#Uses aunt as cushion aunt is soft

[mushroom-for-art]

Hey @mew-myself-and-i, I hope you're doing okay, I wrote this little thing as I unfortunately don't think I'll have time to art this interaction but like I do consider this talk like something that'd probably happen, as obviously its transitioned to summer in Paldea with Night and May is like me and probably burns easy so God dammit she will look out for the child and make sure he's careful and also tell him about all the good things too. I wasn't sure if your twos have a slight fluff fur layer or not so I went with they don't, hope that's okay! Honestly it's just a soft little thing of her looking out for him.

Summer talks

The older Mewtwo stood in front of the young two, it was morning and the babytwo was still awake despite being up most of the night and the adult decided to impart some wisdom to the young one while they were both awake, seeing as they did have different sleep schedules.

"Now Night as you may have noticed, it's a lot warmer than it was a few weeks ago that is because we are in the season known as Summer, this follows Spring and is followed by Autumn then Winter. Summer is when it is hottest due to something about proximity to the sun in our yearly cycle around it, I don't know exactly. I've never actually read up on it myself, the sun is hot." She shrugged awkwardly in her ramble, "now I know you're nocturnal but let me tell you what you should think of whenever it's Summer."

From under the trees near them her sleepy clone brother yawned muttering "Boys," having misheard the question clearly, the orange mewtwo slowly looked over at her brother who seemed to realize he'd said that out loud, "what?" He asked, pretending to have not heard himself.

"I think Night is a bit young to be thinking about boys, Matt." the more red toned brother awkwardly floundered, waving his stump a bit in exaggeration, opening his mouth and failing to come up with a quip or excuse, deciding instead to get up and fly off quickly to sleep elsewhere, leaving his sister to watch him in vague confusion but acceptance.

She sighed turning back to Night who looked just as confused but seemed to giggle in a way kids do when not fully understanding something, she smiled softly readjusting her glasses crouching to boop his nose saying, "you may understand that better when you're older. But what I was referring to is when you think of Summer you must think of sunscreen hats and hydration."

She stood upright saying, "now you're thinking, but Aunt May, I'm never really out in the sun I'm nocturnal, remember? And I say you're right but what if you miscalculate your shade when you nap? You may wake up with a nasty burn, I have unfortunately had my fair share. Or what if when you're older you turn into a human form and get burnt? Now you may be less susceptible to sunburns, you're a different hue to me and unfortunately my circumstances are I'm a frail little nugget." Night giggled as the older two smiled at them caringly.

She continued, "and, in summer the sun is persistent, staying out much longer rising early and setting late so you could still be exposed to late sunshine. And that's if you don't end up with a more diurnal sleep pattern as you get older, but any who's you'll just have to be aware of that when you're older but don't worry we'll make sure you're all sunscreened up."

Night nodded saying slowly, "what does, diur-urnal mean?" May smiled at his grasp of words and how he was getting cleverer and better at speaking every day.

"It means you sleep at night and are awake during the day, like me and Matt, the opposite of you who's nocturnal. There's also another one meaning awake at dawn and dusk but I can't recall its name," she waves a hand as Night again nodded in fascination with a soft woaw, clearly amazed by the different ways pokémon lived.

"Now if you do go out and about with your caretakers always make sure to wear your hat okay? Your head could get quite hot if exposed to the sun and you might get tired and grumpy, and make sure to drink water frequently." She didn't want to tell him about the dangers of heatstroke or heat exhaustion, just yet not while he was still young, she didn't want to scare him. She'd have a word with the others to be aware to keep him safe and well.

Night nodded saying "I will! I will! I promise Aunt May, the hat will never ever leave my head!" She smiled brightly at his determined little face.

"Good, you're a good little lad I know you will. Now I know I talked about some pretty serious stuff but Summer is also really really fun. I'm sure you'll have so many chances to enjoy ice creams and ice pops and fun summer festivals. The others might take you to the ocean to go swimming if you want or we can, acquire, a kiddy pool to paddle in if the oceans a bit big and spooky." She could see the young ones face light up in intruige.

"What's an ice pop?" He asked and May moved to sit down besides him under the tree as he came to curl up between her legs cuddled into her stomach as she started to tell the young two all about the different cold treats that came out during summer, the ice shavings, the slushies, the ice cream vans and milkshakes. She told him of the flavors, the combinations, the shapes that some even took from Vanillish snow cones to Scraggy ice lollies. She could hear him purring excitedly, starting to paw and pad on her stomach somewhere between excited grabbing to hear more and self soothing biscuit making as she continued to speak and tell him all about it. She only realized he'd fallen asleep when he mewed softly and she looked at him to see him cozily resting against her stomach using her as a pillow. Well, she didn't have any plans for today anyways and it was nice and shady where they were.

#what does summer make you think of #Boys~ #acquire #My writing #Mewtwosona May #Mewtwosona Matt #@mew myself and i #@mew-myself-and-i's Night #Matt just has a gay moment and bail #Yes I'm incorrectly referencing that audio #Night is baby i love him. #she means steal XD #They would 100% steal a kiddy pool for him to splish splash in #Uses aunt as cushion aunt is soft #He a sleepy and I love him #Honestly Night probably will never get sunburn but May worries and she has been burnt before XD #Just looking out for him #Plus wanted to reference him hat

[pantherxrogers]

A Long Night - Mike Schmidt x Reader (18+ ONLY)

Content warnings: SMUT (18+ ONLY), oral (m receiving), dom/sub elements, degradation, explicit language, p*rn w/o plot, established relationship

A/N: Love this movie and love this man fr 😪 No one asked for this, but he's sexy so I had to write it 🫦 This is a little more intense than what I usually write, so read trigger warnings plz!

Summary: Mike gets home from work. The reader sucks him off. That's literally it, but it's hot! (Also, we're pretending that Mike & Abby have a much better relationship with Aunt Jane and that she's still alive 😀).

You've got him by the balls. Literally.

Mike is all you can see, hear, and feel. His head rests against the back of your couch, eyes squeezed together in pleasure. It takes all of your concentration to keep sucking his dick and not get lost in his pretty face.

"Fuuuuuuuck..." Mike mumbles out, his hips bucking into the warmth of your mouth. You use one hand to cup his balls, feeling them tighten when you gag around him. You take in the way his body reacts, a shiver overtaking him. 

"Does that feel good, baby?" Your voice is slightly hoarse when you pull off of him. Shifting on the pillow below, you've been on your knees for him since he got home. He lifts his head, peering down at you. 

You squeeze your thighs together, needing some sort of pressure on your clit. His dark brown eyes sweep over your frame, slightly hooded from the pleasure you've given him. He's still wearing his vest, with tousled hair and an unshaven beard. His veiny hands grip your couch cushions, needing something to ground himself.

"I asked you a question, baby" You tease, using one hand to stroke his cock, your saliva acting as a lube. His dick stands proudly, thick and hard in your soft palm. 

"Shit-, yes, feels fuckin' amazing," he pants, hips bucking, pre cum bubbling from the angry red tip. You can barely fit your hand around him, wetness seeping out of your pussy, imagining his veiny cock inside of you. 

You lock eyes with him, leaning down to place soft kisses around the tip. He groans out, the sound adding to your arousal. Gathering spit in your mouth, you hold his gaze, before letting the saliva drip out onto his dick.

"Fuck, such a dirty girl," he groans, bucking his hips up into nothing. You smirk at his desperation, loving the way he's falling apart in front of you. 

"C'mon baby, wanna feel your lips back on my dick," he whines, before you put him out of his misery. 

He lets out a guttural moan when you take him back into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. You're lost in the taste and feel of having him in your mouth.  

Your eyes water slightly, taking more of his cock in your mouth until you feel it hit the back of your throat. He lets out a steady stream of moans, littered with profanities. You breathe through your nostrils, looking up at him while you massage his sensitive balls. 

"You're so fuckin' sexy," he murmurs, bringing up a hand to cradle the back of your head. You love the feeling, relishing in the control he has over you. Relaxing your throat, he fucks your mouth, gently gripping your head with both hands.

"Look at you, on your knees before I can even take a shower," he punctuates the words with sharp thrusts, making you gag around him. Warmth spreads over your body, loving the way he talks to you.

"Such a fuckin' slut, aren't you?" he mocks, a smirk taking over his face. Your eyes light up at the words, loving when he gets like this. So close to the edge and just a little mean with you.

You do your best to nod your head, humming in agreement. The vibrations cause his dick to stir, pushing him closer to the edge.

"Fuck, 'm gonna cum," he huffs, locking your head into place while he sloppily thrusts into your warmth. 

You babble around him, helping him chase his orgasm. He's lost in pleasure, jaw slightly agape. You're grinding down onto the pillow below, unable to control yourself. 

"Fuckin' take it," he groans, more wetness pooling into your panties. "'M gonna cum in your mouth, then fuck that tight pussy," he mutters, your low moan adding to his pleasure. 

The vibrations cause hot spurts of cum hit the back of your throat, salty and thick. You lift your head slightly, trying to relax your throat against the steady stream. 

"Shiiiiiiiit," Mike huffs out, arms slumping to his sides. You stare up at him in awe, sliding off of his cock. 

He looks down at you, raising an eyebrow. You feel your cheeks burn, sticking your clean tongue. His answering smirk makes your pussy throb.

"Such a good girl," he mumbles, reaching down to shove his cock back into his pants before he helps you up. You settle into his side on the worn couch, nestling into his warmth, pressing kisses along his neck. 

He turns his head to capture your soft lips, forcing his tongue into your mouth. His rough vest brushes against your sensitive nipples, your skimpy pajama top doing little to act as a barrier. The way his tongue invades your mouth makes your head swim. 

Peppering kisses down your throat, his strong hand reaches across to knead your ass through your pants. Goosebumps follow everywhere he touches, your heart still beating out of your chest. He starts to slip his hands into your pants, before a knock sounds at the door.

"Damn it," he groans, the disappointment in his voice making you giggle. 

"Open the door!" You both bristle at the sound of his aunt's voice, likely bringing Abby home for the night. The thought of the sweet girl makes you smile, untangling yourself from your boyfriend.

"C'mon, Mike, answer the door," you tell him, almost laughing at the disappointed look on his face. 

"Babe, c'mon, we'll finish later," you giggle, as he untangles himself with a scowl on his face. He presses a firm kiss on your lips before he stands. 

Your heart thuds when he bends down, hovering over you, both arms trapping you in your spot on the couch. 

"Say hi to Abby, and then go wait in my room until I get there," he commands.

You squirm, subtly grinding your clit against your heel, before nodding. He chuckles, pressing one last kiss to your lips before heading to the door. 

It's going to be a long night. 

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #fnaf #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader #michael schmidt #mike schimdt smut #micheal schmidt #vanessa afton #william afton #william afton x reader #𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⊹ ˚˖⋆｡ ra ra fics

[softshuji]

Ran's legs ache.

He thinks the soles of his shoes might have burned down to his feet by now, and it especially hurts when he presses down on the gas and there's a sharp spark of pain across his thighs.

But he doesn't complain, and instead, he watches you slip off your heels in the passenger seat and curl up on the leather to lean your head against the window, the drive silent and peaceful with the low drum of the radio and the rain slapping at the exterior.

When you arrive back home, he comes around to your door, lifts you effortlessly with your heels in one hand while he nudges the door shut with his hip, and you rub his back wordlessly, in that way you often do.

Without speaking, without the need to, just silent and peaceful bliss of coming home to slip under the covers with him.

'I can't believe you dragged me to that engagement party as your plus one," he says eventually, setting you down on the sofa in the dimly lit living room, a hand coming up to loosen his tie and shrug his jacket off, the outer side now splattered with rain from where he'd used it to cover your hair.

You snort and flop back onto the cushions, your aching feet now wiggling against the soft down of the throw. 'Oh come on, who else was I supposed to take? Someone random? Besides, it wasn't so bad right?'

He bends to the cabinet, fishes two tumblers out from the shelf and pulls down the decanter with them before setting them down on the table, and lifting your legs to rest on top of his. And all of it done quietly, smoothly. Effortless.

'Mhmm, it was pretty fun. All that picture taking though, I think the flash blinded my eyes." And he sighs, dramatically, lifting a hand to rub at his temples before reaching out to fill two glasses, his free hand now massaging your calves, smooth presses of his palms to your achy skin.

You roll your eyes, shift further down the sofa till his hands meet your thighs, ringed fingers kissing at the soft warm skin where his calloused fingertips brush against the inside. 'oh please Mr celebrity, I know you enjoyed it. I was more worried about how much the elder aunt's and grandma's were staring at you. Might have to start hiding you in my basement from wandering eyes."

And he laughs, unexpectedly, entirely, his head thrown back against the headrest, spreading his own legs a little with the glass in one hand. "You're going to kidnap me now Princess?"

"I might have to. Can't let the others see what's mine don't you think?"

"Mhm." He swirls the glass in his hand. "I think you caught some eyes too. Prettiest girl in the whole function. Maybe I'll have to do the same to you." And his thumb comes up to brush against your inner thighs, just shy of where the dress parts and you shudder, mindlessly pressing forward against his hands.

"I'd like to see you try big boy, y'know I'd find a way of escaping, I'm quite resourceful."

He chuckles, handing you the glass before slipping his own now drained back onto the table. The fire crackles, undulated by the thwack of rain against the window, your shadows now flickering on the wall where the curl of his hair is silhouetted like a painting.

You drain the glass before reaching for him, beckoning him in the way you often do, before shimmying out of the dress and dumping it on the floor with your heels. And he assents, as if it's been a thousand times. Crawling into your arms, his cheek on your chest, two big hands now gripping your hips and thighs, which part for him to lay between, before your own hands rake through his hair, a light scratch on his scalp that accompanies the soft tug.

'Yknow......people keep asking,' you say, legs now pressed and intertwined with his as you pull the comforter over the both of you.

"Hm? Asking what?"

"When it's my turn."

He stiffens and you feel it, the hair standing on end on his arms and shoulders pressed to your body. 'Oh yeah?'

And you go on despite your better judgement because it terrifies you to bring it up, but you can't deny that it's on your mind as well as everyone else's. And yes maybe it's true, maybe you feel bad for wanting it to be true.

'Yeah,' you say, a low voice, a whisper against the crown of his head. 'I mean, especially today of all days, I guess people want to see a wedding for me.' and you hate it, how it sounds even now. Like you're asking for something, like you have no right to.

And you'd love to all the same. To marry him, have a cute little wedding, tie the knot, have kids maybe, a little family despite all the trials, despite his job, and all that entails. But you've not spoken about it at all, both of you to afraid to bring it up, too scared to have that kind of conversation.

He's quiet for a moment, the thrum of your heart against his cheek, smooth circles now run against your skin, up and down your hips.

'mhm, maybe they will, sooner rather than later," he says, head now craned to press his lips to your chest, your collarbones, hot breath ghosting over your warm skin.

And you freeze, a frown that you're quick to hide. 'You mean it? Don't say it if you don't mean it ran, I don't want to be joked with.'

And he pauses, eyes flickering with light, a half smile, a warm and softened press of his lips to the edge of yours. 'I mean it. You want that princess?" Wanna get married?'

"with....with you?"

'No with santa Claus.' And he rolls his eyes playfully, a light pinch to your thigh. 'Of course with me.'

Your breath is short, a little light and quick, your heart thudding against your ribs with a resounding crack. 'I...I mean, santa Claus is already married so I think that would be complicated.' and you cringe at it immediately, despite how he laughs, so full and beautiful and bright, lips now scoring over yours in a quick succession of soft pecks.

"Well, I guess that's terrible for you then, you're stuck with me. So what do you say? You like the idea of that?"

'I...I do. I really do. You want it too?"

"I do, there's no one better for me than my girl, my princess." Effortless, rolling from his tongue in a way that has your skin flaring with heat.

"oh...... I guess we're going to be getting married soon then. How terrible (!)" And you laugh, breathlessly, the both of you a little overwhelmed, basking in the love with your shadows on the wall, the memory etched in the firelight that bleeds against the window glass, his cheek pressed to your chest where your heart is.

(hi, I went to an engagement today and this is all I can think of lol since everyone kept asking about it lmao)

Reblogs appreciated!

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #ran haitani #ran x reader #tokyorev x reader

[moondirti]

charcoal

pairing: John 'Soap' MacTavish x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 2.6k summary: you and johnny draw portraits of one another warnings: cock warming, unprotected p-in-v, creampies, handjobs, tooth rotting fluff, nude drawings, light masochism, mentions of death notes: inspired by soap's journal in mw3. our sweet boy can draw :)

“Sit still.”

A whisper, spoken like a fervent kiss to the space between you. Humid air, smothered under his peppercorn cologne and the tangy warmth of lingering sex. Johnny’s pelvis remains glued to the back of your thighs, conjoined at that sweltering centre, gently swelling back to rock-hard shape. It works to plug you full of him, a barrier to the cum he’d spilt a mere thirty minutes prior.  

Mere. To you, long hours have gone by while stuck in this state, oscillating from painful overstimulation to an insatiable urge that only exists with him – more, more – and back again. But he exercises a surprising restraint. No. Unexpected. A fortitude obviously cultivated in the SAS, carbon under pressure, polished and primed. One that is diamond-sharp, deadly even, but usually crumbles to dust around you. 

He keeps your leg hooked over one broad shoulder. The other quivers, cushioned by the duvet, serving as a surface for the item he’d fetched in a rush. 

Fuck. Hold it righ’ there. Freshly spent, glowing with an endorphin-logged high.

Huh– W-What’re you doing? 

Y'look so bloody beautiful like this, hen. Have ta memorialise it. 

Ever the flatterer. You’ve no doubt you’re a mess – mussed hair, smudged mascara. The only thing he’d left in his stripping you was the necklace you’d worn for his welcome home; a golden chain, charmed with a replica of his dog tag and an antique locket you’d salvaged from your grandmother’s place.

You thought he’d been reaching for a polaroid; a quick snapshot of the moment, print to be stapled to the inside of his combat coat. But he’d ducked under your bed – not the nightstand where you kept the camera – and ruffled through dust bunnies and expired condoms for the stash of things he deems too important to take with him to the job. Material objects, little keepsakes, left to rot behind, with you. 

He’d come back up with a self-satisfied grin, a journal – moleskine bound and half-full of rough scribbles – clasped between waving fingers. 

It’s not the first time he draws you. Just the first time he does of such an intimate scene. 

Clenching involuntarily, you flush at the thought. Johnny’s free hand tenses from its place on your knee, soothing circles turned bruising touch. Giggling, you squeeze him again, only to be met with a particularly vicious thrust of his hips. 

“Nng-! Christ,” 

“What'd I tell ya?” 

“I had been.” The protest peaks at the back of your throat, forming something more akin to a whine. His chuckle is indicative of the fact; sunlit bough and soft moss gaze catching yours. His eyes pool like honey in the lowlight, gold drawn out by the haze of your surroundings. Warm. “You’re taking too long.” 

“Wad ye rather I get the shadin’ on yer tits wrong?” He teases, gaelic-curled accent accompanied by sharp scratches of charcoal on paper. The black dust coats calloused fingertips, concentrated on the middle, the one he uses for smudging. “Ye'll end up lookin like ma great aunt.” 

“That’s gross.” 

“Watch it. Rory was a great woman.” 

But his chest widens in that special way, skin rippling over thickset sinew, and you know his current contentment runs bone deep. He gloats it, wearing the radiance like he does the sweat; the tender marks along his neck, imprints of your teeth cut in blood. His battle scars pale in contrast, silver and thin and nothing when set beside the raised scratches, red, carved mid-fuck. 

You’ve tried to be gentle with him. Really, you have. 

You just found he doesn’t prefer it.

A Noah’s-Ark cataclysm of rain, unending cataracts of water sluicing from the sky. They wash over the windshield, the windows – you can barely see beyond the hood of his car. 

It was your suggestion to wait the storm out. You’d gone on a picnic for your first date, perched up high on some mountain that now seems too formidable to scale down.

Spice with rosy overtones. His scent is intoxicating, distilled on that spot – the edge of a broad tendon that stretches up his neck. Johnny’s clad in a polo shirt, the collar slightly popped to cover the patch of skin, but you catch sight of it every once in a while. Enough to fuel your internal screams, urging you to act against what is proper. 

Hold out ‘till the next time you see him. Leave him wanting more.

He’s talking. Something about football and fake turf scrapes. 

God. That voice. Full-bodied, confident with all the charisma to match. You latch on to every syllable, basking in the way they furl from him – rolled r’s, two element vowels morphing to one. What’s the word for gorgeous in Scottish jargon? He’d taught you it over a bowl of strawberries. 

Broad. Brock. Brow. Br… something.

But his thumb had swiped out to the edge of your lip to catch a bead of stray juice, and you’d lost all wit. In one ear, out the other. Boiled down to a saccharine, lust-filled puree. 

You’d wanted to take the digit into your mouth. 

The high altitude ensures the car is frigid, windows chilled with a freezing pellet downpour. The skirt you wore does nothing to hide the goosebumps that prickle down your thighs. 

It’s not the weather, though. It’s him. He inspires a cyclone in you, a vortex of violently rotating winds that upturn every function. Hot. Cold. A puddle of melted something, stirring deep within the recesses of your gut. Your attempts to smother it down will forever be in vain. 

Him. Him.

He drives you mad. You’re fucking stupid. 

But pellucid blue light streams in from outside, the sun sinking behind gunmetal clouds, and Johnny fills his jeans nicely, you think. Hulking thighs force the denim to its limits, stretched and spread and–

Oh.

Maybe your mind had skipped over it purposely. For knowledge of what it would do to you. In knowing that your panties are already slick, unable to hold the extra saturation. You’ll leak onto his seat. 

Fuck.

A prominent, massive bulge. Strained, outwardly painful. 

Enticing. 

You flood, anyway. Overbearing heat and oblivion striking your core. A breath catches, spinning to form a small bubble of recklessness between constricting lungs. 

You speak before you begin to process it all. 

“We’ll be here for a while.” 

Stupid, silly girl. 

He halts, tangent lost to the half-lidded look you give him. Your nails graze the arm nearest to you, propped on the console, brushing through hair to elicit a deep shudder – mirror to your salacity. It tells him what he can already guess. 

In the split second it takes for your impulse to waver, he recovers, back to that ludic man you’d met just last week. 

“And there are only so many things to talk about.” Johnny nods.

Your heart slams on hollow ribs. He may hear it if he tries hard enough; an echoed melody of cosmic yearning. 

“Gotta save some for next time.” 

“Aye.” His head ducks closer to yours, locking you to those bonfire eyes. “Next time?”

“Hmm, if you like me enough.” The suggestion skips across your nervous titter. Spearmint washes over you when he speaks, cold breath a product of the pack of gum he keeps tucked in his car door. He’d told you he reserves the stash for special occasions, with only the ‘prettiest of hens.’ You’d folded the wrapper into a heart and placed it against the stick shift. 

“I like ya, bonnie. Only question is–”  A bent forefinger taps your chin, thumb caressing the curve of it. “Do ye like me?” 

You let your stare flutter down to his lips; perfect, pink, pulled in a devious smirk. It wipes any semblance of logic from you. Propriety, the manners your mother taught you at a holiday dinner table – cross your legs, elbows off the table – dissipate to ash. You’re raw; skinned alive and vulnerable to whatever he wants. 

Crackling nerves. You don’t answer, don’t say a word. 

Instead, you lean in to kiss the scar on his lip. 

And it all goes to hell from there. 

Hurried gropes, desperation fogging. You bend over the centre – precariously balanced on your knees – to hug his head closer to yours. His hands find purchase on your waist, exposed now, your sweater rucked upwards to hang just below your bra. You can see his back in the reflection of the window, his muscles rolling under a too-tight shirt, expanding to accommodate the weight you throw onto him. 

It’s hormone fuelled, messy. Your teeth clack and your tongues wrestle and you can only ponder on releasing him, on untucking his hard length from hindering pants. 

“H-Here–” You stutter into his mouth, left hand smoothing down his chest to dance teasingly at the waistband. His hips buck the slightest bit. “Let me…” 

“Wanna make ye feel good too, lass.” 

“Please.” 

And it must be the way you say it, the keen in your tone, the pout of your lips. You’re close to tears, eyes glossy like the wet road ahead. It must be; mutual magnetism, some shared fondness that makes him concede to your plea  (I like ye, bonnie), before he helps you pull them down to let his cock spring free. Head flush and base thick enough to split your lips. 

You swim impossibly deeper into the pool of crush-drunk abandon. 

Braw. That was it. Braw, for mind-numbing attractiveness. Or so to say– 

Maybe you’re exaggerating. It doesn’t feel like a grand enough word to encapsulate this. To capture him. 

Nothing could be enough. Your first date and yet you sit here, obsessed already, willing to spend a lifetime showing him all you can’t say. How those eyes draw from you a lightness, an ease. Hazel has quickly become your favourite colour. How mohawks are an abomination to conscientious style, but how he makes them work, much to your displeasure. You imagine plugging clippers in a shared bathroom, helping him buzz off the sides prior to longer missions. Sending him off with a kiss that means more than just interest.

“Fuck.”

“Feart, now?” 

His accent thickens in the throes of pleasure. You add the word to your growing list and spit on your hand to help slick him up. 

He stops you before you can wrap it around his leaking cock. “Wait, wait.” 

Head still buried into the crook of his neck, a trail of purpling bruises adorning the stubbled skin of his jaw – you can only spot him in your peripheral, a hazy blur of long eyelashes and a prominent nose. 

His hands unclip your bra when he speaks again: 

“Do it dry. I like when it hurts a little.”

A year later now. He’d wrapped an assignment early to see you on your anniversary. 

“Done?” 

You’re sticky with cooling sweat and spit, fluids hardening on supple flesh in the filtered air of your bedroom. Both naked, posed in the same position; your right glute burns with the ache of a prolonged stretch, still thrown over his shoulder as he hurriedly finishes the final details of his sketch. 

“Almost. Canae fuckin’ get the lightin’ right.” 

“Lemme see,” You make a grab for the journal. He bats your hand away. 

“No.” Johnny huffs, shifting to look at you from a slightly different angle. “I think it’s the glow.” 

“The glow?” 

“Aye. Took ower long ta get those gorgeous tits down, you’ve lost that sex sheen.”

“You’re mad.” 

The hand that was at your knee starts to knead your thigh, grabbing whatever it can hold. An intentional touch, he targets every tender area, sparking a match to an already smouldering flame. The pressure at your core tightens.

“I’d say it’s a quick fix,”

Your hips buck to meet the heavy weight of his palm as it flattens against your pelvis, seeking true fusion to the rough skin. You’re feverish, practically singing him; you spread your legs and do what you can to spear yourself further onto his cock, one that has not yet left the tight clutch of your cunt. 

This is what the poets eulogise, this ‘swete breeth’ reverence. Zephyrus – he’s zephyr adjacent – the god of westerly wind. But he places you on a shrine like he’s not the being made of sun; touches you with a prayer imbued into his callouses – barnacled reminders of his life as Soap. Your Johnny, as he is with you, finds you speechless and continues giving – pouring water onto wet clay, bending you as he pinpoints an electric centre, that bundle of nerves that has you seeing star-speckled pantheons. 

He continues to work your clit even as you kick his back, heel thrashing onto freckled skin. The overstimulation is not creeping, it does not wait until you’ve come undone – no. You’ve been on this tightrope for far too long now, and your legs tremble with the sheer exhaustion of it all. It’s never clear with him, whether the end is in sight. There are often moments of recovery where you pull away, only for him to flip you over and stuff you full again. 

The lewd squelch of your cunt, your wailing moans; you hardly register them as he begins pistoning into you, both hands and dick devoted to completing the picture. All that exists is sacred, divine insensibility. Pleasure in its purest form, locked in this haven where you’re safe to imagine holding onto him forever. 

“J-Johnny… Johnny, God– I’m gonna–”

He gains speed, fucking your sopping heat with a brutal pace, unrelenting as he circles your abused clit. You don’t have it in you to even move, boneless and wholly open to his ministrations. 

“Tha's exactly what we want now, bonnie. Go on, cum for me.” 

The muscles in your core harden, too brittle to stand against the wicked tide brimming within you. It drives you delirious, flooding your instincts. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and your back arches – you absolutely ruin the continuity that comes with being his live model. But you don’t care. You don’t care. He’s so good at hitting you in all the right places – head nudging your cervix, his breadth stretching you out with a fiery sting. He rubs you raw, chafing, and you’re so close. 

You think about jerking him off on your first date, coaxing from him groans that taste like scotch and spearmint-covered strawberries. The sorest handjob known to mankind – he’d cum hard, spurting thick globs of warm fluid onto his lap, webbing your fingers together with his essence. His apologies had fallen on deaf ears when you’d licked yourself clean. 

You think about meeting him at that bar, nursing a fruity drink with a wild name. Your friend had abandoned you for some blonde chick, but Johnny took your lonesome as an opportunity to swoop in and compliment your dress. He’d later told you that he’d only been looking for a quick fix to stall on the grief of a close friend's death. Turns out, ye're not so much a stall, more a remedy, love. Sad tae say I'm glad yer friend was horny that night. 

You think of him, now. Of the past twenty-something pages of his journal filled with nothing but idle doodles of you and gum-wrapper hearts, no longer dedicated to anguished attempts at remembering lost comrades. He’s grown to be a better artist, lines bold and drawn in sole strokes, able to capture just about anything in ballpoint pen alone. 

Well I’ve got the perfect muse now, haven’ I? 

You break, shattering into a million fragments. You know he’ll pick you up.

Finally resting, spooned together under clean sheets. A strong arm thrown over you, holding open a page for your scrutiny. 

“It’s nice, baby! You might’ve made me too pretty, though.” 

A growl. “Shut it. That’s all you.”

taglist: @yeyinde @guyfieriii @nqberries @kkinky @ravenhood2792 @allekat1988 @rattlemyb0nes @simonrileywife @melancholyy-hill @sexlapis

join the taglist!

#john ‘soap’ mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #john 'soap' mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap #soap mw2 #john mactavish #soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #cod mw22 #cod mwii #mw2 2022 #mwii #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #call of duty: modern warfare 2 #modern warfare #smut #fluff #fanfiction #soap x you

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Once Upon a Time 8

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Andy Barber

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Questions without answers keep you awake. How did Andy get your number? How long did he follow you? Had he come all the way to your aunt's house? Is he outside right now?

Every creak of the house, every cat's paw, every noise has you tossing and turning. That brief security drifts into tenuous uncertainty. You give up just after midnight and go to the living room. You peek out the window, staring long at the street pole you think might just be a person. You back away and pull the curtains together. You retreat to the couch and turn the TV on at low volume.

You're not just scared for you anymore. You can't forgive yourself if you led Andy here. You don't know him, you don't know what he's capable of. And what you do know about him hardly lends you to assume he's a rational person.

You bend your legs, crossing your arms on your knees as you rest your chin on top. You go back through every word, every look, every gesture. What did you do? What idea did you give him? You smiled but you that's just a part of your job. You smile at every customer. You helped him find books, you helped him apply for a card, you did what was expected and nothing more. And when you saw him outside work, you kept your boundaries firm... didn't you?

You're on the edge of tears when Cece hops up, startling you as she lands on the cushion next to you. You touch her soft fur for comfort as she cuddles into you. You slide your legs off the couch and grab your phone.

You still haven't answered the ominous message. You don't think you will. What can you say? You flip open the chat and tap the three dots in the corner. 'Block'. There, that's all you can do. Talking to him only seems to fuel his delusion.

You inhale and lay down across the couch, pulling the cat to lay on your stomach. Cece purrs as you stretch out your legs and try to find a sliver of calm. You still have to go to work, you don't have much of a choice. Money is money.

📖

You start at noon the next day; a half-shit that sprawls before you like eons. Your stomach flip and flops as you come up to the front doors, peering one way then the other, searching the faces of every customer approaching. You see him everywhere but only in your mind.

You go inside and hastily make your way back to the employee lounge. You put your stuff away and snap on your nametag, warily emerging and lingering towards the back of the store. You hang out near the manager's office until you work up the nerve to knock.

The only answer is a grunt. You wait until the door cracks open, greeted by Colin as he gives you a scowl.

"Can I help you?" He snaps.

"Yeah, uh, is Mr. Pine here?"

"No, he's off. Again," he rolls his eyes. "No, you can't leave early. The next person to ask can clean the toilets."

"I wasn't--" you swallow your protest, "thanks, sir. I'll just get to work."

"Thanks," he retorts dryly and shuts the door.

You cringe as you turn to face the store. Jeez. You fold your arms then uncross them. You have to do your job and you can't just walk around looking angsty.

You come up to the small home goods section with candles and the like as Chelsea has her phone in hand. You feel better with someone else around, even if she's ignoring you. Her small giggles and snorts underline the jazzy strings that play from the speakers.

You help a customer find the specialty hand cream the store options from a local maker then turn back as Chelsea drones dreamily. She twirls a strand of hair and smiles at the screen. You nearly scoff but you remind yourself not to be so cynical.

You near her again, pretending to sort the candles as you peek over your shoulder. Still no sign of your shadow. You're too restless to keep doing this.

"So, what's going on? Why are you so... smiley?" You ask.

"Um, oh, nothing," she preens and covers her phone.

You don't know her very well but she's a little less unapproachable than usual, "alright, you just seem... giddy. Are you... Is it a boy?"

"Shhh," she nearly leaps as she holds up and acrylic, "I... He's a man. And he's so hot."

"Oh," you nod, happy for the distraction of her babbling, "someone from classes?"

"Ha, those fuck boys," she rolls her eyes, "no, this guy. He's older, he's rich, and oh my god, he's sexy. Like... I didn't know they made men his age like that."

"Huh, wow," you mutter, "you seem really into him."

"I am so into him. You won't believe it. I was grabbing a latte over at the cafe and he paid for my order. We got to chatting and... I can't really talk about it at work," she giggles, "let me show you a picture."

She taps her phone and quickly turns the screen to you. You squint then your eyes round. You have to fight to keep your mouth from falling open. Oh my god.

You hope that means he's moved on. He got the hint and chose someone more interested. Still, Chelsea is even younger and that's concerning.

"How old is he?" You ask.

"Oh, don't judge me. He's like 40 or something. I don't know. Some lawyer," she pouts, "isn't he hot?"

She wiggles her phone at you again, the picture of Andy staring back at you.

"Sure," you agree, "I guess he's not really my type."

"Whatever," her attitude dims as she retracts her phone, "he wants to meet up tonight."

"Mmm, well, be careful," you gird.

"Ew, you're such a wet blanket," she sneers, "go away."

You shrug and do as she says. If he was off bothering Chelsea, then why did he send you that picture? Was it just him getting the last word? Or is there something else going on?

While you want to believe he's already forgotten about you, you just can't. There's a nagging in your stomach that tells you there's more to this. He's not done.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #defending jacob #au #bookstore au #drabble #series #once upon a time

[acourtofmishapandmistakes]

Reluctant Arms and Baby Charms

Summary: In response to a comment by @b7717 on one of my posts, I was inspired to write a scene depicting the complicated yet evolving relationship between Amren and baby Nyx. Here, Nyx makes a daring attempt to finally win over his Auntie Amren.

Content Warning: None, just baby fluff

Amren perched regally in an oversized armchair tucked into the shadowy corner of the sitting room. The room was awash in the soft glow of evening; golden light spilled across rich mahogany bookshelves and glinted off delicate glassware, casting long, dancing shadows. This was the families normal routine for their Thursday night dinners.

Across from her, Nesta found refuge against Cassian’s broad side, her body curled into his protective embrace on the plush, sage-green couch. Cassian, his voice a low rumble of amusement, was deep in conversation with Azriel, who lounged in an adjacent wingback chair. With a casual grace, Azriel swirled a glass of amber whiskey, his dark eyes lighting up with laughter at some jest from Cassian.

To the side, on a sprawling, plush rug that dominated the floor, Elain and Feyre created a softer tableau. They sat encircled by a flurry of colorful cushions, their attention devoted entirely to the animated babblings of ten-month-old Nyx. Feyre’s laughter, bright and musical, punctuated the air as Nyx attempted his earnest, albeit wobbly, first steps.

Nearby, Rhysand stood by a towering bookshelf lined with well-worn leather spines. In his hand, he swirled a glass of dark liquid, his posture relaxed against the cool, stucco wall. His gaze, however, was only on his wife and son. 

Amren idly swirled her glass of wine, her movements detached and mechanical. Meanwhile, Feyre gently coaxed Nyx onto his unsteady legs, supporting him under his tiny armpits. "Come on, baby boy," she whispered, her voice a tender murmur. Her face lit up with a radiant smile as Nyx cooed, reaching out to tenderly touch his mother's face.

The dinner conversation earlier had bubbled with excitement over Nyx’s recent milestone—pulling himself up to stand while in Rhys's office. Amren, however, found herself drifting away from the animated chatter about the boy's achievements. While she recognized the deep affection that enfolded the family, Amren's own sensibilities were far removed from such domestic warmth. She was not one to revel in the sticky, noisy presence of infants. To her, children were a disturbance, often leaving a trail of havoc on a woman’s physique and serenity. Observing Feyre, now slightly rounder and visibly more worn from motherhood, only cemented Amren’s resolve to remain detached. She preferred her life orderly and unencumbered—precisely the opposite of what she viewed as the chaos of child-rearing.

Feyre gently turned Nyx so he faced his Aunt Elain, who was eagerly extending her arms toward him, a stuffed linen bat—his favorite toy—clutched in her hands. "You can do it, Nyx, come on sweet boy!" Elain cooed encouragingly.

Nyx responded with a series of cheerful, unintelligible babbles. "Oh yeah?" Feyre chuckled, engaging playfully with her son. "That's very interesting." Rhys, overhearing the exchange, let out a soft chuckle. When Nyx emitted another joyful burst of sounds, Cassian jumped in with a teasing grin, "Whoa, let’s not use that kind of language, dude!"

Amren watched the scene unfold with a mixture of bemusement and detachment. She could never quite grasp why the adults indulged in such earnest conversations with Nyx as if he could grasp their words. To her, Nyx was akin to a household pet—endearing perhaps, but fundamentally incapable of meaningful interaction. The distinction, however, was clear: Amren found the company of cats or dogs decidedly more preferable.

Elain jiggled the doll enticingly, and Nyx stretched his chubby little hands toward it as Feyre gradually released her gentle hold. "Come on, Nyx, come to Auntie Elain," Elain coaxed softly. Nyx hesitated, glancing over his shoulder back at Feyre.

"No, no, not mama, go to Elain," Feyre encouraged, guiding his attention forward.

Nesta rose from her place beside Cassian and joined Elain, both aunts reaching out invitingly. 

"Look, baby, it’s your Auntie Nesta!" Feyre announced, her voice bright with excitement. "Go to your aunties!" She urged him on.

At the sight of his aunts' animated expressions, Nyx's face broke into a wide, gummy smile. The room filled with the soft chorus of coos and delighted squeals. Nyx wobbled on his unsteady legs, swaying slightly as Elain and Nesta leaned in, their faces alight with anticipation.

With a sudden giggle, Nyx's balance gave way, and he toppled back into his mother’s waiting arms. Feyre enveloped him in a warm embrace and planted a playful raspberry on his cheeks, eliciting an even louder giggle from him.

"You silly boy, that’s your mama, not your aunties," Feyre chuckled, her voice bubbling with affection as she held him close.

Amren managed a tentative smile as Azriel met her eyes. Both shared a similar detachment from the exuberant affections showered upon the new babe. While it was evident they cared about him, neither harbored much interest in the typical rituals of feeding, holding, or babe-watching.

Nesta rose from the floor. “Cass, we should get going. We have an early morning tomorrow.”

Cassian got up from the couch and moved to stand behind Nesta, wrapping his arms around her shoulders in a protective embrace and pressing a gentle kiss into her hair.

Elain also stood, stretching slightly. “I should head out too. I’m helping at the farmer's market on Saturday, and they want to meet with me tomorrow about a booth assignment.”

“That’s wonderful,” Feyre replied, her voice warm even as Nyx tugged at a strand of her hair, his small fingers gripping tightly. She winced slightly before freeing herself from his enthusiastic grasp.

Elain bent down to give Nyx a playful tickle on his stomach. “Bye baby boy,” she said, grabbing his bare foot and pressing a kiss onto it.

Nyx, feeling the confines of his mother's arms too restricting, began to fuss and squawk, eager to crawl towards his abandoned toy. Feyre set him down, and he quickly scooted across the floor, grasping the bat and immediately sucking on its wing.

From her vantage point, Amren watched, her expression turning to one of slight disgust at the copious amounts of drool Nyx managed to produce. 

As Feyre and her sisters exited the sitting room, trailed by Rhys and Cassian in deep conversation, the atmosphere shifted. Suddenly, it was just Nyx, Azriel, and Amren left—an unlikely trio, each not entirely at ease with the others. Amren contemplated leaving, yet she hesitated, recalling Feyre's promise of a new jigsaw puzzle featuring a painting of herself and Varian that she was eager to acquire.

Nyx, oblivious to the subtle tension, babbled joyfully, waving his stuffed bat energetically above his head. In an overzealous flutter, he released it, sending it sailing across the room to land at Amren's feet. She looked down at the soggy, forlorn toy with a hint of dismay. Nyx, realizing his toy had escaped his grasp, let out a groan of displeasure and began searching for it. Spotting the toy near Amren, his gaze shifted upward, locking eyes with her.

With a faint sigh, Amren nudged the toy back toward Nyx using her foot. Her movement was reluctant but gentle, a small concession to the innocent expectations of a child, even as she maintained her composed detachment.

Nyx flipped onto his stomach and, with a burst of determination, scooted over to the nearest coffee table. Sitting up, he grabbed the edge and pulled himself to his feet. Both Azriel and Amren exchanged nervous glances, unsure of their roles in this sudden display of infantile agility.

As Nyx clung to the table, he glanced back at Amren and flashed her a toothless grin before taking a tentative step forward. Amren's eyes widened in surprise as he cautiously moved along the edge of the table, his small fingers clinging for balance. Suddenly, with a daring little laugh, Nyx released the table and tottered forward unaided, making four shaky steps toward Amren.

Without hesitation, Amren set her wine glass aside and knelt down, extending the soggy bat toy toward him. Nyx's wobbly approach continued until he was close enough to dismiss the toy, instead opting to bury his chubby hands into Amren's cheeks and gaze deeply into her eyes. Overcome by an unfamiliar rush of affection, Amren pulled him close, their foreheads touching.

Azriel, witnessing the scene with astonishment, called out loudly for Feyre and Rhys. The parents rushed back into the room, their questions halting as they caught sight of Amren embracing their son, who stood confidently on his own. Feyre wasn’t sure if she was more taken aback by her son walking, or by Amren willingly touching him.

"He, he walked to her," Azriel managed to announce, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Feyre whipped her head around. "He did what?"

"He—Nyx walked. All on his own, to Amren," Azriel repeated, his arms gesturing wildly toward the pair still on the floor. Nyx, content within Amren's embrace, finally accepted the bat and nestled into her lap.

With a careful adjustment, Amren scooped Nyx up, securing him comfortably in her lap as she reclaimed her seat in the oversized chair. Once settled, she casually picked up her wine glass, swirling the contents before taking a final sip.

The roomful of astonished adults watched, still processing the unexpected turn of events. Amren, feeling their eyes on her, looked up coolly. "What?" She queried nonchalantly. "He's chosen his favorite," she remarked, a hint of a smile playing at her lips as she carefully set the glass down.

Rhys chuckled, "Cassian is going to lose his shit when he finds out about this."

Nyx, ever the adventurous little one, leaned forward a bit too eagerly and nearly tumbled out of Amren's lap. With swift reflexes, Amren caught him by the back of his shirt and pulled him safely back against her. She then wrapped one arm securely around his midsection, holding him close to ensure he wouldn’t take another unexpected dive. This gesture, protective and almost instinctual, surprised even Amren herself.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acowar #a court of wings and ruin #acofas #a court of frost and starlight #acomaf #a court of mist and fury #acosf #a court of silver flames #acotar memes #sjm #sjmaas #sjmassbooks #sarahjmaas #acotar funny #acotar series #sjmaasuniverse #sjmaasbooks #rhys #rhysand #acotar rhys #rhys acotar #rhysand acotar #acotar rhysand #feyre #feyre acotar #acotar feyre #feyre archeron #acotar feyre archeron

[getinthefuckingjaeger]

[Mavdad and Jake]

Looks like a winter bear, You sleep so happily

Jake didn’t mean to fall asleep. It’s just that the sofa was a massive, soft thing that sinks like a dream the moment you sit down, let alone when you snuggle deep into the cushions and especially when you’re halfway dead from a long ass day trip.

He can feel the coolness of the supple leather under the skin of his exposed arm as he lies on his side, feel the way it gives when he pulls his knees up closer to his belly and the tiny little squeak of skin on leather as he moves his right arm under his warm firm throw pillow. 

Jake settles with a small inaudible sigh, finally happy with his new position. 

“Well he’s sure is comfy.” 

Jake stills. His brain is still foggy from sleep, but he’s waking up fast. His fingers, the ones gripping his throw pillow, flex reflexively around the - what the fuck the pillow flexed back?

“He’s tired, Bradley.” There’s the sound of a chuckle right above him and a hand in his hair - well. Shit. He’s been sleeping with his head in Mav’s lap. There’s a pause and the sound of someone unlocking their phone and the telltale sound of a camera app.

“I’m sending this to the group - it’s just too cute.” The humor is evident in Rooster’s voice and Jake scowls. “Holy shit Mav look - his face’s all scrunched up– fuck that’s adorable.” 

Mav’s hand in Jake’s hair begins to brush through the fluffy blond mess. He remembers now that he came straight to Mav and Ice’s house from Lemoore on his first day of shoreleave, an unholy long drive that he would only ever put himself through for a very very select few people in his life. It used to be just the Machado family, but now Jake is proud (and a little bewildered) to say that he’s running out of fingers when he counts the members of “Jake Gives A Shit About You” club. 

Wild how half a year ago his only definition of home is a room in the barracks or a bunk on his assigned carrier. Jake was just used to living out of his bags when every place he lands on is only temporary - too used to leaving before he can put down roots because he learned early on in life that putting down roots means risking having your roots yanked out of the ground and losing a few parts of yourself that you can’t get back.  

But now his duffle bag is unpacked and his clothes (as little as they are given the short shoreleave) are neatly folded and put away in a nice mahogany wardrobe that Ice dragged out of storage for him, in a room with a bed covered in Kazansky family heirloom quilt, two doors down from the master bedroom.

His sneakers are in the cabinet in the foyer, his keys - the car and to this house- is in a little bowl on the foyer’s side table, his jacket hanging beside Mav’s letterman with a massive emblem of a winged dagger on its back (a gag gift from their special detachment - the emblem something that Fan drunkenly sketched out on a napkin that he pinched from Penny’s bar, declaring magnanimously that its now “Our coat of arms, chiquitas and chiquitos”). 

Mav’s fingers shift lazily through Jake’s hair and tugs a little at the end before starting back from the roots. His thigh under Jake’s cheek is perfectly still even as his stomach quivers in his silent laughter at something that Rooster said. The savory scent of dinner earlier still wafts in the den, intermingling oddly with the scent of the reed diffuser on the small circular table by the window.

Jake can hear the sounds of the dishwasher closing and cutleries being put away, Ice’s and aunt Sarah’s voice a low murmur with the occasional peal of laughter from the Admiral’s sister. From outside, Jake can just hear the metallic sounds the basketball hoop makes as someone scores, excited yells from the kids just barely muffled by the house.  

“RooRoo, I wanna play,” Little Jack’s voice carries over to their little hide-away, one of Rooster’s many sort-of cousins no doubt making grabby hands at his phone, judging by Rooster’s quiet laughter. 

“No, Jack, hold on, I'm texting my friends– here, look you wanna say hi to Bobby?”

The steady sound of his phone’s notification from the coffee table tells Jake that there’s a lot of replies from their group chat - most likely in response to whatever picture of Jake napping in Mav’s lap that Rooster shared in the group. Jake doesn’t even feel the slightest bit annoyed by that. He’s in a house with two parents, little cousins, an aunt, and whatever Rooster is - nothing short of wild horses dragging him out of this house can upset him. 

Rooster’s quiet laughter builds up to a cackle as Mav’s hand moves from his head to tuck his shoulders further into the couch, illogically worried that Jake was gonna roll off the furniture. Warmth spreads through Jake’s chest at that. 

“Jack,” the cackle grows louder accompanied by the sounds of Jack’s high pitched laughter, “No no no don’t text that– ”

“Jackie, why don’t you and Bradley take this outside?” Mav hums and Jake feels the older man shift to bring him closer, his head snug in the cradle of Mav’s hips with his forearm across Jake’s chest. “I think the rest of the kids are playing a game or two on the court - you wanna show Bradley what Rueben taught you? Hey, Bradley, can you pass me the– yeah.” 

“Pay was here?” Jake hears the surprise in Bradley’s tone. He hears the sound of soft fabric being moved off slippery leather and Mav’s whispered thanks as he feels softness and warmth drape over his legs to his waist. “When was that?”

“About a month ago, I think?” Mav’s voice is contemplative and his hand falls back on Jake’s shoulder, squeezing a little. “Just for dinner, he wasn’t around for long.” The hand rubs up and down his arm, massaging his sore muscles. “God, the drive must’ve really worn him out - poor kid.”

“RooRoo.” Jake hides his smile in Mav’s jeans. “Let’s goooooo.”

“Alright, alright - calm down, short stack.” 

Jake hears the sounds of feet scrambling on carpet, the frantic footfall of little feet running out of the den and a calmer set following. His phone continues to ping with notifications on the coffee table, the only sound in the comfortable silence of the den. Jake opens his eyes slowly, pupils adjusting to the slightly dim golden light of the room- signs that the golden hour is coming to its tail-end . Jake takes a moment to just breathe, taking in lungfuls of the reed diffusers, the fabric softener Mav uses, faint scent of his own cologne, the smell of home.

He rolls his shoulder, dislodging Mav’s hand to fall to the dip of his waist as he shifts his body to lay flat on the sofa. 

“Knew you were awake.” Mav jostles his thigh and Jake’s head shakes, drawing a short bark of laughter. “Don’t feel like socializing?”

“Nah,” Jake hums. He looks up at Mav and smiles. “Wanna spend time with my old man.”

Mav smiles back at him, green eyes as soft as the first time they really looked at Jake in that emergency room months ago. Pulling up the throw blanket, Jake turns to lie on his side, his face buried in Mav’s stomach and Mav’s hand caressing the back of his head.

He falls asleep.

#peter maverick mitchell #jake hangman seresin #hangster (hints) #icemav #bradley rooster bradshaw #tom iceman kazansky #mavdad #jaeger writes

[malavera]

From the Window (m) — Tom Cruise

A/N: I’m gonna have a Taglist! If you wanna be on it, let me know in the comments or DM me! 💋

Summery: Tom Cruise’s watching you fuck yourself.

Warnings: No plot pure Smut, F/masturbation, Voyeurism, Use of toys, Do note that this is a work of FICTION!

tagging: @deanscroissant

Check out the Series!

inspo pic @cherrycruise 💞

Closing the door behind him, Tom tossed his work bag on the floor. Huffing out a big sigh before he noticed the curtain of his bedroom window is wide open, letting the moonlight shine through, illuminating the dark room. As he made his way towards the window along with tossing his blue blazer to his bed. Grabbing one side of the curtain, he was ready to drag across to meet with the other but something, or rather someone, catches his attention that made him halted his movements. His eyes widened, his mouth went slightly agape.

There, there, his neighbor’s young niece, Y/N, is touching herself on her bed. Her bed is facing towards her window which faced to Tom’s. Tom swallowed his saliva as he realized he’s still in frozen state.

He watched the way your fingers toy with your clit, your other hand giving your tits the attention that they need by playing with the nip. Tom has always noticed you, he’s pretty closed with Your aunt, sometimes he would come by and talk to her. And of course, you’re always there. Either cleaning the front yard, or washing her Porsche with such a provocatively sexy outfit.

His pants suddenly became uncomfortable, as if like he wanted to rip them off. A tent is starting to grow in his pants as he watched you shoved 2 fingers inside your cunt, your back arched from the action that you caused. He could see it, perfectly, clear with the moonlight helps illuminate the wetness from your cunt.

You’re so wet.

And do you know who you’re playing for? Him.

You knew how he’d always comes home late, he’d always have to close the curtain to his bedroom by himself. You’re feeling adventurous and you’ve always had a crush on him. You imagined how your fingers was his, you know he’s watching you.

You sighed and halted your actions, your fingers doesn’t seem to give the satisfaction that you needed anymore. So, you decided to pull out the big gun, the dildo underneath your bed.

Once you pulled out your fingers slowly, you act like he’s not watching you, as you confidently shuffle through the stuff underneath your bed to find the one thing you’re looking for. You sighed once you successfully retrieve the veiny fake cock, a smile on your lips. You sat on your knees, you kissed the tip made your red lipstick left a bit of stain.

Tom watches the whole thing.

From the teasing by your lips, before you shoved it into your mouth. You seductively suck on the fake cock, your other hand playing with your clit to get yourself ready. You took the dildo out from your mouth with a pop before you slammed the part where it should stick, to the medium-sized cabinet surface that is placed at the foot of your bed.

You sighed to yourself in satisfaction before you position yourself facing the headboard of your bed on all fours. Ass up in the air, grabbing the standing fake cock, you aim it towards your entrance as you slowly sink down on it. The whole process made you close your eyes, mouth fell open, with a soft moan escaping from your throat.

You always wondered how does Tom Cruise’s cock looks and feels like. I bet he’s hung, you thought.

Bracing yourself on your knees, your hands supporting you from the bed cushion, you grind on the fake cock.

“Ssshiit,” Tom cursed to himself. His tent growing by each seconds as he palmed himself from his dress pants. This is so wrong, he thought. But why does it feel so right? Tom is in distress, whether he should pull out his chair, rip his pants away and go nuts, or he should slap himself out of of this craziness that is caused by his neighbor’s young niece.

He watches the way you lift your hips as you bounce on the dildo, your cabinet slightly shook due to the hit that caused from your body. Shit, that’s making it even more sexy, he thought.

Tom then realized that this is what you want, to get him wrapped around your fingers. To get him to stand there and fuck himself off, or to get him to finally pull out his chair and fuck himself off. From the way you always find something to provoke him, the way you wash your aunt’s car, the way you dress whenever he’s around, when you get out from the shower without a towel on, he knew you’ve been trying to get his attention. What a whore.

Once Tom realizes all of those, he smirked and release his palm from his tent. He undo the cuff of his wrist, still watching you, pulling the sleeves up to his elbow before crossing his arms. Meanwhile, you’ve been lost in your own world, screw making him watch you it’s a bonus for you. Now, you needed your own pleasure.

You kept bouncing on the fake cock, the only sound forming out in this room is the way your pussy sucking out that fake cock, and the squelching sound from it. You imagined that’s how you’re gonna ride Tom Cruise’s dick. You really want to use his cock as your toy. Get yourself off.

Before you know it, you came with a loud moan, thank god your Aunty isn’t home, or else she could hear the whole house is shaking due to you bouncing on that fake cock so hard you really thought it was Tom Cruise’s.

You sighed to yourself before you slowly pull out the fake cock from your pussy by lifting your hips upward. You turn around to expect Tom already on his chair and fucking his cock, but to find him looking at you dead in the eye with his arms still crossed.

It startled you, you didn’t expect him to stand there and watch, you expect him to fuck himself to the show that was put on by you.

A some kind of evil smirk slowly expressed on his face, Tom bit his bottom lip before he shook his head off to the ground then back up to you. You sat there on your bed, dumbfounded and rather ashamed at the same time, before Tom grabs the other side of his curtain and drags it off.

Fuck, does he not like it? Or are you in trouble?

#tom cruise #tom cruise smut #tom cruise fic #tom cruise x reader #tom cruise movies #top gun maverick #maverick #maverick smut #top gun au

[deliciousangelfestival]

My Problematic Girl-Chapter 6

Character: College!Steve Rogers x Rich!Female Reader

Words Count: 2,334.

Prologue:  Steve has lived being nobody in this prestigious university. He just wants to graduate and get a job to get more money to pay the bills for his mother's surgery. 

But his life turned upside when a new student attended his class. His quiet and dull life became dangerous and full of surprises.

A/N: In chapters 6 and 7, we will learn about Y/N's background story. 

×××

She exhaled the cigarette smoke from her lips. She still doesn’t care even though he told her he has asthma. 

She looked at Steve and said, “Bark for me.”

Steve felt humiliated, and his pride was crushed. But she held his life and secrets. He had to bury his dignity to the ground, and he murmured, 

“Woof.”

******

I would appreciate any comments and feedback you can give me. 

You can tell me if you want to join the tag list. Don't be shy 😘💖💜💙

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 ,Chapter 8 , Chapter 9,-

Main Masterlist || buy me ko-fi

White wall, stainless waiting chair with a blue cushion, a TV playing a wildlife documentary nobody had ever watched, and a monitor showing a patient named Sarah Rogers. 

Steve used to hate the smell of the hospital, but today he doesn't mind because his mother is inside the surgery room. While waiting, he hold his hand together and closed his eyes to pray hoping his mother surgery will be success. 

"You could wait at the canteen."

"Y/N?"

He was surprised to see him standing beside him. It's been a week since the last time he saw her. She didn't go to the campus again, and her dress looks like a businesswoman now, like a lawyer.

What has she been up to these days? Nobody knows.

"For you."

Y/N brought a brown bag, flowers and a fruit basket. 

When Steve opened the brown paper bag, there was a milk box, a sandwich, and an apple inside it. Is this for him? 

"You haven't eaten. I saw you while I visited someone." She pointed at the flower and fruit basket. "It's for your mom."

What? Is Y/N that he knew could be this kind? 

"Thank you."

She hummed and left him alone like usual. God knows where she's going. She came out of nowhere to torture him but also help him at the same time. 

Steve couldn't believe he would say this if she didn't blackmail him; Y/N isn't that evil. 

Flashback

On a sunny day, inside the apartment, two people sit together, a girl playing the piano and her mother smiling for being a proud mother. 

“You play well, Y/N.” That soft voice always calms her, and the gentle touch from her mother makes her feel safe. Her name is Evelyn L/N.

Y/N nodded her head “Thank you, mommy, teacher Lilly taught me.”

Then their apartment door was opened by a middle-aged man wearing a suit and holding a box of ice cream. “I’m home and didn’t forget the ice cream this time.” 

Brian L/N just came home after handling a big case.

“Daddy.” Y/N jumps from her seat to greet her father. 

“Welcome home.” 

This image is of happy family Brian L/N, Evelyn L/N, and Y/N L/N. 

Y/N parents were inseparable since they grew up in the same orphanage. They don’t have anyone else except themselves. 

Her parents work hard to bring Y/N a good life. That’s their only goal when they become parents. They don’t want their daughter to feel incomplete like they used to.

There used to be three of them, but her family became bigger as time passed. 

Y/N's mother worked as an accountant at Stark Company. Y/N considers Howard Stark and Maria as her uncle and aunt. And Tony's her annoying brother who always teases her. 

Her piano teacher Lilly is her fairy godmother. She is always there for her when her parents are busy working. 

Y/N's life was simple; at 8 years old, she wanted to play piano, hang out with her friends, and spend time with her parents. 

But everything changed after her father became the lawyer for the mastermind of the Ponzi Schemes. 

‘CRASH’

The sound of glass shattered after being smashed to the wall. 

Evelyn threw that glass; it was intended for her husband. The only man she ever loved and trusted in this world. She knew Brian as a kind, gentle and honest person. But now, in her eyes, he changed. 

Even the way he touched her at night was different. She could gather the clue from the perfume, lipstick stain, and hair from his suits. 

Another woman. That’s the answer.

“Liar. There are no business trips. You spend the night with her!”

“What the fuck Evelyn.” Brian stands back while pushing Y/N and Lilly to the main door. When they arrived at the door, he kneeled. “Y/N, could you spend the night with Lilly again? Your mother is sick.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say; she gripped the teddy bear tighter and nodded. 

“No, don’t take her away from me.” The door got closed, but she could her mother scream.

That was the last time she ever saw her mother at their own home.

Because the next time she saw her at the psychiatric hospital. 

What happened to her mother? She never got sick, and she lost weight. 

“What has he done to you?” Howard wanted to scream but held it in because he didn’t want to make Y/N scared. His wife Maria tried her best to calm down Y/N when she saw how different her mother looked.

“He tried to get rid of me and want to make me lose my insanity,” Evelyn said while signing some documents. She handed back the signed copies to Howard. “With this, the only person who will get my shareholder is only Y/N.”

“He’s changed. He’s not the same Brian I used to know.”

Evelyn waved at her daughter “Y/N, come here.”

Y/N jumped to her mother's bed and hugged her. Evelyn grabs Y/N's hand “Honey, remember I’m your only mother.” Her fingers used to be smooth, and her perfume smelled of sweets. But now her fingers became skin and bones. But the warmth from her mother's hug was still the same. 

“Yes, mommy.”

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Her mother kept apologizing even though she didn’t do anything wrong. Y/N wants to ask him, but she will do it next time since Evelyn keeps crying. But there’s no next time because her mother died from a heart attack a few days later. 

Y/N cried and screamed her lungs out at the cemetery. Everyone at the funeral felt deeply sad looking at the crying little girl and confused because her father didn’t look sorry.

He didn’t say any words to his daughter; he only talked to the Stark couple to watch Y/N for a week. 

It was confusing for Y/N; her mother just died, her father left, and now she’s in different places. But Uncle Howard and Aunt Maria were so nice to her. They do anything to cheer her up. 

Then a week later, her father came to pick her up with a car Y/N had never seen before. Behind the tinted window, she saw a woman in the passenger seat. Her father exited the car first and then opened the passenger door. 

Y/N never saw that woman before, but why did her father hold that woman's hand? They walk together and stop in front of the Stark couple and Y/N. 

That woman didn’t even glance at Y/N. The only person she wants to talk to is Howard Stark. She introduced herself as Sophia Solomon, but Uncle Howard ignored her.

Howard was fuming angrily; he pointed at Brian and said, “Our friendship ended here.”

Brian ignored him, and he leaned down. “Y/N, come here.”

Y/N stands closer to Sophia. She’s tall, beautiful, and wears a nice dress, but the smell of her perfume is too strong, and her red nails are too long. Her nails hurt Y/N's hands. 

"Her name is Sophia, and 4 four of us will live together now."

Y/N needed help understanding what her father said. She turned her head back to ask Howard and Maria, "Why will she take care of me? And four?”

Howard and Maria didn’t know how to answer. Instead, Sophia replied, “Y/N, I have a daughter the same age as you. Both of you will become sisters.”

Her father left, and then he returned with a new wife and daughter. What is going on? 

Y/N doesn’t feel comfortable in this situation at all. She returns to Howard and clings to his leg “Uncle, please, I don’t want to go.”

The Stark family doesn’t want Y/N to go too, but her father is the only parent she has in this world. Maria whispered, “If you don’t feel safe, call us.”

Brian grabs Y/N's hand and brings her into the car. He never said anything about his first wife, while Evelyn is the only thing in Y/N's thoughts almost daily. 

“We will live in the new place. It’s much bigger than our old house.”

Y/N keeps looking out the window and says nothing to her father. She didn’t recognize the streets. The only place she wants to go is her old apartment. 

The car entered a gate and stopped at the big house. Y/N only saw this kind of house in her fairytale book. It’s as big as a castle. 

“Hello, sister.”

Y/N heard those words the moment she got out of the car. She turned and saw a girl who was the same height as her. She was wearing girly clothes with a pigtail hairstyle.

“Sarah.”

“Mom.” Sophia hugged the girl, who seemed like her daughter. Y/N clenched her shirt and bit her lips, trying not to cry because their interaction made her remember her mother. 

Sophia held Sarah's hand while approaching Y/N and said, “Her name is Sarah Solomon.”

Oh God, there are two of them.

After Y/N met these 2 people, she wished she could run away because her nightmare started that day. 

At the big house, Y/N felt her existence was isolated. Her father barely talked to her; her stepmother kept comparing Y/N to her daughter, step sister kept copying all her moves. 

Y/N's only escape is a piano lesson. Her only way to get out of the house is to practice at Lilly's home. She could visit her apartment and meet her old friends since Brian transferred her to a private school. 

But her only escape got stopped by her stepsister. Sarah was jealous with Y/N's skill at playing piano and winning many awards; she even got to perform at Mozart concerts. 

And what made Sarah hates Y/N is that she got recognition from her grandfather Maximus Solomon. 

One thing that made Sophia and Sarah jealous of Y/N was that she got approval from him. 

Maximus is the Solomon family's patriarch and the company's CEO. His personality is rude and disrespects everyone, even with his bloodline. He doesn't like Sophia because she's not smart and always makes problems. While Sarah knew she had taken it, somebody else worked and announced that she had made it.

He prefers someone who came from nothing and made it to the top. That's why he approve Brian to join the family because Sophia's first husband was stupid and died of an overdose. 

Maximus is interested in Y/N because this girl doesn't do anything to impress him. It was the other way around; he was impressed with how she had lost everything; she got bullied at the house but was still smarter than Sarah. 

Brian told Y/N to study piano together with Sarah. Their skills were at different levels, while Sarah wanted to be in the same story as Y/N by instant. It’s impossible. Sarah, who always gets whatever she wants, can’t accept this. Her jealousy ate her logic. She pushed Y/N to the glass cabinet. 

And the aftermath shocked the household. Sarah screamed because the shattered glass from the fallen cabinet scratched her legs. While Y/N had already fainted, the cabinet fell on her back. The shattered glass stabbed into her fingers. 

The next moment she woke up at the hospital. Both her hands were wrapped in bandages. She tried moving her fingers inside the bandages, which hurt badly. This will ruin her chance to perform at the concerts. 

Y/N told her father, “She pushed me to the cabinet. It’s all her fault.” 

She wanted her father to punish Sarah, but her wish was immediately crushed when her father said, “Sarah said both of you were playing, and you stumbled to the cabinet.”

“That’s not true!!!” 

This will be the first time in Y/N's life she screamed at her father. 

She finally understands why her mother screamed that time because she’s frustrated no matter how often she explains her father won’t listen. 

“Y/N.” Howard and Maria came running and hugged her. 

“Uncle, Aunty.” Y/N raise her bandaged hands toward them and whispers, “Help me; I want to live.”

The Stark couple were shocked by her plea. What kind of situation she got into that made her begging to get saved? It must be bad at the Solomon house. 

After her sudden wish, there’s a legal battle between Starks and Solomon to fight for Y/N. It was difficult, but in the end, Starks won after the Judge heard her stories. 

Y/N finally could breathe when she stayed at the Stark household. 

She found out that Uncle Howard wants to open an investigation into her mother's sudden death. But his request got denied by the judge. That’s how powerful Solomon's family is. 

And about Sophia first husband dying because of an overdose, same like Y/N's mother, it was an unnatural death. Her dead husband was a disgrace to the family. She needs a reliable man to fill in her husband's position. 

This is where she met Brian. She was amused by how he negotiated with the police and judges when she almost got caught in the Ponzi scheme she created with her dead husband. 

Sophia wants to make amends for her mistakes.

She will do everything to impress her father, Maximus Solomon. 

She knew Brian was the only man that fit her father's criteria. It doesn't matter to her if he is married and has a kid.

Solomon people were greedy and ambitious. They will do anything to get what they want. 

When Y/N heard that, she felt sad knowing her father had become greedy. She doesn't need all the expensive stuff and loves that old apartment. 

No matter how much she thinks about her father, it's too late. She lost him. 

Losing her father is nothing compared to the tragedy she went through. Three days after Y/N's 15th birthday, she lost her uncle and aunt in a car accident. 

Thank you for reading. I hope you like it.

You can tell me if you want to join the tag list. Don't be shy 😘💖💜💙

I will always be grateful for those who reblog. Thank you so much.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9,-

Main Masterlist || buy me ko-fi

Join the tag list :

@cherrybubblebullet

@starsofcloud

@kandis-mom

@bagoffeelings

@darkofimagination

@mansaaay

@zaraomarrogers

@magnificentsaladllama

@rebeccapineapple

@irishhappiness

@sjlainny

#steve rogers imagine #my problematic girl series #chris evans characters #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers au #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #marvel au #steve rogers fanfiction #pre serum steve #pre serum steve x reader #pre serum steve rogers #college!steve rogers

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Golden pumpkins hunt

A short and little crappy story about our farmers and the madness during the maze on Spirits Eve.

Farmer OCs in this story: May (@poxy-domain), Zeke (@theambivalentagender), Rain (@silly-farmer), Wren (@girls4zelda), Bo (@boinurmom13), Miranda (@amishasp), Shiro (@shirokumav3), Myra (@seharuuchan), Marley (@mmarggsstuff), Willow (@vilochkaaa), Skylar (@justashamwithwastedpotential), Thad (@reallyghostlypost), Lucy (@doggoneaway), Bella (@ivquatro), Eris (@lavendel081), Elisa (@elisa6102), Hestia (@g0atmama), Fawn (@fawn-wickenshire), Josephine (@jazhand), Ziana (@nimillaarts) and Julian (my OC).

_________________________________________

"Aunt Marnie! I'm not little anymore, why can't I go into the maze...". Julian turned to Jaz, who had been begging her aunt for about ten minutes to let her enter the scary maze this year, but Marnie was still hesitant. No sooner had Julian greeted the two of them and congratulated them on Spirit's Eve than Bo pulled him back to the maze entrance.

"You'll see, dude, we're definitely going to win this Magnus puzzle! Especially since this year's prize is not one, but three whole golden pumpkins!", Bo enthusiastically tugged on his friend's sleeve, unable to contain his anticipation before the treasure hunt. "We'll divide the spoils, naturally: both get a pumpkin each, and the third... well, we'll figure something out!"

The two young men stopped near two artisanal arches.

"It's showtime, baby! Ok, I'll go left, and you go right then. Good luck, bro." With a Hollywood smile on his face, Bo clapped Julian on the shoulder, and disappeared into the semi-darkness of the maze.

The young man with multicolored eyes sighed a little tiredly: he wasn't opposed to the most exciting adventure to find the golden pumpkin, but before entering the maze, Julian wanted some snacks from the communal food table. The poor lad hadn't had time to eat before the feast, and the smell of spices made his stomach rumble and mind go crazy. But Julian decided he would help Bo win the contest first, because after all, three pumpkins was a very generous reward.

Without wasting any more precious time, Julian finally entered the maze. The tangled paths, the cold, penetrating wind, the dense dark vegetation on either side, the atmosphere and frightening scenery, the shrieks of familiar voices, the laughter and the rush - enthralled by the spirit of the feast, Julian even forgot about hunger for a while.

Continuing to walk further and further down the labyrinth, Julian didn't immediately realize how he found himself in a place separate from the main maze. There was a circle where Magnus Rasmodius himself was sitting cross-legged, and next to the wizard were Julian's friends and colleagues in farming - Eris and Bella were sitting on soft pouffes, holding cups with hot drinks in their hands, and Elisa was eating delicious white chocolate-covered strawberries. The treats were made with scary but still cute faces of all sorts of ghosts and monsters.

"Hey, Julian! Happy Spirit's Eve!", with her mouth slightly full, Elisa congratulated the young man. Bella and Eris also nodded to Julian sincerely happy meeting their friend.

"Greetings, young adept. Enjoying the festivities?", Magnus ducked one eye open, not taking a break from his meditation. Julian sensed a large concentration of magic in this place - apparently to maintain the summoned maze.

"Would you like to join us? We still have some strawberries and hot tea left." Bella moved a loose cushion closer and a plate of strawberries, which Elisa looked at very intently. Oh, how Julian wanted to stay here and have a snack!

But he made a promise to Bo...

"Thanks for the offer, but another time. I still want to win the competition."

"Good luck to you, then." Eris smiled sincerely at the young man, and happily took a sip of hot tea.

"Watch out, young fool. The treasure is guarded by fearsome monsters, it won't be easy to get it..." Magnus was pleased with his own cryptic and creepy speech, and hummed quietly, returning to his meditation. After saying goodbye to everyone, Julian rolled his eyes.

"Scary monsters, yeah... They're all fake for sure!" With that thought, the young man went back to searching for the right path to the treasure.

Walking past the plastic spiders (where Thad was able to hide and scare Julian enough to make the poor guy jump a little), he stopped near a huge cauldron where a green liquid of unknown origin was bubbling. Penny, Ziana, Shiro, and Myra stared at the bottom of the cauldron, mesmerized.

"Mr. Julian..." Ziana said in a slightly monotone somehow. "This cauldron... It smells so good, it makes my head spinning and dizzy." The other girls only nodded slowly to confirm her words.

The boiling water smelled like cotton candy, and Julian's hungry stomach twisted itself into a knot. Ugh, no, he need to move on! Overcoming the urge to stay near the cauldron, the young farmer returned to his original mission, intending to turn left.

"Nope, it's a dead end." Skylar walked out of the darkness a little tiredly with Sam. "Honey, maybe we can go back to the common table?"

"Oh, absolutely!" Sam was delighted, "Besides, the straw in my suit makes me itchy... like, everywhere."

Oh well, Julian thought, the search continues.

"Hmm, maybe I should turn into a dragon? Then I’ll definitely find the treasure..." Hestia stood thoughtfully near the fake tombstones.

"Don't cheat!", Julian said a little provocatively from behind, which slightly frightened the girl. Hestia herself was not in debt, and stuck her tongue out at Julian, disappearing into the darkness of the labyrinth. Giggling, the young man walked on.

Yoba, the labyrinth seemed endless to him, and his stomach is already begged for some food...

"You decided to take part in the treasure hunt too?" Julian didn't notice Rain standing in front of him. He nodded to her in agreement. "And you?" Julian asked.

"Eh, I'm just hanging out here. I like this creepy atmosphere, it gives me goosebumps." Rain smiled, pointing her hand at Fawn and Josephine standing nearby. "Besides, I decided to accompany my friends in case we accidentally stumble upon monsters." She patted the hilt of her sword that was strapped to her hip.

"Huh? But the monsters in the maze aren't real." Julian was surprised.

"How are you so sure?", having asked a rhetorical question, Rain said goodbye to her friend and returned to the girls, who were still looking at the house with chicken legs with delight and curiosity.

Her words made Julian's hand tighten his grip on the hilt of the dagger, which he had taken purely to decorate his suit... "Magnus wouldn't put people's lives in danger. Right?..." Now walking more carefully and listening to every sound, Julian I was able to go through half the maze already.

After about two minutes, the poor guy was scared again when Miranda's figure suddenly appeared from the bushes. The girl’s face was distorted with anger, and she confidently walked past Julian towards the exit, despite the thorny bushes.

"Today there will be one less stupid adventurer in the world," Marley said to Julian with a malicious smile when she saw his downcast face. "You’re on the right track, brother. The treasure is out there somewhere. I think"

"Aren't you going to look for pumpkins?", still in a slight shock, Julian asked hesitantly.

"And miss such a show?" Smiling even wider, Marley hurried after her friend. Julian prayed for the soul of that unfortunate adventurer who became the cause of Miranda's righteous anger. Deciding to find out about this story later, he headed in the direction from which both girls had emerged.

With every step he took, his hope of winning faded, and the thought of returning to other friends at a common table beckoned him more and more.

“Yep, I told you it was fake,” Zeke stopped looking at the plastic chest and just quietly snorted at Shane’s comment. "Oh, another competitor." Shane just smiled faintly, and Zeke waved to Julian in greeting. "Zek, maybe, to hell with these pumpkins? I’m already hungry." Oh, how hungry Julian is - you can’t imagine, Shane!

"Alright alright, let's go for the snacks. I hope there’s some honey bun left in there!' Taking Shane by the hand, Zeke led him towards the exit.

Mmmm, honey buns... Julian can already feel the sweetness melting in his mouth and...

"Oh man, there you are!" Poor Julian might have a heart attack at this rate, and he's too young to die! Ah, it's just Bo.

"We are already close, I can already feel the taste of victory!" Taking Julian again by the sleeve of his leather jacket, the two farmers headed along the only road that would definitely lead them to the desired chest.

"So, now we have to go here and-" Bo didn’t have time to finish when suddenly, before his and Julian’s eyes, the figure of their mutual friend, Wren, appeared.

"Agh, damn, I knew I should have teleport a little further!" Stomping her foot angrily, the red-haired girl, however, immediately turned pale when she saw Julian and Bo, and giggled slightly nervously.

"What the tutty frutty fuck is going on here?" Confused, Bo blinked a couple of times and immediately answered his own question: "Cheater!"

Wren only smiled even stronger and ran away in the opposite direction from the treasure.

"Hey, come back!" Bo rushed off after the girl, leaving Julian alone. Alright.

It became darker and darker, the cold autumn wind did not spare anyone who was now outside, and the stomach began to growl again. So having decided to finally reach the end, the young man already prayed that this would be the end of the hunt for golden pumpkins. He's so tired and so, oh so hungry...

And it seems that this time - finally - Yoba heard the prayers of one of the chaotic farmers in the Stardew Valley.

A large, decorated wooden chest - after so many puzzles and endless dead ends - Julian finally found the treasure. He had already stretched out his hands to touch the lid of the chest and rightfully take the prize, when a human figure again appeared out of nowhere in front of him.

But this time it was May.

The girl smiled to the fact that she had teleported directly to the target, but her smile immediately faded when she realized that she had been caught. Oopsie....

The two farmers looked into each other's eyes for half a minute, not daring to do anything.

"Apple cinnamon pie in exchange for your silence," May finally decided to interrupt this staring contest. Julian's eyes widened.

"Deal", Oh boy, you didn't need to say twice. After shaking her hand and receiving from his friend a plate with a still warm pie (where she even get this pie?), May took her prize from the chest and disappear once again.

With the satisfied smile of the happiest man in the entire Valley, Julian began to leave the maze, still holding the plate of pie in his hands.

"Well, did you get your prize?" Willow laughed good-naturedly, standing with Lucy near the exit from the maze. Julian just nods, and Lucy noted to herself how little a person needs to be happy.

#sdv #stardew valley #sdv oc #sdv ocs #farmer julian #i hope i mention everyone in this story

[sketches4mysw33theart]

To Indeed Be A God

The title has almost no bearing whatsoever on the writing, I'm just obsessed with the Dead Poets Society right now.

Pairing: Henry Winter (The Secret History)

Summary: A drowsy morning at the country house with Henry Winter involves a row around the lake, a breakfast picnic, and falling asleep in the boat.

Warnings: Google translated phrases, please let me know if these are wrong!

I awoke to a throbbing in my head, a contrasting harmony to the soft twittering of birds floating in through the open window. I couldn’t resist the groan that forced its way from my mouth. It felt as though my head was being split open repeatedly, like a misguided executioner was standing at the head of my bed and swinging an unsharpened axe.  

It was several moments before I moved at all after I had rolled over, my body feeling scarily heavy yet weightless at the same time. I had little desire to so much as breathe manually, let alone open my eyes and face the merciless joy of the sunlight.  

As I lay there, eyes closed firmly, hands grasping the thin silk duvet, flashes of the previous night came to me as though through a camera’s lens.  

The dinner, a large affair to mourn the passing of the twin’s beloved dog. The wine sloshing in the Abernathy’s prized crystal wine glasses. Those same glasses raised in multiple toasts and clinking together like blood-soaked moths in the candlelight. Charles at the piano playing melodies of sweet summers past. The bottle of Bourbon passed between us without a care for tumblers. Francis plucking Camilla from the armchair she had curled herself up in to stumble around the library in a clunky dance. Bunny’s face, lined with confusion and acidity, watching us all through rolling eyes. Richard’s reflection, gaping at the chandelier-lit room through dazed eyes, as I stared out of the window, looking for stars but finding only my own distorted face.  

And Henry, tall and proud and stoic and quiet. Him I could picture clearly, as sharp and focused as a still life portrait. He’d drank as much as us, more, yet he’d never fizzed over like we did. Only watched from the sofa as we exploded like fireworks, flashing reds and yellows reflected twofold in the whites of his eyes through his glasses.  

Then, me falling into place beside him, head spinning in dizzying circles even as I laid it back on the plush sofa cushions with my eyes shut, light popping behind my eyelids.  

Then, him whispering to me, the soft, cold anchoring of his deep voice, but either I couldn’t tell what he was saying, or I was not in tune enough to listen.  

Then, I was there, waking up in bed. 

I opened my eyes when the pounding in my head began to lessen, allowing the bird song to wash over me rather than suffocate me. The thick curtains were open, weak sunlight creeping across the oak floor and furnishings, lighting them up like whisky. It was cool, that early morning chill before the last of the lingering summer heat could settle in again.  

I watched the floor for several minutes, praying for my headache to cease. Of course, praying never did anyone much good. Henry would be disappointed.  

I didn’t have a clock in the room I stayed in during nights at the country house. Francis’s great aunt, whose room that used to be, couldn’t stand them. She felt they made her rush.  

Still, I could guess it was early. There was no noise. Francis wasn’t singing in the kitchen as he made breakfast, Charles and Camilla weren’t bickering meaninglessly in the depths of the house, Bunny wasn’t honking his laugh at some ridiculous jibe. There was nothing except pure tranquillity.  

I knew of one other person, for certain, who would be up so early. That was motivation enough to get out of bed. Still, it was a struggle. My body fought it as I sat up, pushed myself to my feet, scrabbled through my bag for clothes, and checked myself over in the mirror to make sure I looked presentable. 

Finally, I exited the room, closing the door with a soft click behind me. The hallway was quiet, eerily so, and I paced down it, focusing on the soft, luxurious carpet against my bare feet over the pounding of my head. 

On the stairs at the end of the hallway, Francis was curled up, still fully dressed, like a small child unable to stay conscious on a drive back from the beach, snoring obnoxiously and fiercely cuddling a near-empty bottle of whiskey. His overcoat tails were tangled between his bent legs, pale, slender ankles poking out conspicuously from his half pulled-off socks. In the country house, this was not an uncommon occurrence. 

I clambered over him, trying not to catch his limbs or face with my foot. As though sensing my presence as he slumbered, Francis uncurled his body, spreading himself out across several steps and out of the way of my bare feet. Smiling, I leant down to pat him gently on the cheek, careful not to disturb him. He looked incredibly peaceful, for once.  

I left Francis on the stairs, snoring in the shadows of the half-shuttered windows, and headed towards the library. There was a fair chance Henry would be there and, if not, I would likely spot him on my way over. 

As expected, it did not take me long. Henry valued the morning hours, the weak light illuminating the thick pages of his books, the quietness of a dawn tainted only by the songs of the birds.  

He was sat outside, of course, fully dressed, a suited silhouette through the ornate glass doors, a splatter of ink against the canvas of autumn. Although I pushed open the doors as softly as I could, his head shot up as soon as it began to squeak. 

“Good morning,” he said, with a smile. “Drink up.” A slight gesture of his hand brought to my attention a full glass of water and a sleeve of ibuprofen sparkling in the cool, creeping light. 

“Good morning,” I mumbled, fumbling with the package in my desperation to push out two of the pills. When I managed to do so, I swallowed them quickly with a large gulp of water, which I drained gladly straight after.  

Once I’d swiped at my lips, I took the few steps to his seat. Standing behind him, I rested my hands on his broad shoulders and bent down to press a kiss to his cheek. I caught the smile on his face, which did little to lessen the furrow of his brow. 

“How’s the translation going?” 

This question elicited a heavy sigh from him. “It’s all wrong, unfortunately. The verbs won’t translate well, and these sentence structures are ridiculously tricky.” 

“Boreís na to káneis éfkola agápi mou,” I breathed into his ear, bringing my fingertips to his sharp shoulder blades. You can do it easily, my love. 

He laughed. “Óchi ótan eísai étsi, den boró.” Not when you’re like this, I can’t. 

I hummed humorously, spreading my massaging fingertips along his taut shoulders. Spread out before us was the house’s garden, as pure and fierce as Eden, coming swiftly to life in front of my eyes. The sun was just emerging, lingering in the far east like God, watching His creations come to life as on the seventh day. Henry was watching it too, finally relieving himself of his books in favour of the glitter of the autumnal flowers, Gomphrena and Didiscus and Goldenrod. 

It wasn’t often I was up early enough to catch Henry on mornings like this. Despite our circumstances, we never shared a bed during our stays at the country house, primarily because Henry didn’t want to disturb me during our short vacations, or so he said. But also, because, I believe, he was rather shy about our activities around the rest of the Greek class. They knew, of course – we were never as subtle as we thought - but, still, there was something prudish lying within Henry. Or perhaps it was possessive. Not that it matters now, I suppose. 

“Let’s go to the lake,” he said, suddenly, startling me from my observance of a large bee bumbling its way drunkenly through a flowerbed.  

“Now?” I questioned, surprised. Henry enjoyed the mornings because of the quiet solitude they offered him, the time to be alone with his books and his papers. Things he valued even more, I think, than me. 

“Would you like to?”  

I was still sleepy, even more so after taking the ibuprofen Henry had laid out. Still, I could picture how lovely it would be: the drowsy, sun-laced walk through the dandelions and uncut grasses, the heady smell of nature flourishing around us, the somniferous sound of waves lapping at the gently rocking boat, the mesmerizing feeling of floating on air. 

“Yes,” I said, “I would, actually.” Henry was always confidently persuasive. Eerily so. Not that I would have needed much persuading, really. I just liked to think there was something magic about him.  

He sighed, stretching out his aching limbs as he got to his feet. Pre-emptively, he removed his jacket and folded it meticulously, leaving it on the seat of his chair. “Good. Perhaps we should take breakfast with us?” 

It was a wonderful idea, and we slipped back inside to prepare a breakfast picnic: a full bottle of orange juice, a half-full stoppered bottle of champagne left over from the previous night, a package of strawberries, a selection of pastries bought from Camilla’s favourite bakery on our way to the country house the previous morning, and a packet of large blueberry muffins.  

With our breakfast packed in an old wicker basket, we set off into the morning sun, meandering through the budding flowers and tall grasses, clasped arm in arm. It wasn’t a particularly long walk to the lake, but we lingered meaninglessly on the way, I to admire the nature and wildlife, and Henry to momentarily relieve his arm of the picnic basket and watch me with a smile when he thought I couldn’t see him. 

Eventually, we made it, and eagerly hopped into the lonesome boat oared at the makeshift jetty, picnic basket still in hand. Considering it was so early, Henry was alive with vigour, and rowed eagerly, pushing us quickly to the centre of the lake. He had been somewhat withdrawn over the last few weeks, particularly during our days at the country house, so seeing him come to life among the falling birch leaves was a gift.  

We covered one lap of the lake at a fairly quick pace, talking about our latest classes, Julian’s theory of Dionysiac architects (which was, essentially, that the secret language they spoke was more akin to modern day English than any other language throughout history), and the startling resemblance that morning of the pond and surrounding countryside to Jan Brueghel the Elder’s ‘Odysseus and Calypso’ - one of my favourite paintings.  

Henry slowed as we began our second lap of the lake, and I watched his concentrated expression in the water’s reflection.  

“Aren’t you tired?” I was feeling a little peppier now, despite the rhythmic sound of the waves lapping gently at the boat, and I knew Henry had been up significantly longer than I had. “Can I take over?”  

“No, you don’t have to do anything.” I was still watching him in the warped shine of the water, and he caught my eye through the fairy-dust covering of birch leaves. “Just sit right there and look like you do.” A smile flittered across his face briefly, and I shook my head, laughing.  

“If you say so,” I said, still laughing. Henry rowed on and began to fill the silence with his stream of thoughts on Heraclitus’ ideas of opposites, and how the philosopher decreed Hades and Dionysus as the same God, a belief Henry was strongly against. Occasionally he’d break his speech to mumble a suggestion for his translation, which he no doubt tucked away into another corner of his mind for later. 

At some point, I lay back across the seat of the boat, head coming to rest on the lip, one hand stretching over to trail in the lukewarm water. Francis had said once that one of the neighbours had seen leeches in the lake, and Bunny always swore blind that there were water snakes in there. Yet, still, we all went out on it as often as we could, swimming and fighting and trailing our hands through the ripples.  

Listening to Henry speak tantrically and feeling the warm water kiss my fingertips was as delicious and satisfying as being carried in Charon’s boat across the rivers separating the worlds of the living and the dead. I wanted it to last forever. The best kind of purgatory. Psuche. 

But eventually, we did come to a stop, once Henry, with some difficulty, had managed to turn the boat and situate it towards the centre of the lake. I sat up and stretched, groaning at the creak of my bones.  

As I heaved the picnic basket up on to the seat, Henry balanced the oars properly, wiped at his brow, and rolled up his sleeves, eying the cutlery and plates I was laying out. He must have been starving.  

I looked to him to ask if he had any preference for pastries as I began doling out them onto our plates, but the question died on my lips when I saw a constellation of bruises flowering in a strange pattern along his freshly revealed arm. They were fresh, a shocking purple tinted with red. 

“Henry,” I exclaimed, croissant held in one frozen hand. “What in God’s name have you been doing?” 

He furrowed his brows at me, following my eye line quickly. I saw him flounder for a moment, but in a flash, he was as composed as the Queen’s Guard.  

“Don’t fuss, it’s nothing. I fell in the garden yesterday morning, those damn dogs left more garbage on my front path. Is that for me?” 

I believed him, of course. It was a perfectly sensible answer, and certainly not the first time something like that had happened. If only I’d known... 

I gave him the croissant, and finished plating up the food as he poured two Mimosas into the old teacups we’d packed, using far more champagne than orange juice. We ate in a comfortable silence, broken sporadically by random thoughts and anecdotes; we were both slipping into fatigue once more now the sun was fully risen, not too warm against our skin, and the inebriating smells of flowers and the birch trees were reaching out to us, woody and smoky like winter night’s gone by.  

Four Mimosa’s later (between us), we had finished our breakfast, and were lying, nearly unconscious, in the boat, which was very slowly bobbing its own way around the lake once more. Henry was stretched out completely, arms acting as a pillow, and I was tucked in on my side next to him, resting my head on the broad stretch between his shoulder and chest. 

God knows how long we stayed there in the boat, moving listlessly without direction or need, bumping lightly against the bank until one of us made the effort to lift a foot and push us away, listening to the birds' tweet and fly above us, feeling the gentle caress of the birch leaves across her skin, hearing the soft intermingling of our breaths just over the gently lapping water as it granted us passage, seeing the shades of light and dark through the shield of our eyelids. Zoe. The divine life of God. 

When we were roused, the air, the very nature around us felt different, alive, charged. The sun was crawling towards the centre of the sky, but several dark clouds were on its heels. Hours must have passed.  

I came back to life first, awaking as though from death’s sleep, drowsy and confused. What came to me, however, was the distant call of my name, the familiar cadence of the voice. Francis. It was Francis.  

As his shouting got closer and slightly more frantic, I pushed myself up with one hand braced against the smooth wood of the boat’s sole, using the other to first wipe the sleep from my eyes and then shield them from the sun.  

Francis was on the far bank, heading towards the small jetty, and waving his arms as though welcoming in a plane. He was, I noticed with some amusement, still wearing the same clothes he was in when I’d stepped over him that morning. I waved my free hand at him, and he shouted my name again. “Are you insane? We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Is Henry with you? It’s gone 12, you know.” 

I couldn’t muster up the energy to respond to him, but I did lay a hand on Henry’s shoulder to shake him awake. With a bit of resistance, he came to, and sat up in the same sluggish manner as me, stretching out his arms, back, and neck. 

Francis called to him now. “Henry? Henry! Bring the damn boat in, will you? Julian’s coming to dinner tonight, and I need everything to be ready.” 

Henry waved his fingers at him, a dismissive acknowledgement, a king sending away a disobedient courtier. Finally, he opened his eyes, landing his gaze directly on me. He smiled, pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth so quickly I did not have time to respond. “Piso ston politismó,” he said lowly, a melancholy look setting in his features. Back to civilization.  

He situated himself carefully on the seat while I stayed where I was watching him like I was at the feet of one the post-Socratics. He picked up the oars once more and started rowing us back to bios. Back to life. 

#dead poets society #the secret history #tsh donna tartt #henry winter #camilla macaulay #bunny corcoran #richard papen #francis abernathy #charles macaulay #donna tartt #imagine #the secret history imagine #henry winter x reader #julian morrow #dark academia #charles and camilla #dark academia books #odysseus

[sollucets]

okay i’m finally here to give you a prompt HSKDKSDK first of all congrats on the milestone!!! secondly, i’m thinking akkayan + 24+25 for the touch prompts? i saw those ones and immediately thought of them hanging out with kanthua + namowat and a sensitive topic for one of them comes up?

hi liz ✨✨ im finally here to give you a fic! this was a lovely prompt thank u very much 💜

24 + 25 (whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin + stroking their arm soothingly); set somewhere in the back half of e12, probably; about 1.4k of group reflection

💜

“Did you all see Aunt Waree smiling today?” Namo asks into the silence.

Akk glances up from his book. Their entire group is sprawled across various surfaces in one of the common areas of Akk and Wat’s shared dorm building, exam prep supplies scattered all around them across the furniture and the generic patterned carpet. 

To Akk’s left, Aye is tucked into the corner of a moderately-comfortable couch, a notepad propped up against his legs and his laptop balanced precariously on the armrest. He’s changed out of his uniform and into a soft-looking, pale green t-shirt. Akk thinks his lips might be shinier than before, too, but he’s really trying not to check too much. It’s been happening more often recently, the lip gloss, and it makes Akk — well. Not study.

Across from them, Kan and Thua are sitting squished together on a loveseat, both out of their uniform jackets and excessively cuddly, and Namo and Wat take up another couch. Wat sits normally, but Namo is on his back and half-sprawled across the rest of the cushions, legs nearly in Wat’s lap. 

They’re the only ones in the room; if Akk’s tenuous reputation with the Suppalo populace combined with Wat and Kan’s overprotective posturing has done them any good, it’s that any space they take up on or even near campus usually gets given a wide berth. 

“Yeah, right,” Kan says dryly, not even bothering to look up. For the most part they’ve been surprisingly industrious given the group composition, but somebody has been interrupting at almost-clockwork fifteen-minute intervals the entire time. Himself and Thua aside, most of his friends don’t have the best attention span; Aye does, actually, but he seems to be perfectly fine with interruptions as long as he gets to pester Akk during them. 

“No, for real,” Namo insists, letting his book drop open onto his chest. Akk winces. He could at least use a bookmark. “When she came into class, she was all smiley, and she even said good morning to us before the head of cl— before class got called into session. I didn’t know she could do that.” 

His last-minute word swap is likely for the sake of Thua, who’d lost his position after his suspension. To Akk, it doesn’t seem like Thua really cares about that, but they’ve all been doing kind of a lot of sidestepping around each other’s issues in group settings. Some of them are better at it than others. 

Akk has talked, one-on-one, with most of his friends; he’s cried embarrassingly into Wat’s shoulder, let Kan hit him then hug him, let Thua say whatever he needed to despite Aye’s disapproval and came out of it with the same fire-forged understanding he’d had before. He isn’t sure if the others have done something close to the same, but when they’re all together there’s an unspoken agreement to leave it alone. A group delusion, maybe, pretending that they’re normal high schoolers for just a little longer. 

Finally, Wat looks up, casting Namo a sidelong glance. “No, he’s right, I saw it. It is pretty odd, but she’s just always been the kind of person who’s very careful about her image.” 

Akk, for his part, had not seen it. Before class started today Aye had kicked him under their shared desk, and when he’d reflexively kicked back he’d gotten an inexplicably softer one in return, and then again until he realized they were just nudging each other back and forth and Aye had a silly little smile on his face (and he had one too, probably, definitely). He was not paying attention. 

So that’s why he’s mildly offended when Aye chimes in. “I saw it too.” Their eyes meet briefly, and Akk doesn’t know how to object without admitting to being embarrassing, so he’s still just frowning aimlessly when Aye continues, “She’s really been a lot more relaxed lately. Maybe she feels freer.” He doesn’t sound happy about it.

Akk gets it, he thinks; he’s had enough practice on the other end of this particular Aye habit. It’s just him being all empathetic despite himself again. He still wants to be angry with her, and he’d deserve to be, after all the school’s teachers did to him, but he can’t help seeing it from her side even though he’d really rather not. 

Wat, apparently noticing the shift in mood, sounds more subdued when he says, “I mean, it really wasn’t always so bad. Our teachers are strict, it’s— the culture, but I think it got worse this year. With— everything.” 

Akk winces. Everyone is looking up now, Kan’s face set in those serious lines that suit him surprisingly well and Thua’s eyes unreadable under his lashes. 

Uncharacteristically, Namo’s half-smile goes more sincere. “You’re right,” he says honestly. “It was better when Teacher Dika was here.”

Thua’s eyes snap to Namo and Wat’s eyes snap to Aye and Kan’s mouth half-opens as they all simultaneously realize that there’s only one person in the room who wasn’t in a different room all that time ago. He doesn’t know. 

Before he can think about it, Akk is already reaching out to put a hand on Aye’s arm. He hasn’t moved, or said anything, but Akk finds him tense under his touch, staring at a fixed point in the distance that isn’t quite Namo. His hair is coming unstyled a little, a strand falling into his eyes. 

Namo doesn’t seem to notice the temperature dropping just yet. He genuinely looks thoughtful as he continues, “Even if he was a junior teacher, it sets an example. Like Teacher Sani now.”

Akk lets his fingers travel down Aye’s bicep, hoping to get any reaction at all. He’s rewarded with Aye turning to look up at him; after a moment, his eyes seem to focus back in from wherever he’d gone to look at Akk’s face. 

“Namo,” starts Wat, sounding uncertain, but he’s interrupted. 

Swallowing audibly, Aye looks across to Namo and asks, “How was it better?” 

“Oh, right, you wouldn't have been here,” Namo says cheerily. “He was an English teacher, but he worked in student welfare, too. Not that I was there all the time, of course,” he adds after a moment, in an immediately suspicious way. “But he was a really nice guy, even when he would’ve had every reason to scold people, and I think other staff saw that.” 

That sits there in the air for a moment, until, quietly, Thua says, “He always had these jokes on the whiteboard in his office, in English, that he’d explain all the parts of even if you didn’t ask.”

Aye laughs a little at that. It’s more breath than sound, and it looks like it startles him; Akk gives in to his own urge to comfort and puts his arm fully around his boyfriend, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. Instantly, Aye leans into it, soft against Akk’s side even as his notes slide haphazardly out of his lap.

Kan, having clearly seen them, starts loudly trying to remember one of Teacher Dika’s whiteboard jokes, exaggeratedly mispronouncing the words to make Thua giggle. Grateful, Akk takes the opportunity to dip his head and move even closer. His lips brush skin as he murmurs into Aye’s ear, “You’re alright?” 

In his hold, Aye wiggles a little, probably ticklish, and says, “I think so. Mostly.” It comes out wondering, like he hadn’t been sure, like he’d expected it to hurt more. “I— he did that at home, too. He had printed-out lists.”

That doesn’t surprise Akk. It makes sense, he thinks, for Teacher Dika to have tried to show as much of himself as he could have. And Namo’s right; they had seen that, for better and for worse. He wouldn’t blame Aye if he never forgave anyone for what they’d done with that, if he stood up right now and demanded they shut up about him, if he said it wasn’t like they had any right to his memory. Akk certainly doesn’t feel like he does, some days. 

Aye doesn’t do any of that. He just curls all the way into Akk, breathes intentionally even, and listens to them talk with a contemplative expression on his face. The others cast sidelong glances at him from time to time, worried, and then less, and then they’re moving on, eventually getting back to what they’re supposed to be here for. 

But Aye stays tucked comfortable and close, refusing to move when they have to arrange their notes again, even though it’s not like Akk was letting go. Their friends make fun of them, but only gently, the same way they’d do for anyone else, and that too is different now. 

#my fic tag #the eclipse #akk x ayan #arbitrary milestone prompts #yes they are going to tell namo eventually. probably right after this even #just not like. in front of aye lmao #i hope its obvious but. aye having lip gloss on in this fic is my light shoutout to your she/he aye. #(and also bordering on canonical frankly. i look at ayes mouth a normal amount) #the timing of the fic & its nature as an unrelated prompt made it difficult to address the whole thing. but. hes a lil gender here. u get i #oh! dika being a daily dad joke guy is a stolen characteristic of one of my most beloved high school teachers. mr hanson shout out.

[powerosewaterpuff]

dick grayson is a great cook fight me

you can take dick being a good no acc SPECTACULAR cook out of my cold dead hands. literally, I can envision that is the way that he reconnects with his culture as many of us immigrants do, and he loves to engorge his family with his food. whether it be steaming ashak for damian when he comes home from school. an old dish that he learned from his mother, who would tear up at the sight of it. as she murmured it was the only dish she could remember her late mother teaching her, and the only dish she really could ever master she'd say with a soft giggle, wiping away the dewy tears. he remembered her saying with that smooth voice that felt like pouring warm honey over your heart that she is so proud of her bachem, that his deceased maternal grandmother hailed all the way from central Afghanistan (Hazargai his mother had said, in a distant memory, that her mother was hazara) would be so proud that he presents her food with pure pride. He feels that pride while he watches damian light up in the most wonderful ways at the ashak, thanking dick softly in that voice he holds so tightly to his chest, the little voice of the child he truly was. all dick can only think about how proud he is of his bachem.

whether it be heating the paprika soup his father used to make on celebratory days after rubbing jason's back as he heaves and sobs, as he begs for forgiveness he believes he has to earn from dick, to please love him. accept him. and dick holds his brother, oh so big but yet so fucking small against his chest, wiping jason's tears and murmuring softly that there is nothing to forgive. that jason is his baby brother, that he loves him more than his heart can hold. he helps jason up and seats him on a cushioned stool by his little kitchen, cramped just like the trailer used to be, and for some reason, it always filled dick with comfort (the manor was too vast, too big, and daunting for a slip of a thing like him). jason would slump against the counter, watching dick with mournful eyes that made dick want to start crying, eyes that begged not to be left alone, that begged for his older brother to save him. he places a little basket of ingredients next to jason, and decrees he shall be his ingredient bearer. jason thinks this is fucking stupid but dick pays him no mind as he stretches a hand out for an onion. the slicing, dicing, and stirring begin as dick feels old suddenly, so old because hadn't he watched his father do this a thousand times, with dick sitting next to him like jason was doing now. odd how time has a way of making you feel scrubbed raw yet ancient beyond belief. and when he gently hands jason the steaming bowl of soup, amalgamated with the spices and hearty flavors his father used to gush about when he found them in the marketplace because he could make one of dick’s favourite romani dishes. jason picks up a spoon and begins to sip, and dick takes that as his sign to start sipping as well with the silence of the night covering them in a soft blanket. all dick can think of is how much he adores his pral

whether it be in the early morning when dick himself is barely awake when tim comes stumbling in with bags under his eyes, and barely cohesive. when he slumps down into a chair and curls his arms around his head, dick is already up snatching ingredients for a specific batter of blinis his father used to make, which was dick’s mother's favourite as she chattered on about how it was like her aunt's blinis back in romania. dick also slyly pulls out the espresso machine to make caffe d’orzo and tim would be none the wiser. tim begins to actually wake up a bit when a fresh plate of blini sitting in front of him with smetana smeared on top with a steaming cup of what tim hoped to be coffee but dick knew better. tim looks up at dick with that look that makes dick see double; the little tim who had stars brimming in his eyes with a quick mouth but a polite rigidness that made dick want to bundle him up and hold him tight to his chest, but also the older tim with that soft bitterness that encases him wouldn't allow that. and dick didn't deserve it anyway not for the pain he caused tim, (he had just wanted to give him the chances he never had but he fucked up-fucked up so beyond repair it hurts). but for right now, with tim giving him a sleepy smile and a mumbled thank you whilst dick gives him a soft kiss on the forehead, all dick could think about is how over the moon he is to be with his little frate.

whether it be on the cusp of dusk as the evening rolls in with cass and dick standing side by side in his kitchen with flour sprinkled over their little aprons and hair. dick was supposed to take cass home after her ballet but when she silently put her head on his shoulder, nuzzling softly into his shoulder blade and murmured that she missed him. dick immediately takes a right and starts driving to his apartment instead, feeling warm when he sees his little sister give the tiniest little smile. he went through all the warms meals his father's prozia used to coax him into eating whilst the snow breezed outside of her cucina while the music crooned. hence why dick began pulling out the anise extract, the dry yeast, and the sugar then ushered cass over to teach her how to braid the dough. he starts playing the stylings of esma redzepova because he can feel when silence becomes too much for cass, when silence deafens her ears and she craves for soft noise that clamors around her like a shawl of safety (maybe he also does it for himself. maybe it's because esma redzepova reminds him of when they used to have laundry day in the circus, where her voice would spin circles around his mind and mingle with his fathers as john grayson danced circles around mary grayson, always finding ways to make her laugh). once the timer dings and they pull out the hefty loaves of bread as the moon begins to rise and the sun says farewell, cass and dick snuggle up on the couch. all dick can think about is how much sorellina means to him. whether it be when bruce has bandages upon bandages and the bags under his eyes are dragging him down, and a little dick creeps into the room, a stale mess with clothes strewn everywhere and crumpled bedsheets. he crawls onto the bed while balancing a small plate of dried apricot slices and a cup of chao, placing it delicately on his lap while handing bruce the cup. a silent treaty of peace, a soothing balm to try to heal all that is painful. dick holds a dried apricot and pressed it to bruce's mouth, quietly imploring him to eat something. bruce would look at him, with an unreadable emotion swirling through his eyes as he took a bite and leaned over to press dick closer to his side. they eat their apricots in silence, and bruce sips the tea that dick had made him with some of alfred’s help. bruce presses a kiss to dicks messy hair, hoarsely whispering a thank you. all dick can really think about is that he loves his papo. (I made food with my mom last night and I just had to write this it was an innate urge and yes there r no capitals is on purpose I know grammar I promise)

#food #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #cassandra cain #Damian Wayne #dick adores his family so so much #batfam #batfamily #flying graysons #romani dick grayson #siblings #fluff #dc #batman #dc robin #snippet #dcu #dick grayson is damian's father fight me #dick grayson is a ray of sunshine #he has so much love in his heart #familial love #familial bonds #so many writing mistakes #dick grayson #bruce wayne #there is no capitals on purpose dw

[ashintheairlikesnow]

GALLAGHER SIBS "Don't you dare!"

CW: Referenced parental abuse (in the past), but otherwise just the Gallaghers being Gallagher-y

-

"Iz. No. Don't you even dare."

Izzy jumps about a feet in the air, twisting around to look over the back of the couch. Her little brother - who is several inches and at least fifty pounds bigger than her, but he is three years younger so he is little, okay - glares at her.

The controller is loose in her hands, and Izzy presses her lips together before turning back away from him. "Don't I even dare what, Jamie?"

"Watch that show." Jamie comes around and flops down on the sofa, one cushion between them. "About her."

"It's a new one." Izzy fiddles nervously with the controller, now. "And the bit - the synopsis - says it's about, you know, her family more than just her. Don't you want to know?"

"Nope." Jamie shrugs. He's got on pajamas still. They are on holiday, after all. Nothing to do but complain about it being cold and eat snacks instead of lunch. "I don't care about any of them. Who even cares what they got up to, Iz? All they did was have babies, turn into terrible people, and eventually some of them had her and she's terrible, too. What don't you already know?"

"Don't know. But maybe... Maybe something. Something important. Besides, the Marcosets made Aunt Hannah, too."

"... Yeah, I guess. But one good person out of about a million terrible ones isn't a great record."

Izzy stares at the screen, where an image of an old black and white photo of a large family is the faded background to a beautiful modern photograph from just before Jax escaped of Savvie herself, head tipped to the side, smiling. There's a hint of a shoulder, of Izzy's dad's telltale hair, just cut off. They never get to use his image. That's something. "... Mom made us, too..."

"Dad made us. And Stewart, and Aunt Hannah, and Kie built the rest once we had him, too. Iz, we're not Marcosets. Okay? We get to decide, and we decided not to be. Remember? We don't have any Marcoset in us anymore. Just Gallagher."

Izzy thinks about how she knows she won't ever have her own children. That she has nightmares about locking children in closets for hours or in rooms full of ghosts to cry until they fall asleep still terrified. She has dreams about screaming with anger at her own tiny baby Bella face, being trapped in Savvie's body and unable to change a single thing.

She thinks about how her temper, which she has buried as deep as she can but which still erupts when she is pushed too far, terrifies her because she doesn't know for sure if it's her father's temper or her mother's. If she would become Savvie, one day, if she was ever put in control of something as helpless as she had once been. Helpless and small, wanting just to be held. To be loved.

But nothing was ever allowed to be loved more than Savvie in Savvie's house. Not even a baby.

Izzy shivers.

Besides which, she's already been Jamie's mam, as close as he gets, until Kie came into the picture to give them another dad and the softness to round out Jax's sharp edges.

"Ugh." Jamie sighs. "You don't believe me. I can tell. Let's just watch something else, Iz. Anything else."

She hesitates. Gnaws on her lower lip. Besides her, Jamie's knee bounces reflexively in a body that never stops moving.

"Izzy. Please. I don't like how you get after you watch shows like that." Jamie's voice changes. It goes soft, and younger than his body. Pleading.

She looks over at her little brother, who has been toddling after her since he could walk. She's kissed his scraped knees and bruises and felt his forehead for a fever when she was seven and he was four. Who tore up her construction-paper dolls she made and then when she cried, he cried too and tried to smush them back together until she couldn't stop laughing at the sight of all the extra arms and legs he had taped into what was meant to be a dog

Jamie who, when his school made silly crafts for moms or dads, always brought the 'mom' craft home for Izzy. She'd worn a sewing-spool necklace for a month that he had painted and hung on a string and brought to her. She still has it somewhere, in a box, with everything else he's ever made for her.

The thought makes her smile. "... Yeah, you're right. Let's watch something else. And then go for a walk later? I want to grab something from the shop."

"Yeah, good." Relief is visible on his face. All of Jamie's feelings are always plain to see. He never had to learn to hide them. "That's good."

He shifts over, and wordlessly she leans sideways until her shoulder rests against him.

There isn't anything she can learn about her mother that she doesn't already know, anyway. All the stuff she needs to learn now is about herself.

#whump #the motherfucking gallaghers #izzy gallagher #jamie gallagher #writing #trauma recovery tw #parental abuse #just a reference about the past but still #sibliiiiiiings

[pacifymebby]

t r o u b l e / chapter twenty nine

Sonya

I sat stiffly at the end of the settee, trying my best to concentrate on what little Kitty was doing, trying to stay tuned into my family and playing happy families so that the little ones wouldn't notice quite how grey and gloomy our little corner of the world had just become. But it was difficult.

It was difficult to pay attention to Kitty and the bunnies when my mind was racing with worry for my sister. Worry for my big brothers whose absence I hadn't noticed so much until the sun had shied behind those storm clouds and swallowed all the light.

Now though I felt the silence left behind my Arthur. Suddenly Tommy's absence wasn't peaceful, wasn't feathered with the usual relief. Suddenly it left me feeling anxious, restless and fragile. Like a thin thread pulled taut and fraying in the middle. Like any second now I was about the snap.

Then there were all those other little worries which didn't feel so little anymore. I kept trying to push them to the back of my mind but it was impossible, growing seemingly more so by the second because the longer I sat in such close proximity to Bonnie, longing for the comfort of his arm around my shoulder, feeling guilty for letting myself long for such intimacies from anyone but Freddie, the more torn up inside I felt. The more I questioned myself, my devotion, my ability to devote myself to another as my life might soon demand...

The longer I sat there the more tense I felt myself getting. I could feel my jaw beginning to ache as I ground my teeth. I could feel my fingernails digging into my upper arms as I held myself too tightly.

And then I felt the sofa cushion beside me sink, felt my body slip into the dip and come to rest against Bonnie's. I felt my breath catch in my throat as I turned sharply to look at him with wide questioning eyes.

His eyes flickered over my worried expression and he offered me a soft smile, slipping his hand into mine as he stood.

He didn't say a word, just held my gaze and nodded to the door. Let me realise that he was offering me an escape from "happy families" one I was so desperately in need of in that second.

"Where are we..."

"Reckon you need a lesson in relaxin," he said shooting me a cheeky smile over his shoulder, "didn't realise quite how bad at it you were sweetpea..."

"You make me sound so up-tight..." I said quietly, a simmering pout on my lips I didn't realise he'd put there until his eyes fixed on it and his brow tugged to a frown.

"I don't think you're uptight miss gray..." he said his voice almost contemplative as he looked down at me, his smile slow to tug at his lips, "well... maybe just a little eh." He flashed me a grin but when for a moment I didn't smile his faltered, his eyes growing darker, more serious than I was used to on his boyish face. "A joke little rain cloud," he said quietly, giving my hand a gentle squeeze, hesitating when he looked down and saw his fingers laced with mine.

I froze two but for different reasons. Admiring how delicate my fingers appeared when threaded between his, how gently he held them.

I bit my lip, shy to look up at him from beneath my lashes, doe eyes hesitant to meet his.

"Was just a joke." He said again, his lips curling into a smirk as he turned away but didn't drop my hand, "got a lot on your mind lass I know that.." he said leading me to the spa my Aunt had recommended I visit multiple times. "Now I'm pretty sure there ain't any more to it than that..."

I let him lead me into a dimly lit room with two wooden benches, a mirror framed with driftwood on the wall above a large sink basin. On one wall there were two showers. Along another were shelves and thin cubbies with coat hangers.

"Believe it or not miss," said Bonnie with that relentlessy cheeky smile, "this one here belongs to you..." he said knocking on the door of one of the cubbies, opening it up for me to reveal that it was stocked, apparently with my belongings.

I frowned as I stepped closer to get a better look. My skin prickling when instead of stepping aside to let me peer into the cubby, Bonnie remained leaning up against the side of the shelves, one arm stretched above me so that I had to duck under the arch of his leaning frame.

I couldnt ignore the selfconcious way I felt then standing just in front of him, looking through the items which had been selected and left just for me. There were several swimwear pieces, all in the same shade of baby pink which had been my favourite colour since I was a little girl. A white towel dressing gown and slippers in my size. A box of lavender and honey scented oils, skincare products... So many things I couldn't ever imagine Tommy having picked out by himself but which I knew he must have done.

"Did Tommy do all this?" I asked quietly, fingers dancing over the array of little luxuries left for me to choose from. It was enough to bring tears to my eyes as I turned back to look up at Bonnie. If he noticed my emotive state he didn't let on, that didn't stop me blushing when I felt the tears heavy in my lashes.

"Aye lass, reckon you two are his favourites I do," said Bonnie stepping away finally, nodding to the little pink bikini in my hands, "I'll let you change will I?" He asked waiting patiently for me to dismiss him though for a moment I didn't realise that that was what he was waiting for. For a moment I left us lingering in a delicate silence, one which grew thicker by the second as we looked back at one another and he waited for me to say something.

"Oh..." I breathed, blushing s deeper shade of red when I understood that he was waiting for me to let him go, that he was doing his job then, being the attentive bodyguard, nothing more and nothing less.

I nodded and forced a tight little smile, watching as he took a step back and disappeared around the corner.

I waited for a moment, gazing down at the bikini I held in my hands. I was certain my brother hadn't picked it, certain that it must have been someone else because it was perfect, it was exactly something I'd have picked out for myself in a shop. Not too revealing, my favourite shade of baby pink, the two triangular pieces of fabric joined together in the middle by two linked silver hearts.

But then if not Tommy who else could have chosen it. I wasn't really close enough to any of them to believe anyone else could have picked it out.

I stood chewing my cheek deep in thought, beginning to feel guilty for having let myself grow so far apart from my family, for having allowed myself to resent them all as much as I had done. Then the sound of someone stepping out of their clothes drew me back to reality. The sound of Bonnie's joggers hitting the floor making my head snap up in surprise.

But of course he was getting changed too. I could hardly expect him to sit there fully clothed in a sauna.

"You ready round there sweetpea? I canny hear any movement like..." he said after another moment of quiet. My cheeks burning at the thought of him standing the other side of those lockers in well... Nothing.

"No... Sorry I was uh... Just thinking..." I stumbled over my words feeling more humiliated and ridiculous by the second as I began to undress struggling because I was rushing.

"Aye well, there'll be plenty of time for that when we're in there lass, gettin cold out here..." He grinned teasing me, that laughing tone in his voice doing little to ease my blush.

When I caught my reflection in the mirror I winced. It didn't matter how pretty a bikini I wore, nothing was going to make up for the fact that that ugly purple bruise was still in full bloom across my back. I twisted to try and get a better look at it, biting my lip as I traced my fingers over it, pressing just enough to feel the sharp stab and the dull ache before I reached for the dressing gown hanging up for me, wrapping myself up in it, relieved to have somewhere I could hide. I couldn't help but dread having to take it off, I was only hoping it was too dark for Bonnie to see the extent of the damage.

When he saw me however he grinned, offered me his hand and promised me the guided tour. And then later when he'd put me on the spot and told me to choose what kind of relaxing we tried first, he didn't falter or flinch when I shrugged my robe off and revealed the deep shade of purple green which stained not only my back but my ribs too.

His eyes flickered over me quickly but they didn't linger on my body very long, just met my gaze with a smirk.

"I thought you were gonna teach me how to relax," I said feeling a little shy when he looked at me expectantly, "shouldn't you be choosing what we do first?" I said trying to wriggle out of the choice, something I didn't usually do. I was pretty used to getting my own way, picking and choosing what I wanted whenever I wanted it, and yet when Bonnie's eyes glimmered with amusement and he voiced my thoughts I found myself blushing furiously, surprised by my self consciousness.

"Well I wouldnta thought a lass of your standing would take orders off a gypsy lad like me..." he said, his straight face only fleeting, the grin he broke into warm when he apologised for teasing me.

But even if he was only teasing me I couldn't help linger on the thought, a little guilt heavy on my mind because I really hadn't shown him my good side and between his teasing and Tommy's distrust, his apparent disappointment in me, I was beginning to wonder if I had one to show.

So in the dark of the sauna when we were lying parallel along the soft wooden benches, heat radiating through our aching muscles, eyes closed, quiet, I couldn't help but struggle with myself, desperate to break that quiet and let him know.

"I don't think I'm better than you Bonnie..." I said catching my bottom lip between my teeth. My eyes were fixed on the dark ceiling, looking through the dry air at the patterns in the grain.

For a second he was so quiet I wasn't sure he'd heard me, wasn't sure he hadn't fallen asleep in the short time we'd been shut inside. But then I felt something tickle my arm and when I jumped I heard him chuckle. I realised it was just his fingers trying to find mine from across the gap.

"I know that Miss Gray..." He said with a gentle chuckle, "now shut your eyes and stop werritting about nothin..."

I chewed my cheek, glad of the low light and Bonnie's closed eyes. Glad he couldn't see the shy struggle on my face, how for a moment I didn't know what to say.

"Stop callin me that then." I said after a moment too long of lingering speechless so that by the time I said it it sounded more like a question than a demand.

"But if a start callin you anythin else it'll sound like we're friends, what would your Chelsea socialite friends think of that?"

I was looking at him now, head turned to the side cheek resting against the wood. So I saw his grin, saw the way he shook with a quiet laugh, so amused by himself. More amused even when he realised that I wasn't laughing.

"Don't worry little rain cloud," he said, eyes still closed, grin still bright and wide, "I'm kiddin, you can smile too it won't hurt..."

And so I did, shy at first but finding that once I let myself laugh at him the grin came easy and the giggle lasted a little longer than it should have done. I covered my mouth with my hand, eyes shut as I tried to stifle my laughter but when he heard me Bonnie's smile grew all the wider.

"Better," he chuckled letting us fall back into a more comfortable kind of quiet then. His fingers still lingering near mine, grazing over my wrist in the moment before he realised what he was doing and withdrew.

I felt strange then, realising that I liked it better when I could feel his touch.

"Where's my brother gone?" I asked wondering whether he'd reach out and take my hand again when he heard the worry in my voice. Even if he didn't I wanted to know the answer.

"I don't know lass," he said a little quieter, his voice still laidback and smooth, the soft lilt soothing despite his lack of answers.

"Promise you're not just sayin that to shut me up?" I asked chewing my cheek. Painting a small smirk on his lips. To my dismay however his hands remained resting one by his side the other on his chest, palm rising and falling with his slow breaths.

"Wouldn't do that to ye lass."

I remained quiet then, trying to copy him, trying to slow my breaths. Shut my eyes and relax. But it was difficult knowing that my brothers had left without even telling the rest of their men where they were going. It made me think the worst. Made me think they didn't quite know what they were dealing with, what was waiting for them.

"Your brothers are gonna be alright sweetpea," he said pushing himself up slowly, the sound of his movement stirring me too.

When I opened my eyes he was stood up, one hand pushing his damp curls from his eyes. His cheeks had been rosied by the heat and when his chest rose and fell I watched little drops of sweat trickle over his skin. Felt suddenly shy when he offered me his hand to help me up.

"C'mon," he said hiding a yawn in his elbow, so lulled by his twenty minutes of darkness and sandlewood, "stay in here any longer and you'll melt." He said waiting for me to take his hands, my fingers feeling small when they linked tentatively with his.

I let him lead me out of the sauna to the edge of the pool where we sat down side by side on the cool tiles. The water was cold, a relief as it lapped at my calves and we kicked our legs slowly. The scale of this underground haven seemed crazy to me, even if I was used to a certain level of luxury. Tommy had really turned this old house into a fortress.

"Could really live in this house your whole life and never leave huh..." I said softly, almost sadly as I thought of Tommy's threadbare plan to keep us safe. Perhaps I would end up holed away here for the rest of my life, stuck with all my could have beens and a fatherless child... It twisted my stomach into another knot and stole the peace from my face. Put a frown on Bonnie's brow when he looked at me.

"You're so melancholy," he said with a simmering smirk, taking my chin in his hand, finger and thumb steering my gaze to him, making me focus on him when he told me again not to worry about my brother. "You ain't gonna be trapped here with us forever sweetheart."

"It's not you I'm worried about," I smiled shyly, eyes flickering over his serious expression. I couldn't hold his gaze, his dark eyes making me blush as he watched me recede into myself and regret having just said that.

I looked down feeling that flush in my cheeks again. Swallowed a lump in my throat as that increasingly familiar feeling bubbled to the surface. I could feel his eyes lingering on me. Couldnt help but wonder what he was thinking as he watched me with my head down, eyes fixed firmly on the water.

I could feel his hand near mine, the bristling tension of his presence so close to mine. The bristling tension of being seen. Not seen as in looked at or admired from afar the way I was used to when I danced, people who saw me ethereal, a body not a girl moving gracefully across the stage.

But there by the pool, sitting as close to me as he was Bonnie couldn't see Sonya Gray the enigmatic starlet, only Sonya the girl. A girl who was only now beginning to realise how hard it is to be yourself when you can't hide yourself in the silhouettes cast by a Jeté.

"I've got somethin for those bruises by the way," he said, my heart sinking when I realised what he'd really been looking at. Not me but the aching shadow of my waist.

"It's not that bad Bonnie, looks worse than it is..."

"Even so," he said with a smirk which told me he wasn't believing me for a second, "it'll do you good, old family recipe, me da taught me how to make it for after me fights..."

"I don't know..." I said all the more cynical to know that this was another fabled gypsy remedy, one that would be sniffed at by my physio and the company's doctors. "Get enough of that herbal stuff from Pol..."

"Come on now little rain cloud," he smiled knocking into me with his shoulder, "not scared of our gypsy potions are ye?" He asked doing ghost hands at me until I cracked a smile and gave in. Made me feel bad for hesitating.

"You already know I'm not..." I said biting down on my smile, struggling to hide the way it wavered when he stood up and turned away from me. Feeling silly when I realised where he was going. That of course he had to leave to go and get the cream he'd promised.

He wasn't gone long but the room felt so much more empty without him. I let myself slip into the pool up to my waist, felt a spread of goosebumps flicker over my skin, a shiver through my shoulders and down my spine. It was enough to wake me from the hazy heat of the sauna, enough to clear my head for a moment. And in that moment I felt the weight of the day return to me, my shoulders tensing, my jaw too as I thought about my brothers, about my sister who was safe but only for now, about Freddie who I hadn't heard from since I'd left him in his bedroom on his uncles side of town.

I pushed off from the side of the pool and let myself cut through the surface, slipping beneath the wave I'd made and gliding along the bottom of the pool. As a little girl I'd been determined to learn how to hold my breath forever, dreams of slipping into a river one day to find I'd become a water sprite.

As I returned to the surface, hair silky and slick to my body when I broke through the water I was reminded of the ritual disappointment I'd known as a girl every time I returned to the land and drew in that first deep breath.

"I don't know eh, canna leave ye alone for a second," chuckled Bonnie from the edge of the pool where he was waiting for me with a towel, another teasing reminder that today I wasn't supposed to be training or exercising or doing anything to tire myself out.

"Sorry," I blushed as I pushed myself out of the water, felt his eyes flicker over my figure once again as he opened the towel for me and wrapped me up in it. He patted me down gently, careful not to touch the places he knew my bruises ran deep, doing it all without thinking, without realising what he was doing until it was too late and we were both left stifled and shy.

He tossed the towel onto one of the loungers at the side of the pool and nodded to a stone bed. When he handed me another towel and told me to tuck it under my head I felt my stomach curl again suddenly realising how intimate this would be.

"Just lie down an close your eyes alright lass," he said and though I'd expected him to follow me he didn't for a moment. Instead he just stood still watching me walk away. When he disappeared again I felt myself bristling with a new tension. One I'd only ever felt with Freddie before. It was the tension of waiting for his return.

I felt guilty then, realising just how close I was letting Bonnie get. Realising how easy it was to let him get so close. And it shouldn't have been. I should have been keeping my guard up. Should have been doing right by the man I'd left in London that fateful day. But I couldn't help it. I couldn't swallow the feeling down or shake the strange nervous feeling from myself. And when Bonnie returned a minute later I couldn't control the way my heart began to beat, the way my head clouded over when he sat on the edge of the heated bed and I felt his fingers graze a tentative tickling line along the curve of my spine.

"Don't let me hurt you alright lass?" He asked as he used two fingers to take a scoop of the lavender and neroli scented cream.

I flinched when he placed a smear over my waist, the cold of his initial touch startling me. He chuckled as he told me he was sorry.

I could tell he was being careful with me when he smoothed his palm over the curve of my back, his fingers grazing my waist as he began to rub in slow, gentle circles. And it did hurt but I wouldn't tell him that. It wasn't in my nature to whine about little aches and pains, it wasn't how I'd been raised and so I was better than most at deep breathing through the kind of pain which radiated through my torso as he applied a little more pressure.

I felt the warm tingle as the cream began to activate on my skin, it's heat soaking into my back, forcing my tired muscles to relax a little. Slowly beginning to numb as he massaged the cream carefully into my waist.

I could feel the slow throb of pain aching through my muscles, causing them to tense suddenly, my whole body beginning to tighten despite my best efforts to force myself to relax and breath through the hurting. I didn't want Bonnie to know how bad it really was. He was an athlete himself so I knew that if he saw the pain I was in he would realise how bad it really was, and that if he did he'd force me to rest for even longer than he already had. That was longer than I could afford.

But with his hands pressed to my back gentle perhaps but firm all the same, Bonnie could feel the way my body was responding, could feel it crying out in pain even if I was stifling myself. So when he stopped, resting his hands gently on my back but taking the pressure off, I was denying the pain before he could accuse me of feeling it.

"It doesn't hurt you don't have to..."

"If it doesn't hurt why do you sound so sure that's what I'm gonna say sweetpea?" He asked, his smirk clever, just smug enough to silence me. Leave me struggling to think of an excuse. "I told you to tell me if a was hurtin y" he said a little softer, less of a smile in his voice then, soft with concern as he ran the tips of his fingers up the center of my back, letting them linger between my shoulder blades.

"You canna just breathe through it and expect to get better darlin," he sighed.

But where I'd expected him to stop and retreat he didn't. Where I'd expected him to shrug me off with another disparaging comment about how I just don't know whats good for me, he didn't. Instead he let his hands move between and overy shoulders, fingers slowly beginning to work away at the knots until they began to come undone. Until I couldn't stifle the sigh of relief which escaped me.

When I heard myself I couldn't keep the blush from my cheeks, couldn't help but hope he hadn't heard a thing. And if he had he pretended not to. Just carrying on, his fingers working tenderly to ease the aching tension in my tired muscles.

"It's a wonder you could dance at all lass," he chuckled, "the scouts would have a field day with you..."

And though I wanted to roll my eyes and reply sarcastic and dry, I couldn't deny that he was right.

It only made it worse that he knew it. That he could tell just by the feel of my body beneath his fingertips. That every manipulation they inflicted he could feel my response right there beneath his hands, which though I was too shy to admit out loud, were working some kind of miracle on me.

I closed my eyes and let his fingers massage my shoulders, let him work away at the knots until I felt that good kind of bruised relief.

With a little more of the cream he'd used on my waist, he rubbed gentle lines down my back, stopping when his hands held me by the waist, his thumbs meeting in the center of my back, his fingers spread over my tummy.

"Told you it'd help," he said leaning down over me, his words tickling my ear as he let one hand leave my waist and come to scoop my hair from my cheek, "didn't I?"

When he left us lingering in silence I wasn't sure what to do, wasn't sure whether he was really waiting for me to admit that he was in fact right.

I tried to hide my face in the crook of my elbow, giggling when he tried to tug my arm away.

"Didn't I?" He said again, his smile bright and teasing when I rolled onto my back and looked up at him with a smile of my own.

"Fine," I said biting back my smile, raising my hands to cover my face, enjoying the way he tried to catch my wrists in his hands and pull mine away from over my eyes. "Fine you were right, you were right," I giggled when his fingers threatened to tickle my ribs. "I do feel better now," I said a little quieter as I pushed myself up and hugged my knees to my chest, looking up at him from where my head rested atop my knees. My hair fell into my face, two damp strands of blonde turned brown by the water.

"Thanks Bonnie," I said a little quieter then, my gaze simmering as I looked up at him. His eyes simmering when they locked with mine. The corners of his lips tugged into a small smile as his hand reached to push those two strands of hair from my cheek.

But when his fingertips grazed my cheek bones I saw a shadow cross his eyes and he seemed to recede. He drew his hand away from my cheek and tore his gaze from mine and I felt my heart sink when I realised why.

There'd been something a little too tender in the way he'd looked at me and I at him.

I sat up straight, swallowed a guilty lump in my throat and tried to stand.

"Do you think my brothers will be back by now?" I asked my voice tight and quiet, his just thick with disappointment when he replied.

"I don't know lass." He said softly,

Taglist

@inalovesrabbits-blog

@cocoaflowers

@zablife

@jomarch-wannabe

@itsghostgirlyo

@marwwfairy

@toddlerbodybag

@everysage

@tommyshelbywhore

@kas3ylovesyou

@kxnnxy

@starrykitn

@call-sign-shark

@only-malala

@mollybegger-blog

@liliac-dreamer

@impossibleheartflower

#trouble #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders imagines #bonnie gold x oc #peaky blinders oc #shelby sister #peaky blinders modern au

[prismatica-the-strange]

French for you and anakin? 😳😳

[ french ] a deep, passionate kiss with the use of tongue

Pre-order 66 and post-Freida leaving the Jedi. This kind of took on a life of its own.

Anakin hadn't intended to go to Jein'ta, but when the Jedi got word that General Grievous had been spotted in that sector, he didn't think dropping in would be any harm.

He's met by Cria, the handmaid who had begged the Jedi to help when Freida was being forced to marry a warlord. She greets him warmly and before he can give her his excuse for being there she smiles.

"Her Lady Freida is this way," She tells him, beckoning him to follow her, "Come with me."

As they approach her dwelling his chest erupts with warmth, as if every step toward her brought him closer to the sun.

They find her in the meadow near her house, sprawled out on the grass, her hair down and a mess around her.

Cria stops him just as he's about to call out and points to the small body creeping in the taller grass nearby.

Frei cries out playfully when a young girl pounces on her stomach and he can't help but smile.

"I gotchu Aunt Freida!" The girl grins, sitting on her abdomen.

"Yes, you did," The older woman encourages, sitting up and wrapping her arms around her, "I didn't even hear you coming!"

The girl's ears twitch and she quickly turns to look at him and Cria, almost shrinking in her hold when she sees him.

Freida follows her gaze and her face lights up with the sweetest smile. She has to stop herself from jumping to her feet and sprinting into his arms like she desperately wants to, and settles for waving him over.

She rises to her knees when the girl slides down to hide behind her as he approaches.

"Your Eminence," He greets with a teasing grin and a small bow.

"Anakin," The soft sound of his name makes his heart stutter and it takes all he has to not pull her against his lips.

His eyes flicker over to the girl peaking out from behind her.

"And who is this?" He chuckles when she ducks away.

"This little cub?" Freida wrangles her into her arms again.

"I'm not a cub!" She argues, wiggling in Frei's arms til she lets her go, "I'm Myrshi!"

"Ah, Myrshi the mighty hunter," He says and her cheeks flush, "I saw your devastating attack just now."

She lets out a bashful giggle at his words, running off when Cria calls her.

"We'll give you two some time," She smiles at them and Anakin gets the feeling she may have more insight into their relationship than most people.

"Help me up?" Freida asks, pulling his attention back to her. Her hand is outstretched at him expectantly.

"Of course, my lady," He grins. It's like lightning when their hands touch, electricity arcing through his veins.

She leads him inside, past various house staff and other clergywomen, away from any prying eyes. The villa is much brighter than when he'd rushed to save her that handful of months ago. Ever since her father stormed off after she'd defied him, she's seemed brighter, so bright it's almost like he'd been blinded by her, even back on Coruscant.

As soon as they step into her room he kicks the door shut and yanks at her wrist, making her fall against his chest with the most adorable giggle.

"I missed you, precious," His lips brush hers before he finally kisses her.

"Missed you so much," She sighs, her claws digging into his dark robes. She tugs them toward the large nest-like pile of pillows and cushions that serve as her bed and favorite sun-basking spot.

His laugh when they tumble back into them makes her heart thrum with pure happiness.

He kisses her again before pulling back to take her in. Her hair is a wild mess around her, pastel pink curls tangle into each other, flecked with green, and it takes him a moment to realize it's grass.

"You have grass in your hair," He snickers, plucking a blade from it.

He gets distracted by her hands softly cupping his face and he gazes down at her warmly as her thumb strokes his cheek.

"You're so pretty," She mumbles. Her fingers brush back his bangs and he feels his cheeks heat.

"No," He chuckles, "You're the pretty one here."

"Agree to disagree," She murmurs, pulling him back down to her.

He kisses her hard, his hands rough in her already tangled hair. His tongue shoves past her lip, eagerly exploring her mouth. She tastes sweet, like some kind of delectable fruit he can't get enough of.

He groans when she runs her tongue along his, pressing their chests together.

"Kiss me again," She sighs when he pulls away, his chest heaving against her.

"Anything you want, Precious," He grins, "I'll kiss you until you beg me to stop."

"Then I guess you'll never stop kissing me."

"I'd better get started."

#prisma answers #ask game #prisma writes #death by anyone's hand but his would never taste as sweet