#their hair is all snarly and tangled

[fashionredalert]

Hashirama and Tobirama taking naps together as adults and Madara walking in on them.

Tobirama and Hashirama sleep the same way they do as they were children- wild and ugly and defying of human nature.

They are *ugly* sleepers, bodies contorted in ways that make Madara's body ache with sympathy knowing that if he himself had fallen asleep in such a position his entire *week* would be ruined for how his body would be so sore

[immortalmuses]

continued from here, for @secondhandmckie​

         Gabriel stares at the viscous splatter of ichor painting both sides of the alleyway outside Molly's Inn. Even for the Hunter, it's a rather macabre display, and all that remains of a manticore he'd been hunting for the better part of three months. There's not even a head to take back to The Vatican as proof. Fucking Shit.

          "The D Word I said...Molls..." Van Helsing grits out, his tone making it very clear that he has never used a nickname for someone in his entire life, pulse jumping visibly in the clench of his jaw, "-- Was. Discreet!"

          Aaaaand now he's shouting a little bit. Which, to be fair, isn't exactly discreet either. The Hunter yanks the hat from his head and drags a hand through his hair, half in frustration and half to comb a backsplash of monster viscera out of its ends. He glares at Molly, narrow-eyed (which would be a bit more convincing if Gabriel wasn't currently wrangling a particularly snarly tangle), and snaps, "What if it has a nest, huh? How're we meant to find its kin now that it's been..." He waves his hat, searching for the appropriate word, "---exploded... into a fine mist?"

          Giving up his hair as a lost cause, Van Helsing drops his arms to his sides. He sighs, mentally reminding himself that this isn't exactly the first time he's been on the unfortunate end of an explosion. Carl does love his unstable chemicals...

          Glancing at Molly, the Hunter grumbles, "That Inn of yers better have a spare room. With a private bath."

[mmvalentine]

What Cardan Knows | Jurdan

Canon compliant I suppose, just more post-QoN nonsense. Smut aplenty.

Cardan knows a secret about Jude.

Knows she likes to be kissed right between the shoulder blades.

Knows that if you move your lips on the vertebra that sticks out at the base of her neck, she melts like chocolate in the summer sun.

Jude has spent today, like many days, sitting on her throne like she was born there. There is something so natural in the way that she rules the fae that never came quite so easy to Cardan. He feels more comfortable next to her now than he ever thought he would. Still. He does not think he relishes the power like Jude does.

And of course Jude looks spectacular while she does it. Cardan reclines in his own throne, throwing one leg over an armrest and letting his head fall back against the back. He watches Jude, straight backed and imperious, as she hands down stern judgement for a faerie who stole a human child. She had outlawed changelings since she has been Queen, and although the folk do not like it, they abide by her word.

Cardan finds it sexy that the court is still a little afraid of Jude. Cardan finds it sexy that this sharp and unyielding ruler is his alone to unravel. Later.

Jude does not like anyone to know that she can be tender. Even now, years after she’s gained the loyalty of her court, she avoids being vulnerable. Puts on her armour every morning to meet her subjects, her advisors, and even her sisters. Oak might be an exception. And Cardan, when he knows where to fit his myriad keys.

These are not things Jude has ever told him out loud. Not even to her husband would she confess the chinks in her armour aloud. But Cardan knows anyway. Knows the secret places she keeps her softness, and delights in uncovering them when they are alone in the safety of the dark of their bedroom. Only when she is sure no one is looking does she bare her underbelly to him and let him press toothy kisses there. Cardan loves when Jude is ruthless. Cardan loves when Jude is soft.

Now Jude is sending the faerie away and the fae dislike her changing the rules. But she hands out cruelty like treats in the throne room and so they still adore her. A good public punishing is as good as trading babies. There is a hard glint in Jude’s eye as she watches him go, and then she flicks her wrist and the revelry begins once again. It’s all so simple. She looks out at the crowd with a cold boredom on her face, but Cardan knows she’s riding a high from watching her own orders executed. He also knows it turns her on like nothing else.

And so Cardan pushes himself up off his bramble throne, leans over to his wife with his back to the court, and murmurs, “take your leave my Queen, for I have business with you elsewhere.”

Jude’s lip curls when she answers, and her voice trickles like ice water over his skin. “I do not attend your bidding my Lord, I would stay to see the end of the revel.”

“Nevertheless,” Cardan says, and his fingers slide down her wrist to read her telltale pulse. “I have business with you elsewhere.”

And although Jude does delight in denying her husband, she rarely denies herself. So she rises smoothly while Cardan watches with one eyebrow raised, and allows him to take her hand and lead her into the alcove behind the throne room.

Cardan shuts the door and the noise outside suddenly chokes off. He turns and Jude is staring at him with her chin up in her regal golden gown, and she is resplendent.

“Well?” She demands. “What is it you wish to discuss so urgently?”

“First,” Cardan purrs, “I mean this to be an informal meeting, since you and I are wed and need not stand on ceremony. Let me remove your formal attire.” He walks behind her and Jude’s head turns, but she doesn’t otherwise move. Cardan’s movements are careful as he removes the heavy crown from Jude’s head; he has had his fingers bitten for this before.

But Jude does not react, so he goes for the heavy collar of gold plates she wears, unhooking the clasp and lifting it carefully from her shoulders. Next is the fastening in the back of her bodice, and even as she is undressed Jude’s spine remains as straight as the sword at her hip.

There have been times where she fucks him just like that. With steel in her eyes and Cardan’s throat between her fingers, when she holds him down with her thighs and draws his rapture from his lips like she can summon his very soul.

But today Cardan wants to pull at Jude’s threads and unspool her at his feet. So he stands behind her, and kisses her like feathers in that secret spot of hers. In between her scapulae. Traveling up toward the bones of her neck. And infinitesimally, Jude’s shoulders loosen beneath his touch.

Cardan smiles against her skin as his fingers skim the outside edge of her bare arms, and she leans her head back toward him so his lips can better reach her throat. When her eyes slide closed, Cardan pulls the tie of her skirt and it pools around her feet. He lifts her out of it and by the time her weight is in his arms, Jude is pliant against his chest.

Cardan lays Jude down on the low couch, and in the moment between kisses where his tongue lifts off her skin and his teeth touch down elsewhere, he whispers honeyed pet-names to her. "Ruthless," he calls her sweetly. He moves down her belly. "Unscrupulous. Uncompromising. Without mercy. Immovable."

At the last, he curls his tongue in the apex of her thighs, and Jude lifts her hips to his mouth with a soft cry. She is not immovable, and he knows it. His tail wraps around her ankle as her leg tries to jerk upward, and holds it in place. Cardan moves lazily, breathes steadily against the Queen and relishes in her slow undoing.

"Cardan," she whispers, and he hums with his lips on her pussy.

In fact, the real secret that Cardan knows is that Jude is not any of the things he calls her, and despite the way fae crave wickedness like opium, it is the very heart of Jude that he loves the most.

"Will you punish me, too?" Cardan asks her. His face moves up her body but one of his fingers replace his tongue inside her and Jude is not able to answer him. "If I confess my sins to you will you hand down my own judgement?"

"Did you steal any children away?" Jude manages to ask him, but her breathing is coming in short pants and her voice is strained.

"No," Cardan laments. "Although I think I would enjoy having a pet."

Jude's eyes flash, but Cardan makes one finger two and her words don't make it out.

"My sins," Cardan tells her, and then leans close to admit it in her ear while his hand speeds up between her legs. "are so numerous as to be unforgivable." He even sounds a little sad, and Jude's eyes open.

"There is always mercy," she breathes.

"Then forgive me, my saint," Cardan says, and then twists his fingers and presses down on her clit at the same time, so Jude climaxes suddenly and unexpectedly. Her lovely brown eyes widen in surprise and her lips part in bliss, and before she has come all the way down Cardan removes his fingers and slides his cock into her even as she shudders and spasms.

Cardan barely moves before Jude is coming again, and the waves of it around him are exquisitely divine. He moans his pleasure as he sinks into her again and again, and revels in the Queen laid bare. His hips kiss hers and it is in this space he finds his absolution daily. For as hard and uncaring as Jude is not, so is Cardan secretly not so unaffected or shameless as he makes out to be.

And as Jude wraps her legs around his waist, and her hands around the back of his neck pull his forehead down to hers, he wonders if this is what Jude knows, too.

Cardan moves his lips against Jude's neck and the increasingly irregular rhythm of his hips matches the erratic beating of his heart, and when Jude's teeth bite into his throat as if to suckle at his lifeblood, he comes hard buried deep inside her.

Minutes later, the King and Queen of Elfhame are still tangled together on the couch. Jude's head is on Cardan's chest and he has the sharp claw tip of a fingernail circling against her shoulder. A faint bruise is blooming on his throat, and the tip of his tail is brushing against her elbow.

"Shall we return you to the revel, my love?" Cardan asks her. Jude looks at him, then stands fluidly and holds her chin up and her arms out.

"Dress me, husband," she commands, and Cardan picks up her clothes off the floor and puts everything back on. Piece by piece, layer by layer, fingers meticulous. Pinning her hair and fastening the scabbard by her waist. Jude is still like a mannequin, and when he is done she lowers her arms and sweeps out of the room without a backward glance.

Cardan straightens his own clothes, plonks his crown back on his head and then saunters back out to the thrown room. Jude is already being offered a selection of the fattest, sweetest grapes and she spears them with a fine dagger before she puts them to her kiss-swollen lips. And when she drags the knife point back out of her mouth, he doesn't know whether he'd rather be the blade or the fruit.

Either way, he is more than content to spend the rest of the night watching Jude rule the fae with an iron fist, as his kisses fade on her skin.

****

Sorry that was so curly! When I started writing Jurdan I just thought I would write these snarly, snappy creatures but it turns out I'm just a sucker for them shedding their skins when they're alone. Also, I planned on writing hardcore smut and all that came out was... intense feels? What is happening?

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @asteria-of-mars @swankii-art-teacher @loosingdreams @feysand-loml @cityofbookish

*NOTE* I have two entirely separate masterlists/ taglists for my feysand and jurdan stuff!! Hope this makes it all easy to navigate!

[heroineimages]

Tagged by @theoutcastrogue. (Her post)

Rules: It’s time to love yourself. Choose your 5 favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works! 

Thanks so much, sweet rogue, for tagging me! Firstly, this is exactly the kind of thing my therapist tells me I need to do for myself more often. Secondly, I tend to fixate on reading back over my past writing, so this gives me an excuse to do just that. Under the cut because there’ll be several writing excerpts and it might run long. Tagging @chenria, @9musesandanoldmind, @queer-trans-amazon, @jeanjauthor, and anyone else who wants in!

1. I did a lot of tinkering on Hero Forge after they released the colors and new engine. Firstly, I found it therapeutic and helpful for my anxiety. Secondly, I have a tendency to create stories for the new OCs I come up with. In particular, I like coming up with themed versions of the twelve base D&D classes. My favorite so far is the Desert Elf minis and their story.

2. My second favorite Hero Forge buildup was the Muskets and Snow designs, pitting Frost Elf tribes against musket-armed, multiracial commonwealth soldiers, once again based around the D&D classes. (Check my Hero Forge tag for more mini designs!)

3. I added four chapters to my Legend of Korra gladiator AU last year, and commissioned a movie poster for it from my amazing artist friend, Telenia Albuquerque. I added a few fighting scenes and several explicit lesbian bedroom scenes that I’m kind of proud of, including a fun, racy striptease. In the following scene, Asami breaks up a meeting between Varrick and none other than Marc Antony after Varrick attempts to abduct her and poison her bodyguards, including Korra:

���You said our host tried to abduct you?” [Antony] continued, turning to Asami.

“Of course not!” Varrick interrupted, stepping between Asami and Antony. “We’re pals, right, Antony? You know I’d never abduct anybody!”

“Mm, I seem to recall you abducting Titus Atticus’s wife, as well as the late Clodius Pulcher’s favorite catamite,” Antony replied.

“Allegedly!” Varrick protested, turning away and crossing his arms. “I allegedly abducted Atticus’s wife and Pulcher’s catamite!”

“Everything you do is ‘allegedly,’” Asami glared.

“So you’ve had dealings with this bastard before,” Antony laughed. “Please, come in,” he invited, gesturing to Varrick’s office. “No doubt we can handle this like civilized people, miss…?”

“Asami Sato,” Asami answered, allowing Antony to take and kiss her hand.

“Ah! Master Hiroshi’s daughter,” he identified her. “I’ve heard about you, and I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”

“I’m sure,” Asami agreed with a hint of smooth annoyance.

“Great, thanks a lot, Zhu Li,” Varrick grumbled as the six of them trooped into his office. “What the heck happened, anyway?”

“It would seem you underestimated Mistress Sato, sir,” Zhu Li informed him, [still tossed over the gladiatrix’s shoulder]. The armored pauldron pressed into her gut was really uncomfortable. “She already had her guards inoculated against our poison.”

“What? How could you possibly know that?” Varrick demanded, turning to Asami.

“I’m more intelligent than you thought, and you’re less clever than you’d like to believe,” Asami answered, taking one of the three chairs in the room. “And, frankly, that old Persian trick of poisoning the dancing girls’ lips isn’t as cunning as you thought. It was all a matter of knowing what poisons you have access to and researching which ones work on contact and can have resistances built up for them.”

“Smart,” Antony agreed, taking the second chair while Acainissa stuffed Varrick in the chair behind his desk. Hebasken and Acainissa took up positions on either side of Varrick’s chair, looming over him.

“Varrick, this other door leads to your bedchambers, doesn’t it?” Asami asked, pointing to the curtained doorway.

“Yeah, why?” Varrick frowned. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Korra, are you up for a bit of… revenge-sex?” Asami asked.

“I’m always up for revenge and sex,” Korra assured her.

“Take Zhu Li into Varrick’s chambers and fuck her stupid, please.” Asami instructed. “She’s a very intelligent woman, so I suspect that will take a lot of fucking to accomplish.”

Korra laughed and turned to pack Zhu Li through the door.

4. I’ve also made some progress on an older story I started a long time ago about my OC Elindra, a Drow paladin of the Red Knight who gets turned to a Drider by fanatics of Lolth. The following scene comes during the big escape from Ched Nasad between her and her dwarf cleric friend, Nell:

I used the glaive to parry the [Drider] warrior’s first assault. The snarly bastard was skilled, blocking and parrying my every attack, despite my Haste spell. And even if I did land a hit, my odds of breaking his Stoneskin were frustratingly small. I gave way instead, using my quickened speed to my advantage. An arrow flashed past us, announcing the return of the annoying ranger from earlier. I grimaced from frustration as another arrow shattered against my Mithral spaulder.

This was taking too damned long. No doubt the alarm had been raised and more guards and spell-casters were on their way.

Dueling with the warrior, I deliberately backed myself toward another aperture in the webs. I parried the warrior’s mace, managing to rap him across the face with the butt of my glaive. As he lunged again, I dropped my glaive and caught his arm. From there I leapt backward, pulling him though the gap with me. He caught the edge of the webs with two clawed legs, flipping us through upside-down. Still clutching his arm, my weight yanked him through the gap behind me.

A slightly larger Drider, I flipped myself onto his back, riding him downward as we plummeted. Gripping him by the hair, I screamed, “Smite Evil!” as we hit, slamming his head into the hardened webbing below.

The impact threw me from the warrior’s back, and I skidded onto my side perhaps twelve feet away. The warrior’s head was obliterated—a black, bloody smear across the calcified web floor.

“You alright?” I asked Nell as I picked myself up.

“Ye’re focking crazy, ye know that, Elindra?” Nell grumbled behind me, [still harnessed to my back]. “Ooh, that’s a pretty mess!” she laughed when I turned to look for a way back up. “Aye, let’s see ye Stoneskin protect ye from that shite, motherfocker!” she taunted the dead Drider.

5. And, lastly I’m happy with a lot of the progress I’ve made on my novel, First Empress. The following excerpt is a cute, racy little flashback scene of Elissa and Queen Viarra’s first time having sex:

“O–oh, gods!” Elissa groaned, catching her breath as she came down from her third climax.

Princess Viarra gripped the blanket on either side of Elissa’s shoulders, grunting as she thrust against Elissa’s leg to ride out her own climax. Broad, muscular arms trembling, her thrusts continued to get slower and more deliberate as she finished herself off. Her highness’s entire body shook one last time, and she gave a panting laugh before collapsing halfway atop Elissa.

They lay laughing and gasping for breath for long moments, their legs tangled together, their right breasts squashed against the other’s sternum. Princess Viarra’s arms splayed off to the sides while Elissa’s trembling arms clutched her love’s shoulders. Their shoulders were about even, but Viarra’s cunny now rested against Elissa’s knee. Their clothes lay discarded to one side with the wine they’d stolen from King Vaso and the erotic poetry they’d stolen from Prince Kallis. Above them, the peach trees of King Vaso’s orchard swayed in the afternoon breeze.

“I’m not squishing you, am I?” Viarra asked, her face still half-pressed against the tangle of brown and copper hair next to Elissa’s right ear.

“No,” Elissa laughed, wishing she had the energy to clutch her beloved princess tighter. “I feel safe beneath you,” she promised. “You make me feel safe and happy.”

“And you make me happy,” her highness assured her, turning her head to kiss and nibble at Elissa’s cheek. Elissa squealed and used one hand to try to push her away.

Unrelenting, Princess Viarra made a nasal, growling sound and pretended to gnaw on Elissa’s neck. “Grar! I just want to eat you up, you’re so sweet!” her highness declared, making exaggerated chewing noises against Elissa’s neck and shoulder.

Gods, her highness had gotten so strong the last few years, Elissa acknowledged as she squealed and giggled, unsuccessfully attempting to fight back. Viarra’s arms were probably bigger around than Elissa’s legs, and her shoulders were almost half-again as broad as Elissa’s. And she was tall. Possibly as tall as her mother as well as thick and big-boned, Princess Viarra was just too big and strong for anyone except maybe a wrestler or a gladiator to overpower.

Clearly Elissa would have to resort to guile instead.

Viarra shrieked out a series of giggles as Elissa reached up to tickle her sides. “Gods, no!” her highness squealed, attempting to push Elissa’s hands away. Unable to quite grab onto them, Viarra pushed herself away, laughing as she rolled onto her back.

Instead of renewing her assault, Elissa rolled over next to her, draping her left arm across Viarra’s chest and left leg across her waist.

“That was amazing,” Elissa admitted, snuggling up against her beloved’s nude form. “Thank you for being my first.”

“Thank you for being my first,” Princess Viarra countered, wrapping an arm around Elissa’s bare back. “I never imagined sex would feel like that.”

“You seemed to know what you were doing,” Elissa observed. “I mean, I could tell you were trying out techniques and all, but where did you learn them?”

“I asked Captain Vola,” her highness admitted looking over at her. “She’s pretty candid about sex advice, and even Captain Kellor admits it’s usually good advice. Part of the reason I brought you out here was because I wanted to try it, and there’s no one I’d rather try it with than you,” she added, reaching over to stroke Elissa’s cheek.

Elissa blushed and smiled, stroking her love’s powerful belly. “I’m glad you did,” she admitted, unable to think of anything else to say.

[jusananimehoe]

I'm so sad and mad about that Geten cheating one 🥺 can I have a second part in wich the reader leaves him please, you can decide who it ends

Because I have hurt you, here I am to fix it anon! And here to save our damaged reader is.... surprise ;) This was so self-indulgent and I aint a bit sorry, I couldn’t resist having my two baby boys fight over our dear reader. xx

You ran, and ran, and ran some more, feet scratched and bruised, hands trembling, sobbing and whimpering from the cold. It had been a miracle you’d gotten away at all, but if you didn’t move, fast, it wouldn’t matter at all. Geten was as possessive a male as you’d ever met, if he caught you after your little escape your punishment would be far worse than death, though if this icy rain didn’t let up it would be pneumonia that got you first. You’d been on two trains, a bus, three cabs, just to put distance between the two of you, but the money you’d stashed had quickly dried up.

Your eyes flickered wildly as you heard footsteps behind you, you sobbed, covering your mouth, and bolting down the nearest alley, ignoring the horrible pain in your feet, rounding a corner and slamming against something warm, something solid, you fell back onto the concrete, whimpering as you grazed your knuckles, eyes flashing up in terror to the strange mask he wore, crawling backwards in terror, hitting the alley wall and curling in on yourself. That mask, you knew those masks, the Hassaiki wore them, you’d just in to a goddamn yakuza member, of all the luck. You kept your eyes trained down even as your heard him step closer, you felt, rather than saw, him lean down so you two were eye level.

Footsteps sounded on the opposite side then and your head flashed up, eyes meeting with icy irises, features etched with rage, ice crackling over his head as you sobbed and crawled viciously back, staggering to your feet to run only to collide with the man in the white coat again, who, to his credit, swept an arm carefully around your waist and pressed you behind him gently, mask turning to face your lover as he stalked forward, before going very still.

A moment later something flashed from underneath his hood, something silver, cutting a shallow line across Geten’s cheek, who stumbled and fell, eyes snapping up furiously to the man in the coat, but he’d slowed, like he couldn’t move any faster, a quirk. The hooded man turned to you, slowly, mask cocked to the side as if he were curious, before reaching for you, slowly, as if to not startle you, offering his hand. You blinked at him for a moment, then gazed at Geten, still glaring at you from where he was crouched, eyes flashing dangerously.

You took the offered hand, winding your fingers between his and let him pull you close, into his warmth as he walked away from the ice wielder behind the two of you, other arm wrapping tightly around your waist to help you keep pace, when he noticed your limp, however, he stopped quickly, eyes flashing down, taking note of your bloody feet, before lifting you off your feet, despite your spluttered yelp of surprise. You barely fought him, he was stronger than you were, had a quirk that could incapacitate, clearly, and you were so fucking exhausted.

Your tears started falling again then, sobbing softly, head turned to his chest to hide away somehow, and a warm hand pressed to your head comfortingly. “You’re alright now little one”, his voice was light, not at all deep and snarly like you’d grown so used to, it made you shiver, but you were glad, it was fitting somehow. Your eyes drooped in exhaustion, his careful strides lulling you to sleep even as you tried in vain to fight against it. “Sleep, I’ve got you”, was the last thing you heard before you drifted off in his warm arms. I didn’t ask his name.

When you woke, you were wrapped up in a blanket, in a warm bed. Your feet didn’t hurt as much, when you yanked the blanket off them, they had been bandaged carefully, you nearly sobbed just at that. Your bruises had clearly had some kind of ointment rubbed into them; they had faded amazingly. The small cuts littering your legs and arms had been coated in antiseptic and bandaged, your blinked and sat up slowly, legs shaky. You glanced around, the room was squeaky clean, pristine even, it made you shiver nervously, where were you?

The door opened, and you flinched backwards, sitting right up the edge of the bed, against the wall, nerves on fire, waiting for whatever horror was about to come through the door. It was the man in the white coat, with the strange bird like mask on his face, you tried to ignore the relief that flooded through you when you realised it was him. He closed the door behind him, fingers dancing over the light-switch, giving you warning before he flicked it on. You blinked sleepily, eyes flickering to his mask, watching nervously as he reached up slowly to pull it away from his face. He sat it gently on the dresser, flicking his hood back and turning to look at you.

You drank him in, from his silver hair, oddly shaped like clock needles, to his brilliant silver eyes, the sharp jawline, if you’d been in any state of mind to be stable, you’d be able to appreciate how beautiful he was, maybe even pursue him, but you weren’t ready, your body still stiff and terrified. He might have saved you from Geten, but he could be just as sadistic as he had been, you didn’t know him, so you cast your eyes down nervously, and waited.

“I don’t really know what happened to you, who you are, who that scum up there in the alley was, but you’re safe here, I promise”. His voice was soft, kept carefully even so as not to startle you. “I’ve spoken to our boss, Overhaul, you might have heard of him”? You had, and he terrified you. He must have read that in your expression because he shook his head lightly, a soft smile aimed your way, “you’ve nothing to fear from him so long as you don’t cause trouble or make a mess”. You relaxed slightly, eyes flicking up to meet his gaze nervously.

He cocked his head at you, biting his bottom lip gently as he smiled. “I promise, no one here will hurt you, you’re safe with us”. You whimpered at that, eyes falling shut as tears dripped down your cheeks, tugging your knees up to your chest as you sobbed. You felt the bed dip, but didn’t look at him, not until that warm hand caressed your cheek with a gentleness you hadn’t seen in years. It made you want to melt against him, though you dismissed the notion instantly. You didn’t pull away from the soft touch though, allowing him to continue stroking your cheek softly, his eyes glittering angrily at the faint outline of what you were sure was a week-old bruise.

You closed your eyes then, leaning your head softly against his chest in a daring show of trust, he’d saved you after all, and he was so warm. He carded his fingers slowly, carefully through your tangled hair, humming softly under his breath, fingers scratching soothingly at your scalp, lulling you into a warm bubble of safety. “I’m Hari, by the way”, he whispered softly against your head. You nearly let yourself smile, Hari, it was a lovely name, it suited his delicate, boyish features. You blinked exhaustedly and glanced around curiously again.

“If you don’t like the room, I can probably find you another that would suit your needs better”. You blinked in amazement, mouth dropping open as your eyes met his, this room… was yours? You blinked back a few more tears, eyes watching him warily as he brushed a few away with a slender finger, eyes full of warmth, affection, all things you had long forgotten existed. “It’ll be okay, eventually”, he whispered softly to you, smiling softly as you crumpled against him again, sinking into the warm embrace, already growing addicted to the tenderness of it.

“Geten”, you chocked out, body trembling in terror even as he rubbed your back soothingly, shaking his head, eyes glittering with an emotion you couldn’t name.

“I dealt with it, I struck him with the short hand, gave us plenty of time to get away. He’ll never find us down here, and even if he did somehow manage it, the Boss would kill him”. He sounded so sure, so calm, so completely not concerned about the possibility of your power-hungry ex-lover coming storming into their base. “Stop thinking about it, I promise you’re safe from him now”, his voice was calm, soothing, like running water, so lovely to listen to. You relaxed in his embrace again without meaning to, eyes falling closed, exhaustion winning out as his nimble fingers scratched slow circles across your back.

Maybe people did get second chances after all…

[ezzydean]

If you’re ever in the mood, I adore your MatsuDai and would love whatever you’d like to write for them with a prompt of “you’re a werewolf? No wonder you never let me do your laundry and like to be petted.”

More MatsuDai because I love them and I love that you ask me for them!

Daichi freezes, one leg inside the window and one out, when he hears Matsukawa groaning softly.  Matsukawa isn’t supposed to be here.  Matsukawa is supposed to be out of town with friends.  Which is perfect.  Because then when Daichi sneaks into their apartment after his night out there’s no one to see how absolutely exhausted and wrecked he looks.  He knows he looks wrecked.  For one thing he’s seen his reflection when he gets back after nights like this.  For another Suga has absolutely no problem telling him just how shitty he looks after a long night.

Anyway.  No one is supposed to be here.  That way he can slink in, stand under the shower until it runs cold, and then collapse onto his bed for a few hours until he feels somewhat human again.  He blames the fact that he’s so exhausted for not realizing sooner that someone is in his room.

Matsukawa rolls onto his back and squints towards the window.

“The heck you doin’ comin’ through the window?  We have a door.”

Daichi pulls himself the rest of the way inside and shuts the window.

“What are you doing on my bedroom floor?  You have your own room.”

Matsukawa shrugs sheepishly.  “I missed you?”  Daichi raises his eyebrows.

“I dunno if I buy that.”

“I was confused when I came home?”  

Daichi rolls his eyes and shuffles over to his closet to dig out some clean clothes.

“Now that sounds more believable.”  He heads for the door.  “I’m gonna shower until the water runs cold.”  Matsukawa waves an arm at Daichi.

—

He doesn’t plan to fall asleep in the shower.  But he totally does it, not even waking up when the water cools.  It’s not until he shivers and smacks his head against the wall that he wakes back up, startled and shuddering.  He stands slowly, muscles aching from overuse and cold, and smacks blindly at the wall until he finds the faucet and shuts the shower off.  He doesn’t even open his eyes as he stumbles out of the shower and dries off with the first towel he grabs.  A quick sniff makes him realize it’s actually Matsukawa’s towel but he shrugs and keeps going.

He shuffles back over to his own room in a pair of ratty sweats and finally opens his eyes when he trips on his way to his bed.  He makes a half-hearted effort to stay upright but loses the battle with gravity and winds up splayed across Matsukawa who simply lets out a grunt.  That’s it.  Not other reaction.

“Are you dead?”  Daichi can’t help but ask.  “Or dying?”

“Sometimes I hate full moons,” Matsukawa mumbles.  Daichi nods.  He understands that feeling.  Then Matsukawa goes stiff under him and clears his throat.  “I mean, uh, you know.  Crazy shit happens on full moons and all that.”

Daichi nods again and this time something rolls loose in his overly tired brain and he pushes himself up enough to squint down at Matsukawa.  It’s really a surprise he hasn’t put it together before.  Matsukawa is always out when the full moon happens.  He hates strongly scented soaps.  He’s really snarly and growly when he’s upset.  He can see really well in the dark.

“You’re a werewolf too?”  Daichi says eventually.  “Huh no wonder you never let me do your laundry and you like to be petted.”  Daichi reaches up to run his hand through Matsukawa’s tangled hair with a grin.

“I’m not supposed to tell people about—  wait.  Too?”

Daichi chuckles sheepishly.  “Uh… Surprise?”

Matsukawa sits up so fast that Daichi tumbles to the floor.  “I can’t believe you never told me!  Shit that explains why you can always tell when someone else has been here, you can smell them!  And why you’re always wandering around with your eyes shut in the mornings but you never run into things even if I move them.”

“I never told you?  Um hello.  Pot.  Kettle.”  Daichi gestures between them.  Then he laughs.  “Oh man Suga is never going to let me hear the end of this,” he explains when Matsukawa hums curiously.  “We’ve been living together for two years and just now figured out we were both wolves.  I bet that little shit knows you’re a werewolf and is wondering how long it will take me to figure it out.”

“Is that the sort of thing he’d do?”

“Yes.  One hundred percent a thing he’d do.”

Matsukawa hums again and then flops onto his back again.  “Oikawa too probably.  He’s really perceptive about this shit.  He probably knew the first time he met you.”  Daichi wriggles around until they’re side by side staring up at his ceiling.  “So,” Matsukawa eventually says, “do we tell them or do we see how long we can go on pretending we don’t have a clue before they finally crack?”

Daichi hums in consideration.  “That depends.  Do we do increasingly wolf-like things around each other in their presence?”

“Oh of course.”

“And if they try to hint at it we just deny it.  ‘Oh no way is Matsukawa a wolf Suga.  I’d know if he was.’ and all that?”

“Um duh.  Yes.  ‘What do you mean he’s a were Oikawa?  He totally doesn’t even smell like one you’re so wrong.’ Oh that would piss him off so much.”  Matsukawa turns onto his side and nudges Daichi.  “Can we do it?  Please?”

Daichi glances over and snorts: Matsukawa is sporting one hell of a puppy eyed look, complete with pout.

“You don’t have to twist my arm into it.”

—

It’s once again the morning after the full moon and Daichi freezes halfway through climbing into his window.

“You know you can use the freaking door,” Matsukawa mutters from his spot curled up on Daichi’s floor.

“You know if you miss my scent so badly you can just crash on my bed.”

“Oh shut up.”

“Make me.”  

Matsukawa’s eyes flash at Daichi but he just laughs, eyes wild and heart free.

[wild-ashton-flower]

I Can’t Remember - l.h.

Part 2

this is my first time writing smut so be kind please but also let me know what you think! -Kelsey

Birdie sat in the small breakfast nook with her Macbook as she waited for her father's fiancee, Hattie, and her daughters, Priscilla and Anastasia, to arrive. The wedding was in four days and she had yet to meet them all. Her father's job took him to many exotic lands, which in turn lead him to Hattie. Birdie ran her fingers through her snarly brown hair, trying to comb out the knots with her fingers. "Dad, when are they getting here? I just want to meet them."

"Don't stress, they'll be here soon. Hattie said the cab was late." Zeke smiled and pressed a kiss to Birdie's head. "What time do you work today?"

"1:30 to 10." Birdie answered and sat up straighter as a car pulled into the driveway.

"I'm sure the girls would be interested in getting jobs, maybe they can work at the store with you." Zeke suggested as the two of them walked out to greet Hattie and her daughters.

"Zeke, my darling, you didn't tell me your daughter was so beautiful." Hattie commented as she gracefully exited the car, her daughters following her. Birdie's cheeks burned red as she looked at her feet. People didn't tell her she was beautiful very often. She didn't feel beautiful, she felt average at best.

"Hattie, this is Birdie. Birdie, this is Hattie. These are her daughters Priscilla and Anastasia." Zeke smiled and wrapped his arm around Hattie's waist.

"Please, call me Ana." Anastasia grinned. "Your hair is so pretty. You should brush it sometime." She commented at Birdie.

"I-i suppose I should, yeah." She chewed on the inside of her cheek. Hattie and her daughters were beyond beautiful. They were stunning, magnificent, gorgeous, and everything Birdie wanted to be.

"Birdie, why don't you show the girls around the house? Show them where their room is." Zeke smiled.

"We have to share?" Priscilla gasped. "I'm sorry, but I get my own room. I refuse to share."

"Priscilla, darling, we are guests in this house. You will sleep where there is room for you." Hattie scolded. Birdie took a deep breath and smiled at her new sisters.

"Follow me and I'll show you the house." She walked up the steps of the porch, the girls following her.

"Her name is Birdie? Who names their child Birdie? That's a golf thing." Ana whispered behind her. All her life people had been making fun of her for having a different name. She never found her name on special keychains in gift shops, but she thought her name was pretty.

"This is the kitchen, there's a little breakfast nook through that door that overlooks the lake." Birdie showed them the view. "The dining room is here. And, the living room is just across the foyer there."

"Okay, we don't care. Where's our room?" Priscilla rolled her eyes. Birdie sighed and nodded, walking up the stairs. She pulled her door closed as she walked down the hall to the room the girls would be sharing. "Is that your room?"

"Yes." Birdie nodded.

"Let us see it." Priscilla demanded.

"Oh, I'd rather not." Birdie muttered and looked down.

"Show us." Ana crossed her arms and looked at Birdie. Birdie sighed and slowly opened her door. Her room was the biggest besides the master, and she knew her sisters would be upset about it. "It's big. Very spacious."

"Okay, now let's see our room." Priscilla walked out of Birdie's room and crossed her arms. Birdie nodded and lead the girls down the hall to their new room. She opened the door and let them walk in first. "This is it? It's so small. Where do I put all my shit?" She whined and looked at Ana. "This is a nightmare."

"Doesn't this house have any other rooms? We simply cannot share a room this small. This is the size of my closet back home in Scotland." Ana scoffed and looked out the window. "And this view? It's horrendous. It's a brick wall." Birdie thought the room was a great size, but she didn't have to share with anyone, so she wouldn't know how they felt. "I don't want to be in here anymore." She rolled her eyes and linked arms with Priscilla, both of them walking out. Birdie let out a deep breath and walked to her bedroom. She walked to the en suite and sat in front of the mirror.

"Maybe getting sisters isn't going to be as fun as I thought." She whispered to herself as she grabbed her hair brush. She pulled the brush through her tangles, ripping more hair out than was necessary. She sighed brushed until her hair was smoothed out. She stood up and grabbed her work uniform from the hanger, slowly getting dressed. She slipped her lanyard that held her nametag around her neck. She walked down to the front door and slipped her Vans on.

"You're heading out already?" Zeke asked as he watched her.

"It's already 1, and I don't want to be late." She smiled at her father.

"Are you girls interested in getting jobs?" Zeke asked the girls.

"Jobs? As in work? No way. I don't work for people, people work for me." Ana scoffed and flicked her hair over her shoulder.

"I'll be home later." Birdie sighed and grabbed the keys to her beat up Station Wagon, walking out.

***

Birdie was expecting things to change after the wedding, but she wasn't expecting a change this huge. Her father had been flown to South Africa for a charity event. While there, he had come down with what he thought was a cold. He went to bed one night in a cold sweat, and never woke up. Hotel staff found him buried under his blankets. When the news made it back to Birdie, she was beyond devastated. First, she lost her mother. Next, she lost her father. The only stable thing in her life. Hattie and her daughters had taken things into their own hands now that Zeke was out of the picture. Items in the house began to disappear and be replaced with new ones, family pictures were taken down and replaced with pictures of Hattie and her daughters. "Birdie, honey, come here a moment." Hattie requested.

"Yes, Hattie?" Birdie asked, coming into the living room.

"I know you've noticed what trouble the girls are having with the sleeping arrangements." Hattie admired her nails, not even glancing at Birdie.

"Perhaps they'd like to share mine? I can always stay in the sma-"

"The attic. How sweet of you." Hattie smirked at her. "I'll give you until sundown to move your things."

"The attic?" Birdie frowned and looked at Hattie. "I'm not Cinderella, you can't just make me live in the attic."

"Then the basement. Take your pick." Hattie sighed dramatically. "And, you'll need to pick up more shifts at work now that we've stopped receiving money from your father's insurance. We have to pay the contractor for the remodeling that we're going to do on the house. Hemmings Inc. is very expensive, but they're the very best."

"Hemmings Inc.?" Birdie crossed her arms. "They're the ones having the party this weekend?"

"Yes, but what does it matter to you? It's no question if you're going." Hattie scoffed. "That party is for the upper class, which you are not a part of. Now, go get your things so my daughters can have your room." Birdie shook her head and walked up the stairs to her room. If her father had known how Hattie and the girls treated her, he never would have left. Tears pricked her eyes and gathered up her clothes. She placed her pictures and knick knacks in a box and carried them down to the basement. She hit the ratty mattress to clear the dust before pulling a sheet over the material. All she wanted was to feel loved, but the only one who ever loved her was taken from her.

***

Luke's 20th birthday was this Saturday and his father was going all out with a party to welcome him to the firm, as well as his birthday. They sent out invitations to every client, past and present, as well as people in the neighborhood. Saturday was still two days away, but Andy had his team working nonstop to get the decorations ready. "Dad, is this really necessary?" Luke sighed, looking up at the banner that read 'Welcome to Hemmings Inc., Luke!'

"Of course it's necessary. You're finally going to be a part of the family business." Andy grinned and clapped a hand on Luke's shoulder.

"I don't want to be a part of the family business. I want to make music, Dad, with my band." Luke crossed his arms.

"Your band won't make you any money in the real world, Luke. You have to make the money to support yourself." Andy sighed and looked up at the banner. "We should've made Hemmings Inc. bigger, don't you think?"

"This party is all for your business. Shouldn't you be celebrating my birthday?"

"We are celebrating your birthday. We have a cake."

"The cake doesn't even say 'Happy Birthday'. It's blank." Luke sighed. "Do you even know how old I'm gonna be?"

"Of course I do, son. You're gonna be 18." Andy furrowed his eyebrows.

"I'm turning 20, Dad." Luke shook his head and walked up to his room. Ever since his mum left when he was two, his dad had been trying to fake a relationship with Luke. He wanted to know where she was now, but he was always too angry at her to want anything to do with her. She left him alone in the house for the whole day until his dad came back. The divorce left Andy with more money than Liz, since he took full custody of Luke. Luke had dreamt of reaching out to Liz, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He knew that she had remarried and had more children, but he wasn't ready to make the connection again.

***

When Saturday came, it was more chaotic than any of them had expected. Luke had just under three hours to get his tux and shoes and be back in time for the first guests to arrive. The tux was perfectly tailored to fit Luke in all the right places. His shoes were tight and he knew he'd have at least one blister on each heel by the end of the night. "Happy birthday, mate." Ashton grinned as he and the other boys walked into the house.

"It's not happy." Luke sighed and retied his shoe, trying to find the most comfortable tightness.

"Come on, there has to be something that can make today happier for you." Calum sighed.

"Yeah, if my dad would stop trying to force me into the firm. I don't want to be a contractor, I want to make music. We all do." Luke stood up straight and adjusted his tie. "But, whatever. Let's go, they just opened the bar." Luke lead his friends out to the garden where his father had the bar set up. The boys each ordered a beer and watched as guests began piling into the mansion.

"I wonder if there's gonna be any hot girls tonight." Michael wondered aloud.

"I doubt it. All of my dad's clients are either old people, or middle aged money hungry fucksluts." Luke rolled his eyes and sipped his beer. "I need something stronger." He sighed and walked back over to the bar.

"Don't drink too much, Mr. Lightweight." Calum joked and sipped his beer.

"It's my birthday, I'll drink as much as I want." Luke smiled for what seemed like the first time that night. He ordered a round of shots for himself and his friends. One round lead to two, and two lead to three. Next thing they knew, they were on their fifth round of shots. "Damn, she looks amazing." Luke slurred slightly, watching the beautiful girl on the steps of the back porch. Her brown hair was straightened and almost reached her lower back. Her blue eyes sparkled in the lights of the garden.

"Go talk to her. She's probably, like, the daughter of a client." Ashton giggled and patted Luke's back. Luke chuckled and looked at his friends.

"Am I too drunk to talk to her?" He asked, running his fingers through his slicked back hair, messing it up.

"If you can ask how drunk you are, you're not drunk." Michael laughed and leaned against the bar. "Go talk to her before someone else does." Luke nodded and began making his way toward the girl.

"Hi, you must be the birthday boy." Luke didn't know this girl or how she knew that it was his birthday. "I'm Anastasia, but you can call me Ana." She fluttered her eyelashes and looked up at Luke.

"Uh, thanks, Ana." He furrowed his eyebrows and looked over her shoulder for the girl he had been trying to talk to. He gently moved past Ana and walked over to the girl.

"Hey, pretty girl, what's your name?" Luke felt like it was a pretty smooth chat up line, but the look on the girls face seemed to prove otherwise.

"My name?" She looked slightly confused and Luke nodded. "I'm Birdie." She smiled softly and Luke's heart skipped a beat.

"That is a beautiful name. I've never heard it before, but I like it." He grinned. "What's your number?" He blurted out.

"Do you always move this fast with women?" Birdie giggled and looked up at Luke.

"Just the ones with pretty names." Luke grinned and handed her his phone to put her number in. She shook her head, trying to hide her smile as she put in her number. "I'm Luke, by the way."

"So, you're the birthday boy. Well, happy birthday, Luke." Birdie smiled.

"Thank you, Birdie." Luke grinned at how easily her name rolled off his lips. "This party is lame, though."

"Yeah, there's a lot of old people here." Birdie giggled.

"Come with me." Luke grinned and took her hand gently, pulling her with him. Birdie squealed slightly as she stumbled along with him. She glanced at Ana and Priscilla as she followed Luke around to the front of the house.

"What are we doing in here?" She asked as Luke pulled her into the large garage.

"I've got the keys to my dad's yellow Hummer and we're going to take it for a spin." Luke grinned and unlocked the car. He opened the passenger side door and held his hand out to Birdie. She bit her lip gently and took Luke's hand, allowing him to help her into the vehicle. He closed the door and jogged around to the driver's side and got in. "Hold on tight." He smirked and sped down the driveway, leaving the party to shrink in the rearview mirror. Ana and Priscilla stood on the sidewalk, watching their stepsister ride away with the rich man's son.

"Where are we going?" Birdie asked, adrenaline coursing through her veins.

"Just around the block to the park." Luke smiled and turned the corner sharply.

"Are you sure you should be driving? I mean, I saw all those drinks you've had." Birdie looked over at Luke.

"I'm fine, it's only a block." He chuckled and parked the Hummer in front of the park. "Come on, we're gonna have fun at the park." Luke grinned and hopped out of the Hummer. He jogged over to the passenger side and opened the door, holding his hand out to Birdie once more. She giggled and took his hand, sliding out of the vehicle. Luke grinned and kicked off his shoes, pulling his socks off. Birdie held onto Luke's shoulder as she pulled her black heels off. They kicked their shoes under the car.

"Race you to the swings." Birdie yelled as she started running to the playground. Luke laughed and ran after her. He grinned and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him. He lifted her feet off the ground and spun her around. Birdie screamed and threw her head back laughing. "Put me down, Luke!" She laughed harder. Luke laughed and set her feet back on the ground but kept his arms around her waist.

"I could listen to your laugh all night." Luke whispered in her ear. She tilted her head back, letting it rest on Luke's shoulder. Birdie didn't know what was happening. She had never been this close to a boy before. She didn't even really have that many friends in general. She had her best friend, Emma, from work and school. Other than that, she didn't really have anyone. Sure, she had been with boys before, but they never worked out. She figured most of them used her for her dad's money, but she had lost that now. Maybe Luke was different. He made her feel different than any boy had made her feel before. She felt safe and secure, like nothing could bring her down.

"I thought we were racing to the swings." Birdie smiled up at Luke and held his hands, bringing them away from her waist.

"We've got all night, Bird. We don't have to race." Luke smiled, Birdie's cheeks burning at the nickname. "I feel like doing cartwheels." Luke pulled her from her thoughts as he let go of her.

"I don't think you know how to do a cartwheel." She challenged.

"We're gonna have a contest. Whoever does a better cartwheel gets to kiss the other one." Luke smirked. Birdie widened her eyes slightly. It had been a long time since she kissed anyone. At least two years since she had been with a boy close enough to kiss.

"Either way, we end up kissing." She commented.

"Well, shit, we might as well just kiss now." Luke grinned.

"Nuh uh," Birdie giggled. "If I do a better cartwheel than you, you have to let me drive the Hummer back to your house. If you do a better cartwheel, you can kiss me."

"Who's gonna judge them?" Luke asked, taking off his tux jacket. He folded it up and laid it on the grass.

"We both are. We judge each other, but we have to be honest." Birdie giggled.

"Fine." Luke huffed. "You go first." Birdie shrugged and cartwheeled across the grass. Luke already knew that she won, but he wanted that kiss. "That was okay, I'd give it a 4/10."

"You're a liar, that was at least an 8." Birdie laughed, stumbling slightly. "Do your cartwheel." Luke grinned and tried to a cartwheel, but ended up just kicking his legs in the air slightly. "Amazing. I give that a solid 10." Birdie laughed harder, clearly being sarcastic.

"That means I win. I get to kiss you." Luke grinned and held Birdie's hand, tugging her flat against his chest. His heart was racing and he didn't know if it was from the cartwheel, or from the close proximity of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

"Then kiss me." Birdie whispered, looking up at Luke, her lips slightly parted. Luke hand came up to her cheek, cupping her face. He brought his lips down and pressed them firmly to hers. Birdie's eyes fluttered closed as she moved her lips against Luke's. His tongue dipped between her lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let her tongue find his. Luke moved his hand from Birdie's cheek to her hip, pulling her closer. He pulled his lips away slightly and rested his forehead against hers.

"I like the feeling of your lips against mine." Luke mumbled softly and Birdie hummed softly, pressing her lips back to his. He tasted like whiskey with a hint of mint. The taste of his lips was more than enough to drive her crazy. Little did she know, he felt the same way about her. Her lips tasted of cherry chapstick, almost to the point of being addictive. He grinned and carefully took her hand in his. "I lied." He whispered. "Your cartwheel was better than mine."

"Oh, I know." Birdie laughed and looked up at Luke. "Your cartwheel sucked ass."

"Don't be rude, I did my best." Luke pouted and pressed his lips to her forehead. Birdie giggled and laced her fingers with his.

"I want to watch the stars." She smiled, looking up at the sky. Luke smiled and sat in the grass, patting the spot next to him. Birdie sat down next to Luke and laid back, resting her head on Luke's tux jacket. Luke laid back so his head was next to hers. "Sometimes I like to think that the stars are all of the lost souls looking down on their loved ones." Birdie whispered, looking at the constellations. Luke slid his hand into hers gently.

"Like who?" Luke whispered, looking at Birdie.

"My mum," she blinked a few times to suppress the tears forming. "She died right after I was born."

"My mum left when I was two." Luke rubbed his thumb along her knuckles. "I don't even remember anything about her." He sighed and looked at the stars.

"My dad died last year. He got sick in Africa during a business trip." Birdie sniffled as a tear slipped from her eye.

"I'm so sorry." Luke whispered and moved closer to her.

"Now, I'm stuck with my stepmom and her bitchy daughters." Birdie sighed and rested her head on Luke's shoulder.

"My dad doesn't care about me, he just wants me to work at his firm. He didn't even know how old I was turning today." Luke let go of Birdie's hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "I want to make music. I'm in a band, but he doesn't think we can do it."

"I want to be a nurse, but I'm the only one working. My stepmom takes all my paychecks for herself to buy more useless shit for our house." Birdie rolled her eyes. "And, she made me move into the basement so her daughters could have my room."

"So, basically, you're Cinderella." Luke rubbed her back gently.

"The only difference is that in this Cinderella story, I don't get a Prince Charming." Luke's heart broke as she spoke. He had hoped to bring something out of this. He had never told anyone about what really happened with his mum. He always just said he didn't remember what had happened, but he remembered the day she left so clearly. He still had dreams about being left alone in the house for hours, not knowing where his mum was or if he'd ever see her again. He never told anyone about how upset he was that his dad didn't care for him. He thought he could tell Birdie and have her know what he was going through, but now it seemed that she was wishing for someone with less baggage.

"Maybe you will." He whispered, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Ana and Priscilla would never let me have that." Luke furrowed his eyebrows.

"Ana?" He asked. "Does she have, like, a Scottish accent? Brown eyes, long brown hair, annoying attitude?"

"Yup, that's Ana." Birdie sighed. "Priscilla's the younger one. She's less annoying when she's alone, but once she's with Ana, she's a complete bitch."

"Tell me about it." Luke rubbed small circles on her back.

"Well, Ana set up a bell system in our house so she can just ring the bell for me to do something for her." Birdie admitted. "They all treat me like I'm their slave."

"You're over 18, aren't you? Just leave." Luke suggested.

"I'm 19, yeah, but I can't just leave. I've lived in that house for 19 years. All of my memories are in that house. Everything I know of my parents is in that house." She whispered, nuzzling her face into his neck.

"Maybe it's time to make new memories."

"Speaking of time. What time is it?" Luke shrugged and pulled his phone from his pocket.

"It's 12:45. I guess it's not my birthday anymore." Luke sighed.

"We should probably get back." Birdie sighed and sat up, rubbing the goosebumps on her arms. Luke carefully draped his jacket over her shoulders. He stood up and held his hand out to her. She took hold of his hand and allowed him to pull her up. They walked to the Hummer silently. Birdie slipped her shoes back on before getting into the car. Luke threw his shoes into the back before getting in. He drove slowly back to the house. Most of the guests had already gone home, a few still stayed chatting in the garden. The two silently slipped up to Luke's room.

"Do you want to stay tonight?" Luke whispered, not bothering to turn the lights on. Birdie nodded and kicked off her shoes once more. Luke nodded and walked to his closet, changing into sweatpants, not bothering with a shirt. "Thank you for telling me about your parents."

"Thank you for telling me about yours." Birdie smiled softly and held Luke's hand. He smiled and ghosted his lips over hers. She slid her hands up Luke's torso and pressed her lips to his with more force. Luke's hands moved to Birdie's back and he slowly pulled down the zipper of her dress. The fabric slid down her arms before pooling at her feet. 'This is just a hook up. No strings attached.' She kept thinking to herself. Luke backed her up until she fell onto his bed. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers again. She arched her back slightly and moved her lips against his. He slipped his hand up her back and unclasped her bra, slowly pulling it away from her skin.

"Damn, you look amazing naked." He chuckled and trailed his lips down her neck. He attached his mouth to her left nipple, sucking gently. Birdie's hands found Luke's hair, tangling themselves in it. She moaned softly as he swirled his tongue around the nub. He pulled her black thong down her legs, keeping his mouth around her nipple. He sucked harder as his fingers rubbed between her folds.

"Luke.." Birdie moaned, closing her eyes. He slowly inserted one finger, allowing her to get used to the feeling of his long finger. He thrusted his finger slowly at first, working up his pace. He added another finger and Birdie gasped out softly. Luke smirked and thrusted his fingers faster. He curled his fingers, knowing by the sounds falling from Birdie's mouth that he had found her spot. "Yes, Luke, fuck. Right there." She moaned louder, bucking her hips off the mattress.

"I want to hear you beg." He whispered in her ear raspily.

She whimpered softly, "Luke, please. I need your fingers to make me come. Please make me come." She begged, gripped the sheets. Luke smirked and began pounding his fingers into her, curling them every so often. He rubbed her clit slowly as he thrusted his fingers fast. Birdie moaned loudly, her thighs shaking as she released around Luke's fingers. He pulled them out slowly and brought them to his lips, sucking them clean. "Mm, you taste amazing." Luke bit his lip. Birdie giggled breathlessly and pushed his sweatpants and boxers down. "Do I need a condom?"

"I'm on the pill." She bit her lip, looking down at his hard member. Luke pressed his lips to hers as he lined himself up with her entrance. She let out a deep breath and gripped his bicep as he thrusted into her. "Fuck, that feels so good." She moaned, arching her back.

"I couldn't agree more." Luke bit his lip and held her hips as he thrusted faster. He lifted her hips slightly to get a better angle. Birdie moaned loudly and dragged her nails down his bicep. Luke moaned and thrusted harder, slamming his hips into hers. The headboard of his bed was hitting the wall of his room, no doubt leaving scratches in the paint.

"Oh, God, Luke." Birdie gasped and moaned out. The tip of his cock nudged her spot and she screamed slightly. "Right there, Luke! Fuck, don't stop. Please, don't stop." Birdie begged, moaning loudly.

"Shit, I love it when you beg." Luke groaned and hit her spot harder. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she moaned his name loudly. "That's right. Say my name, baby girl." Luke smirked and rubbed her clit in fast circles as he thrusted harder.

"Luke!" She screamed slightly, clenching around his cock.

"Come on, baby." Luke moaned. "Come for me." He rubbed her clit faster and hit her spot harder. Birdie moaned loudly, squirting on Luke's stomach. He widened his eyes and groaned loudly, releasing into her. "Holy fucking shit." He panted, pulling out.

"Fuck, I've never felt so good." Birdie giggled breathlessly, her chest rising and falling quickly as she tried to catch her breath. Luke grinned and grabbed a towel, drying himself off.

"That was probably the hottest thing I've ever seen." Luke grinned and laid next to her.

"I'm so tired." Birdie curled up against Luke's bare skin. Luke pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and pulled the blankets up around them. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her against his chest. He glanced down at her a few second later, and she was already out like a light. He smiled to himself and trailed his fingers along her spine gently, goosebumps rising on her skin. Luke closed his eyes, drifting off.

When Luke awoke the next morning, his head pounding. He sat up and rubbed his forehead. He glanced down at the bed beside him and furrowed his eyebrows when he found it empty. Calum and Michael burst into Luke's room, grinning to themselves. "Bro, where's your shirt?" Michael laughed, looking at Luke.

"Oh, shit." Calum grinned.

"What the hell happened last night?" Luke groaned and rubbed his eyes.

"Who was that girl from last night, anyways?" Michael asked, looking at Luke's clothes on the floor.

"I can't remember." Luke sighed and leaned over to grab his boxers. He slid them on and got up slowly. "I've got her name and her number in my phone, but I can't remember who she is." He sighed and looked at his bed. "But, we had amazing sex." Luke sat on the end of his bed and glanced at the floor, his eyes finding a singular shoe tucked under his dresser.

"What are you looking at?" Calum asked, following Luke's eyes.

"She left her shoe." Luke whispered and picked up the shoe. "We talked last night at the park. She told me about her parents and her stepmum. I told her she was like Cinderella and she said there was one difference, she wouldn't get her Prince Charming." He chuckled softly and looked at her shoe. "Now she's gone and I don't know her name, the only thing I have left of her is this shoe."

"Your dad has the information on all of his clients, right?" Calum asked. "Look at the guests and their kids and check your phone to see which ones match names in your phone." He suggested.

"Calum, you're a genius!" Luke exclaimed. He pulled his sweatpants on and ran out of his room, toward his father's office. "Dad, do you have the files for all the clients that came to the party last night?"

"Of course, what do you need them for?" Andy furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Luke. Luke knew he couldn't tell his dad about what happened. It was against the rules to sleep with clients or their children.

"Uh, I'm trying to reach out to the clients since I'm going to be working at the firm, after all. I need to get to know them, and they need to get to know me." Luke reasoned.

"I'm glad you're finally coming to your senses." Andy grinned and handed Luke a stack of files. He held them against his chest and ran back to his room. He divided the stack into thirds and gave Mike and Calum each a stack.

"Look for anyone with kids, I'm gonna make a list of all the names in my phone." Luke grabbed a pen and a piece of paper. He looked through his phone and copied down each name from his contacts. The three of them spent about an hour and a half searching through the files.

"Jesus Christ, how many clients came last night?" Michael groaned, tossing another file to the pile on the floor of already looked through files.

"Too many." Luke sighed and ran his fingers through her hair. "Wait! Okay, look for clients with a daughter named Anastasia." Michael groaned and grabbed the pile from the floor. It took almost another hour to find the only Anastasia.

"Clients name is Hattie Stevenson. She has two daughters, Anastasia and Priscilla." Michael read from the file.

"I don't have any of those names in my phone. Are there any other names? I know that's her family." Luke leaned over to look at the file. "Nope, no names."

"Why not go to her house? Bring the shoe and find your Cinderella." Calum suggested.

"You're full of good ideas today." Luke grinned and hugged Calum. Luke stood up and pulled his t-shirt over his head. "Are you guys gonna come with me, or are you gonna stay here?"

"We're gonna come with you." Calum grinned and ran down the stairs and out the door to the driveway. Luke and Michael followed behind him. Luke went to the garage and checked the key rack for the keys to his dad's yellow Hummer.

"Shit, we'll have to take the Volvo. The Hummer's keys aren't here." Luke grabbed the keys to the Volvo and got in with the boys. "Where's Ashton?" He asked as he drove down the street.

"He had to work. He left your house last night before midnight." Calum commented. Luke nodded and pulled onto Halloway Street.

"We're looking for house number 834." Luke drove slowly to check the houses.

"There it is!" Mike leaned forward and pointed to the large white house. Luke chewed on his lip and pulled up on the side of the road next to the house.

"Wait here." Luke grabbed the shoe and got out of the car, running up to the door. He rang the doorbell and took a deep breath.

"Can I help you?" Hattie sighed as she opened the door.

"Yes, hi, I'm Luke Hemmings. My dad is An-"

"Oh! You're the contractor's son! Yes, yes, come in. What can I do for you?" Hattie beamed up at him.

"I'm looking for someone. She came to the party with you last night. This is her shoe." He held up the shoe and Hattie bit her lip.

"The only ones that came with me were my two daughter, Ana and Priscilla. Girls! Come down here!" Hattie called and the two came bounding down the stairs.

"What do you want, mum? I only have half my makeup done." Priscilla whined.

"No, ma'am, it's not those two. They didn't have the shoe." Luke sighed. "Is there anyone else?"

"No, no, there's no one else here but us. And Birdie, but she wasn't at the party. She had to work all night." Hattie flipped her hair over her shoulder.

"Is Birdie here now?" Luke asked, watching as Hattie subtly closed and locked the basement door. The doorknob jiggled, as if someone was trying to open it. "I'd like to have her try on the shoe. Maybe it belongs to her."

"My girls can try on the shoe. I'm sure it was one of them you met last night." Hattie pleaded. Luke sighed and nodded, following Hattie to the living room. Priscilla and Ana sat on the couch. Luke knelt in front of them and slipped the shoe on Priscilla's foot first.

"It's too small for you." Luke sighed and pulled the shoe back.

"Let me try, I'm sure it'll fit me. It was me you spoke to last night." Ana giggled and held her foot out to Luke. He sighed and slipped the shoe on her foot.

"It's too big for you." He pulled the shoe back. "I really need to see Birdie." Her name rolled off his lips with such ease, he knew it had to be her.

"She's not available." Hattie rolled her eyes.

"Speak for yourself, Hattie." Birdie let out a deep breath as she closed the front door behind her. "Next time you try to lock me in the basement, don't forget that I can fit through the windows." Luke's eyes lit up when he saw her. She was the one he had spent the night with.

"It's you." Luke breathed out in relief. "Pretty girl, I've got your name and your number. I lost the keys to my dad's yellow Hummer. I've got you now, and, damn, you're so amazing." He grinned and held his hand out to Birdie. She took his hand gently and took a step closer to him. "You left your shoe in my bedroom. Just another thing that makes you my Cinderella."

"You came and found me. That makes you my Prince Charming." Birdie giggled and pressed her lips to Luke's.

tagging @myloverboyash @irwinkitten @spicycal

[itisannak]

Cheirophilia (Ashton Irwin)

Summary: Cheirophilia: sexual attraction to a specific area such as the fingers, palm, or the attraction to a specific action performed by the hands. Ashton hurts his arm and is tense about it. Which causes some issues with (Y/N). (Smut/ Fingering) (Warning: Ashton is kind of an asshole) (Request) (Words: 4.6k)

"Where is he?" I ask, rushing into the hospital waiting room. Calum stands up, walking to hug me and calm me down. "He is fine. They have him inside to scan his arm and hand for fractures. He seemed ok though..." He explains, pulling me to sit on one of the chairs. "Yeah, he seemed ok..." I mumble sarcastically, rolling my eyes as I rest back. "I promise to you, (Y/N), he was alright. It's probably just a sprained wrist." Calum sighs, rubbing his temples. "How did it happen?" I ask, trying to relax back on the chair. "We were playing ball and he fucking slipped and started groaning. So I brought him over. He was fine, though, just hurting." "Calum, no offense but, 'He was fine, just hurting' is not only contradictory but also has to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard someone, anyone saying." I reply bitterly, folding my arms in front of my chest. "You are turning into a little bit of a bitch when you are worried." He comments and I huff annoyed. "Oh, were your feelings bruised? So sorry. It's a good thing we are in the hospital and they can take care of them, too." I say snarly, cocking an eyebrow at him. "God, why did I ever hook you up with my best friend?" He giggles, earning a pinch on his shoulder. "I am sorry. I am just very worried..." "I know, hon. I would be mad if you weren't worried and bitchy." He replies, looking at me sympathetically.

"You are never, ever, ever again playing ball or I swear to God I will not give you a blowie ever again." I rush to Ashton as he walks into the waiting room. I hug him close, not letting him go anywhere for a few moments. "Damn it, baby. I didn't die, I am right here, standing well. You don't have to worry, baby." He assures me, pecking the top of my head. "No. I got fucking scared you moron. You get a call one morning and they tell you that the love of your life got hurt and is at the hospital. Would you not be scared?" I ask, resting my head against his chest and listening to his heartbeat. "I would be shitless scared of losing you." He admits. "What did the doctor say, mate?" Calum asks after he gives us some time for ourselves. "I fractured my fingers and there is a small crack on my wrist. I have to wear a cast for at least a month." He replies, holding up his hand which is in a cast now. "No... That is fucking bad..." Calum gasps, covering his mouth with his hand. "I know. I am sorry." Ashton sighs, devastated. "What? Why are you reacting like that?" I ask, confused at how heavy they are taking this. "I will have to sit out of some practices for the tour..." He explains, sighing disappointed. "You will still have time before the tour, even after taking off the cast." I try to comfort him, patting his back softly. "Yeah, bud... We will be fine." Calum joins in, smiling at Ashton softly. "Plus, I will take such good care of you, that your hand is going to heal even faster." I wink at him, taking his hand in mine. "I suppose that this is not that bad." He replies, smirking at me. "You guys are so fucking gross." Calum groans at us, joining us as we walk towards the elevators. "What are you, 5? Only 5-year-olds are grossed out by the mention of sex..." Ashton comments, throwing his arm around my shoulders. "He is only jealous because he is single as fuck and you are the one getting laid every night." I giggle, putting my hand in the back pocket of his sweatpants. "Hey, I am getting laid too." Calum protests, making us both laugh. "Your hand doesn't count, Cal." Ashton mocks him. "Well, at least I still have a hand." Calum snaps. "Well, Ashton doesn't need one." I wink at Ashton, moving ahead to call the elevator.

"Do you need help with that?" I ask Ashton, watching him as he struggles to eat his meal. "No. I can do it." He states, struggling to cut the steak. "Let me help, baby..." I insist, trying to pull his plate from him. He pulls it away, looking at me angrily. "(Y/N), I can do things by my fucking self. Ok? There is no need to be my babysitter." He snaps at me, hitting his hand on the table. I gasp and twitch back, looking at him in utter surprise; he has never done that before, he was always the calmest, softest he could be around me. My chest rises and falls, and I catch myself feeling scared, stomach tightened and hands trembling. I pull my chair back and get up from the table, picking up my plate and throwing it into the kitchen sink, before I rush to our bedroom. "Oh, come on... Don't be such a baby." I hear Ashton says as I leave, but decide to bite my tongue and not ignite the fire.

"Baby..." I hear Ashton whisper from the door of our bedroom. I pretend I am asleep, not in a mood to have a fight tonight. I hear him sigh and move inside, walking on his side of the bed. I feel the bed shift as he sits down and strokes my hair. "I know you are not asleep, baby. I am sorry for being an asshole before, you don't deserve it. I love you, princess. And I am so sorry I made you feel unsafe." He whispers, leaning down to press a kiss on my forehead before he picks up his pillow and gets up from the bed. I stay frozen, unreactive to his apology while he walks out. My heart aches for how sad he sounded, but he was truly an asshole to me. For 10 minutes, I sit on the bed, knees to my chest as I try to think of how to approach him after this, make him soften, and show him that I want to put this behind us. So, I get up from the bed, pull my hair in a bun, and slip into one of his oversized band tees and nothing else but my panties before I tiptoe to the living room, finding Ashton with his pillow propped against the couch's arm. "Hi, there." I whisper, moving to sit on the edge of the couch. He averts his gaze from the screen, humming satisfied as he sees my soft expression. "Hi. Thought you were asleep." He teases me, making me smile at him and punch his shoulder softly. "Can't sleep without you, you know that." I reply and he hums. "One of the disadvantages of being in love with me." He strokes his thumb over my thigh. I chuckle and move to straddle his lap, biting my lip as I smile down at him. "Wanna come back to our bed? Please? I need you." I pout and he smirks. "For?" He asks, placing his palm on my leg. "For cuddles... After you pound me down on the mattress and rearrange my guts." I wiggle my hips down on his length, watching him as he closes his eyes. "I will do all that?" He asks, cocking an eyebrow at me. "You don't want to?" I ask, cradling his face in my hands. "More than anything. I wanna feel all of you." He replies, looking at me with his eyes all sparkly. "Then, let's get to bed." I stand up, extending my hand for him to take it. He takes it, following right behind me as I lead us to the bedroom. "I haven't had sex since the night before the accident." I realize, frowning a little at Ashton who chuckles. "What a coincidence, me neither." He replies, making me roll my eyes at him. "Yeah, we would be having an issue if you had." I pull him in for a kiss, bunching his t-shirt in my hand. He responds by cornering me up against the door of our bedroom, pressing his hips on mine. I feel his bulging member against my stomach, causing me to start clenching around nothing, while my thighs stay pressed together. His hand goes down my body, stopping on my hip, under the t-shirt. His fingers tangle in my panties, raising goosebumps to my skin. "You are going to drive me insane... Fucking insane." He whispers under his breath before he crashes his lips on mine. I lean my head back on the wall, wrapping my leg around his waist. "That's my fucking plan." I reply in between kisses. "Oh yeah? Well, we will have to see about that..." He replies, slipping his hand inside my panties. He uses his middle and ring finger to apply pressure to my clit and rub it back and forth, testing me to see how much I want him. "Look at that, princess. Your clit is throbbing..." He whispers, leaning closer to bite my earlobe. I grab his wrist and press my core more on his hand, guiding his hand where I want it. "Please... I  need your fingers... Please..." I plead for him, causing him to chuckle loudly. "Alright then..." He says as he slips his fingers inside me. Usually, I would have been already melting under his touch, but the sensation is weird, almost out of rhythm.   He must have sensed that too since he is groaning and trying to find an angle to thrust his fingers better. "Give me a second, love. I will make you feel good, I promise." He struggles to find the right way, hit the right spot, and get me begging for more. The poor guy tries to fingerbang me,  but without his dominant hand, it barely feels like he is touching me. I can see the disappointment in his eyes, the frustration and agony as he looks for a reaction in me. I sigh, contemplating just faking it for his sake, but he knows my body and reactions, so he would see that something is wrong. "Babe... I don't think this is going somewhere. Let's skip to the main course..." I suggest, looking in his eyes.  He looks totally disappointed, confused by the fact he couldn't please me. "No... No... I can do it... Just give me a few more minutes." He pleads. I grab his hand and push it away, fixing my panties. "It doesn't feel right baby... Let's get to the real thing." I suggest, trying to take his hand and take him to our bed. "No... I am not in the mood." He snaps at me, walking out of the room. "It's alright... We can just cuddle on the bed." I suggest, moving right behind him. "No. I will sleep on the couch tonight." He states, without turning to give me at least a look. "For God's sake, Ashton. Stop being so fucking moody. It's not a biggie that you couldn't make me cum with your fingers..." I cry out; he finally turns to look at me, eyes wide and jaw tensed. "End of the fucking discussion. I will see you in the morning." He groans, walking away. I close my eyes and take a deep breath; I am really trying to be understanding right now, and in general, I understand that this situation is challenging for him, but he has become unbearably obnoxious.

I return to the room, walking into the closet, and grabbing a pair of jeans. I change into my sneakers and pick up my purse, throwing inside my phone before I leave the bedroom. I jog downstairs, passing by the couch Ashton is sitting at the moment. "Where are you going?" He asks me, getting up and walking behind me. "I am going out for a drink. Maybe I'll sleep at a friend's house, so don't wait up." I say without turning to look at him. "You are shitting me right now, right? You are going out? After this?" He moves in front of me. "I am totally not shitting you. You are sleeping on the couch, I am sleeping out. If you keep on having this obnoxious behavior, I might sleep out tomorrow as well." I reply, grabbing my keys from the island near the door. "(Y/N), for fuck's sake... Can't you stay and talk? Maybe we can figure it out..." Ashton grabs me by my shoulders. I shimmy out of his grip, moving to unlock the door. "I will see you in the morning." Is all I say before I leave the house.

(Ashton's POV) "You look like fucking shit, mate." Calum giggles as he hands me the paper cup. "Thanks. This is a very polite way to respond to your best friend who is hurt." I respond, bringing the cup to my lips. "Yeah, but you still look like shit..." He shrugs as he spreads on the couch. "I didn't sleep last night." I reply, rubbing my face. "Why?" He asks, pushing his eyebrows together. "(Y/N) and I had a fight. She left the house and turned off her phone. I can't find her, I don't know where she is." I explain. "Why?" "Because I am a prick and I destroy everything beautiful in my life." "You are such a drama queen, mate." He laughs at me, shaking his head. "I am not kidding. She slept out of the house and she is not responding to my texts, her phone is turned off. She hates me..." I sigh and he chuckles. "She slept at my place, moron. I wasn't in the mood of watching your zombie face this early in the morning. She told me you had a fight and I wanted to check if you are ok." He replies and I shot up. "She slept at yours?" I ask, sitting on the couch he is sitting. "Yeah. She came to my place at like 10:30. She was so freaking angry at you and asked if she could sleep on my couch." "You made my girlfriend sleep on the couch, Hood?" I grab him by his t-shirt. "Dude, chill. I have a guest room, she slept there. I left before she got up. You have to fix this, mate, she seemed done with your shit." He says, cocking an eyebrow. "I really am hitting rock bottom." "Well, no matter what you are going through, she wants to be by your side, so stop trying to push her away." He tilts his head to the side, making me nod my head.

It is dark outside when the door opens and (Y/N) walks in. She is still in the clothes she was wearing last night and she looks exhausted. I jump towards her, wrapping my arms around her and holding her to my body. "I am sorry. I missed you so much... So so much... I am a fucking jerk." I whisper. She stays unresponsive, no hugging back, no words leaving her lips. "I am tired." She simply says, pulling away from me. She looks at me without conveying any emotion,  just hauntingly hollow eyes and a face so neutral that makes my stomach hurts. "Oh... Can we talk before we go to bed?" I ask her; she takes away her eyes from me looking at her feet. "Actually, I think I will sleep in the guest room for a couple of nights, I don't feel like sharing the bed with you, especially now that you are hot and cold all the time." She states; the worst part of it is that she doesn't sound sad, or upset, or sorry, she is casual about it. "(Y/N), please." "Ash, it is my decision, please respect it." She says sternly. "Ok, whatever makes you feel comfortable..." I nod my head while looking at my feet. She leaves for upstairs without saying another word, and I am left looking at her as she walks away.

It goes like that for the next 3 weeks. For 3 weeks she sleeps in the guest room. I tried approaching her in the first few days, I tried talking to her, make romantic moves. But she keeps on giving me the cold shoulder, keeps on sleeping on the single bed in the guest room, keeps on spending her days in there. The house is quiet at all times, the silence sitting heavy in the rooms. It is a big win that she is eating dinner with me for the past few days; of course, again we eat in silence. "I have an appointment at the doctor's tomorrow at 11. Can you drive me, please?" I decide to break the silence. She leaves her fork on her plate and swallows her food before speaking. "Can you ask Calum? They need me in the studio and I have to pick up some samples for Debby's wedding cake." She says and I nod, rubbing my eyes. "Yeah, sure... Don't worry about it. So, how are the preparation for Debby's wedding going?" I ask, hoping she will open a conversation. "I don't really know. She asked me to do very specific things because she wants us to be amazed on her wedding day, so everything is very secretive..." She replies, looking at her plate and picking at her food. "I see. Well, at least you'll get some cake." I comment and she nods. "At least I'll eat that." She mumbles under her breath, digging in her food.

"I have to say, I am impressed. You healed pretty quickly. I would have expected at least one more week of the cast on, but if you take a look in here, you don't actually need it." The doctor says, pointing to the area of the scan that shows my healed wrist. "Of course, the fracture was minor, but still, I am impressed by the result." The doctor continues. "That's good, that's good. When can I take off the cast?" I ask, pointing to it. "Right now, actually. I would also like to take a look at your motor in the hand. Nothing too hard, I just want to make sure that you will not need extra physical therapy for that." The doctor suggests, walking to me and taking a scissor for the cast. "After that I can go back to my normal life, right?" I ask and the doctor chuckles. "Well, we will see after the examination. But given your occupation, I would suggest avoiding drumming for a few more days, less than a week, though." He explains and I nod.

I walk out of the office, finding Calum sitting on the chairs next to the door. I hold my wrist up and Calum cheers, standing up. "Finally. The cast had turned hideously filthy." He giggles, patting my shoulder. "I can finally scratch the itch." I comment, walking next to him. "When can you get back to practicing for the tour? We need to pick it up now." "He said that for a couple of days I should refrain from it, so, I think that I will give it until Tuesday, then we can start." I reply, shrugging my shoulders. "You are still not talking with (Y/N)?" He asks me. "She has been sleeping in the guest room and we barely talk. I screwed up. I think she is going to break up with me." I admit as we enter the elevator. "I don't think she will. She is just stubborn and waits for the crisis to be over. But most importantly, she is in love with you. I don't know why, but she is." He explains, raising his hands in defeat. "I am truly sorry I was a jackass." "You know I am not the one you should be telling that to. She needs to hear it and understand that you truly understood that you were wrong. So, do something about it." He suggests, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

I walk inside the studio (Y/N) is filming today, holding a bouquet of flowers in my newly free hand. I am greeted by one of the assistants, who guided me to her trailer to wait until they are done with the scene. I have been here a thousand times, but it feels strange all of a sudden. In my head, I repeat what I want to tell her, word by word, trying to make a sense out of it and put my words in order. But no matter how many times I repeated them, the moment the door opened and I saw her, it all went away. "Hi... What are you doing here?" She asks me, closing the door behind her. I stand up, pushing the bouquet in front of her. "I came to see you. I have missed you." I state. "You saw me last night..." She looks at me weirded out. "I think you know what I mean, (Y/N). We barely talk. I have missed my girlfriend. And I know it is my fault, I know that I have been nothing less than an asshole, and I am so sorry about that. I regret pushing you away, and I regret not trying harder, but I want to fix it, I want to fix us. I love you more than I thought possible and I am sorry I wasn't showing it." I state, holding my breath after I am done to wait for her reaction. She throws the flowers on the couch, taking a step towards me. "If you don't kiss me in the next 5 seconds, I will have the security remove you, I swear to God, Irwin." She says, smiling at me. I push her chin up, leaning down to engulf her lips with mine. Her lips are soft and taste like vanilla lip balm, making me hungry for her. She stands on her tippy toes, wrapping her arms around my neck to hold herself close to me. I wrap my arms around her waist, hands creeping down her ass slowly. My body relaxes as I feel her against me, the only thing that I have been craving for weeks finally becoming mine.

"How long until they call you in?" I ask pulling from her lips and kissing down her chin. "I am actually done for the day." She replies, tilting her head back to give me access to her neck. "Ok, then." I simply say before I lean down to pick her up, wrapping her legs around my waist as I carry her to the small bed in the back of her trailer. "What are you doing? You know we can leave, right?" She asks me as I lay her down. "I can't fucking wait, princess. I need you. Please tell me you need me too." I hover above her, caressing her cheek. "You have no idea how badly." She whispers, bringing a smile to my face. I reach down to unbutton her pants and slide them down her legs. She props herself up to look at me and my moves, intrigued but what I am going to do to her.

(Y/N's POV) He does not take his eyes off of me as he undresses me, kissing softly every part of my body that becomes exposed. "I've missed your body... I've missed you... I've missed everything about you..." He mumbles, removing my underwear. He holds my thighs spread apart before he uses his fingers to hold my lips open. "You are slick..." He comments, rubbing his thumb over my slit. My eyes blink rapidly, unable to form any word as I finally feel him touch me. "It's been weeks since the last time..." I let out, earning a chuckle from him. "Far too long." He comments, pressing his thumb on my clit before he rolls it softly. My toes curl as he moves his thumb, breathing becoming short and lips forming into an 'o'. "Feels good, baby?" He asks me and I nod, waiting to see what it is in for me next. "Well, let's see if this is going to make it even better." He whispers as he slips a finger inside me. He moves it circularly, teasing me before he slips a second and give me what I want. His fingers are pumping inside me, starting slow at first. "Better, baby?" He asks me. "It feels good, so good. But shouldn't you be careful with your fingers?" I ask, panicking for a moment. "Cast off, doc said I am fine." He replies, banging his fingers on my spot. My eyes widen as he does, feeling my stomach tighten; fucking finally. "Holy shit... Holy shit... Fuck... Ashton." I reach down to stroke his hair as his lips kiss my stomach. "You are so tight around my fingers, baby. Bet you will feel so good wrapped around my cock..." He says in his low voice, making me pull on his curls. He groans, pumping his fingers faster. My walls clench around them, hips moving closer to him involuntarily. His thumb doesn't leave my clit for even a moment, rolling it back and forth, slower than he pumps his fingers, just enough to keep me on the edge. "God, you are so good at this..." I moan out while he leaves a hickey on my stomach. "Maybe I can remind you what I can do with this tongue." He smiles against my skin. "No, no... Just your fingers, I love your fingers." I moan, biting my lip at the sensation. "Just fingers...?" He sounds cocky, pleased with himself. "For now." I squeak, bucking my hips in the air. He bangs his fingers inside me, jamming them right on my spot and looking at me mischievously. My hands bunch up into fists, nails digging into my palm. "For God's sake, you are fucking ravaging me..." I cover my face with my hand, trying to stop me from being heard by the whole production. "You should wait until I am balls-deep inside you to say that." He whispers; I can hear the smirk in his voice, which only causes chills to cover my body. "I wanna... I wanna... Fuck, I am cumming." I scream, arching my back off the mattress. I feel my pussy convulse around his fingers, stomach tightening, and head spinning. "Look at that pussy... My pussy... Look how it pulses... Fuck, I've missed that..." Ashton comments, pumping his fingers inside me one last time before he pulls them out. He crawls on top of me, leaning down to kiss my lips softly. "Open that mouth for me, baby." He commands, grazing his thumb over my bottom lip. I look at him as innocently as I can while I open my mouth for him. He smirks and pushes his fingers in my mouth, letting me suck on them. "See how good you taste... Show me how good you are going to suck me off in a bit, babygirl... That's my good girl..." He praises me, looking into my eyes as I suck in my cheeks and swirl my tongue around his fingers. "Can you call Debby and tell her to fuck off and pick her own fucking cake samples?" He asks, kissing my jaw. "No, I can't do that... But I am yours after the tasting test." I reply, giggling as I tangle my fingers with his. "No, you don't get it, princess. You are mine already and we are leaving now. So, call Debby and tell her to fuck off." He replies, kissing my neck. "Where are we going?" I ask, earning a chuckle. "I am taking you away for the weekend and you are all mine and I am all yours for the following days, no distractions. So, if you can't call Debby yourself, I will call her and tell her to move her ass and pick her cake." He states, extending his hand for me to give him my phone. "Alright, I'll call her." I surrender, making him smile. "That's my good girl..." He says softly, leaning down to peck on my lips.  

My Masterlist

[charlottemadison42]

OK, today’s fic was fun to write. Aziraphale is very strong. Crowley is a snarly partner to tangle with. From https://archiveofourown.org/works/22592488:

In one motion Aziraphale picked him up, easy as scruffing a kitten. A belligerent, unwieldy kitten with terribly long legs wrapped around his waist. A kitten with a multilingual swearing vocabulary being put to good use.

"You do not fight fair! You unmitigated eternal bastard! Put me down you preposterous --"

Aziraphale obligingly dropped both arms, but Crowley clung to his torso like a flustered tarsier.

"I didn't mean -- don't **drop** me, you great lummox, you're supposed to --"

"I'm supposed to?" laughed Aziraphale. "Supposed to what, serpent?"

Crowley grabbed a fistful of angel hair hard and growled low in his throat. "You are so fucking infuriating. I should have known." He kissed Aziraphale hard, wide-mouthed, and bit his lip just a little. He bit back.

"Bed. That way. Now!" ordered Crowley, scowling and pointing aggressively.

-------

There’s an illustration somewhere of sketchy growly Crowley all wrapped like a monkey around a very chill Aziraphale -- I completely love it, but I lost it, should have made a locket out of it but here’s hoping it comes back around.

[dunmerofskyrim]

71

The three Kogaru were two creatures now, loping across the landscape. The injury had made them that way — the injury, or Simra. One was three-legged, carrying the single spear they shared between them. They leaned on it, pick and pull, up the slope as they broke into the hills. The other limped four-legged, carrying their crop-headed youngest with his arm gripping strain-taut over their back, his hand clawing into their shoulder.

Simra and Llolamae walked in their wake. Trod the snow they’d beaten down just paces before: a ragged upgoing gouge, pricked out with the press of feet, and trenched through by the drag of a twisted leg.

Strange, watching them. They were nameless. One small shift of circumstance and they’d’ve been faceless too — three more corpses left behind as Simra walked away, starting out on a long path towards forgetting them. Not the right thing, that, but a simpler one. Now it felt complicated, wrong. Like following a stranger home as they struggled through the dark and street-mud to get to their door and the bed behind it. A stranger and their legless-drunk friend. The tension and threat of before, replaced with this prickling awkwardness. This feeling of invasion.

The ruck of the land had started slight. Roughness and crags; ridges and sumps like creases in a wide white cloth. But the land had narrowed and heightened, exaggerating itself as the afternoon closed in around them and came to its ending.

The Kogaru stopped. Bunched together to change who carried what. A grunting, a reaching of arms and bracing knees. Third time since they’d started out. Nothing new in it, except the scene, the deepening shadows. High walls of stone-riddled earth and earth-mortared stone rose up either side of the course they walked. A gorge, deep-cut, like the scar left behind when a river runs dry.

Simra misliked it, mistrusted it at once. This timing, this place. Watched by the heights above them, hemmed in by the slopes to each side, snarly with a thatch of parched weeds. Could you climb that, need be? Get out of this pit, this trench, at a scramble, not knowing what’s up top, but knowing behind you, below you, is death? He remembered the breach at Gelan-Telai. Felt it, almost, in the half-warm unwashedness of his body beneath his clothes – not even cantrip clean, not for days – just prickling, disgusting, and somehow all he could focus on before the wordless panic came.

It never came. No ambush, nor any of the blind wallbacked rat-bravery that comes in being faced with so much certainty. Still Simra’s heart took its time to slow — to lower, back to his chest from choking his throat. He’d moved. Crashed through the snow to one side of the gulley and into what cover he could, shrinking against the scrub, the sparse and struggling undergrowth. The hand with his wand in it had come out of his jacket, out from under his goatskin mantle, and into the chill air. An empty threat, but it’s better to be armed with just a bluff than armed with nothing at all.

If they were planning a trap here it ought to’ve sprung by now. Instead the Kogaru were still wrestling their wounded kinsman from being a burden on one to burdening the other.

A long and clumsy moment stretched out as Simra watched, half-pitying, half-embarrassed. Then something caught. A gasp and wheeze and panicked groping. Simra flinched, legs tight with the urge to run. From what? Whatever was happening. But it was only the wounded mer, stumbling as he tried to stand his own weight on two feet.

“Fucking waste…” Simra hissed under his breath.

There was no cry. Nothing he could hear over the wind that rushed off the sea up the gulley behind them, keening on the rocks, whispering with snow. But even soundless he saw it. A flash of suffering in the younger mer’s sudden white knuckles. The deep dig of his fingers in the elder’s stark-boned back, almost pulling him down. They caught each other. Stood straight and settled back into their roles – crutch and crippled – but their breath panted out in clouds of steam and scratches showed pale-grey in the elder’s red paint. Bare skin scored through the red, turning pink with the scrape of nails.

The third of them hadn’t moved. Older but not quite old. Break-nosed with a coarse shock of steel grey hair, and harsh bones in his face that the shadows made crueller. He stood by, leaning on the spear as he stood it in the earth, and rolled a stiffness from his shoulders, an ache from out his neck. Not moving, not starting off to forge on alone — but it was clear as clear that he wanted to.

Simra set his jaw. Watched and wondered what they were. In themselves and to each other, who were they, and what bonds bound them? His bare hands were buried now, back inside his jacket. Not that it helped. Not that anything much did besides that paint they wore. They seemed not to feel the cold. Simra felt cold just looking at them.

The elder fretted over the youngest. Felt responsible, like as not. There was a cord between them – father and son, grandson maybe – and at every wince or stumble Simra’d watched it draw tight, dragging the elder in close and frowning.

The other one, the spear-carrier now, felt none of that. There was something flat and cold in his eyes that Simra halfway-recognised. How some people can know someone a moment, or a lifetime, and for all that time feel nothing. How all it takes is a whisper of friction – an obstruction, a jagged edge of envy – and they realise in the root of their belly that it wasn’t ever nothing. Just something silent and waiting to sharp their tongue or steel their hands or harden their heart to pity.

“Could’ve tangled his arm up.” It was Llolamae, fussing across Simra’s new break of snow to stand beside him, close enough to talk quiet. “Do you not think it might’ve been better to hit his spearhand?”

“You try hitting an arm with no time to aim,” Simra said. “See where that gets you then. Fucking waste. Stopped him, didn’t I?”

“Stopped the rest of us too though.” She wasn’t looking at him but back the way they’d come.

Simra followed her gaze. The seaward distance was night-dark. The frozen fenlands were disappearing so fast you could see it happen — mist and shadow, gloom and time. The sun had never set, just gone. And she wasn’t wrong. That was the worst of it. They were making bad time. Trekking out into who knew what weather, who knew what kind of land, what kind of traps or treachery. Again, Simra thought it might’ve been simpler to’ve killed them. Not a pleasant thought, but pleasanter than it should’ve been.

“You prefer I’d left you to them?” Simra prodded. “Let them eat you?”

Llolamae glanced at him, head snapping round. She was carrying the wounded Kogaru’s spear, almost twice again as tall as she was, propped casual over one shoulder. But her mittened hands were braced loose against it, and shadowed inside her hat, her face had gone sour and heavy. Her tired eyes went wide a moment, her lower lip ledged out, cracked and worried at with cold. Looked for a moment like she’d start to cry, but she snatched her face into a scowl.

“I’m fucking cold too,” Simra grunted. “And low on patience for this whole fucking fly-blown errand. Blight…” He could go on but didn’t reckon he could spare the heat his lungs would lose in speaking. Went back to walking instead, cutting a new swathe towards the Kogaru’s tracks.

He couldn’t stand to look at Llolamae. Not right now, when she looked so miserable. He gave her his back. The napped flesh-side leather of his goatskin mantle, across his shoulders and hanging to his waist. The dusk made it all look one colour; the same purple-dun as the netch-leather patches he’d stitched into it to repair old rents and piercings. Wasn’t it her who insisted she come all this way? Of the two of them, she’d had her choice of it. He’d been plunged into this, unasked for, with no choice but a choice that was no choice at all. Simra hung and shook his head, half-swallowing a nervous hiccup of sound. Might’ve been laughter, or the start and end of a sob. Absurd, he thought. All of this. Like some senseless dream he’d yet to wake from. No reason, little premise, and only the faintest glimmer of a goal.

There was a long wet sniff behind Simra. Then a whimper that choked off into the sound of footsteps following on. Something pulled in him, wanting to turn. Turn and then what? What then, he asked himself. Tell her he wouldn’t leave her? That was half a truth at best when he just as surely couldn’t turn back, couldn’t fail in this whether she followed or not. Play the fool then? Ape and act the stoic hero, trying for a laugh, a smile? Tell her she reminded him of someone, himself maybe — and what then? Best not lay that curse on her, on top of all the rest. This mess they were in was enough.

“Your daughter,” said the elder. In a few uphill strides Simra was level with him. “Is she well?”

Simra’s mouth tightened, the scars at its corner bunching painful in the cold. “She’s not my daughter.” The thought alone terrified him, almost choked him.

The elder cocked his head. He had more questions but only asked one. “Should we stop?”

“Here?”

“It seems she needs it.”

“Soon,” said Simra, leaden-tired and guilty with a feeling that sat like oil in his belly above and around his hunger. “Not here if you know somewhere better. Near, that is. Do you?”

“There is a place,” said the elder. And almost as one the Kogaru turned and started again to walk. “We have been going there all this while.”

Simra suffered himself a glance behind. Llolamae was fighting her way along his tracks. Almost twice again as long as she was tall, the spear wavered above like a tall sapling. Her grip was unsteady but tight and her face was turned down.

“They say we’ll stop soon,” Simra tried, gentle as he could. “If it helps to know…” He wondered if she’d have been better left with the Kogaru after all. Just a child. They might not’ve hurt her. Might’ve cared for her, like it seemed the elder did. It was little enough, but it might’ve been better than him.

[internutter]

Can I request Lume Taako taking care of his sick grand children while parents are also recovering from said sickness? If that's alright. I just adore Taako taking care of his family. Or maybe a younger ango being kidnapped. I know he went ham over his matr..but over his baby...hoo boy. Anyhow I appreciate you reading this have a good day

[AN: An Ango kidnapping would probably end the same way as Killer Instinct with a traumatised Ango being cradled by a bloodstained Taako. I’m probably torturing my beautiful magic boy in another fic enough, so...]

The redolent smell of Ginger Garlic Chicken Soup filled Casa de Taako. For all that there were medicines, potions, and Clerics to help with any given illness, Taako still insisted that his ginger garlic chicken soup was all that anyone needed to recover from any disease known to intelligent life. Doctors everywhere hated him because he was more often right than wrong.

Taako had five humanmen going down with the seasonal sniffles, so he made sure he had the big pot all but overflowing with chicken meat, ginger, garlic, and assorted vegetables, and simmering gently for anyone who wanted to drag themselves towards the soup and help themselves. And he kept three bowls at optimal temperature under Covers of Preservation for the smaller ones in his house.

Something... snapped. Like a switch being flipped inside Taako’s head. Soup was not enough to feed his babies. They needed tasty, good, good food. Almost in a dream state, Taako started baking and cooking all the best tempting foods in handful-size servings.

One of the babies had found his leg. Poor baby. Poor baby needed comfort. Taako scooped them up and, using Mage Hand to keep the food going, cuddled the small humanman and purred for him.

Amber was more likely to come and seek help. Aloe was more likely to hide and cry. Taako got them both into the cuddle cote before he finished up the treats for the babies.

His Baby still needed his sleep. Safe with mate. Taako left supplies on a handy table and under a magic cover and went back to the babies. They were warm and miserable and needing.

They needed cool. They needed clean. They needed good, good food and all the comfort Taako could provide.

Even in the throes of Luume, Taako wasn’t a barbarian. He did not lick these babies clean. What he did have was an abundant supply of cool, clean water and plenty of towelling.

Keep babies comfortable. Keep babies safe. Keep babies fed.

Check on his baby too. Sleeping. Cuddle baby’s babies. Purr. Comfort. Coo.

*

Angus felt like shit as he dragged himself out of the guest bedroom. Taako’s soup and tasty treats had helped rally his resources, but now he wanted a large beverage and he really needed to pee.

The house was dark.

Ominously quiet.

And a lot more food than normal waiting under assorted covers.

Uh oh... Knowing Taako as he did, Angus checked the Cuddle Cote.

The fairy lights were on. And inside were Agnes, Aloicious, and Ambrose. Or, as Taako referred to them, Aglet, Aloe, and Amber.

All of them tangled up in each other and all stripped down to their underthings. There were still moist towelling washers scattered around them all. Agnes had intricate braids in her hair. Aloicious and Ambrose were spread across their ‘grandfather’.

Taako was distress-purring in his sleep.

Angus crawled up to him and felt his brow. Feverish, and not just the feverish effects of Luume. But the feverish effects of the latest winter flu.

“Hachi machi, you’re going to be feeling this one,” he whispered.

Luume knocked Taako sideways at the best of times. The flu was going to knock any remaining piss out of him.

Angus arranged his kids into a cuddle pile and ferried some of Taako’s panacea soup into the cote. Best not to move him. He might get snarly. The most he did was arrange Taako so that he could eat and drink without moving very much at all.

And then it was just a matter of waking Taako up every half hour and feeding him as much soup as he could take.

*

“Is grampa better yet?”

“C’n I tickle him?

“Let grampa sleep,” said Agnes. “He’s had a rough time.”

“Did he have a silly again? He had a silly when we were born.”

Taako, feeling like he’d been dragged backwards through a hedge that was somehow simultaneously on fire and frozen solid. His head hurt. His joints hurt. His fucking hair hurt. “Much though I love you all,” he croaked, “either shut up or fuck off. Pick one.”

“Grampa’s sick...” said Aloe.

Someone wiped him down with a damp piece of terrytowelling.

“I have some of your soup, sir,” said Agnes. “If you want, I can feed it to you.”

Taako cracked open an eye. Light hurt. Even the dim fairy lights of the Cuddle Cote. “Good baby,” he sighed.

[uwigs]

How to distinguish virgin human hair wigs from synthetic wigs?

    Hi there, this is UWigs. With all the wigs that are out, there sometimes it's hard to know. What you're looking at so many different lengths, so many different blend types, so many different terms, hopefully after this blog, you'll be able to understand and compare the basics between the human hair wig and the synthetic hair wigs.

1. Quality

   The perfect place to start this discussion is going to be talking about quality. Many people assume that human hair is of superior quality to synthetics. That's not the case. Within synthetics. Some of them are cheap synthetics, which stretch and get gnarly fairly quickly to higher mode acrylics. But some of the synthetics wigs are high-quality, have a nice sheen, and a nice consistency throughout their lifetime.

   With human hair wigs, you have cuticle intact and cuticle in stripped hair. We have a gamut in between those two ends of the spectrum. With human hair, you're going to need to know whether it's cuticle intact or cuticle stripped. Cuticle stripped hair will require many sheen and laminates to be put back into the hair to coat it. So that it has the shine and the softness that it did with the cuticles intact.

   But for you, what that means is that, when you take that hair, you wash it, wear it, those laminates come off. The hair tends to get dry and snarly reasonably fast. If you have intact cuticle hair or Remy hair. That means that those hairs are all cuticle going in the same direction, so they should last for a much longer time. The only thing that will need to be put back into those hairs is that you will have to condition it and manage it just as your natural hair. The only difference being it's not being nourished by your scalp oils. So you have to be a little bit more delicate with that.

   With the synthetics, it's a little more straightforward. that hair doesn't necessarily need to be conditioned, but over time it will tangle, it will need to be brushed. And what that does with the synthetics is, it leads to those fibers individually being stretched and then snapped back over time. When synthetic fibers extend and spring back, it creates tiny bits of frizz. Those individual pieces will frizz mixed in with other ones that aren't frizzy. Over time that will lead to it having a more of a frizzy look and appearance. This generally happens underneath at the nape. Also, it will happen with human hair. It will also occur underneath at the nape first. Or if you have bulkier clothing that is rubbing it, you can likely see those areas where the on those aspects first.

2. Heat style ability

   One of those crucial aspects is heat style ability. There doesn't tend to be much of a difference with human hair from treating your natural hair. When you're curling it. But if you try to curl a synthetic wig. You're going to get a whole different reaction. High heat synthetics need the cool-down process to set that curl low-temperature. Synthetics wigs can't take the heat at all, and it'll melt. So knowing how to distinguish the human hair wig and synthetics wig is incredibly important.

3. Sheen

   The next thing that you'll want to know in comparing the two wigs is that you'll need to look at the shine. With synthetic wigs, if you're doing lots of shooting in front of a camera, or planning on being an event where flash photography is taken, sometimes the synthetics can give off an unnatural glare. You won't notice it in everyday lighting. But if there's any photography, or where there's light coming at you in a blast, the synthetics will shine back at the camera and will give it a little bit too much sheen to look natural.  

4. Price

    The last thing is going to be the difference between prices. Price is going to be an essential factor when you're comparing anything. Synthetics wigs are arguably much cheaper than human hair wigs. Human hair is hard to source. However, in synthetic, it's not going to be the case. Typically your blondes and mixes are generally about the same price as you would expect from your regular dark brown or black shades. So you have those two blonds that are also much hard to source. In human hair, it takes more processing to get the blonde colors because most of the base material is dark, so that it's going to be harder to find, and expect that you're going to pay a little bit more for that range.

    The last thing with these is length price is a significant factor with length. The longer the length, the more of a high quality that you'll want. I don't necessarily recommend synthetics for anything long because that movement will create those tangles much sooner. I also don't recommend low-quality human hair for anything with the length for the same reason, the more activity, the more it's going to tangle.

    The higher quality that you're going to want or expect, you're going to have much more work that will go back into it, so if you're using the synthetics, you'll need to steam them out so that they have a long life span and pull out a lot of that kink and frizz. You can do a similar process with the human hair by flat ironing it and putting it back in those laminates to keep that longevity intact but expect to have a little more work if you don't want to pay for the price.

    With all of these tips in mind, I hope you'll be able to compare the virgin human hair wig from synthetic wig a little bit more efficiently and get what you pay for. Thanks for reading, and if you liked this blog, make sure that you subscribe to our channel so that you never miss a beat. If you need more information and cheap human hair wigs, check out www.uwigs.com for all your hair lace wigs needs.

[daddy-hotline]

i saw that there was stuff about dadsona having autism, why not same thing but with narcisstic personality disorder? just.. none of those abusive stereotypes, it's not exactly the most well-documented disorder. for example, ppl with npd can still have empathy and even extreme empathy for certain things (while none at all for other things) if you need some non-biased research theres always DSM-5, and personal accounts of it and accounts like @thatnpdfeel. thank you :) i really want to see this!!!

✨DADS REACT TO … dadsona with NPD✨［sorry for taking super duper long to reply, I honestly have no valid reason to excuse myself but here you go lol bringing back the old header, please tell me if I said anything wrong - mod rae］🎣Brian : He thought that you were just trying to compete with him. He was slightly surprised at how "eager" you were to gain any edge over him but didn't recognise it as a disorder. Brian was very hurt when one day you suddenly lashed out at him with vulgarities (something you had never done before) after he had only replied with a "mhmm…" when you excitedly showed him the fish you caught. 🏋Craig : He had to literally pry the weights from your hands after you tried to best him in bench pressing. You would break your back if you had carried on, but you ended up screaming at Craig in the middle of the gym, which of course made him storm off. He was sad, he was angry, but mostly a tangled mess of emotions. 🐶Damien : It was easy for him to compliment you all the time, whether it was your hair done just so that day or something trivial like the arrangement of patterns on your shirt. Slowly, however, he got uneasy with how much you were bragging to him and he felt super beneath you. He tried to distance himself slowly. 📚Hugo : He knew something was slightly off and Googled all your symptoms, he understood that you were similar to Brian in a way. Once he was able to grasp why you were acting in such a manner he tried his best to keep you satisfied.💒Joseph : He tried to act nice, but couldn't help but splutter out all your "flaws" one time and he knew he had screwed up. You were fuming then and had countered him with whatever you didn't think of before saying. It evolved into a huge fight, and it took a good week for Joseph to apologise. ☕Mat : He acted a little awkward around you and nodded in agreement. Sometimes he would notice that you seemed to be… Itching, in a sense, for some kind of affirmation after telling you about your job promotion. He gave you a half hearted "good job" before hurrying off back to work. 🔪Robert : He immediately gave you the side eye and said a snarly comment back in your face. He wasn't afraid to bite back when he felt like he was being shoved under someone else's foot and didn't bother interacting with you the rest of the barbeque.

[marvelousbirthdays]

Happy Birthday, gaydebeers!

October 6 - Remy LeBeau/Logan “I’m not gonna stop leaving marks till I’m sure everyone knows you’re mine" for @gaydebeers

Written by: @lj-todd

Logan, for all that he seemed like his place was in a bar, never truly felt comfortable in them.

He was always wary, wondering if some drunken moron would start a brawl that would, in some way, reveal him as a mutant. It had happened, several times, over his many, many years and so, after a certain point, he would spend as little time in bars as possible. Unfortunately Remy enjoyed bars, enjoyed hustling games of pool and generally showing off so, more often than he would like, Logan would follow along simply to make certain the younger mutant wouldn't get himself into too much trouble.

Tonight was one of those nights.

He sat at the bar, nursing his third beer, some new domestic blend that he wasn't sure he liked, keeping an eye on Remy, who was at the pool table, taking some poor sucker for all he had.

Shaking his head he took a swig of the beer, nose wrinkling as the taste flowed over his tongue, silently deciding he was switching to scotch after the bottle was finished because he couldn't handle the so called refined flavour any longer, and then he heard it, Remy's smooth accent flowing over the crowd.

"Look, cher, you are lovely but I am a taken man."

Logan's gaze snapped back to Remy, watching some twinky looking guy all but plaster himself to the Cajun's side, hand running over Remy's chest in an obvious attempt at seduction. Logan's grip tightened around the bottle and a low growl threatened to bubble up from his chest but he managed to control himself. He saw Remy's gaze shift, those dark, beautiful eyes finding him from across the crowded bar. Something in Remy's face shifted and those dark eyes dropped to the man still at his side.

"Listen, cher, you flatter me," the Cajun pulled the stranger's hands off of him and gently pushed him back a step. "But as I said, I be taken. Happily taken, might I be adding."

The twink pouted in what was likely meant to be some sexy manner and batted his eye lashes at Remy.

"Whoever they are can't possibly compare to me," the man said in a sugary sweet voice, hand resting on Remy's arm again even as the Cajun huffed. "I can rock your world, honey, and in ways you've never known before."

Logan rumbled darkly, ignoring the startled look from the bartender, and quickly stood, beer forgotten on the bar, and began prowling towards the pool table.

He had heard and seen enough.

It wasn't that he wasn't accustomed to people all but throwing themselves at Remy, the Cajun was gorgeous and he'd have to be blind and stupid not to see it, and he knew Remy would never be unfaithful to him, the man might flirt like crazy but it was usually part of some bigger game. He had no fear of Remy doing anything but there was only so much a man could take and tonight Logan had reached his limit of watching people hit on the Cajun.

Time to show the little twink just who Remy was taken by.

"Hey, bub," he growled as he reached the pool table, the man Remy had been playing wisely stepping back, putting the table between them, looking nervously between Logan and the twink. "I think you best be finding some other hook up."

The twink spun and gave him an annoyed look.

"Why don't you go back to the nursing home, old man," he sneered, dismissing Logan with a wave of his hand. "The cutie and I were talking."

Remy gave Logan a look all but begging him to stay calm and Logan gave an almost feral grin.

"Yeah, well, that cutie belongs to me, bub." He caught the twink by the arm and tugged him a step away from Remy before moving, putting himself physically between the two. "And I don't share. Ever."

The twink looked at him again, seeing the look in his eye, sensing on some instinctual level, that Logan was not someone he wanted to mess with and, after puffing up slightly, gave a huff and turned sharply on his heel before storming off, muttering about old men thinking they still had game.

Logan watched him disappear into the crowd before turning to Remy who, grinning, caught his hand.

"Come on, mon cher," the Cajun purred, tugging him through the crowd to the bathroom.

They stumbled through the door and Logan grunted as Remy pushed him back against it, kissing him, hands sinking into his hair, pressing fully against him.

Logan groaned and gripped Remy's hips in his large hands, knowing he was likely leaving bruises but not caring as he traded kiss after kiss with the Cajun.

"You have any idea, cher, how hot it be to watch you get all snarly for me? How much it turn me on watching you like that, hmm?"

Logan chuckled, his stubble scraping over Remy's neck as he ducked his head, nipping and sucking at the pale neck.

"Got an idea," he rumbled before catching Remy's skin between his teeth and worrying it until Remy gasp, head falling back, hands clutching at Logan's shoulders.

"Oh, oh, Logan!"

Logan growled faintly as he lifted his head enough to look Remy in the eye. Those beautiful dark eyes with that bright iris of purple-red. With a low growl he spun Remy, pinning him to the door, loving the way the Cajun gasped and clung to him.

"I'm not gonna stop leaving marks," Logan rumbled as he ducked his head again, lips trailing over Remy's skin. Pausing to suck and nip a dark mark into the pale flesh. "Till I’m sure everyone knows you’re mine." Another mark and then another and another. "Until I don't gotta worry about them thinking they can steal you away." Remy moaned and his fingers tangled again in Logan's hair pulling him closer.

"Do it, mon cher," he purred, gasping when Logan found a sensitive spot to mark. "I'll...oh...I'll wear each one with..." He gasped again. "With pride."

Logan rumbled, darkly, and proceeded to continue to mark Remy, refusing to leave the bathroom until he was satisfied that the marks, dark and purple and livid against the Cajun's skin, would convince anyone in the bar that Remy was indeed happily taken.

[stagnantmako]

VARIOUS HEADCANONS. tw abuse && medical horror.

Nero struggles to control Oblivion even with his containment suit and mask. This was not the case up until Genesis’ cells were injected into him. Prior to that, Nero had full control.

Nero is surprisingly neutral on everything around him. He will only attack based upon threat level. He is still a massive threat to global security as he cannot control Oblivion.

Anesthesia does not work on him. He can be sedated, but that usually wears off. He was fully aware through almost every single experiment that was done to him, barring complete lost of consciousness.

Nero does not like to be touched for obvious reasons.

The wings being attached was by far one of the most painful and traumatizing things done to him. If the experiment being done wasn’t bad enough, the weight eventually wrecked all of the nerves in his back. Nero has no sensation in his back at all.

Literally the only reason Nero behaved and restrained himself during experiments was due to the scientists threatening Weiss’ safety if he did not.

Without his mask, oblivion actually seeps out of his mouth. Nero cannot (or should not) be kissed due to this, as you’d be breathing Oblivion in and considering it’s absorbing nature, you might end up missing something vital.

Nero is prone to lapses in his mental state where he cannot contain Oblivion and has a breakdown. The former could lead to the latter, or the latter to the former - either way, he starts screaming and clutching his head and Oblivion goes absolutely haywire.

He enjoys reading, however his skill has suffered due to being kept from any form of literature most of his life.

The mask on his face is held on by screws. It’s possible to remove it, but it would require someone he trusts implicitly or him being completely knocked out.

Nero can eat, but it’s painful and unpleasant for him. His jaw muscles are extremely weak from disuse and his stomach is unaccustomed to solid foods. He can feed through an IV, or absorb food through Oblivion. Neither are particularly nutritional but give him enough to survive on, and so Nero’s body suffers for it.

If not for the Mako in his suit forcing his body to be at peak condition, Nero would be pretty weak. But given that he’s a superhuman, he’s fine. He’s not as physically imposing as the other Tsviets (save for Shelke) but he’s still not lacking for much.

His hair is not maintained at all. It is a total, snarly, unwashed mess. To get the tangles out of it would take weeks, and it would take several baths to properly clean it. His hair is actually quite a bit longer than where it falls, but because it’s not cared for it’s all caught up in knots. Nero probably wouldn’t maintain it afterwards, either.

He has had both his hips shattered! The Restrictors punished him “accordingly” after a botched escape attempt in his childhood. The result is an mostly unnoticeable limp that he learned to cover up, and discomfort in damp weather as it aches.

Nero got along fairly well with Rosso. Their relationship was largely Rosso going YOU WANNA GO while Nero tried to ignore her, throwing her into Oblivion when she got too rowdy and in his face, only to have her immediately try again. While not “friends”, the Tsviets were as close as one could feasibly be in an environment where you’re supposed to kill literally everyone around you. This extends to Shelke - in post DoC threads, Nero will not carry any animosity towards her unless she plans to make a move against his brother.

The only person in the world Nero wants revenge on is Hojo.

He has a strong distaste for Genesis as Genesis could have aided them in their escape prior to DG becoming even more paranoid and restrictive measures increasing.

The WRO probably has all of Nero’s files on record at this point. These include actual videos of experiments being done. They are not easy to watch, as some of them can be summed up as “let’s kick this five year old around until he lashes out with his horrible darkness powers and then beat him senseless for doing so!” They worsen around the age of 10 when DeepGround started to tip towards being a brutal free for all murderground. Then it’s “dangerous convicts up against a ten year old boy with his horrible darkness powers bound, watch as they drive him to fight back and kill these guys with his bare hands and watch as he cries because they lied to him about letting him see his brother”. And then, finally, a mentally unstable teenager getting poison literally injected into his bloodstream to see if he can remove it, watch as he gets the shit beaten out of him for taking a step out of line, check out his killcount jump exponentially and his sanity struggle to be maintained.

Barring it being someone he knows and trusts, then he's very touchy and desperate. He spent his whole life being told he’s a monster unworthy of any love and so when he finds a source of it, he latches. This really only applies to Weiss.

If you get too close to his person and he’s not comfortable with you, he will probably attempt to kill you out of reflex.

Without his suit he will actually start to wither and lose physical strength.

The mako also helps him recover from injury. Materia and potions are essentially poison to him - he has to recover from injuries naturally, but given the fact that he’s not able to care for himself properly, these can take a lengthy time.

While not prone to infection due to Oblivion being capable of removing it from his body, he is still weakened by injury.

Nero also possesses a similar distaste for anyone who claims that there is “honor” in serving ShinRa. He is proud to be a Tsviet and to be who he is, however to claim that there is honor in anything to do with ShinRa is utterly laughable to him.

This also goes to anyone who claims to be a monster due to the experiments done to them in the womb. NERO IS KIND OF AN ARROGANT SOB I’M SORRY

People who betray their family or siblings also go in this category.

[smolgaysnake]

holding hands and walking her to the schoolbus! teary angry fights because he won't let her go to bed without brushing her hair and her tangles make her chubby face get all flushed and unhappy furious. Fights. Snappy snarly ones. Buying a lockbox because she doesn't trust him not to hock her things. Telling her not to get mad at him just because maddie doesn't love her best. Apologizing through closed doors. Watching tv together and quiet leaning. he's drunk and his dads tie is crooked but it's the only time anyone has ever come to her back to school night