#that said-the only thing i hold against them is that i live in one

[holyblonded]

baby fever | birds of a feather

parings: paige bueckers x black!oc, irene paredes x platonic!oc

summary: while paige is in spain for the summer, she and cecilia babysit mateo for irene

warning: mentions of knives and i think that’s it tell me if i am wrong

notes: this was genuinely the cutest thing to write 🙏🏾 manito is short for hermanito

Cecilia laid on the dune sofa in her apartment, her long legs were placed over Paige's lap as said blonde sat in a cloud of anxiety.

"Baby, are you sure everything will be okay? We've never been responsible for a human that wasn't one of my siblings," Paige voiced her worries to the striker next to her.

Cecilia sent Paige a warm smile. "Don't worry Amor. Mateo is basically my sibling and he's a relatively easy toddler. You just have to play legos with him and he's fine. Oh! Recently he's been into outer space so entertain him on that topic-"

Cecilia's ramble was cut off by the doorbell followed by a rhythmic, yet familiar knock. Once Cecilia moved out, Alexia insisted that there should be a certain knock that all younger and veteran players know for security reasons. Many members like Irene take it seriously— Cecilia hated the knock, which ironically was the beat of the Barcelona Anthem song.

"That's Irene and Lucía," Cecilia announced as her feet carried her towards the door with Paige following close behind. Before Cecilia could open the door, it was opened by a visibly disappointed Irene and a smiling Lucía holding an excited toddler.

"Maitea (sweetheart), why is your door unlocked?" Irene fussed. "That's very dangerous, you don't know who's around."

"There's no one else around," Cecilia deadpanned and she wasn't wrong. Across the hall, the only other people on her floor was Jana and Kika who were both currently home. Not to mention the whole complex was high security.

"Eso no importa (that doesn't matter)," Irene insisted. "Se trata de su seguridad (it's about your safety)."

"Ay, stop fussing, Irene. Cari is grown," Lucía argued in honor of the now twenty year old who she handed over Mateo to. The boy plopped his head down on Cecilia's shoulder and looked at Paige who smiled at him. Mateo smiled back but shoved his face into her neck and waved back at Paige.

"Thanks again for watching him, Cari," Lucía thanked, placing a kiss on Cecilia and Mateo's forehead "Thank you, Paige. Bye, loves."

"Thank you, Paige," Irene followed her wife's lead placing a kiss on the young ones foreheads before closing the door and using a button to lock it.

Cecilia turned around with Mateo in her arms, "Hey, Manito (brother) . Do you remember Paige?"

Mateo shyly nodded, remembering the girl from the celebration party for the championship win the other day.

"Hey, Mateo," Paige greeted as Mateo slightly peaked out from his hiding spot. "Want to play with legos?"

This obviously piqued Mateo's interest as he squirmed to be released from Cecilia's hold and grabbed Paige's hand to pull her towards the Lego bin Cecilia had for him.

Paige sat cross-legged on the living room floor as Mateo eagerly dove into the colorful bin of Legos, his small hands sifting through the pile with purpose.

"What should we build?" Paige asked, leaning forward with a smile that matched the toddler's enthusiasm.

"A spaceship!" Mateo declared, his face lighting up at the idea.

"Of course, a spaceship. Good call," Paige said, her tone serious as though the toddler had just proposed the most genius idea.

Cecilia leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, watching them with an amused grin. "Make sure it has wings and room for astronauts, Mateo. You can't have a spaceship without those," she teased lightly.

"Baby, do you want to help?" Paige asked without looking up, already piecing together the ship's base.

Cecilia shook her head. "Nope. I'm leaving this masterpiece to the two of you. I'll start on lunch."

She made her way into the kitchen, the sounds of pots clinking and cupboards opening mixing with the lively chatter between Paige and Mateo. Every now and then, Cecilia would glance over her shoulder to see Paige carefully listening to Mateo's instructions, his small hands guiding hers to place the Legos exactly where he wanted them.

"Look, Cece!" Mateo exclaimed, holding up their completed spaceship proudly.

"It's amazing, Manito! And so fast! It must be the best spaceship in all of Barcelona," Cecilia praised as she set a cutting board on the counter. "But I need my two engineers in the kitchen now. We have a very important mission: making sandwiches."

Mateo jumped up eagerly and grabbed Paige's hand, tugging her toward the kitchen.

"Alright, Chef Cecilia, what's the plan?" Paige asked playfully as she lifted Mateo onto a stool at the counter.

"Mateo can help me with the peanut butter and jelly, and you, my sous chef, can chop fruit," Cecilia replied, handing Paige a knife and a bowl of strawberries.

The kitchen became a hub of laughter and tiny mishaps. Mateo accidentally smeared peanut butter on Cecilia's cheek, prompting a playful scolding. Paige sneakily ate a strawberry, earning a mock glare from Cecilia. Eventually, the trio sat down at the small table to enjoy their simple but heartfelt meal.

After lunch, Paige followed Cecilia into the bedroom with Mateo in tow, the toddler already rubbing his eyes sleepily. Cecilia carefully tucked Mateo into the small toddler bed she kept in the spare room for visits.

"Do you want a song, Manito?" Cecilia asked softly, brushing a stray curl from his forehead.

Mateo nodded, his eyes half-closed. Cecilia sat on the edge of the bed and began to sing a soft Catalan lullaby, her voice gentle and melodic. Paige stood in the doorway, her heart swelling as she watched Cecilia's calm and nurturing demeanor.

When Mateo was finally asleep, Cecilia quietly left the room and closed the door behind her. She turned to find Paige leaning against the wall, her expression a mix of admiration and something else Cecilia couldn't quite place.

"You're amazing with him," Paige whispered.

Cecilia smiled, reaching for her hand. "He's easy to love."

Paige hesitated, her fingers tightening around Cecilia's. "I think I might have baby fever.”

Cecilia blinked in surprise before a soft laugh escaped her lips. "You? Miss 'I can barely keep plants alive'?"

"I'm serious!" Paige whispered, laughing despite herself. "Watching you with Mateo... I started thinking about our future. I don't know, maybe not right away, but someday."

Cecilia's teasing expression softened. "You'd want kids with me?"

"Of course," Paige said, her voice steady. "You'd be an amazing mom, Cece. Watching you today just confirmed that for me."

Cecilia's cheeks flushed, and she pulled Paige closer, resting her forehead against hers. "Someday," she murmured. "I'd like that too. But for now, let's practice with Mateo and see if we survive the rest of the day."

Paige laughed quietly. "Deal."

[jhyoos]

Dreams Come True

Chapter 4: Give Your Heart A Break

summary : vi and (y/n) reconnect and give each other a second chance.

mentions : smut, strap on, fingering, switch, multiple orgasms, oral sex, nipple play, whatever else I left out!

notes: i am blessed to collab with one of my closest moots @athena-winters13! she wrote this beautiful smut 😫 (cause im horrible at it.) im forever grateful for her taking the time to do this for me. please check out her work on ao3. here are some of my personal favorites:

undercover and under the covers - sevika

sevika baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight - sevika

red rooms and tie-ups - sevika & ambessa

go check her out!

The drive back to Vi’s place was full of sexually charged tension. There was only silence and the sound of the road, no words were exchanged because the both of you knew what would happen when you got there. You were excited, no doubt, but there was a part of you that couldn’t quite get past all the terrible things Vi had said to you before.

As you finally make it back to her place, she opens the door for you, smiling as you walk through. Vi follows behind closely, shutting the door and locking it before turning to face you.

She steps forward, placing a hand on the back of your neck to bring you closer, but you briefly stop her, “Vi wait- I- I need you to tell me something. All those things you said before, did you mean them? I mean, there had to be some truth to what you said.” You search her eyes for any indication that you were right, but you don’t find it. Instead, her soft eyes look full of pain and hurt.

Vi shakes her head, cupping both of your cheeks and forces you to look her in the eyes. “I didn’t mean any of it. I knew you wouldn’t stay away unless I hit you where it really hurt. I- it was fucked up I know it baby, but I used what you were going through against you so you would be sure to stay away. I’m so sorry. I want t- I will make it up to you, I promise. If you let me.” Vi’s eyes flit back and forth between your eyes and lips.

You let out a deep breath, one you didn’t know you were holding, and pull her into a tight hug. You breathe in the smell of Vi that you had been missing for what feels like forever. It would take a lot for her to make up for her cruel words, but this didn’t seem like a bad start, not in your drunken state.

When you’re satisfied with the hug, you pull back, stepping a few feet away from Vi as she just watches patiently. “Alright, show me how sorry you are.” You brush your honey-blonde hair over your shoulders and stand in the middle of the living room, waiting for Vi to respond.

Vi’s eyes seem to darken, a wide grin covering her face, “yes, yes to that.” She’s on you in a second, bending slightly to grasp the backs of your thighs and hoist you up, carrying you back to the bedroom and ever-so-gently placing you on the bed.

It’s a process to get you out of your dress, but Vi is patient, not rushing or breaking anything even though you can tell she’s pent up. Once you’re left in your bra and panties you surge forward, pulling at Vi’s shirt after she removes her jacket. She chuckles, “eager?”

You don’t bother answering, instead, you let your actions speak and yank upward to remove her shirt fully. You attempt to start at her jeans, but she just pushes you onto your back, climbing on top of you. She kisses you with a desperate intensity, making you moan into her mouth and do your best to keep up with the kiss, after all you were desperate too.

It had been quite a while since you trusted someone to get you vulnerable like this, but even after the bad things Vi said in the past, you still trusted her with your body. She knew how to take care of you and your needs. “Vi,” you pull back from the kiss and grab her hand, guiding it to your breast, “show me.” You urge her again, the alcohol giving you enough confidence to boss her around, though you suppose you deserve it after how cruel she was when she left you.

Vi bites her lip, reaching around to remove your bra and cups both of your breasts before giving them a squeeze. You sigh out breathily and her eyes darken still, “sorry baby, you’re just so pretty it distracts me. I really am so sorry. I thought about you every day, no one could ever compare to how you make me feel, you complete me, pretty girl.”

She bends down, pulling your nipple into her soft mouth. You arch into the stimulation, grabbing the back of her head to keep her in place. When you accidentally tug her red locks too hard she bites your nipple in retaliation and you moan loudly, but refuse to give up your hold.

She doesn’t say anything but she moves to your other nipple, kissing across your sternum as she goes. Her touch is gentle, yet charged and you can tell she’s holding back, but you don’t want that right now. “Vi, you’re holding back.” You gasp out as she bites your other nipple now.

Vi brings her head up to look at you, a guilty smile on her face, “I just missed you so much, I don’t want to hurt you again.” Her hands move to your hips, thumbs tracing patterns as she waits for you to speak.

“You can be rough, you’re not going to break me honey. I missed you too and I definitely missed doing this.” You offer, watching her face light up with the permission you just gave her.

It seems that’s what she was waiting for, removing your panties in mere seconds and falling down on her stomach to bury her face between your thighs. The way she runs her tongue through your folds makes you arch, attempting to get closer to her insanely warm, wet mouth.

She holds your hips down with her hands, digging in when you arch too much, but quite frankly you can’t help it. She knows your body and just what to do, it seems not even time could change that. Although you know it’ll only make you hotter, you sit up on your elbows to watch her while she licks into you. You whine, making eye contact with Vi as she draws your clit into her mouth and sucks lightly. You can feel just how wet she’s making you, each suck has that feeling in your lower abdomen becoming more unbearable by the second and you drop back down onto your back, moaning her name.

It only spurs her on more and you feel one of her hands release your hip to find your entrance, two fingers circling there, silently asking for permission. “Please Vi, I need you.” You whine, pushing down to try and take her fingers in.

It doesn’t take any convincing and Vi groans against your clit as she pushes her fingers into you. The stretch takes a few seconds to get used to, it has been a while after all, but you adjust quickly because she was made for you and those fingers fit perfectly. She pulls them out, only to push them right back in and curl up toward that spongy spot inside you, all while keeping her mouth moving to suck and lick at your swollen clit.

You throw an arm over your eyes, doing your best to keep your hips still, but it was so damn hard when she seemed to hit every pleasure sensor in your body. Her other hand came up, playing with your nipple and matching each pinch to a suck on your clit and curl of her fingers. She was going to get you there a lot faster than you had thought, “Vi, you’re gonna make me-” you break off into a long moan, throwing your head back and curling your toes against the mattress.

You can feel Vi nod her head against your cunt, encouraging you to do just that, not like you had much choice anyway when that coil in your belly was threatening to snap any second. Each time you clench around her fingers, a jolt of pleasure shoots to your clit and then she pinches your nipple, only furthering the absolute rapture she was giving your body.

You’ve broken out into a sweat now, squirming against the sheets and body becoming engulfed in the flames of your lust. You grab the back of Vi’s head, taking a handful of her hair and forcing her mouth to stay directly on your clit. She grunts in warning, but you don’t even register it, moaning and whimpering with each suck, only pulling her hair harder. And then she perfectly times her mouth, fingers and hand on your breast one last time, sending you into the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.

Your thighs clamp around her head and tremble as she continues on even after you’ve cum. It takes a forceful tug on her hair to get her off of you and you look down to see her chin covered in your arousal, which only sends another pang of want to your stomach. “You’re not done are you, cupcake?” Vi purrs, slowly removing her fingers from you and sticking them in her mouth to lick them clean, groaning at your taste.

You shake your head quickly, pulling Vi down for another heated kiss. You shove your tongue into her mouth and she matches you, running her tongue over yours and groans at the way you hold her closer still when she sucks on your tongue. “Can I-” you pause to suck in a deep breath, the kiss stealing your oxygen, “can I be on top?” Vi gives you a curious look, brows pinching together in confusion.

You smile shyly at her, pushing back on her shoulders and standing from the bed on weak legs to look through the nightstand drawers. Even though you hadn’t been in her room for over a year, not much had changed and the strap she always used on you was still in its place, untouched. You grab the harness and toy, holding it up while biting your lip. She chuckles, leaning back against the pillows, “I get it now baby, of course.” She pats her thigh, beckoning you over but you don’t budge.

You stay where you are, standing at the side of the bed, “I want you naked. It’s been so long Vi. I need to see all of you, please, I need to feel your skin on mine. I've missed it every day.” You whine, hoping your eyes show the desperation you were feeling. It seems you’ve made your point and you watch Vi eagerly remove the rest of her clothing, throwing it haphazardly to the floor.

Only when she’s fully naked do you climb on the bed, crawling over to her and handing her the items. She moves slowly pulling the harness on, making eye contact with you as she goes. You can’t help but subtly move your thighs together, running your hands up and down her strong legs and doing your best to remain patient.

Your body was all hers tonight and you felt light, the weight of over a year of bad feelings coming to a close. Once the dildo is situated in the ring of the harness you climb on her lap and grab her face with both hands, kissing her deeply. She lets you lead the pace, deepening the kiss but not moving at a frantic pace- you want to savor it. “I love you, Vi.” You whisper against her lips, forehead resting against hers.

She gives you a big, goofy grin and kisses the tip of your nose. “I love you. I never stopped loving you.” Her hands find your hips and she guides you down, looking at you so gently yet so full of hunger.

You keep one hand on her sturdy shoulder, taking your other to hold the toy and help line it up with your entrance. Your eyelids flutter shut, the stretch threatening to render your legs useless as pleasure clouds all of your senses. Vi rubs soothing circles into your hips as you fully take in the length and adjust to it. When you finally open your eyes, you find her already looking at you with something akin to pride, “my pretty girl, you’re so good at taking me in like that.” The words drip past her lips, tone rough from arousal.

It makes your hips jerk forward, moving the toy inside of you and forcing a pitiful whine out of your lips. This time, both hands find her strong shoulders and you slowly rise up, feeling the drag of silicone against your walls. It’s a delicious friction and before long a sloppy sound fills the room, making your face heat up in a mixture of satisfaction and embarrassment.

“Violet,” you mewl, fingers digging into the exposed flesh on her shoulders, “please, you feel so good.” You pick up your pace a bit, rising back up quicker and dropping back down to take in the full length of the toy before grinding forward a bit to really feel every last inch.

Vi moves her hands from your hips to your breasts, groping them and squeezing every time you rock forward. “You needed this? Only I can please you like this, isn’t that right baby?” She almost growls the words, voice thick and gruff as her eyes find their way between your legs to watch how the length of the toy is coated in your slick.

You can only nod your head, your hands falling down her shoulders to her chest in order to knead her supple breasts. She was making you feel so good, you wanted to provide her some relief too. Her head drops, clunking against the headboard and she groans out, rich and throaty.

You smile in between soft moans, continuing to pinch and play with her nipples because you knew that got her going. Vi’s hands drop back to your hips and she plants her feet on the bed to start thrusting up into you. Her thrusts jostle you around and make it hard for you to keep your rhythm, your hands dropping to the bed to fist the sheets.

That coil is winding tightly in your stomach again and all you can do is whine and whimper as you dig your nails into the blanket. Vi’s eyes flit back and forth between your wet cunt and your bouncing breasts, “do it baby, I know you want to cum, go ahead.” She grits out, pouding into you from below.

You remove one hand, nimble fingers finding your swollen clit with ease and rubbing like your life depends on it. You become stuck in a chant, your brain only aware of two words in your current state, “yesyesyesyes Viiiii,” you break off, your breath stolen by your intense orgasm and you crumple forward into her bare chest.

Her hands immediately encircle your shoulders and she rubs your back until your breathing gets under control. You sleepily look up at her, kissing her jaw and resting your head in the crook of her neck.

She almost lulls you to sleep, but your hips move a bit and Vi groans underneath you, the harness pressing against her clit. That sound alone reinvigorates you enough to do one last thing. You rise up on your knees, removing the strap from you and lay down with a huff on the mattress. “I’d like to please you too, honey.” Your voice is a bit rough from being overused, but it has the same effect and she begins removing the harness quickly, discarding it on the floor.

Vi gives you a shy smile, she always did feel a bit bad when you offered to return the favor as she wasn’t used to it. Still, she felt comfortable and safe with you, enough that you watched as she spread her legs open for you, allowing enough room for your lithe body to fit in between. You pull your long hair back into a ponytail, laying down flat on your stomach between her spread thighs. Her breaths came faster when you began placing open mouthed kisses on her thighs, inching closer and closer to that red patch of hair and the prize underneath.

You’d missed this as well, how Vi would never rush you even when you knew she was needy because she liked how tenderly you kissed her before you went down on her. You only have so much patience yourself though and bring both thumbs to her lips, opening her up so you can stick your tongue out flat and run it from entrance to puffy clit. She groans on your first pass, allowing her head to fall back and shutting her eyes to savor the feeling. You move slowly, cherishing every second you had down here.

You move your tongue from entrance to clit over and over, waiting for the sign that she needed more. It comes in the form of a calloused hand grabbing your ponytail, forcing your face closer. Vi’s moans and quiet grunts come more frequently as she guides you and you simply allow it. You moan into her soaked folds, lips wrapping prettily around her clit and sucking softly because that was how she liked it. “I need you, need you so fucking much baby. I’m so fucking sorry, I’ll make it up to you fore-” she groans deeply when you moan into her clit, sending the vibrations directly to that sensitive bundle, “-ver.”

You nod your head as much as you can with her tight grip, hands squeezing her thick thighs as you need something to help you ground yourself. You can feel her slick against your chin and you push your face just a tiny bit more into her when her hips start to stutter and tremble.

She’s not far off, her moans becoming breathier and her grip in your hair bordering on painful. Just a few more suckles on her clit send her plummeting off that ledge, her muscular legs locking up around your head, forcing you to remain in place against her. After a few seconds she reopens her legs and lets go of you, allowing you to rest your head on the inside of her thigh. “Should I run us a bath?”

You giggle, sitting up to smile at her and place a tender kiss on her toned stomach before you lay on her chest for a few quick snuggles.

The soft warmth of the sun slowly coaxed you awake, its golden rays streaming through the half-drawn curtains of Vi's bedroom. You groaned quietly, squinting against the light as you stirred, feeling a comforting weight draped over your waist. It took a moment for the fog of sleep to lift, but when it did, you realized where you were—and who you were with.

Turning your head slightly, you saw Vi lying beside you, her face serene in the morning light. Her messy pink hair splayed across the pillow, some strands sticking to her forehead, and her lips were parted just slightly as she breathed softly in her sleep. Her arm was wrapped securely around you, as though she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go.

Your heart ached at the sight. She looked so peaceful, so vulnerable, and you couldn’t stop the soft smile that curved your lips. The familiarity of her scent, the warmth of her body pressed against yours, the steady rhythm of her breathing—it was everything you’d missed.

Unable to help yourself, you shifted closer to her, resting your head against her chest. Her heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, and you closed your eyes, savoring the moment. It felt like time had frozen, like the world beyond this room didn’t exist, and for a brief, precious moment, everything was perfect.

But then, you felt her arm tighten around you. Your eyes snapped open, your body tensing slightly as you realized she was awake.

“Morning,” Vi murmured, her voice low and husky from sleep. Her eyes were still closed, but the small, lazy smile tugging at her lips gave her away.

“Morning,” you replied softly, your voice barely audible.

She pulled you closer, burying her face in your hair and pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “Missed this,” she whispered, her breath warm against your skin.

Your chest tightened, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. “Me too,” you admitted, your voice cracking just slightly.

For what felt like an eternity, the two of you stayed there, wrapped up in each other. Vi’s fingers began tracing soft patterns on your back, her touch light and soothing, and you felt yourself relaxing against her. She tilted her head, her lips brushing against your forehead again as if she couldn’t get enough of you.

“I love you,” she finally said, her voice firm yet tender. The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning and emotion.

Your breath hitched, and you tilted your head to look at her. Her eyes were open now, the vivid blue of her irises locked onto yours. You saw the vulnerability there, the raw honesty, and it made your heart ache. Last night wasn’t a dream.

“I love you too, Vi,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I always will.”

Relief washed over her features, and she leaned in to kiss you. It wasn’t hurried or desperate; it was slow, deliberate, and filled with all the love and longing she hadn’t been able to express. Her hands cupped your face, her thumbs brushing over your cheeks as she deepened the kiss, and you melted into her, your hands finding their way to her hair.

Minutes passed in a blissful haze, and when you finally pulled back for air, Vi pressed her forehead against yours, a soft grin tugging at her lips.

“Guess we’ve got a lot to make up for,” she teased gently, her voice tinged with emotion.

You laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Yeah, we do.”

The tranquility of the moment was interrupted by a soft buzzing sound. You frowned, glancing toward the nightstand where your phone was charging. Reaching over, you grabbed it and saw the time. Your heart dropped.

“Crap,” you muttered, sitting up abruptly.

Vi propped herself up on one elbow, her brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“I have dance practice in twenty minutes,” you groaned, scrambling to find your clothes.

Vi flopped back onto the bed with an exaggerated groan, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Practice can wait,” she drawled, reaching out to grab your wrist and gently tug you back toward the bed.

You laughed, dodging her attempts to pull you back down. “You’re not the one who has to deal with my manager,” you teased, quickly slipping into your clothes.

She pouted, sitting up as she watched you get ready. “Fine, but you’re coming back later, right?”

Pausing, you turned to look at her. She sat on the edge of the bed now, her hair messy, her t-shirt rumpled, and her eyes still half-lidded with sleep. She looked so beautiful it hurt.

“Yeah,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll come back.”

Her grin was lopsided and filled with so much love that it made your heart skip a beat. She leaned forward, pulling you into one last kiss before letting you go.

With one final glance back, you grabbed your things and headed out, already counting down the hours until you could be back in her arms again.

psa : i have not proof read any of my part 🧍🏾‍♀️

chapters: one, two, christmas special, three, four , five

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: put your hand on my heart

pairing: micheal townsend x reader

synopsis: you know you’re panicking but you can’t stop it and nothing is helping. the last person you want to see you like this turns out to be your saviour

warnings: panic attack, overwhelming anxiety, dark thoughts

a/n: thanks for reading 🤍🤍

taglist: @inmyheaddd @midiosaamor @lyrakanefanatic @aleatorio1234 @maybe-dj124 @book-nerd-emi @maybxlle @foreverwinter22 @sweetreveriee @hermesenthusiast @shattered-glass-roses @gandergaal @sheisntyou @arias-archive @lila-77 @downrightbooks

Please, please, please. Not again. Not this again. I stumble into the bathroom making sure the door shuts behind me, hastily trying to reach a source of water. My finger shake as I turn on the bathroom tap, they can barely grasp the metal. I wait for the cold water to run before splashing my face three times. It’s meant to be a shock tactic, it’s meant to pull me together, it’s meant to help, but it isn’t doing what it’s meant to, it isn’t doing anything. It never does anything.

I try to swallow but it feels like I’ve forgotten how. It feels like my trachea is slowly constricting, the walls on either side slowly closing in creating a claustrophobe’s nightmare. My throat aches as my mouth fills with saliva that I’m desperate to get rid of. I touch my neck, my fingers scraping against the skin. I want to pry it open. Maybe then I’ll be able to breathe, be able to swallow.

I glance up at myself in the mirror and don’t recognise the girl staring back at me. Her eyes are rimmed with thick black smears, her lips are dry and cracked, there are red streaks of art winding down her neck and her face is a sickly pale colour. I’m but living in the shell of body that used to be mine. The things that made me myself are long gone, a ghost of a whisper living somewhere deep within my veins. I don’t know what parasite has infiltrated my body, all I know is I want it out. I want it gone.

But some things you can never kill, so long as they live in your mind, you’ll never truly be rid of them.

Panic wraps bony fingers around my ankles and yanks me into murky waters, Fear holds my head under and makes sure I can’t scream for help. Is this how you felt mum? Is this how you felt when they drowned you? My lungs burn, scream, beg but I already know I won’t ever get to grace them with oxygen again. My hands and feet are bound with thick rope that cuts deep into my flesh. They tied you up too mum. Why? Did you even fight it? I glance at my captors with pleading eyes, they only laugh. Amused by the emotions that fed them running riot through my soul. Did you look at them like me mum? We always had the same eyes, that’s what everyone said. Did they laugh at you too mum?

I feel my body grow weak, I watch as the world spins and I grow dizzy. I’m lost in a state between life and death, beneath this ocean of panic. My body is still trying to fight for survival even though I want to give up. You never wanted to give up, did you mum? But you had to, they forced you to. Panic gives me one last gift, placing something heavy on my chest. It crushes my rib cage but there’s nothing left in me to cry out. No one would hear anyway, I was underwater. No one heard you, mum. I didn’t hear you either. The weight pushes me down further and further from the surface and slowly, slowly it all grows black. Is this what you saw mum? When your body sunk to the bottom? Were you plunged into the darkness the same way I am?

I’m gasping and spluttering. My chest is in agony, red hot pain prickles over my torso. I want to rip my skin off, claw every inch away with my nails. I throw my sweatshirt over my head so the cotton of my shirt was the only thing touching my upper body. I look back to the stranger in the mirror and prod my face with unfamiliar fingers. The veins under my skin throb, almost like my pulse is so fast it might burst them altogether. Part of me hopes they might, at least I’d be rid of these feelings.

My heart thumps loudly through my ears, each boom more demeaning than the last. It feels like the organ pulsating out of my chest each time it beats. A torturous, monotonous thunderstorm that I can’t avoid.

“I don’t like the thunder,” I tremble in my mother’s arms, clinging to the soft fabric of her shirt as if my life depends on it.

“It can’t hurt you little one,” she whispers, stroking my hair with her tender touch, “but don’t fret, you’re safe, I’ve got you, it’s okay, I’m here.”

I don’t like thunderstorms. I never have. But my mother’s arms aren’t here to be my refuge, all I have are these four bathroom walls.

I try and will myself to cry but there are no tears. My face isn’t damp and my eyes don’t water. They refuse, my mind too stubborn to give me an outlet for my pain. I should be crying, I know I should, it’s unnatural not to, it’s not normal.

But I’m not normal.

I feel the dreaded panic attack me again. It’s like a million tiny bullets are being fired at my body all at once. I can’t avoid a single one, I’m stood in no man’s land. And yet despite being shot so many times, I don’t seem to be able to die. Only writhe in my own agony.

My breathing quickens still, which by now I’d thought might be medically impossible. I wish for Sloane to be here to give me a statistic about breathing or wallabies, I wish for Lia to tell me the lie that I would be okay a thousand times over, I wish for Cassie to hold me until I stop shaking looking at me with her kind eyes, I wish for Dean to help me understand why I’m like this and I wish for Micheal to never, ever see me like this.

My wishes don’t come true. Wishes usually don’t for girls like me.

I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have control of my own body, of my own mind, thoughts and feelings. They’re constantly hijacked by a stronger power. A power that comes dressed in black hood and carries weapons of destruction. Though he doesn’t always use them, not straight away. He presents them first, the fear of the threat. Then at the moment of his choosing - the middle of the night, when I’m out shopping, the early morning, in the middle of a case - he would use them.

I have become a prisoner to the man in my mind.

He remembers everything. My mother. He knows all. She was kind and smart and funny and passionate and bold. The details I wanted to forget. Her cold dead body, hauled from the bottom of a lake. Blue skin, closed eyes, hair plastered to her forehead. The things I’d left in the past. She used to tell me I could do anything, be anything. That I was something. That I was special. Brighter than the stars. All that I’d blocked out. The killers that I couldn’t find, that I’d failed to find.

Another overbearing wave of panic crashes into me and my legs begin to feel unsure of themselves adopting an unnatural wobble. Sure I might fall, I sink to the floor in a helpless heap of heavy breathing and blurred thoughts. The cold tiles that press against the back of my thighs are the only thing to remind me that I can feel.

I need five things. What can I see? What can I touch? What can I hear? What can I smell? What can I taste?

I pry my eyes back open. I can see the bathroom door, it’s white with a golden handle. Two towels hang on a hook from the back of it. They’ve been recently used and are still a little damp. The smile on my mum’s face.

I can touch the fabric of my shirt. I play with it between my fingers. It’s soft, it’s smooth, it can’t hurt me. Her fingers weaving a braid through my hair.

I can hear my heart. No, I have to hear past it. I strain my ears. Talking, I can hear my friends talking in the room next door. Sloane, Cassie, Lia, Dean and Michael. I can hear Sloane’s voice most immediately, then Lia’s. The words are blurred, a soup of sound, too overwhelmed by the pounding in my chest. The hum of her sweet song, the one she wrote just for my name.

I can smell bleach. It’s strong and sterile. The bathroom has been recently cleaned. Rose water and buttermilk. She always smelt of rose water and buttermilk. As long as I could remember.

I can taste nothing. My throat is dry, my lips are dry, my tongue is so dry it’s stuck to the roof of my mouth. The honey sweet syrupy liquid she often gave me before I slept.

I lean back further into the wall and close my eyes again. Is it working? Is it helping? I’ve listed the five things, my task is done. Why do I still feel the same? I shouldn’t still feel the same. It’s not working, it never works, I don’t know why this time I thought it might. I’m an idiot. I always have been.

“y/n? Are you in there?”

I know that voice and I know I don’t want him anywhere near the door. I know I’ve forgotten to lock it and I can’t move from the position I’m in. I know I need to tell him I’m fine, that it’s okay. I know that I should then explain I need Lia to get me a tampon to scare him away.

But I can’t speak, I can’t answer him. When I try I end up gasping for air like a fish out of water. I grip the side of the sink, my knuckles going white, trying to hoist myself up. He can’t see me like this, out of everyone it can’t be him. The moment I get myself to stand, my legs give way and I fall back to the floor. They’re too weak to support me anymore.

I’m too weak.

I land with a crash, sending a shooting pain up my back. I wince and make some sort of strangled sound, a scream but with no breath to make it sound like a scream. Immediately he bursts in, uninvited in classic Micheal style. Though he might be the emotion reader of the two of us, I see the worry on his face, through his eyes. I try to glare at him but can’t even muster that. I know there’s no getting out of this now, the moment he lays eyes on me he knows exactly how I feel. Even if I were Lia I don’t believe there’d be any lie good enough to cover up my situation.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he rushes, dropping to his knees immediately, “hey, it’s okay, I’m here.”

“It’s okay, I’m here.”

My mother’s words echo through my mind. His hand settles on my thigh. I don’t need you here’ I wanted to scream. I need Sloane, Lia, Cassie, Dean, Judd, heck even Briggs just anyone but him. He shouldn’t know that this is the real me, that this is the kind of relationship he is really getting into.

He sees it. He sees my fear, my desperation, my panic, my worry, my pain, my anger. He sees it all in technicolour.

Micheal takes my face between to soft palms, “breathe with me, sweetheart,” he says very slowly, “I need you to breathe with me.”

I can’t even talk. I try to reply, but I physically can’t.

“Don’t try to talk,” he tells me gently, “it’s not going to help you. I need you to try and breathe with me.”

I can barely hear him over the sound of my heart raging through my ears yet manage to shake my head vigorously. I need to explain to him that it won’t work, that it never works.

“Try,” he murmurs, understanding, “with me. In… and out…”

Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth. Nothing overtly complicated. Yet it feels like the most difficult task I’ve ever had to do in my life.

“In…” he guides me, steadily, “…and out.”

One. I do it once.

My breathing is still rapid, I am panting like a dog but I did it. Once. He sits down beside me, interlocking his hand into mine. A constant, a rock, he’s telling me he isn’t leaving. His back is up against the cool tiled wall. Gently he puts his hands on my hips. I don’t shy away from his touch, I don’t flinch, I don’t slap him away. I want his hands on me. I want him to distract me.

He pulls me between his legs. I lean on him pressing my back up against his firm chest. I need to feel something, someone, anyone. I need to know that I’m not alone. I want his lips to transport me somewhere else, I want his hands to make me forget everything. I tilt my head so ours eyes meet. I plead silently. I know he can read what I want, what I need. I know he can see it all displayed on my face.

“You have to get your heart rate and breathing back to normal,” he says, “a distraction won’t help that.”

“Need,” I choke, through loud gulps of air.

He presses a kiss to my temple, “breathe, my love, you’re safe, I’ve got you.”

“You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

I see my mum’s face. I roughly grab onto his legs, clawing at the material of his trousers, digging my fingernails in, like some sort of scared animal. I feel his hands on my waist as my chest heaves up and down, still uncontrollable. The untameable beast in my brain still a torrent of darkness.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” he repeats, his voice so smooth, so soothing. I want to believe him, “focus on me…”

I do. I’m focusing on his breath I can feel tickling the back of my neck and his outstretched legs I can see in front of me. I’m focussing on the shade of blue the sweatshirt is and how he smells of that fancy cologne he insists on buying. I’m focussing on the tingling sensation his lips let behind on my temple and the warmth of his body against mine.

“My voice…”

It’s low and even. Steady and constant. The words he says are sweet and soothing and kind. He wants to help me. He cares enough. They’re said softly, gently, tenderly, calmly. He wants me to know I’m safe. He wants to fight the man in my head as much as I do.

“My touch…”

His fingers are delicately wrapped around my waist, but one hand is drawing slow, light circles on my stomach. I feel the shape spiralling in and then back out again. The muscles in his upper arms are against the muscles of my upper arms, they brush together. His heart is beating a little faster than usual against my back.

I think about Micheal. I focus on what he tells me to. Each time I take in oxygen it gets the slightest bit easier. I inhale and I exhale. He waits and he listens and he draws circles on my belly. Sometimes he talks and sometimes he stays silent. But we stay like this until my breathing is only a little worse than normal. The breaths are still short and jagged but they’re less of a gasp, less of a prayer for air.

“You’re okay,” he repeats, “I’ve got you, you’re safe, I’m here.”

I twist my neck to meet his eyes. He looks like he’s in pain. I never meant to cause him pain.

“I’ve got you. Can you feel me?” he whispers, “I’ve got you in my arms. That means you’re safe.”

Safe. Would I ever really be safe when my biggest enemy lived in my own mind?

“I… need… touch…” I tell him, through little breaths.

I haven’t heard the man in my head since Micheal got here. I know this will help. I know I need it. He can make things go away, he can help me, he can keep me safe. He’s got me in his arms. That means I’m safe.

“Okay,” he whispers.

His hand slowly moves from the tight grip on my waist to the bottom of my shirt. It slips under the material, slowly trailing up the bare skin of my stomach. His fingertips skim over my bra and find their way to just below my collarbone on the left side on my chest. He flattens his hand against my heart, pressing down firmly. It’s warm in contrast to the coolness of my skin.

“Breathe again love,” Micheal says in my ear, his voice in the back of his throat, “breathe for me.”

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Do it again. Do it again. Do it again. It’s getting easier. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Do it again. It’s getting easier. It’s getting easier.

I can feel him, only him. Micheal Alexander Thomas Townsend. My heart thumps against his palm. I close my eyes and rest my head back onto him. I feel it, as he presses the lightest of kisses onto my face, first my forehead, my nose, then my lips. Him, it’s all him. He can take this away, this darkness, this sickness, this disease in my mind. He can make it leave.

After what feels like a while, I’m somewhat what I was before. I can’t say things are back to normal because I am not normal. But I can breathe again, my chest doesn’t hurt, my heart isn’t the only thing I can hear and the man in my head has left. For now.

I realise for the first time how Micheal has seen me. This isn’t the me he’s used to. I take his hand from my shirt and move away from his touch. I stand up shakily and he’s quick to follow, ready to catch me should I fall. I lean against the sink, breathing deeply in and out. I can’t rely on him,I can’t afford to. The last person I relied on was my mother and look where that got me.

“You weren’t meant to see that,” I say, my back still towards him. I can’t bear to look him in the eye, not even for a second.

“It’s not a crime to panic,” he tells me slowly, there’s something tentative in his tone.

I turn around to face him, “yes. It is.”

I’m no emotion reader but something in his face looks scared. I had been taught long ago that I had to stay in control. That if anyone saw me out of control, unnatural, disobedient to the requirements set, that I would be less of a person. A nothing in this world. I’m not going to let this make me nothing. Not after I’d been something for so long.

Something to my mother. Something at school. Something to Briggs and his colleagues. Something to the Naturals program. Something to the friends I’d made here. Something… something to Micheal.

“I’m strong Micheal,” I say trying to steady my shaky voice, “I’m strong, I don’t break,” I falter as tears fill my eyes, I haven’t cried in so long, “I’m not like this, it’s not me.”

I meet his eyes again. He can see all of it, the emotions I show him and even the ones I’m holding back. I’m like a naked body in a room full of mirrors.

“Oh sweetheart,” he says, reaching out to take me in his arms once more.

And as much as I want to, crave to, yearn to, I don’t. I jerk away from his quickly, hitting my hip on the corner of the sink. The porcelain sends a sharp jolt of pain through my body. There will be a bruise tomorrow. He immediately backs away, a concern I’m not used to seeing rippling through his features. He could hide it if he wanted but he’s choosing to show me. He’s showing me he cares.

“Don’t pity me Micheal,” I try to snap but instead my voice strains and instead sounds like I’m in pain, “please.”

‘I’m not pitying you’ the unspoken words hang in the air but never reach his lips.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks instead.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, fumbling over my words, “I don’t know.”

“Come here,” he says, opening his arms again. This time not reaching out for me, this time letting me choose to come towards him.

And I do.

I fall into his arms and melt into his touch. When I feel him around me, everything falls silent, the noise, the stress, the expectation. It’s only him and me. Him and me.

“You are still strong, even after breaking,” he says into my ear, such power in his words but gentleness in his voice, “because you haven’t broken completely, you’re still here,” he murmurs, “and that’s the strongest thing someone can ever do.”

There isn’t any words to reply and he knows that. I let him hold me for a long while before finally, finally I let myself cry.

ahhhh this is my first naturals fic so I’m lowkey nervous… i try and avoid y/n at all costs but I felt like it was sort of needed here. anyways i hoped you liked it and let me know if you want to be on the taglist :))

the natural’s masterlist

[lostinthewronguniverse]

So, while I understand your reasoning, I do find it flawed. While many people in the US do not like their boss or the police, they do prefer to lick the boots of their bosses and police when told or when things get rough. I am not discounting myself in this

When a homeless person is making someone uncomfortable, by far the majority of people would be more comfortable with calling the cops on them than allow them to sleep by a bus stop or beg in a walkway. White right wing people who don’t trust the police are still happy to call them when black people are hanging around chatting for “too long”. If an autistic teen walks towards your fence to look at a flower, way too many people would call the cops on him. While in reality many people in the US hate cops for one reason or another, the sentiment is still there that we love cops as soon as things get hard, and it is a small portion of people who would actually call out cops like during George Floyd’s death. Most people would have walked by figuring that he probably deserved it because no matter how much we say acab at the end of the day we tend to trust them more than the person whose rights they’re violating

Now, bosses we practically never stand up to because we’re too scared to lose our jobs. We may acknowledge that they’re power hungry and deliberately target a single person and make 2x+ our income for half the work and whatnot, but when we are talking to them, we hardly say anything. If we see someone being targeted, then we might try to cheer them up after but you hardly ever see someone push back against the harassment. In private, we’re even more likely to agree with the boss that they do so much for the company or so-and-so performs poorly. We keep kissing ass in the hopes of a raise or promotion and we get nothing. Then, we go behind the boss’s back and complain about how horrible they are while not doing anything to change it. This is the reason why so often unions are unable to form or people can be singled out because no one wants to receive the boss’s ire and we’re told that we can’t move ahead with others but we can move up on our own. Once again, the sentiment is there that no matter how much we hate our bosses we treat them like we love them

Actions speak louder than words. While you’ve lived in more states than I have, you have only taken people’s words at face value and not looked at their actions. I have a friend who is constantly fighting for social justice that absolutely calls the police every time she sees a a tent in the local park and I had an old coworker who repeatedly talked about how toxic our boss was that also said he was her mentor and inspiration when he got team lunch for her promotion. The people you know who talk the talk and walk the walk are the minority. Regardless of if OP is from the US or not, they understand the people here better than you, a native.

P.S. I do find it funny all the people who pretend like they hold the will of the revolutionaries from 1776. 1) All those people were racists who wanted to steal Native American land and 2) They weren’t afraid to suffer for a bit without something like Starbucks or cheap factory farmed meat and fast fashion. Do you know how hard it would have been to boycott England? And, if you broke the boycott then you could have been killed by a mob as a loyalist instead of just needing to cross a picket line

[mumms-the-word]

Deep Past the Heart

Characters: Emmrich Volkarin x Rook (You) Summary: (Spoilers ahead!) You have accompanied Emmrich to his final test before lichdom. You stand in a cold Necropolis vault as he walks away from you toward possible eternity, knowing he will die the moment he crosses the threshold. The only thing you can do now is wait. Wait and hope that if he returns to you, when he returns, he will still be the man you have fallen so desperately in love with. Nothing is certain but death. Love...that is a different question entirely. A/N: I think this is my first official Veilguard fic? And it's angst haha classic. Anyways, I have mixed feelings about Emmrich's Lich route but the cutscene where he becomes a lich has stuck with me as one of the most beautifully choreographed moments in the whole game, so I couldn't resist writing the scene from a more focused, anxious Rook's perspective. Enjoy! Read it on AO3 here!

I am come to be judged by the dead.

They are the last living words on his lips. The last words of a man who will be dead soon, one way or another. Nine syllables formed on an eloquent tongue, breathed forth with warm air from healthy lungs. In mere moments, those lungs, that tongue, those lips will grow still, and never move again.

It isn’t his time to die. But it’s the time he has chosen, and now that the words are out of his mouth, you know there is no turning back.

His words echo faintly in the vaulted chamber you stand in, soft reverberations you will never get back. You want to reach out and catch them, just one word, maybe two, and hold them fluttering and whisper-thin against your chest until you have absorbed them. The last vestiges of his voice, perfectly preserved in your heart. Just in case you never hear that voice again.

Or if you do, it will be altered beyond recognition.

It’s strange. You’ve spent the last several weeks doing all that you can to save lives—freeing slaves, fighting ghosts, slaying dragons, eradicating darkspawn, stopping enemies before they can hurt anyone else. And yet here you stand hundreds of feet below the surface in a spacious, isolated crypt, bidding farewell to your lover as he faces the end of his life. 

You make no moves to stop him, despite your every instinct screaming that you can, you could, you should . But you don’t. Because this is what he wants.

Emmrich Volkarin, your beloved, is steps away from death, standing at the threshold of a chamber that will steal his life from him and present him with one final test. If he succeeds, he will become a lich, a powerful undead mage that will stand outside of time, a being both paradoxically within and beyond your reach and understanding. His life’s work, completed with his death. But if he fails…

It is death, either way. You both know it. The best you can hope for now is not that he will survive…but that he will transcend . If he does, then he achieves undeath. Lichdom. Forever.

A vast leap , he had once said. Flesh cast aside for bone. Returned, immortal, for all time. 

You wonder if you’ve made a mistake. Not for encouraging him to take this path, but perhaps for coming with him. 

His kiss is still on your lips, the warmth of it fast fading in the chill of this Necropolis vault. You wish, suddenly, that you had placed your fingertips at the base of his throat or against his chest when you kissed, cherishing the final beats of his too-soft heart, the fluttering of his pulse as it thrums beneath his skin. Or that you had inhaled deeply of his carefully cultivated scent, expensive cologne, soap, and pomade, scents he may soon abandon after death when his new form no longer requires them.

You glance at the Lich Lords above, their cold veilfire eyes glowing in the sockets of their bleach-white skulls. Cold, barren, still.

Dead.

That is what he will become…but only if he passes the final test.

Too late you wish you had paid more attention to the elements that made up your lover’s living, mortal self. Already you feel the finer details slipping from your grasp. The exact shades of gold and green in his hazel eyes. Where the last stubborn dark strands of his hair melt into the gray and white. The tones of his quiet laughter when something amuses him. The press of his lips on your knuckles when he kisses your hand.

There will be no more of any of that, either way. Already you miss those things. Ache for them.

Why is it so much harder for you to let go of him, than for him to let go of life?

Your time together has been cruelly short. You arrived too late, he walked toward death too early, and the world never settled long enough for the two of you to find any real time together. You want to kiss him again, but you know better than to move. Because if a single thing goes awry…

The doors swing open, spilling out a brilliant white light so bright it’s painful to stare into, but Emmrich doesn’t falter. Aside from a single flex of his hands, you see no evidence of hesitation or fear.

And yet you still wonder. 

How fast does his heart beat in his chest, as if defying him to stop it? Is every nerve alight within him, desperate to soak in each last sensation, the chill on his skin, the prickle of gooseflesh at the back of his neck, the brush of fabric, the creak of leather, the jingle of chains? Are there tremors in his fingers that you cannot see? Is he terrified, or at peace with this decision?

You hope he is at peace. Even as your hands clench at your sides and your ears start to ring with the stress of watching him step forward into eternity, knowing he will die, he will inevitably die, he will certainly die , you hope he, at least, has no more of the terror that has plagued him since childhood.

It’s the only way you’ll see him again.

You have to let him go. You curl your toes inside your boots as if to anchor your feet directly down into the stone beneath you. You hold your breath to keep from using your voice. You cannot stop him. You cannot intervene.

But dammit, it’s hard .

Every step he takes is another step away from you. Another step closer to death. You have prepared for this. Sat in his study, curled up by the fireplace, watching him review scrolls about the rituals, watching him practice his glamor. You’ve seen the way his eyes grew distant at the daunting trial before him, taking him to a place where you couldn’t reach him…and the way his eyes drifted around his study, looking for a figure you both know will never return to brighten the Lighthouse again. You prepared your goodbye …and your welcome back… and your final goodbyes if it all went wrong. You thought you had steeled yourself to the fact that he might not return at all.

But now the moment is here. 

Every step is like a death knell, the chime of a clock striking midnight. The sound of his boot heels on the worn paving stones rings in your head like the peeling of chantry bells, ten, eleven…twelve. 

Silence.

He stops and turns to face you. The light of the chamber beyond is too bright, too harsh, a wash of milky white fog and light that silhouettes him until he is a singular shape in black. You search for his eyes, desperate to read his thoughts, or perhaps to memorize that particular shade of hazel you took too much for granted, but his every feature melts into shadow.

You look anyway, mastering your expression for him just in case he is watching you too. You will not look anxious. You will not look like you have even a shred of doubt. He will come back. He will come back. You hang onto the thought like a lifeline, and you watch, unwilling to look away for a single instant.

This is your last view of him alive. One way or another, he has to die. You’re prepared to walk his undeath with him, but you want to soak in this last living sight. Just in case.

Come back to me as yourself, Emmrich. Please.

Myrna and Vorgoth join him in the illuminated chamber and the doors begin to swing closed. You stare. You stare and you study and you will your feet to stay planted to the smooth stone floor and you look for a single glimpse of his eyes—

And you see that they are closed.

Your breath catches. You feel your heart start to crack, his name bubbling up from your chest into your throat, ready to be spoken, whispered, shouted, but you cannot let it escape. You swallow your voice as the doors shut with an echoing clang, a single note of devastating finality. 

Then…the silence of the grave.

—————

You stand as still as stone, imagining yourself as steady and cold as the carved marble and granite figures that line the vault. But your traitorous heart beats wildly in your chest, reminding you with every heartbeat that you are the last living thing in that room. You are the wrong thing here in this vault of silence, stone, and stillness. The audacious lover who dared to invade this sanctum of undeath and sully it with your mere presence.

You dare not invade any further. Emmrich is beyond your reach now. All you can do is wait.

You can feel the eyes of the Lich Lords upon you, veilfire glowing green and blue in their hollow eye sockets. Challenger of the gods , they called you. Volkarin’s beloved . You wonder if you are the first lover to stand at a lich candidate’s side to see them off for the final sifting of the soul. 

You wonder if you are the only lover who plans to stick around after lichdom has been achieved. Until death takes you, that is. You, but not him.

You know they are not there to judge you, and yet their faces remain fixed forward toward you, not the chamber beyond. You begin to feel as though you are as much a part of this final test as whatever it happening in the chamber beyond. Do the Lich Lords see you, truly, as they gaze out over the vault? Or do they see Emmrich’s soul, his thoughts, his memories instead?

Do they find you there among them? Is it better or worse if they do?

You know you’ll get no answers from the Lich Lords so you don’t ask. Which leaves you once again waiting. Listening. Hoping. 

Time crawls forward, impossible to track. Down here, deep beneath the earth, every light is artificial and cold, every chamber eternally lit by magical flame. It’s only the flickering of the torches and braziers that tell you that time hasn’t stopped altogether. 

And still you wait. It’s all you can do.

You breathe out, gently clouding the air. When did it get so cold? Or had it always been this cold in the Necropolis, and you never noticed it before? You rub your arms subconsciously, seeking warmth, but your hands do little to help.

What kept the chill at bay before? Was it Emmrich’s presence at your side, his hand eventually slipping into yours, that kept you warm among these patina green and slate gray halls? Or had he cast subtle spells over you, a bubble of warmth to carry you through the Necropolis, his mind on your comfort over his duty as a Mourn Watcher? Perhaps the chill had always been there, but you were too busy basking in the kindness of his hazel eyes and the soothing cadence of his voice to notice.

What happens now that those eyes, that voice, may be gone forever? 

You turn away from the Lich Lords and pace a slow circuit around the stone table. Over your head, the colossal sculpture of three crowned skulls looms like an omen, a second set of judges over the living and the dead. No matter where you turn, the hollow eyes of skulls peer down over you, reminding you of the inevitable. Now that Emmrich is in the chamber beyond, the only thing coming out of that room is a dead man.

How much of Emmrich will be left?

You strain your ears to catch any sound from the chamber beyond. The windows behind the Lich Lords appear open, letting in some of the white light, and yet you hear nothing. Even the crackle of the veilfire around you is muted and low. 

How much time has passed? Mere moments, or has it been an hour already? More than an hour?

You close your eyes briefly, your thoughts a silent prayer, the same as you prayed before. Come back to me as yourself, Emmrich. Please.

It’s the same thing you told him just before he walked away. One last plea, pulled from the depths of your heart, uttered before you could think twice about the words. And in return, he had smiled, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners the way they always do—always did.  

I will, my darling. I promise.

A promise. One you hope—you know he intends to keep. Yet you know that even if he does come back, he will come back different. Everything will be different. His appearance, his senses, his feelings. He warned you of that just days ago.

Lichdom is a transformation of body and soul. A change in how I sense and feel. And I will still feel, but—

But he will feel differently. You know that. He does too. At this point, change is unavoidable, but how he will change…that is less certain. What will he lose, even as he gains eternity and power?

You recall his soft musing words the day you picked flowers together in the memorial gardens, when you asked if he would still be able to enjoy the flowers if he became a lich. He had answered simply, an academic’s thoughtful reply, but you caught the hesitant sadness in his voice at the end all the same.

I can’t say if the flowers would still hold their bloom for me. 

But what about you? For him to lose his sense of smell is one thing, but to lose a measure of his heart…

You can still picture the flower he once picked for you, the thin stem in your hand, the white petals luminescent in the light of the gardens. The scent has long faded from memory, but the magic of it is burned forever in your mind from when he transformed the soft petals into glittering motes of light. You, in the bloom of your life, basked in the glow of his magic, melting beneath him as he pressed you gently into the stone of the memorial and kissed you for the first time. That was the moment you realized you loved him, alive or undead.

So is it selfish to long for, even mourn what you have already lost of him? For you have lost something . The moment he stepped into that chamber, you lost something. You can feel it, hollow in your gut, even though you can’t name it. If he survives this last test, you will gain something back, but even so…is it selfish that you already miss him as he was in life?

Is it too early to mourn, knowing he was a dead man the moment he uttered those words at the chamber doors?

I am come to be judged by the dead.

You know he is more than his appearance, more than the skin and muscle and sinew that makes up his living body, more than that common, fleshy muscle in his chest that pumps blood through his veins but to which everyone attributes the deepest of mortal feeling and desire. Even when that heart grows still, he will surely still love you, you remind yourself. He had all but promised before he left your side. 

Hadn’t he?

If anything should perchance go wrong… My dearest heart. You are the most magnificent thing to ever happen to me.

You stop. You realize now.

This is why he didn’t look back.

You are a temptation. His last tether to this mortal world. If he had looked back, he might have wavered. Decades of his life’s work, lost at a single glance.

If he had looked back, you would have almost certainly lost him for good. 

You pause at the start of your circuit again, turning to face the chamber doors, your heart racing. Does he think of you now? In his mind’s eye, do you exist as the path back home, a marker for his soul to return to his new lich body, or has he cast you aside, unwilling to let you become his final weakness? Have you ruined it all simply by being there?

You were the one to reach out when he first stepped away. The one who held him by the arm, desperate for another few seconds with him, a final kiss, a last embrace. I love you , you whispered as his lips left yours, a confession you should have said days ago. 

I love you too, my darling.

What if that final kiss, that simple confession, has doomed him? You think of Johanna Hezenkoss, the failed lich, her body slowly shriveling on her skeletal frame, eyes burning with veilfire inside a withered face. Wrong. Half-undead. Stagnant, yet decaying.

Is that the fate you sealed for Emmrich with your kiss?

Suddenly you would give anything, a measure of your strength, your power, your own lifeblood, to ensure that he passes through the Lich Lords’ final sifting of the soul to successfully enter lichdom. You want nothing more than to see him again, no matter what vessel his soul is housed in. Was it not ultimately his soul that you fell in love with? Time is a thief that would rob you both of vitality, strength, and beauty no matter how you attempt to slow it down, but the soul is eternal. Or so everyone says.

All you want now is his soul with you again, rather than passing on to the Fade, or wherever it is souls go when they die. 

Please, Emmrich , you beg silently. Come back.

Perhaps the Lich Lords or the spirits of the Fade will hear your silent prayers, drawn in by your deepest desire, since the silent gods are no longer listening and may not even exist. If the spirits sense your hope, perhaps they can intervene on your behalf, driven by the strength of your wish to lead Emmrich’s soul back again if he needs the help. 

But no, you must have faith in him. That is what he needs from you now. You clench your fists at your sides, determined to mold your anxiety and desperation into faith instead. You can do this, Emmrich. Death won’t keep us apart. You won’t let it. 

A light clamor draws your attention back to the chamber—the sound of the latch unbolting. The doors are about to open. The wait is over. 

The judges’ verdict is set. The scales have been weighed, the soul measured, and judgment passed.

Emmrich is dead. 

—————

Your blood pounds in your ears, a steady roar that drowns out everything else as the heavy doors groan open. You force yourself to watch, willing your eyes to adjust faster to the white light that spills forth. You have to see. You have to know. Death or undeath? A lifeless corpse or an eternal lich?

Come back to me, my love. Come back.

Vorgoth emerges first, a ceremonial knife in his gloved and bangled hands. Wet, red blood drips, fresh and lurid, from the black and gold blade. Emmrich’s blood, dripping down onto the Necropolis floor, each drop glittering ruby red in the light before it splashes dark and black on the stone. Vorgoth sheathes the blade, tucking it inside the depths of his cloak, his task complete.

Then Myrna appears, promenading forth with an urn cradled in her hands, a canopic jar with a lid carved in the shape of a skull. A thin trickle of blood trails down from the seam between jar and lid. You dare not wonder what lays inside, what part of your beloved Emmrich they carved away to preserve inside that funerary urn. The mere sight of it makes your stomach twist.

Did it hurt? What they had done to him? Were his final living moments spent in pain as cold metal carved through his flesh? The thought leaves you ill, your knees weak. But no, the Mourn Watch are not inhumane. Myrna and Vorgoth respect Emmrich. He calls them friends. Surely his death had been as painless as they could make it. You have to believe it, or else the world around you will tilt out of focus and leave you crumpled on the floor, and you cannot let Emmrich see you like that. 

At last Myrna steps aside, leaving your view into the chamber unhindered. To your relief, there is no lifeless corpse crumpled on the ground. Instead, a figure stands where Emmrich stood. With a shift, it begins to walk forward.

At first it’s no more than a silhouette to match the Lich Lords above. A dark, shadowed figure with a crown of spikes and eyes glowing with veilfire. A lich at long last. But is it–is he your Emmrich?

As he draws nearer, out of the white light, more details emerge. Glimmers of gold, the rustling whisper of grave linen, the thick drape of black crape fabric. The doors close behind him and the silhouette melts away to reveal him in all his undead glory, standing regal in black and gold.

For one terrifying moment, you don’t recognize him. His skull could be anyone’s skull. There is nothing left of the hazel gold or green in his gaze. The heart you yearned to capture, the one he once said beats for you and no other, now no longer beats in his chest at all. It is missing, along with every other organ, his gold-reinforced ribcage left open and hollow. He is a walking skeleton now, draped in rich armor and finery, brimming with new power. 

You can’t look away. He has to be in there somewhere. You take an unsteady step forward as he draws slowly nearer to you, searching the polished bone surface of his skull beneath his golden helm for something you can recognize as Emmrich Volkarin. Your beloved.

“Emmrich?” you whisper. Your heart is a drumbeat in your chest, tempo allegro , relentlessly pounding in your ears until you’re almost dizzy from the rush. Please be in there. Please.

He stops and you can sense his gaze, harder to track now that it’s all veilfire, moving away from you to the room around you. His jaw unhinges and though he no longer has a tongue, his voice emerges from somewhere within him, like a spirit speaking from the beyond.

“I see so much more clearly now,” he says. Your breath hitches as you recognize the tones and timbre of his voice. It has an otherworldly echo now, but it’s his . “The deeper eddies of the Fade. The pulse of the Necropolis.”

You can sense the new power he has gained. Magic shifts around him as though he is draped in more than metal and fabric. As if he stands with one foot in the physical world and the other in the Fade. Even his voice sounds like it begins in another plane and is carried forth over a vast distance.

You can’t help but feel awed. You stand before an immortal being now. Yet, unlike when you stood before Solas, Elgar’nan, or Ghilan’nain, there is no fear or wariness in your heart. This is not some cold, unfeeling god. This is Emmrich Volkarin.

You feel his gaze settle on you as he continues, his voice full of wonder. “I have been through blood and darkness, and I have emerged into light.”

You breathe for the first time in several seconds, your lungs shuddering at the sudden cold air. Relief floods into you, even as a smaller part of you aches to think how painful this last test was for him—what trials of blood, what depths of darkness had he endured to earn this gift of immortality? But those trials are in the past now. What matters is not that he experienced them, but that he endured and emerged victorious.

He has returned to you.

You wet your dry lips, the question on your tongue tasting metallic from fear, but you have to ask. You have to know. “Emmrich, now that you’re…do you still feel…” 

You can’t put the whole question into words. He is here, but he is changed. How much? How deeply?

“Oh,” he says, and his voice is like a lovestruck sigh from the depths of his soul, breath simulated by tone alone. “My love.”

This time, his words wrap around you, sinking into your skin and settling deep within you. It’s the feeling of returning home, of a world made right again. It’s the thrilling sensation of a loving whisper on your bare skin, a promise of devotion and a song of praise, the tenor of his soft voice perfected by the subtle, echoing embellishments of his new magic. You nearly weep for the love you can sense conveyed in so simple a phrase.

It’s really him. And he is really yours. 

It’s all he has to say to convince you.

“Come,” he says. “Walk the gardens with me.”

He offers you his hand, now wrapped tightly with grave linen down to the tips of his fingers. You recognize the rings he wears as his usual jewelry, and the sight of something familiar calms your still-settling heart even further. Without hesitation, you take his hand and let him lead you out of the vault.

You can feel the shape and rigidity of bone beneath the linen, but his touch is gentle as he folds his hand around yours, matching your pace as you venture out into the Necropolis proper. Each step you take with your hand in his quiets your lingering doubts. His measured strides are the same as they were in life, the pressure of his touch no different from when he had muscles and tendons to control them. Even his presence at your side beats back the chill of the Necropolis just the way it had when you journeyed with him earlier. 

Everything is as it was in life, simply made more by the aura of magic that follows him. The moment the two of you reach the gardens, your steps crunching the gravel of the cemetery paths, you feel him relax at your side. You wonder what he sees now, now that his eyes have been opened, his spirit awakened to the subtle movements and patterns of the Fade. Where you see veilfire torches and the carefully tended blooms of the cemetery flowers, the cool air broken here and there by the playful twirl of a glowing wisp, what does he see?

You think of that moment in the Lighthouse weeks ago, when he took your hand and placed it on a skull, instructing you to breathe, to focus while he spoke a solemn incantation, the weight of his hand covering yours. When you opened your eyes, you could see the currents of the Fade in motion—glimmers of light fluttering through the air, ribbons of color weaving in and out of sight, and blue and green wisps dancing playfully high overhead, or lingering serenely around the two of you. Is that what he sees now? Brighter, richer ribbons of light, glittering notes of magic, twirling wisps, even spirits walking the grounds? Does he see beyond the Veil, two worlds overlapping, mixing together in a sympathy of color and light, or simply what bits and scraps are strong enough to push through, eager to brush against the physical world? You wish you could see. You wish you could share in the vision with him.

“It’s…beautiful,” he murmurs. You look up, studying his new profile. It will take some getting used to, but it doesn’t frighten or disturb you. When he turns his face toward you, you can feel the warmth of his gaze again, even though there is nothing left of the hazel eyes you once fell in love with. “To think, I can share this first glimpse of wonder with you, my darling. It makes this moment all the sweeter.”

If he were still capable of tears, you know he’d be weepy right now. He always did get philosophical around flowers. And it’s you knowing that, sensing it in his voice, that dispels the last of your doubts. You squeeze the bones of his hand and whisper, “I knew you’d come back to me.”

His next words are confirmation and promise, reassurance and affirmation, his affection as clear and warm as it was in life, even despite the new echo. It is confident, certain, and tender, and as before, it settles somewhere deep past the heart, where nothing can ever take it away from you again.

“Always, my love.”

[seriouslysam8]

Selcouth Sneak Peek

Chapter Eight

They stepped out onto the balcony. Sirius placed a hand on her lower back, steering her away from the rest of the party goers. His hand dropped when they found a secluded corner away from all the drunken wizards and rich snobs that had more money than they knew what to do with. He turned, leaning his side into the railing. Tegan mimicked him, her head cocking to the side. 

“Tell me everything I should know about the Weasley family,” Sirius said, his eyes searching her face. 

“They are the nicest and warmest family I have ever met,” Tegan replied with a soft smile. “My daughter is best friends with Ginny and she’s also dating Ron. I’m invited to every single event that family holds, which, trust me, is a lot. They have ongoing Friday night dinners where almost everyone always shows up. They are invested in each other’s lives. Ginny actually lives across the pond from her parents’ house.”

Sirius nodded. “Any entanglements that came to life after the war?” he pressed. “Even if it’s a third cousin twice removed, I need to know.”

“No,” Tegan said in a sure tone. “They’re a good family, Sirius. Extremely loyal to one another. If you’re lucky enough to enter their orbit, they’re fiercely loyal to you as well.”

Sirius shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “So, I’m being a paranoid git for nothing?”

Tegan’s brows lowered on her face. “Definitely,” she replied with no hesitation. “Was that really a question?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, a sigh escaping his lips. “Harry wants to move back to England to be closer to James and Ginny.”

Tegan smiled. “That’s great!”

Sirius’ face pulled. 

“You don’t want him to?” Tegan asked. 

Sirius swallowed, his gaze flickering to the sky. “I just worry for his safety in England.”

Tegan touched his arm, causing him to look back at her. “It’s not like it was before,” she assured him, her thumb brushing against the fabric of his suit jacket. “Voldemort’s followers aren’t causing issues.”

“Yet,” Sirius stressed, his eyebrows shooting up. 

Tegan dropped her hand from his arm. “Sirius…”

“You don’t believe he’s actually dead, do you?” Sirius pressed, his lips thinning into a straight line. 

“There was a body,” Tegan replied as though that meant something. 

“I’ve heard stories from people who attempted to kill him and spells that should have done the trick barely made him flinch,” Sirius said in a low tone, his eyes flickering around them to ensure no one would overhear.

Tegan sighed. “Those are all stories.”

“Dumbledore doesn’t think so,” Sirius added, his arms crossing over his chest. “He believes it’s only a matter of time before he reappears.”

“So, what? You think Harry goes back to England and some Death Eaters will reincarnate Voldemort?” Tegan asked in an incredulous tone, her head shaking. “Do you know how mad that sounds? No magic can bring back the dead.”

“They could if he’s not actually dead,” Sirius explained.

Tegan frowned deeper, her dark eyes boring into him. “And the body that was burned was what? An illusion?”

Sirius stared at Tegan. Knowledge was a dangerous thing to have. Trust between two people seemed nearly impossible to maintain. Except, Tegan kept the secret of Harry being in England. She contacted Sirius first instead of saying James looked like a Potter to people she was extremely close to. Having an Auror like Tegan in his corner would be beneficial. Dumbledore always said it was good to collect strong allies, ones who could obtain knowledge and have skill sets that you may lack. 

Sirius wasn’t stupid. He knew what he brought to the Order all those years ago. Knowledge of pureblood circles, who were friends and who were enemies. He knew their secrets. He heard their gossip. Being a Black was beneficial in that way. Sirius grew up with the very wizards that had been rallied and radicalized by Voldemort. He understood what motivated them, what enticed them. 

While over the years Sirius lost access to that information, now he had an even more important connection that Dumbledore wanted access to: Harry. Sirius allowed it, needing Dumbledore’s resources and knowledge to keep his godson safe. Sirius doubted that Harry would even be alive at this point if it hadn’t been for Dumbledore’s connections. Watching Harry waste away at such a young age from the Horcrux slowly chipping away at him had been the worst years of Sirius’ life. 

[scentednuttragedy]

Aphrodisiacs

Ghost Aka Simon Riley X Reader (Smut)

MDNI.

NSFW, mentions of drugs and human trafficking.

There you were, sitting in an unknown place, with unknown people, hands tied behind the chair and a bag over your head. This situation got you thinking that maybe if you had known your boyfriend was this high level of military personnel, you wouldn't even have dated him in the first place, but you just had to fall in love with him. 

The room's lights suddenly blind you as the bag is taken from your head; squinting your eyes, you try to see who the people are, but all of them have masks on their faces; smart move, you think. If it were someone else in your place, they would have panicked, but it was you, Simon's, AKA Ghost's girlfriend; he had prepared you for all sorts of things, but experiencing it in real was a little more daunting; you wondered if they knew that before kidnapping you from the streets. One of the guys standing beside you nodded his head to another guy, both of them in mutual agreement. 

"Drug her," The masked man said, you're not sure which one. The masked man holding a syringe came over and grabbed your hair as he forced your head to the side at an uncomfortable angle. If you weren't panicking before, now you are; you were scared of what kind of drug they were injecting in you; looking around the place, you were sure they were trafficking women, and you were going to be next if they drug you. 

The stinge you felt at the side of your neck made it clear you were drugged now; you knew it was pointless trying to get out of here; you were tied, and several men were standing with guns in their hands. Maybe you were imagining it, but you felt the liquid rush through your veins, and it was making you feel hot, way too hot and uncomfortable. 

"The aphrodisiacs-" The door burst open, revealing none other than your boyfriend, but you wouldn't admit that in front of these people. You watched him and his team take down the gang members, but it was getting difficult for you to keep your eyes open. You wanted to call out to him, but your body gave up and fell unconscious. 

Groaning, you moved around, embracing the soft feeling of the mattress and seeking more. Your body still felt hot, and you'd be lying if you weren't bothered; you thought for a second that bad dream ... you jolt your eyes open; it wasn't a dream, it was reality. Scanning around your living room, you spot Simon talking to a nurse at the doorway. He gave you a look before the nurse left; he eventually sighed and walked inside the bedroom. 

"Doc said yer are fine for now. If there's anything unusual, we should report it." He slips his hand into yours and rubs circles into your hands. It sends electricity flying through your body; you didn't think the drug was this strong. God, you wanted more of his touch. 

"I'm sorry, Lov-" 

"It's not your fault." You cut him off; it was the truth that it wasn't his fault, but rather your fault for going to a shady area at such a late hour. Simon nods at that, not wanting to go against your word. You sit up and cup his cheeks as you scan his face, his eyes, his nose, and soon your eyes land on his lips; you want to kiss them so badly. Oh, all the nights you spent with him...

"They drugged me with aphrodisiacs", you blurt out, wanting your boyfriend to know what they did to you. You hug him, snuggling your head into his neck as you breathe in his scent. Less to say, it didn't help how you were feeling; if anything, it only made you more feral. He hugged you back, his hands around your waist to balance your body as you positioned yourself onto his lap. He pushes your t-shirt a little up as his hands lie on the bare skin of your waist; you wonder if he's doing this on purpose. His touch feels so good against your hot skin as he rubs soothing circles into your waist; you were so sure you caught him smirking there.

"Doctor told me. I am so sorry, love, I didn't arrive earlier." He sighs as he looks into your eyes directly... is he giving you that look? You were too gone to question anything.

"How are you feeling now?" He asked you, his voice laced with genuine concern.

"I am fine... but..." Your breath starts getting heavy; staring at his lips, you bite your own. He smirks as his hands lower to your hips. Now you knew he was teasing you, which only frustrated you; you wanted more. You wanted him inside you. 

"Hm, but?" He teases you. Oh, fuck him; you don't waste another second as you grab his face and kiss him. He was a bit taken aback by your boldness but soon gave in to your kiss. Your kiss is full of hunger, and yet you crave more. Simon returns the favour by kissing just as hungrily, craving you just as much. After all, he thought he had lost his love there. His hands, which were on your hips, pushed you forward and backward against him, moving your body, and you could feel his hardness underneath you. You moan softly, feeling his hardened, clothed dick beneath you. He smirked in the kiss; you badly want to wipe that smirk off his face. You knew he wanted you just as badly; he could never resist you. 

"You still haven't answered me, love" He pulled back, but he was still grinding your body onto his, riling you up. Typical Simon, you thought. You gripped his T-shirt tightly, annoyed at the loss of his touch. Your eyes teared up; you were frustrated; your reaction made him smirk. He was going to make you beg for it, wasn't he?

"Si... please" He stops and continues smirking, and you whine at that. Your hands slid downwards, landing on his muscled arm. Whatever shame or dignity you had left you cause right now, the only thing you wanted was your boyfriend.

"Want yer dick inside me... please." You furrow your eyebrows and look at him, your eyes begging him to touch you, to feel him on you. Feeling too much, you try to grind your hips on him to try and get some release. He sees your tries and chuckles to himself. He watches your desperate act, his vision clouding with lust and hunger. Oh, he just wanted to fuck you right here and now. 

"Wasn't that hard now, was it?" Simon grinned as he picked you up with one arm and carried you towards your shared bedroom. Your boyfriend's strength never failed to turn you on; his arm muscles and those tattoos only made you want to jump him more. 

After entering the bedroom, he throws you onto the bed and crawls onto your body. Without wasting another second, you pull him in, kissing him impatiently. He kissed you back, his tongue parting your lips as he pushed it inside your mouth. The kiss was messy, sloppy, wet, and, most of all, it was hot, very hot. His hands trail down towards your knees as he parts them and takes his place in between them. He pulls back as he runs his hands over your thighs to your inner thighs, eventually landing on your lace. 

"Is this where you need me the most?" He pressed his thumb on your clothed clit, making you jerk; it felt so good, and you wanted more. The cloth between your cunt and his finger was the only thing stopping you from experiencing the pleasure, and it made you frustrated. You guide his hands towards your lace, feeling impatient. He was surprised at how bold you were tonight and liked this side of you. He noticed your frustration, pulled your pants down, and threw them away once they were off you. He groans once he sees your wetness; he wants nothing but to help his baby feel better. 

"Such a beautiful sight" He kisses your inner thigh as he works his way down towards your wet aching cunt; your breath grows heavy along with his movement. He licks a long stripe, making you moan loudly and grabbing onto his hair. He groans and continues lapping at your juices and stimulating your clit, one of his hands slipping under your t-shirt and grabbing your tits, the other hand rubbing circles in your inner thigh. 

"Say my name, love." He says, his voice vibrating against your clit, sending pleasure against your whole body. Your mind was clouded with nothing but lust and him; you didn't care what he thought; you just wanted to cum. 

"Fuck- Simon, please... I want to cum for bad." You moan out, and once he hears that he starts going faster; he was an impatient man when it came to you; he could never make his baby wait and suffer. Your breathing gets heavy, indicating that you're close; he continues to flick at your clit as he groans. 

"Si... S'close, I want to cum" You whine and moan.

"Cum for me, princess" Soon after, you are reaching your high, moaning loudly, pulling onto his hair and cumming into his mouth. God, he loved every second of it, tasting every bit of your juices and cleaning you up. Never in your wildest dream, you thought that aphrodisiacs would make you cum this hard. You breathe heavily as you prop yourself onto your elbow and look at him. His breath matched yours; he wiped his mouth with the back of his palm and studied you, his gaze filled with lust. 

"Looking so cute, princess" He grabs your waist and pulls you down as he takes hold of your wrists and pins them above your head. Even if you wanted to break free, you couldn't cause your boyfriend was way more muscular than you, not that you wanted to. His other hand raised your chin, forcing you to look at him. His lips once again found yours in a heated, wet kiss. He grabbed your waist tightly as he broke the kiss and turned you around, making your back face him as he smacked your ass loudly. You hiss in pain, but it only turns him on more. He rubs the reddened area as his other hand wraps around your throat and pulls you back against his chest; you could feel his hard dick pressing against your back. 

"Tis gonna be a long night, princess", He whispered in your ear. 

Divider from Clipart Library.

First time writing smut, and also writing after so long oml. Happy new year everyone<3 last year was a massive mess for me. I hope this year goes well for everyone<3.

[damned-punk]

Setting Sail (Kidd x Reader x Killer)

@gratefulcheeses Kidd Pirate’s Month 2025 🏴‍☠️

⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆

Content Warning: death, mourning, language

Content Description: you pick up the pieces with Kidd and Killer following the loss of Victoria

⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆

You’d arranged to meet with your three best friends for lunch as usual. Kidd, Killer, and Victoria sat around the table awaiting your arrival, each impatiently holding themselves off from devouring the food that they’d brought. You could hear their bickering before you could even reach the door, Kidd and Killer’s laughter undoubtedly being directed at Victoria. She’d always been a messy eater and today wasn’t any different, both her face and shirt were covered in the brown sauce of her noodles.

“I’m pretty sure the food is supposed to go in your mouth.”, Kidd teased, Victoria’s face red from embarrassment.

“Fuck you, Eustass.”, she cursed, slinging a stray noodle at him.

“I would give you another shirt to wear, but I’m sure you’d ruin it too.”, Killer prodded further, her frustration surmounting.

You were just about to join in when she reached over and slapped the two of them across the face. She was beyond pissed as there had been quite a lot of teasing lately and despite her comments in passing that they needed to watch it, they just wouldn’t stop. A part of her knew that they were just kidding but the rage that all of their comments had built up within her had finally bubbled over. She left her mess on the table, brushing against your shoulder as she ran out the door with tears in her eyes.

“Assholes.”, you scolded them, “What was that all about?”

“Shut up and sit down, I’m not in the mood.”, Kidd huffed with his arms crossed.

You could tell that her outburst had upset them. The four of you picked on each other ruthlessly but it was always in good fun. You wondered if something else was going on, it wasn’t uncommon for one of you to need time cooling down but to leave in tears was another thing entirely. It wasn’t safe to go out alone, she knew that. Kidd and Killer’s reputation on the island was the only thing that spared the two of you and even then, it all depended on the political climate.

Kidd had moved up rather quickly, Killer along with him, but you tended to stay out of those things. You’d always support your friends as you trusted their judgement when things got serious, but this was all supposed to be temporary. You didn’t see a point in involving yourself in something just because Kidd was the boss. You already had to put up with his loud mouth, you certainly didn’t need to give him another excuse to mouth off.

“I should go talk to her.”, you said after thinking things over for a few minutes, “Maybe I can convince her to come back.”

“Don’t convince her, let her come back on her own.”, Killer retorted, his blonde bangs hiding his expression from view.

“I don’t care what you do, she’s too soft.”, Kidd barked in annoyance.

“You and I both know that you don’t mean that.”, he rolled his eyes but didn’t protest which was all the confirmation you needed.

It took a while to find her, but she eventually showed up at the tiny shack that the two of you shared to sleep in. She looked exhausted, her eyes red and puffy.

“You okay?”, you asked softly in an attempt to start the conversation.

“I’m done.”, she asserted, “I’m over it, I’m over them, and I’m done.”

“Victoria-“, you started but she cut you off almost immediately.

“(Y/N), you can’t honestly stand there and tell me that you want to keep living like this.”, she continued on, “I care about them and I want all of us to get out of here one day, but I can’t keep up anymore. Not like this.”

“What are you saying? They were just fucking around, you and I know better than anyone that they didn’t mean it.”, you tried to level with her.

She flickered her teary gaze between your eyes and took off out the door into the hellscape that was the South Blue. Days went by and neither you, Kidd, nor Killer had heard anything from her. You sat awake at night, waiting on her to bust through the door but she never did. It had finally come down to the point that there was nothing left to eat or drink in the shack at all, you had no choice but to scrape up some money and venture to the market. You picked out some of Victoria’s favorite foods, making sure to grab the noodles that she always liked for when she returned.

“Take my advice kid…”, the cashier spoke as he bagged up your groceries, “I know you come here alone a lot, but I think you should start bringing someone with you. They found a little girl about your age beaten to death down by the coast, it was horrible.”

“What did she look like? Did they know her name?”, you asked quickly, your heart beating out of your chest.

“She had freckles and short hair, I think they said something like Vicky or maybe Victoria.”, he handed you the grocery bags, “Officials are speculating gang violence, it’s disgusting.”

You silently walked down the street, your entire body feeling numb. Going back to the only two people you had left in this world, you trekked to Kidd and Killer’s hideout only to find it empty. You knew exactly where they were and what they were doing. It took days for them to find everyone but each rumor you heard was as gruesome as you’d expected. You sat alone for nights on end, your face constantly drenched in tears and sweat. At this point, all the rage and anger had passed leaving only mourning in their wake.

Kidd and Killer eventually did return and they’d brought a whole group of people back with them, but it didn’t feel right. A piece had been clipped from the three of you, everything felt incomplete. As soon as your eyes landed on them, you couldn’t control your sobs. Their hands were cut up, their bodies bruised. They’d taken care of everyone who had anything to do with what happened to her. The whole thing was so fucked up and you could only hope that the guilt wouldn’t consume them.

It somewhat surprised you to see how much of a leader Kidd had turned out to be. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in him, you just didn’t expect it to happen so early. He and Killer had taken the reigns of the entire underworld in the South Blue and decimated anyone who stood in their way. It was as equally impressive as it was terrifying. They’d gained reputations for behaving like wild dogs, the talk being that they ripped Victoria’s killer and his crew limb from limb.

“There’s nothing left for us here.”, Kidd said out of the blue one day, the two of you sat on the sand and watching waves crash against the shore.

You glanced over at him, studying his face and how his amber eyes reflected the lingering rays of sunlight on the horizon.

“I’ve decided we’re going to sea, got a ship lined up and everything.”, he explained with a serious expression, “You better get ready to start calling me Captain if you’re coming.”

You flicked his ear, a small smile cracking across his intense features. He bumped you with his shoulder, prompting you to lean against him. You had a love/hate relationship with the South Blue. There were no opportunities and your life had its fair share of hardship, but it was still the place that you had been born. It was the place that Victoria was buried, going with him felt like leaving it all behind. Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing, you knew her well enough to know that she wouldn’t want you to dwell on the loss. She’d undoubtedly tell you to take any chance to get off that island, Kidd and Killer being no exception despite what had happened.

“Have you named the ship yet?”, you asked after thinking for a few moments.

“No.”, he answered, glancing down at you, “Did you have something in mind?”

“How about the Victoria Punk?”, you suggested, his entire body stiffening.

He was silent and when you finally heard him sniffle, your own tears welled in tandem. You squeezed his hand, you hadn’t witnessed him be vulnerable like this before.

“I like it.”, he said after several minutes, “Captain Kidd of the Victoria Punk.”

“You’re such a dork.”, you teased, giving another playful shove to his arm to lighten the mood.

Maybe things would work out in the end. In this moment, only time would tell.

⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆

[byronic-mess]

Three little words

relationship: Charles/Lewis

rating: gen

additional tags: none

Charles and Lewis had been together for a few months when Charles said it.

It was a warm day in Maranello, and the two of them had just gotten back from the factory. They walked together, because they lived in the same apartment building, and Lewis wasn’t scared to hold Charles’ hand once they were out of the factory. It didn’t matter that everyone knew who they were. They were left mostly to their own devices, and that’s why Lewis swung their hands while they walked. He was smiling as he spoke about something, and Charles just couldn’t stop himself from blurting it out.

“I love you.”

Lewis paused what he was saying to look at Charles, having been interrupted mid sentence. Charles cursed himself for saying it now, when they were just walking back to their apartments, instead of in a more romantic setting, like over dinner or something. Lewis squeezed his hand and kept walking, basically dragging Charles along. Charles waited for him to say something, to tell him it was too soon or anything, but he just went back to what he was talking about earlier, his grip on Charles’ hand tighter than before. 

The two of them arrived at Lewis' apartment first, and Charles started making his excuses so he could leave and lick his wounds. Of course Lewis didn’t feel the same, it’s only been a few months. Lewis rolled his eyes fondly and pulled him into the apartment, closing the door behind him. Charles followed Lewis’ movements with his eyes, blushing when he stepped into his space. Lewis bought one tattooed hand up to Charles’ cheek before bringing him into a sweet kiss, making Charles melt. All of the tension he’d been carrying since he said those three little words bled out of him, and Lewis smiled against his mouth at the feeling of Charles relaxing.

“There you go. I love you too.”

Charles made a surprised noise, leaning in for another kiss. Lewis let him, tangling a hand in Charles’ hair and holding him in place, muttering that he loves him over and over, as if he had to say it until Charles believed him. Charles felt like he was floating, and Lewis was the only thing holding him in place. Eventually Lewis pulled back and smiled at Charles, his eyes crinkling beautifully as he did.

“I love you, Charles Leclerc. More than you know.”

[future-of-freedom]

Tumblr wormhole shenanigan's!

The Neo Diamond Cutters are returning home from a successful mission when suddenly the Diamond Cutters from All Together Now (complete with Bean and Bark) appear in front of them!

How does either team react to their new imposters?!

(this is gonna be long, bear with me)

“Oh, wonderful. This is becoming a theme…” Ashley grumbled.

“So, uh, care to explain why there’s TWO TANGLES AND WHISPERS?!” Bean shrieked, shaking Ashley by the shoulders.

“Relax, dude. Something to do with a wormhole, I guess. It’s not the first time it happened in our world,” the leopard explained. “One time I came across this freaky looking shrike that sounded like static.”

Bark shivered, while Bean winced. “Sounds terrifying…”

“It was. But it blipped back into its world shortly after, so the same thing should happen with you guys, too. But while you’re still here… how’d you get in the Neos?”

Bean and Bark just looked at her, confused.

“Neo Diamond Cutters? Are you not called that in your world?”

Bark shook his head.

“Gotta admit, that sounds a lot cooler…” the bird mumbled. “But Tangle and Whisper took us in, even after realizing we were criminals! It’s been smooth sailin’ ever since! The boss lady’s kind of a downer, though…”

“Eh, in her defense, you gotta have someone to keep things in check…” the leopard chuckled. “Whisper was actually the one who offered me a spot on their team. I was kinda shocked, considering I kept accusing her of ki-“

She stopped. Whoops. She was saying too much.

Bark sat in front of Ashley, curious.

“…accused her offff…?” Bean asked.

Ashley shook her head and pat Bean’s head.

“…it’s a more personal thing on Whisper’s side. Don’t press the one for your world about it, though, alright? She’ll tell you if, or when she thinks it’s the right time.”

Bean happily leaned into Ashley’s robotic hand.

“Gotcha,” Bean answered, while Bark gave her a thumbs up.

-

“Mimic gave you that scar?!” ATN!Tangle gasped.

“Yeah… it’s all good though! He’s been locked up ever since! My face healed up nicely after a couple days, and now I’m living well in a nice home with Whisp!” FOF!Tangle answered. “Can the same be said for you?”

“Pretty much! Although there have been some hiccups. We got through ‘em though, and now we’re sharin’ a house with Bean and Bark!” ATN!Tangle said.

“Woah, with those guys?” FOF!Tangle laughed a little. “That must be fun.”

“Trust me, it’s not as bad as you think. And it’s nice to have a living space that I can call mine after… um…”

ATN!Tangle trailed off a bit.

“You good?” FOF!Tangle asked, concerned.

“Well… sorry, I was thinking about some familial issues. I don’t wanna be a downer-“

“Hey.” FOF!Tangle put a hand on her counterpart’s shoulder. “You’re not gonna be here forever. If you need someone to talk to about that, I’m happy to hear it.”

ATN!Tangle smiled softly and wiped her nose.

“…thank you.”

-

“Nice to see I’m eating well in this world, too,” ATN!Whisper said happily.

FOF!Whisper gave her an appreciative nod. “Have you… also gotten insecure about it?”

“Oh, absolutely. ‘Course, I was told it was okay. Just shows that I’ve been a lot happier as of late.”

“That’s goes for both of us, then,” FOF!Whisper responded, giving her counterpart a thumbs up. “Well, while you’re still here, I must ask… have you used your wisps’ powers on yourself?”

ATN!Whisper cocked her head to the side.

“Y’know, kinda like Sonic has…”

“…I can do that?”

“Possibly, if you’re able to train yourself. I haven’t perfected all their powers yet, but that’s only part of the process.” FOF!Whisper explained. “Can give you tips if you’d like.”

“Won’t be necessary,” ATN!Whisper declined. “I’d rather not mess with their powers like that.”

She smirked. “I’ll keep what you said in mind though.”

-

Both Lanolins were leaning against the wall all nonchalant, both holding cups of coffee.

“So… you also hate your mom?” FOF!Lanolin asked.

“Mhm.”

“Always got worked shoved in your face?”

“Yup.”

“But you have friends that make it somewhat worth it?”

“Correctamundo.”

They looked at each other, and clinked their glasses together.

“Livin’ like Lanny,” they both said at the same time, sipping their mugs.

[kingqueensoobscene]

omg Hihi! I’m currently suffering from “I’m so totally normal about Scout” disease, was hoping if requests are still open and if you could write a bit of Scout with a chubbier s/o? could be headcannons or a small Drabble, completely up to you!! Ty Ty

Hello!!! I am so happy to take this request! I have to be honest, I’ve never written for chubby readers before (mostly just ambiguous body types and genders), but I love getting requests because they open up my eyes and challenge me to write new things! I hope you enjoy this!!I also wrote this for Red Scout from the games, I hope that’s ok! 

Scout x A Chubby Reader

-I like to think Scout would prefer a chubbier person! For chaste reasons, of course. We’ve seen from Expiration Date how he notices many things about what he likes in girls, though I head canon this goes for the guys and the androgynous as well, and it seems like he understands what he likes about people. And he likes people who are stronger than him, which doesn’t take much, though he will never admit it. He also likes that you are confident with yourself! You should be! You look freakin’ amazing, babe! 

-However, if you aren’t as confident, that’s ok! He’s gonna make sure you understand how amazing and beautiful and/or handsome you are! He has many insecurities about himself, what with him being probably the least strong and smart, so he is going to make sure you don’t feel like how he does.

“Babe, I only give this gun show to the hottest of babes, trust me, you’re onenah them.” Then he starts shoving his flat arms in your face. 

“Look at you! You’re the freakin’ cutest, I think the other guys are jealous I have ya!”

If you give that same energy back, oh man, he will start a compliment-off.

“Nuh, nuh, nuh nah, no, you ain’t winning this battle, babes!”

“I mean, how could I win against such a handsome fella?” You smile.

“I swear to god.” 

-He likes when you wear clothes that show off your figure (Again, not in a sexual way). He just loves to show off, as I have said before. Loves holding your hand, hand behind your back, walking with you everywhere. He gets to be a little too much at times, so if you really feel uncomfortable with it, just tell him that you don’t like it and he will profusely apologize. He genuinely feels so horrible if he makes you mad or uncomfortable.

-Assuming you are a mercenary as well, you would be on many missions with him. Always together, the pair the could never go without the other. A sawmill thought to be abandoned was now suspected to have cases of Australium withheld by a cartel. Demoman and Sniper handled the men in the supplier while you and Scout grabbed intelligence. On either side of the door, you went in while Scout covered you. The room  was clear, so was the hall.

“See? Easiest mission eva- AH!” He shrieked. 

He jumped onto you, trying to get away from the horrifying thing that startled him.

“What is it?! Are you ok?” You held his shoulders.

It was a rat. 

-He will never ask for cuddles. He feels weird asking for it and finds it uncomfortable. But if you ever come to him and hug him and hold him close? Instantly at your whim, wrapped around your finger. Run your hands through his hair and he just sighs and melts into you. On the other hand, he’s always willing to return the favor. 

Your back had been killing you after you had pulled some muscles defending yourself against the enemy Spy. An excruciating day, one with blood and dirt caked on your shoes up to your face. Usually you would work with your boyfriend, but today was a Thursday, he got rotated out on Thursdays, Saturdays and Mondays. So you were without backup, being that Engineer and Sniper weren’t on defense and let’s be honest, Soldier is not great at teamwork. The enemy Heavy went after you when you accidentally hit the Blu Medic while being trigger happy. 

You got messed up. And now all you wanted to do was go to bed. Beneath the base, the corridors to each of the 10 mercenaries, including yourself, living quarters were hidden from the battle above. Each room was etched with the symbol of the classes, but you knew what spot you were in by heart, so you squeezed your eyes shut as you opened the door.

“Hey, good-lookin’!” You yelped, “How’s my baby?” 

You looked to see Scout laying on your bed against the wall, drinking a can of Bonk! and looking up from his comic. 

“Why are you just hanging out in my room?” You pulled off your bag and placed it on the ground

“Cause I can.” He replied.

You flopped onto the bed, a long groan leaving your entire body. You were so tired, it wasn’t funny. And yet here, Scout was laughing. 

“You okay?” He chuckled. 

“No.” You whined. 

He rubbed along your arm. It was quiet for a moment. You looking down at the bed. Scout looking down at you. A shared solace.

“C’mere.” He muttered.

You crawled into his lap, laying into his chest as he rubbed circles along your back. 

“It’s gonna be alright.” He whispered.

Drifting along your curves, your ends, your skin. Not anything other than that, just skin. Skin he loved, the skin he wanted to hold him at night. The skin that made him feel warm, that he would never admit, but made him feel safe. The skin of his lover. He didn’t grab, he held your tummy, your arms, your legs. He was a soft touch. A feeling that defied any words that people have said or any bad thoughts about yourself you may have had before. If you thought you were imperfect, Jeremy had you look at him first before you could even think about yourself and ask you why you were with him since he wasn’t the strongest or the most handsome guy out there. Because you saw him as everything he thought he wasn’t. And he feels the same about you. Despite what you may think of yourself, there is no one he would rather be with.

“I don’t think you undastand how lucky of a guy I am to have ya.” 

[candy-swol-man]

heyoooooooo

9, 14, 20, 26

9. Best childhood moment?

No single memory, but all my collective memories of going to visit my aunt and uncle at their lake-house are some of my favorites. I loved being on a boat and swimming is really the only way to get me physically active even now. But yeah, visiting there was always a blast and my favorite part of summer break as a kid.

14. What's something upcoming that you’re excited for?

Ngl, everyone in my fam has decided they're going to plan ALL they're events in fuckin October for some reason and I've just been trying to take it day by day recently. Honestly, my first thought was "for the holidays to be over" lol, because this shit is just getting started. FUCK THIS DRAFT THE TRAILER FOR SUBNAUTICA 2 JUST DROPPED AND THATS WHAT I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO HOLY SHIT LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOO

20. Tell us about a memory you hold close to your heart

Sneaking out to go star gazing on the roof with my best friend/partner ❤. I was still living with my folks at the time and they were still V E R Y helicopter-y even as I was going to college. I was finally getting fed up enough to start rebelling and around that time there was a small meteor shower going on that my partner's whole fam was planning to stay up for until like 3 A.M. He invited me and that might actually be the first time I've ever snuck out in the middle of the night. His fam turned in a bit earlier than they were intending, but myself and my partner stayed up until 4 just chatting and watching the shooting stars

26. If you could live anywhere with anyone you want, where would it be and who would you bring?

Nearby a lake ❤ with my partner. Ideally forestry in the front yard, and a big ass lake in the back. Really, I just love being near the water. Beaches are nice too, but I would much prefer to live by a lake. I live in a desert and summers. suc. It climbs up to 115F in summer and stepping outside immediately puts me in a bad mood and I hate it 💀.

[mayomkun]

Finally done with teen wolf rewatch. Phew

[musical-chick-13]

It is because these people are stupid. Hope this helps.

[parkersbliss]

you lock the 141 outside your house (I know my rights tiktok)

pairing: task force 141 (ghost, gaz, price, soap) x american!female reader 

synopsis: you lock them out of your (their?) house, claiming you "know your rights." based on a tiktok trend with soldiers.

warnings: none just fluff and humor :)))

a/n: I wrote this in like an hour and I think it's the funniest thing EVER thanks

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

requests open for tf141!

SEE TIKTOK HERE

—

Ghost: 

You watch as your boyfriend gets out of his truck in the driveway. He grabs his bag from the passenger seat and makes his way to the front door, a smile twitching under his mask at the sight of you waiting for him. 

Just as he steps to the porch, you close the door and lock it. “I know my third amendment rights!”

Ghost stops at the door, dropping his bag. Rights? What were you talking about? “Your what?” 

“No Soldier shall, in time of peace, be quartered in any house without the consent of the owner,” You reply, reading off your phone. 

Ghost sighs. Third amendment? Of course, the one American he dates is the one that has them all memorized. You could probably recite them in your sleep. Patriotism, or whatever. Which makes zero sense. You were living with him in Manchester. If all went well and you got married, he was making sure he changed your status to British. 

“You fucking Americans.�� He grabs the key from his bag, going to unlock the door only to find you locking it. “Are you serious?”

You show your phone at him through the glass, the third amendment displayed on a Google search. He stares back at you from his mask, unamused. “Bloody hell, woman,” he mutters. 

You giggle from behind the door and give him a few more minutes before going to unlock it. You knew Simon’s limits. You only needed a few seconds of fun anyway, but by the time you unlock it, he’s gone. 

“Simon?” You call out, poking your head out the door and checking around the house. His truck was still there, so he didn’t turn back around. You don’t see any movements or even hear anything. Was he picked up by aliens? 

A thud sounds from behind you, and you yelp, shutting the door and turning around. 

Simon stands in front of you, arms crossed and his duffel bag on the floor.

“What the hell?” You said, looking him up and down. 

“I should be asking you that,” He retorts. “You should really lock your windows, love.” 

“Are you… did you climb through one?” 

“You locked me out.” 

“I went to unlock it!” 

“Third amendment rights, my arse.” He grabs your waist, pulling you towards him. “We’re in England.” 

You shrug, tracing up his arm. “Thought it was funny.” 

Simon just sighs. “Americans.” 

Gaz: 

“Oh, hell no!” You exclaim as Gaz approaches the door. “I know my third amendment rights.” The lock clicks. 

“No fucking way,” Gaz said, strolling up to the glass storm door. 

“No soldiers in this home.” 

He stares at you, his hands on his hips and that signature scowl on his face. There was no way he was coming home to this bullshit right now. “Open the door.” 

“No quartering soldiers without my permission,” You replied. 

Gaz rolls his eyes. Your home? He was pretty sure his name was on the mortgage, even if you were living in it 90% of the time. “I own the fucking property! I live here. You’re the guest.” 

You shrug, grinning. “Not anymore.” 

He runs a hand down his face. Sometimes just sometimes he regrets finding your stubbornness so damn attractive.  “I’m going to crash out, actually.” 

“Crash outside? Yeah.”

“Let me in!” He shouts, grabbing the door handle and jiggling it. 

“No!” You shout back, holding onto it and preventing him from entering without your permission. 

Gaz leans against the glass. “Remind me why I chose to date an American?” 

You smile at him. “Because we’re funny, and we have better Chinese food.” 

He glares at you, trying to unlock the door again. He groans when there’s no avail. “Babe!” 

You say nothing, finding his annoyance quite amusing and a change of pace for once. 

And then he actually crashes out, grabbing the handle and pulling, twisting, pounding at it. He yells a string of curse words and then starts banging on the doorframe. He gives up, frowning, and leans his forehead on the glass. “Please?” 

You unlock it. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

He storms inside, throwing you over his shoulder. “You are so in for it.” 

“I like where this is going,” You giggle as he throws you on the couch. 

He raises a brow, hands coming to your waist. “Yeah?” He starts tickling you. You yelp, laughing under him and trying to push away. 

Gaz doesn’t relent and continues tickling you even after you’ve pleaded with him to stop. “You lock me out of my fucking claim it’s your right,” He mutters. “Consider this my very reasonable punishment.” 

Soap: 

“I know my rights!” You shout, watching Soap approach the door. 

He stops in his tracks, tilting his head. He had no idea what you said. The poor guy could barely hear from all the bombs going on around him, and you shout through a door? Good plan.  “What are you on about?” He asked. 

“There will be no soldiers in my home!” You close the glass door and lock it. 

He approaches the front door, staring at you through the glass. His expression is clueless, brows furrowed. “You mean our home?” He knocks on the glass. “Can I come in?” 

“Nope!” 

He frowns. “Why?” 

“Third amendment.” 

“Amendment?” He scoffs. What the hell are you talking about? Is this what he gets for dating an American? You start proclaiming your rights? What’s next, the pledge of allegiance? “Are you taking the piss? Does this look like the land of the free?” 

You giggle at him, his accent thickening with his frustration. “I’m still an American!” 

“Trust me, I know! Can I please come inside?” 

“No soldiers allowed.” You tape up a piece of paper displaying those words. 

Soap continues frowning at you and realizes he isn’t going to be let in anytime soon. It’s a good thing he knew how to easily change that. Americans and their rights. More like Americans and their feelings. He sits down on the porch steps, facing away from you, rests his chin in his hand, and sighs loudly. 

You don’t budge. 

He sighs again, kicking his boots on the porch, turning back at you with sad eyes. Still nothing. He concludes there was one last option to get you to let him in. He grabs his phone, and you watch with furrowed brows as he types something in. Suddenly, music is blasting from his phone as he looks at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes ever. Not just any music, but the sad hamster violin music. 

“Oh my god.” You unlock the door, opening it up to him. “You’re such a baby.” 

He practically skips inside, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Your baby.”

Price: 

Your husband stands on the porch, rolling his eyes at you.

“I know my rights!” You shout at him through the window. 

“Do you, now?” He asked, playing along with your prank or whatever this was. If it brought you this much amusement to lock him out, he might as well indulge in it. That was the kind of man he was. Until he started freezing of course, then he would demand you let him in. 

You nod your head. “As an American, amendment 3 of the Bill of Rights says that I don’t have to house you if I don’t want to.” 

Price hums. At least they taught you something in American schools. “Does that extend when you’re in another country?” 

“It does to me.” 

He huffs, grabbing something from his pocket and displaying it to you. “You know I have a house key, yes?”

“I’ll just lock it again.” 

He tilts his head at you. You were really trying to sell whatever rights you thought you had. “Really?” 

“I’m taking this very seriously.” 

Price strokes his beard. “I can see that.” An idea pops into his head, and he steps away from the glass and in front of the door. You didn’t want to let him in? That’s fine. You wanted to lock the door? No problem. He’s got methods of entering from being in the military, after all. “Guess I’ll just have to kick down the door.” He raises his foot, fully intent on doing it. You were going to repaint the door anyway, might as well get a new one. 

You swing open the door. “Are you crazy?” 

He strolls past you. “Did I lock you outside our home? Besides, crazy would’ve been bombing the house.” 

Your lips parted, unsure if he was joking. You assume he is, but his expression says otherwise. “Are you being serious?” 

He laughs at your face, grabbing your hand. “Only if you start proclaiming your rights again.”

You put your hands up. “What rights? Suddenly, I’m feeling like this soldier can stay as long as he likes.” 

Price presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “Thought so.” 

[cherrygirlfriend]

rafe catching innocentvirgin!reader working out

warnings: smut, no actual sex but like graphic descriptions of fantasies so i think it counts? MDNI this is for my pilates princesses, i'm trying to get into it and whew i have so much respect for yall,,, ANYWAY hope u guys are staying healthy and safe!!! mwah

rafe was knocking on your door impatiently, wanting to see you more than anything after the day he had, finding out that the development he had been busting his ass for for months had been delayed, but you weren't answering the door or even his texts telling you to open the door; that didn't stop him, the man knowing where your parents kept the spare key, getting it out of a pot of asterias, opening the door. you'd told him he could only use it 'only in case of emergencies', but to him, this constituted as an emergency.

rafe didn't bother to put the key back as he walked further into the house, hearing the noise of the television coming from your living room. he made his way to the living room, his eyes widening slightly when he saw exactly what had you so busy.

you were splayed on the floor, a pink workout mat underneath you, watching some workout video on your tv while your headphones were on, wearing a pair of pink fitness shorts that made your ass look so good he was almost drooling, along with a white sports bra, turned away from him, one of your hands splayed on the ground while the other one was bent on your head, one of your knees on the mat while your other was reaching up.

"jesus christ." he mumbled as he stared at you, the curve of your ass in those pink shorts causing his dick to stir in his shorts.

only a few seconds later, you moved to sit down on the mat, only to be startled by your boyfriend shamelessly ogling you, letting out a small gasp as you basically fell on your ass on the mat, your eyes widening.

you took off your headphones, throwing them onto the couch behind you, and even though your face was already warm and flushed, it seemed to get worse when you noticed him staring at you. "rafe!" you exclaimed as you stood up, his eyes now locked onto your hardened nipples under the sports bra, your tits almost pressed together, a sheen of sweat running down your cleavage.

"jesus fucking christ." he said, licking his lips slightly as you took your pink zip-up jacket and put it on, yet the way it clung to your body and the small sliver of your sports bra did almost nothing to hide how delicious you looked. "no, no, baby, don't stop on my accord." rafe grinned, his hands on your waist, aware that he was sporting a pretty obvious hard-on as he pulled you closer.

"i don't want you to see me all gross and sweaty." you pouted, and the way you sucked your lip in made nothing to calm down the obvious tent in his shorts.

"you look so fucking sexy right now." he said, pulling you closer to him, and you could feel his hard-on press against your abdomen, the blonde letting out a small groan from only that contact. "literally, i've never... jesus."

"i'm not sexy right now." you roll your eyes, pushing away a stray hair that had stuck to your cheek, trying to look down in embarrassment.

"you're kidding, right?" rafe snorted, his hand going lower and lower, almost going to the curve to your ass. "i think you can feel how sexy you look, huh?" he took hold of your chin with his fingers, and lifted it up, making you look up at him. "if you didn't want to wait longer, do you know the things i'd do to you?"

"w-what?" you asked in a way that was almost a whisper, biting your lower lip as you looked at him through your lashes.

"fuck, i'd just rip that cute little set off and take you right here on the couch. i'd make you ride me, give you a workout that's much better than this crap you're doing, your tits bouncing in my face, my hands gripping those pretty thighs... shit, i might cum just thinking about it."

you softly smacked him in the chest, feeling a warmth in your abdomen only he managed to cause, sure that you'd never blushed so hard in your life. "raafee..."

he brings your face up to his, bringing your lips to his as he bent down slightly, the kiss much more heated than any other kiss that you'd shared, his hand now on the curve of your ass, squeezing it in a way that made you gasp against his lips, his other hand now in your hair.

after a moment, you pulled away breathlessly, his erection had somehow gotten even worse than before, your lips swollen and a doe-eyed look in your eyes. "we should... uh, we should stop, since, you know..."

"yeah, i know baby." he rolled his eyes exasperatedly, before chuckling softly. "god, i'm not gonna forget this little outfit in a while. lemme take a pic of it?"

"noo, i look gross!"

"don't talk about my girl like that." he tsked, taking hold of your jaw. "come on, i need something to get myself off to later."

"alright, fine." you scoffed and rolled your eyes, before letting out a small chuckle as you started unzipping your jacket.