#floral cotton bed sheets

[cottonbedsheet]

Elegant Floral Cotton Bed Sheets for Cozy Sleep

Add a touch of nature to your bedroom with our elegant floral cotton bed sheets. Designed for comfort and style, these sheets feature durable, breathable materials and vibrant floral prints that enhance your space. Make every night's sleep a luxurious retreat. Available in a variety of sizes.

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[fayes-fics]

A Welcome Intrusion

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A drunken Bridgerton in the wrong room could be the start of something...

Warnings: none really... flirtatious drunken fluff, meet-cute.

Word Count: 1.3k

Authors Note: This idea has been lingering in my "wtf is this" pile of scenes I sometimes scribble down idly. I decided to add a little polish and make it a little one-shot, as I could not see it having a natural home in my other WIPs. I also have vague plans to do the same scene setup with Anthony as a character study of how their reactions would differ. Unbetaed. I hope you enjoy <3

You are sleeping fitfully - a stifling summer night makes even a thin cotton sheet too much to bear on your overheated skin - when your bedroom is rudely invaded. 

In your half-awake, bleary state, you are not even certain someone is in the room at first, your back being turned to the door. Indeed, it’s only when the mattress dips that you truly startle. You freeze, facing away, completely uncertain what to do with a stranger perched on the edge of your bed. 

Behind you, you hear someone undressing haphazardly, Clothing hitting the rug in soft whumps. Bile rises in your throat when the effort-filled grunt while doing so is decidedly male. 

There is a triumphant noise, and then a body flops back onto the mattress with a self-satisfied chuckle. After a few beats, all is still, and you steel yourself to speak.

“Kind sir,” you murmur, not daring to move, clinging to the far side, “please leave my room.”

There is a decidedly undignified squeal of shock, more akin to a young girl, him flipping over onto all fours next to you, the movement causing you to turn over in equal surprise.

You both stare at each other as if burned; you clutch the bedding high around your neck as he pants lightly, recovering from the apparent scare you gave him, his breath carrying the rich aroma of expensive brandy. In the shaft of moonlight leaking through the curtains, you see the curve of his cheekbone, the sharp line of his jaw. Whoever he is, he is very pretty. Very drunk, yes. But very pretty, too.

“What in god’s name are you doing in my bed?” he demands, sounding alarmed but mildly slurred with intoxication.

“You are in my bed!” you squeak back, knuckles tightening around the sheet you hold, even as your traitorous eyes roam lower, entirely without meaning to. A slice of lithe, freckled chest muscle flexing over ribs as he draws heavy breaths makes something deep inside you quake. You quickly dart your eyes back up to his face. 

“I think not! This has been my bedroom since I was three years old!” he attests with the blithe certainty alcohol provides.

Oh, so he must be a Bridgerton. That is perhaps an easy guess, seeing as you are staying at Aubrey Hall ahead of tomorrow’s midsummer Hearts and Flowers Ball.

“I don’t think they would assign a family bedroom to a guest,” you answer with a flare of sass.

“Yes, I quite agree. That’s why you should not be here,” he huffs indignantly. 

“I was shown here by the head housemaid. That is my trunk there, the footmen brought in,” you point out, gesturing across the room. 

He seems to ignore your argument but suddenly swings around almost violently, looking at the room.

“I don’t have that on my wall,” he frowns at a sizeable floral painting over a dresser.

“Maybe because this isn’t actually your bedroom?” you volley back with uncharacteristic brashness, likely a reaction to his presence affecting you the longer he remains.

He whips back and narrows his eyes at you. “Did Anthony put you up to this? Or Colin? Change my room around and hide you in my bed to fool me? Are you some doxy?” 

“How dare you, sir!!” you blanche, horrified at his coarse language and that he could think you are any sort of woman of such low morals.

“My sincerest apologies,” he immediately looks thoroughly contrite. “You do appear far too well-bred to be such. But it still does not explain your presence in my room.”

“No, it does not,” you answer through gritted teeth, annoyance flaring at his continued erroneous insistence. “And that is because this is not your room…. dunderhead!”

The ferocity with which you spit the last word has his face morphing into one of befuddled incredulity, a single eyebrow arching.

“Sorry, that was impertinent of me,” you flush, dropping your gaze ashamed.

No!” he rushes out, “I… I liked it,” the confession apparently takes him by surprise as much as it does you, judging by his confused frown at his own words.

But then he seems to shrug and nod decisively as if agreeing with himself before he looks back to you, shifting so the light colour of his eyes catches the moonbeam.

“Who are you?” he inquires, cocking his head to the side.

“Miss y/l/n,” you respond.

“I’m Benedict…”

“...BrIdgerton,” you finish for him. “I assume, based on the fact you have a childhood bedroom here.”

He laughs; a rich, resonant sound that makes your insides jolt.

“Indeed,” he smiles, the ivory of his teeth catching the light. Again, you are drawn to how pretty he seems to be. “I am… quite intoxicated, Miss y/l/n”, he confesses, clutching a hand to his chest as if holding a doffed cap, “‘tis entirely possible I am indeed not in the correct bedroom.”

“I would venture that to be the correct assessment,” you offer with a meek smile.

“I sincerely apologise, yet again,” his face contrite as he shuffles into a kneeling position, his palms resting upturned on his thighs as if seeking forgiveness. 

The problem is all your eyes can do is slide down his bare torso, lingering in places they shouldn’t—like the swell of his pectorals, the dip of his waist, and the pull of material at the junction of his thighs just a few inches above where his palms rest….

“I suppose it is only fair I let you look, seeing as I so rudely interrupted your sleep,” he comments dryly.

Your eyes jerk back to his face, met with a pointedly raised eyebrow and a knowing crooked smirk. You feel your cheeks aflame and bow your head, biting your lip, knowing you have been thoroughly caught in your ogling.

“I… I apologise, sir,” you mumble quietly, “I… I have not seen a man without a shirt before…” you admit in a whisper. 

“And do you like what you see?” he teases, tone etched with beguiling menace, his mouth twisted into an intrigued pout as you dare to raise your gaze again.

“I… I…,” you falter, knowing that admitting such would be scandalous.

“Your secret is safe with me, Miss y/l/n,” he winks, “and I hope I am forgiven.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” you bustle out, tugging the bedding high under your chin again, wanting desperately to conceal the flush you know is creeping over your skin with every second spent in his half-naked presence.

“I suppose I should take my leave,” he sighs, his cadence reluctant, perhaps hoping you will dispute his assessment.

“That would be… the most prudent course of action,” you nod even though your fingertips itch to grab his hand and ask him to stay for reasons you don’t entirely understand.

He slides off the bed and scoops up his discarded shirt, a moderately unsteady gait as he tugs it back onto his body. 

“Goodnight, Miss y/l/n,” he bows with a touch of comedic chivalry before he takes his leave. You cannot help but stare at his shapely rear as he walks towards the door.

“Goodnight, Mr Bridgerton,” you call softly, and before you can stop yourself, more words are spilling from your lips, something about this man making you daring. “I do so hope you will offer me a dance at the ball tomorrow to make amends for this intrusion.” 

Even you are astounded by your words. Benedict pauses, his hand frozen on the door handle as he turns back around slowly, his mien surprised.

“It would be my pleasure,” he rumbles after a pause, a tingle running through your being.

“Until tomorrow, Mr Bridgerton,” you offer, heart pounding. 

“Until tomorrow indeed, Miss y/l/n,” the velvet of his voice tickling your skin long after the door snicks closed behind him.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaa @urfavnoirette

[stardust-swan]

The Kind of Girl I Want To Be

Buys herself pink peonies and roses

Wears scents like Parfums De Marly Delina and Oriana, Miss Dior, YSL Paris, Prada Candy, Mon Guerlain and Chanel Chance Eau Tendre (she sprays it in the morning, after showers, and before going to bed)

Bakes heart shaped sugar cookies and macarons

Spends rainy days sipping rose tea from floral china while reading beautifully bound classic novels

Has a bookshelf filled with first edition poetry books, gilded editions of fairytale books, volumes of the Little Books of Fashion series, leatherbound classics, and Harlequin romance novels

Drinks peppermint tea in the morning and camomile tea at night

Sleeps on pink silk sheets and has a satin kimono robe

Plays Brigitte Bardot, classical music, and soft jazz in the background

Takes ballates or yogalates classes

Plays the violin or cello

Watches Audrey Hepburn and Anna Karina films

Adds sweet almond oil and rose bath tea to her vanilla bubble bath

Has a seasonal pass to the ballet and regularly visits the theatre, old bookshops, botanical gardens, and art galleries

Keeps things like French Girl lip tints/Glossier lip balms/Too Faced lip glosses, a hand mirror, a comb, some bonbons, a book, a rollerball of perfume, hand cream, a piece of rose quartz, a scrunchie, a nail file, spray on SPF and bubblegum in her bag at all times

Is always up to date with Fashion Week

Writes in her diary daily in swirly writing using coloured gel pens, pressing flowers between the pages and spraying perfume samples on it

Lights Yankee Candle Fresh Cut Roses or Rainbow Cookie, keeps soap and lavender in her wardrobe, and has vanilla diffusers around the house

Lives in a cosy home filled with beautiful things, like paintings by local artists, lots of cushions and throws, soft lighting from salt lamps and fairy lights, potted herbs and succulents, vintage vases filled with floral arrangements, DIY macramé and embroidery projects, a bowl of different crystals, signature Barbies on a shelf, rattan furniture, fluffy towels in white, pink, baby blue, and lavender, pink Dove or rose Roger et Gallet soap and Jurlique rose hand cream on the bathroom sink, pictures of her loved ones in antique frames, floral patterns everywhere, antique mirrors, and beautiful porcelain teasets

Goes to French cafés to enjoy a vanilla oat latte with a millefeuille or almond croissant

Always wears diamond or pearl earrings (often paired with a charm bracelet or gold heart locket)

Enjoys rosé wine, champagne, and strawberry daiquiris at lunchtime occasionally

Snacks on strawberries, sugared almonds, dried fruit and nuts, and Turkish Delight

Applies powder, rosy blush, lipgloss, and puts ribbons in her hair at her vanity table, which is decorated with a ballerina music box, vintage perfume bottles, and trinkets shaped like swans, angels and shepherdesses

Has her morning and evening routines down pat: waking up to melodic music, opening the windows, making the bed, doing gentle yoga, simple skincare, getting dressed, applying makeup, and eating a simple but delicious breakfast in the morning, and having a warm shower, doing more decadent skincare, putting on comfy cotton or satin pyjamas, journalling, enjoying a calming cup of herbal tea, reading, looking out the window at the moon, and falling asleep to relaxing sounds like ocean waves, gentle rainfall, and white noise at night. Her life runs like clockwork.

Is gentle, sweet, romantic, and full of love to give

[ellieslittlewh0re]

𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐)

* ೃ⁀➷ part 1 - part 2 - part 3

pairing - farmers daughter! reader x farmhand! ellie

summary - ellies willpower gets tested

additional tags - shy/loser! ellie, promiscuous! but inexperienced reader, masturbation/wet dream mention, cowboy boot wearing els, eventual smut, sexual tension, mutual pinning blah blah blah

───── ☾•┈୨♡୧┈•☽ ─────

You stirred in your sleep, darkness still cast over the sky. You tossed and turned, trying to get a couple more hours of sleep in before the day started, but you couldn't- the aching in your tummy growing harder to ignore.

You push your hips further down into the pillow that sat between your thighs, grinding down on it. A soft whimper seeps through your lips, growing more desperate.

Imagines of Ellie that last time you saw her clouded your unaware mind, sweat gleamed her cheeks, slightly red from the sunburn, and how she ditched the button-up, leaving her in a white tank top stained with dirt and rust.

In your sleepy fog, you turn over on your tummy, holding the pillow in place beneath you. Your nightgown bunched up from your rustling, settling around your waist, leaving your white cotton panties exposed to the moon.

"Mm-fhm e-ellie." You whimper, drool pooling onto your floral pattern sheets beneath you.

You looked pathetic, humping your pillow, eyes still shut, and a cease between your eyebrows. It was lazy and sloppy, but it's not your fault since you were still technically sleeping, having a wet dream about your daddy's little helper.

It was deprived and sick. I mean, you've only just met her, and you've never even had sex before, so what's so special about some girl you barely knew?

Your head didn't know, but your body did. You craved her- in a fucked up sort of primal way, the same way animal instincts work during the spring, eager to find a mate and reproduce.

You felt empty, and only she could fix that.

-

The morning greeted you how it always did, sunshine flooding your window and the songs of birds ringing loudly outside.

You rub your eye with the back of your hand, looking around slightly confused. You don't remember what you did, the sheets in disarray more than usual, and the damp patch in your panties seemed to help you remember.

"Shit." You mumble, stumbling out of bed and tugging your panties down and over your legs. You dig through your drawer, pulling out a clean pair as your fathers voice called to you from the bottom of the stair.

"Y/n, I need to run into town, I'll be back in a few hours. Ellie's here in case anything happens."

Even though you were technically an adult- your father never liked to leave you home alone for too long- too scared of something happening to his precious daughter.

"Okay~" you yell back in a sing-songy tone- basically, it was your best attempt to sound like you weren't as panicked as you were.

You change your clothes, throwing on some denim shorts and a cropped baby tee since you were too tired for "first impressions" bullshit.

You make your way down the stairs, the soft pattering of your socks went unnoticed to the unaware Ellie who was standing in the living room, observing the collage of pictures that decorated the walls.

"Good morning, Ellie."

Your soft, slightly groggy voice made her turn around. Her eyes immediately take notice of the lack of a bra under your thin shirt and the strip of skin showing between the bottom hem of your top and the waistband of your shorts.

"M-mornin', doll." She clears her throat, looking back to the pictures to hide the fact she was absolutely falling apart in your presence.

You however, we're better at hiding it than she was. It was painfully obvious that Ellie was worked up about something, and you knew it was you.

You were kind of used to it- the admiration, that is, being in such a small town, the pickings were slim, and it just so happens that everyone in town agreed that you were by far the prettiest thing on this side of the Mississippi River.

"Have you eaten?" You asked, already passing under the archway into the kitchen and pouring yourself a cup of coffee.

"Uh- no, not yet."

Ellie follows your lead like a dog, making her way into the kitchen to sit in a barstool that over saw the kitchen, giving her a first row view of all your movements.

"Good- let me make you breakfast, I can make a mean pancake."

Ellie stutters to interfere, not wanting to bother you to do such a thing for her, but you insist- claiming she needed some meat on her bones.

You even poured her a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice since she refused the coffee.

Ellie's face was bright red upon seeing you all done up, "real housewife type," she thought. Your little apron hanging loosely around your neck, the strings wrapping around your waist, accentuating the curve of your hips just right, and how your hair danced over your back as you mixed the batter.

She could get used to this- seeing you every day and the little outfits you wore that made her head spin. She ached for you the same way you ached for her, but she'd never let herself give into her desires, not unless- you gave in first. 

"What did daddy need to go into town fr'?" You asked, placing the plate in front of Ellie before sitting down beside her on the empty barstool.

Ellie observes the plate, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the amount of food- a stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and not forgetting the bacon, of course.

She thought, for a second, you were trying to kill her or give her a heart attack at the very least.

"Uh- said something about needing some parts for the tractor-" She picks up the fork and knife and begins to cut into the food.

"Thank you, doll, you didn't have to do all this for me."

"Hush- don't you start, I did it because I wanted too." You smile at her, taking a bite of your pancake, licking the syrup clean off the fork.

Ellie almost choked on her own food. Surely, you were doing this on purpose; to make her life a living hell- or maybe, some sort of sex fantasy that only her dreams could muster.

She awkwardly laughs out of discomfort, directing her eyes to the food in front of her incase you actually do give her a heart attack with your little antics.

You two chatted while you ate- well, mostly you chatted- Ellie being too scared to make a sound to direct attention on her- just silently agreeing with whatever words came out of your mouth.

She watched you though- in between bites. You had her wrapped around your little finger, even if she didn't know it.

You had her exactly where you wanted her.

You knew she'd notice how your tongue wetted your lips or how the syrup started to drip down you chin.

"Oh.. you got a little- here." She dropped the silverware, her hand coming up to your face as she took her thumb and wiped the sticky substance away before putting it in her mouth, tasting the sweet molasses on her taste buds.

Your eyes linger on her lips, darkening with your growing insatiable hanger. Ellie's face immediately lit up in embarrassment, regretting the gesture altogether. She was painfully unaware of what she just did- just trying to help you is all.

"Sorry.., sorry- I dunno why I did that." She awkwardly chuckled, rubbing the nape of neck with her hand.

"Don't be sorry, els- I really appreciate havin' you around- don't know what I'd do without you." You found your voice to be; sickeningly sweet when Ellie was around, but you couldn't help it when you could tell how much of an effect it had on her.

You pat her thigh before dragging it away, making sure she can really feel your touch through her jeans as you grab both of the plates and take them to the sink.

Ellie swallowed the rest of her juice in one gulp, her mind at war if she should make an excuse that she had to leave because if she didn't? She didn't know what she might end up doing to you.

But it was already too late, you were quickly grabbing her hand and dragging her out of the kitchen.

"Come upstairs- wanna show you my room."

Ellie was fucked.

You open the door, holding your arm out as a soft "ta-da" leaves your lips. You fall into your bed, flipping onto your stomach with your ankles crossed, slightly swaying in the air.

Ellie hesitantly; takes a step into the room, still holding onto the door handle in case she needed an escape plan.

"Uh.. why are we up here?" She cracks a nervous smirk, looking around at the new environment.

"I wanted to show you my room-" you slightly pout, your hands tucking under your chin.

"Whaddya think?"

Ellie takes a second- looking around at the room and down to you, her eyes pausing at the curve of your back that dips into your ass.

Fuck- daisy duke shorts might be her kryptonite.

"It's- uh... it's very girly." Her hand leaves the handle as she takes a few more steps into the room, looking more closely at the pictures and paintings that decorated your walls.

"Do you not like it?" You pout some more, flipping onto your back with your knees propped up, making it even harder for Ellie as your cropped shirt rises more on your torso, dangerously close to exposing the undercurve of your breasts.

Ellie takes a seat at the edge of the bed, her head turning to look at your horizontal position over her shoulder.

"It suits you, doll."

Your hand comes up to play with the fabric of her sleeve. In Ellie's eyes- it seemed absentmindedly- like it didn't mean anything on your behalf, and she was getting worked up for nothing, but you knew exactly what you were doing- carefully calculating every little thing you did when Ellie was around.

"Why do you always call me that?" You softly chuckle, fixating your eyes on your hand that slipped to the exposed skin of her forearm- just lightly traces shapes over the faded ink.

Ellie tenses under your touch- her boxers tightening under her jeans.

"Because you look like one." She said barely above a whisper, her voice; coarse, and it dug into your chest.

Silence filled the space between you two besides the soft rustling of the trees outside your window. Your hand moves to her back as you drag your nails lightly across it.

You were testing her limits, wanting to see how much it would take until she finally gave in to what she's been wanting since the day she met you.

Her head turns away from you, letting it hang between her shoulders as she mumbles an inaudible fuck under her breath.

"You scare me."

Your eyebrows slightly scrunch at this, momentarily confused by the statement, but it was all an act. You were playing a game with Ellie- whether she knew it or not, and you were winning.

"Scare you? How?"

Her head comes up, looking back over her shoulder at you. Her eyes were piercing this time, darker than you remembered them being.

She leans down, getting dangerously close to your face- close enough you could feel her breath against your lips.

"You make me feel like-" she pauses, her voice firming under her clenched jaw.

"- like I can't control myself around you."

*sorry idk if I like how this turned out but oh wellll

❥ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 @tfuuka @mattm1964 @tlouadditc @bugaboodarling @robinismywifee @omgidksblog @bf4iy4z @ellieswifee @endureher @asteroidzzzn @machetegirl109 @thatgiraffefromtlou @locaforellie @bellaramseysgirlfriend @wannabwanted @iconsoft @abbbyslefttitty @fireflyelllie

[unlosts]

goldrush

1.5k words. Based on some posts on @hotchfiles blog about Hotchs wedding ring 🫶

F. Scott Fitzgerald — 'There is a moment—Oh, just before the first kiss, a whispered word—something that makes it worth while.'

Small town motels begin to feel familiar after a while. Even the outdated 70s wallpaper and smoked tinted walls start to blur with the newly renovated minimalist gray walls of the latest chain hotel they’re staying in. 

After ten hours of bureaucratic red tape, hostile locals and hysterical families, the  paper thin mattresses and the softest of egyptian cotton sheets all end up in the same exhausted insomnia. 

And it is in that blur of sameness that you find yourself pressed against the sheets of Hotc - sorry, Aarons bed. 

Your very stoic, very married boss. 

It started in this quaint farmhouse turned B&B somewhere tucked away in Maine, the blood splattered crime scene photos getting lost amongst the garish floral bedspread. 

As strict and unyielding as Hotch was in the day to day you knew his biggest secret; an almost full pack of Marlboro reds tucked away in the smallest pocket of his go-bag accompanied by a baby blue bic lighter stolen from you. Reserved for special occasions, such as a week-long case in the middle of the winter with no end in sight. 

It was on night four that you went to his room to get your lighter back - and possibly to bum a cigarette as well. Light footsteps on the creaking wood, you tiptoed over as if you knew how it would end. 

Before you could even knock the door opened and there he was, stripped of his jacket and tie but still working at midnight, his starched white shirt rumpled from hours sitting at the rickety chair in the room. 

“Hi, wasn’t expecting anyone right now,” he said awkwardly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. His eyes firmly planted on yours and not on your very bare legs, covered by blue striped pajama shorts and a faded concert t-shirt.  

“Well, I would be more shocked if you were” you replied with a laugh, crossing your arms against the midnight chill and leaning against the frame of his door “hey listen I’m on a rescue mission here, I know your pack of smokes is more of a ‘in case of emergency bring out the cancer sticks’ sort of deal but my very favorite lighter is sequestered with them and I’ve gone through two packs without it so can I have it back? and also maybe one of your cigs?” you added that last part with a very convincing smile.  

“Right! yes, come on in” Hotch said as he stepped aside so you could come into his room. The pink wallpaper covered floor to ceiling in paisley flowers. 

“Don’t mind the flowers, it seems like they’re multiplying but you get used to them”

“Oh I think that’s just your sleep deprivation speaking,  maybe I’m not even in this room”  As you walked in you took in his room, from the floral wallpaper and matching drapes to the blue fluffy carpet and dark wood furniture. 

“If I were to imagine you I think the last thing you would be doing is stealing my cigarettes” 

“Really? and what is it that I usually do in your imagination” You said, sitting down on his bed, moving around some files.   

He just let out a small laugh, his wedding ring twinkling like a warning sign in the lowlight. 

His laugh is boyish you think startled, a little high pitched at the end like it’s not used to making an appearance.

You try to picture him at your age, even before, early twenties fresh out of law school. His stride not as confident as it is now, less sure of his place in a courtroom than he is in a police precinct ordering around people he’s just met. 

While you were lost in thought he went to rummage through his bag, his usual meticulous order abandoned in favor of quick changes between cat naps and interrogations. 

His back turned, you can freely admire the solid line of his back, muscles stretched under his shirt, and it’s only ever really in these brief moments of solitude that you can admit to yourself that whatever is it that you feel goes well beyond a crush. 

Which is why you should leave, you should get up, tell him you changed your mind and go to your room, forget that you do have a full pack in your nightstand right next to the nice lighter you bought for yourself  a couple of weeks ago, you should… 

“Here” He says handing you the baby blue lighter and a loose cigarette. 

“What, you’re leaving me to smoke by myself?” 

“Like you said, these are ‘in case of emergency only’” 

“Well I think having to deal with Captain Rooney and detective whoever the fuck for almost a week straight constitutes as an emergency, think of them as medicinal cigarettes, kind of like the ones pregnant woman smoked in the 50’s” 

He laughs again, boyish and carefree and you tuck that sound away,  to let it play on a loop in your head later tonight. 

“One” Hotch says, holding up a finger “and then we’ll go to sleep, the last thing I need is you crashing the car because you were too tired to drive straight” 

“God, imagine the paperwork” You reply with a grin. Standing up and walking to the window next to the desk. You notice with a pang that he keeps a picture of Jack there, only a year old, chubby cheeks and thin blonde hair. 

“What are you doing?” He asks as he sees you sitting down on the window ledge. 

“Are you having a stroke? you just said I could smoke one” 

“I didn’t mean right here” Hotch says looking around, as if the crotchety old woman who checked you guys in would pop up from behind the curtains and kick you out for smoking indoors. 

“I cannot believe you’re afraid of a seventy year old retiree, yesterday you stared down that reporter so hard I thought he was going to start crying” You said lighting up and taking a drag  “besides, didn’t you go to boarding school or something? I bet there’s a whole slew of very scandalous stories hiding there” 

As you blow smoke out the window you see him standing there, hands in his pockets. His eyes don’t stray from yours but he’s not avoiding anything, he’s instead searching for something.

The silence stretches on for a few seconds as the smoke slowly billows up, a haze enveloping you both and you could almost pretend that there’s not a picture of Jack right next to you, or even, another picture next to his. Her name carefully and diligently scrubbed out of your thoughts.

Slowly he walks over and sits down right next to you, the fabric of his slacks burning a path on your thigh. Instead of lighting one of himself he takes yours from your hand. 

You see it then, on his left hand,  tarnished gold in the moonlight. And the moment breaks. 

“I think you guys think I was born wearing a tie” 

“Well no you were a baby, it would have been a bowtie” 

“Cute” You bite your lip to hold back a smile, resting your heated cheek in the cold window. 

“Hotch you collected stamps” 

“Coins, actually” You take the cigarette from him, your lips touching the same filter. 

“Oh my bad, they should have locked you up and thrown away the key then” 

“I collected coins, and also regularly snuck out to go to bars” 

At this revelation you do gasp “no! Aaron Hotchner underage drinking? And they let you in the FBI anyway?” 

“Okay, maybe I wasn’t a complete rebel in my youth but at the time it seemed like it, my parents were…strict and boarding school was their last ditch effort to straighten me out” 

“What got you sent to the slammer?” You asked with a quiet upturn of your lips. 

Before answering he looked at you, the light of the moon on the clearest sky you’ve seen yet turning you silver. 

“I kept picking fights” There was something more there but you let him keep that secret, one was enough for tonight. 

After that you finished what was left, the evidence discarded into the night. Yet neither of you moved. 

It was easy to think that you liked Hotch because he was handsome, or smart or even because he was the boss, but in truth when he looked at you it made you feel singularly important, like every stupid joke or straight thought was worth hearing. Even now in the stillness of the night with only your thoughts and the cicadas for company you felt like he knew everything worth knowing about you. 

“Well” you murmured “I should get going” 

“Yes” he replied in the same tone “you should.” 

And yet you stayed, looking at him. You were so close you could count his lashes, could almost touch the few strands of hair that had fallen forward. 

“Goodnight”  He whispered right before kissing you. 

Truly you could have been the one to kiss him, it was impossible knowing who leaned in first, like an asteroid colliding the path was inevitable, only a matter of time. 

Your hands softly cupped his neck as his went to your waist. It felt like you had been doing this for years, like he had been kissing you good morning and goodnight as long as you had known each other. As he leaned more into you, crowding you against the edge of the window seat your hands graced each others and that's when you felt it, hot as lava, his wedding ring a shock to your system making you push away. 

“fuck” This, again, could have been said by either of you. 

Hastily you got up, almost tripping with one of the decorative pillows left on the floor. 

“Anyway, really should get going, we’ll probably be dead on our feet unless we get some shuteye” You said as casually as you could when every place he had touched was still burning bright. 

“Right, of course” His expression was indiscernible, the only thing betraying his thoughts was his left hand, fingers softly touching the wedding band like a mantra. 

As you were leaving you turned back one last time, looking at him still encased in the pale silver light and he was looking back. 

[alpydk]

I've had a brainworm (tadpole?) that won't leave my head.

How would Gale's partner (Tav or Origin) react to him unintentionally saying Mystra's name during sex?

I don't think he would say it as his ex, but rather an exclamation ("Oh Gods", "By Mystra", etc).

I know I wouldn't be pleased. 😵‍💫

"By Mystra"

Anon, you are a miracle worked because I loved writing this. Like this is literally smut that I did not cringe my way through or go ugh why... Like I actually sent a quote to someone whilst writing this in a mini celebration of enjoyment. Really so much fun, so thank you. - I will say though it's probably not what you wanted at all. Oops. (Or maybe it is, I'm not a psychic.)

Word count : 1570 - M/E - It's Smut, there's nothing but smut here. I couldn't even angst this fucker up. - Gale x Tav (F)

The evening had gone along as it normally would. Gale and Tav entertained his mother with the local gossip of Waterdeep, fresh tea leaves releasing their aroma into the study, the odd whisper shared between the happily married couple. The sun was now making its leisurely stroll towards the horizon and Tav had now moved onto round two of the game she affectionately liked to call Nimble fingers, ill intent. The first round would be innocent enough, the odd remark about how he looked nice when sat in certain positions or a passing comment about times they had spent alone given with a sultry look. “Oh yes, I remember that tavern, Morena. The detail on the oak bed posts were exquisite. Real craftsmanship.” Round two was based more on the physical aspects of distraction and competition: the lick of a teaspoon after eating dessert, the run of her hand along his thigh under the dinner table, the whisper in his ear of how she seemed to have forgotten her underwear. “Oh, it was nothing Morena, a quick reminder about a certain someone’s birthday.”

These nights were still as enjoyable as they were the first time around a campfire. Hands slipped under robes, concentration lapsing into yearning, travelling companions none the wiser of the exploits taking place. She would make him forget all logic, all reason, all devotion he ever had to his goddess.

He couldn’t get rid of his mother quick enough as he watched Tav lean over the coffee table to collect up the cutlery, her lilac shirt hanging a little lower than suitable and knowingly it was in full view of him. He saw the way her breasts hung against the cloth, the line of her cleavage drawing his gaze without mercy. After so much teasing, he didn’t just want her; he needed her desperately, as if he had been trapped underwater and she was his only source of air to breathe.

As the entrance door of the tower closed, signalling Morena’s exit, Gale was quick to press Tav to the wall of the stairwell; her wrists bound under his firm hand, the other travelling under the fabric of her shirt to place its mark on the previously taunting flesh. His lips found hers with an intensity he refused to hold back on, more eager than his well-mannered nature with his mother had let on. They navigated the stairs up to the tower quickly, a trail of cotton and leather left in their wake.

Heated kisses were placed over naked bodies, his flushed lips along her neck, her wanting hands travelling from his abdomen to his hips. The royal blue sheets of the bed were always the goal, but rarely did they make it there, instead ending up on the daybed or, more often, the scarlet floral rug that lay at the foot of the bed. From there, he would see her lying and waiting, her body moistened and ready for him, her eyes beckoning him with a love he would give himself to again and again. For a thousand nights, he would worship her in so many ways: some nights slowly with a tender caress of her inner thigh, others more playful, a nibble of her shoulder, and the teasing of his fingertips. Within the four walls of the bedroom, he was the one in control; he was the god to a single follower.

He nudged her leg aside with his own, climbing towards her, his urges to take her driving him forward with little thought of anything else. It was as he took her nipple in his mouth, the flick of his tongue creating the unwilling whimper emerge from her, that he felt her hand push him ever so slightly. This was new, a sign of dominance from one who normally welcomed his practiced tongue so openly.

He accepted the reaction, Tav’s hands coming up to his shoulders, rolling him to his back with a tentative push. He lay beneath her, her legs straddled over his hips, her breasts hanging just above his chest. His heart beat with an intensity he only felt as she teased, the devious look in her eyes telling him this wouldn’t be as easy as an impromptu lanceboard match. She held herself above him, the heat of her cunt drawing him in. He craved her touch, yearned to be inside her and have her entirely and yet she watched him, waited for his control to falter as it always did around her.

“Please...” He whispered underneath her. He would not beg, nor would he lower himself to that level of pleading he'd done so long ago, but he would ask if that is what she wanted of him. He would do anything for her if it meant he could show his love for her.

She sunk down onto him, her pace relaxed, her hands sliding their way up his chest. He felt the slow roll of her hips, his own body instinctively retorting with an impatient jolt. She stopped and sat up above him, a disappointed sigh that told him he’d done something wrong.

“My apologies... I... I became too eager-“

She rose and took him again in one quick thrust, a command that she was in charge. Without warning, he let out a deep growl, his self-control slowly unravelling with the growing intensity of her movements. He could feel the way her hand held down his shoulder, the fingernails of the other embedding themselves in the skin of his abdomen. What were once relaxed whines were slowly becoming the sputtered moans of his name through gritted teeth. She was fighting this as much as he was and he could feel the way her body was arching, trying to hold back on a climax that threatened to break through at any moment.

He closed his eyes, the symphony of ecstasy ringing in his ears, his body still accepting her pace despite how much he wished to just grab her and fuck her. He neared his precipice, one he had fallen from so many times with Tav, one he would happily fall from a thousand times more and he parted his lips, the sensation too much to contain. “By Mystra...”

Tav’s movements stopped suddenly, an abrupt silence that took him a moment to register before realising what had happened. She looked down at him with a combination of confusion and offense. “Did you just...?”

He felt the icy chill in the pit of his stomach, his practised tongue letting him down the moment he wasn’t the one in control of the situation. He hadn’t meant it as anything but an exclamation of pleasure, but he knew it was not the most welcome name after all that happened, especially when said in the bedroom. “Tav, I did not mean-“

She broke him off with another quick roll of her hips, a smirk curling upon her reddened lips. “Say it again.”

Gale looked at her with confusion. “Say what exactly?”

Tav bucked against him, an irritable look in her eyes. “Her name. Say it again.”

He was unsure what she meant, the rules of their game changing with each state of play. Lanceboard had been left in the dusty halls of the library; now they played a completely different game of strategy, one where he was but a novice. “Mystra...” he spoke with an uncertainty in his tone.

This time Tav’s movements were gentler, slower, and more deliberate. His head leaned back onto the rug, the red fibres weaving with his brown locks.

“Again,” she commanded.

He obeyed without doubt. “Mystra...”

She smiled, her hands moving from his shoulder down to his hips, her back arching, and pelvis tilting ever so slightly, allowing him to feel her in full. With each jolt he felt his muscles begin to tremble, the goddess’ name gasped through worshipping lips. And yet he prayed not to her but to the goddess that wrapped her thighs around him, the one whose sweat beaded with his own, the one that called his name as her hands found his.

She tightened around him, all control gone, nothing else mattering but the fought off release that now consumed her senses. She let out one guttural cry, only interrupted by the deep thrusts as Gale chased his own orgasm. What had been the Lady of Magic’s name had now become the Hero of Baldur’s Gate. Tav sputtered out as wave upon wave of pleasure erupted forth from him, as muscles grew taut and his body buried itself into as far as it possibly could.

She fell limp around him, his arm wrapping around her in a loving embrace as he pulled her onto the floor with him. Their skin glistened with sweat, the air now humid, the only sound being their panted breathing as they regained their composure. The sensation of a light charge brushing against his skin brought him to smile, a devilish knowing of exactly what Tav had done with her control over him. The goddess’ name, spoken in worship, in devotion, would of course have drawn her attention, if only for a moment. He placed a soft kiss on Tav’s forehead, tonight’s game most assuredly her victory.

“With you, I forget my goddess...” She titled her head up to look at him, an almost innocent gaze in her eyes. “I just wanted to make sure that was still the case.”

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 7)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 8

GIF: Originally posted by @kimdokjas

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Nudity. Kissing. Language. AFAB + AMAB penetrative sex. Unprotected sex.

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: Hello there! What a long time this chapter has been in the making. There was an entire week where I had limited time and an even more limited internet connection but I promise I haven't abandoned this story. On a less grovelling note, how good is Dead Boy Detectives? Let me know in the comments what your favourite moment was in the show if you've seen it. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

---------------------------------------------

There's sunlight on your face. It filters past your closed eyelids, rousing you unforgivingly from the tranquil dreamscape you had been wandering through.

You frown, a disgruntled yet pitiful noise issuing from the back of your throat.

Did you get in that late last night that you forgot to close your curtains?

It had been a nostalgic dream - a long and winding path that tracked the edge of a cliff that you walked in sturdy brown boots. An aquamarine sea to your right and a multicoloured floral field to your left, the salt and petal scents of both welcomed with each inhale. The bracing air had ruffled the looser sections of your clothes and threaded through your splayed fingers.

Every detail was exactly as it had been in your childhood summer holidays to the coast. Warmth and adventure and fun. Which is precisely why you are reluctant to leave.

You've passed the threshold into waking however and no amount of stubbornness can aid you. To ease your passage, you use the heels of both hands to cover your eyes from the obnoxious light.

The movement shifts the air around you, alerting you to another strange thing: the absence of your pyjamas. You hardly ever slept naked, and definitely not in the winter months. Come to think of it, these were not your sheets either. They felt far too sleek against your bare skin to be your trusty cotton ones…

You freeze.

Whose bed were you in?

Your mind is flailing like someone unable to swim who has fallen into a body of water as you try to remember, adrenal glands preparing you for potential danger with a hefty bloodstream-bound jolt, carried effectively by a stampeding heart rate.

Your eyelids snap open as muscles lock.

More disarray enters the mix when you find the source of the sunshine.

There's a sky above you awash with vibrant pinks and oranges. A couple of clouds drift in front of the burning orb, alleviating the intensity of the sunrise enough that you don't have to squint for long.

How was it possible that you were both outside and lying on a bed? Where the fuck were you?

The recollections finally break through the surface of your memory lake when you see him.

Morpheus.

The King of Dreams and Nightmares. Your soulmate.

Your body relaxes and the rising tension disperses.

His position has changed from the one he had taken before you fell asleep; he now sits beside you, studying you with those gorgeous universe-containing eyes. It's a much less predatory stare than the others previously directed towards you but the power within him is still palpable.

The beauty he possesses is overwhelming too; just like how it did with the night sky and aurora behind him, this sunrise is making him breath-taking. The rosy light is accentuating every inch of skin on show, from the angular features of his face to the toned bare chest that expands and contracts with controlled breaths.

"Good morning my soulmate," he says, his deep voice even huskier from not being used overnight.

"Hi," you reply timidly, gaze forced down by the weight of his.

He doesn't seem to like this shyness for he reaches out, tracing two fingertips in circles above your sternum, right over your soul. You're surprised when there is no pain, in fact, you shiver enjoyably from the simple touch.

You wish the same absence of pain could be said for the lower half of your body.

With much muscular discomfort, you roll onto your side and push yourself to sitting. The majority of it is set deep in your legs, right at the top where your femur bones meet your hip sockets, and radiating through your hamstrings. There are also internal twinges left over from fingering and penetration. The collective tenderness is understandable given all that transpired last night. All the pleasure that had flowed between you, those configurations that your body had never been put into before. Ones you dearly hoped to be put in again soon.

"How long have you been watching me?" You ask teasingly.

"Since you began to sleep."

Your smile falters, worry mounting at the inference that you had kept him awake. Had you been snoring? Twitching? Sleep talking?

You reach for his left hand that rests atop the dark sheets. "You must be exhausted."

That same duo of fingertips brush tantalisingly across your bottom lip. "Your concern is touching, dearest, but I do not require sleep."

"Oh." Your lungs deflate with a whoosh. "I guess that makes sense. People must need dreams all the time."

"Precisely," he praises, his tone smooth and seductive as he cups your face in his hand. "And there are many other ways in which I can find respite and rejuvenation."

He pounces on you then, claiming your mouth with a deep kiss. You go boneless when his tongue slips past the boundary of your pouted lips, enveloping you in his intoxicating warmth.

Morpheus kisses you until you are completely pliant; becoming putty in his talented hands. And when he pulls back, his attention goes straight to your eyes. He looks back and forth between each one like he is checking for something, as if the kiss was his way of dosing you up and he is confirming if it has kicked in.

Your mind certainly feels high enough for it to be true. You stare back at him, his irises become darker and darker the longer you look, until you can see your face reflected in the black-mirror eyes.

You seem different. Not just consumed with lust either. There's something else. A confidence. One more formidable than the type you make use of in your everyday life. It lurks beneath your flushed skin, enlivened by his presence.

Instinct takes over as you slip your arms around him and pull him in for a slow and sensual kiss. From crown to nape your fingers glide through his glossy locks, left even more messy from the activities of last night, and then take a path down his back.

His muscles are steel cables under your palms, conducting heat to pass from his body to yours. You breathe heavily from it as images of your prior shared intimacy flash by like a slideshow, turning you on even further.

Lips part company and Morpheus' mouth is suddenly sucking on your earlobe, pressing on your throat.

You are caught between a whimper and a moan.

"Louder," he commands, the rumbling timbre next to your ear making you obey noisily without conscious thought.

"Good. Again."

He nips at the skin over your jugular and your moan further increases in decibels.

"Such sweet noises," he comments between the open mouthed kisses he is stamping along your collarbones. "All because of how I touch you."

His hands find your breasts next, securing one in each. A firm massage has your back arching to lean further into the cradle of his fingers.

He lets go and leans in to hover over your left breast, his breath unexpectedly cool against your skin. His attention flicks up to your flushed face, to the bottom lip caught between your teeth. You want to further explore this kind of play. Hinting at your desires, you edge closer.

Morpheus' smirk is fiendish and there's such promise in those black eyes yet you want to make sure he follows through.

"Please."

"As you wish, my soulmate."

A drawn out groan warps your vocal cords once he seals his lips over the nipple and lightly takes the other between a thumb and forefinger. More of this too, you decide while he lavishes you with mind bending attentions - rhythmically suckling and pinching until your body is covered in a sheen of sweat and you can barely hold yourself upright. After, Morpheus gathers you into his arms and you delight in his luscious scent as your breathing normalises.

"So that makes you feel rested?" You ask softly.

He strokes over your soul again. "Indeed. It was exceptionally restorative, although I would like more, if you are willing."

The glint in his eyes, a quality becoming all too familiar since your official introduction, swiftly undoes the work you had done to calm your breaths. You consider the tempting notion of sharing more intimacy with him, but cannot ignore the self-care that you missed when you let yourself fall asleep in his hold directly after finishing yesterday.

"I think I need to have a shower before we do anything more. Would you care to join me?"

His pink lips quirk with a semblance of a smile. "I believe it would be counterproductive for me to accompany you, given your goal."

"Suit yourself." You plant a playful kiss on his cheek and throw back the covers with a flourish. Your assured, bouncing movements are soon halted however for you are unaware of where to go next. You peek back over your shoulder.

"Umm, where's the bathroom?"

Morpheus inclines his head towards a door that definitely did not exist a second ago.

"Just through there. I trust you will find everything that you require."

He's not wrong. The well-proportioned ensuite is furnished with everything you could possibly want for cleaning and grooming.

The colour palette of the adjoining chamber extends to touch this room too; predominantly black, with accents of pale stone for smaller details like the mirror frame and the soap dish. The stand out feature is the floor. A black marble with flecks of silver that twinkle like stars under the moody lighting. It's as if you are walking on a night sky.

Firstly, you wash your face first to remove the glowy makeup you had put on especially for the award event, then slide the ruby ring off your finger and leave it on the glossy porcelain of the sink before stepping into the shower cubicle.

You are considerate of the time spent under the water, motivated by the thought of Morpheus sitting naked on the bed not 20 feet away.

You're not ashamed to admit that you are impatient to have him inside of you again. To see that passion and darkness ignited within him. Be consensually dominated and consumed by him. And perhaps try out some other forms of stimulation on him. You decide you will ask more about his desires when you're done in here.

As you dry off using a white, fluffy towel, the rubbing and bending helps to alleviate some of the stiffness - something you know will serve you well when you are back on the bed.

You swap the towel for a bath robe and move to stand in front of the mirror. Using the reflective glass, you brush your teeth and apply some products from the assortment lined up neatly in the wall mounted cupboard.

Cleanliness restored and mood soaring, you open the door to return to your soulmate.

He's sitting on the bed like you had anticipated, however he is no longer naked. Quite the opposite in fact. All of his skin is covered except for his head and hands.

Morpheus stands as soon as he sees you, the manoeuvre showing off the flowing nature of the floor-length coat he has donned. You've never seen a coat quite like it; the sentiment reinforced even further by the constellations that appear to shimmer within its lining. He looks so ethereal and poised in it. Kingly.

Leaning into the formality even further, he clasps his hands in front of his torso and then proceeds to speak.

"I'm afraid that something has arisen that requires my attention. I will have to leave for a while."

"That's alright. Give me two minutes and I'll get dressed and come with you."

You begin to remove the bath robe as you walk towards him, undoing the tie with a quick tug. A shake of his head stops you from shedding the garment entirely.

"That won't be necessary." His hands sneak around your waist to pull you closer. "Your body will still be acclimating to the soul bond. You should rest. Rehydrate. Eat."

He gestures to a cloche covered plate and lidded jug atop a newly conjured bedside table.

Honestly, even though the proverbial wind has been knocked out of your sails, you cannot hold on to that disappointment for very long. The consideration he is showing is very endearing and it's hardly surprising given the dutiful aftercare he provided for you last night.

"Okay. I'll stay here."

He kisses you then, possessively gripping the base of your skull so he can get his fill for the time being.

"I will not be long," he whispers.

He leaves you standing at the foot of the bed.

You go to the bedside table. The metal of the cloche humorously warps your image like the mirrors of a funhouse as you lift it from its position. A platter made of the same material supports a bowl of natural yoghurt topped with tropical fruits and a plate of toast slices slathered with creamy honey.

You don't feel a particular urge to consume either yet decide to do so regardless. It has been a long time since you had last eaten. As you take a bite of the golden bread, you think of all the events that have happened to get you here in this room. The intense encounter that had taken you and Morpheus from strangers to soulmates in a matter of hours.

The forces that had been pushing you towards him - nagging sensations, like a series of itches you couldn't quite reach, making you go outside for a cigarette.

How you had met the beings who had orchestrated the whole thing; the resolve bestowed by their counsel smoothing away your doubts.

His determination to unlock whatever had been dormant within you; in the moment you had been certain that your soul was going to be obliterated, revealed instead to be a rearrangement. Just thinking of it is enough of a push to do as he suggested and rest. You had been through a lot.

After downing a large glass of orange juice decanted from the squat jug, you remove your bath robe. Shadows fall over the bed to block out the mid-morning sun when you tuck yourself back under the covers.

The scent of your soulmate is imbued within the sumptuous fabric, making it all too easy to fall into light sleep, even inspiring a dream while there.

A wet dream.

It's unbearable when you wake. You want Morpheus to come back right away. You want to touch him, to let him touch you. With a frustrated groan, you kick off the covers and redress in the robe, turning your attention to tidying up the pile of your clothes to distract from the horniness. You fold the items neatly and put them in the drawers of the bedside table. The box of cigarettes and lighter, you stash under the coat.

It's no use, not in the long term; you are irreversibly riled up, heat stirring agonisingly between your legs so when you hear Morpheus opening the door you pretty much run across the room to him.

You can see from the lust in his eyes that he is as affected as you.

"I saw your dream, my soulmate," he says intensely as he draws you into his personal space. "You have quite the imagination."

Your cheeks burn with equal parts lust and embarrassment.

His body heat is just as feverish - the ferocity of it permeating through your bath robe makes the fabric feel much thinner than it actually is.

He leans to whisper by your ear. "Would you like to make it a reality?"

Your knees go weak, at the question and the ghost-like touches of his words against the shell of your ear.

"Yes. Morpheus, please."

He captures your lips with a bruising kiss, simultaneously baring your body and his own using a mix of confident movements and form shaping.

You secure your hands on his shoulders in readiness, only breaking the kiss so you can jump into his arms. He then spins you around so your ass meets the polished wood of the door.

Broken groans echo around the chamber as Morpheus makes the dream fully come to life, filling you with a fluid thrust.

His eyes are circles of night sky while he waits for you to adjust, redistributing your weight ever so slightly so he can press his palm over your soul.

It remains there until you both reach climax.

-----------------------

Morpheus cleans you like he did before and then you recline side by side on the bed.

"Do you feel happy?" He asks with sudden seriousness while stroking the skin made taut by the spasming muscles of your thighs.

You would have thought it been obvious from the size of the giddy grin on your face yet you play along anyway. "Yes."

"And safe?"

"Of course, Morpheus." You reassuringly interlink your fingers with his, adding, "You could just cheat, you know?"

His chin tilts up, lips pouting. "I could, however I prefer to hear you confirm it out loud."

You laugh.

Saccharine. That is how this moment feels with the post-orgasm tingles and the endearing nature of his statement. He is utterly perfect for you.

You brush a probing fingertip over his soul.

"I still can't feel your emotions."

It is his turn to squeeze your hand comfortingly. "It's been less than a day."

You nod, casting away the despondent thought entirely by asking a subject changing question.

"What would you like to do now?"

He answers immediately, "I would like to stay right here."

You consider this, your focus shifting away from his face, up over his shoulder to the exit.

"What if someone needs you, comes looking for you? There are people out there, right?"

You're fishing for details, blatantly so, but you cannot deny that you are intrigued by the kingdom beyond the door that you had just so energetically fucked against.

Morpheus shifts to block your line of sight, possessively cupping your face in one of his dexterous hands.

"No one can find us here. We will not be interrupted, and I can sense when something is amiss."

-----------------------------

Days pass in a similar fashion. You wake under an invigorating sunrise with your soulmate's blown-iris gaze fixed on your face. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, generating shudders of arousal, in turn propelling you to excuse yourself to the bathroom. You wash and brush your teeth and go back to Morpheus. He fucks you until you can barely move and then leaves you for a few hours while you, in his words: 'rest'.

With your appetite still stunted you cajole yourself into eating and drinking, and wait for Morpheus to return, whereupon you fuck again.

It's a honeymoon phase you reason initially, but when the pattern shows signs of sustaining, when it reaches a week without leaving his chambers you decide to take action.

You had stopped asking if you could accompany him on his mysterious errands after the third rebuttal; perhaps a mistake on your part. And with the emotional connection between you still a no-show from your end, there is no other way of finding out why your partner keeps saying no.

You ask for a slower session. One that won't render you completely exhausted and aching, and therefore physically able to go with him. Not that you disclose this as a reason. You don't need to give any; Morpheus obliges, all too willing to please you.

His zealousness makes you feel guilty for your quasi-deception but something really is afoot. You cannot ignore it any longer.

The sex is euphoric. Beautiful. He brings you to the edge of tears with his gentleness, drawing several orgasms from you. There's even enough time for you to stimulate him with your hands and mouth - something you had been longing to do since the first night.

After, your question waits in the wings as you cuddle. His demeanour is a twin of yours, relaxed and satiated. The way his blue eyes stare at you, it's pure adoration you see in them. Surely he cannot deny you this time.

An hour elapses and then Morpheus stands, clothes appearing on his lithe frame. He announces his intentions.

"There are duties that I must attend to."

You sit up and say with a smile, "Please can I come with you this time?"

"No."

His terse reply is so far removed from the blissful look that had been written all over his perfect features seconds prior that your stomach drops along with your smile.

"Why not?" Your voice is unexpectedly small.

He zones in on this vocal change. "You seem troubled, Y/N."

If you were to be totally transparent, you would tell him that this scenario was starting to bear many of the signs of an abduction. It takes you a good thirty seconds to summon the courage to reply; not wanting to offend nor sadden your soulmate.

You huff out a nervous laugh. "I can't help feeling a little kidnapped."

His eyebrows narrow a fraction. "I did tell you that I would bring you to the Dreaming."

"Okay, how about I re-phrase that. I feel kind of trapped here."

"Are these chambers not to your liking?"

That burgeoning sense of nausea is starting to run deeper. He is deflecting. Expertly so.

You point at the door. "What I don't like is that there is a whole world out there and you seem determined to keep me from it."

The temperature in the room dips as the ceiling-sky sun is blocked out by a conglomerate of greying clouds.

"It is not safe for you outside this room," he says with a controlled cadence.

"I don't believe that. I know for a fact that you are one of the most powerful beings in the universe. What is the real reason you don't want me to accompany you?"

"Because it is not your place to do so."

You blink in shock.

The sweetness of the recent lovemaking is long gone, a bitter taste taking its place. You attempt to translate the subtext of that last statement: Not your place?

Is it because you are human? Does he think you are lesser than him?

You need to hear it from his lips.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He swallows, a fist clenching and unclenching at his side.

"I need to leave."

He's moving towards the door with quick strides. You're out of the bed, throwing on the bath robe as you desperately try to find a way to keep him talking.

"What if I had refused to go with you that night?"

No sooner are the words out your mouth, does the sky above you turn black. Morpheus spins around, eyes equally as dark as he coolly states, "Then you would have suffered."

He stands squarely in front of the door.

"You felt a semblance of it. The instant I touched your skin with mine. Even if you had protested, I would have brought you here regardless. It was imperative that I complete the ritual, and it had to be done in the Dreaming where my power is at its most potent."

Potent power indeed, for there are pulsing shadows leading away from his boot clad feet despite the absence of a sun to cast them. Never before have you been so aware of his preternatural identity. He's Eldritch personified; you suppress the flicker of fear it kindles.

"Your soul would have kept screaming, driving you to insanity. I protected you. Just as I am trying to protect you now by locking you in here."

The repellent taste of bile spews into your dry mouth. He said locked in.

You try a last ditch attempt to appeal to the softer nature that you know is within him, reaching for his hand.

"I just want to help people. Help you, your kingdom, your dreamers. The Fates said I would."

"Is that what they told you?" He says derisively, a dark smile stretching his lips as silver flashes in those nightmarish eyes. "I am disgusted that they gave you such a fantasy."

It would have taken an army's worth of self-control to not shrink away from him with that display. You drop his hand.

In that moment, as he blocks you from getting to the door of your cage, it occurs to you that despite the physical proximity, that this is furthest you have felt from him since he took your hand on that rain covered street.

It's as if a crevasse has opened up between you, leaving you standing on either side. So far apart. The risk of falling into the frozen chasm making it too frightening for you to try and reach him. Not that he would let you.

You know it as soon as he says his next sentence, his tone as flat as the emotion in his eyes.

"You should rest. I will return later."

---------------------------

Tag list: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt @littleblackcatinwonderland @1950schick @lollipopsandlandmines

"Cause they watch us in sleep. And the language that we speak. And the secrets that we keep to ourselves in our dreams, in our dreams."

[wonbokkies]

11:11 pm. yjw ☆

bf jungwon x gn! reader

syn: late rainy nights with yang jungwon.

wc: 1k.

mi's note🎧:im in a jungwon brainrot rn i miss him very badly. i also wrote this very long ago :> enjoy!!!!

the night rain poured on the rested city of seoul, each and every drop echoing, continuously hitting the cold, desolate streets. raindrops sat on windowsills, dancing on the glass, racing down to the edge. the teasing moon shied away behind a dark cloud, its light illuminating one side of a dimly lit bedroom. tonight was labeled as an enchanting night. a lonely one.

with windows open, the downpour playing a soft tune throughout your silent room, you sighed into the comfort of your fluffy pillows, gifted to you by a friend. your eyes glazed out the window, focusing on the playful glow of the moon, failing to notice the mere presence of another in the room.

“love?” 

shifting your body, you turned to face the owner of the voice. and there you were met with the alluring sight of a cherry headed boy, drying his damp, wet hair from the shower he previously took. you couldn't help but stare at him, mouth agape, eyes fixed on his simple cotton pajamas. how could someone be so effortlessly beautiful? 

hanging his wet towel, jungwon made his way towards the bed, sending you a soft smile.

“hi baby.” he said, plopping down next to you, the bed dipping due to the newly added weight. you snapped out of your trance, the cold tips of your ears hueing bright pink in embarrassment. pouting jokingly, you sat up, extending your arms outwards to embrace your lovely boyfriend in a hug, arms wrapping tightly around his frame, surrounding the boy with warmth. you sighed, inhaling the floral scent emitting from his body.

jungwon chuckled at the sudden affection and proceeded to return the hug, petting your head in advance. “what's wrong honey?” 

“i’ve missed you.” you said, voice muffling due to your face being squished into his chest. he let out a chuckle, the vibrations you felt against your cheeks causing you to look up at him because of the ticklishness. 

“stop laughing at me.” you frowned and looked away, untangling yourself out of his hold and turning fully so your back is facing away from him. his feline eyes creased in delight at your rare clinginess, his smile only extending. 

“heyyy – don’t do that.” he said poking your back and trying to tug on your shoulder, but unfortunately for the poor boy, you didn’t budge, arms crossing against your chest. a pout plastered itself on jungwons face, but it soon dissolved as his eyes lit up and broad shoulders lifted. he got an idea. 3, 2, 1.

“attack!” he yelled before charging at you (whom was very confused), bombarding you with lots and lots of tickles, using your ticklishness to his advantage. immediately, you burst into small giggles and jumbled words, body moving hastily, trying to avoid his fingers poking at your very ticklish curves. 

“s-stop! it tickles! gah jungwonfgh –” you screeched, trying to gently shove him off of you but now jungwon would not budge. his next move surprised you, as he seemingly pounced on you with a semi tackle, taking the both of you down against the sheets. as you plopped onto the silk pillows, loud laughter and a chorus of “nooo’s” emitted from the both of you. continuing to tickle you, you rolled around and successfully attempted to do the same back.

“y-yah!” he exclaimed, when you pinched his side. you continued to do so until he let out a loud yelp. “okay, okay, i’ll stop!” he cried out. you halted your movements when he did so and laughed at the heavily breathing boy, catching your own breath as well.

you two looked restless. both appeared with messy bedhead, wrinkled clothing and pink cheeks. the pillows were out of place and the sheets were rustled. (although it didn't matter since you were about to go to bed anyways). you glanced at each other, pure fondness reflecting in both of your eyes. giggling, you enveloped one another in a sweet caress.

leaning into your boyfriend's side, you snuggled your face into the crook of his neck, rubbing your cheek against it. jungwon sighed happily in contentment and tenderly wrapped his arms around you, laying back more comfortably. you embraced each other in silence, ears perking open to the light sounds of the rain as the pale moon shone down on the both of you. you were ethereal.

you began to place gentle, light kisses on the boy’s neck, causing the hair on his back to rise and goosebumps to run down his melanin skin. he sighed into your touch, pulling you even closer as he listened to your calming heartbeat- with his own beating erratically.

“jungwon.”

“hm?” you looked up at your boyfriend, eyes scanning his soft face and admiring his glowing features. jungwon proceeded to do the same, watching the way your eyebrows slightly flutter and your bottom lip getting trapped between your pearly whites. your small hands delicately  intertwined itself, combing through his locks, lulling the tired boy to sleep.

“nothing. just wanna say that i love you,” you mumbled with an endearing smile, making him shake his head and draw you in closer to his pounding chest, not the least bit afraid that you may hear it. your body rested atop his as the both of you clutched onto each other like two pieces of a puzzle. a perfect one. with you placing a chaste kiss on his cheek, jungwon swore he could feel the mere tip of a butterfly’s wing graze his whole heart. he loved you. he loves you. very, very much.

“i love you too y/n. always.” and he locked his lips with yours.

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[cherrychilli]

18+

AFAB reader, P in V sex, shower sex, fluff and smut

A/N: So I'm having one of those days where you wake up feeling like shit but you don't know why? There's this thing I do sometimes that helps clear my mind so I wanted to write about it. And I threw in some sex of course.

It's back.

Like every other time, you're not sure what caused it but it's here again. You can feel it curling around your ribs like wilting vines, it's browned, brittle leaves breaking off to fill your stomach with the weight of decay.

Melancholy. You wake up with it and it makes a home inside your bones as you lay in your sheets. Unmoving. Morning slipping by. But you're not going to stay there. You have a plan. A routine you conjured one day by chance when you let your feelings guide you. So you lay there until you're able to scrape together enough energy to break away for the soft confines of your bed and head for your shower.

You pass by the bathroom mirror, no time to spare a glance at your reflection as you step inside, fingers seeking the shower handle. A normal shower would have you stripping off your oversized t-shirt and panties first but this wasn't that kind of shower. You step underneath the stream when it shifts to the right temperature, still clothed in what you'd gone to bed in. The t-shirt that usually hid your form under its billowing size rushed to cling to you underneath the water. The shape of your body emerges as the fabric soaks and sticks to you, the slope of your breasts and stomach and the curve of your ass and hips evident now. Its powder blue color turns translucent too, revealing your peaking nipples, your belly button and the floral print of your cotton panties underneath.

Gazing down, the ripples of pinched material remind you of the way sculptors carved the illusion of draped fabric onto veiled figures of marble, soft folds and creases expertly etched all over. Despite the fleeting similarity you feel far from a timeless work of art to be revered. Though, when you glide your finger over your thigh you sense something just as cold and rigid as the same smooth stone lurking beneath your skin.

The melancholy made you feel that way. Cold and hard but the way your wet clothes clung to you felt like an embrace. Warm and tight. The sound of water falling against your clothed body had begun to soothe you too, reminding you of rain pelting against the top of an open umbrella. That gentle pattering helped drown out your thoughts, making them fade until they went mute inside your head.

You don't hear the bathroom door open and click shut, too wrapped up in the sound but you don't startle either when the foggy shower door inches open. You're calm now. You feel a little more like yourself.

"You know you're supposed to take those off before you get in, right?"

You can feel the vines begin to recede when you see Steve's face, a sunny kind of smile only reserved for you curving his pink lips. You can see his eyes roam your wet body, clothed but not concealed and you feel the same arousal you see spark in his eyes becoming embers in your belly. You reach out and pull lightly at the front his shirt, smiling and speaking for the first time that day. "Get in?", you asked softly.

He glances over his fully clothed self for a moment before looking to you again. "Like this?", he raises his eyebrows and gives you a breathy little laugh. You're smiling a little harder now.

You nod, shrugging a second later because it didn't matter if he was clothed or not. You just needed him in there with you. He considers it for a moment before toeing off his shoes but leaving on the rest, sweatpants and sweatshirt and hair soaking quickly under the running water.

"You're right it's kinda nice", he admits when your collective giggling begins to die down, pulling you against him. The embrace you'd sought out in your wet clothes and shower doesn't compare to the heat of the real thing as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes lightly. You melt into it, listening to his heart beat until you can't ignore the spitting flames inside you any longer.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you fuck me, please?"

You ask it with more sweetness than necessary even though you knew you never had to say 'please'. Not with Steve.

You get your answer when he releases you, a quick kiss warming your lips before moves to carefully peel off your panties. He deposits the dripping garment into your laundry basket but leaves your sopping shirt on. Something about the way you looked in it made his cock throb and his throat feel tight.

You turn around, tits pressed against slick tiles, palms and cheek pressed there too as he seeks your hip with one hand and pulls his cock free from his sweats with the other, teasing your waiting entrance with his tip until you whine out for him all pretty and pleading.

"Need me to fuck it out of you huh?", he notices, a playful patronizing tone to his question but there's genuine concern behind it too. "Need me to make it all better? That what you want, pretty girl?", he coos again, precum smearing you between your legs.

You arch your back a little more, moaning when he slips his length between your folds to tease at your clit. "Mm- yes... need you now", you rock your hips forwards gently until he's lined up with your hole again, pressing back gently to urge him in.

It started sweet and slow like that. Languid strokes, lingering touches, soft sighs and praise when he sinks into you and then it gets a little needier. A little wilder. More teeth and nails scratching exposed skin. Positions changing. Breath quickening.

It ends with Steve on his back on the shower floor, you on top, frantic and no longer quiet as you bounce on his cock, water beating down your back. All of your clothes had been shed before you made it into this position, a soggy, messy pile on your bathroom floor. You don't have it in you to care about right now, too busy chasing your climax.

"That's it baby- fuck- good girl. You're so close I can -Christ- I can tell", he grunts out, fingers digging into your thighs. Your knees ache terribly against the tiles but that pain goes unnoticed when you finally cum with a half choked scream of his name, nails raking down his chest.

He spills into you not long after, hot ropes of cum flooding your channel when you squeeze his twitching length over and over in waves, taking all that he has to give you.

It's already dripping out of you by the time you manage to pull off of his softening cock, knees protesting to remind you of the pain there once more. He sees it, your combined arousal trailing thick down your inner thigh. He'd like to keep you like that, so full of him that it has to come back out but he chooses to be tender with you instead, offering to help clean you up.

You accept the offer, giving yourself to him in a different way as he washes you clean of his spend and rifles through your body wash and shampoo, set on having you relax while he takes care of you.

You're back in bed after all the careful pampering. Both of you, naked and clean, fingers tracing bare skin, lips finding new places to kiss.

He's here now and that melancholic ache's gone away.

[spyridonya]

Lessons

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Rating: Mature Pairing: Zophus Emberbane (Tav OC) x Cian (@dmagedgoods's Dark Urge), background Raphael/Cian/Zophus Words: 1880 Trigger Warnings: No sex, but descriptions of body arousal. Light bondage. Summary: An orphan aches to ask for what he wants, but habits die hard.

The rooms given to Zophus in the House of Hope had been spacious, though it lacked the wash of maroon and the false glitter of gold. The expansive marble had been scrubbed clean, appearing the color of sunset due to the ever burning infernal skies of Arvenus coming from the balcony when the curtains were not drawn. However, unlike the other chambers of the Archdevil’s entourage, it was decidedly spartan.

The walls were bare of paintings, tapestries, or statues, save a modest sized portrait of Raphael. Rather, there were only mounted weapons that Zophus had saved during the campaign against the Absolutestists and the Dead Three. Weapons, Zophus felt, that he would never use again. They held memories of the days when the whispering of the tadpoles was far too common for pleasant company, though he did miss the sound of Cian’s voice when it broke through the din of voices. 

The only pieces of furniture that Zophus’ room housed were a bookshelf, a chest, and a large bed. However, even the large bed - which could host far more people than just Zophus himself and another - lacked the sumptuous colored silk of Raphael’s quarters. Rather, Zophus had favored linen sheets and a woven blanket - durable and dependable in their structure and comfort. Eventually the linen would be washed and used enough to become as soft as cotton and the woven blanket was well spun. Compared to his bunk in the Barracks, it was luxurious enough and reminded him not to let his guard down. 

However, Zophus never thought his bed sheets would be dependable enough to bind his wrists to the headboard of his own damn bed.

When the paladin had woken up to his current predicament of being bound and with a blindfold across his eyes, he mentally berated himself for several moments that the decades of training and fighting in the Harmonium, his guard had melted away in a matter of weeks. The nights on the trek to Baldur’s Gate or the horrors of the Shadowlands were short for him, he often woke at the slightest noise or rustle before settling to a restless sleep, but that had been over a month ago.

The paladin then considered that perhaps someone that he trusted had slipped into his room, and his self flagellation ceased long enough to center his senses. Betrayal was quickly rejected for the relative amount of comfort he found himself in. Though Zophus was laying down on his back, and his arms tied above his head, his muscular legs and his wings were still free and nothing had been placed around his throat. Pillows had been tucked under the paladin’s neck to avoid straining his wings and at the small of his back, exposing him to anyone passing, and he felt the stirring of a possible erection.

The air was comfortable, thanks to the arcane weavings of the House of Hope, and the air was fresh though there was no discernable wind. The aasimar licked his dry lips and took a deep breath through his nose. The smell he first expected - bourbon twined with cherries with the barest hint of sulfur - wasn’t there. 

Rather, he smelled something floral, something dark like a forest, so very lush yet not overly sweet and Zophus took another deep breath. It was Cian’s smell. One that he knew well, one scent that he was afraid to linger on despite how much he enjoyed it. 

Sometimes, Zophus thought, familiarity breeds contempt. 

The drow’s whispering footsteps were much louder than Zophus expected, though he supposed that was due to the lack of… anything in his personal chambers.

"How long has it been since you joined us, Zophus?” The soft, sensual voice filled Zophus’ ears despite Cian being some distance away, “Not quite a month since you had this room and yet… it looks like you’ve turned this into an armory.” The mockery was softened by the playfulness in the drow’s voice. “The future corpse of my father forgive me... you kept Ketheric’s hammer, of all things?” The arched tone attempted not to laugh. "Yet, you have no whips or chains. Nothing made of leather - not even silk." 

The growing stirring of his cock had become an ache and likely very visible. 

Cian tsked and Zophus heard the sorcerer approach even closer, "Even your bedding is gray. Nothing lovely at all about it. Do you not like beautiful things?" 

I love beautiful things, Zophus thought. Cian was one of the most beautiful people he knew. His mind’s eyes conjured the whipcord body colored like smoke paired with the contrast of night colored hair, the ebony and silver gaze, the ivory tattoo along the planes of his cheek to ear. 

The growing stirring at Zophus’ cock had become an ache, and likely very visible. The aasimar swallowed and would have turned away if he could. 

"Grey bedding means less work for the debtor." Zophus replied curtly as he took a deep breath, falling into the pattern that he believed Cian enjoyed so much, "So, that means more time for a doomed soul to wash your bedding." 

Zophus had seen Cian’s bedding, the sumptuous tastes for a sumptuous man, though they spent more time in the Boudoir in comparison. It was common enough grounds to them and others in Raphael’s entourage, though Zophus never felt he could speak freely. Haarlep had sharp ears and would give even sharper words to Mephistopheles. The solution to speaking freely with his lovers was simply to arrive upon the drow’s doorstep more often but…

Zophus was not Raphael. Zophus was scarred and rumpled, lacking in grace in exchange for his size and power. 

"Such a precious remark, no doubt you have some concerns for the help," The drow purred, his voice closer but not close enough. The soft caress of fabric against fabric entered Zophus’ ears, and he adjusted his imagination of the drow wearing pants, though he indulged the idea of muscular arms and chest being exposed, "I've heard that the Harmonium don’t have a creative bone in their body.” 

The footsteps stopped, and Zophus’ heart pounded rapidly and fully in his chest. His body shifted and he stretched his wings while he tipped his head back slightly. He could dismiss his wings, he often did when he laid on his back. However, last night he had the luxury of curling on his stomach for sleep after returning to the House from a mission in the early hours. The habits of hard narrow beds that his faction used were dissipating quickly and he likely hadn’t thought about dismissing his wings.

Zophus knew Cian liked his wings… and his wings were sensitive. The memory of the last time someone teased along his feathers brought Zophus’s cock to full hardness. 

“However,” Cian echoed once more, right at the edge of the bed, “I have to say, I do like the bookshelf. True wood.” The faint slippery sound of fingers against polished wood might have been in his imagination, but the steps that paused two arm lengths away from Zophus were real. For a long moment there was silence, likely the drow studying the books that were lining the shelves while making the aasimar wait. Most of the books that Zophus owned were collected from their journey together, and the ones that didn’t diverge from magic had been split equally between them. Cian had taken most of the ones related to magic 

The silence passed for another heart beat and he felt the shift in his bed.. Zophus' stomach knotted at the unfamiliar sensation before he spoke. "And what little imp has been telling you these things about Harmoniums? Most Imps don’t leave Avernus and saw even less when they were living souls in Faerun."

Cian laughed. The sound was rich and warm and it made Zophus smile, though the smile lasted only for a moment. The aasimar could hear the mastress shift, and felt the resulting dip of additional weight on his bed. "My, my, have we found a nerve?" 

Zophus took a deep breath, and felt his face and muscles grow tense, despite how wonderful Cian smelled, “I find it’s hard to decorate when you have so little at hand.” 

The clothes on his back, the armor culled from the dead, the weapons dragged from victory, and all the trinkets that could fit in his pocket. When the last battle been fought, it was all he had. Zophus could never go back to Sigil, back to the little bunk and locker that had been for all intents and purposes his 'home'. 

More often than not, he had been living like he had during the journey to Baldur's Gate. The only thing he missed in that bunker was a little journal book about the sea. He didn’t even miss his red steel armor that had been stripped from him by the Illithids. Losing that had been worth meeting Raphael. Losing that was worth meeting Cian.

The drow’s voice was silent, though the soft whisper of fabric was loud in Zopheus’ ears, the shift of Cian’s full weight on his bed and knees and limbs dragging against fabric made his mouth dry. 

The aasimar jumped when fingers caressed down the scared side of his face, soft and tender, before a smooth hand cradled against his jaw and sharp cheekbone. The scent of Cian that filled his senses wasn’t overwhelming, it was welcoming, as was the soft rhythm of the drow’s breath on Zophus’ headed face and neck. The growing need of his body couldn’t be hidden with Cian so close.. Not that it could have been hidden when Cian arranged Zophus’ body to be perfectly displayed. 

Zophus licked his lips, "I feel it is wrong to ask for things I may want. I am… I am all right with that, I’m used to working for what I want… or to get by.” 

The aasimar could feel the warmth of Cian’s body pressed to him, the subtle adjustment of torso and limbs, and soon felt the weight of the drow’s body and the urgent press of his cock against his own. 

“You can have anything you want, everything you want," Cian murmured in his ear, softly, lovingly, and causing a fine shiver to go down Zophus' spine, "All you need to do is ask."

"I'm afraid that's a prospect I'm not used to," The aasimar replied, his tone akin to stone as heat pooled down his spine. The full contact of smooth fabric and the weight pressing against his lower stomach and cock likely had brought a flush to his cheeks and stomach though, it wasn’t from shame. Zophus often flushed due to arousal.

"Then it sounds like I have to teach you to," Cian murmured as both his hands held Zophus face and the sweetest breath teased against his mouth. 

Zophus doesn’t see Cian tip his head, but he feels the flush, hungry slant of his mouth against his and Zophus bends his neck forward to accept the heat of the kiss, the pressure fierce yet sweet, and yet too shy to part his lips despite … everything. 

And that was how the drow began to teach the assimar how to ask.

[hotchfiles]

it got so long and not even halfway done but you get the vibe:

Small town motels begin to feel familiar after a while. Even the outdated 70s wallpaper and smoked tinted walls start to blur with the newly renovated minimalist grey walls of the latest chain hotel they’re staying in. 

After ten hours of bureaucratic red tape, hostile locals and hysterical family the  paper thin mattresses and the softest of egyptian cotton sheets all end up in the same exhausted insomnia. 

And it is in that blur of sameness that you find yourself pressed against the sheets of Hotc - sorry, Aarons bed. 

Your very stoic, very married boss. 

It started in this quaint farmhouse turned B&B somewhere tucked away in Maine, the blood splattered crime scene photos getting lost amongst the garish floral bedspread. 

As strict and unyielding as Hotch was in the day to day you knew his biggest secret; an almost full pack of Malboro reds tucked away in the smallest pocket of his go-bag accompanied by a baby blue bic lighter stolen from you. Reserved for special occasions, such as a week long case in the middle of the winter with no end in sight. 

It was on night four that you went to his room to get your lighter back - and possibly to bum a ciggarette as well. Light footsteps on the creaking wood, you tiptoed over as if you knew how it would end. 

Before you could even knock the door opened and there he was, stripped of his jacket and tie but still working at midnight, his starched white shirt rumpled from hours sitting at the rickety chair in the room. 

“Hi, wasn’t expecting anyone right now” he said awkwardly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. His eyes firmly planted on yours and not on your very bare legs, covered by blue striped pajama shorts and a faded concert t-shirt.  

“Well, I would be more shocked if you were” you replied with a laugh, crossing your arms against the midnight chill and leaning against the frame of his door “hey listen I’m on a rescue mission here, I know your pack of smokes is more of a ‘in case of emergency bring out the cancer sticks’ sort of deal but my very favorite lighter is sequestered with them and I’ve gone through two packs without it so can I have it back? and also maybe one of your cigs?” you added that last part with a very convincing smile.  

“Right! yes, come on in” Hotch said as he stepped aside so you could come into his room. The pink wallpaper covered floor to ceiling in paisley flowers. 

“Don’t mind the flowers, it seems like they’re multiplying but you get used to them”

“Oh I think that’s just your sleep deprivation speaking,  maybe I’m not even in this room”  As you walked in you took in his room, from the floral wallpaper and matching drapes to the blue fluffy carpet and dark wood furniture. 

“If I were to imagine you I think the last thing you would be doing is stealing my ciggarettes” 

“Really? and what is it that I usually do in your imagination” You said, sitting down on his bed, moving around some files.   

He just let out a small laugh, his wedding ring twinkling like a warning sign in the lowlight. 

uuhhh you are like absolutely insane for this, if you even care

As strict and unyielding as Hotch was in the day to day you knew his biggest secret; an almost full pack of Malboro reds tucked away in the smallest pocket of his go-bag accompanied by a baby blue bic lighter stolen from you. Reserved for special occasions, such as a week long case in the middle of the winter with no end in sight. 

INSANE !!!!!!!!!!!

He just let out a small laugh, his wedding ring twinkling like a warning sign in the lowlight.

insaneeEEEEE INSANE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

also chefs kiss dialogueeeeee

[fauville]

fandom: the wayhaven chronicles

rating: mature (mdni)

pairing: nate sewell/female detective (charlie langford)

word count: 557

A/N: a vaguely human AU, i GUESS

┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

There's a sweet sort of kiss pressed to Nate's brow and he blinks in the morning glow of the sun that shines lightly through the half open window blinds. 

Charlie laughs softly, probably at the sleepily confused expression on his face. It's been so long since he has slept this late. He turns on to his side to look at his beautiful wife, who is sitting next to him leaning to her folded legs, cheek resting on her knee. She's holding two cups of tea (which is earl grey if he knows her at all and he likes to think that he does) and offers one to him, after he has wakened enough to not to drop it and mess up the bed. The blue floral sheets pool down to his waist as he sits up, and he's aware that Charlie is looking at him and his bared upper body intently, but he's still sleepy enough not to register it properly.

They drink their tea in silence with no words needed to share between them. Charlie's eyes are fixed on him and she's rubbing her thighs together in a way that makes it clear what she wants.

“What time is it?” Nate asks hoarsely.

“Early enough for the little one to be still asleep,” Charlie says and Nate can read the suggestion in her tone and the hand currently tracing figures to his breast.

But he's still so sleepy.

He can barely keep his eyes open. And as much as he loves Charlie, he can barely even think right now. He blinks again

“Don't worry, my love,” Charlie murmurs, teasing, “I'll take care of you.”

Charlie puts their mugs (Nate barely having touched his) to the bedside table. She cuddles next to him and with nimble fingers she coaxes him into hardness and Nate closes his eyes to enjoy the sensation.

Charlie touches him with experience; after years of being together she knows him and what he likes like the back of her hand. Everything is so easy between them, including this, which feeds Nate's conclusion that the universe meant for them to be together.

Charlie pauses to lick her hand and Nate can feel himself flushing, his skin buzzing with something like love and arousal in equal measure. He feels cotton candy in her hands, fluffy and sweet, while she keeps pleasing him.

God, Nate loves her. She's so good to him. He hopes he's good to her too. He tries his best to be.

Charlie speeds up her hand movement and Nate's hips buck towards her as he's climbing closer and closer to ecstasy. Charlie smiles against his neck, twists her hand, and he comes with a flash of white against his eyelids.

Charlie has the indecency to lick her fingers clean and Nate stares at her with his mouth open. Charlie presses a quick kiss to his lips, before she hops off the bed and skips to the bathroom to wash her hands.

Then like clockwork every morning there's a cry from the other room and Charlie emerges from the bathroom with a sigh.

“I'll go,” she says as she walks back to the bed and leans in. She knocks her forefinger knuckle against his chin. “Drink your tea.”

Nate leans in for another kiss but she's already gone.

[cosmic-crybaby]

Blue Skies- Tommy Shelby

Chapter 7: ‘All My Heart’ 

Warnings in this chapter: No warnings this chapter, mostly fluff, a little angst in the beginning. 

Masterlist

---

It was the very next week. 

Your children were over at your home once again. You had just picked them up from their tutors, feeding and bathing them before sending them up tp their rooms to read before you retreated to your own bedroom. You had just remembered you were gifted an old family recipe book, an old notebook made from parchment and covered in red leather that had to be old and tattered now. It was filled on every page with hundreds of recipes of baked goods, pastries, and deserts that dated back to the 1860′s. In hopes you would be able to use the book to find something new to sell for the customers, just in time for the Spring as it was just a few more weeks away. 

You looked through the many boxes that were stored in your closet, setting them on the floor in front of you. One of the boxes you had opened held a variety of fabric and smaller boxes. One of the pieces of fabric caught your eye You picked it up, gently unfolding it and holding it out in front of you as it was revealed to be an old yellow dress you wore on your first outing with your ex-husband. The next dress you found was the one you had worn when you first found out you were pregnant, it was a beautiful shade of blue like the sea and printed with floral designs. It was a dress your mother made for you. Digging deeper, you found the small box that contained your wedding band. You felt your stomach sink as your heart swelled with emotion. The memories you had shared with him since you were young. Taking a deep breath and shaking your head before the tears could form, ‘It’s in the past’ You reminded yourself as your quickly set the contents back in the box and placed the lid on. When you reached into the second box you felt something soft against your fingers, gently pulling it out. It was a cotton sheet that was tied with a lilac ribbon. 

You curiously untied the cotton bag, letting out a small gasp as the corners fell and draped over your lap. Your eyes widened at the pair of baby slippers. One pair was knitted in what used to be white wool, which now started to grow beige over time. The other pair looked nicer, being that they were store bought instead of hand-made. They were navy in color with white stripes around the ankle. When you were pregnant with Elizabeth, you and your husband had little money, so your mother took the liberty in giving you the hand-knitted socks. By the time you were pregnant with Henry your husband had a better job and you both owned a decent amount of money, so you had bought the second pair in a local store in London. You sniffled and cursed to yourself as the memories and guilt flooded through you once again. You gently placed them back in the rag and tied them up before placing it back in the box and putting them back in your closet after you found what you were looking for, hidden away and out of sight. 

The very next day you took the day off from the bakery. Sitting at your vanity, applying mascara on your lashes. 

“How come you’re wearing makeup, mum?” Elizabeth asked as she entered your room and sat herself down on your bed, her feet dangling off the side.

“I always wear makeup,” You inform her with a glance through the mirror as you focus on the task. 

“Are you going on a date?” She asked, you chortle and put the brush and pan of mascara away in the drawer.

“No, love I am not,” You told her, which caused her to nod quietly. You picked up the tube of lipstick. 

“Are you trying to look pretty for Thomas?” She then asked, you set the lip stick down and sigh as you turn your full attention to her.

“Elizabeth.” You warn. She only put her hands up in defense as she hopped off of the bed and left you alone in the room.

“You better be ready in one hour!” You called to her. You applied the light lipstick before blotting the excess on a tissue. You stood up, smoothing down your dress. It was a beautiful lavender shade with white detailing. It was simple and casual but still appropriate for your day with Thomas. You take a deep breath as you stop at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for Thomas’ arrival.

Just as you had stepped into the living room, you groaned at the mess your children had made of it. Their books and toys scattered around the room.

"Elizabeth, Henry!" You called, followed by a tsk. Finding it useless in asking them to clean up. You scanned the room, picking up any toy or book you could and attempting to find a place to put them. You scoffed at yourself and set the books on the shelf haphazardly and ran up the stairs to quickly place the toys in the toy box. A knock at the door caused you to gasp. It was Thomas. Running down the stairs to throw the last of the books on the shelves.

"You two know I cleaned the house, please pick up after yourselves! This is just..," You give up and sigh heavily. Kicking the last of the toys under the couch.

Out of sight, out of mind.

You smooth down your dress once more and fix any stray hairs as you open the front door. Thomas stood on the front steps, wearing his peaked cap, coat, and gloves. You smiled at him.

"Thomas…Hi," You heard the two sets of feet bounding down the wooden stairs and stopping behind you.

"(Y/n)…Elizabeth, Henry," He nodded in acknowledgment to your children who now stood in front of you.

"Hi Mr. Shelby," Henry said.

"Hello, Thomas," Elizabeth's voice was as stoic as her expression. You tsked again and threw your coat on before having the children lead the way. Thomas suggested you all go for a drive. The trees were starting to gain their leaves back this time of year and thought your kids would have a good time running up and down the hills and picking flowers. Upon your arrival to your secret destination, he opened the door for you and your children to exit the vehicle.

If Thomas Shelby was anything besides a criminal, he was a gentleman.

A good one at that.

You smiled brightly at him, your lips painted the slightest shade of red to match the natural blush of your cheeks.

The sun was shining bright that day, opposite of your usual gloomy Birmingham weather. The sun kissed your cheeks and warmed your skin, slightly. It was still cool out, but at least your kids got to soak up what little bit of sun that had peeked from behind the clouds. You took a breath of fresh air as you walked to the open grass. The large trees being the only thing providing shade. You set a large blanket down under the tree, Thomas sitting down beside you as Henry and Elizabeth took off running down the hill. You grin in contentment as you watch them from afar, shouting and chasing each other around the field.

“How do you do it?” He asked. You glanced at him, your shaded glasses over your eyes to shield the harsh rays of the sun.

“Do what?”

“Take care of the both of them by yourself,”

You took a deep breath and shrugged. Slightly shaking your head as you thought for a moment.

“It gets easier as they get older, but the older they get the less dependent they are on me,”

“That should be a good thing,” He spoke. You didn’t expect him to get it right away since he never got the chance to share the same feelings you did when it came to being a parent.

“It is sometimes, but they’re still going to be my babies no matter what, I won’t treat them like that forever but I also don’t want them to think that just because they grow up they don’t need me anymore,” You explained. You wished you could follow your own advice. The regret of pushing your own family away still plagues your mind to this day.

“I don’t just feed them, I bathe them, play games with them…I hug them when they’re sad and teach them things that I wished my family taught me before I had to learn them the hard way,”

“All we really know is the hard way…that can benefit them,” He said, blowing smoke out of his mouth. You nod in contemplation at this response.

“In some cases yeah,” You agreed. “I like to foster their self-interests, it helps ‘em find activities they enjoy,”

“I did the same with my boy, he loved horses…his mother wasn’t very fond of them, and the horses here are far superior to the horses in America,”

“Speaking from experience or is that a biased opinion?” You chuckled

“A bit of both,” The laughs eased into silence, the birds chirping were the only sounds that could be heard besides the screams and laughs of your children in the distance as they fed the birds by the pond. You wondered if their father had done the same for them. He wasn’t the most motivating man when it came to your marriage but he sure as hell was reassuring but you still wondered if he gave them the same motivation and reassurance.

‘No I shouldn’t think so negatively about him, I should still have faith in him’ You thought.

“Mummy!” Henry called as he ran up to you, slightly panting with Elizabeth running up behind him. Looking away from Thomas and up at their red faces and messy, winded hair.

“Yes, Love,”

Henry pulled out a crooked paper airplane, made from what looked like an old homework assignment.

“A boy in my class tried to teach me how to make a parchment aero-plane but it doesn’t fly very good,” He said, a small frown of disappointment.

“Let me see here, Henry,” Thomas leaned forward to hold out his hand for the boy to pass it to him. He took the small plane in his hands and examined it, he tsked before nodding once.

“That boy in your class had no idea what he’s doing…Here let me show you,” Thomas said before scooting over so Henry could take a seat beside him and watch Thomas unfold the paper. Elizabeth sat at your side and rested her head on your shoulder as she watched as well, calming her breaths. 

“...And you fold it like this…and you got yourself an aero-plane,” Thomas finished, handing the plane back to Henry as it was in better shape and had more of a sturdy structure to it. Henry smiled in delight, examining it with big bright eyes.

“Thank you, Mr. Shelby,”

“Let's go see if she flies now, boy,” Thomas said as he stood up. Henry followed suit and stopped just before the steep of the hill. Thomas held the plane, demonstrating how to throw it properly.

“Have you thrown a dart before, Henry?” He asked. Henry nodded.

“Yeah, dad taught me before,” He said, glancing up at Thomas.

“Good, now it’s just like that, all in the wrists,” He says as he motions how to throw it, giving the plane back to Henry. He counted down for Henry who jumped in excitement when he saw how smoothly the plane coasted the air and down the hill. It only went a few feet but Henry was ecstatic that it worked. You watched them interact together from your spot on the blanket. A smile started forming on your face, unbeknownst to you as your heart leaped at how your son already took a liking to Thomas.

“He asked dad to teach him last week…but dad was too busy,” Elizabeth said quietly. You turned your head to look at her as your hand was petting her beautiful long hair.

“Too busy?” You repeated, wondering what on earth had his attention rather than focusing on his kids.  

“Yeah…He works a lot, always running his bakery and having meetings with the men he works with,” She said, you had to refrain from rolling your eyes. It upset you that he fought to see his children every other week when he’s already too enveloped in his own work to ever really spend quality time with them. You cleared your throat.

“Love…does your father take you two to your lessons?" You asked. She looked up at you, squinting a bit from the sun, you took your shaded glasses off and set them over her eyes.

"Sometimes, when the bakery is super busy he forgets...or he gets one of his workers to take us," She said. This made your stomach tighten and your chest feel heavy with anger as you swallowed your words of concern and formed your lips in a tight line, but you knew deep down he cared for his family and had a huge soft spot for your children and he wouldn't put them in harms way, he was a tough, scary man on the outside and everyone knew not to fuck with him.

"Okay Love, as long as your father trusts these men, then okay but make sure you go to your lessons from now on...nag him if you have to," You mumble the last part.

After a few hours of walking along the grass and going down to the lake to look at the ducks and fish in the water, Thomas packed the car and took the drive back home. The sun was starting to set as the sky turned from a beautiful bright blue to a pink and purple sky. The all too familiar smoke of and clouds started to cover the sky the closer you got to the city. He parked the car in front of your home, the kids jumping out of the car and running inside. When the two of you stepped out of the car, he walked beside you.

"I had fun today," You smiled. "Thank you,"

"My pleasure, you deserve a break," He said. Just as you stopped at the front door you turned to him.

"Would you like to stay for dinner?"

---

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[deeranon]

A true writer moment:

Looking up the history of bed frames by the era to get your book’s room factually correct. Then having to look up bedsheet history and what in the world eiderdown means. After that, you have to research floral sheet designs by the era as well just to make sure you get it right. Now you’re looking up French floral sateen designs, cotton over linen, and Witney.

All past the normal person bed time. Because no one sane looks at old adds about little girls getting a doll with a quilt and eiderdown just like their mother’s at nine pm. No. They look at eleven.

Then you write the scene….and you use all that information you learned for one or two short sentences.

I’m going insane.

[i-would-have-come-for-you]

Can't love you in the dark - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Plant a memory garden

_________

For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first.

­The Hunger Games

________________

The last two days had been a blur.

Hinata was pacing around the spacious room she had been confined in for the last day and a half. It was decorated minimally but tastefully. There was a king sized bed of rich wood in the center, headboard leaning against the back wall, blue Egyptian cotton sheets with floral patterns adorning the mattress. A side table was placed on its right, a white modern lamp on it. There was small round table placed near the wall closest to the door, two plush chairs on either side of it. A smaller door led to the attached bathroom.

There were no pictures adorning the walls, the small accessories that had been strewn across the room once were gone. The closet built into the wall was empty of anything except for spare blankets. But Hinata still recognized Sasuke’s old bedroom.

She wondered why he had chosen to keep her a prisoner in his family’s old compound in the Uchiha District. One would think he would throw her inside a dungeon and never look back, from the way he had looked when he brought her here.

She wondered if it was muscle memory that had made him bring her here, into his old bedroom in the compound that he had grown up in alongside his family. Was it was instinct to seek out familiar places when life struck you with such an unexpected and painful wound?

His family was gone, she thought, and she felt the ghost of their presence in the heavy silence that surrounded her.

She stopped pacing with newfound desperation and started banging on the door again, much like she had been doing for the entire time she had been here.

“Sasuke!” she called, “Open this door! Let me out right now,”

There was no response and she banged harder, feeling pain shoot up her hand. “OPEN THE DOOR,” she yelled, tears lacing her voice.

There was still no answer and she felt desperation claw inside her. “Please, open the door. Let me see my son,”

Again, no one answered. She let her tears flow down her cheeks as she sunk down on the floor, leaning her forehead against it. “Bring me my son,” she whispered to herself as she cried.

___________

“Hello sweetheart, did you miss me?” he crooned with mocking in his voice.

“Sasuke,” she whispered her eyes wide and her heart hammering against her chest. How was this possible? What was he doing here? How did he find her?

The smirk on his face dimmed when she said his name and he stood up straight. He turned his head and looked around the kitchen, as if he hadn’t already.

“Cozy place you’ve got here,” he remarked. “Are you trying out minimalism?”

Hinata felt the sting. This humble place she’d set up for herself through the years she’d been here was nothing compared to the home she’d had with Sasuke in Konoha, but it was enough for her.

“Something like that,” she muttered. In truth, she was already spinning possibilities in her mind.

How did he find her? And If he knew about her…did he know about Daiki? It was easy enough to find someone you knew inside and out, but he didn’t know Daiki existed and if not then she could still-

She was feeling afraid. Of him. Of the blank look in his eyes behind his smirk. Of the way his eyes were taking her in as if they were hungry.

But she also could not stop looking at him; he was real, not a dream. He was flesh and bone, his beautiful pale face, sharp angles and elegant lines; his lean build and the regality with which he always carried himself; his pianist’s hands which touched a gun like they could draw music from the deadly metal.

“What are you doing here, Sasuke?” she asked, still not closing the distance between them, but dragging her gaze upwards to look at his eyes.

“Looking for a miracle,” he muttered, more distracted than focused, his gaze dipping to her collarbone and then back up to her face. “And it looks like I found one,”

“You need to-”

“Where’s the kid?” he asked, eyes darkening as he slowly advanced.

Hinata’s blood chilled. He knew. If she was afraid, she was positively terrified now as she backed away and ran. She wasn’t going to let him take her son from her.

She could hear his steps behind her. She had the advantage that she knew her way around the house and he didn’t. She made it to Daiki’s room and locked the door behind her, barely making it before Sasuke.

“Hinata,” he called from the other side. “Open the door,”

She could feel the adrenaline. She looked around the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. There were only Daiki’s toys here. Fuck. She should have gone to get her gun from her bedroom before coming here.

But then he would have found Daiki and she couldn’t have done anything.

And she knew she could never hurt Sasuke. The gun would have been useless anyways.

She started looking for a way out before Sasuke inevitably burst through the door. She knew him asking her to open the door was simply courtesy.

Another bang against the door. “Open the door Hinata,” he called, impatience lacing his voice. “You know this can’t hold me,”

“You need to leave us alone,” she told him from the other side. “Go back,”

She heard him laugh. “You’ve been left alone long enough sweetheart,” his voice called, full of promise. “You’re coming back with me now,”

She went to Daiki’s window and opened it, looking out of it to see if she could possibly take him and make a run for it. The window was high up, but she wouldn’t be injured too severely if-

The door slammed against the wall as the lock broke. Sasuke looked severely pissed off as he stalked inside the room, straight towards the small bed and stood in front of it. Hinata rushed towards the bed from the window.

But Sasuke made no move to grab her or Daiki, as he stood and watched the little boy- who was still miraculously asleep despite all the noise. Hinata’s heart ached at the wonder on his face as he looked at their son.

“What’s his name?” he asked, leaning down and gently touching the little boy’s cheek.

“Daiki,” she whispered, despite her fear, despite her worry.

They both didn’t say anything as he watched their son quietly, his face blank.

Sasuke stood like that for a while before he straightened; his eyes harsh. “Gather what you need before I burn down this place. We’re leaving,”

________________

Hinata wasn’t aware of dozing off, but she woke abruptly when there was movement against the surface she was asleep on. She realized she was asleep leaning against the door, and that someone was trying to push it open.

She scrambled back on her hands and feet as the door opened, revealing a dark haired figure. She expected it to be her husband, who had been the one who drag her to the room in the darkness of the night and had left her there.

Instead, Shikamaru stood there. The boy she had known in college was still somewhere in his looks, even if his hair was longer and he had a small goatee now.

“What are you doing on the floor?” he asked as greeting as he came inside, carrying a takeout paper-bag. It smelled delicious and Hinata realized she hadn’t eaten anything in the time she’d been here.

“Shikamaru,” she said, tasting his name on her tongue after so long, before she scrambled up and despite everything, pulled him into a hug.

He stiffened, before she felt him wrap his free arm around her, returning her embrace. “Hey Hinata,”

They stood like that for a minute, before Hinata lowered herself from her tiptoes and stepped back. “What are you doing here?” she asked. It was strange, if pleasant, to see him here. He had been a political advisor the last time she had seen him almost 3 and a half years ago. To see him here, as if he were a lackey of her husband’s organization was strange.

“Oh right,” he told her, closing the door firmly behind him and placing the takeout bag on the round table. “I work with Sasuke now,”

She noticed how he didn’t say for. He displayed an equal working relationship.

“What?”

He shrugged. “The political situation in this city’s fucked up enough as it is. Sasuke’s a good boss,”

Hinata felt her breath catch. “Then you know where Daiki is,” she whispered. “Shikamaru, please…help me. I’ll take him and disappear. I won’t be any trouble. Just…take me to him,”

His face hardened. “I can’t do that,”

“He’s my son,” she said, an edge to her voice.

“He’s also Sasuke’s son,” Shikamaru told her firmly. “What you did to him was fucked up,”

Hinata felt her temper rise, despite knowing Shikamaru was the only one who would be showing her kindness anytime soon.

“You found us,” she whispered. “You told him about Daiki,”

Shikamaru didn’t contradict her. “He had to know,”

“You couldn’t have left us in peace,” she said while shoving Shikamaru. He stepped back.

“I didn’t come here to argue, Hinata,” he said, sighing. “I came to give you this,” he gestured to the food “And to tell you that Daiki’s okay,”

“Then why won’t he let me see him?”

“Because he doesn’t really trust you anymore,” Shikamaru said with the anger returning. “He’ll come and talk to you once he’s not preoccupied with other things. He’ll decide what to do with you then,”

Hinata didn’t say anything else as she watched the genius boy she’d grown up with leave her behind with a coldness that surprised her.

She thought about what Shikamaru had said. Sasuke would decide what to do with her once he wasn’t preoccupied with other tasks. It was as if she was an old possession he didn’t know what to do with anymore. Sasuke would be her judge, jury and executioner.

And she knew him well enough to know that his sentence would never be kind.

The door locking sounded like a death sentence.

_______________

Author Note: I see everyone getting a general idea about what happened. Let me know your thoughts and theories. Do comment down and reblog because it inspires me to write :)