#don't remember what i was talking about so whatever moving on

[ramblingautisticman]

Wade feels guilty for moving on from Vanessa. She was the one thing he could count on for so many years- she was there through so much and had helped every step of the way- and it felt wrong to not love her the same way anymore.

He knows she has moved on too- with Derek or Dermot or whatever- but it feels strange.

Wade loves Logan, don't get him wrong, it's just that sometimes it feels like he's cheating on Vanessa- even though they haven't been together for years. He has moments of a strange guilt that builds in his stomach, moments of worry and panic that Vanessa will see them together and get upset, moments where he remebers doing the same stuff with Vanessa and misses it.

It's stupid, he knows it's stupid, but he can't help how his fucked up brain handles this shit. He never let's either of them find out though- because it would be wierd to talk about- wouldn't?

"Hey babe, sometimes I feel guilty I'm with you because I remember doing these things with Vanessa" isn't exactly something he can just say.

Eventually Logan notices somethings off- notices Wade zone out randomly or stop holding hands as soon as Vanessa is near them- and he brings it up with Wade.

Wade panics- naturally- tries to avoid the conversation as much as he can. It works for the first few attempts, but then Logan corners him in the bedroom and suddenly it's all spilling out.

It makes him feel worse, telling Logan. He has to say "I love you" every other sentence to make sure Logan understands that he truly does love Logan, that he doesn't love Vanessa anymore, but his mind still fucks with him.

And he expects to be met with anger or yelling, but he isn't. Logan just hugs him tight and tells him that he gets it. He had the same thing with Scott after Jean passed, and that if he ever needs to talk that he's there.

It feels wrong to have Logan understand, and maybe put of him was hoping things would blow up simply because that was what he was used too, but he's glad it didn't. Glad Logan understands.

He still feels guilty- still gets those pangs- but he learns to talk about it. To feel okay with moving away from Vanessa.

[fatgirlonadate-blog]

21 Days - Day 14

They say that to know someone is to love them. But what about loving someone without really knowing them? There aren't any famous quotes or pretty sayings for it, but it's just as real. You'd know because you're living it.

There's love at first sight, you suppose. But that isn't what happened with Xavier; it was almost the opposite. He'd been so beautiful that it was hard to look at him, but he had seemed strangely wary of you. He'd looked at you like you were somehow just as dangerous as the wanderers lurking in the shadows.

No, it was definitely not love at first sight. Xavier was mysterious and intriguing, but there was no life-altering pull toward him the moment your eyes met.

Not like there was when you had met Sylus.

Fuck. Not now; not Sylus. More confusion is the last thing you need.

Xavier's fevered promises have been replaying in your mind like a song stuck on repeat since last night. It was easy to ignore them when you were focused on caring for him, and even more easy to forget them as he caressed and kissed away all of the thoughts from your mind. But in the quiet moments since, his pleading words, said so brokenly, are all you’ve been able to think about.

Whatever it is that haunts him has now also possessed you.

You want to believe that it's not important. You know you need to let it go. If he wanted you to know, then he would let you in without having to push him for it. But curiosity is in your bloodstream now, circulating through all of your thoughts and feelings.

How can you fully love him while only knowing half of him? Maybe even less.

It's not like you don't know him at all - you do. In the past two weeks, you've learned more about him than you ever thought you would. You know the exact way he likes his milk tea, the feel of his fingers moving inside you, and that, if it came to it, he’d lay down his life for you without a second thought. And yet, you don’t even know if he has a middle name or what his life was like before he woke up in yours.

"What are you thinking about?" Xavier asks, his voice dragging you out of your thoughts and back to the present.

You're curled up on the couch beside him, snug against his side, wrapped in the warmth of his arms. Most of the day has been spent right here with him, just like this. He claimed that the only surefire cure for his cold was a horror movie marathon, but you’re fairly certain it was actually just an excuse to cuddle you all day. Not a moment has gone by without him touching you somehow—a hand resting on your thigh, an arm lazily draped over your shoulder, or his legs intertwined with yours.

His fingers glide down your arm now, lightly stroking your bare skin, and you realize he's still waiting for you to answer his question.

"Your birthday," you lie, saying the first thing that comes to mind. "It's almost here."

"Yeah," he nods. "Do I still get to pick the book?"

"Only if you are a very good boy," you tease, knowing you've already picked out a book and more for his special day.

He laughs softly, and you both fall quiet as his attention turns back to the television. You try to focus on the screen, you really do, but that ghost is back and so are all of your questions.

Does he even remember the things he said while he was sick? It doesn’t seem like he does, and he probably wouldn't want to talk about it even if he did.

The day has been nearly perfect, and there's no reason to ruin it. He looks so happy and at ease with you in his arms, and being with him like this is all you ever wanted. So why do you need more?

You don't need more. You don't, you don't, you don't. You love him. And isn't that enough? Love is patient.

But you, apparently, are not.

"Xavier, how old will you be on your birthday?"

His fingers on your arm pause for the smallest fraction of a second before resuming their caress. "24. You didn't know that?"

Liar.

You knew that would be his answer, but it does not make it sting less.

You have no idea how old he actually is, but he's definitely not 24. Despite all logic, he can't be. It's obvious that he and Lumiere are the same person, no matter how often he tries to insist otherwise. It shouldn't be possible; Lumiere would have to be in his 40s and Xavier hardly looks a day over 21. But, somehow, they're the same person. You know it's true even if you don't understand how it could be.

Your silence catches Xavier’s attention, and his curious gaze flickers to your face. You force a small, tight smile, hoping to mask the disappointment you feel. But you must fail because he frowns and glances away, shifting uncomfortably.

You should say something. You should joke or tease him just to ease the tension like you always do when you know he's lying. But all you manage is a soft hum of acknowledgement, unable to trust your mouth not to betray your thoughts.

The movie continues to play, the screams and gunshots coming from the TV sounding much louder now in the quiet room. But neither of you are paying any attention to it anymore, and you can practically feel him thinking from where he sits stiffly pressed beside you.

Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh, and his body relaxes against yours, "Ask me again."

"What?" You say, not trusting your own ears.

He shifts to turn toward you, reaching up to stroke the side of your face as he meets your gaze. "Ask me your question again. Please."

He's nervous, you realize. It's written all over him: from the slight tremor of his hand on your cheek to the way his eyes scan your face anxiously. He's afraid of this.

And maybe you are, too.

"On your birthday..." you trail off, losing momentum, caught between the fear of the truth and the sting of another lie, "will you be turning 24...for the first time?"

A silent struggle plays out in his blue eyes, torn between uncertainty and longing.

"No," he admits quietly, "not for the first time."

It's hard to remember to breathe as you absorb his words. It’s not that his answer shocks you; you’ve known for a long time that he was lying about his age. It’s his honesty that has you gaping at him in surprise.

He actually told you the truth.

You should be brimming with questions and desperate for answers, you know that. But you are neither as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a tight hug. A wave of unbridled happiness rushes through you, and you have the silly urge to cry.

It’s just a few simple words—nothing to warrant this surge of emotion. But it feels like so much more. It’s a beginning, a tentative promise that, maybe, just maybe, he’ll let you truly know him.

The look in his eyes as you pull back from the hug is hard to read. There’s fear in there, definitely, but maybe also a hint of relief shining back at you.

"So... how many candles should I get for your cake?" you ask, trying to lighten the moment and ease the worry on his face.

His brows raise in surprise, and then his shoulders shake as he laughs, "A lot. Too many for a cake."

"100?" You guess, aiming higher than seems reasonable.

"More."

"150?" You squeak, your voice pitching up an octave at the very idea.

"Many more than that."

Your mouth drops open in surprise, and you'd swear he was fucking with you right now if he did not look like a deer staring down the barrel of a hunter's rifle.

"200?" You guess again, the number sounding even more ludicrous as it leaves your lips.

Xavier scrubs a hand across his reddening face and groans, "Still more."

A choked laugh slips out as you try to process that. Just how old is he? Ancient? Prehistoric?

Xavier fidgets with the pocket of his hoodie, his smile tight and forced. It starts to fade as your stunned silence stretches on, and he lets out a shuddering breath before speaking.

"I know it sounds..." Xavier starts and then stops, shaking his head as he tries to find the right word. "...impossible."

Impossible. Yes, it does sound impossible, and crazy, and a dozen other words that wouldn’t begin to describe how you're feeling. There are no words big enough for this. So instead, you lean forward and kiss him, hoping the press of your lips can say everything that words alone aren't enough to express.

Your fingers tangling in his hair are reassurance that it’s okay. That yes, this is crazy, but you believe him, and it doesn’t change anything—because it’s him. He could be a thousand years old, and you’d still be here.

Your tongue seeking the seam of his lips is a silent confirmation that you understand: you’re both standing at the edge of something that could change everything, but you’re not afraid. Not when he’s the one beside you.

He’s motionless against you for a fraction of a second, but then his fingers curl into your hair at the base of your neck, pulling you closer as he tilts your head to deepen the kiss. The way he parts his lips for you speaks for him, too, promising you everything. His heart, his time, and his secrets.

When he finally pulls away from the kiss, he leans back just far enough to catch his breath before brushing his nose against yours. "You're not freaked out?"

The stressed, anxious sound of his voice, even after you just poured every ounce of love and acceptance into that kiss, makes you realize for the first time that maybe he hasn’t been keeping secrets from you. Maybe he’s been keeping them for you—too afraid of scaring you away, too afraid of losing you.

"Xavier," You whisper, cupping his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you. "Nothing about you could ever, ever scare me."

He holds your gaze in silence for what feels like an eternity, worry and doubt etched into the lines of his face. Then, slowly, his face begins to crumple and his shoulders sag, as if he can no longer bear whatever weight he's been carrying.

Instinctively, you guide his head to your chest, shifting to pull him into your arms, and offering him comfort in the only way you know how.

"Nothing?" He breathes out shakily.

"Nothing," You reassure him, running a comforting hand through his hair. "Not a single thing."

You sit in silence, soothing him in your arms, as you struggle to process the reality of the last few minutes. You had hoped blindly that someday he might let his walls come down, but it was a half-hearted hope. You'd spent more time trying to accept that he probably never would.

But now he has.

There’s more, you’re sure of it. His age can't be his only secret, and so many questions swirl in your mind—big questions, complicated questions, questions with the potential to hurt. But as you hold him and stroke his back, you’re surprised to find that most of the answers you wanted so badly don’t feel nearly as important as you once thought they were.

You must truly love him, because the question you want to ask most isn’t so earth-shattering after all. It’s something simpler, almost trivial, with no reason for it to matter as much as it does—except for the fact that this tiny truth is more precious to you than all the rest.

"What were you like when you were young?" You ask, smiling at just the thought of it.

It’s not what he’s expecting, clearly, and his startled laugh rumbles against your chest before he pulls back to meet your eyes.

"That's what you want to know?" he asks, his voice laced with disbelief. A smile flickers onto his face, easing any trace of the tears that had been threatening to fall.

"Uh huh," You nod eagerly.

"I was..." He tilts his head to the side, considering it, "not so different from the way I am now."

You scoff and roll your eyes. "Xav, please, you have to give me more than that. I know it was like a million years ago, but you must remember. What were you like in school? What was your family like? I don't even know if you have siblings."

His lips quirk up slightly at the edges, “A million? Really? I am not that old."

"Oh, so just half a million then?" you tease, giggling at the exasperated, offended look on his face. "Tell me. Please, pretty please."

He’s silent for several moments, and that familiar, bittersweet distance clouds his eyes. His hesitation makes you wonder if this is where his willingness to share ends, if his walls are still firmly in place and he’s only allowed you a glimpse through a narrow window. But then, miraculously, his smile wins out over the frown, and his eyes find yours, soft and open.

"I don’t have any siblings,” he begins, “but, yes, I had a family. They were...difficult. My father and I didn't agree on very many things, some of them more important than others." He swallows hard and looks away, as if that particular admission is painful. "I tried to be what they wanted, but I couldn't. We weren't close."

Had? Tried? Past tense. Your stomach twists as it hits you: Xavier is an orphan, like you. It's another piece of yourself mirrored in him—another reason he feels so much like home. Because neither of you have one anymore, and what you've found in each other is the closest thing to it.

"Are you...from here?" You ask awkwardly, not sure how to phrase your question without sounding like an idiot. Asking if he's an alien or a god or something feels too stupid to say out loud.

"No." He says softly, shaking his head. "I'm from...another place. Far from here."

"What was it like?"

"It was..." He trails off, choosing his words carefully. "...different from here. The people there live for a long time. So yeah, I'm kind of old, I guess."

You can't help the bubble of nervous laughter that erupts at the absurdity of this situation. He is kind of old, and not from this planet, and you love him, and maybe he is an alien?

It is absolutely insane, but it makes more sense than it should. Is it really that much weirder than the aethercore lodged in your heart or the wanderers showing up on Earth?

"So...just to make sure I understand," you start carefully. "You are a really, really, really old man from...outer space. Right?"

His brows furrow, and it looks like he's going to correct you for a moment, but then he laughs. "Basically," he says, rubbing a hand against the nape of his neck.

"How did you get here? Like...why are you here and not wherever your home is?"

He sighs harshly and glances away, his easy expression slipping back into that guarded one as he shakes his head.

"That is a question for another day." He answers, jaw clenched, but there's an apology in his eyes.

Disappointment flares to life in your chest at his refusal, but you squash it. He has been more honest than you ever expected him to be. It seems that whatever ghost that still stands between you cannot be banished so easily. There must be a reason for it, and you are trying to trust that it's a good one.

"What were you like as a kid then? You never answered. Did you go to school and stuff? Did you have friends?"

He nods, and some of the tension eases from his jaw, "I did go to school. A...military academy. Where do you think I learned all of my swordsmanship?" A soft smile lights his face, as if he is recalling a genuinely fond memory. "I didn't have a lot of friends. But the ones I did have were very special to me."

It’s hard to picture him with friends—not because he’s unlikable; he’s incredibly charming. But you’ve never seen him show genuine interest in anyone besides you. You wonder what they were like, and if he must miss them terribly. Is that where that mysterious, sad look in his eyes comes from? Does he want to go back?

Yes, he misses someone. You would bet your life on it. But not his family. Someone else who was important to him.

"Did you ever have a girlfriend?" You blurt out, jealousy getting the best of you. 

He hesitates, frowning, and your heart seizes in your chest. This answer shouldn't be important. But some instinct tells you that it is; that your worry that perhaps you are sharing his heart isn't just a jealous delusion.

"No, not exactly," he says, his lips pressing into a thin line, withholding any further explanation.

Not exactly? Oh, hell no. That means yes.

You want to press him on it; you want to know if this ghost has a name and if he loved her - if he still loves her. If she is the reason for that far away look in his eyes and why he gives you that bittersweet smile so often. But the question is stuck - frozen in your throat.

You open your mouth to speak, but find you can't ask it. Not when this particular answer does actually scare you.

"Do you remember your first kiss?" You ask instead, trying to move past the sick feeling of jealousy coiling in your belly.

"I do," He answers, flashing you a cheeky smile. "It wasn't very good. I don't think she really wanted to kiss me. She did it because she thought she had to."

"What?" You practically squawk, your jealousy fading to surprised disbelief. Who in their right mind would not want to kiss him?

Xavier’s smile inexplicably widens, and he laughs as if you’ve told him a joke whose punchline only he understands.

"It's true. It was more like bumping noses than kissing, and she only did it to keep up appearances." He shrugs and cups your face in his hand, rubbing his thumb lightly over your bottom lip. "But the second kiss was much better. She let me try again, and I think we both liked that one."

Your brain nearly stops functioning as you connect the dots, and your initial disbelief is replaced by an even stronger shock. Is he describing your first kiss? He can't be.

How the hell long has he been alive? There's no way that was his first kiss. It cannot have been.

You swat his hand away from your face and scowl at him, "Very funny, Xavier."

"I'm not joking," He says, laughing quietly and catching your wrist with his hand before you can swat him again. He pulls you close and nuzzles your cheek, placing a soft kiss just beneath your ear. "It was my first kiss."

"Really?" You reply skeptically, squinting at him.

"Yes, really."

“But that’s...how is it even...200 years? 400 years?” Your words stumble over each other, incomplete, as you struggle to believe what you're hearing.

He lets out a soft, breathy laugh, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks, and he presses a line of kisses from your ear to your cheek. “I guess I was just waiting for the right girl.”

You’re stunned into silence, caught between disbelief and wonder. If you had not already been hopelessly in love with him, then this would have done it. It would have sent you careening over the edge with no possible hope of return.

His first kiss. You were his first kiss. Of everything he has said today, this is the thing that's most shocking. How can it even be possible? Never mind the fact that this means he'd have gone hundreds of years without a kiss, he's just plain too good at it to not have more experience. He kisses you like he's done it thousands of times, and he certainly doesn't touch you like a boy who had never been kissed before.

Wait a minute. Wait a damn minute.

The evening you were caught in the rain with Xavier replays in your mind, and you remember the pained way he refused you when you'd asked him for more than just his fingers. 'Waited so long. Don't know if I can be gentle with you.' That's what he had said, and you thought he meant weeks - that he had been pent up for weeks. But did he mean...years? Centuries?

"Are you a virgin?" You squeak out, your eyes widening comically as the possibility slaps you in the face.

The blush on Xavier's cheeks turns positively crimson, and he ducks his head, refusing to meet your eyes. "Well...I mean, sort of."

"You totally are!" You counter excitedly, playfully jabbing a finger at his chest.

He mumbles something quickly, his words too fast and too low for your brain to even begin to process them. Not that you could focus enough to hear him anyway, because if your kiss had truly been his first, then you must be his first everything.

It’s nearly impossible to believe, but somehow, it fits him—just like everything else about this does. And the longer you think about it, the more it makes sense. He’s old-fashioned because he is old; so very, very old. He still blushes around you because all of this is new to him. He can’t get enough of touching you because he’s never had the chance before.

He has been starved for affection, you realize. For hundreds of years. If you were not so elated you would feel bad for him.

You have to hold back a gasp as understanding dawns on you. Is this why you've been trapped in the land of heavy petting and dry humping? Is he going to make you wait until marriage to have sex with him? The thought is funnier than it should be, and you cannot hold back the growing hysteria anymore, your giggles tumbling out of your mouth on their own.

Xavier clears his throat and reaches for your face, gently holding it in his hands, guiding your gaze to his. His eyes are an intense, electric blue as he repeats his mumbled question, this time more clearly, “Are you?”

He watches your face expectantly as your laughter fades and his question sinks in.

Oh, shit.

It never crossed your mind that he might ask you the same thing, and the way he’s staring at you—sharp, focused—makes it clear that your answer is important. It matters to him.

"Um..." You hesitate, feeling backed into a corner by the intensity in his eyes, "...kind of?"

"Kind of?" He echoes, his eyes flicking down your lips. "What does that mean?"

"It means...that I've done some things, but not all of the things. You know, touching and kissing and stuff. But not like...all of it. Not all of the way," You finish lamely, your cheeks feeling like they might actually burn you up.

He falls silent for a moment, his brows knitting together as his eyes narrow on yours. “With someone else?”

There's a rough edge to his tone, a warning and a promise wrapped into a single question. The implication is clear, and you can practically hear his possessive thoughts as he waits for your answer. It's almost intimidating.

But mostly it's fucking hot.

"Um, yes?" You squeak out.

He nods slowly, his eyes darkening as he slides his hand from your cheek to rest lightly on your neck. "Where?"

"Huh?"

"Where did they touch you?" He clarifies, his thumb gently stroking the column of your throat.

Your pulse quickens under his touch. His hand isn’t squeezing or holding your neck tightly; it simply rests there, his fingers warm against your skin. You know, deep in your bones, he’d never hurt you. But the awareness that he could, if he wanted, sends a thrill through you that makes your heart pound.

It's unfair, really, how quickly he can go from a blushing boy one moment to a man who makes you tremble the next.

"Xav, no way," You say somewhat breathlessly, and the blush on your cheeks grows even hotter, "I am not telling you that."

He hums softly, eyes searching your face, though you’re not entirely sure what he’s looking for. Whatever it is, he must find it, because he nods and begins to slide his hand down from your neck.

“Here?” he asks softly, his fingers tracing gently along your collarbone just above the neckline of your tank top. “Did they touch you here?”

You nod wordlessly, a quiet thrill of anticipation coursing through you.

He leans in, pressing a soft line of kisses from the center of your collarbone to your shoulder, gently scraping his teeth along your skin as he completes his path.

A shaky breath escapes from between your lips, and he pulls away just slightly to ask, “Did they kiss you like this?”

“N-no,” you murmur, your voice catching as every ounce of blood in your body seems to rush south, robbing you of your ability to speak.

“No? Then what about...” he trails off as his hands slide down to trace along your breasts through the thin material of your top, “has anyone else touched you like this?”

“Xavier...” you try to speak, to tell him he is being ridiculous, but you're cut off as he grasps the hem of your shirt and begins lifting it up over your chest. You lift your arms instinctively as the fabric catches under your armpits, and he pulls it off completely, tossing it onto the floor.

"Here?" He asks, not waiting for a response as he dips his head to place gentle, open-mouthed kisses along your cleavage, his hands slipping behind your back to unhook the clasp of your bra.

"Xav, it doesn't matter," you whisper, feeling the cups of your bra fall away as he slides the straps off your shoulders, tossing it onto the floor to join your shirt.

"It does matter," he answers, palming your breasts in his hands and gently pinching your nipples between his fingers. "Because you're mine now."

A small gasp escapes your lips as a jolt of electric pleasure rushes from your nipples, down your spine, and settles between your thighs. You know you shouldn’t encourage this—he’s too jealous for his own good—but he's right. You are his now. And the thought of him replacing every touch, every kiss you've ever known with one of his own is too tempting to refuse.

You’re nodding before you even realize it. A soft “Yes” slipping from your lips as your fingers find the hem of his white hoodie, tugging it upward, needing to see him, too.

At your urging, he quickly pulls off his hoodie, then the t-shirt underneath, his muscles flexing with the movement. The sight alone is almost enough to make you moan. He’s so fucking gorgeous. You could see him like this every day for the rest of your life, and it would still never be enough.

The moment his shirt hits the floor, his hands are on your shoulders guiding you back onto the couch until he's on top of you. You can feel the hard length of his cock pressing against you through his jeans, and you have to squeeze your thighs together just to ease some of the ache between them.

He trails his lips down your chest, pausing to tease each nipple with his mouth, before kissing a slow path down to your belly button. He presses a warm, wet kiss there, and you gasp as his tongue slips into the small hollow, swirling around it. The sensation is new—unexpected—and you giggle helplessly at the wet tickle.

He lifts his head to smile up at you, and his eyes are an even brighter shade of blue now, shining with amused pride. He laughs, moving back down to nuzzle the spot with the tip of his nose, making you giggle again. "No one has kissed you here?"

You shake your head, threading your fingers through his hair and grazing your nails against his scalp as he kisses along the waistband of your leggings.

A wave of pure affection hits you as you watch him worship your skin, realizing only Xavier could make you giggle like this while your pussy throbs with need for him.

He continues his slow path of kisses across your stomach, pausing occasionally to run his tongue along a particularly sensitive patch of skin, making your back arch off the couch. You're not sure if he's teasing you on purpose or if he's just exploring. Maybe a bit of both, judging from the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth each time you gasp.

You're ready to beg, willing to promise him anything, by the time he finally moves lower and parts your thighs.

"What about here?" He asks, placing a kiss to your clothed pussy, his lips right above your clit. "Has anyone else ever touched you here?"

"God, Xavier, please," you groan, pressing your head back against the cushion and bucking your hips toward his face. But his hands are firm on your hips, holding you still, silently waiting for his answer.

"I don't remember," you lie breathlessly.

"I think you do," He argues, the heat of his mouth so fucking close, you swear you can feel it.

It's hard to think with him between your thighs, and your pussy is so slick and wet that you can feel your panties sticking to your skin. You're so desperate to feel his tongue against your clit that you'd say anything - embarrassment be damned.

"Yes," you pant, frustrated and needy, "but no one has ever kissed me there."

His eyes darken and a low groan rumbles in his throat. You can't tell if it's pleasure or disappointment, and before you can decide, he's moving off the couch.

You whine at the loss of contact, but he's already on his knees in front of you before you can complain. His hands grip your thighs, pulling you forward until your ass is on the edge of the cushion. You watch, breathless, as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your leggings and panties, and then begins dragging them down your thighs. You lift your hips to help him, and you don't miss the strangled sound that leaves his mouth when he sees your pussy - bare and wet and ready for him.

Pleasure then. Definitely a good sound.

"So perfect," He says under his breath, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes glued to the sight between your thighs.

Xavier’s hands slowly rub up your bare legs, his touch gentle but possessive. He leans in to nuzzle his face against your inner thigh, dragging his nose over your skin, and inhales deeply. You start to tremble as he trails kisses higher up your thigh, pausing every so often to nip or gently suck.

“You always smell so good,” he murmurs between kisses.

A hot spike of embarrassment shoots through you as you realize he can smell you, smell just how wet you are, and a desperate sound somewhere between a whimper and a shy giggle leaves you.

Xavier’s kisses slow to a stop as he reaches the apex of your thighs, his breath catching as he looks up at you. His eyes are wide and his cheeks are flushed, the color creeping up to his ears, which are tinged pink. He looks almost achingly shy - uncertain but starving.

He's never done this before, you realize, and you open your mouth to say something - encouragement or instruction. But your words turn into a gasp as he nuzzles your clit. The tip of his nose brushes over the small bud of nerves, sending sparks of pleasure up through your body. 

Your fingers thread into his hair, gripping gently to guide his mouth to where you need it. And it takes all your control to stay still as his tongue teases your entrance, licking a slow, deliberate path upward until he finds your clit again

“Oh God,” you gasp, your fingers tangling even tighter in his hair. “Yes, Xav—right there. More…”

He hums low and pleased, sending vibrations all the way through your body. You can feel him smiling between your thighs as you buck up, trying desperately to push against the light pressure. He takes his time - lazily circling your clit with his tongue and lapping at it until you're a whimpering, writhing mess.

You're wondering how he could possibly be so good at this as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. Stars explode in your vision as the warm, wet heat of his mouth closes around you, and you think your soul would leave your body if he were not holding you down.

There's not enough air in your lungs as you moan and squirm under his mouth. You're dying - you think, but you don't especially care as long as he doesn't stop. You think he slips one, maybe two, fingers inside you at some point; you’re not certain. The feel of his mouth against you is so good that you can't process anything else; it's the only thing that exists.

“Xav, please. Please. I'm going-”

He nods, lips still wrapped around your clit, and the slight scrape of his teeth—just enough—sends you spiraling over the edge before you can finish your sentence. The heat coiled low in your belly erupts, flooding through every nerve as waves of pleasure ripple through you. Your hips press hard against his mouth, seeking more as your pussy convulses around his fingers.

Xavier doesn’t pull away as you moan and grind your pussy against his face. His mouth follows your movements, continuing to lick and suck as your orgasm begins to fade, your walls squeezing weakly against his fingers as aftershocks pulse through you.

He keeps licking and kissing you until the sensation is overwhelming, and you're forced to pull at his hair to escape from his hungry mouth. With a final, lingering kiss to your pussy, he slowly withdraws his fingers, and rests his cheek against your thigh as he catches his breath.

He looks as wrecked as you feel—his pupils dilated, hair disheveled from your touch, and his breath shallow as your wetness shines on his lips and chin. The way he looks at you, like he wants you so bad that it hurts, makes you want to give him everything and more.

You watch as he licks his lips, savoring the taste of you, before slowly sucking on the fingers that were inside you.

"Xavier," You choke out his name as your soul really does leave your body this time. You are dying. This beautiful man is killing you, and the last thing you will see before the light at the end of the tunnel is him sucking on those fingers as his cock strains against his jeans.

But there's no way in heaven or hell that you can die without seeing him, touching him, tasting him.

"You're mine now," He whispers, dragging his mouth along your thigh, "only mine."

"I was already yours," you say in a breathless rush, tugging at his arm, any lingering shyness fading as urgency takes over.

He rises to his feet and his lips finds yours instantly. The kiss is deep and wet, and you taste good in his mouth.

Your hands fumble blindly on the button of his jeans. You finally manage to get his pants unzipped, and he groans against your mouth as you slip your hand inside to palm his cock through the cotton of his boxers. He’s so thick and hard that your fingers barely meet around him.

His breath catches at your touch, and needy desperate sounds come out of his mouth as you stroke him through the fabric.

"Please, I need..." he begs, his voice breathless as his hands move quickly to strip off his boxers and pants. He kicks them aside, and before you can fully take in the sight of him, he’s pushing you back onto the couch and climbing on top of you.

"What do you need, Xav?" You ask, reaching between your bodies to wrap your hand around his hard length. It's so silky and hot, and it twitches in your hand when you swipe your thumb over the tip, slick with precum.

"I need..." He says again, burying his face against your neck and rocking his hips to thrust into your fist hard.

You’re waiting, praying, and hoping he’ll say he needs to be inside you. You've never been more ready in your life and the slide of him against your hand has you ready to beg him for it. But then he moans deeply against your neck and you feel warm, wet heat spilling over your hand, coating your stomach.

Oh.

He collapses on top of you, burying his face into the curve of your shoulder, hiding his face as he catches his breath. His chest rises and falls with the intensity of it, and a rush of pure, tender affection floods through you. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close, fighting the urge to laugh at the sweetness of the moment.

"That was... I’m..." he mumbles.

"Perfect," You finish for him. "You're perfect. And that was perfect."

He breathes out a laugh against your neck, then lifts himself on one arm to look down at you. A smile spreads across his face as his eyes meet yours, and in this moment, he looks lighter—happier than you’ve ever seen him.

He looks free.

[hunters-vigil]

The Archon's Baby - Chapter 6 - Sisters

Previous Chapter

request from ao3: Make one where they have a child but the female character doesn't tell Mavuika that she is expecting a child and distances herself from Mavuika please 🙏🙏

Fic under the cut, don't repost my stuff on other platforms, i have ao3. Reader is not the traveller. Reader's adoptive sisters are Chasca and Chuychu.

warnings: warnings: pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms, empty threats about castration, implied trans!Mavuika, arguments, a lot of crying.

Chasca raised an eyebrow, while Chuychu passed you the vitamins you needed to take, reminding you very much of the good sister bad sister routine your sisters would use when you were all younger.

"The mother of my child." You stated, folding your arms as your sisters moved to stand up, "She's long gone, so you can't try cutting any balls off, Chasca."

"You heard me when I said that?" Chasca's face fell at the defensive look on yours, "you know I wouldn't. I was angry about your... condition and upset that you didn't trust me or Chuychu enough to tell us you were in a relationship."

"It wasn't about trust. I trust you both with my life, you're my sisters and I love you. But my relationship... it's complicated. We kept it from everyone until I was ready, and she was okay with that, because the moment people find out, everything changes..." you trailed off, fighting the urge to run your hand over your belly. Lucky for you, you were not showing yet.

"Why would everything change? Only the elders might be bothered that you two aren't married-" Chasca frowned but Chuychu kicked her in the shin to quieten her, watching you carefully as you took your vitamins.

"Chasca... think about it. A pyro user, and everything would change the moment people found out she was courting one of her people, let alone impregnated her."

"Chuychu, did you have to word it like that?" your face burned with enough heat that you could have had a pyro vision.

"Wait, what are you saying- oh, archons..." Chasca paused, looking between Chuychu, then you, as her eyes widened in realisation. "You're with our archon."

"Shush! Please! Please..." you begged, your voice cracking as your sisters figured out everything.

"I need to prepare for the Pilgrimage." Chasca stood up to leave, not looking back as she held back her emotions.

"Chasca!" you held back your sobs, remembering momentarily that you three were in public, but your hormones and emotions threw that out the window, "Chuychu?"

"She just needs to blow off steam. I'm going to check on her so she doesn't take it out on some innocent civillian, or you. You don't need that stress, okay?" Chuychu moved to stand up, leaning in to kiss your forehead, "I'm not mad at you, I can see why you hid this, and I will admit that it hurts but, I love you, little one. I'll come find you once I know our older sister has calmed down, and not tried to castrate the archon..."

Chuychu said the last bit more to herself than to you, following in Chasca's footsteps as you sat at the table with your head in your hands.

"I don't think I've seen you three have a fight like that in years." The sound of heels on the floor approached you, but you couldn't remove your hands from your face, trying to hide your tears but clearly failing.

Xilonen let out a soft sigh, her hand gently rubbing your trembling back, "whatever you three fought over... you'll resolve it between yourselves, you know that, right sweetheart?"

A wet laugh made the ancient name forger's ears twitch, "I doubt it. They're really mad... Chasca's supposed to be a peacekeeper but when it comes to family... our parents are going to be mad too when they find out everything."

"It's that bad that talking to them won't work?" Xilonen frowned, thinking to herself for a moment, "how about I get us some xocoatl and you can gather your thoughts? Or maybe some tatacos?"

"Ugh, archons no, just thinking of shrimp makes me want to vomit!" you held back a gag, much to Xilonen's confusion.

"I thought you loved tatacos, your sisters used to bribe you with them as a kid?"

"Um, it's complicated," feeling your face burn and eyes water at having to try explain, "but I can't eat fish or shrimp anyway now so... just xocoatl please. I can give you some mora-"

"I've got it sweetheart, don't worry about it." Xilonen dismissed you, not seeing how your nose crinkled up at the pet name, reminding you of your parents, who you had yet to tell about Mavuika or your pregnancy. Although, they may have suspected something, with how that family dinner went the day that you found out your results...

Your hands trembled as you cradled the mug of xocoatl between them, avoiding Xilonen's gaze but the woman didn't seem to be so bothered by your lack of talking. In fact, she looked like all she wanted was a nap, especially the level of alertness in her eyes or lack thereof suggesting it.

"Are... you okay?" you whispered, bringing the mug up to your lips to sip on.

"I probably should be asking you that," the smith passed you a serviette for a tissue, "but that would probably make you cry again, so I'd rather not. Me though? I'm alright, just wondering about the potted plant on my porch. It died again, I was watering it every day but, I guess that was too much?"

"Probably. Plants can be temperamental, too much water, too little water, too much sunlight, too little sunlight." You shrugged, not admitting that a saurian that Chasca had been fostering at Ifa's had eaten your plants so you gave up growing any a while back. Instead, your focus was on the life growing inside of you.

"Ugh, I guess gardening requires quite a bit of luck." Xilonen grumbled, folding her arms, leaning back in her chair in thought.

"Be right back..." you mumbled, hurrying off to go to the bathroom, much to Xilonen's momentary confusion.

"Sorry, sorry... I'm back!" you chewed your lip as you returned to your seat, hoping that you wouldn't need to pee again during your conversation, "um, so the Pilgrimage is this week, are you looking forward to it?"

Xilonen let out a yawn, "I can't wait for it to be over and people stop trying to ask me for last minute commissions." The smith's ears perked up as she looked at you properly, "speaking of comissions. How was that weapon I made for you?"

Your eyes widened at the unexpected question, stumbling over your thoughts as you tried to come up with an answer. How could you tell her that your sisters had confiscated it not long after finding out you were pregnant? Chasca had been helping you train with it, and Mavuika had tried, being somewhat successful, but the two of you often ended up too distracted by each other...

"Okay, what happened to it?"

"My sisters took it. They stopped my training sessions after finding out about... my condition." You hesitated before finally telling the ancient name bearer the truth, or well, a vague version of it. Chuychu still wasn't back yet, was she still trying to calm Chasca down?

"Your condition? Right?" Xilonen hummed, not entirely sure what you were taking about, "is it serious? Do you need anything from me?"

"It's too early to commission you to help with a nurs-anything, help with anything, so just, thank you for the offer!" you caught your slip up, but Xilonen did too as her ears twitched, taking a moment to realise.

"Oh, uh, well, you know where to find me when you do, okay, sweetheart? I should get going, I have a meeting with the archon, it's probably about her needing another set of sunglasses forging... again!" Xilonen gently petted your head as she hurried away, leaving you to frown slightly.

"Why does everyone keep petting my head?"

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Me: Maybe I should ask for some opinions in the Music Man community... Imma do that!

Me, on mobile: Oh wait no I won't never mind

[hidefdoritos]

My coworker (football bear) was in my department all day and he kept picking up his shirt hem to wipe his sweaty face and his entire fuzzy tummy was out every single time 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 life is full of wonders

[shirogane-oushirou]

no promises anymoooooreeeee i'll appear online when i appear online 😭 every time i say "ooh i think life is almost done being overwhelming!" it. becomes even more overwhelming in the dumbest ways. all i can manage rn when i'm not stressing myself into a shut-down state is staring at the wall while listening to youtube essays + mindlessly crocheting.

i might queue up ppls art and fics w/o commentary in the tags... i want other ppl to see what all of my cool friends have made, but i genuinely can't think right now with this monstrous brain fog. i'm really sorry, just. yeah. maybe i'll think of some way to make it up later!!! once the dust has settled!!!! but until then i wuv u and miss u. smiles.

[venting in tags including familial manipulation and ableism. i. didn't mean to write all of that, thiss was originally going to be a main blog post but. aaaaaAAAAAA!!!!!

also no need for replies or anything, i'd turn them off for just the one post if i could kjsndkn, i just needed to get things out and go eep jsjndsfdn ok bye bye bye bye!!!!]

[youremyonlyhope]

why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up

[there-will-be-a-way]

I really do have a special talent of apparently being very approachable. When I was walking through the ward, I saw a person waving and smiling at me behind the glass door. I only saw him once before, briefly. He asked me if I wanna go outside to smoke and have a chat. I had just came back from smoking and had ergotherapy in like 2 minutes but if someone offers me to chat, who am I to turn it down? So we went downstairs and now we're friends and I'll bring him nail polish tomorrow 😅

[misskamelie]

Head in my hands, I'm doomed, this can't be going on for this long good grief. What the hell does my subconscious want to tell me. Hate the pms hormonal storm

[drop--pop--candy]

trying my hardest to cut back on vent posts but holy fuck the Horrors

[dredshirtroberts]

i'm remembering why i don't stay on dating apps for long and why i have a hard time making connections with folks in general. if i have to teach one more fucking person about polite conversation with people you do not know yet, i swear to GOD.

[jewishvitya]

A pro-Palestine Jew on tiktok asked those of us who were raised pro-Israel, what got us to change our minds on Palestine. I made a video to answer (with my voice, not my face), and a few people watched it and found some value in it. I'm putting this here too. I communicate through text better than voice.

So I feel repetitive for saying this at this point, but I grew up in the West Bank settlements. I wrote this post to give an example of the extent to which Palestinians are dehumanized there.

Where I live now, I meet Palestinians in day to day life. Israeli Arab citizens living their lives. In the West Bank, it was nothing like that. Over there, I only saw them through the electric fence, and the hostility between us and Palestinians was tangible.

When you're a child being brought into the situation, you don't experience the context, you don't experience the history, you don't know why they're hostile to you. You just feel "these people hate me, they don't want me to exist." And that bubble was my reality. So when I was taught in school that everything we did was in self defense, that our military is special and uniquely ethical because it's the only defensive military in the world - that made sense to me. It slotted neatly into the reality I knew.

One of the first things to burst the bubble for me was when I spoke to an old Israeli man and he was talking about his trauma from battle. I don't remember what he said, but it hit me wrong. It conflicted with the history as I understood it. So I was a bit desperate to make it make sense again, and I said, "But everything we did was in self defense, right?"

He kinda looked at me, couldn't understand at all why I was upset, and he went, "We destroyed whole villages. Of course we did. It was war, that's what you do."

And that casual "of course" stuck with me. I had to look into it more.

I couldn't look at more accurate history, and not at accounts by Palestinians, I was too primed against these sources to trust them. The community I grew up in had an anti-intellectual element to it where scholars weren't trusted about things like this.

So what really solidified this for me, was seeing Palestinian culture.

Because part of the story that Israel tells us to justify everything, is that Palestinians are not a distinct group of people, they're just Arabs. They belong to the nations around us. They insist on being here because they want to deny us a homeland. The Palestinian identity exists to hurt us. This, because the idea of displacing them and taking over their lands doesn't sound like stealing, if this was never theirs and they're only pretending because they want to deprive us.

But then foods, dances, clothing, embroidery, the Palestinian dialect. These things are history. They don't pop into existence just because you hate Jews and they're trying to move here. How gorgeous is the Palestinian thobe? How stunning is tatreez in general? And when I saw specific patterns belonging to different regions of Palestine?

All of these painted for me a rich shared life of a group of people, and countered the narrative that the Palestininian identity was fabricated to hurt us. It taught me that, whatever we call them, whatever they call themselves, they have a history in this land, they have a right to it, they have a connection to it that we can't override with our own.

I started having conversations with leftist friends. Confronting the fact that the borders of the occupied territories are arbitrary and every Israeli city was taken from them. In one of those conversations, I was encouraged to rethink how I imagine peace.

This also goes back to schooling. Because they drilled into us, we're the ones who want peace, they're the ones who keep fighting, they're just so dedicated to death and killing and they won't leave us alone.

In high school, we had a stadium event with a speaker who was telling us about a person who defected from Hamas, converted to Christianity and became a Shin Bet agent. Pretty sure you can read this in the book "Son of Hamas." A lot of my friends read the book, I didn't read it, I only know what I was told in that lecture. I guess they couldn't risk us missing out on the indoctrination if we chose not to read it.

One of the things they told us was how he thought, we've been fighting with them for so long, Israelis must have a culture around the glorification of violence. And he looked for that in music. He looked for songs about war. And for a while he just couldn't find any, but when he did, he translated it more fully, and he found out the song was about an end to wars. And this, according to the story as I was told it, was one of the things that convinced him. If you know know the current trending Israeli "war anthem," you know this flimsy reasoning doesn't work.

Back then, my friend encouraged me to think more critically about how we as Israelis envision peace, as the absence of resistance. And how self-centered it is. They can be suffering under our occupation, but as long as it doesn't reach us, that's called peace. So of course we want it and they don't.

Unless we're willing to work to change the situation entirely, our calls for peace are just "please stop fighting back against the harm we cause you."

In this video, Shlomo Yitzchak shares how he changed his mind. His story is much more interesting than mine, and he's much more eloquent telling it. He mentions how he was taught to fear Palestinians. An automatic thought, "If I go with you, you'll kill me." I was taught this too. I was taught that, if I'm in a taxi, I should be looking at the driver's name. And if that name is Arab, I should watch the road and the route he's taking, to be prepared in case he wants to take me somewhere to kill me. Just a random person trying to work. For years it stayed a habit, I'd automatically look at the driver's name. Even after knowing that I want to align myself with liberation, justice, and equality. It was a process of unlearning.

On October, not long after the current escalation of violence, I had to take a taxi again. A Jewish driver stopped and told me he'll take me, "so an Arab doesn't get you." Israeli Jews are so comfortable saying things like this to each other. My neighbors discussed a Palestinian employee, with one saying "We should tell him not to come anymore, that we want to hire a Jew." The second answered, "No, he'll say it's discrimination," like it would be so ridiculous of him. And the first just shrugged, "So we don't have to tell him why." They didn't go through with it, but they were so casual about this conversation.

In the Torah, we're told to treat those who are foreign to us well, because we know what it's like to be the foreigner. Fighting back against oppression is the natural human thing to do. We know it because we lived it. And as soon as I looked at things from this angle, it wasn't really a choice of what to support.

[whytheylosttheirminds]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 6 (part two)

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 4.1k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

additional chapter cw! suggestive moments, mature readers only please!

You and Carter didn’t fight, it just didn’t happen.

Like any sisters, you got on each other’s nerves, you disagreed on things, you borrowed each other’s clothes without asking - but you didn’t fight. 

Growing up, your parents fought all the time. You and Carter would sit in her bedroom and listen to music, talking and laughing and pretending not to hear. Ever since then, you had a silent agreement; you didn’t fight and you never raised your voices at each other.

The problem with this system was that you were never quite sure when she was upset with you. Your stomach churned the whole rest of your shower, as she stood uncharacteristically quiet at the bathroom sink and did her makeup.

Maybe she hadn’t heard you, or maybe she had just hated your words so much that she couldn’t even respond to them. You knew she wouldn’t like it when you admitted that you’d be with Rafe if he asked you, but pretending it had never been said seemed particularly childish. 

A little while later, you sat on a stool in front of the bathroom mirror as she did your hair and makeup. You found your eyes continually drifting up to her, searching for any sign of anger. When a full half-an-hour passed and she still hadn’t responded to your comments about Rafe, you broke down and asked, “are you mad at me?”

“For what?” She scrunched her eyebrows.

“For what I said in the shower,” you wrung your hands in your lap, not sure you wanted the answer.

“Bitch, you know I have the short term memory of an ant, you’re gonna have to give me more to work with.”

You laughed at her bluntness, the lightheartedness of her words relaxing you enough to face your fear.

“What I said about Rafe,” you said. “That I’d be with him if he asked me to.”

She paused her work on your hair, setting the brush down and meeting your eyes in the mirror.

“When did you say that?” She twisted her lips.

“When you came back in, while I was in the shower.”

She shook her head, “must’ve been talking to someone else because I’ve definitely never heard you say that. I feel like I would’ve remembered something so insane.”

You looked down at your hands in your lap, playing the whole thing back in your mind. You had definitely heard someone come in, the door squeaking at their arrival. That means someone else in the house was walking around with your deepest secret. And now Carter knew it too.

“Oh,” you said. “Never mind then.”

“Yeah right, you really think I’m just gonna move on from that?” Carter put her hands on her hips.

“We could just pretend I never said anything,” you shrugged.

“Yes you know me,” Carter rolled her eyes, “I’m famous for letting things go and being super chill when I hear someone say something batshit crazy.”

You sighed, “okay fine, but what you didn’t hear was me following the statement up by saying I know I shouldn’t be with him ‘cause I’d probably hate myself the whole time.”

Carter started working on your hair again, her contorted face betraying her attempt to act casual.

“Please just say whatever you’re thinking,” you urged her.

“I don’t want to tell you what to do,” she replied.

You snorted, “since when?”

“I just, like, ugh,” she dropped her head back in frustration. “Why him? Like I’ve never understood. What is it about him?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “I’ve never really known. He’s just…”

“Arrogant, selfish, a bully…” she finished your sentence for you.

“Stop,” you laughed, shaking your head.  

“Just be careful, okay?” She placed her hands on your shoulders, meeting your eye in the mirror. “I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

“I know,” you nodded. “I will be.”

“If Rafe Cameron has zero haters then I am dead,” she concluded.

“I know that too,” you smiled.

Carter leaned past you to collect a couple bobby pins from the bathroom sink, her shirt slipping slightly off her shoulder and revealing a patch of deep purple marks.

“Oh my god,” you squealed. “Are those hickies?!”

She dragged her shirt back over her shoulder defensively.

“No! I fell!”

“Uh-huh, right onto Topper’s mouth apparently!” You poked her side, teasing her.

“Shut up,” she smiled and you cackled. 

After that, the Rafe conversation was dropped as you pressed Carter for more details on her hook up with Topper. She tried to play cool, but you could tell there was something more going on under the surface that she didn’t want to say. You decided to be patient, if she was going to finally come to terms with her feelings for him, she was going to do it all on her own.

When she was finally done with your hair and makeup, you inspected yourself in the mirror. 

“Baddie,” she winked at you.

You blushed, “alright let’s go, the boys are probably waiting.”

Carter stood back and crossed her arms, giving you an incredulous look.

“What?” You questioned.

“You’re not wearing that.”

You looked down at your outfit, a crop top, black jeans, and boots. You thought it was a perfectly acceptable clubbing outfit, but Carter clearly disagreed.

“Why not?”

“We’re going out to, like, clubs. In downtown Miami. You gotta stunt on ‘em a little bit,” she argued.

“I am! Look how tight these jeans are,” you did a spin to display your point.

“Good thing I brought the perfect dress in your size for just such an occasion,” she ignored you.

“Oh okay so this was a premeditated makeover?” You smiled.

She ran down the hall to her room and returned with a lacy, red minidress. Knowing you’d lose any argument you posed, you changed into it reluctantly. The corset top hugged your waist, pushing your chest up. Your shoulders slumped instinctually, like you could hide away in yourself. You’d come a long way on your self-love journey, but your self-doubt still crept in from time to time. 

As per usual, Carter sensed it right away.

“Shoulders back, head up,” Carter reminded you. “Let ‘em know.”

You took a deep breath, nodding in the mirror, choosing to leave your insecurities behind. You’d borrow her faith in you for just one night.

As Carter, Maddie and Sabrina did their final touch ups and compared outfits, you pulled on your heels and headed downstairs. The other girls didn’t seem concerned with punctuality, but you were sure Topper was probably freaking out about how long they were taking.

It wasn’t Topper you found in the kitchen, though. 

Rafe stood at the sink with his back to you, his black button up pulled taught over his defined back muscles as he stared off into space and the cup in his hand overflowed.

You smiled, holding your shoulders back as Carter had taught you, bracing for him to see you in this dress.

“Thirsty?”

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He felt his resolve break with the rest of his brain, dizzy and drowning in the sight of you. He had the ridiculous urge to shield his eyes, like he was hiding them from the sun, your beauty too overwhelming to gaze directly at.

He set the glass down on the counter, drying his hands with a nearby towel, never once breaking eye contact with you.

Licking his lips quickly, he shamelessly let his eyes drag over your bare legs and up your body, knowing full well you could see him take in every inch of you. He didn’t care, he needed you to understand what you were doing to him.

When his eyes finally landed on yours, he clenched his jaw tight, nostrils flaring with his rising pulse. He tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes, telling you silently: you’re killing me.

“You like it?” You whispered, running your hands over the lacy fabric.

Rafe opened his mouth to answer, planning something along the lines of “do I like it? Are you fucking kidding me?” but before he could, the rest of the girls came clamorring down the stairs behind you, stealing the moment. 

At the sound of clicking heels and giggles, the rest of the boys came filing into the room.

Rafe gave you one more longing look before handing Kelce the glass of water. Kelce tried to protest, but Rafe shoved it in his hands anyway.

“We’re not leaving ‘til you drink it,” Rafe scolded him.

“Taking over Topper’s mom duties?” Maddie laughed at the exchange.

“No, Rafe’s much more dad vibes,” Carter countered.

“Yes and mom and dad will be pissed if our Ubers leave, so let’s go children,” Topper herded the group toward the front door. 

Rafe took the now empty glass from Kelce and left it in the sink, and you lingered back for a second, pretending to fix your shoe so you’d both end up at the back of the pack. He watched as you bent down and fiddled with the slingback, hovering close when you stood.

“Nice dress,” he mumbled down to you.

“You think so?” You twisted your lips to keep from beaming at him, trying to maintain some semblance of nonchalance.

“There’s not much of it,” he teased, scratching the back of his head as he looked down over the lacy fabric. “But yeah, it’s nice.”

“You gonna give me the ‘you’re not leaving the house in that, young lady’ treatment?” You pressed him. “You really are like the dad.”

“Why? Would you change if I told you to?” He asked skeptically.

“Not a fucking chance,” you scoffed, swinging your hips as you spun and made for the front door.

He was really planning on staying away from you? What a fucking joke. He followed you out of the house like you had him on a leash. He was in for a long night.

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It took all of five minutes for Carter to grab Topper’s hand and pull him to the corner of the club, and it took even less time for their close talking to become a full on makeout.

You smirked at them as you ordered another drink, knowing you’d need something to help you get through this evening if Carter wasn’t going to be by your side. You could feel Tom’s eyes on you as he approached from the other side of the bar.

The whole Uber here, Tom had been eyeing you in the rear view mirror from the front seat. The only stare that made you more uncomfortable was Sabrina’s. It couldn’t be more clear that she’d grown attached to him on their jet ski ride, laughing loud at his unfunny jokes and hovering in his vicinity all night. You had unwittingly fallen into a love triangle you wanted nothing to do with.

You could feel his attempt to hit on you before he even spoke.

“Put her drink on my tab,” Tom told the bartender. 

“Oh, you don’t need to do that,” you said, not wanting to give him any openings.

“Not a problem,” he said. “I know I’ve been kind of a jerk today, the least I can do is buy you a drink to say sorry.”

The bartender handed you the glass, and you immediately took a sip, fiddling with the straw uncomfortably.

“Sorry for what?” You feigned ignorance.

“Last night, I didn’t mean to make you feel weird,” he said, stepping closer to you. He clearly couldn’t see the irony that he was apologizing for making you feel weird while actively making you feel weird. “I just think you’re really cool and I wanted to get to know you better.”

He was crowding your space now, the scent of his heavy cologne choking your senses. Just a few days ago, you found the same smell enticing, but now, there was only one person you wanted standing this close.

Your eyes flicked over Tom’s shoulder, scanning the crowd for him. You found him leaning against the wall, Kelce talking to him emphatically about something you couldn’t hear. You didn’t have to get his attention, his eyes were already on you. Tight lipped smile, you flicked your eyes between him and Tom, trying to communicate your need for his assistance.

Rafe didn’t need anything more to understand what you were asking, tuned in to your every move and sensing your need for him before you even caught his eye. He pushed off the wall and left Kelce talking to no one so he could shove his way through the crowd. Taller than almost everyone, you tracked him the whole way through the sea of people. Tom seemed none the wiser, continuing hitting on you.

“Maybe we could get out of here,” Tom suggested, leaning in a little too close so you could hear him over the music.

“Nah, not tonight bro.” 

Rafe appeared by your side just in time, forcing Tom to take a step back as he draped his arm over your shoulders possessively. Tom’s eyes flew between the two of you as you reached up to the hand on your shoulder and threaded your fingers with Rafe’s. Relief swelled through your body as Tom stepped back. You leaned into Rafe’s hold more, wrapping your arm around his waist and giving him a grateful squeeze. You knew he felt it when you saw his mouth perk up at the corners. But he didn’t take his eyes off Tom, his work here unfinished.

“Since when are you two together?” Tom puzzled defensively.

“Look man, why don’t you go find, uh, Sabrina,” Rafe waved him off. “Or literally any other girl here.”

As if Rafe’s suggestion had summoned her, Sabrina appeared at Tom’s side.

“Oh my god,” she slurred, eyes red and glossy with intoxication. “Are y��all a thing now? Girl, I never thought you’d actually do it. Good for you!”

It had the cadence of women supporting women, but the undertone was clear. You didn’t miss the disbelief in her tone, subtly trying to cut you down while appearing to lift you up. If Carter was here, she’d bitch her out. But you didn’t need saving from this one.

You tightened your hold on Rafe’s hand, swinging his arm from around your shoulders but not letting go. You pulled him away from Tom and Sabrina, leading him deep into the crowd on the dancefloor. 

Before he had the chance to ask what you were doing, you placed his hands on your waist, spinning in his grasp until your back was flush with his chest and moving to the music. He made no protest, squeezing you between his hands and swaying along with you. Tom and Sabrina watched from across the room, his jaw clenched and her arms crossed.

After a few minutes, both sets of eyes eventually left you, but you didn’t notice, and you didn’t stop. It wasn’t for show anymore. You closed your eyes as you continued to let the music move you. Rafe’s strong arms on either side of you, your brain flashed images of his half naked body in the kitchen and how he kneeled in front of you in the basement. The same fingertips that had so gently caressed your calf were now burrowing into the soft flesh of your hips. One of your arms stretched up, your palm finding the back of his neck, kneading his skin as you clung to him.

When you looked up to meet his eyes, they were ablaze with pure lust. Your lips parted to tell him you felt it too, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Instead you showed him, your body moving through the music like water. The bass pumped through your chest, tangling with your thumping heart beat until you couldn’t tell which was which. 

Rafe held you tight against him, like if he let you go you might slip under the waves again. His head sank low, until the tip of his nose was grazing just over the curve of your neck. He was hardly moving, not so much dancing as swaying, letting you do the work his eyes drank in every inch of your body.

With a precise roll of your hips, you pushed against him, and you nearly gasped at the feeling of something hard and demanding pressing into your hip. Your lips twisted with the sweetest satisfaction.

“Thought you were trying to be a gentleman,” you said over the music.

“I was,” he brought his lips to your ear so you could hear him. “But you’re making it too fucking hard.”

Smirking, you twisted in his arms until you were facing each other. You both caught the accidental euphemism and met eyes, breaking into matching laughter.

“You know what I mean,” he rolled his eyes.

“I don’t think I do,” you teased with a quirked eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”

His smile fell, as did his hands, lowering from your waist to your hips. You reached both arms up, wrapping around his neck and lacing your fingers behind him. 

His eyes swept over your face as he whispered, “you look so-”

“Cute?” 

You meant it in jest, but he didn’t laugh. His eyes darkened and his jaw clenched as he took you in, serious as hell when he said,

“So fucking beautiful.”

You shuddered in his arms, and he ran his hand down your exposed back, tracing his fingers delicately over your spine.

“Been driving me crazy since I saw you on the beach,” he continued.

His hand kept falling lower, though it slowed as it reached your lower back, asking for permission with his hesitancy. Your body arched into him without even thinking about it. His palm glided over your ass, the soft fabric of your dress and your plush flesh beneath it pulling an involuntary groan from him. He went lower still, slotting his fingers in the crease where your ass meets your thigh, lingering, setting up camp like he’d stay there all night if you let him. He found the spot so deliberately that you knew he’d been thinking about it for days. 

You waited with baited breath, your silence inviting him to keep talking. 

All he said next was your name. It was low and needy, like a request, or maybe a warning. Flames erupted in your stomach and sent a hot blush sweeping across your body.

“Do you…” your throat tightened with vulnerability, “do you want to go somewhere?”

Yes, Rafe thought, anywhere, for any amount of time.

But there was a small voice in the back of his head giving him pause. Your voice, earlier today in the shower, when you thought you were talking to someone else.

“I don’t want you to hate yourself,” he shook his head, sad eyes falling from your face to his shoes.

You tilted your head as you examined him, unsure for a moment what he meant. Then it clicked, realizing those were your words on his lips. He was the one who heard you in the bathroom. You fought the temptation to run away in embarrassment when you remembered what else he must’ve heard. 

After all you’d admitted to, the piece he was clearly holding onto was the only part you didn’t actually mean. You had added the detail about hating yourself when you thought you were talking to Carter and that she was upset with you.

It was too much to explain to him there on the crowded dance floor. You slipped your hand into his and pulled him from the crowd, out a side door and into the alleyway.

Once outside, you tucked your hair behind your ears and looked down anxiously at your feet. The loss of the music and the sobering night air weakened the boldness you had mustered inside.

“When you said we should go somewhere I wasn’t picturing so much garbage,” Rafe motioned towards the nearby dumpster. 

You laughed, his playful words successfully easing your nerves. You took a deep breath and reminded yourself why you’d brought him out here.

“You heard me, didn’t you? In the shower?” 

“I’m sorry,” he blushed, caught red handed. “I wasn’t trying to spy or anything. But…yeah.”

“I didn’t mean it,” you told him.

Hurt flashed in his eyes for just a second, before he nodded and squared his shoulders to cover it up.

“Got it,” he shrugged.

“No, I mean, the hating myself part,” you clarified. 

“So the other stuff…?” He was quick to follow up.

The door for you to finally tell him how you felt was wide open in front of you, but you weren’t sure if you could walk through it. The words you’d been holding back your whole life sat on the tip of your tongue, but refused to pass your lips. You looked at him helplessly.

“I can’t,” you shook your head.

Rafe sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“What? You can’t what?” 

Your mouth fell open in disbelief, incensed that he was the one with an attitude here.

“You know what?” You said, hands on your hips. “I don’t think you have a lot of room to be snapping at me, Rafe. Not after everything you’ve done.”

“Everything I’ve done?” He huffed. “Please, tell me what I did that’s so terrible?”

“Seriously? High school wasn’t that long ago, Rafe.”

“Look I know I was a dick, okay?” He stepped forward, voice softening a bit with his apology. “And maybe you’ll never forgive me. But all that shit? That guy? That’s in the past, and I don’t want to talk about the past anymore, I just wanna be with you now.”

“I don’t know, Rafe,” you shook your head sadly. “I don’t know if I can just pretend none of that happened.”

“How long then?” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “Tell me how long I’m gonna be paying for some shit I did when I was seventeen so I at least have an idea, please. Give me a date so I can plan for it.”

“Let’s see, Rafe, I wanted you for twelve years, you’ve wanted me for like two days. Does that seem even to you?”

Your words struck him, the anger in his eyes dissolving, replaced with tenderness. He stepped towards you tentatively, ducking just a bit to better read your face. 

“You really think I’ve only wanted you for two days?” He mumbled softly. “Baby…”

It was the second time he’d called you that today. You were in too much pain when he said it after you fell off the jet ski, but your brain had tucked it away subconsciously to revisit when you felt better. He’d called you baby before, when you were in high school. It had always given you butterflies, and you never called attention to it, afraid he’d stop if he realized how much it meant to you.

Since then, you’d reframed the memories to convince yourself that he never actually meant it, that it was some kind of manipulation tactic. But the way it rolled so naturally off his tongue earlier, and the way he’d breathed it so desperately now, made you reconsider.

“Please don’t call me that,” you pleaded. “Not if you don’t mean it.”

Rafe just blinked back at you, not an ounce of deception in his voice when he said, “I’ve always meant it.”

His confession pinched your heart, the whole story rewriting itself in your mind. For the first time ever, you let yourself actually believe that he cared for you, that he’d always cared for you. To anyone else who knew the whole story, it might seem unlikely, but seeing the look in his eyes right now, you had never been so sure of anything in your life.

You bit your lip as you looked up at him, your deep longing for him stronger than ever. He felt it too, you could tell by the way he drew closer, his body lining up with yours, eyes locked to your lips.

With the most tenderness you’ve ever encountered, he reached his hand up, the pad of his thumb landing on your bottom lip and pulling it gently from between your teeth, undoing you.

“Rafe…” you whispered, a plea and a question, as his lips ghosted over yours.

“Can I?” He breathed. “Please?”

You nodded, never meaning anything more than when you told him “yes.”

(chapter 7)

a/n: chat what do we think? are we forgiving him? only 3 chapters to goooo. Also I wrote “shoulders back. head up. let ‘em know.” on my bathroom mirror as my new morning mantra 💘

as always, sorry if I leave you off the tags it's not intentional! to be the first to know when I post a new chapter, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs <3

[nochepsicodelica]

Toji coming home late from a job, exhausted and knowing he messed up with you, again. All he wants is to be comforted by your warm body and to hear you talk his ear off before going to bed together, but instead he finds you fast asleep on the couch. He watches your curled up frame for a minute or two, feeling the achey heaviness of guilt in his chest. He promised you a movie, but things at work didn't go as smoothly as they normally do, and because of it, he's home later than he thought he would be. He doesn't blame you at all for losing your patience and succumbing to your tiredness, rather than fighting it, for his sake.

He smiles softly, admiring the bliss in your features, before quietly heading off to the bedroom to grab some clothes so he can tidy up before he even thinks about touching you.

Toji sees your shower products next to his, and though he doesn't plan on putting them on, like he has before in a state of longing for you, he does pick them up to take a whiff. The smells are as sweet and comforting as you. They help him wind down a little more after the day he's had. Your shampoo and body wash managed to distract him a bit. He stood there frozen, thinking of you as water cascaded down his body, until he remembered that you're in the house, sleeping on the couch, still waiting to see him. He expedites his shower, quickly gets dressed, and hurries up with his hygiene routine so he can get back to you.

When Toji returns, you're in a new position with your limbs all sprawled out. He watches you for another minute or so— you are the image of pure comfort on that old couch. Just being next to you could pass on the effect to him, but you're so enticing, and he really wants to be in that bubble of serenity with you. Before his proper judgement convinces him to carry you to bed, he's crawling between your legs, his eyes on yours the entire time, to make sure he doesn't wake you before he even starts adding his weight onto you.

Your sleep ridden eyes feel heavy as you peer them open and look at the man nuzzling himself into you. You hear the smallest little groans, almost like purring, as Toji continues to try and mold his body into yours. He knows he doesn't fit with you on this tiny couch, but you're so warm, and you smell like the body wash he inhaled in the shower. He's going to make it work.

"Hey, Toji," you mumble, dazedly, still half asleep. He almost melts at the feeling of your fingers running through his damp hair, your nails gently scratching his scalp with every passing. Your other arm comes up to rest on his back. He then realizes he's not close enough. Being right on top of you, with his head on your chest... Not close enough.

"What?" You laugh when Toji starts shifting again, those soft hums returning as he presses himself into you even more. He wants to be greedy and take all the comfort you can possibly give him. "Did you..." you giggle when he settles, his face buried in your neck. "Did you miss me?"

"Miss" is an understatement. Toji was ready to come home and cozy up in bed with you. He was ready to distract you from whatever movie you decided on, with kisses. He was ready for things to evolve into something more. He thought about this all day, and he's home now, and it's not at all what he thought it would be. The sad part is, you're not even mentioning these ruined plans. You're not upset with him for being home so late, you're not giving him the cold shoulder. You're the same loving girl he discussed these plans with in the morning and it makes him feel like a total asshole.

"Mhm. Are you comfortable sleeping like this? I can't move."

"Yes, Toji," you respond, immediately, though you know he's exaggerating. The question lures a soft laugh out of you. "You're acting like this is the first time you've ever plopped yourself down on me."

"Just making sure, doll, 'cause I don't wanna move," he says, with total honesty this time.

"You don't have to. You're the warmest blanket in this house. I scored by getting crushed."

"Yeah? I'm flattered." You can hear the smirk in his voice so clearly.

"And i'm flattened."

Silence. Crickets in the background. Everything is so still, you could hear a pin drop, and to make matters worse, you laughed at your own joke.

"I should go back to sleep," you say, knowing that when your nonsensical thoughts start spilling out, it's time to get some rest.

Toji's grin has yet to straighten out. He can tell you're still tired. He laughs, a sharp breath through his nose, at your ridiculousness. "Silly girl. Are you cold?"

"Impossible. I have a bear on top of me."

"Want me to go get the blanket? Wanna go to the room?"

"Stooooop, i'm fine." You kiss to the top of his head. "Goodnight, Toji."

"Can you do that thing you always do?"

Without a word, your hand goes to the back of his head, and your fingers begin coursing through his hair, again, your nails dragging gently along his scalp, like before.

Toji sighs, contented and entirely at ease. "'night, doll."

[mimicmimikyuwrites]

Loyalty is Hot - Adam (Hazbin Hotel) x Fem!Reader SMUT

Request: "I was hoping for a fic where Reader is Adam's third wife and they meet Lucifer (maybe in a meeting?) and he states how he could take Reader from Adam as well. Adam is kind of internally panicking as Lucifer states what it took to take his other two wives until Reader gets all fed up and rudely puts him in his place. Causing Adam to get all hot and bothered for his wifey and their loyalty?"

Contents/Possible Warnings: P in V sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, praise kink, creampie, semi-public sex (they fuck in a meeting room), Adam being himself, creampie, slight angst, SMUT, MDNI

You hated meetings, or waking up for them more specifically. It seemed that every time your husband dragged you to one it was at the earliest time possible, a time you'd much rather be spending in bed with him, enjoying the time of day where Heaven was at its most peaceful. It was also the time of day when Adam, sleepy and in a loving mood, was least annoying (which pained you a bit to admit, especially considering how much you loved him.)

"Hey! Wake the fuck up, babe! Don't fall asleep on me, not here." Adam nearly shouted, gently poking at you before you fell asleep on his shoulder in the meeting room. You opened your eyes with a sigh, keeping your head rested against your husband.

"Who are we even meeting with? More importantly, why haven't they shown up yet? It's been at least an hour," You questioned, a rising annoyance in your voice. Adam had sprung this meeting on you at the literal last minute, saying something along the lines of 'I need to show off my hot-as-fuck wife,' before practically dragging you out of bed; no more information given. Being the good wife you were, you accompanied him, albeit with some complaining. The last thing you were expecting, however, was for the meeting to be in Hell.

"We're meeting with Lucifer," He explained, the wide grin on his face shown on his mask. "I can't wait to see that fucker's face when he sees how sexy you are and realizes that you're all mine." One of his hands moved down to place itself on your thigh as he leaned in, smirking. "Who knows, maybe I'll even bend you over and fuck you right here on this table while he—"

You glared at him, smacking his hand away with a hiss of his name. He drew it back, letting out an amused laugh. "We are here on business," You reprimanded, an upset frown on your face. "Could you at least save the horny talk for after the meeting? Y'know when we're not in Hell?" Despite your reaction, you had to admit that the idea your husband had conjured up was kinda hot when you thought about it more in depth.

Fuck, you could see it now, feel it even. Back pressed against the table while your husband loomed over you, beautiful golden eyes staring into yours as you spread your legs for him. His thick cock sinking into you slowly, only for him to start with a quick, animalistic pace–just the way you liked it. Fuck, and the way his hands would reach out, grabbing at whatever he could; your ass, tits, thighs, anything that was soft and grabbable.

You hadn't realized the blush that had spread across your face until you saw your husband's smug grin. "Awww, did that turn you on, baby?" He cooed, almost mockingly. "Remember what you said, 'Save it for after the meeting.' Can't jump on me just quite yet." He leaned back in his chair, the grin on his face only growing as you shot him a harsh glare. As much of a lover of sex as he was, Adam loved teasing you even more.

You opened your mouth to argue back at him, slightly embarrassed by his use of your own words against you, but you were cut off by the sound of the door opening and closing. You turned your head, spotting the King of Hell himself. He looked just the way Adam had always described: pale white skin, rosy red cheeks, golden hair, noseless, and short. So short.

You stood from your seat as Lucifer approached the table, the sound of his boots against the tile of the floor filling the otherwise large, quiet room. You smiled, holding out a hand to shake, your typical behavior for business matters, regardless of who it was. "Hello, Your Majesty," You greeted politely, earning an eye roll from your husband next to you.

Lucifer returned your smile with one of his own, taking your hand and shaking it. "Who might this beautiful angel be, Adam?" He questioned, pressing a light kiss to your hand before letting it go and sitting down. Adam smirked as you sat back in your seat next to him, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you in close; not letting his annoyance at Lucifer's small display of affection be visible on his face.

"This is (Y/N), my wife. She's gorgeous, isn't she? A real hottie. Did I mention she's my wife?" He introduced, taking pride in having you by his side. Lucifer glanced at you, looking unamused by Adam's obvious boast before smiling at you. "Well, I certainly hope she's happy with you. Y'know, considering your history with your other wives." He antagonized, covering it up with a polite tone.

Adam's smile faltered. A sensitive topic had been brought up, one that challenged your husband's confidence. You looked between the two, taking note of how they glared at each other with mutual hatred. Lucifer turned his attention fully onto you, leaning in slightly. "Tell me, dear. Does he even satisfy you? Are you happy with him?" You opened your mouth slightly in shock, taken back by the sudden, blunt questioning.

"Fuck you! Of course she's happy with me!" Adam growled. "She's not like those last two bitches who'd settle for you of all people, you short fuck." Despite his assertion, you could hear the doubt in his voice, like he was trying to convince himself of it, too. Lucifer grinned, sharp teeth on full display, not affected whatsoever by your husband's burst of anger.

"It's not my fault that your wives like me better, Adam," Lucifer replied snidely. "All it took for Lilith was a man who did more than the bare minimum, and as for Eve, all it took was giving her a choice of who she wanted to be with for once, and that someone certainly wasn't you."

Lucifer then motioned to you. "I wonder what it'll take for me to win your third wife over, probably not much, to no fault of her own. You're probably leaving her just as unhappy as you did the last two, Adam." You watched as Adam tensed up at Lucifer's words, any confidence now gone as he struggled to keep up his self-absorbed facade.

"T-Thats not true," He stuttered, one of the few times you had ever seen him do so in all of the years you had known him. The drop in Adam's demeanor was the final straw, and you calmly got up from your seat. Both men's eyes followed you, watching your movements closely. Even with the mask on his face, you could see the fear in your husband's eyes as he watched you approach Lucifer.

"Honey? Baby?" Adam called out to you, watch as your face morphed into one of pure anger; a sight that even scared the King of Hell himself. They both knew that you were far from happy, and that was never a good thing.

"First of all, Lucifer," You hissed, saying his name with pure malice. "I am not Lilith, nor am I Eve. I may have been created with the same purpose in mind, but let it be known that we are far from similar." You slowly got closer to him, almost like a predator stalking its prey in the most terrifying way possible. "Second of all, yes I am happy. Clearly happier with Adam than Lilith was with you, considering how she up and left you and went only God knows where. I also don't see Eve around."

Lucifer's smile fell for the first time that day, and with it, his pride. Adam watched in astonishment as you continued to put Lucifer in his place. "Finally, I need you to understand that you're far from being my type. You're a coward who barely governs his people, yet so proudly calls himself the boss. Then you waltzed in here acting like you knew me better than I know myself, even when we had just met. I love Adam with every fiber of my being, even if he's the most obnoxious jackass I've ever met."

You got even closer, causing Lucifer to lean back in an attempt to escape you. "Oh, and for the record—" You leaned into his ear. "Adam fucks me better than I'm sure you've ever fucked anyone else in your pathetic life. So, yes, he does satisfy me." You whispered. You pulled back suddenly, a smile on your face. "Is that understood?"

Lucifer gulped, nodding in reply. "Lovely." You grinned, moving back to Adam. "Now, I'm afraid we're out of time. We'll have to reschedule this meeting for another day, preferably with someone else. Maybe you can send someone in your stead? Someone who's more politically involved in your Kingdom's workings, perhaps."

Lucifer let out an awkward laugh, standing up before making his way to the door, mumbling something about how we would send his daughter instead next time, before leaving. You stood triumphant, hands on your hips as you watched his departure.

"I—" Adam began, almost at a loss for words. "Are you aware how fucking hot that was!? Holy shit—" He pulled you down into his lap, pulling his mask off before crashing his lips against yours, kissing you eagerly. He pulled you down by the hips, grinding you against him, causing you to feel his growing hard-on through the fabric of his robes. "Fuck–Please, I know you said we have to wait, but please please please let me fuck you right here. Need you now."

You grinded down, a moan escaping both of you. "Why don't you do what you said you'd do earlier, hmm? Fuck me right here on this table, Adam." He bent you over the table, and you let him pull your skirt up just enough for him to be able to then tug your underwear off, tossing it aside somewhere in the room.

"Impatient today, aren't you, hon?" You teased playfully, looking back to find him not even bothering to take off his robes, choosing to pull them up instead. He chuckled, placing his hands on your hips as he lined himself up with your entrance. "Seeing you put annoying little fucks like Lucifer in their place does things to me, baby." He purred, thrusting in.

You let out a gasp at the feeling, his thick cock stretching you out perfectly. His pace was quick from the start, hips snapping against yours as the sound of it all filled the room. "I bet Lucifer couldn't fuck you like this now, could he? No, you need a real man to show you who you belong to." Adam groaned, kissing and nipping at your neck.

"H-He could never," You stuttered, struggling to speak as your mind went foggy from pleasure. "I need—Oh, fuck!" You let out a cry as his fingers found your clit, rubbing at it. "That's a good girl, let all those pretty little noises out." He praised, the sound of your moans more beautiful than any Heavenly choir to him.

"You're so much better than those other whores," He moaned, pounding into you, eyes screwed shut in pure ecstasy. "My perfect fucking wife, the love of my life—Shit—" He let out a growl as you clenched down on him. He let out a sweet laugh, hands moving up to grab at your tits while he fucked into you. "Oh? The praise turns you on, huh? You should be honored to receive it from me."

A mix of your moans and his spread throughout the room as you both drew closer to your climaxes, your shared noises growing louder and louder by the second. "Fuck," He cursed, his thrusts losing their rhythm as he rutted into you. "Gonna cum, 'm gonna fill you up. Maybe I'll even put a baby in you just to show Lucifer how in love with me you are."

"Do it—" You begged, legs quivering as he angled his cock in just the right way for the tip to graze your sweet spot. "Cum inside me Adam, let them know that I'm yours. All yours—A-Adam!" Your orgasm hit you with sudden force, the feeling coursing through you.

"Yesyesyes! Feels so fucking good cumming around me—" The sensation of your pussy contracting around him during your orgasm pushed him over the edge, and he came, shooting thick ropes of cum deep inside of you.

You rested your face against the table, no longer able to hold yourself up by your arms after the energy your climax had used up. Your orgasm subsided, but your body still shook, lightly trembling from the enjoyable onslaught it had just endured. You took deep breaths as Adam pulled out of you, feeling his cum leaking out of your well-fucked cunt.

He pressed soft kisses to your neck, holding you as you both basked in your post-orgasmic bliss together. "I love you," He mumbled against your neck, smiling. "You seriously have no idea how grateful I am for you to be my wife. You're absolute perfection, sweetheart." He pulled himself off of you, sitting back in his chair, a satisfied smirk on his face. "You think some sinner scum is gonna have to clean our mess up? That shit would be hilarious."

You sighed, shooting him a harsh look that he only laughed at. "Adam," You warned. "Have some respect, would you?" He laughed again, pulling you down into his lap, grinning. "Respect? Baby, we just screwed in a fancy meeting room. We are past the point of failing to show respect."

He leaned in closer to you, mischief in his golden eyes. "Now, why don't we go for a round two?"

[scentedpeachlandcreator]

How to manifest your desired body:

So i noticed that this topic which everyone struggle with, so i'm gonna talk about it here in this post.

!! Note !!: Okay first of all, please After this post don't send me Asks or questions, get it together and apply the Law and you'll thank me later.

Okay let's start!

Firstly let's simplify the Law of assumption :

Deciding and assuming that you have your desires + knowing it yours and that creation is finished + not Caring about the 3d and persisting in your assumption + Moving on with your life with the knowing feeling that you have your desires.

Done, that it, it is easy right?

And just let the work to your subconscious.

Let clear some limiting beliefs you have, shall we?

Is it possible to change my bone structure? YES.

Is it possible to go from fat to skinny overnight? YES.

Is it possible to have the exact same body of my visual board from Pinterest? YES.

Is it possible to have those anime/manhwa body? YES.

Is it possible to have a thigh gap and a hourglass body? YES.

Is it possibl-? SHHH, you Heard me, yes, the answer would Always be yes, why? As long you Can see it in your mind then it is possible.

Now to the important part.

How to deal with the 3d?

Hold up- first of all, why do you need to check the 3d when you already affirmed a minute Ago that you already have your desired Body? Seriously? Pull yourself together 🗣️👏🏻

YOU ALREADY HAVE YOUR DREAM BODY! done, that it, no question, no when or how, no but, no anything.

When i tell you that creation is finished, i really mean it.

I mean Come on! Manifestation is instant, the moment you affirm you have your desired body which mean it is NOW, not in the future or in the past, you have it in your imagination NOW, and that what matters, you just need to keep persisting and let the work to your subconscious, just don't freak out or start checking the Time and yada yada.

Just know that the 3d will change and will adapt to your 4d.

Seeing yourself in the mirror and nothing changed? Nope i already have it.

Your family or your mutuals pointing out at your appearance? Nope, i already have my desired body, i'm beautiful.

Time is running out? I have my desired body NOW.

Always flip your thought when seeing the opposite in the 3d, well that because the subconscious mind doesn't know what happening around you, it only hear your thought, so when for example your mother saying to you that you look fat or skinny well in your mind just flip your thought saying "oh yeah, i already have my desired body, i mean i'm very sexy", you know where i'm going with this?

That all you need to do.

Accept that it is done, and move on with your life, you know you already have your desired body like you know you have the phone in your hand, you are not going to Wonder where it is when it is obviously in your imagination, you see it in your mind? Then you have it now! Congratulations! You have such an incredible body!

You Can Do whatever you want in the 3d, you Can eat whatever you want and with the knowing that you're skinny or lean.

Stop complaining, stop asking, stop Being in the state of lack, stop Being Desperate, stop dreaming, stop wishing, stop making excuses, just STOP AND START APPLYING THE LAW!

It is very easy, you're just making it more complicated.

YOU'RE THE GOD OF YOUR OWN REALITY! YOU CONTROL EVERYTHING! SO STOP SAYING THAT MANIFESTING YOUR DESIRES IS HARD!

Remember: Everything Comes from you.

Now get your ass up and start manifesting.

If you want to loss weight read my post if you want ➜ (click here!).

Also if you have any struggle with your manifestation or the 3d i advice you to visit the page of @shradsmanifestt

Xoxo, Eli

© Scentedpeachlandcreator.