#wet soap Wednesday

[jolicreativestudio]

A late wet soap Wednesday, freshly cut and curing.

[pumpkin-bread]

WET BEAST WEDNESDAY

WET SPACEBEAST WEDNESDAY

[cmncisspnandmore]

One Night Stand; Part 6

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley X Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Shower smut, Slight breeding kink if you squint, Simon Riley being a literal angel, basically all smut with a little bit of plot.

A/N: Hi loves, imma be real, i wrote this entire part in a day. I spent pretty much my entire afternoon writing this after i scrapped about 4 different versions. This is the best i got at the moment. Im still working on this series and requests. Just life is kinda busy. So please bear with me and enjoy the brain rot. This is also not proofread at all so RIP to any grammar police.

Word Count: 3012... This seemed longer.. sowwie, its smol.

New to the Series? Catch up here: Part 5

You sleepily make your way towards the bathroom door, hand closing over the knob as the incessant need to pee urges you forward. It was a little after 2am, you had fallen asleep rather early having spent most of the day lounging around the apartment. 

Simon was on base for the day, running training exercises with Soap, Gaz and Captain Price. During the 3 months you have been living with Simon, you have come to learn his patterns. Training days meant that 9 times out of 10 he would spend the night on base. The days before a deployment he would make sure to stock the fridge and pantry with your favorites. On Sundays he did laundry, every 3rd wednesday he would get his haircut. Saturdays after returning for deployment were reserved for going out to Soap’s bar and having a well deserved drink. You also learnt his day to day routine, every morning he was home Simon rose at exactly 5:00am, went on a 12 mile run, when he returned if you weren't already awake he would prepare you a healthy breakfast and leave it out for you before heading to work. 

On days when you were awake when he got back from his run he would shower, and you both would spend some time preparing breakfast together. Although those mornings instead of the nutritionally packed meals he usually prepared you often convinced him to make some sort of carb and sugar filled breakfast. Those mornings he would often leave the flat grumbling about how he should’ve run extra. Those mornings were your favorite. 

Since you moved in your relationship with Simon had not progressed further than friends, sure there was still the burning desire that he ignited within you from just looking at you. And you would often linger just a little bit too long in his arms when he would give you a hug. But there hadn't been any kissing, and you haven't managed to end up naked in between his sheets. But that wasn't for lack of wanting.

As you shove open the bathroom door, you fail to realize that not only was the light on but the sound of running water was coming from the shower. As you quickly beeline for the enclosed toilet space, you don't feel a set of brown eyes watching your every move from behind the foggy glass. It isn't until you wash your hands in the sink and glance up into the large mirror on the wall that you realize you aren't alone. Through the fogged glass of the mirror you can make out Simon’s large silhouette, his tanned skin reduced to nothing more than a tan blob. 

“Oh my god!” You squeak, whirling around, your chest heaving as you finally face Simon. He's mostly obscured by the fogged glass door of the walk-in shower, but his bemused smile is clear. “I didn't think you would be coming home!” You mutter out, your cheeks turning pink as he runs his hand across the glass cleaning away some of the fog. Now you can clearly see his face, although distorted by the water droplets on the glass. 

“I should’ve texted you, I'm sorry.. I just didn't want to be late for the appointment in the morning..” Simon says as he reaches up, running his hand through his wet blonde hair.

“No, no! I'm sorry, I should've paid more attention. I'm such an airhead sometimes I didn't realize that there was someone in here..” you rush out as you try to desperately keep your eyes from straying from Simon's face. You aren’t sure if it's the heat from the shower or the pregnancy hormones but it takes all your willpower to keep your eyes from trailing down his toned body. 

Simon pauses for a moment, his dark brown eyes trailing over you, from the adorable flush of your cheeks to the swell of your stomach under the sleep shirt you have on. “It’s alright. Love," Simon smiles. One of his panty dropping smiles that you swear he reserves for only you. It's the smile that sends shivers straight to your core. That leaves you a hot panting mess behind closed doors. Living with Simon and not jumping his bones at every opportunity was damn near torture during your second trimester. You were able to take care of things yourself, but now that your bump had grown substantially, you hadn’t been able to find relief.  

Without thinking, you walk towards the shower and yank open the door, the hot steam pouring out. Little splashes of water hit your skin as you step into the small space. Your sleep shirt and shorts quickly drenched, as Simon stares at you wide eyed. 

“Sweetheart…” Simon warns as your hands come to rest on his wet cheeks, your thumb catching on his bottom lip as he looks down at you, his pupils blown wide. You quickly close the space between you two, your bump pressing against the firm plains of his abs, your arms snaking around his neck as you sharply tug him down to your height. Your lips capture his in a sloppy, wet kiss. Simon groans low in his throat, his chest vibrating against your overly sensitive breasts. A new wave of need pluses through you as you try to get closer, Simon's cock jumping to life as it presses against your lower stomach. Simon's large hands land on your hips squeezing slightly as he turns you, pressing your back against the cold tile wall of the shower. 

A startled gasp rushes past your lips as your back makes contact with the cold tile. A shiver running through you as your wet shirt makes it feel colder. Simon smiles against your lips, one hand coming up to graze over your pebbled nipples through the sopping wet fabric of your shirt. A breathy moan slips from you as Simon peppers kisses down the side of your jaw to your neck. The spray from the showerhead now sprays off his shoulders as he leans lower. 

“Fuck.. Please,” you whine, nails scratching along the tops of his shoulders Simon wraps his lips around one of your nipples, over the fabric of your shirt. The friction from the wet fabric sends waves of pleasure through you straight to your core, your legs starting to shake with need and Simon has barely touched you.

“Such a needy girl…” Simon murmurs against your skin, as he flicks his tongue across your nipple. Your cheeks flush pink at his words but you’re hanging on to each one like they’re your life line. “Why didn't you just come to me if you needed some help baby?” Simon whispers softly, as his fingers trace the bottom of your bump, slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt as he pushes it up.

“I…I don't know,” You mumble your head tipping back against the cold shower wall. 

Simon hums, his lips once again brushing across one of your nipples, pulling another moan from you. “God, your tits are amazing. It’s been hell walking around trying not to stare at them. Knowing that my child is the reason, knowing that they are growing to provide milk for our baby,” Simon whispers against your skin, and you swear you could cum just from the sounds of his voice. 

“Simon… Please…” you whine, it's small and breathy, in any other circumstance you would be ashamed for sounding so weak, but right now you couldn't give two shits if the damn queen of England was standing here witnessing your plea.

“Tell me what you need baby, I don't want to hurt you..” Simon stands back to his full height, his hand coming to cup the side of your face. You force your eyes open, Simon's beautiful brown eyes staring at you. Simon is a large man, in all aspects of his life and the last thing he would ever want to do is hurt you unintentionally. Especially now, as you carry his child within you, he would rather be buried alive again than accidentally do something to hurt you or the baby.

“I need you to bend me over and fuck me senseless. I feel like I'm going to explode,” you whine, your needy hands coming to rake down his bare chest, sending a shiver through Simon's entire body. 

“Whatever you need, Love,” Simon grunts before he bends down and picks you up, nudging open the shower door with his shoulder as he cradles you against his wet chest. He doesn’t stop to turn off the shower or even dry himself off as he brings you into his room. He sets you down on your feet and quickly drops to his knees in front of you. His still warm hands catching the waistband of your wet sleep shorts. He pulls them down your legs, goosebumps erupting across your skin from the sudden change in temperature. 

Simon presses a series of soft kisses to the stretched skin of your stomach, his hands briefly cupping your belly/ “Hi Lovie,” he whispers softly to your bump and if you weren’t so ravishingly horny you could cry. The sight of probably one of the scariest men you know on his knees in front of you talking to his unborn child makes you want to scream in the best way. But your mind quickly goes blank as Simon's fingers trace the smooth skin of your inner thigh. 

“Turn around, elbows on the bed, pet,” Simon stands again, his hands on your shoulders as he gently turns you. As if on autopilot you lean forwards, resting your elbows on the bed, giving Simon a perfect view of your ass. A deep groan hits your ears as Simon's hand comes to massage the puffy flesh of your ass. Your skin prickles with anticipation as his fingers dip lower, gathering the slick wetness from between your thighs. The breath wooshed from your lungs as he thrusts one finger into your slick cunt. 

“You’re so wet for me, such a good girl aren't you?” Simon hums, lazily thrusting his finger before he adds a second. You tip your hips back, trying to make him go faster, this slow languid pace he was setting was driving you mad. You needed to be fucked, and god damn if you didn't get it right now you were going to cry. 

“Si…” you whine, pushing your hips back into his hand as he curls his fingers within you. 

“Hmm?”

“I’m pregnant, not made of fucking glass. I swear if you don't fu-” Your voice cuts off as Simon slams into you in one quick thrust. Your world spins for a moment and if you hadn't been holding onto the bed for support you would’ve fallen over. A startled gasp passes your lips and Simon all but freezes. “No please don't stop, it just feels different but not in a bad way…” You quickly mumble reaching back haphazardly with one hand to try and grab Simon's hip to force him to move.  

“You sure?” Simon mumbles, his hands coming to rest on your hips, as he slowly pulls out before sinking back in. 

“Oh god, yes, please,” you moan, your face now pressed into the mattress. That was all it took for Simon to continue, his hips thrust into you at a rapid pace, obscene moans leaving your lips as he slams home each time. Sex felt different this time, there was no slight burn from how big Simon was but you felt full, so deliciously full. You had been worried about having sex at any point during your pregnancy, having read that some women have no sex drive during pregnancy, especially the 3rd trimester. But thank the lord above it was not the case for you. Your thoughts turn to nothing as Simon lets out a harsh moan, your walls fluttering around him. 

“Fuck baby, you’re squeezing me so tight,” Simon grunts as he adjusts his grip on your hip bones,his fingertips digging into your skin.

“Feels so good Simon.. I'm gonna cum..” You whimper as the familiar coil in your stomach tightens, teetering on the edge of release as he pounds into you. Your skin slapping against each other so loud you're sure the neighbors know what's going on.

“Cum for me baby,” Simon leans forward, one hand wrapping around your shoulder as he pulls you up slightly, your elbows no longer resting on the bed as he pulls you up against his chest. His hips still pistoning into you as he uses the new position to fuck into your harder. You reach up and grab the back of his neck with your hand, anchoring yourself to him, your other hand coming to find the hand still on your waistline. You guide his hand up to your throat where he gives it a gentle squeeze. 

That small squeeze was all you needed to go tumbling over the edge into oblivion. Stars dance in front of your vision as the world goes quiet for a moment. Simon finds his own release moments after yours, his entire body tensing behind you. As you turn to putty in his arms, “Woah, I’ve got you,” Simon whispers into your sweaty hairline as his arms carefully wrap around you and he manages to slip out of you and hold you up. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, fully sated as you lean against his chest. You can feel his heart hammering against your back, one arm firmly around you, right under your breasts the other resting lightly on your bump. His fingers softly rubbing along your soft skin. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Simon grunts, maneuvering you to the edge of the bed where he helps lower you into it. 

“I just basically jumped you in the shower… “ you mutter, your eyes heavy as exhaustion hits you like a freight train hitting a brick wall. 

Simon pauses as he gathers your wet pj’s from the floor and shoves them into his laundry basket. “You think I would be upset by you jumping me in the shower?” He asks, a small smile on his face. 

You lift your head, watching as he shoves the clothes into the basket and grabs a black long sleeve shirt from the closet. He walks over, standing in front of you still in all his naked glory, the shirt in his hands. “Well.. I mean.. we haven’t exactly expressed wanting more than friendship..” 

“Love, I’ve been taking it slow because I thought you only wanted to be friends… not because I wanted to. God, watching you walk around the apartment, your stomach growing with my child drives me insane, I’ve wanted to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you sensless every morning since the first day you got here.” Simon pulls the shirt over your head, and you put your arms through, the shirt still fits loosely even over your baby bump. 

“Oh…” you freeze for a moment, you and Simon had gotten closer over the time you’ve lived with him. You had learnt about his past, about his mother and brother. About his nephew. You held him when he cried one night, his words a broken mess of how he was afraid he would turn out to be his dad. How he wished he could talk to his brother one last time, so he could ask him how he got past the fear of turning into his dad. How he handled the fear of being a dad when he had Joseph.

But the entire time you had lived together Simon had always treated you with respect, he never touched your stomach without asking. He always made sure to keep a respectable distance from you when you were on the couch. He never entered your room without permission and never asked about your life before coming to London. 

But it wasn’t to say you didn’t share things with Simon, he knew your favorite color, your worst fear (unrelated to your family’s passing) , your greatest wish, he knew what you used to dream about being as a little kid. He knew that your favorite food could make you smile on your worst days, and that you liked to watch old sitcoms when it rained. If someone was to look into your conversations they would probably think you were already together. That you probably didn’t flaunt the physical aspects of your relationship. Simon had quickly broken down the walls you had put up around yourself, and had comfortably made his own spot in your heart.

Simon sits next to you, now dressed in a pair of black sweatpants, his large hand covering yours. You slowly look up at him, his brow furrowed as he studies your face. The small scar in his eyebrow evident this close, you reach out running a finger across it. The skin is slightly raised and water drips from his hair onto your finger.

“Then you should stop fighting the urge…” you finally whisper, your hand cupping the rough skin of Simon’s face. 

“Would you be okay with that? With me touching you whenever I wanted… holding you.. kissing you?” Simon whispers, his eyes closing for a moment as he leans into your hand.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, your forehead coming to rest against his, your eyes closed. For a moment you just sit there. Your foreheads pressed together, your breath mingling.

Could you be okay with that?

Could you let someone in that way?

Let someone get close enough that they could see all the broken and jagged edges of you?

Could you open yourself up to losing someone again?

The thought of Simon being gone suddenly, ripped away from you by some unknown, the same person who ripped your siblings and mother away from you makes you want to vomit.

But a small part of you chimes in, the part that knows Simon isn’t defenseless like your family was. Simon was a trained military man, a man who single handedly killed an entire crew for crossing him. He could handle himself. He had proved that time and time again in the field. He also had the rest of 141, the team who would go to the ends of the earth to find him. 

You open your eyes, and look at Simon, the answer on the tip of your tongue as you stare at his beautiful face. His light blonde stubble, the small scars, the crook in his nose, the slightly uneven line of his lower lip. “Yes… I-I want that.. I want all of it.”

Next Part: 7

Taglist: @coffeeandtealol, @natashamea18

[gor3-hound]

sunflower

ft. chris redfield x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, fluff, ddlg, use of princess parts(sorry) oral(f!recieving), mating press, really sweet chris tbh, pacifier usage, non-sexual intimacy also included, hand holding during sex, p in v, creampie, squirting, multiple orgasms(reader)

a/n: more ddlg w chris... he's so perfect for it sorry... same universe as 'sweet girl' but a complete standalone. ddlg always scares me to write sksjsksjs but hope you all like it <3 feedback appreciated as always :3

word count: 1.6k words

Chris can feel the stress radiating from your body as soon as you walk into the home. He hears you drop the car keys haphazardly on the table. He walks out of his office just as you're hanging your coat up, brows furrowed in frustration with your jaw clenched.

You always got like this after visiting your dad. Chris isn't even allowed to come with you anymore after the last time. He came close to breaking the asshole's nose after he made you cry. He didn't even know why you still put up with him after everything he's done to you, but you always tell Chris ‘family is family’, and he doesn't want to push you.

He'd always be there for you when you got back, anyway. He walks up to you slowly, pulling you into his arms. He can feel the tension in your body, and it makes him frown. He tilts your head up to look at him, his thumb gently rubbing at the crease between your brows until it softens and you're looking up at him with those bright eyes he loves so much.

“There's my baby.” He coos, leaning down to plant kisses all over your face with a smile. He combs his fingers through your hair, carefully untangling a few knots that formed. He finds himself smiling even wider when you finally start to relax in his arms, rubbing your cheek against his chest sweetly.

“Daddy…” You breathe out, hugging him tight. His large hand runs down your back, stopping before rubbing small circles right above your ass. He hums softly, kissing the crown of your head. He knew you needed this when you got like this. Needed him.

“It's okay, baby. Daddy's got you. Let me take care of you, yeah?” He whispers, his breath tickling your hairline as he leans down slightly to be more on your level.

He runs a bath for you, peeling the clothes off of your body slowly. He even puts in your favourite glittery pink bath bomb, despite it being a pain in the ass to clean up. He'd be scrubbing the discolouration off the tub for weeks, and by then, you'd have used it again. An endless cycle, but one he'd endure for as long as he lived if it was for you. He picks you up and sets you in, massaging soap into your body as you sit in the warm water. You melt under his touches, practically purring like a little kitten.

He's careful not to get your hair wet as he washes you, being as gentle as he can. He dries you off with the fluffiest towel in the cabinet and slips you into the comfiest pyjamas you own.  He ends up setting you between his legs in the bedroom with your pacifier in your mouth and hair supplies in his hand, the TV playing Tangled for the fourth time this week. 

It's Wednesday.

He genuinely thinks he might have to get a lobotomy if he hopes to ever get ‘I Have A Dream’ out of his head. He's more than ashamed to admit he's been humming it between sets at the gym. Oh, well. A small price to pay for your happiness.

He cares for your hair as you focus on the movie, detangling any knots gently, just as you’ve taught him to do before. He tries his best to part your hair into two sections, but it ends up being a little messy. At least he learned how to braid. He was quite proud of himself for that one. It only took a dozen YouTube tutorials to figure it out. He carefully twists your hair into two plaits, kissing the nape of your neck once he's done.

“You're so cute, princess.” He coos, his big hands coming to rest on your waist so he can tug you into his lap. He runs his hands under your shirt, gently caressing the skin of your stomach. “I could just eat you up.”

He runs his stubble against your neck, feeling warmth flood his chest as you start to squirm and giggle, teeth clinging onto your pacifier to keep it in place. He laughs softly at the sight, nipping the side of your neck playfully before picking you up, lying you down on your back in the bed. He raises your shirt up, dipping his head down to your stomach.

“Maybe I should. You look so sweet.” He teases, planting kisses all over your soft stomach as you wriggle underneath him. Your paci slips from your mouth as you laugh, your hands coming down to try and push him away by his head. 

“Daddy, you can't eat me!” You say between giggles, kicking your feet out slightly. He doesn't relent, blowing raspberries against your tummy, making you squeal. “You're so silly.”

“Oh, but I can.” He says, grinning against your soft skin. His head trails lower, nudging your clit through the fabric of your pyjama shorts, peeking up at your face as he hears a soft gasp coming from you. “In fact, I thought you liked when daddy did that.”

You don't really get a chance to reply, ‘cause he's grabbing your discarded pacifier and slotting it into your mouth, tapping your hips twice in a gesture that you've come to understand means up.

He slips your shorts and panties off in one motion, his eyes locked onto the sticky string of arousal that connects the gusset of your panties to your pretty cunt as he peels them off. He shudders as he chucks then to the side, his big hands grabbing the fat of your thighs to spread your legs. He dives in, pressing a kiss to the hood of your clit. He chuckles as you whine, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.

“You like it when daddy kisses your princess parts, baby?” His tone is sickly sweet as he speaks just before diving in, tonguing into your entrance to gather up the slick pooling there. All you can do is nod dumbly, biting down on the pacifier in your mouth as you moan around it, your noises muffled by the plastic.

He only ever pauses in fucking you with his tongue to shower you with kisses and praise, talking about how pretty you are as he presses his lips against your tummy and the inside of your thighs. He coos at you and squeezes your hips in his hands, making sure to show you how much he loves you.

He laps eagerly at your release when you finally tense up and come, relishing in the sweet taste that coats his tongue, lips and stubble. He just pulls back and grins, wiping it off with the bottom of his shirt before tugging it up entirely.

Your gaze is locked onto him as he strips, the pacifier in your mouth bobbing as you suck on it. You wriggle slightly on the bed, propping yourself up against the plush pillows so you can watch as he prods at you before slowly sinking into you with a groan.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He says through gritted teeth, doing his best to stay still as your tight heat envelops him. “Not too sensitive?”

“M'good, daddy.” You slur around your paci, your brows furrowed slightly from the stretch of his fat cock. Your thighs are shaking slightly, but he trusts you're telling the truth. His little princess knows better than to lie to daddy.

“Good… good girl.” He hums, running a hand up your side, gripping your waist before he starts to move his hips, slowly fucking into you.  He moves his hands to the back of your knees, pulling your ass flush against his thighs before folding you in half, pressing your knees to your chest by leaning his weight down on you, your legs thrown over his shoulders.

“Fuuuuck.” He hisses, kissing the tip of your nose before pressing his forehead against yours, fucking deep into you with every thrust. He gets so deep like this - filling every inch of you up in a way that has you gasping and whining.

Your pacifier slips from your mouth and drops onto the bed again, one of your hands opening and closing in a grabbing motion. “Hand, daddy.”

His hand finds yours, locking your fingers together and giving it a little squeeze. He smiles softly, his thick length rutting into you as he presses you further into the mattress. He grunts as he feels your walls starting to clamp down on him, his breaths coming out in short pants.

“That's it, cutie. Cum for me.”

“Daddy!” You moan, back arching as your orgasm hits. You squirt all over him, bursts of sticky fluid covering his lower abdomen. It drips down his cock and coats his balls, soaking the sheets underneath you.

“Such a messy baby, huh?” He breathes out, his hips stuttering as you flutter around him, his grip on your hand tightening almost painfully. “Your pretty sheets are all ruined.”

He drops his head into the crook of your shoulder, panting as he bottoms out, shooting thick ropes of cum deep into your pussy. He can't bring himself to pull out, so he pulls you against his body and manoeuvres you so you're lying on top of him without ever leaving you.

“There we go. Such a good girl. My precious angel.” He whispers breathlessly, his chest heaving slightly from the intensity of the orgasm. He runs his hand up and down your back, petting you gently.

“I love you, princess.” He murmurs against the shell of your ear, kissing it lightly.

“Love you more, daddy.”

[glossysoap]

last line(s) (or its wip wednesday but it’s late so we’re ignoring that)

18+, peek into orc price, full kiss scene so far (pls feel free to give feedback! this is the first make out session scene i’ve written in a long ass time so 😅)

"I can keep that mouth busy, though." You don't have any time to question him before he's crashing his lips against yours. It's all a mash of teeth and tongue, nipping and sucking and tasting. Devouring. Just like you knew he would do to you, not leaving an inch of your body untouched.

His thick fingers keep working on stretching out your cunt, pumping his digits into your heat at a furious pace, hearing the wet sounds made from each thrust. You can feel the hair on his arm brush against your stomach as that forearm flexes with each thrust of his fingers.

With every pass of his rough fingers along your sensitive walls, you felt yourself nearing your first orgasm of many. That knot of warmth wound up tighter and tighter in your stomach, making you cry out into the kiss. Your brows knit together and your eyes clenched shut. You keep gripping onto his hairy forearm like you were searching for purchase, anchoring yourself to reality.

He swallowed every moan and sob that fell from your mouth, his tongue exploring your mouth and tasting every inch of you he could reach.

The kiss was so full of heat, full of passion, that your lips were quickly wet and bite swollen. All shiny and slippery from the spit mingling together, just a reminder of where his tongue had claimed you.

He nips and bites at your lip, tugging it between his teeth with a growl. With every tug and bite, his fangs nicked the sensitive skin of your lips, letting blood trickle and mix with your mingling saliva.

You let out a mewl at the sting that radiated from your lip, followed by his sandpaper tongue lapping at the wound. He licked up the blood with a pleased hum, the noise vibrating deep from his chest.

“Mmm, knew you would taste good. Could tell just by the sight of you.” He purred against your lips, his eyes peeking open to scan your flustered expression. All panting and sweaty, your lips swollen from his biting and sucking, glossy from spit.

no pressure tagging: @pfhwrittes @syoddeye @gemmahale @loveyhoneydovey @mortuarywriting @secretsynthetic @groguspicklejar @waves-against-a-cliff @vgilantee @sentientcave @femalefemur @stuffireadandenjoy @lordlydragon @jumbojazzcats93 @ghastlybirdie @oceantornadoo @madstronaut @cordeliawhohung @ivymarquis @forsworned @kyletogaz @xxshadowbabexx @manticore-fangs @feralforfrank @brewed-pangolin @all-purpose-dish-soap @roosterr @captainfern @captainswhore (and anyone else that wants to! also feel free to let me know if you don’t wanna be tagged in these lol i never wanna be a bother <3)

[gofishygo]

WEEK TWO (PRIDE MONTH SERIES) : DEAR THEODESIA ; , RETIRED! GHOAP x RETIRED 141! READER - UNFINISHED

(ill finish these when i take my normal pills trust)

notes: description of injury, mw3 spoilers

ice does little to aid the aftermath of bullet wounds. it’s ludicrous, some fact that the youngest of children, with their stubby hands and round faces could comprehend- how could coldness and wet cloth undo starburst wounds? It has no place there; held against flesh turned inside-out, feeble in grasping the shrapnel that dug new burrows in bone. such primitive medicine could only ever aid bruises on the knees of young students, to cool drinks during days where sweat stuck shirt into skin.

and yet, johnny(soap)’s head was placed in your lap, an icepack closing the gap between the sirus wound against his head and the warmth of your hand, while simon(formerly ghost) slings an arm around your shoulder, sinking the rounded fluff of the couch you’d found on facebook marketplace together.

it’s still hard, readjusting to living the life that you had served years in the SAS to protect. Your head writhes against it’s constraints, golden hours in the wednesday morning leaving your heads to ache in their skulls and eyes reeling from the white-hot brightness that tinged your peripherals. birds sing their morning songs where moments of silence should have been- walking on wooden floor feels cold, skin connection uncomfortably intimate against the plank. for the first few months of retiring together, you and simon and johnny couldn’t stand it- you’d still wear the same footwear that accompanied you during missions, tainting clean floors with the grime and dirt from the fields. and it’s strange for all of you, and it’s so easy to tell . downing the cycle of load aim burn, and you can’t tell if the unbearable weightlessness of peace is a result of the vivid motions of your previous line of work, your body suffering under the lack of adrenaline, or some sort of survival response, fawning in suspicion. life should not feel this slow, has not felt this slow. your body slumps into the couch, eyes flicking to johnny. “head feeling any better?”

“yea. thanks, bonnie, felt l’ke i was dyin’,” he murmurs in response, body coiling closer to yours. “acting like it too,” simon murmurs, dry joke rolling from the back of the throat. Both you and johnny both let out some giggle at that, playful smirk growing on your face. “might be the only half-decent joke you’ve made in a while”, you snigger, and johnny almost tumbles to the floor when simon lunges at you. “oy-! get off me, you big oaf! you’re going to kill johnny!” and for the first time, you have carved yourself into this painted home, bellies rich with warmth, laughter abstractly resembling a pomegranate; sparkling, lively red, sweet-tart, alive. Geode formations, sparkling when light hit.

[kleftiko]

heyyy!! it's my birthday next wednesday and i was wondering if you could write a little aizawa x reader drabble or smthing (if you're not busy, if you are, just ignore this), it can be abt whatever you want. surprise me :)

I LOVE YOUUUUU 💞

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAYAAAAAA (and aizawa) i love you tooo :)))

You always look so pretty to him. when you wake up with sleep in your eyes, bundled up with a pout in the cold, even right now, when your attention is focused solely on the mirror as you touch up your makeup, hips swaying to the music you're playing and lips gently mouthing along to the song despite the fact that you're working on your lipstick.

Your gaze locks with his in the reflection; for a moment, you're still, until you grace him with a cheeky wink and go back to what you're doing.

Shota gets up, taking a few strides in order to press his firm chest right against your back. His large hands caress your hips, sliding up the grooves of your waist and down to the plush of your ass. Looking at him in the mirror, his gaze is solely focused on your body, admiring you like a canvas.

"Can I have my present now?" His gruff breath tickles the back of your neck.

"Can I have mine?" You smile cheekily, playing into what you think is a joke.

But instead of a verbal answer, his grip on your body gently turns you around, grabbing the product you're using and throwing it across the room.

You frown, opening your mouth to complain, when Shota goes in for a kiss.

"I'll buy you another." His lips mumble against your own, and you finally realize what he's doing.

His long hair is soft as you gently brush your fingers through it, the light scent of his soap reaching your senses and naturally making you relax.

"What can I get you, birthday boy?" You ask.

His nose brushes against yours, a soft, content hum in the back of his throat.

"I'll take anything you give me, baby." He sounds almost pleading.

"Anything?"

"Anything." He drops to his knees before you, like a sinner about to repent.

His rough hands grab your skirt, bunching it up around the flesh of your hips in order to expose your lacey thong. In a second, Shota's nose is buried between your legs; the deep breath he takes sends shivers up your spine and makes your fingers tangle in his hair.

You whimper out a small sound at the featherlight stimulation his breath gives you. Your body arches instinctively, craving more of his touch as you roll your hips into his nose.

He lets out a satisfied noise before tentatively swiping his tongue across the fabric covering your pussy.

"Shota..." You warn, only to let out a yelp when he dives between your legs with hunger.

His wanton tongue soaks the fabric against your clit, using it to elicit the most desperate and pleasurable sounds from you. The rough material, his hot tongue, and the wet sounds send your mind into overdrive.

Then his finger slips between your sticky lips, brushing your insides so teasingly before curling around your thong and pulling it down, taking the time to admire the way your slick resists his ministrations.

When Shota forces your back against the mirror in order to properly eat your desperate cunt, you can only whimper as tears of ectascy prickle at the corners of your eyes—the beautiful makeup he watched you do becomes ruined in mere seconds.

The panting of his name with his tongue ferverously attacking your clit only spurs him on, bringing that now cold and wet finger to plunge inside you, making you choke on your chanting of his name.

You have no time to warn him that you're gonna cum, the only indication being your shaking thighs and choked sounds of lust as he feels your orgasm on his tongue.

With one long lick against your hot cunt, Shota pulls away to watch your essence drip down your trembling thighs.

He looks up with a satisfied smile and your cum on his lips.

"Happy birthday."

[pfhwrittes]

oh hey it's wip wednesday! does anyone want a snippet of offshore (and adrift at home)?

warnings/tags: references to cheating (in general for the whole fic, not just this snippet), smut (oral - male receiving, a brief mention of anal play), angst (in general for the whole fic).

pairing: john "soap" mactavish x AFAB!reader

edit: i accidentally hit post before i attached my snippet 😭

if things were different, if you cared, you’d be worried. as it is, you feel a sick kind of guilt for feeling so relieved. it’s not enough to stop you from unlocking your phone, your fingers dancing over the keyboard with muted taps as you hear the boiler splutter on, signalling that johnny has started up the shower. 

in another life you’d strip yourself bare and join him under the spray, soap up his mohawk and drop to your knees onto the tile to mouth at his half hard length. you’d relish the breathy groans and ache in your jaw as you suckled at the head of his cock, maybe even run the tips of your fingers over his puckered hole to hear him gasp as he bucked up into the wet heat of your mouth. 

but not this time. this time you sit on the sofa, shifting nervously as you text another man.

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| Keep it Clean ||

Shane Walsh x female reader

Tags/warnings: shower sex, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink? apocalyptic zombie world pregnancy worries. E

A/n: I did not think I'd get another one out so fast lol. First time writing for Shane as well (and for why?? Mmm)! This is for @bernthirst-events #bernthirstpalooza Wet Wednesday 😜 please reblog if you enjoyed!

Clean, hot, almost magical water cascades over your naked body as you dance under the strong shower spray, squealing with delight. You don't even know how long it's been since you had access to something so luxurious. This of course meant you were going to enjoy it to the fullest.

You moan with pleasure as you slide the soap suds over your skin, the cleansing sensation feeling almost too good you can't stop giggling to yourself. You could finally relax for a while, recharge and restock after months on the road only ever snatching meager hours of sleep because of the watches. Because of the walkers.

You almost jump out of your skin letting out a scream when something touches your back, spinning around ready to throw your fist until it's held above your head in a strong grip and you're pinned against the tiled shower wall.

"S-shane! Oh my god, don't do fuckin' do that!" You shriek, whacking him on the bare chest with your free hand.

He smiles that shit eating smile, looking you up and down as you try to get your breathing and heart rate under control.

"Sorry baby, but can't a man watch his woman enjoying herself? Couldn't help wantin' to touch…"

You've calmed down enough to realise he's completely naked as he loosens his grip on your wrist. His massive bulk takes up most of the cubicle space, and as your eyes trail down following the water droplets on his tanned skin you can't help noticing he's very aroused.

He trails his wet fingers down your arm as you let it fall, sliding his hand to cup your breast and you gasp, arching into him as he runs his thumb in slow circles around your nipple.

"Y'know it's been a while since we…"

You're grateful for his other hand coming to grip you around the waist as you think you might fall, melting into his touch as you remember just how long it's been since you last had sex.

"Yeah," you breathe out, parting your lips as he leans down pressing his against them, the trickling water flowing around you easing the kiss into one that's increasingly hotter and wetter, one that has your skin feeling electrified as he touches you, his hands everywhere you need them to be. The kisses migrate elsewhere, both of you mouthing desperately at each other's skin, needing to feel this closeness in the new privacy that you haven't been able to have before. You're sinking to your knees so eager to take him in your mouth and show him but he pulls you back up, leaning in close as he kisses you on the lips again so passionately.

"Ain't gonna last if you do that babe."

The feel of his erection pressing against your belly has you wet and ready for him in record time.

"Well what are you waiting for handsome," you ask, reaching down between you, encircling your hand around his cock making him almost choke. "fuck me."

"Yes ma'am." He lifts up your leg, grabbing under your thigh and you hold on to both him and the shower pipe for support as he lines up before slowly pushing in. The fullness you feel with him inside you takes you aback and he feels it too, waiting for you to relax as you curl around him, fingers digging into his muscular arms. After a minute you nod against him, giving him the signal that he can move and your mouth drops open as he slowly pulls out and thrusts back in.

"Oh damn baby, oh fuck…"

Your knuckles are white as you grip onto the pipe beside you but he prises your fingers off, interlacing them in his as he shifts you to the side fucking you up against the wall.

Your moans are loud and echo around the bathroom and you're certain that the others will be able to hear, but you don't care, you just want him. You can't even care that he's taking you raw, you should really be more careful but the feeling of him is like nothing else. You need it, need to feel him without any barrier, the primal urge too strong to beat any logic and sense.

His wet skin smacks against yours faster, harder as he pushes you towards your climax. Your fingers twist in his hair and pull, and you feel the growl he makes vibrate through your soul.

"Shane, please…" you plead for something, you don't know what anymore but he's got you regardless, he's all around you, covering you, inside you making you feel safe in the midst of this fucked up world.

"Fuck babygirl, I'm close, we gotta-"

You know he's looking to pull out but your hindbrain has taken the wheel and you pull him closer, nails pressing red crescents into his skin because you need this, you want this.

Fuck the consequences.

He looks you right in the eyes and you're nodding, you're begging for it, you're selfish. You don't care.

You cry out as you cum, taking him with you through his nonsensical curses, his praises, his I love yous, not letting go until you've stopped shaking, until he's shushing you gently, kissing every inch of you he can reach as he pulls out.

You don't know what will happen, if it happens, but you know he'll be there for you no matter what.

.

.

If you enjoy my writing please reblog to share with others!

[pupyr0arz]

mermaid!soap x ghost. Unfinished Drabble.

He speaks thrice a week. He has it down to the ticking of the clock in his hut, the one source of noise down there by the rocks aside the wave and the braver sea-birds. Every Monday when the sun crests the horizon he takes the long path down to the docks and stops by Price’s inn. He greets him with a fatherly grunt and a comment about the weather, cautious and concerned. 

He doesn’t listen to any of Price’s warnings of bad weather, and Price knows it too. 

Wednesday is the next time he hears his voice, when he takes the catch in. Gaz comes by and if he didn’t count the handful of responses he gave it still would because he speaks for an entire village. Tells him what feels like every detail of every man, woman and child’s business up and down the country. Trots beside him on the fussy beast of a creature he calls a horse and sticks like a burr to his backside all throughout the afternoon. Gaz minds his business when it comes to him, though.

The third and final time is in the dead of night. He walks up the craggy path with a lantern and waits for the moon to rise to light it. He settles on his knees in front of the gravestones, carved deep and true so their names don’t fade for years, and he talks. Inanities, comments and jokes, the happening around town. Old and new, he speaks and speaks and speaks until his throat bleeds and his knees cramp and he nearly tumbles off the cliff when he gets up at dawn. It’s a long ranting, raving speech, he’s sure he’d look entirely mad to anyone stupid enough to follow him up there. He doesn’t let them get a word in edgewise, but it burns in his head nonetheless as he makes his way down, unsteady as a fawn.

Mum wouldn’t be happy at all, she’d be right cross. She was never a fiery woman though, all sad-eyed looks and mournful sighs when she found wrong in the world. She’d fuss over the state of the hut and sit by his bedside, offering wet rags like he’s a lad and sick with a fever like she always did when she wanted to help him. She’d fuss about all of this silence, the loneliness of the ocean. She never did like it when he went quiet as a youth, saying that nothing was worse for the head than filling it full of thoughts left to rot. She’d wanted better for him then, wanted him to go to the city and find work there, leave the craggy cliffs that scraped the sea with their claws and left the great widow-maker to her own devices. She’d wanted him to take that butchery apprenticeship and pack away, leave behind the salt and spray rather than be one of the many non-people to sink among the waves.

Tommy would just be pissing mad, that is. He had their fathers temper, both of them  when had to admit to himself in the quiet of the night. Tommy’s only flared brighter and hotter because he struck out at the world first, clawed at it for his place. Ever the older brother, determined to be the first. He had wanted out since the moment he heard of the city at all. He would’ve been miserable here.

He tries not to let it taint his days. It’s a losing battle, but his trade has settled in his bones now. He wakes and sleeps by the sounds of the tide and he’ll find himself at dawn with the taste of salt in his mouth. He keeps his boat towards the southernmost end, where the sea is as still as stone most days, silent quartz mirror broken by the gentlest of ripples. It reflects him, smoothing the turmoil in his head into quiet nothingness, clouds a blip on the surface of the water. Not once does he dip a finger in. There’s nothing under that calm surface but danger, he knows better than to try it.

He’s not married, and isn't interested in any of the girls that float though or anchor themselves in town. They don’t approach him often, eyeing him with caution. Better odds on picking the humble, inviting town boys than the silent, scarred fisherman. It doesn’t change a thing to him, even if Gaz and Price prod at him every once in a while.

Life is as it is, cyclic, endless in repetition, formation of a thousand possibilities in lockstep. The sun rises, yellow disc carelessly spilling over onto the ocean, flames at the bottom of his boat. The moon rises, perched high in the sky and watching over the rippling grasses. His name loses meaning, and he becomes that loss. Rumors rise and fall. Calm weather and storms trade turns, finding him unmoving as the cliff-stone.

It’s a silent day when the cyclic abruptly crawls to a halt. When the still, silent and waters of Ghost’s soul finds itself parted abruptly, tugged into a fierce upheaval. It comes without warning, without sense, swifter than any arrowhead and sharper than his knife. The apathy that colors his eyes vanishes when they meet his, all blues and greens like the ocean fed a bit of herself into two jewels and placed them for anyone to take in his head. It’s replaced so fast, Ghost doesn’t even notice. He doesn’t miss it, either.

One nameless day, the blue sheen of the water is cut by something, a foreign color that shimmers beneath the surface. He doesn’t recognize it immediately, that catches his eye more than any of its unusual features, blurred beneath the ripples of murky  water and the shadow cast by his boat. It’s slow moving, placid, then it thrashes once the net covers it, but Ghost is used to being jerked around and bites down on his tongue and digs his heel in, cursing to himself as he hauls it’s struggling form inch by inch. It’s almost respectable how violently it fights for its life. 

“I swear on the lord,” he snaps, twisting the net around his hands, the rope biting into his skin sharply, “I will gut you and eat you right bloody here right now, no matter how much you cost.” 

That is novelty enough, the fourth time already breaking the ritual, the strange appearance of the thing in his net that seems more wide-fins and shiny scales wrapped up in a ball than any sort of dish he knows, but then at the sound of his rough cracking voice it stills Ike a frightened rabbit. He nearly falls over from the sudden slack before he recovers.

The net spills open onto the deck, the mistake suddenly so minuscule Ghost forgets the net even exists as the catch flops onto the deck. It’s no fish he’s ever heard of, no eight armed man eating beast that idiot Graves once bragged about catching himself.

It looks almost like a man, almost, head and hair and hands even, but it’s body extends, serpentine and scaled like a fish. It glistens with copper red scales and bright blues, fins sprouting from its skin like any other creature from the sea. 

It looks up at Ghost, wide-eyed. Crystal blue, like sea-glass and the stones the town-men brought back from travels to adorn their brides throats, soft lips and nose.

The first thought, which is less of anything in any coherent language and more of an urge that builds in Ghost’s bones and tugs deep within him at his navel, is that he wants to touch it, cup its face into his hands and trace the contours of skin and scales and the boundaries where they blend and dance together. The second thought is that it’s trying to pull itself overboard. 

The third thought is lost when he leaps forwards to bind it, cut off amid the clumsy scuffle.

[itsawhumpsideblog]

BBU Community Days 2024, Day 8

April 21 / Writing Prompt: "OUTSIDE" / Write a BBU story based on the one-word-prompt and share it!

CW: for institutionalized slavery, burns, neglect, abuse, guns mentioned but not used, more swearing than usual, murder (takes place offscreen)

On Monday, the week the Outside Pet arrived, Nathan burnt the chicken cacciatore he was making and Master pressed his arm to the stove as punishment.

There was a very long instant in which Nathan felt a heat so high that it registered as freezing cold and his knees turned to jelly. His mouth dropped open, but he was too stunned to scream. The world stood frozen in that moment and it was filled with pain and a fear of what would happen next- but even beneath all that, the part of Nathan that still wanted to live was pulling his reactions under careful control.

If he screamed, he had to be careful not to swear. If the screams came out in words, they had to be ones that wouldn't have been erased. He couldn't beg for relief, because he wasn't supposed to know it might be available. He had to be a good Pet, even now, or it was all over and who knew what would happen to him?

Knowing this Master, he would wind up fertilizing the wildflowers that grew in the woods behind the house. He wouldn't be the first.

All of these thoughts came and went almost instantly. His arm wasn't touching the stovetop for more than a second or two, which was plenty long enough to leave a burn, and then Master pulled it up and let him go.

"I'll order a pizza," he said, sounding more disgusted than was reasonable when discussing a ruined dinner that he could easily afford to replace. "Don't let me see you before breakfast." Then he left in a huff, already picking up his phone.

Nathan managed to keep his mouth clamped shut until Master was gone. It was easier not to betray himself if he didn't say anything at all. Then he walked slowly to the pantry where his bed was, on the floor below the spice racks. He was holding his arm out in front of himself, grasping his elbow, and he couldn't stop staring at the blister that had already formed.

Nathan entered the pantry and very carefully pulled the door shut. He knelt on the human-sized dog bed with the scruffy blue blanket and only then did he begin to wail.

The next morning, Nathan was careful to be up on time, although it wasn't as though he had slept much to begin with. His arm hurt, of course, and when he had been able to stop screaming, he had gone out to spend most of the night hovering over the sink, running room-temperature water over the burn to keep the pain at bay just far enough. When the time came that he had to either sit down or fall down, he had wrapped the arm in a wet towel and gone back to lay on his bed and blow softly across the burn to keep it cool.

The day passed badly. Master was gone for most of it and Nathan completed his chores though a haze of pain. It was hard to stand and hard to move and the one thing he wanted to do- lie down and sleep until he felt better- was out of the question.

Wednesday was worse and Nathan woke to a fever that made him feel achy and wrung-out. He had a cautious look at his arm when he emerged from the pantry and found that he didn't care to look more closely. It was enough to know that it was blistered and painful and obviously infected.

Master seemed to be busy with something and kept checking his phone all through breakfast, instead of watching his morning soap opera, as he usually did.

"Stay in the kitchen today," he said when Nathan cleared away the plates. Nathan nodded, and for just a moment he realized that Master was looking closely at him. That was unusual and Nathan dropped his gaze to the carpet. He hoped he hadn't aroused any suspicion, but Master looked back down at his phone and began tapping on the screen and it was impossible to say what he had been thinking.

Nathan gripped the plate firmly as he made his way back into the kitchen, stumbling just a little. He washed the dishes and cleaned the countertop and then realized with pathetic gratitude that he had nothing else to do until lunch.

Over the next couple of hours, Nathan's fever raged and when the man in the WRU uniform brought the box around the house to the back garden, Nathan was curled up in the kitchen window with tears in his eyes, feeling very sorry for himself. He was so unwell that it took him several seconds to realize what the box on the large handcart was and even then, he couldn't find the energy to be interested.

Master came around the corner of the house a moment later and he helped the WRU employee lay the box down so that they could unlatch the lid. Nathan laid his woozy head against the cool of the glass and watched as they opened the box and stood back. There was a long moment in which nothing happened and then a young man emerged from the box.

He was tall and looked very strong- and very afraid. His sandy hair was tousled and his t-shirt and soft pants didn't look like they were keeping him warm enough. Nathan thought feverishly that perhaps the new pet would swap with him and then they would both feel better.

Master tipped the WRU employee, who put the box back on the handcart and left. Then he turned on his new Pet and seemed to be issuing some kind of orders. The new Pet nodded eagerly, looking desperate to please. Master reached up and cuffed him and the Pet cringed, hunching his shoulders and ducking his head, but he was nodding. Finally Master nodded as well and left his new Pet in the garden.

That night, after dinner, Master strode into the kitchen and set a small orange bottle down on the counter, not very gently. The sound startled Nathan, who was mechanically washing dishes while stars spun across his field of vision.

"You know what that is?" he asked Nathan, and for once Nathan didn't have to pretend to be ignorant of the sorts of things any human would know. He could barely see the counter at all, and certainly not clearly. Nathan shook his head.

"Pills," Master explained. "Take one every night until they're gone. Don't miss a day and don't leave any left over. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Nathan managed to say.

"Good. I'm not losing money on you." Master left the kitchen and as soon as the dishes were done, Nathan took the bottle in shaking hands and fumbled it open. He took one of the rather large pills and washed it down with a swig of water, wincing as it caught in his throat. Then he looked over his shoulder to make sure Master wasn't watching and read the label, very slowly and methodically.

"Pen-i-cill-in," he sounded out. He wasn't a very good reader at the best of times and the fever made his eyes feel hot and dry. When he could finally comprehend the word, though, he sighed in relief. Master wasn't going to let the infection kill him, after all. Nathan was deeply grateful and then annoyed at himself for feeling gratitude towards a man who had intentionally burned him.

As the penicillin worked its magic and the burn on his arm healed into a rough scar, Nathan's mind cleared and he had more energy to think of the Pet who lived outside. He was evidently not allowed indoors at all and Nathan certainly wasn't allowed into the garden, but he watched the other Pet from time to time.

Mostly, during the day, the other Pet slept, curled up in the softest grass or under a bush. But at night, before he went to bed, Nathan saw the Pet marching around the house in one circle after another, patrolling, keeping watch over the place.

This worried Nathan immensely. He had come to learn, during his- god, had it been a year already?- in his Master's home that Master knew some really unsavory people. Even worse, he had made other unsavory people very angry and possibly owed them money.

Call it what it was- Nathan still knew the words. Master was some kind of big shot in the world of organized crime. Nathan had seen all three parts of The Godfather, plus Goodfellas and at least half of The Sopranos. He knew the kinds of things his Master did and he knew who the men were who came to the house wearing guns on their hips and conferred with Master in the study until late in the night. He felt like Spider every time he brought them dinner.

And outside, the other Pet was all that stood between men like that and Master. He was a big Pet and he looked strong, sure, but Nathan didn't have much faith that he would last long against a determined enemy. Every morning, Nathan woke with a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach and it stayed there until he was able to get to the window and see that the outside Pet was still alive.

Nathan had never seen the outside Pet fight, but there were signs that it happened frequently. The Pet would be there in the morning, under the bush, with a black eye or rubbing at his knee with his eyebrows knit and Nathan would wonder what had gone on and how much longer the other Pet could stand it.

The worry got the better of Nathan one day when he took his morning look through the window to find that the outside Pet had blood all over his chin and shirt. Nathan served Master breakfast and began the cleaning, but froze and stopped to listen when he heard the front door open and shut and then the sound of Master's truck starting.

Sure enough, the truck's noise continued for a moment and then receded gradually, meaning that Master had left the house. All of a sudden, Nathan knew what he was going to do. He quickly ran a washcloth under the sink and, on an impulse that would later cause him great anxiety, grabbed a banana out of the bowl on the counter.

At the back door, he stopped to make sure that the alarm wasn't set. It often wasn't, during the day, and this was no exception. He darted to the front windows and peered at the driveway and then down the street to make sure the truck really was gone. It was nowhere in sight.

Heart beating quickly, Nathan took the washcloth and the fruit and slipped as quietly as he could out the back door. He was still looking over his shoulder as he hurried to the garden.

The other Pet was sitting there with his legs outstretched and one hand holding his swollen jaw. His brow was knitted with worry and pain and blood dripped from his nose over his open lips to drench his shirt.

"Hey, buddy," Nathan said as he approached, speaking very carefully, almost as if he was talking to a strange dog. The other Pet's head shot up and he winced and made a pained face.

"Sorry," Nathan went on. "I didn't mean to scare you." He crossed the garden and knelt by the other Pet. "I was- well, I was kinda worried about you. You look pretty beat up."

The other Pet nodded, very carefully. His eyes were bleary and he put his other hand to his head, holding himself gingerly.

"Does it hurt? Looks like your nose might be broken."

The other Pet nodded, looking exhausted and then gestured with both hands straight along either side of his nose. Then he pointed to himself and made the gesture again.

"Sorry- what do you-" Nathan started and then put the pieces together. "Whoa, did you set your own nose?" The other Pet nodded and looked suddenly deeply weary.

"Wow, man, okay. You must be tough!" The other Pet shrugged. "Listen, I can't stay out here long, but I brought you some food and I thought you might want to clean up. Yeah?"

Tears rose in the other Pet's eyes and he nodded. "Okay," Nathan said. "You sit tight. I got you, and then I gotta get back in the house before Master comes home. Okay?"

The outside Pet looked very frightened at the mention of their Master, but he sat still and obedient while Nathan carefully wiped the blood from his face. His nose wasn't bleeding as ferociously as it must have done at first and he seemed to be able to breathe through it, which was something.

"Okay, I'll wash this up," Nathan said when he had finished. It should be easy enough to sneak one more thing into the laundry, since he was the only one who ever did it. "And here- eat this." He peeled the banana and gave the fruit to the other Pet, who took it in one bloody hand and stared at it like he was going to burst into tears. "I know," Nathan added, "Master probably gives you shitty dog food or something. But this is yours. Enjoy!" And he hurried to the back door, suddenly desperate to be inside and out of trouble.

Once he had gone out to the garden once, Nathan found himself both anxious to go back and terrified of being outdoors again. He saw the outside Pet watching the kitchen window sometimes and Nathan waved at him when he could, but it was hard to find a time that they were both awake and Master left the house. He tended to be gone in the evenings, when the outside Pet had work to do.

But it did happen from time to time. One day, Nathan was just pulling a tray of muffins out of the oven when he heard the signal of the closing door and the truck's noise. The outside Pet was curled up under a bush and Nathan was seized by a sudden boldness. He wrapped a muffin in a kitchen towel and ran.

Without meaning to, he surprised the outside Pet again. The young man was half dozing under a bush and jumped a little, but relaxed again when he realized it was only Nathan.

"Hey, buddy, I brought you something." Nathan knelt by him and pulled the towel open to reveal the muffin, full of chocolate chips and steaming slightly in the cool air. The outside Pet looked at it in amazement and then pointed at himself with a questioning look.

"That's what I said, right? For you." Nathan handed it to him and the other Pet held the muffin for a moment, wondering at it. "Fresh out of the oven."

The muffin was gone in seconds, despite the heat. The outside Pet opened his mouth to breath out steam and looked like he wanted to laugh.

"Was it good?" The outside Pet nodded. "Great, that's great. Hey- you don't talk, do you?" Nathan asked. It had only just occurred to him.

The outside Pet looked a little embarrassed and shook his head.

"How come?" The response was a gesture and facial expression that told Nathan it was a long story and impossible to relate without words. "Eh, don't worry about it. We're all fucked up."

The outside Pet looked shocked at the language, but also like he wanted to laugh. Then he peered more closely at Nathan. He reached over and ran his rough fingers along Nathan's burned arm with infinite gentleness. He looked up at Nathan with a question on his face and concern in his eyes.

"Master did that," Nathan confirmed. The other Pet scowled. Then he raised an eyebrow in another question. Somehow Nathan found that he was having no trouble understanding. "Yeah, it hurt! I got really sick, too. Teach me to burn chicken, I guess." The outside Pet shook his head and patted Nathan's scar tenderly, as if comforting him.

"Thanks, buddy." Nathan smiled at him but realized that he was reaching the limit of how long he could stand being outside before the fear of getting caught overwhelmed him. "Look, I gotta go but I'll try to come back soon. Sleep well!" The outside Pet smiled and curled back up under the bush.

Every night since the attack, when the strangers had killed his Master and the outside Pet, Nathan had woken from the same nightmare. In it, as in real life, he had heard sounds outside and rushed to the window in time to see them murder the poor outside Pet. Then they had seen him and in the dream, he was stuck to the floor but trying to run as they broke down the door...

Nathan was not running now. He had been inside a box for a couple of hours, stowed for transport, and now he was being spilled onto the floor of some building. The pain in his leg was overwhelming and he could barely think straight, but he knew he had to keep quiet. He had to keep his mouth shut and keep his secret. If he wasn't being used for parts, only his silence now would ensure his continued survival.

Nathan lay on his back, doing his best not to move. It wasn't too difficult at the moment. There were voices, but his head swam so fiercely that he couldn't make out what they were saying. It sounded like they were coming from a long way away. But at least the voice droning on above him was mild and didn't sound angry and the hands that were touching his bruises were gentle and hadn't pressed down too hard.

Until they got to his leg.

That was when Nathan screamed at the top of his lungs, swearing, because he couldn't help it. The hands moved to the other break, above his ankle and he screamed again, sobbing as he cried out.

What seemed to be the examination finished and there were gentle hands on his face, smoothing his hair back. Through the weight of his pain, Nathan found himself answering questions, pouring out information about himself as if that was a safe thing to do. Part of him was talking, giving up his name as if there would be no repercussions. Then his brain caught up with his mouth and he felt sick with pain and fear.

"I'm so sorry. I mean, this Pet is so sorry, Master, Mistress," he mumbled.

There was a silence, and then Mistress's voice saying, hesitantly, "Are you... no offense...But are you actually a Pet?"

"Yes, Mistress." If it had been safe, he would have begged her to believe him.

"Only, I've never heard a Box Boy swear before. We have two other... um... former Pets staying with us now and neither of them ever does."

Something about that sentence broke through Nathan's pain-fogged mind. "Did you say former?"

The next few minutes flew by as Nathan struggled to comprehend everything they were saying and what it all meant for him. He was still trying to wrap his mind around it as they hauled him into the next room and made him as comfortable as they could on the sofa.

It was there, sitting in that strange room and trying desperately to maintain some kind of composure while they arranged his leg and talked at him and made introductions, that Nathan finally saw the Pet.

It was like watching the sun rise, Nathan thought later. When everything is so dark that you feel all alone in the world and then that first ray of light appears over the horizon, shining hopeful and bright across the world, straight to you.

"Buddy?" he asked. "It's- is it really you? You survived?"

And the outside Pet lifted a battered and swollen face to meet his eyes, and nodded, and smiled.

Master List

Notes: I went through a phase where I watched a lot of movies about the Mafia. The reference to "Spider" is from Goodfellas.

I also meant to have this done earlier, but life was what it was, so here we are! Better late than never, and this will be part 2 of a trilogy of prequel stories I did according to the BBU Community Days 2024 prompts.

Tag list: @pigeonwhumps, @cepheusgalaxy, @i-eat-worlds, @honeycollectswhump @taterswhump, @starfields08000 @whumpsday, @fruitypinapple00, @currentlyinthesprial

[voxofthevoid]

konnichiwa, vox-sama ✌️

it seems like everyone is having fun since wednesday, huh?

wanna join this club too if it's possible, pleasepleaseplease

what would i ask of you? jeez, tough choice + others' preferences are partly mine

- voyeurism

- hickeys/marks on skin

- causing and soothing the pain

- something sweet

thank you and your inner source of ideas 🩵

Y'know, I was thinking yesterday that you seemed to have missed this week's shenanigans. Good to see you!

I've picked snippets of ~200 words from four different fics.

There's voyeurism, joint shower, face slapping, and a marriage proposal, in that order. The last one is stealth angst because it's from the Amnesia Fic.

Voyeurism, ft. itagofushi from i can offer you a black-lit paradise

At least Itadori’s clearly not complaining. His hands are almost reverent as they slide down Gojou’s chest, palming the skin he fought so hard to bare. And there’s that same, damning familiarity drenching every touch. Fingers splaying wide, trying and failing to grasp the entire expanse of Gojou’s chest. Hands encircling the thick column of Gojou’s throat, a gesture that should by all rights be threatening somehow turned into hungry affection. Megumi doesn’t understand how or why Itadori touches Gojou like that, but he knows he doesn’t want to either.

He’s not surprised when he lifts his gaze and runs into nuclear blue.

“Don’t worry, Megumi,” Gojou murmurs, his voice too gentle to be trusted. “I’m sure you’ll pack on some meat there soon—ow! Yuuji.”

Megumi ignores the whine and the pout, staring at Itadori’s fingers clamped on Gojou’s nipples. They’re pink. He remembers that. Right now, they’re not even visible, swallowed by Itadori’s crushing grip.

He tugs, hard and mean.

Gojou just moans.

“Honestly,” Itadori sighs, pulling on the nipples again. “I don’t get why you’re being such an ass to Fushiguro.”

“He, uh, he likes it,” Gojou says absently, his mind clearly lodged in the flesh Itadori is bullying.

Hickeys/marks on skin, ft. goyuu from (this is also part of the story) how the story changes

Yuuji lets out a measured breath and goes to retrieve the soap. When he turns around, the sight of Satoru, every inch of his naked skin dripping wet, hits him like a freight train, and Yuuji doesn’t stop or even falter, but his face or body must do something because Satoru’s expression morphs into smug satisfaction. He leans against the tiled wall, head tilted back and chest thrust out to let the shower spray hit his chest and sluice down in gentler streams.

His pale skin almost glows under the bright bathroom lights, but it’s the reds and pinks littering his torso that take Yuuji’s breath away. All the bleeding stopped long ago, but the bite marks and bruises seem starker. It looks different like this—more real, more violent. Maybe because of the wetness or maybe because Satoru’s upright. Yuuji’s mouth grows hot, his teeth aching with want and his tongue thrumming with memory.

His eyes trail down, taking in the sculpted stomach marred by teeth and suction, the weirdly cute belly button, and the snowy trail of short hairs before landing and snagging on the metalwork between the legs.

Causing and soothing pain, ft. goyuu from (the euphoric taste of your tears) swallow it, darling

“It’s none of your business who I fuck.”

“You made it my business,” Yuuji tells him; he doesn’t say, You made yourself mine.

Satoru shudders like he heard it anyway, eyes going dark and hot.

But this boy has never wanted with grace.

“You just wanted an excuse to be a fucking pervert—”

Yuuji slaps him.

Satoru looks delicate, his features fine and fey, but he isn’t, not even a little, and Yuuji has always treated him like that. His hand impacts flesh hard enough to make his own palm sting, and Satoru’s head snaps to the side with a sound that reverberates in the air between them.

He doesn’t make a single sound. Yuuji’s palm print grows bright on his cheek.

Yuuji dips his head, pressing his cheek to Satoru’s.

It’s hot.

“Don’t provoke me,” Yuuji says softly. “I’m already giving you what you want. Don’t be greedy.”

Satoru says nothing, makes no sound, and Yuuji stays there, rubbing his cheek gently against Satoru’s burning one until his own perpetually cool skin leeches off some of that warmth. He turns his head then, kissing Satoru where he hurt him, and that does earn him a noise—a low, gutted thing.

“Understand, Satoru-kun?”

Something sweet, ft. goyuu from the ghost in me was true (but you were haunted too)

"I was only thinking—can’t have some nubile young thing snatch you away from under my nose. Gotta put a ring on it before you realize you’re with an old pervert.”

Yuuji makes another noise, but he’s laughing too, a throaty noise that’s more incredulous than amused. “Nobody’s snatching me away. And you’re barely over thirty, that’s not old. Japan doesn’t even recognize same-sex marriage.”

“Who cares?” Satoru sits up, the covers spilling down to pool in his lap. The room is dark, but the Six Eyes see every shadow in high definition until Satoru closes his eyes again, focusing only on the sound of Yuuji’s breathing. “Only you and I need to recognize it. A ceremony would be fun, hm? We can have another one when you’re back here, with everyone there.”

Yuuji swallows audibly. “Are you really serious?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.” Yuuji laughs again, that same strangled sound from before. “You’re unreal sometimes.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Yuuji’s dead silent for long enough that Satoru’s smile dies on his lips, slinking cold down his spine.

Yuuji says, “You didn’t actually ask a question.”

Ah, Satoru thinks, forcing down a shiver. You learned the worst things from me.

“Marry me, Yuuji.”

“Yes.” It’s instant, burning. “Of course I’ll marry you. Satoru, it’s you.”

[laybrush-larcenist]

sidebar: i love soap as a tert for these guys. wet beast wednesday saturday

[queerdiazs]

wip wednesday ✨

hii 🫶🏼 hoa eddie is giving me fits but i simply don't care, that bitch is going to suffer from the shenanigans he's caused one way or another, so please enjoy him being a goofy goober

He lays his chin on Buck’s shoulder, stuffs his face against Buck’s neck and breathes deep. He shuts his eyes and smiles. “Did you use my shampoo?”  “Your soap, too.”   Eddie laughs. “It smells nice on you,” he says, inhaling deeply one more time before opening his eyes and staring down at the catastrophe in the skillet. “Buck, I think you burned that piece of bacon.”  “S’fine,” Buck says, jerky and stunted, and stabs the overcooked piece of bacon a couple times before he gets enough leverage to pull it out of the grease. It’s charred and dark next to the other pieces on the paper towel. “I’ll still eat it.”  Humming, Eddie nuzzles his face across Buck’s shoulder. “Are we just having bacon?”  “There’s still some of that pudding cake leftover in the refrigerator.”  “Bacon and cake for breakfast?” Eddie pinches Buck’s side, eliciting a small giggle that has the stiffness in his shoulders dissipating. Whatever it is that’s weighing on Buck is still heavy, then, but not so big that Eddie can’t take it every once in a while. He doesn’t mind being Buck’s rock whenever he needs to. “Yum.”  “And coffee.” Buck flicks Eddie’s forehead, just hard enough it makes a funny little noise, and adds a few more pieces of bacon. “Breakfast of champions.”  Eddie wrinkles his nose and snuffles, kind of like a puppy, and tugs on a piece of Buck’s wet hair. “I’m glad you’re here, Buck,” he says, and it’s all ooey-gooey emotions in his tummy, too-sweet and sticky like honey, and, oh, that’s different. That’s very… different. “I’ve got a lot of laundry to do and you’re my favorite little helper.”  “But I’m injured,” Buck whines, pouting his fat bottom lip out.  “Are you?” Eddie smile, ear to ear. “I thought you said you were okay.”  Buck fakes a cough in Eddie’s face, tongue out and all, because he’s a brat. “See? Injured.” He shrugs. “Guess I can’t help with laundry at all.”  Eddie’s grin widens so far his cheeks chub up. “You’re so fuckin’ adorable, Buck,” he says before he can stop his heart from talking out of his mouth. And it’s fine, maybe, that he’s got shit for brains sometimes, because Buck’s face lights up in a glowing red blush that has Eddie’s heart beating a little fast in his chest. He wonders if Buck can hear the thudding; it’s loud enough and they’re so close Eddie can feel Buck’s heat. “Buck—” “Eddie—” Christopher’s alarm, fucking Crazy Train, rips through the kitchen and startles both Eddie and Buck apart. Eddie’s heart races and Buck’s face is as red as the tomatoes sitting in the windowsill and perhaps it’s a good thing they were interrupted because Eddie’s not exactly sure what he was going to say. 

i was tagged by @wildlife4life, @wikiangela, @honestlydarkprincess, @fortheloveofbuddie, @disasterbuckdiaz, @thewolvesof1998, @daffi-990, @try-set-me-on-fire, and @callaplums mwah i adore all of you

and i'm casually no pressure tagging @eddiebabygirldiaz, @eddiediaztho, @callmenewbie, @exhuastedpigeon, @jesuisici33, and everybody else who wants to partake in the tomfoolery

[number-one-shadisper-shipper]

Happy Wholesome Sonic and Tails Wednesday!

I wanted to share a cute little oneshot I wrote about Sonic and Tails not long after they first started wandering around together. This story is based on/inspired by @skimmingmilk's wonderful origin story "Chart a Course to Second Chances" from their Sometimes the Picket Fence Isn't Perfect series. I loved the portrayal of Classic Sonic's mutism and Tails's backstory and trauma. This oneshot is mostly just fluff, though. Enjoy!

A Little Fox with Messy Fur

(Sonic is 11 and Tails is around 3 or 4)

It had been a busy day. Sonic and Tails had destroyed a whole batch of Eggman robots and chased him out of a nearby town. Now they were making their way back to their latest campsite in the woods.

Tails gestured to a small creek they were walking past and made splashy motions and sounds. He liked to swim around to relax sometimes. Sonic's chest tightened slightly at the thought of water, but he nodded and they walked over. Anything for his buddy. It wasn't deeper than wading height, even for little Tails, but Sonic still opted to stay on the bank while he jumped in and splashed around.

Sonic kept a sharp eye on him to make sure he didn't end up in any trouble. Honestly, Tails was probably a better swimmer than him. Mostly since he couldn't swim at all. But something could still happen.

Tails soon grew tired of splashing and finished by rubbing out his fur a bit in the water, something akin to a bath without soap. He crawled out of the creek and shook vigorously. Sonic jumped out of the splash zone, wrinkling his nose. Water. Bleah.

Tails wrung himself out. Once he was sure there was no more threat of getting wet, Sonic reached into his backpack and pulled out their shared towel. Tails was content to let Sonic rub him dry.

As he dried his little buddy, Sonic noticed how tangled up his fur was getting. A few tufts came off in the towel, which was... probably normal? It was shedding season. At least, he thought so. That really only applied to animals with fur, so he wasn't sure. He occasionally lost and grew back quills, but he didn't really shed.

Sonic frowned as he finished drying him. The "bath" really hadn't done much good. Tails's fur was too matted to really clean it well. Even when Sonic had first met the little guy, his fur had been dirty and matted.

How long had he been on his own before Sonic came along?

Sonic paused. He'd never thought about how hard fox fur must be to take care of. His own quills were quick to bounce back into place with a shake or two. Sometimes things got stuck in them, little twigs or leaves or debris, and then he'd have to sit and pick them out, but besides that his pelt was pretty low-maintenance.

Tails, on the other hand... he looked a little scruffy. Part of that was that his fur was now sticking out in all sorts of directions from Sonic's rubdown. But even in general, all the robot battling and sleeping in the woods was taking its toll.

Well, if his little friend needed more care, he'd just have to help him out. No one else was looking after him, so he'd made that his job until he could find someone else. Someone who'd be able to care for him right.

Truth be told, he didn't really want to think that far ahead. He would miss the little whir flying along behind him.

He shook his head. This wasn't the time to worry about that. Right now he needed to get this taken care of. He motioned Tails to follow him towards a village he'd spotted on his last scouting run. Surely they could buy a fur brush there.

Tails trotted happily along beside him, making little noises to himself. Some of them sounded almost like words. Sonic felt a small pang as he realized that surely the toddler should be talking by now. Maybe if he had a real family, someone who talked to him, he'd have picked it up already.

Sonic hadn't talked in a while. He didn't really feel like it, although he kept up such a loud monologue in his head it felt like spilling over a lot. But even when he tried, he found his voice just wouldn't come. Part of it was that people overwhelmed him a little. They asked too many questions and never seemed to like his answers for some reason. Part of it was everything he'd been through with Eggman. He hated to admit it, but yeah, having to deal with all the horrid stuff Eggman put him through was a lot for an eleven-year-old.

But Tails should have a chance to talk. Maybe Sonic'd try a little harder to get the words to come out. Sometimes he almost felt like he could speak around him. It was the first time he'd felt truly comfortable with someone.

They reached the village. As they got closer, Tails slowed and cowered behind him. Sonic understood. He wasn't super keen to be around a lot of people either. Plus, he knew Tails hadn't really had great experiences with others. When he'd met him, some older kids were bullying him, and he'd had to step in to stop it. Even after the kit started following him around, it took a while to get him to actually come close, or to let him touch him at all. Now Sonic could give him gentle shoulder pats or fur ruffles or even carry him sometimes, but they were still working on it.

Speaking of... Sonic paused to look at Tails, still hiding behind him. He wouldn't make him go into the village if he was scared, but he also knew he didn't like being out of his sight for long. Maybe... He held out his paw and grinned. Tails smiled a bit and put his own tiny paw in his, a little reassurance that Sonic'd be looking after him. They walked into the village together, making their way to the square.

Once they'd walked around a bit, Tails felt safe enough to let go of his hand and wander around a tiny bit. He got distracted by some sort of organizing machine nearby. Sonic chuckled internally. By the time he'd finished shopping, Tails would probably have the whole machine figured out and could build his own. He was such a smart little dude.

Sonic made sure to keep an eye on him as he wandered through the market stands. He still had to make sure no one would mess with his friend. If they did, well... there would be trouble.

He finally spotted a brush at one of the stands. He waved to get the attention of the person who ran it and motioned to the brush. He also decided to grab a comb, just in case. Maybe it'd help him with his quills too.

He gave the guy a handful of rings and glanced back at Tails, who was still watching the machine in awe. Sonic started to walk over to him, but paused. He still had some rings... and he'd walked by a stand selling candy a few minutes ago. He grinned. While Tails was still distracted, he bought a small bag of mints. They were the kit's favorite treat. He tucked them away before Tails could see. It'd make a nice surprise later.

He waved to Tails and motioned him to follow. They left the village. Tails bounced happily along, moving his fingers and drawing in the air to make what looked like could be math equations? He was probably still figuring out the machine and making plans to improve it.

Man, if only everyone knew how awesome he was, he'd have folks lining up to give him a home. It was so stupid how no one could see past his extra tail.

They got back out to their campsite. Tails sat down in an soft patch of grass. Sonic pulled out the fur brush and held it up. Tails' eyes flickered between him and the brush and he pulled back a bit, curling his knees to his chest. Had he ever seen one before? Maybe it looked threatening. Sonic smiled reassuringly and mimed brushing his own quills. See? It's okay.

Tails remained curled up, but he relaxed a little. Sonic knelt down beside him and reached out with the brush slowly. He intended to give it him and let him use it, but the kit simply stared, making no move to take it. Right. He was still a toddler. He probably didn't really know how to do it himself anyways.

Sonic softly touched the brush against his shoulder. Tails eyed it suspiciously and pulled away from the contact. Sonic pulled the brush back, and gave him another friendly grin and a thumbs-up. Tails relaxed and allowed him to reach the brush out again.

Sonic touched the brush against him again. Once Tails was okay with it, he moved the brush over his fur slightly. Tails stared curiously as he ran the brush down his arm a few times before moving to his back. Within moments, Tails was purring and leaning into the brush like a kitten getting petted. Sonic smiled.

It took a bit, but the tangles started coming out. Sonic had to slow down for the really knotty bits, switching to the comb for some parts. Tails was surprisingly patient with the process, especially when Sonic made little motions to let him know he was getting to a rough spot so the tug wouldn't surprise him.

As he reached Tail's tails, the little fox pulled away. He clutched them tightly against his chest, staring at Sonic with his forehead furrowed.

Oh yeah. He was very protective of his tails. Sonic'd seen the bullies yanking on them when he'd first rescued him. Even now people looked at them funny. To be fair, it was unique, but that was no excuse for anyone to be mean to him.

Sonic stepped back, nodding to show him he'd respect his boundaries. Tails glanced down, then stared up at Sonic with complete and utter trust in his eyes. He uncurled slowly and moved his tails where Sonic could reach them. Sonic smiled. He'd be extra careful.

He finished brushing him and stepped back to survey his work. Still not perfect, but definitely better. He didn't look like a stray anymore. He looked like someone was taking care of him.

Sonic grinned and gave Tails a thumbs up. Tails looked down at himself and ran his fingers through his fur. They didn't snag or anything.

Tails smiled at him. "T'anks!"

Sonic almost jumped at the first real word he'd heard him speak. He was picking things up. Good for him!

He wanted to reply, to say something, anything back. His lips formed the words "You're welcome," but no sound came out. He bit back a feeling of disappointment and tried again. This time, something did come out. It wasn't words, and it stung his throat a little, but it was a noise. A cheerful grunt. And it was more than he'd said in a long time.

Tails blinked his big eyes. A tiny purr rumbled in his chest. He'd seemed to understand that Sonic was pleased with his speaking. Sonic gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up and pulled out the bag of mints. Now was as good a time as any.

Tails squeaked and happily sat back to stuff the candy in his mouth. Sonic grinned. Man, he loved this little guy.

Wait, love?

Oh shoot.

He was attached now.

Thank you for reading!

[reyesstrand]

wip wednesday

thank youuu for the tag @alrightbuckaroo and @carlos-in-glasses <3 here’s a little more from the food fic!

There’s a punched-out baby behind him and TK turns just in time to suddenly have his arms full of his boyfriend—his strong, beautiful boyfriend—who trembles the moment TK hugs him properly. The edge of the kitchen island digs into his tailbone and he knows the toast is going to burn, but TK couldn’t care less.

“It’s okay,” TK murmurs, scratching his fingers through Carlos’ curls. He smells of organic soap and stale coffee and still, even though it’s impossible, a little like smoke. Maybe it’s woven into their skin forever, now, a reminder of what was violently lost.

“I don’t want to keep pushing you away,” Carlos finally whispers, his words safe in the crook of TK’s neck. “But nothing feels normal, and every time I close my eyes I see—I see us not making it, and—“

His voice breaks, and TK’s eyes burn. “I know, baby. I know.”

Carlos pulls back and blinks at him with shiny eyes, before he gently cups TK’s face. He tilts his head up, fingertips digging in gently under TK’s jaw, and TK hums a little in surprise when Carlos kisses him. He can still taste a hint of the orange they shared, and TK kisses back, basically running on muscle memory until he feels wetness on his cheeks and he remembers.

“Baby, wait—“ TK pulls back and drags his thumb under Carlos’ eye.

“I just need…” Carlos shakes his head and stares at the start of breakfast TK was making. Something far-away and unrecognizable passes over his eyes before they re-focus on TK. “I need to do something normal. I need to just be here, with you. Okay?”

no pressure tagging @strandnreyes @freneticfloetry @marjansmarwani @never-blooms @chaotictarlos @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @morganaspendragonss @theghostofashton @rmd-writes and anyone else who’d like to share, consider this an open tag!