#sitting loosely in that big old wooden chest

[imperatoralicia]

I get a lot of entertainment thinking about how containers are used in video games sometimes.

[yeyinde]

kinda enamoured with the thought of our poor mc going to a dud of party but meeting Kyle and Johnny there (both looking as out of place as you feel) but instead of taking you home, they bring you back to Price and Ghost. a sweet little treat for them all to share.

and they're charming, of course. too charming. but alcohol numbs most of your inhibitions about how touchy they are. how physical. folding themselves into your space, leaning down to whisper in your ear when you can hear them just fine. hands on the small on your back. around your wrist. your waist. knuckles against your cheek—

god, you're such a pretty little thing, aren't you?

warm skin. breath that smells of thick, sweet cream and oaky black tea. hands curling under the hem of your shirt—shush, shush, doe, ahm jus' helpin' ye; yer hot, ain't ye? lemme help ye out o'yer jumper—thick, sunkissed fingers dancing over your skin.

you feel funny, you slur into his—Kyle, he huffs, grinning wide; wolfish: call me Kyle, sweet thing—neck, chasing the scent of spiced vanilla and wild, ripened plums. everything is spinning. spinning—

"god, he's gonna just love you—"

but they'll take you somewhere. home. you nod, nose tucked tight against his warm, steady pulse. "wanna go home—" you mumble into salt-tinged skin, and they laugh.

"oh, don't worry, beautiful. we'll get you right where you need to be."

you trust them, of course. let them usher you into their car, curled up against a broad, warm chest. lulled under a blanket of security wrapped tight in strong, firm arms. and if his hand wanders, fingers tickling the insides of your thighs. well—

you can't deny they're attractive. maybe you can get their number after and call them in the morning.

but that doesn't happen.

you wake to the sound of voices. hands sliding under your knees, around your shoulder. carried into a house that isn't your own—some strange cabin deep in the forest. the glow of the wood stove in the only light on inside, and you struggle to adjust to the thick orange haze.

"what's going on?" you ask, blinking at the sight that greets your liquid eyes.

Kyle places you down on a rug, holding your hips tight when you fumble. laughing, just a little, under his breath when you gasp.

sitting in an old, wooden chair is a man you've never seen before. big, broad. intimidating. his thick legs spread lazily—one kicked out against the rug, the other bent at the knee. and elbow rests on it. in his hand, a lit cigar. the other dangles, loose and lax, off the armrest. fingers curling, unfurling, into spasmic fists.

his eyes burn caeruleum in the flickering gold.

you fight back a shiver, but feel it slide like hot oil down your spine.

"what—?"

"my boys didn't explain it to you?" he asks, voice a rough, abrasive scratch in your head. gritty. porous. you feel it against your skin. fingers digging into your nape. bad girl. there's something about him that commands attention, and you give it easily as he tuts, pale lips pulling into a condescending sneer beneath the thick of his beard. "or maybe you just weren't payin' attention, sweetheart."

"attention to what—" sir almost trembles out. his lips twitch like he heard all the same. "i just want to go home—"

the hand dangling over the ledge flares to life. he flicks it careless around the room with a hum. "you are home."

"my real home—"

and then you see it.

he moves like liquid through the shadows. folds himself into the dark like its where he belongs. and you thought—and still very much do—the man sitting on his throne was large, intimidating, but it pales at the absurd height of this thing that slinks out of the corner with a heavy, laden gaze. powdered charcoal. endlessly black. flat, though. amused.

when he speaks, it's all brass. "what's this? Johnny brought 'ome a stray?"

"nah," you hear Kyle's grin. feel the phantom shift of sharp teeth against your neck. breathless laugher. warm hands. baby, you feel so good. "we found 'er in a club. lost little lamb."

"and you dragged her back to the wolf's den, mm?"

"you complainin', cap?"

it takes all of your willpower to tear your eyes off the man, but you manage. ripping them away until you find him—Price—again. he stares back with a lidded, heavy gaze. unflinching. hungry.

"not in the slightest."

Kyle purrs. "Johnny couldn't keep his hands off her, sir. might have some competition for who goes first."

cold air on your nape. dread bubbles up in your belly. "no—"

they continue like you hadn't spoken. like you don't exist. the man in the corner folds his thick arms over his broad chest, shaking his head a chainsaw-like grunt. laughter, you think.

but Price doesn't seem to find it nearly as funny. his teeth sink into the butt of the cigar with a growl. "gonna fight me for first, Sargeant?"

Johnny snorts, and rubs his finger under his nose.

"she's sweet," he murmurs, all wide-eyed and feverish. cheeks pinked under the warm spill of orange. "cannae blame a man fer wantin' such a pretty little thing—"

"back of the line," Kyle prods. and you wish his touch made your stomach churn, but that thread of intrigue, alcohol spooled want, still thrums in your veins.

"i just—" you stammer, eyes widening as real, tangible fear sets in. skewers into your belly. heart in your throat. the erratic echoes pounding in your ears. "i just want to go home."

"you are home, birdie—" he speaks and it feels like the walls shake. "didn't get a bright, did you, Johnny?"

"tha's mean, Lt—" his hands snake around your waist, pulling you into his hard chest. "didnae anyone teach ye 'ow tae chirp at birds?" the shorn sides of his Mohawk scratch against your cheek when he nuzzles, kittenish, against your face. "don't listen tae 'im, doe. yer th' sweetest, brightest lit'le thing—"

"mm, and such a bright little girl would know how to behave, wouldn't she?"

even with the alcohol dulling your senses—thoughts scattered and thin as two pairs of hands start pulling at your clothes, stripping you down to nothing—you can still see his words for what it is:

a threat.

as if to reinforce this idea, the man—Ghost, Johnny whines into your burning, stinging cheek, skin chafing from the graze of his buzzed sides: gotta 'ave a taste, Lt—moves, his body spilling out in a dizzying tumble of thick limbs. he stands by the door—the only one—and folds his arms over his chest once more, head cocking to the side as he stares down at you.

"don't worry, Johnny," he rumbles, lids slipping to half cresences over the ink black of his eyes. "i intend to."

the air stills when Price hums. your attention is pulled back to him instantly, but a part of you—all animal—halves it down the middle, keeping Ghost in your sights at all times. turning your back on him feels—

stupid.

you shiver.

Price shifts in the chair, reaching up for the cigar still pinched between his teeth. the look in his eyes is a startling, heavy thing. doom tastes like ash between your teeth.

"an' you're a bright girl, aren't you?"

it's not really a question. you nod anyway, feeling the fight in your body dissolve like wisps of smoke in the dense, thickened air. excitement, desire, hums—an electrical current—in the air, bubbling up between them. they move around you in a way that's dizzingly coordinated—a living, thrumming dance. stigmergy. as your clothes fall, as their hands grab your flesh, pinching and caressing, moaning in your ear about how soft you are, how sweet, one, horrifying thought thickens in the back of your head:

you know, then, that you're not going home.

"oh, sweetheart," Price drawls like he knows what you're thinking. a mocking little coo as he tucks his knuckles under your chin, lifting your head up to meet his burning gaze. there's something in there, you think. something awful. something hungry.

"you already are."

[msbigredmachine]

An Angelic Christmas (Roman Reigns)

On their first Christmas together, Roman and Naima share heartfelt gifts, tender moments, and an intimate celebration that deepens their connection. A glimpse into the unlikeliest of love stories that’s about to unfold.

Pairing: Roman Reigns/Black fem OC

Warnings: SMUT

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: This is based off characters from my upcoming multi-chapter Roman fic (yes I know, it's been a while, lol) to be out in January. Look out for it!

gif belongs to @romanreigns

divider belongs to @bernardsbendystraws

The Miami sun is high in the sky, casting its golden rays over the famed city. Palm trees sway gently in the breeze, adorned with twinkling lights that sparkle even in the daylight, giving the vibrant streets a festive charm. 

Roman’s penthouse, perched high above the bustling streets, is no exception. Ornaments of red and green and gold glimmer on a ten-foot high Christmas tree standing in the corner of the living room, a towering contrast to the sleek modernity of the space. It’s not exactly the snowy holiday Naima grew up with in Atlanta, but she’s not complaining. Not when she’s with her man.

Naima hums along to “All I Want for Christmas Is You” blasting through the speakers, twirling a wooden spoon in her hand as she checks on the smoky jollof rice in the kitchen. The turkey is ready and well stuffed, so that is settled. Her bare feet pad softly across the hardwood floor, her movements fluid and effortless, the dancer in her kicking in. Chief, their three-month-old Staffy puppy, is sprawled nearby, lazily gnawing on a holiday-shaped chew toy that she bought him.

Roman sets the table, looking at his girlfriend with an amused smirk. “Mariah again?” he teases, his deep voice cutting through the music.

Naima turns, feigning offense. “Not you actin' like you don’t love this song, big guy.”

He chuckles, stepping closer to her. “It’s a classic, I’ll give you that.”

She rolls her eyes, scoops a spoonful of rice and blows on it before holding it up to his lips. “Here. Taste this.��

Roman takes the bite, chewing slowly. The smoky flavor hits his tongue first, followed by the rich spices that taste even better than the last one she made a month ago. He lets out a low hum of approval.

“Damn, baby,” he says, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

Naima grins, her beautiful brown eyes sparkling. “That’s just the rice. Wait till you try the turkey and plantain.”

Roman glances at the counter where the massive golden-brown turkey rests, surrounded by perfectly caramelized plantains and a big bowl of sapasui specially made for him. His diet, meticulously planned for his wrestling, is going to take a serious hit tonight. But he doesn’t care. It’s Christmas, and Naima’s cooking is worth every cheat day.

“Diet starts tomorrow,” he declares, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her close.

“Tomorrow,” she insists, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Tonight, you’re eating everything I made, handsome.”

Roman chuckles to himself as she kisses his cheek and walks away, his gaze dropping to those long, shapely legs of hers. Naima has been in his life for a while now, but every time they are together, it feels like a fresh challenge—a battle of wills he doesn’t mind losing. Most of the time.

The table is set with mismatched plates—his playful touch—and candles flickering softly in the center. Chief sits obediently at the side, eyeing the turkey but making no moves toward it, as if he knows better. The couple sits right next to each other on the table. Roman’s red-and-green sweater fits him perfectly, hugging his broad shoulders and muscular chest. Naima’s matching sweater is oversized and hangs loose on her frame, exposing one shoulder and riding up her thighs each time she moves. Of course, Roman notices, and his hand rests possessively on her thigh, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles in that affectionate, sensual way that always leaves her weak.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” Naima says, nodding toward the huge tree and the perfectly arranged garland along the fireplace. “I know Christmas isn’t your thing like that.”

Roman smiles, his hand tightening just slightly on her leg. “Yeah, well, I figured you’d cry if we didn’t at least have a tree.”

Naima smacks his shoulder, though a grin spreads across her face. “You ain’t right!”

“I’m just sayin’,” he teases, his baritone laced with humor. “You been talking about Christmas since Halloween ended. Couldn’t let you down, mamas. After all, this is your first Christmas outside Atlanta. Am I right?” 

Naima nods and sips her glass of champagne. “Yep. Feels weird not being with Adara and Julien, but…this is nice. Different, but nice.”

Roman cuts out a large piece of turkey and places it in Chief’s bowl, the little puppy gobbling the meat happily. “You talk to them today?” he asks. Knowing how close she is to her sister and nephew, he can already guess the answer.

“Of course,” she replies, “Adara says hi. And Julien was hyped about that new wrestling game you sent him. You officially won Christmas with that.”

He chuckles, proud. “Kid’s got good taste.”

Naima leans back in her chair, watching her boyfriend for a moment. There's something so easy about the way they’re together, the way they fit into each other’s lives despite their wildly different worlds. She loves this version of Roman—relaxed, unguarded, a far cry from the intense Tribal Chief persona that dominates the squared circle. Here, he gets to be just him. With her. His safe space.

She's honored.

“I’m glad I’m here with you,” she tells him, affection in her voice.

Roman’s gaze softens. “Me too, baby girl.”

After dinner, they retreat to the couch, plates of leftover plantain and wine glasses in hand. Chief curls up at their feet, munching on a leftover turkey leg. Roman’s arm is draped over Naima’s shoulder, his fingers lazily playing with her long hair. She rests against him, her legs stretched across his lap as “Home Alone” plays on the 64-inch TV.

“You got one more present,” Roman announces suddenly.

Naima raises an eyebrow. “I thought we agreed on no more presents.” They've already exchanged small gifts earlier in the day—she gave him a custom leather wrestling gear bag embroidered with his initials, and he surprised her with a sleek pair of Saint Laurent knee-high boots she’d been eyeing for months. 

“I ain’t agree to shit,” he smirks, a small, wrapped box materializing in his hand. “Here.”

Naima sits up, taking the box from him and unwrapping it carefully. Her jaw drops as she takes in the unmistakable Harry Winston packaging, her fingers trembling slightly as she unties the ribbon. She carefully opens the box, her breath catching as her eyes fall on the exquisite piece inside—a diamond necklace that glimmers like a constellation of stars. The delicate chain, made of intricate diamond clusters, forms a flawless, radiant circle that exudes elegance and timeless luxury, leaving her utterly speechless.

“Baby…”

“I saw it and thought of you,” he says, his tone casual, though the way his eyes linger on her face betray how much the gift means to him. “You light up my life, mamas. Figured it was fitting.”

Her throat tightens as he helps her put the necklace on, the cool chain resting against her skin. “Thank you. It’s so beautiful,” she whispers.

“Well, it was either this or the anklet,” he adds with a cheeky wiggle of his eyebrows as he caresses the back of her leg, “Woulda been great for these long-ass legs I can’t stop staring at.”

“You always gotta be so extra,” she giggles, her voice teasing but shaky.

Roman grins, his eyes bright and happy. “You bring it out of me,” he whispers, his heart swelling as she holds him tight. He will never tire of moments like this with her.

“Your turn,” she announces, reaching behind the couch to grab a flat, rectangular package.

Roman unwraps the paper carefully, revealing a framed portrait of the two of them sitting on an equipment crate backstage after his match at Summerslam. He was still in his wrestling gear, his Undisputed Championship resting on his lap, while Naima sat beside him, close enough for their thighs to touch. Her arms are around him and their eyes are closed, heads tilted and leaning against each other as if the world had disappeared for just that moment. The image, captured by Naomi, radiates intimacy and quiet strength, capturing everything unspoken between them in that stillness.

He is quiet for a moment, his gaze lingering on the frame.

“You don’t like it?” Naima questions, suddenly uncertain.

“I love it,” he breathes, his voice low but full of emotion. “This…” He trails off, his fingers grazing the edge of the frame. “This is amazing, baby girl.”

“I wanted you to have something to remind you of who’s always in your corner,” she says, her voice soft and sincere.

Roman sets the frame down carefully and hugs her again. “I love you. You’re my everything,” he murmurs, the weight of his words settling between them.

Naima shivers, her heart racing for him like it always does. “I love you too. And you’re mine.” Her fingers clasp behind his neck as she pulls him in for a kiss. It starts slow, purposeful, their lips meeting in a way that feels as natural as breathing. Naima’s hands frame Roman’s face, her fingertips brushing against his beard as their mouths move in perfect sync. It's sensual, unhurried, yet electric enough to send shivers down their spines. 

Roman’s large hands roam down her back, possessive and sure, pulling her closer until she’s in his lap. When she moans softly into his mouth, it ignites something primal in him. The sound drives him crazy, her lips and her voice working together to undo him in a way no one else ever has. It’s a reminder of everything they share—the connection that goes beyond words, beyond the teasing and playful banter.

When they finally pull apart, she rests her forehead against his, her breathing unsteady. “Believe it or not, I got one more gift for you,” she informs him, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “It’s red and made of satin and lace.”

“Yeah?” Roman’s voice roughens, his hands still on her hips.

She leans in close, her teeth tugging on his earlobe as she whispers, “Mm-hmm. But you get to see it later.”

Roman groans low in his throat, his hold on her tightening. “You really tryna test my patience, huh?”

Naima laughs, sliding off his lap before he can pull her back. “Ya know what they say, baby; patience is a virtue.”

The rest of the night passes in a haze of laughter, wine, and stolen touches. Chief dozes near the fireplace, his tiny snores filling the silence of the now-muted TV. As Naima cleans up the dishes from their late-night snacks, Roman leans against the counter, watching her.

“You ever think about what’s next?” he asks suddenly.

She glances over her shoulder, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“For us,” he elaborates, his voice unwavering.

Naima pauses, her hands stilling. “I mean…I’m happy right now. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he says, his lips twitching into a small smile. “I am. But I’m talking like, big picture. Like, what happens when we’re not doing this flying-back-and-forth shit anymore? What if you moved to Miami permanently? With me.”

Naima turns to face him fully, leaning against the sink. “That means leaving Adara and Julien in Atlanta. Leaving Exotica. I know you’d love that,” she rolls her eyes.

Roman shrugs. “Well, it is your workplace, regardless of my feelings towards it. But we can figure that out together. Right?”

She exhales, crossing her arms. “I don’t know. I try not to think about it too much. Kinda feels like jinxing it.”

He pushes off the counter, narrowing the distance between them. “I get it. I just want you to know I’m serious about this. About us. I don’t care where you came from or what you’ve done. I just…I’m all in with you.”

Naima gazes at him, her chest tightening. “You sure you know what you’re gettin’ into, Reigns?” she whispers.

Roman grins, his hands finding her waist. “Baby girl, I’ve been sure pretty much since the day I met you.”

Her smile is wide and her heart feels impossibly full. “Guess I better go put your present on, then.”

Roman’s laughter echoes through the penthouse as she saunters off, her long legs carrying her toward his bedroom. “Don’t take too long,” he calls after her.

Ten minutes later, Naima’s heart is still racing with excitement. She can feel the heat of the shower still lingering on her body, buzzing with the anticipation of what is to come. Roman’s words echo in her head; “Don’t take too long.” 

A playful grin crosses her lips. It will definitely be worth the wait.

The silk robe is soft and gentle on her skin as she moves around the bedroom. The lights are dimmed just enough to set the mood. She reaches for the speaker, turning on a playlist full of sultry, slow R&B songs that she uses for her private dances. Usually, she has an audience of several, tossing dollars at her, hungry for more. Tonight, her audience consists of just one, the most important one; Roman Reigns himself, her man…her everything.

She stands in front of the full-length mirror and lets her long, damp hair cascade down her back, shimmering under the soft lighting. She takes a deep breath as she eyes her reflection, seeing a stark difference between the woman staring back at her and the one from seven years ago.

Well done, Naima. Well done.

She quickly goes to the gift bag she’d tucked away, pulling out the lingerie she had purchased specially for him—a festive red set with white fur trim and a playful Santa-inspired design. The bra and thong set hugs her curves perfectly, and she can feel herself getting wetter, more eager. She doesn’t need much of an excuse to get her man all worked up, but tonight? Tonight is different.

She peeks her head through the door and calls out to him, her voice low and teasing. “Baby, I need some help in here!”

As he enters the bedroom, his gaze immediately falls on her—no longer in the oversized sweater, but in blood red lingerie, looking like a vision. His mouth goes dry, his pants tightening as he drinks in the sight.

“Goddamn, baby girl,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with desire. He leans against the doorframe, his eyes scanning her, taking in the way the fabric clings to her slender body. “You look fucking incredible.”

“You like it, big daddy?” she asks, her voice dripping with temptation as she strikes a pose that extends her already long legs.

“Like it? I fucking love it,” he growls, his voice rough with desire. “But how the hell are you not tired from all the cooking?”

Naima’s lips curve into a sultry smile as she inches closer to him, her hips swaying with every step. “I’m never too tired to please you, Ro.”

Roman’s expression softens, but there’s a spark of something else in his eyes—anticipation. He doesn't respond at first, just watches as she takes his hand and leads him to the bed, motioning for him to sit. He obeys without question, his body already tingling with desire.

She walks over to the speakers and turns the volume up just enough. The sultry, slow beat of “To My Bed” by Chris Brown fills the room, its sensual tone ensconcing them both like a velvet blanket. She stands for a moment, letting the rhythm of the song take over her body. The satin fabric of her lingerie shimmers as she dances, her movements sensual and determined, drawing him in. There’s no rush from her—each motion is deliberate, designed to drive him crazy. 

Roman’s hands rest on his knees, gripping them tightly, the intensity in his gaze saying more than words can express. His breath quickens as she turns and gives him an eyeful of the thong that’s swallowed up by her fat, bountiful ass cheeks. Then, she slowly approaches him, her legs long and lithe, flexing with an effortless grace. She leans forward, pushing her chest in his face, her hands smoothing over his broad shoulders. 

“You like what you see, big guy?” she inquires, her voice low and smokier than her jollof, dripping with sex and authority, knowing she has him in the palm of her hand.

“Damn right I do,” Roman growls in response, his hands closing over her breasts, the tension in the air as thick as a storm about to break.

A slow smile plays across her lips, a smile that sends shivers through him. She reaches up and places a Santa hat on his head, her fingers brushing over his scalp before letting the hat sit on top.

“Guess you’re my Christmas gift, huh?” she teases, winking at him, her fingers lightly tapping the top of the hat.

Roman can’t help but snicker despite the lust pulsing through him. “You know it, mamas. Just unwrap me already.”

Naima stands in front of him for a moment, her body swaying, the sheer satin glistening against her skin as the lights of the room catches the fabric just right. Roman’s eyes roam over her, memorizing every inch. Her body, her long legs, that damn sexy smile of hers, the way she looks in the tiny underwear. She knows how to play him like a violin, and tonight he is her willing instrument.

Naima’s smile grows as she slowly unhooks her bra, letting it fall to the floor, exposing the breasts and pierced nipples that never fail to make his mouth water. She drops down low, then slowly rolls back up as her hands run over her curves, caressing herself. She hears his breathing getting heavier, and that only fuels her further. She lets the music take control, her body moving with a confidence that only Roman can bring out of her.

His eyes are glued to her, his expression a mix of lust and admiration. “You’re killing me, mamas,” he growls, his voice clogged with desire.

She stops for a moment, standing in front of him, her ample chest rising and falling with each breath. “Oh, I’m just getting started, big guy,” she purrs, her voice low and sultry. “You’ve been a good boy tonight, so I think you’ve earned a little something special.”

Roman chuckles darkly, his hands resting on the bed now, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “You’ve got no idea what I’m gonna do to you after this.”

Naima smirks, her confidence skyrocketing as his hungry stare stalks her every move. With her back to him, she sensually shimmies between his parted legs and lowers herself onto his lap. Her backside rests right on his crotch as she keeps moving, rolling her ass back and forth in a manner that makes his jaw clench. She throws a sly glance over her shoulder, catching the way his hands twitch, aching to touch her again.

“What’s the matter, big guy? Can’t handle it?” she taunts, her voice low and teasing.

Roman exhales sharply, his resolve crumbling as his hands shoot up to grab her waist. His fingers dig into her skin as she bounces her ass on him, the enticing rhythm making his entire body flare up with heat. “Goddamn, baby.”

Naima’s laugh is rich, full of mischief and lust as she presses back harder, causing him to groan. “That’s right, daddy, watch me throw this fat ass on you,” she moans, steadying herself with her hands on his knees while her hips and ass do all the talking.

Roman tilts his head back for a moment, shutting his eyes tightly as he feels himself throb from the near unbearable friction. “You keep this up and I’m not gonna last long,” he growls, reaching out to squeeze her backside wreaking havoc on his stiff crotch.

“That's the plan,” she shoots back, grinding against him some more before standing up abruptly, leaving him gaping at her like she’s just snatched his soul. “Gotta give Santa his Christmas dance,” she giggles, stepping back and twerking to the music again.

Roman licks his lips as he adjusts himself and the hat on his head. “Santa’s getting impatient, baby girl. You better finish that dance quick before I take what’s mine.”

Naima's eyes are fixated on her man as she tugs on the waistband of her thong and slips it down her legs, tossing it playfully at him which he catches easily. Her body is now completely bare, save for the light sheen of sweat that clings to her skin, making her glow. She straddles him again, leaning in so their noses almost touch. “What if I don’t wanna finish, big daddy?” she murmurs, her lips brushing his teasingly.

This time, Roman doesn’t hesitate. He grips her thighs and flips them over, pinning her beneath him. The bed shifts under their combined weight as he stares down at her, his smirk widening. “I know where I wanna finish,” he mutters, his voice catching right before he crushes his mouth to hers. His big hands eagerly roam her curves as he presses himself against her, the warmth of her naked body sparking a fire he can’t extinguish.

With a teasing grin, Naima pulls his sweater off him and helps him shove his pants down. Then, moving with surprising speed and strength, she rolls them over so she is back on top. Her hands smooth down his chest, running her fingers over the muscles of his abdomen, and she reaches down to grip his length, massaging him for a second or two before sliding him inside her. 

With a soft moan, she sits up and presses her hands on his chest, pinning him down as he drops his hands from her waist to her ass, squeezing the supple cheeks. His grip tightens as she rides him with the skill of an equestrian, her shapely hips rolling and rotating, seemingly spelling her name on him. He can feel her wetness seeping between them, the friction driving him crazy.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, “You make me lose my fuckin' mind.”

Naima dips down, capturing his lips with a passion that sends fireworks off in his brain. The kiss is deep, intense—needy. Their tongues tangle with an urgency that speaks volumes to their never-ending lust for each other, Roman’s hips joining the frantic dance of want as he meets her halfway with deep thrusts right against her sweet spot. The scent of her perfume—something floral and warm—mingles with the sweet musk of desire, and his head spins from the intoxicating combination.

“Shit, Ro…” Naima moans. She grips the pillow behind Roman’s head as she pounces and bounces on his dick with increased urgency, the slickness of her pussy, the feel of him deep inside her, making everything feel like it’s about to explode. She lets out another breathy moan, her face nuzzling his neck, her heavy pants sprouting goosebumps on his skin. Roman’s breath catches in his throat as the feel of her beautiful body writhing on top of him, along with a dizzying myriad of sensations, nudges him closer to the edge.

“Fuck,” he growls, his eyes hazy with pleasure as he stares up at her, “Baby, I don’t know how much longer I can last.”

Naima smiles down at him, her hair falling over her shoulders in soft waves, her chest rising and falling in tandem with her rising and falling on his dick. She cups his face, gazing right into his eyes as she whispers, “Tell me I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

Roman’s eyes darken with lust. It’s the easiest confession he’ll ever make. “You're the best I’ve ever had, baby girl. By a mile. Don’t nobody fuck me like you do,” he professes.

Her body responds to his praise like a fine-tuned instrument. Her movements become faster, more desperate with every dropdown. Their foreheads press together, and she groans as he suddenly shifts and flips her underneath him. He hitches her legs higher around his waist and pumps into her determinedly, cursing as the new angle deepens his reach inside her. Overwhelmed, Naima's eyes squeeze shut, her fingernails in his back, swept away by the intensity of their passion, reverberating through the entire master bedroom as euphoria comes calling. The bed rocks harder from the force of Roman's thrusts, indescribable pleasure drawing them closer and closer.

“Open your eyes, Naima. Look at me when you come,” Roman coaxes her with a kiss, his voice almost pleading as his fingers brush along her stomach and find that sensitive spot between her legs. He toys with it, his personal pleasure button, playing with the sticky mess she’s made and luxuriating in the sounds of her shaky moans as he fucks her into the mattress.

Naima obeys and locks glazed, unfocused eyes with him, barely holding on as the world crescendos around them. Only a half-minute later, it all comes crashing down like a tidal wave—powerful, overwhelming, all-encompassing. Naima screams as her juices gush from the impact, all over his dick, her entire frame shaking with the bone-tingling intensity of her orgasm. Roman’s grip on her and on reality falters as her pussy tightens around him, sparking his release, his drenched dick pulsing and twitching as he fills her to the brim. They collapse together, panting and sweaty, spent and wrecked. He rolls onto his back and immediately pulls her close, his face buried in her hair as he struggles to catch his breath.

Naima lets out a contented sigh, smiling as she nestles against his chest. “Guess that was a Christmas gift for both of us, huh?” she murmurs.

Roman chuckles, his lips meeting her forehead. “You’re the best gift I could ever ask for, baby.”

She smiles up at him, her heart warm and full. “And you’re mine. You don’t know what you’ve done for me, Roman.”

And with one more heartfelt kiss, they cling to each other, their bodies still buzzing from the most beautiful experience, knowing that the holiday season has brought them even closer—if that was even possible.

🎄THE END...for now.🎄

Read Finding Angel here

Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

Please leave comments! I love comments 😁😙😊

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[csilla0issa]

YOUR SWEET HUSBAND, NANAMI ! ♡

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎You stood outside you and Nanami’s shared home, leaning against the wooden fence of the overhanging patio that overlooked the river behind the beautiful farm house you and your husband had bought just a few years ago. The warm summer air had given you the urge to enjoy the season while it lasted, the calendar marking August 26th, close to the end of your daughters favorite season. The bright green vines hung off the corner of the house, growing from the many trees that surrounded the property that stood atop a pretty hill. Flowers you watered every morning bloomed in their pots on the ground, as well as the few hanging pots giving it's feeling of nature.

Nanami was assumedly working on papers in his study, though instead he was sitting at his wooden desk, leaning back into the chair in his white button down shirt that had a few buttons loose at the collar, and light blue jeans, gazing at pictures of you and his beloved little girl, Evelyn, from his phone. Evelyn had inherited his blonde hair, your carried genetics making her hair wavy, and she carried your eye color and the few freckles, as well as your facial features. His two beautiful girls. A soft smile tugged at his lips, chuckles occasionally escaping from videos of you and your 6 year old daughter making a mess in the kitchen while making the sweet fudgy brownies Evelyn loved so much. His heart swelled at each photo, passing by pictures of you on dates when he snuck in a picture from behind you, who was distracted at aquarium exhibits.

He had quickly started to long for his gorgeous wife, standing up from his office chair and padding into the kitchen hoping to find you there. Instead he gazed out the open glass french doors next to the counters to see you adoring nature and humming a tune softly. His heart fluttered. God, he loved you so much. His beautiful, sweet, and loving wife of 7 years. He shook his head, an amused smile replacing the earlier soft one at the sight of you in your own world as he walked out to the patio. He gently wrapped his arms around you from behind, nuzzling his face into your neck, take a soft inhale of your flowery perfume.

"Hi, my love." He mumbled, his voice filled with longing.

You flinched just a little at the sudden feel of his arms around you, obviously not expecting him to be out here but you still kept that smile he loved so much.

"Hi. Are you done with your papers?"

He chuckled softly. "No, I wanted to come see you. I didn't get anything done, m’missed you."

You could've sworn your heart bursted at his words, turning around to face him and plant a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth. He playfully dodged the kiss, coming back to press his lips against yours. After you pulled back, you wrapped your arms around him and placed your head onto his chest, his steady heartbeat lulling you into a tranquil state.

You two stayed like that for a long while, basking in each others love and presence before the silence was broke by the loud giggling of your daughter running out onto the patio as well. Nanami gently yet reluctantly unwrapped his arms from around you, turning around to catch Evelyn into his arms right before she bumped into something and tackling her with hugs and tickles onto her sides. The sight made you laugh, watching as your daughter settled into her father's arms with a big smile in her poofy dress with bright flowers embroidered into the white fabric.

"Hello to you too, princess. What's my little girl doing?" He cooed softly, glancing down to see her chubby hands wrapped around his fingers.

"Making a picture for Mama!" Evelyn exclaimed.

Your eyes widened slightly, a tiny ‘oooh’ falling past your lips as you stood closer to Nanami and Evelyn, your eyes flickering to the drawing in your daughters hand. "Can I see?"

"Hmph! No, I'm not done yet." Evelyn exclaimed grumpily, crossing her arms like the drama queen she was. "You have to catch me first!"

She then squirmed out of Nanami’s arms, running back into the house as you then ran off after her with a playful smile and soon catching her into your arms as Nanami carefully followed behind. He gazed at the bright smile on your face, and the big, proud grin gracing the face of the little miracle you two had made together with love. He sure did have regrets, a bunch of them, but he knew now that he has never and ever will regret the life he has now.

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

[thesecondhandwoman]

𝑷𝑼𝑷𝑷𝑬𝑻 𝑺𝑯𝑶𝑾

Jinx x f!reader

Synopsis: It was just another comforting family moment in Jinx’s hideout when your daughter, Isha, decided that she wanted to have a puppet show created by her mamas.

A/N: Had to write a mama jinx fic because her relationship with isha destroyed me.

The hideout was cluttered in the best way possible—scraps of paper, gears, and bits of paint-streaked fabric scattered across the wooden floor. It smelled like gunpowder and paint, the air still tinged with the scent of last night’s late-night project, some kind of half-finished contraption Jinx had abandoned midway in favor of lying across your lap and playing with Isha’s hair until the little girl fell asleep.

Now, the three of you were sitting in your usual spots, Jinx lounging on her stomach, absentmindedly twirling a screwdriver between her fingers, you sitting cross-legged beside her, and Isha perched between the both of you, sketchbook in hand.

Jinx yawned and stretched, poking Isha’s cheek with the screwdriver. “What’s up, kid? You’re staring.”

Isha scrunched her nose, swatting Jinx’s hand away before flipping her sketchbook around. Crayon lines sketched out three figures, two taller ones with unmistakable streaks of blue and your own signature look, and between them, a smaller figure holding their hands. But what stood out the most were the little stick-puppet versions of you and Jinx clutched in your drawn hands.

You tilted your head, taking it in before a grin tugged at your lips. “Looks like she wants a puppet show.”

Jinx’s eyes lit up with an almost childlike glimmer, pushing herself up onto her elbows. “Puppet show, huh? Oh, kid, you are in for a treat.” She shot up, already digging through the various piles of junk around the hideout, snatching up cloth scraps, loose screws, and what might have been an old sock at one point. “We’re gonna make the best damn puppets this side of Zaun has ever seen.”

Isha clapped her hands together, eyes alight with excitement. You chuckled, reaching over to ruffle her hair before helping Jinx gather materials.

It didn’t take long for your makeshift crafting station to turn into chaos. Jinx had glue on her cheek, you had thread tangled around your fingers, and Isha, bless her, was trying her hardest to sew while giggling at Jinx’s constant stream of nonsense.

Jinx, being Jinx, crafted something delightfully chaotic—a tiny, messy version of herself with wild blue yarn for hair and big mismatched button eyes. “Looks just like me, huh?” she joked, holding it up to her face.

You held back a laugh. “It’s a spitting image,” you teased before presenting your own puppet, much softer in dramatics than jinx’s, with neatly stitched features and a lopsided smile. “And look, she even has an actual shirt instead of whatever that is.”

Jinx gasped in faux offense. “Babe. That ‘whatever’ is art.”

Isha was already giggling, hugging her own tiny puppet versions of you both to her chest. She then pointed expectantly at the table, signaling that it was time for the show to begin.

Jinx cleared her throat dramatically, dropping into a stage whisper. “Alright, ladies and, well, ladies. Welcome to the greatest, most entertaining show of your life!” She ducked behind a nearby crate, holding up her mini-puppet self. “Introducing the fearless, the stunning, the ridiculously cool, Jinx!”

You played along, lifting your own puppet and giving it a tiny bow. “And her ever-patient, slightly concerned partner, me.”

Isha clapped as the show began, the two of you making the puppets bounce and interact in exaggerated, silly voices. Jinx’s puppet cackled and flipped over dramatically (assisted by her wiggling fingers), while yours sighed and crossed its little arms.

“Jinx, you can’t just declare yourself the queen of Zaun.”

“Uh, yeah, I can.” Jinx wiggled her puppet in a mockingly regal manner. “I got the crown and everything.”

“You don’t have a crown,” your puppet huffed.

“Oh yeah?” Jinx disappeared for a second before reappearing, having shoved a small tin lid on her puppet’s head. “How about now?”

Isha was in stitches, muffling her giggles with her hands. It was a rare sound, and one that made you and Jinx share a quick, warm glance.

By the end, Isha was clapping enthusiastically, her joy written all over her face. She reached forward and tugged both you and Jinx into a tight hug, her little arms squeezing as if she could keep this moment forever.

Jinx snickered, ruffling Isha’s hair. “Alright, kiddo. You win. Puppet shows are officially a thing now.”

You pressed a kiss to Jinx’s temple before squeezing Isha back. “Best audience we’ve ever had.”

The three of you spent the rest of the evening making more puppets, one for Silco, one for Sevika (though Jinx made hers absurdly buff), and even a tiny Fishbones. At some point, Isha curled up in your lap, drowsy but still smiling, and Jinx draped herself over both of you like a content cat.

“Hey,” Jinx murmured after a while, her fingers absently playing with Isha’s hair. “We’re a pretty good pair of parents, huh?”

You pressed your cheek to her shoulder, letting out a hum of agreement. “Yeah. The best.”

And as the soft glow of lanterns flickered around you, the sounds of the Lanes distant but ever-present, you let yourself believe it, right here, with Jinx and Isha tangled up in warmth and laughter, everything was exactly as it should be.

A/N: MY SHAYLA, OH MY SHAYLA..

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

hello seth! i don’t think my tumblr works with anon so i’ll just send it like this! i’m a huge fan of your writing and i absolutely adore it. whenever i am in the need for a good story and writing inspiration i go to your blog. so i was hoping if you could write a sally face fic! i haven’t seen too many on here and willing to write for m reader or ftm.

i like the thought of being with sally and just having time with him, soft domestic type stuff. then he starts asking you how you really feel about his face and you smile and take off his mask with permission and kiss him saying he’s beautiful and to not worry. you kiss him and hold him. he then sits up but keeps your lips locked and you begin to explore each other sexually but in a such intimate way you both are crying almost. if you want could be m reader but i would love a ftm reader! can we also have reader be bottom but still be guiding sally and affirming him. i know this is a big ask and you’re always working so hard so please take liberty with this ask! take what you want from it and remove what you don’t like. i just love you’re writing. take your time as well! writing can be draining sometimes and you really need to find that inspiration so i want to make sure you feel no pressure!

have a good day/night/evening!!<3

❝ I'll show you how we're supposed to feel (when we meet at Orion's belt) ❞

SalFisher x ftm!reader | fluffy, NSFW | reader has had top-surgery & bottom growth | sub. bot. reader | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 5.4 k

warnings: mentions of facial dysphoria, self-deprecating thoughts (Sal), unprotected sex, praise (a lot of it), minor hair pulling, creampies, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick/cock, terms like cunt and boypussy are used)

masterlist ;

authors note: thank you so much for your kind words! hearing that you use my writing as writing inspiration made me feel so warm and fuzzy on the inside oh lord 😭 you're too kind! This request was the softest one I've ever worked on, thank you so much for gracing me with the opportunity to write this~

*song on repeat: Orion's Belt by Sabrina Claudio / Baby Girl by SMNM

"Cold, cold, cold," Sal lifts his head from the couch. The sight of you rushing down the wooden stairs in nothing but a towel makes him lift himself to sit. "Fuck! Sal, you should put carpet in here!" Grinning, he leans forward and folds himself in half to stare at you furiously lifting the towel up to wrap around your shoulders instead.

"You hate carpet. B'sides, it'll get that weird moldy smell in here. I told you to get those fuzzy slippers," Gizmo meows in agreement from his corner of the couch. "Traitor!" you exclaim and he simply meows once again, lifting a leg to lick his stomach and Sal reaches over to give his head a good scratch.

"See? Even Gizmo agrees."

"Gizmo has in-built fuzzy socks. He has no say in this," your huffing and puffing simply makes Sal roll his eye, lifting Gizmo up to place the large cat right on his stomach while he props his head onto the armrest of the couch. Gizmo stretches out onto his torso, unbothered by the change in position while he presses his nose into Sal's chest and twists until he's nearly full on his back; the action makes Sal secure the old cat on him. His olive-toned arm loosely wrapped across Gizmo's purring body.

You're still rambling but it's all background noise to Sal. The sight of your bare legs and backside calls for his attention and despite how guilty he feels, he can't help but drag his sight all the way up to your — now — bare shoulders. The towel is now limply draped over the towel rack, and your muscles and bones are moving seamlessly underneath the fabric of your skin.

Everything about you can make him feel like he's going to explode. In a good way, if you can believe it. He sure as hell didn't. Sal remembers the first time he saw you, thinking you looked cool and that it was nice your interests lined with his. Somehow you managed to become more than that.

More always scared Sal. It was greedy and selfish. He wasn't religious but there was a sense of anxiety that came from wanting and needing more than you were given. Some sort of divine guilt was planted within him through passing by churches and reading the signs of worship plastered on billboards. Needing more is frightening, especially from other people.

More time spent with you two. More hours of listening to you speaking. More days spent with you in his home, bare skin and bare soul all for him and only him.

It frightened him!

Because, as self-centered as it sounds, he'd have to give you more. Don't take this the wrong way, he wants to — God, he wants to — but...but...

What if you don't like all that he has?

The fabric of his skin is spoiled. Marred. One of his eyes is artificial, his jaw asymmetrical, bone blown to bits, nose cut off and skin grafts stitched together and spliced.

His heart hammers in his chest, and his breathing is shaky as he squeezes Gizmo. The patch-furred critter mews, twisting once again and crawling up. His weight on Sal's chest is comforting. The pressure across it squeezed down on him, reminding his body that it was real and he was safe.

"In conclusion, I propose we buy a heater! That way we can — "

You're dressed in Sal's pajama pants, hands in the middle of pulling down the oversized band shirt when you notice Sal squeezing his eyes shut.

"Sal? Baby? What's wrong?" You sit by his legs, placing a hand on his knee and pressing your hands on it to ease him back down. "You're okay, baby. You're okay." It's not often Sal gets like this. You've known him ever since he came to Nockfell County; you know he's the type of person to withdraw within himself when his anxieties get the best of him. He's certainly gotten better with time and as your friendship — and eventual relationship — got stronger, the both of you worked on ways to lean on each other when things get tough.

Sal inhales deeply, Gizmo raising with the motion, and exhales. You don't pry more, giving him room to find the words and tether back to you. Gizmo's purrs muffle the silence.

"Sorry, just, the sight of your ass gave me a heart attack, Jesus," the joke is met with a loose grin but Sal knows you better than that. Still. He's grateful you snort at his jesting. Gizmo stands — Sal grimaces as he puts all his weight on his sternum — then walks over to your lap instead. The sight makes him calm down.

The faded grey of the once-black band shirt and his pajama pants do too. It's silly but the sight of you in everything that's his comforts a part of him. You're here. You're in love with him. Your gaze holds nothing but patience and adoration and a tinge of worry.

But you're here, in his clothes, in his room, his cat in your lap, and your hands on his body.

"You feeling better, Sal?" He nods, pushing to sit. "Do you wanna talk about it, baby?" Gizmo gives your chin one more bump before he jumps on the floor and meanders his way to his food bowl. Taking the chance, you inch closer to Sal and he's grateful for it.

You're not scared of the cold prosthetic on his face. The iron bolts that secure the straps to his face and head, the glass eye that shines humourlessly in any situation.

"Do you ever want...more from this? From me?" That line of questioning made your brows furrow and mouth frown. "What do you mean?" You reach for him and Sal reciprocates by holding your hand in his lap.

"I was joking about seducing Mr Smith from the electronics store for a heater," he scoffs at your lame joke but continues. "I don't mean that, I'll get us a heater. Just..."

"You've never seen...all of me." His grip loosens but you don't let it. "So?" he looks at you, his face angled low and the shape of his prosthesis mimics his brow bone. Sal is pinching his face, confused at your indignant tone.

"So?" He whispers. You lift his hand up, inching in closer and placing his knuckles over your clavicle.

"So?"

"Doesn't it freak you out? We've been together for so long and you've never seen my face," he murmurs. Since you're so close, speaking above a whisper would ruin this moment. Sal's heart is racing again though this time the anxiety is laced with his love for yours. It's a confusing emotion but he relishes the way you press your forehead to his, nose bumping with the bump on his prosthesis.

"Do you want me to see your face?" He inhales sharply, glancing away.

"...I do. But..."

"Mm?" you spread his fingers out, guiding them to your neck and the calloused pads of Sal's fingers make gooseflesh spread. The hairs on the back of your neck standing in applause; because that's what he does to you.

He makes your pupils expand, makes your heart race, makes your brain produce dopamine; your body lights up like a goddamn firework when he so much as looks your way. You can be yourself with him without fear because you know you do the same to him.

"...I've only ever let you kiss me when it's dark. The first time we had sex, I couldn't even take off the mask...I just...I'm..."

Your frown deepens when Sal sighs, his shoulders dropping.

"Be honest. Does it bother you?"

He's glad you don't reply immediately. A part of him always worries your love for him overtakes everything else. That, if something ever happens between the two of you and it tears you apart, you'll feel regret once the love is gone. You brush his hair behind his ear, cupping his jaw as you shake your head.

"No. It doesn't. Because it's you, Sal. I love you. Even the parts you aren't ready for me to see." He exhales and his breath escapes through the slits of his mouth. You feel it on your thumb and it makes you grin.

There's a twitch in his eye and your grin falters for a moment before it reappears when he locks eyes with you.

"...Do you want me to see your face, baby?"

His jaw is set. His tongue is made of lead. So Sal simply closes his eyes and gives you a minuscule nod. If it weren't for your hand on his jaw, you probably would've mistaken it for a twitch.

"Can I take off your prosthetic?"

Another nod.

"Are you sure, baby? I won't do it if you're not — "

"I'm sure." He says in one breath. "I'm sure."

A moment of silence was shared and you leaned forward to press your lips in the molding of his. The cool material does not pulse or pump with life but it's your Sal's and you cherish it deeply; he exhales shakily and you grin as your fingers dance through the locks of blue to find the straps that hold the prosthetic in place.

It's secure, it's meant to be, and you can feel the wear and tear of the years in the material. The scratches and indents weaved into every fiber. You unbuckle the lower end first and Sal tightens his hold on you, so you pause and press another kiss to his porcelain cheek.

When he nods, you continue, cupping the mask in one hand to steady it while you undo the upper buckle.

Sal would be statue-like if it weren't for the nervous tremors in his fingers. The mask loosens and its weight drops into your hand. His breath does not come through the slits anymore and you can feel it breeze through the fine hairs on your fingers.

He says nothing and neither do you. Still, you place one more kiss on the forehead of his prosthetic and lower it from view.

Sal has his eyes cast away, but he faces you. There's a large scar across the right side of his mouth, splitting his lips and exposing his teeth. There's a dent on the right side of his lower jaw that leaves his bone structure slightly unbalanced, and the cartilage of his nose is completely missing. The skin has healed, stretching his eye and tugging on the rest. It's pinkish still, never quite settling into the rest of his olive-toned skin, and Sal understands why it's jarring.

It's like peeling back the layers of what makes humans...humans.

The skin. The sight of his face makes people unnerved. Teeth and gums and muscles and the lack of a nose. One side of his face was a plain canvas and the other was a goddamn Jackson Pollock painting of horror.

Your touch on his bare skin shocks him. The pads of your fingers drag across his cheekbones. "Does it hurt?" You ask with your eyes lidded.

"No, no, it...it doesn't." You smile and your thumb rests just under his eyes, sweeping fondly while your palm holds his face preciously within your hand. There's a flush to his skin — it's not unusual with how the prosthetic held over his face nearly 24/7.

There's a feeling of nakedness that comes without the even pressure across his visage but your hands are an amazing substitute.

"You don't have to be nice," he says. "It takes a lot to get used to — "

"I know I can't completely convince you to not think of yourself as 'something to get used to' but you're not. Not to me." Sal's eye water and he wills himself to finally look at you.

There's a pinch to your brows, it makes your eyebrows cast this shadow across your eyes and highlight the colours of your eyes. You're frowning at his self-deprecation, though beyond that he can see you mean well.

"I would gladly sit on your face, Sal."

He scoffs, groaning as he slips away from your hand to toss his head back and flop right onto the couch again. "You're fuckin' impossible, (Y/N)," he mumbled as his hands covered his face. You place the prosthetic down on the makeshift coffee table near the couch and chuckle as you swing one leg over his hips and rest your crotch over his.

"What? I'm being honest here!" Bracing your weight on your elbows, Sal finds the comfort of your body across his similar to Gizmo's. "You're fucking beautiful," he squirms at that and you huff, nuzzling your face into his neck while he peeks from over his fingers.

"You don't have to say that," you huff once again. "I'm not saying that because I have to, I'm saying it because I want to. You're fucking beautiful, me being your boyfriend is just a coincidence."

He feels you shifting and instinctively, his hands rest on your hips and there he is again. You know you shouldn't stare, so you don't, but the shy glances at his face are less than secretive. His eyes are blue, cobalt almost, and his eyebrows are a darker shade of his hair. The shape of his eyes is rounded, with a deep crease and heavy eyelids just like his father's. Lifting your head, you gaze down at him and your hands are once again gingerly ghosting on his skin. This time, they're tracing his collarbones, feeling up the protruding muscle of his neck and halting at his jaw.

"Can I kiss you, baby?" He has a quirk. A lip twitch that he does when he's excited; you've been dating him for years and you're still finding out new things about your boyfriend. It makes your heart race and it only triples in speed when he nods. Hovering, the peak of your lips ghost his. He had always envied how you kiss his prosthetic. It was an extension of himself but he hated how badly he wanted to feel you on him.

They press to his and Sal slips his eyes closed. It's nothing more than a peck. Innocent, chaste. But then he's tightening his grip and pulling you in; tilting his head like he's always seen other people do and you're grinning into it. He knows because he can feel it.

He can feel it.

How your lips spread, the hint of teeth that slide over his bottom ones, and the crinkling of your nose that's brushing over his cheek.

"You taste so good, pretty boy," your words make his ears red. "I'm sure anything is better than kissing porcelain," he replies with a breathless tone, leaning forward again as if unwilling to part from you even if just to talk.

"No, don't disrespect yourself like that. What did we say about making those jokes." "Hah, I'll stop when you do."

Giggling, you're leaning in again. Sal wonders if kissing you is the only reason he's not completely in tears. The first time he'd accidentally showed Larry his face, he'd cried because Larry didn't look away from him. You taste tears on your lips and Sal curses softly as he tucks himself under your jaw, groaning. You shush him comfortingly, threading your fingers through his hair as he takes a few deep inhales.

"I love you." Those words are followed by more tears and you squeeze him again. "I love you, Sal," he nods against your — his — shirt. He can feel the grin you have from the crown of his head.

"I love you. I love you. I love you."

Because you did. Sal was the man you wanted to be with until the Earth decided to throw in the towel; it didn't matter how buried your love for each other would be, because when your bones are dug up, or his guitar, or the treasure trove of things you've called yours; in the future, when you whisper to those archeologists: "Do you know?" they'd nod and reply, "We know you loved him."

Sal has never felt love like this. One that felt overwhelming at first, the same way entering a body would be for the first time in your life, but once he embraced the feeling? It was so...fulfilling.

How lucky was he?

Sal pulls away to cup your face and he leans in. You meet him halfway.

The feeling of your breath, your heart thudding against his own chest, the pulse beating under his thumb as he holds your neck — Sal isn't sure if he'd ever get into heaven but he doubts it ever compares to you.

His jaw moves and your lips part as you press closer. Fuck, kissing him felt like drinking in sunlight. There's a freedom that follows it, leaves you floaty and blissful.

"I love you," he replies between the friction, teeth biting down on your lower lip if only to hear if you'd gasp. You do.

"I love you so fuckin' much, (Y/N)." There's a feverish desperation in his words. But it makes your heart swell. There's no doubt in his eye, nothing but the truth and the truth is he'd worship you.

You're kissing again. Eager to show him the explosions he sets off within you. Between desperate lip locking and messy tangles of tongues, his hands move down and up your — his —shirt.

Squeezing your sides as he drags his digits across your skin. It spreads fire across your planes, has your already uneven breath shuddering as he memorizes the shape of your body again.

There's a growing hardness between his legs. You can feel it — twitching below your crotch as he tilts his head and tastes the lust that perspires from your neck.

He's greedy with his mouth. How could he not be? Sal has been wanting to taste you the second he realised how badly he wished you were his.

"Fuck, Sal." You groan, chewing on your lower lip as he experiments with this unmarked territory. His tongue is warm, his teeth brushes over pumping arteries with an air of amusement; when he finds the sweet spot? The spot where your breath hitched as he kissed it?

Sal makes your blood vessels explode. It isn't enough that the hairs on your neck stand in attention because of him, or how your blood rushes to your head when he so much as looks your way. He's determined to show you he can worship you in more ways than one.

You're gripping onto his shirt and your hips grind down. The moan he lets out makes your cunt wetter than before.

"I need you," you tell him as he sinks his teeth in. Just to test it out, to see if you'd like it. You do. His back feels cold as you lift his shirt but he grips at your wrist, panting as he moves his head away so you can see him.

"Can I...Can I keep it on?" He already felt a touch too exposed. You nod, reassuring him with a chaste peck.

"I'm gonna take of my shirt. You've made me all warm," he smiles a bit too smugly. He's handsome that way. When he gets a bit cocky — it's a sure fire way to make your head dizzy with desire.

"My shirt," he mumbles.

But when your bare torso is revealed the sass is pushed away. Sal presses kisses on your chest, teasing your perk buds with his too-warm hands and relishing in the way you toss your head back when he takes one in his mouth.

"Sal, holy fuck." He kneads at your ass, making your hips move back and forth. Rocking your clothed cunt over his boner as he leaves hickeys and bitemarks.

Here is where I plant my love, he thinks as he feels your heart pound against your ribcage, here is proof that he's mine.

Your pants are pulled below your waist and Sal moves back, making you yelp at the loss of balance. One second you're over him and the next, you're both tumbling over the couch.

His hand cradles the back of your head, curling over you as much as he could when you crash. Thankfully, none of you knocked into the coffee table but the adrenaline of the short fall makes the both of you wide-eyed.

"Holy fuck!" You laugh breathlessly. He scans you for any injury but soon follows suit. "You okay?" His hair curtains your face from view as he descends to claim your lips again.

"I'm peachy, baby." Sal grunts as you tug at the waist band of his pants. "Don't stop..." and how could he say no to you when you look up at him like that?

Your hands invade underneath his shirt and Sal moans as you press your fingers lightly into his back, kneading at the tense muscles. "M'not gonna take it off. Just wanna feel you," you assure as you reach his shoulder blades. God, the feeling of your hands on his body made him feel so Holy.

Ironic in the grand scheme of things but it's not like Sal gave a damn.

It's your turn to mark him up. He often already is. But this time your lips latch onto the obvious places. Lifting yourself to sit, Sal is suddenly at your mercy as you lovingly bruise him up with your mouth.

Sal lifts himself off your crotch a bit, panting and moaning at your ministrations, and slips his hand down your pants. Your breath stutters as your boyfriend touches your core.

"Sal," you plead. "I know, baby. I know," Sal frowns when you whine. "What? What's the matter, sweetheart?"

"You're just..." You're breathing heavily as you stare up at him, nails lightly digging into his skin as your dick twitches against his palm.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Sal."

That catches him completely off-guard. He hates how tears immediately burn at his waterline but regret doesn't come when they travel down his cheek. You're kissing him and the self-depriciation doesn't once rise. That snivelling, hissing, voice of doubt remains mute as you hold him.

"So fucking pretty," he slips his finger in as if attempting to distract you with pleasure. It makes you keen but you continue to sing praises for him as he pumps his digits in and out of you.

It's hard to move when you curl your arms over his back, hands peeking from the stretched out collar of his shirt. Forehead once again pressed to his.

"I can't — "

"You're all mine. My pretty boy is all mine." Blood should not rush so quickly to one's head. His chest is dusted in red, his shoulders, his ear, the apples of his cheek —

"You feel so good, Sal."

You allow him to push you back, splaying out onto the floor with your eyes lidded in want as he looked at you.

"...Shit, you're making my brain go all stupid," he grumbles — it sounds more like a whine. You lift your hips as he tugs your pants down and off. Sal gets between your legs and for a moment you think he's about to just slide in — which causes you a bit of concern considering how much meat he's packing between his legs — but then he lays on his stomach and your cock peeks straight up.

"I've watched a few pornos," he says with a grimace, "but — "

"I can guide you, Sal." He's looking up at you with those doe eyes and you chuckle as you brush some of his hair back. "You made me cum from grinding on your goddamn leg before. You've got this, Sex Grandmaster Sal."

"Really don't think mentioning Larry's marijuana induced rambling is setting the mood, babe," your giggle smooths out the furrowed brows he had. "Sorry, sorry."

Your cunt is making his mouth water. Sal presses his thumb on your cock and the sigh you let out eases his worries. His tongue on your dick has you inhaling deeply, slowly, back arching off the floor as he looks up at you.

He's overzealous but fuck does it make you wetter than you've ever been. Licking and sucking on your cock while he teases the opening of your cunt with his fingers. The hints of teeth makes your hips twist but he holds your hips down with muffled groans.

"Fuck, yes. You're doing so good, Sal. S'fuckin' good — holy shit, babe," the way your voice gets all pitchy makes him grin. Your slick on his tongue is making him want more, so he spreads your lips apart and sinks his tongue inside, it makes your grip onto his head, and Sal moans into you at the pinpricks of pain that follow.

Fingers accompanies his tongue and you're clamping your thighs around his head. It forces Sal's face into your cunt and the whole thing has him chuckling against you.

Pinning your thighs apart, Sal licks and swipes at the slick around his mouth and chin, catching his breath as he curses.

"Fucking Christ, does it feel that good?" You whine in retaliation. "You're the one going down on me of course I'm going fuckin' crazy. You get all whiny when I go down on you too — "

He curls a finger inside of you and you cut yourself off with a particularly loud moan. The floorboards above you creak and like a deer lifting its head as a branch snaps in the distance, another follows as whoever was in the living room heard the echoing cries of pleasure.

Sal slips another finger in and you cover your mouth, glaring at his handsome face petulantly. It falters as he stretches you out, thrusting in and out with a steady rhythm that he occasionally breaks to curl his fingers up.

You're groaning and curling your toes, eyelids fluttering and squeezing shut as he jerks you off with his other hand. Loosening his jaw, Sal uses his spit to lube you up further. He had a thing for sloppy sex. You once joked he enjoyed the slick-and-slide of it all and he didn't deny it then and probably won't ever.

"Nuh - no, don't wanna cum yet, I wanna cum with you, baby," he slows his rhythm, staring at you as you lift yourself onto your hands and taste yourself on his lips.

"Want you inside me. Please, Sal, I'm beggin'"

"You don't have to. I've got you." He nods when you hold onto the waist of his pants. Pulling it down to his knees and let his cock spring out into the air. Fuck, it's a pretty dick.

It's fat and heavy. Thicker than longer, the girth always makes your toes curl. It's a darker colour compared to the rest of his skin tone, the mushroom tip a warmer shade that burns when you tease him too much. You motion for the couch and he leans against it, whispering your name as you hover over his cock.

"Fuck, you're so hot," he says as you pump his dick with your fist while you line it up to your cunt. "You're pretty fucking hot yourself, big dick," he struggles not to laugh in your face, shaking his head in 'disapproval' that's short-lived.

You sink down on the tip of his cock and Sal moans out your name, squeezing your hips. You shiver for a moment, willing your insides not to clench so excitedly when you've still got some ways to go.

"Shit, (Y/N). You're so fuckin' tight." You could not agree more. The more you go down on him, the more you're tempted to just squeeze him like a vice. Sal brings your face down to kiss him, very quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of it. It's no wonder teenagers made out in the hallways all the damn time.

Gravity helps you the rest of the way. When he's all the way inside of you, you part your lips, the way your eyebrows slope being felt on Sal's forehead as you clench around him.

"Fuuuuck, Sal" you're whimpering his name, arms wrapped around his neck as you look at him. "You feel so fuckin' good, baby."

He swallows thickly, reaching to push your hair away from your face as he gazes up.

"I love you, so fuckin' much. I love you, Sal," you're determined to make him turn into nothing but mush. He's certain of it. His insides felt like a field of flowers, all blooming at once, even if it didn't sense at all. There's an airy moan that escapes him as you squeeze your inner thighs, your hips move forward and Sal grips you like he's afraid you're just a figment of his imagination.

"I know, baby," he whispers back. "I love you, more than you can imagine."

A dopey grin appears on your face. "You think you can show me how much you love me, handsome?" He smiles and your heart feels like it's going to stop.

"I can do more than show you, pretty boy."

He turns you over on your side, not once pulling out. You hastily grab some couch pillows for the both of you before your descent onto the floor. It's cold but that's all the more reason to hold onto each other.

Once your head is on a pillow and you're on your back again, he drapes over you.

Another kiss. Another mischievous nibble. A sly dance of tongues.

Sal is pulling out, the drag of his dick makes you whimper, and thrusts back home. The action has your nails leaving welts on his back but it just reinvigorates him.

He's splitting you open and filling you up. Every thrust makes you see stars. You're unwilling to let him go if the legs wrapped around his waist are saying anything.

But Sal is growing flustered the more praises you tell him.

"That's it, baby. Fuck this pussy, this pussy's just for you."

"Fuck, you look so good, baby. On top of me, fucking me, shit — !"

"Oh, God, your cock is — yeah, right there! — you're in so deep, Sal -Ah!"

You're so fucking filthy.

He wants to hide his face in your neck but he doesn't wanna take his eyes off you. Eyes trailing where his lips and teeth had been, eyeing the sheen of sweat on you and your messed up hair.

The shower you just took had been in vain, huh?

"Fuh - fuck, I'm close," he warns, bracing himself on his elbows as he hovers above you.

"Yeah? Me — mff! — too. Cum inside, baby. Need to feel you — fuuuuck — dripping outta' me," he chuckles breathlessly at your words.

His hips are stuttering and he can see the way your brows are furrowing, angelic moan after angelic moan being knocked out of you. He gives your cock a rub and the way your back arches off the floor makes him hold his own orgasm back just so he can see you like this as clearly as he can take it in.

"Sal, oh fuck, baby!"

"I've got you, (Y/N)."

He chokes out a groan as he feels you clamping down on him, your cunt gripping onto him like it never wants him to let go. You gasp as he snatches your breath, messily making out with him as the aftershocks of your orgasm are barrelled through thanks to Sal's deep thrusts.

"Shit, shit, shit," you smile as he begins to lose his rhythm. Ignoring how sensitive your boypussy feels as he chases his end. "C'mon, baby, fill me up. Yeah, that's it."

He cums with one final thrust. The warmth of it floods your insides, earning pleasant shivers from you as you moan out his name. He's riding his orgasm out, pushing in and out of you shallowly as he catches his breath above you.

"Jesus, fuck..." You giggle at his words, chest rising and falling in rapid motions as your heart tries to calm down.

"That was, Christ, that was — " "Fucking amazing?"

He nods, falling on top of you as carefully as he can. You embrace him, humming as he kisses your neck while you rub his back. The both of you catch your breath, satisfied expressions etched on your faces.

When Sal moves, your eyes are already closed. He pulls out and you whimper at the loss, ignoring the way he stares at his own jizz dripping out of your cunt in favor of gazing at his face.

"We gotta take a shower all over again," he says, helping you sit up and accepting the hug you give him when you're righted.

"...Wanna do it all over again in the shower?" Your question earns a throaty chuckle. "Thought it was implied in my statement."

Another beat of comfortable silence is shared. Sal sighs, nuzzling his face into your neck.

"Thank you, (Y/N)."

"I've got you, Sal."

[quins-heart16]

DAD LEWIS HAMILTON XFEM MOM READER

OUR LITTLE REBEL ON THE LOOSE

The house was full of warmth and laughter, the chatter of family and friends filling every corner as everyone gathered for a relaxing afternoon. The scent of freshly brewed tea mixed with the cool English air drifting through the open patio doors. It was the perfect family gathering—except for one tiny, determined problem: our seven-month-old son, who had decided he hated visitors.

Lewis carried him downstairs after his nap, dressed in a cute onesie, his curls still slightly tousled from sleep. But the moment he saw the unfamiliar faces, his little body stiffened, and he clung to Lewis like a koala, burying his face in his father’s chest.

“Aww, come on, little man,” Lewis’ sister, Samantha, cooed, reaching out for him.

Big mistake.

Our son peeked at her, scowled, and tightened his tiny fists around Lewis’ shirt. “Nope, not happening,” Lewis chuckled, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “I think he’s still waking up.”

That was a lie. He was awake. He was just refusing to socialize.

But the moment Roscoe trotted into the room, everything changed. Our little one’s head shot up, eyes lighting up as he saw the bulldog waddling around. Without hesitation, he wriggled out of Lewis’ arms, landing with a soft thud on the carpet before eagerly crawling after Roscoe.

Lewis shook his head with an amused sigh. “So he trusts the dog more than his own family?”

I laughed from across the room. “Looks like it.”

As Lewis got caught up in a conversation, our son, now fully awake and in adventure mode, decided it was time to explore. He crawled past legs, under tables, and into corners, eyes wide with curiosity. But the real trouble began when Lewis’ sister, brother, and a few friends decided to scoop him up.

Just as his uncle reached for him, our little troublemaker grabbed his hard toy truck and launched it—directly at them.

Thud!

“Ow! What the—?”

Our baby cackled in his tiny baby laugh, his dimples deepening as he quickly turned and crawled away at full speed, giggling as if it was the funniest game in the world. The entire room erupted into laughter while his brother groaned, rubbing his forehead.

“Maaaan,” his brother chuckled. “This one’s got an arm.”

But the chaos didn’t end there. When Lewis’ mom, ever the doting grandmother, attempted to pick him up, he squealed and bolted—well, as much as a crawling baby could bolt. He wobbled his way toward the patio doors, his tiny hands slapping against the wooden floor as he ran on all fours, laughing in that adorable babyish way, enjoying the chase.

Lewis sighed dramatically. “Why is my own child treating his family like the enemy?”

Just as everyone laughed, chaos erupted outside.

“Uncle Lew! Uncle Lew!” Lewis’ young nieces and nephew suddenly shouted, running toward the house. “Hurry!”

Lewis frowned, standing up quickly. “What happened?”

They all pointed toward the backyard—specifically, toward his parked Ferrari.

And there, sitting on the ground with the most innocent expression, was our little troublemaker, chubby hands filled with small stones.

Another tiny stone pinged off the car’s pristine red paint.

The kids panicked. “He’s throwing rocks at your car!”

Lewis’ eyes widened in slow horror. “Oh, hell no.”

I couldn’t hold back my laughter as Lewis rushed toward him, scooping him up before he could grab another rock. Our son squealed in delight, completely unbothered, throwing his arms up and kicking his tiny feet as if he’d just won a game.

“You think this is funny?” Lewis asked, holding him up.

Our baby responded by blowing a spit bubble and giggling.

Lewis exhaled, shaking his head. “He’s lucky he’s cute.”

I wrapped my arms around Lewis from behind, still giggling. “Guess we know who’s going to keep us on our toes.”

Lewis glanced down at our son, who was now resting his head on his daddy’s shoulder, completely satisfied with the chaos he had caused.

“Oh, I know it,” Lewis muttered. “We’re in so much trouble.”

[strawberrynull]

──⯎ ˙🔥 ̟ burn it down

엔하이픈 | Enhypen | Nishimura Riki

──Pairing: riki x afab!reader

──Genre: fluff

──Synopsis: After a busy week, Riki decides its time for the two of you to hang out and have fun rather than working

──Warnings: cursing, starting fires, mentions of burning (things, not people), kissing, established relationship

──A/N: I've actually thought of this so many times and finally got the motivation to write it lol

masterlist

The car came to a stop, parking in front of an abandoned building. It was an old warehouse but was now used for people to just drop off their junk. It almost looked like a horror movie scene.

"Ki, where the fuck are we?" You asked, gripping onto your seat belt strap. You turned to look at Riki, hoping he was joking about going there.

"Get out. I'll show you." You looked at him like he was fucking insane. Then he grabbed your hand gently and laughed. "Just trust me." His sweet smile was enough to make you give in.

The two of you hadn't been hanging out very often as of recently. Riki had practice almost every day and you were always busy with work and studying. So it had taken you by surprise when Riki snatched the notebook from your desk, claiming that he was taking you somewhere fun today.

You stepped out of the car, following your boyfriend as he approached the building. With a good bit of force, Riki manages to open up the big rusted doors to the abandoned warehouse. He disappears into the darkness of the building. All you can see are the silhouettes of large piles of trashed furniture. Riki returns, hauling a ton of junk like old car parts and barrels. He continues to disappear into the piles of garbage and reappear carrying trash and throwing it into one big pile. Once he's brought out enough shit, he tosses you a lighter. You roll the small black lighter in between your fingers before looking up at your boyfriend with a puzzled expression.

"Go on. Burn it down." He says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

"What? You really want me to burn this stuff? Out in the open?" You question, eyes wide with shock. He nods. "Isn't that considered arson?" Riki chuckles at your concern. Your heart does flips in your chest hearing his deep laugh.

"Trust me. It's fun." He reassures you, pulling his hands out of his pockets and reaching for your hair. He ties it back gently, pulling any loose strands into the messy ponytail.

You flick the lighter open and hold the flame to a stick you found on the ground. Once it's lit, you toss it into the pile of trash. Riki finds himself a broken off car chair and sits on it, leaning back to watch you. You observe the beautiful flames as they dance around. While the flames rose, occupying your attention, Riki could only focus his gaze on you. His heart pounded as he watched you happily play around, lighting different items on fire.

"Woah, holy shit. That's a lot of fire, Ki."

"I'll put it out before we leave. Just go have fun." He waves his hand, telling you not to worry about it.

You skipped around the lot, deciding to add more trash to what you now called the "arson pile," making the flame grow stronger. You gaped in awe as the fire crackled and rose higher, sending smoke into the air.

You found yourself a wooden bat lying around the junkyard so naturally you took the handle and gave it a test swing. Once satisfied, you walked over to some old appliances and began beating the shit out of them. Then a loud crack was heard, making Riki shoot out of his chair. He craned his neck to find you standing with a broken bat and wide eyes. You had snapped the poor bat in half.

With a huff of defeat, you trudged back to your boyfriend who just laughed at you. He manspread so you could sit comfortably between his legs on the old leather chair. Riki wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you so your back was flush against his chest. He dipped his head down to the crook of your neck. The boy placed a few light kisses on your shoulder making you giggle.

"Sorry, you're just so pretty. I can't hide my love for you anymore." He says, half jokingly. He was being silly of course but he wasn't joking whenever he called you pretty. You were practically the light of his life.

You quickly turned around to hit his chest. "Ah you're so corny and annoying." You complained with a pout.

"Just admit that you're madly in love with me."

You glared at him with squinted eyes and a scrunched nose.

"Nope. You're the one who's obsessed with me." You sighed, turning back around and crossing your arms.

Riki just rested his chin on your shoulder. "You're right. You're a bad bitch. I can't help being in love with you."

© strawberrynull, 2024. Do not copy my work. Please DM for permission before translating or reuploading. Thank You

[eggcompany]

Prof. S Part 1

Viktor never had a reason to visit Professor Silco. Until he did. He had a huge crush on the political science professor, had thought about him many times.

He didn't expect the professor to like him back. Or to be so enthusiastic. He felt good, he wanted it.

(Viktor is 17, almost 18, in this fic when they first get together. Silco didn't know. it's a thing)

Viktor didn’t like running around during the day. He preferred doing his job at night. He could walk slowly, at his own pace and not be in anyone’s way. 

So that’s what he did. He mostly made copies and graded papers during the day and then after 5pm. he delivered papers and made his way to the other professor’s offices or dropping things off at their mailboxes. 

Most people were gone, some weren’t. 

Professor Silco was always there, but he never had anything to give to the political science professor. Until there was. 

Just one paper. 

One paper and he had a reason to knock on the professor's door, to crack it open and announce himself over the soft music playing on a polished wooden player, the soft jazz a tantalizing background. He finally had a reason to stand in front of the dark wooden desk, heart racing as he stood feet from the man he’s found himself wishing for, wanting for since he watched one of his lectures. He finally had a reason to stand before him, unable to meet the professor’s gaze, one blue eye appraising him, the other hidden away by a patch, lined with thick scarring.

Viktor didn’t know why he had fallen for the professor. Maybe it was the way he barked out orders, how he commanded a stage when he held seminars and instructurals, maybe it was because he was a Zaunite professor, one of only two in the entire college. Maybe it was that he always looked so handsome, in his perfectly styled outfits and slicked back hair, his polished shoes and his tailored waistcoats. 

“How can I help you, this late?” Silco asked, his voice hitting Viktor’s ears in a way that made him feel warm all over. He took in a shaky breath before answering. 

“I um… I’m Viktor, I’m an office assistant and I have a delivery for you, sir.” Viktor said, leaning against his crutch as he handed over the document. He was a little shaky, eyes watching as the older man’s hand came up to take the paper. He had big hands, bigger than Viktor’s own. He wondered how it’d feel to hold them, to interlock their fingers. 

“And why are you here so late? You should be in bed by now, boy.” Silco chastised slightly, he scanned over the paper, glancing at it. 

“I do most of my delivering at night. Usually everyone is already home so I can just put things in mailboxes and I don’t have to worry about being in people’s way, or tripping anyone.” Viktor explained, nodding down at his crutch. The professor looked up and looked over his crutch, the colorful tape that criss crossed it, the stickers he’d stuck on it. 

“I see… why don’t you come in, sit down for a moment.” Silco offered, sitting back in his chair as he read over the documents more carefully. Viktor’s breath caught for a moment as he looked at the overstuffed chair that sat opposite of the professor.

“Thank you, you're my last delivery.” Viktor thanked as he eased himself into the seat. He took a breath, taking in all the scents of the office, wood polish and old books, a tinge of cigar smoke. He relaxed into the seat full, the weight being off his bad leg feeling quite nice. There weren’t many benches around campus, he hadn’t sat down in a while. 

He looked at the professor. So handsome and his hair looked nice where it had slipped from its usual slicked back coiffed look, a few strands hanging over his forehead. And his tie was loose, the top button of his shirt undone. Viktor was caught there, at the hollow of his throat, where his collar bones were barely visible. He wondered what the professor looked like under his tailored vest and button up, he was slim but was he strong or weak? How did age treat his body? Did he have chest hair? Or did he shave? Did it never show up like Viktor’s own? Did he have scars like the ones on his eye? He was deep in thought, staring at that small spot of previously unseen skin. 

“I may catch fire if you keep staring like that.” Silco said, not moving from his position, just looking over the top of the paper to look at Viktor’s red face. 

Viktor gasped and looked away. Caught.

“I’m sorry.” Viktor said as his face heated up, embarrassment hitting him as he looked down at the floor. 

“Don’t be. If you hadn’t actually delivered me something, I would have assumed you came here, in the darkness of the night, to do something far less clerical.” Silco said as he let the paper drop onto his desk, hands clasped in his lap, legs spread wide as he sat back into his chair. 

Viktor turned more red. The thoughts of how it would feel to sit in his lap as he worked on a lecture or graded papers, was not helping his case. He looked down at his shoes. This wasn’t appropriate, to be wanting a professor, a man so much older than himself. It wasn't okay to act like this in school. 

“Come here.” Silco's voice caught him, low and commanding, making Viktor come up out of his seat like he was being pulled. He leaned against the professor's desk as he moved to stand in front of him. 

He kept his eyes down, looking over the shined loafers and long legs of the older man. Eyes on his lap, his hands that were clasped there, the small scars that scattered them, the marks from busting his knuckles open a long time ago. He wondered absently if Silco had been a fighter in his youth. 

The thought didn’t last long, as one of those hands reached out and curled against his hip, thumb rubbing across the bump of his hip bone. 

“I haven’t seen you around, Viktor.” Silco said,a statement and not a question. The way he said Viktor’s name made a shiver roll down his spine. 

“I’m a freshman.” Viktor said the words coming out just above a whisper. His heart was racing and he watched Silco’s hand wrapped around him, warm and strong. 

“Hmm” Silco hummed as his hand reached over and slipped the tips of his fingers under the edge of his sweatshirt, teasing above the waistband of his slacks, against the soft skin of his belly. 

Viktor gasped, shivering at the feeling. It was so intimate, being touched by a man like that. His fingers were rough, they felt even rougher against the soft sensitive skin of his lower stomach. 

“So sweet. Did you know I stay late only on Thursdays? Did you plan this to happen, pet?” Silco asked as his other hand joined the first at grabbing Viktor’s hips, rubbing his thighs through his slacks. 

Viktor didn’t know. He didn’t plan it. He just… It was just a strike of luck. 

Viktor shook his head, eyes closing as his underpants got damp, too hot in his pants. He couldn’t help it, Professor Silco was looking so closely at him, his eye full of hunger. It was making him feel all… tingly. 

“I don’t believe you~” Silco said in a teasing way as he pulled Viktor’s hips forward, making the younger man stumble forward a small step before he was being shoved back. Silco lifted him as he pushed him back, making the boy perch on the edge of his desk, sat up on the wood. 

Silco stood up, caging Viktor in with his arms, hands on the desk beside each of his legs. Viktor’s eyes were wide as he looked up at Silco, looking at his thin lips and sharp eye. 

“What does a precious thing like you want with me?” Silco asked leaning down, the words coasting over Viktor’s face, over his own lips. The professor's breath smelled a bit like brandy. The sharp alcohol cut with a nutty woody scent. 

Viktor couldn’t even function, he can feel the heat of the other man, he must be warm to hug, is he… Viktor couldn’t think with the throb in his pants, the way he ached, knowing how close the other man was. 

Silco smiled at Viktor, the little thing looked whorish, sat on his desk with trembling thighs and a pink face, eyes round. He was cock drunk with his pants on, a tempting thing desperate to be fucked. Silco couldn’t remember the last time someone had tried this, but this boy wasn’t even his student. What luck. 

Silco leaned down and connected their lips. Viktor whined, a high noise that broke from his throat as he melted, he reached out, hands going over Silco’s chest until he just grabbed fistfuls of his vest. 

It was a soft kiss, Silco dominated it, taking control and guiding them. And then he was pushing Viktor’s mouth open, tongue pushing into his mouth to explore. Viktor couldn’t keep up, letting the professor take and take. It was slow and wet and spit was starting to drip over his chin. It was like no kiss he’d ever had before, dizzying and hot. 

Silco grabbed Viktor’s waist, closing the space between them, chest to chest, hips to-

“Oh darling, you poor thing.” Silco said as his hips met the students, pressing into a burning hot, soft cunt. Not the hard line of a cock he was expecting from the boy. 

Viktor was trembling, panting, mouth open with his tongue sitting just inside his lip, drooling and dumb. It was incredible, feeling someone press against him, the way the professor wasn’t too gentle, not too rough but forceful. 

“Beautiful, what a nice little surprise.” Silco praised as his hands came down to open the boy's slacks, undoing the line of buttons holding them closed. 

Viktor watched breathlessly, looking down as he watched the older man’s fingers slide down his belly, under the waistband of his blue underpants, over the wispy hair that tried to grow over his measly mound, down to cup the entirety of his weeping soaked cunt. 

Viktor couldn’t breath, he looked up at Silcos face, and the man was looking right back at him. Viktor couldn’t help the way his eyes burned and his lip trembled. It was so… much. Everything happening around him was like a dream, like he’d wake up, like he couldn’t believe what was happening. 

Silco didn’t pull his hand away but used his free hand to pull Viktor close, guiding the boy to wrap his arms up around his shoulders, pulling them close. He shushed him, hand going up into his hair, down his back, ignoring the bumps and structure of his brace, and back again. 

Viktor held on, shoving his face into the man’s warm neck, breathing in the scent of cologne the man wore, something a little spicy, expensive and rich. His heart was racing, he felt a little dizzy. It was incredible. 

“Shush now, so sensitive. Sensitive little thing hmm? So wet .” Silco practically purred into Viktor’s ear as his fingers moved against him, two slipping between his folds, running over his opening, slick covering his hand from fingertips to palm. 

Viktor panted trying to stay calm as the new sensations flooded him. It was different from his own fingers. Silco’s hands were thin but strong. It felt like he was encompassing Viktor entirely, from the electricity between his legs, to the steady body he was leaning against, to the scent that was filling his head. 

Silco moved his hand, drawing his fingers up through the mess of slick, feeling all that hot tender flesh, up to the tiny bud of his clit, pressing against it gently. 

Viktor jumped, crying out as tears broke free, rolling down his cheeks, his thighs tensed up. He was glad he was up on the desk because he would’ve fallen, with how his body jerked both towards and away from the feeling. It was like being electrocuted, but in a good way. 

“Such a small cock on you, so little yet so… sensitive.” Silco praised as he spread his fingers around Viktor’s clit before giving it a pinch. Viktor screamed, body jumped jerking away. He looked at Silco, eyes wide, shocked at what he was doing. When he touched himself it was… he rubbed on his pillow it had always been good but it was never so… forceful. The pleasure never hit him so directly, so overwhelmingly. 

Silco pulled away for a moment to look at the boy’s face, teary and red, mouth open. What a darling boy, a sweet little toy, Silco thought. 

“Get these out of the way.” Silco said and yanked at the open slacks that were confining his hand. 

Viktor put his weight on his feet again and pushed his slacks down to his knees, his underwear following. His brace was exposed, the thick fabric around his thigh, and the thicker part supporting his knee was catching the fabric of the slacks and underwear. He pushed and yanked it but gave up when he heard the clink of a belt being undone. 

He looked up and watched as Silco was undoing his belt, unbuttoning his suit pants and pulling his hard cock out. 

Viktor never actually saw one before. A real penis, hard and ready. He’d seen pictures in his dirty magazines, and the one time he tried watching a video. 

But the one that was presented before him was different. It was… not scary. It was kind of cute. It wasn’t big and it wasn’t creepy looking like the ones with blue veins and a weird end. It was pink and straight and the tip was darker but not too dark. It was… well it was nice.

“Can I touch it?” Viktor asked, the words tumbling from his brain to his mouth before he could try to filter them. Silco stopped what he was doing and looked at Viktor curiously. Viktor nodded down at the erection that was only mere inches from his own sex. 

“Can I touch your um… your thing?” Viktor stumbled through, face burning up, from his neck to the top of his head, embarrassment cooking him alive. Silco huffed a laugh, a deep sound that sounded both beautiful and humiliating. 

Silco leaned down, speaking right into Viktor’s ear. 

“You can touch my cock. Don’t ruin the fun now though, I haven’t even finished getting you ready yet.” Silco growled. He reached down again to rub over Viktor, fingers rubbing against his slit. Viktor reached out too, wanting to really take in the feeling of touching a man. 

Viktor tried to concentrate but it was nice being touched. He tried to not think about the fingers that were gliding through his folds, every so often hitting his clit. The cock in his hand was… strange. He liked it. It was the length of his hand, from wrist to fingertips, and thick enough he could wrap his fingers around it but only barely. It was stiff, not hard like a solid object, but stiff and strong. The skin was very hot and strangely velvety soft, moving a bit under his hand. And the hair at the base was trimmed short and kinda prickly. The veins were subtle and slightly raised, but not gross feeling. The tip was very hot, and had a different texture, almost spongey, and slightly damp. 

Silco sighed at the boy's clumsy hand playing with his cock. Cold, boney hand exploring him. It was endearing, but irritatingly gentle. He slid his fingers to Viktor’s dripping hole, getting them nice and slick before pressing against the little opening. 

Viktor pulled his hand back, as something other than his own fingers breached him. It felt good. Too good. It was a lot, as two fingers pushed into him, gently rocking, moving deeper inside. He focused on it, the ease as his body opened up for the older man. He gasped and curled back up around the professor, face hiding in his shoulder, hands grasping at the sides of his vest. 

“So wet, doll, so soaked. You’re so desperate for it, your body needs this huh? Poor little thing, so cock hungry.” Silco taunted, the words hot against Viktor’s ear. Another finger joined the first two, petting over all the good places inside that Viktor hadn’t even known about. 

Viktor was moaning, body feeling melted, like jelly as waves of pleasure crashed through him. It was.. magic. What was happening to him, it was like nothing else. He couldn’t contain himself as his hips wiggled, as the sounds came rushing out of his mouth, whines and moans. 

“So noisy. Stay for a moment, can’t have you getting into trouble.” Silco said as he pulled away, pressing a kiss to Viktor’s open lips as he pulled his hand away from him. Viktor couldn’t think, watching with blind eyes as Silco dug through his own sleek satchel bag, pulling a golden packet from it. 

“‘At’s that?” Viktor asked as he sat on the desk, slick sliding between his folds and down to the wood. It would be messy to clean up. Silco came back, ripping the packet open and taking out the condom from within. 

Viktor knew what that was. A condom. He didn’t need to use that, but Viktor didn’t have enough in his mind to say that. He just knew that meant they were actually going to do it. He tried to kick his pants the rest of the way off, getting his slacks passed his brace. 

“Quit kicking, shoes first.” Silco instructed and grabbed Viktor’s legs, stopping his movements. Soon Silco had pulled the pants and soft underwear away, Viktor’s sneakers fallen to the floor, leaving him naked from the waist down, except for his brace and his striped ankle socks. 

Silco spread his legs out, baring him open to the air. Viktor whined, a thrum deep in his belly as he was looked at. He felt himself twitch under the sharp gaze of the professor, knowing how messy he must look. Silco got between his legs, leaning over the boy who was half sat up, laying on his desk. 

“Ready for my cock, darling? So open, so ready. Little cock slut huh?” Silco asked as he lined up with Viktor’s hole, just letting his tip kiss the boy’s opening. He pressed a kiss to Viktor’s lips. 

Viktor whined and wrapped his arms back around Silco’s shoulders, hiding his face in the rich fabric of his shirt. He wanted it. He needed it. 

Then it was like a brand, hot and hard and slippery against his hole. The tip of his cock felt impossibly big, bigger than what he’d just had his hand wrapped around. It was too big, it was forcing his body open. 

“Breathe” Silco said, voice a little soft, gentle as his hands held Viktor close, a hand on his lower back, below his brace, and one on his hip. Viktor obeyed, sucking in a shaking breath before blowing it out. He could feel the second he relaxed, his body wasn’t trying to force Silco out, but letting it in . 

The press was… Viktor couldn’t dream of a better feeling. It was fulfilling in a way that made him shiver. He felt like a gap was being filled, all the way until Silco was all the way in. It wasn’t too painful, but the stretch, he could feel his muscles straining. 

“So tight, good boy. Good boy.” Silco purred both his hands grabbing Viktor’s thighs before he pulled out and thrusted back in properly, a slick slide spreading him open all over again. 

Viktor cried out, it was too much and not enough, it was heaven, it was pure bliss. The drag out was heavy pleasure and the thrust in was sparkling and shocking. It was like nothing else. It wasn’t like his fingers, it wasn’t like what he’d read about. He felt blind and deaf, the world falling away around him. 

Silco was huffing, grunts every so often. But the words , the words that fell from his lips went straight to Viktor’s head. His hands were holding onto the boy’s thin thighs tightly, pulling him into each thrust, not missing a beat as he spoke. 

“So good, doing so well Viktor. You’re such a good boy, so sensitive, so tight.” Silco praised, hips snapping up, taking what he wanted from the boy. 

Viktor felt like he was drowning, crying out as he clawed against Silco’s back, searching for purchase. He ended up with a fistfull of his shirt, holding on tightly as his body moved with each thrust. He felt his insides spreading around Silco’s cock, closing up behind it just to open again. 

Silco’s fingers left where they’d been grabbing, making marks on the boy’s hip, to slide over to his cunt once again, searching for the little bundle of nerves again. 

“Come on, sweetheart, you’re almost there. Precious, tender little thing” Silco growled, voice a little of kilter, as his hips sped up, losing their rhythm a bit, his fingers finding the boy’s clit, pressing roughly against it. 

Viktor saw white, his vision fizzling to blank white as something took over his entire body, like floating on water and shocked sharply. 

He was shaking, sobbing, muscles contracting and releasing all at the same time. It was more than everything he read about. Everything he was told about. Orgasmic pleasure. It was confoundingly shocking, he couldn’t stop what was happening, his head getting emptied and his body shaking. It was everything, and then it was just blankness. 

When he finally opened his eyes again, he was met with Silco standing there, cradling him against his chest. Silco’s pants were done up again, and the condom was hidden away in the nearby trash can. One hand was on the back of Viktor’s head, the other going up and down his back. 

“There you are, yes, you did so well” Silco said softly as he combed through the sweaty hair that was starting to stick to Viktor’s forehead. Silco stayed there, in no hurry as he let Viktor come down from his high, combing through his hair, lips pressing little kisses to the top of his ear, his head, just being close. 

Viktor blinked as his breath started to calm down, a pressure on his chest lifting. He smiled up at the older man, he didn’t care if he looked like a dope, he was so happy. He felt so amazing. Silco kissed him, not a heated open mouthed thing, but slow and sweet.

“Are you always so loud, pet?” Silco asked as he stepped back, once Viktor stopped shaking. The boy sniffled but soon Silco had a tissue, taken from the box nearby, wiping off his messy face, letting him blow his nose. 

“I dunno, never did it.” Viktor answered as he wiped off his face and his forehead. 

“Hmm?” Silco hummed in question as he gathered up the boy’s clothes. Viktor fiddled with the tissue in his hands thinning about it. 

“I never did it, I don’t know how much is too loud. How much is regular.” He said, feeling a little guilty about being too loud. It was embarrassing. Silco turned to look at him, eye wide as he looked over the boy, looking from his face, down to his loose, used up hole. 

“You’re… you were a virgin?” Silco asked, voice quiet and gentle. He came up to the boy, standing in his space one again. 

“Outdated social construct. But-um- yes.” Viktor answered, face red, looking away. He felt like shrinking, not wanting to say anything more embarrassing to the older man. 

“Oh darling, you should have told me, I would have taken more time. Are you hurt?” Silco said, pity in his voice as he took Viktor’s chin in his fingers, raising his face up to be face to face. Viktor couldn’t say anything, just staring up at Silco’s face, he looked… different. Too soft, too gentle, it made Viktor’s heart beat against his ribs. 

Viktor shook his head and pulled away from the older man’s hands. He just looked down, reaching over for his clothes. He stood up, grabbing his underwear to put them back on. They were wet and gross. Silco offered his hand to help steady him as he got his underwear and pants back on. 

“I was too busy getting into the school when I turned old enough back home. I’ve been busy since I got here.” Viktor explained. Sex was viewed differently between Zaun and Piltover. In Zaun sex was a part of human nature, like physical affection but deeper, it was bonding. In Piltover it was more intimate, a baring of souls or what have you, it was a thing to do with each other, not bonding but fun. 

Silco hummed, listening as he bent down to help put the blue sneakers back onto the boy’s feet. 

 “You’re from where? Entresol I presume?” Silco asked, thinking of the cold horrid place he’d visited once, a long time ago. The accent that carried in the boy's voice, it was similar. Viktor leaned on the desk to fix the laces of his shoes, to fix his pants, wanting to flee from the nice treatment, to go curl up and savour the bone deep feeling that blanketed him. 

“I was born there. I grew up and lived in Zaun. I went to-to Zaun Secondary.” Viktor explained. Silco stopped for a moment. Zaun Secondary. Didn’t secondary students graduate a year earlier in Zaun than Piltovian? Didn’t Viktor say he was a freshman. Freshman. 

“How old are you Viktor?” Silco asked in a panic as he sat back down in his chair, watching as Viktor moved around his desk to get his cane. 

“Seventeen. I’m old enough for-for this.” Viktor said as he got his barely working legs to stay straight with the help of the crutch. Silco groaned and leaned forward, thunking his head against the desk. It smelled like the boy's pussy, musky and rich. He’d have to scrub it with something heavily scented. 

“Piltover age of consent is eighteen Viktor, eighteen . I knew you were trouble.” Silco groused as he kept his head down. Oh mistakes, doesn’t everyone make them. Viktor gasped and had a horrored look on his face. 

“Why? I’m- In Zaun it is sixteen. Sixteen. I didn't- I don't-  I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. I I I-” Viktor tried to say but was stumbling over his words. His heart was racing and his eyes felt hot. He didn’t mean to do something wrong. He hadn’t even been trying to have sex with the professor, it just happened! He was about to start crying again, getting dizzy as his heart sped up. 

“Viktor, come here. And listen closely.” Silco said as he sat back in his chair and Viktor moved as fast as he could to stand beside the professor. Silco’s hand rested against his hip once again as he spoke clearly. His hair was a mess and his clothes were all messed up. Viktor stared down at his hand. 

“You will come see me at this time next week. Not a day sooner or later. Understand? Do not come near me till then.” Silco explained, seriously. 

“Yes sir.” Viktor replied, calming down a bit at not getting berated. 

“Good now give me your cellphone. Do not text me, I will text you with instructions. Understand.” Silco asked and Viktor handed over his cellphone. Soon it was handed back, a number typed in under ‘Prof. S’ Viktor nodded and held the phone to his chest. 

“Go now, before I relapse in my judgement.”  Silco sighed and Viktor smiled and left. He couldn’t stop smiling. His insides felt weird and gooey and his legs wobbled and his hips ached but woah. He waited until he was tucked away back in the office before letting himself let out a giddy noise, giggling as he stared down at the phone number.

Next Chapter >

[simpstantruther]

Hungry Heart ch. 1 | (Mullet) Stanley Pines x Reader

(Sorry, should have posted it this way the first time. First time posting fanfiction to tumblr).

Summary: Stan needs to go to Oregon. You need to get to California. Stan has a car. You have a cunt. (Can I make it any more obvious~)

Tags: 80s Americana Roadtrip Partners-in-Crime Stan x Reader fic. Smut. You can fix him, but you're worse.

TW: Alcohol Use

Preview:

His voice gets surprisingly soft. “Can I take you home?”

“You kiddin’ me?” You spit out the ruined lime slice. ”I thought you were a bum. What home you gonna take me to? Lovely spot under a bridge?"

“I got a motel room.” He adds defensively. “It’s somethin’.”

Read on AO3.

Your arms stick to the bar top. It’s sticky enough on its own. It smells like fruit cocktail and jaeger and all the other sickly sweet mixings that bar tops get coated in, with a lovely note of pissy beer over it all.

But it’s sweltering, even with the door kicked out and the flies starting to buzz inside. There’s a sheen of sweat over all your bare skin, sticking your thighs uncomfortably to your wooden stool. Your jean shorts are too short, and the high waist is digging into your ribs. 

You hate Dallas.

Stupid bartender cut you off two songs ago.

You hate this stupid bar, too.

You weren’t drunk. Not really. Just buzzed enough to tell him to shove a broken bottle up his ass when he snapped your bra strap from across the bar.

But he let you sit at the bar anyways. He was sweet like that. You feel pitiable, alone like this. Maybe he can tell. Maybe he hopes that if he lets you stay and no one else picks up the slack, you’ll let him take you home.

You’re not drunk enough for that. And you can afford to be choosey. Daddy always said you were a pretty girl. He told you to kill yourself before you weren't, but that was besides the point. 

You look at the stained mirror backing the bar. Dark circles under your eyes. Your hair is a mess. Your eyeliner is from three days ago, a dark stain under your bottom eyelashes. You're young, but you don't want to guess how much longer you'll have left by dear old dad's measure. Not the way you're living.  

You're not drunk, you're just reminiscing. 

“Got a wife and kids in Baltimore jack—“

You snap over to the juke box, playing the same fucking song again for the fifth time. Some mulleted asshole with sweat and beer stains over his white t-shirt croons along poorly, drunkenly leaning against the wall beside it.

“I go for a drive and never come back—“

“Not a-fucking-gain.” You groan, head in your hands. 

“What? Who’s got a problem with Springsteen?” He barks. The mellow rock continues without him.

You don’t turn. You’re not drunk, just a little on edge from the heat. You slide off your stool painfully and stumble. And okay, you’re drunker than you realize.

You point an accusing finger at the blurry man who stomps toward you. 

“If I wanted to hear someone butcher Bruce Springsteen songs, I’d toss quarters at the poor bastard with the chipped cup outside. At least he knows the god damn lyrics—“ 

You blink as he comes into focus. 

Dammit. 

He was cute, in a bring-me-home-and-disappoint-your-parents kind of way. Or if Kurt Russel had like, a really bad year. Square jaw. Scruffy chin. Bulbous nose, broken at least a few times. Baby beer gut. Big, broad shoulders. Narrow hips. God. Was he wearing fucking football gear or something? 

His lips stay parted like the mouth-breather he is. He looks you over too. Your loose tank top has a fallen strap, the hem hangs low over your chest. With your arms crossed, your tits look better than they are. His eyes fall to the bit of lace on your bra peeking out. It’s fine. That’s what it’s there for. 

You swallow thickly, feeling sweat crawl down your neck. 

“You played the same song five times in a row. Don’t you know the fuckin’ lyrics by now?” You mutter quietly, just enough to make him lean in and listen.

You feel his hot breath against your ear, trying to talk over the music. It smells like tequila and cheap cigarettes.

“You wanna teach it to me, Sweetheart?” 

You huff with amusement. A jersey dirtbag just like you, so far from home? What are the odds. 

He stands over you.

You imagine your thighs around his big dopey ears for a second, but the idea of his stubble tearing up your already irritated inner thighs feels unappetizing.

“Nah. Learn it yourself.” You turn. His meaty hand grabs your arm. 

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“I don’t know.” You tilt your head. “Can you?” It’s a genuine question. You both glance at the bartender who curls his lip.

“Hermano! One for the lady, por favor!”

Surprisingly, the bartender nods. You both cling to the bar, like the railing of a ship tipping over.

“He’s Italian.” You mutter under your breath, watching the bartender mix you another vodka-soda.

“Huh?” He leans his elbow on the bar beside you, his other hand coming around your other side. He’s like a furnace. You are sweating out his beer through osmosis. 

You nod to the flag hung behind the bartender and fan yourself with a damp coaster.

“It’s an Italian flag. The Mexican one has an eagle.”

“I know. I did time in Mexico.” He says it like he’s proud. Like you should care. Stupid cute smug grin. 

“Small world!” You turn towards him.

“Gettin’ smaller.” He looks amused and he coils a strand of your hair around his finger, now leaning his arm on your shoulder. “You serious? You got locked up there?”

“No.” You say, deadpanned. He laughs. You feel it, tucked against his chest.

“You’re funny.” 

“And you’re just an asshole.” You say as you sip your drink, faster than you should. 

He shrugs one shoulder dismissively. “So, you from Jersey?” He asks, knocking back a shot of tequila with only a grimace. “You sound like my Ma.”

“Born and raised. You?”

“Born and raised. Small world. Why’d you ever leave Jersey?”

“To leave Jersey. ”

He sucks his teeth. “Ain’t you got a family or somethin’?” 

“What, are you gonna kidnap me?” He laughs again. His laugh is stupid, loud, makes you wanna laugh with him. Maybe just at him. You shrug. “Followin’ my old man out west.”

“New family?”

“New everything.”

“Lucky guy. It’s harder than it sounds, starting a new life.” He sighs bitterly, nodding as the bartender refills his shooter. “Some fuckers have all the luck.” 

You hold your glass out to him. You long since drained it of alcohol, but the ice remains. You suck on one melting cube in your cheek and crunch it between your teeth. “To the unlucky bastards, then.” 

He tuts his tongue and takes the empty glass from your hand, replacing it with another shooter.

“That’s better. To the unlucky bastards.” 

You hate tequila. 

But you love free liquor.

“Salud.” You wince as it burns down your throat, shutting your eyes tightly for a moment before you open to see him watch you with his elbow on the bar top.

“Love seein’ a beautiful chick knockin’ back tequila like a champ.” He smirks.

“Love it from a distance. You’re in the splash zone.” You groan, setting back down the glass and snagging a lime from behind the bar to suck against your teeth. 

“I don’t scare easy.” 

You narrow your eyes. “You want me to yak on you?”

“If you would do me the honors.” He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t lose his easy smile.

You smirk briefly. “Freak.” 

“I get that a lot.” The smile loosens. Just a bit. He swallows and you watch his adam’s apple bob. His voice gets surprisingly soft.

“Can I take you home?”

“You kiddin’ me?” You spit out the ruined lime slice. ”I thought you were a bum. What home you gonna take me to? Lovely spot under a bridge?"

“I got a motel room.” He adds defensively. “It’s somethin’.”

“Livin’ large.” You draw out the vowels condescendingly. As if you’re any better. “You ain’t worried I’ll rob you blind in the night, big shot?”

“Don’t got much. And if you can sneak it past me, I figure you deserve it.”

You look over him again.

You consider it, you really do. He could have been worse. You’ve had worse. Half the nights you spent on your way west were spent banging for room and board. Or at least picking guys drunk and rich enough to pay for the taxi home and pass out before they remembered to touch you. 

You should be dead. A dozen times, you wished you were. Easily, you could have been. And no one would go looking for you.

You have a feeling he understands what that’s like. Poor bastard.

But tonight, you paid for a room. And for the love of God, clean(ish) beds to yourself were in short supply. The T.V. in your room was busted and the liquor store was closed. You came here for the lovely conversation.

“Sorry. Not tonight, buddy.” You avert your eyes. “But thanks for the drinks.”

He frowns and nods, not happy with the rejection clearly but respectful enough to accept it anyways.

“Well, I’m in town a couple more days. If you need somethin’, give me a call, okay sweetheart?”

He fishes out a business card from his front jean pocket. It’s wrinkled and damp with sweat. 

The Loveshack the card says.

You pick up the card and turn it on both sides. 

“Cute.”

“I’m in room eight.” He eyes the card nervously. “Or ask for Lee.”

“Lee.” You repeat. “Thanks, Lee.” You hold your hand out to shake and give him a fake name. He holds your hand and your eyes. 

“I mean it. Give me a call.” He pleads.

You huff with mirth, sticking the card in your pocket. You haven’t heard a boy beg for a call like that since highschool.

“Alright, alright.” You slide off your barstool again, slightly more graceful than the first time. 

“Goodnight, Lee.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

“Stupid.” You smirk at eachother as you step back towards the exit. You know he’s waiting for you to turn so he can stare at your ass.

Bruce Springsteen croons you out as you leave the bar. You hear Lee belting along. 

“Everybody’s got a hungry heart. Everybody’s got a hungry heart.”

[sansaorgana]

— MAKE IT RIGHT THIS TIME

PAIRING — Erik Lehnsherr x fem!Mutant!Reader

SUMMARY — You’re a teacher at Charles’ school where you live with your daughter but the life you’re living is far from what you want it to be. After a disagreement with Charles about your role in his institution, you pay your husband a visit. Maybe there’s still a chance to make the things right.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I wanted to write it for MONTHS ??? and I finally did in one sitting and I’m so proud of myself! I know that not many people are into X–Men fics anymore (???) but honestly, I just had to write it and get it out of my system 💗 It’s based very very loosely on the plot of the movies and takes place more less when Dark Phoenix’s plot is. Reader’s mutation is NOT specified.

WORD COUNT — 3,150

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

MAKE IT RIGHT THIS TIME

Raven was pissed. You knew her long enough to see it in her eyes and the way her fingers twitched nervously now and then. Everyone focused on Jane after the weird incident in outer space but from the corner of your eye, you could see Raven’s anger. And you were observing her because you were pissed, too. You knew she would be on the same page with you.

Risking your life for Charles was supposed to be over now. You didn’t sign up for any of that – tight, pathetic superhero’s suit and journalists taking pictures of you leaving the ship, asking you questions; all the sensation and headlines. You never wanted to be a hero. You just wanted to be with your people – with other mutants – safe and happy. You wanted peace.

Charles mostly cared about his school’s PR in front of the humans and it was exhausting. It was nothing like you had been imagining your life to be. Especially now, when you had so much to lose.

Raven went to Charles’ office to argue with him but you didn’t join her. You had your disagreements in the past but you knew she was tough enough to do it without your backup and you were needed somewhere else anyway.

You passed a bunch of kids – your students – congratulating you on the staircase.

“That was so cool, Mrs. Lehnsherr!” some boy’s cheeks blushed as he gasped like he was choking on air. You faked a kind smile at him.

You didn’t want him to think that risking your life for Charles was something admirable. You didn’t want to raise these kids to be superheroes. You just wanted them to be mutants capable of controlling their forces; future adults feeling comfortable in their own skin.

“Thank you, darling,” you whispered before opening the wooden door and disappearing inside the room. You took a deep breath out of relief when all the outside noise became muffled behind the door.

“Mum!” a young girl’s voice whined and you smiled at the girl laying on the bed. She took her headphones off and pouted at you, “You haven’t knocked!” she scolded you.

Edie was eight years old now – big enough to want her privacy and you hated that. Not because you didn’t want her to have her own space but because you hated to see her so grown up. You wished her to stay little forever like she was when she was two or three, giggling in her father’s arms when he was throwing her in the air in the kitchen.

You smiled sadly at the memory.

“I’m sorry, Edie. I had to hide from them as fast as I could,” you sighed and sat on the edge of her bed. She turned off her walkman and put the headphones away. “Why weren’t you waiting for me downstairs? I couldn’t wait to see your face.”

“You know why, mum,” she sniffled and you furrowed your brows before looking at her face. Then you spotted the dried out tears on her cheeks.

“Oh, Edie,” you gasped before pulling her closer and hugging her tight. She pressed her face to your chest and you hid your face in her hair before kissing the top of her head. “Mummy will always come back to you, little Edie.”

Edie hated you going on missions. She was terrified that you wouldn’t come back to her. She often refused to watch anything related to them on TV (which was difficult) and she would just sit in her room and block out the noise with her headphones.

“I’m back, I’m fine,” you caressed her back.

“I know that you all almost died today. I was nervous and I changed the radio station to news,” she admitted and sobbed as her small body trembled in your arms. Your heart broke.

“I promise I won’t ever go again,” you bit on your lower lip as your eyes filled with tears, too.

“You always say that and then uncle Charles asks you for one last favour.”

You didn’t answer her. She was right.

“I miss dad,” she added and you froze at that.

“I miss him, too,” you only admitted, almost inaudibly.

“Why can’t we be with him?” Edie looked up to meet your gaze. You caressed her wet cheeks and sighed.

“You know why, Edie. It’s not the kind of life I’d want for us.”

“And this is?” she asked innocently but once again there was no answer from you.

You just didn’t know what to say.

“You can visit your dad tomorrow. How about that?” you proposed to make her feel better and she nodded eagerly while giving you a wide smile.

“You’re driving too fast, mum,” Edie giggled and her voice brought you back to reality. You slowed down immediately after realising that she had been right.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed. “I’m angry.”

“Because we’re going to see daddy?”

“No. I had a fight with uncle Charles this morning,” you admitted.

“About yesterday?”

“Yes,” you nodded but refused to share the details. Edie was too young to be burdened with things like that.

“Do you think dad’s gonna like my new trick?” she grinned at you, playing with the metal balls inside her hand. She had recently learnt how to make them float in all sorts of ways and even change their shape. Sometimes it was funny and sometimes it was visually beautiful.

“I think he’s gonna love it,” you assured her and parked the car on the roadside near the trailer park where Erik and his followers lived.

Of course he refused to call them followers. These days, they were just comrades or whatever. But you weren’t a fool. You’d known him for years. He always had followers.

Edie was practising her tricks while walking alongside you all the way to the trailer park and you were smiling at her and pretending to listen to her rambling but, in fact, you were far away with your thoughts.

You were looking around and caught yourself wondering… Would it really be that bad to live there? Of course the standard was way worse than Charles’ huge mansion and you had your responsibilities back at school – all your kids to teach. On the other hand, they weren’t really your kids and there were other teachers, while Erik’s trailer park just felt more free and you knew that it would make Edie happy to live there.

Of course only if Erik wanted you there as well, which wasn’t so obvious.

The forest path ended and you found yourselves inside the trailer park. Edie ran off ahead and you tried to stop her but it was pointless. She felt comfortable there and seemed not to notice all the curious and suspicious eyes. People living with Erik knew who you were but they always stared at you like you were actually sent there with a military squadron supposed to arrest or kill them. After all, your kind – mutants living with Charles – was known for working with humans for the sake of the friendship between the species.

“Hey, little one!” a female voice greeted Edie and you turned around to see a young woman patting your daughter’s head. You had seen her before while taking Edie to Erik or picking her up. That woman’s name was Monica and she seemed to be close with your husband.

Husband by name only. For some reason you had never divorced. There was never any occasion to do so.

“Hi, Monica!” Edie smiled at her and you squinted your eyes at them. Edie had never told you much about Monica. Only that she had been nice.

You had your reasons to believe that Monica was actually Erik’s girlfriend and Edie just chose to cover up for them.

But there was nothing to cover up. It was Erik’s right to live his life without you. It was your choice not to live with him. It was your decision to split up for Edie’s good. Without Edie, you’d go to the end of the world with Erik back in the day. You’d burn the whole world alongside him. You almost did once anyway.

Edie changed everything. You didn’t regret her, though, not even for a moment.

“Hi, Monica,” you stood behind Edie and put your hand on your daughter’s shoulder. Monica looked at you with a smirk. “Is Erik around?” you asked.

“Yeah, let me get him,” she answered before turning around and disappearing inside one of the small houses.

He went outside a short moment after.

It had been years now since he changed so much but every time you saw him after a long while of not seeing him, you felt weird because he looked so different than at the beginning of your relationship. You didn’t mean his face getting older but he used to be such an elegant man in his turtlenecks, jackets, sunglasses and haircut. Nowadays, he was just wearing T-shirts and didn’t shave for days when he didn’t feel like it. Edie would often complain about his stubble scratching her face when they were hugging.

“Hi,” you greeted him awkwardly.

“Hi,” he looked a bit surprised and opened his arms for Edie. She ran into them and jumped on her dad. He picked her up and kissed her cheeks. “I didn’t expect you.”

“Edie wanted to see you,” you approached them and rubbed her back. “I’m sorry. Should have called… But you don’t really use your phone, do you?”

“I don’t know where it is,” Erik admitted.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.”

“But you haven’t been here with her in such a long time. I thought I’d never see her again,” he said and you felt guilty.

“Don’t be stupid, Erik. It’s just… I was very busy,” you looked down.

“Mum saved the world yesterday,” Edie giggled as her dad put her down on the ground. Erik furrowed his brows at you.

“I didn’t. Jane did, actually. Kinda…” you chuckled nervously.

“They almost died, daddy,” Edie lowered her voice and swallowed thickly. You took a deep breath in.

“I know. I’ve listened on the radio,” he confessed and you looked up, surprised. “Edie, can I talk to your mum for a while?”

“But daddy, I wanted to show you a trick!”

“You can show me later, okay?” He caressed her hair.

“Show me first!” Suddenly, Monica appeared next to you. You almost jumped at that. Apparently, superhuman speed was her mutation.

“Okay!” Edie followed Monica to one of the houses and you watched them with terror in your eyes.

“She’s safe. I trust Monica,” Erik assured you. “I trust everyone here. Believe me,” he insisted and you nodded your head before walking away with him to go inside his place.

You sat on the couch and looked around since you hadn’t been inside much before. The place was quite messy and you spotted that there were some pictures on the wall and most of them were of Edie. On one of them it was all three of you when your daughter was a few months old. You stood up again and approached that picture to caress it gently with your fingertips through the glass of a frame.

“We were so young, huh?” you cracked a smile.

“You still are,” Erik stood behind you.

A long silence occurred between you two.

“What did you want to talk about?” you asked in a whisper after swallowing thickly.

“You shouldn’t risk your life anymore for Charles. I mean, I have never wanted you to but now we have Edie.”

“You have never wanted me to risk my life for Charles,” you turned around to face him, “but you have never minded me risking my life for you, Erik.”

“All I did was to protect you and you know that,” he furrowed his brow.

“That’s the excuse that lets you sleep at night?” you snorted at that.

“(Y/N), come on,” Erik grabbed your wrist but he wasn’t squeezing it so you didn’t fight him on that, “don’t pretend to be better than me. Don’t play pretend to be a bigger person. We both know you are not. You joined me because you made a choice. I didn’t force you to join the Brotherhood.”

“I joined you because I loved you,” you gritted your teeth and he clenched his jaw at your words, “and I hated every moment of it. There’s blood on my hands but it was all for love. That’s the excuse that lets me sleep at night.”

“I don’t want you to die for Charles’ ego, do you hear me? Edie needs a mother,” Erik changed the subject and pushed your wrist away. You knew it was a sensitive matter to him. He didn’t want Edie to lose her mother like he had lost his.

“She still has you. You’re going to take care of her if something happens to me, right?”

“Of course I will but I didn’t know you wanted me to. I thought you’d want her to stay at school if anything happens,” Erik sat down on the couch and you took a deep breath in.

“I don’t. I mean, what for? So she grows up to be another X–Man? So they put her in a tight suit and make her risk her life to save humans?” you rolled your eyes. “Fuck that, Erik. And you have the same mutation. You’re every teacher she’d ever need.”

“What do you mean by that?” he looked up and you bit on your lower lip nervously.

“I had an argument with Charles this morning. I know what you think but I don’t want to do the missions for him anymore and it’s been like that for a long time now. I agreed to join his school, to be a teacher, to secure Edie’s future… But I never agreed to that, all that saving humans shit. He always sweet talks me into doing that. He tells me that he needs me. That there aren’t many original X–Men around anymore… Me, Raven, Hank… And I’m too fucking sentimental to say no to him. But it’s over now. I told him this morning I’m not doing it anymore and he… He brought back the past. He told me I probably still have hatred towards humans in my heart, from the times when I was in the Brotherhood. That was too much, Erik. I split up my family for this man… I ruined what was between you and I to join him and that’s how he repays me?” you sniffed your tears back and looked away. “I don’t want to be there anymore. He’s not a better life for me and my girl. I thought he would be but I was wrong.”

Erik examined your face for a while and he was visibly confused after hearing your little monologue. You quietly hoped he’d offer you a place to stay but he remained silent.

“I was thinking… Maybe we could move in… Edie and I… I know you miss her and she misses you, too. Not here, of course,” you looked around his house. “I’d get us our own place. I mean, my place… She could stay here for a while and then for a while with me. Whatever, we’d live close anyway. It wouldn’t matter to her anyway. But I mean… When you’d want some time with Monica for yourselves, no problem…”

“Wha– Wait, wait, wait,” Erik stood up and shushed you before walking up to you. “What are you talking about? Some time with Monica? What?”

“I know you two are like… together,” you shrugged your arms, pretending that it didn’t bother you.

“Have you lost your mind… Who’s told you that? Edie?”

“No,” you shook your head. “I’m observant.”

“No, you’re not observant, (Y/N). You’re jealous,” he laughed and you made an angry face at that. “You’ve always been. Should I remind you about Raven, Emma…”

“You actually fucking kissed Raven,” you interrupted him.

“Because you were giving me mixed signals.”

“That’s no excuse!” you protested and then he shut you up with a kiss.

You gasped at first, still trying to process what had just happened. And then you gave in, you cupped his face and kissed him back so hard that your teeth clashed, like there was no tomorrow. God, you missed him.

Erik’s hands rested on your hips as he pulled you even closer. After a while, you lost your breath and had to break the kiss.

“Of course you can move in, just let me clean up a little,” he smiled with his face still only inches away from yours. You giggled at that.

“Yeah, you should,” you nodded. “Edie and I are taking the bedroom. You can sleep here,” you took a step back and fixed his hair gently, “for now,” you added. “I think we need some time. We can’t just… Suddenly pretend that the past few years haven't happened. We lost many years,” you explained and he nodded his head.

“But it’s nothing compared to all the years we still have ahead,” Erik raised your chin with his finger. “And this time, I promise, I’ll make it right.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t survive you going to jail again,” you laughed and pushed him playfully.

“Ekhem,” someone’s voice made you both turn around and you saw Monica with a huge smirk on her face leaning on the doorframe. “Your kid is becoming very impatient to show you the trick,” she announced and winked at you.

“How long have you been standing there?” Erik asked her.

“Depends on how long the kiss actually was. I’d say… somewhere the middle of it but perhaps it was the ending. Didn’t want to ekhem at you earlier, it felt off, you know?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. There’s no privacy here, is it?” you sighed.

“Better get used to it,” Monica shrugged her arms, “and you, good luck at getting your old back used to sleeping on that shitty piece of couch,” she looked at Erik. “Come ‘ere, Edie,” she called your daughter from the outside.

“What took you so long?” Edie whined after walking inside with her metal balls floating behind her like dogs taken out on a walk.

“Your parents were…” Monica started and Erik gave her a deadly look. “...talking,” she finished.

“About your new room,” Erik added. “What would you like in your new room?”

“Mum, what does dad mean?” Edie’s eyes widened at you.

“We’re moving in,” you announced nervously. “I mean… Only if you want to.”

“Are you kidding me?” she gasped and all the metal balls fell to the floor dramatically. “That’s the best day ever!” she ran into her father’s arms happily. “Daddy, it’s my favourite day I think! Is it yours, too?”

“No,” Erik shook his head and rubbed his nose with hers, “my favourite day was the one when you were born.”

MASTERLIST

[mrs-bluemarine]

Warm on a Cold Night

YHE UKCING GUY OF ALL TIME

Draw me like one of your German girls. Divider credit goes to @!cafekitsune!

Pairing: Vasily x Franziska

WC: 3k

Notes: Fluff :3 wound kissing, my favorite, and Franziska nearly freezes to death y'know the usual

The moment she and her group took one step out of Russia, it seemed that all hell broke loose.

Winds were howling, snow was getting picked up and thrown in everyone's faces. It was hard to see three feet ahead of you in a storm like this, however they pushed on. Everybody tried to stick together, tried to yell through the wind to communicate, but for someone like the German woman, who never had the luck of finding herself in a growing blizzard, she was falling behind.

Ice stung her eyes, her vision becoming blurry. It felt like any longer out there and her tears would freeze in her eyes. The wind only pushed her backwards despite all she tried. Inside of her hazy vision, black figures became mere specks, disappearing into the storm, and her heart dropped. Where did the rest go?

The blonde looked left and right. She couldn’t hear a damn thing over the howling wind, it stole her voice when she tried to call out. Sugimoto, Asirpa, Siraishi… She even called out for the hooded man, but there wasn’t anyone to be found.

The blonde stopped in her tracks. Was she lost?

No… If she kept moving forward, she’d find something, wouldn’t she? Everyone has to just be up ahead, but with every step forward she took it felt like the wind pushed her back six. She tried her best to keep a positive face as she carried on, but something kept whispering in her ear. This wasn’t the end for her, was it?

Something captured her frozen hand, something big and warm. A mitten-wrapped palm. Her eyes traveled up the arm to find it attached to a familiar body, finding familiar eyes.

The Russian man pulled her close to his chest as he wordlessly began guiding her to the left. Within the pure whiteness surrounding them, something came into focus. A wall of darkness overcame her vision as the sniper continued guiding her closer.

A cave! He’s seriously found a cave in this mess?

The hole in the wall of rock was rather shallow, but big, and it did its job by protecting them from the icy wind. Seeing some dead foliage and tree branches gave her the idea for a fire. Instincts kicked in. Never before had she found herself in a blizzard, but she knew damn well how to make a fire. She immediately got to work collecting all the leaves and dry twigs she could find in a small pile in the middle of the cave. The Russian sniper watched silently.

Trembling hands rummaged through her pockets, finding a wooden matchbox with a measly amount of match sticks left to bounce around in their case.

Soon, a soft orange glow illuminated her face. Warmth spilled into her hands, warming her reddened cheeks and her frozen bones, and the blonde sighed in relief. The sniper came over to sit on the opposite side of the fire. A soft sigh of his own rumbled from underneath his hood as his eyes closed in quiet contentment. A moment passed where neither did anything except soak in the heat.

“Thank you.” His blue eyes looked away from the fire.

The woman opposite to him began caressing her match box, her thumb following the grooves carved into the old wood absentmindedly as fire sparked inside of her dark eyes. They reminded the Russian of the sea at night. He thought they were beautiful.

“I would have probably ended up dead had you not found me… so, thank you.”

He raised his hand to stop her, deflecting her praise, and she laughed softly.

His eyes watched her thumb move. The creature on the wooden box wasn’t like anything he’d seen before. He was sure it was an animal, curling around itself in a confusing way, unsure of where it began and where it ended. The German noticed his intrigued stare, and she offered him the match box. “Want a look?” He took it carefully from her, listening intently as she told him about the trinket. “It belonged to my father. The creature on the box is a dragon.”

She took a pause, “Um, dra-gon. It breathes fire.”

He nodded along, suddenly getting an idea. He gave the box back, quickly finding his bag to take out something; pencil and paper. The redhead scribbled something down, then turned the paper around and pointed at a Russian word he wrote with his pencil. “Ah, let me see… zmeya..? Snake? Well, it is pretty snake-like!”

The man tried doodling the creature underneath its name, failing miserably, still not understanding what was a tail or what was a wing or face. It came out as a jumble of rings and circles, which amused the German woman. He began drawing again, moving away to hide it from her. Then he proudly showed off his monstrous creation; a creature with claws and ferocious teeth with batty wings, multiple heads twisting around each other with scary faces. “That’s certainly one hell of a dragon!” He seemed to take pride in how his drawing affected her. He began writing something else.

“Oye, I’m not too good at reading Russian! I can try my best, but…”

It was another single word. “Let me think… This would make a ‘V’ sound. Vas…. Vasily?” She looked up at him. Since when did they get so close? “Is that your name?”

Pleased, he nodded, and she grinned. “There we go! Vasily…” She repeated it again, and the sniper was terribly afraid that he enjoyed how she said it.

The blonde lightly took his pencil, beginning to write on her own next to his name. “I'm not quite sure how to write in Russian…” She said quietly. His writing was neat and tidy. Her's was smaller, with elegant swirls in her letters that made it look like art, and reminded Vasily of the dragon on her match box.

She finished with curt “a”, giving back his pencil. “...You've probably heard the others calling me ‘Franz’. I guess it is easier for them to say. My full name is Franziska.”

Franziska.

Vasily wanted to repeat it, give it the same affectionate treatment she gave his own name. How unfortunate for him to be stuck in this state.

Suddenly finding the short distance between them uncomfortable, Franz sat back, looking away shyly. Vasily didn't seem to mind, or realize just how close he was. He placed the piece of paper with his doodle and their names on it aside, and began drawing something else. She gave him more space, allowing him to create more art in peace. She watched, this time from the opposite side of the fire.

Evening turned to night, and the storm raged on with no signs of stopping any time soon. The moon illuminated the ice and snow with blue light, giving the cold forest an otherworldly feeling to it. Inside their solitude, paper began to litter the ground. Piece by piece filled with whatever it was the sniper was drawing. Franz couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t curious, but she knew better than to sneak a peek, even if her curiosity wanted her to.

A comfortable silence overcame them as she watched him create. There was a soft furrow in his brow, his eyes staring intensely at his paper. Seeing him so focused… It was charming. For someone so masterful with such an intimidating weapon, she never expected him to be interested in something as delicate as art. He was a skillful hand at that. From far away, she could see one of his sketches. A bird, what species it was, Franz couldn’t say for certain. The realism in his lines was impressive, however… She couldn’t help but notice that it was the only paper facing up. Yes, the rest were placed kissing the ground, so she couldn’t see what it was he was making. It made her curiosity even worse, but she forced it down.

By chance, their eyes meet again. The ocean met the sky. And almost embarrassed, Vasily immediately looked back down, and Franziksa was taken by surprise. His pencil moved even more furiously, pretending as if nothing happened, when an idea dawned in Franz’ mind; was he drawing her?

The idea flustered her. Being the centerpiece of a work of art… Oh, how childish she was, indulging in such fantasies!

She wordlessly began taking off her coat, finding it suddenly too warm to wear it. Vasily paused to watch her body stretch and twist until she neatly placed the article of clothing to the side. Franziska huffed out a sigh of relief once her body was free of the tight wear. Really, that tall collar nearly felt suffocating. Her eyes opened as she brushed back some strands of hair loose from her ponytail. She realized he was staring, and she smiled.

Well… Would it hurt to at least… tease the idea? On second thought, it may.

“Drawing me?”

Vasily stiffened. The woman chuckled softly, watching him shuffle in place and look away.

She rested both of her hands on the ground, leaning backwards slightly. With a light lift in her tone she asked sincerely; “Would you like a new angle?”

Her words caught his attention. Reluctantly, he looked back, eyes widening at the sight. The look in her eye was teasing, but inviting, and Vasily felt his hand moving on its own. The first piece of paper joined the rest, and his pencil touched down. Seeing him begin to draw again, Franziska turned her nose, putting on a placid face for his picture.

She wasn't sure how long it took. Her arms were beginning to tire, however she refused to move, wanting to be the perfect reference for the artist.

Vasily on the other hand took care of every press of his pencil. Every line and curve was delicate, but deliberate. The features of her's he enjoyed the most were given special attention to make sure they looked perfect; her eyes, the curve of her nose, the way the fire bounced off of her cheeks, her hair cascading over her shoulder like a subdued waterfall of golden sunlight. Vasily felt an overwhelming presence telling him that every detail needed to be perfect.

After what seemed like hours for the reference and mere minutes for the artist, Vasily's pencil stopped “Finished?” Franz asked. He almost seemed reluctant to show her.

“Come on,” She purred, crawling closer. “Don’t be a tease…”

Slowly, Vasily offered the blonde his sketch, and she took it gratefully and carefully. Her blue eyes scanned over every inch, widening as she noticed every detail.

Her face pointed away, a side view of her head, her body half resting, half perched on her hands. Lord, he even added the highlight of the fire underneath her cheek. Every press, every line and curve of his pencil was done with care, she could see it, she could feel it. Franz cursed in her mother language. “Vasily, it's… you did incredible.” The man gave pause. He watched a grin split open her face as she refused to look away. A new, terrible idea came to mind, his eyes found the scattered sketches next to him.

Franziska perked up upon Vasily shoving more paper into her face. “Hm? What's this..?” There was more. The bird, a street, a room she recognized as the one she found him and Sugimoto "bonding" in. Most were of her. Quick, messy doodles of Franziska walking, smiling at something one of the other men said. There was a doodle of her crouching down to the ground next to a squirrel they passed by. She remembered that happening just that morning, before they left the city, before they left Russian territory and got thrown into a blizzard. At that point she wasn't aware that he was following them. But the one that caught her attention was one that seemed very recent. Her furrowed brow highlighted by firelight, eyes casted down to watch the flames lick the air. It was hours ago, she realized, when she was messing around with her match box. In that quick moment, before she looked away, Vasily saw her, and he was able to sketch this?

Franz looked back at him with a raised brow and a knowing smirk, “You like drawing me? I’m flattered.”

The redhead huffed, looking away while the blonde laughed, placing the sketches to the side. Franz watched him with curiosity in her gaze. He was so sweet to watch. Vasily, a cold blooded sniper- hell, she was still healing from that bullet he threw her way, and now he was here acting like a child. Oh yeah, that bullet in her leg… Ah, well, all is forgiven. It was hard to be upset at such a pretty face- or more like, it was hard to be upset when he looked at her with those eyes.

She had been able to see his face… but only once. Something inside her wanted to see it again. She wanted to see those lips, his jaw, she wanted to gaze upon those horrible scars of his, and shower them with attention without that pesky hood in the way. Terribly so.

She brought her hand to his neck, the touch making the hardened sniper stiffen. Her eyes were hypnotizing, putting him in a paralyzed trance. Her fingers dug into his layers of clothing, warm digits finding his nape, and Vasily nearly felt faint. He was almost taken under until he saw her other hand, dangerously close to his face. It was then he violently jerked his head to the side, suddenly understanding what Franziska was trying to do.

“Please?” Vasily heard her say, a needy, pleading look in her eye that was hard to ignore. She spoke so sweetly to him in his mother language, coming even closer. “I'd really like to see your face… only if you're comfortable with it.”

She wanted to see him. To see it.

But why?

A voice deep in his mind told Vasily no, he shouldn't. A louder, much weaker part of him wanted to show her, with hopes of more of… this. This attention. Those beautiful ocean eyes of hers only on him.

His hand moved with a mind of its own, his rough fingertips grazing the hem of the cloth shielding his face. How would Franziska look at Vasily now? He remembered the time before, not even a day ago he showed her only once, along with that man with the shaved head. He had reacted in horror. But Franziska… it was fascination.

She said something, Vasily didn't recognize it, his thoughts too occupied with other things. When her lips stopped moving, he finally did it.

He pulled down his mask, taking in his first breath of clear air in a long while, his sigh crystalizing in the air. Along with it he pushed his fingers through his auburn locks, knocking off his hood. His eyes opened again with the softest look of hesitation in his pale gaze, immediately looking to Franziska to analyze her face.

She was staring at him. Or rather, his cheek, noting his gunshot wounds still looked angry and raw. One side was worse than the other, the exit hole. But despite the wounds, there was no hint of anything negative in her dark eyes. Franziska continued to look at Vasily like he held the moon and the stars in his hands.

Her own cupped the back of his head, and the sniper's breath hitched in a shameful way. She was closer than ever before, the woman was silent as her breath brushed against his neck and his jaw. Every little move she made had the sniper's body failing him. He wanted to break, to give into the thoughts poisoning his mind. All he had to do was twist his neck, a simple, easy thing, but her body was rendering him useless.

And then Franziska kissed him. Her lips were like fallen snow against his jaw, cold and soft against a patch of skin where hair refused to grow, toeing the line between skin and scar tissue.

Her lips softly, slowly pulled away only a centimeter, and they traveled across his chin to place a similar touch against his opposite side. This one, the worst of the two, was given two sweet kisses instead of one. And only once she was finished did she pull away. Now Franziska looked at him embarrassed, the softest highlight of pink on her cheeks. She smiled. “Ah… you must think I'm a fool, acting like this… and with a man I barely know. Please forgive me.”

The blonde tried to move away, but Vasily refused to let her leave. With an arm around her waist, his palm against her cheek, Vasily successfully stopped Franziska in her tracks. She looked at him like a deer staring down the barrel of a rifle.

Vasily’s thumb pressed against the corner of her lips. His eyes scanned over every inch of her face. Her porcelain skin was free of any blemishes, untouched by any scars or scratches. Fit for an aristocrat's daughter. When his thumb moved, it uncovered the one thing that dared to litter her face. Two moles, one smaller than the other, like two drops of pen ink splashed against her lower lip.

Vasily moved slowly to give Franziska the option to deny his silent request, but she didn’t. So his mouth pressed a kiss against her chin, chapped lips covering her moles. He heard the softest sigh escape Franz’s lips once their skin touched, the hands still wrapped around his skull pulling him even closer.

His first kiss was followed by another, close to her lips, but not close enough. On his third kiss, it was finally where they both wanted it most. His mouth clashed against hers, nearly toppling the poor woman over and sending her to the ground. The two held each other impossibly close, hands tangling in hair, fingers squeezing cloth and flesh. A deep seated hunger made itself known in Vasily’s stomach, a gaping hole threatening to swallow him whole. And the sniper suddenly realized just how long he had been craving this. To hold, to be held, to taste the lips of another so passionately, to drown in this wonderful, foreign feeling taking a grip on his heart. And for a change his body and mind were not occupied with revenge. He allowed himself to drown in this wonderfully uncomfortable feeling at that moment.

What a fantastic woman he had to spend the night with.

[starssunsoftheinfinite]

just remembered your requests are open!!!

Can I request a Loki with like...a winged s/o? Maybe half-bird?? Or angel, I guess? Preferably male but gender neutral is fine if you prefer that

Also the s/o is really, really tall. Taller than him.

sorry if this is too vague lol. I can make it more specific if you need.

love your writing btw!!!! Thank you good night!!!

-💚💚

Did I disappear for like... A large amount of time? Yes, yes I did. BUT I AM BACK WITH A VENGEANCE and I have lots of writing to do and ideas. I believe I actually stared this ask like.. A week after I got it? And I'd been working on it on and off since fjdjdj. I actually finished it just now and thought I'd make sure I get it out immediately dhdjjd you have waited long enough

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Loki x male! Winged! Tall! Y/n

Fluff/comfort/angst but only if you take your glasses off and squint within an inch of your life/the intimacy of cleaning someone you love my beloved

Warnings: none that I can think of! Maybe like... Sort of poor hygiene on your part? But not like anything detrimental it's just very hard to clean big old fluffy things attached to your back!! I also left the visual of the wings very vague. Loki does call you Dove but it's your choice whether or not that's because you look like a dove or if it's just cute <333

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"look at you" he says and his voice is like warm milk soothing a sore throat. Where you stand you feel like all eyes are on you, even if the only eyes are his. Your bathed in candlelight that flickers against your face, dipping in and out of the contours of your skin. Your wings are spread wide just as he had asked. Loki likes to see you like this, likes to witness you vulnerable. Usually your beauty is hidden by golden armour shimmering in sunlight and as much as Loki likes gold, he likes you more. So when night falls and you shed your armour in favour of soft shirts and loose trousers he savours it. He has you standing by the wall facing his bed while Loki leans on the bedpost with his arms crossed and his eyes trained on you. "I much prefer you like this instead of hidden away under all that metal." he says as he pushes off the wooden post in favour of walking towards you at an agonisingly slow pace.

For lack of a better term, you want to snuggle. Desperately so. You want to be held, to hold, to nuzzle into Loki's shoulder and take in his scent until you drift off into peaceful slumber. So you'd rather appreciate it Loki would come a little closer. He's strong as anyone, probably stronger than you, he is a god after all, but you're taller so you could probably man handle him into cuddle. Maybe. Loki's hands rest on either side of your face once he's close enough and he looks up at you like your the most wonderful thing in the world. You don't know how he does it really. "thank you. For letting me stay here at night." you say, just above a whisper. "oh my sweet boy, you've done so much today." he begins, his hands trailing to rest on your waist. "you need some time in the quiet. Besides, I need to clean up those wings- you really need to remember to do that." he says but it's barely chastising.

Your lips spread into a wide smile as he takes your hand and pulls you to the bed, gently pressing on your chest until you sit on the edge. Your forehead is just around the middle of his chest now, your head tilting back only a little until Loki's Face is back in your line of sight. Loki gives you a quick peck on the forehead before slipping behind you, kneeling in the silk sheet and begginning to undo the back tie at the bottom of your shirt. Having something with an intact collar and an open back that you tie up at your lower back was one of the only ways you could figure out to allow your wings free range in your shirts. Loki had helped with sewing when you were fixing your clothing, kind thing he is. He slips your shirt off with ease, leaving you comfortably bare as his hands smooth over the skin on your back. "poor thing. All messy." he cooes, his index finger trailing over the feathers on your left wing, watching them brissle beneath his fingertips. Your head ducks a little. You'd never been good at pruning yourself. It was a hassle, so intricate and it just took up so much time that you didn't have to give. So you often left it until it got bad, even if it hurt. This was something Loki frequently scolded you for but you never seemed to listen. So now he sits rearranging feathers while you scrunch your face in discomfort. "easy does it" loki whispers after you let out a particularly pathetic squeak. "doesn't hurt too much, does it?" he asks, as cool and composed as usual but the hint of concern spoke loudly to trained ears. You shake your head "it hurts more to leave them. It's mostly.. Uncomfortable really. Gets sort of itchy and gross feeling." you shrug and your words earn a stern look from Loki "then perhaps you should stop leaving them." he scolds softly. You know he's right but you argue nonetheless. " it's too much hassle. With training, duties, everything.. I don't have much time and the time I do have I'd rather not spend cleaning hundreds of feathers." it's understandable really but Loki worries and you understand that too. You choose to ignore how nice it feels to have Loki fix your wings up. You're lovers, affection is no stranger to either of you, but admitting that part of the reason you 'forget' to prune is because you like it when Loki fusses over you may just be a little too embarrassing. Loki let's out a small hum and smooths his fingers over the last few feathers.

You arnt quite sure when he got a sponge and bowl of soapy water, you presume some magic was involved, but either way you feel Loki press a wet sponde to the base of your wings. You turn your head to look behind you, your eyes falling down on Loki where he sits "little warning next time." you chuckle and he grins back at you. He soaks your feathers, watching them flatten out and eventually the majority of your wings are soaked. "see? Isn't this nice? All clean." loki hums like he's trying to convince a child vegetables are good. "yes it is nice. But only because I'm not the one doing it. My arms would be aching by now." that's another reason cleaning tour wings was such an unattractive idea. Your shoulders ached like hell after, constantly reaching behind you. "I suppose that's true. But if you needed a cleaning you should have asked. You didn't need to wait until tonight. I'll clean you up during your breaks if I have to." it's sweet, really. To have a prince take time out of his day to clean you. Perhaps there is some sort of metaphor or commentary on something in those words but at the moment your too focused on how Loki's hands feel gently rubbing a towel on your feathers. "I don't want to bother you" you say as your head ducks down in relaxation. "you're royalty, Loki. It already feels odd to always look down at you, you should not have to stoop even lower and clean me at my command." you admit. Despite how nice it feels to be taken care of, that underlying worry is always there.

Loki's hand stops and for a moment you fear You have said something wrong. "I like looking up at you, Dove." you've always liked when he called you that. "I like having to crane my neck to get a good look at your face. It make it feel like a great reward after my efforts. And I like to clean you. The way you curl up in your wings after they have been cleaned, basking in the fresh scent is rather cute." he says and for a moment you don't quite believe him. It doesn't sound like him, really. He is cocky and sometimes even down right rude if the wrong person gets on his nerves, but with you... He's so soft. He takes any opportunity to give you attention and uses it to its fullest, he whispers sweet nothings to you as though he were not a God. It almost feels sacrilegious. "you're just saying that" you say, eyes flicking to the floor. "ah ah, I see you in the mirror on the wall over there, there will be no shameful looking down with me, young man. Eyes up" Loki quickly corrects and you do as asked without question. That darn mirror. "Darling. My love. You do not need to worry about whether or not I enjoy moments like this because the answer will always be yes. I adore you. That includes the cleaning. Especially if I get to cuddle with you afterwards, it's always so soft all wrapped up in your wings. " cuddling! You'd almost forgotten about your desperate need for a cuddle until it was mentioned. You glance behind you, trying to look at your wings as best you can" are they dry yet? " you ask and Loki tilts his head, gently rubbing your wings down with a towel." eager are we? They will be soon. Patience, Dove" Loki hums and you nod.

After a few more minutes of silent scrubbing, Loki sets the towel down and gently ruffles the base of your wings where the smallest, fluffiest feathers were. "all done, my love." Loki cooes and your turning around before he even finishes. "-oh my" he mutters and he is silently thankful he had 'magic-ed' away the bowl of water when it was no longer needed. You scoop him up with ease, your hands under your back as you swiftly pull him up towards the head of the bed. "I feel like a damsel in distress swept up by her Knight" he comments as you ease him down on the left side of the bed and Loki presses his face into the silk pillow. "apologies. It's just- been a while and as much as you tell me to be patient, I am not very good at that." you say and pull him closer, curling your wings around him like a fuzzy shield. Loki shakes his head and his gaze never leaves you, his eyes filled with adoration and the contours of his face lit by what little candlelight could sneak through your feathers. If 'I love you' had a face it'd be his. " I am certainly not complaining." he says and then his eyes glance down in thought, then return to you. Your head is pressed against the soft pillow like it's the most comfortable thing in the world and your arms hold Loki tight. "you really needed this, didn't you?" "the cleaning?" you interupt "no, Dove. Well, yes. But no. Just to be taken care of. Held, to hold, to be cleaned." You don't answer for a moment and really that's answer enough. Fighting was difficult, training was difficult, even maintaining your own wings was difficult. But Loki made it easier. So much easier. You nod "yes. I am grateful for my life. For who I have met because of my profession. But it is tiring. I needed this. Needed you. Thank you" your voice is softer than intended in the quiet room, the two of you curled up and protected in your wings as you both wind down from the long day. Lokis hands finds your face, cupping your cheeks and rubbing your cheekbones with his thumbs as though you were something precious or delicate. "oh my love. My darling boy. Should you need me, call for me. Perhaps even pray to me. I am God after all, I will hear. And when I hear that it is you who calls I will be there before you even finish. With open arms and gentle hands. And perhaps a bowl of soapy water. " it's such a simple declaration. Something usual for couples. It's not exactly monumental for a lover to tell you to reach out should you need them and yet when he does it feels like you'd been gifted the stars themselves. "I will. I will call for you." you whisper, pressing yourself impossibley closer, your foreheads resting against each other. "Good. Now close those eyes, my boy. You've earned your sleep. And you look so cute all curled up and sleepy, I'd much like to see that again" he hums and you can't help the grin on your lips as your eyes flutter shut. "goodnight, Loki." you say and just before sleep grasp you by the hand you hear a soft "Goodnight, My dove."

[aureliqs]

Always there to help

pairing: tasm!Peter Parker x y/n

content: fluff, angst, light descriptions of wounds, blood, violence and pain

summary: Peter has already been acting weird all week, even weirder than usual. Y/n decided to ignore it in the hopes of Peter just having a stressful week. As y/n was peacefully sleeping on a weekend night she awoke in a shock. Someone was frantically knocking on her window. Was she about to be robbed, or even worse?

I awoke in terror. What is that noise. Is someone trying to brake in? As my eyes had slightly adjusted to the darkness around me, I could make out a silhouette on my window. How can someone be at my window on the fifth floor, and why my window out of all of them. „Okay calm down“ I’m thinking to myself while I try to slow my breathing. I can’t use hyperventilation right now. Why is my week this shitty?

I stand up from my bed and creep my way to the window for a good look, while trying to not get the intruders attention. As I’m trying to make out their face, I notice a big scratch along their cheek, that is dripping blood. Wait… he seems so familiar…

Then the realisation hit. It’s Peter. As my eyes scanned him further I recognised what he was wearing. A spider suit ? This has to be a bad bad joke.I rush to the window to let him. He needs help, and I need answers.

I slide up my old wooden window, and I just see Peter leaning against the wall, heavily breathing while sliding in and out of consciousness.

“Peter…Peter are you alright?!” I say while I touch his shoulder. Peter is slowly drifting back to consciousness, but he seems very breathless. I can hear his heart pounding, as if he has just run for his life. His breathing is so heavy his chest is heaping up and down. The wounds kind off solidify that guess of mine. Whatever was after him definitely nearly got him, and it wasn’t just a round of playing catch.

All Peter can mutter is a “mhhhh”, while he is falling into my room as he can’t hold himself up anymore. “Peter hold on, we’re gonna lay you down” I say to him, as I swing his arm around shoulder and heap him to my bed. He is really heavy, and his weight is nearly crushing me. As I lay him down he nearly faints again. I shake him a bit to make him stay with me.

I sit down next to him. “How are you feeling?”, to which he just mutters a “I …I’m fine I just need a moment… or several”, along with a slight chuckle. Even on the brink of fainting he’s still being sarcastic, which makes me grin a bit. That means he can’t be to bad off, or at least lethally injured. He’s been acting so weird all week, but I didn’t expect being Spider-Man was the culprit behind it all.

I use my time to scan Peter further. I can’t see anything wrong with the spider suit, except for a slightly bloody scratch on his back. As for bruises, I can’t say due to the suit coverage. The scratch on his right cheek looks quite rough, and is still bleeding, and he’s got some dirt on his face. I should take care of that in a second. As I was getting lost in my own thoughts, Peter began to mutter something again…

“Listen y/n.. I am so so sorry I dragged you into …” Peter was still so breathless, he took a tremendous breath and continued.

“This…”

“ I am so sorry I dragged you into all of this..this”

His voice was shivering so much, I could hear the guilt, regret and desperation in it. I was almost tearing up. Seeing Peter like this was heartbreaking. I did have feelings for him, I still do. I was just kind off giving up on it at this point. All the random disappearances, the quit bad lays to cover up something, I just didn’t know what, and his constant state of stress. I was just loosing my hopes. I didn’t even know what could be behind it, but I certainly didn’t except the reason would be him being Spider-Man.

I put my arm around Peter and hugged him. The last thing he needs right now is guilt. “Peter… please don’t worry about it… you and your health are more important right now than anything…”

“I don’t know why I deserve you. I never wanted to drag you into any of this. I .. just didn’t know where to go. My aunt can’t know, she just can’t. I’ve never been injured like this before ….”. I interrupted Peter, before he could go on rambling.

“It’s alright. Calm down, breathe and I’m gonna get you some first aid. We’re in luck my Mom’s on her work trip”. Peter laid down since I went on my quick search for first aid. Thank god Peter crashed here when my Moms on her work trip. I wouldn’t want to deal with that. I’ve found our old and not really up to date first aid kid, which will be enough.

I’ve approached my room again, and Peter looked much calmer already. I can barely hear his heavy breathing anymore. “Peter can you please sit up. I need to disinfect your wounds. Let’s start with your back”. Peter sat straight up without protest or saying anything. I could quit nearly feel his head rumbling with thoughts about what to do or even just say now, but I thought I might give him some peace. It must be very hard for him right now.

As I tapped the disinfectant onto his back Peter flinched and I could hear him trying to quit himself. “Are you alright?” I ask.

“Yeah yeah, I love the burning sensation of alcohol on my back” as he bit his lower lip in agony. As soon as I started I was finished with the wound on his back.

“Peter …please turn around…”. Now about the hard part for me. We still haven’t talked about what just happened, and why it happened …and everything else. After Peter started acting even weirder than usual, and I thought I couldn’t put up with it anymore…I lost hope. I loved the tension between us and now … I feel like the tension is coming back. Why is all of this so complicated.

As I am looking into Peters eyes I remember why I am in love with him. These deep brown eyes, that are filled with more compassion and kindness than stars in the universe. “As I am holding the disinfectant I open my mouth to speak but don’t. I don’t know what to say. Peter is doing the exact same thing. It’s been ages since we’ve just looked at each other.

“Y/n…” Peter begins but then pauses. Peter is still lost for words. “I’m Spider-Man, alright I’m just stating the obvious here” he stops himself and chuckles.

“I’m gonna be all honest with you now. It’s all on the table… I owe you an apology. I tried nothing but to keep you safe, but I shouldn’t have neglected you like that. I need to stop Lizard… I mean Dr. Connor. He mutated himself and he has big plans. I’ve been after him all week. He’s a huge threat. I don’t know his exact plan just yet, but it’s something about mutating all of New York. I’ve located him and tried to look what he’s up to. Before I could leave he noticed me, and I had to flee. It was so close. For a moment I thought this was it… but it wasn’t. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Peter’s eyes began to tear up. “I didn’t want you to be a part of this y/n… this freak show. Now it is too late for that. Please promise me you’ll stay out of it. Stay safe. For me…please”. As he was saying it, he took my hand, and moved his thumb over my palm. All my resentment and hurt was blown away by that. Sure, it is a lot to take in. Your potential boyfriend being Spider-Man wasn’t on my list of expectations or reasons for his behaviours. He was being so honest with his feelings right now, and he told me the truth of what happend to him tonight. I am just so glad he isn’t hurt. I tighten my grip on his hand.

“Peter…I understand… I’ve been hurt about how you have treated me. I didn’t know what was behind it. I understand… how unbelievably stressed you must have been. Well, you being Spider-Man wasn’t really my first go to thought. To be honest with you.. I thought you’ve just lost interest in me and tried to ghost me in a way…”

“Y/n… “ Peter took a moment to think. “Thank you for being this understanding really. I trust you a lot. I wouldn’t have come to you otherwise.”

“I really appreciate that” I gave back. “Youre gonna stay here tonight. You need to rest… before you end that lizard thingy.”

“Thank you…” Peter replied. I’ve noticed we’ve pretty much said everything that needed to be said, so it was time for his wound. I gently tap the disinfectant onto his right cheek, to which he flinches again. After I’m done I stand up, go to my drawer and find him some oversized sweatpants and shirt that hopefully fit.

Peter changed into his my clothes which were fitting but one could see it wasn’t really the size he should be going for. Peter stilled to think, and then proceeded to say “I’ll sleep in your living room couch if your mom is gone anyways.”

“…actually, you can stay with me if you want”

“Is that really okay?” Peter looked at me quit shocked.

“Yes please… I was so scared when I saw you like that… and it was quite a lot to take in. Please stay… for my sake” I felt myself growing a bit red from embarrassment.

Peter smiled slightly, and made his way to my bed. “It’s really sweet that you want me to stay with you.”

As we both laid down on my bed, faces opposite of each other, we just stared at one another. I could feel myself drifting to sleep gain…

“Y/n?”

“Yeah…” I more off yawned then said.

“I’ve missed you … a lot”

“I’ve missed you too, Pete. Good night”

“Good night y/n, thank you for everything”

I’ve drifted to sleep very fast, and I’m sure Peter did too after this whole lizard disaster. I’m glad I’ve got him back in my life again.

Let me know what y’all think. Feedback and prompt are happily seen in my inbox <3

[mostdream6977]

I MET HIM AT THE CORE

((The Sharmat and Amaranth share secrets AKA "Mom, look at this "lore" I pulled out of my ass!" Hope y'all enjoy!))

TW- CANNIBALISM, SUICIDE, IMPLIED MISCARRIAGE

CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?

I MET HIM AT THE CORE,

JUST LAST NIGHT!

HE DIDN’T SEEM TO EXPECT ME,

BUT HE WAS STILL WARM

AND WELCOMING.

I WAS CURIOUS,

SO I ASKED HIM

(POLITELY!)

WHY HE WOULD GRANT ME HIS COMPANY.

HE SAID IT WAS BECAUSE

I HAD THE FACE OF AN OLD FRIEND

AND A NEW ENEMY

BUT NOT A LOVER

THAT HE WOULD HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF.

HE ASKED ME IN RETURN

WHY I WOULD ACCEPT HIS COMPANY

KNOWING HIS SOURCE.

(KEEP IN MIND,

I DID NOT GROW UP WITHIN HONESTY.

IT IS A CYCLE

THAT I WISH TO END.)

THEREFORE,

I TOLD HIM WHAT I KNOW!

I SAID TO HIM

“WELL, MUTHSERA,”

“I KNOW WHAT MIGHT BE YOUR ACTUALITY,”

“BUT YOUR SOURCE REMAINS A MYSTERY TO ALL!”

… HE THOUGHT THAT WAS PRETTY FUNNY!

HE MENTIONED HE DIDN’T EXPECT

THE INFORMATION TO BE PASSED ALONG.

THEN,

HE TOLD ME HE COULD TEACH ME,

BUT THAT I WOULD FIRST

HAVE TO REMOVE THE MASK.

(EXCITING!)

SO I REACHED TO HIM,

HOOKED MY FINGERS UNDER THE CHIN,

THEN LIFTED IT 

UPWARDS AND OFF.

AS I HAD EXPECTED,

IT WAS QUITE HEAVY!

MADE FROM GOLD OR BRASS, OR BOTH,

AND WEIGHED LIKE IT DIDN’T BEGIN LIFE AS HIS.

I HEARD HIM LAUGH AGAIN,

JOKING ABOUT HOW HE WASN’T SURE

IT COULD COME OFF

AFTER ALL THESE YEARS.

I LOOKED TO HIM

TO SEE HIS REACTION

BUT IN PLACE

THERE WAS JUST A BIG HOLE!

“DON’T BE SHY, CHILD.”

“IF YOU WANT TO KNOW,”

“REACH IN”

“AND CUP YOUR HAND.”

I FOLLOWED HIS WORD

AND REMOVED A HANDFUL

OF THE PURGE FLUID

STAGNANT IN HIS THROAT.

“LET THE LIQUID RUN THROUGH;”

“EAT WHAT REMAINS.”

SO I POPPED A CHUNK OF COAGULATE

INTO MY MOUTH

AND CHEWED IT.

ONCE I HAD,

I WAS NO LONGER IN THE CORE.

A MODEST SPACE,

BUT A PALACE NONETHELESS,

DIM-LIT BY CANDLE AND HEARTH.

I WANDERED INTO A STUDY

AND RAN MY FINGERS ALONG A DESK

WITH MANY DOCUMENTS

AND TWO BOOKS.

ONE HANDWRITTEN AND TITLED

“MOM’S FABLES, FOR ____”

AND THE OTHER

OPENED ON THE 11TH PAGE,

CHAPTER ONE

 AFTER THE PROLOGUE,

“BEGINNINGS OF NAVIGATING BEREAVEMENT”

I WANDERED INTO THE HALL

THERE WERE MANY DOORWAYS

AND NO DOORS.

ONE ROOM HAD BEEN BLOCKED OFF

BY A LARGE BRASS ARMOIRE,

BUT PEEKING THROUGH,

ALL I COULD SEE

WERE WOODEN BUILDING BLOCKS

AND A STUFFED GUAR SEATED UPON A CHEST

NEATLY SET ALONG THE WALL

WAITING TO BE ADORED.

MUFFLED A FLOOR BELOW,

A WAIL OF AGONY BROKE LOOSE,

AND I SET OFF TO INVESTIGATE.

ON THE STAIRCASE,

I RAN INTO A MAN

WHO COULD

BUT WOULD NOT SEE ME,

HIS BOOTS LEAVING PRINTS

ON THE FLOOR BEHIND HIM.

HE PUSHED PAST ME,

AND I CALLED TO HIM

TO NO RESPONSE.

I FOLLOWED HIM

INTO AN ARMORY

WHERE HE GRABBED A DAGGER,

TURNED TO ME,

AND ACKNOWLEDGED ME.

“TELL LOLONAH”

“I MUST REPENT.”

HE SLID THE BLADE DEEPLY ACROSS HIS THROAT

AND COLLAPSED

COUGHING AND GURGLING

ON THE WAY DOWN.

I FOLLOWED THE TRAIL HE LEFT

DOWN INTO THE BASEMENT

AND INTO A SMALL ROOM

TUCKED AWAY

FROM COMMON KNOWLEDGE.

IN THIS ROOM

SAT AN EMBALMING TABLE

WITH A FRESH CADAVER ON IT

THAT HAD BEEN PEELED

IN STRIPS.

ON ONE END

STOOD A BEGGAR.

ON THE OTHER END

STOOD A WOMAN

NAKED

DRENCHED IN RED FROM THE BOTTOM LIP DOWN

AND DRIPPING.

SHE TURNED TO ME

AND A BABY

COOED GENTLY IN HER ARMS.

I HAD SEEN ENOUGH TO SATISFY

AND RETURNED TO THE CORE.

HE HAD WAITED FOR ME

AND EXPRESSED SURPRISE.

“USUALLY WHEN MORTALS LEARN”

“THEIR MINDS RUPTURE”

“AND LEAK.”

… I THOUGHT THAT WAS PRETTY FUNNY!

I MENTIONED THAT

I COULDN’T EXPECT HIM TO KNOW

WHO I WAS,

AS I HAD COME TO BE

CENTURIES AFTER HE HAD DIED.

HE ASKED ME

OF MY SOURCE,

OUT OF CURIOSITY.

“I HAIL FROM HOUSE SUL, MUTHSERA,”

“I WAS BORN INTO A WORLD WITHOUT WHEEL”

“AND AM REGISTERED BY C0DA.”

HE LAUGHED AGAIN,

AT THE IDEA

THAT HE WOULD HAVE ANY CLUE

WHAT THAT MEANS.

AND WITH HIM AS KNOWLEDGEABLE ABOUT ME

AS I WAS ABOUT HIM,

I ASKED MY FINAL QUESTION.

“WHY DO YOU STAY HERE?”

HE PAUSED.

“TO BE HONEST,”

“WHEN I STAY HERE”

“I CAN STILL HEAR THE BELLS.”

“THEY REMIND ME”

“OF MORE GENTLE DAYS”

“WHEN I WOULD SIT”

“AND LOVE COMPANY”

“THAT LOVED ME.”

I LOOKED TO HIM

AND SMILED.

“I CAN’T SAY MUCH REGARDING LOVE,”

“BUT I WOULD BE HAPPY TO SIT WITH YOU.”

[bluewhispersandabsinth]

Movie Night (fic; smol Tsukishima bros being bros)

No Pairing Rating: Gen 2315 words No warnings Just kids being kids and brothers bonding AO3 Twitter

Based on one of my Tsukki head canons: he loves cheesy horror b-movies because he enjoys picking them apart and he used to watch them with his brother when they both were kids.

This can be considered the origin story.

-

Small feet walked down the stairs.

Tap - tap

He liked the feel of carpet and floorboards under his soles but hated the way slippers dangled loosely around his feet and he refused to wear them whenever he could get away with it. 

Tap - tap

Over the cold wooden floor of the corridor in the dark, guided by a weak light flickering through the crack of the living room door. 

Quietly he opened it, not far enough to trigger the treacherous squeak of the unoiled hinges.

Just enough for one eye to peek inside, to find out what was the source of the rumbling he had heard coming from downstairs. A hooded figure, just a head taller than him, sat on the couch. The back straight, the head slowly turning towards the door. 

“Kei, is that you?” 

“Uh, no?” he answered.

Even in his childish mind, he knew it was a stupid lie but lately, he had caught himself saying stupid, non-sensical things more often, just to contradict whoever was talking to him.  He pouted when his brother left the couch to open the door. 

“No?” Akiteru said, slightly irritated. “Who are you, then? An axe murderer? Because that's what I thought for a second when the door suddenly opened.”

“That’s silly!” Kei snickered, ignoring his brother’s accusatory tone. Aki wasn’t seriously mad at him, he never was. That was the good thing about having a big brother - he could do and say what he wanted but Aki never got mad at him and never scolded him. 

“What are you doing?” Kei asked curiously, trying to squint past Aki to catch a glimpse at the TV. Without waiting for an answer, he walked into the living room. “What are you watching? Is it good? Can I watch, too?” 

Akiteru sighed and, after a careful look into the corridor, closed the living room door. 

“No,” he said firmly in his best older-brother voice and picked up the blanket he had dropped when he heard Kei. 

“It’s a horror movie, isn’t it?” Kei asked. He was already sitting on the couch, legs crossed, hands around his ankles to stop them from twitching with too much excitement. The TV showed a creepy scene of a young woman staring at an old graveyard through her bedroom window in the middle of a stormy night. 

“That’s so cool!” Kei grinned from one ear to the other. “I want to watch it, too!” 

“Absolutely not!” Akiteru puffed his chest up and lowered his voice to give it an air of authority. “You’re too young! Horror isn’t for little kids!” 

“That’s not fair!” Kei protested. “You’re a kid, too! You’re just eleven!” 

“And you’re just six, Kei! I’m almost twice as old as you!” 

“That’s a dumb argument, you’re always five years older, that doesn’t make you always twice as old!” 

“Smartass.” Aki ruffled his brother’s hair. “Now back to bed with you. Do you want me to walk you there?” 

“I bet mom doesn’t know you’re watching this.” Kei smiled innocently at him. “I know she told you not to watch this stuff.” 

“Kei! You don’t think of snitching on me, do you?” Aki stared at him, alarmed. Kei thought about it for a second. He hated it when his brother did fun stuff without him because he was too little but snitching was what the stupid kids at school did. 

“No,” he said with a pout. “But I want to watch it with you. Please, Aki?” 

Aki sighed and glanced at the TV. He had missed what happened with the graveyard and now he had no idea why the woman was screaming as she tried to wake up her husband.  He didn’t want his little brother to get scared and have nightmares but he also didn’t want to miss more from the movie. Their mother hadn’t taken many nightshifts lately and it could be weeks, half an eternity really, until the next time he had the chance to watch TV this late. 

“Okay,” he said. He sat down and wrapped the blanket around both their shoulders. “Let’s make a deal! You can stay this time but if you are too scared to go back to bed alone later or have nightmares, you’ll never ask me again before you’re eighteen!” 

“Eighteen?” Kei whined. Eight would have been ages in the future but eighteen! That would take forever. He’d be old by then. 

“Deal or not?” Aki grinned.

Kei frowned, pondering over the offer. Then, he jumped off the couch and hurried out of the living room. 

Puzzled, Aki looked after him. He adored his brother but sometimes, Kei was a little weird and it was difficult to guess what was going on in his head. He went through a stubborn, contrarian streak, their mother had explained, but he wasn’t sure if it really was just that.  Also, what boy in his right mind would ditch a horror movie just to be stubborn? 

Not Kei. Shortly after the quick footsteps had disappeared upstairs they were back on their way down the stairs.

Seconds later, Kei sat down, grinning, with the big, old dino plushie had had inherited from Aki when he was born, and this time, with his glasses on his nose. He held out his little hand. 

“Deal!” he declared triumphantly. 

“Fine!” Aki laughed and they shook hands on it. 

“And now be quiet,” he whispered, wrapping them up in the blanket a second time. “I don’t want to miss more of the movie!” 

They watched in silence. Aki glanced at his little brother a few times to make sure he was okay but Kei’s eyes were fixated on the movie, his face so unreadable, it looked almost creepy in the flickering blue light of the TV. Fortunately, the couple were talking to a priest about what the woman had seen that night, repeating what they had missed when he tried to convince Kei to go back to bed. A weird shadow, apparently. Her husband and the priest suggested it had been an animal from the nearby forest but she insisted it looked too human for that and yet, not human at all. The pencil drawing she made of the creature looked scary, like it was supposed to be a human body but somehow, it got it all wrong and the red eyes looked super creepy. 

He almost jumped off his seat when he heard a sharp his.

“This is stupid,” Kei’s small voice whispered. “Shadow don’t have eyes. And shadows don’t look like humans either. Either she saw a shadow or something else.” 

“What are you talking about?” Aki stared at his little brother, puzzled. Kei pushed up his glasses and frowned. 

“It doesn’t make sense! Why doesn’t she say she saw a weird creature? Why a shadow? Shadows can be anything!

Like the tree in Grandma’s garden! Its shadow looked like a witch with weird hair, remember? Grandpa tried to scare us, saying there’s a witch at the wall in the evening but it was just the tree and the sun.” 

“Uh…” Aki didn’t know what to say to that. Kei was right but it kinda made the drawing less spooky and less fun. “Just keep watching,” he said, gesturing him to stop talking. 

Kei didn’t interrupt the movie again but Aki could see that there were other moments when he wanted to say something - he sat on his hands, rocking back and forth and bit hard on his lip. Aki felt sorry for him, it was difficult for Kei to not give in to his impulses when he got something to say but the movie was getting  really dark and exciting and Aki wanted to enjoy it all in peace. 

The husband had left for a work trip and the first three days, everything was quiet. Two days before his return, weird noises came from the basement. 

On the last day alone, the wife couldn’t resist her curiosity anymore. She was scared but wanted to know what was going on. When the noises were back in the middle of the night, she went to see for herself. 

Her candle painted strange shadows over the walls and her face and she looked like a ghost herself in her nightgown. Kei hissed again next to him but didn’t say anything so Aki ignored him. 

She reached the end of the stairs and stepped into the darkness, barely able to see what was lying in front of her. The shadows behind her came closer. Aki tightly hugged one of the sofa cushions he had grabbed earlier and forced himself not to hide behind it. 

The shadows closed in. A cold breeze made her shudder and she turned around, two red eyes- 

“This is stupid!” 

Aki yelped and almost fell off the couch. He did drop the cushion when his brother’s angry voice startled him. 

“Wh-wha-!” 

“Why didn’t she wait?” Kei started to rant. “She waited long enough. Her husband comes back the next morning! Why now? And why didn’t she use the torchlight they had used before he left, when they searched the garden shed for the garden sheers?” He scoffed, which sounded adorably funny in his childish voice  but Aki was too bewildered to laugh. 

“And why does she go in her nightgown? And slippers? Walking in slippers is super annoying,” Kei continued. “What if she has to run? And why doesn’t she take a stick or a knife with her or something?”

“Are you…Really nitpicking on a horror movie? Aren’t you scared at all?”

“No!” Kei scoffed again and Aki could tell he wasn’t pretending. Kei was a horrible liar and it was clear as day that he wasn’t the least bit scared. 

“Not even by the monster?” Aki glanced at the TV. The uncanny shadow monster was floating after the screaming woman. Its eyes glowed with a dark red light and an unearthly noise came from where its mouth should have been, had it been human. Aki quickly looked back at Kei.

“No,” Kei repeated. “It looks like a weird puppet that was filmed elsewhere and somehow cut into the movie. It doesn’t look real at all. That’s so disappointing.” He crossed his short arms and pouted, looking so serious and yet so childish that, finally, Aki couldn’t stop giggling. 

“You’re a weird kid.”

“You’re a kid yourself!” Kei snapped back. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Aki picked up the cushion and made himself comfortable again. “Do you want to watch the rest of the movie or go to bed now?”

“No,” Kei said. “I want to watch it all.” 

“Fine by me.” He swallowed a remark about Kei better not complaining to him about nightmares if he stayed through the gruesome death scene of the couple and the priest. He had the feeling that the movie would rather have nightmares of Kei than the other way around. 

“Where’s Aki?” Kei asked when he walked into the kitchen the next morning. 

“Good morning, son,” his mother greeted him with a smile and an exaggerated bow. “I hope you slept well.” 

“Sorry. Morning, Mom, where’s Aki?” Kei repeated and sat down for breakfast.

“He’s sleeping in a little longer,” their mother explained, yawning. She was always tired when she worked nightshifts but she always made sure to be awake to make breakfast for her sons. She’d sleep once they were off to school. 

“Why?”

“He didn’t sleep well last night,” she said, pouring him a glass of milk and herself a cup of coffee. “He screamed when I came back and walked past his room. Poor boy, he had a really bad nightmare. Is everything okay, Kei, baby?” she asked when he looked at her with wide, surprised eyes.

“Yes. What nightmare?” 

“I don’t know. Did something happen last night? You two went to bed and stayed there as you were supposed to, didn’t you?”

“Sure,” Kei said and began poking his scrambled eggs with his fork. 

“Sure, really?” 

“Yeah. We went to bed as you said,” Kei stated. 

“Is that so?” But her eldest son scuffled into the kitchen before she could ask if they stayed there. 

“Morning, Mom. Morning, Kei. Slept well?”

“Yes.” 

The brothers exchanged a knowing glance. 

Their mother watched from behind her coffee with a raised eyebrow but decided to say nothing. She had a good idea of what probably happened and it didn’t come as a surprise. If she cut corners here and there, she should be able to hire a babysitter for the next time she had to work at night.  Also, Kei seemed fine and Aki had already been punished by bad dreams. It was more important to see that the two brothers got along and stuck up for each other than giving them a lecture about the dire consequences of staying up late and watching movies not meant for little kids. 

Aki sat down and quietly poured himself a glass of juice and began to eat his breakfast. 

“Hey!” Kei pulled his sleeve when their mother went into the living room to take a phone call. “Can we do that again? Watch another horror movie when mom works?” 

“I thought you hated it!” Aki whispered back.  “You said it was stupid and not scary at all.” 

“Yes,” Kei said. “But it was fun to find it stupid. I want to do it again!” 

“Sure,” Aki grinned. “But only if you promise to bring some of your snacks next time.” 

“Promised!” 

“Cool. Mom’s coming!” They went quiet and stared at their breakfast when their mom returned to the kitchen. Kei hummed the theme from the movie credits and was happily swinging his legs under the table. Aki grinned. 

He had already planned to watch another horror movie as soon as possible, despite his nightmares, and with his adorable smartass of a little brother, it should be much more fun than scary the next time.