#my child understands my burrowing ways

[randomfingthings]

I know my cat is my son because we are both burrowers. We burrow. We both burrow into blankets, covered up except for the sole ridiculous purpose of breathing. He knows this, always has, it's in his blood.

[vaaaaaiolet]

Anxiety left you sleepless all night. Leon figures his favorite dream of you might help.

mdni CIAO CHILDREN!! f / m smut w established relationship. put bluntly, leon fucks the worry out of you 😭 he talks you through sex by retelling a dream, tiny bit of character study, PRAISE!! TONS of fingering, 0.5 sec of cockwarming, light angst, p in v w/ a happy ending iykwim, aftercare and i love you's awww. also strawberries 🍓

a / n: req fic from my event!! i took the premise from isle of strawberries by edwin raphael and you can find a playlist for this fic here. motivational smut is a first for me LMFAO but i hope this works w your vision, anon <3 also PEE AFTER SEX YOU GUYS

word count: 2.5k // read on ao3

The 5 AM sun shines rays through the cracks in your plan. You thought you’d been convincing enough with your face pancake-flat against the pillow and your left arm thrown out of the blanket just so. You’d even made sure you had a foot poking into Leon’s side the way he always grumps about, but somehow, your boyfriend always seems to see right through you.

Just like now. 

A busybody poke on your shoulder. “Sweetheart,” follows a drowsy whisper, “what’re you doing?”

Sleeping since last night, thank you very much.

“No use playing possum. You haven’t moved an inch since we went to bed and you, ma’am, can’t sleep still to save your life. C’mere,” and you’re tugged to Leon’s side of the bed, the top of your head peppered with slow, sleepy kisses as he hugs an arm around your middle. “Did you sleep at all tonight?”

You clutch his forearm like a safety bar on a rollercoaster. “A little.”

“Enough?”

“Um…” 

Leon kisses his teeth. He’s usually the one on the receiving end of these questions, but he’s picked up a couple things from you. “Too hot? Too cold? Anything I can get you?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I just can’t fall asleep.”

A quiet sigh from you, a hum of understanding from him.

“Because you’ve been thinking again.” He asks if you want to talk about it.

“It’s just a bad night,” you mumble, playing absentmindedly with his fingers. “Overwhelmed. Been getting into my head about everything I should be doing but don’t. I feel like I’m letting everyone down all the time.” 

In the champagne pink of the early morning light pouring through the bedroom window, your eyes trace the corded muscle of Leon’s arm around you – a testament to the strength it takes to do his job every day. There’s scars here, burn marks there, a plum-hued bruise.

Your words stumble to a halt. Embarrassed color rises to your cheeks. 

The matter is that scars from his missions to the ends of the earth litter the chest cradling your back right now. Leon must be sore and aching, listening to you whine like a child with too much food on your plate. What could be keeping you up at night when he shoulders your worst nightmares for a living? All while you lay cuddled and coddled? You don’t know the first thing about worry, the paralysis in his bones that must pale to yours.

Guilt creeps up your spine, and Leon frowns at your sudden silence. You’re retreating into a shell he’s called home too many times. He won’t have any of that with you. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he soothes, smoothing back your hair. “I’m still here. You don’t wanna talk right now?” 

You let go of his arm and burrow into your pillow, mumble about how you like sleeping late on weekends anyway.

A scoff sounds behind you. “Sleep late, my ass.” 

Leon’s arm comes circling back over your ribs in an instant. He squeezes you so tight to his chest that you feel his heart thump behind your back, and you can’t help the unexpected laugh that bubbles up your throat when he lets go. It’s his favorite reflex of yours.

“If you won’t talk, I will.” Leon presses a kiss to your cheek. “Gonna distract you for a bit, sweetheart. Humor me?”

“Hm?”

“I wanna tell you about my favorite dream. You’re in it.”

You can’t pretend that doesn’t catch your attention like lightning to a rod. Leon doesn’t dream much, not besides the nightmares that have him scrambling to throw off the covers in the middle of the night. 1998 hangs thick in the air of your bedroom some days, but for him to have a dream where you don’t die for a change? That’s new. 

So is his hand starting to creep under your sleep shirt, playful circles tracing on the soft skin below your navel. Part of his distraction strategy. A successful one, if the skip in your heart rate has anything to do with it.

“This okay?” he rasps.

More than. 

You reach behind, cradling his cheek to kiss him a proper hello; allow yourself an anticipatory inhale when Leon’s hand dives under the waistband of your shorts. It takes exactly three seconds for his middle finger to pinpoint the pearl of your clit, and he circles it twice, maddeningly slow, before sliding right under to trace along the seam of your entrance. 

Leon keeps the pressure light. He needs your head clear so you listen. 

“It always starts the same.” He shifts his hips so yours widen for him. “I’m standing in the middle of a huge field, a strawberry farm. There’s nothing around for miles, just rows of bushes full of berries and storm clouds in the distance. I find an empty basket in my hand.”

You imagine your mountain of a boyfriend holding a basket like Strawberry Shortcake. Adorable. “You dream about picking strawberries?” you giggle, arching your back to fit more comfortably against him, and your consideration earns you a searing dip of his finger into your pooling arousal. 

“That,” Leon chuckles, “and a nagging, sinking feeling that I should be doing something but I can’t.”

Oh. 

“Mhm. It hits me that I have to pick as many strawberries as I can before the storm rolls in, and I can’t even move, sweetheart.”

You swallow the returning lump in your throat. Push down a sigh that was building at the upward roll of his fingertip inside you. Leon tuts at your effort, coaxing the sound out anyway with a press of the spongy spot he knows is tucked at the back of your walls. You crumple at the delicious nudge; it leaves you open to welcome another finger into your warmth.

“But this is a good dream because,” Leon smiles at your next gasp, “then I see you at the edge of the field standing next to a little house, waving at me.” 

He scissors you open like he’s got all the time in the world. You clutch the corner of your pillow when you hear it through the comforter: the soft, rhythmic squelch of his fingers curling into your cunt.

Pretending he can’t hear your whimpered little curses as he coos in your ear, “There you go, listen to that,” Leon continues. “That’s when I start thinking. There’s no way I can save all these strawberries in time. You’re standing there, smiling at me without a clue there’s a storm brewing, and suddenly all I can think about is getting you into the house before you get hurt.”

His lesson becomes one of endurance the more he talks. The fingers pumping into your pussy melt your brain into mush that’s chanting, more, more! Exactly the root of your problem.

“So then I- oh, poor baby. This isn’t enough?” 

Shit. You forgot you talk in your sleep. And apparently when you get fingered too. 

“Guess I can’t blame you. I get distracted in the dream too, fuck.” There’s a pause, a sputtering stop to the lovely fullness when Leon pulls his fingers out and promptly sucks them off. 

Even a worm will turn; you certainly do. You whine Leon’s name when he makes a show of it, gazing at you with half-moon eyes and a boyish grin pulling at his lips. “What, it’s my fault you taste better than the strawberries did?” 

No, for leaving you hanging. You were paying attention — maybe a bit too much.

“It was you, by the way,” Leon chuckles, lifting the comforter so his knees can bracket your thighs. 

“I distracted you in the dream?” you gasp, sliding your hands up his shirt.

“In the best way, angel. You helped me get moving again.”

The peachy light of dawn caramelizes gold as Leon climbs on top of you. It doesn’t warm the bedroom quite yet; Leon makes sure the comforter is tucked over your bare skin after he finishes kicking off his pajama pants. He’s back to murmuring sweet nothings, gently tugging your shirt over your shoulders so he can kiss down the swell of your breasts. You’re so toasty under the covers that the goosebumps now speckling your chest are entirely his fault. 

“I remember you picking a few berries off a bush,” Leon looks fondly up at you under golden lashes, pressing a gentle kiss over your heart, “and you just looked so content eating them. I was fretting over saving the whole field and you were fine with a handful.”

You’re itching to ask: but the storm’s still coming, isn’t it? Thunder, rain, your aching cunt dripping onto the sheets right under him. 

Leon is all too happy to answer. 

One hand cradles the back of your head so he can drop his mouth onto yours, leaving the other free to slip under the blankets, rub consolation over the hood of your clit, and finally, finally, notch the swollen head of his cock at your entrance. You cry out, clutching at Leon’s hair when he sheaths himself in a buttery-smooth stroke – as if it could be any other way with how you’ve melted like chocolate in his hands. You both gasp at the stretch.

Leon’s jaw works as he kisses you, savoring you. Spit bridges your mouths in between split-second gulps of air. Your heart thumps against your ribcage like you’re hanging off a precipice, no difference in the dizzying drop that waits ahead. His length sits adjusting inside the squeeze of your plush walls. 

Leon’s sentences come out chopped and desperate as he alternates sucking berry-toned love bites between your breasts, and he admits, “I don’t save the all the strawberries.”

You wheeze as if you’ve dashed across the field yourself. “No?”

“Just enough to last us the storm. Fuck the rest, figure it’ll grow back. Only need to focus on what matters – getting enough for you – so I pick a couple,” the thick of his cock is suffocating when it’s this still, “run,” Leon pants at the first snap of his hips against yours, outrunning the storm all over again, “and pull you inside the house before lightning strikes.”

Electric pleasure curls up from the base of your spine, spreads to your head and flickers down to your toes as Leon starts pounding into your pussy. No room in your chest for anxiety to linger when your eyes are rolling skyward. The edges of your vision melt into vignette as your lover sinks into you again and again. 

Tunnel vision. 

“Keep those pretty eyes open. Focus on what matters,” he repeats in a frenzied whisper, and the tunnel closes in.

All you see are Leon’s eyes. Smack dab in the middle of his blown out pupils is your reflection.

That’s it.

Coherency goes flying out the window with all your brainpower used up to connect the dots. “Leon, you-!”

“Tell me what you see, sweetheart,” he breathes sharply. “I know you can.”

You beg for mercy at each dig of his blunt cockhead. “Me, I get it, fuck! Please- just let me come!”

Course he can, he just has to drill something else into you first. 

“Need to hear you say it,” Leon grits. Nips at the base of your neck as your nails claw stinging holds on his shoulders. “Shit, I’ll make you see stars, don’t worry, I just need to – oh, you’re so fucking tight! – get it in your head. You can’t shut down on me.”

You thrash under him, make more space for bruising kisses to bloom up your neck. “But you’ve had it worse,” you sob out, overwhelmed. 

“How else do you think I know?”

He’s not letting you head off into your own storm alone. Not when you’ve saved him from his.

“Tell me you’ll let me in next time you get in your head, and I’ll make you come. I’ll make you come so fucking good, baby,” Leon hisses, stealing one last kiss from your panting lips. 

“Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

“I will.”

And you ought to thank your lucky stars your levees don’t hold. 

It starts with spiraling cracks. Leon reaching down to press his thumb over your swollen clit. One shaky thrust away from dislodging the last brick holding you together. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flutter of your cunt, choked breaths torn from his throat when the silken clutch of your walls sends him into that final crescendo. 

Leon’s fraying at the edges, obsessive in how rolls his thumb at the bundle of nerves that make you shriek his name, and you, hand in hand with him, finally let the swelling tsunami in the pit of your stomach topple your walls. 

Turns out he’s right. Stars explode across the night sky when your eyes squeeze shut. 

You can’t pay attention to much except the rolling tide of pleasure. Leon’s soon spilling into you, his brow pinched as he blindly works his spend into your cunt under the covers. His forehead glistens with sweat, hell, your baby hairs are a dripping mess, but strangely, you think you’ll spend the rest of your life chasing this warmth again. 

Your heart’s never felt more weightless. 

Glowing seconds sail by. Leon’s shaking arms eventually give way and he collapses onto your chest. You let out an “oof!” at the drop. 

“And then the dream ends,” you hear him sigh, eyelids fluttering shut.

About time, you think, smiling as you brush a thumb over his cheekbone. “Then you wake up?”

“No.” Leon cracks open a sapphire eye and grins. “Sometimes we do this.”

In the little hou- Oh. “Fuck you,” you laugh.

“It’s my favorite for a lot of reasons!” 

He sits up, keeping his touch featherlight when he pulls himself out from between your candied thighs. Tiny aftershocks jerk your thighs once, twice, and Leon takes the time to whisper soft apologies when he reaches for a tissue on the bedside table. 

“I meant it back there, y’know?” he hums, gently wiping off the mess between your legs. “I hate seeing you so hard on yourself.”

“It just feels like I’m making a big deal out of nothing. Especially when you’ve been through worse,” you mumble, picking at the covers.  

The tissue gets tossed into the trash, and Leon shoots you a small smile. “Worse to you, maybe. To me, the worst thing I’ve seen is watching you lose your spark and not being able to help.”

“You really think so?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I love you.”

So you remember your promise. 

You tell him you love him too, no more secrets to keep in your head. The bedroom blooms warmer than you remember it ever being, a little slice of summer straight out of both your dreams.

You remember the strawberries from the farmer’s market in the kitchen, and that Leon makes killer Sunday pancakes.

You remember how much you love afternoon catnaps with your limbs tangled between his. Infinite possibilities pile high like the papers on your work desk. So much to get started.

Focus on what matters. The rest will grow back.

You turn the other cheek, and kiss your lover on the mouth.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[shaybae1114]

Wolf hybrid x bunny hybrid reader.

You couldn't possibly be anymore nervous. You were meeting with the sigma of the all alpha pack. They needed a female for their heat, and you needed multiple males to help you through yours. Bunny heats could lead to death if not treated properly, and you were a shunned rabbit. No burrow would take you. Darius looked you up and down his claws digging into his chair he couldn't believe such a cute tiny bunny was in his office wishing to agree to the stupid ad his 2nd had recommended they put out. His pack was getting to riled needing a pussy to keep them in line but never did he expect a bunny rabbit. You smelt like sunshine and freshly grown flowers he couldn't help but wonder if all rabbits smelt like that.

"They accused me of a crime I didn't commit. I swear even though I'm a shunned. i'll bring no harm to you or your pack. I just dont wish to die in agony from something that can be helped. And if I do end up pregnant, I request to be welcomed to stay in pack territory. I will not leave any of my children." You stated the conversation had been going smoothly, but the sigma had started to look furious. You couldn't help but start to panic more. Did he believe the rumors did he just call you here to see the only shunned bunny in history like many others had before.

"Many of the males in my pack were shunned for the wrong reasons. I don't care about such a worthless thing. I just need a willing female to aid us and many have not been interested in helping my whole pack. They don't want there young to be born from tainted." Darius growled. He knew he shouldn't feel insulted at the females accusations but it still stung after all he would never rip a child from there mother or judge somebody for being shunned.

"I didn't mean to offend you. I just want to make sure there is no miss understanding." You whispered softly. The heat suppressant was starting to wear off , you where gonna cry over upsetting the wolf. This meeting needed to wrap up or you'd be in heat with a pack who didn't want you. Never again you'd sworn standing quickly. "Thank you for having me but since your clearly not interested I'm going to leave now."

"When did I say I wasn't interested?" Darius asked tilting his head inhaling your sweet scent. The scent of your arousal making his instincts go off. If anything he wanted to make sure you got under him and stayed there. He stood towering over you. He grabbed a strand of your hair twirling it into his fingers. He pulled you close your lips almost touching. "You will stay in my room for right now while I prep my pack then I'll have my way with you before they get there turn. I can't wait to have you falling apart for me little bunny nothing more than a brainless slut begging for more from me.... from my pack." He growled his eyes glowing golden with how his instincts where leading is emotions. As the soft needy whimper left your lips he stole the sound closing the distance.

Darius's kiss was all primal he made it clear he was in charge. He growled as he picked you up grinding his hard cock against your heat. The feeling of his jeans rubbing against your clit had you whining into the kiss for more. And Darius was going to give it to you.

He broke the kiss slowly placing you back on the ground making sure to keep your pressed close down as he did.

"Wh.. why did you stop." You stuttered blushing heavily wanting to reconnect with him.

"My office is not the place to start this. My pack has a room they made just for the female we brought in." He stated as he dragged you from the office. "My males will want you there ready and if I start with you now I won't stop." He groaned as he scented your arousal once again his sweet rabbit was so needy so wet already. As you entered the room that was located not to far from his office thank the gods for that. You where awe struck the room was beautiful truly looked like the room of your dreams.

"It's incredible I know you designed it for any female but it almost feels like it was made for me." You shook your head at the silly thought. Darius stepped forward placing his finger under your chin to make you look up at him.

"We all argued on this room for months before it was completed. So perhaps it was." Darius eyes where soft glad you liked the room. You grabbed his collar and pulled him down wanting to show the sigma how much you really appreciated the room. He chuckled kissing you softly. "Take of your clothes and lay down ass up on the bed." He stated nipping at your lips before stepping back. Sitting in a chair you hadn't noticed immediately but once you did, You realized it took in view of the whole bed you licked your lips perhaps Darius liked to watch. You had stopped in your tracks do to the fantasies that where running thru your mind. Darius watching while giving orders to his men while they handled you. "Bunny I believe I told you to do something." At Darius's tone you snapped out of your thoughts making eye contact he was the image of someone in control.

"Yes sir." You whispered out with a blush going to quickly strip. Darius tcked. Standing back up grabbing your hands.

"Stay calm bunny there is no rush. Give me a show baby girl." Darius whispered leaning into to drag kisses along your neck. "Mmm your heart is racing little bunny is it fear or desire?"

"Desire I've never wanted somebody as much as I want you." You gasped out as he gave a rough nip to your collarbone. He couldn't help but grin against your neck at that he felt the same he'd make sure you got pregnant he wouldn't let you leave him now.

"I'm gonna sit back down bunny and once I'm seated your gonna give me a show then lay on the bed with your pretty ass up, So I can see your cute little tail." Darius ordered releasing you to return to the chair. You watched silently as he got comfortable. Once he was fully seated you slowly reached down pulling your shirt off slowly. Your tail wagging in excitment. Darius's dominating mannerism had your panties soaked. Darius growled

As you finally revealed yourself his eyes traveled along your body taking you in. He jerked his head towards the bed encouraging you to do the next order. Finding the courage you turned to the predator giving him your back. Your heart rate once again picking up while your pussy only got wetter wondering what it'd be like to have him hunt you and use you for himself. Slowly crawling onto the bed wiggling your butt and little tail at the wolf. You where getting more and more wet by the second especially knowing the wolves eyes hadn't left you.

"Oh the bunny want to play does she." He snarled as you wiggled your tail and looked at him with half lidded eye lunging from the chair, he quickly closed the distance. You let out a startled yelp going to scurry up the bed to avoid the wolf. Your fight or flight extinct kicking in at Darius's sudden fierceness. He grabbed your hip with one hand while the other grabbed your long ears pulling your head back. Effectively pinning you to the mattress with his body. You where at his mercy. "Oh bunny you know better then to run from a big bad wolf don't you? That's how you get devoured and I'm gonna have my fill sweetheart." He groaned grinding his cock against your ass. You let out a soft whimper burying your face into the bedding as he released your ears. "Fuck bunny..." He groaned. "I can smell how needy your poor little cunt is. I need a taste. Don't fucking move." He growled as he slowly stood up. You where frozen the only thing you could acknowledge was the sound of your own heart beat. A soft gasp left your lips as you heard the sounds of his belt being undone and his pants hitting the floor.

"P....please Darius I need you." You stammered out you where to excited and things where going to slow.

"Oh no sweetheart this pretty cunt is about to belong to me ill take as much time as I please." He reached out spreading your fold licking his lips at the sight of your dripping cunt. He smirked taking a picture and sending it to the group messenger his pack had. I found our girl I'm gonna stuff her full first. Next one here gets her. Tossing his phone onto the floor knowing his pack would diffently rush to arrive he wanted to get his fill as promised. Darius bent down grabbing your ankles he pulled you down closer to him chuckling as you squeaked and quickly repositioning you on the edge of the bed your cunt and ass completely open to him. You moaned at the feeling of his fingers starting to rub along your clit. Darius wasn't joking about having his fill. He listened to every whimper and moan as he continued to move his fingers on your clit. He groaned in delight as he finally slide his index finger into your sopping cunt.

"Your pretty little pussy is sobbing in need she want a big thick knot to stuff her full." He stated looking into your eyes enjoying the way the rolled back when he made contact with your sweet spot. "A there's your g spot baby I bet you haven't found it with your pretty tiny fingers." He added a second finger smirking as your back arched off the sheets. The pressure building in your stomach telling you how close you where to cumming but suddenly Darius stopped pulling his fingers out of your puffy needy cunt.

"W...why did you stop." You whined soft tears falling down your cheeks. Darius groaned at the sight.

"Wanted to hear you beg for it hunny." He chuckled at the distress look that filled your features. He lifted up your left leg nibbling gently at your ankle. "You'll beg your Alpha to let you cum won't you sweet bunny?"

"Please Alpha please let's me cum." His smirk widened as he lunged for your cunt. Keeping your thigh pinned on his shoulder. You let out a startled cry as his thick tongue slide directly into your cunt. Darius growled against your clit as the taste of your cunt filled his every sense. Using his thum. to rub steady patterns on your clit he began to fuck you with his tongue using his hand to grab your hip pulling you closer to his mouth. Darius pulled back with a groan his face moist with your wetness. He smirked at you biting your ass cheek drawing out a soft moan from your lips. "fucking..bite....delicious....bite...gonna make sure you have our pups gonna keep your sweet pussy forever."

The finger that had been playing with your clit slid back he held eye contact with you as he pushed the finger inside. "Your poor cunt she's so needy only put my thumb in and she trying so hard to take me deeper to have more." He growled as he pulled his thumb out replacing it with three more. He and his brothers where all large and you where just a poor tiny bunny compared to them. Letting out a startled cry you clawed at the sheets underneath you. Back arching while grinding your hips onto the hand that was currently bring you close to the best orgasm you've ever has. Darius's eyes flashed at the sight of you cumming undone around his fingers. He quickly.pulled out his fingers flipping you back onto your stomach. Quickly sliding them back inside before you could let out any protest.

"Please Dare I... I'm gonna cum again." You gasped out making him gladly pick up the pace. Moaning loudly when suddenly his hand came down slapping your clit. You let out a sound that you'd never heard yourself make before eyes slamming shut and head thrown back as the pain made you squirt on his fingers.

"Fuck baby girl trying to milk my fingers dry. Let's give you something big and hard that you can get all those needy spots for you sweetheart." Darius shifted and dragged the head of his cock along your sensitive clit enjoying the soft whimpers and needy cries that kept escaping your lips.

"Please Dare fuck me I want you to fill me up. Wanna take your knot like a good girl." You gasped out reaching for him.

"Fuck baby girl gonna fuck you hard and deep." Darius snarled as he leaned over you slowly pushing his cock into your dripping heat. He moaned kissing you his tongue demanding entrance to distract you from the burning pain of stretching on his cock. As you returned the kiss he grabbed your hips pushing into you till his knot didn't allow him to go any further. You whinned at the feeling you where already so full and could feel his knot pressed against your lips, rubbing on your clit as Darius lazily rolled his hips.

"Sooo big.... I don't think I'll be able to take your knot." You cried soft tears sliding down your cheeks. You'd never been so full before or so sensitive. Darius looked down at you his eyes soft.

"You will sweetheart I'm gonna start moving okay and while I do why don't you play with your pretty pussy for me." You nodded at his wishes biting your lip as you dragged you hand to your clit. Before giving your clit some attention as your fingers gave your clit a light pinch. Darius pulled out and as you pulled on the sensitive bud he slammed back in. You cried out clenching tightly around his girth at the sensation it was to much you dropped your hands away from your cunt gripping tightly on to the sheet beneath you as Darius began to pound into you. You'd swear he was trying to hit your cervix and with how deep he was you where sure he would in no time.

Darius had lost it and the poor little rabbit under him had no clue. The sight of her hair spread out along her back, her pretty eyes glistening with unshed tears he couldn't wait to draw out, and then when she pulled on her pretty nipples biting her lip as he slammed himself deep inside of her fuck. He couldn't think anymore he wanted one thing and one thing only and that was to fill his mate with his seed. He listened to your sweet cries as he continued to pound himself deep inside of you pushing against all your sweet spot adjusting to what made you tighten up or what didn't. And as you came on his cock he roared dropping himself down placing his face into your neck picking and nibbling at the spot he was gonna mark. He thrust deep his cock piercing your cervix while his knot slid into you with a soft pop. He couldn't stop himself from sinking his teeth into your throat. You saw stars as you came around his knot his cum warm and thick as it began to fill you.

"Fuck. That was hot." You startled out of your haze at the sound of a new voice. Looking by the chair you saw 3 more alpha males standing taking in the erotica scene infront of them.

(Part 2 as soon as I can I'm a perfectionist and I wasn't even sure if I wanted to post this 🫢)

[sarahsinferno]

I Wish for Liberation

I sit in the dark, my thoughts a storm of fragments, and I wish, not with the innocence of a child but with the bitter clarity of experience, that you would feel the weight of every wound you gave.

do you know the sharp sting of betrayal, the cruel echo of a lie, the loneliness that wraps around the heart like a shroud?

I want you to know the hollow ache of waiting, the gnawing uncertainty that burrows deep, the sleepless nights stretched out in their endless, aching expanse.

I want the weight of your own choices to press down on you, heavy and relentless, until you understand the pressure that drove me to despair, until you feel a trace of my sorrow settling like dust in your own empty spaces.

you, who sculpted misery with your hands, who wielded cruelty like a blade, are you aware of the echoes you left? do you hear them whisper in your dreams, the ache you wove so effortlessly into my days?

i could wish for storms to ravage your calm, for the sky to crack open with lightning that rends the fabric of your peace, for the tremors of regret to shake your foundation.

yet, even as I wish this, I realize that suffering does not heal, that the flames of revenge only scorch the hands that wield them.

so, instead, I let the weight of my sorrow settle, a quiet confession to the universe that sometimes I crave for the scales to tip,

for the pain to be known, but mostly,

I wish for liberation, for the shackles of my anger to fall away, and for a heart that no longer clings to the shadows of the past.

so I let the wish drift, a bitter gust of wind that fades into the void, and I turn away, searching for a release from this desire, for a way to mend the broken pieces without adding more shards to the world’s already jagged heart.

S.T. 2024

santa rosalia by roberto ferri(1978) oil on canvas

the shepherd david by elizabeth bouguereau(1895)

dancers by franz von stuck(1896)

perseus slaying medusa by laurent-honore marqueste(1903)

[princessbrunette]

“you still mad at me?” while balls deep with rafe 😵‍💫😵‍💫.

GODDDD U ATE W THIS PROMPT 😩 like my jaw dropped

rafe was always doing this.

he’d make empty promises, plans even — talk to you all sweet with a warm hand on your back whispering suggestion of “that was the last time i’m getting involved with all that crazy shit, baby. i swear. s’just me you n’me now, you hear me?” and you being the fool, believed him.

until of course you’re catching him pulling back up to the drive on his motorcycle, yanking his helmet off with that ill-tempered expression of his that just tells you enough that somethings gone on, you know, the one where his teeth are grit, lips pressed together like they’d been sewn shut. that’s not even where it ends, because often times barry is close behind, pulling up alone side so they can debrief loudly in the living room, stinking up the place with pot. even if you were mad, you know the rules. no coming down the stairs when barry’s over.

you almost had started to enjoy the feeling of sulking when rafe would eventually skulk up the stairs after barry had left, shoulders heavy and ready to grovel. naturally, you put up quite the fight — and what might surprise you is that rafe let’s you mouth off, even if he knows you don’t understand the importance of his situation and likely never will.

“again and again rafe! how many times am i gonna have to put up with you just running off to god knows where when you promise me you’re not doing all that anymore! you were supposed to be with me today!” you nearly stomp your foot, that last sentence coming out childishly like an abandoned middle child. he nods, jaw ticking as he stares at the ground scratching his forehead, waiting for his lashing to end. once the tears start to roll, that’s his queue. like clockwork.

“come on, hey. y’know i love you, sweetheart. i’m sorry, okay?” he rushes to your side, sliding right up next to you on the bed and thumbing at the first batch of tears on your cheek, his hand so large it cups your skull at the same time. you want to preen into his touch, so elated with any affection after a day of missing him, worrying about him — but you don’t, because you’re still mad. be strong, you tell yourself.

you’re weak. you hate yourself.

not even 10 minutes of your sobbing and complaining later and he’s got your legs over his broad shoulders, balls slapping lewdly against you whilst he all but pumps you. his hands that are on your waist, using you as leverage reposition themselves so that he’s holding himself up over you more. a large hand wraps gently around your ankle as he does so, making sure your leg doesn’t slide off the strong slopes of his shoulder.

squeals and more tears are being punched out of you with each thrust, but he can see you physically relaxing, he can see you reaching out to him with a wobbling bottom lip so that you can hold onto his arms like you always do when he fucks you. it’s neutralising you.

“fuck, that’s m’girl.” he pants, mouth gaping at the way your pussy flutters around him. you’re so reactive to his voice he can’t believe it, never having met anyone who is so enamoured with everything he does. shit, maybe he should treat you better after all. he keeps talking, because he thinks you deserve to cum a whole bunch tonight, after putting up with all his shit. having a girlfriends made him gone all soft.

“you still mad at me?” he tilts his head, and you’re not sure if it’s intended to be mean or mocking, because it certainly doesn’t come out that way — his voice kind and eyes kinder, rolling the well kept muscles in his core to grind his cock against that spongey spot deep within. you don’t answer his question, clinging onto that last crumb of dignity and restraint. you pout through your whimpers, turning your head a little. he takes that opportunity to burrow down into your neck, his open mouth panting against your tepid skin as he speaks lowly again. “dont be mad at me baby. i’m only tryna look after my girl, you want that right?”

“mhm…” you reply before you permit yourself.

he slides his arms under you now, letting your legs down from his shoulders to hook around his waist instead. he’s holding your body close to his as he grinds, his pelvis smushed against your clit, making your thighs tremble and suddenly you’re so god damn close it hurts and you’ll do anything to cum.

“so good to me, baby.” he sighs and you cry out, arching your body harder to his. “i know. let it out. i’m so bad to you sweetheart s’the least i can do.” he mutters self pityingly before letting out a groan, cock pulsing inside you. you remember thinking about how right he was about that when you fell over the edge into a white hot orgasm.

[usagiarchive]

what is love? — jing yuan x reader (in the eyes of yanqing)

"Ooh, maybe someday, could it happen to me too? When will it be? Who will it be? I wanna know, know, know, know, what is love?" — TWICE

sypnosis. [ 0.4k words. fluff. family. ] — When asked on the question of love, Yanqing thinks of his parents.

“Mama, what is love?”

You turn your attention to the little boy snuggled into your side as you read him a Xianzhou fairytale.

“What do you think love is, honey?”

The kid pondered for a moment before answering, “You and Dad are love!”

The joy he displayed on his face melted your heart and you couldn't help but bundle him up in your arms.

“Really? How so?”

“Don't you and Dad love each other? Isn't that love?”

You smiled and laughed a little, “That's an action, sweetheart, we love each other, it's not really a meaning, sweet boy,”

He tilted his head at you like a seal, very confused.

“The meaning of love and being in love are two different things, honey,” you tell him, not knowing how to approach the subject of love with a four-year old child.

“Think of it this way, let's think of love as your swords, Swords and using your swords are two different things, right?”

The child blinks up at you, “Mama, I understand… but at the same time I don't…”

You laughed and gave him a kiss on his forehead, “I'll explain when you're older, but for now… bedtime!”

…

Yanqing doesn't remember the interaction now that he's grown older, but if he thinks about what love is for him, you'd find his answer the same.

Love for him, was you and his Dad.

In the way that you learned to love tea as he did, even if you didn't like it at all, detested it at first, all because he loves it and you love him.

In the way his Dad never let you do anything when he's around, during grocery runs he'd lift all the bags and just let you hold his hand, during your weekend dates, he'd never let you worry about anything.

In the way you'd immediately get a pillow and a blanket if you find him sleeping in the patio (and most of the time join him), because he always complains about the crick in his neck he always has when he wakes up.

In the way he'd never seen the two of you have a serious fight, not in front of him at least, or not long enough that he'd notice because the two of you resolved anything within minutes of talking.

In the way his Dad would always peel an orange for you to share, “A half for your Mom, a half for me”, even if you'd go for a second orange, half of it will always be the other’s.

So yeah, if ever you'd ask Yanqing what love is. His answer would be you and Dad.

And maybe… he thinks as he pictures a certain spitfire girl that burrowed her way into his heart, maybe he can find a love like that, too…

usagi's note: december has been so incredibly kind to me (aside from me breaking my foot and not getting sunday) it's actually been so nice, ive met more people in this app and people here are so supportive and nice! i think ill enjoy this more hehe, merry christmas guys :))

also guys how do you do the tiny text thing? im so interested and i kinda wanna try that type of format in my works.

@usagiarchive 2024. do not repost, translate, or use for AI.

[narxcisse]

★ — Terms of Desire

Pairing: Viktor x GN!Reader

CW: manipulation(?, suggestive content, mean reader, sub/dom nuances, takes place in s1 act 1, MDNI

English isn't my native language

The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the curtains of your extravagant Piltover estate. The room was silent except for the faint rustle of clothes being discarded, the hesitant movements contrasting with the tension hanging thick in the air. Viktor stood before you, his lean frame outlined by the light, his sharp features contorted in something between reluctance and resignation.

His amber eyes avoided yours as he unbuttoned the last clasp of his shirt. There was a faint tremble in his fingers, but he had learned to mask it well. After all, he'd agreed to this, hadn't he?

For the money, he reminded himself. For survival. For progress.

You lounged on your chaise, dressed in nothing but silk robes that spilled over your skin like liquid wealth. Your lips curled into a smirk, the same condescending look you always gave him, even back at the academy. You were untouchable, privileged. And yet, you had touched him in a way no one else dared.

"You're slow tonight," you drawled, swirling the wine in your glass. "Do I need to remind you how much you're being paid for this?"

His jaw tightened. He hated how your words bit, how they sank into the cracks of his pride and burrowed there. But he swallowed it down, forcing his hands to still as he approached you.

"No need," he murmured, his accent soft yet clipped.

"Good." You set the glass down and leaned back, letting the silk slip just enough to expose more of your bare skin. The shift was deliberate, predatory. You saw the way his eyes flickered-hesitation, then resignation-and it thrilled you in ways you wouldn't admit.

"Come here." Your voice was low, commanding. He obeyed, lowering himself onto the plush cushions beside you.

The first time this arrangement began, it was an impulsive act born of power and boredom. You'd found him fascinating: the thin boy with the sharp mind and sharp tongue, always out of place among the wealthy. You'd teased him mercilessly in class, a spoiled child poking at something they didn't understand.

But this was different. This was control.

"Touch me," you said, voice steady, almost cruel. "Or are you forgetting how this works?"

His hands, calloused from hours of work in the laboratory, brushed against your thighs.

His movements were tentative, testing your limits, though he knew by now that you preferred a lack of softness. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him hiss.

"Don't act like this is a chore," you snapped, tilting his face upward to meet your gaze.

"You've been coming here every night this week. Maybe you enjoy this more than you let on."

A spark of defiance flickered in his eyes, but it died quickly. "Perhaps," he replied, his tone sardonic. "But I doubt you'd care for the truth."

You didn't. All that mattered was that he was here, in your bed, beneath your touch. You pressed his hand harder against your skin, letting out a soft sigh as his fingers explored with mechanical precision.

When he finally slid over you, his body was tense, as if every movement was calculated to give exactly what you demanded and nothing more. You didn't mind. His awkwardness was part of the appeal-a sharp contrast to your polished cruelty.

"Don't hold back," you murmured into his ear, biting lightly on the shell of it. He shuddered under your teeth, and you felt the slight tremor of his frame against yours.

The rhythm he set was purposeful, almost clinical, and yet, it was enough to draw loud moans from your lips. His breath hitched when your nails raked down his back, and you smiled, knowing you'd leave marks for him to wear like scars.

"Is this what you wanted, huh?" he asked, his voice low and bitter. "Your little toy? Your servant?"

Your grip on his jaw tightened, forcing him to look at you. "Yes," you said simply, leaning up to press your lips to his in a kiss that was all teeth and domination. "And you'll keep coming back, won't you? You need me, Viktor."

His body stiffened at your words, but he didn't argue. Instead, he gave you what you wanted-what you paid for-and you took it all with a satisfied smirk.

For now, you were in control.

[tooclevertobehappy]

Hidden in plain sight Part.5

Trigger warning : angst

Clara had been lying in bed for hours, replaying every moment in her head. The way Alexia’s eyebrows had scrunched up in annoyance. How Ingrid had held her hand so gently like she might shatter if she let go. How Mapi had stayed by her side, no matter what she did or said.

She had lost control. Cried. Screamed until the doctors had no choice but to sedate her. Then they had left her alone, as if that would help. Since waking, she had spent every conscious moment trying to figure out how to escape the situation awaiting her.

Early in the morning, she’d already “talked” to the police and child protective services. Or at least, they had tried to talk to her. Clara refused to blame her father. No matter how much evidence they’d shoved in her face, she denied it all. Over and over again, she gave them explanations for her injuries. Excuses she’d practiced for years. If she buried it deep enough, maybe they would just let her go back to her life.

When they told her that her father had been arrested the day before, Clara got angry. Furious, even. He was being held pending trial, and no matter what she said, they were intent on convicting him of abuse. Abuse? He hadn’t done anything wrong.

“He’s the only one who stayed,” she whispered to the officers, her voice trembling. “He only disciplined me the way he saw fit. He said so. I made my mom leave us. He told me. We only have each other now. It has to stay that way.”

They had tried to explain that what he had done was wrong, that she hadn’t been the reason for her mom’s departure, that abuse was never justified, but it fell on deaf ears, Clara had already disconnected herself from the moment, retreating into her thoughts where she could control the narrative.

They are trying to paint her as a victim when she wasn’t, she wasn’t, she wasn’t, she refuses to be called as such, she’s just a daughter trying to do right by her dad, but they won’t let her see him, or even just talk to him no matter how hard she begged.

Since then, she had stayed in bed, the steady beeping of the machines in the room her only company. She barely blinked when nurses came in to check on her. They tried to talk to her, coaxing her to speak, but she remained blank-faced, refusing to respond or even turn her head in their direction.

She heard them whisper about her. The little abused girl in room 504. How her “monster” dad had treated her. How she seemed “brainwashed.” The words burrowed under her skin. She wanted to get up and scream at them, to demand how they dared to speak ill of her father, who had only done what was right. To make them stop treating her like some helpless child who couldn’t understand what had been done to her.

But she didn’t have the strength. She felt exhausted in ways she hadn’t before. She longed for sleep that wouldn’t come. No matter how still she lay or how long she kept her eyes closed, sleep evaded her. A cruel twist of fate.

Everything hurt, more than just her injuries, it felt like every inch of her skin had been rubbed raw and the smallest of touch felt like electricity running through her. She found herself nostalgic of the sedated state she’d been in before, floating in nothingness, where her darkest thoughts couldn’t reach her.

She’d felt at peace then, no expectations, no one to try and convince her of things she knew were wrong, no one to yell at her, to look at her with pity. No appearances to keep up with, she could just… be.

She didn’t react when the door opened again, assuming that another nurse had come to gawk at the abused kid in her wing, she kept her eyes directed at the same corner of the room she’d been staring at for hours.

But the person who entered sat in the chair next to her bed, she could hear their steady breathing over the hum of her heart monitor, could smell whiffs of a perfume she knew but couldn’t place. Curiosity won over her desire to be left alone, she turned her head, meeting Mapi’s eyes.

Clara raised an eyebrow at the defender sitting there, Mapi looked quite different from last night, gone was the tense woman, she sat there like this was just another day, like they weren’t staring at each other from the confine of a hospital room.

“No Ingrid, no Alexia?” she asked, tone light, but her eyes still darted to the door to her room, half-expecting one of them to barge in.

“No, just me Nena.” confirmed Mapi, keeping her eyes on Clara.

“Why?” Clara wondered aloud, she rarely saw Mapi without her other half, and the captain usually insisted on being part of all important conversations, like this one would undeniably be.

Mapi smiled softly at her, her hand coming to rest next to hers on the bed, close enough to feel her presence but careful not to touch. Clara stayed silent, but she appreciated the gesture, her eyes looking down at their hands before coming back up to look at her.

“I thought it’d be better for them not to be here today.” she said before adding “Alexia’s a fixer, and this, no matter how much she wishes, she can’t fix, and Ingrid, well.” She took a small pause smiling at the thought of her loving girlfriend “Well, Ingrid just wants to protect you, but you won’t let her yet, so that just leaves me.”

Clara hummed pensively, eyes darting between the door and their hands laying on her bed.

“Why are you here then?” she asks, raising her head to stare at Mapi, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “Why aren’t you with Ingrid?”

“I came to talk to you.” answers Mapi.

There it is.

“About what?” she asks trying but failing at looking indifferent, they both know that this conversation won’t be any easier than the one from the night before, but Mapi hopes that the absence of the other two women will ease it.

Mapi’s smiling at her, her eyes softening, the same way she looks at Irene’s son when he has hurt himself and came to her, and Clara is torn between falling into the offered comfort and rejecting it all together.

“About you, about what happened if you wish, but more importantly about what you’ll do now” she answers, her hand coming up to lay on top of Clara’s.

It’s a small gesture, but somehow it terrifies her, she feels stuck in her bed, unable to leave it, to escape the room, the conversation she doesn’t want to have. She wishes she could run, but she just lays here.

“What?” shes croaks out.

“With your dad arrested, you can’t go home alone,” Mapi said. Her voice was calm and even, like she was explaining something simple, but Clara could feel the words breaking her apart. “Even if your 18th birthday is coming up, the law still considers you a minor for a few more months.”

She’d forgotten about that. Of course, with her dad gone, it’d be just her. Alone. The word echoed in her head, hollow and cold. She knew what would happen next, foster care. She’d heard the stories, seen the quiet, broken kids who came back from it. Some never came back at all. She couldn’t go. She wouldn’t. She just wanted her dad.

Mapi watched her carefully, her steady gaze picking up every shift in Clara’s expression, every flicker of emotion she couldn’t quite hide. She saw the moment Clara tensed, her small hand slipping out from under hers and retreating to grip the comforter. Her fingers twisted into the fabric with such force that her knuckles turned white.

Mapi’s chest tightened at the sight, but she stayed calm. She knew better than to push too hard, too fast. Lest last night situation happened all over again.

“Ingrid and I would like for you to come to our house.” Mapi tells her “When you’re better and they release you of course” she adds.

Clara’s eyes darted toward her, suspicion flickering in their depths. “Why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She shook her head slightly, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Why would you want me to come to your house?”

Mapi let out a small noise, confusion and hurt mingling in her expression. “What do you mean, why?” she asked, her brows furrowing.

“Why do you want me there?” Clara pressed, her tone sharp despite the softness of her voice. She looked at Mapi like the suggestion was some kind of trick, something too good to be true.

“Because we care about you!” Mapi said, her voice rising slightly before she caught herself. She leaned forward, her hand twitching toward Clara’s before pulling back. “Because we love you, and we want to help you,” she continued, her voice quieter now, almost pleading. “If you’ll let us.”

She wants to believe Mapi, she really does, but she can’t.

“I want to go back to my dad!” she insists.

Mapi’s smile was soft but sad, the kind that made Clara’s heart ache even more “I know you do Nena” she said gently “but you can’t, they won’t allow you to.”

Clara clenched her fists, willing the tears to stay put, but it was no use. Hot streaks rolled down her cheeks, her breaths hitching in uneven bursts. She tried to speak, to fight back, but all that came out was a strangled sound as she choked on the sobs she’d been holding back.

“I just want him Mapi” she finally managed to cry out between gasps “He’s my dad, please you have to understand, he’s all I have!”

Mapi hesitated, her arms half-raised as if unsure whether to reach out. Before she could decide, Clara made the choice for her, throwing herself into Mapi’s embrace with such force it startled them both. Her arms locked tightly around Mapi’s back, clinging like she might leave if she let go.

Mapi froze momentarily, caught off guard, but then her instincts took over. She wrapped her arms around Clara, holding her securely as though shielding her from the world. One hand rested on Clara’s head, her fingers moving gently through her hair. She shifted, sliding onto the bed to pull Clara into her lap, lifting her with ease.

“I’ve got you.” Mapi murmured softly, her voice steady and low, the way you might comfort a child waking from a nightmare. “I’ve got you, Nena.”

Clara didn’t answer. She buried her face into Mapi’s shoulder, letting the sobs come freely now. The weight of everything she’d held in for so long poured out, leaving her trembling in Mapi’s arms.

The room was silent except for Clara’s muffled sobs and the rhythmic sound of Mapi’s hand moving gently through her hair. Mapi didn’t rush her, didn’t try to fill the silence with words. She just held her, letting her cry it out, anchoring her in the storm.

After what felt like an eternity, Clara’s sobs began to quiet, her breaths still hitching but less erratic now. She didn’t let go, though. Her grip on Mapi’s shirt stayed firm, as if she feared everything might fall apart the moment she loosened her hold.

When she finally pulled her head back, her face was streaked with tears, her eyes red and puffy. She sniffled, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse.

Mapi shook her head immediately. “No, Nena, don’t apologize.” She reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Clara’s ear. “You’ve been holding too much inside. You needed to let it out.”

Clara’s lips quivered, but she bit down on them, trying to regain some semblance of control. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted in a whisper, her voice trembling. “Everything feels… broken.”

Mapi’s heart ached at the words, but she met Clara’s gaze, her own steady and warm. “I know it feels like that now,” she said softly, “but you don’t have to figure it all out on your own. That’s why Ingrid and I want you to stay with us. So we can help you piece it back together, step by step.”

Clara looked down at her hands, her fingers still fidgeting with the comforter. “I don’t want to be a burden,” she murmured.

“You won’t be,” Mapi replied firmly. “You’re not, you’ve never been one.” She placed a hand over Clara’s, stilling her restless movements. “You’re family to us, Clara. That’s what family does, we take care of each other.”

Clara swallowed hard, her throat tight. The word “family” felt foreign, almost too big to grasp. It wasn’t something she was used to, not in the way Mapi seemed to mean it.

“Do you really mean that?” she asked, her voice small, her doubt clear.

Mapi nodded without hesitation. “I do,” she said. “And so does Ingrid. We both care about you more than you know.” She paused, giving Clara’s hand a gentle squeeze. “But it’s up to you, Nena. We’re not going to force you. If you don’t want to stay with us, we’ll find another way.”

Clara’s breath hitched again, though this time it wasn’t from tears. It was from the weight of the choice being placed in her hands.

“I just…” She hesitated, her voice faltering. “I don’t know if I can trust it. Trust you.”

Mapi’s expression softened, and she leaned in slightly, her voice low and steady. “That’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to trust everything right now. We’ll show you, not just tell you. One day at a time.”

Clara stared at her, searching her face for any sign of insincerity, any crack in the warmth she was offering. But there was nothing there but patience and care.

And for the first time, the faintest flicker of hope sparked in her chest.

The flicker was fragile, threatening to extinguish with the slightest breeze, but it was there, a warmth she hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. Clara took a shaky breath, her gaze shifting back to her hands tangled in the comforter. She didn’t respond immediately, her thoughts too loud, too jumbled to form words.

Mapi didn’t push. She stayed quiet, her hand still resting over Clara’s, offering her presence without demanding anything in return. Clara wasn’t used to this, someone waiting for her, someone letting her take her time. The silence wasn’t suffocating for once, it was a space where she could breathe, even if it was uneven and hesitant.

Finally, Clara lifted her eyes, meeting Mapi’s steady gaze. “What if I mess everything up?” she asked, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “What if you regret it?”

Mapi smiled gently, her eyes warm with understanding. “Then we’ll figure it out together,” she said simply. “Clara, you don’t have to be perfect. None of us are. You don’t have to prove anything to us, we’re here because we care, not because we expect you to be something you’re not.”

Clara blinked, her throat tightening again. The words were unfamiliar, like hearing a melody she’d forgotten long ago. She opened her mouth to respond but hesitated, the weight of everything she wanted to say too much to put into words.

Instead, she nodded, just once, her movements small and uncertain. It wasn’t a yes, not fully, but it wasn’t a no either. It was a step, however tentative, toward something she wasn’t sure she could name yet.

Mapi seemed to sense the significance of the gesture. Her smile widened slightly, a spark of relief crossing her features, but she didn’t make a big deal out of it. “That’s all I ask,” she said softly. “One step at a time, Nena.”

Clara let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her shoulders sagging as if some of the weight she’d been carrying had lifted, even just a little. “Okay,” she whispered, the word barely audible but enough to crack through the walls she’d built around herself.

Mapi gave her hand one last gentle squeeze before pulling her back against her, letting Clara reclaim her space laying on her chest. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said, her tone as light as it was reassuring. “No rush. I’ll be here.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Clara believed her.

[sheafrotherdon]

“Thank you,” Nicolo says to Yusuf one evening as they eat beside their campfire.

Yusuf pauses with a date half-way to his mouth. “Did I do something?”

Nicolo’s mouth twists into a rueful smile. “I was given to the church at such a young age.”

Yusuf tilts his head. It’s not the first time Nicolo has demonstrated his able use of non-sequiturs. With patience, Yusuf can usually puzzle out the connections looping in Nicolo’s head; even now, he watches as Nicolo rubs the fingers of his right hand together, a tell that betrays an agitated state of mind.   “Yes?” he ventures.

“I have spoken of this before.”

“Of course.”

“But I am not sure that I . . .” Nicolo bites his bottom lip. “It is merely that there, God was a furious presence, peering into my soul, constantly examining me for all that I lacked.”

Yusuf does not respond with any of the thoughts that always crowd his mind when he thinks of Nicolo as a child, a small scrap of a Christian, convinced of his own worthlessness before a god conjured by grown men.

“Love was something distant, something angry—betterment by virtue of correction.”

Yusuf huffs his opinion of such cruelty.

“And I did not know.” Nicolo lifts a hand and lets it fall back into his lap; hitches a shoulder.

“Know what?”

“That it could be this instead. That it might be warmth. That it would be forgiveness. That I would crave it as you . . . ”

Yusuf understands in an instant, finds himself blinded by a rage that is quenched only by the wealth of his compassion. He shifts to his knees, and reaches forward to grab Nicolo’s arm. “My heart,” he says softly. “Oh, Nico.”

He isn’t sure if he folds Nicolo into his arms, or if Nicolo burrows into him, or both. The effect is the same—Nicolo held firm against him, the fine tremors of his body rolling beneath Yusuf’s hands. Yusuf kisses the top of his head once, twice, then rests there, his lips against the fall of Nicolo’s hair. Nicolo’s breathing stutters and smooths, his hands fisting the rough cloth of Yusuf’s tunic.

“It is a wonder,” Nicolo murmurs at last.

“It is,” Yusuf agrees, only too aware of all that they have survived. “And yet not.”

Nicolo pulls back, looks up at Yusuf, frowning.

“It is so extraordinarily ordinary a thing to love you,” Yusuf confesses. “I think of it only as much as my body must think to draw breath. I close my eyes when I am weary; I eat when I am hungry; I love you in this way, the whole of my unconscious heart devoted to a thing I cannot help.”

Nicolo’s expression softens. His eyes shine. “Yusuf . . .”

Yusuf shakes his head, pushes Nicolo’s hair from his eyes. “What you knew was not love.  What we have wrought is better.”

“It is,” whispers Nicolo, and he shifts to his knees to kiss Yusuf’s jaw, the tip of his nose; to hum his affection into Yusuf’s waiting mouth.

[emmyrosee]

“But I’m cold.”

Your voice whines in a pitch that makes Kiyoomi’s brow hitch up in annoyance, arms crossed firmly over his chest as he stares at you from the end of your bed.

It’s late, he’s been staying later every time he comes over after practice, almost as if to see you off to bed. You tell him- well, beg him- to just stay and spend the night, it’s too late for him to drive and you’ll miss him.

Deep down, you know that’s the point that seems to make him want to cave the most, but the stubborn asshole hasn’t given in fully yet. He’s told you from the beginning he’s more of a ‘sleep in my own bed’ kind of guy, but it did make you feel a little insecure about why, then, he never invited you over.

Kiyoomi promised you it was just because of the early mornings, he never wanted you to feel like you had to dash out, or even wake up to see him off, but the insecurity burns all the same.

“If you’re cold, get under the sheets,” he says, as if explaining to a child. “I’ll leave my hoodie for you, if you’d like?”

You fiddle with the threads of your blanket stiffly, “I don’t… I don’t want to get under the sheets.” You sink your teeth into the fat of your lip in embarrassment, trying to ward off awkward tears that want to sting. “Because, when I do, you’re going to leave.” From your sitting position, you see him deflate slightly.

Then, he pads his way next to you. He scoots on your bed, and he wraps an arm around you, tugging you close. You burrow into his side, inhaling the warmth of his skin.

“How about I wait until you’re asleep?” He offers, voice low. He moves the hand not embracing you to gently grip your chin and angle you to look up at him, eyes soft and calm.

“You hurt my feelings when you don’t want to stay, Kiyoomi.”

The words slip out unprovoked, and as his face morphs into one of guilt, yours turns to one of embarrassment. You clear your throat and turn away from the fingers against your chin.

“Yeah,” You pant. “I… I understand that you don’t want to stay. If you don’t mind waiting until I’m asleep, that… that would mean a lot.”

He nods, mind deep in thought as he curls more around you, protectively, letting you get lost in the fabric of his sweatshirts and the bulky arms encasing you. You purr, and just like it does when you’re always with kiyoomi, your mind settles and before you can know it, you’re off into sleep.

Your dreams conjure minimal, little flickers of familiar faces in ridiculous scenarios, but you jolt awake when there’s a teeny nightmare that manages to catch you off guard, and your eyes fly open to try and stop the fear that started brewing.

Now awake, you gladly are able to take in your surrounding and shake off the fright; you’re not entirely sure how you ended up in your pajamas and under the covers, but you’re not complaining. As sunlight peers through the blinds, you stretch and try to curl in on yourself, but you’re blocked by a solid body next to you.

You yelp, slightly alarmed, but there’s a soft, smooth “shhhh,” that comes from the person beside you, and as an arm wraps around you, you burrow into his familiar scent with a happy mewl.

“Omi?” You mumble, pulling your arms close to your chest as he pulls you closer. “You stayed?”

“Shut up,” he murmurs. “You were shivering.”

The meek attempt at denying why he truly stayed makes you giggle, and you burrow against his chest in search for that addictive warmth he’d granted you through the whole night.

“Thank you,” you say, nuzzling your head under his chin. His arms are protective around you, his sleepy grunts barely audible, you’re sure you would’ve missed them if you weren’t so close, but they’re the sweetest noises you’ve ever heard, and you hate that he denied you them for so long.

“You wanna talk about your nightmare?” He says, voice drunk with sleep.

“What nightmare?”

“You were flinching a little before you woke up. Figured it scared you awake.”

You smile and plant a kiss along the muscles of the pectoral you’re nuzzled against, “it wasn’t serious. I’m more impressed you knew it had me awake.”

“Of course I knew; you only tremble like that when you’re scared.”

“You care about me or something?”

“I just happen to pay attention to you.” One onyx eye peers down at you, “because of course I care about you, dickhead.”

Fuck, you think to yourself. He’s damn good.

And he is. Kiyoomi is ridiculously good, he always has been, and while you hadn’t meant to upset him with your confession last night, there is a small sliver of you that’s grateful he listened and caved to be with you.

Even if it was a little out of his comfort zone.

“This is nice,” he mumbles into your hair, his fingertips dragging up and down the slope of your spine.

You nod and move one of your hands to the nape of his neck, carding the curly locks and relishing in the mewls he lets out, “I told you. You just don’t listen to me.”

“Because I’m not used to you being right.”

“You’re so rude,” you snort, and once again, his vocal chords vibrate against your head as he laughs. It’s quiet once again, and you’re almost ready to doze back off when on the nightstand next to the bed, his phone vibrates loudly.

“Omi-“

“No,” he grumbles. “‘S just Miya. He’s fine. We’re comfortable.”

“We are,” you giggle. “But I don’t want you to be late.”

“I’m never late for anything.” He shifts to nuzzle his head deeper into the pillow, “besides, you’re the one who convinced me to stay, why are you trying to get me to leave now?”

“I don’t want you to leave,” you assure.

“Yeah, I don’t either.”

“You have to,” you snort, your eyes watching as his Adam’s Apple bobs with each swallow and word that falls from his sleepy mouth. “Come on. Meian will be pissed, Miya will be blowing up your phone soon enough.”

“Fuck Miya,” he grumbles. “You’re trying to get me to stop snuggling and leave and you think Miya is your best argument?”

You give him some more laughter, your fingers gently running over the moles and scars that adorn his chest and side, and you smirk as the muscles quiver under your touch. Ticklish. He would be. “Oh?”

“You wanna keep that hand?” He grumbles, and if you knew him any less, you may have missed the way you could hear the smile in his voice. “I suggest you don’t get too creative there.”

“Oh, I’m getting very creative.” Before you can provoke him further, a hand grabs yours and tenderly brings it up to his lips, planting warm, soft kisses to the knuckles.

“Don’t be annoying,” he mutters, sleepily looking at you from the corner of his eyes, “just be affectionate. I got months to try and make up for.”

He looks cute, soft in the early morning haze, and you do decide You yield as you curl into the bend of his sides, letting his breathing even out before his phone starts ringing again. He’s warm, his snuggly, and he’s still the Kiyoomi only you have the privilege of seeing.

And now, you’re hoping he’s giving you the privilege to see it every morning.

[soulofapatrick]

They Find Out You're Pregnant: Teen Wolf Boys part one

Summary: How each boy finds out you're pregnant

Words: 4K altogether

warnings: unplanned pregnancy but mostly fluff

As I step into the bedroom, I sense the tension thick in the air, swirling around Stiles like a storm cloud. He’s curled up on the bed, facing away from me, and I can tell he’s not asleep despite the lack of his usual cute little snores. His shoulders rise and fall with a rhythm that betrays a restlessness I’ve come to recognise all too well.

“Sti, baby?” I press, desperation creeping into my voice. I need him to look at me, to see past whatever wall he’s built between us. Cold eyes and a scowl meet my gaze when he finally turns to face me, and it feels like knives piercing my heart.

“Stiles, what did I do?” I press on, desperate for him to look at me, to see those beautiful brown eyes and his cute little nose and his quirky little smile that has me feeling giddy. Instead, I’m met with cold eyes and a scowl as he burrows further into the bed as if he wants to disappear and it breaks my heart. 

“You know what you’ve done, asshole!” His words sting, buried back in the pillow, yet his pain is palpable. It’s then that I realise — he’s found the test. The pregnancy test I took last night, discarded in the bin, not thinking Stiles would see it until I was ready. Dread settles in my stomach as I know what he must think as we haven’t done anything for a few weeks as the full moon happened and now boom, pregnant test. 

“Sti, listen to me.” With resolve, I move closer, needing him to understand. He tries to evade me, but I’m quicker, using my werecoyote strength to turn him onto his back. We wrestle for a few moment, not wanting to make Stiles feel utterly powerless, until the fight in him leaves and I’m straddling his waist, holding his arms down gently but firmly. 

“Mieczyslaw Noah Stilinski,” I use his full name, a last resort to get through to him, and his resistance finally melts away. His tear-filled eyes meet mine, vulnerability shining through the facade of anger. 

“Stiles, baby… Stiles, I’m a coyote,” I start, trying to explain the complexities he may not fully grasp or have thought of. He nods, his expression pained, as if bracing for the worst, “We have heats and ruts. Stiles, that test was mine.” The weight of my words hangs heavy in the air between us. His blush telling me he’s embarrassed, but he’s trying to understand. 

“You’re pregnant?” His voice is quiet, laced with a mixture of hope and disbelief. I just nod, feeling a rush of relief that the truth is finally out. 

“Yes Stiles. I’m pregnant with our child.” I say it plainly letting the enormity of the revelation sink in. His reaction is immediate— he sits up abruptly, catching me off guard with a headbutt that he seems oblivious to in his rush to kiss me.

The kiss is desperate, passionate, a floodgate of emotions breaking open. Stiles’s hands find their way to my waist, pulling me closer as if he's afraid I might disappear. My hands cup his face, fingers trembling slightly with a mix of relief and apprehension. His lips move against mine with a hunger that matches my own, seeking reassurance and connection in the midst of uncertainty. Every touch, every caress speaks volumes—of love, of fear, of hope.

When we finally pull apart, breathless and flushed, our foreheads lean against each other, eyes closed as we try to catch our breath. My fingers thread through his hair, tangling in the messy strands that I’ve come to adore. Stiles’s hands linger on my waist, his touch grounding me in the reality of our shared moment.

The intimacy is interrupted by the sudden creak of the bedroom door opening, a stark reminder of the world outside our bubble of emotions. We break apart reluctantly, turning to see Noah Stilinski standing there, his expression a mix of surprise and concern. His gaze flickers between us, understanding dawning slowly as he takes in the scene before him.

"I... I need to go sit down to wrap my head around this," he says softly, his voice thick with unspoken questions and paternal worry. With a brief nod to us both, he retreats downstairs, leaving Stiles and me staring at each other in a mixture of disbelief and joy.

"Fuck!" Stiles breathes out, a nervous laugh escaping him as he runs a hand through his hair, still trying to process everything. I can’t help but chuckle softly, the tension easing as we share a moment of raw, unfiltered emotion.

Our hands find each other naturally, fingers intertwining as we sit. The weight of what lies ahead hangs heavy in the air, but so does the undeniable bond between us. Stiles turns to me, his eyes searching mine for reassurance, for confirmation that we're in this together.

"Are you okay?" he finally asks, his voice soft yet filled with a myriad of emotions—love, concern, excitement, and a touch of fear.

I squeeze his hand gently, offering him a reassuring smile. "I'm okay. We're okay," I assure him, knowing that while the road ahead won't be easy, we have each other to lean on.

Stiles leans in, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead, a silent promise of his commitment and love. "I love you," he murmurs against my skin, his words a soothing balm to the uncertainties swirling around us.

"I love you too," I reply softly, feeling a surge of warmth and gratitude for the man beside me, the father of our unborn child.

I sit nervously on the edge of Scott's bed, my legs bouncing with restless energy as I clutch onto the small gift box in my lap. Each breath feels strained, the anticipation of his arrival causing my heart to pound relentlessly against my ribs. The room is cloaked in a hushed stillness, broken only by the soft murmur of the night seeping through the open window, casting shadows across the room.

The door creaks open, and Scott steps into the room, his brow furrowing in concern as he takes in my anxious posture. “Baby? What's going on?" His voice is gentle, a beacon of calm in the midst of my swirling emotions as he crosses the room to stand before me.

I inhale deeply, trying to steady my trembling hands as I extend the gift box towards him. "Scott, I... I got you something," I manage to say, my voice wavering with nerves that betray the weight of what lies within.

He accepts the box with a curious tilt of his head, settling beside me on the bed. His fingers trace the edges of the wrapping paper, his expression shifting from curiosity to confusion as he uncovers the smaller box nestled within.

Opening it, his breath catches in his throat as he sees the pregnancy test lying inside. The reality of the situation crashes over us like a tidal wave, and I watch his eyes widen with shock and disbelief.

"Scott, I... I got you something," I manage to say, my voice betraying the turmoil within. He accepts the box with a curious expression, eyebrows quirking as I always call him Scotty not Scott, his fingers careful as he begins to unwrap it.

As he peels back the layers of wrapping paper, confusion clouds his features, replaced by disbelief when he reveals the smaller box inside. His breath catches in his throat as he opens it, revealing the pregnancy test nestled within. The implications hit him like a tidal wave, and I watch as shock ripples through him, his eyes widening with a mix of emotions.

The initial shock gives way to concern, his brows furrowing as he processes the reality before him. A flicker of fear crosses his face, accompanied by a tentative hope that he struggles to grasp amidst the overwhelming news. His gaze shifts from the test to me and back again, searching for words that seem to elude him in the moment.

"Scott," I begin softly, tears welling in my eyes as I reach out to touch his hand, seeking connection in the midst of our shared uncertainty. "I'm pregnant."

The words hang heavy in the air, a palpable silence settling between us as he absorbs the weight of my revelation. His hand tightens around mine, a gesture of both support and seeking solace in the face of the unknown.

"Are you... sure?" he finally manages to ask, his voice a whisper laced with disbelief. He meets my gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and apprehension, struggling to comprehend the enormity of what lies ahead for us.

I nod slowly, my own voice trembling as I reaffirm, "Yes, Scott. It's yours."

He pulls me into his arms, holding me close as if to anchor himself amidst the whirlwind of emotions crashing over us. His touch is gentle yet firm, a testament to his resolve to face this unexpected turn in our lives together.

"I... I don't know what to say," he admits quietly against my hair, his breath warm against my skin. "But we'll figure this out. Together."

I close my eyes, tears streaming down my cheeks as I cling to him, overwhelmed by a rush of relief and gratitude for his steadfast presence. In that intimate moment, sitting on his bed with the pregnancy test between us, I find solace in the certainty that no matter the challenges ahead, having Scott by my side fills me with a deep sense of hope and determination. 

“I love you so much.”

I stand by the window in Derek's loft, the city lights twinkling in the distance, but my mind is consumed by a different kind of sparkle—a mixture of hope and fear that knots my stomach. The thought had been creeping in lately, a hunch I couldn't shake off, but anxiety held me back from taking the test. What if it wasn't the right time? What if Derek wasn't ready?

Derek enters the room, his presence a comforting solidity in the midst of my swirling thoughts. His sharp gaze locks onto me, sensing my unease despite my attempt at composure.

"Hey," he says softly, his voice a soothing balm that momentarily eases my nerves.

I turn to face him, trying to hide the turmoil beneath a forced smile. "Hi," I reply, my voice catching slightly.

He takes a step closer, concern etched into the lines of his brow. "Are you okay?" he asks, his tone gentle yet probing.

I hesitate, unsure how to voice the uncertainty gnawing at me. "I... I've been feeling off lately," I finally admit, my gaze flickering away from his intense scrutiny.

His expression softens, understanding dawning in his eyes as he pieces together my unspoken words. "You think..." he begins, his voice trailing off as he seems to catch on to the implications.

I nod slowly, unable to meet his gaze as tears well up in my eyes. "I think I might be pregnant," I confess in a hushed tone, the weight of the admission hanging heavy in the air.

Derek's breath catches, his shoulders stiffening imperceptibly before he takes a deep breath, closing the distance between us in a few long strides. He pulls me into his arms, holding me close as if to shield me from the uncertainties swirling around us.

"I had a feeling," he admits quietly against my hair, his voice a mixture of awe and tenderness. "But I didn't want to push you.” 

Relief floods through me at his understanding, his acceptance offering a lifeline in the sea of doubt. "I've been scared," I confess, burying my face against his chest as tears spill over. "Scared of how you'd react.”

Derek's arms tighten around me, his embrace offering reassurance and warmth. "I'm here," he murmurs, his voice a promise. "Whatever happens, we'll face it together.”

In that vulnerable moment, surrounded by Derek's comforting presence, I feel a surge of courage. Slowly, I pull back, meeting his gaze with a tentative smile. "I think I should take the test," I say softly, my voice wavering with a mix of hope and apprehension.

He nods, his expression unwavering as he brushes a stray tear from my cheek. "Let's find out," he agrees, his voice steady. Moments later, we stand in the bathroom, the air thick with anticipation. I take the test, heart hammering in my chest as I wait for the result. When the faint positive line appears, tears of joy and relief spill down my cheeks.

I emerge from the bathroom, the test in trembling hands, and Derek's eyes lock onto mine. Without a word, he crosses the room in quick strides, falling to his knees before me. His hands gently push my shirt up, his lips pressing tender kisses against my barely-there bump.

Emotion swells within me—tension and uncertainty giving way to a rush of overwhelming love and tenderness. Derek's actions speak volumes, his touch a promise of unwavering support and boundless affection.

"I love you," he murmurs against my stomach, his voice reverent and filled with awe. 

Tears blur my vision as I run my fingers through his hair, overwhelmed by the depth of his emotions. "I love you too," I whisper, feeling the weight of our shared journey settling into a tender certainty.

In that intimate moment, surrounded by love and hope, I know that no matter what lies ahead, Derek and I will face it together, our bond strengthened by the miracle growing within me.

I stand in the hallway of Liam's house, clutching the pregnancy test tightly in my hand. The hallway feels strangely quiet, the air heavy with anticipation and nerves. Liam had just returned from a late-night patrol with Scott, and I knew I had to tell him, but the fear of his reaction kept me rooted in place.

The front door creaks open, and Liam steps inside, his exhaustion evident in the lines of his face and the weariness in his movements. His eyes meet mine, concern flickering across his features as he senses my tension.

"Hey, what's going on?" he asks softly, his voice filled with genuine worry as he approaches me.

I take a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest as I hold out the pregnancy test towards him. "Liam, we need to talk," I manage to say, my voice trembling with nerves.

He takes the test from me, confusion clouding his expression as he examines it. Recognition dawns slowly, his eyes widening with shock as he realises what it means. The test falls from his hands, forgotten, as he turns to face me, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

"Are... are you serious?" he finally manages to ask, his voice cracking with emotion. His hands tremble slightly as he reaches out to touch my arm, seeking confirmation amidst the whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind.

I nod slowly, tears welling up in my eyes as I meet his gaze with a mix of fear and hope. "Yes, Liam. I'm pregnant," I admit softly, the weight of the truth hanging heavy in the space between us.

His breath hitches, his eyes never leaving mine as he struggles to process the enormity of the news. "But how...?" he begins, his voice trailing off as he searches for the right words.

“Well, when a man and woman love each other a lot-“ I start to say and he rolls his eyes playfully, punching me in the arm lightly so I continue, joking aside, ”I... I didn't know for sure until now," I explain, tears suddenly welling up in my eyes as I try to convey the intensity of my emotions. "But I had a feeling, and I finally took the test."

Liam wraps his arms around me suddenly, pulling me close as if he's afraid I might slip away. "I... I don't know what to say," he admits against my hair, his voice thick with a mix of disbelief and overwhelming love.

Tears of relief mingle with the uncertainty that still lingers between us, but in that moment, held in Liam's embrace, I know that we'll face whatever comes next together. Our journey into parenthood may be unexpected and filled with challenges, but knowing Liam is by my side fills me with a profound sense of strength and hope for our future.

As we stand there in the hallway, wrapped in each other's arms, I feel a wave of gratitude for the love we share and the new life growing within me—a testament to our bond and the possibilities that lie ahead.

The first rays of dawn peek through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over Isaac's bedroom. I wake slowly, cocooned in warmth and the comforting weight of Isaac's arm draped protectively over me. His steady heartbeat beneath my ear lulls me into a serene half-awake state, where for a fleeting moment, everything feels perfect.

"Morning," Isaac murmurs sleepily, his voice husky with sleep as he brushes his nose across my shoulder before pressing a kiss there, loosening his grip on me so I can roll over and face the surly haired werewolf, feeling at peace and oh so in love.

I smile softly, relishing the tranquility of the moment before reality nudges its way into my consciousness. But, of course, as if on cue, a subtle queasiness stirs in my stomach, a sensation I’ve been experiencing the last few days. Panic flares briefly, but I try to dismiss it, not wanting to disturb the peace between us.

Isaac senses my restlessness, his gaze searching mine with concern. "You okay sweetheart?" he asks gently, his thumb brushing lightly over my cheek.

I nod slightly, swallowing down the rising unease. "Just... feeling a bit off," I admit reluctantly, not wanting to worry him unnecessarily.

But before I can say more, a sudden wave of nausea grips me, and I bolt out of bed with startling urgency, breaking free from Isaac's embrace. "I... I'll be right back," I manage to choke out, mouth watering warningly, my voice strained as I hurriedly make my way to the ensuite bathroom.

Isaac's confusion turns to alarm as he watches me go, the sound of my retching echoing through the closed door. He's by my side in an instant, his concern overriding any sense of personal space as he pushes open the door to find me leaning heavily over the toilet.

"What's wrong?" he asks urgently, his hands hovering anxiously over me as he assesses the situation.

I lean over the toilet, gasping for breath as I struggle to regain my composure. "I don’t know, ive been sic every morning for the last week. I can’t stand certain food anymore… I just want ice cream” I’m suddenly crying, my voice barely audible over the rush of emotions.

Isaac's eyes widen in shock, his hand coming to rest gently on my back as he kneels beside me. “Baby, are you… are we pregnant?” he repeats incredulously, the reality of my words sinking in slowly.

Those tears just stream down my cheeks harder, unable to process what Isaac is saying but somewhere deep in my gut knowing he’s right. "I've been feeling off for a while," I explain haltingly, the weight of the confession hanging heavy in the air. “But I thought it was a bug. Didn’t want to worry you.”

He pulls me into his arms, holding me close as if to shield me from the uncertainty that now defines our future. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he murmurs against my hair, his voice thick with a mixture of awe and concern.

"I didn't want to worry you," I repeat softly, my heart aching with the fear of his reaction and the overwhelming rush of emotions coursing through me.

Isaac's embrace tightens around me, his touch a reassuring anchor amidst the whirlwind of uncertainty. "We'll figure this out," he reassures me, his voice steady and filled with determination, “I want to start a family with you.” 

“You do?” 

“I am in love with you. Only you.” 

“I’m in love with you too.”

I lie in bed, tossing and turning, my stomach churning with waves of nausea, sweating and just feeling generally shit. The clock ticks relentlessly, each passing minute feeling like an eternity as I wait for Jordan to return from work. I've been feeling off for days now, a probable stomach bug or stress from all the shit that has been happening in Beacon Hills recently. 

The front door finally creaks open, and I hear Jordan's familiar footsteps padding down the hallway. Relief washes over me as he enters the bedroom, his presence a comforting presence in the dimly lit room. He quickly strips down to his boxers before he slips under the covers beside me, his warmth immediately soothing.

His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me back against his chest, relief washing through me as if he can heal me with just his touch. In my drowsy state, I lean into his touch, seeking solace in his embrace. His hand rests flat against my stomach, and I wince slightly at the sensation but some of the nausea fades and a soft sigh of relief escapes me.

"Jordan," I murmur, my voice thick with sleep and discomfort.

He shifts slightly, making me roll onto my back to face him. His bright eyes search mine, concern etched in his furrowed brow. "When were you going to tell me?" he asks softly, his voice tinged with a hint of worry. His hand cupping my jaw, thumb brushing lovingly over my fever flushed cheek.

Confusion knots my brow as I try to make sense of his question. "Tell you what?" I manage to ask, my voice laced with exhaustion and confusion.

His gaze lingers on me, his expression softening as realisation slowly dawns in his eyes. “Sunshine…” his breath comes out in a soft gasp, “Sunshine, you’re pregnant," he states quietly, his voice filled with a mix of awe and certainty.

My breath catches in my throat, my heart skipping a beat at his words. "What?" I whisper, stunned by the revelation.

Jordan's hand slides from my cheek down to my stomach, his touch gentle yet purposeful. "I can sense it," he explains quietly, his fingers tracing a soothing pattern against my skin. “I… I don’t know how but I can sense it… I can feel the change in you."

Tears well up in my eyes, a rush of emotions overwhelming me—surprise, disbelief, and a flicker of hope. "I... I didn't know," I admit softly, my voice trembling with the weight of his words, “I thought it was the flu.”

He leans closer, his forehead resting against mine. "It's okay," he murmurs, his breath warm against my lips. “I love you baby, we’re gonna have a baby.”

He’s shuffling around until he’s laying on his back, my head resting on his chest as he knows how soothing his heartbeat can be, especially when I can’t sleep and before I know it I’m drifting off to sleep with one thought on my mind. 

“You’re gonna be the best dad ever.” 

Teen Wolf Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

@alexxavicry @guacam011y @fandom-princess-forevermore @bellatrixxmarierose

[facelesssbirds]

Cuddles || Genshin

A.N. Summary: How you (and them) cuddle. Characters: F!Reader, Neuvillette, Furina, Beidou (I promise Childe will be in the next one...) Rating: E - Everyone <33 P.S. If you have requests, I'd really appreciate it! I'm trying to grow my writing skills through fan fiction, because it brings a lot of joy to people, so... I'll do my best tysm!

Neuvillette is all seriousness and perfection in public, but when you get him alone, he devolves into a cuddly teddybear that just adores curling up on the couch with you, just lazing around.

That isn't to say he's opposed to days like this, where you've crashed his lunch break, he had planned to skip it completely, the overflow of documents from the court clerk's office standing tall and unrelenting at his desk.

"Neuvi!" You grinned, opening the door, "I brought lunch."

He looked up, only briefly, giving you a hint of a smile, "Oh? What'd you get today?"

He had long since learned that even kicking you out wouldn't deter you, and your insistence on making sure he got proper time to rest.

"Steak-Frites," You said, tossing a few bags onto his coffee table, "Nothing special."

He raised a brow, almost imperceptibly, "Oh? Then, ma trésor, why are you here so unannounced?"

You laughed nervously, wringing your hands behind your back, almost like a child who's been caught stealing from a cookie jar, your eyes darting to his, then away, a faint flush painting your cheeks.

"Well..." You trailed off, busying yourself with the cuff of your sleeve, "cuddles?"

He chuckled, a low rumbled, barely there as he stood from his desk glancing at the clock.

"I suppose I have time."

Furina is a clingy lover, you come to understand very early into the relationship, but despite her grandiose and facades, she's a private person. She didn't want her lover to be the subject of whispers and rumors, or scandals, no she wants you all to herself, safe and sound, thank you very much.

Still, when you're home alone, and she's just gotten back from a particularly interesting day at court, she'll hop down next to you on the couch, regardless of what you had been doing earlier, and snuggling into your arms. Then she'll talk.

You always enjoyed hearing Furina talk, it was where her passion shined out into the world, even when she was being particularly needy.

"And so I said, 'well you can't--'," Furina cut herself off, looking at something on the coffee table, she was snuggled right under your head, the book you had previously been reading discarded.

"Furina?" You probed quietly, your arms tightening around her waist.

She turns to look at you, scooting sideways, and pouts, "You had hot-chocolate without me!"

You chuckle, realizing what this is about, "Ma cherie, do you want some?"

She burrowed under the blankets, "Yes, please!"

"Well then, you know you're going to have to move... right?" You warned her, a amused smile creeping onto your face.

She pouts, again, this time more jokingly, "I will not! I am Lady Furina, the Hydro Archon and I will not move for you!"

You laugh along, gently moving her out of the way, so you can go to the kitchen and make your darling a nice cozy drink.

Beidou normally didn't do cuddling. Not that she was against it or anything, but the whole 'physical affection' thing came easy for her towards friends, it was entirely different with lovers. Not to say she was nervous, more-so she was just... unfamiliar with the concept.

As a girl who grew up on the sea, and with a love for the sea, work and friendliness ran in her veins, romance however was something of a mystery. She could flirt seven way to heaven and charm a man of his beard, sure, but that didn't make up for her absolute unawareness of the... fluff that came with love.

"Beidou--" You wined, coming out of the captains cabin just after the sun had risen. Today was supposed to be your and Beidou's day off, and you had planned to sleep in, and laze the day away. Naturally, you dearest, ever hardworking had derailed those plans.

Still, she looked up, smiling at you, and yelling your name. You waved back from above, yawning. Nonetheless she was beside you in a flash, "Good morning, sleepyhead-- you're up late."

You gave her a deadpan stare that conveyed, 'it's too early for this.' before nestling into her side, and arm wrapped around her waist.

"I wanted cuddles," You whined, it seemed that your day off had made you a bit bratty, "Its out day off, we should spend it... like, taking time off."

She laughed, hearty, "This is me taking the day off," She grinned, and you returned it with a smile, "But- I suppose, I can make an exception, just this once."

Your initial smile lit up, suddenly energized you tugged Beidou away from the crew. Perhaps a new experience wouldn't hurt?

[omnis-hostis-resurrexit]

The Light of Absent Eyes

Vander has taken to visiting Ekko's mural on quiet evenings. Without the oppressive haze of the grey, Zaun's nights are colder than they used to be. Silco, ever observant, brings him his sweater. Sentimental shenanigans ensue.

Read on AO3

Rating: T for mild smut

Tags: Silco/Vander, S2 Utopia AU, Fluff, Old men being sappy and cute, Multiverse-Typical OOC

Word Count: 2110

Without early winter's chill in the air, Silco thought, this place would smell intolerably swampy. A few browning lilypads still clung to the surface of the pool, and a carpet of the giant ginkgo tree's shed leaves slid and squished under his boots as he made his way through the water. Dusk barely filtered down into the abandoned reservoir, and the only clear light came from a cluster of mismatched candles in front of the mural of a young woman's face. A young woman with fiery red hair and a fighter's wraps on her hands. A young woman whose expressions made her look by turns angry and angular, soft and smiling, and utterly at home in her own skin.

A young woman Silco had never met, and never would.

"Missed me that much, eh?" Vander was leaning against one of the mossy concrete pipes that littered the reflecting pool, and his voice echoed off the metal walls around them.

"Were you gone?" Silco asked with a mocking tilt of his head, slinging Vander's thick, much-mended cardigan off his shoulders and holding it out toward him. "You shouldn't be wandering around the fissures this time of night in your shirtsleeves."

"Yeah, alright, mum," Vander said with a good-humored roll of his eyes as he shrugged his arms into the sweater. In the poor light, Powder's riotously-colored darning washed out to a shadowy camouflage around the cuffs and elbows like flashes of unpolished ore emerging from the mud-brown yarn.

"I'm serious. Winter's getting colder every year since they redid the air filters," he said, wrapping his arms across his chest and burrowing his chin further into his scarf as he settled himself next to Vander on the concrete pipe. "Not that I miss the grey, mind, but I'm beginning to understand the topsiders' penchant for hats and gloves and twenty-seven petticoats at a time."

"Oh?" Vander reached over to twine a finger absently through the fringe on Silco's scarf. "Is that why a pallet of Shuriman cashmere shawls fell off the back of an airship straight into the upstairs storage closet?"

"Just reading the market, darling. Remember our deal," he said as he gently unwound Vander's hand and held it in his own. "You don't stick your nose into my perfectly legitimate import-export business, and I don't complain that you still don't put enough bitters in an Old Fashioned."

"I did agree to that, didn't I." He shook his head and settled his hand comfortably on Silco's knee. Wind sighed across the mouth of the reservoir far above, scattering a grace of golden leaves across them. Vander looked up into the branches, one fan-shaped leaf caught against his hair.

It pulled at something in Silco's chest, the thin thread between them that had been cut and re-tied against all better judgment, frayed and worn and haphazardly repaired again and again. Stronger at the mended places, he thought as he plucked the leaf between his fingers and quietly slipped it into his shirt pocket.

He didn't know how long Vander had been here communing with this uncanny vision of his dead child, older and more fully-formed than she'd ever been in life. His girl, his Violet, his fierce little firecracker, and Felicia's and Connol's before that. Never really Silco's. He was an infrequent visitor to their cramped little rooms under the old water tower, while her parents lived. And after? Forgiveness refused to be rushed, it took its own hard-bitten time, and time in Zaun always had casualties.

"She's definitely Connol's work, no mistaking that," he commented as he drew one leg up, perching on the dry moss. "The one on the far left? Tell me that's not exactly the scowl he'd give every scab who walked past us on the picket line."

Vander chuckled and shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Gods, he was a force of nature, eh? Always the quiet ones."

"Hmm," Silco nodded. "They made an odd pair. I always thought he grounded her a bit. Not always a bad thing." He pressed the side of his leg against Vander's warmth and felt him shift closer.

"Makes you wonder, doesn't it?" Vander gave him a brief sidelong glance. "What else is different over there. Who else might've…" He dropped his head slightly, and his grip on Silco's hand tightened.

"Been spared?" A corner of Silco's mouth contracted, and he squeezed Vander's hand in return. "We were children of Zaun when that meant even odds we wouldn't live to lose our milk-teeth," he said, his voice tempered by something like remorse. "Who knows if any of us survived to see her at that age?"

Vander made a soft grumbling sound in the back of his throat. "The way Ekko talked, sounds like I never did learn to give a good apology. The other Ekko, I mean. Her Ekko." He tilted his head toward the mural.

Silco tucked a strand of Vander's hair behind his ear and saw how the candlelight glimmered in his eyes. "Sounds like I was never smart enough to let you try until you got it right. I would have been a great fool to walk away and leave all this on the table."

His fingers strayed to the back of Vander's neck, warming under the smooth blanket of his hair. Every silver strand still felt like victory to him, a shining thread of resistance against the years of want and days of ash and blood.

Vander leaned into his touch, and his breaths deepened. "That your way of saying it's time to head home?"

"It is where we keep our bed, for better or worse," Silco murmured as he gently scraped his nails over the base of Vander's skull, just to feel him shudder.

Vander turned, placing himself between Silco's legs and sliding his hands slowly and firmly along them, pulling him closer. "Since when did we need a bed?"

Without waiting for an answer, he pressed his lips to Silco's with a gentle familiarity that did little to hide the underlying hunger. Silco clutched at him, hid his hands under the warm wool, strained to twine his calves against the backs of Vander's thighs. The cold air around them seemed to hone every exposed edge, every shirt-hem lifted, every collar drawn aside. It made the warmth of Vander's skin even more precious and ever more urgent.

They kissed like drowning men with something true to live for, lips and tongues a sliding, driven dance, Vander's hand at the small of his back, both increasingly ravenous for the other's heat. Vander bit gingerly at Silco's lower lip as he sucked it into his mouth, and Silco swallowed back the needy sound that threatened to leave his throat. He scraped a fingernail over Vander's nipple through his shirt, provoking a low and blissfully undignified whimper.

Never let it be said that Silco didn't give as good as he got.

Vander's thumb was toying with one of the brass buttons on Silco's trousers, making maddeningly patient little circles that just barely grazed the head of his cock through the stiff twill. "S'alright?" He breathed into Silco's ear, just a shade of hesitation in his words.

Silco's breath hitched, and he put his hand on top of Vander's, stilling them both. In an instant, Vander had gently tilted out of Silco's embrace and propped himself one hip against the mossy concrete, his other hand still resting on Silco's ribcage.

"Happy to take my time, you know," he offered. "You could wear my sweater if you're cold." He couldn't see the tentative smile on Vander's face in the dark, but he could hear it. He couldn't hear the concerned little line between Vander's eyebrows, but he knew it was there.

"No, it's not — it's fine, Vander. It's not you." He leaned forward and tucked his cold fingers under the waistband of Vander's trousers, nodding toward the mural. "I just can't shake the feeling we're being watched."

Vander let out a breath that sounded relieved, and clouded in the air. "Well, I can't say my knees aren't grateful," he said with a subtle lilt of laughter, dragging one heavy boot through the limestone gravel beneath it. He held one hand out, and Silco slid down from the concrete pipe into his arms.

"Don't go making them any promises," Silco said, pressing himself closer, hands flush with Vander's chest. "Plenty of dark and relatively dry alcoves between here and the Drop. You might get your chance yet." He patted one hand in joking reassurance and pulled away with languid steps, heading toward the tunnel mouth.

Vander's answering low laugh was a banked coal, deep in the belly. "Relatively dry, hm?" He clicked his tongue against his teeth. "You really know how to show a fella a good time."

"So you keep telling me," he said, the scars on his cheek straining against the slow, vulpine smile that overtook his face in the dark.

He stood at the edge of the water while Vander put out the candles under the mural, one gentle hand lingering on Vi's painted hair for a moment. Silco might have heard a murmured g'night, love in the gathering dark. He must have heard it. Nothing else explained the swell of sentiment that rose beneath his sternum for a breath.

Vander slung his arm across Silco's shoulders, and they fell into step as they sloshed back toward the tunnel. Its inky depth was broken only by a thin trace of glow-chalk on one wall — Powder's helpful contribution, a new invention she was justifiably proud of. Its light pulsed faintly in time with the hollow sound of their even steps.

And if their youngest cast a skeptical eye at the smear of chalk across the back of Silco's jacket, or looked askance at the mud on Vander's knees before he hid them conveniently behind the bar? Well. There were worse things out there than two old rabble-rousers having a nostalgic fuck in a forgotten corner of the infrastructure.

As Silco stood by the back counter and made them both a proper cocktail, still loose-limbed and supple with fading afterglow, he pondered over all his hard-won blessings. How many did the other Silco have? Useless thought, but there it was.

Had he already died an ignominious, lonely death? Died young? Been cut down in his prime, coughing up blood until he drowned in it, like so many of their comrades from the mines? Lived still, driven by spite and distrust, fighting for every scrap until a violent end became inevitable? It didn't bear imagining. Not standing here in the warm light of the Last Drop, two full glasses in his hands, gazing at his partner's broad back as he pulled another pint of lager.

"There you are, love." He sat one glass on the counter near the taps. "That one's yours."

Vander handed the pints off to Gert with practiced efficiency and picked up his drink, reflexively wiping a wet ring from the counter with the bar towel. Behind him, a table of academy students boisterously toasted Live forever!, leaving a careless shower of suds in their wake.

"Now that's a prayer for bad luck if I've ever heard one," Silco mused, swirling the liquid in his glass.

Vander gave him a thin smile and cast his eyes briefly over his shoulder. "At their age, anything feels possible. Even in Zaun."

Silco rested his drink against his breastbone, looking aside in a satire of shame. "Gods, what am I like. You'll tell me, won't you, if I become one of those hideous old men who can't stop going on about how the younger generation's gone soft? Just say the word, and I'll give Powder a length of piano wire and tell her I hate her haircut."

"Oh, now I definitely won't tell you," Vander replied, his smile broadening into something genuine and bubbling under the surface. "Besides, someone has to teach these young'uns what their city's made of."

Silco raised his glass. "Blisters and bedrock?"

There was a warm shadow in Vander's eyes as he clicked the worn gold rims of their glasses together and returned the age-old toast. He held Silco's gaze longer than usual, looking at him as if he was something Vander couldn't bear to lose, someone he couldn't imagine living without. And for a moment, Silco felt the terrible, dizzying weight of the trust he'd placed in this man. The other Silco — Vi's Silco — would no doubt scoff, and fume about the catastrophic foolishness of his choice. In any other timeline, he'd be right.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said.

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

Idk how i would add a bunny to thy burrow but 🐰🐇

Did that work? Have i successfully paid my child support? Anyway could i get you to write for bon suguro from blue exorcist? I never see anything for my edgy monk grump. If not thats fine i just like your work

Suguro 'Bon' Ryuuji - With A Supportive and Affectionate Gn Reader

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

I was actually kind of nervous that no one else would be interested in Blue Exorcist, so I'm relieved that you sent in an ask @satans-left-nut, and about Bon no less. Anywho I'm sorry that I've been gone so long and I hope these headcannons are up to your standards. —Benny🐰

                                                                                                   

⛩•♡•⛩•♡•⛩•♡•⛩•♡•⛩•♡•⛩•♡•⛩•♡•⛩

🎋  Ryuuji would be very thankful for a supportive significant other like you, he has so much on his plate as not only a student at True Cross Academy but also as an aspiring exorcist. You, Shima, and Konekomaru really keep him grounded as he goes through the hectic school year. Especially since that Okumura guy enrolled in the class.

🎋 I feel that since the blue night at the temple, Bon has (understandably) been pretty closed off with communicating, exploring, accepting and expressing his emotions. This might also be in combination with how he was raised and how he copes with his stress and trauma. Having you there to gently walk him through it and support him has massively helped him cope with the trauma he gained that night. The scars aren't fully healed, and they might never be, but you help sooth his pain.

🎋 While Ryuuji would be slightly disappointed and likely a bit upset if you didn't support his goal to kill Satan because you were worried for him, but he would understand your point of view. You love him and watching him throw himself at the demon of all demons would be terrifying to watch; not knowing whether you'd be able to see him again after he leaves to accomplish his goal.

🎋 If you do support it, however, Bon would be probably be a lot more open with you about his future plans and will definitely include you in them. Although, he swears he won't take you with him when he goes to kill Satan. He doesn't want to see you get hurt, he can't see you get hurt. What if you died? He can't lose you too.

🎋 You never have to worry about getting your lunch with Ryuuji because when he grabs one for himself, he gets you something as well. If the time comes that he doesn't have enough money for two lunches, he'll just share his own with you. Or; if your culinarily gifted, you could make lunch for the both of you instead. He certainly wouldn't mind.

🎋 Let's be honest, cuddles are a must! Our Bon has all the trademarks of a touchstarved individual, so he's in serious need of some tlc. His favorite ways to cuddle are spooning with him as the little spoon and laying next to you with his head on your chest. He also enjoys laying his head on your thighs as you run your fingers through his hair, it's very relaxing for him.

⛩•♡•⛩•♡•⛩•♡•⛩•♡•⛩•♡•⛩•♡•⛩•♡•⛩

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Reblogs are appreciated ~ 𔓘

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

[xdacted]

The art of sibling hood

Paring: sister!Reader & Charles Leclerc

Warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 3,815

Status: Complete

***Request made by reader***

Summer break offers us a sliver of peace. 

No teams are calling, no coaches screaming, no clients to take care of - there is nothing but family. For a few weeks out of the year, all we have is each other. I can’t ask for anything better. 

We all gather at our mother’s house, hiding away there with her. It’s nice, to all be under the same roof again, we haven’t been since Lorenzo first moved out. It only worsened when I decided to take my training to France. 16 years of living under one roof was gone in an instant. We had lived together our entire lives until that point. 

It was like losing a piece of myself. 

But then, after the sadness rolled away, I was filled with so much joy. To know that both Charles and Arthur were chasing their dream, to see them every weekend battling it out on the track. Though my mother refused to watch, I always did. 

But there is always more I want to know, more I want to see. I can’t help myself from asking questions. The countries they see, the people they meet - it’s a world I’ll never know. I almost got involved, my father put me in karting as a child, but it was never my passion. Not the way it was with Arthur and Charles. I found my calling in school. 

At six, I was sitting among my classmates in the gymnasium, watching as our instructor introduced the sport of fencing. He was trying to start a club, with a school as small as ours, it wasn’t very likely to happen. 

He brandished the swords, explaining the rules. My friend, Anies, had fallen asleep on my shoulder, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I was transfixed, hooked. That day, I ran home, with the club papers in my hand and begged my parents.

At first, Papa was hesitant, telling me that this sport was a fighting spot - I wasn’t a ‘fighting girl’. But I pleaded, hooking my arms around his neck and staring up at him. This was my dream. Fencing was racing to me. Fencing was everything. 

What I didn’t understand was that fencing was also incredibly expensive. With two children karting and one in fencing, I remember the night I caught Mum and Papa talking it over, they couldn’t afford it. 

I was lucky enough to be given a scholarship by a fencing club, I would have the funding to chase my dream. Arthur, however, was not so lucky. I remember how he cried, screaming and howling into his pillow. He mourned the loss of his sport, but he was never angry. Just sad. 

I shake off the memories when Charles calls my name. 

“What?”

He looks at me, staring at me from his seat on the floor, arms holding his knees close to him. He and Arthur are playing some card game they explained more than once - but I have never cared to learn. Arthur glares at the cards below him, flipping them over in his hand.

He laughs, “I asked how training was going?”

“Good,” I burrow further into the couch, pulling a blanket across my shoulders, “When I go back, I have a tournament in Italy.”

“Well,” Arthur huffs, still fixed on the game, “You’re already a World Champion - Ugh! Charles, you’re cheating! This is why I hate playing with you!”

Charles throws his hands up, turning to Arthur with an indignant expression, “I am not a cheater. I am a man of honor, you just suck.”

With a curse, Arthur throws his cards down. 

He stands, “You’re a cheat and you know it.”

“You just don’t know how to lose.”

Arthur throws himself beside me, moving the pillows so he can lean against them, crossing his arms in front of him. I don’t have to hide my laughter, I let it slip from me. The laughter is easy, the tension from yesterday gone. Charles had still been insistent on apologizing, even when I told him to just drop it. 

My brother is one of the kindest people in the world. 

“What about you?” I dare to ask, offering Arthur some of my blanket, “How’s Ferrari treating you?”

I don’t need to ask because I already know. Even from across the world, every Sunday, I watch him. Every Sunday, I watch my brother get into that car and put his life on the line. And every Sunday I watch Ferrari screw him over. My teammates were getting far too tired of my outbursts. 

Charles clears his throat, looking down at the cards scattered across the floor. He sweeps them together, shuffling them, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

I’m stepping on thin ice. My brothers like to assume that when it came to racing they knew everything, but I had grown up around this. My father was a racer and now my brothers were racers - it was in my blood. I had just chosen not to pursue it. 

“Yes, fine.” He pushes himself up, standing and walking to the edge of the couch. 

“If you say so, brother,” Charles opens his mouth to speak, but the sound of the doorbell cuts him off. 

He practically leaps over the couches, nearly tripping over the carpet, to throw the door open. My mother hardly has time to scold him as she steps inside her room because cheery voices are ringing out through the house. 

“Hello!”

Lorenzo comes bounding from upstairs and Arthur rolls off the couch, kicking the blanket away from him. The three women who step inside the house bring the light of the shining sun with them. 

“Girls!” I cry, it has been so long since I’ve last seen them. 

Carla sees me first, throwing her hands in the air. She pushes past Arthur to sweep me into a hug. The position is awkward, as her body curves over the couch and I attempt to reach up to her, but I can feel her laughter vibrate within her chest. 

“Did you get in today?” Her eyes are shining and the glasses perched atop her head threaten to fall, “Why didn’t you text me?”

“I wanted to surprise you, of course!” When we pull away, Charlotte and Alexandria are right beside us. 

“We need to get breakfast while you’re here,” Charlotte says, pressing her hands together. It isn’t so much a request as it is a plan in motion. 

I just nod along. I look around, my brother’s waiting behind them with crossed arms and a less-than-pleased expression. 

“What?”

“They’re supposed to be here to see us.”

“No,” Charlotte says, wrapping her arms around me, “We’re here for her and of course - Pascale.”

“Hello, dear,” Mum says, Carla placing welcoming kisses on her cheeks. 

I turn to my left, Alex having taken a seat in the open space that Arthur left. 

“Hey,” I whisper, pulling her close. 

“Hi,” She whispers back. 

There’s something different. I can tell when she hugs me, pressing a kiss on my cheek. When we pull away, there’s a glow to her skin and a twinkle in her eyes. 

“Is there -?” 

Charles is draped across her in a second, gentle hands on her shoulders, “She is my girlfriend. Please, do not be selfish.”

Alex only rolls her eyes and I can’t help but follow. 

What a drama queen. 

__________

I watch Charles and Alex as Mum bustles around the kitchen. It’s little, but something is different. I can feel it. Something about the way Charles has an arm curled around her waist or the way she clings to his arm. They keep eyeing the rest of us, Alex turning around to whisper in his ear. 

Hm. How strange. 

Alex was quite shy, this much became evident when I first met her, but she was by no means afraid of the family. Just a few weeks earlier she had come to visit me in France, we spent the day together and had been texting each other constantly. 

What could it be?

I met her eyes and she sharply turned away from me. 

A secret then. 

Papa liked to say that I inherited Mum’s gift for reading people, especially my brothers. Even when we’re separated by seas, I know when something’s bothering them. I know when something is wrong. 

But this - this was different. 

I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. 

But, my mind can help but wonder, what if - no. Could it be?

“Arthur.”

He hardly looks up from his phone, “Hm?”

“Wanna make a bet?”

“What kind of bet?” He asks, still scrolling. 

I lean in closer, “I think Alex is pregnant.”

Arthur nearly drops his phone. He whips his head over to look at me, mouth agape, “What?!”

“Sh!” I smack his arm, he is going to give us away, “You’re so loud…”

“Why do you think she’s pregnant?” He whisper-shouts, “That’s crazy. Charles would’ve told us.”

“Maybe he’s going to tell us tonight,” I shrug, pulling away from him. 

“Are you in or out?” I crossed my legs, my gut feelings were always strong. I’d guessed many things over the years and felt a change within the people around me before they told me. I’d known Charles got signed to Ferrari before he told us, or that Arthur was going to be moved to F2, or that Lorenzo had met someone new - all of these things, I’d felt. All of these things I guessed. 

Maybe I was a bit psychic. 

“You’re on,” He stuck his hand out, “€10?”

I scoffed, “That’s nothing - €100.”

“You could be wrong.”

“I could be right,” I looked down at his waiting hand. 

“€50?”

I slapped my hand in his, “€50 it is!”

“You’re going down,” He whispered, squeezing my hand. I kick at his shin.

“Ow!”

“That’s what you get, dumbass.”

“LANGUAGE!”

__________

Dinner is an easy affair. The time ticks by slowly, but none of us mind. Warm and laughter fill the house, everyone staying at the table after the food has long been eaten. Stories are tossed around and jokes float about, it's peaceful. 

A peace that’s so very addicting. 

Here, I can forget that I have to leave in only a few days. I can tell that the boys forget too, throwing themselves over Mum and the table. Arthur laughs so hard that he snorts and Lorenzo’s jokes have Charles reduced to tears - it’s all so nostalgic. 

As we eat, I can see Charles and Alex glance at each other, watching as he scoops her hand in his. She whispers something in his ear and he nods. 

Before I know it, they are both standing. 

“I,” He clears his throat, “I have something to say - well, we do, actually...”

“Well,” Alex begins, a bright smile pulling over her face, “Charles and I are expecting a - a child.”

The table erupts into cheers and exclamations. Mum drops her head into her hands, and before we can rush over, she looks up with tears in her eyes and a dazzling smile on her lips. We stand to offer them hugs and kisses, pats, and words of encouragement. 

“I told you!” I cry. 

Arthur lets out a loud groan, pushing his face into his hands, “Why?”

Confusion is written across their face and I can only laugh

I hold out a waiting hand.

With another groan and a roll of his eyes, he shoves his hand into his pockets, pulling out the €50 I’m owed. The bill is crunched and he drops it into my palm with little fanfare. 

“This is so unfair,” Arthur throws his arms around my shoulders, “How could you have possibly known?”

“I just do,” I shrug, looking up at him with a smile, “I’m just that good.”

“I knew it,” Carla giggles, “You are a psychic.”

I lock eyes with Mum over the table, she flashes me a smile.

“Of course,” I say, “I learned from the very best.”

__________

The ocean calls our name, the lull of the tides and the crashing of the waves. Such a beautiful song and we can do nothing but dance to it. With the sun shining down on our backs, we pile into Charles’s boat, clinging to the railing as we push away from the dock. The salt of the air tangles in my hair, and gentle winds give us a beautiful day. The weather was perfect, the sea was calm. What more could we ever ask for?

We spend the day lounging about the boat, pushing and shoving each other in the water. I manage to convince Charles to let me take the smaller boat out for a spin, with Carla clinging to the seats, and Charolette cheering us on from the deck above. I can’t help but dissolve into laughter at his face, twisted with worry. 

The water is cool against our heated skin, it invites us in for more. The longer we stay, the more we forget about the world that surrounds us. It is nearly enough to make me forget about my flight in only a few days. I will have to leave and this will all become a memory. 

But what a beautiful memory it will be. 

I can’t dwell on my thoughts, because Charlotte demands that we all jump. There is little fanfare for Charles and Lorenzo as they practically wrestle to the sea below. Arthur grips my hand as we jump, throwing ourselves into the Moncao air, caught by the arms of the sea. 

It is perfect. It is home. 

When the sun begins to dip in the sky, my mother draws herself up from the couch and claims that dinner will not ready itself. The others agree and begin to shuffle off but Carla and I are the last to get back from the boat. Though Charles has always held the title of ‘captain’, I have always maintained that the sea is but a little requirement for boating. We stayed behind to just lounge about in the sun, only coming back to the house when she got a frantic call from Arthur, telling her to come back. 

“What’s…” The words die in our throats when we see Alex huddled in the corner, sobbing into her hands. Charlotte stands over her, rubbing a reassuring hand over her back, whispering something into her ear. 

Before we can say another word, Arthur and Lorenzo interrupt us. He pulls us into a corner of the house, wiping his hands on his shorts. His eyes dart around the room, lip caught between his teeth. 

“What happened?” Carla demands. 

“It - it was the press,” Arthur manages, “They got pictures from earlier, on the boat.”

I need to hear little else. I dig my phone from my bag.

Finding the photo doesn’t take much work. It’s there as soon as I open Twitter, Alexandria and Charles standing on the balcony of the boat. Her hands on her stomach, nothing there to show - not yet - but the implication is enough for the media to run with. 

I can hardly breathe. 

Anger coils tight within me. 

Fucking vultures. 

Carla gasps from beside me, pressing a hand to her mouth. The headlines make my stomach turn. Far too atrocious to look at, I shove my phone back into my bag. Carla is quick to slip from beside me, rushing over to the couch, and dropping to her knees beside Alex. 

Haven’t they gone through enough? Have people not thrown Alex into the fire already? Had they not already ripped her apart? I remember the articles and the tweets when their relationship went public, the look of sadness on her face. People hated her simply because she loved Charles. How they got together and why they got together was no one’s business but their own. 

“Where -” I cut myself off, dropping my voice lower, “Where’s Charles?”

For a moment, Lorenzo doesn’t answer me, phone in hand. I can’t tell who’s calling, but the grave look on his face is all I need to know. He shakes his head, dragging a hand through his hair. 

“He’s outside,” He whispers, sparing a look over at Alex, “He stormed out and won’t come back in.”

“Of course! He’s upset!” I hiss, this was private. This was personal. The media has taken that away from him. 

Lorenzo holds his hands up, “I’m not saying he shouldn’t be - I’m not saying that I’m not,” He sighs, “But this is more - this is more than just…”

He looks away, rubbing a hand over his face, “He can’t run from this now.” 

I turn away from Lorenzo and the tears begin to gather in my eyes before I can gather the courage to force them back. I wrap my arms around myself, afraid that I might throw something across the room. 

This wasn’t right. 

Summer is our time. 

There is never any anger, never any sadness. That’s the world that waits beyond the walls of our home, that is the world we leave behind. We shut it all out because summer break is just us. I don’t realize that I’ve begun to dig my fingers into the flesh of my arm until Arthur yanks my hands away. 

He doesn’t say anything, just squeezing my hands in his. I can’t look at him, but I feel his gaze on me. When he releases me, my hands drop back down to my sides. I suck in a large gulp of air, trying to calm the pounding of my heartbeat. 

Before I can make my way to Alex, Charlotte stops me. She holds her hand up, a sad smile on her face. 

‘We’ve got it,’ She mouths, ‘Go.’

Her eyes flicker to the terrace, doors closed tightly. I can see, in the shadows of the darkness, Charles. 

“I’ll be back,” I whisper, reaching out to squeeze Arthur’s shoulder before I walk towards the doors. 

I gently push them open, waiting for Charles to scream out that he wasn’t privacy, that he needs space, but he never does

I step through. 

Charles stands out on the balcony, hands clutching onto the terrace railing. He stares into the swaying trees of our backyard, the melting sun casting a glow around the shadow of the house. Though the wind blows, there is no twinkle of windchimes. There is no echo of laughter or memory of youth, there is nothing. The light from the entry room spills across his back, but he doesn’t turn. 

The silence is thick, sitting heavily atop the both of us. With his back turned to me, I can’t see his face. There’s a selfish part of me that never wants to. I never want to see the pain and anger on my brother’s face. I never want to watch his heart fall apart before me. He is my family, an extension of myself. 

“Why can’t they just leave us alone?” 

His voice is hardly above a whisper, nearly consumed by the distant sounds of the city, but I hear. It cuts through the silence, piercing it with ease. There is sadness in his voice and I can feel the tears burn once more. His shoulders slump forward, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. For a movement, I fear that he might collapse. 

I take a tentative step forward. 

My brother is many things. Charles is competitive and rash, he is hard-working and self-deprecating. But he is also kind and forgiving, with a smile like the sun and a laugh like the sea. He is good. Our Papa used to say that Lorenzo and I got all the anger and bite, as it never seemed that Charles could hate, to be spiteful. 

Always the first to take the blame, always the first to vouch, always the first to arrive, always the last to go. 

My brother is good. 

And the world is cruel. 

“Charles,” I whisper, he doesn’t turn.

I reach for him, my fingertips barely grazing the fabric of his shirt, “Charles.”

He finally turns, biting his lip, tears in his eyes. The words die in my throat. There is nothing I can say to fix his pain, nothing I can do to take his unhappiness away. It kills me. They may be my older brothers, but I have always been fiercely protective of them. To hurt them was to hurt me - and to hurt them was unforgivable. 

And Charles. 

Charles, who flew through the night to catch my competitions. Charles, who cheered me on, even if he knew nothing about fencing. Charles, who always had an extra Paddock Pass for me. Charles, who always let me have his last cookie or pastry. Charles, who held me when I wailed for weeks after Papa’s passing. Charles put the money he earned in Formula 1 into getting Arthur back into carting. Charles, who always called to scream ‘Happy Birthday’ in my ear. 

That Charles. 

My brother Charles, would forgive. He will see it as a mistake, he will blame himself. In only a few hours, he will make a statement and tell the truth - because that’s just who he is. 

I throw my arms open and catch him as he falls into them. 

He doesn’t cry, not at first, just clinging onto me. But then, the moment that Alex’s cries drift onto the open terrace, he begins to weep. He sobbed into my shoulder, pressing his wet face into the fabric of my shirt. He clutches my hand, and I can do nothing but hold him. 

I hold him and let him fall apart. 

From over Charle’s shoulder, I see Arthur peeking out at us. He wrings his hands, twisting his fingers around. He can’t sit still, pacing around the room, brushing Carla away when she tries to calm him. 

I gesture for him to come and he does. 

Before I can say a word, he’s wrapping his arms around Charles, burying his face into his back. 

“We’ll fix this,” He mumbles, “I - I don’t know how, but we will.”

Charles doesn’t speak, he just searches for Arthur’s hand blindly in the pile of libs and holds on. It’s all we can do. I feel like I am 15 years old, losing our father again. It feels just as it did then, unbearable. But we do just what we did then, we hold each other. Clinging onto the only people that we have known since before we knew them, the only people that will love us even when no one else does. 

The only person -

Lorenzo is there, strong arms trying to tuck us all into him. I can feel his warmth against my back and push my face into his chest. 

“We’ve got you, Charlie,” He says, “We’ve got you.”

We do. 

We always will. 

_________________________

A/N:This work has been cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to request fics about any of the drivers <3

[wittyminds]

Golden Hour - James Potter

Anonymous request:

also, i dunno if you’re still active, since it’s been a while, BUTTT james potter with a girlfriend taking care of him after he’s at a party?

James Potter x Girlfriend Reader

Warnings - Fluff, fluff and more fluff

A/N

sorry it's been ages since my last post, i needed time to do exams, mental health stuff etc and this was distracting me from school (i say that and im supposed to be studying for an exam tomorrow). i am trying to answer the prompts people gave me and i apologise again for the extremely long wait. i understand if you're a little annoyed or have forgotten about asking in the first place. this isn't my best story i'll admit and it is a little short but... i tried :/

You can't remember how long the party had gone on for but, by the time you climb the stairs to the dormitory to crash, the clocks read 2 o'clock. You probably could've stayed longer if Sirius hadn't been flirting with you drunkenly or if your boyfriend, James, hadn't started singing a cappella ABBA. Not that he's a bad singer. He just gets a bit... friendly towards everyone around him.

After wrestling your way through the crowd, you now stand overlooking the party, fighting the urge to facepalm at your boyfriend as he prances about the room.

You carry yourself to your room, changing into your comfies and burrowing down into your blankets. A book that has been gathering dust on your table catches your interest and just as you slide the bookmark out, a loud thump against the door causes you to nearly jump out of your skin.

Springing from your bed, you slowly make your way to the door, fight or flight responses going crazy. Of course, it could just be one of your roommates. They were light drinkers and after a couple drinks they all went down like dominoes. Or it could be Sirius coming to ask if you want another drink or a dance.

You shake your head at the thought and open the door, staring up at the boy swaying in the dim light.

His large frame crashes through the door, almost crushing you.

"James!" You put your hands out to stop him from going any further forward and he staggers, trying to keep his balance.

His brow furrows as he looks around, clearly confused by his surroundings and you can't help but laugh slightly at the sight.

"Hang on.." His voice slurs and he stumbles over his feet again, "This isn't the boy's dorm."

You place your hands on his chest and steady him, "No. No it's not."

"Oh.." He steps back unsteadily into the hall, leaving you to follow him in case of an accident.

By the time you both reach the boy's dormitory, the only victims of his drunken state were an innocent coffee table, a series of butterbeer bottles and a terrified first year who just wanted to go to bed.

You practically carry him to his room, which proves a difficult task given he is nearly twice your size. He mumbles something as you lay him down but not even he seems to know what he's rambling on about.

"Right," You say softly, tucking his blankets over him like a child, "Go to sleep, you idiot."

He smiles a smile that scrunches his nose and you mirror him, giggling quietly.

"You're pr'tty."

Your smile falters slightly and try to stop the blush rising to your cheeks.

You had almost forgotten about his shameless honesty when drunk. Sure, it was nice to hear but he could warn you a little before springing the charm on you. He knows how easily you blush and was constantly using to his advantage.

When you turn to face him, he is still staring at you with large puppy dog eyes and a lazy smile that warms your heart. With a roll of your eyes, you walk back over and perch on the edge of the bed.

"Come again, Jamie?" Your voice was quiet but sweet and his crooked grin made the blush come back in a warm rush.

"You're pretty." His words are less slurred this time and you brush a hand over his hair, sweeping it out of his eyes fondly.

"I think you need to sleep, love." You murmur, trying to ignore the urge to fall asleep curled next to him, "You'll regret it tomorrow if you don't."

"Ugh." His face screws up and you giggle softly at the animated response, "You sound just like Moony!"

You roll your eyes again and just as you stand up, he makes a clumsy grab for your hand and pulls you back. You land on his chest and see him holding back a grunt of surprise from the impact.

You laugh out an apology and he looks away drowsily, clearly away to fall asleep.

"G'night, Jamie." His eyelids flutter and he forces his eyes open.

"What? I'm not sleepy!" He cries, voice scratchy already and rubs an eye with one hand, the other pulling you closer.

"Seriously?" You can't help but play along with his game.

"Mhm." He nods his head, "I could stay up for hours!"

His eyes droop again and his breathing grows heavy.

"Jamie?"

"Mhm?"

"You're falling asleep."

He doesn't reply and when you look up, his eyes are closed.

Taking the opportunity, you attempt to climb off of him but his arm is like a vice and you groan, silently cursing his stubbornness. Your head falls against his chest, his heartbeat filling your ears and you find yourself relaxing at the sound.

The golden glow of the candles sends a warm light over James and you can't help but stare at his still form, taking in every detail. The light dusting of freckles across his nose and the faint trace of a scar from a Quidditch match in his third year.

This is your own perfect golden hour, the two of you snuggled up with the smell of butterbeer and autumn outside.

You wait for his snores to fill the room but they don't come. Had he finally stopped snoring? Or was he trying to prove he wasn't sleeping?

"I'm gonna marry you one day."

His voice breaks the silence and your heart flutters at the words. You look up at your boyfriend and cuddle in closer to his side, wanting to stay in this moment forever. Just the two of you in your own perfect, slightly tipsy, world.