#when you turn into a tree in order to get a man to leave you alone

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

John William Waterhouse (1849-1917) "Apollo and Daphne" (1908) Pre-Raphaelite In the myth of Apollo and Daphne, she is a beautiful nymph who turns into a laurel tree in a bid to escape the affections of the god Apollo.

[oreo-creampie]

“𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧’ 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞!”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: spanking, pain kink, pussy slapping, caught, hints of jealous!reader, fingering, belt used to choke you, face spitting, hints at a quickie outside/outdoor sex, bondage with a tie/light choking with said tie, pussy inspection, praise/degradation, teasing/begging, daddy(Toji, Kento & Suguru’s)/sir(sukuna’s)/lil mama(suguru’s)/brat, edging/ruined orgasms, choking, pussy inspection, oral (receiving), hints of cock warming, grinding your cunt on suguru’s fat cock, suguru plays with your nipple, biting, mating press, prone bone, vibrator/vibrator goes up your ass

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: you're such a fucking tease, you know that? ❜ sukuna 🙏🏻

Fey: maybe she shouldn’t have flirted with your man (Sukuna) / @maxellera remember how we were talking about Toji getting annoying when you ignore him after a fight well, why not purposely dress up for him to add the cherry on top

𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚

“It’s been all fuckin day! First that damn skimpy maid outfit, and tonight you’re walking around in this?” He grabs a handful of your sheer nightgown ripping it off your body and dropping it. Pushing two thick fingers into your soaking wet cunt with a loud squelch.

His thick rings rubbing your lips, “You’re are such a fuckin’ tease dumb lil slut!.” Your grasp on the edge of his desk tightens as your toes curl into the carpet.

His fingers feel too good stroking your soft soaking wet cunt. Clenching his fingers and crying when he smacks your ass. The sharp stinging on your sorry cheeks feels too good.

Whining, “Thank you for spanking me sir!” Pulling his fingers out and slapping your cunt until your thighs are trembling. His desk keeping you from running.

Your cunt is throbbing with a sharp sting. “I just wanted to check on you sir before turning in! See if you needed anything from me.” Sukuna’s assistant walks in and Sukuna yanks your head back by your hair.

He nudges your lips apart pushing three fingers in knuckle deep whilst ordering, “Tell her I’m busy.” There is a small satisfaction when you realize it’s the assistant who was flirting with him earlier.

Pumping his fingers faster making it hard to talk without moaning. “He-he’s busssy nnn fuck he feels so good. He’ll call for you after he cums in me!” Sukuna let’s your hair go, squeezing your throat whilst pumping his thick fingers faster.

Your soaking wet cunt’s squelches are getting louder than your moans. His fingers are magic in your cunt fucking you closer towards cumming.

Sukuna snaps, “Leave, you’re ruining the moment, looking at you is making my cock soft.” The assistant quickly scurries off and Sukuna glides his fingers out of your sloppy cunt.

Letting you go to rid himself of his clothes, looping his belt around your throat. He keeps it loose whilst asking, “What makes you thinking I’m gonna cum in you instead of on you?” Gliding his fat cock head between your lips.

You’re quick to answer, “Nothing sir! I wanted to make her jealous I know she wants to be in my place. I’m a jealous slut!” Tightening the belt around your neck, he yanks you back onto his cock by your throat. Filling your soft tight cunt up with his fat heavy cock.

Sukuna croons, “Aw you want my fat cock all to yourself?” You’re clawing at his desk whilst taking his punishing thrusts. Sukuna’s fat veiny cock is hitting too deep. His hips snapping against your ass with loud smacks.

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

All Satoru can think about is how he can see your wet, pretty cunt underneath your skirt. There is a tight throbbing in his cock and his balls ache. He can't think straight.

Pinning you to a tree, “I can’t do this anymore you win.” Satoru’s cheeks flush pink, “You fucking win god fucking damn you’re such a fuckin’ tease I love it.” Slipping his hand underneath your skirt, you grab his wrist to stop him.

Looking up at him smiling, “Say that again first!” He unzips his pants and pushes them down letting his pretty cock stick out.

He steps back giving, stroking his cock in front of you whilst smirking, “You win! N’ you’re reward is cumming on my wonderful cock.” Letting his cock go, it sticks out straight, softly bobbing as he slips his clothes off.

He’s beautiful, soft white hair catching the sunlight. Sliding his fingers through his hair. You can't see his eyes but you know he’s staring down at you. “This will have to be quick but tonight you’re coming to mine, I'm tying you up and taking my time with every fuckable hole.”

Reaching for your skirt Satoru protests, “Don’t, I want to fuck you in your skirt.” Pushing you against the tree, unbuttoning your shirt pushing it open and tugging it off you.

“Since I'm the one who won shouldn't I be making the calls.” You’re folding for him so easily despite this. Keeping your skirt on and sliding your hands down his chest. You’ve been wanting to feel him up since he lifted his arms to stretch and his shirt lifted to show his silver happy trail and a strip of skin.

Satoru croons, “This bra and your wet cunt has me thinking I'm the real winner, so really it's debatable.” Snapping the bra’s strap against your shoulder, then raising your arms tugging the bra up t bind your wrist with it.

You lift up one leg wrapping it around Satoru’s waist. He grabs his cock rubbing his warm head between your lips. “I thought you didn't like debating.” Pulling him closer with your leg around his waist, moaning as he cock glides into you.

He smirks, “That’s why I'm not debating I'm telling you, I win.” Pinning your other thigh by your side he groans, “I’m the one getting to fuck you, you’re so wet n tight for me.”

Satoru fucks you harder, loudly groaning, “Fuuuuck! Squeeze my cock with your wet cunt! I definitely win! Look at me, you’re so beautiful when you cum i want to see your face.” Holding your wrist above your head and squeezing your thigh.

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

Toji lets you get a few gasp of air before he’s squeezing your throat again. “Nah you wanted to ignore me so you get to be quiet n take this fat cock. Stupid slut beggin' me to help you cum after ignoring me for an hour over a dumb ass fight.”

Using his heavy weight to press you into the mattress whilst you’re on your side. One leg bent the other straight between his legs. Toji grunts, “You’re such a fuckin tease putting on lingerie when you’re mad at me. It makes it so hard to argue with you when all the blood is rushing to my fat cock.”

Rutting his hips faster as your sqlueching cunt clenched and quivers around his fat, veiny fat. He smirks and croons, “Awe my stupid brat is about to cum!” Pulling out and smacking your cunt, replacing the tingling pleasure with a sharp pain.

Writhing underneath Toji he sits on your leg partly pinning you making it hard to avoid his punishing smacks. “Poor lil slut does it hurt? Is your poor little cunt throbbing?” Letting your throat go he grabs a toy turns it on its highest setting then presses it to your sensitive clit.

Pleading with Toji, “I’m sorry I won't do it again! Please lemme cum!” Your throat is sore from Toji’s firm grasp yet you can't stop begging. “Wanna cum! I'm sorry! I wanna cum on your cock! It feels so good!”

Swirling the toy on your clit, thrusting his fat cock into your tight, sloppy wet cunt. Toji groans, “That’s bullshit! You’re a brat n ya like gettin’ your attitude fucked outta ya too much.”

Clenching his fat cock, moaning, “Please please please please please! I'm a bratty slut for your cock daddy please! I'll be good after this!” You’re so pent up after several ruined orgasms your getting so close to cumming too quickly.

He grunts, “I know you will be, I'm gonna make sure you’re be too exhuasted to be a brat.” Pulling out taking the toy away at the last second, slapping his heavy cock on your lips. He rubs it in your face, “That was so close, you almost came there!”

Pushing the small vibrator into your sensitive cunt. Clenching the toy pushing it out onto his palm. Toji smacks your ass the shoves the wet toy into your other hole. Leaving the string with its heart shaped button sticking out.

You can feel the strong vibrations in you cunt from your ass. “Keep on begging n’ trying to convince me to let you cum.” He rolls you fully onto your stomach, grabbing your hair, gliding his cock in with a quick thrust.

Toji leans over you, his heavy weight pinning you into the bed as he fucks you prone bone. Groaning in your ear, “If you stop begging I'm pulling out, then we can find out if you’re worked up enough will you cum from a vibraotor in your ass. Or if you still need my cock in your sloppy wet cunt.”

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮

Suguru is fighting for his life with how your shifting on his lap, rubbing his throbbing cock against your clothed cunt. You’re soaking through your underwear yet your attention remains on stardew valley.

Controller in hand you running towards your farmer’s house before running out of energy and passing out in the yard. “Aw damn I didn't get out the mine fast enough.” Leaning down Suguru kisses along your neck, biting softly when you falter.

He suggests, “You should carry some coffee around.” Slipping his hand underneath your shirt, sliding his large hands up your sides. It’s was already difficult to to focus with his hard cock and now he’s softly rubbing your nipples.

Moaning, “I should, nnn Daddy! You’re such a fuckin’ tease! You haven't been able to keep your hands to yourself all day.” Setting the control down on his bed. “My cunt is still sore from the last round.” After three hours you could still feel his fat cock in you.

He softly gasps, “I’m a tease?” You can hear the cocky smile in his voice. “Lil mama you’re the one making my cock hard squirming in my lap. If I didn't know better I say you’re grinding your cunt on my cock on purpose.” Holding up his fat cock, Suguru is long enough he covers your wet cunt.

You lean back against Suguru, grinding your hips sliding your sloppy wet cunt on his fat, veiny cock. Moaning as his head rub your sensitive clit. Slipping your fingers into his dark hair knocking his messy bun loose.

Rocking your hips faster, rubbing your clit below his cockhead. “It feels too good not to! I've been horny all day and your fat cock is so thick and long it hangs past your balls. N’ you’ve been groping me since before you opened your eyes thus morning.” Dipping his head to bite your neck.

Whining, “It’s all your fault!” Looking up at Suguru’s beautiful face when he sits up. The angle reminds you how much taller Suguru is.“I love how big you are, your cock, your muscules, your height, I get wet just being near you.”

He gloats, “That sounds like a you problem, but I'll help you just daddy what you need lil’ mama.”

𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨

Kissing your forehead then ordering, “Bend over for me so I can see if you’ve touched yourself in the past ten minutes.” Undoing his tie, it's errotic watching his thick fingers tug on the tie’s kno. You want his thick fingers in your wet cunt getting you ready to take his fat cock.

Bending over for Kento “How can you?” Kento wraps his tie around your throat then tugs your wrists behind you back to bind together. If you tug your wrist or hang your head you’re choking yourself.

He pushes the sheer skirt of your babydoll lingerie. Slowly dragging his finger over your clothed cunt. “By inspecting your beautiful cunt, don’t tell me you think I can’t tell what she looks like after you cummed.” You fight the urge to squirm as he pulls your underwear aside spreading your soft lips apart with two fingers.

He kneels behind you putting his handsome face close to your wet cunt. “Stunning.” Kissing your soft lips then slowly thrusting a thick finger in. Watching your small hole stretch to take his thick

Kento slowly thrust a thick finger in eliciting a soft moan from you. Pumping his finger slowly, he’s taking his time feeling your soft cunt and your frustration bubbles over. “I’ve been good all day! Please you’re such a fuckin’ tease with all those pictures of your cock and that video of you cumming in your hand, please daddy I've been trying so hard to be good!”.

Slapping your cunt, biteing your ass and squeezing a handful of your other cheek. When he slaps your cunt again you can his wedding ring hitting your lips. “You were good, but I can't let get away with slipping up just now. I know you’re frustrated but that no reason to give me any attitude.”

Pleading with Kento, “I’m sorry! It won't happen again!”

He warns, “If it does I'll edge you until you cry.” Kissing your sore cunt, nudging his tongue past your lips. The position makes it easy to sit on Kento’s handsome face. His soft tongue feels so good rubbing your sore cunt, easing the stinging.

“Please let me cum! I'm so sorry daddy! I shouldn't have given you any attitude please take care of my cunt!” Pulling his tongue out Kento stands up and you can hear him undo his belt.

He tugs on the taunt tie between your shoulder blades pulling you upright. Kissing the top of your head, he slides his large hand up your side. “I know you’re sorry which is why you’re going to good for me and keep my cock warm and wet whilst I finish a glass of 1792 whiskey.”

all fics

[reidrum]

under the mistletoe

note: happy first day of reidrumas! a nice little munch!spencer to keep you warm <3

summary: in which penelope uses a plant to get her friends together, or the time you find yourself under the mistletoe with spencer

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, munch!spencer, fingering, oral (f receiving), heavy kissing, idiots in love, friends to lovers, fem!reader, reader wears a dress and heels

wc: 2.8k

12 days of reidrumas

The annual BAU Christmas Party became an accord Penelope headed all on her own, and was a job she took very seriously. The amount of times the team had been called away on a case near or on a major holiday is too sad a number to count, so whenever there was certainty that there would be no case or bureau event, Penelope went all in.

That is, on David Rossi’s credit card, of course.

Light up sleighs and reindeers adorned the front lawn of Rossi’s mansion, of which was decorated with red ribbons and twinkle lights galore. The silhouette of the biggest Christmas tree you think you’d ever seen was illuminated in the window as you approached the front, rubbing clammy hands down the sides of your dress.

You don’t even know why you’re so nervous, just that you are. While it had been some time since you had joined the team and you have definitely had some fun nights out with them, the nerves never get easier to deal with when you know a certain genius will be in your presence.

It seemed everyone knew of your crush on Spencer except the man himself. The way your face heats up when you’re near him, the words tripping over each other as you try to speak, somehow are not dead giveaways to him. If he notices your nerves, he doesn’t mention it, and you don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.

A call of your name from the bottom of the stairs grabs your attention, and you see none other than Spencer coming up the stairs to meet you. He straightens out his sweater and looks at all of you, “You look nice.”

Suddenly you forget what words are, “Um…I.. thanks! I just got this, and I thought the antlers would be cute too.” you gesture to the light up headband. 

“They’re really cute.” he smiles and gestures you to walk in, and you’re both ambushed by Penelope immediately.

“You’re here! Oh, you look so cute with your little reindeer antlers,” she gushes, “And Spencer! Looking so dapper!” You both walk down the hallway with her, seemingly leading you to the kitchen when she abruptly stops halfway.

“You’re too cheery. What did you do?” you squint.

“Don’t hate me.”

Your eyebrows raise, “What did you do?”

“Why would we hate you?” Spencer says at the same time.

Penelope pauses, and with a hint of mischief in her voice, “Look up.”

Your eyes trail upwards to the arch of the door you’re both stood in, and there hanging with its leaves and red and white berries tied in ribbon, is of course, mistletoe.

“Penny.” you mumble under your breath. If she heard you she paid no mind, only beaming at you both with her Cheshire cat grin. You look over at poor Spencer, who’s sheepish smile and red cheeks are breaking through his stoic demeanor. 

“Did you know mistletoe in nature is actually poisonous? It’s a parasitic plant that has to grow on other trees in order to survive. But it’s holiday tradition comes from Norse mythology when the son of Odin is killed and his mother is so upset her tears turn into the berries on the plant, as a symbol of her love for him.” Spencer rambles out of nervousness.

“That sounds nice Spence,” Penelope grabs both of your hands and positions you in front of each other in the doorway, “Okay great, I’m sure you know the rules of mistletoe. Now kiss.”

“Penelope.” you lightly chide. Her persistence is a match for no one, there’s no way of getting out.

“You have to, that’s the rule! If you don’t, Christmas will be ruined!” she sighs dramatically.

You blink at her a few times hoping she understands that she’s out of her mind and that it’s a little cruel to put you and Spencer in this situation. This is probably his worst nightmare. He has that thing with germs you remember and you both are merely friends so there’s no way he’d see you like that, yet alone want to kiss you because a plant said you had to.

Spencer clears his throat in front of you, and says with a soft voice, “Well, if it’s going to ruin Christmas…”

Huh. Maybe not as cruel as you think.

You turn your head to meet his eyes, “You’re okay with this?”

He nods sheepishly, “I—I mean I love holidays, and even though I’d never done this part of Christmas, I’d hate to break tradition….”

You look at him with disbelief, but Penelope’s smile could not be wider and she squeals, “Amazing! Okay, I’m ready.”

You both look at her knowingly, and she immediately puts her hands up. “Alright, fine! I can take a hint. But, I want details later, both of you.” she busies herself off in the kitchen.

Spencer turns his body to face you, hands tentatively reaching out to ghost the curve of your hips. His eyes look to you for permission, and with a slight nod he takes purchase, bringing you closer while resting his hands on your sides. You gingerly place your flat palms on his shoulders, and it’s then you realize just how close you both are. His breath fans softly against your face, and even in heels you find yourself rising a bit further to meet his lips.

Just mere milliseconds before your lips meet he whispers with the softest pitch you’ve ever heard, “You sure this is okay?”

You think you give him a nod and a word of approval, but it’s lost as soon as you press your lips onto his with no hesitancy. His hands pull you closer to him, leaning deeper into the kiss. The endorphins run loose before  being corralled immediately as the kiss ends as quickly as it began.

He pulls back and he stares at your puffy lips, lips that are puffy because of him and it’s enough to drive him insane. He needs to find a way to have you like that again, to feel your lips against his again fearless of a watchful eye, to show you that he really doesn’t give a damn for tradition, but would do rituals and ceremonies on end if it meant getting to kiss you like that again.

You’re about to say something when your name is called from the living room, the other girls now noticing your arrival and waving you over to grab a drink. You look between them and Spencer, “I should go,” you say reluctantly, “Find me later?”.

He smiles softly, “I’ll find you later.”

You hesitate before moving, wondering if it’s even a good idea. But you realize you’re already this far deep, so what difference would it make? Your eyes dart between the girls and Spencer once more making sure they’re not looking, and rise to your toes again to kiss his cheek, “See you later, Spence.”

A blush rises to his cheek as he touches the spot with his fingers, watching you walk into the living room. You might be the death of him, he thinks.

—

The party’s gone on, games of white elephant are played and countless wine bottles are scattered around the place. He finds himself in an aimless conversation with Matt and Luke, he thinks they’re talking about some sport, but all Spencer can think about is you and your damn lips.

You’re addictive, he’s come to find. He’s had a taste of the forbidden fruit and now fully empathizes with Eve, thinking if something was as nectarious as you, he’d also have to go to great lengths to get it again.

He excuses himself from the conversation, not caring if they said anything, and goes off to find you. You’re sat on the loveseat with JJ that’s entirely too small for the two of you, but you certainly look comfy wedged into the seat. He circles around the back, resting a hand on your shoulder to let you know of his presence and bending down to whisper in your ear, “Is this a good time to find you?”

You startle a little at the voice, calming once you recognize it to be Spencer. You’re surprised he actually came and found you like he said he would, and by the look of his face it seemed like a determined mission.

“I’d say it is,” you smile up at him, his body looming over you behind the couch. He holds a hand out for you, “I’ll be back, J.” you tell her as you stand up. She looks between you and Spencer and a smug look rises to her face.

“Okay…be safe.” she winks. You groan.

Spencer leads you away from the bustle of the living room and further into the depths of Rossi’s mansion. You both walk side by side, talking aimlessly about anything and everything, grateful to have moments just walking with each other. You push open on a fancy door, revealing a vastly large room but with the same crown modeling as the rest of the place. A three piece couch set rests in the middle, and bookshelves filled with antiques line the walls.

You’re intrigued by the telescope pointed out the window, bending down to look through it. Spencer looks up from the book he’s holding on the other side of the room and watches you. You’re ethereal, the moonlight casting a soft glow on your figure making you look like an angel from above. You gaze through the lens to look at the stars, and he can’t help but wonder how lucky he is to have you in front of him and not in the sky with the rest of them.

“Can I confess something?”

You straighten your back and turn around, eyes widening, “Um, sure.”

“Nothing scary, I promise,” he reassures.

“That’s not concerning.”

He takes a deep breath, “I had an ulterior motive, when I came to find you.”

Your brows furrow nervously, “What do you mean?”

“No no, I meant it, it’s nothing bad,” he confesses, “I just… really wanted to kiss you again.”

Oh. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Who else?” he chuckles.

You stammer, “W—Well, I just wasn’t sure…”

He nods and slowly walks to you, “Would that be okay?”

You look up at him and see that he’s so close again. The waft of his cologne invades your senses. His hair is long again, you told him once he looked good with long hair and he hasn’t so much as looked at some scissors since then. The ends of his curls tickle your forehead when his head dips, lips mere nanometers away.

“Yeah.” you barely muster an audible whisper.

The corners of his lips twitch, “Yeah?” he says in the same pitch, leaning even closer.

“Please.”

His lips press to yours again for the second time this night, and he kisses you with a fervor you couldn’t comprehend. He brings one hand up to cradle the back of your head, padding the impact as he uses the other to back you against the wall. Your hands come up to tangle in his hair, lightly tugging on the roots that makes him fold even more into you.

Kisses travel down the side of your neck to the nape, and he spends time littering the area with lovebites. The soft gasps that leave your mouth only spur him on, but it’s not nearly enough for him.

“Sweetheart,” he pants between kisses, “Need to—fuck—need to taste you, please. Can I?

Your blown out eyes meet his, and it wasn’t even an option to say no when he was begging you so desperately, “Yeah, yes, please.”

His hand snakes through the slit on your dress, tracing the edges of your panties and grinning when he hears your breath hitch. He toys with the edge some more before dipping a finger below the band, never touching you where you really need him but getting awfully close.

“Spence..” you whine.

He groans, “Fuck, you sound so pretty saying my name and I haven’t even touched you yet.” He puts you out of your misery when he finally drags the pad of his index to the bundle of nerves at your center, tracing light circles that draw the prettiest moans he’s ever heard.

You grip his forearms for more stability, feeling your legs turn to jelly. Spencer sees your struggle and wraps an arm around your waist, “I got you, pretty girl it’s okay.” A few more minutes of teasing you and marking you relentlessly and he decides you’re okay enough for him to stand on your own, so he can sink to his knees in front of you.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he crouches down, making sure you’re okay every step of the way. His finger is still tracing a line from your clit to your entrance, the wet line seeping through your panties. He bunches up your dress and silently gestures to you to hold it, and steadies his hands on either side of your hips. He presses chaste kisses up your thighs, your breath getting heavier with each one closer to your center. The delirium hits an all time high when he presses a firm kiss to your core.

Skilled fingers hook your panties to the side, revealing you in all your glistening glory, “Look at you,” he marvels hoarsely, “that all for me?”

You nod fast, “Yes, yes Spence please.” you whine out, you’d sound like you were in pain if it were anyone else.

“Hey, hey it’s okay, don’t do that. I’m gonna take care of you, promise.” he coos, calming your pleas, “Come on, leg on my shoulder.”

The new angle opens you up beautifully for him and he can’t help himself when he leans in and swipes a tentative tongue through your folds, satisfied when he hears the sound of a guttural moan leave you.

You immediately slam your hand over mouth as he taunts, “Careful sweetheart, can’t be too loud or someone’s gonna walk in.”

You try to keep your moans and whimpers to a minimum as he continues eating you out like a man depraved, like all he was meant for on this earth was to be between your legs. He prods a finger around your entrance and slowly slips it in, you whimper and clamp your fingers into his hair tugging tightly.

Spencer groans into you at the feeling, and adds another finger swiftly moving them in and out. You’re getting close, he can feel it from the way you clench around his fingers, unable to stop himself from thinking about how you’d feel clenching around him.

“Ah—I’m….I’m close.” you whimper.

He speeds up ever so slightly, “Yeah? Okay angel, you can let go, it’s okay.”

Soon your climax washes over you, with you gripping his hair tightly and his fingers never faltering as he rides you through it. He slows down his pace as you come down before gently taking them out and giving you one last lick through your folds before standing up.

You yelp but it’s quickly muffled by him kissing you again. He feels you smile into the kiss and matches you before you both start giggling and pull away.

He can hear the smile in your voice when you rest your forehead on his shoulder, “That was…”

An arm wraps around you again to hold stable, “Good, I hope?”

You press a soft kiss at the base of his neck, “Really good. I guess we have to thank Penny now.”

“Actually…”

“What?”

“I may have been the one to tell her to put some mistletoe up.” He confesses sheepishly.

“You told her? S—So you could…like…” you ramble.

“So I would have a chance to kiss you, yes.”

You get real shy in front of him as if he wasn’t on his knees for you five minutes ago, “That’s really sweet…you could’ve told me.”

“I wanted to! But I thought you might not feel the same way because I notice how you are around me and I didn’t want to overwhelm you, but then Penelope told me you felt the same and I just figured one of us had to pull the bandaid off.”

You smile shyly, “I get nervous around you, because I really really like you.” you quietly admit.

He pulls you close into his chest, kissing your forehead softly, “Well that’s good then, because I really really like you too.”

Penelope is obviously over the moon when she finds out, giddy as can be knowing her two best friends are now together. What she doesn’t tell you, is how she sends the mistletoe to a preservation company to be pressed and framed. She’s just preparing to have the best gift ever to bring to your wedding.

[bi-writes]

Does MOB ever just like.. walk up to Simon and like... Grab his ass?? Fondle his tibbies a lil bit?? Give a good squeeze to his cheeks or his milkers?? Cause if he was my husband and he was okay w it I would do that shit literally on sight every day

mail-order bride

you've been staring since he walked into the room.

he's wearing a shirt two times too small. it must be laundry day. either way, your husband looks...bigger than normal. he's cooking, standing at the kitchen counter as he sears off a few pieces of something in a pot, and when he drops a few dashes of soy sauce into the pot, you think a man has never looked so sexy sauteing onions.

he turns finally to the cutting board behind him, and he winks when he meets your eyes. you giggle involuntarily, a shrill sound leaving you because you have the biggest fucking crush on this man.

can men have tits? they can. they do. simon does. and you can see them in this tiny fucking shirt, and now you understand sometimes why your dresses end up torn on the floor of your living room--because you just want it.

"simon--"

"'ello, luv," he hums, licking some sauce off his finger before going back to chopping some herbs that lay on the cutting board. you pad further into the kitchen, coming close, and he looks up finally when you're standing right beside him. "somethin' wrong?"

"you're so hot," you whisper, and simon continues chopping, big arm moving as he leans over into your space a little.

"wot's tha'?"

"you're so hot, simon."

he chuckles lowly, moving the knife under the pile to place into a bowl. he sets down the knife and turns to face you, crossing his arms over his chest. fuck, it's making his chest look bigger, ughhh...

"somethin' the matter? ya sick?"

"no," you whine, reaching over, and he drops his arms when you forcibly move them away, pushing your hands up his stomach, over his pecs, squeezing the firm muscle there. "oh my god..." you lean in, getting on your toes, and he gives in quite easily, kissing you warmly. "i can't believe you're mine--"

simon huffs as you throw your arms around his neck, lifting your leg around his waist, and he bends to hoist you into his arms as you start trying to climb him like your very own tree (which even then might be impossible, with the huge trunk of a man that he is). you sigh when he drops your weight onto the counter, and with less distance between you, you take full advantage--licking into his mouth, feeling and squeezing up his chest, whispering between kisses i love you and is it hot in here or is it just you? and i want this, i want you, please, simon.

"wot's gotten into ya, baby?" simon murmurs, holding you at a distance. you're eager to get back to him, to kiss him again, and you whimper when he holds you firm, making you look at him. "hmm?"

"i don't know," you breathe, panting. you squeeze the back of his neck, whining, and you try and scoot closer. "i don't know, i just...you look so good...i just..."

the smile that spreads across his face takes your breath away. he's not pretty, but he's pretty. his face tells a thousand stories. a missing tooth or two, a cut lip that never healed right, the slashes that have closed over unevenly across his eyes and along his cheek--but why is he so gorgeous? what makes you so feral for this one man, more than you've ever been for anyone else in your entire life?

there's just something about him. something about simon makes him so beautiful. there's a soft heart underneath that solid chest, there's a full belly and warm body under your hands as you explore the ridges and dips of the rest of his body. he's got the stature of a protector, the eyes of a killer, but fuck, he loves like no one else.

he loves you. he loves like no one else does, ever will, ever has, and he loves you.

you giggle as you cup his cheeks, tracing his lips with your thumb, admiring him.

"sorry, it's hard to be serious," you sigh, shaking your head. "just wanna jump your bones, simon."

"me, too, luv."

"then what are we waiting for, simon?"

he tsks, drawing you closer, pressing his forehead to yours.

"no idea, baby. no fucking clue."

[nkogneatho]

The sun felt extra bright today. You shrug in sleep, soon woken up by the sound of your alarm. Grabbing the phone, you hit on snooze, but reminded to sit up when met with the date on the lock screen. December 7th. It's Satoru's birthday. You immediately abandon the cozy bed and hop in the shower. Today's very important to you.

Putting on a pretty cerulean blue top—the color of his eyes—you dab the blush on your cheeks, fixing your hair and all ready for the day.

The first place you hit is a clothing store. Satoru loved sweaters that you bought. You always had the best taste. You pick up a beige crocheted sweater, turn to a mirror beaide you, imagining how he would look. Of course he'd look beautiful. He can wear a rag and still outshine everyone. You pay and leave.

If you run fast enough, you can still catch that bus that goes to the outskirts of the town, where the sweet shop is. Fortunately, you make it in time. The whole bus ride you keep thinking about him.

When you reach, you are politely greeted by the owner. Greeting her back, you order a box of kikufuku, his favorite.

"Can you write a note that says I will always love you?" You ask and she smiles. As she writes she initiates the small talk and discovers you're not a local.

"So you traveled 3 hours to get your boyfriend these? He is one lucky man." You smile at the compliment.

When you're back in town, it's time for the part you were most excited yet anxious about. You walk on the cobblestones through the beautiful trees and grass. You both have started meeting here too often.

You see him, you smile. It's bittersweet. You clear off the dried leaves tugging on him. Sitting down by his side, you open the box of kikufuku.

"Got you your favorite. Happy Birthday, Angel boy" you lay the sweater on him. the skin is cold. no. the gravestone is. it feels nothing like him. "I promised we'll always celebrate it together. I kept mine. You didn't keep yours." Tears roll down your face. "I got you a sweater so you don't catch a cold. You know..."you rub your hand his on engraved name. "i am cold too, toru. come back and hug me."

[shotmrmiller]

What kinks do you think the boys would be too afraid to ask for/about? Like I know their tough but what would really frighten them to ask about?

good question.

kyle: shibari. he's an interrogation professional and sometimes business mixes with pleasure unbidden and he doesn't want anyone to see him as a masochist (too late bud) but it is what it is. he's always used fuzzy cuffs or a silken tie or whatever but he works magic with rope and loves the feel of it in his hands (coarse, prickly like the bristles of an old toothbrush) and seeing the indents it leaves after, the raised lines where it dug into flesh always makes him dizzy.

price: he's a very simple man. breeding esp during an unsafe day. he's all for condoms and pulling out and he knows his spend can throw off your ph balance plus he's still virile so whatever you prefer but something about seeing your hole drip with his seed, thick and viscous— he'd see red and shove it all back in with his fingers, can't waste a drop, see? and buss apologies into your sweat-slick skin after because he felt you wince.

soap: predator/prey. he's got a thing for the chase, something that'll run away from the inevitable (him) but he knows he's too intense, and while he's got all the blood in his body at his other head, he can't assume the same for you. he's terrified of scaring you. he can get carried away, knows it more like, and the last thing he needs is you flinching when he reaches out but lordt- he'd leave a bald spot on the tree he oh so wishes to pin you up against.

ghost: praise kink. he's a big, gruff man who's mostly mean to everyone he meets so this is a secret no one knows. he'll never force anyone to say anything, god knows he isn't the most vocal (he thinks himself so fortunate to have found someone who doesn't need him to say what he feels in that shriveled-up heart of his) but he yearns for praise, someone to tell him how well he's doing and how good he feels. he turns apple-cheeked when price goes out of his way to thank him for a job well done even though it's what was ordered of him, but it demands a certain vulnerability he's burrowed away deep, kept under lock and key.

[bunny-lily]

Satoru, who...

Did you ask for more fluff? I did, ehe~

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

CW: pure fluff, just fluff, no angst, only happiness | proposal, marriage, pregnancy, husband!Gojo, dad!Gojo, soft!Gojo, categorically fucking whipped Satoru, domesticity, kinda slice-of-life, mildly suggestive at the end

The starstruck boy, Gojo Satoru, who is utterly obsessed with you in every way possible.

AN: while I’m in the middle of writing an absurdly long fic, I wanted to post some shorter stuff to 1) keep my hands loose and brain active/busy, and 2) post something while I’m working on the fic to come. I won’t post much about it rn because I want to actually finish it first and not make any promises, so enjoy a lil fluff in the meantime <3 just something short and sweet

WC: 3k

Satoru, who is smitten with you from the very moment he first lays eyes on you. Sure, he's had infatuations before, but they were short-lived and typically lasted no longer than a week. A quick fascination, then poof. You, on the other hand – you are different.

And it is plain to see for pretty much everyone. He is normally cocky and outgoing, even during the little fads he’s had, he never let down his façade of bravado. You, though? You melt all his walls until he’s a goopy puddle of a blushing, giggling school girl.

He is whipped, almost to an annoying point. He rambles off Suguru's and Shoko's ears enough times for them to know when he’s about to start singing your praises and avoid him, or distract him somehow (which is a monumental task when his ditzy head is full only of thoughts of you).

Even so, they are conflictingly bewildered and happy for their friend. For him to have found someone that he is interested in for longer than a week – let alone several months, now – is a riveting change of pace. He seems so genuinely delighted any time you two interact, bubbly, dreamy sighs leaving him as hearts dance in his eyes.

He has fallen for you bad.

Satoru, who’s a stuttering disaster when he tries to ask you out on a date, and damn near collapses in relief when you’re able to decipher what the hell he’s going on about and agree to go to the new café that opened up near campus with him.

One date turns into two, then three, then a dozen more that become routine for you. You meet up after classes let out, then head to the café side by side. Or, if one is running late, you have each other’s orders memorized. You even go the extra mile and order him a sweet he hasn’t tried yet to surprise him with when he bursts into the establishment, panting like he ran a marathon. He might as well have, he booked it for the café as soon as he was free, dying to see you.

Satoru, who is somehow in even more shambles when he gets the nerve to ask you to go steady with him, despite the two of you being borderline boyfriend and girlfriend by now. He’s jittery, sweaty, downright vibrating with tense energy when he brings you to the sakura tree near the back of school that you two had laid claim on. Oh, and when you say yes? He’s certain he’s died and gone to heaven. Nothing can explain how an angel like you decided to grace him with your existence as is, let alone love him – even while you called him an idiot and said you thought you two were already dating.

Satoru, who was already protective over you when you first met, dials it to eleven after you agree to being his girlfriend. Gojo Satoru, the strongest man alive, could inspire fear and respect simply by being in the room with his confident and brash nature, completely relaxed and faithful in his skill. But if, gods forbid, something happens to you? Gone is that cocksure attitude. Gone are the coy smirks and passive-aggressive taunting meant to rile others up. Gone is everything but his one track mind that focuses solely on two tasks: protecting you, and destroying whatever harmed you.

Satoru, who spoons you to his chest and watches ASMR, random videos, or movies on your phone with you 'til you both fall asleep. It became routine shortly after you began officially dating. You'll climb into bed first and decide what you want to watch while he finishes his nightly regimen, then he'll slip under the blankets and pull your back flush against his front, prop his chin atop your head, slide a thigh between your legs, and off to cozy dreamland you two go as whatever you choose acts as white noise. 

It brings him an immense amount of comfort, and though he doesn't need as much sleep as normal folks, he'll refuse to leave bed until you're awake (with the exception of any needs he might have to take care of that will only see him away for a couple minutes at most before he’s cradling you in his protective hold again).

Satoru, who salts and peppers your face with endless, ticklish kisses to wake you up, saving the best kiss for when your sleepy, pretty little eyes open: right on your lips. He always wakes up before you do, and spends hours watching your blissful, precious face as you snooze, content and relaxed like a cat with full trust in its human. The comparison always makes him smile, because he, truthfully, envisions you both as being cats all the time. Lazy ones that cuddle in the sun, your smaller form using his ridiculously fluffy and larger one as a pillow-slash-blanket. His tail twined with yours, your ears twitching as he grooms you with kitten licks, ah, the dream.

Satoru, who wants to slap a ring on your finger the very moment he can. You two spend so many days and weeks raving about your imaginary wedding that he so desperately wants to be real, setting up plans, picking out what you would want for decor, scrolling through forum boards for ideas on a wedding dress for you. He is practically more excited at the prospect of getting married than you are, eager to help in every step of the process and more. 'Let me handle all the hard stuff, baby,' he nearly begs. 

He won’t tell you the cost of anything, and insists you go all out. Get the dress you want, don't you dare look at the price tag. Choose the perfect venue, he doesn't care if it's in Japan or fucking Dubai, he'll handle paying for everyone's travel and hotel needs on top of the whole wedding. Only the absolute best for you, nothing less, everything more.

Satoru, who is a train wreck of nervous excitement, anxious anticipation, and giddy trepidation when the day comes for him to propose. He takes you to the perfect location – up a short and easy hiking trail that leads to a cliffside with the most magnificent view of the ocean and setting sun. You think it's just a sweet date trip, until you see the path of tea candles guiding you to a romantically set up picnic blanket, a basket resting atop it, waiting to be opened.

When you turn around to express your shock and confusion, you find Satoru on one knee, looking up at you as if you are the most gorgeous and divine creature to ever exist. He's confident and boisterous, as always, as he plays out his little speech about how much he adores you and wants to keep you by his side, forever and ever, but he's a shaking trash fire inside. A shivering little dog that's relieved he didn't stutter or screw up the speech he practiced a hundred times over and then some.

Satoru, who's thanking every god to ever possibly reside above (and even below) when you throw your arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder as a flood of yeses pours out of you, slurred as you ramble through your tears and tell him you love him, how happy you are, and a plethora of other things that make him genuinely the most elated person to ever live.

Satoru, who slides the brilliant engagement ring he had custom made for you onto your finger; smooth, with an inset blue diamond that shares the same shade as his eyes, nestled in with a dozen tinier crystals in vine-like spirals flowing outward from the center. Swarovski, of course. He made sure that it was all flush with the platinum to ensure it wouldn't snag on anything. 

He was practically breathing down the jeweler's neck during the entire process, needing to guarantee it’s positively perfect for you. And, when he sees the glimmering jewelry cozy on your finger, the evidence of your bond and the next step in your journey to unite as one, he knows he made all the right choices.

Satoru, who only uses the finest material for your matching wedding bands, and has the insides of both engraved with each other's names. Yours in his, his in yours. He has the same jeweler as before (poor guy) design them to have two stripes of platinum within the gold of your rings, delicate and stunning for himself and his wife.

Satoru, who's jubilant and so incredibly ecstatic that you're now his wife that he can't help but tell everyone he knows, everyday, multiple times a day, even those that were at the wedding. He just can't get over it. You're his wife, the girl he's been crushing on since highschool, the girl he swore to make his, and to devote himself to. It feels like an incredible dream, and he worriedly pinches himself from time to time to make sure it's real. 

He did it. He married you, and now you carry his name in yours, in your wedding band, everywhere he could put it to subtly (not really) show you off as the unquestionably precious treasure you are, his wife, and how overjoyed he is that he managed to catch you and keep you.

Satoru, who forgets how to function when you hold up a pair of white and pink sticks on his birthday, from different brands, both showing positive symbols. You. You're pregnant. With his baby. He swears his brain short-circuits because one minute, he's staring at you like you'd grown a second head, and the next, he has you wrapped up in his arms as he showers your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw, lips, neck, ears, anywhere he can reach, with kisses.

He's a babbling, sniffly mess as he practically crushes you to his chest and coos and preens and weeps with elation. He reveres you like a deity and he’s your loyal and pathetic servant who was blessed beyond measure that you decided to give him the gift of life. He's going to be a father, and it's all because of you.

Satoru, who completely spoils the living hell out of you during your pregnancy (as if he hadn't already been), bending backwards for you for everything. Weird cravings? He's on it. Swollen ankles and nausea? He's rushing to the store for medicine, then rubbing your feet to ease the ache. Insatiable horniness? He's your slave for you to use for your pleasure. Hormones swinging wildly back and forth? He's there with a box of tissues and his firm chest for you to beat on when you feel like you're going crazy. It's his fault you're pregnant, after all. You're doing the hard work of not just carrying his child, but of nurturing it, growing it, letting it take from you to develop strong and healthy. Of course he's going to take care of you.

Satoru, who refuses to let you do any work. You're on indefinite parental leave. From the moment you show him those positive tests, he sits your pretty ass down on the couch and tells you firmly that your only job now is to help your baby develop. He'll take care of everything else, don't even think about lifting a finger.

Satoru, who's there at every appointment with you, clutching your hand tightly as you talk to your doctor about everything you need to know. And when you have your first ultrasound, and see your fetus together for the very first time, he's crying right alongside you.

Satoru, who spent meticulous hours packing a duffel bag with everything you'll both need for when it comes time for you to go into labor. Spare changes of clothes, plenty of water, blankets to keep you warm, a couple pillows, anything and everything. He refuses to go in unprepared. As soon as it's all packed and ready to go by the 8 month mark of your pregnancy, it's in the backseat of the car. The baby car seat is in the trunk of the sleek and top-of-the-line SUV he purchased specifically for your soon-to-be family. He doesn't care that it's taking up space, or that it’s too early, he refuses to go in unprepared.

Satoru, who immediately ditches work the very instant your water breaks. Who gives a fuck if he's in the middle of something important, nothing takes precedence over you and the incoming birth of your infant. He's breaking several driving laws to get you to the hospital, but neither of you care. Not when you're panting in the passenger seat, white-knuckling the grab handle with a palm pressed to your stomach, grunting and crying out in pain any time you have a contraction. It's a miracle he doesn't get pulled over, and he's incredibly thankful (and proud of himself) for thinking of calling the hospital ahead of time so that they're ready for you.

Satoru, whose entire world becomes a blur from the second you reach the hospital, to the second you're crushing his hand in your grip, screaming as you fight to bring his baby into the world. He's letting you yell at him and blame him for the pain you're in, easily accepting and agreeing because it is his fault. 

But while your shaking sobs and shrieks of agony wound his heart beyond any possible measure, he also can't help his elation at knowing it's time, all the waiting has been worth it, every minute spent catering to your every need, want, and desire. He'll do it indefinitely, wait on you hand and foot for the rest of his life, treat you like a queen, because you deserve it and so much more.

Satoru, who's shocked by how well he's holding up when the nurse puts the wrapped up, pudgy little newborn in his arms, gazing down at the tiny being. His tiny being, your tiny being, the fragile and priceless life you both created. Looking down at his kin, his reason for being, he knows he'd do anything and everything to protect you and your child.

Satoru, who sees you, a disheveled and tired disaster, with your hair all tangled, frizzy, and astray, strands stuck to your sweaty skin, your body slack in relief as the hardest part is finally over, watching your husband hold your baby, and he thinks you're more beautiful now than you've ever been. 

You look like you’ve been dragged through hell; your legs are sticky with residue blood, amniotic fluid, placenta, and whatever else that needs to be cleaned off (though your legs are covered with a few layers of blankets to keep you toasty warm while you recover from labor), your face is a little pale and sallow, you're barely clinging to consciousness, and he's marveling at how he's never seen anything or anyone as utterly blest and sacred as you. 

A goddess amongst men, the only one the strongest man in the world would ever willingly bow down to without you even needing to ask.

Satoru, who helps place your baby on your chest, the nurse having opened the blanket for skin-to-skin contact as you feed it, and finally lets himself release all his pent up emotions of raw, unfiltered joy. Every cell, every fiber, every atom in him is dancing in overwhelming happiness. He'd do it all over, again and again, as many times as you'd let him, if it means he gets to see you this blissful and tranquil. The glow of maternity suits you like no other, even in all your unkempt and chaotic glory. 

Satoru, who can't believe he's a dad. He goes above and beyond, insisting he takes care of the baby at night so you can sleep – he doesn't need as much rest as others do, after all. He murmurs to his newborn about how much he cherishes and adores you, how much you mean to him, how you're the best wife and mommy a man could ever ask for and more. He reads the kiddo bedtime stories to help it sleep, feeds it, changes it, whatever it is that is needed, he's there and doing it. 

On top of that, he continues to be your doting, devoted, caring husband. He makes sure you're taking your vitamins, takes you to all your postpartum appointments, aids you through your subsequent depression, all of it. He's sworn himself to you for life, not just in this timeline and universe, but in any and every single one of them.

He made and said his vows with purpose and conviction. He meant every word, and upholds them like his life depends on it. Because, in his mind, it does.

Satoru, who is patient with you, and firmly commands you to not push yourself to do things you can't do while you're still in recovery. He doesn't care if he has to wait months or even years for you to be ready to lay with him again, he'll wait it out. He might not be a patient man, but for you, he'd wait until all the stars die. 

Oh, but you, darling little minx that you are, do your best to take care of him, too. Even when he urges you to rest, or not worry about it, or anything other arguments he might have against it, you tend to him in whatever way you can. Touching, sucking, rough and heavy petting, whatever it takes. You refuse to leave him alone to suffer through months and months of dryness with no relief save for his hand and the toy you surprised him with to help take the edge off.

Satoru, who can't be more grateful to you. You're more than his wildest dreams, the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect person as a whole in the entirety of the universe. He really can't help boasting about being the Chosen One, because he really is, if the cosmos decided to gift him with you.

Satoru, who swears to take care of you for the rest of your lives, and does well on his promise.

Satoru, who fights for the sake of you and your kin alone. He refuses to leave you in any way, shape, or form. He refuses to let the world be a danger to any of you. He refuses to have anything happen to his family. Nothing will tear you apart, not now, not ever.

Satoru, who loves you more than the sun, the moon, and all the stars combined.

—-—-•(-•ʚɞ•-)•—-—-

Banner by cafekitsune ♥ thank you for reading

[kbwrites]

How the JJK Men Flirt

characters: Gojo, Nanami, Choso

⚝ content: slightly suggestive for gojo, choso is a cutie pie, Nanami will always be husband material

Satoru Gojo

Thinks he is a smooth operator

In reality, has zero rizz. Creepy rizz.

“Damn Ma, you shit with that ass?” 😩

Makes up for it with his looks and the fact that he’s loaded (wallet and pants).

“When are you gonna let me take you out on a date?” He leans against the wall looking down at you through his blindfold.

“Go away Satoru.” You slip past his arms, leaving the white-haired sorcerer speechless.

You lounge on the couch of your apartment when you hear a knock on the door. Upon opening it you see roses, snacks, and a Chanel bag on the doorstep. Attached to the flowers is a card.

‘Get ready for the BEST NIGHT EVER be there @ 7<3’

Guess you have no choice now?

Once you get past his strong personality he’s actually really sweet.

His laid-back demeanor is really just a front, Satoru is a nervous wreck when it comes to talking to women. Especially You.

Is so worried about impressing you, he buys the most expensive thing on the menu. The food ends up being way too fancy for your tastes so you guys end up at a fast food place.

Orders everything off the menu there too.

Ends up getting so sick from eating too much you have to take him home to take care of him.

That was his plan all along.

★。------ ＼｜／------。★

Kento Nanami

You can’t really tell he’s flirting??

It starts as little things he does for you.

Complaining about working late? A cup of coffee is on your desk when you get to work.

No time to grab lunch? Kento coincidentally has an extra bento.

He always plays it off though:

“I just happened to make too much food.”

“We can’t afford for you to get sick, there’s too much work to get done.”

But the truth is, he hopes you complain about something so he can swoop in and fix it. On your day off, the first one in months you decide to visit a bakery you’ve seen all over Instagram. You see a tall man in front of you… he kind of looks like-

“Kento?”

“Oh. Hello.” He turns around, recognizing your voice immediately. He looks different without a suit. “I’ve never seen you here before. Might this be your first time?”

“Yeah, I saw it online and wanted to give it a shot!” You chuckle nervously.

The line moves, it’s now Kento’s turn to order.

“I’ll have the sourdough loaf, half dozen croissants and..” He turns to you “Whatever this young lady wants.”

You end up ordering a slice of chocolate cake and a few other treats. Profusely thanking your coworker for paying, ever the gentleman.

“Thanks again, please allow me to pay you back-”

“Don’t even think about it.” He says firmly, a moment passes. “Are you heading out now? Maybe we can eat some of these together—”

“YES.”

★。------ ＼｜／------。★

Choso Kamo

Actually adorable.

Follows you around like a love-sick puppy.

You need him to jump? How high?

He notices EVERYTHING about you.

“You changed your hair today. I like it.”

“I’ve never seen you in that sweater before, its pretty.” All said with an intense blush on his face.

He doesn’t really understand why you have such an effect on him, at first he thinks you cursed him or something.

But one day he’s out with Yuji and brings it up.

“Whenever I’m with (Y/N) I don’t want to leave her side. It's like I’m drawn to her.”

His younger brother just laughs.

“Sounds like you’re in love Choso.”

Love?

Once he realizes it he just flat-out confesses. Pulls you away to a secluded spot on the school grounds. There's a bouquet of roses, a teddy bear and chocolate by the base of the tree.

Takes your hands in his and looks at you with a scared but hopeful expression.

“(Y/N).. Would you please be my girlfriend?”

And your heart swoons.

[incorrectbatfam]

Jason is a hopeless romantic 100%

it just doesnt show

But everyone goes to him whn its time to plan dates

Dick: Hey, can I ask you something?

Jason, reading: No.

Dick: You see, Wally and I have our weekly date night coming up, but we've been to pretty much every place there is. You got any ideas for how to shake things up?

Jason: *scribbles coordinates and tosses him the Bat-plane keys*

[later]

Wally: Wow, I've never been to the top of the Eiffel Tower.

Dick: I'm glad you like it.

Dick: *texts Jason a thumbs up*

Jason: *read at 8:55 PM*

———————

Tim: Jason, glad you're here! I totally forgot it's me and Bernard's six-month anniversary. Help me out, man.

Jason, clipping his toenails: Fine. You better write this down 'cause I'm only saying it once.

Tim: *nods*

Jason: Go to Home Depot. You're gonna need some rope, a tarp, hammer and nails, a hatchet, matches, and fuel. After that...

Tim: *furiously takes notes*

[later]

Bernard: A camping trip was a great idea. It's nice to get away from it all. And I can't believe you set this all up yourself.

Tim, chuckling nervously: What's a boyfriend for if not to build a tent and chop down a tree?

———————

Duke: So the school dance is coming up.

Jason, working: Theme?

Duke: Under the sea.

Jason: Ugh, how cliché. Anyway, Armand's Tailoring has a blue suit that'll match whatever your girlfriend's wearing. Tell him I sent you. After that, call Patricia's Bistro and make a reservation with the code word "surreptitious." Alfred can take you in the limo if you give him a 24-hour heads-up to clean it. Once you're there, remind the DJ he owes me a favor to get your song requests bumped up. And remember, a slow dance is basically moving your feet in a square but otherwise go with the flow.

Duke: Sweet, thanks!

———————

Cass: Steph is sad.

Jason, cooking: *sighs*

Jason: *takes out a tub of ice cream*

Jason: *scoops a hole in the middle*

Jason: *fills it with candy*

Jason: Here.

Cass: Thanks!

———————

*phone rings*

Jason, waking up from a nap: What?

Kory: Sorry if I woke you. Barbara's coming over for breakfast in half an hour but I burned it with my powers. It was supposed to be eggs benedict.

Jason: Order takeout and put it on fancy plates.

Kory: You're a lifesaver—

Jason: *already hung up and went back to sleep*

———————

Kate: It's Renee's birthday tomorrow. I have a gift, but I'm not sure if it's good enough.

Jason, polishing his gun: If it's from you, it will be.

———————

Bruce: *walks in*

Bruce: Hey, son. Selina's not talking to me after our argument. How do I tell her how much she means to me?

Jason, reciting Shakespeare: I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say, "I love you."

Bruce: You're right. I'm just gonna tell it to her straight. Thank you.

Bruce: *leaves*

Jason: *takes off his headphones and turns around*

Jason: Did someone say something?

———————

Damian: Todd, what is love supposed to feel like?

Jason: Why do you want to know?

Damian: None of your concern. Now tell me.

Jason: *shoots a training dummy*

Jason: It's when they're lodged in your head like a bullet. Except without the excruciating pain and messy red stuff.

Damian, nodding: Tell me more.

———————

Roy: *takes down a villain*

Jason, sitting on a roof: *wolf whistles*

Roy: The hell?

Jason: I know hot when I see it.

Roy: What are you doing here?

Jason: I brought Arrowdogs.

Roy: You hate Arrowdogs.

Jason: But you don't.

Roy: Aw, how sweet—EYES UP HERE, TODD!

[fayesia]

Freak

Martin (In The Modern World - Fontaines D.C.)

warnings: nsfw 18+, readers lowkey mean to Martin, p in v, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, doggy style, handjob, squirting, fingering, spit play, creampie, hair pulling, rimming (brief), p with a little plot, filthy words on a screen :D

You were always cautious. Walking the same route home. Past the cobbled roads, the dark forested pine trees, and old abandoned buildings. None screamed safety nor comfort, neither of which you expected when moving into the area.

As long a you were free. Successfully escaping the pressures in your life, the heavy weight of hands pressing and pulling you, moulding you, into what they wanted you to become.

So, yes, maybe walking the same route every day to get home wasn't ideal. But neither was the sight you had to witness as you walked across the parking lot in front of your house. The car parked in it. The only car.

In it was him. Your neighbour. That freak. That beautiful fucking freak. A man clambered out, shoving the passenger door open while blood ran from his nose and mouth. His neck marked with ligatures of varying pink and red hues. Pushing past the small crowd forming he briskly stumbled away, the crowd shifting as people left and newcomers joined.

You know you should've kept walking, walking the same damn route, but you didn't. What's that's saying? Curiosity killed the cat. Well, consider yourself the cat.

Making your way over to the edge of the crowd, you stood watching, keeping at least a meter distance so as not to draw attention. His head turned to the window, the side one facing you. His mouth dropped open to reveal a blue stained tongue. Freak. You grimaced. Yet your eyes were unable to remove themselves from the sight in front of you. Your legs were stuck, glued to the cement, your brain ordered them to move, but no movement was made.

Your eyes focused on the scene in front of you, snapping you out of your disassociation, the shuffling of the crowd parting ways. Boys rode off on their bikes, women clutched their bags whispering with one another, and hooker resembling teenagers scoffed sauntering off, losing interest at the dark-haired man in the car.

The very one slumped in the car seat, heavily battered and bloodied as well as unconscious.

You turned to leave, taking two steps before swivelling back on your heels. You stood considering for a few moments the result of what your actions may cause. If the butterfly affect would, in fact, impact what was to happen due to your next decision. Well fuck that, you don't really care about the result of your actions, at least not since you moved here.

Pulling the drivers side door open, you leaned in, tentatively you waved your hand across his face. Was he awake yet? No.

Fuck. Well then. Poking him didn't work either. Grabbing his shoulders, you leaned closer.

"Martin. Martin. Wake up, Martin!"

He grumbled, regaining consciousness, but also the from the pain of his injuries. Pulling him up from the seat, a task proven easier than expected due to his thin build. It suited him. In his own way. Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, you hauled him the short walk to your house beside his. The height difference made it more a half drag on his part. You spoke in hopes of providing some comfort.

"Nearly there, Martin. Nearly home."

You didn't really like the freak, but you weren't a heartless human. His reptiles had escaped to your garden more times than he'd like to take responsibility for, and so had his toy helicopter. Resulting in more hostile neighbourly conversations between the both of you than you'd have liked, considering the majority of them happened at 2am, when he was normally awake.

Unlocking the front door, you manoeuvred Martin's flopping body onto a kitchen chair, dragging it across the floor with a loud screech that jolted him awake.

"What are you doing?"

"Calm down. I'm just trying to help. Now sit still."

You didn't mind the silence, wetting some paper towels with rubbing alcohol as you gently wiped the blood and grime off his pasty white skin. The kitchen was filled by the low hum of your broken refrigerator and the hisses coming from Martin's mouth with every swipe against his skin. His eyes followed you, throwing away the dirty tissues and packing up the first aid kit, placing it in the cupboard before making your way back to the sink.

Stood across from the seated Martin he looked up, shifting in his seat with a pink hue dusted over his cheeks.

"Guess I should go then."

"Umm yeah, let me see you out."

You both walk to the door in silence until his voice scratches out down the hallway.

"You wouldn't happen to have seen my snake have you...I left the side window open again...you know-uhm the one across from your garden."

"Again! Seriously! How many times have I told you. I don't want to see that creepy snake in my garden. What if it bites me -"

"Hey! He's friendly."

"No, i doubt that. It's probably a freak. Like you!"

He angered at your words harshly shoving you against the hallways narrow walls. There was barely any space for two people to walk, so being pinned left you feeling even more trapped. It was like the temperature had increased ten fold, your eyes widened at the close proximity between the two of you. He breath was hot and heavy against the side of your face, daring you to keep talking, but you knew better, rather content with glaring at him.

His fingers dug past the material of your faux fur coat while yours held tightly on his forearms. The silence seemed to drag on with the two of you looking into each others eyes. But it was more than that, both looking past each others iris, the pupils and the nerves, looking into each others souls.

And then he kissed you. Just like that.

His lips were on yours, and you could taste the distinctive artificial flavoured candy only just overpowered by the cigarette he must've smoked earlier.

It was suffocating and comforting. Yet freeing and ferocious. As if you had finally given into a craving after so long, like you were sinning after years of celibacy.

Your hands grappled at each other clothes, needing to remove the thick confines you were in. Various articles of clothing littered the hallway, creating a breadcrumb trail to your bedroom. His hands dug into your hair, only deepening the kiss once you were straddling his lap on your bed. Oxygen wasn't a necessity in this moment. It was the taste of each other that you both were surviving off of.

Discarding your bra, Martin removed his shirt, leaving him in his boxers. He positioned you on all fours facing away. Cold, long fingers dragged your panties off you, and you were bare to him, no feeling of shame, just need, as your arch deepened. His hand caressed the path of your spine where he lay gentle kisses, kneeling behind you, he played with the softness of your thighs and hips. The silent room was now filled by your whines of pleasure.

His mouth was on you, exploring every part of you, tasting and savouring you like it was his last meal. His tongue traced from your leaking hole down to your clit where his lips suckled more noises from you. He brought two fingers to your cunt, spreading your folds as his tongue moved through the mess of your juices and his spit, only spreading it down your inner thighs. You pressed back against Martin's face, moaning out in pleasure but his hands hooked around your thighs holding you in place while his mouth worked on you.

You were so close. "Fuck yes just like that, I'm gonna fucking come don't stop- don't you dare fucking stop."

Your words only spurred Martin on, his thumb prodded at your hole wetting it with a mix of fluids before unexpectedly moving it to your tighter hole above. The action drawing out even louder noises from you. He smiled at that and you could feel the change of expression against your pussy. "Come for me."

You didn't need asking twice, clenching the bedsheets you whined into them, your cunt gushing around Martin's tongue and drenching the bottom half of his face. Small droplets ran down his chest as you fell flat against the mattress, angling your head to see a smiling Martin.

God, what a freak.

But you thought it with a small smile this time.

One that was covered by Martin's lips once again, his body embraced yours. You tugged at his boxers, and he pulled them off barely separating from you before leaning his head back to groan up at the ceiling. Your hand wrapped tightly around his cock. It fit comfortably in your hand, what lacked in girth was made up by length.

He thrust into your hand, jerking to feel more stimulation from you, which you were sure to provide. You were comfortably laying with his cock in your hand, his hand moving to separate your thighs, leaving you open to him. His hand coming down to explore your pussy while your hand continued working on him. Entering two of his fingers you arched at the movements, your own fingers were not of the same length or thickness. Moaning out, Martin was kneeling beside you, your hand jerking him off as his fingers worked in and out of you, his thumb occasionally rubbing against your clit.

It was art. The type the Greeks would've painted. The type found in the Renaissance era.

Pure pleasure and carnal desire.

You felt your release nearing, but when Martin twitched in your hand, he removed his fingers and moved. You huffed in annoyance about to speak your mind, but his hands grabbed your body, quickly flipping you over, the same way he did to the men in that car.

Pulling your hips up and pushing your back down, you were in the same arched position as before. He breathed heavily, almost hesitant, but the teasing movement of your ass was almost too much for him to bear. Holding his cock he spat onto your cunt as he pushed the leaking tip through your folds, only further adding to the mess of your pussy.

The tightness wrapped around his cock, almost pushing him out, but the further he entered, the more your cunt sucked him in.

The two of you made noises that bounced off the walls and were certainly heard from outside your window, neither you could give less of a fuck though. His hand clutched your hair while the other guided your hips back against him with each thrust. There was nothing gentle about his movements but that only made you crave more, the feeling of his cock entering you roughly with each movement had you releasing more liquid along the length of him. It collected around the base of his cock making his movements pass easier.

He hauled you up by your hair, his front pressed against your back, his lips against your ear, licking and nipping at the soft flesh. Bringing your hands up to his head, you pulled him into a kiss. Your fingers ran through his slightly greasy hair, the black soft locks tightly wrapped around your fingers while his tongue explored your mouth.

The change of position only prompted his dick to reach even deeper inside of you. Your moans increased while his hands moved around your body, first around your throat, then down to your tits where he roughly grabbed at them and pulled at your nipples, finally coming down to your clit where his fingers rubbed harshly, spreading more of your wetness around.

That was your breaking point. Your hands reached for anything to hold onto, which was Martin's forearm. Your sharp nails dug harshly into his skin, marking it with red crescent shapes, and his dick pummeled harder into you. The both of you were nearing release. Whispering into your ear, he urged you,

"Come for me. Come around my cock, wanna feel you fuckin' tighten your pussy 'round me."

And so you did.

With a few more thrusts into you, he bottomed out as you threw your head back, moaning Martians name. You doubt he would realise with how much noise it was said with.

But he did. He relished in it.

He'd go so far to believe its what made him cum as quick as he did after you. Still deep in you his cock released his cum, with near animalistic groans and arms that embraced you tightly, willing to never let go.

The thick liquid collected inside you and as his now soft dick was pulled out you could feel it drip out between your thighs, his face nuzzled into the side of your neck as the two of your softly caught your breath, relishinng in the sex of pent up tension. The sheets now soiled by your choices. The result of angry words said in the flurry of an argument.

The consequence of fucking your freak neighbour.

[s6ngbird]

pretty little dove — coriolanus snow ༘❀⋆

♡‧₊ warnings — nsfw, p in the v, pretty much no plot, unprotected sex, kinda dub-con(?), coryo being mean

♡‧₊ pairing — peacekeeper!coryo x fem!reader

♡‧₊ a/n — erm i'm still new to this whole warning stuff so lmk if i forgot stuff 😭

masterlist | bc: @cafekitsune

when coriolanus came to district 12, he had one goal in mind, to find lucy gray

but now that he was here and had seen lucy gray again, he realized he didn't much care for her anymore

his eyes were now set on you, a poor district girl who was just trying to steal some food to feed herself until he caught you

and you fled, checking every minute or so behind you to make sure the peacekeeper wasn't following you

and you didn't see anyone thank god, you didn't know that coriolanus had let you off the hook this time but he knew he was going to have you either way

what you didn't know is that over time, as you started getting mysterious packages with food, was that coriolanus had been watching you and memorizing your schedule 

some might call it stalking, but to coryo, he was just watching out for you

who knows what could happen if he left you alone, what if some creep started stalking you?

you decided to cross the district line one day, after being told by lucy gray about how nice and peaceful it was

as you walked through the tall grass, picking up a flower and looking its pretty colors, it reminded you of the certain peacekeeper who had let you go that one day and how blue his eyes were

your happiness is cut short though, seeing a shadow fall over you and looking up to see that it was the certain peacekeeper 

“you want to explain yourself sweetheart?” he said, crouching down so that he could be eye to with you

“i was just trying to have some peace, y'know the district isn't the best place?” you said, not scared of him, why should you be?

he chuckled, moving a piece of your hair and standing up

“i like you, but you know acting like that and crossing the district line is going to get you in trouble, hm?” 

you stood up and smiled at him

“well i'm glad you were the one who caught me” you say, getting ready to leave before coriolanus kisses you hard, catching you off guard and quickly pulling away

“well i’ll see you later dove, don't let me catch you here again” he said with a smirk, and with that he left

you were stunned, unsure what that was, you had never realized that it could be possible that a peacekeeper could like a district girl

but hey there's always a first time for everything 

just like being fucked for the first time, out in the forest against a tree by the same peacekeeper who had warned you not to cross the district line again

and of course you paid no heed to his words, why would you? it's not like he was going to personally hunt you down if you did

wrong.

you also thought that he didn't like you and just wanted to turn you in

also wrong.

he was currently kissing you hard, his tongue exploring your mouth as one of his hands was rolling your nipple between his fingers, after he had ripped your thin shirt off

you cried at first when this all happened but then you felt his cock enter your soaking cunt you fell silent

this would be the first time you had ever been fucked before and it was obvious to coryo

“shit dove, loosen up for me will you? you’re so fucking tight, gripping me like a damn vice” he said, after getting his whole cock in while you kept clenching

you didn’t say a thing, you just tried to relax, but then he started moving at an unforgiving pace, breaching your cervix every so often as you gripped his shoulders, digging your nails through the fabric 

your legs started shaking and you felt tears rolling down your cheeks and coryo noticed this, laughing as you continued to slam into you, chasing his release 

he licked up your tears, reaching a hand between you two to rub your clit in order to make you come faster

coryo might not be the best man, but he’s willing to make sure you also get some pleasure through him (he just wants you to enjoy it so he can do it again later)

he fucks into you harder, kissing you over and over again to distract you from any pain or discomfort he might be causing you 

you start to feel something building up and it scares you since you had never had the experience of being fucked by anyone, let alone someone like coryo

“oh my fucking god” you feel a knot snap as you come undone on his cock, your legs shaking even more as you cling onto to coryo for dear life

he holds you up, his touch is gentle which is quite opposite of how he fucking you and laughing at your reactions

“no more please” you say, feeling tired as coryo continued to slam into you, eliciting broken moans from you 

his hips stutter and you feel something warm coat your insides, the color draining from your face as he pulls out, still holding you up and shoving his fingers in to make sure all of his cum stays in

you let out a moan as he does but he quickly takes his fingers out, shoving them in another hole, your mouth, making you taste his cum

“yeah…lick it up you dirty little slut, you gonna be mine now hm?”

[muzzledhoundsheart]

❧❧❧THE BEAST INSIDE YOUR WALLS❧

Pairing ❧ dark!Gwayne Hightower x (f)reader  

CW ❧ dubcon, blood, fingering (f), oral (m), p in v sex, m!dom, possible typos 

AN ❧ I hope you guys enjoy this one! I had a pretty hard time with deciding if I’m gonna post it or scrap it and work on it another time or completely rewrite it but I think it pulled itself together pretty well in the end. Also sorry for any typos of any kind, I edit everything myself and English is my second language so some stuff slips to the cracks real fast (always makes me want to die when I see it ahaha) 

Fog hung thick over the trees, weaving itself round the crowns, through every branch hanging like shawls. Or more like nooses, Gwayne thought to himself. Him and his men rode through the forrest for hours now, seemingly without an end in sight. At every corner they rounded they found the same scenery, all blurring into one. While he enjoyed the status of being a knight, the glitz and glam of tournaments, young ladies fawning over him and men respecting him. He hated days like these. The sweat in his armor running cold down his back, the uncomfortableness spreading further, seeping deep into his very bones. 

„I see a village there! “, one of his men shouts. Oh, thank the gods he thought. Finally, some rest. He just hopes to find a good meal, a warm bed and a pretty whore to end the day well with. He could see in his men that they were all thinking the same, or at least some variation of it. They were so close they could almost make out the houses now, when suddenly, a shrill scream echoed through the Forrest. The horses were on high alert and almost knocked their riders off. It wasn’t just a scream of fear, it ran much deeper. The men looked to Gwayne unsure of how to proceed. „Sounds like a fucking banshee.“, a shorter roundish man spat with a heavy drawl. „My father used to warn me about them screams in Forrests, they’re luring you in to skin you alive.“, another one said. „Oh horseshite it’s probably just a kid who ran off and now can’t find their way back, serves ´em little cunts right.“ What a troop of heroes, Gwayne thought to himself. 

He took a deep breath and stifled a sigh, „You go on, I shall see if the forrest nymphs truly are calling for me.“ He said with a boyish smirk adorning his lips. The men looked uneasy but accepted his order and started their journey anew. Just as Gwayne was about to turn around to ride deeper into the thicket again he heard another blood curdling scream. His brows furrowed and he gripped the reigns tighter, dashing towards the noise. The closer he seemed to get, the colder his sweat ran down his neck, his thoughts running rampant stringing together gruesome paintings of violence and agony. Another scream, and it sounded awfully close. He drew his sword and the muscles in his pale back pulled taught, shifting underneath his freckled skin and sending a rush of adrenaline through his veins. The sight before him was, however, not what he imagined. 

A young woman was desperately struggling to climb up a mangled tree, she gained some footage and pulled herself up another branch, pained grunts leaving her mouth and blood dripping from her arm and side — drip drip dripping down from the wounds running down to her naked toes. Beneath the tree stood two wolfs, blood and saliva dripping from their snouts, bubbling around the corners making them look rabid, hungry — starving. The wolves didn’t even care about the deafening noise the hooves of his humongous stallion made, no, they were set on her, having already had a taste of her sweet flesh, eager for more.

 Gwayne ceased the opportunity and aimed for one of the wolves, within a few strives he was close enough to slash the back of one of them, their head hanging on by what little sinew the sword didn’t quite reach. This, finally, caught the other wolf's attention and he growled at Gwayne, ready to tear into his horse, pull him off and rip him apart, piece by bloody piece. Gwayne was faster though, stabbing the wolf in it’s side on one swift motion, his sword cutting into the wolf like velvet, releasing a gut-wrenching whimper, the wolf folded into itself while blood spurted out of it’s wound and snout, until his eyes glossed over, and his labored breathing stopped. It was almost beautiful how such such a beastly being perishes so pathetically, he thought, almost forgetting about the woman still hanging desperately onto the rotting branches of the tree in front of him. „My Lady... I’m afraid the branch will break soon.“ 

It took some time for the woman to realize what just happened. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, her chest heaving up and down heavily. Taking in her appearance, now being close enough to do so, Gwayne noticed how she was dressed, a white thin linen dress, almost looking like a nightgown, with nothing else covering her shivering form. Furthermore, the dress was ripped in multiple spots and her blood blossomed into the fabric, spreading like a visceral garden over her attire. She held her side with one hand and Gwayne noticed that her dress was ripped around her breast as well, it laid openly naked above the hand holding her side. What a lucky man Gwayne was. „Thank- thank you Ser. By the gods thank you.“ She breathed out, her voice sounding hoarse and rough. Gwayne dismantled his horse, hiding his almost perverse smile behind this mundane display.

 He approached the tree and held out his hand for her. Standing tall in front of it, he was sure the woman could reach him if she crouched down. „Let me help, my Lady.“ He said in the softest voice he could muster in this moment, his lips stretching into a friendly, warm smile. If only she knew. The woman was still apprehensive but did eventually crouch down and let him aid her in climbing back down. When she was on a brach low enough, Gwayne cupped the back of her knee and hauled her into his arms. She let out a surprised yelp and blinked up at him through thick lashes. The woman was caked in grime and blood, sweat clung to her body like second skin, but she was beautiful, nonetheless. 

„You’re all good now.“, he said, slowly lowering her to the ground while steadying her. Her hand went to her torn dress, trying to hold it up to hide her bareness. Before words could leave her mouth, he already unbuckled his cape and draped it around her shivering form. „What a predicament you were in ,my Lady. If you let me, I would take you to the nearest village to have a healer look at your wounds.“ He said not letting his gentle hold on her shoulders go. His fingertips slowly wandered up and down the familiar fabric in a soothing matter. „I would owe you my life, Ser.“, she haughtily breathed out.

 He was sure she’s lost enough blood to barely be conscious, especially now that the adrenaline is steadily leaving her body. His face contorted into a look of concern, „I might have to look at your wounds now and tend to them as best as I can. Forgive me but you’re looking awfully pale, my Lady.“ She let out an amused sound at that. „You might as well do it now, yes.“ she was swaying, on the cusp of fainting. Gwyane knelt down in front of her, slowly bunching up her skirt. The wound in her side wasn’t as bad as he initially thought, he got up again and assured the woman that he was only getting one of his satchels off his horse. He then proceeded to clean her wounds, dressing them in cloth and sending her assuring looks through his copper lashes. The woman felt like she was dreaming, being saved by such a beautiful kind man. 

He looked like a knight from a fairytale, his face was carved out of ivory, his eyes like the stormy waters that ran through the land and his copper hair falling around his cheekbones framing his pretty face. He got up again, wiping his hands on a cloth, discarding it after by dropping the bloodied cloth back into the satchel. „That should do it for now.“, he said. The woman was still dazed and looked at him as if he was a prince of the realm. „I cannot thank you enough.“ She expressed grasping tighter onto his cloak. „ Not to worry, my Lady, i have to wonder however you got yourself in this situation though.“. She looked flustered and diverted her eyes. „I was visiting my brother to take care of him, the cold got to him and i was afraid he wouldn’t make it out alive on his own. I thought taking the route through the forrest would get me home quicker, how foolish of me.“ 

Foolish indeed Gwayne thought to himself, stifling a grin. „I could offer you a bed for tonight as my thanks, Ser.“, her eyes lit up saying that, and Gwayne almost felt bad for how genuine she looked. It was rare to find someone seemingly believing in the simple kindness of man nowadays. He also wondered if she knew just what she implied with her statement, well he surely wouldn’t mind if that was what she was thinking of. Just the thought brought a shiver down his skin straight to his cock, it has been so long since he got to indulge himself after-all. „I would happily accept, my Lady“ he took her small shivering hand in his and brought it to his lips. She looked like she was about to faint again and before she started swaying, he decided to steady her with his arm around her waist. The woman stole many glances at him, and his breast swelled with pride — arrogance. He was sure he got kissed by Lady Luck tonight. 

He helped her mount his house and put her legs over his, one arm caging her in, so she „will be safe with him.“. They started trotting towards the small village nearby, her directions were surely helpful, making them arrive sooner than he anticipated.

They rode through a small marketplace coming across some of his men pointing him out to what seemed to be their bedwarmers for the night. Shouts of his heroism were heard, and the roundish man yelled „Not a banshee then ,aye?“. The woman then led him the way to a small hut. Nothing special really, made of wood and stone and mud. It looked solid — just — with greenery not only surrounding it but winding itself into every nook and cranny. They unmounted and she, still shaky on her feet, let him inside the small hut. 

His heavy boots stomped down on the creaky floor as he took his surroundings in; it was…homely. Certainly homely. A small kitchen met a big cozy bed draped in different fabrics and knit blankets. Books and various other items were strewn about, but it looked like it had a system at least. „You may take the bed and I will get you something to freshen up.“. Gwayne looked to her and swiftly grasped her wrist „I would rather claim my reward now, my Lady“. „I’m not sure what you mean.“ Her heartbeat quickened; she couldn’t have been so blind could she? He towered over her taking steps forward until both reached one of the wooden clad walls. She felt as if her flesh would freeze off, needles and pins spreading all over her body, her stomach in knots. „Remove my cloak“. All kindness vanished from his voice. She was staring at him, frozen in time. Cold cold cold fear encompassing her. „Now.“ he almost growled. 

Shaking hands reached up to open the claps, the thick fabric pooling around her still bare and bloodied feet. His eyes raked over her form, half naked and quivering before him. So delicious. His hand reached out to her, making her flinch away hard. This made his cock twitch, hard and wanting in his breeches. He moved quick and ripped the already torn dress to complete shreds. The cloth fell off her breasts entirely and he could almost make out her rapid heartbeat through her chest. The quick — thump thump thump — spurring him on even more. 

Gwayne’s hands found solace on her ribcage, his calloused thumbs slowly tracing the underline of her breasts, making her nipples pebble. The motion was almost soothing but her it felt like a predator seizing up his prey, installing fear in it and calculation their next move. She didn’t dare to breathe which he took note of — it made him chuckle. A deep rumble coming out of his chest. „I wont hurt you“. 

Liar.

She knew he would, they both did. His hands now cupping her breasts, clutching them tightly, pinching and pulling at her flesh. Small gasps left her mouth and she never felt more vulnerable than in this moment. He dipped his head to her level, copper strands kissing his cheekbones. His right hand followed her clavicles, up the tendons on her neck and settled on her throat. The pressure applied made her lightheaded. „Why don’t you sing my praises, huh, your great hero deserves more than this don’t you think?“ She wanted to bite that smug smirk off his face.

 It felt like he could sense what she thought, and he chose to attack first. His lips captured hers in a searing kiss. Gwayne’s tongue slipped into her mouth and he tasted every part of her. When they finally parted, her breaths were labored, chest heaving and saliva coated the bottom of her face, strings of it connecting them like a wet spider web. He kissed her again and again, growing more aggressive with each one, biting and pulling at her lips and tongue until she tasted the iron now coating their lips. She was ashamed of herself for how wet she’s gotten. Wetness slowly running down the inside of her thighs, as she felt how hard and wanting Gwayne has gotten himself. 

While Gwayne was biting and shucking at the juncture of her throat he ripped the last shreds of her gown hanging around her hips apart, leaving her completely exposed to his hungry eyes. Goosebumps littered her body as the cold air hit her skin, which was a welcome distraction from Gwayne’s searing touch, dipping lower and lower. He reached her mount and and slid a single finger between her folds. His lips breathed hot against her cheek „What a tight little cunt“, he moaned as he sunk his finger deep inside her. She wanted to run away, call for help and have him beheaded, but in this moment the coil winding itself in her stomach craved him to keep going, to do more. And do more he did. Another finger slipped into her — two long slender fingers stretching her tight wetness out in fluid motions. His paced steadily increased and he looked like he was about to rip her chest open with his teeth. Her breast heaving into his face and sweat slowly dripping into his face. He licked a long stripe up her artery and bit down, just hard enough to force a strangled groan out of her bruised lips. 

She was burning from the inside out from shame — it felt so delicious, being mauled alive. Just as she was about to completely lose herself in the pleasure, he withdrew his hand. „Get on your knees“, he commanded breathless and harsh. Her eyes refocused on him, and he sunk down, big, clouded eyes fixed on the flushed head of his cock. She didn’t even notice that he partially undressed himself. „Open“, he said as his thumb pressed down on her plump lower lip and hand wrapping around her throat again, much tighter this time. He ran the tip of his leaking cock along the edge if her teeth, finding great amusement in it. Even if she were to bite him, he could snuff her out in seconds. „Don’t tell me you don’t know what to do now, you’re definitely not a maiden,“ She was — but he didn’t need to know. She’s heard enough tales from friends and the brothel workers scurrying about the market when they found the time.

Light-headed form the lack of oxygen and limited in her movement she began running her tongue along his cock. Up and down the head, following a prominent vein slithering along the underside of it. Gwayne groaned and pulled her in by the throat. She sputtered around him, his cock reaching deep into her throat now. He left her no time to catch a breath, moving his hips in a fast irregular rhythm. „That’s it, take it“, he breathed out. His cock slipping in and out her mouth faster with every thrust. Spit dripped down his sack as cradled her head against his pelvis bone. Her eyes rolled up her skull and he swore he would have a corpse around his pulsating cock any minute now. Showing some mercy, he released her, and she gulped down deep breaths of air — coughing them right back out again. Her teary eyes looked longingly at his cock, bobbing and pulsating still, thick drops of precum dripping onto the hard wooden floor. Before she could do much of anything he leaned down and seized her by her claves. Pulling her, with her back on the floor now, closer to him. 

His hands pawed at her thighs and trapped fistfuls of plush fat for leverage. Her lower half hung in the air, and he had a full view of her creaming cunt. Gwayne halted for a short moment, asking himself if he wanted to taste her first, lick up the viscous fluids of her drooling cunt, dripping onto the floor. He discarded the idea and chose to position his cock at her entrance. In one harsh thrust he was inside of her, setting a brutal pace. The small hut was filled with wet slapping noises, moans and groans. Gwayne fucked her as if he intended on killing her. Her body like putty in his string hands and her cunt growing hotter and tighter around his swollen cock. He crouched down lower and threw one of her legs over his shoulder, rutting so deep into her she swore she would never be able to feel whole again without his cock in her. Her desperate whimpers turned into incoherent screams. They ran down deep into Gwayne’s bones and spurred him on as he felt his release coming. His final thrusts were brutal, kissing her cervix and bruising her pelvic bone in it’s wake. He grabbed her throat again and squeezed as his sack tightened and he released hot spurts of thick cum into her womb. They both stayed like this for many moments. He could still feel her walls convulsing around his softening cock, her soft hands laying atop his around her throat, wordlessly begging to release her. When he did, her body fell to the ground with a thud. Her legs still open, arms crossed above her head and her wounds weeping again. Sweat, blood and cum dripping out of her and mingling into a visceral painting of lust. Gwayne brushed his damp hair out of his face and slowly redressed. How he wished to paint the scene before him to take with him out on the battlefields. Alas — he grabbed his sword and pointed it down at her belly, slowly tracing a line up between her breasts and resting below her chin. „I don’t want any red-headed bastards running around, make sure to take care of it.“. „I-i will, don’t worry.“ He nodded curtly and threw her one last glance before leaving her hut. Her heart was still beating like a rabbit running away from a pack of wolves. She hoped the beast would trace her scent and find his way to her again soon.

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

Dick had to give it to the kid, he'd somehow thought of everything. It was a little concerning, actually, but the kid had brushed off every attempt had probing for answers. Who trained him? If he was trained at all. ...had the kid gone into vigilantism alone? Oh, dear. THat's not good fro Dick's current worries.

Reading the file Danny had handed him, Dick had to wonder how long it had taken him to put together this cover story. Also, where he'd managed to get the equipment to do it. At a glance, the kid didn't seem to have much on him. Not even a phone!

He closed the folder and set it back down on the table. "Really?" he asked, "'Congratulations, it's a boy'?"

Danny's cheeks turned a bit red as his gaze shifted to the folder. "Well, yeah. You're stuck with me now until I can get you into good habits and a healthier schedule."

"That implies that you're planning on leaving."

Danny shrugged, all his confidence now fading away. Is this what he's really like? "Well, I mean, I'm sure you don't want me sticking around at all, let alone for a while."

Dick frowned and looked back at the black folder and the binder sitting on his coffee table. God, his apartment's a mess! He smiled at Danny. "My name's Richard, but everyone calls me 'Dick'. You can stay in the guest room."

Danny lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. "Really?"

"Yep. You went to all this work, it'd be a shame if it all went to waste."

The grin on Danny's face was more than worth the security risk that he now posed. "You won't regret it, Mr. Dick!"

Dick smiled back at him, "Please, drop the formalities. We're cousins, apparently."

Was he attached? No. He wouldn't allow himself to get attached. Sure, maybe he was letting this kid - he really needs to start calling him Danny - stay with him for a while, but he wasn't going to get attached. Getting attached meant losing him. Dick wasn't sure he'd be able to survive if he lost someone again.

...damn it.

***

First order of business, now that Danny was officially Dick's - why would he willingly go by that nickname? - ward/cousin, Danny was going to make sure he got some sleep. Today was Dick's day off, so Danny had sent him to his room to take a much needed nap. The man was basically dead on his feet and Danny would be damned if he let him wander around this mess of an apartment with blurry vision.

The second thing he did, once he was sure Dick was asleep, was start to clean up. The place was a stereotypical bachelor's pad, complete with questionable stains in the carpet, rips in the cushions, dishes piled up in the sink, and old take-out on every table and counter. Gross.

He made quick work of the old take-out by throwing it all away and hitting it with a very small and controlled ectoblast. He was so glad Dick had disposable gloves on hand.

The dishes were the next thing he handed. The water was cleaner than in Gotham, so he didn't worry about washing the dishes by hand when they all didn't fit in the dishwasher. He dried the ones he'd hand washed before putting them away. Dick had no organisation in his cupboards, so Danny fixed that, too.

The fridge and freezer weren't too bad. Sure, the dairy products had all expired and most of the food was freezer bitten, but none of it was moldy yet and the appliance itself was in perfect working order. He'd have to go shopping later.

Danny had never liked cleaning, but he'd had to when his parents refused to follow any OSHA laws or Lab Safety courses. So, when he found the cleaning supplies, he took a deep breath and began scrubbing the bathroom. It wasn't too bad, thank god, and was already fairly clean. It was quick and he was able to move on very quickly.

The counters, tables, walls, and tile and wooden floors were all easy to clean with a wet rag and a broom. He wasn't going to even try saving the rug because it looked well beyond the point of no return. The couch and chair cushions could be sticked up, but he didn't have a sewing needle and thread with him.

The last thing he did before taking his backpack into the room he'd been given was to write down a shopping list and leave it on the counter. It wasn't a lot, just food and some dishes and toiletries. He'd have to figure out with Dick a way to pay rent, too, but that was a later Danny problem. He'd tired himself out and was still running on pretty much empty. So, he allowed himself to fall asleep. He'd check on Dick when he woke up.

Part 4 Part 6

Tag List:

@flame-343 @ghestie93 @anarinette @aglmry @peachtreewriter @evix-syne666 @loudlypanickinginvenezolano @lumosfeather18581

[theveil-and-thepath]

Mini PAC n° 3: Three things that will be solved before the end of mercury retrograde

Pile 1 (red) - Pile 2 (orange) - Pile 3 (green) - Pile 4 (blue)

You can pick more than one! Just follow your heart!

The current mercury retrograde period ends on december 15th 2024, so this may also be read as 3 things that will soon happen to you.

*This is a source of entertainment, your destiny is in your hands.*

Pile 1

1 - Three of Wands , Four of Swords, XVI Thunderbolt (The Tower). Ring , Lily , Sun. Jupiter in Virgo – Patience

2 - The Lovers , Ace of Swords. Seven of Water (cups) - Projections. Fish , Clover , Ship. Moon in Virgo – Order

3 - The Chariot , Seven of Pentacles, Ace of Clouds (swords) - Consciousness. Fox , Stars , Whip. Venus in Virgo – Discrimination

🌸 You will hear news of someone who has been far away or hasn't been in touch for a while. Good for people in long distance relationships or who are waiting for your partner to return from a trip. The waiting time will be over.

🌸 Arrangements for a long awaited trip will be successful. The money for a trip will appear. A friend or partner may help you in these. You may receive good news from abroad. Some of you will receive a package or be able to ship something that may have been stuck (if you have a business and a customer had issues with their order, it will be resolved).

🌸 You will call out on someone, or pass judgement on them, vocally make a criticism towards them, after you have been observing their behaviour for a while. You may remove things or paperwork from your room/ or your life after you see it no longer aligns with your values. You can declutter your house and your life. You may be very black and white or extreme when it comes to deciding the objects that stay or leave.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Pile 2

1 - King of Wands , Four of Pentacles, Queen of Clouds (swords) - Morality. Ship , Coffin , Anchor. Mars in Libra – Choice

2 - Five of Swords , Nine of Cups, XII New vision (The Hanged Man). Tree , Man , Book. Jupiter in Scorpio – Manipulation

3 - Page of Swords , The High Priestess, Queen of Clouds (swords) - Morality.Stork , Dog , Tower. Sun in Aquarius – Idealism

🌸 I think you may change jobs, or decide you want a different boss, or go solo in business. You will decide to invest money in yourself and your future. You learn that clinging to your present self will not give you stability. You let go of your resistance to change.

🌸 You will undergo deep learning of some sort. It can be an argument you have, or a man in your life may bring something up that you hadn't noticed before. This can be self realization of your own patterns or about their behavior or someone else's behavior. It is a moment to be awakened and see which relationships are toxic in your life, or the bad habits you have, you will decide to be smarter from now on.

🌸 Sorry about the repetitive message, but you will decide to change your life in order to live according to your standards. You will raise your standards or realize that what you once dreamed and seemed far is, in fact, an achievable goal. After a period of introspection, as soon as mercury turns direct you may witness yourself changing your own life. This makes perfect sense for mercury retrograde in sagittarius, you will use all your intellect and intuition to enact change and give birth to a new life for yourself. Coming from the page to the queen of swords, you mature a lot and decide to bring a stable foundation.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Pile 3

1 - Three of Cups , Five of Swords, Ten of Clouds (swords) - Rebirth. Ring , Child , Moon. Venus in Cancer – Birth

2 - Seven of Cups , Eight of Cups, Knight of Fire (wands) - Intensity, Stork , Crossroad , Fish, Mars in Virgo – Criticism

3 - The Emperor , Six of Cups, Three of Rainbows (pentacles) - Guidance, Heart , Lily , Sun, Venus in Scorpio – Secrets

🌸 You will solve a problem with your mother or family. You either get the reconciliation you thought impossible, with them bringing a peace offer to you; or you break up and end a relationship to start anew. A new life or a new relationship may start after the old is gone.

🌸 If someone is rude to you or overly proud, you may turn your back to them temporarily. You will assess some of your life choices and chase only what makes you feel good.

🌸 The third thing that will be solved is that you will no longer feel lonely because you may discover someone at work has feelings for you. Or someone at work will be very gentle and nurturing and teach you or assist you with something. A man also has sexual intentions towards you, but you will see this as something to bring you great joy. I'd say a situation with a crush may be resolved or progress.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Pile 4

1 - Six of Wands , Queen of Wands, XXI Completion (The World), Rider , Key , Lily, Venus in Capricorn – Convention

2 - King of Pentacles , Eight of Wands, Four of Water (cups) - Turning in, Child , Fox , Clover, Venus in Cancer – Birth

3 - Nine of Cups , Ten of Wands, XXI Completion (The World), Heart , Sun , Crossroad, Mercury in Taurus – Resistance

🌸 You will successfully complete something that was difficult or that you depended upon someone else's input to conclude. The other person does their part, or you manage it yourself, but it is solved brilliantly. Something you do during this period will bear a LOT of fruit, and i think people will even compliment you, say you are perfect at something, they will look up to you, and all eyes and attention will be on you. You can be seen as beautiful as well, or a suitable and attractive person for marriage.

🌸 You will receive a surprise opportunity. I think you will spot, very cleverly, an opportunity. For some, you will set your eyes on a new romantic prospect. For others, you will find a way to speed up something that may have been slow.

🌸 You may second guess or start to question your relationship. Alternatively, you will ask yourself "Am i truly happy with all of these accomplishments? Was it all worth the effort?". You will take time to think if what you seem to love truly brings you joy.

[averycutesalamander]

Brighter than the Sun, Bigger than the Moon

wc: 8k. hurt/comfort, angst with a happy (kinda bittersweet?) ending, warning for vague mentions of sex. also up on ao3 if that's your preference

One of the greatest mysteries in the universe is that of soulmates.

They’ve existed for as long as history itself – perhaps even longer. No one knows if it’s the influence of an Aeon, or if it’s something stranger; the most recent theory is that Aha is behind it all, but it’s a joke to even think about getting a straight answer from THEM. Not every soul bond is the same, and they don’t even have to be romantic or sexual; plenty of them start and remain as entirely platonic, but either way, you have a partner for life. The details differ person-by-person as well; some have matching marks, some have a red string, some can't see color until they meet. 

Shared dreams are on the uncommon end of the spectrum - even more so when they live on different planets. Such is the case for you and the boy who will later be known as Boothill. 

When he first sees you in his dream, he thinks little of it; you’re another unknown face among a sea of strangers. He’s busy climbing a seemingly endless mountain, chasing a spectacularly evasive lizard that’s as large as a cow; Nick has just started talking about teaching him how to ride horses, and damn it all, he just can’t wait. Just when he manages to climb on its back, the earth shakes underneath him, and he starts to slide off – then, out of nowhere, you appear on the beast’s back, grabbing his hand and pulling him back on.

When he really sees you for the first time, he thinks your smile is brighter than the sun. 

Even as a kid, he's deeply charmed by you. When he mentions the friend he made in his dream one night during dinner, Nick and Graey are so overjoyed that they light up the whole room with their grins. You're his soulmate – but, really, all he cares about is that you're very funny and nice and are a lot of fun to play with. Every night, you talk and play games and run around in elaborate environments that the two of you create together. The dream can be static, if you want it to be – so the two of you make a giant oak tree in the middle of a field to mark your names on, and mutually decide to meet there every night. Eventually, you start to mark your heights on it; the notches get higher and higher every year, and you joke that you'll need to start climbing branches if he gets much taller. 

As a teen, he tries to teach you horseback riding, but it turns out that trying to do things that only one of you understands is a lot harder in the dream, especially when that task involves an animal that neither of you can quite control; eventually, you promise him that one day, you'll visit his home, and he can teach you in person. 

That's the thing, though. Neither of you have a damn clue where his planet is. You searched for it when he told you the name, the syllables clear and crisp on his tongue – but you can't find any matches, which leaves you with little to go on. And he certainly won't be able to find you, but…

Both of you try not to worry about it. You'll find some way to meet, eventually. You're soulmates, after all. 

You're with him as he grows into an adult, from a sweet boy to an equally sweet man, though he now reserves most of the sugar for you. You're with him the night after he makes his first kill, after the first bloody drops of justice stain his hands. You're with him the night after he claims his first bounty; when you ask how much he got for it, the two of you spend an embarrassing length of time trying to figure out the value of each other's currencies. You're with him the night after he takes his first bullet wound; though he's put on a strong face for Nick and Graey, he lets himself whine dramatically into your neck, bemoaning how fussy Graey has been and how he'll have to obey his order for bed rest, lest he invoke his wrath.

And every step of the way, he's with you, too - comforting you on bad days and celebrating with you on good ones, hugging you through friend breakups and laughing with you over inane drama. When one of your close friends dies, he holds you while you sob, gently rocking you; when you recover, he quietly asks if there's anything you want to do in the dream to remember them by – a memorial. With your voice raw and your lips trembling, you tell him about a tradition on your planet – one where you plant something in memory of the lost; you are obligated to care for it, naturally, and as the plant grows, you will heal with it as well. You decide to plant a cypress, not too far from the oak; he helps you pat down the dirt around it, the dust on your skin washing away with your tears. 

There are good times, too. On one of your birthdays, he tries to figure out how to conjure some malt juice for you to try – but the whiskey is awfully hard to get right, and the flavor never quite matches reality. You try to let him taste some bizarre fruity drink from your home, only to have the exact same problem. “Why is it sour?” you grouch, a cute little pout on your lips. “It should be sweet, and just a little tart!” He watches you speak with fond, dreamy eyes, soaking in your warmth like the sun. No, he thinks, the sun doesn't even compare. 

You're still fledgling adults when you first tell him you love him. 

You say it so simply, so easily, like it's the most obvious thing in the world; your head rests on your hands as you lounge in the pleasantly fuzzy grass, your eyes soft and tender in a way he never knows how to handle. “I love you,” you tell him, right in the middle of a fifteen-minute ramble about his latest bounty. 

He stops dead, every function in his brain going on pause. After a beat too long, he stutters, “I– Really?”

Your smile widens. “Yeah. Bigger than the moon.”

He throws up his brows dramatically, just in the way that always makes you laugh. “Really?” he drawls, faking skepticism. “The moon’s pretty fuckin’ big, sunshine.”

Your snicker makes his whole body light up with warmth. “Yeah, that's the point.”

As the two of you mature, you get closer - a lot closer, as soulmates often do. The night he chooses to kiss you isn't because of some other special event; perhaps the stars in your dream make you look just a bit more exceptional; perhaps you smile at him in a way that makes him a little too hungry; perhaps he just wants to do it for no reason in particular. Either way, he kisses you, clumsy and wanton and embarrassingly lovestruck, and you reciprocate with just as much passion, making sweet little noises into his mouth as he nibbles at your tongue with blunt teeth. 

It becomes routine, then. When he first leaves the waking world and enters your shared dream, he kisses you sweetly in greeting before asking about your day. When it's time to wake, he gives you another as a parting gift - deep and passionate and longing, some nights more than others. And with every night that passes, your touches get a little bolder, a little needier, a little hungrier; he licks into your mouth with enough fervor to steal your breath away, and you moan so prettily under him that he feels like his heart is going to burst from his chest. 

The topic of sex comes up eventually, if a bit hesitantly. Somehow, he's more shy about talking about it than you, but after some back-and-forth, both of you agree that you'd like to save it for the real thing. When he sinks into you for the first time, he wants to really feel you, wants to hold you in his arms, wants to nibble at your skin without an inch of distance between the two of you – because as wonderful as it is to kiss you in the dream, he just knows that it won't compare to the real thing. 

Eventually, he finds that little girl in the snow; as he tells you about her, about her cheeks rounded with baby fat, about her sweet brown eyes, about the way she tugs on his hair every chance she gets, you smile brilliantly enough to put the sun to shame. You ask what her name is, and he just shrugs. “Never been good at naming things,” he says; he named his first horse Blackjack because he won it in a game of blackjack - simple as that. You laugh – that sweet laugh that always makes his heart skip – and think about it for a time, staring at the impossible stars as you ponder. You rattle off a few names that you think would be cute, mostly just as an idle exercise - but when he hears "Clementine," his eyes light up. 

"That's the one," he tells you, staring at you with a love warm enough to melt ice. "That's her name. It's a cute one, ain't it, sunshine?”

He loves you. He's known for years, for his whole life, from the moment you reached down and offered him your hand; he loves you more than the sunlight, more than the shimmering stars in the sky, more than a fresh breeze on a hot summer day. He's always loved you, and not a damn thing will change that. 

He'll have to marry you, once the two of you finally meet in person; he thinks he wouldn't be able to look at your hands without imagining a pretty ring on your finger.

And then the men in black arrive. 

He's immediately wary, he tells you – but when he describes them in more detail, about the strange device they gave him that granted impossible knowledge, your expression darkens like the sky before a storm. He wishes he felt anything other than dread when you confirm his suspicions. 

“That's the IPC,” you mumble, your eyes distant and quietly resentful – he's never seen such a severe look on your face. “You should be careful, honey. They're always bad news, no matter where they go.”

Neither of you could anticipate just how right you were.

Once the fighting begins, your worry increases with every day that passes. “I know it's awful, sweetheart, but… You should try to find somewhere for your folks to escape to.” Your eyes are dull with terror – fear for him, for his family, for his home, for his life. “And you should go with them. No one wins against the IPC.”

He scoffs, prickling subtly. “You're tellin' me to just run? That I should just let ‘em do whatever the fuck they please?”

There's a gravity to your sorrow – like you're grieving a tragedy that hasn't happened yet. “Maybe you'll hate me for saying this, but… yeah, I think you should run.” You turn away from him, wiping your freshly budding tears away. He doesn't move to comfort you. “It's better to lose and survive than to lose and die. At least there would be something left.”

“We ain't gonna lose,” he spits, glowering at your back. He doesn't feel ready to wake up, but he doesn't want to be here anymore. “You'll see.”

It's the first fight you've ever had. 

Neither of you know that it will be the last. 

They lose. 

They're crushed beneath the cruel boot of absolute power, of weaponry that they can barely comprehend. One by one, his siblings, his friends – all of them die, their lives stolen in squabbles that they never win. 

For weeks, he doesn't meet you by the oak tree. For weeks, he takes refuge in the dark forest you once played in, the pine needles beginning to crumble from the withering trees. He thinks, and plans, and plots – but he does so alone, still fuming over his hurt pride. 

But his pride does nothing for him when the world is aflame, when his home has crumbled into charred wood, when his family has been reduced to ash, when his entire life has gone up in smoke. 

When he finally returns to the oak tree, you're already waiting there, your shoulders hunched and the air deathly still. The leaves on the oak are beginning to yellow at the edges; the grass in the field around you has begun to shrivel; the sky has been muddled with clouds so dark that they look like ink. 

For a long, long moment, he stands and stares, suddenly feeling as if he's been hollowed out. Then, as if you hear his heart crying out for you, you look up at him and his tear-smeared face and his red-rimmed eyes–

And you know. 

He falls to pieces in your arms. You don't breathe a word of anger to him – only quiet, futile comforts and gentle apologies. He cries so hard that he feels like he’s been gutted, like he’s been dissected, like he’s been bled out and left to dry. His anguish and regret and anger bleed from his eyes, staining your dream with grief. 

He's an idiot. He was such a fucking idiot, thinking it was a good idea to abandon you after that spat. It seems so goddamn stupid now that he's looking at your tired, worried face, now that he sees the evidence of your pain all around him, in the fields and in the sky. 

In that moment, he makes two promises to himself: 

One: he'll never leave you alone like that again, no matter what. Even if he's angry, even if he's annoyed, even if he has to go out of his way, even if fate itself tries to keep you apart – he will never leave you. 

Two: he's going to slaughter that man. 

“I'm gonna fuckin’ butcher him,” he rasps, his voice ragged from sobbing. “The one that gave the order. I'm gonna find that son of a bitch, and I'm gonna make him wish he weren't ever born.”

“Okay,” you respond quietly, like a wisp of smoke. “You'll… It'll be really difficult. If he's an executive…”

“I've got a plan.” His voice sounds more somber than he'd like, but the anger sank beneath the surface the moment he laid eyes on you again, the moment he saw the leaves withering on the oak tree. 

He tells you about the half-baked plan he's got brewing. He's going to commandeer a ship and find someone that can make him invincible. While he bears the weakness and complications of flesh and blood, while he's weighed down by his mortality, he'll never be able to slaughter his way to the top. 

So he'll cast aside his mortality, his morality, the sanctity of his body. 

He has to admit that he's grateful that you don't protest. You don't try to stop him, don't waste your time failing to convince him; you only listen, your eyes sad and dark. And in the following days, you earn his gratitude a thousand times over; when you search for his planet now, you get a match – and with your guidance in this new, terrifying world, he finds a mechanic that will help him begin his hunt in earnest. 

(You don't tell him about the official records that the IPC put down for his planet – how his people “died in a mysterious disaster.” His cup is already overflowing with rage; you worry that if it fills any further, he'll collapse.)

The night before he meets with the mechanic is a somber one. 

“Please be safe,” you whisper, as fragile as a breath of wind. “Please. Promise you'll come back to me.”

“I promise,” he tells you, firm and earnest. He reaches up, cupping your face in both hands, thick and rough with callouses. “I'll come back, sweetheart. I promise.” Almost hesitantly, tentative to bridge the gap, he presses a tender kiss to your lips. “I love you so much, sunshine.”

The smile you give him is tired and weary – dimmer than the stars. 

“I love you too,” you answer, your throat tight, “bigger than the moon.”

You'll be brighter than the sun again, one day – he'll be sure of it. Even if he has to strangle the light from the sky with his bare hands, he'll be sure of it. 

He's not quite prepared for the long, aching hours he spends in limbo, while his humanity is surgically removed and replaced with cold, unmoving steel. 

The darkness has seeped into every seam of his body, creeping into the cracks of his spirit like an invasive weed, the roots disturbing the fractured pieces of his heart.

He wonders, for a time, if any of this is worth it at all; if his family would even want him to strive for vengeance like this; if Nick and Graey would be happier if he settled down with you and forgot the bitter past, letting the wounds heal, letting the ash turn to dirt until it blooms with new growth. He can almost hear Graey’s voice in his ear. “Nothing can change the past, sweetpea. When something breaks and can’t be fixed, you have to let it go.”

He thinks of you – of your sad, tired eyes, of how desperately you held him when he last dreamed.

The heavy chains of grief bind him, sinking him deeper into the black.

But then he thinks of little Clementine, of her bright laughter, of her wobbling steps – and the doubt is incinerated in a fire hotter than the sun, the chains melting and reforming into an armor that cuts inside and out.

He claws his way out of the dark, his heart burning with rage, his chest aching with sadness.

“Congrats. You’re pretty hard to kill.”

He wants to laugh, bitter and acidic.

Yeah. Yeah, he sure is.

When he prepares to go into rest mode for the first time, a faint note of dread rings in his chest, sharp and inexplicable. Ever since he woke in this new body, he’s felt off – which is to be expected, of course, but…

This feeling – this disconnect, this vertigo, this tension – he can’t quite put his finger on it. And as he drifts into sleep, it nags at him, clinging like a tick.

Except–

It's like he only blinks. One moment, his systems are going into sleep mode, his heart pounding with anticipation; in the next, he's awake again. He checks the time, and it's four hours later. 

No.

No.

This can't be happening. This has to be a fluke. He has to be able to fix this.

He can't lose you. 

The next day, he slams open the door to the surgeon's dingy back office, his steel fists clenched and his eyes burning. When he demands answers, she merely shrugs with far too much nonchalance.

“Soulmates are pretty tricky. When I removed part of your brain to sync the rest to the neurochip, it probably screwed something up.” She watches him fume with an idle gaze, then shrugs again. “Sorry. It's not like you mentioned it or anything.” 

He grits his teeth so hard his jaw groans. “Fix it.”

She sighs, openly exhausted. “I can’t undo what’s already been done – just like I can’t restore your body. You’re out of luck.”

(He’s been out of luck for months.)

For a long, long moment, he considers riddling her full of bullets. But a sense of emptiness begins to sink into him, taking root in his chest, hollowing him out. He feels like he's going to be sick. 

He's lost his home, his family, his little Clementine, his life, his body, his dream– 

And now he's lost you, too. Because how could he ever find you in a cosmos as vast and infinite as this, when he's not even sure you ever told him the name of your planet?

Just like that, he has another person to grieve. 

And one of the worst things about it all? 

The IPC doesn't even have all of the blame. 

He spends the following years in a sort of daze, clinging to his hatred as an anchor – because it's all he has, now. He loses himself in violence – lets it seep into his core until it's fully saturated his soul. He fills the cracks with IPC blood until he's nearly unrecognizable, until he feels nothing but the visceral excitement that comes with bloodshed. He suffocates the grief under a thousand corpses, and piles on a thousand more for good measure. 

Whenever he dreams, now, it's always nightmares – something he's never had to deal with before, blessed as he was with your shared dream. The first is full of flames and ash. He scrambles desperately through miles of burning rubble, his fingers bleeding and broken; thousands of screams echo in his ears, but loudest of all is yours, ragged and broken as you beg him to find you, to come back to you, to join him in the fire – doesn't he want to rest? Doesn't he want to be with you? Doesn't he love you? 

“You promised,” you cry, so pained that he feels his heart shatter like glass. “You promised to come back to me.”

He wakes with a heaving breath, feeling very distinctly like he's about to hurl his guts out, his eyes burning with tears that will never spill again. 

The nightmares only get worse with time. He sleeps less and less, pushing his systems to the limit, getting upgrades that let him stay awake for longer and longer. 

And then, one night, after years of silence, he dreams that he's beneath the oak tree. 

The leaves have fallen off, the branches clawing at the black, starless sky. The plains around him are empty and dead, the grass blackened like a fire had raged through. In the far distance, he can see the forest the two of you once ran through; the trunks are bare and charred, and the ground below is coated with lifeless ash. 

Your dream is dead. 

But there, by the oak tree, just beneath the faded carvings of your names and the notches marking your heights…

A collection of plants, most of which take him some time to identify: the muted red leaves of a sapling spindle tree, tattered and worn; the tall stalks of an asphodel, its flowers dry and browning; bunches of primrose, whose blooms are paler than bone; stout meadow saffrons, whose petals are dusted with frost.

For a long moment, he wonders why they’re there–

And then he remembers what you did when your friend died, all those years ago – and his heart shatters into a thousand pieces, never to be repaired.

He finds himself there a few more times over the years, and it feels like a punishment every time. Most nights, the dream is more of a blur than anything, smeared and warping like he can't focus his eyes. He can't interact with it anymore; it feels more like he's a passing viewer, on the outside looking in through a window blurring with the pouring rain. Always just out of reach. 

Always missing you – if it’s even real at all.

On a few occasions, he swears he can hear you talking, your voice indecipherable, but clearly anguished. He mostly convinces himself that these are just delusions – mere wishful thinking. 

Once, all he hears is the heartwrenching sound of you sobbing. Maybe not wishful thinking, then. 

Every single time, he wonders what he did to earn a fate like this – to earn this kind of torment, this kind of pain, this kind of loss. 

No god ever answers.

And then, one day while he's chasing a bounty into a busy marketplace–

He sees you. 

He stops dead in the middle of shoving his way through the crowd, deaf to the protests of the people around him. From this angle, from between the moving bodies, the most he can see is a sliver of your face – but he could never forget the swell of your cheeks, the arch of your nose, the shape of your ears, the texture of your hair. It's only a little, but it's enough.

He abandons his bounty without a single thought in his head – now, he's weaving through the crowd with a different target in mind. He's getting closer, only a few bodies separating him from you. His eyes never leave you, his vision tunneling– 

When you turn to walk away, you turn toward him – and it's like your gaze is magnetized toward him, like you could sense something was amiss. And when your eyes lock onto his, the entire world grinds to a halt. 

You've aged somewhat; the laugh lines on your cheeks are just a little more prominent, but the crease in your brow is new, and your eyes are duller than he remembers. There’s a weariness to you – a sort of permanent exhaustion that he’s never seen on your face.

He doesn't even register that you're rushing toward him, too absorbed in savoring the sight of you after so many years apart. It's only when you're just a few feet away that he murmurs your name, so soft that he's certain the noise of the market has swallowed it, but your eyes widen like you heard him anyway. 

He doesn't realize that he's reaching for you until you grasp his hand in yours, cold metal against warm skin; his hands are no longer the shape they used to be – the shape that molded perfectly against your palm. Without a moment of hesitation, you begin to tug him through the crowd, guiding him into a tiny alleyway between two crowded buildings.

The moment you turn to look at him again, you drop your shopping bag to the ground without a second thought. With trembling hands, you reach up and cup his cheeks – cheeks that are too smooth, too cold; cheeks that lack the smatter of freckles he always had, lost and forgotten when his skin was replaced; cheeks that are missing the scars he gathered over the years, like the one he earned falling off a horse for the first time. 

You whisper that name – the name of a dead man, of the man he once was, of the man he can never be again – and he's never heard you sound so broken, so desperate; his heart aches like it's been crushed. 

“I'm… I'm not him anymore, sunshine,” he rasps, his throat so dry that it feels like his tongue is clogged with ash. “I can't be him anymore.”

“It's still you,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Even if you're different, it's still you.”

His eyes burn so horribly that he wonders if he's actually going to cry, if the weight of his anguish will break the rules of his new body. 

Suddenly, you surge forward, wrapping your arms so tightly around him that, if he were still human, you would’ve crushed the air straight out of his lungs. “I thought… I thought you were dead,” you sob, clutching him even tighter, like you're trying to dent his body. “I thought you died during your surgery, or didn't recover, or– or–”

He presses his lips against your temple, his steel arms wrapping tenderly around your shoulders. When he breathes in, your smell hits him all at once; he never could smell you in the dream – only a strange void of scent, like something was removed from his brain before he could process it.  

Somehow, you smell familiar. Somehow, you smell like home.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he murmurs, one hand slowly petting the back of your head. “I’m right here.”

He lets you cry into his hold just as you did for him, so many years ago, his chest aching like something inside him shattered to pieces; when your knees begin to fold out from under you, he carefully picks you up with one arm beneath your thighs, bearing your weight with inhuman ease. You take the opportunity to cling your legs around him, gripping him like your life depends on it – like his life depends on it.

He doesn't have a clue how long he holds you like that, rubbing circles into your back as you cry and cry and cry. You calm slowly, your breath hitching and your nose sniffling while you recover. Finally, you ask him to take you home; he carries you in one arm and your groceries in the other, following your guidance down the streets as you cling to him like he's going to disappear from under your grip. When he reaches your apartment, your hands are shaking too hard to unlock the door, so he gently pries the keys from your shivering fingers and carries you inside. You direct him to your bedroom, your groceries abandoned in the entryway. 

He settles you into the sheets like you're made of glass, but neither of you want a single millimeter of distance; he cradles you in his arms and curls around you, murmuring quiet reassurances when you begin to shake and cry again. 

Finally, when your breathing is calm and even once more, he tentatively asks, “Did… Did you plant flowers in the dream? Under the oak tree?”

You blink up at him with red-rimmed eyes, a little astonished. “How did you… know that?”

“I ended up there, a few times,” he says quietly, thumbing away the remnants of tears from your cheeks. “Thought I was making the whole thing up.”

You stare at him like you can't believe he's real. “...It was for you,” you confess, so quietly that he probably wouldn’t have heard it if he were still human.

His chest aches with a grief that isn't his. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to comfort you; he fears that part of him died like everything else. “I love you,” he rasps, stupid and earnest. 

A little smile graces your lips – a little quirk in the corner of your mouth; he feels his heart sing in response. “...Bigger than the moon.”

Your exhaustion catches up to you, sooner or later, and he lets himself rest shortly after you fall into an uneasy sleep, a tiny sliver of hope in his broken heart. 

He wakes up under the oak tree.

The dream is clearer than it has been since his rebirth – so sharp and vivid that he can taste the ash from the forest on his tongue. For a fraction of a second, he wonders if he'll be flesh and bone again, if his hands will mold perfectly to yours – but he looks down and finds them to be just as hard and cold as usual. 

You don't seem to mind. In fact, you barely seem to think about his new body at all. You still hold his hand the same, still kiss his cheek the same, still hug him the same. He can't bend for you, not anymore – but you bend around him without a breath of complaint. 

The two of you talk, eventually, about everything and nothing. You update him on the direction your life has taken, the things that have changed. He doesn’t miss the ways you talk around the worst parts, about the years you spent depressed, about the veil of darkness that overtook your life; you don’t miss how he does the exact same thing. Neither of you press about it. 

He stays with you for days, into the indeterminate future. He keeps every thought of his hunt out of sight, out of mind; he's been burning the candle on both ends for years, and now that he's in your arms, the exhaustion has sank its teeth into him. 

So he stays. He takes care of you, spoils you rotten, desperate to make up for all of the lost time. You’re absolutely inseparable. Everything goes on pause to integrate him into every second of your life; perhaps that’s not the healthiest course of action, but neither of you are willing to acknowledge it, let alone change it. You talk during the day and while you sleep, and when you aren’t talking, you’re savoring each other’s company in silence.

He relearns you, and you relearn him. He notes all of the ways you’ve changed, all the new scars, the ways your face has shifted with age, the ways your speech has changed. You note all of the subtleties of his new body, his new eyes, his sharpened teeth, the way his feet have themselves been turned into boots. He shows you the cannon built into his left arm, all of the dozens of little utilities and tools built into him, all of the scuffs and bumps and scrapes that he hasn’t repaired yet.

It takes time to settle into something resembling familiarity. There’s a caution between both of you, at first; it’s hard to pin down, but it’s like both of you are terrified that the other is going to disappear, like you can’t let your guard down in case it’s all ripped away.

But he stays, and so do you.

When you first ask him if he wants to make a memorial in the dream for the ones he lost, he thinks his brain functions completely halt. 

He never did get the chance to make graves for them – any of them. 

After a long, long silence, he swallows, his throat thick with grief, and manages to nod. 

After the grave markers are down, it takes him a great deal of time to decide what would be best – what they would like the most. You help him form a rocky hill in the plains, within viewing distance of the old oak, but far enough to be inconspicuous. You grow a small grove of trees to coat the whole area in dappled shade, granting him privacy to work on his own as you busy yourself; growing things in the dream has become a momentous task in the time you’ve been apart, and it’ll take some time to get everything right.

He tries not to think too hard about what to put down. His heart will know best, after all – not his head. 

A well-crafted wooden swing, just like the one Nick and Graey had on their porch; a small garden plot, dense with lettuce and artichoke and tomatoes; an eagle’s nest, at the peak of the tallest tree you made; a herd of roaming horses, their spotted coats gleaming in the sunlight; a thin creek with tiny waterfalls and even tinier fish; a thousand other tiny details, one for each of his siblings and friends.

When he makes the clementine tree, he stares at it for several long, aching minutes. He's silent and still for so long that you come to check on him, a furrow in your brow. (He doesn't like that he's becoming familiar with such an expression on your face. Contentment fits you so much better.)

He speaks before you can ask. “I'm alright,” he lies, his voice thick with grief. “I just…”

You approach him slowly, a bit like the way he would with a spooked horse. When you gently reach up to cup his cheeks, it’s only when you smear wetness across his face that he realizes that…

He’s… crying. 

He barks out a laugh, bitter and disbelieving.

Of course. Of course he can.

When he manages to compose himself, he turns back to the memorials with blurry eyes. 

There's only one thing missing, now. 

He could just make it out of thin air, he knows – but that feels… cheap, too simple, too… cold. 

It takes hours of effort, as it did the first time, but you sit by him all the while, trying to coax flowers to bloom from the dry, barren earth. The scrape of his knife and the tap of his chisel and the rasp of sandpaper fill the too-silent air. When he finishes his work, his hands ache with phantom pain and his fingers have a few new scrapes – but it's all worth it. 

He wills the limbs of the clementine tree to bend into a cradle, sheltered by soft leaves and plump fruit. With a trembling grip, he settles the tiny guitar into the gentle hold of the branches, watching them curl protectively around it, ensuring that it will never fall.  

It looks comfortable there, somehow. He can almost picture her in his arms, trying to scramble up the tree with her pudgy little fists, reaching for the strings with clumsy fingers.  

She never got to taste the fruit she was named after. 

When he bursts into tears again, you stand by his side in an instant, holding him silently in your arms. When he sinks to his knees, brought down by the weight of his anguish, you cradle him against your chest, slowly stroking his hair. 

For years, he thought he’d run through this seemingly endless wellspring of grief, that he’d truly hollowed himself out, that he’d manage to excise everything that wasn’t fuel for the raging fire.

For a long while, he stares at the scene he's created – at the swing rocking in the wind, at the eagles flying overhead, at the horses prancing in the field, at the babbling creek, at the tiny blooms on the clementine tree.

He decides there's something else he'd like to add. 

Slowly, tentatively, he shifts to look at you. You must see some hesitation in his gaze, because without missing a beat, you cup his cheeks and ask, “Is there anything I can do for you, sweetheart? Ask and it's yours.”

He swallows, working his jaw. “...Y'know that tradition ya taught me about, when we were young? About the plants?"

Your eyes widen into saucers. “You want to…”

“I want you to… help me,” he chokes, fresh tears welling in his eyes. “To… To help me figure out what to plant for who, and to help me keep everything alive.”

You stare at him with a quiet sort of awe, an immense but tender kind of love that feels like the warm swaddle of a blanket. Then, finally, you nod. “Of course,” you croak. “Of course I’ll help you.”

He tells you about all of them – all of the friends he made and lost, all of the siblings he grew up with. One by one, you work through them all, telling him the meanings of the plants you choose for each person. 

He tells you about Simon – a smug little bastard he grew up with, who kept his arrogance until the day he died. He'd challenge him to bizarre, impromptu contests at every opportunity, racing him back to the house for dinner and proposing that he'd never be able to catch as many fireflies as him. “Loyal to a fault and dumb as a bag a’ rocks,” Boothill huffs, staring at the jar of softly glowing fireflies he'd set beneath a tree. “Sorry bastard couldn't lasso to save his life.”

You laugh quietly. “Mm… Something to represent loyalty, for sure. Maybe… perseverance? Ambition?”

He hums in agreement. Ambition. Simon really was ambitious, wasn’t he?

Before long, his grave is blooming with tall spikes of red and violet gladiolus, intermingled with white hollyhock, framed by the fuzzy petals of edelweiss.  

He tells you about Jess – the snarkiest woman he ever met, and clever to boot. They met early into his bounty hunting days; she approached him in a bar and flirted with him so relentlessly that he almost didn't notice her trying to filch his wallet. Turns out that she'd mistaken him for a target she was hunting, and had a habit of robbing her bounties blind before turning them in and doubling her money – and sometimes she'd even make a bet with them before a game of pool, just to add insult to injury. “Sharp as a nail and wily as a fox, that one,” he laughs, eyeing the pool cue he'd set up against the rocks by the creek. 

You nod in contemplation. “Intellect, ingenuity…”

His lip quirks a little, fond and wistful. “Anything to represent a wicked lil’ liar like her?”

You laugh. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

For her grave, you grow brilliant scarlet hyacinths, pencilled cranesbill geranium, and dark red snapdragons.

On and on and on you work, going through every gravestone, the air rich with memories. He laughs when he tells you about Micah – the funniest man he’s ever known, and too damn whimsical for his own good; the first time he took a bullet was after he'd literally shot himself in the foot while mucking around with his gun. He tells you about a man he only ever knew as Bark – a mute gunslinger with wicked aim, who loved to chew on pine bark. He tells you about Beau, a sweet girl that loved her horse more than anything else in the world – but when it came to shooting, there was no one as bloodthirsty as her. 

For Nick and Graey, you plant asters – a symbol of love, you say, and of happiness in old age. For Nick, black-eyed susans, coltsfoot, and elderflower; for Graey, magnolias and purple irises. 

For Clementine… baby's breath and cinquefoil.

It takes three nights of work to finish everything. By the end of it all, you’ve both made a brilliant garden, rich with splendor and greenery in a dream that’s only just recovering, still brown and dead and barren. But the memorials stay healthy, with his maintenance and your own.

He doesn’t have the words to express his gratitude.

…But as he hugs you tightly to his chest in the dream, fresh tears spilling from his eyes and wetting your skin, he thinks you understand. 

He’ll need to leave again, eventually. He knows this. You know this. It’s an unspoken dread – one that neither of you are willing to acknowledge yet. (What if he stops dreaming when he leaves? What if he never comes back? What if you disappear while he’s gone? What if, what if, what if?)

He spends weeks with you, and in that time, the two of you manage to defrost. The light returns to your eyes, and the constant tension in his jaw fades away; you stop clinging to him like a bear trap, letting your body rest; his endless paranoia about you being found by the IPC melts away into something gentler, something more reasonable; your wounds begin to heal, and the wicked sting of grief and loneliness fades to an ache.  

The night you first make love is hardly different from any other; perhaps the tender affection in your eyes makes you look just a bit more exceptional; perhaps you smile at him in a way that makes him a little too hungry; perhaps it’s for no reason in particular.

And it really is making love, not simple sex. It takes hours – not because of his limitless stamina, but because both of you refuse to do anything but savor each other. He maps your body in full for the first time, pressing tender kisses to every inch of your skin, making note of the marks he's never gotten the chance to see and keeping track of which spots make you squirm the hardest. You explore his new body with a touch so tender that it makes his heart ache, following every ridge and divot in his plating, tracing the seams, learning all of the markings and vents and ports with a reverence that leaves him dizzy. 

The pace is slow and sweet as honey; you worship each other for hours in a melting pot of pleasure and satisfaction, and when he finally enters you, it feels like a missing piece of his soul has clicked into place. He kisses you so gently that your eyes well up with tears, and he presses them away with his lips as he rocks slowly into you. You cling to each other desperately, longingly, passionately, your hands hot on his metal and his fingers strong on your hips. 

He makes you come with your name on his tongue. You beg for him so, so sweetly – but you never needed to beg. He would tear the stars from the sky if you asked; he would gift you the universe if you wanted it. When the exhaustion catches up to you both, you fall into the dream together, still unable to keep your hands off each other. He was right – the sensation really is different in the dream. 

It’s still wonderful, because it’s you.

He’s surprised that you’re the one to bring up his departure first. You seem… more relaxed about the idea than he expected, too. He himself has been agonizing over it for weeks, the thought nagging in the back of his mind in the limbo between the waking world and the dream. But you bring it up with a sort of resignation in your face, a quiet, sad kind of acceptance that makes him want to hold you and never, ever let go.

(You don’t beg him to stay. You know that he’d cave in an instant, but you also know that he’d be restless for the rest of his life. You know he loves you, but you also know that he’s etched the memories of hatred and grief so deeply into his soul that he could never be happy without resolution.)

You love him more than life itself.

…So you let him go, no matter how reluctant both of you are. 

He kisses you with every ounce of passion and love and care in his shell of a body, and he looks you in the eye, and he tells you, “I’ll come back.”

You nod, and though there are tears in your eyes, you are lacking that dim, bitter grief that you once held in a moment just like this, all those years ago. “I know.”

He leans toward you, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll come back. I promise,” he breathes, his voice tense with tears that he can only shed in dreams. “I swear it. I’ll come back. I’ll visit.”

You smile, a fragile little thing. “I know.” You press a kiss to his lips, your tears spilling over. “I know you will.” You cradle his face in your hands, and he feels like his chest caves in at what he sees on your face. 

Your eyes are gleaming with love, with trust, with affection. The sun has returned to your gaze.

“I love you,” you murmur, quiet and earnest.

His lips twitch, his eyes burning. “...Bigger than the moon.”

And so he leaves, the salt of your tears stinging bitterly on his tongue.

But he dreams.

It seems like the proximity changed something in him – reignited a piece of himself that died when he did – because when he next sleeps, thousands of light years away from you, he finds himself under that oak tree.

Words can’t express his relief when he sees you sitting beneath its barren canopy, staring at the plants you’d tended to for years in his name. Their growth is wild, untamable – but they’re alive.

You’re both alive, and that’s all that matters.

The dream gradually recovers as both of you do. The dark clouds begin to fade in the twilight of the rising sun; fresh sprigs of grass sprout in the fields; pine trees begin to poke out from the ash; the bitter wind begins to warm. But, perhaps most importantly of all–

There are tiny, fresh buds growing on the jagged branches of the oak tree. 

Winter has begun to reach its end, and spring is blossoming beneath the ash. 

He'll learn how to love again, how to dream again, even if it isn't the same; even if you've both changed. Because if there's one thing he's always known…

…it's that his love for you is brighter than the sun, and bigger than the moon.

[astonmartingf]

YOU'VE BEEN ON MY MIND—

— co-parenting with alonso has been smooth sailing, until he starts dropping hints that he wants to be with you again

P4 ★ SUNSHINE, RAINBOWS, AND THUNDERSTORM

amgf written portion down below. more lore, also peep lewis' story. we're in the calm before the storm hahahahaha, enjoy this 👍

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How could the end of the week turn into a nightmare when things were starting to look better not just for Ales, but for you and Alonso.

Somehow the world always works in your favor, and just when you're about to fall into the pattern of domesticity around Alonso, shit somehow always hits the fan.

You can't help but get mad, not just at him but to yourself. You can't help but long for what could've been, you can't help but think about the family you're supposed to have together, it was a dream. Was— no longer yours to be shared.

Now you've let yourself stay too long into a sense of security, a habit, nothing out of the norm, spending mornings with Ales before dropping him off Alonso, picking him at the end of the day and eating dinner together. Once in a while he would stay over his place, and you'd pick him up while having breakfast.

You didn't mind that— co-parenting with him near. You thought you'd perfected this routine, you've gotten yourself in the habit and slowly the pick-ups turned into lunch dates and dine-outs. Heck, you even let him call you late at night while you eat dinner after an overtime shift, you were sharing and learning all these things about Alonso you never knew before.

How he is as a father; how attentive he is whenever Ales is around, how he prioritizes Ales' comfort over anything, spending time and bringing him to work. All feeding into your brain, turning you into the same girl who met him years ago. The man you promised to be with, get married to, planned to start a family with.

Though a little bit out of order and some not even done, you found yourself in the illusion of wanting to be with him again. And that despite the years of your grudge, his magnetic pull on you causes you to fall into the comfort of his arms.

Pulling back from your thoughts, you find yourself watching the trees pull away from your vision as you leave Alonso's apartment complex.

Leaning against the window of Lance's car, you slowly let the soft hum of the engine lull you back to sleep. Ignoring the rest of the evening, your thoughts revisit your date with Alonso a few nights before the raging thunderstorm.

"I'm excited! Are you excited Mama?" Ales was bouncing off the room, his excitement having no bounds as he skipped along your room.

"Papa is excited as well, he said that if I do good I'll have a surprise gift! Can you believe that?" You laugh at Ales' antics, watching him through the view of your mirror.

"Do you want to go out more with Papa?" You were in awe of Ales' acceptance of your co-parenting situation with Alonso. It's been two years since then, and you're surprised by how his bond with Alonso grew.

Two years ago you couldn't imagine yourself spending more than thirty minutes with Alonso, let alone leave him with Ales. Now you've found yourself enjoying his updates throughout the day, whether it be pictures of Ales or random outbursts about how meetings in the office are boring, to his small reminders to take breaks, calling you in between shifts to talk to Ales for a while. It was a whole different Alonso that you knew.

It makes you think how time will slowly heal all your wounds.

When Ales asked about his father for the first time it didn't shock you. Throughout the first years of his life, Alonso was committed to being a father, although not present his work often left him missing weeks of Ales' life. And when he chose to race again, the weeks turned into months, and slowly you pulled away from him.

Your choice to leave him out of Ales' life was a selfish choice, not just for Ales who at that time had no idea what was happening, but also to you. Mainly because it hurts your pride that Alonso chose to race instead of focusing on your family, at the time you couldn't understand as to why he would choose racing instead of raising a family with you.

Thinking back it might've hurt Alonso more, he chose to race— all alone this time. You left him, leaving him little interaction with Alonso, and despite all that he chose to stay and persist.

"I like going with Mama and Papa, we can have dates together!" You smile to yourself, watching Ales bring his toys on your bed.

"Mama, do you want to go on a date with Papa?"

His question caught you off guard— you haven't really thought about your relationship with Alonso, especially since the co-parenting is going well, not only did his relationship with Ales drastically improve, your relationship with him was also begging to be defined.

Alonso has made it clear multiple times how he still loves you, not that you doubt his love for you, but you're definitely teetering around love and fear. You love him? Yes.

You don't deny yourself of these feelings, despite everything you've been together it wouldn't make sense if you didn't love Alonso, you wanted a future with him for God's sake. But fear came hand in hand, when you were dating racing became a divide between you two. His safety was always swept on the sidelines, something that you didn't enjoy, seeing as you encounter accidents in your profession daily, having to overthink about his well being during races wasn't something you could handle.

And when you got pregnant with Ales, eventually giving birth to him the fears only got worse, to the point where you had to take a break away from him. You slowly have to remind yourself that things are different now.

You turn around facing Ales, waiting for your response, "You think, should I go on a date with Papa?"

Ales shrugs, "You already go on dates with him, you always call every night and Papa talks about you a lot. He loves you so much."

You blink the tears forming in your eyes, a rush of emotions piling up on you. There's no better person to ask for the truth than your son, knowing Ales he probably heard you talking to Alonso multiple times already. Wiping the tears you stand up, wrapping Ales in a hug.

"I should go give Papa a chance hmm? What do you think about staying with Uncle Lance next week?"

"Papa, you know Mama wants to go on a date with you alone next." You freeze in your seat, watching Ales with your signature "mom" look.

You look away, a warm feeling rushing through your cheeks as Alonso's laughter fills your ears. "Really Ales? Mama told you that?"

You cough into the napkin on your lap, shaking your head, a measly attempt to divert the father and son pair poking fun at you.

"Now what were we talking about before this date thing... Ales, we'll talk about this later."

You catch Alonso looking in your direction, a small smile on his face before turning back to Ales. "As much as I'm happy to hear about this upcoming date, your mother is right Ales, you shouldn't say anything that doesn't involve you."

Ales tilts his head, "What does that mean?"

Before you could answer, Alonso inches closer towards Ales, "Think of it this way, would you want me to tell Mama that Uncle Lance gave you ice cream before meal time?"

Ales shakes his head furiously, lips pouting, "Why would you say that, it's supposed to be a secret."

Alonso's eyes widened, "See! That's exactly what Mama meant when she said that to you. You eating ice cream was something between you and Uncle Lance, so is it right for me to tell Mama about it?"

Ales shakes his head no, "I'm sorry for telling Papa about your date. No! I said it again, I'm sorry Mama."

Somehow the wholesome moment you witnessed only confirmed your choice of going on a date with Alonso. That and you also found him hot, but that thought is not appropriate in front of the table, let alone in front of your son.

You smile nodding at Alonso, "Thank you for apologizing, Ales. I'm sure your father is equally as excited and looking forward to this date now that you told him about it."

★ YOU'VE BEEN ON MY MIND — @namgification @nebarious @minkyungseokie @viennakarma @lxclerc @booksandflowrs @c-losur3 @lichterfee @moonyzsworld @e-nonsense @vicurious28 @dannyriccsupremacy @thearchieves @welovediaaxx @vogueprincess