#it's not like he can travel *with* them. everything but his undershirt gets in the way of you know. swimming.

[discordiansamba]

back on my mer zuko au bullshit again. local fire prince just straight up doesn't go anywhere if there's not an ocean-linked body of water nearby even after he gets the ability to get legs again. when he's fire lord he mostly travels by druk because there's a difference between "why is the fire prince's hair always damp" vs "why is the fire lord's hair always damp".

(also because it's harder to have a member of the gaang be on 'bring zuko his clothes' duty as they get older. it's sokka a disproportionate amount of time.)

[quantum1mmortality]

Rubatosis;

The unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat

•Captain Curly x reader

Chat bare with me I'm trying out a new aesthetic because I'm sick and tired of my blog being UGLY and CHAOTIC so I'm using dividers and sticking to a color scheme for the first time don't judge me pls

Summary; Winter storm, blackout, no heater; the worst things that could've happened on your only weekend off. Luckily, your boyfriend Curly knows how to keep you warm.

Tw/cw; Afab!reader, pre established relationships (you guys are dating), cursing, the word 'radiate" is used like 20 times don't mind that chat, no use of y/n just curly calling you various pet names, no prep like at all(slight fingering????), curly whimpers, the smut is actually really unnecessary but ignore that too, piv, pwp??, unsafe sex, cumming INSIDE!!!, praise kink, curly talks you through it (I think)

Not proofread

You curl up with as many blankets as you can, shivering and watching your breath become visible from the cold. You can feel your body go numb as all you can do is wait for your power to come back on. It's been out for the past hour, and with the awful snow storm that just rolled through your town, you can tell it isn't coming back on anyime soon.

Sounds come from outside your window, sounds that you can barely hear over the cold chattering of your teeth. A car parking in your driveway, a car door opening and closing, and heavy feet making their way to your front door, shaking the doorknob while trying to open it.

The door creeks open, followed by the sound of heavy winds. You can hear footsteps walk into your house, closing the door, and walking towards the bedroom you now reside in.

"Sorry about the wait, love. I tried to leave work as soon as I heard about the power outage, but thought it would be best to stop somewhere to get some things to warm you up." It was your boyfriend, Curly, who you had no idea was coming over. Yet here you are, shaking in a cold bed as he roots through the bags he brought with him.

As he digs through the bags, seemingly looking for something specific, he throws miscellaneous items on your bed. Chocolates, a candle, a box of matches, more chocolates, and a bottle of wine. "Since we're basically trapped in here till the storm is over, I thought we could make the most of it. Have a romantic weekend or something.. I tried getting things I knew you'd like."

Just then, he finds what he was looking for; hand warmers. Ripping open the packaging, he walks to your side of the bed, handing you all that was in the box. The heat radiating from them was almost hurting you, but burning doesn't feel so bad when you're freezing.

Curly leaves the room for a moment, coming back with two wine glasses in hand; placing them on your bedside table. He takes off his work uniform, leaving him in only an undershirt and pants. You hold out your arms to him, signalling that you want him to be in bed with you. He smiles, lifting up the blankets and laying next to you.

You shiver, feeling his warm hands touch your cold body. "Poor thing.. I wish I could've been here sooner, maybe prevent you from getting to this state." He says softly, kissing your forehead as he raps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

"I'm glad you're here.." you say, dozing off. The warmth Curly radiates was more than enough to make your body become less tense. Your hands make their way to his chest, pressing gently as you bury your head in the crook of his neck.

"I know you are, love, and I'm glad to be here, too." He whispered softly, hands traveling from your waist to your hips. He lifts your shirt up slightly, moving his fingertips to your now exposed skin. "Fuck, you're freezing." You could hear the concern in his voice, switching from just his fingertips to his whole hand. "Does that feel better? Are you warmer now?"

You nod. Everything about him was warm, a stark contrast from how cold you currently are. Any part of him that was directly touching you was doing wonders for your current state. "Use your words, love." Even when you're freezing, Curly will still find a way to tease you. This world is so cruel.

You sigh, "yeah, that feels better. Thank you." He smiles, happy with your answer. He pulls your body closer to his, your chest flush against his own. His fingertips move in a circular motion, trying to keep you calm. Which, to his credit, is working.

With the warmth of your beloved boyfriend mixed with the light musk scent of the cologne he always wore, you were falling asleep quickly. He could feel your eyelashes flutter shut against his neck, followed by your soft breathing hitting his skin. He presses a small kiss on your forehead, pulling you just the slightest bit closer to himself before dozing off.

Your eyes slowly open, groaning out as you realize it's still cold in your room. You try to back away, but Curlys grip on you tightens. He shifts slightly as he begins to wake up, hands moving from your waist, to his eyes, to your waist again. "Good morning, beautiful.. lovely seeing you here." He says in a raspy tone, indicating he just woke up.

You smile, curling back into his grasp. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up." You say in an almost hushed voice. He chuckles, placing a small kiss on your cheek.

"No worries, love. Just more time I get to spend with you." He chuckles, burying his head in the crook of your neck; kissing every bit of exposed skin he could in the process. You laugh, squirming in his arms, but his grip on you only tightens.

"Curly- stop-" you get out between giggles.

He lays one final kiss just below your ear, letting out a heavy sigh; now out of breath. He places one of his hands on your chest, just below your collar bone. His fingertips trace up the skin of your neck, stopping to grab your chin, lifting it up slightly.

Your eyes meet with his and he leans in for a kiss. It was soft, gentle, everything he was condensed into a simple act of affection. It was perfect. His hands fully cupping your face, pulling you in so he can deepen the kiss further.

Your hands their way to his scalp, his hair curling between your fingers as you gently pull. His mouth opens for a split second, letting out a small whimper at the new sensation. His kisses become slightly sloppy as he begins to sit up, flipping you so your back is now pressed against the bed. He places himself between your legs, breaking the kiss so he can trail small kisses and nibble down your neck.

As his hands wander down your chest, to your waist, and eventually to your hips, he sings small praises to you in-between each mark he lays on your neck. His fingers go under the seam of your panties, slipping them off of you with ease. With one hand keeping your legs open, the other traces up your inner thigh, slowly inserting one of his digits into your aching heat.

"Curly~" you gasp, your hands locking behind his neck as a way to ground yourself. Just then, he slips another in. The feeling of his cold fingers curling inside of you sent shockwaves through your body.

Curly takes his fingers out of your cunt, lifting his head from your neck to lick off the slick that remains. You whine at the empty feeling, small tears forming already. "Crying already, love?" He says with a smile. He lines his cock to your entrance, the tip prodding at your hole. He lowers his body back down to yours, "forgive me, dear. Sorry if this hurts." He whispers in your ear.

Your hands go back to his neck, going up to grab his hair again. You cry out as you can feel him stretch your insides, pulling at his hair even more in the process. Curly grips the sheets beneath him, his hand quickly moving to your waist to hold both you, and himself down.

As he can feel you reach your limit, he stops, holding still for a moment. "Are you alright? You're not too hurt, are you?" He says, raising his head to look at you.

"Y-yeah.. it just hurts a bit.." you trail off. He sighs in relief.

"I know, love. It's going to. I wish there was more I could do, but I promise it'll be worth it. Alright?" He smiles, kissing away the small tear lines on your cheeks. You smile back, coming your fingers through his hair gently before moving your hands to rest on his back instead.

He takes a deep breath, slowly moving his hips backwards before meeting with yours again. His steady thrusts help you adjust to his size better, but it only leaves you wanting more.

"I'm gonna go faster, alright?" He says, nearly out of breath. You nod. He increases his speed, going faster than you had anticipated. You cry out his name, digging your nails into the skin on his back. "I know, love, I know." He whispered.

More tears stream down your face as the pain quickly turns into pleasure. You moan with each thrust, nails still digging into his back. Curly whimpers at the feeling, "fuck- just like that, you're doing amazing, love~" he says in a soft, out of breath tone.

You can feel yourself getting closer as your legs instinctively close around his hips, inadvertently pushing him deeper inside you. You try to speak, but the words just won't come out. "Curly- I-" you stutter, not being able to think straight because of the pleasure.

His pace doesn't falter, though. His hands move to your thighs, holding onto them with force in an attempt to not go any rougher than he already is. Your cries and moans become louder, chanting his name as if it were a prayer. You feel the knot in your stomach come undone, your back arching and head thrown back. With one final moan, you can feel a wave of pleasure wash over you, followed by your slick soiling the sheets beneath you.

"Just a little longer, love. You've done so well for me this far, I'm sure you can hold out a bit more." Curly praised, continuing his pace. His hands grip your thighs tighter, leaving crescent shaped marks on your flesh. With one more deep, rough thrust, he moans out your name, releasing inside of you. He collapses on top of you, his head resting on your shoulder as you both try to catch your breath.

"Are you.. still cold?" He whispered softly.

You smile, "no. Not at all."

A/N; this would've been out two days ago but the new stardew valley update came to console and I've been GRINDING that shit. Also, the title was supposed to make an appearance in the fic. Right before the smut starts, when curly puts his hand on YOUR 🫵 chest, I was gonna add some dialogue like, "your heart is beating fast.. do I make you nervous?" But I thought that was cringe and cut it out.

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 5

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (some desperate stuff right here people)

A/N: An endless and forever thank you to @mourningbirds1 for being exactly who she is and for being so patient with me. ❤

--

Summer comes, and you ache for the man across the hall. 

It’s been almost a month since he kissed you — a month — and you’re starting to wonder if it was real, save for the way you can feel it vividly when you seek relief with your own fingers. Waiting until he’s hunting or during the dead of night, you slip them south and swirl with practiced, efficient pressure, muffling the sounds you make so he can’t hear you with your door open the way he insists. 

You bite back the cry that gathers in your throat when you come knowing he would do it so much better than you. You know, because you’ve become obsessed with his hands. 

He won’t touch you — not like he did at the lake, or on the couch — and you can’t stop yourself from watching his hands touch everything else: handling his gun as he cleans it, the ease of his knife as he prepares dinner, mending the clothes line outside when it becomes warm enough to start drying items out there. 

He fixed up a rain barrel for the garden, helped you measure and stake lines into the ground for the plants to climb and all the while, you watched his thick, competent fingers. Calloused and rough, his hands are so broad you can still remember the way your fingers barely spread enough to fit between his and when you close your eyes during the peak of your pleasure, you imagine his hand replacing yours.  

He told you he worked in construction, and it makes more sense now, the way he knows the build of things. He also told you about where he came from (Austin, Texas), what he did there (contractor), let it slip that he had a brother (Tommy). You didn’t ask him about why he called for his brother in his sleep once you knew who he was calling for, or what he wanted Tommy to help him with though. Those were topics you knew instinctively to avoid, and given the way he acted the last time you asked him if he wanted to talk about it, you didn’t dare bring it up. 

Nights in the QZ spent smuggling under the cover of darkness replaced by nights spent keeping watch when you were traveling, he now spends them reading. Another trek over to the other cabin with you to collect things he missed before, you had carried home a sack full of paperbacks and he’s amassed a library of sorts on his bedside table, something that makes you smile every time you see it. 

He tells you about those too: westerns mostly, a couple of thrillers, one family saga that he didn’t get through; his words spilling out into the peaceful forest and into your ears, like he couldn’t stop once he started. 

You’ve learned a lot about him in the last few weeks, but you want to learn so much more. 

A live wire every time you’re in his presence, your palms itch with the want to map the planes of his body, your lips longing for his. You study the lines of his body out of the corner of your eye every chance you get until you have his image burned into your memory for recall at night: the swirls of his dark hair peppered with gray, the fit of his t-shirts around his shoulders, the crinkles that surround his eyes when he smiles. You caught him grooming one day in the mirror, and for some reason, that’s one of the images that you think about the most: the meticulous way he trimmed his mustache; the careful, focused look on his face, the bunched, taut muscles in his arms as his hand held the scissors. 

It’s the worst though when he works in the garden.

Always ending up in a simple white cotton shirt, the material is form fitting and thin, molding to the dip of his collarbones and dampening with sweat down the middle of his back. Your mouth waters every time you see him strip his top layer off, unveiling the undershirt he prefers to work in. 

His hands still have something to do with it – those hands, working open a button at a time until he peels away the flannel to throw it carelessly in the grass, the short hem of his sleeves only serving to highlight his biceps even more. 

It’s almost indecent, the image, but it’s definitely indecent the way you think about it later.

The same white cotton that has been seared into the back of your eyes is soft in your hands, when you take the laundry to the river. Hidden under a blend of your clothes in the basket, you take it out and steal a glance over your shoulder towards the cabin. 

He’s not there, and looking around for a moment to make sure he’s not in your sightline either, you press the cotton to your face and inhale, closing your eyes. It smells so strongly of him, his sweat and skin and scent pressed into the fabric and it brings you back to the couch, when his face was next to yours. 

Your thighs buckle slightly (his mouth moving against yours), arousal blossoming bright as it floods between them (his hold on your cheek, the low hum of satisfaction he let out). Kneeling along the embankment, cold water seeps through the knees of your jeans and brings you back to the shore. 

Fighting the urge to bring it back to your room for safekeeping under your pillow, you pull it away from your face and submerge it into the water, watching it slowly sink.  

—

It’s near suffocating, his want for you. 

He should just give in, but with every day that passes, the possibility of it moves further away. 

Your softness, the curving slopes of your body, your voice. Every scattered item of your belongings left around the cabin a reminder of you, it haunts him all.

You’re there during the day, the water of the creek molding the front of your wet shirt to your body while you do laundry. During the afternoon, a peek of your tailbone leading to the curve of your ass as you kneel on all fours in the garden. During the evening, your features softened by lantern light and your skin luminous and inviting, like velvet. 

During the night, arching beneath him in his dreams. 

He finds relief when he goes hunting, his bow discarded on the grass as his hand braces on a tree, his other stroking in rapid, firm pumps. The arousal in his gut is ever present, his cock half hard all the time and he grips the rough bark with a white knuckled hold when he comes, seed spilling onto the leaves below. 

Every day. Every day he does this, unable to focus on anything else until he does - and even then, it’s hard. 

He’s been tempted to do it while in bed at night, but he can’t quite bring himself to. The need to be quiet reminds him too much of adolescent anxiety and besides, he can’t shake the feeling that you would be able to hear him should he do it.

He thinks you might, because he can hear you after all, in the other room. 

He hears your sheets rustle in the darkness, the springs of your mattress when you shift in bed. He can’t help the twitch he feels underneath his pajama pants at the sound and it shouldn’t be lewd, but somehow knowing you’re in there makes it so. His eyes staring up at his ceiling, he thinks about your twin bed tucked into the corner, the way he’d have to press close to fit in with you, the sounds the bed would make after that.

And so he’s begun reading, to distract himself. 

At first, he tried doing it with you in the room, but he couldn’t stop the words from blurring, his mind focused instead on your presence. There was a tangible weight between the two of you, one he couldn’t ignore and when he found himself glancing above the top of the book at your face more than he was actually turning the pages, he started reading elsewhere. 

On the stoop outside, down by the water, in his bed propped against the headboard.

He spends more time doing it now than he ever has, now that he’s got the time. Never really did before with a new baby and then a kid to raise on his own and then…everything else. Never really wanted to after that, choosing instead to work himself to exhaustion in order to sleep or having no choice in the matter just to survive. 

He does like it, but besides that, he knows what he would do if he allowed himself to put the book down. 

He tries to distract himself in other ways too: checking the traps every day, keeping up with hunting, helping you repair anything that needs it around the cabin with the materials he has. He stays busy because this is more peace than he’s known in a long time, and he also can’t stop worrying about when the peace will break. All good things must come to an end, especially in this life where the good things almost never get a chance to take root in the first place.

With every day that you make this place a home for the two of you, he already mourns the day that it will come to pass and so in the meantime, he takes what he can, when he can convince himself to take it. 

Everything he can, except you. 

—

Clouds darken and gather in the distance, the damp smell of impending rain permeating the air and you stand on the porch, your teeth worrying at your bottom lip. Not for the first time since this all began, you wish you had a reliable way to tell the weather. Sometimes it’s nice, never knowing what the day will bring, a certain sort of peace that comes with being forced to take each day as it is without worrying about how to prepare for it – but mostly, it’s a nuisance. 

“It start yet?” he asks, and the question makes you glance over your shoulder at him as he comes out to join you. 

“No, not yet.”

His eyes scan the yard, an unconscious action that you don’t think he’ll ever be able to stop and when they land on your face, he frowns. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” 

“Your lip tells me it’s somethin’.” 

He nods at the way you’re biting it, his eyes lingering there and you let it go. 

“I know it seems dumb, but I’m worried about them.”

“About who?”

You gesture at the garden, and his eyebrows raise as he lets out a chuckle. “The plants?”

They are more than just seeds now – delicate, tender alive things that burst from the soil in neat rows, climbing the threads he’s hung. Their vines wind around the stakes in their search for light, their creeping leaves fanning out as they face up towards the sun. You created those, and you’re protective of them: check on them every morning, afternoon and night. They need to work, in order for this to work, and so you bite your lip again, pulling it into your mouth. 

“Stop,” he soothes. His hand comes to rest reassuringly on your shoulder, the familiar weight of it making your heart pick up. “It’s rained before, honey. It’ll be fine.” 

Honey — that was new, the nickname. Started calling you that after you decided you couldn’t learn to hunt because you didn’t want to see the animal suffer. 

“You’re too sweet. Sweet as honey.”

You thought he would mind after the way he originally insisted on you learning, but were surprised when he didn’t push it. He just accepted it, and the action had made you come to a conclusion in the middle of the night after thinking about it for a couple of days: Joel liked having someone to take care of. 

It seemed to be his driving force, his purpose and shed new color on every thing he’s done for you since you met him. You liked the idea of belonging to him enough that he felt he needed to care for you, but with every day that passed since the kiss, you had begun to wonder if that was why he wasn’t touching you: this sense of responsibility where you were concerned.

Somehow that made you want him more, if more was even possible. 

Honey. His southern accent gave way to nicknames, that’s what you told yourself. It didn’t mean anything, but it didn’t stop you from inwardly preening every time he said it, like the sun itself was shining on your leaves. 

“Don’t worry about them. They’ll be fine. Rain’ll be good for ‘em.” 

You nod, knowing he’s right but when the distant rumble of thunder echoes through the trees, you look up at the sky, your eyes searching. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your profile, his eyes slowly sliding down.

The flutter of his curls is in the corner of your vision; your hand gripping the warped, dry railing. Never wanting anything more in your life than to feel the solid, warm wall of his chest and to breathe him in, your lips tingle with the imagined brush of his whiskers when you picture fitting your face into his neck. You’d kiss him there, along the pebbled, tan skin and the sound of satisfaction he would make floods into your mind.

The electricity in the air heightens what you feel, the weight of it wrapping around your lungs, making your inhales thin in the charged space. It pulses between your bodies, his eyes studying you as he pretends he’s looking at something else and you silently will him to just touch you.

Say something. 

Do anything. 

Jumpy with anticipation, you give him a moment before looking up at him and the intensity of his direct gaze is felt only for a fraction of a second before he breaks it, looking away. 

His jaw ticks under his beard, his fist knocking restlessly against the top of his thigh as he avoids looking at you with a straight backed stance and then he's turning towards the cabin, leaving you to it.

“I’m gonna go read.”

—

A crack of lightning startles you awake, the sound coming from just outside your window and you're immediately thrown back into the base fear of childhood. Branches scrape and drag along the roof, your eyes open wide as they search the dark corners of the room and twigs snap and roll down the slope above you with an unfamiliar sound, rain pelting the window next to your bed in a torrential beat. 

Another flash of lightning brightens your room for a split second before plunging it back into darkness and thunder immediately follows, rumbling directly above. The sound shakes the windows in their frames, the wind outside howling and you focus on that sound for a moment before it starts to blend with another one. 

A low moan; a staggered strobe of light followed by another ground shaking roll. 

You hear it again – a plea barely heard over the rain, but when it slips from a single drawn out sound to a more distinct muttering, you recognize Joel’s sleep blurred voice. 

“Tommy,” he groans, the syllables long and slow. “Tommy, help me.”

Getting up from your bed, lightning illuminates the space again as you cross the hall and when you step foot in his room, a shake of thunder accompanies your first step over the threshold. Rain pours down his window, the wavy, lit reflection sliding over his bed and you kneel beside him on the mattress, reaching to wake him up. 

“Joel,” you whisper, saying it again a bit louder over the storm. “Joel.”

A deep frown etched between his brows, he stays asleep, his body shifting on the mattress away from you. “No. No. Come on, baby. Come on.”

Pain laced through his voice, you turn desperate to soothe him. “Joel, wake up.”

The dream keeping him within its grasp, you grab his shoulder to give it a hard shake and the motion finally wakes him. Up in an instant, furious and wide eyed, his hands reach out to grab you in their hold and wrapping tightly around the top of your arms, a small sound of surprise escapes from your mouth when he flips you faster than you can react onto the mattress underneath him, pinning you down with his weight. 

The dream clouding his vision, he’s still half gone above you and you lay still beneath him, not daring to move. Your heart thunders in your chest to match the rumble outside, and the longer he stays between your legs, you start to feel a dampness collect along your seam. The heat of his body leeches through his sweatpants, his solid weight pressing into the inside of your thighs to spread them wide.

“Hey,” you whisper, tentatively moving your hand. You bring it up, fitting the curve of his whiskered cheek into your palm. “It’s just me.”

The second he slips fully into consciousness, you can see it. His gaze regains its clarity, muted streaks of light flashing across his profile and the sound of the storm dies behind the sound of his labored breathing, warm gusts of it ghosting over your mouth. He frowns slightly in confusion, his eyes searching yours and when you offer no resistance and look right back, he bends to press his mouth to yours just as you rise to meet him.  

Coming alive underneath him immediately, your fingers slide up to thread through his mussed hair and he tilts his mouth to fit yours, your head lifting to meet his urgency. He groans, a ragged sound of relief that tears from his chest and pours into you as his mouth devours. His hips seek the cradle of your thighs as he relaxes on top of you with a firm grind and you feel the stiff heft of his hardening cock against the curve of your ass, your legs already finding their way around his waist. 

Holding on for dear life should he suddenly decide to pull away from you, you don’t have to worry this time. He’s so much more intent than he was on the couch, so much more focused and yet his urgency makes his movements almost frantic. Shaky and desperate, his hands hold you a little too tight, his mouth kisses a little too rough, and the grind of his hips is a little too harsh, but you absorb it all, shuddering as the heat from his body infuses into yours. 

His kiss moves from your mouth to your jaw and then down your neck, his teeth dragging along the tender skin and when you moan, the sound is eclipsed by a distant roll of thunder. Your hands slide over his back, smoothing down the planes of firm muscle that you’ve been dreaming about and his hand comes up to wrap around the underside of your jaw, pushing it up so he can taste the hollow of your throat. 

His fingers tug your neckline down before changing his mind to shove it up, giving you just enough space within the cage of his arms to untangle your limbs when he helps tear it off and when he wraps the heat of his mouth around your nipple with a reverential suck, you cry out loud enough for him to hear it this time. His tongue swirls a wet circle around it, the tip dragging over the peaked bud and his hand cradles the bottom of your breast, pushing more of it into his mouth. He moves onto the other one, tasting it just as thoroughly when he gives it an open mouthed kiss and then he’s coming back up. 

Kissing him again, you’re already lifting your hips up into his, squirming under his weight and the both of you reach down at the same time, working the other’s bottoms off. It’s a hasty scramble, the material kicked off into the nest of his bedding and when he settles back between your thighs, you feel the pressure of him already lining up. The thick tip of his cock fitting at your entrance, he doesn’t stop for a moment before pressing into you and it’s a tight fit even for how wet you already are. 

“Joel,” you moan, whining when he bottoms out and he groans into the crook of your neck, his hold coming to wrap around your nape to keep you in place underneath him. 

“Fuck,” he grits out with a heavy exhale. “Fuck. You feel so goddamn good. Just like I knew you would. I knew it, honey.”

His words are punctuated with a heavy gust of breath for every stroke of his hips forward, his back rounding with each one as the the filling stretch of his cock overwhelms you. There is a slight pain to it, being used for the first time in years, but it’s quickly replaced with a delicious spark of pleasure, your slick cunt clenching around him to pull him deeper. 

“Yes. Yes.”

His strokes get harder, harsher, the old bed beginning to squeak slightly in a rhythmic beat and while you can still distantly hear the storm still going strong around you, it’s muffled now by your mingled sounds: small whines to match his grunts, soft moans to match his deeper ones. His desperation is felt in every stroke, adding to your own ache in your core. Just knowing that he has been wanting this just as much, you wrap your arms around him to keep him close. Moving above you like his body craves relief, his grip digs into the meat of your hips while his other hand tightens on your neck and you absorb the frantic need rolling off his hot skin, your ankles crossing over his tailbone.

You need to come. You want to come so bad you’ll do anything, and you close your eyes and hope that he lasts long enough for you to do it, because you’re so close you can taste it in the back of your throat if you focus on it. Your body hums with it, your hips rolling frantically to match his every pound down and your thighs tighten around his waist in a squeeze of warning, your pleading getting higher in pitch. 

“Please, Joel. Please. Please.”

“I got you, honey. I got it.” He shifts the weight of his hips, grinding his pubic bone into your clit as he pushes in deep and it’s only a couple strokes just like that before you’re coming harder than you have in years, the want you’ve been trying to foolishly relieve by yourself bursting inside you. 

Ten times better than any release you’ve ever given yourself, he fucks you right through it, his hold getting tighter on your hip.

“Oh goddamn, honey,” he groans, the sound pleasure soaked and low. “Fuckin’ yes. Yes.”

His praise is panted into you right before he kisses you and it’s sloppy and hungry, his mouth resting just over yours. He shoves himself in as deep as he can get, a couple of rough strokes slipping into your snug, soaked heat and then he groans loudly, jerking his hips back just in time to spurt hot across the inside of your thigh. It splashes along the crease of your leg, painting milky white as it slips down over the curve of your ass and his eyes are clenched tight above you, his torso giving shivering little shudders as he finishes and starts to come down. 

He’s breathing heavily, your heart pounding right underneath his own and then he opens his eyes, his gaze finding yours. 

You don’t know what to say. Afraid to shatter this moment with speaking lest he suddenly realize what he just did and pull away, but also afraid that staying quiet will be taken as a sign of regret, you open your mouth and at that very moment, another flash of lightning bursts outside the window, a loud crack of thunder following immediately after. 

It startles you, your body jumping slightly under his but he’s already flattening his body instinctively on top of yours, his hand coming up to cup the crown of your head. He’s covering you, the reaction to gunfire embedded into the very bones of his body and then he stiffens, realizing what he just did. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, moving to shift off of you but your arms wind tight around his torso, keeping him in place. 

“Don’t go.”

He stops moving, his expression softening and his tone slips into a reassuring murmur; the storm still raging outside. 

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, honey. I’m right here.”

[stuckysbike]

The Queen Who Married Two Kings 4

Pairing: Bucky x Reader x Steve (pre-established Stucky)

Arranged Marriage AU, Fantasy AU, Royalty AU

Rating/Warnings: Over 18's only, there will be dark themes and explicit sexual situations. Reader is Stark born, and they're shitty to her. Sex, m/f and m/m, p in v, oral (male and female receiving). I think that’s all.

I’ve tried not to describe reader at all so you can be whomever you want.

Summary: Betrothed to two Kings, you travel with them to their home where you learn more than you ever thought you would. But how are you to cope with two husbands who want to start a family and secure their place in the world?

Chapter Summary: You find yourself in your new home with plenty to explore.

Chapter 3

You were officially lost. 

Everything looked the same; strong stone walls encased wide corridors and heavy tapestries covered the walls telling stories of great battles and brave heroes of the past. 

You followed Steve through the castle moving further back, and eventually the corridors narrowed. Steve kept a strong arm around your waist and was careful not to overwhelm you with information, knowing how tired you were from your arduous journey here. 

"Our private rooms are in the tower at the back of the castle. It was built into the rocks by my ancestors, and it's pretty special," Steve said as he guided you to a corridor then up a set of shallow stone steps. A pair of heavy oak doors greeted you at the top and Steve opened them himself, you noticed no guards or footmen stood guard, and then Steve was guiding you into the room. 

Warm couches were placed around a stone fireplace and a welcoming fire roared in the grate. A black kettle sat on the hearth. The rug in front of the fire looked thick and you imagined curling your toes into it. Bookcases lined one wall and thick drapes covered windows and the door to the balcony Steve explained. A further set of doors led to the bedroom, and you gasped at the sight of the huge bed in the middle of the room piled with thick blankets and soft pillows. 

“The bed is massive,” you gasped, and Steve chuckled softly. 

“Well Buck and I like our space,” he said nudging you gently.

"There's a dressing room in there, we'll get your things unpacked soon, but let’s go this way," Steve said guiding you to another door. You stepped into a dark corridor of stone. Steve’s broad shoulders filled the space behind you and at his urging you followed the path to what was a beautiful cavern. It was warm but not stifling, and steam curled up from several pools dotted around the cave. Long benches were carved into the walls and shelves held jars and bottles of what looked like creams and lotions. Fluffy towels and robes were piled high. 

"Steve," you breathed looking around the room. "This is amazing."

"It's all natural, it's one of our favourite places," Steve admitted. "May I help you undress?"

You looked down at your heavy gown and realised that it had been days since you were free of the heavy materials. 

Several days ago, you would have been embarrassed but now you just wanted to sink into the inviting water and let it wash away your old life. You nodded, and Steve immediately went about removing the layers of clothes. 

"I'm missing the performance," you heard Bucky say as he entered the room. He had lost most of his armour and was just in his undershirt and pants. He pressed a kiss to your lips and stroked a lock of hair behind your ear. "What do you think?"

"This is amazing," you whispered looking around. Steve chuckled behind you as he worked the tassels that kept your dress closed. 

By the time you were down to your linen shift your cheeks were blushing. Both men were cautious and gentle as they helped it over your head and then you stood naked. Moments later they were naked too and then sure hands and thick arms were guiding you towards one of the pools. 

It was strange being naked with both men. You expected to feel uncomfortable, you expected their eyes to roam your flesh but instead they only allowed themselves quick glances just as you did. You were their focus, not your body. 

The water was warmer than you expected. Steve got in first and lifted you easily, his warm calloused hands gripping your waist. He smiled at your delighted sigh as he guided you deeper into the water until your breasts were covered. 

You felt safe with both, you felt heard even though you had barely spoke. They were careful to ensure your comfort was priority, their hands stayed above the water brushing shoulders and cheeks.

“Here,” Steve nodded to the edge of the pool, “you can sit back.”

You did, and it was bliss. It was like the stone had been made for you, smoothed, and curved into your shape. You sank in and relaxed, letting the water take your weight. 

“We have a few places we like to retreat to, and this is one of them,” Bucky said softly as he reached for your hand. “After a long journey, or even a long day, this is the perfect place to hide.”

“Our kingdom is keen to meet you, but Bruce our Chancellor has insisted we take a rest, a three-day honeymoon if you will. After that there will be some public appearances the three of us will need to make and you’ll need to meet with your council.”

“Stevie,” Bucky squeezed his bicep. 

Steve frowned between you and Bucky, and then he smiled, a soft curve of the lips. “I’m sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself,” Steve said. “This should be about us.”

“Would you like a drink?” Bucky asked. 

You nodded and soon you were sipping sparkling wine from a dainty goblet. “Now,” Steve said, “tell me about the woman we married?”

You hesitated, what was there to tell? You thought about your life and how ill prepared you were for the world, how you could barely ride a horse. Reading, letter writing, some hand crafts and art were really all you knew. The women who had surrounded you were demure, with a few racy older ladies who made it their duty to ensure they explained how to please men in bed. 

You knew all about pregnancy and childbirth, raising children and ensuring a husband’s emotional needs were met, but other than that you didn't know. A blank canvas on your art easel came to mind, and you took a deep breath. "There's not much to tell, I think you both know everything there is to know already."

Steve and Bucky shared a look and then Steve leaned back and spread his arms along the stone lip of the pool, his fingers brushed your shoulder. "Okay, new question. Tell us what you want?"

"Oh, that's easy, I want to get to know everything there is to know about my new home, I want to learn to ride and study the land, what crops do you grow, what do you mine, what are the people like, your histories, your folk tales, I want to know it all!" You gushed. 

Steve laughed, a deep booming noise that startled you. Bucky was chuckling too, and their mirth made you smile right along with them. 

Steve reached for you, his strong hands lifting your legs into his lap. He rubbed your feet and calves then worked his way up to your aching thighs. Bucky was behind you his strong hands working your shoulders. 

“I can barely wait to wash you after our first battle together," Bucky muttered leaning forward to kiss your cheek. Steve copied him, leaning towards your lips with his own. It was chaste, a brush of the lips together but you could feel the passion he was holding back, could almost see the tension in his body as something shifted in the air between you. Steve's hands caressed over your soft hips, gripped your waist, and trailed up your body to cup your breasts. 

"Imagine it Buck, covered in blood, her chest heaving with adrenalin, her beautiful lips parted, and eyes lost to the passion," Steve said. 

You clenched your thighs together, you'd never thought of that before, but now you wanted nothing more than to be that woman Steve pictured. 

"Hm, our Goddess," Bucky muttered, his lips kissing down your neck and then he nipped your shoulder with sharp teeth. You yelped in surprise and Steve and Bucky shared another playful look. 

"Why don't we finish up here and go to bed, what do you say sweet thing?" Steve's fingers shifted your hair, pushing your curls behind your ears. 

"That would be nice," you said, suddenly nervous. Your chest tightened as Steve lifted you easily from the water, following close behind you. He wrapped a robe around you and rubbed your arms and chest to help you dry off. 

“Steve,” you said, and he turned to look at you. “I have nothing but this.” You said looking at your sad worn wedding dress in a heap on the ground. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that. You won’t need clothes for a few days, and then we’ll get you plenty to keep the cold off your back,” Steve's voice was rough as he pulled you against his and kissed your mouth, letting his tongue lick along your bottom lip. He pulled away and led you back into the main room.

Candles flickered on the dresser, and there were lamps next to the bed, the glow low in the room. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth and the bed was already turned down, pillows and blankets spread out and awaiting bodies to warm them. You held Steve's hand, following him as he moved around the room comfortable in his body. 

Steve had a beautiful body; his back was long and muscled and the globes of his ass were round and firm. His thighs were thick, and his legs strong. His shoulders were broad with a dusting of light freckles. Bucky was more tanned, and while shorter than Steve, but only slightly, he was still broad and thick. You wondered how lovemaking would work, how they would take you? 

It was Bucky whose hands slid around your waist; his lips pressed into your cheek. His hands opened your robe and his rough fingers brushed down your soft skin, still warm from the pool of water you'd left. The robe fell to your feet in a puddle and Bucky explored you with the tips of his fingers, his thumbs grazing your nipples. He cupped your mound softly and used a finger to part your lips. You gasped and your eyes fell closed at this foreign sensation on your body. Bucky took advantage of your open mouth to press the fingers of his free hand in. 

"Suck," he ordered, and you did, swirling your tongue around him and wondering where this knowledge had come from. Between your legs Bucky's other hand was busy parting your folds and gathering your natural slick. "Open your eyes."

You did, gasping, and you watched as Steve stood across from you, his body coiled like he was ready to pounce. 

Bucky drew his hand from between your legs, and you felt your cheeks flush at the sight of your natural slick coating his fingers. To your surprise have brought them to his mouth, and then he moaned behind you. The noise made you gasp, and Steve huffed out a soft breath. "King Steven," Bucky's voice was thick with arousal and you swallowed, your cunt clenching around nothing at his tone, "come over here and taste your Queen."

It was like a chain was snapped. Steve lurched forward and took Bucky's fingers into his mouth. He moaned, his eyes rolling back in his head as he licked the digits clean and then he was kissing you. You tasted yourself on his tongue but before you could process, he had reached around you for Bucky. They crushed you between them as they kissed, and then as one you began to move towards the bed. Steve fell back onto it and scrambled into the centre; his lust blown pupils nearly black. 

Bucky chuckled, "he's not so royal when he's horny," Bucky confided in your ear as he gripped your waist and lifted you onto the bed. You gasped and lurched forward, your hands landing on either side of Steve's hips. His cock was in front of your face, long and red and glistening at the tip and his heavy sac hung low between his legs. Bucky nudged you further and you moved so your legs were on either side of his hips. Bucky's body pressed flush against yours and he lifted you back onto his lap, easily spreading your legs over his thick thighs. You were completely exposed to Steve, and he watched with interest as Bucky resumed his exploration of your pussy. 

One long finger danced over your hole, and you tensed but Bucky hushed you, kissing your neck and using his thumb to move upwards. You wondered what he was doing until you gasped out loud when he touched something. "Like that?"

"Yes, yes yes! Do it again!" You demanded. Bucky chuckled and did as you asked, his thumb caressing the side of your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

"Like that?" He asked and your pussy gripped at the finger easing out of your channel. You had no idea when he slid his fingers in, you'd barely noticed anything but the good work his thumb was doing. 

"Yes," you sighed as Bucky added another finger, spreading you wide and exploring your channel, and then he curled his fingers. You cried out and Bucky grunted in satisfaction, repeating the motion until you were writhing in his lap as you chased his hand. Your first orgasm was an explosion of light in your gut, and you twisted away from him whilst holding his hand against your body. You didn't know what you wanted, all you knew was that you wanted that to happen again and again. 

"There she is," Bucky said as he moved your body forward and soon you were kneeling over Steve's weeping cock. "Take it easy now, I stretched you out, but he'll still be a snug fit okay darling," Bucky's hands rested on your hips. 

It was a stretch, and whilst there was a light sting that went away after a few moments it wasn't the pain you had been led to expect. "Can I move?" 

Steve chuckled and leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours. His tongue followed in a filthy path as he kissed you deep. "You can do whatever you want sweet thing."

You bet your lip, lifted your hips, and eased them back down. Steve groaned and his hands gripped your thighs, but he didn't move other ways. 

It took a few moments, but you got an easy rhythm going that made you want to close yourself around Steve. Steve in turn was stroking your thighs, his thumbs tracing little patterns, the tickling sensation adding to your pleasure. 

"So good, sweet thing, such a good girl for us, look Stevie, look at our girl, look how she's taking you and this is only her first time..." Bucky babbled behind you, his mouth never stopping as he praised you and caressed you, one hand gripping your breast, thumb flicking your nipple. His other hand was still between your legs, his fingers grazing over your clit as your rhythm increased. 

"Buck," Steve groaned. "Buck I'm close."

"S'ok baby, you cum," Bucky said. His hand left your breast and you felt it brush against the meat of your ass as he moved, and Steve cried out suddenly, his hips moving up, jostling you from your place. His cock grazed your sweet spot, and you cried out, hands going to his shoulders, and then you were on your back, Steve hovering over you as he pumped into your body. His mouth latched to yours and he swallowed your moans and whines as you both spasmed together, Steve coming inside you. 

You lay, your breasts heaving, as you tried to catch your breath. Steve kissed you then sat back, looking at the mess between your thighs. His cock slipped from your used and sensitive pussy, and you gasped at the sensation. You heard a groan from Bucky and you both turned your attention to him. He was tugging his cock roughly and to your surprise Steve batted his hands away and leaned down to suck Bucky into his mouth. Bucky's hips jerked and Steve gagged and then it was over, Bucky slumping onto the bed next to you. 

"Hey sweet thing," he grinned, and you flushed, shy despite all you had shared with them. 

"Hello," you smiled. Bucky pressed his lips to your nose, lips, and chin and then he got up, pecking Steve's lips as he went. A few moments later they were cleaning you carefully with damp rags and then you were being tucked into the middle of the bed between them. 

_____________________

A rattling noise woke you. You rubbed at your eyes and tried to sit up but a heavy arm across your body held you down. 

It was Steve, his face tucked into your neck, his soft snores warming your heart. On the other side of you the bed was warm but empty, and then you heard that noise again. You stretched your neck and caught sight of a naked Bucky making his way across the room. 

"What are you doing awake?" He asked you as he settled under the blankets and kissed your forehead. 

"What's that noise?" You asked looking around. 

"A storm has lifted, it's the wind," Bucky explained as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. "You are truly beautiful."

You blushed, not used to complements sounding so genuine. Bucky's fingers found the back of your neck and much like in the water earlier he started to work into the knots in your neck. You moaned, feeling the muscle loosen as he worked you. Behind you Steve mumbled something and rolled over, smacking his lips. The action made you and Bucky share a chuckle. 

"What's going to happen?" You asked. You were naive and you knew it, you felt useless, had done for most of your life, but you knew something wasn't right, something was about to happen that would impact your lives. 

"I don't know," Bucky said. "But I do know that you're home now and this is your place, between us. You're never getting away from us doll."

You snuggled against his broad shoulder, his skin was warm to the touch, and you rubbed your cheek against him. Bucky kissed your hair and pulled you into his side where after a few moments you drifted off to sleep.

_____________________

You woke early with the first daylight. 

The bed was still warm, but you were alone. You looked around and spotted Steve crouching by the fire. 

You watched him carefully and when he noticed you, he grinned and stood up. You admired his long legs and broad shoulders that met at his almost delicate narrow waist as he walked towards the bed.

“Morning sweetheart,” he murmured pressing his lips to yours. He slid beneath the blankets and pulled you into his arms.

“Where’s Bucky?” You asked as you snuggled close, pressing your nose into his neck and letting your eyes fall closed. 

“Hungry,” Steve answered. “He went off in search of food.”

You nodded and stretched flipping onto your back, spreading your toes, and beaming up at the ceiling. “If I were at home I’d have been chased from my bed by now.”

“We’re not so strict here,” Steve said. “But normally we’d be up and chasing the morning, catching up on what’s been happening, doing chores.”

“Why aren’t you?” You asked turning to him. His hair was mussed but he looked content, soft almost as he turned to look back at you. 

“It’s our honeymoon,” Steve grinned as he rolled on top of you. “May I kiss you?”

You nodded, your eyes searching his. His face was so close you could see flecks of green in his eyes. When he came closer you let your eyes fall closed, your lips pressing to his. Steve was gentle and took his time exploring your mouth. 

Here in bed, caged under his powerful body with his sculpted arms either side of your head you felt safe and cherished. His weight was comfortable, and you stroked your fingers over his smooth neck, toying with the fine hairs there. Steve’s eyes softened as he watched you. “What?” You asked, your voice barley above a whisper. 

“Just you Sweet Thing,” he dipped his nose against yours, brushing them together. You giggled at the sensation only to be interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

“So, this is what you get up to as soon as I’m out of the room?” Bucky teased. He held a massive tray of food and your tummy growled at the sight. Steve rolled away and you sat up eager to see what delights Bucky had in store, but his bulging arms distracted you, and you counted yourself lucky at how beautifully put together these two men were. The three of you spent the rest of the morning eating and talking without leaving the bed. 

_____________________

The breeze ruffled your hair as you stood outside looking across the bay.

Below you the city sprawled on a hillside, looping around the bottom of the hill. High walls protected the city with hefty wooden gates keeping danger at bay. Wooden ships bobbed in the bay protecting the city from the seas. Across the water farms coated the hillsides, with sheep and goats grazing the rougher areas where the flat ground was kept for crops.

You pulled your shawl tighter around your shoulders and nestled your cheek into the soft material. This was your home now, your land. You belonged here, you were part of it, and you would live off it and you would protect it, with your life you would protect it. That was your duty now, that was your responsibility.

You smiled and turned back to the bedroom. Steve lounged on the bed, his ankles crossed as he listened to Bucky telling some story or other. When Steve saw you, his eyes softened and Bucky followed his husbands gaze, his eyes crinkling when he saw you. He patted the spot on the bed next to him and you slipped the door closed and hurried to them, dropping onto the bed between them. You snuggled against Steve and glanced up at Bucky as he resumed his story.

The fire crackled and Bucky’s warm hand cupped your ankle as he ran his thumb over your skin. You spent the evening like that, getting to know these men and this country that you now called home. You wondered, as you listened, what the future held for all of you.

[brotherwtf]

Also, Buck holds a lot of tension in his body. John is his stress relief.

Maybe some massage? But John fucking Buck until he is finally relaxed. 😍

stressed out Buck is really just a mentality, that boy needs some REST

----

John could tell just by the way that Gale was holding himself that the day was not going how he wanted it to.

His shoulders were almost up to his ears, his eyes stayed trained forward and his fists clenched permanently by his side as he walked. His teeth worried at his bottom lip until the skin broke and he reached up to use his fingers to pluck at the loose skin and do it all over again.

Gale wasn't doing well. John decided he was going to help.

That afternoon he had caught Harding in a fantastic mood, who gave them a pass for the long weekend, allowing them to travel to London that night and stay for 72 hours in a hotel room. It was the perfect way for Gale to finally relax after everything.

Even when Gale sat on the train, he sat ramrod straight, fingers picking at the loose threads on the seat below him, teeth still chewing on his lip. John shook his head with a brief smile and placed a hand on Gales knee, squeezing until Gale slowly started to loosen up. Gale gives him a tight smile and nods before looking straight ahead and getting lost in his thoughts again.

Once they get to the hotel room, John almost immediately takes Gale's bags from him and presses a slow kiss to his lips.

"How you doing, Buck? You're tense as all hell," John says, running his hands up Gales arms.

Gale melts a little bit, leaning into the kiss and into John's touch, but he still feels like a live wire under his fingers.

"Just flying, we're going on more and more missions recently. These boys need me, I can't let them down," Gale says between kisses.

John shakes his head and chuckles, bringing Gale in for a firmer embrace.

"It's gonna be alright, Buck, don't you worry about it. Only two pilots left in the air, right?" John says and it pulls a gentle smile from Gale's lips.

John gently pushes Gale towards the bed, kissing him continuously until he's melting more and more into his lips, body slowly releasing the tension it was holding. He forces Gale to lay down and continues to kiss him as he takes off his uniform. He bats Gale's hands away when he tries to help, insists that he's going to help Gale with his stress.

When Gale's down to his briefs he pushes him up the bed gently, turning him over and exposing his back to John.

"You need a massage, I can practically see the knots in your shoulders," John says, avoiding a swift kick from Gale's foot.

He straddles Gale's thighs, pressing them down so he can use it as leverage. He's still mostly dressed, having taken off his jacket and slacks, now down to only his undershirt and briefs. He leans down and presses a kiss to the nape of Gales neck, running his hands gently up his back and pressing his thumbs into the tense knobs on Gales neck. Gale groans, twitching a little from the slight pain that Johns hands provide.

John leans forward and buries his nose into Gales hair as he rubs his hands across Gale's back, pressing his fingers into the extra tight spots. Gale makes little noises in the back of his throat and they're driving John a little crazy.

He bravely moves his hands down to Gale's ass, squeezing it a couple of times before Gale looks up at him with an unimpressed expression.

"That's not where I'm tense, John," Gale mutters and John just smiles.

"Come on, won't it be helpful? Let me take you apart, it'll feel so good," John whispers.

Gale shivers a little when John presses his teeth against Gale's hairline, but he just nods gently. John smiles, adjusting his legs so his hips are pressed against Gale's ass.

"Gonna take my time with you darling, gonna make you feel so good and relaxed. God Gale, you're fucking stunning," John says and relishes in the way Gale gently whines.

He dips his fingers below Gales waistband, grazing them over his hole before gently pushing them in. Gale's tight, he's always tight, but how he squeezes around him like a damn vice. He huffs beneath John, trying to will himself to relax and loosen up.

"That's it, that's it come on doll relax for me, there you go," John says, and he's able to add another finger into Gale.

John makes sure it's slow, he doesn't want to hurt Gale, just wants to make sure he relaxes. John hopes this will help.

Gale's relaxed enough that John pulls out, urges Gale to move his hips up so he can take his boxers off, running his hands up and down Gale's back to soothe him.

"You ready for me, Gale?" John asks.

Gale nods, squeezing his eyes shut and fisting the sheets between his hands. John takes his cock and pushes into Gale ever so gently, slowly and steadily pushing into him and drowning in the small groans that escape Gales mouth.

It's unhurried and slow, small thrusts into Gale, almost just John grinding into him. He has his nose pressed against Gale's cheek and he kisses him every so often, swallowing the small sounds that Gale makes when John thrusts into him. He links their hands together in the sheets, pressing himself somehow further into Gale.

They spend the rest of the afternoon like that, John lazily fucking Gale, going so so slow and gentle that Gales practically liquid beneath his hands afterwards.

[guttersniper]

things your muse will notice about mine

what they look like. hard, sharp, and rough. mutt is small (4'7.5") and slightly underweight, but lean and sinewy from extensive travel, rough living, and exercise. despite his size, he’s a hard-worker, insisting on doing manual labor and other chores and tasks; has what could be referred to as farm kid strength. if you know, you know. his arms and legs are long and skinny, a little too skinny, but wiry muscles are built up along their lengths. once in a stable environment, his limbs, face, and stomach will gain a healthy weight, though he remains lean and flat. call it tough meat. narrow shoulders are oft curved inward, usually in a protective manner to make himself smaller and inconspicuous. he holds the most tension in his shoulders. he does tend to straighten up and broaden them, reminding you of a soldier’s posture. he typically stands with his hands in his pockets (jacket or pants) or by his sides.

his face is probably his most noticeable attribute. thin and narrow cheeks absent of any childish fat. his lips are chapped, both from weather exposure and from chewing at them when thoughtful or unsure. he usually has a good number of bruises around his face and body—whether these fights were initiated by him, or whether they came about through self-defence, varies. unruly eyebrows, could be described as almost bushy. dark, richly brown eyes framed by long lashes, with dark circles underneath them. the veins in his eyelids are increasingly pronounced if he’s been sleeping particularly badly. they look dark and smudged, appearing bruised. decently large, as well as usually being sharp and attentive, perceptive. he has an intelligent, yet angry and cagey, gaze. he always looks like he’s thinking, and can often be seen with a thoughtful pinch between his brows. they can sometimes look vacant, a soldier’s thousand yard stare. they’re not sunken into his face, but they don’t protrude noticeably, either.

his sharp facial features are accentuated through his thinness. resting expression is either a small frown, a flinty stare, fixed neutral, or something eerily unreadable. despite all this, you can still tell he’s young. due to these factors and with that in mind, he takes on an almost ageless appearance—some think he’s older than he is, some think he’s younger. his hair is dark brown, usually always messy. not quite bedhead-messy, but plainly unkempt. he gives himself his own haircuts, so the ends can be a little uneven. even in a stable environment, it will be rare catching him with entirely “nice” hair. typically right after he wakes up and wets it to comb into place will it be that way, and it will get mussed/wind-swept throughout the day.

regardless of the historical period, his fashion puts comfort, necessity, and ease-of-movement above all else. jeans (or any other past knee-length pants), dark/neutral colors, hoodies, sweaters, jackets (leather and denim), white tanks acting as undershirts, waffle thermals, henleys, belts, and flannels are staples. he doesn’t like standing out. always wearing a watch. layers everything; likes clothes that are a tad big on him. has he ever had clothes that fit him properly? who knows. his clothes are worn and thrifted/hand-me-down. he will have difficulty letting them go, if the time comes, and even refuses newer clothes to replace his new clothes if he thinks they still have some wear in them. he doesn’t like to wear shorts. not much skin is showing. this is both practicality and self-consciousness.

what they smell like. like outside. it really depends on the last time he was able to take a shower. typically, like a mix of dirt, stale cigarettes, sweat, unwashed clothes, and that smell that comes after handling old metal. sometimes, blood and gunpowder. tends to have lingering street smells on him, depending on how strong they were and how long he was exposed to them. sometimes those are good, sometimes those are bad. (if you want to be cute about it, tell him he smells like a wet dog. because he probably does. a little. though that probably comes from hanging around actual dogs.) if he’s in a more rural area, these smells will be slightly different. when washed, generic soaps, deodorants, and shampoos with plain, clean scents. his clothes should smell nicely freshly-laundered, then, too. being clean and staying that way for a while is a dream of his.

what they taste like. he’ll kill you.

what they sound like. naturally raspy and kinda low, but still distinctly prepubescent. firm, sharp, like a door closing. stern. very deadpan. little wiggle room in how you can read his tone as when he’s speaking. he likes being with others and listening to people talk and hearing their stories, he can and does make friends with anyone, but usually he is quiet and often doesn’t have someone to speak with. prone to short, clipped sentences and monosyllabism. sometimes he goes through periods where he doesn’t want to verbally speak. disuse adds to the hoarseness of his voice. if you can get him going about something, and he’s in the mood/interested, and he likes you (really isn’t hard to do, contrary to popular belief), you could have a nice conversation with him.

as a budding polyglot adapt at adopting different personas for survival reasons, mutt is naturally gifted at mimicking various voices, including their respective accents and dialects. that is, as long as he has had adequate exposure to them for the measure of infiltration necessary to whatever goal he has in mind, which is usually fitting in and avoiding unwanted questions. he has fine pitch control, understands the effects that rate of speech has quite instinctively, and also has finely tuned oral motor control that makes it almost easy for him to glide between strikingly different accents/languages without a hitch. too bad he can only do so much bass. if someone is perceptive enough, they will recognize their—and their social circle’s—body language, accent, and facial expressions being absorbed by him to better fit in. he mimics people as both an overall survival technique and a masking strategy. he won’t drop the façade unless he’s comfortable with you. far as you’re concerned, if you’re hearing him put on an accent/speak another language, he’s always sounded like that. some accents are easier than others, and you will be able to mark him as an outsider/foreigner, but it isn’t usually enough to raise any eyebrows.

what they feel like. his skin is dry and covered in callous and scarring, especially his hands—small with long, slim thief’s fingers, bulked slightly by said callous, though not in an obtrusive way. bony elbows and sharp edges. his feet are equally hard and calloused, and his heels are probably the driest place on his body. inclined to run cool, even in warmer weather, but tends to steady out once inside. collection of miscellaneous scars scattered around due to life on the streets. majority of them have turned pale with time. most noticeable one is on his left cheek. moles dot his body, particularly his arms, though none of them cluster, and they’re typically dark brown. his hair isn’t what you’d call healthy, another side effect of undernourishment, and—not by choice—generally unwashed for extended periods of time. obviously, with access to regular bathing facilities and proper, steady nutrition, this isn’t the case. then, it is soft and quite full.

[void-botanist]

hey! this is chance & here’s the prompt for week 6. what are your oc's bedrooms like? messy? neat? carefully designed? or a collection of their favorite things? you can verbally describe or use photos, whatever you think is best.

Time to answer this one finally! I think I'll talk about Nicea, where the entire crew has 2+ bedrooms.

Declan: he has the largest private room on the Nicea, but that's not saying much. It stays pretty neat because there's just not a lot of stuff in there, but he has a collection of ship pens, stationery, and books. His bedroom at the office is less neat and holds most of his clothes, but because he literally just repurposed an office room it's pretty spartan. His bedroom in his suite at his mother-in-law's, which is a remodeled shed, is not that big but it's very cozy and messy because A) he actually uses it when he's there, and B) it holds all of his art supplies that aren't in his small traveling collection, like all of his paints and canvases, and a bunch of random detritus, mostly in his desk drawers. The one thing you will not find in any of his rooms is a photo of Cady, because he can't stomach the thought of just seeing that. He gave his one photo album to Tristan for safekeeping.

Tristan: her room on the Nicea is the standard not-that-big size, and she keeps not very much in there. What is there is usually in stacks, except for the mini calendar and picture of her and Gil tacked to the wall over the desk. Her room at home, though, is set up to be as cozy as possible, with walls that are a soft dark blue, dark floral curtains, padded rugs, and ample dresser space so the drawers actually close when everything gets left in a wad in there. There's not much else in the way of decoration, though, because this is a room for sleeping.

Rodney: he keeps the most things in his room on the Nicea, because he has more than a couple clothing items there (he never wears the flight suit), and three books that he's reading, and his tablet, and four chargers, and seven data cables, and his laptop, and his fuzzy blanket, and his ship slippers, and some space M&Ms, and thirteen colors of nail polish and an entire nail kit, and previous issues of the Svando's magazine that he's forgotten about. He has a full-size calendar on the wall and also is slowly accumulating pictures there, mostly of him, Isabel, and Spinder, and places he's been. He keeps everything pretty neat on the whole, but he's always in the middle of something. By contrast he has almost nothing in his hotel rooms, but they kind of come already prepared. His room at his mom's house looks pretty empty and tidy because it's infrequently used, but it has various old trophies and rocks and drawings and stuffed animals filling it out.

Isabel: her room on the Nicea is always kind of a mess, because she also keeps a small but complete wardrobe there, and she's constantly bringing bags of snacks in and finishing them. She tries to keep her hotel rooms neat for housekeeping, but at her mom's house she will not hear any complaints about her throwing her shit everywhere in her own room, Fay. Unlike Rodney she has updated the decor in her room multiple times, mostly by stripping out the old curtains and putting new posters on the walls. No matter what she does, though, one of the posters is always of a hot guy and one of them is always of a vintage actress.

Spinder: like Tristan, he wears a flight suit on the Nicea, so like Tristan, he mainly has undershirts and underwear as his wardrobe there. Aside from that he keeps very little in his room and most of it in the closet, but he's been considering putting up some pictures or something, which maybe he does prior to leaving on their big trip. He's fastidious about his hotel rooms, partly for housekeeping and partly to avoid wrinkles in his clothes, but he inevitably ends up spreading his shaving kit all across the bathroom counter. At Nieram's house, he also sleeps in a room with built-in shelves full of childhood stuff, half of it his (romance novels, handheld puzzle toys, school art projects) and half of it his older brother Pat's (vintage music paraphernalia, minifigures for games he no longer plays, school art projects), because they shared a room after it became clear Spinder and Michael were not capable of doing so. He doesn't try so hard to keep this room clean while he's there, but he still always hangs up his clothes.

And a bonus, because I haven't talked enough lol:

Tatya: her room on her as-yet-unnamed ship is her main space there, and hers is by far the most decorated ship bedroom. She has a ton of woodburning projects hung up on the walls, with a shelf for her various reading materials and a shelf for knickknacks (they both have plexiglas covers to prevent stuff falling out everywhere), and a little tapestry over her minifridge. She even replaced the lamp covers with something more homey. Her bedroom on Basenaum is similar, except the architecture actually goes with her "rustic" sense of decor. She's somewhere in the middle of the neat-messy spectrum, where she tries to keep things clean but her spaces always look very lived-in.

Nicea taglist: @kahvilahuhut @kk7-rbs @outpost51 @writernopal @athenswrites

[nemir]

We love a Welcome Home/Wally AU in this house. I’d like to introduce everyone to Concept Wally! He’s the product of a single brainstorming session by a failing studio, who needed to come up with an idea for a children’s programme. Unfortunately, the studio closed and everything was scrapped. The only thing that remained was a single concept sketch - that would be him, Concept Wally.

I’m just gonna copy/paste my notes from here because I’m lazy BUT please enjoy him and I hope you all love him as much as I do!! ;; He’s just a lil guy who doesn’t want to be forgotten!! Be nice to him.

welcome home in the early 70s; wally was going to be a fresh university graduate who just had a passion and desire to teach kids more than what school ever did, and he was going to do it with song! (specifically rock & roll genre, for a mass audience appeal)

 it never progressed the conception phase. somehow, he gained sentience - perhaps because of the sheer belief in the show his concept artist had

unfortunately, the studio closed only 2 weeks after wally was designed, and so the entire idea was scrapped.

wally was just a picture on paper. he hated that the idea was scrapped, didn't want to "die", so to speak.

somehow found a way to get in people's dreams, to "inspire" them to draw this character they dreamt of. and as they draw him he gains more power until he was able to tear himself from the page.

he's still able to go back into paper, and uses that to travel or get around quickly, and watch people (some 'take on me' music video type shit)

as above and so below: "as above" is being in the outside world, "so below" is being restricted to the paper. in order to stay out of below, he needs people to draw him. if they stop, he'll lose power and lose the ability to tear himself off the page

this mfer absolutely has gradient inky arms because I SAID SO. it is peak character design. (it wasn’t part of his original design, it just happened because of bleeding ink as paper ages, etc)

he cries ink. bleeds it. vomits it. it's his spit. it's literally what he's made of so no surprises there

the original concept was a life-sized puppet, or rather, someone in a thin felt-covered body suit, with a puppet head (think doodlebops but not painted). this wally is about 5'9".

his designed was loosely based on early 70s David Bowie.

the more people draw him in one type of way, that's how he'll appear when he's in the world. so if a bunch of people are drawing him like a lil Muppet man, then lmfao that's how he'll look until people start drawing him differently (which means people would have to be drawing him in a similar way for him to appear that way), otherwise he'll just take his initial concept sketch form on paper.

voice claim; g-man. half life. (he was never given a voice so finds speech odd. his words are stilted, and sound like something trying to mimic human speech. lots of weird emphasis, run on sentences. odd breaths here and there)

his main outfit is just a pair of trousers with a white button up that usually has the sleeves rolled 3/4, and a few buttons undone with a bright orange undershirt and heart patterned suspenders.

when his face goes dark and you can only see his eyes, there's ink dripping from his chin/cheeks (as if the ink is covering his whole face)

personality wise, he's a little odd. doesn't quite know how to "people", since he isn't one; they never got past concept art after all! but he isn't completely devoid of emotion or empathy. he holds strong affinity for the people who draw him (even if all you draw is a little stick figure of him!! he appreciates it so much ... and it still gives him power), calling them friends. he does get a bit jealous when he catches you drawing other things though! otherwise, he's completely harmless and just doesn't want to be forgotten

[restrained-by-society]

a, b, d, v

From Doc's Homebrew Alphabet Meme!

Ache - how is their pain tolerance?  are they in any pain right now?  how are they likely to act when they hurt, physically or emotionally?  how would they react if they stubbed their toe? 

Answered here!

Physically, yes - not naming any names but getting a finger bitten off will do that do you. Mentally, he's actually doing really well ("well" being subjective when one considers who they're talking about)

If it's physical hurt, he gets really weird and sexual about it, probably due to whatever wiring is busted in his brain. After a while he tends to completely ignore and neglect it and gets so melodramatic about ignoring it that it circles back around into making it into a big deal. When he's in emotional pain, if he even knows what that is, he gets real snippy and aggressive, but also clingy and insecure. Contrasts, baby

Probably like a drama queen and he'd throw whatever it was he stubbed his toe into to the ground. If it was something bigger than him, like a car or a building, he'd kick the hell out of it

Blood - how are they in a fight?  the weapon they would use, and why?  what would they do if they found a dead body?  what weapon would be best against them?

He's a scrappy fella who lacks grace but makes up for it in feral animal behavior - biting, kicking, scratching, anything's a goal if the intention is to hurt and it's not kinky. I mean, he does that stuff regardless, but he'll probably tell you that the only difference between a fight and a fuck is consent on both sides

Cleric's the weapon, though he'll use anything that's blunt or sharp enough. He also thought about carrying around wire so he could garrote people?? Damn weird smh

Depends. If it's his dead body, he'll clean the crime scene as best as all the true crime shows suggest and go about with his day. If it's not his dead body, he'd probably still be nonchalant about it and wait a little bit of time before calling anyone

Answered here!

Drive - what car do/would they drive?  do they obey traffic laws?  what mode of transportation would they choose otherwise?  do they have road rage?

He owns a couple, the car being a white '86 Toyota MR2. He also has a brown matte 2020 Husqvarna 701 Vitpilen. Style over substance, he doesn't particularly enjoy driving

Surprisingly enough, he does. All of his shenanigans are off the road, he likes to spend as little time on the road as possible (ironic given how much he's traveled lol)

A golf cart. Those can run people over without killing them and he has a lot of people he'd wanna run over

100% he does, but literally everything makes him mad depending on the day/weather/minour inconvenience that happened previously

Vanity - do they take pride in their appearance?  how do they dress normally, and how does it differ when they’re going somewhere nice?  post a photo or gif of them/their FC that you love but never get to use! do they have any piercings or tattoos?  

He absolutely does, but it's fun for him because he doesn't think he has any bad angles, nor does he have the pride to be offended by attempted insults

Normally he dresses in one of two outfit styles - punk with the dark tank top and an overshirt (sometimes fishnet undershirts, torn jeans and belted boots by day, long sleeved dark shirts, intact jeans and more sleek boots by night. He always dresses like this and rarely dolls himself up to look "nice" because he thinks he always looks nice but he can be wrangled into appearing more "presentable" by day if it's the right (or wrong) person

The man is coated in tattoos. Curiously though he has no piercings except for his ears, but he doesn't wear earrings. One of those "I don't want this to be used against me in case I get into a fight" scenarios

[silverstripe1rose1]

Here is the first part of the first chapter of a fanfic I just started.

There are 2 chapters out rn

Based on an idea, I found somewhere about a romance, but it is a time traveler and an immortal.

Grian is immortal

Scar is the time traveler

Here is the link if you are interested :]

--------------------fic below--------------------

Grian could remember the first time he ran into the charismatic brunet. The man sat in a tree watching as Grian followed his patrol leader around the forest. Their horses' hooves hid the sound of him climbing from tree to tree. He wore fabric along the bottom of his face, leaving only his piercing emerald eyes to make Grian's blood run cold.

Grian let the man think he didn’t notice him above them. The blonde was keeping his bow drawn at his side ready to fire if he moved too close.

“Everything is looking fine to me, Grian. I’m going to head back and report to King Red. Why don't you take my bundles and feel them with those wild berries you like so much?” Grian’s eyes jumped to the armored man.

“Sure thing, Was there anything else Lily was wanting us to gather?”

“Nothing I'm sure they haven’t already told you”

Grian shrugged in response and watched the man trot off on his horse. The moment Grian knew he was out of ear range he drew his bow and pointed it at the man. That causes the guy to comedically flinch and stumble out of the tree hitting the ground hard. He swung his legs off the horse and dropped onto the ground next to him twisting his bow over his shoulder and away. “Who are you and why were you following us?”

“Oh well hello there,” the guy greeted “I mean no harm dude! Just uh.. A friendly traveler!” he scrunched his nose, most likely smiling under the mask. Grian took a moment to look over the man searching for any type of weapon. The man just had a purple cloak and an undershirt that didn’t look like any piece of clothing he’d seen before. It went just past his shoulders and was very thin, didn’t look like it would last him a month of wear. He wore brown pants with a few small bags hanging from a rope attached to his belt. Grian reached out and grabs one of the sacks and opened it, despite the man's complaints. The tan man tried to sit up to grab it back from him. He simply pulled a dagger from under his sleeve and stuck it in his face. “Do you trade?” Grian questioned.

“Oh! uh, yes. I have many trades! It will blow your pretty little mind!” the man waved his hand around as he spoke, “if you just give back that bag I can show you what I have to offer!” Grian looked over the man for a moment, pulling back the dagger and then throwing a glance at the bag.

“If you try to run you will just get an arrow through your ‘pretty little’ brain” he mocked throwing the small brown bag at his chest. He narrowed his eyes as he watched the traveler fumble with the bag before pulling out a few small items and laying them on the ground next to where he was oddly laying in the moist grass.

The items consisted of a notebook bound with dark brown leather, with the title ‘Plants of the forest and how not to die while living off the grid’ which was a sentence Grian didn’t quite understand but it still made sense. The words were funny. Then there was a gold chain with a few rings on it. The last item caught Grian’s eye. It was a dagger like the one Grian already was holding though it had the skull of a bird on the hilt, wrapped in a white cloth, what caught his eyes was the inscription along the blade. It was a rectangle but the corners and sides were not connected. A shape he knew all too well.

He snatched it up quickly and looked over the blade again. How had this man ended up with a dagger that had once been in the presents of a Watcher? Grian flipped it in his hand as he tried to figure out whose blade it could have been.

“Looks like you’re interested in that one, well show me what you have to offer and I can see what we can do for you” The man, who Grian had momentarily forgotten was there spoke.

“Where did you get this” he ignored the question.

“That? I just found it in a Shop- like a trading post… The girl gave it to me for free, she said no one ever showed interest in it”

“What did she look like?”

“You definitely wouldn’t know her” He shrugged. He whipped the bird skull dagger into his face. “ She had bright orange hair! Broad shoulders! I don’t know her name” The man sputtered out. Grian pushed the blade closer to his face, “ I swear! I didn’t even think much of it!”

Grian sighed and dropped his arm. “Go”

“What?”

“Go. what don’t you understand from that”

“Well we need to trade, you can’t keep it! It’s my only knife”

“Find a new one”

“Hey man, I won’t even ask for much, anything would be enough”

“I said, go”

“I don’t think you know how trades work, man. I’m also supposed to get something out of it”

“You are” when the man opened his mouth to speak again Grian swung the bow from over his shoulder and pointed an arrow between his eyes “your life.” he finished “now go get yourself a new knife and stop spying on people who clearly could kill you in a heartbeat”

The man's eyes widened at the arrow. He reached up and grabbed a silver chain around his neck. There was a pendant attached to it. The man rotated the side of the circle clockwise, then flicked it so the middle spun quickly.

The next this that happened made him question if the man really was a traveler or even from this time at all. He disappeared, and just as if he never existed. The world around him went quiet. Grian looked down at the other two items abandoned on the ground. He picked up the chain of rings and peered at them. Something had to tell him who that man was. Magic wasn’t a shock to Grian, he lived long enough to know wizards existed, though it had been a very long time since he had run into one. A few thousand years at the least. What made his gut turn cold was the blade. If the man was lying then he had been spotted by a Watcher. His location was revealed. Which meant it was, again, time for him to move.

Grian pocketed the notebook and jewelry, slid the dagger into the empty holster on his thigh, and began to stage his death. Something he had regrettably become very familiar with. An easy ambush would be enough for patrol to believe. He cut a few slices of his cloak and stabbed them into a few surrounding branches to indicate a struggle. Then he cut his palm putting pressure around the now bleeding cut and watched as blood pooled in his palm. He then let it splatter around on the ground. He didn’t need much. He was sure the hounds would be able to sniff it out. Though that also meant he needed to hide his scent.

He went with taking his cloak off to roll it in the dirt around the area, getting some moss and spreading it around his boots, then to his dismay dusting some dirt into his blonde hair and clothes. The white top is now an off-tan, with splotches of green. Nothing that he couldn’t wash out later. He then reached to the chain around his ankle, hidden underneath his sock. And snapped it off.

Elegant white wings blew into view as if it were the breezes’ will. The feathers were still soft and all in place from the last time he had preened them. Grian looked back and smiled. It had been a few years since he had seen them. Then he was off to find a new life. Somewhere, this one would never cross. The clouds engulfed his small frame. The smell of wet bark soon turned to the brewing of a thunderstorm. He spread his wings wide and let himself drop a few hundred feet before twisting a shooting himself higher into the sky.

[newsies-are-the-new-best-thing]

An idea I had a need to write. The universe this comes from is the one where the newsies travel forward in time, anyways I hope you like it!

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

Target is a true ally for trans time travelers

“Hey Spot, look at whats I’s found when we’s went out.” Joe calls out as he prances into the room.

Spot begrudgingly looks up from where he’s been scrolling endlessly on his phone since the others left…. this morning, damn, these modern inventions are incredible.

“wadda find?” he asks, curiosity piqued when he sees Joe clutching something behind his back.

Joe walks further into the room and begins his tale “sos, me an’ the fellas who went out, ended up at this place called target, I thinks, they sell all sorts a’ stuff there like furniture an’ food an’ clothes” Joe drops onto the other side of the couch Spot’s sprawled out on, still hiding whatever he found

“…buts anyways, we’s were out lookin’ ‘round at all the stuff an’ I saw this hangin’ up there” he reaches to his side and proudly reveals….something.

“what’s it for?” Spot asks, confused because all it looks like is a vest that’s been cut in half.

“Wells” Joe says, looking away and scratching at his neck “I saw the picture where it was an’ it looked like it’s s’posed ta’ be for your chest” Spot narrows his eyes at the other,

“or somethin’ I don’t know” Joes hastily adds.

Spot’s sort of dubious it has to do with his chest, but this world is full of strange surprises so he takes the item without another word and makes his way to the bathroom. Locking the door, Spot slips off whatever the large soft jacket he’s wearing is called and then his shirt, clenching his jaw when he catches a glance at his reflection. Try as he might to get rid of it, the outline of his chest is still visible underneath the strips of fabric he uses to conceal it, annoyed, he begins to unwrap the cloth. His ribs welcome the sweet respite from the pressure that he’s been forcing upon them since early this morning and he feels his annoyance growing. Turning fully away from the mirror, trying to keep himself from looking down, he grabs hold of the article Joe found and tries to put it on. This is quite difficult as whatever it is made of is unyielding and feels like it’s three times too small. Grunting slightly, Spot shimmies both arms into the arm holes and tries to slide it down. This works decently until it’s bunched around his shoulders in a tight tangle. Suppressing the rising panic, Spot begins to work the fabric down over his chest, ignoring the nausea swirling in his gut. The fabric sits tight against him, pressing into his chest with a decent amount of pressure but gives no hint of pain. Standing fully, he runs a hand down his chest he marvels at how flat he finds it. There’s no hint of his chest being any larger than he wants it, just a smooth outline of his compressed chest that now looks like every other mans. Hurriedly looking up, Spot stares into the mirror and studies his reflection. Standing to the side, then to the front, to the other side, at every possible angel he can, Spot looks and looks. A lump begins to form in his throat, a mounting wave of emotions swirling inside because he can finally stomach to see his reflection, can’t stop himself from not staring at it. He runs a hand up and down his chest again, relishing the flatness he finds.

“you’s try it on?” Joe calls out, startling him from his entranced state.

“y-yeahs I’s tried it on, it’s good, thanks Joe” Spot manages to spit out, unable to draw himself away from the novelty of his reflection.

“No problems, you’s goin’ ta’ come out here soon or…”

Spot forces himself to glance away from the mirror and dress himself, pulling on his undershirt and then bundling everything else with his jacket. The smile that’s sprouted on his face since he first saw himself with the thing on, grows large once he sees the shirt lay flat across his chest, something it hadn’t done before. A newfound confidence lies within him and he feels that he can finally wear just a shirt without fear creeping into his mind. Pulling open the door he finds Joe sitting on the floor, looking at his phone. Joe glances up at him and matches his smile,

“you’s like it?” he asks, scrambling up to stand and fully face Spot.

“Yeah, I likes it,” Spot says, resisting the urge to cross his arms over his chest, “now let’s go, you’s gonna show me where ta’ more a’ these”

And he does indeed get more, of what he eventually finds out are called, binders.

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

Go Spot!!! I'm still unsure about how to fully write Spot but that doesn't stop me from trying 😌 I just think trans Spot is awesome 😄 also Joe's a made up newsie cause I can't remember the Brooklyn newsies names.

[windwheeler-aster]

hello, headcannons + blurbs with zhongli, kaeya, diluc, childe and itto ( if its too much you could reduce some but let zhongli and kaeya stay :3 ) reacting to s/o who never nosebleed, finally does when they see them men being sexy? its a little suggestive i guess. thank you :)

what? see something you like? 

summary: you don’t fluster easily, and when you do, it’s always been something manageable. well, that’s what you had thought at least. now you’re struggling to cover up the mess your nosebleed has made, knowing full well that when your boyfriend sees you like this; you’ll never hear the end of it.

masterlist

pairings (separate): zhongli, kaeya, diluc, and childe x reader

reader info: uses gender neutral pronouns (they/them), reader is in an established relationship with characters mentioned, reader gets nosebleeds when they are badly flustered, and reader is not traveler.

word count: 3,231 words

genre: romance, suggestive, (slight) comfort

format: headcanons and blurbs

warnings: suggestive language and behavior, reader gets a nosebleed, blood mentioned, exaggerated/anime-like nosebleed, cliffhanger/suggestive endings, (brief) funeral and death mentions, kaeya being told to “cover up,” brief mentions of violence almost happening, teasing, and things escalating quickly

a/n: sadly i couldn’t think of anything for itto :( maybe in the future i could continue this with him and a few other characters? i assumed tight and well fitted clothing is something everyone finds sexy so... enjoy💖 no songs for this because, um,, i don’t actually know a lot of suggestive songs-

there was an upcoming business conference that zhongli and hu tao had to attend in the name of wangsheng funeral parlor

hu tao requested him to dress nicely, as she wants to leave a good impression on her (potential) trading partners

he was a little offended that hu tao thought his normal suit wouldn’t do the job, but he followed her request

zhongli had rented a nice brown suit a little too tight around his chest and bottom if you asked him though

he brought it home to try on after having it tailored, as the last thing he needed was it to still be ill fitted still

zhongli had no idea that you’d be coming home just as he was finishing buttoning up the undercoat

he wasn’t displeased though, it would be best to get your opinion on it anyway

in comes your love, strolling slowly as he adjusts the tie around his collar

he doesn’t even look up to see your flustered expression, too fixated on that damn tie

when zhongli doesn’t get a response immediately, he finally looks up to see you

[more under the cut]

“My dear, is everything alright?”

You shake your head quickly, trying to tear your eyes off of his body. Although that seemed near impossible with the way his suit hugged his chest so tightly. The sight was enough to get you salivating as you gazed on. After all, you couldn’t help that his prominent breasts were being so well shown off. Quietly, you were thanking Hu Tao for this.  

When you looked away from his chest, you realized Zhongli’s expression had softened. His pupils dilated, fading into his dark brown irises quickly. Somehow, they managed to capture as much of your attention as his chest had. 

“Yes,” you breathed out, “everything’s fine, Zhongli. H-how… how was your day?”

“My day was good, love,” He smiled softly, adjusting the cuff links to his undershirt. “As you can see, I got a new suit for my business trip.”

“Y-you look great,”

“Thank you, my dear,” Zhongli posed suavely, trying his best not to tilt his head upwards in pride. “Although, it’s only the front. Could you confirm it looks good from other angles?”

You missed the way his warm eyes crinkled at the end, a cheeky smile hidden from you as he turned around. Zhongli knew this would fluster you. It’s the exact reason why he picked this suit out, actually. His efforts of getting you so flustered had finally paid off, and he too was quietly thanking Hu Tao.

The front view of his suit was a sight you needed to see after such a long day. But the back view? Your entire face felt uncomfortably warm as you stared at Zhongli’s bottom. You brought a hand up to your mouth to stop you from gasping or emitting a worse sound. It was only then, with your knuckle in between your lips, did you feel the blood trickling down.

You gently brought your hands over your nose and mouth, caging them in. It proved to be difficult, actually, with the fountain of blood that sprouted from your nose. You murmured a complaint to yourself as you looked for some sort of cloth or tissue, desperate for Zhongli not to see.

“Dear?” 

“Sorry, Zhongli,” you murmured. You changed your hands’ placement so that one was now pinching the end of your nose. “You look great, as always, love.”

He smiled and tilted his head upwards in pride, but quickly lowered it to stay humble. “Why thank you, how kind of you to say. You look lovely today as well, dear.”

You glanced over to him, just as Zhongli side eyed you over his shoulder. Which was, of course, the perfect moment for Zhongli to notice your slight injury. 

He gasped. “Dearest, you’re bleeding.”

Zhongli walked over to you, gently pressing you up against the door. He used his gloved hands to cup your chin, tilting your head upwards. You tried to gulp down the extra saliva that seemed to have built up, but your throat was betraying you. 

Zhongli gently brushed away the remnants of blood that you couldn’t clean up, not even grimacing when the blood soiled his gloves. His frown soon grew into a knowing smirk when he saw how quickly you got flustered. 

“Oh, did I cause this?” He moved your chin to inspect your face, smirking wider as he did. “Did I… did I get you this riled up, my dearest?”

You froze up, too shocked at his playfulness. You couldn’t even give him a proper response like a nod of confirmation. All you could do was focus on his eyes, but even that was proving to be difficult.

“We can’t have you all flustered like this, dear,” he inched his lips closer to your ear, “I suppose I’ll just have to take care of it for you. Would you like that, dearest?”

after months of buttering up the fatui, kaeya was finally invited to a formal banquet at the goth grand hotel

it was a sweet victory for kaeya, and the rest of the knights of favonius

although kaeya was requested to wear something less revealing at the event which genuinely offended him and he barely managed to keep his cool

but his mission wasn’t over yet. he still had to get closer to them, so he had to obey their request, even if it ticked him off greatly

after all, he had spent months building a good relationship with the fatui. he wasn’t about to throw all of his effort away over some silly outfit

so, one suit fitting and purchase later, kaeya had a lovely striped blue suit ready for the banquet

and while he was trying on suit after suit, kaeya kept you at the forefront of his mind

more specifically what your expression would be when he showed off his new suit

he was practically grinning from ear to ear when he heard you get home, and he didn’t even hesitate to call your name a moment later

Something moved outside, causing Kaeya to focus on the sight outside instead of his reflection. He smiled when he recognized you waving from the path towards your shared home. Kaeya shyly waved back, not so covertly hiding his body behind the curtains as he did so. As much as he wanted to, Kaeya didn’t linger long to see your puzzled expression. Instead Kaeya slipped past the curtains and hurried downstairs.

You watched from the outside of your home as you saw a flurry of blue run past some windows, your concern for your partner growing. If his actions didn’t resemble that of a frantic bird, you would have laughed at the sight and teased him endlessly for it.

You opened the front door with a gentle turn, peaking your head through the crack first. Only the coat rack and welcome mat were there to greet you. There were no surprises or pranks that you could see, so you continued inside. As you closed the door, you heard a curse whispered and a gentle thud from the living room. 

“Kaeya?” you called, slipping out of your shoes slowly. “Are you alright?”

An affirmative noise came from the living room.

Your feet carried you to Kaeya quickly. You looked around for him before you heard him clear his throat and look at the sound. 

Draped across the couch with a rose clutched in between his teeth was Kaeya, who looked quite out of breath. Your eyes traveled across his new suit, noticing quickly he had it tailored to fit him nicely. The suit clung tightly onto his skin, giving you a glimpse at his well defined features. The buttons on the suit jacket looked like they were about to pop off with each rise and fall of Kaeya’s chest. Your eyes were about to slowly trail down the rest of his figure when Kaeya snapped his fingers. 

“Hey, hey, eyes up here darling,” Kaeya teased, letting the rose fall out of his mouth.

His flirtatious tone got to you, easily bringing heat to your cheeks. Before you knew it, you felt something wet trail down from your nose and onto your upper lip. Quickly, you turned around and covered your nose with one hand. The last thing you needed was for Kaeya to realize what was happening. You could already hear the teasing from him as you desperately searched for a tissue. 

“Darling?” you heard him shift on the couch. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” you winced at how your voice cracked when you answered so quickly, “nothing’s wrong, I’m just a bit flustered.”

“Oh, really? Show me how flustered you are then, darling.”

With a new wave of Keaye’s suggestive words, your nose squirted out blood like a fountain with water. You brought your other hand over your nose quickly, silently screaming at Kaeya. Either he could see your reaction and was amused by it, or he truly was just smooth with his words.

“Stop teasing me, you’re making it worse,”

“Making what worse?” Kaeya raised his eyebrows. “Oh darling, are you really down that bad for me? Have I not been paying enough attention to-”

“No, just,” you fumbled over your words, trying to decide what to say next. “Here, just look.”

You turned around and removed your hands from your nose. You watched as Kaeya’s cocky expression turned quickly into shock. He sat upright on the couch, reaching over to the side table for a tissue. 

“Here, let me clean you up,” he offered, patting the spot next to him on the couch. 

Careful not to drip any blood on the couch, you sat beside him. Kaeya was quick to close the distance between you two, pulling you much closer to him. He chuckled as he began to wipe away the blood, tilting your chin in different directions. 

“I had no idea I had this effect on you, darling,” he said, his tone a mixture of teasing and worry, but still making your cheeks warm. “And to think you only saw me fully clothed as well… It makes me curious what type of reaction I can get out of you without them.” Kaeya leaned in close to your ear, “would you like to find out together?”

diluc enjoys his suit and coat as they are, however he does like to dress less casual when it’s just the two of you in dawn winery

but it hardly is just the two of you alone, so he still wears it around the house 

except he adjusts his tie so it hangs loosely around his neck, and move his arms out of his overcoat and drape it over his shoulders

it gives him this slightly haggard look, however diluc still manages to pull it off

however, on one very stormy afternoon, diluc and you find yourself to be the only ones at home

which is just perfect for diluc, who had a lovely black turtleneck stowed away for afternoons like these

he was looking forward to spending a calm afternoon with you, maybe taking the opportunity to catch up and make up for lost time and affection (no thanks to his very busy schedule)

until he noticed the blood leaking from your nose after just catching one glimpse of him

“I managed to convince Adeline to go home early,” Diluc announced as he entered the room, “I swear, she worries too much. I’m a grown man, for archons’ sake, I can take care of myself and you.”

As you glanced over your shoulder, ready to tease him relentlessly, you froze. 

Diluc wasn't wearing his usual coat. In fact, he was dressing many layers lighter today. He wore a simple black turtleneck and some brown trousers, styling his hair in a nice high ponytail. You couldn’t stop yourself as your eyes raked over him, nor the way you tried so hard to memorize this sight. Somehow the nonchalant look he cast over his shoulder as he adjusted his signature gloves made your mind fuzzy and your heart speed up. 

You hadn’t even noticed the blood spurting from your nose until it had propelled you back onto the couch. The soft thump that followed after gained Diluc’s attention, bringing him to your side immediately. 

He couldn’t help but gasp. “Love, you’re bleeding.”

“S’all right,” you mumbled, “you caught me off guard, s’all good.”

Diluc gently put his hand on your cheek, furrowing his brow as he did. While rubbing your cheekbone with his thumb, Diluc grabbed a nearby tissue and brought it to your face. Carefully, he wiped off as much of the blood as he could. As he did so, he gently caressed your cheek and gave you an overwhelmingly sweet and loving gaze. 

“Did I startle you that much?” He looked you in the eye and frowned. “I thought you’d be used to me by now, love.”

“Honey, have you taken a look at yourself lately?”

“No, why?” His frown deepened. “Do you not like it when I dress more casually?”

“No, no, I really like it actually,” you reassure. 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you added in a low mumble, “you look really hot, actually.”

Diluc smirked, obviously having heard your words in this close proximity.  “Oh? Is that why you had such an intense nose bleed just now?”

You nodded simply as Diluc moved his hand from your cheek to your chin, tilting your head upwards to look at him. Diluc smirked down at you, his eyes darting from place to place on your body. Finally, he seemed to make up his mind and desendended onto your neck.

“Look at you, getting so flustered from just the slightest of my touches,” he teased as he peppered kisses along your jaw and neck. “It seems I haven’t been giving my love enough attention lately. Please let me make up for lost time, my love. Let me show you how much I love you, how much I crave you, please.”

there is no special occasion. there is no big event. and there is no obvious reason on why childe has sported a tight and sleeveless black turtleneck

other than to fluster you, of course 

childe has been feeling quite starved of your touch as a late, a consequence of working for the fatui

so he took the day off, which will be a wonderful surprise for you once he wakes you

as he makes breakfast, childe is having a field day imaging your flustered reaction

he lets a few chuckles tumble past his lips, having to bite one of his knuckles to silence himself

a few moments later and he was creeping into your shared bedroom, a lovely breakfast tray in hand

he set it down on the bedside table for a moment and carefully knlet down to wake you with a kiss

out of all the reactions he planned out in his head, childe DID NOT expect you to glance at him once and then begin to spew blood

"Darling,” he sang in a mischievous tone, as he pushed the bedroom door open, “it’s time to wake up, sweetheart.”

You turned over in the bed, facing away from Childe, pulling the blankets over your face. The blankets soon proved to be useless, easily allowing his pet names for you to break through.

“Mm,” you groaned, nuzzling your head further into the bed, “five more minutes.”

Childe chuckled, setting the breakfast tray onto the side table. His own mouth watered at the smell of all the food piled onto it, a mixture of Snezhayian and Liyue food. It was all warm, fresh out of the pan with the steam still coming off of it. There was plenty of food piled onto it for both you and him, but Childe had already eaten. He wanted more than anything to just sit down and watch you eat breakfast in bed.

He glanced away from the nightstand, smirking at you, a lump under the covers. Childe let out a chuckle as he leaned over, gently placing some of his weight onto you. He let some chuckles escape once you had begun to squirm then finally settle. 

“My darling dearest, my sugar plum, my honeysuckle, my cutie pie—” Childe stopped once he heard you groan again. He smirked. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Do not try this with me, Childe,” you mumbled.

“What? I’m just addressing you,” he leaned back, onto his pillow. “Would you rather I call you by your full title?”

You open your eyes, only to roll them at him from beneath the blankets. “All your lovey dovey petnames for me smashed together is not a title.”

Childe looked over to you, still beneath the blankets, and then slowly back to the bedroom’s ceiling. “I made you breakfast.”

“Really?”

“Yep,”

You shift beneath the blankets. “Is the world ending?”

“Y’know, I can do nice things for you, too,” Childe mumbled, “It’s not that surprising, is it?” 

“What's surprising is that I don’t smell smoke,” you push yourself out, looking over to your side first. “Okay, so where’s this grand romantic ges- Oh.”

Childe looked over to you, who had now fully emerged from the blanket cocoon. Your eyes were practically glued to his chest, a feeling that made him both filled with pride and embarrassment. All he wore was a simple sleeveless turtleneck, a gift from his siblings to cool down in Liyue. Yet your reaction made it seem as though Childe wore nothing at all, a sight that you had already seen. 

“Hello, Teyvat to my sweetheart,” he teased, waving a hand in front of your eyes, “my eyes are up here, y’know.” 

Those final words seemed to break you, blood spewing from your nose right after. Childe watched with terror as you flopped back over to your side of the bed. He watched you slap a hand over your face, wincing at the slapping sound it made. However, what you were doing seemed to be the most effective way of not staining the sheets. 

And it was probably the cutest thing Childe has ever seen you do.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t tell you get that flustered from just seeing a little skin,” Childe asked sincerely, reaching over to stroke your head. “I can already think of so many other things that could fluster you. Like—”

In one moment, you already had tissues shoved up your nose. Although it stung a little, and looked quite ridiculous, it reduced the bleeding. Which allowed you to focus on what to do next, which was to leap onto Childe.

“Shut up,” you huffed into his lips, “you are going to face the consequences of your actions, Ajax.” 

He quirked one eyebrow, excited by the usage of his real name. “Consequences? I didn’t do a single thing, dear. It was all you and your perverted little mind—”

“Shut up,” you repeated, quickly straddling him, “I don’t want to hear anything from those pretty little lips until I’m done with you,” you pinned his hands together and above his head. “Understood?” 

Childe’s eyes, usually dreary and without light, fucking sparkled. His lips twisted into a smile, small and turned all the way up. Nothing but cockiness and eagerness emitting from him. He missed these mornings with you. 

“Understood,” he whispered, Childe’s voice weak as you squeeze his hips with your thighs. “Crystal clear.”

thank you for reading 💖 all forms of interaction to my posts are appreciated 💖

[bakuliwrites]

M6 and Sexy Keepsakes

Here's a little headcanon of some sultry little keepsakes that I think the M6 would keep on them when they are away from MC. Spicy, of course. 18+, Minors DNI!

An enchanted necklace MC helped craft for him that sends delightful tingles through his body when he caresses it. He and MC made matching necklaces together. They combined their powers to imbue it with deeply personal magic. The process of creating it was intensely intimate, involving a union of both the physical and metaphysical.

The necklace is fairly subtle in the way it looks, made of moonstone and citrine. The crystals hang on an antique bronze chain that dips low under the collar of his shirt. It pulses a gentle, familiar energy where it rests against his heart. Whenever he travels, he makes sure to wear it. He feels joyously flustered when he remembers the day he and MC created it. He likes to relive that memory a lot.

Asra makes sure to wear the necklace every time he communicates with MC via his water skype (I saw someone call it that once and that's honestly the only way I can think of it now, haha). MC's matching necklace has a magical connection to Asra's, which the two can certainly have some fun with...

An erotic letter MC wrote her. It's spritzed with a bit of MC's cologne/perfume, and the sensual words it contains is enough to make even the most stoic of individuals blush.

Nadia keeps it stowed safely away in a secret compartment of one of her pieces of luggage. She pulls it out when she's by herself in her quarters, lonely in whatever palace she's traveled to for her diplomatic missions. It renders even her eloquent tongue speechless. She tries to picture what MC was doing just before they wrote the letter. The thought often distracts her during meetings.

One evening, Nadia decides to act out a few things that MC wrote in the letter, and then write a response to MC describing everything she felt and all the delightfully naughty things she can't wait to do to MC when she gets home...

A tasteful pinup photo/drawing (depending on if you want a modern AU or not) of MC on the inside lid of his compass. MC bought the compass for him at the market, surprising him with it one morning with the pinup already taped to the inside. Julian keeps the compass on his person at all times.

Ooooo boy, does it give Julian a thrill every time he opens up the compass to confirm the direction he's traveling. In fact, it's more than a bit distracting. He thinks its quite daring and deliciously risque of MC for gifting him such a thing. A roguish smile always forms on his lips when he catches a glimpse of it. Sometimes, he'll pull it out of his pocket when he has a quiet moment, just to stare at it.

Julian slips away with it, propping it up on his bedside table while he enjoys some much needed alone time. He likes to imagine MC showing up out of the blue on whatever ship he's sailing on, dressed in the very lingerie they wear in their photo/drawing. He's antsy to return home to them...

MC's perfume/cologne on a kerchief. It's just a simple, white kerchief with MC's initials embroidered in blue on one corner. But it smells so delightfully of them.

Portia keeps it tucked in her undershirt and, while it's not overtly sensual per say, she can't help but feel a bit of excitement every time she brings it to her nose. Keeping it close to her means it smells like her and MC combined, reminding her of the sultry activities the two of them get up to when they're together. There's an impish twinkle in her eyes every time she pulls it out.

Portia eventually reciprocates the gesture and leaves behind a floral handkerchief for MC. She hopes it brings them as much comfort and pleasure as theirs does to her. She also leaves behind a mischievous little note that's sure to thrill MC, describing all the things she thinks of when she smells their pleasant scent...

A figurine of MC, that MC modeled for. MC had to beg and plead for Muriel to make one of himself for them. Finally he acquiesced.

The figurine itself is not especially detailed, but it holds the memory of the day MC posed for it. It was in the privacy of Muriel's hut, MC draped across the furs in front of the fireplace, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. This felt like such a momentous, intimate moment for Muriel. A moment where he could let his guard down, and MC could let theirs down, too. The two of them took a number of breaks in the process to blow off some steam.

Whenever MC is away, he pulls the figurine from his pocket and blushes a deep red. His heart flutters with the memory of that afternoon. He hopes MC hurries home, so maybe they can pose for him once again. And perhaps do a bit more together...

MC's underwear and truly the raunchiest photo/painting he could possibly take of MC. He's already got a million paintings of the two of them, hanging in the palace, mostly kept away in his private quarters. But this one is *extra* special and *extra* spicy.

In true form to Lucio, he keeps both the photo and the undergarment on his person at all times while traveling. He's not especially careful with where he pulls out the photo, but tries to keep it as hidden as possible. He finds it thrilling to whip it out in spaces where anyone could walk in while he's looking at it. But he also wants to respect MC's privacy and tries to be careful.

The underwear is MC's best pair. Lucio hides it in an inner pocket of his blazer. He only pulls it out when he's alone in his bedroom (or has guaranteed privacy elsewhere) and when he's in a *mood* (which is rather often). He's left behind a portrait for MC and a pair of his finest, as well (a silky crimson number with his gilded name embroidered across the ass). He hopes they get as much enjoyment out of his gifts for them as he gets out of their gifts for him.

[look-at-the-soul]

The Photoshoot (Part 38)

Cillian Murphy

Series Master List 2014 , 2015

A/N: the scene with Mom is inspired by a lovely chat I had with @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo 🥰 thank you for the inspiration!

🍔 The scene mentioned is not part of the movie, but I imagined it could be part of a scene that never got released… and the hamburger part was inspired by the photos I added 😂 also be careful when you drive, my mum and I almost got sandwiched between 2 cars 3 times in a row one day…

Yael was waiting impatiently with her laptop and Skype ready, feeling like a teenage girl one more time.

Cillian had been completely focused on his role as Josef Gabcik, finally getting into his character mindset. Traveling to Prague helped him a lot to reach the fine details he wanted to achieve for the movie.

After he left, she had a photography session with a long-time client of hers, Martha she contacted Yael to take her engagement photos a few years ago, she then asked her to photograph her wedding day but now she wanted to get the photos with her baby boy.

It was something common some brides did, they loved the shots they got and came back to have other important moments immortalized by Yael’s lenses.

Contacting Yael through a call to ask if she was still outside the UK, Martha explained to her that she had been following her work for a while and thought it was incredible that she moved to Ireland. So the date for her Photoshoot arrived and she traveled with her one-year old son to Ireland because she and her husband wanted to visit the country. Now she would get the chance to do it… without him.

He was killed in an accident when the police were behind a man who stole in a store and he was shot by accident. He didn’t know she was pregnant back then, so Martha had to learn to live with both grief over losing her husband and the fact that she would be a single mother.

Yael couldn’t hold back the tears after listening to her story, it was heartbreaking to remember the beautiful shooting they did years ago, they were so happy, so in love.

In a snap of the fingers, Rob was gone, Martha didn’t have any other choice but keep going.

That night, Yael called Cillian as soon as she got home. She was inconsolable, sobbing on the phone, she couldn’t help but see herself in Martha’s shoes, what if she was the one losing her husband? What if she couldn’t see him again? The thought of the possibility of not kissing him or waking up next to his warm body, the comfort of his arms around her, and his loud laugh over something silly… she didn’t want to keep fighting or keep her anger towards him any longer.

There was no point to waste time in stupid fights, they both realized how fragile life was, how everything can change in a heartbeat.

Maybe it was the photoshoot or the distance, or the fact that they stopped thinking and talking about the problems they just faced, but their relationship was at a much better place, both decided to focus on them and their projects only after apologizing over and over on the phone.

Finally, the notification of Cillian’s call showed up in the corner of her laptop, pressing the green button she found a smile growing in her face at the sight of her husband.

“Sorry love, I was in the shower.” He confessed as if his wet hair didn’t give that away. Yael saw the glimpse of his boxers when he moved, his torso covered by the undershirt he was wearing.

“It’s alright, how was your day?”

As he moved around carrying the laptop with him, she could see part of the apartment he told her the other day, it was like a flat, but he had everything he needed, a new tv, beautiful view from his window, the only thing he asked for was a kitchen, he wanted to cook instead of eating out all the time.

“Good actually, we did a couple of good shoots at a club and outside.”

“A club? That sounds like fun.”

She saw him smiling at that.

“Yeah well, the club is in the middle of the set and the fun stops when two soldiers come for me and a fight starts.” He said after filming several options for the scene.

“Oh no!” Yael gasped. “What happens then?”

“Josef gets beaten up and-” Cillian smirked, she was so good at distracting him with those eyes and smile. “You will have to see the movie to find out.”

“That’s not fair!” She pouted. “You mentioned once it’s usually released a year later.” She remembered the post production process he told her about, it involved them recording their voices for some scenes, endless hours of editing, lights, sound effects, music…

“You know how this is, I could get in trouble if any detail is leaked to the press.” He made a funny face, he knew she wouldn’t say a word.

“I think I know how to convince you.” Cillian saw her standing up, the kitchen lights illuminating her frame.

His pulse started to quicken as he saw his wife remove her top.

The problem now, wasn’t the strict contract he signed of not revealing anything… but his speechless state. His mind went blank the moment he saw Yael standing in front of him with her top covered only by her bra, a delicate pale pink lace.

“Take that off, and I will tell you how it ends.”

Cillian got hard immediately when he saw his wife biting her lower lip and moving her hands to her back.

***

After sharing a bear hug, Isla wrapped her arm around her daughter's waist.

“I’ve missed you so much.”

“Missed you too, everything good with your flight?” Yael asked reaching Cillian’s car, he told her she could use it as much as she needed to.

“Everything went well, oh! I almost forget your Dad asked me to call and let him know that we are together.”

“Bet he is missing you terribly.”

Isla chuckled. “Bryan couldn’t stop whining on the way to the airport.”

“He’s coming on Friday right?” Isla nodded and Yael’s phone started ringing. “Can you take that? It might be Cill.”

Setting up the phone in speaker, Cillian greeted his mother in law, he was genuinely happy to have her staying with Yael while he was away.

“I loved the photos you took from the guest room, looks amazing.” Isla beamed, when she saw the photos, she told her daughter that it looked out of a magazine.

“Isla, please make yourself at home.” She insisted him to call her by her name since the day they met.

As Yael was about to change to her right lane, a truck came out of nowhere, the car behind her honked desperately, Yael mirroring it.

“Be careful!” Yelled Isla, holding onto the glove compartment.

“Oh my God! Where did that truck came from? Are you okay?” She asked her mum after moving the wheel violently to go back to her original lane.

“What happened?!” Asked Cillian, worried for not knowing what was going on.

Her heartbeat went crazy, they were one second away of having a major accident.

“Baby? Tell me what’s going on?” Yael heard Cillian’s voice after slowing down her speed.

“Just a bloody eejit with a driver license, we’re alright.”

Isla placed a hand over her speed up heart. “That was so close. I thought we would get sandwiched between the truck and the one on your side.”

Cillian kept calling his wife’s name.

“Don’t worry baby, everything’s fine, it was just a crazy driver using the wrong side of the road.”

“Be careful, okay?” The sound of the car’s tires and brake got him worried. “Call me when you get home, I don’t want to distract you yeah?”

Yael nodded, her knuckles almost white from taking the steering wheel with all she got. “Will do, I love you!”

“Love you more, be safe.”

She heard the call finished on the other line, but she refused to take her eyes from the road. Even the smallest distraction could cause a terrible accident.

After the little scared moment they had, Yael and Isla stopped at a pharmacy to buy a hair dye and some vitamins her mum forgot at home.

It was an incredible sunny day, so they stopped at a small store to get some ice cream, chocolate with mint for Isla and cookies and cream for Yael, sharing a small moment of joy to compensate for the distance.

“I really needed to dye my hair, but you know Marcie moved to another city and all the services at the salon are getting so expensive, but I don’t like my white hairs.” Isla complained.

“Marcie left? Why?” She was her mum’s stylist for over a decade.

“Her sister got ill, and she didn’t have anyone but Marcie.”

“You must really miss her.”

“Oh! This is lovely.” Isla pointed at the cookies jar next to the sink full of samples.

“Right? I found them at the thrift store last week and I had lots of samples for a Photoshoot I did some time ago for a brand, don’t worry there’s one in your bathroom too.”

As Yael prepared her mum’s hair with the oil and towel around her neck, then she took her cellphone to answer a text Cillian sent her.

Looking at her daughter through the mirror, Isla asked her: “What’s that smile for?”

“Oh, it’s just that Cill sent me a photo of his fake dinner, they use plastic food for the shoots and he has to pretend to eat it.” He was messing around with Jaime, she was happy to know he was having a good time while working.

“He’s just the sweetest man, calling you to see what plans did we have or what we wanted to do.” She loved to see her son in law treating her daughter right, loving her. “You complete each other.”

“I just think it must be hard for him to be alone in a country he knows nothing about, in a small apartment, you know… away. Imagine if today something happened to us while driving back home, how long will it take him to catch a flight?”

“Oh, don’t even think about it.” Isla touched her daughter’s arm in comfort.

“I know I wouldn’t be able to do it, learn all of those scripts, repeat the scenes over and over, listen to the directions, learning a different accent, the life of his character… the press, interviews, the criticism.”

“But he’s so good, the other day your Dad and I found Batman on the telly, he was such a cute boy.”

Yael smiled at the memory of her parents calling one night to tell her, that they found a Cillian’s movie.

“He’s getting more and more handsome.” Yael admitted.

“I hope you tell him that, men are like us, they like to know their wives find them attractive.”

Yael chuckled. “He doesn’t believe me.” She started to dye her mum’s roots first, dividing her hair, it was just above shoulder’s length.

“After all the things you went through with the lies that woman said, he probably has a hard time believing anything.”

Sadness reached Yael’s eyes, something her mum immediately recognized.

“What’s the matter babygirl?”

“It’s just…” her voice broke down a little. “we had a really hard time because of that. There was a moment when I thought we wouldn’t be able to stay together.” Her eyes watered. “Even after the truth was revealed, we still kept having some problems because of that, everyone was trying to say their opinions over what he should or shouldn’t do, while we were still trying to learn how to live without the baby in our lives…”

“That woman will pay for her lies, you’ll see.”

Checking the timer, she started to dye the rest of the hair, struggling with the giant gloves that came in the box. Trying to avoid her mum’s skin in case the dye caused any allergy.

Yael shuddered. “I really don’t care about her, what really upsets me is that Cillian and I were really close to break up, there were nights when I thought I couldn’t keep going, I just wanted the nightmare to be over, everything was too much.” Letting off steam with her mum really helped Yael out, there were a lot of things she needed to get out of her chest that no one else would understand, and she really needed to be really careful because Cillian was a public figure and she didn’t want any tabloids gossiping about him.

Yael finished covering all her mum’s hair with the dye and then went on to cover her mother’s head with a plastic wrap. “Sometimes it was something I did or something he said.”

Isla looked at her through the mirror.

“That witch’s mom even called one day to suggest we could keep seeing Sean if we wanted to!”

“Why would you do that? If the baby wasn’t his, there’s no reason for you to keep in touch.”

“That’s what Cill said.”

Checking the clock, they still needed to wait five more minutes, so Yael started to prepare the bowl to wash her mum’s hair.

“I hope all of that is better now.”

Sighing, Yael gave Isla a half smile. “It’s better, but he’s away right now if you weren’t here, I’d be by myself just with Scout.”

After rinsing Isla’s hair, Yael took her hairdryer and with her fingers, started blow drying it, enjoying the simple moment with her mum.

Scout ran away downstairs as he heard the annoying sound of the hairdryer.

“Why don’t you go and surprise him?” Isla proposed over the noise.

Turning off the hairdryer and looked at her mum’s reflection. “Cill is busy filming, I don’t want to distract him.”

“I think he would love to see you there.”

“You might be right… and I miss him like crazy.”

---

Lenka took a small feather that fell on his shoulder, as she saw the soldier approaching them she gave him a warning look. If that man asked them any questions, it would be the end of them.

“How can you be so, so boorish? I just wanted to see that hat, Jo!” She pretended to make a scene and walked in the opposite direction, he knew what she was doing, she wanted a distraction.

“I promise you, we will get it tomorrow.” He followed after her like a lost dog and looked at the few coins he had in his pocket.

She was deliberately speaking louder, so the soldier could hear they were in the middle of a stupid argument. “You’re always making promises.”

As they cross the street, Josef pulls her by her arm and with his thumbs he starts caressing her face. “Good, now nod and look if he’s still close.”

Lenka shudders and whispers a no.

“And… Cut!” The director announced. “It stays, we’re good. See you all after lunch break.”

“I’m sorry I stepped over your shoe.” Anna apologized with an embarrassed face.

“It’s alright.” Cillian answered but faked to hobble and let out a loud laugh. As he walked over to the food table, he was starving.

Anna squinted her eyes at him. “You’re terrible!”

It was so late, and he felt like he could eat anything in that moment.

“It makes the shoes look worn out, otherwise the audience won’t believe it.”

Anna gave his hamburger a side look, it was probably something she wouldn’t eat.

Another thing he disliked about the Hollywood life; the pressure of being perfect all the fucking time.

“Mr. Murphy, there’s someone waiting for you in your trailer.” Someone from the staff informed him as he waved his co-star goodbye. Jamie wasn’t around filming so he would probably have lunch by himself.

After taking a bite of the glorious and cold hamburger, he asked: “Who? Is this for the behind the scenes interviews?” He heard someone got the idea to record the actors as they prepared for their roles between scenes, and the idea of having someone following him to the bathroom wasn’t really appealing.

“No, but I can’t say anything else.” The woman pursed her mouth in a tight light and motioned him to follow her lead.

“Is it Jamie making pranks again?” He asked worried, until now he wasn’t a victim of his jokes, but you never know with him.

The woman made the signal of closing a zipper with a lock. “Can I take that?” She then pointed at the vintage camera hanging from his neck, he used it earlier to shoot that scene with Anna as she pretended to pose for Josef.

Cillian handed her the camera and tried to look for something out of place outside his trailer, but everything was so quiet.

Opening the door a little, he tried to spy around, but it wasn’t until he opened it a bit further, he found his wife standing in the middle of the cabin.

“When did you get here?” He rushed towards Yael to wrap his arms around her. “I didn’t know you were coming.” He added against her lips.

Yael touched his cheeks and then passed her arms around his neck to feel him closer. “Just wanted to surprise you, the staff said you are on your lunch break.” She kissed and hugged him back as Cillian put her down after spinning her around.

“Ah this is the most beautiful surprise!” She didn’t mention anything when they talked that morning, he thought she would visit him the following week. “Sorry for the crumbs.” He tried to smooth her clothes.

“Oh God, I missed you like crazy.”

“Me too baby, me too.” Cillian whispered against her hair, her perfume filling him, she smelled like orchids, it had a comforting effect on him.

He loved his job, tried to perform with all he got, truly getting in the skin of his character, but having his wife visiting him on set after everything they’ve been through was all he needed in the moment, since he was usually alone once the shooting was done, he went back to an empty hotel room or flat.

“You look so handsome, I love this outfit.” Yael started to run her fingers through his hair.

“Can’t believe you’re here.” He peppered her face with feather-like kisses.

“Well I almost got deported.” Yael joked kissing him back. “The officer at the airport asked a lot of questions, where was I staying, who I was visiting, blah blah. He wouldn’t believe me I was visiting a movie set, I had to search for an online article of the film.”

He kissed her again. “Hmmm.” He was so distracting. “Sorry for the mess, I didn’t know you were coming.”

“As if knowing that would change anything. Come on.”

He laughed and she pushed him out of his camper. The set was absolutely mindblowing; it looked like it had vintage shops and even a park! She wanted to have a memory from this.

Using her trench coat, Yael placed it over one of his shoulders, she knew he would be the one shooting the target.

“Can you look to your left?”

“Why?”

Yael looked at him over her camera.

Click.

“Because I’m starting a new project; my husband’s work. I’m going to save a shot from every film and character you make.”

***

Next part

Still in jail time, don’t forget to let me know what do you think about these two. You know me, I find inspiration in everything and the samples jar is a great idea for a guest bedroom. Oh! And about those hamburger photos??? I added them last minute 😂 lots of love xx

[miioouu]

He's dilf

(also dk what else to call this)

Dilf Sakusa? Yes, dilf Sakusa. As I said before my head is sooooooo empty, just want Omi to rail me, so here we go!! Also i wanted to write more but i felt like it got too long, if you guys enjoy iiit, i just might write another part.❤️💜❤️

Warning:smut, age gap, perv reader...

Sakusa is a single dad, and a caring, loving one to say the least. All he ever does is for his kids, he always got them in mind, he dedicates his best matches for them, he dedicates his whole life for them really. But being an athlete means a lot of special training, a lot of overnight practices, a lot of overseas games, and as much as he loves that he's able to do what he's really passionate about for a living, the only downside, the thing that he hates the most about volleyball, is that it takes away from his family life. If it were for him, he'd spent everyday with his two kiddos, waking up next to them, having breakfast on the same table, spending the day laughing and doing normal family activities, bathe them, put them to bed and read their bedtime stories, but unfortunately, he couldn't do that. And that's why you're here.

A college student balancing studies and work, you honestly were so grateful that you applied as a babysitter for Sakusa. Not only are his kids literal angels, but he paid you good money, you technically live in a luxurious home for free, everything, from food to bed is there for you. His rules are pretty simple, keep an eye on the kids, make them happy and be there for them, support them, and stay clean. When first read that in the contract you were taken aback, but you quickly realized the man's strange phobia.

And to be honest you find it hot. When he came home, the way he takes off all his clothes at the door, leaving him in nothing but his undershirt tank and his boxers. If you're lucky, he's just came back from practice, his body is still glistening in drops of sweat. A look of pure disgust on his face as he takes his mask off, revealing his entire face as he marches to the bathroom, his bathroom, seeing every muscle of his contract as he moves. And you know it's wrong, kind of gross to be having lewd thoughts about him, not only he's your boss, the man is a good fifteen years older than you. But maybe that adds to the attraction. Older, more mature and well wise, you bet he knows so much more than your stupid college boys. You bet he knows exactly how to make you feel good. You can't help to think that way. Not when on the rare days he spends home, he looks so heavenly. The muscles in his arms flexing as he's wiping the table after his kids have finished lunch. His back muscles bulging as he's picking up one of them, and even more when it's the both of them. The odd times when you're alone, his words make you shiver, his whole attention on you. You can but rub your thighs at his weird habits; holding your hands to his nose seeing if you washed them properly, peaking over your shoulder as you do the dishes, sometimes standing way to close you can feel his body heat, running his fingers into your hair, putting them in ponytail, tightening it because "Don't want none of you hair in my and my kids's food."

All those small moments, they shouldn't make you wet, but they do, as you replay them in your memory, layed out in his bed. You know it's kind of creepy and inappropriate, if he ever finds out, it's the end of you, but you're addicted now. It only take you once. As you were putting away his laundry, the scent of him invaded you. The kids are well asleep, he told you he's coming late, you had plenty of time, and you couldn't help but think "What do his pillows smell like? Is his mattress firmer than mine? His sheets softer? What if I just..." and you did. You slipped into his bed, your unconscious taking over as your hand traveled down between your folds, the smell of his fresh laundry mixed with the remnants of his expensive cologne invading you, and it became a little, naughty habit of yours to cum in his sheets.

But do you really think he didn't notice? From the first night, he felt you scent in his sheets. He's not surprised, he's not dumb. The man has seen you eyeing him, your orbs looking from the curls on top on his head to his toes, always focusing on the bulge in his pants for a bit a too long. He should be disgusted by your behavior, but instead he's grossed out by his own dirty thoughts. He'd be lying if he didn't feel the same attraction. The man is well aged, too tired to be chasing around, so when he has someone like you living under his roof, he doesn't need to do much. Just close his eyes and let his mind wander; why are you in a skirt so short around kids? Your work consist of bending down, crouching over, moving around, do you know what you're doing? And why do you keep fluttering your eyelashes like that? Why do you smell so good? Everytime you walk past him, his cock twitches in his trousers. And he's so close, so close. Just remembering your form bent over helping one of the kids, your shirt opening and revealing your chest, one hand busy cleaning the kid's face, while the other holding into your own popsicle, getting it closer to your mouth, your lips wrapping around it, and it's when he remembers your innocent eyes looking up and meeting his hungry ones for a second that he finally reaches his climax, leaving traces of white in the sheets for you to discover tomorrow morning...

[scuttling]

Head Over Feet - Chapter 4

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Spencer Reid/Female Reader (Unrequited) Word Count: 5,180 Chapters: 4/4 Complete Tags: 18+, NSFW, Unrequited love, Protected sex, Oral sex, Vaginal fingering, Rough sex, Friends with benefits, Praise kink, Daddy kink, TW Fire, TW Burns Summary: Falling in love with one of your two closest friends was never something you planned; it only makes sense that falling in love with the other would also come as a complete surprise. *Inspired by/in collaboration with @ssamorganhotchner. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Link to AO3 or read chapter 4 below! You pat Spencer on the back, rub your hand soothingly over his shoulders. He’s not crying, but he’s clinging to you like a child, and your heart aches for him a little.

“I’m sorry, Spence. I know it’s hard when you care about someone and things don’t work out, especially because of what we do. It’s complicated; sometimes people just don’t understand.”

He shifts out of your embrace, stands up, runs a hand over his face.

“I’ve spent most of my life not being understood. I thought maybe I found someone who finally got me.”

You get him, you muse; you’ve always been the one to translate his info dumps into useful commentary, to sense when he’s overwhelmed, anxious, to pull him back before his emotions get the better of him. You may only be his friend, but dismissing that fact hurts more than it should.

You sigh, step into the kitchen, fill your electric kettle with water and turn it on, pull a box of chamomile tea out of the cupboard.

“I’ll be right back. Watch the kettle,” you say, patting his arm, and you head for the bedroom.

Aaron has his undershirt on, and he sits on the edge of the bed staring at the tv—he’s not so much watching it as just looking at it, and when he catches sight of you in the doorway, he turns it off.

“What’s going on?”

“Chelsea broke up with him,” you explain, wrapping your robe tighter around your body. “He missed a function because of work, and she wasn’t able to see past that. It’s been a point of contention.” You know it’s a bit of a sore subject, even after all this time, because of his divorce; you try to tread lightly.

“I should go,” he says, standing, and instantly your heartbeat races. You step toward him, put your hands on his arms.

“No, don’t go. Aaron,” you say when he pulls back, looking around the room as if forgetting that all of the rest of his clothes are piled by your front door. “Please, I don’t want you to go.”

“He needs you.” His voice doesn’t sound particularly kind or unkind, just flat, and you sigh, reach up and take his face in your hands.

“Hey. I’m making him a cup of tea—to go.” He wets his lips, and you pull him down for a slow, soft kiss, drag it out, breathe against his mouth. “Please stay with me.”

“You want me to stay, and you want him to go,” he murmurs, clarifying, and you nod, kiss him again.

“Yes. Give me ten minutes?” He agrees, and you turn to head back to the kitchen, but he stops you, pulls you close for a kiss so full of hunger it makes your head spin. You wouldn’t have thought you’d have another round in you after all that, but it may not be completely out of the question.

Back in the kitchen, Spencer leans against the counter, waiting for the water to boil. His eyes roam over you, and then the mess on the floor—clothes, shoes… condom wrapper.

“I didn’t realize he was here,” he rasps. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have come.”

“It’s alright. I understand.” You walk around him, pull a travel mug down from the cupboard, an unspoken sign that a warmer welcome is not being extended tonight. “You’ll go home and get some sleep. In the morning, call her and apologize for the things you said. The situation may not be as hopeless in the light of day.”

“It feels pretty hopeless,” he counters, and you stand next to him, look up at him.

“There have been times I’ve felt pretty hopeless. You’ll get through it, with or without her.” He rests his elbows on the counter, his head in his hands, frowns exaggeratedly.

“I wouldn’t blame her if she doesn’t take me back. I was a jerk.”

“Love makes us brave and dumb; it’s an unfortunate combination—and you, Doctor, are not used to feeling dumb.” You tap him lightly on the arm, smile softly. “If she gets you as well as you think, she just might understand your reasons for saying what you said.”

“How did you get through it? When we… When I…” He trails off, but you don’t need him to finish; you both know what he means to say. “Because it feels like my heart is literally breaking, even though I know that’s biologically impossible.”

“It wasn’t without effort, or… help.” You think of Aaron in your bedroom, who has been nothing but patient and kind and caring, who has been there through sleepless nights and self-doubt and you being, honestly, a little insufferable; the thought makes you smile. You loop an arm around his, lean against his shoulder. “Or the knowledge that what is meant to be will be. I was meant to love you, Spencer Reid—but only like this: friends, partners, bad movie buddies.”

“I like this,” he agrees, and you stand close until the kettle beeps. You prepare his tea, snap the lid on the cup, hand it over, and he leans down to press a kiss to your cheek. “Okay, I’m taking your advice. Wish me luck?”

“All the luck,” you say with a smile, and then you see him out, close and lock the door behind him. You make a second cup of tea—in an FBI mug, this time—and head back to your bedroom, press the cup into Aaron’s hand where he sits propped up against the pillows.

“Is everything alright?” he asks as you climb onto the bed, curl up against his side.

“I think so; I gave him some advice, he left in better spirits. Whether or not they can work it out is another story. He can take it from here, though.” Aaron takes a sip of tea, hands you the mug, and you take a sip and then set it on your bedside table. “I’m glad you didn’t leave,” you say softly when you turn back to him; you just look up at him for a moment, then wrap your fingers in his t-shirt, pull him close for a slow kiss. “I don’t ever want you to leave, you know?” You brush your nose along his, and he brings a hand to your cheek, kisses you back—it starts as something tender, but becomes steamier as it goes on, until you’re panting, breathless against each other’s lips.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he whispers, and you kiss again, a bit rougher, more desperate, pull his shirt over his head. You sweep your hands over his shoulders, his arms, brush one through his hair.

“Good. Don’t leave me.” You rise to your knees, untie your robe, and he gets his hands inside it, runs them over your body, pushes the robe off and onto the bed. He presses up to pull his boxers off, and you swing a leg over his, straddle his thighs, curl in to kiss him deeply, wet and messy. “Don’t leave me, Aaron,” you breathe, beg against his lips, and you lean forward to slip him inside.

You grip his shoulders, moan as you sink down, and work your hips, pressing kisses to his face and hair. His hands caress you, running up your back, gripping your hair where it falls over the back of your neck. “Oh, baby. Fuck,” he groans as you move up and down, and the hand on your back slides down to press against your ass, to encourage your quick, eager movements. “You’re so good; you feel so good. I’m here, I won’t leave you.”

“Hmm. And I’m yours, right daddy?” You look up at him, chest heaving, grip his hair at the back of his head, and he nods, moves his other hand to your ass as well and squeezes hard; you whimper, tip your head back, slam down roughly.

“You’re mine, kitten, all mine; you belong to daddy.”

“Oh, fuck yes. Yes.” You moan, lean back in his lap, press your hands against his legs, and ride him hard; nothing has ever sounded better than his groans, looked better than his face while you fuck like you haven’t already gotten off twice by his perfect body tonight.

You let your hair fall back, bring a hand up to rest on his flexing stomach, and he surprises you by running his hands over your thighs, then your legs, pushing you up so you have to plant your feet against the bed. He wraps his big hands around your hips, takes control and moves your body up and down on his cock, your ass meeting his thighs with each of his thrusts. The new position means you’re leaned back further than before, and that he can see everything—your blissed out face, bouncing breasts, your pussy as it hugs him, enveloping him in tight, wet heat.

“Daddy’s good girl, fucking so pretty,” he grinds out, and you just hold onto his legs, moan while he works to bring you both off. “Come on my cock, baby, all over it. Give it to me.”

“Oh, god. Yes, daddy. I will, I will.” Your head drops back, exposing your throat, and you swallow hard, whine your impatience. You want to please him and find release, and it’s frustrating but so fucking sexy, the position he’s put you in. “Harder, please, please.”

“Harder? Are you sure you can take it?” He slams you down roughly, thrusts up faster, and you tremble both with effort and pleasure, press your nails against his thighs.

“I can take it, I can take you. Feels so good.” You’re breaking a sweat, can feel it prickling at the nape of your neck, behind your knees, and you bounce in his hands, clamp tight, nearly sigh in relief when your orgasm is just out of reach. “I’m gonna come, daddy, gonna come on your cock—oh, fuck. Fuck.”

“Yes, baby, just like that.”

Your climax is powerful, lengthy, and Aaron is loving it if the tightened grip on your hips, the low groans of pleasure are any indication. You don’t have it in you to help anymore, too worn out, but he continues to move your body until he comes, and you stare down at him, satisfied and out of breath and ridiculously—surprisingly—in love.

Oh, fuck. Three weeks go by, and you don’t talk about it—with anyone. It eats at you, and you simultaneously want to scream it from the rooftops and hide it in the dark and hope that the feelings pass.

You love Aaron. You’re in love with Aaron. Your best friend, friend with benefits, the man you suddenly on a whim decided to call daddy because you just can’t get enough of him: of his strong hands, soft hair, lips and voice and just… everything.

You’re not sure when exactly your feelings for Spencer went away, but it’s like they drifted off silently into the night, only to be gradually replaced by sharing big breakfasts and a hot coffee on your desk and wearing his flannel pajama pants just because they’re comfy and lazy morning sex on the weekends—

—are you dating Aaron? Because friends with benefits doesn’t feel like coming home to just the right person at the end of the day, like you missed him even though you work together. It doesn’t feel like desperation, like a need to know you belong in his arms, like a confirmation that he’s here because he wants to be, not just because you asked him to be.

Things haven’t really changed since that night—you still go to one of your apartments after work, have dinner, have sex some evenings or just relax others, sleep together every night—but you’re so nervous you’re going to slip up and say or do something to clue him in that you’re almost always on edge now. He notices, because he notices things, and because he notices you.

“What’s got you acting so odd lately?” he asks softly in your ear while you cuddle on the couch, reading, your back against his arm, legs stretched out in front of you. You’d like to crawl into his lap, wrap his arms around you, breathe against his neck, but you settle for this because it’s a little more manageable.

“Odd? Me?” He curls his arm around your chest, rests a hand gently on your throat. There’s no pressure, it’s just a soft claim, but it makes your heart beat fast.

“Yes, baby. You’ve been quiet. You haven’t flipped a page in a while. Is something on your mind?”

“Not really,” you murmur, and he taps a few fingers against the side of your neck.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” It’s soft, not a line your daddy expects parroted back to him, but a question Aaron feels the need to ask. You bring a hand up to rest on his arm, something of a hug.

“I’m just thinking. Enjoying sitting here with you.” You tip your head back to look at him, and he leans down to kiss your mouth, slowly, deeply, squeezing your throat just a little. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy, cared for, and a little turned on. “Are you enjoying me?”

“I always enjoy you,” he says quietly, brings his other hand to your cheek to cradle your face. “Just making sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” you whisper, looking up at him, into his deep, curious eyes—he seems to know there’s something more, but he also seems to know now’s not the time. “Do you want to go to bed?”

He nods, and you both get up, tidy up the living room, turn off the lights. When you climb into bed, you just kiss, for what feels like hours, curled up around him, skin on skin. Your next case takes you to Portland, where you are tasked with building a profile for a serial arsonist. It’s not going well.

“We’ve been over this,” Derek says, running a hand over his head. “The motives for arson are simple: vandalism, crime concealment, political statement, profit, and revenge.” You stand in front of a whiteboard with your arms crossed; the words he just said are already scrawled across it in your handwriting, in green dry erase marker.

“Well we’re missing something, so let’s go over it again. There have been no signatures, no hits on social media, nothing sent to the news outlets, so we’re not thinking ‘political statement.’” You draw a line through the words.

“No connection between the buildings, so we’ve all but removed ‘revenge’ from the list,” Emily adds, and you draw a line through that one too.

“Second building had no insurance, was taken over by the city—no one profited from that,” Penelope adds from the speakerphone. You strike it out, sigh.

“That leaves vandalism and crime concealment.”

“Nothing was found at any of the scenes to indicate crime concealment, but it is possible,” Derek reminds you; that one stays on the board. Emily taps her pen against her notepad, looks up at you with a cocked brow and points to the board.

“We’re forgetting one. Hero syndrome: when a firefighter or other first responder sets the fires with the intent of returning to help put them out.” You quickly scribble it on the board.

“So we know that in most instances, those who engage in acts of arson due to hero syndrome have had some type of failed attempt at heroism in the past, be it a botched detective exam, dishonorable military discharge…”

“What about someone who failed out of the arson investigator program?” Penelope asks, keys clacking in the background. “I have an Alexander Carter who works for the Portland Fire Department who has failed out of the program—wow, a whopping six times.”

“Could be he’s trying to prove what an asset he’d be,” Emily proposes, and you turn to jot it down, then freeze.

“Did you say Carter? Alex Carter,” you repeat, and she hums.

“Yes, Alexander Carter, age 30, 5’11”, 200 lbs, brown hair, brown eyes.” You cross the room in a hurry, search your jacket pockets for your cell phone, and Derek stands almost immediately.

“What is it?” he asks, and Emily and Penelope echo his question.

“Hotch and Spencer are with Alex Carter right now. They’re checking out the last scene, the one where the fire went out on its own and didn’t spread. The one that failed.” You look up at him, hold your phone up to your ear, dialing Aaron. It rings and then goes to voicemail three times before going straight to voicemail the fourth. Derek tries Spencer, but his goes to voicemail right away. “We have to go there. Fuck. Garcia, what’s the address again?”

The three of you rush out of the conference room, passing JJ, who gets a brief rundown from Emily and offers to stay back to keep an ear out in case they call. You, Emily, and Derek strap on your vests, and Derek drives—Speed Racer may be useful right now, but your hands are trembling. You sit on them so no one sees.

The building is up in flames when you arrive, and there are firefighters on scene as well as police, EMS… and the coroner.

“Where are they?” you all but scream at the detective. He stands, hands on his hips, shakes his head, and your throat goes dry. “God damn it. Say something. Where are our men?”

“Where do you think they are?” He gestures to the smoldering storefront, and you take a calm, measured breath and step away from him; nothing you say will do you any good, only serve to get you in trouble, and it’s not his fault anyway, not really. You try the fire chief, hope you don’t sound like you’re pleading when you ask him for news.

“My people are working hard to put the fire out; we don’t know the extent of it. We can’t say for sure,” he says, and it’s kind, but firm. Not a guarantee. Derek finds you, puts a hand on your arm, and you look up at him like he’s going to have the answers to this. Someone has to, right?

“We just have to wait,” he says, soothing, and even though you know he’s just trying to help, you could punch him in the face; it’s an unfamiliar feeling, not something you’ve ever felt when faced with Derek Morgan. You shake your head.

“Wait? Wait for what, for—for them to be pulled out in body bags? I can’t wait, I won’t wait. I’ve waited long enough as it is,” you mutter under your breath, turning away. You stare at the flaming storefront, trying to formulate a plan that doesn’t end with Derek tackling you before you can get close enough to call for them, but you can’t come up with anything, and it’s not necessary anyway: less than ninety seconds later, Aaron and Spencer come around from the back of the building, looking a little worse for wear, but not as bad as Alex Carter, who is badly burned on the left side of his face.

You are so relieved you could pass out, and it’s an honest to goodness miracle that you don’t. They get Carter to the ambulance, where the EMTs begin to treat him, and then they walk toward you.

You can’t help it, your feet move without you, bridging the distance, and you crash into Aaron, nearly knocking him over; you cling to his shirt and inhale the scent of smoke and cologne, listen to his heartbeat, think the words you’ve been so afraid to say out loud.

He holds you tightly, one hand on the back of your neck, murmurs words in your ear that you can’t make out; when Derek and Emily come over, you snap out of it, grab Spencer by the shoulder and pull him in too, and the five of you form a group hug and you are not the only one to cry.

You go back to the hotel so everyone can shower, wash away the soot; you would have preferred being able to shower with Aaron, to move your hands over his body and see for yourself that he is unharmed, to wash the stale scent of smoke from his hair, but that’s just not possible. You settle for a text that tells you he’s okay, he’s just tired and ready to go home with you—home, which is apparently wherever you are, whichever apartment you are making noise in, taking up space in, wherever you are leaving half empty cups of tea.

You’ve never wanted to kiss him so badly in your life, but the flight from Portland to Virginia is five hours long and almost torture. He sits next to you on the plane, which doesn’t usually happen, and he does paperwork, brushes his free hand against yours occasionally. You drift in and out of consciousness, so tired from the emotions of the day, and before you know it Aaron is smoothing his hand over your head to wake you up.

He drives you to his apartment, stopping only to pick up takeout from your favorite Indian place—the bags are abandoned on the kitchen counter, though, because the moment you are behind closed doors, everything changes.

You kiss him like it will be the last time—and maybe it will be, considering what you plan to say—your hands in his hair, breath on his lips, the taste of him on your tongue. This could be like Spencer all over again; you hadn’t realized then just how not on the same page the two of you had been, not even on the same chapter, maybe in a whole different book, so what makes this any different? What you have come to realize is love could just be comfortable, guaranteed sex to Aaron, and if he turns you down too, you’ll probably give up on all of it.

You move to the bedroom with the practiced motions of a couple who has walked this walk many times before, but this time it feels different. It feels like matching energies, like emotions that have been tamped down and are now allowed to be fully expressed, fully exposed.

Aaron gets you out of your clothes first, with sure, gentle hands, and then you strip him slowly, look him over the way you wish you could have earlier. You touch his arms, his chest, his stomach, then bend to run your hands over his legs, his feet.

“You’re whole. You’re here,” you murmur when you stand, and he takes your face in his hands, presses his lips to yours again and again.

“I told you I wouldn’t leave you; I meant it.” You wet your lips, look up at him, exhale softly. After a sentence like that, what the hell are you waiting for?

“I love you.” His eyes search your face, and you release one soft sob before he pushes you back onto the bed, covers you with his body, kisses you deeply, wet and passionate.

“I love you—fuck, I love you,” he breathes, his hands in your hair, on your face, and then he reaches down to grab your wrists and hold them above your head. You gasp, shudder, spread your legs for him, and he weaves a hand between your bodies, roughly rubs your clit. “Going to fuck you so good. So good.”

He stares down at you, wrists clasped in one hand, the other working to bring you close, or off, you’re not sure; you ache to touch him, but since you can’t you just breathe a little harder, hitch your knees up higher, give yourself to him.

“Please, daddy,” you sigh, and he knows what you want, guides his cock inside you and then slams it all the way in, so deep that you’re overcome by the feeling of fullness and your eyes water. It’s not pain, or even really pleasure, though it does feel good, but more like… completeness. Like you were made for each other in all the ways that count.

He thrusts into you hard, his knees digging into the bed, and you take kisses when he offers them, moan when he doesn’t, struggle against his grip on your wrists just to feel him tighten it. He pounds his hips roughly against you, uses his free hand to squeeze your ass, then your breast, and then finally, eventually, your throat.

He hovers over you, panting, staring down like he’s viewing a masterpiece and not looking at your sweaty, overheated face. “Can I have you? All of you?” He glides the hand from your throat down to your chest, rests it just over your heart, and you nod, surge up to meet him for a kiss.

“All of me—all of me.” He releases your arms, plants his hands against the bed and fucks you hard, and you slide your hands up his back, pull him down so he’s fully on top of you, heavy and solid and strong. “Take me, Aaron, I’m yours. Take me.” You lift your legs, knees almost up to his armpits, and he holds your hips, kisses you deeply, messy, pumps inside and then comes murmuring your name into your hair. You clutch him, buck desperately against him, mouth at his shoulder, and he shushes you softly, brushes his palm over your hot cheek.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he says with a kiss, and then he slides an arm around your lower back, tilts your hips up, grinds inside until you come digging your fingertips into his sides.

He rests your body against the bed, drapes himself over you, moves his mouth slowly up and down the side of your throat; you wrap your arms around his shoulders, and he presses a hand to the back of your neck, holds you close to him. After a few minutes, he speaks, low, into your ear.

“So this is why you’ve been so…”

“Odd?” you say with a smile, and he tilts his head so he can see you, smiles too, kisses you on the lips.

“Yes. Odd. Because you love me?” You shift slightly, pull back so you can see him better, card your fingers through his hair.

“Not because I love you, because I was afraid to tell you I love you.” He makes a face like that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, and you brush your thumb over the ridge of his ear. “I’m not sure if you remember this,” you begin, softly sarcastic, “but I recently told Spencer that I loved him, and it didn’t go over very well. I was scared that could happen with you, too. It was easier to just enjoy what we had.”

He looks over your features, sighs lightly.

“Do you remember the night you stayed late at the office to help me with the records retention? We ordered pizza and you raided Rossi’s office for liquor.”

“Yes, and it was very expensive Scotch and it went very well with my veggie pizza. You smiled more that night than I’d ever seen,” you say, almost dreamily; you’re such a goner for him, now—it’s like letting yourself tell him was the last straw, and now the floodgates are open and your affection pours out of you, thick and sweet and sappy. You press a palm to his cheek, and he covers it with his hand.

“That was the night I realized I was in love with you.” You look up, think back, try to place that night on the calendar.

“That was six months ago. Right?” He nods, slow and steady.

“Yes, six months ago. Two months after that, I… miscalculated. I got it in my head that you and Reid were in a relationship. I tried to pull back, give you space, but you never seemed to want that, so I selfishly continued to spend time with you.” You curl around him, press close for several soft, slow kisses, lightly tug at his hair.

“Well, that explains why you were so confused when I told you what happened with Spencer. Why you thought you couldn’t talk to me. Silly.”

“I just wanted to do the right thing. You were happy, and I thought it was because of him.” That makes you frown, and you think of what happened that night after Spencer’s, how you came here, broken down about being rejected by another man, and Aaron, who was in love with you, was so kind and gracious and sweet, put your pieces back together. You don’t deserve him, or any of it.

“I was happy. I’m happier now,” you whisper, because any louder and you wouldn’t be able to get the words out over the lump in your throat. “And I am so in love with you.”

“I’m happier now, too,” he says, hovering over your lips, “and so in love with you.” Saturday morning is for sleeping in as long as your bodies will allow—that only ends up being 8:30, but it still feels indulgent—and puttering around Aaron’s apartment, stealing kisses because you can’t so much as brush past him without his arms winding around your waist, without wanting to push your hands up the back of his shirt and hug him.

You both get a text at noon, from Penelope, stating under no uncertain terms that the team will be meeting at a bar you frequent, at 9 PM, and that everyone is expected to attend—significant others are not only welcomed, but encouraged.

“So. If you’re alright with it,” Aaron says when he’s driving to your place—he’s dressed and ready, looks handsome in a navy shirt with his sleeves rolled up, top button undone, but you didn’t have anything appropriate to wear, so you’re heading home to change your clothes. “This could be an easy way to tell the team we’re in a relationship.”

You don’t think it will be particularly easy, especially not for you, because you’ll be hounded for information all night, but the timing is convenient, and you just love to hear him say that you’re in a relationship, so you agree. You change, head to the bar, and when you meet up, Penelope and Emily are already there.

“Hey, guys,” you say as you hug Emily, and then Penelope. “Just the two of you so far?”

“Just us single ladies,” Emily says with a sip of her drink. “You didn’t bring the boyfriend? I thought we were finally going to meet the man who’s been putting a smile on your face,” she says with a grin of her own, and you shrug your shoulders, wrap your arm around Aaron’s.

“Actually, I did.” They both look at you, at Aaron, between you, then at each other, and then they aww in unison. You turn to him, smile, and he offers to go for drinks, excuses himself with a soft look and a brush of his hand.

“Holy shit,” Penelope says, and you can’t help the smile that takes over your face.

“Yeah, I know.” Well, that was a wild ride! Thanks again @ssamorganhotchner for the prompt—I know I changed a lot of it, omitted some things, but this is what happened when my fingers hit the keys! 🤣 Taglist 🤍: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream @unicornprancing @uchihasteph @mugi-chwan95 @madamsnape921