#rattle snakes do this with their babies!

[scoriarose]

Laminated.

Where's my sister?! Also it's food day. Feed me.

Sakura has mastered the art of subtlety.

I've also mastered the art of eating things without chewing while I do my impression of a conveyor belt. So please grant my wishes and give me da fishes!

[sutherlins]

↳ GOD LIGHT SHININ’ THROUGH THE IN-BETWEEN by @ambeauty [Complete - 9K | Rated E]

Sometimes between tickets she’d peek out the window to watch his face as he ate. He was so reactive. His eyes would close. He’d shake his head a little bit. He’d tap a pen on a napkin and draw something. She was extremely intrigued and observant. Not every day did a stranger with freakishly blue eyes walk into her restaurant and start over analyzing her food and befriending her staff. And now they had a date. At least that’s what she assumed it was. But maybe she shouldn’t get ahead of herself? But she was Sydney Adamu and that’s just what the fuck she did.

sutherlins fic appreciation week (please show the fics love, kudos, and comments on ao3!)

This fic is so wonderful. It's sweet and tender and has grief and love and connection all wrapped up in one. Their backstories in this kiss canon but go their own way so beautifully, and the chemistry between them is wonderful. The setting is so immersive you'll want a fan to cool yourself down with that summer humidity that's suddenly in the air... I commented this under the fic when I first read it ''I need an industrial, and we are talking fire truck hooked up to a hydrant level hose to hose me down I'm so hot and bothered.'' and I think that about sums up my thoughts.

Please go read if you haven't already, and show some love over on ao3! (ps. I'm doing 7 this month and intend to make this a monthly thing!)

[lymtw]

Wet Dreams

Thinking of Toji being pulled out of sleep because he hears you whimpering beside him in your sleep. Once he wakes up, he can't get back to resting until he figures out what's going on with you. Maybe you're having a bad dream. After all, you are clutching your pillow pretty tight...

He puts a hand on your shoulder, ready to shake you. That is until you let out a moan. There's a visible 'huh' on his face as he keeps watching you to make sure he didn't mishear. His heart drops to his stomach when you sigh, your hips languidly rolling against the blanket that is bundled between your legs. Now he knows for sure that he didn't mishear you.

He chuckles quietly, his hand going up to caress your face. "Doll," he whispers, gently brushing wisps of hair away from your face. You don't respond. You stopped moving, and presumably went back to sleep. The problem is, Toji's awake now. Yes, he loves you and would guard you for years while you slumber, but right now you got him all bricked up. He can't sleep like this, but also, what's more embarrassing than getting himself off when the prettiest princess is right next to him.

"Baby," he coos, scooting closer to you. He pushes the blanket out of the way so that he can put one of your legs over his hip.

"You okay, Toji?" You mumble, slowly opening your eyes.

"Course, doll, but you're dreaming pretty loudly." He grins, throwing an arm over your waist. "Wanna talk about it?"

"What are you talking about?" You groan, still sleepy.

"Did you cum?"

Your heart stops at the question, and though your body is still in its sleepy daze, Toji could feel the tension surface.

"Could hear you moaning and whimpering like someone was giving it to you good. Was it me?"

"Toji...," you whine. "Who else would it be? Can we go back to sleep, now?"

"Hold on. Just wanna know if you finished. You know I wouldn't leave you hanging." His hands snake under your shirt.

"I did...n't. But i'm more tired than horny, Toji. Don't worry about it."

"You won't have to do a thing. All you have to do... is lay there... and look pretty for me." His lips ghost yours as his fingers snap the strap of your bra against your skin. "How's that sound, hm? Want me to ease you back into sleep?"

You can see the trace of a grin on his face. His eyes look so dark, and this rattles something deep in your core.

"Fine. Just... not too rough, please."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, trying to hold back the full wolfy grin on his face. He makes haste of taking his clothes off and when he sees you trying to do the same, he takes over and pulls your shorts and underwear off. He's above you in an instant, wedging his hips between your legs, allowing his tip to nudge through your slick folds. "Dream me really did a number on you, huh? You're so wet."

"He was a freak." You giggle, watching Toji adjust himself.

"Not freakier than me, right?" He asks, kissing up your stomach until he reaches your chest.

"He's definitely competition for you, but you're number one, baby."

Toji gives you a deadpan expression, luring a laugh from you. "So damn lucky you asked me to go easy on you." He looks at that tired smile on your face, instantly remembering his mission. "Gonna put it in, 'kay ma?"

"Okay," you murmur, reaching your hands up to caress his face.

You both go quiet for a second as he brings his cock towards your entrance. Even the gentlest of Toji's movements are hard to take sometimes, but you've always been praised by him for handling those movements so well every time. You try to mute the gasp that comes with Toji stretching you, but your discomfort is not something you can easily hide from him.

"S'all good, princess," he mumbles into your neck. He can feel you trembling as he pushes in further. "Always so good for me. You can take it, huh?"

You squeak out a little 'fuck' and are instantly soothed by Toji. "I know, I know, my pretty girl. Don't cry." He looks into your twinkling eyes and kisses away the crystals gliding down your face. You're somewhat distracted by the affectionate butterfly kisses Toji scatters on your face. He uses this as a chance to sheathe the rest of himself inside you. Another inch stuffed into you, another kiss to your lips. He can see the light way your nose scrunches, instantly catching you with a coo of "that's it, mama. That's all of it."

You shudder, sighing as you push your head back into the pillow. "Fuck. Your dick is cursed, baby."

"You love it, anyway, little masochist." He smirks.

"What's a good fuck without some pain?" You can see the way his face lights up, almost like he considered that a green light to fuck you like an animal. "Ah, no," you intervene so quickly. "You're easing me back to sleep."

"Right." He stifles a laugh. "Let's get on that then."

It doesn't usually go this way with Toji. He likes to show off his strength against you, be it breaking your back when you arch over the crushing orgasms he gives you or holding you down when you try to squirm away from his overstimulating touch.

Somehow you got him to slow down for you this time, and the prize is you getting to mumble sweet nothings to him. His reward is that he gets to stay in gentle control. You tell him you love him and he responds with a little "mhm". You tell him you wouldn't go anywhere without telling him first but he doesn't read into the code in your message, so he smiles and says "you'd get lost, and I'd have to find you." You tell him you're glad you get to sleep next to him and he chuckles in your ear, responding with a non-threating "dick's got you all emotional, baby?"

You laugh it off, not taking it to heart. "Just love being close like this with you is all."

It goes quiet for a minute, only your little breaths and Toji's pants filling the silence. Toji can hear your heartbeat as he rocks both of you. Your heels dig into his lower back, your nails dragging across his shoulder blades. "Fuck, princess. I'll bust if you keep scratchin' me up like that." His lips ghost the column of your neck before latching on and working a mark into your skin. Your thighs squeeze against his waist as he grazes your sweet spot repeatedly.

Toji knows you well enough to know that that's a tell-tale sign that you're about to cum, so he makes his touch overwhelming. His hands run up your body until he reaches your chest, where he teases your nipples until your stomach starts quivering and you start breathing shakily. He massages your hips with his thumbs, while pressing kisses to your jaw with little murmurs of, "show me how good you feel" and "come on, baby."

"Fuck, princess..." he groans, almost reaching his own peak. "I wanna hear you. None of that covering your mouth or biting your tongue shit."

You folded so quickly after that, gasping like the air was sucked out of your lungs. "G-Go- Oh god! Fuck, Toji... I-"

"Mhm... fuck yeah, baby. T-That's good, so fuckin' good," he groans, rutting into you as he spews out his load. You put your hands up to his chest, pushing weakly as the overstimulation starts kicking in. He pants, trying to catch his breath as he slows to a halt. "So good for me, mama," he mumbles into your neck, his cock still buried in your soaked cunt. "No one deserves you." He presses a few more kisses onto your shoulder before getting off of you. Your eyes shut for seconds at a time every time you blink, meaning you could knock out any moment now. Any other day, the sight of cum drooling out of your pussy would incite another round, but Toji said he would fuck you to sleep, and he kept his word. The session concluded and now he gets to clean you up while you rest.

[shotmrmiller]

Uninvited, Unexpected.

a/n: it's nice until the very end. it hints at baby trapping. one solid sentence that's kinda degrading (i couldn't help myself ok) this was in the works for so long, i did so much research just to use words. english is hard. and ignore the plot holes, for my sake. my sanity.

this is SMUT. 18+mdni please (if im missing anything else, lmk)

ty to my wonderful beta readers @waves-against-a-cliff & @xoxunhinged

wc: 3,1K

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader

my contribution to the @glitterypirateduck ghost challenge. idc if i wrote it much earlier lol.

You're awoken by a loud noise. At first, you think you dreamt it. Exploding head syndrome, maybe. You strain your hearing but it's quiet, save for the occasional creak of the house settling, its old bones creaking in the dead of night. Rain gently patters against the windows, blurring the world outside.

A flash of sudden light illuminates the bedroom, casting elongated shadows across the floor, followed by a loud crack that rattles the glass. Thunder. You should've guessed.

The frantic beating of your heart slows to a gentle roll, and your eyes leaden with sleep. The soft pillows beckon, the warm blankets cradle you as you sink back onto the mattress.

Only for you to be snapped back into reality, drowsiness dissipating like a morning mist.

Someone's knocking on your door.

Your heart is in your throat as you quickly peel off the blankets, the chill of the floorboards underneath your bare feet seeping into your bones.

In the bookshelf sits the gun Simon had given you before he had moved out, the rumble of his voice a ghost in your ear. "For protection," he'd murmured, placing the cold metal onto your open palms. "Jus' in case."

Your trembling fingers fumble as you search for it in the dark, flinching as a couple of books spill from the shelf onto the floor, pages rustling in your urgency.

The knocking persists.

The metal of the grip is unyielding in your clammy hands. You've never tested it before, never had the displeasure. As you hold it close to your chest with a quivering breath, you hope tonight won't change that.

Simon's instructions echo in your mind as you approach the front door. "Thumb the safety. Hold the grip with both hands. Do not, under any circumstance, put your finger on the trigger unless you're plannin' on sendin' hate. Clear?"

Your throat tightens, a phantom snake coiling around the narrow passage, and panic grips your heart as you reach for the blinds, slowly hooking two fingers and carefully pulling down to look at who is—

Simon.

Simon?

Sweat-slick fingers flip the light switch before quickly undoing the locks, the hinges groaning in protest as the door opens.

"What the hell?"

It's Simon, disheveled— maskless— swaying on his feet. His eyes are half-closed and unfocused. Johnny's holding him up by the arm, struggling to keep him upright.

"S'ry, bonnie. We wen' out fer a few 'nd clearly, he's out 'is face. Quite crabbit, too. He said ye'd let 'em sleep 'ere," he slurs.

Simon's not the only one who's pissed. With a resigned sigh, you gesture at the couch with your free hand. "There, I guess."

That he thought of you even in his drunken haze tugs at your fragile heartstrings.

Johnny guides him to the catch, a quiet C'mon LT to spur him forward. Heavy boots thud against the floor as they stumble toward the living room while you carefully place the gun on the kitchen countertop before reaching for a water bottle in the pantry. Johnny snickers under his breath as Simon collapses onto the sofa, the springs protesting his weight.

Two bottles, then.

You watch Simon's head loll as you hand Johnny the water. "Tell me you aren't the one driving, Johnny," you grumble.

He takes it with a quiet thanks. "Naw. Cap'n's stone cold sober."

Small mercies.

Johnny gives Simon a rough slap to the side of his leg as he bids him goodbye, pulling you in for an embrace tight enough that your spine pops before walking out the door.

You let out another sigh as the lock clicked back into place. The tangy, sour scent of stale alcohol mixed with stings at your nose, as does the invasive smell of smoke.

His boots are mud-caked, and you'll be damned if he stains your nice furniture with his mess. "Shoes off." He groans but complies. The laces come undone quickly, and you tug his shoes off with a grunt. "Simon."

His glassy eyes meet yours. "Drink your water." The burning need to chuck it at his head is one you have to vehemently smother into embers. Moron. Only Simon would have the gall to show up unannounced months after the separation. And drunk.

You push the bottle into his chest roughly and make to go back to bed when he encircles his hand around your wrist and the world spins on its axis, suddenly finding yourself beneath him with his face nestled in the crook of your neck.

Simon's breath is hot against your skin, the weight of his body pinning you down so achingly familiar. It stirs up past memories that would have you pressing your thighs together if he wasn't right there, using his broad waist to spread them apart.

"Missed ya, love." A confession. "S'much."

The breath you draw is jagged, his slow-spoken words hanging in the air. You want to push him away, scream at him for stumbling in and disrupting your night, your rest, your carefully crafted peace. But there's a part of you that can't help but soften at the tenderness in his tone.

"Simon," you whisper. "You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying—" his lips find your fluttering pulse. You find purchase in his shirt, shaky fingers grasping at the hem.

"'M drunk, no' no liar." Your resolve wavers. No, he never had been. Honesty hadn't been the reason for the split. It wasn't the truth he'd spoken but the truths he'd kept to himself. A fortress around his heart, the bridge to its gates raised. Unwilling to share a burden, share a life.

His warm tongue licks a hot stripe up your neck reaching the lobe of your ear where his blunt teeth sink into it. A choked gasp spills from your mouth, spine arching in reflex— your treacherous body remembering his touch, yearning for it.

"Simon—" your words get caught in your throat; snag like fishhooks when he undulates his hips, arousal creeping along your veins like ivy.

"Don't ya miss me, pet?" You've asked him to not call you that because it never fails to stoke the fire in your belly, to sodden your knickers. Before you can chide him on his choice of words, he shifts. One arm, an inked column under the soft light of the living room, holds him up just enough to bring his rugged face into focus. His eyes, like a stormy night's sky, swirl with untamed desire.

You know it's dangerous to play with fire. Touch it and burn, ache, blister. But the passion of this old flame beckons like a siren with sharp teeth. Each drag of his prominent erection against your core only succeeds in pulling you away from the shore of clarity. It's disorienting, insistent.

Relentless.

"My pretty little love," he mumbles. Simon's gaze drags from your glassy eyes to the delicate contours of your collarbone. His fingers trace lines of intimacy onto the swell of your breasts before using the pad of his thumb to swirl the stiffened peak of your nipple. "Say the word 'nd it all stops."

The scent of alcohol clings to him, a bitter reminder of the loss of inhibitions it brings as it warms one's chest. Blurred lines he might not mind, but you do. Lost boundaries. Rejection sits on the tip of your tongue, on the edge of your teeth when he says something that frays the last threads of your resolve.

It comes undone.

"Please. Jus' tonigh'. All I need." His words sound like footsteps in winter mire, slushed, syllables blending together.

You'll just have to kick him out on his arse in the morning.

"Okay," you breathe. Just one night, you tell yourself. He's always been good to you in the bedroom. One last hurrah wouldn't hurt. Maybe it'll allow you to finally close this painful chapter in your life and start anew, with pristine white pages and fresh ink.

Your hands, trembling with nerves and anticipation, cradle his face. The roughness of his stubble in contrast with the softness of your palms is grounding, keeping you from being pulled under your own swirling emotions.

" 'M righ' 'ere, love. You're safe with me, always." He whispers the last words reverently, a vow. Simon's breath mingles with yours as he leans in for a kiss.

The world around you fades, your senses tunneled on the feel of his lips, the taste of him— mildly sweet with a hint of peppermint. He slants his head to deepen the kiss, and the bruising ache in your heart is replaced by another, one that burns brightly and threatens to sweep you away.

The lulling sound of the pouring rain outside is drowned out by the beating of your racing heart.

The bed creaks when Simon perches you on the edge of it, quietly ordering you to take your top off.

"What about my bottoms?" You bite down on the gummy inside of your cheek when he pins you in place with a look— a predator eyeing its prey.

"Those are mine." Resounding. Final. A gavel in a courtroom.

You fling your shirt off, tossing it into some forgotten corner in the room, and cheekily watch Simon undress. It's not methodical like it used to be. No longer a means to an end. Experienced fingers undo the buckle of his belt before he takes it off, the leather material snapping in the air, slicing through the silence.

A quip tumbles out of your mouth faster than you can stop it. "Gonna spank me with that?"

The air around you thickens— or thins, you can't be sure— when his eyes flash to you. He kicks off his jeans, one foot after the other, wobbling as he does. "Tha' wha' you want?" The words he didn't say ring out loud and clear.

Don't rattle the cage, sweetheart. This dog isn't muzzled.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from saying anything else, something that he might take you up on, instead focusing on the way his heavy cock hangs in between legs (dangling with each step forward—)

"M'eyes are up 'ere." Your nose scrunches at his joke. Cute.

He lowers himself onto his knees, your legs cradling his face as it hovers over your sex, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your heated skin.

The sleeping shorts you're wearing are ratty and worn. They're thin too, practically translucent from constant use. Which means that he can see that you're not wearing any undergarments underneath.

"Hope you know I can—" Heat licks up the sides of your jaw, pooling in your cheeks as you cut him off with a snappy remark.

"Yes. I know."

The tip of his pointed tongue drags along the seam of your shorts, right along your slit. Your breath hitches, and you clench your jaw to keep from making a sound. Your back bows involuntarily, the feeling startling, intense.

"Can see tha' clear as day, as if lookin' through a windowpane, pet," he taunts. The words that are forming, almost ready to spill out, freeze in place when his mouth comes in direct contact with your slippery cunt. He licks once, twice, through your folds, slightly dipping into your slick entrance, only pulling away to nuzzle your pearl with his misaligned nose.

"Sweet as a peach, jus' like I remember," he purrs, the timbre of his voice buzzing against your puffy lips. "Missed this." A mewl slithers past your grit teeth when he gently sinks one thick finger into you, curling and twisting. Arousal drips onto his knuckle, tracing a hot path down to his wrist. He coos at you when he adds another digit, hissing at the sharp but brief pinprick of the stretch.

"Bloody fuckin' tight." Simon rises off the floor, the quiet sound of his knees popping swallowed up by your harsh pants. "Gotta let me in, love. Relax."

He keeps the thrusts shallow, his fingers dragging deliciously along your nerve endings. The sting soon fades, giving way to a gentle warmth that unfurls inside of you, letting Simon reach deeper until—

Your muscles stiffen, tight like a spring when he brushes over the rough patch of skin that has bursts of light appearing across your eyelids.

"Look at ya. Droolin' like a mutt with my fingers stuffed up your pretty cunt."

There's a pressure in your lower belly that's steadily building with each sloppy thrust of his hand, pulling squelching noises from your sodden pussy. He finally, finally, latches onto your neglected clit, lightly sucking on it in tandem with his fingers.

Your chin drops to your chest as everything nears a breaking point. The pressure inside you has your body wound tight. The fibers of your muscles contract, almost painfully, preparing for the release of what's to come, what can't be ignored.

The swirling of his golden tongue pushes against the boundaries of your endurance, pushes you to the precipice, where you finally hit the point of no return. You can feel something about to give, ecstasy trickling through the cracks in your foundation, uncontrollable, raw. Your fingers thread through Simon's hair, curling tightly, pulling it taut when you feel something about to give—oh fuck—

Snap.

The structure that holds everything in place collapses.

A sudden release of pent-up energy and emotion erupts like a dam bursting, a cleansing flood that washes away the grime of old wounds, of bitterness, leaving the edges softened so they can heal; knit closed and scar over. Closure. It touches every part of you, filling you with a sense of liberation.

Your heart beats freely, it throbs with life as a wave of relief washes over you, soothing, a balm over scraped flesh, a rush of cool air into starved lungs.

A lightness that comes after being weighed down with burdens for so long.

Simon's hands encircle your arms firmly— fingers digging into the meat of your biceps— and effortlessly maneuvers you toward the center of the bed as if your lethargic form were a feather caught in a breeze; weightless, insignificant.

Gentle but unyielding.

There's a ringing in your ears that muffles his voice, blurring the edges of his words, an unintelligible hum, as if you were underwater. The sensation leaves you feeling adrift in a tranquil sea, cradled in its silken embrace. The only anchor you have to the muzzy reality is his warm touch.

"'M sorry, sweetheart. I can't," he apologizes, hooking your right leg over his shoulder. You let out a sibilant hiss as he leans forward, pushing your knee to your chest, the corded muscle of your hamstring pulling to its limit. "Can't wait anymore, 'm sorry."

Simon gives you a sloppy kiss as his heaving length prods at your swollen entrance, the tip breaching your pussy with a warm burn that starts from under your navel and only flares, radiating from your core outward. It's searing, the initial bite of the stretch disrupts the haze in your muddled mind, bringing the world around you into cutting clarity.

A guttural noise claws up his throat as Simon sheathes himself halfway, his growled words not the salve he was hoping for. It only grates at already raw nerves, abrasive.

"Jus' a little more, you can take it." He winds a hand downward to draw messy circles on your slippery clit, to stifle the roaring fire in your stomach, your chest. "You already have."

His jerky touch does its job, transforming the sharp burn of him wrenching your walls apart fiber by fiber into a quiet glow; smoldering heat now simmering. You soften, mellow and pliant, accept him into your body as he sinks to the hilt with a quiet groan.

"There's my girl. Takin' all of it like you were made f'me." Simon's words of praise tangle around your spine, electric, prickling. Your heart gallops like a herd of horses, wild and free. "Liked tha' did you? Jus' about strangled my cock with your tight cunt."

He rolls his hips once, twice, searching for signs of discomfort, but when only warm pleasure laps at your heels, when the barest of moans spill from your open lips, Simon begins to put his weight behind his thrusts.

Through half-lidded eyes, you see a raw, primal hunger reflected in his eyes— his soul, the one he'd claimed to have lost long ago, back with his reason, his sanity.

Yet he looks down at you as if you were his only salvation. A lifeline he grabs onto with an unyielding grip, his only tether to hope, purpose. A lighthouse shining in a raging storm, a beacon calling him home.

Simon presses a large hand onto your lower stomach, his work-worn palm pushing until you wince, brows furrowing at the fleeting whisper of pain.

"Can feel myself right here," he sluggishly mumbles, drunk of the feel of your cunt, the taste of your skin on his tongue— sweet like ripened figs. The sensory overload has him sinking his fingers into your flesh until it dimples.

He murmurs something under his taxed breath, something akin to mine, only mine as his lips leave a slick trail of saliva on the dip of your collarbone, the gentle curve of your shoulder, the thin, soft skin of your bicep up to your inner wrist, where he laps at your pulse.

As if savoring the present. The precious gift he's unwrapped, here and now. The last taste of you, which he hopes with a reverence that borders on prayer, lingers on his tongue long after the fruit— the sweet evidence of this one last intimacy— falls from the bough.

Simon comes with his teeth in the crook of your neck, biting down with a crushing pressure that has an acute pain digging its spurs into your consciousness, cutting the blazing euphoria of your own release short.

His cock is still twitching as he fills you with his spend when he takes his thumb and collects some of your slick to take you over the edge one last time.

"F'me. You can take it, yeah? I'll go slow, I promise."

Simon presses a kiss on your sweaty temple, his large hand cupping your jaw as he lazily watches you succumb to sleep, your breath evening out.

He reaches for your arm again, feeling for the birth control implant you'd had there when the both of you were still together.

Gone.

Sweet girl. You'd let him in without a fight. (He makes a mental note to wash the beer off of his clothes tomorrow.)

He knows your cycle better than the lines that are etched onto his palm. Better than the voice of the captain who rumbles in his earpiece, ordering him to go for the throat.

From the moment you'd stepped into his life with eternity in your eyes and the warmth of the sun on your lips, you were his. And he'll do anything to remain in your orbit.

(left unable to distinguish prison from paradise when each poison-coated kiss softens the world he'll build for you and for what's to come.)

[kissitbttr]

a very tired miguel who gets home from work and gets babied by his woman

-

It's close to 9pm as you're lying on your bed. keeping your focus on the book you're reading, one that you failed to keep as a part of your routine due to your busy schedule with work. being a fashion designer has it's perks but it also has its dark sides too. especially when it comes to dealing with snobby ass clients

as you are about to flip to another page, you hear the front door opened. keys rattling against the ceramic bowl with a loud sigh follows after. a soft smile appears on your face soon as you realize who it is

“miguel? Is that you?” you softly call out your husband’s name while putting the book down.

"si, mi amor" he appears shortly by the doorway. your tall and handsome fiancee adorned in an unbuttoned white shirt that showcase a bit of his chest and paired with black trousers. a simple work attire but never fail to make your knees wobble. the sight could put any Greek Gods known to a man to shame.

your heart breaks a little seeing how tired he looks. his eye-bags are coming off too strong. a constant reminder on how he has been working himself far too hard despite you telling him to take it easy. but that's just how he is, stubborn.

"how's work my love?" you ask, watching him undress himself, revealing his exposed toned chest before putting the clothes away with the rest of his dirty ones in the bathroom. "I take it, it wasn't a good day?"

"you could say that" he replies tiredly, grabbing a pair of sweatpants off the chair and slipping it on. "trying to get ahold with the new recruits is a fucking job, Peter's been getting on my nerves and I'm working on advancing the technology we have right now in order for it to be easier to identify every single anomaly's DNA we've come across to. But the amount of hypotheses and research I've done are nowhere near close to how I want them to be."

"i would ask Tony Stark for help but que cabron esta muerto" he breathes out a sigh, pinching the thick skin between his brows. "I'm drained, mi amor... i can't fucking do this shit everytime--"

"no hey.. stop" you shake your head, hate having to see your man fronting a distressed look in his face. “come here, Miggy” you pout at him patting your chest for him to lay his head,

he sighs heavily. plopping into the bed and carefully lays himself on top of you. pounding head finding comfort in the warmth of your chest, snaking his big arms around your waist.

you put your arms around him, locking him tightly as your soft lips kiss his forehead making him purr.

“my pretty baby. exhausted aren't you? hm?” you ask in a cooing tone. he hums -- which sounded like a growl to you-- with a nod before nuzzling himself closer. “oh my poor poor baby... my handsome man. always working himself to the bone” another kiss on the forehead

“come up a little closer, hm?” you ask as he barely shifts his body. too lazy and far too comfortable in your arms like this for him to move.

you run your fingers through his soft hair, moving a piece that’s covering his forehead. looking down to see him close his eyes, yet not sleeping.

it’s so funny to see how this freakishly large- broad man who always seems to bring a cold presence that scares everyone off at work—which is technically true— then turns into a huge softie and a love puddle for you in a split seconds.

it’s truly a privilege that you’re the only one who gets to see and feel this

“look how cute you are, baby… do you know how cute you are, hm?” you coo at him, lips kissing his nose and the sharpness of his cheekbone. trying your best to console him in hopes of washing his stress away.

he lightly shakes his head. “no” a curt reply rolls of his mouth, drawing your body closer to him if that's even possible.

you pretend to gasp dramatically at his answer. fingers still stroking his hair lightly. “you don’t?! oh no! we have to fix that! you’re the cutest *kiss* most handsome *kiss* hardworking *kiss* man I’ve ever known” showering him with compliments in between kisses. he breathes out a small chuckle that muffles against your chest.

it’s obvious that miguel rarely gets treatments like this, he’s no one to shy from things but you're his only exception. the only person who truly can get him blush like a little kid when he's shown the slightest bit of affection.

“who’s baby are you hm? are you my baby?” a smile graces your lips as your eyes casting down to his pretty features.

“me. I’m your baby” he mumbles, tightening his grip around you. "always be your baby"

-

inspired by @webslingingslasher their frat!peter work yall is making me [REDACTED] please go take a look!!

[nereidprinc3ss]

Ok but I think you hit on something in “in the dead of night” about how Spencer leans into his mammalian instincts. Imagine him angry and tense after a rough day and needing that and then talking you through the motions of it and why it makes him feel better because of the science and chemicals behind it all

i absolutely love this!! thank you for requesting:)

also experimenting with a new short and sweet format for blurbs/request! feedback is always appreciated<3

wc 800

warnings: fem!reader, very suggestive, d/s dynamics

“I don’t—Spencer—”

Something in your mouth keeps you from finishing the sentence. Namely: your boyfriend’s tongue. You gasp into him as he tugs your jacket off, arching your back against the wall he’s pressed you to so that the fabric can hit the ground with a thick thud.

“Spence, please,” you manage, barely, as his hand cups your jaw and his thumb presses under your chin, encouraging you to angle your head up and make room for his lips. It’s not that you don’t want this—you told him he could be rough with you and you meant it—but you’re slightly overwhelmed by this uncharacteristic display of nearing aggressive passion.

“What, baby?” he breathes, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck while his hands snake under your shirt. Focused on the feeling of his hand pressed against your waist, you allow your eyes to flutter shut.

“You’re acting… different.”

A pause—his head drops against your shoulder as he reigns himself in.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No—you don’t need to stop, I just… it might make me feel better if I knew what this was about.”

He sucks in a breath.

“You want to hear about my day?”

The way his fingers trail downward over your skin is so gentle it feels almost dangerous.

“… Yeah.” But you don’t at all sound sure of yourself. A hum from him seems to rattle your skull as he drags his lips up your neck and over your jaw, kissing you with a softness that is almost certainly deceptive.

“You know what, angel? I don’t actually really feel like talking about that right now. Does that tell you—” he bites your lip, and it doesn’t really hurt, but you whine anyway, “what kind of day I had?”

No words are forming for you anymore, so you make do with an airy “mhm.”

The first button at the bottom of your shirt is undone before you even realize he was unbuttoning it.

“Have you ever heard of the ventrolateral ventromedial hypothalamus?” Spencer murmurs, undoing the buttons on your shirt with a practiced expertise that is hard to keep up with—especially when he keeps teasing your lips with his like this. It doesn’t even matter if you’ve heard of that or not; all the information you’ve ever retained is gone from the stores of your brain. If it doesn’t have anything to do with Spencer, it feels deeply unimportant. You shake your head no. “The hypothalamus does a lot. It regulates our appetites, our body temperatures, hormones…”

Why is this so sexy.

“It also has a lot to do with how we express our emotions. And that tiny part of the hypothalamus—the one I just mentioned—it’s where we process two really big feelings.” He undoes the last button, gently pushing your open shirt from your shoulders. “Anger.” Hands creep around your hips, blindly unzipping your skirt. “And arousal.”

Oh!

“In a disregulated brain, that can be a dangerous combination. But,” he tugs the straps of your bra down, “if you understand it, you can use it to your advantage.”

Your breath is bated as you do the work of kicking off your shoes, and he unclasps your bra.

“The human brain is fallible in so many ways. At the end of the day, we’re delicate, and vulnerable, and convoluted—but we’re also pretty simple creatures, motivated by a few basic instincts. Anger and sex are intrinsic to who we are as animals. For most of history, they’ve defined us. And they’re so closely related. Do you follow?”

Your response comes as a gasp when you realize you haven’t been breathing for a long moment now.

“Yes.” Does it matter if you understand? You just want him to touch you.

“Good.” His lowered voice gets even quieter as he continues, brushing hair behind your ear carefully. “You know I would never, ever hurt you, right?”

“I know.”

You don’t remember how all your clothes ended up on the kitchen floor, but they’re certainly not on you anymore as he presses flush against your bare skin.

“I will always take care of you and keep you safe. That being said—sometimes the best thing you can do when you’re having a really big feeling is to follow that basic animal instinct. It’s why sprinting can help when you’re having a panic attack. Your body is in fight or flight and it will relax if you follow the instinct to run.”

Spencer’s fingers slip under the waistband of your underwear.

“I’ve been having some of those really big feelings today. Do you know what’s going to make me feel better?”

You whimper. Fabric slips past your hips and falls to the ground as Spencer begins closing the small distance between your mouths—but not before uttering a word that has your heart racing.

“You.”

[igotanidea]

Haircut: Jason Todd x reader

Inspired by the post from @pop-culturereference about what Jason's fans really want from DC (link here)

***

„AH!!”

An involuntary scream left her mouth the second she came home. Jason was not used to his girlfriend being so expressive, but protective instinct kicked in as he jumped off the couch he was reading a book on and immediately rushed to her side.

“Y/N! Love, what happened?” his hands found hers, squeezing them gently, trying to ground her in reality and assure her that whatever scared her so much was no match for him.

“What happened to you?” she sobbed, not even trying to stop the tears running down her cheeks.

“Huh?” Jason frowned “Look, I know I’m not exactly model handsome, but—”

“WHO DID THIS TO YOU?!” she wailed as if someone was tearing her heart out or squeezing her lungs.

“What are you--?” he tried again, quite taken aback by the intensity of her emotions. She wasn’t ever crying this much when he came home bloodied and bruised. She never let a single muscle on her face twitch while  patching him up. But when he was okay, just chilling and for once – not getting into trouble she got into a waterfall mode. “Y/n? Look at me. Look at me!” he grabbed her chin and forced her eyes on him.

“I AM!”

“Then you can see I’m all good. It’s all good! Come on baby, whatever fear took over your brain, you have to wake up from this!”

“Your hair!” she broke into crying fit again

“My hair?” he instinctively ran his fingers through his strands. “What about them?”

“WHERE IS IT?”

Oh.

Oh, so finally they were getting to the bottom of the problem.

He cut his hair shorter than she was used to and clearly she didn’t like it.

“Look, I just thought-“

“Was it Roy? I’m sure it was Roy. I swear to God, I’m gonna kill him! How is it that I leave you guys for a few hours and you always end up causing trouble.”

“It was not—”

“Then who was it? Dick?”

“Ugh! As if I would ever let him anywhere near my head!”

“Then who helped you did this atrocity?” she pressed, taking a look at his inch-long strands.

“I did it myself.” He responded, almost sounding proud.

“You-you-yourself…?” Y/N’s eyes grew wide as she stuttered. Her bag was dropped to the ground with a concerning sound of rattling, but neither of them care about the possibility of something being crashed. They had more urgent matters at the moment. The sense of betrayal slowly started creeping inside her heart.

“It’s just hair—”

“Just hair?! Are you insane?” she snapped at him “You should have asked me what I think first!”

“But—”

“Do not argue with me, Jason! You’re my boyfriend! It is not just about what you like! You can’t just act on whims without finding out my approach to the matter!”

“It’s just hair—” once more, the poor attempt at reaching her reason failed.

“How am I supposed to run my fingers through it now? And how am I supposed to live without your mop tickling me when we cuddle?”

“Y/n…” he smiled softly, cupping her cheek, meeting her eyes

“I liked them longer… I’m sorry if that hits your insecurities, but—”

“It does make me a little unsure, not gonna lie.” He chuckled. “But only a little. Cause what I’m hearing now, is that you liked my wilder look. For example when I was taking the hood off and have my hair all ruffled? Or when I was –”

“I see what you are trying to do here, Mr. Todd and I’m not falling for it.” Y/N read right through his intentions to invoke an innuendo and tried to step back.

“Come on, baby.” Jason quickly grabbed her waist, circling arms around her like two snakes, preventing her from backing out. “Admit it. You liked the bad boy image I had. It turned you on, didn’t it?”

“Well it doesn’t anymore—“

“Guess that only means, I’ll have to try twice as hard… Cause too bad for you, sunshine, my hair is gonna stay like that for a while. So you have to like it. “

“Oh really-?”

“Most definitely. In fact, I think I’m gonna ditch the longer hair for good. This kind of haircut is so much more practical, you know. No strands sticking to my forehead when we get sweaty. None of them in my eyes when I fight only in the domino mask, no tangles and all that stuff-“

“You’re terrible!”

“Yeah, yeah I am, and what are you going to do about it baby?” he smirked and leaned forward, giving her a teasing look “you love me either way, we both know it.”

“Well maybe I should cut my hair too.” Her eyes glistened with mischief “you know- to match your new style.”

“What?” Jason turned a little pale. His princess was going to get rid of her perfect locks?! Over his dead body! (Even if that meant dying again.) “You are not!”

“Too bad for you I already made that decision. In fact I’m gonna go to the hairdresser first thing tomorrow—”

“I won’t let you out of here! You can’t just make such important decisions without talking to me first!”

“But I just told you.” She fluttered her eyelashes innocently.

“And the answer is no!”

“It was not a question.”

“You are not cutting your hair. It is not only yours! It’s mine too! We’re a couple, practically like one being!”

“Well maybe if we attach some of mine to your head we can both have what we want?”

“I got a better idea. I’ll keep you trapped here for as long as mine grow back, how about that?”

“And what shall we do for so many months Mr Todd?” she hummed with a glint in her eyes.”

“Duh! I’ll make sure to convince you that the length of my hair is not the one that should be of your concern, baby…” Jason smirked letting his hoarse tone reveal what was on his mind.

Was he acting like a hypocrite? Yes.

Did she care? No.

Cause one thing that was absolutely sure about Jason Todd that there was only one like him in the world. Capable of twisting the words in a way that always turned the situation a little less serious. And whatever hairstyle he was sporting, she was not going to change him for anyone else.

[flusteredfools]

Lunar themed (future) Snake Husband #1 acquired!

Solar themed (future) snake husband #2 will be next!

Snippets & extra info under the cut <3

[Harpy/n Ref] [Naga'na Let You Go Fic]

As always with my Fics; you're more than welcome to imagine the main characters designs however you'd like while reading (it's the main reason I try not to overly describe details!) but if you dislike making up your own then here's what I imagine Moon to look like.

Please excuse my poor attempt at scales though, creature artists are wonderful and amazing and have way more patience than I do.

Some Moonie facts for the funsies!

Is a test tube baby - was not born, he was created by splicing together various DNA

Was treated very poorly in his first few years - tortured and starved to be compliant

Forcibly encouraged to be violent and deadly

Originally was made to fight other creatures in the after hours Champion Coliseum show for illegal gambling - until his handler mysteriously went missing one day (Helen eventually took him under her care after he was discovered left for dead in the basement of the coliseum)

Fell in love with Sun at first sight but would never admit it

Became friends with Sun at Sun's relentless attempts to not leave him alone

Still struggles to accept the good things that come his way

Feels undeserving of Love (He's getting better with time!)

Will do anything for Sun

Rattle sounds when feeling strong emotions - Good & Bad

Has sharper claws and fangs than Sun (but cannot constrict as tightly/strongly as Sun)

Is very very venomous but has perfect control over it - injects with his fangs or can spit it

Hates Dusty (Dusty also fell in love with Sun and would constantly try to steal his attention - the feeling is mutual between them)

Adores the calm and beauty of the night sky, especially the twinkle of stars

Inside of his Cobra Hood is especially sensitive, as is the underside of his tail near his rattle. (Both spots Sun will abuse to get his way if needed - he rarely ever needs to)

Sun picked out his uniform for him as he didn't care what he wore

His gold bands are slightly too small - the tighter squeeze reminds him of Sun

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Twenty: ouroboros

tw: non-con mention, heavy emotions, hurt/comfort

Simon feels sick. 

He feels sick in the way that medicine can’t cure and alcohol can’t numb. This condition is a life long affliction that’s been hiding dormant beneath his skin, patiently waiting for the perfect moment to sprout up and ruin him. Fire is the only thing that can purge the feeling that hangs over his head like a noose waiting to string him up in the gallows. Feet dangling, trachea crushing—would it be enough to cleanse him? 

It’s been nearly half an hour since you last said anything, though the passage of time in his mind would convince him that it’s been days. Your voice has not rattled his ear drums in so long that he fears he might never hear anything from you ever again, and the arms that wrap around you to keep you held close to him urge to squeeze you. Maybe if he compresses you tightly enough, he can get you to coo and smile like you always do. 

Instead, Simon’s eyes focus on where his hand still rests on your upper arm. His stomach churns at the sight, and he feels bile poke and prod at the thin lining of his stomach as his body recalls the way your hands pushed at his chest—how your voice cracked when you looked up at him—the terror in your eyes brands him a monster.

Did he go too fast? Did you see his playful teasing as something more predatory? The tightness in your throat, the desperation in your voice—was that fear instead of desire? Did you not want his hands on you?

Can you even stand the touch of him now? 

Solicitude getting the better of him, Simon shifts beneath you, rocking your body to the side. His heart skips a beat when he hears your disgruntled whine as you nuzzle closer to him. Your arms snake around his torso. Face buried into his ribs, you attach yourself to him like a parasite—some lesser creature who would crumble without the aid of a host to keep you on your feet. 

“Chip?” His susurrus is a soft rumble against your cheek, but you can only bring yourself to respond with a grunt. “Baby, what’s goin’ on?” 

You swallow and it’s thick like molasses in the back of your throat. The pounding terror in your chest has dwindled over the last little while, but you still feel the way it lurks throughout your abdomen. It nudges its nose against the chambers of your heart and bites at the quivering muscle with venomous teeth. It injects the worst recollections into you. Mint breath. Blood flowers. Green eyes. 

“I dunno,” you mutter. 

Simon attempts to move again, but your constricting grip only grows more firm around him. Nose against his side, you don’t think you could stand looking at him—at him looking at you. If you pull away from him now, he might see the blood that’s been leaking out of you since you were sixteen. 

His hand moves up from your arm to cup the back of your head. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?” 

“No.” Your answer is quick—decisive. “No, it’s not you.” 

Your adamant denial offers Simon only minimal reprieve. “Talk to me, baby. What’s goin’ on?” 

His begging is only met with more silence. 

“Please, Chip. Let me help you.” 

Ouroboros—that’s what this feeling is. You haven’t been able to place your thumb on it until this moment despite the fact it’s plagued you for most of your life. This cycle of pain. Of remembering. You’ve been forced to devour yourself whole, even the blackened rot and decay of your skin. Every time someone finds you with your mouth full, they always beg the same thing. 

But you cannot clamp your maw down to cut yourself off any more than you can spit your body back out. 

Still, your core engages—you’d at least like to try. 

“It’s Marco,” you say, timid voice fracturing. Your words are incomplete. Broken. You try to spew them out anyway. “I… dunno how to say it.” 

Simon’s muscles twitch beneath you. “Did he say something to you?”

“No. Well, yes, but-” You cut yourself off with a frustrated huff. 

“Hey, one step at a time,” Simon says softly, grounding you. “Take it slow. Start from the beginning.” 

Your lungs expand with breath so violently that your diaphragm shakes and stutters with the movement. Oxygen burrows into the alveoli where it stings with a pain that quiets the wicked humming in your brain. 

You step into that kitchen again. 

Blood on linoleum—you breathe it in—

“I… didn’t tell you everything about… the day Marco killed my mum.” It’s the first admittance of your sin. Of the wrongs that were forced upon you that day. Still curled against Simon’s side, you feel your muscles liquify as if you’re about to deliquesce into the couch. “It’s really hard to say.” 

“I’ve got all day, sweetheart,” Simon soothes as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

Nodding, your eyes focus on the coffee table in front of you. Something tangible. Stagnant. 

“It was the last day of school before the end of term. I had just got home when I found mum’s body in the kitchen. I still see her like that, sometimes. Or I dream about her. Hunched over below the kitchen sink. Marco had… had stabbed her. I remember just being so in shock at her body and just- like, none of it made sense. So I just sort of froze, and I didn’t hear Marco when he came up behind me. He pinned me against the wall and he had this knife that he kind of kept up to my throat and stuff so that I wouldn’t move or fight him.

“He… he was the worst. Grinning and chuckling about killing my mum, and talking about my dad dying too. He was just so fucking arrogant. Like he thought he was untouchable or something. But he explained sort of what was going on and was pressuring me into paying off my dad’s debt, and I just agreed because I was too afraid to die but… he said he would make a deal with me.”

Spittle clogs the back of your throat and you cough. Instinctively, Simon pats your back—your eyes squeeze tight at his touch. 

“He said that if I… If I had sex with him, he would cut the debt a little. O-Or that if I was a virgin, he would cut it in half. And he just started—like—to put his hand up my skirt and I just- I-” 

Your body screams. Despite the overall callosity that taints your skin, that terror still nettles in the back of your mind. If you think about it too hard, you can still feel the way his hands defiled you that day, and your stomach twists worse than it did the night Andrei pulled his knife out on Simon. 

“I just remember thinking to myself that I was glad mum is dead,” you admit with asperity. “Like—I know it sounds crazy—but I don’t think I could have lived with myself if he had raped me in front of her, you know?” 

Each word you speak has Simon’s body growing rigid. You feel the way his muscles harden into iron and stone as he holds you close—you hear how his heart thrums away in his chest like a drum calling soldiers to wage war. “Did he?” 

“Rape me?” you confirm. “No. He stopped when I told him that I would pay it.” 

Simon’s head rocks against yours as he nods. “You said this happened at the end of term… were you in uni?” 

“No, I was in secondary school. I was… I was sixteen,” you reveal. “Marco knew I was in school, so he told me he was going to be nice and wait until I was old enough to get a job to start paying things back. And like, I couldn’t have ever gone to uni like that. Working enough to pay for housing, and the costs, and paying Marco? I just went straight to work as soon as I could. Never got a degree; never got a job that would actually pay me well enough to live…

“But I made do. You know, I made the payments as best as I could all while keeping on top of things for the most part. It helped that I was living with Aelin and John for a little while, so I didn’t have to worry about rent until I was like, nineteen. But Marco, sometimes he… uses it against me.” 

The more you speak, the more enervated you feel. It nestles into the marrow of your bones until your body feels twice as heavy. Nothing feels real. Nothing feels tangible. Except for maybe Simon’s bare skin against your own. 

“What does he use against you?” he prods, pushing you to further explain. 

“He’s always kept that offer hanging over my head. About me having sex with him.” Chapped lips rub up against one another and you find your tongue darting out of your mouth to wet them before you continue. “Like… that time you and Andrei fought in the alley? He said that he was going to have to raise my monthly payments because of that, since it was kind of my fault that Andrei’s nose got broken… fifteen hundred a month. I got so frustrated that I started crying because there was no way I was going to afford that so he… kissed me. We were in the middle of the laundromat in broad daylight and he just held me on that bench a-and when he was done he said he would only make me pay twelve-fifty instead.” 

“He did that to you?” Simon is apoplectic. His hatred bleeds into his tone as your voice trails off at the end of your spiel. It grows as unbridled rage beneath his skin until his muscles are twitching. 

“He’s done worse,” you dismiss. 

“Like what?” 

The temptation to prevaricate gnaws at you like a dog with a bone as sour memories tickle the back of your mind. Your toes prod at the edge of a threshold. There is a line that you’re not sure if you want to cross or not, but the veil that tickles your fingertips promises relief. The temptation whispers that if you can muster the bravery to toss yourself to the other side, you could—even if only for a moment—find some sort of peace. 

“You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to,” Simon hums when your silence begins to stretch. 

“No, I want to. I need to say it,” you assure. “It’s just… hard.” 

“Take your time, baby. I’m right here.” 

Your body requires a few more deep breaths before your brain feels quiet enough for you to sift through the monstrous amalgamation of memories Marco has forced upon you throughout the years. They weave through the grey matter in your brain. They root and feed on the most vulnerable parts of you until they shoot through your cranium and strangle you from the inside out. 

You have to purge it, lest it consumes you. 

“Before Marco moved our meeting place to the laundromat by my apartment, he had us meet at a pawn shop,” you say. The strength it takes to keep your voice from quivering is exhausting, but you push through the pain like you always do. 

“Tsar Trading.” He says it like it’s a statement rather than a question—as if he already has the exact shape of the building memorized beneath the pads of his fingertips. 

You nod. “Yeah. Tsar Trading. Usually I would just go up to the counter and drop off my payment to him, but this one time when I was maybe nineteen, soon after I started living on my own, I didn’t have enough. I had gotten really sick and wasn’t able to work, so my pay wasn’t as much as it usually is. I tried asking for an extension, or offered to pay the missing amount and more with my next payment, but he told me to follow him into the back of the shop. 

“The building doesn’t look that big from the outside, but when he brought me back it looked sort of like a warehouse with these shelves and just—like—these people walking around and I just… he brought me to this chair. Just a simple plastic school chair, and he m-made me sit in it. And I just remember noticing all the blood stains around the cement and thinking that he was going to kill me. I had messed up, and he was going to kill me just like he killed mum.” 

Always dripping, more tears begin to leak from your eyes where they wet Simon’s bare skin, cementing your cheek to his side. Sniffling, you do your best to wipe the moisture away, but it’s never-ending. Eventually, you give up. Simon does not make mention of the moisture on his skin, and keeps quiet as he lets you pull yourself back together.

“But as I’m sitting there, he reaches for my hand and… and he—like—makes me… he makes me t-touch him through his clothes, and he tells me that I’ve got two options. That I can—fuck… I hate this. He says I can either use my mouth, or use my hand, and so I just do it because I dunno what else to do and the whole time he’s just- he’s just talking so much. Saying how he wishes I’d let him fuck me and that I wouldn’t have to worry so much about the debt if I’d stop b-being a choosy minx about it and—oh my god, Simon—so many people were just- they just watched! 

“They all watched him do that to me! And they’d whistle and tease, and Marco, he would keep stopping so that it would last longer. I couldn’t even cry. I just tried to push through it until he was finished and then he kisses me and tells me not to worry about the rest of the money for that month and sends me on my way like he didn’t just- just…

“I-I’ve been—fuck—I’ve been so afraid to ever have sex because he always holds me being a virgin over my head like he can help me, and I’ve never told anyone about any of this. Simon, I-I feel so bad. Like I’ve been hiding something terrible from you. I’m so sorry, but I just- Simon I’ve never felt about anyone like I feel about you! You make me feel so good—so loved—and I was worried that if you ever knew what Marco did to me t-that you wouldn’t like me anymore because you’d think I’m gross, and I’m just s-so scared all the time, and I just—fuck!—I don’t know what to do!” 

Pulling apart at the seams, your old scars regress back into open wounds, and you spill out of yourself—both the destroyer and the victim. Simon’s body shifts beneath you as he pulls you closer. Arms like sutures, he stitches you back together as he holds you firmly against him, refusing to allow you to fall apart past the point of no return. His body heats against yours as vitriol warms his skin and sends his heart pounding into overdrive—his knuckles itch. His fingernails yearn for the color of ichor to soak their cuticles. Each phalange that twitches in his fingers craves the sharp crack of cartilage to pop beneath their grasp. 

Simon’s tongue prods his teeth—he’s checking how sharp they are. He’s gauging how hard he needs to bite to end Marco’s life. 

And still—even with all this rage nipping at his heels—he snuffs it out in favor of holding you. Vengeance can come later. It can come when you’re no longer crumbling in his grasp. 

“I’ve got ya, baby,” Simon whispers, voice hardly cutting through the sharp squeal of your wailing. You feel impossibly small in his arms—like this is the first time he’s held you and realized just how fragile you are. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’d never leave you.” A culmination of fury and frustration constricts his trachea, and his voice grows tense with each word that he speaks. “None of that was your fault. You hear me? None of that.” 

“It feels like it is,” you confess, anguish heavy on your tongue. “I feel like I’m just prolonging the inevitable.” 

“It’s not your fault,” he reiterates. “Marco’s not gonna lay a fuckin’ hand on you ever again.” 

Your silence is the only proof of your doubt that Simon needs to witness, but there are other hints. He feels it in the trembling of your body—how you quiver and pulse beneath him like a writhing animal lying in wait of unforgiving teeth and greedy claws. It’s painted all over your skin—how you refuse to look at him; like you can’t stand being seen. 

“This doesn’t change anything,” Simon whispers. He’s cradling your head, lips pressing against your skull as if he wishes to hold you properly. Not even his arms are large enough to embrace you whole; sorrow and all. “It doesn’t. This doesn’t change how I feel ‘bout you. It doesn’t make me love you any less.” 

His words get your head to perk slightly. Your eyes are raw—your cheeks stick to Simon’s ribs as if your bodies have begun to meld together. “You mean that?” 

Simon nods. “I do. I swear it. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” 

Neither of you say anything for a long while after that. Your words are spent. Your body is spent. Still curled into Simon’s side, you are stuck in a terrible state of the in between. Chained to purgatory. While you feel his body against yours—the way he kisses the top of your head, and how his heat bleeds into you—your mind is elsewhere. Severed from your physical form. 

You are in that kitchen. You are in that warehouse. You are in that car. 

The past haunts you with casual smirks and the huff of a breath across the apples of your cheeks. All it does is linger—all you can do is remember. 

So you remember. It washes over you the way shame burns the layers of your epidermis, or the way a kiss sours in your throat. You remember until the firm pulse of Simon’s heart beats it out of you. A fist against your jaw, each throb immolates the pain until it is numbed—until it’s small enough to tuck away beneath your tongue where it can wait to grow and choke you once again down the road. 

For now, it sits and waits. Patiently. Quiet enough for you to forget about it. 

You are the lightest you have felt in years. 

Ouroboros—you’ve finally managed to snap your jaw shut and swallow down the parts of you that you always thought you never could. 

“I think… I think I wanna take a bath.” It feels like the first thing you’ve said in years; the first thing you’ve said with this new body of yours. 

Simon nods. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll get one runnin’ for you, sweetheart.” 

It takes Simon ten minutes to get the water to the right temperature. He’s not used to taking baths—he can’t even recall the last time he even had one that was by choice. By the time he’s satisfied with the steam that emanates from the spout, his heart squeezes so violently in his chest he’s certain he’ll pass out right there on the bathroom floor. But he doesn’t. As always, he persists. 

Though he doesn’t have any soap fit for a bubble bath, he does his best with what he has, and decides to add some of your shower gel into the water. He froths the bubbles up by hand, swirling his arm through the water until there’s a decent layer and the scent hangs heavy enough in the air for it to make a difference. Simon stares at the way it swirls in front of him—he hopes he hasn’t tainted it by touch alone. 

He tries to leave the room so that you can bathe by yourself, but he stays when you ask him to. Your voice is timid—impossibly small—when you ask him to turn around while you undress, but he follows your wishes without a second thought. You attempt to meet his gaze in the mirror before you sink into the water, but his eyes are shut tight. 

The sight makes your heart flutter. 

Once you’re settled into the bath, Simon sits on the floor with his back against the tub. Still shirtless, you catch the way his skin tightens from the cold enamel, but he doesn’t even hiss at the feeling. The water swaddles you with steam and a tingling burn that makes you hum as your head leans back against the wall. Somehow, your mind feels completely void of any thoughts. You are empty—a blank slate waiting to be reformed and filled. 

“Do you work tonight?” You don’t know why you ask it, but the question slips past your lips anyway. 

“I can call out,” Simon says, perking his ear toward you, yet refusing to look over his shoulder. 

“No, that’s okay,” you hum. Limber fingers weave through the water as you play with the thin layer of bubbles along the surface. They sizzle and pop like a fryer as you move, and you close your eyes as you enjoy what little sounds you can hear. “I feel… surprisingly fine. I’ve never… talked about that before. To anyone. I always thought it would feel like the end of the world, and it sort of did, but now it… doesn’t.” 

He nods. Knees bending, he rests his arms out on them as he stares at the cabinets in front of him. The pale paint is peeling on the corner a little, and he notes how they could use a good scrub due to the water stains. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy. I’m glad you shared it with me. You can tell me anythin’ you want to; I swear it won’t ever change anythin’ between us.” 

Unsure of how to respond, you allow yourself to sink deeper into the water. Your knees poke further out of the surface as your neck is consumed in a mess of bubbles and soap. Before your brain can cook up a coherent response to Simon’s affirmations, he shatters the silence with his croaking voice. 

“I’m sorry ‘bout movin’ too fast. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” 

“What?” Your voice fractures in your confusion and you find yourself staring at the back of his head. “Simon, no, no I- you didn’t do anything wrong. I really wanted it. Like… I feel a little pathetic about how badly I wanted it—wanted you.” A chuckle bleeds past your lips, and as the sound reverberates off of the tiles around you, Simon feels it crash straight through his chest. “It was… the mint.” 

Simon’s confusion visibly forms in the tension of his shoulders. “Mint?” 

“Yeah, like… This is going to sound dumb, probably, but… Marco, he… always smells like mint. Like his breath? It’s like he’s always chewing on gum or something like that,” you explain. “And I just—I dunno—I smelled it on your breath and it just sorta… my brain just sort of freaked out, like I couldn’t make sense of anything.” 

As you speak, Simon’s eyes begin to wander up. They focus away from the cupboard door in front of him and onto what little he can see of the countertop. He sees his toothbrush. His toothpaste. And then yours. 

Kids fruity toothpaste. 

No thanks. I… erm… don’t like mint. 

“It’s not your fault,” you add in a panic. “You couldn’t have known about that, it was just sort of one of those things, and I’ve never really mentioned it before, so-” 

“It’s okay, baby,” Simon interjects softly. “I know how nuanced this shit gets.” 

A soft, dainty breath exhales from your lungs as you let go of the words that had built up in your throat. Simon’s mind is swirling. You can see it in the muscles that line his spine and the twitching in his jaw. He stares at his hands as he picks at his short-cut nails, body curled forward like a dog with his hackles raised. 

Water sloshes around you as you curl forward. The edge of the tub is lukewarm against your cheek as you rest your head on it, and you sigh as more of Simon’s face comes into your view. Careful fingers rise out of the water as you trace a line along his shoulder, leaving a layer of glistening moisture to shine beneath the vanity lights. 

“Si?” 

He does not hesitate to look at you when you beckon. Neck craning, when he looks at you, his eyes dilate, forcing his pupils to swallow the sweet warmth of his irises. He focuses on the small curve of your lips—weary, but still there—and when your hands wander up to his face, he leans into your palm. 

“Thank you. For everything. I… don’t know what I would do without you,” you whisper. 

Body twisting, Simon brings a hand up to cup over yours, keeping you pressed against him for a short moment before pulling you away. Then, with a softness he can’t remember ever having mustered before, he kisses each of your knuckles before rubbing his thumb over them. 

“I’d do anythin’ for you,” he says. “I mean it. Anything.” He swallows. “I love you.” 

There is still that twitch in his fingers—that buzzing electricity that jolts through him, urging his muscles into action. His lungs expand as if pushing him to run, and his knuckles yearn to feel that familiar ache that always follows after they’ve kissed soft flesh or jutting bone. All that tension and virulent desire melts away the moment Simon sees the warm smile that graces your lips at his confession. 

He realizes that he can put away those bad habits and macabre desires if it means he gets to see you like this—even if it’s only temporary. 

“I love you, too.”

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[phthalomushroom]

The Family (7)

pairings: modern!mafia!aemondxreader

summary: You had left Kings Landing and the Targaryen family four years ago. Now back and living with your old roommate you realize that the life you had thought you escaped had seemingly been waiting for you. But will the family really let you go? Will the people you left behind forgive you? Can you forget the past and look to the future?

warnings: language, angst, sexual tension

word count: 1.2k

note: hi all, apologies for not posting for a bit, life got crazy and I low-key got the ick... as well as writers block... but I will persevere. Enjoy this chapter I will do my best to get back to weekly posts!

You couldn’t get those boxes out of your head. All the baby toys, the clothes, the crib. It was the only thing you could see as you stared at the dark wall across from where you sat on the bed. Luckily, you had texted Baela about the situation and she was on her way with Jace to come pick you up.

A part of you felt bad for ruining their date night but you were NOT going to stay the night here. 

Especially not in this room.

Aemond and Alys’s shared bedroom looked nothing like you would have imagined. Not that you would even think to imagine it- actually you never even thought that they’d actually live together at all.

Even though there seemed to be no evidence of Aemond’s fiancée downstairs, there was plenty of evidence in this room. Pictures of the two together littered the walls, the nightstands, the dresser. Evidence of their clearly real and loving relationship.

And to your dismay it fucking hurt. 

Alys would be a mother to Aemond’s child, she would be the strong wife he always needed and you would be a memory, a brief moment in his life. 

Nothing more than a highschool sweetheart.

A silent, cold anger seemed to fizzle in the pit of your stomach, like a rattling snake setting to strike.

You were just a phase but yet your life seemed to be in danger again. 

Lies were being told again. 

Secrets were being kept again.

The door to the room opened, Aemond coming in with mugs of something steaming. 

“I think I should go.” You crossed your arms, your tone rattled a warning.

Aemond looked up, brows furrowing. He set the mugs on the dresser and put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t care what you want.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

You uncrossed your arms ready to strike. “I’m tired of this shit.”

“What are you talking about?”

It wasn’t a lie, you did feel tired, tired of trying to be an adult and tired of being the bigger person. At some point you were bound to start telling the truth, you needed to. “She’s pregnant.”

He arched his brow. “What?”

You stood from the bed. “I saw the room, the boxes of baby stuff. I saw it all.”

He frowned. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You stepped closer. “Don’t know what I’m talking about? I know that I’m talking about how you fucking proposed to Alys Rivers. I’m talking about how you asked me to marry you and that doesn’t seem to fucking matter anymore. I’m talking about the fact that you got her pregnant and now I’m going to have to fucking live in the same city as you, your wife and your child. And that none of what we went through together matters.” You took a deep breath. 

Why is it not me? Desperately you wanted to say it but you just couldn’t let yourself open up to him all the way yet. Not with the room full of a future that wasn’t yours next door.

He looked at you incredulously. “You… you never wanted this life.”

“But I always wanted you.”

He continued to stare at you, like he was looking at you for the first time since you had arrived back.

You began to feel self conscious, maybe you said too much. “Say something.” 

He rushed forward grabbing your face in his large hands and pressing his mouth against yours. You froze, not processing what was happening until his tongue pushed into your mouth and he tangled his hands in your hair pulling you even closer to him. Your arms instinctively reached up grabbing the front of his shirt as he was finally knocked out of his daze.

His arms moved down your body, grabbing and squeezing at whatever flesh he could find until he picked you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he walked you back towards the bed, setting you down- never breaking the kiss. 

He finally pulled away, allowing you to breathe, both of you panting trying to catch your breaths as you stared at one another.

Too familiar, this all felt too familiar. Your heart pounded as you let yourself fall into old habits. 

His gaze was soft as he reached out to caress your face, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “I will always want you too.”

Your chest tightened as he leaned closer, his kiss gentle this time. But as soon as it started it ended, Aemond pulling away to lean his forehead against yours to take a deep breathe. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your arms.

“But I made a promise to Alys and there’s things I need to take care of before-”

You fully pulled away, moving out from under him to get off of the bed. “What.”

“There are things that I need to do, promises I need to keep in order to-to make sure your safe, to make sure everything is safe and protected.”

You stared at him like he had three heads. “What the fuck are you talking about right now Aemond?”

He moved to get up to pull you to him but you stepped away. “I just need time, just give me time.”

“You had time, almost five years of it and it seems in that time you can’t even get your fucking lies straight.”

“It’s complicated okay, the less people know the better. Just try to trust me, please.”

You stared at him in disbelief. It was like you were having two different conversations. “Is this about business or is this about love?”

“What?”

“Is it business or is it love?”

“(Y/N)-”

“Is it business or is it love, Aemond, that’s all I want to know.” 

“It’s complicated.”

Your eyes burned. Fucking unbelievable. “Clearly. But the only person making it complicated here is you. Why can’t it ever be fucking easy with you Aemond? Why can’t you ever tell me the truth?” 

He tried to get closer to you. “You know nothing about what is going on. What I am trying to fix, what I am trying to build for-for us.” He reached out to take your hands in his. “I am doing everything in my power to make things right, to make us right but I need more time. Just a little more time.”

You shook your head. “She’s pregnant Aemond, you are out of time.”

Your phone chimed with a text, you quickly pulled it out of your pocket. “That’s Baela, she’s here with Jace.” 

“(Y/N)-”

“I am done with the nonsensical answers. I am done with the empty words. I am done with all of it. I never should have come back here, never should have taken that stupid fucking job. I certainly never should have ever let you into my life.”

Tears were beginning to fall now, tears that were long overdue. After so long of bottling it up, after so long of being okay it wasn’t okay anymore. You were broken. You turned to leave, going past the soon to be nursery, going down the stairs, grabbing your bags that you had left and walked straight out of Aemond and Aly’s home. 

When you got into Jace’s car, it took everything in you to not fully break down as Baela turned to you from the passenger's seat and asked you what was wrong. 

You just shook your head and simply said. “She’s pregnant.”

Tag List: @dixie-elocin @liannafae @toodlesxcuddles @watercolorskyy @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @namelesslosers @tssf-imagines @xcharlottemikaelsonx @yourbane @beary-rambles @a-beaverhausen @lightblindingme

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 31 (Human Alastor x Married Reader)

CW: public indecency, fingering, biting, drug use, oral sex, Laurence Prev Masterlist AO3 KoFi Show your support by leaving a tip, buy Kit a coffee

Laurence led Emma up the walkway, her heels clicking against the stones with every step she took toward the front door. His head was light. The scotch he had downed was rolling in his stomach. Her dress glittered and clattered as she moved, strings of beads dancing around her body, drawing his eye greedily over her thin frame. He loved the way Emma looked in those dresses, her slim figure covered in textures. He couldn’t wait to hear the rattle of her dress as he pushed her up against something or another and took her. 

He unlocked the door and ushered her inside. Excitement had his hands shaking as he looked forward to indulging in Emma for the night and not even having to rush away once he’d sated his desire. His lazy wife may have run off, leaving him to spend money he didn’t have on dining out for the weekend, but at least it allowed him to have this. 

Kneeling to the ground, Laurence grabbed the pile of mail as Emma danced through the front room, heels clicking against the dark wood floors he longed to replace with something brighter. Flipping through the bills, surely containing warning notices, he found a letter from his sister-in-law. 

“Coming, baby?” Emma called from the stairs, dress glittering in the electric light of the hall. 

“Yeah,” He ripped open the letter, “Just a minute. The Laudanum is on the counter in the bathroom. Go treat yourself sugar.” 

Laurence unfolded the letter, eyes scanning the finely written text announcing the early birth of his sister-in-law’s baby. A son was delivered to the family nearly a month early and by some grace of God, he had survived and was even thriving. How lucky for the family. 

If your sister had her son already, where were you? And with who? Laurence bunched up the paper in his fist, rage boiling under his skin, feeding off the excitement that he had for what the evening held and morphed it into something darker. He wanted to rip it to shreds. He wanted to burn it. He wanted- fuck; he wished there was someone he could hit around. 

Where were you? Who were you with? Why had you lied to him? 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Emma walked back to him, relaxed as the tincture put her mind in the clouds, a soft smile on her bright red lips.

“That cunt lied to me.” His voice came out in a harsh hiss between clenched teeth. 

Emma slipped herself between his arms, running her hands up and down his broad chest. He was a wide man, stacked full of muscle, just the way she liked her men. He was strong and powerful and, most importantly to her, she had him wrapped around her finger. 

“You think she’s got another man?” she asked, kissing his neck. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. 

“If she does, you can use that to get rid of her, baby.” Emma worked his tie free from his neck, dropping it to the floor. “Charge her for adultery and divorce her frumpy ass. Then we can be together.” 

“Emma, baby.” Laurence gasped as she ran her body along his, slithering like a snake as she pulled him by the shirt she was unbuttoning. She was eager to feel him, to have herself wrapped around him. 

“Come on, let’s go upstairs and break in that bed properly,” Emma whispered, hands running up his chest as she kissed his skin. When he didn’t move fast enough for her, she sank to her knees, running her hand up and down his hardening length before unbuttoning his pants.

“Emma,” Laurence gasped as she wrapped her lips around his shaft, swallowing him greedily. “Fuck, I love it when you do that.” 

It didn’t take long for her to have him a whimpering mess, proclaiming his love for her and her alone as he spilled his seed down her throat. That was just fine with her. She’d wake his cock up again before the night was over. 

If she fucked him hard enough, well enough, maybe he would have his dumb wife arrested. If she pleased him enough, maybe he would pick her. If she was just good enough, she could have him and they could take over her family’s business together. Conquer the world. 

“I love you,” she said, pulling from his cock with a pop. 

“I love you too, Emma baby.” Laurence said, scooping her up and pressing her against the wall. For the moment at least, he forgot the letter and sank into a sea of rage fueled lust.

He wasted no time shoving her dress over her head and leaving her naked, expect the band that was wrapped tightly around her breasts. “If you love me,” Emma panted as he carried her up the stairs, lips working against her breasts as the band that hand bound them lie around her waist, “Why don’t you get rid of her already?” 

“I will, baby.” Laurence swire, “I will. I just need a little more time.” 

“You’ll marry me then?” Emma asked as he fell onto the bed atop her, wasting no time sliding his stiffening cock home again with a sigh. She was slick, wet and ready for him. 

“I’ll marry you,” he promised, “Whatever you want.” 

~~~~~<3

You wore the best dress in your bag, not that you had many choices. The dress Alastor had purchased for you was nicer but with the sand covering it, that wan’t an option. Instead, you walked hand in hand while wearing a simple green housedress. 

You had felt underdressed, insecure, but Alastor paraded you around as if you wore a fine gown. The way he looked at you set your heart beating faster. While it was just a simple light green housedress, Alastor made you feel as if you were walking down the amusement park wearing your best dress. 

Alastor fed you pinches of cotton candy, not wanting you to dirty your hands. You were all but sure he simply wanted the excuse to feed you. It wasn’t often that you got to see his face flush, but when you called him on it, you were treated to the sight. 

“Do you want to ride the Ferris wheel?” Alastor asked as he threw away the stick that had held the candyfloss, licking his fingers clean of the residue. 

You couldn’t help but stare at him for a few moments as his tongue wrapped around his fingertips. Swallowing hard, you watched them disappear into his mouth as he cleaned them. It was just sugar; you told yourself again and again as you tried to remember how to breathe as your mind replayed the image of him cleaning his fingers of your slick the night before. 

“Well?” he asked, eyebrow raised as he watched your face heat. 

“I’ve never-” Your words were rushed as you tried to pretend he hadn’t just caught you with your mind going somewhere lewd. 

“All the more reason we should,” Alastor wasted no time tugging you along, taking your place at the back of the line. 

“It’s so tall,” you whispered, “Alastor, I’m not so sure this is a good idea.” 

“Are you afraid of heights, my dear?” Alastor wrapped his arms around you. It wasn’t proper or decent, but you struggled to make yourself pull away. Who was going to see? Who would say anything? You were strangers here. Nobodies. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted. 

“I’ll keep you safe,” Alastor promised, as if he could somehow keep the ride from breaking down or falling apart. 

It took no time at all for you to be whisked into the round car fastened to the frame. It rocked slightly as you stepped inside, looking to Alastor with wild eyes as he scooped you into his arms, pulling you to the bench to sit down together. You clung to him each time the wheel moved, jerking back to load up the next car.

“Look at me,” Alastor whispered. As you did, he leaned down and kissed you softly, swallowing your gasp as the car moved again. “If it’ll help, I’ll distract you while they load.” 

“Alastor?!” You gasped when his hand slipped under the hem of your skirt as he pulled you to sit in his lap. He kissed your neck softly, pulling you to lean back, resting your back on his chest as he worked his knees between your legs. Urging them to spread, he worked the skirt of your dress higher up your legs. “What are you doing?!” 

“No one can see us,” Alastor reassured as he runs his fingers over your folds through your panties. “The most they’ll think is we’re necking and we wouldn’t be the only ones. Let me distract you until the ride begins?” 

You turned to protest but ended up kissing him as his hand slipped under your panties. How it happened, you couldn’t say. One moment you had outrage on your lips and the next, it was his kiss. 

He caressed the bundle of nerves at the head of your slit as his hand on your hip ran around your front and up, sliding along your dress. Higher and higher his hand traveled, leaving a trail of fire up between your breasts. Fingertips trailed along your neck and then he was cradling your jaw as you failed to notice the car rock again, shifting as the wheel turned for the next car to be filled. 

Your hand wrapped around his wrist as you struggled to maintain any air of propriety. Your knees fell apart more as he coaxed fire into your belly. The tip of his finger ran lower, circling your opening to collect the slick you hadn’t realized you were spilling into your undergarments. 

“Should I stop?” Alastor asked as he pulled the slick up, coating your clit as he again worked you closer to the edge he had personally introduced you to. 

“Please,” you whined, head falling to rest in the crook of his neck.

“Please stop?” Alastor teased, “Or please give you more?” 

“I don’t know,” you whimpered as his hand pulled away. 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to take advantage of a lady,” Alastor said as his hand rested on your mound, a cheeky smile on his face. 

“Alastor,” you bit your lip. It was too much, too far. You were in public, but now that he had started the fire, you struggled to think of anything else. 

At least until the wheel moved again, jerking the car as you neared the top as another car filled. You cringed against him, hiding your head in his shoulder. 

“That really scares you, hm?” Alastor caressed your cheek with his thumb, “You didn’t notice the last few cars filling. Do you want me to go back to distracting you?” 

“Okay,” you clung to him, “It scares me.” What scared you? So much more than you could explain. That Alastor made you feel such ways, that he made you want to take such risks, that you couldn’t get enough of the feeling of his hands on your skin. 

“I’ll take care of you,” Alastor promised, fingers sliding through your slick slit. 

He worked over your clit before the tip of his long finger dipped just inside your opening, feeling you as you fell open more for him. It was greed. He knew there wasn’t long to indulge, but he wanted to hear the sounds you made again. 

Fingers stroked inside you, dipping deeper, first one, then another as he worked his palm over your clit. Your walls fluttered around him as he turned your face to rest tighter against his neck and shoulder to muffle the sweet gasps coming from your lips. 

If he couldn’t hear you in all your glory, he would feel the gasps against his neck. The vibrations of your voice, the way your lips moved, would have to make up for it. 

“You’re doing just fine,” Alastor murmured as you tensed when the car rocked again, the wheel moving to load the next car. “We’re almost there. Just a few more cars.” 

You clung to his arm, gasping into his neck as he worked two fingers in and out of your opening, each time running his palm over your clit and bringing you closer. 

The car moved again and all you could do was squeeze your eyes shut as the fire inside you felt like it’d burn you alive. You were dancing on that edge, the one that only Alastor took you to. 

“Alastor,” you whimpered, crying out louder as he added a third finger. The stretch had you shamelessly spreading your legs wider, giving his hand room to work as he flexed and spread his fingers inside you. Never had you thought having anything inside you could feel so good, but with him, when it was him, it did. He made you want him inside you, more of him, other parts of him. 

“You’re so close, my darling.” Alastor whispered in your ear as your moans turned louder. “I can feel you twitching around my fingers.” 

“Alastor,” you tasted his neck as you licked your lips, trying to find a way to think as the car moved again. 

“While I love the little sounds you make, the sound of my name on your lips, we’re getting close to the ground now, my darling. If you’re loud, someone will hear and we don’t want that, do we?” 

“N-no.” Your hips rocked with his hand, chasing him each time his fingers slipped out of you. The sounds coming from your core were wet, lewd and it only made you moan more. 

“If you’re going to be loud, bite down on me. You can do that for me, right, darling?” 

“I don’t want. Oh, Alastor. Hurt you.” Talking as he worked his hand in and out of you was difficult. Thinking as his fingers plunged deep and curled up was harder still. 

“You won’t, I promise. Now come on darling, let’s start the ride off. They’re loading the last car. Come on, let me feel you.” 

You struggled to understand what happened to your body when it reached this point, but you knew it was the best feeling in the world. Gasping, you felt everything tense and contract, only to relax, repeating the process as you convulsed in his lap. 

His hand didn’t slow down as he pressed your face into his neck. How it happened, you didn’t know. One moment you were gasping for breath and the next you could feel the tendon flexing against your mouth. Alastor’s head fell back as you bit down, reflexively trying to stifle the moan that bubbled from your chest as his hand continued to work through you. 

Alastor groaned, something almost sounding like a swear falling from his lips as he worked you through your orgasm. As his hand stilled, you unlatched your teeth, though you still twitched in his lap, your opening fluttering around nothing as you shuddered against him. 

The cars moved slowly but steadily, picking up pace as the ride began. The rocking was smoothe and gentle now. 

Alastor’s eyes were closed for a moment as he took long, slow, deep breaths. Where your teeth had sunk into him, pink bloomed, but you hadn’t broken the skin.

“Are you alright?” you asked, shifting to run your hand over where the marks left by your teeth were quickly swelling ever so slightly. Alastor’s fingers twitched against your thigh, wet and smearing slick. 

You felt it then, a twitch in his trousers. It wasn’t much more than a sign of life that had your eyes widening. You wanted to reach out to cox it to life, to make him feel as good as he made you feel.

“I’m fine, darling.” Alastor opened his eyes, deep wells of brown, looking into your soul. “You didn’t hurt me.” 

“I though- you just-” He pulled you into a deep kiss before settling your skirt back around your knees. 

“If I couldn’t handle your little love bite, I wouldn’t have had you do it.” 

“It’s going to show,” you protested as he settled your back against his chest, encouraging you to enjoy the ride now that it was moving smoothly. 

“Probably,” Alastor admitted. “May even bruise.” 

“Alastor!” you smacked his hand as your car once again reached the top of the wheel. “What will you say?”

“That my girl got a little feisty with me.” He chuckled as he watched your eyes go wide, face flushing. 

“It’s indecent, you’re unattached. People will say-” You stopped, “Your girl?” 

“I’m a man. The world looks the other way when I step out.” 

“What do you mean, ‘your girl’?” You demanded, leaning away from him as he tried to kiss you. 

“That’s what you are, aren’t you?” Alastor whispered. “You may be married to him for now, but you’re my girl. Aren’t you? You’re the one I want. The one I need. And you want me.” 

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Stolen Goods 1

Warnings: noncon and other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

Ft. Lloyd Hansen, petite!pregnant reader

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Enjoy, my loverlies.

You always felt small. Shelves, table, counters, even chairs made your shortcoming, pun intended, more obvious. Even at the one time in your life when you should feel big, you feel even tinier. 

The rounder your stomach becomes, the smaller the rest of your seems. It really doesn't feel like a part of you. That life inside you that has your shirts tighter by the say and the elastic stretching further and further.  

Swollen feet, hands, and chest, and yet you're still just a speck of dust in the wind. The grocery store so often adds to that sensation of insignificance. The cart rattles over the tile as you weave between other shoppers, veering out of the way as others turn corners without looking. Your progress down the list of needs is slower than usual but you're persistent. 

You stop in the bread section and peruse the assortment of rye and sourdough. You've been craving pumpernickel forever. You pick out a loaf and check your list. Bread crumbs... 

You spot your quarry and reach for the highest shelf. Of course it has to be all the way up there. You grunt and teeter on your toes, your goal made hard as your stomach keeps you from getting very close. 

“Allow me, sweetness,” a man says as he comes up behind you. 

You squeak in surprise as he crowds you and reaches up to grab the canister of crumbs. As he does, he presses himself to you, a none-too-subtle grind of his pelvis against your ass. You gasp and elbow him. 

“Ew, get off,” you squeal. 

“Now, now, honey buns, I got it,” he offers the canister, his arm hooking around to show the crumbs, “you just gotta say please.” 

“What the heck? Can you back up--” 

“Now, that’s not very polite, baby girl,” he shakes the crumbs and moves them away from your grasp as you try to snatch them. 

“I said back--” 

Your voice evaporates in shock and horror as he slaps your ass. You clutch the shelf and brace yourself as the force nearly has you crashing into the metal. You set your feet, regretting your choice of squishy and treadless slides, and he snakes his hand under your dress, trailing along the scalloped edge of your panties. 

“Stop,” you wisp, terrified at this man’s brazenness. Why is he doing this? How is no one else seeing this? 

His hand curls around and he stops as he touches your lower stomach. He hesitates and stretches his fingers over your bump. You’re only four-months but far enough that it’s obvious. 

“Shit,” he chortles and pushes his hand down, pressing against the front of your cotton panties, “someone beat me to it, huh?” 

He pokes the fabric between your folds with two fingers, wiggling them around. You shudder and squeeze the edge of the shelves. He creases the cotton between his fingers and pulls it aside. He pinches your thigh and you whimper as he kicks a foot between yours. 

“What--” you gasp and push back against him, trying to escape. “Please--” 

Your voice cracks and something inside you breaks. You can’t move or make a sound. He touches the tuft of hair along your pelvis and delves nakedly between your folds. You hold your breath as he toys with you, rubbing your clit dryly as he pushes his crotch against your back. 

What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you doing anything? Why can’t you? 

He just carries on, rolling your bud under his fingers until you feel yourself react. It’s the hormones, not you. You’re scared, not weak. That’s what’s going on. What is going on? 

All at once, he retracts his hand. He leaves you quivering and wet and to your shame, wanting. He snickers again and tosses the canister so it lands in your cart. You cling to the shelves, legs shaking, and stare at the wrapped loaves in stunned silence. You hear him suck loudly on his fingers and hum. 

“Naughty mommy,” he tisks and struts away.  

You can’t move. You’re paralyzed in disbelief. That didn’t just happen. A stranger just touched you. Like that. And you’re wet. You look down as your knees buckle. 

You manage to move away from the shelves and look around. You can’t pick the man out from the scatter of shoppers puttering around like drones. His sleeve was black but half the men their have black jackets. Your lip trembles as your eyes brim with tears. You don’t know what to do. 

You turn to your cart and grab the handle, rolling it forward. Your eyes fall to the white and yellow canister that rolls across the bottom. You stop and skirt around to reach into the basket, looking around before you bend to fish out the bread crumbs. You place them on the table of croissants nearby and push the cart onward. 

You’ll do grilled instead of fried. You never want to think of what happened again. You hope you never see that man again. Would you even know him at a glance? 

[shadesslut]

rough

MINORS DNI

Pairing: (Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader)

Content Includes: (Smut, mention of blood)

Summary: After New York, Ethan still hungered to kill, but what happens if he gets caught by Y/N? What happens if she likes it?

(a/n: this is lowkey bad D:)

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The sound of flesh splitting open that emitted from Ethan stabbing was one of his favorite noises. Sometimes his chest would tighten from the way it made him feel. The way the blade sliced easily against skin like butter, the way skin would swell at the faintest cut. His favorite part though, was the kill. The way the shine in their eyes disappeared made Ethan giddy; he loved it.

Moving was supposed to be his fresh start with Y/N. After becoming the only member of his family alive, he promised Y/N he’d change after New York. And he did. For three months. Three months of isolation in the tiny apartment the couple shared was hell for Ethan. The day Y/N let him wander into the city he killed. 

It was four-thirty in the morning. The rattles of the windchimes that hung in their small porch combined with the creaky steps Ethan made in their kitchen filled the air. He looked out to their porch, staring at the open slide door. He shook his head as he made his way over to close it; and he wondered why Y/N left it open every night. The bedroom door was cracked open, and Ethan hoped he would be able to sneak washing the blood off his forearms without waking her. He tip-toed to their bathroom, checking over his shoulder ever so often to make sure she was asleep. He turned on the faucet halfway as he washed his arms in the dark.

He told himself he needed to calm down. He needed to be able to lay in bed still, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to do that with all of the tension inside of him from the kill. The cold water spilled off of his hands into the drain, catching the blood with it. Ethan looked dead ahead into the mirror. Only his eyes and highlights of his hair glimmered in the moonlight, and for a split second, his gaze gave himself chills. 

“Shit,” He hissed as the harsh light flipped on. He squinted his eyes at the glare and whipped his head towards the doorway, seeing a very annoyed Y/N. She wore one of Ethan’s shirts, the neckhole too big it hung at her clavicle, and a pair of booty shorts. The sight would usually make Ethan’s dick hard, but right now he felt shriveled up in fear. 

“Where were you?” She asked sternly. 

Ethan blinked repeatedly in a nerve wrecking manner. “What do you mean?” He asked lowly. She rolled her eyes and huffed. 

“You were gone for almost three hours. Where the hell were you?” She asked once more. 

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” Ethan mumbled in response. He knew she wasn’t budging. She squinted her eyes at him suspiciously and walked towards him, stopping once she saw the blood streaks in the sink. Her gaze flicked down to his shoes, coated in spots of blood. Her eyes widened in shock, along with Ethan, and the next thing she did shocked Ethan more. 

She immediately raised her hand to his neck, forcing him to bend over into a heated kiss.  Ethan moaned in surprise, but didn’t protest. Instead, he sighed heavily and snaked his hands to her waist, tightly gripping flesh. Their lips moved sloppily against each other in sync, the noises of their heavy breaths flowing to each others’ ears. He roughly pulled her against his body, and through lidded eyes Ethan saw her immediately look down. Her upper pelvis rubbed against his clothed erection, and Ethan threw his head back in pleasure. 

“This is what you do to me, baby,” He said as he watched her start to quickly undo his jeans. “You fucking ruin me.” 

She let out a dry laugh as she tugged his jeans and boxers down, letting his hard cock spring up. He hissed at the cold air, and his grip on her tightened as he left marks. She started to bend down before Ethan jerked her body up by her underarm. In one swift move, he picked her up by her thighs and set her on the bathroom counter. “As much as I love your lips, I need to be inside of you right now.” He whined, nudging his nose into her neck as he peppered kisses. 

“So needy for me, huh?” She cooed softly, her fingers raking his curls. He whimpered and nodded as he began to thrust into the air. “I missed this version of you. The rough, violent, you.” 

This made his head jerk up, his eyes full of admiration. 

“I’ve been trying to change you,” She whispered. He continued to stare at her, and he started to tug her shorts off . “I just need you to be rough again, please.” She begged. 

Ethan softly kissed her forehead. “You want me to be rough?” He asked, making sure. She nodded her head frantically, begging him. He nodded once. Then he quickly ripped her panties off, making her gasp as she stared at the torn material. He lined himself up to her entrance, and without hesitation, slammed his cock inside of her. 

A deep, guttural yell came out of her at the stretch. It burned and stung, but oh did it fill her up oh so good. Ethan, having the time of his life, continued to ram himself in and out of her. 

“Fuck honey,” he cooed down at her. “So wet for me, all for me.” 

She whimpered at his words, hair bouncing as Ethan jerked both of their bodies against each other. The arch of Ethan’s dick slid beautifully inside of her. She inhaled heavily as she shut her eyes, taking all the pleasure in. She needed this, she needed him. Ethan grunted as his hips slapped against her. He talked her through his climax, and he screwed his eyes shut as he came. But he didn’t stop. He didn’t stop because he knew she hadn’t finished yet. 

A hiss escaped his lips as he continued to thrust. Y/N looked up at him with big doe eyes, smiling as if she knew she had him wrapped around her pretty little finger. His thumb found her clit, immediately circling the sensitive bead. She gasped his name, and she involuntarily started grinding her hips against him. Ethan chuckled. 

“Always so needy for me, so needy for my cock that you become so limp in my hands.” Ethan teased in her ear. He was still hard even after finishing; Y/N always praised him for his stamina. She felt overstimulated, like her entire body felt goopy at his touch. Her tits bounced at Ethan’s rough movements, and Ethan whined as he watched the fabric of his shirt she wore move. She clenched around him as she approached her climax, and Ethan used his free hand to grip her jaw, forcing her into a heated kiss. 

“Ethan,” she whined. Her core tightened, and her mind went into a daze. 

“I would kill for you.” He said. “I would kill to feel you, I would kill for this pussy. I was made to kill for you.” He peppered kisses against her jaw after each sentence, and he felt the warmth of her cheeks radiate. 

“I’m gonna, I’m gonna,” She started, sitting up slightly as she grabbed and clawed Ethan’s back. Ethan nodded, shutting her up with another kiss. He quickened his pace with his hips and thumb, smiling into her mouth as he heard her mutter curses. She gasped loudly as she finished, and he slammed into her once more. 

Their breaths were loud and hot against each other’s skin. Beads of sweat slid down Ethan’s back, sending a chill down his spine. He pulled back to look at her state; disheveled and used. She blinked her eyes open, and with the smile Ethan gave her, she knew he would still kill. And he would do it for her.

(a/n: SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN AWHILE)

[rosemaze-reveries]

Hi there!! Can I req a Matthias x reader where the reader is very nice yet shy, and Matthias fell for their kindness but is afraid to confess cause he might lose them(who's the first and only person to show him genuine care)?

(But he's also bad at hiding his feelings)

Or maybe a scenario where he has a difficult time sleeping and finds himself impulsively knocking on your door— regretful of his actions but he can't back out now that you're standing in front of the open door, curious from the unexpected visit.

He's a new char so I hardly find any fics about him and I'm desperate💔 you can change the scenario!! I'm really just desperate uehdhsishd(⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

hi anon i LOVED these ideas! i tried to combine both of them into one, i hope it satisfies what you wanted!! ♡

falling slowly 🪡

Matthias isn’t one to act on impulse.

He’ll let his thoughts fester aimlessly inside him, hoping the darker among them someday fizzle out. He’ll watch precious chances fly past him, fearing the consequences of a risk taken too rashly. A missed opportunity is better than another tragedy. A guarded mind is better than a broken heart. But some restless nights drive him to desperation, and tonight that leads him to you.

He stands outside your bedroom door, arms stiff against his sides. He’s passed by this room countless times before, as the two of you occasionally walk each other back to your rooms. But never has he come here on his own, never without explicit permission.

He gingerly raises his hand, letting it hover above your doorframe. All of a sudden, he loses his words. What would he say? I can’t sleep, I need you to check for monsters under my bed? I need you to stay with me until I fall asleep? I need you to tuck me in? What a baby. He can already picture the look you’d send him: a smile that’s trying too hard to be polite, a shabby effort at concealing the judgment within. You wouldn’t turn him down directly, even though he knows you’d want to. Kindhearted people love to dance in circles before saying anything that might offend. He’s all too familiar with this game. Normally, your kindness is something he loves about you, but all he can do now is curse it under his breath. If only you were crueler to him, like most people are, then he wouldn’t have let his hopes inflate his head. He would’ve known never to even consider stopping by your room. He would’ve known to avoid this situation altogether.

His fingers close into a fist, and it’s then he realizes he’s quivering slightly. Louis wouldn’t have a problem in this scenario. That thought piques Matthias most. His “factory defect” has locked him in place yet again, and all he can do is swallow down the reminder of his incompetence. It’s just a door, for God’s sake.

He flexes his fingers one last time, glancing around as if worried someone might catch him. Then he strikes his fist. It’s a clumsy motion, rattling your door on its hinges, and his heart leaps to his throat. A courteous knock would have three raps or so, not the jarring thud! he made — nobody in their right mind would imagine that’s a welcome visitor, right? Especially not at this snake’s pit of a manor. He prays desperately for you to ignore that ever happened. In your position, he’d pretend to be asleep, maybe double-check that the door is properly locked. Surely you’d do the same.

Surely...?

“It’s open!” greets your voice from inside, entirely unconcerned.

Matthias holds his breath. Why are you leaving your door unlocked at this hour? But he tucks that thought away while he stares down at the doorknob. This is it — he’s trapped. If he turns around now, you’ll be left with unresolved fears of someone lurking around your room at night. Nothing could entice him to do that to you. And if you ever found out it was him? It’d be too late for apologies, and definitely not forgiveness. Right, so he has to answer.

Slowly, he cracks it open a fraction, afraid of peering anywhere but the ground.

“You can come in,” you urge. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to. Footsteps shuffle around inside, then the door fully swings open. “Oh, hi Matthias! What’s up?”

He only meets your face briefly, at your bright and curious eyes, before his gaze flicks back downward.

“Uh… sorry to bother you, I just…” He awkwardly grasps at his elbows, struggling to string together his intentions. “…I need you.”

. . . . .

There it is. His secret is out. He didn’t mean to let it slip, but that single phrase had been bouncing endlessly around his mind, as if they were the only words he knew. It’s the one thing he can confidently admit: he needs you. He doesn’t expect you to reciprocate. In fact, he’s certain you don’t. Nobody in their right mind would. That’s why he never ventured to say these words before. So when you respond to him with patient silence, as if waiting for him to continue, the entirety of his body freezes over. Maybe only a few seconds pass in reality, but that’s more than enough time for Matthias to fill the gaps. It’s a no — he knows it’s a no.

Your head tips slightly. “Sure, what do you need?”

The whirlwind in his mind slows to a halt. He remembers how he used to cough up excuses on the spot when trying to avoid you—sometimes you’d invite him for a meal or game of cards together, and he had convinced himself those were pity invites so he tended to reject them upfront. It stings less to avoid someone altogether than to endure feeling ‘tolerated’ instead of ‘wanted.’ But now he’s wracking his brain for an excuse to stay.

“I—I just wanted to see you.” It’s not a lie, but for some reason it feels like one.

“Me?” A look of surprise flashes on your face, warmth blooming across your chest. That might be the most forward thing you’ve ever heard from him. Stepping closer, you reach for his forearm, peering up into his face to better examine his strained features. Your free hand reaches up to brush aside the limp strands of hair shrouding his face. “Did something happen? It’s almost midnight—I mean, I don’t mind, it’s just so unexpected…”

The strength falls from Matthias’ shoulders. Out of relief, maybe. Or maybe it’s to brace himself for one last leap of faith.

“Can I stay with you…?” His voice is barely audible. You search his lone eye, staring back at you in its perfect hollowness. At some point, that blank stare has become a comforting sight for you. Your hand trails from his arm to spread across his shoulder. He remains motionless.

“Okay,” you say, softly. “Always.”

As you move to wrap both arms around his neck, you notice his body tense, and his brows furrow, subtly, in a clear attempt not to let you notice. The strain on his face catches you off-guard.

“Wh-What? What’s wrong?” Immediately, you pull back to search his expression.

“N-No, nothing—keep going.”

This time, it’s Matthias who draws you close. His arms weave their way around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. His face burrows into your shoulder, and it’s then you understand the weight of his visit, of his need for you. All you can do is lift a tender hand to ruffle his hair, feeling his pounding heart ease in your arms.

[scoriarose]

The Language of Love

If you are already convinced snakes are incapable of love, this post is not for you. But if you are open to the possibility that maybe they do, and maybe they love us too, this post explores that thought. Perhaps snakes feel it differently, perhaps they feel it the same humans do- though even humans experience love, be it platonic or romantic, differently from individual to individual. Different people also show their love in different ways as well! Yet still even with a divide between species most of us have felt love from our furry and feathered friends. Perhaps our scaly friends are also telling us they love us, we just might not understand.

When I first got my girl Scoria, if I could tell her only one thing it would be, "I love you." When I held her, I wondered if she understood how much I cared about her, and would do anything to protect her. When I pet her, I wondered if she knew how amazing I thought she was and enjoyed spending time with her.

And then I started watching livestreams of wild snakes, and how they act toward each other. (The above still is from Project Rattle Cam!) When the babies see a trusted adult, they slither all over them! How many times had my girl happily slithered all over me going no where in particular? I imagine that my finger petting her soft as a feather was probably quite similar to another snake greeting her in such a way.

Sakura is much more shy, yet wants to form a bond with me. I see it when she fights her fear to vibe with me. Sometimes she'll sit for hours at the edge of her tank nearest me, not wanting to come out, but just be near me.

Snakes like rattlesnakes and garter snakes will vibe peacefully with each other, with baby rattlesnakes sleeping near the adult rattlesnakes they trust to keep them safe.

Perhaps, when our shy snakes sits with us, facing their fears they're saying, "I'm scared, but I want to be closer with you." And maybe when our snakes slither all over us, going nowhere in particular, like their wild counterparts do with each other they're saying, "I'm so happy to see you! You're my favorite to be with!" I wonder if they could tell us one thing it would be "I love you, best friend!" And it's okay, best friend. I love you too, and already know. <3

[bullet-prooflove]

Fireflies: Travis Wheatley x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989@trublu2u@yousigned-upforthis@queenslandlover-93 @hiding-behind-my-glasses

Companion piece to:

Rattle Snake - Travis struggles with his failing health.

Travis is sitting in the rocking chair on the porch, the one his granddaddy crafted for his grandmama way back when. His gaze is locked on Jefferson and the other cowboys as they herd the recently purchased cattle to their new home.

A shovel rests against the railing, an empty sack tossed over the banister alongside it. His intention had been to prove you wrong, to kill the rattlesnake lurking under the porch but then he’d been hit with a wave of nausea so severe, he’d ended up hurling his guts out into his Mama’s shrubs before collapsing back into the seat.  

He hears the door open behind him, your quiet footsteps on the wood. He isn’t ready to have this argument again, to hear how he’s deteriorating because the truth is he already knows. He feels it every damn day when he opens his eyes and has to force himself out of bed.

“Baby,” he says tiredly. “I really don’t want to talk right now.”

“Alright.” You say with a sigh, your elbows coming to rest on the railing as you look out across the ranch. Despite how much you hate Texas, you do enjoy the ranch. It’s different from Yellowstone, more bustling, more lively. The silence stretches between the two of you and with it so does the distance.

He isn’t proud about what he said this morning, or about walking out on you and his Mama when you’d started discussing his limitations. You’d gone to follow him but Jeanine had stopped you, shaking her head.

“He needs space when he gets like this.” She’d told you, pulling out her baking tins. “It was the same way when his daddy died and we were trying to figure out what to do with the debt he left us with. Just give him a little time.”

You’d spent the rest of the morning making sheet cake with a woman who barely tolerates your presence in her son’s life.

“This illness, it’ll consume your whole relationship if you let it, that’s what he’s afraid of, that you’re starting to see him differently.” She tells you as you’re folding in the eggs and you realise that there’s some truth in that. You’re relationship has become about his illness, it's the whole reason you’re here in Texas to begin with.

“I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly.” Travis interrupts your thoughts as he toys with the red worry bracelet on his wrist. It’s the same one he gave you when your ex-husband was causing you trouble way back when. “I thought it would be a couple more months before I started to get really sick.”

You sigh as you push away from the railing, coming to settle in his lap instead. His arms wrap around you, drawing you close as he buries his face into the curve of your throat.

“Let’s do something together tonight.” You whisper, your lips brushing over his temple. “Your Mama said there’s a field out back where we can watch the fireflies. I hear they’re beautiful.”

“They are.” He agrees, his thumb chasing along the line of your jaw as his forehead comes to rest upon yours. “I’m sorry for being an asshole, I know you’re just looking out for me.”

“You don’t have to apologise.” You whisper, your lips brushing over his. “As long as you take me to see the fireflies tonight, I can chalk it up to your general bitchiness.”

He laughs then and it feels like something releases in his chest because for now, the two of you, you’re gonna be alright.

Love Travis? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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