#i have forgone sleep. again

[dailykugisaki]

Day 117 | id in alt

I think Kugisaki would like to hold Maki's hand again idk tho.....

[glitchafton]

////

[pellucid-constellations]

Colds and Retold Confessions

Pairing: Line Cook!Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel would never be one to not take care of his girl when she's sick. That doesn't mean he won't make her blush.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: Illness

a/n: Some early relationship with these two :) Can be read on its own!! But the rest of this AU can be found in my masterlist right there ⬇ love you <3

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

With a low groan, you drew yourself from the bed, the blanket you’d tangled yourself up in resting along your shoulders and twisting at your back. It took you a moment to recognize that you hadn’t woken up crammed in the small twin bed of your dorm. Azriel’s bed was much larger and much more comfortable, one of the many reasons he had trudged your dreary body off campus and into his house last night. 

Your feet met comfortable, plush carpet as you walked down the hall. Every time you came to Azriel’s house—which was very often, as of late—you were left wondering how in the world he could afford a place like this. When you asked, he always mumbled something about restaurant chains and Rhysand and paycheck bonuses. And then he would change the subject.

Whatever. Your mind was too hazy to ask right now. 

Eventually, plush carpet gave way to cold, unforgiving tile, and the low glow of the kitchen reflected off of tanned skin. Azriel moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, his hair slightly askew revealing the mess he’d been sleeping beside (you) not too long ago. 

An array of vegetables sat spread on a cutting board and a pot simmered on the stove. Azriel had forgone a shirt, but a small towel rested on his shoulder just as it did when he was at work. He was humming a low tone, something else he did at work, and you smiled despite the pounding in your head. 

A small cough gave you away. 

Azriel turned to you, his open expression softening as it landed on you. He gave you an endearing smile and swiped the towel from his shoulder, tossing it on the counter before closing in on you. He gathered you into his arms as soon as you were within reach, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. 

“Why’d you get up?” he asked. 

“I wanted to see where you were.” 

Azriel hummed and shuffled you back until you were close enough to the counter for him to lift you up and sit you on the surface. He nuzzled your nose with his and pressed his hands on either side of your legs. 

“‘M right here,” he mumbled against your cheek, kissing the warm skin. “You should have stayed in bed.” 

“I’m not that sick,” you argued, but the words meant little when your fever was all too apparent. “I can get out of bed and walk around. And you have work today, anyway. I’ll have to learn to fend for myself.” 

Azriel smiled again. He leaned back and looked at you fondly, the expression felt in his hands as he brushed your hair back and tilted his head to the side to observe you. “I called out. No fending for yourself today.” 

“Azriel,” you admonished. “You didn’t need to do that. I’m fine, really.” 

“You were throwing up all night, baby. And your face feels like the surface of the sun.” 

You groaned and leaned your head forward to hide your face in Azriel’s shoulder. “Don’t remind me. That was mortifying.” 

Azriel slotted himself between your legs and pulled you closer to the edge of the counter, his hands coming around your back to rub circles along your spine. He tugged your blanket closer to your legs as it lay spread out and spoke low in your ear. 

“Not mortifying. I love you—I don’t care. I just want you to feel better.” 

You turned your head to the side to peek up at your boyfriend, the heat in your cheeks now a combination of sickness, embarrassment, and subtle surprise. You’d been dating for a little while now, and while Azriel had told you he loved you a few times, the words still felt new and unexpected. Azriel responded by placing a hand on the back of your head and pressing your face into his neck. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he teased. “I’ve said it before.” 

“I know,” you mumbled into his skin. “Still just catches me off guard.” 

Azriel ran his hand over your hair. “Can’t imagine why.” He kissed the shell of your ear. “‘S too easy to love you.” 

“Az,” you stressed, bashfulness overcoming you. 

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, baby.” Azriel pulled back and framed your face with his hands, pressing his mouth to yours in a chaste kiss. “It’s just too easy right now—with you all sick.” 

“Whatever. You’re so mean sometimes.” 

Azriel laughed, tapping your chin softly before turning around and continuing his prep of the food on the other side of the kitchen. You watched as he stirred the contents of the pot and moved around the space, the muscles in his arms and back flexing with the tattoos on his skin. You leaned back on the counter until your back met the wall, enjoying the view and the soft humming that Azriel had started up again. 

“I love you too, you know,” you croaked out, your voice raspy from a night of terrible sleep. 

Azriel paused his movements. He hung his head for a moment before flashing a smile over his shoulder—one that seemed to light up his entire face. 

“I know, baby,” he grinned.

“And you didn’t need to make soup. I could have eaten like, a sandwich or something.” 

“You think I’m cooking all day for a bunch of strangers and I’m not going to make my own girl a meal?” 

“Well, no, but—” 

Azriel hummed and landed a passing kiss on your forehead as he moved to the fridge. “I just told you I love you. I meant it, baby. Let me make the soup.”

[utterlyazriel]

love will unravel me (so please keep your hands held tight)

sorry if ur seeing this twice !! i am a finicky gal and was tooo sad it didn't appear in the tags so forgive me for the repost <3 it's good ol' hurt/comfort

It's unnerving.

To know something is somehow... wrong and yet, not be able to put your finger on it. Something being off.

There had been something off since your return from the Illyrian Mountains. Like a scar you hadn't ever remembered getting, like a lump in your bed that hadn't been there before.

You had returned to the Night Court only the night before, far later than expected. It had been near twilight, yourself kept late in the war-camps dealing with the unpleasant likes of Lord Devlon. All you wanted to do was to crawl into your waiting bed.

But your bed wasn't empty.

The perfect shape of your mate, tucked beneath the blankets, is one you could recognize in the dark. Even then, you had felt the strange difference — a tickle along the nape of your neck, enough to make you shiver.

Drained of your energy, you carelessly ignore it. Chalk it up to the bad feeling you got every time you went back to those gods forsaken war-camps.

Beyond their terrible ways and nearly tyrannical leaders, your own mate's history there was enough to make you want to burn it to the ground. To scorch and salt the Earth so nothing could grow there for a hundred years as proof of the pain.

So, feeling weary, you crawl into your bed. Your eyes find Azriel sleeping beside you, silent as always, and you trace the delicate features of his face in the dark. Even in his sleep, his shadows, lazy and slow, greet you as a slumber begins to wash over you. The lull of dreams comes quick.

As does morning. But come morning, Azriel isn't there.

Not the most unexpected thing; there were early morning trainings frequently enough. However, Azriel loathed each time you were sent to monitor over those war-camps. He bristled silently each time you left and rejoiced in that quiet, tender way he did best when you came back home to him. A mission in Illyria usually guaranteed a morning in bed with your lover.

Today, the sheets are cold.

You frown as you push yourself up, the sheets pooling at your waist. Faintly, at the back of your neck, you feel it once again. The tickle. Frown deepening, you reached your hand up to scratch at the back of your neck absentmindedly. Your eyes fall on the door.

Like a mystical tug, you feel compelled to search for the Shadowsinger — slipping out of bed silently, the tiled floor is warm from the morning sun beneath your feet. You pull the door open an inch, wondering just where your mate has ambled off to this morning.

As you step through the door, drawn by your mysterious compulsion, you don't turn back to check behind you.

And even if you had, your eyes would glaze over the large Illyrian, still bundled up in your sheets, turning over in his sleep.

—

You find Azriel out on the balcony, not in training as you had suspected.

He's facing out towards the city, his hands braced on the marble, his strong wings held proudly behind him. Interestingly, his shadows have forgone him this morning. Not one of them is in sight. You sidle up to him, feeling more yourself already just seeing him.

"Abandoning me in bed this morning?" You begin, playfully. You reach out to loop a hand through his arm. "I thought you had promised me—"

Your words come to an abrupt halt as Azriel shifts before you can touch him, his arm pulled out of reach.

In fact, as he notices your presence and turns to you, he takes an entire step backward. His handsome face screws up, a frown set on his brow.

"Don't." He says severely.

Your chest pangs with hurt. Your eyebrows crowd together in your confusion, concern beginning to melt into your blood.

"Az?" You say tentatively. You want to step closer to him, to cradle his face in your hands like you do whenever he has that crushed expression on — but a greater part of you fears he may retreat from you again.

"Don't call me that." He say, voice lower. His head dips, turned away from you to hide his face. Your concern swells, a thousand alarms ringing inside your mind. The back of your neck tickles again.

"Azriel," You try again desperately, fighting to keep your voice even. "What happened? What's going on?"

Confusion paints every thought in your mind as it whirls and searches, hunting desperately for the cause of your mate's sudden iciness. Was it something you had done? Was it taking another mission to a place you knew he so despised you going to?

The Fae before you doesn't say a word.

"Azriel," His name comes out a plea, unable to help yourself. It only scratches deeper into your soul when he maneuvers again, quicker than you, purposefully evading your touch.

"Stop." He instructs, the word nearly a growl. His voice is alike to the bark he uses for talking down to unruly war-camp Lords. It's nothing like the soft, sweet tone you're so accustomed to. It makes his words sting even more. "Your touch disgusts me."

You reel back at his words, a sharp inhale shooting to your lungs. What? You could feel your mouth opening and closing, no words coming to fruition. Behind your eyes, you can feel the itch beginning. You will your tears away, confusion still the dominant emotion swirling inside.

"I—" You stammer. "I don't understand."

Azriel snorts, unamused. He crosses his arms across his broad chest, looking more intimidating than usual as he draws to his full height. He keeps his eyes on the ground but the expression on his face looks... bored.

"I've had a revelation."

Another ache resounds through your chest. Why is he being so cryptic? Since when... had disgust been something Azriel had ever associated with you? You shiver at the prickle that rolls down your neck. It's as though you had gone to bed and your mate had been switched in the night.

"Az, you're scaring—"

"Stop calling me that." He snarls, interrupting you. You jolt in surprise, your feet taking a step back. With the way he's leering over you, a hint of anger —anger you've never seen directed at you before— creeping into his face, something akin to fear grows within you.

Azriel is stronger than you and far more deadly. A fact that usually provides comfort, for the first time, only grows your unease.

"Don't you want to hear my revelation?" He asks, his growl barely reined in. He smiles down at you but it's not soft in the way you know. It's cruel.

You take a step back. Something is wrong— terribly, entirely and utterly wrong with the love of your life. Panic begins to bubble up, like waters rising in a sinking ship.

You need to find someone else. You need Cassian, need Rhys, need anyone else here to help because you are the worst person to help. Every word he says cuts deep to bone. You can feel your heart bleeding within your chest.

It has to be a trick.

That was all you could think. Your mind was stumbling over the sentence over and over, almost delirious in how it clung to the thought tightly. It must, it must —you hoped it was. Begged it to be.

You take another step back, ready to dash through the house and call for help — but Azriel takes another step toward you. Your fear spikes, looking up his snarled face, the power within him radiating off in waves.

"I came to realise that I don't—"

"—y/n?"

A voice cuts in. There's someone else on the balcony with you. Thank the Mother, you think to yourself, whipping around to find Cassian in the doorway. He's got a furrow in his brown, concern written all over his expression.

"Cassian," You breath his name in a sigh of relief. You step back again, hyper aware of how Azriel seems to take the exact same amount of steps as you, following you to the door. Your panic flares away, your breaths coming fast and short.

"Cassian, thank gods—" You begin.

"What's happening?" He interrupts urgently. His eyes are on you alone, never flickering across to Azriel out on the balcony. "Why are you— did you have another nightmare?"

"Nightmare?" You repeat, eyes wide as you stare at him in concerned bewilderment.

You're about to point out the very large intimidating Male staring you both down when Azriel speaks again.

"I said," He drawls out the word and your head snaps back to look at him. You fail to notice that Cassian doesn't even turn at all.

"I've had a revelation, my dear."

It all sounds so terribly sarcastic, such a far cry from your stoic, sincere mate. You cringe, already feeling how his next words will be made cut you down.

"I don't want you anymore."

"—what can you see?—" Cassian's voice speaks from beside you, fuzzy and out of focus. You stare at Azriel, your heart beginning to hum and fizzle, a thousand fissures breaking upon the surface.

An anguish so deep in your bones rattles through your body — and across the House of Wind, your real mate wakes up with a gasp at the feel of it.

"What?" You croak, unable to tear your eyes away from Azriel.

You can feel Cassian's hands on your shoulder, shaking you, but you can't— you won't look away. Something deep within you compels you to watch him break your heart and shred your soul. The back of your neck singes with heat.

"—What is it you're seeing?!—" Cassian's voice dips in and out. His hand sweeps your hair back, looking for any ailments causing this. He finds it in an instant. "Holy Cauldron, your neck. Oh, that's so not good. Rhys!"

He bellows for the Highlord right as Azriel, the real Azriel, bursts in through the door — following the taut agonizing pain in his chest, that connects you two together. His eyes snag on you and Cassian, out on the balcony, and his brother turns to him but you do not.

"Azriel," Cassian warns. "It's a Vesania Sigil."

Azriel pays him no heed, even as the words echo through him with a darkened dread. His stomach turns, bile threatening.

A Vesania Sigil— his knees nearly threaten to buckle beneath him.

A Vesania Sigil is a sinister curse, placed on people to drive them to the brink of insanity, minds scrambled to exhaustion.

In all the times Azriel has seen them in his long lifetime... they have all been on dead Fae, driven to the point of taking their own life. His shadows burst into a frenzied storm.

Your eyes are fixed somewhere out of the balcony, a glaze to them that tells Azriel you're seeing something different than he can. Softly, as gently as he can, he strides out and Cassian steps back to let him. Azriel steps down onto the balcony beside you, slowly, delicately reaching out to touch you.

You startle, head snapping around to see who's touched you. Except when you drag your gaze up and meet his face, you flinch hard. Azriel feels misery twist deep into his heart, some buried fear within him coming true before his eyes.

You take a step back, stumbling as you do. Then your head turns back out to the balcony—then back to him, back and forth.

"W—What?" You stammer out.

It takes Azriel only one second to realise why, and to feel the agony as he does; you're seeing double.

When you had said he's everything to you, you had truly meant it. He is both your greatest love and... your greatest fear.

Azriel can feel Rhys' arrival somewhere behind him, can even hear Cassian's concerned voice filling him in but his entire focus is locked onto you. You've stumbled back again, falling painfully on your backside, barely catching yourself on your hands but something— someone on the balcony keeps frightening you.

Something in Azriel screams; how can he fight an enemy he cannot see or touch?

He's on his knees before you in an instant. You're beginning to tremble, silent tears on your cheeks and Azriel's heart wails as you look upon him with a face for a fear. He can't tell what you're seeing but he just needs you to see him.

"My love," He says, voice quiet as to not spook you. You whimper at his words and something shrivels up inside Azriel's chest. He continues, noting how your eyes flick rapidly between his face and something over his shoulder. You shuffle back, too hesitant to trust him.

"My love, my moon," He murmurs, gently reaching out for you. His shadows zip forward, soothing along your skin. You flinch back again but Azriel holds strong, nudging forward until he's touching your skin.

You wince and screw your eyes closed and Azriel can feel the fear, the tormented pain that pours down the bond. He can see it now, this close, the seal that's burning against the skin of your neck. A fiercely protectiveness anger burns in his gut and he vows to tear apart whoever did this to you, limb by limb.

"I don't know what you can see," He say, soft as he can. He lifts his other hand and cradles the other side of your face. Your eyes peek open. "But it's not true. None of it."

Your lips are quivering, lashes sparkling with how they catch your tears. Azriel feels sick to his stomach again; he could do a thousand battles with countless weapons but this is something he's entirely powerless against.

"Azriel," Rhys speaks up from behind, voice cautious. Azriel ignores him, his thumbs stroking softly over your face.

"It's not real." He says with more urgency. Your eyes dart over his shoulder again and a whimper slips out your throat, your body tensing. Real, raw pain scratches it's way down the bond.

"Azriel, I can get it off her." Rhys voice again. "You just need to keep her still."

Azriel nods, but doesn't turn, doesn't take his eyes off you for a single moment. His heart squeezes and cracks, a thousand shards littered through his ribcage when you finally speak. Your glassy eyes have lost a little of their glaze, fixed on your mate in front of you with a desperate plea.

"He—" You begin, sucking in a harsh breath. Your breathing is too fast, your heartbeat too. "It- it fucking—it looks just like you."

"It's not." Azriel assures in an instant. He keeps his eyes fixed on yours, trying to be the picture of calm for you even as his heart warbles in agony at your pain. "It's not me."

Your eyes shift over his shoulder again and Azriel moves this time, blocking your view. "Don't. Keep your eyes on me. Look at me."

Silently, Rhys kneels at your side, his violet eyes blazing where they’re fixed on your neck. Undoubtedly, this was not such a personal attack but something to harm the inner circle. As darkness begins to swirl from Rhys' fingers, orbiting the sigil, you begin crying again, fresh tears spilling down your chests as little gasps wrack your frame.

"It—" You gasp, suddenly focusing desperately on Azriel now that you know who's who. "It— gods, it sounds so much like you."

"It might, but it isn't me." Azriel promises. He aches when your hands suddenly shoot up, eyes screwed shut as you clamp your hands down over your ears — like whatever you could hear was causing you physical pain. Rhys mutters something under his breath, his hands still working.

"Eyes on me.” Azriel urges, knowing you can hear him. You whimper and pitch forward, forehead bowing to your knees. His hands fall away as your head begins to give tiny shakes, side to side. His shadows swarm your shoulders, unsure how to help.

“Don’t—“ For the first time, Azriel’s voice falters with a wobble. He tries not to think of the countless warriors who have fallen beneath a sigil this strong and mentally roars at Rhys to move faster. “Listen to me, my love. Listen, listen to my voice, please.”

Your breathes are ragged, staggering inhales as you press your head between your knees. You entire body shakes and Azriel dares to steal a glimpse at the back of your neck — the intricate rune imprinted on your skin shimmering black as it slowly seals.

"Keep," Rhys grits out, his concentration still focused on his power. "her still."

Azriel's hands dart out, already apologising at how he has to force your head out of hiding. You gasp and sob, pulling back to resist but Azriel holds tight, his hands holding your face as tenderly as he can.

He pushes forward, crowding in, until his forehead rests against yours. He summons everything he can within himself, every ounce of devotion he holds for you and send its down the thread in his chest til everything burns white hot.

"Look at me, my love. Show me your eyes. Listen to my voice." Once the silent stoic type, Azriel lets everything that comes to mind fall out his mouth.

Your eyes crease open, flush with tears, and you shudder against him but Azriel feels it. The push back. The press of your skin against his, trying to get closer, trying to get to safety. Rhys curses for a moment, his dark magic still swirling and Azriel resists every urge to howl at him to hurry.

"Tellmetellmetellmetellme," You chant in a whisper, half delirious. You're flicking between his hazel eyes, your hands still half over your ears, body still wracked with quivers.

Tell me. Azriel's soul feels marred at the reveal of what is taunting you and he strokes his thumbs over your cheeks, drawing your attention to him.

"I love you," He says, voice sounding close to wrecked. "I love you and you're mine. I'm yours and you're mine."

You shudder violently, eyes crushing closed, right as Rhys pulls away with an exhausted sigh. It's gone. Azriel hears Rhys' voice in his mind but it's not even needed — not with the way you suddenly slump forward into him, like a puppet with its strings cut.

"It's okay, it's gone," Azriel murmurs lowly, gathering you up in his arms as much as he can. He can feel your body shaking against him, sobs still forcing their way up your throat. His wings wrap around you, an inky cocoon of safety, sealing you off from the world.

"It's gone," He repeats, his arms circling around you. He can feel the pitter-patter of your rabbiting heart, feel the remains of fear that hang around your system. Every cell in his body yearns at this injustice, the fabric of the mating bond sending his protectiveness into overdrive. But more than the urge to hunt and maim whoever harmed you is the overwhelming need to make sure you're safe.

"You're safe now, I swear. It wasn't real." His assurances continue softly, his body instinctively beginning a slow rock to soothe you. You sobs slow to cries, your hands twisted tightly into his sleep-shirt. "I love you. I love you."

By the time your breathing evens out and your hiccuping cries slow, it's some time later. Your face has been buried in Azriel's chest and when you finally dig it out, Azriel's heart disintegrates once more at your blotty skin, your tired eyes.

You don't even have to ask.

"Vesania Sigil." He says quietly, hazel eyes burning into your face.

You can feel his writhing worry through the bond, like a caged tiger, fiery hot and licking at your heels. You give a little sniffle. Open your mouth to speak and find not one word in your throat.

Azriel's moving deftly before you can think, his strong arm looping beneath your knees to scoop up you against his chest. You let yourself be coddled, thankful to the way he curls himself around you entirely, wings hiding your view — only a flash on the ceiling to be seen. You're not sure you can face the others just yet.

The door your bedroom opens as he nears and Azriel kneels on the edge of the bed, his strong thighs maneuvering you both up til he's rested up against the headboard. Pure exhaustion like nothing you've felt before creeps up from within you.

Yet even so, you feel your heart twinge. It's been chafed raw today. Your hands slither and squirm, til they're wrapped tight around Azriel's middle and he hums protectively, his wing draping over you like a blanket.

For a moment, there is only weary, tired silence.

"Tell me?" You ask in a whisper, your voice so, so small. Azriel aches at the pain in your voice, sending every assurance down the golden thread between you.

"You're mine," He says, voice hushed and yet doused in his love.

"I'm yours." You echo, voice a little stronger than before. He can feel the way you tug on the bond, as if checking its still secure— still unbreakable. "And you're mine?"

Azriel folds himself even closer and tugs back on the bond strongly. His scarred hand glides up to bury itself in your hair, massaging slow and sweet. His nose nuzzles in against your hairline, his lips pressing a kiss wherever they find skin.

"And I'm yours." He agrees.

[eddiesghxst]

no thoughts just loser!eddie losing his shit when he sees you over at his house for the first time, rifling through his things like any normal friend does.. but you stumble upon a box.under his bed. it’s like slow motion when he walks into his room and sees you open the lid and he nearly drops a glass of water, literally biting his fist in pain, trying to stop you but then you’d only get more curious of what he was hiding.

you. he has polaroids of you except they’re the dirty cum covered kinds. he has your underwear with his stains in it. he has your perfume bottles, your rings (he would totally get hard seeing how tiny they are compared to his, and imagining the dainty stones on the rings on your ring finger like an engagement stone)

it’s like a fucking shrine for you and he thinks he’s gonna pass out as your eyes widen.

but you only turn to him and smile, and his knees weaken. literally almost fainting when you kiss him because you have definitely slept with his sweatshirts, came to the idea of eddie, etc. he’s just such a fucking loser but that night he makes you cum so much you see stars and he’ll have a scrapbooks worth of polaroids (just from that night alone lol)

anyways do you think you could write a lil something based loosely off that? 🫶

BESTIE I MIGHTVE DIED YES. YES YES YES.

also this ended up longer than I'd intended but who cares its pervy!loser!eddie

18+ — MINORS DNI

word count: 1k

————

Eddie’s not sure if he believes this is real. There’s no way this is real, right? There’s no way he has his best friend naked on his bed, covered in sweat and cum— his cum, at that.

He almost thinks it’s all another one of his sick, perverted dreams, but then he’s reminded that none of those dreams have felt this real. None of his dreams have felt this vivid to where he can actually feel the tremble in your hands as you wrap a fist around his wet cock, the shift of the bed as you clumsily scramble to your knees, the lewd and unmistakable shlick sound of your hand fisting his spent cock. It’s never been this vivid— that’s how he knows this isn’t a dream.

You’re blissed out and cock-drunk as you shuffle to lean on all fours, lowering your mouth to suckle on Eddie’s leaking tip. Your toes curl at the sound of Eddie groaning above you, a hand resting on the back of your head to shove himself further down your throat. “Take it all the way in, that’s it— fuck,” Your center throbs at his words, a wet gagging noise emitting from the back of your throat when Eddie’s tip meets the tight space. He curses with a groan, head dropping back for a moment before he looks back down at you with a lazy smirk.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you gag on my dick, sweetheart.”

You whine, your hips grinding back against nothing, the cool breeze of his room sending shivers up your spine when it graces the wet heat of your cunt. Around you, scattered on the bed, are the many polaroids you had just discovered earlier. Snapped photos of you in bed, in the shower, getting dressed in your room; all images that would’ve sent anyone else running for the hills. Eddie was so sure you would never speak to him again when you found that box full of all things you, but to his surprise (and sinful delight), you were just as fucked up as Eddie, if not more.

Eddie’s eyes dart all over the bed; polaroids, lace panties and matching bras, dainty jewelry, lipsticks, and perfume bottles. Eddie Munson was a perverted thief, and it somehow landed him balls deep down your throat. 

He reaches down and picks up a particular Polaroid, one of his favorites; a picture of you laid on your stomach in your bed, one leg hiked up to form a comfortable sleeping position. You’d forgone your sleeping shorts this night, and Eddie took it upon himself to jack off and cover your ass in sticky ropes of his cum, snapping a photo as the white substance dripped down between the folds of your ass to stain your pretty panties (Eddie stole those panties that same night).

He takes the picture and holds it up between two fingers. “So many nights of wasted cum… you’ve got a lot to make up for, sweet girl.” His voice is low and teasing, and you whine against him, nuzzling his cock further down your throat until your nose brushes against the curly hairs surrounding his base.

Eddie’s knuckles are tight against your scalp when he pulls you off his cock, shivering at the wet gasp you take, bleary eyes blinking up at him as your spit drips onto his thighs. “Think you’ve been good enough for it?” He wraps a hand around himself and rubs his throbbing tip against your lips, humming in approval when you open your mouth to offer your tongue. He slaps himself against your tongue a few times, chuckling when you whine and squeeze your thighs together. You can feel the sticky feeling of his cum and your arousal sliding against the insides of your hot thighs, and your eyes roll at the sensation. You lean forward and nuzzle against his cock, “Please, Eds— want it so bad. I’ve been so good, I have.” Your words are nearly slurred; the only thing on your mind is the overwhelming urge you have to feel Eddie’s cum in the back of your throat.

You don’t see Eddie reaching for his camera, too focused on licking your way down to his balls. “Fuck— look at me, sweetheart, give me those pretty eyes.”

You slowly blink up at Eddie, wet lashes fluttering and pouty lips grazing his cock as you gaze at the camera. A flash and a snapping sound echo through the room before a white card come out the bottom, a curse falling from Eddie’s lips as he shakes the paper and tosses it to the side for later. He nods down towards you, “Love on it, baby; show me how much you love my cock.” You don’t wait for another second, licking a thick stripe up his cock, rounding your lips around his tip to suck eagerly. Eddie takes another picture, and you whine.

“Shit, I’m gonna come— keep sucking baby, keep taking me in.”

You shuffle forward, nose brushing against his pelvis once again, and Eddie takes it as permission to secure a hand atop your head and begin fucking himself into the back of your throat. Both of your hands are fisted into the sheets below you, watery eyes gazing up at the blissed-out Eddie above you. His hips falter during the last few thrusts; he doesn’t last much longer. 

“I’m gonna come… don’t swallow, okay?” You nod as best as you can, and without further directions, Eddie’s cum floods your mouth until you nearly choke on it. 

He pulls out of your mouth with a moan, instructing you to open your mouth and show him your tongue, which you immediately obey. He reaches for the camera once more, snapping one picture with you on all fours, gazing up at the camera with your tongue out, white sticky cum coating the inside of your mouth. He takes a second picture, this time with his hand cradling your jaw. The third and last picture he takes is with his hand still cradling your jaw, but his thumb is now pressed against your tongue, smearing his sticky mess across your tastebuds.

And when he tosses the newly printed photos into the pile of new Polaroids, he catches a glimpse of one clear picture of your pussy freshly fucked and covered in his cum. Eddie can’t help it when his cock twitches against his thigh once again.

It’s safe to say that Eddie had to get a new box the next day <3

[consciouscarrot]

day 25 - daddy kink [j.price]

john price x fem!reader

content warnings; mentioned wet dream (r), oral (f!receiving), p in v sex, creampie, daddy kink (obvi), sweet sex <33

notes; he’s so daddy oh my gosh, and i’m slowly catching up on these fics yay :) longer one again tday, can you tell i love him? as always, mdni and blank blogs get blocked.

kinktober/flufftober masterlist

—————

you’d been tossing and turning for a while, having woken up after a very memorable dream with slick smeared between your thighs and an ache deep in your belly.

you’d tried to ignore it at first, not wanting to disturb john, thinking you could just go back to sleep and everything would be fine.

but almost an hour later, it had only gotten worse, and it didn’t help that he’d forgone a shirt, the sight of his softened stomach and hair covered chest making you nearly salivate, subconsciously rubbing your thighs together to try to ease some of the tension.

biting your lip, you decided to just try and wake him up, and figured that if he denied you, you’d just sneak off to the bathroom to get it out of your system. carefully shaking him, you whispered his name, internally praying that he’d say yes.

he startled awake, quickly checking the room over for threats before turning his concerned gaze to you, pulling you into him.

“what’s the matter, sweetheart?” he let out a heady groan, further worsening your condition, pussy throbbing around nothing and sending you reeling.

you whined, burying your face into his neck and squeezing your eyes shut as you bucked your hips against him, far too shy to tell him aloud.

he chuckled, chest shaking against you as he realised what was going on, strong hands rubbing your back in sympathy.

“my girl feelin’ needy? we can’t have that now, can we?”

grunting lowly, he rolled over on top of you, leaning up on his elbows to look at you, stroking away the stray hairs that had fallen over your face, your eyes still shut as he planted a sweet kiss on your lips.

“open your eyes f’daddy,”

your lids fluttered open, eyes glazed over as you looked up at him dreamily, hopeful for him to provide you relief with his body. you visibly melted beneath him when he traced over the edge of your jaw, sighing softly at his delicate touches.

“i love you, daddy,” you whispered, chin tipping up in a honeyed plea for more kisses, smiling sleepily against his lips when he gave in, mouths moving together in slow movements, your tongues swirling together sluggishly.

“i. love. you. too,” john said, words split up by chaste kisses pressed all over your face, grinning at your little giggles, squirming from the ticklish feeling of his beard.

you pawed at him, wiggling your hips to try and get his attention a little lower. ever attentive, john’s hands slid over your body, rubbing at your waist as he leant down, trailing wet kisses down stomach, lips grazing over your soft skin. your breath hitched when he hovered over your heat, gently blowing air onto your pearl, grinning at the breathy moans you let out from such little stimulation.

purposely avoiding where you wanted him, he shifted down further to your inner thighs, rough hands palming at your skin whilst he kissed there too, eyes never leaving yours.

you really tried to be patient, but he was so close to your pussy, tangy slick pooling along your slit, that you couldn’t help but buck your hips again, chewing on your lip in anticipation.

“you’re neglecting me,” you whined, voice wobbling with crocodile tears.

“shh, i know,” he laughed, “gon’ be good f’me, baby?”

“yes i promise, please, daddy,” you squeaked, nodding along eagerly.

“okay, bug. i’ll give y’what you want,”

he licked a broad stripe over your cunt, groaning into you at the taste, sending vibrations shooting up your body. you cried out as he slurped at you, tongue focused on your clit as he flicked and sucked at the delicate nub, all messy and sloppy with his arms holding you firmly into the bed.

your back arched slightly, desperately grasping for anything to hold onto, patting at the sheets, only relaxing when he reached up and intertwined your fingers together, happy to let you dig your nails into his skin.

sweet moans slipped out from between your parted lips, eyes rolling to the back of your head at the delicious way his beard scratched against your skin, high rapidly approaching both from being so pent up and his ravenous mouth.

another deep moan into your cunt sent you over the edge, thighs enclosing around his head as you gripped tightly at his hands, powerful waves of pleasure washing over you, rendering you near breathless.

he rubbed along your thighs, massaging slowly as he waited for you to come down, resisting the urge to hump against the mattress, cock throbbing from both your taste and sounds.

“good girl, honey. ready for more?”

“yes daddy, need you,”

pulling your legs around his waist, he hovered above you, leaning down to kiss you, the sweet taste of you bleeding from his tongue to yours, nipping at your bottom lip, meeting your gaze with half-lidded eyes.

john quickly stripped off his boxers, bringing his thick cock up to your weeping pussy, tapping his tip against your clit a couple times as he lubricated himself with your arousal.

you whined, growing increasingly impatient, one orgasm not enough to satisfy your urges, desperately needing to feel him inside you.

“easy,” he said, drawing out the word deeply, eyes flicking up to yours in warning.

you both moaned at the relief of him pushing into you, slowly forcing you to accommodate his thick length, walls pulsing around him as you gasped, faces so close together you could see every little scar on his face, every hair on his jaw, every shade of blue in his eyes.

he internally sighed a breath of relief when you finally settled under the heavy weight of him, tummy grazing against yours with each thrust of his hips, your pretty lips parted with the string of cries slipping past them.

you wrapped yourself around him the best you could, in all ways possible, legs wound tight around his waist, arms around his neck, fingers clutching at whatever pieces of him you could reach, cunt sucking him into you, silently begging him to fill you with his spend.

he adored the blissful look on your face, wishing that he could be here all the time, so that you would never know anything but everlasting ecstasy, that you would be constantly full of his cum, belly swollen and round with his babies.

fingers lacing through his hair, you tugged him even closer to you, exchanging sloppy kisses as your dragged your nails from the base of his scalp, past his shoulders, trailing down his broad back, eliciting rugged moans from him, making you clench down on him.

you mewled loudly, his skilled hands circling your clit as the coil deep inside of you tightened again, you were barely able to hold back, waiting for his permission, only moments away from it snapping.

“oh- can i come, daddy? please?”

normally, he would’ve dragged this out, waiting until you had begun to lose control before saying yes, loving the way you trembled at the sheer effort it took you to stifle your orgasm, the look of panic on your face as you involuntarily began to give in. but, john himself was so close to falling over the edge, and knew that if he waited he’d end up embarrassing himself, so aroused from you waking him up from neediness and the feel of you coming against his tongue.

“cum for me,” he commanded, gasping as his hips stuttered, eyes locked onto the way your face contorted to the point of almost looking like you were in pain.

the coil immediately snapped, whole body shaking as euphoria flooded you again, whimpers and groans coming from the two of you as you came together, your slick mixing with his pearly cum inside of you, velvet walls spasming around his cock.

thoroughly worn out, you went fully slack, limbs falling back on the bed as you already began to drift back off, finally satiated and happy.

he collapsed next to you, rubbing gentle circles over your damp skin, letting out a slow, relaxed sigh, very pleased that you had ended up waking him, and eventually got up to clean the mess between your sore legs.

you were half aware of john moving about, whimpering when a warm cloth bristled against your sensitive clit, his shushing and quiet praises, before he joined you, pulling your body into his, sleepily groaning into your neck when you melted into his warm embrace.

[lumosinlove]

Write Me In

Part Four

Leo was surprised that he slept at all, but when he woke up the next morning, the light was bright through the gauzy curtains and he sat up feeling like he was forgetting something. It was a trade off he’d learned to deal with. Either his insomnia kept him up all night, or he crashed hard and woke up wondering if he’d been asleep for a week. Or maybe it was just this place. He’d left a window open and the smell of the ocean was so heavenly that Leo nearly fell back into his pillows and basked in it. Until he remembered. Then he fell back into his pillows and tried to figure out what had happened last night, and what might be waiting for him out there.

He listened.

Guitar. Soft, beautiful guitar.

Maybe it had even been what had woken him. That, or the smell of coffee. Leo had seen about five different ways of making coffee in that kitchen and he tried to calm himself by seeing if he could figure out what they were using. It was probably impossible—it was just coffee—but he tried anyway. French press. Espresso. Stove top. Coffee machine, like the one Finn had forgone all of the fancier equipment for back in New York. Maybe he preferred it. What did Logan prefer?

They had wanted to be with him last night. Even worse, Leo had wanted to be with them last night. He could have been waking up in that master bedroom he’d caught a glimpse of. Logan and Finn’s suitcases both disasters on the floor. Now, the bed would be unmade. Had they stayed up late by the fire or followed Leo inside soon after? Leo had forced himself not to listen. He’d counted sheep. He’d counted waves down below. He’d counted his own breaths and heartbeats and all but forced himself to sleep so he wouldn’t count the ways that conversation could have gone or how that night could have ended.

And now Finn O’Hara was playing guitar in the main room—it was Finn. Logan picked it up sometimes but he wasn’t as nimble with it as Finn. So, maybe Logan was making coffee. Or it was only Finn awake with coffee and music and Logan was sleeping in as usual. He clicked on his phone. Eight-thirty. If Logan had his choice, he would still be sleeping. Leo tried to fight the twinge that came with the warm feeling that he knew that.

Leo forced himself to get up. He went to the bathroom, ran wet fingers through his hair, and looked at himself in the mirror. This tedious, nervous feeling didn’t reflect in his face. He looked rested and like he’d gotten some sun. He pulled his t-shirt over his head and regarded himself. He didn’t workout much. He liked the classes he went to with Cassie. He was usually the only guy, but he didn’t mind. They laughed as much as they worked but Leo always left drenched in sweat so he figured it was worth it. He looked like he’d always looked to himself. Maybe not as defined as Finn and Logan with their drumming and back-stage push ups, but he’d always been tall and lean.

He went to his suitcase and looked at his options. They’d walk into town today? They’d go to Logan’s nice restaurant? Would they swim and he’d change before dinner?

Were they going to send him home after he’d refused them? He needed to write.

Finn’s voice, muffled, filtered to him through the door, and Logan’s replied. So, they were both up. At the thought that they were waiting on him, Leo threw on a pair of light wash jeans—cool enough, he supposed—and a white t-shirt.

Everything you want, then Logan had said. Leo ran his hands through his hair again and closed his eyes. He wanted quite a bit, and none of it had to do with clothes.

He opened his door slowly and the guitar got louder without the wood blocking it. Leo paused, trying to recognize the song.

“—open doors,” Logan was saying. “And…hm. And open doors…”

“And admit that we won,” Finn replied, talking in a meter that wasn’t quite singing. “Begun, won. Not quite a perfect rhyme, but that’s…”

“Non, that’s good. I like that. When you sing it, it’s a perfect one.”

Leo’s heart picked up.

They were writing a song.

He was tempted to stay hidden and listen, but that felt like a betrayal somehow. Rude. This was private.

Finn began to sing, actually sing, if not a little quietly for Leo’s benefit, just as Leo rounded the corner.

“We tried to fight it off with—oh, hey.” Finn was looking at him, a hesitant sort of smile on his face. “Hi, hi, good morning.”

“Hi,” Leo said.

There was a pause. An obvious one. One that made Leo panic, just a little. Finn’s eyes were a soft, worried brown and Leo didn’t know what to do with that. Logan saved him.

“Salut,” Logan said. He was standing by the stove in a white linen shirt that was unbuttoned halfway down his chest and holding a stovetop espresso pot. He looked so tan against the white shirt, his hair wet and curlier than usual—from a swim in the ocean? It was pushed back from his face like Leo had seen it that first day at their apartment in New York. Leo glanced back at Finn, who was already looking at him. The expression on his face seemed to say I know, right?

Logan held up the silver pot and Leo made himself study that instead. It looked well-loved. Stained, the metal changed from the heat.

“Coffee?” Logan asked.

“Yes,” Leo said. “Yeah, please.”

“Did you sleep okay?” Finn asked.

“Was everything—” Logan began to ask, then registered what Finn said. “Oh, ouais, yeah, did you…yeah.”

Finn laughed and gave him a helpless sort of shrug and it made Leo relax a little. They didn’t seem upset. Or like they wanted him gone. They seemed nervous, too.

“I did,” Leo said. “Sleeping with the window open and hearing the waves is so great.”

“I know,” Finn said. “Soothing.”

“I put a little bit of sugar,” Logan said. He nudged an espresso cup across the counter. “Because it’s good.”

“How much is a ‘little bit’ of sugar in your world?” Leo asked—Because it seemed like it might crack some of this worry between them, brittle and crystalized as sugar itself.

Logan’s smile proved him right. “I guessed at what your 'little bit’ would be.” Logan tilted his head. “I think I did good.”

Logan wanted to take them into town for breakfast. Leo wondered if the same car was going to come and pick them up, but it turned out Logan had other plans. He led them through a door—Leo honestly, at this point, wasn’t even going to try to map the house. It sprawled in directions he couldn’t even clock. This time they ended up in a garage that had two cars covered in crisp white sheets.

“Pick a color,” Logan said. “Yellow or green.”

“Oh my God,” Finn said. “Logan.”

Logan just smiled and shrugged. “Yellow or green, Leo?"

“Green,” Leo said instantly and Finn gave him a smile.

Logan strode forward, took hold of the closer sheet, and yanked it off in one flourish. Beneath it sat a pristine, gleaming Porsche. It was an older model, vintage looking with a low roof and a bumper that looked like a smile. It’s velvety dark green color was sleek and spotless.

“Wow,” Leo said faintly. “I mean, yes. The obvious choice for a ride to breakfast.”

Finn laughed loudly and it echoed in the room. “I know, right?”

Logan took a pair of keys off of the wall and tossed the other to Finn. “You’re yellow, Coeur.”

Leo blinked and saw a flash of Finn’s lips on Logan’s skin last night. Logan had just called Finn heart.

It was perfect. He and Logan zipped along narrow, cliffside roads in their green car with the bright racer yellow of Finn’s behind them. Besides the colors, they were a perfect match. Leo felt like he was in a movie with the engine in his ears. They couldn’t talk over the roar, not to mention the wind. Logan rolled all the windows down���literally. The card had cranks not buttons. The salty wind whipped at their hair and Leo knew that he might look insane when he got out of the car, but he didn’t care, not with Logan’s strong hands to study. He had one easy on the steering wheel, and dropped the other periodically to change gears. It was a little like the way he drummed. Just a different sort of rhythm.

They didn’t speak until Logan had to slow down because they’d entered a small town. A market was in full swing and everyone seemed to know Logan’s cars—and Logan himself. He waved out the window at two small kids as he pulled into a parking spot. They were jumping up and down and each holding a peach that was dripping down their arms.

Oh, Leo wanted to shop here. He clicked his seatbelt off and looked at Logan.

“Hi,” Logan said. “Fun?”

Leo nodded. “Fun.”

As they walked around, it became clear to Leo that he was going to have to add an entire section to his article that was just about Logan being here. Even his body moved differently. Leo and Finn walked a few paces behind him as he was greeted by nearly every vendor. They all exchanged kisses on both cheeks. Leo sort of wanted to see Logan kiss Finn on both cheeks.

“Beautiful, right?” Finn leaned over and whispered to him. He was in a white t-shirt like Leo’s, and soft looking blue shorts. Exactly which part of the scene in front of them he was referring to, Leo didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. His yes applied to all of it.

Leo was about to buy a few of the peaches he’d seen the kids holding when Logan appeared at his side and dropped coins onto the vendor’s table.

Before Leo could even protest, Logan was guiding him away with a hand on his back and holding something out to him in a flat palm. It was a small pastry nestled in parchment. It looked lemony, or maybe it was an almond paste. On top were two perfect raspberries.

“It’s the best thing you’ll ever eat,” Logan said in French. “I promise.”

“Big promise,” Leo said.

Logan laughed. “It’s true. I dream of them. I could write a song about them.”

“Oh,” Leo said. “Well, in that case.” He picked up the square sweet and took a bite. He’d been right about the almond. It was a sweet, nutty burst in his mouth beside the raspberries. The pastry felt like a thousand thin layers of crisp and butter. Leo closed his eyes and nodded. “Ouais. Yeah, it’s perfect.”

When he opened his eyes again, Logan was still there, gazing up at him with a bright, satisfied grin.

“Let’s get another,” Leo said.

“They sell out fast,” Logan said. “This was their last.”

“Did you get one?”

Logan shrugged. “I wanted you to try it.”

Leo frowned at the half pastry remaining at his hand.

“It’s okay,” Logan said. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”

But Leo held out the other half. “Non. Tu en rêves.”

It was maybe one of the best parts of being here, seeing Logan’s face when he spoke French to him.

“You like it,” Logan said. “I can tell.”

Leo mimicked Logan’s shrug. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”

Logan bit the inside of his cheek, then smiled. Eyes on Leo, he leaned forward and took the rest of the pastry between his teeth right from Leo’s fingertips. Leo hadn’t been expecting that. He could feel color rise to his cheeks as sure as he felt the sun on his neck.

“Just like you remember?” Leo asked to try and draw attention away from his red face. It came in a double force, though, when Logan raised up a thumb and brushed a crumb from the corner of Leo’s mouth.

“Better,” Logan said. The French word’s soft double L sound gorgeous in his mouth.

Leo self consciously touched where Logan had touched his mouth. He sort of wanted him to do it again.

“Will you write about this?” Logan asked. “I hope you write about this.”

“Our week’s almost up,” Leo said. “Pretty good finale, I’d say.”

Logan’s face fell.

“Mais…the week we agreed on maybe,” Logan said softly. “Or that was agreed on. By others who didn’t know that we…”

Logan dropped his gaze and Leo was right back in last night, the heat of the fire on his face. Finn and Logan’s open expressions and hopeful eyes. Leo glanced around for Finn and found him talking animatedly to a man at a stall of books. Finn O’Hara, Leo thought. He didn’t look like the rock star, or the heart throb, or the dream talk show guest. He was this sweet boy trying his best to meet that man halfway with bad French and hand gestures. Who got called heart by his boyfriend, who had a boyfriend, who wanted Leo’s voice to help them tell the world about each other.

“Would you…” Logan huffed. He looked around and then took Leo by the hand and tugged him towards an old set of narrow steps in the shade of a sweet smelling tree. Leo let him maneuver them into sitting, squeezed next to each other.

Logan fixed him with his bright green eyes. “Would you want to stay?” Logan asked. “You just got here.”

“You…You want me to extend the story?”

“I want you to stay.”

There was a whole landslide of other halves to that sentence. Leo couldn’t have guessed at a single one.

Leo smiled a little. “You know, I didn’t think you liked me when we first met.”

“No one thinks I like them when we first meet.”

The paper bag of peaches was cool on his lap. Logan had a bag, too, and when he caught Leo looking at it, he uncurled the top. Croissants, chocolate and plain.

“I was nervous,” Logan said. “It wasn’t that I didn’t like you. I was worried about the story. Mostly, I was worried you wouldn’t like us.”

“You didn’t even know me.”

“I knew you in the way you knew us,” Logan said. “Through your writing. Non, we don’t know-knoweach other, but we know each other. You can’t write without some truth. Can you?”

He had him there. “That’s true. No, that’s true. Okay…”

“Leo,” Logan said more seriously. He pushed their thighs together harder where they were already touching. “Will you stay? Only if you want to, of course, but…please. We want you to stay.”

God, did he want to. He wanted months of whatever this was. Whatever they were dancing around—because it was something. God, it was something. Leo didn’t sleep much but he had already dreamed about it. He just wished there was a way to tell them that he wouldn’t say it first. He couldn’t say it first. Right now, he was in charge of the most important story of their careers. If something soured—and Leo knew better than most how quickly things could sour—he didn’t want any more tangles than necessary. They had each other. They already had each other.

“I’ve told you how much you’ve meant to me,” Leo began. “And for how long.”

Logan nodded.

“And I’ve told you that you’ve helped me through some bad people and experiences.”

“Ouais. But we got interrupted.”

“We did, yeah. Yeah…” Leo sighed. “Well, the bottom line is, you’re not the first, um…”

“Le sujet,” Logan offered, then winced.

“Subject. Sure. You’re not the first subject who’s wanted to…” There was no better way to say it, honestly. “Sleep with me. That is what was happening last night, wasn’t it?”

“First, we would have wanted to kiss you.”

They both looked up just as Finn sat down, sitting sideways on the step below them so they had to lift let their legs go over his. When he smiled and pushed his sunglasses up on his head, he was Finn O’Hara for a second. It looked like a Vogue cover shoot. And then he tipped Leo’s bag to poke inside and he was Finn again.

Kiss you. He’d surely walked into some far-fetched dream of his own making. But, no, there they were. They were both touching him somehow. Knee against knee. Finn’s knuckles kept brushing his ankle. It was comforting.

“You wanted it to go somewhere last night,” Leo repeated. “Kiss, more…but that’s what was going on. I’m not wrong?”

“You’re right,” Logan said. He was blushing. Sweating a little, pushing his hair back. The market was loud and oblivious around them, and Leo wasn’t sure why this conversation was happening here, but it was.

“We didn’t just want to sleep with you,” Logan said.

“Okay…” Leo shook his head and looked at Finn. “The kissing your boyfriend in front of me didn’t really give me any clues farther than fucking.”

“Yeah…” Finn was rubbing at one of his eyes. “I think maybe we’re a little rusty on the flirting side of things.”

“There is no way your flirting is rusty,” Leo said, laughing a little. “Believe me, I think I’d know. I’ve been watching you for a week, you flirt with everyone.”

“No,” Finn said. “Nu-uh. I make everyone think I’m flirting with them. I make whole crowds think I’m flirting with them.” He turned to face Leo. “I flirt…or try to…with you.”

“We weren’t just trying to—” Logan looked horrified. “Là, what, quoi, have sex then goodbye?”

Finn dropped his forehead on Leo’s knee. “We were trying…” He looked up at Logan. “We should have just asked him out to dinner, like, obviously!”

“I did ask him to dinner!” “No, like, ask-ask. That’s not the same thing!”

“Okay,” Leo held up a hand, heart wildly trying to beat against his ribs. Everything inside of him hurt. He couldn’t tell if this was real or not. Mostly, he couldn’t see the infatuation. The short lived lust. Not here. With Finn and Logan, he just couldn’t tell. They both seemed—well, a little nervous, actually. Leo didn’t think he’d seen them so flustered. Ever.

“My job is to make the people I’m writing about feel comfortable,” Leo said. “And it’s been mistaken for attraction before. That’s just…” Leo held up a hand. “I’m just putting that down.”

“You weren’t just making us feel comfortable,” Finn said firmly. “Do you know how many journalists we’ve been around? God, so many and a lot of them are awful. They call my brother behind my back hoping to get some dirt or jealousy. I’ll turn around and they’ve opened one of my fucking notebooks. Leo, you are so different, you are so…” Finn looked at Logan for a moment. “I’ve loved your writing for so long. I read it to Logan, even your pieces from that blog you used to run.”

Leo flushed. “Oh—oh my God, what?”

His blog. When he’d been desperately trying to get clips to big magazines. Finn O’Hara—Read it to—

“You slipped right into us,” Finn said. “You’re gorgeous and you’re so smart and articulate…I think I could talk to you for hours. Nothing felt like an interview, you felt like we’d known you forever.”

“Forever,” Logan agreed.

Leo wanted to shake them. “Finn, that’s my job. I’m really fucking good at my job.”

“Yeah, but how often do you forget you’re doing you’re job because you’re happy, too?” Finn fired back, but then his eyes softened. He put a hand on Leo’s knee. “You felt it, too. You can’t tell me I’m wrong about that.”

“Yes, I—” Leo closed his eyes briefly. “Yes. Yes, of course I did. I did.”

He really could have talked to them forever. Sometimes he’d even forgotten there was a show to perform when they’d been laughing and talking in their dressing room beforehand. He could have listened to them forever. Logan’s little French mumbles. The way he closed his eyes when he practiced a song. They way his fingers drummed on every surface—they were twitching on Leo’s other knee now. The songs Finn sang around hotel rooms and apartments—not his own songs. His favorite songs. Leo wanted to know all of Finn’s favorite songs and why. They way they watched him cook. The way they showed their appreciation. The way they kissed each other. He wanted to brush his teeth beside them and crawl into bed and talk after turning the lights off until they were too tired. What a fantasy.

“Look,” Leo said. “I’m not just protecting myself here. Do I think you’re both—God, so gorgeous I can’t breathe, and sweet, and funny, and talented, yes. But I thought that even before I knew you. I’m trying to separate my skills from myself for your sake, and I’m trying to separate your stardom and your selves for my sake. And yours. Guys, you don’t want someone who wants you because you’re famous.”

“You don’t,” Finn said. “I know what that looks like.”

“We both do,” Logan said.

“I—okay. Of course you would know. But even still.” Leo sighed, heart heavier by the moment. He didn’t know if he was wrong here or if they were just good at trying to prove him wrong. “You have each other. You are asking me to write about your love for the first time in public and that’s a big deal. You two are going to get so much attention, it’s insane. And you’re telling me you like me, and you feel something for me, but there is going to be literally zero room for me when not only does your album come out, but this article. If you even still want me then.”

Leo was so out of breath it made his heart pound and stars appear at the edges of his visions. Those last words had come out a whisper. He’d said it, though. All of it. He’d needed the words and the words had been right there for him to arrange. Even more, Leo and Finn were both completely silent, completely still, and listening.

“I’ve been the thing that someone keeps in the dark before,” Leo said, keeping his eyes down. He felt Logan’s hand tighten on his knee. “Literally. He wouldn’t even keep the lights on when we kissed.”

Logan’s other hand appeared. Or Finn’s? They were all but holding whatever part of him they could reach now. Leo couldn’t push them away. Maybe right now he could explain to them why he thought he should be saying no, but he didn’t want them to let go.

“Am I very attracted to you both? Yes. Was it very hard to say no last night?” Leo’s laugh was half groan. “God, yes. But am I going to be kept in any sort of darkness ever again?” Leo swallowed hard, throat tight, and shook his head. “No. I’m…I’m sorry, but no.”

No sooner had Leo finished that sentence than did one of the little kids that had been practically hanging off of Logan’s body earlier launch itself over Finn’s legs and straight into Logan’s lap. She started talking a mile a minute—even Leo couldn’t quite keep up. Logan just stared. He held the little girl, nodding, smiling, but in a daze. Leo didn’t know if Finn knew his hand was on Leo’s calf, tightening and loosening, maybe as he tried to think what to do. What to say.

Leo was just beginning to suspect maybe he had said too much when the girl’s mother called her away.

They were still quiet. Leo could pick out each of their breathing. He looked at Finn, because his silence meant he still wasn’t convinced. Leo didn’t really want him to be.

“Logan told me that he thinks about the way he used to miss you, and misses you sometimes even when you’re asleep right next to him.”

Finn looked at Logan, lips parting. He didn’t look surprised, exactly. Just like it hurt to hear it again.

Leo covered Finn’s hand with his, drawing his eyes back to him. “That’s love. That’s what you have.”

Finn didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe we have more to give.”

Leo stared at him. Again—what were they doing, tucked away from the crowds in this little set of steps, talking about this?

Logan was so quiet, had been so quiet the whole time, that Leo had to look at him. Logan Tremblay. In what world did Logan Tremblay look at him like this? Like he was about to sing the chorus of I See Red, or leave the stage for Rooftop. The expression on his face looked real enough. Leo had to admit that.

“I don’t trust people,” Logan said under Leo’s gaze. “But I trust you.” When Leo went to speak, Logan pressed a palm to his chest. “Don’t tell me what happened on the balcony was your job. It wasn’t.”

“No. That wasn’t,” Leo said softly.

“How about this,” Finn said. “Stay long enough to get everything for the piece.”

“And we haven’t played you any of the new album,” Logan cut in.

“Oh yeah, yeah,” Finn said. “Hey, that’s in the contract for your piece.” He smiled. “You get to hear three songs.”

Leo couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Are you bribing me with your music?”

“Not bribing,” Finn said. “I want to know what you think. Always.”

“We.”

“We want to know what you think,” Finn said. “And we never said a word to your editors about this being more than just a music story, so…” Finn tilted his head. “Technically, we can all renegotiate and you…You can ask for more time with us?” He looked so, so hopeful. “And maybe, just maybe, we can show you that we’re not under some love-sick spell cast by your outstanding professionalism.”

Leo’s laugh was real this time, and so sudden that he covered his mouth. “Cast my by professionalism?”

Finn grinned and untangled himself enough to stand up. He offered them both a hand. “Come on. Let’s take our time.”

God. Finn O’Hara and all of his perfect words. “Time sounds good.”

~

It wasn’t a hard sell. The second Finn and Logan’s people told Leo’s people just how big this story would be, Leo was basically told to stay put for now, and Finn and Logan were told to only talk to Leo about this until the story was out and couldn’t be leaked. Essentially, they were told to talk, work, write, and not leave.

That had been five days ago. Leo was now thoroughly sunned, oceaned, and thinking a whole lot about Logan’s hand on his chest, Finn’s on his ankle, and kissing.

They went to the market nearly every morning. Leo had made a, if he could say so himself, perfect peach pie with the fruit he’d bought—Logan had bought. They’d been to Logan’s raved about restaurant and Leo had gotten his cheeks kissed by no less than six waiters. Logan had been right. He’d never tasted food like that.

They’d walked down Logan’s cliffs and spend hours lounging in the shade and sun and diving into deep, clear water. Leo had tried not to stare at Finn’s marble-pale chest in the sun. Logan’s tan-line that drew itself oh-so low on his hips. In his notebook lay the phrase couple of fucking mermaids that wouldn’t make it into any sort of writing but it was true.

Each night, Logan built a fire and Finn brought out a special wine—now Leo had seen him spend a good forty minutes with the man who owned the wine shop in town. Apparently it was a hobby of Finn’s. The other night, Finn had brought out a small bottle that was sweet and amber colored—and his guitar. Leo had gotten his first new song.

“Okay,” Finn had said. “So, this is called—wait, do you want your notebook or anything?”

Leo, feeling like Christmas morning, shook his head. “No. I just want to listen.”

“Cool.” Finn bit his lip. “Okay, cool. Cool. So it’s called…” He was looking at Leo, hand flexing on the neck of his guitar. “Um.”

“Rouge,” Logan said, sounding bewildered.

“Counting,” Finn burst out, laughing a little. “No, it’s called Counting. Sorry. Okay. Here we go. It’s about—” Finn waved his pick at Logan. “That one.”

Leo laughed. “That one?”

Finn shook his head, grinning down at his guitar as he gave the strings a small twist to make sure it was in tune. “That stupidly handsome person right there.”

Logan rolled his eyes and leaned towards Leo. “Imagine it with big drums. Sounds soft now, that’s how he wrote it, but on stage, on the album, I’m all in.” Logan grinned at Leo and he looked like he did on stage when Finn made him laugh into his mic.

“I think I can do that,” Leo said.

Finn began to sing.

One big game of hide and seek.

Count to ten and come find me.

I’m in here waiting patiently.

Tucked away and so ready.

Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen.

We’re okay just still counting.

I’ll hold you and you hold me.

Strike a match so we can see.

Don’t worry baby, I would count it all for you.

I’d count the miles, the minutes, the ways tried and true.

Five and six and seventeen,

I’d count mountains, towns, and streams,

Sneaking cracks on dark ceilings,

Motes of dust in sunlight gleams,

I would count most anything.

Leo forgot about the glass he was holding. He had to set it down. He leaned forward, towards the warm fire. Finn was perfect in its light. His dark red hair, the orange glow, the tan, scuffed up wood of his guitar. Leo spared a glance at Logan, who was already watching him. He didn’t look nervous like Finn. He looked relieved. As Leo watched, he let out a breath and nodded, biting back a smile. Finn’s eyes were closed, fingers quick on the guitar, the heel of his palm standing in place for what would be Logan’s beat.

Days

And months

And years

Of him,

Skin

And laughs

And sinking

In,

There a first for everythin’,

Listen up, he’s mine.

He’s

The Sun

I’m basking in

Crash

Into

His waves and swim

Fills me up right to my brim

If I overflow it’s fine.

Listen up, he’s mine—

I could build a shrine

I would pour the wine

Worship till I die

The god I recognize.

Leo was more than used to feeling breathless at Finn’s music, but this song sucked all the air from his lungs. He knew that counting. He knew the feeling of striking that match. He didn’t know what it was to be with someone through it, but he certainly knew.

Finn settled his guitar carefully on the couch when he was finished. He was all nervous energy, rubbing his hands together and fidgeting. He rose briefly and poured Leo more wine before settling back on the couch.

“So, there’s—yeah. What do you…” Finn trailed off.

“It’s beautiful,” Leo said. “It’s…If I overflow, it’s fine. I love that. I really love that, you—and the counting, that’s just perfectly true. That’s so true…” Leo felt his throat closing up and took a slow breath. “God, Finn. Both of you…It’s—I’ve always thought you walk this perfect line between sweet and…”

“And?” Logan asked when Leo trailed of.

Leo had only done so because he’d realized what he had been about to say. He’d already written about it, though, which meant Finn had already read it, so he might as well. “Well. Just—epic. It’s an epic love, it’s—sexy. That’s how you write it.”

“Hm.” Logan looked pleased.

“I hoped you would understand,” Finn said. “I mean, I knew you would.”

“This is your first song using him,” Leo said. “No French girls met on tour, no room for misunderstanding.”

Logan grumbled something about French girls into his wine cup and Finn reached over and pulled him into a sloppy sort of kiss. Logan let his face be smushed into an equally joyful kiss on his cheek.

“None,” Finn said. “No more of all that. We want to be clear. On everything.”

Leo sat back against the cushions. “Everything.”

“Ouais,” Logan said. “Everything.”

~

Nearing the end of their second week, Leo and Finn were swimming. Finn kept diving down and bringing Leo little treasures from the bottom. He had this funny pair of goggles that he wore to do it. He’d push them down around his neck and show Leo shells and interesting rocks before tossing them back under. His body looked cool and pale under the surface.

Finn kept surprising him. Maybe that showed on his face because, as they tread water, talking, Finn tilted his head and asked.

“What?” Finn said, dipping his mouth low into the salt water before rising again. “What’s with the face?”

Leo brought his legs forward to float more on his back, laughing. “Oh. Nothing.”

Finn splashed him. “What?” He swam closer until Leo could pick out new freckles on his slightly sunburned nose. “What, what, what?”

They were near the rocky ledges and Finn pointed out a spot that he probably knew well, where two people could sit on a natural ledge just beneath the water. The stone was rough, but it put them in the shade and the calm waves lapped around their chests.

“You’re just…” Leo pressed his lips together, smiling.

“Okay, I’m gonna like, dunk you or something if you don’t—”

“You’re kind of a—” Leo shrugged. “A dork.”

Finn’s face was too good not to laugh at.

“I’m a what?”

“A dork,” Leo said. “Completely.”

“Excuse me.” Finn leaned closer. “I am not.”

“A dork,” Leo sighed. “Pop star dork.” Finn squinted at Leo in the sun, smiling. He still had the goggles around his neck and Leo reached forward and hooked a finger in them. “See?”

Finn hummed noncommittally. He’d let Leo’s hand nudge them closer together.

“Well, I guess that’s all right, then.”

Finn skipped his hand along the water’s surface. It was almost too bright to look at directly with the sun coming off it like that, and Leo leaned back against the rock and the shade, keeping his eyes on Finn instead.

“So—possible article question for you,” he said. “If it’s all right?”

“Go for it.”

Leo touched a sparkling vein of mineral in the rock, tracing his finger down it. “What’s it like when you first play Logan a song like that one you played me?”

“Like…what? A love song?”

“Well, yeah, to put it lightly. But…Listen up, he’s mine, I could build a shrine, I would pour the wine, worship till I die, the god I recognize. Love song…does that begin to cover those lyrics?”

Finn laughed. “Wow. I played that for you once.”

“You’re pretty unforgettable.”

“Shucks.”

Leo drew one knee up to his chest. “It’s…There’s something like I See Red to it.”

“Logan wrote that mostly.”

“I know. Exactly. The way you talk about each other. It is like…intense, I don’t know. I just mean—here. I’ll ask it this way first. What went through your mind when Logan played I See Red for you the first time?”

“Mm.” Finn smiled at the memory. “You mean what happened after he told me he wants me all over him?”

Leo tried not to show how hot his body flashed, burning, even in the cool ocean. He rested his chin on his knee, then his mouth, just to hide the wavering sort of inhale he took.

“If—whatever you want to tell me,” Leo managed.

Finn mirrored Leo’s position—knee up, hands locked around his ankle. “How would you feel if someone played a song like that for you? About you.”

“That’s my question.”

“You first.”

Leo rolled his eyes.

“That’s right,” Finn said, propping his chin on his knee like Leo with a sly sort of grin. “I’m a difficult little rock star.”

“Oh, are you writing an article?” Leo laughed.

Finn’s brown eyes stayed sincere and playful. “I don’t write articles.”

Leo stared at him. Finn was visibly holding himself back, even if he was leaning forward and kept looking at Leo’s mouth. Leo had to remind himself that he’d asked him to. Finn wanted him. Finn still wanted him, that was obvious. His brown eyes were a little bit of fall right there in the summer sun. Leo kind of wanted to be kissed on this ledge in the ocean.

I don’t write articles.

“What’s that mean?” Leo asked faintly.

Finn considered him for another moment. “You said you’ve had…clients fall for you before.” Finn looked especially handsome asking a question in his little melodramatic way. Leo didn’t know what it was, but he did. “Ever had a song written about you?”

Okayokayokay. “No…”

“Hm.”

“Not that I know of.” Leo swallowed. He tasted salt on his lips. “Now you. You have to answer.”

“You didn’t answer.”

Leo sighed, smiling. “I…” He tried to clear his head. A song. Lyrics that were so all-consuming. “I would feel…”

He didn’t know. It was almost unimaginable.

He hesitated for long enough, cheek pressed to his knee now, that Finn copied him in that, too, and helped him.

“Timeless,” Finn said.

That gave Leo a word. “Immortal.”

Finn nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly.

Leo watched the sunlight play on Finn’s freckles. He was the picture of a high noon sun, and he was looking between Leo’s eyes and his mouth.

Neither of them saw the wave.

They got a face full of water to splutter through as it’s gentle crest went nearly over their heads, lifting them from their seat.

“They say every tenth one is the biggest,” Finn laughed. He put his goggles back on, grinned at Leo, and held up two thumbs up. “Lunch?”

He felt tan, and cool from the water as they made it back to the house. He didn’t bother washing the salt off his skin, just threw on a fresh pair of shorts and a t-shirt. He only realized when he glanced at himself in the mirror that he and Finn must have swapped on accident at the water’s edge. Instead of his plain white t-shirt, this one was white with a faded NASA logo on it. Leo’s pulse kicked up. He’d seen Finn wear this. On stage. Many times. It was famous on Instagram and Twitter. Replicas had been made. Girls wore copies of this t-shirt to their concerts.

Leo was standing here, wearing the original.

He took a breath before going back out to the living room.

Finn went off to write somewhere with his guitar, but Leo fixed him and Logan sandwiches and they settled in the living room, all of the doors flung wide. Logan was doing a puzzle. Leo had his notebook on his lap with a little section dedicated to transcribing the little murmurs of French Logan said as he worked. Not for the story, just for him. No, not there. This stupid blue. Wrong color. Ah, yes, here. This fits.

Leo sighed and dropped his pen, flexing his cramping hand.

“Ça va?” Logan asked from where he’d been frowning over two puzzle pieces. Leo was still getting over the sheer sweetness of the intense-on-stage-Logan he had known sitting in front of him for an hour and putting a puzzle together. Leo wasn’t sure what the picture would end up being. Logan refused to look at the box lid for reference. It was face-down beside him. Again, Leo sort of wanted to laugh at how he’d thought it would be an all-night party every night. Nope. Late morning coffee, farmer’s markets, cocktails, and puzzles. Much more his speed.

“Yeah, good,” Leo said. “My hand just cramps up if I write for too long. Hand write, at least.”

“Hm.” Logan set the pieces he was holding down and pushed himself up onto his knees. He walked himself over to the couch that way and sank back on his heels at Leo’s feet. He held out his hands. “Give to me.”

“I—what?” Leo asked.

Logan just made an impatient sound and reached for the hand that Leo had been stretching out. He arranged Leo’s hand palm up with his fingers flat but relaxed. Then Logan’s strong thumbs began pressing into the heel of Leo’s palm, smoothing down towards the inside of his wrist. He pressed near his elbow too—Leo hadn’t even realized it hurt there.

“It’s all connected, the wrist, the fingers, it goes all the way to the shoulder,” Logan said. His accent got a little stronger here and Leo almost wanted to ask him to say all that again. But then Logan was kneading at Leo’s shoulder just below his collarbone and—

“Oh,” Leo said faintly. “That feels…”

Logan smiled. “Je sais. Finn is even better at it, I make him do it to me all the time.”

Leo thought about the way Finn liked to come up behind him or Logan, and the way he squeezed their shoulders. If he was putting effort and purpose behind that…Yeah, it would be heavenly.

“I like your shirt,” Logan said teasingly.

“I guess we swapped.”

“Mm. Guess so.”

Leo just tilted his head to the side and let himself relax in Logan’s hands as he worked out the soreness. He hadn’t realized his eyes had closed until he felt Logan’s fingers slowing. Finally, they stilled, both cradling Leo’s hand again. He opened his eyes to see green staring back. Logan had settled very close on the couch, but maybe Leo had drawn him there, too, unconsciously pulling him closer to where it hurt so that he could make it better.

Logan rested a hand on his chest, just as he had at the market. His eyes darted down to Leo’s mouth. Logan had a perfect cupid’s bow. So perfect. Leo wanted to take it in his mouth and feel its dip.

He’d wanted that in the ocean, too. Finn had a freckle on his lip, just at the border where pale skin met pink, and Leo just…God, he wanted it.

“Leo,” Logan whispered.

“Yes,” Leo said, hearing the question Logan hadn’t yet asked.

“Just one,” Logan said. “Please. Is it okay?”

What else would Leo do other than nod. He was running out of willpower. These boys. These shell-diving, wine-enthusiast, puzzle-doing, grumpy in the morning boys. He worried he was smiling a little too much and tried to take a breath. Tried to steady himself. Logan pushed himself up onto the couch, kneeling with on knee down so that Leo’s body angled towards him. One of his hands went to Leo’s thigh, bunching the fabric of his shorts.

It was the softest kiss Leo had ever been given. Logan lingered in it, though. A soft, giddy intake of breath and the lightest of tugs at Leo’s bottom lip.

Leo’s hand went to his waist, to the very spot he had been dying to touch. Near the tattoo. And the cupid’s bow, he could feel it. And the way Logan held himself perfectly still, as if letting Leo control the whole thing. The problem was, Leo’s mind was forgetting almost everything he’d said just a few days ago.

Here, they were just two boys.

Logan made a soft sound in his throat when Leo tilted his chin up to kiss him harder. It parted his lips and Leo tested gently, but Logan let him right in. He tasted the mint tea Logan had been drinking—seemingly the only thing he took without sugar. Logan’s fingers curled and held onto Leo’s t-shirt. Finn’s t-shirt.

Here, there felt like there was all the room for him in the world, even if he didn’t understand why they wanted him to begin with.

Here, it didn’t seem to matter that he was a journalist and they his subjects.

Logan broke the kiss gently, but stayed close. The string that would break Leo’s resolve hadn’t snapped, but oh, was it ever threadbare. Logan could probably feel how fast Leo’s heart was pounding beneath his hand.

“Ça va?” Logan asked faintly.

Leo had to swallow hard to find his voice. “Mhm.”

Logan nodded, the motion bringing their foreheads to rest together. He shifted and let out a sigh.

Leo realized he’d tucked his hands up and under Logan’s shirt and he just had to look down for a glimpse of that tattoo.

He got a lot more.

Logan’s shorts were straining around his hips. Leo got turned on so fast, stars sparked around his vision. The shorts were linen. White. Barely anything. They buttoned, not zipped, and those buttons were trying to hold on.

“Sorry,” Logan whispered.

“No,” Leo managed to say. He sounded weird to himself. “It’s—you’re fine. Very fine.”

“I just…” Logan laughed a little. He cupped a palm to Leo’s face briefly before pulling away. He flashed him a bashful smile as he turned back to sit on the couch. “Là, I mean, look at you. I’m…d’accord. I don’t mean to…”

Leo needed to say something more. He needed to say something not stupid. Something other than I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming right now.

“We’re taking our time,” Logan said. He took Leo’s hand and squeezed.

“I—no, we are,” Leo said. But if you wanted to sit on my lap right fucking now—

“Ouais,” Logan said. He was breathing slow, like he was trying to will himself to calm down. “Okay, so I will—be right back?”

They both kind of dissolved into laughter at that. Logan sat next to him, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Merde. Does this go into the piece?”

Leo had to stop laughing long enough to say, “In the middle of doing a puzzle, Tremblay had to be right back—”

Logan let out one of his free laughs and reached over blindly to shove at Leo’s knee. “Hey, take a look at yourself. You’re just as bad.”

Leo was trying very hard not to think about himself.

Logan rose, face flushed, and jerked his head towards the puzzle. “See if you can figure out that hellish thing over there.”

Leo watched as he disappeared through the doorway. Leo didn’t know if he was going to find Finn to help or go somewhere on his own to—well, fix it or calm down. Both thoughts sent Leo’s body aching. He had to lean his head back on the couch and breathe. He reached down and tried to make himself more comfortable, but it didn’t help.

He picked his notebook back up. He flexed his hand and picked up his pen. No use. He closed his notebook. He looked at Logan’s puzzle.

He took a deep breath, slid himself to the floor, and set about fitting a couple pieces into place.

~

Leo got called back the next morning via an email with airline tickets attached for the following morning. Apparently endless time equated a week more. Rather, Leo would be sent back out to a show when their tour started back up to write a follow-up snippet on what it was like playing shows as a couple.

But it left Leo a little frantic and disoriented. It left Logan and Finn staring at him with faces that were almost mournful when he broke them the news over morning coffee.

Logan punched Finn’s arm. “Be a difficult little rock star.”

Finn arched a brow at Leo. “Can I?”

Leo smiled, tempted to take Finn up on it, but he knew it was probably no good. He was supposed to be with them for a week. It’d been almost three. His boss would want their story polished and published, and Leo back in the office.

Only now here he was. His last night in this perfect place, unable to sleep.

The sleeplessness wasn’t new to him. He’d had insomnia ever since he could remember. It was only that it was here. He’d never slept so well in his life as he had these past few weeks.

It could have been worse. At least with all the extra space and the crashing waves, he didn’t feel worried about waking anyone up as he made himself some tea in the kitchen before trying to lull himself back to sleep by proofreading. Nothing exhausted him like proofreading.

He rubbed at his eyes as the kettle heated. He didn’t want to go. He didn’t feel like he had an old life. This felt like his life. Waking up and Logan making him that perfect bitter sweet espresso. Finn’s music all day long, soft plucks on the guitar, humming as they read together on the dock. Finn coming to peak over his shoulder while he was writing, stealing his pen out of his hand and adding seemingly random words. Blue!! Sunny!! Dazzle!!

The morning markets. Logan’s almond pastry. Puzzles and movies and how did he get here? Oh God, how did he love the hours of the day so much?

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Leo jumped hard, eyes flashing open as he turned. Finn was standing there in a well-loved t-shirt that said New York Rangers. He had his hands in the pockets of his cotton pajama pants and was smiling sheepishly.

“Sorry.”

Leo laughed, hand on his chest. “No, me. I mean, I’m sorry. You startled me. What are you doing awake?”

Finn raised his eyebrows. “What are you doing?”

“Lord, am I a hopeless sleeper,” Leo said. “I’ve been getting up at one in the morning and staying awake until three for as long as I can remember.”

“Oh.” Finn frowned. “That sucks, I’m sorry.”

“I’m used to it. What about you?”

Finn shrugged. “I think I heard you.”

“Fuck.” Leo felt his shoulders slump. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, no,” Finn said. “I was kind of already awake.” He paused and leaned his hands on the cool stone counter between them. “Was thinking about you leaving.”

“Yeah,” Leo said. “Me too.”

“You really have to go?”

“You have to go, too,” Leo said. “You’re kind of on a world tour, you know.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Finn said. “Sorry, I’ve been doing more important things lately.”

Leo smiled. “Oh…I don’t know about that.”

Finn gave him this unconvinced look as he rounded the kitchen counter. He looked like he was on stage all of a sudden. Something about his walk. The daring look in his eye. Like he was about to say something to a crowd that was sure to get a reaction.

He stopped right next to Leo and crossed his arms, looking at him. Unlike Logan, they were almost eye-to-eye. Finn’s smile brought heat from Leo’s chest to his hips.

“I hear Logan got a kiss.”

That heat spread out farther. His cheeks. His neck. Finn’s eyes darted over his face like he was watching it.

“He did,” Leo said. Oh God, please kiss me.

Finn clicked his tongue like it was a shame. “Would’ve liked to see it, gotta say.”

Leo laughed a little. “Honestly, me too.”

Finn bit his lip. He was sort of smiling, but there was something else there, too. It was half hidden in the dim kitchen.

“Is it…Is it that you like one of us better?” A flicker of insecurity. “Because if—”

Leo pushed his hands against Finn’s chest. Stopping him. Holding him there. Brown eyes, bed-head, skin still salty from the sea. Leo had always loved Finn O’Hara. But Finn. This Finn was something else. This Logan… All of those fans didn’t even have a clue.

Leo couldn’t stand that hurt look on Finn’s face. He curled a hand behind Finn’s neck and pulled him closer. Like he’d wanted to in the ocean. Like he’d wanted to every time he heard him sing.

“Finn, I like both of you so much, it scares me.”

“Then…” Finn leaned closer, dropping his voice to hardly a whisper, so quiet that Leo more felt the words brush his own lips than he heard them. “Don’t I get a kiss, too? Before you go? Feeling a little left out over here—”

Leo didn’t let him finish. He pushed forward and kissed him.

His world went perfectly silent.

Oh. Leo grabbed onto Finn’s broad shoulders. Oh, oh, oh, Finn O’Hara could kiss. Oh, Finn could kiss, he could kiss, he kissed Leo like he would never breathe again and Leo felt himself sink. His chin tilted up, his body fell into Finn’s, and Finn took it. Finn held him.

He pressed harder against Finn’s body. Finn made a soft sound when his back hit the counter and his hands smoothed down Leo’s back, cupping his hips.

Finn managed to get out, “Are you—” before Leo was kissing him again.

“Yes,” Leo said. “Yes, yes…”

This was not Logan’s restraint. Not a single kiss. This was the sugar in Finn’s songs, the sugar that always applied to Logan in Leo’s mind. But Finn’s kiss was so all-consuming that it occurred to Leo that some of that sweetness had to belong to him. God, what could Logan do when he wasn’t holding back?

It took Leo a moment to figure out what sound was pulling at his mind and interrupting him. A strange, high-pitch—

“Shit,” Leo mumbled. “Tea, tea, tea.”

Finn didn’t even break away, though. He reached out a hand and flicked the stove off to stop the kettle from whistling.

The renewed silence rung in Leo’s ears. Finn’s palm was rubbing up and down Leo’s back.

Suddenly, Finn was hugging him tightly. His chin was tucked into Leo’s neck and Leo’s hand went to his hair automatically. That famous hair. Red and thick and soft. Leo turned his nose into it.

“You have our numbers,” Finn whispered. “And you know where we’ll be.” His brown eyes looked pleading when he pulled back. “You will choose a show, won’t you? Choose a show and come see us. The article will be out. I know there’s the follow up but—We’ll just be three people.”

Just three people. Leo thought of those little dressing rooms. That New York apartment. This place. But the fear was still there. Three people. Leo didn’t care what strangers thought. He cared about the aftermath of losing them, though. If he lost them…

Finn read it all on his face and he took Leo’s cheeks in his palms. He kissed him—this was closer to Logan’s gentle kiss.

“Come to a show and find out how much I want this,” Finn said. “Okay? Promise me. Or do I have to wake up grumpy and get him to tell you because he’ll probably just burrow in and not let you leave. Ever.” A brush of Finn’s nose against Leo’s. “He’s all about that kind of thing these days.”

Leo’s laugh spilled out, too much and too giddy for the night, but he didn’t mind. When he made to pull back, just a little, Finn took his arms and put them back around his neck. Leo couldn’t help his shiver as Finn’s palms ran down his sides and Finn pressed another smiling kiss to his mouth.

“If you wake him, I really will never leave,” Leo whispered. “And I do have to go.”

“Then promise me.”

Leo closed his eyes. He was so sure he’d be able to sleep just fine if Finn kept holding him like this.

“I promise.”

[sugarcoated-lame]

JOEL FUCKIN’ YOU WHILST YOU’RE ASLEEP?! kricket… kricket………

smut below the cut*

warnings: pre-established cnc, somnophilia, unprotected piv, 18+ minors dni

hehehehe SEB !! my love 🧡

YES Joel fucking you while you’re asleep! I am a firm believer that as long as you’ve talked about it and he knows you’re okay with it, Joel, especially pre-outbreak, would LOVE to get his mouth on you while you’re sleeping and wake you up with his tongue (I mean I literally wrote a whole fic about that lmao), but also his cock 🫠

He just loves having you at his mercy, loves how sweet and peaceful you look, a beautiful angel in his bed with your hair all spread across the pillow like a halo around your face, and he can’t help but want to touch you, want to feel you. can’t help it because you just feel oh so good wrapped around him, but also because he likes for you to wake up to him making you feel that good too.

I could definitely see it happening on one of those nights where Joel gets home really late from a contracting job, tired and wound up from a long, stressful day and wanting nothing more than to relish in you and your warmth.

You’d tried to wait up for him, but when Joel walks into the bedroom, he finds you sound asleep on top of the sheets, your body closer to his side of the bed than yours.

Laying on your side, clad in nothing but one of his big t-shirts, your chest slowly rising and falling in even breaths beneath the soft fabric, the book you’d been reading to try to help you stay awake lies abandoned at your side.

The sight of you in his clothes, sleeping peacefully on his side of the bed, all snuggled up to his pillow, stirs something in Joel, his cock twitching beneath his jeans and he knows he has to have you, to feel your softness and warmth to make him forget all about the day he’s had.

smut below the cut** ❤️

Joel undresses quietly and shuts off the light on your bedside table before carefully climbing into bed behind your sleeping silhouette. His fingers find the hem of your—his—shirt and gently lift it up to reveal that you’ve forgone underwear and he lets out a quiet groan.

His rough, calloused palm gingerly slides over the curve of your ass, appreciating your curves before making its way to your front, sliding between your thighs to get you ready for him.

You stir for only a moment when his fingers brush your clit, a sleepy whimper falling from your lips at the sensation, before sleep overtakes you once again and you’re melting back into the sheets.

Joel’s fingers find your hole where you’re already starting to get wet from his light touch, sinking one of the digits in slowly. Pushing in and out of your warmth before adding another.

You’re still asleep when another quiet sound escapes you as Joel stretches you with his fingers, your back arching of its own volition causing your ass to press against his hardened length and he can’t help but let out a quiet “fuck” at the friction.

Once he feels you’re ready for him, Joel gently lifts your leg over his hip, pressing closer behind you as he lines up his leaking cock with your entrance.

Joel pushes in slowly, one inch at a time, and the way your warm, velvety walls just welcome him in so easily has all the stress of the day melting away in an instant.

His thrusts are slow and deep, his large hand on your hip guiding your pliant form back against him, his cock reaching places inside you that only he has ever been able to reach.

It’s only when his tip prods against that spongy spot inside you that would normally make you see stars if you were awake, that Joel feels your walls begin to clench tighter around him, your back pressing more firmly against his chest as you begin to stir with a quiet mewl.

“Mm- Joel?” Your voice comes out in a sleepy whisper.

Your hand clumsily reaches back to find his curls, a contented sigh leaving you as your fingers tangle in the soft strands, your mind beginning wake up and catch up with your body as he continues to fuck into slowly.

“‘M sorry for waking you, darling.” Joel presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck. “Just looked so fuckin’ pretty— Needed ya.”

oops got a little carried away with this one 🤭 but godddd I need a cold shower and like 3-5 business days to recover from this, I need this and him so bad 😭 !!! hehehe thank you for sending this my love, I hope you enjoy! ilyssssm 🥰❤️🧡

[vibingandsimping]

What kinks do you think Dammon would have?

I received this ask JUST after reading a Dammon fic. Get out of my head, Jesus christ.

I adore Dammon, truly. Sadly, he doesn’t strike me as a hardcore guy. He definitely has a fair share of kinks, though.

Worship

He adores your body. Honestly, anything about you. He whispers it to you as he trails his lips down your chest. Along your sternum as you begin to writhe. Each kiss is followed by some sort of compliment. “Your skin is so lush.”, “I love to hear you.”, “I would do this all day, god.” Really anything to get you off. His hands will work your flesh until you begin to whimper. Dammon works with enthusiasm til you’re practically begging. No need, though. Once you’re ready he’ll happy turn to one of his other kinks. On the other hand… He flusters so much if you do it in return. His brain shuts off but the raging tent in his trousers is proof enough. His skin a deep bronze as he draws ragged breaths. He enjoys it both ways. He could never ask for it, though. It’d have to be something you initiate.

Oral Fixation

Between your thighs is his heaven. He’ll spend all of eternity worshipping your sensitive flesh, if you’d permit. God, if you gave him permission to do it whenever he pleased? Practically every morning and night you’d go to sleep and wake to him. Tongue working like a feral animal as he uses skilled technique. Hands flying to his hair as it drapes over his shoulders. He forgone his hair-clip in his laze. Truthfully, all he thought and sought was the wondrous cries and ambrosia that you leaked. If he could write a song or poem- he would. You grow used to climaxing by his tongue alone at least once every time you visit. God forbid you two live together.

Mating Press

Not sure if this is a kink but… it’s the way he can reach so deeply within you. He tells you he doesn’t particularly have a breeding kink (he’s a liar). No, he just settled down in his life and can’t spare the thought of raising a child. He’d love to grow a family when his blacksmithing is solid and there’s no threat of danger. Despite that, he does welcome a little thrill. Your legs thrown over his shoulders as he drills into you. Even if you can’t biologically have kids- he’ll relish in the position. Yes, when you two are ready… he’s going to put you in this every time. Until you two have the kid you wish. Til there’s a bundle of joy to take care of and run around the house. Better get used to the burn in your thighs, baby. It’s going to be so hard to say no when he gives you those puppy-eyes of his.

Prolonged Foreplay

He is torturous. Dammon will sit and whisper his wants into your ear for days. Fleeting moments of you visiting his smithery for new tools and armor. Grabbing your arm as your companions depart to tell you his depraved thoughts. How he misses you so dearly. When you two finally grab a drink at a tavern as everyone chats. His eyes take you in hungrily and he plays so innocently when you pointedly stare at him. Finally alone, his nails tickle your skin as does his lips. Locked in the passion of your make-out and groping. Groaning into your skin as you touch a particularly sensual spot on his body. You can feel him pressing into the inside of your knee. When you suggest taking things further he simply shakes his head. He’s adamant on making sure you’re ready. Even if you whine and say you are. He gets off on the desperation between you two.

Tail Restraint

This goes both ways. If you have a tail of any sort he’ll gladly let you use it on him. Takes a little reassurance but he trusts you so much. How could you ever hurt him? You wrap your tail around his ankles or wrists as your hand wraps around his cock. His jaw lowers in a choked moan as you begin to slowly guide your hand. His erection, leaking and aching, being slowly jerked off as his body twists in your hold. It’s a delicious sight. If you want him to use his tail on you… again he’s very willing with some reassurance. (Also with the solid establishment of a safe-word. He’s so paranoid he’ll push your boundaries.) The leathery texture of the skin coils around your wrists. Laying on your arms as he pins and restrains them underneath your back. He slips to his knees and begins to work his hands on your sex. He’s slow, painfully so, in working the seed of desire in you. Finally, when your sex begins to weep for him does he use his tongue. The feeling is gratifying and leaves you nearly forgetting the lack of movement in your arms and hands.

[dr-demi-bee]

Day 5 ----------------------Read on AO3--------------------------

Pairing: Miri x Gale Prompt: Lazy Mornings Post Canon, fluffy fluff, Married life, SFWish

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

The first rays of early morning sun pours in through the windows on the far side of their tower bedroom, bathing the room in orange and gold as the sea breeze gently ruffles the curtains. Husband and wife lay in a tangled heap of limbs in their large four poster-bed, the bedding and pillows eschew from another night in their first 1,000 - loving and learning and bonding together until at last they fell asleep in one another's arms.

Even through their slumber they follow one another’s heat, an endless cycle of pulling and curling and notching of limbs. As they doze now, Gale lays half turned onto his stomach, one arm tucked beneath a pillow. Miri is curled against Gale's back, her face tucked between his shoulder blades and one arm snaked around his side to hold a hand against his chest. Their legs are tangled together and her hips are pressed against his rear.

They breathe together, quiet, steady, and peaceful. Gentle snoring forgone as they move towards wakefulness.

Gale breathes in deeply, rubbing his face into his pillow as he stirs under the pleasant warmth of the sunlight. His lips tip up with a sleepy smile when he feels the weight of Miri’s embrace.

He lets out a long, soft sigh of contentment. He gently intertwines his fingers with the hand she rests on his chest, turning slightly and bringing it up to his lips for a soft kiss.

"Good morning," he mumbles, his voice still rough with sleep.

Miri rumbles back a sleepy growl, the vibration rumbling through his chest. She doesn’t stir from where she's pressed against him and Gale lets out a soft chuckle. He can feel the warm puff of her breath against his back, and he gently runs his fingertips along the arm wrapped around his waist.

"Are you planning on staying there all day, my love?" His groggy voice is full of fond teasing.

Miri is reluctant every morning to be pried away from his warmth and the comfort of their bed. Better than any tent or den she’s ever enjoyed in the past. Her arm squeezes more firmly around him.

"Mmm will you let me..." comes Miri’s hoarse reply, rough from a night of crying out under Gale’s thorough ministrations. She nuzzles her face against the smooth skin of his back.

"Tempting as that sounds," he says with a smile in his voice, "I have a few things I need to attend to today, unfortunately. Wouldn't you rather spend some time under the open sky?"

He gently lifts her arm from his waist and turns to face her, his gaze lingering on her sleep-softened features even as her brow furrows. Miri grumbles, immediately winding her arm back around him and nestling closer. Gale lets out a amused huff as she clings to him.

"You're awfully stubborn, aren't you?"

He can't help but find it endearing, and he gently slides his hand down to her hip, stroking her skin with a delicate, caressing touch. His fingers trace along the edge of the sheet that only just covers their hips.

"Mhm," she hums sleepily from where she’s pillowed her face against his chest, "Very."

Gale chuckles again, his hand moving up to run through the tangles of her hair. He gently unties the leather cord that keeps it together at the nape of her neck while she’s sleeping, allowing her long, wine-colored strands to spill out around her like a waterfall. He lets out an appreciative hum as he runs his fingers through the unbraided strands. He loves the way it shimmers in the golden glow of the morning.

"Well, you won't find me complaining," he muses, the huskiness in his voice betraying his growing interest. Miri laughs softly, her eyes finally opening to peer up at him. Brilliant green under the light.

"I did not think so," she murmurs back, lips tipped up in a soft smile.

Gale grins, his gaze roaming across her face as he brushes the loose strands of hair away from her eyes. The morning sunlight dances across her copper skin, casting her in a golden glow. He can feel her breath against his bare chest, and he idly rubs his thumb across the curve of her hip.

"Gods you are lovely," he breathes, his voice laced with affection. Miri hums a happy sound, her smile broadening.

"As are you. The light of the golden hours quite suit you," she returns. The glow of the early morning sun always makes him near radiant - especially the myriad hues in his lovely walnut and ochre eyes. Her free hand lifts to brush his sleep tousled hair from his face.

Miri cherishes these soft, tender moments in bed, morning or evening, when he’s not busy with the next thing or distracted. When he’s wholly focused on the here and now with her. All the better when he’s also glowing.

"Your flattery will get you everywhere, love," he teases, his hand on her hip giving a playful squeeze. Her sweet words and gentle touch spread a warm tingle through his chest.

"It is not flattery." Miri huffs a soft laugh, bringing a hand up to tap the tip on his nose before splaying her fingers over his chest. "I am merely paying my husband his due."

Gale chuckles, his chest rumbling under her palm. He covers her hand with his own, threading their fingers together before bringing it to his lips to kiss her knuckles.

"You're too good to me," he murmurs against her skin. His eyes gleam with affection as he gazes down at her, his thumb gently stroking her wrist.

"On the contrary," she replies warmly, "You are infinitely deserving."

Gale's heart melts at her words, the affection in her voice and the soft look in her eyes always making him feel impossibly lucky. No matter how many times she speaks such words, it never ceases to inspire both awe and delight. He brings their joined hands up to rest against his cheek, savoring the warmth of her touch on his face. Miri raises her free hand to cup his other cheek, her gaze full of adoration as she looks up at him.

"What did I do to deserve such a lovely wife?" Gale murmurs, his smile tender.

“I have heard tell you had a hand in saving all of Toril from the grand design," she murmurs playfully, "A hero of Baldur's Gate? Or perhaps it was saving said lovely wife some countless number of times."

Gale grins back at her. "Ah, you've heard about that, have you?" His voice brims with a playful cockiness, tilting his head into her palm as his brow furrows with a cheeky grin. "It was nothing really, just another day in the life of a powerful wizard."

"And so humble too," she teases with a toothy grin. Her thumbs stroke over the high arch of his cheekbones. Gale laughs again, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"I can be humble when it suits me." he says playfully, gently grabbing her hand and pressing his lips to her palm. "But with a wife as beautiful as you, how could I not boast a little?"

Miri giggles softly. "Hardly the greatest of your achievements."

"Debatable," he returns cheekily, smiling against her palm. He continues to press soft kisses against her skin, holding her gaze with his patented blend of affection and mischief.

"But you certainly rank among the highest," he adds quietly. He pulls her hand down from his cheek to press her palm over his heart. "After all, winning the heart of a woman as lovely as yourself is no small feat either."

"Are you calling me difficult?"

Miri leans in to muffle a laugh against his shoulder, unable to maintain a straight face. Gale grins, always delighting in the sound of her laugh, and he chuckles at her playful indignation. He wraps his arm around her as he rolls onto his back, pulling her close against his side.

"Me? Never," he says saccharinely, his hand idly tracing little circles on her skin. "I wouldn’t dream of calling you difficult, love."

Miri leans up onto her elbows to peer down at him. She grins with furrowed brows. Gale meets her gaze with a cheeky grin of his own, his arm still wrapped around her waist.

"You are endlessly cheeky."

"I prefer the term charming," he says with mock offense, even as he grins. His free hand tugs gently on a lock of her hair.

"You are undoubtedly both, vhenan."

She sets a hand on his chest, her fingers dancing idly over his skin and following the paths of his hair. Those sharp eyes roam over his features, lingering on the healed scar where the orb once colored his skin, and the more prominent scar of her mate mark above it. Miri's soft smile widens a fraction - somewhere between love and smug, possessive satisfaction.

Gale arches a brow at her, his eyes never straying from her face as she trails her fingers over his hair and scars. The touch of her hand against his skin sends a faint tingle through him, and he hums in contentment. His hand rubs her back lazily.

"Are you going to spend the entire morning ogling me?"

Her eyes flick up to his with a cheeky smirk and he can’t help but grin back, his chest warming with affection. Miri's fingers never stop their gentle stroking touches over his chest and his nerves feel set aflame.

"Am I not allowed to appreciate my husband?"

"Of course you can," he says fondly, his hand slowly tracing the curve of her spine. "But if you keep looking at me like that, I might be tempted to keep you in bed all day."

Her eyes close briefly, with an appreciative smile, as she focuses on the touch of his fingers over her skin. She rumbles a soft growl back at him and the sound sends a shiver down his spine, and he smirks back at her. His hand pauses at the small of her back, splaying his fingers against her skin.

"Is that so?" Miri's eyes open to peer at him, her head tilting just so.

"Mhmm," he hums, his gaze darkened slightly. His other hand comes up to brush a strand of hair away from her face, his thumb tracing over her jaw. "Perhaps I should keep you under me, where I can appreciate you properly."

Miri turns her face into his hand, kissing his palm before mouthing at his thumb with her canines. Gale's breath hitches in his throat as her teeth nibbling on his thumb send a jolt of desire through him.

"Careful, love," he says huskily, his eyes darkening. His hand on her back stills, and his gaze fixates on her mouth. "If you keep that up, we might not be getting up anytime soon."

Miri growls with a wolfish grin. "Good. It's much too early for you to be out of bed."

@lanafofana @lastlight-inn @waterdeep-weavemoss

@crimson-and-lavender @feedthepheasants @spooky-lil-bee

[aurumacadicus]

Oh boy (⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)

--

Moving back to New York was one of the worst decisions Tony had ever made. He'd do it again in a heartbeat, of course. Supervillainous crimes always seemed to happen there and he wanted to help, so here he was in his tower that he shared with the Avengers, ready for the next call to action.

He just wished supervillains would take the winter off, so he could go someplace warm, like his Malibu house or South America or something. Hell, at this point he'd accept a trip to fucking Arizona. He'd fit right in there, he groused to himself, shaking hands curled around his coffee maker to try and soak up some of the warmth. All those old people.

Early onset arthritis. Tony eased one hand closed into a fist, wincing. He'd been diagnosed a decade ago after a particularly cold winter when he'd thought he'd had mono or something. "It'll get worse," his doctor had warned. Tony had staved off a lot of aches and pains by simply moving somewhere where the weather wouldn't affect his joints, and the pain was manageable with over the counter painkillers.

Here, in New York, with a blizzard blowing outside, Tony felt as if every degree the thermometer dropped was a twist of a knife in each and every joint, but especially his knees and hands. It was unfair. He had a state of the art air system, with his penthouse and workshop set to a perfect seventy-four degrees, but his body somehow knew it was sleeting outside and so was revolting.

He couldn't even pick up his coffee cup this morning. He'd needed to use his fucking cane to get out of bed.

The worst part was he could feel Steve's eyes on him like a physical touch. He'd never thought of the downside of sleeping with a super soldier until this morning, when he'd groaned as he'd forced himself to stand and found, to his horror, that Steve had forgone his early morning run to have a lie in with him. So Steve had seen the cane he'd needed to push himself to his feet, the extra padding on the handle to ease his grip, how Tony had come into the kitchen and grabbed a mug with extra wide handles on each side like a child's cup and then hadn't been able to fill it himself.

He wondered how long it would take Steve to decide his own body was a threat to the team and firmly but politely tell him to stop putting on the suit.

"Are you always in pain?" Steve asked quietly, finally coming over to pick up the coffee pot and pour him a cup.

"Worse in the cold weather," Tony said, trying not to sound too tetchy. There was no point in lying. Steve had watched him wrap both hands around the pot's handle and still not have the willpower to pick it up despite the pain. "Part of the reason I lived in Malibu for so long," he added, a thread of defeat weaving into his voice as Steve opened the fridge to get his creamer for him. He hadn't wanted to be in the cold even for a moment. Steve had obviously been able to tell.

Steve turned to face him, expression impassive. "So it's not just the arc reactor then."

"Quite honestly, I didn't even think about the reactor once this morning," Tony sighed dropping his eyes to his feet. He'd been too focused on the pain in his hands, how insurmountable the task of standing had seemed for a moment. Sure, his chest hurt, but it always hurt. The arthritis was sometimes worse than others. And today had been the first sleety-frozen-cold-to-your-bones day of the season.

Steve took a moment to stir his creamer in (the spoon was too small for him to grip, Tony lamented) before he turned, sliding the mug over to him. He watched Tony cradle the mug's handles in both hands before he carefully lifted it for a sip. "Are you in pain in the suit?" he finally asked.

Tony didn't do him the disservice of lying, instead carefully turning his eyes away as he answered, "My hands always hurt. The suit is one of the only times I don't feel bad, though. It's automated, so most of the movements I make are helped with the machinery. 's why you've seen me doing so much work with the gauntlets on lately." He hunched his shoulders, embarrassed. "It wasn't to protect me from soldering. It was so I could hold the solderer without dropping it."

"I see," Steve said solemnly. He stared at Tony's coffee cup for several long, silent seconds, then turned abruptly and left the room.

Probably to go tell Fury he needed to be removed from the team, Tony figured morosely.

He had just finished washing his cup when he heard the elevator open again. He turned, limping into the living room.

"Your boyfriend broke into the Xavier Institute to try and bribe Storm into changing the weather and Xavier is pissed," Natasha said flatly, Steve's ear held tightly in her hand.

"...Did. Did you run all the way there?" Tony sputtered, confused.

"I was on a mission," Steve grumbled, as if he had not just risked life and limb to ask one of the most powerful mutants in the world to ignore the natural weather patterns just because Tony's arthritis was flaring up. "She said no though. Told me to get you more omega-threes, whatever that means."

"Okay," Tony squeaked.

"I am more concerned with being on the mutants' bad side," Natasha began, scowling.

"Storm just thought I was cute," Steve said morosely, at the same time Tony answered, "Xavier won't come near me because my brain's loud and I bother him. I do that on purpose though."

"Oh my God," Natasha whispered, pinching the bridge of her nose, as Steve started googling foods he could make for Tony.

[reds-writings]

red!! love your writing <3 may i request rust + 11 from the fluff prompts pt2?? whatever timeline you prefer :)

(pairing: rust cohle x jj!reader)

a/n: this is set somewhere in the late 90s in our pairing's journey! just a lil snapshot blurb! enjoy :)

warnings: none really! just some smoochin' and mentions of sucky family

“I gotta get up soon.” You hummed with eyes closed, it was barely morning outside but you’d forgone packing last night for your baby nephew’s christening a couple of hours away no thanks to the man taking up residence in your bed. Given the lengthy drive, you planned on staying at some hotel and venturing back the following morning. 

The family affair was due to start no later than 11 and with how grandiose your parents liked to make intimate matters such as these a thing for others to be envious of you know it was imperative to give them no reason to look down on their noses at you any more than they already did on the regular. You just needed to show up, shoot the shit, and hurry back home to your cowboy.

Speaking of, the lump by your side made no move to set you free so that you may bite the bullet that was this tedious family gathering. 

“M’serious. You hogged me all last night. Means I gotta get goin’ earlier today.”

A small hmph was grumbled but nothing else. Clear that he couldn’t care less.

You snorted and flipped over to hover above his lazing form. Sleep, or a telltale lack thereof, weighed heavy on his lids. Long lashes dusted sullen eyebags but now wasn’t the time to get lost in his fatigued beauty as much as it pained you to pull away. 

“I’ll be back before lunch tomorrow. Hopefully.” You mused as you brushed a finger across a sharp cheekbone. Bleary eyes willed themselves open to get a better look at you, and in the muted hues of the growing dawn, they looked more grey than usual. 

“They don’t deserve you.” His voice came out in a sleep-logged grumble. By now in your relationship, he’d had the displeasure of meeting them, a formality more than anything. It didn’t go unnoticed that he felt a deep-rooted resentment with how they treated you. Your sister was alright but he couldn’t find it in himself to be forgiving toward her blatant ignorance of being the stark beneficiary of your parents’ favoritism. His callousness and silent distaste were enough to have your parents in an uproar once they got you alone. Something about such unbelievable crassness and lack of basic respect for one’s superiors. 

It’s why he didn’t get invited to much. Not that he cared besides not being able to keep a close eye on you when you had to visit the wolves’ den every now and then.

If it were up to him he'd never let them have the chance of having their wretchedness touch you again.

Though, your selflessness could not often be stopped.

“They do not. But I love my nephew and he ain’t done a thing to me so I’ll buck up and endure the rest of them for however long.” You leaned down to capture his lips with yours briefly, his warm palm pressed at your lower back with silent greed. You let him have you for a few moments more before you begrudgingly moved away with a tense stretch, a pop or two sounding from your back. 

“No later than lunch. Cross my heart.” You made an ‘x’ motion with your index and got up. Rust just hummed again, moving his arm to shield his eyes from the sudden light of your ensuite bathroom. You peered cheekily from the doorway, 

“Don’t miss me too much, now.”

He didn’t have the energy to deny it.  

[fushiglow]

satosugu mailman au 💌

a very special delivery for @kymsys's birthday! how many days will it take for satoru to fall in love with his new mailman? let's find out!!

here's part one for my tumblr pals to enjoy! however, i'll be posting this work over quite a few days over on twitter/x, so please head over there if you want to follow along! if you don't have an account, i'll be uploading the entire thing to my ao3 when it's done — so don't fret ♥️ enjoy the fic!!

There were three things Gojō Satoru loved above all else: sweets, scale model kits, and sleep. He was a simple man in that sense — really, he asked for very little except a healthy supply of sugary treats, the occasional plastic mech, and an undisturbed lie-in seven days a week. So, when the shrill ring of his doorbell wrenched Satoru from a beautiful dream at exactly 8am on a Monday morning? Needless to say, he wasn’t pleased. Now, Satoru wasn’t an unreasonable person. He understood that the rest of the world started moving a little earlier than him — which is why Satoru had taken special measures to protect his precious rest without hindering anyone else. He’d chosen a job that allowed him to work from home, forgone the company of a housemate in favour of living alone, and — most importantly for a hobbyist like Satoru who ordered more kits, paints, and crafting tools than any one person needed — installed a secure parcel drop box outside his front door, preventing the need for anyone to pester him. That’s why Satoru didn’t bother getting out of bed after the first ring, assuming that the person who’d decided to disturb him would eventually figure it out for themselves. Perhaps they were a bit slow though — because less than thirty seconds later, the doorbell came screaming through the house again. Swearing into his pillow, Satoru pulled the duvet up to his ears. All he could do was hope they’d leave quickly so he could snatch at least some sleep in the 45 minutes left until his alarm went off. No such luck. Right when Satoru thought it was safe to relax, the doorbell started up again — and this time, it didn’t stop. With a stream of profanities falling from his lips, Satoru hauled himself out of bed, seeing red as he stomped down the stairs and marched across the hallway to the front door. He flung it open with a frustrated snarl, preparing to share some choice words with the impatient piece of shit on the other side — only for his insults to die on his tongue at the sight of the man standing before him. The broadest shoulders he’d ever laid eyes on; thick arms, tanned and toned; a muscular torso tapering down to a tiny waist — and all packaged in a uniform, for god’s sake. When Satoru finally managed to lift his jaw off the floor, he looked up at the man’s face and the damn thing unhinged from his skull all over again. He was all sharp cheekbones and sunkissed skin and the sweetest smile Satoru had ever seen. Perhaps a little too sweet now that he really looked at it. ‘I think your doorbell is broken.’

Sure, the guy was hot — easily the prettiest person Satoru had ever seen — but that didn’t stop his eye from twitching at the blatant passive aggression masked behind that sickly sweet smile. Satoru matched it with one of his own. ‘I assure you, it’s not.’ ‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’ Satoru didn't think he seemed sorry in the slightest — even if his voice did sound like melted chocolate. ‘I’ve got a parcel for Gojō Satoru?’ When hot mailman tilted his head to the right, a lock of glossy black hair fell into his face. Too short to secure in his bun and too short to tuck behind his ear, he simply brushed it away from warm eyes the colour of honey. Satoru wondered if every part of him was as gorgeous. ‘It needs a signature.’ Shocked out of his stupor, Satoru's gaze travelled to the box at the right of the door. ’The regular guy always puts them in there.’ Hot mailman simply beamed at him. ‘Do I look like the regular guy to you?’ No, Satoru thought. There’s nothing regular about you. As though he could read minds, hot mailman winked at him. ‘Then I’ll need a signature, please.’ And god — he was so effortlessly charming that, for the first time in his life, Satoru found himself speechless. For a long moment, he simply stood there, gawping like an idiot. When hot mailman eventually quirked an amused eyebrow in his direction, Satoru had no choice but to take the signature pad being waved at him, managing to make a hash of his name before wordlessly handing it back. Having completely and utterly embarrassed himself, Satoru had started to retreat into the safety of his home when a strong hand closed around the edge of the door. Hot mailman popped his head around the side. ‘You forgot your parcel.’ Satoru watched those amber eyes as they slid down the length of his body — and hot mailman's sickly sweet smile morphed into a devilish grin. ‘Your clothes, too.’ Glancing down at himself, Satoru’s heart stopped in his chest when he realised he’d answered the door in nothing but his boxers — and not fitted Calvin Kleins that emphasised what he was working with either. No, the ratty, stretched out Digimon boxers he’d owned since he was 17. With a mortified squeak, Satoru snatched the parcel from hot mailman’s hands and slammed the door in his face, uncaring of whether his stupid bangs got caught in the doorframe. Tossing the package onto the floor, Satoru brought his palms to his rapidly heating cheeks, taking a moment to stare into the silence of his hallway. Then, he summoned all the air in his lungs and let out the single loudest ‘fuck!’ he’d ever produced. Hot mailman’s beautiful laughter travelled down the entire length of the driveway.

[midnightscramble]

Oh dios mio. I've re-read your Portia x reader and I've got to say that it's absolutely amazing and I can just imagine Portia thinking 'How would her hands feel on her' the sensational touches she would receive. I really hope you have a great day, love. ☺️

Sugar, Sugar Part 3 (Portia Featherington x fem!Reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

The Masterlist

Author’s Note: Thanks for your continued support! If this is not what was envisioned feel free to request again (don’t be shy!). Happy readings to you.

Summary: The women start to feel more and more attached to each other. Penelope confronts her mother. In a moment of weakness, Portia breaks their agreement, consequences follow...

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, fingering (Portia receiving), oral (Portia receiving), bottom Portia, internalized homophobia, angry-ish sex, no Beta read

The next night, Portia arrived to the bakery earlier than the agreed upon time. She walked down the aisles, vaguely looking through the shelves as she focused on listening to her baker bustle around the kitchen, obviously preparing for their meeting. She heard a deep sigh of satisfaction emit from the kitchen. As if on its own accord, Portia's mind produced images of Y/n, cheeks flushed and head thrown back as sweat slid down the column of her throat. Blinking back to reality, Portia felt desire settle in her abdomen, sinking as gracefully as a stone falling through still water. She pinched herself, such thoughts were improper, especially since she knew that Y/n's sigh was most definitely attributed to a baking related achievement.

She could not shake the warmth that tinged her cheeks pink, nor how Y/n's soft sigh seemed to echo in her ears. For the rest of the evening she sat with hands beneath her thighs, worried she would be overcome with the want to touch her sweet baker. If Y/n noticed her sudden hesitancy, for once she was polite enough not to mention it.

For the next week, Portia dreamt only of the young baker. While not particularly proud of the development, the Lady selfishly felt eager to sleep after their evening meetings. She could no longer deny her feelings for the other woman. In fact, the harder she consciously fought against it, the more radical her subconscious became in reminding Portia of her sinful desires.

Having experienced so little romantic pleasure in her life, Portia was content to keep this secret to herself, reap the blessings her dreams bestowed upon her. As long as she did not act upon it, it would be a non issue, she simply had to control herself.

...

Well practiced in self control, she continued to see Y/n every evening. However, on the thirteenth night of their agreement, Portia felt her resolve begin to crumble.

Sitting across from each other, Y/n unveiled her latest temptation, a pastry shaped like a heart. They sat in silence, the air around them was alight with electricity, leaving Portia feeling frozen yet energetic. The baker's eyes were soft, and something in her posture was different than other nights. She seemed to have forgone her usual bravado and crassness, that manifested in slouched shoulders and easy movements. Now, Y/n was still in her own unease, face dashed with hopefulness and vulnerability.

Portia swallowed, if she accepted the treat, then these meetings would come to an end. However, the alternative of rejecting the treat made her mouth taste bitter. Her knee bounced under her thick skirt as she considered. The dessert was precious, she wanted to pick it up with her hands and run her fingers along the flaky edges to appreciate its perfection.

Her voice grew quite as she spoke, falling off into a whisper, "Although it is delicate, and undoubtably exquisite, it does not tempt me..." Per usual, the baker gave her a kind smile, yet, tonight's held an element of disappoint. Portia wanted to rectify that, so she reached out and took the baker's hand, "You are so skilled, I'm sure tomorrow you will catch me."

Y/n intertwined their fingers and smiled subtly, "I suppose I must be satisfied with the thoughts of tomorrow," neither moved to extract their hand.

...

Portia returned home, feeling an unfamiliar ache in her chest which urged her to go back to the bakery and beg for a taste of the baker's heart. While it soothed her to be able to touch Y/n, she felt a pang of guilt from causing the subtle distress the baker experienced over tonight's rejection. It had all felt so different, as though they were speaking another language, one which Portia seemed to mispronounce every time she attempted to speak.

Sitting at her vanity, she brushed through her hair, trying to find a calming rhythm. A knock sounded at her door and having been so deep in thought, she jumped at the intrusion. Penelope entered slowly, looking rather sheepish.

"Mother, I must ask you an uncomfortable question..."

Portia sighed, "On with it," she prompted.

"I heard a rumor," Penelope could not out right say she had been following her mother, "that you have been having midnight rendezvous with a baker in town." Portia felt her throat constrict and if she hadn't already been sitting she surely would have lost balance. Goosebumps raised on her arms and a shiver climbed up her spine.

"She's my friend, who happens to have a very busy day and is only available at night." The excuse was rushed and Portia's eyes shifted away in an effort to hide.

"So you do not deny it?"

Portia mentally cursed herself, denying it altogether would have been much easier but now it was too late, "No, I do not."

Penelope continued, seemingly talking aloud rather than asking an actual question, "Then why lie to us and say you are off to bed, when you are really leaving to see a friend..."

The Lady's blood ran cold, she looked at her daughter and watched in abject horror as Penelope pieced it together. "You fancy the baker," It was stated as fact, almost light heartedly as her daughter was all too pleased with her own deduction.

"Penelople-"

"There is no use in lying, Mother. Although, shocked as I am, I must remind you of something," Penelope raised an eyebrow before quoting the woman, "It is foolish to be unreasonable about what you can achieve."

Portia's eyes watered as Penelope threw her cruel words back at her, before she could come up with a retort, her daughter had fled. She was left to reflect upon the brutal advice. She knew in her heart that she wanted the baker, but it would be unreasonable to believe in the possibility of having her. When she retired for the night, she committed herself to enjoying tonight's dream, as it was the last one she would allow herself to have. She wasn't sure how she had so stupidly let herself become hopeful, after all, Lady's don't have dreams.

...

The next morning Portia accompanied her daughters and their husbands to the Hawkins Hot Air Ballon Event. Although in a depressed state, she choked through an apology to Penelope on the carriage ride over.

"I am sorry. I-" Portia scrunched her nose and sniffed in discomfort, "You are right to have been so angry with me..."

Penelope pressed her lips together in sympathy, "I do not want to fight with you, Mother."

"Nor, I with you. If it is Mister Bridgerton you truly want, then you mustn't waste your time with any other." With a closed lip smile, Penelope nodded and gazed out the window. While their relationship was far from healed, this was certainly an improvement.

Penelope bit her lip, "Do be careful, with your baker. I do not want to see you hurt."

Portia chuckled, "You need not worry, it will be over by tonight." Her daughter eyed her with concern but dropped the subject.

Once the carriage came to a halt, Portia plastered on a smile, ready to make the most of the day instead of dreading the evening to come. She watched as Penelope left and realized that Mister Bridgerton was already watching her daughter with an eagle's eye. She smiled, knowing Penelope would be successful.

She herself filtered in and out of stands, pausing at a stall with various jams and pastries.

"Would you care for a sample, my Lady?" She nodded and was handed a lithe, croissant with sweet apricot jam in the center. Without thinking, she took a bite. As her tongue hit the jam she felt bile rise in her throat. Pulling back she realized she had officially broken her deal with the baker. Her mouth went bitter and all hunger was lost. Out of politeness, she finished the pastry and inquired about where the stand's main store was located in the Ton. She darkly thought about how she would need a new baker eventually.

...

Evening fell, and Portia made her way from the Event directly to the bakery, with the full intention of ending her late night escapades with Y/n. When she arrived, the usual table was not set, in fact all the chairs had been put up for closing. She heard grunting coming from the kitchen and the sound of metal being tossed into a sink, loudly echoing into the store front. Portia flinched slightly.

She called out for the baker, "Y/n?" Silence stung through the air and Portia approached the kitchen warily.

With a red nose and watery eyes, Y/n glared at her, "What do you want?" She wiped at her cheeks, trying to make the evidence of her hurt disappear.

Tentatively, she took a step forward, "I came for our usual meeting-"

Y/n flexed her jaw before seething, "I know that you made an inquiry into hiring Mr. Thompson for your baked goods."

Portia went to deny it but was cut off, "Do not lie to me..." Y/n stalked forward, and by reflex Portia stepped back.

She connected with the wooden prep table and her heart beat loudly in her ears. The baker's hands rested on each side of her, gripping the edge of the table fiercely. With their faces near inches apart, Y/n accused, "Did you like what he had to offer..."

"No," Portia choked out, lip quivering with emotion.

"Do you think he could satisfy your hunger like I could?" Portia shook her head and flushed, unable to speak. She watched as the baker's eyes darkened and the pinch in her eyebrows relaxed.

"Allow me to tempt you tonight?" Y/n's eyes trailed from her eyes to her lips, coyly asking permission.

As if she were emerging from water and gasping for breath, Portia responded, "Yes-" The baker cut her off and surged forward to connect their lips. Y/n's tongue slid across her bottom lip and Portia instinctively opened her mouth, encouraging the woman to deepen the kiss.

Inhaling through her nose, she felt faint as her mouth was thoroughly devoured. Y/n's deft tongue caressed her own and Portia sighed into to kiss. Strong hands came to rest on her waist, slowly grabbing the fabric and scrunching it up. The Lady mewled at the possibility of the touch which she had only ever dreamed of. She slid her fingers into the baker's hair, reveling in the softness of the locks, and how right it felt to cradle her head. For the first time in her life, Portia experienced an unbridled pleasure from sharing a kiss.

She shivered in anticipation as Y/n parted her legs. The baker disconnected their mouths and moved her kisses dow Portia's neck. Her hand stopped as she palmed the Lady's inner thigh, and she nipped at Portia's ear, waiting for permission.

"Please," Portia whined needly, moving her face to try and chase the baker's lips. Y/n gave her a sweet peck, and rubbed their noses against each other. Not wanting to deny the woman further, she moved her hand to cup the woman's sex. Their foreheads connected and Portia let out a contented sigh as Y/n ground the palm of her hand against her. The baker watched as her eye's fluttered shut and her breathes became shorter. Moving her thumb to rub the Lady's clit, she traced along her lips tantalizingly slow, watching how her hips twitched forward. Having gathered enough wetness, she slowly sunk her fingers into Portia's opening. Her neck flexed as she let out a silent moan, and her knees became weak at the sensation.

Pinning her further onto the table for support, Y/n moved a hand to her lower back, encouraging Portia to thrust her hips to meet her fingers. With cheeks as red as her hair, Portia delighted in the guidance, and surrendered all control to the baker. Rhythmically, Portia began to meet her every thrust. However, once she had gotten comfortable in the pattern, it changed. Y/n curled her fingers, dragging them along Portia's walls in a come hither motion. Portia's hips stuttered and a cry left her mouth out of ecstasy. Y/n felt Portia start to tighten around her fingers, and she knew the woman was close.

Portia's abdomen tightened, and she was surprised with herself, not entirely familiar with the sensation. The baker gave her little time to think about it as she dropped to her knees. Portia was confused by the action until she felt a hard lick journey up her inner thigh. Although slightly miffed, she would not deny the woman any part of her. Portia's hands clutched at the edge of the table, knuckles turning white as Y/n sucked her clit between her lips. She gasped sharply and barred down on Y/n's fingers, falling over the edge. Administering kitten licks and slow pumps, Y/n helped Portia through her orgasm until she felt her walls stop spasming.

Y/n removed her hand slowly and rose to her feet, giving Portia a tender kiss which the woman met in earnest. Her hands rested on the baker's shoulders as she rested her head in the crook of Y/n's neck, wanting reprieve after such thrilling intimacy. Y/n chuckled and held the Lady, "Now, can I tempt you with an actual dessert?"

Portia laughed but didn't move from her position, "it would only be appropriate."

[fishnets-fingers]

blossoms, big changes & blanket forts

a/n - @harry-on-broadway's short 'n sweet fic challenge inspired me to write a burb from the six months universe. this takes place in the future and hints at storyline(s) for future parts. it's been a while since i'd written anything, so i hope this turned out okay. word count: 2.5k (not proofread) happy reading :)

…

Every Saturday Harry’s alarm blares at five in the morning and every single Saturday he swiftly silences it before it disturbs the other occupant snoozing next to him. This morning was no different. He quietly slips out the bed and heads to the bathroom to change into his running gear. 

A dopey smile blooms across his face at the sight in front of him. A foot peeking out the sheet, a hand haphazardly dangling over the side of the bed, and a shock of dark hair obstructing her face. 

He smooths the raven locks away from her face and leans down to kiss her sleep warm cheek. A quiet grunt makes him chuckle. 

“What ungodly hour is it?” Layla asks, eyes still closed. 

“It’s the AM,” he answers diplomatically. 

She mumbles something incoherently, turning over on her stomach, face burying into the pillow. He knows better than to ask her to clarify and jolt her from the pull of slumber. He kisses the crown of her head, pulling the bed sheet in place. 

And off he goes, running down the same circuit he takes every Saturday. He enjoys this time where their neighbourhood is slowly setting up for the day - the scratches of produce filled pallets being hauled into the restaurants, the beeps of trucks pulling into the warehouses of the supermarkets, the hum of baristas as they begin to ready their spaces, and the soft grunts of runners they start with their stretches. 

He relishes this routine; the calm after five days of scrambling around with this Masters thesis, hours in the lab, typing away on his computer into the night. Saturday mornings were his reset. The hour and a half he spends running with no distractions is just what he needs to set the tone for his weekend. The same sights, smells, and sounds.  This Saturday however he spots a moving truck along with a couple carrying boxes into the lobby of a highrise apartment and is immediately transported to a wintery evening five months ago. He was lugging bags of groceries from the car when his phone chimed. Once. Twice. Thrice. Followed by a call from Layla all the way from Chennai.

“Hi bab-” He starts before getting interrupted. 

“You are speaking to the new assistant professor of San Diego State! Well not really. I still haven’t signed but I just got the email.”

“No fucking way! Really?”

“Really! I read the email three times to make sure my brain wasn’t playing tricks on me. I did just wake up, so there’s a big possibility that I’m dreaming.”

“Congratulations, Layla.”

“Aww, thanks,” she blew out a breath. “You know what this means, right?”

“No more long distance,” he smiled into the microphone.

“Can’t wait. I love you.”

“I love you too, Lails.” 

“Say it again,” she said, and he can picture her lips pulling up at the corners.

“I bloody love you, sweet girl.”

“Thanks. I needed to hear that,” she added quietly.

He felt her conflicting feelings of anger and longing miles away. She did not want to go to India after what happened during their last visit. After weeks of trying, her cousins convinced her that she was long overdue for a sleepover, pointing out that a full time job would only make flying over more complicated. “Chennai will make me feel at home, my house is just a building,” she’d insisted but Harry had seen the hurt etched on her face on their video call from she hotel she checked into. She had forgone the invite from her relatives to stay at theirs, not wanting cause any conflicts between them and her parents. He’d wanted to go with her but his schedule wouldn’t allow him and which was convenient for her with wanting him far away from her mother. “Have you told your folks? Do you want to?” He’d asked after a pregnant pause.

She sighed. “Not my parents. I called my grandparents. They were overjoyed, obviously. They wanted to meet me for lunch but I told them I’m not coming home. So, I’m meeting them at the restaurant. I explicitly told them that I would leave if Amma and Appa (Mum and Dad) showed up.

“Anyway," she said after a while, "I think my grandparents are going to give me a fat stack of cash, like they did when I got into the PhD program.” She forced a chuckle, signaling that she was done talking about it.

So he changed the topic, “when do you have to get back to them?”

“They haven’t specified anything but sooner the better right. I’ll respond by tomorrow evening” she yawned. “I'm heading over to Chitti's (aunt - mother’s younger sister) for dinner. All the cousins are attending Carom night. I’ll ask her to help me go through the contract before I sign. I’ll have to tell them that I’ll only be coming to the US next week. I think I want to negotiate my salary a little or get more PTOs. I don't want to pass it up though. They are willing to sponsor my visa and I don't have any more offers to be in the same city, so…” She prattled on. 

He’s giddy at the thought of not having to resort to scheduling visits when their calendars permit them to. To not have their coursework making them unavailable during important moments. To not have to fit their belongings into a small cabin bag and rush to the gate to catch a flight to each other a few states away. To not have to tiptoe around Layla’s housemates, who barely tolerated each other. To not have to resort to FaceTimes when they wanted to see each other. To not be next to each other - when all they wanted was to wrap the their arms around the other - to help them wind down from an exhausting day. 

“Har,” her voice snapped him out of his reverie. “Are you paying attention?”

“Yeah yeah, contracts.”

“Not even close. I was talking about apartment hunting.”

“Why would you look for apartments?” His brows knitted together. 

“I’ll need a place to live in, won’t I?” 

“You already have a place to live in.”

“No, I don’t. What are you-,” her voice cuts off as she drew in a sharp breath in realisation. “Are you- Would you like for me to- Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. I’m almost twenty six. You’re twenty seven. We’ve been together for two years now. I’m so in love with you, Layla Sathish. Never stopped for a second since I first laid eyes on you in your Uncle’s house in Apex. Never stopped in the two years we were apart. And I don’t want to waste another second. I want us together. I want to go to bed with you next to me. Kiss you goodbye when we both leave for university. I want to complain about your makeup and skincare taking up all the space in the bathroom cabinet. I want to buy you flowers when I come back home after a run. I want your paints and brushes scattered on the dining table. I want to make space in my closet for your clothes. I want your fingerprints smeared on my laptop screen. Move in with me.” 

It didn’t skip past her that he wasn’t asking her but telling her. “I mean I do have the spare key to your loft. Might as well put it to good use,” she teased. 

He laughed. “Exactly! You can be the breadwinner of the house and I can rest easy as a kept man and work on my thesis.”

She giggled. “I love it!”

Three weeks later, they were moving her belongings into the loft. He had to pinch himself every few hours to remind himself that he had unfettered access to the woman he loved. But living together posed a few adjustments, like the time she used his coffee grinder to make gunpowder from scratch and he was about ready to rip all his hair off telling her about cross-contamination of the flavour. Living together spotlighted their different cleaning ethos - he lets the mess accumulate and then do a deep clean but soon found out that Layla could not function when things piled up. The different towels and rags of Layla’s system he needed to keep track of: the ‘nice one’ for drying the dishes, the ‘yucky one’ for cleaning the kitchen countertops, the ‘microfiber’ for dusting that needed to be dampened, and the ‘soft one’ for electronic screens. They’d argued about finances and after weeks - much to Layla’s chagrin -  they’d settled on a compromise: Layla would take care of the utilities and date nights and Harry would pay for rent, and groceries. She put her foot down about being able to pay for the two of them on their future trips to India and he agreed with the condition that all other trips would be taken care of by him. Their grocery trips were different now, Layla was so focused on giving herself a spending limit since she wasn’t paying for it. This meant standing in the middle of the aisle and calculating down to the gram to figure out what brand gave her the best bang for her buck - whereas Harry just pulled things off the shelf that caught his eye. But all of their spats and differences melt away when he sees her smile up at him, from whatever she was doing, as he walked through the door after the end of the day. 

In the home stretch he slows down and walks into the florist. It was early in the day to have the pick of the freshest of flowers straight from the delivery truck. Every single week he would pick out random bunches - today it was different coloured sweet peas and tulips. He’d wake her up with the flowers held behind his back where she’d blink up at him with sleep laden eyes and gasp when he’d present them to her. She gasped every Saturday morning, even if it had become a ritual by now - watching her put together an impressive floral arrangement while he’d make breakfast for them.

He’s surprised when he keys into the loft, usually he’s met with the quiet hum of appliances, today peals of laughter bounce off the walls of the entryway. He smiles toeing off his shoes as he spots two sets of feet - one tiny and one large - sticking out. Their couch pushed back towards the wall and the four dining chairs stood in its place acting as pillars on either side with a fuzzy throw draped over the backs of the chair, cocooning the two. 

He tiptoes slowly towards their makeshift fort to find the two sprawled on a quilt on their tummies. Layla in her power rangers pyjamas, hair haphazardly thrown in a bun, rubbing the sleep away from her eyes, her head propped on her elbows, and a curly headed girl in a wrinkled nightgown giggling with her as she points at the book that’s propped against the a cushion. Vasanth and Abi had dropped Laya off with them for the fourth of July weekend and had driven up to Temecula Valley for their long overdue wedding anniversary getaway. She was a deadly combination of her parents, self-willed and mischievous.

“Your Tamil teacher has her work cut out for her,” Layla howls.

“Miss. Muga,” the four year old replies. 

“Who?”

“Miss. Muga. She’s my Tamil teacher.”

“You're going to be a pain in Miss. Muga’s bum,” Layla breaks into giggles.

Her little body twists around, eyes widening in alarm, hands coming to cover her open mouth. “You said bum!” She sputters into laughter. 

“Excuse me, ladies, where was my invite?” Harry asks, crouching down and sticking his head into the opening, making sure the flowers were concealed behind his back.

“Harry!” The girl screams in delight, crawling haphazardly towards him. 

“Someone decided to wake up at the crack of dawn with a determination to build a fort and finish her Tamil homework in it,” Layla sighs.

Harry gives their guest a sympathetic smile. “You did promise her a blanket fort last night, baby. It’s a miracle that she slept this long, reckon she might be in Eastern time.”

“What do you have?” Laya asks, pointing at the tulip sprig that peeked out from the side.

“It’s a gift,” he tells her, shuffling into their cosy cocoon. “Can you cover Akka’s (older sister) eyes and close eyes?” He whispers loudly.

With a nod she clambers onto Layla’s back, using her hands to shield Layla’s view while she scrunches her eyes shut. A collective gasp echoes when he tells them to open their eyes, presenting them with his colourful selection of the day. Harry's body permeates with warmth from the radiant smiles coming from the two; the type of light that could rival the sun’s. The warmth makes him smile, feeling content at the sight in front of him, chuffed at the approval of his floral pick, and the singe of tranquillity from being inside the fort.

“Isn’t it pretty?” Layla asks, bringing the bouquet to her nose. “Mmm…Smells good too.”

“Mmmm,” Laya copies her cousin, burying her nose and nodding in agreement. “For me?” She looks up at Harry. 

“For the two of you,” he replies, inching closer to them. He twists a purple bloom and tucks it behind Laya’s ear. “A sweet pea for my sweet pea.” He declares, chuckling at the way Laya cheeks tinge with pink and the way she blinks up at him with a shy smile.

“Manners, Laya. What do you say?” Layla prompts.

“Thank you,” she says in a singsong voice, reaching over Layla's head to kiss his cheek.

“You’re welcome, love.” He dramatically clears his throat before picking up a yellow tulip and swishes it around before tapping his girlfriend's nose with the bulb. “And a tulip for my tulip.”

“Thanks. Laya, do you want to help me arrange them in the vase? We can do that while Harry makes us pancakes, okay?”

The little girl nods, clambering off her sister and barrels in the direction of the kitchen, remembering the empty vase she’d seen on the kitchen counter. “I guess homework’s not a priority anymore,” Layla mumbles.

She sits up to follow her cousin before she wreaks havoc but Harry firmly holds her in place with a pointed look. “What?”

“Manners, Layla,” he echoes her statement from earlier. 

“I thanked you.”

“Not properly.”

“Huh?”

“Guess you could learn a thing or two from Laya. No thank you is complete without a kiss.”

“Since when?” She smirks.

“Did you not get the memo from the blanket fort etiquette committee?” He teases with a toothy grin.

She rolls her eyes, rocking up on her knees to kiss his cheek. “Happy?”

“Very.” He sears his mouth on her, tongue languidly sweeping her bottom lip, teasing her with a promise of what’s to come. When they pull away, she’s breathless, looking up at him with her tired eyes. And he cannot resist pulling her back in for another, this time his fingers curl around the back of her head, pulling her closer than before. It’s hurried - teeth clanging, noses knocking, tongues caressing, breaths stuttering - never faltering in passion. 

“Layla Akka!”

“I’ve been summoned," Layla murmurs against his swollen lips. “Thank you for this,” she picks up the bouquet from her lap and brings it close to her chest. “And all the others.” She presses a quick peck on his lips and they make their out the fort and towards the kitchen.

.....

MASTERPOST (if you wanna read more of Layla and Harry)

[allieisacrybaby]

Laundry Room Shenanigans

Danny Wagner x Reader 18+ ONLY

sooooo.....danny in sweats👀

Warnings: handjobs, cussing, heavy petting, teasing, it's pretty soft smut, but it's still smut, also very minimally edited, soooo yeah.

The sun pouring into the bedroom from the open blinds wakes you. Groaning at the intrusion of light, you embrace nature's alarm clock instead of burrowing deeper into the sheets. You stretch your limbs out, expecting to bump into an unconscious Danny, but your limbs stretch out fully, hitting nothing. With furrowed brows, you slap a hand out to Danny’s side of the bed, expecting to meet a warm body, but your hand meets the cold sheets instead. Finally, opening your eyes, you look to your side. Danny is not there. 

“Hmmph, he’s not normally a morning person.” you mumble to yourself, picking up your phone and checking the time—10:45 am. 

“Damn, I slept like a rock.”

Swinging your feet down onto the ground, you stand up and stretch again. Grabbing one of Danny’s sweatshirts lying on your vanity chair, you put it on and shuffle out of your bedroom to find your boyfriend. 

“Danny?” you call out into the house. 

“Laundry room.” his sweet voice rings out. 

You smile at his voice and make your way to the laundry room. Walking into the doorway, you find Danny with his back turned, dumping laundry into the washing machine. However, what catches your eye is that he’s forgone a shirt entirely, his bare shoulders and back on full display, and he’s clad only in a pair of grey sweatpants that hang deliciously low on his hips.  

You bite back the urge to wolf whistle at your man and waltz into the laundry room. 

You come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso and squeezing tightly, smushing your cheek into his bare back. You hum in appreciation at how warm his skin is, always running hot rather than cold, which you were not complaining about, especially on chilly mornings like this. 

“Good morning, Sweetheart,” he smiles, resting his hands over yours. “Did you sleep well?” he asks.

“Yeah, I just missed having you in bed this morning. I hate waking up to an empty bed. I already wake up to enough empty beds when you’re on tour, so when you’re home, it feels like you’re gone.” you ramble, overexplaining yourself.

“I’m sorry, honey. I promise tomorrow morning I’ll stay with you until you wake up. I just really needed to get this laundry done," he explains, squeezing your arms.

“It’s ok. I forgive you.�� you giggle, squeezing him tighter in reassurance. 

Danny goes back to doing his laundry while you stay glued to his back. As you grow a teeny bit restless, your hands wander up the expanse of Danny’s toned chest, smoothing over his patch of chest hair you loved so much and back down to rest at his pecs, giving them a playful squeeze.

“Hey!” Danny yelps, swatting at your mischievous hands. You giggle again, hands finding their way back down to his waist. Not entirely done teasing your poor boyfriend, you begin running your fingertips up and down his v-line and through his happy trail. A deep groan rumbles past Danny’s lips, and a shudder racks his body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

“Hmmmm, handsy this morning, aren’t you, little minx.” Danny chuckles. 

 Turning in your grasp, he pulls you into him, immediately feeling the results of your persistent teasing poking at your thigh. You look up into his eyes, and they’ve gone completely dark, but his gaze is still soft and loving.

“You need something, Angel?” he asks, groping at your ass. 

“Mhmm.” you grin, biting your bottom lip.

Your right-hand snakes down his ribs and into his sweats, gripping his dick. He’s hot to the touch, and as you wrap your hand around him and stroke, he moans softly. You keep working over him, twisting your wrist as you reach his head and back down, keeping a steady rhythm.

“God, I missed this. Missed you.” he sighs. 

One of his hands releases your waist and comes to tangle in your hair. He uses his grip on your hair to pull you into a deep needy kiss. His tongue runs along the seam of your lips and begins nibbling on your bottom lip for access. You smile against his lips and open your mouth in compliance. His tongue snakes its way into your mouth, and it is a glorious feeling. Danny has always been skilled with his tongue. 

Your hand comes up to the head of his dick, and you run your thumb over his slit. Danny groans into your mouth, and his hips thrust into your hand.

“Keep going,” Danny pants, his hips starting a steady rhythm of thrusting into your hand. “I’m almost there.” he groans, kissing your lips hard, knocking into your teeth. 

You feel him twitch in your grasp, and you speed up your strokes. Danny’s a mess in your hands. A thin layer of sweat has appeared across his chest, forehead, and freckled nose. He’s panting like a dog into your mouth, and his kisses have gotten sloppy and rough. His legs have also started to shake a bit, and every so often, his knees buckle just the tiniest bit, and you know he’s almost there.

“Fuuuuuuck, I’m cumming.” he moans.

He is spilling his seed into your palm with a couple more strokes of your hand. You keep working him through his orgasm until the thrusting of his hips and his panting ceases. You pull your hand out of his sweats and smirk up at him holding your hand to his face and watching as a bead of his cum rolls from the tip of your finger and into your palm. He just rolls his eyes at your display. You reach into a basket of clean towels on top of the dryer and pull one out, cleaning off your hand. You throw the towel over Danny’s shoulder, and he rolls his eyes again at your antics.

“You think you’re so funny, huh?” he asks, pulling you back into him.

“Just giving you a taste of your own medicine.” you state, resting your hands against his chest.

“Hmm, I see how it is,” “So, I shouldn’t do this?” before you can respond, Danny’s hand plunges into your sleep shorts and runs through the slick that has collected between your lips. 

“Danny!” you squeal, thighs clamping around his hand.

“See! You’re just as worked up as I am, so don’t get all high and mighty on me, baby.” Danny states as he keeps teasing his fingers through your lips. Your hips roll into his hand, needing more friction than he gives.

“Nobody likes a tease, Danny.” you say between pants.

“Oh, baby, I’m just giving you a taste of your medicine.” His statement drips in condescension. You really should watch your words because your past statement comes to bite you in the ass.

“Please, Danny, Please just take me to bed.” you whine, knees buckling as his fingers find your clit.

“There’s my good girl using your manners for me.” Danny smiles, flashing his pearly whites. God, how the tables had turned. His hand slides out of your shorts, and both hands wrap around the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up around his waist. Your ankles cross behind his back, and you hold onto him as he walks you back to your bedroom.