Only one man emerged, a lord that Arianwyn did not recognize. He approached Rhaenyra and gave a swift bow before taking her hands.

“Welcome back, Princess,” he said.

Rhaenyra stared back at him in disbelief. “Lord Caswell. Has something happened?”

They all glanced around the pitiful courtyard before Caswell answered. “I am afraid not, princess. Please, come with me.” He stood aside with a hand gesturing back toward the door. With a hefty sigh, Rhaenyra followed him into the Red Keep.

Arianwyn’s heart soared as she entered the familiar halls. Some things had changed, yes. New paintings and tapestries hung on the walls, and the Seven-Pointed Star had been carved above many thresholds. But still, it was home.

Lord Caswell brought them to a halt at the foot of the Grand Staircase. “Your petition shall be heard tomorrow, I am told,” he said. He leaned closer to Daemon and Rhaenyra, whispering something Arianwyn could not hear.

When he withdrew, Rhaenyra turned to her children. “Your father and I are to go see the king. We will meet you in our chambers later in the evening. But, for now, you have leave of the castle.”

Daemon stared directly at Arianwyn as he added, “I expect you will all behave yourselves and stay out of trouble.” She did not reply but held his gaze until he turned and went up the steps with Rhaenyra.

Rhaena ran off to find her sister. For a moment, Arianwyn did not know where to go. Her old rooms? The library?

But her choice was made when she heard Jace whisper to Luke. “Let’s go to the training yard. I want to see if that hole in the wall is still there.”

Of course, the training yard. Arianwyn’s heart skipped a beat as she shook off her shock at being in the Red Keep again. Where she wanted to go was not a place but a person. But the training yard would do for now.

For she knew that was where she would find Aemond.

It was difficult for her not to sprint down the hallways for her eagerness, but she kept her pace slow and herself far enough behind her stepbrothers that they did not notice her and eventually, their presence faded from her mind. A lightness spread through her body, and her fingers tingled ceaselessly until she clasped her hands together and squeezed.

Though it had been eight years since she had seen him, she still had letters from Aemond every day. He kept her appraised of everything that happened in the Red Keep so thoroughly that she sometimes felt as though she had never left. So why did she now find herself so nervous to see him?

She brushed off the question as she emerged into the light. Jace and Luke were already halfway down the stairs to the training yard proper while she continued straight on the rampart to the viewing platform where she and Helaena had always sat with their Septa and the King.

Her eyes were drawn downward when she heard the clanging of steel on steel, but she was left disappointed when she only found two identical men, whom she assumed to be the Cargyll brothers sparring. The yard was more crowded than she had ever seen, with dozens of lords and ladies gathering to watch the men practicing. Curious, she had rarely seen ladies below the ramparts before.

Before Arianwyn could consider it further, a flash of white caught her eyes. Her breath caught when she, at last, saw him.

Aemond.

Though he was turned away from her, she would know him even in darkness. But there he was, leaning over a display of weapons. In his letters, he had told Arianwyn that while he could hold his own with many different weapons, the simple longsword remained his favorite. Indeed, he forwent all the maces, hammers, and axes on the table before him and drew his sword from his belt.

Picking up a wooden shield, he stalked across the yard to meet Ser Criston, a crowd immediately gathering around them. Not wanting to lose sight of him, Arianwyn ran across the wall to get a better view.

Gods, he was truly a man now.

He stood several inches taller than Ser Criston, and though he was quite lean, an undeniable width to his shoulders revealed a great strength. But what most drew Arianwyn’s admiration was his face.

Beautiful was the only word Arianwyn could think of to describe him. The line of his jaw was severe, running parallel to the sharpness of his cheekbones. His nose was long and stately, and his lips seemed to hold a permanent mischievous grin. There was an intensity in his one eye, which was only amplified by the harshness of the scar that still ran across the left side of his face and the black leather patch covering where his eye had once been.

Arianwyn’s chest stung slightly not to see her sapphire, but it was quickly brushed aside when Aemond jumped up and down several times before crouching in an offensive position. Ser Criston mirrored the motion, and the fight began.

Cole moved first, swinging his morningstar at Aemond’s head. Arianwyn’s heart jumped as it came down, but Aemond had already moved, and the weapon crashed against his shield.

She hardly breathed watching them fight, at once terrified to see Aemond hurt and yet thrilled by the warrior he had become. He moved with the remarkable swiftness of a Dornish adder and the deadly grace of a Qohorik tiger. It was entrancing.

Arianwyn fought the urge to shout when Ser Criston once more brought his morningstar down on Aemond’s shield, shattering one side and forcing him down on one knee. But Aemond only tossed his shield out of the ring and rose, swinging his blade around the Kinsguard’s head twice.

When he feinted another swing, Cole fell for the bait, swinging wildly and throwing himself off balance just as Aemond spun out of the way and behind him. Cole was angry now, frustrated that he could not match his opponent’s speed. Aemond twirled his sword in a taunting flourish as the knight stalked around him, assessing his next move.

Cole struck left, and Aemond dodged. Cole followed the momentum of his heavy weapon and came back around to his right, but Aemond dodged again. Cole swung again and again, but each time, Aemond dodged him with ease.

When Cole began to shout as he raised his weapon to bring another wild swing down on the Prince, Aemond brought up his sword to meet it. The morningstar pulled Cole to the right, exposing his chest and neck. Aemond spun around him, keeping his good eye on his opponent, and brought the tip of his blade against Ser Criston’s neck.

Arianwyn shivered as an unfamiliar feeling swept through her and settled low in her stomach. It was nearly like the rush she felt whenever Emrys took a steep dive, but somehow different. After taking a moment to collect herself, she joined in on the applause.

Ser Criston dropped his morningstar and began to clap too, murmuring something Arianwyn could not hear atop the wall. Nor could she hear Aemond’s response as he lowered his sword back to his side and faced his nephews.

A shout came to open the gates, drawing the attention of all in the yard – except Aemond and Arianwyn. Neither noticed as Vaemond Velaryon strode in, surrounded by bannermen, giving a withering look to Lucerys as he passed. Aemond did not even notice the servant approaching to offer him a new shield.

For he had turned to look up at the wall, and there he found her.

As Aemond gazed upon Arianwyn for the first time in years, he thought that, surely, no other man had ever felt such joy. When she looked down on him from the rampart and blessed him with her glorious smile, he was certain of it.

He was a drowning man at last breaching the surface and taking a life-giving gulp of air. He was a man dying of thirst at last feeling the sweet taste of water upon his lips. He was a man whose heart had been bleeding for years without ceasing, healed in an instant simply by the holy sight of the woman he loved.

When he had first heard that Rhaenyra and the rest were coming to King’s Landing, he had not allowed himself to hope that Arianwyn would be with them. For if he had, and she were left alone on Dragonstone, he would not have been able to stop himself from flying to her rescue.

But thank the gods, he did not have to. She was here. She was safe. And she was perfect.

Her beauty far surpassed anything Aemond had been able to imagine. Her curling white hair fell in a wild, wonderful cascade down her back. Her plump cheeks and full lips were the deep, enticing pink of the finest Tyrell roses. And her eyes were as bright as polished silver, sparkling with their characteristic gleam.

Aemond brushed aside a servant who had approached him and ignored Cole’s attempts to begin another round of sparring entirely. Sliding his sword back into its sheath, he pushed through the gathered crowds toward the stairs. Seeing him approach, Arianwyn ran across the ramparts to meet him.

Even as he came to a halt a step below her, Aemond stood at least a head taller. He did not say anything as he faced her, breath heavy from both his fight and his rush up the steps. Then, lowering his eyes to her neck and her jeweled chain, he reached out a hand as if to grab it but stopped mere inches from her skin.

What if she wasn’t really here? He had imagined her beside him so often. What if this was just another illusion? What if he tried to touch her and only felt cold air?

“Aemond…” she whispered, for only him to hear.

Gods, he wanted her to be real. He wanted to kiss her. To take her in his arms and carry her to the Sept and wed her without hesitation. But he could not do that. He could not even move for the intensity of the hope and elation racing through his veins.

But he did not have to. Swifter than he could realize, Arianwyn threw herself into his arms, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck as she pressed her cheek to his. Real. She was real, and she was here.

Slowly, as his body remembered how, he brought his trembling arms around her, at last running his fingers through her silver curls. It took all his strength to remain standing.

“Aemond,” she whispered again, her breath warming his ear. “Aemond, I’m finally home.”

[mysticficti0n]

Hi B can you do something about if the TH boys were to walk-in while she was showering?? I feel it would be really funny

thank you ♥︎

BAHAHAHAHAHAH OMG YESSS

∞༺♥༻✧✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧✧༺♥༻∞　

Shower intrusion

warnings- swearing and thats about it

words- 990

Tom

Tom was sat round in the living room watching some stupid film on tv until the idea of going for a nice relaxing shower came to his mind, he knew Y/n was up stairs, he could hear her fucking music rattling off the walls so its perfect timing to go in and clean off whatever was on him from the day. He climbed up the stairs and saw his roommates door wide open with the speaker on 100 volume, he shook his head as he grabbed a towel from his dresser and walked to go to the bathroom, his hand twisted the door knob and he walked in and hot steamy air hit his face "TOM GET OUT!" a high pitched yell echoed on the tiled walls "FUCKING HELL Y/N!" he shouted back standing stunned as Y/n reached for the shower curtain to wrap around her body "well don't just fucking stare!" the girl growled seeing Tom's eyes widen with realisation to what he'd done- we all know where his little eyes drifted... "shit I'm sorry I thought you were in your room!" he argued looking to the ceiling trying to not think of her naked in front of him "I'll go now erm... enjoy?" Tom had never moved quicker in his life to leave the bathroom. Why was he such an idiot? Tom found himself sat back down on the sofa flicking through channels before a wet-haired Y/n came and stood before him- fully dressed in her Pj's may I add- he gave her a shy smile as she crossed her arms staring down at the slouched position he was in "bathrooms free now perv"

Bill

"I need to go take this bloody make-up off!" Bill groaned wiping his black eyes and seeing a huge dark smudge draw itself along his hand "ugh!" leaving the group down stairs he went to his room searching for the make-up wipes "come on where are they?" he pulled open every draw he owned swiping his hands over every surface he could reach but nothing Then he thought to check Y/n's room, she always had wipes stocked somewhere, he knocked the door and had no response, Bill opened the door slightly and saw a darkness filled room but a light shone from her bathroom, with a happy sigh he trudged in walking straight to the bathroom not noticing the sound of the taps being twisted off "Y/n I need some- OH FUCK I'M SORRY!" right in front of his eyes was a unsuspecting Y/n hurriedly wrapping her towel around her "why didn't you say something when you were walking in!" she laughed seeing the singer cover his eyes and spin back round "fucking idiot, you can turn around now" slowly Bill turned back to the girl seeing her fully covered with a clip holding her hair back "erm.. I need make-up wipes if you have any" his voice was quieter than before making Y/n chuckle and point to next to her sink "thanks and sorry... I don't know why I didn't thing you'd be in the shower" the boy quickly grabbed the wipes and ran back down stairs to fill in his bandmates about his encounter before wiping off his make-up

Georg

Georg was sweating like shit on a hot day after being outside helping set up the barbecue with Tom who couldn't seem to understand how to screw legs onto the main barbecue drum which oddly enough ended with a shoe mark stamped into it, with heavy steps he came up the stairs taking his shirt off and already unbuckling his belt his free hand pushing the bathroom door open as soon as the smell of vanilla and lavender filled his nose he regretted everything he did "shit sorry sorry!" he chanted walking back out closing his eyes making him close to smacking his head off the door "Jesus Georg you gave me a heart attack!" the girl called with a laugh, while the bassist stood with a thought fighting his way to the front of his mind, he opened the door slightly again and the scent of his shampoo washed over him "are you using my fucking almond shampoo?!" he yelled getting a suspicious 'no' from the girl "fucking hell Y/n out of everyone in this bloody house I didn't think you'd be nicking my shampoo! I wondered why it ran out so fast!" "look it makes your hair so shiny and smooth I was getting jealous!" Georg couldn't stop a laugh from leaving his lips "I'll buy you your own next time but don't use any more!" he warned walking to his own room to write a reminder 'get the shampoo stealer her own shampoo'

Gustav

"god my shoulders hurt so bad" the drummer grumbled rubbing the sore spot on his right side "ah- I need a shower, hot water helps" he spoke to the group sat with him as he turned to leave the room he thought he remembered Y/n saying she was going for a shower but surely she'd be out now? He made his way to the bathroom and pushed the door open and herd the small voice of Y/n singing a tune then "GUSTAV LEAVE!" the boy was brought back as he attempted to run out the room but it turned out to be more of a stumble as he smacked into the wall outside "SORRY Y/N!" he yelled slamming the door shut while slapping himself in the face trying to forget the image on Y/n with suds falling down her body, how long was he looking? "why does nobody in this goddamn house knock doors before they enter?" the girl shouted with a grunt making him laugh and her angriness, he'd make it up to her- maybe buying a door lock? "Gustav I know you're still outside" he snickered walking back down stairs with a red tint across his face "oopsie" he giggled