#these little moments of tenderness are like breaths of fresh air easing the tension that’s hanging over the whole film

[starsjulia]

just as you are // leah williamson

leah williamson x neurodivergent!reader

a/n : everyone experiences neurodivergence differently, and this isn’t an accurate representation of all neurodivergent people, this is solely based of my personal experience with autism, though neurodivergence comes in many different forms and not just autism. based of this request!!!

It was late spring, and the air around Dorset had a gentle warmth, fresh with the promise of summer. You and Leah had been seeing each other for a few weeks now, with dates that felt both tender and easy—small glimpses of how good things could be when you didn’t have to hide yourself so much. Even if you hadn’t told Leah everything about you, each date seemed to draw you closer, as if she could sense the parts of you you weren’t quite ready to show.

Today, Leah had planned a surprise. She hadn’t given away much, only mentioning that she’d packed a picnic and that she hoped you didn’t mind “a bit of a trek.” You’d met her just outside her little holiday home that afternoon, where she greeted you with her usual warmth, her eyes lighting up when she saw you.

“Hi sweet, you ready for a little adventure?” she asked, her North London accent curling around her words in a way that made you smile.

“Yeah,” you replied, feeling that familiar mix of excitement and nerves. “Where are we headed?”

“It’s a surprise,” Leah said with a playful glint in her eye. “But I promise it’ll be worth it.”

She handed you a small, neatly packed backpack, giving you a wink as she shouldered her own. You took a deep breath, the sensation of the warm afternoon sun grounding you as you followed her down the winding forest path.

The journey was beautiful but long, winding through tall pines and wildflowers in bloom, their colors bright against the emerald green of the forest floor. Leah kept up an easy conversation as you walked, her voice a comforting presence beside you. She asked questions now and then—gentle ones, never prying too deep, like she understood you’d answer in your own time.

“How come you like the country side so much? Not like in a ew way, I just think it gets a bit boring”

You thought about it, carefully choosing your words. “I’m not to sure, i’ve always preferred somewhere quieter. Somewhere where I could have my own rhythm, I guess. The city is just… too much sometimes.”

Leah nodded, her face softening in understanding. “I kinda get what you mean. It can be a lot, all that noise and chaos. I bought the house to get away sometimes. I do sometimes like being in a place where you can actually hear yourself think,”

You gave a small smile, the warmth in her words easing some of the tension in your chest. It felt good, hearing her talk about needing her own space. It reminded you that maybe your own needs weren’t so strange.

After nearly an hour, Leah led you through a small clearing and out onto a sunlit hill, overlooking a valley where a river sparkled as it wound its way through the forest. The sight took your breath away; the view was so open, so peaceful. Leah spread out a blanket on the grass, giving you a gentle smile as she motioned for you to sit beside her.

As you settled onto the blanket, you felt a surge of gratitude toward her for bringing you here, to this quiet place. It was beautiful—and quiet. So quiet that you felt your shoulders relax as you took in the scene around you.

“Perfect, isn’t it?” Leah murmured, lying back on the blanket, her hands resting behind her head. “Just us and the whole world spread out like this.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, glancing over at her. “It really is.”

You felt a pull toward her in that moment, a soft, warm connection you hadn’t felt with anyone before. Being with Leah felt like breathing fresh air after being cooped up for too long. And yet, even with her kindness, you still couldn’t shake the lingering worry that had been building over the past few weeks—the part of you that kept wondering what would happen if Leah knew the truth. It was a fear that had become familiar, one you’d felt in other relationships before: the worry that maybe you’d be “too much” once someone really got to know you.

The thought weighed on you as you sat beside her, watching as she unpacked the small picnic she’d prepared. She handed you a sandwich, smiling as she brushed a stray curl from her face.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

You laughed softly, trying to push the worry from your mind. “Yeah, I am… I think. This looks amazing.”

The two of you ate in comfortable silence for a while, Leah occasionally making little comments about the clouds or the wildflowers blooming nearby. As you watched her, you felt a warmth spread through you, a feeling of being seen and accepted just as you were. But then, just as you were starting to relax, Leah turned to you with a thoughtful look in her eyes.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you something,” she said softly, her gaze steady on yours. “I… I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you these past few weeks. Being with you, it feels… easy, you know? Like I don’t have to pretend to be anything I’m not.”

Her words sent a jolt through you, a strange mix of happiness and anxiety swirling in your chest. This was the moment you’d been hoping for, but the thought of her not knowing everything about you made it feel… fragile. Like you were standing on the edge of something precious and terrifying.

“Leah, I…” You took a deep breath, the words catching in your throat. “Before we… before you tell me something more serious, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Leah’s expression softened, her gaze open and patient. “Of course. Whatever it is, I’m here to listen.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding as you tried to find the right words. “I have autism.” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper, but quite blunt. “so sometimes I experience the world differently. Things that seem simple for other people can be… challenging for me. Loud noises, bright lights, weird smells—they can be overwhelming. And i don’t really get social cues properly, and i sometimes says odd things.”

You looked down, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I just… I didn’t want you to be surprised if… if I have days where I struggle. I’d understand if that’s too much for you. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

For a moment, Leah was quiet, and you felt the silence stretch between you, your heart sinking as you braced yourself for her reaction. But then, gently, she reached out, her hand covering yours in a warm, reassuring grip.

“Hey,” she murmured, her voice gentle. “Look at me.”

Slowly, you lifted your gaze to meet hers, and to your surprise, you saw nothing but warmth in her eyes.

“I kinda thought so?” she said, her tone soft but steady. “I didn’t know for sure, but… well, you’d mentioned needing time alone sometimes, and I noticed how certain things seemed to make you anxious. But you know what?” She paused, her gaze unwavering. “I like you, just as you are. I like all the little things that make you you, whether they’re easy or not.”

You blinked, her words washing over you like a balm. “You… you do?”

“Of course I do,” Leah replied,as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I mean, loving someone isn’t about expecting them to be stereotypically perfect. It’s about seeing who they are—all of them—and still wanting to be there. And I… I want to be here, with you.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “I know there might be things I don’t understand, there’s probably a lot i’ll get wrong, but I’d rather learn than walk away.”

A warmth bloomed in your chest, a feeling of relief and joy so strong that it left you speechless. For so long, you’d been afraid that no one would be willing to understand the parts of you that were different. But here was Leah, offering acceptance without hesitation, as if loving you was the most natural thing in the world.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “No one’s ever… said anything like that nice to me before.”

Leah’s smile softened as she took your hand in hers, her thumb tracing gentle circles over your skin. “Well, then, I’ll just have to keep saying it, because you deserve to be known, gorgeous,” she murmured, her voice carrying a playful warmth. “You’re incredible, just as you are. And I want to be here, even on the hard days.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and Leah reached up to gently brush it away, her touch so soft it made your heart ache. The two of you sat there in silence, the weight of her words settling over you like a comforting blanket. In that moment, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to hide parts of yourself to be loved.

Taking a deep breath, you gave her hand a small squeeze, feeling a surge of gratitude for this beautiful, open-hearted person beside you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “For… for understanding, it’s more than i could ever ask for.”

Leah gave you a warm smile, her eyes shining with a quiet, steady affection. “Always, love.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence, the sun dipping low in the sky as the first stars began to emerge. You leaned your head against her shoulder, feeling her arm come around you in a gentle embrace, and for the first time in a long time, you felt completely at ease—loved and accepted, just as you were.

[thinwhitedoc]

CARGO | Martin Freeman as Andy Rose

[ireneaesthetic]

Pointing out little moments and details of scenes that need to be remembered.

library scene • episode 1

their expressions softening and smiles growing bigger as soon as their eyes meet. oh the effect of each other’s presence!!!

wille's staring contest and the lip bite while approaching give off so much confidence. he leans in for the kiss like it's all he's been waiting for - everyone is watching and yet he sees and cares about anyone anything but simon.

simon dives into the kiss just as quickly. it starts out as shyyy but you can see the tension easing through his body language.

it’s a second first kiss for them in a way bc it's their first public one: the thrill, the excitement, the butterflies - it's all there. for this huge step to come from wille makes it even more special.

it’s a super tender kiss, with simon’s hand ending up on wille’s chest. background noises fading away to enhance the sound of their lips is so on point: none of that truly matters bc in this moment it's - them.

first they kiss and then greet with a proper hej *giggling*.

lip biting is serious business in this scene. simon's shows a lot of embarrassment tho - he comes out of their own bubble and suddenly becomes very aware of people's chatter.

shoutout to felice and maddie in the background not giving a damn about it ahsjsj.

wille pulling simon by the hand in such a hurry is funny and so him. he literally says 'ok folks you've seen enough, i want him just for myself now'.

ugh i love parallels in this show sooo much. they alone tell the whole story!

same spot but different point in their relationship: so distant in s2 - both physically/emotionally - and couldn't be seen or heard so they were hyper attentive; deeply connected on all levels in s3 instead, the focus is solely on each other, reaching for comfort by holding hands. the coloring tells the same plot too: cold and dull tones first but much warmer ones in s3.

simon side eyeing the hallway but turning to wille is enough to reassure him and ease the discomfort.

hands intertwined with the key chain in such a ‘fuck 'em, this is about us’ way is a genius move.

wille’s whole posture is extremely relaxed - one arm behind his back, the other hand holding simon’s, his legs crossed. it’s a breath of fresh air to finally see him acting this loose and unbothered around people. he's also the one who helps simon feeling much more comfortable here too.

not much to point out, i just needed to gif simon’s bambi eyes and wilhelm being mesmerized by his face.

hela terminen's line delivery is honestly *chef’s kiss*. they care to keep their voices low throughout the scene and then -

i have a thing for height difference so this shot is everything to me. it's peak head over heels boyfriends behavior!

wilhelm is stronger than me bc i would've kissed simon right on the spot if he tilted his head up like that.

shhh they’re cuddling.

the forehead touch with closed eyes and content smiles. this is basically what i've always loved the most about them - the state of pure bliss they're in only when with each other.

simon's eyes on him while wille is still keeping his eyes closed, slowly pulling away, to enjoy the moment a little longer.

simon's attention directed towards wille and the linked hands. it must feel the best kind of weird to experience the freedom of doing couple-things publicly - people's scrutiny no longer being something they have to hide from.

[shywhumpauthor]

Whumpuary Day 9

Magic healing | Electrocution | Scars

Prev. || Masterlist

Emotional scars? Upcoming scars? Idk it’s very loosely prompted.

This is a while after the previous piece, not sure exactly how long. Couple months? I wanted a lot of space to fit some more torture whump in

Cw: set up for torture, past torture, past burning, blood, bruises, partial nonconish nudity (shirt), implied gore, mentioned vomiting, starvation, interrogation, self sacrifice for a cause, captivity setting

A sharp clap startled Noah out of his sleep, a soft blanket of unconsciousness he had burrowed himself under. He hadn’t had many restful sleeps recently, most ended with him jolting awake dripping with sweat and breathing like he’d just ran a mile, head pounding with the adrenaline of whatever nightmare that eventually startled him to wake. This time, though, he had finally managed to ease off into a dreamless void, finally allowing his worn body a chance to truly relax, and to begin recovering from the tension.

And of course, that’s the time Declan chose to come bursting into his cell, door slamming against the wall in all possible gusto, clapping his hands together like he was at a stadium cheering for his favorite team. The thundering sound ripped Noah away from any shred of comfort he had managed to settle into, causing him to jolt up with little attention to the drag it caused his body. His wounds had begun to heal over the past couple days, just barely, leaving the skin tender and taut, sensitive to just about everything, and the sudden movement might as well have ripped open each one individually.

“C’mon, up!” Declan ordered, crossing the small room in two short strides, barely giving Noah enough time to sit up before the man’s hand wrapped around his bicep, wrenching him out of bed. Noah gasped, a pain sharp and stabbing jolting from his injuries. He had been offered fresh clothes once he had woken from his first bout of unconsciousness, but his attempt to pull on the shirt had nearly left him crying, gasping as the fabric rubbed and pressed against his injuries. So he left it off, opting only to put on the shorts he had been left, the fabric long enough to brush against the healing burns decorating his thighs, but loose enough so that it didn’t press flush to his skin.

“I’ve given you long enough to rest, we have business to attend to.” Despite their urgent motions, Whumper’s voice couldn’t have sounded more calm as they began to drag Whumpee forwards, not giving them a moment to find their footing before practically dragging them out of the cell.

“Shh-it, slow down,” Whumpee’s voice came out a strangled groan, hitching with their movements as they stumbled. Whumper didn’t pay them any mind, not a second for them to stand up as they rounded the stairs. Bare feet slipped against tile, Whumpee just managed to take the few seconds in which Whumper paused to grab their badge to balance themself, exhaling a heavy breath as fire licked away at their limbs.

They knew where they were going before they fully ascended the stairs. A heavy feeling settled in their chest, like a weight compressing their lungs, their body flooding with a cold leaden fear. What would it be this time? A whip? Cane? Their mind rushed with all sorts of tortures, methods and weapons of all awful proportions. Anxiety, bubbles of fear increasing pressure in their chest until it felt like they were going to burst. Their feet moved numbly under them, gaze unfocused as they were guided up the stairs and down the short hall, through one of the first doors and into that awful room.

The air smelled like chemicals, the heavy stench of bleach sticking to the floor and surfaces. Whumpee wasn’t sure whether or not if they should be glad it was at least cleaned, or if that only added to the awful tension, knowing that Whumper cared enough to keep the space fresh. Mopped up the old blood just to spill more. Funny, almost, in a pointless manner. Why bother, if they were so clearly planning on dirtying the place up again.

It was a trivial thing for them to focus on, yet it acted as almost a tethering line for their focus as Whumper dragged them across the room to a table. They were shoved down hard into a chair, the cold metal backing like ice against their skin as Whumper’s hand slid down their arm, brushing over burns but never lingering more than a second before latching around their wrist, yanking their arm across the table and passing their hold to a waiting guard.

It was so smooth, so calculated, Whumpee wasn’t sure what was happening until it was over. Their other wrist was snatched, wrenched across the table, nearly yanking them from the seat they were just pushed in. Pressure against the back of their palms, pinning them down as another set of hands fastened a pair of leather loops around their forearms, pulling the buckles tight enough they could barely twist in the restraints.

“Stop squirming,” Whumper shook their head as the who had helped restrained Whumpee stepped away, clearing the other side of the table so Whumper could take the open seat across from them. Just behind the table, next to Whumper’s seat was a rolling table-stand thing, covered in a thin blue sheet, a metal tray resting on top of that.

Whumpee’s stomach churned as they saw what was on top, swallowing back a dry heave as Whumper pulled a pair of latex gloves over their hands. They were almost glad they hadn’t been given any food in the past—what had it been, a day? Two?—they were sure that if they had, they would have most definitely gotten sick.

“We don’t have to go through with this, Whumpee,” Whumper stated plainly, sounding more bored than anything as Whumpee forced their gaze away, eyes dropping to the floor. “All you need to tell me is who you work for. I don’t want anything else now besides a name.

They picked something up off the tray, metal clinking softly against metal as they did so. Forget having not eaten, Whumpee was sure they were going to be sick regardless. The seconds went by too fast, stretched across hours that passed in a blink. Was it possible for time to speed up and slow to a crawl at the same time? Whumper’s hands were moving towards theirs, their right hand, which they curled into a trembling fist, slow enough that Whumpee could feel each tick of a second rattling around their core like a bullet piercing their chest, bouncing off their ribs and stabbing into their lungs, ripping a hole clean through their heart. They willed the time to slow, to pause for just a moment so they could prepare themself, as if anything they could do would possibly achieve that futile goal. Nothing would prepare them for this. Not all the time in the world.

Whumper’s open fist slammed down against the back of their knuckles, taking their moment or reflex to grab Whumpee’s extended palm. The guard, who had moved to stand by the side of the table, took the cue to brace their own hand against the back of Whumpee’s palm, pinning it in place with their fingers spread apart.

The table wasn’t very big, longer than it was wide, perhaps three by five feet, the shorter of those dimensions providing the only barrier between Whumper and themself. It wasn’t nearly enough space, clearly, Whumper could reach their hand with ease, shifting their own seat over a few inches to gain better access as they set their eyes on Whumpee’s little finger. Whumpee made the mistake of glancing at the scalpel in their hand, and tasted bile beginning to creep up the back of their throat.

They couldn’t do this.

“Whumpee.” Whumper’s tone grew a bit more insistent, but all Whumpee could focus on was the small sting as the blade of the scalpel pressed to the back of their finger, just above their third knuckle. They pressed their tongue to the roof of their mouth, teeth grinding together, fighting back a wave of nausea.

“Is there anything you would like to tell me?”

Whumper’s voice couldn’t have been louder than a whisper, but their words filled the room like a shout, echoing off the deep corners and bouncing back through Whumpee’s ears. Yes, of course there was. The terrible knowing of what was about to happen was enough to will Whumpee to crack, to break open and spill all of their dreadfully protected secrets. How they wished they could do that, and spare themself now from the whole world of pain about to befall upon them.

But they didn’t. They kept their lips firmly pressed. A beat passed, then another. Whumper pressed the scalpel in, a bead of blood welling under the awful blade.

“Alright then, that’s your choice.”

———————————

Next

Tag list: @pickleking8 @blood-enthusiast @t0rture-me @sparrowsage @enigmawritesstuff

[moonbeamwritings]

izuku midoriya + dancing under the stars

Pro hero events are definitely not your thing. You always feel like you’re trapped under a microscope, your every move observed and analyzed for a magazine headline or some trashy tv segment. You wish hero work was simpler than this, easier, but you suppose nothing could ever be truly ordinary in your line of work.

When Izuku sees that look on your face, when he sees your furrowed brows and frantic eyes, he intertwines his hand with yours and drops his lips to your ear. “Wanna step outside? Get some fresh air and a little peace and quiet?”

You nod automatically, not even giving yourself time to think as you tug Izuku along, weaving the two of you through the crowd until you reach the balcony door on the far side of the room. Your skin feels hot as you step out into the evening air, your vision still dotted with the aftermath of bright camera flashes and twinkling lights. Izuku keeps your hand tucked into his long after the doors have shut. His bright smile eases the tension in your shoulders. 

“See,” he coaxes gently, a teasing glimmer in his eye, “I told you it would be quieter out here.”

You sigh, your thumb brushing an idle path along his knuckles. “I’ll never get used to it.”

Izuku shrugs, pulling your joined hands up so he can press a kiss to your skin, and the tender affection allows you to finally breathe. “You will” he assures you, steadfast as always. “I know you will. It just takes time.”

“You make it look so easy.”

The pout on your face causes Izuku to drag you closer, wrapping his free arm around your waist as a chuckle falls from his lips. “Everything will be fine, love. I promise.”

You search his eyes for a moment, on a hunt for dishonesty or false hope, but instead, you find conviction and constellations in the emerald of his eyes and decide that maybe everything will be fine, after all.

A soft piano tune drifts through the open windows, and Izuku closes the space between you, swaying you to the gentle melody. He spins you around and dips you in perfect time with a crescendo of notes, and suddenly blood no longer pounds in your ears. You find comfort in his arms, in the warmth of his body as he brings you close in a clumsy, unpracticed waltz.

You tip your head back and take in the stars above —  dimmed by light pollution, but there, and so beautiful that you don’t hesitate to tell Izuku.

Izuku, who hasn’t stopped looking at you since you stepped outside, responds in an instant. “Yeah, they are.”

[rumblelibrary]

I need a very loving Laszlo smut, either top or switch with him, take it any direction you want, any build up, any kinks. But I just... my soul needs this V I need to see this man happy and satisfied

Coming Back Home [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Wife!Reader]

Word count: 3k

Warnings: SMUT (fingering, mild victorian dirty talk)

Author’s note: I am weak to see this man happy, my mind went a bit overboard, but I just couldn't hold it back, to see him happy and fulfilled in all his means, professional and private. Thank you so much for feeding my obsession and being my supporter @cazzyimagines <3

The cold air hit him as a welcome back in the moment he exited the carriage, he was back in New York after six months of study and hard work in Wien, he hated and loved it: he learned a lot and got the chance to talk with some of the best alienists in the field granting himself some valuable resources and upcoming publications, the city was amazing and romantic. But all day, every day, he was with his mind on the life he left here, on you and your baby boy waiting at home patiently, easing his pains with letters and little colourful sketches, reassuring him that he would come back to the same house he left.

It was late, he could see the light in baby’s room was off already and it pained him to be late for the goodnight story.

The driver dropped his belongings beside the door with a huff before taking his money with a big thank you.

Laszlo nodded, a sense of tension taking over him, what if something indeed changed? What if you hate him for leaving for his own interest? Will his son remember him? 

The silliest questions took over him and he just rang the bell before the spiral would take over and make him sleep in the garden out of his imaginary shame.

Stevie opened the door and his face lighted up instantly, Laszlo’s hand moved close to his own face with a finger up to signal him to keep quiet. The young lad nodded opening the door more, but a loud whine came out of his lips when he saw the heavy trucks beside Laszlo. 

“Stevie? Who is it?”

Your voice vibrated through the walls enveloping Laszlo like a distant memory and a fresh breath of air at the same time.

Stevie mumbled something “Nobody Madam, only some funny head playing with bells at night” he said as Laszlo nodded at him.

He left the coat at Stevie with his gloves and hat making his way to the bedroom upstairs trying to be as quiet as possible, your vanity the first thing that appeared to his sight, he shifted lightly so he could spot your figure reflected in the mirror without being seen.

You were already in your white night dress, hair down wrapped in a braid that rested on your shoulder, his own dark blue night gown draped over you making you appear even smaller, a book resting in your hand, the other hand toying with the fabric of his gown. A soft sigh left your lips and a little smile, you are liking the book. You turn the page with your features lighting up by interest, he felt almost guilty to interrupt you.

“Guten Abend, my love”

Your head shot up, eyes wide in surprise, a smile growing on your lips as he walked inside the room revealing his presence. A sense of nervousness still on him.

“Laszlo” you called rushing to him, discarding the book and throwing the covers onside,  closing the distance between the two of you by jumping out the bed like an excited child. Your hands wrapped quickly around his neck, you pulled him in, lips clashing against one another. He smiled in the kiss, eyes a bit teary as the happiness you were able to blossom into his chest since the first time he met you was still there. He cupped your cheek with his left hand, the kiss being long and followed by little short ones, and then again a long one.

“You should have told me” You whispered and he smiled at you noticing how you also got a bit of tears streaming down your cheeks, but all due to happiness. You picked his right hand kissing it lovingly, oh that ritual of yours, that mindless action you always did to kiss the part of him he despised the most.

“Welcome home, my love”

He smiled widely, so wide he felt his cheeks and jaw hurt, while he leaned his forehead against yours and you closed your eyes enjoying it. Your little telepathy thing, like he could pour his thoughts to you and vice versa.

In the meanwhile Stevie kept himself far from the two of you not wanting to interrupt or witness anything he shouldn’t. Laszlo pulled back from that position as he stared down at you, your eyes met again as you gulped down a little, his eyes travelling onto your neck as none of you seemed able to pick what words to let out first, too many informations gathered in six months that letters couldn’t covert.

His eyes raising up to yours, you moved first guiding his right hand still safe in your grasp inside that warm robe hiding your body, his fingers meeting with the obscenely thin fabric of your night dress, the shape of your breast clear under his touch, his thumb brushing over your nipple earning an immediate reaction from you. 

His breath itched, his tongue wetting his lips as you kept supporting his weak arm while his hand discovered once more what hidden treasure was the body of his wife.

His left hand undoing the silky bow around your neck that kept that useless piece of clothing closed, your breasts being exposed as he leaned his head down lacing his lips with you nipple and giving it a tempting suck, his tongue roaming over it as a sense of home and comfort surged into his stomach, then he spoke and his hot breath against your wet nipple made you shiver.

“Have you done the exercises that I gave you?”

“No”

His eyes shoot up at you, a mix between the need to scold you and desire in them.

“I could do it only with your letters” you added.

“Not touching yourself enough must have been painful, exasperating, you could have brought yourself to hysteria”

“I know, but I was waiting for this moment”

He smirked, the idea to be a vital part of your sexual expression turning him on immensely.

“Which letter was your favourite?”

“The one where you described your fingers inside me, I could imagine it so clearly while I was doing it to myself”

He almost let out a groan only by the sound of your words, the need to go knuckles deep inside you now almost impossible to hold back as the image of your distressed figure rolling onto the sheets trying to emulate that pleasure he only can give you clouded his mind.

His left hand almost angrily undoing the fabric belt the nightgown around your waist before moving behind your back to pull it off your shoulders, you gently let go of his right hand helping him in the task, your hands now tugging his jacket, his waistcoat, beginning already with his shirt buttons, you were so in need, but he was the same. He tugged his shirt off probably ripping off some buttons, the urgency you both felt filling the air.

His eyes trying to take in all your figure as you finally let go of that white dress.

“Oh, meine Frau, no statue or artwork or inspiration I have seen in this travel equals your beauty” he groaned as he felt like he almost forgot how he worshipped your body, how your only presence triggered obscene desires through him.

There was almost a moment of suspense before he leaned his warm body against yours, skin on skin again.

His erection already brushing over your lower stomach as you guided him onto the bed with you laying down for him. “Laszlo” you were about to beg him not to make you wait, not to tease you but his left hand fingers were already between you legs and a yelp of pleasure left you lips immediately.

“Soaked wet without me even touching you”

He was so pleased, you didn’t need to look at his face to know, but you whimpered when his long finger pushed inside you, he knew it, he knew exactly how to touch you, how to manipulate all of you. His lips laced to your neck, he sucked on it, bit it, hickeys soon will follow the passage of him. He is back.

To see your own neck pale and empty from his marks pained you everyday, but now he is at home and there won’t be a single centimetre of you spared. Another moan followed as his mouth found your nipples again, your legs trembling as a second finger joined the first one making you gasp for air. The ultimate pleasure approaching in you too quickly, abnormally quickly, but you missed him so much and six months without his care on you was a torment.

His prideful smile gave you the freedom not to restrain your pleasure, your hips jolting up and trembling, more wetness gathering on his fingers before he pulled them out knowing that it would make you feel empty.

He punished you with distance as he sat down on the bed, you crawled over him, legs still feeling like jelly as you forced yourself to straddle him. You didn’t need to rest, you wanted him to bring you to exhaustion and he knew it, he knew you won’t wait anymore. So you aligned him with your folds, his hard cock opening his way into you easily thanks to your recent orgasm, a loud growl leaving Laszlo’s lips.

“My wife, it appears to me that you’re back being a virgin after only six months away from me” 

You blushed because his words made you sensitive and proud in a very peculiar way, you moaned slowly beginning to ride him as he kept muffling how tight you’re pressing his forehead against your chest, his left arm wrapping around you. You voiced your pleasure freely, fingers tangling to the back of his head, now it was your turn to guide his pleasure, to set the rhythm, but the pace was slow and deep, the desire still feverish in you, but the closeness inspiring you tenderness. 

“How horrible to rest in the cold Wien without you, how empty to walk without your presence” he spoke directly to your chest, to your heart “every achievement was not an achievement if I couldn’t share it with you” he confessed, his hot breath against your breasts.

“You’re back now, next time we will come with you”

You smiled as his eyes shone looking up at you “my wife”

He loved to call you that, he always did, the pride in his voice when he asked you  to be his wife the first time came back to your memory. You didn’t need many nicknames, wife and husband, the holy duo, the balance, the symmetry.

“I love you, my husband”

You moaned against him, his fingers digging into your skin, his right hand settling over your hip.

You couldn’t guess how much it lasted, you impaled deliciously yourself over him, he loved to stare at you going on your own on top of him, love it, express fully your feminine power. His left hand teasing your clit sapiently mimicking your movements making it nauseatingly perfect, your mind clouded by pleasure. He cursed, he growled biting onto the side of your breast when filling you up and gaining another moan from you, he held you down as he kept rubbing your clit until he felt your walls clasp deliciously around him, he still didn’t want to move.

He loved to see you helpless, washed over by pleasure, legs jerking aimlessly and fingers pulling onto him and his hair.

You didn’t take time to recover from that second orgasm, his skilled fingers knowing their ways around you, you bowed your head joining your lips again, you still couldn’t believe it.

“I am such a lucky man to have you”

You smiled kissing his forehead “I am lucky with such a husband like you”

You stayed like this, hugging, the time to talk will come, the time to exchange gifts and come back to routine. But not now. After countless minutes you slowly shifted from that position, freeing his hard on from you but slowly moving beside his sitting figure staying on your all fours, the braid that held your hair almost completely loose.

“Come my husband, you only had one orgasm, I know you love even numbers”

The next morning the light from the window hit his eyes, he frowned stirring as he blinked tiredly. Your figure tangled to his in bed, the covers over the both of you. He kissed your forehead out of habit, the marks already forming on your neck made him proud, your regular breathing and gentle perfume mixed with the sweat of sex made his senses alive. You felt him move and woke up pretty easily, probably due to have slept alone for so long. You smiled at each other, no words yet needed, a soft kiss placed on each others lips.

The a soft sound, more like little sounds following one another, little feet rushing down the hallway.

“Mama” being whispered by a very shy boy, his clear brown hair peaking up from the doors.You smirked covering Laszlo completely with the duvets.

“My baby” you said sitting up holding the covers over your body.

“Mami!” He gasped surprised “what happened to your neck?”

“Oh, it is normal my baby, is it so late?”

He nodded and you smiled as he hopped on top of the messy bed, Laszlo smirked from underneath the covers, it seems like somebody took a habit of sneaking into the big bed.

You smiled as your boy resembled so much his father, he crawled to move to your lap and that’s when Laszlo sat up with a loud “Who’s in my bed?” holding his hand up like a claw.

The boy squared but soon threw himself against his father’s chest.

“Apa visszatért!!!” He shouted so loud at you like you didn’t notice Laszlo at all and you chuckled finding the two of them so adorable.

“I am going to get some breakfast done” you said willing to leave them their space. Laszlo nodded at you as you wrapped yourself into your dress and then the thick nightgown. You could hear them talk softly, Laszlo was all about speaking to him in his mother’s language but also in German, so your boy was always mixing the three. “Have you being a good master of the house while I was away?” “Yes Papa, I have been extra good and mommy was happy too, but it is not like when you’re here” Laszlo’s little chuckle won you over even by distance. You had to learn Hungarian through Laszlo, even if you were lucky enough to know German already. But how sweet it was to learn along with your boy.

“Little Andrea woke you up, mrs Kreizler?” The cook, a very nice and good hearted woman asked once you reached the kitchen still wrapped in your night clothes and redoing your braid.

“He did, but his father is back, I couldn’t detain him in any way” You assured as you instructed about the breakfast to make something special. When everything was ready and settled you saw the two of them coming downstairs together, Andrea holding his father’s weak hand into his, still babbling in German to him. The two of them still in their night clothes, you loved to be unruly with them, half of the world outside would be shocked to see a family have breakfast in their night clothes, but who cares. You sat all together as Laszlo begun narrating about his travel, Andrea almost forgetting to eat as he sat down staring at his dad with shiny eyes like he could disappear any time.

“Andrea, at least the juice” you said and he nodded vehemently in particular after you whispered something to his ear.

“Do you have secrets with me?” Laszlo inquired with a smirk, his messy hair a blessing in such bright day.

“Always had” you said with a smirk and he chuckled softly before standing up and leaving for a moment coming back with some boxes.

He handed his boy one and two to you, while Andrea was busy unwrapping the gift Laszlo moved behind your sitting figure “open the small one first”

You obeyed quietly as the box was clearly hinting it was jewellery, inside you found some white gold and blue sapphires earrings.

“Laszlo, you ..” He shushed you softly “come on, wear them for me, jewellery over night dress, a new fashion from Europe” He joked softly but you obliged his wishes putting them on, Andrea making happy cheering sounds as he found the model train of his dreams. The earrings dropped beautifully on you, framing the new Laszlo loved so much “I knew only a Venus like you could sport them” he said making you blush, he always spoke in a way that made you feel like courting never ended.

“What about this?” You asked about the second box and Laszlo smirked just gesturing you to go on. Inside there was a study for a portrait, your portrait, clearly inspired by the picture Laszlo had with himself of you.

“I met this young painter in Wien, a bit struggling with money but extremely talented as you can see, a craftsman that works with gold, I invited him to come here next month and work on your portrait, he fell in love with your figure already, I already know I will have to guard your safety.”

“What is his name?”

“Oh, he is not famous, Gustav Klimt”

“Well, we can make him famous then” you said and Laszlo just smiled more as you kissed his lips to thank him for the beautiful gifts, knowing Laszlo he probably had way more hidden in his trucks “I knew you’d say something this kind of sweet”

“Mama, you look beautiful” Andrea called you staring like he was waiting for you to say something and you smiled nodding “yes, now it is the perfect time”

“For what?” Laszlo asked as you took his hand guiding him to the living room.

“Please, take a sit now” you said slowly guiding him to his armchair, the comfort of the familiar place relaxed him, the fresh flowers in the vase, the books laid on the table.

“Andrea has a surprise for you” you said leaning to sit on the arm of the chair looking up a his confused face, but he was unable to let go of that smile creeping on his lips.

“Come inside darling” you called “we are ready”

You took Laszlo’s right hand guiding it on your lap, the curiosity already eating him alive as little Andrea came holding his little violin, still looking extra cute in that night dress that made him resemble some cute baby penguin. He puffed his chest blushing as you gave him a nod of encouragement, Laszlo’s eyes shining to see his son like this and the chemistry you two have.

“I have learned this piece to welcome you back home” he announced as his shaky voice betrayed a bit his nervousness.

He placed the violin carefully onto his shoulder resting his cheek on it, your hands holding Laszlo’s while tapping with you finger to keep the tempo for Andrea. The melody was simple, but quite impressive for such a young player, Laszlo was unable to look away from his son, from the way he relaxed while playing, for the way you clearly helped him to gain the confidence to do this little performance.

He looked up at you as you two shared that look of complicity.

Life was bright over Kreizler’s household. 

Tagged @cazzyimagines​ @lieutenantn​ @handmaiden-of-mischief​ @thesunflowersutra​ @zemomybeloved​​ @fictionlandslanddreams​ @charistory​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @apparrio​ @hb8301​ @whatawildone​ @rhymerhymerhyme

Let me know if you want to get tagged too <3

[the-slasher-files]

Affection

INCLUDES MICHAEL 

I have gotten a few different requests for a softer more affectionate side of Michael so I decided to put them together and create this, a longer (almost 2k words) descriptive drabble about showering with Michael. All this talk about getting Michael to shower and what his hygiene is like had me thinking lol... Now this is deeply inspired by @slasherholic and their writing style, of course I made it my own but it is defiantly a nod to them :) Thank you for your asks and requests!.. hope you enjoy 🔪💕

MASTERLIST

There was a sting on your cool soft skin as you stepped into the blazing stream, raining down from the old head above. Through gritted teeth you bared your head back allowing the water to soak you, down your hair, trailing every muscle in your shoulders and back. Burning your flesh with a pleasent tingle from the contrast of temperatures as you had just been outside on a walk, the autumn wind was sharp kissing your face and seeping into your bones. Closing your eyes you calmed completely around the hot water, tension ebbed from your muscles and your jaw; it had been a long day, and you could not have needed this more. 

Steam flowed off your skin and out the top of the curtain like soft clouds, painting the mirror and sweating on the tiles, finally reaching the cracked door and seemingly disappearing into the night. Soft hands ran through your hair pushing away the water along the edges of your face, pooling beneath your feet and draining with quiet gurgles. 

The placid air had suddenly changed as you heard the shower curtain pull along the metal rod, screeching at the force; you did not open your eyes for you knew exactly who it was. The smell of iron, rich dirt and a firm musk coating the air, almost battling with the steam and the fresh smells of your body wash. The curtain superseded it’s own path with the same screech and crinkles, a large, mysterious presence appeared in front of you, out of the steam that seemed to billow around him. 

Opening your eyes you met his; one brown, dark and deep with a slight hint of yellow around the iris, outlined like black ink. The other scarred; a dull shade you could never decide if it was more blue or more grey, it reminded you of a thunderstorm approaching, devouring any bright sky and coating the blue in dark streaks and shadows, while his scar was in the shape of a catastrophic bolt of lighting, forking and brutally tearing through the iris; Much like the shape, a force of nature, leaving destruction in it’s wake.

Michael just watched you with a look you could never place, and sometimes you just didn’t want to know what that look meant, it was a mystery, like him; never solvable, never predictable, dangerous, and so beautiful in the hidden detail all at once. Loving this gaze was a curse and a privilege. You were one of the only people who ever got to meet these forceful eyes, see the detail in them and live. Perhaps that was his affection. 

He stood in front of you naked, watching the water run in a thousand streams down your features. Drippling down the ends of your hair into your rosy nipples, cascading down your stomach breaking into different paths; some glistening your sex while others flowed down your legs, meeting every tendon and mark your lover had made. Your eyes watched his as they surveyed the trails of wetness blanketing your smooth skin, it was like he was almost trying to remember where the water flowed and broke away, almost envious of the streams that got to touch you with such care and tenderness. Michael could never do the same. You both knew that, and you had accepted that long ago.

Towering above you he took an easy step forward, making you step back a little allowing him to have some heat from the water as well. Michael’s deep rich curls were now painted black, sticking to his forehead tracing the scars he wore, and now settling easy on his muscular neck. His eyes closed for a moment as you wondered if he had felt just the same soft pleasure of stepping into the torrid flow. The steam had started to make piece with the man and it swelled off his broad toned shoulders like a smoke stack into the cool air.

Michael's angular jaw eased and his shoulders fell ever so slightly; to the normal person they would never notice such subtleties, but you had become trained to watch for the smallest give aways in his body. It was the only indicators he would give you; dropped shoulder were relaxed and he was comfortable, hardened eyes and a slight twitch in his wrist meant nothing good, but over time you became aware. Sometimes too aware, but you had been molded to his liking. This is what he wanted, this was his artistry, a slight fear constantly in your heart right behind the muscle. This was loving Michael and you accepted it through and through.

The vail of his baroness and tension billowed away with the steam, he was at ease, and he allowed you to see this. Perhaps the shape genuinely trusted you, or maybe it was just him knowing you could never do serious damage to his imposing body. Michael was like a brick wall and no matter how many nights you wailed on him or tried to hurt him blood was never drawn, just your own.

Small hands slowly fell upon his shoulders, every movement he watched carefully, but there was not the usual harness to his stoney eyes. Creeping your fingers into his drenched locks, slow circles and light pressure along the top of his neck made him melt inside; and there it was, the trust, he had closed his eyes accepting the pleasure. Feeling the tough muscles under your fingers ease, you moved your hands along the tendons in his thick neck, watching the water flow along your hands and down into the slight dip of his collar bone, then continued to his broad expansive chest where you settled your hands among the pinkish raised scars from bullets and blades. They looked so small compared to him, lifting effortlessly as the muscles rose and fell with each soft breath. You couldn't help but find a trance in the way the water swept down him as well, each trail seemed more interesting than the last. Michael allowed you to look at his details and touch where you wanted, from his smooth chest to the dips in his abs, and the v in his obliques, washing the water with a slight hue of pink from his last kills. This was more than a privilege at this point, you took extreme pride in these extraordinarily rare moments he allowed. You were the only one who could ever touch the shape the way you did, the way he let you. This is how he made you feel good, this was his love.

Was this all a trick? A sick game he liked to play? Toying with you like a lion would before the kill?

Looking up at the towering figure locking eyes, his hands meticulously found home on your waist and slowly he leaned down, blocking the water from you and he met his lips with yours. Michael had kissed you, tenderly, softly. A foreign place he tried desperately to be comfortable in. You moved your lips cautiously with his, waiting for the large forceful hand to grab your neck, or to be pushed against the freezing tiles with blood running down your skull. Your eyes opened trying to see what he was planning but his eyes were closed, and his brow was furrowed seeking the love he knew he couldn't produce.

Blood ran cold in your veins as he pulled away, eyeing you up with a strange softness you never thought was possible. The kiss left you breathless, and your mouth was slightly agape as he took one of his large hands placing it under your jaw, cupping your chin and running a thick thumb along your sweet lips. Carefully you placed your shaky hands on either side of his sharp jaw, holding him as he let his head slack slightly and rest tenderly. It dawned on you that you were practically holding a predator in your hands, the claws were hidden but always still beneath the surface, your heart raced at the thought and you tried to slow your breath as much as you could, not wanting to start the predators chase. In this moment you saw a glint of what looked like pain in Michael’s eyes, if he was even capable of feeling such an emotion, he knew what you thought of him. Tonight all he wanted was to feel like a normal man, he wanted to give you his affection and nothing more, but the task was nearing impossible for him.

Michael started to run his massive hands around even inch of you, gingerly drawing shapes into and around your chest, rough fingers dipped between your breasts and following the water, luring him downward along your stomach, tracing every mark he made on you; from the bruises on your hips to the bites on your thighs, to the long jagged scar he had made on your stomach where his beloved blade sank a little too far into the skin. You were his and that much was clear. 

The shape allowed you to pull his face closer to yours as you placed another kiss to his chapped lips, taking it in more and trusting him with you enough to give into the rare pleasure of the gentleness. Your body so starved of it that when the opportunity presented itself you hesitated deeply. Michael had taught you that a person could be deprived of such needs for a long time and when he gave it to you, you put it in question.

Was it all you ever thought you needed? Was it just an illusion your head fueled? 

Stained crimson fingers that seemed to never be fully clean moved to the back of neck, fingers circling and moving slowly into your hair, Michael mirrored your movements that had put him at ease some minutes ago. His rosy lips left yours and trailed along your jaw, down your neck pausing to feel your pulse, and nipping at the tender flesh of your collar bone, pulling drawn out moans of pleasure you delicately webbed your fingers into his hair. Every touch, lick and nip put you into a blissful haze, forgetting where you were and blocking out the sound of the water spitting and gurgling, Michael was the only thing that mattered in this moment, and the world was lost. 

His wandering hands had now moved to your hips again, his lips were gone and Michael had you turn around, not to look at him any longer, just hot rhythmic breathing leaving your skin numb. Slowly his gentleness was failing him, urges and twisted thoughts were beginning to hound him like a pack of coyotes howling from the ridgeline hidden in the shadows. Your euphoria coating too thickly to see this, you just stood in the current, eyes closed and body relaxed, there were a few more strokes of your back muscles and stolen kisses to your neck before he was gone.  

Michael had left silently like the shape he was. Gone into the night that called him. Where he belonged. Free. A tortuous beauty that made you ache. The rare moment of affection was gone, burned away by the steam and lost hopes. Michael was just a force, a shadow that could and will never be tamed. Haunting people and leaving destruction behind. Just like his knife the pain you felt of his absence was sharp and cold amongst the scolding flow.

This was loving him. This was his affection.  

[moonshine-dan]

Quick Bite (p.1)

Osamu x GN! Reader, 2.5 K

Warnings: Odaxelagnia (biting kink), explicit sexual situations, swearing

Kinks: Biting, dry humping/thigh riding, coming untouched, handjobs, praise

Synopsis: 100% Smut. You tell Osamu you have a certain kink. He explores it with you.

The way I'm such a whore for this man now 😔 @crocyoota i blame you for making me a full time Osamu simp. Also thanks for beta-ing exactly one line of this lmao

Osamu's mouth closed over the pulse point at the base of your neck. Softly, he mouthed the skin there, warm lips feathering over your taut muscles stretched in anticipation of his next move.

He had you in his lap, palms smoothing circles along the outside of your hips and sweeping up to clutch your ass. Long fingers pressed softly into you, pressing tiny patterns into your flesh. He mouthed your neck tenderly, traveling languidly up your throat, dragging his soft lips along your jugular before arriving just below your jaw. Another soft kiss there, just a touch more intent than before. You shivered, hands roaming his chest and winding into his hair.

He was teasing you, intentionally or not. Your early morning makeout session before you both had to work usually involved more tongue than this, but you had recently told him about how sensitive your neck was and how you wanted him to try marking you sometime. Of course he was going to take his time and work you out, to memorize what made you moan the most so he could do it better next time. He never half-assed anything, but fuck if you didn't want him to go faster.

Osamu is oblivious to your desires. He continues to graze his lips down the opposite side of your neck, starting again as he reaches your collarbone. He was pressing just a touch harder now, contact a little rougher as he mouthed your throat. You shift slightly, your pulse jumping as he finally introduced his tongue. He lapped at your clavicle, licking his way back up yet again to meet your jaw. ah. You can't help but sigh and tug at his roots as the muscle traces a path below your ear, the spit cooling and making your skin impossibly more sensitive.

He stays there, pressing light kisses to the tender skin and tracing shapes with his tongue. You're tingling, already a little lightheaded from all the light touches. He brands another shape to your skin. A triangle? He's made that shape a few times, but now he's adding…. No. He's drawing a tiny Onigiri on you with his tongue, the pattern unmistakable. You drop your hands from his hair and start to say something, but Osamu was waiting for you to figure it out- he was ready, cutting you off by mouthing the same spot and sucking.

And oh, how you had been wanting this.

A pleasant buzz is building in the base of your skull. When Osamu sucks down, lips working into your neck, it builds a little more, fuzzes the edge of your vision and radiates down to your fingers. You flick them idly, remembering belatedly that you had a perfectly hot boyfriend to be groping. Sliding under his arms, you reach his back and massage the muscles there with your fingertips. His skin is golden under yours, hot and receptive to your touch. 'Samu grunts in appreciation at the attention, the vibrations adding to the suction he's applying to your neck. ghh.

He continues, mouth open and tongue flicking as he slides over your throat to catch up on the other side of your neck.

You push into his lap further unconsciously. Heavy hands on your hips stabilize you, one leaving to snake up your spine and grab at the hair at the back of your head. He grips sturdily and eases your head to the side for easier access to your neck. The buzzing in your skull gets louder still.

You're rocking slightly now, thighs flexing as you ache for something more. The hand on your waist grips tighter, trying to still you as Osamu worked his lips over a spot he had bullied before, suctioning up and scraping his teeth over the heated skin. "Hahh… Osamu..." You groan into your shoulder, his mouth pressing into the skin he had just abused, pulling it right back into his mouth with an obscenely wet sound.

The necking has all your blood rushing straight south, emptying your brain of any thoughts besides rutting into him. Everything he does, the way his tongue teased your sensitive skin, to the bruising pressure of his lips that brought the wet heat of his mouth to you: all of it drives you out of control.

He released his lips with a wet pop! and sighs lightly, the cool breath flowing over the heat from your overworked neck causing you to jerk into his lap further. You feel the rumble of his chest before his deep baritone reaches your ears-

“Quit squirmin’.”

He finishes his command by leaning in and biting down on the bruising skin he had just pulled away from.

The moan shocks one of you more than the other. The bite has the opposite effect Osamu wanted, sending you rocking further into his lap. Your hips cant up, mouth slack and eyes half-lidded, pulse throbbing where his teeth had made light intentions in your skin. You know what? Fuck it. You had time before work, and Osamu clearly underestimated how into this you’d be. You grind down onto him again, angling for his half-erect cock.

"Please, Osamu," you pant out, practically begging, "do that again."

You can feel his dick twitch in interest at your words. His grip on your ass becomes bruising as his fingers knead into you intently. He leads your head up to meet his, observing the way your face flushed darker, pupils blown so wide you could barely see the iris.

"You're really into this, huh."

He was nosing into your neck, breath ghosting over the fresh bite and driving you crazy. Yes. Was your request not enough? You hoped he wouldn't make you actually beg. The hand on your ass squeezes, making you squeak. It quickly changes to a moan as he bites again at the thin skin below your ear.

"I'm kinda startin' to see the appeal m'self…"

He shifts minutely. From below, you feel his erection, solid. Throbbing. Fuck, finally. You grind into his length and finally hear him groan. The sound makes you push down harder, eager to hear what other sounds you could pull from your boyfriend.

You snap your hands to his waist, bracing yourself as you fling a leg over his thigh to push your own into his cock. Osamu's grinding into you eagerly now, groaning, friction mutually given between you both. His hands find your sides and he splays his fingers, rubbing lines up the planes of your ribcage. Every tense of muscle creates a delicious pressure that's building in your core alongside the buzz in your skull.

He slides his hands over your chest, cupping you with both hands and squeezing before joining with his mouth, kissing your sternum. He brings one of your arms to his mouth, kissing the underside of your wrist tenderly. His teeth press in lightly as he swipes his tongue over the tendons. Your pulse thrums, electric.

The tension in the air changes subtly, stilling you for a moment. Osamu peers up at you with a discerning gaze. You met his eyes, mildly concerned at the sudden shift in mood. What was he looking for?

"You're so sweet, darlin'. So sweet to me. Think I'm gonna call you melonpan from now on."

His eyes are teasing. Your ears are burning. This asshole did not just call you fucking melonpan.

He catches your eyes and wrinkles his brow, cheeky grin splitting his face as he took your expression in. He just wanted to see you blush. fucker, you think, cheeks flaming. It worked.

His eyes sharpen with a predatory look.

"I wasn't a hundred percent honest, babe. I'm sorry. It's actually because I wanna sink my teeth into you."

True to his words, he bites into your neck, targeting the hickey that was developing.

Oh. Oh. Maybe the nickname was ok, actually.

Your breath and your thoughts quickly leave you. It's impossible to talk, to even think, mind too focused on the sensation of Osamu sucking the bruising bite on your neck.

This is what you had wanted, but you hadn't expected it to feel quite this… debilitating. The pleasure crossed with the pain in a way you could only describe as delicious, your nerves alright with conflicting signals. Your brain, quite literally, did not know how to process it. The result was the ever-encompassing buzz that was spreading from your skull to the rest of your body.

Ghhh, is what you manage to verbalize.

Osamu hasn't stopped, teeth finding old marks to push into, sucking and rolling the skin and muscle of your neck to the point of bruising. He brands new ones where he hasn't, leaving a patchwork pattern of hickies like a collar for anyone to see.

His tongue swipes along your heated skin, the wet heat soothing where he had previously teased. He grinds into your shaking leg, precome smoothing the friction as he ruts into your thigh. You're shaking, and he knows you're close, even without his hands or his cock. To see you coming undone with nothing but his mouth and his thigh? christ. Osamu's head isn't as big as his brother's, but it's almost enough to make him cum right there.

He's eager to see what pushes you over the edge.

"You're doing so good, baby, fuck," Osamu says into your neck, sucking loudly at the skin. "So fucking sweet, baby….. skin's so fucking sweet….." he bites down, hard, at the base of your neck and feels how your body freezes, every muscle tightening, tremulous. He chews, rolling the muscle under the skin as you cry out his name.

"hah, god, Osamu….!"

Your vision blurs, whitening around the edge. Your body is locking and you suck in a deep breath involuntarily. Is this a stroke? Are you dying? You've never felt this kind of brain failure during sex before. Oh my god, oh my god, fuck…!

Your release hits like lightning straight to your core. Your abdominals tightened, the buzzing in your skull intensifying and pulsing as it races through you. You arch backwards, tensing, eyes rolled back and grinding against his thigh. You shake as the sensation passes through you like an electric current, your body locking up in tension and pleasure simultaneously. Holy shit. Coming has never felt quite like this before, numbing you just as much as it brought you to ecstasy. You can't hear anything but the blood rushing in your ears as your muscles throb, your whole body tightening and relaxing, leaving your muscles burning deliciously as the buzzing finally begins to fade.

Your forehead thunks against his shoulder as you go boneless in his arms. Distantly, you think your legs are shaking.

Holy shit.

He didn't even touch you.

You need a minute to catch your breath.

Before you can though, Osamu is pushing you backwards. You hit the covers with a muffled thwump and he’s above you before you can blink, leaning into your space on his left arm as the other reaches down to stroke his cock.

"Y’can’t just give me a show like that, baby, what'd I do to deserve it?"

He drops his head to your chest and licks along your clavicle before drifting lower and sucking a hickey onto your chest. His right hand speeds up, pumping faster as he marks your chest again and again. His mouth finds a nipple and rolls it with his mouth, scraping it roughly with his teeth and sucking hard, making you jerk up from the bed slightly. It's almost too much, creeping up fast on overstimulation, but you focus. You still haven't gotten your mind one hundred percent back online from your previous climax, but you manage to reach down to cup his balls and tug gently.

Osamu's head lolls to the side and he groans. This close, you can see the sweat beading at his temples. Squeezing lightly and rolling your palm, you tug again, tapping your fingers lightly across the back. His hips snap forward fervently, your touch finally pushing him over the edge. "Comin'...!"

His words cut off into a low groan as he comes undone above you, hips stuttering, fucking into his fist. Osamu angles his cock down at you as he climaxes, hot ropes of his cum painting your stomach white. You dimly think that he's now marked you two entirely different ways.

A hand at your cheek makes you look back up. Osamu's looking at you with an emotion in his eyes that defies description. He leans down to catch your lips in a chaste kiss, thumb swiping up to catch the tear handing onto your cheek. Huh. You hadn't even realized you'd been crying. The hand retracts, and Osamu pulls away and drops to the bed.

He has enough of a mind not to flop down into the mess he just made, instead falling to your side with a sigh, eyes shut and thoroughly blissed out. He squirms until hes slotted next to you, one arm thrown across your chest. His breath puffs into your hair and tickles your ear. Your eyes slip shut as well.

...

You're content to lay there for hours, but the cooling jizz on your abdomen eventually incentivises you to get up. You untangle yourself from Osamu and push to the edge of the bed. Looking for all the world like a newborn deer, you wobble on unsteady legs to the bathroom in search of a warm washcloth.

Osamu's peace is short lived, eyes flying open at your shout:

"Fucks sake, Osamu! We have to open in an hour! How am I gonna work front of house looking like this?" You emerge from the bathroom, now clean of cum but covered in bruises of varying darkness from the neck down.

He blinks owlishly before shuttering his eyes and smirking.

"You literally asked me to do that, baby. Said 'please' an' everything."

You have no response. He's completely right, and that only makes you angrier. You toss the washcloth at his dick and tell him to get cleaned up.

…

You both make it to Onigiri Miya with minimal issues after that. Unfortunately for you, the summer heat prevented you from wearing anything that could come close to covering up the hickies above your collar. And when more socially oblivious customers would ask what happened to you, your response was to point a finger at an unusually smug-looking Osamu.

"Ask him."

Fortunately for everyone, none of them felt the need to actually ask him.

You were gonna get his ass back so bad.

[honeytae]

could i request something fluffy with joon like an ice cream date and when the reader orders mint chocolate chip namjoon just doesnt shut up about it lol

Are you telling me I have to choose between you and mint choco?

okay so i absolutely loved this idea lmao. i’m sorry it took a while for me to get this posted, but i really hope you like this, anon!! here we have a grumpy tired joon in the studio so the reader takes him out for a little break and..you know the rest :) thank you for sending me this adorable scenario <3

tags: @ahgasearmyfan, @hoseokayy

genre: fluff

word count: 2.1k

“Ugh, no.”

At Namjoon’s sudden groan, you glanced over from the opposite side of the studio as he tapped the pad of his pointer finger around the mouse, rapidly moving things around on the monitor in front of him.

Frowning, you placed your phone down onto the coffee table, pushing yourself off the loveseat you’d been reclining on to investigate.

Fingers plucking at your shirt to readjust it from where it had shifted around in your position, you walked across the room to where the man sat, sneaking up behind him to drape your arms over his shoulders.

“What’s going on?” You asked as you folded your fingers over his arm, appendages soothingly rubbing at his bicep as he let out a deep sigh.

You felt Namjoon’s shoulders ease even just the slightest at your touch, tension draining from the muscles as you set your chin atop his head to peer at his computer screen.

“I just don’t know why I can’t make this chorus work.” He sighed, and your heart twisted at his saddened tone.

He sounded genuinely disappointed in himself, something you despised and wanted to wash away immediately.

“You’ll make it work, Joonie. I know you will.” You pressed a kiss to the side of his head, the man letting out another breath as he dejectedly sunk back into his mesh chair.

Feeling the need to step in, you guided his hands off the desk and away from the monitor, smoothing over his long appendages with tender circles of your own.

“I think you need a little break.” You proposed, the man grunting a bit in protest before huffing a breath out past his lips, letting you rub at his stiffened shoulder with a stretch of his neck to give you easier access to the sore spot.

“Hey,” you spoke softly, “you deserve a break. You up for a drive?” You offered, the man shaking his head, palm placing itself onto the back of your hand as he soothed his fingers over your skin graciously.

“I’d love to babe, but I can’t.” He frowned, an expression visible to you by the reflection of his face in the fading computer screen in front of him.

“How about a walk?” You offered, adding when you sensed his hesitation, “Just fifteen minutes?”

You could see him internally debating his options before he seemed to pull the plug, nodding slowly before he began inching his chair back from the desk.

Cheering internally, you walked over to grab his coat from where he’d slung it over the back of the couch upon his arrival hours ago, offering it to him with a smile as he thanked you.

While it always took a bit of persuasion to get Namjoon out during his funks, you had learned over your time with him that he would eventually cave; although a bit stubborn, deep down he knew he needed a break from continuously racking his brain for all the right words.

And it always helped; a little bit of fresh air and non-work related conversation went a long way, his head typically clearing up within a half hour so that he could head back to his desk with fresh ideas.

“Oh, it stopped raining.”

Those were the first words out of his mouth as you both exited the building, peering up at the hazy clouds, eyes squinted at the sun appearing from behind them.

“Did that ruin your romantic fantasy of kissing me in the rain?” You flirted, alluding to the slightly disappointed tone in his voice, the man biting down on his bottom lip to contain his shy smile before he shook his head, turning toward you to pull you into his chest.

“I don’t need rain to kiss you.” He laughed, cradling your jaw in his palm as he brought his lips down to yours, tilting his head to deepen the action only slightly before pulling back with a dimpled grin.

“Romantic enough for you?” He raised his eyebrows, quiet laugh escaping his mouth when you only pulled him back for more.

Leaving chaste kisses on your bottom and top lip, butterflies erupted in your chest when he slid his palm against yours, locking his fingers around your hand as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“Yeah.” You exhaled, Namjoon chuckling quietly at your sudden flustered demeanor, smiling fondly as he watched you try to regain control of yourself with a clearing of your throat, nodding your head toward the direction of the sidewalk as you gently tugged him along beside you.

You easily recovered from the moment of weakness, confidently leading him down the street with soft hums escaping your throat as his fingers gripped yours.

He couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face when he noticed the tune of what you were singing; it was the song he’d been working on all day, bits and pieces most likely leaking out of his headphones as he worked only a few feet from you.

Smiling down at your joint hands swinging between your bodies, the sounds surrounding you completely disappeared, only your boyfriend’s soft yet sturdy hold on your appendages registering in your brain. It was just so him.

“Is that an ice cream booth?” He suddenly asked, squinting at a small sign in the distance as you lifted your head, effectively snapped out of your daze as you giggled at him.

Pulling Namjoon by his hand, you took initiative and led the way to the little ice cream shop, the man clumsily stumbling after you with a wide grin.

Wrapping an arm around your waist as you paused to stand in the back of the line, Namjoon set his chin on your head, swaying you side to side absentmindedly as his eyes scanned the list of flavors available.

“What are you getting, babe?” He asked, you humming in response with a slight shrug.

“I’m not sure yet. What are you getting?” You set your head down onto his shoulder to peer up at his face, eyes tracing his features as he blinked at the blackboard menu straight ahead of him.

“Rocky road, I think.” He answered, seemingly debating it in his head for a moment before nodding to himself, satisfied with his decision as he stepped forward to bring you both to the front of the line.

“Good afternoon, what can I get for you guys today?” The man in the vendor smiled, Namjoon giving his order with a polite nod before the man turned his attention to you.

“And what can I get for you?” He smiled kindly, causing you to step forward a bit to see the choices.

“Um,” you squinted at the menu, looking back at the man with a small grin, “mint choco, please.”

Shifting your gaze back to your boyfriend, you couldn’t help but laugh out loud at his expression, eyes widened and mouth agape in shock.

You had heard him debating his friends on mint chocolate before, expressing his open hatred for the flavor with a passion. And you’d always managed to keep quiet, only sitting back and listening with an amused smile on your face as they bantered back and forth about the topic.

But how could you not take the opportunity to mess with him when it was presented in scribbled green chalk right in front of you?

After all, you never saw a problem with mint chocolate anything. And the look on his face was fucking priceless.

The man continued staring at you in disbelief as you doubled over in front of him, clutching your sides as you wheezed at his face of genuine betrayal at the mere thought of you ordering his least favorite ice cream flavor.

“Wha- how could you?” He asked, smile lifting his lips a tad as you broke out in more giggles at his question.

“It’s good, baby.” You finally caught your breath enough to say, defending your choice as the man shot you another look of disapproval, his eyes widening further at your words.

“It’s good? It’s practically toothpaste!” He said, exasperated as he watched the man come back up to the counter with a rocky road cone in one hand, a green mint chocolate chip one in the other.

Thanking him, you took both of them in your hands, handing your boyfriend’s order over to him with a sly grin.

Walking out of the shop, you nearly snorted at the look on Namjoon’s face as you raised the cone to your mouth, his grimace evitable even from the obscured sight of him from the corner of your eye.

“Mm,” you hummed upon the ice cream meeting your tastebuds, Namjoon rolling his eyes at your exaggerated reaction with a sigh as he paused his steps and lowered himself down onto the bench beside the sidewalk.

“I cannot believe you dragged me out of the studio just to betray me like this.” He sighed, making you laugh again as you settled down beside him, easily melting into his embrace when his arm habitually fell around your shoulders.

“You like me.” You poked and prodded at his chest with your pointer finger along with the childish words, watching your boyfriend’s lips twitch a bit before he regained composure.

“I don’t know, babe. This might be a dealbreaker.” He teased, you humming in response as you licked at the pastel green ice cream once again, Namjoon pulling a scowl as he watched.

“Are you telling me I have to choose between you and mint choco?” You asked after swallowing the sweet cream, chewing on the small chocolate chip left on your tongue.

“I’m telling you that I’m very content in my rocky road bubble over here.” He smirked, raising his chocolate cone in front of his face for emphasis before glancing down at you.

“Good for you. I’m very content in my mint choco bubble, so take that.” You shot back, an amused grin on Namjoon’s face at the banter before he shook his head.

“I cannot believe you’re on that side of this argument.” He sighed, eyebrows pulled together as he watched your tongue swipe at the scoop of ice cream yet again.

“I like being on my side, personally.” You sassily shrugged a shoulder, smirking as your boyfriend scoffed at your smugness.

“The wrong side.” He muttered under his breath, chuckling when you jokingly widened your eyes at him. His dark eyes held contact with your own as a smile slowly filled his cheeks, causing your expression to do the same at the infectious dimples appearing by his mouth.

Squinting at him, you tried to place the source of his sudden change in demeanor, wiping at your lips with the back of your hand for any misplaced chocolate before pulling it away from your face to inspect your skin, clean of any chocolate chip remnants.

“What?” You questioned him, the man chuckling a breath out through his nose as he swept a piece of hair that had been moved out of place by the wind back behind your ear.

“I just can’t believe your one flaw is liking mint choco.” He responded to your confusion, smile widening when you laughed at his words.

“Yeah, and yours is being a mint choco hater.” You joked, your shoe scuffing against the cement as you kicked your foot out in front of you.

He chuckled in response, bringing the softening ice cream cone back up to his mouth again. When he pulled it away, you noticed a dark spot of chocolate gathered at the corner of his lip.

Giggling slightly at the sight, you brought your thumb up to swipe at his skin, the man’s eyes locking with your own as your hand fell back to your lap. The world around you seemed to fade away completely as you began leaning into each other, you throwing caution to the wind by pulling him in by the chin to meet his lips.

It didn’t seem to matter that your mouth definitely tasted like the mint chocolate ice cream you’d been licking at only moments before, Namjoon’s tongue swiping across your bottom lip as if you didn’t taste like something he wholeheartedly despised - or at least claimed to.

You smirked against him as his hand came up to secure the back of your head so that you couldn’t pull away, deepening the kiss with a push of his tongue into your mouth, pulling back to grin at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I thought mint choco was a dealbreaker, Joonie.” You said, tone smug as you watched the man lift his own ice cream cone to his mouth, effectively hiding his shy grin as he tongued at the chocolate swirls.

“For you, I may be willing to see past it.”

[rafael-silva]

for your arms are my lifeline: a tarlos fic

Where Carlos and TK are looking forward to their first lunch at Andrea and Gabriel’s place, TK a little nervous but both of them excited. The day, however, is quickly turned upside down when Carlos starts showing symptoms of an allergic reaction he didn’t have before.

for bad things happen bingo: tarlos + hurts to breathe

hurt carlos reyes, worried tk strand, paramedic tk, hurt/comfort, emotional/hurt comfort, kisses, whump, comfort

6.9k | rated T | on ao3

(inspired by maddie’s pink skies will keep me warm)

*****

“Ready?” Carlos asks over his shoulder, standing by the front door and slipping his wallet into a back pocket of his jeans.

“Be right there!” He hears TK yelling from their bedroom upstairs.

Carlos hears shuffling moments later, followed by TK appearing on the top of the staircase and rapid footsteps thumping to the bottom.

“Easy, babe, we’re in no immediate rush,” Carlos lightly chuckles, directing his comment at the fact that TK took two steps at a time coming down.

“Just don’t want to be late to your parents’,” TK replies.

Carlos shakes his head. “We’re ahead of time. But what would really make us late is if you took a tumble down those stairs and we’d have to visit the ER,” he teases.

TK playfully rolls his eyes at Carlos. He knows he’s right, though, that if anyone can get hurt walking or, in this case, leaping down a staircase, it’s him.

And Carlos knows all-too well just how strong of a danger magnet his boyfriend is.

“I think we’ll even be a little early,” the officer continues.

TK unconsciously looks himself up and down, and Carlos knows he was doing the exact thing upstairs in front of the mirror a minute ago.

“Hey,” Carlos says softly, placing both hands on TK’s shoulder and following his gaze so TK looks into his mesmerizing brown eyes. “You look amazing. I’m positive my mother is going to compliment you on your outfit.”

TK shrugs, shoving his hands into his front jeans pockets. “I’m just nervous, I guess. It’s the first time we’re going over to their place and I want it to be perfect.”

“It will be,” Carlos promises. “I know they’re very excited to have us over.”

TK visibly relaxes and some of the tension seeps out of his shoulders.

Carlos moves closer to TK and closes the distance between them with a soft kiss to his lips.

TK smiles against Carlos’s kiss, returning it.

“Come on,” Carlos says when they separate, grabbing the container filled with chocolate chip cookies that they had baked for Andrea and Gabriel.

TK is on his heels, fetching the bouquet of a collection of beautiful flowers he bought for Andrea as they both step out of their home.

TK feels the nerves start to brew again the closer they get to their destination. He tries to swallow it down, but unconsciously starts bouncing his leg up and down while staring out of the window, watching as the crowded heart of Austin disappears in the rearview mirror, gradually replaced with wide, open fields.

Carlos notices and he reaches for TK’s hand with his right one, eyes fixed on the road and gives him a supportive squeeze.

“It’s going to be great,” Carlos reassures him.

TK spots the beautiful house from down the street as Carlos slows down the Camaro. He’s immediately engulfed with warmth as he steps out once the car is parked, and there’s so much history and so many memories engraved in the wood of this house, TK can tell, and it takes his breath away.

They walk side by side until they reach the front steps, and TK can practically feel Carlos buzzing with excitement and joy next to him.

The steps leading to the front door are decorated with flowers and he easily spots the porch swing sitting in the corner of the porch, no doubt carrying many stories.

Carlos watches with a smile as TK admires the entrance before turning to face him.

“Carlos, it’s absolutely beautiful,” TK awes.

Carlos nods, memories of his own rushing through his head.

The door is flung open moments later, revealing a very happy looking Andrea Reyes, her eyes immediately landing on Carlos and TK.

“Hola, boys,” she starts. “Mira, you both look so handsome.” And then to Carlos, “you could have rung the doorbell, you know.”

Carlos chuckles, nodding. “I was about to, TK was just admiring the porch and entrance.”

“It’s really beautiful, Mrs. Reyes,” TK smiles, his nerves slightly visible on his features. “And these are for you.” He holds out the pretty bouquet.

“Oh, TK,” Andrea says softly. “Thank you.” She accepts the flowers and pulls TK into a tender hug. “For both the compliment and the flowers. They’re beautiful. And I know just which vase to use.”

“Of course, it’s the least I could do,” TK replies, returning the hug.

Andrea looks at her son once she and TK separate. “Carlitos,” she beams, wrapping her arms around his muscular frame.

“Hi, Ma,” Carlos returns the hug with one arm, the other hand holding the container of cookies. “Thank you for having us.”

“We’re happy to have you,” Andrea responds and ushers them into the house. “Now, come on. Food is almost ready. I made some of your favorite dishes.”

TK is enveloped with more feelings of home once he steps into the house. It’s simple yet complex in different ways. The walls around hold various shelves, each covered in either family photos or neatly organized books. The house is so lived-in, and TK can feel the memories in the air, can feel the love this space holds. He can picture Carlos as a toddler, running around these very walls, laughter echoing through the house as his parents play with him. Or a young Carlos sitting on the dining table, working on a project with Andrea and Gabriel close as they watch him with pride. And even a family movie night, the Reyes’s watching a comedy together, laughing until their stomachs hurt and tears roll down their cheeks. Because in every way, this house feels like joy.

He follows Carlos and Andrea into the backyard, where he sees Gabriel get up from his seat to greet them.

“Hey, boys,” Gabriel smiles. “Carlitos,” Gabriel gives Carlos a hug.

“Hi, dad,” Carlos smiles back.

“Good to see you, TK,” Gabriel extends a hand to the paramedic once he and Carlos pull away.

“You, too, Mr. Reyes,” TK shakes the Ranger’s hand.

“Time to eat,” Andrea announces, returning with the flowers in a vase, which she places in the middle of the dining table.

Carlos immediately recognizes the vase as one he bought his mother as a birthday gift a couple of years ago and his smile widens.

“Let me help you,” TK says.

Andrea gives him an appreciative nod.

“And I’ll set the table,” Carlos adds and steps into the house after them, grabbing the placemats and cutlery from where they’ve always been.

TK reappears a few minutes later, holding a salad bowl and a large plate of tacos. Andrea joins them with a fish dish and bowl of tortilla chips.

“It smells and looks delicious, Mrs. Reyes,” TK smiles.

“TK, please, it’s Andrea,” she replies. “And I hope you enjoy the food.”

They all fall into easy conversation as they being serving their food and sitting around the table, Carlos and TK side by side across from Andrea and Gabriel. They catch up as Carlos and TK tell Andrea and Gabriel about their shifts and calls, moving back and forth between talking about their work and personal lives, which lead into other stories about childhoods and revivals of memories.

TK is telling them about a call the 126 got when Carlos starts zoning out of the conversation, feeling a little off about halfway into their meal.

It starts with a small cough, Carlos clearing his throat after a couple of times. But it leads to some more coughing.

“You okay, Carlitos?” Andrea asks, concerned.

Carlos nods. “I’m fine, I think a chip just got lodged in my throat.” He reaches for his water, taking a careful sip.

He draws in a deep breath, which only intensifies the coughing and TK watches him carefully, starting to get rigid and tense at the unexplained and sudden coughing fit which doesn’t seem to be easing and he can hear a light wheeze coming from Carlos. Something doesn’t seem right and he’s about to say something when the coughing finally subsides. TK holds back, but keeps an eye on Carlos during the remainder of their meal.

They soon start to clean up, TK about to help Andrea with returning the food to the kitchen when Carlos start coughing again. TK frowns, moving closer to his boyfriend.

“Carlos, what’s going on?”

And just like that, the atmosphere in the room turns heavy and tense.

“I’m okay, I’ll just step outside for some fresh air. It will pass,” Carlos decides and moves to the backyard, feeling TK and his parents’ gaze on him.

TK’s eyes remain on the door long after Carlos disappears on the other side, and he’s pulled back by Andrea’s voice.

“Lets pack the leftovers in boxes and we’ll check on Carlos. You boys can take some food home with you, too.”

They return to the living room just as the backyard door slides open and TK turns his attention to Carlos, who’s stepping back inside, looking shaky.

“Carlos?” TK calls out, frowning and instinctively starts to move towards his boyfriend.

The worried call of their son’s name pulls Andrea and Gabriel’s attention as they both turn to look at the two men.

“TK…”

“Hey, what’s wrong?” TK asks, getting closer.

Carlos shrugs. “Not sure, but something is not right.”

TK’s heart drops when Carlos sways to the side, knees and legs unbalanced and its thanks to TK’s quick reflexes that Carlos isn’t currently toppling to the ground.

“Whoa, hey, hey,” TK rushes to steady the taller man with a strong hold, his hands reaching out and latching onto Carlos’s shoulders. He feels Carlos grow even weaker in his grip and it’s up to TK to carry Carlos’s weight and help him over to the nearby couch.

Andrea and Gabriel, wearing identical looks of concern, are by their side now as TK gently lowers Carlos on the soft cushion and crouches in front of him.

“Hey, Carlos,” TK says, trying to keep his voice calm for Carlos’s sake but some of his own panic cracks through. “Talk to me, baby. What are you feeling?”

Carlos shakes his head, a hand going to clutch at his chest. “I…I can’t…chest is tight, hurts to breathe,” he wheezes out.

TK can see Andrea and Gabriel share a worried look from the corner of his eye but he keeps his attention on Carlos, going into first responder mode as the paramedic in him springs to life.

“Okay, okay,” TK nods, taking Carlos’s free hand that’s sitting in his lap and gives it a light squeeze. “I know it’s not easy but I need you to try and breathe slowly and evenly for me, okay?”

Carlos replies with a shaky nod.

“Okay, just breathe with me. You’re okay, I got you,” TK reassures Carlos.

Carlos keeps his eyes glued to TK’s, following the younger man’s instructions and letting him guide his breathing. The panic had started to subside a little, courtesy of TK’s presence and touch, but it still felt like a weight is crushing Carlos’s chest and lungs.

Once he thinks he can talk again, Carlos opens his mouth. “Chest…on fire,” he manages to say around a sniffle. “I feel sick.”

TK nods, gently taking Carlos’s face in his hands and tilting it upwards a little, his gut feeling confirmed when he registers Carlos’s red and watery eyes and now-flushed cheeks, as well as his slightly swollen face. After the quick survey of Carlos’s presenting symptoms, TK sighs.

“You’re having an allergic reaction,” TK states.

Carlos’s eyes go wide at that, the panic from earlier returning full force and starts stirring hotly in his gut, his stomach churning.

TK immediately picks up on that and is quick to reassure Carlos. “Hey, hey, Carlos, it’s okay. Stay with me. I need you to try to calm down. I know it’s scary but we can’t have you hyperventilate. Breathe. Slowly, in and out.”

TK breathes with Carlos for a few moments, and once satisfied that Carlos is okay, TK turns to his parents.

“Is there an epipen around?” He asks, grabbing his phone from the nearby dining table.

Andrea shakes her head. “No one in the family has allergies, that we know of.”

TK can sense the fear in her voice, knowing she’s staying calm for Carlos’s sake as well, and TK can see the fright in the way her eyes instantly go back to her son when she’s done answering, her eyebrows knitted together.

Gabriel wraps an arm around his wife’s shoulder, pulling her closer into his side and she goes easily, leaning into his touch and against his body.

TK knows he’s offering her, and himself, comfort, and TK can see his own feelings of helplessness and worry mirrored back at him through Carlos’s parents.

TK turns back to Carlos as he dials 911, putting it on speaker. “You’re okay, babe. I got you, we got you,” he hopes his voice is steadier than how it sounds to his own ears.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

TK could cry with relief at the familiar voice on the other side of the line. “Grace, it’s TK. Carlos is having an allergic reaction, unknown cause. We’re at his parents’ and there’s no epipen,” he explains, giving her the address next.

“I’m dispatching the nearest ambulance. It’s the 126, they’ll be there in three minutes,” Grace replies. “How’s Carlos doing?”

TK swallows against his dry throat before responding. “His breathing is slow and shallow and,” he places two fingers on Carlos’s neck, “his pulse is weaker than I like but he’s hanging in there.”

TK’s hand finds Carlos’s hand then and he gives it a reassuring squeeze.

Carlos feebly turns his head to the side as his mother moves closer to him. Andrea reaches out, placing a hand on the nape of Carlos’s neck and gently runs her palm up and down there. The movement helps comfort Carlos, just as it did when he was a little boy.

Carlos attempts to give his mother a calming smile, but it’s trembly and uneven. She smiles back and blinks, keeping her tears at bay.

Carlos then focuses on TK and tries to push aside the burning sensation in his chest. But it’s painful and he feels more dread build in his stomach. He can see TK’s lips moving but the words don’t quite reach his ears. Carlos feels like he’s in a haze, everything a blur around him and moving in slow motion.

“Focus on my voice, ‘Los,” TK’s words finally begin to filter through. “We’re all here, you’re okay. Help is almost here.”

The officer looks directly into TK’s eyes, ignoring the way his eyes itch and how he just wants to close them for a minute. He’s so tired, he’s exhausted really and he just wants to rest for a little bit.

“He’s starting to fade, Grace,” TK says, voice filled with terror.

The next thing Carlos hears is TK’s voice laced with panic and alarm, the paramedic not concealing it anymore.

“No, no, you have to stay awake, Carlos. Open your eyes for me,” TK pleads, his own eyes blown wide with worry.

His heart breaking at the fear and pain coating TK’s voice, and wanting to wash it away, Carlos fights through the fatigue and peels his eyelids open, finding TK’s concerned face amid the fog that is his vision.

“That’s it, stay with me,” TK visibly relaxes a notch and cups Carlos’s face, caressing his cheek with the pad of his thumb. It’s only then that TK realizes his hands are shaking.

Carlos leans into TK’s palm, the warmth and comfort grounding him, TK’s touch his lifeline.

The wailing of sirens fill the air a few moments later and TK is speaking to Grace again.

“They’re here, Grace.”

“Okay, go take care of your man. Let me know how he’s doing,” Grace replies.

“Thanks, Grace. I will.”

Carlos wasn’t even aware that Grace was still on the line as TK hangs up.

“I’ll go lead them inside,” Gabriel speaks up, and rushes to the front door.

The Texas Ranger returns less than a minute later, the paramedics right behind him, carrying their equipment. TK relaxes some more upon seeing his team arrive, getting up and standing next to the couch, still holding Carlos’s hand as Tommy and Nancy approach.

“Hey, guys,” Tommy gives them a small smile.

“Hey, Cap, Nancy.”

“Carlos, how are you doing?” Tommy asks in her calm tone, kneeling down where TK was moments ago.

“Okay,” Carlos croaks out.

Tommy gently pushes the stethoscope around Carlos’s chest, listening intently as Nancy starts taking his vitals.

TK shares a look with Andrea and Gabriel as Tommy and Nancy work in unison, their collective worry tangible and dominant in the air around them. Andrea’s arm snakes around her husband’s waist, seeking his comfort and TK knows she’s also giving Gabriel some of her own strength. He gives them a reassuring smile, strong and steady now, because it’s all going to be okay. His team is here now, taking care of Carlos. He’s going to be okay.

Gabriel understands, and gives TK a nod in response.

They turn their attentions back to Carlos and the paramedics when Nancy speaks, words directed to her Captain.

“His heart rate and respirations are low, Cap.”

Tommy nods, and accepts the epipen Nancy had ready.

TK finds himself smiling at watching his team work, they really all have become a well-oiled machine and they don’t need words to ask or to do anything, they’re all on the same page, the same line, always.

“Just a little pinch,” Tommy tells Carlos as she readiest the epipen and administers the medication.

The tension in the room starts evaporating when Carlos finally draws in a shaky, but full breath, and lets it out slowly. He coughs a couple of times, and TK places a hand on his back, rubbing his palm there in even circles to help ease the coughing fit.

“That’s it, baby,” TK speaks. “Take slow, deep breaths.”

When every breath Carlos lets out is followed by a series of coughs, Nancy moves to take his oxygen level.

“Oxygen level is a bit low, Cap.”

“Okay, let’s get you into the ambulance, Carlos,” Tommy decides.

Carlos turns to look at TK, his eyes wide and questioning.

“Just to give you some oxygen to get your level back to normal,” TK answers.

“I’ll go get everything ready,” Nancy says, grabbing the medkit and heads outside.

TK helps Carlos get up, and he and Gabriel support him as he walks on wobbly legs, slowly making their way to the rig.

A little dizzy and lightheaded with his legs feeling like jell-o, Carlos holds on as tightly as he can to his boyfriend and father, squinting his eyes at the harsh sunlight outside.

His eyes adapt by the time he’s being lowered to sit on the edge of the rig, Nancy already moving to place the oxygen mask over his face and he welcomes the fresh air being fed into his nose.

His muscles start to relax as he works on his even breathing, and TK sighs in relief. He can already see some of the redness has begun going away and the swelling has been reduced. He gives him a warm smile when Carlos looks at him.

“I don’t understand,” Andrea looks at TK. “Carlitos doesn’t have any allergies. He’d had this lunch so many times before. It’s been a while, though, so I thought it would be nice to make it for you both.”

TK nods. “Allergies are a mysterious thing. They can develop at any time, and even with foods that didn’t cause any before. It’s not unheard of. And it can happen during adulthood, too.”

“What did he eat?” Comes Tommy’s question.

“He had fish and chips and some black bean salad,” TK replies.

Tommy nods. “It’s probably the fish. It’s one of the most common allergies people have or develop.”

Carlos deflates a little at that, disappointment settling at the knowledge that he may not be able to have one of his favorite dishes anymore.

Andrea picks up on her son’s disapproval. “It’s okay, mijo. There’s plenty other dishes I’ll make for you and TK.”

Carlos gives her a small but grateful smile through the oxygen mask.

The mask stays on Carlos’s face for a few more minutes and then Nancy is taking his vitals again, smiling at the results.

“All good now,” she nods. “Everything is back to normal.”

TK steps forward, removing the oxygen mask and hands it back to Nancy. “How are you feeling, babe?”

“Much better,” Carlos replies.

“Good,” TK says before brushing a kiss to Carlos’s temple.

“Take it easy for the rest of the day, Carlos,” Tommy advises. “You might feel a little tired and worn out and that’s normal. Just rest.”

“We’ll take care of him and make sure he rests,” Gabriel reassures Tommy, looking more at ease.

“Thank you, Captain Vega, Nancy,” Carlos nods at the women.

“Glad you’re feeling better, man,” Nancy replies.

Gabriel helps Carlos back inside after saying their goodbyes while TK hangs back, Andrea staying with him, as Tommy and Nancy gather their equipment and drive off after another round of goodbyes and thank yous.

TK turns to head back inside when Andrea calling his name stops him. He turns to face her, and she’s looking at him with appreciation and approval.

“Thank you, for how you handled this whole thing,” Andrea clarifies. “You really did a great job keeping Carlitos calm and awake. He felt safe, and it’s all thanks to you.”

“Oh, that was nothing, Mrs. Reyes, I would do anything and everything I could to make sure he’s okay.”

“That was everything, TK,” Andrea corrects. “I know how scary that was, and I could see how it was affecting you but you pushed through that, you controlled that and you made sure Carlos was okay.”

TK drops his head, a hand going to scratch at the hair on the base of his head.

Andrea places a hand on TK’s shoulder. “Which brings me to my question, are you okay?”

TK hesitates for a moment, contemplating saying he’s fine but he knows Andrea will be able to see through it, the same way Carlos would.

TK sighs. “I’m a little shaken,” he raises his head and catches Andrea’s gaze. “It was scary, but I knew I had to put that fear aside, that it couldn’t cloud me and my abilities. I could help Carlos, I knew that beyond a doubt. I’m a paramedic, I know what to do in this situation, I’ve done it before, but it was a million times harder this time.”

“Because it was the man you’re in love with who was in danger,” Andrea adds.

TK nods.

“Just let me tell you this one thing.”

TK stays silent, watching Andrea.

“That fear, don’t push it aside anymore. Don’t bottle it up. The worst is over, Carlitos is fine. You can feel it now, don’t let yourself hold it back. And just as Carlos being in danger hurts, knowing he’s fine, seeing him and holding him will make it better. It will ease that pain and make the fear go away little by little.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Reyes,” TK gives Andrea a smile, knowing he’s right from his own experience.

Andrea returns it, giving TK’s shoulder a squeeze. “Come on now, let’s go back inside. Carlos will think we’re plotting something or another.”

TK chuckles and follows Andrea inside the house.

Carlos looks up from where he’s sitting on the couch, this time looking far more relaxed and not in pain. “Everything okay?” He asks with a small frown.

“Everything’s good,” TK replies, planting a kiss to Carlos’s forehead. “So glad you’re doing better, baby.”

“Thanks to you,” Carlos says, immediately gravitating towards his boyfriend once TK is sitting next to him.

“You know I’ll always do anything to make sure you’re okay,” TK intertwines their fingers together and rests their joined hands in his lap.

A wide smile spreads on Andrea’s face as she watches the heartwarming exchange between her boys, her heart swelling in her chest at the sight of Carlos resting his head on TK’s shoulder and TK gently running his thumb over Carlos’s knuckles.

It’s so simple yet so deep and those small gestures speak volumes she can hear. She feels their love, the comfort they give each other, and sees the way they’re tangled together and have become one.

And in her heart, Andrea knows her son has found his one in TK. And from what she’s witnessing, TK has found his one in Carlos, too.

She quietly ushers her husband into the kitchen, busying themselves there to give Carlos and TK some time to themselves.

They make their way into the backyard some time later, using their kitchen door so they wouldn’t disturb Carlos and TK. They could hear them chatting in low voices, Carlos’s tone still raspy and heavy but much better in comparison to an hour earlier.

They go quiet a little while later, and Andrea turns to see TK closing the sliding door a few minutes after.

“He fell asleep,” TK tells Andrea and Gabriel, who nod in response.

“Here, grab a seat, TK,” Gabriel points to the chair on Andrea’s side.

TK walks over and drops into it, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“Would you like some fresh lemonade?” Andrea asks.

“Oh, sure, that would be great,” TK smiles.

Andrea pours him a generous amount and then hands the cup over.

“Thank you, ma’am,” TK gratefully accepts it and takes a sip, relishing in the cool drink and the way it runs down his throat. “This is so good.”

Andrea chuckles. “Drink up. There’s plenty more in the kitchen. It’s kind of a signature drink around here. We always have lemonade.”

“We can have some cookies too when Carlos wakes up,” TK suggests.

“Of course,” Andrea nods.

They all settle in comfortable silence, sipping their lemonades as the sun begins to descend  above them, painting the sky in streaks of red, orange and yellow, all morphing together with each blink.

TK opens a recent text thread, sending a message to Grace updating her about Carlos before locking his phone and leaning back in his seat. He feels heavy, his body and muscles almost weighting him down and he tries to get more comfortable, tries to erase the discomfort in his chest by making sure his body is at ease. He knows Carlos is okay, but the attack earlier is still eating at him, and he’s worried. He supposes it’s going to take a few days for him to feel better about it, but in this moment, all he can feel and think about is the way Carlos had gotten weaker in his grip. How Carlos was slipping away from him, and the sheer helplessness that had washed over him as it happened. He knew he gave Carlos all he could, did all he could for him, but part of TK was terrified that it might not have been enough. And even now, being just mere feet away that TK would hear Carlos if he so much as stirs, is still too far for TK.

His leg starts bouncing, his nervous energy palpable in the way the bobbing increases and hands busying themselves with the cup in his grip.

Clearing his throat, he sets the cup down and gets to his feet. “I’ll be right back, I just need to check on Carlos.”

Andrea and Gabriel nod knowingly, reading between the lines of TK’s words.

“You’re a good man, TK,” Andrea says when TK returns to his seat, looking a little better after checking on Carlos. “We really couldn’t be happier you and our Carlitos found each other.”

A big smile breaks on TK’s face. “That really means everything. He saved me, he truly did.”

“You saved him, too,” Gabriel says. “In so many ways.”

Andrea nods. “You brought him back to us. We didn’t know then, but now we do. He fell in love with you and you breathed fresh air into him.”

“His love made me better, made me better. My world was grey when my dad and I moved here, and Carlos brought color back into my life,” TK expresses, his heart singing with the amount of love he has for his boyfriend.

Andrea reaches out, clasping TK’s hands with her own and gives him a smile that speaks a thousand words, a smile that shows how incredibly grateful and blessed she feels at Carlos finding TK, at her son finding a love so pure, so powerful and beautiful with TK. The love she always dreamed her son would find.

“You found each other,” Andrea proclaims with joy coating her voice.

Gabriel nods, giving TK a soft smile.

TK’s chest fills with warmth and gratitude, Andrea and Gabriel’s words anchoring him and steadying him and it dawns on him then that he has found the rest of his family in the two people sitting across from him.

*****

The sun has set and the stars twinkle against the dark sky when Carlos emerges from the living room.

“Carlitos,” Gabriel lights up at the sight of his son.

“Hi,” Carlos’s attempt to smile ends up turning into a yawn, which he stifles.

“Here,” TK grabs a chair and places it next to his.  

Carlos takes his mother’s hand and gives it a light squeeze as he passes her and then carefully lowers himself into the chair next to TK.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“A little over an hour,” TK replies. “You needed it.”

“Let me go get you a cup of fresh lemonade, mijo,” Andrea says as she gets up.

“Ma,” Carlos tries but trails off when Andrea lifts a knowing eyebrow at him. He knows enough to not argue with Andrea Reyes. “Thanks, Ma,” he smiles.

“A refill, TK?”

“Oh, sure, Mrs. Reyes, that would be great,” TK nods, handing her his cup.

She gives TK a pointed look. “Now what have we said about that?”

TK smiles, a little color smearing his cheeks. “Thank you, Andrea.”

“Much better,” she smiles at TK before heading towards the kitchen.

“Get what I mean about the first names?” Carlos whispers to TK.

TK nods, a little chuckle escaping his lips. “How are you feeling?”

“A little out of it, my whole body feels like jelly and my head is buzzing.”

“Yeah, it was a pretty rough reaction. You should be feeling better by the morning.”

Andrea returns with a tray, the cups filled to the brim, plus a big plate covered with the cookies and four smaller plates.

“Oh, the cookies!” Carlos smiles, excitement clear in his tired voice.

“We wanted to wait for you to wake up before eating them,” TK says, accepting his and Carlos’s filled cups.

Andrea helps everyone to the cookies, but Carlos and TK wait on eating theirs until they get Andrea and Gabriel’s reactions.

“Oh, boys, this is wonderful,” Andrea admires after a few bites.

“So good,” Gabriel agrees.

Carlos beams. “TK and I made them together.”

TK chuckles, shaking his head. “He’s being generous, he did most of the work.”

“You helped a lot, TK,” Carlos interjects. He seeks TK’s hand, and connects their fingers, gazing into green irises he could happily get lost in for days. “This was a team effort. We’re a team.”

“We do make a pretty good team,” TK smiles.

“Yes, we do,” Carlos nods fondly and brushes a kiss to TK’s cheek.

The four of them slip into light conversation, nibbling at the cookies and drinking lemonade until the cookies are almost finished and the lemonade has been consumed.

With another suppressed yawn from the officer, Carlos and TK decide to call it a night.

After a quick silent exchange between Andrea and Gabriel, Andrea speaks. “You can stay.”

It’s Carlos and TK’s turn to share a glance.

“I can fix up Carlos’s room real quick and you can spend the night here. I don’t think either of you are in any condition to be driving,” she points out, seeing how shaken TK is as well, and after another look with Gabriel, she adds, “and we’d feel better if you stayed.”

“We wouldn’t want to cause any commotion,” TK says nervously.

“Nonsense,” Andrea shakes her head. “We’d love it if you stayed.”

Another look between Carlos and TK has Carlos smiling. “We’d love to stay.”

Andrea grins, gently patting Carlos’s cheek and then TK’s before retreating into the house and heads up the stairs.

*****

“Didn’t expect this, did you?” Carlos asks once TK closes the bedroom door behind him for the night.

They had changed into clothes that Carlos had previous left at his parents’ house. Both in comfortable sweats, Carlos opted for a grey cotton t-shirt while TK had picked one of his police academy ones.  

TK shakes his head. “I also didn’t expect you to have a harsh allergic reaction today.”

“Yeah, didn’t see that coming at all,” Carlos sighs, falling backwards on the freshly made bed.

Carlos closes his eyes, relishing in the familiar feel of the mattress underneath him. He loves sharing his home with TK, it becoming their home, with everything in it. He loves crawling into their bed after a long shift, finding comfort and love in TK’s arms. But this bed, the one he’s lying on right now, will always hold a special place in his heart. It’s a part of him, engraved in and with so many memories from his childhood and early teen years. He feels happiness flow through his entire being at the knowledge that he gets to share it with TK now, gets to share that part of him with the man he loves.

And even more so, he’s ecstatic that he gets to spend the night with his boyfriend at his parents’ place. Not only because he is physically close to TK, but also because of what having TK in his childhood bed really means. It’s something Carlos thought would never happen, it’s something he thought he’d never have; from introducing his boyfriend to his parents to sharing his childhood bed with him and everything in between. It was a dream, a dream that at times seemed so far away he was convinced it would remain that: a dream. But the feeling of the bed dipping next to him and the familiar arm going around his middle reminds Carlos that it is no longer a dream, it is now his wonderful reality.

“Where is your head at, baby?” TK murmurs, resting his chin on Carlos’s chest and looking at his face.

“It came true,” Carlos whispers back. He opens his eyes and he’s met with a confused look from TK.

“Hm?”

“A dream,” Carlos continues. “Having you here, in this bed with me, in this room, in this house, with my parents downstairs having just said goodnight to us. It was a dream, one I thought would never come true. I spent many nights, wide awake in this very bed, longing for this moment, and for everything that it would mean, wondering if I’ll ever get it. And you’re here now, and I’m living it, that dream. Words aren’t enough to express how much this means to me.”

“Oh, babe,” tears gather in TK’s eyes as he moves up the bed and cups Carlos’s face. “You deserve this, you deserve to have that dream become reality. You deserve love, Carlos, all the love the universe has to offer. And I promise you, I will spend every day doing my very best to give you the love you deserve. Every day, for as long as you’ll let me. I would erase those terrifying few minutes we had earlier today if I could, but us right now, right here in this dream you’re living, that we’re both living, let’s keep living this dream together. Because this dream is our reality.”

A tear rolls down the side of Carlos’s face, the passion he feels for the other man growing more and more with every second of every day. And he’s completely overtaken by his love for TK, and the love he’s receiving from the younger man.

TK zones out a little after wiping away Carlos’s fallen tear and giving him a warm smile. His mind goes something and Carlos senses a shift in TK, but he doesn’t push, knowing TK will speak when he’s ready.

“I was so scared today,” TK eventually says, sniffing as he sits up. “It felt like I was losing you, like you were being ripped away from me, slipping from me and I couldn’t do anything. All I could do was watch and hold you as tightly as I could. Because maybe if I held on tightly enough, you wouldn’t slip away. I felt so helpless and…”

Carlos takes hold of TK’s hand and lifts it to his lips, planting a kiss on TK’s skin, grounding him and reminding him that he’s right there.

“And for a moment, I felt like I wasn’t enough to save you,” TK’s voice breaks, tears now streaming down his face.

Carlos’s heart shatters at seeing TK break like this, at seeing the pain etched into TK’s expression and tone.

“Hey, hey, no, no, come here,” Carlos gently pulls TK down towards him, wrapping him up tightly, holding him close.

TK doesn’t waste a single second in curling up against Carlos, closing his eyes and burying his face in Carlos’s neck. He lets himself get lost in the steady rise and fall of every breath Carlos takes, in the even rhythm of Carlos’s heartbeat under his ear. Carlos is here, he’s alive, and TK clutches onto that fact with everything he’s got.

“You did everything you could, babe. It was a scary situation, and I was terrified, too, but I knew you were right there, right by my side. I wasn’t alone, and I knew you were going to take care of me. And you did. You gave me your all, and you saved me, TK.”

TK nuzzles further against Carlos, Carlos running his hand up and down TK’s back, just as he knows calms the younger man.

Then TK is pulling back and out of Carlos’s hold, haphazardly wiping away his tears and Carlos frowns a little at the sudden change.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” TK rushes to say. “This shouldn’t…this isn’t about me, I should be comforting you, you’re the one who had a hard time breathing today.”

Carlos’s face softens at that. “And it affected you just as much, TK. I’m going out of my mind just imagining if our roles were reversed, and you actually lived it. Of course it’s going to affect you. And you should, and need to, express that and feel that. It’s hard, but I’m here, you’re here and we’re okay.”

TK doesn’t meet Carlos’s eyes, instead he finds a threat sticking out of the duvet and busies his hands with it.

Carlos gently pulls TK’s hands away from the distraction, holding them between his own and adds a comforting pressure, now Carlos being TK’s lifeline.

“Look at me,” Carlos pleads.

TK slowly lifts his red puffy eyes to look into Carlos’s and sees so much there; concern, worry, appreciation, love.

“We carry each other, Ty.”

TK nods. “Always.”

“Always,” Carlos echoes, wiping away TK’s fallen tears.

He cups the back of TK’s head and pulls him in, connecting their lips in a tender kiss. It’s not rushed or heated, it’s a simple press of their lips, filled with reassurance and hope. They take their time, reveling in feeling each other, pouring everything into the kiss; their worries, their fear, but also their love and reassurance.

TK pulls back and touches his forehead to Carlos’s, soaking up everything that is Carlos. Once he feels his heart rate slow as he calms, he starts peppering Carlos’s face with small kisses, which makes the officer chuckle.

The bed is smaller than theirs, but they make it work, cuddling together with TK’s head resting on Carlos’s chest, Carlos’s arm securing his hold around TK’s shoulder.

“Your mom told me the same thing,” TK says after a moment of silence.

“What?”

“Basically about not bottling it up and to feel it,” TK explains.

Carlos hums. “She’s a smart woman.”

“She is,” TK nods. “And she has a smart son who takes after her. She also said holding you will make me feel better. She was right, because it does.”

“I see you’ve been bonding with my mother,” Carlos beams.

TK blushes. “She’s pretty great.”

“You’re pretty great, too,” Carlos replies.

TK gives him a small but genuine smile.

“You two bonding is everything I had wished for,” Carlos says, brushing a kiss to TK’s forehead.

“I’ve been looking forward to it so much, but I had hoped we wouldn’t have to bond while you were hurt.”

“It’s not how I pictured it but it’s okay, babe. There’s going to be many more chances for you both to continue bonding,” Carlos reassures.

“And with your dad, too. Although, I still need to crack how to do that,” TK chuckles light.

Carlos chuckles along. “I’ll help you out. Besides, they both already adore you.”

TK plants a soft kiss to Carlos’s lips before settling back in his position. They breathe together for a few minutes and TK can tell the moment Carlos drifts off to sleep.

TK feels lighter now, safe in Carlos’s embrace. They have each other, and that’s the most important thing. They’ll deal with anything that comes their way, together.

TK eyes begin to droop and his last thought before being lulled to sleep by Carlos’s steady breathing: we’re going to be just fine.

[boys-wonder]

make me feel something

Pairing: Tim Drake/Jason Todd

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dominant Jason Todd, Top Jason Todd, Submissive Tim Drake, Bottom Tim Drake, D/s undertones, Anal Fingering, Oral Fixation, Frotting, Anal Sex, Emotional Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I think?, Biting

Desc:   "Everything is just so.. empty. I can't feel anything anymore, Jay, not since.." he trails off, but resists the urge to look away. Jason's eyes are dark and unreadable, boring into his and he couldn't look away if he tried. But he doesn't want to, he wants, no, needs Jason to know. Jason doesn't flinch at the mention of his death, just keeps staring expectantly. Tim looks up at him from under those thick lashes, parting his mouth further to let Jason map his tongue with a gloved finger. It's intimate and erotic and controlling in a way that Tim knows he needs, he knows that only Jason can give him this. "Make me feel something, Jay."

Word Count: 4138

Ao3 Link: Here

- - -

The cold night air whips around him, the chill cutting into his skin with the sharpness of a knife, tousling his hair forcefully as he drives. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. By all points, Tim should be buzzing with anxiety right now. He hasn't seen Jason since… that night. He grits his teeth at the memory and revs the engine, hoping to leave the morbid thoughts on the empty highway behind him. Of course, it doesn't work; Tim still has nightmares about it. He's never spoken about that night to anyone. In fact, he's actually not sure that the others even know he was there. But everyone knows how Tim feels about Jason.

It was after an unfortunate series of long, difficult missions that Tim finally decided to see Jason for the first time since the newly-declared outlaw made his way back to Gotham after his resurrection. Tim had been waiting, hoping that Jason would come see him, or even Bruce. Just some sort of arrival, anything to let them know he's alive. But it's still been nearly a year - 10 months and two weeks, not that Tim's counting - and this week has been so fucking hard. 

So he changes into civvies, not even bothering to wash off the grime and blood from the mission he just got back from, and tells Alfred he's going out. The butler nods knowingly, but the sympathy in his eyes makes Tim's face burn hot with - anger? shame? He's not sure. But he avoids Alfred's gaze, dipping past him to get his bike from the garage and make his way into Gotham.

Jason met Tim many years ago, when he was still working under Bruce's tutelage as Robin. The two had connected instantly; Tim's inappropriate fascination (or maybe a more fitting word would be devotion) with Jason (and Dick, and Bruce) which manifested in a bit of stalking, along with Jason's need to have something stable in his life. To have something normal and just his to ground him, and having someone look at him like that- look at him, not Dick, not Bruce, but him. They collided with explosive force, orbiting one another like twin stars, pulling each other along by sheer force of gravity. 

Until Jay’s star blinked out. 

Tim takes a hand off the handlebar and hits himself in the thigh a few times. The dull ache brought him back to focus on reality and clearing out the unpleasant memories. 

It takes no time at all to break into Jay's flat - seriously, was he even trying? - and he flips the lights on, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. There's really no need to be stealthy; he wants Jay to know he's here.

He pads into the living room, looking around. Tim was expecting… he's not sure, maybe more like his safehouse when he was on the streets? But no, Jay had got himself a pretty decent place. There's a simple brown sofa, resting against the wall, and on either side are expensive looking speakers, which Tim now sees are plugged into an old record player. Tim smiles faintly; it's good to see something about Jason was still the same.

Tim sets the needle down on the record with familiar ease, relaxing visibly as the record begins to play. 

With the music thrumming through him, he lets himself explore more of Jason's apartment, though he's not quite brave enough to go into the bedroom. He admires the few pieces of artwork that are strewn around the place, their presence in Jay's life bringing him a comfort he didn't realize he needed. 

The lock in the door clicks, and it swings open slowly. Tim doesn't turn around, just rubs the petals of a baby succulent that he found sitting on the windowsill. His heart should be pounding in his chest, but it's not. He feels a complete calm wash over him. He feels Jason's eyes on him, but he's not in any hurry to break the silence. Jay waited almost a year to say anything to any of them. Tim may be in love, but he's also stubborn. He's not going to give Jason an easy out.

Jason takes his time to acknowledge Tim - that is to say he doesn't - he just walks past him to pull a bottle out of the liquor cabinet - which he keeps well stocked, Tim notes - and pours himself a glass. Tim makes a soft noise of surprise when he sees Jay set out a second glass, and pours a fifth of whiskey into that as well. Tim thinks maybe he imagines the way Jason's fingers tighten around the glass before picking it up, but it makes his pulse kick up anyway. 

Now it's Jason's turn to be observed. Tim doesn't bother hiding the way he looks over every inch of the man in front of him, from the scuffed combat boots to the knife holstered at his hip to the way his jacket is bunched up around his elbows, exposing well built forearms. They're riddled with scars, Tim notices, and he looks each one over carefully, trying to map each one like pages in a book he hasn't been able to read in decades. 

If Jason is bothered by Tim's discerning stare, he doesn't say anything, but then considering how they met… it's not something Tim expects Jason is ever going to complain about. He roves his eyes over those broad shoulders, making note of how they got even broader in their time apart, how it makes his jacket cling to him in ways it didn't before. 

Tim's eyes lift to the back of Jay's neck now, and if he wants to let himself think he sees Jay stand up a little straighter, then well, he thinks he's entitled to that. The nape of his neck is scarred too, and his hair is buzzed short at the bottom, fading into a shaggy mop of black hair that manages somehow to also look so inviting it's unfair.

Jason keeps his back to Tim as he downs his shot of whiskey, and god, Tim can't help the scramble of heat that unfurls in his gut when he hears Jay rumble out a low, satisfied noise that seemed to charge the very air around them. Tim's been hard since the older man walked in the room, if he's being honest, and he has a suspicion it's the same for Jason.

Jay grabs the second glass, agile, scarred fingers rubbing around the lip of it like a caress and, oh - he's turning around and before Tim even knows it, their eyes are locked. Jason's eyes are dark, appraising him and Tim just can't breathe, god - there's a tinge of bright green around the pupils, that wasn't there before. But even further than that, Tim sees the heat in them, and it has him snatching the glass out of Jason's hand and tossing it back, the warmth chasing down his throat all the way to his core, where it ignites the already smoldering embers there, creating a quickly spreading wildfire.

Tim swallows, pinned in place with the intensity of Jason's gaze, and then those dark eyes dip down and back up, a smirk playing on the outlaw's lips as he clocks the motion. The younger man almost forgets himself, opening his mouth to speak, but he shuts it and just stares. He's drinking in every inch of Jason's face, the small lump on his nose from where it was recently broken in a fight, the J that still looks fresh as the day it was given to him, some scars across his cheeks and another that cut into the corner of his mouth. Years of pent up devotion, of adoration, of fierce and unyielding love covered Tim's entire expression, his entire being, and for a minute, Tim could convince himself that everything was perfectly normal, like Jay had never left. 

But then something shifts, the tension between them driving up again as Jason takes a single gloved finger and uses it to tilt Tim's chin up. His eyes are still dark, the heat still there, but tenderness too and Tim inhales sharply, allowing himself to be moved. Jay looks at him intently for several long moments, and Tim's heart is thudding in his chest. 

"You look tired, Timmy," Jason says, his voice soft and low and just a little bit sensual, and that has Tim's stomach twisting in knots. 

"I am tired, Jay," Tim replies, leaning his cheek ever so slightly into Jason's grip, and his breath catches again when the finger on his chin is replaced with a hand framing his jaw, thumb brushing against his lower lip. It's intimate and tender in a way that Tim isn't sure Jason had learned how to be, before, and it makes his cheeks warm despite himself. 

"What are you doing here, Tim?"

If anyone else had asked him that, in this situation, he'd punch them. But he knows Jay. He's asking what happened to bring him here tonight, when he's been back for 10 months and their paths haven't crossed yet. 

He parts his lips to speak, and Jason brushes the pad of his gloved thumb over the tip of Tim's tongue, and well, sue him if he makes a soft, needy noise at that.

"Everything is just so.. empty. I can't feel anything anymore, Jay, not since.." he trails off, but resists the urge to look away. Jason's eyes are dark and unreadable, boring into his and he couldn't look away if he tried. But he doesn't want to, he wants, no, needs Jason to know. Jason doesn't flinch at the mention of his death, just keeps staring expectantly. Tim looks up at him from under those thick lashes, parting his mouth further to let Jason map his tongue with a gloved finger. It's intimate and erotic and controlling in a way that Tim knows he needs, he knows that only Jason can give him this. "Make me feel something, Jay." 

"I'm not the same as I was before, Tim," Jason says, still rubbing his thumb over Tim's tongue. If Tim didn't know Jason the way he does, he would have taken that as a rejection, but he can tell Jason is mulling it over. 

"I know, Jay. Neither am I." 

Jason grips Tim's chin firmly at that, searching intensely for something in Tim's eyes. Tim isn't sure what, but after several long seconds, he nods. Tim's heart leaps into his throat, but before he has time to even think, Jay's fingers are in his mouth, mapping his tongue, his teeth, and god, Tim just groans. 

Jason makes an appreciative noise and presses further, pressing his fingers down into Tim's throat, and the younger man's cock throbs as he gags around them. There's something unspeakably intimate about sucking Jason's fingers through the gloves, Tim thinks as he wraps his lips around leather-clad fingers, eyes never wavering from Jason's dark gaze. He can taste the sweat and dirt and just a little bit of blood and the thrill of it rushes through him with force, causing him to shudder as Jason's fingers brush against the back of his throat and his cock throbs painfully, leaking steadily into his underwear. 

"Good boy," Jason purrs, and it's everything Tim has been waiting to hear again since that night, and somehow Jason knows and god, Tim's head is just spinning as Jason presses a third finger into his mouth alongside the other two, stretching his throat in a way that would be uncomfortable if Tim didn't need it so fucking bad.

A whine rattles out of Tim's chest as Jason grips him by the throat, fingers still stuffed in his mouth, and pulls him down with him to settle on the sofa, with Tim perched in his lap like a prize. 

They don't talk for long minutes that seem to drag into hours, Jason's fingers fucking slowly into Tim's mouth while he uses his free hand to rock their hips together slowly.

"That's right, babybird, just let me take care of you," Jason murmurs into Tim's ear, and he isn't sure how the older man can make something like that sound dangerous, but fuck, he does, and Tim whines again, hips jerking up roughly against Jason's. It earns him a quiet groan, and his whole body feels like it's on fire just from that, but then - oh, god - Jason's fingers aren't in his mouth anymore, they're pressing against his entrance and - oh shit - he's not even sure how Jay got his hand into his pants, but he doesn't bother contemplating because then Jay slides two fingers in and holy fuck.

It burns, fuck, but it's exactly what Tim needs and he sags into Jason, whining in his ear while those fingers press slowly deeper, stretching him open and oh my god it's good.  Jason's fingers are so fucking deep inside him, thrusting slowly but still not gently, and the friction and the burn is making Tim more than a little incoherent. 

Jason mouths at his neck, and Tim keens, baring his throat in a gesture of submission that comes so naturally it would be startling if it wasn't Jay. He's rewarded with a deep groan pulled from somewhere deep in Jason's chest, and then Tim is crying out sharply, jerking his hips back into the older man's fingers as his teeth sink into Tim's slender neck.

"Oh god, Jay," Tim whines, clenching around the fingers inside him as Jason's teeth meet briefly between the flesh in his mouth, and Tim knows he hasn't broken the skin but god he needs him to, he needs it. Almost like Jay can sense his thoughts, he growls around the mouthful of Tim's neck and bites down harder, teeth penetrating skin as he fucks his fingers into the younger boy at a faster, rougher pace that has Tim screaming.

"Fuck, baby," Jason groans, dragging his tongue around the circumference of the bite, and oh god it aches in exactly the right way, and the combination of the filthiness of the action with the endearment on Jay's lips, the one Tim never thought he would be able to hear again, sends him hurtling over the edge so alarmingly fast he forgets how to breathe. 

His spine goes taut, he's arched into Jason like a bow and his thighs are quivering so badly that Jay puts a hand on one to steady him as he spills into his pants, screaming Jason's name. Jason coaxes him through that orgasm and right into another one, fingers pressing hard and fast into that spot deep inside him that makes every nerve in his body light up like a forest fire. This time Tim comes so hard he can't even scream, he just gasps wetly into Jason's chest as he digs his fingers into the supple leather of the older man's jacket and yanks, just trying to steady himself. 

Tim lays like that on Jason's chest for a long time, muscles trembling as Jay rubs his back with the most gentleness he's shown Tim that night. Jay presses soft kisses into Tim's hair, and the younger man nuzzles back into the affection. 

When he finally feels capable of speech, he pulls back and gives Jay his signature troublemaker smirk and says, "What, is that all?"

Jason laughs and shakes his head, carefully pulling his fingers free and he strips his gloves before picking Tim up, carrying him bridal-style into the bedroom. 

"Not by a long shot, princess, don't you worry."

Tim could literally care less about checking out Jay's bedroom, because the second he's placed on the bed Jason is on him, pinning his delicate little wrists over his head with one hand while he slots himself between Tim's legs and grinds. It's absolutely filthy, and even though he just came, Tim can feel himself getting hard again. His head falls back onto the mattress and he whines, trying to tug his arms free to wrap them around Jay's neck before he realizes, and - oh - white hot need has him arching off the bed and pressing into Jason's body.

"Fuck, baby, look at you," Jason breathes, voice rough and Tim's eyes flutter open to meet his gaze, his mouth falling open in a soft 'o' as he sees that piercing blue and green have been completely obliterated by black lust. "You look so fucking beautiful like this, Timmy." 

Tim whines again and Jason's there, licking into his mouth and it's everything he needs and not nearly enough all at once, and god somehow Jason knows that too because his hand is around Tim's throat, squeezing as he sucks on the younger man's tongue. It's their first kiss since before, and it's fucking filthy and it's fucking perfect. 

Jason's hips are grinding roughly into Tim's and it almost hurts because he's oversensitive from coming but he thinks he might actually die if Jason stops. Just then, Jason does stop, and Tim lets out a pitiful keen. 

"Hey hey, patience babybird, I gotta get you undressed," Jason laughs as he climbs to his knees, pulling Tim roughly down the bed with him with a hand on each ankle. The sudden movement makes Tim yelp in surprise, and he would have laughed if Jason hadn't already removed his sweatpants and wasn't already digging his teeth into Tim's ankle. 

"Oh, fuck, Jay," Tim pants out, looking up with heavy-lidded eyes as Jason sucks a dark bruise onto the inner divot of his ankle. "Jay please, fuck, I need you inside me right now."

Jason swears, movements stilling for just a heartbeat before he reaches down and pulls Tim's boxers off. There's no time for Tim to get embarrassed about being so exposed, not that he's ever really been shy about nudity, because Jason is slinging Tim's legs over his shoulders and pushing in - when did he even get his dick out of his pants? - and Tim loses the ability to breathe. 

The last time they did this, they were both still awkward teenagers, not quite fitting into their bodies, still having growing to do. Now, Jason's cock is so thick as it presses its way inside him that tears start to form at the corners of Tim's eyes. 

"Holy shit, baby," Jason grunts, kissing Tim's other ankle and Tim whines in response, not able to think about anything else except for the way he can feel Jason's cock stretching him out with each centimeter as it buries itself inside him. By the time Jay is fully seated, they're both trembling, and Jay's forehead is wrinkled with effort - presumably from holding back.

"Jay," Tim whines, rolling his hips up, and oh fuck it burns so much that he chokes out a gasp. 

"Timmy, baby," Jason says in response, and starts moving. 

"Oh," Tim says, his mouth falling open, and Jason brushes his thumb across the younger man's lower lip. 

"Yeah, princess, just like that, open up for me baby," Jay groans, thrusting his hips a little harder and Tim whines so loudly that Jason wraps a hand around his throat. "Shh, baby, it's okay. Just let me take care of you like you need." 

Jason sets a rough but slow rhythm, leaving open mouthed kisses across Tim's ankles as he fucks Tim open with almost brutal precision. Each thrust hits the same spot, going further and deeper, and it's driving Tim crazy in all the right ways. Every time Jason slams into him, he screams, the sound muffled by the hand wrapped around his throat and squeezing. Tim's head is fuzzy, and he feels like he's both less and more aware of the rough stretch of Jason's cock inside him around the heavy press of Jason's fingers pinching his arteries. 

Tim is staring up slack-jawed at Jason, just watching him in awe. He takes the time now to memorize every expression, every sound, because now he knows that any time might be the last time, and he doesn't know what this means for them but he knows that Jason wouldn't do this without meaning it, not with him. 

Jason's eyes flick up to his from where they were fixated on his cock disappearing inside of Tim, and he smirks at him. Tim is just about to try and slap his arm when Jason changes the angle again and holy shit - 

"Oh yeah, babybird? Right there?"

Tim makes a strangled noise that's somewhere between a sob and a scream as Jason starts drilling into him, right into that spot over and over and he's not sure when he started crying but the tears won't stop streaming down his face and he really can't find it in him to care because he needs it, he needs Jason to see him bare like this, to know all of the pain and hurt and loss and to see how much he still needs him. 

Jason is between his thighs pounding into him like he's never needed to do anything else more in his life, and still it's not enough. He's still got his fucking mask on - not the red one, no - he's still keeping a part of himself secret from Tim. 

"Jason," Tim croaks out, and those dark eyes are boring into his again and it's closer, but not enough, not nearly enough. "Let me see you," he says, twining their fingers together. "Please."

Jason freezes for a moment, realizing he's been caught, and Tim can see the internal struggle play over his face like a teleprompter. He licks his lips and waits, and then he sees it. The shift is almost imperceptible at first but then it's more and more clear as Jason lets the mask fall away, stops pretending. 

He can see now, why Jason was keeping the mask up. And god, he loves him. He sees into the heart of Jason now, and it's ugly and terrifying and it's the most beautiful thing Tim's ever seen, and he chokes out a pleading, "Jason," needing everything Jay had been holding back.

"Tim," Jay groans, only it's almost a growl, and he puts his full weight on Tim's body and starts rutting into him like it's the last time he's ever going to get to do this, - or maybe it's the first - and his thrusts are so rough that they occasionally scoot Tim up the bed a couple of inches, but neither of them care. Tim is clinging to him, crying and rambling and Jason has his face buried in Tim's neck, growling and grunting and murmuring sweet nothings right in between angry ramblings, and finally - oh god - it's finally exactly what Tim needed, what they both needed all along and Tim is coming, his toes curling as his heels dig into the bed. 

He tightens around Jason's cock and comes between them, making Jason's shirt sticky but who fucking cares, who cares because Jason is drilling into him and oh, my god, he's coming inside. Jason groans low and deep, riding out the orgasm as he humps between Tim's legs and Tim just whines and stutters out his name over and over, so high on Jason that his eyes are glassy, his whole world narrowed to this, to him.

Jason finally slows to a stop and buries his face in Tim's neck, pressing soft open mouthed kisses there that Tim would try to return if he could move. 

"I'm sorry," Jason says, his voice quiet with grief and regret, and Tim knows he's not talking about what just happened, but about that night. He kisses the shell of Tim's ear and whispers, "I'm sorry," and this one Tim knows is for ten months and two weeks. But he doesn't need an apology. He knows now, he understands why Jason stayed away so long. 

"I'll never stop loving you, no matter how ugly or twisted you get. You're still Jason. You're my Jason." 

Tim feels Jason relax at that, sagging into him with such fierce relief that tears prick the corners of his eyes again.  

"Love you so much, Timmy," Jason mumbles into Tim's hair, and rolls them onto their sides, half-heartedly covering them with a bedsheet before wrapping an arm - when did his arms get so big? - around Tim's middle, pulling the younger man firmly into his chest. "So much," he mumbles, and Tim laughs quietly as he realizes that Jason is falling asleep around him. But, he's not much better off; between the mission just hours before, the tension between them, and the emotional catharsis of.. well, everything that just happened, his eyes were getting too heavy to keep open. 

He nuzzles into Jason's arm and lets himself be dragged into sleep, knowing that finally, finally he wouldn't have to wake up without Jason again.

- - -

Thanks so much for reading! If you liked this work, please reblog, and if you’re feeling generous, please go to ao3 and leave a comment, or drop one off in my inbox here!

[capitaineathos]

I finally wrote something! Here is my Musketeers Summer Solstice gift for @number-of-the-beast-is-666 :)

It's kinda self indulgent fluff, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

~~~~~

Porthos loves his little flower shop. Thinking about where he came from, how he grew up, how his life could have gone, he's proud of how far he’s come. He's built his tiny business from the ground up and the work brings him joy. He has a small base of regular clientele and plenty of orders on his online shop to keep him busy. His arrangements are known for their beauty and for their affordability, and Porthos takes pride in each and every one. He loves his little shop and he knows he always will.

~~~~~

Aramis loves the little flower shop on the corner. He remembers the first time he'd visited; a particularly difficult therapy session had left him feeling low and his counsellor had suggested that he buy himself some flowers to bring some joy to his home. He remembers how sceptical he'd been, how he'd scoffed at the idea, yet found himself drawn to the little shop on his way home anyway. He remembers the warm smile of the florist; his kindness and the joyful enthusiasm that seemed to radiate from every pore. The florist – he gave his name as Porthos – had suggested a bouquet of sunflowers, bright and warm and happy, and Aramis had felt just a little of the despair lift from his heart.

To this day, sunflowers are his favourite bloom.

Now, more than six months later, Aramis is a regular customer at the little shop. He comes to buy himself a bouquet every two weeks, striving to always keep flowers alive in his home. And if it means that he can see the florist’s smile, it will always be worth the price.

Yes, Aramis loves the little flower shop on the corner and he knows he always will.

~~~~~

Today, the shipment is of roses. Porthos likes to stock blooms of various colours; red and yellow and orange and pink, and various hybrid combinations of the four. He unpacks each flower carefully, his calloused fingers always deft and gentle in every movement. He knows that the slightest hint of roughness can bruise the delicate petals and he has grown used to the tender care that they require. And with St Valentines Day fast approaching, he knows he must preserve as many of these roses as possible.

He begins to cut the stems, fingers quickly staining green as the chlorophyll comes in contact with his skin. He finds that he doesn’t mind the stains so much now; not like he did at first. They are part of him now, and they are part of a job that he loves with all of his heart and soul. A fresh smell, the freshness of the flowers that he surrounds himself with, is already clinging to his hands, and will do for the rest of the day. And the sweet, perfumed scent of the roses will linger just as long, perhaps allowing him a whiff even as he falls asleep at the end of a long day’s work.

Cutting stems is repetitive and time consuming and, though he considers himself to be rather good at it, it is inevitable that some of the roses are cut too short to be useful for his bouquets. For Porthos prides himself on quality and he likes to make his bouquets as perfect as they can be. So any roses that are too short, or slightly bruised, or otherwise not quite adequate, are set aside and Porthos laments that he has no use for them. Though they may not be quite perfect, they are still beautiful and could still bring someone joy. Briefly, he wonders if he could take them by the local retirement home after work.

However, his thoughts are soon interrupted as a cheery tone sounds from the front of the shop, signalling that a customer has entered. Leaving his roses aside for the moment, Porthos emerges from the back room to stand by the counter, should he need to offer assistance.

When he sees who has entered his shop, his heart skips a beat.

He sees Aramis often, and the two of them have become amiable acquaintances, but Porthos can’t help the quickening of his breath and the frantic thrumming of his heart that always occurs when the other man enters his shop. He wipes sweaty palms on his jeans and tries to calm the fluttering in his chest.

But when Aramis turns to smile at him, his legs suddenly feel weak under his weight and he has to swallow a sudden burst of nerves.

“Good morning, Aramis,” he says, proud of how level his voice sounds. “Is it time for your next bouquet already?”

Aramis laughs and the sound is almost melodic; clear and bright as a church bell.

“Am I so predictable?” he asks. “I was actually hoping that your sunflowers might be back in season. As much as I love the other bouquets you made for me with the chrysanthemums and carnations and such, I’ve really missed having my sunflowers around.”

Porthos sighs softly. He knows of a perfect bouquet that he could make for Aramis – with bright sunflowers and vibrant irises in a bed of green foliage – but the sunflowers won’t be in season for a few months – not until May at the earliest. And Porthos hates the thought of disappointing Aramis; even the idea of it leaves a hollow, empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. Yet, there really isn’t much that he can do.

Aramis must see it in his eyes, because his bright, charming smile falters ever so slightly, even though he tries hard to hide it.

“I assume they aren’t in season yet then? Oh well! Do you still have any of those carnations?”

Porthos helps him to find a bouquet; warm and bright and colourful, just like Aramis himself. It is full of chrysanthemums and carnations and camellias and Porthos almost thinks that it might be one of his best.

Aramis certainly seems delighted with it and, as he comes to the counter to pay, promising to come and pick it up after running a few more errands, he casually asks;

“So, do you have any plans for St Valentines?”

Porthos shakes his head. It has been a long time since he celebrated the day with a significant other, but he hardly minds. He has always believed that having many relationships is much less important than having the right ones, so he has been waiting for the right person to come along.

Looking at Aramis, he almost allows himself to hope that it will be worth the wait.

Yet, he is still surprised when he hears the soft laugh from the other man.

“Me neither. The whole thing may seem rather cliché, but I actually quite enjoy being swept off my feet every once in a while, so it'll be a shame to spend it alone.”

Porthos opens his mouth to apologise, but Aramis holds up a hand to stop him before a single syllable can pass his lips.

“No, it’s ok. I’ve had enough fooling around. I want to find the right person; the one who I'll hopefully spend the rest of my life with.”

Aramis slides the money across the counter and their fingers brush; only ever so slightly, and only for a moment, but Porthos swears that he feels a jolt of electricity surging through his veins.

He looks at Aramis and wonders if he feels it too.

But Aramis says nothing, just smiles and turns to leave.

Porthos watches him for a moment, then forces himself to draw his eyes away from Aramis' retreating figure, to begin sorting the money into the till. But then he finds something unexpected hidden amongst the bills; a small slip of paper with a hastily scribbled number scrawled upon it. For a moment, Porthos can’t move, he can barely even breathe. All he can do is stare at the slip of paper in his trembling hands, barely even able to believe that the moment is real.

However, the sound of the door opening quickly breaks the spell and the words have escaped him before he even has time to think;

“Aramis, wait!”

There is a pause, and then Aramis is peering around the doorframe, one eyebrow quirked in silent question.

“Please... just... wait just one second?” Porthos asks, and Aramis nods in response. Porthos feels a slight weight lift from his chest as he ducks into the back room and collects up the roses that he had previously set aside. He collects them into as neat a group as he is able, though it is nothing like the quality of his usual work. He ties some yellow ribbon around the stems and returns to the front of the shop.

As he offers Aramis the roses, too nervous to say a word, he can feel his heart pounding in his chest. In that moment, the entire world is Aramis and Porthos isn’t sure whether he’s about to watch his world crumble.

But then Aramis smiles, warm and bright and beautiful, and breathing seems just a little easier.

“Porthos, they’re beautiful!”

“Just like you,” Porthos whispers, and Aramis’ cheeks turn a dusty shade of pink. He takes the roses and cradles them to his chest as he leans in to gently brush his lips against Porthos' cheek.

“You will call me, won't you?” he asks, and Porthos doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so nervous. Aramis is so bold and loud and cheerful, yet he seems so shy as he asks the question. He can barely meet Porthos' gaze, instead choosing to look down at his feet, and all Porthos wants to do is look into those eyes and fill them with hope and joy.

So he gently places a finger beneath Aramis' chin and tilts his face up until their eyes meet, and he smiles.

“I promise.”

It’s two simple words, but Porthos can see how happy they’ve made Aramis. His smile seems brighter, the tension has eased from his shoulders, his eyes are sparkling with excitement. He is beautiful, and Porthos suddenly needs him more than he needs air.

It is instinct and it takes him by surprise, but he leans in and gently catches Aramis' lips with his own. Aramis melts into his arms and Porthos settles his hands on his hips. His hold is gentle, treating Aramis as tenderly as one of his precious roses. For Aramis is like the flowers; precious and beautiful and fragile, and he deserves the same tender care.

It only lasts for a moment, the soft pressure of Aramis’ lips against his own, but Porthos could swear that no moment will ever be as perfect.

Aramis smiles at him, one hand coming to rest against his cheek.

“Call me,” he whispers again and Porthos nods, forcing himself to take a breath and finding that all he wants is Aramis.

“Absolutely.”

[bearseokie]

your chest is pierced (M) | Got7 Reaction

request: Hi, 🙋🏻‍♀️ how are you? Hope you're well! I don't know if you accept the request, but I'll leave it here. 😚 I wanted to request a reaction from Got7 to his girlfriend put a piercing on the chest. Sorry, my english is not very good. 🤦🏻‍♀️

[warnings]: piercings, nipple piercings

A/N: ok i always try to do a variety with reactions so it doesn't get repetitive but damn at the different types of piercings you can get. what an inventive world we live in.

got7 m.list | navi.

Mark:

His hands glided up your body, hushed moans passed between your lips. His fingers moved over your skin effortlessly beneath your top, halting when he met something he hadn't felt before. Pulling back from you, his face was contorted in confusion, the piercings fresh and still healing under his touch.

"You're insane!" he said under his breath, your giggle making a grin rise on his lips.

His skin became bumpy watching the fabric move up and past your chest, the piercings perfectly in his view. You watched him take in a deep breath, sitting back on the mattress with a defeated expression. The pads of his thumbs gently moved over the spots trying to feel them out without putting too much pressure on the new piercings, tongue running along his bottom lip at the feeling of the cold metal in his touch.

"It'll be healed in two-weeks time, right?" he asked while dropping your shirt back down your front. "When they are, you're in for a long night."

Jaebeom:

Your nipples were perkier than usual when you tugged on your shirt, his brows furrowing and moving closer to inspect the area. His eyes glanced down at you to see your reaction when his fingers tapped at the sensitive spots, your mouth gaping open from the slight pain.

"Does that hurt? What did you do?" he asked, pulling your shirt up to your chest.

When his eyes met the bars going through your nipples, he released your shirt to let it fall down your stomach. His tongue ran over his bottom lip before pressing into the side of this cheek, the puffed expression leading your mind to wonder what was going through his mind. "So that's what you were up to."

His hands cupped the muscle around the ring, the pressure applied to make you suck in a harsh breath. His eyes were fixed on the piercings as he pulled your shirt over your head, a smirk on his lips.

"Let's see how helpful these are, shall we?"

Jackson:

Discarding your shirt across the room, his mouth fell open. He sat back on the bed with his legs curled beneath him, astounded at your body before him. His eyes were the size of quarters, shifting between each nipple as they glistened with diamond piercings.

"You didn't!" his voice raised with a stunned laugh. "Oh my god, what am I going to do with you?"

Your brow raised at his question, his expression mirroring your own. His hands lifted into the air, hesitating as you pulled them to your skin. Gently letting the pads of his fingers run across your hardened nipples, the sensitive buds made you gasp, his eyes shooting to your face.

"Oh, you made a good decision."

Jinyoung:

He walked into the room just as you were changing, the item in his grasp slipping down to the floor with a loud smack. Turning to see what the noise was, his eyes were bulging, mouth in the shape of a circle. He couldn't form words, hands flat in the air as he swayed them in confusion, face blank.

"You. Wait. You got?" his eyes were fixed on your chest, the bars through your nipples taking him by surprise. "That looks like it hurt."

You laughed, shaking your head at him before pulling your clothes on slowly. His eyes couldn't leave your chest. Making his way over to you, his fingers brushed over the spots through the fabric, a breath inhaling into his mouth loudly.

"I can't believe you actually got them." his fingers ran laps around the spots, pulling at your shirt. "I don't think you need this right now."

Youngjae:

Your interest in piercings had gone as far as making a fist while you got your chest pierced, imagining what it would be like to have Youngjae play with them while deep inside of you. Your decision was final the second you got home and sat down in front of him.

In the middle of a meal, Youngjae had wandering eyes that made their way to your chest. The moment his eyes traced out the crescents now through your shirt, the food in his throat began to choke him. Coughing uncontrollably trying to get down the food, he managed to get a few words out.

"Y-You got your n-nipples pierced?" he asked in a fit, your nonchalant response giving him the chance to settle himself. "Why would you do that?"

Your explanation made him even more shocked, gaze moving back down to the indention in your shirt.

"You're too much." he slightly chucked, easing the tension.

BamBam:

The two beads poked at your collarbones, shiny metal in his view as you strode through the living room in an exposing top. Sliding off the sofa, he skipped in your direction. Hands placed on your lower back, you arched into his hold, his eyes staring at the new piercings.

"When did you get those?" he asked, your light shrug and sly answer confusing him.

He always paid attention to your body, brows furrowed as he thought. He had left out of town for a few days, leaving you to do whatever you desired. The little pain to receive the piercings in your chest was all too inspiring for you to ignore the idea. His reaction was how you imagined, too nervous to touch them, but the two spots invading his every thought.

"Are they healed?" he asked, your smile reassuring him. "Good, I want to see how useful they'll be."

Yugyeom:

His eyes diverted to your chest almost immediately, the rings bound within your nipples noticeable through your shirt. It looked like he had seen a ghost the way his face went pale, index finger moving slowly to trace the outline of the piercings. You released a chuckle at his tender touch, your hand meeting his jaw to raise his face to see yours. Gesturing that it was okay, a switch flipped in him, palms pressing against the plump area while he felt out the metal piercings.

"Did they hurt?" he asked, biting into his bottom lip with big eyes, ecstatic at the new accessories. You shook your head with a laugh, his grin growing as an idea brightened in his mind.

"Can I play with them?"

[whereflowersbloom]

Small moments

With long dissatisfied sigh, Damian pushed back his black blanket and gradually sits up, annoyed. There wasn’t any more to it, he had been rolling around the enormous bed for nearly an hour, he just couldn’t fall back asleep. Fumbling around in the darkness of his room, he found his phone. He squinted down at it and groaned inwardly. Fucking 04:00 am blinking up at him. He shouldn’t be up for another three hours. But despite his exhaustion and attempts to fall back asleep. It’s pointless to just lay here any longer. When he arose from the bed, he felt his back muscles were particularly knotted. Tsk. Perhaps a hot shower would release some accumulated tension on his body.

Might as well begin the day, start being productive with an extra head start, apparently. Damian stretched and dug around for training clothes and toiletries, hurriedly throwing them in his gym bag, before heading down for a long hot shower. At least this morning he doesn’t have to be in any rush. He had plenty of time to go at snail’s pace, he never had the opportunity to enjoy little things. By all means, he enjoyed engaging in different activities with his teammates. He would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he wondered what his life would be like as a regular teenager, attending school, perhaps a girlfriend to take out on dates...Where did multimillionaire heirs take their girlfriends? A romantic dinner at some exclusive hideously expensive restaurant in Paris? That wasn’t exactly his style. He highly doubted Raven liked those places, anyway.

Predictably, he doesn’t pass anyone on the way down, the rest of the team profoundly asleep as he assumed, the showers as expected are absolutely deserted. He stumbled in, gasping under the ice cold water falling on his exposed, muscular figure, rubbing at his eyes as the shock wakes him up completely. Fucking cold water. He turned the knob sharply, and in a moment, hot water streamed down his torso. Without the bothersome presence of a another person like Garfield or Conner, Damian is able to relax under the spray of water. The warmth of the water, focusing on the sound of the water running hard onto the shower floor, his sore and stiff muscles relaxing, easing the discomfort. His now calm and serene mind unconsciously drifted back to his homeland. Nanda Parbat, his mother, grandfather, the league he vowed to protect, work along his grandfather to make the world a better place. Clever lies. Deceived by his own mother.

Without realizing it, Damian began humming. It is a lovely, centuries old tune he heard when he was a child, his mother, Talia used to sing to him whenever he had nightmares as a child, and he grew fond of it. It isn’t long before the hum evolves into mumbling, ancient words in a long unspoken language, and even less time before the mumbling grows in volume and annunciation, and he’s singing lowly, something he wouldn’t dare do normally when anyone could be in the shower. Damian Wayne doesn’t sing, not at least around anyone. He couldn’t imagine what his brothers would say to embarrass him. Especially Drake or Todd.

Damian is a moderately good mood now. There wasn’t anything that could lift the spirit, if only momentarily, like singing. And who else would be up at this hour to hear him? Nobody he had to threaten or assassinate.

Damian let a slight, soft smile slip as he shut off the water of the shower. He dries off, checking his phone. It’s only five, and although he’s shocked at how long of a shower he’s taken, it is still much too early to even properly get dressed or get started with training. He recalled Grayson mentioning a meeting later today. He pulled on a long sleeved T-shirt and a pair of dark jeans, not up to wearing his uniform at five in the morning.

Damian is suddenly startled when he leaves the showers to see a slender, tiny figure in the common kitchen. It’s only five, who else could possibly be up so early? Not Grayson or Conner he hoped.

The figure turns around, and Raven is looking back at him eyebrows raised near her hairline, mouth opened in surprise. Damian stepped closer to her, taking her in: messy dark hair, even more so being fresh out of bed, pearl-like skin, big violet eyes that resemble amethyst and pink lips curled into a warm smile. At once he feels his breath being swept right out of his chest at that radiant and tender smile. She was wearing a pair of lavender pajama shorts, exposing her thick thighs, a white oversized shirt, hiding her generous curves, she looked devastatingly adorable. God. He had to control his hormones and emotions.

“Good morning, Raven.” He cleared his throat and muttered in his usual neutral voice. What did he have to be embarrassed about? Damian sits at the island and watched attentively Raven make a cup of tea, it smelt like cinnamon and honey, at the stovetop. Damian always found it entertaining, watch her do anything, debating what kind of tea she would have today. He knew she particularly enjoyed Earl Grey, cinnamon and two teaspoons of honey and peppermint. Maybe next time he could take her out to this open-air tea house his brother mentioned last time they spoke. Did Dick mention it to him deliberately? Was he trying to...?

“What are you doing up so early?” Raven asked curiously, drawing his attention back to her, turning her attention pointedly away from Damian and to her brewing cup of tea. Damian watched her back intently, she looked to fragile and tiny in his eyes, he was wondering what could have her worked up, as she nervously reached for the honey.

“I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep. Are you always up this early? I don’t think I noticed before.” Damian replies with the truth and observing how routine this all looked to Raven. She was usually up with the rise of the sun but it was a bit early for that and they didn’t have anything to do this early, no scheduled activities or tasks. He studied her body language, she wanted to say something, but she was evidently hesitating. “Everything alright?” He asked eyes fully focused on her, his expression showing concern for her.

“Yes, definitely, it’s just . . .” Raven stopped to bite her lower lip, her small hands playing with the teaspoon on the table, turning so Damian can see her profile, though trying to avoid his alert and bright green eyes. “Did you know you have a really nice voice?” She uttered faintly. Well now he knows she had been listening to him. But what she said was true. He did have a deep p, melodious voice.

“I don’t sing. Damian Wayne doesn’t sing.” Damian denies her question immediately, grabbing the closest thing to his reach, it was an apple and acting as if nothing happened.

Damian’s posture stiffened momentarily as his cheeks flame. Of course out of all the people, why did it have to be Raven? Tsk. Just his damn luck. Conner’s loud and unpleasant laughter or Garfield’s teasing he could deal with, he could always threaten them with a knife or give them his notions characteristic look of warming that they wouldn’t make it unharmed if they messed with him, but Raven was different. He can’t figure out why, but it feels like the worst possible outcome for this situation, at the same time he knew she wouldn’t say anything. She was different... he didn’t want to think why it felt that way with her from the moment they met. He didn’t believe he was ready to have the conversation about his obvious feelings for her yet.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. Not a word will slips out of my sealed lips. I simply thought it was such a nice song.” Raven smiled at him warmly, she touched his arm and he glanced up at her. His heart is thudding in his chest so loudly he was sure Raven must be able to hear it. She didn’t lie. She wasn’t his his mother or grandfather or anyone he knew before. His secrets and trust were safe with Raven.

“It’s an old lullaby from my homeland. Perhaps sometime I can explain the meaning behind it, if you want me to.” He gulped for air, and ran a hand through his still wet hair. His mind running thoughts about how often he imagined himself whispering how much he cared for her, how incredibly beautiful she was, how much she made him feel, like he belonged here with her and everyone else.

“I would love to hear about your home, Damian.” She whispered softly, sincerity and genuine interest in her voice. Her glowing amethyst eyes locked in his emerald eyes, sipping her tea, her warm fingers brushing his hand on the counter, as a sign of affection. She was there for him in all the ways. In that moment he didn’t mind that a raven heard him sing. A small jubilant smile escapes his full lips.

[aminiatureworld]

Hypnos

Ship: Geralt x Jaskier

Warnings: None

Premise:  Jaskier realizes how unbearable sleeping next to one's unrequited love can be. Luckily that setup doesn't last forever.

Author’s Note:  What was supposed to be a short fic went into the wee hours of the night, and since I wrote another fic (putting today's word count since midnight at above 3k) this isn't actually all that proofread, apologies in advance.

Hope you enjoy and thank you to all 33 people who liked/reblogged my last one. I’m eternally grateful to you all for being so kind!

           Jaskier was beginning to wish that he’d just agreed to sleep on the floor. It was high summer and a bit of a dry season for Geralt. Jaskier had joked once that perhaps the heatwave was too much for the monsters, that they were probably all off on vacation in the north, and honestly he was beginning to believe his own joke more and more, for not only was the coin scarce, but half of the time the bard wondered if his boots weren’t one day going to simply meld to his feet, and he’d never be able to take them off again. The humidity didn’t help his singing much either. Not only was his voice not appreciating the sudden spikes in temperature, dreadfully hot in the beginning of the night and cool enough in the morning to cause complaining in his throat, but his lute was also suffering, as the wood kept swelling and throwing off the pitch, the pegs constantly sticking and refusing to turn. This certainly didn’t help in terms of funding, so when Geralt had suggested they’d share a bed to stave off sleeping under the stars, this town didn’t seem to have a nice patch of grass within ten miles of it, Jaskier had readily accepted, as the floor was terribly splintered and had a suspicious stickiness about it that kept them both with their shoes on.

          Now however he wondered if it wasn’t worth getting a mysterious illness for a little bit of sleep, for sleeping next to Geralt seemed in the moment like the most difficult task Jaskier had yet to attempt while following the Witcher around, for although it was indeed frustratingly hot, although the bed was indeed small and cramped, and although the open window indeed let in more stench than breeze, none of that was comparable to the anxious feeling that was bubbling up in Jaskier’s stomach, or the tautness of his senses, as he now seemed to be aware of every little movement that came from the sleeping man next to him.

He kept his back to the Witcher, hoping that would ease the anxious feeling in his chest, the sweat running down his chest, half due to the heat, to his nerves. Whether it was indeed better than facing Geralt, Jaskier couldn’t tell, as it seemed every little movement he made caused such an obnoxious creaking that flipping over was quite out of the question. His every nerve seemed to be begging for sleep, his eyelids kept sliding closed, yet quickly he’d open them again, for his mind kept racing with all sorts of scenarios where he accidentally kicked Geralt, or got too close or, gods forbid, found himself tangled with the Witcher. Not that he didn’t want that of course, indeed Jaskier sometimes felt he wanted that too much, for being around Geralt had the sometimes unfortunate side effect of cause such a tightness and fluttering in his chest, as well as, well, other things. Still it was a lot easier to temper that with occasional flirting, which Geralt never seemed to pick up on; references in songs, also unnoticed; and a bit of secret staring, Jaskier was glad that hadn’t been found out yet; than to deal with the very immediate consequences of being stuck in bed next to the man that Jaskier wouldn’t hesitate to throw his heart at, if he thought Geralt wouldn’t catch it and toss it out the window. Straining his eyes to stare at the window, Jaskier wondered what decisions he made to get here and, accepting sleep was going to be in short supply that night, prayed to whatever god was listening that he’d never have to deal with this situation again.

          Unfortunately whatever god was listening must’ve had a tight schedule for it was barely a week and a half before the situation happened again. Geralt had apparently felt nothing from their previous bed sharing, so when they’d landed in a particularly crowded inn he’d simply looked at Jaskier and said “I guess we’re sharing again tonight.” Jaskier had simply nodded dumbly, hit with such a wave of panic that he’d not managed to think of any sort of good excuse, and now here they were again, and here again was Jaskier wondering where it’d all gone wrong. It was a cooler night at least, though cooler was hardly the same as comfortable this year, and his nightshirt still stuck to his back, drenched in sweat. Somehow the bed seemed even tighter than the last one, and though Jaskier had managed last time not to run into his companion, he wasn’t quite so sure about this time around. Half of him wondered if the night wasn’t simply better spent in front of the window writing music by moonlight, but they were simply passing by this village, and tomorrow was going to be spent on the road, so sleep was a desperate need. Scooting slightly more into the bed, at least it seemed to be less creaky than its predecessor, Jaskier felt his back touch the Witcher. So that was how much space he had. Silently cursing the inn for only having two pillows per bed, Jaskier’s standard was usually closer to five, Jaskier lay shifted so his left arm wasn’t completely pinned underneath him and, praying that this would be another uneventful night, drifted off into a fitful sleep.

          Jaskier woke up in darkness. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was, having been in the middle of an incredibly odd dream featuring a bunch of random schoolmates and a series of differently colored doors, also was there a war going on? Shivering slightly, it was awfully cold, Jaskier groped around for some sort of blanket. Unfortunately those seemed in short supply, and, quickly growing too tired to continue the search, Jaskier simply saddled up to the source of heat next to him and, vaguely thinking this was quite the odd pillow and had he simply not woken up, drifted off back to sleep.

          The room that the two men had rented faced the dawn, and thus the sky was still slightly purple when Jaskier woke up. Blinking heavily a few times, the first thing that hit Jaskier was the freshness of the air, the second thing that his him was the pair of arms around him. A more efficient alarm there never was, and as Jaskier was aware of that he also became exceedingly aware of the fact that, during the night, his sleep ridden mind had apparently decided that wrapping ones arms around and nuzzling ones face into the chest of one’s unrequited love was a perfectly reasonable and sane thing to do. Now however Jaskier was discovering, indeed, that wasn’t the sanest or most reasonable thing to do. He wondered how he might get himself out of this situation without waking the Witcher when he heard a sleep filled “Jaskier” come from the lips of the man who he’d wrapped his arms around. Looking up at the sleepy Witcher, the sleepy Witcher who’d evidently not processed the situation, Jaskier felt the familiar burning in his heart and in his chest, the bittersweet warmth of falling in love, for at this point it most certainly wasn’t simple infatuation, with someone who’d never return the feeling. For a moment he felt a pang of jealousy, jealousy towards anyone who’d the Witcher had let into his heart, for sometimes Jaskier couldn’t be sure what his place was in that sense, whether he lay outside the walls of Geralt’s defense or not, but that quickly faded, replaced by the familiar tenderness the bard felt. Geralt was too good for that kind of jealousy anyhow.

          Moments passed and Jaskier waited for Geralt to do something, to grow embarrassed or some such thing. But though his face turned an interesting glow of red, Geralt had yet to react, and for a moment time seemed to freeze, neither party making any move to break the odd spell, the situation they’d landed themselves in. Finally Jaskier made a half hearted move to go, but though Geralt slackened his arms around the bard’s neck he made no move to untangle himself. Finding the entire situation more and more unbearable by the moment, Jaskier felt the tension rising by the second. Finally a sort of desperation came over him and, seeming to realize at the moment how terrible an idea this was, Jaskier lifted his head and gave Geralt a quick kiss on the cheek.

          If nothing else that certainly did the trick. Geralt’s face grew red as an overripe tomato, and he quickly lurched up to a sitting position. Jaskier did too and, realizing that he’d probably just thrown their whole relationship down the drain, began a string of apologies. “Geralt, I’m so sorry. You don’t… I don’t… we don’t have to go down a path even intersectional with that. I just, I suppose it was just that you’d made no gesture to move, and, well, I’ve kinda been wanting to kiss you for ages and ages now, but I really value your friendship more than anything like that, so we can just pretend that it didn’t happen if you want and I’m so very sorry!”

          Geralt up to this point had made neither to move nor to speak, only sort of staring at Jaskier in what the bard supposed was a shocked sort of expression, really Geralt had such a hand on the reins of his facial expressions it was hard to tell, but seeing that the bard was at least pausing for breath he leaned closer. Immediately all thoughts were dashed from Jaskier’s brain. He felt a sort of disbelief that the Witcher hadn’t simply left yet, a disbelief that grew intensely when instead Geralt made to cup Jaskier’s cheek with his hand. Leaning slightly into the touch Jaskier still shook his head slightly. “I, I don’t understand.”

          “May… may I show you?” Geralt gazed down at Jaskier, moving closer so their faces were inches apart. His mind working overtime, the situation finally clicked in Jaskier’s mind, and at that moment he felt such a lightness and joy that it seemed to completely black out the rest of the world.

          “Yes please.” He breathed out before Geralt brought his lips to Jaskier’s and all else was immediately forgotten.

            It had taken a much longer time for the two to get on the road than expected, though Jaskier, feeling delightfully spent, didn’t mind the disruption, and thus by the time night fell it was abundantly clear that they’d be camping, for the next town was still some miles away. As Jaskier began rolling out the beds he placed the two right next to one another, smiling devilishly at Geralt, who beamed fondly back. Jaskier’s smile also softened into an affectionate one, and he joined his companion who was currently focusing on building their fire. Plopping down next to Geralt, Jaskier began playing a soft theme, the kind that didn’t bring attention to itself while still being beautiful enough to be worthwhile.

          “Sooo.” He spoke up. “Might I ask now about your affections towards me, I know I’m quite irresistible of course but I’d still like to hear it, and why you’d been so reticent about it?”

          “You said nothing.” Geralt pointed out, but there was no attack in the words, only a sort of fondness. “And, well, people connected to me are always cheated by Fate. Everyone I’ve met who I’ve, well,” he threw his hands up slightly, “they’ve all met bad ends. I didn’t want that again. Not for me, yes, but not for you.” He gazed softly at Jaskier. “You deserve better.”

          “Nonsense,” Jaskier replied softly, “I deserve only you, perhaps not even that, perhaps I’m not even good enough for that. But I’d still have you, if you’d have me.” He paused.

          “I thought I made that quite clear.” Geralt replied softly, and, arms sliding around the bard’s waist, who in turn threw his arms around the Witcher’s neck, made to prove it.

[pressedinthepages]

Kairos

Greek. noun. the perfect, delicate, crucial moment. the fleeting rightness of time and place that creates the opportune atmosphere for action, words, or movement.

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Eskel x Reader

Word Count: 2733

Rating: E

Masterlist

a/n: Self-indulgent pwp supported by mind reading anon “Picture this: eskel and reader sharing a bath and you know what else... 😈” (this has also been posted to AO3 but I don’t wanna link to an outside site cause of the whole thing with the tags...we’ll see what happens)

Tags: @whitewolfandthefox​ ​ @havenoffandoms​ @queenxxxsupreme​ (There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: smut, bathtime shenanigans

Eskel offers to share a bath, and ends up sharing much more.

    It was not often that the two of you splurged on such luxuries, but when Eskel had strode into a larger town with you at his side and spotted a bathhouse, it only took a quick glance between you to confirm their direction. Sure, you’d have to scrimp and save your coin for the next few days, but it was worth getting clean and letting yourself relax for an afternoon. 

    There is a tall gentleman at the door collecting payment, and he’s subtle enough to only stare at Eskel’s scars for a heartbeat too long. He scratches at them as you hand over the coin before you both walk inside. 

    You split once you enter the hallway, the dressing rooms on either end of the building. You move quickly, probably a bit too excited at the prospect of warm water, fresh, fragrant soap, the bubbles dripping in thick clusters down the broad expanse of Eskel’s chest, flowing down, down to hi-

    Woah, you think to yourself, wrapping a towel to cover your body. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Eskel is a friend. Sure, he’s kind, and selfless, and funny, and ungodly handsome, and…

    Oh, you are so fucked.

    You walk into the open area of the bathhouse, tiles cool under your feet. There are a few private baths surrounding the main pools, but all of them are occupied. Just as you are about to peek into the final one before resigning yourself to one of the more exposed baths, you hear someone call your name from inside. 

    You gently nudge the door open and peer in, discreetly sucking in a breath at the sight that greets you. Eskel is here, alone, and by gods, it’s even better than your daydream. The bath is large, rising up from where it is set into the floor. There are steps leading to the ledge, and along the side of the bath is an extra compartment where there are numerous oils, soaps, lotions, and salts, and a large cup for rinsing. There are no windows, the only light in the room coming from the dozens of unscented candles that line the walls. 

Steam rises from the water, swirls and spirals hypnotizing as it twists through the air. It comes up to Eskel’s chest, lapping right along a scar that he has just below his sternum. He is stretched out, languidly resting his arms along the ledge of the bath as he swirls the water lazily with his finger. Candlelight dances over his skin, gracing his features in its grasp.

His voice pulls you from your (quite overt) gawking. “You’re more than welcome to join me in here, I don’t think there are any other empty ones.” Eskel smiles, bringing a warmth to his face that he reserves for only a select few people. You nod, shutting the door behind you. 

You move to the wall where there are several hooks, glancing behind you to see Eskel shut his eyes and lean further back into the water. You’ve never been shy of your body, but you appreciate the gesture of politeness nonetheless. You slide the towel down and hang it up before padding across the tiled floor toward the bath. 

As you slip into the water, the warmth kissing up your legs, you can’t help the small sigh of relief that escapes your lips. You lower yourself into the bath across from Eskel, moaning as the hazy water envelops you. Stretching out, you accidentally knock your leg against Eskel’s where it sits in the water, murmuring a small apology after. He is still leaning back with his eyes closed, but his fist is clenched at the edge of the bath. 

You sit in comfortable silence for a while, allowing your stresses to melt away into peaceful contentment. Quickly, though, you grow restless, and wonder what it would feel like to run your fingers through Eskel’s hair, to have him lean back against you as you show him a tenderness that is so rarely given to him. Soon, your thoughts become overwhelming and you find yourself far too confident for your own good.

“W-wouldyoulikemetowashyourhair?” you blurt out, shattering the quiet lull that had settled in the room. Eskel blinks an eye open, striking gold illuminating the dim room. Your chest rises and falls with your breaths, the water caressing the peaks of your breasts just below the surface. You wonder if Eskel can hear your heart pounding under your skin as he shifts to sit up a bit. He blinks a few times, shaking away his private tranquility.

You almost start to feel guilty for pulling him from his relaxation, but you hear him whisper, almost inaudible, “If-if you’re sure you wouldn’t mind…” Eskel’s voice trails off at the edge, low and raspy as he looks over at you. 

“Not at all, dear,” you hum before rising, moving to settle next to him in the bath. You feel the water running down your exposed chest, dripping along your stomach as it reaches the surface. Eskel’s eyes track your every move, burning as they trace your form, capturing every minute detail possible. 

You reach behind you, thumbing through the different tinctures beside the bath. “Any preference?” you ask, and he hums noncommittally. You raise a few to your nose, trying to find one that is not too strong. You know that Eskel’s nose is quite sensitive, so you try to find one that is mild enough to soothe him but keep him smelling nice and not like he’s been traveling with a goat for weeks (which he has.)

You settle on one that smells vaguely of sage and citrus before presenting it to Eskel for confirmation. “Is this one okay?”

His brow furrows, seemingly confused that you cared to ask. He leans forward, scenting the bottle lightly. You see his features relax, smoothing down into something you could almost call relief. Eskel looks up at you and nods, a smile peeking from his lips, pulled up at the edge by the scar that cuts through them. 

The air is thick with steam and tension, clawing at your chest as you close the distance between you. “Alright,” your voice soft as freshly strewn petals flowing on the wind, “turn ‘round and duck under.” 

Eskel does, unceremoniously dunking his head beneath the surface, water rushing down the tanned lines of his back as he settles back in front of you. You pour some of the soap into your hand, setting it on the ledge before you rise to your knees behind him. 

You start slowly, gently working the soap into a lather as you massage his scalp. You’re rewarded with a low groan, a sound that vibrates straight to your core. His hair is thick, the color of the bark of a mahogany tree, of burnt sugar atop a pastry, of sunlight glinting through a glass of dark whiskey. You scratch lightly against the nape of his neck, earning another moan from deep in his chest. 

You move quietly, reverently, unhurried as you rub circles into his temples and run your nails along his scalp. Eskel shifts beneath you, adjusting how he’s sitting before leaning against you. You can tell that he’s not resting his full weight on you, scared of knocking you backwards into the water. He is warm against you, steady and strong, anchoring you in your thoughts. 

You hum lightly, letting him relax in your arms as you smooth some of the lather down his neck and across his shoulders. Eskel finally relents, his head falling backwards to lean against your chest and his eyes falling closed with a soft sigh. 

Once you are satisfied with his cleanliness you reach for the cup, tilting Eskel back gently as you pour water over his hair. You hold a hand right at his hairline, shielding his eyes from the harsh sting of soap, smoothing it back as you rinse the white suds from their perch on his head.

You return the cup to its place and guide Eskel back to his spot, holding him tight against you as he moves to settle elsewhere in the bath. He stills under your hands, their touch firm but soothing. 

“Yo-you don’t have to…” he murmurs, swallowing thickly as you stroke your thumb lightly across his skin.

“I’d like to,” you hum, Eskel sighing contentedly as he leans back into you. 

You knead into the muscles of his shoulders, working out knots with nimble fingers. Your hands rove down his chest, swirling soap along scarred skin. Eskel inhales sharply as you brush over one of his nipples, your eyebrow quirking in interest. 

You lean forward, pressing yourself fully into Eskel as you lose yourself in the gentle patterns you trace along his skin. Your mind wanders once more, contemplating the other little noises he might make under your touch. You feel heat growing low in your stomach, something lazy as it unfurls. 

Eskel shifts against you and you look over to him. He is still resting at the crook of your shoulder, but he has turned towards you. He leisurely blinks his eyes open, finding your gaze with ease as his lips turn up in a small grin. 

“I-may I kiss you?” Eskel’s eyes glance down to your lips before returning to you. You nod, not trusting yourself with words at the moment, bringing your head down to meet him. 

When your mouths meet, it is something small, tentative. But when you feel Eskel pull away you follow him, capturing his lips between your own. He moans into you, shifting and turning in your grasp so that he is facing you properly. Eskel wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he licks into your mouth. You gladly oblige, running your fingers through his hair and down his chest. You can feel the hardness of his cock against your thigh and it sends you reeling, a shiver coursing up your spine.

Eskel’s hands, rough and calloused on your hips, pull you forwards with him until you are straddling his lap. You pull back from him for a moment, determined to take your time with him. You cup his face gently, your hand resting against the rough planes of his cheek perhaps the most beautiful sight you’ve seen.

Eskel is looking deep into your eyes, wordlessly vulnerable as he doubts that you’d want to be in this position with him. You can see the dance of gold flashing back and forth between your own eyes, searching for the fear or disgust that he thinks just has to be here.

    “Stop thinking so much,” your murmur against his mouth, pulling him in once more. You can feel the moment Eskel accepts you, his hands squeezing the soft skin of your hips as he leans into you. His hands move slowly, one moving up to take one of your breasts in its hold. He kisses slowly down your neck, just the slightest glance of teeth along your collarbone enough to have you whining in his grasp.

    Eskel smiles up at you, all toothy and impish before taking the peak of your breast between his lips. His hand moves in tandem on the other, kneading and smoothing as his mouth suckles and leaves little love bites. You card a hand through his hair, still a bit damp but beginning to dry into soft, silky threads. His mouth and hand switch places, ravishing and smoldering heat on the tender skin of your chest. 

Right as Eskel’s mouth brushes across your nipple, you feel his cock throb in the water, pressing against your core for the briefest moment. A burst of heat soars along your veins and your hips grind forward, chasing him, craving that delicious burn of his desire.

“Please, Eskel, I need you…” you moan, your voice dark and lined with stardust that bursts behind the eyes. Your fingers are laced through his hair, and you feel the gentle drops of water drip from it as his face rises back to yours.

He is only a heartbeat’s distance from you, steady and safe in the storm of arousal. “Gods,” he growls, the sound striking low and deep within you, “but you sound so nice when you beg.”

Eskel surges forward and captures your lips, power crackling in the edges of your eyelids as he grips you tightly, as if worried you would be swept away with the tide. You moan into his mouth and move one of your hands lower, sweeping over the expanse of his chest, lines of scars cutting through the light dusting of hair.

As you reach the bottom of his abdomen and wrap your hand around his cock, Eskel’s hands rove over any bit of you that he can reach. His hands are thorough, mapping your body as he traces the constellations of marks along your skin. He is hard and heavy in your hand and when you drag your hand along the length of him you feel him tense beneath you, his head falling back against the edge of the bath when you circle your thumb around the tip. 

You raise your hips and Eskel raises his head back to you, his eyes practically glowing in the candlelight. You line his cock at your entrance, teasing the tip through the wetness of your fold. Eskel tightens the grip on your hips, keeping you from sinking onto him and instead holding you in place. You can see a vein in his jaw tick with the effort, his willpower bending with every move of your hips. 

“Are you sure? You don’t have to-”

Your hands travel back to settle on the sides of his face, caressing him softly as you echo your earlier sentiment, “I’d like to…”

Eskel’s hands are still strong on your sides but he relaxes a bit, allowing you to slowly work your way down his length. You move leisurely, the stretch of his cock burning into pleasure, wild embers sparking up your spine. When you are fully seated in his lap you stall, indulging in the fullness in your cunt. You feel Eskel throb impatiently within you and he groans into your mouth, close enough to share a breath. 

“Please,” you whisper, catching his lips lightly. Eskel’s hands move to settle under your back, rubbing circles into the soft flesh. He lifts you, the velvet of your cunt dragging along his cock deliciously. You start to rock your hips into him slowly, meeting his movements as he thrusts. The water swells around you, waves breaking along the edge of the bath as you lose each other in a whirlpool of pleasure. 

The world outside of this small alcove of the bathhouse has ceased to exist, leaving only you and Eskel, intertwined with each other, both seeking the same end. He spears up into you, his hips snapping against yours as he holds you steady. You can feel your climax building as he hits the bundle of nerves deep within your core with every thrust of his hips.

“Eskel, please, please just-ooh right there,” he snakes a hand around to your front and rubs his thumb in tight circles against the peak of your cunt. You cry out, everything being simultaneously too much and not enough as you see white behind your eyes. The fire courses through your veins as your back arches in pleasure, Eskel keeping his pace up, prolonging your pleasure.

This must be what magic feels like, you think, falling slack against his body as he finds his own release within you. Eskel’s thrusts turn sloppy, his hands grasping and wild along your skin. He moans your name into your neck, sucking a mark into the skin as he stills deep within your core. Your walls flutter around him as he spills, a hot, thick torrent of his spend bursting into you. You hold him close, whispering sweet nothings into his ear as he regains his bearings. 

The water of the bath still gently swells, the waves not yet settled from your passion. Eskel lifts his head from your neck, worry plaguing the beautiful gold that shines in his eyes. You lean forward, sweetly capturing his lips in a kiss that you try to push all of your adoration and care into, hoping that he can translate the meaning in unsaid words.

Thankfully, he can.