#cradling his soft cheeks… kissing his forehead softly… his soft white hair tickling your face… GULPS

[gothsuguru]

“but they cradled me, yes?” yeah that’s definitely gojo… he knows you’ve killed for him and bloodied your hands for him with a smile on your face… he knows none of the people you’ve killed weigh heavy on your heart because at the end of the day, as long as he’s safe and happy… well that’s all you care about. bloodied devotion to gojo… gonna be thinking about that for a WHILE……………………

[crushmeeren]

AMORTENTIA WITH A TWIST 𓍲𓍲

⋆ ft. gojo satoru ⋆ ⋅˚₊‧ FEM READER‧₊˚ ⋅

..⃗. master list link

Spicy cinnamon.

Mouth watering, freshly baked pastries.

Sugary and saccharine vanilla icing.

Cinnamon rolls, Satoru realizes with a start. You smell like hot out of the oven fucking cinnamon rolls when you walk in the front door, and his stomach flips, the muscles in his lower abdomen clenching.

Satoru swallows drily and he runs his mouth before his brain catches up, blurting the first thing that comes to mind.

“You smell.” He winces.

He watches as your head whips towards where’s he’s perched on the couch, eyebrow arching with a roll of your eyes as you toe off your shoes. Satoru tries to plaster on a playful smile but he knows his gaze is heated, intense.

Satoru’s voice takes on the familiar teasing lilt it always does. “Silly me! You smell good enough to eat baby. Is that a new perfume you’re wearing?”

You pad towards him, socked feet silent on the wooden flooring and the cinnamon scent so thick he can almost taste it on the back of his tongue. His grin stretches even further when you come to stop between his spread legs.

“No, it’s not technically a perfume. One of the girls at work got their hands on some sort of love potion experiment. Apparently the scent changes based on what’s important or attractive to the wearers object of affections. Someone spilled some on me and I came home early to change,” you complain, nose scrunching in irritation. “I can’t even smell anything.”

“Oh how sweet! Am I the object of your affections? Your lover? Your sweet and handsome husband?”

You cross your arms over your chest and huff through your nose. “Of course that’s all you focus on. What if it had been something dangerous?”

Satoru’s fingers curl in the edge of your shirt and tug gently, lower lip pushing out.

“But it didn’t.”

“You’re unbearable. At least tell me what I smell like to you?”

“Curious sweetheart?” He pulls at your shirt like a child asking for attention until you take the hint and straddle his lap, arms circling your waist and guiding you to lean into his chest. “Cinnamon rolls,” he says dreamily and nuzzles at your throat. His lips tickle your skin and a familiar warm lust lights up in his belly when you sigh.

“Cinnamon rolls?” You settle your elbows on his shoulders and tangle your fingers in soft, snowy white hair, scratching gently at his scalp.

“Yeah… like the ones you brought back for me after your mission last winter.”

“That’s what you’re attracted to? Cinnamon rolls?” You ask incredulously, leaning your forehead on his temple.

“I had forgotten how shitty it was to be alone,” he says softly. “When you came home, I realized just how much you fill my heart. Whenever I smell cinnamon rolls, I remember how the for the first time in years, I was truly happy.” Satoru hugs you even tighter as he confesses.

You pull back to frame his face with your hands, staring at him with what equates to literal hearts in your eyes, and Satoru bites the inside of his cheek, toes curling in his socks.

He’s certain he could melt into a puddle underneath you and his cock twitches at the thought, filling steadily out against his thigh. He grips your hips and tightens his fingers in an effort to not tear your clothes off.

Yet.

Your words are sincere and adoring when you whisper, “I love you, Satoru.”

Satoru is fucking gone.

He cradles the back of your head and wrenches you down into a bruising kiss, absolutely shameless in the way he pushes his tongue into your mouth and moans like a whore.

You even taste like sugary icing and he has the strongest urge to devour you — or let you eat him alive. He’s not sure which will win out.

All Satoru can focus on is wrestling you both out of your clothes and getting your tight, velvet like pussy to sink down on his achy cock. You cry out, sitting down a bit too eagerly and your forehead knocks into his. Satoru lets out a shaky breath and inhales even sharper as a moan tries to crawl out of his throat.

The spicy scent of cinnamon makes his mouth water and then he’s digging his fingers into the backs of your thighs and forcing you to bounce up and down on his thick cock, biceps flexing in an effort to lift you quickly and letting his hips thrust upwards to meet you.

You push Satoru into the back of the couch and follow him as he goes, bracing your palms on his sweaty chest and riding him until you’re both sent spiraling into white hot pleasure that rushes through your limbs.

Later, when you’ve gone to bed and showered off the spilled experiment, you’re curled into your husband’s chest and he softly exhales, ruffling your hair.

“Baby, you should really get your friend to give you a bottle of that love potion.”

You hum noncommittally and half heartedly punch him in the stomach, causing Satoru to wheeze in laughter.

“Or I could just bring you more cinnamon rolls, idiot.”

“That works too.”

[love-daesy]

Three instead of two fingers run along his forehead, down the bridge of his nose and up to his forehead again – leaving stripes in the color of the sun on the places they've touched. Black follows soon after, drawn along the existing yellow lines, mirroring the path of the bioluminescence freckles on his cheekbones (though painted along them, not over them since it is considered sloppy for paint to interfere or cover the bioluminescent markings of man or animal). Index and middle finger dip into the almost gooey yellow substance again to draw a straight line from his lower lip down to his chin – the corners of his mouth turn up, a beautiful smile gracing his features. You feel something brush along your right leg, creeping its way up until it wraps around your thigh – his tail, pulling you closer by a few inches. Either of you are aware of the implication the next drawn lines will hold, of the changes Tsu'tey took in the iconography of his war paintings so that you could be part of it, included like you were included into the clan and became one of the people a few nights ago.

Tsu'tey takes the bowl of white paint and holds it infront of you. He gives you an encouraging smile as you let both of your hands be covered in the color of his bioluminescence freckles, before carefully placing them on his pectorals. You look up at him shyly and ask: "Like this?"

"Yeah.", he whispers, softly like the dayspring upon morning, when the moon sleeps and the stars rest to let the sun be the brightest one in the sky, so it can shine its light on every being like a breath of fresh air. "Yeah, Like this", he says again, a calloused blue hand gently taking hold of your left wrist, squeezing it, pushing it harder against the place where his heart is – the corners of his mouth lifting into a big, mushy grin that makes the inside of your stomach feel like every butterfly in the world has moved there.

"I love you, yawntu.", you gasp and he catches it in his mouth. You´ve never – he never sai–

It´s soft, so impossibly soft, more of a peck than a kiss and ends way too soon. The hand not holding yours to his heart, which has started beating very fast, cradles the back of your head, fingers carding through your hair. His nose brushes along your forehead, down your temple, eventually nudging your own and rubbing the tip of his nose against yours affactionately. You feel a few lone tears run down your cheeks when you finally reciprocate, a whispered I love you too that he also catches in his mouth. Warmth consumes you as you lean into the kiss. His lips undeniably smooth against your own, his tongue asking for entrance which you easily allow. You feel a soft tickle of his breath, fingers still carding through your hair as you breathe each other in.

"I wanted to say it first.", you say dejectedly after it all ends, a puff of a chuckle hitting the top of your head. "We can say it too each other all the time, there´s no competition." You feel the vibrations of his words on you and bury your face into his chest, arms curling aorund him.

"I love you, Tsu'tey.", you mumble into his chest and he purrs and it´s like a soft whisper that soothes ones troubled mind.

"And I love you, ma´yawntu.", he mumbles into the crown of your head and you laugh and it´s like a gentle breeze that sweeps away life´s worries.

–

You still blush in the colour that his love gives you everytime your gaze lands on his pectorals – on the war painting, though a little smudged now, and the hands, your hands, that are adorning it. Small in comparision to the two Na´vi hands normally decorating almost his entire upper body. Eywa, how you feel blessed to be allowed to take part in this ceremonial undertaking, blessed to be allowed to live here on this alien planet, blessed to have found the one for you.

If you’re wondering, I’ve changed my name from fixmyfeathers to love-daesy. <3

[raibebe]

D-1 Hybridverse

Genre: fluff Words: 1.049 Prompt: samoyed hybrid Jeno x female reader Warnings: none

A/N: Day six of Jeno’s birthday celebration! I mean technically it's already his birthday in korea but we're going with my timezone because time math is exhausting. Anyways. Happy birthday to the man who sneaked his way into my heart and simply won't leave.

previous< | Jeno birth celebration | >next

“Pups…” You softly called into the room Haneul and Aerum were sharing. “Hey,” you smiled when you saw your son slowly blinking his eyes open. “Morning, Mommy,” he yawned, pulling his blanket tighter around himself, a small smile on his face. “Good morning, baby boy,” you greeted him back, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead and ruffling his bed hair before you sat down on his sister’s bed, gently tickling her body beneath the blanket. “Get up, sleepyhead. Come on,” you laughed when you felt her squirm around and her soft giggling reached your ears, “Let’s get up so we can make breakfast for Daddy.” “Is it time?” Haneul asked, his eyes wide as he trotted over to squish himself into your side. “It’s Daddy’s birthday today,” you confirmed, pressing another kiss to your son’s forehead. “Come on, Aerum, we need to prepare!” He immediately perked up, shaking his still cocooned sister until she started to struggle and kick at the blanket. “Shut up, you’re so annoying,” she whined, finally showing her impressive bed hair, her big white Samoyed ears standing out strong against the dark color of her hair. 

“Hey, no arguing,” you scolded your pouting children, “We have a mission to get done.” “Breakfast!” Aerum exclaimed, quickly shedding the rest of her blanket to expose her stark white tail as well that was wagging wildly as she flung herself into your arms. “Yes, baby,” you laughed, cradling the toddler to your chest. “I prepared some stuff already, so we can get started right after you’ve gone to wash up, okay? But you gotta be quiet or Daddy will wake up.” “I can be quiet,” Haneul immediately assured you, his voice barely audible. “I know, baby,” you smiled, getting up and holding out your hand that you didn’t need to secure Areum to your chest for him to grab, “Let’s go get you washed up and dressed and then we’ll make some pancakes and maybe some eggs if you want to.” “Can we make small sausages as well?” Your son asked with big puppy eyes that he had perfected for years already. “Yes, we can,” you immediately gave in, squeezing his small hand to see him smile that smile you adored so much on his dad but even more when it stretched your son’s chubby cheeks. 

Making breakfast in a quiet manner with a five-year-old and a three-year-old turned out to be harder than you had thought it would be. Especially if your three-year-old was being extra clingy and your five-year-old had already too much excess energy after emptying his cup of milk. “Sshh,” you scolded Haneul for the umpteenth time when he was laughing loudly at how he was decorating the pancakes for his dad. There was absolutely no way Jeno wasn’t awake at this point with his superior hearing but you hoped that he’d just stay in bed and would act surprised when your kids would go to wake him up. “Mommy?” “What is it, baby?” “Can we go wake up Daddy already? Wanna show him my drawing,” Aerum asked quietly from her spot on the counter where she was attentively watching you flip the pancakes over, adorably reminding you whenever the batter started to bubble that you needed to flip it over or it would burn. “You think it’s time?” You smiled, taking a peek at the pile of pancakes you had already made and the small sausages in the other pan. Your daughter just nodded enthusiastically, holding out her arms so you could help her down from the counter. “Okay, go grab your brother and your presents. I’ll meet you at the door.” Watching your babies running off as quietly as a toddler and a small child could while holding their tiny hands and with their white tails wagging behind them absolutely warmed your heart. Smiling to yourself, you placed the last pancake onto the stack and plated the small sausages Haneul had insisted on making before you turned on the coffee machine for a much-needed cup of hot coffee. 

You were pretty sure this would be the highlight of your day, if not the whole month: Both Haneul and Aerum were staring at the closed door of your bedroom with wildly wagging tails and their artworks clutched in their small hands. It was so adorable you had to hold in your urge to coo at them and squish their baby cheeks. Your phone at the ready and recording a video for safekeeping, you carefully opened the door, revealing your seemingly asleep husband but his twitching ears and the smile on his face already gave him away. But those signs of course went way over your pups’ heads as they bolted into the room, screaming happy birthday and jumping onto their father. “You scared me!” Jeno exclaimed loudly, teasingly tickling his giggling babies. “Happy birthday Daddy!” Haneul simply screamed again, pulling out the last syllable as his voice climbed up into a little howl that he was working so hard on until it would be perfect. “Happy birthday!” His sister joined in, her ability to howl not as polished as her brothers was. But to make up for it, she threw her little arms around her Daddy’s neck to hug him tightly. “Thank you, baby,” he smiled brightly, his eyes curling into crescents as he pressed kisses to whichever part of her head he could reach, reveling in her little giggles. “Where’s your Mommy, huh?” “Here,” you smiled, turning off the recording to walk up to the bed as well. “Happy birthday, love.” “Eeeew!” Haneul screeched when you leaned down to press a sweet kiss to your husband’s lips. “You little demon, watch it or you get all the kisses as well,” you laughed, climbing onto the bed as well to catch a squirming Haneul in your arms, pressing a very loud kiss to his cheek. “Me too, me too,” Aerum demanded, earning herself a big smooch from her father. Happily laughing, Jeno lovingly nuzzled against her until she joined in, bonking her head against his. “Now where are my presents?” He laughed, grabbing his babies so they both could sit on his lap, explaining their drawings to him with bright eyes and widely gesturing hands, their tails softly thumping against the mattress.

[spikesbimbo]

Paring: Aone x f!reader

Summary: wet dream, or not?

Tags: dilf!aone, housewife!reader, sleepy late night sex, spooning, daddy kink, soft sweet sex, creampie,

wc: 1.6k

a/n:  Aone is 38, reader is 24 bc i said so

part of the dilf collab

18+ minors dni

-

“Thank you honey.” he muttered, wiping the sweat of his forehead, wanting to kiss those lips of yours so bad, but not wanting to get your precious skin dirty, and the way his coworkers were looking at the two of you meant he already had it coming.

Wondering how he got such a pretty thing, knowing you had to be at least half his age. Your pretty smile brightening the area around you as you clung onto his arm, having no shame in your affection for him. The constant teasing was worth it though if it meant he got to come home to you every night.

Grabbing the lunch out of your hands that he forgot this morning after you gave him a ‘good morning kiss’ before he left. Calling him saying you would bring it to him after seeing the box wrapped in the fabric laying on the counter, convincing him instead of buying snacks from the convenience store. 

Your sundress blowing in the wind that must feel so good to him right now, not wanting his eyes to leave you as you unfortunately had to go. Looking at the scruff on his face after not shaving this morning because you made him run late, the way his arms barely fit around his white shirt, the soft smile he gave you as his fingers were tracing your hand had you swooning. 

Muttering out a quick thank you again as he was about to turn around before you got on your toes meeting his lips with yours, seeing that they were minding their own business now,  just wanting some affection from your husband as earlier wasn't enough.

Catching him off guard as he gave in, a tint appearing on his cheeks, not embarrassed, never because of you, but because of him. The fact that your pretty little self was with him had people turning their heads, purposely going out of your way to show everyone the ring on your left hand. Being so proud that you had him, as he was with you.

Giggling as you left him there frozen, blowing him a kiss as you started walking away. The wind feeling cool on your skin as you walked home, mind still racing with him like he was the only thing you knew. 

__________________

Resting your head on the pillow, legs propped up on the couch, eating the takeout after he texted you he'd be home late so you didn't have to worry about him. Heart slightly cracking when you read the words, understanding as you knew his job had weird hours, this not being the first time it's happened. 

Eyes getting heavy as you watched the tv under the dim lights, the food growing cold as you haven't touched it in a while, resting on the table beside the vase of flowers he got you the other day. Head hurting as you laid down, eyes quickly closing after being tired doing nothing but waiting for him all day, vision quickly growing black. 

Waking up to your husband's touch, shifting in his hold as he carried you to the bedroom. Laying you down as he changed his clothes, quickly getting into bed with you. Your warm weight clinging onto him as a natural instinct, letting out a quiet groan as you realized you were snuggling into his chest, turning your face up while blinking slowly at him.

“What time is it?” You asked uncurling yourself from him.

“9:14.”

“You just got here?” You asked, missing the usual “Honey, I’m home.” as you were knocked out.

He knew you were gonna worry about him, as your sweet self did. Whispering softly into your ear as his hands wandered down to your sides, soothingly rubbing them trying to get you to go back to sleep. “Yeah...i just got back.”

The pout of your face said enough as you moved yourself up to be face to face with him. “You need to take a break baby. c'mere”

Pulling him into your chest, sighing as he let you. Thinking it was cute to be scolded by someone whose face was still puffy from just waking up. Slightly smiling as you refused to move your arms even though he could easily get out.

“You okay, shoulders hurt?” you asked running your fingers through his stress induced graying hair, only being able to tell up close due to the white hiding it. Massaging his temples, relaxing his muscles as the embedded frown on his face disappeared.

“Yeah, the usual.” 

Mumbling out “shouldn't be” under your breath as your arms brought him closer into you, wrapping your legs sound his waist, using him like the teddy bear he was. Eyes quickly falling shut at the feeling of his arms engulfing you, running his fingers down your back.

Your senses are hyper aware, sensitive at the slightest touch. Almost overwhelming as your half awake brain takes its time to feel everything. His chest rising against your back, a mewl escaping your lips, shivering at the ghost of his touch.

Unknowingly rolling your hips into his slack body, minding racing with thoughts of him pushing your ankles to your ears. The feeling is unbearable – pussy clenching as you tighten your thighs, an audible whine breaking you out of your trance, along with him.

“You need me love?” his voice hoarse with sleep muttered out. To be honest he was awake at your first movement, still resting his eyes knowing that you move around when you sleep, but when he heard you let out muffled whines he felt awful knowing that he was the cause.

“Y-yea, i-m’sorry daddy” your pitiful voice breaks his heart, so needy that his name didn't even exist in your mind anymore. His brain all foggy trying to formulate a sentence.

“Daddy ain't been payin enough attention to you to the point of you dreaming about it? M’sorry baby” he cooed sliding up his shirt off your waist, tugging your panites down, feeling needier as ever as you rocked your hips.

“M-m’sorry” you whimpered out, ashamed that you greedily woke him up just for your own need, hiding your face in the pillow as his fingers worked their way down to your poor little cunt, so neglected. Your fingers feeling nothing like his cock.

“Shh baby, s’okay let daddy take care of you.” his hot breath whispered into your ear, sending shivers down your spine while catching your made up protests with his fingers rubbing lazy circles on your clit. “S’my job honey.”

His big frame resting behind you put you at ease as his arm resting under you wrapped its way around your waist, pushing up the shirt even more. Calloused warm hands resting on your tummy as his sleepy eyelashes fluttered on your neck.

“n-nobu… please…” you begged, bit-down nails scratching at his forearm, body working against your mind as you tried to push his hand away.

His voice was raspy as he groaned, giving you what you wanted, never being able to tell his baby no. Warm hands picking up your thigh enough to slide himself in, your lips parting, whimpers coming out as he pulled you down on his cock. 

“Here, Baby. It’s okay… just relax…” he softly groaned as you complied, not wanting to upset him. Letting your body be limp as he started to rock his hips back and forth, 

“There's my good girl, lemme do the work, okay sweetheart? You did such a good job, let daddy take over.” He mumbled into your shoulder as his arm wrapped around you tighter, pulling you to his chest.

Eyes opening fully, the dim alarm light shining on your body covered in a sheen of sweat. You loved how easily he could make you feel good, even on the verge of sleep, warm and quiet in the early hours of the morning. All it took was him mumbling out some praise and the feeling of your cervix getting gently bruised to cum.

“That’s it, baby, god you’re so tight…..I’m gonna cum, love.”

Moving faster as your shared orgasm built, his balls swelling as you tightened around him, panting out. Tongue lolling as silent moans left your mouth, clenching around him more as further around him as he chased your pleasure.

“Y-yeah… fuck… I’m g- gonna, cum, please… nobu. d-daddy please.” you begged, voice cracking as moans interrupted your words.

The feeling of his heat against your back, being completely helpless at his pace, taking him further and further to his release. Vision going black as your eyes rolled back, body shaking as he thrust himself deeper, pleasure overtaking your body as his cum was fucked into you, gasps escaping your mouth. Your body tingling as he finally let you come down from your high.

The weight of your leaning on his arm, the softness of your skin as he rested his head there. Nothing bothering him if you were in his arms, not feeling this at ease in almost a month, the only thing that mattered was cradled against his body. 

“You’re good baby. S’okay, just relax now.”

A small hum left your lips as you pushed yourself into him more. Feeling so comfy and safe here, relaxed against his bare chest, his thick cock stretching you out even soft. Letting yourself relax in his hold as you collapsed next to him.

The room is quiet besides your small breaths growing fainter, the wet sound of his lips against your shoulder, feeling his messy hair tickle you. Your eyes are closed but his aren't, looking at you with a faded look of fondness, head curling into your neck.

He felt the moment you passed out again, your chest rising lighter. Worn out, all the tension drained from you what little tension had remained in him. The only way he could fully rest was with you in his arms, curling into him as he held you tight, nothing was even worth thinking of besides you.

[mochikeiji]

Come Home

↠ Pairing: Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

↠ Warning: anxiety attacks, pregnancy, manga spoiler! chapter 91 (for those who have not read)

↬ Word Count: 2k

If death was giving you a sign at this very moment, it would be the cold ticks each second the clock on your empty apartment room echoed. Each second comes an outbursts of numerous emotions. On the first tick sent shivers on your skin, the second felt like small pricks of hair slowly rose up as goosebumps followed after, third was the frantic tapping of your foot on the carpeted floor as you bounced your leg.

On the outside, you would've been labelled as overreacting. On the inside, you were slowly dying.

As of now time felt like a never ending torture. It was a tug of war between trust in your husband or the one in your gut; a battle between mind and heart, to whom should you choose to believe in? How long do you plan on standing at the edge of the cliff not knowing the faith that has been laid out for you and the most powerful shaman? To whom do you concede to?

A critical position for you to be in. If Gojo were here beside you, not only would you have to wince at the feeling of his finger flicking your forehead, but also a round of uncharacteristic scolding about how bad it is to be stressed out or anxious because of the growing life inside of you. Well, none of this wouldn't have happened if he didn't left. But as all married couples are out there, you are one of the majority that did not want to tie their partners down from what they were meant to do. Especially if your partner is the most needed person in the world.

You couldn't tell him not to go out. Not out there on the field you've come to grow as a sorcerer yourself. The deaths of your fallen comrades and innocent civilians, the demands of the elders and powerful clans. Most of all, being part of the theatre death had directed. No one knows who'd be next to live another day or to be at forever slumber. And your husband was one of the main casts in this scene. Someone who'd always be near death's door only to keep taunting the horrifying God.

It was all fun and games before. It was either ride or die with Gojo during your youthful days. But as time progressed, and the upcoming family you both had dreamed of was at its peak, from that moment every thing came crashing down. It wasn't hormones anymore. It wasn't simple.

You were beyond terrified.

"Please come home."

Not even realizing you were already kneeling down from the couch you were seated, hands clasps together hard, the veins prodding out as if they were going to pop. A silent mantra of pleads to the unknown world you were stuck in. Chest heaving harshly, tears and snot mixing as they fell down the cushions. You didn't feel them. You couldn't see anything.

There was no way to describe the gaping hole that had swallowed you to your deepest depths of fear.

"Come home, Satoru.."

Was the last thing that had been uttered out from your lips before the dark hushes turned into soft cooes. The once imaginary prickly like nails that was scraping your body changed into gentle strokes on your back and onto your bulging stomach.

If there was no way to describe your fears, what is there to be said for the immense heart break of your own husband coming home to see you knelt down with cascading despair written all over your features? The image of the cheery, and powerful woman he's had of you now haunted by what he had came home to.

Though Gojo never had the brightest personality to everyone, he would trade every thing he has if it meant for you to be pulled out from where he had dragged you in.

He knew from the start loving you would mean a lot. You were every thing he wanted and yearned for in life. The love he always came home to. Cursing his naive self of erasing the fact that you were only human.

You had your limitations and this was it.

"Hey, wifey, shhh." the warmth of his breath next to your ear made you choke a sob. Having his body shield your smaller one from behind with his hands now trapping your still clasped ones. "I'm here, I'm not going any where. Not now or ever." his white hair tickling the side of your cheek as he rubbed the side of his face onto the your tear stained ones. If there was one thing everyone knew he was good at, it was being overly affectionate. Not that you'd complain.

His thumbs massages the back of your hands, smoothing down the veins in hopes of easing your grip. He should probably thank Yuuji for passing out hours ago, if not he'd be still stuck training the young lad and have you deal with this torment possibly longer. Even so, he was glad he had manage to finish up early. At your 7 month of pregnancy he wouldn't dare take longer. He didn't like being away, he never did. Always cursing at those who demand his presence. All he wanted was to stay home with you.

Home where everything is safe.

"Let's get you up, kay? May I carry you?" it was a shock on how uncharacteristically cautious he's become ever since your pregnancy. No one knew the Gojo Satoru knows when to tone it down on situations. It was all heart warming, you wanted to cry.

You gave him a small nod, feeling your body hoisted up from the floor and nested on top of his lap with ease. Never failing to amaze you how you managed to marry this man. The man you'd devotedly pray to the heavens would come back to you alive.

As his arms finally settled on your waist, moving at an upward then downward motion, he rubs your sides. Slowly coming to the globe of your stomach with a soft hum, he watches you deeply with a soft gaze behind his interfering blindfold.

Sighing shakily, you shifted your position a bit to the side, allowing yourself to lean your cheek on his left pectoral, listening to the rhythm his heart beat, sobs died down into sniffles and hiccups. You twiddled with his fingers placed on your stomach. The anxiety inside you barely disappeared, but tamed for the moment.

A light peck on your forehead was placed, snapping you back from the little world that had consumed you, down back in the arms of your beloved husband as he smiles and wipes away the left over tears, "Hi there, honey."

Focused on the warmth his palm emits, you reached out over his covered eyes, sliding away the blindfold, freeing the captivating azure gaze he possesses as they held nothing but love piercing back to your teary ones. His hair framing his adorning features, yet so perfect and lively he was smiling at you. The image of this man you wanted to wake up to every day. To welcome, to smile with, to live, and to love.

"Satoru.."

Cupping your cheeks in worry, the serene peace disappearing from him when his brows furrowed with his lips frantically hushing you. Parental instincts kicking in as he eyed your stomach in wonder how your dear child was holding up with the mountain of negative emotions crowding you, "Honey, you need to stay calm. Our little bun in there might have trouble baking you know?" he whispered close to your lips, foreheads leaned onto yours.

"Oh, Satoru." a broken smile formed from your quivering lips, "You're home, you're home." thumbs coming close to stroke his lids softly down to his cheeks. Fragile, that's how you'd describe yourself in touching your husband. Every day from the moment you lived with him are days you two cannot be separated from each other's lingering touches. Even so, on those days it still felt like it was too good to be true to have each other embraced away from the terrors of the world.

"I'm home, I'm home." sealing away your sobs with his lips to yours, letting you feel all of his emotions and unspoken vows within the action of only you two could share forever. The love he never knew he was capable of only for you and your child to be gifted of.

"I'm scared." pulling away as you shut your eyes. The dark hushes returning, coming back to haunt you of what is in store for tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, and so on. The strings attached upon you two, unknowing who was in control of your faiths. "Satoru, I'm scared. Please don't go anymore."

Confessing all of your troubles, he tightens his hold around you. Not a chance, he curses in his head would he allow himself to be defeated so easily and submitting himself to the awaiting gates of death.

"What if you don't come back to me anymore?"

Not a chance, was he going to die after happiness is just within his reach. Longing for something so surreal his entire life. He wasn't going out without having a taste of the sweetness of he now calls home in his life. Not ever. Not when he knows he's the strongest and will continue to reign as he is.

"Honey loves, I'll always come home to you." a vow he seals with the gaze he has locked with yours. The golden band that was proudly worn on his finger from his left hand above your stomach, "I'll always come home to you both, my sweet loves." a vow for only the two people in his life that kept him going. He will always keep his word by heart.

Though it was known that it wasn't enough to fully assure you. The comfort of today was much appreciated and needed for you to finally sigh out one last bit of the sadness, and giving him a teary smile.

"I love you, Satoru."

A melodic sound his heart would crave for every day. Definitely another thing worth coming home if he could hear it again and again.

Smiling mischievously, he reciprocates the feeling by stealing another one of your kisses whilst cradling your body and stomach. He wonders how long would it take for your baby to come meet him. He could hardly wait anymore.

"I love you more."

Was the last thing he had said before his eyes shut close to bask in the warmth and safety of his domain. His and yours little domain. One day to be shared with either a mini you or him between your arms, erupting small giggles into the air.

He couldn't wait to come home to that very day.

Not to wake up another second.

Or was it a minute?

An hour?

He couldn't tell. For time was unpredictable inside the realm he was kept imprisoned.

"Oh, another dream."

An old memory he has with you over months ago.

A breathy chuckle comes out. Was it another thing to mock him of his moment of weakness? Where he could do nothing but lay down and wait for he knows nothing of what could and what was happening?

His bones were on fire. The caged rage inside of him waiting to be freed as he could hear the cackles of his own enemies having to won over him.

"Come home to me."

No, they have not.

The fight was still going. He knows deep down as his faith on his beloved students remains strongly as his love and promises to you. Somehow, some way, he will get out. Like before, time is the enemy. He could only hope that you're holding up for the mean time. It was only matter of time you would be giving birth as well.

And he wasn't planning on missing out the biggest part of his life.

Nor was he planning on letting his enemies run free easily. They were going to pay.

He was going to pay.

"I'm coming home. Wait for me."

Thus begins the string of faith as every thing is set into motion.

© all content belongs to mochikeiji. Please do not repost or copy, ありがとうございました!! (=^･^=)

[plush-rabbit]

Peaches and Cream

Warnings: Mommy Kink, Lactation Kink

Word Count: 5.1K

A/N: I,,, was not going to post this here so who knows maybe when im rested I’ll probs delete this,,, i wanted to make him cry a bit and be needier than the first one i posted

Tomura Shigaraki stands under the showerhead, warm water running down his body and making his hair stick to his skin. His body is sore, joints that ache and scream the longer that he stands with his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes closed and nostrils flaring as he tries to keep a control over his breathing. His hand pumps at his shaft, quick movements that drag as the water acts as lubricant, thin, watery strands spill from his slit and fall onto the tile where it disappears. He shudders, a shiver coursing through his body as he reaches his high, a low whimper muffled by his lips as he can feel the orgasm inch closer with every movement. He whines and bucks his hips, his grip tightening around him as he humps himself against his palm, hissing with every thrust, releasing his bottom lip to let his tongue loll out, pupils dilated as he can feel the heat course through him, burning and making him grunt your name in passionate whispers, slurring together and water slides down the bridge of his nose, dripping off the tip and onto the back of his hand and he whines, chest heaving as he moan your name, muscles clenching together and pulling taut as his right leg jerks with spasms. Thick, white discharge spills from him, spurting out as he gives himself a few more pumps, shaky and weak, watching with hazy vision as it dribbles out and splats onto the tile, mixing in with the soap suds that are fluffy white and iridescent bubbles. 

He rolls his tongue over where his teeth have indented into his skin, watching as his length bobs, jerking with every touch as he wipes himself clean. The deep red has faded into a soft pink, glistening with water and with a hesitant hand he wraps his hand over himself, whining and bucking his hips at the sensitivity. He lets out a shaky breath, toes curling as he can feel another orgasm close in on him.

A sharp knock on the door makes him hiss, wrapping his hand tighter around him. “Tomura?” You call, voice muffled by the door. “Are you okay in there, sweetheart?” His hips buck at the affectionate name. “I heard my name.”

“I need-” his voice cracks- “my towel.” He gives himself another pump, the warm water slowly turning cold and chilling down his back. “Please.”

“Of course,” you reply and he can hear your steps fade as you rummage around the room for a towel. 

He lets out a shaky breath of relief and wipes his hands away, taking a step away from the drain where the suds had pooled around and slowly disappeared. The cool water lowers his heat, makes him flaccid. The fear that he had done something makes him jittery, shaky as he turns off the water and stands in the cold for a few seconds, water dripping from the showerhead and his body in untimely rhythms that make him all too focused on one thing, missing the warning that you give and when the door opens, his name on your tongue, he yelps.

“Shit-” he shakes his head and pulls the shower curtain aside- “no, no, sorry,” he waves off your apologies and holds his hand out. “I wasn’t paying attention.” The towel is dry and fluffy, a pure white that dries his skin. He sneaks a glance at you and turns his head. “Thank you.”

You take a step closer to him and take the towel from his hands, holding it in yours as you take his face, cradling it in towel covered hands and patting him dry. You give him a soft smile as you curve your hand and dry behind his ears. 

“What made you so distracted?” You ask, wiping gently under an eye, a smile titling your lips as you see his face flush. “Lower yourself,” you mumble and he does as he’s told, letting out a breath through his nose as you dry his hair. “So?” You press further tapping him on the shoulder when you're done, moving down to his arms.

“Just,” he trails and licks at his lips, “thoughts.” He raises an arm and blinks as you take a hand and gently pat it dry, rolling the towel between each digits, bringing his hand up to your lips and pressing soft kisses against his fingertips. “You don’t have to dry me,” he mumbles, lightly tapping at the tile, water splashing softly. 

“You’re always too rough with yourself Tomura.” You drop his arm and grab at the other, the towel brushing lightly against the scarred skin, repeating the process and gently brushing your lips over the skin. “Let me take care of you, him?” Your eyes are closed, lips fluttering over his hand and he takes a deep breath, warmth pooling in his cheeks and he gives you a silent nod. “You smell so sweet,” you comment, the towel brushing over his chest, whining as you brush over his nipples. You quietly shush him, pecking above his pectorals in a calming touch, pressing the towel close to his chest, watching as his nipples bud under the soft touch. “So sensitive, too,” you croon into his neck. “Is that why you called my name?” The towel slips and you catch it around his hips, the fluffy, soft fabric tickling at the base of cock. “Did you want Mommy to take care of you?” Your breath is warm and against him, and he takes an inch of a step towards you, the towel lowering until it reaches at his thighs, softly patting at the skin. He lets out a soft whine and mumbles his words, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “I can’t hear you, baby,” you whisper, the towel around his prick, the soft cotton warming around his cock.

“Take care of me,” he mewls, bucking his hips into the towel, letting out a harsh breath as he drags himself against the towel. “Please,” he nuzzles further into you, “Mommy.”

You hum in content, running your hands down his hair, watching as the water slides down the curve of his back. “There’s my good boy,” you praise, turning your head to press a kiss against the side of his head. “Go to bed-” you pull away and grab at his hands to hold the towel in front of him- “let get something first, okay?” He nods and you watch as he wraps the towel around his waist, a small tent growing underneath. He slips out of the bathroom, a trail of water droplets marking his trail. 

He lays on the bed, head under the towel, hands shaky as they brush away the wet strand from his face, red eyes that are blown out as they stare at the ceiling, his body covered in goosebumps as he waits for your arrival. He covers his eyes with the heels of his hands, breathing heavily as his vision is taken away, toes curling as the remnants of pleasure still make his body tongle, only enhanced by your soft touch and words. His semi pulses with want, blood warming it to an uncomfortable degree, and his fingers flex, an urge to grab at himself and play with himself as he waits. His apple bobs, pink muscle slipping past his lips, heels digging into the mattress while his heart pounds away in his chest, waiting for the urge to pass, wishing that you would come here quick to take care of his itch.

“Mommy,” he whines, hands flat against him as his fingers knit into his hair. “Mommy, please,” he croaks.

“You’re so impatient, sweetheart.” Your voice fills the room and his body twitches in response. He can hear the sweet melody that is your laugh fill the room. “This is why you wait for me to help take care of you.” He sucks in a harsh breath when he feels your hand on his knee, nails poised above before spreading out, hand laying flat before twisting slightly above in a tender touch. “You always get too needy.” He hears a click and jerks. “Just cream dear,” you reply, letting your hand trail up his thigh and he lets out a raspy grasp as the tips of your finger barely graze him, a teasing touch that makes him cry and jerk a leg. “You're allowed to look, baby,” you comment, wrapping your fingers around his wrists and pulling his hands away from his eyes.

He looks up at you, your body adorned with a soft pink nightgown, dark magenta lace around the top of the cups that hold your breasts that threaten to spill over with the slightest touch, accented with dark magenta lace at the bottom of the gown that barely covers your clothed core. You crawl above him, straddling his hips, watching him through half-lidded eyes as you place lotion on your palms. He hisses when the cool cream touches his skin, your hands warm as they glide over him, and slowly the delicate aroma of peach wafts through the air, sweet and soft, mixed with jasmine and apples. The cream is light on his skin, seeping into his pores with every soft brush, and you lean back, his bare cock against the silk fabric of your gown. He sighs and lets his eyes flutter close, breathing growing more ragged as your hands curve around his body, cupping at his bare breasts and letting the pads of your fingers roll his pebbled nipples underneath.

A soft blush creeps up his chest, light pink that darkens the farther it travels upwards, resting along his cheeks in a candy shade of red. He opens his eyes, pupils dilated with a rim of red and he watches you with tears in his eyes, tentatively rolling his hips against you, pre-ejaculate leaking and staining the back of your gown with a small dark spot. He stops at the disapproving look, whimpering as an apology and mouths a plea. His tongue peeks out, licking at his lips and before it has a chance to return to the wet cavern, it’s caught between an index and thumb. He whines and opens his mouth, tilting his head backward and letting his eyes roll. 

“I told you to stop licking at your lips.” You kiss the tip of his tongue and smile when it flicks against you, the muscle straining to break free. “Keep your tongue out,” you command as you reach over, breasts softly bouncing in the process and he has no issue following the command, tongue raised as it tries to lick at the soft, teasing breasts that move in front of his face. When you catch his eye, he sees a tube of chapstick in hand- passion fruit.

Eyes watch as you roll the tube onto your lips, rolling your lips until satisfied and you cup his face, lowering yourself against him. You peck at his tongue and slowly, with yours, you pull it inside of your mouth, capturing him in a kiss where you taste sweet. His hands shake as they rise, coming to hold your waist where you give an appreciatve moan, his cock jerking at the sound.

His tongue moves against yours, the muscles swirling around each other as you push yourself closer against him, lifting your hips, the fabric tickling at his erection, staining you in a darkening pink. The ends of it a soft brush against his cock, the lace dancing above his slit that leaks. 

Your lips leave his, dancing downward, covering him with frantic kisses until you reach at his neck, tongue flat as you lick around the curve of his neck, pressing against his rapid pulse. Teeth bared in a sharp grin, canines pressed against the beat as you feel him quicken in pace, his body in short bursts of shivers, when you suckle on his neck, marking his skin in bright splotches of red. You move your head to the other side, lips brushing and pausing above his apple, feeling how it bobs underneath you, an audible gulp taken when you press your lips against it, a simpering grin on your lips as he calls your name. You mark the other side of his neck all the same, pride swelling in your chest as he’s covered in red spot, shining in spittle underneath you, red in the face and jerking his hips. 

“So cute,” you mumble, peeking his temple. “Remember the person who’s making you feel this good, eh?” You whisper against his ear, lips pulled over your teeth in a predatory grin.

He nods his head, the first syllable of your title passing through his lips until cut off by a gasp when you rub your clothed cunt against him. You push against him, with careful and precise movements, feeling the hard feel of his cock against the thin fabric of your panties, whining under you, back curving into a soft arch, teeth gritted as he tries to hold his composure, slowly loosening into a smile until he covers his face with his hands. Slick puddles out of you, movements wet and slippery as you begin to ache with a want for him. 

Underneath you, he’s hidden behind his hands, whimpering at the touch, crying when you pull his hands away, taking away the false privacy he had. He turns flustered under your smile, eyes darting away when you give him a cute smile. His length bobs, aches and strains against nothing and he wants to be buried deep inside of you, to push himself against you and fuck at Mommy’s tight hole. 

“Oh Mommy,” he gasps, hips jutting into the air. His eyes water and pinch shut, mouth opening into a soft ‘o’ as a breathy moan sings out. “Right there. Oh, it feels so good.” Your clothed cunt rubs over him, slick slipping past your entrance and slipping past your underwear and sticking to the inside of your thighs. His hands cover yours, fingers twitching above yours as you fingers pinch at his nipples. His groan is light, rippling past his lips as he throws his head back, his spine curving into a soft arch.

“Oh, Tomura,” you murmur, lips brushing against the shell of his ear, suckling on the ear lobe, “you’re so cute- Mommy’s good, little boy,” you coo, pressing hot kisses against the shell of his ear, dragging them along until the reach the corner of his lips, stopping against him for a second, and your move up, brushing your nose along his where he looks at you with a betrayed expression, eyes pinched and a soft whine on his throat. “You’re so needy today.” You glance down at his prick that blushes with a deep shade of red, glistening with arousal. “What did you do in the shower?” You peck at the scar above his eye. “Hm? Did you touch yourself?” He nods and you bite lightly at his cheek. He yelps, legs bending and he presses further against you, his cockhead threatening to peek past your underwear and enter you. “Use your words,” you sing softly, kissing where the bite has softened into a dull pain. 

“Yes,” he rasps out, “I- I touched myself.” He groans when your hand trails down and pinches at a nipple. “I- I was so needy and-” his voice cracks and slowly lowers into a whisper, breathy and high- “I didn’t want to bother you.” You roll over him, hips swirling and dragging on the underside of his cock until they reach his tip, the slick dripping onto his stock and he groans, lifting himself up, breathing ragged and deep. “Mommy,” he calls in a whiny tone, “please. I promise to be good. ‘S a mistake,” he gasps out, hands lowering to grip at the bedsheets. He lets out a moan when you raise yourself above him, his tongue lolling out and eyes wide.

“Tomura,” you lightly reprimand, pinching at his nipple until it blooms into a bright red, rubbing your thumb over when he lets out a keen whine. “You know you aren’t allowed to touch yourself-” you roll back to sit on his thighs, gown flowing against you, too short to fully cover your thighs- “you get too needy, baby.” Your hand leaves his chest, grazing down his stomach that contracts under your touch, the muscles tight as you travel past his belly, and reach the base of his cock, the tip of your fingers running above him, slowly encasing the tip of his cock into your palm. “You can never just stop at one.”

“I won’t do it again,” he says, eyes glazed over as your thumb runs over his slit. “Promise. Just- touch me, please,” he begs, breaths stuttering as you slowly begin to pump him.

“We both know that’s a lie,” you mumble, tugging on his cock, watching with interest as it leaks. “You know you need a punishment.”

“No, no,” he repeats, a frown on his lips, tears already sprung onto his eyes and catching on his eyelashes. “I’m a good boy,” he whines. “I promise! Please Mommy- I’ll come to you next time- Mommy,” he gasps, hands coming up to cup at his chest. “I’ll be good. I’m a good boy,” he snivels, mouth stretching into a frown as he whines underneath you. 

“Baby,” you sigh, a hand coming up to comb at his damp hair, “don’t cry.” You peek at his cheek and a tear meets your lips in a salty kiss. “I know you’re a good boy,” you comfort, brushing your nose against his cheek. “Such a good boy.” You pull away and he watches you with wide eyes. “But-” his eyes knit and he shakes his head, mumbling “no’s” under his breath and you groan, dipping your head. “You’re a good boy, right?” He nods his head. “You’re Mommy’s perfect, baby boy.” He nods again, a shudder of a breath escaping his lips. “How about we play a game?” He opens his eyes, confusion written over his face. “I suck on your pretty, pink dick-” he gulps and you hold a coy grin on your face- “and if you can hold on, until I’m satisfied, then you don’t get a punishment.” 

His eyes dart and dip into your chest. “Wha- What’s the prize?” He stutters, eyes focused on how your chest rises and dips with every breath. 

You raise a brow. “The lack of punishment should be incentive enough but I’ll let you have something else.” You tilt your head and grab at his hand, holding it close to your chest, smiling when his hand curves around the breast, your hardened nipples poking between the thin fabric and into his palm. “What do you have in mind?”

He squeezes your breast, thin, calloused fingers welcoming the soft fabric of your gown, fingers pressing into the supple fat of your chest. “Can I have milk?” He asks, eyes already half-lidded, tongue licking at his lips, fingers pulling down to roll the bud over, watching it darken the fabric and moisten his fingertips. 

Your grin widens and you pull away, his hand in a soft curve around the ghost of your breast. “The prince is hungry, huh?” You tease, chuckling when he nods, meeting your eyes for a brief second, a heavy blush in his face, dark around his cheeks and spreading into a soft pink against the tip of his nose. “If you can last until I pull away, then you’re free to suck on Mommy's titties.” His breath is shaky, hot as it leaves his lips and he gives you a nod, agreeing to the game.

Your hands leave phantom traces against his naked skin as they trail down, your head dipping down, lips that ghost past his collarbone, your pink muscle licking at an old scar that pales against his skin. You leave kisses against the top of his breast and trail it between his valley, nose brushing lightly above his abdomen, smiling against his tummy, giving him feverish kisses along his soft trail, dark in color that fades into a silvery white. Hands that rail down hisbside, leaving his tensing his muscle under the feathery touchy, fingers that soften as they grab at his hips. You blow cool air against his base, tongue peeking past between your lips, to give him a soft kitten-like lick.

He murmurs your name, soft between his lips and jerks his leg to get your attention. You hum in response, your tongue flat against his base, nose against the underside of his thickness. "Am I allowed to touch you?"

You smile and pull away from him, hands sliding to grab at his base, slipping and turning to pump him steadily, passing the foreplay, and gripping onto his shaft, his pre-ejaculate acting as lube as it slicks up and down, your palm dragging for a few pumps until it smooths over and glides across his skin, soft clicks with long pauses in between.

“No baby,” you murmur, “not right now.” he groans at the answer and his hands twist into the bedsheets. “You win the game, you can touch me all you like, sweetheart.” You lean over, pressing your lips against him, slow and feather light, a ghost of your touch on him, where he whines, arching his back into your chest, the whines growing louder as his bare chest rubs against the lace. “So pretty,” you whisper against his lips. “Such cute, little noises leaving your lips.” You pull away and your hand stops, thumb sliding over his slit, his arousal sticking and stretching onto your skin. “Remember to hold it until I say so,” you remind him, tone sweet and you inch backwards and dip your head. 

He twitches as your breath hits him, soft and warm, and he has a second of stillness where he waits for you to envelop him, waits patiently, leaking as he closes his eyes. It’s a shaky intake of air where he chokes on his spit as you swirl your tongue over his head, lips covering teeth as you lower, the gummy part of your cheeks soft around him as you lower yourself further, cheeks hollowing to wrap tight around him. He twitches in your mouth, jerking and pressing himself against the roof of your mouth, the sudden motion causing your lips to slip, teeth grazing on the underside of his cock, trailing at a vein. A croak leaves past his lips, soft and broken, with hands that twitch the fabric, nails pressing deep into the sheets, a faint scratching sound is lost to his moans as you push yourself further down him, your own moan vibrating against him. He cries your name, hips lightly pushing upwards, his cockhead hitting at the curve of your throat, his discharge bittersweet as it oozes down your throat in thin strands. 

“Mommy,” he calls out to you, his member pulsing in your mouth. “Mommy, please,” he whispers in a hoarse voice.”

You pull your mouth close to him and slide away, lips pressed against his opening. “Hasn’t even been that long-” you kiss at his tip- “don’t tell me you’re already close.” Your eyes glance towards him, his face flushed and you trail down his neck, following his shoulders, to his elbows, to his hand that strain, veins bold against his skin, cartilage sticking out against his skin, hands poised and dug deep into the thin fabric. You sigh softly at his hands, tilting your head with a loving smile on your lips. “You’re so cute,” you compliment. “An absolute delight to be around with,” you sigh, eyes meeting his for a second before you dip your head back onto his cock.

He’s thick. All the space in your mouth is erased by him, consuming and pulsing inside of you, pulsing with heat as you lower your head, nose against the base. He whines as you do so, panting as you choke around him, thick dribbles of spit that slide past the corner of your lips and curve around your shin, dripping onto him and latching onto his thighs. You struggle to breath, tears coming to your eyes as you take him whole, fisting your hand in order to distract you, whinging and feeling slick pool out as you keep yourself for one, two and on the third, you slide off of him, honey-thick strands connecting you to his cock, your lips swollen and tongue rolled out past your lips, as you look up at him with glossy eyes. His cock spurts, thick, white discharge pooling out past his lips and he calls your name in a pitiful moan, thrusting his hip against the air, hands that reach out to grab at you and with a roll of your eyes, a lazy smile on your face, you slide your underwear past your ankles and situate yourself on him, letting out a breathy groan as your walls accustom to his girth. 

All it takes is a simple swivel of your hips for him to spill his seed inside of you. Thick and filling as it paints you white and slips past him, squelching as you lean forward, hands on either side of his head and he’s quick to accept his gift. His hands reach squeeze at your breasts, pawing off the silk, a right hand pinching around the bud, watching as sweet milk spills past and he latches on, cheeks holling, tongue flicking the bud, rolling it with the tip of his tongue, urging the sweet milk to spill, moaning as it watches on his tongue and spills down his throat, filling his belly with warmth, cock twitching with joy inside fo you.

Your hand goes to play with his hair, parting the strands, sighing above him in breathy pants as his hand comes to rub at the neglected breast, palming the nipple under, and pulling away with a scooped hand when it catches your essence, brining it to his mouth, the leaking bud dripping onto his lips and side of his palm as he drinks from his hand, returning to your bud.

“Tomura,” you croon, moving your hips in a soft swirl, “that- oh, you’re so good. So pretty and good,” you slur together, tightening around him, walls flexin and urging him to spill again inside of you. “What a good boy.” You moan against him, his cockhead hitting at a songy part, rubbing alongside of it, bare and hard, your tongue lolling out, the hand on his hair in a tight grip as you ride him. “What a good boy. So sweet for letting Mommy ride his prick,” you pant. Your hand loosens and slides down the ruffled hair. “Do you like your prize?” He moans against you, nodding, eyes half-lidded and glazed over, focused on the breast brimming with milk as he palms the other, thin, white strands, spilling past and splashing onto his skin, burning as it trails down, his other hands coming to press down your back, inching you closer to him. “Drink baby,” you encourage, smiling down at him. He looks up at you with doe eyes, blinking innocently as he bats his eyelashes, tears shining in the corner of his eyes. “Just let Mommy ride your cock, hm?” You flash him a sweet smile and he mumbles around your nipple, kissing at it and pulling away, tongue out as it leaves a trail on your chest, until he reaches your other breast. 

Your walls are soft against him, pulsing around his own throbbing member and your hand finds its way to your clit, moving between the two bodies that stick with a thin layer of sweat, fingers pointed and softly circling over the twitching, sensitive bud. You sigh and let your eyes close, lips pouted as you press your chest against Tomura’s needy mouth, cooing and slurring words of praise together until they’re lost in soft murmurs, your hips lightly patting against him as you swirl above him in soft circles, close to reaching your high as your stomach pulls taut against, heat wet with slick as you call his name.

“”M a good boy,” he mutters against your chest, a drying trail of white on the corner of his lips, suckling on your ample breast, drinking at the honey-sweet milk. “Good boy for Mommy,” he mutters, pushing your breasts together watching as they leak, his tongue serpentining over your leaking nipples. 

“Such a good boy,” you reiterate, licking your lips. “Letting Mommy milk your cock while you milk Mommy? Fuck baby,” you moan, closing your eyes in a tight pinch, “good boy. So sweet and pretty. My pretty boy,” you whimper, scratching softly at his scalp. 

“Close,” he mewls, slapping his hips against yours, “‘M close,” he says, nuzzling his face further against you, mouth opening to catch at the soft bud in his mouth. “I love you,” he says, repeating it in a softer tone, your name muttered under his breath, stilling his hips as you pap against him, breathing harshly, cheeks hollow as he sucks your milk-filled breast in his mouth. 

It’s his declaration that makes your walls pulse and tighten, spongy walls that twitch and spasm around his cock, sweet, honey-like strands of arousal that seep and mix with his thick, white arousal, clicking in the room as you come to rest on him. His name sweet on your tongue as your fingers still circle over your pearl, whining and pulling on him tight, his moans vibrating against your chest, eyes closed as his mouth stops the harsh treatment, tongue poking at the pert bud, light strands of milk slipping past his tongue and down his throat. 

He pulls his mouth away, kissing at the swollen bud, watching as milk leaks and catches on his lips, his hips experimentally moving only to stop with a hiss at the sensitivity, heavy cream, slipping down and coating him in warmth and stickiness. 

“How do you feel?” You ask, raising yourself off of him and laying on your back next to him with a light groan. “Personally, i’m tired-” your hands cupping at your sore chest, wincing at the feeling- “and sore.”

“Good,” he nods, replacing your hand with his, pinching at a still sore bud, licking his lips when a pearl of white beads out. “Can I?” He gestures to your breasts, already rising above, fingers poised at your entrance, slipping inside the gooey entrance, digit massaging your inner walls. “I’ll make you feel good,” he promises, wrapping his mouth on your breast, wide and holling his cheeks as he lazily pumps his fingers.

[quindolyn]

Scruff || Remus Lupin

Words: 1073

Notes: for @st0nesnglitter and her beautiful buzzy brain

Warnings: beard burn, scruffy Remus, allusions to sex

Masterlist

Remus Lupin was gorgeous, irrefutably so. Even in the dim light of early morning on a snowy day, fat, white flakes falling to the ground in angry flurries of white, the wind whistling through the drafty London apartment the two of you shared. Even then, he was gorgeous.

The position of your bed in relation to the window, overlooking downtown London where muggle and wizard alike hurried around, one unaware of the other, as they hid from the vicious weather, painting their faces in vermillion, their lips in a sickly purple. It allowed beams of weak sunlight, diluted by the clouds and the snow, the shine along Remus’ face. Highlighting the small white lines littered across his face that, given the chance, you could spend hours tracing.

You followed one as it disappeared from his right cheek, downward into the light facial hair your boyfriend had accidentally started growing. The two of you had been snowed in for 3 days, the weather too dangerous to be outside for more than 15 minutes at a time. And since you weren’t leaving the house Remus didn’t see the point in shaving his face.

You weren’t quite sure why but something about the layer of scruff along his jawline, creeping up his face slightly, was one of the most beautiful things to you, the way the hair framed his pale face. It just accentuated his natural beauty.

Shifting to get a better look at your boy, wanting to thread your fingers through the mop of messy brown locks falling into his closed eyes, you were reminded by just how much you loved that beard. Evidence from last night painting your thighs in beard burns, the rash itching painfully as your thighs rubbed up against the other. You whimpered at the slight pain as you tried to settle yourself back down on the bed as quietly as possible in a good enough position to continue studying the lanky boy.

Evidently, you were not quiet enough as Remus blinked his eyes open, still hazy with sleep as he turned to face you, a gentle smile gracing his face, “Hey there Puppy.”

“Hi Remmy,” You smiled, leaning down to brush a kiss over his forehead, but in your efforts to move your thighs rubbed up against each other again, pulling a small wince from you.

Remus, being the observant man that he was noticed it immediately, pulling back to examine your body, trying to tell what was wrong, his strong hand cradling your face.

“What’s wrong darling?” He asked, his eyes flying up to meet yours, his hazel irises drowning in concern.

“Nothing Remmy, I’m fine,” You insisted bending back down, this time to capture his lips with yours, slotting them together so that you could drink in early morning Remus in all of his scruffiness. And while you managed to temporarily distract him he wasn’t fully convinced, coming back to his sense he pulled away from you, his gaze stern as it once again met yours.

“Puppy, you know I don’t like it when you lie to me. Be a good girl for me please and tell me what’s wrong.” His plea softened at the end, giving you puppy dog eyes that rivaled those of Sirius, and that could not go ignored.

Huffing in defeat you relented, placing your hand back in his hair, “I just got a little rash on my thighs from last night,” You explained nonchalantly.

He cocked his head to the side not understanding what you were telling him, “How baby, did I, not clean you up enough?”

“S’not that Rem, just your scruff,” Your hand moved to tickle at his facial hair, running your hands up and down his jawline, the hairs rough against your palm, “Gave me a little bit of beard burn.”

Regret and guilt immediately flooded his eyes, as he placed his hand on your hip, drawing small circles on the exposed skin with the pad of his finger, “Let me see,” He demanded softly, his voice a mere whisper, barely sounding through the expanse of your apartment.

Knowing he wasn’t going to relent you lied completely on your back, spreading your legs for him to take a look at your thighs which were left bare in the pair of underwear you had slept in. Hefting himself so he was on his stomach in between your legs you saw as a frown tugged his lips downwards.

“I did this?” His voice was sorrowful as he lifted his eyes to meet yours.

“S’really not all that big of a deal Rem,” You consoled, reaching a hand down to soothe over your agitated flesh, “Just hurts a little bit, but see I’m fine.”

Wordlessly, Remus lifted himself into a sitting position, reaching for his t-shirt that was left abandoned on the floor from last night.

“What are you doing baby?” You asked, kneeling behind him so that your hands could slide up and down his now clothed chest, doing little to insulate any of his body heat.

“Gonna go shave, and get you a cream to help with your thighs.” He said simply, standing from the bed, adjusting his boxers as he did so.

“No!” You called out, grasping onto his arm, pulling him back in towards you before he could get too far away, “Don’t want you to shave Remmy,” The whine left your lips as you nuzzled your head into his chest, inhaling his intoxicating scent. Your arms wrapped themselves around his waist to keep him there. “I like your scruff.”

“But it hurt you.”

“I like it, Rem,” You insisted with a soft laugh.

Remus sighed, letting his arms drape over your shoulders, “Let me at least get you a cream for your thighs,” His hands drifted under your oversized sleep shirt, fingertips gently grazing over the angry red flesh between your legs.

“But I like it, Rem,” You whined, “Reminds me of you, of how good you can make me feel.”

“Yeah?” A cocky grin took over his face, “I make you feel good?”

“Oh shut up Rem,” You giggled, hitting his chest with the back of your hand, “Like you don’t know.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up Puppy,” He growled, pulling you towards him so that his chest was flush against yours, “Or I’ll have to remind you just how good I can make you feel.”

“That’s not a threat Rem,” You giggled, “That’s a promise.”

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @kittykylax @amourtentiaa

[binniesthighs]

he lives in my lap | reader x changbin

➛ Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x seo changbin 

➛ Recommended listening: she lives in my lap, outkast

➛ Genre: pwp (smut), fluffy tones, 18+ 

➛ Word count: 3.9k 

✨ Summary/Request Here ✨

Anon: sub!changbin nipple play drabble👁👁

i’m such a sucker for sub bin smh

a/n: thank you for requesting sweet anon! any day, any time i will write sub!changbin! this was such a pleasure to write n’ i hope that ya like it! <3

{see below for nsfw tags!} 

NSFW: dom!reader, sub!changbin, tsundere!bin, slightlybratty!bin, established relationship, use of petnames, body worship (calm tf down ro, we know you love binnies’ bod), *plz pretend to be surprised here too* thigh kink, power dynamics, LOADS of nipple play (m receiving), praising & mild degradation, handjob, lil pet of petplay (bunny), v soft aftercare 

♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥♡♥

you caught him sulking, bundled up in his chair with his legs crossed and his eyes dried. its the times like this when you don’t need him to tell you what’s going through his mind. he huffs and spins around just to get a moment to break his stare at the screen. he rubs at his temples where his headache surges, but he’ll never stop to ask for help or to express how tired he really is. 

“what are you working on?” you simply ask as you cross the way behind him and squeeze his shoulders. 

he sighs, and answers, “work.” 

it’s barely an answer, but knowing him, prodding wouldn’t do much else. 

“its getting late,” you pause, contemplating to next part of your phrase, “could you come to bed? i’d....love to have you with me...if you can.” 

his fingers stop their typing, and he pulls off a single padded headphone to listen to you. 

“you know that i’ve got a deadline. can’t.” 

“wouldn’t you like to--” 

“--can’t you just live one night without it?” he barks, swiveling in his seat to face you. 

his eyes, the whites of them pink and his under-eyes bagged, tell you that you can’t take exactly what he means to heart, but still, it doesn’t hurt much less. 

“bin--i just want you to take care of yourself and not overwork. you know that you need your rest to make everything work out right. right?” 

your boyfriend sighs and composes himself, then puts his headphones back on. 

“deadlines are deadlines.” changbin simply replies. “in a couple days it’ll be over.” 

the sound of his clicking at his mouse fills the room back up, and this close you can hear the faint buzz of his music on the other side of his headphones. its as if he wants to create some kind of shell between you and him; he pulls his hood up and balls himself up in his big black hoodie. 

with him, your patience overcomes anything. 

“bin--” you reach for his arm to rub in calming little circles with your thumb, “you’re worrying me.” 

the exhaustion in his voice causes it to crack, “i’m fine.” 

it doesn’t take him much to go up in arms when you pull off his headphones to hold his puffy face in your hands. earnestly you hold his eyes with yours. 

“you’ve worked so much already today. please, come to bed, i know you won’t admit it to yourself, but it’ll be okay if you sleep for just a little while....or, relax at least...” 

changbin huffs out again in his same little annoyed nature. you knew the ins and outs of him well: your words might have gone in one ear and left out the other, but they still would jumble him up on their way out.

“i said that i’m fine,” your boyfriend repeats, “you’re worrying over nothing.” 

it isn’t easy to admit defeat in the moment, but that’s all it is: a moment. he allows you the pause to plant a tiny kiss on his forehead before focusing back on his work. the truth is, you really did want him to join. the bed was always warmer with two anyway. these days, it was even a little hard to fall asleep with him. 

“well,” you throw your hands on your hips, “i’ll just be back here...if you need anything. i can warm up your side for you, kay?” 

for a moment, his fingers stop their clicking, wavering. “okay.” 

he likes it when you wear his shirts and other little things like that. he even thinks that its cute when you steal his socks and they bunch up a little. after living together your clothes have started to all smell the same, but knowing that it’s his has always been enough for you. 

at first, you promise yourself that you’ll stay up as long as he does, but not even you can stay up that late. he turns the lights off for you, leaving only his desk lamp and the blue screen of his desktop. silently you promise him that you’ll stay up as long as you can manage...

“--oh. sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up...” 

your blurry eyesight makes out the time that’s ticked past two hours since you last remember checking. 

“its okay,” your sleepy self returns. you’ve fallen asleep on his side of the bed which you promised to warm up, but he won’t ask you to give it up when you’re half awake. 

“i’ve decided to sleep in late tomorrow.” he hums while reaching for his phone light to turn it off. “you’re right.” 

“i know that i’m right.” 

even in the dark you can feel his little joking smirk. the mattress makes springy sounds under the weight of your two bodies, and somehow your hands find their way into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. there’s nothing like feeling his presence beside you--its a kind of irreplaceable reassurance that you’ve only ever felt in him. 

he’s close enough to feel his tiny breaths in the space between you, and how it tickles your upper lip. sleepy kisses float from your lips to his which he happy returns by pressing into you closer and melding your body with his. you make a point to kiss him slowly and with every ounce of intent that you are able to pour from yourself to him. 

your love unties himself for you just as he does whenever he feels your thumb trace under his jaw slowly or as you hold his face in your hands, tilting him to deepen your exploration of his mouth. you can feel him get looser and looser after being so tightly bound. your hands work at his knots with swift fingers that interweave with his hair, then find their way to traipse up the hem of his clothes. 

he mutters a little sound that could be translated into many pleasurable things, but you don’t need to think too hard to interpret it. 

“binnie...” you coo, gently rolling him to his back to lean over him with your upper body, “you’re doing so well. i can tell how hard that you’re working...there’s no need to hide.” 

he nods, allowing you to paint his cheeks with more little kisses that fall down to his neck, then travel back up to his ear where you nibble softly. in your own mind, its your favorite place to show him your love: he shivers feeling your breath quiver in his ear, then exhales out after feeling the small pull at his skin. 

higher under his shirt your hands tip-toe, then trance the curves of his sides and finally reach the spot where he is most sensitive...your boyfriend gifts you the gorgeous sound of his uncontrollable little whimpers once he feels the pads of your fingers graze over one of his hardened nipples. 

“oh?” you taunt, “already so sensitive?” 

changbin attempts a scoff that comes out airy on his lips, “i mean, yeah...when you do that.” 

your index circles his bud, causing and even more delightful symphony of shaking breaths to exit. 

“...but its so late...” you remind him. its halfway between a genuine reminder and somewhat of a challenge. there’s nothing more that you would want, but the clock tells you otherwise. 

your room is nearly devoid of light save for the way that the crescent moon peeks through the slits of the shades. the silver light illuminates his face in stripes, one of them directly over his eyes which makes them sparkle with the same iridescent shine of stars. 

“do you think that i care?” changbin shies a bit into the puffy pillow that cradles his head. 

from your position above him you can see the way that he pleads wordlessly, and how he just knows that he’s irresistible to you. his gaze softens to shift in that cute little pout. he too knows how to untie you, how to make you fall into him so deeply that you can’t see anything but him. he knows exactly what to say, how to wet his his cushy lip so it glistens just a little when he parts his mouth for you to crave even more than you already do. 

“do you want me to say please?” he adds. 

fuck, he really does know you well. 

your knuckles rub along the fuzzy underside of his sweater, scribbling more circles around his nipples that hardens them painfully even though you’re barely touching him. 

“that is my favorite word,” 

his tone is airy, barely audible when he asks as politely as he can, “please, can you use me how you want?” 

you tut, bowing low over his lips to only let them hover over his own. your lie of a kiss just barely makes contact with him. he whines from the promise of your taste, even wiggling his hips in his agony knowing that he won’t get what he wants quickly. 

“hm, i didn’t really hear you that time...” slowly your hands begin to pull the fabric of is shirt over his head. “say it again for me?” 

“please...?” your boyfriend desperately repeats. 

“and you’ll be a good boy for me? you’ll do what i say?” 

“yes...yes. everything that you say.” 

his hoodie ruffles up his cute dark locks that sprawl all over his face and even cover his eyes. for a moment you think of how his hair had gotten longer than you had noticed. you sweep it aside, holding his eyes while your hand swipes up and down his chest just between his pectorals. 

“and you’ll tell me when you want me to stop?” 

finally you grant him the kiss he’s been waiting for which he drinks up greedily, moaning carefully over your lips. 

“mmhm.” 

you nearly startle him after forgetting to move slowly, finding your own eagerness taking hold of you. changbin’s eyes gleam seeing you on top of him and both of your legs straddling his sides. you slither farther down his body to align yourself correctly, then pause finding your place. 

after, he then startles you by letting out a sudden cry in response to his beloved sensation. both of your hands are busied pinching and tweaking directly at his pink nipples that turn redder from your touch. you toy with the hardened buds while his eyelids flutter--he can’t figure out if he wants to close his eyes to feel it all, or watch you. he decides upon the latter and tries his best focus on your hands spread on his chest. 

its a wondrous indulgence of yours as you watch the way that his muscles fill up your hands and even how his skin pops between your fingers when you squeeze. “my bun,” you sigh in admiration, “i just can’t handle you...” 

your head spins when he echoes, “neither can i...”

it seems fair for you to take off your top too, so you do. your hands survey farther up his chest, then course down his arms which you tuck to rest on each side of his head. 

“you know how it goes.”

he doesn’t even need the reminder. 

“fuck, you’re gonna take all the time you want now, aren’t you?” 

your boyfriend regains a bit of his composure to snark with that little unfair smirk of his. 

“would you rather me not do this for you at all...bun?” 

he rolls his eyes, impatient and annoyed for barely a second. he’s quieted the moment that he feels your lips float over his skin. you can feel the way that his breaths are thrown out from his lungs once you press even harder. his hips squirm and he turns into a puddle of half-choked winces that turn high pitched and needy the closer that you get to the sensitive areas of his chest. your tongue twists around it, only teasing at first and never allowing him to feel the full heat of your mouth. your left hand swipes up his side and settles right over his other bud which you toy with between your index and middle finger. you pull, then delight in the way that you can even feel his moans start deep from his core then come ripping out carelessly. 

at last you grant him the wet of your mouth when you tense your lips to pull too. you know that he likes it when you use your teeth too, but you never start with the most exciting part. 

his arms twitch like they usually do where they lay on both sides of his head. your boyfriend interlocks his fingers behind his head to pull and hold them there until his knuckles turn white. he would touch you, but you don’t like getting that distracted. you don’t need it anyway to heighten the way that unraveling him already pools heat between your legs and sends you grinding over his midsection. 

you use a combination of gentle kisses contrasted with the pull of your fingers and eventually the bite of your teeth to get him properly gasping out as if he cannot breathe. your name finds its way twisted into some of his moans too; it sounds so perfect, so right said that way: airy, wavering, shaking after he bites it into his lip too. 

you stop to admire him, now using your thumbs to tease at the way his reddened nipples now look painfully aroused and even glimmer with the sheen of your saliva upon them. changbin is flushed out all across his cheeks and even over his nose bridge. the rouge spreads down to his neck where the veins there quiver with each of his senseless gasps for air. he jerks from the careful feeling of the pad of your thumb compared to how viciously you had tugged at him before. you grind down your hips into his hard-on between your legs and into your own heat which craves him just as much. 

“good?” 

he nods, and chuckles out after reveling under your view. 

you free his hands from their place behind his head, then you immediately find yourself wrapped up so tightly in his arms that you let out a tiny squeak. his thick arms that stretch with the strings of muscles always remind you that the power you have over him, he holds over you just the same. he brings your lips back to his to kiss thanks into your mouth that’s become raw from your musings. 

“i’m not done yet.” you sneer directly into him. 

“i had a feeling.” 

your love knows how to sit and look pretty for you. how to keep his hands to himself and wait just enough for you to make a proper mess of him. even though you don’t see it, he’s infatuated watching you twist over him to the bed table and pick up the cup of water that holds partially melted ice. the sound of the cubes chime against the glass and burns your hand with the cold once you choose the largest of the lot. 

changbin looks at you fearful at first still consumed by your heat which lingers all over his body. you test out the sensation by spreading out your opposite hand first which is wet from the condensation from the glass. 

“ah!” he winces out. 

“too cold?” 

“n-no...” somethings shift in the way that he holds your gaze and the ice quickly melting in your hand. “i-i want it...” 

“you sure?” 

“please don’t make me wait again...” 

the cold from the cube starts to make your fingertips turn numb, but its of no conscious to you when he holds every bit of your attention while you wait for his visceral response. 

he yelps, nearly almost screaming from the mixture of cold and hot that swirls around his body. he grinds his teeth into a groan next to steady himself feeling the tenderness of his nipples next to the freezing cold. you can’t help but stifle a greedy laugh at how downright confused he seems at the two sensations of arousal and biting pain that made him feel even more lightheaded. 

you love the sight of the whites of his eyes when he reaches a kind of euphoria that only you can give him. 

“oooooh god.” he laughs along with you at how preposterously unreal it feels. the little smile that anchors on his mouth is unbelievably cute, and you can’t help but want to feel it on your own. 

you trace circles around and around his buds until they harden just as they had done under your tongue. he shivers too; either from the cold, or from the overload of his senses--it travels from the tip of his head, through his hips and down to his toes. 

“aw, my bun likes this...doesn’t he?” 

“mmm.” 

the ice only lasts a few moments on his chest and between your fingers. after, his chest is left shimmering from the new substance that looks like liquid crystal all over him and where it drips down to the comforter in droplets. 

you shift your attention lower down his stomach where you stop right above his bellybutton to let both of your hands hook under his sweats. you look up for approval, which he eagerly gives with the hastily phrase repeated, “do it, do it.” 

his clothes it the floor in a puddle, and your boyfriend is left bare for you to take in. you indulge in every single part of him that you’ve explored time and time again, but each time it feels renewed. your hands eat up his thighs with covetous squeezes until the crescent-moon shape of your nails decorates him nearly everywhere. they slide up higher, finding the place where his curved and rosy cock bobs waiting for your touch. 

“poor bunny....does it ache when i don’t touch your cute little cock?” you trace a finger up his shaft which causes his body to violently jerk in response. the truth of the matter is, he’s anything but little. 

even when your words turn venomous back on him, he still drinks it up as if it is nectar. 

a wicked chuckle passes by your lips remembering what he had said to you a couple hours before. “can’t you just live one night without it?” 

“n-no--” he stammers, “i-i’m sorry that i said--” 

you silence him with a finger to his lips. “sit up.” 

he does so, trying to gauge what you’re planning to do next. the mystery of it all enthralls him to the point of working his cock up with pearly pre-cum that drips down his length. changbin waits as you reposition yourself behind him, just so he sits flush against your torso and between your legs. 

at first, you trial you hands up and down his thighs to create a show for him. your fingertips tickle him gently where his leg hair grows thin and soft. you then move to massage into his inner thighs and the more intimate erogenous areas there that you claw at. 

“hm. maybe i’ll let you get what you want if you say--” 

your boyfriend’s hands bury themselves into the sheets to grab at anything to provide balance. “--please! please...i’ll say it however many times it takes...” 

you tsk, then nibble into the peachy cartilage of his earlobe. “mm, that’s enough. i’m feeling generous...” 

you wet a stripe of your saliva up your palm and guide it to his length where you give him one good squeeze that is more than enough to send his toes curling. he whimpers out feeling the lack of contact afterward, realizing that one squeeze was all that you were planning. instead, shift your motions toward his tip and his seeping slit. the tip of your index draws rings around it which elicits agonizingly gruff growls from his throat that you’ve only ever heard a couple times before. 

“please, please, please....” he chants. 

you do love the way it sounds. 

his moans become even louder once he feels the tension from your grasp where it returns to his shaft and pumps. in a way, the whole image is just perfect for the both of you: as you peer over his shoulder you can’t even but help feel turned on by the sight of your own hand and how it twists around the throbbing veins that imprint his cock. with your non-dominant hand you continue traversing the squishy and fleshy bits of his thigh. 

your boyfriend laughs out his growing self-indulgence while you work your hand up and down, then experiment with testing him with the ways that you can squeeze harder then softer. changbin throws his head back into your shoulder lazily once he starts to feel his senses slow and intensify the closer that he gets to his release. he shudders against you too, and tightens his body too as he edges himself even closer.

after the distraction that you’ve crafted tugging him up and down and how the twist of your wrist feels like heaven, he jumps still feeling your free hand find its way back up his chest one last time roll his nipple between your fingers. the combination of the two sends him spilling right over the edge and overflowing with a rambling of curses and half-attempted moans coupled with the release of his seed cascading down the back of your hand. 

nearly all of your boyfriend’s weight falls upon you and you giggle trying to deal with your previously cold and stubborn lover reduced to nearly nothing but a limp and euphoric mess in your arms. 

“you okay?” you ask him, peppering tiny kisses into his neck. 

“give me...a minute.” he laughs out too. “i’m just...really...exhausted. but--in a really, really good way.” 

“time to get some rest then?” 

changbin nods, and gives you back as many kisses he can with his neck titled at this somewhat awkward angle. 

“stay right here, hm?” 

you cradle him back to slide out from behind him and work at cleaning yourself off, and them him--he loves obliging if it means that he gets to be pampered with clean clothes and your little massage to his shoulders to get his tensed body relax even more. the blankets get exchanged for new ones and you find him telling you not to put your shirt back on. 

changbin flushes, explaining, “i just like being close like this with you. everyday. any day. i can’t live without it either.” 

you can’t exactly tell who is “holding” who, but it all just feels so peaceful and intimate you almost forgot that you were supposed to be sleeping until the day breaks behind your boyfriend’s shoulder. 

“thank you,” changbin sighs, “thank you for taking care of me.” 

“now start taking care of yourself.” you tease, “don’t overwork yourself, got it?” 

your boyfriend sleepily hums, and tows you right back into his chest. “don’t worry, i have a feeling that i’ll be sleeping in pretty late.” 

~🌹~ 

Bunch of (Ro)ses! 

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @lunarskzzz  @yourdaddychan @bubblelixie @spnobsessedmemes @cherrychngkyn @iwanttobangchan @bowlofblueberries @lmhmins @eunaeiekim 

[gryffindors-weasley]

Old and New

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Requested by @futuremrsmalfoy20 : “Draco buys you a kitten fluff”

Summary: When you return home from work, Draco has a surprise waiting for you.

Warnings: loss of a pet, mild angst, fluff, kisses

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Thank you for such a sweet request!

Draco Malfoy was never a fan of cats, or any kind of animal for that matter. He didn’t grow up with household pets, save for his owl, but even then he wasn’t too fond of the feathered creature. He didn’t dislike them, not really, he rather was indifferent. However, you on the other hand were the complete opposite.

You had had a cat once before, finding a feline more preferable rather than the traditional owl that most students had selected for themselves. She was a fluffy black cat with miscellaneous splotches of white, striking and round green eyes that were far too adorable for you to ignore. Her name was Ophelia and she was wonderfully sweet, not a minute going by in her presence without her nudging you affectionately.

She accompanied you throughout your years of magical endeavors at Hogwarts until seventh year, and you made the decision to bring her home to your parents before the war had begun in full force. You had loved her far too dearly to risk the potential of putting her in harm’s way, she was your home away from home.

Since then, she had lived her days and nights in the blissful environment of your parents house, and you were quite sure you’d never seen her more content in an environment in your life. Always tucked away in the most unconventional of places whether it be the garden, the top shelf of your closet, or even nestled between the thick tree roots on the edge of the property. It was there where she had lived her life most contently, and you couldn’t have asked for anything more.

—

You sigh tiredly upon finally seeing your beloved home, smiling at the sight of the little yellow car parked on the mossy cobblestone driveway. As if it weren’t already obvious that Draco had gotten home before you, the smoke puffing out of the lone chimney and the warm glow in the frosted windows were more than enough indication. You pushed open the creaky wrought iron gate without hesitation, the sound only accentuated by the drizzling rain pattering down.

Rushing up the stone path to your front door, you push it open and escape from the rain. The warmth you were met with was immediate upon your entrance, as was the ever familiar scent of cinnamon and sugar, a hint of coffee mixed in. Your soft smile never faltered as you shrugged off your rain dampened jacket, slipping it on the copper hook just inside the door next to Draco’s.

“Love?” An ever so familiar voice called out, one that felt even more like home than that of the building the two of you claimed as your own just a year and a half ago.

You stepped out of your shoes and set them on the welcome rug, Draco appearing shortly after to see if it’d really been you. His hair was a mess from what it once neatly was before he left for work earlier that morning, the inclement weather having brought out waves of platinum. His smile was nothing short of adoring when he caught sight of you, and you barely had time to set down your keys before his hands settled on your flushed cheeks. His lips were soft against yours as he kissed you, the expected taste of coffee and cream lingering on his lips. His hands are cooled against your heated skin, but the shiver running through you was of no importance at that moment.

“Hi darling,” he manages when he brings himself to part from you, though he hadn’t strayed too far as his nose brushed against yours.

“Hey,” you sigh, his kiss nearly making you a fool no matter how short it may have been.

He tucked your hair behind your ear tenderly, the tips of his fingers tracing along your skin before traveling down your arm to grasp your hand. No matter how hard he tried, which hadn’t been very much, he finds himself capturing your lips once more in another kiss. You were far too irresistible for him not to bask in your affections.

“How was work?” He mumbles against your lips, squeezing your hands.

“Quite busy for a bookshop in the middle of the only wizarding town in the area. Peculiar isn’t it?” You respond, a laugh leaving your lips when his arms circle around your waist and press you to him in an embrace.

“Indeed,” he agrees quietly, kissing your cheek before his lips ghost across your neck and just under your ear warmly. You had to stop yourself from all but squealing at the very sensation tickling over your skin though a giggle does escape you.

“What’s got you so smiley?” You inquire, brow raised in curious amusement as you push back to look at him.

“What, can’t I be overjoyed that the love of my life has come home? Forgive me, darling,” he says in faux offense, his smile still very there regardless.

You roll your eyes, allowing yourself to fully look at him for the first time you’d gotten home just minutes ago. His cheeks were a bit flushed from what you assumed was the chilly weather, that and the feeling of your kisses had brought it out of him. His icy hair had been dipping over his forehead, covering over dark brows and tangling with even darker lashes. The grin on his kiss swollen lips had been very apparent the moment you saw him, faltering only slightly when he was busy casting his affections on you in greeting. A thick, black sweater hung from his shoulders, tattered and torn around the edges from constant use when he hadn’t needed to dress so formally for St. Mungo’s. Though you couldn’t help but to notice the extra runs and pulls in the soft yarn.

“Perhaps I will if you let me change out of these clothes,” you say, reluctantly leaving his loose grasp. “It is raining after all.”

A flurry of panicked emotions had crossed over his face in that very moment, his eyes widening a fraction as you step farther from him and closer to the stairway. Your brows furrow slightly at his sudden change in attitude, watching as his hand flies up to scratch at the back of his neck. When you turn away once more you’re quick to feel his hand envelope yours, effectively stealing your attention away from the task at hand briefly. As you open your mouth to speak, he beats you to it.

“I’ve already put your clothes in the dryer so they’d be warm for you, they’re in the laundry room,” he rushes, and his words are far too quick for you not to be even a little suspicious of it. “It’s that sweater of mine that you like, you know—the green one?”

He draws you closer as he speaks, noting the way your eyes squint in disbelief. Draco may have been good in the area of deception to just about anyone else, anyone but you. Not with the way his hand came to rest on your cheek, and how his thumb brushed over your skin. Certainly not with the way his bout of kisses resumed, blossoming over bare patches of skin. His valiant attempts to hold your attention had been working, but only for a few fleeting moments.

“And what if I wanted the maroon one?” You jest with a teasing smile, and with his moment of distraction you slip from his arms and make your way back to the stairs.

He finds himself at a loss for words as his panic builds with every bit of distance between you, and all he can do is follow behind and desperately try to find something else to say. When he comes up terribly short, he accepts his fate with a defeated huff.

“Darling wait!” He manages when you twist the doorknob, entering the cozy bedroom.

His face scrunches in a wince at the sight before you both, unsure of just how you’d react. For a small kitten lay curled up in a fluffy ball of snowy white fur, tucked and nuzzled into heaps of his old quidditch sweater. The small animal was seemingly unbothered by the newfound commotion that had entered the room, instead basking in the warmth of the deep green yarn. You even took notice to the lilac-colored collar fitted loosely around its neck, a small silver bell dangling from it.

You spun on your heel to face him with a raised brow, a soft smile fighting to tug at your lips and soon you couldn’t hide it. You were baffled more than anything. Draco’s cheeks were a noticeable blush pink as he offered you a hesitant smile, still looking rather panicked. “What’s this all about?”

He swallows thickly, his fingers running over his jaw in a nervous habit. “She’s…she’s ours.”

It took you a moment to process it as Draco shuffled around you, leaving you to look at the empty spot he once stood in for a brief few seconds before following where he’d walked. He scooped up the small animal with a certain gentleness that made your heart flutter in your chest, and she stretched tiredly against him. Her yawn had showcased perhaps the tiniest fangs you’d ever seen, the soft pink pads of her feet pressing to his chest.

“What do you mean?” You were still quite dumbfounded at the sudden news, your gaze flickering between the kitten cradled happily in his hands and to his hopeful face that you wouldn’t be mad at him.

“I uh…I adopted her,” he says with a nervous laugh as he looks down at her, a small meow escaping her mouth at the sound of his voice. “I know you’ve been missing Ophelia, love. And I know I’m not very fond of cats but I think I’m warming up to her, she seems to like me—”

His rambling is promptly cut off when she nips at his bottom lip, doing it again twice more before he settles her into his sweater on the bed again.

“Draco, I…”

“Have I upset you?” He asks, a myriad of emotions rushing through him that maybe you still weren’t ready for a new pet at that moment in time. “Love, I didn’t mean—”

“I love her,” you finally manage after he all but sputters apology after apology, a jittery laugh leaving you as your gaze moves to his. Your laugh only continued softly at the light swelling of his lip from where she had bit at him in a playful curiosity.

Now he was the one that had been baffled, dumbfounded. He wasn’t quite sure if he’d heard you correctly. “You do?”

You respond with the kiss you press on his lips, firm yet gentle as the shock you’d once been in begins to wear off and disappear completely. His persistent panic only settles then, his obvious tension relaxing as his arms snake around your waist and a sigh is breathed. You part from him only to kiss him yet again, your fingers brushing over his cheek as your smile becomes apparent. “I love her.”

The words are whispered in giddy excitement as your lips sweep across his own with soft touches, his hair brushing against your forehead in the close proximity. The exhale of his relief puffs against your skin as he kisses your cheek once, twice, even three times, your arms hugging around his neck. Your grip on him was on the verge of being too tight, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

You release him all too quickly in his opinion, but his inner complaints are quick to dissolve when he sees you grab the kitten gingerly. Her contented meow is instant in your gentle grasp, and you can’t help but kiss her tiny pink nose in a shower of affection.

All Draco could do was stand back to watch the happiness dance across your features, to listen to your delight laughs as you spoke ever so sweetly to the fluffy creature. He couldn’t help the way his heart had been hammering away in his chest at the very sight, the way his smile was unable to be controlled at the sheer excitement you held. It had diminished any last traces of worry and doubt he had that maybe it’d been too soon. That maybe it’d upset you and maybe you’d think he was expecting you to move on. Any and all fears that had plagued his mind on the subject were gone at the way you beamed.

In that moment he found he’d do just about anything to see you smile, to bring you happiness. He knows very well that he hasn’t always been the easiest person to love, far from it, he knows that his life and his prior choices have put you through more than he’d like to think about. For if he did dwell on it for too long, he’d certainly make himself miserable because it still vexes him that you could love him so fully, without hesitation. But if there had been one thing he knew with certainty, it’s that he’d go to the ends of the earth just to make you happy. He hadn’t known how he deserved you after everything, but he was determined to give you all that he could.

“Have you named her yet?” You ask, pulling him from his daze and back to you.

He was distracted for a mere moment, trying to piece together what you had said because he’d been too caught up in admiring you. “Well, I…I was thinking Ivory. I thought it would be rather cute since—what is it?”

The corner of your mouth quirked up in a teasing smirk, your brow raising. “And to think you hated cats.”

He scoffs as he rolls his eyes, looking away from you to stave off his reddening cheeks.

“I do not hate them, I just never particularly liked them,” he grumbles.

“That is so untrue!” You exclaim, his gaze turning to you again, “You nearly declared war when Filch’s cat clawed you, Draco. If I recall correctly, you even said—”

Your words were cut off by his lips, for he didn’t want to hear just how right you were because you always are. So he quieted you the best way he knew how. The giggle it elicited tumbled from your lips and sounded against his mouth, fading away the more he had kissed you. After all, he had to make sure you didn’t bring up just how insufferable he once was in his childhood. But what was once an attempt to distract you became more profoundly distracting to him as your lips had him spellbound.

“Ivory is cute,” you murmur softly with another tender kiss as she paws at your hair, “and so are you, Dray.”

Her little meows have pulled your focus from each other and directed it towards the kitten in your arms who so openly expressed her feelings. Draco took her from your hands and kissed her head, and it was then that your quiet laughter erupted. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say as you try to stifle it, earning a narrowed stare. “You two look alike is all.”

His gaze only hardens at you before he looks at her, her pale blue eyes and icy hair too obvious a comparison to himself. But he will never admit that to you, you’re having way too much fun with it as it is. “No, we don’t.”

Your joyous laughter sounds once more, bringing the softest of smiles to his face. “Whatever you say, my love.”

In that moment your heart was full, because now you had not one love but two. The gesture was wonderfully thoughtful and entirely what you felt you missed, and while nothing could replace your treasured Ophelia no matter how many years have passed, now you could appreciate the old and new.

—

Tags: @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @awritingtree @harrysweasleys @dracosathenaeum @snitches-at-dawn​ @lunalovecroft​

[sinnaminsuga]

(GIF was sent to me by a friend so i'm not sure of the owner! if it's you let me know so i can credit you!)

Title: Be Gentle With Him

Summary: just some soft geralt. he deserves the world.

Word Count: 1,130

A/N: hello! this idea just popped up in my head and the lovely @wendimydarling encouraged me to write it out! wendi i cant thank you enough for being so sweet to me and always being there for whatever dumb questions i have 😂💕

Tags: @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @infinite-shite @inlovewithhisblueeyes @october505 @hope-to-hell @littlefreya @viking-raider @the-soot-sprite @raspberrydreamclouds @thelastsock @connieisland @nuggsmum @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @foodieforthoughts @geek-eat-repeat @oddsnendsfanfics @oddduckthatgirl @feralrunaway @its--fandom--darling @madbaddic7ed

(if i missed you let me know or if you want to be removed also let me know! ☺️💛)

This hunt had been particularly grueling. I knew by the way Geralt had come limping to my front door in much worse shape than when he’d left. Seeing him in such a state threw me into nurture mode and I pulled the large man through the door of my cottage just as I had many times before. Silently Geralt slumped into a chair at my kitchen table as I began to fix him a proper meal while also collecting the things I’d need to soothe whatever ailments he most likely had brought home with him.

After he was fed and mended, I drew a bath. There was no doubt that his muscles were sore and tired, the man was a monster hunter for god's sake. Swinging a sword around and dancing with death every day took a toll on his body no matter how much Geralt wouldn't admit it. I searched through my cabinets of herbs, potions, and elixirs to find the right combination. I began adding my collection of items to a bowl, under the watchful gaze of the witcher. Almond, chamomile, and lavender oils joined dried calendula and rose petals in the bowl. After adding a dash of red clover blossoms, I made my way back to the tub to turn off the faucet. I retrieved the bowl and scattered its contents into the water, the inviting scent eventually taking over the room.

Geralt sat in the corner, still silent, but observing. Once the bath preparation was finished I made my way to him and slowly started ridding him of his clothing, and he just let me. When he was fully undressed, I removed my own clothing and stepped into the tub, motioning for him to join me. I sat with him between my legs, and began gently washing his broad body. He hummed every now and then as the cloth travelled over his skin and I found myself smiling a little, happy that he was finally letting me take care of him. I scrubbed his scalp and hair with a mixture I’d concocted, effectively stripping the dirt and grime from him.

When I'd finished cleaning Geralt I tugged him back to lay against my chest. He needed to rest and I was determined to help him. We layed there in the steaming water, my hands tracing his shoulders and digging into the muscles of his strong neck every so often, peppering soft kisses over his exposed skin and now clean hair. Suddenly his breathing became uneven and his shoulders slumped against me. I softly tilted his head so I could see his face and that's when I saw. He was crying. Geralt of Rivia, the mighty White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken, was crying in my arms. The offending briny liquid slipped down his cheeks in what seemed to be a constant flow and he attempted to tear his amber gaze away from my face, but I wasn't having it. “Geralt, sweetheart, speak to me.” I said landing a kiss to his forehead.

“It seems to be becoming increasingly more difficult to leave you, little dove.” He spoke quietly. “And I know I must go. I have to provide for you somehow. But my heart longs to be here, with you. And it's making me clumsy. I’m so wrapped up in thoughts of you and my desire to return home, that I miss things. I never miss things, little dove. Never. I let a monster get the drop on me because I was too busy planning my route home. I don't think I can keep doing it. But then I think “what use would she have for me if I was around all the time?”. You’ll grow tired of me dove, I know you will. And then what? What's this old witcher to do then hmm?” He finished speaking and sniffed a few times before attempting to turn away again.

Bracing my hands on both sides of his face, I forced Geralt to look at me again. “Now you listen here good sir. I will never grow tired of you. Never. Do you know how many nights I've spent laying awake, wishing you weren't out there in harm's way? How much I wished you would return home days early?” I said, fingertips brushing over his cheek. “You don't have to do this Geralt. I’d take you as a monster hunter or a farmer or a stableman. It doesn't matter to me. We’ll find a way to get by no matter what you choose to do. Your mother stole that choice from you long ago and I won't be involved in doing that to you for a second time. You can be whatever you want. As long as you're mine.” I whispered into his hair. “Come now. The water is getting cold.” I said, moving to extract us both from the now tepid water.

The conversation in the bath seemed to be cathartic for Geralt and he was in a much better mood, teasing me as I dressed and tickling me whenever I passed by him. “Would you mind doing something about this, little dove?” He asked shyly, a small smile gracing his beautiful face as he gestured to his fresh clean hair. I nodded emphatically and grabbed a brush and some small thin leather strips from my drawer, then made myself comfortable on the bed while directing Geralt to sit on the bench at the foot of the bed. He grabbed a book from my shelf and made himself comfortable. “Read to me Geralt.”

I started slowly and gently detangling his long hair. Parting it down the middle, I listened as his voice rumbled out the words from the book in his big hands. I couldn't help but marvel at his hair, it truly was beautiful. Soft and silky, it slipped through my fingers like rays of moonlight. The more I toyed with the strands, the more I could feel him leaning into my touch, happy and comfortable. I continued to part and weave his hair into two wide braids, tying off the ends with the leather strips. A few wispy pieces too short to stay anchored within the braids, framed his face and curled around his ears. I slid out from behind him and knelt between his open legs, my hands holding his cheeks. “So beautiful. Truly.” I whispered as my eyes roamed his face, meticulously committing the sight of his blushing cheeks and wide smile to my memory. Before I could do anything else, Geralt pulled me up from my kneeling position and cradled me in his lap.

“You make me want to be a softer man little dove. A kinder man. I think that is what I shall become. A better man. For you.”

THE END

[author-morgan]

Hello, dear! Best wishes to you, I hope you are doing well. If you take any requests about m!Eivor, could you please write the story about how he saw in his dream (or Valka trip) a reader and fell inlove with them, but then met them in real life? A bit of magic never disturbs. ;D Thank you, I love your writing!

here you are! hope you enjoy and apologies for the wait! guest appearance by Havi!

m!Eivor x fem!Reader 

IT IS A rare thing when King of the Æsir comes to Fensalir of his own volition —leaving behind the golden hall and his score of warriors. He walks at the edge of the water through the tall grasses with Huginn resting on his shoulder and Muninn flying overhead. His gaze lingers ahead to a figure clothed in white, picking flowers and herbs. Frigg —a smile pulls at his lips— my queen. Huginn leaps into the sky when he pushes back his dark hood, stepping closer to where his heart and troubled mind have led him. 

“Havi,” you greet, having foreseen his arrival and the reason for it. Rising from the patch of white blooms —Baldr’s brow, you named them, after your beloved son— you brush the dirt from your hands and smooth down the front of your white gown. He stands before you as few have seen him, vulnerable and seeking guidance for a storm brews in the depths of his mind. The clouds gather, shadowing his clear blue gaze and giving him the countenance of a man walking the path to self-destruction. It is a look you do not like to see in any man, especially your husband. 

He does not explain his coming —long has the giant, Vafþrúðnir, dwelled in your husband’s mind for no other reason save the claim he is the wisest being in the nine realms. Taking Havi’s hand, you lead him to a bench at the edge of the fen-water, thinking of ways to dissuade him from a needless battle of strength or wit. You peer up at him from beneath your lashes, thumb running across his knuckles. “You are ever wise, husband–” Havi’s lips kink into a half-smile at the praise though it falters a moment later as you continue “–but Vafþrúðnir is the all the wiser.”

Two ravens with dark feathers shining like an oil slick in the pale sun come to perch —Huginn sits proudly on Havi’s shoulder, Muninn on yours. If it is only concern Havi has for the movement and dealings of the mighty Jötunn, then his ravens would suffice, but the look he wears is not one of mere concern. Muninn croaks at your ear as though he agrees with your thoughts. You reach up, stroking the feathers of Muninn’s underbelly. “Send Huginn or Muninn in your stead,” you supplicate, watching the crooked smile creep up onto his lips.

“Sweet Frigg,” Havi says, bemused by what he considers your concern, “you doubt me still.”

“Only because you do not see what is more than ten steps ahead of you until you arrive,” you admonish. Havi is wise in his own right, though at times, his temper tried to outweigh wisdom and reason. “You have your doubts,” you tell him with a soft smile, no other knew Havi as you did —sometimes he wonders if you know him better than he knows himself, and oft times the answer is yes, “else you would not visit my dwellings.” He looks away, shaking his head with a soft smile, unable to deny his wife and queen knew him well. You raise your hand to his scarred cheek, bringing his gaze back to you. “Go, dear Havi,” you breathe, “yet know I will not soothe your wounded pride.”

He rises from the bench, and you follow —both ravens leaping back into the watercolor sky. “When has my queen ever done so?” Havi steps closer, his rough hands cradling your face. You tilt your chin up, accepting a kiss as payment for your counsel. 

THE GOD OF Thunder and your step-son comes to Fensalir asking you to tend his father. Havi has been distraught for days after visiting with the Nornir, and Thor believes his beloved step-mother and queen are the only balm for such distress. You go to him in the twilight hours, finding him sitting atop the world with a distant and troubled look. He pays no mind to your approach, save moving to the left on his great throne to make room for you to sit. “What ails your mind, dear Havi?” You ask, sitting at his side —fingertips following the scar on his cheek, brushing through his close-cropped golden beard now tinged with the first kiss of silver. 

Havi turns his head, looking upon you in despair, but there is something else in his solemn gaze too —defeat. He pulls your hand from his cheek, thumb stroking the back of your palm. “Have you foreseen what the Nornir have?” 

Thor had not dispelled the reason behind the storm brewing within his father, but upon his question, you know what is troubling him —for the doom of the Æsir has plagued your thoughts and waking dreams. Though perhaps a worse fate lay ahead should you beget what visions fate had bestowed upon you. Havi is not one to accept his foretold ruin without first attempting to thwart the threads of fate. Information could be a dangerous thing. The difference between poison and medicine often lay within the dose. Sighing softly, you slip your hand free of his gentle grasp. 

“I cannot reveal what I have seen, nor am I privy what others have foreseen.” You lay your hand on his scarred cheek, bringing his gaze to you. The spark in your eyes gives him hope and eases his mind. Sweet Frigg, he thinks, ever the cure for my madness, my rock in a tempestuous sea. Havi covers your hand with his and leans toward you. The rough hair of his beard tickling your cheek before his lips brush against yours. “Have faith,” you breathe upon parting, resting your forehead against his. “Ragnarök shall not be our end.” It is a promise. 

“EIVOR!” WALLACE CRIES, helping his sister bring an injured woman into the longhouse of Ravensthorpe on a stormy night. He rouses from sleep and hastily puts on his tunic, greeting the hunters while rubbing his heavy eyes as they adjust to the dying firelight from the cook-fire and braziers. Eivor does not expect to see a woman supported between the siblings —head lolled forward with blood dripping from her arm and side. It takes him a moment to spur into action, but he takes Petra’s place and leads the injured woman to his chambers, helping her to the straw-and-rag stuffed mattress. 

Kneeling, he brushes aside the hair clinging her to face and freezes, eyes wide. “Frigg.” He breathes the name without a second thought and feels his heart clench. This woman is but a stranger, and yet a part of him has always known her. He is sure of it. Eivor presses his hand against the gash at her side and looks over his shoulder to Petra. It will take more than a cautery iron to heal this affliction. “Find Valka,” he tells the huntress. She nods, bolting from the longhouse as Wallace brings a basin of water and torn pieces of an old tunic. 

Valka comes with her poultices and cordials, kneeling bedside. As soon as she looks between Eivor and the injured woman, the Seer knows. Eivor Wolfsmal may be attempting to escape one knot in the tangled threads of fate, but he cannot run from them all. A bloody hour passes, but when the Seer takes her leave, she tells Eivor the woman will live, for the gods have smiled upon her, just as they smiled upon him. 

GROANING, YOU BEGIN to wake with a pang of hunger and thirst —the dull throbbing in your ribs is only a distant pain. The bed beneath you is soft, the wool and pelt blankets warm. The scent of cloudberries and honey linger in the air, reminders of a home no longer standing and a place you frequent in dreams. A rough hand curls around your wrist, jarring you into alertness, suddenly aware of the unfamiliar surroundings and the man sitting bedside in a disheveled tunic with partially unbound golden hair, hardly awake in the morning hours. “Havi?” You whisper. His is a face you know well —from his kind blue gaze to the scar on his cheek and the curve in a once-broken nose. 

He stares at you. He knows you. Eivor knows the curve of your lips, the gleam in your eyes, even the whisper of your voice. Sweet Frigg, his mind murmurs again and a strange feeling of relief overcomes him —as though a lifetime search has finally come to a close. “Eivor,” he corrects, ripping himself from the dream. Petra told him how they found you in the forest, stumbling away from the largest wolf either hunter ever seen. “They say you fended off a wolf on your own.” Spoken like that, it sounds a heroic deed —you left the beast for dead near a ravine, but the wolf had almost done the same to you. “What were you doing out in such a storm?” He asks, raising a tired brow. 

“Searching–” you sit up with a groan, holding onto your linen-bound side “–for home.” One of his hands covers yours, the other pressing against your lower back. Beholding Eivor, though, you realize your search has ended —you do not know him, but the feeling in your gut and the lightness of your heart in his presence tells you this is home. Dear Havi. Dreams and fate have led you here for a purpose. 

Eyes darting over Eivor’s features, you smile, offering your name. He repeats it, lips kinked. Your name is just as sweet on his lips as Frigg’s, if not sweeter. A moment passes, the silence hanging in the early morning air broken by the low croak of a raven perched in the rafters above your resting bed. Eivor glances up at Sýnin —the raven can sense something too. “You can stay here,” he notes, softly and without hesitance. “Ravensthorpe can be your home.” 

The generous offer makes your heart clench and brings tears welling up in your eyes. He smiles, and now you are certain your searches have finally ended. You pull your hand away from your side and Eivor’s hand, lifting it to his scarred cheek as you’ve done hundreds of times in dreams. Unwittingly, he leans into the touch —he’s done this before, and he recognizes the gentle caress of your thumb as it runs over the jagged scar. Eivor sighs  —all of this and you are familiar. 

Driven by memory, he rises to his knees, seeking your lips with his own. The tickle of his beard on your jaw and cheek is a warning, but you do not shy away —you’ve known him for a hundred lifetimes, and this is only a reunion. Eivor’s lips move against yours, both his arms loosely sliding around your waist. You smile against his lips, fingers combing through his golden beard. There are no sparks, for there is already a deep flame kindled between you both —one that cannot be extinguished in this life or the next. The threads of fate come together, and two halves are made whole. 

[taglist:  @kvitravn @vanillabeanlattes @nemo-my-name-forevermore  @withered-poppies @ananriel @britishhotassassin @maximalblaze @khaoskrossed @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @elizabethroestone @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling @kitkitvm @thedragonqueenfan @callmemythicalminx @edelaen @dynamicorbit @itseivwhore ] if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!

[sexyundeadtrash]

Caught  p.2

Caught     part 1 | part 2

warnings: biting, smut, some powerplay i guess, oral sex (f recieving)

How do  I get out of this?

Electricity buzzed along your skin, his cold grip like fire on your wrist, as you struggled to grab your phone.

Asshole.

“Just give me the phone, or I’ll knee you in the dick.”

He grinned.

“Is that the sort of thing you were reading about, babes?”

You rolled your eyes, a flush creeping up your neck at an alarming rate.

Shut up.

“I’m not kidding.”

You fix him your best glare. It doesn’t work, though, because his fangs poke out from his grin, and your eyes flutter down, the flush finally landing on your cheeks. Looking back up to his eyes, you know it didn’t go unnoticed.

You take a deep breath.

“You give in?” He cocked an eyebrow, as you slackened in his grip. He leaned into your ear, and your knees turned to jelly. Thank god he was holding you up. “Or do you want me to keep holding you?”

Your brain shut down. His hot breath tickled the shell of your ear, his fangs almost brushing against your earlobe. Your skin danced under the possibility.

His grip had loosened though.

In one swoop, you flew under his arm and grabbed the phone back, running to the other side of the room. He was quite the picture. Dumbfounded and bewildered didn’t begin to describe it. He stumbled around, then turned to you, frowning, before that grin crept back onto his face.

Oh no.

“Stay back, I swear,” you almost laugh, he’s already on to you.

“Or what? Kick me again?”

“I didn’t kick you the first time.”

“Such a tease.”

He was a few feet away now. You took a step back. He took a step forward.

“So whats on your phone?”

You blush. You’d already forgotten that’s what started this.

“Nothing,” you frown, voice getting higher by the second. “Just browsing.”

“Sure a lot of fuss over just browsing, babes,” he clicked his tongue. Another step.

You hit the wall.

“I’m a private person,” you shrug. Your eyes stayed trained on his, as he leaned towards you. Almost nose to nose. You felt his breath on your lips. His eyes looked into yours with a look you couldn’t quite distinguish.

“How private?”

He leaned his arms either side of your head, you were suddenly aware how dry your mouth was. How you’d been holding your breath. How your knees had buckled.

Fuck it.

You leaned forward.

Beetlejuice, taken by surprise, didn’t respond for a second. His arms stiffened. As soon as your hand reached up to caress his cheek, he leaned forward, your head against the wall, as his lips moved hungrily against yours. Teeth grazing your bottom lip. His tongue dipping inside.

You leaned forward, fingers pulling on his suspenders. He took the signal and moved forward, deepening the kiss, hands running down to your waist, then your hips, finally grabbing your ass. You were surprised he helf out this long.

You reluctantly parted. Catching your breath you caught the spark in his eyes. He looked in awe.

“You can grab me, you know, I’m not gunna break.”

He raised his eyebrows, then nodded eagerly, straightening himself up before his hands slipped over your waist.

As soon as you’d caught your breath, he was kissing you again, hands on your thighs, lifting you onto his waist. You hooked your legs across his back, pushing you against him. His stomach pressed against yours, the soft skin under his shirt pressed against your thighs. You could feel the heat pooling in between your legs, pressed up against him.

You moaned as he leaned down and pressed hot kisses against the nape of your neck. His lips grazing your collar bone agonizingly slowly. You groaned, as he looked back up at you, his eyes completely feral.

Then he bit you. His sharp teeth dug into your neck, the pain shooting through your body like lightning, the light flashed in your eyes, and then it softened against your skin. He licked and kissed the same spot, as you gasped at the contrast in touches.

Your hands gripped his hair, practically dragging him back up to your lips, he was hungry for you, eager. He walked you back to the sofa, laying you down more gently than you’d expect, his weight holding you in place against the cushions.

His hands traveled all over your body, practically ripping your clothes off you. You threw your top off, and he grinned, but you didn’t care anymore if he knew how badly you wanted this. The pit in your stomach pulled desperately toward him.

You both dragged your jeans off you and soon you were underneath him in your underwear, while he still wore his suit. HE looked you over like you were his prey. You bit your lip, looking up at him through your lashes, nervous of his reaction.

Then, before you could say anything, he leaned over you, hand gently cradling your breasts, as he trailed soft kisses down your chest.

“Beautiful,” he whispered so quietly, if the blood was rushing past your ears any louder you’d have missed it. Your breathing hitched when his mouth enveloped your nipple, softly sucking it into his mouth, tongue swirling over it as he closed his eyes in bliss at the whimper that escaped your throat. His other hand gripped the delicate skin on your hips painfully. You loved it.

He looked back up at you, as he kissed further and further down your body. Your chest rising and falling, with each quick breath that burst through your body. Your underwear was drenched, the heat in between your legs begging for friction. Your hips raised slightly in desperation. He smirked, a finger hooking your underwear, pulling it to the side as blew a gentle puff of air over your folds. Your body jerked in reaction. Your eyes looking back at him pleadingly.

He only watched you as he did it again.

You should have kicked him.

“Beetlejuice,” you warned him, narrowing your eyes, as he looked up at you innocently.

He shuffled, his head lowering between your legs, getting comfortable. You waited. Still nothing.

You looked down again, that cheeky shit-eating grin again.

“I swear to-“

He moved forward. His tongue licked a stripe up the center of your folds, and you bit back a gasp. The hands on your hips gently pressed bruises to your skin, holding you down as you tried your best to not thrust upwards for more.

His tongue gently dove between your folds, his eyes catching yours. He winked.

You would have rolled your eyes had he not flicked his tongue upwards inside you and a moan escaped instead.

“Just relax, I got you,” his voice vibrated against you, and your eyes closed. Electricity pulsed in your abdomen, your skin on fire, your slick coating his face and you thrust upwards his nose catching your clit, causing another moan. You didn’t even care anymore. Shame and embarrassment can come later. Beetlejuice knew what he was doing. His tongue worked you and you let your body relax, looking down to catch his eyes and flush, the electricity pulsing harder inside you. Your fingers laced in his hair and his eyes rolled back as he moaned against your clit. You whimpered as the build up became unbearable.

He nipped at your folds causing your body to jerk. You wanted to give a witty comeback or something but you melted against the sofa cushions, his arm now pressed against your stomach to hold you down. Your breathing quickened, his fingers shoved inside you, curling upwards, pushing you over the edge.

“Beee… I’m gunna…”

“Go on, baby girl, come for me.”

You keened at his voice, gravely and low and just for you.

“Keep… fuck… keep talking.”

He raised an eyebrow, seemingly confused, as you looked down at him with hooded eyes. You felt almost dizzy and if he stopped right now you really would kick him. Then that grin plastered across his face and the look in his eyes shined, as you closed them again, white lights shooting behind your eyelids.

“Uh uh, sweetheart, keep ‘em open for me,” you pushed against how heavy you felt, opening your eyes in time to see him press his mouth to your clit. You sucked in a breath and the weight tugging in your abdomen begged to topple over.

Your eyes pled with him.

“Gotta do better than that, babes,” his voice echoed in your head, his mouth still working away at your clit.

“Please,” you threw in the towel, “Beej, please, fuck me, I want to-“

His fingers mouth and the wave of heat crashed over you. And over you. And over you. The pull died away, his fingers still pumping away at you. Your face was on fire. You did not realize your nails had dug into his scalp, your chest pushed into the air until you flopped back down, limp and giddy.

Looking down, you pressed your hand against your forehead, wiping your sweaty hair away. Trying to get your breath back, you smiled as Beetlejuice kissed your inner thigh, looking up at you. His eyes were soft and his hair was a wild mix of pastel and hot pink.

“Were you reading something like that?”

[muffindaddystyles]

𝑌𝑂𝑈𝑁𝐺 & 𝐵𝐸𝐴𝑈𝑇𝐼𝐹𝑈L 

A oneshot of how you two met in the beautiful city of Italy, how Harry finds you an Angel descended from heaven above that took his hand and became his light. Dad!harry full of fluff..oh yeah dad!harry nation lets rise. .Part two of tooth rotting dad harry of it is here too. young and beautiful (II)

It's Saturday night. Harry and you intentionally have no plans but to loaf around in your guys cosy homely space. The candles flames with rośe tranquilness, the intro to movie watched many times together rolling in. Both of you are snuggled onto large body sucking sea-green velvet couch infront of telly.

His daddy long legs nestled atop your hip hooking around your ankle protecting you from falling if possible (moreso the fact he's extremely protective of you in your pregnancy.) His one elbow snaked around your collarbones which are now hiding underneath soft swelling, his sweater pawed arm sheltering around your huge eight months baby bump slender tender fingers tucked underneath your side.

You relaxes into him, back pressed to his tanned chest and with his chin resting atop your hair whenever he rasped out something it bobbed your whole head.

"Yeh' kay, baby? comfy?" He asks you for the hundredth time now caressing and stroking your chin, then earlobes, collarbones to your belly and the list goes on. It's one of his habits that he doesn't realizes himself more as ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑔𝑒. Harry's love language's physical contact, lots and lots of them. He finds calm in touching you here and there, raking his palms without them knowing their destination. He's cuddly and clingiest when drunk. Although, he has stopped drinking since you both are expecting but the clingy part of him jumped out during this period his only excuses are "wanna stay close to me' three babies." Or "i feel empty when you're even a bit away from me." 

"'M lover, stop worrying." You bring his jaw down with the tip of your pointer finger to kiss his lips gently with a tilt of your chin. He mumbles an anxious "cant." in your mouth running his thumb under the curve of your womb with amiable affection.

You hiss into his mouth when one of your bubba kicks you with ever most force and he pushes away with amused eyes, when he felt the kick against his palm. It's not like it's his first but everything related to his unborn babies muse him to utter excitement and tears of joy.

He shifts a tad resting his a little scruffy cheek against your silken naked bump, you're wearing one of his crotched zinc orange crop top and it bunched up your belly in very much likeness of Harry, he thinks you look so endearingly sexy he could make you use him as many times you want. His ear tucked under the crescent of your chest, "feels like jus' a barrier of skin between us." He bubbles his accent and you smile down at him infectiously. Meanouvering your fingers into his chestnut curls and massaging his scalp that made his eyelids futter into bliss.

There was another visible kick and Harry smoothed down the skin eyes shinning up at you, "a footy champ this one." You sucked your bottom lip trying not break into fits of laughter because from the weight your pelvis muscles has become weak and you end up leaving wet tiny splotches most of the time. First time you had it was two months ago you were fucking embarrassing and couldn't stop crying right after an hour of genuine laugh ofcourse caused by Harry when you guys shopped for babies and he wore that one onesie on his head being all goofy and child of two while expecting two himself.

"How're meh' baby girls. meh' bunnies." He smauched loud wet kisses all over your belly making slobbery snuggly voices to annoy you. You tug at his roots whining loudly because you know the undeniable loving scene of Harry talking to his two daughters will bring you to tears all because of stubborn hormones. Yes, two!

While you weren't even expecting a pregnancy, God said wait for my bumper surprise.

Everyone told your bump looks healthier than normal pregnancies but you ignored it until the day of gender check-up. Harry was ecastatic, fist pumping the air, bouncing with your hands intervined tears bloodshot in his eyelines. So were you...but you had a huge breakdown on the wooden floor of your home's threshold. You were blabbering thousand questions to him, body shaking and fighting to breath.

"I...I can't do this, Harry...too much 's too much." You cried to him that day. But he cradled your face into his calloused palms his temple kissed yours, "ye' can, my sweet girl. we can. wish I could bear one of our baby bunny, it's sad that I cant help ye'. But, it's my promise to be there for you forever and always." He leaned down to kiss you with so much love, more love he was keeping to himself ever since and more more love he can't put into words.

He comes back from your belly to leave a feathery kiss on your lips that makes you yearn for him more and settles back to his previous position, his face shoved into the crook of your neck and he presses kisses to the corner of your lips while your eyes remains glued to telly.

As Sally and Harry bickered in the car you chuckled softly fingers tracing his nose and the mole sheltered under it, "remember how we met?" His breath fanned tickling your cheek heartily when he shook his head with a giddy giggle.

"How could I not? Yeh' were a honey pot and a weepy mess after tha'." He scrunches his nose at you adorably reminiscing the night and series of nights after that.

"It was your fault mister." You twitch your lips turning to his side with his help and his hand sprawled at your back instinctively. "Ye' souvenired t' give a lonely guy like me some company, first." He smiles when you huffed. His beam getting joyously wider when your belly pressed tightly against his's and he kisses your forehead multiple times.

"Who thought that guy escapin' from Gucci's biggest event could be a dad of two girls." You quip playing with his neckline and his chest rumbled with a titter that sent you to cloud nine.

"Not me at all. But, if I could meet him back in time I'll tell him how lucky he's gonna be, how happy he'll be, that he doesn't needs to be a grumpy daddy when he could be a real happy one." His eyes are glassy and you cupped his cheeks placing your lips atop his into a feverish kiss of gentleness.

~𝐹𝑎𝑙𝑠ℎ𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑜 2015~

Gucci's spring festive on full blossom in the most popular old city of Italy, Milan. It's luxurious in all it's glory. A-list celebrities and world claimed most beautiful models. The hall clattered and shushed with talks, rumours, gossips and greets. Then it's fashion and tailored-fitted clothes, formal gowns. Fake smiles. Cold hearts.

On the long dinning table piled with food that sometimes's too difficult to pronounce Harry sat along with Kendall Jenner. His ex-girlfriend and a friend for now. She talks excitedly with the person infront of her snarling rude remarks here and there. Her hand came squeezing his thigh under the table that startled him from his imaginary world. A world where he's at peace, the luxuries doesn't exist and he's nothing but a normal person.

"Huh, love?" He kinks his brows together fiddling with the napkin in his lap and she gave him a furious pout for not giving her full attention, "I was pointing out how fast-fashion brands are shit." She rolls her eyes. Harry can't believe her bratty arse. He shrugged his thigh with a tad more harshness to get rid of her touch.

"Dunno. No' everyone could afford luxury brands." At this the model infront of them cackled more in her mock and sniffed to be polite in the fake hush of the room. Harry's eyes turned glassy and the jade in the murky to the visible irritation at their behaviour. His expressions dark and unreadable under the very less light.

Quiffing his long hickorey curls back he nibbed at his pointer finger's knuckle only to bend it under his chin afterwards, "'m serious." Kendall sighs loudly at this clearly annoyed by the way he's acting and the model infront of him gave him a 'whatever makes you sleep at night.' look and a shrug of her shoulders in arrogance while eating her steak.

Enough. Harry thinks with a grumble struck in his chest. He rakes the chair back that drew some attention but it drifted to some person sharing their experience and all that shit talk again on the loop.

Harry's guard followed him behind pushing the paparazzi away. Flashes in his eyes. Made up assumptions to his ears and shoved up opinions to his chest. He's sick. From all of this. He wants to shout to no-one in particular but himself, he wants an escape. He wants it with his every bleeding cell.

Then he takes a curt turn with a whiplash of his torso to dark alley beside the building from which he just exited and when he reached the end it was blocked by a brick wall so he jumped with ease to other side, his expensive boots scruffing against the gravel. He gave no care to the guard behind him.

He was in a local less populated street. Wider with the bumpy stones and there were people indeed but nobody paid him heed.

He sat on the concrete bench. Flinging his one leg over another hand gripping near his crotch and with a relieved huge exhale of breath he took his phone out going through it. After, so long he feels like he's a free dove who could breath free escaping from it's cage.

He's broken. Empty and in the rough path of his life. He doesn't know how to cope with it. It makes him fuckin' insane.

There's an ice-cream cart few steps away from where he's sitting alone onto bench. His head snaps at the beautiful giggle bouncing through the tangerine sky. He squints his eyes to get a better look of the group of friends crowding near the cart and licking onto their ice-creams.

Your white cotton dress furled with a wave of zephyr and the loose errand of your hair slipping from your low bun cascading around your face while you gave a belly ache laugh to one of your tall friend bopping his nose at his silliness.

Harry stares at the interaction of young people. They're just like him but looks more happy and youthful then why couldn't he?

His eyes are set on a certain figure and that's you still hidden from him as your friend Mona blocked the sight of your perfect view to Harry nudging your ribs.

"Is that Harry Styles." Jo mutters when his eyes fell over him and then he bashfully hisses, "don't look back! Don't look back. You guys are being too specific." Considering yourself stupid you spinned to have an ethereal sight of Harry sitting all by himself on the cold bench, his carved features glowing with the illumination of his phone screen still unlocked while he got distracted by you people.

"Doesn't feels like he's enjoying himself." Mona quipped taking a large swipe of her cold delight. None of them too interested in his wear abouts.

Call it clićhe but you don't have any thought in your mind before you're asking for an ice-cream cone from the ice-cream man heading towards him with your hands occupied with two.

Harry's breath hitching in his palpalating heart at the complete sight of you, for sore eyes for sure. His nerves jittery and knee bouncing in restlessness as you approaches him with a sweet grin. He takes in your complete look. White flowy dress and nude sandals, loop earrings and the bright red lipstick resembling the blood gush of his heart. 'Less is more' making you appear so beautiful.

Harry's so lost in his own brain wrecking that he forgot where you went but you rounds him from behind flinging your left leg on the other side of bench to sit on it with your legs on either side of it, he again startles getting off-guard hastily turning to face you when you tapped his shoulder.

Licking your own vanilla sweetness you forwarded the cone to him a sweet sheepish smile on your glowing hearty features. His body guard instantly changed his position to stop you but Harry gave him a stink eye accepting your offer shyly. Your cheeks heating even in the mild temperature when his supple fingers brushed yours.

"Thank you." His voice timid wiping the corners of his heart shaped lips but you just shrugged your shoulders leaning back with your hand pressed against the bench, "no problem. you're welcome." Harry gazes at your collarbones prodding from the flimsy fabric of your v-line then he shifted his gaze down to his Gucci loafers telling himself not to be a pervert. It's just you're too delicate that he can't stop admiring.

"I like your suit." You compliments him with glinting eyes and his cheeks flushed with shyness mumbling a "thank you." Under his erratic breath.

His eyes flutters and tummy flips when you bring your hand closer to him taking the sleeve of his jacket tugging at it, "it's too graphic you know...in a good way." He finds it endearing that you were this engulfed in just the design of his suit and when you tilt your chin peering up at him, he feels like his brain stopped functioning. He nods eyes still locked to yours and when he sense some coldness dripping down his thumb he quickly ducks down to lick it off causing his sculpted cheek to stroke against your silken ones in utter gentleness.

You gulp timidly sitting back straighter.

"So...? For what stuff you're here for Harry?" He loves the way his name sounds mellow coming from you. He clears his throat unwinding his long legs to stretch them wide and it nudged yours sending jolts to both of you, "uh, 'm 'ere fo' Gucci event." You beam at this shifting closer to him.

"I like the way it sounds comin' from you." He cackles at this running his fingers to tame his matte curls.

His tense demeanor slipping bringing his shy, timid and goofball ones exposed to you. He's himself surprised that all the built up frustration in his nerves drained away from your presence.

Being an art major and a fashion geek you asks him with ferverishness patting his knee, "what was it like? I've heard it's mesmerising." He chuckles at this. He wanna scoff because a sweet girl like you wouldn't last a second there.

"'S okay. I guess." He elevates his shoulder in bored expression and when the ice-cream swipes at the tip of his nose you giggled bunching forward to his side. He smiles down at you squinting his eyes narrow in an accuse.

"And what yer' here fo'? Wait yeh from here?" You bite the waffled cone chewing it. Words muffling with a full mouth, "having a trip with my University's friends. I live in London though. I really really wanted to see Milan. So, here I'm." You make an innocent childish face raising your arms in air to show him and his heart's soothing to peace with every homely action you'd pull to make him relaxe.

Then there was silence that Harry was unaware how to break. He could hear you talking for an eternity. On the other hand you aren't that akward to make conversations with people. No doubt you're shy, and wants your own space to blossom but this one habit of yours is inseparable.

"You know when back home. An ice-cream man would come daily at midnight in summers. Me and my cousins would climb up his bicycle cart like darn monkeys. Pop our heads inside the freezer and annoy the fuck outta him. God I miss home." There's this un-pointable feeling. That's unfigurative to Harry but it's there; of admiration and of endearment. His heart's at cloud nine caressing itself to the pink cotton candy.

His heart reaches out for you from his ribcages as the homesickness glistered in your irises. You weren't obliged to talk to him, to give him company but you still did beacuse beautiful accidents and coincidence happen in the admist of rushed streets.

Harry parted his lips to talk to you more but he has nothing, his life's not unknown by anyone and the normal scenarios of people entertains him so much.

His head snaps when you grin widely at him throwing the last and best of cone inside your mouth. Your small pretty mouth chewing like a rabbit and Harry wants to have a touch, just some to shush the fire in his stomach.

His head snapping when you yelled to children that were skipping on rope waving to them, "hey kiddos! Wanna have some ice-cream!?" They all left their play of galloping running towards you. Harry looks at you wide eyes eating his last bits away.

"Our hotel gave us a coupon for free ice-creams." You laugh standing up and he wants to catch you by wrist to stop you going away from him but when you squeeze his shoulder leaning to whisper in his ear chills ran down by his spine, "will be right back." He swallows thickly nodding eyes trailing to you as you collects all the little fellas to cart.

He watches you. Is she an Angel? A mirage to help him out of his anxiousness? Or a smoke in his mind that'll disappear soon? He thinks picking on his nails. He's not ready to step out of the calm bubble you created so delicately around him. Only if life could be this easier.

He rolls his eyes playfully sucking his lips inside his mouth when he sees you paying extra for more. He looks back to his body-guard. Maybe you didn't noticed him or cares less but Harry's kinda annoyed that he has to be here in such a happy vulnerable moment of his life.

"Thank you nice lady!" Harry chuckles gleefully when all of the kids thanked her licking onto their sweets. "It's okay kids, be careful before I take them back."

Shaking your head you strides back to Harry coming to stand infront of him. You can fit perfectly between his legs if he opened them wider for you, that desireful thought swooshed through his mind but he shakes it away.

"Thank ye' nice lady." He squeaks in high teasing pitch standing up and your eyes widened when he literally towered you fully. Your height differences funny even you're in heels.

"Not you now." You declared with blushed cheeks. His irirses glinted when you fumbled with the sides of your dress.

"So...this's it?" You ask him peering up at him with such gooeness he could whimper. Shivers running down your body as the weather turned rather more chill.

"This's it.." Harry whispers. He feels what? a lump of wetness in his throat? He's at the brink though.

"Thank you for bearing my monkey ass." You guffawed out but he has serenity in his eyes. He thins his lips. "I should be the one to say thanks."

He was taken aback when you hugged him running soothing circles at his back. He inhales your tangerine vanilla scent embracing you fully now. If he could freeze the time he would in a snap. He feels like he's all the way back home after travelling shallow through the whole world.

"It's gonna be alright, whatever it's Harry. It'll be alright. You're gonna be alright. It gets bumpy but you still have so much for you." Harry wants to cry in some strangers arms. He feels so defeated and tired. But, the determination and affirmation in your voice made him think opposite. He'll do it. He can do it.

He didn't let you go first. You untageled yourself from him gently swaying on your feet, taking a step back and he couldn't blink his eyes away from you as you bit your crimson lip.

You take steps away from him eyes still locked to his jade ones and he calls you out through the breeze looking for passing by cars if possible because you're standing in the middle of street.

"Hey, stranger!!!" You tilt your chin in a questioning and shake your head at his lopsided cheshire smile, "forgot t' tell ye'r name!" He yells out in rushed anticipation and anxiousness as if he'd loose you if any minute ticks by.

Goosebumps appears at your bare legs from the chill, "Y/N. Y/L/N." Then you spin around raising your hand high atop your head waving it for Harry.

"Ba-bye. Harry." You says loudly but it doom vacuumed to emptiness once you step inside your hotel's lobby leaving Harry at his own sake again.

Standing still at his spot. Hands shoved into his trouser's pocket and long spiral curls framing his sculpted features he watches you with a furrow of his brows from the glass of hotel. His frown getting deeper when you threw your head back laughing when you bumped into your friend who was coming to find you, you caught his wrist eyes widening at something funny he said and Harry sighs thinking maybe you're just this kind and generous and that he's not a special case in your book.

With an exhausted sigh he makes his way towards his bodyguard who gives him a side mishevious eye, "happy now, Styles?" Harry jabs a shove to his bulky shoulder playfully lips twitching and eyes narrowing, "oh shut up!" His mood more lightened and gleeful than his previous one thanks to you.

***

Next day when Kendall and her friend dragged Harry to fancy the local streets of Milan. Harry had a less scowling face than before. They stopped infront of some shop to buy bagels that someone bumped right square into Harry's back making him stumble a little.

It's you. Rushing out of a pharmacy. Harry's gaze trails from your toe to head and his lips parts in surprise. The whole past night in his lonely hotel bedroom you were his dream of heart and the stubborn thought of his mind while the thump of after party going downstairs kept him occupied and fainted the erratic pace of his heart. Then his brows kink in worry and concern at the grueling sight of you.

You're in a pink sweater and pyjamas. Eyes glassy. Cheeks flushed and blazing. Nose running and hair poking out in every direction. He takes a gentle step towards your astonished figure brewing fingers reaching out to hold you but when you keeps a distance from him his heart falls in his arse, and when you cough in your elbow he realizes that you're maybe cold or having a fever.

"You okay, love?" He asks you. Voice that of honey and panic dripping from his features. You gives him a big smile bobbing your head quickly and he have an urgency not to roll his eyes at you. Because you don't seem okay from any angle!

"'M just having a tiny cold it's not that worrisome." Harry's eyes pops out from his socket at your voice. It's groggy and hoarse not that sweet warm honey that was fusing in his ears last night. "Y/N. You can barely speak, are you sure you're okay?" You try to give him a small smile at his care but it got suppressed by another throat tearing cough. Poor little thing. Harry fawns looking down at you.

At this he abruptly saturates the distance between you two, "note me' number, darlin'. Promise me you'd call me if you feel too sick." You give a glance to his two friends coming by to stand beside him.

"Hi." You greet them in hoarseness and they wince when you forward your hand for a shake making you feel ashamed and embarrassed of your politeness when they didn't accepted it. Harry jaw ticks in furiousness as he glares them it's all adding up to push his nerves now.

He takes your shivering hand with an arch of his brow to his friends in challenging sterness noting down his phone number at your palm. You give him a soft "okie." and a "thank you." waving him and his friends a good-bye. He notices that you're not someone to hold grudges against someone. He knows that Kendall's behaviour throws people off but you didn't seem to mind it too much.

"Who was she Harry?" Kendall asks him chewing onto her bagel. Harry shrugs not keen to spill any precise details, "someone I met last night."

She tries to scrape more from him. "How?" Harry closes his eyes tugging at his roots not ready to snap at her.

Harry thinks many times to say the right words so that she'd shut up but still ends up saying something that infuriated her ego and mock, "she offered me ice-cream—" Her friend scoffs perking his head.

"Mate you're nuts for accepting something from a stranger." Logically yes. But you meant no harm to him. Your eyes were truthful and shined with sincerity.

Harry stays silent walking inside their hotel. The hostess asks them if they'd like to have a brunch.

On the other hand you climbed up the stairs to your room with a lazy gait. Your lungs burning. Once inside your room. You takes your medicine with a shivering body and minus energy to even raise your finger. You want to cry but you give a pep talk to yourself that you're a brave girl squishing yourself in your bed, hiding under three blankets.

There's bright sun outside but still you're feeling like someone placed you atop Antarctica's glacier snatching every clothing item from you. Your friends are all out and you wish you could have them. You hate being sick and alone.

When you woke up again. You felt horrible. Feeling like a truck crushed you underneath itself. When you tried to sit up, you fell back a reckless painful sob erupting from your lungs as with wavering fingers you massaged your sweaty forehead. The sheets under you drenched into sweat and hotness. Panic rising in your chest as your vision blurred with blackness so you dialed Harry's number immediately in the fear someone should be with you in case you faint.

"He—" He was cut off with your loud crying. The fork in his hand clanking against the sleek plate gaining everyone's attention. "'S okay. 'M comin'. I'll be there in no time love." He speaks hastily telling his bodyguard not to follow him with a gesture of his hand while striding to his car in big steps.

"Y/N. Darlin'? Yeh' there?" He asks you with his chest tightening with anxiety when the other end of line was dead as grave, "'m, i'm." Your breath spurts into coughs and Harry sighs sympathetically at your condition. It took him fifteen minutes to reach your hotel.

"Which room?" None of you noticed that the phone was still on line. You were half conscious cheeks soaked and smashed into silk pillow case. "Room number, sweets?" He asks you patiently running through different floors to take care of you as soon as possible.

"2-234.." You stutter. Harry halts in the middle of corridor snapping his head everywhere your room was three rooms away from him.

"Can yeh' stand up for me and unlock the door for meh? Can yeh do that sweet girl?" Harry's standing at your door and your sob muffles into your arm when you shake your head in denial. Luckily the door was unlocked.

"Stupid girl." Harry mutters under his breath pressing the red button when he finally tumbles inside your room. He wants to scold you for not caring for your safety when you're sick, fragile and barely able to stand up.

His heart grips into a knot when you turn to your side. The girl he was with last night long gone. Your lips blue and wobbling. Cheeks red and wet. Sweat sheening. Your body shaking. You could be barely seen from under the layers of blankets.

"Oh sweet girl. 'm so sorry." The mattress dips under his weight and he hovers over you taking you in his arms instantly. Squeezing you tight and warm, it feels good so you cuddles your face into the crook of his neck. He gasps when his hand glides down your back and finds it pooling with so much sweat, and you burning like sun outside.

"You're burnin' love." He says with wide eyes cautiously smoothing his hand at your back to make you feel better.

"It hurts, Harry." Harry pulls you from your shoulders rolling his thumb in the dips to massage them, "where?" Your chest rumbles with another whimper as you bolt your eyes shut.

"Everywhere."

He inquires further and you give a drowsy moan when he expertly massages your shoulders and arms, "did you take your medicine?" You nod at this head falling against his chest and if he wouldn't be so worried about your condition his tummy would've flipped so hard.

"And did yeh' ate somethin' befo' that?" When you shake your head in rejection he again pulls you back looking down at you in offend and shock.

"Y/N..." He warns you with a tough expression. Then he cups your cheeks making you look at him even though your eyes are closed he scolds you strictly, "Y/N you should be kind to yourself too."

"Now. 'M gonna take ye' to hospital." He announces and you squirm away from his grip shaking your head like a child. You hate hospitals.

"Y/N..don't be difficult darlin'." Only if he knew he has to deal with this his whole life. As you try to speak your words swallows back when he snakes his arms under your armpits making you stand up.

"No buts. Look at ye'. Yer condition will worsen if yeh' keep refusin' to go." With your whole weight over his side he makes you sit in the passenger seat, stroking your cheek with his knuckles giving you a reassuring smile and rounding to his driver side.

He keeps on checking you through the whole drive. You're still high on fever when he places his palm at the curve of your neck then at your forehead tsking when you moaned in pain, "'s gonna be alright." He rubs your knee trying to give you a smile through his own anxiousness.

They checks you in the ER. The doctor notes your symptoms on his notepad and Harry gazes you in full concentration sitting right beside you, he has your fingers laced with his's and he's continuously rubbing your back to provide you with any warmth.

"I've a very low immune system since I had a tonsillectomy when I was nine. Had an ice-cream last night and quite often I know I get sick in this season." You toy with his silver rings carelessly. Harry admires you. Dunno why. He just do. Because he thinks he might be falling for the way you talk, you behave and try to remain polite in every circumstances.

"Miss Y/N since you've your tonsils removed your coping mechanism from bacteias's less and you've caught a pneumonia." Your head immediately turns to look at Harry and when he sees that fear in your eyes he unwinds his hand from yours leaning to take your chin, "hey...hey lovie'. It's okay you'll heal in a week."

The doctor hands the prescription to Harry. The next thing he announces makes you sob like a five years old, "no. no. no." You shake your head shrinking back and Harry gives the doctor a sheepish akward smile stroking your hair.

Doctor sighs at your behaviour leaving at last, "the nurse will be here soon to give you injections."

Harry quickly stands up shutting the large curtain that's around the stretcher bed you both are sitting at as soon as he comes back you wrap your hands around his forearm. He hisses when you dig your nails to his flesh your tears dropping at his wrists.

"I don't like needles. I loathe them. They scare me." You sniffle and Harry ducks to your level metting your glossy gaze. He caress your head kissing your hair, "you're so brave. I know it. It would just be a pinch. Ye' can squeeze the fuck outta my hand if yeh want to." He has his fingers tucked under your earlobes as he again and again wipes your tears.

The nurse comes to you shutting the curtains behind her. She's old lady in age and observes the couple infront of her. Well, for her you both are looking like one.

You immediately move back to Harry's side as he's sitting now with his front infront of you, "scared of needles." Harry tells her timidly in a low voice puffing his cheeks a bit in gentility.

Harry saps his opal teeth into his lower lip when you wrapped your elbow around the nape of his neck bringing him down closer to you and your face shoved to his chest near his armpit. His other arm wrapping around your waist to flush you closer to him. He tries to drift your attention to himself whispering sweet nothings into your ear and the nurse awes applying alcohol where she has to inject the needle.

"'S okay. We're gonna get home after this, have some soup, will take a nap, watch some telly...." He smoothes his hand over your spine grasping it softly. You stiff in his genial hold twitching and hissing loudly when the needle was poked and pushed into your delicate skin. His white shirt's completely soaked into your tears now but he doesn't give two fucks.

"Just two more." The nurse mutters and you perk your head away from Harry's chest looking at her horrified, "two more!?" You squeak out hiccuping and Harry has to suppress his giggle at your expense from how adorable you look.

He again shoves your head back in his armpit muffling your huffing and tantrums. "Don't move darlin' don't wanna get yeh' hurt." His hold tight and firm.

"Hurts." You pout and Harry traces it stopping himself to just lean down and kiss it. Nurse left you guys to yourself and Harry breaths loudly grinning at you, patting his thighs standing up helping you too.

"Thank you, Harry." You crane your neck to see him properly rubbing your nose once Harry makes sure you're sitting in his car comfortably.

"No problem, love." He kisses your cheek making your lips quirk up for the first time.

***

You're sitting crossed legs on the twin sized bed of your hotel room. Harry takes a quick glance of you pouring soup into some bowl. Your temperature a little bit coming back to normal, sweat still there as you rests your head back at the board of bed. You're room's nothing sort of luxurious it's dinky and compact.

"Here love." Harry hands you the soup making sure to be careful that you don't get burnt and you takes it from him with a series of appreciation.

"Feelin' better now?" He asks you rubbing your ankles as you places your feet in his lap. Blowing onto your soup and he does the same shoving spoonful in his mouth.

"Way better. Felt like dying honestly." Harry couldn't imagine how bad your condition was he saw it himself and he gives you a weak smile, his man-bun getting loose now.

"Where are your friends? they should have known that you weren't feeling well."

"They asked me but—" Harry's low voice cut you off. In just a day he got to know what your nature's like.

"But you didn't wanted to spoil their fun." You roll your eyes playfully wiggling your toes in his lap to tickle his tummy but he catches them making you squeal through sore throat.

He giggles when you slurp purposedly attaching your lips to the rim of your bowl. Once you're full he places your medicine in your palm and when you makes an icky face he gives you a stern gaze, "uh-huh. Take 'em."

When you swallow the bitter medicines down with a huge gulp of water he pats your head, "good girl." He puts the glass at nightstand. Caressing your jaw, "wanna take a nap?" You nod.

"W-would you lay down with me, ...'s just my body aches and—" You tried to explain without letting heat to creep at your cheeks. He bobs his head furiously more than okay to fulfil your wish.

Without any word he shifts gently to your side getting rid of the hair band that was trapping his long curls into a bun, squeezing into twin sized bed with you, "sorry." he quips when you hiss at his cold bare feet touching your warm ones.

"It's okay." You smile up at him moving closer to him. Sheets rustling underneath as you rests your head over his sprawled forearm. Your bodies reacting automatically like one of soulmates when your knee nudged his legs and he parted them so that you could place your sore one in between them. You molded into him like a piece of puzzle, that was just meant to fill the part of him that was scraped out because of his fate leaving him shallow and empty.

"Sorry for ruining your day." You mumble into his neck fingers brushing the baby curls at the nape of his neck. He shakes his head running his thumb in circles under your hair that were sticking to your neck, "No, thank you fo' makin' my day better. 'M havin' fun babying you." You titters at this and he sighs. There's calm. Heart beats in sync. Yours was racing moments ago. You're tangled into eachother's embrace and he pulls thin blanket ontop of both of you.

You purr wishing he could be always with you at how he's a walking talking heater, "you're warm." Harry senses come to a pause at the kitten voice you just let out snuggling into him deeper and exhaling the breath he was holding in. He melts into you kissing your forehead and petting your cheeks.

"Sleep sweet girl." His breathing lulls you to deep slumber.

***

It's late in night. Harry squints his eyes to street lights coming from the balcony window. He groans and when pushes his face away from you, a huge lovesick smile dances at his lips. He slept so good after so long. Your warmth and sweet flesh pressed into him made him drift to sleep so quick.

He brushes your loose hair back, adorning every feature of you. Fever making you look more glowy and swelly. Then when he leans to kiss your forehead he hears the quite whimper escaping from your lips.

He places his hand at your neck to check and you're again burning. Sighing he wakes you up by smoothing his hands down your arm, stroking your hair gently and tapping your cheek with his two fingers.

You're murmuring weepily in your sleep. "Wake up y/n. It's time for your second dose." He keeps his voice slow not to startle you and your eyelids fluttered taking it's time to absorb his presence.

You shift back against the headrest. He brings the glass closer to your lips after giving you medicine. One hand on your head other making you sip water.

"W-wanna go home. Home Harry." You say in your breaths hiccuping and Harry feels so helpless. He tries to calm you down in every way possible.

He knows you're not talking about going back to London. Your talking about your actual homeplace. Then it hits him, that you're both missing that feeling. Even though you're bubbly, happy and cheerful girl you still miss home as Harry does too. You're perfect for eachother.

He takes you in his arms bringing you back to bed. You hug him close to your heart tearing in his embrace, soft whimpers in his ears that's a knife to his stomach. He pecks the side of your head multiple times.

"Home." You sniff eyes dropping. Harry messages your scalp. Your body moving up and down as he breaths. Your continuous blabbering of 'home' dulls to your sleeping breath and Harry's own eyes craved for more drowsiness with you.

He bolts his eyes shut when his phone vibrates under him. "What!?" He spats whisper yelling, you still over him. He doesn't want to disturb you by any means. Not when you're sick and went back to sleep with so much difficulty.

"'M not coming." He declares dryly as his manager tries his best to coax him back to whatever place they want him asap.

He throws his phone onto sheets cuddling back into you, letting your scent to consume him fully. His heart prancing at the thought of serenity he'll feel while sleeping else it's just jolts of anxiety.

***

Next morning your arms were holding onto nothing, there's no shoulder on which you were crying earlier. The room's dull and sheets cold. Sun refused to outshine for today it didn't got any emarld to beam at.

"Harry...?" You whisper innocently rubbing sleepiness from your eyes and when the silence laughed back at your face you sigh sadly.

You knew from the very start that his presence was just a mere touch of heaven and it's not his fault that you never got to complete dive into him.

It's just you and your homesick soul staring blankly at the flower wallpaper. His soft, giddy vanilla smell hugging you from every side. Consuming your body and you didn't realized you'll miss him until now.

Maybe, you and your love was contagious to him.

.

𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 a 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞!!! Don't forget to give your feedbacks.

[reidology]

Friend, please don't take your life away from me

Summary: The last thing Spencer was expecting to find when opening the victim’s bathroom cabinet was that familiar little brown bottle, a Dilaudid label stuck to it.

Pairing: Hotchreid

Word count: 1.6k

CW: implied/referenced past drug use, drug craving, hurt/comfort

AO3

Spencer had spent more time than he’d like to admit on kicking his heroin addiction. He put in countless hours into getting better, getting sober, because he knew he had to be there for his mother. And for his team. He couldn’t let himself deteriorate any further and let down the people he loves the most, they were his only family. It took a long time for the cravings to stop appearing at any minor inconvenience, even longer for the headaches to fade and the arm-scratching habit to cease. It’s been years since Hankel, and years since he last used, and he was incredibly proud of himself.

But goddamn did it take every single ounce of energy and willpower that Spencer had just to function every day. He was clean, but he’d always be scarred, and he’d feel that little sliver of temptation deep in the folds of his brain for the rest of his life. He’s taken every precaution possible since; limited painkillers, no narcotics, no alcohol, but most importantly, he flushed out every drop of Dilaudid he had down the toilet and never looked back. Needless to say, Spencer was prepared. He knew to just say no, to turn around and walk away.

The team had driven down to the suburbs to check out the current crime scene. The house was a two-story picture-perfect family home with a spacious backyard and vegetable garden. This was definitely somebody’s dream home. Upon arrival, each person split up to different areas of the house, Spencer took the master bedroom. He noticed the king size bed, the flowing flower-laden curtains, the dented bookshelves lining the walls, the empty spaces filled with tasteful artistic decor. Nothing seemed unusual or out of place, so he moved on to the en suite, the door closing softly behind him. He began searching the area for any clues. The bathtub was clean and empty, perfectly folded towels hung up on a hanger. The drawers held the standard married-couple bathroom products. The last thing Spencer was expecting to find when opening the victim’s bathroom cabinet was that familiar little brown bottle, a ‘Dilaudid’ label stuck to it.

He shocked himself when he realized that, instinctively, he’d started reaching for it, without even registering what the bottle was. He lowered his arm and stood there, unable to take his eyes off of the shelf. It seemed the vile was staring back, mocking him, innocently resting there. Oh, wouldn’t it be so easy to just… take it? To put it in his pocket and walk away. Who would know? Everyone, he thinks. They’ll all notice if I start using again, they know the signs to look for. But what does that matter? Here and now, what would be so wrong about taking it? He wouldn’t use it, he doesn’t even have a needle, he just wants to hold it…

A thumping sound coming from the bedroom shook Spencer from his daze. Blinking, he looked around the bathroom to remember what he was doing. He locked eyes with himself in the mirror, he looked pale, a deer-in-the-headlights expression written across his face. It was then that he noticed his hand was wrapped around the small bottle, resting at his side, gripping so tightly his knuckles turned white. Oh god. He felt terrified of himself, he didn’t know what he would do, couldn’t possibly predict what his next moves would be. Slowly, so agonizingly slowly, Spencer set the bottle down onto the edge of the sink, but didn’t let go. He was still holding on tightly, his other hand fisting the rim of the sink with just as much force. He was so close… could feel the liquid burning in his veins, could recall the scent of it, how good it felt… Stop it, he orders to himself, Let go and back away. Let go! Let go! Let me go! LET ME GO!

When his eyes opened once again his knees were on the floor, his breathing was labored and erratic. How did he get down here? When had his eyes closed? The tiles were cold and dirty, his cheeks wet with sweat and tears, his hair stuck to his forehead. And the bottle- the heroine was- still there. Cradled to his chest, wherein his head was also tucked. Rocking back and forth onto his heels, he thought, I can’t do this, I need someone.

“Hotch…”, he muttered lowly. One shallow breath, and he repeated, “Hotch.” “Hotch! Hotch!”, Spencer all but sobbed out, each inhale stuttering violently. “Hotch! Please! Please help me, Hotch, please…”

The bathroom door flew open and in pounced Hotch, aiming his gun, steady. “Reid?” He looked down to Spencer on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably and clutching something tightly to his chest.

“Reid, what’s wrong?”, he asked desperately as he crouched down to Spencer’s level, putting a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to steady him.

“Hey, shh... shh… it’s alright Spencer. What’s going on? Talk to me,” Now kneeling down in front of him, he wrapped one arm around the younger man’s shoulders.

Spencer continued to cry but he lifted his head up to look at Hotch. He shook his tightly coiled hands towards the other man and let out a broken “Help,” before leaning his forehead onto Aaron’s shoulder, “don’t let me take it.”

Hotch soothed his hands into Reid’s hair and shushed him comfortingly, “Okay, okay. Shhh it’s okay, you’re okay, Spence, I’m here to help you, you’re okay…”

Spencer was so wound up, stiff and erratic, his hold on the bottle was so tight, Aaron just needed him to calm down a little and relax his muscles so he could take away whatever was in his hands. It was so hard seeing his best friend like this. He’d never seen him in such a helpless state. Spencer had always appeared so strong around others, because it was the one thing that he was constantly underestimated for. No one expected Spencer Reid to be strong and resilient, to hold his own. But he’d proved them wrong time and time again, it never ceased to amaze Aaron. Even when Spencer was staring down the barrel of Hankel’s revolver, the man hadn’t shown any weakness. When Hankel pulled the trigger, the genius hadn’t even flinched, just maintained eye contact and said ‘Shoot’. But now here he was, a mess on the victim’s bathroom floor and all Aaron knew to do was hold him close until his sobs stopped and his breathing mellowed out.

After a few minutes of the older agent trying to comfort him by petting his hair and back, and whispering into his hair that he’ll be okay; Spencer’s body finally started to relax under Aaron’s. Aaron could begin to push apart Reid’s fingers. He pressed their foreheads together and took the younger’s soft hands into his own rough bigger ones. Aaron looked at Spencer’s closed eyes and caressed his smaller hands, loosening the tension little by little. When Spencer’s hands finally fell open onto his lap, Hotch moved in quickly to scoop up what was in them. He initially recognized the object as a pill bottle. He looked at the label and froze, his stomach dropped and his guts twisted.

Suddenly, he had to stand up. He needed to get this bottle far far away from his precious friend. Spencer remained motionless and exhausted on the floor, “Dump it out, in the sink”, he muttered, sounding so exhausted, resigned,

“Please Aaron just dump it out.”

Hotch’s expression didn’t give anything away, he knew he had to get this done for Reid, he could overthink this later. He headed to the sink and dumped out the bottle, then tossed the empty glass into the bathtub, shattering it. Making sure none of it could be used. He glanced back at Reid on the floor and immediately went to him, wrapped him up in his arms as tightly as possible. Spencer fell back into his chest and hugged back just as desperately, some tears coming back to dampen Aaron’s bulletproof vest.

“It was so easy, Hotch… It was so easy to just give in to temptation. Even after all these years, even after how hard I’ve worked, I still- I’m still an addict. I couldn’t control myself! I couldn’t control my body!” Spencer said cried into the man’s shoulder, hands fisted into his shirt.

“No, Reid, no,” Aaron whispered into Reid’s hair, “You’re so strong, that was so strong of you. You asked for help, thank you thank you thank you for that. I love you, Spence. I love you and I’m so proud of you...”

Reid tucked his head further into Aaron’s neck, hair tickling his chin. The older man took a deep breath in and brought his finger up to gently push the younger man’s hair out of his eyes.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispered tracing his finger down to Spencer’s chin and lifting his face up to look into his eyes. He leaned in and took Spencer’s lips into his own for a long, passionate kiss. Everything that needed to be said what said in that one endless moment. Spencer whimpered and pressed in closer, his tears smudging onto Aaron’s cheeks. They pulled away and Aaron took the younger’s face into his own hands, wiping away the tears, “I mean it,” he whispered into his lips, “I love you.”

Spencer looked up into his lover’s coffee yes and responds, “Thank you for helping me, Aaron, I love you too.” Aaron smiled down at the boy he loved and kissed him again. They remained there, on the cold bathroom tiles holding each other, for a while longer.

[theseshipsshallsail]

Oliver has developed a particular fondness for dinner drudgery over the past decade. At thirty-four, he felt a greater appreciation for the twinkle in Samuel’s eyes as he lured some unsuspecting academic into a debate he was destined to lose. The all-too-familiar smirk hidden behind a wine glass as Annella caught his gaze mid-rebuttal, the same mischief written over her features as that of her son’s. He even welcomed Mafalda’s regular fretting about his diminuito waistline as she cleared away what little remained of a feast fit for a king.

And then there was the man to his right. The man who held a cigarette in one hand, and his heart in the other. The man who slanted his head on Oliver’s shoulder as the evening wore on, allowing him to drop a kiss to the riotous curls that drew his fingers like a siren’s call. There were no more secrets between the four of them - though according to Annella there had never been any to begin with - and when Elio yawned twice in as many minutes Oliver found his own jaw cracking in sympathy. 

International flights never got any easier, and although they’d managed a short nap on the train in from Milan, they were both flagging fast.

The after-dinner conversation had revolved around his latest manuscript for the past half an hour, and slipping an arm around Elio’s side, Oliver tapped his ankle beneath the table. “You still with me?” he murmured softly, and Elio scoffed as he nestled closer.

“Seulement. One more limoncello and you’ll have to carry me to bed.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Or the last,” Elio said, as Samuel raised a toast in their direction.

“Happiness resides not in possessions or gold, but in the soul. Wouldn’t you agree, our wayward Americano?” he asked, prompting Oliver to back up his argument as he stole the last arancini from Elio’s plate. 

“Big results require big ambitions, Sami.”

“And nothing endures but change.”

“Always with the Heraclitus...” Elio grumbled good-naturedly, leaning over to kiss Annella on the cheek. “Bonne nuit, maman. Remind me to show you that biography in the morning.” 

“The Piaf?” she asked, and Elio nodded as he rose to his feet. 

“There’s a new bookstore just opened in the Village.”

“Che magnifico!” Annella said, stubbing out her cigarette. “Tell me all about it when you’re not falling asleep in your tortelli.” Smiling, she took Elio’s face between her palms. “Dormi bene, piccino. Et toi, Cauboi.”

Oliver laughed as he finished shaking hands with the other two guests - stalwarts of the Bocconi Languages department he vaguely remembered from his brief stint at the university. “I doubt that’ll be a problem. The moment my head hits the pillow I’ll be dead to the world.” 

Elio raised an eyebrow. “The dead don’t snore like Anchise’s old generator,” he said with a wink as Samuel rounded the table to join them. “Papà, siamo stanchi. It’s been a long day.”

“It certainly has,” Samuel said, hugging him tightly. “Go! Go! Don’t make me sprain anything by rolling you out of here.” Stepping back, he clasped Elio by the forearms. “I’ll ask Mafalda to save you something if you sleep through breakfast.”

“Molte grazie.”

“Anytime, figli miei,” Samuel said, embracing Oliver in turn. “Goodnight, the pair of you.” 

“Thanks, Pro.”

Enfolding Elio’s hand in his, Oliver led him towards the villa, taking the time to appreciate the sounds of nature after six months of city living. One day, he’d love to move here permanently - spend his golden years in the country that spurred his reinvention - but there was no rush. Not when the best part of Italy was a permanent fixture in his life, already.

The house was in shadows when they stepped over the threshold, but they each navigated the lofty hallways with ease as they headed upstairs. It was a journey they could do with their eyes closed, and avoiding the creaky top step out of habit they shut the door to Elio’s room behind them with a quiet click. Their room, technically, but in Oliver’s mind it would always be his. He may have usurped it for six weeks in the summer of ‘83, but the overstuffed bookcase and outdated cassette tapes were like a portal to the past, and it never failed to make him feel twenty-four again. 

Conflicting though those feelings might be.

The only obvious difference was the double bed now taking up space along the back wall - though Oliver quite missed the creaky single frames of yesteryear. The shutters were latched apart, letting out the stifling afternoon air, and the bathroom doors were pinned open, turning the space into the large suite that originally befitted Elio’s grandfather.

Toeing off his espadrilles, Oliver watched as Elio fell face first onto the bed. Dramatic as always, he groaned into the crisp, blue sheets, so Oliver hung his shirt up in the wardrobe then walked over to tug off his sneakers, placing them beneath the writing desk where he was unlikely to trip over them come morning. 

“I haven’t been this exhausted since I finished that three week stretch with the Philharmonic,” Elio said, words muffled, and Oliver chuckled as he sat down beside him.

“Fifteen hours by plane, and a ninety minute schlep on the Regionale? I think that’s to be expected.” Reaching over, he stroked a palm up Elio’s spine, bunching his t-shirt in its wake. “You can’t stay young and restless forever.”

“Speak for yourself, old man.” Elio shot him a sideways glance. “Why are you all the way over there?”

Over there, meaning beyond kissing range.

“I thought you were too tired?” Oliver asked, and Elio rolled his eyes like the precocious teenager he’d fallen so hopelessly in love with.

“Too tired for Democritus and his atomic theory,” he said, shifting onto his side. “Never too tired for you, tesoro.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Cradling Elio’s cheek in one hand, Oliver felt a hot lick of satisfaction as he brushed his thumb over the smooth skin, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, then nibbling gently. A soft whine fell between them, and Elio slung his arms around Oliver’s shoulders, legs banding around his waist like a tether.

“That’s better,” he said, half-hard in his jeans. “Just like old times.”

Oliver sniggered. “Someone better warn the peaches.”

“Connard.”

“And a fine one it is, too,” he teased, swatting Elio’s ass through the stiff denim. 

The resultant yelp was a thing of beauty as Oliver ran his nose along Elio’s collarbone, savouring his scent. Beneath the sour musk of travel were the sweet notes of juniper and cherry laurel, and sucking briefly at his pulse point, Oliver actually felt the yawn building before Elio was forced to pull away, sighing in frustration.

“This isn’t happening, is it?”

“Define this,” Oliver said, licking away his pout. 

They might not be about to set any records for horizontal gymnastics, but the needy whimper Elio pressed to Oliver’s throat was enough to spur him onwards as they quickly rid each other of their clothing. Silver light streamed in through the windows, casting shadows over their naked bodies, and finesse fell by the wayside when Oliver brought their erections together, stroking them both in tandem. Transfixed, he watched the pleasure flick across Elio’s features, treasuring the way his lashes fluttered if he twisted just so - the glazed expression as he kissed him like they had all the time in the world. Leisurely and indulgent.

“I’m going to come,” Elio whispered scant minutes later.

Like it was a secret. 

Like it was something precious. 

And it was, Oliver knew, as the other man rutted into his palm, shuddering against him. It was there in every touch. Every tender endearment. Elio might wear his heart on his sleeve, but none of his previous lovers had been privy to the true depths of his emotions, and as he threw his head back in release Oliver couldn’t help but chase him over the edge, inarticulate and inelegant in his abandon.

Pearly white covered his fist as liquid fire rushed through his veins, each movement growing slower and slower until they eventually ground to a stop, swallowing each other’s gasps between needy pulls of their mouths. Groggy with sensation, his lungs felt constricted by the memory of how to breathe, yet sweaty, sated - and in dire need of a shower - they lay there in the aftermath, neither of them willing to give in as their eyelids started to droop. 

He loved Elio like this. Loved him always of course, but especially like this. With his hair mussed - his face relaxed - his lips swollen as a result of his kisses, and Oliver sighed fondly as he brushed the curls from his forehead, only to receive an incoherent grumble for his efforts. It was his mind he’d fallen in love with first, though. The way he challenged him constantly. Pushed his boundaries day-by-day. Always striving for more. 

He’d been a fool to consider walking away. To give Elio up, however begrudgingly. He was a part of him - perfect in his imperfections - and as Elio drifted off between one blink and the next, Oliver banished such dismal thoughts to the shadows of the past, refusing to give them life when his future lay literally in his arms.

“Goodnight, amore mio,” he whispered, and grinning, hooked his toes in the underwear hanging from the bedpost - his, Elio’s, he couldn’t quite tell - wiped the worst of the mess from their painted stomachs, then followed him into a dreamless stupor.

 Something was tickling Oliver’s nose as he floated in the trance-like state between sleep and reality. It was a familiar experience, and forcing one eye open he smiled down at Elio’s crown where it rested upon his chest. Their legs were entangled beneath the sheets, the toes of Elio’s left foot twitching beside his calf, and Oliver tapped an idle rhythm along his spine as he squinted at the blessedly silent alarm clock. 

It was almost seven a.m, and with zero intentions of moving anytime soon, Oliver watched the dust motes dance in the pink strokes of dawn. He was still foggy, but with his recent promotion and the increased demands of Elio’s tour schedule, moments like these were few and far between in New York, so Oliver indulged himself by listening to Elio’s steady breaths, unwilling to disturb him prematurely. 

The villa was quiet and still as the sun climbed higher in the sky, and when Elio burrowed into his neck, Oliver felt the same dizzy thrill he always had, thanking his lucky stars for the man who’d turned his life upside down in the very best of ways. 

Sappho once wrote what cannot be said will be wept, and this room had seen it’s fair share of tears at the start of their relationship. Even now, it was hard to believe how close he’d come to losing it all. But like Odysseus, Oliver had returned to his love, and he had every intention of seeing this journey through to completion.

“In the crooks of your body, I find my religion,” he whispered, continuing to smooth random patterns over Elio’s trapezius, and it was all he could do not to moan in response as an arm wrapped around his waist, skimming his burgeoning erection.

“Mere air, these words, but delicious to hear...”

Verbal and cognizant was more than Oliver would usually expect before Elio’s first cup of coffee, but taking a chance, he tilted his face up to see him properly. “Morning, sunshine. I thought you were asleep.” 

Elio yawned into the hand at his jaw. “Not with you scribbling Ancient Greek on my ribcage.”

“You caught that?”

“Ovviamente.” Humming, he dug his chin into Oliver’s sternum. “It felt like you were writing your name at first, but then you drew the symbol for pi, and I figured you were just hungry.”

Oliver snickered. “Did you not notice Mafalda’s continued attempts to fatten me up? Maybe I should tell her it’s your hip bones that leave bruises, instead.”

“You love it.”

“More than she’ll ever know,” he conceded, mourning the loss of skin on skin as he eased out from underneath him. “Alright, genius. Since you’re so good at this...” Pushing the covers out of the way, Oliver traced a treble clef from the middle of Elio’s back to his sacrum, finishing it off with a flourish. “What was that?”

Elio smacked his lips. “Too easy,” he murmured into his folded arms. “And a bit crooked. My old music tutor would plotz.”

“Brat.” Oliver smirked as he knelt between his thighs. “Are you challenging my artistry?”

“Might be.”

“Might be, he says.” Chuckling, he ran his thumb up from Elio’s tailbone, sure and certain. “How about my penmanship, then? What letter?”

A pink flush spread over Elio’s cheek. “D,” he decided, squirming slightly as Oliver’s huff stirred the loose curls beside his ear.

“How on earth do you confuse a P with a D?”

“Have you seen the state of your handwriting?” Elio protested, constantly offended by his messy scrawl. “Aren’t you professor types meant to set an example?” 

Oliver scoffed. ”Perish the thought,” he said, dropping a lingering kiss to his nape. Elio’s cock lay flushed with need, and though he had no intention of bringing him off quite yet, Oliver couldn’t resist brushing his palm over the underside. “Indulge me,” he continued, stroking from root to tip. “Let’s play a game.”

“What sort of game?”

“An easy one, apparently.” Fighting his own arousal, Oliver followed the thick vein up then back, tugging gently on Elio’s balls. “But guess right, and I promise I’ll take care of this for you when I’m done. How’s that for an example?”

“Your generosity knows no bounds...”

“Ready?”

“Che diavolo!” Elio turned towards him, and Oliver felt breathless as he looked him square in the eye. “Tell me you’re joking?”

“Just a little longer,” he promised, propping himself on one arm to walk his fingers over Elio’s scapula, leaving a thin trail of slickness when he curved it round to his lower back. “Letter?”

Elio settled down with a put-upon sigh. “An S?” 

“Correct.” Oliver pressed a fingertip to the freckle on his hip. “Next one,” he said, drawing a diagonal line up to his top vertebrae, then sweeping down to its twin. 

“A?” Elio asked, then went rigid as Oliver poked him between his ribs. “Smetilla! That tickles!”

“It’s supposed to.”

“Why?” Laughing, he batted him away. “Did I get it wrong?”

“Not at all,” Oliver said, splaying a proprietary hand over his right buttock. “But next time, let me finish first, yeah?”

“Never heard you say that before.”

“Don’t be jealous of my stamina, Perlman.”

“Stronzo.” Elio arched into his touch. “Another.”

“Eager, are we?”

Elio snorted into his forearm. “Eager. Horny. Non vedo differenza.”

“Fair enough.” Oliver angled his thumb and forefinger towards Elio’s spine, fluid and precise. “This one’s harder,” he said, pinching them together.

“V?” Elio asked before he could go any further, and Oliver tutted as he began a downwards line towards his tailbone.

“Au contraire, mon chéri,” he said with a playful growl. “Not till I’m finished, remember?”

It was the work of a moment to complete the action, and Elio shivered as he glanced back at him through heavy lashes. “Y,” he muttered, shoulders hitching with a snigger. “A few inches can make all the difference, sì?”

Oliver smiled. “So I’ve been told,” he said, the slight breeze from the window lifting the hair from his forehead. “And what can we derive from that?” 

Elio had a specific weakness for his public speaking voice. One which Oliver wasn’t above exploiting at every opportunity. 

“Fuck…”

“Nope.”

Slender fingers circled his wrist as Elio cursed him out in several languages. 

“Spell it for me,” Oliver encouraged, turning his lips to the salt-gleam dimple above his ass, before remembering to narrow it down. “In English, per favore.”

“S-A-Y,” Elio answered obediently, already sounding flustered. “Say.”

“And you thought you’d never complete your Masters…”

“Attaccati a sto cazzo.”

“Rude.” Oliver licked a stripe across his earlobe. “Be a good boy, and I’ll cling to yours, though.”

“Santo Cielo…” Elio huffed in annoyance. “I really hate you right now.”

“No you don’t.” Oliver snuck an apologetic kiss to his temple. “Not even a little bit,” he told him, copying the exact same pattern from earlier. “Second word, if you please.”

“Another Y?”

“Another Y,” he confirmed, watching as Elio clutched the pillow in a white-knuckled grip. 

He remained perfectly still, however, so Oliver drew a deliberate line along his left flank before placing the pad of his thumb back at the beginning, then dragging it to the right. Once more, from the middle, then again from the bottom, and Elio was almost panting when he finally stopped.

“E,” he whispered, causing Oliver’s heart to skip a beat.

Because this was it. 

No turning back.

There was an urgent pressure in his throat, and when he tried to swallow it down, the emotions damn near choked him. “Last one,” he muttered, snaking his index finger in another winding curve, and Elio waited until he lifted it away completely before answering.

“That’s an S,” he said, then paused to string all three letters together. “Yes?” Freeing his wrist, Elio rolled over to face him. “Say yes?” he asked, sleep-rumpled and adorably confused, so Oliver hummed something vaguely agreeable as he mouthed at his jawline, needing the rough scratch of stubble to ground him. “I don’t understand.” Brows knit, Elio pushed up on his elbows. “Say yes to what? What is it that you want?”

Oliver had spent weeks trying to find the right words, but ultimately, only three would suffice. 

“To marry you,” he said, light-headed - and slightly concerned he was about to vomit. He hadn’t felt this terrified since he’d knocked on the adjoining door nine years ago, nothing but a broken heart and the vain hope of forgiveness to his name. “A piece of paper won’t change anything. I know that. But I told you once - out on that very balcony - that I loved you. All of you. Body, mind, and everything in between. You make me happier than I ever thought possible, Elio. This… you… you’re it for me.”

“Cuore mio…” Elio released a plaintive sigh. “I love you, too,” he whispered, taking Oliver’s cheeks in his hands as he sat up against the headboard. “But the courts... you know they won’t recognise -”

“Legally, no,” Oliver agreed, shifting to his knees. “Not yet. But we can do this our own way. Have a ceremony for us alone.”

“Not alone,” Elio corrected absently, hooking his heels behind him. “Together.” His lips pressed into a firm line, and the seconds in which he blinked back at him were the longest of Oliver’s existence. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he asked, and instead of answering, Oliver reached for the small box he’d hidden in the bedside cabinet upon their arrival. 

“Open it?” he asked nervously, and Elio made a sound that was almost a laugh, high-pitched and fluttering.

“Only you...” he said, and if it weren’t for the tell-tale crack in his voice, Oliver might be worried. “Only you would wait until I’m jet-lagged and sporting a semi to ask me the second most important question of my life.”

“Just a semi?” Oliver slid a palm to the crease of his thigh. “Hang on. Second? What was the first?” he asked, and Elio smiled as he gently butted against him. 

“Does this make you happy?”

“Oh...” 

Elio held his gaze. “So important you asked me twice, in fact.”

“I did, didn’t I?” No doubt there would be a third time, too. He’d always admired the sight of Elio in a tux - slightly more so than the sight of him out of one - and Oliver resolved there and then to fit it into his vows. “Still, that was before your rejection of all things cliché. How’s a man supposed to plan a proposal around that?”

“Quelle question!”

“Such high maintenance,” Oliver murmured, tipping his chin. “But I wouldn’t change you for the world.”

It was a struggle to kiss whilst grinning inanely, but they gave it a good try nonetheless.

“Are you going to open this or what?” Oliver asked, bracing himself as Elio cracked upon the box to reveal the antique gold and onyx band.

“That’s my grandfather’s ring,” he whispered softly.

“It is.” Giddy, Oliver watched the sunlight glint off the heirloom’s polished surface. “Sami wanted you to have it. He’s had it cleaned and resized for the occasion.”

“My father?” Elio raised an eyebrow. “Plotting again, were you?”

“Not as such,” Oliver said, remembering the two word inscription on the inside. “I couldn’t care less about government approval, but I needed to know we have it from those whose opinion I actually value.” His heart tripped over itself as he chuckled apprehensively. “I think your mother’s already chosen a hat,” he confessed, and Elio groaned. 

“She’s going to invite everyone we’ve ever met.”

“She’ll not be inviting anyone if you don’t say yes,” Oliver teased, and the look he received could cut glass. 

“Idiota.” 

“Charming.”

“In what possible scenario would I ever say no to you?” Elio asked, reeling him in by the Star of David around his neck. “You’re a part of me. You are me.” Leaning in, he nuzzled into his hairline. “Oliver… you’re the best person I’ve ever met. Credimi. You’ve always been my forever.”

“Cor cordium.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t even -” Oliver froze. “Wait. Did you just -”

“Yes,” Elio repeated, eyes bright. “Yes, Oliver!”

It didn’t matter that his own vision was blurred. That the full extent of his vulnerabilities were on display. That Elio saw just how lost in him he truly was. Relief purged his body, sparks detonated across his skin, and Oliver made a chorus of his name as he freed the ring from its velvet cushion. It was cool to the touch when he picked it up - the weight of it heavy with promise - yet with unsteady fingers he slid it onto Elio’s left hand, sealing his declaration with a heartfelt kiss to his knuckles. 

“Please tell me these are happy tears,” Oliver whispered, pulling him into his arms.

“Why? Afraid I’ll get a nosebleed?” 

“Way to spoil the mood, Casanova…”

“The sweetest pleasures are those which are hardest to be won,” Elio quoted, studying the black inlay almost reverentially. 

Oliver studied him instead. “You like it?”

“È perfetto.” Elio sniffed as he ducked his head. “I want to get you one, too. If you’ll wear it.”

“Wear it?” Oliver’s lungs were far too tight, but at least that meant he wasn’t dreaming. “Why would I ever take it off?”

“And change my name. Officially, this time.”

His smile was so wide it hurt his cheeks. “Anything you want, sweetheart,” Oliver said, clutching Elio close, pressing his face into the hollow of his shoulder. This was their life, chosen and built together. Theirs to have, now and for always. “As long as I can call you mine… anything at all.”