#shed look so cute in em

[kanadrawz]

You make miis look fine af dude…. Could I request Nick or Lucía :0

might as well kill two birds with one stone bc @madhippiekisser requested this too :3

also thank you on the first comment i try 😌

[lynx-doodles-indie-games]

FINALLY got the designs of the canon iterators nailed down. credit to @/poppy-purpura for the inspo with purple sig! it has nestled itself into my brain and will not leave. please. someone send help. it's tearing up the blankets.

i've also been playing with features of medibang and using ancient digital coloring tutorials so the colors i initially used got warped. below the cut are my colors and the sketchbook sketch that inspired this!

[goldenhypen]

this is so cringe but uhm 🧍🏻‍♀️ mayhaps i shed a tear or two or more this morning bc of him,,, im so happy you guys agh i missed this man sm you don’t understand. and he’s so happy rn you guys he’s HAPPY he’s like always happy but this time just hit different since the last time he went live was forever ago and he def was not ok. but this time i can confidently say he’s happy :( he’s so cute omg this live is everything to me omg. also his hair is getting LONG he’s so hot stop

[spotsupstuff]

I love Euros so much and hes a super sweet guy but it will never not be funny to me that the first time I saw him was him and sig showing off their titties LJSHHSK

feckin hell you dare remind me of that........... he SO still would parade his puppet around like that but GODS what a fuckin intro to make

[dear-slim]

pumpkin spice - m.m

Warnings: Smut, 18+, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), spicy spicy sex 🤭, multiple orgasms, hot hot hot, voyeurism

Pairing: Eminem x fem!reader

A/N - spoky 🎃👻 (yes, I’ve quite literally copy and pasted this from my main blog, don’t come at me, Idc. This is set in the modern day but with 2000s eminem coz I can’t be bothered to change the plot, sorry not sorry.

also if it says ‘lando/lan’ anyways, it’s meant to be em, I literally copy and pasted it from my other blog smh

 “A couple’s outfit would be cute,” you said, scrolling through your Pinterest feed, a few cute outfits of Mario and Princess Peach, as well as Disney themed ones. “I wasn’t exactly intending to go for ‘cute’,” Em said, sitting beside you.

He was in some random black hoodie of his, the hood pulled over his curls as he watched you scroll on your laptop. “Then what?” you gave him a huff, your lip pushed out in a pout. “I was thinking something along the lines of hot,” he mused with a shrug, taking a sip of his pumpkin spice latte.

“Men should apologise to women for saying this is bad,” Em hummed, lifting the cup to your lips as you took a sip. “I agree,” you said, letting him take control of the keyboard, holding the warm cup in your hands as he searched for an outfit. “Call it cliche, but I’d look hot as the Joker,”.

“…I’m gonna call it cliche,”.

But finally, after a whole week of him persuading you not to dress up as Jasmine and Aladdin, you settled on being the Harley Quinn to his Joker. The Halloween party was fire, some friends dressed in outfits, ranging from extreme to merely some makeup.

Em himself had scrunched his hair with green dye that he could wash out the next day, face smeared with white paint, his lips stained with red colour, in the classic joker suit. And fucking hell, he looked really hot.

“What are you doing??” you hissed as you felt his hand on your waist, guiding you away from the dim, purplish-blue lights, his face illuminated with streaks of pink light shedding on his perfect features. “You look so hot,” he mumbled, taking in your shirt and little skirt.

“So do you,” you said, your boots clicking as he pulled you into the bathroom, shutting the door. “We’re not doing a bathroom fuck,” you huffed as he rolled his eyes. “I never said I was planning on it,” he pointed out as you let out an amused giggle.

“Your body language implied it. Heavily,” you said with a scrunch of your nose as he gave your sides teasing squeeze. “My body language says just you fucking wait til we go home,” he hissed into your ear, the sudden shift between playing and lust evident as your breath hitched.

Yet, before a word could be spoken, he left. God, Marshall Mathers was nothing short of a little damn tease. And he knew it so fucking well, sometimes you just wanted to…you didn’t even know. But thanks to him, you couldn’t party and jump anymore, your thighs squeezed together with heat.

“Em,” you said, reluctantly grabbing your boyfriend’s wrist as he turned to you, one of his hands clasping a red plastic cup, “can we go now?”. He cocked his head, a smirk threatening to jump to his features. “Home?” he said, voice almost mocking.

“Oh but baby,” he said, the pet name almost tantalising and hitting straight to your core, “I’m not done partying,”. This little shit!? “Em,” you hissed, a little annoyed at his teasing as he mimicked your half-pout. He pulled you close to him, your hips swaying in time with the music as he held your hips…or rather, your thighs.

He knew fully one his hands were almost under your skirt, as he dragged his fingers down to toy with your wet core, your panties warm with your heat, legs throbbing and desperate. “Em, we’re in public,” you said, eyes wide as he circled your clit through your panties.

“I know that,” he said, rolling his eyes, “just wanna feel how wet my girl is,”. You whined, trying your hardest not to grind down on his hand as he clucked his tongue. “Needy thing,” he said, “go to the bathroom,”. At his words, your eyes lit up, was he gonna give you what you wanted?

Nope.

Marshall Mathers, the man that he is. “Hey baby,” he said, digging his hands into his pockets as he walked in. You had positioned yourself sitting on the sink already, ready for him…your eyes travelling over his costume and how good his hair looked, scrunched in the green dye, a smirk on his handsome face.

“Got a little thing for you,” he thrusted a small device into your hands as you whined again. “Enjoy!” he called into the door before leaving. Little shit. You huffed, lifting one leg onto the sink and sliding the toy inside of you, a small moan on your lips. It didn’t make up the size of Em, but it’d work.

“Where’s the..?” you trailed off, frowning as you searched for the remote. Only for a sharp pulse to shoot into your core, your eyes rolling as you clung to the sink, the toy vibrating against your core. “You good, girl?” some other girl walked in, raising a brow to you as you nodded.

“Y-Yeah,” you breathed, forcing a smile to your face, “just had too much to drink is’all,” you said, words slurring a bit. The girls gave you a bit of a weird look as you left but you didn’t care, far too caught up in the fact that Em had the damn remote and was teasing the unholy fuck out of you.

“Em,” you whined, hands gripping onto his shoulders as he swayed your body, and you desperately tried to keep your face natural. “Too much f’you?” he smirked, “this isn’t what you wanted?”. God, did he always have to be a tease. “Shame, don’t wanna go trick or treating now, do you?”.

“Em, I swear to god, I’ll-,” you growled, only to be cut off by your own yelp as you buried your face into his neck, feeling the sharp intensity of the vibrator as he turned it up. “What you’re gonna do is you’re gonna shut your little mouth for now,” he said, “and you can open it when I want you to suck my dick,”.

“You’re not in the place to argue with me,” he added more firmly as you huffed but kept your mouth closed. You’d be damned than to go a Halloween night without his cock to ravage you. “Wanna nail you so bad,” he said, voice dropping to a huskier level, “but you’re gonna earn it by being quiet,”.

You nodded, body shuddering with need but said nothing, as he went back to swaying on the spot, taking a sip from his red cup. “This isn’t mine,” he said, his voice quiet in your ear, putting the cup down and taking another. “Em, please,” you whined, your legs quivering, “can we go home?”.

He rolled his eyes once again, his hand holding onto your forearm to support you as you squeezed your thighs together, the feeling of the toy against your sensitive skin sending your body in little shock waves. He clicked his tongue but took you out anyways, walking to the car.

“Can’t believe you made me leave the party,” he said with a sigh, which was very much fake. Both of you knew he’d rather be nailing you right now. You huffed, a pout on your lips, which only turned to a shriek as he turned the vibrator to the maximum. “Em! Don’t d-do it that h-high!” you tried to fumble for the remote, which he held out of your reach.

“I’m g-gonna c-cum before we’re e-even home!” you tried to argue as he thrust the remote into the backseat somewhere. “Good,” he said, “I need you all wet f’me when we’re home, I don’t have time to finger you,”. Admittedly, it was a hot idea, but all you could focus on was the moans of pleasure as your orgasm flooded through.

The psycho Joker costume really did fit him, then. You managed to stumble inside as he smirked, lifting you up easily, tossing the vibrator into some corner, as he dropped you on the bed, your body bouncing. It was evident you were a little exhausted, but nowhere near tired enough for you not to get on your hands and knees immediately.

“Well will you look at that,” he mused, “someone’s needy,”. But, instead of his tip pressing to your clit, your back arched and you moaned as his tongue came in contact with your sensitive bundle of nerves, replaced by his nose as he licked through your folds, his nose rubbing at your clit.

“Em, oh my-,” you cut yourself off with a moan as your body threatened to collapse, only stopped by his wrapping an arm round your waist to steady you as he pushed himself further between your folds, his tongue licking further through your sensitive skin, circling your entrance as he pushed inside of you.

You gasped again, subconsciously pushing yourself closer to him, his tongue swirling round inside of you collecting your juices as his lips coated in the stuff, his hand reaching for undo the top of your outfit. Sure, maybe this wasn’t a ghostface sort of thing, but it was alright, wasn’t it?

A gasp of half indignance and a whine left your lips as he moved away from you, straightening up. “Em,” you whispered, maybe he would give you what you wanted? He turned a blind eye to it, ignoring you as he watched a spider climb over the wall. “Em!” you whined again.

There was no way on Halloween night that he was going to leave you with your fingers, right? “Beg for it,” he said simply, another huff leaving your lips, “without the attitude,” he pinched your chin between his fingers harshly as you nodded. “Em,” you whined, your voice trying to convince.

“Can you go down on me? Please?” you begged as he hummed. “Could do,” he said with a shrug, making you more and more frustrated. “Em!” you started again, “please, I need you so bad, feel how wet I am,” you traced his finger through your folds. That was enough for him.

“Sit on my face,” he said, your eyes widening. You’d never done that before, but you needed him so mad, no matter what form he came in as he laid on the bed, his hands holding your thighs as you lowered down.

“All the way,” he tutted, pulling on your thighs as your clit made contact with his nose, his tongue pushed deep inside of you, reaching for the spot that made you scream his name, your hands bunching in his hair, your nails digging into his neck.

You knew he was okay with it, his eyes shimmering from beneath you as his lips moved under your folds, his tongue sliding in and out of you, as you slowly moved your hips. “That’s it,” he cooed, his voice deep and muffled beneath you as he coaxed you to ride his face, his nose buried in your clit.

You could feel yet another orgasm building inside of your stomach, quicker this time, almost like the last one had prompted off a domino effect, your eyes rolling as Em gave you full control, his tongue out, your core dripping with need and want. His hands reached up to your with your tits, slowly cupping them, teasing at the nipples with his thumbs as you moaned.

“Oh fuck, Em, right there,” you gasped, finding that point that made your toes curl, your eyes rolling back at the feeling. You looked over your shoulder, the growing bulge in his pants growing by the second as you turned around, reaching your hand under his belt, taking his heavy, thick cock in your palm.

His gasp went straight to your core, your hips grinding down, his nose and lips coated in your juices, slick and easy to move across him as you spread the precum leaking for, his tip across his length, tracing the vein along the underside of his cock with your free hand, all whilst moving across his face.

Your thighs squeezed round his head, your clit throbbing as your orgasm pushed through, your body limp and weak, hand movement across his rock-hard cock slowing down and becoming sloppier and sloppier. He sat up, holding you on his lap as you pumped his cock, moving your core along his bare thighs. God how needy could you be?

You’d teased him earlier, now he’d get his payback. You watched with narrowed eyes as he licked his fingers, your juices collected on his lips as he cleaned it off with his tongue. “I’m not here to just please you,” he said, moving his hips as if to say ‘I have needs too’. You might’ve sounded selfish, but you were desperate.

With a huff, you moved onto your knees, opening your mouth as he tutted. “Really? That’s all? You know that won’t fit,” he said, pushing your lips apart further. You gasped as he slid into your mouth, his cock heavy on your tongue, pushing your lips apart as he felt the bulge in your cheek.

His tip was pressed against the back of your throat, almost as if was letting you adjust - and just when you felt like your mouth was gonna explode, he pulled out, your small coughs and splutters filling the air. He pushed your head further, your small gagging sound against his thigh vibrating through his body. Tears began to form in your eyes from how hard he was pushing you, his cheeks flushed red with pleasure.

“Are you a slut, Y/N?” he asked, pulling you off of him as you gasped for air, the air smelling like sex, your eyes hazy and filled with slight tears from the strain as you nodded. “Yes,” you said, you didn’t need him to tell you to use your words as he hummed again. He was less rough, instead, bobbing your head up and down on the tip only, guiding your small hand to the base and pushing it up and down.

You gagged again, pushing more of him into your mouth. There was something about the way he gasped and his eyes rolled at your bold move...he turned his head to look down, your thighs squeezing together as he pushed them apart, eyes running over your wet folds once more.

Your back arched as he toyed around with your folds once more, circling your entrance with his thumb as you continued to bob your head, almost copying his movements on his cock. You whined as he pushed his longest finger into you, slowly pumping as your head fell a little onto his knee.

His other hand tangled in your hair, pushing you further down on his cock, a bulge forming in your throat as he fingered you, your cunt clenching round his digits. “Need my cock in you, do you?” he asked, to which you nodded, lips never leaving his cock. “Of course you do,” he scoffed, pulling you off of him by your hair.

You whined as he did so, your lips almost reaching to put him back on your tongue, the feeling of his heavy, thick cock against your tongue sending pulses into your core, but you weren’t complaining as he turned you round, pushing you over the bed, your ass against his cock as he groaned, pulling you back.

“Please, I need you,” you gasped, your hands balling into fists into the sheets as he hummed, reaching one hand round the front of you toy with your clit, your head falling into the mattress as he slid his cock inside of you, the pad of his thumb flicking over your slick bundle of nerves.

“Fuckin’ tight, aren’t you?” he groaned, your cunt clenching round his thigh member, the vein along the bottom throbbing against your entrance before he started moving, pulling all the way back so his head was hanging inside of you, before he plunged back inside of you, another moan on his lips.

“So full,” Em groaned into your ear, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he pulled one of your arms behind your back, holding it there as you dragged at the bedsheets, his hips moving slowly, each thrust picking up pace, as he moved his other hand out of your hair to squeeze at the flesh of your ass.

“Fuck, my favourite treat,” Em gasped, his voice hoarse and rough as he held you close to him, his chest pressing to your back, the scent of sweat and the sheen of his sweat on his skin evident in the air as you moaned, your cheeks flushed red, hair messy and disheveled.

“Daddy’s little monster, yeah?” Em groaned, picking up the shirt he’d thrust onto the side when he’d tore it from your body, thrusting it onto the bed in front of you as your pussy strangled at his cock, your hips moving to try and take all of him, earning yourself a sharp smack on the back of you ass.

A strangled moan left your lips at the feeling as he scowled, one hand wrapping round your throat as he pulled all the way out. You whined again, the sound muffled from Em’s hand as your cunt clenched round air, and you could practically feel the amused smirk playing on his lip.

Without warning, he pushed himself back into you again, pulling a loud shriek out of you, his thick length hitting resistance immediately. He muffled your moan let again, his fingers digging into your lips as he heard the doorbell suddenly. “The fuck-?” he asked, pulling out of you as you whined.

“Em,” you said, tugging at his hand as he stood up. “You can’t be that pathetic,” he said, very much nearly in disbelief that you couldn’t wait for his cock. “Fucking wait, and don’t you dare touch yourself,”. The doorbell went off again, the childish sound of ‘trick or treat’ ringing through the house as Em groaned.

“Behave,” he said, pulling his outfit back up properly and rushing down the stairs with the bowl of candy. You couldn’t help it, you needed to feel something, as you buried two fingers deep into your heat, not even making up half the side of his thick girth as you fucked yourself on your fingers.

“You little fucking-,” you gasped as Em glared at you, your fingers freezing deep inside your cunt, eyes wide. “Em, I-,” you were cut off as his hand reached to your hair, pushing you back onto the bed. “I don’t care,” he snapped harshly as you opened your mouth to speak.

A shriek left your lips as he plunged his cock once more into your cunt, welcomed with a wave of your juices. You were dizzy, breathless as he kept filling up your pussy with short, harsh strokes. Heavy grunts and growls accompanied the wet sounds of your sloppy holes getting fucked as he worked himself into a frenzy, your moans turning to squeaks.

His hips were moving to fast, ploughing in and out of you, you were sure you’d have bruises, and the ability to walk would be nothing but a damn myth to you. “You’re a fucking whore, Y/N,” Em growled into your ear as you whined. “I’m not a-,” you started.

“Shut the fuck up!” he snapped, landing a harsh smack onto your ass as you shrieked again. “Just shut up and take my cock,” he said, his chest heaving as his thrusts became sloppier, your cunt clenching round him as your orgasm hit, your body spasming with need, from what felt like your hundredth orgasm that night.

You’d lost count at that point anyways, as you shook, your arms shaking and hands clawing at the bedsheets as Em tightened his grip round your neck, his seed spilling into you, dripping out of your tight cunt, his cock hanging inside of you before he pulled out, a moan on your lips as he pushed his own cum back inside of you.

“Happy Halloween, baby,”.

[saintship]

humbly would like to request konig seeing s/h scars on his s/o for the first time :’)

fun fact i got dumped one time over em one time, my ex saw em on my thigh and was like “yeah no”

First of all I’m hunting this fucker down, what the hell??

People who get stranger’s IP’s do your shit

I’m so sorry that happened to you, that little boy did not deserve you, I hope you enjoy<3

SIDE NOTE I saw a headcanon on tiktok saying “König is NOT shy” And I kinda loved that so I tried to explore it a bit

Warnings: S/H scars, revealing of traumatic events

König x Reader

Outer Patrol

Of all the assignment you cycled through, outer patrol was the easiest on the eyes. The forest surrounding the base consisted of thin birch trees packed together, so that slivers of sunlight would reach through and grace the east grounds. Your favorite was the early morning outer patrol with König—he shared your fascination with the forest, and slung a loose arm around you when it had been truly freezing last winter.

Now, in the warmth of July, the sun casted its light aggressively through the gaps of branches and leaves, the humid air clouding your thoughts.

The sticks and leaves crumpled under both of your boots, König bringing up the rear on the narrow path.

“Do you think there are bears out here?” You murmur, looking carefully through the gaps of the trees.

“Nein. We make too much noise..” König pointed out. The camp certainly made itself known during artillery drills.

You hum, letting the air settle in silence again. Suddenly, you stopped in your tracks, causing König to nearly topple you over.

“Hey!”

“Sh!” You hold up a gloved hand, staying as still as possible. Slowly, you lifted the other to point ahead of you, where a fox pawed at the ground, investigating the lush grass.

“That’s not a bear.” König’s whisper nearly made you laugh, but you swatted his shoulder instead, smiling.

“He’s so cute..” you whisper. The fox lifted its head, spotting the two of you and bounding away quickly.

“I guess it’s not too loud for him.” You turn around and walk backwards to face your partner as the path widens ahead.

“Maybe we’ll see kits in the spring.” König said softly.

“Aw..” You cooed at the thought, smiling.

The path continued, but there was a faint fork that led off to the right.

“Have you seen this?”

König shook his head.

You pushed back a branch, stepping through the threshold. The path was littered with overgrown ferns, bushes, and a few fallen logs you had to vault over. Finally, the path opened to a clearing, where a small stream expanded into a large pond nestled underneath a trickling waterfall. The rocky ledge slanted down, the falling water sparkling beneath the late morning sunshine.

“Oh..my god..” you breathed. You turned to see König’s reaction; he was transfixed on the water, his eyes shining under the dark paint and hood.

“This is insane..” you knelt by the water, removing a glove to feel the temperature. “Not bad. I bet people used to swim here.”

Suddenly, König’s pager buzzed, and he was broken from his trance to retrieve the device from his hip.

“König, outer patrol..” He greeted.

“Price is tellin’ me to inform everyone off base to not come back until the afternoon; apparently we’ve got more people than we’re supposed to have on the property, and the hounds are here earlier than he thought.”

Simon’s voice rang gruffly through the transmitter, sounding irritated.

“So just don’t come back for a few hours, yeah?”

“Ja.” König replied.

“Thanks, Ghost!” You called from where you knelt at the water.

“Whatever.” The line clicked, leaving them alone with the sound of running water again.

“Well, we couldn’t have been in a luckier spot to stay put.” You stated, pulling off your backpack. You set down your gun next to it and hugged your knees, watching the water.

“That is true.” König conceded. He shed the bulk of his gear, along with his weapon, but remained standing, wandering along the shoreline. He knelt for a moment, seemingly inspecting something, before standing again and tossing a stone sideways, the rock skidding a total of four times before plunging into the water.

“Woah!” You got to your feet, walking over to him. “You could go Olympic..” You found a stone that seemed thin enough, turning it over in your ungloved hand.

“Just turn your hips. Put your soul into it.” König instructed, enacting his ridiculous stone-skipping stance. You laughed a bit, but followed his direction, skipping the rock twice.

“Ha!” You threw your arms up, connecting your hands with König’s for a double high five.

“Not bad..” He chided.

The sun rose in the sky over the next hour, you and König perfectly content with skipping rocks, wrestling, and splashing each other. All the movement combined with the beating sun made for a layer of sweat underneath your uniform.

“Wish we could swim; I’m melting..” you laid on your back dramatically, feeling the warm stones through your shirt.

“Why not?”

“Because, we have work, and someone might- hey!” You sat up, gaping as König lifted his shirt. He was careful to keep his hood on, but dared to strip of his pants, boots and socks.

“What are you doing?” You couldn’t help but smile at his tenacity.

“Just to my waist!” König gestured to his bare torso, his black briefs and hood being the only fabric left on him. You watched as he waded in, the muscles of his back enough to have a warmth climb your neck. You look away, feeling uncertain about ogling your coworker.

“It’s so nice!”

You turned back to see him hip-deep, running his hands back and forth along the surface. The definition of his chest and shoulders was criminal, accentuated by the patterns of light reflecting off the water’s surface.

“Come on!”

“No way!” You grinned, trying to hide the sense of dread the idea brought onto your mind.

“I am willing to use force!”

“Oh, god..” you sighed, removing your boots and socks. You waded to your shins, rolling up your pants so they didn’t get wet. The water was cool, washing away the sweat prickling on your legs. “Happy?”

“I don’t think so..” He sang, wading back to the shore. The water cascaded down his lower stomach, along his thighs. You found yourself furiously studying the pebbles at your feet, rendering you unaware of König’s attack.

He lifted you from the water with damp hands, ready to drop you in the further depths. You yelped, laughing but terrified of coming back with a soaked uniform.

“Alright! Alright!” You shouted. “I’ll get in, crazy!”

A gentle laugh rumbled from his chest, which sounded right by your ear as he set you down. You had felt the muscle of his chest through just a layer of fabric; the thought enough for you to avoid his eyes.

With all the laughter, you almost forgot the reason you didn’t want to undress in the first place. While König returned into the water, you pulled off your shirt, your sports bra being the only covering for your chest. The high-waisted underwear that you wore so your belt didn’t dig dents into your skin acted as bottoms, but you were hesitant to remove your pants. König noticed your labored breathing, returning to your side again.

“You don’t have to..if you really don’t want to.” He said gently, holding out a surrendering hand.

“No, it’s not..I just..” you sighed, irritated, and sat down in the sand.

“Is there something bothering you?” König’s gentle question shouldn’t have made you shrink the way it did.

“I’m sorry I pressured you, I didn’t-"

“König, it’s not your fault.” Your words escaped a bit snappier than usual, your shame building into frustration. “It’s..there are parts of myself you haven’t seen. Things that might upset you.”

König continued to look in your eyes, his concern drifting to confusion.

“There is nothing I would hold against you..” he assured. “If you want to do this, you shouldn’t hold yourself back, it’s alright.”

His words grounded you. He was right; a bodily feature is not grounds for hiding yourself away for the rest of your life when you don’t want to.

You nod, finding it easier to just get to it. Your belt came off first, the sound of the sliding leather deafening in the air of trickling water and chittering birds. Sliding your pants down your legs, the scars stretching over your thighs seemed especially defined under the sunlight. You discarded your pants, resisting the urge to cover yourself. You heard an intake of breath from König; a noise of realization.

“That is why you didn’t want to?” He asked gently.

“Scars like these don’t sit well with most people.” You murmur. Standing, you wade fully into the water, letting the water come up to your shoulders. König followed quietly, the same depth with his height letting the water only reach his sternum.

“I don’t think of you differently.” He admitted softly. “I’m honored you trust me to share something like that..I believe you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

You study his eyes for a moment, the water around you soothing your worries. “Really?”

König nodded, then let the silence stretch its legs between the two of you for a moment.

“Do you wanna go under the waterfall?” König asked.

You smiled. “Your hood will get wet..”

He hummed in realization. “I suppose you’ll have to go under for two?”

You laugh gently, swimming toward the waterfall with a splash at his chest. The water fell gently, soaking your hair and cooling your scalp.

“That’s nice..” you murmured, your eyes closed. “They’re totally going to know..”

Opening your eyes, you spot König already looking your way. The water is deep enough here that the edge seams of his hood are dipping into the water.

“I think it was worth it..”

You know he doesn’t mean it was worth it to escape the heat. Or threaten to dunk you underwater, or watch you tilt your head back under a glittering waterfall. You’d admitted something raw—deeply personal. There was a tie that bound you now, separate from that military based trust that everyone shared. With the others, you’d devoted the sacrifice of your body; your role in the fight. But to one Colonel, you had devoted your mind.

[antlerquccn]

FROM SABRINA CARPENTER'S SHORT N SWEET ALBUM! feel free to change to fit muses

When I love you I’m sweet like an angel 

Don’t mistake my nice for naive 

Baby you say you really like it being mine? 

Let me give you some advice 

Boy it’s not that complicated 

No one’s more amazing at turnin’ lovin’ into hatred

I won’t give a fuck about you

You do something sus kiss my cute ass bye

You should stay in my good graces  or I’ll switch it up like that so fast 

Now he’s thinkin’ bout me every night, oh

Say you can’t sleep

I can’t relate to desperation

My ‘give a fucks’ are on vacation

I’m working late cause I’m a [job]

[he/she/they] look[s] so cute wrapped around my finger

Too bad your ex don’t do it for ya

You make me wanna make you fall in love 

Give me more than just some butterflies

Wanna try out some freaky positions? 

If you love me right then who knows I might let you make me juno

I know you’re not the sharpest tool in the shed 

If that was casual then I’m an idiot 

Lying to yourself if you think we’re fine you’re confused and I’m upset 

All the silence just makes it worse really cause it leaves you so top of mind for me 

Seems like overnight I’m just the bitch you hate now 

Left me with a lot of shit to second guess

I’m looking for an answer in between the lines 

We never talk about it 

We don’t talk about it

Don’t smile because it happened baby cry because it’s over 

I want you to miss me

You can fake it but you know I know 

I am not dramatic 

Oh it’s slim pickins  If I can’t have the one I love 

I’ll just keep on moaning and bitchin’

I guess it’s you that I’ll be kissin’

Last week you didn’t have any doubts 

What a coincidence

Oh wow you just broke up again 

You’re so dumb and poetic it’s just what I fall for 

Just cause you talk like one doesn’t make you a man 

Baby you put us in this situation 

You’re so empathetic you’d make a great wife 

How you talk so sweet when you’re doing bad things 

Are you free next week? 

You’ll just have to taste me when he’s kissing you

Just know you’ll taste me too 

Well I heard you’re back together

That it’s the first drink that you’ve had in like a month 

I’ve never seen an ugly truth that I can’t bend to something that looks better 

I’m stupid but I’m clever 

You don’t have to lie to girls

Don’t I know it better than anyone else?

We love to mistake butterflies for cardiac arrest 

If they like you they’ll just lie to themselves 

And girls will lose their god damn minds for you 

I know I have good judgement, I know I have good taste

I promise ‘em that you’re different and everyone makes mistakes

Don’t bring me to tears when I just did my makeup so nice

I beg you don’t embarass me mother fucker ahhh

Heartbreak is one thing my egos another

[irkimatsu]

AHHHHHH I love Husk and your content is by far my FAVORITE 😍 the sweet, the smut, the little bit of both...I love it all.

So I have a cute idea for this one. Neko!reader x husk. The reader isn't fully cat, but has the ears and tail, a cat-like face and of course the mannerisms. Husk is crushing hard and thinks that she (or they, whichever pronouns :) ) is cute and nonchalantly points out that it's adorable when her ears twitch. And then she's like, "And you wonder why we're always messing with you, eyy Kitten?" which makes him all flustered and he can't even say anything.

I can just picture them doing the equivalent of holding hands only their tails wrapped around each other 😚😚

Thank you so much for enjoying my writing!

I envisioned Reader as an anthro like Husk; I'm hoping that's what you meant with your description! Reader gets drunk and rants to Husk about cat instincts, Husk offers some advice, light flirting and flustered Husk ensues. I hope this is close enough to what you wanted! 1.2k words, SFW, female reader!

---

You’ve had way too much to drink.

It’s not like you’re inexperienced at drinking; you knew the hard stuff you were knocking back would be enough to get you wasted. That was the point.  Maybe if you got drunk enough, you could shut off the stupid cat instincts that hadn’t left you alone since the moment you died. The exercises you’ve been doing at this hotel for the past few months may have taught you things like not stealing and believing in the power of friendship, but there hadn’t yet been any lessons on how to stop swiping at your own tail every time it entered the corner of your field of vision.

You’re not sure if the alcohol has turned off the instincts, but it sure has turned on your mouth. Without thinking about what you’re saying, you’ve been ranting to the bartender for the past thirty minutes, barely pausing to take a breath. Surely he doesn’t mind, right? Not only are bartenders supposed to listen when their customers want to bitch, but he’s in the exact same position as you are as far as species goes!

“...and the fuckin’ hairballs!” is the latest thought in your stream of word vomit. “I thought mucus was bad! Hairballs! They get stuck in my throat, and they itch like hell until I can cough ‘em up!”

“They sell stuff down here to take care of that,” the bartender says, pouring you another drink without you asking. “It tastes like shit, but it works. I don’t get ‘em anymore unless I forget to drink it.”

“And what about shedding?!” you continue on as if he didn’t say anything. “It’s impossible to keep my room clean! It’s like the more I clean up, the more fur there is!”

“Niffty’s been helpin’ me with that since I met her. She gets pissed about the fur I leave everywhere otherwise. She ain’t gentle with that brush, though.”

You take another gulp of your drink and slam it down onto the bar. “Fuck, think I just swallowed some fur…”

“You haven’t even been dead for a year yet, right?” Husk asks. “ That’s barely anything. Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to get used to being a cat. Some of the bullshit never goes away, but it becomes part of you.”

“Do you like being a cat?” you ask.

He laughs at your question. “Hell no! But what choice do I have? There’s no going back to bein’ human for any of us. May as well learn how to deal with it.” He takes a gulp of his own drink, not even bothering to pour it into a glass. “If ya want, I can take you to a good supply place sometime. They’ve got good products if you can put up with the fact that it looks like a fuckin’ pet store.”

“Hmm…” you neither accept nor deny his offer. You only take another drink, swallowing more damn fur in the process. That’s definitely gonna lead to some late-night hairballs. “It’s so annoying…” you whine as you plop your chin on the bar. “Why couldn’t I have been something cool? You know I saw a giant lizard the other day? Lucky bastard…”

“Bet they have a hell of a time findin’ clothes,” he says. “Or even gettin’ into places to begin with.”

“And even you got wings…” you continue on.

“Yeah. Wings. I get to clean up after fur and feathers, and if I don’t find the perfect position while sleeping the fuckin’ things go numb.” He takes your glass away, but you’re too lost in your own self-pity to protest. “We’ve all gotta get used to our new bodies when we get down here, and I doubt it’d be any different if we somehow got into heaven. Just gotta make the best of it.” He turns around to put away some bottles. “Besides, it’s not all bad. At least you’re cute.”

“...what was that?” you say, not expecting that word out of Husk’s mouth.

“I said you’re cute. Everyone thinks cats are cute, don’t they? Even I liked ‘em when I was alive. I don’t want to be one, but you can’t resist their mannerisms, can ya? The big eyes, the soft fur…”

He turns around just in time to see your right ear flicking in annoyance from the condescension. “The twitchy ears…”

You smirk, knowing the weight of what you’re about to say next but too drunk to stop yourself. “So now you get why Angel and I are always commenting on your mannerisms, eh, kitty?”

“Whoa! Hey!” His fur bristles, and you know you shouldn’t find his own agitation cute, but you can’t help yourself. It helps you understand the way he was just talking to you, at least. “That’s different! You’re a young lady! You died at, what, 25? You’re supposed to be cute! I’m an old man who drank myself to death. Nothin’ cute about that.”

“You’ve still got the big eyes and the soft fur…” you continue on.

He groans in response. “If you were a stranger saying that shit to me, I’d kill you.”

“So what makes me so special?” Your tail waves playfully behind you, and he’s obviously following it with his eyes and blushing.

“I…” he starts, but never manages to come up with the rest of the sentence. “Jesus Christ,” is all he has to offer before grabbing a couple of glasses from the shelf. He fills them both with water, then carries them around to the other side of the bar.

“Here,” he says as he sets one of the glasses in front of you. “Drink this. You’re gonna feel like shit in the morning. May as well not be dehydrated on top of everything else.”

You stare at the cup as he takes a seat on the stool next to you. “How do you resist the urge to knock cups over?” you ask.

“Lots of self-control,” he says with a smirk before guzzling his glass in one go.

You place your paw on the side of the glass, originally intending to pick it up, but an overwhelming spark takes over your brain, and you start easing the cup toward the edge of the bar. Husk grabs it and places it back where it started before it can crash to the floor.

“You’ll get used to it,” he assures you. He’s finished his water, but for a reason you can’t determine, he’s still sitting next to you.

“How long have you been down here?” you ask. “A couple years?”

“Mmm… fifty?” he guesses. “Almost as long as I was alive, at this point.”

“Fifty years?!” you exclaim. “And you still have to deal with cat instincts?!”

He shrugs. “Like I said, it never goes away. Just gotta get used to it, take the good with the bad.”

“The good…” you repeat. “Like being cute?”

“Oh, shut up,” he says. “...but in your case… yeah. Like being cute.”

You finally manage to pick up your water without giving into the desire for destruction. As you take a sip, something feathery starts to tickle against your tail. You look over at Husk from the corner of your eye. He’s trying to be nonchalant, not even looking at you, but there’s only one thing that could be brushing against you right now.

Without looking, you shift your tail, allowing it to curl around Husk’s. Husk curls his around yours in turn, your tail tips forming a spiral that just barely reaches the floor.

It’s the closest he’ll get to flirting for now. You’ll take what you can get.

[keis-slut]

red|j.the killer

CW: PERIOD SEX, SIZE KINK/MANHANDLE, HAIR PULLING

he was absolutely deranged, insane in the head for you on your period.

obviously he was already crazy for you, but god

on your period.

he just knew, every single time, when you’d be on your period.

whether it was the out of nowhere snippy attitude he just loved to put you in your place for,

or the random mood swings he would tease you, he knew.

oh, and he could not miss the smell.

how his body would achingly melt when the scent was noticeable,

he couldn’t wait to get you alone, it was his favorite.

his favorite time to feel you, to admire just how beautiful you are, how delicious you smell and taste.

his oddly strong arms wrapped fully around your shoulders, holding you against him as his cock kissed your bloody cervix.

he would sit there inside you, having you get use to his size, only slightly moving as if to coat himself in your shed.

“s’ warm…”

he cooed in your ear, holding you tighter against his body as your legs locked around his waist.

until he finally loosened up, but grabbed a fistful of your hair as you fell onto the pillows.

you cried as he pulled your hair back, cock sliding out from your messy red cunt.

he was absolutely addicted to how your blood would beautifully paint the inside of your thighs, and his too.

the magnificent art you left behind on his bedsheets after being fucked through what felt full cycle.

the way your blood would coat and web around his cock, clots being the perfect finishing touch.

the perfect shade of red, to him.

he quickly brought his hands to your legs, lifting them to his shoulders, getting a perfect view of you spreading for him.

he leaned back slightly, bucking his hips to get a comfortable thrust for you as his hands snaked around your plush thighs.

he thought you looked so fucking cute on your period, all red and swollen, bloated and sore.

the way your tits and your little belly were swelled, you were so soft and yet so sharp in person at the same time.

he gave a rough thrust, fucking almost animalistic as he could see red spilling from your cunt.

“s’ too much…cramps, jeff…”

you cry as your legs squeeze tightly around his head, but he doesn’t stop.

“fucking s’pose to help ‘em, ain’t that right, baby?”

his words only dismiss yours, feeling you clench around his blood coated cock, driving him mad.

he could feel the difference when you were on your period, you felt even warmer, even tighter, even thicker.

he was absolutely losing his mind as you made a mess on his bed,

the perfect shade of red.

[butterphii]

Just Us

Forever (Part 3)

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

TW: Fake relationship, cussing, H/C, talk of abusing/domestic violence by ex (reader's ex), cute Jake, sexual tension, Jake closing himself off and not letting it happen, sad reader : (

Note: Adding the abusing part because there should be way more attention on people who survived that. This is for all of them. Enjoy, lovelies. ^^

-------------------Jake Peralta------------------

You sat patiently in his car while he waited for the food from the McDonald's drive thru window.

"Is it almost done? I'm starving!" You groaned angrily. "I don't even know, girl. Give 'em two more minutes, I'm sure-" He was interrupted by someone fairly familiar popping out the window.

"Oh, why look who it is!" A voice said. "Hello, dear." He looked into your eyes while you tried to remember who he was. Your whole body froze when you finally pinned it in your head; your ex.

You started to hyperventilate as Jake drove off. "Hey, hey, baby what's wrong? He pulled his car over. You couldn't answer. Eyes filled with tears, mouth breathing heavy. "Babe, it's gonna be ok, I just need you to answer me ok?" He added, leaning over the center console to stroke your cheek lightly.

"He..A-abused..me." You finally managed to sob out. Jake's face turned from sympathy to anger. "It's ok, baby, promise. Let's get you back home and I'll stay with you for the night, alright?" He asked, making sure you were ok before he turned the car back on and drove to the apartment building.

You were still slightly crying when Jake opened your car door, holding your waist and letting you keep your head down while he found the key in your purse.

Unlocking your door, Jake smiled at you again and said, "I'll be right back, like 20 minutes, ok?" His hand cupped your cheek. You nodded, walking towards your bedroom and hearing your door softly slam in anger. You knew what he was about to do, and you honestly didn't want to stop him.

You watched boring TV for the next 30 or so minutes while waiting for him to get back. When you finally heard a knock at your door, you scrambled to open it.

Once the door opened, he growled in a low and hoarse voice, "Why aren't you asleep, baby? It's time to go to bed." "I was waiting for you, Jake. What happened?" You asked, throat dry. There were a few red marks across his neck and upper arms that you noticed while he shedded off his button up shirt and was left in a black tank.

You were drooling at the sight of him, watching him take off his shoes and stretch his back out made you insanely horny.

"Let's go, babe. You need to sleep." He groaned, picking you up and walking you to your room. You kicked and squealed while Jake tickled your side softly, grinning.

He tickled you more, poking your side softly until your face got close to his. Your lips were barely 3 inches away, your mouth parted and his tugged into a quiet smile. He cleared his throat, revealing to you that you should probably move your head away.

When you finally reached your room, Jake lay you down on your bed, reaching for the door handle to the living room. "Wait," You croaked quietly. He turned his head, raising his eyebrow.

"Stay.." You mumbled tiredly. He shooke his head. "No, baby. I'm gonna sleep on the couch, ok? I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight." He smiled.

Upset, you nodded. "I'm sorry." He opened the door. Flipping over, you nodded again. You could hear his heart break when he closed the door.

He knew you liked him, but he didn't want to ruin what you had. You were best friends, and he didn't want to forget that completely if you broke up on bad terms. He really was sorry, and he wanted to go along with it. He just..couldn't.

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 21: Brave Enough

Authors Note

Word count: 7.9k

Read the rest here!

After an emotionally taxing conversation with his psychologist, Damiano decided to also stop smoking weed/otherwise consuming cannabis. It’d been too triggering, a reminder of all the reasons he loved coke and opioids. Admitting he wasn’t ready for parties or group gatherings was even more difficult. He loved his friends, his family, and going to Vic’s DJ gigs. He loved playing pool at bars or dancing to the deafening pulse of techno music in a club. These things allowed him to feel the hurried, bright energy of his youth. It was proving hard to differentiate between craving community, craving mania, and craving situations because he associated them with drug use. 

He also made a habit of exercising in the mornings, before treatment. The earlier he took his lithium and ate some protein, the better he tended to feel throughout the day. Routine made cravings easier to resist when he woke up with them and endorphins lessened the severity of his depressive moods.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” That's what you told Damiano when he debriefed you the next evening, a chip to mark 24 hours sober clutched in his fist. He’d disclosed his relapse in group and sobbed, despite hardy efforts not to shed a tear. You make dinner and stroke his hair when Dami lays his head on your lap. He’s cynical, not receptive to positive affirmation. Unfortunately, this mood has become more common as the years pass. So you focus on gestures: nicely making his bed, meal prepping his breakfast, cleaning the litter box even though it was his turn. 

Surprisingly, Damiano requests you read aloud some favorite passages from the books you’ve finished since the breakup. You’d always thought of that as an activity for your sake. Of course he doesn’t actually use the word “breakup.” Dami won’t touch that terminology with a 10 foot pole. He’s grumpy and lovable, snuggled under the pale pink bed sheet as you speak.

Dami returned the favor by waking you up with coffee, which became a tradition on weekdays. He probably got up 10 minutes earlier than necessary to do so. The first morning you thought it was a glorious dream. Instead of the abrasive and occasionally rage-inducing beep of your alarm, a hand you recognized as Damiano’s was rubbing your back. It slides under your t-shirt and gently strokes your spine. You shiver and hum in delight, then scooch closer. Eyes still closed, the bed dips and you sense Dami taking a seat on the edge. The morning light pours in through the curtains – to which you have your back turned – as the scent of espresso reaches your nose. Such sensory perfection must be fantasy.

“It’s time to wake up,” he murmurs.

“Mm mm.” You object and scoot closer, curling around Damiano. He chuckles and massages your scalp with his fingertips. 

“Big stretch,” he narrates as Cheeto rouses herself by his feet. You can tell it’s not Princess, since she’d be meowing by the bedroom door as soon as she heard Damiano up and about. Finally, your brain starts to register that this might be reality, since you never dreamed of Cheeto and Dami simultaneously. You open one eye and are accosted by the bright light, confirming that this isn’t a dream.

“Hey,” you croak, squinting up at him. “What time is it?”

“A couple minutes before your alarm. I turned it off.” You readjust, head, shoulders, and arms splayed across Dami’s lap. “I don’t think that counts as getting out of bed.”

“I’d like to contest that.”

“Getting out of bed in general or if laying on my lap counts?”

“Yes,” you sigh, eyes falling closed.

“Mm mm, keep ‘em open,” he requests, affectionately. You whine in protest and pout. More than anything, you want to pull Dami into the bed for cuddles, but it’d make you late for work.

“Fine.” Awkwardly, you flip onto your back to stare up at Damiano. He’s smiling, which is good motivation to keep looking.

“You’re cute when it’s too bright. You squint so hard that you get this little line between your eyebrows.” He runs his finger along your nose, then taps your cupid’s bow. You’d very much like him to keep going, gently stroking your features. He delicately moves the hair from your face and your eyelids grow heavy. Damiano tsks, working a hand between your mid-back and the mattress.

“Sit up. C’mon.” With a sigh, you detangle your legs from the sheet. “C’mon,” he coaxes sweetly. “When you’re ready to stop pouting, there's coffee.” Your feet land on the floor as Damiano helps push you upright. After a couple sips of espresso, your pupils adapt and the brain begins working. Dami remains seated, hand on your back, and you love that he’s content to just share space. Love that things don’t always have to be full of words and amusements for one another.

“Thank you, this is so nice!” You hug Dami with messy enthusiasm, leaning some of your weight against him. Damiano embraces back and kisses your head.

“I’m happy to do it, sweetheart.” His hand resumes stroking your spine, the other moving the hair from blocking your face. “Just stay awake.”

“Okay, okay,” you groan, standing up and stretching. Dami doesn’t move, probably hoping to catch a glimpse of something. You want the physical affection to continue so badly that it hurts in your chest a little. So you give into an urge before thinking about it and sit on Damiano’s lap, throwing your arms around his shoulders. 

“Wha – hey there, sweetheart.” Aware of morning breath, you kiss Dami’s neck, hairline, and behind his ears. “Feeling a little touch-starved?” You nod. Slowly, he slides his hands under your shirt. By touch-starved, you hadn’t necessarily meant skin to skin. Damiano sneakily took advantage of an opportunity by reading into it and you certainly weren’t mad about his decision. 

Things start innocent enough, his hands rubbing your back, but then they move away from your spine. When stroking around your waist and hips, his fingertips brushed your stomach, pinky dipping underneath the waistband of your pajama shorts. Then those hands slide up, cupping your ribcage. You stop breathing, frozen with anticipation. Would he touch your breast? Would he slide his hand to the front of your chest and caress it in his warm, rough palm? Would he play with your nipples? Rub them with the callous on his thumb? Would he then slide his hand down your front and into your shorts? If he did, you’d raise your hips to give him room. Then you’d trap his hand against your pussy and grind. Did he want to tease you today or make you moan? Or make you cum? 

When you check his expression, Dami’s eyes are glued to your heaving chest and erect nipples. Knowing that he’s hard, you throw a leg over and straddle him. Then you scoot in as close as possible to rest your weight against his erection, stimulating both of you. Damiano’s eyes flutter and his hands escalate from stroking to grasping. You wait for him to make the nest move, but he doesn’t.

“If you could do anything –”

“If I could do anything you’d be underneath me and too wracked with pleasure to say anything but my name and the word please. If I could do anything the neighbors would be filing a noise complaint and you’d be on probation at work for repeated tardiness. If I could do anything we’d have already gone through a bottle of lube and half a dozen sex toys. Our clothes would be on the doormat, panties included because last night we fucked against the front door as soon as you got home. Then again on the kitchen counter and again in front of the bathroom mirror and a fourth time in the shower, which was all a preamble to what I’d do to you in this bed.” 

You look over his shoulder at the mattress cover and twisted sheet. You’d gotten in the habit of sleeping on Dami’s side. It hadn’t actually smelled like him for months.

“What would you do?” he asks.

“I…I have to get ready for work.” You try to climb off his lap, but Damiano holds onto your waist firmly.

“Did what I said offend you?” he pressed.

“No,” you reply breathlessly. The moment is deliciously intense, especially the way he’s staring.

“Overwhelm you? Turn you off in some way?”

“Uh, no. Well, maybe overwhelm a little bit…”

“In a bad way?” Dami hasn’t forced the issue in terms of sex since coming home.

“In a good way.”

“Then what would you do? If you didn’t have to get ready for work.” You pause and look down. “We don’t have to actually do it, at least not right now,” he whispers.

“I would – I want you….Um, you’d play with my nipples.”

“Mhm.” His hand slides up your chest and rests on your sternum.

“Then you’d put – push your hand down my front.” Dami obeys, his fingertips stopping at the waistband of your shorts. You stare, willing him to go further with every ounce of your being.

“Does my hand go under your shorts?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Does it go into your panties?”

“Yes.” His real hand doesn’t move. “Between my legs so I can…Actually, I kinda wish that I was just wearing a t-shirt so I could pull your pjs down and grind against your cock. And then, maybe…”

“Mhm,” he encourages.

“I’d take off my shirt too and rub my nipples against your chest until they were sore. Your – your sweaty, hairy chest. And you’d hold me like you weren’t worried about scaring me away. Really grabbing me, like you were confident, but also because you couldn’t help yourself.”

“Show me what you mean,” he demands.

“I – I can’t. You just have to.” Dami grabs a hold of your upper thigh with his free hand and flips both bodies. Your back lands on the mattress, arms and legs already wrapped around him. Damiano pushes you further onto the bed, so he has room to climb on top.  It would take less than a minute for you to both wiggle out of your clothes then locate a condom and lube. Probably closer to 30 seconds. It's the same sensation as the makeout two mornings ago. You wanted to say yes, but your self preservation instincts weren’t letting that happen.

Damiano searches your wide-eyed expression for decisiveness and finds nothing of the sort. He can see you thinking about it. Then he sees you over-thinking it and knows that this will not be the moment you feel comfortable enough to trust freely.

“Like this?” He’s panting, as well, and for some reason, that's unbearable sexy. Dami isn’t putting on a facade. This borderline chaste amount of physical contact has got him worked up, too. You almost kiss him, then recall your morning breath and cover your mouth.

“I need to brush my teeth.”

“Y/n, I don’t give a good god damn whether or not you’ve brushed your teeth. I don’t care!” Dami loses his cool, but quickly recovers it. “I – sorry. Sorry, let me…” He walks his hands backwards and climbs off the bed, then helps you stand up.

“Thank you for the coffee,” you repeat, taking a long sip, that way a response won’t be expected. As you slip by Dami to leave the bedroom, he gives your butt a little squeeze. It was once a regular gesture in private, but he hadn’t taken this type of initiative since getting sober. You whip around with an impish smile, the mug nearly held to your lips. Damiano’s expression is watchful, then validated. He was testing the waters and your reaction basically invited him to jump right in.

Rather than refocus on his own routine, Dami watches you assemble a lunch while still in pajamas. He stands on the edge of the kitchen, pondering something, admiring you.

“Whatever your timeline for physical intimacy, I will respect it, 100%.”

“I know that, Damia.” You wash and fill your water bottle. He leans his hip against the counter with crossed arms. 

“But if you're waiting for things to feel not scary with me, that day may never come. Our history isn’t gonna get more palatable.” You hadn’t considered things from that perspective before. “Part of a nurturing relationship is pushing each other, challenging restrictive thought patterns.” Damiano moseys over. First, his right hand cups your hip. Then, the left rubs the side of your glute languidly, before wrapping around your middle. Dami holds you casually, but still body to body, standing behind you at the kitchen sink. Each exhale ruffles your hair, a reminder of how much you’d missed this. Dami’s wandering hands and desire for closeness.

This must have been another thing you blocked out for survival, since an awareness of what once was made losing it lethally painful. You’d forced yourself not to remember and now the remembering felt like the first first bloom of spring after a frosty winter. 

You lean against Dami, let his shoulder take the weight of your head. Then you lay your left arm over his, fingers lacing together.

“And I don’t want to push past your boundaries, but at the same time…” He leaves tender kisses down the column of your exposed neck. “This definitely exceeds a hand holding level of intimacy. It breaks the no couple behavior boundary –”

“Me and my fucking rules,” you groan. Repeated back, you sound certifiable, even from an understanding Damiano.

“This certainly qualifies as sexual touch.” His pinky and ring finger dip under your waistband as he dips into a whisper. “But I didn’t ask first and I don’t have to ask now, either, because just your body language is telling me how much you like this.”

“Forgot until just now.” With an even more dramatic groan, you turn around to meet his eyes. “Ugh! I know I’m shit at this –”

“Not what I was saying, at all,” he interrupts, thumb brushing your cheek. “I was just gonna suggest using a Listen for My No system of consent instead of Wait for My Yes. But that's such a sexually aggressive thing to suggest on someone else’s behalf that I…” He makes a face, nose scrunched up.

“But I agree with you. I’d like that, I really would, but, um…” Dami’s expression goes from relieved back to uneasy. “When I submit, I can’t usually access the decision making part of my brain. Kinda the point, actually.” 

“Baby, we never do anything in subspace if we haven’t agreed to it first.”

“I know, but I’d feel –” You gesture erratically, but the right adjective never surfaces. So you settle on “shitty, I guess.” Avoidant, you stare at the floor in anticipation of Dami’s reaction. Of course, Princess is right there, biding her time for the inevitable moment that all this attention is rightfully turned to her. “Sassy Pants,” you coo. She rests her front paws on your shin and meows, so you pick her up.

“Y/n, I never want you to – awe, look at the fur baby.” Damiano gets distracted by Princess, who uses you like an elevator to his shoulder. She leaps onto him and Dami winces at her claws through his thin t-shirt. “Ow, ow, ow. Thanks for that Sassy Pants, now get off.” He sets Princess back down where she stares at him in betrayal.

“I’m sorry, was having him to yourself all night not enough attention?” You sass her right back with a hand on your hip while Dami laughs. The cat sulks, nimbly returning to the couch and curling up right on his pillow. “Do you see that? She’s the real reason we practice non-monogamy. So I don’t end up with my throat slit in my fucking sleep by her murder mittens!” Hoping to have successfully distracted him, you brush your teeth then slip back into the bedroom to get dressed. In the living room Dami sings to Princess, doing a little dance with her paws. The happy sounds carry through the partially ajar door.

“So, uh…” You’d almost finished pulling on your stockings when he leans against the door frame. “Sorry, am I allowed to look?”

“Yes, you’re allowed to look,” you scoff. He turns the corner just in time to watch your thighs disappear beneath a linen skirt. His lack of objection indicates that your earlier distraction wasn’t effective. He’s not feeling playful.

“What I was saying before is that I never want you to feel bad about putting parameters –”

“Damia, it’s not that.” He’s trying to soften the determination in his expression. “If I allow my rational mind to just slip away then I’m gonna…” again, words evade you “embarrass myself.”

“What do you mean embarrass yourself?” he croons. Damiano walks into the bedroom, cupping your cheek in his right palm. Meanwhile, his left hand slides across your waist and settles on the top of your glute. Another barrage of hidden memories: the early years when Damiano spoke your self-confidence into being fruition on anxiety-ridden mornings.

“I mean grind against your lap or leg or whatever while begging you to fuck me until I sob in a way that’s gonna hurt you to watch. Zero inhibitions as I try to convince you, okay? Just babbling and clinging and tears for your cock. ‘Daddy, my heart hurts because you won’t make love to me.’ I don’t want either of us in a position to navigate that.” Damiano becomes a statue. When it doesn’t immediately pass, you decide to pick a pair of sensible shoes while his brain resets.

“Does your heart hurt for more intimacy?” Now you’re the one frozen in place. “Seems like you may have just accidentally been completely honest with yourself.” Fuck. He was right.

“Could you pretend not to know me as well as you do?”

“No, y/n, I can’t.” You’d tried to lighten the mood, give yourself an out, and he’s rejected that effort wholesale. Damiano stands there, waiting for a real response, hands in the pockets of his pajama pants. Every morning he puts them on, after sleeping in his boxers, to make you comfortable. It suddenly feels so elementary, this game of pretend you’d been playing because you were scared shitless of losing him again. 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For being a nervous wreck.”

“Being a nervous wreck about what?” You’re taken aback, having expected some sweet platitude like "don't be sorry, sweetheart.” Or perhaps, “You’re trying your best in a tough situation” punctuated by a kiss to the forehead. But you’d finally exhausted his patience and Damiano wasn’t going to feed you reassurances that you already knew to be true.

“About,” you gesture between your bodies “us!”

“Elaborate for me, please. What about us?” His tone isn’t hostile, just insistent.

“Our relationship.”

“Not my sobriety?”

“No…actually.” You’re even more surprised than Dami at that answer.

“Good. Why is our relationship making you a nervous wreck?”

“Because, because…” You feel cornered even though he hasn’t moved an inch. “I’m not sure.”

“Yes you are. You’re constantly reflecting and self-examining, especially recently. Some days you’re more in your head than you are in the world.”

“But the last couple days, I’ve been better at staying in the present. After our fight, I’ve been trying not to walk on eggshells.” 

“And we’ve been so much more connected, which has been fucking incredible. But you’re still unhappy.”

“I’m not…” Were you happy? You should be happy. You have an objectively good job, a beautiful apartment. You have a loving family, loving friends, loving companions. Your soulmate has returned and he’s stable. But were you happy? With a subjectively horrible job, home full of traumatic memories, emotionally unavailable parents, fading friendships, and companions who’s reassurance couldn’t make you feel adequate so you’d stopped asking for it entirely. 

“How many months do I need to go without relapse, without a crazy mood swing, without –”

“To get your dick wet?” You snap at him in anger. This was the definition of pressuring you.

“For you to trust me, y/n!”

“But sex is the way to show that I trust you? Go get laid, Damianno. Stop avoiding your other companions because you’re afraid they won’t forgive your behavior.”

“You get laid. Stop avoiding your companions because they remind you how profound our intimacy could be.” For what feels like an eon, you glare at each other in silence.

“How about we both admit that having sex with other people wouldn’t do anything to fill this…space?” It feels good to concede. Most of the tension leaves the air.

“Void?”

“Void is probably more accurate, yeah.” It’s just enough breathing room for reality to set in. “Fuck, I’m gonna be late for work.” You look around frantically for a hair tie to wrangle your unbrushed hair into an updo.

“Can you please just give this conversation another five minutes of your time?” There's a hair elastic on the floor, by your nightstand. You make a noise of victory, trying to remember if your travel hairbrush was still in the glovebox. “Three minutes?” he pleads. It’s too much. Mentally, you try to check out as an act of self-preservation. In your peripheral vision, Damiano snatches your phone off the bed. You can’t leave without it.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I’m asking how long until you can trust me?”

“For me to trust you completely?” That gives Dami pause. He seems to realize that it's a pretty big question to spring on you before 9 AM. ”Check the phone you’re holding hostage for the time, please.” So begins the hunt for your purse.

“It’s…” With a strained voice, he looks at the home screen. Then his hand drops to his side. “It doesn’t matter. I am asking you – How about when are you gonna be able to at least trust that I’m not gonna abandon you?” Despite attempts to create space between yourself and this moment, it feels like being stabbed with a dull spear, right through the center of your torso. “Hey!” he finally raises his voice in exhasperation. “Can you at least fucking look at me when I’m bearing my soul to you!?” Both cats are hiding under the kitchen table. Standing in the kitchen, you turn to meet his gaze.

“I’m gonna be late for work.” 

“Then be late! You hate that job anyways!” The shock reads easily on your features.. “I – that was out of line. Sorry. But this is never gonna work right until you trust me.” Your stomach drops. You feel nauseous and something akin to the beginnings of dissociation. This is why you’d been avoiding tough conversations. What if it went wrong? And if it did go wrong, what was going to happen? The ways Damiano had evolved as a person since going to rehab were great, but it also meant that you couldn’t predict his behavior anymore. If he walked out in anger, would he walk back in?

“Baby, that was really bad phrasing on my part.” His tone shifts completely,  soft and doting in the way you’d expected it to be earlier. “Way too extreme.” Dami knew he’d scared you. That took precedence over what he so desperately wanted to achieve with this conversation. You have half a mind to run into his arms. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s gonna make me feel reassured that you won’t abandon me.”

“You don’t know, as in you can’t think of anything?”

“I don’t know!” You curl your hands into tight fists, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of your palms.

“Giving me an answer you regret and take back would be better than this purgatory.” Demand has officially overtaken supply. You’d required so much patience from Dami that it’d burned through all the categorical gratitude he felt for taking him back in any capacity. He was no longer just grateful to be here, he wanted a partner. 

“If your answer is I don’t think I can ever trust you again, so be it.”

“I can trust you! I do trust you, but you’re also…” He’s hanging on to every word and you can’t even craft a basic sentence. “There’s you, but then there’s also an addict you. The first one earned my trust back more easily than I’d care to admit, but the addict you, he – it’s always there.”

“And you can never trust an addict.”

“No! But, but –” The phrase “never gonna work” rattles around in your head. “No, because…because” then we might break-up. You barely think the thought, but it's like a tripwire. Suddenly trapped under all the ways you could lose Damiano. Originally there were two contenders: freak accident and growing apart. Then fame was added to this list, then addiction. Now you had to acknowledge a fifth. Like the fifth side to a cage that can finally hold you captive, invisible to others, making them helpless to do anything but watch the light leave your eyes. He might break-up with you because you couldn’t figure out how to put the pieces back together.

“Hug me.” Damiano crosses the apartment in a few quick steps. The stinging of tears distracts you from returning the embrace, but that doesn't give him pause. The only reason you weren’t blubbering already was how secure he’d made you feel the past few days. Now that was out the window.

“Continuous hugging or do you want room to breathe?”

“Breathe,” you choke, wiping your eyes. Dami’s version of breathing room was taking half a step back and resting both hands on your hips. It was perfect.

“Be brave a little longer,” he coaxes.

“I don’t want us to…God, it’s like saying Voldemort or some shit.”

“The Phrase Which Must Not Be Named that starts with a ‘B’ and ends in the word ‘up?’”

“Yeah, I…No, I don’t even want to talk about it, Damia.”

“That's adorable.” You rest your forehead against his sternum and whine. He cups the base of your head and you loosely cross your arms behind him. “But I do need to know what made you think of The Phrase Which Must Not Be Named.”

“What if,” you resume hugging him instead of finishing the sentence. “What if I can never learn to trust the addict part of you and it happens?”

“I don’t trust the addict part of me, y/n. After everything that’s happened, I sure as shit don’t expect you to.” You pull away in order to look up in confusion. “Awe, sweetheart. I just need you to trust that this part of me has control over that shithead.”

“But relapse happens and – and you’ll always be an addict and an alcoholic. This is permanently a part of you.”

“Can you trust that I’m always gonna do my damndest not to lose control? And if I do I’m gonna find my way back?” 

“It hasn’t even been three weeks.” Dami opens his mouth, closes it, and nods.

“Yeah thats a fucking good point. Damn.” He’s reeling. It’s interesting to see it happen to someone else. “I’m over here fuckin’...demanding to know when you’re gonna trust me again when I haven’t even given you a full month of stability.” You place a hand on Dami’s cheek, trying to redirect his gaze back to yours so he doesn’t get lost in self-loathing. He turns his head, but looks down. “I’m fucking comparing ‘well, I feel this way about her so –’”

“How do you feel about me?” His eyes flit up and you think the romantic in him might win.

“I feel the same way.” Or not. “Because it's easy to fall in love with somebody again and trust them again when they’re the same person. When they don’t have all this new baggage like I do.” Staring at his feet, Damiano mutters, “Nothing to compensate or…”

“You do not need to compensate, what a ridiculous thing to say!” 

“Okay.” You watch him only partially internalize your words, in the same way he raises his eyes, but doesn’t quite look at you.

“Hey, you getting sober created new character traits that I love and am attracted to.”

“Enough to balance out the shit?” You scoff, taken aback.

“Yes! You’re not a fucking equation, Damia. You are a beautiful, compelling man who contains multitudes with this incredible capacity to create multitudes. Don’t separate yourself into these categories of worthwhile or not worthwhile.”

“Y/n.”

“It’s so linear. You’re reduced to a collection of likable traits when –”

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he announces. You allow yourself to be pulled in by the back of the head, eyes falling to his mauve, shapely lips. It’s sweet, slow, polite. It’s a gesture. It’s a this-kiss-conveys-my-love-and-respect-because-it's-not-the-kiss-I-wanted-to-give-you gesture. It’s a gesture that reveals he’s forgotten the comment you made earlier this morning.

“Lets,” one syllable and you feel short of breath. “Let's have the big scary talk tonight – tomorrow night! Let's have it tomorrow night.”

“Alright.” Damiano coaxes you back in by holding your chin and brushing his pointer finger back and forth. It tickles faintly and makes you smile into the equally chaste kiss. “Don’t forget, you have therapy today.”

***

“I’m only here to avoid the missed appointment fee, honestly.” You slouch, as if trying to disappear into the chartreuse loveseat. 

“Oh?” Your therapist puts pen to paper and waits for elaboration. You stare at the floor and feel the pressure of tears behind your eyes. It's been like that since leaving the apartment, as though you were one inconvenience away from crying.

“Your disposition is certainly much different from our recent sessions.” Dr. Borough gives you another chance to speak, which you don’t take. She’s wearing all beige, minus an oversized necklace of reflective black beads. The color palette certainly suits the mood.

“Is it Damiano, work, anxiety that's been weighing on you?”

“All of the above.” After arriving 13 minutes late for work, Izolda called you into her stuffy, windowless office. She chastised you for being tardy twice in two weeks and you didn’t have the balls to point out that she’d personally excused the first instance. There were vague references to your performance review and callous comments about “allowing personal experiences to impede project outcomes.”

“Wow. So it's been a tough week?”

“It’s been emotionally laborious…So, yeah. Tough, I guess.”

“But productive?”

“Not when it comes to my job. That place is so devoid of humanity that I can feel part of my soul dying.”

“Sounds like you might need a change. Have you tried searching for –”

“I can’t handle a career change right now!”

“So what can you handle?” Finally, you burst into tears. “Oh, dear.” Dr. Borough pushes the box of tissues across the coffee table. “So what's going on in the other facets of your life? Are you and Damiano on good terms?”

“Yeah. He woke me up with espresso this morning, it was really sweet.” You wipe your face, which leaves a black smudge of hastily applied mascara on the white tissue.  

“And his sobriety?”

“He relapsed trying to reintegrate too fast. It was just booze and he’s been sober since.”

“Wow.” She scribbles on her notepad. “So that must have been triggering.”

“It…It actually made me realize how sturdy he is. Like, he got right back on the wagon and he started really acting like himself the next morning. He didn’t go back to being an asshole with a passive death wish, he did the opposite.”

“So that sounds like great news!”

“I was such a mess, such a fucking mess.” The note taking intensifies. Somehow Dr. Borough is already halfway down the page. “He was so supportive! And he basically confronted me.”

“You mean comforted?”

“No. Well, yes. He’s noticed that I’m always in my head, trying to figure out the correct or most true course of action. And he said I didn’t need to be, because I wasn’t going to ruin his sobriety. Because he was taking care of his sobriety with a bunch of people at his rehab and stuff, so I didn’t need to prioritize it anymore. I could just prioritize myself and I could depend on him because he’s gotten to a point where he can be my support and also stay sober. But I –” you devolve into sobbing.

“Alright, take a moment. Just take a moment, y/n.” Dr. Borough doesn’t look up from her notepad for several seconds. “So, that's huge! How many days ago was that? You must be emotionally drained.”

“Yeah, from not dealing with it.”

“You’re emotionally drained from purposefully ignoring emotions?”

“Basically.” 

“Alright.” Visibly processing, Dr. Borough adjusts her teal glasses and sits back. “Tell me about that.”

“Damiano just keeps pressing the issue. He wants to deconstruct and cross-examine the whole fucking situation immediately.” 

“Is this usually the case, him pursuing hard conversations and you avoiding? In the past, you’ve mentioned having great communication.” It feels like an accusation that you’ve failed Damiano somehow.

“No, I’m just not ready.”

“Ready for what?” 

“These fucking exhausting, weighty conversations!”

“What about them are you not ready for? In my experience, you can be very articulate, especially when it comes to emotions.”

“I’m not scared of talking about our feelings. We talk about our feelings all the time, anyways. I’m not even scared of conflict. We’ve fought twice this week already!”

“Oh, really?”

“But we work it out because we can admit that we’re wrong. We don’t get off on resenting or controlling each other.”

“What were those fights about?”

“This! Me!”

“You?”

“Ugh!” You throw your head back and groan. “He…thinks that I’m unhappy. I’m making myself miserable trying to do the right thing or by trying to control…something, us.”

“The right thing?” She raises one thinning eyebrow. 

“What's best for me.”

“Doing what's best for you is doing what makes you happy. It’s doing what makes you fulfilled, puts you on the path to achieve your goals.” Dr. Borough pauses, staring at you pointedly. “In terms of Damiano. What are your goals? What will make you fulfilled?”

“Being together for real, harmonious, mind, body, and soul.”

“And are your current choices facilitating that?” You feel claustrophobic, fingernails digging into the heel of your hand again. “Why the anxiety?” 

“Because I can’t control him!”

“True. But that’s always been true, y/n.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter what my goals are if the other person doesn’t feel the same.”

“You think Damiano doesn’t feel the same?”

“Well, no. I know he does.”

“Alright. So let's talk about this desire to control him.” That definitely felt like an accusation. “I just watched you have a strong reaction. Why don’t you explain that to me.” Pen to paper, Dr. Borough waits while you roll your eyes and huff in annoyance.

“Before I ever stepped foot in this office, I knew that the desire to control another person was toxic. I was already taking steps to ignore that desire when I felt it.”

“So you’re not trying to control him? That's not what's making you miserable?”

“I’m not miserable,” you bite.

“No, you’re not,” she agrees. “But you are experiencing bouts of unhappiness, like right now. You also have clinical anxiety which constantly affects your quality of life. Agreed?”

“Yeah…” The section of carpet at your feet is more worn than another other spot in the room.

“Explain to me why that is.” You choose to be insolent instead of introspective. 

“It’s impossible to tack down exactly what collection of innate and external factors contribute to any one person developing –”

“Not the anxiety, y/n.”

“I…” don’t know. But Dr. Borough wasn’t going to let you off the hook. She waits expectantly. You check the clock to find that the session isn’t quite halfway done. Damn it.

“Why are you unhappy?”

“I’m at my therapy appointment when I’d much rather be taking a nap.”

“How has your sleep been since Damiano’s relapse?”

“Worse than usual, better than expected. We…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t judge me, but the night he relapsed we slept in the same bed. Like, I slept with him on the couch.”

“‘Slept with’ as in…?”

“Cuddled.” You blush all the way up to your ears.

“And that was enjoyable.” It’s apparently obvious from your delivery since Dr. Borough makes a statement, not a question.

“Yeah and…I could hear him crying so hard. I didn’t intend to spend the night there either, but I got sleepy really quick.” A stinging sensation alerts that you’d been picking at your cuticles without realizing. “Because it felt so safe.”

“Huh. So it didn’t feel like the kiss on the plane?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then why are you unhappy?” You glower, finally meeting Dr. Borough’s eyes. She is unfazed. “Damiano has the same relationship goals and it sounds as though he may be ready to act on those goals, right?” You don’t protest, because she’s correct, but you also don’t concede. “So this should be great news! It’s exactly what you wanted, which is why this reaction raises questions. I know it’ll be hard to admit, but maybe now that you have Damiano back, you’ve realized that your feelings towards him have changed.”

“What? No! God, I fucking wish I felt more casually about him. I wish that he couldn’t read my mind and that we didn’t have this fucking soul bond and that I could have a halfway satisfying sex life without him. I want to stop watching him sleep, getting choked up when I see his bougie shampoo in the shower, huffing his dirty gym clothes, and feeling like my heart’s been ripped out because I love him so much. I want to be less in love with him!”

“No, you don’t.” Dr. Borough sets the notepad and pen on her lap and settles into her chair with a smile. There’s been some sort of breakthrough or resolution reached. “So what's the real reason you’re self-sabotaging? Do you feel like you don’t deserve him?”

“I…guess.”

“Don’t guess.”

“Deep down inside somewhere, probably.”

“So is that it?”

“You’re the therapist.”

“And you’re far from emotionally repressed.” Dr. Borough purses her lips and squints. “So are you afraid of losing him?” You swallow hard, vision blurring with tears.

“Yes, of course. Now with these fucking high stakes conversations, what if something goes wrong?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Anything!”

“Based on what you've said so far, it sounds like you guys would work it out.”

“What if we break up?”

“Does it feel like you’re going to break up?”

“No.” You blow your nose and steel yourself. “I need him. I’ve let myself need him again. So I can’t, ca – can’t lose hi – him again. I can’t! It’ll fucking kill me. I don’t care if you think that's dramatic, because it genuinely feels like I’d die of heartbreak. Even thinking a – about it, can’t – I ca – ca –can’t breathe!” Dr. Borough ends up talking you off the edge of a panic attack. You think that’ll earn some slack, but it doesn’t. 

“Okay, so just take small sips of water.” She uses her most soothing voice as you hold the paper cup in a trembling hand. “I’m going to be candid with you, y/n. Breaking up has always been a possibility and you’ve functioned despite it for years. Damiano dying of an overdose, however, is new. I think that’s what’s scaring you, the fact that death is irreparable.” You manage a nod. “Alright. That risk factor is never going away. So you have to decide if he’s worth it.”

“Of course he’s…” It's reminiscent of what Dami said this morning, which forces you to acknowledge that he was probably right. Putting the pieces back together was going to feel terrifying and you had to do it anyway. “I have all these rules to stop things from progressing before I’m ready. But maybe I’m never going to feel ready.”

“Progressing?”

“To stop Dami from getting too close, from things getting too intimate. I compartmentalized so damn much and I…every time I let him a little bit closer, it's like being hit by a semi-truck.”

“Reminders of his substance abuse?”

“No, beautiful memories of how our love manifested, all the ways we connected and felt at home in each other, felt profoundly understood. Memories of being joyous and intimate and becoming better people together.” Dr. Borough is noticeably moved. 

“You choose to close yourself off to that because of the possibility of pain?” 

“Yes!”

“That’s not living.” Finally, someone had just outright said it. You should feel stunned, but you don’t. “We’ve talked about living versus surviving in terms of your anxiety. The same can happen after trauma. Seeing Dami on life support –”

“Haven’t we already talked about that enough?” Reflexively, you make yourself smaller, hunkering down to survive this horrendous topic.

“I don’t know. Based on this reaction –”

“Based on this reaction, seeing my soulmate an inch from death is still traumatic? Shocking!”

“Traumatic, absolutely.” The even tonality of her speech is an embarrassing juxtaposition to your reactivity, but you’re still unable to quell it. “And based on your reaction, that memory still holds tremendous power over you.”

“Of fucking course it does! I still can’t even think about it like a real thing that happened to me!”

“I recall you’ve been dealing with a lot of dissociation, recently. More than usual.” Dr. Borough resumes note taking.

“Yes.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because I can’t handle what's happening around me,” you reply, monotonously.

“You think you can’t handle what's happening around you because a parentified, 15-year-old y/n without an emotional support system couldn’t handle it.” She pauses. In that space, tears blur your vision until the view of the damaged carpet and scuffed shoes becomes indiscernible. “But now you have an emotional support system. You are deserving of an emotional support system, which is something that your parents failed to model in your childhood.” Again, Dr. Borough gives you space to speak, but you curl into a ball, instead. She nudges the tissues further across the table with an empathetic expression. “So you’re protecting her.”

“I am not protecting my mother,” you grumble.

“Not your mother. You’ve been protecting 15-year-old y/n, shielding her. And now you’re protecting the y/n who was confronted by the mortality of her support system’s keystone. Neither of them could handle the present moment, but you can.” Dr. Borough cleans her glasses while waiting for you to say something. Maybe it's an intentional respite from being examined.

“What – How can –” your first reaction is to splutter incredulously. “I’m not, I mean I’m – That's just human development, isn’t it? Burning your hand on the stove teaches you not to touch a hot stove. Burns are bad. They scar, they get infected.”

“Y/n, you are not avoiding a burn. You are eating takeout for every meal to avoid going in the kitchen at all. You are putting on noise canceling headphones everytime someone says the word ‘stove’ and singing to yourself loudly. In this metaphor –”

“I get it, I get it.” Well, shit.

“You’ve heard me say this before: the anxiety, the trauma isn’t your fault. However, coping constructively is still your responsibility. And, yes, that’s unfair. You had to live for your emotionally unequipped parents. In reaction to that hospital visit, I think you may have done a bit of living for Damiano when he was emotionally unequipped for sobriety. Now you’re living for the versions of yourself that are emotionally unequipped to handle the present. But it won’t break you like it might have then.”

“How can you know that!? How…I just want time to recover! I want to be certain!”

“There will never be certainty and there will never be a pause button. I know that's a really hard reality to face with clinical anxiety.” Dr. Borough sets her elbows on her notepad and leans forward. “But y/n, face it you must.”

***

You hold it together on the drive home. Knowing that Dami will be on a Zoom call with his songwriting and production team, you don’t want to walk through the front door a mess and distract him. Unfortunately, Spotify decides to play Folklore-era Taylor Swift as you pull into the parking garage.

I knew you/Hand under my sweatshirt/Baby, kiss it better

By the time the car is parked, you’re already crying. Your first group outing as a couple was a Roma football game with most of his friends and several cousins. The omnipresent barrage of screaming made your ears ring and triggered a panic attack. You tried to suppress your reaction, for which you’d finally receive a diagnosis just weeks later. When that became impossible, you settled on concealing your emotions until it passed. Just don’t freak out. For fucks sake, don’t embaress yourself. 

Having turned your focus inward, the roar of the audience was a surprise and so inescapably loud that it couldn’t even be described by volume. The sound became a tangible force, beating you over the head. So you fled, hands clamped over your ears, tears flowing. It seemed like every person you passed chided you. 

“‘Msorry, ‘msorry, ‘msorry, ‘msorry, ‘msorry,” you repeated, voice frail and high-pitched with terror. The adrenaline at least made climbing all those steps easier. Upon reaching the hallway at the top of the staircase, you turned around to scan the field, determining it was a good time to drop your hands. That's when you saw 18-year-old Damiano huffing and puffing, all focus dropped from the game behind him. 

“Hey,” he panted, expression confused. “Hey, you just…Are you okay?” You shook your head, mouth contorted into an ugly shape. “Well, come here, baby.” Dami opened his arms like it was obviously the next logical step to hold you. The gesture revealed that he’d remembered your purse and was wearing it. You could have blurted out “I love you,” right then and there. His sparkling, empathetic eyes framed by smeared eyeliner, outstretched hands decorated by gaudy rings, and wearing his lucky sneakers which were at least a size too small. A couple middle-aged, balding men looked him up and down in disgust. Dami didn’t even notice.

“You need a hug,’ he decided, wrapping you up. 

“Thanks,” you croaked, trembling arms finding steadiness where they held him. 

“What’s wrong with her?” asked a male voice passing by.

“Nothings wrong with her! Who the fuck are you, eh?”

“Sorry, man.”

“No, who the fuck do you think you are saying that?”

“You’re in the middle of the walkway, dude.”

“And you’re in the middle of my fucking business, asshole!”

“Damia,” you murmured.

“Sorry, sorry.” You wondered if he could discern your smile against his pilling jersey. The fabric made your face feel raw after exposure to the ruthlessly cold gusts of wind that swept up the sides of the stadium. Still, you felt compelled to hug him tighter, but ignored the compulsion so as not to encourage Damiano acting like an attack dog. But fuck if it hadn’t made you feel chosen at age 18, coming from a family who’s attitude was god forbid your emotions inconvenience anyone. 

Damiano didn’t think you were too emotional, the girl choking on her own tears over a football audience being predictably loud. He stood in the stadium’s walkway, inconveniencing everyone else to prioritize comforting you. Despite not knowing what was awry, he still managed to be soothing. Dami’s inexplicably warm hands rubbed your back under the Roma sweatshirt you wore – actually his, of course. He hummed music from the radio with a cheek pressed to your head and you subsequently felt the music’s vibrations. It tickled. An unfamiliar sensation burgeoned in the darkest recesses of your heart. Not then, but eventually, you’d come to know it as stillness.

Notes: Don't yell at me I warned you! Also I'll post the next part (the smuttastic part) when this post has 40 notes hehe

-XOXO Eden

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[rumble-aint-a-rumble-without-me]

Could you do 18, Apple picking 🍎 with ponyboy please. I just went apple picking yesterday (got some apple cider and apple cider donuts too!) so this seems cute and fitting.

Apple Picking

“Catch!”

Y/N didn’t bother to wait before they dropped the apple, trusting Ponyboy to get it in the basket as they reached for another apple. The ladder beneath their feet was rickety, the result of too many years of use and a poorly put-together shed to live in. Y/N didn’t mind. They rocked up on their toes, bracing themself on the flat top of the ladder to snag another apple from the green branches. They dropped that one for Ponyboy too, smiling when they heard the thud of the apple against the wicker basket.

“A little more warning would be nice,” Ponyboy grumbled from the ground. “If you keep droppin’ ‘em like that, we won’t have any to take home.”

Y/N shifted on the ladder, wincing at the creaking sounds it made in response, and perched at the top to look down at Ponyboy. He was frowning up at them. His eyebrows pinched in the middle as he shuffled the basket in his arms, trying to smooth out the apples without dropping the whole thing on the ground.

“Everyone is doing the same thing, Ponybabe,” Y/N defended, waving to the various clumps of students they were surrounded by. For a field trip, heading to the local apple orchards wasn’t a bad way to spend the day. Sure, they had to listen to a speech at the beginning from the owner, a general talk about owning a farm and how to keep it, but Y/N and Pony had been whispering to each other the whole time, hands linked as they stood in the crowd. After the owner had said his piece, the students were set loose on the orchard, split into pairs, and given wicker baskets. Each pair had one basket they were allowed to fill up and then split in half to take home and do whatever they wanted.

“Well, I don’t care about everyone else,” Ponyboy shot back. “Darry said he wanted apples to make a pie and I plan on bringing him more than enough apples.”

“You can have all of mine, I promise.” Y/N reached up again, kicking their feet as they plucked one, two, three more apples from the branches and cradled them in their arms. “You think I could juggle these?”

Pony looked like he was dangerously close to leaving the apple bucket on the ground and moving on to find a new partner who wouldn’t mess around as much. Darry was serious about his apples and Pony wasn’t too keen on the idea of going home without enough apples. He lifted the wicker basket expectantly and gave Y/N a bored look.

“Just drop ‘em in before you hurt yourself.”

Y/N did so, but not without pausing to pout. “You’re no fun.”

Pony pushed the apples back out in the bucket, balancing it on his knee while he made more room. He kept an eye on Y/N while he did so. That ladder certainly wasn’t the strongest thing and they kept kicking their legs like they couldn’t care less.

“We’ve got room for maybe five more,” Pony said, tucking the basket under his arm and settling it on his hip. “Maybe six we smush them.”

“You think we could do seven?” Y/N asked, reaching up and starting to yank more apples down. “Then we could eat two on the bus home.”

Ponyboy stumbled to catch the apples they were starting to drop instead of answering. He shot them an unimpressed look but they didn’t see, too busy tugging at more apples. They dropped them as well and Ponyboy caught the one in his hand right before it hit the ground.

“That’s all the room we got,” Ponyboy said, shifting the basket again to try and redistribute the weight. “We can’t fit anymore.”

Y/N climbed down the ladder, far faster than Ponyboy thought was truly safe for such an unsteady piece of wood, and grinned at Pony once their feet were on the ground. “Enough apples for you?”

“Ask Darry when we get back,” Pony answered, the corner of his mouth turning up. “He’ll probably tell you we should’ve gotten more.”

“You’re too rough on him, ya know?” Y/N replied absently. They ran their hands over the apples, picking out two of the biggest, reddest apples of the bunch. “He’s just trying his best. Now come on, if we get to the bus first, we get first pick of where we sit on the way back.”

They gave Pony a small smile before biting savagely into one of the apples and turning on their heel.

“You’re not gonna help me carry this?”

“I think you’re doin’ just fine by yourself!”

Y/N did turn back to help Pony lug the heavy basket all the way to the bus and the two of them snagged a seat in the back row of the bus. They leaned against each other on the way back to school, their apples on the seat between them, as they crunched on the two extras in their hands.

[batbitesthebat]

Hey bat!!!! :D it's been a whileeee.. So- here's my question!

Do you have any head canons for your octonauts- characters? (Regular au) if so. Can I know em? :0

Sorry this took me so long!! I'm a very busy Bat!!

I decided to share some headcanons for all of my octonauts for my normal BatBites AU.

Captain Barnacles:

He goes to sleep curfew on the DOT and wakes up at 7:00 am each morning, and will wake up the other Octonauts as well

He feels like the father of the crew, whether he likes to or not

He doesn't open up to anybody about his struggles or insecurities- ever! He's bad at that sort of thing...

During the summer he'll take extremely long cold baths that he'll literally dump ice in, and he sheds like crazy, he does NOT like the summer.

His suit has a cooler. Tweak built it for him!!

He is totally unaware of any feelings his CREwMAtes might have for him....

Lt Kwazii Cat:

He bat's other peoples tails instinctively...

He can bareeely taste sweet, so he'll usually add a shit ton of sugar to his desserts

Struggles with impulse control and social awareness, struggles to understand what can be talked about on the dinner table and what can't be

Quite ashamed honestly about his cat-like behavior, so he'll try to keep it to himself. He doesn't like to meow or purr around anyone but Shellington, but because he lacks impulse control, he'll end up doing it anyway. Dashi loves the meowing.

He's incredibly affectionate

His first thought when a sea creature gives them trouble is I'LL SHOW THEM WHO'S BOSS!!!

Medic Peso Penguin:

His urge to pick up rocks everytime he sees a pile of them goes strong, and he usually ends up doing just that

This is more of a redesign than a headcanon, but he has a full set of teeth in the og books and I thought that would be a good excuse to give him fangs in my AU just for added cuteness

He's a chronic apologizer

He gets picked on by the crew occasionally, he hates it

He looks up to Barnacles and Kwazii so much- he IS the youngest and the last one to join, after all.

He does really like taking care of his friends.

He's a bit of a crybaby. His sense of empathy is really big and strong, and he'll feel himself tear up if he sees something- or someone- suffering.

IT Officer Dashi Dog:

Because she's the IT officer, programmer & photographer, she's super busy all the time

And speaking of time, she always loses track of it..

If Kwazii and Barnacles were to be unavailable she would be in charge.

She likes to keep incredibly clean even if the DEMONS tell her to jump in the MUDD and have FUNN

She loves everything cute and collects chibi cat squishies. This is like, one of my first head canons ever.

She's in charge of the wifi, whenever it shuts down and the crew begins to bug her about it, she gets super fckin annoyed

She barks, because of course she barks, and her tail wags whenever she sees something she likes or is giving/receiving affection

Her tail ALSO wags when she's talking to Captain Barnacles, I wonder why THAT is!!!

Engineer Tweak Rabbit:

Gets 1 second of sleep every night

Taught the rest of the crew how to play her video games

She glows in the dark because she's literally radioactive, same with her dad

When she needs a break she goes to the garden to chill, and eat a few carrots on the way

Will wake up in a cold sweat to randomly build something in the middle of the night

She does not give a shit about how messy she gets

Dr. Shellington Sea Otter:

Spends so much of his alone time just grooming himself

Goes searching through the fridge for ice cubes during the summer. Loves his ice cubes

Was the most geekiest geek in high school, he had like 3 friends

He plays visual novels

He's really defensive, embarrassed, and shy about what he likes.

His sleep schedule is fcked up, he talks in his sleep as well. He'd much rather be spending his time researching so as he sleeps he'll usually dream about his research.

He cannOT take a compliment. Compliment him and he will curl up into a little ball out of shame.

Professor Inkling Octopus:

He'll put on classical music in the library and vibe to it with whoever's with him

He hosts story nights occasionally

He's really good at giving romantic advice

He refuses to drink coffee

He needs to be constantly MOIST

his chair is super high tech and comes with a heater and cooler

May or may not be the group therapist

He's INKredibly humble

Tunip Vegimal:

Like 4 years old

Gets excited over literally anything

Gets the cutest puppy dog eyes when he wants something

Defaults to running around with the other vegimals when there's nothing to do

His fave thing in the world is watching the crews face light up when they eat his food

Vegimal food just hits different

Tunip sees Shellington as his dad, and sees Tweak as his mama. Kwazii's the gay aunt

*flies away*

[dreamywriter143]

Tsongtsyìp

(Tsongtsyìp [ˈt͡soŋ.t͡sjɪp̚]—-> Dimple)

Status: Multiple-Character Scenario

Genre/Warning: FLUFFFF

Parings: Neteyam x Reader, Lo’ak x Reader, Jake x Reader, Tsu’tey x Reader, Tonowari x Reader, Ao’nung x Reader and Rotxo x Reader.

Summary: How each character would react if their S/O had a dimple.

Word Count: 0.9k

A/N: I know this is an odd one but I’ve had it in my drafts since I started writing for Atwow. I have dimples and I’m really insecure about it. I love how others look with dimples because it suits their face. Mine doesn't. I have two and one is deeper than the other. It’s one of my biggest insecurities. So, I made a short scenario of each character from Atwow reacting to their S/O having dimples. I thought it would be a cute idea. Also Bailey Bass has dimples, and she looks FLAWLESS!!! Anyways, enough to my rant. Please enjoy!!!

Ps: I’m going to try 2nd POV instead of 3rd POV. If this sucks, I’m sorrry !!

__________________________________________

Neteyam

(In complete awe and in love with them)

The first time Neteyam saw his S/O’s dimples he was in complete awe. If Neteyam thought his mate couldn’t become more perfect, he was wrong. He loved how it only enhanced your beauty and he couldn’t look away. He always lived for his mates smiles, with the added dimples it made it seem like your smiles were that much more beautiful. Very eye-catching. He would admire them with a lovestruck expression. He was extremely attracted to your dimples, always trying his best to keep you smiling. He would grow a bit clingy when he’d notice how other Na’vi men would also gawk at you.

“Your dimples are so cute yawne,” he would say sweetly, his ears twitching as his tail swished behind him happily.

“Just like your face”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lo’ak

(Teases you and loves to poke them in a affectionate way)

He loves it when your dimples appear as you smile. Not only is he being rewarded by your smile, but your dimples too?! Score! He would do everything in his power to see them again, even at the cost of your embarrassment. He would affectionately poke at them, only to end up squeezing your face which would lead to featherlight kisses here and there. He's a complete tease and you’ll have to be patient with him. But he does it all with the purest intentions.

“Can I touch it? I want to touch it…I’m touching it!”

“C’mere sweet cheeks!!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jake

(Calls you ‘dimples’/‘Tsongtsyìp’ as a term of endearment)

At first Jake would find it cute and unique. He knew that dimples were kind of rare, and the fact that you, the love of his life, had them. He couldn’t feel more blessed. He would be like Lo’ak, teasing and liking how you would react shyly to his advances. He even decided to call you ‘Tsongtsyìp’ (meaning dimple) as a nickname. He would say it in a term of endearment while he would watch your dimples appear with a soft expression.

“C’mere Tsongtsyìp! Smile wide, lemme see ‘em!”

“Hey dimples, check this out!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tsu’tey

(Thinks its super cute but tries to be chill about it)

Tsu’tey always wondered why you would cover your mouth when you would laugh or smile. After being mated before Ewya you slowly started to unwind, even going as far as to not cover your face when you smiled. That’s when Tsu’tey saw it. And to say he was speechless would be an understatement. He is awe-struck. Why would you hide something that caused his entire being to throb in admiration. He would think it's super adorable and would always slyly glance at them when you weren’t looking. He figured the reason you covered your face was because you were shy about it so he decided not to shed any light on the situation. That is until he got caught.

“Uh…Tsu’tey? Are you ok? Is something on my face?”

“No….I just find your dimples irresistible. Please don’t hide them anymore yawne”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tonowari:

(Treats you like a baby, cooing when he sees them appear)

You're not that much younger than Tonowari, but that doesn’t stop him from treating you like his little princess. Especially when you smile and your dimples are out on display. He felt like a teenager again with how much he openly gawked at you. Tonowari would coo at the sight, his heart would soar as he only focused on them. In his eyes it was a gift, something to hold and show to the world. Something to be proud of. And that, he did.

“Isn’t she perfect? Look at the smile……look at that perfect smile”

“That’s my girl!! Look at how cute she is!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ao’nung

(Teases you, claims you look like a baby. But his baby.)

Ao’nung would tease the hell outta you. No joke. You would be insecure about your dimples as it is and Ao’nung’s teasing didn’t help. That is until he admits he adored them, loves them and cherished them. He would squeeze your cheeks with his large hands lovingly, his eyes filled with adoration. He only teases you about it because of the reactions he can coax out of you. And also the fact, according to him, you looked like a baby. But just any baby though, his baby.

“Aww my little baby girl is lookin’ all cute!~”

“Ao’nung! People are staring!?!”

“So? Can’t I admire what’s mine?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rotxo

(On a personal mission to keep you smiling no matter what)

The moment Rotxo saw your smile with your dimples on display he was a man with a mission. A mission to keep you smiling no matter what. He didn’t know if he could go a day without seeing those adorable dimples that would make his stomach erupt with butterflies. When he saw your smile it proved to him that he was making you happy, that also motivated him to keep you smiling at all times.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Ah! There they are”

“What?”

“Those beautiful dimples…..”

“Rotxo!!!”

“What? Your smile is beautiful, never stop smiling”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I’m so sorry that it’s so short but I hope you guys enjoyed!

[giggly-squiggily]

HEY HEY HEYYY!!

(got inspiration from the person who requested miya twins with sibling!reader- it was js so sweet help-)

BUT AHFJEK i hc that suna just cares for his sibling an insane amount, like will cheer them up ANYTIME if they ask or not, like they're just so dear to him<33 like i feel like he can tell that they like tks just cause of how giddy and happy they get after, so like after a friend breakup or sum he js gives em light tks everywhere cuz they just need it🥺 AAAAAAAAA SCREAMING AT THE THOUGJT OF IT /pos (you know me-- lee reader pls :3 have a wonderful day friend)

(Headcanons to Dabbles: OFFICIALLY CLOSED)

AHHH! *does a little cartwheel* FRIEND! :D the way I immediately read that Hey Hey Hey as Bokuto This is so cute??? So sweet? So freaking- AHH! Suna being an endearing big brother is everything to me; this is perfection! I've gotcha covered!

CW: Angst, hurt/comfort, food

“Hey.” Suna pressed a icy cold can of your favorite drink against your cheek, making you squeak in surprise. “I got you something.”

“Oh?” You didn’t have the energy to sound excited, even as you took the can from him. Your voice was thick with tears, eyes stinging from the past hour shedding them. “Thank you.”

“But wait- there’s more.” Suna smirked as he reached into the bag he had, pulling out not just one, but two of your favorite drinks, alongside your favorite candies and chips. He even pulled out a gacha machine capsule, your favorite character looking back at you through the frosty plastic. “I thought of you.”

You smiled, shaking your head as you took the little figure from your grasp, turning it in your fingers. The gesture was so sweet, but at the same time so painful.

“Oh no- did I get the wrong one?” He blinked when you sobbed, falling into his shoulder. “(Y/N)?”

“N-No, you’re fi-ine. I just- I-” You couldn’t put it into words. How could you explain to him what happened without feeling like the pain in your chest would come up and suffocate you?

Suna hummed, taking in your teary expression before pulling you into his chest completely. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t need to explain. Just- let it out.”

So you did. You wailed in his chest, crying like a lost child as he held you tightly in his arms. If he was soothing you, you couldn’t hear him, too caught up in your despair as he rubbed soothing circles in your back. Eventually, you were able to pull away, wiping at your face with a pitiful sniffle. “G-Got any tissues?”

“Yeah.” He reached into the bag, pulling out a box of them. Funny enough- in your favorite color.

“You really went for the theme, huh?” You laughed softly, cleaning up while he went to get you painkillers. Soon after, you were sitting beside him on the couch, nursing your drink and sniffing occasionally as he resumed his earlier actions. Occasionally, you twitched- giggling when his hands got close to your sides.

“Maybe you should laugh. Something about feeling better?” He tickled you again- keeping his touch light and feathery as you giggled and elbowed him in the ribs.

“Shuhuhuhut up. Maahhahybe? I dohohon’t know- suuhure!” You squirmed when he focused on a particularly ticklish spot, never sending you into mind consuming giggles but keeping you smiling. “I thihhiihhnk it’s worohohokrking?”

“I hope so- you’re the one getting tickled here.” Suna snickered as he gave your neck a twitch, earning a small squeal. “Did that help?” “Ahehahahahaha!” A few moments passed before you could answer, squirming up and away from him as you gasped for air. “Yooohohu..yehahhah, actuhahahlly. It did.” You were still rather upset, but not nearly as much as before. The unbearable feeling dulled to a twinge in your chest, helping you breathe once more. “Hey, yeah erm…”

“You don’t need to tell me.” He cut you off, waving a hand. “If you want to, I’ll listen, but don’t force yourself. Just- come sit for a while. Have some of these snacks. We’ll watch that show you love so much.”

You almost cried again, smiling brightly and running to your brother. “Suna, you’re the best!”

“And you’re annoying. Eat.” He shook the candy at you, relaxing when you took it.

You were grateful for your big brother more than ever.

[layla4567]

✨ Working together ✨

Luca from the bear x fem!reader

summary: You and Luca are dating and he taught you everything you know about pastry. So now you want to open your own tea house where you will sell your delicious cakes, and of course he will help you in everything.

warnings: almost no connection to the plot of the show or it's world, maybe a lil suggestive, cloying fluff and corny

A/N: again I must clarify that like Colin Zabel's fic, I have not seen this series (sorry) so maybe what I write is not entirely accurate with the show

You and your boyfriend were looking for places for rent or for sale where you could put your little tea house. Being able to serve anything, even an old, abandoned shed, as long as it was located in a nice landscape with a good view, nothing else mattered. Luca was driving his convertible car making your hair blow in the wind. The times were beautiful at that time in Copenhagen, you were wearing sunglasses and a cute flowery dress that your boyfriend loved every time you wore it. For his part, Luca was wearing a white short-sleeved shirt, had taken off his kitchen apron and wore blue jeans underneath. Her blond hair also danced in the breeze.

They were driving through the streets of Denmark with the sun shining on their heads. Months ago you told Luca about your dreams and now they were finally coming true. A little anxious you looked to your right trying to find a good place, your boyfriend caressed your knee with the intention of letting you know that everything would be fine

"Don't worry sweetheart, you'll see that we'll find the perfect place"

"I hope so love, only you know how much I waited for this moment"

Yes, Luca knew it well. So many hours practicing pastry and talking about your hobbies, every time he left work and showed up at your house to teach you how to make Aeblekage or a Koldskål you told him how you were planning to open your own little tea house. He looked at you in admiration and assured you that you were going to succeed. And here they were now, looking for a place to settle and where you could cook your delicious desserts accompanied by the love of your life.

Let 'em wonder how we got this far 'Cause I don't really need to wonder at all Yeah, after all this time I'm still into you - Paramore - I'm still into you

At last they had arrived. After tiring around several streets, they found an old abandoned cafe with a dilapidated and crooked sign. It had a window on one side and the walls were dark brick. Above the front door hung a white awning with red stripes, unfortunately it was dirty and had a hole in the middle. Despite everything, you two loved how comfortable and familiar it looked and best of all, it was close to the port just as you wanted. They got out of the car and you began to admire the view, in the distance you could see the water and anchored boats.

"Don't you love it? the place, the sea breeze-you inhaled with your mouth open enjoying the air on your face- I would give anything for more days like this"

Luca looked at you lovingly and wrapped his arms around your waist looking where you were looking

"Have I told you how adorable you are when you talk about what you like?" -Luca kissed your forehead

You wrinkled your nose in contentment. "You tell me every day, hun"

"C'mon your place awaits you"

"Our. Our place awaits us"

They both entered the old building. But happiness disappeared from your pores when you saw that it seemed more dilapidated on the inside than on the outside. The peeling paint on the walls was falling apart, leaving a heap of dust on the floor. There was no furniture left. The wooden ceiling was moldy in places. You couldn't stop the disappointment from drawing on your face. Luca put his arm around your shoulders.

"Hey love it's alright. We can remodel it and I promise you it will be like new. Why don't you go check out the backyard while I find something to clean up?"

Luca is that down to earth and that's what you loved about him. He always found simple solutions to problems that seemed huge. You opened the French window that led to the yard and you felt the flame of hope rekindle in your chest. It was definitely much better than the inside of the building. It wasn't that big, but its low brick walls delimited a large plot. The floor was concrete, and pretty orange flowering vines hung from the walls. You were already imagining how you could use the space by placing beautiful tables with umbrellas.

"Hey babe, I found some brooms and a shovel-"

He stopped when he saw the yard. He also found it beautiful. you turned around with a smile

"So.. what are we waiting for? let's restore this place"

You got to dig a little deeper Find out who you are You got to dig a little deeper It really ain't that far When you find out who you are You'll find out what you need Blue skies and sunshine guaranteed - The princess and the frog - Dig a little deeper

Luca offered you a shovel and together they began to sweep the floor, the dust made them cough and tickled their noses that made you sneeze like a kitten, Luca laughed every time he heard you. The following days were exhausting but pleasant. You bought turquoise paint for the inside of the walls, you two had a blast painting and doing a little mischief

"(Y/N) what do you think if we paint a strip of small sailboats in a darker color? It would go all the way across the wall, but we would need a stencil"

Luca pointed with a finger where the stencil would go, with his muscular and bare arm you couldn't help but pretend to pay attention to him and with your hand that held the brush, paint his wrist. He looked at you surprised, throwing you a reproachful look but deep down he couldn't suppress a smile.

"Oh (Y/N) you're very immature"

You closed your eyes laughing at what he took advantage of to paint the tip of your nose. When you felt something cold and wet on your nose, you opened your eyes and mouth offended, with a defiant grimace they started a paint war, their laughter mixed and echoed throughout the room, your boyfriend grabbed your wrists with the intention that your brush doesn't touch his face. In the end they ended up in a fiery kiss with their hands stained with paint leaving marks on your breasts and buttocks and with yours likewise scattered throughout their entire body, they looked like an abstract painting.

Every day you two were buying things to decorate the tea house. They had bought beautiful brown leather sofas at auction. You had gotten landscape paintings to hang on the wall at a vintage store. The most difficult thing had been to remove the wood from the roof, since some had been ruined by humidity. But by turns they had proposed to remove them little by little. Luca climbed a ladder and took some out, then you, in your eagerness to help, told him to lift you up so you could reach the roof. You always felt a tingle of adrenaline in your belly every time your boyfriend grabbed you by the waist and made you sit on his shoulders. And when you two couldn't handle everything on your own, you hired masons and workers who were very helpful.

With a little effort they managed to restore everything that was damaged, they changed the previous awning for a bigger one and a green one. They placed pots on the outside door and some hanging from the window. You were even able to put the tables you wanted in the backyard with their matching black iron chairs. When everything was ready in terms of decoration and remodeling, you went to the kitchen to prepare tea and desserts, it was the only thing that was missing before opening.

"Dear, could you help me with the dough?"-you asked him nicely

You were about to make some kind of Danish apple pie. Luca approached from behind, pulling his body against your back, which made a shiver run through your body. His arms and hands on top of yours accompanied your movements with a slow and loving rhythm. They stretched the dough back and forth and then rolled it back into a ball. Sometimes Luca teased you mischievously kissing your neck or behind your ear, with his nose buried in your hair. His kisses went down to your shoulder, making you sigh

"Luca…-you said in a warning tone- How unprofessional"

"Oh come on I know you love it"

You turned your head to kiss him. They finished cooking several desserts and also the different teas including iced teas.

And the great day had arrived to open the doors of your tea house. It would only take a few minutes to welcome the people of the city. Both were nervous but especially you, you couldn't believe that your dream would finally come true. With trembling hands you took the key that opened the door, put it in the lock and turned it. It was done

"We did it.."-you looked at his face with happy tears in your eyes.

"You did it"- he corrected you wiping your tears - "It's your dream, don't forget it"

"Dreams can be shared, and that's what I'm doing with you"

He looked at you sweetly and grabbed your chin with his thumb to kiss you passionately. Customers started arriving for snacks, and soon the place was packed both inside and out. Luca promised to help you in the kitchen and you would go and serve the dishes along with the tea. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming, everyone was happy and so were you. You almost needed four more arms to serve so many people but you didn't care because that was what you wanted, a place where people can remember the warmth of their home while tasting delicacies prepared with love and delicacy, and if your boyfriend was by your side better. At the end of the day when people left and your place was about to close you and your boyfriend lay exhausted on the leather sofa, it was a busy day but it was satisfying at the same time. You placed your head on Luca's lap as he caressed your cheek.

"Today was the best day of my life, I still can't believe that all of this is real. It's like a sweet dream that I never want to end"

"But it's real love, and we made it together. Although if you want I can pinch you to prove it"

You two laughed amused letting the now empty room fill with your warm laughter that then floated in the air like a sweet dew.

Maybe, it's the way you say my name Maybe, it's the way you play your game But it's so good, I've never known anybody like you But it's so good, I've never dreamed of nobody like you And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine - Ruth B - Dandelions

. . . . . . . .

I know, this was maybe a bit boring and too cheesy but I'm a hopeless romantic and I couldn't not write something like that.