#her quiet comfort when he's low; her eye rolls and indulging grins when he's pulling a silly trick on the team;

[lisbonsteresa]

going unbelievably insane over this

[redvexillum]

A/N: Please be gentle with me during Smutmas, my writing sort of feels like it deteriorated. But to @redfoxwritesstuff you have my permission to pop party poppers around her when she posts her story tomorrow. She dislikes colours /nsrs

SUMMARY: You have reunited with Alastor in Hell, and after celebrating a holiday party at the hotel, he decided to take you back to his room. He has a gift for you, after all, and it’s meant to make up for all the missed opportunities you two had back when you were both alive.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, soft!alastor, somnophilia, tentacle s♡x, p in v, overstimulation, oral s♡x (m!receiving), established relationship, past human relationship with alastor mentioned

The room was a sanctuary of quiet intimacy, a haven far removed from the cacophony of the holiday party outside. The heady aroma of the bayou mingled with something ineffably him—earthy, dark, and comforting. You inhaled deeply, the scent curling through your senses like a caress, as you swayed slightly. The spirits you’d indulged in earlier still buzzed warmly in your veins, giving the moment a hazy, golden hue. 

Alastor stood with his back to you, his silhouette framed by the low flicker of ambient light. He’d whisked you away from the festivities, murmuring something about a gift. The word had lingered, foreign on his tongue—he wasn’t one for giving, not like this. In all the time since your reunion in Hell, you couldn’t recall him ever presenting you with anything tangible. 

"Al?" Your voice was a gentle tease, the nickname rolling off your lips with the kind of easy familiarity that made your chest ache. A giggle bubbled up, warm and effervescent, the alcohol making your joy feel boundless. 

You caught the faintest intake of breath before he turned to face you, and the sight sent your laughter spilling over. There he stood, cheeks tinged with a rare pink flush, a comical yet oddly endearing bow pinned to his chest—a stark forest green against his usual ensemble—he was a walking Christmas decoration. The contrast of the absurdity with his usual self-assured demeanour made the sight even sweeter. 

“Am I supposed to unwrap you, Al?” you teased, your laughter falling into the space between you. You saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes—he must have remembered Angel Dust’s teasing question to you the week before about what you wanted for Christmas. 

Without thought, your body moved toward him, an instinct as natural as breathing. Your arms slid around his waist, your head tilting up to meet his gaze. 

“You could’ve asked for anything, cher,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, like a melody meant only for you. His arms wound around you, pulling you closer. “Anything.” 

The words struck a chord that resonated deep within you, their weight pulling you back to memories you’d tried so hard to bury. Before death, fate had been a cruel mistress, ensuring your lives had brushed against each other without ever fully entwining. You had died first, your last breath spent shaping his name in a barely audible whisper. 

“Alastor,” you said now, his name a prayer, a plea, a promise. 

His grin softened, and for once, the edges seemed less sharp, less dangerous. His hands rose to cradle your face, his touch achingly tender. His lips brushed yours in a fleeting kiss, a whisper of what was to come, before he dipped lower, capturing you more fully, tasting you as though he’d been starved for centuries. 

In this place, there were no barriers—no rigid societal expectations, no cruel husband to keep you chained to despair. Hell, for all its torment, had given you the one thing life had denied: him. Wrapped in his arms, you felt an unshakeable truth—you could endure anything, so long as he was by your side. 

“Do I get to unwrap my gift now?” you asked breathlessly, pulling back just enough to toy with the satin ribbon at his chest. Your fingers traced its silken loops before catching the end of the bow. Slowly, teasingly, you pulled, the ribbon unravelling with a soft whisper. 

Before you could revel in your playful victory, a sharp snap of his fingers sent a shiver skittering across your skin. The temperature shifted, a sudden, electric charge filling the air. Looking down, your eyes widened in astonishment. You were completely bare, while he remained impeccably dressed, the undone ribbon dangling mockingly against his chest. 

His grin grew, all teeth and mischief, his voice honeyed with amusement. “My, my, cher, you do get to unwrap your gift... but I thought it only fair to claim mine in return.” 

Before you could retort, he guided you to the bed—its crimson sheets flawlessly pristine. You rolled your eyes, only for the motion to be cut short as he turned you to face him. His hands found your waist, and in a sudden collision of bodies, he tumbled you both onto the bed. 

The mattress cradled you as he loomed above, his frame bracketing you in. His grin never faltered, the faint glow in his eyes smouldering with something darker, hungrier. The world outside ceased to exist, replaced by the magnetic pull between you, and the unmistakable sense that you had never been more wanted. 

The atmosphere between you simmered with tension, the kind that sent electricity crackling over your skin and left your breath coming in shallow gasps. Alastor's grin was sharp, mischievous, as he leaned in closer, the weight of his presence almost suffocating in its intensity. 

“Let’s see,” he purred, his voice rich and low, wrapping around you like velvet. His hips pressed forward, and the firm heat of his arousal met your core, a jolt of sensation tearing through you. “My gift to you is making up for all the missed...” He paused, his grin widening as he rolled his hips ever so slightly, the friction drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. “...opportunities.” 

“Missed opportunities?” you murmured, your tone a sultry challenge as your fingers drifted to the buttons of his trousers. Your touch was teasing, light, deliberately slow as you felt the way his body tensed beneath your fingertips. 

His forehead dropped to yours, his crimson gaze locking with yours, and for a brief moment, the playful glint in his eyes gave way to something deeper, more ravenous. “And your gift to me…” His lips brushed against your nose, his grin softening into something almost tender. “Is your soul.” He kissed you again, a quick, fleeting press of his lips. “Ah, figuratively speaking, of course.” 

A laugh bubbled from you, soft and genuine, though your voice trembled with the undercurrent of arousal. “Naturally.” 

For a moment, time seemed to stop. His gaze softened as he studied you, as if etching every curve, every detail, into his memory. Then, as though compelled by something far beyond words, he kissed you again. This time, it was slower, lingering, his lips moulding to yours with an almost reverent hunger. 

His free hand drifted downward, deftly undoing the buttons of his pants. The air between you grew thick with anticipation, the faint sound of fabric shifting almost drowned out by the quiet, shared breaths and the soft, broken moans slipping past your lips. 

“Cher,” he whispered, the word dripping with longing as his forehead stayed pressed to yours. His hips moved, dragging the head of his cock down through your slick folds, sending a shiver racing down your spine. His lips barely parted from yours, the taste of rye and something darker lingering in the kiss. “Cher,” he sighed again, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance, pulsing with restrained need. 

Your legs wrapped around his hips, urging him forward, and the sensation of him stretching you, filling you inch by inch, stole your breath. The molten heat of him seared into you, leaving you trembling beneath his touch. 

“A-Al,” you gasped, your voice breaking as you clung to him, needing him deeper, closer. His groan vibrated against your throat as his head dropped to the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. 

The moment his hips met yours fully, he stilled, shuddering against you. His claws threaded through your hair, their tips grazing your scalp, sending a tingle of sensation. His cock throbbed within you, the intensity of his presence overwhelming. 

The soft fabric of his suit teased your skin, your hardened nipples brushing against the lapels. Heat built between you, your clit pulsing with aching need. A small, desperate moan escaped you, and Alastor chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through you. 

“My, my, how awfully impatient, darling,” he teased, though his tone was thick with lust. Without warning, he drew back and thrust forward sharply, the force drawing a sharp cry from your lips. 

He pulled back, his grin morphing into something more wicked, more predatory. Sitting upright, he kept himself buried deep inside you, his sharp red eyes alight with sadistic glee. Shrugging off his jacket, he let it fall carelessly to the floor before setting to work on his shirt buttons. His hips rolled against you with a steady rhythm, pulling soft whimpers from your throat as he worked. 

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice heavy with a mix of affection and delight. His claws fumbled with one stubborn button before he tore the shirt open, the buttons flying, a few bouncing harmlessly against your skin. The fabric joined his jacket on the floor, revealing a chest marred with scars. 

Your gaze lingered on them, but before you could look too closely, his fingers gripped your chin, forcing your eyes back to his. “Eyes on me, cher,” he commanded, his tone sharp, yet dripping with desire. 

He thrust hard, the slap of skin meeting skin filling the air as you cried out, your walls tightening around him. “Good girl,” he murmured, his cock pressing against the sensitive spot deep within you, drawing another desperate moan from your lips. 

He hadn’t changed—not truly. Alastor was still a contradiction, a walking paradox of hard and soft, cruel and kind, cold and impossibly gentle. 

His pace quickened, the friction between you building until every nerve in your body felt alight with pleasure. The wet sounds of your arousal mingled with his laboured breaths, and you felt the tension coil tighter and tighter, drawing you to the edge. 

Just as you were about to fall, he buried himself deep with a final, forceful thrust. His teeth gritted, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as his release flooded into you, hot and thick. He moved lazily, shallow thrusts prolonging the sensation as he spilled every last drop, your walls clenching greedily around him. 

He slowed his thrusts to a near standstill, the aching stretch of him buried deep inside you. His chest heaved above you, rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm, as if savouring the moment. His hands pressed firmly into the mattress on either side of your head, caging you beneath him. His eyes glinted with something dark, something possessive, as he leaned closer. His thumb brushed a damp strand of hair away from your sweat-slick cheek, the gesture almost tender. 

“Don’t worry, cher,” he murmured, his voice a low, sultry promise that sent shivers racing down your spine. “The night isn’t over yet.” 

Before you could respond, his form dissolved into shadow, leaving only a fleeting warmth where his body had pressed against yours. A gasp escaped you as he reappeared beneath you, his sudden shift causing a rush of his seed to slip free from your core. Strong arms wrapped around your torso, pulling you flush against his chest. His warmth seeped into your skin as his breath brushed against your ear. 

“Alastor?” His name tumbled from your lips, barely a whisper, the question laced with curiosity and anticipation. But his answer was not words—it was action. His fingers found your swollen clit with ease, circling it with maddening precision. “Ah!” you cried out, your head falling back against his shoulder. 

Your thighs quivered as your legs fell apart instinctively, granting him full access to your trembling body. His chuckle rumbled against your back, a dark, pleased sound that only heightened the heat pooling in your belly. 

As his seed lazily trickled from your entrance, a cool, gelatinous pressure filled you, making you gasp. The sensation was unlike anything else—a shadowy tendril easing its way inside, gliding with ease. “O-oh,” you stammered, your gaze dropping to the writhing darkness between your legs. 

The tendril curled, brushing against your most sensitive spot with unerring precision. “Th-that’s…” Your voice faltered, stolen by the mounting waves of pleasure. 

Each deliberate motion of the tendril sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, your inner walls clenching around the inky form. Alastor’s fingers, however, were merciless. They danced over your clit with a teasing rhythm, bringing you to the edge only to stop, denying you release. 

Your breath hitched, and frustration bubbled in your chest as you squirmed against him. The corners of his mouth twitched with suppressed amusement, his grin as infuriating as it was captivating. “Patience, cher,” he purred, planting a soft kiss on your cheek. 

That kiss spoke of unspoken promises, of history shared between you—a silent claim that you were his. 

“Cher, you can hold on longer, can’t you?” 

“Cher, let me have this just a little more…” 

“Cher, my darling… stay with me forever…” 

Each whispered plea dripped with longing, wrapping around your heart even as your body begged for release. Soft mewls escaped your lips, your abdomen tightening as you teetered on the brink. But just as you thought you’d fall over the edge, his movements stopped entirely. 

“Al, please,” you whimpered, the words trembling with desperation. 

But no answer came. Instead, you felt his breath grow softer against your skin, his touch slackening. 

The soft cadence of Alastor’s breath ghosted over your damp skin, and the weight of his wrist rested limply against your thigh. For a moment, you thought he was catching his breath—teasing you with the stillness of his body before surging to life again. But as the seconds stretched into an eternity, the truth hit you like a cold slap.

He had fallen asleep.

Your chest heaved with indignation and disbelief. The shadow tendril nestled deep within you remained still, its presence a cruel tease against your quivering walls. Every nerve in your body was strung tight, the edge of an impending climax so tantalizingly close yet utterly unreachable. The audacity of him—Alastor!—to leave you hanging like this was almost enough to spark genuine outrage.

Desperation clawed at your senses, and your gaze fell to the inky black tendril still rooted inside you. A spark of determination flared as your trembling fingers trailed down to your abdomen, tracing the faint bulge the tendril made as it rested within you. You bit your lip, resolving to take matters into your own hands.

But just as your fingers brushed your swollen clit, a cold, serpentine tendril coiled around your wrist, halting your movements.

“What th—mmph!” Your protest was cut short as another shadow slipped between your parted lips, pressing insistently against your tongue. Shock and indignation flooded your senses, but they were quickly overshadowed by surprise as multiple tendrils sprouted from Alastor’s form beneath you.

Before you could react, they lifted you effortlessly into the air, suspending you above the bed like some obscene starfish. Your limbs were splayed wide, leaving you utterly exposed, while Alastor remained oblivious below you.

A flush of heat rose to your cheeks—not from arousal this time, but sheer disbelief. “Are you kidding me?!” you wanted to scream, but the tendril in your mouth reduced your complaints to muffled, garbled sounds.

The shadows pulsed and writhed, their cool, slick texture a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your overstimulated skin. One tendril inside you shifted, dragging ever so slightly against your inner walls, and your breath hitched despite yourself. The sensation sent a jolt of delicious pleasure coursing through you, making your toes curl in response.

“Alastor…” you moaned around the obstruction in your mouth, your voice a mix of frustration and pleading. But he didn’t stir—not even when his shadows began to move with more intent, exploring and teasing your body with eerie autonomy.

You tried to wriggle free, tried to regain some semblance of control, but the tendrils held you firm, their grip unyielding. The one within you began to pump lazily, its pace maddeningly slow, as if savouring your predicament. Another coiled around your waist, pressing you down, while a thinner tendril circled your sensitive clit, brushing it in featherlight strokes that sent shivers up your spine.

Your body betrayed you, arching into the relentless sensations.

The tendril in your mouth withdrew briefly, allowing you to gasp for air. “Al-Alastor,” you managed to rasp, glaring up at the ceiling. “You’re—mmph!” Your words were cut off as the shadow returned, plunging deeper and muffling any further complaints.

Your body burned with overstimulation, your walls pulsing around the tendril that began to move again, gliding in and out with excruciating slowness. Its tip curled, grazing your g-spot with surgical precision, the sensation making your toes curl. The obscene sound of slickness filled the room, each thrust sending a fresh wave of heat through your body. 

Tears pricked your eyes as the denial of release became unbearable, but the tendril between your legs showed no mercy. It swirled against your inner walls, driving you higher and higher, until the coil in your belly snapped violently. 

Your body convulsed, a scream muffled by the tendril in your mouth as your orgasm tore through you like a raging inferno. But the tendrils did not stop. They pressed on, their relentless movements prolonging your pleasure until it blurred into overstimulation. 

Another orgasm built, faster and sharper than the first, and your head lolled back as tears spilled freely down your cheeks. Your muscles twitched violently, your hips bucking as another wave of ecstasy crashed over you, leaving you trembling and spent. 

Before you could catch your breath, the tendrils shifted, flipping you onto your stomach and angling your hips upward. Your lips were now mere inches from Alastor’s softened cock, lying exposed against his trousers. His tendrils, however, showed no signs of stopping. 

The one inside you continued its rhythmic pumping, keeping you teetering on the edge of pleasure and overstimulation. Your body quaked as yet another orgasm loomed, relentless and inescapable. And still, Alastor slept.

You were trapped between torment and ecstasy, held captive by his powers even in his unconscious state. Each movement of the tendrils, every teasing caress, reminded you that you were his in every sense of the word—and he, whether awake or asleep, owned you completely. 

The shadow tendril withdrew from your mouth in a slow, languid motion, leaving you gasping for air. Saliva trickled from your lips, pooling in shimmering droplets on Alastor’s cock. The sensation stirred him slightly, a twitch signalling his body’s eager response to your presence. Your limbs, trembling and weak, were now bound snugly behind your back by the same inky restraints. Gradually, they guided your body downward, your lips brushing against his softening member. 

A faint exhale escaped you, warm against his sensitive skin, and his cock twitched in reply, stirring to life as blood began to fill him once more. 

“Alastor…” you murmured, your voice rough and tinged with the weight of exhaustion and desire. The air was thick with the scent of sex—a heady, intoxicating blend of sweat, musk, and release. Just as a fresh wave of sensation overtook you, the tendril inside you shifted, pressing deeply against your cervix. Your mouth fell open in a soundless cry. 

A slender tendril of shadow slithered around the base of Alastor’s cock, guiding his thickening length toward your lips. Inch by inch, it slid past your tongue, filling your mouth with salty, musky warmth—the combined flavour of both of you. 

“D-darling…” Alastor’s voice cracked faintly, a low, drowsy murmur. His hips jolted the moment your tongue swirled around his sensitive tip, and for a fleeting moment, you thought he was awake. But the lazy thrusts of his tendrils inside you told another story. He was still lost in his dreams, his powers acting entirely of their own volition. 

The thought sent a shiver through you. You wondered if Alastor dreamt of you, dreamt of this. 

Your lips tightened into a seal around his now fully hardened cock, your head bobbing slowly as you savoured the weight of him on your tongue. Each movement was purposeful, drawing out his pleasure as you worked him with your mouth. The wet sounds of your efforts filled the room, each slurp and suck echoing alongside the squelching rhythm of the tendril thrusting inside you. 

Your breath hitched when the tendril quickened its pace, its thick, writhing form pushing you toward another peak. “Mmf—!” Your cries were muffled by Alastor’s length, his cock throbbing insistently against your tongue as you gagged lightly. Immense pleasure overwhelmed your senses; every nerve ending felt raw, every touch electric. 

The tendril inside you coiled and thrust, dragging against every sensitive spot with ruthless precision. When it pressed hard against your cervix once more, your body seized, and a scream tried to escape around his cock. Spasms wracked your frame as a gush of wet warmth spilled from your core. 

Alastor’s body responded in kind. His hips bucked, his cock surging deeper into your throat as a guttural growl escaped his lips. Thick ropes of his release filled your mouth, the bitter saltiness coating your tongue and sliding down your throat. You swallowed instinctively, your breath shuddering as the tendrils binding you moved once more. 

They flipped you effortlessly, turning you to face Alastor’s peaceful visage. His expression was serene, utterly unaware of the chaos unfolding around him. Shadows curled and slithered along your body, their cool touch contrasting with the heat of your overstimulated skin. 

“Al-Alastor…” you rasped, voice breaking on a moan as the tendrils grew thicker, stretching you to your limits. The slick noises of their movements mingled with your cries, filling the room with the notes of your surrender. “H-how many…?” you whimpered, your words dissolving into incoherence as one tendril flicked over your swollen clit. 

Tears welled in your eyes as another orgasm built, your body trembling with the relentless onslaught of pleasure. Alastor’s earlier promise echoed faintly in your mind—he’d make up for all the missed opportunities.

You hadn’t expected this.

The tendrils’ rhythm grew merciless, coaxing another scream from your lips as they found another perfect spot deep within you. Your body convulsed, overwhelmed by yet another climax, the waves of pleasure crashing over you with brutal force. 

For a fleeting moment, you hated him—hated his unrelenting power, hated his absence at this moment. But beneath that frustration burned something deeper, something primal: a longing for him to see what he did to you, to witness how completely he owned you. 

As you trembled through the aftershocks, you swore you’d make him pay for this. When morning came, you’d demand retribution—a night where you held the reins, where you edged him to the brink of madness. 

But for now, as the tendrils shifted again, coaxing yet another orgasm from your spent body, you could only give in to his power. You clung to the pleasure, to the rare, dizzying sensation of being utterly ravished. 

A weak, breathless laugh escaped you as his arms instinctively curled around your trembling form. His shadows retreated, their touch replaced by the steady warmth of his hands. 

Your muscles quaked as the final wave of bliss overtook you, your eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion pulled at your limbs. Somewhere in the haze, Alastor stirred, his his crimson eyes opening to find you sprawled and trembling in the aftermath of his power. His grin widened as realization dawned. “My, my, cher… it seems I missed quite the show.” 

“You’ve always had such a soothing presence on my twisted soul,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvety hum that wrapped around you like a warm, toasty blanket. His eyes softened as he pressed a tender kiss to your sweat-damp brow. “I haven’t rested this well in ages,” he added, his words brushing against your skin like a gentle caress.

His arms pulled you closer, his embrace firm yet comforting, as if shielding you from the world. “I’ll take care of you properly in the morning… so rest now, cher” he whispered, his voice trailing off into a soft hum.

You couldn’t help but relax into him, the weight of his arms around you melting away the tension that had held you so tightly. Your eyelids grew heavy, each blink slower than the last, as his warmth seeped into your bones. His presence was a lullaby, coaxing you into a peace you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

As you drifted into the edges of sleep, a faint smile curved your lips, your body thoroughly spent but your soul somehow alight. Indulging in the quiet hum of his breathing, you felt a rare sense of satisfaction settle over you, a fullness that made you feel whole in a way you hadn’t dared to dream of.

But just as the lullaby of slumber began to pull you under, you thought you heard it—soft, so soft you almost dismissed it as a figment of your imagination.

“My love.”

The words lingered, wrapping around your drowsy mind like a bittersweet ribbon. Your heart stuttered, warmth blooming in your chest, only to be tempered by the ache of reality. A faint, forlorn smile tugged at your lips, even as exhaustion claimed you.

That couldn’t be right. Alastor… he didn’t do love. Not in his lifetime, nor the next.

For someone like him, love was an abstraction, a concept too fragile for the sharp edges of his world. And for someone like you, love was a distant star, shining brightly but always unreachable.

Still, it was nice to imagine.

Just for tonight, you allowed yourself the indulgence. To believe, even fleetingly, that you were his love. That in the quiet moments when the world felt so far away, and it was just the two of you, he might feel something more.

For tonight, it was enough.

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[leahrintarou]

✩₊˚.⋆ SLEEP AID ! - choso / 10.13 / kinktober

CW: fingering, female receiving, oral sex, they're housemates, fem bodied reader, she/her used, choso might be ooc bc i've never written for him lolll Word Count: 1.9k Author's Note: sorry for the late chapter but hi guysss lol i hope you enjoy the eighth post of my kinktober series! ily all sm MWAH <3 likes and reblogs are appreciated

as choso walked up the familiar steps to his apartment, a hint of excitement simmered under his calm exterior. his week-long trip with yuji had been fun, but he’d missed the quiet comfort of home—and his housemate, y/n. returning a day early was a small indulgence, an excuse to surprise her and share a rare moment of normalcy between them.

when he unlocked the door, the silence in the apartment suggested she was out. he left his bag by the entrance, his footsteps quiet as he wandered down the hall. passing by her slightly ajar bedroom door, he was about to keep going when a soft, muffled sound caught his attention.

curious, he paused, listening. through the narrow gap in the door, he could make out y/n lying on her bed, eyes closed, hands drifting over her body with a slow intensity that left little to the imagination. her breathing was heavy, and the way she whispered his name—soft, needy—sent a jolt through him.

choso’s mind whirled as his pulse quickened, and he found himself rooted to the spot, caught between the urge to back away and the magnetic pull of the scene unfolding before him. he swallowed hard, the intimacy of her whispered sighs mingling with an unexpected rush of his own feelings. he hadn’t realized she felt this way, and the realization brought a mix of excitement and confusion surging through him.

torn between retreating to give her privacy and making his presence known, he eventually took a shaky breath, deciding to step back. he made his way to the couch, sinking into it with his mind buzzing, trying to shake the image and sounds from his head. but her soft murmurs lingered, and he felt himself more keenly aware of his own need for her—a need he’d long hidden behind his usual laid-back demeanor.

a few minutes later, he heard her door creak open. y/n stepped out, visibly surprised when her eyes landed on him. “choso?” she breathed, her cheeks feeling hot as she registered his presence.

he glanced up, giving her a reassuring smile, keeping his tone casual. “hey. came back early,” he said, watching her face as she struggled to gauge if he’d heard anything. trying to brush off her surprise, y/n gave a quick laugh and sauntered over, plopping down on the couch beside him. “back already? and here i thought i’d have the place all to myself,” she teased, keeping her tone light.

choso raised an eyebrow, a small smile on his lips. “oh, did you have something fun planned?”

she shrugged, crossing her legs and leaning back with a playful grin. “maybe i was just doing a little… relaxation, you know? girl stuff.” she glanced at him with a mischievous look, clearly hoping her casual response would throw him off.

he chuckled, leaning in closer. “relaxation, huh?” he echoed, letting the word linger between them. “sounded like you were really enjoying yourself in there.”

she stiffened for a second but quickly forced a laugh, rolling her eyes. “you must be hearing things. i was probably just… watching a video or something.” she tried to keep her tone breezy, her breath a bit shaky.

“mm, sure,” choso replied, his voice low and anything but convincing. “i mean, if you say so. just seemed like something had your attention. especially with the way you kept saying my name.”

her eyes widened, and she quickly stifled a laugh, nudging his shoulder. “oh, please! don’t flatter yourself,” she shot back, her voice playful but betraying a hint of nervousness. “you think you’re the only one i think about?”

he shrugged, leaning back and draping an arm casually over the back of the couch, letting his eyes roam over her with a knowing glint. “well, i wouldn’t want to assume, but… let’s just say i’m flattered if i happened to be on your mind.” he chuckled, his gaze lingering a moment longer, making her blush deepen.

she pursed her lips, then rolled her eyes with mock confidence. “maybe i’ll just have to keep you guessing,” she said, giving him a coy smile. “wouldn’t want you getting a big head now, would we?”

choso laughed, shaking his head. “guess i’ll just have to keep an ear out next time. wouldn’t want to miss out if you’re… ‘relaxing’ again.” he playfully rolled his eyes, enjoying the way her flustered expression peeked through her playful demeanor.

y/n rolled her eyes, but the embarrassment she was feeling was obvious. “whatever, choso. don’t get too comfortable; maybe next time i won’t be so… vocal.”

he grinned, relaxing back into the couch, his gaze steady and warm. “maybe,” he murmured, “but i’m glad to be back anyway.” as they shared a knowing look, the unspoken tension simmered beneath their teasing, both of them acutely aware that the boundaries of their relationship had shifted—just a little closer.

---

a few nights later, choso lay in bed, trying to will himself back to sleep. he had never been one to wake up easily, but tonight something had stirred him—a soft sound from down the hall, faint but unmistakable. as he listened, his heart picked up, recognizing the muffled sighs and whispered moans drifting through the stillness of the apartment.

he pushed the covers back and padded quietly down the hallway, stopping just outside her door. it was cracked open slightly, just enough for him to see her stretched out on her bed, hands moving over her body, eyes shut tight as she murmured his name. he swallowed, feeling his pulse quicken, and before he could talk himself out of it, he rapped lightly on the doorframe.

y/n’s eyes flew open, and she froze, caught in the act. choso leaned against the door, his gaze steady, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips.

“you’ve been at it for a while now, n/n,” he said, his voice low and calm. “need help?”

her face flushed, but she didn’t look away, her breath still coming in shallow gasps. “choso…” she whispered, a hint of vulnerability in her voice, like she was caught between embarrassment and anticipation.

he took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “you don’t have to hide it,” he murmured, his tone gentle, reassuring. “if you want me, i’m here.”

for a moment, there was silence, both of them suspended in the charged space between them. finally, she gave a small, almost shy nod, and choso crossed the room, sinking onto the bed beside her, his touch warm and steady as he reached for her.

he pulled the sheet from her lap, revealing her bare sex. "can i taste you?" he questioned, making y/n push her legs together tighter. "I've never tried that with anyone before..." she said, voice hesitant.

"i'll help you relax." he smiled, knowing that it was all he had to do to convince y/n with anything. "its embarrassing though." a frown was on her lips, but she didn't stop choso's hand that met with her knee, pulling her leg apart from the other. "what are you embarrassed for?"

she was going to reply, but her words were caught in her throat when his gaze trailed down to her sex. "go slow." she muttered. he hummed, pushing the hem of her shirt up just a bit. he leaned down, wrapping an arm around her thigh. he did the same with his opposite arm, spreading her legs to reveal the entirety of her sex.

his tongue laid a stripe against her bud and her body jerked at the unfamiliar sensation, he looked up at her from below, his tongue moving slowly in different patterns as he tried to figure out which one brought her the better reaction. her lips were parted, heavy breaths escaping in a fast pace.

his tongue circled around her bud before his lips latched around them. with a simple suck, y/n's legs threatened to close around his head, but he held her legs in place. he pulled away, the warmth of his breath fanning the sensetive area. he used one of his hands to part her folds before he laid his tongue flat against her once again. the warmth elicited a moan from y/n and choso flickers his tongue against her bud, the repeated sensations making his grip the fabric of her comforter.

he let out a moan against her, the rumbling vibration of the low octave only adding to the pleasure. her lips lifted as she pressed herself closer to him. her free hand roamed all around her and choso noticed this. his locked eyes with her, taking her wrist in his hold before placing her hand on top of his head. "use me." was all he said before returning to her bud, the sucking sensation returning.

her arousal was slowly pooling beneath her and choso only devoured the taste of her, spreading it against her sex. she couldn’t help but want more, making her run her fingers through his hair, pushhing him down closer to her. in her many fantasies of him,she never took choso to be the kind of person to have this kind of skill.

y/n hadn’t done something like this before, but she was sure that choso was doing something, if not, everything correctly. the sounds coming from below her were a mix of his soft moans and her arousal mixed with the wetness of his tongue. her own hands were nothing compared to this and she'd wished that this was something they'd done long ago. it could've saved her weeks of sleepless nights. the mornings when choso would notice the bags under her eyes paired with dark circles.

"couldn’t sleep last night?" he'd question.

she would only shake her head as a response, feeling too much guilt to make up a lie straight infront of him. she would watch the look of pity in his eyes as she would pour an extra cup of coffee to try and keep herself awake for the day.

she was sure that tomorrow morning, that would be the case once again, but with the way that choso’s tongue moved and the way her hips moved against her will, she would be out like a light in no time. y/n muttered words of praise to him when his tongue flickered against his bud while his lips were still wrapped around her.

he let out a deeper moan against her sex and y/n let out a small whine. he gripped the flesh of her thighs, needy for her release just as much as she was. his fingers were inserted, the combination being just enough to bring her to just what she'd been chasing for the past hour or two.

she gritted her teeth, her head falling back as choso looked up at her, taking in the sight. he groaned, the image before his eyes driving his movements to quicken. the longing feeling of pleasure washed over her and her legs trembled in choso's arms. "f-fuck.." she moaned in a barely audible whisper.

her released her abused bud, his tongue swiping the corner of his lips, the taste of y/n's arousal slowly becoming his new addiction.

he wiped his lips, glancing up at her with a soft, almost shy smile. “you taste so good, pretty,” he murmured, eyes full of warmth. “could do this all night, if you let me.”

y/n's eyes were low, but she noticed the tent beneath his pants.

"will you? please?" he asked, leaning back down before she could even finish her dazed nod.

♤ likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

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[pleasantanathema]

Pretty Please | Porco Galliard

Paring: Porco Gallaird x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: Overstimulation, begging, face sitting, ~sixty-nine~

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Thank you @present-mel​ and @whats-her-quirk​ for these yummy requests. 🥵 I just want to be so filthy with our sexy, whiny boy. My requests are closed, but I’m still working on ones still sitting in my inbox  💕

           You could always get whatever you wanted from Porco Galliard. All it took was honey-sweet praise and perhaps a well-placed hand on his chest, in his hair, just little things to fluff him up, to have his ego simmering under his skin. And the most satisfying thing was taking that pride of his and turning it into little, desperate, panting whines.

           He was already losing control, pink blush dusting across his cheeks and the bridge of his cute, up-turned nose.

           “You like that, Pock?”

           His fingers curled in your hair, the strands tightening around his knuckles.

           “Don’t,” he groaned, thick neck tilting back against the pillow, “I told you not to call me that.”

           But when did you ever listen to him anyways?

           You smirked, flattening your tongue as you swept quick, tempting kitten licks along the pretty, swollen head of his cock. God, he was already so hard, twitching up towards his stomach as your mouth gathered what was already leaking from him. Your hand was pumping slowly around his thick shaft, a heavy vein throbbing beneath your thumb.

           “Fuck, you’re always s-such a tease.”

           It was true, you always reveled in being able to make him fall apart, to build him up throughout the day to only keep the tension rising once you got him alone.

           He was your dirty little secret to do with as you please, though you were sure you had him convinced he was the one in control. Porco was tugging you closer, urging your hot tongue to glide farther down his cock. You indulged him, even using your cum and spit stained lips to slip along silken skin, sucking ever so gently as you leisurely played with him.

           His hips bucked when you placed a soft suck at the base of his cock, so close to taking one of his plump balls into your mouth, but still not close enough.

           Another guttural moan spilled from his throat, pitch turning a little higher when you finally slid the head of his cock with your mouth, cheeks hollowing for only a moment before you released him with a wet pop from your lips.

           “D-don’t,” it sounded like he was out of breath, “don’t stop.”

           Your grin was tugging at your cheeks, even as your tongue swirled teasing circles around his flushed tip.

           “Don’t stop or what?”

           “Or I’ll make it to where you can’t walk tomorrow.”

           It always impressed you how long he could hang on to his pride, even when his cock was begging, weeping for your mouth.

           “Sounds more like a promise than a threat,” you mumbled before sinking a few inches of him into your wet mouth.

           You moaned when you heard him whimper, cock so sensitive that your tight sucking had him so, so close to that edge of euphoria that he wanted to experience. You knew it was cruel, to toy with him for so long, but nothing was more delightful than hearing Porco let out unruly whines. You couldn’t even remember how long you’d been between his legs now, long enough to make your knees ache against the mattress and your lips to be a little numb.

           He pushed your head down farther, hips thrusting upward so his cock could brush the back of your throat. You sunk your fingernails into the corded muscle of his thigh, attempting to settle him back down so you could keep edging him farther.

           “Mhm, you feel so good baby, take my cock so fucking well.”

           Your ears burned from the praise, head bobbing up and down, fat cock pressed snugly into your cheeks. But you were still slow, deliberate, dragging your tongue and your lips at just the right pace to keep him on just the brink of orgasm.

           Saliva was spilling from your lips, coating his length and making it easier and easier to slip your mouth around him, to go down just a little farther each time.

           His sounds were incessant, a mixture of heavy pants and trembling, high-pitched sobs. The sweet noises resonated directly between your legs; you felt slick drooling from your pussy, felt the muscles in your lower stomach clench.

           He fisted your hair angrily when you slipped his cock back out of your mouth.

           “No, no, no I’m so clo—”

           “The walls are thin, Pock, you need to be quiet.”

           His brows were furrowed over golden eyes as he watched you shift below him, back of your hand wiping away the mess from your mouth. He unwound his fingers from your hair as you climbed over his outstretched legs to stand next to his bed.

           You gripped his chin, pressing your lips against his in a quick, greedy kiss that had him groaning at the taste of his cock lingering in your mouth. Fuck, his lips felt so good, plump and hot and so comfortably melding into the movements of your kiss, slanting and sucking and whimpering.

           But you quickly replaced your lips with a thigh, letting his lips ghost along your skin as you settled your hips above his face. He locked his brawny arms around your legs, eager to bring your wet cunt to his mouth.

           “Can’t have you waking up everyone in the barracks with your fucking whining,” but it was you who let out a soft mewl when his tongue lapped at your clit. Fuck, his face felt too good against the flesh of your thighs, lips and tongue hungry within your folds. Strong hands were bruising against your skin, pulling your weight farther down onto his face.

           If only you could tell Marley that the true power of the jaw titan was that he could eat pussy until a girl went blind with pleasure.

           You smoothed your hands over his broad chest, fingers sinking into the dips of hard muscle. Your head hung low as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth was working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy. You always knew his smart mouth would be talented.

           Your vision was blurring from all the bliss, but you still couldn’t take your eyes off his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the blonde, downy hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum was still leaking from his flushed head, pooling into his skin as his cock bobbed and twitched at the sounds of your moans. You were so tempted to touch him, to pull and tug and tease, but you knew it would drive him wild if you left him aching.

           Your hips jerked and rolled from his ministrations, bursts of pleasure spreading over your nerves like hot, rippling webs beneath your skin. Then his tongue was pressing against your tight hole, gathering all your slick onto his tongue and drinking like a man parched.

           “Oh, oh fuck,” you pressed your lips together, legs starting to tremble as his tongue thrusted up inside of you, “fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good,” it was all a messy whisper, just hot air into the dimly lit room.

           But then his tongue was back to soothing over your wet hole, lapping slowly and pulling you away from the churning coil within your belly.

           “Please,” his voice was muffled by your cunt, lips moving against your folds, “p-please, suck my cock.”

           His cock was twitching with every plea.

          You doubled over in pleasure just from his words, the shock of him actually begging into your pussy making your mouth fall open with a satisfied moan.

          Your fingers skimmed over his still spit-slick cock, body leaning forward so you could trace your tongue across the throbbing veins. He was still whining, whimpering from between your thighs, so fucking ready for the release you’d been denying him. And you were getting closer with every curl of his tongue, the tip of it fast and hurried as he licked against your clit. You felt like you were on fire and drowning all at the same time, lungs struggling to take in enough air before you plunged your mouth around his cock.

          You didn’t hold back this time, cheeks hollowing as you sucked him in hard and fast, head bobbing and your palm wrapping around his base. You always loved how he tasted against your tongue, salty and sweet, even though his thickness led to a sore mouth in the morning.

          The noises he was making were suppressed, being soaked up by your cunt. The vibrations from his mouth only added to your building delight, made your hips become more desperate. Continuous moans of your own spilled over his cock that was now stuffed deep into your throat.

          Tears were pricking at your lashes, ready to dribble down the apples of your cheeks. Your hands were grasping onto his thighs for leverage and stability, trying to keep your mind focused on pleasing him even though his mouth was driving you mad.Your nose was buried in the blonde, wiry curls at the base of his cock, bumping against his skin, filling your senses with him, with Porco. A tumble of curses were soaked into your pussy, the hands on your thighs gripping meaner as you pulled back and repeatedly sucked him deep into your throat.

          You were sure that all the slurping, wet sounds were even louder than his earlier whining.

          You knew he was cumming by the weak cry against your pussy, his mouth pausing for a moment as euphoria washed over his body in curt waves.

          “Ah-ah, fucking...finally...”

          You let his cum slide down your throat, struggling to gulp the stringy substance down in its entirety to avoid a mess. Your mouth was full of the bittersweet taste of him, his cock pulsing and throbbing against your cheeks.

          The moment his spent cock fell from your mouth, strands of drool still dripping from your lips, Porco was pulling you back, pulling your weight fully onto his face as he resumed devouring you.

          Fuck, you felt like you were sinking, each purposeful lick against your pussy sending you deeper and deeper into a pleasant abyss. His tongue was far too skilled; he knew exactly how to lap and kiss at you to keep your body shaking and wanting, all his attention centered around the tight bundle of nerves that had your belly tightening.

          “Porco, Porco, fuck I-I’m gonna—”

          You felt your orgasm spill onto his cheeks as you found your own release, ecstasy blooming from where his mouth was still relentlessly licking between your folds. Your walls were clenching and unclenching, looking for the fat cock that should be filling your needy cunt. You felt your sanity momentarily slip away, mind and body overwhelmed with the feeling of him, the taste of him still present in your mouth. Then, you were falling, you chest pressing into his stomach and your nails scraping against his thighs.

          A few moments passed as you caught your breath, sore thighs still trembling on either side of his face. Finally, you rolled next to him on the bed, one hand pressed between your breasts like you were trying to catch your racing heart.

          “And here I thought we were supposed to be quiet,” he chuckled, grinning as he licked your slick from his lips.

          “Oh shut up.”

          He leaned forward, shoulders rolling as he maneuvered himself on top of you, mouth pressing against yours with a sloppy kiss.

          “Didn’t hear you complaining when my tongue was in your cunt.”

          “But I did hear you begging, Pock.”

          Because you always got whatever you wanted from him, and the memory of Porco whining into your pussy was something that was sure to keep you awake a little longer at night.

[mandoalorian]

Like Father, Like Daughter [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader]

Summary: A 4 a.m. fiasco in which your newborn daughter wakes up the entire Lord homestead.

Word Count: 2800>

Rating: PG

Warnings: none! Tooth rotting fluff. Just a newborn baby that won’t settle, a big brother who wants to protect his younger sibling at all costs, and pure familial love. ALSO LADY LORD THE CAT MAKES A RETURN… She's the real trouble maker of the family.

Author’s note: This is SO self indulgent. I cannot stress that enough. I was clearing out my ask inbox and one of the most common requests I get is a) more Lord family and b) more Soft!Max... so here we are.

Masterlist

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

No matter what, she just didn’t settle. It was three in the morning and you’d put her back down to bed only twenty minutes ago. Just as you managed to close your eyes and feel yourself begin to fall back to sleep, her cries erupted once more and echoed throughout the house. You had no idea how Maxwell could sleep through it. He was a heavy sleeper, and although he made you promise to wake him when you needed him to take over with the newborn, you couldn’t bear to. He was so busy with work and his career, the last thing he needed was to be up all night with little Aurora.

In practically every way possible, Aurora Lorenzano was like her father. It was funny, really. She was only three weeks old but you could already see the same mannerisms in her, that you did Max. She made a habit of shaking her fists or pointing her little tiny finger at you when she wanted something. She was loud, always wanting to make her voice heard. Her big brown eyes sparkled like starlight and you always wondered how you managed to create something so beautiful. She was a product of you and Maxwell and you swore that you had never loved anything as much as you loved her.

You rolled over and groaned into your pillow as you heard her scream with anguish. You were exhausted, and completely at a loss. You’d held her, fed her, changed her diaper -- what more could she want? You couldn’t remember the last time you got more than an hours worth of sleep, and even then it was broken up into intervals. You looked over at Max who was sleeping next to you, his chest rising and falling with every soft breath he took. And you envied him. This was ridiculous. Just for once you wanted to sleep. Just once.

“Max,” you said, prodding your index finger into his bicep. He didn’t move an inch. “Max,” you said again, a little louder this time, but even Aurora’s wails were overpowering the sound of your voice. You said his name a few more times but he didn’t even stir.

You sighed, climbing on top of your boyfriend and straddling his hips. You leaned over him and clasped his cheeks, squeezing them together. “Maxwell Lord!” you shouted in his face, and watched as his eyes snapped open and he bolted upright. His sudden movement knocked you backwards slightly but you couldn’t help but laugh at the way you had shocked him into waking up.

“What the hell are you doing?” He hissed, rubbing his tired eyes and shooting you a joking glare. “Why are you on top of me?” His gaze flicked from your face, down to your body, and his confused glance turning into something a little more sultry. He snaked his arms around your waist and gave your hip a playful squeeze. “You do know Aurora is crying, don’t you?” he quizzed, with an eyebrow quirked. You had to hold back from punching him.

“I know she’s crying, dumbass,” you spat back, rolling off Max and dramatically throwing the pillow over your face. “Please, please can you check on her? She’s fine. I know she’s fine. I’ve checked on her five times already tonight. But she just-- she won’t stop-- and I don’t--”

Sensing the way you were getting worked up, Max tore the pillow from your face and shushed you. He pressed a soft yet chaste kiss to your forehead. “Say no more, I’m on it.” he whispered, rolling out of bed.

You watched Max grab his robe and shuffle into his slippers as he padded out of your shared bedroom. Well, you were awake now. You sighed and closed your eyes, hoping that maybe, just maybe, you could earn a few more hours of deserved sleep.

Maxwell flicked on the amber night light in Aurora’s nursery, the dim embers burning bright enough to force Max adjust his eyesight in the darkness. “Hey hey baby girl,” he cooed, rubbing his tired eyes again and running a hand through his dark blonde hair. He peered over the side of the crib and his heart ached when he caught sight of his daughter, all snotty and teary eyed. “What are you crying for, huh? Why is my little princess crying?” he asked Aurora, using his thumb to wipe away some of her tears. She sniffled slightly, her eyes fixating on her father. “Tell daddy what’s wrong, and I promise you I’ll fix it. What do you need, hm?”

You could hear Maxwell talking to Aurora, ever so faintly. His voice always soothed you, so it wasn’t that much of a surprise to find it settling her as well. You smiled to yourself, counting your blessings. You had gotten so lucky with your little family.

Aurora made grabby fists and reached out to Maxwell, her big eyes glimmering with desire.

“Oh,” Maxwell hummed, catching her message almost immediately. He reached into the crib and picked up Aurora, nursing her in his warm arms. “You wanted to be held by daddy. Well, why didn’t you just say so?”

Aurora scowled and Max pinched her cheek. “Listen to me, my little princess. Your mommy does everything in her power to take care of you and protect you. We love you so much, but, you keep her awake all night. So let’s make a deal, okay Aurora? Let’s agree that from now on, you only wake up mommy once a night. If that. Can you do that for me?”

Aurora’s scowl deepened and she furrowed her eyebrows together.

“Don’t pull faces at me, young lady,” Maxwell chastised. Aurora’s face softened and she squeezed Max’s thumb. He couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, good. I knew you’d understand. See, me and you are on the same wavelength. We get each other.”

Aurora’s lips curled into a smile that matched her father’s, and Max continued to smooth out her hair. You had overheard that part of the conversation, and you wished that you could’ve only been there to witness the interaction. Maxwell made a habit of talking ‘business’ with Aurora. It was funny, but in a strange way, it was like she understood him.

Now that the crying had stopped, you figured you could at least try and fall asleep.

“Daddy?”

Maxwell crooked his head slightly and looked over at the nursery door, where his six year old son, Alistair was standing. “Hey buddy,” Maxwell said quietly, ushering Alistair to come over. “Why are you awake?”

“Aurora was crying,” Alistair mumbled, dragging his comfort blanket and one of his soft toys further into the nursery. “I brought her my comforter and my Ewok.”

“Your what--?” Maxwell asked, furrowing his eyebrows together.

“My Ewok.” Alistair repeated, offering no further explanation.

“Well Ali, that’s very thoughtful. Why don’t you put your… Ewok in her crib, and pass me your comforter. We can wrap her in it,” Maxwell instructed, and Alistair obliged. “Why don’t you wrap the blanket around her, hm? But be careful.”

Max lifted up Aurora ever so slightly so Alistair could fit the blanket around her tiny body. “I think she likes it.” Alistair grinned, completely chuffed with himself, and Max nodded his head in affirmation.

“She does,” he smiled, squeezing his son’s shoulder so he knew that his father was proud. “Now she knows her big brother will always look out for her.”

“I will daddy, I promise.”

The two boys spent a few minutes in comfortable silence, gushing and fussing over Aurora.

“Why was sissy crying? Is she alright?” Alistair pondered out loud, the concern clear in his voice.

“Yeah, of course, she’s fine. Look, sometimes we just need to be held. We just need to know that there’s someone out there watching over us. And that everything will be okay.” Max said softly, tracing his finger along Aurora’s delicate face. Alistair stayed quiet for a moment as he took in his father’s words. That feeling resonated with Alistair all too well. He knew what it felt like to yearn for the attention of a parent. And Maxwell understood it too. He had an awful relationship with his own father, which is why he swore to be the absolute best for his son and daughter. “Ali, could you do me a favour?” Max questioned, eventually breaking the silence.

“Yes.”

“Could you quietly go check on mommy and see if she’s sleeping?”

Alistair nodded and tip-toed out of the nursery and into your bedroom. Low and behold, you were finally sleeping. Alistair got a little too close to you, and pushed your hair out of your face so he could check to see if your eyes were closed. His brash movement (even though he’d tried his hardest to be gentle) woke you up. Alistair gasped when he saw what he’d done and smacked his hand over his mouth in disbelief.

“Oh no, were you asleep?” Alistair questioned, his dark eyes going wide. You yawned and nodded your head. “Did I wake you?”

You offered him a tired smile and pulled him into the bed so he could curl up next to you. “It’s okay Ali. Did Aurora wake you up too?”

“Yeah.” Alistair mumbled tiredly, nuzzling into your chest for comfort. He was immediately put at ease in your arms.

He’d never had a relationship like this with his biological mother, no matter how much he’d wished for it. But now he finally had you. You loved Alistair like he was your own blood and you treated him as your own since day one. You loved him unconditionally, just as much as you loved Aurora. Alistair was so thankful to have someone like you in his life and your bond with him was unbreakable. Maybe wishes could come true.

“She’s a little trouble maker.” you yawned and Alistair stifled a giggle.

“Like daddy.” he muttered and you grinned.

“Exactly. Just like daddy.”

After a few intimate moments alone with Aurora, Maxwell stood up. She’d settled down a lot and had even fallen asleep in his arms. Max didn’t want to put her down to bed though, at least, not yet.

Maybe he could bring her to bed. That would be nice.

Cradling Aurora, he carefully stood up from the oak wood rocking chair and padded out of the nursery, only to hear a series of thumping footsteps venture up the stairs.

Oh no.

The jingle of her pretty pink collar was unmistakable, as the fluffy white cat, Lady Lord, came bouncing up the staircase. She purred and circled around Max’s feet, rubbing her soft cheeks over his legs.

“What do you want?” Maxwell asked, glaring down at the kitty.

Lady just looked up at him and meow’ed, her blue eyes wide and awake. If she wanted anything, it was to be fed. She loved her biscuits.

“Lady, it’s almost four in the morning. You’ll have to wait until breakfast.”

She meow’ed again, this time louder, and followed Max by his heels as he walked along the corridor.

“I don’t care, Lady,” Max sighed. “We fed you before we went to bed and you’ll get something in a few hours. I’m not feeding you now.”

Maxwell swore this cat was like having a third child.

Lady wailed and raced past Maxwell once she sensed he was heading to his bedroom. Lady Lord jumped onto the bottom of the bed, by your feet, and curled up. She looked like a snowball.

You smiled to yourself as you heard Max approach. He tilted his head and frowned when he entered the bedroom and noticed you were still awake. His frown deepened when he saw that Alistair was laying next to you.

“I thought he’d gone to bed,” Max confessed, gently passing you Aurora so you could hold her while he discarded his slippers and robe. You smoothed out Alistair’s dark hair and watched him as he slept peacefully by your side. “And why are you still awake?” Max questioned.

“I was listening to the conversation you were having with your business associate-- I mean, your daughter.” you joked and Maxwell rolled his eyes, sliding under the covers. He took Aurora from your arms so he could nurse her again.

“She gets me.” Max assured you and you had to stifle back a laugh. You leaned your head on your boyfriend’s shoulder and looked down at the newborn.

“That’s great honey, but if her first words end up being ‘Life is good, but it can be better’, I’ll not be happy.” you quipped and Maxwell smirked.

In this precise moment, Maxwell swore that he had never been happier. He spent much of his life believing money and materials would satisfy him, but he was still left with an empty, gaping hole in his heart. He always wanted more, he wanted to try and somehow fill that void, but he just didn’t know what to look for. He was never searching for love, and yet you still found him. And you filled that hole in his heart. You completed him, and made him into a better man. He could never fault you for that, and he’d always be grateful for everything you did for him. Everyday that was spent with you and his growing family was a day well spent.

If he could change one thing, it would be that he realised this sooner. But you taught him that he shouldn’t regret anything. Yes, he had made mistakes, but so does everyone, and that doesn’t make him any less of a person. What inspired you the most about Max was that he consistently worked on himself and tried to better himself for his family. And you saw his progress every single day.

“Do you want me to take Ali to bed?” Max asked, kissing your shoulder softly.

“No, he’s fine here,” you replied quietly, feeling the utmost contentment with your family being by your side. “This bed can easily fit five people.” you acknowledged.

Maxwell’s eyes went comically wide at your comment. “Five?!” he wheezed, and you pointed your finger down towards the edge of the bed where Lady was sleeping. Max hadn't even noticed her joining. Clearly, it was a family event, at 4am in his bed. “She follows me everywhere!” Max exclaimed incredulously, shaking his head and scratching the back of his neck. Lady opened her eyes and glanced up at Max, recognising the mention of her.

“She loves you.” you cooed.

“She’s annoying.” Maxwell frowned, but you knew, deep down, he adored that cat. He had never been an animal person, and he wouldn’t have adopted Lady if it wasn’t for you, but he truly did love her. She was loyal and compassionate and despite the trail of cat hairs she left all over his three piece power suits, he wouldn’t trade her for the world.

“And you love her too.” you corrected him.

Max sighed and shook his head in defeat before returning to his previous statement. “You know, this bed might actually be able to fit more than five people. Maybe six. Or seven…” he trailed off, his free hand caressing your thigh as he sized up the double king-sized bed.

He wasn’t subtle. You could read him like an open book. You knew exactly what he was implying.

Your jaw dropped and you looked up at him with wide eyes. Max’s smirk only grew upon seeing your reaction. “Wait… are you saying we can get more cats?!”

And just like that, his smirk fell from his lips. “I--”

“Oh my gosh Maxie!” You squealed, wrapping your arms around him. Maxwell blinked as he tried to process what just happened.

“I didn’t mean--”

“How long had you been planning this?” Teasing Max Lord might have been one of your most favourite hobbies. If only you could snap a photo of his face at this very moment.

He said your name, slowly and looked slightly disconcerted.

You grinned and cupped his cheek. “I know,” you laughed. “I know what you meant.”

A brief silence filled the room.

“I do like cats…” Max told you eventually. You leaned over him and turned off his bedside lamp.

“Mhm…” you mumbled, rolling over so you were snuggling into him. He was still on his back, nursing Aurora.

“I’m just saying…” he trailed off, staring at the ceiling. “I think we’re pretty good at this parenting thing. And I like… having kids with you…”

You smiled in the darkness.

“Go to sleep Maxie.” you whispered.

“I just think--”

“Go to sleep.” you giggled, and you felt him press a kiss into your hair.

“Goodnight,” he uttered. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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[non-un-topo]

College, Car Seats, and Creamy Pasta (ficlet)

(This title, idk.) So I’ve been having feelings lately about the old guard with babies in modern aus, so here’s an experimental, kind of self-indulgent ficlet filled with extreme amounts of softness and bébé feels <3

_______________________________

There’s an infamous story all the way back from college that Joe loves to share which involves Andy drunkenly rolling her ankle on a beach and Joe having to carry her home--though, she could have walked, but Joe demanded to carry her--and fashioning an ice pack out of the only things he could find in his and Nicky’s tiny, decrepit apartment: A condom, and some ice from a small McDonald’s sprite (their freezer was broken when they moved in).

He lives to tell that story every chance he gets. Especially now, as he reaches into Andy and Quỳnh’s (much bigger and much colder) freezer nearly fifteen years later to retrieve a not-homemade ice pack and wrap it in a clean dishtowel for Andy’s poor crotch.

She’s lounging on the couch, even though she’s proven that she can walk, but Joe doesn’t mind, as she reaches back for the ice pack and shoots him a sly smile that says, Yeah, I know exactly which story you’re thinking about. He bats his eyelashes innocently back.

It’s a balmy Friday evening and Quỳnh’s still at work, though likely on her way home, so Joe has taken the liberty of cooking dinner. Andy begged to order a pizza, but Joe was not having it. And he thought himself to be the lax one of the bunch. If Nicky were in the kitchen at the time, it would have been anarchy.

“Thanks, Joe,” Andy says, as she settles into a more comfortable position on the couch with her ice pack, sighing. He adjusts the pillows at her back, which causes her to snort and slap his hand away.

“I’m not dying.”

Joe sniffs. “Yeah, coulda fooled me. How much did that baby weigh again?”

Andy laughs out a quiet, fuck off. “Nine pounds, eight ounces,” she says, quick as a whip.

“God…”

The baby, the reason for Joe and Nicky’s visit to Andy and Quỳnh’s apartment, is fairly chunky, sure, but he looks awfully tiny and pink, especially when he’s wearing his little hat. The hat with little lamb ears that Nicky painstakingly knit for him months ago, when he was barely more than a bump, that rarely leaves his soft little head. Nicky hadn’t even known how to knit at the time.

The baby’s name is Lykon, after a childhood friend of Andy and Quỳnh. Lykon was born at 4:26 AM on Monday. It’s Friday evening. Joe and Nicky have not left the apartment since Andy and Quỳnh brought him home.

And neither Andy nor Quỳnh have physically kicked them out, so Joe is staying right here.

Nicky had disappeared a few minutes ago to go change the baby while Andy napped, but he reappears then, slinking into the living room with Lykon held against his shoulder--he’s so little in Nicky’s hands, they almost swallow him--and Joe smiles at his husband in greeting before doing a double-take.

“Babe,” Joe says, and Andy cranes her neck to try and see Nicky over the back of the couch. “What are you doing?”

Nicky continues his journey across the living room floor--lunges, he’s doing lunges. Deep ones that make Joe’s eyebrows jump up in appreciation.

Nicky releases a finger from his gentle grip on the baby’s head and presses it to his lips. “Shush.”

“You trying to get your ass workout in while carrying my son? Really?” Andy asks.

Nicky’s response is whispered so softly, Joe can hardly hear him. “This is the only way I can get him to sleep.”

“Put him in the car seat,” Andy says, like it’s the most simple solution in the world.

“He likes it,” Nicky argues, still whispering.

Andy only shrugs. “Okay, but if he spits up on you…”

And right on cue, Joe hears a tiny gurgle, and there’s baby puke sliding down Nicky’s back.

Andy doesn’t say, told you so, but she doesn’t need to. Her smug grin is enough. With a poorly hidden pout, Nicky reluctantly hands the baby, who is now crying quiet little wobbly squeals, to Andy.

“You know,” Andy says, “you guys don’t have to stay. You have other commitments, I know.”

It’s the first time since Lykon’s birth that she’s said something like that, and Joe is only moderately surprised to feel a sudden onslaught of tears in his eyes.

“Or not,” she says, quickly. “We really appreciate your help, boys, it’s just… We don’t want to keep you.”

“Andy, shut up.”

She laughs, loud and open-mouthed. “Okay, Joe, okay. I love you guys.”

“We love you too,” Nicky says. Then he leans over the couch to peer into Lykon’s squishy little face. “And we especially love you.”

His voice changes when he talks to the baby. While Joe can’t control the way his voice raises several octaves and the way he coos gibberish, Nicky’s voice softens and hushes to something so comfortable, barely audible. It’s the way he would talk to a fussy toddler, Joe thinks, given the opportunity. He would level his eyes with them and speak to them like a person equal to him, providing the safest and most non-judgemental space for them.

Joe thinks. He hasn’t had many opportunities to see his husband speak with toddlers.

“I would be worried about you guys kidnapping him,” Andy says, “but I think it only counts as kidnapping if you leave the apartment.”

Joe snorts, and then he hears the water boiling over on the stove, so he dashes.

When Joe met Andy and Quỳnh, he had been a wide-eyed twenty-year-old, freshly out of the closet and already hopelessly in love. Well, that hasn’t changed, which always delights him to realize, after all these years. It was the love of his young life--Nicky, of course--who introduced him. Andy and Nicky were family friends, more like siblings, really, and of course Andy and Quỳnh had been together since the dawn of time. It took Joe no time at all to find a family in the four of them, inseparable as they all were.

Andy and Quỳnh had actually surprised him when they started talking about kids. That unexpected and world-changing conversation had been the beginning of a long and at times heartbreaking four years, before they finally got their donor, then suffered through a little over a year of IVF. They had almost given up, Joe remembers, between the frustration and the arguments and doctors telling Andy her eggs were too old. But, there he was, at the end of the journey, coming into the world flipping off everyone who said they couldn’t do it: Baby Lykon, the little warrior.

Joe remembers all of it vividly. The phonecall when they told him and Nicky they were pregnant, the panic to help them find a bigger apartment, the indulgent shopping trips, though Andy tried to keep a cap on those, and the weight and warmth of the baby in Joe’s arms the very first time he held him, barely thirty minutes after he’d been born.

Joe had sobbed, of course (something Andy and Quỳnh had anticipated so strongly they bet money on how long he cried for), and he looked into the baby’s big brown eyes and promised him the world.

They had talked about kids. Of course, they had. He and Nicky. But life was busy, and in the last five years between Joe finishing his dissertation and Nicky’s mother getting sick, the subject of kids just hadn’t come up. Besides, Joe thinks now, he’s only thirty-three.

Quỳnh comes home as he’s dishing up dinner for everyone--a creamy, cheesy pasta, because it’s the best comfort food--and her eyes brim with tears when she gets to hold Lykon again. She hasn’t been able to get a lot of time off work, even after becoming a new parent, which Joe thinks is frankly outrageous, but the work she does as a crisis counsellor is of course monumentally important.

They huddle around the couch to eat dinner, but Nicky pulls up one of the rickety chairs from the kitchen table and sits next to the baby, who is snoozing in his car seat on top of the coffee table. Joe doesn’t know how he does it, but Nicky manages to eat his dinner, drink enough water, and hold a conversation while keeping Lykon’s car seat rocking gently so he doesn’t wake up and scream.

Joe watches him as he chews his pasta mindfully and leans close to peer into the car seat. Beautiful. He’s always so beautiful, especially now. The way he looks at Lykon--their nephew, Joe realizes, elated--makes Joe’s head spin off his shoulders. He feels like he’s twenty.

“Crazy how tiny he is,” says Quỳnh, her voice soft and reverent. She already sounds so much like a parent. Joe’s eyes are still on his husband, so he sees how brightly Nicky smiles at that.

Andy makes an indignant noise. “Shut the fuck up.”

Quỳnh laughs, though she tries with obvious effort to keep quiet. She pulls Andy closer, her arm draped over her shoulder, and presses three kisses to her cheek. Then Quỳnh catches Joe’s eye and winks.

Andy shovels another forkful of pasta into her mouth and moans as she chews. With a full mouth, she says, “Joe, this is perfect. Please, boys, never leave.”

Joe shrugs bashfully, pretending to be shy. “It’s Nicky’s recipe.”

“What did you use,” Quỳnh asks.

Joe hums. He juts his chin to the kitchenette. “Your parmesan, mostly, and that fancy milk.”

“What fancy milk,” Andy asks, absolutely stuffing her face.

“Y’know.” Joe waves a hand. Chews, swallows. “The milk in the fancy bag, from the fridge.”

Andy and Quỳnh both stop eating, their eyes bugging out. Quỳnh slaps a hand over her mouth, poorly hiding a laugh and clearly choking a little, and Andy looks… Oh, Andy looks furious. Her face is red.

“J-” She forcefully lowers her voice, shooting a fearful glance at the baby. “Joe,” she whispers through her teeth. “Did you use my fucking breast milk?”

“Dio.” Nicky sticks his fork back into his dish.

“Oh,” Joe says, like an idiot. “Um.”

Andy’s cheeks puff out and somehow her face turns an even darker shade of red.

“I pumped…” she whispers, low and lethal, slow. “...For so… long…”

“There’s more in the fridge, babe,” Quỳnh says, and Joe fears for her life for a hot second. Then she brings her hand out to hover over Andy’s chest. “And it’s not like the tap is running dry, or whatever.”

“So I’m a milk bag.”

“A badass, sexy milk bag who--oh, who is murdering me with her eyes right now.” Quỳnh turns on Joe, then, scooping another forkful of breast-milk-pasta into her mouth and jabbing the fork in his direction. “You’re gonna be up all night paying my wife back for this, genius. See how skilfully you can wipe meconium from his bum.”

Joe only nods in shame. Fair enough.

Lykon signals that he’s awake, then, with a series of soft little snorty grunts that devolve very quickly into shrieking, wobbly sobs. Nicky launches into action with a speed that rivals the pitcrews at NASCAR. He lifts him from the car seat with such gentleness and oh, Joe’s heart breaks to see the baby’s little lips trembling as he cries, the way his little feet kick out against Nicky’s chest as he holds him over his forearms. Nicky is about to pass him to his moms when Quỳnh smiles softly up at him and says, “Looks like you’ve got him.”

He throws her a glance as if to ask, are you sure, and Quỳnh and Andy both nod. Joe’s sure they’re grateful to have the small amount of rest time and, looking at them now, curled together on the couch in their soft clothes, exchanging light kisses, he knows he and Nicky haven’t come close to overstaying their welcome.

“Look at you, Nico,” coos Andy as Nicky carefully holds the baby against his shoulder to peek at his diaper through the waistband his tiny pants. “You’re making us look bad.”

Nicky only chuckles lightly and shakes his head. The diaper must be clean, because he leaves it be and brings a hand up to cup the back of the baby’s wispy-haired head more steadily, and begins to hum, almost a whisper, and Joe’s heart flutters.

“Do you think he’s hungry?” Nicky asks Andy when the baby continues to fuss.

Turns out he is hungry, because he quiets almost immediately when Andy brings him to her chest. It’s not silent in the apartment--Joe can hear some sirens through the window on the streets far below, can hear the air conditioner groan to life, can hear Quỳnh and Nicky’s forks clink against their plates as they continue to eat the questionable breast-milk-pasta (good lord). And, Joe can hear the soft little grunts and snorts that the baby makes as he feeds.

Joe watches his oldest friends--they’re parents now, he can hardly believe it--as they huddle close on the couch and watch their son. Quỳnh wraps her arms under Andy’s so they’re both holding him, and his little chubby fist twitches and flings out every once in a while against Andy’s rolled-up shirt. His feet look impossibly small. Joe remembers the sounds he made when he and Nicky went shopping for all manner of baby supplies to help shave some stuff off Andy and Quỳnh’s list. He’d nearly sobbed when Nicky came up to the cart holding a pair of incredibly tiny socks (and then he had teared up and nearly passed out when Nicky popped the socks over his thumbs. A lot of people stared).

Joe would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t been thinking of revisiting that store with Nicky every day since.

Now, he looks at his husband to find him already watching him, his heart in his eyes. Nicky slowly moves his gaze to their friends, to the baby, and Joe follows it. When their eyes meet again, Nicky’s are a little damp with tears, but he’s smiling, and there’s something inquisitive and hopeful in his eyes. Joe matches him and slowly, they both nod.

Yes.

[account-archived]

Indulgence//Snape x plus size OC

Summary: Severus Snape's wife doesn't seem to be enjoying her birthday and he makes sure she has a night to remember. Starts with hurt/comfort and ends in smut and tooth rotting fluff. This fic contains a slight food kink so read if you like birthday cake.

Trigger Warnings: body image, food kink, mentions of low self esteem, and smut.

words: around 2500

pairing: Snape x plus size OC

This is a birthday fic from myself to myself so it is very self indulgent. It is intended for mature audiences, please don't comment on this fic if you are under 18.

Severus was out later than he had meant to be and he cursed himself endlessly as he made his way home. In his arms was a bouquet of red roses and a small box containing a very small cake. It was all he could afford. His salary as a professor barely covered the monthly cost of their shabby little cottage, but he hoped that somehow the small gifts he could afford would cut it. He fumbled for a moment in search of his wand, unlocking the front door and stumbling into the warmth of his home.

"Ophelia," he called, setting his things down on the kitchen table. "Where's my girl?"

He set the cake carefully on the table and flourished the red bouquet as he made his way through the house, searching for his wife. To his dismay, he found her curled up on the sofa wearing the saddest frown he had ever seen. He walked to her swiftly, easing her up just long enough for him to sit down so she could lay her head in his lap.

"What's wrong my girl?" He asked gently, setting the roses down on the arm of the sofa so his hands were free to brush through her tangled blonde hair. "Have you just woken up my love? It's past dinner time."

She huffed and refused to look up at him. "I got up after you left this morning but there's no point in staying up today. Just want it to be over."

"It's your birthday," he said incredulously, his dark brows knitted tight in confusion. "I thought you wanted to get up and get dressed up. That's what you told me last night." His fingers smoothed out her tangles and it was apparent she hadn't even brushed her hair. He didn't mind, he thought she was beautiful just the same, but it was uncharacteristic of her.

"Hate my birthday."

He couldn't help but sigh at the air of brattiness in her voice. "Why is that, my love?" His patience for her was unwavering, if she needed to throw a fit he would let her. "Why do you hate your birthday?"

"I'm old," she whined, hiding her face in his thigh.

This time he scoffed. "You're only thirty. What is actually the matter, hmm? Don't want to tell me?"

She sat up slowly, her hair somehow still a tangled mess. "The older I get, the less beautiful I feel. My body..."

Severus looked appalled. "Ophelia Snape. Don't you even say it," he warned. "You're as beautiful as the day I met you. Even more so now because you're not so scrappy."

"But there's the problem," she protested. "My body is getting old and heavy, my prettiness has faded and you're going to lose attraction for me." She hid her face in her hands and groaned, but Severus remained motionless, completely taken aback.

"Ophelia...your prettiness hasn't faded. It could never fade. The years have been very kind to you," he tried to assure. "If you don't believe that, can you at least believe that I love you more now than I did when we first fell in love? How could you not be beautiful to me?"

She didn't respond and his heart ached. He wasn't going to be able to talk his way out of this one, he would just have to show her.

Gently, he sat her upright and moved her hands from her face, frowning at the tracks of tears that stained her plump cheeks. He shook his head and gently wiped her face dry with the cuffs of his sleeves, his dark eyes fixed on hers. Normally her eyes were a strikingly vivid sky blue, but now, glossed with fresh tears, they were a deep sea blue. Stormy weather and endless depths was all he could see in her gaze and he ached to save her from drowning in her own self loathing.

"I got you flowers." His voice was a soft, low husk, a tone he knew soothed her. "Can I give them to you?"

Ophelia sniffled and managed a nod, her gaze following his hand to the arm of the couch. The ghost of a smile flashed across her face for only a moment and she reached out eagerly for the flowers. "These are my favorite," she whispered, to which he replied with a nod. "Thank you. I'll grab a vase from the kitchen."

She arose slowly from the couch and Severus had to steady her before letting her wander off. His gaze followed her to their small kitchen, watching as she searched their cupboards for a suitable vase. Once she had found one and filled it with water, he got up to join her.

"I also brought you a cake. Raspberry buttercream frosting, your favorite." He was trying to tempt her, but he knew before she even spoke that she would refuse.

"Thank you, I'll save it for later. I'm not hungry."

His jaw clenched in an attempt to keep himself quiet, but as he watched her place each rose individually into the vase, he couldn't hold it back. "Ophelia," he whispered. "You deserve to have the best birthday you've ever had."

She smiled sadly, placing the vase in the window above the sink. "Maybe next year."

No. That wasn't good enough. Severus took a step towards her and placed his hands on her waist, squeezing her softly. "My darling girl," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers. "You are a goddess, you are the softest creature I've ever seen. You are the only woman I could ever want and as your husband it is my duty to show you how special you are."

"Severus-"

"Let...me," he whispered against her lips. "Let me show you how much I love you. Can I? Do I have your permission?"

She nodded silently, melting into his touch with a sort of pleasant resignation. That was good enough for him. His hands moved up the curve of her waist, grabbing her gently under her arms so he could hoist her up against the cupboards. She let him fall between her plush thighs, leaning against him so she wouldn't fall back into the sink. His lips found hers and within seconds she was wrapped around him, her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders. He took advantage of this and carefully picked her up, holding her by her thighs as he turned around to set her down on the kitchen table.

"Comfortable?" He asked between kisses, once again falling between her legs.

"Yes," she sighed before pulling him back into her. He stopped her this time and she whined, her hands desperately tugging at the clasp of his cloak.

"I want you to enjoy yourself," he whispered, moving his lips to her neck. "And I want you...to enjoy your birthday." He nipped at the soft skin of her shoulder before pulling back just enough to watch her. "Can I help you do that?"

She nodded and once again his lips found hers. This kiss was more passionate, more desperate. All tongues and teeth, they shared a few gasps of breath as their hands worked to free each other from their clothes. Severus' cloak dropped to the floor, his wife's fingers trembling as she unbuttoned his dress robes. Her hands pushed beneath the fabric and he felt lost in bliss for a moment as she ran her fingers over his collar bones and across his chest. After a moment of selfish indulgence, he pushed her hands away and lifted her arms to strip her of the nightgown she had been wearing all day.

"You minx," he growled, glimpsing at her bare body. "Not wearing anything under your gown. Know what that does to me."

His fingertips grazed the valley of her cleavage, eliciting a shiver from the woman. Deciding not to tease her further, he took handfuls of her ample breasts and squeezed softly, pawing at her desperately. This roused a reaction from her he had not expected. She was grinning.

"That's my girl," he praised. "There's that beautiful smile."

He took the liberty to pinch her nipples, feeling them harden in his fingertips. He tugged on them softly and still she smiled. At that moment, she looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her.

"No," she whined the moment he pulled his hands away from her breasts and he couldn't help but raise a thick brow at her.

"No? Then you prefer I keep my pants on?" He teased, his hands hovering over his belt. She pouted and he came undone, hastily unbuckling his belt and letting his pants drop. The moment he was laid bare for her, she tried to reach out for him and he pushed her hands away. "Not yet. I'm still teaching you how to enjoy yourself."

Her whine of protest turned into a gasp of pleasure as his hands found their way back to her breasts. "Every time I touch you, I want you to remember just how much I love you. How much I'll always love you," he whispered as his hands roamed from her breasts to her stomach.

Ophelia flinched, insecurity flooding through her as his hands smoothed over each curve and roll of her flesh, but he continued to shower her with affection, watching her expression closely in case she needed him to stop.

"Are you nervous?"

She nodded and he stepped closer to her, pressing himself against her body. "We've been married for ten years and you're still nervous?" He teased. Sensing that she was particularly unsure about him touching her stomach, he moved to her wide hips and down to her thighs. Pushing her legs open, he brushed his thumbs over the insides of her thighs and her insecurity seemed to vanish, replaced with lust.

"Good girl, just relax for me," he purred, feeling her melt in his hands. "Your body is so beautiful."

His thumb brushed over her core this time, teasing her clit with the lightest touch he could manage. Her eyes fluttered closed and her mouth fell open in a soft gasp, the sight striking inspiration in him. He began to rub soft circles against her swollen bud, his free hand reaching beside her for the small cake box. He opened it quietly, keeping her distracted with pleasure as he dipped his fingers into the pink frosting. The moment her mouth fell open with another moan, he slipped his fingers past her plump lips.

Ophelia sucked obediently before she even noticed the frosting, then after a second her eyes snapped open to gaze up at him inquisitively. She gave a soft hum but did not stop sucking his fingers clean, her wide eyes trained on him.

"See? The cake is good." He pulled his fingers from her mouth and cupped her round face lovingly, gazing down at her with an expression of pure admiration. "Taste good?"

She nodded silently and his lips quivered into a sly smile. He squeezed her cheek softly before gathering more frosting onto his index and middle fingers, his other hand still working on pleasuring her.

"Is how I'm touching you making you feel good or do you need more?"

"Feels good, but what about you?" She asked softly, trying to reach for his very obvious hard on.

Once again, he pushed her hands away. "This isn't about me, it's not my birthday." His voice was firm but he couldn't help but grin, leading his fingers once more to her mouth.

She accepted him without question, sucking softly as he watched her, his thumb pressing firm against her clit. He focused all of his attention on rubbing the soft button the way he knew she liked, wanting her sensitive before he went any further. From the hazed look in her eyes, he knew she was feeling good so he kept up what he was doing.

"Do you want to taste more of your cake?"

She hesitated before nodding and watched him curiously as he pulled his hand from her mouth. This time, instead of merely dipping his fingers into the frosting, he sank into the confection and returned to her mouth with a handful of, not only frosting but vanilla cake. Ophelia grinned at his antics, intrigued and confused all the same.

"Well?" He purred. "Open up."

Ophelia opened her mouth obediently and he fed her the cake, all the while still stroking her clit. She didn't know which bliss to focus on; the building pleasure between her legs or the delicious dessert in her mouth.

"You're beautiful, Ophelia," he coaxed. "And you deserve to enjoy yourself. You deserve love and you deserve to feel beautiful. And...you deserve cake."

She swallowed thickly, moaning around his fingers as her pleasure mounted. Just when she thought it couldn't get better, she felt the thick head of his cock prod her wet entrance. He sank into her inch by inch and she lowered herself onto her elbows, not able to sit up straight anymore. Once she had eaten all the cake out of his hand and sucked his fingers clean, he was back at it again, scooping another handful out of the box.

"You're making a mess of me, Sev," she whispered breathlessly.

"And it's bloody gorgeous," he growled, carefully pushing a bit of cake past her lips. "And you're going to taste so sweet when I kiss you."

She moaned again. Whether it was a response to his words or to the feeling of him thrusting into her, she did not know. She savored the cake this time, not quick to lick him clean just yet. She was, as he intended, truly enjoying herself.

"Such a good girl," he purred, watching her closely. "My beautiful girl."

His praise drove her crazy and she buckled under her own weight, falling back to lay against the table. Severus took advantage of this and picked up his pace, thrusting steadily into her as he pulled his now clean fingers from her mouth. He abandoned the cake entirely now, using the hand that wasn't between her legs to steady her, gripping her hip.

"Sev-" she choked out. "Sev it feels so good."

He slowed the movement of his thumb on her clit slightly but quickened the pace of his thrusts and she fell over the edge instantly. He recognized her orgasm by the way her moans got louder and her velvet walls spasmed around his cock. Her eyes rolled back and he admired her beauty, though he couldn't help but notice the stain of pink frosting on her bottom lip.

"That's my girl," he cooed, still rubbing her through her orgasm. Once she had finished, however, he pulled out of her and leaned down to kiss her passionately. How sweet she tasted.

"Mmmm," she hummed against his lips. "Did you cum?"

"No," he whispered against his lips. "But this isn't about me, remember? Now let's get you cleaned up."

[purple-cat-demon]

Feeling Adventurous

Pairing: Gavin x Hazel

Genre: 18+ Smut time!

Word Count: 1,322

Warnings: semi-public sex, fingering, semi-exhibitionism, unprotected sex

*please note, playing in the ocean at night is quite dangerous (and in some places illegal!) so please do not actually do this!

My entry for @voltage-vixen's Summer of Smut 2.0 challenge: July 6th: Nighttime Skinny Dipping

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m sorry, did I hear you right?”

Gavin stopped mid-step upon hearing a most outrageous request from his lovely wife. A mischievous grin spread across her innocent face as she observed her husband’s shocked expression.

“Let’s. Go. Skinny. Dipping!~ I mean, we totally could, this beach house is kinda isolated.” she cooed as she tugged at the waistband of his shorts. The warm flush deepened on Gavin’s face.

“When did my wife become this bold?”

Hazel smirked, “well, I’m feeling a little adventurous~ and it’s our last night here so…,” she further tugged on his shorts.

He cleared his throat, unsure about this bold endeavor. While the beach house they were staying at was isolated enough, it wasn’t completely shut out from prying eyes. He silently prayed it was late enough for them not to get noticed as they walked out into the backyard. Gavin took a peek outside the back gate to make sure no one was around before stripping. By the time he took off his shirt, Hazel was finishing taking off her panties. The soft glow of the full moon is lightly shown on her petite form. He must’ve been taking too long admiring her because the next thing he knew, both his shorts and boxers were down to his ankles, courtesy of his impatient wife.

“Come on, babe, let’s go,” she said, grabbing his hand and leading him towards the ocean. The fine sand still felt warm beneath their feet, but the water felt refreshing as they bounded into the dark sea. The beach they were staying at had a fairly long sand bar before dropping into the abyss of the ocean. Hazel stopped as soon as the water reached her stomach, unsure of where the drop would be. She tried to dance with her husband but the uneven surface made it slightly difficult to do so. It didn’t stop Gavin from twirling her into his embrace. Feeling a little more comfortable, he decided on being playful by lightly tickling her sides, causing her to squirm against him.

“S-stop, that ti-tickles!”

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, “are you trying to call attention to us,” his voice was low, almost challenging. He then peppered her shoulder with light kisses, delighting in the giggling from his wife. Hazel broke out of his embrace in order to turn around and splash him.

“Oh, so that’s how you wanna play, huh?”

Gavin went to splash back but quickly noticed how much further she drifted out. Disappearing under the water, he swam towards her and hoisted her on his shoulder. She couldn't help but cry out at the sudden attack, and gasped at the audacious groping of her rear. She, however, got her revenge by tickling his sides, thus releasing her from his grip; right into the water. 

“Oh shit-,” Gavin sputtered after regaining his composure when he realized he no longer had a wife on his shoulder. Hazel managed to stand up while hacking out the seawater she inhaled upon impact.

“Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, I didn’t think that through very well,” she responded sheepishly.

“As long as you’re okay,” he said, breathing a small sigh of relief. That feeling of relief was short lived as Gavin’s attention was diverted to the pair of lights coming down the beach. Before Hazel even knew what was happening, she was hoisted up bridal style and along for the ride as Gavin sprinted towards the beach house. He let her down in order to open up the back gate, then they both disappeared into the backyard.

“What happened,” Hazel asked as Gavin closed and locked the gate. He turned around, laughing a little as he tried to catch his breath.

“Beach patrol,” he responded.

“Oh no, did I make too much noise?”

Gavin’s hand came up to caress her cheek.

“No, my love. I did read that they do nightly patrols, I just didn’t know what time exactly; but that was close.”

Hazel stifled a giggle as she snaked her arms around his neck; Gavin reciprocated by wrapping his arms around her waist.

“And what’s so funny, my love,” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at her playful grin.

“Hmm, did our little escapade excite you a bit?”

She accentuated that last part of the question with a grinding roll into his groin; he lightly hissed at the contact.

“Mmm, I think you forget that I’m always horny for you, my love,” he responded, touching his forehead to hers. Even in the moonlit night, he could make out a faint blush on her slightly shocked face. 

‘Well, can’t disappoint him, now can I,' she mentally mused, further grinding against his hardening length.

“Haa… y-you want me to cum right here,” he panted. His hands wandered below her waist; one capturing her butt cheek while the other settled on her mound, just out of reach of that little bundle of nerves. The kneading of her butt cheek made her press firmly against his toned torso. She bit back a moan as her husband teased that super sensitive spot, gently rubbing circles on it. 

“Thought you could out tease me, pumpkin?” he breathed in a low, husky voice. Hazel knew she was done for when his voice got that way as it always made her knees weak; her arousal spiked from just that remark alone. His deft fingers left the bundle of nerves and ventured further into her core.

“Mmm, why are you so wet, my love,” he cooed as he plunged the two fingers into her.

“A-ah,” she gasped at the sudden intrusion, “ahh, I think you forget.. hah.. t-that only you can get me this way, hngh..”

That comeback sent her husband’s control well out the door, and in two swift moves, he had her legs wrapped around him. Carefully walking through the jungle-like garden in the backyard, Gavin found the cushioned bench for them to carry out their desires for each other on. Hazel repositioned herself to sink down on his now fully erect length. While the waves crashing on the shore did help to drown out their pants and moans, they did their best to keep quiet.

“Ah...hah...g-gonna cum…,” she whimpered, rolling her hips into him. Gavin bucked his hips into her, maintaining the rhythm they both had until Hazel came, hard; digging her nails into his shoulders. Riding out her climax, Gavin then picked her up to bend her over the bench and intensely pound into her. He had been keeping his release at bay until he got into this position. He came hard, with a choked grunt, then stilled; he remained inside Hazel until both of their breathing evened out. Gavin leaned forward to place several light kisses along her spine, relishing in the saltiness left over from their nighttime fun in the ocean. He slowly pulled out of her and helped her up from the bench. She drunkenly giggled, still high from her climax, and finding the much needed stability in her husband’s warm embrace. 

“Are you okay,” Gavin asked, chuckling at her drunken state.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, the look of absolute content gracing her face in the pale moonlight. She reached up to cup his face and brought him in for a kiss.

“I love you, so very much.” she said. “Thank you for indulging this crazy idea of mine. I hope you weren’t too embarrassed.”

“Not at all,” he responded, “you know I’ll try just about anything with you, so long as it doesn’t harm you.” 

She kissed him again, “we should probably go get cleaned up, yeah?”

“Hm, yeah, and get some sleep. Don’t think we’ll have trouble with that,” he jokingly pointed out.

Hazel wanted to make a lasting memory on their last night at the beach house, and as she showered and got ready for bed she replayed their little escapade in her head; thoroughly content with that memory.

[jostepherjoestar]

👑Hewwu Queen 👑 is it alright if I request DIO in part 3 meeting his descendant?. Like he basically had a kid accidentally in part 1 and now he’s meeting their great grandkid who looks allot like him and seems to not be fully human. Maybe he meets them at night since their family was traveling around the world and stopped off in Egypt where he found them maybe listening to music?

Since you write for DIO, is it alright if I request that he somehow meets one of his kid after they get into some time travel shenanigans. Maybe his kid has a stand that is kinda similar to his but they aren’t confident in using it

DIO aiding his helpless descendant 

sfw / gn reader 

notes/warnings: implied assault (on your great-great grandmother)

Another case of two anons thinking alike!! It was really fun to think about this and sorry for taking so much time to get to it :o I hope you’ll still enjoy 💖✨also the pacing is strange/fast (to me), but i felt it fit with how frantic i imagine meeting Dio is

Somewhere between irking Jonathan and wishing to destroy any respectful sliver of the Joestar bloodline, Dio had his own way of indulging and spending his time. Men, women; any creature he could manipulate to his will and suck the life out of to join his dark army was welcome in his dimly lit hideout to meet their fate. The self proclaimed god that had surmounted humanity took pleasure in playing with his food; leaving them in complete darkness, literally. He’d let them suffer in silence, hearing them whimper and regret their choice to ever step foot inside the wicked monster’s palace. But it was always too late.

Except for the very night Jonathan had decided to come spoil the fun and ruin Dio’s playtime. The woman hadn’t meant anything to him, just a toy to play with and to later discard on the pile of other bodies strewn about. Was she glad to have been saved by the burly Joestar? At first yes; brought back to her senses, out of that monster’s grasp but left terribly violated. Left to carry and care for the offspring Dio would never know or care about, too busy being left to slumber in the ocean and gaining a new form from his hated ‘brother’.

Dio rose again, skulking in the shadows of dimly lit cities, looking for any and all petty humans and stand users to claim for his side. It took time and patience he didn’t know he possessed to get fully comfortable in his new body. There was always this inkling, a nagging sonar that kept getting louder and louder, not much unlike his connection to the new generation of Joestars. It grasped at his thoughts, kept him from any semblance of peace of mind -as much as he could acquire it- and there seemed to be no way of silencing it. He couldn’t see a clear picture; it was just nothing but an annoying sense of something being near.

He had searched for weeks like a bloodhound hot on a trail, irritated that he of all people, nay creations, was being made to follow and be obedient to the terrible nagging. It angered him greatly and only when he found a mere youngster sitting on a bench, you, a simple looking human, did it boil over. Sat with your walkman resting next to you on the wooden seating, head bopping along to your newest cassette in the middle of the night. Completely lost in the song you’d been drumming along to with your fingers. Dio was furious but knew better than to strike before investigating, he needed answers and he needed them now.

As he got closer to you, sneaking from behind, he noticed an immediate shift. You were no longer alone. An image, a blur that became clearer and steadier and more live-like as each second passed; posing defensively, staring down Dio with a fire in your eyes not much unlike the tall blonde’s. Not for a moment does he fear for his safety. Even though The World is a newly acquired power it could easily wipe out a scrawny kid without even hitching a breath. He smirks, eyes cast over in shadow by the dim street light as he hears you pause your cassette player.

“Oh? Was I disturbing you?’ he mocks in a smirk, catching the way your eyes glint and the vaguely familiar image you awaken in him. Just like before he’s left to figure out who this annoying hazy memory is. His voice shivers down your very being, goosebumps taking over your skin; not sure if you had already missed your chance to run. It was like his glare fixated you in place, finger still resting on the pause button of your player while the other reached up to remove the flimsy headphones.

“You…” you barely get out the word. The accusatory tone you had tried to convey had watered down to a whimper. You had felt the connection too, something nagging at your soul and stringing you along until you’d finally found the source. “Me? Hah! No, you.” Dio slid closer, his steps so quiet and calculated that even though you couldn’t take your eyes off of him you swore it seemed like he floated. You swallowed thickly, the huge figure that excluded an aura so menacing only a meter away from you.

“So. Who are you and why was it so disgustingly annoying to find you?” he joked impertinently, amused by the way you clenched your jaw at his remark. “I could ask you the same.” a brave little spark still smouldering inside. “DIO. Now don’t make me ask again, you’re making me dreadfully inpatient.” He hadn’t felt the need to kill you, at least not yet. Dio was truly curious about your answer but by the looks of it you really didn’t seem to know all that much.

You begrudgingly gave him your name, in need of some answers yourself. The sound of your name didn’t ring a single bell, not a tick, not a clank. Nothing. Not a single step further to knowing anything. “Well it seems like you do have a stand. Maybe you possess a great power that might be useful to me.” that wicked grin on his face told you a little too much of his motivations. He reminded you of those Saturday morning cartoon villains. But still you felt compelled to listen, ignoring every single red flag.  

Deciding to humour him you give out your stand’s name. “Trust me, we can’t really do much.” you huffed. You’ve only obtained your stand recently and honestly, it has been pretty shitty so far. You didn’t know exactly what it could do, it was just there. Any time you felt stressed or in danger it did come to your aid but it remained awfully docile. Their presence comforted you but you just knew it was capable of so much more.

“Are you a vampire?” The sudden question came out more surprised than Dio had hoped to let on. He regained his posture, opting to slide next to you on the bench with a swift move. There was something… off about the way you carried yourself that reminded him of himself and the other vampires he’d created. The question stunned you, your eyes that had already been widened in shock only growing more so. The way he had changed the entire conversation that had barely earned its start urged you to think quickly. “I don’t know.” you mumbled demurely. You really didn’t know. So many weird things had been happening to you lately that you being a vampire would explain a lot.

Your answer seemed to change the imposing man’s gaze and expression. It hardened a bit, his grin now slowly diminishing into a straighter line and his pointed brows resting down at a more natural angle. Even in this low light his image felt so familiar, like you were already supposed to know who he was but the memory remained hidden. Locked away for your safety. “You should feed. And don’t go out in daylight anymore.” Dio paused for a second. “Strange...” He pondered to himself out loud. He’s only seen a few cases like this, vampiric genes passed down through generations. For some reason he pitied you, as much as he could muster it. The unknown bond you shared felt too unusual to write off.

“What am I supposed to do?” you felt tears prick your eyes, trying your best to remain strong but you’ve been so tired. You couldn't confide in anyone, not about this. Tears started rolling, falling in thick streams down your cheeks and dropping onto your lap. Here you were, crying to a stranger named Dio about being a vampire and having weird powers. A bizarre twist of fate.

“First of all, stop crying. Then, widen your stance when you’re about to fight someone. I could have easily knocked you down with that flimsy imitation. Fix your posture while you’re at it. Call out your stand again.” He rattled off his demands quickly and flatly. Was he helping you? They were barbed complaints but it seemed like he actually wanted to aid you in whatever it was you were going through. You sniffled, wiping at your cheeks. You felt like a kid again; asking your parent for any reassurance when life knocked you down.

Dio actually offered a lot of viable advice, telling you about techniques to silence your steps, how to take someone down easily, to feed on humans within an inch of their life. You had asked him, just in case. You weren’t planning on killing anyone; a comment which made him scoff. That intimidating impression and overall feeling of having to bend to his will had lessened the more you talked to the blonde. He casually sat with you for what felt like hours. He hadn’t divulged into his own history, instead asking you about yours. He was still trying to figure out what this weird pull was.

“No one in your family has experienced anything like this before? Hmph. It seems to have skipped multiple generations then.” he was asking about your great grandmother and all the others that came before you. It could have occurred to them but you would have never known. “My family did come from England, though. My great-great grandmother fled in a hurry. We don’t really know why, Windknight’s Lot seems like an unusual place to frantically run from.” As soon as the small town’s name left your lips everything fell into place for Dio. His grin grew again, satisfied to finally know your connection to him.

Family.

One he made for himself, by accident, by a relation created on his own devious whim. Not that horrible Joestar bunch that kept ruining his fun or his horrible father that was but a faint minuscule memory. Something he did. It brought him even more satisfaction to know how perfectly in place it felt for you to be the one to develop these powers at the perfect time. His mind could have exploded with possibilities; a thousand ways to make you join his side. But it didn’t, he wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted yet. And he surely wasn’t going to tell you of your bond either, lest you get attached too quickly.

As you finished up and the early signs of a rising sun were starting to make itself known on the horizon, you were saying your goodbye’s. “Thank you for helping me. Truly, I- I don’t know how I-” you weren’t allowed to finish your earnest thanks. Dio knew you meant it, one of the only few truly grateful acknowledgements he’s ever received. “I’ll be taking over the world in a few months. If you feel so inclined to join, you know where to find me.” His lips curled into a smirk and he was making his move to leave you behind, alone on the bench again. Left to scramble for your stuff to try and stop him but he was already out of sight. “WAIT! I don’t know where to find you! You never told me!” you yelled into the empty streets, heart thumping out of your chest, hoping this wasn’t just a very elaborate dream you were caught in.

“Trust your instincts.” The voice felt incredibly close but so far away, like catching a falling snowflake; as soon as you grasped it, it just melted away.

[theladyfae]

Adrienette, person A preoccupied with something while sitting next to person B but still makes sure to hold person B’s hand/play with their hair/put a hand on their leg etc.

thanks for the ask, alex!! I'm aware this one took. a while to get to. but it's been one of my favourite pieces to write.

#2: person a preoccupied with something while sitting next to person b but still makes sure to hold person b's hand/play with their hair/put a hand on their leg etc. adrienette.

(casual affection?? beats everything. I hope you like it!! <3)

Adrien winces as the sunlight falls over his maths worksheet in just the wrong way, making the white of the page stand out too much along with the colour of his desk. He stretches a little in his desk chair and stares at it, blinks a few times until he's used to the contrast, and then moves to bring the piece of paper closer to him once again. 

The low muttering that starts up behind him as a pair of shoes squeak across his floor reminds him that he is not alone, and he turns to watch out of the corner of his eye as Marinette paces about his room, humming nonchalantly to herself. He shakes his head a little before turning back to the question he's stuck on, scribbling out the method he'd tried earlier and starting with a different one. 

It's as if Marinette senses his frustration, because she abruptly stops pacing about his room in favour of flopping dramatically onto his bed to stare directly at him. Barely a minute passes before she's rising again, moving towards his chair to loosely drape her arms around his shoulders from behind.

She rests her chin on his shoulder and starts humming again, swaying a little with the rhythm. He smiles slightly at the contact, eyes still tracing the complicated question on the maths worksheet in front of him, trying to walk through his next steps in his head.

"Adrien?" 

Even though she’s speaking directly in his ear, her voice is quiet. When he turns his head minutely to look at her, she gives him the softest, most considering look he's ever seen.

"Yes, my love?" He smiles at her, abandoning his pencil to take one of her hands in his, clasping both over his chest.

She idly rubs his hand with her thumb, and continues swaying.

"Why do you hate me?"

Adrien lets out a short, shocked laugh as he leans into her touch once more, before turning back to his worksheet.

"I don't, and you very well know that, love. All I said was I'd have to start on our maths homework before I could relax with you, and in case you forgot, you're the one who told me it was alright. You said you could wait."

There's a pause as Marinette thoughtfully chews on her lip, and he takes the opportunity to remove her arm from his chest, threading their fingers together as he brings her hand to his lips before dropping it. 

It startles her just enough that she almost falls into him, which briefly jolts his writing hand. He bites his lip to stifle his own laughter as she stammers out her reply.

"Well… I mean yes, I did, I did say that, but… I didn't know waiting would be so hard!! And besides, you're a cat, so I find it incredibly rude that you aren't tripping over yourself at the idea of having a cuddle nap with me now."

"I'm as much a cat as you are a ladybug," He reminds her with an unapologetic grin. "And it's fun to watch you pace, somehow you're more incapable of sitting still than I am."

A beat. He can sense her indignant pout forming before he even looks at her again.

"I am not, don't be mean. Anyways, you're getting bored, I can tell. You're not even putting enough pressure on that pencil for your notes to be legible."

Adrien looks at the worksheet as a whole once again. She's right, of course. His wrist has been getting tired, and what was previously neat handwriting has now become little more than scribbled numbers, notes he probably won't be able to decipher in a couple hours time.

He sighs, and pokes her arm. 

"It's because you're distracting me. How you expect me to get anything done with you lying all over me is beyond me. Now shoo, leave me be."

To his surprise, Marinette's hands actually leave his side, but it only takes a couple seconds before he finds them looped around his neck again, this time from the front as she drops herself sideways onto his lap.

Adrien rolls his eyes even as an affectionate smile lifts the corners of his mouth, pulling her body closer against him and casually picking up the sheet again, staring at it as he contemplates his next steps.

Two whole minutes pass before Marinette speaks up again.

"You know, this is sort of uncomfortable."

He doesn't reply, just leans forward to start writing as he tries not to melt at the proximity of her face to his.

"Adrien?"

She pokes his shoulder to get his attention. He tries his best not to acknowledge it. 

"Adrien." 

She pokes him again, harder, this time. 

"Adrien."

Another poke. He mustn't laugh, he knows, or she'll take advantage immediately.

"Adrien, I'm literally dying over here. Never have I felt so unloved."

This time she lets her face fall into his shoulder with a fake huff, and that causes him to break character.

He can feel her grin into his tee as he laughs, surprised, and completely gives up on trying to ignore her.

"Alright," he places his pencil down again and stretches. "Guess we can't have that."

She smiles beautifully as he kisses her forehead and wraps his arms around her, shifting a little before she unexpectedly lets out a huge yawn.

She blinks, startled at herself for a moment, before sleepily burrowing into him.

"Actually–" Her sentence is broken by another yawn. "–I think I'm comfortable enough here after all. You can… look at the required learning for Bustier's or something. Give me the answers later, too. Just don't do any exaggerated movements. I'll be taking my cuddle nap now, thanks."

He chuckles slightly and relaxes back in the chair, one of his hands moving to softly card through her hair as he searches for his school tablet with the other, pulling up the research task.

She snuggles further into the crook of his neck, and yawns again.

 "Oh… keep doing that with my hair, by the way. It's nice. Soothing."

He glances fondly down at her and indulges her request. She's more than half asleep already, and she looks so utterly adorable that he can't resist giving her cheek a light kiss.

He moves his attention back to the tablet, sighing internally at the thought of having to use it one handed, and faux frowns at her resting form, shaking his head.

"The things I do to keep you around, Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

He feels her shake trying to suppress her giggle at that, (so, not as asleep as he'd thought, apparently), as she moves up to press a soft kiss to his neck.

"You love me, don't lie."

"I can't say I don't, my love." He says, resting his cheek on her head while scrolling through the required reading. "I can't say I don't." 

"Mhm. Now let me sleep, I beg."

"Of course." He placates as he begins to rock them both back and forth. "Rest well, sweetheart."

And with another smile followed by a sleepily murmured I love you, she does just that.

send me a number and a miraculous/jatp pairing

[hornsandthings]

come as you are

pairing: azriel (ACoTaR) x reader

summary: in the evening before a high-profile banquet, reader feels a little out of place. azriel reassures her that he fell in love with them just as they are.

notes: oof bad summary, but this is fluffy and azriel is real romantic in this one <3 eg. the line “i have not once wished you to be any different than you are.” 

+++

you shuffled your feet as you made your way to the living room, having heard azriel arrive home a few minutes ago. your gown clung to you, making you uncomfortable in all kinds of ways. it was disappointing, frankly - weeks of preparation, of confidence, and now you felt embarrassed, wearing what you were. it felt like a costume. it was silly - you had meticulously observed the court’s fashion trends, taken cue from azriel’s friends - you knew the dress was appropriate. but for some reason, you felt like an impostor in it.

there azriel was, sitting on the couch. his wings curved along the back, sharp talons gleaming. you sidled up behind him, curling an arm over his chest as you rested your chin on his head.

“my love,” he greeted, warmth in his voice as he entwined his fingers with yours. you sighed as you shifted, nudging your head against his. he looked up at you, his shadows faintly curling over his ears. perhaps your expression was particularly morose, because he squeezed your hand just a little tighter. “long day?”

“just another day,” you mumbled, shrugging. azriel’s brows rose when you rounded the couch, finally allowing him to see the gown. it was no surprise to him - he had been so patient with your fussing, asking for his input on what colours would compliment your skin and hair and eyes the best. at first he had been vague, telling you things like you’d look beautiful in anything and just wear what you like, but once he realised the whole thing actually really distressed you, azriel tried his best to be more specific, despite meaning what he’d initially said. your preoccupation had concerned him, but he dismissed it as excitement. but now, the way you behaved - sheepish, uneasy, reluctant - made him really worry.

“you’re as beautiful as ever,” he said, taking your hand and guiding you closer. resting his hands on your hips, he didn’t miss your tight smile at his words. “are you ready for tonight?”

you weren’t. not for the first time, you couldn’t help but think of how different you were to his friends in the inner circle. even the company they kept - other courts’ princes, captains of the guard… influential people. you were nowhere near as affluent or powerful. compared to them, you were so average, just another citizen in velaris. frankly, you found it ridiculous to believe that azriel had ever deigned to take interest in you in the first place. all this insecurity had been funneled into your obsessive preparation for tonight’s banquet, where you’d be in such esteemed company. you were scared that if you made a misstep, you’d embarrass not only yourself, but azriel too.

unable to meet his eyes, you said, “just my hair.”

he frowned at that, but didn’t press. “let me,” he said, taking your hand again as he led you to the bedroom. there was a long, full-length mirror there, reflecting azriel’s actions as he sat on the bed after finding your brush. he was still in his leathers, yet to change into his set of black finery.

you were taken aback that azriel had taken the duty upon himself, but didn’t comment. what you didn’t know - but what shouldn’t have been such a big surprise - was that azriel had paid attention to the styles which had caught your eye in the past. in informal gatherings with the inner circle, he’d seen the way you had looked at feyre’s intricate braids - with longing, and sometimes even with envy.

as you made to sit, azriel grabbed your elbow. “not on the floor.” you stifled a chuckle - it was rather his aversion to grime and impropriety that made him say it instead of concern for your dress.

“i’m fine here,” you insisted, smile pulling at your mouth. the gown pooled around you as you sat at his feet, facing your reflection. curling your arms around his shins, you pressed a quick kiss to his knee. he caressed your bare skin from shoulder up to neck, his scars rough but familiar. as azriel ran his hands through your hair for a few moments, some tension left your jaw - you hadn’t even realised the thought of the banquet had you gritting your teeth the whole time.

you watched him through the mirror as he started to brush your hair, wondering how he felt about tonight. he wasn’t really one for social events, but he was one to indulge those he loved. it should’ve made your heart warm, but instead you felt that tell-tale stinging of the nose and blinked back tears.

it had been an adjustment to accept - if you ever truly had accepted - the juxtaposition of your and azriel’s worlds. coming to know the affluence of the inner circle and azriel’s wealth… it had posed some challenges you two had to overcome. he didn’t boast his wealth - lived rather modestly, in fact - but the fact that money was rarely an object for any of the inner circle grated at you. every time you saw them, they seemed untouchable - the most beautiful gowns, priceless jewelry, big houses, such luxury up at the house of wind. their sheer intelligence, the level of their wit - you sometimes felt like you couldn’t keep up. it was easy to be envious, and indeed sometimes you wished you were a person of importance to the court, if only to feel more worthy of azriel.

“what’s on your mind?” he asked gently, fingers starting to work your hair into braids in a loving, lingering manner. it felt so comforting, it felt so safe.

“am i doing this right?” you blurted, and his movements stilled, but only for a moment. “we’re from such different worlds, azriel. do you ever wish i had been someone better?”

“better?” he scoffed, such an overt gesture for the usually stoic man. “i have not once wished you to be any different than you are.”

you sighed, voice tight and heavy with emotion when you spoke again. “i can’t compare to the inner circle. ever. i’m nobody, azriel. i’m not anyone of consequence. i’m not even attractive enough to just be a trophy mate. i can’t understand why you ever--”

“stop.” it was quiet, firm, solemn. you tried to place his expression, but this time you really couldn’t read him. “why do you say such things?” you ignored the hypocrisy - azriel was certainly no stranger to self depreciation. “would you really give up your current life for these things? do i not… do i not make you happy? do you want more?”

azriel rarely stumbled over his words, and the hesitancy immediately clutched at your heart. you shook your head, a harsh jerk, but azriel’s voice was stern. “keep still.”

“it’s not you!” you growled, gripping his legs tighter as you tried to avoid your reflection. heat flushed your cheeks and chest, anger and frustration colouring your skin. “i’m not—i’m not made of the same stuff as you, azriel. don’t i bore you?”

heart racing, palms sweating. the ensuing silence rang loud. you risked a glance at the mirror, but azriel was merely letting the hairstyle take shape. his non-answer was making your outburst feel childish, but then he gently nudged your chin.

the mirror reflected back exactly what you’d envisioned for yourself, and yet, you were too drained to be happy about it. “looks lovely, azriel. thank you.”

he touched your shoulder; a request. rising to straddle his lap, you swallowed hard as he gently held your face in his hands. if he were someone else, the intensity of his gaze might have been intimidating, but you knew he was merely gathering his thoughts. “you’re you, and that’s very important. i fell in love with you. fate has decided my other half is you, just as you are. peace with you is not boring, my love,” he said, a strange half-chuckle escaping him. “and comparison won’t do; it is for people like you who we work to protect. your role in velaris isn’t without impact - you’ve touched many lives, whether they were kin or not. your effect cannot be erased. it certainly cannot be undone on me.”

“azriel,” you whispered, unsure of what else to say. his shadows had started to snake around you, intangible things trying their best to give comfort.

“is this why you’re anxious about tonight? because you feel the need to prove yourself?” you looked away, and while his thumb caressed your cheek, he didn’t try to force your gaze. “sweetheart,” he sighed, “my love for you is unconditional.”

and finally the tears rolled. you whimpered as you clutched at his back, pressing close to hide your face against his neck. azriel rarely spoke so much - it was usually nonverbal with him. to hear these things uttered so genuinely, so adoringly - it overwhelmed your heart.

“i love you so much, azriel. so very much.”

he held you tight, pressing a kiss to your temple. “don’t undo all my hard work, mind you,” he murmured wryly, making you laugh as you reflexively touched a braid. “stop it,” he insisted, nose rubbing against yours as he grabbed your careless hand, and then you were really laughing, because now azriel was grinning too and his fingers were entwining with yours and you were almost feeling like yourself again. he pulled back, so very beautiful with that rare full smile. it slowly faded, however, but the mirth in his face remained. “my lovely mate,” he mused, so low that it was more akin to an uttered thought rather than spoken with intent.

when the time came, you enjoyed the banquet: compliments and catch-ups and champagne, politics and wit and inter-court visitors. later that night - or early the next morning - when it was just you and azriel again, laying in bed in the darkness, he admitted that the glamour of the inner circle even got to him at times. it was no surprise, considering how formal azriel was. yes, there was hierarchy; yes, there were power imbalances, but what really bound them together was love, not status. he had arm and wing thrown over you, lulling you to sleep with affirmations and reassurances, telling you just once more how important, how worthy, how extraordinary you and your so-called mundane life were, and to never let anyone tell you otherwise.

[jamespotterthefirst]

Hit the Town (Ethan x f!MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1.5K Warning: N/A Premise: After enjoying drinks with their friends, they escape to a quick dinner date. 

A/N: Just self indulgent crack, don’t mind me. 

They stood in comfortable silence as the elevator ascended to their destination, the scent of her perfume embracing his every sense in the confined space. Not surprisingly, Ethan had found himself easily persuaded to abandon the tower of paperwork that awaited him in favor of spending the rest of the evening with her. 

As the elevator announced the 20th floor, she moved closer to him, her body fitting so perfectly to his side. “Are you still thinking about work?” she correctly guessed. 

Ethan’s arm automatically draped over her shoulders, as though it was second nature. 

“I’ve been thinking of nothing but work these past few months,” he confessed in the silence.

Lilac simply nodded. The same could be said for her-- for everyone at Edenbrook-- as the date of its final day loomed closer. That thought alone was enough to send his mind spiraling into a cesspool of melancholy. He forcefully pushed them away, deciding to focus instead on the rather pretty smile she gifted him. 

“Let’s not think about work tonight,” she proposed, straightening her posture with a new sense of purpose. Her fingers toyed with the gold pocket square that matched her dress perfectly.  “Tonight is about you, me, and how good we look for this date.”

The latter point of her argument was undeniable, at least when concerning Lilac. His girlfriend in the gold dress that clung to her like a second skin had to be the most alluring sight he had ever seen. His eyes traveled down the plunging neckline, tracing the sparkling band of her necklace. 

Lilac caught him staring, her smile turning devilish as she pressed herself closer to him. 

“Besides, there's so much more you could be doing with your time than paperwork,” she argued in a low whisper, lips pressed against the column of his throat. 

Ethan wholeheartedly agreed with that compelling argument, particularly with the one her delicate hands made at the buttons of his shirt. A chill traveled down the length of his body, not from the air conditioner of the elevator but from the captivating, expectant way her green eyes studied him when she pulled back. 

“Like what?” he asked anyway. 

“Like me,” she returned without a beat in the sexiest murmur he had ever heard. 

Ethan grinned down at her, surprised he had enough self control to do even that. “That was terrible, Allende.”

Yet it worked, his body thrummed with an overpowering need to push her against the elevator railing, the unbridled longing buzzing wildly through his veins like an exposed wire. The loud ding of the elevator announcing their arrival, however, interrupted what promised to be a charged and heady kiss. 

Lilac took in the lavish décor of the restaurant, rendered even more intimate by the twinkling lights of the city sparkling through the floor to ceiling windows. As the maître d' approached, she hurriedly leaned up to whisper in his ear. 

“Ethan, this looks like the kind of place that needs a reservation.” 

Her eyes fell on the crystal chandelier adorning the high ceiling and added, “A reservation months in advance.”

Ethan only grinned crookedly at her. 

“And given that I just seduced you into this date one hour ago, I really doubt we have one.”

“Seduced me? Is that how you'll get me to do your bidding from now on?” 

He would welcome that new development. To his slight disappointment, however, she ignored this question, wide eyes fixed on the maître d' before them. 

“Good evening. What is the name for the reservation?” 

“Ethan Ramsey.”

The man nodded once. “Of course. Welcome, Dr. Ramsey. If you follow me.” 

He turned to lead them into the luxurious dining room. By the time they sat at their private table with an unobstructed view of the bay, Lilac blinked out of her surprise.

 “How did you—?” 

“I'm friends with the head chef.”

“Of course you are.”

Ethan flashed her another crooked smile, this one taking effect immediately in the adorable blush of her cheeks. His own stomach swooped in response, part of him incredulous that he was really there, on a date with the woman of his dreams. 

The waiter arrived and Ethan wasted no time in ordering an expensive bottle of champagne, earning him a curious glance from Lilac. 

“What are we celebrating?” 

The bravado seemed to fizzle out and Ethan, suddenly self conscious, shrugged. “The fact that we can finally do this openly, without having to hide.”

Her eyes met his, the rosy patches on her cheeks burning brighter. Looking positively touched, she gave him a fond smile. 

Lilac did not have an opportunity to say anything else because their champagne arrived, along with a beautiful display of appetizers. At the sight of food, her expression brightened, eliciting a laugh from Ethan. 

“I hate seafood but I'm going to try the Ahi Tuna Poke,” she informed him confidently. 

Ethan raised his brows. “Why? You know you'll hate it.”

“I want to see if I'll like it now that I'm older and more mature.”

“Mature?” he asked with faux sarcasm. 

Lilac stuck out her tongue at him. “You know what I mean. You start enjoying things you once hated as you grow older.”

Ethan considered this in the quiet ambiance of the restaurant. Finally, he nodded his agreement. “I definitely know what you mean. When I was younger, I hated pistachio ice cream. My dad always insisted on buying it and just the sight of it made me gag.”

It was Lilac's turn to laugh, endeared by the story. “Poor little Ethan,” she commented, leaning in to bop his nose with her finger. He would never admit it out loud but it made his chest swell pleasantly. “I always wondered what you were like when you were younger.”

“I was a devil. Remember that story about me blowing up my neighbor's shed?” 

She laughed again but shook her head. “No, I mean I've never seen any pictures of young Ethan Ramsey.”

“That's been on purpose, Rookie. They're locked away in Providence, safe from prying eyes.”

Her shoulders deflated at that, the light of the chandelier catching the sequin of her dress. The crestfallen expression, however, did not last long.  

“And how do I get access to these adorable pictures?” 

“When I die.”

“Or,” she added without missing a beat, her expression brightening in a way Ethan didn't exactly appreciate. “I could just text Alan right now. I bet he'll send them if I asked.”

Ethan glared at her, finding it difficult to remain unsmiling when her playful grin lit up the entire room. 

They stared each other down for a long minute before they both sprang into action at the same time, each reaching for their phone. 

“Too late,” she proclaimed, her voice giddy. It attracted the attention of a nearby couple but she didn't seem to care. “I'm texting him now and—Oh my God, he's replying.”

Ethan wasn't even sure what he meant to do with his own phone. There was no chance he could ever compete with Lilac's lightning-speed texting.

Finally, a message came in on her phone and Lilac clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God,” she squealed, the sound muffled. “Ethan!” 

He knew his father had sent her the pictures he requested because her eyes darted from her screen to Ethan and then back again. 

“You were so—” 

“Don't say—” 

“Adorable!” 

Lilac showed him her screen and he groaned.

As she dissolved into giggles, Ethan brandished his own phone at her. “You'll pay for that, Allende.”

“Go ahead,” she challenged. “Nothing you do is going to top—” 

“I'm texting your sister,” he interrupted calmly. “For pictures of young you.”

Her laughter halted completely, all traces of humor vanishing entirely. With as much dignity as possible, she shrugged, though the intended effect was ruined by the way she had almost leapt across the table with every intention of snatching his phone away. 

Before she could do just that, Ethan began to text.

“I'm going to murder her,” Lilac said passionately just as the server stopped at their table to refill their glasses. He didn't even bat an eye at Lilac's declaration. 

“No need,” Ethan said with a chuckle, glancing at the pictures once more. “My plan of embarrassing you backfired since there's not a single bad picture of you in here.”

She rolled her eyes but he could tell she was fighting back a smile. Unable to resist, he gently took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. The private moment between them lingered, their eyes locked on each other’s as though magnetized. 

“Thank you,” he murmured. 

Her lips were parted, her voice slightly breathless. “For what?” 

“For making this night infinitely better.”

Her responding smile was brighter and far more breathtaking than the view of the city behind her. 

“It's only just starting.”

_________________

A/N: Told you that was crazy and pointless. I really wanted them to go out somewhere, anywhere in those hot outfits. Thank you if you made it this far!

Dedicated to @takeharryandgo​ who said “Ethan is the town and MC is going to hit it” in regards to the dress being changed from “Date Night” to “Hit the Town” 

thank you @aestheticartsx​ for pre-reading!

Love you all,

Bree

Also, the Pictagram series: Chapter 10 is taking longer because work is crazy for me atm. I also want to make sure this particular chapter is the best it can possibly be! 

_____________________

(Sorry if I forgot anyone) 

tags: @openheart12​ , @takeharryandgo​ , @trappedinfanfiction​, @aestheticartsx​, @aworldoffandoms​, @paulfwesley​, @myusualnerdyself​,  @rookie-ramsey​, @ohchoices​, @colossalpainintheass​, @enmchoices​, @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​, @choicesfanaf​, @openheartthot​, @octobereighth​, @nazarihoe​, @utterlyinevitable​, @kites-in-our-skies​, @maurine07​, @schnitzelbutterfingers​, @doilooklikeiknow​, @snesdudes​, @kingliam2019​, @perriewinklenerdie​, @cinnamonspongecake​, @choicesstan1​, @queencarb​, @ethxnrxmsey​, @missmiimiie​, @jens-diamondchoices​, @adamsdumortain​, @mrsramseyy, @apphia12​, @kalogh​, @lucy-268​, @binny1985​, @queenbirbs​, @honeyandsunfl0wers​, @newcolonies​, @lilyvalentine​, @rigatonireid​, @interobanginyourmom​, @parkerattano​, @custaroonie​​, @nikki-2406​​, @lilypills​​, @chasingrobbie​​, @nooruleman​​, @angela8756​, @lonely-mxxnlight​​, @ruinedbypixels​​, @shadynaturehilariouscookie​​, @tsrookie​​, @mvalentine​​, @professorkingslay​​, @drakewalkerfantasy​​, @casey-v​​, @helloblueeyedcat​​, @mysticaurathings​​, @blossomanarchy​​, @thegreentwin​​, @togetherwearerapture​​, @rookieoh​​, @ramseysno1rookie​​, @rookiemarsswiftie​​, @natashajaniphil​​, @mysticalgalaxysstuff​​, @hatescapsicum​​, @choices-lurker​​, @kiara-36​​, @junehiratas​​, @danijimenezv​​, @macy-ray85​​, @adrex04​​, @canigetanawwjunk​​, @sanchita012​​, @overwhelminglyaquarius​​ , @scorpiochick8​​, @skylarklyon​​, @starrystarrytrouble​​, @mercury84choices​​, @drariellevalentine​​, @ethanrcmsey​​, @lion-ess24, @aarisa-frost​​, @kaavyaethanramsey​​ , @udishaman​��

[claudiarya]

Hello I’ve written this short fic. based on the clip we’ve got from Shadow and Bone of Jesper and Inej performing, but with a twist!

You can read it on Ao3 as well

Silks, Guns and All the Things Fun (Not) 

Words count: 2898 

The chattering at the Crow Club was thicker than usual and it ricocheted around the lower floor of the building, bouncing off the draped walls. Kaz Brekker made his way there from where he had been dealing cards on the upper part of the club. It had been quite a profitable night, with many pigeons all too eager to let the rush of the gambling go to their head and lose everything. His cane tapped on the stairs as he descended them, an ominous and irregular melody announcing who was coming down those steps. He stopped just before the las two and scanned the room, his shark eyes checking if everything was in order. Kaz saw at least a couple of people flinching when his eyes had met theirs. Good. It seemed that his infamy was the same unblemished, or rather very blemished, story of terror as ever. He had worked all of his angles to make it that way, and he had every intention to keep it up as long as he lived, his thirst for personal revenge too strong to be sated in any other way.

Kaz threw another glance around the room until he found who he was looking for. He approached her, men and women making themselves scarce as he passed them. Inej was in the corner, intent on untangling something thick, the crimson fabric like a river of blood in her hands. Her long hair was tied up in a coil at the nape of her neck as she usually wore it, a light vest covering her shoulders and arms, and peeking from a sleeve he saw something wrapped around her forearm. She had covered her feather tattoo since she was going to remove the vest and perform in bare arms, something that had stirred not little emotions inside the hollow of his armor.  

“I trust that everything is ready,” Kaz rasped, looking down at her from where he was standing. Not surprised in the slightest, as if she had known all along who was about to speak to her, Inej kept her eyes on her task. “Good evening to you, too Kaz. How are you?” Her tone unbothered if a little bit sarcastic…

This girl. If it had been any other person speaking to him like that, they would have run away with a few broken limbs or without teeth. Or perhaps both. Kaz couldn’t understand why, but his relationship, if that could be called, with her had always felt different. Nobody treated him the way she did, he didn’t allow it, but whatever it was that propelled him to always find excuses to talk to her, be near to her when he could, he didn’t like it.

Liar. A voice in his head reprimanded him. him. You keep lying to yourself, Brekker. He blinked. Usually he would have ignored her, but that night he didn’t know what forced possessed him and he decided to indulge her.

“Yes, hello Inej darling. I’ll be better when all of this is over, and we’ve made our profit.”

When the term of endearment had left his lips, she had looked at him with a sonorous sigh. Inej raised to her feet, not really making a difference since she was so small, the red silks now draped on one shoulder, and her eyes peered straight into his. The amber, low lights of this particular floor of the club reflected into her irises, making it look like she had flames burning behind them.

Kaz thought again to himself that she had never looked more like a painted icon of those Saints she so much adored than in that moment and gripped his cane tighter to try and snap out of his reveries, to try and quiet the raging emotions inside. The ridges of the crow’s head unmistakable even under his gloved hands.

“Everything will go as planned: we’ll perform, and we’ll make sure all of these pigeons are probably plucked. Don’t worry.” She passed him, careful to avoid touching him and went to hang the silks she had been preparing.

Kaz promised not to let his gaze follow her but failed. He saw how with a graceful movement she looped one end of the prop into the hook on the wall. Once again, he forced himself not to let his thoughts wander too much and with a slightly louder voice called after her.

“If you’re so ready, where in Ghezen’s name, is Jesper?”

“He’ll be here,” she shrugged not preoccupied at all.

“He’d better be.” He checked his time piece and looking once again at her he said: “We start in five minutes. Go get yourself prepared.”

He heard Inej exhaling loudly. Again. A habit, he realized, she had acquired in these last months. Was it perhaps because she was starting to feel a little more comfortable with this life he had given her, with his gang… with him?

Inej got closer to him, not intimidated at all to look at him straight in the eye.

“I know what I’m doing, but if I’ll be ever looking for a coach, I’ll know who to turn to. Now, excuse me.”

She brushed past him, one instant she was there and then next gone.

***

Fitting how Kaz had found the darkest part of the room to stand in during Jesper’s and Inej’s little show. The sharpshooter had turned up at the last minute, literally the last, when the audience had already gathered around the little space they had arranged specifically for the two of them, and Kaz had already excogitated a hundred different way to kill him. He had of course given a piece of his mind, seething to the gangly boy, who in returned had just shrugged, winked at him and told him that “People love big entrances, I’m making us a favor,” before scurrying to his designated seat at the center of the makeshift stage.

Kaz had come up with this idea months prior, but Inej and Jesper had actually started performing only a couple of weeks ago. He had had to use all of his most convincing arguments to let Per Haskell see how incredibly fruitful this would all be. That old man and his drunken ass…

After many requests from his lieutenant part he had conceded, and Kaz had made it look so as if the leader of the Dregs had had this brilliant idea himself, a thing that had worked out for the best since he had gone strolling around the Barrel boasting how his club was offering entertainments that no other could. A good publicity indeed, and Dirtyhands had smirked pleased with himself, his plan had worked. As always.

His breath caught in his throat when he saw Inej climbing the silks, her fluid movements made it look so easy, as if she was taking a stroll instead of keeping herself up with only her body strength.

“Ladies ang gentlemen, thugs and thieves,” started Jesper walking the perimeter of the free space and catching the attention of the people there. “Tonight you’ll see something that only few would be brave to attempt. My lovely assistant will perform one of her tricks with a card stuck between her lips,” at that the girl in question removed from thin air a card and showed it to the audience, only one part of her body now supporting her, the silks wrapped around it, as the other half hanged from them. “While I will attempt to shoot at it.”

Many gasps could be heard around the room as well as excited whispers.

“Let’s begin!” Jesper said, now with a much more serious tone.

Kaz had to admit it, even if at times Jesper was a total buffoon he knew how to mesmerize an audience, and he had them in the palm of his hands.

The sharpshooter took his position, and removed from the ground a little polished, silver tray. Kaz had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes as Jesper looked at his reflection winked at himself and then kissed his beloved revolver, while exhaling with (fake) preoccupation. Could this boy be more theatrical than that? The Bastard of the Barrel sighed, convinced that there was no end to his second in command’s love for the dramatics. Inej wrapped her limbs expertly in the silks and then with a fearless dive, she let herself fall so that her body was hanging upside-down.

The split second before Jesper could shoot, Kaz’s and Inej’s eye met, and the world seemed to stop for a bit.

He knew damn well that the Zemeni boy was the best shot around, he had never seen him miss. Never. On top of that, he suspected that the little secret he was keeping from everyone, but that Kaz had of course found out about, somehow helped him with his formidable aim. Yet… why in the name of his beloved kruge did he feel nervous for her?

You need to get it together and stop thinking this sentimental stuff. He scolded himself, not for the first time that night.

After a second or perhaps an eternity he moved his gaze away from hers.

Jesper shot and… the bullet struck the card exactly in the middle. The raucous cheering of the audience was what ground him completely again. Inevitably, as if a magnet drawn to the pole, he saw Inej finish her performance with a couple of flips, before landing as effortlessly and elegantly as ever, a big grin on her face. Kaz himself couldn’t help the light movement upward of the corner of his mouth, that died immediately when he noticed how the sharpshooter, now standing, turned around to return the smile, and finally joined her, taking her hand to bow.

That nagging feeling inside him was as demanding as ever. He hated it. He wanted it to stop.

The applause of the people surrounding him turned into a distant sound, as a clear thought struck him then and there. He was never going to have that easy demeanor Jesper had with her, he was never going to be able to take her hand without drowning, he could never tell her that despite all his effort he couldn’t resist the constant pull he felt whenever she was close and that made everything even worse.

Inej’s eyes managed to find his again in his dark corner, the smile she still had lightened her features, but it dropped as soon as she saw what was a very grim expression marking his face.

He wanted to yell. Tell her to keep on smiling, because he felt very much alive whenever she did, like none other things could, but instead he just gripped his cane tighter, and forced himself to look around the room.

When Jesper and Inej approached him after the audience had dispersed a bit, he was still waging his inner war.

“Wasn’t our Wraith amazing?” Jesper asked excitedly, an arm slung around the shorter girl’s shoulders, before adding “Wasn’t I amazing?”

“You just did what you had to. No more no less. And besides, many of these people had already seen this particular performance, so I wouldn’t let all those adoring people get to your head.” He rasped before leaving them standing.

As he made his way to return to the upper level of the Club, he heard the sharpshooter sighing loudly. “You can never win with him, can you?”

“No one can,” was Inej’s curt answer.

He knew her eyes were following him; he could feel it and he never detested more the vindictive and cold creature he had become than now.

***

The Crow Club at that hour of the night, or rather early morning, was deserted. Kaz had ordered the others to go back to the Slat as he stayed behind to make sure everything was in order before close-up. He once again descended the stairs that would bring him to the lower floor, the silks and the other props gone and already been stashed away. As he scanned the room though, he noticed something on the ground, near where the silks were usually hanged. In the dim light he could see it was a piece of dark cloth, and as he got closer, he noticed that it wasn’t just any piece of cloth, but the one Inej had wrapped around her forearm to cover her tattoo. He crouched down, with no little protest from his bad leg, and took it in one gloved hand, the gesture almost reverent.

If someone were to enter the room now, they would have found Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel, Dirtyhands himself, on his knees cradling a strip of cloth in his hands. He shook his head in disbelief and made to stand up, when CRASH!

Something had fallen and in his fear of having been discovered, Kaz quickly tucked the wrap in his suit pocket as he made leverage on his cane to stand. He saw that what had startled him had been a stool, now on the ground. He passed a hand through his hair in exasperation. He really needed to get a grip.

In the days following Kaz didn’t realize that out of nowhere he would put his hand in his pocket and rub the little piece of fabric between his fingers, a thing that oddly enough always managed to calm him. He didn’t realize it, until he did. It had been a late night in which he had been working for the Dregs and his pathetic excuse of a leader, now scheming, now scribbling and adding numbers. The little thing had been placed on his shambled desk, a trusted companion of his. He had meant to return it, if not to Inej directly, to at least casually leave it where he had found it, but in the end he hadn’t. That night he had sent his Wraith out to gather information regarding a certain mercher’s rich art collection, and he hadn’t almost heard her, almost, entering his attic room from the window. Kaz hadn’t known how he had been able to stash her piece of fabric away before she could see him gently passing it between his fingers.

He only imagined the conversation they would have had if he had taken a second too long to hide it.

You know Inej, I casually found it on the ground but instead of leaving it there I’m keeping your arm wrapping as a stress-relieving token. But it’s not like it may look. I’m not obsessed with you or anything.

Could he be more pathetic than that? Since when had he gone this soft? Oh yes, he knew, ever since he had paid her indenture and she had joined the Dregs, that was when. To make things worse that night had ended with Inej casually sitting on his window seat: her head resting on the wall, her eyes closed. Indefinite and unnamed emotions had stirred once again inside of him, as a very precise, but not really polite word echoed in his head… he was so screwed.

From that moment on he had debated whether to just give it to her and telling her that he had found it but that it had just slipped his mind until then, or continuing keeping the damn thing. A constant battle in his mind that complemented the one inside his heart.

He kept it.

If Kaz was never going to have Inej, as he wished he could, he at least could have a part, no matter how small and insignificant, of her.

That day, his feet carried him on their own accord outside her door, a floor exactly below his room. They had encountered some troubles with some too cocky members of the Black Tips and the whole ordeal had left them all pretty shaken – except Kaz of course – and with two dead members of his crew. Kaz didn’t know why he was standing here, on the other side of her closed door. She might not even be here, he had thought trying to find excuses to turn back from where he had come.

But he knew. He somehow sensed that she was inside her little room.

What exactly was he thinking, what was he doing here as a gaping fish out her door? Did he want to make sure she was okay? See if she needed anything?

Oh yes, because you’ve been nothing but an example of emotional support, Brekker.

When he was about to turn and go back to the attic, cursing himself for his stupidity, the door in front of him opened. Inej stood there, and for once her hair was not tied back but loose on her shoulders, cascading in delicate waves around her frames, the result of having kept it tight in a braid.

“Is anything wrong, Kaz? Why are you standing outside my door as if you’d seen a Saint?” she had asked.

I think I wanted to see you, I’m not sure why and I’m going insane. He thought, but of course didn’t say, too cowardly and bitter to do so. Instead, Kaz quickly put his hand in his pocket, and found what he knew would be there. Gripping her piece of fabric, he managed to answer with his usual lack of emotions.

“Go find Jesper. I found us a job. What would you say to one million kruge?”

[pressedinthepages]

Beneath Each Other's Bones

My fic entry for @eskelbigbang <3

Please also check out @drachedraws two amazing pieces of art that they made for this fic!

Relationship Tags: Eskel/Geralt

Character Tags: Eskel, Geralt, Lambert, Vesemir, Lil' Bleater

Other Tags: smut, established relationship, oral and anal intercourse (m/m), some very soft smut. what can i say.

Summary: Winter at Kaer Morhen can be brutal. But Eskel and Geralt find warmth in each other in an effort to stave off the cold.

The stones of Kaer Morhen sighed as the sun rose over the winter-frosted valley. The birds and harpies had long since traveled south for the cooler months, and the draconids had nestled themselves in the depths of the mountains around the aging keep. The castle itself was full of its Witchers, who were patiently waiting for the first snowfall to blanket their surroundings in layers of quiet white . With the last witcher having finally arrived a few evenings prior, the pack were all finally able to rest peacefully with the knowledge that all were safe.

The first thing that Geralt felt was cold. His nose, the tips of his ears. The rest of him was encompassed in warmth, but the chill rudely nipped him awake, undaunted by his furry woollen fortress. He squinted one eye open with a grimace, finding his bedroom washed in the cool sunlight that streamed in from the window. It was still early. The morning sun had barely breached the horizon. Lambert would still be snoozing away, cocooned in the safety of a warm and familiar bed, but Vesemir would likely already be down in the kitchen preparing for the day.

Geralt’s ears, barely poking out from under his blanket, picked up the steady thunks of wood being chopped, and he grunted as he sat up, letting the blanket pool around his waist. His chest was bare, pale, scarred skin reluctantly exposed to the early winter air as the witcher roused himself. Still sitting in his bed, he turned and scooted to the windowsill, peering at the courtyard below.

Ah, fuck. Geralt’s morning arousal became actively invested in the sight that met him. Eskel had a stack of freshly chopped logs at his side, with one propped up atop a large stone. Geralt could see his muscles strain against the thin linen of his shirt as he swung the sharp ax high over his head, its honed edge glinting with the emergence of the sun as it met its apex, only to fall again with breathtaking force. The log split in two, and Eskel gathered the halves off to the side, stacking them neatly with the others on a long piece of thick canvas with handles on either end.

The ax found a resting spot for a moment as Eskel wiped the sweat from his brow. Geralt set his chin in his hands and his elbows on the edge of the windowsill and held in a low groan. Eskel had reached for the neck of his tunic and lifted it up over his head, revealing the olive-toned flesh of his stomach and the dark curls of hair over his chest that drew a delicious line below the band of his trousers. It was clear he’d been the first to return to Kaer Morhen. A comfortable roll of belly fat protruded from the confines of his belt, proof he’d had plenty of time to rest and indulge over the past weeks. His skin shone with perspiration and his thighs flexed and pushed at the fabric when he lifted another heavy log onto the chopping stone. Hells, the haphazard seam of one of the trouser legs was coming loose as his thigh threatened to free itself.

Eskel breathed in and swung again, driving the ax all the way through the thick log in a single stroke. As the two halves hit the ground he turned, dropping the ax and facing the little patch of green that remained before the frost. Lil’ Bleater was happily bounding through the grass, pouncing off of crates and rubble like it was her sole duty in life. Eskel smiled wide as Geralt did the same from his perch. The sun glinted off of Eskel’s back, dancing over the drops of sweat that dripped into the hollows of his muscles. Geralt swallowed thickly, unable to look away when Eskel’s arms came up to sweep the hair out of his face. The muscles of his shoulders and down the line of his spine flexed and shifted beneath his olive skin as he moved his hands to his hips.

“Alright, Bleats,” Eskel laughed as she came bounding over to his feet. He leaned down and offered a few sweet pats to the top of her head, “Think we’ve given Geralt enough of a show?”

He glanced over his shoulder with a cheeky grin to where Geralt was watching from the window, jaw agape and gobsmacked. The goat bleated as Eskel turned back and waved, and Geralt truly couldn’t help the smile that crept up his face if he tried.

“Fuckin’ tease,” Geralt grumbled half-heartedly as he watched Eskel drape his tunic back over his head. He was picking up the straps to the carrier for the firewood when Geralt finally tore himself away from the window, willing himself calm.

It only took a moment of deep breathing and a lifetime’s worth of practice, but Geralt soon found himself presentable to pleasant company. He threw on his usual winter attire, soft trousers and an even softer loose-fitting tunic tucked into the waist of his pants, his lined boots, and his cloak thrown over his shoulder. He tied his hair back off his face and let the rest hang on his shoulders in long silver waves. Finally, Geralt grabbed his swords and scabbards before heading down the stairs to the small kitchen space.

As expected, Vesemir was there with a steaming mug, poring over a book that was almost certainly older than Geralt himself.. He grabbed an apple and plopped down on the bench next to Vesemir, the both of them wordlessly grunting a greeting at the other. Geralt ate in relative silence for a bit, only the latent thrumming of the older Witcher’s heart and the crackling of embers in the fire accompanying the crunch of apple between his teeth.

That is, until Eskel butted open the doors to the hall and dragged his firewood haul in with him. Lil’ Bleater was riding the pile of wood like a pirate would her ship, the stack being almost as high as Eskel’s shoulders. Speaking of Eskel’s shoulders, Geralt couldn’t tear his eyes away from the visible line of sweat that trailed its way down his back, darkening the linen of his shirt and making it stick in all the most tempting places. He felt his mouth water at the sight and the piece of apple still in his mouth felt thick and hard as he choked it down.

Eskel grunted as he got close enough to the fireplace to relinquish his load, letting the heavy pieces fall haphazardly as he dropped the canvas sheet. The apple slipped from Geralt’s hand and bounced on the table before falling to the floor. “Dammit,” he growled, pointedly ignoring the disappointed sigh that escaped Vesemir’s nostrils.

He picked the fruit up and dusted it off, slicing off another piece as Eskel approached the table. Eskel smelled...like he needed a bath. Salt and sweat clung to his skin and wood dusted the strands of his hair, but he still carried that deep, musky, earthy scent that shone with a hint of citrus. It was the scent that kept Geralt awake at night, kept him sane on the Path. It was everything.

Eskel reached over and plucked a handful of dried fruits and nuts, as well as the jar of honey. He dropped the fruits and nuts into a bowl and carefully swirled a generous portion of honey over top. His fingers shone with the golden, sticky sweetness as he grabbed a dried grape and popped it between his lips. The scar turned his mouth upwards at the edge and pulled oddly at his lip while he ate. Geralt remembered how long it took for Eskel to be comfortable eating in front of him again after he got that scar, and he treasures every moment that he gets to see.

“Geralt?” Vesemir peered over his mug at him.

Geralt hummed in response, already dreading the day’s assignment.

“Oh don’t give me that. I need you to go out and put salt on the training grounds before the dirt frosts, and freshen up the wards around it. I don’t need the goats going in and licking it all up again. After that, the day’s yours.”

“And me?” Eskel asked around his mouthful.

“You can be done, you’ve already chopped enough wood to last us a good few weeks. I’ll get Lambert to-”

“NO. Don’t go giving my assignments before I even get to the table, old fart,” Lambert called down the stairwell.

Vesemir blinked slowly and sighed once more. “I’ll get Lambert to do SOMETHING ELSE today, though if you want something to keep busy, I’m sure there are some books that need rebinding.”

Geralt watched Eskel nod and swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Yeah, alright. I may take some time later and see what I can do about those books. Lay them out for me?”

“Of course.”

Eskel smiled over at Geralt, his deep amber eyes meeting Geralt’s sunrise gold. Geralt’s moon and stars rested in those eyes, a whole universe tucked away in the depths of Eskel’s soul, bared just for him. They smiled at each other before Geralt tore himself away, draping his cloak over his shoulders and striding quietly towards the door.

Eskel watched him haul the heavy bag of salt up onto his shoulder with a grunt. He shook his head with a smile and polished off the last of his breakfast. The stool scraped on the floor as he pushed away from the table, ready to go fall into a warm bed somewhere. Eskel heard the door shut from Lambert’s room as his feet pounded down the stairs, so he made haste in avoiding that breakfast discussion.

***

Why’s Geralt back outside?

Eskel rounded the corner of the staircases, following the fresh scent of Geralt trailing out to the courtyard. It was far past noon by this point, and Geralt had already taken care of the training grounds. He had come back in right as the sun reached its highest point in the sky, climbing the spiral stairs in search of a snack.

Eskel shouldered open the heavy wooden doors and turned to the east, following the light footprints over the balding grass. He smiled to himself as he heard soft whispers coming from the stables, low and not meant for anothers’ ears. Well, another human’s ears.

He stopped just short of the doors, now close enough to make out the words being murmured.

“-n’t give me that look, I was just wanting to braid your mane.” Geralt’s honeyed tenor drifted over the heartbeats and huffed breaths behind the stall. “I know Eskel doesn’t normally do it, but it’ll help keep it from matting over the winter. I bet you’d hate for our big softie to have to cut off old chunks of your mane, wouldn’t you?”

Eskel heard Scorpion huff heavily from his nose and he chuckled, pulling on the cool steel handle and closing the door behind him. The whispers stopped as Geralt peered over the short wall between the stalls, his hair shimmering golden with the light of the fire roaring in the fireplace. He held a hardy brush in his right hand and had his other resting lightly on Scorpion’s flank, and his hair was tied up high and away from his face.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Eskel rumbled, crossing to where he could see into Scorpion’s stall. He let his back hit the wall behind him and slid down, his bottom thumping audibly onto the ground.

“Just gonna sit there and watch me?” Geralt grumbled, resuming his brushing of Scorpion’s mane. The great warhorse stamped his foot impatiently, butting his head into Geralt’s chest.

Eskel quirked his brow and nodded, “Figured you wouldn’t mind after you ogled me this morning.”

The tips of Geralt’s ears flushed a pretty pink as he hummed noncommittally in his chest. Not denying it.

“Your man’s a smartass,” Geralt mumbled to Scorpion, and the horse fucking snickered, I shit you not.

“Ay,” Eskel laughed, watching a little smile threaten to pull at Geralt’s lips, “no need to turn my horse against me, I’ll need him come Spring.”

“Don’t wanna talk about Spring,” Geralt sighed, carefully running his fingers, long and delicate, so unlike Eskel’s, through the wispy strands of Scorpion’s mane.

“Me neither.” Eskel pulled up his knees and rested his elbows atop them, his eyes drifting down Geralt’s body. Gods, but he’s so gorgeous.

If you asked him, Eskel would say that he couldn’t pick a favorite part of his Geralt. Everything was his favorite, it was impossible to choose. But Eskel did have a favorite, and he very well kept it to himself, thank you very much.

That damned waist. The way that Geralt’s shoulders, broad and sharp, sloped in and down over his stomach and into a glorious handful for Eskel. Nothing about Geralt was dainty, not in the slightest, but Eskel loved that he could wrap his arm over the soft line of his waist in the dead of night, or grasp desperately onto it while lost in the throes of passion.

Eskel sat there quietly, listening to Geralt mumble to Scorpion while he busied his hands. He leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the idle sounds of the castle and nearby woods overtake his mind and senses. He could hear Lambert’s heavy footfalls from beneath the castle, down in the labs. A pack of wolves patrolled the treeline past the castle walls, jaws snapping as they called to each other under the low afternoon sun.

He heard Geralt’s footsteps grow close to him, stopping just where Eskel’s hips met the floor. Geralt’s fingers brushed gently through Eskel’s thick, dark hair and Eskel couldn’t hold back the quiet moan that spilled from his lips. Geralt chuckled and knelt at his side, running his hand down Eskel’s cheek and thumbing over the line of his brow.

“I know you went down to the springs and got clean earlier,” Geralt rumbled lowly, “but maybe you’d want to join me for a bit?”

Eskel smiled and opened his eyes, two golds meeting and melding into one. He nodded and Geralt leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. Geralt reached and grabbed onto Eskel’s hand, pulling him to stand and brushing the stray bits of straw from his backside.

Eskel chuckled as he batted Geralt’s hand away, though not before he got a solid squeeze in edgewise. “Hey, if you wanted to touch my ass, all you had to do was ask.”

Geralt shrugged as they walked through the doors to the castle and down the center spiral staircase that led to the hot springs, “I always want to touch your ass. Doesn’t really matter.”

Eskel shook his head and laughed heartily as he felt the air change. It felt thick, musty, warm with minerals and moss that grew in sharp brushstrokes up the walls. His lungs filled with the comfort of home, the air that was unique to this one spot of the castle, and only ever really meshed with his soul when Geralt was around to share in it.

He watched Geralt peel his shirt from his body, his pale skin a stark contrast to the dim caverns lit only by the stray candle or two sporadically placed in the cracks of the stones. Eskel reached out, his hand guided only by the raw urge to touch, to feel Geralt’s skin yield under his fingers, and he felt the warmth before he even made contact.

Geralt’s sigh tingled under his fingertips, vibrating through his bones with a summer long lost. Eskel stood flush to Geralt’s back, his hand resting over Geralt’s heart and his neck bent to rest his forehead at the nape of Geralt’s neck. He invaded Eskel’s every sense, every fiber of his being, just by existing in the same space. He smelled of sweat and horse and hay and happiness and home, and Eskel just wanted to...breathe him in. To take him into his lungs and never let him go. He felt Geralt’s fingers intertwine with his where they rested on Geralt’s chest, long and thin and pulling him up to Geralt’s lips. His lips were cool and chapped from the chill outside, but Eskel felt the warmth being pulled from his soul into the sweet press of Geralt’s lips.

“C’mon, let’s get into the baths,” Geralt mumbled, his lips still pressing into the pads of Eskel’s fingers. Eskel hummed noncommittally, honestly fine with just standing here, Geralt in his arms and close enough to finally feel. Geralt turned and stepped back, just out of Eskel’s reach with a grin as he reached for the ties on his trousers. “I’d like to get clean before I die of old age, so you best get naked.”

Eskel smirked and shucked his own shirt to the side, undoing the bright ties on his codpiece and letting the thick leather fall away. His trousers fell and were kicked away with his boots and the air embraced his skin with a welcoming grasp. He padded towards the pools, slipping into the water with a grateful sigh that one would expect from the sight of a long-lost friend.

He peeked over his shoulder and found Geralt standing where he was left, mouth slack-jawed and his hands hovering with his trousers half-undone. Geralt blinked and cleared his throat, adjusting himself through the leather of his trousers before untying them the rest of the way and letting them fall away. “I...it always surprises me just how much I can forget…”

Eskel crooked his head as Geralt stepped into the water beside him, rippling the waves over and up the stone sides. “What do you mean?”

“Just...you,” Geralt murmured, dipping under the water to soak his hair, “you are always so much more...real than I can ever keep in my mind. Whenever I think of you, it always pales in comparison to actually seeing you in front of me.”

Eskel felt his cheeks flush and he smiled, running his damp hands through his hair before lounging back into the edge of the pool. “I can never really get how you feel right. I know how good it makes me feel, but actually touching you? Or hearing your heart? My brain can’t replicate that. Not well enough, anyway.”

“Exactly. And it always is a bit of a shock. But a good one.” Geralt soaped up his hair quickly, batting away Eskel’s hands when he tried to help. “No, I want to get this part out of the way so we can relax. We can do that next time.”

Eskel thought back to a couple of winters prior, when Geralt had requested that he wash his hair for him. Albeit, with a bit of a caveat. Eskel spent an hour washing Geralt’s long, thick silver locks with his cock buried to the hilt in Geralt’s ass, the both of them gasping and clinging onto each other by the time his hair was rinsed. Eskel smiled at the memory as Geralt ducked back under the water, leaving his hair dripping wet and free of suds.

Geralt peered over at Eskel with a smirk playing at his lips as he reached his hand for Eskel’s thigh. He felt the muscle tense briefly under his fingers as he moved up slowly, his other hand sliding up and onto Eskel’s neck. Eskel sighed gently, a pull of air from deep in his lungs as Geralt played with the little curls of hair on the nape of his neck. Geralt’s hand moved over his hip, warm and soft and just a tad squishy beneath the water, and splayed over his stomach, tracing idle swirls through the hair that led down to his groin. Before he could get far, though, Eskel caught his errant hand with his own and brought them to his lips.

“We should eat first,” Eskel rumbled, his lips brushing the sensitive tips of Geralt’s fingers with every whispered word, “then I’d like to take you to bed properly.”

“Hmm,” Geralt traced down the scars on Eskel’s cheek and into his lip, watching the tiniest little shudder shoot over his nerves, “Lambert cooking tonight?”

Eskel nodded and ran his hands down Geralt’s spine and the swell of his backside. Not pushing or pulling with any direction, just feeling the skin that he so craved, even in his sleep. Geralt bent down, just barely pressing his forehead into Eskel’s and brushing their noses together. “You’ve kept me waiting all day,” Geralt sighed with a smile, “I suppose I could wait a bit longer. Not much though.”

Eskel chuckled and pecked Geralt on the cheek, “I promise. Once we’re both warm and comfortable and full, then I’ll take you upstairs and show you just how much I’ve needed you.”

“If you don’t let me go now, there’s no way I’ll be able to stop myself,” Geralt growled and nipped at Eskel’s chin. Eskel laughed and playfully shoved him back, watching the crystalline water drip down the dark hairs over his chest and into the dip of his waist. He had been feeling the stirrings of arousal all day, but it was getting more and more difficult to ignore.

Eskel followed Geralt as he clambered out of the springs, his hands and feet striking roughly against the weathered stone beneath them. He smirked at the quite obvious state of arousal that Geralt was in, his skin flushed and his cock straining upwards from between his thighs.

Geralt could feel Eskel’s eyes on him as he strode towards their pile of clothes and drying sheets. He peeked over his shoulder at him, finding Eskel hauling himself out of the bath with his arms, the muscles dipping and pulling as he rose to his full height, soaked to the bone and sporting a very pretty erection of his own. Geralt’s mouth watered as he wrapped a sheet to hang low on his hips before gathering his worn clothes into a bundle in his arms.

Eskel followed suit, feeling the drafty air whistle through his legs and cool the drips of water that still wore their path down to the floor below. They traveled through the halls together, still shoulder to shoulder even though the walls were just a tad too close together to accommodate them both comfortably. They didn't mind though, drawing their warmth together and letting their souls mingle in the approaching evening.

As they climbed the spiral staircase that led back to the main level of the keep, Eskel could smell the dinner that Lambert had been working on, something with chicken and hearty vegetables, along with bread and fresh butter and citrus chutney. They continued on up the stairs until they reached the door to Eskel’s chambers. They did typically end up sharing the room over the winter, but Geralt still liked to have his own little private space for himself. Eskel knew how loud the world could feel, and he liked having his own space too sometimes.

He kissed Geralt sweetly on the shoulder as he moved to continue up the stairs to his own room, leaving a tingle of his lips to keep him company. Geralt shook his head with a light hearted huff and slowly climbed up the spiral, and Eskel waited until he heard the heavy thud of his thick wooden door to open his own. He threw his clothes onto the chair by the fireplace before flicking his fingers out and up in the sign for Igni, feeling the warmth from the fire bloom from his palm and onto the wood, bathing the room in a pale glow.

Eskel dressed quickly, throwing soft trousers over his underthings, followed by a knit shirt that stretched across his chest and held tight. He left his swords propped by the door next to his boots before padding back down the stairs into the dining area. The three fires roared beneath bubbling pots and sizzling pans, sending rich scents swirling softly around the room. Lambert stood over one, giving it one last stir before grabbing onto the handles. Eskel lowered himself onto the bench at the table just as Lambert set the steaming cauldron down onto the nearly-black wood.

Vesemir grabbed the other pan and brought it over, lifting the lid to reveal several chicken breasts that had been seared and seasoned to perfection. Lambert began to ladle some of the stew from his pot onto his plate and tore a chunk of bread for himself before tossing the loaf to Eskel. It was warm in his palm and he smiled, the bread soft and yielding as he tore off some for himself as well. Vesemir declined, so he set the rest of the loaf in Geralt’s spot and began to heap his own plate with Lambert’s delicious looking dinner.

Geralt joined soon after they began to eat, dressed comfortably with his silvery hair pulled up and away from his face. Geralt swung his long legs over the bench and sat down next to Eskel, humming as he picked up the bread.

“Yeah, pretty boy, saved that bit for ya. Dig in before it all gets cold.” Lambert chucked the ladle down in Geralt’s direction, sending stray bits of stew flying to the walls. Vesemir rolled his eyes as Geralt caught it without looking and gave it a spin, rotating it flamboyantly around his fingers before plopping it straight into the great pot.

The four of them ate in relative silence, only the gentle scraping of utensils or grunts of acknowledgement breaking the fragile quiet. Vesemir was the first to be finished with his meal, leaning back in his seat and breathing in deeply. “Delicious as always, Lambert. Thank you. I'm headed to the library, gonna try and go through some of the old tomes.”

Lambert nodded and the others hummed, no one willing to part with their plates quite yet. Eskel wiped his plate down with the remainder of his bread, sopping up the stew and downing it all in one satisfying mouthful. Geralt watched with a raised brow and a smirk.

“Alright lovebirds, I’m off. Try to keep it down, at least a little, huh?” Lambert winked as he stood and wandered off, likely back down to the alchemy labs for more of his...experiments. Eskel chuckled as Geralt lobbed an old apple at the back of Lambert’s head, more for effect than anything else. Lambert batted it away into a corner and Eskel sighed. He stood and retrieved it, knowing that it would be long forgotten if he didn’t. He set it back onto the table before stretching his arms up above his head and turning to the door that led to the staircases.

Eskel held his hand out to Geralt, who looked at it through hooded lids. “Join me?”

Geralt smiled and lept to his feet, the last few bites of his dinner instantly forgotten. “Fuckin’ finally, you tease.”

Eskel laughed as the two of them bumbled up the stairs and into Eskel’s room. Geralt could feel the warmth emanating before they even swung open the door, his cheeks flushing and his arms shivering with the welcome change in temperature. Eskel shut the door behind him and led him to stand before the fireplace, his olive skin glowing in the flames.

Geralt sighed as he felt Eskel’s hands on his hips, his fingers toying with the hem of Geralt’s shirt and just glancing to the skin of his stomach beneath. Eskel slid his hands up and pulled Geralt’s shirt with him, lifting it over his head and letting it land with a soft thud in the cushy armchair in the corner.

Next Eskel moved to Geralt’s trousers, sliding the ties open and letting them fall to the floor. He gave Geralt’s bum a little pat and nodded to the bed. “Go on, I’ll be just behind you.”

Geralt reached to push down his smalls but Eskel caught his hands and dropped them back by his side. “J-just wanna hold you for a bit...that okay?”

Geralt hummed, pressing his lips to the junction between Eskel’s neck and shoulder, “Of course, Wolf. Don’t take too long though, gonna get cold without you.”

Geralt smiled as he climbed onto the wide bed draped in thick furs and soft knit blankets. Eskel loved textures, and tried to surround their bed with as much comfort as he could find. His golden gaze found Eskel once more as he too stripped down to his smallclothes. Geralt leaned back onto the soft pillows as Eskel slid up next to him, resting his head on Geralt’s chest and breathing in deeply. Geralt wrapped his arm around the breadth of Eskel’s shoulders and held him close, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against his side. Geralt could see out of the little window cut into the stone, revealing the sun setting in bright oranges and deep purples between the craggles of the Blue Mountains.

Eskel ran his hands down Geralt’s chest, tracing those same swirling patterns as before while he peppered kisses up and down the line of Geralt’s neck and over his collarbone. Geralt could always feel the little crook in Eskel’s lip from his scar as it traced over his skin, grounding him home in warm arms and soft eyes that held endless love and patience.

Geralt threaded his fingers into Eskel’s hair and gave a little scratch at the nape of his neck, chuckling a bit when he felt the full body shudder that Eskel granted him. Geralt felt the gasp of hot breath ghost over his collar when he tugged gently on the handful of hair that he had, and a possessive kind of growl erupted from behind his teeth. Geralt didn’t often let this part of himself show, this need to hang onto every thread of his partner, but with Eskel, it felt safe, known, instinctual.

Eskel pushed himself up and pressed his hand firmly in the center of Geralt’s chest, breathing with the steady thuds of the heart that rested just beneath his fingers. Eskel’s eyes were dark with lust and hunger and something so deep and innate that it escaped such a simple name. Eskel slid his hand up and wrapped it gently around the back of Geralt’s neck and leaned down, pressing their foreheads together as he climbed between Geralt’s legs.

Geralt lifted his leg and wrapped it around Eskel’s hip in an attempt to get him to maybe speed things up a bit. “Eskel,” Geralt hummed, “Gods, you’re killing me…”

Eskel smiled and ran his nose down the line of Geralt’s jaw and into the hollows of his neck. His lips traced along the tendons and veins and his teeth just barely glanced over his pulse point and Geralt felt his cock thicken and throb where Eskel pressed into him.

“Can I have you like this?” Eskel asked, his voice still muffled in Geralt’s neck, “Just wanna be able to look at you…”

Geralt swallowed thickly and nodded, turning his head in search of Eskel’s mouth. He finally, finally, slid their lips together, breathing each other in and holding onto each and every piece that they could reach. Geralt wrapped his arms around Eskel’s waist and stroked up and down the hard lines of his back, tracing the scars he knew better than his own.

“Lift-nng” Eskel tried to say, though Geralt nipped and tugged at his lower lip to keep him in place, “Lift your damn hips, you great oaf.”

Geralt chuckled and did as he was bid, letting Eskel run his fingers through the ties keeping his braies on and loosening them. They slid down his thighs and Eskel let him rest his bum back on the bed. Eskel shimmied himself backwards and fully pulled the smalls off of Geralt, sending them careening through the room to land somewhere in the shadows. Geralt’s cock lay hard and flushed and weeping on his stomach and Eskel took a deep breath in through his nose, grounding himself in the lust on the air and the taste of Geralt already on his tongue.

Eskel stood up and turned to face the fire as he undid his own smalls, pushing them down quickly and without any dramatics. But Geralt found himself drooling over him anyways, seeing the beautiful bronze skin revealed inch by glorious inch, the swells of his backside just begging for his teeth to sink into. Again. He then grabbed the little vial of oil that spent most of the year gathering dust on the mantle, but in the winter found a new home atop the little table next to their bed.

And oh fucking shit I’ve missed that so much, Geralt thought as Eskel turned back to him with his cock hanging heavily between his thighs. Eskel crawled onto the bed and prowled over top of him, his chest already heaving and pressing into Geralt’s. Eskel sat up on his knees and Geralt braced himself on his elbows, watching Eskel uncork the oil and slowly drip a generous amount of the cool liquid onto their cocks where they rested together. Eskel’s hand was warm when he reached down to rub the oil around, wrapping around them and tugging and pulling and-

“-Fuck, Eskel,” Geralt spat through grit teeth when Eskel just barely thumbed the slit of Geralt’s cockhead. “If you’re gonna do all that shit, I need you in me now.”

Eskel laughed breathily and kissed Geralt hard, all teeth and tongue and rushed whispers of affection. “Alright, alright. I’ve got you, Geralt. I’ve got you…”

Eskel poured some more oil between Geralt’s legs and Geralt felt it slowly trickle down to his entrance. Eskel’s fingers followed soon after, languidly rolling his balls around in his palm before trailing down between his cheeks. Geralt sighed as Eskel started pressing around his hole, not pushing in yet, just massaging and loosening the tight muscle.

“Gods, Geralt,” Eskel murmured, dragging his free hand down Geralt’s flank and across his stomach, “you’re so tense…”

“No one’s been back there since Spring, Esk…”

Eskel blinked up at him and Geralt could taste the new wave of arousal that poured off Eskel. “You’ve not had anyone? All year? Geralt, I...you-”

Geralt’s head hit the pillow and he sighed, trying desperately to put the words together in his head. “I-fuck, Eskel, I just want you. You’re...you’re the only one who I can...who I can be comfortable with.”

Eskel surged forward and captured Geralt’s lips between his own, tasting of salt and honey and fucking unending love. “Geralt. Fuck. You can’t just say shit like that out of nowhere. Fuck, I love you so much it hurts. It fucking hurts, and then you just go and say that? You’re gonna put me in an early grave-”

Geralt’s world twisted and turned as Eskel’s hands gripped onto his hips, his fingers digging into his skin as they rolled and shifted on the bed, winding up with Geralt laying on his stomach and Eskel’s lips pressing into the skin at the nape of his neck. Eskel dragged his mouth down, leaving hot wet kisses down Geralt’s spine and over the swell of his bottom.

Eskel’s breath ghosted over Geralt’s skin as he slid his finger back down to press against his entrance, finding only a gasp of resistance as he pushed in to his knuckle. He worked Geralt open slowly, kneading and licking and nipping the soft flesh of Geralt’s ass while he slid in another, and then one more finger. He relished the little noises that clawed their way out of Geralt’s chest unbidden, gasps and moans and keens that he felt more than heard.

Meanwhile Geralt was warring with his own mind, torn between wanting so desperately to grasp into Eskel’s hair and haul him back up to feel his lips cover his own, trailing down over his jaw and neck and chest, but also needing to feel more of him, deeper, harder-

Their words broke off between gasps for air and fisted sheets and Eskel quietly continued his task of working Geralt open on his fingers. Geralt’s breath hitched in his throat when Eskel crooked his fingers inside of him, warm and slick and hitting up against that devastating bundle of nerves. But all too soon it was not so nice, his fingers sliding in and out and not being close to enough for Geralt. “M-shit, more, Eskel.”

Eskel hummed and bit down into the tender flesh of Geralt’s bum, feeling the fluttering of his walls play at his fingers. He looked down and watched his fingers slowly slide in and out, stretching him in preparation of what was to come. Eskel had his own wars inside of his head, his need to shower Geralt with soft touches so rarely afforded to his battle-worn skin clashing against the feeling tugging behind his belly to find the breaking point nestled so deep inside of Geralt’s body.

Geralt’s hips thrusted softly against the bed beneath them, chasing the release that had been teasing at them both all damn day. Eskel chuckled when a particularly hard thrust made him bonk his nose into the crease of Geralt’s asscheeks, and he shifted himself to sit up with a sweet pat to the swells of muscle.

“Roll back over, wanna look at you-”

Geralt sighed when he felt Eskel’s fingers slip out of him, leaving him oddly empty and aching and wanting. It took him a moment to find his bearings, but he flipped over soon enough to meet Eskel’s fiery eyes. Eskel hovered over him, his chest heaving with hot breaths and his medallion clinking against Geralt’s. Geralt ran his fingers through the soft dark hair over Eskel’s chest, pressing his fingers into the yielding flesh over his heart and giving it a squeeze. Eskel growled with a sinister grin and moved faster down his body than Geralt had anticipated.

Eskel leaned down and lapped his tongue up the underside of Geralt’s cock just as he slipped his fingers back into him. Geralt shook when Eskel wrapped his lips around the tip and sunk down, teasing and licking while his fingers hit that precious bundle of nerves nestled so deep inside of him. Eskel’s mouth moved with his hand, pushing in and out and up and down and humming against him and Geralt could feel the pearly arousal dripping onto Eskel’s tongue with every slick slide of his lips.

“Ah, ah, Esk-g...gonna-fuck...”

Eskel only hummed, low and hard from his chest, and Geralt arched up off the bed in pleasure when Eskel zeroed in on that spot within him, holding there and sucking and slurping every bit of spend that Geralt had to give. It just kept coming, shooting down Eskel’s throat and spilling out the sides of his lips messily. Eskel felt the haze of his own pleasure tease at the edges of his eyes as his hips thrust lazily against the bed, his free hand holding tight to Geralt’s hip.

Geralt sagged back onto the bed in a haze, tender and sensitive and already craving more. He pulled Eskel back up to him and ran his thumb over the corner of his mouth, gathering his own spend onto his finger. Geralt slipped his thumb between his lips and licked it clean as Eskel watched with great gasping breaths and eyes so dark there was only a little ring of gold shining in the night.

“Geralt, fuck, c-can I-” Eskel stuttered over his words, his hands running over Geralt’s shoulders and down his chest, his cock dripping down into the hair above Geralt’s own half-hard cock.

“Yes,” Geralt breathed and fit his hand up onto the nape of Eskel’s neck, his fingers pressing firm while Eskel shifted on the bed to line himself at Geralt’s entrance.

Eskel gasped into Geralt’s skin as he just barely pushed into the rim, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist to hold him as close as possible. Geralt’s fingers tightened in Eskel’s hair as he started to gently thrust inside of him, Eskel’s chest rumbling with a low purr as he smothered Geralt with his body.

“G-Geralt,” Eskel murmured, his hips already losing rhythm, “I’m, fuck you’re so-”

Geralt hummed and nodded, running his hands down Eskel’s shoulders and back up again around his neck. “Go on, Eskel. You’ve been on edge all day. Give it to me.”

Eskel’s voice went high and strained, tight mumbles escaping from between his teeth as he ground his hips deep against Geralt’s, spending inside of him. Eskel rubbed his face into the tender skin of Geralt’s neck as he finally, gloriously released into him, feeling the way that he fluttered and flexed around his cock. He saw great stars shooting behind his eyelids as his climax tore through him, unrelenting and all-encompassing.

Geralt kept his hold firm on Eskel as he went limp in his arms, Eskel’s mind blanking and blind for a blissful moment. Geralt felt the pressure of Eskel everywhere, on top of him, around him, inside of him, leaking out of him. The only thing that could ever gather him enough strength to move was Eskel himself, and he didn’t really seem up to that quite yet.

Or, well, maybe he did. Eskel didn’t even soften a little bit in Geralt, his hips already rolling deep and slow inside Geralt. His bones sang out to Eskel in ecstasy, yearning for him, craving him.

Geralt’s cock rested hard once more on his stomach, steadily dripping his arousal into a little pool. Eskel’s hands tightened on his hips and pulled him into each and every thrust, slow and hard and deep and addicting. Eskel couldn’t keep his hands still as he dragged his cock inside of Geralt, only just barely shifting back and forth as he tried to stay buried in his tight, wet heat as much as possible.

“Ger-nnng,” Eskel gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut as he felt the pressure of Geralt around him clench and smother every last bit of him with every soft move of his cock. Geralt smirked and bore down farther, tightening his hold on Eskel’s arm and around his neck as he pulled him down so that their faces were held with only the space of a breath between them.

Geralt could feel the tight coil of release draw taut as he dragged his hands down Eskel’s chest and to his own cock. Eskel’s eyes followed him, branding his skin with the fire behind them, watching as Geralt took himself in hand. Geralt shuddered as his climax came closer and closer into view, only needing just a little more, a little something to push him over the edge-

“Fuck, Geralt, I...I can’t hang on much longer…” Eskel ground out, brushing his nose down over Geralt’s and pleading with his eyes.

“Let go, Eskel. I want it, please-”

And then he did. Eskel thrust hard and deep a handful more times as he hit his peak, his cock pressing against that devastating bundle of nerves nestled deep inside of Geralt each and every time. Oh, and then when his release finally overtook him once more? Gods, his cock flexed and spilled and hit Geralt like a punch in the gut over and over and over, until finally Geralt too climaxed with his cock in his hand. Long stripes of spend spilled and painted his chest while Geralt groaned from low in his stomach.

The two of them laid there for Gods know how long, just lingering in each other, the scent of their combined arousals making them feel almost drunk from the heady way it went straight through them. Eskel was the first to move, slipping from the tight embrace of Geralt’s body and flopping down onto the bed at his side. Geralt reached out and tangled their fingers together while their chests heaved in great gulps of air, their minds still addled and off-kilter.

Eskel swallowed thickly and focused his mind on the feeling of Geralt’s thumb running over the back of his knuckles, back and forth and back again… “Gods, Geralt,” he murmured, peering over at him, “I’ll never get tired of that.”

Geralt chuckled without opening his eyes, already feeling the threads of consciousness being steadily pulled from him. “You better not. I plan on getting fucked like that until I die.”

Eskel hummed and reached out blindly with his free hand, groping for the spare scrap of cloth that he kept by the bed. Once he found the soft fabric he gently swept it up over Geralt’s stomach and chest, feeling the vibrations of his hum beneath his fingers. Eskel reached back between Geralt’s thighs and cleaned there as well, knowing that although Geralt would never really say anything about it, he wouldn't enjoy being sticky in the morning.

Eskel tossed the rag away and shifted underneath the blanket, reaching out to pull Geralt into his chest. “C’mere, you. Wanna hold you.”

Geralt grunted and rolled over onto his side, burying his face into the hair on Eskel’s chest. Eskel wrapped his arm around Geralt’s waist and held him close, pressing his nose into the silver hair atop Geralt’s head. Woodsmoke, spice, pine. Home.

Geralt sighed into him and wrapped his own arm around Eskel, snuggling in and quickly letting sleep take him away. Eskel felt the shift, the way that Geralt’s shoulders relaxed and his hips fell further into the bed, his mind finally quiet and his hands still. He pressed his lips softly to the crown of Geralt’s head and held it there for a heartbeat or two, pouring everything he could into those soft moments before he himself fell into the warm embrace of sleep.

[wafflesareluv]

LoA fanfic, takes place after MC becomes junior partner. There's a bit of NSFW content. Enjoy reading!

1.3k words.

Quinn has wanted this for a very long time now. Sitting at the edge of Hoi On's rooftop, gazing at the night sky while holding Gabe Ricci's hand, getting this couldn't have been tougher. But it's really, really worth it. They're official now, their coworkers know about them and being able to be there for Gabe as someone more than a junior partner, receiving the same affection from him has been heartwarming and comforting to say the least. "If I may dare interrupt your chain of thoughts, Michaels?" his deep voice brought her back to the present moment. Gabe wasn't one for nicknames, he never saw the appeal and Quinn rolled along with it. She shook her head and smirked "I dare charge you a penalty for that, Mr Ricci." "And I wonder what it'd be?" he quipped in a suggestive murmur. Her smirk widened as she withdrew herself from his grip "Now, that wouldn't be a penalty for you, Mr... I say you sing our song." He reluctantly pulled out his phone for the karaoke video "Ahh, that song, you'll remember it forever, won't you?" "Of course I will, it's special" she said. Her previous chain of thoughts as Gabe put it, has returned. She thought back to the day Gabe Ricci became her boyfriend. They had been casual until now, several evenings and nights well spent. Even though Gabe said he cared, more than he would like to admit, he hadn't been as forthcoming as she'd like. That's who he is, so Quinn decided it was time to push her luck further. She wasn't sure how to ask him, what if she loses what she has, thinking of what could have been? What if this is too much to ask of him? He didn't exactly have the best experience in relationships, would he be able to take the leap of faith? She knew she was overthinking when her coffee spilled out from the mug in the espresso machine and she didn't notice it right away. "Get a hold on yourself, Quinn! He said you're too irresistible for your own good, he might just say the feelings are mutual.." she thought. Aislinn who was waiting for her turn, laughed "You sure that coffee would suffice? You're practically daydreaming...and lemme guess, about a certain senior partner.." "Aislinn! Keep your voice low!" Quinn sounded alarmed. Aislinn's eyes lit up "So she didn't deny it! He's a catch, but so are you, Quinn. He'd be blind to not see that. You go get him and I'll get my coffee." "How did you know what exactly I was hesitant about?" Quinn couldn't help but wonder. "Anyone who has a keen eye can tell that you are fidgety these days and anyone who knows you, can tell the reason behind it." Aislinn's response made Quinn smile, both of them grew very close in the past few months. She also knows a thing or two about what's happening between Quinn and Gabe. On the way back to their cabins, they saw Gabe taking his briefcase and stepping out into the hallway. Aislinn mouthed the words "Just do it" and slipped into her office. Quinn glanced at him and their eyes met, he shot her a smile. "Going somewhere?" was all she could manage, her mind was racing at the speed of light. "I'm leaving early, utilising my monthly day off. Too much of work lately." There was a pause as he eyed her in the way that would make her shift from one leg to the other, "Care to join me? It's almost time for you to leave anyways." Normally this is where she'd reply wittily but not today. She simply nodded and collected her overcoat, all the way shocked at her own quiet nature. "This is how much you and thinking about you influence me, Gabe Ricci" she wanted to say, instead she walked along side him and got into his car. "Your place is stunning, not as much as you, but stunning nonetheless, good thing you have an old lady with a hearing ailment as a neighbour" his words were distant yet she felt her eyebrows shoot up and her lips quirk into a small smile, he will always have this effect on her. With him, there was never a dull moment. Around him, she'd completely lose herself in him, literally and metaphorically or just look at him and feel content. Either way, he takes over all her attention and she knows

it's the same for him. Yet, his past makes her question if he would be ready to get into a serious relationship. Reaching her apartment, they get inside followed by freshening up. Yeah, Gabe even has a spare set of clothes in her flat and still she's tentative about the thing she's gonna ask him about. She needed to be herself and talk with him, she made a mental note to reduce her overthinking. As if on cue he called out "I see a couple of vegetables and a standard staple of bread, are sandwiches good to go?" "It's always good when you cook, Mr Ricci, one of the many talents your hands have mastered" she grinned as she walked in to the kitchen. "There is the smart mouth I like, you were being uncharacteristically silent" he was tossing the chopped onions into the pan. "So the great Gabe Ricci likes it when I'm not quite huh?" as soon as words left her mouth, his hands were at her sides while he worked his tounge, making her gasp and then moan. "There, did you ever hear those hot moans coming out of that pretty mouth? Who wouldn't like that?" just like that he was back to sauteing the vegetables, as if he wasn't doing anything sinful just seconds ago. Whereas she was still reeling from his assault, "Damn you, Ricci! Always composed and efficient" she cursed at him in her mind. Though she did that, she had to admit, Gabe was unpredictable and she liked that, his touch and the kiss.. they're electric.. the only one way she would describe them- wait, that's it! She walked towards the counter, placing the plates and cutlery, she also put a note which goes like "Before the dinner, your stunning host wants you to see in the balcony, come there as soon as you read this. Xoxo.” As expected, he was walking towards her and it was perfect, she had the fairy lights on. "Listen to the song properly Mr Ricci, that's exactly how I feel about you" was all she said before she played

Electric love by BØRNS. When it ended, she looked him straight in the eye "Gabe, these few weeks have been the closest to what I'd call "perfect" and that's because of you. What we have right now, I like it but I'd also like to cherish every single thing with you and be that someone you'd be with everyday. Now that I've got it, I can't let it go and I want more Gabe. Would you do the honour of being my boyfriend, Gabriel Ricci?" He didn't speak for painstakingly long moments and his face, inscrutable as ever, it gave away nothing. Then at once he closed the distance between them. "No one has caught my eye like you did, Quinn. Everything about you is fascinating, I just want to spend more time with you. So, yes, now might I indulge my girlfriend in a dinner and then drown her in electric love as per her request?" Quinn laughed with all her heart and kissed him languidly on the lips, while she entwined his fingers with hers. And then, on their 100th day as a couple, they're here. Fingers entwined, hearts fulfilled, their song "Baby, your electric looove oooh" playing in the background as they looked at eachother with smiles just like people who're undoubtedly in love.

@lawsofattractionfanfiction

[ultrafangirlishness]

Fighting Sleep

What’s this? Me actually finishing some writing and being brave enough to post it? Unheard of.

This is based loosely off a dream I had a few months ago. I just wanted to try getting it out of my head and capturing its essence because it was really lovely and sweet :) Do not expect anything other than plotless, self-indulgent fluff, because that’s all this is.

Fandom/Pairing: My Hero Academia / KiriBaku (platonic or romantic)

Summary: Class 1-A is on their way to their next big training adventure. Kirishima and Bakugo get a little sleepy on the ride over.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Brief mentions of other classmates, Bakugo does one (1) swear

You can also read it on AO3!

Excited chatter filled the air as Class 1-A boarded the enormous tour bus that would take them to their next adventure. The students had been waiting all week for this: a weekend trip to a new training facility about seven hours from campus. They could hardly wait to see what was in store for them.

As Kirishima stepped into the bus, his bag slung over his shoulder, he began scouring the rows for a place to set down. It appeared about half the class was already boarded.

Everyone was dressed in their casual wear. Normally they would’ve been asked to be in uniform for a school-related trip, but since they were going to be traveling well into the night the school allowed for regular clothes.

Kirishima found an empty pair of seats off to the left and slid in next to the window. Across the aisle he noticed Midoriya and Uraraka who were seated together, and in front of them were Kaminari and Mineta. There was also Iida and Yoamomo sitting up towards the front, Todoroki and Tokoyami in the back, and Ashido and Hagakure sitting a few rows ahead of himself.

The students of 1-A continued filing in and taking their seats when Kirishima spotted a familiar scowl.

“Hey! Bakugo!” he waved his arms. “Over here!”

When Bakugo spotted him, he rolled his eyes but tossed his bag to Kirishima and sat down next to him.

“Don’t think this makes you special or some shit,” he said with a glare, “you’re just more tolerable than the others.”

Kirishima smiled despite himself. “Good enough for me.”

•••

About two hours had passed since the bus had left base camp. The sun was beginning to set, washing everything in a pink glow. The students had all settled down, keeping their talk to low whispers.

The air was beginning to feel heavy with the drowsiness of travel. The hum of the bus engine, the soft murmur of the students and the low lighting was starting to get to Kirishima, lulling him into a sleepy, half-conscious state. He could tell Bakugo was fighting it too; every few minutes his head would nod or his eyes would flutter shut only to snap open again. Kirishima wondered why he didn’t just let himself sleep, but this was Bakugo. He would put up nothing but his best fight. That, and he was incredibly stubborn.

Kirishima had just begun to close his eyes when he felt a weight drop against his side. No way, he thought. Carefully, he peeked an eye open and sure enough, a head of spikey blond hair was slumped against his arm. After an hour or so of fighting it, Bakugo must’ve finally succumbed.

Kirishima just closed his eyes again and smiled to himself. He must’ve fallen asleep sitting up and lost his balance with the movements of the bus. That was the only logical explanation, because Bakugo wouldn’t be caught dead leaned up against someone like that willingly; he had a fairly large personal bubble and didn’t like a lot of physical contact.  In fact, if he woke up now, Kirishima was sure he’d be furious and deny such a thing would ever happen. The thought of it made him grin wider. It was all just too good.

There’d been rumors that Bakugo got cuddly when he was sleepy. Kirishima could hardly believe it. The word “cuddly” didn’t even belong in the same sentence with someone like Bakugo. Yet here he was, curled into Kirishima’s side…

Kirishima didn’t see a point in waking him or making much of an attempt to move him; he’d probably just get chewed out. Besides, he was so warm, and the faint smell of sugar that always accompanied Bakugo was nice.

He decided he could let himself have this. He only hoped Sero and Kaminari didn’t catch sight of this or it’d surely be used as blackmail.

Watching the sun sink lower and lower in the sky, Kirishima let himself drift off as they rode further into the night.

•••

As Kirishima began waking up, the fog in his brain slowly subsiding, he began to take in his surroundings. There were two things that stuck out to him: first, that it was dark. Very dark. He sat up to see the only source of light was coming from the fluorescent lights of the gas station they were stopped at. Second, he realized how quiet it was. He looked around to find that almost everyone had left the bus, most likely to buy snacks or use the restroom. All that was left on the bus were a few students that had fallen asleep, Bakugo, and himself.

He checked his watch to find it was just past midnight, a few hours since he last checked before falling asleep. The stop of the engine must’ve woken him.

The memory of the events leading up to his drifting off suddenly came rushing back to Kirishima, and he realized with a little bit of disappointment that Bakugo was back in his own seat. He seemed to be awake, but only barely.

The students who had gotten off the bus began to file back in. As Kirishima watched each of them take their respective seats, he accidentally caught the eye of Mina Ashido. She looked over at Bakugo, who was still leaned back in his seat with his eyes closed, then back at Kirishima. With a teasing smile, she gave him a thumb’s up and a knowing wink, making him blush. She must’ve seen them asleep together earlier. Kirishima wanted to jump to his defense, but there was nothing to be said and she was already turned around, back in her seat.

The bus began moving again. There was still a few more hours left to go before they would reach their destination.

Looking over at Bakugo, who was still in a sleepy daze, Kirishima found himself a little bit in awe. His features were soft and relaxed; nothing like his regular demeanor. More than anything, he looked at peace.

A part of Kirishima wished they could go back to the way they were before they woke up. The problem was that he never knew where Bakugo’s boundaries stood, and he didn’t intend to overstep them. Then again, Bakugo didn’t exactly seem to be his regular prickly self right now...

How much could he get away with with Bakugo in a state like this? Surely he was too tired to put up much of a fight. Now was probably a better time than any to find out.

Slowly, without a word, Kirishima leaned over and lightly rested his chin on Bakugo’s shoulder, bracing himself to be shoved off. He was surprised to find that Bakugo didn’t budge. In fact, he didn’t even acknowledge anything had changed. He took that as a sign that he was in the clear.

Just to push it a little further, Kirishima decided to take the chance and lean his head into the crook of his neck, making himself comfortable there. When Bakugo still hadn’t reacted, Kirishima realized it was possible he was actually asleep. That, or he was too tired to care.

Kirishima risked a quick glance up and was delighted to find a light blush had spread across Bakugo’s cheeks. It was hard to tell in the dark, but it was definitely there, Kirishima was sure of it.

So he was awake after all—and he knew exactly what was happening.

It took all of Kirishima’s willpower not to say anything. Instead, he let his face break out into a toothy grin and laid his head back down on Bakugo’s shoulder. His heart swelled at the idea of being allowed this close to him in such a vulnerable state. The fact that the bus was completely shrouded in darkness and at least half the class was asleep probably helped too. He wondered if anyone else would’ve gotten away with this.

Bakugo still hadn’t moved a muscle or made any attempt to acknowledge Kirishima, who realized that Bakugo may just be stubborn enough to never acknowledge it. But, considering he didn’t appear angry, Kirishima wondered if maybe not saying anything was Bakugo’s way of telling him that it was okay. Either way, he was grateful for being allowed to stay there.

Then, just when he thought maybe Bakugo had finally fallen back asleep—

“I swear to All Might,” he spoke in a low voice so only Kirishima could hear, his eyes still closed, “If you say a word about this to anyone, I’ll end you.”

Kirishima couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. Bakugo wasn’t quite as threatening in a half-asleep state. Still, he would respect his wishes. All he wanted in this moment was to cherish it.

“Sure, man. Whatever you say.”

Kirishima closed his eyes again, snuggling in closer to his friend. He smiled when he felt Bakugo finally accept the gesture by tentatively resting his head atop Kirishima’s in return. Both boys began to feel the warmth and the weight of sleep pull at them once again, and this time they let it.