#my inability to keep it short and sweet is SO frustrating

[lostinlewis]

can we do “I miss you sex” or “after fight sex”

Hehe It is hard to decide which one I want more...

Mature - After fight sex

Words: 1.2k

“I said I’m sorry, what more do you want from me?”

You answered his attitude with a slam of the kitchen cabinet, you were not about to give him the attention he so desperately sought from you, it was too late for that. 

“Baby, please…” 

It was only as you felt his hand slide around the small of your back that you snapped, shrugging him off of you, recoiling like his touch made you sick, you finally looked at him, although when he saw your expression you were sure he would wish you hadn’t. 

“Do not baby me, Lewis. I told you to leave me alone.” 

You looked at him as if he was anyone else in the world, you looked at him with disappointment in your eyes, with a sadness that only the strongest of loves could conjure, you looked at him with a gaze that attempted to penetrate his skin with a thousand words you tried hard to not say, knowing always that you had a way of saying the most vicious things when you were angry, whether you meant them or not. 

“And I told you that I’m not going to, you can tell me to leave a hundred times but I’m not going to.” 

“Whatever Lewis, I’m done here.” 

You tried to walk past him, you tried to stay strong, but the very moment you almost passed him he grabbed your wrist, turning you back around to face him. 

“We can’t keep doing this, YOU can’t keep doing this…I have told you I love you, I have told you that it will only ever be you, yet every time I am pictured next to a woman you doubt me.” 

You tried to shake off his grip on your wrist yet it only made him hold on tighter.

“How would you like it if you opened up Instagram or Twitter and saw images of me with other men? What if the roles were reversed and you saw a video of me in a club with a man who stood a little too close to me whilst I had my top half off.”

Lewis smiled and you felt a rage burn so hot within you, you thought you might explode. 

“You think this is funny? Fuck you Lewis, Fuck you.” 

It was that rage that gave you the strength to wriggle loose from his grip, turning quickly on your heels you tried to leave once more. 

“No baby, wait…wait…It’s not funny, I would hate it…” 

This time he held you by your waist and you felt a familiar tingle, a tingle that was born from his touch, a tingle that made it impossible for you to do anything but listen to him. 

“I would hate it if I saw a man next to you, I do hate it when I see man next to you, but I would also remember that you love me, that you would never betray me, that no matter what those men said to you, how those men looked, they would never…ever…” 

Lewis moved closer to you as you anticipated his next words, a smile on his face as if he knew he was about to win this one, until he stood in silence in front of you for a second before dropping to his knees. 

“...be able to make you moan like I can.” 

As if you could do nothing but prove him right, the very second he pulled your shorts to the side and buried his tongue against your clit, you let out the loudest sweetest moan, your knees buckling in an instance, held up only by his hands on your ass. 

Lewis licked at your clit with a point to prove, you tried your hardest to not give him the satisfaction of your pleasure filled sounds yet the more you held them in the harder he made it for you. 

It was effortless how he carried you to the counter top, placing you so gently down on it, he never once stopped eating your pussy as you moved. Once he had you in place, once he had full access to every single part of the pussy he loved to devour, he really made the most of it. 

The sounds of him lapping at your clit, sucking at the wetness of your folds, his soft humming moans from how much he loved eating your pussy, rang through the air. You struggled against your moans, knowing that every sound that left your lips would tell him of your forgiveness when you wasn’t quite ready for that yet, but Lewis made it so hard for you to keep quiet, he battled your stubbornness with his tongue, his powerful, magical tongue, and soon he had you teetering on the edge of the most earth shattering of all orgasms. 

“Let go, baby…let me make you feel so good…” 

Lewis hummed the words against your clit as he felt how tense you were as you tried so hard to hold back. You were winning and he hated it, he needed you to feel how sorry he was and the only way he knew how to do that was with an orgasm. 

Standing back up to your level, he panted breathlessly just as hard as you did as both gazed unsatisfied. 

“You’re such a stubborn girl, such a stubborn girl…” 

You were so hypnotised by the glistening of juices in his beard, you hadn’t even noticed that he was carefully undoing his belt until the very moment you heard it drop to the floor. 

He saw your eyes widen with anticipation, a knowing of what was to come next, an understanding that within a few minutes he would win this argument and you would be forced to forgive him. 

“...you don’t wanna let me taste your orgasm tonight? Fine, but you will give it to me regardless.” 

Before the last words left his lips he pushed inside of you, bottoming out within you with such force it was only the wall behind you that held you in place. 

No longer could you hold in your moans, not now that he stretched you out with his thickness, you were powerless to him, awash with pleasure in an instant as he pounded you with every intent of making you crumble within minutes. 

“I love you baby, I love you…only you…only ever you…” 

His voice was gruff now, hoarse from the intensity of which he fucked you. This was for you, every single stroke was for your pleasure only and you knew it too. 

“Please baby, let me have it…please…” 

His pleas were for a mercy that meant so much more than the orgasm you permitted him, as you crumbled underneath his weight, screaming out pleasure filled moans into the air, you knew his pleas were weighted in a need for you to forgive him for a crime he was mostly innocent of. 

Most other men would have carried on until they finished too, but not Lewis. That was for you, that was all for you, and the very moment he knew that you were satisfied entirely he pulled out of you and hugged you into his chest to soothe you. 

“You’re my everything baby, don’t ever forget that.” 

[jacevelaryonswife]

Golden and Silver, my new colors | part five

“I don't want to continue being negligent, not to you, not to our child, not to us. You deserve more than I've been offered.”

∴pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Wife!reader

∴warnings and a note: slight angst, is there a light at the end of the tunnel?

golden and silver masterlist

You thought you'd get better sleep after Aemond leaves your chambers. Not only that, you also thought you'd feel better when you vocalized your torment directly to the main perpetrator. Two mistakes in a short amount of time. Your husband didn't stay in the room long after the fight, taking some of the thick, suffocating fog that formed with your harsh words. You didn't even know why so many tears gathered in your eyes and fell like a sizable rain. What was the problem? Some of the weight was finally lifted from your shoulders and thrown to the wind (or to Aemond). You wanted to say all that, there was no doubt about that, so why was your heart so heavy?

Why did it take him so long to apologize? Why do we only worry after the loss?

There was no doubt about the reasons that made you sad, but you thought that due to your new condition of confronting your problems on an equal basis with the causers, such feelings would no longer affect you. You were wrong again. Why couldn't he be a better husband sooner? Why didn't he care? Why didn't you deserve attention and dedication?

The same anguish, unhappiness and knot that made your chest cold and your head spin returned in that moment, bringing the question that it would be easier to give in to him, to them. But then again, why did everything depend on sacrifice? Haven't you tried hard enough? Haven't you tried hard enough for him?

For him, you were crying for him, because of him, why he wasn't able to try to love you.

That night you cried yourself to sleep, fitful and restless, but your pain was shared with someone on the other side of the red fortress: your husband.

Aemond didn't want to hold back the frustration that burned every part of his body from the inside out, so after leaving your chambers in heavy strides the one-eye principle made his way to the training yard to release the turmoil that filled it. He was aware of the negligent posture he adopted from the first moment, the intentional lack of interest, the inability to return affection, heavens, he knew that you, his sweet lady didn’t deserve such treatment and that only his attitude changed when your pregnancy was announced. He knew that he had been a flawed and neglectful husband, his conscience didn’t leave him unharmed in this regard. However, knowing about it didn't compare to being told by his wife that he was the problem, that she didn't want the child in the womb, that she hated him.

You hated him.

The feeling alone sank him further.

Hate was what he felt for Lucerys and Jacaerys Velaryon, for his at times father, for Aegon at times, for life, for being the second son...

He hated many things, but not you. He never hated you.

However, what had he done to receive your love or any minimally good feeling? Where’s the duty? Where’s sacrifice?

You were right in your previous statements. He was the problem, and he hated it.

Fetching one of the straw forms the children used for training, Aemond positioned it in the middle of the courtyard before picking up his sword, not caring about shredding the material with heavy blows for long minutes, nor the noise he was making — although he hated to be caught in such a situation. However, his flaming shadow did not go unnoticed by the restless corridors of the Red Keep, especially by one of his grandfather's spies, Otto Hightower, who had watched intently the earlier movement in the King's hall. A man like him couldn't afford such a scandal or a dysfunctional family, especially losing support at a time as critical as this one.

“My prince,” he announced his presence, bringing Aemond to a halt — still with his back turned.

“Grandfather,” he lowered his head subtly, dropping his sword to the ground before turning away.

“Marriage problems?”

He didn't answer, still looking down, breaking continuity.

“Women can be exceptionally sensitive sometimes, especially during pregnancy, but you as a husband must resolve this situation, and you know that. Is not so hard as seems, just soothe her, please her, captivate the passion between you.”

“I don't think she has an interest in that."

“She doesn’t have?"

"… I tried."

“And how long did she try?” Otto inquired. “How long did you try to claim a dragon before you conquered Vhagar? Has the idea of giving up ever crossed your mind? No, because you’re not a quitter, and you’re not giving up on your marriage.”

“And what am I supposed to do? Because do I think she isn’y interested in my apologies?” Aemond asked irritably.

“Of course she is. Women can be prouder than you think. She's hurt, give it time to heal, but don't be negligent.”

And how was he supposed to do that? It was what the prince wanted to ask, but he was too proud to ask. But what noble person wasn't?

“Know her tastes, be participatory, invite her to fly, you’re the smartest, for sure must find good alternatives to reverse the situation.”

Looking at the elder for the first time, Aemond nodded mutely. Watching him go with a condescending smile. Although he was obstinate to learn new things, it seemed too complicated to get into your cocoon, into your mind, to discover your desires and flaws, your expectations and secrets. Even though he was scared, angry, and guilty, the one-eye prince was a persistent man. After mulling over his next steps, he returned more calmly to your chambers, watching a few figures along the corridor and ignoring them. Aemond had long ago promised himself not to let himself be affected by anyone, or to show vulnerability, but between us, for a person on the threshold between reason and reaction it was a difficult duty, so when he stood in his white clothes of bed and lay down next to you, he moved closer than he should have to your body, one hand brushing back the hair that covered your face.

He wouldn't waste any more time, not anymore.

“You were right about what you said, about everything you said. After your pregnancy I decided to try to be a better husband, it was unfair with your efforts. You were also right about me being the problem with this all happening. I don't want to continue being negligent, not to you, not to our child, not to us. You deserve more than I've been offered,” he said, as low as a whisper, “I know you don't want me, but please, I can't take peace knowing I've failed you, my lady wife.”

In something he didn't know how to recognize, in a need for comfort he didn't know he needed to receive, Aemond hugged your body from behind and buried his face in your hair, getting so close to you that he almost shivered. Although he was stubborn, he didn't know what to do to break through the barrier of pain that protected and afflicted your heart. How could he make you forgive him? How could he prove himself worthy of your trust?

“I'm so sorry,” he said again, confiding in you before closing his eyes.

“Thank you.”

You said sleepily, confused about what to feel, confused about the tightness in your chest, confused about him. You still harbored resentment and sadness over him, unhappiness at it’s most palpable. Where was the hatred that burned just hours ago? Where was all your fury?

Your response startled him, causing him to stiffen fully behind you, body tense as if he'd done something forbidden.

“But be assured I won't make it easy for you, settle for less than I deserve, deal with your cold shoulder again, husband, or you can be sure I'll never speak to you again. Maybe this is a chance, I don't know yet, but don't make me regret it.”

He wondered at all times if he should get away from you, respect your space, respect your pain, but he didn't want to, didn't want to be away from the warmth of your skin and the human comfort he didn't know he needed for so long.

“I won't, my lady, I won't. I swear to you, I won't let you down again.”

That was the first night of sleep that your bodies were together, just as it should be. And luckily or not, you both slept better after that.

The next morning, you’re slow to wake up, feeling deathly tired and not wanting to get up. He was still hugging you like a cat even though he was awake.

It didn't take long for you to ruminate over last night's events. Confused about what you should do with your wounded pride and bruised heart. You believed you’d never forgive him, but there you were, considering a chance to honor his word. Much for his honesty in confirming his mistakes and shortcomings towards you. Perhaps it was the pregnancy symptoms, as the meisters spoke earlier, or perhaps it was just your old submissiveness wanting you to accept crumbs. No, you wouldn't take that again.

“Good morning,” he said, you didn't answer.

Your breathing was deep, sitting up in bed as you considered what should do, looking at the ethereal form of your husband with the white-robed. He was a very handsome man, but that didn't make you stay in bed, getting up to walk to the breakfast table. He followed calmly when he saw you sit down, taking the place in front of him. It wasn't his intention to smother you, but he just wanted to show that he was trying.

“I waited until you woke up so we could have breakfast,” he said.

You nodded silently at first, followed by a low thank you, before looking up at him. Although none of you fully understood what the weight in both eyes meant, it didn't go unnoticed by you.

“May I hold your hand?” He asked.

You nodded again.

“I want you to know that I meant all that yesterday. I don't intend to let you down again.”

“Why?"

You asked, unable to keep it up any longer.

“Why didn't you do this sooner?” Completed.

He lowered his gaze, running his thumb over your hand. “Because I was stupid. It was not my wish to marry now, even though I agreed to do my duty. I also didn't want to let anyone get too close to me, so I just… did what I did. I knew it was wrong, I always had, but it didn't stop me anyway. I know it's contradictory to say that it wasn't my intention to hurt you so deeply when I saw that frustrated and helpless look in each new approach, but I never wanted things to come to this, I never wanted to leave you like this.

You took a deep breath, letting out a long sigh. “That was all I wanted to hear a few weeks ago, many weeks in fact. I really tried for you, Aemond, and I can't say I don't understand your limitations on opening up, but do you know how tiring it was to deal with a cold steel I call a husband? You never gave me a break, and even I should remedy the situation, keep humiliating myself, because it's a wife's duty to keep her husband in love,” you said. “I just got tired. I lived a life of subservience and 4 months were enough to break all of that, everything involving our marriage was actually enough. That's not all bad, because of that I allowed myself to feel things beyond the call of duty, not to accept your apology right away and not to live in your shadow as a squire. I don't know if I can forgive you, because it's still a wound so raw and fresh, so exposed and painful, I know I can't forgive you now. But maybe, maybe I can give it a chance.”

His heart heated aggressively and his breathing became ragged, closing his eye before stating, "And I will wait patiently, my lady."

taglist: @immyowndefender @arcielee @malfoytargaryen @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @fan-goddess @dark-night-sky-99 @siriusdumblittlepuppy @let-love-bleeds-red @sassysaxsolo @cicaspair418 @yentroucnagol @mefools @risefallrise @auratiqs @glitterandgoldfinds @bellaisasleep @plzletmedaydream @padfooteyes @bellameshipper @zillahvathek @schniiipsel @little-duck @dc-marvel-girl96 @nina2697 @kaemond-zafiro @the-hufflebird-girl @panagiasikelia @whatsonthemirror @namgification @minttea07 @crazymusicgirl104 @sahvlren @aemonds-fire

[stomach-bugg09]

what about neteyam bringing home someone (romantic) and fali and y/n just teasing the shit out of them in front of the family😭😭

summary: [y/n] knows neteyam’s big secret.

a/n: okay i’m actually crying this is so short but so sweet. like not only does it embody fali and [y/n]’s dynamic , but it’s a strong example of how much [y/n] loves her baby siblings. she would do anything for them , despite how much she teases them. i hope you all enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing !! reblogs + feedback are always appreciated !!

tags: @rafeslovergirl @wxnderingthoughts @liyahsocorro @bonnibuckets @hjkshshjkhklhkl @itssiaaax @grierpilots @fleurbeass @23victoria @nyotamalfoy

warnings: literally nothing, sm fluff, the cutest thing i have possibly ever written, healthy sibling relationships

words: 895 ( sorry y’all , it’s much shorter than i meant , but i didn’t wanna ruin it by adding too much !! )

baby brother’s got a girl

not once in her life could [y/n] have imagined any of her baby brothers bagging a girl.

sure, they had their father’s genes, but they also had their father’s stupidity, a trait that was communicated through their inability to woo any girl their age. trust me when i say that [y/n] has witnessed a multitude of failed attempts, especially back when they still lived in high camp.

as long as she knew her brothers, which was for about fourteen to sixteen years—roughly—she also knew they were a hot commodity based on their mere titles as the sons of the toruk makto. that always crashed and burned as soon as they talked due to the unfortunate fact that boys were just too awkward to flirt back.

that’s why [y/n] was absolutely floored when she found out lo'ak's attempts with tsireya were actually successful.

hey, she supposed. anything can happen in awa’atlu, right? i mean, i found love, which was thought impossible just a year ago.

but, there was a difference between impossible and just out of this goddamn world. it was just a few days ago that [y/n] realized, not only did lo’ak have a girl of his own, but neteyam did.

neteyam, of course, had no idea that [y/n] knew. he was trying to keep it a secret. only until they were, well, official past the mutual flirting stage. he also thought that he was being sly… he was not!

it was one night when, after neytiri and jake left to go meet up with some of the clan’s adults for some social thing ( the metkayina loved to party ), neteyam quietly tip-toed past where [y/n] laid stretched out on the ground, admiring the ceiling in complete and utter boredom.

“where are you going, bro?” [y/n] sat up with a grin.

he froze immediately, eyes closing in frustration. “uh, just… out.” neteyam slowly turned towards her with an innocent smile.

“out?” she questioned, eyes widening in amusement. when he only nodded, she pushed herself up off the ground, standing on her two feet. “so, this has nothing to do with ipey?”

“shit,” he cursed, head dropping in defeat.

“ahah!” [y/n] declared, pointing at him. at the sound of the rest of their siblings shifting in their sleep, she immediately quieted down. “ahah,” she repeated in a whisper.

“[y/n],” he bagged quietly, walking towards her and grabbing her shoulders. “please do not tell anyone. please!” neteyam pulled her in, nose to nose, and [y/n] had to keep herself from breaking into laughter. “i do not need mom and dad up my ass about this right now.”

[y/n] bit her bottom lip in amusement. “aw, poor baby boy and his private life.” neteyam only gave her an unamused look. “okay, okay!” [y/n] stepped backwards, hands raised in mock defense. “your secret’s safe with me.”

“thank you,” neteyam breathed out, relief flooding his voice.

“but!” he looked back up, eyes flaring in concern. “only if you don’t mind fali and me just… taking a casual stroll on the beach, maybe keeping an eye out for disobedient teenagers.”

“are you kidding?”

[y/n] only smiled. “not in the slightest!” at that, fali stepped out from the doorway where he’d been standing for the past few minutes to listen to the discussion.

“don’t worry, bud, we’re just gonna be out there to keep our favorite sully boy from doing anything gross.” fali grinned deviously.

at the same time that neteyam protested, “you are disgusting,” lo’ak’s voice called from where he slept. “hey!”

neteyam’s jaw-dropped at that. “now lo’ak knows?”

[y/n] only laughed. “oh, please, he already knew.”

“yeah!” he yelled from the back of the marui. “i’m the one who told [y/n] and fali in the first place.”

“he also told the rest of us,” kiri mumbled with a tired huff. tuk hummed in agreement.

neteyam dropped his head in defeat. “i hate all of you. like, every single one of you. so, so much.”

“aw, you don’t mean that, little brother!” [y/n] cried teasingly as he spun around and stomped out the door. “you love us!”

“stay safe, make good choices!” fali echoed, the couple laughing as he only shook his head, shoulders tense and full of annoyance.

they only watched from the dock as he made his way across the beach, disappearing once he turned the corner. [y/n] smiled from where she leaned against fali, his arm wrapped around her in comfort.

“you think he’s gonna be okay?” fali wondered quietly.

[y/n] only chuckled. “i hope so. i cannot handle a heart-broken neteyam. that would be, like, the worst thing in the entire world.”

“is it because you love your brother so much?” fali teased.

“uh, no,” she replied dryly. “it’s because i don’t want to deal with tears and snot.”

fali dropped her head back, letting out a loud stream of laughter at that. the vibrations of his chest sent a smile across [y/n]’s face, her body melting into his embrace even more.

“oh, please,” he whispered once he calmed down. “you would drop anything to make sure he’s okay.”

“i hate when you’re right.”

with that, he pressed a kiss on top of her head. “and yet, here we are.”

she nodded slowly, closing her eyes and leaning her head against him. “here we are.”

[mischievouslittlecreature]

hi there sweets. i love your story titled “love me where i’m most ruined” i think i’m somehow halfway through it cuz i’ve been binge reading like crazy! i have a question for you: would have thomas been able to keep going if it had been lucy the one who had been shot instead of grace? i often times find myself wondering that. i enjoy the throuple and how much love, respect, and communication is present there for one another, however a part of me is inclined towards the notion that lucy might have been a bit more important to him than grace was. especially when grace felt frustrated when she sensed thomas wouldn’t completely open up to her as he did with lucy. or maybe i’m just misinterpreting what you wanted to convey. thank you love for giving us such a great story! you’re an awesome writer! xo

Thank you so much, anon! 🖤 It always means the absolute world to me to hear that someone is enjoying my fics, especially this series, which is so near and dear to my heart.

As usual, I wrote a big 'ol essay in response to this because I am incapable of brevity and love to yap nonsensically about my OCs 😅

TW for suicide mention under the cut:

The short answer to your question is: no, I don't think he would have. Part of this is because I have very purposefully written Tommy and Lucy as being incapable of living without each other. Even before Grace's death, they were quite codependent (though this admittedly got much more pronounced after her death) and Tommy relied on her massively for so many things.

I could see him trying to keep going on for awhile after, for Charlie and Grace if not for anything else. But he would be a complete shell of himself, and what was left of him would start unraveling quickly. As much as I love her and her relationship with Tommy, I'm just not sure if Grace would have had to tools to be able to help him the way that Lucy could.

At the end of the day, Lucy is able to provide support and understanding to Tommy in a way that no one else can. I think that he truly feels like she is the only person in the world who actually loves him unconditionally. And I think that's part of why he's so much more willing to open up to her than a lot of the other characters in the series. Her ability to understand his thought processes, actions, and feelings without him even having to explain them to her a lot of the time is a huge part of why she's his main source of emotional support. Losing that would be crippling for him.

I think that Grace would try her best, and they both would be hurting hugely from the loss of Lucy. But as you said, Grace struggles more to understand him than Lucy did, and I think Tommy would grow frustrated at her not just being able to immediately tune-into him like Lucy could. And his PTSD symptoms would get worse, particularly his inability to stop working in an attempt to distract himself from the pain and grief. That would have caused conflict with Grace, especially long term.

I also could see him thinking that Grace and Charlie would be fine or even better off without him, and seriously contemplating and perhaps even going through with committing suicide.

Sorry for such a downer answer! 😭 You are right that generally speaking, I always have written Lucy as being Tommy's #1 person. It doesn't mean that he didn't love Grace and that she wasn't important to him, but Lucy is his soulmate.

Thank you again so much for reading and loving the series, anon! 😘

[gayferrari]

oh also!! sorry forgot - the inherent unequal distribution of power coming from liberty media (a media company, with big ability to sway public opinion and control the public narrative rather than a single person who can be held much more accountable (single person with a visible face vs faceless corporation with other links) means both races become more oriented toward spectacle (less likely to be safe) and if drivers attempt to use pr/social media/the press the controlling corporation is much more able to block any attempts.

even without double checking, liberty media is a big enough company that it almost certainly has inextricable links with, but not limited to, f1tv, sky sports, bbc, cnn, facebook, twitter, twitch, etc etc. obviously, the links to sky and cnn (i think that’s who broadcasts in america? correct me if i’m wrong) are very obvious, and f1tv even more so, as it is owned by fom (i think - i said i’m sleepy i’m v sorry) but no media company becomes big enough to buy formula one and motogp without some pretty strong business deals with the various other organisations i mentioned, plus every single major news outlet that reports on races and the drivers in the context of them being formula one drivers.

this means that, should drivers become frustrated at the lack of safety precautions (quatar, max & oscar & carlos & alex, the inability for any theoretically queer drivers to come out without losing their seat due to the entrenched homophobia etc of some countries) or by tracks becoming more dangerous (quatar! las vegas & bahrain ill prep, whichever bloody country wants a mario ramp) or by bullshit penalties (carlos, las vegas, drain cover complications), they have few ways of openly expressing this frustration in any kind of meaningful way if liberty feels the driver in question is attacking them, as they have the ability to force companies to not report on occasions or quell spread of outrage somewhat on social media. we know this because of the examples i’ve given up above - these are all relatively extreme, which tells us that more minor problems are being swept under the rug, and only very obvious issues are often reported on or talked about for a short amount of time.

i’d like to come back to the mario ramp and the drain covers as examples of memes being used to oversaturate the mainstream and so block out productive conversation and outrage over issues fans should be furious over - it’s one thing for the fia to not compensate fans over spa 2021, it’s another thing altogether for them to be risking driver’s lives on a giant ass curve in the sky that is several stories high. i swear to god if that ends up built i would not be surprised to see someone die there - all it takes is a wet race or a snap of over/understeer and a car is going off (think mark webber euro gp 2010, or numerous f2 accidents). also, the penalty for carlos after the management of las vegas and the fia hadn’t done their due diligence was fucking stupid. and the fact it happened again in testing in bahrain clearly demonstrates a worrying trend of circuits that are not up to standard being awarded the go ahead anyway.

and yet i’ve barely heard anything about either of these things recently, unless mentioned as a meme. this is a classic tactic used by companies looking to get people to forget about their fuck ups - by making something so laughable it’s no longer a concern.

so if drivers cannot expect the safety department to keep them safe, and cannot go to the media, what can they do? strike, and hope their teams will not replace them? or race anyway, and risk their lives, and risk their bodies (carlos could have been seriously, career-endingly affected by that drain cover) and risk thwir careers, and hope something happens.

(yeah, single, ur v sweet lmao)

[follow up to this ask; after last night's #driver safety talks asks!!! paging @sacharowan & @sistermclarens if u guys are interesting in more thoughts!]

I love a good rant in my inbox <3 I don't follow the PR / social media discussion around F1 enough to have a reasoned opinion about most of this but I will say fuck that shitty ass track in the sky, for real. I was surprised to see drivers post about it on social media, even if they were paid to, especially the younger guys who might have to end up racing there if the project doesn't change.

I think ESPN & ABC have the rights to F1 in the US fwiw!

[cat3ch1sm]

🌵| @gretavanheatabove bro i deleted ur motherfucking ask by accident-- kill me😐😐 but here's ur messy kurapika x reader friends 2 lovers! short(ish) and sweet<33 i will never get tired of writing for this man fr

"Kurapika, what's wrong?"

You and the man in question were sitting inside his apartment, doing one of your mutual favorite hobbies- sewing. A few months back, you and Kurapika had decided to take up a new activity together, and you had recently begun work on a large quilt that was going to depict DaVinci's famous painting "Starry Night." You two had been having a lot of fun making it despite being new at sewing and making lots of mistakes along the way. But in the two hours since you'd gone to Kurapika's house after your date, gushing about how lovely the garden you had gone to had been, Kurapika had barely stitched two threads, sitting on the couch beside you with his side of the unfinished quilt lying limply in his lap. You'd figured maybe he'd cheer up eventually, but to the contrary, Kurapika still sat there with an aloof expression on his face.

"Nothing's wrong, Y/N," Kurapika replied in a monotone voice for the tenth time. "Don't worry about it."

"That's the millionth time you've said that, Kurapika- I'm not accepting that answer anymore," you insisted, pushing your needle back into the tiny red pincushion on your lap. "You've been like this ever since I showed up- I'm starting to wonder if you'd rather me just leave."

Abruptly, Kurapika lifted his head up, making startlingly direct eye contact with you. "No- it's not you. I promise."

"Then what is it?" you pressed, giving Kurapika a look that plainly said you didn't intend to drop the subject until you got the answer you wanted. "You know, this wouldn't be the first time your mood is so sour. You're always like this lately, especially after I come back from a date or something-- I have to spend the whole day with you before you're as cheerful as you usually are."

Kurapika dropped his gaze at the word date, fidgeting with his sewing needles. Appalled, you kept staring at him- until you realized what exactly you'd just said.

Especially after I come back from a date or something...

Kurapika still didn't look up when you turned away slowly, your own eyes lowering as it dawned on you- the reason Kurapika had been so irritated lately. Your hands fell to your knees and you exhaled suddenly, blinking a few times in shock before facing Kurapika again, expression one of questioning realization. Sensing your eyes on him, the blonde-haired man looked up at you again, his own expression stoic yet one of conviction.

"Kurapika..." you began carefully, eyes shifting away from him once more. "Are you... jealous of my boyfriend?"

There was a long, silent pause before Kurapika answered, leaning forward and propping his chin up on his fist and staring straight ahead. "Look, Y/N..." he sighed, shutting his gray eyes for a brief moment before opening them and turning back towards you with a meaningful but frustrated expression. It surprised you; you didn't know what he would be frustrated about.

"I... I can't keep doing this."

You let out a sigh of your own and dropped your head to the side. "Doing what?" Your tone was exhausted and confused. You wanted answers- but not such obscure answers like the ones Kurapika was so infamous for giving. "I'm not understanding."

Now he outright groaned, and your eyes widened. "It's just so... maddening. Every time you come to see me, talking about your dates, I just get so angry. I don't feel like he deserves you. You need someone who's more. More than just sweet little nothings and occasional texts."

Your lips parted in surprise, your attention fully on him now. Was he really saying this? "Kurapika, what-"

"When you first started dating him, I became angry at myself. Angry at my cowardice, angry at my inability to tell you how I felt for so long." Kurapika's eyes were narrowed now, his jaw clenched as he relived those feelings he'd harbored for such a long time. "And whenever I see him- see him kiss you outside my window before he leaves, I want to kill him. And I hate myself for it, and I know it's wrong, but I want to kill him."

You opened your mouth to say something, but closed it, completely stunned. Overwhelmed, you dropped your head into your hands and pressed your fingers to your temples, taking a deep breath before turning your head in your hands to look at Kurapika again, whose eyes felt like they were burning into your own. "Kurapika, please..."

"He isn't doing it right," Kurapika suddenly said, deep eyes turbulent as he turned to you.

"Doing what right?" you asked, exasperated, sitting up and facing him as well.

"He isn't kissing you right. He isn't kissing you like you need to be kissed, Y/N."

"And how do you think I need to be kissed, Kurapika?"

"Like this."

Kurapika suddenly leaned in towards you, wrapping an arm around your lower back and pulling you in by the waist. Then, forcing your lips to meet, he gripped your neck and kissed you, gently, his lips merging with yours, and without thinking, your eyes fluttered shut and your body relaxed into his kiss. It already felt natural, and caught up in the moment, your hand slid up to his cheek and cupped the side of his face. As if you two had done this before, Kurapika's tongue effortlessly slid past your lips as you emitted a quiet whimper into his mouth, making him smile against your lips before pulling away a few seconds later.

Dazed, your cheeks began to heat up, and flustered, you stared awkwardly at your knees, tapping your foot up and down.

Kurapika seemed to be aware of the effect he had on you, and when you mustered the gall to look back up, he had a slight uncharacteristic smirk resting on his lips.

"Kurapika, don't do that," you groaned, dropping your eyes again and squeezing them shut. He chuckled warmly with a smile, his hand still around your waist.

"Oh, Y/N... but wasn't that much better than what your boyfriend ever gave you?" Kurapika queried slyly, cocking his head at you questioningly.

You stayed quiet for a little while, thinking, the ghost of Kurapika's lips still on yours.

"Is it bad if I want to kiss you again?"

Now it was Kurapika's turn to look surprised before his face faded into a mix of amusement and relief. "Not any worse than me wanting to kiss you again."

Smiling, you leaned back into Kurapika, your lips meeting in a sweet kiss once more.

[xocasper]

Evergreen Ink

Pairing: Mikey Way x Reader Summary: Kinktober Day Seven - Kitchen Sex Warnings: NSFW content Tags: oral sex, praise kink, kitchen sex, fluff Word Count: 2827 A/N: Another short one! Don't worry though, bungalow fic is nearly 9k and drops in two days. If you slander this fic, I will be in your walls tonight. She is my baby. Anyway, enjoy!

Touring was one of the most rewarding experiences in the world, especially alongside your brother and best friends. With that being said, it came with endless stress and sleepless nights, weighed down with homesickness, leaving Mikey tired and empty offstage. As much as he loved performing, he yearned to be back home, for some sort of normality in his high-class world. Even then, it was hard to readjust, having to relearn basic habits that he lost during tours, cooped up in the same bus all day, and rarely having the freedom to sleep in or dine regularly. Luckily, he had you by his side to keep him steady, helping him settle back into a normal life after his time on the road.

Grateful was hardly the right word for it, as it struggled to fully encompass how he felt towards you. He was constantly thanking you for being patient with him and dealing with his restlessness despite how annoyed he got with himself. Mikey had only been home for a few days, and he felt like an intruder from the moment he stepped through the door, regardless of your constant reassurance. You’d learned how to live without him–it wasn’t your independence that bothered him, but rather his dependence on you. Although he loved his freedom, he needed an anchor, someone to come home to when the nights grew cold, willing to hold him as the world caved in.

“You’ve done so much already,” you’d told him, smiling pitifully as he tried to think of ways to make himself useful, desperate to do anything after doing everything for the past few weeks. 

Your patience was priceless, Mikey spewing apologies left and right after each effort to get him to settle in, to breathe for once. He didn’t get to relax on tour, and it showed at night when he’d toss and turn, a high-quality mattress foreign to his sore back, waiting all the while for someone to startle him awake and drag him off to an interview. Guilt filled him to the brim, swallowing him whole until he felt trapped and suffocated, resenting his inability to calm down. You were losing sleep and he knew it. No matter how hard you tried to stay still, your breathing was a dead giveaway, Mikey still familiar with the soft and steady pattern despite your time apart.

Through all of his struggles, you stuck by him, keeping him in your warm embrace, pressing delicate kisses to his chest and mumbling sweet nothings until he could shut his brain off. It was the only routine he had developed, unable to sleep unless he could hear you, feel your lips against his skin, soothing invisible scars and insomnia with a feather-light touch. Not once did you complain; when you said your wedding vows, you meant them, fully dedicated and devoted to him no matter the hardships.

“Baby steps,” you’d reminded him, watching with a heavy heart as he grew frustrated at his lack of self-control, beating himself up after reorganizing the kitchen cabinets for the second time this week.

Mikey needed to do something. He needed to feel important, like he was someone outside of his band. Who was he, when he wasn’t being a teen heartthrob, jamming out onstage in new shoes and a discount personality to go with it? A fraud, he’d guessed at first, until spotting you in the corner of the room, and realizing that if nothing else, he was your husband.

By the end of his first week home, the guilt and defeat had melted away, replaced by appreciation instead. Rather than getting upset at himself, he turned it to gratitude, treasuring your care and attentiveness each day. You had a way of making him feel special, and Mikey soon learned just how much you had missed him, whether that was shown through mundane tasks or in the bedroom. Domesticity was vastly different from anything he’d experienced before, despite having a respectable home life. It was a tricky lifestyle to settle into, still jumping up eagerly when you’d ask him to run errands, but he found himself growing more fond of it each day, gradually learning how to live again.

Today, when you asked him to go pick up groceries, he lit up like a Christmas tree and immediately headed off, happy to do something other than space out. It was nice to be around people again; he felt normal, shopping at the supermarket and then heading home to his normal life. Fame had made basic chores fun, and they made Mikey feel like he was good for something other than playing bass. Plus, he was kind of hooked on the sweet kisses you’d give him for helping out.

It was only half-past five, but you had already started prepping for dinner, figuring it would give you something to do until Mikey got home. There wasn’t much you could do, really, other than clean and cut vegetables, having sent him off to retrieve the rest of the ingredients. Still, it kept you busy, humming along to the radio, hushed tunes from the eighties keeping you company.

You heard the key turn, the creak of the front door, and the sound of footsteps padding through the hall, but you never bothered to turn. Graciously, you focused on Soft Cell and slicing produce, letting Mikey bask in the second-hand peace of a picturesque scene.

Peace wasn’t the only thing he felt, but affection, standing in the doorway and watching lovingly as you cooked dinner for him. He must’ve been the luckiest guy in the world to end up here, a soft, subconscious smile stretching across his lips, swelling with pride as you did something ordinary and still managed to turn it into an art. The sway of your hips as you hummed along to Tears for Fears was captivating, Mikey wholeheartedly believing that perfection stood six feet away from him, meal prepping for their husband.

Eventually, he grew tired of standing around, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around your waist instead, his head resting in the crook of your neck. “You’re so perfect,” he said, voice muffled as he pressed kisses to your skin.

“I could say the same about you,” you laughed quietly, leaning into his touch.

He shook his head, “I’m serious! Just… everything about you, you know? You’ve been so great about all of this, and I know it’s been hard on you.”

“That’s because I love you,” you said, making him smile uncontrollably.

He held you closer and planted a final kiss on your cheek, his lips meeting the shell of your ear. “C’mon, let’s dance.”

You barely had time to wipe your hands on the dish towel before Mikey was turning you around, chests and lips meeting for a brief moment before he pulled you away from the cutting board. His hands naturally flew to your waist, and your arms wrapped around his neck in the same fashion, Mikey giving you a cheesy smile as he spun you around the kitchen. It wasn’t long before he was singing melodramatic renditions of the radio tracks, aiming for your picture-perfect smile as he covered Whitney Houston.

“I love you,” he whispered spontaneously, as if it were a ground-breaking secret meant just for you.

You raised your brows in mock surprise, “Do you now?”

Nodding earnestly, he leaned in close, “I do.”

Gravity pushed the two of you together, your lips meeting ceremoniously in a tender kiss. It was the kind that took you back years, to coffee shop dates and movie nights, because he still gave you butterflies like the first time. Mikey’s kisses were something special, each one meaningful, having evolved from the hormonal type that he gifted to partygoers, now reserved only for you. They’re the kisses that you missed dearly for the past few weeks, plush lips that moved so smoothly against your own, still brushing together when you broke apart to breathe.

His hands were never idle, sneaking under your shirt, desperate for contact, desperate to know this was real. Mikey had a rough history with the universe, often wondering if you were a cruel trick, but alas, you were flesh and bone like him, overflowing with love and contentment. His lips were an anesthetic, luring you mindlessly into a state of peace as if the world could crash down around you and the only sound you’d hear was your heart skipping a beat.

No matter how many kisses you'd exchanged since his return, you couldn’t seem to get enough, more than willing to make up for lost time. Besides, they hadn’t been like this, the kind that had you falling in love with him over and over, Mikey silently convincing you that you meant something, everything, to him.

The way his tongue split your lips was so beautifully careful, as if you’d shatter beneath his fingertips with any less caution. He was meticulous with nearly everything, especially when it involved you, not shoving his tongue down your throat like a horny teenager. Rather, gliding and running it along yours, one of his hands rising to cradle your cheek as he deepened the kiss, lost in the irresistible taste of you. After a moment, he pulled away, leaving another slow kiss on your lips before doing so, and resting his forehead against yours.

You were sure you looked dazed, staring up at him as if he’d hung the moon, while he gave you another sly grin and pulled you back in. It was messier this time, the kind of messy caused by desperation, drunk on passion as your lips slotted against his. Despite the mutual fervor, Mikey carried on with delicacy, his hands firm on your waist as he backed into the counter.

“What about dinner?” you asked, hardly having the strength to protest as he sat you on the countertop.

Lowering to his knees, he shushed you gently. “Dinner can wait.”

It didn’t take more than that for you to bend at his will, mesmerized by hazel eyes spiked with serenity, stomach fluttering as you stared down at him. God, he looked so beautiful beneath you, gazing up at you as if you were sent from the heavens, deserving only the finer things and hoping he was enough. A shiver ran through you as he held your gaze, Mikey still having the same effect on you after so many years.

Hooking his fingers around your sweatpants, he stayed focused on your features, savoring your anticipation as he tugged the fabric down. A sharp inhale broke your silence, the marble cold against your thighs, but his hands were the perfect contrast, gentle and warm as he caressed your skin. Everything about him was enthralling, namely the way he spoke to you, his voice smooth as praise rolled easily off his tongue, causing you to stir and shift closer to him.

“Sit back for me,” he requested softly, ceasing your movements. “You’ve been so good to me, I wanna show my appreciation.”

That was perfectly fine by you, nodding as his lips returned to your skin, his kisses trailing up your legs, higher and higher until he heard your breath hitch, tag-teamed by anticipation and arousal. He looked up at you so innocently, eyes wide as he pressed his lips between your thighs, fabric and friction stealing his kisses away.

“You’ve been so patient,” he told you, soothing the incessant ache with open-mouthed kisses, though you were shielded by thin cotton. “And so, so perfect.”

You almost wanted to turn away, shut your eyes or hide your face, Mikey still leaving you flustered after all this time. He wouldn't let you shy away though, persisting until you knew how loved you really were, how much you deserved his soft kisses and tenderness.

His movements were agonizingly slow, every action teasing as his lips lingered on your skin, tasking his hands with tracing illegible shapes on your thighs. For the first time in days, he seemed content, while you got the flip slide, growing restless as he dawdled.

Right as you went to speak, his fingers slipped beneath your waistband, Mikey staring at you doe-eyed as he tugged off your panties, lips ghosting over your skin. His breath made you shiver, one of your hands slipping away from the countertop to card through his hair, pleasantly surprised when he stayed put. With his hands keeping a firm hold under your thighs, he leaned in close, the tip of his tongue trailing up your slit, reveling in the taste of wanton desire. He moved at a leisurely pace, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your skin, tantalizing swirls of his tongue making you grip the countertop a little tighter. Despite being quite an erotic sight, he still found it pure, yet to act on lust as opposed to love. It was sensual, every motion laced with affection. Your reciprocation showed in the way your eyes softened as you watched him, wonderstruck as he lapped at your cunt, flustered by his eye contact and confidence.

Your sweet gasps and moans were music to his ears, gazing up in adoration as he pulled each sound from you, his name never sounding sweeter than when it poured from your lips, cut off by soft cries as his tongue flicked against your clit. He was overcome with insatiable desire, the only clear thought being you–the arousal that coated his lips, the soft moans that filled his ears, and the way you tugged him closer, greedy for more.

Mikey was happy to give into your silent requests, his eyes locked on yours as he retracted one of his hands, popping two fingers in his mouth before gliding them across your skin, spreading your folds with ease. He set you aflame, your whole body burning up under his gaze, and your muscles wound tight as heat pooled in your abdomen. With parted lips and bated breath, you watched as his tongue ran flat, everything turning warm and wet as his lips wrapped around you.

In return, you gave a shaky moan and drew your thighs together, Mikey hooking your legs over his shoulders as he slid closer. Still clinging to the counter for stability, your free hand rested against the back of his head, pulling him impossibly close. The small act of assertion had him reeling, blessed with the knowledge that you wanted him, wanted his touch, to feel his skin against yours until the world blurred and euphoria flooded your veins. You could hardly feel something other than Mikey, the languid strokes of his tongue growing quicker, having evolved from light and teasing. Your hips ground against him, resolve cracking under the weight of his tongue, heavy as it swirled against you.

Through dense air and tunnel vision, you watched him, tracing over his features and memorizing the sight of him. His cheeks were flushed, porcelain skin tinged pink, while his eyes stayed trained on you, his gaze relaxed and easy as he stared back in awe. Saliva and arousal painted his lips, pairing well with your own, slick and bitten as you tried to keep your voice down. His hair laid lopsided across his forehead, messily pushed back as your hand tangled through it, ‘disheveled’ hardly encompassing his appearance.

He was ethereal, effortlessly sending you spiraling, blasphemy bubbling up in your throat as you came, etching the taste of pure desire on his tongue. Much like a bottle of champagne, the ever-building pressure ceased at once, preluding a steady cool-down as the high fizzled out, leaving you in a paradisiacal afterglow. Mikey slowed as well, resorting to gentle kitten licks until he was sure you couldn't take anymore. Finally, he pulled away, already missing you regardless of the kisses he was peppering on your thighs.

Everything felt serene, from the way he slowly rose from his knees to the tender brushes of his hands, retreating to your waist as he kissed you. It was a moment so fragile that you were half-expecting glass shards to pierce your skin, waiting for something minuscule to shatter the exchange, but the pain never came. From an outside perspective, it was nothing more than a kiss between lovers, a mundane observation lacking the tender passion that encircled the two of you.

It all seemed to fall into place, a week of stress soothed by stolen kisses and sweet affirmations, Mikey’s embrace keeping you on cloud nine.

“I love you,” he whispered again, his forehead resting against yours as his eyes looked earnestly into yours.

This time, you didn’t question or tease, unable to deny your everlasting love. “I love you too,” you whispered back, and he knew it was true.

On stage or off, he would always be something, whether it was a rockstar or a civilian, but between both worlds was a blurred line–one with your name scrawled across it in evergreen ink, because no matter when or where, he would always be yours.

kinktober taglist: @clichedlovers  @halloweenbitch2764  @lubbockshusband @cigarettesandalcohol  @couldbegayer1234  @doc-martens-enthusiast @yachiiko @becausethedrugsneverwork @house-of-wh0res @dangerouslittlefairy @chronicallythicc​ @zggystrdst @partypoisonzz

[sequinsmile-x]

In Bloom

Aaron's birthday takes an unexpected turn.

-x-

A birthday fic for our favourite fictional man - Aaron Hotchner.

Fun fact - this is my 120th fic on Ao3. Thank you for reading, commenting, and hitting that kudos button. It all means so much, and as long as you'll have me I'll keep writing for these two idiots <3

-x-

Words: 4.8k

Warnings: Pregnancy, labour, surgery

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

It felt like she hadn’t slept in weeks. Exhaustion settling deep into her bones, leaving her weary in a way she wouldn’t be going anywhere any time soon. 

Emily sighs as she tries to shift in bed, another failed attempt to get comfortable that leaves her so frustrated she can feel tears pressing at the back of her eyes. She shakes her head at herself and looks over at the clock on her nightstand, cursing under her breath when she sees it isn’t even midnight yet. 

She slowly sits up, one hand on her bump and the other on the mattress to steady herself. Overall, her pregnancy had been easier than she had anticipated. The exhaustion and nausea of the first trimester had been rough but faded as the weeks went on. Now at 36 weeks, she found herself tired for an entirely different reason. Her inability to get comfortable, along with her son’s almost constant moving, meant she rarely managed to sleep. Even on the rare occasion when she could find comfort, and the baby gave her a break, her mind wouldn’t stop, thoughts floating around her head in a way she had no control over. 

She wasn’t a stranger to insomnia, it was something she’d dealt with on and off for years, but this was the worst it had ever been. She’d told her doctor at her last appointment, encouraged by Aaron to do so, and all she had done was tell Emily that it was normal, that she should sleep when she could. 

She’d cried on the way home, her hormones getting the better of her in a way she still wasn’t used to. Aaron had silently taken her to Taco Bell and ordered her favourite without any prompting, simply smiling at the concerned looking teenager at the window as he handed over the food to his slightly hysterical wife. 

Emily looks over at Aaron, and she feels guilty for the brief flash of anger she feels towards him as he sleeps peacefully next to her. He was on his side facing her, one of his hands under her pillow, the other on the mattress where she’d been laying. She huffs out a breath as he snores very lightly, something he only did when he was sleeping deeply. 

She feels a sharp kick in her stomach and looks down, chuckling lightly as she stands slowly, deciding to give up on the prospect of sleep for now. 

“Come on sweet boy,” she whispers, rubbing her hand over her bump, “let's go find a snack.” 

She pops her head into Jack’s room on the way past, again slightly jealous of how fast asleep he was, and then she heads downstairs. She heads immediately to the freezer and smiles as she pulls out some ice cream, before eyeing up the fruit bowl on the counter. She rolls her eyes as she can practically hear her husband comment about how important nutrition is, and she grabs it too before walking the short distance to the living room. 

She settles on the couch and turns on the tv, ensuring the sound was low enough it wouldn’t wake either of the Hotchners sleeping upstairs. She channel surfs until she finds a reality tv show she likes, but has sworn Aaron to secrecy over, and places the remote back down.  

Emily isn’t sure how much time passes, but she eats her ice cream, and her fruit, and idly draws patterns with her fingers over her stomach. She smiles when she sees her skin shifting, her son moving underneath it, and she yawns, sighing as the show she is watching gives way to the credits, another episode starting almost immediately. 

“You’d better be cute, mister,” she says, “I love sleeping,” she smiles as she feels another sharp kick, “But I guess I love you more.”

She hears a door open upstairs, and the familiar drag of her husband's feet across the hardwood floor. It always made her smile, that he was slightly uncoordinated when he first woke up, none of that Unit Chief flare he usually had. 

He walks down the stairs and she turns her head to look at him, the sleepy smile on his face making her stomach flip for an entirely different reason than she was used to these days. 

“Hey sweetheart,” he says, leaning over the back of the couch to press a kiss to the top of her head before he rounds it, smiling at her as she looks up at him, “Couldn’t sleep?”

She groans, “I just can’t get comfortable,” she says, shifting forward just enough that he can slip in behind her, her back resting against his chest as she settles against him, “and even if I could, he never stops moving.” 

Aaron smiles and kisses her temple, his hand on her stomach, an old t-shirt of his stretched over it, “He is kicking up a storm in there.” 

“Tell me about it,” she replies, turning her head to press her face into his neck, “he’s definitely your son. Likes to be up early.” 

He has to stop himself from laughing, knowing it wouldn’t go down well, “Why do I feel like I should apologise for that?” 

“No,” she replies, placing her hand over his on her bump, “I love it really, I’m just being grumpy.” 

He knows there isn’t a safe response to that, so he simply holds her a little tighter, and lets her relax into him. 

“Do you want to go back to bed?” He asks quietly, his fingers drawing idle patterns over her belly.

“Don’t you dare move,” she replies quickly, sinking further back into him, some of the seemingly ever-present tension in her body seeping out of her because of the way they were sitting. “For some reason this is comfortable, and for the first time in days my back doesn’t feel like it could burst open at any second.” 

He nods, one of his hands tangling in her hair, “Ok, sweetheart, we’ll stay here.” He reaches behind him and pulls the blanket they keep over the back of the couch over them, making sure she’s wrapped up, “It’s cold this morning.”

She hums in her throat in agreement, her hand pressed into her stomach after a particularly hard kick. 

“Four weeks to go,” she says, her gaze fixed on her belly. It had become their mantra, counting down the weeks until the baby arrived, the anticipation building as they got closer to Emily’s due date. 

“Four weeks, sweetheart,” he repeats back to her, yawning as he speaks. 

She tilts her head to look up at him, a soft smile on her face that almost contradicts her tired eyes. She sees how tired he looks too, and immediately feels even worse for any frustration she had felt at him earlier for sleeping. 

“I’m sorry you had to get out of bed to check on me.” She says, linking their fingers together over her belly. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he replies, kissing her forehead. Emily yawns too, even though she knows she wouldn’t sleep even if she tried. 

“What time is it?” She asks around her yawn, her grasp of time almost as lost to her as her hold on sleep, hours passing by as she spent all her time waiting to meet her son. The hours long and the days short, the countdown to the day her life would change forever both exciting and daunting in equal measure. 

Aaron removes one arm from around her to check his watch, blowing out a breath as he does so, “4 am.”

Her first reaction is to groan as she realises that means he will need to head to work relatively soon, lamenting the idea of not getting to see him all day now she was no longer going to work.

In the end, it was her idea to start her maternity leave earlier than she had planned, something she knew Aaron was grateful for. Since the start of her pregnancy, she’d been insistent on working right up until she was due, but had eventually realised that just wasn’t practical for her. Her discomfort and her exhaustion left her in a position where she was no longer of any help to the team, even staying behind at Quantico as she had been since the end of her second trimester. 

Then she realises what day it is, the date forever burned into her memory because it gave her him. She smiles at Aaron, reaching up to cup his face with her hand, and dragging him down to kiss her. 

“Happy birthday, honey,” she says against his lips, kissing him again before she pulls away, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” he replies, smiling at her, “even if I did get out of bed before 4 am on my birthday to find my wife watching Real Housewives of New York and eating ice cream.” 

She scoffs at him, her eyes narrowed jokingly, “Firstly, I’ll have you know this is Real Housewives of Orange County, and I also had an apple” she smiles at him as he raises an eyebrow, “Secondly, if you’re mean to me you won’t get your birthday presents later.” 

“You mean the Gucci tie that I found in our closet last week?” He deadpans, and she sighs, unsure how she had put it somewhere obvious enough to find. 

“Stupid baby brain,” she mumbles under her breath, and he laughs at her. She can’t suppress her smile, and she joins in with him. “You think you know me so well.”

“Because I do.” 

It’s true, and she knows it, but she sees the sparkle in his eye, the challenge there, and she can’t help but try and rise to it. 

“I’ll have you know,” she replies, yawning and closing her eyes, her head against his shoulder, “I can still surprise you.” 

Later, they would both realise just how right she was. 

___

Emily shifts from side to side, trying to ease some of the pain in her back, as she waits for her order to be boxed up. 

She’d picked Jack up from school after a day of dozing on the couch. She’d only caught an hour or two of sleep in between the exercises she had to do to try and get the baby into the correct position, still worried about what the doctor had told her at her last appointment. That if the baby didn’t shift she’d end up needing a c-section. 

She decides to stop at a bakery on the way home from collecting Jack. She’d, briefly, considered baking Aaron a birthday cake but she didn’t think anyone would thank her for that, so she settled on buying one. 

“Emily, can I get a cupcake?” 

She smiles down at her stepson, his face all but pressed into the glass display of the bakery they were in, looking at the baked goods in front of him like he had never been fed. Emily looks up at the owner, a kind woman around her age, and exchanges a smile with her. 

“Sweetie,” she says, pointing at the large cake she had just purchased that was being boxed up for her, “I’ve just bought your dad’s birthday cake, you can have some of that later,” she smiles at him as he sighs dramatically, pulling his face away from the glass partition, and she ruffles his hair, “There are only three of us, I’m sure I can convince your dad to let you have more than one slice.” 

“There are four of us, Emily,” Jack replies, his hand pointing at her stomach, “the baby counts too.” 

Emily chuckles and hears the bakery owner doing the same, and she smiles at the other woman. 

“That is true,” she replies, grabbing the cake from the counter and smiling her thanks at the owner, successfully hiding a wince from Jack as her back twinges at the movement, “and he loves cake.” 

She starts to walk towards the front door, Jack looking up at her with his eyebrows creased together, “How do you know that?” 

“He lives inside of me,” she replies as if it was obvious, “I just know.” 

She feels another pain, sharper this time, and hears what sounds like water hitting the floor, the wet sensation on her leggings only coming afterwards. 

“Emily, did you spill something?” 

“Ma’am, are you ok over there?” 

Jack and the bakery owner say at the same time, but it takes her a moment to answer, her grip on the box in her hands tightening slightly as panic climbs up her throat. 

It was too early. 

“I…I think my water just broke.” 

___

Aaron doesn’t think he’s ever driven so fast in his life. He leaves work so quickly that he doesn’t even grab his coat, only remembering he’d had it at all in the bitter cold air when he parks outside the hospital. 

Despite Emily’s calm demeanour on the phone, he knew she was worried. That the gentle way she told him she was ok but was in labour, was for him and Jack. He called Jessica the second he ended the call with Emily, asking his ex-sister-in-law to go to their house and get Emily’s hospital bag and meet him at the hospital so she could take Jack home. 

By some miracle, they arrive at the same time. 

Jessica immediately pulls him into a hug, her arms tight around him before she pulls back and hands him the bag. 

“Hell of a birthday,” she says, winking at him and he chuckles dryly, nodding in agreement, “Let’s go find her, shall we?” 

It’s only when they’ve been directed to Emily’s room that it strikes Aaron how weird this must be for Jessica, and he places his hand on her arm, stopping her just short of their destination. 

“I’m sorry if this is strange for you,” he says, smiling tightly at her, “I know it can’t be easy.” 

Jessica smiles at him, nothing but happiness in her eyes. It was a conversation they’d had just before his and Emily’s wedding. Double checking that she was ok being there, assuring her that neither he nor Emily would be offended if she didn’t come. 

“Did I ever tell you that Haley thought you and Emily were together years ago?” 

He frowns, “What? No.” 

She laughs, “It was just before she got sent away,” she smiles fondly, “Do you want to know what she said?” Aaron nods in response, and Jessica clears her throat, the Haley impression she’d perfected long before he’d met either of the Brooks sisters coming out, “She’s so pretty, and the worst part is she’s nice too - so I can’t even hate her for it.” 

Aaron laughs at that, some tension easing in his chest that he hadn’t known was there. 

“Yeah, that sounds like something she’d say,” 

Jessica rests her hand on his arm, squeezing it tightly, “I think Haley would be very happy for you, all she ever wanted was for Jack to have a family.” 

He smiles at her, “Thanks, Jess.”

“Now you go in there and look after your wife,” she replies, her eyes shining with tears he knew she would not shed, “Send Jack out when you’ve said goodbye and I’ll take him home.” He opens his mouth to tell her she can come in with him, but she shakes her head, “This is a moment for you guys, I’ll be out here.”

He smiles gratefully and heads into his wife’s hospital room, excited for the next chapter of his life to begin.

___

Emily holds it together until Jack leaves, squeezing Aaron’s hand tightly so she doesn’t yell out in pain, not wanting to scare the young boy. 

Aaron looks at her the moment the door is closed and they are alone, leaning down to kiss her forehead. 

“How are you really feeling?” He asks, knowing the tight nod and smile he received when he asked when he arrived was not the truth. 

“Scared,” she replies attempting to smile at him, “It’s early Aaron, I only just turned 36 weeks,” she swallows thickly, “And he’s not in the right position at all, I know he hasn’t moved. And I went into labour in a fucking bakery, and if Derek ever finds out he’ll never let me live it down. Our son will be called cupcake his whole life and-”

“Em,” he cuts her off before she can spiral any further, the shock of going into labour early clearly setting in, and he squeezes her hand, “One step at a time, ok?” He says and she nods, “We’re in the best place right now, he’ll be fine. And he may have moved, it’s been a couple of weeks since you were checked,” she attempts to argue with him but he carries on, “And as for the team, I won’t tell them if you won’t. And if Derek says anything to you, I will make sure he does paperwork for the rest of his life.” 

She flashes him a shaky smile, “I think that’s an abuse of power, honey.” 

“I don’t care,” he replies simply, returning her smile, “Why were you in a bakery anyway?” 

“Because it’s your birthday and I wanted…” she drifts off, her tears immediately pressing at the back of her eyes again as she blows out a shaky breath, “Oh my god it’s your birthday. Aaron-”

“Don’t even think about apologising,” he sits on the edge of the bed and brushes some hair out of her face, “you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But-”

She’s cut off by the doctor walking in, a wide smile on his face as he declares he’s there to examine her.

When he confirms the baby hasn’t moved, it takes everything in her to not burst into tears.

___

Emily was scared, terrified in a way she didn’t remember being in her early days with Ian, worried he’d catch her out and kill her any second. She doesn’t even remember being afraid like this when he came back.

It was different, almost all-consuming, the shock of going into labour early wearing off, leaving only concern for her baby in its wake. 

She smiles at Aaron as he walks into the operating room, wearing scrubs that looked a little too small for him. It made him look like a kid playing dress up, and it briefly calms her. 

“You look good,” she says as he sits next to her, grateful when he immediately grabs her hand, “I’d approve of a career switch if it means I get to see you in scrubs all the time.” 

He smiles down at her, his spare hand cupping her head, this thumb tracing her forehead. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Now you’re here Mr Hotchner, lets get this show on the road,” the doctor says from the other side of the barrier that had been set up so they couldn’t see what was happening. Emily tenses slightly next to him.

“You’re ok, Em. I’m right here.” 

She squeezes Aaron’s hand tightly as she feels pressure in her abdomen, his head close to hers, soft words whispered in her ear as the doctors do their job. 

“We’re almost there, Emily,” the doctor assures her, “Just another minute and then your baby will be here.”

She winces at the pulling she can feel in her belly, the lack of pain associated with it strange, her head swimming with the medication she’d been given. 

“He’ll be here soon, sweetheart,” Aaron says, repeating the doctor's assurances.

“What if he’s not ok?” She asks the same question she had asked countless times since her waters had broken, “he’s early.” 

“We’re in the right place no matter what happens,” he reminds her, stroking her forehead.

“Ok, here we go,” the doctor says, and Emily feels strong pressure and then it’s over, silence followed by a sharp cry, “Did you say you were having a boy, Emily?” 

“Yes,” she says, tears tracking down into her hairline at the sound of her baby’s cries, relief cracking open her ribcage. Her eyebrows crease as her eyes meet her husband’s, neither of them missing the curious tone of the doctor’s voice. She stops herself from trying to it up, knowing she can’t. “Why? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing is wrong,” he assures her, holding the baby up so they can see, “you have a daughter.” 

Emily does try to sit up at that but is firmly stopped by a hand on each shoulder, Aaron on one side and a nurse on the other. 

“What?” She exclaims, looking at Aaron and seeing the shock she felt mirrored on his face, “Oh my God are there two of them in there?” 

The doctor chuckles, “No just the one baby I promise, sometimes ultrasounds are read incorrectly.” 

“What?” She asks, again looking over at Aaron who looked just as shellshocked as her, “They didn’t say that.” 

“Sometimes it’s the umbilical cord they see, or a thumb,” the nurse next to her says softly, her hand still on her shoulder,  as she hears Aaron mumble something about it definitely being the umbilical cord, “Try and breathe for me Emily I know you’ve had a few shocks today but we need to keep your blood pressure down.” 

She looks around the room, wanting nothing more than to hold her baby, to see her for more than just the second she’d been allowed before she was taken to the other side of the room. 

“Is she ok?” Emily asks, straining to see her baby, “Where is she? I want to see my baby.” 

“She’s right here,” A midwife says as she walks over, a tiny bundle in her arms, “we were just checking her over because of her early arrival.” 

Emily barely notices as the nurse next to her pulls down her gown, allowing the midwife to lay the baby on her skin. All she can see is her daughter. Her dark hair and her scrunched-up face, the way her mouth was hanging open as she cried. Her crying stops as she’s placed on Emily’s chest. 

“Oh my god look at you,” Emily says, everything else in the room except her newborn and her husband disappears, the fact she was still undergoing surgery not even on her radar, she looks up at Aaron, “Look at her.” 

“She’s beautiful,” he says, his hand on the baby’s back as he kisses her forehead, then Emily’s, “So are you.” 

She scoffs, but can’t think of a comeback, her focus still on the tiny baby in her arms. She looks back up at the midwife.

“And she’s really ok? There’s nothing wrong because she was early?”

The midwife smiles reassuringly at her, “She’s perfectly fine. She’s 5lbs 10 ounces, so a tiny thing. We’ll keep you both in for a couple of days to monitor you.”

Emily nods, her eyes back on her daughter, and she chokes out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“I can’t believe we have a little girl.” 

Aaron kisses the side of her head again, “Well, I was wrong earlier,” he says, and she doesn’t miss the crack in his voice, turning her head just enough to look at him, to see the unshed tears in his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“You can still surprise me.”

___

“If today is a sign of things to come, I think we’re going to have our hands full,” Emily says quietly, left alone with her daughter for the first time whilst Aaron called Jessica and Jack. She runs a knuckle down the baby’s soft cheek, before looking her over again, her eyes landing on the bracelet that had been placed around her tiny ankle, so small it was struggling to stay on, the writing on it staring back at her

Baby Girl Hotchner. 

They had a boy’s name picked out, had decided on it months ago, and now it felt like she was back at square one. The door opens and she looks up to see Aaron walking back in, a smile on his face.

“Jack is delighted that he’s got a baby sister,” he says, “Apparently that's what he’s wanted since the start. He’s also had some of my birthday cake.” 

Emily laughs, looking back down at the baby when she squawks at the movement, shushing her as she rocks her slightly. 

“Is she ok?” He asks as he walks over, joining them on the bed. 

“She’s fine,” Emily replies, wincing as she shifts just enough to have him sit comfortably next to her. She shakes his hand off as he tries to fuss over her, “She’s perfect.” She shivers slightly, and Aaron wraps his arm around her, rearranging the blanket around her.

“Are you cold?” 

“A little,” she replies, “Although it could just be the meds, the doctor said that can be a side effect.” 

Aaron nods, and can’t help but smile as he looks down at the newborn over his wife’s shoulder.

“She looks just like you.” 

Emily looks at him, her cheeks almost aching with her smile, “She’s 2 hours old, Aaron, she doesn’t look like anyone,” she clears her throat, “You aren’t…disappointed that she’s a girl are you?” 

It was one of the main things that had worried her since their little girl had been born. They’d been excited at the prospect of another son, and Aaron had barely reacted when they were told they had a daughter instead. 

“Of course not,” he replies, turning his head to kiss her, “Not at all, she’s perfect,” he says, repeating her own words back to her, “So are you.” 

She rolls her eyes at him, “You’re ridiculous.” 

“It’s true,” he replies, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” she says, kissing him quickly, “Do you want to hold her?” 

He gratefully takes the baby from her, holding her close, his hand almost the size of her. The sight of them together makes Emily want to cry, her chest tight with love. She rests her head on Aaron’s shoulder so she can look down at the baby, not wanting her to be out of her sight even for a second. She reaches out and strokes over the soft dark hair on the newborn's head. 

“We need to come up with a name,” she says softly, not wanting to disturb the peace they had found themselves in, “I don’t think Benjamin is going to work.” 

Aaron chuckles, tearing his gaze away from the baby to look at her, “No, I don’t think it will,” he smiles at his wife, not sure he’d ever loved her more, “I have an idea.”

She looks at him for a moment, waiting for him to carry on, but he simply stares down at their daughter. 

“Go on then, tell me.” 

He looks at Emily, a smile on his face she’d almost call shy, “Primrose,” he says, and she continues to look at him, wordlessly asking for his explanation, “They are little flowers that show up in the cold.” 

She has to bite her lip to stop her smile from getting too wide, her eyes flooding with tears before she can stop them this time, chuckling at herself as they hit her cheeks. She wipes at her face, not surprised when they are instantly replaced. 

“Primrose Hotchner,” she says, testing the sound of it, “I like that,” she looks back down at her daughter, reaching out for her hand, her heart almost clenching in her chest as tiny fingers wrap around one of hers. “What do you think about that, little miss?” 

The baby makes a small noise almost as if she was responding, and it makes both her parents laugh.

“I think she likes it,” Aaron replies, smiling at Emily.

“I love it,” she says, “And I think it’s nice her daddy got to name her,” she adds, resting her head back down on his shoulder, “Since you share a birthday.” 

“She is the best birthday present ever,” he says, and it makes Emily laugh, loud enough that Primrose cries out.”

“Sorry, baby.” 

“Here you go, she wants her mommy,” Aaron says, passing her back over to Emily, smiling at the sight of them together, “I’m serious Em, this is going to take some beating next year.” 

She settles the baby back against her chest, feeling relief she wasn’t expecting even though Primrose hadn’t gone out of her reach.

“If it helps,” Emily replies, “I don’t think we’ll ever pay for a birthday cake again, the owner of that bakery said she’d give us a free one on your birthday next year,” he kisses the side of her head, his smile lost in it.

“Garcia will be disappointed,” he comments, and Emily pulls away from him, her eyebrow raised. 

“Why?”

“Well, we all thought we were having a boy. If she’d have known the onesie she gave us to bring her home in would have unicorns on it, not dinosaurs.” 

Emily smiles down at Primrose, and she feels nothing but love and happiness, the final piece of their puzzle falling into place. 

“You had a lucky escape this time sweet girl, but I think your luck will run out as soon as your Aunt Pen gets her hands on you.” 

-x-

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[mywritingonlyfans]

Untitled

this short fic is about: a needy/emotional reader being fingered by dami.

warnings: it’s smut (you know what to do and i can’t like stop you, so just be careful (?) idk. fem!reader x damiano david. ps. i’m sorry if you already read something similar before bc i really like that fic so i decide to rewrite it with dami.

Your back hurts from the time you spent working at your desk.

Stress was running through your body, resulting in tears of frustration pooling in your eyes. Even so, being enfolded in Damiano’s arms made things endurable.

“Gonna tell me what happened with you, little one?” The tip of his nose slid down your neck, fitting his face into your shoulder.

The weather was cold. Your body, dressed in minimal clothes, was wrapped in between the covers that were now being shared with Damiano. He tried to accommodate you in his grip, in a delicious mixture of his scent along with his warmth. Fully dressed, in his open blazer and tailored pants, he let you squeeze him into your figure.

“Nothing at all," you sighed. "It was just a bad day. I’m feelin’ like pure shit.” He laughed, causing a sweet vibration in his chest that made you feel at home.

Words wouldn’t describe how grateful you were that he came home and went straight to you, without worrying about his own affairs first; or even removing his clothes to lie on the bed with you.

“D’ya wanna talk about it?” He whispered, placing soft kisses on your neck.

You dazed as soon as his teeth found your flesh, growling in his ear, “no. I’m hurting, 'm too tense.”

He sniffed at your inability to form sentences in the moment. Lovely sight to his eyes. Holding your face in his hand, he glued his lips to yours as you involuntary nestled your cheek in his palm; just like a puppy.

“So needy. I though you were simply sad darlin’.” He rubbed his thumb on the corners of your mouth, lowering his fingertips across all long your body. “I guess I'm gonna have to fix this, huh?”

You didn't answer him. Not that you need to. Honesty, you were guiding him to that. His touch were melting you inside. No more words were needed for him to understand that you were craving to be taken care of by him.

Your fingers grazed the soft skin above his underwear. Your breath speed up while his weight was put on top of yours, not in an exaggerated way but in a delicate one, his heaviness brought you comfort. He attacked your lips again, this time deepening it; putting in a fight with your tongue. You sank your head into the pillow, enjoying his taste on your mouth.

The calluses of his fingers danced on your lower belly, providing you goosebumps. “Dami,” you held his face, breaking the kiss and leaving a thin line of saliva connecting the two of you.

“Uh-huh,”

“Touch me,” you breathe out, putting your hand over his, pushing it down. “Please.”

Damiano knew what you needed, however hearing the words come out of your mouth was fascinating; inviting. So he always awaited you to verbalize what you wanted him.

“Gladly,” his murmur being muffled as he sucked on the skin of your collarbone. “So sweet.”

A delightful euphoric ardor filling your chest when you feel his fingers caress you, in smooth and slow circles, along to the marks he left on your top.

You dropped your head on his neck, depositing bites on his shoulder, while he dipped his fingers in your folds.

Your growl filled the room along with the wet noises you made. “Does it feel good, angel?” He kissed the side of your face at the same time that you clutched your arms around his shoulders; shoving your nose on his shining blazer.

As you muttered an incoherent agreement, he removed his digits, teasing the edges of your entrance with his tips, then pushing at you in a fast pace.

You clasped your fingerprints in his hair, holding his dominant hand while closing your leg in a reflex act.

“You’re so good, babe. You’re doing so good for me, taking my fingers so well, making ‘em all warm and moisturizer.” He said in a hoarse voice due to his altered breathing.

Touching his fist lightly on your inner thigh, he made you spread yourself for him again. He pressed his thumb on your clit, rubbing it firmly, increasing his movements inside you.

“Dami,” you cried out, noticing your throat getting dry by each breath.

You held on to him tighter than before, feeling your stomach tingle as tears formed in your eyes.

“Don’t you hide from me, babe. Let me admire how good I’m makin’ you feel.” He kissed your cheek, watching you lay your head back on the pillow.

Your breast rose and fell fiercely, your bottom lip caught in between your teeth as you tried to keep your eyes open for him.

“That’s my girl.” He curled his fingers in you, dropping strands of his hair fall on your forehead. “Keep your eyes open for me, baby girl.” He said as soon as you threatened to close your eyes.

You nodded, looking at him, taking note of how inviting his pink and swollen lips were. He smiled sweetly, a nice contrast to how he was making you feel, starting to widen his fingers just to close it right after; rigid like a scissors. You groaned loudly, ignoring what he had asked and closing your eyes tight. He laughed, shutting you up with his lips while your legs went limp as you messed up his hand.

He rubbed you until your breathing calmed, drawing lines around your groin with his thumb. “Better?” He asked, watching you open your eyes. You nodded, pulling him lazily to yourself for more kisses.

He played with your tongue, pecking your corners every once in a while; letting you soften into him. Squeezing your thigh, after giving it a quick but hard slap, he brought his index finger up to your lips, outlining them. You took his finger in your mouth, with his pierce eyes stuck on you as sucking it lightly; making him let out a deep sigh. You tasted yourself on him until he pulled his finger of you, sealing his lips with yours one last time. He pulled you onto his chest while you felt your body electrified by him, you wrapped your legs around his, fitting one of them at the height of his waist, feeling your bare stomach in contact with his now cold belt as his hand ran down your back.

“You want more, angel?” He whispered, watching you grinding yourself on him.

You lifted your head, blood rising to your cheeks. “Yeeep.”

[certified-fatcat]

Netflix & Chill | Stiles Stilinski

Pairing: Stiles + Reader Summary: Reader is trying to watch a movie but Stiles has other plans TW: Smut, smut and more smut. You were cozied up on the couch with Stile’s head in your lap, watching some weird indie movie that had turned out to be surprisingly good. According to you anyway. Stiles had been twisting and turning, huffing and puffing for the last half hour.

“This is, undoubtfully, the worst movie you have ever forced me to see, and that includes that time you made me watch the hangover” Stiles muttered, angling his face so he could look at you. “Shh” you hushed, using a finger to cover his lips but ultimately missing because your eyes were glued to the screen. “Ouch. Babe. You literally just poked me in the eye”

In a half-hearted attempt of an apology, you moved your hand to his hair and started playing with it. It seemed to distract him slightly, but you knew it was only a matter of time before he would start twisting and complaining again. Stiles had an inability to sit still, especially when bored.

“So Scott told me about…” he tried. “Mm-hmm” “I didn’t even finish…” he muttered grumpily. With a huff, he twisted around again, this time inwards so his face was in perfect alignment with the inseam of your sweat shorts. “heh-hey” he grinned as he realized the position he was in. “Stiles!” you barked when his warm breath hit against your bare thigh, his lips grazing against the soft skin. “Mmhmm?” “Stop” you said, letting out an involuntary snicker. He knew you were ticklish. “There’s only like, 20 minutes left of the movie” “only” he mimicked tauntingly as his lips moved up and down whatever part of your thigh he could reach. It was insanely distracting, and he knew it. This time it was your turn to sigh. Leaning forward, you grabbed the remote and paused the film. “You’re distracting me, Stilinski” You said with a raised brow, grabbing his chin and turning him to face you. His lips curved into a mischievous grin, his low tone dripping with insinuation. “Yeah? What are you going to do about it?” He knew you loved that voice. Knew what it did to you. Knew how the smooth, husky tone affected every part of your body. “I don’t think you want to find out” you answered with the same intensity, your gaze latching on to his. In an instant Stiles sat up, twisted you around and pulled you in under him, making sure your faces aligned. “I think I do”

With a grin you curled your fingers in his hair, pulling him towards you. “Yeah?” You hummed against his lips, nudging his nose with yours. Instead of answering he tilted his head, going in to properly press his lips to your but you lowered your chin, denying him the kiss, a cheeky smile curving your lips. The muscles in his jaw flexed as his fingers dug into the couch’s soft fabric. “Don’t tease me” He whispered smoothly Laughing softly, you did as you were told. His mouth pressed against yours and instantly your tongues found each other.  Shifting your body, you made sure to narrow any space between you. Your hands started running down his back searching for the hem of his shirt. Suddenly you remembered you were in the living room and the sheriff could walk in at any moment. “Stiles…” you said pushing your chin up to stop his kisses. The motion only drove him to move his lip down to your neck. “Stiles your dad…” You tried but got your breath hitched in your throat as he found the spot beneath your ear that made your entire body shudder.

“He’s at the station all night” Stiles mumbled against your skin, trailing his lips even lower. Rolling your head to the side, you parted your lips slightly as he easily pulled down your tank top, scattering hot, wet kisses all over your now bared chest. Using one hands to support himself, he latched the other one on to your waist, pulling you upwards. Hungerly he took one of your nipples into his mouth and let his tongue swirl gently over the hard peak. Tilting your head back, a soft moan escaped your lips, the sweet sound driving Stiles to intensify the sucking and licking. Letting your hands drop, you found the waistband of your shorts and started tugging them down.

Momentarily removing his mouth from your body, Stiles helped you pull off the shorts along with the bunched-up tank and tossed them to the side. For a moment his eyes wandered over your naked body, admiring every part of you. He mumbled something under his breath, something that sounded like ‘beautiful’ but you weren’t sure, and quite frankly, didn’t care. Compliments could come later right now you needed him inside you, thrusting and fucking you until you came. “Clothes, Stilinski” you demanded in frustration as it took way to long for him to get his shirt and pants off. With a devilish grin, he pulled the simple tee off and kicked his sweats to the side. “Better?” His grin fell as you took his already hard cock in your hand. Starting off slow, you moved your hand gently up and down his shaft as you pressed his lips to yours. The faster he started panting into the kiss, the faster you moved your hand.

When you felt his body start to tense up and move along with your jerks, you stopped. You didn’t want to push him past him breaking point. The frustration of not getting to come was evident when Stile’s gaze met yours. There was only a slither of brown left in the dark irises. “don’t worry” you grinned against his lips. “you’ll cum” You locked him lips into a hot, wet kiss before turning over on your stomach. The couch wasn’t exactly the perfect place to have Stiles pile driving you from behind. But, hey. You do what you got to do.

Arching your back slightly and lowering your chest at the same time you could feel Stiles use one hand to grab ahold of your hip and the other to align himself with your wet entrance. With a soft movement he slid into you, evoking a moan from both you and him. At first his pumps were slow and soft but as the moans escaping your lips got louder, the harder it got for him to maintain self-control.

“Come on, come on” he chanted as he buried himself hard and deep inside you. His hand traveled down between your legs to massage your clit and you gripped onto the couch cushion, lowering your head to press your face against the fabric to keep from screaming.

“I’m close” you whimpered as you felt Stiles fingers dig into your hips, his cock thrusting into you at an unbearable pace “I’m gonna cum” A string of curse words escaped your lips. “oh god, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna come” you chanted as you felt yourself get closer and closer to the edge. With a final, loud moan you felt your body explode with the sweet release it’d been seeking. As your body rode out the orgasm, you felt Stiles lift you up into a kneeling position. Twisting around, you locked him into a kiss. Stiles moaned into it, placing both his hands on your chest and with a final thrust came, warm and wet, inside you with the sensation of your tight walls clamping around him.

“That was good” you panted as he slipped out of you. He nodded dazedly and buried his face in your neck. “That was good”

Curving your lips into a grin, you twisted around to look at him. “Now, can I finish my movie?”

[kazuwhora]

hello hello, i see your requests are open now and can i request izana, wakasa, chifuyu and kazutora with an akutagawa!s/o? hope you have a great day/noon/night! ✨🤗

hi anon! sure! I will try my best with izana and wakasa since there's not tons to work with personality wise so forgive me if theirs are a little shorter heh. im gonna include a little blurb from the bsd fandom wiki for anyone not familiar with his character! I like these kinds of headcanon requests so if anyone wants to see more please feel free to request!

"Akutagawa has a black and white "survival of the fittest" view of the world, claiming that weak people should die and give way to the stronger ones. He is not afraid of pain and defeat His ruthless, vicious nature makes him one of the Port Mafia's most dangerous members, feared by both ally and foe. As violent as he is, Akutagawa maintains a generally composed and detached approach. Towards subordinates and superiors alike, he acts aloof, distancing himself from social interactions however possible. Nonetheless, his composure is fragile. Akutagawa is quick to lash out, ridiculing him for risking the bounty by acting recklessly. This quick temper often gets in his way, fuelling his actions to the core of his very being."

SUMMARY: izana, wakasa, chifuyu, && kazutora with an akutagawa!so

CW: hints of toxicity and violence, mentions of sex but not really all that nsfw-ish so otherwise not much else!

IZANA

- this is an interesting one because from what we know about izana, he is very similar in personality to akutagawa in terms of ruthlessness that stems from childhood trauma and isolation.

- in the case of a s/o with this personality, I think it would be a troubling relationship. lots of bitter fights fuelled by nothing but an inability to express vulnerability, while leaving both of you torn up inside and begging for someone to nurture the trauma and allow space for emotions.

- that being said, with toxicity and trauma also comes intense passion and desire. this relationship brings a lot of fire both in the bedroom and outside of the bedroom, with simple arguments often spawning into intense desperate (and lengthy might I add) sex. like, intense. it's almost like sex is the only safe outlet of these pent up emotions, providing a sort of comfort and also distraction for both parties.

- however as I said in general, this is definitely a toxic relationship. one where neither can help the other when it comes to growth and improvement on a personal level. it's unhealthy and enabling, but for a short lived fling it is hot as fuck im not even gonna lie. lots of hate sex too.

WAKASA

- so wakasa is another interesting one alongside izana given the lack of information and content we have about his character so please excuse the slight kc fanon version I have in my head of wakasa lol

- wakasa has a "don't fuck with me because I do not fucking care" type of vibe to him. I definitely think he's the type to completely disengage from the type of behaviours an akutagawa-type s/o might display. this leads to sort of a sense of competitiveness in trying to get some kind of reaction from him, and it has the potential (much like izana) to become toxic in nature

- any attempts to get under his skin are failed attempts, and the way he looks at you with that half bored expression is something that only triggers more of a somewhat emotional response from you.

- with that being said, my fanon version of wakasa is someone who while cold and aloof, is also quite a rational person. he's been typed by the fandom as INTJ which is quite a quick thinker, and I think he probably (despite not showing it very well) has a soft spot for you. but your passion and intensity (as well as your easily triggered dynamic) keeps him from completely being able to express this care in any way other than not engaging with your antics

- as much as there are some similarities with the type of toxicity in this relationship with both wakasa and izana, the intense passion isn't quite the same as it is with izana. instead, feelings of passion are more to the point and driven by pure instinct and desire rather than toxic passion. wakasa seeming like a very literal person, is actually quite mysterious deep down and has a lot (I mean a lot) of hidden desires and kinks that begin to emerge with time. it's rarely a conversation, and more often just something that happens that surprises you. you just have to go with the flow here, and let him take the reigns for once. it might actually be a good opportunity to allow for vulnerability to take the spotlight for once, which is something wakasa is surprisingly in tune with and quite to the point about.

CHIFUYU

- this is something much healthier than the last two. chifuyu, being an enfp is someone that's able to handle this level of intensity in a person while still being able to understand what's really going on.

- call him the trauma counsellor king. he values each and every response to a trigger that you might have. he notices patterns, he makes mental notes of things, and he does this all without making it seem like he's analyzing.

- to be honest he actually loves the spunk you bring on a day to day level. even though most of the time it's driven by bitterness or hate (not always towards him just in general) he is still able to see beyond that and appreciate you for what you are.

- with that being said, chifuyu will not stand for any toxic behaviour towards him. no sir he will not. threats and pushes for fights wont be tolerated, and he will either disengage or try to expose your vulnerabilities in an attempt at forced submission. this can be hard to get used to, especially with having a personality characterized by the inability to accept being vulnerable. but with time chifuyu is one to create a safe space for you to allow yourself to feel emotions beyond anger and resentment, and he encourages this.

- because of this very feelings based approach, intimacy with chifuyu is just that: intimate. he's extremely loving and doting, hoping that his sweetness can rub off on you a little bit. however he's also very accepting of your need for power over him (especially during sex) and will absolutely submit to your needs in order to please you.

- he really likes to put you in a place of pleasure though, so however that may come to you chifuyu is the one to deliver it.

KAZUTORA

- oh boy. this one is a doozy. listen. if we're talking about timeskip kazutora (as is the case with all characters i write about but I feel it especially important to remind ppl of here given his history), we're talking about someone who is quite literally walking on eggshells in terms of his trauma and emotional vulnerability.

- he's pretty good at being emotionally aware of his needs and struggles as well as the needs and struggles of those around him, but that doesn't mean that he's entirely healed or capable of managing toxicity or his triggers. he still slips up from time to time especially when things get hard, and sometimes finds himself falling into his old patterns. after all, he's only human. but this is where things could get messy in a relationship.

- for the most part, like I said, he's pretty good. so let's focus on that part first since I want to give him credit where it's due. he is very desperate for love and dedicated to providing something to his partner. in this case, he will seek to tap into his emotional vulnerability to provide some sort of comfort for you. he wants to see you happy, and calm, because he sees so much of his old self in you that it gets to him sometimes. but at the same time, he struggles with your relentlessness and can become emotionally drained when things get tough. he'll beat himself up for not being good enough to help you, and this is when he'll isolate and fall into old patterns.

- however, akutagawa's personality type isn't all bad. with a s/o like akutagawa, comes an immense amount of protection and loyalty for their loved ones no matter how tough things might be. in this case it might be hard to communicate this, but there will be times when it's needed in order for kazutora to restrain from old habits and ways of dealing with hardships. but he wants to share his healing with you, he wants you to be happy, and more than anything he understands the struggle of wanting to be happy and healthy but being afraid of losing the one thing that makes you you: your attitude and relentlessness. nobody understands this better than kazutora, which is why things between you can get frustrating and very personal for him.

- much like chifuyu, sex is driven towards pleasing you and only you. chifuyu leans more into switch territory however, while kazutora is 100% submissive. in this case it works out well, however he has a lot of boundaries and limitations when it comes to the way in which you function. he doesn't like degradation. instead, he thrives from praise and any sign of love and care. this might be tough for you to execute 100% of the time, but when it comes down to it the way his eyes twinkle for you is enough to make the ice around your heart melt just a little more each time.

[shades-of-stony]

ABO Stony AUs!

Celestial Navigation by  sabrecmc

Summary:  18 year old Omega!Tony finds himself Bonded to Captain Steve Rogers. He isn't happy about it until he is.

Note: Does it need any explanation? This fic is an all time classic and favorite in the Stony fandom!

Object: Matrimony by BladeoftheNebula

Summary: Omega Tony Stark craves adventure and an escape from the life his parents have planned for him in New York. He places a listing in a marriage catalogue to seek a match with an alpha out West, and Sheriff Steve Rogers answers his advertisement. But finding a nice alpha doesn't mean it's all smooth sailing from there..

- A Mail Order Bride AU -

Note: A 10/10! This has all the splendid elements of ABO with an added twist of a West setting and time! 

 The Team Omega by AngeNoir for PhenomenalAsterisk

Summary:  Steve Rogers is thawed, stressed, and not quite sure what Director Fury wants with him. Giving him a unit of all alphas, even if most of them Steve had fought alongside when the alien menace had nearly wiped out the entire city of New York... The thing is, more than four alphas wouldn't work in a unit with one another, not for long. Everyone knew that. Steve knew that, intimately, with the Howling Commandos.

Which was why Director Fury had, apparently, assigned them an omega.

Frustrated at the inability to even choose his team, let alone choose the omega that was supposed to keep the peace between everyone, Steve storms back to his unit's assigned quarters. There, he meets Tony Stark, grandchild of Howard Stark, clearly unhappy with his position and just as clearly unwilling to break contract with the U.S. military complex. So why was someone like Anthony Stark here, in Steve's charge?

And how could Steve even act upon his genuine attraction, with the power imbalance clearly in place?

Note: I admit, this has one of the best takes on ABO I read in a while! It’s a good read!

 If You Love Me I'll Love You Too by Carsonian

Summary: Starrk hands Steven a knife, leatherbound and strong, to fulfill the rite. The Alpha must go first. Steven takes Anthony’s hand, slices a clean line across the palm.

“And in the sharing of blood, I am become yours.” Steven recites.

Anthony takes the knife and returns the favour.

“And in the sharing of blood,” He looks up, eyes dark and unfathomable, “I am become yours.”

Note: A well-written ABO Stony fanfic with a dash of arranged marriage and Middle Ages (though the time period wasn’t exactly specified). It takes on how Steve and Tony navigates through their forced marriage and how they learn to care for each other!

Tribute Given, Treasure Gained by sphagnum

Summary: “Steve,” the Captain said, hand over his chest.

Tony licked his lips. Was he supposed to give his name, or remain silent until he was asked a direct question? The Captain--Steve, apparently--already knew his name, he had to, it had been included on the settlement he and Stane had signed. Was this a test? Time was passing and Steve was still waiting with his hand on his chest but Tony had to figure out the right answer fast or when Steve moved he might--“

Tony,” he blurted.

“Tony,” Steve repeated. He hadn’t come any closer. He said something short that might have been pleased to meet you or you look good on your knees. Tony had no way of knowing and he wasn’t going to risk echoing it. He kept quiet. See, Howard? I do know how to shut up when my life depends on it.

Note: A nice ABO with Warlord!Steve! This is a great read, with the steamy smut on the end being a nice cherry on top!

While We Pretend to Sleep by Typo66

Summary:  Tony pretends to be an alpha. Then he forgets he had been pretending. One thing he remembers is Steve. Steve tries to help out in his old fashioned, ethically strict way. Tony likes making big gestures. He has never been subtle.

Note: Another Stony classic! This is a great take on ‘Tony denying his nature’! A deifinite 10/10 read!

Rockabye by BladeoftheNebula

Summary: Cute alphas didn’t appear out of nowhere to help ruined omegas. That was a widely accepted fact.Tony Stark had always known his life wouldn’t be easy as a genius omega in an alpha’s world. But not even he predicted getting knocked up and forced to move to a small town in the middle of nowhere.

Note: A fun read where Firefighter!Steve lend a hand to pregnant Tony! It also takes place in a Small Town kind of setting, which is an added bonus!

In the middle of the night by defenceless_stark

Summary:  In the past, alphas used to only mate with other alphas and maybe the occasional beta or delta. Omegas were seen as useless and scum to alphas. Omegas would only stay in a pack if they could keep up and they were only protected if they were the head alpha’s offspring. Over time, alphas soon discovered that omegas were useful for producing offspring, due to their high fertility rates and weaker genes, so, in most cases, only the alpha’s genes will pass on. Alphas soon evolved to an omega’s scent, making them possessive and dominant over omegas which led to an increase in abuse and mistreatment. Steven Rogers was expected to be an omega, but much to everyone’s to surprise, he was an alpha.

Anthony Stark was expected to be an alpha, but much to his father’s disappointment, he was an omega.

Like any omega, Tony had his fair share of omega abuse and harassment. But unlike any other omega, he wasn’t one to sit around and take it.

Note: If you are avid ABO fan, this is a Stony fanfic that you wouldn’t want to miss! 

In A Rut by rougewinter

“You don’t have to do this, Tony.” Pepper said as she tightened her white knuckled grip on the clipboard in her arms. “I’m sure we can find someone else.”

“Yes. I do.” Tony said, surprised that his voice came out steadier than he expected.

Or the one where Steve goes into an Alpha Rut and Tony is the only one who can help.

Note: A short but sweet-well, not sweet since it has that dose of great smut! make sure to check it’s sequel where Tony is in heat! (Heat Up by rougewinter for avengemehamlet)

Please don’t (give me what I want) by masterlokisev159

Summary: After the events in Siberia, a new law is declared and Steve and Tony's newly reformed relationship is torn to pieces.

Then Tony goes into heat. And Steve is adamant to save it.

A post-civil war story where Tony is put in a position where he cannot consent to anything at all. Steve, the strongest alpha of all time, is furious.

Note: For those Stony shippers that wants a bit of angst! 

Perfect Man for the Job by Ilearnedtoreadforthis

Summary: After his ordeal in Afghanistan, omega Tony creates the Stark Housing Initiative: Executive Level Development (or S.H.I.E.L.D., for short) to provide housing to returning veterans. When alpha Steve Rogers applies to manage S.H.I.E.L.D., it turns Tony's life upside down.

Note: This is a cute employee/boss story with a dash of ABO! 

World Acclimation by Del_Rion

Summary:  When an unexplained phenomenon washes over the entire planet, the Avengers are left to struggle along with the rest of the population. Chains of command, relationships and friendships alike are put to the test as new biological imperatives take hold, and only one thing is certain: the world will never be the same.

Note: This is one of my favorites! It has a unique take on ABO that I don’t see often. And well, Am still hoping for the next installment. Though, read the tags carefully!

You Are Not Broken, Just Bent. by NazakiSama166

Summary: He won't break!

No matter how much he was tortured, no matter how much he was beaten, starved, threatened... He won't, he won't, he won't!

Until he did...

--- When Shield uncovers a hidden sub-basement in the house of Obadiah Stane, they find a tortured omega and his pup. Everything went down the drain when that Omega turned out to be Tony Stark, Howard Stark's son that went missing six years ago.

Note: Anyone in the mood for angst?

WIP: 

Finding Pack by Naferty

Summary: In a world where pack means everything from status to fame to survival and to family, newly pack-less Tony Stark is trying to survive after those he once trusted betrayed him, and starting over by searching for a new pack to take him in, but with his age and status weighing heavily on his shoulders finding someone to take a chance on him might be easier said than done.

What pack wanted an old infertile omega in their ranks? Certainly not the famous Avengers pack led by the equally famous Captain.

Note: This is a bit of a slow burn Stony fanfic that ticks all ABO boxes! It’s an all-time-favorite and classic! 

Secrets Don't Make Friends by sayah1112

Summary: Tony Stark has a secret. Several, in fact. Outed to the world as an Omega, he finds himself stuck between a rock and a hard place. His only hope at salvation rests upon the strong shoulders of a certain Captain Steven Rogers. The problem? Rogers hates his guts.

Note: Another favorite of mine! This is a great hurt/comfort fanfic centered on stony!

This is just part 1 guys! I’m kind of a big fan of ABO so I have a few more to recommend!

[mxpseudonym]

More, Even If It’s Too Much

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x OC or she/her pronouns Reader

Summary: Arthur falls for his innocent, young bookkeeper who doesn’t actually have an innocent bone in her body

Length: 1396 words (allegedly)

Warnings: Age difference, Manipulation, Unhealthy-ish ideals

Request: for the arthur smut idea - how about the reader is younger than him, maybe her 20s and she is somehow around the shelbys a lot and he falls madly in love with her but doesn't want to bother her cause she seems really innocent and sweet, but in reality she is daydreaming about how he would just have his way with her and she teases him a lot, maybe by sucking on lollipops or whatnot, until he just can't hold it back and somehow they get it on🥵

A/N: I felt rusty when I was writing this, but it was a joy. I hope you like it! I took a liberty and made it a tiny bit dark. If anyone wants to hear about my analysis on my own story, I may just have to share.

--

He said her name, but all she could hear was a snap. 

Pulling Arthur into his office on a quiet afternoon and lifting the hem of her dress to reveal what his Christmas bonus bought her was the last straw to break under her many efforts. Her gaze lifted from where she ran her fingers over the lacy hem of her new garter belt and looked into the dark eyes of her boss. 

Arthur looked frustrated and maybe even a bit angry. His fists clenched, and his jaw tightened like he was on the verge of barreling over the line he'd drawn. Her wide eyes narrowed, and her innocent smile shifted into a wicked smirk. This was perfect. He was perfect.

"Have you finally noticed me, Mr. Shelby?" 

She was sure the paperweight that cracked against the floor was expensive, but the experience of finally having Arthur push her onto his messy desk was worth more than the whole of this shady company. 

"Notice you? Fuckin' hell, lovey, you're all I can think about."

His lips were a bit chapped against her soft ones, always prepared for the possibility that Arthur would lose his good sense like she knew he could. 

She'd been around the Shelby's since she started running numbers as a preteen. There wasn’t a day that she didn’t have a crush on the older man. He was all heart, a dangerously open book that she wanted on her bedside table very night. Now as a young lady with a knack for bookkeeping, she was the only thing Arthur insisted on taking to the London offices during the Shelby Co Limited expansion and she was glad. 

It wasn’t until a couple of years before when she turned 20 that she realized how much more she wanted to know. What did he look like when he was content or overwhelmed with pleasure? Would he ever get mad at her? About what, she wondered. She wanted to know everything.  

Tommy wasn't so sure about it at first. It wasn't a secret, after all. Arthur couldn't touch her without going red and went out of his way to make her life easier any way he could. At some point, even she had to tell him to stop making her so many cups of tea just how she liked it. The eldest Shelby had been ready to risk everything for her for ages. But it wasn't the pining that worried the perceptive middle Shelby. 

It was the look she had when no one was watching. Her eyes, only ever set on Arthur, were insatiable. And anything or anyone who pulled Arthur's concentration away from her received a glare that could kill. But maybe what worried Tommy more was that Arthur was a fool. 

He was too convinced she was a nice girl who fixed his hair with a tender touch and laughed brightly at his silly jokes. Even when she got Arthur to do whatever she said or steered other women in the opposite direction just to keep his attention, she was still young and assuming to Arthur, which only worked to her advantage.

Nice girls finished last as far as she was concerned. She may have been young and seemingly innocent, but she didn't desire the mad dog of a man without knowing him. With his inability to avoid a devilish addiction, Arthur Shelby only needed to be tempted to devour her. He only needed a little hand brushing, a compliment on his appearance paired with a giggle, a low-cut blouse. She knew it, and Tommy knew she knew it. 

"Tommy says I put you on too high of a pedestal," Arthur mused one day when they stood in the back alley of the Eden Club for a smoke break. 

Well, Arthur lit his cigarette and forgot to inhale while his eyes followed her swirling tongue around the lemon-flavored lolly. Deciding to quit smoking was an all too convenient addition to her seduction plan. She reached up and plucked what was left of his cigarette from his fingers and tossed it away. She raised her candy to his lips instead, and he was obedient in taking it, making her chuckle. 

"It could be higher." 

Arthur didn't waste any time, or rather, he didn't quite know how to go slow. It was all or nothing. It was hardly looking her in the eye or hungrily taking in her taste in the back office of the Eden Club. 

His calloused hands still had a slight tremble to them even as they pulled down the soft sleeves of her dress, leaving it to pool around her waist, but one hand pressed against the desk beside her, caging her in, while the other trailed along her skin, leaving her gasping. She wasn't going anywhere. A gasp escaped her lips, and a shiver ran down her spine when he ghosted over her nipple. She jumped slightly when his lips ghosted over her ear. 

"Are you afraid, lovey?" He rasped in a way she'd always wanted to hear directed at her. 

"I'm afraid you'll stop," she answered, her own voice desperate. Arthur leaned back suddenly and looked down at her. Now he wondered just how blind he'd been. Was she always this forward with him? 

"And I thought you were a sweet, pure lamb." 

She placed her hand over his and guided it lower, beneath the bunched of fabric, and pushed aside cotton until her breathing was shallow and Arthur was dipping between her slick warmth. And yet, her eyes never left his. She licked her slightly parted lips while Arthur swallowed. 

"How could I be when you leave me like this every day? I'm not nice, Arthur," she revealed, desperate as ever. "I'm greedy." 

She kept his pace easily. It was fluid if you could call it anything other than ravenous. Clothes were forgotten on the floor next to the holsters and the guns. Their names flowed between moans and cries, getting cut short or sighed at an exquisite movement. 

Pressed between Arthur and the wall, she was still trying to adjust to his size but refused to let him slow down. She'd been thinking about this for too long, and her own hands weren't enough anymore. Even Arthur teasing her a bit at the beginning, rubbing the head of his weeping cock over her entrance and around her sensitive bud, had been agonizing enough to make her cum before he even put it in. She was losing count of every peak she was experiencing, but all that mattered was that he moved with no resistance. Every sound and experienced movement he made sent heat straight to her core. Arthur was no saint, and he'd certainly been around the bend, but she just as hungry as he was. That was a first. 

"More," she moaned as her eyes rolled. Arthur let out a haughty laugh that she didn't mind.

"You think you can take more?" He asked, but he tightened his grip on her thighs and thrust hard and deep into her in the same moment. She could only dig her nails into his shoulder and tug at his hair with a silent cry. "What are you greedy for?" 

"You," she finally gasped loudly at the resulting deep thrusts. 

"Me?"

"I want every part of you. Even if it's too much," she whined and grabbed Arthur's face in her hands. He was looking at her, watching her, in awe as her eyes welled up and she tightened around him. "And I want you to look at me only. Just always at me. Oh god!" 

She shook and bucked against him, her eyes closing tight and her nose scrunching up. Still, Arthur kept her wish of never letting his eyes leave her contorted, euphoric face as she mumbled his name even as he followed her release with his own. She really was something else.

It was perplexing to see her transform back into the girl he thought she was. Even with her cheeks warm and a silly grin on her face from their salacious act, she still looked precious and not like the vixen dragging her nails down his back and biting his skin just moments ago. It made him want to apologize for being so rough. She'd have plenty of bruises of her own in the morning. As if she sensed what he thought while he helped her into her coat, she turned and pulled him down into a kiss. 

"Arthur, thank you for taking me so seriously." 

"Well, I've loved you for a while, haven't I?" He asked, turning again. She perked up with her usual smile. 

"Good. Because I want you to want me more than anything else too." 

He scoffed and shook his head. Something else entirely. He reached up and pinched her cheek.

"When you say something like that with such a pretty face, how can I say no, lovey?" 

[ajaxwrites]

GENSHIN IMPACT FANFIC REC LIST II

(previous: part i)

Seaglass by Aevas

There was more to the contract than a gnosis and test of Liyue. It seemed like a simple deal five hundred years ago: so long as Morax never had a soulmate, the Tsaritsa would never harm Liyue and she would not get his gnosis. But the moment he gained a soulmate, all that belonged to him was forfeit. He thought the deal left Liyue safe—he'd lived thousands of years without a soulmate. The Tsaritsa would be dead and gone by the time she'd have a chance to collect.

Five hundred years later, Childe appears in Liyue, Zhongli gains a soulmate mark, and everything falls apart.

(The obligatory soulmate AU, featuring a Zhongli with PTSD, an oblivious Childe, and demon-worshipping cultists.)

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: I CANNOT BELIEVE I SLEPT ON THIS FIC FOR SO LONG. Read it and I mean it! I admitted initially steered clear of this fic because I wasn’t comforted with a soulmate tartali fic pre-Osial but this fic is actually post-Ostial *facepalm* The writing is phenomenal and Aevas does some beautiful worldbuilding that you typically don’t see in Genshin Impact fics. I love the dynamic between Childe and Zhongli here and the angst is real. The author writes the two as very human characters who makes mistakes, etc. and notably Zhongli struggles with the concept of Childe as his soulmate (who understandably is upset by the rejection when he realizes). They get better though. Also very plotty. A+ writing.

it's a hard rock life for us by reptilianraven

“Ah, no need to worry about that,” Azhdaha waves a dismissive hand. “There is no real Kun Jun. He’s dead.”

A leaf blows past and plaps onto Aether’s face.

“You killed him???” Paimon screeches.

“No,” Azhdaha scrunches his eyebrows. “He was dead when I found him.”

“And you just decided to wear his corpse?” Aether says, leaf still on his face.

He shrugs. “It was free real estate.”

“Azhdaha...” Morax says, sounding vaguely pained.

-

Or the one where Historia Antiqua Chapter II: No Mere Stone goes a little bit different and Azhdaha gets more time.

He ultimately uses that time to bully Morax into confronting his immortal neuroses, to make Aether and Paimon suffer, and to figure out how to get that ginger boy Morax has his eye on to make a move already.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe, Past Azhdaha/Zhongli

Notes: Very lighthearted, humor-filled fic. Love how Azhdaha is so flippant. Interactions with Zhongli and Childe are pure gold.

if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes by moonlight_mist

Childe has a Weapon problem- specifically, that he can't keep one.

He's too reckless, too wild, and too keen on pushing his Weapon partners past their limits. He's just about ready to give up when he meets Zhongli, a Weapon who just might be the solution- so long as Childe can manage to keep his dick in his pants.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: This is a Soul Eater AU with some college/university AU vibes (?) but you don’t really need to know much about the anime. It’s a cute AU and I love the premise. Light angst but otherwise, it’s a pretty semi-plotty fic. Easter egg Kaeya and Diluc though.

To Kill A God by IlluminanceinTales

In Snezhnaya, they call them sansis—lost souls that have no guidance but themselves. It’s an apt description, given that most of the time, wannabe-Archons have to go through dozens of tests with nothing as their reference, relying solely on their wit and strength and hoping it would be enough. At least, until they survive the end of the whole game—and they might not have to undergo a painful reincarnation which feels like a hundred bones being stitched together again.

On his seventh game, Childe Tartaglia reincarnates this time in the body of a young man.

Damn, he thinks, looking down at his thin body, his slightly calloused fingers. This won’t be good when facing the other Hydro Decisions.

In a world where an Archon's position is not chosen but fought for in games, Childe Tartaglia is a Hydro Decision who's poised to become the next Hydro Archon. Of course, that's only if he survives his seventh reincarnation. All would be so much easier if it weren't for a certain Geo Archon interfering with every possible chance he gets.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Think Hunger Games meet Political Intrigue meet Genshin Impact. Love the premise and world building that’s done. Features overprotective Zhongli and lots of Childe whump. Has one or two supplementary OCs that aren’t really important outside of plot device reasons. Warning for character death tho lmao.

Three's a Family by IlluminanceinTales

Childe finds a kid that looks just like him.

Of course Zhongli wants to keep him.

Or: How a harbinger and an archon accidentally become fathers. The kid is their wingman

Ships: Childe/Zhongli (?)

Notes: Your everyday cute AF kid fic. Fluffy as hell and super cute. Zhongli and Childe get domestic pretty quickly. Xiao gets dubbed a grandfather and begrudgingly plays along. Super wholesome.

in pitch dark i go walking in your landscape by snowbrigade

He glanced down at him, at the silvery scars peeking out from beneath his robe, and at his eyes, properly now. They were the bright blue of high quality noctilucous jade, but he could see it, an underlying darkness.

Zhongli wondered what his eyes betrayed about himself. --

Rex Lapis is dead. Zhongli, formerly known as triad leader Rex Lapis, is a detective investigating his own "death." Childe, also known as Tartaglia of the Fatui mafia, is undercover as an escort looking to kill Rex Lapis- until someone beats him to it, and he wants to know who. Goals intersecting, they form a partnership of ulterior motives.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: There’s like one scene that skews NSFW but otherwise surprisingly not explicit. Really fun AU. Like how the author addresses Childe’s reaction to being stuck with the undercover escort stuff and how the dynamic between the two develops. Pretty plotty so far.

Phantom Lines by iskendaris

“It’s a measure of one’s self, Mr Zhongli.” Childe says. “Maybe you don’t understand it since you work as a consultant, but as an ambassador from the Tsaritsa, as one who fights in her name— this is how I learn to know the measure of myself.” “I understand,” Zhongli says thoughtfully. “It is a warrior’s way, to test one’s strength against the incomparable. To find where one falls short. To find where one has risen to the challenge.”

In which Childe has insomnia, vandalizes public property and runs into a mysterious funeral consultant on his first night in Liyue.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: THE FEELS. I can only describe this as the fic where Zhongli pays Best Boyfriend Ever only to FUCK UP big time (via Gnosis deception). Poor, poor Childe. Look, he gave the boy feelings and then broke him. You can really feel Childe fall in love in this love. He also does mental swooning a lot lmao. 

adventitious by Anonymous

It's said the Ley Lines remember all things that happen in this world, from the surface down to the deepest depths... But in the hidden corners where the Gods' gaze does not fall, there are those who dream of dreaming.

There's a dormant bud where Kaeya's eye once was. One day, it will bloom. (Never forget: memory is untrustworthy.)

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: I don’t even know where to start. This is very headcanony and lore-focused. Very much concentrated on Khaenri'ah. The implications of this story is grotesque to say the least (according to this fic, Visions are the literal eyes of the people of Khaenri'ah). Warnings for eye and body horror.

Without Those Dark Memories by StrangeDiamond

Diluc awakens in Stormterror’s Lair with no memories of the past five years. Kaeya is on the trail of a rogue alchemist, with a habit of testing his chemicals on unwilling human subjects. Now, in addition to capturing the criminal, Kaeya has to shake him down for an antidote . . . and deal with an amnesiac Diluc who acts exactly like he did before their brotherhood fell apart. (Standalone Fic.)

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: This is sort of a classic amnesia fic. I particularly really liked the way that Kaeya was written in this. I feel like the author did a really good job nailing his character and they have a way of capturing the subtle things.

Through the warmth, through the cold by strikedawn

“It’s you!” Paimon shouted with a twirl in mid-air.

“…Excuse me?"

They were drunk. Were they drunk? Was he drunk? Because Kaeya had the feeling his guests had been talking to him for a while now, but none of their words had made any sense whatsoever.

That was, until Venti stepped firmly in front of Kaeya’s desk and set his hands on the top, the better to lean over towards Kaeya and say: “For the end of the Windblume festival, Sir Kaeya Alberich, we’re going to auction a date with you.”

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: Shortword, Kaeya gets auctioned off. Diluc makes impulsive (but good) decisions and scores himself a Date but displays an inability to do Date Planning. Venti deserves a pat on the back. Very sweet.

Hide and Seek by Kiri_Kaitou_Clover

Childe did not expect regaining his memories would bring him such frustration.

He makes the best of the situation by messing with one amber eyed consultant in anyway he can.

A reincarnated storm god wades through life in Liyue, all while screaming about one dragon god's incompetency at being human.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Features Childe as Osial’s very exasperated reincarnation, who gets the joy of discovering that his rival/enemy Morax is not only an idiot but also broke AF. He still falls in love anyway. Contains this golden line: 

"Did... did that complete blockhead really use my money in order to get me a gift that basically says that he is proposing to me?!"

(Osial was screaming. When had the other god become like this?! Had he always been like this?!)

Getting that Bread by tzitzimeme

Concubine AU where Zhongli is Emperor, Xiao is an assassin sent to kill him while disguised as a woman in his imperial harem, and the only reason he doesn't actually do it is because he pities Zhongli for being so catastrophically stupid (also Xiao falls in love).

Ships: Zhongli/Xiao

Notes: Like Xiao says, Zhongli is an idiot. Fluff and humor filled. Xiao spends a good 95% of this exasperated by Zhongli’s bullshit. 

prayers for a boy by Recluse

The only way to reconciliation is fierce combat!

Hm... Come to think of it, there will be a lot of interesting news to be heard the next time we gather for drinks. Filling in the blanks.

Ships: N/A

Notes: I...don’t really know where to begin with this? It’s exactly what the summary implies...but more? I was tempted to describe this as the fic where Zhongli puts his foot in his mouth but...that’s not exactly write? I feel like this was more of a character study. It explores the aftermath of the Osial Incident and how Zhongli and Childe reconnect. Platonically...though I guess it can be read romantically. 

one kind of longing, two places of sorrow by lady_peony

Zhongli's hands rest behind his back, both gloved hands clasping one another. His fingers tighten around one another for the merest moment, before he relaxes his grip.

"There is a tradition in Liyue," Zhongli says, his back still to Childe standing behind him, "of inviting out a companion to a last meal before a farewell."

A pause.

"A tradition?" Childe echoes.

"Yes."

"With a companion?"

"Yes."

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: The fic where neither of the two communicate about jackshit but go on a quiet, sad not-date before Childe leaves for Snezhnaya. Childe pulls (? on accident or on purpose, I can not tell) the equivalent of leaving the jacket in the car post-date to get date to call for the second date. Also, the author has a gift for like...writing angst...without writing angst? Like the whole fic is like brimming with everything that the characters aren’t saying but the thoughts aren’t necessarily written out BUT YOU KNOW THOSE DUMBFUCKS ARE JUST LIKE. BRIMMING WITH FEELS? 

The People of Liyue by queer_occurrences

But Zhongli whispers, his low voice rooted in the back of Childe’s mind. “Changsun, the merchant, who is never too Mora-enthralled to turn away a needy child. There’s Tiantian—she will allow anyone to join the Adventurer’s Guild—she knows what it is to be desperate.”

Childe ducks away from them and hurries out over the bridge. It’s a warm, sunny day, the kind he would have complained about, whining about his delicate Snezhnayan skin. “It’ll burn, or worse, freckle. Would you still like me if I was freckled?”

Then Zhongli would say, “The people of Liyue will remember your sacrifice.” And he would wrinkle his nose.

Or: after it all goes down, Childe takes a walk.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: The author has a way with perfectly balancing angst with humor in a way that makes you cackle. There’s a lot of feels in this one. Zhongli tries communicating--Childe runs away a lot. There’s a lot of love for Liyue in this one.

cold blooded, warm blooded, hearts all the same by reptilianraven

Teyvat Petting Zoo @tyvtpettingzoo

Well would you look at that! Zhongli, our resident spinytail iguana, has gotten quite cozy with Childe, our new (and very feisty) ginger ferret! Aren’t they adorable all cuddled together like this? 😍😍😍

[Attached image shows a brown spinytail iguana curled up against a ginger ferret. The iguana’s head is nuzzled under the snout of the ferret.]

-

At the Teyvat Petting Zoo, Zhongli and Childe fall in love.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: ...I promise I’m not weird. This is just super cute. Cross-species love affair? Childe the ferret is very besotted. The internet is confused and the zoo keepers are just done.

a geo archon's guide to the modern era by Erina

“Morax,” Xiao says after Zhongli finishes his retelling of the incident. “He thinks you’re a weirdo.”

“No, don’t say that,” Barbatos snickers. “You’ll give him hope that this is salvageable.” He lowers his voice. “Morax, he thinks you’re a boomer.”

(In which Zhongli hibernates for centuries and wakes up in the modern world)

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: This took me, I shit you not, FIVE SEPARATE ATTEMPTS to read. Not because it was bad but BECAUSE THE SECOND HAND EMBARRASSMENT WAS REAL. Like, omg, just reading about Zhongli’s introduction to modernity made me want to dig a hole and die. Super funny though. Do not read in public or you will look like a lunatic. Has a...parallel (?) fic in the same series called  buy two get one archon free where Zhongli gets reversed isekai’d into an anime convention.

time flies like an arrow by Erina

He’s tired, tired of the unbreakable loop of watching his loved ones pass on, tired of getting attached only for the connection to be violently ripped away from him. He wonders if the real victors during the Archon War were those who perished, who died long before their godhood turned into a curse that chained them to the land that they were fighting for.

But that is not a problem for Childe to worry about. That is Zhongli’s burden to bear, delivered to him in a pretty package years ago in the form of a gnosis.

His very first contract.

(Zhongli and Childe, across many lifetimes)

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: This is a quiet fic. It’s this kind of slice-of-life fic colored by this overpowering sense of love and loss as Zhongli remains immortal and Childe dies and lives and dies and lives for hundreds of lifetimes, but always finds his way back to his geo archon. It’s so lovely but also unbearably sad.

Tartaglia’s Favorite Professor by GreyLiliy

The famed hitman Tartaglia of the Fatui Syndicate spends his days as the charming college student Childe. The two lives remain as separate as possible in order to maintain a flawless cover to keep the authorities off his back and to better serve the Tsaritsa.

However, new intel about a rival syndicate intersects his two lives in a way he could never have predicted.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Mafia AU meet College AU. Childe is somehow both a horny AF college student and murderous hitman. Zhongli gives off major DILF vibes. GreyLily somehow makes this work while also avoiding cringe. Highly recommended!

like a handprint on my heart by fallingintodivinity

“Strictly off-the-record,” Jean says, with a small smile, “I’m really happy to see you and Captain Kaeya getting along again, Master Diluc.”

“We’re not – we’re not getting along,” Diluc tells her, indignant. “We’re working together. Unwillingly, I might add.”

“Yes – oh, yes, of course.”

Diluc stares at Jean suspiciously. “Are you laughing at me?”

Jean clears her throat primly. “I would never.”

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: Super, super cute! Sort of reads like a first date fic except genshin impact style? Writing style is very refreshing!

[after-witch]

Title: Oh Honey Honey ('Oh Sugar Sugar' Part 2) (Yandere L Lawliet x Reader)

Title: Oh Honey Honey ('Oh Sugar Sugar' Part 2) (Yandere L Lawliet x Reader)

Synopsis: The newest regular to frequent your little pastry shop is a little unusual, but his appreciation of your craft is a welcome distraction from the terrifying suspicion that you may have a stalker.

notes: yandere, stalker behavior

You waved cheerfully at a little boy through the glass window of your store, as his grandfather gently urged him along the street; he was maybe 2 or 3, and had practically shrieked in joy when his grandfather bought him the biggest, cutest looking cupcake you'd had in the display that morning.

With the store empty for the moment, you turned back to your daily specialty case and decided to give it a quick cleaning. A regular, the older gentlemen who'd recently revealed that all the treats were actually for an associate, was due to arrive soon, and he typically bought up most of your special case. You leaned over the front counter, grabbed a rag and a bottle of cleaning solution, and gave the glass a quick spritz. You were humming to yourself when you heard the door bells jingling.

You turned, smile ready, expecting the older gentlemen--and almost flinched in surprise. It was not your regular, but someone new. He had lanky dark hair and wore an unassuming, casual outfit consisting of a white shirt and jeans. 

You swiftly stepped behind the register. “Can I help you today, sir?” 

"Yes, in fact," the man said. "I'm here to give my compliments in person." 

Confusion must have registered on your face, for he continued. "I normally have an associate buy my pastries for me. But I wanted to see your shop for myself, so..."

"Oh!" 

You hadn't meant to say it out loud, but you couldn't help it; nor could you help the more genuine smile that you gave the man who'd bought hundreds of dollars worth of pastries in such a short time period. Baking was your passion--but it was your business, too, and you couldn't help but truly appreciate people who supported that business. "I'm so glad to finally meet you! Thank you for all your business."

You held out your hand jovially, and the man came forward to accept it with a low, firm and slightly awkward handshake. When he pulled away, he glanced at his hand for a moment, before returning his gaze back to you. You couldn't help but hope he was getting enough sleep.

"I should be thanking you," he said. "For all the pastries, I mean."

At that, you beamed. "Well! Let me show you what's in our special case today..."

**

You had a stalker. Well, maybe you had a stalker. You weren't quite sure. All you knew for sure was that something was... off, lately. At first, you attributed it to getting less sleep than normal. With your bakery busier than ever, thanks to your new regular and even a nice business contract supply 2 dozen breakfast muffins every morning, you weren't getting as much sleep. 

So it would only be normal, you thought, to be a little on edge. A little testy. But less sleep didn't account for the odd, creeping feeling that you were being watched, especially at night. You could have swore you heard strange sounds, too... whirring or clicks. Cameras? You didn't know.

Nor did a lack of sleep account for some things that had gone missing from your apartment. A favorite nightgown you liked to sleep in; a favorite mug. the berry-red one you’d gotten two Christmases ago; even, as you discovered one morning, a lingerie set that you'd tried on once and then been too embarrassed to wear again. Still, it was expensive and the thought that someone had taken it--and why someone would take it--made you feel sick.

To say that you were not your usual chipper self for the rest of the morning was an understatement. You did your best to smile for the customers that came in, but even they must have sensed something was wrong; you even got extra tips from a regular, an elderly woman who tut-tutted you and told you that you should consider taking a weekend off.

The thought was tempting, but you knew that with running a small business came sacrifices--including the inability to just "take off." Still, you thought, you could take a little nap. A short one, 25 minutes, tops. You didn't often temporarily close up shop for breaks, but it was quiet and you weren't likely to get too many sales before the lunch rush, anyway.

As you were about to flip the sign, however, a figure suddenly walked up to the door. You jumped, then internally scolded yourself for being ridiculous--it was just your regular, or "Ahh, Mr. Regular?," as he'd awkwardly suggested you call him when you’d asked for his name. It was odd, but, the man was also downing an exceptional amount of sugar while buying up entire cases worth of your goods on the regular, so it wasn't your place to judge.

You bit your cheek to suppress a sigh of frustration and opened the door, stepping back so he could come in.

"Oh," he said, "are you closing?"

You smiled, or tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace than anything resembling your typical sweet countenance. "No, no, I was just going to close up for a nap... I mean a break." You shook your head. You shouldn't bother customers with talks about naps, it probably made you sound lazy.

He quirked his head slightly, staring at you almost intensely. "Yes..." he said softly, almost murmuring. "I see those circles under your eyes... you haven't been sleeping well."

The personal turn of the conversation made you feel awkward. You looked away, embarrassed. You hated the idea of customers seeing you as anything other than the cheery pastry shop lady, a source of sugar and sweetness and delicious goodies. "Um," you said, "I guess not, I've just been a little, you know--out of it. You know how things go."

You laughed, mirthless and empty, and gestured towards the case. "So, anyway. I actually don't have many special pastries today, I've been a little busy." You mentally slapped yourself for giving excuses, even bland ones, though it wasn't like you were lying. 

You'd woken up early so you could head into work and finish off some really nice specialty items you'd baked last night, but rummaging around your drawers for something to wear led you to realize the lingerie was missing, and you'd spent 2 hours drifting between panic and disgust.

But rather than walk towards the case and pick out today's purchases, your regular simply stood in front of you. Head slightly quirked still, eyes expressive--concerned, you thought, he looks concerned about me. 

You couldn't deny that a customer worrying about you brought up conflicting emotions; frustration, because you didn't want to mess with your public persona; and a warm mixture of comfort and flattery. Someone liked your pastries enough to care about you.

"Is everything all right?" He said, finally. "Are you feeling sick? Or is something else keeping you up?"

You stared, feeling lost for words. You didn't really know him, and you hadn’t even told your friends about your potential stalker. But the weight of the past few weeks, the build-up of fear and disgust and stress, seemed to push you down until you found yourself sliding into one of your cafe chairs. He followed suit, pulling his knees up until he practically crouched on the seat.

You hesitated. Should you really be telling him any of this? “I… don’t want to bother you with any of my personal problems.”

“It’s not bothering me. I’m curious,” he said, lightly.

You sighed. Here goes, you thought. “I… I have a stalker?” Your hesitancy quickly morphed into an awkward blurting. “I mean, I think I do. I’m not sure. It’s just the past few weeks. I keep hearing these weird noises. And I feel like I’m being watched.” You bit your lip. “And someone took my underpants?”

Actually vocalizing the thought made you realize that it could just all be in your head. I mean, whirring noises? Missing lingerie? Maybe there were ants in the walls and you’d donated the set and forgot about it.

You half expected him to look embarrassed and give an excuse to leave. But instead, he looked thoughtfully at you. “Hmm. Have you called the police?”

It was you who felt embarrassed now. “No…” You shrugged. “I mean, what can they do, anyway? I don’t have any proof.”

He regarded you with a grim nod. “That’s true. They won’t act without evidence.” He gave a little huffy sigh of his own. “Well… if it were up to me, I’d do a stake out. See if anyone comes into your place at night. I could get some equipment, if you want.”

You smiled--subtle and soft, but a genuine smile. At least he didn’t think you were crazy. At least he validated your feelings. And he’d offered to help, even if you would never feel comfortable taking him up on that offer.

“I appreciate it,” you said. “But maybe I’m just being paranoid. I don’t want to drag you into all this…” You sat up straighter and decided to change the subject--you’d had enough worrying about a stalker for one day. “Say, do you want to see the kitchen? I need to finish up a cake I started last night, for the special case. Maybe you can pick out the fruit toppings?”

For a moment, your regular looked shocked.  He nodded, slowly. His expression never quite fully recovered its normal neutrality, and he stood up almost cautiously before following your lead into the open kitchen door accessed from behind the counter.

“Sorry for the mess,” you say lightly. “I didn’t have time to start dishes yet.” You gestured towards a countertop where a small cake stuffed with mascarpone and nestled within a layer of marzipan sat. There were little dollops of cream forming a circle on the top of the cake. “I’m going to top it with some fruits, why don’t you pick out which ones you like?” You covered your mouth, suddenly. “I mean--if you want to buy it, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

He cleared his throat and a small smile flickered across his lips. “Of course I’ll buy it. Your cakes are delicious.”

You laughed a little, showing your teeth, and took out some little jars of fresh fruits from a small fridge underneath the counter. As he looked over them, you turned and began tossing a few empty pots, pans and stirrers into the sink so that they could soak. You couldn’t help but hum a little, used to singing while you clean.

“Yes, I’ve decided,” he said suddenly. You turned around and saw him staring right at you.

“Decided?” You asked. Something about the way he was looking at you felt familiar. You thought about whirring.

“On strawberries,” he replied. He slowly held up the bowl of freshly cut, ripe red berries. “For my cake.”

**

L sat, crouched on the couch, staring at the video he’d taken of today’s events. You confided in him, which was delightful. You’d smiled at him, which was even better. Watching you put the glorious finishing touches on a scrumptious pastry in the kitchen was just... well. Icing on the cake.

He pressed a button on the controller and rewound the video to the moment where you'd laughed, light and airy and perfectly melodious to his ears. Your smile was genuine, then--not the constrained smile you'd given when he'd interrupted your nap plans; nor was it the sometimes plastic smile you wore when you were clearly exhausted with giving endlessly bright customer service.

Your real smile was something to be treasured. Especially, he thought to himself, because it will be a long while before he sees it again. You won’t be smiling much after he kidnaps you--after he acquires you, he corrected himself. 

According to his calculations, you won't start feeling more accepting of your situation for at least a few months, but it may be sooner (or later) depending on certain variables. You will be scared first, he knew--scared and maybe angry with him for deceiving you and trapping you. And that wouldn’t be very conducive to the smile and laughter he’d quickly become addicted to taking in.

He lifted up your favorite mug and took a sip of the warm coffee inside, relishing the last bits of your lipstick left on the rim, before rewinding the video to watch you again. Time will heal your wounds--but in the mean time, he will be so very generous and patient with you.

[outofangband]

Maedhros at the Palace at Alqualondë, Part Three 

Previous part

Next AU masterlist + explanation Other masterlists

CW: abuse of power, gaslighting (mainly in the previous two parts), forced drugging, 

References to my rather nasty Maedhros is given a paralytic in Angband story 

 I explain the background in the notes at the end of part one 

This is the final part of this story to take place at the palace. 

I am writing sort of in order but I’m always taking prompts for any time in this narrative and feel free to ask any questions!

The day passes in a haze. Whatever he had been given isn’t strong enough to cause full unconsciousness but he is drowsy, weak, and disoriented, finding himself in and out of a restless sleep punctuated by anger. And fear. He still only has his sheet to cover himself but no one tries to take it from him and for this he is grateful. 

One more day, he tells himself again and again to keep his mind away from the creeping memories of another period of drugged helplessness he had suffered in the past. That had lasted an eternity but this...only one more day before he could leave the city and more importantly, leave the palace. 

He is a coward. He tells himself that too. He heard no click of a lock when Arafinwë enters or leaves but has not actually stood to investigate for himself even when his restraints are removed and whatever he had been given in his drink was weakening in its effects. Maedhros doesn’t want to know if the door is locked. It doesn’t matter. He is not a prisoner and he will be leaving soon.

He doesn’t argue when he is handed the same drink the following morning and spends the next few hours entertaining himself by braiding strands of yarn that he had found in the nearly empty cabinets of his room before the urge to sleep becomes too powerful again. 

Though his anger at being drugged doesn’t lessen, his desire to inflict the anger on Arafinwë does. He can hardly blame him for these precautions taken after what he did in this very city and there was no denying that Arafinwë had done him a great favor to keep him out of the hands of the wardens. It is a favor he doesn’t understand and is thus wary of but he has nevertheless calmed significantly by the next time the King enters on the end of the second day. 

It unsettles him slightly when Arafinwë seems to know this. The older elf holds out folded set of robes which he takes hesitantly, still using one arm to better hold up the sheet he had wrapped around himself. 

“Russandol, I need you to look over a statement regarding the incident two days previous. It will not take long, it is merely a summary of the events you must either confirm or challenge.  Put this on, I will bring you to my study.” 

His head is spinning and he wonders whether he has the mental wherewithal to accurately analyze anything but he nods and pulls on the robes which are rather light, likely for sleep rather than daywear. Arafinwë’s expression is impassive as he watches Maedhros dress himself, swaying slightly on his feet when he’s finished. He then opens the door and gestures to be followed. The corridors are empty all the way to the intricately decorated wooden doors the king unlocks and leads him into. 

Maedhros sits where he’s indicated to, blinking in the flickering light of the candles and lanterns that line the windowsill. 

“Read this over,” Arafinwë instructs, “Tell me if any part of it is inaccurate.” Vaguely Maedhros registers that he is being patronized, that under most circumstances he would not have needed to dictate his answers to another nor be under such close watch for mere paperwork. 

But he takes the parchment, realizing with dismay that the neat lines of ink swim in front of him as he tries to read them. It takes far longer than it should have to get through the short paragraph. 

“That is accurate,” Maedhros says finally and he can only hope that he has not missed anything, the words that should come so easily to him seem so fleeting. Arafinwë nods and takes the scrolls again.

"I will bring this to the guards, it will be delivered by the morrow. Wait here.” This time Maedhros hears the click of the lock as his half uncle leaves. He watches the fireplace for as long as he can, his blinking becoming more rapid. He doesn’t want to sleep here, at best it is an imposition. But the shadows of the fire grow longer and then twist until they enter his dreams as he nods off against the grand wooden desk. 

He is barefoot, wet leaves and grass beneath his feet as he is guided firmly by the grip on his arm. The sharp ache there tells him that he had tried and failed to pull away from it. The darkness around him cannot only be the night, a light breeze brings with it the feeling of fabric that Maedhros realizes is bound around his eyes. He cannot make his limbs work properly, cannot even force himself to speak. 

The next thing he knows the grass under him has become something cooler, smoother. The air too has changed, something damp and familiar and panic rises steadily in him. He is being pushed against something, losing his balance and whoever is with him takes advantage of this to hold something to his face. Something sweet as lilies fills his lungs and his feeble attempts at struggle turn to flailing before he goes still again. 

The memories of another time he spent bound in the darkness make it significantly harder to return to consciousness but three hours later, he does. Far from the sensations belonging to a nightmare, he wakes to find himself immobile. 

...

There is a slight stinging pain on the side of his head. It takes him a few minutes to realize this is from the cloth that is tied around his eyes. A few strands of hair has been caught in it. Instinctively Maedhros tries to reach up to fix it but finds his arms have been bound to some hard surface.

It takes painstaking effort to force himself to breathe. To think rationally and to stay in the present. He cannot see, he cannot move. But his other senses  remain intact. The air around him is cool, damp. Maedhros smells the earth. He hears nothing but his own breath. He can’t move his hands but beneath his fingers he feels wood. The arms of a chair?

The last memory he has is of King Arafinwë handing him a scroll of parchment in his study. No light filters through the cloth, he has no idea if it is night or day, how much time has passed since this. Had he spent his remaining night there, left, and somehow gotten waylaid? Had the palace been attacked? Frustration at his inability to remember combines starkly with fear and the strain of keeping away the inevitable; he is bound, helpless...again.

But he never has the chance for his thoughts to stray back to Angamando. A panic like a rising trill makes him almost dizzy. 

 Footsteps. 

There are footsteps coming towards him. There was no one here when he awoke, he was sure of it. He moves his head from side to side, unable to see anything under the cloth and only managing to disorient himself further. 

“Settle, Russandol,” a familiar voice orders calmly from just beside him, “I am going to take this off now. I did not know how you would react when you woke in a strange place.” 

Maedhros flinches when hands reach out to remove the blindfold, untying it and lifting it away so he sees an unfamiliar room start to come into focus. 

“Where am I?” Maedhros gasps out once the shock has lifted and he finds his voice again, “What has happened?”  

“Somewhere safe,” Arafinwë answers evasively, setting aside the cloth, “As for your second question, I do not think it prudent to discuss that now, you will only become more agitated.” 

Author’s note: how exactly Maedhros got from point A to point B is intentionally vague as the method will be relevant later on (just so you all don’t think that this is an accidental plot hole) 

Tag list: @tears-and-lilies @oswaldinator3000 @mozart-the-meerkitten @iwenttomordor @much-ado-about-whumping @miriel-estelwen @psychobootyshorts @pepperonyscience