#this is just ... deeply uncomfortable and the best i can do is distract myself and try to ease the pain as much as possible

[hikeyzz]

reached the point where the pain and discomfort is making me cry so 👍 officially worst pain of my life the doctors were right lol

[shycoconutt]

You, Me, & Armin Arlert: Keeping a Kind Heart Amid Despair

So, I finished Attack on Titan last night and I want to talk about someone in particular. I’m sure that what I have to say here doesn’t add anything new to the discourse, I know this story has touched countless hearts already. But, the feeling I have left in my chest after last night I feel can only be relieved by purging my thoughts.

No other character, besides Aang from Avatar: The Last Airbender, has been rooted in my soul more deeply than Armin Arlert. There have been countless characters who have tugged at my heartstrings, based on my blog alone I bet you can figure out who a couple of those are. But, I’ve never seen myself in any of those characters. Maybe in certain traits or actions, but never the all-encompassing sphere of who they are and all their little facets. 

Sheesh. Even as I’m typing this, tears are blurring the bottom of my vision, and my nose has that uncomfortable, burning tingle. Because all I can think about is this:

“I hate you and I always have. Cause you've never done anything but betray me. The second one we were given. You haven't done a thing with any of it! So get up!”

Ah, crap. I’m seriously not going to be able to keep typing if I can’t get it together… Okay, phew, I think I have it under control now. So, I’m sure a lot of us can picture ourselves in this image. Maybe it was a dream, just a moment you caught your reflection in a mirror, or, in my case, a point in time where you were completely alone. 

I feel that it is important to have moments of silence and solitude where you can take inventory of yourself without any outside influence or distraction. These moments, at their best, can be very healing, but other times, you are brought face to face with the ugly beast you chained up in the dark corner of your subconscious. Armin was brought here during the climax of the battle, where he believed his friends on the outside would all perish if he couldn't get back to them in time. With the souls of his comrades, Eren, and the entire population at risk, everything came to a head. What is the point of it all if you can’t, at the very least, die trying? 

Get up. Don’t betray me again like you always do. You’re a piece of shit. The good others see in you is nothing but a farce. Worthless. Predictable. Incapable. Why must everything be so damn difficult for you?

These are the tales of my ugly beast. What about you? Does yours say something similar? How often does it sneak out of its cage to wrap its claws around your neck, forcing you to listen to its scripture, only for you to shove it away? How often do you visit it when it fits your agenda, to serve as fuel to your fire of self-hatred?

I’m sorry, that might have been a little much. I just need you to understand, okay? Because here is the other side of the situation. We know Armin Arlert is anything but what he is telling himself at this moment. I don’t think it needs any further explanation. You watched what I did, so you know. 

Armin, regardless of his lack of physical talent, defines what it means to be a soldier of humanity. “Dedicate your heart.” A salute with various diluted meanings in the different oppositions of war finds purity in him. I see myself in Armin Arlert, not because of his intelligence, or his worth to the cause, I see myself in his humanity. His heart. His ability to confront the beast. His ability to shoulder the pain and despair of the ones he loves most. His ability to keep a kind heart amid despair.

His ability to love, listen, let go, lose, fall, get up, and do it all over again, all while remaining vulnerable and steadfast. He did it, so how about you and I try and do the same, yeah?

[ohbo-ohno]

A knock at the window of a space station

From the prompt list thingie for Gaz x Reader please? Spoopy ooooooooo

1k game here - no more please!

my best attempt at space horror :') also i know less than nothing about space and astronauts so we're all just gonna pretend this is accurate.

0.8k of astronaut gaz x astronaut reader and the fear that you're not alone in space. no smut! also this is more of just like... a plot bunny than anything. it doesn't really have a clear storyline or an ending. sorry!!! i couldn't come up with anything lmao

"Kyle, seriously," you groan, watching him float across the shuttle in his best attempt at pacing. "It's nothing. We've just been up here too long."

"I'm telling you, I heard something!" He says, voice rising. He hasn't been able to calm down since he woke you up in the middle of the night (well, what passes for night in space). He's adamant that something knocked on the window.

"It's not possible," you sigh, irritated after an interrupted night of sleep. "Work through it logically, Garrick - what do you think could have knocked?"

"I don't-" he runs a hand down his face, visibly frustrated. "I don't know! But I know what I heard, alright? Can't you trust me?"

You sigh, pushing yourself away from the wall and floating close enough to cup his cheeks in your hands. "Of course I trust you. I wouldn't have signed up to lock myself in outer space with you if I didn't."

Your attempt at humor fails, and you sigh, pulling him closer and pushing back so the two of you can rest against the wall.

"I trust you, Kyle. I'm just saying that I don't think the noise you heard is anything to be worried about, alright?"

He takes a deep breath, nodding slowly. "I know, I'm sorry. It's just..." he shifts to hold your wrists, leaning close enough so your foreheads meet. "It scared the shit out of me, love."

You mimic his breathing, taking slow, deep breaths. You can feel him shaking against you. Kyle's always been the emotional rock of your duo, it's taking everything in you to not feel rattled by his fear.

"It's nothing," you reassure, stroking your thumbs over his cheekbones. "We've just been alone here for too long."

"Yeah," he nods. "You're probably right."

———————————————————————

You're the one who hears it next.

You're the only one awake, Kyle asleep in his bunk while you sit near a window, gazing out into space and thinking.

It's been hard to shake whatever Kyle thinks he saw.

It's been days since he last mentioned it, but you can tell it still bugs him. He's twitchier than usual, always a little defensive. He seems particularly worried about how much longer the two of you are meant to stay up here. You try your best to distract him, but you haven't been able to do much.

You sigh, rubbing some warmth into your chilled fingers. It's always cold in space, no matter how much you try to fight it.

You only hear the sound because the rocket is otherwise silent. Space is always a little suffocatingly silent, but since you and Kyle aren't trying to fill the quiet it's almost oppressive.

The knock is sudden and loud, surprising you so much that you nearly pull a muscle jerking toward the sound.

There's... nothing there.

Of course there isn't, you tell yourself. What would there be? A bright green alien waving hello?

Still, you're almost more uncomfortable by the sight of an empty window. You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to think rationally.

You know, at least, that there was a sound. It was too loud, too clear, for you to have imagined it. And you know that it came from the outside of the ship - or, well, you hope. If it came from the inside, you have a much bigger problem.

The silence comes back after the knock, just as oppressive. You have to force yourself to take measured breaths, unable to tear your gaze away from the window across from you.

There's nothing. Of course there's nothing - what would there be?

Still... you can't shake the feeling that you're missing something.

You breathe deeply, force you hands loose when your nails prick your palm and you realize you've had them clenched. Gaz hasn't woken, despite how loud you remember the sound being. Nothing is any different in the small room, nothing is wrong.

You force yourself to relax, still unable to look away from the window. There's nothing there.

Eventually you doze off, leaning in your seat. You're distantly aware of Kyle moving you sometime later, of relaxing onto your cot and settling more deeply into sleep.

———————————————————————

Neither of you talk about it.

You hadn't planned to mention that you heard the knock, worried that it would only make Kyle's paranoia worse if you fed into it. But you find yourself sharing in that paranoia now, constantly waiting for another sound.

You hope your time to go home comes sooner rather than later.

The two of you don't talk nearly as much these days. It feels like you're waiting for another shoe to drop, just waiting to hear the knock while you're both awake. For now, you can still dance around the topic.

Kyle's eye bags become more noticeable everyday. You don't say anything, because you know it's the same for you.

You watch the windows as much as you can. Nothing changes, nothing moves.

You breathe deeply, and flinch when you hear another knock.

[keyh0use]

why I've been absent & tw for m*rder, su*cide

I know I don't really owe anyone an explanation but I want to give one for my own piece of mind because I feel so guilty. Back in February I was injured really badly and hospitalised, and a couple days later my cousin, Christopher, was brutally murdered in prison. As a CO myself I've seen it happen more times than I can stomach to think about so it wasn't a huge shock, but we had gotten close over the last couples years, trying to provide him the support the rest of our family has denied him since his sentencing. Amongst so many other things we surprisingly had in common, he wrote too (not the same content as me, obviously, lol) and he was willing to provide me with a perspective I could only speculate on in Delicate, going over the relationships and how he would feel reconnecting with the person who got him incarcerated, like Rafe does with Barry in the story. And he succumbed to his injuries all by himself, no funeral, no obituary and I clung to that fic, terrified if anyone read it and criticised it I would literally never write again. As a distraction I put all my efforts into a story where Rafe tries to follow in his mothers footsteps by committing suicide, I just felt the heartache for it. My first funeral was for my aunt and uncle, Chris' parents, also murdered and the comparisons kept coming until I finished it. Then the same thing happened, it felt too real and vulnerable to share. So I tried writing something lighter, couldn't. Vampires? Blood, killing. Reminded me too much of what it felt like to be really hurt. And like what happened to someone I cared deeply for. As the months went by I pushed myself way too hard to get better physically and emotionally, pressured myself to sit through movies that made me uncomfortable to try and associate violence with actors instead of myself and ended up just getting way, way worse when I faced my attacker in court. Things slowed down after that, I tried to give myself a break that didn't make me feel guilty, ignored all the messages and comments asking for updates, just stayed off this side of social media all together so I wouldn't be reminded I'm not giving people the content they follow me for. My grandfathers cancer progressed, I spent a lot of time with him thankfully, and he committed medically assisted suicide the day of my best friends wedding rehearsal. The next night? Love of my life confesses his feelings for me but it's too late, we never said anything over the last 11 or so years and a couple weeks ago he married someone else. We buried my grampy, miscommunication tropes are super fun to write about but absolutely suck in real life, and I'm still not really feeling up to posting anything. All this to say I'm really sorry if I'm disappointing anyone. All I can do is promise I'm trying to figure everything out and that I haven't abandoned any works.

[sparkagrace]

Steve’s been having a hard day. Not only has he been feeling a little more lost recently, he just went on a coffee date Nat had set up for him, and it had been the worst. The woman had just ogled him in a way that made him uncomfortable, had been so focused on his Captain America persona, so self involved. Steve hadn’t even been able to get a word in, apart from answering some questions that required not much more than a “no, that’s not true”, yeah, that happened”, or “I don’t think I feel comfortable answering that.” He’s had interviews less painful, with fewer assumptions made about who he is, or isn’t. He’d had a difficult time not rolling his eyes or sighing deeply, when she’d go on another rant about something Steve really, really didn’t want to discuss. But now she’s gone, and he lets out all the frustrated air he’s been holding in, in one deep, deep sigh, arms braced on the table and his face nestled between them.

“Hey,” someone says, and Steve barely hears it over his own wallowing. “You look like you could use another coffee. Maybe something stronger though, by the sound of it.”

Steve looks up and around, trying to figure out who’s talking to him. But he’s easy to spot, only two empty tables between them. The guy looks like he really does feel bad for Steve, and Steve gives him the best smile he can currently muster. “Yeah, one of those days, you know,” he responds with politely.

The guy turns around to face him more, long legs stretched out on the floor. Steve takes a better look at him. The guy nods like he understands. Something about him tells Steve that he probably does. He’s smiling at Steve, but it doesn’t fully reach his eyes either, and there’s some sort of sadness hanging over him, like maybe he’s a little lost too.

“Oh, I do know, I think. I haven’t been having the best day myself and…. I don’t want to bother you, or be too forward, but uhm, maybe I can buy you a coffee? I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

Steve knows he should probably say no. What if this guy is another fan boy, and he has to go through the whole thing all over again? He doesn’t really feel like talking to anyone, would prefer to just go home to his empty apartment and sulk. He doesn’t know why the words coming out of his mouth instead are “sure, that sounds nice,” but he’s said it before he can think it through.

The guy gets up, making his way over to Steve’s table, and Steve can’t help but follow the movement of his long legs and lean body.

“I’m Bucky, by the way,” he says as he sits down. “What can I get you….?”

“Uhm, Steve. Just a regular coffee, but I can…”

“No, please, let me, Steve. You’re kind enough to keep me company, it’s the least I can do,” Bucky says.

Steve doesn’t think that’s fully true - Bucky is already doing a lot for him, by being a distraction from his shitty day, by being kind, and also just by….being really, really nice to look at. But he agrees, and a couple of minutes later Bucky comes back with black coffee for Steve, and some sort of sweet smelling concoction for himself.

And it’s easy, so easy, to talk to Bucky, it turns out. He’s incredibly kind, funny, smart. He doesn’t ask Steve anything about Captain America, apart from asking if Tony is really as much of an asshole as he seems to be on TV. Steve feels like a weight has been lifted, talking to someone who isn’t a colleague, doesn’t want anything from him apart from conversation and company, doesn’t seem to care about the things people usually only care about talking to Steve.

It’s like he actually wants to get to know Steve, and wants Steve to get to know him, with how open he’s being. It’s like a breath of fresh air, like Steve’s been breathing in oxygen from recycled air, in a closed off space, and right now, a whole entire world is opening up for him. Blue grey eyes looking intently at him, like they see him, eyes crinkling at the corners in laughter warming him up from the inside, plush pink lips curling into a smile that makes his stomach flutter. Maybe it’s not such a bad day after all.

—-

Sorry this got much longer than I thought it would be, but I promised I’d try and cheer you up, and I hope this does!!! I love you SO much, my loveliest tejodore 💕💕💕💕

MAYA. whaaaaaaaaat? 😭 How can you be this sweet? I'm genuinely grinning from ear to ear. Oh my gosh, I had just made lunch when I read this and now I'm no longer hungry because I have been fed.

When you showed me that Seb photo last night and were trying to find him a matching Chris, I didn't know you'd find the perfect pair (because they are one!) 😍😍😍

This little slice of Shrunkyclunks coffee shop AU was the best way to cheer up and inject some love into my work day 💖 Steve was so bored and lonely, and Bucky was so gentle with him without being prying. I love how softly and casually he approaches Steve 🥰️

Ugh, you're the best. ily so much (and I know we say it a lot, but I truly do adore you and think you're the goddamn best person). I'm so glad I met you on this hellsite and we can be totally ridiculous together. I love your headcanons, I love your ficlets, I love your desire to always find a Steve/Chris for a matching Bucky/Seb 💗💗💗

You're incredible and it's so hard to feel sad when you're around to cheer me up! 🌷🌻

[greetingsfromuranus]

Hello. I'll ask you a strange question because I have a similar obsession to eene. This concerns me personally, if anything. I love this cartoon mainly because of Edd and it scares me... I have an obsession that some years, I am trying to stop loving Edd and this cartoon, but everything returns to my roots as soon as I even see something related. This makes me feel more uncomfortable. This has never happened to me, I always stopped loving something at some point and my obsession became weaker. Do you have any advice? Sometimes I regret that I even decided to watch this cartoon.. This cartoon is cool, but it's not worth my obsession. And especially Edd, he’s a simple character who shouldn’t be liked so much, it’s not normal. I seriously want to found a religion for him, it scares me, I have always condemned such dependence, but now I behave the same way.. I’m disgusted with myself.. I became a fanatic, it's disgusting! I try to shift my attention to something else, but everything comes back to EEnE! It sounds funny, but I really suffer from this addiction, maybe I need a specialist :(

I understand how you feel, I know what it's like to be so obsessed with something unattainable that it hurts, but I don't think you should beat yourself up over it! You deserve better! Being ashamed or feeling disgusted with yourself is only going to make it hurt more - so I do think it would be a good idea to accept that part of you, so that you can cope better, and have more energy to put into constructive things :)

From my experience, trying to repress things internally often doesn't work, or can lead to heartbreak, and I don't want you to hurt yourself trying to do that. You shouldnt be ashamed of love! You cant control it, and its not your fault if it's something you dont want! I know being obsessed the way we are can be really really painful, scary, or it feels stupid, or like a waste of time. But chances are, you can't control how long it lasts or how intense it is - so I believe the best course of action is to try and work alongside the obsession to do something constructive or improve yourself.

You can't control the things your brain latches onto, but you can control what you do with them! Like for me, my obsession with Edd helped me finally start cleaning my living space (it was nearly hoarding, you couldn't see the floor most of the time. Ive been like this my whole life.), and helped me get the motivation to really work on improving my art. I'm not sure what skills you personally would like to focus on, but there are many things you could do! For example, you could learn coding & website design by making a website for him, or you could start leaning any sort of craft so you can make art of him!

Now on the other hand, I know how obsessions this strong can make one feel. I know it can feel so intense it's painful or scary, and I know how it hurts when you can't have the object of your love with you irl. There are many times when my obsession with him physically hurt so bad that i just wished it would stop. I know that pain so deeply, and I understand if keeping your obsession isn't worth it to you anymore. I'd seriously reccomend trying out the things I mentioned earlier, but if they don't work, it's important that you use healthy methods to distance yourself from it

One idea I have would be to find some healthy hobbies, like going on walks/hikes, gardening, cycling, cooking etc... better yet, find a club or something to join, just anything else to focus on! I really reccomend outdoor ones, because 1: there really is alot of natural beauty in the world, so many beautiful things to love, and 2: it's easier to distance yourself from the internet, tv, and any other things that would remind you of EEnE. Do something to keep you from getting bored, so your mind doesn't wander too much and go back to the obsession. (I will say, cooking is quite time consuming and takes alot of thinking! It could be a good distraction that's also fun and good for you)

I think your best bet would be to do a combination of both of these! Take energy away from feeling upset at yourself, and instead put it into doing something good for you. I know it can be difficult to start new things like that, but its at least worth a try. There's no guarantee the obsession would stop, but hopefully you may be able to find something to help put you in a better mindset! Once you're feeling better inside, the obsession may not hurt as much, or be as intense, and it will be easier to live with! :) this may be tough, but hopefully you will end up somewhere better in the long run!

You may have to try some different things and think of some more ideas, but if nothing works, it may be a good idea to talk to a professional about it! I'm sure it would be helpful in some way, and I really do hope you can be happier. They would likely have more guidance to give you than I do

Please feel free to ask me for any advice or support, I want you to be able to live happier. I'll be there to talk whenever you need. I care about you!! Please don't beat yourself up over anything, just try to cope as well as you can. Your happiness is most important. I wish you the best of luck in whatever you need to do 💛 and I hope it hurts less in the future

[leonbloder]

Praying Without Words

Throughout my career as a pastor, I have been asked many times about prayer- how it works, the best way to pray, etc. 

I'm not an authority on prayer by any stretch of the imagination, even though I have been praying for most of my life and have served in churches as a "professional Christian" for over twenty-five years. 

In fact, the longer I serve as a pastor, the more I realize just how little I know about the efficacy of prayer.  I've seen people pray fervently for healing or restoration, and none comes.  I've also seen plenty of prayers seemingly answered in miraculous ways. 

To be honest, there doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. 

What I have learned, however, is that praying is important and is an integral part of a life of faith.  When we pray, we open ourselves to connection with God and others.  We enter into the flow of the Spirit that can enable us to find peace in troubled times and solace when we are filled with despair. 

Prayer also gives us the chance to think deeply about whatever it is that we are praying for or about.  Our petitions to God are also statements to ourselves; more often than not, we become the answers to our own prayers. 

I could go on, but I want to focus today on the most uncommon type of prayer for most of us: silence.   

Sitting in silence to quiet our minds, bodies, and souls is one of the most challenging things for us to do in our current culture.  But when we engage in silent meditation, we are able to spend more time listening than speaking.  

Author and artist Joan Chittister once wrote: 

Even most of the praying we do is noisy. We say prayers; we seldom sit in the presence of God and wait. The very thought of simply listening for the whisper of the soft, still voice within is not only rare, it is uncomfortable these days. Shouldn’t we be doing something, our souls shout at us. Shouldn’t we be going somewhere, doing something, at least saying something holy?

I have to say, Chittister's assessment here hits home for me.  I know full well what it feels like to try to sit and listen for God's still, small voice within me, only to find myself distracted by the noise around me, the demands on my time, and more. 

I also know what it feels like to be able to sit in silence and feel the deep connection to the Divine, to have the world slow down around me, to let the noise dissipate into the background. 

Perhaps you know this, too.  To put it plainly, I think there's something of this in all of us.  

Some of us know what it's like to sit silently in a hospital waiting room, praying so fervently that the noise around us fades, the other people in the room disappear, and it's just us, our thoughts, and a feeling that somehow a voice is speaking to us. 

Others have sat in the woods and let the glory of Creation envelop us as we silently take all of it in, lost in our thoughts, connected to God. 

Maybe some of us have had those moments of silent connection when we are driving on a long trip.  As we drive in silence, watching the road ahead and the scenery around us pass by, we may feel something within us stir as we connect to the Spirit.  

We all know this feeling at some level.  The trick is to find ways to allow the noise around us and within us to fall away so we can sit and listen.  

May your prayer life expand into silence this new year.  May you discover new ways to experience a connection to God. May you hear the still, small voice within you that leads you forward. 

And may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you always. Amen. 

[nantilusa]

A One Size Fit All

Being a Backburner slash Mirroball person; the True Confession

I’ve always been a pleaser for my whole life and somehow I don’t know why, I enjoy playing that role.

I feel like I have been standing myself up all these years. I have been selling myself short, and cutting myself off at the feet so others didn’t have to. I use to take pride in being likeable. Like a master of disguise, versions of myself shifted for one person to the next. I lived to exchanged my pieces of my whole-hearted spirit, for short-live validation.

I naively believed all that mattered was being the best version of myself, knowing damn well that the world just adores perfection, but that’s totally not my thing. I used to live as the slow pace, a layered smile that covers half of my sphere. A natural leaf dancers, filling with warmth hail, dancing around with the horses, caress you as gentle as morning sunlight.

A metaphorical fragments, an inherently fragile yet a delicate object. A disco ball that spinning around like I firmly filled with happiness. I decided to swinging like I would never fall again, never decline an utterly dehumanizing word, I sink in on every level of it, balancing myself precariously on tightrope. Keeping the audience alive.

Sabotaging myself and end up hardly complaining to people is always my thing. In my mind, it’s like a never-ending babble fest up there. When people wrong me, I turn into the maestro of making excuses for their behavior. Blaming myself will always be the easiest way to run from uncomfortable feelings of it. Because being with people can fill me with material possessions of fleeting pleasures. I used to shake my hands with vulnerability, embracing them leads me to find my strength in unity. Like a symphony of souls, their validation and company creating a melody of solace, producing the bloom in a spring meadow of mine.

Chatters of friendship consume my life in a sea of shallowness, and I do feel right. It supposed to make me feels right, doesn’t it?

I am aware that I might scare with the abandonment, the emptiness. Because loneliness seems like a paradox, making myself seeking refuge in the arms of distractions, grip me tighter, making me doubt the beauty and uniqueness that reside within.

I look into myself as if I’m an ocean that tries to justify the vastness of its own existence by screaming out into the world. I’m like the paint fabric that brushstrokes of what I know my friends want to. A puzzle that purposefully shatters itself knowing that people are bound to like at least one piece of who I am, even if it means losing myself in the process.

I was busy forgiving other people’s mistakes but hard getting one for myself. Caring too much of what others think and believe that my self-worth are naturally tied to the external validation. The exhaustion is real, when I rely on those who are close to me repeatedly to make me feel good within, when external validation becomes the only source of my self-worth. However, anxiety tends to outweigh exhaustion.

I always filled with a variety of encouragement and likes, the role of the permanent initiator. Even my interaction somehow was as shallow as viewing them through a lens of their acceptance or rejection of me.

The fear of being unloved, unwanted, and completely alone, the terror of accruing self-worth to how many validation from others bothers me a lot.

I’d bow deeply when I feel like I fail to present such cheer. It always feels like a sweet poison that placed as my pride go away, upon a shelf not stowed to hide. My mind roaring “Fighting won’t make the beast lie still, it’s here to stay, and it will keep on until its had its fill” So I keep on counting, searching for roads to cross, miles to make, and the people to please.

For me, these acts of kindness give me joy. Unfortunately, while some appreciate it, rest of them would rudely take advantage of it. The sad news I know many are in the later category. Perhaps I’d get a little love in return. It’s also pathetic to have the feeling of thinking, that if I don’t reach them out first, then they won’t bother talking to me anyways. It’s also pathetic to completely surrounded yet completely friendless at the same time

I should have known better. But I keep going back and forth, like it’s so easy to get caught up in societal expectations and the pursuit of external validation.

A question frequently pops into my brain “What would happen to my friendships if I dropped the act and became myself?” The idea was risky. It is perilous because I couldn’t even define the honest myself. Perhaps that is the consequence of being used for pleasing people, I was lifeless at my core.

I have definitely been upset, expressed my insults, and tell them how I feel, but in the end, I held myself responsible for putting a barrier between myself and that person. Little did I know that insults never killed anyone, my action of pleasing them is.

The people pleaser of me was too easy to deal with; didn’t want to inconvenience anybody, made everyone else’s problem my own, did not know how to set a boundary.

I realized it all was my monstrous fear of being abandoned, I was—all the time—on guard against rejection from companions.

I never concentrate on how I do, I’m not paying enough attention to myself which make it impossible for me to please myself in this state. I realize I manifest itself in feeling stressed and exhausted as I always have the urge to constantly mantaining this toxic positivity even when it’s not appreciated.

In the depths of it all, I know I’m tiring myself to death, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I’m aiming to ultimately seek it within myself, I had enough for sure. But unlearning the scripts you’ve told yourself for years doesn’t happen overnight.

Moreover, what sucks is, every time I feel pathetic because of this, I am reminded of the fact that I have always been a terrible learner. Immortalized my bad habit as the way to keep me living.

And if I may, I would like to ask another forgiveness for my poor taste with which I live. I know it came from my imperfection of navigating myself. It is through failures that I learn, evolve and ultimately become my personality.

The season is change, but guess who won’t ever mind being put on everyone’s backburner, still comfortable being a mirroball person, and still having trouble changing?

[charliedawn]

Well, the slashers getting caught during sexy times was interesting! What about the hannibals? 😈

"It's alright. We had to tell them eventually..."

Chillest of them all. He isn’t ashamed of his body and would just tell them to get out politely. He would stop if you wish to ? Or, continue ? He doesn’t mind either way and would take your opinion above anything else. He would be considerate and try to soothe you the best he can. He would also buy you flowers in the following days or any kind of present to make you forgive his carelessness.

"Don’t worry, love. They will have forgotten all about it tomorrow morning..I’ll make sure of it."

Their reactions :

Morgan *smiles and gently closes the door behind him*

Kevin : "Damn ! Even uncle’s getting some ?! When is my turn ?!"

Peter *traumatised and slowly closes the door behind him*

Hannibal Sr. *smiles and leaves discreetly*

"I..I deeply apologize. I should have locked the door. I don't understand..I always lock the doors..I..I.."

He would be more upset about actually forgetting it and not being perfect than the fact that his family actually entered. He would immediately stop and have an internal crisis at the fact that he made such a mistake.

"I got..distracted."

You smiled before ghosting your lips over his.

"How inconsiderate of you.."

He would have taken it seriously if it wasn’t for the way the corners of your lips tilted up playfully and he whispered against your lips.

"How inconsiderate indeed..How may I redeem myself ?"

You wrapped your arms around his neck.

"How indeed ?"

Their reactions :

Kevin : "EWEWEWEWEW ! I need to go bleach my eyes !" *slams the door behind him*

Peter *shudders and blushes in embarrassment at the sight before he quickly gets out*

Hannibal Jr. *stays shocked for a couple of seconds before closing the door, pretending he saw nothing*

Hannibal Sr. : "My apologies. Do try to be more quiet though ? The other children are sleeping." *leaves*

The reaction of Peter would be very different depending on which family member catches the both of you in the act. If it’s one of his siblings ? He would stop, but will not panic, as they usually stick together. He would also apologise profusely for not being more careful.

"I..I’M SO SORRY ! I didn’t think there would be anyone else."

Their reactions :

Morgan *sighs loudly before throwing some condoms at Peter and leaving the room wordlessly*

Kevin *smiles widely* : "Can I watch ?" *proceeds to sit down before Peter grabs a nearby shoe and throws it at his face*

Peter : "KEVIN ! Get out !"

Kevin *cackles before running out of the room*

Peter *smiles reassuringly at you* : "It's okay..It's only Kevin/Morgan. He won't tell anybody. I'm glad it wasn't my dad or my uncle."

However, if it was one of them ? He will panic and fear for your life. You better got legs to carry you somewhere where they can never find you.

Hannibal Jr. *fake and threatening smile* : "…I’m afraid your stay has become an inconvenience. Please, leave."

Hannibal Sr. *smiles and pretends to be okay with it before getting out a shotgun* : "I’ll give you a five seconds head start..5."

"Get out. Now."

The command is serious and it’s in those moments that you can see how Kevin is in complete control of his emotions..He was experiencing pleasure a few minutes ago, but his face is now expressionless, even though he is still inside you and is staring at whoever interrupted the both of you. He won’t stop. They can all watch if they want. He doesn’t understand "shame" and will only ask them to leave because he knows it makes you uncomfortable.

Their reactions :

Morgan *smiles* : "I’m happy for the both of you."

Peter *shrieks and covers his eyes before closing the door* : "Sorry sorry sorry..!"

Hannibal Jr. *stands still for a second or two before closing the door* : "My apologies.."

Hannibal Sr. : "Don’t mind me. Sorry for the interruption.."

"Do close the door on your way out.."

He would be calm. The man is poised in all situations. It’s only the kids and they may as well learn a thing or two about satisfying their partner..Hannibal Sr. is very meticulous and it shows in the bedroom as well. He can be savage or very nice when he wants to. He will also always take your needs into consideration and will stop if you want him to. He will not show any sign of disappointment or frustration if you want the two of you to stop and try to make it up to you somehow ?

Their reactions :

Peter : "DAD ?! Gross !"

Kevin *whistling* : "Dad’s getting some !"

Morgan *shakes his head in disbelief at his siblings’ reactions*

Hannibal Jr. *leads them all out of the room*

[senbonsol]

Helloo!! I don't know if you're accepting requests but if you are could you please do something where Michael gets caught and taken back to Smiths Grove and his s/o gets tired of it so they sneak into the sanitarium and break him out of there??

Hello! I honestly didn’t think I would get any asks, but I’m happy to give it a shot! I’m sorry if this ends up being a little long, I got a little carried away. I’m also sorry if this ends up being late! I had a hard time deciding what direction I wanted to take this one, and I got kind of busy with irl stuff ;-;. I had RZ Myers in mind (I kind of always do lol, I have some pretty severe brain rot for that man), so I hope you don’t mind that. Thank you for your request, I hope you enjoy it!

Note: you; they/them used. I tried to keep it gender neutral. Kind of slow burn, and the ending is a little rushed. I apologize. Fluff near the end because I cannot help myself.

Warnings: nothing other than canon-typical violence.

Word count: 4608

You were helpless as you watched them load him into the ambulance, silently pleading with Michael to break free. Desperately hoping it was all an act. But as the paramedics slammed the doors and began to drive away, you realized it wasn’t. The sedatives they had given him must have been too strong. Fear had its hold on you, and you began to shake from the weight of it. Fear that you would never see the man you loved again. Fear that Michael would be locked away forever. You wondered if Michael was afraid, and the thought of it made your chest ache uncomfortably.

I have to do something. I can’t just leave him there to rot. I won’t.

He would come for me.

You took a breath, centering yourself. It was late September and the air was brisk, burning your lungs as you inhaled deeply. Your mind was already made up, your resolve unwavering. You were absolutely going to get him. What wasn’t clear was how you were going to get him. How in the hell were you going to sneak into Smith’s Grove? Security would, at the very least, be doubled after what had happened the last time Michael escaped.

What am I going to do?

It had taken almost a whole month to even make it inside of the building, but you had finally managed. As luck would have it, Smith’s Grove was hiring and you had found yourself on the custodial staff with the help of a fake name and a few fudged documents. Granted, you were now indebted to an extremely shady character two cities over, but if you could pull this off it would be worth it. Anything for Michael. Maybe he can take care of it for you once you bust him out?

Probably best to not linger on it too long. I need to find him first.

A deep voice broke you from your thoughts.

“You the newbie?”

You turned to find a short, middle-aged Hispanic man standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. He looked absolutely exhausted.

“Yes sir, today is my first day.” You offered with a kind smile.

“Alright, you’re with me today. Name’s Martin. I’ll show you around, it’s pretty easy to get lost in here. Big place.” He said as he waved you over and started down the hallway. You scrambled to follow behind him, suddenly nervous about the whole ordeal. You had figured there would be some kind of training, but what you hadn’t expected was to spend the entire shift with someone else. How were you going to sneak off to find Michael if this guy was following you around? You had been so lost in thought that you didn’t even notice Martin trying to speak to you.

“Hey, are you even listening to me? You aren’t gonna learn shit if you don’t pay attention, and you’ll be on your own tomorrow.” He huffed, his annoyance evident.

Shit.

“I’m sorry,” you offered, “I just got a little distracted. What’s up with all of these guards? Is there someone really dangerous here or something?” You asked as casually as you could, trying to avoid suspicion.

“Ah yeah, you haven’t heard? They finally caught that Myers guy. I work the wing he’s held in and it’s always crawling with those goons. Somehow they manage to leave an even bigger mess than the patients do.” He replied shaking his head, a deep frown settled on his face. Martin suddenly stopped in front of a storage closet, and pulled out a cleaning cart before continuing down the hallway. Maybe being stuck with Martin was a blessing in disguise. It was a stroke of luck that you were going to be able to waltz right into that section of the sanitarium without question. You decided to see what else you could get out of him.

“No, I haven’t heard anything about that. I don’t even know who you’re talking about. What did he do?” You asked, feigning ignorance.

Martin stopped dead in his tracks, looking at you with surprise.

“Wait, you’ve never heard of Michael Myers?”

“No, I can’t say I have.” You lied.

Still looking incredibly shocked, Martin looked away from you and continued down the seemingly never ending corridor. He hadn’t been lying, this damned place was like a maze. After a while of walking in an uncomfortable silence, you had thought you’d really messed up. You’ve never been very good at lying.

“You know I’m honestly pretty surprised you haven’t even heard of him. I thought by now everyone had.” He finally said.

“Oh really?” You answered, maybe a little too quickly. “I’ve only lived in Illinois for a few weeks.”

Martin hummed in response. There were a few more moments of silence before the two of you had stopped in front of a large set of double doors. Security guards were posted on either side of it, likely a checkpoint. Martin held up his badge and instinctively you had done the same. The guard inspecting the badges looked you over, raising his brow.

“Well well, who do we have here? I haven’t seen you before.” He smiled, licking his lips.

Is he flirting with me? Ugh.

You forced a smile, and just as you were about to introduce yourself Martin interjected.

“This is the new custodian, I’m showing them around today. Can you just let us through, please? We have a lot of work to get done.”

“Damn Ortiz, lighten up a little. Just having some fun is all.” The guard laughed.

Martin didn’t seem impressed, just letting out a long sigh as the two of you pushed through the checkpoint. Once you were far enough away, Martin turned to you with a serious look.

“Don’t go anywhere with that guy without someone else around, you understand?”

You simply nodded, you didn’t need to be told twice. You didn’t want to be anywhere near him anyway.

“Alright then, let's get to work.”

To say there was a lot to be done was an understatement. You were only a couple hours in, and you now understood why Martin looked so tired. This is fucking exhausting. You had only cleaned out a little over half of a single hallway, and you had three more to go. Hopefully you would find Michael soon. It had been far too long since you had seen him. Touched him. Going just a single day without Michael around was difficult, surviving the month without him had been unbearable.

The two of you had worked in relative silence, only really speaking when you had to. Once the two of you had finished the hallway you were working on, Martin motioned for you to come sit down next to him.

“I figure it’s time for a break, you look like shit already.” He chuckled, taking a couple of bottles of water off the cart and handing you one.

You snatched the water from him, shooting him a half-hearted glare.

“You’re the one that looks like shit, Martin.” You joked, “Thank you for the water.”

Martin nodded, a small smile on his face. After the two of you had caught your breath for a moment, Martin turned to look at you.

“What is it?

“You still curious about Michael Myers?” He asked.

You perked up immediately.

“Yeah, I am. You finally ready to spill?”

Martin looked around, then turned back to you and nodded.

“Alright, fine. So apparently the guy killed his sister and step-father when he was a kid and wound up in here.” He whispered. “Then two years ago, he broke out of here and the killing hasn’t stopped since.”

“What! That’s wild!” You whisper-yelled, widening your eyes in mock surprise. Of course, you already knew all of that. Probably better than anyone else, but you weren’t going to give Martin a reason to suspect you. You still hadn’t found Michael yet, the longer you could stay under the radar, the better.

“Yeah, people around here call him ‘The Boogeyman’. Dr. Loomis calls him the devil in his books.” Martin replied.

“What do you call him?” You asked, curious about what he thought about your lover.

Martin looked away for a moment, seemingly thinking about it before answering.

“I don’t know. I mean he’s just a guy, at the end of the day isn’t he? He seems kind of fucked up, but sick people are still just people.” He shrugged. “I guess I’d just call him Michael.”

You hummed, nodding in approval, a surprising amount of relief washing over you. It was always hard listening to people talk about Michael the way they did. Like he was a monster. Like he was something less than a human being. You were glad that at least one person in this place thought differently.

“Alright,” Martin groaned as he stood, “I guess we better get back after it if we want to get finished in this lifetime.”

A tired sigh escaped your lips as you rose to join him. He was right, you weren’t getting any closer to finding Michael just sitting around. As the two of you rounded the corner to the next hallway, you were met with a few more security guards. This looks promising. You thought to yourself. Excitement bubbled up inside you. After being allowed past them, you nodded toward the end of the hallway where there were two more guards posted outside of one of the doors.

“Is that where he is?” You asked excitedly, a wide smile spreading across your face.

“Uhh, yeah… You know you seem awfully happy about that. You okay? What’s going on?” Martin asked, a clear discomfort in his voice.

You reached out and caught his arm, stopping him and turning him toward you. Martin had grown on you. He had been kind to you throughout the day, and more importantly he had been kind when talking about Michael. He deserved any chance you could give him, no matter how small.

“Martin, I need you to listen to me carefully.” You said, your tone serious. “I need you to make an excuse, and then I need you to leave. As quickly as you can, leave the building. I need you to run.”

Martin’s eyes widened in surprise as he took a small step back.

“What are you planning?” He asked, voice quivering. He was afraid. Good. He needed to be if he had any chance of surviving.

“Martin, I’m here to get him out.” You whispered, looking at him with pleading eyes.

“Are you fucking crazy?! He’ll kill us both!” Martin whisper-yelled, gaining the attention of one of the guards posted at the door.

“What in the hell are the two of you doing? Don’t you have work to do?” The guard asked, his eyes narrowed, looking at you suspiciously.

As you turned back to look at Martin, your emotions started to get the better of you. You were so close! He is right there! Just behind that door. With hot tears threatening to spill over, you begged him.

“I love him, please help me. Please.”

Running his hand through his hair, Martin looked around, thinking it over. Thinking hard.

“I don’t know, this just doesn’t seem right.” He whispered.

“Martin, please! This is the only way. Once he sees I’m here, there won’t be any stopping him. Please, this is your only chance.”

Just as the guard started to approach you two, Martin finally gave in, nodding. His hands were shaking violently, and it was his turn to beg you.

“Please don’t let him kill me.” He whispered, his voice small.

“All you have to do is run. After they open the door, run. Like your life depends on it. Because it does.”

Martin took a deep breath, then motioned to the guards to open the door.

“Go ahead and let them in, I’ve got to run to the supply closet and grab a few things. I’ll be back shortly.” Martin declared, sounding a lot braver than he actually felt.

“I don’t think so Ortiz, you’re acting strange. Besides, I don’t even know who this is.” He said, motioning toward you. His eyes still narrowed as he approached you and looked you over. Your breath caught in your throat, eyes widening as you looked back at Martin.

“They’re new, first day on. I’m training them.”

“Well that doesn’t explain your behavior, what’s going on with you ‘ya big baby? You look like you’re ready to piss yourself.” The guard laughed, mockingly.

“Come on man, I’m like this every time I have to go in there and you know it. The guy makes me nervous. Can you just let them in so we can get started?” Martin explained, quickly glancing between you and the guard.

“Alright, alright. Fine Ortiz, don’t get your panties in a wad.” He said, giving the other security officer the okay to unlock the door. “I’ll even go with you to the storage closet. Make sure the big bad boogeyman doesn’t get you.” He laughed, talking to Martin as if he were a child.

What an asshole.

Martin ignored him, instead turning his attention to you.

“Alright, go on in and get started. Good luck.”

You nodded back at him. With a small smile, you mouthed a genuine ‘thank you’ as you watched them leave. After taking a deep breath you turned around and began walking to the door. It took everything you had not break into a full sprint, and you could feel yourself speeding up a little with every step you took.

“Okay, I’m ready to go in.” You said, not even bothering to look at the guard. You were too busy looking through the small window on the door, your heart swelling with affection and an impatient longing as your gaze fell on your lover. Michael was sitting at a small desk with his back to the door. You released a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding. A loud click was heard, and then the door was open. Finally, there was nothing standing between you and Michael. Without hesitation, you burst into the room and put your hand on his shoulder.

“Michael!” You sobbed, “Michael I’m here.”

A rough hand grabbed your wrist hard as Michael turned around to face you. Perhaps you had been too impatient. Michael rose from his seat, wrenching your hand away from him and throwing you to the floor. Soon he was on top of you, choking you with bruising strength. You looked up at him, eyes desperately pleading for him to stop. For him to recognize you. Your hands flew up to his wrists as you tried to remove the vice grip on your neck, but it was in vain. Your vision began to blur, and you had begun to accept that maybe this was it. At least I got to see you again, Michael. You thought to yourself as you reached up to cup his face with your hand. There was no point in fighting back, you knew you couldn’t win. So you decided to offer him a small comfort in your final moments, a sign that you loved him still, even now as he took your life. Your life belonged to him anyways, that had been decided the moment the two of you had met. If you had to die, at least it would be in his arms. By his hand. Looking into his eyes. A small smile formed on your face as your body began to still. Just as you were about to black out, Michael released his hold on your neck. You began to cough as you took greedy, painful gulps of air. Trying to ignore the burning in your lungs, you looked up at Michael and placed your other hand on his face cupping his cheeks tenderly.

“Michael…” You croaked, “I’ve missed you so much.”

He just stared at you for a moment, before placing his hands on yours and closing his eyes, relishing in your warmth. Your touch. He had missed you too. Your tears were flowing freely now, as you looked him over. They very clearly hadn’t been taking care of him. He looked pale and malnourished, dark circles under his eyes. And they had taken his mask. Michael’s secret. His safety, gone. Your relief quickly turned into rage, and a deep bitterness took root. What kind of a place is this? Who treats people like this? You didn’t have long to think it over before the room was full of people--doctors and guards alike--each one of them gawking at the two of you like this was the strangest thing they had ever seen. Like the two of you were a cheap road-side attraction. Their mouths hanging wide open in shock at Michael’s display of affection. That only made you angrier. Michael slowly opened his eyes and rose, extending a hand to you. You gladly took it and shuffled safely behind him. One of the doctors cautiously approached the two of you, sedative in hand.

“Michael… It’s time to take your meds…” He said, shakily.

Michael tilted his head as he watched the much smaller man approach. As soon as he was in Michael’s reach, he was dead. The needle he carried, now embedded in his eye socket. The guards sprang into action and latched onto him, trying to weigh him down. Normally, this wouldn’t have stopped him, but Michael was tired. Running on fumes. He probably needed your help. You frantically looked around the room for something you could use as the rest of the doctors flooded in, sedatives in hand. Your eyes landed on a metal chair that had been knocked to the floor in the chaos. Without hesitation, you picked it up and whacked one of them as hard as you could with it. Like squashing a bug. Suddenly all eyes were on you, everyone seemingly surprised by your actions. What in the hell did they think you would do? Let them put him back under when you had worked so hard trying to get him out? Yeah right. Luckily, this was enough of a distraction for Michael to force his way out of the guards grasp easily, wrapping his hands around their throats and squeezing until they cracked. One by one, the staff fell until there was no one left. It was time to get the fuck out of there.

You followed Michael out into the hallway and took a look around. It seemed that the coast was, momentarily, clear. I hope Martin made it out. You thought to yourself. Surely he had enough time. You shook the thought out of your head, there was no time to worry about Martin. You needed to get out of here as quickly as possible. Glancing at the windows in the corridor, you saw that the sun was beginning to set. Good. Sneaking out will be so much easier in the dark.

“Michael, do you know the way out?” You asked quietly, “I’m not sure if I remember all of it. This place is pretty confusing.”

He turned to look at you, head tilting to the side. It was a silent question.

How did you get in here to begin with?

“I promise I’ll explain everything later Michael, please we need to go.” You begged.

Surprisingly, he didn’t argue with you. He simply nodded and took your hand, tugging you through a series of winding corridors that looked vaguely familiar but strangely foreign all at once. This place is fucking horrible. As you rounded another corner, you finally saw something you recognized. The security checkpoint. You also saw someone you recognized. Martin.

Shit.

The moment you had locked eyes with Martin, his widened in shock. He had clearly thought he had more time. Without hesitation, Martin broke into a full sprint straight through the security checkpoint. Unfortunately, that had caught Michael’s attention. Not a surprising outcome, Michael always did enjoy a good chase, but unfortunate nonetheless. You doubted you could do anything for him now, but you couldn’t help yourself. You had to try, right?

“Michael, do you see those two guards there? The ones standing to the left?” You asked, hoping to distract him. It seemed to work briefly, as he glanced at them before fixing his gaze back on Martin’s retreating form.

“That one flirted with me on the way in,” you pointed, “and that one was just rude.”

That seemed to get his attention.

Michael turned to face the guards. Red hot anger surged through him. Who did they think they were? He stared at them for what felt like hours, the tension in the air was tangible. Slowly, Michael stalked towards the flirty one, he would be the first to go. Michael wanted the rude one afraid. It would be more fun that way. And afraid he was as he watched Michael wrap his hands around the other guards throat and bash his head into the wall. Michael didn’t stop until nothing but a dark, viscous puddle remained. The man's skull, completely demolished. The guard was paralyzed with fear, his feet firmly planted. A horrified wail left his trembling lips as Michael turned his attention to him. You almost laughed when you noticed he had wet himself.

And to think he called Martin a baby, what a joke.

“What’s the matter? I thought you weren’t afraid of the big, bad boogeyman.” You mocked, eyes narrowed.

Michael’s gaze shifted to you, a ghost of a smile danced across his lips. Your behavior was amusing, it wasn’t like you to be so vindictive. Openly mocking someone else’s fear. He loved it.

You never stopped surprising him.

He had really, truly, missed you.

Being caged inside this place again had been a nightmare. It had been far worse than the last time, and it was all because he had met you. Those 17 years before he met you were nothing compared to this one long month away. Michael never could have imagined how much not having you around would affect him. At first he felt nothing but pure, unadulterated rage. He had been sloppy. It was unacceptable. The next emotion, however, was an unexpected one. There was a profound sadness, followed by an intense loneliness that threatened to swallow him whole. Thinking of you had only seemed to make the uncomfortable feeling stronger and harder to manage, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t stop. What were you doing? Were you taking care of yourself? Did you miss him too?

Just when had he fallen in so deep?

Whimpering, the guard dropped to his knees begging for mercy you knew he wouldn’t receive. Michael stalked toward him, gently taking his face into his hands. Michael had an almost serene look on his face as he slowly plunged his thumbs into the man's eyes, his lips curved upward in a small smile as he welcomed the agonized screaming that followed.

And as horrible as the scene before you was, all you could think of was how beautiful Michael looked in that moment.

Finally, the screaming had stopped and Michael had dropped the man's body to the ground, turning his attention to you once more. He had caught you staring, but you couldn’t seem to tear your gaze from his. His head tilted in amusement as he reached out to you, and your hand went to his automatically. There was nothing to think about, you had yearned for his touch for so long. Michael pulled you toward him, strong arms wrapping around you as he buried his face in your hair. You gave in quickly, closing your eyes to savor the tender moment. Who knows when you would get another like it?

After a while Michael finally started to pull away, but not completely. His hands trailed up your arms gently as he stared into your eyes, his gorgeous blues were crystal clear as he peered into your very soul. Michael carefully brought his hands up to rest beneath your jawline, tilting your head upwards and guiding your lips to his. You instantly melted into the kiss, bringing your hands to rest on his chest. Each time Michael kissed you was like the first time. It was electric. Irresistible. Eventually, as the two of you came up for air, Michael pressed his forehead to yours and closed his eyes. A silent thank you. You pecked his nose as his eyes fluttered open once again, a small smile creeping onto your face.

“Come on Michael, let's go home.”

By the time the two of you exited the building it was pitch black out, and Martin was nowhere to be seen. Good, he got away. Now it’s our turn. You could hear police sirens in the distance as you made your way to the car. They grew ever closer as your hands shook violently in an attempt to get the doors unlocked. Your nerves were finally starting to get the better of you. Michael took your hands in his own, squeezing gently as he took the keys from you. He had the door open in seconds, his hands steady and his breathing even. How in the hell is he always so calm? By the time you both were safely inside, the police sirens were so close they were almost deafening. Red and blue lights illuminating the dark street as they approached the main gate. Michael grabbed you and ducked your head as the police swarmed the parking lot, the majority of them heading inside ready to face a threat that no longer existed within the sanitarium. Once the coast was relatively clear, Michael put the car in drive and started toward the main entrance.

Maybe you could just coast right through?

You knew that was most likely just wishful thinking, but you trusted Michael’s judgement. He wouldn’t put you in danger willingly. Not without a plan. As the two of you made it to the gate, the guard stepped out of his booth, shining a flashlight in your face.

“Where do you two think you’re going? Place is on lockdown. Nobody leaves.”

Doing your best to keep your composure, you turned to face the guard with a nervous smile.

“Oh, I didn’t realize. My shift ended not too long ago. We were just going home.”

He looked at you with narrowed eyes, before turning his gaze toward your lover.

“And who is that?”

“Oh, this is my husband. He came to pick me up.” You said, gesturing to Michael. “Today was my first day, and it got crazy pretty quick.” You laughed mirthlessly. “Can we please just go? I don’t really want to stick around, it’s not safe here.” You goaded, desperate to be on the other side of that gate and far away from this hellish place.

“You’re right about that. There’s a maniac on the loose.” He chuckled. After taking a quick look around, he shockingly complied.

“Alright, let me check your credentials and then you’re free to go. You know, it’s probably better this way. We need to keep civilians away from the scene anyway.”

“Yes, thank you!” You exclaimed. Relieved and extremely surprised, you handed him your papers and badge.

After looking them over, he smiled and handed them back to you.

“Okay, everything seems to check out. You two be careful now.”

“You too, thanks again.” You beamed, as the gates started to open. You were finally able to relax as Michael pulled onto the street, letting out an exasperated laugh. Finally, you were on your way.

I cannot believe it was that easy.

He was finally coming home.

[say-narry]

Note: English isn’t my first language. Hope you all like it. Please, give me your opinion with a reblog, fav or a note in my askbox :)

pairing: Louis!peaky blinders era x reader

warnings: explicit sex, unprotected sex (don't do that!), curse words, daddy kink, overstimulation, dirt talk, mention of jealousy, mention of astrology.

Words: 4k

talk with me | masterlist

Astrology

In my spare time I loved to read about astrology. It was a habit I adhered to since I was a teenager and now as an adult, it was my secret cringe.

So many times, the things described there met the personality traits of someone I knew and that made me believe it even more.

Sure, there were some holes in the script, but I had been in this world forever, so I just ignored that and kept it as a supposed truth and that was only affirmed when I met Louis.

Friends in common, I liked the way his accent sounded, a few drinks here and there, we shared the lighter to light the cigarette and ended up kissing at the end of the party at Calvin's house.

That was a year ago now.

I already knew all his quirks and as Louis lived more at my place than at his mansion here in London, he had to follow my rules, which was a little difficult even though he is Capricorn. Lately it was complicated to deal with him, because he seemed to ignore me and my weekly horoscope had already said that my relationship would be shaken by the smallest things and that I should be careful.

"Babe, don't leave your shoes like that. I already asked for them!" I complained as I placed our shoes side by side by the door. This was one of his manners that annoyed me deeply. "My friends will be here soon!"

"Nah." he muttered, not even looking at me.

I snorted and rolled my eyes, going to check the cheese and chocolate fondue I was preparing.

My friends Peter, Anne, Sam and Paul were coming over for happy hour. I am on vacation at work, an accounting office, so this is a perfect opportunity to hear what's new.

"Babe, is there any way to go to that grocery store down the street? I forgot that Anne has a gluten allergy and forgot to buy the gluten-free bagel." I stirred the melted cheese in the small pot on the stove.

No response from Louis.

Because my house is small, there's no way he couldn't hear me. I stretched my body back a little and in my half vision through the door, I could see that Louis was still concentrating on the smartphone game while gnawing on the corner of his left thumb.

I took another deep breath, it seemed that Louis became a child watching the games on the device and this was another flaw of his sign's characteristic, however I knew he was loyal and domineering, which eventually gave me an idea.

I turned off the stove and wrapped the fondues, putting them in the electric oven in warm-up mode so that they would not cool down.

My friends would arrive in half an hour, it was time to put my idea into practice.

I grabbed my purse, checked the pounds in my wallet, put on a sweatshirt and ran to the door.

"Luv, where are you going?" Louis asked without looking at me.

"Grocery store, babe." I put on my moccasins and closed the door.

It was dusk and for a change London was cold, for as soon as I passed the small gate in my driveway I sped to the grocery store.

As luck would have it, I found the guys a few meters from my house and ran to hug them.

"How are you, Y/N?" Sam, the blond girl with freckles and green eyes asked me as she released me from her hug.

"Fine! But I need a little help from all of you, specifically you, Paul and Anne." I pointed to them, who were inches away from me.

My couple of friends looked at me, Paul was a tall man with blue eyes, a muscular body and a beard. He was dating Anne, a tall, beautiful black woman with curly hair and honey-brown eyes with a mouth to envy.

"What happened?" Anne asked.

I explained to them that Louis seemed to be ignoring me as if I was just someone else working for him, but that he was the dominating type and so I wanted to tease him and see if we should continue with this relationship or if he was just distracted.

"I swear it won't go any further than that, I love Louis very much but this is killing me." I held the brown paper bag against me.

"Have you tried talking to him?" Peter suggested.

"Louis is a Capricorn, you know how it is. When he focuses on something, that's it." I rolled my eyes.

"That's fine with me, it will be fun watching a music star want to kill me because his wife wants me." Paul grabbed the bag from my hands and winked at me, and we laughed.

"It's fine with me too, you know I find it sexy to see men jealous." Anne winked at Paul, who closed his face, causing us to let out a few more low chuckles.

"I think there's a way we can help too." Sam put his arm around my neck and held Peter by the waist.

I had the best friends in the world.

"He simply came in halfway through the meeting with a huge mark on his neck. Emily wanted to climb the walls!" Peter commented on our co-worker.

We were all sitting on the floor of the room with the creams and fondue mixes on the coffee table. Louis was on my right side with black sweatpants and the jacket I loved so much, Paul was on my left side, next to him was Anne followed by Peter and Sam.

"But we know why Tom's nights out..." Sam looked at me suggestively and then looked at Anne. I straightened up waiting for what was to come.

Louis followed the conversation, sometimes hugging me around the waist and offering me something to eat. I just helped myself to a glass of red wine.

"Why?" Anne asked as if she didn't understand.

"Oh, you know, since the S/N went on vacation he has been gloomy, seems to have forgotten how to do calculations on the spreadsheets, and gets sad at lunchtime." Sam replied, alternating his gaze between Louis and me.

Louis, who was serving himself a piece of bread and cheese, grimaced, but said nothing.

"It's true, we know he's not over it yet."

I had the glass in my mouth trying to hold back the laugh I wanted to give.

"Get over what?" Louis asked me with a frown and I arched my shoulders, pretending not to know what they were referring to.

"Tom is in love with Y/N, Louis. Ever since she came to the office, he only has eyes for her." Anne answered by pouring herself some strawberry slices and pouring the melted chocolate on top. "You know, alluring and attractive men don't get over it so easily when they are dumped by a beautiful woman."

My eyes were watering from holding back tears of laughter. It was funny to imagine this situation, since Tom was a very well married gentleman, father of three children, and would soon be a grandfather.

"I'm going to get some more wine." I pushed myself to get up, because I needed to release the laughter that was stuck in me.

"I'll get it, babe." Paul took the glass from my hand, passing his hand through mine and stood up.

"Oh, thank you Paulie!" I smiled and sat back down.

Louis's face was red, he chewed angrily and stared at me. His blue eyes fixed on me in an uncomfortable way, as if he were reading my thoughts.

"What's up, babe?" I asked as Anne, Sam and Peter talked among themselves, I tried to stroke his face but he turned away.

"Nothing." he nodded, and I narrowed my eyes.

Paul returned with my full glass, I took it and thanked him again. Since I was sitting only on the carpet, I decided to do a little stretching. Purposefully, Paul looked at the open buttons of my black blouse that was thin and skinny long. Unconsciously, it was tighter than I usually wore which highlighted my breasts covered by the bra.

Louis seemed to notice, he huffed and ran his hand through his hair. I just ignored him and pretended to pay attention to my friends' conversation.

I felt his arm going around my shoulders and a few kisses on my neck, and I simply held myself together not to react, but it was so good his affection.

"We were talking about Tom before and now I remembered, can you believe that every day he comes into your office and wipes down your desk and computer?" Sam was sharp in the theater, I just wanted to thank her for that.

"And I'll tell you something else, he takes his shoes off before he comes in. " Peter continued.

Broadway was losing these actors to an accounting office. Louis leaned back on one of the sofas and crossed his arms with a brave expression.

"Tom has always been very nice to me." I commented, swirling the rest of the wine in my glass. "But I don't know..."

"I don't know, Y/N?" Louis spoke a little louder, turning his face abruptly to me.

"Yes, Tom is a nice guy but he is the kind of guy who ignores things I say, he was not organized and sometimes we almost missed deadlines... If he is like that at work, who will say to have a relationship with him."

I drank the rest of the wine and almost saw Louis erupt.

"Nothing beyond that stays between you?" I looked at Sam, who put his hand over his mouth, holding back his laughter, as did Anne, Paul, and Peter.

"Nah. " I repeated Louis' murmur from earlier and repeated his motion, leaning back against the couch behind me.

He ran his fingers through his bangs and chuckled gracelessly, denying it with his head. I narrowed my eyes in surprise at his reaction.

"It's getting late isn't it? Want some help cleaning up, petal?" Paul stroked my arm.

"I'll help my girl, Paulie." Louis imitated my voice when I called him and stared at Paul's hand on my arm, moving his mouth as if he were dissatisfied.

We talked some more, Louis was still silent and crossed his arms, his legs intertwined with each other and swinging rapidly.

I knew that Louis was about to explode, so I said goodbye to the guys who thanked me for the evening. Paul gave me a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. They motioned for me to tell them by text what was going to happen, I silently agreed and closed the door.

Louis had gotten up and was removing things from the coffee table. I started to organize the room and finished taking the last dishes to the sink.

"You and this Tom guy, have you ever had anything?" Louis was sponging one of the dishes. His sleeves were rolled up, which gave me a view of the tattoos on his wrist that I liked so much.

I poured myself the rest of the wine and leaned back against the sink where he was standing.

"We only went out together once." Which was true, but it was with the rest of the office and nothing happened because his wife accompanied us and I saw him as a father or even an uncle. I would stay in my tantrum, yes, he was the one who should end his.

"Hm." Louis answered.

"Why the question?"

Louis remained silent, washing the dishes as if it were the most fun thing in the world.

"Louis? If I asked a question, I want an answer." I said angrily, tired of the tantrum.

He continued in silence. I took a deep breath trying to oxygenate my brain and continued to stare at him.

I drank the rest of the wine and left the glass in the sink. I walked slowly to the door, still trying to remain calm.

"Where are you going?" Louis asked.

I just turned and smiled, raising my two middle fingers in his direction.

"Fuck you!" I shouted nervously, pointing at him.

Without waiting for his response, I headed towards my room, but within three steps I felt something pulling me, two cold, wet hands.

Louis might be shorter than most men, but he still possessed great strength.

In one swift movement, I felt him turn me around and my back hit the wall to my right and my head bounced, causing me to grunt in pain.

Louis pressed his body against mine, my hands went up to push his chest.

"I don't want to talk, Louis." I said annoyed, almost in tears already.

"What's up, luv? Your babe wants to know... "Louis brushed his nose across my neck, soon after caressing my face by turning and pulling it slightly to the opposite side, my eyes automatically closed."What were those teasing things earlier?"

My body stiffened, I couldn't hide anything from him.

"Let go of me. " I asked, still pushing him slightly, but it came out more like a groan.

Louis let out a small laugh and began to distribute wet kisses down my neck, sometimes my body betrayed me and shivered.

Louis's right hand, which previously held my waist, lifted my blouse to gain access to the skin of my belly and with a rush, held my right breast, massaging it lovingly.

"I'm sure my girl is getting wet..." His warm breath hitched against the cartilage of my left ear. "You like to tease me by showing off those luscious breasts, but in the end you're all mine, aren't you?"

I groaned as if in agreement. My hands, which before had been pushing her breasts, had moved to her back, scratching the white fabric.

"Who's my little whore? Hm?" His teeth went to my jaw, scraping it lightly, and then down to my neck where I felt pressure being applied.

Oh, hell! He was marking me.

"I-I-I..." I answered weakly and brushed my crotch against his.

My body arched and I held on to his arms, I could already feel the throbbing in between my legs as they buckled.

"My silly little girl!" He moved a few inches away from me and I opened my eyes, staring at Louis's long lashes in front of his blue orbs that were almost covered by his dilated pupils. "I saw what you did with the whole Tom and Paulie thing."

When I regained consciousness, I bit my lower lip and smiled mischievously, returning my hands to his back.

"What are you going to do about it, stud?" I teased.

Louis's hands went around my waist as he made a point of kissing me fiercely and hotly. My hands grabbed his face, pulling him to me, afraid that he would just stop and leave me there, hot and needy for his touch.

His hands went down to unbutton my jeans and unzip me. I let out a moan in anticipation and I could feel him smile in the middle of the kiss.

Louis pulled away from me and spun me around, placing me face down against the wall.

"Louis..." I moaned softly, thrusting my ass toward him.

I felt his pelvis fit over my ass and his member was already hardening, I tried to make more contact, but his hands on my waist stopped me.

"I know, luv... I want you too." I felt his chest against my back as I closed my eyes and rested my head on the wall and pressed my hands against it, trying to support myself. "I want to feel your pussy squeezing my cock as I fuck you very slowly, because I know you like to feel my cock pulsing in you."

I was already dizzy, biting my lower lip trying to hide my moans, until Louis pulled away and his hands hooked on the hem of my jeans and pulled them down.

"Spread your legs, Darlin'"

I did as he cried out, with a little difficulty because my jeans were still binding my legs and the state of my panties was embarrassing.

His hand slid up and down my ass, and then slapped me with his open hand, which made me jump in surprise.

"My girl doesn't like to be neglected, huh?" Shivers ran through me, my breathing was heavy and my brows furrowed and more slaps came, making my skin burn and my eyes water. "You get needy for my cock when I don't fuck you, don't you?"

In one swift act, my panties were keeping company with my jeans. I pushed my hips even higher, rubbing one leg against the other in an effort to relieve the agony my clit felt.

"Daddy will take care of you, luv!" I heard some noises and then the glorious sensation of Louis's hot tongue running over my pussy.

"Louis!" I moaned loudly and his breath hitched against my exposed intimacy as he let out a laugh. His hands grabbed my thighs and spread them even further apart, leaving me wide open for him.

Louis's tongue ran from my sensitive spot to my entrance, sucking and licking. I swayed my hips trying to get closer, but whenever I did he laughed and ran just the tip of it all the way over. My eyes rolled back and a vibration came in the pit of my stomach.

He didn't last long there, but the sound of my wetness clicking on his tongue was something out of reality.

"Babe, please..." My right arm kept pushing against the wall while my left was bent and I massaged my breasts, trying to relieve myself somehow.

"What's wrong, kitten?" Louis groaned and blew against me.

I turned my head to the side and Louis had stood up, taking off his sweatpants along with his underwear and his white jacket, and threw them on the floor beside us.

"Daddy..." I murmured.

Louis' member was hard, and with the glans of his member shiny and pink, his left hand wrapped around it, going up and down slowly. Louis stroked my ass with his free hand, his lower lip was biting and his head eventually fell back as he sighed.

He knew how sexy I found the veins in his hands tensing up and showing as he played with his cock. The tattoos on his wrist added a special touch.

"Lucky for you I want to get it over with, luv... Otherwise you'd have to beg me to fuck you..." He spoke as his cock touched me, dragging and teasing me, making me almost fall to my knees on the floor. "I'm going to fuck your little pussy so hard, babe? I want to hear you moan for the rest of the night, do you want to feel my cock all the way in here?" His finger ran across my entrance, giving me mini shocks in that area.

I mumbled the only sound left in my throat. I turned my face forward and leaned my forehead against the wall. He knew how much I melted for his dirt talk.

My arm against the wall was aching, my forehead was sweaty, and my legs were almost giving way from the way they trembled.

Louis launched himself inside me without warning, burying his wet member until his balls slammed against my clit.

A scream tore through my throat, my nails digging into the wall. Louis didn't even give me time to get used to it, he immediately began thrusting against me. Back and forth, thrusting hard and trying to go all the way in. I was panting as was he, my eyes still closed, enjoying his member filling me.

I turned my face to the side opening my eyes and I could cum right there at the sight, my heart throbbed even more seeing Louis with his nails digging into my hips, his tattooed chest and arms tensed tightly and his head relaxed back with his mouth ajar.

"Fuck!" My eyelids fluttered and I could feel the anguish in my uterus rising.

"My girl is so hot, so warm and tight ... oh!" Louis went down again and if it wasn't for the euphoria, I could feel him almost ripping me in half with his cock slamming against my uterus.

I tilted my head back and one of Louis' hands grabbed my loose hair and formed a sort of ponytail. His hand forced my neck, causing my body to arch and my ass to bulge even more.

My back began to ache as his hipbones crashed against my muscles, he had never caught me this way before and I was already addicted to it. Louis let go of my hair and went back to kneading the sides of my hips.

I put my arm in front of me and bit down on it, feeling my face hit him lightly with the thrusts, my throat aching with the moans, and Louis murmured my name as he tried to sink even deeper inside me.

"Whose pussy is this, babe? Who fucks it hard and the way you like it?" Louis, still not stopping his thrusts, rotated his hips and a wave of ecstasy hit me at the cervix. My pussy clenching rapidly, I was getting there. Louis fucked me so fast that I couldn't even scream.

"You, babe! Only you, Louis!" I spoke softly and felt him kiss me on my back.

"Are you sure, babygirl?" Louis teased and again I felt his chest against my spine.

His cock was halfway out of me and seconds later I was already missing him, which didn't last long as I pushed my hips back against him, burying his cock back into me. I stood on my tiptoes and his member reached the hidden spot that Louis sometimes managed to reach.

"Come on my cock, babe! Because I'm going to mark you, fill you with my milk... Do you want it, my naughty little girl?"

My breath came out of my lungs in a sharp intake of breath. My body exploded inside, shuddering as Louis forced himself to orgasm. Small jolts ran through me, and the ground no longer seemed to be beneath my feet.

My man's nails sank into my skin, his thrusts became sloppy and a loud moan came from Louis' chest, his cock swelled even more inside me and I felt hot spurts fill me, joining my liquid. He groaned loudly and his hands gripped my waist tightly, easing the grip seconds later. Violent trembling came over my knees, causing me to close my eyes in shame as Louis continued inside me and hugged me from behind.

"What's up, Luv? Did I hurt you?" He pushed my hair away from my sweaty, flushed face. Louis kissed the top of my head and I could feel some shocks from the orgasm still being delivered and the delicious feeling of having him inside me.

I nodded positively and then negatively, answering his questions.

"Sorry about the last few days, I was so distracted, thinking about the new album, and then I realized that I didn't do the right thing to the point where my perfect girl insinuated herself to our friend and they talked about some guy at work."

"How did you find out?" I lay my face against the wall, feeling the frosty, chilling cold on my face. I was tired, almost closing my eyes.

"I know you, darlin'... You can't lie, your sign says so."

I covered my face in shame that he knew my shameful secret. Louis pulled his member out of me and already I felt it go limp, Louis tightened his embrace around my buttocks and his arms wrapped around mine, tucking me in.

"Thanks for not giving up on your Capricorn. He'll pay more attention to his girl."

I nodded and turned around, kissing him slowly, feeling his tongue caress mine calmly and tenderly. He was everything to me, giving him up would be the last thing I would ever do.

I pulled away still hugging him and could see his sweaty bangs.

"Thanks for the sex against the wall, it was amazing." I blinked, placing a kiss on his chin.

"Maybe tomorrow you'll rethink it." His face turned into a smile, kissing my cheeks.

I stared at him even longer, not understanding his statement.

"Uh... I may or may not have left some... marks." He gave me his best puppy dog face, squeezed my ass, and kissed my neck lightly.

I rolled my eyes eagerly to see these possible marks.

"All right, they're marks from my Capricorn..." I said, kissing him and jumping on his lap. "But if you ignore me again, you won't have sex against the wall or anywhere else." I shook his shoulder to get his attention and he agreed.

"No more Capricorn stuff!" He promised, raising his right hand.

Astrology thing or not, I loved the guy standing in front of me.

[buckyownsmylife]

Somewhere only we know - Steve Rogers/Reader/Bucky Barnes smut

The one where your married best friends ask you for an anniversary gift: for you to sleep with them.

Warnings: poliamory, squirting, p in v, p in a, threesome, anal fingering, oral (f, m, performed by m and f), dirty talk, curse words.

A/N: Prompts for today were Double penetration + squirting. I really, really loved creating this universe where Bucky and Steve were married and I loved this reader, so I think I might be adding more fics about their relationship in the future.

Bucky’s P.O.V.

I could see that she was nervous. Even if I wasn’t one of her bestfriends (or a trained killing machine), it was pretty obvious by the way she was biting on her lower lip and avoiding both mine and Steve’s eyes.

She’d never been timid around us before. In fact, I couldn’t even remember a single time I’d seen this spitfire of a woman silent, much less uncomfortable. She just had this way about her, this confidence about who she was and of her own worth that stopped anyone who might try to treat her like something simple. She really was anything but.

Which is why the way she was behaving, so out of character for both herself and our relationship, brought a heavy weight to my heart.

“Sweetheart,” I called out, approaching where she was sitting on mine and Steve’s bed before stroking her cheek softly, silently asking her to look me in the eyes again. “You know you can say no, right? We don’t want to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. You’re way more important to us than our attraction to you and this silly fantasy that we created.”

I watched as she blinked twice, and from the corner of my eye, I can see Steve approaching, suddenly catching onto the change of circumstances. Bless his heart, as much as he truly loved this girl, he really was an airhead when it came to women and their feelings, always needing Y/N to spell out what was going on in her life for him to understand that something was wrong. But what he suffered in distraction, he certainly compensated in his caring heart.

I knew better than anyone how my husband could be when he deeply loved someone, and I also knew just how deep both of our feelings ran for her.

“He’s right, Y/N.” The bed dipped as he sat on her other side, reaching for one of the hands on her lap to run his thumb over the back of it. “If you’re worried about finding us another anniversary gift, you can always relent and give me your brownie recipe.”

She snorted, and just that silly sound had the tension on my shoulders suddenly disappearing, a silly smile opening up as I realized that I just might have read her wrong in the midst of my own nervousness over what we were about to do.

“I don’t know what’s more stupid, the fact that you both think I don’t want this or that you actually believe I’d ever give you my family recipe, Stevie.” The words were said in her usual non-bullshit tone and just like that, we were all back to being bestfriends and not a couple about to fuck their closest friend. We laughed, and Steve and I took the opportunity to graze our eyes over her body, tonight clad in a little summer dress that really had no reason to be as tempting as it looked, but the truth was that anything she wore enticed me. 

God, how I wanted her.

She drew in a sharp breath before finally spilling out, “I'm just nervous, that’s all. And maybe a little bit confused. Like, what is this? Something to spice up your decades old relationship? How did you even come to decide on doing this with me? Don’t you think it’s going to ruin our friendship? What about…?”

Steve and I exchanged one of our significant looks before he swiftly covered her mouth with his palm, effectively silencing her. “Calm down, doll. Deep breaths. Of course it won’t ruin our friendship.”

I stopped then, opting to let my husband take the lead of the conversation. Y/N’s eyes followed mine, although her head was somewhat restricted by the weight of Steve’s hand, and she raised an eyebrow in curiosity when he opened his mouth only to close it a few times.

“This isn’t just an… exotic experience to us,” he started, and I nodded in agreement. “We’ve actually been thinking about opening our relationship to embrace one other person for sometime now.”

Her eyes grew huge, the weight of our words clearly surprising her. It was silent in the room for a while when she didn’t immediately offer any response, until my stupid boy realized he still had his hand over her lips, obstructing her speech.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly smiled, making her roll her eyes but smile back at him with fondness. God, how I loved them. My heart pounded desperately against my chest, terrified of her reaction, fiercely hopeful to have her as mine too.

“For how long?” Was her question when she finally was free to speak, and I chuckled lowly, my eyes never straying from hers.

“Ever since we met.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

My breath hitched as I felt like my heart stopped beating for a few seconds, Bucky’s words barely processing in my swirling brain. I didn’t know what to say, which was never a good thing when it came to me, but how could one so simply deal with the fact that her married best friends who she had secretly longed for had been interested in her all this time? 

So all it came out of my mouth was, “You’re telling me we’ve all been crushing on each other for three fucking years and you only now got the courage to talk to me about it? And using sex as an excuse?” I scoffed, crossing my arms while fake pouting. “I expected more from the both of you, seriously.”

Their roars of laughter were just breathy enough for me to know that they had been nervously anticipating my reaction, which was understandable. For all the hard time I was giving them, I knew how… peculiar this entire situation was, and I couldn’t really say I’d behave any differently if I was in their shoes.

“Well, you know…” One of Steve’s fingers trailed down my jaw before turning my head to face him, and I fucking shivered at how the stupidly simple touch ignited fire in my veins. “It is a decades-long marriage. We couldn’t just very well open it to someone who we didn’t really know and love, just because we were attracted to her.”

“And believe me, sweetheart…” This time, it was Bucky’s voice talking by my ear and Bucky’s fingers tracing over my exposed collarbones, before he leaned down to place a sweet kiss between them. “We’ve been dreaming about fucking you senseless ever since we met.”

A beat as I let their words rush simmer the arousal built inside of me. “Well, don’t you fellas know just how to get a woman going?” Another pair of breathless chuckles, this time for a completely different reason, and I felt Steve squeeze the hand he still held in his.

“Can we kiss you, sweetheart?” He asked, and I found myself swooning - not for the first time - under the blue of his eyes, a soft smile on my lips before I licked them in preparation, quickly nodding.

“Yes,” I breathed out, my gaze falling down to his beautifully pink lips. “Please,” I urged, ignoring the cheshire cat grin that took over his entire face when he realized just how desperate I was for them.

Kissing Steve was everything I thought it would be, except reality felt nicer than even my most realistic dreams. His lips were soft against mine, slowly taking control of our movements before prying them open to accept his tongue.

He tasted like the wine we had shared and I was hooked already. But then a rough beard tickled my neck as Bucky nuzzled his face against it, and I turned around to grant him the same treatment, excited to know how he tasted too.

He was more eager, his hand quickly pulling me by my nape to meet his mouth as mine cradled his face. Instinctively, I knew that despite his rough ways, he liked to be touched softly, and that only became more obvious when I let my own hands fall to the back of his neck, scratching the skin there with care.

Steve’s P.O.V.

I watched with fascination as my husband fell apart in Y/N’s soft hands, my pants growing more uncomfortable each second. A strangled moan escaped Bucky’s lips and I knew he had his tongue inside her mouth now, exploring her sweet taste just like I’d been doing just minutes before.

By the way he easily pulled her to sit on his lap, it was clear that he enjoyed it, just like I did. She was straddling him now, and it didn’t take much longer on their makeout session for her to start unconsciously rubbing herself over his crotch.

My mouth watered at the thought of him being half as hard as I was. Automatically, my hand went over the bulge on my jeans, palming it, feeling it without any urge to take care of myself whatsoever. I knew there was a long night of exploration ahead of us and I wanted it to be the best any of us had ever had.

So I started by massaging Y/N’s scalp, a reminder for her to pull away and breathe, because I was desperate to have a taste of my husband. “Do you mind scooting over, darling? I want to show you something.”

She went without resistance, resuming her previous spot in our bed while I sank down to my knees in front of Bucky, who looked at me with lust-filled eyes and reddened lips that I briefly kissed before my hands made quick work of the fly on his jeans.

“Stand back and watch the show,” I whispered, winking at her when she gasped as Bucky’s cock became visible and I immediately went to work, my lips stretching to accommodate his thickness even after so many years on my knees for him. Even only half-hard, he was still impressive, and it only took a few bobs of my head for him to grow to his complete size.

“Fuck.” I let go of Bucky’s cock with a pop to look at Y/N, who had made herself comfortable by our headboard and now had her fingers under the skirt of her dress, her eyes going from my mouth to the member I still held in my close fist.

“Now, we didn’t say you could touch yourself, did we, pretty girl?” I smacked my lips as I crawled on top of the bed to kiss her before making my way back, Bucky and I exchanging a few loving glances as we undressed in front of her. Then, he beckoned her to the edge of the bed before signaling for her to raise her arms before taking off her dress, leaving her in just her panties.

My eyes were immediately attracted to her breasts, admiring the weight, the aureolas. I itched to suck on one of her nipples, maybe while Bucky did the same on the other, but for now, I knew he had other pressing needs, so I just knelt once more, taking her underwear with me until she was completely bare in front of us.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I saw Bucky exchange another silent conversation with Steve before his husband nodded, climbing on the other side of the bed while the brunette man came to stand by the foot of it. “Lay down,” he ordered, already wrapping a hand around my ankle and tugging, forcing me to do as he said. “Spread those legs.”

Man, I liked this dominant Bucky.

He noticed my staring, suddenly realizing the reason for my fascination, but instead of apologizing, he just smirked. “I’ve been dying to taste that pussy,” was his admission, and suddenly there was no more air in my lungs. Steve’s chuckle right by my ear made me realize that they both could see right through me, and so I surrendered, opening my legs and exposing just how wet this situation had made me. 

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten pussy?” I blurted out, honestly curious and so fucking horny I couldn’t even find it in myself to be embarrassed. I was expecting a few laughs, but to my surprise, the response I got was a very serious, “For how much I enjoyed it, too fucking long. Come here.”

Once again, he didn’t give me a chance to obey him, instead pulling me even further down so his face was just inches away from my glistening cunt, and the feeling of his hot breath over it had me panting in anticipation.

But of course, I should have known that Bucky Barnes would be a fucking tease. 

“You smell so sweet,” he murmured against the soft skin on the inside of my thighs, where he kissed and licked and sucked while Steve deposited sweet, wet kisses over my chest before finally wrapping his beautiful lips on one of my nipples.

“Ste-Steve…” I moaned, buring my fingers on his locks so I could pull them while chasing away his teeth when he released one of my breasts in search of the other. “Fuck, then why are you teasing me so much?” I asked Bucky, trying to get him to come closer to where I was dripping for him, but he only looked up at me with those mischievous fucking eyes.

“It’s called building anticipation, darling.” 

I honestly didn’t care for it.

“If you touch me right fucking now, I’ll let you do anything to me. Both of you.” That caught their attention. I watched Bucky lift his head to meet his husband’s gaze, another silent conversation between them before his eyes returned to me.

“Anything?” he confirmed, and my body shuddered in expectation.

“Anything.” He didn’t hesitate any longer after that, immediately diving in to taste my pussy with a hunger I had never witnessed in any of my past lovers. Or even in porn, actually. He moaned at the first taste of my wetness, and my thighs already trembled from the reverberations of that simple sound.

“So sweet,” he whispered, and then he was lapping me eagerly, and my moans were echoing around their bedroom before Steve pulled me to kiss him again. He liked to make out, I realized, starting to file my little discoveries for future reference.

Bucky’s P.O.V.

Fuck. I’d always liked to eat a girl out, I could remember that, but I swear, no one had ever tasted as good as the beauty I had sprawled out in front of me. Dipping my tongue in her hole one more, I hummed before lifting it to play with her little nub before repeating the process, making sure to nudge her clit with my nose when I was fucking her with my tongue.

A symphony of moans reached my ears, male and female intertwined, prompting me to open my eyes and trail them up Y/N’s body to find her and Steve kissing deeply. The sight made my heart grow twice its size, and I smiled against her cunt as I watched them make out while Steve slowly teased his own cock.

Of course, Y/N wouldn’t have it. Oh, no. The second she realized where his hand was, she wrapped hers over it, assuming the control over his movements until he allowed her to do as she pleased, letting his hand fall back on the bed.

“Actually, you know what?” She suddenly asked, sitting up before waving me off of her. I was about to complain, not ready to separate myself from her taste just yet, but that was until she flipped around and crawled between my husband’s legs, wrapping her hand on his boner before taking it into her mouth.

I was so completely taken away by how hot the whole image was - her on all fours, Steve with his head thrown back as the slurping sounds of her sloppy blowjob surrounded us - that I almost missed the fact that she was shaking her fantastic ass at me, presenting her pussy for me to feast upon again.

Guess I was doing something right, then. I buried my face in her cunt again, licking her from behind and rejoicing in this opportunity that I dreamed about for so long. I couldn’t even remember how many times both Steve and I had made each other cum just talking about what we would do if we ever got the chance to have her in bed with us, and now here we all were. Together.

Trailing my fingers up her thighs, I finally pushed two of them inside, swirling them around in an effort to find her sweet spot. I didn’t manage to locate it that easily, but I figured, we had time. For now, I had other plans in mind.

I collected some of her wetness with two of my fingers before raising them to circle her puckered hole, and she moaned in response to the new touch. Good. I wanted her to desire this as much as we did.

I slowly pushed a single finger in her ass, relishing in the way she thrust back against it, crying out around Steve’s cock. “That’s a good girl, taking my finger so easily inside this pretty little ass.” I had to slap one of her cheeks, I itched to see it bounce. She continued to move against my finger, so I figured it was safe to do the same.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The second I felt Bucky’s finger inside my ass, I knew what the last silent conversation between him and the man whose cock was currently between my lips was about. And I couldn’t wait for it.

“Bucky, please…” I released Steve’s beautiful cock momentarily, too overcome with desire to be able to suck on it properly. “Please, give me another.” Abruptly, his lips left mine, and I looked over my shoulder to find him staring at me with wide eyes.“Oh, fuck, I wanna hear you moan my name again.”

“Put another finger in my ass and I will.” He didn’t wait another minute before doing just so, and I fucking cried out at the feeling of being stretched open, already yearning for the feeling of one of their cocks replacing Bucky’s fingers.

“Fuck, Y/N, I had no idea you were so into this. I love the way you look with my fingers deep inside your ass.” Fucking hell, Bucky’s mouth was just sinful. And he got his wish, because as I fucked myself back into his fingers, all I could say were versions of his name, under Steve’s watchful gaze. His cock throbbed in his fist, and that’s when I took it upon myself to stop Bucky’s actions.

“Okay, okay. Fuck, I need you inside of me right now. Both of you.” Steve reached out to pull me over his lap, so I was straddling him, and I took the opportunity to once again substitute his hand with mine, lightly jerking him off as I heard Bucky look around for some lube.

“Are you sure you can take us?” I cocked an eyebrow at the blond man underneath me, a true work of art. I wanted to play it off as irritated, but I could only find giddiness inside of me over everything that was happening, so I leaned down and captured his lips with mine, releasing his cock to rub myself against it.

“Just get inside of me, will ya?” I rubbed the mushroom head against my clit before slowly sinking down on him, biting my lip at the beautiful moan Steve released upon feeling my walls clamping on him. And then I braced myself for Bucky’s cock.

Ironically enough, as I gasped from the feeling of being so amazingly filled, they both hissed, four hands pressing down on me in a clear sign that they were already dangerously close to coming. I inhaled sharply, taking sick pleasure on the burn of being so stretched out as I waited for them to start moving. And when they did, I simply let myself go, allowing them to use my body as they thought best.

“Fuck, darling, do you know how fucking great it fells to be inside of you?” Steve asked, his hands cradling my face to pull me into another breathtaking kiss. “You’ve been teasing us like hell all those years, we were going crazy.”

Steve’s P.O.V.

“He’s right, baby girl.” Bucky couldn’t take his eyes away from mine as he continued, “Do you know how many times I fucked Steve in this very bed, pretending you were here too?” The sounds that were escaping her were better than any music, and it was getting harder and harder to focus on not bursting inside of her tight, wet pussy.

Both Bucky and I had been wanting her for so long, the need to worship every inch of her body was strong inside of us, but hopefully, we’d have other opportunities to take our time. For now, I knew we needed her to cum, and soon.

I pressed her clit as Bucky’s hands went to graze her nipples before harshly pulling on them, and she sobbed as her hands covered ours. “Please don’t stop, please.” Fuck. Hearing her beg was torture, but the sweetest one possible.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Cum around our cocks like a good girl. Don’t you want to be our good girl?” The fact that those words were the ones who did it for her brought us excitement like nothing else. So much so that when she finally relaxed, falling against my chest, it only took a little incentive for us to meet our highs, too.

“Do you like that, doll? Do you like the idea of being ours? Our sweet, pretty girl?” Bucky was brushing her hair away from her face so we could get a better look of her, but all we got was another sob as she trembled in my arms. 

“Please be ours, sweetheart,” I urged, holding her face so she’d look me in the eyes. “Say you’ll be ours.”

“Fuck, yes, I’m yours, I’m yours.” As both of our cocks twitched inside of her, an explosion of wetness started to drip on the duvet underneath our bodies, all the while Y/N’s body kept trembling.

“Did you just… squirt?” My husband’s face was priceless, and I didn’t need to look down to know that his cock still hadn’t softened, despite the strengths of our orgasms.

“There’s a lot you still don’t know about me,” she yawned, adjusting her head on my chest, my cock still throbbing inside of her warm heaven. “Classes start in twenty minutes. The professor just needs a quick nap for now.”

➡ click here to read about the progression of their relationship

[justcourttee]

Adrien asks mari out and she says i would of been so happy in the past but now its too little to late. She's engaged to Damian but they haven't announced it yet

Bittersweet

It had been a while since Adrien had found himself in Gotham City. Too many years to count on his hand. Yet when he received an invite from Marinette he didn’t hesitate to hop on the next flight to attend her gala.

He had no idea that she had created a partnership with Wayne Enterprises, in fact, he had no idea they were interested in the fashion world at all. Then again, why should he be surprised? When Marinette put her mind to something, nothing would get in her way.

Ever since he had taken over his father’s company, Adrien hadn’t had much time to keep up with his old school friends but it hadn’t stopped them from trying to keep him in the loop. From what he could gather, Alya and Nino would also be attending, Rose and Juleka too. It would be nice to see them all again, especially Marinette.

Stepping out from the warmth of his hotel room and into the cool streets, Adrien couldn’t help but let his mind drift to thoughts of her.

It took Marinette moving to the States for him to realize how much he was in love with her. It was something he never wanted to admit seeing how much he adored Ladybug, but as she disappeared from his grasps, he was left to face his true feelings.

Glancing at his phone, Adrien confirmed that he was mere minutes away from the address she had listed. The gala was still a few days away, but Marinette asked if he had wanted to meet up for a late-night coffee, a Gotham specialty. Even her scarf that she had gifted him ages ago couldn’t hide the red on his cheeks as he imagined the perfect date with the girl of his dreams.

He paused, reaching the door of Deja Brew, his heart beating a million miles a minute. Somewhere in this late-night shop was his best friend. How would she react to seeing him again? Would she be as excited as he was? Would she feel the same way as she did?

Taking a deep breath, he pushed through the door, his eyes glancing through the scattered exhausted customers until they landed on her. She still hadn’t noticed his presence, her nose buried into her sketchbook, her coffee still steaming beside her seemingly untouched.

She was early.

The thought almost drew a laugh as he approached the counter to place his order. Of course she would have finally picked up some time management skills by now. Marinette was 27 and slowly making a name for herself as the future of the fashion industry. That wasn’t something accomplished by constant tardiness.

He picked up his cup, placing a ten into the tip jar, the hostess’ raised eyebrows making him smile. He could already hear his father scolding him. After all, that wasn’t the way to becoming a billionaire. You only make money by holding onto it.

Honestly, Adrien didn’t understand why he had to be a billionaire. His father said it would raise the bar for their line, but it just wasn’t in Adrien’s heart to hoard all of the money unnecessarily. Maybe the Waynes offered Marinette the same advice. Maybe they had something they could relate to together.

“Excuse me ma’am, is this seat taken?”

His heart had finally slowed down but as her eyes slowly peeked up at him under her lashes, it immediately began somersaulting once more.

“Oh Gods, Adrien!” She was out of her seat before he even had the chance to set down his coffee, her arms flung around his neck. He hoped and prayed she couldn’t feel his chest threatening to explode. “You should have said something! I’ve gotten into the bad habit of zoning out in public places.”

Her smile was blinding as she unwound herself, slipping back into her seat, motioning for him to sit as well.

“How was the flight? Did you fly private or first class?”

Adrien gasped, his hand covering his chest as if she had shot him.

“I only flew business thank you very much.” Marinette’s look of mock disbelief earned a small chuckle.

“That must have been so hard for you. I really am sorry you went through so much trouble for my sake.”

“You know, I would go through so much more for you Marinette.”

Her smile faltered for a moment, so quick that if he hadn’t been staring so hard at her, he might have missed it. Did his statement make her uncomfortable? He had only meant it jokingly with the truth laced in, but he was sure his eyes gave him away. They always softened when it came to her.

Marinette cleared her voice, her true smile shining once more as if the falter never happened in the first place.

“You’ve missed so much, I don’t even know where to start.”

“How about from the beginning?” She nodded as she dove into her move to the States and how she began as an intern for the CEO, Tim Drake, years ago and slowly worked her way up to personal assistant.

She recounted how Tim found her sketchbook at work one day and showed it to his father. Together they agreed that she was their way into the fashion industry, an investment that could open the door to many more jobs for the Gotham citizens.

It took two years, but she finally had a full line that was presented at Bruce’s first fashion show.

“So many big names were there Adrien! I really thought I was gonna faint!”

His smile became softer and softer as she recounted meeting the rest of the Waynes and finally after six long years, she had made enough of a name for herself to be holding her own official Gala, the Wayne’s simply a sponsor.

“That’s amazing Marinette, you’re amazing.”

She beamed proudly, her smile pulling at his heart.

“I couldn’t have done it without them. They are genuine and kind people and they are pretty much family.” Something glistened in her eyes as she spoke of them. It could have been obvious to anyone, Marinette cared so deeply for these people.

It was Adrien’s turn to falter as an ugly thought passed.

She’s so comfortable here, she would never want to come back to Paris with me.

He was shocked with himself. This was no time for jealousy. His best friend, the love of his life, was excitedly telling him about a future she had built for herself and the only thing he could think was that it was an obstacle keeping her from him?

Adrien desperately wanted to smack his own forehead, but for Marinette’s sake he straightened out his smile instead.

“I’m so sorry. I’ve only been talking about myself! What’s new with you? How’s your dad’s business? Do you have anyone you’re seeing?”

His eyebrow raised at the last question. She asked the question he so desperately wanted to ask her. And she did it so casually, equating it to his work and social life. Did that mean she was also fishing for his response?

“Nothing much. Dad wants to move from a multi-million dollar business to a multi-billion dollar business so he’s been pretty aggressive about money lately. He didn’t even want me flying over here for the gala.”

Marinette snorted much to his amusement. She knew how his dad was and how petty he could be as well.

“And as for your last question,” he paused watching her face carefully. “No, I am not seeing anyone.”

He waited for the reaction, any reaction really. But none came. Instead, she simply nodded as if she expected as much. Maybe he had read into it too much. She really could’ve just been asking for the sake of catching up. Should he ask too? Was that what she was leading up to?

Adrien cleared his throat before taking a long draw from his cup. This was so nerve wracking. She looked so content, so grown. This was a Marinette who had grown leaps and bounds while he was still stuck in this high school romance that was quite possibly one-sided.

“Well, I hate to cut it short but it’s going to be a long day tomorrow and Damian will be here any moment to pick me up.”

She slid out of her seat so effortlessly, her sketch book snapping shut before it disappeared into a bag that he hadn’t even noticed. Her smile was just as warm as he remembered, but something was missing from the girl he loved.

“Your eyes.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Marinette’s smile faltered as she tentatively reached up to touch her eyelid, confusion etching it’s way into her face.

“Is there something near my eyes Adrien?”

“No, no, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I just-” Adrien bit his lip, trying to string his thoughts together before he sounded even more like an idiot. “You used to stare at me with such soft look. I’m sorry I never noticed, but once I did, it was all I could see. Yet now-”

He trailed off as her lips drew into an o, her hand moving slowly from her eye to her lips, trying to hide her shock.

“-now, I can still feel the love in them, love directed at me, but it’s not the same love is it?”

She looked like she wanted to say something, but she couldn't find the right words. He knew she was trying to explain that he was wrong, but couldn’t bring herself to lie. It was the only confirmation he needed.

He slid out of the booth, his hand grasping the scarf slipping from his neck.

“Marinette, I was so excited when you invited me out tonight. In fact, I thought of it as a date.” She tried to reach out, but Adrien took a step back, tears brimming in his eyes. “I don’t blame you at all, please don’t think I’m saying all this to make you feel guilty. I just had to get it off my chest.”

Adrien blinked hard, trying to spill the tears clouding his vision. This was harder to say than he thought. Her eyes were so distracting, the sympathy oozing toward him in waves.

“I love you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I know you’ve made your life here and I would never dream of taking that from you. Hell, if you asked me to, I would drop everything to be at your side in an instance. Is there any chance at all that after the gala ends, we could give this a shot? Just one real date. Not some deluded fantasy I created in my head, but something we both consent to.”

He flinched when her hand finally made contact with his upper arm.

“Adrien, I love you. I really do. But you were right when you said my eyes had changed. That soft look is meant for someone else now. He and I had tried to keep our relationship quiet, but tomorrow at the gala, I was going to announce my engagement to Damian.”

Adrien couldn’t help the small sob that left his mouth. He was painfully aware of the few scattered glances all directed toward him, but he couldn’t help it. He felt Marinette pulling his head down until it laid resting on her shoulder, her small arms wrapping around his figure. It was embarrassing how hard he cried, unable to hold back his sobs any longer.

“I’m so sorry Adrien, I had no idea your feelings had changed. You were always chasing after a dream when we were younger and when I left Paris, I had finally decided that there wasn’t a chance after all between us.”

He knew she meant her words as a comfort, a promise that at one point, she would have gladly accepted his offer. Why couldn’t he have seen it earlier? Why was he so blinded by a partner who never even revealed herself right to the end? He had someone who trusted and loved him with all of their being and he ignored their feelings for a what if.

Adrien slowly pulled himself from her grasp, his smile shaky. He took a moment to use the end of his scarf to dry his soaked face.

“I’m glad you told me that Marinette. I really am. And I hope you and Damian have a long and prosperous life together.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth forming the wait, but he was already out of the door, running. It was a cowards move, one he would mull over all night. But it was too painful to look into the eyes of one you love and only find pity reflecting in them.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“So you came?”

Adrien turned, his smile bittersweet as he embraced Alya, his fist connecting with Nino’s outstretched hand.

“How could I not support her? She’s worked so hard to make this a reality. My feelings can take a backburner for one night.”Their eyes all trailed to the center of the room where she stood, her arm threaded through with the man he assumed to be Damian Wayne. “Besides, you can tell. She loves that man beside her more than anything in this world.”

The glint of the ring on her finger caused an aching in his heart. Despite it all, he really did wish the Wayne boy no ill will. If he was who Marinette chose to spend the rest of her life with, then Adrien trusted her decision.

“I’ve never seen her smile so bright. And to think, I used to believe her smile was at its maximum blindlingness.” Nino’s chuckle earned a small chuckle from Adrien as well.

There was no denying it.

Marinette was where she belonged. The only thing left was for him to support her in any way that he could. And that was exactly what he planned to do.

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[axwalker]

Road Trip

Thanks to @mskaneko   for the AMAZING edit on the mood board. I was so excited to use it!!! I love it ❤️❤️❤️

Book: TRR

Pairing: Drake x Alexis (MC)

Synopsis: After an awkward first encounter, Drake and Alexis become best friends. They spend all their summers together until something happens in year ten. Will they be able to get over it? Or is their friendship forever doomed? 

WORDS: 3,500

A/N: For reasons, almost all chapters are in Alexis’ POV

Warnings: I write a very stubborn very blind pairing!! Sorry! 

Synopsis: After an awkward first encounter, Drake and Alexis become best friends. They spend all their summers together until something happens in year ten. Will they be able to get over it? Or is their friendship forever doomed?

2009. Eleven summers ago

Sometimes, I cross paths with Drake around on campus, but we don’t speak again until the day after freshman year ends. It was my best friend, Maxwell, who set the whole thing up. When he gave me his friend’s name and number to coordinate our meetup the idea that his friend could be the same Drake didn’t even cross my mind; mostly because Maxwell was the most outgoing, social human being I’ve ever met. But when I come downstairs to find him waiting by his green jeep at the time we’d previously agreed on, it’s obvious from his steady, uncomfortable expression that Drake was expecting me. He’s wearing the same shirt he had on the night I met him, but somehow, I’m not surprised.

“It’s you,” I say eying his car.

He ducks his head, flushes. “Yep.” 

Without another word, he walks toward me and takes my suitcase and the duffle bag from my arms, loading them into his back seat. The first sixty minutes of our drive are awkward and silent. 

“Do you have an aux cable?” I ask, trying to figure out how to hook my iPod to his truck. 

“Why?” 

“Because I want to see if I can hang myself if the traffic doesn’t improve,” I joke. “Why do you think? So we can listen to music.” 

Drake’s expression hardens even more. “While we’re stuck in traffic?” 

“Um,” I say. “Yes?” 

“What are you planning to listen to, O’Brien?”

O’Brien? Ok, then. 

“I prefer to know what we'd be listening to because I can only tolerate so much Lady Gaga in one trip.”

“Interesting. You like Lady Gaga.”

“I don’t”

I smirk. “Oh but you do, you just implied that you tolerate her a little.”

He just stars at me. “Sorry but no music until we’re out of the city. It distracts me.” His tone is final and it’s his car so I shut my mouth. These are going to be the longest 10 hours of my life. 

I slump back in my seat, return to staring out the window. Drake makes a self-conscious throat-clearing sound like he wants to say something. I turn expectantly toward him. 

“Yes?” 

“Would you mind … not doing that?” He tips his chin toward my legs, and I realize I’m shaking my left leg. I draw my hands into my lap, then catch myself tapping my feet. 

“I’m not used to silence!” I say, defensive when he looks at me. It’s the understatement of the century. I grew up in a house with two big dogs, a Mexican mother who thinks yelling is whispering, and an abuelita who found the eternal background noise of Mexican telenovelas “soothing.” Sitting silence in traffic with someone I barely know —feels wrong. “Shouldn’t we get to know each other or something?” I ask. 

“I just need to focus on the road,” he says, the corners of his mouth tense. 

“Fine.” 

Drake sighs as, ahead, the source of the congestion appears a minor accident. Both cars involved have already pulled off the road, but traffic’s still stuck.

“Of course,” he says, “people just slowing down to stare. Fucking vultures.” 

He opens the center console and looks around until he finds the cable. “Here,” he says. “You pick.” 

I lift an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You might regret it.” 

His brow furrows. “Why would I regret it?” I glance into the back seat of his truck. The jeep is old yet spotless. Somehow it smells exactly like he does, sandalwood, cut grass, and something deeply manly, deeply … him. He has a motorcycle helmet on the back seat and an open bag with a soccer ball. Other than his t-shirt, he’s wearing jeans, black Timberlands boots, and a leather jacket. 

“You just seem like maybe you’re a fan of … I don’t know. Hard metal?” I point out. “And I’m not sure I have the kind of music you like.” 

The furrow of his brow deepens. His mouth twists into a frown. “Maybe you don’t have me as figured out as you think.”

“Really?” I ask. “So you won’t mind if I put on Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You?” 

“It’s June,” he says. 

“I’ll consider my question answered,” I say. 

“That’s unfair,” he says. “What kind of a psychopath listens to Christmas music in June?” 

“And if it were December eleventh,” I say, “what about then?” 

Drake’s mouth presses closed. He tries to smooth his messy hair but the minute his hand stops raking through it, a rush of static leaves it is floating. His whole focus is on the road and for a minute I wonder how it would feel to have all that intensity turned on me.

“Fine,” he says. “I don’t like Christmas music. Don’t put that on, and we should be fine.” 

I plug my iPod in, turn on the stereo, and scroll to Amy Winehouse “Stronger than me.” Within seconds, he scowls. 

“What?” I say. 

“Nothing,” he answers. 

“You look like Bambi when the hunter shot hit his mom.” 

He squints at me. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You hate this song,” I accuse. 

“I do not,” he says unconvincingly. 

“You hate Amy Winehouse.” 

“It’s not her particularly,” he says. 

 “Then what is it?” I demand. An exhale hisses out of him. 

“All the humming and the babbling.”  

“The what?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “I just … really hate that. Any song with shit like that on is instantly ruined. Even if it’s Amy Winehouse.” 

“Are you for real?”

“Name one song that was improved by humming,” Drake challenges. 

“I’ll have to consult the notebook where I keep track of every song where the singer hums.” 

“No song,” he says. 

“I bet you’re fun at parties,” I mumble but somehow he hears me. 

“I’m fine at parties,” he says. 

“As long as the singer doesn’t hum,” I say. 

He glances sidelong at me. “You’re really into that shit?” 

“No, but I’m willing to pretend if you’re not finished ranting. What else do you hate?” 

“Nothing,” he says. “Just Christmas music and singers that hum. And covers.” 

“Covers?” I say. “Like … book covers?” 

“Covers of songs,” he explains. 

I can’t help but laugh. “You hate covers of songs?” 

“Fervently,” he says. 

“Drake. That’s like saying you hate fruits. It’s too vague. It makes no sense.” 

“It makes perfect sense,” he insists. “If it’s a good cover, that completely respects the original song, then, why fucking do it in the first place? And if it sounds nothing like the original, then, why the hell destroy a perfectly good song?” 

“Oh my god,” I say. “You’re a 70-year-old man trapped in a twenty-something-year-old body.” 

He frowns at me. “Oh, and you just like everything?” 

“Pretty much,” I shrug. “I tend to like things.” 

“I like things too,” he says. 

“Like what, soccer and tons of whisky?” I guess remembering our first meeting. 

“I certainly have no aversion to either,” he says. “Why, are those things you hate?”

 “I told you,” I said. “I like things. I’m very easy to please.”

 “What does that mean?” 

“It means …” I think for a second. “Okay, so, when I was little my favorite thing was going to the old cinema downtown and picking a movie randomly. 

I knew that even if it was the most ridiculous plot ever, I would go anywhere the movie wanted to take me, even if that is watching a spy in a fitted suit balance between two speedboats while he shoots at bad guys.” 

Drake’s gaze moves between the road and me a few more times. “Portavira Cineplex?” he asks, a repulsed expression framing his eyes.  

“Yes. The one and only.” 

“The one where the theaters are always mysteriously flooded?” he seems horrified. “The last time I went there, I hadn’t made it halfway down the aisle before I heard splashing.” 

“Yes, but it’s cheap,” I said, “and I had my rain boots. Real cool ones too with rainbows on them.” 

“We don’t even know what that liquid is, O’Brien,” he says, grimacing. “You could have contracted a disease.” 

I roll my eyes. “I’m alive, aren’t I?” 

His eyes narrow. “What else?” 

“What do you mean?”

“What else …” “… do you like?” he clarifies. “Besides seeing any movie, alone, in the cold, flooded theater.” 

“You don’t believe me?” I say. 

“It’s not that,” he answers. “I’m just fascinated.”

“Fine. Let me think” I look out the window just as I see an airplane flying through the sky. “Airports. I love how they connect people, cities, faraway places. Love the possibilities you have at an airport. The encounters and reunions. I haven’t been able to travel as much as I’d like to, but every time that I have to go to one I love—ooh!” I interrupt myself as it dawns on me. The thing I hate. “Team sports! I hate playing at them. I got a C in gym class in high school because I ‘forgot my gym clothes at home so often.” 

The corner of Drake’s mouth curves, and my cheeks heat. “Go ahead. Make fun of me for getting a C in gym. I can tell you’re dying to.” 

“It’s not that,” he says. 

“Then what?” 

His faint smile inches higher. “It’s just funny. I love team sports. It’s how I got my scholarship to Cordonia U.”

“What are you talking about? College is free in Cordonia.”

“Yeah, but they cover all my expenses. I don’t have to pay for housing or food.”

“Max told me you worked at O'Connell, next to campus.”

“Yeah, I—I need the money for something else.” He doesn’t offer any more explanations and I don’t ask either. 

“So, you hate the very concept of cover songs yet love being smacked around fighting for a soccer ball and running for ninety minutes?” 

 “I should’ve guessed that you hate football.”

“I love football. Go, Barca! I just prefer to enjoy it while I drink a six-pack and a bag of Hot Flammin Cheetos, thank you very much.”

“I can get that,” he says, his smile still mostly hidden in the corner of his mouth, “I hate when people call boats ‘she.’” 

A laugh of surprise bursts out of me. “You know what,” I say, “I think I hate that too.”

“So it’s settled,” he says.

 I nod. “It’s settled. Referring to boats as girls is hereby forbidden.” 

“Glad we got that taken care of,” he says. 

“Yeah, it’s a load off my chest. What should we eradicate next?” 

“I have some ideas,” he says. “But tell me some of the other things you love.” 

“Why, are you studying me?” I joke. 

He shakes his head amused. “I’m fascinated to have met someone who is in love with a flooded old theater, so sue me.” 

For the next two hours, we trade our interests and disinterests like kids exchanging football cards, all while my driving playlist cycles through on shuffle in the background. If there are any other songs where the singer dares to hum through it, we don’t notice it. 

I tell him that I love watching videos of families reuniting on YouTube, even if they always make me cry. He tells me he hates seeing people walking around without shoes on the hallways of his dorm and displays of affection in public. “Feet as much as feelings should be private,” he insists. 

“You need help,” I tell him, but I can’t stop laughing, and even as he shares his strangely specific dislikes for my amusement, he keeps smiling every time I laugh at one of his complaints. Like he knows he’s grumpy but doesn’t care. Like he doesn’t mind at all that I’m making fun of the things he hates so passionately. I admit that I hate both Portavira and jocks, because why not? We both already know the truth: we’re two people with no business spending any time together, let alone spending an extended amount of it trapped in a Jeep. We are two fundamentally incompatible people with absolutely no need to impress each other. So I have no problem saying, “Jeans just make a person look like they’re void of a personality.” 

“They’re durable, and they match everything,” Drake argues. 

“You know, sometimes with clothes, it’s not a matter of whether something can be worn but whether it should be worn.” 

Drake shakes the thought away. “And as for Portavira,” he says, “what’s your problem with it? It’s a great place to grow up. Lots of nature. A wonderful beach, a lake, the forest.” 

This is a more complicated question with an answer I don’t feel like sharing, even with someone who’s going to drop me off in several hours and never think of me again. 

“Portavira is a complicated place, I never really found as I belonged there,” I say. 

He only nods as if he understands how delicate the subject is for me. That I don’t want to talk about it. 

Drake tells me he hates themed parties and despises dressing up. Pointed shoes and bow ties. When you show up somewhere and an old friend says “They’ll let anyone in here!” People who never tip. For men who use so much gel on their hair, it seems like they’re wearing a helmet.  Sweater vests, on anyone, ever. Shiny clothes. People who use selfie-sticks. Instagram.

Instagram? 

“Too fake,” he says and that settles it.

“I love Halloween parties, and dressing up,” I tell him. 

“Of course you do,” he says. “You’re good at them.” 

I squint at him, put my feet on the dashboard, then take them back down when I see he frowns. “Are you stalking me?” I ask. 

He smirks “Please, I was just curious to know if you had met your rich movie producer.”

I can only laugh at that. “Are you making a joke, Walker?” If I’m O’Brien, then he’s a Walker. 

He only shrugs. “How do you know I’m ‘good at’ themed parties? I’ve seen you at one party, and it was a regular college party.” 

“It’s not about that,” he says. “You’re just … always sort of in costume.” He hurries to add, “I don’t mean in a bad way. You’re just always dressed pretty …” 

“Great?” I finish for him. 

“Confidently,” he says. 

“Wow, the best-backhanded compliment I ever heard,” I say. 

He sighs. “Are you misunderstanding me on purpose?” 

“No,” I say, “I think that just comes naturally for us.” 

“I just mean that for you, it seems like a themed party might as well just be a Monday. But for me, it means I stand in front of my closet for, like, two hours trying to figure out how to match a football jersey and a pair of jeans so they fit on a themed fucking party.” 

“You could try … not buying your clothes in bulk,” I suggest. “Or you can just wear your jeans and a matching shirt with a hat and tell everyone you’re going as a cowboy.” 

He lifts his eyebrows but otherwise ignores my comment. “I hate the decision-making of it all, and if I try to go buy a costume it’s even worse. I fucking hate malls. There’s just too much. I don’t even know how to choose a store, let alone a style. I have to buy all my clothes online, and once I find something I like, I’ll order five more of them right away.” 

“Well, if you ever get invited to a themed party where you’re sure there will be no people with bare feet, PDA, or bow ties and so you’re able to attend,” I joke, “I’d be happy to take you shopping.” 

“Are you being serious?” His eyes move from the road to me. It started getting dark out at some point without my noticing, and Nina Simone’s mournful voice is singing out over the speakers now, her song Feeling Good.

“Of course I’m serious,” I say. We might have nothing in common, but I’m starting to enjoy myself. A lot.  All year I’ve felt like I had to be on my best behavior like I was auditioning for new friendships, new identities, a new life. I know I have a strange need to please people but strangely, I feel none of that with him. He accepts me just like I am. Plus … I love shopping. 

“It’d be great,” I keep talking. “You’d be like my living Barbie doll.” He shoots me an offended look so I laugh. “Ok, ok, Ken doll.” I lean forward and turn the volume up a bit when Paul McCartney starts singing Hey Jude. “Speaking of things I love: this song.” 

“This is one of my karaoke songs,” Drake says. 

“What??” I snort but from his chagrined expression, I quickly understand that he’s not joking, which makes it even better. “I’m not laughing at you,” I say fast. “I actually think it’s adorable.” 

“Adorable?” I can’t tell if he’s confused or offended. 

“No, I just mean …” I stop, roll the window down a little to let a breeze into the car. I pull my hair up off my sweaty neck and tie it into a messy bun. “It’s just hard to imagine the bow-tie/ PDA/ Humming song hater loving karaoke. You’re just …” I search for a way to explain it. “Not who I thought, I guess.” 

His brow creases. “Who did you think I was?” 

“I don’t know,” I say. “Some jock from Portavira.” 

“I am some jock from Portavira,” he says. 

“Some jock from Portavira a who sings ‘Hey, Jude’ at karaoke,” I correct him, then devolve into fresh, delighted laughter at the thought. 

Drake smiles at the steering wheel, shaking his head. “And you’re some girl from Portavira who sings …” He thinks for a second. “‘Hip’s don’t lie’ at karaoke?” 

“Only time will tell,” I say. “I’ve never been to karaoke.” 

“Seriously?” He looks over at me, wide, unfiltered surprise on his face. 

“I know! And I love singing. I just never had the opportunity I guess.” I say. 

“We should go. Sometime this summer.” 

“Okay,” I say, as surprised by the invitation as by my accepting it. “That’d be fun.” 

“Okay,” he says. “Cool.” So now we have two sets of plans. Shopping and karaoke. I guess that makes us friends. 

A car speeds up behind us, pressing in close. Drake, seemingly unbothered, puts on his signal to move out of his way. Every time I’ve checked the speedometer, he’s been holding steady precisely at the speed limit, and that’s not about to change for one small tailgater. I should’ve guessed what a cautious driver he’d be. Then again, sometimes when you guess about people, you end up very wrong. Like how the brooding, steady man next to me loves karaoke. 

As the beautiful vineyards from Castelraillan show up before us my shuffling playlist moves nonsensically between Marc Anthony and Elton John and David Bowie and Shakira. 

“You really do like everything,” Drake teases. 

“Except team sports, Portavira, and jean shirts,” I say. 

He keeps his window up, I keep mine down, my hair flying around my head as we fly over flat country roads, the wind so loud I can barely make out Drake’s deep rendition of Queen’s ‘Don’t stop me now’ until he gets to the chorus and we belt it out together in horrendous matching voices, arms flying, faces contorted, and ancient Jeep’s speakers buzzing. At that moment, he is so intense, so funny, so absurd, it’s like I’m looking at an entirely separate person from the brooding, stoic boy I met at that Orientation party. Maybe, I think, Brooding Drake is like a coat that he puts on before he walks out the door. Maybe this is Naked Drake. Okay, I’ll think of a better name for it. The point is, I’m starting to like this one. A whole lot. 

 “What about traveling?” I ask between songs. 

“What about it?” he says. 

“Love or hate?” 

His mouth presses into an even line as he considers. “Hard to say,” he replies. “I’ve never really been anywhere. Read about a lot of places, just haven’t seen any of them yet.” 

“Me neither,” I say. “Not yet.” 

He thinks for another moment. “Love,” he says. “I’m guessing love.” 

“Louis,” I say quoting my favorite movie, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” 

[sciapod]

Bathtub Photoshoot 💦

Pairing: Henry Cavill x First Person-POV (Female, or at least X wears a bra and has breasts)

Summary: Little private photosesh' with Henners and then some.

Warnings: Dry humping but let's just call it grinding. Edging. 18+ to be safe!! Contains smut. You might be able to find the tiniest bit of angst. And bit of fluff.

Word count: 2.5K

Not beta’ed! I take full responsibility for this fuckup.

Inspired/prompted by this post by @cavillfics

Masterlist

I obviously don't own Henry Cavill, nor do I know him IRL, so it goes without saying that this is a figment of my imagination.

(I took the liberty to edit the photo just a bit and don’t know who to credit for the original edit. Let me know if you know, so I can give credit where it's due.)

Happy reading 💦

---

“Babe, I've got an idea! Can you do something for me, please?”

When I heard you coming through the front door, I rushed to meet you there. You were finally home again and was hanging your jacket on the coat rack when I found you.

“Oh, well,” you reply, “I really want to just lean back, maybe take a shower or something. It’s been a long week, babe. And hello, by the way.”

You step over to me, reach around my waist and pull me against your firm body.

“Mhm, you smell lovely,” you whisper in my hair. I sigh, then wiggle myself free of your embrace.

“Henry, listen,” I look up at you with my best attempt at puppy eyes. You breathe deeply and turn your face, scratching mine with your stubble. It sends shivers through my body.

“Okay,” you hum as your hands roam my body, finding their way to my bare thighs then sneaking up beneath my robe, “tell me.”

I grab your hips and press my core against your thigh as I lean backwards, looking up at you, “I want to take some pictures … of you.”

Your face goes through a range of emotions; surprised, suspicious, smirking, friendly and finally incredibly charismatic: Front-page-style smile.

“That’s the one!” I say with excitement.

“Which one?” you tease, furrowing your brow and looking all suspicious again.

“You know perfectly well, you buffoon!” I say, as I slap your chest playfully.

My entire body lifts when you laugh. You kiss my forehead and twirl some of my hair between a few fingers. Your eyes shift, gazing at various areas of my face. I sigh, then reach for your hands, the one playing with my hair and the other, which I find gently caressing the lace of my panties.

I hold your hands between us and look up at my man.

“You do realize, of course, that you are basically a Greek god carved out of stone.”

“I have been told so, yes.”

“And you do realize that every artist needs a muse, a model, to create from.”

“I have a faint idea of that, yes,” you say, smirking down at me.

“And I happen to be short of a project, and subject, for my portfolio.”

“I see,” your smile broadens, “but what does that have to do with me?”

“Henry!”

My declining patience must have been obvious somewhere in my face or perhaps my exclamation, because you burst out laughing, throwing your head back as you do so. I can’t help but melt a little.

“Tell me what you need me to do, darling,” you say, stroking my hands with your thumbs. I feel warmth spread through my chest. Your face softens and I feel the warmth spread further down.

“Fuck,” I breathe, casting my eyes to the floor. I’m suddenly filled with all kinds of insecurities, imposter syndrome and such, but there’s a reason why you’re my man. You sense it immediately and lift my hands to your lips, kissing them sincerely.

“You’ve got this, babe.”

I sigh, “I know, sweetheart. It's just… Urgh.”

You kiss my forehead.

“Tell me your idea.”

“I…” My voice breaks. You lift my chin up with a single finger, as if it were suddenly light as a feather, forcing me to look into your striking blue eyes.

“I don’t know,” I finally exclaim. “I didn’t have a concrete idea. I just knew that I wanted you to be in the photos.”

You smile, almost apologetically, “Okay, look. I really want to help. But I’m so damn tired. I’ve got an idea, though, of how we may be able to hit two birds with one stone.”

“Okaay?” I say, a slight tinge of hope seeping into my core again.

“I need a bath–”

“–I can’t take a nude picture of you!”

You laugh again, but shake your head, “No, silly. Let me finish.”

My cheeks flush scarlet.

“I need a bath, but instead of taking a shower, I’ll jump in the tub. Once in there, you can have me do whatever you want.”

I squint my eyes, then see a lightbulb flash on.

“YES!” I almost yell, running my hands up your torso and leaning in for a kiss.

“Yes,” I repeat, then press my lips against your sculpted ones. It is as if your lips curl to a smile amidst the kiss.

“Yes,” I say one last time, meeting your eyes, “If you get the water running, I’ll collect my gear.”

Your hands go wandering about on my hips again, dragging my robe up and making my hairs stand on end. You look down at me with a confident smile, saying, “great minds think alike.”

I fight off the urge to kiss you again and instead draw away from you. You catch the waistband of my robe and it slides off as I step away, revealing the new set of lingerie I’m wearing underneath. I stand, looking at you with what I imagine is the expression of a suspicious feline. You, on the other hand, make a low whistle and shake your head in slow motion, clearly surprised and pleased to see what I was hiding beneath. Then you nod toward the living room, signalling I get on with finding my camera.

It takes me a few minutes to find the right lens. When I enter the bathroom, you’re in the process of unbuckling your belt. The tap is running and there’s already a bit of water in the tub.

“Wait,” I say, stopping you just as you’re about to pull your jeans down, “I think I want you in the water dressed.”

You stare for a moment, shrug, say “sure,” then proceed to tug your jeans over your perky bum again.

“Right, erm,” I think for a moment, “No, you know what? Lose the pants, but keep the t-shirt on.”

“Lose the pants,” you repeat and let your jeans fall to the floor. As you stand back up, I realize something.

“We might have a problem,” I say, eyeing the hefty bulge in your boxers.

You follow my gaze, noticing the same problem, then nod in agreement.

“But then again,” you say, “what did you expect, looking like that?” you hint at my open robe and lingerie.

We both shrug, then burst laughing.

“I guess we’ll just have to make it work!” I say, “Now, in the tub with you, buddy.”

You feel the temperature of the water and deciding that it’s decent, turn off the tap, step in and lie down. There’s not a lot of water in there, but I’m assuming it will do. You look up at me with anticipation, “Now what?”

I squint at you, finding the bulge slightly distracting, basically towering above the waterline like another Burj Khalifa. Obviously, you notice my lack of response.

“Hey, babe!” you say, snapping me out of it. I feel my nether region clench.

“Okay, okay!” I shake my head to wake up. You shake yours too, smirking at me.

“We need to do something about that,” I say.

“I can try to hide it?” you suggest.

“How?” I squint. It’s a mastodon of a package you has stored down there, I think to myself.

“Anyway, I need to find a position to photograph you from.”

I begin taking random photos of you from various angles and perspectives, simultaneously adjusting the settings on the camera as I do so. Meanwhile, you roll around to one side, then the other, then back again. The squeaking sounds of your body rubbing against the sides of the tub while you change poses makes the whole situation rather comedic, and I'm convinced you're doing it even worse on purpose. Determined to be somewhat professional, I try to ignore your distractions.

“It’s a good thing we have such good lighting in here,” I say, gazing around the small room, pretending to be focused and ignorant of your attempts at sabotage.

“How do you want me, babe? I feel like… I don’t even know? A fish out of water,” you say, doubting your own wording, “or something like that.”

I sigh, “I know, I get it. I need to think. We’ve also still got that… situation… going on.” I gesture at the, no less apparent, tent between your legs.

“Okay,” you say calmly, “I’ll just lie back and relax, while you think of something.”

“Good.”

As you settle into a comfortable position, I mentally run through the various “golden rules” of photography that I can remember.

Then it’s as if I notice the obvious. The absolute god-like adonis carved in marble in front of me: My initial inspiration. Your white t-shirt, soaked from all the turning and splashing around you did, is sticking to your chest and abs, enhancing the lines of your muscular torso, yet still in a perfectly suggestive fashion; somewhat similar to the drapery you see on these same sculptures. In a fit of impulse, I crawl up to stand on the edges of the tub.

You open your eyes –awoken by my scramblings– fear in your eyes as you reach for me, “be careful, babe!”

“No no, darling! Stay put!” I say, “I’m perfectly safe. It’s dry. My feet are dry. I’m stable, but thank you.” I smile, reassuringly. Suspicious yet accepting, you lower your arms and lie back down. I notice your eyes trail down my exposed body. Lust now clear as daylight in your gaze.

“I think I’ve got the photo soon, babe, then we’re done,” I explain. “Just close your eyes for me.”

You shake your head and smile, then do as I said.

Your head rests on the back of the tub, but your fingers begin fidgeting … around your nether region.

“Are you uncomfortable?” I ask between photos.

“No…” you smirk, eyes still closed, but you shift and rest your hands awkwardly on your stomach instead.

“We can’t have that,” I say, “you’re covering the main part of the photo,” I tease.

You open your eyes, still smirking but not saying a word.

“And you’re revealing, exposing, what we need to hide,” I try to hold back my laugh.

“Okay,” I continue, “what about… what if you hold your t-shirt at the hem and stretch it down to cover your crotch. Place your other hand casually beside it. Yeah, like that! Exactly, babe. Beautiful.”

I take a couple of photos and look at them on the tiny screen.

“Right, hold that pose, but just… kinda relax, if you can. I’ll take a few shots more and then you’re done!”

You close your eyes again and begin taking deep breaths, lessening the tension that must have been building in your shoulders over the last few days. As peace falls upon your face and body, I take the last photos. After quickly reviewing them on the tiny screen, I decide that I’m done. I turn off my camera and place it on the shelf above the tub before crawling down to sit on the edge of the tub, my feet in the water between your legs.

“Okay, it’s a wrap!”

Your eyes flash open and you let go of your t-shirt. The fabric bounces back, revealing your hairy tummy, teasing me. You look up at me with mischief, then give your member a squeeze.

“Get down here,” you say, almost ferocious in your voice.

I feel myself get all giddy with sudden anticipation as you rise like Poseidon from the water. Before I can do anything other than yelp, you pull me down onto you and with a splash and a thud I land against your rock-hard body. I'm instantly soaked.

“Finally,” you mutter, drenching my face and neck with hungry kisses. Your hands tease the collar of my robe before sliding it over my shoulders. Your eyes explore the curves of my upper body, then you adjust me so that I sit straddled upon you. You don’t speak a word, but your eyes and body say everything I need to know.

I feel your girth throbbing against me. You slide my robe all the way off and without taking your eyes off me, you cast it aside. Then your hands slide up my body. You cup my breasts tenderly, admiring the lace and how the new style of bra suits my breasts. You lick your lips as your thumbs begin stroking my hardening nipples. I sigh and begin grinding against the tip of your member.

You sit up and proceed to kiss and bite the flesh of my breasts. Gently holding the lace aside with your fingers, you capture my nipples between your teeth, ever so gently, before circling your tongue around them with exquisite attention. While squeezing my breasts together, you kiss them one after the other, back and forth, before venturing up to my collarbone and neck. All I can do is whimper and moan.

Then you grasp my hair, pulling my head back. Between kisses and bites on my exposed neck, you breathe damp, sultry words onto my skin. Expressions of how I’ve been a tease, how patient you’ve been and how much you want me now. I want to answer, but I can’t do anything but mutter incoherencies; your throbbing cock eagerly pressing against my core and thus stealing all of my vocabulary.

My breath quickens as I grind harder, cursing the fabrics that keep our cores from meeting, merging. Then you push me towards you, allowing our lips to meet in hungry kisses. My bra loosens. You must have managed to open and take it off me with your other hand, before also casting it aside. You grab at my liberated breasts, then sit up and pull your drenched t-shirt over your head. It lands on the bathroom floor with a splash. My hands instinctively seek the wet fur of your stomach and chest, momentarily squeezing your pecs, then wander south again.

Your eyes read pure hunger and you buck your hips. As I fall back down from the jump, my core meets the powerful strength of your pelvis, bucking yet again. I gasp, overcome by a mixture of arousal and humor. You buck again, a laugh escapes me and somehow, after a few times of this, you’ve managed to free your erection from your boxers. I didn’t notice, but at some point you must have turned on the tap again, because I see you turn it back off. I guess this increased level of water also explains the more slow-motion-like sensation I experience as I land back down on your pelvis; a somewhat softer landing than before. In my own defence, I was entranced and my mind was not functioning at 100%, hence the questionable description. Anyway, both our hips are now submerged under water and I simply shake my head at your mischievous ways. You smirk and pull me down to a deep kiss, slapping my ass through the water, making more water splash all over the place. Everything in the room is certainly wet by now.

I grind against your exposed and infinitely hard cock as your fingers slider under the lace. Your hands grab my cheeks with determination, enhancing the force and enabling you to better thrust against my grinding motion. The friction is causing short-circuits in my brain, making me see colours that aren’t there. My first climax is staggeringly near, but just before I get to release, you buck your hips again, making me scoot off your cock. A devious grin is smeared across your chiseled face.

“You had me waiting, sweetheart. Now it’s my turn to tease.”

---

Thanks for reading my shitpost! Please leave a comment of your thoughts, however nonsensical they may be 💜🙏

Tags in the reblog 🖤Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list.

[coulson-is-an-avenger]

kisses 21 jm!

For the prompt “we’ll face this together” kiss. TY SAHAR!!! OKAY I accidentally had one (1) jonbinary idea and then it ended up being SO FUCKING LONG (like 2.5k long) so uh. yeah. Warnings for descriptions of dysphoria, mentions of kidnapping and self loathing, and Jon getting pretty close to a panic attack. Also disclaimer, although I am nonbinary, I’m not transfem, so if there’s any critiques surrounding that, don’t hesitate to let me know. Stay safe y’all!

Jon’s face itches as he faces the mirror like an old foe. It’s long held an image that hurts him to see; aged by unfathomable horrors and dotted with marks like a canvas before a child’s paint tipped fingers, and these days he can’t even be sure that his reflection looks away from him when he turns his head. But, the devil it holds at the moment is the simple reflection of his short beard, and his face itches at the reminder of it.

It isn’t a physical itch. It lurks under the skin, poking and prodding at his senses, rubbing him the wrong way as he lays his cheek on his pillow, leaving a distracting echo when his chin brushes against Martin’s during a kiss, scraping at the inside of his skin as he stares at himself and takes in the sight of it covering his chin.

He scrubs his fingers over his eyelids. He isn’t ignorant, he realizes the discomfort he feels is most likely somewhat gender-related, but it’s… his relationship with his gender is complicated. In a lot of ways, it’s been such a mundane concern recently that he’s somewhat lost track of where he stands with it, but he remembers how it felt to first wear a skirt into the archives, all those long years ago. How gentle Sasha had been with him back then, even if the memory pinches the back of his head and grins with too many teeth and a short haircut that he knows now was wrong. But the Stranger cannot take that act of kindness away from her, even if it took away the face he remembers sharing it with.

He had felt like he was becoming something new, then, staring at a new path, freshly paved in his life, open to the possibilities of self discovery and certainty. Then his life had been riddled with worms and his friends had been carved out, one by screaming one, and he was on the run and set alight and kidnapped and disabled and nearly killed and kidnapped again and nearly killed and—

Jon remembers, vaguely, a flash of what had happened in the month he was… gone. He doesn’t remember most of what happened in that place. Probably for the better, he tells himself, but he does recall one thing. One very simple thing, really; that he hadn’t been able to shave, and he remembers the itch being all he could focus on for days at a time.

One of the first things he had done after stumbling through Michael-now-Helen’s door-not-deathtrap was drag himself to a sink and shave his face raw, burned hand be damned. His skin had suffered afterwards, nicked and irritated beneath its smoothness, and he had taken some strange, morbid comfort in the blemish he was able to inflict, after so many days of hearing hollow voices sing of its beauty.

This is a dangerous line of thought, he realizes, hands pressed against the bathroom sink, his heartbeat starting to pound in his ears. He desperately does not want to think about that, not here, and preferably not ever again, if he can help it.

He tries to bring himself back to the here and now, grounding himself in the feeling of porcelain under his palms, but the victory over his mind is a hollow one, unfortunately, as it brings him right back to the itching under his skin.

He’s not sure if this itch is exasperated by his own self consciousness, or by the lingering sting of the Lonely that threatened to separate him from himself, but it builds until its all he can feel in his skin, on his face, and he finds himself lunging across the counter, knocking things over in an attempt to hunt down Martin’s razor.

Jon had lost his own somewhere in the chaos of living in the archives, but he’s sure he saw Martin trim his own short beard when they first arrived at the safehouse, so it must be here, he thinks, ripping open drawers, it must— aha!

His fist closes around the razor, hidden under the sink next to a small bottle of shaving cream and Martin’s testosterone shots, and he barely gives a thought to what he’s doing before raising it to his dry cheek, just needing this thing off, and—

“Jon? You know that’s not how to do that, right?”

Jon whips around like lightning, his back to the sink and the razor clenched in his fist against his chest like a talisman, breathing heavily.

Martin had been smiling slightly as he entered the bathroom, but the expression quickly falls from his face as he takes in the panicked look on Jon’s face, and the erratic motion of his free hand, clenched into a fist at his side and twitching in an attempt to calm himself. Martin steps forward quickly, outstretching a hand.

“Jon, love? Are you alright?”

Jon fixes his eyes on Martin; kind, beautiful Martin who still goes a bit grey at the fingertips and the eyes when anxiety seizes him, Martin who has always been there, always been there, ever since the beginning. Jon anchors himself as he looks at that familiar, beloved face, and tries to take a breath.

“I-I don’t know,” He manages, because this all feels very silly now. He’s a grown person standing in the center of a bathroom, clutching his boyfriend’s shaving razor like it’s a weapon, for God’s sake, all because of what? Some facial hair? Good Lord, he’s being ridiculous. “Probably, I just… um.” He trails off, gut sinking as emotions spiral through him, too fast to pin down and name.

“Okay,” Martin says gently, shuffling a step closer. “Why do you have that?” He gestures to the razor in Jon’s hand, and Jon twitches, holding it closer.

“I need to borrow it,” He explains, stumbling. “I can’t- I need-“ He makes a frustrated noise and tries to get his thoughts to align. He inhales deeply and tries again. “I need to …shave. This-“ he gestures jerkily towards his face. “This is too much.”

Martin nods carefully, eyes glued to Jon’s face. “Too much?” His question is as gentle as his eyes, and Jon has to glance away for a moment, overwhelmed by being seen.

“It’s… complicated,” He begins, the fist pressed to his chest beginning to lighten up. “It… it just itches, all the time. Like- like a thousand ants under my skin, w-which is ridiculous because it doesn’t actually hurt or itch or- or anything, it just…” he glances back to Martin’s eyes, furtive and desperate for him to understand. “I need it to stop.”

“Oh,” Martin softens even more before Jon’s eyes, his face melting with understanding and sadness. “Oh, Jon. I didn’t realize you were having dysphoria.”

At the word dysphoria Jon glances sharply up, uncertainty fraught on his face, and Martin backtracks quickly.

“Or- s-sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. Is it-”

“N-no, Martin, it-it’s fine.” Jon waves Martin’s nerves aside and finds that he finally has a decent enough hold on his own to lower the hand that had been pressed against his chest. He turns around in the bathroom and sits down on the edge of the bathtub, sighing heavily. “It might be dysphoria, I don’t…” He hesitates, chuckling slightly. “I’m not quite sure I know it well enough to place it. Gender hasn’t exactly been… a priority these days.”

Martin nods and follows him deeper into the bathroom, setting down the lid of the toilet so he can sit on it and listen to Jon blunder through his feelings.

“It might be? I mean… I know I’m not a man, per say, but it… I mean, it could also be so many other things at this point. It’s just- I know it’s stupid to overthink, but—“

“Hey, hey,” Martin cuts him off, extending a hand to brush against the side of his knee. “It isn’t stupid, Jon. You don’t have to have a label or a reason in order to be uncomfortable. It’s- you’re allowed to call it just that; uncomfortable.”

Jon nods, looking down at the hands clasped in his lap.

“I know. It just hit me so suddenly, I-” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his forehead, careful to avoid brushing any of the hairs on his face. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Martin murmurs, and his hand rests more solidly on Jon’s knee. “Is this alright?”

Jon nods mutely, and lets himself expel some more of the tension in his shoulders as he focuses on the motion of Martin’s thumb sweeping softly over his knee.

“It reminds me of the circus,” Jon breathes after a moment of silence, and Martin’s hand stills against him, attentive and horrified. “When- when they…” He inhales sharply, willing his voice not to break. “Well, I couldn’t very well shave it,” He clenches his hands into fists again, still holding the razor tightly in his right. “Got it off as quickly as possible once I could.”

Martin exhales. “I remember that. I thought you just… I dunno, just really nicked yourself. I didn’t think about… yeah.”

“Yes,” Jon agrees, keeping his gaze on the hand on his knee. “I-I mean, I definitely did, nick myself that is. I wasn’t really thinking about doing it properly, I suppose.”

“Like just now?” Martin asks, kindly, gently, not judging. Jon feels his chest pinch anyways.

“Yes.” He admits quietly. Martin leans down to press a careful kiss to Jon’s knee.

“Okay, well, this time we’ll do it properly,” Martin raises himself from the toilet seat, reaching down into the cupboards to pull forth the shaving cream and a towel, and holds them out towards Jon.

Jon blinks, looks at the objects and then up at Martin, unsure of what’s being offered. “Sorry?”

“You still want the beard off, right? Let’s just make sure you don’t upset your skin,” He cracks a humorous smile. “Then it’ll actually start itching.”

Jon takes the can from his hand, but still frowns. “Us?”

“I- yeah,” Martin shifts his weight, fidgeting with the towel. “I can help, if that’s alright with you. You don’t… always seem to handle mirrors the best? And I’ve helped shave another person before so… yeah. If you want.”

Jon’s world stutters to a blushing halt. Martin’s right, he doesn’t like to linger on his face in mirrors even on the best days (of which today is certainly not one) and as much as he’s accustomed to doing this himself, what Martin is promising is intimate; an extension of vulnerability and the promise of a care that he hardly takes with himself. The more he considers it, the more finds himself tentatively wanting it, and he nods carefully. He trusts Martin, he’s decided a thousand times by now.

“Alright,” He agrees, and smiles.

Martin smiles in response. “Alright. Do you want me to um-” He gestures with the towel in his hand, and Jon nods.

Martin makes quick work of running the towel under the tap until it’s warm, and then wringing it out so it’s ready to actually use. He takes his seat again and tips Jon’s head back with a hand to lay the towel gently overtop, letting the warmth seep into his skin. It’s more effort than Jon usually puts in, or used to, when he did this more regularly, but he finds it’s a nice feeling, and he almost misses it when Martin takes the towel away again.

“Right,” Martin continues, looks pointedly to the can of shaving cream in Jon’s hand and Jon hesitates.

“Ah. Maybe not that part? Th-the actual shaving is fine, but-”

“Oh! Yeah, of course,” Martin nods, not questioning, and reaches forward instead to gently take the razor itself from Jon’s fist so he can use both hands to get the shaving cream on his face. Jon surrenders the razor, forcing himself to trust it in Martin’s hands, to trust that Martin won’t just leave him hanging.

He tries not to think too hard about the feeling of the cream on his skin. It’s a far cry from lotion, so it doesn’t bring up any sense memories, thankfully, but it’s still an uncomfortable texture, and he focuses on the sound of Martin’s breathing to keep himself from slipping.

Fortunately it doesn’t take long; soon enough Jon’s finished, wiping his hands on his trousers, and then Martin’s shifting closer, taking Jon’s face in his hands like it’s something precious, something to be loved and cared for. He is very close, his dark brown eyes nearly black with focus as he gently reaffirms that Jon’s sure about this, and then the cool razor swipes across Jon’s cheek.

Jon’s heart lurches in his chest, a messy combination of nerves and gratefulness, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move at all, and just watches Martin focus with gentle certaintly as the blade passes over his cheeks again and again in careful, confident strokes. His fingers whisper at Jon’s chin when he tilts up his head and swipes the blade carefully up the top of his throat, brow furrowed and tongue poking out of his lips in concentration.

Jon holds his breath, wills his heart to still, but it’s alright, with Martin it’s always alright. His hands are warm as they cup his cheeks, tilt him this way and that, thorough in their task, and his fingertips are gentle as they lift his chin and brush away foam and ghost over his throat. He never even comes close to nicking him, and Jon feels a great warmth unspooling in his chest, stinging his eyes.

“All done,” Martin finishes triumphantly, his face breaking into a grin as he hands Jon the towel again, lets him wipe off his own face.

There’s no coarse texture as the fabric touches his face, no itching or discomfort as it drags over his chin, and the steady drumbeat of wrongness that had pervaded him for weeks finally, finally dissipates, unblocking his lungs and releasing the tightness from his shoulders. He runs a hand over his chin, and finds a shy smile quickly taking over his face, affection and relief filling him up from the inside out and spilling onto his features.

“Thank you,” He breathes, and Martin matches his smile with one of his own, and nods, nothing but respect and affection in his eyes.

“Any time,” Martin says seriously, before reaching out to take Jon’s hand and slowly bringing it to his lips, giving Jon ample time to pull away. “You don’t have to struggle with this stuff alone,” He murmurs against Jon’s knuckles. “It’s easier together.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Jon’s response is quiet, and Martin kisses his hand then; gentle, and full of reverence. Jon finds that he could melt right into the floor and be happy for the rest of his life.

He reaches up to pull Martin down into a kiss, gentle and insistent and grateful, lacing his hands in his hair and sighing against his lips at the sensation, noting how nice it feels to kiss his boyfriend without his itching skin pressing at his thoughts.

The kiss stays chaste, and eventually Jon pulls back just enough to press their foreheads together, keeping his eyes closed, reveling in it. “Together, then.” He affirms, and Martin smiles.

“One way or another.”