#there was another room of quilts from his collection

[sleepnoises]

some quilts by Jonathan Shannon (1938–2016) photographed at the San Jose Museum of Quilts and Textiles

Canciones de Mi Padre, 1989

From My Garden of Earthly Delights, 1992

Amigos Muertos, 1994. Rejected from the American Quilter's Society show due to the inclusion of Shannon's red AIDS ribbon (left skeleton). Shannon had won Best in Show the year before. Shannon organized protest letters as a result and made some impact on the issue of censorship in quilting.

Shadows: Gay Men's Chorus, 1995

[heirofnight]

it's the shadows

pairing: azriel x reader (heavily), cassian x reader, rhysand x reader

word count: 1.2k (i intended for this to be a drabble but i can't ever shut the hell up)

summary: reader is close friends with az, cass, and rhys, but is very obviously pining for azriel. the four of you are drunk and cassian just has to know which one of them would be the best in bed. sexual tension ensues. duh.

while this entire debate was absolutely ridiculous - one may argue even downright childish - you couldn't stop the grin that was spreading across your cheeks.

you couldn't remember the last time you'd laughed this hard. your stomach was aching, cheeks sore. dried tears were collecting at the corners of your eyes. there'd be a lull in the conversation, a period of time that allowed all of you to calm down and collect yourselves, before you'd inevitably meet one of their mischievous gazes and fits of laughter would begin all over again.

"seriously, y/n?," cassian inquired, voice booming. you snorted at his dumbfounded expression, at the fact that the four of you had finally calmed down, just for cass to loop back to the topic that had you all howling in laughter in the first place.

"azriel?," he continued, pointer finger gesturing towards the male sitting opposite from you in the sitting room. cassian had a half-full wine glass in his large hand, the liquid sloshing around precariously as he motioned in the shadowsinger's direction. "the motherfucker doesn't even speak!," he finished, causing you to erupt in another alcohol-induced fit of giggles.

azriel smiled warmly at the sight, shaking his head in mock exasperation at his brother's disbelief. az took a sip from the glass of wine he'd been nursing at a much slower pace compared to the rest of you.

rhys chuckled now, sitting alongside cassian on the plush sofa. he shoved the war general on his broad shoulder playfully, gesturing towards azriel himself, "he doesn't need to speak in this particular scenario, brother," he purred, his own wine sloshing within his grip.

azriel's cheeks tinted red at the implication, shifting his gaze down to his lap to hide a dimpled smirk.

"and see, that's what i'm saying," you added, throwing your hands up in agreement. you sat on the floor, upon the cushioned carpet that spread throughout the sitting room. you glanced up at azriel, a fond smile playing across your lips as you met his bashful gaze.

"he doesn't need to use words, cassian. i stand by my original statement: azriel is absolutely the most capable male in bed out of the three of you," you couldn't even finish the sentence without giggling, awestruck at cassian's ability to always turn the conversation back to this topic in particular.

you'd been close to all three of them for so long, and cassian - with his overly-competitive nature - just had to know, from a female's perspective, which male you thought would be the best in the bedroom. even though your answer was always the same: azriel.

was it because you may have been harboring feelings for the aforementioned male? perhaps. however, you didn't need to be pining after him to come to that conclusion; it felt like the obvious choice, regardless.

azriel glanced over at you with silent pride flooding his gaze, and you winked at him playfully in response. "i've got your back, az," you slurred, alcohol heavy in your veins. you reached over to poke him in the kneecap gently, and he huffed out a laugh.

"thank you, sweet," he spoke, tone gravelly, and you felt your chest grow fuzzy at the nickname he reserved just for you.

"oh, come ON," cassian scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. rhys barked out a laugh, tossing his head back against the headrest of the quilted couch.

you laughed along with rhys, sitting closer to azriel's legs now. az reached down, smoothing a section of your hair that had grown disheveled during your laughing fits throughout the evening. you were hyper-aware of his touch, and currants of electricity shot down your spine as the contact mixed with the wine in your system.

"i'm going to go out on a limb here," cassian started, pausing to take a sip from his glass. you rolled your eyes, bracing yourself for the familiar statement preparing to spill from his lips. "and i'm going to say that your opinion on this particular topic is heavily biased," he finished, knowing hazel eyes glancing from you, up to azriel, and back down to you.

you groaned in mock annoyance, flipping your hand in a dismissive gesture.

"yeah, yeah, cass, i know," you huffed out a breath, narrowing your eyes, "you're so convinced that i want to be in azriel's bed," you finished, pausing for dramatic effect before speaking further. cassian scoffed, his eyes widening slightly as if to say duh.

the alcohol was making you feel bolder than normal, and honestly, it's not like you were completely shy about your attraction towards azriel. it was a commonly known fact, one that all of you tended to play into from time to time - an inside joke, a bit.

however, while the attraction was known, you'd never confessed to any of them your very real feelings for azriel. that aspect wasn't a joke to you in the slightest.

"it's the shadows," you deadpanned, shrugging your shoulders sloppily.

cassian and rhys paused for a moment, absorbing your statement. then, they both erupted into howling laughter, and you weren't far behind them. you heard azriel's low chuckle from where he sat behind you, and he sent one of those mentioned shadows from within his twining orbit to twirl through your hair playfully.

cassian collected himself, shaking his head as he wiped his eyes.

"what kind of shit are you into, y/n?," cass wheezed out, and rhys laughed harder at his follow-up question.

you sniffled, wiping your own eyes before responding, "i mean, you really cannot blame me," you mused, gesturing towards azriel once more, "have you really not stopped to consider this at all?," you widened your eyes, stunned.

as if to prove a point, you turned your head towards azriel, locking your curious eyes with his amused ones.

"azriel, have you or have you not used your shadows on someone during sex?," you asked, extremely forward.

he almost choked at the question, cheeks turning crimson. cassian and rhys resumed their howling, but you peered at him expectantly.

he couldn't deny you an answer, not when you looked at him like that - innocent-looking wide eyes, cheeks pink from the wine. and was there a large, screaming part of him that wanted to entice you with his bedroom habits?

perhaps.

he nodded once, a dimpled smirk appearing across his pink cheeks.

"i have," he spoke, deep voice cutting through the laughter.

everyone paused at his words - you'd all half-expected him to evade the question altogether. but here he was, divulging life-altering, world-ending information that had your brain short-circuiting in one fatal blow.

the silence was deafeningly loud, and your expression shifted in a way that had azriel knowing exactly what you were thinking. your eyes had widened and glossed over, your mouth was agape. his smirk grew, forming into something more playful.

and to prove his point, he sent one more shadow your way to lightly twirl through your fingers and caress up your arm, looping around your neck gently.

cass sent a low whistle into the dead silence of the room, croaking out a laugh. "well, fuck, az," he chuckled, downing the rest of his drink.

"you win," cassian added, awestruck - shaking his head in defeat.

you didn't even hear what was happening around you, too focused on azriel - his darkened gaze as he peered down at you, and the feeling of that tendril of shadow tightening around your throat in silent challenge.

a/n: i'm so sorry. i'm spamming u with all of these ideas but hear me out, i have to get them out immediately. pls don't hate me. but this one had me sweating lmfao. sucker for sexual tension as always!!!

[eupheme]

k07. group sex | don’t make me choose

logan howlett x reader x wade wilson x vanessa carlysle

rated e - 3k

tags: fem!reader, pure pwp, vignettes, poly relationship, mutual crushes, drinking games, foursome, oral sex, face sitting, fingering, hair tugging (reader), PiV, shared blowjob, creampie, come eating, 69 (while getting fucked), light ass play, spitting, marathon piv session

a/n: @sir-thisisadndserver sent me a lovely request about writing a logan x reader x wade x vanessa fic, which I thought would be perfect to share for kinktober! 💕 thank you so much emma & I really hope you like it!

“Gun to your head,” Wade’s hand raises - two fingers making a barrel, his curled thumb the hammer, “If your life hung in the balance of an orgasm, which one of us would you pick to help you out?”

(or - when a midnight game takes a turn, Vanessa, Wade, and Logan all work together to help you decide.)

There has to be something about the way they always convince you to stay later.

Offering another drink. A hand on your arm, a sweet smile. A “don’t worry, Logan will walk you home” - and he always does, hands jammed in the pockets of his leather as he lingers just a moment more, as your heart flutters behind your ribs. Making sure you get inside, safe and sound.

Lately, it’s become a “it’s getting pretty late, why don’t you just sleep over?”

The apartment is already small, crammed to the brim as is. It would be easier to book a ride home.

But for the second time in two weeks, your legs tuck beneath you. Wade’s friends - yours too, really, you’ve been hanging around enough that you think you could call them that - heading out an hour ago.

Your nice clothes for the get-together exchanged for an oversized shirt of Logan’s. Someone’s boxers slipped on as shorts - Wade’s, you think, from the bright pattern of red hearts across the pink fabric.

Hushed conversations in the living room, reminiscent of sleepovers in your youth, except for how filthy the conversations are.

And just like then, you can never bear leaving early.

Clinging on to each word, each accidental touch as a bowl of popcorn is passed over. The lean of Vanessa’s back against your legs when another movie starts.

Your shoulder and hip mapped with Logan’s, when you all try to fit on the couch.

Don’t even mind the way you always ache the next day. Far too fucking old to sleep on the makeshift bed Wade throws together - cushions dragged down from the couch, an excess of his decorative throw pillows littered across the floor.

Bargaining for Althea’s quilt collection in exchange for her sole use of the narrow twin bed that night.

It’s worth it, those few stolen minutes when you wake up before them. Shuffled together in some combination that changes each time.

A mess of limbs, and each time it sends your heart jolting. Something impossible that you can’t help but wish for planted in your chest when an arm manages to sling across your waist.

Trying to ignore how natural it feels, because clearly it must just be you. Reading into things, as always.

The game you’re playing - something Wade whipped up called Risky Quizness - breaks you out of your reverie, as he hurls another question at Logan.

“If you had to choose between having the Hulk’s dick but a normal-sized body, or the Hulk’s body and a regular-old johnson, which would you choose?”

Your snort of bemusement matches Logan’s, his brow furrowing with a scowl, “Can’t you ever ask a normal fucking question?”

“It is a normal fucking question,” Wade smirks, “You’re already working with one of those combos, minus the green, and I just wanna hear you admit it.”

The implication has your cheeks heating. Wondering how Wade would know. Knowing he must, by the way Logan’s ears pinken and eyes pull away.

“Pass.” It’s growled out, as Logan takes another swig of the beer he’d been nursing.

Wade pivots on the spot, set between the three of you. Facing you now, and your breath hitches in anticipation.

You’ve already spilled your most embarrassing moments. Your childhood crushes. A disaster of a first kiss. The true depths and deep cuts of your “hear me out” list. Even your first time - all stories spread out over the nights together.

And yet somehow, you’re still nervous he’ll nudge at your deepest secret of all.

His eyes narrow as he thinks.

“Gun to your head,” Wade’s hand raises - two fingers making a barrel, his curled thumb the hammer, “If your life hung in the balance of an orgasm, which one of us would you pick to help you out?”

Oh.

Fuck.

“Wade.” Vanessa hisses, shooting him a look.

“Her future is at stake, Ness,” Wade counters, severely, “Besides, I’m trying to help my boy out-”

But it’s Logan that addresses you first, his gaze heavy as his head cocks.

“Awfully quiet over there, sweetheart.”

A slight buzz still lingers - your mind and swirl, and the solid wall of your filter poked through with holes.

“I, uhm,” You start, as three sets of eyes fix on you.

Going silent, with the sudden attention.

“Huh. Thought I had you pegged,” Wade hums, eyes narrowing, “Can’t pretend I’m not offended for him that you’d rather take the L than fuck Wolvie here-”

You head shakes - not wanting them to think that, “It’s not-”

“What is it, then?” His grin widens, “Don’t have to be shy, babe. We all like pussy here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Another reproachful look, though Vanessa’s eyes don’t stray long from yours.

“No, it’s really-” You sigh, feeling helpless. Knowing he’ll keep nudging until you give him what he wants, “I, uh, I just… can’t pick.”

Silence lingers, and the heat in your chest creeps up to your ears.

“Can’t choose.” You laugh, self-conscious, “Doesn’t seem fair to, with, you know-”

“With?” Logan prompts - his voice low. That rough edge, as your eyes flick towards him.

“With how I feel.” You finish, lamely.

You’d thought your attraction to Logan as you’ve gotten to know him would advert the crush you’d been harboring on Wade and Vanessa.

But… it hasn’t. If anything, the shared time as your friendship grew only added to those feelings, leaving you hopelessly pining for all of them.

Forced to finally admit it.

“Greedy girl.” Wade coos - delighted - the puzzle pieces slipping into place.

Vanessa is the one that moves first.

Her weight shifting, as you inhale a breath. Moving from against the couch to kneel in front of you, movements slow as her hands plant on either side of your thighs.

“Maybe we can help you choose?” She smiles, eyes dropping to your lips. A quick glance towards Wade, as she adds, “Ladies first.”

And as her mouth presses sweetly to yours - think you may have just died and gone to heaven.

Scratch that. This is heaven.

Her thighs inch wider, calves already pressing into your bare shoulders. Your borrowed shirt lost somewhere, between the tug of her fingers and the twine of tongues.

The layers she wore soon following, your begged request murmured against her lips as you settled back against the floor, urging her on top. A shrill whistle that cut short with a grunt, when Logan’s elbow sinks into Wade’s gut.

Dark eyes peer down, but you miss them - too busy mapping over each and every inch of Vanessa, as she hovers above your mouth.

“You sure?”

Wade chuckles, answering for you, “Believe us, babe. When we say ‘sit’, we mean sit-”

Her teeth sink into her lip, “She’s not strong like you are, honey-”

Strong enough. It flickers through your mind, as your hands curve against her hips and tug. Lips parted, mouth ready to meet her.

You moan, as she pitches forward - hands splaying on either side of your head. As your tongue presses against her pussy, soft and wet and the low gasp she makes has you clenching.

“Supposed to be making you come,” Vanessa breathes, as she rocks into your mouth. As you taste her, tangy-sweet.

You suppose she’s right, but you’ve been dreaming about this for months. Hands flatten against her thighs, a silent plea for her to stay. Still marveling over the fact that the making out with you made her like this.

Leaking agains your tongue. The short panting breath, hands that cup at her breasts. The soft moan as her head dips to kiss Wade, as he fists his pulled-free cock.

“Come on, baby girl.” He grins, “Get over here. Can’t Choose means you, too.”

There’s a huff, near your ankles. Something growled out you miss, with the way her thighs press against your ears.

“Can Logan touch you, honey?” Vanessa decides for him - her fingers brushing your cheek, “He’s going to go wild if he can’t get his hands on you.”

You hum in assent, a distracted nod of your head. Too focused on her, listening to what makes her squeal. Wishing you could use your fingers, though there’s nothing that would make you want to move now.

Hands palm at your legs. Muffled words melding, as the pink boxers are tugged from you. Thighs pushed wide, as a warm weight settle between them.

The wet drag of a tongue had your hips jerking into his mouth. A little laugh from Vanessa, as she shifts - grinding against your tongue.

“Feels good, doesn’t he?” She coos, “Almost as good as you.”

Logan grunts. Hungry - fingers nudging at your slick entrance. One finger sinking inside, and then another. Starting a slow rhythm that you find yourself matching, with the drag of your tongue and the rock of your hips.

You wish you could stay just like this forever. This loop of pleasure that sparks from your mouth to your core, giving and receiving. This is the way it should be, you think.

Trapped between them. The only way it would be better was if Logan was inside you.

Sharing you with Wade. Both of them splitting you open as Vanessa keeps your mouth blissfully busy.

The thought had pleasure hitching inside you. Your eyes long squeezed shut, as you concentrate. Trying to keep your pace steady, your lips sealed against her clit. Fingers tracing along her thigh until you can rub against the tight bud, your tongue slipping down to press inside.

She keens, and that pressure inside your surges - crashing over you.

Too much, with the pound of his fingers. Working you open, getting you ready for later. His tongue flicking against your clit - you’re already such a mess that it’s almost cheating with how quickly you’re yanked to the edge.

The suction of his lips pulling you over. Your moan muffled as your nose nuzzles against her mound. Groaning into her pussy as Vanessa’s fingers twist into your hair, tugging.

And when her hips arch, clit pulsing against your tongue a moment later -

It’s bliss.

The aftershocks still wrack through you, when Vanessa lifts off your face. Swooping down to kiss you soundly, your head lifting to chase when she pulls away.

“One.” Logan hums with satisfaction - another slow lick against your core.

“Team effort,” She amends, curling next to you with a smile, “You boys gonna give it a shot?”

Wade grins, as Logan pushes himself up - his cock tented against his sweat. Moving up to kiss you next, and you wonder if he can taste Vanessa on your lips, the way you can taste yourself on his.

His tongue sweet as it swipes against yours - something you’ve dreamed of - wished for - often.

It sends another wash of need over you, as his hands guide you to flip over.

“You Grandpa Joe’d that one, babe,” Wade shakes his head, “Just sat there while our girl and Lo did all the work.”

Her eyes roll, before they flick to yours, “Is that right?”

Your head shakes, pussy-drunk. A soft moan as Logan’s cock swipes against your folds, his hand biting into your hip.

“Wanted to,” You repeat, the words stringing out, pitching high, as he inches into you, “Wanted, fuck, Logan-”

“Want another one, baby.” He hums, sinking slowly into you, “Need to feel you around my cock this time.”

Seating himself in you, as Vanessa’s teeth nip at your neck. As Wade settles in front of you, boxers kicked off - baring mottled skin and the heavy hang of his length.

“Old man’s not gonna last long,” He mock-sighs, “Has been edging that hard-on for you for months now.”

The admission sends heat coursing through you. Recalling all the looks over the late-night hours. Reading into each and every interaction, combing for clues he enjoyed your company as much as you did his.

Who knew all you had to do was ask?

“Keep that mouth shut,” Logan growls, “Or I’ll find a way to keep it busy.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time-” He chokes on the last word, as Vanessa’s hand wraps around him.

“Hush. Not like we haven’t wanted this as well,” She chides, before sending a wink your way. “Let me show you what he likes.”

Letting you watch, as her tongue slips up his shaft.

Letting you join, a moment later.

Spit-slick kisses against the leaking head. Colorful curses strung together as Logan’s thrust sends him nudging against the back of your throat.

It makes your brain spin, thoughts going hazy. Easing off him, so you can mouth at his shaft, tongue dragging against the curve of his sack.

Messy, with the spit that smears against your lips. Hers and yours, melding when Vanessa brings your mouths together, the head of his cock trapped between the two of you.

All but drooling on him, as Logan’s hips snap. Fingers biting into your skin, until a hand slips around your hip.

Skating across slick skin, nudging the tips against your clit.

“Still so fucking wet for us.” It’s growled out, pleased.

His thrusts turning harder, when he feels how you clench around him. Already attuned to the way your body tightens when you’re close - and with the way he’s man-handling you, that heated pleasure is already curling again inside you.

Fucking you, toying with your clit until you’re moaning around Wade’s cock. Fingers denting his thigh as you cling to him, pulling back until your face can bury against his hip.

“Give us a second one, sweetheart.” Logan growls, “Know you fucking need it, can feel you squeezing me.”

You whimper. Too many hands on you - slender fingers against your tits, cupping soft skin. Scarred hands tracing along your jaw, fingers pressing against your tongue.

Teeth biting down - muffled moans as you obey. Coming harder that before with the way you’re stuffed full of cock, your head still hazy from the last round.

The clutch of your cunt pulls him over soon after. A rough snarl, as his hips nudge flush. Cock throbbing, as he fills you with pulse after pulse, painting your walls with his release.

You pant, a palm flattened against Wade’s abs, to steady yourself. The heady thrum lingering, close to painful with how quickly he had made you come again.

A low hiss, when Logan eases himself out. His hand smoothing over your hip, squeezing at your ass.

You can feel him drip from you. Smearing across your inner thigh, as he presses a kiss against to your shoulder.

“Dibs!” Wade grins.

It only takes a moment before he has you flipped over. Settling between your thighs.

Your protest breaking off, turning sharp as his tongue flicks against your sensitive clit.

He never minds cleaning up a mess.

Somewhere along the way, with the swapping of hands and press of mouths, you forget how this all started.

That silly little game slipping from your mind, as you watch Logan make good on his promise. The flex of Wade’s throat as he takes him to the hilt, a contented hum replacing the running commentary.

Getting him ready again for now. Your own legs trembling, knees pressing into the carpet again as you keep your balance.

Leaning into the soft swipe of a tongue between your thighs. Your own teasing clit and cock, dragging against Logan’s length as he rocks into Vanessa.

Her fingers pinch at your tits from beneath you, making you groan. Wade’s spit-slick thumb nudging against your ass, as he sinks deep.

His other hand gripping your hip, tugging you back to meet him, when your rhythm grows sloppy.

Not using to being surrounded, like this.

Logan’s hand on the back of your head. Fingers twisted in your hair, keeping your mouth positioned against the pussy below you.

Keeping you focused, as spit swirls on your tongue. Dropping down from parted lips, as Logan fucks it into her. Your mouth following, feeling how she squirms beneath you.

Wade’s hand around the back of Logan’s neck - tugging until their mouths meet, above. That loop of pleasure, slowly growing.

They ruin you for everyone else. How could you ever go back, after this? Guiding hands as they move you into place. Addicted to the sweet stretch - keeping your mouth and pussy full, just like you needed.

Don’t know how they can keep going. Wade had joked about their stamina before, but you had always thought he was exaggerating.

They seem dead-set on seeing the sunrise with you, and at this moment, you don’t seem to care.

Not with the way Wade’s cock strokes a spot inside you that has you seeing stars. The little whine as you try to squirm away, only to have three sets of hands on you.

Helping you lean into it - the swirling surge that threatens to pull you under. The way you tighten, breath growing short as you pant against Logan’s hip.

Wade’s name on your lips, all but sobbed out.

“Five.” He coos.

And they’re still not finished yet.

You’re using someone’s thigh as a pillow. Logan’s, you think, from the heat and dark dust of hair when your cheek turns.

Fucked out, cock-and-pussy drunk. Completely boneless, and you’re sure you owe someone some dry-cleaning, with the way Wade had just made you gush.

Vanessa’s head tucked against your shoulder, her long hair ticking your nose.

“Did you decide?” She asks sleepily - the slight curve of her lips as for face tips so she can see you.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. Wade’s fingers tracing circles against your hip, from where his arm is thrown over the waist.

Greedy girl he has said, earlier. He was right. Always prone to overthinking, but there was something that felt simple, now. Inevitable, in the way that you fit together even better than before.

Like it was always meant to be.

The golden peek of sun washes warm over you, the question coming easily.

“Can I pick all of you?”

She smiles.

“I was hoping you’d ask that.”

thank you so much for reading! 💖

[fanaticsnail]

Lathered Up

Masterlist here

Word count: 1,600+

Synopsis: After spending far too long at sea in the Polar Tang, all you wanted was a shower. Your two lovers join you in ridding their bodies of grime while enjoying ridding you of your stress.

Warnings: smut, Mdni, 18+, throuple dynamic, Shachi x afab!reader x Penguin, shower sex, oral - afab!receiving, soap, water sex, Shachi is a Fishman, Penguin is a soft-dom, semi-sub!reader, established relationship, Premature ejaculations, untouched ejaculations, watersports.

Notes: taking a leaf out of @bby-deerling's book and had a few drinks, here is some throuple smut for two of the Heart-Pirates that @feral-artistry asked for in passing. I blame Aperol Prosecco spritz. Art link.

Tag list: @feral-artistry @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @carrotsunshine @vespidphoenix @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @indydonuts @mfreedomstuff

Suds of frothy soap sloshed at your chest, drops of cooling lather clashing with the scorching liquid plummeting harshly on your shoulders. Your head hung limp, hair falling and sticking to your forehead beneath the fresh, warm water.

The day had been exhausting, your body encumbered by the difficulties faced while traveling at sea in the Polar Tang. You loved your crewmates, you loved your job, you loved the sea; but sometimes, all you wanted to love was the hot ripples of pummeling beads between your shoulder blades. As you docked at port, you immediately sprung at the opportunity of taking a lengthy shower.

All of your thoughts were eclipsed by ‘shower.’ The grime sticking to your skin plagued you more so than keening at the prospect of sleeping in a cozy bed, up to your neck in weighted quilts and within the perfect cool temperature of a welcoming room. Sleep? Shower. Food? Shower. Alcohol? Shower.

The one and only thing stronger than your incessant need to rid yourself of traveling grime were the two strong arms lathering your breasts in silken suds. Fingers tweaking your peaked nipples, you lulled your head back to lay atop Penguin’s stooped shoulder within the large shower bay. His toothy grin was occupied by pressing loose kisses against your neck, tongue swirling over your damp flesh.

His dark hair stuck to his forehead beneath the rapid water, his eyes half-lidded and consumed with lust. He was just as far gone as you were, pent up with frustration at traveling without respite for so long.

Although you all traveled together, there was truly little to no time you got to spend within the arms of one another. Your work overtook your duties as a partner, the captainship of Trafalgar Law held higher than your need to give in to your carnal desires.

“Feel good?” he cooed at you, his elbows caging you in a slippery embrace, “You want some more pressure?”

You whined against the circling of his skilled digits against your peaked buds, your body fighting the urge to turn away to press your lips against his. Should you turn your body to face his smiling lips, you would inadvertently be breaking away from the kneeling figure of the redheaded Shachi, skillfully lapping at your glistening cunt. His tongue slid against your pearly clit, sliding down to your slit to collect more of your arousal to spread against your needy pussy.

Shachi moaned against your core, his mouth drooling as he eagerly nodded his face against your quivering clit. Penguin continued to tweak your nipples, only halting to gather more of the frothy bubbles and spread it over your chest.

“Lean into me,” Penguin ordered, hooking his left arm over your torso and supporting your weight, “We've got you.”

“Just relax into it,” Shachi’s muffled voice called to you, lifting your legs over his shoulders and swallowing a gulp of bathwater, “We’ll take care of the rest.”

All you could do was let out a whining hum of affirmation, allowing your two crewmen to manhandle you to gain the best advantage to please you. Shachi continued lapping greedily against your weeping cunt, whispering praises into your core each time he bobbed his face against you.

“There you go,” Penguin’s voice cooed in your ear, flicking his tongue out to tease your lobe, “Ease into us. Good job, let us do the work.”

“W-What ‘bout you?” you huffed. Shachi’s deviant tongue flicking skillfull circles against your clit, his lips hovering over the bud before diving in completely caused you to arch your back and cry out.

“We'll get to us later,” Penguin laughed against your cheek, his right hand tracing over your jaw to turn your head, “Don't worry about it right now. Let us please you.”

“You've been working harder than the both of us combined,” Shachi’s slurred voice muffled between your folds, “More than me, especially. Wanna get you off on my face before we go to bed.”

Shachi’s lips dove against your clit, circling it with his lips, and flicking with his flattened tongue. Penguin drew your face closer to him, taking your full weight against his glistening chest. Collecting your lips against his, water flooded you both over his shoulder. The showerhead continued to pummel it's beaded droplets against you, adding to the moisture and steam between the three of you.

You whined into Penguin's mouth, sucking in a heavy breath through your nose as he flicked his tongue out to meet yours. He pried open your lips, consuming your cries with a ravishing intensity.

Right hand hooking behind his neck, you pulled Penguin in deeper and nudged his jaw with your chin to deepen the kiss. Your left hand balled Shachi’s damp, red locks against the scruff of his neck and held him tightly as he continued to suck your clit.

The familiar coax of your impending unravel stampeded towards you with lightning intensity. Shachi hummed into you, his tongue flicking and lapping at your cunt in a similar motion that Penguin was conducting against your lips. Your brows peaked in the centre, feeling the prod of Shachi’s fingers against your neglected slit.

Just as Shachi intended to add his fingers into you, you were shocked when he circled the weighty girth of Penguin’s aching cock and lined it up with your core. Penguin’s breath hitched, his voice whimpering against your lips as Shachi coaxed his throbbing cock into your slickened walls.

“No, Shach,” Penguin whimpered, “It's been w-way too long,” he grit his teeth when Shachi began pumping his cock while fucking your slit onto Penguin's cock.

“You need it,” Shachi commented, tearing his face away from your core to focus on Penguin’s needy cock, “You both do. So take it.” Shachi guided Penguin's cock to sheathe itself within you, Penguin whimpering a strangled whine as your arousal eased him down to the hilt in a single thrust.

“I-I'm gonna cum quick,” Penguin cried, “I haven't had the time to touch myself in weeks,” his confession had Shachi chuckle, focussing on taking your weight into his shoulders so Penguin could focus on his needy thrusting. 

“S’okay, Pen,” you managed to cry, Shachi’s lips finding your clit once more and romancing it with open-mouth kisses, “M’not gonna last long either.”

“F-Fuck,” Penguin cried, his hips slapping with large gushes of water flicking between your bodies. Shachi licked, sucked, mouthed, and romanced your clit while Penguin railed you from behind.

Penguin's hands hastily anchored his left hand at your right hip, and his right hand needily clutched at your left breast. He rut into you like an animal in heat, greedily chasing his high within your body.

“I-I'm gonna cum?!” Penguin's confusion at the hasty climax had yours begin to unravel, your walls immediately contracting with the white-hot bliss of your eruption.

“C-Cum in me, Pen,” you whined, Shachi's tongue greedily lapping at you while he moaned against your stiffened pearl, “Use me. Take me. Fuck me, Pen-.”

“-Oh fuck, I'm cumming,” Penguin cried, immediately sinking his teeth into your right shoulder as he rammed his girthy cock into your eager cunt, “I'm cumming. I'm cumming s-so fucking hard. Fuck, I'm filling you up. F-Fuck.”

Ribbons of his translucent bliss splashed within your greedy cunt, ushering you closer to your ecstasy. His rhythmless aftershocks of his orgasm shepherded you ever closer to encountering your own.

Growing over confident, Shachi latched fully against your clit and immediately shot an intentional stream of water from his mouth against you. His natural abilities as a Fishman granted him this unusual and unique sensation. Shooting water from his mouth in a rapid-fire jet, you immediately screamed with your orgasm.

Unhooking your arm from Penguins neck, both hands shot out to firmly sink into Shachi’s head; the largest orgasm of your life erupting in gushing streams of release against his face.

“Sh-Shachi, t-too much!” you cried, grinding down against his head as he mouthed at you through your orgasm, “F-Fuck Penguin, don't stop. F-Fuck I'm cumming! Sh-Shit-... nmmghm-... So good.”

Shachi’s eyes rolled into his head, empathetically succumbing to the bliss his two partners were experiencing. His beaded precum glistened amongst the shower water, his cock twitching out an unintentional stream of sticky cum as soon as you gushed against his face. His shock flew from his lips as he cried through his untouched orgasm.

You rode his face through the unravel of your bliss, Penguin's cock sleeved to the hilt within you as he cried out both yours and Shachi’s names. Your lips were agape, wordlessly naming your two lovers as you all rode through your highs.

Shachi’s shock only unravelled the moment he released your clit with a crude ‘pop.’ He never came untouched, always the one that took the longest to reach his peak. He chalked it up to the pent up frustration at sea, and the fact that when he looked up, he saw nothing but eternal bliss depicted on his lovers’ faces.

Upon coming down through your highs, three sets of roaming hands scrubbed at each other's bodies. Ridding yourselves of your prior releases, you shared kisses and intimate touches between you that felt sacred and holy.

No further words were spoken between you, your emotions all depicted in your unconcealed and unshrouded eyes.

After drying off in fluffy towels, you all plopped into the giant mattress and immediately became an amassment of tangled limbs. Legs, arms, torsos and lips all greeted each other in blissful tranquility.

No blessings of ‘sweet dreams,’ nor peaceful promises of ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ were uttered. All of your emotions and feelings were laid out between sweet kisses and gentle embraces, all tucked beneath the weighty duvet you shared between the three of you.

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XV)

Chapter 15: ‘He’s bored- I see it. Don’t I lick his bribes, set his bouquets in water?’

Hi! Here is new chapter! New Year’s Eve is upon us… let’s see what happens!! ;)

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3646

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

The Edge

Time and again, time and again I tie My heart to that headboard While my quilted cries Harden against his hand. He’s bored- I see it. Don’t I lick his bribes, set his bouquets In water? Over Mother’s lace I watch his drive into the gored Roasts, deal slivers in his mercy… I can feel his thighs Against me for the children’s sakes. Reward? Mornings, crippled with this house, I see him toast his toast and test His coffee, hedgingly. The waste’s my breakfast.

Louise Glück, The First Five Books of Poems

The plan was simple.

Or rather… it wasn’t simple, per say, but it was feasible. Which, considering that you were attempting to make your ex fall in love with you again after he dumped you to get engaged to another woman… was already quite an achievement.

You looked at Andrew as he stood next to you. He had arrived late, had apologised profusely. You were annoyed, but you reckoned that you would have to grow used to this detail about him. He simply was always late to everything, it seemed.

He was wearing contacts today, instead of his glasses. You had noticed that he did whenever he would see Sam, probably because she preferred him without his dark brown spectacles. And he did look handsome tonight, dressed in all black, from suit to shirt and leathered shoes, with his hair tied in a bun, but still… you missed the softness that came with seeing him in glasses. You didn’t know why you felt like that. Perhaps it was because you were so used by now to see him almost every day wearing them, may it be at work or when you planned actions related to your exes, or when you simply spent time together. Maybe it was the familiarity that had grown with this sight that you missed now. Perhaps you just found him even more handsome with glasses…

You pushed the thought away, looked for Frank through the crowd. Frank and Sam were hosting, in the flat they had moved into about a month before. And it ached to see pictures of the two of them sprayed on the fridge in the kitchen. Your collection of books was gone, leaving shelves empty in the living room but for pieces of decoration and more pictures of the happy couple that tore your heart apart. There was music playing, some playlist found on Spotify, without a doubt, music you would find in a club, a music meant to party. You saw Andrew staring at the empty shelves as well, at the absence of records too; you saw his small frown as he spotted the laptop that was the source of the music. You guessed he thought the quality was terrible, but then again, you guessed he didn’t like the music in itself very much either. You imagined Frank sitting in a room to listen to old jazz records, the way you knew Andrew did sometimes, he had told you so much himself. You couldn’t picture it…

But then you looked at the pictures more carefully, and couldn’t imagine yourself in them either. They seemed to have been everywhere together. Rafting, climbing, swimming, jumping, sky-diving even… there was no museum, no cityscape, no quiet woods, no sunset over a beach. There was adventure, and thrill, more so than you could ever handle.

Was that what Frank wanted? What you couldn’t offer? Did you need to become adventurous to keep him?

Would you ever be happy if you became an explorer instead of an academic?

Were you not an explorer already anyway? You had travelled to other cities, to other countries, had moved to places where you knew no one to settle and work. You learned every day, you grew, you tried to keep your head above the water. And you went on walks in nature, you swam into the sea, you made friends and lost some along the way. Was it not enough? Did it not take enough courage already to simply live your life?

“Are you ready?”

You turned to Andrew, your partner in crime for the night. You had to move the bottles of champagne around so Andrew could find them and save the day. And then he would shine by remembering Sam didn’t like champagne…

You nodded, moving towards the kitchen.

“How do we get everybody out?”

“I can handle that,” you assured him with a mischievous wink and smile.

Indeed, there were only men in the kitchen at that moment, gathering ammunition in the form of drinks and shots for the night.

Easy peasy…

“I mean… I do believe the dress is a little much,” you told Andrew loudly enough for all four men present in the kitchen to discreetly eavesdrop on the conversation.

Andrew blinked, but played along the best he could, although you noticed the way he was shying away as a couple of men turned to the two of you without trying to be discreet. He blushed, bent his shoulders to seem smaller than he truly was.

“Really?”

“I mean… Andy… you can see her full tits at this point…”

You saw the four men exchanging glances, and hurrying outside the kitchen.

Andrew raised a surprised eyebrow.

“Was that really that easy?” he asked out loud.

“Men…” was your only response, along with a roll of your eyes.

Andrew chuckled, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Are we truly that shallow?”

“Most of the time!”

You hurried to close the door, and you and Andrew hid the bottles in a cupboard, getting them out of the fridge. You were so scared of being caught that you were going too fast, almost dropping a bottle, but catching it right before it would hit the ground.

“Calm down, we’re good,” Andrew spoke in a whisper, although he kept on glancing towards the door.

“There’s no lock on that door! Anyone can come in at any moment!”

“We won’t get caught.”

“And if we are?”

“Then we’ll say it was a joke.”

“It will be so bad…”

“We won’t get caught.”

But then there were footsteps in the hallway. Two bottles left in the fridge. Andrew and you exchanged a terrified glance.

“Shit!” you both cursed at the same time, grabbing the bottles in a hurry, pushing them in the cupboard and slamming the door.

The handle moved…

Your reflex was to get closer to Andrew, to grab his hand and hold tight. He didn’t push you away, merely gasped, although you weren’t sure whether it was because of the door now beginning to open or because you were now so close to him you were basically pressed to his chest…

“Why the fuck is this door clos…”

Some people you didn’t know opened the door then, stared at you and Andrew first in surprise, and then they refrained a laugh…

You looked up at Andrew, who was staring with wide eyes at the door. You seemed only then to notice your proximity, the way you literally held onto him.

You gasped, took a couple of steps back, until your back bumped into the fridge. A hand appeared out of nowhere to slip between your head and the piece of furniture.

“You’re alright?” Andrew asked in a weak voice, clearly embarrassed by the whole thing and still high on adrenaline from your stupid plan. You nodded, moved away from him, from his palm that still cradled the back of your head…

“Fine, fine… we should…”

You hurried out of the room, away from Andrew and the brown that stained the green of his eyes, and the specks of red in his beard, and the angle of his jaw, and the softness of his touch against your hair and…

You were interrupted in your busy thoughts by Frank’s voice coming from behind you.

“Y/N! Andrew! I’m so glad you could both come!”

You spun around, noticing only then that you were back in the living room, Andrew following suit.

“Thanks for inviting us! Great party!” you complimented.

It was hard at first to regulate your breathing, to hide that your heart was beating at a thousand miles a minute. After all, you had almost been caught, and then… these people would think that you and Andrew had locked yourselves in the kitchen to… Oh, God… if Sam and Frank learned about this, all your efforts would go to waste…

“Argh! Thanks! Trying my best as a host!”

“Well, you’re doing a great job so far. I think it’s better to have this party here, rather than in a club.”

You regretted your words as soon as they passed your lips, knew you had made a mistake.

“We couldn’t book the place we wanted, had to settle on doing this at home instead,” Frank answered with disappointment apparent in his eyes and tone.

“It’s still very nice,” Andrew politely smiled.

“Well, I should get the champagne ready, it’ll soon be midnight!”

You and Andrew exchanged a look as your ex moved away from the crowd again, aiming his steps towards the kitchen.

“Phase one…” Andrew gave you a wink; you chose to ignore your heart’s response to his gesture.

“Time to save this party, Andy,” you teased, and he gave you a thumbs up that was so adorable, you had to blink.

Perfect plan.

Indeed, the look on Frank’s face when he discovered that the bottles had been misplaced was priceless. He called Sam for help, they looked for the bottles, didn’t find even a trace of them.

Andrew opened the right cupboard, the one where you had placed the bottles earlier, and called for Sam to show that the champagne was there.

“Oh! God! Thank you, Andy!”

He was granted a warm hug, one that made him close his eyes for a second, you noticed the relief that was written all over his features at the physical contact. He blushed as she kissed his cheek, and he was beaming when she pulled away. He gave her his bottle of prosecco, instead of waiting for midnight as it was planned, he simply couldn’t wait. She blinked up at him, gave him a warm, grateful smile.

“You always remember that,” she whispered under her breath, but you heard her words still. Frank heard them too, and you saw him glaring at Andrew.

It was working. Your crazy plan was working. Sam was still gravitating around Andrew, they were smiling. There was a pinching feeling tugging at your heart, and you ignored it. Jealousy was such an ugly feeling. And anyway, you couldn’t be jealous over Andrew effectively getting closer to Sam again, his success would be shared soon, as you hoped your plan would work for Frank and you as well. It would. You would have success, just like Andrew… that was why you were a little jealous, surely, after all…

Only, it didn’t work. It didn’t work, because instead of you pouring your glass over Sam, Sam accidentally poured her glass onto you.

You weren’t sure how it all happened. You were looking away from Andrew and Sam, staring at Frank who was laughing and joking with a friend nearby, being a perfect host. And all of a sudden, you felt something cool sipping under the fabric of your dress, turned to see Sam apologising.

“I’m so sorry! I’m so clumsy, I… I didn’t you see you there…”

You looked down at the damage, she offered to lend you some clothes immediately. You noticed how Frank’s gaze softened at her words. And you hated it. You hated her. You hated him. You hated this party and the coming of a new year and the beginnings it announced. You didn’t need a new beginning, you needed the continuation of what you used to have. And this party, this awful party where you barely knew anyone, and you weren’t having fun at all, and…

“No, don’t worry. I’m fine. I… Actually, I don’t feel very well, I think I’m gonna go home.”

You saw Andrew’s frown, the one that formed at your words.

“Already? I’m sure we can fix this!” Frank argued, and you almost yielded.

“I’m not sure we’re the same size…” Sam mumbled.

When you looked into her eyes, you knew she had done it on purpose. You knew she had poured her drink over you deliberately, perhaps because of the way you looked at Frank, or perhaps because you had come with Andrew. You didn’t know why. What was for certain was that she had ruined your dress to make you go home, and you weren’t stupid, you knew what it meant, and you weren’t up for a fight, not when Frank looked at her like that, with love…

“You could still try some of Sam’s clothes on! I’m sure we can find something,” Frank argued, trying to hold you back.

You slowly shook your head.

“I have some clothes in my car, you could change,” Andrew offered, his gaze pleading now.

You noticed how he flinched when your eyes met his.

“It’s okay. I feel a little sick anyway. I think I’ll go home.”

Frank grabbed your arm as you took a step towards the door.

“Stay at least till midnight! There’s less than an hour left! You can leave after we’ve opened the champagne, yeah?”

You wished you could have said no. But Frank’s eyes in that moment…

“Okay, I’ll stay,” you yielded, making him grin.

“Thank you, Y/N. Thank you.”

There was such gratefulness in his gaze, something tender, almost pleading, and you fell for it, you couldn’t help it. You had fallen a thousand times over for it.

You heard Andrew heaving a sigh behind you.

You opened your mouth to speak again, but Frank was swiped away by a guest, one of your former ‘friends’, and you were left staring at the blank space he had left behind.

He was moving away, leaving you behind…

Andrew and Sam were talking, you stared as she clung onto him for a rather long time. Andrew kept on nodding, let her do most of the talking. You didn’t notice the glances he threw your way, you were too busy looking for Frank again.

You checked the time after a long while spent doing meaningless chit-chat with strangers and people you had met a couple of times before. Ten minutes to midnight.

You looked around at the loud room. Conversations, exclamations, laughter, loud music that banged in your head, hitting your skull with the heavy kick of drums. Light, glitter, colours, beautiful dresses. Frank talking with some of his colleagues he had invited, paying no attention to you. Andrew talking with Sam and smiling sweetly at her.

You looked down at your glass, a drink half-empty already, studied the stain that spread across the fabric of your dress. You had felt beautiful while getting ready. You didn’t anymore…

You could have been with your real friends, with your family… what were you doing here, during those last minutes of a dying year?

You didn’t say a word to anyone as you put your glass down on the nearest table, made your way through the crowd, grabbed your coat in the closet by the door. No one noticed you leaving anyway. Frank didn’t spare you a glance. You were leaving, and no one noticed, because no one fucking cared…

“Y/N?”

You froze, a few steps away from the elevator, your hand already rising towards the button to call for an escape.

Slowly, you turned around.

Andrew was standing in front of the door to Frank’s and Sam’s apartment. On the threshold, standing still, he was staring at you with a questioning stare.

“Where are you going? You’re alright?”

You were too stunned to answer, remained frozen, like a deer caught in headlights, your finger still erect towards the elevator…

No one had noticed you leaving, no one…

Someone did…

“Y/N? You’re okay? Are you really sick?”

“No,” you shook your head. “No, I’m just… I just want to go home. I just… I need some fresh air.”

“What’s wrong?”

You shrugged, did a terrible job at hiding your tears.

He held a finger up.

“Give me a minute. Just one minute. Don’t leave without me!”

“Andy…”

“One minute!”

He looked at you with something expectant in his eyes, almost begging…

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

He grinned, the brightest smile you had seen on his features throughout the entire night.

He disappeared into the flat again, you waited for him for a minute, and then another, hoping he would come back, hoping he wouldn’t leave you behind, hoping Andy wouldn’t leave…

But then the door was opening again, he was stepping outside while putting on his coat. He had a couple of plastic cups in his hand along with a half-full bottle of champagne.

“You should stay,” you told him, speaking in a jolt, making Andrew freeze before he would reach you.

He blinked, an unreadable expression on his face.

“You… you don’t want to talk to me?” he asked, looking down at his feet before you could answer. “I can just listen… I can be quiet if I’m boring…”

You frowned at him, taken aback by his answer.

“What are you talking about? You’re never boring, what…?”

He looked up at you again, blinking, trying to gauge your reaction.

You heaved a tired sigh.

“I just meant… that Sam was spending quality time with you, you… it was working for you tonight. You should stay, use that chance to talk to her and make her see the truth. Besides, it’s…” you looked down at your watch. “Two minutes to midnight. Don’t you want to be with the people you love most for the final countdown? Don’t you want to enter the new year with Sam?”

You saw Andrew blinking, but couldn’t read through his expression. It wasn’t blank, nor emotionless, but it remained unreadable.

Slowly, he walked over to you. He raised his hand, called for the lift without saying a word.

You stared at him with tears in your eyes.

The doors opened with a ding, you didn’t move, didn’t even flinch at the sound. Andrew stepped inside, caught your soul as he looked into your eyes when he turned to you.

“Aren’t you coming?”

You followed him.

Not a word was spoken as the doors closed, as the cabin went down the shaft, as it stopped with a gentle shaking of its cables. You stepped onto the freezing street in silence, looked at Dublin empty in this quiet neighbourhood. There were lights at every window though, some of them were open on laughter and joy and loud shouts and music that flooded into the quiet night. Far away, you could hear the whisper of traffic and honking cars, making noise while awaiting a beginning.

Andrew poured you a drink while the seconds ticked away, fluttering and fainting into the past. A past that lingered in your present still. Would it always be there, haunting the seconds to come, and the minutes they would build, and the hours, and the days, and the years?

Andrew handed you a glass, put down the bottle by his feet. You were standing under a tall oak tree, planted there in the middle of the city, a square of fertile soil in the void of manmade roads. Andrew stared at a flower that grew there, at the foot of a lamppost, just a weed growing despite the concrete.

He looked up with a tender smile on his face, raised his glass.

“Sláinte,” his voice rose above the first number of the countdown.

“Sláinte,” you answered with a smile of your own, a gesture that started shy but that grew stronger the longer you looked up at him, at the brown that stained the green of his eyes, and the specks of red in his beard, and the angle of his jaw, and the softness of his touch as his palm rose to cradle your face.

Five!

The shouts echoed from everywhere around you, deafening even if they were quietened by windowpanes. You heard the quiet gasp Andrew took before downing his whole glass, and you did the same. Your gaze met the stars that hung up there, on the firmament, for a moment, while your head was tilted back to drink the last bit of the cold buzz in your cup, to gather the tingling of bubbles on your tongue. They looked distant and cold, reassuring somehow. They were always there, always shining, even after they had died. The image you saw was millions, maybe billions of years old. The past was even up there, in the sky. And yet the moon shone for a new night.

Four!

You giggled as you swallowed, looking at Andrew again. And he did too, his cheeks flushed by alcohol, by the cold too. The tip of his nose had reddened as well. The lamplight was golden on his eyelashes.

Three!

“Why aren’t you wearing your glasses?” you asked out of the blue, blaming the liquor you had been steadily drinking throughout the evening for the incoherence of your words. “I thought you liked them better than contacts.”

Two!

“Sam prefers when I wear contacts.”

You reached up to touch his cheekbones, to let your fingertips graze over the soft skin, along the sharpness left by the bone under it. He closed his eyes, gasped when you brushed his eyelids and lashes.

One!

“I think you should wear whatever you like. Although… I love your eyes. And you look soft with your glasses on. It makes me feel safe.”

He opened his eyes again, stared at you as your hands moved down to rest on the edge of his jaw, pinkie fingers barely skimming over his neck.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Andrew leaned down to press his lips to your forehead. You closed your eyes under the warmth of his skin, the softness of his lips, the roughness of his beard…

You felt dizzy as he kissed you, staying against your skin for too long, pulling away too slowly. You wished he hadn’t stopped…

He gave you a tender smile as he looked into your eyes again.

“Happy New Year, Y/N.”

You smiled, grinned even. You reached up, going on your tiptoes to drop a long, tender kiss on his cheek. It landed by the corner of his mouth.

“Happy New Year, Andy.”

[yuesgirlfriend]

of birds and honey

part 1

(simon "ghost" riley x reader) medieval AU

summary: the year is 1312, and your fathers knight follows you to the wood.

The great hills surrounding the castle are a patchwork of green and yellows, as they always are during the summer months. Gray skies up ahead do nothing to dampen the mood of the castle; everyone is bustling about, preparing for the feast marking the new battalions arrival, as if their presence signifies something happier than impending war. 

She can see them, now, where she is perched atop the highest wall-practiced, without fear- in a way her old governesses would have certainly called unbecoming of a lady. But did not the bible speak of the virtues of a young lady- justice, fortitude, among them?

(It takes great fortitude to learn the secrets she has learned, to climb over steep walls like they were bales of hay, to listen to words she would have heard anyway, had she been born a man. Listening from the eaves and skulking about is an act of justice, not a sin.) 

The men, traversing down the trail, look like ants, she thinks- where she sits high above them, balancing on the stone, they look like children's toys. Tiny wooden figures, a small boy's idea of heroes, lined up on the yellow-green patchwork quilt. 

When they finally ride over the moat and into the stronghold, they look like any other collection knights she has seen- some cloaked, some helmetless, all shining in the half clouded, setting sun. 

That night is boisterous and rowdy, like any other feast. The courtyard is crowded with people- servants, villagers, everyone coming together to eat and drink and be merry. The tables are laden with the finest of foods. The smell of roast goose and heron, wine, and vomit hangs in the night air with the shouts and bawdy songs. The new knights drink and eat and throw things, singing their songs with everyone else.  The castle hums with life, every voice and every soul another cell in one great organism. 

(The whole time, she sits quietly as a lady should, but listens as a lady shouldn’t. No one notices, and why would they notice the Lord’s waif of a girl, silently eating at his right hand? The servants, the townspeople, even her father speak of her when they think she isn’t listening- she is, to them, as unnaturally quiet as a changeling and as likely to smile as a mourner. Such a shame, my lord, that  her birth took your wife, god rest her soul. And for the child to not even be a boy…)

The stories that feast are rambling and, wine drunk, but the message is clear- they are hired soldiers with no Christian names, under orders from the king to protect the stronghold that is her home.

But one stands out. The only one still wearing his painted  helmet, and as such doesn’t eat or drink with his companions. Instead, he sits on her fathers left side, speaking in low and gruff tones only when spoken to. 

She picks at her food as her ears pick up words like more men and allies and a thousand dead, all spoken in an accent she thinks more suited to a farmer than a soldier.

As the feast begins to die down, dancers lying about drunk, he walks with her Lord father, presumably to show him a weak point in the castle walls.

She follows along, unseen, silent footsteps trailing behind them in the shadows. The knight with the painted helmet is tall and broad when he waves a hand at a wall that, upon closer inspection, does seem weaker than the rest. A chink in the castle’s armor, he says. 

The fire dies out, people lay around in drunken heaps, and rats are scurrying for food in corners of the room by the time she retires for the night. Her maid is nowhere to be found- based on the way the Scotsman and her were wrapped around eachother earlier, it is likely best not to go looking for her- so she wanders alone to her quarters, a candle in one hand and a half eaten honey cake in the other. 

The halls are dimly lit labrynths, and every footstep she takes makes a wet scuff along the perpetually damp straw covering the chilled stone floors. She does not believe in sneaking about when not needed, and enjoys a reprieve from constant surveillance as she licks honey carelessly from her fingers, focusing more on the sweetness of the honey cake than her surroundings.

And just as she turns the corner to the starcase, a hand shoots out from a shadow  and grabs her arm. 

Her gasp is muffled by a large hand, gloved. His other hand plucks the candle from her grasp, rests it on the narrow windowsill behind him. She scrapes and thrashes at the silver of his forearm, scrambling to reach for the knife at his side before he speaks. 

“Pray, be silent, Lady- I know you are able.”

In response, she bites down on the gloved hand, hard. The man hisses but doesn’t let go, only roughly spins her to face him; and this is when she realizes it is the helmeted knight, eyes and armor shiny in the candlelight. 

She shoves at his arms, and he concedes, letting her retreat three steps up the stairs before he takes her by the hand again. 

“Release me, sir, or you will not enjoy the consequences,” She hisses. Something furious inside her is growing like a wildfire. 

“I meant no offense, but only to warn you, fair lady,” he says, seemingly contrite, but with mirth in his voice. Is he smiling, behind that hideous helmet? 

“Warn me?” She rips her hand from his. “Of what? Churlish knights, skulking behind corners?” She turns to go. 

“You are one to scold on skulking behind corners, Lady. ” Her feet freeze where they are on the steps. 

 “Yes.” His voice is rough. “You are not as invisible as you may think- not to those trained to see, Lady.  You should exercise more caution, when listenin’ from rafters and castle walls like a little bird.” He tilts his head, eyes trained on her, like a cat looking at a tree it’d like to climb. Or a bird it’d like to claw.

“I have been told you have a lovely mind. It would be a waste to see it dashed on a tower’s stony base.” 

For the first time in ages, she forces her eyes to meet anothers. His are dark, redless, with what looks like coal smudged on his eyelids and undereyes. His eyes never falter from her stare, as would be proper. His pale lashes don’t so much as flutter. 

She turns and continues walking upstairs- but before she rounds the corner, she looks behind and down to where he stands, at the base of the stairs, licking remnants of honey off his glove. 

[practicalsolarpunk]

Hi, I've only just got into solarpunk and find it really cool.

I was wondering, what sort of simple lifestyle changes would you suggest to start with when trying to live in a more solarpunk/sustainable way?

Hi! So glad you're getting into solarpunk! We think it's pretty cool, too, and we're happy you're looking for ways to integrate it into your life. Since you haven't included anything specific about your situation or what you're interested in, this list is pretty general - if you want more specific ideas, feel free to send in another ask!

In the meantime, here are a few recommendations for getting started:

Grow something. Depending on your situation, you may not be able to put in a huge outdoor garden. But there are many plants that will be perfectly happy in a pot on a windowsill, and still others that are happy to grow in low-light situations. Find something that works for your space and get some hands-on experience with growing things. (If you have a window, I highly recommend herbs - many of them are happy in pots and there's something incredibly satisfying about eating things you've grown.)

Compost. Unless your space is extremely tiny, you probably have room for a small composting system. Some can even go under a sink or in a closet. See this post for a general discussion, this post for vermicomposting ideas, and this one for info on bokashi composting. Also check out our #compost tag.

Mending. Mending is a great skill to have. The life of most clothing (and a lot of non-clothing fabric items) can be extended dramatically with some basic sewing skills. I've made entire dresses and quilts and I still find most of my sewing is repairing and mending other stuff. We have a mending tag, but I also love YouTube for this. Searching "how to mend X" (e.g. "how to mend hole in crotch of jeans") gives you a bunch of awesome tutorials. You can get even more use out of things if you're willing to embrace visible mending.

Reduce energy use. Try to use natural light where you can. Set your thermostat high in summer and low in winter and use the principle "heat/cool the person, not the space." Flush the toliet with graywater by removing the p-trap from your sink and dumping the collected wash water into your toilet tank (or directly into the bowl if you have an American-style greedy cup siphon toilet). Experiment with solar energy. What you can do depends on your situation, but see what kind of options you have.

Integrate the 7 R's: There are more R's to sustainable living than just "Reduce Reuse Recycle". See this post for a primer.

Build community: One of the foundations of solarpunk is that it's about community. Even if you start out doing it by yourself, eventually you need a community to do bigger things. My favorite way to start is by meeting the neighbors. Taking over some food (cookies are great) and introducing yourself is a great way to open a relationship. We also have a community building tag for more ideas.

You can find even more ideas in these tags, depending on what you specifically want to do:

#apartment solarpunk

#dorms and small spaces

#community building

#activism

#fiber crafts

#diy

There's also some additional tips in this post and this post, which are earlier responses to similar asks.

I hope this helps! Followers, feel free to chime in with your best tips!

- Mod J

[ghostaholics]

Re: Price letting her rent the spare room you just know he mentions that he travels a lot for work and often for stretches at a time so really she’d be doing HIM a favor by having someone around while he’s gone u.u

𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒚!𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 || 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

Tells you to make the common spaces yours as well because you live here now too, and one of your first measures is to set out a vase on the kitchen counter, regularly fill it up with fresh flowers until you start getting so swamped with your studies that you accidentally let them wilt for days at a time; Price eyes them for a while, wonders if you're going to replace the bouquet yourself until taking matters into his own hands and then deciding to go out of his way to pick up something nice-looking (he doesn’t really care much for flowers, but you seem to take an interest so he tries his best) from Petals at Bibendum on Fulham Road. The ladies swoon when he drops by every two to three weeks only for them to find out that he's literally doing this for his roommate to which they start rooting for him, unbeknownst to you, and he sets up a delivery service for when he's off on deployment or he'll literally show up home after a mission still in his military garb with a bouquet of flowers in the doorway like it’s not something a boyfriend or husband would do.

When you fall asleep on the couch watching the telly and he wants to carry you to your room but out of respect, he instead opts for layers, slips your quilt from the arm of the sofa – another lovely addition of yours that makes this a home and not just a place that he occasionally stays in when he's on leave – and tucks you in so you at least don't get too cold in the middle of the night.

Lets you know when he's coming back from deployment (out of courtesy) but discovers that you've thrown together a small, home-cooked meal for him if he gets in early enough for dinner or have his favorite take-out from one of the restaurants that still happen to be open late at night (it's the least you can do, isn't it?). In your other flat, you'd use candles a lot because your lights always had issues that the landlord would never fix, and that's a habit that you've carried on over to Price's place. So all of the food, the entire spread, is laid out on the dining table and it's dim aside from the fact that this is basically a candlelit dinner. And you don't even realize the romantic atmosphere, because for all intents and purposes, this is merely a friendly homecoming surprise and the candles are day-to-day. But he notices. It's strangely domestic. He never had that before you started living there, but he knows that he doesn't ever want to go back.

He occasionally has nightmares and since your room is right next door, you can hear when he’s in the middle of it; you just pad out to the kitchen, get the kettle ready for camomile (over his usual earl grey or lapsang souchong) to put him at ease since there’s no caffeine in it; you grab some first-edition book he has from his personal collection, have it open to the beginning and his mug steaming on the coffee table in the living room – he finds you waiting, snuggled under blankets and not needing an explanation, just ready to comfort him as you make room for him on the couch and begin to read aloud. He never pays attention to what you’re saying, only spends the entire time staring at you and debating whether or not he'd lose you if he professed his love for you this early.

[syoddeye]

the warren, part five - abscond

price x f!reader | 5.1k words | series page | ao3 tags: alcohol, implied domestic abuse, infidelity, unsettling vibes, darkfic. a/n: run, run, run away. mdni banner by @/cafekitsune. 🔪

“How long?”

“Usual.”

“So, two weeks? Three?”

“Does it fucking matter?” The bag’s zipper hisses harshly as it’s drawn shut. “You making plans?”

You take a breath and ignore the condoms sticking out of the duffel’s pouch, smoothing the quilt at the end of the bed. “No, but I’d like to plan the grocery shopping.”

He cuts you with a blank stare, then fishes out his reds and lighter. His brows lower when your lips purse, but you don’t say a word. Smoking indoors is repulsive, but it’s not worth it—not now.

“Three.” The lighter clicks. “Won’t have my phone on me. But I’ll text when I’m on my way back, so you can plan to have dinner ready.”

You rise at the beep of the coffee pot in the kitchen. It’s three am, and the sunrise is a distant thought in the deep indigo sky. You dream of fixing him decaf, of him nodding off and driving off the road. Flipping the car or soaring through the windshield. The scene is crystal clear in your imagination, vivid and visceral. With a smile, you hand him his thermos and lunch box for the road.

“Goodbye.” you murmur as he bypasses you completely, not bothering with acts of affection anymore. You watch him toss his work bags into the truck bed and flinch as he violently yanks the door open.

“And good luck.”

~~

You watch the truck until it disappears around the bend, hand pressed to your thundering heart. It’s not him. It’s not even the same model. It’s just a white truck. There must be dozens driving around the lake right now. It’s guilt rearing its ugly head. A ghost. Of course, things remind you of him, but it’s as if kissing John brought them into focus. One man’s affection dredging the maltreatment of another.

Swallowing hard, you turn and continue. It’s Saturday, the store’s busiest day, and you cannot be late.

Sure enough, there are customers already inside. The radio by the register spouts the weather forecast, a blissful day in the mid-seventies, and transitions into an upbeat song. The smile on your face grows at the sight of John wishing a couple in hiking gear a good time on the trails. His eyes flick over their heads to you as you pass, and you feel them when you duck into the back room to hang your bag on the hook.

“Good morning.”

You turn, finding John filling the doorway, and you cannot stop yourself from glancing at his mouth. “Morning.”

“Sleep well? I know I did.”

You nod automatically, though it’s a white lie, stomach jumping at the smug tinge to his voice. You don’t recall your dreams, but you woke up with a name on your tongue like a curse, hallucinating nicotine.

“I did.” You flirt, eager to move on from memory. “Can’t imagine why.”

John nods in return, quiet for a moment of study. His eyes pinch a fraction. “Don’t s’pose you’ve heard the news?”

Your brows raise. News?

His expression softens, and a hand finds your elbow, tugging you close. “Well…” 

~~

It’s terrible, and it happens every summer. As perennial as the balsamroot or beardtongues growing on the mountain.

An inevitability when you mix alcohol, winding roads, and the brand of arrogance unique to young men, so John says. He consoles you, arms encircling you the second your lip quivers. The three faces of the men are fresh, and it isn’t a great leap for your mind to pulverize and paint them bloody. To bend and wrap limbs around their crumpled Jeep. John whispers comforts in your ear and wipes the tears you shed for the strangers, as unpleasant as they were.

Someone raps their knuckles on the counter. John takes the time to kiss you anyway.

It leaves you dizzy when he finally breaks it to assist the customer. You lean on the wall, head slotted between coat hooks, and collect yourself. 

Of course, you did not like the strangers and did not care to know them. You admittedly wished them ill or injury, but for their short lives to be snuffed out as gruesomely as they were? No one deserves that.

A steady flow of customers eventually eases the weight, their excitable moods, chattering about their vacation plans. John claps a hand on your shoulder in the afternoon and tells you to take the rest of the day, says it’s sweet you’re so tender-hearted, like a good girl.

In his fashion, he doesn’t leave time to process that.

“Come back at close. I’d like to talk about last night.”

~~

The sound of gravel crunching lifts your head from your book, and you tense at the sight of a dark-colored sedan cruising toward the cabin. Tinted windows obscure the driver, and as they idle, you tuck your bookmark and stand. You wish the screened porch was actually capable of keeping anything out.

The car shuts off as the driver pops the door. It’s no stranger. It’s the man from the Echo. Phil.

Your stomach drops.

His smile is brilliant, even in the shade. A pair of sunglasses rest atop his head, flattening a tuft of sandy hair. “Afternoon, miss.” He calls out, strolling leisurely. With his hands planted on his narrow hips, it’s difficult to ignore the holster. You want to believe he’s simply a local, most of them armed to the teeth, but the tucked-in t-shirt emblazoned with pine trees and the words ‘ I had the pine of my life in Ponderosa ' screams ‘not from here’. You briefly wonder if he sees the same thing, looking at you.

You offer a smile anyway. “Hello again.”

“Hope you don’t mind me butting in on your afternoon, but I was hoping you had a minute for a quick chat.”

How he acquired your address and directions, you don’t know. “May I ask what about?”

He smirks and fishes out a thick wallet. He flips it open and presses it to the screen with a chuckle. Three letters in big, bold print. Your prediction manifest. “An investigation I’m assistin’ with.” He dips his head toward the front door. “Mind if I come in, Miss…?”

The faint blare of a horn echoes from the recesses of your mind. His question slams into you one syllable at a time, and the blank space he leaves for your name grabs you by the throat. He isn’t a backwoods landlord. This is someone who’ll run your name through some database. Who has access to records and resources.

So you give him your name, the real one, and hope for the best.

~~

Phil Graves.

A grim name. Hokey, too.

It feels as though you’ve plunged to the bottom of the deepest part of the lake, blood colder than glacial ice. He hasn’t elaborated on what sort of investigation an agency like the FBI would open out here. Nevertheless, you fix him a coffee with four sugars. It’s tooth-rotting, stirring in too many crystals to possibly dissolve, yet he accepts it with a warm thank you.

You stare, a tiny smile glued to your face. Phil’s handsome, you admit. The scar on his cheek and notched ear give him a roguish quality, an edge to his otherwise clean-cut look. You peek at the kitschy shirt.

“I know, not my color.” He jokes. “Tryin’ to blend in. Act as the locals do.”

Having lived among them for weeks, you’re confident in deeming his efforts a failure. 

“Y’know, the coffee shop ‘cross the lake makes a good cup. Ever been?” You shake your head. “Shame. Now…” He sets the mug aside to place his phone on the low table. “Mind if I record our discussion? Sharp as I am, I find listening back to these things particularly illuminating.”

“I suppose, but could you tell me what this is about?”

He takes it as consent and taps record . “Certainly. Repeat your name for the recording, Miss…?” His eyes trace your figure in a study as you repeat it. “Although I cannot divulge the original purposes for my traveling to this corner of the country, I was asked to assist with a crash that occurred at approximately zero two hundred. Normally below my paygrade,” He chuckles, “But I thought, hell, I got the time.”

The Jeep. “I heard about that. I thought it was fairly straightforward from what was said on the radio. Drunk driving?”

Phil nods. “Awful thing and under normal circumstances, yes, it would be straightforward. Open and shut, but due to my other work, we’re exhausting all possibilities before calling it.”

Normal circumstances. The phone’s recorder waveform steadily scrolls by. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Let me explain what I can, sugar.” His smile is as practiced and patronizing as it was at the diner. “Two witnesses. First, a hiker camping near the crash site. They reportedly heard at least two bikes racing before the wreck. Then, they heard them come to a stop, idlin’ for several minutes.”

He pauses, almost expectantly, as if you’re supposed to say something.

“Maybe the bikers called in the accident?”

Phil shakes his head. “No, see, after they apparently stopped, there was—and, I’m real sorry if you’re the sensitive type—screaming. Someone was alive in the wreckage.”

A wave of nausea sinks you further into the cushions. “Screaming?”

“Yep. Then it got quiet, and the bikes continued on their way.”

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, tongue drying, uncertain as to why Phil’s telling you all this.

“The second witness called in and stated you got into it with those unfortunates earlier in the day.” 

Fear pins you to your seat. As if every tissue in your body calcifies instantly, your heart sinking like a stone, and crashing through your rib cage. A stuttering nothing leaves your mouth, a single sound of panic and disbelief. He cannot honestly believe you were involved. What if he’s already looked you up, and only asked for your name for confirmation? What if there’s a bulletin? If he’s notified—

“Can you verify that claim, sugar?”

“Yes, well, no.”

“Yes and no? Which is it?”

You clear your throat to buy a second to compose yourself, but it comes out in a tremulous flood. You chide yourself for folding so easily. “Yes, they came to the store, um, Grouse Grocery? On the main road? I work there, but we didn’t ‘get into it’. They were rude, but they paid for everything and left within five minutes.”

“How’d they leave?”

“They got into a Jeep.”

“Did anyone leave after them? Did you see anyone follow them?”

“I didn’t watch after they left. I was simply glad they did.”

“You said they were ‘untoward’. Elaborate, will you? They hit on you?” He takes a long, loud sip of his coffee and smacks his lips.  

~~

“‘Scuse me, pumpkin.”

Pumpkin. You blink, stepping away from the coolers, water cup crinkling in your hand.

The man stoops to grab a can from the melting ice, flicking his fingers free of droplets. He catches you watching and smirks, standing close when he straightens.

“‘Like your dress.” He drawls.

It’s tangerine. Soft, secondhand, and newly mended. You fixed the zipper that morning. “Thanks.”

You expect him to leave after that, rejoin the throng of bodies crammed into the house. Leave you to your wallflower habits. You might still live in the Iron Range if he did.

Instead, he peppers you with questions. You don’t realize he’s flirting until he plants a hand over your head and smiles. All the other boys you’ve fooled around with were mean first. Teasing. He’s different. Polite, charming, and a little rugged. He asks for your plans for the summer and doesn’t make you feel stupid to admit you don’t have any. There’s no job or dorm room waiting. Your father forbade both.

“What about you?”

He licks his teeth. “Heading west in a couple months. Silver’s coming back. Got the last of my certifications and an offer out at a mine. Plenty of money to be made.” he shrugs. “I’m just blowing off steam ‘til then.”

Embarrassment rides on the butterflies in your stomach. A real adult, a man—one with a future and direction. A ticket out.

~~

“Well, one of them more so than his buddies. He called me ‘baby’ and said I was cute,” You hug yourself, shoulders drawing up. “He said he’d find me at close.”

Phil squints and drapes his arms over his knees. “What happened after they left?”

“I kept working. When my boss got in, he decided to close early so I wouldn't have to see those guys again.”

“Who’s your boss?”

A glint in Phil’s eye suggests he knows precisely who owns the store. This, too, must be protocol. Part of his official investigative record. “John Price.”

His lip quirks. “John Price. I’m familiar. Awfully nice of him, to close early and take you home.”

You smile nervously, though you’re unsure why. John paid you a kindness, which led to another. Your belly warms at the memory of him kissing you, but it melts away like film—you didn’t mention John giving you a lift. Pain blooms in your cheek as you sink your teeth into it. Phil finishes the dregs of his coffee, smirking into the mug, seemingly relishing your look of realization. You reach for whatever bit of nerve you have left.

“Do y’know if anyone in town owns a bike? I’d be interested in speaking with them, too.”

“I don’t.”

“What about dirt bikes? There are trails an hour west, and a fork that’s maybe, what, a half hour out?”

Sweat prickles the back of your neck at the words. It’s a fight to keep your face plain and sweet, to stifle the acrid taste of panic. You do know someone with a dirt bike, a man whose scarred skin and jagged features discourage examination. Whose mouth curled when he got a good look at you, cementing that unexplained aversion. An aversion that eddies out of your head and through your teeth.

“Nope. No one.”

Phil’s scrutiny needles at your resolve, testing for weakness. You think he might find it the longer his silence drags on. Agents and officers are trained for this, and you’re…you. You hold yourself tight enough to bruise.

He sucks his teeth as he stops the recording. The phone disappears as he stands. “Thank you for your cooperation and hospitality.”

You escort him to the front door, but he doesn’t leave. Not right away.

Phil rests on the frame and picks at the peeling paint on the jamb. “Can I ask you something off record, sugar? You do proper research before comin’ out here? I know you’re not from here. You’re not…” His voice trails, scanning every feature. “Like them. The locals.”

You did. You aren’t the most savvy user of the Internet; you mostly peruse message boards for jobs and monitor your meager bank account. The homestead didn’t have Wi-Fi, dial-up, or any other means. The satellite dish on the roof was for cable, which was disconnected during your stints alone. You had managed, made do.

“I don’t follow, Mr. Graves.”

“Phil, sugar,” he corrects. “What I’m getting at is, you might want to consider about pullin’ up stakes. Find somewhere else to bed down for a while. Grouse Bay, Ponderosa—the area’s a breeding ground for bad shit. One too many ‘accidents’ if you ask me.”

You frown. “It’s not that bad. It’s summer. People make stupid decisions.”

Phil’s perpetual smile shrinks and tightens into a line. “I’m not just talkin’ about those boys. You oughta crack a book or take a gander at the microfilm at the library. Learn history.”

Despite your disinclination to listen to him, curiosity stings like a side stitch.

“I can tell you more if you’d like.” His mouth splits into a toothy grin. The severity gone. “How’s about we grab coffee? I could accompany you to the library.”

You immediately think of two men who wouldn’t care for that, but mention only one. Given what you’re doing with John, it's hypocritical, but Phil doesn’t need to know the extent of your transgressions. “Thank you for the offer, but my husband–”

“Husband?” He echoes. “Don’t see a ring on your finger. Don’t see a man around. If you’re not interested, you don’t have to lie. Not to me.”

You hope a sliver of honesty keeps you on his good side and him out of your hair. “I’m not lying. I’m here alone because I’m– we’re going through a rough patch. We decided a summer apart would do us good.”

The bite of his dissection returns, and you debate how genuine his interest is. If all his talk about the towns and apparent concern is legitimate. His nose scrunches.

“Shame. Well, should the rough patch become rougher,” He produces a business card. “And you want that coffee after all, text or call.”

You accept the card and a loud meow interrupts.

Phil looks over his shoulder, and his smile falls. Five ferals lounge on the hood and roof of the sedan. The skinny calico stands, claws extending from her paws as she stretches. 

“Fucking flea-bitten…” He mutters and swivels back. “Listen miss, considering the sensitivity of our conversations on both our parts, I’d appreciate it if you kept my visit as our little secret. Can I trust you to do that?”

The insinuation isn’t lost on you. Both our parts. It's not that you need motivation on that front; you have no plans to mention Phil to John, Kate, or anyone in town. Not with that pale brute lurking about. A twinge of worry seizes your heart—you can’t warn John, and he has no clue. “I won’t say a word.”

“Atta girl. Have a pleasant evening.” 

You think if he wore one, Phil’d tip his hat. He’d wave it at the cats, who take their time abandoning his car. You watch until he disappears around the curve of the driveway, up the hill.

Alone again, you stew.

~~

You’re as sober as the judge who marries you in the courthouse when you pledge eternity. The strangers you asked to witness the moment clap awkwardly as your new husband reels you in for a kiss, the taste of cheap champagne on his lips. The man admires your whirlwind romance, and you can’t disagree, given you didn’t have time to find a dress. The woman nervously comments about having a daughter your age and squeezes your shoulder a little too tight.

A week later, you flee the plains for the desert and spend your honeymoon camping in the truck bed.

After twenty-six hours of driving, you reach the little white house he told you about. He carries you over the threshold and insists on christening the space. He watches from the floor, wrapped in a sheet, as you scamper through the empty rooms and describe what each one will hold.

He joins you at the mouth of a small bedroom upstairs, across from the primary bedroom. 

“Dusty Jr. will sleep right here.”

You beam up at him. “If we’re lucky.”

His hand curls over your nape. “We will be.”

~~

You find John at the bottom of the hill, dressed in a fresh shirt with his hair combed. Your fretting over what to wear seems justified. 

“Don’t you look nice.”

It’s a dress he’s seen you in before, a modest dark blue number that falls below the knee. The flattery does little to soothe the buzzing under your skin, but it’s appreciated. You spent the rest of the afternoon in a haze after Phil left, feeling like a mouse batted around by a bored cat. His interrogation dredged memories you’d rather leave buried and roused questions you don’t know if you want the answers to. Your turmoil translates to a meek thank you.

John walks you to the Foxhole, pressing a hand to your mid-back all the way to the usual booth. 

“How’re you feeling?”

“Better.” It’s not a complete lie. John’s knees touching yours under the table is grounding, the point of contact slowly leaching your worry. “I needed that break today. Thank you.”

“Yeah? What did you get up to?”

I’d appreciate it if you kept my visit as our little secret.

For all your contemplation, you haven’t thought of how to subtly warn John about his acquaintance in a way that won’t incriminate you. And if you are wrong and it’s a misunderstanding, you don’t want to compromise what you have.

“Oh, nothing special. I finished my last book.” you smile. “I’m excited to open a library account next week.”

His eyes flit over you in an elongated pause. “Right.”

Kate drops off John’s ale minutes later, and you surprise them both by ordering a cider. John smirks as you sip.

“Thought so.”

“Thought what?”

“You don’t drink on the first date, which makes this the second.”

You hide a smile behind your glass, the coolness dampening the surge of warmth triggered by the sound of his laugh. How far you’ve come with him, it’s no small feat. With his rough edges, you’d come to know him as the type of man who’d only soften and yield with time. Someone stubborn and terse, but you’d always know where you’d stand with him. An honesty you need.

“I suppose it is.”

“Which leads me to what I wanted to discuss.” He leans on the table, forearms bracketing its width. His voice lowers to a hair above a whisper. “Last night. I know I said I can be patient and I will be, but I have questions. Things I want to clarify, because I want to know if this,” he gestures between you. “Stands a chance of going somewhere.”

It’s only fair. You’ve never rebuffed a man, at least not successfully, and with the deadline of summer’s end, of course he’d have questions.

“Okay, um, shoot.”

“Did I overstep?”

“No, not at all. I just—I haven’t done this in a long time. Been, um, close with a man.”

His cheek bulges with his tongue, working over a thought. “May I ask why? I find it hard to believe, girl as pretty as you.”

“John,” you laugh softly, admonishing him with a shake of your head. The mirth short-lived. “You’re kind. My situation is...complicated.”

“So there is a situation.” 

You stare into the pale gold of your glass, shoulders tightening. You stepped in it now. John’s done so much for you. More than Dusty did in years. “I don’t want you to think less of me.”

“I won’t.”

You don’t deserve his earnestness.

With a deep breath, you confess. “Before I came here, I left my h-husband.” You trace the rim to avoid his gaze. “I left, um, a letter stating that I don’t want money or the house. I don’t want anything except to be left alone. I said that if he files, I won’t contest it.” You glance and sputter at the inscrutable look on John’s face. Each syllable feels heavier and more inadequate than the last. “I’m hoping he takes it as a ‘good riddance’ and proceeds without me.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

You realize the irony of betting on an unreliable man. “If he doesn’t, well, every penny I make will go to a lawyer.”

“Have you heard from him?”

“Not once. I made it clear I wasn’t coming back. I won’t ever go back. He has no idea where I am, either.”

A silence stretches between you and through the din of the bar. Your hands fall to your lap, twisting the hem of your dress, studying him intently for some clue. His expression remains unreadable, calm in a way that makes your stomach cramp and your heartbeat climb to your throat. Each passing second amplifies the tension, the wait unbearable, until finally—

“I can see why you’d hide something like that.” John sighs. “I’m surprised, sweetheart, but I understand. I forgive you for keeping secrets.”

The knot in your stomach loosens with his absolution. You take his hand when he offers it, palm enveloping yours, commanding your undivided attention.

“I’ve learned that at times, a measure of cruelty is necessary, if meted out properly by careful hands. I assume your husband deserves your abandonment. You don’t seem the type to make decisions lightly.”

“I’m not.”

“Disloyalty seems unnatural to you too, at least, not without reason.”

“No.”

“Did he–”

“‘M I interruptin’?” 

A deep and rumbling voice nearly startles you out of your chair, hand sliding out of John’s to stop your glass from tipping. Craning your neck, you instantly break into a cold sweat.

“Simon. Didn’t see you come in.”

“Reckon you wouldn’t, with your distraction.”

The man— Simon , is more monstrous up close. His face is a roadmap of scars, twisting like roots across his jaw and over the bridge of his nose. His body eclipses the rest of the room, darkening the table with mass alone. You can’t help but stare, pulse quickening, imagining what it would take to leave marks like that on a person. You desperately hope Phil’s wrong or that his witness proves unreliable. You would not want this beast for an enemy.

You’re introduced, and to your relief, there is no handshake.

“Ran that errand.”

John reclines in his seat, arms crossing. “Any trouble?”

“None. Later?” Simon’s eyes cut to you.

“Tomorrow.”

The big man chuckles, mouth twisting into an approximation of a smile. “Right. Tomorrow. If ya need me….” Simon lumbers away, heading for a stool at the far edge corner where Kate plants a dark ale. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You snap to John, a wry grin on his face.

“Don’t worry ’bout him. Looks that way ’cause of a bad accident some years back.” He nods in Simon’s direction. “He’s harmless. He helps me with the rabbits.”

You fidget with your glass, unable to picture that behemoth handling such fragile creatures. John’s vouching puts you more at ease. “I didn’t say anything.“

He laughs and reclaims your hand. “Sweet girl, I’m only teasin’. Why don’t we get some air, hm?”

You politely jump at the chance—anything to put distance between yourself and the suspect at the bar. John leads you past a leering Simon and into the woods behind the Foxhole. A dirt path cuts toward the lake, and the moon casts a white glow on the water, providing just enough visibility. Lights from campsites and cabins dot the far side of the bay.

John slots you at his side, rubbing your arm with a callused hand. You’re content to remain silent for a few minutes to let your heart return to a steadier rhythm. John’s a solid place to rest.

“I am sorry for lying,” you finally whisper. “But I was scared.”

“You didn’t trust me, and that’s okay.” John corrects. “You learned, didn’t you? That I’m here for you?”

You nod sheepishly, tucking further into him. “I didn’t think you’d want me after you found out.”

Gently, he peels you from his side and chucks your chin. He stares down his nose with an amused glint. “Oh, I want you, sweetheart,” His other hand finds your waist. “Question is, do you want me? Do you want this?”

You haven’t wanted in a long time. You thought you’d forgotten how to, convinced yourself you didn’t want or need anything. But it’s muscle memory, surging up to kiss him, and he meets you halfway.

It’s different from the first time. It’s deliberate, borderline reverent, and encourages you to slow down. Reassuring in how it doesn’t feel like he’ll disappear or change his mind. His beard scratches your face as he gradually deepens it, his tongue sliding over your lips and over yours. You taste the citrus of his ale and tobacco in a way you don’t mind.

Breaking for air, you remind him once more. “Are you sure? I am…married.”

John’s hands flex on your waist and band reflexively in pure possession. “And it sounds like you’re decided on the future of that, depending on what your courts rule.” He touches your foreheads. “I’ve always been of the mind that marriage is a piece of paper. Something neat and tidy for some suit to file, but it interferes with what’s natural. As far as I’m concerned, you aren’t married,” He kisses the corner of your mouth. “You’re with me. If you want to be.”

It isn’t that simple. You know it’s not. Then John kisses you again, and you wonder.

By the time you part ways at the end of the cabin’s drive, your lips are swollen and spit-slick. John stopped you no less than five times to kiss you stupid, chasing every thought of the wreck, the investigation, and Simon out of your head. Shame can’t reach you either, not through the rose-colored haze around your head.

You can tell John wants to follow you inside and share your bed, but despite all your necking, you’re not there yet.

“I am interested, I really am, but I need time.”

“We’ll move at your pace,” His fingers rub circles in your hips. “Gonna spoil you, love. You’ve been good for me, I want to return the favor.”

You huff. “Me? You’re the one who’s employed me, helped me with my car, ferry me around…”

“Easy to do, ‘cause I’m fond of you, pretty girl,” He murmurs into your cheek. “You do so much for me.”

“Like what?”

“More than you know.” He brushes his lips over your forehead, then gingerly turns you around to face the cabin, lit by the light he fixed. “Now. Off with you, ‘fore I change my mind and haul you off like a caveman.”

You laugh but dutifully say goodnight and leave him at the end of the drive. You wave from the doorway, then watch him head off. A contented sigh erupts as you flick on the light and throw the deadbolt, practically twirling into the bedroom.

It’s not until you strip off your dress that a disquieting chill creeps over you. You study the bedroom, uncertain if you’re imagining things or not. If the subtle disarray—a crooked quilt, a drawer left open an inch, your laptop further down the bed than you remember—is real or trivial. But the air feels thicker and heavier, and you can’t shake the sensation as if you’ve arrived late to your own home.

Your footsteps echo too loudly in the uneasy calm. You grab a glass of water, but you pause as you turn from the sink.

The corner of the rug in the living room is flipped. There’s a seam in the floor.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

No ghostface. Mindy invites reader and the whole group to spend the weekend at their family’s cabin in the woods. No mansion cabin, something small. That means your ex, Chad, is also going to be there. Him and Tara spend a lot of time together so you assume they’re a thing and Chad knows that you have a new boyfriend, but you broke up with him a few days before the trip (said another girl’s name in bed or something equally shitty) and Mindy insisted you come so you wouldn’t be sad in your dorm

Request: all weekend. You can’t sleep on the first night so you get up and end up alone with Chad in the kitchen and…things happen

Two longer requests in the same week? Am I back? (I'm trying to get through the requests I got in January first, be patient with me!)

Warnings: 18+, mention of cheating, p + v, public sex (kinda but not really)

—

‘’Out of the way! I really need to pee!’’ Mindy shouted, keys in hands and making a run for the door. 

You chuckled at her antics. A part of you was questioning if she actually had to pee or if it was a trick to get away from unloading the car.

Chad unlocked the trunk and you ducked under his arm to grab your bags. 

The cabin was nothing fancy like you see in movies. Just a regular family cabin — small and cozy. Mindy said their grandpa built it in the 70s, which explained the retro ambiance. Everything was mismatched, yet went perfectly together. 

To avoid any bickering, the sleeping arrangements had been settled before arriving. The cabin had two bedrooms — one of them had two single beds — and a pull-out couch. Mindy and Anika were taking the master bedroom, you and Tara the twins' old bedroom, and Chad got the short stick and had to share the pull-out with Ethan. They were roommates, so it wasn’t weird. 

It was already late afternoon when you got to the cabin, so you didn’t have much time for anything other than unpacking before getting started on dinner. 

‘’Where’s Chad?’’ Ethan asked, not seeing him in the kitchen. 

Mindy, who was chopping potatoes, rolled her eyes. ‘’Probably hiding to get away from helping make dinner. He always does it at home. He mysteriously disappears, then ‘surprise’ he’s back when all the chores are finished.’’ 

‘’You’re wrong, babe,’’ Anika chimed in, correcting her girlfriend. ‘’He left to get some wood with Tara.’’ 

Of course he went with Tara. 

After dinner, you went to your room to change into pajamas. While looking through your bags, you realized that Jason’s bracelet broke and had fallen from your wrist, mirroring the state of your relationship. In a few weeks, you would have found it funny, but for now it only brought tears to your eyes. 

Fuck. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry on this trip.

As if she knew, Mindy popped in the doorway. ‘’What’s taking you so long, we’re— Are you crying?’’

You wiped your face, erasing all traces of incriminating tears. ‘’No.’’ 

‘’Liar.’’ She sat beside you on the bed and pulled you in a hug, knowing all about Jason. ‘’Stop thinking about him and come watch a movie with us. Uncle Randy had the best collection of VHS tapes,’’ Mindy said, trying to get your mind off him. ‘’I’m sure we can find one where the cheating asshole gets his head chopped.’’ 

A small smile drew on your lips. You couldn’t ask for a better best friend. 

*

You turned over and tried to fall asleep for the fifth time, but it was pointless. All you could think about was Jason and that girl from Phi Iota Mu. Pushing the quilt to the end of the bed, you got up and walked as quietly as you could into the kitchen, trying to not wake anyone.

‘’Can’t sleep either?’’ someone whispered. 

Startled, you cursed under your breath. ‘’Are you trying to kill me?’’

Chad laughed. ‘’Can’t handle a little jumpscare?’’ He was leaning against the counter and snacking on the home-made cookies Anika had brought. ‘’Want one?’’ 

You accepted the cookie, breaking off a piece but not eating it yet. ‘’Why are you awake?’’ 

‘’Ethan moves a lot when he sleeps,’’ Chad explained, scrunching his face in annoyance. ‘’He kicked my back three times with his knee and elbowed me in the face. I don’t know how I’m gonna put up with him all weekend.’’

You glanced at the couch where Ethan shifted underneath the blanket like a sleeping restless child. ‘’Why didn’t you ask to share with Tara?’’

A frown creased your midnight partner’s face. ‘’Why would I want to share a bed with Tara?’’ 

You shrugged, avoiding eye contact as you continued to eat your cookie. ‘’I don’t know. You’ve been spending a lot of time with her. I assumed that—’’ 

Chad sighed, interrupting and correcting. ‘’There’s nothing between me and Tara,’’ he said, his eyes on you like he was making a promise. ‘’It’s not like that. We’ve been friends since we were kids — she’s like family.’’ 

You nodded, continuing eating your cookie in silence in the dim light of the overhead stove light. 

Minutes passed, neither you or Chad talking. Surprisingly, your mind didn’t drift where it shouldn’t. It was peaceful. 

Until the silence was broken.

‘’I didn’t want to ask while the others were there, but I know something is clouding your mind. We’ve dated long enough for me to know your body language. I’m probably not the person you’d choose to confide in, but if you want to talk, I’m here.’’ Chad’s gaze softened as he looked at you, making sure you knew that he meant it. 

When you think of a person to pour your heart to, your ex boyfriend is not the first one in line, but the ache within pushed the words past your lips. ‘’You were right about Jason.’’ 

Then, tears started flowing.

It didn't take long for Chad to understand. 

Without saying a word, he stepped in and pulled you into a hug. It’s been months since he held you like that, yet your bodies still molded perfectly together. You rested your head on his chest, letting the tears flow freely as they wetted his shirt. 

‘’I should have listened to you,’’ you cried into his chest, guilt and regret filling you although you weren’t the one who cheated.

You thought Chad’s warning about his teammate’s antics was him being jealous, that he had said this so you wouldn't get with someone else. Maybe a part was, but Jason had a reputation for cheating on his girlfriends. He bragged about his hookups in the locker rooms and at practice all the time.  

Chad loosened his hold and lifted your chin, using his thumb to wipe your tears. ‘’Next time I see him, I’ll—’’

‘’Please don’t,’’ you said, teary eyes looking up at him. ‘’It’s gonna draw attention to the situation and I don’t want to become a campus gossip. I just…want to forget him.’’ 

Although he really wanted to punch right now, he respected your wish. Nothing was said about not giving him a nasty glare at practice on Monday, though. 

‘’I can help you with that.’’ Seconds after the words were out, Chad’s eyes widened when he realized how it sounded. ‘’Shit, not— I mean watching movies or going for a walk, not…sex.’’ 

You could see the embarrassment on his face, truly not meaning to say that. 

What if you were interested in this method? What is it that they say again? The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. 

You wouldn’t get with a stranger — Tinder hookups were always disastrous. But Chad didn't sound like a bad idea. He was caring and generous in bed, you always loved how tall he was and how he would manhandle you. He also had a very nice body. 

‘’What if that’s what I want?’’ You moved your hand up his chest, your eyes catching Chad’s. 

‘’A-are you sure?’’ he asked. He would never take advantage of your vulnerability to satisfy his dick. 

You nodded, reached the back of his neck to pull him down to your level. ‘’I’ve never been more sure of something.’’ You ended your sentence with his kiss, bringing his lips over yours.

The next minutes were a mess of kissing and fumbling with clothes while trying to be as quiet as possible. It wasn’t easy when Chad’s thick fingers were pushing in and out of you at a toe-curling pace, but the walls of the cabin were thin and Ethan was still sleeping on the pull-out couch…literally a few feet away. 

He bit back a groan when you squeezed his fingers, your arousal covering them as you gripped and mouthed at his shoulder, trying to muffle any sounds. Being quiet during sex was never something you mastered. 

‘’I almost forgot how tight you feel,’’ Chad hissed, replacing his fingers with his cock and slowly filling you up.

You crushed your lips together again, your hands exploring his arms, his neck, his back, his shoulders as he began to move his hips, drawing gradually out of you and inching smoothly back in over and again. It was a frustrating pace — and felt more like making love than casual sex —, but fuck it felt good. 

Chad truly was a good lay. 

Soon enough your legs began to ache from the height difference, but he gripped your thighs to hoist you up. You wrapped them around his waist and the slight change caused Chad’s cock to hit deeper, eliciting a moan from you which you prayed no one heard. 

Once Chad came with a choked noise of pleasure, he set you down on the counter and you stood there for a moment, catching your breaths. 

‘’What’s the asshole’s name again?’’ 

You giggled against Chad’s chest, feeling your mixed cum leak from your pussy and onto the counter. ‘’I don’t know… Felix?’’ you said, mistaking Jason’s name on purpose. 

—

Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf  @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos @xjennyx2 @jennasslut @thatonesblog  @mikaelsonsstuff @icarly23 @tcddszn  @bt.oliana  @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @red1culous @iluurmom @popeheywardssecretgf @michaelangdonsslut @byhrxb @kamthecoolest @kattybug @ravenstrueluv @landryslxys @die4niyahhh  @sl4sh3rfuck3r @radiant-whore  @Meadzy21 @luci1fer @nomorespahgetti  @bloodyhw  @depthsofdespairr  @bellysbeach @wilmalovegood @loupiotesworld  @wenvierismycomfort @t-candy  @s-al-em  @darylscvmdumpster  @tommysaxes  @adaydreamaway08 @johannelis2302nely @aqshua @lynbubble @luiise @planetkt @vampyrgoff @adrluvh @mymultiveres  @miqi-16 @not-liah  @lovenats01 @doestalker @lonelywitchv2 @lausley336  @arinexeisnotworking @halforangecuts @l3ndryz  @ilovelandry  @your-platonic-gay-lover @danniackerman  @angelxxrose @lottiefromsam  @thecrowdedstreetin1944 @cinnamonbun222 @angelxxrose @lottiefromsam @zoeynicolas @thecrowdedstreetin1944 @cinnamonbun222 @pumkinnroses @cruzgrecia @sunnysunny133696 @aesthetixhoe  @gizmodecaprio

All and more taglist:  @kenqki  @hawkegfs  @gillybear17   @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade   @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3   @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs  @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis  @katherinejess  @rafesgirlstuff  @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity

[acourtofidiots]

Kinktober Day 1: Breeding & Creampie [Rhysand]

DAY ONE LETS GO!!!! Honestly, I've been super super behind on writing for Kinktober and this is probably going to be the longest piece I'm going to write. Between work, and my ADHD meds on backorder, my attention has been GONE every time I try and sit down to write, so hopefully I can at least get a few things going on my days off so I don't have to scramble together and fall behind on prompts.

warnings: breeding kink, creampie, dirty talk, inappropriate use of daemati powers (idk the word for this lol)

Kinktober masterlist | askbox | main masterlist

18+ ONLY

“Cauldron, you looked absolutely ravishing tonight, my love,” Rhysand purrs, teasing the tip of his cock along your drenched folds. You whined, wiggling your hips back to get some friction, but your mate tuts, holding you still with a hand on your hip. 

“Patience, my dear Y/N.” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice, the damn male knowing how weak his teasing made you.

“Rhys,” you whined, voice catching in your throat when he started to tap his cock against your clit. “Please!”

“Please, what?” Your mind was spinning, and it took your energy to respond to him. 

“P-please, I need your cock so badly. ‘M so empty it hurts!” And with that, he slides into you, one glorious inch at a time, moaning at your slick walls clenching. 

The world is holding its breath, anxiously awaiting for the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court to make their move, show Pyrthian the power they have over their court. Your hands clench at the quilt, nails digging in to restrain yourself from wiggling your hips. 

“Oh, my darling,” Rhysand breathes as he places feather-light kisses up your spine before gently biting the crook where your neck and shoulder meet. “I cannot wait to fuck a child into you, have you practically dripping at the end of the night with my seed.” 

You clenched at his filthy words and could feel his claws tap at your mental shield. You let it down briefly, only to be shown what he was thinking: You, your arms holding a small bundle of joy as Rhysand chases another child around the House of Wind. Your heart swelled at the sight of your mate scooping the child up with a laugh and placing a kiss on their head. The two turn towards you, and Rhysand takes your child’s small hand in your direction. 

You groan at the sight as your mate retreats from your mind, hips slowly thrusting in and out of you. “Rhysie, please. I need your cum. I need to cum on your cock.” You could practically feel yourself start to shake the longer he kept his leisurely pace. It would be a matter of moments before you grew frustrated and would take matters into your own hands. 

Teeth grazed your neck, the dragging of his cock against your sensitive walls was driving you more and more out of your mind, and you didn’t know how much longer you could take. “Hold on tight, darling.” 

You practically exploded when his pace increased tenfold, the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin and groans filled the air, and you were thankful to have a place of your own. You wouldn’t hear the last of Cassian’s teasing if he walked in. 

You could feel the telltale signs of your orgasm, your hands digging into the blankets beneath you, walls clenching around your mate’s cock that was hitting the right spot over and over again. But it all came crashing down the moment you felt Rhysand bring his fingers down to swipe over your clit once before rubbing it in harsh circles. 

“Come, Y/N. I want you to come for me. Let me fill you up,” Rhys groans, and you let out a particularly loud moan at his words. “Let me put a baby in you.” The world comes crashing down around you, waves of pleasure flying through your veins as you come undone. Your mind was racing, unable to comprehend your mate reaching his own peak and shooting his load deep inside you. 

The room was silent for a moment. Only your collective pants filled the air as you both took time to come down from your highs. Placing a kiss on your bare shoulder, your mate pulls back, and you whimper as his cock slips from your sore pussy. 

“Shh, it’s ok, my darling.” You hear him coo behind you before you feel calloused hands grip your cheeks and pull them apart, watching a mixture of your releases slowly drip down your thighs. He sucks in a breath before slowly inserting two fingers back into you, making sure to press as deep as he could. 

“Can’t let anything escape,” Rhys purrs, and you shiver. 

[bloodmoonmuses]

stereo 127 | johnny suh

(for @lovesuhng !!! I hope you like it!!!)

genre: johnny suh x reader, college au, teacher's assistant! johnny, friends to lovers

warnings: none!

summary: johnny is your campus crush. he also happens to be the teaching assistant in your music history class. when you (innocently) ask for help on a project, you end up learning about more than just music.

You’re a bit obsessed with this guy who skates around campus- or the concept of him, more accurately. You don’t even know his name. All you know is that last semester, you (accidentally) memorized his schedule, resulting in you walking to certain classes a few minutes earlier than necessary to catch a glimpse of him. These glimpses were merely a blur, whipping past you like an apparition. He was a ghost to you, and you enjoyed being haunted by him. 

Your friends made fun of you for having a campus crush, arguing that it’s not real since you don’t actually know him. However, you honestly preferred the distance. Then, you could fill in the gaps in your knowledge with your own imagination. Admiring him from afar worked for a while- that is, until the start of Spring semester. 

When you saunter into your music history class, a random elective you took for fun, you’re met with the elusive Skater Boy. You knew he was tall, but he’s even taller than you’d imagined in your daydreams. You glance at him briefly, before going to take a seat at a desk near the back. 

Skater Boy chats with a few of his friends at the front of the classroom, then sits next to the teacher’s desk when the professor enters. You infer that he must be the teacher’s assistant. 

This was a big problem. Surely, you’ll fail this class now. There’s simply no way you’ll be able to focus. The breathy laughs that escape him are already distracting you to the point of being almost unbearable. His smile is so breezy, like a wave catching the wind. He looks just as cool here in the classroom as he does on his skateboard.

The underlying crush that lay dormant in you begins to boil, and you know it will soon bubble over, scalding everything in its wake. You couldn’t wait for the burn. In fact, you aimed to spur it on sooner. 

You make a concerted effort to pay attention to the professor’s spiel, pulling out your notebook to take notes. It's syllabus day, sure, but you want to look studious. The first assignment of the semester is to research the history of your favorite music genre. 

Despite your efforts to focus, your eyes drift to the stickers that adorn Skater Boy’s laptop: Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, an Arctic Monkeys logo and a cartoon surfboard. You want to know everything he likes and commit the list to memory. You want to sew his idiosyncrasies into a quilt and blanket him with your loving knowledge of them.

The professor introduces him as Johnny Suh- a third year music composition major. Now the ghost has a name.

—

You look at the office hours on the bottom of your syllabus. Johnny would be in office in lieu of your professor for the majority of the semester. Would it be so bad to pop in and ask him for help on the first assignment? 

While you admittedly feel silly, walking to the Arts and Humanities building looking a bit too gussied up, you swallow the nervousness. You stand in front of the room, reading the placard:

Professor: Dr. Moon

TA: Johnny Suh 

You knock on the office door. On the third knock Johnny says, “Come on in!”

Meekly, you enter. He’s too real, too tangible, in this small space. You’ve never been within touching distance of him. The prospect makes your fingers tingle. Professor Moon has an insane book collection, two bookcases spanning the walls opposite one another. The rest of the office is cluttered with a slew of instruments.

Johnny is wearing a backwards hat and quarter sleeve sweater. Your eyes graze the expanse of his forearms, then drift upwards. There’s a pen clipped to his collar and another in between his lips. It’s the most tantalizing pen you’ve ever seen. Finally, you make eye contact. 

Introducing yourself, you say, “Hi, my name is _____. I’m in the music history course.”

“Nice to meet you.!” He takes the pen out of his mouth, and your eyes follow it forlornly. That could’ve stayed. “How can I help?” 

Johnny gathers some papers, places them in a neat stack at the center of the desk, then sits on the edge of it.

“Um, I’m a non-major. So, I’m struggling a bit with the first assignment.”

Johnny nods understandingly. “Ah, the dreaded favorite genre assignment. What’d you pick?”

“Pop punk,” you say.

“Fascinating. You don’t strike me as a punk person.”

You shrug. “Grew up on it.”

“Have you been to the record store near campus?”  

You shake your head.

“It’s called Stereo 127. I think it would be cool to listen to some records and base your research on specific albums. Then you’ll have a clearer framework for when it’s time to write the paper.”

“Thanks. Um,” you clear your throat, “Would you mind… showing me?”

“The record store? Yeah, sure. No problem. Does this weekend work for you?” Johnny asks.

“Sounds good!”

—

Stereo 127 is densely packed with all sorts of records, mimicking the state of Dr. Moon’s office. There’s a classmate of yours named Jaehyun who’s keeping watch of the store. He walks around the shop, reorganizing things as he sees fit. As you peruse the albums, you’re peeking at Johnny over the records, trying to catch his eye. Unlike you, Johnny is actually scanning the selection, genuinely trying to help you.

“Let’s get the obvious ones out the way,” he says, holding a Blink-182 record. He’s somehow managed to track down a copy of their debut album, Cheshire Cat.  

“If Cheshire Cat is an ‘obvious’ pick to you, then I’m way out of my depth,” you confess.

“A little pretentiousness never hurt anyone,” Johnny replies. 

So far, you have a copy of Green Day’s Nimrod (which you’re quite excited about) and Paramore’s newest album. As the minutes pass, you get gradually more enraptured by the thicket of albums. Before you know it, you’ve accumulated quite a few records. After a bit, you sidle up to Johnny, peering over his shoulder to check out his picks. You spot a Yellowcard compilation record.

“This is more fun than I thought it’d be,” you pipe, turning to face Johnny. His face floods with fondness when he sees the stack of albums in your arms, caramel eyes warming you from the inside out. 

“Yeah, you have a good eye,” he retorts. “I’ve been meaning to check out a few other shops around town. Y’know. To compare selections.” He’s sputtering now, having fallen into a cough fit.

“You okay buddy?” you say, chuckling. You gingerly pat his back, holding back a full blown laugh as Johnny continues to cough.

He waves you off, but you pat his back once more for good measure.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Johnny says. When he regains his composure, he continues. “I was just wondering… Are you busy on the 27th?”

—

You’re sprinting across campus, eager to meet Johnny outside of the boys’ dorm. It’s been two weeks since you’ve last seen him. He’s leaning against the building as he waits for you, clad in a page boy cap (which he’s wearing backwards again) and tank top. You allow yourself a quick glance at his arms, immediately regretting it as your face heats up. When he spots you, Johnny waves excitedly, the width of his smile making your own double in size.

After your first excursion, Johnny had asked for your number (“in case you have questions on the assignment!” he had said). Since then, the two of you have texted occasionally, mostly about school.

The record store he takes you to this time is called The Boot. It’s less trendy than Stereo 127 and less organized as well. Most of the vinyls are in bins, withering at the edges and clearly sundamaged. Johnny says he comes here to find obscure records to spin during his DJ sets, not to necessarily hunt for additions to his collection. 

“So, you’re a music composition major?” you ask as you crouch down to sift through a box.

Johnny nods. “With a minor in photography.”

“Favorite camera brand?”

“Nikon for sure, but I mostly shoot 33mm film.”

“How pretentious,” you say.

“Oh, you love it.” This is true, you do love it. 

Johnny continues. “I found another record store for us to try out after this one.”

“Yeah, just text me whenever.”

—

You had finished your paper days ago, so the subsequent record store outing was completely unnecessary to a certain extent. Johnny had no choice but to admit that he simply wanted to hang out with you- though, he’s not complaining. 

The final record store you visit with Johnny is called WAYVE. This time, he picks you up in his car to take you there- a dinky pick up truck with a shitty paint job.

“Before we head out- “ Johnny reaches over, opening the glove department in front of you. His hand brushes your leg briefly.. He pulls out a CD case and places it in your lap.

“I made a playlist for you.” He can’t look you in the eyes properly. You’ve never seen him look this sheepish.

Johnny continues. “Not vinyl, I know, but I wanted to decorate the cover.” Taped to the front of the jewel case is a polaroid of you perusing records. In the photo, your brows are furrowed in concentration.

“When did you even take this, you weirdo?”

“A few weeks ago at The Boot. The lighting was nice.”

You’re practically buzzing with excitement when you get home, racing to put the CD in your busted boombox. The first song on the playlist is Going Away to College by Blink-182.

“I haven't been this scared in a long time

And I'm so unprepared, so here's your valentine

Bouquet of clumsy words, a simple melody

This world's an ugly place, but you're so beautiful to me.”

—

You got a B minus on the paper, which is better than you would've done without Johnny’s help. However, the project is the furthest thing from your mind. 

All you can think about is the lyrics of Going Away to College. You’re trying not to read into things, but Johnny wasn’t the most subtle. 

Maybe you should make a playlist for him. Or buy him a record. According to him, Johnny’s not a true collector- that was reserved for cameras. Maybe he’d appreciate it.

Johnny spots you walking to class (though he’s sure your next one isn’t for another half hour). He skates over to you, stopping right at your feet. You shriek, almost stumbling backwards.

“What the hell, Johnny?”

He dismounts his skateboard, holding it under his arm nonchalantly.  “Do you wanna hang out somewhere other than a record store?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

—

The skatepark is overstimulating in the best way. After trying (and failing) to teach you how to do an ollie for an hour, the two of you set up a picnic off to the side of the halfpipe. You eat kimbap off Johnny’s skateboard, using it as a little table.

“Sorry you got a B on your paper, by the way. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t grade it.” 

“It’s okay. I’d rather earn a B from Professor Moon than have your biased ass give me a higher grade than I deserve.”

Johnny places a hand on his chest, gasping dramatically.

“Um, what about academic integrity? I would do nothing of the sort!” he insists.

“Oh come on, you’re obsessed with me,” you say, half-joking. To your surprise, Johnny nods to himself, agreeing with you.

“Only a healthy amount though.”

When you and Johnny finish the kimbap, he scooches next to you. The sun is setting, oranges slowly darkening into a wash of deep indigo. You shiver as the sun dips beneath the horizon. Johnny places his jacket across your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you say.

“No problem.”

You place your head on Johnny’s shoulder.

“Um, and thanks for the playlist too. It’s really good.”

“Yeah?”

“It sorta had… a theme to it.”

Johnny suddenly pulls out from under you, leaving you to stumble around for a bit as you catch yourself. When he turns to you, he stares, caramel eyes pouring into your own. You feel warm in spite of the chilly breeze.

“I’ve never really been good with words,” Johnny confesses. “I figured I’d let the music do the talking.”

With that, he takes your face into his hands. He traces your features with the pads of his fingers- running them over your eyebrows, the lids of your closed eyes, your nose and, finally, your mouth. When he’s satisfied, he places a faint kiss upon your lips. 

He pulls back, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m so glad my pretentious bullshit doesn’t give you the ick,” Johnny says.

“Only a healthy amount,” you say through a smile. 

Suddenly, you initiate another kiss, your lips crashing into his fervently. When Johnny recovers from the initial shock, you deepen the kiss further. He’s a patient kisser, never demanding too much or taking more than he’s given. This only heightens your hunger for him, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. When the two of you come up for air, you linger with Johnny still in your embrace, his eyes crinkling at the edges with pure joy.

a/n: currently unedited + feedback is always appreciated! thanks for reading!

[mayhem-neverending]

The Big Bad Wolf

Part XXIV

Word Count: 4,630

Warnings: None?

Notes: Ready to feel some things? Of course unedited but.. y'know. Enjoy!

You spent the whole day unpacking, arranging, rearranging, organizing and decorating your new space. In doing so, you missed out on making lunch. Obito was nice (curious) enough to bring you some of the sliced fruit you had shoved in the fridge earlier when it had gotten late enough. He very obviously wanted to see the room, but you kept him shut out so you could give him a grand reveal when you were finished. He was also a little anxious, his thoughts surrounding the almost kiss and now sharing a home with you encompassing his mind. 

In the late afternoon, you finally put your finishing touches up. You plugged in the lamp next to the bed and were pleased by the softly illuminated room. It was a little crowded with two beds and all of your bedroom things, but it was quite cozy. You had your green and gold rag rug in the center, pictures hanging on the walls along with a painting you and Hikaru had made together before you moved. Next to the door was the bookshelf Ox had sealed, some of Hikaru’s larger toys, plus a few decorations that you planned on hanging in the living room and kitchen after it was finished being painted.

You opened the bedroom door and dragged the dark wooden bookshelf down the hallway. It was a sturdy cedar, and it was awfully heavy and quite awkward due to its length. 

“You just sealed these floors. Please tell me you’re not about to scrape them up,” Obito said from the mouth of the hallway, his arms crossed over his chest. 

You stopped in your tracks and looked over your shoulder at him. “You’re welcome to help, you know,”

He shook his head and silently walked around to the opposite side. Together you lifted it and walked it into the living room, placing it next to the fireplace. As soon as it was in place, you jogged into your room to start moving stacks of books back to their rightful place on the shelf. Obito trailed along after you, intrigued to see what you had been up to all day now that the door was wide open. 

He wouldn’t say he was surprised to see it fully decorated, but he was shaken at how homey it was. He looked back down the hallway and then into the room. The difference in atmosphere was stark. He took a small step into the room so that he could fully immerse himself in it. The colors of your things meshed together with the wooden walls beautifully, bringing out their natural warmth. Hikaru’s little bed next to the wall was made with a crocheted blanket, and yours had a quilt that was no doubt a hand-me-down from a relative. 

You walked in for another stack of books, paying him little mind as he scooted further into the room. A photo of you and tiny baby Hikaru was on the bedside table next to your bed. It looked like summertime, and he was sporting a gummy grin that made Obito internally gush. As he turned away from the photo, he caught a whiff of the room as the air moved. What he failed to notice when he stepped in was that the whole room smelled like you. He inhaled deeply, the light, sweet scent filling his lungs. 

Oh. He wasn’t sure he would be able to keep himself far from this room; not when he could be enveloped by your smell and inherent warmth. He observed the other decor in the low lighting. He couldn’t help but think that it fit you all too well. 

“Obito,” you grunted, lifting another stack of books. “Help me out here, would ya?”

“Oh, right. My bad,” He picked up a stack of what could only be described as historical tomes and followed you to the living room. 

The shelf was already starting to fill out, and it seemed that you had your own method of sorting, so he went and retrieved another stack while you sorted. He looked back at the shelf with some measure of excitement. It would be nice to immerse himself in your collection. It would be entertainment and a way to get to know you just that much better wrapped into one. 

When all of the books were stacked next to your crouched form, he went to fetch the decorations in a haphazard pile next to the door and brought them to you. You stopped what you were doing to carefully take them in your arms. “Thanks. Would you mind preheating the oven while I put these up? I’m sure Kakashi will be here with Hikaru soon,”

He nodded and you went to work hanging up one of your paintings. It was a summer landscape you had inherited from your late great grandmother. It was one of the few larger things you were able to take back home from Akujia, and it was very precious to you. You hung it opposite the front windows, near Obito’s bookshelf. The next thing was a sun and moon, then a photo of you and team seven on the mantle - it had poured on you that mission, and everyone besides you and Naruto had only begrudgingly accepted their photo being taken. You smiled lovingly at it. It was amazing how quickly time passed. 

The rest - besides a crocheted blanket that went on the couch - was to be hung up in the kitchen area when you finished painting. Obito took a look around the living room after you had finished and nodded to himself in appreciation. Nothing was too over the top or irritating to look at; every addition was welcoming to the blank walls, adding character and warmth to his space. 

He noticed the photo on the mantle last and ambled over to it. He picked up the frame and inspected the faces. The young faces of Sakura, Naruto and Sasuke stared back at him. Sakura and Sasuke looked very disgruntled, which amused him, while Naruto had a matching goofy grin with you. In the back stood Kakashi with a thumbs up and a forced smile. Obito narrowed his eyes as he couldn’t help but imagine himself in Kakashi’s place, a twinge of envy pinching his gut. He would have given you a real smile… had things been different. He glances at the mismatched skin of his hands, then into the kitchen where you were pulling out a glass pan. If only things had been different. 

He gingerly placed the photo back on the mantle. He could hear you bustling about, the clanking of dishes against the countertop drawing his attention toward you. With the photo in his mind, an unwelcome thought wriggled its way into the forefront of his mind. If you had almost kissed him, had you ever kissed Kakashi? 

Probably not, right? He attempted to convince himself. 

He could just ask you, you were right here. But, that would mean acknowledging this morning and very possibly indicating his deeper feelings for you verbally. He would not be the one acknowledging it first, absolutely not. If he were wrong he would never live it down.

“Y’know, now that we’re roommates, you might have to pick up a little more slack around here,” you remarked as you put seasoned vegetables in the oven.

He dramatically whipped his head toward you. “What’s that supposed to mean? I thought you were supposed to be my caretaker?”

“I will accept help in the form of you playing with or distracting Hikaru while I work, taking turns cleaning the bathroom, laundry, and you doing dishes when I’ve cooked dinner for all of us,” you stated, leaving little room for argument.

“You’ve been thinking about this all day,” Obito complained.

“You betcha,” you didn’t even bother looking his way. It would only leave room for him to try to weasel his way out of it.

“I guess,” he muttered after a moment, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Wonderful, I’m glad it’s settled,” 

Three knocks on the front door cut into your conversation. It swung open without either of you moving to get it. Kakashi stepped through with Hikaru on his back, little arms likely choking the man with how they circled his neck. 

“There’s my boy!” You called excitedly.

Hikaru started squirming to get off of Kakashi’s back to come see you. Kakashi quickly maneuvered him and passed him off to you. He smiled, but you could tell something was on his mind. 

“I missed you after school yesterday,” you pressed kisses on each of Hikaru’s cheeks. 

“Mommy!” He giggled loudly, which encouraged you to give him a couple more kisses. 

“How’s my sweet boy? Did you have a good time with your Daddy?” 

“Yes!” He shouted, followed by a string of gibberish you couldn’t quite understand. 

“Speaking of,” Kakashi piped in.

You looked over to him, catching the pressing look. He continued. “I think it’s best you file for full custody. Toma was making wild claims about not letting you have Hikaru anymore and that he was going to take custody of him,”

Your face scrunched in anger. “That cocksucking mother-”

You took a deep breath and cleared your throat, though you remained tense. “He can hardly handle taking him every other weekend. There’s no way he could take full custody. Hikaru would be neglected!”

Obito joined your circle and you unconsciously pressed closer to him. You could feel that he was also getting riled up by the way his chakra signature sparked against yours.

“I know,” Kakashi calmly stated. “I picked up the paperwork for you to file on the way back. I’ll of course grant you full custody, if that’s what you want. I just need you to properly file it with me,”

Your face relaxed and you sighed out. “Thanks, ‘Kashi. You’re the best. And thank you for picking him up, I probably would have hit that dumbass in the face again,”

“He has quite the shiner already,” he chuckled. “You’re welcome. Whatever I can do to help,”

Kakashi looked tired, you noticed. He had worked all day after a full week and then ran errands for you without asking for anything in return. You frowned a little, taking in the dark circles gathering under his eyes. 

“Have you eaten?”

He reluctantly shook his head as if not wanting to burden you while also not wanting to lie to you. “Stay for dinner. I’ve just started on it, but it shouldn’t take too long,”

“I wouldn’t want to-”

“You’re not. Stay,”

Obito almost snorted. At least he wasn’t the only one being bossed around for their own betterment. Kakashi looked him in the eye. “Is that okay, Obito?”

“Don’t ask me,” he pressed just a tiny bit closer to you. “She’s the one in charge around here,”

You turned to give him a surprised but satisfied grin. He glanced at your lips; the invisible pull catching him in its orbit before he was able to tear his eyes away. Kakashi saw, because what didn’t he see? And refrained from the comment that sat on the tip of his tongue. 

It was quickly clear that you didn’t have enough chairs. Kakashi reminded Obito of his ability to use wood style jutsu, so the three boys sat together while Obito attempted to fashion two chairs together. Hikaru was absolutely fascinated by it, and Kakashi had to keep him secured on his lap so that he didn’t accidentally get his eye poked out from excitedly trying to touch it. They talked noisily amongst themselves, Hikaru being the star of the conversation. You listened while you worked on dinner, completely content in the quickly dimming sunlight. 

Obito turned the lights on for you when he came in to get a glass of water. When he passed behind you, you could imagine his hand on your back and a quick peck to your lips before he continued about his business. His brush against your arm as he passed set your skin on fire and it quickly spread to the places of the imagined touch. 

The chairs were finished and set at the table just before you finished cooking. You set everyone’s plate and let Obito and Kakashi take them to the table. Hikaru, who was served first, was already digging in and making a mess by the time everyone else took a seat. It was dark now, the house lit by the kitchen light and the roaring fireplace that had been filled with Obito’s failed chair attempts. 

Conversation was minimal as you all eagerly dug in. It occurred to you that you wouldn’t be able to bring Kakashi dinner anymore, which saddened you, but you enjoyed the prospect of inviting him to have dinner with you, Obito and Hikaru. It would be more personal, and Obito would be able to spend more time with his old friend. In fact - your face brightened at the thought - you could invite Naruto and Sakura to dinner here, too. Possibly even Sasuke, if Kakashi allowed him entry into the barrier. 

“What are you smiling about over there?” Kakashi asked, looking mildly amused.

You swallowed your food. “Family dinners,”

“Family dinners?” Obito asked.

“Family dinners,” you concluded, taking another bite. 

You noticed Hikaru was done eating and starting to nod off at the table. You wiped his face and because that didn’t stop his nodding off at all, excused yourself to take him to bed. 

Kakashi and Obito looked at each other after you had left the room. Quietly, Kakashi said, “It looks like you’re happy with this new arrangement,”

Obito’s brow twitched. There was nothing negative about the statement, but he still felt his buttons being pushed. Gruffly, he replied, “Yeah, and?”

Kakashi’s smile was a little sad. “Looks like your luck is changing for the better. I’m happy for you,”

Surprise washed over Obito in a wave. He narrowed his eyes on Kakashi. “What do you mean by that?”

Kakashi’s eyes slid to the direction you had gone and back to Obito, an eyebrow raising slowly. Obito suddenly felt hot all over. He hissed. “There’s nothing there,”

“Sure, that’s exactly why you’re so worked up right now. Because there’s nothing there…”

“Bakashi,” he warned.

“I’m just saying, I see the way you look at her. And she seems… happier when she’s with you,”

Obito’s heart beat rapidly in his chest and something ugly twisted in his stomach. “You act like you don’t look just the same,”

Kakashi shrugged. His heart hurt more than he would ever admit, but he was used to giving every bit of him by now, and his first friend deserved happiness more than him. He had been deprived much longer. Kakashi could concede this for him, even if it hurt him, he could find happiness in the fact that the two of you were happy. The way you looked at Obito when you thought no one was looking was not lost on him. He wouldn’t put up a fight for something that was not meant for him. In another life, another version of himself could have deserved your love. It just wasn’t meant to be this time around.

Kakashi put his empty plate in the sink and cleaned up Hikaru’s mess just as you were walking in. You made a face at him, one that deepened the sharp pain in his chest. “‘Kashi, don’t touch anything else. You’re a guest; cleaning up is my job,”

“Just wanted to do my part before I go,” He said casually. 

“Leaving so soon?” You asked sadly. 

He nodded quickly, unable to make eye contact. He nodded to Obito who was cooling off from their conversation. Obito nodded back, a little unsure about Kakashi’s actions. 

“Well, you’re free to come by anytime, y’know? I’m always happy to feed you and we enjoy your company,” 

“Yeah,” it came out a little strained. “I will. Just let me know when you’re making something good,”

You looked at him oddly and then between the two of them. You wondered what had happened but held your tongue. He started towards the door, grabbing his coat. 

“Okay, well, get home safely, okay?” You trailed behind him.

“I will..” he trailed off as you opened your arms to give him a hug.

There was a lump in his throat as he slowly reciprocated. He pulled you close to him, perhaps a little too tightly. He inhaled deeply, taking in your scent at the base of your neck. You held him back tightly, incredibly confused by his sudden change in behavior. You ran a soothing hand through his soft hair and heard his breath stutter. 

He was slow to pull away, his eyes glassy. “Are you okay?”

“Never been better,”

He left in a hurry, leaving you utterly bewildered. With the door shut, you turned on your heel to face Obito. “What the hell happened? I was gone for ten minutes, max,”

“Nothing, probably just overly tired,” Obito’s eyes darted away from you as you approached.

“Are you sure? That was really unusual. You weren’t being mean, were you?” It came out half teasingly.

Obito shook his head. “Why don’t you go get showered while I clean up?”

“Umm, okay. Yeah, thanks,” 

…

Obito woke up after you, since apparently Hikaru was a very early riser. He had actually slept quite well during the night, so he didn’t much mind the extra hour or so, nor did he mind that the sound that woke him up was the thump thump thump of little footsteps and your much quieter steps running after them. He rolled out of bed and stumbled a bit over to the door, his body not yet in time with his mind. 

“Hikaru, you need to be quiet, Baby. We don’t want to be rude and wake up Obi, do we?” He heard you say to Hikaru from somewhere in the kitchen.

There was a loud clang of silverware against ceramic. Hikaru shouted, “Yes!”

Obito could feel a warmth in his heart that made him want to squirm at your little conversation. He took a few long strides out into the living room to see the commotion in the kitchen. He could smell a delicious breakfast cooking the closer he got. You looked up at him just as he walked out and gave him a sheepish smile from where you were bent over next to the table getting ready to scold a grinning Hikaru. His heart skipped a beat.

You wore an oversized old t-shirt and pajama pants that were too long for you, feet clad in fuzzy socks that just peeked out from beneath the hem of your pants. Your hair was positively unruly and the last dredges of sleep still clung to you, very unlike the little one next to you. Hikaru, in nothing but a diaper, turned his wide grin to Obito and shouted his new nickname, a little hand excitedly waving his spoon. 

Time slowed down for him as he looked on at your two smiling faces illuminated by the bright morning sun. Smiles that were for him, and him alone. He glanced around at the food on the stove with plates stacked next to it, the coffee maker full with two mugs beside it, the mess of scrambled eggs in front of Hikaru’s plate on the table. His eyes started watering.

“Obito?”

He cleared his throat and looked into your eyes. “Yeah?”

“Why are you using your Sharingan?”

He blinked in surprise, deactivating it. He was so overwhelmed by - well, he didn’t know if he was ready to know what that emotion was- that he started recording the scene. He couldn’t help himself, it was just so… domestic. And it was like he was stepping into a dream he liked to keep tightly stoppered up in the back of his mind. 

“No reason… Uh, is breakfast ready?”

…

Something odd happened that first week of you living together. Obito couldn’t understand why when you started cleaning, you wore headphones. At first he thought they were noise canceling because there was no cord and he was highly offended, but you quickly put the earpiece next to his ear and he heard a lovely melody pouring from it. He could make a little more sense of that, but he still didn’t understand why you were taking up this new habit. 

Obito was never particularly interested in music, although he did enjoy whatever was popular on the radio when he and his friends would get together outside of training. After Madara, he hated listening to anything upbeat, and especially hated Zetsu singing his stupid little songs or humming a tune while he worked. He really just didn’t get the point because it never really did anything for him.

It didn’t do anything for him until you started swaying your hips to the music one night after putting Hikaru to bed. It was awful, the way he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your ass for a solid three minutes while whatever song played. He salivated like a dog, leaning heavily against the wall in the mouth of the hallway so he was just out of sight to you in the kitchen. 

As soon as you stopped, his vision was able to refocus, and he swallowed thickly. He racked his brain for whatever he wanted to ask you and drew a blank. He felt a little like a creep, but that was overshadowed by the sudden understanding as to why people went to clubs. If just a little swaying did this number to him, then damn. He could finally see the appeal. 

He had to take a long shower afterwards, and avoided interacting with you besides a quick “goodnight” while rushing to his room. 

In the following days you started to play the music out loud while you made dinner with Hikaru. You would dance around and sing along to it. Your voice was actually quite pleasing, and he was finding he didn’t mind the music so much. It completely changed the atmosphere in the house into something lively and upbeat. 

He would laugh when you cheered Hikaru on during his little dances, stare stupidly when you would start moving to it, and vehemently deny you every time you asked for him to dance with you. It was the only time he’d ever seen you make a pouty face, and it was worth the denial every single time. 

While Hikaru was at school one gloomy afternoon, you put on a slower type of music while you swept the living room. It seemed like nowadays, there were always crumbs everywhere, no matter what either of you did. Perks of living with a toddler, he supposed. 

You sang along to the song, something he noticed you had to warm up to with him. He didn’t understand why, since you had a great voice, but to each their own. You noticed him entering from the hallway and held out your hand to him. 

“Dance with me?”

He was ready to deny you when the words died on his lips. You were looking up at him with those pretty doe eyes, just like you had done in front of the vendor during your mission. Without a single thought in his head, he took your hand. 

“I-I don’t know how,” he stuttered out, still locked into your eyes. 

“That’s okay,” you said sweetly. “I’ll teach you. Follow my lead,” 

You started moving your feet to the rhythm, swaying slowly. He looked down at your feet while he tripped over his own. He heard you giggle, and an embarrassed blush crept onto his cheeks. 

“Look at me, Obi, not your feet,” 

He did as he was told, and after a few more stumbling steps, he found his rhythm. He couldn’t tear his eyes from your face, not that he wanted to. He had never seen anything more beautiful than your tender eyes and sweet smile. 

You pressed close to him now that he had found his footing. You found solace in his fast beating heart and adoration in those dark brown eyes. You would place a bet on the fact that he didn’t realize he was smiling with you, melting your resolve as much as the warmth of his body. 

This past week had only served to draw you closer and closer to each other; a planet orbiting his sun, basking in her light, burning away the darkness that once lingered through the night. He held your hand as you twirled away and back into him, a breathless giggle leaving your lips. 

He held you tightly as the two of you swayed, your back against his chest, his breath fanning your neck and causing delicious tingles down your spine. You spun back out to the song and came back in to face him. You pressed your chest to his as you continued to sway and felt your breath catch in your throat as his gaze slid down to your lips. 

His eyes flicked back up to meet yours and you batted your long lashes at him. The magnetism between the two of you was undeniable. Your chakras curled together, increasing the electricity between the two of you as your mouths inched closer. You felt his breath on your lips just before they connected. Softly, featherlight. Your quick breaths intermingled and you pressed closer, your lips meeting in a firmer kiss, but still so soft it could have been a mirage. 

And your lips were so silky against his. His heart hammered against his ribcage and his fingers trembled as you pressed even closer. Your lips slowly moved against his and he followed your lead, letting you absolutely intoxicate him. Your fingers wound into his dark hair at the nape of his neck and you pulled him down as you pressed up onto your toes. He swore he was seeing stars, his knees weakening from your gravity. 

His fingers dug into your hip as the other hand trailed up to cup the back of your head, unconsciously deepening the kiss with his heedy desire. You let out a tiny gasp into his mouth and he felt it like electricity straight down from his lips to his groin. He groaned against his will, and it earned him a tug to his hair as you pressed impossibly closer, your tongue sliding against his lower lip before you gently bit into it. 

He stumbled then, his knees finally giving in. You stumbled backwards with him, forced to part to save yourselves from falling. The second he felt like he could right himself, he looked into your lustfully darkened eyes, pupils blown wide and lost all control of himself again. He backed into the couch and fell heavily onto it. He tried to catch his breath as his fingers came up to touch his dark, kiss-swollen lips. You watched him like prey, ready to pounce when you remembered yourself. 

Shock coursed through your system and your hand covered your still tingling lips. You wanted this - him - so badly but you couldn’t do this. You lived together now, you couldn’t just walk away if things didn’t work out. And what about Hikaru? You couldn’t put him in the middle of something like that. Your heart beat erratically and you bit your lip. But what if it did work out? 

You looked back at Obito, flushed, breathing heavily with his moussed hair and legs open just so that you could climb right on his lap and continue what the two of you started. You could already imagine the way his hard cock would feel between your thighs. Fuck. The image left you soaking. Things could work out between the two of you, right?

Part XXV

Taglist: @mostlyunsure, @humongousdreamlandbear, @ichaichahatake, @mandy-yeager, @detectivestucks, @faces-ofvenus

[fancyfeathers]

Thinking about Yandere William and his darling having a genius daughter when she runs away to stay at Baker Street.

Months have passed since her initial disappearance and William had her monitored to an extent, like when the detective takes her to crime scenes and what not. She was alive and being taken care of and of course while William wanted her home he could not just take her back, that would reveal himself as the Lord of Crime.

He’ll be sitting in the drawing room with his darling and his youngest daughter after dinner and his little one will tug on his pant leg while he is reading over the evening paper.

“Yes, my angel?”

“Papa, when is big sister coming home?”

“Soon dear.”

Then he tucks her into bed soon after, reading to her and kissing her goodnight and as soon as he steps out of her room and shuts the door his darling tells him that Mr. Bonde is here to talk to him.

Another day another report of what his eldest daughter did that day.

The next day he was on his way to visit a client and decided to walk as it would be good for him but he didn’t anticipate the rain coming on so soon.

“Liam, hey!”

Another thing he did not anticipate on is hearing Sherlock Holmes call out to him as he passed Baker Street, he thought Sherlock would be investigating a crime scene today since the morning paper reported a mass murder in Mayfair that happened the night prior. He detective waved the professor inside his building, well dragged in would be a better word for it. The building was fairly silent which indicated his daughter must not be here right now.

Miss Hudson gave William tea to warm him up and as they sat in Sherlock’s flat he noticed a hand sewn stuffed rabbit in an armchair across the room and his observation did not go unnoticed by the detective for long.

“Ah ya, that belongs to my ward, Miss Hudson made that for her when she first came here. She’s out with John right now, he is taking her to the theater today.”

That would explain her absence from the house today.

Then looking over the room again he noticed a small set of goggles and gloves near the detective’s chemistry equipment, far to small to fit Sherlock.

“John insists on her wearing them when she’s helping me, afraid of her getting chemical burns.”

There is a a small pink quilt on one of the couches with a few books on top of it, books he knew his daughter enjoyed and would often bring home from the library.

“I kept on taking her to the library everyday to either check out those books or renew them, so eventually John got them for her from an old lady who used to live a few buildings down, she was moving into the country to live with her children and she just adored our little girl so gave practically all of her late husband’s collection to her.”

There were a pair of her muddied shoes by the door.

“Ah ya I have to get those washed, we went to the park after an investigation and we got rained on.”

And a small journal on the coffee table with her name embedding into the cover.

“I made that for her, John thought it would be good for her to have an outlet for her emotions in case she doesn’t want to tell us. It must be working because she’s a lot more stable than me.”

Then if all of this was not enough the voice of Miss Hudson called to them…

“Could one of you come downstairs to take out the things from the oven, my hands are full.”

William went downstairs to help and in Miss Hudson’s flat he saw her wrapping up a shoe box.

“It’s for her birthday, she’s turning seven today…”

Miss Hudson speaks to him as he opens the oven, a cake…

They are celebrating her birthday…

Not him or his darling or her sister.

“I feel bad for the poor girl, it is her first birthday without her parents, I can’t imagine how lonely she feels but we do our best to take care of her.”

He was being told about the investigations and crime scenes she went to, not the friends she made with the old widow who used to live nearby, not the trips to the park with the detective, not the outing with Dr. Watson, not the pressed flowers Miss Hudson bought for her birthday…

She was growing up…

Growing up without her mother…

Growing up without her father.

“Yes… you are doing a wonderful job.”

He returns home that evening and the house is fairly silent, he retreats to his study for most of the evening and his darling was probably asleep by now and then Albert comes in to check on his younger brother knowing full well something was irritating him and as William was confiding in his elder brother, a little head peaks into the office, catching the attention of the brothers. William stood up to see what his youngest daughter, who should be in bed, wanted and….

“Papa, when is big sister going to be home?”

It takes him a moment to respond and Albert almost stepped in and…

“Soon my dear, very soon.”

[abbyzwrites]

Novel Intro!

Hi everyone! I’m deep diving into another round of edits so I decided I’m going to start sharing some excerpts from my novel!

These are the very first paragraphs from the very first chapter😊

Wilha smooths down the threadbare quilt of her bed for what feels like the fourth time in a row. Despite her incessant fussing, the baby blue patches on the quilt remain frayed, the yellow stain in the corner still remains visible. She knows that no amount of making and remaking her rickety bed will make any impact on the state of her room.

Sighing, she sits down hard on the bed and frowns at the offending space. It’s still new to her, a reminder of what she lost when her father passed away not four weeks ago. Between the faded bedspread, the nightstand full of odd trinkets she and her father used to collect, and a bookshelf only half-filled with children’s fairy tale books, this room is a poor reflection of the life she used to have.

[lazyjellyfish300]

nanamelly༘♡

-winter has arrived early at the farmhouse. cinnamon clove and cranberry potpourri burning on our stove. lots of brewing hot mocha. fuzzy socks, fleece pajamas, and knit scarves from kento's mother that we both love to wear when we're outside tending to our animals. big balsam fir wreaths with red ribbons all over our stables. he loves to stand outside our kitchen when he catches me singing. his favorite to hear me sing is Merry Christmas, Darling by the Carpenters. our christmas tree has multi colored lights like a patchwork quilt with keepsake ornaments that we've collected since we were kids and were passed down from our parents as well as places we've traveled to together. we trade sneaky kisses while hanging up our christmas lights that sometimes get carried away into something more passionate. sugar cookie and ginger scented candles and lingering slow kisses with seeking hands under sweaters. lots of naps after play fighting in the snow. hearty soups with freshly baked bread and looking for our barn cat named smoke who's a little more elusive than usual, seeking out warmth in cozy corners of the house away from the chill of outside. Lying tangled for hours in messy blankets by the fire in our living room with hushed voices underneath the mistletoe kento backed me under when i wasn't looking while another layer of snow gently dusts the top of our creaky roof.

Source: Pinterest