#sometimes it's just more fun to run in circles with it and enjoy the wind in your hair and air in your lungs and relish the endorphins

[blondepomeranian]

the line between insanity and Art is finer than capellini, friends.

[totem-but-shark]

Foolish and Cellbit were my fav qsmp duo (Idk if they are supposed to have a duo name or something). Obviously bc they had an antagonistic friendship (funny), but also bc Foolish just got REALLY into whatever Cellbit was doing at any given time. Castle, wedding, feds murdering, Ordem Paranormal rooms, whatever. I love you grandmas room. I love you chaos room shrine. I love you coin flip decision. I love you wedding assination enigma. Ily interrogations and elections and that chance encounter in Fed HQ.

Foolish and bad had an antagonistic friendship, too, but they understood each other. They could see through the others bullshit and knee what they were after. Foollish and Cellbit did NOT understand each other (character) AT ALL. It was a mystery and theys what made it fun

I disagree on them not understanding eachother! To me qFoolish and qCellbit did not initially understand eachother but over time, especially after purgatory and towards the end of the server, I feel like Cellbit really came to get foolishs chaos. It used to frustrate Cellbit, Foolishs unpredictability, betrayals that from Cellbits point of view at the time could only be seen as malicious as to him there was only two sides on the island, you were with the federation or you weren't. But I think the turning point for their relationship was in Cellbit realising Foolish was never really against them, it's just who he is and that his actions don't reflect whether he cares for other characters or not.

I would say the way in which qBad and qFoolish understand eachother is different to the way in which qFoolish and qCellbit understand eachother. Bad and Foolish understand eachother through the intertwined nature of their immortality, they're the only person that could comprehend that experience for one another. But in another sense it's like they know eachother more than they understand eachother, which are two very different things. With Foolish and Cellbit it's harder to pinpoint, Cellbit came to understand Foolish as a person and love him for it anyway. They're both characters that value family highly and just needed to find the right wavelength, realising they're on the same side. That doesn't mean they weren't still beefing the whole time of course.

To qFoolish the chaos and betrayal is almost like play, a game of cat and mouse except the mouse was never really trying to get away but run one certain kitty round in circles for the fun of it. And eventually qCellbit caught onto the flow of it and was able to engage in this back and forth.

Foolish enjoyed being an another enigma to for Cellbit to solve, he liked winding him up, throwing red herrings, generally being confusing on every front. It was kinda like he was testing Cellbit to see if he could understand and was almost proud when he did! Pleased to not only have been a good puzzle but a good solution, that being that there wasn't one!

The dichotomy between them is delicious, he who searches for answers and he who has none, it made the two of them greater together! Sometimes there are no answers, and sometimes the satisfaction is found in searching and solving and getting to know the puzzle anyway.

Their Duo name is castleduo btw after cellbits castle build but they're often also called foolbit 😋 Thank you for the ask anon! They're one of my favourite duos too and I loved the opportunity to dig into their dynamic a little

[extra-stout-stories]

Full Moon

The couple from last year's Werewolf / Sweater Weather enjoys some bedroom fun on their favorite night of the month. (SSBBW, SSBHWW -- that's "big handsome werewolf." CW: The fine line between desire and fear; explicit sex, but mostly implied rather than descriptive.)

Here's my belated contribution to Day 10 of Feedist Kinktober '24. This one is a few weeks late, but as soon as I saw the "Full Moon" prompt I knew what was going to happen.

As long as @fatguarddog keeps giving us an annual list of Kinktober prompts, this fictional couple will keep making appearances. I might bring them back before the month is over, if I have the time to write.

Monsterfucking isn't a kink of mine, but using a monster character to think about some of the primordial forces that inspire our kink was an illuminating exercise. This one was a lot of fun to write. Reblog if you enjoy it.

--

He gets hungry when the change hits. Hungry for her cooking. Hungry for her.

Sometimes, on these nights, he'll leave the house to hunt. But sometimes, when the snow is piled up in meter-high drifts, he stays indoors.

She knows what to do then. For a few days beforehand, she'll cook and cook and bake and bake until every surface in the kitchen is covered with food. Meats, lots of them, beef and mutton and venison, roasted and grilled and fried, stewed and sizzled. Always rare, always tender and dripping.

Bread, loaves and loaves of it. Cakes. Cupcakes. Puddings.

The kitchen is right next to the bedroom, and she can hear him moving around, ravenous, devouring.

When the change hits his appetites seem even more bottomless than they already are.

--

She feels vulnerable then, in a way she rarely feels around him otherwise. He's as much beast as man when the moon is full, and sometimes he's more beast than man. When that happens she can see the struggle in his eyes, the struggle to hold both sides of himself in balance, to regard her as his lover as well as his prey. The beast is very different from the man, who is as unfailingly as tender as he is strong, unfailingly kind to her and others even when his strength would allow him to be cruel.

The beast is different. And she is so vulnerable.

She's just as fat as he is. Or maybe he's just as fat as her. They've made each other this fat.

But while his rolls of fat and quivering belly are layered on top of powerful muscle, hers are nothing but softness. It's not that she doesn't pull her weight. On an isolated homestead in the woods there are always chores to do, and not just the cooking. She stretches and even lifts light weights to stay mobile, mobile enough that she can get around the kitchen and the garden. But by the end of the day the effort has left her ready to beach herself in bed and eat and eat.

Like she's doing now. He's not the only one with a hunger. She lifts a forkful of blueberry pie to her lips. She can hear him in the kitchen, tearing through the beef stew and the chops and the pot roast. She can imagine the trails of grease dribbling down his chins, stubble and sweat, ferocity, appetite.

They've made each other this fat. If it were entirely up to him, if the duties of the real world didn't intrude, her fat would be nothing but an ocean of immobile softness. When the moon isn't full, when the change hasn't taken him, his lovemaking is kind, eager, attentive. Pampering. He loves to spoil her, to satisfy her. To see her grow and grow and grow, rolls folding over onto rolls, all for him.

Warm. Soft. Pampered. Endlessly inviting.

Tender. Easily winded.

Unable to run.

Prey.

--

She's made herself so vulnerable. There's a cold fear inside of her, dancing in circles with the heat of her excitement. She eats to still the fear and to stoke the excitement. I trust him, she tells herself. He can control the change. For me he can control the change.

Some people would think it was madness. To give up a career and a condominium and designer handbags to live in a cabin in the cold, dark forest, miles from the nearest town, hours from the nearest city. But she had known from the moment she first set eyes on him that she would do it if he asked.

He was so kind, so thoughtful. So fat and so hungry, for her cooking and for her.

He didn't ask her to move in with him until he had explained to her about the change.

And she still did it.

--

I've made myself so vulnerable, she thinks, shoveling the last of the blueberry pie past her lips, her own breath ragged with fullness. I'm not sure I could even get up from bed right now. The stuffing has pushed her over the edge; when she's this full, she feels as if she might lose her mobility entirely. The thought makes her burn with heat. The thought makes her freeze with fear.

So soft. So tender.

So appetizing.

--

When he crashes through the door, beast and man are one thing. His strength is supernatural now. It moves with the same rhythms of the full moon that move the tides, that pull great waves of force up from the depths of the ocean until entire coastlines, in places far away from their ice-cold forest, drown in a surge of water and heat.

She's drowning too. Her breathing, ragged with fullness, grows shallow with fear. Heat and moisture, sweat and desire, churn like the ocean around the cold knot of fear at the pit of her stomach as he crashes through the door, hunger in his eyes. His belly is swollen and taut underneath its softness, filled to the brim with the tender dishes she spent days preparing.

On another night she'd rub it gently, smile, run her fingers through the hair of his chest and nuzzle her face against his stubble until she felt the softness of his chins yielding to her kiss. On another night she might comfort him, tease him. Did my hungry boy eat too much?

But there's nothing boyish in him now. Not a boy and not a man, or not only a man. A man and a beast, two hungers at war with one another.

Looming over her.

--

"Can you really control the change?"

She had asked him that after seeing it happen for the first time. So frightening but so exciting, like something out of an old and terrible legend.

He nodded. "It's difficult but I can do it. It's like… I know I want you, but I have to remind myself why I want you. Does that make sense?"

She nodded. "I think so. It's scary to see you like that." She pulled him in closer, feeling the strength beneath his fat as he relaxed and let himself sink into her softness. "But it's also hot."

"I'm glad." He grinned and squeezed her. "A lot of girls would run away the first time they saw that."

She laughed, playfully shoving her belly against his. "Do I look like the kind of girl who runs?"

Now he laughed too. "Nope. You look like a girl who sits and eats. My kind of girl." He kissed her. "Don't worry. I can control the change. You're safe with me."

But she had been so much smaller then.

--

Beast and man are one thing now and his strength is supernatural. How many hundreds of her pounds does he shift with his sheer brute strength as he takes her and mounts her? He could throw me across the room if he really wanted to, she thinks. The thought is frightening. Exciting.

His belly spilling onto her back rolls, over the sides of her hips. His hands on her thighs, then her shoulders, then wrapping themselves in her hair, pulling her head back. His breath on her neck, ragged and fierce, a wordless growl.

Hunger.

Her heart is pounding. The beast has teeth, she thinks. He could tear my throat out. Tear me to shreads.

Then she cries out as he thrusts, a force beyond human penetrating deep inside her. Wet with sweat and excitement, her fat rolls shake and quiver, crash against him like tidal waves.

--

Half excitement, half terror. A night that seems to last forever. She wants it to end. She never wants it to end.

His grip growing stronger and stronger, his breath more and more of a growl. His thrusts more forceful. He takes her ferociously, as if he can barely control his desires, the appetites of the beast mixed with the urges of the man who knows every inch of her fat body by heart.

How much she trusted him. To come all this way. Miles from the nearest town, hours from the nearest city. To risk this danger.

To get so fat for him, so fat that she could never leave.

She screams. Half pleasure and half terror. His teeth are at her throat.

Maybe this will be their last night together. Maybe tonight the dam holding back his hunger will finally break and he'll lose the man entirely, lose the man and become the beast.

She screams again.

Can she trust him to control the change?

When she comes it's like wave after wave crashing across the coastline.

And when the sun rises, it's like the storm has passed and her languid body is the surface of the ocean grown placid.

--

The beast is gone from his face now, thin lines of sunlight giving a golden cast to his pleasantly fatigued smile. She reaches fat fingers for his face, strokes the softness of his chins beneath the stubble.

"Are you hungry, big boy?"

He laughs. "Yeah. I worked up an appetite. And I could use some coffee, too."

She grins. "I set the timer for five A.M. It should be ready by now. Put plenty of cream in mine."

He sticks out his tongue puckishly. "Plenty of cream." He grins back. "Got it. Big girl."

She can see satisfied exhaustion in the way he heaves himself up from the bed, rolls quivering beneath body hair, turning slowly towards the kitchen. "Breakfast's in the locked cabinet?"

"Yup. Just toast the waffles and pop the pancakes in the microwave. There's plenty of butter and maple syrup. I'll cook the bacon and sausages later."

He turns back and bends down to kiss her. "Breakfast in bed?"

She smiles. "Yeah. You wore me out. Once I'm full again I want to cuddle and nap."

"Sounds perfect." He squeezes her thigh and she watches appreciatively as he turns again, his naked body quivering as he moves.

He's all man now. The beast is elsewhere, somewhere beyond the tides.

But she can't wait until the next full moon.

[takaraphoenix]

This is going to be a deeply personal post that I want to share because I hope it can also be somewhat inspirational and motivational for others.

I started a new job a month ago and I deeply love it. I mean, genuinely love it. Love the place, the people, the work. I'm happy going to work and I find joy in what I do and time passes startlingly fast at work because I'm enjoying it. Plus, I make good enough money (sure, it could always be more, but it's already more than my last job which is great).

I honestly didn't think that was a thing. Growing up, I always thought that work is that thing you force yourself through for the sake of money. The requirement. I thought it was crazy when people claimed they liked their work. But damn, I love my work.

When I finished high school, I had no idea what I wanted to do. Fourteen years ago. And it's been a longwided and bumpy journey, but it brought me to a place where I'm happy and where I can see myself working for the next thirty years.

Not knowing where you want to go, or how you could get there, is incredibly, overwhelmingly frustrating. But sometimes, you just have to keep going and figure it out along the way.

(The more long-winded journey under the cut.)

I had no idea what I wanted to do after high school, partially because my school never really prepared us for what comes after.

Our local university is large, and it intimidated me beyond belief when I was eighteen, there was just no way I could go there.

But there was a small, private art school around where I lived and everyone always kept saying turn your passion into your profession, right? So sure, why not. Let's go to art school.

Four years later, I had a Bachelor's degree in art and had also fully lost my passion for drawing. It had become a chore. So I knew that... that wouldn't work out for me. I needed to find something different.

I've always admired the teachers who could inspire others and make you feel welcome in their classes and I was pretty good at teaching others, so I figured, maybe I could become a teacher?

I first signed up for English and Philosophy (with the goal of teaching ethics). I made friends in the first semester in both classes, but I had to switch out of English after one semester - mostly because the teachers were actually insane. They prided themselves in failing at least 10% of first semesters and made the beginning unnecessarily hard and no... fun. I think learning should be fun.

So I switched from English to German and, ultimately, after five years, got my Bachelor's degree in German philology and Philosophy. During the high-time of Covid. My last two semesters were exclusively spent in remote zoom classes.

The thought of becoming a teacher - of being in a room with thirty students for ninety minutes, before class ends and the next thirty students file in for the next ninety minutes, in an endless circle of hell - absolutely terrified me. Heck, the thought of going back to classes to get my Master's degree to actually become a teacher was already mortifying.

So, once again, I stood there, without a plan, but with a useless BA.

I didn't know what I wanted to do, to be quite frank. I was running out of motivation to find something new, because it started to feel like I was truly just failing one thing after the other. I was 29 and had absolutely nothing to show but two Bachelor's degrees.

I became a temp, after a year of unemployment, working in an office in an insurance company. And I liked it alright. The work more or less, but the feeling. Oh, the feeling of working in a small team in an office absolutely delighted me!

I lost that job at the end of last year and went back to being unemployed for half a year. Until a friend of mine, who was working at our alma mater as a secretary, told me about how happy she was working for our university and how she had also started there because she had no prior work experience and none of the required qualifications. She also told me that our university has its own job hunting website and that they never put their job listings onto foreign sites.

I went looking the same day, applied to a job that I got a job interview for but that didn't entirely fit for me. A week later, I applied to another one - and it fit like a glove. I got a job interview before the application phase even ended, I was invited to spend a day observing the work and was supposed to give a yes/no on whether I want to move forward with the process the next day, which I did. All I expected in return was a thank you and to be told when I might hear back to them after they saw other applicants. Instead, I got the job that very day.

During every single step, I felt like I was failing. After my first Bachelor, that seemed useless. After giving up on getting my Master and having yet another useless Bachelor. When I lost the temp job.

But every single step in my journey was... necessary, to get me to where I am right now.

Because I wasn't ready for our big university when I was 18, I needed the small, private university that eased me into college life to have the courage to apply to our city's big university.

And the friend who told me about the job website? I met her in my one semester of English. Yes, even years later, even though we were only together in one class during that first semester, we are still friends. And if I hadn't attempted my second degree - if I hadn't started out with and failed out of English - I wouldn't have met her.

If I hadn't gone to this university, I wouldn't have been eager or able to find a job there.

And if I hadn't had the temp job, I wouldn't have discovered my passion for office work.

Who knows, maybe there is an alternate life where I get on the "right" track when I'm eighteen and end up happy too, but for the life I have now, things worked out well and they only did because of every single thing I had failed or changed out of.

Sometimes, you do need the failures to learn from them, to draw something from them that will help you find your way later.

[writernotyetauthor]

Can this Hetalia character Roller Skate 🛼

Italy: Yes, he’s pretty good. Will offer to hold someone’s hand if they’re having trouble and loves to flirt with other people on the rink. 

Germany: He won’t fall down very often but he’s stiff as a board, won’t bend his knees. Mostly relies on getting pushed or pulled in the right direction and must often accept Italy’s hand for help. Falls on his ass a couple times. 

Japan: Yes and he’s surprisingly fast. Brings his own skates to the rink and enjoys listening to the music and zipping circles around the others. 

America: This mf LOVES roller skating. He doesn’t do it as often as other sports but he’s been skating since at least the 1910s. Always says he’s gonna try out for a roller derby team but never does. 

England: No and he will not try. He used to skate a little before the 20th century but the wars fucked up his legs and his balance. Tried once in the 80s and fell on his face in front of a dozen punk youths. Never again. Refused to use a walker. He will watch people skate from the bench with his skates on and refuses to get in the rink. 

France: Same as England mostly, he prefers ice skating. He’ll sit on the bench and talk instead of skate. Can be convinced to do a light lap or two around the rink but he MUST be holding someone’s hand. 

China: Yes, he can skate decently but he can’t make himself stop, he has to let friction slow him down. Often gets stuck and has to scoot out of the rink when he gets tired. 

Russia: Also prefers ice skating but can’t quite figure out how to translate ice skating skills into roller skates. Grips the wall the entire time and can’t manage to keep his legs under him. Falls on his ass once and leaves the rink to get food. 

Canada: Hell yes, he loves some roller skating. Ice skating and hockey will always be his true love but roller skating has been a hobby he and his brother could bond over for decades. He and America will sometimes race around the rink and attempt to not run into people. 

Prussia: Oh god. This motherfucker is so fucking bad at skating but he doesn’t care. He will full throttle shoot himself across a rink, slam headfirst into the opposite wall, and fall back on the ground and act like he’s the greatest skater alive. He loves it so much and he WILL do it again two minutes later. He can’t break, he can barely turn, and if there’s someone he doesn’t like directly in his way he WILL take them down with him. If given a walker he will use it to hit the wall even faster. It gives Germany a heart attack every time he hears his quasi-mortal brother thud on the ground but as long as he’s breathing and gets up soon enough he lets him have his fun. Will go until he’s completely winded and has to be pushed off the rink. 

Romano: Yes! Started roller skating back when he worked at America’s house in the 20s and has tried to keep it up as a hobby but he’s a little rusty. Is a pro at stepping around Prussia’s fallen body. 

Hungary: Yep yep. Hasn’t done it as much in recent years but absolutely adored roller skating in the late 19th-early 20th century. Joined a roller derby in the interwar years and absolutely fucking loved it. Wants to join another but hasn’t had the free time. She and Prussia will occasionally try to push each other down while skating, though she succeeds in staying up more often than he does. 

Austria: Much like France & England, he needs to hold someone’s hand or he psyches himself out. The hand is often Hungary’s. Will often trip and fall. Prussia tries to knock him down too but they’re both so terrible at turning they usually just fly past each other. Usually resorts to using one of the walkers. 

Lithuania: Like Romano he started skating back when he worked at America’s house in the 20s. He enjoys it but he is a bit rusty. Takes photos of Prussia wiped out on the floor and posts them on social media with a caption equivalent to “Common Prussia L”. They try to push each other down but it often results in both of them wiping out. He usually tries to fall forward rather than backward because his back is still very fucked up. 

Belarus: With a long background in ice skating, she prefers in-line roller skates. Prefers to skate alone and watch others fall over but she will help them back up. 

Ukraine: Has an impressive collection of roller derby trophies in her room. Loves the social aspect of skating at a rink and gets dressed up to go with friends when she can. 

Poland: Acts like he’s better at roller skating then he really is, needs to hold the wall for a while but can eventually scoot off by himself.  

[lord-of-the-wasteland]

// making a pinned rq.

basic DNI: proshippers, pedos, racists, LGBTQA+ phobes etc. - oc, canon character interactions are all okay - doesn't have to be FN but FN is preferred since I might not know every other media - please keep interactions sfw I want to create a safespace for everyone to enjoy - no gore or death threats, bruises or small mentions of blood etc are okay but keep it mild - no drug addict/drug abuse jokes, I've heard them all and I don't find them funny so I won't react to them sry

appearance: he has a damaged left ear with two visible cuts and chunks from his ear missing. [visible even when masked] furthermore Donnie has a lot of scars hidden underneath his mask, noticably two bigger ones across his left eye, one across his right eye, two scars each one on the left and right side of his chin, one scar running across his mouth and one more on the left side of his cheekbone. his eyes have a dark sclera and are duo coloured, being red for his iris [outer circle] and yellow for his pupils [inner circle] his face is most of the times covered in black war paint around the eye area. [think of Mad Max Furiosa or the warboys] warpaint is often running across his mask, like straight down from his eyes. ear rings can be applied to his right ear. very optional however. can transform into a badass nitro-fueled monster form. this monster this bears something that resembles his mask and armor, wereshark and other monster elements are mixed into it but mostly shark. the monster form is taller and more massive than his human form, also angrier lol.

armor: either base style or oasis colours, I will probably sometimes draw superstyles or own colours as well just so you know. his mask has very jagged teeth, this is just the way I prefer to draw them anyway. shoulder pauldrons with large spikes on both sides. a tad bit bigger than the in-game model. he has clawed gloves with metal clawtips at the end of each finger. armor plated shoes with spikes on them as well bandages or barbed wire can be wrapped around any armor part. wasteland warrior symbol can be applied to any part of his armor, not just the chest.

personality: my Donnie is a bit on the more serious side and it's very hard / yet not impossible / to break his bad guy personality. he CAN be soft or sometimes even silly-coded, however it takes a lot to get through to him. please try and find out lmao. he's actually decently kind to his henchman / wastelander crew, he would not insult them unless they screw up big time. easy to provoke so please have fun with that given fact lmao. he's often out there alone and not really prone to stick around other people, occassionally he does enjoy a little company however just to talk to or wind down. he's also quite fond of hugs or other physical touch.

[sarah-ankh]

Having some feelings I need to write down, and here is as good a place as any. This is gonna be a bot all over the place...

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

I hate going for walks with my family.

I hate walking full stop, but i hate "going for walks" when my family is involved.

So often in the past it's become a *thing* that I can't do it now without reliving all of those past times.

I've always had muscular problems with my legs due to my height, and in recent years this has been compounded by nerve damage in my feet, and injury damage to my knees and hip that mean I can't walk particularly fast or far without a great deal of pain.

This means I almost always get left behind. I can't keep up with them and fall further and further behind them, and when I was younger I would always wind up lost.

Lost and tired and in pain in a strange place until somebody came back for me. They'd always make a joke about it, trying to cheer me up, but that always made it worse when all I wanted was a hug.

So I started refusing to go. As soon as I was old enough to stay home on my own I would politely refuse to go, and that was almost worse.

My mother would always respond in a half-joking way like "aww, you're miserable, you're no good" or "you're no fun, come on" or after my nieces and nephews came alo g shed turn to guilt tripping. "They're only here for a weekend, you have to spend time with them'

My brother would always look so disappointed and try to talk me into it with all the stuff I'd be missing, while I'm sat there knowing I'd probably never see most of it anyway and even if I did I'd be in too much pain to enjoy it.

My sister would just take a snippy tone like "oh. Ok." Then make a point out of how I didn't come later.

So even when I didn't come I'd spend the whole time sat alone at home making myself miserable and feeling guilty for not going.

And then when I do go, I'm in pain, I'm miserable, and I still end up alone half the time and stewing on the whole situation.

These days they at least try to accommodate me, but that just makes me feel like an invalid and burden which makes it all worse.

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

Today I wound up alone again because the others decided to take a cliffside path full of stones and roots that I can't navigate, (literally the nerve damage in my feet means I can't feel the stones and roots, and dont have great balance, not ideal on a cliff...) so I continued alone on the main path with all this stuff running through my head in circles and making me miserable and depressed.

Part of what I was thinking about, I'm on holiday this week, staying with my brother and his family in Kerry. My mum came to join us for the weekend, and this morning his wife commented that I stop doing things when my mum is here. I'm not sure what she meant by that and I was already feeling shitty so I didn't pursue it, but now it's preying on my mind.

My mother is hard work sometimes. She doesn't understand my mental health problems and trying to talk to her about my life is just difficult. It feels like the "never again" meme. Given that his wife broke down in tears the other day worrying about my mum coming to stay, I'm sure she understands.

I tend to shut down when I can't deal with a situation. I go quiet and I find a way to leave for a bit. The more people are here the easier it is for me to get overwhelmed. And I do tend to shut down with my mum even more because I feel like I can't talk to her or make her understand, I feel like I cant get anything right, it'll never be good enough for her, so I just don't bother trying.

For all of my teenage years I felt trapped between the person I was "supposed" to be, and the person I wanted to be, and wound up stuck as neither.

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

A few weeks ago I came out to my brother and his wife as bisexual, and hinted that I might be trans. It went well so i tried to have the same conversation with my mum, and her immediate overreaction made me abort so quickly. She freaked out about me wearing nail polish and was going on about how I was going to be fired from my job and it would ruin my life.

So I decided not to bring any femme clothes on this trip....

Its been hard, I feel wrong. I haven't shaved either and it's started getting to me, and being called "uncle [deadname]!" Every 5 seconds has begun to wear on me. Hence why I was feeling shitty today to begin with.

I don't know how to deal with all that. I don't know how to have the conversation with my family about my gender, or even if I should. I don't know how to talk to them about how my disability and how their attempts to accommodate me make me feel. And once again winding up walking alone brought it all home at once a little bit.

I feel alone. I feel like an outsider in my family, pushed to the edge. Not because that's what they're trying to do, but that just makes it worse because I feel like I'm just making it all up in my head.

They love me and they try, but it feels like they love the fake 'me' that I was expected to be. They don't really know 'me'.

Do I even really know 'me' at this point?

Who even am I?

[rubykgrant]

Some (not-holiday-related) things the RVB characters do in Winter~

Grif; has the perfect excuse to just stay inside, avoiding the cold, and make an entire cozy kingdom out of blankets and pillows (claims he is “hibernating”). If he is bribed with hot chocolate after, he can be convinced to venture out, and make a snowman or two (he’s oddly good at balancing each giant snowball as he stacks them). Movie-marathon is also an enjoyed activity

Simmons; likes the idea of taking a pleasant winter stroll IN THEORY, but usually has the bad luck of either finding all the drops buried by snow and keeps getting stuck, or steps in an ice-patch (and turns into Bambi before falling on his butt). Mostly winds up staying in and taking the time to complete puzzles and gets focused on beating all his old high-scores in games

Donut; ready to throw-down in a snowball war, LET’S GO. Lives the dream of getting into a hot-tub outside while it’s snowing. Also, he gets all choked-up over the sad animal commercials, and even though he can’t adopt them all, he’ll volunteer a lot and help find homes for rescue pets

Sarge; hikes out in the woods, usually just to get some tree branches and sticks for whittling, but claims he also built a log cabin and ‘rassled a few bears. Continues to embrace his inner lumberjack by making GIANT Paul Bunyan sized flapjacks with lots of maple syrup every morning. Eventually, he will build a HUGE SNOW FORT, and loudly inform the Blues that it is so awesome and cool and they aren’t allowed in here

Lopez; as long as he doesn’t get wet and his joints don’t freeze, he likes being outside at night in winter. It’s sort of peaceful, even in big cities. Unlike humans, who miss little details, he can stand outside for hours and literally watch as frost-spirals form in windows

Church; COMPLAINS, about this-that-and the other thing, absolutely hates when his feet or nose get cold and would rather make the whole place warmer than keep adding layers. In his better moods, he has fun re-watching his favorite shows and playing video games. He also discovered he’s pretty good at cooking, so he makes lots of treats and warm meals (he creates delicious soups from powerful broths). He’ll collect various mugs he thinks are funny/have cool pictures, and then use most of them to keep other things in (like marbles or buttons or whatever). If he can brave the cold, he kinda likes the times he wakes up early, seeing the sun begin to shine on the snow

Tex; enjoys kinda just people-watching in the city, and likes finding places that do horse and carriage rides (Tex is a horsegirl in a dude way. yee-haw). She’ll also go places that are more typically visited in warmer weather (like the beach) to see how different it is in winter, appreciating cold beauty and what-not

Tucker; likes playing games and watching shows/movies while being cozy inside like some of the others, but is also really into sledding! He’ll get a whole run going, packing up snow to make turns, and finds stuff like cushions to help soften the stop. Sometimes sets up a rope swing so he can fly over the snow. He enjoys eating something hot outside when it’s cold out, and likes finding places that do special winter treats. He’ll also have fun sitting around a fire-pit at night making s’mores

Caboose; helps with rescue animals too, and enjoys going somewhere outside to see what kind of winter critters show up in the wild (or maybe just squirrels in the park). When lots of snow falls, and he can clearly see how clean it is, he gathers it up in large cups, mixes it with juice, and makes his own “slushies” (and will sometimes eat the snow plain... it’s good!). Will find large areas of snow that is mostly flat with small hills, and COVER the space with the BIGGEST snow-angels (if you look at them from high above, they make crop circle patterns... nobody is sure if he does this on purpose or not)

Wash; also helps with rescue animals, and WILL try to keep more kitties. Surprises everybody by being a snowboarder dude... he can go down huge hills and even do tricks. Loves hot apple cider, and drinks it almost every day. He has fun doing puzzles, playing board games, and cards with the others

Carolina; enjoys all the outdoor activities with everybody, and is also fond of star-gazing at night (the stars seem so much brighter in winter). She has fun going to things like concerts at night, seeing cool light-shows on the snow ( it reminds her of the Northern Lights). When she wants a calmer activity, she’ll find herself a book to read (maybe something really emotional with a sad theme, but a happy outcome, so it isn’t depressing)

Kai; visits various ice-skating rinks and will anybody that listens about the time she feel through some ice and TOTALLY met an actual MERMAN under the water (no really!). Finds places that have rides/attractions so she can go on indoor rollercoasters and ferriswheels inside while watching it snow through large windows. Intentionally goes out wearing “minimal clothing”, then visits several stores, buying something from each place, until she’s finally finished wearing multiple layers (if she doesn’t shop fast, she can get VERY chilly)

Doc; likes getting chocolate iced coffee drinks, regardless of how cold it is. Also likes to find something to read, but picks out old classical literature (some he’s read before but it’s been a while, others he’s only aware of but hasn’t read himself). O’Malley likes to find big chunks of ice frozen outside and smash them on the ground (he’s at least nice enough to pick a place not surrounded with people, so nobody gets surprised or accidentally hurt). Doc also INSISTS all his friends listen as he goes over various winter safety tips

Locus; tags along with the others to try and figure out what normal-people-things he enjoys. On his own, Locus kind of likes going to unique craft stores, getting wood-work and crocheted items. If he can gather up enough energy to deal with a crowed of people (and somebody he trusts comes with him), he gets a kick out ice hockey and motorcycle ice racing (Tex had no idea there was a whole sport where people put sharp screws in bike tired and shredded around on ice, it’s brutal and she loves it)

[coolbeansbuddyofmine]

i once believed love would be black n' white (but it's golden)

five times mun-yeong wished to see colour in her life and once she did (or the one where mun-yeong can only see the colors in 4K resolution when gang-tae is around her, and without him, life is muted)

a fic for kdrama secret santa 2022; for @rabonghee

read it on ao3 here!

im also very sorry this is late. a combination of sickness, travel and family stuff had left me busy last week. i do hope you enjoy, nonetheless, especially @rabonghee

a happy belated christmas and new year to you and your loved ones!

i’ve been sleeping so long in a twenty-year dark night

1. mun yeong’s never had friends before. the boy with the flower at her gate is the first who’s ever come up to approach her and she’s more confused than anything else. everything around her, the world moves so slowly (dreadfully so) in some stupid 20s monochrome film. 

it’s all boring and predictable and even at six, mun yeong knows that life’s not supposed to be like this.

in the books she hides from her mother, read secretly under her covers at night with a soft night light, she knows life can be and have so much more meaning and depth and colour to it than whatever her mother says.

for her few years of life, she’s believed her mother’s every word religiously, hanging on to it as if the word of god herself. her mother is? was? her god, but now, the former believer has committed sacrilege.

free thought has never felt more constraining.

the boy is like a fresh wind of indigo in her imposing house of stark greys and blacks. for her, who’s never seen colour, nor the blinding indigo in a rainbow, he’s her gateway drug.

she wants to pull him to her, magnetised by the beautiful blue hues.

---

he leaves, and she finds herself living in greyscale again.

the things that haunt me in the middle of the night

2. ju ri is kind and loud. mun yeong who would like to be an artist, if she had any talent at it, would paint her a loud and vibrant red; something vermillion or crimson, whatever would describe that prick of a paper cut that first stains it. she could be that crimson, that fresh blood, and she probably is. mun yeong’s eyes are aching and tired, and it filters the world around her, blunting all its edges. 

ju ri is fun, but even she, in the predictability of seongjin city and its coastline, remains predictable. in a world of rectangles and squares, both she and mun yeong are the same; she’s loud in her fury where mun yeong is cold and quiet, that is the only difference. 

the daughters of seongjin are all born angry, it seems.

that boy, mun yeong wonders, is probably a circle. she’s attracted to all those unlike her: that butterfly for one. does fury run in his blood? she wonders. is he a child of seongjin like her? or is a desperate wanderer, a nomad with no grounds to put down, a home that moves around with their people, like her?

does he want to find a home? or has he found it?

even years later, her mind still wanders to the boy who sharpened her edges to show her the most blinding of colors. something blinding in a gradient of darkness, does he pull others into him like he did for her?

is he a star to guide her or a blackhole waiting to devour her?

---

when she kisses ju ri, she wants to see another dazzling color.

she’s disappointed and leaves.

(it’s what she’s good at, after all. leaving just when the relationship was going to inevitably end; it’s called self-preservation, she has to save herself first before the momentum becomes too much and crashes)

luck of the draw only draws the unlucky

3. 

her college boyfriend thinks he’s won. she’s amongst the prettiest women on campus and she knows it: she’s his prize. among the many toys he takes, she’s his one and only trophy. all golden and gilded and glittery surface, hollow and black inside. he plays with her like a toddler with a precious toy; careless and sometimes it hurts. 

but she’s used to falling and bumping and bending. trophies don’t break anyway, he can’t break her because he can’t fix her. or replace her.

all bark and bite, that’s how he likes her. says it makes the sex more fun, and she wants to jeer in his face. her contrarian nature is good for him as long as he wants to roleplay, and beyond it, she’s just a bitch.

(of course she knows of the things he says of her behind her back to his friends. he’s an average steady fuck, so she doesn’t want to quite let go yet.)

when she kisses him, she likes to pretend he’s that boy standing at her gates with a flower. she admires the great bit of courage that boy had picked up to come to her haunted house of a home in all his childish innocence and fears. oppa isn’t brave like him. no, like all good women before she had to bait him and reel him in.

college dating teaches many a great deal about fishing. she would be a pro at it, if she could tolerate amputating and gutting that worm (it feels too alive and her breath catches in anxiety). it’s taught her patience (she barely has some; waiting is for the strong and brave of heart, and she’s far too cowardly to face daunting time).

she doesn’t want to. she tries not to. but inevitably, unfortunately, she tires of oppa sooner than he tires of her. it’s easier to let men leave her, and pretend as if they’ve walked away with breaking her heart (it does things for their ego, and later at night, when they sleep with another, the guilt makes for excellent sex). 

she could scoff. none of her suitors have broken her heart---they’d have to own it in the first place. you can’t break what’s not your own. 

she walks away from the flames and burning embers, as oppa rapidly tries to fan them in vain. she’s not coming back.

it’s a shame she really did like him.

---

she kisses him once again at a party before he graduates. it’s just before he gets piss drunk, and a test for her to see whether any of the remnants of feelings remain.

her heart feels as heavy as steel and yet she’s hollow through and through. within her, her heart is as dense as it is empty, something paradox.

there are so many lines i’ve crossed unforgiven

4. becoming a children’s fiction writer, it’s something she couldn’t even have fathomed in her dreams. she doesn’t think her fiction is for children, even now. it’s based off her own childhood for starters, and that’s appropriate for no child ever. perhaps it is the fantastical elements, the downright grimm-brothers-and-hans-christian-anderson tale that has been her life. like attracts the like, and she’s always thought of life as something a little mystical, unreal even.

something like a long dream she longs to wake up from. 

if everyone that was in her life could see her now. they’d laugh. ko mun yeong? a children’s book author? you must be joking. she hates children.

they’d be right too. she hates children---freud says daughters are a reflection of mother. she’d always thought that lunatic had some truth to his words despite his delusional works most of the times. she is her mother, and all she remembers from that woman is coldness and detachment and her child-like nature to constantly want to please the unhappy, un-pleasable woman. 

(if children got close to her, maybe they’d realize the same and she’d break them. she keeps away for them and herself).

---

she thinks of that boy at her gates. was he as naive and innocent as her? as the other children? would she have broken him then or now?

she’d hate herself more than she does now, more than she can fathom if she had broken him. she’s fine with everyone in the world hating her, but that small part of her traitorous ten-year-old heart still doesn’t want him to ever hate her. not with how much she likes him. still.

---

“was the witch lonely?” a little girl asks her once. her newest book is out, something about the tale of a witch who gobbled children up who came to her door. a little boy spots her eating a child once, her favorite little boy, and he stops at her gates before running away.

the witch never sees him again.

she blinks, and little pinpricks of tears are at the back of her eyes. she wills them not to fall because she’s helen and if she cries, troy will fall. she’s self-sacrificing.

“no, she was bad. a bad bad person. bad people don’t get lonely. they get their come-uppance and have to live with the guilt of their actions, the weight of it, and the people that leave them.” 

she answers it all in one short breath, before smiling and walking away.

---

“people aren’t always bad. they can change.”

not her.

clearing the air, i breathed the smoke

5.

her life has been on auto-pilot. after a certain level of fame, it all started getting a bit too monotonous for her. when the only constant in your life, your only friend is your goddamn publisher, you know it’s getting a little sad. 

she has more than she knows how to spend, and this job is more of a hobby, playing adult, than doing something for actual money. 

life’s too boring, and she aches for just something different. it’s times like this when she thinks of the boy. how unexpectedly delightful he was. a breath of fresh wind in her cooped-up house, something new, something unexpected.

maybe she just misses him. after all, it’s been twenty years now since she saw him last.

the boy...if she could have one wish, one last wish and demand and plea in her life, she’d like to him see him again maybe.

get entranced. transfixed. enchanted again.

(maybe this what people call burnout? boredom? is this what weber meant when he talked about the bureaucracy and disenchantment with life?)

---

sang in suggests she do charity, philantrophy. some of that corporate csr bullshit she’s not on, but he clearly babbles about day and night.

something about building her image.

as if good deeds now will redeem her and save her now. she’s far too gone to be recovered. it’s the gates of hell for her only.

it’s golden like daylight

and once,

1. spring brings back her love to her. they say love is like the tide of the four seasons, it fades in the cold of winter, but as the warmth of spring blooms in, love returns. 

she’s had a very long winter.

twenty some odd years, and the hazy bright golden sun and the pink cherry blossoms around her in a beautiful lovely spring of romance feels dizzying.

that gust of cold northern winds she’d felt from the boy’s arrival years ago, once again bursts in her chest. oxygen fills her lungs, and perhaps she just hasn’t breathed before as well as she does now. greedy little breaths of cold air, and she doesn’t want to return to that recycled, stuffy air.

they say three times is fate.

once, the first. she sees him in spring, walking up to her. pink petals around them. she drops cigarette ash in his cup.

twice, next. she raises a knife, a hand. he catches it, and it, his grasp, his fist tightens. blood flowing. red, red, red. the pink darkens.

it falls onto her hands, her sinner hands, her tight fists. and the mongolian blue mark stains red. (she’s always marked by violence.)

thrice. it’s fate. she’s almost in love. a little bit more and she’ll be there. heart palpitations, sweaty palms, flushed cheeks, and her aching wet cunt. what is love without lust? she hasn’t felt like this before.

(if the boy was here, she’d think he would be just like moon gang tae. moon gang tae. moon gang tae. even the taste of his name on her mouth tastes heady. she feels light-headed and drunk off just this. would she die at the taste of him then?)

they meet in seongjin city. and she knows it’s her boy. that boy. the boy that remains at the gates of her house and her heart. 

---

later, months later. when she finally kisses him, she can taste the freezing north wind boreas in her mouth.

it’s burning like the heat of the golden sun.

[seitmai]

He just gives you a knowing look, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “Well, you know I think you look gorgeous in pretty much everything. Including that particular shade of green.”

That's what I like to hear 😌

You’ve been enjoying this something with them over the last few months. The three of you fell into everything so easily, but it wasn’t something you’d put a label on yet. You’ve always been the type of woman who likes having all the answers, but with them- with this- for the first time in your life you were ok with not having them.

Fuck a label

You’d turned your phone off the moment you’d gotten in your car, wanting some time to yourself, not in any kind of mood now to be around other people. The only thing you could think of had been getting home so that you could simmer in peace.

Sometimes you just need moment like that

You didn’t want to talk. You didn’t want to think. And you really didn’t want to deal with your feelings.

Mood lmao

They’ve always teased you about it, with all of the soft pinks and creamy neutrals, and how it looks too sweet, too pure for a woman who enjoys taking two cocks as much as you do. But you’d seen the gleam in their eyes and the gears turning in their heads when they’d help you set up your pretty white wrought iron bedframe; it was the one thing they’d never commented on, especially since you were more than happy letting them tie you up to it.

🤭🤭🤭

Jake tsks, flashing you his dimples. “But I’m having fun watching his mouth instead,” he says, nodding his head towards Bradley. “Speaking of, you got a little something on your chin there, Bradshaw.” “That’s because arguing gets her wet.”

I just 😮‍💨🥵, no words

Hangman tugs you up just enough for him to maneuver himself behind you and cradles you back against his chest, his arms winding themselves around your waist. As Bradley rests his chin on top of your thigh, his thumb making soothing circles on the swell of your hip, “We’re not what, baby?” And you’re not sure you’ve ever heard his raspy voice so soft before.  It wasn’t a secret those closest to you all there was something going on between the three of you. After all, Bradley was affectionate and Jake was objectively the least subtle man on the planet.

Urgh, such a cute and simple moment between them

“Is that what this is all about?” Rooster’s eyes are intense as he looks at you. “Just because we’ve been keeping things casual doesn’t mean this thing between all of us isn’t the real deal. I’m not seeing or sleeping with anyone else. And I don’t want to.” “I’m not either,” Hangman adds, running his hands along your sides. “I’ve got my hands more than full with you and I like it that way.”

I can work with that 😌🤭

A surprised laugh almost slips out of you at the mental image of them hashing out their feelings during the commercials between some game on TV, but he’s looking at you so thoughtfully that you know he’s being entirely serious.

Hilarious but I have to wonder when and how that talk really went 🤔

Jake tangles the fingers of your right hands together. “The way I see it is that even when you’re not with me, I know you’re with someone I know and trust, who cares about you just as much as I do. Someone who’s going to look out for you the same way that I would.”

🥹🥹🥹

“You’re the one calling the shots here. You’re in charge and always have been ever since that first time in Pensacola,” Rooster reminds you. “We’re both here because we don’t want anyone else. This doesn’t need to be complicated. Whether you’re with him or with me or we’re all together. It’s already working just fine when you aren’t going ghost on us and ditching us without saying a word.”

“We’re good. This is good,” Jake promises, leaning his forehead against your temple. You feel like your heart might burst from the sheer affection you have for the two of them.

Urgh for real🥰

“So I was the only one overthinking things?” “You sure were,” Hangman agrees, “You and that big brain of yours.” He trails open-mouth kisses up your neck. “Now have you straightened out your shit or are we going to have to do it for you?” he asks into the shell of your ear. You can feel the grin he’s wearing, and you’re positive if you turned to look at him you’d see those dimples of his.

I'm gonna melt 🫠🥰🤭

“That’s our girl.” Jake tips your head back, lips a whisper away from yours and desire reflected in his green eyes. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to kiss me until he makes you come. And then I’m going to fuck the attitude out of you while you apologize to Rooster for being so mouthy. We’re gonna remind you what it’s like to have two aviators wrapped around your little finger. Sound good?”

Sounds very, very good 🤤

I absolutely loved this story!

Call My Bluff

Summary: Rooster and Hangman have always attracted attention wherever they went, only now you're starting to have a hard time ignoring it. You weren't jealous, you couldn't be. After all, they're yours- at least for now.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader x Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin

Length: 5.8k

Warnings: smut and a dash of angst (mdni)

(author's note: this fic is set in the Up the Ante universe, however it can be read on it's own!)

You knew you were staring- casually observing, one could argue- but it was hard to pull your gaze away from Jake at the bar.

He had gone to get another round of drinks for everyone more than ten minutes ago. It was a busy night at the Hard Deck, but not that busy. It really shouldn’t have surprised you though to realize why he was held up, especially with the way his tight white t-shirt was offsetting his end of summer tan. He’s always been too damn charming for his own good, especially when it was paired with that deep rooted sense of southern hospitality.

It wasn’t a rare occurrence to see Hangman getting hit on by another woman. However, it was the second time that night he’d been approached by the same woman with all too interested eyes and an enticing smile.

“If I didn’t know better,” Rooster says, sliding up to you and squeezing your hip, “I’d say you’d look like you were jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” It comes out a bit too short to be believable.

He just gives you a knowing look, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “Well, you know I think you look gorgeous in pretty much everything. Including that particular shade of green.”

You let out an annoyed huff and take distracted sip of the remnants of your drink, which was now mostly melted ice cubes with an essence of gin.

Bradley just chuckles lightly and takes a quick glance around the room before pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head.

“I’m sure I could think of a couple ways to distract you," he offers.

You’ve been enjoying this something with them over the last few months. The three of you fell into everything so easily, but it wasn’t something you’d put a label on yet. You’ve always been the type of woman who likes having all the answers, but with them- with this- for the first time in your life you were ok with not having them.

There were electrifying nights the three of you spent together. And there were peaceful nights you spent home alone. There were times it was just you and Rooster and other times when it was just Hangman and you. There was time spent in beds and out of them. There were sunny days spent on the beach. There were hours spent taking road trips and exploring your new state. There were nice dinners out and quiet nights in. There were reservations made for two and there were tickets bought for three.

It was a new dynamic for you, and something you’d never could have expected. And you’ve been happy.

Really, really happy.

But over the last couple of weeks, it’s been hard ignoring the voice in the back of your head that has been filling your brain with all the what-ifs.

What if this isn’t working for them the way it was working for you.

What if this causal arrangement you have with them isn’t enough.

Or worse, what if you’re being selfish with them.

As you watch Hangman with that smooth smile on his face- but without a trace of those dimples you know so well- as he talks to the pretty girl near his elbow, you can’t help but wonder if this something – with him, with them- comes with an expiration date.

The room feels too small with the crowd of people- with their loud chatter and booming bursts of laughter- and all the too big thoughts swirling around in your head. Everything feels like too much, from the rings of ceramic mugs on the ceiling to the string lights and model planes around the bar to the patches covered walls.

“I’ll be right back,” you murmur, stepping out of Bradley’s grasp.

He hums, letting you know he’d heard you, giving you your space before drifting over to the pool table where the rest of the Daggers are gathered around.

And then you walk straight out the front door and leave.

You’ve been home for less than an hour when you hear a set of car doors shut with a heavy thud outside of your house. And there’s no question in your mind about who it could be.

The two quick, sharp raps on your front door only a few moments later confirm what you already knew.

You’d turned your phone off the moment you’d gotten in your car, wanting some time to yourself, not in any kind of mood now to be around other people. The only thing you could think of had been getting home so that you could simmer in peace. You had just wanted to get your head back on right without feeling like the walls were pressing in on you.

You open the door to see Rooster standing there looking pissed. His big arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight, and lips pressed firmly together in a flat line. Jake is just a step behind him, leaning against the porch post with his poker face already in place, a pretty picture of nonchalance.

“We tried calling,” Bradley rasps, the words clipped and short. You can tell he’s trying to keep his temper in check, but there was no missing the storm cloud behind his eyes.

You blink at him and drum your nails on the side of the door, giving him a flippant shrug. And Jake lets out a low disapproving whistle that grates on your already ragged nerves.

Rooster lifts an eyebrow at you like really. He’s always been the more hot headed one of the two of them. You know this cold shoulder act of yours is pushing his buttons, and you’re surprised he hasn’t called you out on it yet.

Not that you’d probably answer him anyways.

The last thing you want to do is talk.

It was why you left in the first place.

You didn’t want to talk. You didn’t want to think. And you really didn’t want to deal with your feelings.

Sex was easy. Sex was fun. Sex wasn’t complicated.

Everything else is exactly what you’d been trying to get away from, and instead all you’d done was have it delivered directly to your doorstep.

“I don’t remember inviting either one of you over,” you state, coolly, doing your best to feign indifference.

Rooster’s mouth drops opens, but Hangman is quicker on the draw. “And yet, here we are,” he says, stating the obvious, then mirroring the same brazen shrug you’d given the glowering man in front of you. “Guess the question is, are you going to let us in?”

You know without a doubt that if you said no they’d respect your decision and walk themselves right back to Jake’s truck and out of your drive away. You could have your space to simmer, just like you’d wanted.

What you’d thought you wanted.

…

Or.

Or maybe you just needed to remind yourself what exactly this is. Since there’s not much room to think when you’re too busy coming.

You drag your gaze from Bradley’s smoldering whiskey brown eyes to Jake’s all too observant sea green ones, before spinning away from them to saunter down the hallway towards your bedroom.

Knowing you still have the full weight of their twin stares on you, you reach for the hem of the oversized shirt from your college days that you’d thrown on the second you’d arrive home and tug it up and off, dropping it on the floor right before you turn the corner and out of their view.

There are a few noises you’re able to pick out in the too quiet of your house over your thundering heartbeat as you flick on the switch to the lamp in the corner of your room. The click of the front door being shut and the deadbolt turned into place. The sound of their sturdy soled shoes being toed off at the entry. The low baritone of Hangman’s murmured drawl, although the words that are spoken are too soft for you to make out.

And then the one you’d been anticipating the most, their weighty footsteps coming down the hallway to your bedroom. They’ve always teased you about it, with all of the soft pinks and creamy neutrals, and how it looks too sweet, too pure for a woman who enjoys taking two cocks as much as you do. But you’d seen the gleam in their eyes and the gears turning in their heads when they’d help you set up your pretty white wrought iron bedframe; it was the one thing they’d never commented on, especially since you were more than happy letting them tie you up to it.

You’ve just shimmied out of your panties- still bent at the waist- when you hear Bradley groan behind you. You linger there a moment longer than you need to, making sure he gets a good look at you like this. From reflection in the mirror that’s hung on your wall, you can see that the irritation is still rolling off of him in waves, but so is the heat of his want as he watches you stand back up with greedy, appreciative eyes.

Turning back towards him you let him take his fill of your naked body, one hip temptingly tipped to the side, daring him to be the one first to make a move.

Rooster slowly drags his heated gaze over you before he pulls his t-shirt over his head in that one-handed way that men do before pitching it off to the side. His broad chest is already starting to turn your favorite shade of flushed pink.

“How can a girl as pretty as you be so goddamn frustrating?” he mutters as he flicks open the button of his tight jeans. Only unzipping them enough to release some of the pressure off his visibly hard cock in a way that shows you just how turned on he is.

You feel high off of your own self-satisfaction as it twists and swirls in your chest.

“I think she just likes keeping us on our toes,” Hangman drawls, entering the room. A slight look of amusement coasts over his handsome face as he looks from you to Rooster. Clearly content to wait for the two of you to work whatever’s going on out of your systems.

You skim your fingers up your body and cup your breast in your hand. “What? You don’t think you can keep up, Rooster?” you challenge. He tips his head back up towards the ceiling and forces out a breath through pursed lips. And you’re tempted to see just how far you can push him.

“Oh, darlin’,” Jake chuckles, shaking his head, “You’re determined to trouble tonight, aren’t you?”

“And if I am?” you taunt, rolling your nipple between your fingers. Two sets of eyes hone in on the motion, but no one makes a move. “But if you both are just going to stand there, I’ve got a vibrator that works just as well- if not better.”

You’re trying to goad them. You know it and they know it.

Rooster struts up to you, grabbing a handful of your ass and hauls you against him. He’s thick and firm against your stomach. “If you’re going to act like a brat, then I’m going to treat you like a brat, baby,” he murmurs into the hinge of your jaw, “Now, get on the bed.” He punctuates the order with a swift, firm flat-handed slap.

And for the first time since you’d left the bar, you grin. Feeling entirely too pleased with yourself, even with the lingering sting of his handiwork.

This. This is what you want.

You want demanding fingers and the scrape of teeth on your skin. You want messy mouths and generous tongues.  You want fast and hard and filthy and rough. You want to hear their heavy breaths and moans and curses. You want to give and to take, only for them to reward you with more.

You want as much of them as you can have, for as long as you can have them.

Bradley basically herds you to the bed while Jake watches on with a smirk, not that you needed much convincing anyways. The second you’re stretched across it, Bradley is on top of you wedging himself and those wide shoulders of his between your thighs.

There’s no build up, no gentle lead in. Rooster’s mouth is set on ruination.

He’s had you enough times that he knows exactly how to flick and circle and lave over you in a way that will end with white noise in your ears and starbursts behind your eyelids. His tongue is unrelenting on your clit, showing you no mercy as you start to quake under his touch.

It’s dizzying how fast he’s gotten you so spun up. Your breaths are coming out ragged and uneven as your fingers dig into the fabric of your gauzy duvet. And every time you whimper, he rewards you with a groan that only ripples up and throughout your keyed up body.

You’re right there, so so close to unraveling.

And then he pulls his mouth off of you, “Why’d you leave?”

A shocked gasp escapes you. At the timing of the question and the way he bites the fleshy part at the crease of your thigh.

“Bradley.” You keen as he sucks the very same spot, like he wants to mark you as his own.

“C’mon now, Bradshaw,” Jake tuts, from where he’s leaning against the door jamb, “Our girl was so close.” His ankles casually cross over each other, looking right at home as he watches you get eaten out by another man.

Rooster scoffs. “She can come as much as she wants, after she answers the damn question.” He brings the hand that had been gripping your hip over the center of you. “How about this,” he says, sinking a single thick finger into you, “Consider this a show of good faith.”

And then he has the audacity to send you a smirk.

“Fuck you, Rooster,” you huff, tilting into his touch. Bradley just hums and rolls his eyes, because he knows you well enough to tell when you actually mean it and when you don’t.

“You could be,” he reminds you. Then crooks his finger just enough to show you how devastatingly good it could be if he wasn’t set on edging an answer out of you.

You roll your hips trying to take more. To get him to give more. Anything to get you to that heady place again, where the only thing keeping you grounded in the moment is their bodies against yours.

“That’s it, sweetheart, keep riding his fingers.” Hangman’s hot gaze roams all over you as he crosses the room to sit down on the bed next to you. He reaches out and runs a big hand down your sternum, you arch into it offering more of yourself up to his touch. You know he’s feeling every jump of the muscles in your stomach under his heavy hand as he rests it in the soft space under your bellybutton.

You suck in a breath when Bradley teases you with a second finger. He only allows you one heartbeat of hope before he denies you that more, more, more you’re desperate for.

But he wasn’t the only one in the room capable of giving you exactly what you wanted.

“Jake, come on, fuck me.” You look up at him from under your lashes, hoping he’ll be the one to cave first.

“You’re a regular poet laurate, aren’t you,” Jake states, shaking his head at you.

You shoot him a glare. “I’ll write you a haiku later, just make me come.”

You feel a puff of air over your cunt from Rooster’s amused chuckle. It causes you to clench around his finger, but it’s not enough to get you there.

You try to reach for Hangman’s cock, still confined in the snug jeans he was wearing. He doesn’t even give you the chance to undo the top button before he catches your hand in his. “Nuh-uh, greedy girl, none of that.” Hangman presses the palm of your hand over his length, showing exactly what you’re being denied. “Not sure you’ve earned this, not after your disappearing act.”

“Not you too,” you pant. Weren’t sure if it was the weight on your chest or the sheer want of them that was making it hard for you to get a proper breath.

“Yes, me too. I don’t think you realize just how much you worried the old man,” Jake drawls, “You know that can’t be good for his heart.”

The old man between your trembling thighs takes the opportunity to rub his mustache over your needy clit, the friction of it almost makes you jump out of your too tight skin. And for an all too brief moment your mind blanks as need ricochets throughout your body, the only thing you can think of is how desperate you are to come.

Jake collects your other wrist in his warm hand and brings them up above your head. He leans over you, with your faces only a few inches apart you can smell the peppermint of his favorite mints on his breath.

“Leave them up there for me,” he murmurs. It’s a command that’s dressed up like a request.

He pauses a moment and searches your eyes, asking you a silent question with the resolved dip of his chin. You answer by curling your fingers into the edge of your mattress, it’s your first concession of the evening. The only one you’re planning on making.

Jake gives them a quick squeeze before he lets go, “Good girl.” His southern accent is smoother and richer than honey against your ear, it makes your toes curl in response.

“Oh, now you want to behave,” Bradley grumbles into your inner thigh, his slightly chapped lips scraping against your oversensitive skin. “Don’t forget, I’m still waiting for an answer, baby.”

His fingertip on your clit isn’t teasing anymore, now it feels like a taunt.

“Next question.” You dig your heel into his shoulder blade, urging him for more, but he doesn’t budge an inch.

Neither one of you are ready to fold.

You can feel the sweat starting to collect behind your knees where they’re resting over the overheated skin of Bradley’s shoulders as he alternates between slow, shallow thrusts and a featherlight touch of his calloused fingertip against your clit. Every now and then- if he’s feeling generous- he’ll treat you to his tongue, dipping out to taste and tease you.

Rooster takes his time in that thorough way of his to get your legs quivering and quaking. He keeps you teetering there, perfectly and precisely balanced on the edge. Not enough to get you off, but just enough to keep a steady flow of wetness dripping out of you. You don’t need to see his hand to know you’re making a mess out of him. Out of yourself. And probably out of your duvet.

Your body feels like a house of cards, just one breath away from toppling over. gust

“Jesus,” Jake says, his voice husky and rough, “I won’t ever get tired of seeing you like this.” His eyes feasting on your body that’s displayed just for their hungry gaze.

But he might, that voice in your head taunts you. They might.

You press your forehead into his denim covered thigh, it’s all too much and not enough all at once.

This wasn’t what you’d imagined when you’d invited them inside. You’d envisioned hand mussed hair and skin-on-skin and their flushed, satisfied faces. And so far, you were still the only one naked.

“You’re not… This isn’t…” Your fingers flex as your arms strain with the effort to keep them where they are raised above your head. “Why are you still dressed?” you hotly demand, not ready to forfeit this one-sided fight.

“I’m just here for the free show.” Hangman circles his finger lazily around your bellybutton. “You’ve been so determined to be so tight-lipped all night, but that pretty pussy of yours is sure making a lot of noise for a woman who hasn’t even been properly fucked yet.”

You’re hit with the realization that he’s giving you a taste of what you’d been dishing out since the moment they’d arrived, always one to give as good as he gets. It was just as hot as it was infuriating. Because that’s the thing about knowing how to push someone’s buttons was that they knew exactly how to push yours in return.

“You better watch your mout-ah.” You might have sounded almost convincing if Rooster hadn’t pumped three thick fingers into you suddenly, stretching and spreading you around them. You gasp and arch off the bed at the sensation. It’s the most he’s given you all night.

Jake tsks, flashing you his dimples. “But I’m having fun watching his mouth instead,” he says, nodding his head towards Bradley. “Speaking of, you got a little something on your chin there, Bradshaw.”

“That’s because arguing gets her wet.”

You can’t even deny it because the evidence is right there for them both to hear in the slick sound of him thrusting his fingers back into you. You press your head into the bed and try to arch your hips, but Jake’s firm hand pushes them back down, making you whine.

“Rooster, please, I just want to come.” And if it sounds like begging, it’s because you are now.

“And you know what I want, so it seems we’re at a stalemate.” You try to hitch your right leg open further, but Bradley hooks his arm around your thigh and pulls it back in, keeping you in place. “Baby, I’ve got all the time in the world. I’m a patient man. For as much fun as I’m having here trying to get an answer out of you, I’d much rather be coaxing orgasms from you instead.”

The frustration swells and crests inside of you. You’re tired of being toyed with when all you’d wanted was to not have to think for a while.

“Bradley, you can’t seriously expect me to want to have a damn heart-to-heart when your fingers are literally inside of me,” you fume.

“Ok, then.” He pins you with a pointed look and withdraws them, finally calling your bluff. “Can you please tell us what the hell is going on now?”

Jake tips your chin up to look at him, the congeniality replaced on his face with seriousness. “As much as I try to avoid agreeing with him, I think you owe us an explanation for why you left without saying a single word to either one of us, darlin’.”

“I didn’t realize I answered to you,” you say, haughtily. Not proud of yourself for getting short with them when they don’t deserve the heat of your irritation.  

His eyebrows pull together in confusion. “Hey now, you know it’s not like that.”

“What’s it like then, Jake? It’s not like you’re-” you cut yourself off, pressing your lips tightly together.

Of course he doesn’t let it slide. “We’re not what?”

Him and Rooster exchange a look over the top of you when you don’t elaborate further, some unspoken understanding passing between them. The mood between the three of you shifting immediately.

Hangman tugs you up just enough for him to maneuver himself behind you and cradles you back against his chest, his arms winding themselves around your waist. As Bradley rests his chin on top of your thigh, his thumb making soothing circles on the swell of your hip, “We’re not what, baby?” And you’re not sure you’ve ever heard his raspy voice so soft before.  

The silence stretches as you war with yourself. They know you well enough to know you need a moment. You’d made a career for yourself knowing the right words- the strategic kind- but when it came to communicating your feelings, you’d always found it so much harder to string them together.

This is the exact conversation you’d been trying so hard to run from, but you didn’t want to play games with them anymore.

Sharing your emotions makes you feel a thousand times more vulnerable than being naked in front of them ever has. With them you feel sexy and powerful and wanted, especially when you’re pressed between them like you are now. It’s a different kind of intimacy entirely letting them see the confusing mess of what’s going on inside your mind.

“Does this have anything to do with Rooster teasing you about being jealous earlier tonight?” Hangman asks, lifting an eyebrow. “Because you should know by now that I only have eyes for one girl.”

And there it is- bullseye. 

Your gaze slides over to Bradley, “You told him about that?” He shrugs a broad shoulder, which jostles the thigh that’s still draped over it.

“He was concerned when we realized you weren’t at the Hard Deck anymore, we both were.” Jake cups your cheek and turns your face back to him, encouraging you to rest your head on his shoulder.  “I asked him to fill me in on what I’d missed, because I thought we were having a good night up until I came back from the bar to learn you weren’t anywhere to be found and not answering your phone.”

The wave of guilt that washes over you makes your stomach churn uncomfortably. You’d been so inside your own head that you hadn’t taken even a moment to think about how they’d feel about your impulsive retreat. At the very least, you should have sent a text before turning off your phone.

You chew on your lower lip for a moment, before speaking, your voice quiet and tentative, “You can’t be jealous when you don’t have any real claim to someone.”

It’s not like you can be frustrated at anyone other than yourself. You were the one who wanted to try and keep things discreet. Casual. Because of your job and theirs. People talked enough on their own without you wanting to give them any more fuel to add to the smoking embers.

The rumors of your favorite aviators’ hook up had followed them for years since that first time it happened in Florida, just not many people knew that it had been you from the very start. You’d all kept in touch, but infrequent nights spent tangled in sheets before returning back to your real life was different than all of you being stationed together for the foreseeable future.

The ambiguity of what you all were to each other had chafed at you tonight in a way it never has before. It wasn’t something that you’d all talked about together before. After seeing the interest on the other woman’s face, you couldn’t deny that her and Jake had looked good together. But what you’d been most struck by was just how content and at ease he looked leaning there with an elbow at the bar.

It wasn’t a secret those closest to you all there was something going on between the three of you. After all, Bradley was affectionate and Jake was objectively the least subtle man on the planet. It wasn’t something you were hiding; it just wasn’t something you were actively trying to broadcast to all of NAS North Island.

But for the most part, they’d been following your lead since they knew you liked to keep your cards close to your chest. And while you liked to consider yourself an enigma, they were both looking at you right now like you were a book that only they were fluent in reading.

“‘Real claim’,” Jake repeats back to you, slowly. Like he’s not believing what he’s hearing. “Oh darlin’, where’d you get that idea?”

“Is that what this is all about?” Rooster’s eyes are intense as he looks at you. “Just because we’ve been keeping things casual doesn’t mean this thing between all of us isn’t the real deal. I’m not seeing or sleeping with anyone else. And I don’t want to.”

“I’m not either,” Hangman adds, running his hands along your sides. “I’ve got my hands more than full with you and I like it that way.”

You knew that they weren’t and they knew you weren’t too. Sex has always been the easier thing to talk about. That particular discussion had ended with the mix of their cum dripping out of you and too many orgasms to count.

But what happened if having fun turned into wanting more. You didn’t know how long they’d be fine with this dynamic, with splitting time and attention.

You look from one to the other. From green to brown. “And you’re both truly fine with sharing? I need you to be really honest with me.”

Bradley tilts his head at you, and asks, “You don’t think we’ve talked about this before?”

A surprised laugh almost slips out of you at the mental image of them hashing out their feelings during the commercials between some game on TV, but he’s looking at you so thoughtfully that you know he’s being entirely serious. The fact that this was something they’d already discussed between themselves on their own was news to you, especially considering you felt like you could barely get the words out yourself.

“I had no idea,” you admit, not sure whether to feel sheepish or not.

Jake tangles the fingers of your right hands together. “The way I see it is that even when you’re not with me, I know you’re with someone I know and trust, who cares about you just as much as I do. Someone who’s going to look out for you the same way that I would.”

You almost expect him to tack on a joke at Rooster’s expense at the end, a bit of banter or something to liven the mood, but he doesn’t. And the weight of his words sinks into you.

“And when we’re together? When it’s the three of us?” You reach out with your other hand to run your thumb along Bradley’s jaw, needing to touch him too.

“You know us pilots, we’re a competitive bunch. But we also work as well on our own as we do as a team.” Bradley explains, running his hands along the outside of your legs. “And what we do here together with you, it just feels like an extension of how we are up there.” Jake squeezes your hand in agreement.

“But how is this going to work? It’s already complicated enough when there are only two people in the equation.”

“You’re the one calling the shots here. You’re in charge and always have been ever since that first time in Pensacola,” Rooster reminds you. “We’re both here because we don’t want anyone else. This doesn’t need to be complicated. Whether you’re with him or with me or we’re all together. It’s already working just fine when you aren’t going ghost on us and ditching us without saying a word.”

You know you’re going to have to make it up to him. For as confident and sure of himself as Bradley Bradshaw is, you know the spots where he’s tender and tonight you were careless with them. You’re just grateful he’s going to give you the chance to make things right by him.

“We’re good. This is good,” Jake promises, leaning his forehead against your temple.

You feel like your heart might burst from the sheer affection you have for the two of them.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” you say, apologetically.

Hangman’s lips skim your cheek. “It’s water under the bridge, darlin’. But if you need space, tell us. Don’t just cut us off like that, ok?” You nod in agreement. “So what do you need from us? Do you want to call us your boyfriends?”

“I think I just…” You pause to mull over your words. They already were in all the ways that mattered, you just weren’t sure whether you were ready to define it entirely. At least not yet. “I think I just need to know that you’re happy. Just like this. With how we’ve been doing things.”

“Baby.” Bradley croons. So sweetly, so indulgently. And you get the first real smile you’ve seen from him since he arrived on your doorstep. It’s your turn to smile when he drops a kiss to the top of your thigh. “Are you happy?”

The answer is easy.

“Yes.”

He looks over at Jake. “And are you?”

Jake has his chin propped up on your shoulder. “I’m happy,” he confirms, kissing the spot behind your ear that always makes you shiver deliciously.

“And I definitely don’t have anything to complain about.” Rooster says, gesturing to his spot between your legs. You lightly tug on his hair and he laughs. “Yes, sweetheart, I’m happy too.” He reaches for your hand and presses a kiss to the back of it.

“So I was the only one overthinking things?”

“You sure were,” Hangman agrees, “You and that big brain of yours.” He trails open-mouth kisses up your neck. “Now have you straightened out your shit or are we going to have to do it for you?” he asks into the shell of your ear. You can feel the grin he’s wearing, and you’re positive if you turned to look at him you’d see those dimples of his.

“No promises,” you sing.

Because where’s the fun in that?

“There she is,” Bradley murmurs, honeyed and soft. A sigh escapes you when you feel his tongue along the inside of your thigh, even as your heart starts to race.

“That’s our girl.” Jake tips your head back, lips a whisper away from yours and desire reflected in his green eyes. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to kiss me until he makes you come. And then I’m going to fuck the attitude out of you while you apologize to Rooster for being so mouthy. We’re gonna remind you what it’s like to have two aviators wrapped around your little finger. Sound good?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply as he slips his tongue into your mouth at the same time Bradley licks into you. And you know this time you won’t have to beg for an orgasm, you’ll probably have to beg them to stop serving you them.

You feel yourself melt into them. The tension you’d been carrying since even before the bar fades with every one of their touches. Happy and content in knowing that they’re yours just as much as you are theirs.

And true to his word, you’re kissed through an orgasm. And another. And another.

That night, there are two mouths that never leave your body once.

Two sets of hands that are just as capable of keeping you grounded as they are giving you pleasure.

Two warm, strong bodies that give and take then hold you throughout the night.

Two men who- one day very soon - might possibly share your whole heart.

Many thanks to the person who sent me this ask! I had fun writing this one! Thank you for reading!

Many thanks to Jordan ( @gretagerwigsmuse ) as always!

If you want more of them, here is the fic that started it all!

You can read more of my stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken  @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Azul, Rook, Idia, Riddle playing with S/O in snow headcanons if youcan please!! tyvm Raven!

Curiouser and Curiouser...

The cold doesn’t bother Azul (he’s dealt with worse in the chilly waters of the Coral Sea), but he’s reluctant to do anything that requires exerting a lot of stamina. It won’t be long before he’s wheezing and and pink-faced, and needs to stop to catch his breath. Because of this, he insists on slower paced activities with more emphasis on planning than vigorous movements.

After some back and forth, you come to a mutual agreement: you’ll pick one activity, and Azul will pick another. He’ll do his best to honor his end of the bargain with you, but it won’t be without some grumbling, depending on what your choice is. Azul doesn’t very much enjoy being pelted with snowballs or having blistering wind chills tearing at his face as he sleds down a steep hill—but he’ll grit his teeth and endure it for you.

His glasses fog up terribly in the winter weather! He has to take them off and wipe them on his coat or on his scarf every so often just to keep his vision clear. It’s one of the few moments when you can glimpse him without his glasses (though he’s quick to replace them and smugly ask if you ‘see something on his face’).

When it’s his turn to choose something to do, Azul takes the reins of command and announces his plans to build a snow sculpture. He starts by etching a large circle on the ground and, as a stickler for interior design, mumbles to himself about potential furniture. Block by block, you and Azul carefully construct a spacious igloo, complete with little snow stools and a low, flat mound resembling a coffee table.

Once your new shelter is complete, of course you’ve got to crawl inside to test it out! It’s a little cramped and dark, but the igloo is surprisingly warm and cozy, especially squished so closely with Azul. (Is this what it’s like in his octopot? you wonder.) “For what it is, it’s adequate,” he remarks with a vague blush, “... but it’s certainly not what I had in mind for the home we’d one day share. When the time comes, I ensure you that it will be nicer than an igloo.”

Rook’s ecstatic to join you for a day of fun in the snow. So ecstatic, in fact, that he skips ringing your doorbell or knocking the door (you know, like any rational person would) and instead heads to right below your window. Forming a snowball in his hands, he chucks it at the glass panes to grab your attention—and shoots a smile, and a morning greeting, from below.

He’s open to any and all winter time activities! Rook’s not that picky; he’ll happily follow along with whatever you’re in the mood to do. If you happen to choose something competitive (say, a snow all fight), he’s good about restraining his physical prowess to allow you a reasonable chance of defeating him. (... Though if you accuse him of “taking it easy” on you, he’ll throw his hands up and deny it, instead attributing his loss to your skillful play.)

His artistic abilities can be put on full display, with snow as his medium! While you work on making a standard snowman (even if its head is more narrow than round), Rook whips up fantastical sculptures with his bare hands—a deer family and a cheeky rabbit, a boy playing with a bear, a llama (eating... spinach puffs?), and finally, a pair of strikingly familiar people, happily embracing one another.

Rook shows you how to identify animals by their tracks! Together, you crouch low to the ground and exchange hushed whispers over the shapes in the snow, sometimes coming across dens in a forest of barren trees. He warns you not to disturb the hibernating animals—but should you come across one that is awake and well, he’ll coax it closer so you can run a hand along its fur.

You decide to make snow angels to leave your own mark in the area. Side by side, you collapse with Rook onto your backs, spreading your arms and legs out to form glorious wings. You get back up and brush off the snow, Rook chuckling as he helps pluck out particularly large chunks from your coat. “When all the snow melts away, there is only an angel left behind,” he croons, fingers weaving through your hair. “What a lucky man I am, to have an ange before me.”

It must be a Christmas miracle that you managed to coax Idia out of his room and out into a winter wonderland. He looks so awkward standing there, sharp teeth chattering, shrinking in on himself in the middle of a flurry of white, snow fizzling away as soon as it makes contact with his scorching hair. His enthusiasm is at an all-time low, and it’s up to you to lift his spirits!

Idia’s clumsy—not that he usually is, but this otaku’s definitely not used to treading on slippery ground! Every other step is a dare with death itself, with Idia stumbling over his own feet to correct his balance. It’s even worse for him when he attempts (re: attempts) to join you on a frozen lake for ice-skating. He has to cling onto you for dear life as you slowly make your way around the rink, praying that his trembling legs won’t double over and make him look lame.

Idia’s like a walking furnace. Whenever you’re too cold, all you need to do is lean a little into him to get an instant surge of warmth. He’s especially warm when his emotions are running high—from your touch or from your words. And if you ask to hold his hand, or for his breath to thaw your fingers, it’s game over for Idia. That boy’s overheating, his brain is crashing, and it will take one looong debriefing before he reboots again.

He’s not a fan of normie activities, but he’ll gladly augment sports with his various inventions, just to make it feel more like a video game! Idia’s got a snowball shaping machine, and a snowball launchers for faster and more precise aim—one for you, and one for himself. But don’t think he’ll go easy on you just because he tried to even the playing field! Idia’s playing to win and come out on top, getting so swept up in the match that his cackling carries well across the silent snow.

Once the FRZN status has really started to eat away at him, Idia packs up his gadgets and begs you to go back inside. Even with the whirring machines scattered throughout Ignihyde generating warmth, it’s not quite enough to keep you comfy. A hesitant glance, a nervous bite of his lip—and Idia awkwardly extends both arms, his eyes lowered to the ground. “I-If you want... I could also warm you up... w-with a spare hoodie or something!! D-Don’t assume this is a high level love flag...!”

Riddle has always wanted to frolic in the snow, even if he may not always express it. He rarely had the chance to play outside as a child, but his curiosity has never died out. You’ll often catch him staring out of the window during a study session, his eyes fixated on the blanketed landscape, and the drifting bales of white—so when you finally suggest that Riddle experience it for himself, he agrees.

Riddle’s unsure of how you properly “play” in the snow, so he asks you to demonstrate for him. For a while, he shuffles after you, hands stuffed into his pockets, and watches as you show off the snow’s qualities—how fluffy it is, how cold it is against your skin, how quickly it melts at your touch. He listens and observes with rapt attention, eventually bringing himself to scoop up some snow for himself, and allow a few falling flecks to hit his tongue.

Since he has the chance, Riddle wants to try a little bit of everything. He trusts you to be his guide as he stumbles on ice, shapes the snow, and decorates with sticks and stones and uneaten vegetables... It’s a joy to watch him slowly open up and familiarize himself with it all. Riddle laughs and smiles like he hasn’t been able to in a long time. (... Is that a tear in the corner of his eye, or it that just melted snow?)

As much as he enjoys catching up on aspects of his childhood that he missed out on, Riddle’s resilience (or lack thereof) soon catches up to him. Like a rose, he can’t take ice and frost for too long before wilting. You shelter Riddle and his bright red nose, huddling close as you lead him inside and throw a thick blanket over his small form.

You prepare mugs of hot chocolate, piled high with whipped cream and marshmallows—one for you and one for Riddle. Together, you snuggle by the fireplace as you sip at your drinks, warming you from the inside out. “I’ve never had this much fun before,” Riddle softly confides in you. His fingers slowly trace the rim of his cup, his image reflected back to him in the chocolate. “... Thank you for sharing this with me.”

[talesofstyles]

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain. 

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder. 

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment. 

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car. 

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.” 

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later. 

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald. 

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.” 

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later. 

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks. 

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off. 

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.” 

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors. 

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve. 

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING. 

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head. 

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her. 

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals. 

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom. 

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife. 

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process. 

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop. 

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache. 

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink. 

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers. 

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest. 

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room. 

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward. 

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket. 

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages. 

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side. 

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket. 

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door. 

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.” 

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going. 

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him. 

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear. 

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat. 

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes. 

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt. 

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige. 

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down. 

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.” 

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching. 

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

[moxfirefly]

Hey I kinda wanna make a request (don't know if I have already)

13:I’m not wearing anything under this

26:Don’t make me pull over - that’s it

29:Scream for me. I want everyone to know how good I make you feel

Praise Kink

Over-stimulation kink

With the loveable nerd donnie?

If this isn't possible I understand, love all your work by the way

I have never seen a more perfect set up. Friend you’ve got it!

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

He exactly knew what you were trying to do from the moment you climbed into the truck in that frilly little sun dress. In fact he would bet a kidney that the choice of wardrobe on the hot summers night was catered to distract him to the point of muttering to himself.

Donnie was and is, a safe driver.

But that stupid dress had mysteriously ridden up your thighs when he hit a pothole somewhere into his drive through Manhattan. It was a fun little activity the two of you did all the time, a means of getting away, AC on high and privacy you both didn’t get often.

But you had intentions.

Intentions that hopefully would lead to the a very good outcome. So when Donnie saw your hands smooth over the tops of your thighs, his eye would twitch. Never mind when you crossed your legs and that defiant flimsy fabric just allowed more skin to show.

“-could you believe the nerve of that guy? Anyways my boss fired him, good riddance honestly. What about you babe? How was your day?” Donnie had absorbed cero information for the first time in his life, he was at a red light, big brown eyes blinking at you.

You smirked, uncrossing your legs, crossing them the opposite way you had previously.

“What’s your game plan here?” He asked, you almost snorted.

“Whatever are you saying my dearest? Can a gal know how her man’s day has been?” Oh you were a clever sneak but your eyes always betrayed you and when the corners of your mouth shot up in a fit of laughter, Donnie frowned. “My day is great! Just somewhat distracted by a certain someone, you know if we crash it’s totally your fault” He honked when the guy in front of him didn’t move at the green light.

Wanting to make things even more savory, you played with the hem of your dress. “I love when I distract you, it’s a favorite past time of mine” You lifted it and reveled in Donnie almost cracking his neck to see what you were doing and then back to the road ahead.

“I’m not wearing anything under this” You spoke, a sultry hint to your words. You were in fact bare, with every intention of teasing him into having to do something about it.

He bit his lip and shook his head, this was so not happening right now and you sure as hell weren’t...

“Y/n...” Your name sounded like a demand the moment he saw your palm run over the hood of your sex. He kept a good handle of driving and sneaking glances at your lap. Your legs spread enough for you to slide a finger in between your folds and to Donnie’s pure teasing realization he heard how wet you were. You relaxed back, soft touches working you up and Donnie soft little churrs picking up volume. When you pushed that digit inside of yourself, he gripped the steering wheel. “Don’t make me pull over” It was that stern voice he used on occasion.

With another turn on a less trafficked street, you turned to him, digit slowly pumping in and out of you and said, “Or what?” You grinned mischievously. “-That’s it”

Donnie parked the car by the sidewalk, not really caring that even if it was relatively late pedestrians were still passing by here and there. He reclined your chair, enjoying the little yelp that exited your mouth. Pushing your hand away he popped his own digit into his mouth before teasing it at your entrance. “Have you been walking around this city with no underwear? Answer me” You stifled a giggle by biting your lip but that quickly melted into a moan when he pushed his much larger digit inside of you. Your thighs shook with the delightfully stuffed sensation it brought.

“You haven’t answered my question” He thrusted his finger, moving just the way he knew that could illicit the best response.

“So what if I did?” Defiant words for somebody in a precarious position. Donnie had that little twinkle in his eye, the one you knew all too well.

“Nobody, and I do mean nobody, has or will have the right to see this” He emphasized the last word with a harsher thrust of his finger that made you choke. “I guess that only leaves one other option, reminding you exactly who you belong to” That sentence was enough to make you want to scream internally, pushing the usually chill terrapin to these extents wasn’t the easiest. Sometimes one had to play dirty, which you we never opposed to doing so.

Somewhere between a moan and a full body shiver you felt Donnie crook his finger. That first release whenever sought out like this, always made you just a little dizzy, made your joints protest from tensing so much. Your hands flew to his chest, the firmness of his plates grounding you back from your high.

“Say ‘thank you, Donnie’, come on baby, use your words” He swelled with pride seeing your mouth start to move but nothing resembling the words coming out.

So naturally, he started up again.

You squished your thighs together, trapping his hand when the oversensitivity hit but he only ‘tsk’d’ his disapprovement and gave your thighs a soft slap. “Don’t squeeze, don’t squeeze” Trembling thighs obeyed and separated enough for him to continue his strokes, thumb circling over your clit with enough pressure to make your hand fly up to your mouth.

Just like that he pulled another orgasm out of you, but did not stop his motions over your clit.

You started to squirm, breath hitching into embarrassing squeaks and all the more he glued those precious brown orbs of his to you.

“Well?” He barely sounded strained, he was hardly even breaking a sweat.

“Thank you! Thank you!” You shut your eyes when he didn’t stop, every nerve in your body felt over exposed, saturated with the constant onslaught to your sensitive nub.

One more, yanked from your body, hard enough you felt a rush of something in your brain and that jelly like feeling hit your limbs. He fucked his finger slowly in and out, bringing you down into a somewhat false sense of security. Your hazy vision found the window on your side, a few pedestrians passing and the idea that somebody could’ve heard...

Pulling out his digit, Donnie popped it into his mouth. “I had a very nice date planned out, but then again this isn’t far off from the original plan” He pulled you up into a sitting position but maneuvered you onto your knees to face the car window. He bunched up your dress and nudged you forward to rest your hands on the glass. “You like making a spectacle? Walking around with nothing under your dress?” Donnie spoke those words against the back of your head, he enjoyed the scent of your hair. Gripping your hips he pushed you against the prominent bulge.

Oh how your thighs shook. Your breath fogged up the glass as you heard him unzip. “Dee-ohfuck” He ran the length of his cock through your folds, squeezing your thighs for the right pressure for the teasing friction. “Aren’t I a nice guy? See how good I treat you?” He hunched over you, chin resting on your shoulder. A large three fingered hand landed on the glass next to yours, it gutted him to see the contrast in size, to see your pinky wrap around his much thicker digit. “Tell me how it feels, when I push into you” He whispered against your shoulder, slowly sliding in and stretching you out.

It was tricky, the space wasn’t too small but between both seats he found a good spot to stand (or more so bend) and give you the first thrust that left your mouth hanging open. “So so so good,” You muttered with a shaky voice. “And? What else?” He loved the way you swallowed letters the moment he thrusted just a little harder. “You’re so fucking big, you do this so good, god Donnie nobody’s fucked me like you before” There was deep rumbling churr against your neck, he tasted salt and your perfume when he licked it.

“You’re the best, you’re the fucking best!” You moaned out, loud enough you felt embarrassment as somebody passed by. Naturally Donnie noticed, smirking against your neck. “Now we’re shy? Now you want to be a good girl?” He hooked an arm around your waist and absolutely threw caution to the god damn wind.

He sped up, deep thrusts that were fully determine to make you scream your head off. Right there with his hips smacking against your rear he spoke the words you knew would be your undoing.

“Scream for me, I want everyone to know how good I make you feel” He drove into you with that very purpose in mind. That long cock of his hitting exactly the spots you needed in order to do so. In order to scream your head off when your release came suddenly and so devastatingly strong, you felt something gush out of you. It’s intensity made your eyes shut tight as you rode the high. Feeling teeth at your shoulder and a muffled string of curses and your name you felt warmth shoot into you.

You don’t remember Donnie shuffling the two of you onto the couch but at some point you’re there. Body slumped, dress still scrunched up as Donnie rummages through a small bin for some wet wipes. “Did you cum on the chair again?” You asked him sleepily and with a smile, you still had enough gas in the tank for a few jabs. He had bag between his teeth as he stumbled to push up his pants. Dropping the wipes near you he smirked.

“No, but you did” He declared quite triumphantly.

Your foggy dopamine ridden brain took a bit to load.

“I squirted!?” You wanted to sit up but that wasn’t gonna happen any time soon. You covered your face, embarrassment clear. Donnie snorted and rubbed your rear affectionately. “Please, if it were up to me I’d leave it there like a badge of honor” He stifled another laugh when you peaked through hands and glared.

“By the way...” He kissed your arm.

“Hm?” The sensation lulled you.

“I love you” His words were soft yet serious.

“I love you more” You whispered back.

[theringers]

hard work - mick schumacher

summary: you spent your entire day studying and you need some help winding down at the end of the day

a/n: hi, hope y’all enjoy this. i woke up thinking about it and couldn’t stop so i wrote it down. as always feedback is very much appreciated :)

also this is unedited will fix later thx besties

warnings: 18+, NSFW, smut, fingering, unprotected sex

Mick was propped up on the bed, casually scrolling through Netflix to figure out what to watch next.

Lucky him, you thought as you dropped your head into your textbook for the millionth time that day. It was almost 6pm and you hadn’t left your office. Only to use the bathroom and to get a little bit of food.

Finals were brutal and this year was no different. You had four cumulative exams coming up in the next week and your boyfriend decided that this weekend would be good to visit. “I’ll help you study,” “We can work together” yeah right.

He was watching tv and minding his own business, which you appreciated. No distractions.

He was very distracting as is, so you were glad he was making an active effort to stay out of your way.

You read over the formulas again and your temples strained, having trouble even remembering the easiest of formulas. You were overworking yourself. Sometimes you can hit a point where more studying just won’t help, it’ll only hurt and frustrate you.

Mick had been asking you to take a break all day but you refused, needing to stay in the right headspace to focus.

A smirk was plastered on his face when you walked into the room, excited that you were finally settling down. You plopped on the end of the bed. “I’m exhausted. Everything hurts. Fuck this,” you said. It was your typical reaction to studying. You loved what you were studying but reviewing anything this much could make you hate it.

“Oh, darling.” He said, smiling at you and holding his arms out. He looked so sweet, cuddled up under your fuzzy blankets with a big sweatshirt on. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, trying to hide your appreciation. You slowly made your way to Mick and sat next to him, legs hanging off the bed. You patted your hand on his blanket covered thigh, groaning.

“You look stressed,” he said. “Come here.” He pulled the blanket off and patted the space between his legs. Being in his arms sounded like a dream right now. You scooted towards him, sitting between his legs with your back flat against his chest. He squeezed his arms around you in a hug. “You’ve done so much work today and I’m so proud of you.” You smiled at his words even though he couldn’t see your face. “You deserve to take a break.” He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, exposing your neck to him where he placed a soft kiss. You leaned your body into his, feeling a sense of relief and relaxation. It was crazy how fast he could change your mood. “I’m so lucky to have such a beautiful, intelligent woman,” he whispered in your ear.

You wanted to mess with him and crack a few jokes but you had no energy left to fake fight with him. His fingers drew a trail down your arm leaving goosebumps in its path. A chill ran through your body.

You could feel his hot breath still against your neck making your head fall onto one of his shoulders. His finger followed the trail it just made back up your body and the muscles in your stomach tightened when it grazed your collarbone. It was one of your most sensitive spots.

He moved his finger at an agonizingly slow pace, driving you insane.

He dipped his finger in the valley of your breasts and you looked down to see him take one in his hand. Lucky for him, studying all day means no bra needed.

You let out a soft moan as he kneaded your chest, getting rougher by the moment.

His other hand snaked it’s way around your body and dipped into your sweatpants, teasing your cloth covered entrance. “Oh, Mick,” you said, shifting your body when he placed the slightest touch on your center.

“You need to relax, darling.” His soft voice said into your ear. You knew he was right. He wanted to make you feel good but he was teasing you. Your desire for him was winding you up more than it was settling you down.

You inhaled in and let Mick have complete control. Your body settled comfortably into his and you were putty in his hands, literally. He held you securely with one hand groping your tits and the other down your sweatpants. “Focus on the TV, pretend I’m not here.” He said. “I want to make you feel good. You worked hard.”

You rested your body onto his as he played with your clit. His fingers went in circles, sometimes venturing off course to explore the rest of you. If he felt you tense up, he would give your clit a light smack to remind you to calm down.

Your body felt ice cold and on fire at the same time.

He nudged your thighs apart and you let your knees fall to the sides opening you up for him. He continued to leave kisses all over your neck and shoulder while his finger slid between your folds.

You were dripping wet and he was surprised. He knew how to turn you on but it had only been a few moments. “Were you thinking about me today?” He asked in your ear.

“Yes,” you said, keeping your voice low.

“What were you thinking about?” He asked as he let one finger slide inside your core.

Your hips bucked at the full sensation but his other hand held your body down.

What didn’t you think about today? Any time you couldn’t focus your mind wandered to your boyfriend. His body. His hands. His mouth, his tongue. All of it all over you and you wanted it so desperately.

“You fucking me. Hard.” You wanted to keep it vague. You wanted to be surprised to see what he has up his sleeve and not give him any ideas. He groaned in your ear.

You lifted the blanket and watched as his finger pumped in and out of you, the muscles and veins in his wrist and forearm prominent. Your focus was on his middle finger as you patiently waited for him to push it inside of you. He knew what he was doing so you were going to let him be in control, but god did you want to feel him so bad.

“You look so hot like this, darling. Completely under my control. Just let go,” he said.

You took your eyes off of his hands and looked up at the TV. Your mind focused on the pleasure he was bringing you. He took this as the perfect opportunity to let his second finger inside of you, catching you off guard. You twitched once again and moaned, wanting to be filled up all the way with him. It felt amazing but it wasn’t enough.

“Baby, I need you to fuck me,” you whispered.

His fingers began to pump harder. “What was that?” He asked seductively, his mouth lingering near your ear longer than you would have liked. “I didn’t hear you. I’m going to need you to say it again.”

You huffed out of annoyance. You needed relief and he was just having fun. “I need you to fuck me. Right now.” You felt his thumb inch closer to your clit and start rubbing in sync with the movement of his other fingers.

“I’m going to need you to say that one more time.” You felt him begin to get hard against your back and you knew that he would give in soon.

You rolled your eyes and you knew he was smirking behind you. “I need you so badly. I need you to fuck me senseless.” You raised your voice this time. He removed his fingers and slid down your sweatpants. You kicked them off and repositioned yourself so you were on his lap, facing him with your knees on either side of him. You looked at his eyes and smiled. He returned the grin and you looked at each other for just a brief moment. He lifted you up and pulled his own sweatpants off, giving you the opportunity to grind into his hard cock. A soft whimper escaped his lips and you knew he was ready. No more teasing.

He gripped your ass, lifted you up, and lined his cock up with your entrance. He teased you, pushing his tip into your clit before you inched down on him, feeling him fill you completely. The feeling you had been chasing this whole time.

You rocked your hips back and forth with your arms around his neck for support. He guided your hips back and forth and let his hands run all over your sides.

Your head fell back and your eyes were met with the white ceiling. Your back was arched and your hair fell all the way down to the bed.

“Holy shit, you look so incredibly beautiful right now.” He watched you lose yourself in the moment, in the feeling, in the motion of your hips, the collision with his. He reveled in your beauty and still couldn’t believe what you were doing right now.

He continued to bounce your hips, hitting the perfect spot to have you crying out in pleasure. Your pussy tightened around him, letting him know you were about to cum. He pulled you in closer to him and held you as you rode out your high in his arms. His arms held your back tightly as he kissed your bouncing tits. The only sounds that could be heard were moans and expletives as you both finished.

“I love you so much, darling.” He said, kissing your lips.

���I love you too,” you said, rolling off of him and onto the other side of the bed. He stood up to clean himself off and returned with a towel for you and a glass of water. He was met with you, passed out as soon as your head hit the pillow.

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Ooooh could I get #24 for Willy Milly? Please?

Prompt #24 “Tell me how you like it."

Pairing: William 'Ironhead' Miller x F! Reader

Warnings: 18 + ONLY Explicit NSFW content. Angst, p in v, feelings, young pre-movie Will.

It was only supposed to happen once, a chance encounter one night while he was on leave. But then he came back, and it happened again and again and again. No matter how many times he got deployed, when the stink of death and smoke in the air told him this was it, he survived. He survived another chance to come back to you.

But you couldn't wait forever.

The restaurant was in one of the nicer areas of town, and you took a sip of wine that tasted just as good as the seven-dollar bottle on your counter. You tried to smile as your date droned on about his job, his dreams, but it didn't feel right. He wasn't blonde, he didn't have blue eyes, and he had an excellent safe career that kept him home. But he wasn't Will.

"So what do you like to do for fun?" he asks with a smile, breaking one of the bread rolls in half.

"Oh," you try to think, "I like to read....or write sometimes. I'm afraid I'm not that exciting." You bite your tongue, knowing that it's a lie, but you can't tell him the truth. You can't tell him you love riding on the back of a motorcycle, the wind blowing on your face, hands clutching tight to Will's leather jacket. You can't tell him you love to spend lazy Sunday mornings in bed, watching Will read the paper and trying to answer the crossword together. And you certainly can't tell him how much you love to be railed against the kitchen counter, Will holding you tight enough to leave bruises and whispering quiet promises in your ear.

No, you certainly can't tell him that.

"Good Evening; I'll be your server tonight." Your head snaps up, and your mouth drops open when you meet the clear blue eyes of Will Miller. He's dressed in a white button-up and a thin black tie, black slacks, his blonde hair tousled from running his hands through it. He's fucking perfect. "Have you decided what you'd like to have?"

Your stomach drops when he stares down at you, the question holding more meaning than just the chicken or the fish. Your date's oblivious, pulling out his menu and scanning it another time, unaware of your inner turmoil. "I love the steak here, does that sound okay, baby? I'll order for us?" You can only nod, still frozen, taking in every detail of his face after so long apart. He's favoring his left shoulder, you can tell, and he's got a fresh cut above his right brow, the early signs of a bruise on his chin.

Will breaks eye contact and writes down the order, his hand tightening around the pen. He looks up and grins, but it lacks some of the luster, "tell me how you like it."

Your mouth goes dry, and you're suddenly transported to three months ago when he'd whispered the same thing in your ear though the situation was very different. Your wrists tied tight to the hotel headboard, forehead resting on a pillow as he plowed into you from behind, his cock so full and deep inside you, nearly becoming one with every thrust.

"Tell me how you like it, such a good girl," you moan, arching your back and trying to push him even further inside you. "My beautiful girl, taking my cock so well. This pussy was made for me, baby; no one else makes you feel this good, do they?"

You're silent, enjoying the pleasure building, slurring your words, drunk on his cock. "Will," you whimper, "no one is you, Will."

"That's right, my good girl, all dumb for my cock. I know just the way you like it, baby; let me show you how good it can be." He reaches a hand down and rubs your clit in quick, firm circles, his other hand holding tight to your hip and crashing into you. You cum together with matching sighs of pleasure, Will collapsing on your back and reaching a lazy hand up to untie you before grabbing ahold of your breast and falling to the side to spoon your back.

It's quiet as you bathe in the afterglow of your love, his cock softening behind you, his hand caressing up and down your side. "Why can't this be enough?" he whispers, kissing your shoulder.

You tremble, feeling the tears burn behind your closed lids, "because I want more, Will. I want all of you."

"Baby, you have all of me." He turns you around and cups your cheek, coaxing your eyes open, "look at me, I'm here now."

Your voice cracks, the tears sliding down your cheek, "but you won't be tomorrow; you're going back again, Will. I can't just wait around waiting for you to decide you want to be with me."

He sighs, brushing the tears off your cheeks, "you know I can't give you that...this life...I never know when I'm gonna get called back. If I'm going to live through each mission. I won't ruin your life."

"Then I need to say goodbye," you sniffle, "this has to be the end. Because if it's not, then I'm going to fall deeper and deeper in love with you."

He nods, and you can see the emotion swirling in his eyes, Will was always good at shutting out the world but not you. "I can respect that," he whispers, "just, please...please don't leave tonight. Let me hold you one last time."

The following day you woke up, and he was gone.

"Tell me how you like it," he repeats again, his eyes hopeful when you reach down for your purse and stand, pushing out the chair and giving a frown to your date.

"I need to leave; I forgot that I was supposed to watch my neighbors dog," you cringe at the shit excuse but don't wait around for a reply, all but running out the front of the restaurant.

The door bursts behind you, and you keep the pace down the street, trying to order an uber through your tears, "WAIT!" He calls out your name, and you ignore him, quickening your steps, "fuck, baby, please!" Another few steps, "I LOVE YOU, OKAY?!"

Your feet cement themselves to the sidewalk, and you slowly turn to see Will behind you, his chest heaving, his leather jacket clutched tightly in his fist. He runs his hand through his hair, "fuck, that's not how I wanted to tell you. I had this whole plan, shit."

"Say it again," you whisper, taking a hesitant step toward him.

He drops his head to his chest and takes a deep breath before raising his head and staring at you. "I love you," his voice cracks, a tear sliding down his face, "I love you so fucking much, and it took losing you for me to realize it." He clears his throat and takes a step closer, "baby, I'm a mess. I'm a soldier with no permanent address. Every mission could be my last, and you deserve so much better than me, but I love you. I love you with every ounce of my soul, and I will never, never hurt you again."

You take another step, closing the distance between you, his jacket falling to the ground, his arms wrapped around your waist. You lean up to nuzzle his nose, his eyes sliding shut and resting his forehead against you, the pieces of the puzzle sliding together. "I'm glad you finally figured it out, Captain Miller," you whisper, burying your face in his neck.

His lips graze along your skin, leaving a trail of fire, "and what's that?"

"That you've always known exactly how I like it." He chuckles, leaning back to press his lips against yours, the warmth of his smile burning you up from the inside. "It just had to be you."

[ymiwritesstuff]

The Limits of a Hero

Hello hello, I’m here to bring you something rather special. A quick fun fact: When I started writing years ago, Link was actually the first character I ever wrote for, so this piece is sort of going back to my roots as a writer. That, and I’ve been in a HUGE Twilight Princess mood lately, (I recently bought a few volumes of the manga and I am very much enjoying it) so I thought I’d write this quick thing for my favorite incarnation of Link. I hope those of you who also like him will enjoy this.

The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

Link x Reader

Summary: During a seemingly ordinary night out in the woods you decide to give the hero a much needed chance to rest.

Notes: Fluff, some light angst

The tree trunk felt rough against your back, but it provided a much-needed opportunity to finally rest and recollect your energy after yet another day of fighting against the twilight and its corrupt ruler. Yet you found a strange calm when surrounded by the night, the warm flames of the campfire swaying in the cool wind.

The wood crackled, the breeze howled and your eyelids grew heavy. You wouldn’t close them, however. Not yet. Instead, you kept your (E/C) eyes on the glowing fire, occasionally throwing in a stick or two to make sure your source of heat wouldn’t disappear.

Your thoughts wandered, as they often did ever since you were thrown into this dangerous adventure. How did everything change so fast? You could still hear the water trickling down the waterwheel in Ordon as if it was yesterday. Everything had gone wrong so fast, and now you were trying to save the entire kingdom from something you didn’t fully understand.

You knew it was the same for Link. But unlike you, he was much better at suppressing his confusion and doubts. You had noticed a change in him, no doubt caused by the sudden responsibility laid upon his broad shoulders. In addition to the more obvious changes in his attire, his cerulean eyes lost some of their glow, he somehow grew even more silent and he didn’t smile as often. All because he felt that his role as the hero chosen by the Gods demanded it.

It must have been tiring, you thought, yet he pressed on, never once letting even a single mention of how much it all weighed down on him slip from his lips. But you could see it. Whether it was in the way his shoulders fell with a sigh whenever he finished slaughtering a group of Bokoblins or how he yawned and stretched his arms almost every time he hopped off Epona. His body was fatigued, but his eyes held nothing but determination.

The rustling of leaves that came from behind snapped you back to reality, and your eyes fell on the bush where the grey animal soon emerged from, carrying something in his mouth the edges of which and a part of his lower body was seemingly damp. You watched as he walked with heavy steps towards the fire before dropping the thing you recognized to be a Hyrule Bass on the ground.

The fish flopped on the dirt and you found yourself raising a confused eyebrow at him, before locating his fishing rod not too far away from the fire, indicating that he had forgotten to take it with him. You looked at the fish again.

“Are we this desperate?” You managed to ask him as his beastly form quickly reverted to his original form you were familiar with. He sat on the ground and gave you a slight nod.

“We’re running low on food,” he said, taking a sip from his bottle of water. Most of his equipment was laying on the ground, though he was still fully clad in his green tunic, chainmail and all.

You noticed him taking out a small knife, no doubt intending to use it to prepare the freshly caught fish. He would not dare use his sacred sword for such a task. The bass was fairly big, enough for both of you, you surmised.

“I can take care of it,” you offered, noticing the tired look in his eyes as they turned to you. He shook his head lightly.

“It’s fine, (Name),” he assured and began cutting into the flesh, but you persisted.

“You haven’t slept properly in days.” It had been an exhausting few days, filled to the brim with battles against Shadow Beasts and other enemies. It took its toll on both of you yet he showed no outward signs of fatigue. Not that it was necessary, for right now, anyone could see the dark circles and bags under his otherwise gorgeous eyes.

He glanced at you, clearly pondering over your words while continuing to cut the fish. You were right, as you often were. He was exhausted, but the selflessness in him didn’t want you to lose any of the sleep you needed.

“Someone has to keep watch,” he began, but you quickly shut him down.

“Which I can do.”

You scooted over to him, noticing him making the final cuts to the scaly flesh of the fish. Placing a hand on top of his, you kept your eyes on him, trying to convince him.

“You need to rest, Link. Please.”

Upon hearing your voice that left your lips as a quiet plea he finally gave in, letting out a sigh that carried all his exhaustion into the air and letting go of the knife. He finally turned to you, his drained eyes glowing in silent relief.

“Will you be alright? You know you can wake me up any time if-”

“I’ll be fine. The only thing you need to worry about is getting some sleep.”

Your hand reached up to slowly remove his cap, exposing his dirty blond hair that bathed in the glowing embers of the campfire. You offered him a smile equally warm as the flames which he thankfully returned.

Planting the tiniest kiss on his cheek, you retreated from him, once again leaning against a lone tree. With your hand you lightly patted your lap, wanting the hero in front of you to have the best possible chance at getting a good night’s rest.

He laid his weary head on your lap and almost immediately, he let out a long yawn that indicated just how much he needed this, despite his stubborn protests. Your fingers found their way into his hair, running through his locks in a soothing manner.

Silence fell around you, though it was a refreshing change from the usual noises of battle and struggles. You stared at the fire once again, its welcoming warmth enveloping both of you.

“You’ve changed,” you admitted, thinking back to the simpler times, during which Link would have been more than compliant to sleep when he needed it. He let out a soft sigh, his eyes glued to the starlit sky above.

“I guess I have,” he agreed. You wondered if he meant it to the same degree as you did. Even now, you noticed the solemn expression on his face you had never seen back home.

Home. You thought about it a lot. Maybe a little too much at times. Ordon meant a lot to you, even more to Link you assumed. Perhaps that’s why he had gotten so stoic and serious. He was merely trying to protect what he held dear.

It was admirable, he was, by all accounts, a hero. Courageous, selfless, strong, yet still a mere Hylian. A capable Hylian indeed, but still a Hylian. A Hylian who the entire kingdom needed to save them. Everyone expected so much of him, it seemed as if he himself forgot his limits.

“You’re not all-powerful, Link.”

Your eyes fell on him, and his own looked up at you. Someone needed to be his voice of reason, and you were more than willing to take that role if it meant ensuring his safety when he sometimes couldn’t.

“Maybe I should be.”

Your eyebrows frowned at that. You knew he felt a certain sense of guilt about what happened to the children of the village. They were safe now, but there was a stinging sensation of shame embedded in him that made him feel responsible for all of it.

“Don’t say that. You did all you could. Pushing yourself to the point where you can’t stay up anymore won’t solve anything.”

He knew you were right. You almost always were. Link had always secretly wondered if it was a blessing that it was you who had accidentally stumbled across the same wall of Twilight that had transformed him into a beast. In all honesty, he was thankful.

“I’m just... Worried about you,” you confessed, feeling a small sense of dread in the core of your being. Just thinking about what could happen to him if he didn’t take care of himself made your stomach churn.

A troubled look fell on his face, as if he was feeling guilty about making your eyes fill with concern. You inhaled deeply and pressed your lips on his forehead, not wanting your own uneasiness make him anxious.

“Rest now. I’ll keep watch.”

With a small nod, he allowed his heavy eyelids to close and it didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, soft snores escaping his mouth that was partially agape.

For the first time in days, he looked truly peaceful. His body relaxed, rid of any signs of stress or tension, the only movement being that of his chest, moving up and down due to his steady breathing. With a smile you continued running your digits through his hair, hoping to comfort him even in his dreams you could only hope were as tranquil as your current surroundings.

“Goodnight, Link.”