#one thing after another and before you know it nearly half a year goes by

[lovebugism]

ok reader x eddie having a casual conversation about sex, talking about what they're both into, leading to some smut??? just hearing what eddie's into sounds so hottttt (i imagine its filthy,, sorry)

ty for requesting! hope you like it!! — a failed date with eddie leads to a night in and several confessions (established relationship, mostly fluff, talks of sex but no actual smut 18+, 1.6k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Eddie Munson is a hopeless romantic.

Not because he loves like it’s breathing (though some would argue otherwise), but because his attempts to be affectionate with you are complete and utter failures.

He had a whole romantic day planned. A late lunch, a quick walk, and then sunset at the park. Honestly, it probably would’ve been a pretty metal date if it was any day other than this one — the biggest flood of the whole goddamn year.

You got to the diner just fine but had to rush back to the trailer in the rain since he didn’t have his van. Thankfully, it waited to outright pour until he got you home. Now, his leather jacket — which you’d used as a makeshift umbrella — hangs beside the opened window to dry.

The orange autumn breeze rolls over your bare bodies like silk (because, of course, an innocent shower after getting drenched in the rain couldn’t not end in getting dirty again).

“Was all this just a ploy to get me into bed?” you tease, tracing the freckles on his back with the tip of your finger. “’Cause you coulda just asked, you know? I would’ve said yes.”

Lying flat on his stomach, Eddie laughs into his folded-up arms. His deep brown hair brushes his pale shoulders when he turns to look at you. His smile is swollen and rosy and crooked.

“You got me, princess. Making my girlfriend walk in disgusting weather was all a part of my evil plan.”

“I wouldn’t say it was evil.”

“No?”

“Sinful, maybe. Sexy, even,” you joke with a lopsided grin. “But no, not evil.”

“Is that so?” he lilts as he rises on his elbow to prop his cheek on his fist.

You shake your head and roll onto your back. Your eyes flit to the spotted ceiling. A smirk blossoms on your lips. “I feel like evil would imply that it was hurtful in some way. And that thing you did in the shower felt way too good to be evil.”

“What thing?” the boy wonders with pinched-together brows.

You shoot him a look. “You know…” you hum vaguely, expectantly.

“No. I don’t, actually,” Eddie laughs, mostly at himself. “I’m kinda dumb, in case you forgot.”

“You’re not dumb, Eds.”

“Stop being sweet. You’re deflecting.”

You concede with a small huff. “That… That thing. With your mouth. When you pressed me against the wall and— please, don’t make me describe it, Eddie,” you ramble, then cut yourself off to whine.

He meets your grimace with a boyish grin. “I don’t know. I kinda like hearing you talk about it.”

“I’ll die,” you deadpan.

“You’re so dramatic.”

His words are harsh, but his pink smile is kind. He kisses you with it after — a smacking peck to the corner of your mouth that migrates rather quickly. He sprinkles his lips along your jaw and chin and neck. 

That��s where he lingers. 

Eddie finds your pulse point and goes a half-inch higher, just like he did while he was fucking you against the shower wall. You nearly came the first time he kissed you there. 

He sucks at the delicate skin until he leaves another faint mark. The feeling of his tongue and teeth on your newfound sweet spot makes your toes curl. It has you moaning out loud before you mean to.

His lips audibly smack when he pulls away.

“That thing?” he wonders, smiling down at you like he already knows the answer.

Your thighs clench together. Your bones are made of mush. “That thing,” you repeat in the affirmative.

“Well, if we’re sharing secrets…” Eddie singsongs, then leans in all close like he’s about to spill the latest gossip. His fingers spread out along your bare waist, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I really liked it when you got all mean.”

You hadn’t thought much of it, then — when Eddie edged you on the counter with his fingers and laughed when you writhed. 

You didn’t even let him make it up to you after, just sucked him off and told him he wasn’t allowed to touch you. “Don’t cum ’til I tell you to, understand?” you’d said. “Or I’m gonna get myself off, and you’re gonna watch.”

He was a good boy for you, though, and you let him fuck you in the shower.

Your nose scrunches in muted embarrassment. “I wasn’t being that mean, was I?”

“No. I mean, you could certainly get meaner…” Eddie assures with a shake of his head, then grins as his fingers crawl up your ribcage. You fight back a shiver. “Which I think could be preferable from time to time.”

“So, you want me to be more… dominant?”

He shrugs a pale, freckled shoulder. “Yeah. Sometimes. I like watching you get all dumb for me, don’t get me wrong, but every time you get a little mean, I almost cum in my pants.”

The blatant confession makes you go slightly stupid. You just nod at him, lazy and unblinking. “Yeah. I can do that. You know, if that’s what you want.”

“I do want,” Eddie hums, matching your sloppy head shake. His nicotine-coated breath fans across your cheek. “Very, very much.”

“But not all the time, though, right?”

“No. Not all the time. Just… sometimes— when the moment’s right or whatever.”

“Sure…”

Eddie’s grin broadens when you trail off. A faraway look glazes over your eye. His brows raise expectantly. “What’s that look for?”

You blink rapidly as you descend from the clouds. Shaking your head, you dismiss him. “Nothing. Nothing— I just… I did kinda like not letting you come right away.”

“Yeah. Me too,” Eddie concurs, suddenly breathless.

Your gaze flits to his, mousy and twinkling. Your hands fidget above the covers. “And I kinda wanna try letting you cum and maybe… not stopping…”

Eddie’s eyes go wide. His mouth opens to respond, but he forgets how to speak. He barely remembers to breathe.

“Is that… Is that weird?” you ask, forcing a laugh at his unusual silence.

“No!” he blurts, sounding much louder in the honeyed quiet of his bedroom. “No, that’s… That’s really hot, actually. Like, really hot.”

He zones out just like you had. The imagery of it all makes his stomach whirl. He’s done it to you a number of times — brought you to the edge and kept on pushing you over until you pushed him away. But he’d never thought about ever doing it to himself till now. 

Actually, there’s quite a lot of things he’s done to you that he might enjoy himself if he thinks about it.

The thought alone opens a world of possibility in his wild, wild head.

“Can I tell you about something I was thinking about the other day?” he wonders suddenly.

Though slightly startled by the blurted question, you nod. “Of course.”

His gaze flits away from yours. His hand fidgets at your waist, fingers softly scratching at your burning skin. “You know my handcuffs? The ones I clip on my jeans sometimes?”

Again, you nod.

“Well, I— I have the keys, you know? So it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if we— you know— if we used them…”

“On me?” you press, brows pinched in distant concern.

Eddie shakes his head immediately. “No. I know you don’t like that.”

“So… on you?”

“Yeah. Maybe. If you want,” the boy mumbles, suddenly shy in a way you’ve only seen a handful of times — including earlier, when he was begging to cum in your mouth. “I just think it could be cool, you know? Like, you could tie me up and just… use me. If you want,” he repeats.

“Use you?” you repeat with a soft laugh.

He shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t— I don’t really care about getting off as much as I care about you getting off, you know? I just… wanna take care of you. Want you to take what you want.”

You open your mouth to respond only to find that all words have lost meaning. Your brain is a jumbled mess of alphabet soup. So you just nod, dumb at the very thought.

Eddie’s hand rises from the covers. His palm settles warm at your jaw. His fingers smell faintly of sex as his calloused thumb smooths across your chapped lips. “You could, like, rub yourself on my cock. Get yourself off on top of me,” he murmurs lowly to you, a quiet and crooked grin pulling at his mouth. “Wouldn’t that be metal?”

“Yeah…” you answer with a sigh, getting lost in the daydream right along with him. “Wouldn’t put you inside me at first, either. Not until you’re begging for it.”

His smile widens. “Exactly.”

“Then I’ll ride you until you make me cum.”

Eddie nods, egging you on. He tucks his face into your neck, if only to conceal how ardently he’s blushing. He hides his pink cheeks between your jaw and shoulder and kisses you where he knows it’ll drive you crazy. 

“Mhmm?” he urges, muffled.

You sigh a faint moan. Your fingers curl in his wild hair. You press your lips to his temple and continue. “And I’ll let you come, too. Eventually… But I won’t stop.”

“Fuck,” he groans into your pulse.

“Not until you’ve filled me up three times—”

“Oh, fuck…”

You tug at his hair with a soft, stern touch you think you could learn to master for him. His lips click faintly when he parts from you. He blinks down at you with glassy chocolate eyes.

“Something like that?” you wonder, feigning innocence with a sweet-sounding lilt.

Eddie nods, sloppy and stupid. He stammers. “Yeah… Yeah. Some—Something like that.”

[moonstruckme]

hiiiiiiiii mae <3 i have an idea for thawing out series. what about if reader has a 'moment' w one of them and the other boy gets slightly cranky bc of it but then is also confused bc he doesn't know if he wants r or the other boy.........and then EPIPHANY 😈

Thanks for your request! The mood of it got altered some but I hope you like it :)

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12

cw: modern au, chronic pain, some hurt w/o comfort but dw we'll fix it down the line

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 2.6k words

“Pads!” Remus shouts across the ice. “Focus!”

Sirius’ cheeks pinken slightly as he tears his stare away from the Russian soloist practicing her quads. You laugh and say something to him that makes him pinch your waist meanly, as if you’ve been acting any better. 

You and Sirius are completely starstruck. Remus wants to be irritated at your distractibility, but it’s sort of adorable. You nearly fall on your bum watching the Austrian team run drills, Sirius is too busy eye-flirting with a Swedish skater to remember he’s supposed to be going into a turn, and you both stop your routine entirely when the Canadian duo steps out onto the ice. 

You and Sirius draw plenty of stares yourselves, though naturally only Sirius appears to notice. He shoots a wink at a skater admiring him and a glare at another looking too closely at you, his hand possessively on your lower back anytime you’re not running your routine. 

Altogether it means you have to spend a couple of extra hours learning to work through this specific brand of stage fright and running your drills again after you all get your heads turned multiple times, but Remus lets it slide. He remembers being just as dazzled during his first Olympics, seventeen years old and feeling like he’d somehow snuck into the hall of fame, an imposter among legends. 

Part of him hopes that the embarrassment of having to do a half-ass death spiral in front of so many professionals will make Sirius finally go all the way, but no such luck. He keeps you firmly above where you ought to be, expression impassive even as Remus can see you pleading with him with your eyes. Still, the rest of the routine goes well, and Remus tries not to let it get under his skin. He hopes you’re right and Sirius really will pull through in the final hour; your faith in your partner is absolute, and Remus finds it easy to put his faith in you. 

He lets you loose to spend the afternoon as you’d like, but it comes as no surprise when he sees you both on the ice again. Remus knows you’ve likely got plenty of nerves to work off. It’s one thing to compete in your home country, another entirely to represent your home country while competing amongst the best figure skaters in the world. He calls you off the ice before one of you can overexert yourselves and pull something. Sirius swears up and down that his ankle hasn’t bothered him since the day after he hurt it, and Remus hasn’t seen anything to make him suspect differently, but he knows better than to take risks with a healing injury. You spend the rest of the afternoon playing cards and gambling for candies in Sirius’ room. 

Eventually you disperse to go to bed. Remus’ hip has been bothering him since the flight the previous day, so he goes on a walk to stretch it out. It’s odd, he thinks, how easy things have come to feel between the three of you. When he first arrived, Remus had every intention of setting up strict professional boundaries, of knowing you only as your coach and seeing you only during practice times. And then you started practicing together, and it seemed like his boundaries wouldn’t even be necessary. Sirius hated him, and besides that the two of you existed in a bubble no one could penetrate, intimate and trusting only each other. Now, after learning about what your former coach did to you, Remus understands why that was necessary. You were protecting each other, safeguarding your partnership and your careers. It would have made sense for you to keep Remus at more than an arm’s length, taking his coaching with grains of salt and keeping him well away from your private lives. 

But then there have been days like today. Still bickering with Sirius, still watching the two of you interact with a familiarity only years of history can grant, but feeling warm and welcome despite it all. It feels easy, to tease Sirius and let him snipe back. To let you lean your shoulder into his and not move away. It feels good. 

Remus’ hip is feeling fairly good too by the time he gets back, sore from the exercise but not so stiff. As he makes his way to his room, passing Sirius’ and then yours on the way, he sees light sneaking through the crack underneath your door. 

He frowns. It’s late, and you’re meant to practice again early tomorrow morning, your last day of practice before you compete. You should be well rested. As he approaches your door, he hears sound coming from inside. Low, crackling voices, and a song that tugs at the fringes of his memory. Then a sound he knows too well, the shushing of skates on ice.

Remus knocks. The door is thin enough that he hears your little gasp and a quiet snap, and when you say “come in,” it sounds like a question. 

He suppresses a smile, opening your door cautiously in case you didn’t really mean it. 

You’re sitting on your bed, one hand atop your shut laptop. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” he says, leaning against the doorway. “It’s late.” 

“I know.” You look almost shy. Between that and the pajamas you have on, plaid little shorts and a bulky sweatshirt, Remus has the urge to pinch your chin between his fingers. “Sorry, I was just watching some, um…”

“Figure skating videos.” Your lips part, and he says, “I could hear them from outside.” 

“Oh.” You laugh. It’s a nice sound, one Remus can happily say he’s come to know well, but this one is woven through with nerves. “That’s embarrassing.” 

“Why is it embarrassing?” he asks honestly. “It’s normal to want to study your competition. And they’re fun, I still watch them all of the time.” 

“It’s not…” You give him a tentative look, then scoot over on your bed. “Do you want to see?” 

Remus can’t imagine you’re watching anything he hasn’t seen a million times, but he is curious which are your favorites. He’s careful to sit on top of your covers, a few inches between your leg and his. The bed doesn’t allow for anything more. 

“Fuck, did they really have to go back to making them out of cardboard?” 

That gets another nervous laugh out of you as you open your laptop screen, playing the video. And Remus knows then where he’s heard the music before. It’s his music. You’re watching his old routine, a niche one from a small competition back in Wales. Remus was fourteen when this was filmed. 

He glances at you, and you’re watching the video with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, the colors of the screen dancing across your eyes. 

“I’ve always admired how tight your form was,” you say. “You were so young, but it was obvious you were putting the work in.” 

“I practiced a lot,” Remus agrees. “Too much, really.” 

The nostalgia he feels for figure skating is bittersweet when he watches videos like this. He remembers spending all his time in the rink, every hour he wasn’t in school or at home, nothing spared for friends or hobbies. He did love it, but in loving it he forgot to build a life outside of it. Life was constant motion, training and competitions and awards whirling around him like the rink during a spin; by the time he had his accident anyone that might have been his friend had their own friends, and Remus realized he may have been lonely for years. 

“I’m really glad you agreed to coach us.” You’re still watching the video, young Remus doing a camel spin. “You’ve made us a lot better, both of us. I know Sirius is going to end up fixing the spiral, and I’m going to try my best, and…I really hope we can make you proud.” 

“You will,” Remus says, instead of you already do. It feels wrong to take any credit for how incredible you are, either one of you, but that is what he feels when he sees you out on the ice. Proud. He looks at you carefully. “You’ve seemed wound pretty tightly lately.” 

Your eyes drop, no longer looking at young Remus but not at the older one either. 

“It’s alright to be nervous,” he says gently, “so long as you know that you deserve to be here. You’re going to do great.” 

You rub your lips together. “Were you nervous during your Olympics? Is it okay for you to talk about?” 

“Yeah,” Remus says, a bit surprised, “it’s fine. I was nervous. I was…” he chuckles “I was freaking out, honestly. But when I got out there, it was really just like any rink. The music and the routine were the same, so I just let myself get lost in it. I almost forgot where I was until it was over, and people were waving flags at me and all that from the stands.” He feels his lips curve with the memory. Bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “It’s not so bad. Anyway, I think it’s got to be better to go through it with someone else. I was on my own, but you’ll have Sirius with you.” 

You give him a little sideways smile. “And you, right?” 

A fond warmth blooms in Remus’ chest. “And me.” 

“Has it been difficult for you to coach us?” you ask him tentatively. “I mean, to come back?” 

Remus takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he says after a minute. “At first, it really was. I’m not proud of it, and I don’t think I really knew it at the time, but I was jealous of both of you. Anytime you did something differently than I would have, I got so frustrated that you were throwing away these opportunities I would kill to have again. It was easy to look at either one of you and wish I was in your place.” 

You’re nodding, not a trace of hurt or offense in your expression. You look at him like you understand. 

“But that stopped a long time ago,” he says. “After I worked with you for longer, it became clear you’re both very different skaters than I was.” You huff a laugh, and Remus nudges your shoulder admonishingly. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. I think early on I wasn’t a very good coach to you because I couldn’t see your individual strengths. But now I think I can, and it’s really a privilege to watch you skate together. It’s lovely. And I’ve loved getting to know you and Sirius, too. So, yeah, it was difficult at first, but I’m really glad I came on. And I’m glad you were patient enough to let me stay.” 

That got a bit more earnest than he intended. Remus feels heat rise to his face, but you’re still nodding, thoughtful, like you’re trying to wrap your head around it. He sees you rub your lips together again. 

“I really want to do well,” you say softly, “but I’m not the skater Sirius is. I don’t have his natural talent, and I don’t flourish under pressure the way he does. I—that’s usually when I mess up.” Remus’ chest aches at the vulnerability in your voice, his hand moving unconsciously to cover yours on the bed. Some of the tension goes out of you at the touch. “I’ve tried my whole life to keep up with him, but I’m never quite there, and you guys, you’ve both been these incredible, talented skaters…” Your eyes meet his, timid and ashamed. “I’m afraid I’m going to let you both down.” 

“Are you kidding?” You drop your gaze, and a surprised little laugh trips off Remus’ tongue as he ducks his head to follow, holding your hand more securely. “I’m sorry, that was rash, but really. How can you think that? You’re one of the most talented skaters I’ve ever seen.” 

You’re still avoiding his gaze. He takes your chin in his hand, gentle, an encouragement more than anything, but you let him turn you towards him. 

“I don’t care how much of it comes from natural aptitude,” he says firmly. “You’re an incredible skater. Even when I didn’t know you at all, it was obvious that you care about this more than Sirius or I likely ever have. That’s important. You can see it in how hard you train, and in how you move on the ice.” Remus shakes his head, expelling a breath. “It’s mesmerizing. You’re beautiful to watch.” 

You’re not shying away from him now, but Remus doesn’t let go of you. Your expression is wide open, diffident but curious. He goes on.

“The way you skate, it’s not just about the motions or the art of it, it’s joyous. Anyone can see how happy you are out there. That’s what makes you so good. You really love it.” 

“You did, too,” you murmur. 

His voice softens in kind. “I did. But not the way you do.” 

Your eyes lower, but this time he allows you it. Remus is suddenly acutely aware of your leg where it's pressed up against his, of his own heartbeat. He’s still holding your hand. 

You wet your lips. “Do you really mean all that?” 

“Why would I give you a whole speech I didn’t believe?” 

You crack a smile. “Some coaches call it a pep talk.” 

“You’re beautiful to watch,” he says again, voice dropping to a murmur as he realizes you’re staring at his lips. He breathes in, and the distance between you lessens. “You’re beautiful.” 

Remus knows he’s judged you rightly when your hand comes around his waist, pressing into the softness of his jumper to glean an impression of the skin underneath. You kiss like you skate, with a sweet eagerness, ready to explore and wanting to learn. Your lips part, inspiring a similar parting in Remus, and you let out a breath with a soft humming sound. 

Remus' nerves are alight underneath your hand on his side. He angles his torso to get you closer, free hand coasting up your thigh. Your fingers bunch in his jumper, kisses picking up heat as he lets his hand settle at the small of your back, an echo of how Sirius touched you this morning when—

Sirius. 

Remus draws away from you so suddenly he hears you gasp. He still has your face in his hand, can feel the flustered warmth of it before he removes that too, putting distance between you. 

“Sorry.” His voice is hoarse. Guilt burns in the back of his throat. “Sorry, it’s not you. I just, I—”

Sirius. Sirius. Sirius. 

“I didn’t think that through.” He can feel his heartbeat in his mouth. Sirius is in love with you. Remus is only just starting to feel like a part of your team, but this could send you all back in time. Kissing one of his skaters, who the other is in love with? His stomach hurts. “I’m your coach, and you—we have a big competition coming up. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

He edges off your bed, looking at you while he does. Your lips are still parted, eyes wide. 

“It was a really shit idea,” he says, “and I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.” 

You rub your lips together. Remus feels it like you’re still moving them against his own. “It’s fine,” you say on a breath. “We can forget it.” 

“I’m so sorry,” he says again. 

“It’s okay.” You’re shaking your head, and he’s backing away, both of you like deer caught in headlights. “You’re right, it was silly. We’re professionals, we can get past it.” 

Remus feels himself nodding, feels the handle of your door in his hand. 

“Practice in the morning?” you ask weakly. 

He pushes out a breath as he opens the door. “Yeah. Six thirty.”

[steviewashere]

I want to write something sort of meta, hear me out on it. Sorry, if this hits too close to home. The idea came to me and I needed to get it out of my system. And...would you look at that, another half-written fic.

Steve ends up getting really into Star Wars after Dustin shows him to it. Like, so much that he gets himself involved with conventions, cosplay, collecting anything and everything he can. He's involved in a fandom space. Learns the world of fan fiction. And let's say that maybe, during his time figuring out where he wants to go with life, he picks up writing fanfic as a hobby.

It encourages him to get an English degree. Encourages him to lean more into that hobby, but then expanding upon it to write original short stories and small novels that go published. But he holds strong to Star Wars and fandom and finding his spot cemented in it. He's been a fan for...nearly forty years at this point (set in 2024, ugh I know).

And maybe he dabbles in online spaces here and there. He ignores the insufferable adults in the Star Wars fandom (the "um, actually..." guys, btw). Indulges the effort of typing out his handwritten fan fiction, ones he used to bring and pass around at conventions, ones he'd let Eddie read with a shy look in his eyes. And he posts them online, has a Tumblr account, maybe does a few short things on Twitter, definitely is on AO3 (albeit newer, having never attempted online fan work before).

But then...then he gets his first little bit of hate. Vicious, gross comments on his work. Sometimes in private messages. Even publicly, once, on Twitter. It irks him. He holds strong, he does. But then it gets worse and worse and somehow, worse. Younger people claiming he's too old, others claiming that he can't write for certain characters because they're out of his age range, that he can't ship certain people, he can't say that a character would do this or that, that Star Wars is media for a younger audience (despite being somebody who saw it "back in the day"). But that he...That he's not supposed to be there.

And that last little comment sticks with him for a long time. It makes his effort and his attention and his love for writing fanworks falter. He stops. Thinks about the characters he loves, of Leia and Han or even Luke and Han or Lando and Han (listen he loves writing Han). But then he wonders if it's even worth it, to indulge this interest anymore. Yeah, maybe he's older than the source material. Sure, maybe he was introduced to it a little later than most, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love it. Yet, his attention towards Star Wars completely falls away.

He stops watching it. His DVDs going dusty and unused. Starts putting away all his action figures, because what if he posts a photo one day and somebody sees them and claims that that's not for him and—

Then, he goes completely offline from fandom. Even if he still gets the emails from users who actually enjoy his stuff, ignoring them completely. Focuses on using the internet for work. For his novels, for the little stories he actually gets paid to write. But his work just isn't the same. The passion, despite being an original story and original source material, is completely dwindled.

His hobby has been stripped from him. His interest has been knocked straight out of his hands. And he just...moves on.

Even if it hurts to go down into the basement of he and Eddie's home, eyes catching on the see-through bins of original action figures, Lego sets, comic books. Even if it makes something strangle in his chest when he opens up the browser on his phone and it immediately opens to a new ship he'd been getting into: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker—because he finally picked up The Mandalorian, because he was finally talked into watching it when he had the free time.

And then it all bursts over when Eddie finally approaches him about it, when they're enjoying a night-in, sitting around lazily on their sofa.

"There's a convention coming into town," he comments, "supposedly, Hayden Christensen is going to be there. We should go, try and meet him."

Steve just grunts in response.

"Oh-kay...or we could just stay home and watch the movie?" Eddie suggests. "Been a while since I've seen Darth on screen, telling Luke about"—

"I don't want to," Steve cuts in quietly, "isn't really my thing anymore."

Silence then follows. For a beat. Then two. A third.

"Not your thing?" Eddie asks him incredulously. "Not too long ago you were raving all about that new show that's coming out! That you saw they were doing lightsaber whips and you were excited to see how they worked! What do you mean it's 'not your thing'?"

Steve shrugs. "Grew out of it or whatever. Got more important things to focus on now." He sniffs, trying to keep himself held together, grumpy and firm in his decision.

Eddie's stare drills into the side of his face. Scalding, just like that lava was in Revenge of The Sith. "Baby," he speaks softly, "did something happen? You haven't even...you don't read your beautiful little stories to me anymore. In fact, now that I think about it, I haven't even seen your lightsabers around here. What's goin' on?"

He fiddles with the hem of his shirt. A ratty plain white t-shirt that he wears now when he's lounging around the house. It used to be one with the Millennium Falcon on it, but that's tucked down far in his dresser. Not for him anymore.

"Steve," Eddie presses, "did something happen?"

His stare stays down at his lap, still fiddling with his shirt. Fingers flexing unfamiliarly in the strings, unlike the loose ones on his Star Wars shirts. "I just"—Steve heaves a deep sigh—"it's time I grow up. It's...not for me anymore. Too old for it now, I guess."

"You guess or you know? Because nobody's too old for anything. Unless, y'know, you're like eighty-nine and in terrible health and trying to hike Everest, then..."

Despite everything, Steve finds himself chuckling. A giddy little sound here and gone in a breath. He shrugs again, albeit smaller this time. Crumbling within himself. Quietly, honestly, he admits, "People were being mean to me about it online. About my writing. That I'm doing it wrong, that I—that I'm too old for it. That I don't belong because of my age." He finally brings himself to look at Eddie, blearily because his eyes are aching and wet. "I got to thinking and I...maybe I've just been too caught up in my own bliss to realize that those people are right. They're right and I shouldn't be into kids stuff anymore."

Eddie makes a soft, sad cooing noise in the back of his throat. "Oh, baby," he breathes. "Baby, those people don't know a single damn thing about your love. But...but I do. I know that you've seen every single Star Wars movie more times than I've probably eaten in my entire life. And what about all those Halloween costumes over the years? I didn't dress up like Leia for nothing, Mr. Solo."

Steve scoffs wetly. Goes to protest, but—

"And...and that handshake! The one with Dustin? You guys have had that for nearly forty fucking years! So, why bother indulging any of these...these hardasses on the internet? Did they sit next to you on the sofa as you fucking curled yourself like a shrimp and wrote every little intricate detail of a kiss between Luke and Han? Have they read your work while you blushed all shy, while you tucked your hair behind your ear and asked for the most earnest of feedback, to make sure you spelt things correctly or put a comma in the right place? These people, did they get to see you blossom and grow like a fucking bushel of roses over your hobby?

"Because I know I did. And even though you were nervous about your words on the paper, you still came to me. You still wrote and wrote and wrote until I had to bully you into breaks, just so you wouldn't ruin your poor wrists. If they had even an ounce of the passion that you do, they could write their own stories. They can make their own endings and make the characters the way they imagine them.

"They choose, instead, to—what—make fun of you because you have a space to express yourself? Because you found passion and turned it into something so beautiful, even I—a dungeon master, someone supposed to be amazing at storytelling—can't put into words? You found a way to do that, Steve. And you do that with kindness. You do it for free, mind you. If their only passion sits within sending you vitriol over people who aren't even remotely close to real, then they're the ones who don't belong.

"If I've learned anything, fandom is a space to share and bounce off each other's words. It's community and it's belonging and it's sharing what you love because you just love it. Fandom isn't bullying. Bullying is just bullying, Steve.

"And everything you've ever done in your life, in regards to fandom and outside of it, is so much better than hate. You may be a nerd or...or a little bit overzealous or whatever, but at least you aren't hateful. I think being hateful, that's worse—don't you think?"

Steve can only stare in response, fast tears down his cheeks, hands shaking in his shirt. Mind reeling. Because, yes, Eddie's right. And he maybe should've talked about it initially, but the hurt festered and festered and tangled and grew until he was nothing but an unhealed scab. And Eddie, he's the antiseptic to his uncovered cuts—the ones deep on his heart, where all his love is—even for things considered mundane, like movies, like TV shows.

"Steve," Eddie carefully murmurs, wrapping Steve's hands with his own, "you don't have to do something right to love it. You don't have to be a certain way to be happy. If Star Wars made you happy, then why give it up?"

He sniffles and chokes back on a sob. Because, again—damnit—Eddie's right. "I miss it," he admits quietly, "all I've done is miss it."

Eddie gives him a small smile. Something achingly soft that reaches deep within Steve. "Then open your arms and welcome it back, baby," he whispers, "even if you can't be online anymore, do it for yourself."

"I...I want to try it again, I'm just...scared. What if people hate it all over again? What if they're just nasty to me and shut me down and push me to the side and"—

"But what if they love it? What if your readers have missed you just as much?"

"You think?" he meekly asks.

Eddie's eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. "I know, actually. Your emails keep coming in on the computer's desktop because I keep forgetting to log you out. And, baby, you would not believe how many people have been eager for updates, for your return." His thumbs work into the backs of Steve's hands, warm and sure. "And, if it helps, maybe I can moderate your comments before you look at 'em? I'll read them to myself and if they're mean, I'll delete them."

Steve blows out a breathy little chuckle. "You'll just get mad at them," he gently teases. "But that doesn't sound too bad. Maybe I should try again. Not yet, though. I'm not ready."

"That's okay," Eddie assures, "take things slow. Maybe we start with watching the movies again? Getting your lightsabers back on display?"

"Can we go to the convention, too?"

"We can do whatever you want, Stevie."

For the first time in a long while, Steve finds himself smiling. "I love you," he whispers.

"I know."

[dottieisdotting]

Baby Fever C.S.C

requested?: yes @urperfectcinnamonroll07 (go show her page some love too,it's rlly good)

pairing(s): Husband!Choi Seungcheol x afab!reader

genre: fluffy at the beginning and end, smut

warning(s): Bid dick!Cheol, PiV sex,unprotected sex (wrap before you tap,ladies and gents),degrading,praise,breeding,Oral (f!receiving),Seungcheol being a girl dad,

summary: your daughter's ask for another sibling and Seungcheol and you make their wish come true

word count: 3k (LORD-)

A/N: so I kinda went a little over ther board with this one but anyhoo enjoy this Cheo, brainstro of mine and make sure (if you'd like to) like,comment and reblog. make sure you eat,drink and rest,loves Yaha mwah xoxo

You and Seungcheol had the cutest family in the world as some would say. Two wonderful 4-year-old daughters Darae and Cheon-sa, with your looks but Seungcheol’s pout. They were so adorable and had you,Seungcheol and the rest of seventeen wrapped around their little fingers.

Luckily tonight was yours and Seungcheol’s date night so the girls were taken to his mothers. So you sat in Darae’s and Cheon-sa’s shared room packing and playing with them. You helped burp a doll and also put them to sleep . you hear someone clear their throat and look up from the floor,Seungcheol walks in,the girls running to hug him shouting and squealing. His gummy smile and dimples show as he bends down to pick both of them up. 

Their giggles fill the room and make your smile widen, standing up,brushing off your pants, you walk over to your husband and your children. Giving him a pat on the back as you leave the room,a small smirk on your lips. It was now his turn to be dragged to dolls play whilst you got the last of the girls’ things together for a couple nights to grandma’s house.

”Darae,Cheon-sa, c’mon time to go to grandma’s” like clockwork you hear the patter of their feet on the hardwood floors of the hallway running to you at the door. They had huge smiles on their faces,also carrying a stuffed animal each. They sit on the floor whilst they ‘help’ you put their shoes on. Darae says something unexpectedly ”Mama,daddy we want another sibling” your eyes nearly pop out of your head when she says that as they both clap their little hands in union. 

Seungcheol just stares down at you with that all knowing smirk as you nod ”another? Well you'll have to wish very hard at grandmas to see if it can come true” your voice was soft as you were so close to them. You kiss their cheeks and forehead before standing up and kissing Seungcheol goodbye as he goes to take the children to his mothers house.

It was now your time to get ready for your date. You shower and take about  one and a half hours doing everything right to the T. Leaving the bathroom with a robe and a towel,drying your hair, you head to your shared bedroom and sit at the vanity. You start to blow dry your hair,knowing it would take a while. After around 30 minutes it had fully dried and you now were deciding if you should curl or straighten your hair. With 10 minutes of debate to curl your hair and pin it back whilst you do skincare and makeup.

Seungcheol came back and walked into the bedroom seeing you in just a robe doing your makeup.  He walks behind you and tilts your head backwards and leans down pressing a short kiss to your lips. 

You continue on with your makeup, making it perfect whilst Seungcheol goes to get showered and dressed too. He walks into the bedroom, brown hair dripping and a towel wrapped lowly around his hips causing you to see his happy trail and V line.

You couldn't help but stare at your husband through the mirror of your vanity. ”stare much,sweets?” you lower your head,shit, you've been caught. But you couldn't help it, your husband was one fine motherfucker. 

You shake your head and bite your lip and continue to do your makeup as he gets dressed in black dress pants,black button up and a black tie (yk what i'm on about) but he walks out with his shirt undone whilst you were trying to zip your dress on. Your dress was stunning. It was red, ironically Cheol’s favourite colour, a slit ran up the left leg to mid thigh and it was tight, making your body show off all those perfect curves of yours. For shoes you wore your Christian Louboutin red bottoms. A gift from Seungcheol because he missed you during one of his tours with SVT

”Cheol,could you zip me up,baby?” Seungcheol nods and zips your dress up,leaving a small kiss on the back of your neck before he turns you around and wraps his arms around your waist and leans in,kissing your lips leaving you breathless. He pulls away and smirks after seeing your face. He buttons up his shirt as you watch. You spray your perfume and you were done,grabbing your little purse and you walk out of your shared room. 

Seungcheol joins you and wraps his arm around your waist,kissing the side of your neck lightly and leading you to the door ”lets go,yeah. We’ve got a reservation at 8, sweets” he leads you to his car and opens the passenger side door for you, you get in and he closes the door before walking around to the drivers side. God, he looked very hot right now. 

He gets in and buckles up before turning on the engine and reversing from the drive and starts to drive to the restaurant. His hand stayed permanently on your thigh the drive there and when you got there he opened the passenger door and held your hand like the gentleman he is.

 The restaurant itself is quite elegant, the walls and furniture are all carved from dark mahogany wood with brass decorations and accents. The lighting is soft and warm, with several candles lit on each table. The smell of fresh food cooking comes from the kitchen, and the air is infused with the scent of lavender and rose petals. The staff is friendly and attentive, making sure to cater to each customer's needs. The food is delicious and prepared with great care, showcasing the best in local delicacies and culinary arts.

One of the waiters took you over to the table and Seungcheol ordered some wine,he wouldn't drink much since he was still driving home later. 10 minutes later the waiter comes back with two wine glasses and the wine of Seungcheol’s choice. She leaves the table with a smile as Seungcheol pours the wine into the glasses before picking his up and waiting for you to do the same. A soft clink of the glasses before each of them take a sip of it,bodies relaxing as this indicates they were definitely kid-free now

They order their meals and eat with little stories of their girls,and family. You also mention that Darae wanted another sibling subtly and he raises his eyebrow and smirks slightly,nodding to the subtle comment. You finish your food and dessert and after Seungcheol pays the bill and buys another bottle of wine for the house, you get to driving home.

At home, it was peaceful,for once it wasn't a mess of girls' toys everywhere. It was quiet too,no screaming,screeching and crying for once. You slip off your heels whilst Seungcheol walks to the kitchen,pouring some wine into 2 wine glasses he got from the cupboard. He sees you walk to the kitchen island next to him and he smiles,kissing the crown of your head softly. ”hi sweets” he smiles,showing his cute dimples. You couldn't help but smile ”Hi Cheol” you reach to take a glass of wine,bringing it to your lips and sipping on it before it goes back onto the kitchen island. 

Seungcheol grabs your hips,pulling you towards him. ”sweets? Dance with me please?” you nod as yours and Seungcheol’s wedding song plays softly through the speakers. You smile and think back to the wedding,the memory still so fresh in your mind as Seungcheol spins you carefully before kissing your lips tenderly.

You kiss back,your hands lace in his hair tugging ever so slightly, he lets out a low moan as you feel yourself becoming wetter with every move he makes. He pulls away,lips a little more red. ”fucking hell, c’mon sweets lets give them another,hm?” you knew it wasn't an actual question because he knew the answer already. You nod and lean in again,bringing his and your lips together into another kiss,this one longer,more passionate with a hint of need.

His hands wrap tightly around your waist pulling your body causing you to almost grind against him. You moan into the kiss as his tongue passes your lips. It swirls around yours as he occasionally sucked your tongue. You break the kiss for some air ”i want another” you say breathless,chest heaving ”give me another,Cheol please”  he nods and throws you over his shoulder,slapping your arse for good measure and walking to your shared room. 

You bite your lip as you get to the room,the door is kicked open and you are thrown on the bed, you look so helpless,so needy,all for Seungcheol. He turns you over,zipping your dress down and taking it off you and throwing it somewhere in the room. He leaves you bare only in laced underwear. 

Seungcheol kisses up your legs ghosting over your sex and continues his kisses up your body,slightly biting and sulking little marks everywhere.

He gets up from you and undoes his dress shirt, his muscles showing, it had you almost drooling. His happy trail makes him look hotter. 

He kneels on the floor,grabbing your legs and pulling your hips to the end of the bed. Your cunt level to his face, an obvious wet spot takes up the middle of your underwear. Seungcheol licks his lips, he wants you so badly. His fingers long and thick hook around your underwear, his mind telling Jim just to rip them,but he couldn't. If he ripped that pair, that would mean he had ripped at least 6 pairs of your underwear in the last couple months.

He was nice enough tonight since he had bought you the pair for the date after all. So finally he pulls down your underwear,throwing them over his broad shoulder. He blows hot air onto your clit making you shiver and whimper slightly. He smirks again,standing up. You whine at the loss,wanting him to eat you out.

He laughs softly at how needy you have become. He reaches over to grab a pillow  giving you a soft peck on the side of your face as he does so. He taps your hips twice signalling you to lift them so he could place a pillow so he could eat you out better. ”hips,sweets,lift em’ for me” so you listen and lift them,the soft pillow slides under and you get comfortable . ”Why aren't you a good girl? Keep listening and I'll fill you sweets , so deep, make sure you will carry my child again.” 

Another thing about Seungcheol is that he had mastered dirty talk to the T and it was perfect. The right amount of praise and degradation was mind-blowing. It got you off so well. He loved the way your body reacted to his voice,his touch. You didn't know but it made him all fuzzy brained, he truly loved you so so much and he was an acts of service guy so he'd fuck you any time anywhere. 

He kneels back down in between your legs, hooking them over his shoulders,the pillow giving you extra leverage so your sex is closer to his mouth. ”c'mon sweets, pull me to where you need me so badly. Oh baby you're dripping” you take your shaking hands and lace them in his brown hair as his dark eyes stare up at you. You tug on his hair,pushing his lips to your clit making you moan in relief. He sucks at your bundle of nerves making your legs clench around his head. Seungcheol had always said that he would die a happy man if it was in between your thighs,fucking you with his tongue and his fingers.

He continues to suck at your clit,occasionally nipping at it making your hips jump as he smirks against your pussy. You tug on his hair letting the moans tumble from your mouth with no shame, you didn't have to be quiet plus Seungcheol liked your moans and whimpers,it showed him how you liked it. His tongue enters your heat quickly,licking all your juices making him moan lowly in delight as you get louder,coil in your stomach tightening every lick. You keep tugging at his hair,pushing him further into your sex, his nose hitting your clit beautifully. You back arches off the bed,toes curling as you moan out a mantra of just Seungcheol, his name rolling off your tongue as the coil is ready to snap. ”g-gonna cum,fuck… please,Cheol”  he hums in approveal as the coil snaps and your orgasm wracks through your body. But that doesn't stop Seungcheol, he keeps going,suckking and licking your release as he helps bring you back down. He carefully removes your thighs from his head as he kisses them gently,the aftershocks of your orgasm still running through your veins.

He loved you like this. All spread out on the bed,fucked out from only one orgasm. His smug look sits on his face as he knew he was the only one that could make you like this. He leans down and catches your lips in a messy makeout. Your hands go to his pants,trying to undo them whilst staying in the kiss. You undo them and tug them down,leaving Cheol to handle the rest as you break the kiss to breathe.

You lay back further on the bed as he rids himself of his dress pants and boxers, his cock hard and red tipped leaking with pre-cum. You spread your legs, your arousal dripping onto the pillow below. ”aw,poor sweets, so needy. You wanna be filled don't you? Stuffed full till you're pregnant with my kid again,hm?” All you could do is nod and mewl his name. That stupid smirk on his face again as he tugs at himself before lining his cock to your entrance. He teases you by only entering the tip making you clench around him ”Cheol,please” you beg for him just to take you but he continues to tease by only fucking you with his tip. 

You sit up slightly and hook your arms around his neck pulling him closer to you as you leave small pecks around his neck and jawline. You roll your hips as he pushes in further bottoming out as his head falls into your neck. He leaves you,still, to get used to the feeling of his cock in you after some time you simply whisper ”move,cheol-ah” and he experimentally rolls his hips as your head falls back,exposing your tits and Seungcheol takes the opportunity to move his head,mouth sucking at your nipple making you lift your head in surprise as his thrusts continue. ”fuck! Gonna breed you so well, sweets. Gonna fill you up so much,nice and deep with my cum. Give you a kid, give you my kid”

His mouth got dirtier and dirtier and you couldn’t help but to respond to it ”fuck yes! Please! Give me another,w-want your kids cheol” his hand grabs your jaw and forces your head down,making you look at the bulge in your stomach from his cock,hitting your g-spot effortlessly. Your eyes were filled with tears as the second coil in your stomach tightened once more. Seungcheol speeds up, thrusts becoming a little sloppy as he nears his climax too. 

One particular hard and deep thrust has you seeing stars as you cum. Your body is exhausted as you lay down. Seungcheol keeps his thrusts going as your legs tremble, he grabs one of your legs and hooks it around his waist. All you could do was moan and shake. Not long after you feel Seungcheol come,spilling his release deep inside of you,filling you up. His hips continue to move,fucking all the cum back into you,not missing a single drop, not letting it go to waste.”there we go,keep it nice and deep for me sweets, do that for me” 

Seungcheol carefully slips out of you,you whine at the lost sensation. ”I know sweets, I know but we gotta clean you up. I'd love to stay inside you all night,but not tonight” he says that with a small pout as he toddles off to the bathroom, butt-ass naked as you couldn't help but stare. Admiring your husband’s ass and back muscles, also the tattoos that sit at the top of his neck. 

He comes back, coming over to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder. You squeal as he laughs carrying you over to the running bubble bath. He gently places you down on the floor,holding your waist as you steady yourself. You stare down at you like you're the only one in existence to him ”God, I'm so in love with you” Seungcheol leans down and kisses you gently before helping you into the bath,filled with bubbles of your favourite scent. 

”I love you too,Cheol. I swear on it. Till death do we part” you make space for him to get behind you in the bath as you relax onto his chest,interlocking your hands with his and resting them on your stomach. ”Maybe the girls will get a sibling after all” you say softly as the scent of the bubbles fill your nostrils and you almost fall asleep,being all exhausted due to the ‘session’ you and Seungcheol just had.

”I really do hope we have another little boy,but another girl wont be so bad. I've already got you,Darae,Cheon-sa and Kuma. i think and i pray to the universe that it will be a baby boy,hopefully,sweets”

A/N pt2: thank you to all those lovely people who have got my stories/imagines to over 200 likes, it's actually mental that it would happen but thank you. good night and good morning. I rlly hoped you enjoyed this piece of mine and more is incoming soon xoxo

[azzifudd]

i love it when we touch

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: Paige Bueckers is a very physically affectionate person.

rated: teen

1.9k words

disclaimer: fiction :)

[AO3 Link]

Paige Bueckers is a very physically affectionate person.

It’s the first thing Azzi noticed about Paige after they both made Team USA and started playing basketball with one another.

Azzi has always considered herself a pretty affectionate person, quick to give a high five to a teammate or a hug to her family. But Paige takes it to a whole other level, always the first one over to her during a timeout, giving her a pat on the butt and throwing a sweaty arm around her neck.

With almost anyone else, Azzi might be annoyed, but for some reason, she never seems to get tired of Paige. Not to say Paige isn’t annoying, she is, with her big mouth and near overconfidence. But beneath all that bravado, all Azzi sees is a sweet girl, with kind eyes and a good heart.

It’s that girl who Azzi wants to know. So she leans into every embrace, presses just a bit closer to Paige every time they’re next to each other on the bench. And tells herself that she isn’t imagining that Paige looks at her in a way that she doesn’t look at their other teammates.

Even though she knows it’s probably a bad idea, that after this tournament they might go their separate ways and never talk again, Azzi can’t fight it, and doesn't want to fight the butterflies that erupt in her stomach every time Paige is near.

She leans into it instead, that feeling that she’s teetering over the edge of the cliff, so close to falling, and jumps.

//

Azzi Fudd has very soft hands.

That’s the only thought in Paige’s mind as Azzi drags her through the small patch of trees toward the lake. They’d spent the whole day on the lake with Azzi’s family, only returning to her grandparents’ cabin for dinner.

Everyone else has settled around the fire, eager for s’mores and campfire stories as they wait for the sun to fully set. Paige had nearly sat down herself, tired after an afternoon of trying and failing to water ski, much to Azzi’s amusement. Paige couldn't find it in herself to be too embarrassed when Azzi giggled and wrapped her in a towel, keeping an arm around her as she helped to rub her dry.

Now, they finally break through the line of trees to find a small, almost rickety, pier tucked into a hidden edge of the lake.

“Woah.” Paige releases a breath at the sight.

“It’s nice, right? My grandma showed it to me last year.” Azzi takes a seat on the end of the pier, letting her feet dip into the water. “I come here when I wanna have some peace and quiet.”

“Are you sure you want me here?” Paige says, half joking. She knows her energy can be a lot, especially for Azzi who cherishes her calm.

“Of course I do.” Azzi says, simply, patting the seat next to her and calling Paige forward. “I always want you next to me.”

Paige plops down beside her, shocked at how casually Azzi can say something that can steal all the breath from Paige’s lungs. She wonders if Azzi feels the same spark when their pinkies brush together on the rough wooden surface.

Azzi leans back with a sigh, head thumping lightly against the pier. She stares up at the orange, pink sky, colored by a sun that’s nearly set.

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yeah.” Paige whispers, laying back as well, but when Azzi turns her head, she sees that Paige isn’t looking at the sky at all.

Her normally piercing blue eyes are soft as they run over Azzi’s face, lingering on her lips before she looks away, bashfully.

Azzi turns on her side, lifting a hand to run her gentle finger down the bridge of Paige’s nose.

“You’re sunburned.” Her hand drifts to Paige’s cheek, hovering for a moment before she goes to take it away.

Paige’s hand darts up to grasp Azzi’s wrist, pulling her hand to her lips and pressing a kiss to her palm. Azzi’s pulse hammers between her fingers.

Paige’s eyes find Azzi’s mouth again.

“Can I—“

“Yeah.” Azzi replies, eyes already slipping shut as she leans in and presses her lips to Paige’s. Her aim is slightly off and both their lips are chapped from being in the sun all day.

It’s perfect.

//

Paige Bueckers is a pest.

Azzi has known this since they met at Team USA tryouts. She’d seen this pale stringbean and dismissed her as a threat before quickly being proven wrong.

Paige was probably the best player there, besides her, of course. Offensively, she was able to do anything she wanted, whether it was get to the rim, or nail a jump shot with a hand in her face. Which made it even more impressive that she preferred to pass, and she seemed to love to pass to Azzi. And Azzi had never had this instant on court chemistry with anyone else. It’s like they both knew where the other was on the court without even having to look.

But just because they played well together it didn’t mean that they didn’t love to compete against each other too. Even now, as they play two on two with a pair of little girls, Paige is talking trash and trying way too hard on defense. She grins a little bashfully when she bats one of the girl’s shots out of the paint and Azzi playfully glares at her.

Azzi casually stands in the paint, watching as her young teammate dribbles at the three point line. Paige presses up behind her, hand ghosting over her shoulder, then down her back. Her touch burns even through the material of Azzi’s t-shirt.

Paige leans into her hip, head over her shoulder, breath hot against her neck.

Azzi pushes back half-heartedly, not actually wanting Paige to pull away. “You know we’re on camera right now, don’t you?”

“I’m just playing good D.” Paige replies, snarkily, before moving to cut off the girl moving toward the rim.

One of the girls finally scores and they call it a game. Azzi says goodbye to the last of the campers who finally trickle out of the gym. She can feel Paige’s heated gaze from all the way across the room.

“Are you gonna help me clean up or are you just gonna sit there?”

Paige is sitting on the bleachers, leaned back with her elbows braced behind her and legs spread. She cocks her head with a smirk, beckoning Azzi to her.

Azzi rolls her eyes as she approaches, stopping right in front of Paige without touching her.

“Hey,” Paige murmurs, looking up at her, eyes big and tender as her hands graze the outside of Azzi’s thighs, her hips.

Azzi softens instantly. Paige’s touch never feels like less than worship.

Azzi leans down, linking her fingers behind Paige’s neck and pulling her into a kiss. She knows it’s risky for them to do this here, where anyone could walk in and see them, but she can’t bring herself to care as Paige deepens the kiss, drawing Azzi onto her lap, hands gripping her ass and squeezing.

They kiss for a few long moments, and Azzi loses herself in the slip of Paige’s tongue against hers and the way her shoulders flex when Azzi digs her nails into the back of her neck.

They’re interrupted by the sound of Azzi’s phone vibrating loudly against the bleacher beside them. It’s her mom.

“Where are you two?” She sounds clearly exasperated even over the phone. “We’re waiting for you at the restaurant.”

Azzi pulls back, ignoring Paige’s sound of disappointment when she dislodges her hands from where they’ve crept beneath her shirt.

“We’ll be there soon,” she replies. “Just got held up at the gym.”

“Hmm.” Her mom sounds unconvinced as they hang up.

“Held up, huh?” Paige looks up at her, eyebrow quirked.

“Shut up.” Azzi pushes her in the face. “You better hurry up and help me or else you won’t be doing any more ‘holding’ any time soon.”

Paige is on her feet in record time.

//

Azzi Fudd is not a jealous person.

And that’s what she tells Allie one night at Ted’s when the freshman asks her if she gets annoyed by how many women approach Paige.

Ice and KK burst into laughter at her response, but they shut up as soon as she shoots them a glare.

“I don’t get jealous!” Azzi protests. “Often.” She acquiesces when Ash cocks a disbelieving eyebrow at her.

“I mean everyone gets jealous sometimes right?” Sarah offers up.

“Exactly.” Azzi says, ignoring the snickering she hears. “Anyways, I don’t worry about that.”

She gestures to where Paige is at the bar, smiling politely as a line of mostly women approaches her for photos, gritting her teeth a little when an especially busty woman presses up close to Paige.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Fudd. Paige is crazy jealous too.” KK laughs. “Watch.”

She directs Allie to put her hand on Azzi’s arm. “Pretend to laugh at something Azzi says.”

Allie appears unsure, but she does as she’s told. Not even half a minute passes and suddenly Paige is back at the tableside, sliding in between Azzi and Allie. She puts Azzi’s drink on the table in front of her, subtly dislodging Allie’s hand.

“Here’s your drink, babe.”

When she steps back, she slips an arm behind Azzi, hand finding its place low on her back. She scowls a little bit at Allie who smiles awkwardly as she pulls her hand back.

“What?” Paige asks when KK and Ice both smirk obnoxiously and begin elbowing the freshmen.

“Just showing the newbies how jealous you get.” KK cackles.

Paige scratches the back of her head. “Well..” She shrugs, bashfully, unable to deny it.

Her attention is drawn when Azzi leans in close, pressing her lips to where Paige’s jaw meets her neck.

“I like it.” Azzi says, quiet enough that only Paige can hear. Paige smiles in response and drops a kiss on her forehead.

//

Paige Bueckers is at peace.

There’s a light breeze that keeps the climate from being too hot, but the sun warms her skin as she lays out on a large beach lounger on a quiet stretch of beach. She has a glass of her favorite cocktail, an interesting book, and no responsibilities for the foreseeable future.

But most importantly, she has Azzi.

She’d started out the day beside Paige, with her own book and drink, looking so damn good in her bikini that Paige had almost dragged her back to their room.

But the beach had looked too beautiful to abandon, so they’d settled in for a day of relaxation.

They’d read their books for the first few hours, taking breaks to film a few TikToks and pose for a few selfies, but eventually Paige notices Azzi’s head begin to bob and soon enough, her book slips out of her grasp as she dozes off.

Paige picks up the book, slipping a bookmark into place for Azzi to come back to later. Within just a few minutes, Azzi has rolled into Paige’s space, ending up with her head pillowed on Paige’s shoulder and an arm and a leg thrown over her. She stays asleep.

Paige knows they can’t stay in this position for long without risking sunburns and bad tan lines, but she wants to savor it as long as she can.

After a while, Paige feels the arm beneath Azzi starting to fall asleep. She shifts a bit, accidentally jostling her.

“You ‘kay?” Azzi asks, lashes fluttering as she wakes up.

“Yeah, sorry.” Paige adjusts herself, tucking Azzi even closer in her embrace. “Go back to sleep.”

“Okay.” Azzi murmurs. She presses a kiss to Paige’s sternum. “Love you.”

Paige watches her girl fall back asleep on her chest. Yeah, life is pretty good.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Can you please do an azriel or fenrys x reader of him taking care of her after a drunkenness?

Silly

Azriel didn’t enjoy alcohol. He never understood the appeal and quite frankly the smell alone for years hunted him. Reminding him of his drunken father. The pain. The torture. The male he never wanted to turn to. So he kept himself away from it. Not that he was afraid of getting addicted more from the pain it inflicted. Scarcely enjoying a glass of bourbon with his brothers. Or downing a shot or two when drunken Mor stumbled to him at Rita’s.

“I wonder when we should intervene”, Rhys chuckled eyes fixed on his mate practically crawling towards the stage at Rita’s. “I tried, look where it got me”, Cass grunted, lifting his iced glass away from his cracked eyebrow. He had been pinning after Nesta for so long. It was painful to watch if Azriel was honest. But his brother was determined. “They haven’t let loose in a while. Let them be”, the spymaster muttered, his shadows swirling at your feet as you tried to climb the steps.

You two weren’t exactly together yet Azriel couldn’t help the feeling that ran through him when his mind drifted to you. The thought made him frown slightly. Maybe he was a hypocrite for judging Cassian’s situation when his wasn’t that much different. It was worse. Both Cassian and Rhys saw you as their sister. The same feeling Azriel should have shared but it had always been different. There was always more.

“Show me your ass, witch”, Cassian shouted, making Nesta glare, before she reached for her shoe. Flinging it across the room screaming, “Eat shit!”. All the girls giggled around her and even Cassian laughed. “That’s my wife’s move”, Rhys grunted, “Need to be more inventive”. But his voice didn’t reach her as Feyre ushered the musician off the stage, before motioning for Mor to play something. The drunken voices that joined suit made all three of the males laugh but Cassian was the only one who joined in.

All Azriel could focus on, however, was your flushed cheeks as you giggled bracing yourself onto the piano. Your hair was messy, braids half loose but that’s what you got from dancing with Cassian. A pang shot through Azriel, it should have been him. He should have been the one spinning you around. So lost in his thoughts he didn’t feel the tug of his shadows until he heard a thud and gasps. Slipped his shadows clawed at his legs as Azriel pushed up from the booth. Ready to assess the damage.

“Move aside”, he ushered the drunken girls, ready to see anyone but you there. His heart leaped as he knelt. “Yn”, he called gently. You sat so still with your hair over your face that he couldn’t understand the damage. Until a laugh bubbled through your lips as you threw your head back. His palm rested on your back as you tilted backward, nearly sending yourself toppling over.

“Okay”, Azriel sighed, “Come on, before you reck this place”, “Did you see?”, you wheezed, clasping your hand over his, “My heel…”, your voice died down as another wave of laughter erupted from your mouth. Azriel just shook his head, “You could have cracked your skull, silly”, steadying you onto your feet, even if he doubted that you could even stand, he turned towards his brother. A look was enough to let them know that he was leaving and taking you with him.

“You’re blowing it”, you muttered. Air caught in Azriel’s chest, “Sorry, what?”, surely this was not the time for him to start thinking of things that you probably didn’t even mean. “Blowing the fun”, you blinked at him. “I don’t think that’s how the saying goes, love”, he mused, wrapping an arm around your middle as he walked you out of the Rita’s.

“Azriel”, you whined, stopping in your tracks. He simply hummed. “My feet”, you pointed to your heels. “Did you hurt your ankle?”, a panic washed over him as he knelt once more, making you giggle as you rested your hands on his shoulders. “Dang did you go down fast, it was a blur”, you laughed. “Pull yourself together, woman, did you hurt yourself?”, he demanded, running his fingers over your ankles looking for visible bruises.

“Nope”, you popped the p, “Killer heels give you killer foot pain”, you shrugged, watching his shoulders sag before he stood back up. “Carry me back home?”, you asked him trying to appear innocent. “You will be the death of me”, he grunted but wrapped his arks around you anyway. “No”, you shook your head, “But Nesta might be”. Azriel chuckled, “I think Cassian is in more danger in that department”. You hummed, cuddling deeper into him when the night air brushed against your skin. “Can I ask you something?”, you muttered, looking up at him from his shoulder. “Sure”, Azriel mused, stepping through the narrow streets. “If I wasn’t drunk would you kiss me?”, your words made Azriel nearly lose his footing. “Where is this coming from?”, he looked down at you, eyelids drooping slowly. “Cause, I wanted to kiss you all night long”, you muttered against him making Azriel’s heart flutter. “Can you ask me that tomorrow?”, he muttered, feeling you nod against his shoulder. “But can you remind me of it?”, you added quickly. “How would I do that?”, Azriel slowly ran his hand down your back. “By kissing me yourself, silly”, you giggled, “I give you permission to do that”.

[petrichorium]

also on my hands and knees dying to know about ur divorce (and perhaps reconciliation maybe…) with sir croc

Firstly I wanna say croc is THE reason for the divorced tier I had everyone in the husband/fiance/bf (and cusp + complicated) tiers I had the list downloaded and then I looked at croc in the husband tier and I was like no. Divorced………

Anyway I think you’re a marriage of convenience at first. Crocodile needs a wife to look more like An Upstanding Citizen Ready To Settle Down for his plans in Alabasta, you need the stability and rapport for your own reasons. A deal was struck (including a nice shiny prenup and an easy way out for both of you), the wedding goes off without a hitch, and now you’re cohabitating.

You’re all but a stranger, truthfully, though he’ll admit you were one of the most beautiful brides he’s seen walking down the aisle. And he finds your presence in his home less distracting than expected—you stay out of his way mostly, though the pair of you eat meals together and sleep in the same bed and you are always expected to be on his arm for formal occasions. You’re more than decent company, slowly warming to him and growing more open; willing to give advice on occasion, even, and it’s good advice he’s prone to heeding.

Which is why he’s blindsided when you drop the papers on his desk. There’s little he can do—they were practically already signed before the wedding, and in the surprise he can’t compose himself enough to think up a proper protest. All he can do is fold his hands together as you turn to leave, clear his throat, and call out, “Might I ask why?”

You shrug. It almost seems sad. “I want something more. You’re a very busy man, I don’t think you can give that to me.”

And those words haunt him, all the more because every trace of you is gone in the span of a few days. He lays in his bed, alone, pondering how much you truly lived in his home and how much he truly had to give you. He thought he made sure you wanted for nothing—but, clearly, that wasn’t the case. And if he’d known you’d be gone in the span of a few years…

In hindsight perhaps he’d been a bit distant. His work took up the vast majority of his time. All those meals were more often than not spent in silence, with Crocodile leaving long before you finished your food; you were often asleep before he came to bed, still slumbering when he woke; he’d arrive to those formal events with you on his arm and part ways almost immediately, drawn to meet with some politician or another and leaving you on your own.

The bed feels empty.

And then he gets a report about Nefertari Vivi. It all goes downhill from there. The empire he spent years building crumbles beneath his feet, toppled by that godforsaken princess and the upstart pirate with a straw hat. And as he’s carted off to Impel Down… he still thinks of you.

It’s perhaps a good thing that you left when you did. In a certain sense it saved you, severing ties with him when you did. But foolishly he wonders about the timing—wonders if it would have happened at all if you’d stayed. Logically he knows the rationale is anything but sound.

Instinctively… whenever he gets out, whatever he intends to do next, he thinks he needs you at his side again.

So when the break-out happens, and Crocodile is given a freedom he’d nearly given up on, the first thing he does is begin to track you down.

It takes more than he thought it would. His web of informants isn’t half of what it once was, and his name no longer pulls as much weight, forced to remain in the shadows as he now is. You, meanwhile, catch onto the mystery person trying to keep tabs on you far too quickly for his liking—flighty thing, never quite setting down roots, quick to flee at the first sign of danger. A trait that has only seemed to worsen in his absence, it seems.

But it’s only a matter of time. He’s Sir Crocodile after all, back from banishment to the depths of the ocean, sure to see the sun again. His men close in on you within a year as he builds up his numbers again, but Crocodile ensures he’s the first to make contact.

He intends to show you immediately how things will be different this time.

You’ve made temporary home on a quaint little island, sharing a house with a little old granny who lets him in eagerly when he presents a bouquet and says it’s for you. There he waits, served tea and biscuits that he doesn’t taste.

And then the door opens. You pause when you see him, eyes wide—donning a breezy sundress you’d never have worn for him in Alabasta, your hair wind-tousled so unlike the meticulous updos he always saw you in, with a basket of produce under arm—and the sight of you has his chest unwinding. It’s like he can breathe again.

Not that he had any intentions to before, but the smell of your familiar perfume steels his resolve to never let you disappear again.

[ladyempty]

We all know the story, Steffon on Aerys' orders goes to find a bride for Rhaegar, one of good lineage and valerian. But he doesn't find any good enough so Rhaegar marries Elia.

Now, let's imagine, there is a last Velaryon who is consequently the Lady of the Velaryon house but is constantly traveling to the free cities to increase the fortune of the house so Velaryon!Reader went unnoticed by Steffon.

What would Yandere Rhaegar's reaction be when Velaryon Reader appears at the Harrenhal tournament married to a man from Essos and already with three children, two girls and a boy, all with platinum hair? 👀

"you're in the water, i'm in the fire."

° | My first order! I can't believe it!! Thank you very much 💜 English is not my first language. | ° | This is a yandere work and may contain triggering behavior. I'm not in favor of that in real life. | ° | pairing: Rhaegar Targaryen x Velaryon! Reader

Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the last dragon and with the advancing madness of King Aerys, the final hope of house Targaryen. Surrounded by an air of melancholy and a veil of sadness, he sought in books and parchments a refuge for a tired mind beyond his tender years.

His thirst for reading, always insatiable and sadness for no reason, it was no surprise that the Targaryen sought answers in his most reliable “friends”, books, the certain mental instability that surrounded him left fertile ground for his almost insane thoughts and dreams to take over. leadership. He had clung to every word and prophecy spoken about the Targaryen house as if it was the only thing that mattered, he had complete confidence and certainty that the promised prince would be born from his bloodline. Of his blood and flesh. A justification that went beyond men's understanding for their birth and unhappy existence. He had a greater purpose.

And he certainly wouldn't rest until he accomplished it. His marriage to Elia, like so many other royals, was purely political with no real feelings shared between them. Rhaegar didn't feel frustrated, Elia was kind, intelligent, fun and beautiful, from the second largest house in Westeros, he had nothing to complain about. A bolt of happiness struck him every time Elia managed to get pregnant, it was the beginning of the realization of his destiny. Just one more and then finally a dragon will have three heads as it should be.

But of course that didn't happen. The wife was very weak, her body would not be able to handle another pregnancy without her dying in the process and possibly along with the child who could not be born. It was not a pleasant risk, it would also cause certain disagreements in the political relationship with Dornes. He just needed a son, no matter who mother him.

It was a sunny day that morning, the sun was pleasantly warm, and the glory of the day in the riverlands spread before his eyes. On the sides of the road, the fruit trees hide with their delicate greenery and the birds busy with their melodies come out of hiding to enjoy some of the sun's rays. He was accompanied to the tournament at Harrenhal by his wife, children and father, who, paranoidly, would not allow any of his guards to remain more than two feet away from him. Observing each of those present with dark and suspicious purple eyes, not recognizing their own allies and subjects.

They arrived at dusk in time to attend the tournament's opening ceremonies, a grand banquet held in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths with nearly every lord of the seven kingdoms present, laughing and dancing along to the lively melody that resounded throughout the great hall. Elia quickly walked away to continue a conversation with his brother, the king remained quiet, his half-closed gaze migrating from one person to another with the speed and distrust of a trained dog. And after countless requests from nervous ladies and smiling gentlemen, Rhaegar surrendered to playing at least one melody on the harp.

The spirited Lady Lyanna seemed more moved, shedding a few tears and letting out a few shaky sighs, and Rhaegar was almost convinced that she was a fragile and lovely maiden before Stark poured, between grumbles and without any hesitation, an entire goblet of wine on her head of the younger brother. The action managed to surprise the prince, the girl had a joy that was not constantly present in her life and that was very well appreciated. Her mind strayed for a moment, and Rhaegar admired the young woman's beauty, she was charming and youthful like a flower in bloom.

His thoughts strayed again as an unsettling silence fell over the great hall like never before, the ladies ceased their gossip and the lords no longer clinked their overflowing goblets of the most expensive wine. All eyes were fixed on the large entrance door, which creaked as it was moved again. By instinct, Rhaegar followed the crowd's gaze and later, when he recalled the moment, he would not regret his decision.

A couple closely accompanied by three children entered the room. The man was tall, with copper skin and short dark hair, with a beard and wore an ice blue doublet. He carried the youngest child with him, a small girl who didn't look two years old anymore and certainly couldn't keep up with the adults. On the left side was another child, a boy just over five years old, with short hair and blue clothes, just like his father and next to the boy was another girl, with closed features, a little taller. And on the right side was the woman who was assumed to be the man's wife.

At that moment Rhaegar's heart skipped a few beats, his heart accelerated, the butterflies in his stomach appeared as quickly as lightning that left him breathless, an electric current running through his body until it reached his clouded and restless mind. If before he found Lady Lyanna adorable, now her appearance paled in comparison to the unknown woman's elegance and beauty. Their still hazy path takes another path, the long platinum hair that shone silver under the candlelight and the purple eyes like amethysts, of the woman and the children.

Was this a Joke? How was it possible? Rhaegar could not recall any woman with Valerian features in any house great or small in the seven kingdoms. If he knew, she would certainly be his wife right now. This thought darkened his features, due to the incompetence of others Rhaegar did not have the woman of his dreams, much less his three children as the prophecy said. His eyes fixed on the boy... Rhaegar didn't have the promised prince....

As the night wore on, the Targaryen prince's eyes never left the unknown woman's warm figure, every smile, every graceful dance, every sway of her platinum curls, even the quick glimpse of her stockinged legs. Everything was caught in the Targaryen's hungry, shameless eyes, the hunger that grew in her strange squirming with every little interaction she had with her husband or children. Every smile that was never directed at him was a punch to his face and a kick to his gut.

That Wasn't Right, Why Was This Happening? It was his destiny, those should be his children and his wife. Were the gods testing him? How could they be so cruel?

He approached without delay the moment you were left alone by your husband, the youngest daughter firmly holding the skirt of your light blue dress. Rhaegar put the best smile he had on his face before greeting, cornering the woman, who he now knew the identity of, to talk more personal, more gentle, more compromising. He simply couldn't contain himself, a dissatisfied tingling spread through his hands with every minute that passed without touching the softness of his face, a touch that could be interpreted as inappropriate but felt absolutely right in the prince's mind.

Rhaegar nodded calmly with a slight smile at each word you said, unable to contain himself any longer, his hand gently placed one of the platinum strands of your hair behind your ear, his fingertips trailing gently down the side of your slender neck. Restraining himself from saying anything or moving forward with his movements. Ignoring the way you winced and tried to politely walk away.

Why were you shy? Soon you would be married. It was destiny and nothing mattered beyond that. You would follow your duty.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Could u do a head shot for everytime rooster and reader found out they were pregnant?

Aww this is such a cute ask, thank you, anon! Hope you like it :D

The Making of Rooster's Brood

Summary: Rooster and his wife are having all the babies.

CW: So many pregnancies and children, foster care and adoption, swearing, possibly an illegal amount of fluff

A/N: Just a quick warm-up drabble, nothing special! But now I need to go write some angst because I might be in danger of melting entirely after this piece.

Rooster's Brood Pt1 | Rooster's Brood Pt2 | Masterlist

The first time is planned. You follow every recommendation to a tee. You and Rooster can't wait to be parents so, the moment the two of you have your own place, you start trying.

You buy a pregnancy test the day after. You know it's way too early but you can't wait. Of course, it's negative, which bums you out. Rooster sits with you on the couch, consoling you and reminding you that nothing will show up on a home pregnancy test for weeks, even if you are, in fact, pregnant.

Nonetheless, you purchase another test the next day. You wait to take it until a week has passed - an excruciatingly long week. The test is negative again, and you are so discouraged that Rooster decides to take you to the movies to get your mind off things.

The two of you continue to try for another week and, meanwhile, you pay attention to every weird thing your body is doing. First, it's a stuffed nose. A cold, perhaps. Then, the frequent peeing - three times in one night? Finally, when your lower back starts hurting, you ask Rooster to go out and get you a test. It's ten o'clock in the evening and you half-expect him to say no, but Rooster is out the door before you could finish your sentence.

You take the test and step out of the bathroom after setting your timer. Rooster is holding his arms out to give you a hug. You stay in his embrace for the entire three minutes and, when the timer goes off, the two of you enter the bathroom anxiously. Rooster doesn't notice at first, but you see the faint pink of the second line right away and scream.

When Rooster catches on, he grabs you and pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around your body. “Is it true? Are you sure?” He asks.

After you nod and he kisses your head several times, he lets go and goes over to the counter to inspect the test.

…

The second time is definitely an accident. You find out several days after your baby turns one and you start to freak out. How in the world are you going to keep two babies alive? You barely have enough energy to get out of bed in the morning - your first baby is a terrible sleeper.

Rooster assures you that it’ll all be alright. He cuddles you in bed while you try to determine whether you are filled with more terror or excitement at the prospect of a second child. Rooster chuckles when you voice your thoughts aloud and says, “I’m so fucking happy right now. Does that ease your mind at all?”

It does.

…

“Maybe we should try for a girl,” Rooster says one day as your little family of four finds a spot to have a picnic by the water.

You give him a pointed look. You’re not thrilled at the idea of raising an entire litter of Rooster babies while he’s on deployment four months out of the year.

“Always wanted a girl,” Rooster says musingly and the sheepish grin on his face as he pulls you in for a hug nearly convinces you.

A few minutes later, when you hear your kids’ jubilant screams as Rooster plays with them in the water, you look up with a resigned sigh. You smile because you’re extremely proud that your husband is such a wonderful father. And, of course, by the time you’ve set out the crackers and cheese, you’ve decided that having another baby might not be so bad.

…

The fourth time is a surprise once again. Only, this time, you’re not as upset about it. With three kids, you’ve already gotten into the swing of things as parents. Your kids play together, which means you don’t have to constantly entertain them (just break up their fights once in a while). You and Rooster are really hoping the fourth one will be a girl but, when you find out that it will be twins, Rooster is so excited that he starts whooping right in the doctor’s office.

…

After Rooster returns from deployment, the two of you decide that you make the most amazing kids and it would be a disservice to the world if you didn’t go ahead and make another one. You don’t even take a pregnancy test this time because you know the signs like the back of your hand.

Rooster does an amazing job of taking care of the kids and you while you’re pregnant because, this time, you’re nauseated for the entire nine months! He cooks, he cleans, he does bath time and reads the bedtime stories. He gets all the night calls and gets up at the crack of dawn every morning. “I’m a rooster, after all,” he says.

…

You decide, after your latest pregnancy, that it’ll be your last one. Being sick for nine months is absolutely no fun.

But, when Rooster brings home a foster child for temporary placement, you tell him right away that the two of you are adopting him without question. He tells you that he was hoping you’d say that.

…

Fast forward another year and you and Rooster are sitting on the couch, watching your children play. Rooster has his arm around you and you’re snuggled into his side while he strokes your shoulder gently.

“Look at this amazing family you made,” he says quietly.

“We made,” you respond.

Rooster chuckles. “My part was so easy.”

You laugh. “You’ve pulled your weight since.”

“Ever think about having another one?”

You look up at him sharply and he gives you a mischievous grin. “You’re joking,” you say.

He purses his lips to contain his widening smile and glances at the room full of children. “Historically speaking, chances are that I’m not joking.”

“You still want a girl,” you say.

He looks back at you. “Well, I already have a queen,” he says, kissing you tenderly on the forehead. “Wouldn’t mind a princess though. To keep these hooligans in check,” he nods at the boys roughhousing in the living room.

You consider his statement as he pecks your cheek. The softer his kisses become, the more sway he seems to have over your rational mind. You’ve already got seven kids, what’s one more?

Rooster nuzzles his head against yours. “Forget I said anything, baby,” he whispers. “You have given me everything I've ever wanted and more. I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

"What if it'll be another boy?" you say quietly.

You feel Rooster's body stiffen. He lowers his head to catch your gaze. "Could be a dinosaur for all I care," he replies. You laugh but he sits up straighter and gives you a serious look. "Baby," he says, running a hand down the side of your face. "Girl, boy, a bit of both or maybe neither, it makes no difference to me. You know that, right? I was only kidding."

You nod. "I know."

"I am so happy we have seven boys, baby," he continues. "They're the most amazing humans on the planet. Because they're ours. Mine and yours."

You smile at him, overwhelmed by all the little things that make up the Rooster you love: the earnestness in his eyes, the sweet rasp of his voice, his arms when they're wrapped around you, keeping you warm and safe, and his enormous heart. You think back to how adorable he looks while rocking your newborn babies to sleep, insisting that you need your rest.

"Look how tiny he is," he would say, admiring the small bundle in his giant arms. "I could hold him forever."

You love watching Rooster raise your children. You love seeing him change diapers and pack lunches and do a head count at the park. You love him. And you love all of the amazing humans the two of you are rearing. You sigh, thinking that you might, as it turns out, want another one just because it means it would be with Rooster. "Maybe one more," you say tentatively.

Rooster blinks at you with a hint of a smile. "Are you serious?"

You glance around the room, watching your children line up to take turns jumping off the couch. "Historically speaking, chances are I'm serious."

He laughs then cranes his neck to check the clock in the kitchen. "Is it bedtime yet?"

Rooster Tag List:

Please feel free to let me know if you no longer wish to be tagged in my Rooster fics

@simp-for-fictional-people

@ollyoxenfrees

@iamabeautifulperson18

@living-in-my-imagination88

@wintercap89

@mavrellover91

@gingerbreadandpaper

@lonelywitchv2

@cashwheelersgirl89

@callsign-jupiter

@kindablackenedsuperhero

@everything-i-love-in-life

@malindacath

@rosiahills22

@wandering-wah

@olliepig

@m1llydins

@emilyniamh3679-blog

@footwatter

@books-for-summer

@harper1666

@coffeeaddictedmay

@diabeticgoth

@katiebby04

@problematic-420

@wishfulhope

@elizabitchsshit

@inarabee

@boringusername3

@zombiedixon89

@izz-ayes-world

@ratedtvpg

@mak-32

@sunnysofia

@a-nostalgic-disaster

@aaliyahjovel

@anyonehaveanyorangeslices

@bcon24

@lovemesomevesey

@daydreamingalways

@gerudolivinliv

@emilybradshaw

@olivethenerd16

@kaitlynw011

@l-rexter45

@xoxo-lyss

@beebslebobs

@dracosluvbot

@peoniarose

@annedub

[theloveinc]

kirishima x reader - kiri really, really, REALLY wants a third child.

(warnings: afab + fem reader who is a mom with two bio babies, breeding, slight sense of dubcon but it really is con, slight voyeurism, heavy on the pregnancy, mention of sick baby + baby coming early (all is well tho), son = mister, daughter = missy, abrupt end)

1.5k+ words. enjoy!!

-

The conversation comes up on a sunny day in Denki’s backyard. His wife and their newest daughter in her lap sunbathing next to you, the baby reaching out for your sleeve every so often as the three of you watch Denki, Kiri and the older children—save for the oldest who claims she’s too big for such things—play in the sprinklers, screaming. 

“Have you thought about a third?” Denki’s wife asks, tipping down her sunglasses to send you an inquisitive stare.

“Oh, god, no. Ei and I are done.” 

“Really?” she seems surprised. “He’s such a good father, you’d think…”

You shrug, taking a sip of the mango slush that was provided to you when you first arrived. “We were considering it, but mister came so early that the stress of another seemed too much.”

“Ah, I know how that goes all too well. Has Kiri gotten, you know…?” She makes a snipping motion with her fingers.

You snort, the thought almost as implausible as Denki with a son. Doctors have recommended that most heroes remain unaltered, at least to reduce the chances of hormone levels fluctuating unexpectedly and causing changes in prowess… and though that didn’t stop Bakugo five years ago and nothing’s changed about his aggression or fighting style, your husband still uses the warning as an excuse to stay hesitant. 

“Oh, hell no. Have you tried talking to him about it? He goes nuts, and the man is stubborn as a bull.” 

“Are you guys using condoms, then?”

At that, you can’t help but laugh. Protected sex after what? Nearly ten years of marriage? Kirishima was far from the type even when you first met, if you tried bringing up latex contraception now, he’d practically consider it offensive, or a threat to his masculinity at the very least. 

“Pills for now. Surprisingly the side effects have been manageable.” 

“Aren’t you worried those might fail?” 

Her persistent concern touches you, and how could it not when she and her husband have to wrangle five, blonde, Kaminari daughters from sunset to sundown on the daily… but it’s nothing you don’t think you and Ei couldn’t navigate together if need be. 

The youngest starts squirming for you and you offer to take her in your arms, trading your slush to plop her on the warmth of your lap which immediately ceases her cooing. 

“Well,” you tickle her baby plump belly, the delighted squeal you get in response making you grin, “I guess an accident wouldn’t be so bad if they turned out like this one.” 

-

Little did you know, Kirishima overheard your little, half-joking declaration. It’s a wonder, given that you’d assumed if the water hadn’t drowned out your voices, the seven screaming children (and Denki) would’ve.

But he catches you the next morning, fresh out of the shower as you stand in the bathroom prepping your skin for the rest of the day.

“I heard,” he leans in behind you, his damp and loose hair reflected in the mirror, “you said you wanted another baby?”

You chuckle, the steamy warmth of his belly pressing into your back almost overwhelming, “I said, accidents happen, my love. I’m perfectly content with the three babies I have now.” 

Kirishima pouts, the hands on your hips tightening as they slowly turn you around to face him. 

“What if we…?” he starts, but you don’t let him finish.

“Haven’t we talked about this?” you yawn, picking a stray piece of thread off of the damp towel hanging around his shoulders, your other hand running down his bare chest. “I thought we agreed two was enough?” 

“I was just thinking, you know, it doesn’t sound so bad now that mister is older and all.”

You wave him off, nudging your way out from between the sink counter and his hips before pressing one quick peck to his cheek. 

“Shoo. You’re going to be late for work,” Kirishima doesn’t let you go so easily, his hands lingering and only falling when you’re finally out of reach. “There’s a lunch in the fridge. Don’t get hung up on it, yeah?”

-

But Kirishima is hung up on it.

He loves being a dad more than anything, feels as though it's one of the many reasons he was placed on this earth, and though he loves you now more than any other time in his life and would love you no matter what happened to your body, he can’t say he wasn’t extremely delighted when you were pregnant... nor that he doesn’t want to see another rounded belly on you again.

Besides, your daughter was so curious about it, so precious and clingy, but she was almost too little to understand what was happening in your belly when you were swollen with your son… that Kirishima really only has a handful of memories of you all together before one baby became two and two babies became children.

And when he spent their babyhood was spent half in a hospital and half with you out of commission, he just can't help but imagine that doing it over with a third would make his whole life complete.

It just makes perfect sense. 

-

It’s couple’s hot yoga the next time it gets brought up, Kirishima helping you hold the warm-up stretches as he ponders the questions out loud.

“Have you thought about it at all?” He whispers, hands pulling your thigh away from your face and into a stretch meant to straighten your hamstrings. 

“Thought about what?”

“Baby number three,” he lowers your leg and helps switch you to the other side. 

You laugh, disturbing the calm of the heated studio, apologizing to the other couples there softly after. “You seem pretty committed.”

Kirishima nods like a desperate puppy, knowing how he must look in his loose tank top and sweatband, his hair pushed back from his forehead revealing a flush that isn’t yet due to the steam in the room. 

“What’s so good about a third, anyway?” you as say as he repositions your leg from straight to bent at the instructors command. “You know how sick mister was. I can’t go through that again.”

“What if you didn’t have to?

You glare, straining your neck to make sure Kiri can get a peak at your angry eyes. “You say that like you know what would happen.”

"I just…” he shrugs, thumb rubbing your ankle. “We missed missy’s toddler years taking care of mister, and by the time he was walking, missy was using full on sentences and demanded that we start treating her like an adult.” 

The instructor commands you turn on your side and begin the same stretches that way. 

“You were also still recovering from the pregnancy, I had to go back to work… and I want to do it again but with just one this time. Savor the baby years the way we should’ve savored theirs.” 

Kirishima lets his palm brush the intersection between your thighs as he keeps your let from falling. Damp and warm with sweat, he can’t help but press his fingers into where your loins hide under your leggings and—

You stick your foot in his face, the other couples amongst the room already shifting. “Up. It’s your turn for stretches.”

-

“Shit.” 

“Ooh, mommy cussed!”

“You didn’t hear that, baby. I’m just—“ you squint at the notification on your device.

“What?” Kirishima asks, holding your daughter in his arms. The tops of her feet are pressing into his belly while they pass a large slice of dripping, red watermelon back and forth. Your son is preoccupied at the coloring table set up in the living room, drawing pictures of semi-naked heroes with enormous hairdos. 

“Pharmacy’s out of my birth control. Won’t be in for a few weeks.”

You don’t miss the way Kiri’s eyebrows immediately raise, though you glance back down at your phone to panic-click more buttons in the hopes that he gets the hint. 

“What’s that mean, babe?” he asks, feigning innocence about a subject you very well know he’s versed in. 

“What do you mean, what’s that mean?” 

“I mean, what are we gonna do about that? You know—“

You groan. 

“Hush. We’re just gonna pretend I didn’t say that and move on,” you turn on your feet to rush out of the room, calling over your shoulder. “And share the watermelon with mister. I’m calling the doctor.” 

“Ooh,” your daughter says again, her sticky hands going to Kiri’s cheeks which are pinched in a funny expression she doesn’t clock, “Daddy’s in trouble!” 

-

But honestly, Kirishima can’t pretend he hadn’t heard what you said… and truly doesn’t know what you were thinking when you suggested that he try. Birth control aside, on it or off it, you were bound to have sex eventually… that was never even the issue. 

Though when you bring up condoms to the whiney redhead barely a few days later, he barely manages to open one before accidentally flinging it across the room in trying to see how well it stretches. 

“I can’t do this,” Kirishima frowns, sitting back down on the bed after pulling his briefs back on to throw away the slimy piece of latex. He curls an arm back around you to pull you in between his legs, hands moving to grip your waist while he admires the cute black, mom panties you’re wearing that sit over the handles of your hips. “I don’t wanna wear a condom.”  

You sigh, your own hands scratching the tops of his shoulders. “You’re not planning on pulling out, either. Are you?”

“No,” he doesn’t even say it shamefully, “I’m not planning on pulling out.” 

“And you’re gonna hope that it sticks?” 

“Yes,” his eyelids flutter looking up at you. You’re so cute frowning like you’re not gonna let him have his way and then pretend it’s all his fault. An accident. “I’m gonna hope it gets you pregnant.” 

That makes you roll your eyes, though it also has you squeezing your legs together. 

“You’re such a dog.”

Kirishima nods, but you don’t stop him from slowing pulling your panties down. 

“Only for you.”

[jacksgreysays]

(Not sure if I can qualify for another prompt after the last wonderful prompt fill but here goes:

The Academy was perfectly fine with Shikamaru’s imaginary friend Shikako, until she managed to ____.

Oh dona, there are so many things that can fill in that blank. SO MANY THINGS. And, I’ll be honest, a lot of what comes to my mind range from funny to alarming. But the on that I think is the most encompassing—without being too boring—is simply “get caught.” Because that opens up so many opportunities for what else she could have been doing before she got caught in such a way that also builds a dynamic between those who are in on it (ie, the Rookie Nine, maybe even the full Konoha Twelve since Team Gai IS only just one year older) and those who aren’t (presumably the teachers of the Academy) However, in order to narrow this fic down into something writable, I should figure what Shikako is doing before she gets caught… and, maybe this is just me, but I kinda like the idea of… now maybe this is too specific… but basically, Shikamaru’s imaginary friend Shikako, aka his literal sentient eldritch horror twin sister that lives in his shadow, just straight up eating Danzo. Just. How do you get rid of something? Eat it. Because, like… okay. My brain goes something like this:

“Hm,” says Shikamaru as they hide in the treetops from Iruka-sensei.

Normally, Shikamaru is content with being out of the classroom that, outside from telling them the plan needed to ditch and stay hidden, he stays pretty quiet either cloud watching or napping.

Chouji, in his spot next to Shikamaru and equally satisfied with just being outside, is the only one to hear him. “What is it?” He asks.

That gets Kiba and Naruto to perk up, starting to get bored after their flawless escape with minimal conflict.

“Shikako says she’s hungry.”

Good friend that he is, Chouji offers some of his chips. A tendril of Shikamaru’s shadow shakily takes one, wobbling even under that weight, but Shikako is also a good friend so she eats it.

Well. She tries, anyway. Shikamaru’s shadow curls around it, mimicking a chewing motion, but it remains unchanged.

After a moment, Shikamaru reports, “Shikako says thank you, but she might need to eat something else specifically?”

Naruto, ever curious asks, “What does a shadow even eat?”

Shikamaru shrugs. “She says she’ll know it when we find it.”

Kiba, and an Akamaru squirming with eagerness, declares, “Akamaru and I are the best and finding stuff. We’ll get it in no time.”

—

Iruka-sensei finds them before they find the ambiguous “it.”

To be fair, they were searching through the refrigerator in the teacher’s lounge, and their self assigned mission had carried them through to lunch time. So really it was their own fault.

Didn’t stop Naruto, Kiba, and Akamaru from yelling and howling up a storm as Iruka-sensei grabbed the two boys by the collars of their shirts. Mizuki-sensei at least just gestured his two charges forward, trusting that Shikamaru and Chouji would cooperate since they had been caught fair and square. And plus, it was lunch time.

Distracted as they were, none of the boys noticed Shikamaru’s shadow stretch itself to connect to Mizuki-sensei’s.

Without that context, none of them made the connection when, not even a minute later, Mizuki-sensei stumbled, nearly falling, before catching himself in an uncertain stance.

“You okay?” Iruka-sensei asked, caregiving nature winning over his desire to continue lecturing the boys.

Mizuki-sensei waved him off with a strained laugh, “Ha, I just felt a little tired—midday slump, probably.”

Kiba and Naruto, sensing weakness, re-aim their efforts from complaining to making fun of Mizuki-sensei’s age. It draws his ire, never mind that he tries to seem cooler than Iruka-sensei, but he musters a woozy, half-hearted defense at best.

Shikamaru glances at his shadow, darker and deeper than it was before.

Shikako isn’t as hungry anymore.

—

A/N: And then something something Ino and Sakura spot the boys questing for Shikako’s food and they also believe in/like Shikako anyway so they try to help out, Shino gets pulled in because they end up on Aburame territory and he’s holding his smiling baby sister and his untouchable vibes are way lowered, at some point they’re like… maybe Hinata can use her cool eyes to FIND what Shikako needs (and she’s stalking Naruto anyway so we might as well actively include her) and then Sasuke kind of feels left out ALTHOUGH… I may have a separate thing for how Sasuke gets pulled in. Anyway the kids try to figure out what she’s doing—she doesn’t eat chakra, she eats life energy, but only out of people that she wants to kill anyway and the amount she eats from them is maybe based on how much she wants to kill them? (she really does almost eat Kabuto to death the first time they encounter him lol)—and they’re like… well… we also don’t like the people Shikako doesn’t like anyway? Here’s where plot maybe comes in and maybe where Sasuke gets pulled in but basically if this is pre-Uchiha Massacre then there could be a day when Itachi goes to pick up the little Uchiha members from the Academy and Shikako is just like ??? DO I want to kill and eat him??? because he hasn’t done anything (YET) so it’s just like… the rest of the kids investigating into Sasuke to investigate into Itachi which then somehow Scooby Doo style gets them to Danzo and MAYBE he’s being a creeper and visiting the Academy to recruit future ROOT agents or MAYBE the Academy building is near the Hokage’s Tower (I think???) or Shisui and Itachi are BOTH picking up the various Uchiha Academy students and Danzo tries to use the opportunity to intimidate/threaten them both “subtly” and Shikako’s just like !!!!! FEAST MODE!!!! And fully just eldritch style swallows him whole in front of some Academy teachers :) And it’s not like Shikamaru can get in trouble because he’s BEEN telling the truth about his imaginary friend Shikako the whole time. And as far as they know it LOOKS like a Nara clan technique so they’re like… well… uh… maybe we should tell the Jounin Commander about this. And Shikaku’s just like… uh… Kasuga… what the fuck… And Kasuga turns to Sembei-obaasan and also asks what the fuck… And Sembei-obaasan has to search deep deep into the Nara oral tradition for what the fuck is going on And Shikako is just in Shikamaru’s shadow, totally pleased with herself. I’m not hungry anymore :)

[gardenofnoah]

i’m coming up on a year of having this blog and i thought i’d do something with this drabble that i can’t stop thinking about so. yeah! thanks for reading my little stories and saying such nice things to me for a whole year <3 love u 

summary: in his 40s, touya isn’t expecting anything outside of his normal, comfortable routine. you come along and give him far more than he ever wanted. oddly enough, he doesn’t think he minds. 

tags: MDNI, i’ll call this a medium burn, mentions of drinking, reader uses she/her pronouns and is called a lady,etc, age gap (unspecified but like 10 years--both are consenting adults), very little angst (like, the least i’ve ever written. this is just cute, if you can believe that.), smut (dry humping, oral), this is very much a comfort fic to me idk. wc: 10.1k

much to his utter disdain, Touya sees you everywhere after your first encounter. and often. 

you have this awful habit of just popping up. in the stool next to him at the bar, with such regularity that his friends now joke about it being your stool, and then around town—everywhere he goes. it’s a small town, sure—but he still finds it ridiculous. even more ridiculous—the fact that you might be growing on him, despite all his resistance. 

he doesn’t know when he started expecting you to hop up on that stool every friday. has no idea when he memorized your drink order, or when he started ordering it for you preemptively. this goes on every friday for weeks—until you don’t show up.

and he’s irritated then, because it makes him sore—where else could you possibly be? 

“where’s your girl?”

“don’t know,” he mutters. he catches the smirk on his friend’s face out of the corner of his eye. “and she’s not my fuckin’ girl.”

that makes him laugh, and Touya turns away in a huff, face burning. 

“sure she’s not.”

it’s another two weeks before he sees you. not that he was counting. 

when he sees you again, it’s a tuesday, and he’s just wrapped up at his neighbor’s house. he carries two loaves of bread in one arm, and his toolbox in the other. the old woman had chased him out of there early, telling him, “it’s a nice night. go out there and find you someone!”.  he snorts, kicking a bit of asphalt down the pavement. that old bat acts worse than his mother. 

there are a few vendors lined up along the road, so he lets himself take his time—strolling casually, eyes raking over the stalls. it is a nice evening—warm, but the breeze is cool as it rustles through his hair. he sees a white tip from the corner of his eye and it almost startles him. it doesn’t matter how much distance he puts between himself and Dabi—it still surprises him when he realizes that he is not the same. physically or otherwise. 

lost in his thoughts, he finds himself nearly home when he sees you in his peripheral, taking something from the merchant of the produce stall across the street. he has half a mind to turn and walk the opposite way (away from his house) just to avoid this interaction—still wholly irritated over wasting the $7 on your stupid little drink, and that’s all—but you seem to have a weird sixth sense when it comes to him, and your head snaps up in his direction right before he can make a break for it. you give him that stupid smile that he has to look away from, waving at him happily before you take off in his direction. 

he considers if he still has time to flee, but then you’re there in front of him. 

“Touya!” you beam up at him, totally ignoring the scowl he levels you with, “what are you doing here?”

“i live here,” he grumbles, looking away from you again, “what are you doing here?”

“ah, i visit my family on tuesdays. whatcha got there?” 

he pointedly looks down at the bread in his arms, and back up at you. you’re looking at it a little too intensely, eyebrows scrunched together like you’re trying to figure something out—and then the moment’s gone, and you’re smiling up at him again. 

“want to share?” you ask, holding up your bag of produce to him. 

he doesn’t, but he finds himself next to you anyway, sitting on a retaining wall while you chatter away—kicking your feet out and handing him slices of an orange between your own bites. 

he learns more about you. early 30s (so not as young as he’d guessed, but still young enough to make him cringe), living alone like he is. you grew up in town, moved away for a while, and then came back. you don’t really like sweets but you do like fruit—hence the overflowing tote bag full of it—and you’re more inclined to reach for tea than coffee. you own the little flower shop a few blocks down. he thinks it suits you—and then he shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thought. 

“i’m having an issue with the floor though, so part of the shop has been blocked off for a few weeks. not great for the foot traffic, but what can you do,” you shrug absentmindedly, more focused on digging another piece of fruit out of your bag. you settle on a peach, and it’s quiet between you for a beat. as if waiting for the silence, the thought that he’d been holding back for the better part of an hour finds its way out of his mouth. 

“haven’t seen you at the bar,” he mutters, picking a stringy bit of peel off the orange piece he’s been holding. 

“huh? oh, yeah. i had a wedding order that i was working on. it was so….much,” you shudder like you went off to war instead. “why, did you miss me?”

he looks away, eyes narrowed in a scowl. “just was a waste of a drink, s’all.”

he regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. 

“a drink? my—oh. wait.”

your eyes go wide—he should’ve known you’d catch on to the meaning behind his words and he wants to die—

“forget it—“

“Touya,” you cut him off, and he can hear your shit eating grin, “were you hoping to see me?”

he’s sure he’s gone bright red and resists the urge to recede into himself like a snail into a shell. now he’s irritated, because did you think your drink just magically appeared in front of you every friday? he can feel the smugness radiating off of you—you want him to say it. he huffs, still looking away from you. 

“just…was a waste of money,” he grits out, knowing fully that he hasn’t worried about money in quite some time, “figured you’d be there.” 

you hum, and he still can’t look at you. refuses to, actually. 

“sorry, Touya,” you tell him, and it sounds so genuine that he finds himself turning to you, just to check—to make sure you’re not fucking with him. “i’ll be sure to let you know the next time i won't be there.” 

he rolls his eyes at the way you’re smiling softly at him, always like you know something he doesn’t. he mumbles out a clipped “whatever” and he hates the way he sounds like he did when he was 23. you don’t pay it any mind though, right back to talking his ear off. 

“so do you live, like, really alone? or do you have a pet? you strike me as a gerbil guy.” 

he huffs out a laugh at that, caught wholly off guard at the thought of being the gerbil guy (have you seen him?) and you smile at the sound, clearly pleased with yourself. 

“no gerbil. a dog,” he finally takes a bite of the orange he’s been cradling in his palm for the better half of the last 20 minutes. your eyes don’t leave him. 

“mm. chihuahua,” you say solemnly, and he whips his head around to look at you, expression all twisted and incredulous. 

“a big fuckin’ dog, you brat.” 

you laugh at his outburst, seeming to get some sort of pleasure out of riling him up. 

“can i meet him?” 

he looks at you then, and you’re really laying it on thick—wide eyes blinking up at him, bottom lip jutted out in a little pout. he can’t find it in himself to say no to you. with a sigh, he pushes himself up from the wall. 

“c’mon then.” 

it’s a short walk to his place and you’re vibrating behind him. shoving his key into the lock, he hears the familiar thumping of a tail, at about the same frequency as your incessant excitement at his back—he wonders just what he’s done to attract this level of energy. 

“wait a minute—he’s going to jump at you—“

“oh, who cares. let me see him!” 

he shakes his head, swinging open the door. he sees his big oaf of a dog rear up to jump, and then—

and then his jaw drops, because for what may very well be the first time, his dog is suddenly sitting. 

you squeal and the dog isn’t much better off—practically wiggling away from his spot on the floor and whining at the sight of you, but still sitting. 

“Touya!” you laugh, shoving past him to throw your arms around the dog’s neck, squeezing him tightly, “i know this dog!”

“you—huh?” 

“i—“ your own laugh cuts you off, giggling while the dog fights your grip to lick you directly on the face, “i know him! did you get him at the shelter in town?”

“…yeah?”

“oh man! i used to volunteer—i was there when he was dropped off. i was with him all the time—taught him some manners—but then i took that job out of town for a little bit, so i didn’t get to see him after that.” 

Touya, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his dog is sitting, can’t bring himself to formulate a coherent reply. 

“oh, i was so worried about him,” you say quietly, hugging the dog tighter, “i’m really glad you have him. what did you name him?”

that snaps him out of it, and he looks away, sheepish. 

“i—uh. didn’t.” 

you blink at him, processing, and then you frown. 

“are you kidding me?”

he shrugs, looking at the dog— who, also for the first time, seems to be glaring at him with the same sentiment. 

you sigh, shaking your head. “that won’t do,” you mutter, more to the dog than to him. “i think i called him Buck.” 

as if on cue, Buck’s tail thumps against the floor. 

“why?” 

“not sure,” you say, scratching behind a fuzzy ear, “he just reminded me a little bit of a deer.” 

Touya scoffs, completely in the dark as to how the two were even remotely similar. 

“alright. Buck it is, then.” 

you smile, patting the dog on the head as if he’d done anything worth rewarding. with a sigh you get to your feet, stretching a bit. 

“i really do have to go see my family now,” you tell him, and he swears he hears a tiny bit of regret in your voice, “but thanks for letting me see Buck.” 

he only nods, watching you bend down to kiss Buck square on his stupid blockhead. 

“see you Friday?”

he swallows thickly, nodding again. your eyes are too bright. 

“okay. see you, Touya.” 

“hey,” he stops himself from reaching for you as you go to open the door, “i can…look at that floor for you. if y’want.” 

every time he thinks he’s used to the way you just throw your emotions around like live grenades, he’s not—you smile at him so brightly he thinks you might just kill him. 

you have a hunch that Touya is secretly a really good guy. 

it’s almost endearing—how hard he tries to be so prickly—but it’s always all for naught, because he can’t help but go out of his way to do things for you. 

you don’t know what to call the relationship—you gathered enough information from hushed whispers to his friends anytime he left his stool at the bar to know that he pointedly did not seek out the affections of women (“or men,” one of his friends said with a shrug, like they weren’t really sure). you weren’t clear on where that left you, so you were content to keep learning what you could about him—to stick around, as long as he tolerated you. 

and he just barely does that, but you have a hunch it’s a farce. especially when take out cups full of freshly steeped tea start appearing on your counter in the shop, more days than not.

you lean against the wood top, sipping today's tea with both hands to warm yourself while you watch Touya work. autumn was in full swing now, and you had some difficulty keeping the shop to your preferred level of warmth, but it didn’t seem to bother him. your eyes linger on the hem of his old t-shirt, rising up in the back just a little when he reached for a different tool. it was obvious that time had softened him a bit, but he was still in shape. your vision followed the faded, looping scar that moved with the curl of his bicep as he worked each tool. it was hard not to stare. 

it was even harder to get away with it. 

“you’ll burn a hole in my head, brat.” 

“just checking your work,” you tell him through a grin. trying very hard to feign nonchalance.

“oh yeah?” Touya looks at you over his shoulder, smirking at you. you feel it bodily. “what’s the verdict?” 

“looks….” you pause, examining the array of tools and the sizable hole he’s created in the floor, “yeah. yep. like good work.”

he scoffs, shaking his head and turning back to the task at hand. you resist the urge to slam your head off the counter—settling for tapping in lightly as reprimand for your less than intelligent response. 

you decide that the best way to get the embarrassment to dissipate is to do the thing that is quickly becoming your favorite activity: bothering him. 

“pick a color.” 

“what?”

“i said pick a color, grandpa.”

the sigh he lets out makes you laugh. “you fuckin’—fine. red. what’re you doing?” 

you smile at him, and you watch him flush. it makes you giddy. 

“nothing,” you drawl, sing-songy and incriminating, “don’t you worry your little heart about it.” 

“you are the worry to my little heart,” he deadpans, not bothering to look up from the measurement he’s taking. 

another thing you learn about Touya—he’s got a bit of a (dry) sense of humor. he seems to enjoy making you laugh.

there’s a lull in customers and you use it to your advantage—you go around to every bucket to ensure that each cut stem is submerged, and take out the wilted ones to dry. you don’t sell those ones—you just hang them up around the shop. you think it’s better not to waste them. 

you also pull out some good looking red ones, as inconspicuous as you can—you gather a tulip, a few poppies, a peony, and a big, variegated chrysanthemum for the center. 

you hold the makeshift bouquet behind your back as you approach Touya—padding over to him quietly until you’re close enough to lean into his space. 

“whatcha thinking about?” 

he spares you a pointed glance over his shoulder. “pest control.” 

“har har,” you plop down right next to him, grinning at the way he bristles. of course it’s all for show—he doesn’t move an inch. 

“made you something.” 

“hm?”

you bring the bouquet out from behind your back, brandishing it in front of him dramatically. “tada!”

his eyes go wide—you see it take a minute for him to process that you’re giving him a gift. he sets his tools down and reaches for it, tentatively, like you���re going to fake him out at the last second. you meet him halfway, setting it in his hands. 

“well?” you ask after a minute, “what do you think? i do pretty well, right?” 

he’s quiet—turning the flowers over and back again, like he’s committing all of the little petals to memory. “what are they?”

you tell him about each flower—where they grow naturally, what conditions they like to live in, how to take care of them. he listens intently, never looking away from them. 

“you don’t have to keep them,” you tell him after another moment of silence, “it was just a silly thing.”

“no,” he says, firmly. he looks at you out of the corner of his eye and lets out a breath, looking back down at the flowers. “s’nice. thanks.” 

you have to physically stop yourself from jumping up and cheering. 

“you’re welcome, old man,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder with your own.

he groans, grumbling a lighthearted “get away from me” as he shoves you back playfully. you let out some sort of dramatic squeal as you topple over, and you don’t miss the tiny smile that stretches across his face as he sets the flowers down next to him and gets back to work. 

customers come in and out throughout the afternoon—most not paying any mind to Touya as he works. there are a few customers that eye him hesitantly—and there are one or two that stare pointedly at the scars that split his face. it feels like second nature to drop the customer service persona then—and to do things like drop their change on the counter and revel in the way they scramble to catch it before it rolls off onto the floor. 

“have the best day,” you say to one particularly rude customer, all but shooing her out of the door. 

Touya huffs out a laugh when you walk back toward him. “didn’t think you had it in you, kid.” 

you cock an eyebrow at him. “what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“surprised you didn’t kick out her kneecaps on the way out.” 

“yeah, well,” you huff, waving a hand at the thought of someone so dreadfully rude, “she would’ve deserved it.” 

“why’s that?”

you meet his eyes, then, and for the first time since you met him you think about the fact that they’ve seen terrible things. you knew of Touya, of course—all of Japan did. you knew he’d been through something awful and did things that you couldn’t imagine the man in front of you doing now. you know that he would not be surprised if you told him the reason why you felt she deserved it. you wonder if it bothers him the way it bothers you, or if time has hardened him to his own mistreatment. 

“don’t worry about it,” you tell him, walking back behind the counter. 

you haven’t seen much of Touya for the last few weeks. 

you’d gotten another big order—what would probably be one of the last before winter really set in— so you were busy. he’d stop by sometimes with the excuse of checking the floor (and always with a tea for you in hand), but you learn that he’s uncomfortable with lingering, and he’s usually gone as quickly as he came. 

you don’t mind—it’s nice to know he’s thinking of you. you’ve just been wondering if it’s in the way you want him to—and a lot more than you should be, lately. 

you concede to having a little crush on him. who wouldn’t? he’s incredibly sweet in his own way and very nice to look at and you suppose anyone would if they’d gotten the opportunity to get to know him over the several months that you have. so what if you’re thinking about where he’s at or if he’s eaten lunch or if he’s at the bar without you, more often than not? it’s just a little secret you keep to yourself.

you try not to think about how it’s one that would make him never speak to you again if he found out about it. 

you let out a groan, looking down at the half-formed bundle of alstroemeria and eucalyptus in your hands. you’d been staring at it for 20 minutes now and the motivation to continue just wasn’t coming. you suppose it was as good of a time as any to take a break. 

standing up from the floor and stretching your arms above your head, your spine rewards you with a few satisfying pops as you get yourself moving again. your eyes scan the shop, surveying the damage—most of it caused by you in the last few weeks, with scraps of paper wrap and loose stems strewn about. the shop could definitely use a deep cleaning, but little things like that were just part of routine upkeep, so you don’t mind. it’s only when you roll out your neck that you spot it: a tiny, but noticeable, brown stain on the ceiling that certainly wasn’t there before. you lift your phone above your head to snap a picture of it. 

sent 5:57pm>>> hi. do you think this is a big deal

received 5:59pm>>> looks like water damage

received 5:59pm>>> when did that happen?

sent 6:00 pm>>> not sure. just saw it

sent 6:00 pm>>> if i just pretend it’s not there will it go away?

received 6:01 pm>>> that ever worked for you before?

sent 6:04 pm>>> i don’t like your tone 

received 6:06 pm>>> cry about it. i’ll be over to look at it tomorrow

you smile at his brashness, setting your phone down on the counter. it really was very hard to not be enamored by him. you shake your head, trying to get rid of the thought like a wrong  answer in a magic 8 ball. you have no such luck, but you realize what time it is and feel relieved. It’s tuesday—you can finally start getting ready to see your family. 

you clean up and pull on the spare coat you have in the shop storage room, locking the shop door behind you as you leave. your grandparents don’t live far—just a mile or so down the road, and it’s not too cold to walk yet, so you don’t mind the trek. 

you have a standing weekly visit at your grandparents’ place. they’re just about the only family you have left, and they’re slowing down a bit. it’s meaningful to you to spend time with them when you can—even if your grandmother insists on filling it with her insistence that you find a boyfriend.

you know she means well, so you tolerate it. your grandparents’ love story is one for the ages—high school sweethearts, together and in love ever since. the dynamic is an amusing one—your grandmother, ever the chatterbox, and your grandfather, only ever amused and endeared by his wife’s inherent ability to take up space. you have always really admired their relationship, but a small part of you believed for a long time that there was something wrong with you for not being able to have the same thing. now that you’re older, you don’t feel that way—but that doesn’t make being on the receiving end of the badgering any easier. 

like you’ve summoned her with your thoughts, she’s on the front stoop when you approach the house—hand already on her hip like she’s winding up to start her lecture.

“i was starting to think you wouldn’t come!”

“am i late?” you ask genuinely, pulling your phone out to check the time. 6:26pm—you’re early. 

“you might as well be!” she quips, pulling you into a hug. you can smell dinner cooking through the open window behind her. you close your eyes, content to be held in the moment. you miss this feeling of home every time you leave—

“alright you old bat, s’fixed. you gotta quit dumping cooking oil down the—oh.”

your eyes snap open at the familiar voice and you find blue eyes staring back at you, shocked as you’ve ever seen them. you blink, still mid-embrace and trying to comprehend why Touya is standing in your grandmother’s doorway. or why he’s a little sweaty and dirty and wearing that tight old t-shirt. if he’s always worn a bandana to keep the hair out of his eyes, or if that’s a new thing and either way, why haven’t you seen it? it takes another long minute before you remember how to get words to come out of your mouth. 

“i–uh. hi...hi Touya.” you stutter a little, and your grandmother notices that you’ve gone completely rigid in her arms. she pulls away to look at you, and then at Touya, and back to you—

and your stomach drops when you see the most shit eating grin spread across her face. 

you give her your best you wouldn’t dare look. 

she just smiles at you sweetly as if to say: i absolutely would.

“do you have dinner plans, Mr. Todoroki?”

he blinks. “i–uh–”

“no? excellent. go wash up! you can join us.”

she starts back up to the door with more pep in her step than you’ve seen in a long time, patting Touya’s shoulder before shoving him unceremoniously to the side with surprising strength and walking back into the house. 

you’re left out there together, both clearly still trying to play catch up. true to your nature, you’re the first to break the silence.

“i see you’ve met my grandmother,” you say with a laugh, starting up the steps. he shakes himself in time to open the door for you.

“you’re related to that dinosaur?”

you pin him with your best glare. “that’s not nice. she came after the dinosaurs.”

he follows in after you, the smallest smirk on his face. that you caused it makes your chest feel light. 

dinner is relatively tame. to your genuine surprise, your grandmother sticks to easy topics, save for one comment about how you’re “getting up there” and should start thinking about children. 

“oh my god, Mam,” you squeeze the bridge of your nose, exasperated. you look to Touya for help—who is clearly very amused and not interested in saving you from this. 

“i’m just saying,” you grandmother waves a dismissive hand at you, “now who wants dessert?”

you leave the house a few hours later—with Touya in tow, because he refused to let you walk home in the dark by yourself. you certainly don’t mind the company.

“i can’t believe i didn’t put it together that you knew my grandparents,” you say, shaking your head. no wonder those bread loaves, months ago now, had looked so familiar. 

“been helpin’ them out with maintenance stuff around the house,” he mutters, the hands in his pockets the only indication that he feels the evening chill, “they’re good people.”

the way that he talks about them makes you feel warm. “i’m really happy to hear that,” you sigh. you bump into him, and he stays close. “i’m sorry you have to put up with all of my grandmother’s antics though.”

he huffs a laugh, looking at you from the corner of his eye, “s’not so bad. except maybe when she’s trying to arrange a marriage for me with half the town.”

“oh god,” you turn to him in absolute horror, “she does that to you, too? i thought it was just because i’m her grandkid. she really wants to have great grandkids.”

he laughs when you shudder. “what, you’re not gonna give ‘em to her?”

you make a face at that. “no. kids are great, just…not really something i ever wanted.”

you think you see him physically deflate with something akin to relief out of the corner of your eye. you smile and try not to read into it. 

the wind picks up and you shiver. Touya blinks down at you.

“you didn’t think to wear a thicker coat?”

you roll your eyes pointedly at him. “no, dad, i didn’t.”

he scowls at you, clearly not entertained, but then he’s shrugging off his own jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“what are you doing? it’s too cold!”

“s’fine,” he mutters, brushing up against you with each step, “can’t really feel it.”

you go quiet while you consider this, eyes drifting to the textured skin that wraps around his bicep. there’s an ache in your chest that flares up whenever you think about Touya, small and proud and burned within an inch of his life. you wonder if he still feels it, 30 some odd years later. you want to reach for him, but you think better of it.

“do they hurt still?” you ask quietly, after a moment. 

“sometimes.”

you get the sense that he wouldn’t mind if you asked more, but you’re not sure what to say. you don’t think it would be fair to ask him to relive any of it to satisfy your own curiosity. there’s just one thing you’d still like to know. 

“are you angry?”

he gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he looks down at you. his gaze is searching, like he’s looking for your fear—fear of him, of what he’s done. you know he won’t find any. 

“no.”

the rest of the walk home is shrouded in comfortable silence, save for the crunch of shoes against pavement. all too quickly you’re at the door to the shop again.

you dig for the keys for your apartment on the second floor while Touya leans against the door frame, watching you. 

you feel the metal dig into your palm when you close your fist around them. you look back up at him, and it’s almost startling how soft he looks right now. unguarded.

“can i hug you?” you ask, startling yourself a little. he’s so clearly not a touchy guy, but you hope he’ll indulge you—just this once. 

his eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then his face smooths back into his practiced stoicism. he rolls his eyes, but steps forward anyway. you feel like you just won the lottery. 

“make it quick, brat.”

you nearly tackle him in your excitement and you hear him grumble next to your ear. you feel an arm loop around your shoulders, and you are suddenly very aware that your little crush is far larger than you thought. you file it away for later, because the beat of his heart against your ear feels far more important right now. everything about him is warm—you stifle a sigh at the immediate comfort that rolls over you like a wave. 

“now go inside before y’get sick.”

you resist the urge to pout. you stay there for another beat—and he doesn’t move either. 

you untangle yourself from him with a sigh. if you didn’t know any better, you’d interpret the look on his face as something close to disappointment. you start shrug your shoulders out of his jacket to hand it back to him, but he stops you.

“just, ah—” he starts, looking away from you, “give it back to me tomorrow. when i fix your fuckin’ mess.”

you raise an eyebrow, posturing to argue, but something in his expression tells you not to.

“okay,” you say finally, quiet between you, “be careful going home. goodnight, Touya.”

he lingers for a moment more before letting out a little grunt and turning on his heel. your eyes trail over the expanse of his shoulders as he grows fainter down the road until he disappears into the dark.

you drag yourself up the stairs, suddenly feeling exhausted. you stumble through the dark of your apartment until your knees knock into your bed frame. you fall into bed face first, not bothering to change or even get under the covers. still wrapped in the jacket that smells like him.

you dream of fire that warms but doesn’t burn. 

“good morning, Mr. Todoroki.”

Touya nearly comes out of his skin, hissing as he hits his head off of the counter he’s crouched under. it would be impressive, how stealthy the old bat was, if it wasn’t so god damned annoying.

“how many times do i have to tell you not to call me that?” he grumbles, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head as he gets to his feet. she only chuckles.

“you’ll have to forgive me for not addressing you with the same familiarity that my granddaughter does.”

he whips his head around to look at her—which he finds to be a mistake, because she’s just looking at him with that knowing old lady smirk that makes his skin itch. 

“don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he mutters, stooping down to lodge himself as far under the counter as he needs to to avoid the rest of this conversation. 

“oh, please. do i look like i was born yesterday?”

he pauses, mid crouch, to look back at her over his shoulder. she clicks her tongue at him. “don’t answer that.”

“i think it would be nice for you both to have…companionship,” she settles on the last word like it’s not really what she wanted to say, and it reminds him far too much of his mother. usually he’d shut this conversation down, but for a reason unknown to him, he doesn’t. 

“don’t y’think i’m a little too old for her?” he asks, half-joking. he’d be a liar to say that he hadn’t thought about it at length. 

she waves a dismissive hand at him, rolling her eyes. “oh please—you wouldn’t know too old if it hit you upside the head.” 

he hides another smirk from her—which she seems to expect anyway, shaking her head with a sigh. 

“you’re both babies still,” she says quietly, with all of the wisdom and yearning of someone who has lived as long as she has, “you have nothing but time. just don’t waste it.”

Touya’s not sure when the shift happened, but he’s acutely aware that it has happened. 

he’s doesn’t know when he started allowing you to touch him. he’s usually uncomfortable with that sort of thing—it tends to aggravate his skin and it does well to make him feel queasy. but you lay your arm over his to show him something about your flowers on your phone, and he doesn’t feel any urge to reel back from you. he wants to be surprised at his lack of reaction, but he supposes he’s not—proximity to him has always been something you’ve insisted on, physical or otherwise. 

the bar is crowded tonight, which leaves him feeling uneasy. the noise level grates at his nerves and he finds himself having to lean into you just to hear what you’re saying. it sours his mood immensely. 

he’s scowling into his beer when he feels you crowd his space. his head snaps up, ready to gripe at you, and he finds you’re turned away from him. he looks around you and sees that your space has been crowded—by some rowdy little punk he’s never seen before.

immediately and on some sort of primal instinct, Touya wraps an arm around you, yanking you into his side. you brace yourself with a hand on his chest to avoid flat out headbutting his chin. 

“hey,” he snarls over your head, eyes like daggers at the offender, “watch where you’re fuckin’ going.”

the man turns around, posturing to defend himself, but one look at Touya has his eyes widening in the same expression of fear that he sees on everyone else’s face. usually the reaction sits in his stomach like a rock, but this time, he revels in it. “and while you’re at it, you can apologize to her.”

his looks down at the ground immediately, unwilling to spend another minute under scrutiny. 

“sorry about that,” he mutters dejectedly. Touya feels your grip tighten around the hem of his shirt, but to his surprise, you say nothing. 

“get the fuck out of here,” he barks, and he holds back a laugh as the man does just that—completely forgetting about the drink he ordered. 

shaking his head, he lets you go—expecting you to scramble away from him and back to your stool. he feels himself cringe—he probably embarrassed you.

he’s worried when he realizes you’re still tethered to him by the fabric of his shirt. 

“hey,” he murmurs, trying to push you back gently to look at your face, “you alright, kid? you’re not hurt, are you?”

you let go of him, albeit reluctantly. you only move back far enough to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. he can only think of how close you are.

“Touya,” you rasp, cheeks flushed and looking at him through half-hooded eyes, “that was, um—really hot.”

he blinks at you, a little dumbfounded. his eyes rake over your face, trying to find the punchline somewhere. wholly anticipating you to snap out of it and laugh at him—to tell him what a fool he is for falling for such a cruel joke.

but your expression never changes, and he realizes at once that it’s one of desire. 

a shudder wracks up his spine. he pulls you toward him again, splaying his fingers across your back to feel the way it arches into him. he dips his head down, lips next to your ear. fighting a smirk at the way you shiver in his hold.

“come back to mine?”

you nod emphatically, and he’d tease you about it if he wasn’t feeling the same level of urgency. he throws a couple bills on the bar top and all but hauls you out the door. he has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s half out of his mind right now and can’t find it within himself to think it over before he does something he might regret. 

his own desire is nearly stifling, and he finds he can’t go another minute without something to satiate him, if only for a moment. he pulls you into the alley next to the bar, crowding you against the brick.

“you drunk?” he asks suddenly—slivers of rationality making it through the haze of such thick lust. you laugh a little, breathy and overwhelmed. he can see the puff of steam from your exhale between you in the cold. 

“not at all,” you murmur, reaching for him. you wrap a finger around one of his belt loops and pull him toward you—he knows with an unsettling certainty that he’d do whatever you asked him to right now. the knowledge burns him from the inside.

“tell me to stop,” his lips are only a breath away from yours, and yet he almost wishes you would tell him to stop, because he’s not sure what comes after this. he’s alarmed by the weight of his own need, and he has a hunch that whatever happens next may not be enough to quell it. 

he has the sudden and sobering thought that he may never get his fill of you. 

“no,” you breathe, and it’s all he needs to bridge the distance. he’s instantly overwhelmed by the soft warmth of your mouth, and lets out a quiet groan when he feels your tongue swipe at the seam of his. he opens his mouth to taste more of you, and he truly cannot get enough. you pull his tongue into your mouth, sucking on it gently, and he is nearly frantic when he pulls away from you. he feels absolutely debauched and a little humiliated—in his 40-some odd years, he’s never known himself to get so worked up over some kissing. 

“we need to go right now,” he rasps, panting against your mouth. he feels your smile against him and wants to swallow you whole. 

“lead the way, old man.”

he barely registers making it through the door—has no idea how he managed to unlock it, let alone open it—before he has you pressed up against it. to touch you like this feels foreign, and he wants to feel everything. after a moment, he gets impatient with himself. he grabs you around the backs of your thighs, hauling you up and carrying you to his bedroom. he has half a mind to thank Buck later, for not bounding between the two of you and ripping him from whatever trance you have him suspended in right now. 

he drops you onto the bed unceremoniously and is quick to follow, mouth chasing yours on the way down. you pull your shirt off and he helps you with your pants—he can’t help but pull back to marvel at you.

your demeanor changes immediately.

you're entirely too tense, breath hitching and your grip on his arms uncomfortably tight. he pulls back to look at you and you flinch. 

“jesus—the fuck are you so jumpy for?”

"i don't know!" you cross your arms over your chest with a huff, red when you look away from him. "maybe i just don't do this as often as you, okay?"

he snorts, rolling his eyes. "i don't do this often."

it’s not exactly the truth—because the truth is that he doesn't do this at all—but he's still got his pride. he’d been touched before, but mostly in his 20s and only when he was just shy of belligerent. only when he could go numb with the certainty that it would be over quickly and that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning. 

no one could hold a flame to you, though—sprawled out underneath him, chest heaving and eyes hooded with unbridled desire. something about it makes him want to reach into the ether and stop time with his bare hands. he wants to savor every bead of sweat that rolls down the curve of your breast, every touch that makes your pupils dilate—the primal need to know takes over everything else.

“i just…” you start, lip jutting out with the tiniest pout. he feels insane. “i feel nervous.”

something inside him twists at your admission, and he finds himself wanting to comfort you. it’s a completely unfamiliar feeling, but he leans into it. 

"relax," he murmurs, unwinding your arms and replacing them with his full body weight, directly on top of you. you squeak, and he presses his smile into the crook of your neck. "don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

he feels you slump underneath him—however minutely—and it feels like a reward. and then your hips kick into his, and his brain short circuits. 

he pushes back onto his forearms to look at you, and he's endeared by the flush that creeps up your neck as you avoid his gaze. he finds it cute, how quickly you lay your ego down for him. that in itself is another reward, and one he doesn't take lightly.

you might be a little embarrassed under his stare, but that doesn't stop the roll of your hips. yours is a slow grind up into him and he meets you with one of his own, firm and demanding. your mouth drops open and the way you shudder under him pulls a groan from him. 

"feel good?" he rasps, sneaking a hand around the back of your neck and holding you there, nosing against your cheek until you turn to him.

"yes."

it's borderline pornographic when it leaves you and his hips stutter—he feels it buzzing underneath his skin as it pushes him closer to a place wholly unfamiliar. 

through his jeans, he's sure you can feel him—hot and aching against the flimsy material of your panties. he huffs a laugh against your lips—suddenly acutely aware of the possibility that he may cum in his pants like a fucking teenager. 

you seem to be aware of that, too. 

you kiss him hard and he nearly whines, and then he actually does when you tangle your fingers in his hair and pull. he reels back from you to catch his breath and you don't let him go very far. 

"you feel so good," murmured into his mouth, it's nearly his undoing. 

"you gotta stop," it sounds a lot like a plea when it leaves him, "i can't—i'm gonna—”

you hook a leg around his waist, keeping him pressed to you. he knows at once that he is well and truly fucked in a fundamental and totally unrelated way. 

"no," you drawl, and it's almost a coo in his ear, "i don't think i will."

he doesn't know when you took the upper hand and he doesn't even care. he's lost in the movement of your hips and he knows that there's a mess between you both—he hears the tacky click of damp fabric meeting with every grind into you. 

"you're—fuckin' wet," he grits out, and he's so close. the knowledge of your arousal has him curling in on himself.

you chuckle, like he's stating something so obvious. "how could i not be?"

he rewards you with a particularly sinful thrust, and you keen underneath him. 

"please," you arch into him, "want you to cum."

and he does just that—all the breath is battered out of him with the force of it. his cock throbs with every wave of release in his jeans and he keeps himself pressed snuggly to you, hips thrusting with no particular rhythm as he rides out the last of it. he keeps his face pressed into your neck and lets out a long, broken groan. he stays there—full body weight collapsed on top of you again—and it's a moment before he comes back to his senses enough to feel your fingers scratch over his scalp. 

"fucking hell," he presses a kiss to your throat and you giggle. it warms something inside of him that's hard to shake once it starts. he has the sneaking suspicion—in this fleeting moment of vulnerability—that it started well before now. 

he gathers his wits and pushes back from you. he sees the look on your face and finds that he couldn't go any farther than an arm's length away, even if he tried. 

adoration. it could only be that—you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, and it twists in his gut. he doesn't understand—he's done so many wrong things. you look at him like they don't hang above his head—like you can't see them there.

what a sweet little thing that's found their way into his bed. and deeper than that, it seems. 

"want to taste you," he murmurs, leaning back down to drag his lips over the curve of your jaw. you draw in a shuddering breath, nodding, and it fans his ego immensely. 

he takes his time, then—there's intention behind every warm press of his mouth to every inch of your skin. he takes note of the way your breath hitches, and of what makes you squirm. you tip your head back with a moan when he catches a bead of sweat between the valley of your breasts with his tongue. 

you breathe out a whisper of his name when he latches on to the skin that stretches over your ribs, and he feels his own arousal swell again—sloshing around in his gut, thick and needing. he finds himself grinding his hips into the mattress below him—lazy, really. just enough to dull the ache. 

"hold on," you croak, and he looks up at you, "you’re too dressed."

he looks down at himself and realizes that you’re right—he’s still fully clothed. he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head at his own one track mind, and sits up to take care of it. 

he grabs the back of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head in a fluid motion. he feels your gaze on him and feels a little bashful. he’s even quicker with the jeans—soiled and gross as they are now—shoving them down his hips and kicking them from his ankles until his clad in only his (also gross) boxers and leaning over you again. 

you reach for him, brushing your fingertips over the scar across his chest. he half expects you to pull away—to recoil from him like you should—but you don’t. 

“need you, Touya.”

he could just die. 

"s'that right?" he bends down to press another hot kiss to the skin that stretches between your hips. he fixates on the softness of it, and has to stop himself from nuzzling into it. he'd love to draw this out—to really get you pleading for him like he hopes you would, writhing and so wet underneath him. but his own patience nears its end, so he decides to be merciful. he shuffles down until he's eye level with the damp spot in your panties that makes him curse under his breath. 

"look at you," he breathes, dragging a finger through the mess. you let out a whine, arching to chase what little stimulation he's giving you. "poor thing. y'really do need it."

he doesn't wait for your response before his hooking a finger through the fabric and dragging it off of you. a string of your arousal stretches and snaps with it, and he commits the sight to memory. 

he wastes no time—he sticks his tongue out flat and drags it through your folds, groaning at the slick that coats it. 

"oh fuck," you wheeze, reaching down to thread your fingers through his hair to keep him there.

as if you'd ever need to do that. 

he can't get enough of you. so swollen and sweet against his tongue, he's nearly out of his mind with the need for more of it. he dips the tip of his tongue inside you and feels you squeeze around it, and it's unbearable how badly he wants more of you. 

"Touya," you groan out, eyes squeezed shut tight as he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks, "please—please don't stop—"

he thinks you're fucking insane for ever believing he would. he pulses his tongue against your clit and revels in the way your back arches as you wail—he reaches up to pinch a pebbled nipple between his heated fingers just to feel you.

"oh fuck, fuck fuck—" the words tumble out of your mouth, slurred and nearly incoherent as he flattens out his tongue and lets you chase your pleasure.

in the throes of it, you reach down to tangle your fingers between his own. he's not sure if you even know that you've done it, but the knowledge that you seek him out for such an innocent display comfort has his heart fluttering in his chest. he gives your nipple a particularly harsh tug with his other hand.

"oh i'm gonna cum—" you cry, hips stuttering with every drag of your sex over his tongue, "please, Touya, i'm gonna—"

he squeezes your fingers when you do, and you let out a sob that goes straight to his cock. he feels you tense up—every muscle rigid for only a moment—and then you let it go, and he's mesmerized. it moves through you violently, like waves crashing into the shore during a storm. he keeps your clit between his lips as you thrash, letting you buck against his face, dragging it out for as long as he can. 

he waits until he hears your breathing return to a semi-normal pace before he cleans you up—with his tongue, light and gentle through your folds, not wanting to waste any of the mess you reward him with. he forgets himself and slips his tongue inside of you—drinking up all of your slick. basking in the way you flutter around him and the sweet slide of you down his throat. he only comes back to himself when you start to tremble, whining at the overstimulation. 

he rests his head on the inside of your thigh and closes his eyes, breathing you in. never in his life has he ever felt so satiated by something—it confuses him, to get so much pleasure from you without you ever even touching him. he feels you squeeze his fingers and realizes he's still holding your hand. 

"you with me, kid?"

you sigh, stretching your free leg out. "think so, old man."

he untangles your fingers to rub at your leg, reaching down to knead at the muscles in your calf. you sigh, light and content, and it makes him smile. it's quiet between you then, and he's grateful that you don't feel the need to fill it. he pulls your leg over his shoulder, moving to massage the outside of your thigh. 

"good to me," you sigh sleepily, and he knows you're only a second from falling asleep. 

he doesn't answer—his throat suddenly feels too thick and he doesn't think he can—he just keeps rubbing your muscles gently until your breathing evens out. 

he finds that he doesn't mind being trapped between your legs like this. when he thinks he might even be able to fall asleep, he realizes for the second time that he's in far deeper than he thought he'd be.

he lets his eyes flutter closed and has a hard time thinking of anything wrong with that. 

there’s another shift, after that. the only person that seems to be oblivious to it is you. 

it’s not that you haven’t noticed, because of course you have. Touya becomes uncharacteristically touchy, literally overnight. you bask in it when you can, because you know it’s fleeting. 

that’s where you split off from, well—everyone else. 

“c’mon kid, you can’t honestly think that.”

you huff, glaring into your drink. Touya’s friends had jumped at the opportunity to heckle you the minute he stood up to go to the restroom. you find it endearing, the way they act like little old ladies, gossiping amongst themselves. 

“we’re not together,” you repeat, albeit bitterly, “it’s not like that for him.”

the friend closest to you barks out a laugh, and you pin him with your meanest stare. it only makes him laugh harder. he’s wiping tears from his eyes when Touya comes back, filling the space between you. 

it hurts tremendously to know that this is temporary, and you feel ridiculous for feeling that way. it’s not like it comes as a surprise—you knew very well that Touya wasn’t one for romance or love. you thought you could live with that, especially with the sex being as good as it is—but it was just so easy to believe the opposite was true, because he really was good to you. if you allowed yourself to forget, it was nothing at all to pretend he was because he wanted this, too. 

still—like a magnet, you’re drawn to him. you hop down from your stool to stand beside his, and rest your head on his shoulder. 

“you hungry?,” he turns to murmur into your hair, “i’ll get you fries or somethin’.”

“wow, fries” you scoff, rolling your eyes, “how chivalrous.”

you feel him grin. “wasn’t raised in a barn.”

it’s a bad joke. it lodges itself in your skin and makes you ache for him. you try not to dwell on it. 

“you could’ve fooled me.”  

he rolls his eyes back at you with a little tch, but it’s lighthearted. he slings his arm around your neck and pulls you closer until you’re pressed into the warmth of his side, and presses a kiss to your temple. 

“you know, most men would give up their seats for pretty women.” you tease, leaning into his touch. 

“let me know if you see one, then.” 

“hey!”

he laughs, brushing his lips against your forehead again before leaning back, patting his thigh. 

“c’mon then, pretty lady.”

you feel warm as you climb up into his lap, and when you settle in, it’s like a key inside of a lock. you pointedly ignore the knowing glance from the man to your right, choosing instead to feel every inch that connects you to Touya. it feels like a reward, to mold to him this well—like something you’re owed after trimming off every one of his prickly little thorns for as long as you have. you want to tell him so, but you know he’d clam up or shove you off of him. you keep your feelings where they simmer under your skin and focus on the way his hand trails over the curve of your hip—back and forth, like he means to soothe, but his warmth feels like a brand. you close your eyes and imagine a reality in which he does it because he loves you.  

“you alright?”

it sounds odd, coming from him—like he’s not used to asking the question. you suppose he’s not—he’s never had anyone to check up on. he reaches to brush a strand of hair from your face, and his fingers linger over your brow bone.

you’d been quiet since you left the bar—you’d followed him back to his house with an uncharacteristically little amount of banter. you’d been pliant as he pulled you down on the bed with him—nearly boneless and without so much as a teasing bite on the way down. 

despite yourself, you feel your eyes start to burn. you let out a clipped curse, blinking rapidly and looking pointedly away from him—hoping he wouldn’t press you about it. 

he does. 

“hey, hey,” he says softly, reaching to grab your chin with warm, calloused fingers and turning you to face him, “what’s goin’ on?” 

his blatant concern makes it worse—drives the knife a little deeper into your side—because it’s so starkly different (and far more intimate) from the Touya you started with. it only serves as a reminder of your original suspicion having long been confirmed—that he cares for you because he’s good. not because he loves you. not because he feels this unbearable, aching need that you do. you know there’s no escaping him now—he’s seeded himself somewhere deep in your chest and taken root. when his thumb brushes down over the curve of your jaw, you know that there’s no stopping the words that are about to come out of your mouth. 

“i love you,” the tears crest and fall, and you ache when he brushes them away before they can slip down your temples, “i’m really sorry.”

you’re a little surprised when you see his eyebrows knit together slightly in an emotion that’s definitely not the overt and immediate dismay you thought it would be, but you close your eyes before you can see anything else—before you can watch him pull away from you, genuinely and for the last time. 

you go rigid when you feel his forehead knock into yours, gently and only for an instant. 

“s’that such a bad thing?”

your eyes snap open, and you think the sight might kill you—he’s open and giving you everything with a willingness that makes your breath stutter in your chest. he has his head propped up on his hand to look at you, and it’s almost enough to disarm you completely. 

“don’t be cruel if you’re going to leave,” you hear yourself plead, despite what you’re seeing. he only snorts. 

“and what makes you so sure i’ll do that?”

“i know that you don’t do this shit.”

he smiles at that—a little thing that stretches across his face slow. it amuses him to hear you swear. 

“you’re right,” he murmurs, reaching to brush his fingers over your jaw again. holding you there so gently that it aches. “i don’t. s’different now, though.” 

you blink at him through the sting in your eyes, more confused than anything. he lets out a slow sigh, but it’s not in frustration. 

“you’re stuck to me now,” he says with such a fondness that you feel the words stick themselves to your bones, “m’not going anywhere.”

“i’m not trapping you here, Touya—“

“you’re not,” he agrees, with more patience than he’s ever afforded you. something starts to click in your mind, but for some reason, you find yourself fighting it. 

“you don’t—you’re not—“

“hey,” he cuts you off with a flick to your forehead, “listen to what i’m tellin’ you.”

“it’s…hard. for me.” he says after thinking for a moment, eyebrows furrowed again like he’s trying to make up the words from scratch. “i‘m used to bein’ alone. never really thought about anybody else.”

you’re silent then, mostly stunned, because you don’t think he’s ever said so many words to you. not like this. 

“i’m outta my depth here, kid,” it’s nearly whispered and it feels sacred, like a confession between you. you’re suddenly very aware that he’s giving you something that he’s parting with for the first time in his life. “but i can’t think about ya anywhere but here now. makes me feel a little sick.” 

you reach for him then—tentative fingertips brushing over the rapid fluttering of his heart. he gathers them in his hand and holds you there. 

“i might not be any good at this. but i’d like to try.” 

his words hit your ears one at a time, like coins slotted into a carnival game—they reach your mind with a heavy clink and only when the last one drops in do you really hear him. he’s no casanova, but you understand the sentiment under his words as if he’d spoken it aloud. 

you close your eyes and draw in one more shuddering breath, and it knocks loose the last of your reservations. you turn on your side, facing him fully, meeting the blue of his eyes with a slow smile that makes them narrow at you in suspicion. 

“jeez. you didn’t have to go all soft on me.”

he scoffs, shaking his head. “glad to have you back, you fuckin’ brat.” 

you laugh and he chases the sound, leaning forward until your foreheads knock together again. this time, he stays put. 

“tell me again,” he murmurs, and your heart balloons inside your chest. 

“i love you.”

epilogue—1 year later

Touya trudges up the steps to your apartment after finishing up at your grandparents’. you’d think he’d agreed to remodel the whole house, with how often they call him over now. 

he had a hunch that he wasn’t really there just to make repairs, and he didn’t mind. he knew how much your family meant to you, and he’d be lying if he said they weren’t growing on him, too.

“you bring our girl over here to see us,” the old bat called after him as he walked out the door, “don’t let her work herself to death.”

he was quick to agree, because his concerns were similar—you’d gotten busy as the weather started to warm with the first hint of spring, and you did not appear to be particularly skilled at taking breaks or prioritizing yourself. predictable, but no less annoying. 

walking up the steps to the home you now share, he looks down at the squirming thing in his arms and lets out a sigh. 

it didn’t take much convincing for him to agree to move in. he got to see you everyday (which allowed him to ensure you were, at the very least, feeding yourself) and Buck was over the moon at living in a new space if that meant he could be with you all the time. he couldn’t find a reason to say no (and he really, really didn’t want to), so it was easy to say yes. the smile you gave him when he agreed is imprinted on his heart. 

“babe? you here?”

you call to him in response from the kitchen, not looking up at him when he walks in—you’re hunched over the counter in front of your laptop, going through orders while Buck lays at your feet. he makes no move to greet Touya—in fact, the only acknowledgement Buck spares him is a few thuds of his tail against the tile. Touya narrows his eyes at him. traitor.

“hi,” you murmur, turning your body like you’re going to look at him—except you don’t actually look away from the computer.

“hi,” he grins, not moving in to kiss you like he usually does. waiting for you to turn to him. 

“what did Mam need—oh.”

you’re finally looking at him—except you’re not really looking at him at all, because your eyes are focused on the shivering thing in his arms. 

you look at it, and to him, and then back to it. you’re quiet for a beat, clearly trying to process, and then the thing nearly jumps out of his arms when you throw your head back and laugh.

“what the hell is that—” you say through a wheeze, wiping your eyes on your sleeve,  “Touya—oh my god—where did you get that?”

you close the proximity between you—finally, he thinks—and he bends to kiss your temple when you take the chihuahua from his arms. instantly Buck is on his feet, sniffing the air but otherwise content just to look at the dog in your arms. Touya feels relief at the non-reaction—you really had taught his dog some manners. 

“the fuckin’ thing was rooting around in the trash,” he mutters, slinging an arm around your shoulders, “figured you’d be mad at me if i left ‘im there.”

you roll your eyes and he knows you know it’s a lie—he wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he’d left the dog there. 

“are we keeping him?” you ask absentmindedly, scratching his tiny head. it works to subdue him—the shaking stops (mostly) and he lets out a little huff before relaxing in your hold. it makes you smile, and Touya thinks he’d fill this whole fucking house with chihuahuas if it meant he could see it again. 

“do y’want to?”

you let out a stray chuckle, finally looking up at him. “i guess he’d fit, won’t he?”

he feels the grin stretch across his face. “i don’t know. it’d be a tight squeeze.”

you snort, reaching with your free hand to poke at his ribs. “you have to name him, you know.”

“fuck,” he groans dramatically, pulling another giggle from you, “fine. what about…” he trails off, wracking his brain and looking around the kitchen, praying for even a semblance of inspiration. he sees your half-eaten lunch on the counter, and he thinks about the moldy cold cut he’d had to wrestle out of the little shit’s surprising tight grip—

“lunch meat.”

“...i’m sorry?”

“his name is lunch meat.”

you laugh at that, and the sound reverberates off every cell in his body. 

“it’s a good thing we’re not having kids,” you say through a giggle, “they’d have the worst names.”

he grins at you and you just shake your head, cooing to the tiny dog in your arms. Touya peels himself from you, settling against the counter just to watch. the other surprise—the one he’d actually planned—involved a fancy dinner in the next town over, because it is your anniversary, after all—but right now it feels like he has nothing but time, and to do anything but stand here and feel every second with you would feel like a waste.

this fic belongs to me (@gardenofnoah). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.    

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae!! I would love to read more about the dynamic between poly!marauders and reader. Like maybe some domestic fluff just showing the interaction between the boys and with reader. I love the way you write true poly with the boys together too 🥹🤍

Hi lovely, thanks for requesting!

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“Shit!” Sirius hisses, another piece of popcorn splintering off his string. It’s nearly all cranberries at this point, and half the length of either yours or Remus’. “How are yours not breaking?”

“Patience,” Remus preaches, eyes on his needle as he slides it smoothly through yet another popcorn kernel. 

“Sounds made up,” James scoffs. The remains of his own popcorn are littered about his lap and his fingers are stained pink with cranberry juice. His problems lie in inaccuracy as much as impatience, constantly getting ahead of himself and pricking his fingers rather than his target. Fortunately, Rugby Captain James Potter is no stranger to pain, so he only extends the injured finger towards where you sit on the floor for you to kiss each time before resuming his work. 

“Completely agree.” Sirius is quick to hop on James’ half-constructed bandwagon. “They’re conspiring against us, keeping the real secrets of success to themselves.” 

“They’re focussing on their work,” you say, grinning when Sirius’ foot nudges your shoulder meanly, “which is how they keep from messing up.” 

“Cruel,” he murmurs, but you only hum, a wordless You know I’m right. And he does, because he goes quiet. 

James could never stand silence. “It’s almost cold enough for a fire,” he remarks after nearly five seconds of it. “Maybe we could have one tomorrow?” 

“You just want to chop firewood,” Remus accuses. 

“I don’t mind,” you say quietly, looking down at your hands, and Sirius nods emphatically. Another piece of popcorn shatters in his hands, bits of it hitting your shoulder.

“Yeah, don’t deter him.” 

“I don’t even get to chop it anymore since you started buying it at Tesco,” James complains, shooting Remus a resentful look. “Now I just want to watch fire. It’s the last caveman’s pleasure you’ve left me.” 

You glance over, and Remus is looking downward, trying and failing to quell his smile. “Fine,” he relents. “We can pick some up tomorrow and have a fire.”

“Yes!” James leans around Sirius, planting a smacking kiss on Remus’ cheek. “Thank you.” 

“S’no problem.” Remus has gone all soft and blushy. You and Sirius exchange a fond, knowing look. 

“Hey, do you think we could pick up some of those gingerbread house kits while we’re there?” you ask the room. “We didn’t get a chance to do those last year.” 

“Patience,” Remus reminds you, recovering. “It’s hardly the end of November, we’ve got a whole month for that.” 

Your mouth pulls dissatisfiedly. “Yeah, but last year we thought the same thing and then we ran out of time.” 

“You know what we should do?” James perks up. “Have a competition! Whoever makes the best gingerbread house in under an hour gets—”

“No,” you all say on top of each other. 

You shake your head. “It’ll take all the fun out of it, Jamie.”

“You can’t put a time limit on creativity,” Sirius agrees. “Hey, I got three in a row!” He beams, holding his garland up for Remus’ approval, and the other boy appraises it for a second, nodding sagely. 

“Well done.” 

“Sorry,” you tell James, who’s still pouting after the hasty shut-down of his idea. “We can race at something else if you want to, but that sort of stuff is supposed to be more…”

“Peaceful,” Remus supplies, and you nod relievedly. 

“Exactly.” 

“S’fine,” James sulks. He sticks his needle through a cranberry, a pitiful whine escaping him when it comes out the other side harsher than he’d expected. He extends his hand toward you palm up, and you take it, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of his finger. “Mm, now here.” He leans down, tapping the corner of his mouth. You smile, pecking him sweetly on the lips. He tastes like the peppermint chapstick he uses this time of year, which you love and Sirius abhors (he thinks all mint tastes like toothpaste). “Alright,” James says, lips curving against yours, “now it’s actually fine.” 

“Scoundrel,” Sirius accuses. “My poor darling, do you feel used?” 

“Not terribly,” you admit, but it’s no deterrence to Sirius, who reaches down to haul you into his lap. Your garland trails after you, overlapping with his. You settle in contentedly. 

“Who’s the scoundrel now,” James objects. “You can’t just move her about like she’s got no will of her own.” 

You’re perfectly happy to be wherever they want you, but you aren’t going to say that. “Does anyone fancy a hot chocolate? I just got those peppermint marshmallows.” 

Sirius makes a face. “No thanks. James, make the girl a hot chocolate.” 

“Why me?” James objects. 

“I’ll have one too,” Remus says. 

“It’s her idea, why doesn’t she make them?”

“Because she,” Sirius says, weaving his arms under yours to resume stringing up his garland in front of you, “is occupied. Go on.” 

James grumbles, but sets down his work. 

“Sorry,” you say, making your eyes extra big. It’s half sincere apology, half completely unapologetic beguilement, and James cracks quickly, kissing your cheek to show he’s not really upset. Then he kisses Sirius too, just for fun. 

“I wanted a hot chocolate anyway,” he says, heading into the kitchen. 

You fall into an easy silence as he works, the kettle gurgling in the background while you relax against Sirius’ chest, nearly finished with your garland. You wonder if you should offer to do his for him, even though you know the other two will definitely make fun of you for letting him off the hook. You think you will anyway. 

“Oh!” Sirius straightens, causing you to shift against him uncomfortably. He ignores the slighted look you send him, bringing a hand to your shoulder to hold you more securely against him. You’re easily pacified. “If you want to have a competition, you and y/n should have a race for who can wrap the most presents.” He looks at you. “You’re always saying you love wrapping, yeah sweetheart?” 

The endearment only slightly softens the look you’re giving him. Must everyone try to ruin your holiday rituals with racing and competitions? You know he’s only brought it up out of selfishness, too; Sirius hates wrapping gifts, and this is just another way for him to push the labor off on James and you. 

James, unfortunately, lights brighter than the tree you’d set up earlier that day. “Yeah!” He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet. Remus eyes the boiling water he’s pouring out at the same time warily. “What do you say, lovie? Maybe a couple of days before Christmas we can divvy up the presents that aren’t for us, then we just see who finishes first!” 

“Didn’t you already lose that competition the other night?” Remus quips. Sirius erupts in laughter behind you, but James only shoots him a hostile look (or his version of a hostile look, more of a squint than anything) before his eyes flit back to you hopefully. 

You roll your eyes, but this is one competition you think you might actually win. “Fine,” you say, smiling when he pumps his fist. “But I don’t think you know what you’re getting into, Potter. My gift wrapping skills are legendary.” 

“Oh, my love,” James croons, grinning as he carries in two mugs of hot chocolate. “My sweet, naive girl.” He passes one to Remus and the other to you, dropping a kiss on your temple. “I won’t go easy on you this time.”

[yeehawbvby]

Can you do an Arven x f! reader who likes to wear his shirts?

Of course!! I'm sorry it's a bit short/if there are any errors, I was super tired while writing this ;;w;; I hope you like it! 💕

Snug as a Scatterbug | Arven x F!Reader

Rating: G | WC: 688

The first time you wear one of Arven’s shirts, he’s very puzzled.

Standing at the doorway to his room, he watches you work. He left a few moments ago to grab some snacks, and when he came back, the last thing he expected to return to was his girlfriend standing topless in front of his closet. At first, this leaves him speechless and flustered.

Then, he observes as you pick his favorite, comfiest, yellowest sweater out of his wardrobe and toss it over your head. This is where the confusion ensues.

“...What are you doing?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe while his lips curl into a grin. 

You stop flattening out the hem of his sweater, freezing in place. You’ve been caught red-handed. Rather than explaining yourself, outwardly panicking, or apologizing, you simply mutter, “Don’t worry about it,” before continuing to situate yourself in his clothing. You don’t even turn around to address him. 

He won’t lie to himself – something about seeing you with his shirt engulfing your tiny frame has Butterfrees going nuts in his stomach. There’s something simultaneously adorable and hot about the sight of you in his favorite article of clothing; about how the fabric reaches your knees, and the sleeves go past your hands, creating little paws when you lift them up. Not knowing how exactly to respond to this situation, Arven decides to leave it be. 

The next time you wear one of his shirts, it’s his white uniform top. ‘Why that old thing?’ he silently wonders.

You two don’t even have classes to attend that day – you’re just grabbing sandwiches at the local Every Wich Way. The shirt you had on originally matched your outfit more than this, too – your pastel pink leggings worked better with the pastel purple hoodie you had on up top. 

Feeling his cheeks burn hot when he peers down at the way his dress shirt drapes over you, he decides once again not to question it. It’s not like you’re gonna keep stealing his stuff, right?

…‘Again?!’ Arven thinks to himself the third time. 

He left you alone to take a shower and change after a long day outdoors with your teams, and when you return to him, another one of his sweaters is consuming your torso. This one is a black, Shiny Wooloo wool turtleneck that he bought while interning at a restaurant in Galar a few years back.

“I gotta know,” he prompts, getting up from his spot on the couch and walking towards you. “Why do you keep taking my shirts?”

Your cheeks redden, and you look away from his face. “Thought I told ya not to worry about it, punk,” you sass.

Arven laughs. “I’m not worried, I’m just confused.” You try to walk by him, but he stops you with your ultimate weakness: head pats. As his large palm lands on your scalp, you stop in your tracks. “I don’t mind you wearing my stuff, it looks adorable on you anyway,” he reassures you behind a wide smile. “I just wanna know why.” 

You sigh, before bashfully answering, “Your clothes are really cozy, and they smell good.” You fidget with the oversized sleeves around your hands, finally looking up at him. “Feels like you’re constantly hugging me when I have one of your shirts on... It’s nice.”

Arven nearly keels over. ‘So cute!’ If this man wasn’t already head over heels for you, he definitely would be now.

From that point on, Arven goes out of his way to offer you his clothes. Oh, you wanna stay over for a night? Screw those pajamas, take one of his tees instead. 

Is it chilly out? Toss one of his sweaters, maybe even one of his jackets, over your own shirt to keep warm. 

Not seeing each other for a few days? He’ll offer you half his wardrobe. “That way you never run out of hugs!” he proclaims, making you feel warm and fuzzy inside. 

Now that Arven knows your “secret,” he might love seeing you wear his shirts just as much as you love wearing them, if not more.

[klbwriting]

Surface Tension

Chapter 1: Great Unknown

Fandom: Aquaman

Pairing: Ormxfemale!Reader

Warnings: none yet, will have fluff and mild smut later

Summary: Y/N has lived on the surface for nearly 10 years after she was unwittingly a part of an assassination attempt on the then King of Atlantis Orm Marius. She has hidden away in a small coastal town in Maine, living as a human and building a simple but decent life in a duplex on the beach. Then one day someone moves in to the other half of the duplex. She goes to greet them only to discover it's Orm himself.

Note: Here it is! Orm on the surface! I hope you enjoy it, please any comments or critiques are appreciated! Also, if you want to know the song that inspired this chapter it is called 'Great Unknown' by William Ryan Key

Tags: @gabrieleskywalker

Will I ever stop imagining what if I'd done things differently and Will you find it a corner in your heart For me long after we part Funny how time doesn't care who we Love and who we wish we could repair So into this great unknown I will wander on my own

Y/N had never planned to be running from Atlantis. She hadn't meant for any of this to happen. She had just wanted to help the people in the lower city, the non nobility in Atlantis, to have a better life. How handing out supplies and funding small businesses to help them flourish became attempted murder she didn't know. But here she was, in her room at her mother's mansion, packing a small bag so that she could disappear.

She wasn't sure how a person's entire life could fit into a bag the size of small sea turtle but that's all she had. Into the bag went the mosaic of her father and she, when she was barely walking and he was still alive. They were poor, but they were happy. Then the plague came through, killing him in days and she was immune, meaning that her blood was noble. A DNA test later and it was discovered her mother was a councilwoman for King Orvax, so she was sent to live with her. Her mother didn't want her, Y/N was the result of a foolish night of 'slumming' as her mother said and her father had been so happy to have a daughter that, Roux Velix, never had to bother with the child again. But now she had to face her mistake and bring this child into her home. She put a smile on her face, making a story about Y/N being kidnapped by her father as a baby to save face, and welcomed the child like she was wanted.

Y/N put a bracelet into her bag next. The only gift that had been given to her in kindness, from the daughter of another council member, her first real love when she was a teenager. That had ended when her mother had found out, already having wild ideas about her marrying the prince, whom she had yet to meet. They fought, screaming at each other until Roux revealed that she had never wanted Y/N and that she wished that the plague had been made to kill anyone with low blood. Y/N had been suspicious of that comment so she started digging into what actually went on in those council meetings between her mother and the king. She was disgusted by what she found.

A flier for a meeting of the Atlantis for All activist group was slid into the front pocket of the bag. Y/N had snuck out in her early 20's, finally getting up the courage to seek out others with similar ideas, hiding under a maid's cowl, to meet with the small Atlantis for All group in the lower city. It had been cleared of the sickness that had taken her father by now, and this group had been operating for years, doing small acts of kindness for the low class Atlantians. When she arrived they didn't trust her, thinking she was coming in as a plant from the nobility to spy on them. It took a few years of hard work and providing funds from her mother's accounts before they really welcomed her. She bonded with one particular person, Aria, who soon became her best friend.

Finally she put letters into the bag. Letters between her and members of AfA, notes from Aria encouraging her to be her true self, things that made her feel happy and reminded her of the fun times she had before Hendrix arrived to begin tearing everything apart. Just as Prince Orm was readying to become king another member of the nobility had joined them. Y/N had never met him before but that didn't surprise her. Her mother didn't let her come to events where someone might ask her about her home life or her history, and she didn't seek out others in the nobility. The few times she had she had either gotten her nose or her heart broken. But Hendrix came in and he was charismatic, he knew how to make people believe him and even more, believe in him. Soon he was nearly running the show and he tasked Y/N with something so that they could protest the coronation of Prince Orm. She had to find out from her mother the route that the parade would travel that day.

"How did you know my mother was in charge of the schedule of events?" she had asked. She assumed he hated the nobility and despised Orm and what he stood for as much as she did, how could he even speak to enough of them to find out this information. He had smiled sweetly at her, and she couldn't lie, she had nearly melted at the attention. She loved when sweet, kind attention was given to her. She was going to soon realize that those who paid that kind of attention to her were just out to use her.

"We must know our enemy if we are to actually interact with them on their level," he said. "Most of you are lower city, those without noble blood, you were raised with them Y/N, I was raised with the royals. I have found that if I want to enact change I first have to understand what they are about. I spoke to several council members at the coronation announcement and was able to convince one to tell me some details. Please, just ask your mother. Once we know the route we can choose the best spot for our protest."

What an amazing liar Hendrix was. The AfA was planning a protest while Hendrix was planning an attack. What no one knew was that Hendrix himself was in line for the crown should anything happen to Orm and well, he always loved to put on a crown.

The parade had gone as it was supposed to, until they rounded the corner closest to the palace. The group was gathered, Y/N at the front with a projector, voice singing out a song of resistance, asking for equal rights for all. Hendrix was supposed to shoot off a cracker, bringing attention to the group. Then Y/N noticed that the canister was ramping up. It wasn't a cracker, it was an energy pulse. She grabbed it from him just as it shot off, barely missing Orm's head, instead hitting the back of the floater he was in, sending it spinning. She knew she had to run and just before the guards descended she and few others took off. She made it back to her room in minutes.

Now here she was, bag packed, ready to run.

She had no idea what to do once she got to the surface and was lucky that Aria had run early and had the sense to do some research before going to land. They met on the way to a small town in the state of Maine. Aria had the knowledge and Y/N had stolen enough from her mother that they were able to get fake documents and rent a duplex on the beach, rooming together for awhile before Aria found someone in town to love and marry. Y/N remained in the duplex overlooking the water. She knew that she probably would never be able to travel far from the rocky shore but she still wanted to see the ocean. She loved the sea and would forever regret what had happened.

For 10 years she settled into a life in Maine, opening a cafe, learning all she could about the surface, and continuing to try and help anyone she could. She had no idea that soon she would be forced back into the Atlantian world and would have to face the man she almost helped assassinate.

When everybody filled me up with pride I was only looking for a place to hide I am no statue or monument to raise But I try my best these days Funny how time doesn't mind who we Keep and who we bear to leave behind So into this great unknown I will wander on my own

Orm couldn't tell Arthur but he was going to miss him. He was going to miss his brother, his mother, his nephew, and especially his kingdom. He knew it wasn't his anymore, and he had been imprisoned for years, but in that time he had thought about everything he would do differently if he were able to go back, go make things right. Now though, he couldn't go back, not yet, possibly not ever. And that broke his heart.

He took some time, mostly walking up the east coast, still living in the ocean when he could, sleeping on beaches and in coves, still wanting to feel close to his home. He didn't bother much with the surface world, choosing instead to let his pity fester. He didn't want to be on the surface and as much as Arthur touted the pros of living on the land Orm didn't want to bother. It was after Orm started garnering attention on the surface news that Arthur finally had to come in and tell him he had to settle somewhere.

"I know you don't want to, you're restless, but that's making you conspicuous and since Atlantis has been revealed, people are traveling to the surface to explore. Someone is bound to recognize you if you keep making waves," Arthur said as they drove up the coast of Maine. He had said he found a place he could stay. It was near Tom's lighthouse and Atlanna had agreed that she would use part of the stipend she received for being the former queen to help fund Orm's needs. He didn't enjoy the idea but the king wasn't really giving him a choice.

"Making waves, funny," Orm grumbled. "So I am expected to live in this house? And what?"

"I don't know, read a book, watch some TV, you have a neighbor, meet them, make a friend, get laid, who cares? Just keep laying low," Arthur said, pulling up to a house that seemed split in two. There were two doors sharing a large porch, it was two stories, and to Orm's happiness at least, was boarding a rocky beach that allowed him to walk to the ocean if he wanted. "We got it furnished already, fridge is full, and I left information about places to eat and different sites you could visit." Orm got out of the truck and grabbed his bag, just a single backpack, and headed to the front door. Arthur let him know that Tom's lighthouse was only 10 miles north and he could go to them any time he needed anything and they would get Arthur. Orm waved back to the truck and watched it pull away.

He was about to enter his new home when the other door opened and a woman stepped out. He turned to look at her, not sure what he expected from this neighbor, but the look of surprise wasn't it. She recovered quickly and he decided to ignore it. He had probably made a similar face, considering his surprise at how pretty she was. He had seen pretty surface dwellers before, but not like her. Maybe she thought he was just as pleasing to look at. Arthur had said to get laid.

Y/N had covered her shock at seeing King Orm standing on her porch, apparently moving into the other side of the duplex, but she was still panicking inside. What was he doing here? What had happened that the man who's major selling point to the Atlantian people was how much he hated the surface world. She put on a smile, resolving that she would try her best to keep him from realizing that she was Atlantian and also keeping it secret what she had done, what she had been involved in.

"Hi, I'm Y/N Vila, I guess I'm your neighbor" she introduced, offering her hand. Orm smiled a little back at her, taking her hand hesitantly, sending a bit of a flutter through her. O no.

[peachesofteal]

Trick or Treat

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick/female reader 1.8k words For @glitterypirateduck's GAZFEST Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. No smut but contains suggestive themes, slice of life, dad!Kyle, light angst, fluff/comfort. Brief character appearance from another series. I didn't use a prompt for this but it is a one shot.

Trick or treating is an odd custom. 

You feel this way, because like Kyle, you didn’t grow up in a place where knocking on doors for candy was a predominant tradition. Halloween was celebrated, surely, but dressing up as little ghouls and running around, screaming ‘smell my feet’ to your neighbors was just… not a thing when you were a child. 

Times have changed though, since you were young. Customs have floated across the oceans. They have melted into new traditions, new practices that took over schools and playground chatter. 

“I wan’ ta be a ghost!” Oliver’s little face beams up at you as he clutches your hand, skipping beside your body with boundless energy, crisp brown leaves crunching beneath his heels. 

“A ghost?!” you gasp, fake fear making him shriek with giggles. “That’s too scary!”

“Naw it’s not!” it’s a playful protest, and you when you turn the corner, he forgets all about the allure of trick or treating for something infinitely better. 

The sight of his dad standing on the sidewalk in front of the house. His dad, who he hasn’t seen in nearly three weeks, waiting for him. For you. 

He takes off into a sprint.

He’s only four, but fast, and you stay on his heels as he flings himself into the arms of his father. 

“DADDY!”

“Don’t you look the part.” Kyle murmurs, heat creeping up your neck into your cheeks when his hands graze your waist. He ducks under the brim of the black, pointed witch hat you managed to find last minute, and presses his lips against yours. You savor him, soaking in everything, the smell of his skin, the remnant flavor of sweetened peppermint on his tongue, the heat of his body pressed to yours. 

Everything you’ve been missing. 

Everything you’ve ever needed. 

“Do you like it?” you croon, and his hands lift the edge of your shirt, just enough so that his palm lays flat against you, kneading against your hip. 

“It’s… bewitching?” He tries the word before the crack of a smile forms, a breathy chuckle, amusement at himself blooming across his face. 

He stuns you. Still. Even after five years. Even after being married, having his child, being separated across continents for too many too long stretches of time. 

“I think-“ you’re about to tell him that you’re thinking about after trick or treating, when Oli will be asleep, when the house will be quiet and dark, all of the candy given away, the candles blown out. When his body will be flush with yours in bed, and you’ll push and pull one another into a daze of pleasure. 

He’s been home for a week, but the longing, the wanting never stops. It only builds, desperate to drink up as much of him as possible, eager to hang on to everything he gives you before he goes again. 

“I’m ready!” Oliver’s shout interrupts you, chiming over some camp Halloween music crackling in the background, finally ready for his grand entrance even though you got him ready over a half hour ago, and Kyle huffs a laugh into your neck before you both pivot to where your son stands on top of the stairs, clad in his very fancy, brand new Buzz Lightyear costume. 

“What's this?” A perfectly packaged Buzz Lightyear costume sits on the kitchen table, and Kyle rubs the back of his neck. 

“He ah- didn’t want to be a ghost anymore.” 

“What?” The dog barks from the backyard, pulling a glance from you to where Oliver plays with her, where they chase each other around in circles in the dusk lit grass.  

“And I couldn’t tell him no…” Your husband tries to explain sheepishly, and you bite your lip to keep from laughing. 

“Yeah, you’re not really good at that.” His hand envelopes yours, lips pressing to your knuckles. “That’s alright though.” You know he feels guilty. He feels the weight of his absence, feels the pain every time he comes, or goes. 

You try to hold it for him. The sadness. The remorse. The struggle. Try to put the flames out, when they grow too high, when it’s too much for him to bear. After all, Oliver was a decision the two of you made, together.

Sometimes you succeed in lessening this weight that he carries.

Sometimes you do not. 

“Okay, hold still!” you hurry backwards, lining them up in the frame on the front step, flanked by the poorly carved jack o lanterns, the jagged teeth and uneven eyes glinting at you from where the LED lights flicker inside their hollowed-out guts. 

Oliver grins, looking between you and his dad, who crouches beside him, holding him close in an embrace. They have their arms around one another, and they're so happy, so sweet, that you have you hurry up and blink your tears away before Kyle’s super senses catch on. 

You click a million frames of the same photo, just in case, selecting the second one to send off in a group message. 

>Buzz and his favorite Sergeant go trick or treating!  >Soap: I thought I was his favorite Sergeant?  >Price: Enjoy, make sure you get some of the good candy for yourselves!  >You: Of course, and we will! Soap, send pics of Bee in her costume and the fam!  

The response comes fast, a picture, a selfie in an elevator. Soap’s got a half full pillowcase in one hand, and the phone in his other, their partner standing behind him, her fingers folded over his waist, face beaming and bright as she smiles up at the camera. Ghost looms next to her with a little girl curled up against his chest in a homemade bumblebee costume. 

Kyle barks out a laugh, and types out a quick reply. 

>Kyle: Who made that costume? I know it wasn’t you, Soap. >Ghost: It definitely wasn’t. 

“Muuum!” It’s an impatient whine, and you slide your phone away, handing him his plastic pumpkin. 

“Alright, rules.” Kyle begins, the tone of his voice serious enough to jog Oli’s attention immediately. “Stay with us at times. No running too far ahead. Mum or I should be able to see you, yeah?” Oli nods agreeably. “No crossing the street without a grown up. And say thank you at the door.” 

“But wot if they give me apples?” 

“Say smell my feet.” Kyle deadpans and Oliver’s eyes go wide, while you smack your husband’s bicep lightly. 

“No! You still say thank you. Buzz Lightyear likes apples, you know.” Oli deflates a bit, and Kyle laughs, pulling him in for a hug. The little boy melts, still content to just be cuddled and held by his dad, even though he tells everyone he’s a ‘big boy now’. You try to memorize the sight, something to think back on in a few weeks when your bed is empty again, and there’s one less setting at the dinner table. 

“What are we waiting for?” Kyle pats Oliver on the back, and then the three of you take off down the street under the orange glow of All Hallows Eve. 

“He’s cleaning up well.” Kyle muses. Oliver runs down the sidewalk, pointing at his orange globe with pure excitement. 

“Mmmm.” You hum your agreement, pulling your jacket a little tighter. It’s gotten cooler since the sun went down, and the crisp fall air nips at your skin.  “Cold, love?” A warm arm goes around your shoulders and then tucks you in tight, close enough that your face can nestle into his clavicle. “I’ll warm you up later.” He murmurs and you roll your eyes. 

“You’re so cheeky sometimes, you know that?” 

“I do.” He’s solemn when he says it, but his eyes twinkle, mischievous streak simmering just beneath the surface of his enchanting gaze. 

“No question where he gets it from.” Kyle’s fingers touch your temple and then swipe down, glancing across your cheekbone before he’s cupping your face fully, tilting your mouth up to his for a dizzying kiss. 

“You’re not so well behaved yourself.” He chides between the slide of your lips, and you smirk into it, nipping at him when he deepens the kiss. Your heart glows in your chest, warm, happy, sated, and you melt into him, content to be swallowed in the bliss of his touch, his love- 

Oliver screams. 

Everything happens at once. 

Oliver screams, and you both recognize it immediately. You gasp, moving to turn away but you’re too slow, far too slow compared to Kyle. You feel the strength of his body, his muscles turned to action in your grip, and then nothing, save for his absence. 

He’s already gone. 

He’s already over the fence, and up the little yard of the house where you son stands with tears streaming down his cheeks. 

There’s a bowl of candy on chair next to him, and as you get closer, you notice that it has one of those animatron hands in it, the ones that snap forward and grab someone unsuspecting when they reach for a treat. 

Oh. Your body sags with relief. Your heart slows to a slightly elevated pace. 

“You’re alright, shhh. I’m here. Dad’s here.” Kyle has Oliver in a hug, and he rocks him side to side, rubbing his back and whispering soothingly. “Just had a scare, is all.” Your son’s crying relaxes, and he sniffles, keeping his face pressed into Kyle’s chest, hands clutching at him. When Kyle moves to stand, he lets out a frightened cry, and your husband is quick to comfort him, shushing in his ear as he holds him tight. “I’m right here.” He coos, rising with the boy in his arms, looking at you over his head. 

“I think that’s enough for tonight then.” You whisper, leaning forward to peer at Oliver’s sleepy and tearful face. It’s late, well past his bedtime, and he’s already hit every house on the block, filling his little jack o lantern to brim. “Let’s go home?” Kyle nods his agreement. 

Your fingers intertwine with his during the walk home. He holds you, and his son, the entire way, until the front door is swinging open and the two of you are lowering Oliver into bed, tucking him in carefully and kissing him goodnight. Kyle strokes a gentle touch across his cheek, and you volunteer to do the clean-up downstairs so he can linger there, sitting by his son’s bed, watching over his sleeping form. 

When you’re done, and the lights have been turned off, the jack o lanterns no longer flickering in the night, the street nearly quiet, Kyle pulls you into your bedroom.

“Want to leave the hat on?” He raises a brow, and you smother a giggle before pulling the pointy hat off your head with a flourish.

“Trick or treat?” He steals the question from your lips with his, pulling you downwards, burying you between his body and the sheets. 

“I love you.” He whispers against you in the dark, mouth tracing a map across your skin. “Happy Halloween, my love.”